The First Story

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The First Story Page 21

by C Bradley Owens


  The ship darted around one final building, the Colonial Capital Tower, the largest building ever constructed by humans, so large that it touched the edges of the atmosphere, so very impressive and so completely constrictive. Then the ship followed Abend’s course, easily avoiding the patrols and the planetary barrier. Soon, there was nothing surrounding Abend, save the freedom he had longed for.

  Chapter 78

  A New Beginning

  “I understand.” Baba Vedma’s voice was softer than any in attendance had ever known it to be. She stepped up to the scaling table; the rest of the Council flanked her like a gaggle of geese following their leader. She turned her palms to the sky and held them toward the Origamist. He took the slip of parchment in his hand and carefully, respectfully placed it in hers. The Angler stepped forward, offering the stone for the other hand.

  “We do this carefully.” Baba Vedma placed the stone and the parchment next to each other on top of the map on the scaling table. “And we only make the necessary changes. We must all be in agreement.”

  “All of the Council, you mean?” The Sister of Monsters’ question was filled with worry.

  “All of us.” Baba Vedma flourished her hand, waving it along the length of the boat, taking in the Council and the other Aspects and pointing a finger when it reached Abend and Flux.

  “Them?” The Puppeteer’s wooden jaw clanked loudly. “You said they were too young. You said we couldn’t allow—”

  “I know what I said.” There was an electric fire in Baba Vedma’s voice that demanded respect. “T’was wrong.” Her aged eyes frightened Abend and Flux but included them nonetheless. “We be not able to remake the world back to the way it was. T’would be madness to ignore everything that has happened, that be happening. From this moment on, Creativity must grow toward Equality.”

  “A new region?” The Keeper of Ways pointed to the map, which was rapidly growing. Large open spaces appeared on the borders that now filled the scaling table and would soon spill over the edges.

  “How will we manage all of this…newness?” The Sister of Monsters watched the map expand.

  “We will do it together.” The Toy Peddler nodded.

  “All of us, together,” Baba Vedma corrected and reached out her hands. The others gathered around, taking hand in hand, forming a circle larger than any they had ever thought to create. And still, it was not too much. They each felt it. There was always room for one more Aspect, always one more.

  Chapter 79

  One More

  Mary fluffed her hair; it fell flat. She fluffed it again and quickly pumped styling gel onto the strands.

  “What the…?” She looked at the bottle. “Gel? Where’s the hairspray…the… Really?”

  Another quick shower and another twenty minutes with the dryer, she tried again. Fluff, flat, fluff, spray, less flat, still pretty flat.

  “It’ll have to do.”

  She walked into the smoke cloud that filled her kitchen.

  “No, no, no.” She hurried to the oven and popped the door open. More smoke, even though she would have believed that was impossible. She reached into the oven, screamed at the burned fingertips, grabbed the oven mitts, and tried again.

  The roast was completely, or very nearly, black. She tossed the entire pan into the sink and stood with the oven mitt pressed hard over her mouth and let out a muffled scream.

  “Okay, plan B.” She opened the windows and let the smoke drift out into the already too polluted air of the city, using the mitts to hasten the smoke’s release.

  She flung open the fridge door and took a quick inventory: ketchup, mayo, a jar of olives, week-old Chinese takeout, a bottle of white wine, the end.

  “Okay, plan C.” She took out the chilled bottle of wine. She twisted off the cap and turned the bottle up, then immediately regretted the decision, grimaced, and tensed every muscle as the burn continued down her throat and into her stomach. “That’s strong wine. Or old. It could be old wine.”

  She sat at the kitchen table. “No food, flat hair, a little lit…” She took another, much smaller, swig. “Sounds like the perfect third date.”

  She slipped the wine bottle back into the fridge, sniffed her now smoky dress, sat on the couch, fluffed her hair once more and waited for a minute; then she shot up, hurried to her bedroom, ripped off her smelly dress, and fumbled through the closet for a replacement. A nice, clean blue number she had bought for a friend’s wedding and never worn because her friend had run away with the caterer would be fine. She dressed and checked her hair, which was a little caked with sweat and smelled like smoke too.

