The First Story

by C Bradley Owens

  “He’s having a seizure,” one of the nurses, a sturdy-looking woman about the age of Mrs. Hensley, said and pushed her way toward the bedside.

  Matt stepped back and had to squeeze himself past the second nurse, a young man who looked barely older than John, and joined Mrs. Hensley at the foot of the bed.

  “Take the family out,” the first nurse instructed and the third nurse, a young woman who looked even younger than the young man, pushed them toward the door.

  The hall was quiet in comparison to the alarm-filled room, and Matt’s ears rang with disturbing echoes.

  Chapter 61

  Meanwhile, in the Cave

  The Puppeteer and the Angler jerked their hands away as the nearest boulder stopped shaking. They gasped for air.

  “What just happened?” The Puppeteer struggled to his feet.

  “We changed Creativity.” The Angler hurried to the mouth of the cave, closely followed by the Puppeteer.

  They looked out over the City. Buildings lay on their sides; others were crumpled to rubble. Fantastically enormous trees shot from the center of the City to touch the highest clouds.

  “What have we done?” The Angler covered his eyes and sobbed.

  “I just wanted the Woods back,” the Puppeteer whispered.

  “We can fix this.” The Angler shot back into the cave.

  “Wait!” The Puppeteer ran after him. “What if we make things worse?”

  “Worse than that?” The Angler pointed to the world outside the cave. He lowered his hand and then bowed his head. The First Story sat at his feet, a blank spot clearly disfiguring the image of the animal. “We erased a line.”

  “What does that mean?” The Puppeteer leaned over and looked at the stone.

  “The Origamist was always careful to just shift the lines, never erase them.”

  “Then, we put the line back.” The Puppeteer reached out to the stone, but the Angler grabbed his arm.

  “This is beyond us.” The Angler looked to the mouth of the cave. “We need help.”

  “We need the Second Story.” The Puppeteer picked up the First Story and followed the Angler to where they could see the remaining caves. “We might not have the power of change, but with both the First and Second stories, we will be able to control what we change, and, besides, this just got a lot easier.” He pointed to the relatively few caves dotting the mountain range.

  “The only things to survive our change would be the most powerful Elements of Creativity. That means the Second Story.”

  “Where should we start?” The Puppeteer stuffed the stone into the Angler’s slicker pocket and examined the caves. The Caves of Providence were no longer impossibly numerous; they were just numerous now. And the same problem that faced the Puppeteer before remained. The caves were identical.

  “I picked this cave because I thought I saw a glint inside, but there was nothing.” The Angler bent over the cliff and looked at every cave in sight. “This is impossible. There’s barely half the caves there were before, but the sun would go out before we searched them all.”

  The Puppeteer also looked up and down the cave-riddled rock wall. Where would I hide the Second Story? he thought. Which cave would offer the most protection? The top of the mountain was shrouded in fog and a long way up. That would be the most obvious place. The lowest cave would be the place most people would never think to look, but that would be a dangerous gamble to take. Shadows obscured some caves, but since the Gloaming had been dispelled there would be no way to count on the shadows.

  “The Gloaming,” the Puppeteer whispered.

  “Aye, I miss it too.” The Angler was scratching his beard. “But the Origamist insisted on having full days.”

  “Yes, but the ones who hid the Second Story here would have expected the shadows to remain consistent.” The Puppeteer scanned the caves. It was nearly sunset, just this side of the Gloaming. There were shadows, but none of them covered a… ”There!” The Puppeteer shot a finger toward a cave a little farther up the mountain and about a half mile away.

  The Angler did a quick survey of the position, using his nautical expertise to commit it to memory. “Good a place as any,” he said and began to scale the rock wall toward the next cave.

  The Puppeteer looked back at the ruins of the City. “I’ll set things right. I promise.” He crossed his heart and nodded forcefully. A brief image about his failed attempts to resurrect his father fluttered into his brain—about him sitting alone at the dinner table wondering what to do with the leftover stew—but he shook it free before following after the Angler.

