by TL Rese
“I’m a kyrie,” she said.
“What?”
She sat next to me. For a moment, I wondered if she would transform into a magic beast or burst into fireworks, or some such thing. I realized I didn’t know the limits of reality anymore.
“A long time ago, people from my world discovered how to open gates into other worlds. Yours was one of them. We regard any world we find as a sacred space to be left as natural and untouched by us as possible. To tamper with another world would be sacrilege, like building a skyscraper in the middle of Yosemite. For hundreds of years, the only ones who traveled to other worlds were those who made the gates – the hhyloutouhehparra.” The word was airy, the last syllable rolling like a curl of wind. I didn’t know the voice could make such a sound.
“What?” My own word seemed coarse in comparison.
“hhyloutouhehparra.” It was so soothing on the ear. “The scientists, the philosophers. At first, they were the only ones who had the means, and the only ones who dared. They explored the worlds, writing descriptions of them, sometimes bringing back small specimens. Over the centuries, travels to new worlds ceased to be a novelty; my people grew accustomed to the idea and it became mundane.”
She paused. In the quiet, I heard a car go by outside the window. “So you’re a philosopher,” I said. “A traveler?”
“No, you see…” She searched for the words. “In my world, we have schools – schools of many specialties, including knighthood. I graduated from Kyrion, the highest of knight schools, so I am a kyrie.”
Sitting next to me, she looked so real. I wondered if dreams could appear so real.
“I’ll show you.” She reached into her pocket. When she opened her fist, I saw, sitting in the middle of her palm, what resembled a soap bubble. It seemed made of glass, with a delicate shine.
When I poked it, it gave in to the pressure of my finger, its surface bowing. “What is it?”
“A shield,” she said. “It can be difficult to see in certain light. That’s why you didn’t see it when you were inside of it.” She tossed the bubble to me.
I tried reflexively to catch it, and the moment I did, my hand pressed against an icy film. I was surrounded once more by that sleek texture, cold and delicate.
“It can be impenetrable,” she said. I saw that it was sitting small and innocent in the palm of her hand again. “That’s why you didn’t die when that man shot you. I’d thrown it over you in the parking lot.”
Tentatively, I picked the shield up between my thumb and forefinger, holding it to the light overhead. The light shown through it, while its own white light curved over its clear surface. I tossed the shield to her, but instead of opening the shield bounced off her and rolled onto the floor.
Audrey laughed and pocketed the shield. “You have to learn how to wield it. So, that’s my shield. And this is my sword.” She raised her arm back, as though she were trying to touch her shoulder blade. In a flash of light, she drew out a silver line, slender as a needle.
She laid it across my desk. Cold and even, the metallic line extended over my desktop. Like the shield, it had its own light that gleamed across its length. Its hilt was a flourish of lines, like arcs of ice. The sword was majestic in its simplicity, terrific in its beauty. In its presence, everything in my room seemed to change – to dwarf and shrivel, exposing an ugliness I’d never seen before, their sickliness serving only to glorify the slender blade lying on the desk.
Audrey took off her jacket and turned around. Behind her shoulder was the blade’s sheath, only about the size of a pen. It was made of twisting white bands. At the tip of the sheath, the patterns entwined to form a tiny circled engraving of a long-legged bird, splendidly plumed in tongues of flame. I wouldn’t have noticed it if I hadn’t been examining it so closely.
“That’s an eira,” Audrey said, when she looked over her shoulder and saw my gaze. “They’re birds from my world. They’ve become the symbol for a great knight, the emblem of Kyrion. The circle around it represents the eternity of the warrior and her eternal commitment to the values of knighthood.”
She picked up the blade, handling it with ease, like a virtuoso and her instrument. She reached back, sheathing her sword. The sword and sheath vanished, and she stood in the middle of the room, looking like the ordinary girl who sits a few seats away in lecture. “We call it a shadow blade, a night blade, because when a knight wears it sheathed, it disappears as things do in the shadows or in the night. It gives us the advantage of surprise. Surprise can be a great ally.”
I studied her. I felt strange, like a dreamer who couldn’t wake up. “So you’re a knight from another world. What are you doing here? Why do you sit in astro lecture every week? Why were you standing outside of the music building?”
“I was waiting for a messenger,” she said impatiently. “Sometimes there are messages from my world. And sitting in classes helps me to understand your world.”
“That still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.”
“You are full of questions.” She grabbed my wrist before I could move.
Everything I saw disappeared. My vision filled with a secluded wood, the trees rising in the midst of autumn.
The white boughs were mostly bare; leaves of yellow grew in clusters, barely clothing the trees, falling in a steady rain into a blanket of gold on the earth. Shafts of sunlight illuminated the forest, stretching to the ground and extending the shadows. A stream wound through the golden scenery, trickling along a path of rocks. Wind blew against my skin, the chill air pressing against my body, filling me with the scent of earth.
I heard myself scream, shock taking me. My voice echoed into the autumn scene before the woods disappeared, and once again I saw my room – the desk, the swimming posters, the dresser, the bed – as if nothing had changed. Audrey stood in front of me, looking irritated. My breath was rasping hard in my ears.
“Would you trust me?” she said. “Why are you so afraid of what you’re unused to?” When I didn’t reply, she took my wrist again. But this time, nothing happened. She led me to the bed and said, “Here, sit down.” I did as I was told. “People from my world, we have an ability. Instead of telling you with words, I can transfer my thoughts directly to you. We call it the touch.”
I thought of the autumn forest, of the sword and the shield. I wondered if I was insane, but I wanted to see more.
“Sure,” I said nervously. “I trust you.” I was aware of the touch of her hand, still on my wrist.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
“I’m ready.”
Chapter 5