The Growl in the Night stopped roaring and allowed the rumbling in his throat to quiet. The Slashing Hero throatily said, “Hear, hear.”
“What are we going to do about all this?” The Growl in the Night paced back and forth along the length of the great room. The braziers lining the walls spilled fluttering light in his wake.
“Why have we been awakened?” She stood in the entranceway, a vision in mud and moss, her sinewy limbs solid, unbreakable, threatening. Her gown was a dream of grass, branches, and flowers. The Chittering Underground dropped her belly to the cold stone floor, the Slashing Hero let his sword fall to his side, and the Growl in the Night suppressed a nervous roar. She was the storm. She was the hidden force that destroys. She was Erde.
“Erde.” The Chittering Underground bowed low as she spoke. “It is an honor to—”
“Why have we been awakened?” Her voice was lightning without thunder: piercing, shocking, dangerous.
The Chittering Underground faltered and looked to the Growl in the Night, but her timidity dissipated quickly. “There has been…an incident.”
“More than that,” the Growl in the Night said.
A memory of Erde and her power stabbed into his mind, and he shook with fear. Erde turned her impossibly black eyes to him, her head tilted at a most fearsome angle. The Growl in the Night stepped back on trembling paws.
“He’s not wrong.” The Slashing Hero bowed at the waist and averted his eyes. “The incident was very damaging.”
Erde swirled and faced the Chittering Underground. “I sense a change in Creativity.”
“Yes.” The great spider turned all of her eyes away, save one, which immediately burned. She wiped the pain away with trembling mandible and girded herself. “There have been many changes of late. A great upheaval that must have awakened you. But everything is for the better.”
“For the better?” Erde drifted in earnest now. She floated over the stone floor, leaving a trail of dew to mark her path. Flower petals fluttered up against the breeze, then down, sideways, around and around, depositing themselves haphazardly on the floor.
“The Council seems to think so.” The Chittering Underground moved one of her legs so that a petal could land where it would.
“The Council?” Erde’s lightning words began to show thunder. She reached out a mud-caked hand, her fingers curling under—all except the forefinger, which was suddenly jutting to the Growl in the Night. “What say you of these changes?”
The Growl in the Night turned his face to Erde; a low rumbling began deep within the great beast. It roiled and grew. Sharp white teeth appeared in the shroud of his face.
“I would see these changes for myself.” Erde turned from the others and was gone. Flowers, leaves, and mist twirled for a long moment.
“Are you sure of this course of action?” The Chittering Underground lifted herself just a bit, her eyes transfixed on the place where Erde had been.
“It is well met,” the Slashing Hero proclaimed, but the tremor in his words betrayed his confidence.
“It must be done.” The Growl in the Night paced along the back wall of the great room. He pressed his shoulder to the stone; the rough movement scratched his skin, plucked his fur, and calmed his raging spirit.
The last of the leaves and flowers settled onto the floor, the mist evaporated in the meager light of the braziers, and the Elders of Creativity stood silent vigil in the tense room, awaiting their mother’s return.
Chapter 87
Erde
She rose. From muck and mud, from peat and algae, she grew. Upward, ever upward, toward the half-sun, she lifted her arms. The slime resisted, emitting forceful slurping sounds as it clung to her body, trying to keep her in place. She would not be held. She stood.
The ground beneath her was flimsy, unformed. She dug her toes deep into the fetal earth. Tremors shook the foundation, rocks formed, mountains coalesced, and oceans withdrew. Still, the half-sun sat affixed to its part of the sky. She listened.
The breeze fluttered the tendrils forming her hair and the moss encircling her head, and she heard whispers in the nothingness. She plucked a strand from her head, a semi-solid mass of something wonderfully rich, and flung it away. The forest emerged where it landed. Birds and scurrying creatures filled the silence with their gentle din. She looked.
