Lizard Girl & Ghost

by Olga Werby

  “Do you know who or what they chose to be?”

  “It’s a surprise,” she says and pulls me inside. Ghost follows us.

  I don’t know how the Sleeping Beauty world learned of our intentions, but as we step through the carefully made lackluster doorway, things start to change. I, of course, expected that. Gattara’s little pad was a good indication of how these things worked—small on the outside, huge on the inside. But it is still unnerving…in a good way, I decide.

  First, it gets dark in that light-sucky way that Doc’s panther avatar has about him. Given how often I’ve seen this particular enhancement, it’s popular out here in The Far Cinct even if it is virtually unknown at our local cyber arcade. The darkness, or more accurately lightlessness, feels thick, like molasses. It is as if we are passing through some shape-shifting bio-jello. I feel myself grow, thicken, become brawnier. My steps get heavier. I have to drop on my hands and knees to support the extra weight. And as I crawl along, my arms get muscly and become a new pair of forelegs. My neck grows longer and more flexible. After a few more steps, I feel my shoulders split open and my eels erupt to form additional dragon heads. I can taste their elation at being free. They spark and breathe fire into the enveloping darkness. I try to spit a bit of fire from my own mouth, but absolutely nothing comes out. Disappointing, but at least I have my eels. They better pay attention to my commands—I’m the main head, you know, the brains of this dragon operation. I remind them who’s boss. I wonder why my eels turn into heads and not my snakes? Why don’t I get a choice in the matter? As I am musing the poor design of this world, I feel the slithering down my spine. My snakes are migrating to my back. Migrating and growing. Each snake becomes a structural rib in a dragon’s wing. Five on each side. Scaly red-orange skin grows between them and spreads, fusing to create the surface envelope of my new dragon wings. I flap. The turbulence agitates the darkness around us, and I get a glimpse of Pixie and Ghost going through their own transformations. But the clearing is too brief to catch details. I have to wait until we come through to the other side of this metamorphosis tunnel.

  By the time I sense a lightening, I’m a fully formed dragon with seven heads—one important one and six subordinate, I remind the eels—a twenty-foot wingspan, and the mass of a nice-sized truck. I’m huge. I’m powerful. Perhaps a bit too huge. It might be difficult to interact with my friends out here. I don’t want to crush anyone by accident. I try to speak, to warn Pixie and Ghost of my enormity.

  “Bah, bah, bah.” I try to make words but it sounds like a donkey braying…a donkey the size of a truck. My utterances are low and bellowing, but they are not words. Do dragons talk? Because if not, this isn’t the smartest choice I’ve made today. “Baaaah,” I try again. Definitely not words. Damn.

  “Jude?” I hear Ghost. He is next to me somewhere.

  I use my many heads to find him. The tips of my wings also have eyes as well as teeth. That might be very handy. I’m glad my snakies didn’t lose their toothiness; they would have whined endlessly about that. As it is, I wonder how they feel about losing out on the head spots to the eels. Well, it’s not like it was my choice. They can take it up with the designers of this experience.

  “Jude?” Ghost calls to me again.

  “Baaah,” I roar.

  “Dragons can’t talk,” Pixie says.

  I see her. She is now a dude in pink armor. I hope it is very heavy. She should have told me about the loss of speech that came with my choice of a dragon game persona. I consider spitting fire at her. My eels are excited to oblige. She still has the face that inspires backpfeifengesicht.

  “Easy there,” she tells me, sensing my frustration.

  “Baaah,” I answer. My vocabulary is really limited. Where’s Ghost? I look around with all my heads, trying to spot him in the gloominess—we are still not through the welcoming vestibule.

  “Jude?”

  Ah, there he is. He is still a gray cat. How did he manage to do that? It seems like cheating to me.

  “Can I ride you?” he asks. And before I respond, he jumps on my back, right between my wings. I can turn my heads to look at him, but I can’t touch him there—it’s one of those spots that all backs have—the untouchable area. Good. Safe choice.

  “That’s where I’m supposed to sit,” Pixie complains. As if I would let her ride me. She can walk all by herself. I hope again that her armor weighs a ton. It would be a fitting punishment for getting me into a situation where I have to be mute the whole time. I have never been a girl of few words. This is going to be torture!

