Downfall And Rise

by Nathan Thompson

  “That's sweet of you, Wes,” Stell smiled again. “But it's untrue. I've said that you can skip Challenges, but if you had done so at the beginning we would have been in a lot of trouble.”

  The cup near us was now snoring.

  “I think I need to get her in a proper bed,” Stell said with a pitying glance at her smallest Satellite. “Or at least a large and soft flower. Also, I sort of need to completely redo my projections on the economy of the village you just saved. I think their development might suddenly advance by a generation or two. At least.”

  “Oops,” I said, scratching the back of my head.

  “Don't worry about it,” Stell said while shaking her newly golden mane. “There are worse problems than people suddenly being able to feed and clothe themselves a lot better. Just be more careful when you come back next time, okay?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “I mean it looks like you tried to come to Avalon a whole bunch of times earlier but didn't quite make it. I still don't understand how you come here on your own, and I'm worried you'll have some kind of accident because you're trying too hard to get here.”

  “Um, Stell?” I replied. “It was tricky in the beginning, but I haven't had any trouble coming at all for a while now. Really. If I just close my eyes for just five seconds I can make it happen without a hitch.”

  For a moment she just looked at me without saying anything.

  “You're sure?” she said finally.

  “Yeah,” I said, trying to work out the implications of what this meant, and not liking it.

  “Wes,” Stell said slowly. “You haven't told anyone about us or this place, have you?”

  “Not a soul,” I promised. “Never. I assumed you wanted to keep this place a secret, and even if you didn't, too many people would have thought I was crazy if I talked about it. They’d lock me up as soon as I said I traveled to a magical fairy land full of beautiful and incredible women that needed my help every night.”

  “Beautiful?” Stell blinked for a moment, then shook her head. “Never mind. Not important right now. But in the off-chance you find out anything, let me know, okay?”

  “Absolutely,” I affirmed. Because I'd be stupid not to protect this place.

  “Guineve,” Stell called out. The raven-haired woman had walked away after making us lunch. “We need to go to Vigilance-level one.”

  “Understood, dear,” Guineve called back, her voice calm, but firm. “Just tell me the details when you're done eating.”

  “Thanks,” Stell shouted. She turned and looked at me. “It's probably nothing, but we're going to make sure anyway. But even if someone else finds a way to come here, Guineve's powerful enough to handle anything short of an Icon. And that's on her bad day.”

  “Good to know,” I said, getting up. “In that case, I guess I should go master the art of getting out of bed back on Earth.”

  “Take care, Wes,” Stell said with a somewhat nervous smile. “And... stay safe, okay?”

  “Of course,” I replied. “And you too.”

  Chapter 24: Old Memories, Late Discoveries

  “Dad,” I asked my father, looking up to him. “Why are we doing this again?” I pointed to all the trash on the road, and the walls we had just cleaned of graffiti. “You and Mom always say to clean up our own mess. Why are we cleaning up someone else's?”

  “Because we're strong,” my father said simply, stuffing more trash in the garbage bag he was holding. “And you remember what I said before?”

  “Service is strength,” I repeated, and probably for the hundredth time.

  “Exactly,” my dad said, smiling despite the fact that his hands were full of smelly paper. “The people who made this mess were weak. They couldn’t handle their own problems, so they made a mess in someone else's neighborhood and sprayed hate over other people's walls to feel better about themselves. And the people that live here already have a lot on their plate. They have too many other burdens to have time to deal with the fact that some idiots spew nonsense all over their neighborhood every other weekend. But cleaning up for them isn't a burden for us, because we're the strongest people in town.”

  He had smiled proudly at me when he said that last part. I always felt like I was king of the world when he smiled at me like that. I would try to work for it, to get that smile more, but these days he would make that smile even when I couldn't figure what I had done to deserve it.

  But the back of my mind pointed out that this wasn't real anymore, that this was just a dream about a memory that took place years ago. My dad was dead now, my mind insisted. He was rotting in the ground with a bullet-hole in his skull.

  I told the back of my mind to shut up. I could remember my father's death and disgrace when I was awake. But for now, I wanted this happy memory, when I was little again and he was a big and strong hero.

  “And you know what that makes us, son?” My father continued still smiling as he picked up the last of the trash. “When you're strong enough to make sure no one who lives near you is bullied? When no one's starving? Or cold? When everyone who lives near you is safe, healthy, and respected?”

  “It makes us kings,” I recited. “Whether anyone knows it or not. Because serving, helping, and protecting are all jobs of a king.”

  “That a boy,” My father said proudly, tossing one more beer bottle into his bag. “That's the last of the trash. We have time to get ice cream for you and your sister, and you can help me pick out flowers for your mother after we go clean up. What do you say?”