The trees cast weak shadows from the half-sun onto the newly firmed ground, but inside the trees, where the trunks were thick and near, the shadows grew deep, very deep and very dark. She gazed at the darkness until it gazed back: first, one set of eyes that glowed brightly in the shadows and then, multiple eyes, affixed to one direction, all staring in united purpose.
“Mother,” the Growl in the Night and the Chittering Underground uttered the first word of Creation in unison, and the world trembled.
Chapter 88
John’s hospital room was just as it had been. The dim light from between the shades did nothing to inspire wakefulness, and the mechanical sounds from the medical machines created dark thoughts.
“Oh. Hello there.” The young nurse who looked the same age as John suddenly looked much older. His name tag read “Brandon,” and he seemed to be in his early thirties. “Did you get some rest?”
Matt nodded and moved to the window, out of the way of the nurse’s, of Brandon’s, duties. He pried open the blinds and peered out onto the busy parking lot. The sun was high and strong. The light was warm and inviting. The outside world was happy. The sadness was reserved for this one hospital room.
“That’s that,” Brandon announced as he straightened the sheet covering John. “I’ll be back in an hour to check again.”
“Is Mrs. Hensley…” Matt began, worried that he would be kicked out of the room again.
“She’s meeting with the doctors,” Brandon said. “They’re, uh, they’re talking about plans. Alternatives. Choices.” His face took on a semblance of empathy that, for some reason, struck Matt as insincere. “They just started, so it’ll be a while.” Brandon looked at his watch.
“There was a clock.” Matt pointed to the side of John’s bed.
“Right.” Brandon darted out the door and returned almost immediately, carrying the clock. “Mrs. Hensley asked me to take it out.”
Matt took the clock and watched Brandon leave. The mark he had made was still there. The tick, tick, tick resumed. Fifteen minutes until the deadline. Where had the time gone? He took a deep breath, steadied his will, and stepped to the door. As the door closed, the meager light of the room lessened to near dark. He maneuvered a chair underneath the door handle, effectively locking the door. People would still get in, eventually, but he had bought some time.
“This is it,” he said, meaning for John to hear him clearly. “This is the final push. You have fifteen minutes to wake up.” He went to the window and raised the shades, pulling back the curtains, and light flooded the room. “Do you hear me, John?” His voice was firm, forceful, fearless. He propped the clock on the bedside table, opened the notebook, and began to recite.
Chapter 89
Consultation with a Duality
Droll Mary suddenly found herself in a pleasantly appointed garden. She was sitting at a delicate cafe table adorned with a crisp white tablecloth and dressed for afternoon tea. She had no memory of coming to the garden, or even of the garden itself. It felt very similar to her own garden, but it was so obviously not.
“Droll Mary?” The Dottore’s lilting voice added much to the pleasant atmosphere.
“Dottore?” Droll Mary began to rise but thought better of it. “What gall?”
“Pardon?”
“You! You have some nerve, summoning me like I’m a common Element.” Droll Mary took the napkin from the table and held it affectedly to her nose, displaying without question her displeasure.
“Me?” The Dottore held up his mask. “I was completely engulfed in a new story, one that I was very engaged with. Why would I summon you?”
“Exactly!” Droll Ma
ry pointed with the napkin.
“You sound like you’ve proven something. You haven’t.”
“I have!” Droll Mary exclaimed and then realized how much she had jumped the gun. She dropped the napkin to the table and crossed her arms in frustration. “If not you, then who?”
“No one has the power to summon us without our consent.” The Dottore examined the tea set. It was composed of the finest china he had ever seen. Delicate, intricate designs adorned each piece, save one. An unpainted earthenware saucer sat amid the finery. The Dottore lifted the saucer and picked at the dried mud caked on the surface.
“What is…” Droll Mary noticed the falling dirt that littered the white cloth. “It can’t be.”
“My children.” Erde appeared, statuesque and regal, smeared with grime and reeking of nature. The Dottore dropped the saucer, and it shattered as it struck the table. Each piece began to tumble, to fall toward the earth, then twist and bend, to rejoin and settle back as an earth-colored saucer amid the white china.
