Worlds Seen in Passing

by Irene Gallo

  Nana and Mother looked at each other. Nana looked like she was laughing at something, but Mother didn’t look so amused.

  “Do you really mean it?” Mother asked.

  Mathilde nodded.

  “Because this is your last chance,” Mother went on. “If you say you don’t want him one more time we’ll give him to someone who does.”

  “I know.” Mathilde looked at her knees.

  “You have to promise you’ll take care of him, and be gentle with him.”

  “I promise,” Mathilde said. “I’ll take good care of him.”

  * * *

  There was cake at the party. It was chocolate with white frosting and candy sprinkles, just like Mathilde wanted. And there were lots of presents, including a camera and a unicycle and eleven different kinds of toy pony.

  Mathilde smiled when she opened each present, and because Mother was looking she made sure to say thank you to everyone who gave her something—even Aunt Maggie, who wasn’t actually there. But she wasn’t really happy. Even the unicycle, which she had asked for specially, didn’t make her happy. When Robby Ferguson asked her if he could play with it, she said she didn’t mind.

  “This is so cool.” Robby wobbled on the pedals, gripping the back of the couch. “I’m gonna get one for my birthday.”

  “I already have one,” said Becky Hamilton. “It’s okay. But I like riding horses better. Daddy says I can have one of my own for my next birthday.”

  “Yeah right,” Suzy Feldstein said.

  “It’s true!” Becky tossed her hair in her stuck-up, Becky-Hamilton way. “I made him promise.”

  “I did get another present,” Mathilde said. The other children all looked at her. “You want to see him?”

  * * *

  “You have to turn the lights down.” Mathilde turned the dial down to a murky gloom. “He doesn’t like light.”

  “What’s in there?” Becky Hamilton stepped back. “It’s not a snake, is it?”

  “Sh!” Mathilde said, because she felt like it. “It’s not a snake.”

  Mathilde opened the curtains around the cage and turned on the special red light in the lid, then stepped back.

  The cage had changed since the last time she’d seen it. Ix’thor had moved around the pebbles at the bottom and stacked them up into a high-backed chair. He had taken apart his cardboard box and used it to build a little tower. Another piece of cardboard had been fashioned into a wide, diamond-shaped sword with tiny skulls carved into the blade. In the dim red light, it looked like every pebble in the cage had been worn down slightly to resemble hundreds of itty-bitty multicolored skulls.

  WELCOME TO MY DOMAIN, Ix’thor said. FOOLS. DID YOU THINK YOU COULD DEFEAT ME?

  “Wow!” Robby said. “That’s cool!”

  “What kind of demon is he?” Suzy asked.

  “He’s a Dark Lord.” Mathilde felt the first stirrings of a real smile.

  “No he’s not,” Becky said. “Dark Lords have horns.”

  Mathilde puffed up. “That shows what you know, Becky! This one was born without any horns.”

  “Does he do any tricks?” Robby leaned in to peer through the glass.

  “Um…” Mathilde hesitated. “Not yet.”

  BOW BEFORE ME!

  “You shouldn’t actually bow,” Mathilde said. “That just encourages him.”

  “Oh, man!” Robby was practically hopping up and down. “He’s so awesome! I want a demon too!”

  “I can’t have one,” Suzy said. “My mom’s allergic to demons.”

  Mathilde smiled at Suzy. “You can come over here and play with Ix’thor if you want.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s not that big a deal,” Becky said. “It’s just a demon. What good is a demon who doesn’t even do anything? I bet he bites.”

  Mathilde’s eyes widened and she pressed her lips together. Why did Becky have to be such a stuck-up brat? Why did Mother even invite her, anyway? Mathilde wanted to punch her, right in her turned-up nose.

  FOOLISH MORTALS, Ix’thor rumbled. NOW BEHOLD MY TRUE POWER!

  The inky clouds rolling around the bottom of Ix’thor’s robe rolled up for a moment, as if being sucked back into his body. Then, his cardboard sword held over his head, Ix’thor emitted a burst of crimson fire from his hands. The eldritch flame danced along the edges of the blade, licking and curling, but not burning.

  Robby looked like he was about to pee his pants. “Wow! You said he didn’t do any tricks!”