  She took hold of her hair, pulled every strand back into a nice, neat—maybe a little stern—ponytail, and stood in front of the mirror.

  “I look like a librarian,” she thought out loud and then shrugged and took her glasses from the dresser. “Might as well go with it.”

  Time passed slowly then. He was supposed to arrive a six. It was now six fifteen. Six thirty.

  “He’s not coming.” She sighed, disappointed, a little angry, and more than a little relieved.

  The doorbell rang.

  “Yep, that’s about right.” She rose, smoothed her dress, touched her incredibly firm hair, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

  “I am so sorry I’m late.” Travis stood there, looking penitent and sweet. She wanted to be angry, maybe milk it a bit, but the flowers he was holding out were a nice touch.

  “No problem.” Mary took the flowers and pretended to smell them but really sniffed the air. Still smoky.

  “Is something burning?” Travis asked.

  “Just dinner.” Mary opened the door and motioned for him to come inside.

  “Is it because I’m late?”

  Mary was tempted to say yes but couldn’t bring herself to do it. “No, it’s because I have flat hair. You want a drink? I have really bad wine.”

  A confused look and a nod later, Travis and Mary sat on the sofa, each with a glass of wine.

  “You can take off your coat, you know,” Mary said after a long draught, which was no longer that burn-y. “And since when do you wear a hat?” She patted the top of his head, wrapped in a knit cap.

  “About that,” Travis said, slipping out of his jacket and turning to directly face her. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  Aww, man, Mary thought. Here it comes. He’s married, or gay, or both. I knew it. She held up one finger in front of his face. “Hold that thought.” She drained her glass and refilled it, took another drink, and nodded. “All right. Go for it.”

  “This is our third date,” Travis said. “I wanted it to be, you know, special. So I went to get a haircut.”

  Mary waited, but Travis just sat and stared. “A bad haircut?” Her eyes were wide. “That’s it? Phhfft, that’s nothing. I turned the roast to charcoal, probably ruined my best dress, and am currently wearing a librarian costume—and not the sexy kind, the ‘your book is late, and you owe me a dollar’ kind.” She took another drink. “And I might be a little drunk.”

  “It’s more than a bad haircut.” Travis flattened his hand on top of his hand and pulled the cap further down. “I went to the barber college to save some money. They had this new student stylist, right? First day on the floor, and I’m thinking, no problem, I just want a trim. Any stylist, even one who just started, can do a trim, right? So, when they told me they had a new stylist, I said that was fine. I got in the chair, and the stylist was really nervous, right? She stabbed me with the scissors immediately. I started bleeding, and she panicked.”

  “Okay, so, what did she do then? Did she cut your ear off?” Mary leaned close and tried to see up inside the cap.

  “No, not that bad, but after the haircut, another stylist had to shave my head, but that’s not all.”

  “What? Worse than bald? What’s worse than bald? Bald is the absolute worst result in a haircut. But no worries. I don’t mind bald.”

  “Just…well, just remember thi
s is only temporary. The doctor said—”

  “Doctor? Okay, now you’re worrying me. What did they do to you?” She strained her neck and turned her head, trying to see under the cap.

  Travis took a deep breath and a long drink of his wine and slipped off the cap. Mary’s eyes strained from the effort of growing so large, her head tilted to the side, unbidden, her mouth pursed, and she held her breath.

  “They wanted to treat me, y’know, extra special after the screw-up, so they gave me a free scalp massage after they shaved my head. They put some oil or something on my head, and the doctor said I must be allergic. Say something,” Travis pleaded as he touched his bald head, his angry-red- and vibrant-pink-splotched bald head.

  “The oil turned your skin red?”

  “Yes, and with lots of little bumps—the pink parts are where I rubbed the cream the doctor gave me. He said it should go away in about a week. But until then, I have a bright red, bumpy scalp.” Travis put his hand on his head and absentmindedly scratched.