  As the darkness dissolves, we find ourselves in a forest clearing. I need the clearing—I take up most of the space here. And even as I know all of this is virtual, I feel a bit bad for all of the exotic flowers I’m crushing with my big feet. I bend my heads down to take a closer look. The vegetation is something out of a deranged artist’s dream. There are colors that I’m sure are not found in reality. And there are shapes and structures that are a bit unusual, to say the least. There are flowers with dozens of little arms that continuously brush off the dew on their petals and catch the strange geometric pollen floating on a soft breeze. I could spend days just looking around this lovely spot. I can just imagine how insane the insects might be here, although I can’t spot even one with any of my eyes. My wingtips brush the grass, and my snakes taste the sweet nectar clinging to the blades. It’s amazing.

  Jude? I hear Ghost. But he doesn’t speak my name aloud; I hear my name inside my heads. It’s like there is a main sound and then there are soft echoes—my other heads picking up on Ghost’s voice. It will take time to get used to this.

  “Jude?” he says my name again. This time, he says it aloud.

  How do I answer? I don’t want to bray again, it would spoil the magic of this meadow. There is a melody to the dew evaporating under the soft rays of the virtual sun. I can hear it with my many ears.

  “Jude?” he prods again.

  What? The question simply erupts from my mind. I don’t make a sound; I just form the word with my thoughts.

  Oh, good. Ghost is in my head—I “hear” him even as he doesn’t speak.

  “Leave her alone, Ghost. Give Jude a chance to acclimate,” Pixie says. She doesn’t know!

  I ignore her—I am able to communicate with Ghost! Telepathically. And Pixie doesn’t know. It’s delicious! I might survive this little “Sleeping Beauty” adventure after all. I spread my wings and flap. Pixie has to jump out of my way, but the armor is weighing her down and she falls right onto her back in the grass.

  “Careful there, dragon girl,” she tells me as she tries to get up. But she is like a tortoise on her back, flailing ineffectually.

  I bray in glee.

  “Don’t just roar,” she whines. “Help me up. You got me into this position. Help me up.”

  I will eventually, of course, but I am planning on taking my time. I’m enjoying Pixie’s discomfort too much. After all, she hadn’t bothered to mention the loss of speech to me—she got me into this position.

  Jude? Can you hear me? Ghost talks into my heads.

  Yes? This is going to be good. I’m excited. My eels let out little red and blue fire sparkles. Very pretty. I approve.

  Oh, good. I wasn’t sure we’d figure this out so quickly, Ghost says. Thinks? Most take a long time to understand the parameters of private cyber communication.

  What? What are you talking about? I am not very good at this mind-to-mind talking yet and end up braying every other thought-word out loud. Pixie screams something at me and I ignore her. Ghost makes cackling noises—he approves. He is obviously mad at her, too. Something else we can bond over.

  Out here, we don’t need a mouth or a tongue to communicate. It’s all virtual, right? he says.

  No mouth… It seems so obvious as he says it—communication is not bound by form or function here. V-mail doesn’t require me be able to type. I can dictate or paste or draw or record or share video or any number of
other ways we share ideas. Sleazy said he makes money by developing and selling cute nonverbal emoji-type greetings to teens. There are so many ways to communicate; speaking is just a small subset. Why hadn’t Doc’s dad showed me this when he visited? Doesn’t Tom Blake know about cyber telepathy? I want to show it to the world. This is so awesome! I beat my wings and my snakes almost come in contact with the trees and shrubs on the edges of this meadow. I extend my heads and blow fire stars and flowers into the sky. I roar in pleasure.

  “Cut it out, Jude! Do you want this whole world to know we’ve arrived?” Pixie says. She is rocking back and forth, trying to turn over by herself in the absence of any help from me.

  I feel bad and use one of my front legs to push her over.

  “Thanks.” She gets up and brushes the crushed flowers off her now no-so-shiny hot pink armor.

  Don’t tell Pixie, I hear in my head.

  Obviously! I love having this private chat ability with Ghost. No Pixies need apply.

