by Mike Ashley
“When’s he coming back?”
“We’ll have to get along without him for a while. He’s going home.”
“Where to?”
“Under the sea.”
Sarah stared, uncomprehending.
“What do you mean?”
“He’s tired, and he wants to go home.”
The Screensaver on the computer came on, slowly filling in a red lidless eye dot by dot. She shook her head, thinking, all right, let me try this again.
“How’s he going to go home?”
“He’s just going to wade into the sea.”
“He’s going to kill himself?”
“No, not at all. Or, well, not exactly.”
Sarah stared again. She couldn’t seem to find anyone who would have a straight conversation with her, not her sister, not Al, not Lady G, and she couldn’t even find the Wizard at all.
“I needed to talk to him.” Sarah looked down at her hands, uncertain where to put them, absently rolling the wheels of her skateboard. Lady G made her feel too young.
“Maybe I can help.” Lady G waved to another chair, inviting Sarah to sit down. She remained standing.
“My sister had a dream. The Wizard predicted it.”
“What kind of dream?”
“She saw a monster.” Sarah described it: tall, maybe ten feet tall, gaunt, stick-thin, the long corkscrew nose, almost a foot long, the fish eyes on either side of its head, the mouths where the eyes should have been, the scratching to be let in.
Lady G nodded. “She saw Old Shadow. He’s come back.” She motioned toward the computer screen. “Always he watches and waits for his chance.”
“What is it?”
“Always, we must be ready for it. Though we are weaker than we were the last time, perhaps than we have ever been. And no wizard this time. We have stories going back a long way, telling us to be ready, to look for the signs. Again, there will be the story to be told, and all must play their parts.”
This was too fast. Sarah didn’t understand.
“Why does he come to my sister?” Sarah’s heart was in her throat again. She didn’t exactly believe Lady G. She didn’t disbelieve her either.
“She’s the dreamer. The one who is strong enough to open a way between place and place, between This and The Other. She will dream him into being, unless she resists. You must bring her to me. We will explain it to her, help her resist it.”
“Yes,” Sarah said, daring to look into Lady G’s wide eyes. Why not believe her? She had come to believe in the Wizard. “Yes,” she said more decisively. “I’ll bring her here to you.”
Only after she left did she realize she had forgotten to mention that her sister had seen herself, out the window, in the street, beckoning herself to come down. What did that mean?
When Sarah came through the door, her mother was in the front hallway on the phone. Her mother put her hand up flat to stop her. Sarah could hear Amanda’s party out in the backyard past the kitchen door, laughter and shouts.
“What do you mean you don’t want to live there anymore, mother?” Sarah’s mother was talking to Sarah’s grandmother. Sarah’s mother sounded shrill, exasperated, worried. She put her hand over the phone. “Where’s Amanda? I thought she was with you,” she said to Sarah.
“She’s not here?”
“What’s that, mother? What do you mean you’re going to live in the park? What are you talking about. It’s ridiculous.”
“What’s going on?” Sarah asked.
“Grandma Rebecca doesn’t want to live in the house she’s lived in with Grandpa George for the last twenty years. She says now that he’s dead, the house doesn’t feel like hers anymore. Look, mother, you’re just trying to get me to ask you to live here. Yes, you are. You know I can’t. This is emotional blackmail. Mother, you can’t do this.”
“And Amanda’s gone?” Sarah asked.
“Yes. I thought I asked you to get her ready this morning? Hello? The line’s dead.”
“I’ll find them,” Sarah said, opening the front door again. “I’ll find them both.”
“Wait, where are you going? I can’t go with all these kids in the yard. I need you to watch them. Sarah. SARAH!”
Sarah took the front steps two at a time, dropped her skateboard and jumped on, already rolling downhill.
Two years ago, Sarah had run away from home. She had slept for two nights in the park under a bush beside a chainlink fence. The third day, cold, hungry, she walked down to the beach, rummaging through garbage cans along the way. She had woken up that morning shivering, and it hadn’t stopped the whole day. As evening dimmed in the sky and on the water, the glistening spray of the waves becoming shadows thrown up against the sky, Sarah saw the Wizard of Ashes and Rain. She walked to him where he sat cross-legged before a small fire, looking out to the sea. He wore three ragged sweaters and a heavy black skirt over grey sweatpants, no shoes.