  Mary stared at the colors on Travis’s scalp. She looked at the deep reds, the light pinks, all the ones in between, and the bumps that looked like what she imagined the plague must have looked like. The plague? Her mind had gone to the plague. The freaking Bubonic plague, the Black Death. It was only an allergic reaction, and she thought of the plague. It was ridiculous, the whole thing. The burned dinner, the ruined dress, the plague head—all of it, ridiculous. The laughter was uncontrollable. She hawed and guffawed and snorted until the light from the hallway broke through.

  “Oh, man.” She forced herself to stop laughing, barely, and hurried into the hall. “Travis, wait! Come back. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh.”

  “Why not?” Travis pulled his cap down over his ears. “I look like a clown.”

  “A diseased clown.” Mary snickered. “Sorry. Sorry. It’s too soon for a plague joke. I see that now.”

  “A what joke?” Travis asked, his surprise apparent and troubled.

  “Nothing. Truly nothing. Come back inside. I’ll order pizza.”

  Travis shuffled from one foot to the next, wringing his hands in front of his chest.

  “Y’know, we just both of us put too much pressure on this date. It’s the third date. So what? That really doesn’t have to mean anything.”

  “We were trying too hard.” Travis looked up from under the tightly pulled cap.

  “So, we need to try less and just have fun.” Mary held out her hand as an invitation. “Oh!” she suddenly exclaimed. “And I have vodka in the freezer.”

  “Sold.” Travis came back slowly and sat on the sofa. Mary sat across from him, trying desperately not to giggle.

  “This is good,” she finally said after a long silence.

  “Good? What could possibly be good about this,” Travis pointed to his head.

  “Well, it shows you care.” Mary smiled and leaned over and kissed the top of Travis’s head.

  After a call and a delivery, the two ate pizza, chatted, drank more wine and vodka, and made plans for their fourth date.

  Chapter 80

  A Place for All

  “It’s too much newness.” The Growl in the Night hissed as he sat in front of his cave, the Chittering Underground perched next to him.

  “You always say that,” the Chittering Underground cooed and looked out over the land. She saw the City in the distance, beyond the Gloaming Woods, between the Listing Sea and the Restive Plains.

  “But so many new lands.” The Growl in the Night swiped his paw across his field of vision. “And these are just the ones we can see from here. Creativity has never been this big.”

  “Yes, isn’t it exciting?”

  The Growl in the Night sighed, a low rumbling mixed with weariness. “Fine, we have a new reality, but can they maintain it?”

  “I suppose we’ll see.” The Chittering Underground began her trek back to her burrow by stepping off the cliff and clinging to the crags as she walked straight down.

  “But what if they can’t?” The Growl in the Night leaped to the next ledge, just below the Chittering Underground.

  “Then, we will step in.”

  “We should have stepped in this time.” The Growl in the Night watched the Chittering Underground slowly stroll down the cliffside.

  “Our time in control has passed, you know that.”

  The Growl in the Night huffed and leaped back up to his own cave. He paused at the mouth to look once more at the City. “We shall see about that.” He slipped easily into the dark interior, allowing a menacing growl to escape into the new world.

  Far below, the Chittering Underground bounded off the cliff and skittered happily toward her home. The bright day was warm, and the breeze was pleasant. She watched her children scurry to and fro, happily, energetically, passionately productive. Then a cry, primal and visceral, began to build in the deepest part of her. She felt it rise, growing more painful with each passing second until it shot through her very being. The death throes of so many of her children, joined together in their final moments of agony, attacked her as if her heart had been pierced with a thousand swords. She whirled in place and faced toward what she knew was the City.

  Her children, the ones who had not just died, gathered around each of her legs, huddled against the fear. Three of her eyes wept, but the others flashed with righteous anger. She turned those eyes toward the cliffs. “Maybe you are correct, Growl in the Night.”

  “Maybe.” The echo came back quickly from the darkness of the cave.

  Chapter 81

  The Passenger

  Honeysuckle hid around the curves of the road. The car traveled, windows wide open amid the dew-tainted air—and then a hit of honeysuckle. The fragrant, delicate perfume of the mountains slapped the passenger and then retreated behind the damp wind. The car traveled on.