  Out loud, Ghost goes, “Give her a break, Pixie. Remember your first time in one of these.”

  I see Pixie smirk and turn red. I wonder what happened, but there’s plenty of time to find out later. I want to explore, and fly around, and get private commentary from Ghost. I bray to signal to Pixie that I’m ready to move on.

  “Glad you’re having fun,” she says. “But the game is on. We’re here on a mission to save a kingdom.”

  We are? I ask Ghost privately.

  Every private world based on a story has a set of goals visitors need to accomplish to prove themselves worthy of returning over and over again. This one is based on a Sleeping Beauty narrative; so I guess we are following some basic fairytale gestalt—save the kingdom, save the princess, get the golden goose, whatever. Just follow Pixie’s lead. This really wasn’t my idea, he adds as an apology at the end.

  But I am not blaming him. This is great! I love Ghost’s commentary. I bray my delight again. Pixie shooshes me. I bray louder on purpose.

  “Really, Jude. Do you need to do that?” she asks.

  Since I don’t have the power to speak, what does she expect? I roar one more time and settle down to listen to her. I do want to get on with it, and Ghost doesn’t know the game plan.

  “Do you know the basic premise of Sleeping Beauty?”

  I swing my many heads no and almost knock Pixie down again. She steps as far back as she can while remaining in the clearing with us.

  “It goes something like this. A king has a daughter. The daughter is cursed. She doesn’t die but falls into a deep sleep. The kingdom is spellbound to slumber, too. A prince comes and saves the day. That would be me, by the way.” Pixie stands up straighter when she says this. She knows what part she needs to play. We’re just guessing.

  “And what’s our role?” Ghost asks from the height of my back.

  “I don’t know of any obvious roles for dragons and cats. But I need a mode of transportation. So, I was hoping you could help me out? Jude? Please?” She is cute when she is begging.

  I think we should help. I hear Ghost in my head. I don’t see the we part of this. He is a small gray cat. I am a giant, seven-headed, green dragon with powerful red snake wings. There is no we here. Sensing my train of thought—for I didn’t share these musings with Ghost—he adds, Just get her to whatever place she needs to be. Then we can figure out our roles in this world.

  “Please?” Pixie begs.

  I strain my heads up to see above the enchanted trees. There’s a lot of forest all around us. There is no way Miss Prince will get anywhere fast without my help. I stand up and flap some more, testing my ability to take off into the lavender skies of this world. I can feel the raw power of my snake-suspended wings. I am excited. My snakes are excited.

  Hold on, Ghost, I tell him and take off into the purple-pink clouds above us. Up and up and up. In just a few beats of my powerful wings, I’m way above the trees. My rhythm app ability helps with flying—I beat my wings to the beat of my powerful dragon heart. It doesn’t matter that this body is virtual; I feel its pulse just as strongly as I felt my human body back in reality. Lub-dub, lub-flap, lub-dub, lub-flap—higher and higher. It’s awesome. I get now why people who compete in rowing events have a drumbeater—it helps coordinate each stroke, giving it more power. It’s an advantage even though the drummer adds extra weight and doesn’t contribute directly to propelling the boat. Lub-dub, lub-flap, lub-dub, lub-flap. I’m so powerful right now. My snake wings and I are completely in synch.

  I spy Pixie down below, screaming in frustration. Let her wait for a bit longer. I soar higher. I want to get the lay of the land. Our meadow is pretty isolated from any obvious destinations. I see a tall glass castle built into a clear lake about ten miles from our meadow. There’s another castle made of black marble on top of a mountain with a town built in circular descending tiers around it in the far distance. These are the obvious locations. There might be clues for other hidden places, but we would need to discover those. That’s how these things usually work. I have played enough virtual-immersion games to know that much.

  From back on the ground, I could see the black castle by standing and straining my heads above the trees—it’s situated high up, easily visible above the dense green canopy, at least from the perspective of my long necks. But the glass creation is completely obscured by the forest around it. If I couldn’t fly, we would not have found it by walking around randomly. But perhaps it’s visible from the Ring City on the mountain? The virtual adventures I’ve played before tended to have a sequence to them, unfolding like a story. But I am a mighty and powerful dragon…

  Which castle should we aim for? I ask Ghost.