She knew who he was, but at the time she didn’t know him very well. He was another crazy street person, nice enough, harmless, who sometimes hung around the Elves. Still, she felt so alone, and so cold. She no longer cared, felt she might never care again and that scared her. She looked down at him, shivering, not knowing what to say. Wanting desperately for him to say something to make it all better. It started drizzling, of course. The clouds darkened as she waited.
“You need a reading,” he said.
“I ran away from home.” She hugged herself tight.
He reached into his pack and handed her a plastic bag filled with trail mix. She sat down and ate it hungrily. He handed her a thick plastic bottle with water inside.
“My mother has rules for everything. Not just about studying, but what I can wear. What I can say.”
She had to keep the reasons before her because they didn’t seem convincing anymore even to her.
The Wizard removed a small bronze plate from his pack. The plate had unfamiliar symbols carved around an elaborately ornamented border.
“What’s that.”
“It is a tynka, a reading wheel, where I can see the future and the past.”
The Wizard put his staff in the fire and sifted the ashes. It was the day she learned about the other part of his name, why they called him the Wizard of Ashes and Rain. He knocked some of the ash out of the fire and into the cold sand. He scooped up the ashes and some dirty sand mixed with old wrappers and broken plastic toy parts, and poured it on the wheel. He set the tynka between them. She had heard that he could divine, but she had never seen him do it. He took her hand and held it over the plate. Uneasy, she resisted, but not strongly. He spoke words she did not understand, then released her hand.
“What are you doing?”
He picked up the plate and jiggled it, letting the ashes and sand crumble into pieces and spread across the plate. Water droplets splashed on the wheel, scarring the ash.
“The way the ashes fall across the symbols, the way the water runs, the creases and breaks in it tell a story. Everything tells a story.”
Sarah leaned forward to look.
“Yes,” the Wizard said. “I see.”
“Did it tell you about my mother? What should I do?”
The Wizard looked up into her eyes.
“Your father’s sorry. He’s sorry he had to die.”
Her father had died the year before.
The Wizard dumped the ashes back into the sand and sat humming to himself until she left. For a long time Sarah watched the waves push out and beach themselves, then run back into the sea. A light drizzle soaked her hair. Then she went home and negotiated rules that both she and her mother could live with.
Sarah found her sister and her Grandmother Rebecca on a park bench near Stow Lake, eating cucumber and cream cheese sandwiches. Her grandmother had on her nice pink party dress with the ruffles, and black shiny shoes. Her grandmother wore a blue sweatsuit made of synthetics. By the time she found them, the sun had passed overhead and was already tangled in the treetops as it descended toward the
sea.
It was still hours before sunset, though. The late afternoon duck feeders with their bags of bread were just being joined by the afterwork joggers and dog walkers. The winds had started up, blowing off the ocean, already pushing in the fog that would arrive with nightfall. The trees swayed, gathering around the edge of the lake in milling crowds, or standing alone, seeming to shift from foot to foot. The ducks complained as the bread ran out and the wind ruffled their feathers.
“Why, hello, dear,” her Grandmother Rebecca said, scooting closer to Amanda so Sarah could sit down, patting the bench. “Do you want part of my sandwich?”
“I brought the sandwiches,” Amanda said with her mouth full.
“Yes, certainly you did. They’re my favorite.”
“I have one for Sarah in the bag.” Amanda pointed at her feet without reaching down.
“What are you doing here, grandma?”
Sarah came closer, stood before her grandmother.
“Oh, the house, it’s too big. It’s filled with George’s books, crowding me out. I couldn’t breathe. It was his house, really. I just stayed there with him.”
Sarah didn’t believe her grandmother, but thought she understood. “It all reminds you of him.”
Sarah’s grandmother nodded. “Yes, I suppose that’s part of it.”
“Are you really going to sleep out here?”