  Chapter 62

  Matt slumped to the floor just outside the hospital room. Mrs. Hensley paced back and forth in front of the door. Other people hurried around them, some going past, most just fluttering on the periphery of his perception, and he was angered by their actions somehow. He didn’t understand the anger, but he felt it just the same.

  “He’s going to be fine,” Mrs. Hensley was saying as she paced. Matt looked up and was sorry for his accusations earlier.

  “The stories,” he whispered. “They aren’t powerful enough.” He shook his head and tried to have adult thoughts. He tried to pretend that the coma was nothing more than a medical condition, but there were thoughts deep inside, in the furthest parts of his very being, that told him differently. There was something more than just biology and medicine at play. He could feel it as absolutely as anything else in his world.

  “What?” Mrs. Hensley turned to him.

  “I need to connect with the other stories,” Matt said out loud and then regretted having done so. He watched Mrs. Hensley’s face turn from worried tension to angered confusion. The doctor’s arrival kept him from having to explain.

  “I’ll be right out when I can,” the doctor said as he pointed to Mrs. Hensley and entered the room. Mrs. Hensley turned away and walked to the very end of the hall where a window looked out over the parking garage. Matt could see her shoulders rise and fall with the sobs that he could hear plainly in the relative silence of the hospital.

  “Connection,” Matt repeated. “That’s what I need. That will make the stories more powerful. The First and Second joined, merged, greater than the sums of their parts.”

  He crossed his legs and straightened his back against the wall; he folded his hands in his lap; he closed his eyes and imagined his notebook. The stories floated around the caverns of his mind, and he dismissed them all in turn, preferring to focus on something new.

  Chapter 63

  Rally

  Flux was the first one to rise from the rubble. Amid the total destruction of the City, Flux brushed off the dust and began to awkwardly stumble out of the ruins. The sun was low, lower than it should be. It wasn’t the Gloaming, not exactly, but it was close, and it was no longer moving. A sound of rustling caused Flux to retreat to the shadows under half walls of barely standing buildings.

  “The City?” Flux touched the concrete wall, impossibly gray and very close to the Origamist’s house.

  The rubble shifted, and Frau Iver drifted free, followed by the Sister of Monsters and Baba Vedma.

  “What happened?” The Sister of Monsters helped Baba Vedma to her feet.

  “The world…” Baba Vedma’s voice was weak and filled with dust. “I think it condensed.”

  “Condensed?” The Sister of Monsters looked at the remains of the buildings all around her.

  “It shrunk.” Baba Vedma placed a hand on the nearest concrete remnant. “Someone shrunk it. This be the First Story again.”

  “It was the Angler, had to be.” Flux stepped from the shadows, hands raised high overhead.

  Frau Iver floated forward, angry swirls marring even the faint features of her face.

  “I mean no harm.” Flux adopted a defensive stance, palms toward Frau Iver, then back overhead. “I’m done with all of this. I want to help.”

  “Where’s the Toy Peddler?” The Sister of Monsters shifted debris around the area she thought he w
ould be.

  The others joined in, save for Flux, who stood back. The rubble slid and shifted, revealing a man’s hand clutching a small square of cloth.

  “It’s him!” The Sister of Monsters began digging in earnest.

  The others quickened their pace as well. Even Flux stepped forward and gingerly pushed chunks of concrete in helpful directions. Frau Iver paused, but just briefly, to give Flux a vague side-eye.

  “Oh.” Baba Vedma’s face became an illustration of surprise as the last bits of City were pushed away from the rather rotund prostrated man. “I remember the Toy Peddler being a bit…smaller.”

  “He’s been changed.” The Sister of Monsters struggled to turn over the unconscious man. The heavily bearded face suddenly came into view. “He’s been changed quite a bit.”

  “Well, he be breathin’ still yet.” Baba Vedma stood and turned toward Flux. “Breathing be enough for now. We’ll develop a diet and exercise plan later—and a shave. We need to be dealin’ with this first.” She pointed at Flux.