  “Well…” Mathilde tried not to look too smug. “Maybe he’s got one or two.”

  * * *

  It rained a lot in the fall. By the start of October, it seemed like it had been raining forever. Mathilde slammed the door behind her and ran up the stairs to her room. She threw her soggy book bag on the floor and flopped facedown on the bed.

  Her sobs mingled with the patter on the fog-painted window. In the darkness between the cage’s curtains, two tiny red stars gleamed.

  WHAT TROUBLES YOU, MY MINION?

  “Shut up!” Mathilde said. “I’m not your minion!”

  She lifted her face from the pillow and looked at the dark, wet imprint she’d left there. She wiped her nose.

  “We had to make a collage,” Mathilde mumbled. “About animals. And Billy Haggerty … he said mine was ugly … and he took it … and he threw it in the mud! It’s ruined!”

  YOUR PLAN … WAS NEARLY COMPLETE?

  “Yes!” Mathilde squeezed her eyes shut. “Now I have to start all over!”

  DESTROY THE INTERLOPER!

  “Miss Hoevener says he’s just being a boy. She said … that’s what boys do when they like you. She says if I just ignore him then he’ll stop.”

  Ix’thor looked down for a moment, then raised his sword over his head. FEED HIM TO THE RAVENOUS TONGUE-BEASTS OF GARAKH’NURR!

  Mathilde sniffed. “I would, but I don’t know where that is.”

  Ix’thor reached out his little hand. GIVE ME YOUR SOUL AND I WILL GRANT YOU LIMITLESS POWER.

  Mathilde smiled a little. “Mom says I can’t have limitless power until I’m older. But you can have a grub soul.”

  Ix’thor waited patiently by the altar, his eyes glowing brightly.

  EXCELLENT.

  * * *

  On Halloween, a witch came to their house. She had a black pointy hat and a broomstick, green skin, and a big, warty nose.

  “Nana!” Mathilde ran forward for a hug.

  “Oof!” Nana said. “This can’t be my little Matty-Patty, can it? How’s my little angel?”

  “I’m not an angel.” Mathilde raised the hood of her robe. “I’m a Dark Lord. Bow before me, mortals!”

  “Oh, my! I think I felt the earth tremble for a moment.”

  “Excellent. It is just as I have foretold.” Mathilde looked up. “And Ix’thor’s coming with us too.”

  Nana looked outside. “Oh, sweetie, the sun’s still out. I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

  “It’s okay. We got him a ball. See?”

  Mathilde picked up the crystal ball, which was filled with swirling black clouds. From deep inside its murky depths, two crimson points of light could barely be seen.

  “I made him an angel costume,” Mathilde said. “But you can’t really see it.”

  SOON YOUR TRANSFORMATION WILL BE COMPLETE. Ix’thor’s hollow voice rumbled from inside the ball.

  Mathilde whispered, “I don’t think he knows it’s Halloween.”

  “Well then, let’s not disappoint him,” Nana said. “Shall we collect some souls?”

  * * *

  Orange leaves flew across the street in twisted whirlwinds while the shadows of barren trees stretched their fingers slowly away from the sun. Mathilde made her way down the street with Ix’thor’s ball under one arm and her swollen bag of candy in the other.

  “That’s an awful lot of candy,” Nana said. “I’m certain we didn’t get that much candy when I was a girl.”

  “
Ix’thor says fear keeps the peasants in line.”

  “Aha. Mathilde … you know not everything Ix’thor says is a good idea, right?”

  “Well, duh!” Mathilde rolled her eyes.

  “Of course. How silly of me. Anyway, I think it’s time we started heading back home.”

  “Wait!” Mathilde pulled on Nana’s cloak. “Just one more street, please? Just to the end of the block?”

  Nana sighed. “All right, but that’s it. I don’t want you crossing Washington Street. There’s too much traffic.”

  “I won’t.”

  MWA HA HA. Ix’thor laughed with a rumble that made Mathilde’s ears tickle on the inside. NOTHING CAN STOP US NOW.

  A cluster of trick-or-treaters was leaving the big stone house at the end of the street. Mathilde slowed down when she realized it was Becky and Sally Hamilton. She wanted to look away and cross the street, but Nana waved to them.

  “Happy Halloween!” Nana said in her big, witchy voice. “Eee-hee-he-hee!”

