After hours of walking aimlessly, she spied something that glowed in the dimness and made her way to it, hoping to find warmth and shelter. The closer she got to the glowing area, the more she doubted she would find what she sought; at least not without some kind of struggle. Figures seemed to move in front of the dim light now and then, as though dancing, and she was sure she saw the glint of metal.
Nearly bumping into a tall stone as she drew closer, she placed a hand on it and felt a warmth emanate from it like that from a body. Spreading her fingers against the stone, she absorbed its warmth for a minute until, casting aside caution, she leaned her entire body against it, reveling in the warmth she gained from it. The sense of comfort that the stone engendered in her tempted her to close her eyes and try to sleep upright against the stone until she drove the thought from her mind. This was no time to sleep; there were figures just a hundred feet away that might pose a threat and it was in her best interest to use caution just now.
Pushing herself away from the stone, she almost cried out at the sense of loss she felt at severing her connection to its warmth and took two faltering steps backward. Swallowing her disappointment at losing the warmth, she turned her eyes back to the glow ahead of her and stepped around the stone to move closer. As she did, she saw that the stone she had leaned against was but one of a ring of standing stones surrounding the glow. Drawing closer, it proved to be a small fire with figures dancing around it in a circle, beating time with their feet, which slapped on the stone, providing the only music with which to dance. Fanciful masks conveying the sense of a myriad of emotions covered the dancers’ faces and as the mist blew away momentarily, she saw that each of them was nude, though covered with colorful, painted designs. Their bodies gleamed in the weak firelight from the moisture that dripped and ran on their skins as though they danced in the rain, which wasn’t far from the truth, considering the mist that surrounded them. Lisa briefly wondered why the wet didn’t cause the paint on their bodies to run and fade, then as one of the figures, a female, stopped its movements to stand before the fire and gyrate in place as it ran its hands over its body, she realized that a great deal of their skins was tattooed.
The woman moving in place possessed a larger mask than the others and her tattoos seemed somehow more complex, and as Lisa watched, the figure moved unerringly toward her, seeming to glide over the mist-slick stone until she stood directly in front of her. The woman began swaying in place, her arms weaving patterns in the dim light and, despite herself, Lisa found that her own body was beginning to move in a matching pattern, mimicking the movements of the woman. When she realized what she was doing, she tried to break and run from the light, but found her feet rooted in place. The other figures, proving to be all female, moved toward her and as she danced in tandem with their leader, for that is what the woman before her was, the others began pulling at her dress until they had it in a pool around her feet. Her bra was twitched from her body, its elastic seeming to stretch impossibly as it was drawn away from her and while she still danced, the leader drew a knife from her mass of hair and drew it along either side of Lisa’s hips and her panties fell away.
She wanted to scream and run away, but when she was suddenly able to move her feet, she inexplicably moved toward the leader who receded before her. Sidestepping the small fire, which Lisa saw was comprised of burning bones, the woman led her around to the other side of it. There, hidden in the mist, was a long stone table. Still dancing against her will, Lisa turned to back against it and, placing her hands on its edge behind her, lithely pushed herself up onto the table, turning as she did so to lie along its length. She found that her arms and legs still moved in time to the silent music they all danced to and her body still writhed. To one side, a bit of the mist detached itself, resolving into the form of a large, grey, bearded man that floated over her, drawing inexorably closer until finally, he seemed to be suspended directly above her. His lips parted in a gloating grin as he descended toward her and she was horrified to feel her hips begin to piston in an age-old rhythm. As his arms enfolded her, she felt an infinite series of pinpricks everywhere he touched her until, growing in intensity, she suddenly knew how the others had gotten their tattoos. She screamed, still moving in time to the silent dance, and felt completely lost in her inability to struggle against him. It wasn’t simply the physical violation that caused her to scream, nor was it the pain of the tattooing; but rather, the mental and psychic violation that accompanied both.