  “I meant what I said.” Flux stood defiantly in front of Baba Vedma. “I don’t want this, any of it. I just wanted to…be.”

  The Sister of Monsters brushed past Baba Vedma and looked up at Flux. “I promise, we will do everything we can to maintain your existence,” she said, nodding to Baba Vedma and Frau Iver. “Isn’t that right?”

  Frau Iver hissed, and ice crystals drifted from her expelled breath, but she nodded slowly.

  Baba Vedma screwed up her mouth. “Yeah, okay.” Then under her breath, “I guess we’re gonna be savin’ the whole world and one of the ones who tried to destroy it.”

  The Sister of Monsters turned back to Flux. “That is three members of the Council of Aspects promising to look out for you. We accept your offer of aid.”

  “Then,” Flux said, releasing a long-held breath, “we should probably get to the Caves of Providence as soon as possible.”

  “Why?” The Sister of Monsters knelt back down beside the Toy Peddler and brushed the dust off of his round face and cheery cheeks. He stirred but didn’t awaken. “What’s going on at the Caves?”

  “That’s where the Angler was heading.” Flux joined the Sister of Monsters at the Toy Peddler’s side. “I can change his state of consciousness if you would allow it.”

  “You’re an ally now.” The Sister of Monsters nodded toward the Toy Peddler. “We will accept whatever help you offer, and we will offer help in return.”

  Flux flashed a look of confusion and surprise before placing a trembling hand on the Toy Peddler’s chest. “I’m not used to such…”

  “Friendship!” Baba Vedma shouted from the side where she was poking through a pile of rubble with a long stick. “It be called friendship! You be a friend now; get used to it!”

  The Sister of Monsters gave a half smile. “Baba Vedma is an acquired taste. You’ll get used to her brand of friendship, eventually. Why was the Angler going to the Caves?”

  Flux began to breathe rhythmically. “He’s rebelling against the Origamist’s plan too. I think he wants to change things back.”

  “He’s not powerful enough to change things on his own.” The Sister of Monsters let out a relieved sigh as the Toy Peddler’s eyes fluttered open.

  Flux’s voice was tired but excited. “Even if he had the First Story?”

  Baba Vedma stepped closer. “He took the First Story?”

  “Yes.” Flux nodded. “And last I knew, he was heading to the Caves of Providence, at least, according to the glimpse I got from the Keeper of Ways’ map.”

  “And you think he wanted to change things back.” Baba Vedma pointed angrily to the rubble around them. “Evidence would point to the contrary. Looks like he be wantin’ to destroy everything.”

  “No.” the Sister of Monsters wiped errant strands of long white hair from the Toy Peddler’s brow. “This is not total destruction. This was an accident. This was an Aspect attempting to effect change with the First Story, but, not being an agent of change, failing miserably.”

  “Then we need to be gettin’ to him before he tries again,” Baba Vedma asserted.

  “What…” the Toy Peddler stirred and strained to rise. The Sister of Monsters and Flux helped him to sit upright. He looked down at his round belly. “What did I miss?”

  “Everythin’.” Baba Vedma reached past the others and grabbed the Toy Peddler by the hand and jerked him to his feet. “I hope ye got enough rest, because we have an apocalypse to avert.” She turned and stumbled over the rubble. She was nearly out of the damaged area when she shouted over her shoulder, “Let’s get a move on!”

  Flux turned to the Sister of Monsters. “I’ll get used to that?”

  “As much as any of us, I suppose.” The Sister of Monsters patted Flux on the arm and followed after Baba Vedma.

  Flux took a moment to look around one more time. A tumble of stones, a man’s hand through the debris, and the Keeper of Ways’ face appeared. Flux caught his eye. “You okay?”

  “You’ll never stop him; you know that, right?” The Keeper of Ways struggled to free himself.

  “I don’t know that at all.” Flux turned and followed the others. “I have friends now.”

  Chapter 64

  The door to John’s hospital room opened and the nurses streamed out, with the last one, the young man, telling Mrs. Hensley that the doctor wanted to see her. Soon, the door was closed again, and Matt struggled to his feet; his legs were stubbornly trying to keep him on the floor.