“Mother?” Droll Mary tried to rise, but her legs refused to work. The Dottore found his own legs faltering. He sat in the chair across from his sister.
Erde gave a toothy brown smile as she took the third and final seat. “It has been so long.”
The Dottore and Droll Mary nodded in unison and in complete silence.
“I hear you have enacted some changes to my world.” Erde took the teapot and poured herself a serving. She set down the teapot, which was now smeared with slime and mire, as the other cups filled themselves. “Drink your tea, and tell me all about these changes.”
The Dottore took a deep breath. Erde turned to stare at his beautiful face. She reached out a hand and smeared earth onto the smooth, ironic chin.
“We…” Droll Mary whispered the word as if a zephyr had coaxed it from her lungs.
“Maybe start with this.” Erde continued to caress the Dottore’s face, leaving brown streaks on whatever she touched. Droll Mary would have found the mud-streaked face of her brother amusing had the very real danger of her own death not been so prominent in her mind.
“We…” Droll Mary’s zephyr-breath faltered but grew stronger. “That is to say, all of us, the Council of Aspects and the Duality, joined to…revitalize Creativity.”
Erde’s hand stopped in its caress of the Dottore. The movement—or the sudden lack of movement—was so pronounced that the Dottore gasped and Droll Mary shivered. Erde’s next word was laden with electric intent. “Explain.” The Eternal Gloaming shimmered brightly, then dimmed, then returned to normal.
Chapter 90
The Power of Flight
It happened slowly over the course of years, decades. At first, there was no perceptible change, just a feeling of lightness. The weight of the world simply began to slough off. He walked with his head a little higher after he gave up feeling guilty for past mistakes. His steps became gentle after he let go of the anger he felt toward his fellow humans. Then, sometime after he began to feel love for all living things, he began to float above the pavement.
It was barely a centimeter at first, unnoticeable to the general public, but he felt it, the disconnection from the ground. It was a sense of relief, of freedom, of weightlessness. The centimeter became a couple of centimeters one day, and he began to notice odd looks from those around him. Dogs began to sniff at his feet, birds started to swirl about his head, and people began to shy away.
The first time he flew was at night. He waited until the darkest part of the evening, when the streetlights were weakest, before the late night gave way to the early morning. The time when colors were richer and dimmer at the same time, when the world was shifted, changed to something so much the same, yet so different from the fully awake world. He floated above the city streets that were bathed in the electric glow of the lights that altered every visible color to a similar yet strange one.
The world was small from such a height. The problems that had always kept him down, kept him grounded, were tiny below him. He soared with the birds, free, above it all. The night air kissed his cheeks in welcome; the moon smiled greetings from even further above; the world sighed happily below him. He flew higher.
The electrically painted night sky became darker. The stars became clearer. The world bent beneath him; the horizon suddenly a palpable thing. He saw the land, no longer a quilt of segments, rather a tapestry of interwoven parts: no lines, no borders, no separation. He relished his first flight.
In the morning, he was giddy, and he floated at least half an inch that day. The feeling of floating, of flying, was so intense that he giggled chaotically throughout the day. He giggled in the line for coffee. He giggled in the line for the subway. He didn’t giggle during the train ride, but he did on the elevator. He didn’t giggle when he sat at his cubicle, but when he felt that he was floating above his chair, he giggled heartily.
The clock ticked slowly. He wanted nothing more than to get home and fly again. It was such a primal need that he started to sink, but the memory of the joy of flying kept him aloft. Inexorably, the time passed. He made his way home.
He didn’t stop on the floor of his apartment. He made his way directly to the roof. He bounded through the access door and wafted to the edge. He positioned his floating body on the ledge overlooking the busy street thirty-two stories below. He stepped forward.
Chapter 91
Judgment
“What Aspect was that?” Erde stood a trail of moss jutted out from her feet. It pooled around the base of the nearest tree; then it shot back toward her feet before heading off into the woods.