* * *
As they walked, Petra, having drawn even with Brian, asked, "Where did you get the staff?"
Glancing at the length of wood, Brian discerned that what he had thought to be rough bark was instead, a delicate series of carved figures along its length. He saw the stylized representations of gryphons, wyverns, cockatrice and sphinxes incised into the wood and shrugged lightly, saying, "I found it as soon as we got here."
Placing her hand on his arm to stop him as he swung it in time to his steps, she drew him to a stop and ran her fingers along its length, tracing the carvings.
"It is very old. And not a part of this place; nothing grows here; this was brought here for some purpose. Keep it with you; it is both a tool and a weapon. We may need its power."
Grunting, he asked, "How do we use it? I mean, I know how to hit someone with it, but if it has some power here; there must be a prescribed way to use it."
Gently, she took it from him and examined the carved surface closely. She found a series of black points among the carved figures that closely approximated the location of a person’s fingertips if they held the staff near its end to point it at something or someone. Finding that her hand was too small to comfortably grip the staff and keep her fingertips on the colored spots, she guided his hand and saw that it was necessary for him to stretch his index finger to cover the logical point for it to rest. When she guided his finger to the point, a lambent, blue light shot from the other end of the staff and coalesced into a bright ball of light fifty feet away. The light burned away the mist and illuminated the surrounding area, an effect that never dimmed during the several minutes they cautiously waited to see what would happen.
Walking slowly to the cleared space, Petra extended one hand into it and turned to smile at Brian before stepping fully into it.
Her smile seemed to grow brighter as she said, "It’s warm! And dry! Come see!"
Brian was struck again with the physical similarity she bore to Lisa and walked forward, keeping his eyes on the woman. As he drew closer to her, she turned to grin at him as she threw her arms out and stood with her head thrown back as though to absorb the heat in the sphere of light. As she grinned at him, he noticed for the first time the barely occluded tooth in the bottom right side of her mouth; something that Lisa had always been self-conscious about, and was stunned to see that one of her eyes had inexplicably turned grey. He was sure that he would have noticed the eye color before if this place of mists and dimness had possessed any illumination to speak of. Moving forward quickly, he pinned her arms to her sides. She gaped at him for just a moment before she began to struggle against him but quieted when he shook her slightly.
As she stared watchfully up into his eyes, he asked, "Why is one of your eyes grey now? They were both black before. And why do you have teeth just like Lisa’s? Are you one of her doubles?"
Still staring at him, she gently disengaged his hand from one arm and lifted the tail of her sweatshirt, still damp from the mist, and scrubbed at her face with it for a few seconds. When she pulled the cloth away, he saw that the lines and supposed wrinkles in the skin of her face had been scrubbed away. The middle-aged woman he held in his arms was no older than his Lisa had been. She bent her head, cupping the eye that appeared black and the fingers came away with a dark spot on the end of one of them. Flicking it away, she stared at him defiantly, waiting for more questions.
Instead, he said, "You are. Why are you doing this? Why conceal yourself from me? Don’t you know that I love yo
u? Whichever double of Lisa’s that I encountered, I would love her; there is nothing else I can do."
Her face contorted in anger and loathing as she shouted, "I don’t want you! In every world, you cling like a leech! Why should I want you? You never leave me alone to live my life the way that I want!"
Stung, he let his hands loosen their hold on her and drop to his sides. His shoulders slumped as though he was defeated and the strength of her rejection struck him like a blow. Stepping back, he turned from her, picking up the staff from where he had unconsciously dropped it and moved to stand staring out into the dark mists. After some minutes, she tired of waiting for him to come back at her with questions and accusations and shrugged out of her backpack, letting it fall to the still damp stone. She sank tiredly onto the pack and waited for him to absorb this latest proof of the end of his favorite fairytale. Petra, as she had come to think of herself, felt sick and guilty and tired because of what she had said to him, and didn’t know why she should feel any of those things. Her life had become an incessant flight from one world to another in search of one where Brian didn’t exist; or existed as a weak-willed entity that could accept her as a person in and of herself, accountable to no one and unbound by the strictures of societal convention. In no world had she ever found such a creature in his form and in the worlds where he had died, the people thought so highly of him in Death that she was sickened by their near worship of him.