  “Hello.” Mrs. Hamilton wasn’t wearing a costume, just regular grown-up clothes and a bright orange vest. “Girls, say hello to your friend.”

  Becky and Sally were both dressed up in big, poofy dresses with lots of lace and glitter. Becky’s was blue and came with a sparkling tiara, while Sally, who was a few years younger, wore a pale green one with fairy wings and a wand.

  “Hello,” Becky said. Sally just mumbled and hid behind her mother’s leg.

  “Hi.” Mathilde noted with some satisfaction that Becky’s bag had less candy than her own. “What are you dressed up as?”

  “We’re princesses!” Becky straightened her tiara. “What are you supposed to be? An ink stain?”

  “Rebecca!” Mrs. Hamilton said. “That wasn’t very nice.”

  Becky winced at her mother’s words, but Mathilde just smiled.

  “That’s okay,” Mathilde said. “I don’t mind. I’ll just take my revenge when I rule the world. Mwa ha ha.”

  For some reason grown-ups always thought that sort of thing was hilariously funny. Both Nana and Mrs. Hamilton laughed out loud. Becky just glared.

  “Well, come on,” Nana said. “We don’t want your mother to worry about you. Nice seeing you, Kathy.”

  “Goodbye, Mrs. Clark. Say goodbye, girls.”

  “B-bye,” Sally muttered.

  “Bye,” Becky said.

  Mathilde started to walk away. She saw Becky’s foot move, but didn’t know what was happening until it was too late.

  “Oops!” Becky said. Mathilde felt the edge of her robe yank, and then she was falling forward, her hands out in front of her. The sidewalk hit her knees, skinning them. Candy scattered everywhere, over pavement and grass.

  Ix’thor went tumbling through the air, his ball reflecting the cold sunlight. It bounced once off the curb and once more off the side of a parked car. For one held breath Mathilde thought it was going to be okay, that the ball might roll harmlessly to a stop.

  Then her hope vanished in the heavy squeal of brakes and the sound of shattering glass.

  Mathilde screamed, trying to stand up, trying to run. Later she would remember Nana’s hands grabbing her, pulling her back from the edge of Washington Street, but, at the time, all Mathilde could see was the tiny shadow on the side of the road, with its crumpled paper wings shining in the bright autumn sun.

  “No!” Mathilde kicked and squirmed in Nana’s grip. There was a crowd of people standing around now. A row of stopped cars backed up on either side of the street.

  “Cover him up!” Mathilde screamed. She tore her own robe trying to get away. “He needs dark! He needs the dark!”

  “Mathilde!” Nana shouted. Mathilde ran to the little body and kneeled over it, trying to give him some shade.

  “Ix’thor!” Mathilde sobbed. “Please!”

  NO! The little Dark Lord reached one hand toward Mathilde’s tears. THIS … CANNOT … BE. I AM … IN … VINCIBLE …

  * * *

  “But demons are pretty strong, right?” Father said. “You said they’re almost impossible to kill.”

  “Dark Lords are weaker in direct sunlight.” That was the old man from the demon store, with his checked shirt and big, round glasses. “Much weaker. I’m sorry. I did all I could.”

  Mathilde sat in the dark of her room. She wondered when they would realize she could hear them through the door.

  She wondered if she’d be that stupid when she was a grown-up.

  “I’ll talk to her,” Nana said. “It’s my fault that this happened.”

  “No,” Mother said. “I’ll do it.”

  The door cracked open. It was the only light in the room.

  “Matty?” Mother looked around. “Are you in there?”

  “You can turn the light on,” Mathilde said from her bed. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  Mother closed the door behind her and turned up the lights just a little bit.

  “His tower fell down,” Mathilde said. “In his cage. I tried to prop it back up, but it just kept crumbling.”

  “Oh, sweetie!” Mother sat down on the bed and pulled Mathilde into her lap. Mathilde squeezed her eyes shut. All the tears she had left were hiding in her throat, making a lump.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Mother said. “There was nothing anyone could have done.”

  Mathilde thought of Becky, but if it made Mother feel better to think so, then she wasn’t going to argue.