Her grandmother picked up the bag, reached in and produced another sandwich.
“Yes, right on this bench.”
“It’s dangerous.”
“You’re beginning to sound like your mother.”
Sarah sat down. She accepted a cucumber and cream cheese sandwich. Benches lined the asphalt walkway around the lake. At night, the benches would be claimed one by one. Her grandmother might even get pushed out by someone stronger.
“Besides,” her grandmother said. “You have friends out here, right? That Wizard, he’s out here. Maybe he could look out for me.”
“He’s gone,” Sarah said. “He’s not coming back.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, dear.”
“He knew about my dream,” Amanda said with her mouth full.
“What dream? You didn’t tell me you had a dream. Your sister,” Grandmother Rebecca said to Sarah, “doesn’t tell me anything anymore. She has just been sitting there, eating, refusing to answer my questions. She just makes comments about the things she wants to talk about, what people are wearing, the dogs.” Grandmother Rebecca shook her head.
“I can’t talk to her anymore, either,” Sarah said.
Amanda, chewing, looking forward, pretended not to hear.
“I had a dream about a monster,” Amanda said, “over and over the same dream.”
Grandmother Rebecca looked stricken.
Sarah described the monster again.
“I used to have that dream,” Grandmother Rebecca said. “I used to have that same dream. But I told it to leave you alone. If I said yes it was supposed to leave you alone. Your mother, all of you. I told it.”
Sarah looked at her grandmother, hard. Her grandmother fretted with the zipper of her jacket. Only Amanda seemed undisturbed by their grandmother’s revelation.
“When was this?” Sarah asked.
“When I was a little girl, so of course none of you existed, but he said he’d come for you unless I said yes. He wanted in to this world. My mother warned me. It had come to her. It said if I said no, it would come for my daughters, and my daughter’s daughters. I had to. I thought I had to.”
“Wasn’t there anyone to help you? The Elves?”
“Elves? There are still Elves in the world? I thought they’d all left. Under the sea or something like that.”
“Here comes mom,” Amanda said.
They all looked. Sarah’s mother walked fast, taking short steps, her arms crossed on her chest.
She stopped before them, distracted. They could see it on her face. They had all failed her. She didn’t know where to start.
“Do you want a sandwich?” Amanda said. “There’s one in the bag for you.”
“Amanda it’s your birthday.” Sarah’s mother’s voice trembled. “Your party is ruined.” Her face looked pinched, her mouth small and drawn down, her shoulders tight. She wore a long dark print dress and a blue sweater.
“You know I work so hard for this family. Why won’t any of you do anything? Why won’t any of you even try?”
Sarah’s mother put her hands on her hips.
“Mother,” she said to Sarah’s grandmother, “you know this is just your way of getting what you want. I told you I can’t let you stay with us. You know I have two kids to raise alone. I’m trying so hard.”
She shook. Sarah thought of herself on the beach beside the Wizard two years ago.
“Sarah,” her mother faltered. She looked away. “Sarah, I told you to stay home. Take your sister home. I need to talk to your grandmother alone.”
Sarah stood, taking Amanda’s hand and pulling her up. Sarah’s mother sat down, slumping, beginning to cry, her shaking becoming sobbing heaves. Her mother cried a lot since her father’s death three years ago. Grandmother Rebecca put her arm around her daughter.
Sarah walked away with her sister, but not toward home. She took her sister to the Elves.
Sarah walked her sister through the park, past the Japanese Tea Gardens, the Asian Art Museum and the Academy of Sciences, holding her skateboard in one hand and her sister’s hand in the other. Just before they left the park, two O-boys stepped onto the asphalt path ahead. One of them was James, the contacts in his eyes smoldering red in the twilight. She wondered again how they made them glow like that. His derby jacket seemed a size too big on his skinny frame. The other O-boy looked even younger, and bow-legged, with a ripped white t-shirt and no jacket. The younger one kept looking around nervously, pulling at his shirt, straightening and unstraightening it, unable to stand still, his red eyes shifting in the gloom. Beyond them, the City streets opened out and cars sped by behind the trees.