Just as she was beginning to feel so tired that she was afraid she would sleep if they didn’t move on, he turned away from the mists and approached her. His eyes were reddened by unshed tears and his face had set in grim lines. Squatting in front of her, he said, "Help me to find the Lisa that I came here with and you are free to go wherever you want."
She flared, "I’m free to do that without your permission!"
He didn’t flinch from the hate and contempt that fairly dripped from her voice, and said, "I’ll protect you from the other Brian if he comes here. Just help me find Lisa and we’ll go our separate ways if we can get out of here."
Her eyes went to the visible limit of the bright space the light had defined and she noted that the space was finally drawing in on itself. Deciding that they might as well begin moving again while they were still warm, she rose from her pack and bent to slide it back onto her shoulders as he also rose.
"Very well. I accept your terms."
Absently tapping the staff on the stone, he asked, "Where do we go from here? Do you have any idea?"
She oriented herself, noting the still damp scuff-marks on the stone within the globe of light and turned to face the opposite direction.
"That way. If she was bright enough to stay where she landed, we’ll find her."
Petra wasn’t at all sure they would find Lisa in this direction, but it was the best chance they had; this place of mist and darkness offered nothing else. As they stepped once more into the mist, she shivered at its clammy touch and zipped her jacket up to her neck, loathe to relinquish the warmth of the bright space. Brian’s steps beside her, keeping time to the tapping of the staff, oddly comforted her and she shook off the feeling of comradeship that came to bedevil her. She didn’t need him, had never needed him, would never need him. Then a little voice in the back of her mind came to whisper, "What if Brian finds you?"
* * *
As he wiped the kitchen knife off on Peggy’s blouse, Brian’s eyes surveyed the living room of the comfortable house. Lisa’s parents were accounted for; their bodies lay in the large bath tub of their overly large bathroom, their blood pooling under them. The conceited brother, Rob, was stuffed in the big, chest-type freezer in the utility room with a hole in his chest. An equally large hole could be found in his heart. Now that he had finished off the last of the two sisters, there was nothing else left to do but find Lisa herself; none of the others had known where she was. He was sure any one of them would have told him of her whereabouts if they had known; after all, there was only so much cutting of one’s flesh that people could withstand before they spilled their guts. Figuratively or literally, it didn’t make any difference to Brian.
None of Lisa’s friends had known where she was when he called them either and he didn’t really want to go around town killing all of them, anyway. If he did that, the cops would eventually get around to tracking him down. There was nothing else to do but drive around town and try to find her.
He cursed to himself as he thought of doing that; any number of people would recognize him and that wouldn’t do at all. His mother, or at least this world’s Brian’s mother, had found the bodies of her husband and son and it had been all over the radio and TV. If any cops stopped him, it would be difficult to explain why someone with his face was lying dead in the morgue. He’d already spent an uncomfortable hour sitting in a car down the street while the cops interviewed Lisa’s family. It was after they left that he had slipped through the back door.
Standing in the living room, he began to feel a little shaky and sat down on an ottoman to avoid falling. His gaze kept finding the faces of the two girls he’d murdered and his mind began superimposing the semblance of their living faces over the dead ones. He shook himself, rotating his head on his neck and trying to relax. This wouldn’t do at all. It was a little late in the game to begin feeling remorse for all the killing. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t killed Lisa’s family before; he’d lost count of the number of times he had done that in the other worlds. Maybe he had spent too much time in this world. He’d discovered several worlds back that if he spent too much time in one place, his memories and outlook would begin to change and he’d find himself thinking like the Brian that belonged in whatever world he was in.