  “Is he okay?” Matt asked, grabbing the young man’s arm.

  The nurse turned and thought deeply about his answer. “He’s…” he began, the words faltering and the tone tentative at best. “Maybe you should ask the doctor.”

  Matt thought about all the medical dramas he had ever seen and was sure that the only reason this nurse wouldn’t share John’s status was that it was bad. The tears fell, his legs gave way, and he slumped back to the floor.

  “Hey, no,” the nurse bent with him. “It’s not like that. It’s… I can’t share medical information with non-family. It’s the law. It’s not bad, okay? It’s not good, but it’s not all bad either. Do you understand?”

  Matt tried to breathe, and the air came in stilted gulps, but he nodded and calmed down. The nurse patted him on the shoulder and stood up, holding out a hand. “I’d just like to stay here for a minute if that’s okay.” Matt wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

  “It’s fine. I’ll be here if you need me.”

  Matt watched the nurses go back to their normal duties. The young man was talking with an older woman, and Matt knew without a doubt what they were talking about. The door opened again, and Matt jumped to his feet.

  The doctor closed the door behind him and looked at Matt standing in front of him, obviously anxious. “He’s stable.” The doctor put his hand on his shoulder, and Matt wondered if there was some medical class that taught people the exact spot to put your hand to appear sympathetic.

  “Is he gonna be okay? Is he gonna wake up?”

  “Why don’t you go home and get some rest?” The doctor took Matt by the arm and began to lead him down the hall.

  Matt pulled his arm free. “No, I wanna stay.”

  “Matt—it’s Matt, right?” The doctor’s tone was different, more pointed, more authoritative. “Mrs. Hensley wants quiet for her son. She says that you need to go home.” Stunned, Matt allowed the doctor to lead him to the nurses’ station. “You can call your parents from here.”

  Matt picked up the phone, almost as if in a dream, and waited for his mother to answer. A short conversation later, and he was waiting in the little area just off from the nurses’ station. The chairs were remarkably similar to the first waiting room. A thought struck him, and he closed his eyes and listened. It was there, below the conversations between the staff and patients, right alongside the inane talk from the television and the mechanical buzz of hundreds of devices in dozens of rooms; it was underneath all of this noise—
a tick. Soft, unobtrusive, diminutive, but it was there just the same.

  Matt stood and examined the desk, the reception area, the waiting room. Then he moved on to a little room filled with vending machines, and there on the wall, just above the microwave and the coffee maker, was a clock. He slid down the front of the drink machine that faced the wall, tucked his legs underneath him, and stared at the seconds as they tick, tick, ticked by.

  Chapter 65

  One More Complication

  The Origamist picked his steps carefully as he navigated the new terrain caused by the near-complete collapse of his masterpiece. The map redrew itself so quickly and efficiently that he was no longer certain of a sure path. A massive tree barred the way he had chosen. He turned and encountered an exposed root nearly twenty feet tall. Going around the other side would take him miles out of his way, and he needed to get to the Caves if he would have any hope of salvaging his plans. The spaces between the bark on the root provided easy handholds; he began climbing.

  On top of the root, he took a moment to survey the destruction and condemn his own hubris. “I should have known not to trust the Angler.” His voice echoed off the wood of the trunk. He is perpetual endings, he thought. I should have realized how uncomfortable he would be with definite change.

  He mused all the way to the other side of the root. The trek over the ruined city became much faster the further from the gigantic trees he traveled. Soon, he was making his way through the tight paths of the Woods.

  Shadows haunted his every step, but one shadow, in particular, felt ominous beyond expression. He turned to face the shadow. “Where have you been?”

  The shadow fluttered, shifted and came close. The Dottore stood revealed.

  “I could have used your help.” The Origamist looked into the circular glass insets that covered the Dottore’s eyes. The long leather beak pointed accusingly at his own nose. “I’m just an Aspect. You’re one half of the Duality.”