Bigfootloose and Finn Fancy Free

by Randy Henderson

  Pete blushed. “Thanks,” he said, “but I was just protecting my brother.”

  “All the same,” the faun replied, and with a nod, strolled off.

  “Seems you made some friends,” I said, smiling. My smile faded. “Listen, I’m taking the fairy roads back. I want you guys to go ahead and drive home without me.”

  They both stood, and made all the same arguments Silene, Alynon, and my own fears had made. And when it became clear neither of them could talk me out of my plan, they exchanged a look that I felt pretty sure was them considering dragging me off by force. But in the end, we all exchanged hugs and said farewell.

  As I hugged Pete, I said, “I love you, man.” I hugged him tighter. “I’m glad you’re my brother. Really.”

  “I love you, too, Brother,” Petey said, and squeezed back, nearly cracking my already-bruised ribs.

  We said farewell, and they headed for the car, and home.

  Farquhar approached and nodded his antlered head in the direction of the forest. “Come, I will lead you to the nearest Way if you are still determined to walk it.”

  “Yep. Still determined.”

  The entrance to the fairy paths was well-concealed, even from me. Farquhar pointed out its location on a rock face between two trees. But when I tried to actually approach it on my own it was like trying to press two opposing magnets together: in whatever way reality was twisted around the paths, it bent normal perception and physics around it.

  In the end, Farquhar had to put his hands on my shoulder and walk me into it.

  One second we were in the forest, the next we were being squeezed like the last bit of toothpaste along a tube of warped color and sound. I might have found it hard to keep my balance if I’d been walking on a regular path, what with the world spinning around me and all, but since the path itself quickly decided to join in on the prank against my senses, there was little sense in worrying.

  It reminded me of the unshaped wilds of the Other Realm, as seen through a warped lens. I had no idea how Farquhar navigated the chaos.

  And as in the Other Realm, I felt my body losing its shape, stretching and bending and changing to match the reality around it. A second head began to grow out of my shoulder, expanding like a balloon, the mouth gasping like a fish desperate for a cold refreshing Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster. I recognized the features. Alynon. Was this my unconscious fears, or his spirit finding form in this between space?

  I did my best to exert my will over my perceptions and my own existence. I had spent twenty-five years in the Other Realm. More than most arcana, I had been prepared for this, trained for this. I was Finn Gramaraye, human, arcana, necromancer, and I only had one head, damn it.

  Alynon’s head deflated and reformed into a frog-like lump that glared up at me with bubble eyes. And I felt as though my own head spun now. If Farquhar had not pulled me along, I might have just whirled away into the void.

  Had I made a mistake? Would I emerge sane and whole enough that Dawn would even recognize me, let alone appreciate that I’d made it to her show?

  Dawn. I focused on her, and the memory of making love to her floated to the surface.

  When I had tried to think of the “feel” and shape of my own skin, my own limbs, it had been intellectual, an attempt to enforce my self-concept. But in remembering Dawn’s touch I felt my skin where her hand and lips had brushed. In remembering her fingers digging into my back, into my butt cheeks, I felt them. I remembered my body.

  The frog head melted away, leaving only my shoulder, the shoulder where Dawn had lightly bit me, teasing me with her teeth.

  And then Farquhar gave me a hard pull, and I tumbled out into the night air.

  I was clothed again. Those clothes were still damp and filthy, but at least I wasn’t naked. Which was especially good since we’d emerged from a hillside in Fort Worden, not far from the campground.

  I patted myself all over, craning my neck to make sure I had all my important bits and nothing extra.

  And I seemed sane, though I supposed if I weren’t I’d be the last to know.

  “Woo hoo!” I shouted.

  Farquhar looked at me with a genuine expression of surprise. “You are well, Finn Gramaraye?”

  “Yes. Wow. Now that was one major slime-related psychokinetic event!”

  *You jerk!* Alynon said. *You almost got us mutated!*

  And I slapped myself. Hard.

  Not by choice.