“Where’re you going?” the younger one said.
“She can pass,” James said. He wouldn’t meet her eyes. His pock-marked face sullen, he shoved his hands in his pockets and stepped out of the way.
“No one in or out,” the younger one said, pointing at Sarah.
“Shut up,” James said. The lines on his face drew tight as he clenched his jaw, staring down the younger one.
The younger one stepped out of the way.
Sarah led her sister on, pausing when she passed James.
“Thanks,” she said.
“Fuck you,” he said. “Get out of here.”
Sarah sneered, pulling Amanda past.
“Yeah, nice contacts,” she said, “so scary.”
It did unnerve her. That’s why she mentioned it.
“They’re not contacts,” James said.
Sarah didn’t look back.
“What does he mean by that?” Amanda asked.
“Quiet,” Sarah said.
“What are they?”
“Quiet.”
Two blocks out of the park, Sarah and Amanda ran into a group of Elves led by Aladuniel.
“You’re lucky you didn’t run in to any O-boys,” Aladuniel said. “They are everywhere. They’re gathering in the long shadow again. We’ve been sent to look for you. Lady G said you would bring your sister.”
Aladuniel knelt beside Amanda.
“Any sister of Sarah’s is a sister of ours,” he said. “I name you Elf-friend.” He bowed his head. The other Elves put their hands over their hearts. “Elf-friend,” they said together.
Sarah looked around, embarrassed. No one on the street, running errands or heading out for a late lunch, seemed to notice. No one ever did seem to notice the Elves. Maybe they just thought they were geeks and ignored them. Amanda giggled.
“We don’t have time for this, Al,” Sarah said, not knowing if that was true. “Take me to Lady G.”
When Aladuniel ushered Sarah a
nd Amanda in to see Lady G on the second floor of the Elves’ warehouse, the Lady was not alone. The Wizard of Ashes and Rain sat in a rolling ergonomie chair.
“I heard you were looking for me,” the Wizard said to Sarah. The Wizard wore layers of ragged unbuttoned sweaters and a pair of grimy jeans. He was shoeless, and his salt and pepper hair hung past his shoulders. His face had the sunburnt and leathered look of steetpeople who slept outside too much. He had a long scar near his right ear. His staff, gnarled and black, sat across his knees. Behind the Wizard and Lady G, the screensaver on Lady G’s computer was on, filling in the red lidless eye dot by dot.
“Oh, it’s good to – I thought you were—”
Sarah wanted to hug the Wizard, though they had never hugged before. Except for the time he had held her hands over the tynka plate, they had never even touched.
“You were looking for me, so I came back to help you,” the Wizard said. “I guess I still have a part to play,” he sighed. “The story can be so demanding.”
Sarah told Lady G and the Wizard what her grandmother told her. Neither looked at all surprised. The Wizard just nodded his head.
Lady G leaned forward toward Amanda.
“It’s all right. You couldn’t have known.”
Then Sarah noticed that Amanda was crying.
“What is it?” Sarah said. “Amanda?”
“She already said yes,” Lady G said. “Sometime this morning.”
“I read it myself,” The Wizard said, “in the wheel.”
“I’m sorry,” Amanda said. She spoke in a rush. “The other me, the one from the dream, led me into the park, after you left, before I saw grandma. To the wooden bridge by the lake in the arboretum. The other me was the monster, or from the monster, or something. And if I said yes it wouldn’t bother me anymore, so I did.” She took Sarah’s hand again. “Please don’t go away again. I’m sorry. I know I was supposed to wait for you.”
“The monster is resting,” Lady G said, “waiting for the night to move against us.”
“I’m sorry,” her sister said again. “Please.”
“You’ve hardly even talked to me in the past year,” Sarah said, “now you’re worried I’ll leave you?”
“Amanda,” the Wizard said, “I’ve seen this sort of thing before, many times, and for all the dreamers, I’ve only known one to say no. One. It’s all right. The story tells itself. It always does. It didn’t let me go home, did it? So, you played your part. It’s all right. We all do.”