  Lulled in and out of awareness, this passenger watched, half-eyed, as the world whirled by, a blurred facsimile of life behind glass. His eyes focused and then didn’t; trees and mountains became distinct and then not. The world kept moving, ever moving, never stopping, never firm.

  The passenger turned inward, toward what should have been the driver, and marveled at the sheer terror of his current circumstance. A man, more creature than human, with a bird nose that smelled of lavender, steered the vehicle.

  “No need for fear,” the Dottore said, his voice muffled by his mask.

  “But you are death,” the passenger said.

  “True, but that doesn’t necessarily have to be bad.” The Dottore spared a hand to lift his mask. His gentle blond curls fell softly on his porcelain forehead; his clear blue eyes turned compassionately toward the passenger.

  A quiet calm encompassed the passenger. He no longer felt terror. He sighed, and all of the tension left his body. He settled in and watched the scenery flow by as a whiff of honeysuckle sped him on his way.

  Chapter 82

  A Walk through the Forest

  Droll Mary trippingly tripped through the world. Her gown flowed in every direction, revealing her undergarments with every step. Her hair neatly whipped in the wind, covering her face and sticking in her mouth. Her voice cracked and screeched an early morning tune as she tried desperately to stay upright. On the ground, after she failed to see a particularly springy sapling, her tune began a dream.

  “Do you mind?” Baba Vedma emerged from the forest, a basket of mushrooms dangling from her arm. “That caterwauling is a bit much this early in the day.”

  “Do I mind?” Droll Mary’s voice was at once lilting and grating. “I mind a great deal. What you Aspects have done is—Well, it’s unconscionable. That’s what it is: unacceptable.”

  “Well, which is it? Unconscionable or unacceptable? Can’t be both.”

  “Why not?” Droll Mary flung her hair out of her face. “I’m suddenly two things. No longer comedic, not quite tragic. Silly, yet sad. How is that even possible? What did you do to me? Why am I so clumsy?” She slapped the ground and th
en struggled to her feet. “And what about that?” She pointed an unsteady hand to a stand of trees just off the path, where Paroxysm was engaged in a battle with a tree. She clawed and scratched at the tree before slapping it and then hugging it, kissing it, soothing it. Finally, she slapped it again and renewed her attack.

  “That, I have no explanation for.” Baba Vedma watched Paroxysm’s battle—and love affair—with the tree a moment longer before shaking her head and turning back to Droll Mary. “We just cleaned you up a bit. We cleaned everything up a bit.” Baba Vedma offered a mushroom from her basket. “You don’t like your new reality?”

  Droll Mary slapped the mushroom away and laughed, too loudly. “No, I do not!” I was Droll Mary, one half of the Duality. Now, what am I?”

  A shadow filled the space between the trees as the Dottore stepped onto the path. He floated to stand between the women, his beaked hood alternately pointing from one to the other.

  “You!” Droll Mary shot an accusatory finger at her brother. “You helped them do this to me!”

  Paroxysm suddenly sprang into action. She left her engagement with the tree and bounded toward the Dottore. He turned his leather beak toward her and tilted his head slightly. Paroxysm skidded to a halt just a few feet from him. She sighed contentedly as she gazed into the glass windows covering his eyes and skipped off to pick wildflowers.

  “Useless,” Droll Mary proclaimed. “You did this to her too.”

  The Dottore dipped his head, his leather-gloved hands moving to either side of his mask, lifting the leather from skin and hair, revealing the new face of the Dottore.

  “Oh my!” Droll Mary covered her mouth with her hand and spoke through her fingers. “What did you do to yourself?”

  The Dottore’s sandy blond hair fell in gentle curls onto his silken forehead. His sparkling blue eyes beamed happily, set perfectly into his smooth, angelic face. His pursed lips parted. “I updated a bit.”

  “You can talk now?” Droll Mary’s other hand joined its twin in covering her mouth.

 

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