  “Ow!” I blinked in surprise. “What—”

  *Holy Bright! That was me! I did that!*

  No. Oh no—

  *Let me try again!* My hand twitched, as if with a muscle spasm, but did not move. *Fa, I—oh, I feel … weak. I—* His voice faded out.

  Alynon? I projected. But there was no response. “Alynon?” I asked out loud, just in case.

  *Here,* he responded, though I could barely hear his voice. *I just feel … sleepy.* His voice faded out again.

  Farquhar’s eyes narrowed. “You are sure all is well?”

  I sighed. “That’s a good question. But I’m not crazy. Or dying.” I was, however, at least a thirty-minute walk away from Dawn’s show, and probably much longer given my injured leg. “Not to sound ungrateful or anything, but, uh, could you get me closer to town?”

  “Not by the Ways,” Farquhar responded. “But there may be another means.” He tilted back his head, and made a strange, bleating sound into the night air.

  I didn’t question, I focused instead on trying to swipe as much of the dirt from my clothes and skin as I could. A few minutes later, a two hundred pound white-tailed buck bounded out of the forest and up to Farquhar, tilting his head in a bow. His antlers were lopsided, all of the branches on one side, the other side a single simple tine.

  I thanked Farquhar, and soon was bounding along the beach on the back of the buck.

  While the ride was much appreciated, I can’t say as I’d recommend it. The buck’s spine was sharp, painfully so, and his gait bounding. By the time we neared the marina in town, I seriously questioned my ability to have children in the future. And I was more than a little worried about ticks.

  A young couple at the marina’s RV park took pictures of me arriving and dismounting. I waved. At least I wasn’t riding a centaur or anything the ARC’s infomancers would have to scrub from the interwebs and possibly people’s memories.

  I limped quick as I could to the Undertown. As I hopped down the stairs, I could hear Dawn’s voice and a guitar humming from below.

  I’d made it, at least for most of it.

  The place was packed. I stayed near the back of the cafe/bar, but it was a small enough space that Dawn still easily spotted me.

  Her smile made every risk and pain I’d endured to get there worth it.

  She looked beautiful, radiant. She’d traded her normal T-shirt and hoodie for a satiny green dress with brown lacy patterns down the sides, and her violet hair sparkled in the stage lights.

  Amber played the guitar well enough, but I could tell Dawn felt exposed and uncertain of what to do with her hands at times. Still, she sang as perfectly as I’d ever heard her.

  After she sang her last song, and climbed down from the stage to loud applause, she thanked her way through the crowd to me.

  She took in my stained, rumpled clothes, and my face that felt like it was made of one-hundred-percent real organic bruise.

  “So,” she said. “I’m guessing Heather’s drug didn’t solve everything, and more wackiness ensued? What’s tomorrow’s quest, steal the Spear of Destiny from the top of the Space Needle?”

  “No more quests,” I said, wincing as the movement made my swollen lip hurt. “It’s all done. For real. You were amazing. I think this was the best show you’ve done, singing-wise.”

  “I felt it,” she said, grinning. “I was really in the flow. It was … religious.” She glanced back in the direction of the stage. “And Sheila wants to talk to me.”

  “Go! Talk to her! This is your big break!” I sa
id, squeezing her hand. “I’m so happy for you. How about I go home, clean up real quick while you two are talking, and come back for the after party?”

  Dawn shook her head, but with a loving smile. “No. You look like crap. And I know you don’t like to hang out with my friends, anyway. I’ll be fine. You go home and rest up. And I’ll come by later to kiss all your boo-boos.” She waggled her eyebrows at me, then leaned in and said softly into my ear, “Thank you, Finn, for being here. It made a difference. I love you.” She kissed my cheek.

  Then she turned without waiting for my reply and walked back into the crowd.

  And in that moment, whatever residual adrenaline or sheer willpower had kept me going ran out, and I could feel every single one of my cuts and bruises.

  Sleep sounded like a fine idea. Perhaps I’d take the next week off. In bed.

  With Dawn.