  “If…” Mother trailed off and tried again. “Father and I were talking to Nana. When you’re ready, if you still want one…”

  “I don’t want a pony,” Mathilde said. “I want Ix’thor. But I can’t have him back, can I?”

  Mother looked like she was about to cry. “No. I’m sorry.”

  Mathilde snuggled into her mother’s arms. Mother did cry then, a little. After a while, Mathilde looked up.

  “Then … can I get a pony with glowing red eyes, and crush the skulls of my enemies beneath his flaming hooves?”

  Mother laughed a little and kissed Mathilde’s forehead. “We can find one with glowing eyes, if you want.”

  Mathilde sighed into her mother’s embrace, listening to her heartbeat. “It’s a start.”

  AARON CORWIN has been chasing monsters since he was old enough to crawl into the dark, and creeping out everyone who’d listen since he was old enough to tell them about it. Aaron lives in Seattle, where he fronts the acoustic-nerd-rock band Ship of Dreams and occasionally moonlights as a video game character.

  Reborn

  Ken Liu

  Special Agent Josh Rennon lives in a Boston occupied by the Tawnin, who only want peace. We are only our memories, and they excise the ugly memories and keep the useful ones. They give humanity the gift of Rebirth: a blank slate, a new beginning. But when Josh’s division catches a human terrorist, he begins to question what he really remembers and who he really is. Edited by David Hartwell.

  Each of us feels that there is a single “I” in control. But that is an illusion that the brain works hard to produce …

  —Steven Pinker, The Blank Slate

  I remember being Reborn. It felt the way I imagine a fish feels as it’s being thrown back into the sea.

  The Judgment Ship slowly drifts in over Fan Pier from Boston Harbor, its metallic disc-shaped hull blending into the dark, roiling sky, its curved upper surface like a pregnant belly.

  It is as large as the old Federal Courthouse on the ground below. A few escort ships hover around the rim, the shifting lights on their surfaces sometimes settling into patterns resembling faces.

  The spectators around me grow silent. The Judgment, scheduled four times a year, still draws a big crowd. I scan the upturned faces. Most are expressionless, some seem awed. A few men whisper to each other and chuckle. I pay some attention to them, but not too much. There hasn’t been a public attack in years.

  “A flying saucer,” one of the men says, a little too loud. Some of the others shuffle away, trying to distance
themselves. “A goddamned flying saucer.”

  The crowd has left the space directly below the Judgment Ship empty. A group of Tawnin observers stand in the middle, ready to welcome the Reborn. But Kai, my mate, is absent. Thie told me that thie has witnessed too many Rebirths lately.

  Kai once explained to me that the design of the Judgment Ship was meant as a sign of respect for local traditions, evoking our historical imagination of little green men and Plan 9 from Outer Space.

  It’s just like how your old courthouse was built with that rotunda on top to resemble a lighthouse, a beacon of justice that pays respect to Boston’s maritime history.

  The Tawnin are not usually interested in history, but Kai has always advocated more effort at accommodating us locals.

  I make my way slowly through the crowd, to get closer to the whispering group. They all have on long, thick coats, perfect for concealing weapons.

  The top of the pregnant Judgment Ship opens and a bright beam of golden light shoots straight up into the sky, where it is reflected by the dark clouds back onto the ground as a gentle, shadowless glow.

  Circular doors open all around the rim of the Judgment Ship, and long, springy lines unwind and fall from the doors. They dangle, flex, and extend like tentacles. The Judgment Ship is now a jellyfish drifting through the air.

  At the end of each line is a human, securely attached like hooked fish by the Tawnin ports located over their spines and between their shoulder blades. As the lines slowly extend and drift closer to the ground, the figures at the ends languidly move their arms and legs, tracing out graceful patterns.

  I’ve almost reached the small group of whispering men. One of them, the one who had spoken too loud earlier, has his hands inside the flap of his thick coat. I move faster, pushing people aside.

  “Poor bastards,” he murmurs, watching the Reborn coming closer to the empty space in the middle of the crowd, coming home. I see his face take on the determination of the fanatic, of a Xenophobe about to kill.

  The Reborn have almost reached the ground. My target is waiting for the moment when the lines from the Judgment Ship are detached so that the Reborn can no longer be snatched back into the air, the moment when the Reborn are still unsteady on their feet, uncertain who they are.