Standing abruptly, he stalked upstairs to the brother’s bathroom and stripped off his clothes. A hot shower would do him good. Likewise a change of clothing; the brother was nearly his size. The pants would be a little loose but everything else would fit him nicely.
As he stepped into the shower, he suddenly thought of the one place where he was always able to find Lisa before she abandoned him. That pasture on the edge of town. He had his choice of vehicles to drive and it wasn’t far anyway.
He suddenly frowned. It was morning now and he’d have to wait until sunset.
* * *
Neither of their watches worked and that made it difficult to reckon the time they had spent in this place. While the crossings hadn’t damaged them, the prolonged exposure to this place and its energies had been too much for them. Brian and Petra had simply walked until they could walk no further and used the staff to create a space of light and warmth for them to sleep in for a while. The lack of food presented some drawbacks however. Water was no problem; they had only to wring their clothing over their mouths to get a drink but the lack of food was wearing them down.
They were presently nearing the end of their endurance and just a few steps ahead, she saw Brian stop and point the staff at a formation of tumbled stones and what appeared to be a dead tree that had once grown among them. The admonition to keep going was on her lips when he activated the staff’s power and a glowing sphere appeared around the stones and the dead tree.
Petra gaped as she watched the tree put forth first buds, then leaves and finally, fruit. It was covered with clusters of golden, apple-shaped globes that neither of them had ever seen. They stumbled forward until they stood in the warmth and noticed that this place, unlike the others they had utilized, held dirt underfoot instead of the ubiquitous stone, and grass sprouted from it as they watched. She stood before the tree, looking at the fruit and wondering if they dared try to eat any of them when a cry from Brian drew her attention to the center of the tumbled stones on the other side of the tree.
Moving toward him, she saw that several of the stones held dressed edges and surmised that they had once comprised at least part of the wall of a building. Brian knelt beside one of the stones and she squatted beside him, her hand going instinctively to his shoulder and she felt an almost electric thril
l run through her. Removing her hand, she remembered that such a sensation heralded the loss of her closely held memories, and thus, her sense of self. Despite whatever he thought he had found, she dug quickly into her pack and withdrew a vial of her potion. It held only a few more doses and she lifted it, swallowing quickly, shuddering at the taste and repressing the urge to retch as it hit her empty stomach.
When she felt more normal, she looked to what held Brian’s attention and gasped at the sight of a skeleton that still held shreds of tissue. Then, she gasped again; for she saw that the muscle tissue was growing upon the bones and in mere minutes, a man lay before them. The hair on his head and body extruded itself from his skin until his hair hung to his shoulders and a full beard reached his chest. The hair was dark, almost red and the skin of the man was pale, but held a slight, rosy hue, like that of a pearl. Strong but full lips parted as he gave a great gasp and his eyes flew open, revealing them to be dark as night. His hands darted out to catch each of them by a wrist and they both felt their wills taken from them as they were held unmoving in place for some minutes. The man held almost as still as Death, with only his chest moving to show that he was indeed alive, until finally, he released them and they felt their volition return to them.
Finding his voice, Brian was the first to speak. "What did you do?"
The man’s voice came forth in rich, full tones. "I must apologize. I needed to communicate with you and had no knowledge of your language. It was necessary to delve into your minds for the knowledge I needed. There will be no lasting effects, I assure you. I also saw what you have each endured in this place of Sorrow. You may eat the fruit of this tree without any fear of poisons. This was the Tree of Life and its fruit will sustain you for many days. You may take some of it with you and though it will wither and rot when the effects of the Staff of the Ring are expended; you have only to cast its remains before you when you use the Staff and the fruit will be regenerated, for the Staff was cut from the Living Tree when it shaded a small stream in one of the worlds. Thus, you can carry enough of the fruit to last you many days. And, the sustenance you gain from the fruit is such that after eating one, you will feel as though you had eaten a feast. In a short time, you will regain the mass and muscle that this journey has cost you."
It Happens Every Day Page 7