  Epilogue

  I watched the morning fog swirling and pooling in the low bowl-like areas that dotted Evergreen Cemetery. Dark, moss-covered crosses, headstones, and statues stood worn and cracked by time and weather and the occasional teenage idiot. They rose out of the mist like promises, and stood upon the grassy hilltops like judgments. I glanced back occasionally to the largest and most famous of the cemetery’s crypts, a large stone-gray ziggurat called the Rucker Tomb. My family and Vee had already entered the ARC Crypt hidden beneath it for the interment of Vee’s brother, Zeke. Three months the ARC had held his body as they investigated the aftermath of Grayson’s plot and our actions in response, but at last he was being interred with honor. I looked again at the text from Dawn, short and to the point: I’ll meet you at Evergreen. The only words I’d had from her since her show last night.

  “Gramaraye,” a munchkin voice declared. I turned to find Priapus marching toward me. He held out a folded piece of parchment. “For you.”

  “Perfect timing. Thank you, Priapus.” I took the parchment. “Any progress on finding out who destroyed your records?”

  “Got my suspicions,” he said. “And I ain’t liking where it’s leading. But if I find out something worth something, don’t worry, I’ll let ya know.”

  “Uh huh. And I’m sure you’ll also let me know how much it’ll cost for you to share the info, right?”

  “Ha!” Priapus said. “Seems like you’re finally wising up, kid. Watch your back.” He turned, and quickly disappeared back into the mist.

  “Beautiful morning,” Heather said behind me.

  I jumped, and turned to find her standing behind me. At least she wasn’t pointing a squirt gun at me.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I asked. I doubted she’d come to turn herself in to the enforcers who were present for Zeke’s interment, and that would be in bad taste anyway, given her involvement with his death.

  “I came to say good-bye. At least for a while,” she replied. “I tried to catch you at home, but you’d already left.”

  There was something different about her. She looked … healthy. Almost younger.

  “You look better,” I said. “Trade some of that mana drug of yours for a health potion?”

  Heather sighed. “No. I had Garl bite me.”

  *Damn,* Alynon said. *She could have asked me to bite her.*

  “What?” I was certain I’d heard her wrong.

  “I’ve decided to join the brightbloods. I figured out the cure for the mana drug. You didn’t tell me Silene had brightlilies; I thought they were extinct.”

  “It, uh, sorry?”

  “We’re spreading the word on how to make the cure, along with sharing the brightlily seeds. And I thought I might be able to help the brightbloods with their other problems, try to make up for what I did to them.”

  “You told them what you did?”

  “No. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t, either.”

  I frowned. “You could have helped them without becoming a brightblood yourself, you know.”

  “I couldn’t help anyone from exile,” she replied. “It was either a life in exile, or life as a brightblood pledged to the Silver. I’ll be protected from ARC retaliation—well, as much as any brightblood is. More importantly, I’ll have a second chance. A new life, literally.”

  I shook my head. “Well, you always wanted to get out from under the ARC. But I never thought you’d go this far.”

  “Me either,” she said, and rubbed at her arm. “But I was tired of running. I was out of options. And Silene’s cause seems like one worth fighting for. Besides, and don’t laugh, but I think I’ve always felt like I’d fit in with the brightbloods.”

  I laughed.

  “Hey!” she said, and playfully shook a fist at me.

  I waved my hand in apology. “Sorry. Well, I’m happy for you, I guess?” I said.

  The truth was, I had hoped that she would choose to help the brightbloods if confronted with the real effects of her drug. I’d hoped that the Heather I remembered, the young woman who wanted to not just break free of the ARC’s control but also to make the world a better place, that she was still there underneath all the bitterness and self-preservation.

  But becoming a waerbear?

  “Yeah yeah,” she said. “I’m sure you’re thrilled.”

  “What? No. I mean, I’m glad you’re going to help, sure, but—”

  “Uh huh. Whatever. I just wanted to say thank you. I think this is going to be a good thing.”

  “I hope so,” I said, then remembered why I was standing there. “Look, uh, Dawn’s supposed to be meeting me here, and—”

  “I know. She’s coming, I can smell her.” Heather smiled. “Something I’m still getting used to. Like I said, I just wanted to say good-bye, and thanks. And let you know you didn’t make a mistake, giving me a second chance.”