“That was a new Aspect. His name is Travis, in Sales,” Droll Mary offered, her eyes watching the drifting moss with scrutiny.
“What is he?” Erde’s brow furrowed, and clumps of earth fell from her forehead.
“He’s the Everyman.” The Dottore felt he should stand, but his legs decided sitting was the better option.
“There was already an Everyman.” Erde paced along the moss trail. She paused at the tree, placing a gentle palm against the bark. “Isn’t this Travis, in Sales a god?”
“No,” Droll Mary whispered. “He’s just an Everyman, a normal person living a normal life.”
“But he can fly.” Erde hugged the tree.
“The flying is a metaphor.” Droll Mary’s eyes pleaded with the Dottore, who was intently staring at the mud-stained tablecloth.
“A what?” The leaves of the tree in Erde’s arms turned red, then brown, then showered down.
“Like a symbol, a stand-in, allegorical…” Droll Mary flicked her wrist violently at the Dottore.
“He can’t fly. Then, why say he can?” The leaves struck Erde’s head and joined her hair, settled into the fabric of her clothes, and wrapped around her arms and throat.
“It’s a new part of Creativity.” The Dottore’s voice was steady, a vain attempt to portray confidence. His hands were flat on the cafe table, his eyes turned firmly to Erde. “It’s figurative language. We’ve always done it, but now it’s more…uh.” Words failed him.
Erde let go of the tree and drifted back to the table. She bent low and positioned her face so close to the Dottore that their breaths intermingled, their noses threatening to share the same space. The Dottore wanted to avert his gaze, but he found the prospect of turning his head, of even tilting his chin, unthinkable. Erde held his gaze for a long, uncomfortable moment before she straightened, turned and followed the moss-trail into the woods.
“I don’t think she’s convinced of the utility of metaphors.” Droll Mary plopped down at the cafe table; her delicate chair threatened to crumble under the strain.
“She could undo all that we have accomplished.” The Dottore was blinking far too often.
“You knew this was a possibility when you started this whole thing.”
“Thank you for trying to defend the changes. I know you weren’t fully on board.” The Dottore turned his hand palm up, and Droll Mary placed her own hand atop
his.
“For better or worse, we are in this together now, Brother dear.” She turned her head toward the path Erde had blazed. “But if you get me unmade, I will never forgive you.”
Chapter 92
Matt stopped talking when the pounding on the door began. He could hear Brandon’s voice proclaim that the door was unlocked, but the handle wouldn’t turn. Satisfied, he went back to his chair and picked up his notebook.
“Matt!” Mrs. Hensley screamed from the hallway. “You open this door right now! You hear me! Open this door!”
He looked at the clock. Five minutes. “I just need five minutes!” he yelled back.
“Open this door!” Mrs. Hensley was pounding as she screamed. “John needs his medicine! Do you hear me? Let us in!”
Matt shook his head. Brandon had said he would be back in an hour. That was fifteen minutes ago. “John doesn’t need medicine!” Matt shouted. “He needs magic!”
The pounding continued as the door handle violently struck against the chair, and Matt continued his story.
Chapter 93
The Magic Board
“You must concentrate!” the headmaster shouted as the magical energies of the universe coalesced in the candle-lit room.
The students redoubled their efforts in response to his enthusiastic command. The magic swirled and pulsed. Electric tendrils shot out in every direction, caressing each person in turn with fiery life-filled filaments. Then, just as the power crescendoed, the result occurred—a plume of crisp blue fire. The room filled with soothing energy, and everyone felt worlds better.
“Excellent,” the headmaster proclaimed and dismissed the class. The students broke the circle, and the blue flame died. They filed out, and the headmaster turned to his preparations for the next lesson.
He collected the candles, which were now extinguished, deprived of the spark of life that gave them fire, and he piled them into the basket on his desk. He erased the rune, drawn on the floor with charcoal, and chose a new design for the next class. He positioned the parchment next to the basket. The new class poured in.
The First Story Page 23