  I think we are meant to visit the black one first, he says.

  I think so too. So, let’s go to the glass one. Having made my choice, I drop down and pick Pixie up by her pink body armor with my powerful claws. She is screaming for me to let her ride on my back like a real person. Well, none of us are real here. I get back up into the sky but stay just above the treetops. I want to get a close-up view of the terrain now. I want to understand the structure of this adventure more intimately. I do make sure that I don’t bang any of Pixie’s body parts into the tree branches up here. That would be wrong.

  “Where are we going?” she screams up from between my legs. “I think we need to get to that black castle up on the mountain.”

  Do you? She can’t see the glass castle in the middle of the lake from her vantage point. Is it possible she doesn’t know it exists? I don’t really care. We will play this thing the way I want to. I’m here to learn. I will find my own path through this adventure.

  21. The Glass Castle

  I land on the shore of the lake. The waters are so dark and still that the surface looks like a mirror, reflecting the deep purple clouds above. The glass castle—more of a tower, really—is right in the center. The illusion that the waters rose up and froze into the shape of a completed structure, like the castle was extruded from the lake, is perfect. There are three flying buttresses that support the main tower—here’s the number three again. Clumping, just saying. At the very top, just below the conical roof, there is an oriel—a window that juts away from the wall and is supported by highly ornamental brackets, echoing the design of the flying buttresses below. The glass is hazily reflecting the lake, the surrounding forest, and the sky. But it also seems translucent. I can almost see strange shapes moving within the castle tower. The castle is practically screaming, “I am magical.” I wonder what kinds of wonderful, nasty little tricks are programmed into this thing? What kinds of enhancements are built into it? What kinds of compulsions?

  “It’s an amazing thing,” Ghost concurs with my thoughts. We are staring at the glass castle in awe.

  “I think we are meant to get to that window.” Pixie says it with the confidence of someone who has played a few of these adventures before. She seems to have forgiven me for the indignity of her mode of transport. She st
ands next to me on the crystal sand shores of the mirror lake. She is slightly shorter than my dragon armpit—a tiny, violently pink knight in shining armor.

  “Do you know who is responsible for building this world?” Ghost asks. He is still on my back—a solid, strategic position.

  I am interested, too. It would take a load of very talented techies to make this adventure. A single genius auteur just wouldn’t have the bandwidth to create something like this. It would take years. Look at all of this detail. There are tiny butterflies zipping around and gently touching the surface of the water in just the right places to create intricate, fractal ripple patterns. That alone is worth the trip to this Sleeping Beauty adventure. It’s breathtaking, almost hypnotic. I could watch all day. In fact, it is hard to look at anything else.

  “Doc found it,” Pixie replies. She seems quite taken by this place…or the patterns. Is there a compulsion built into them? Is there something that snags attention and traps visitors on the shores of the lake? “Have you ever been here, Ghost?” Pixie asks.

  “No. I’ve never even heard of this place,” Ghost says. That tells me something—he has been around for a long while. “It must be new,” he adds.

  You would expect there would be lines of people waiting to get in, but it was only us back at the entrance. Of course, there could be more than one way to get in. There may be a grand entrance on the cyber arcade side. That would make the most sense—a commercial venture can invest a lot of resources to make little artistic butterflies imbued with a mesmerizing compulsion.

  “I just know that Doc found it,” Pixie repeats, her eyes still focused on the water ripples. “He wanted something special for Jude’s first adventure.” I wonder if Doc knew about the butterflies?

  Well, it is very special, I tell Ghost in my head. I wonder where he is? And where Sleazy and Slick are? Aren’t they meeting us here? I leave it to Ghost to ask the questions for me. I could probably establish a telepathy link with Pixie too, but Ghost did tell me not to. I’ll reserve this cool form of communication for emergencies. I am not taking anything off the table, even if Ghost would rather I didn’t. I can feel my thoughts rambling—I am still focused on the surface of the water. Should I look closer? I hear Ghost’s voice and shake myself out of the reverie.