  “I’m glad, for both of us,” I said. “I hope I’ll see you around.”

  “Me too. Under better circumstances.” Heather turned and headed for the trees that surrounded the cemetery, disappearing back into the mists.

  Dawn appeared over the nearby hill a minute later, wearing black slacks and a jacket.

  I immediately moved to meet her, my leg stiff in its Ace bandage wrapping, and gave her a hug.

  “Hey,” I said. “I’m glad you could make it.”

  She moaned and put one hand to her head. “I feel like I drank All the Wine,” she replied.

  “Wow, a rock star for one day and you’re already becoming a stereotype,” I said.

  She punched me in the arm, gently at least this time. “Sit and spin, Ralph. Come on, let’s go say good-bye to the big guy.”

  We held hands and strolled up to The Rucker Tomb.

  *I just realized, I could slap her butt right now,* Alynon said.

  Do it, and I’ll play “We Didn’t Start the Fire” nonstop for the rest of the week.

  *Ha! I’ll just shut it off.*

  And pass out from the effort.

  *You say pass out, I say nap and come back ready to slap more butts!*

  Fine. I’ll sing it then.

  *I’ll hold your jaw closed.*

  This was going to get old. Real fast.

  The trip through the fairy path had obviously strengthened the bond between us, somehow. But I still preferred to think it was mostly my love for Dawn that had saved me from mutation and madness, not an annoying Fey spirit in my brain. Call me sentimental.

  We reached The Rucker Tomb. The gray ziggurat sat upon a raised concrete platform, and the front entrance was reached by stairs that passed between two man-sized stone pylons. I placed my persona ring against a pylon, and said, “Aperire Ostium Per Mea Ius Ex Necromantiae.”

  There was a moment’s pause, then a voice came from within the stone, “Phinaeus Gramaraye, you may enter.”

  The stone stairs receded from us, revealing a second set of stairs that led down into an underground passage. Dawn and I entered in silence, holding hands.

  We made our way along the passages, lined with the magically preserved bodies of dead arcana d
ressed in their favorite outfits and posed with items and artifacts that spoke to their magical gifts and personal interests. We finally reached the interment room where new bodies were displayed in a ceremony before being moved to their permanent spots. A stone-walled room about the size of a school gym, it had heavy oak tables spaced around the edge with various snack foods and drink options, and a dais at the far end on which Zeke’s display stood.

  Zekiel Wodenson stood smiling in his Miami Vice outfit of white jacket and slacks and blue T-shirt. His thinning blond hair had been shaved in a Mr. T–style mohawk, and his enforcer-style Fu Manchu moustache had been braided with silver beads, showing that the enforcers had decided to restore his enforcer status posthumously. In one hand he held a collapsing baton, and in the other what looked like a miniature armchair.

  A small crowd of arcana had gathered before the display: Reggie and several other enforcers; a number of men and women I didn’t recognize; and my family. Sammy, Fatima, and Mattie stood near a snack table. Pete and Vee stood before Zeke’s display, Vee accepting condolences and hearing the stories and jokes about Zeke as his life was celebrated. Father stood with Verna, apparently trying to explain something to her by demonstrating the difference between how a grape versus an olive rolled off of his nose. Only Mort was absent, being too ill, and ill-tempered, after Brianne’s exorcism.

  An ancient-looking man in a black suit, who I’d have taken even odds on whether he worked there or was simply an animated corpse, stepped up and offered us both cloth handkerchiefs. “People always cry at these things,” he said with a smile.

  “Thank you,” Dawn and I both replied.

  The old man nodded, and walked past us.

  Dawn started in Vee’s direction, pulling me along, but I let her hand go and said, “I need just a minute.”

  Dawn gave me a look that said she understood, then quickly walked away.

  I grabbed a piece of celery with peanut butter in order to appear busy.

  Reggie spotted me, and came over. My palms grew sweaty, but I reminded myself that if he or anyone had found out I’d performed dark necromancy, I’d already be in custody.

  *You should have destroyed Kaminari’s spirit,* Alynon said.