  That question was rhetorical, and even child-me knew it. But I still let out a happy yip as we walked the trash off the street.

  I turned back to look at the walls and road. Clean of trash. Clean of hateful slogans that my parents had taught me to be disgusted about. Now the neighborhood block looked better than it did even before it was trashed.

  The only thing that ruined it was the massive yellow eye that glared at me from the back of an ally.

  “Dad,” I said as we walked. “What's that?”

  I pointed to where I had seen the eye, but it had moved on, as if looking away. In its place was part of a massive, scaly body, colored red with black stripes, slithering its way past the back of the alley like it was trying to stalk us.

  The back of my mind had stopped insisting that this was a memory and started screaming at the sight of that thing, but the child version of me was merely curious. My father was not even that.

  “That's just Mister Annoying,” Dad said with a roll of his eyes. “He barks and howls around here to try and make you think he's big and tough. And he thinks he can tell you how to be strong. But he can't, because he doesn't know how to be strong himself, and he's too weak to ever learn. We don't have anywhere else to put him, so just ignore him until he goes away.”

  “Will he ever go away for good?” I asked.

  “He'll pretend he won't. But he gets smaller every time you don't listen to him. He's gotten smaller since I was your age, and he's less than half of the size he was back during your grandfather's time. But he'll whine and lie to you whenever you do what it takes to be a king.”

  “Okay,” I said with a shrug. Because back I thought then if Dad said something wasn't important then it must be true.

  The back of the alley let out a low growl, almost like an engine turning, but nothing came out. I just concluded my father was right and followed him as we walked back to the car.

  “How long has he been around?” I asked. “Is he older than you and Grandfather?”

  My Dad chuckled at that.

  “He's older than even your great-great-great grandfather. But he's done less with himself than any one of us. Do me a favor and never listen to him, son. Because he's an idiot and a liar and a weakling.”

  “Okay,” Child-me promised. “I'll do that.”

  And just like that, we kept walking.

  The back of my mind started talking again, noting that my Dad had just started to look sad, and how
this was also different from that day.

  “Son,” he said, and for the first time ever he seemed a little hesitant, and ashamed. “I'm sorry. I tried to make you ready as well as I could, and I didn't get as long I wanted to be with you. Or your mother and sister. I want you to know I miss you all terribly. And I should have been able to do more to make you ready. But I got worried for you, and then I tried to make it to where you wouldn't need to be ready at all, and I failed. And because of that, you've been on your own.”

  “What are you talking about, Daddy?” I said. It was still a name that slipped out of child-me often, even when I tried to act all grown-up. “You haven't gone anywhere. You're right here. You're showing me how to be strong. We're going to buy ice cream and flowers for Mommy. You just taught me how to handle Mr. Annoying.”

  Dad's eyes looked wet, and he just ruffled my hair without saying anything.

  We were just a block or two from the car. But the windows shuddered just for a second, as if something loud had passed through nearby.

  My father snapped his gaze around for a moment, and then we kept walking.

  This time, the wind blew from another alley. It whispered at it flew passed us.

  And I heard it.

  “Traitor-prince.”

  “Daddy?” I asked. I looked around, because everyone knew the wind couldn't talk and I wanted to see what was going on.

  “Traitor-prince,” The windows said as they vibrated. Then they shuddered again. And the wind whispered again as it blew by, only louder.

  “Traitor-prince.”

  “Traitor-prince.”

  “Daddy?” I asked again. “Is that Mr. Annoying?”

  But my father had long stopped walking and dropped his garbage bags.

  “No son. Get behind me. Head to the car.”

  Wind and shuddering windows and clattering rocks all spoke again.

  “Traitor-prince, traitor-prince. Catch and kill the traitor-prince.”

  “Daddy,” I said, tugging on my un-moving father's sleeve. “Why aren't you coming? I don't want to walk to the car on my own.”

  This was scary, child-me said. And it was going to be a lot scarier without my dad.

  So why wasn't he coming?

  “Traitor-prince. Traitor-prince...”

  The rocks and wind and windows were all getting louder.

  “I can't come with you, son,” My father said to child-me. “You're going to have to fight these things on your own when you wake up. I can only help you with the ones that followed you here.”

  “But, Dad,” I protested. “I don't want to leave you!”

  “Traitor-prince! Traitor-prince! Catch and kill the traitor-prince!”

  “You have to!” My father shouted over the other voices. Dad never shouted before. He never needed to. “I can't come with you anymore,” he added, his voice quivering. “I wish I could. And I wish I had prepared you better, done my job better, so that you'd never have to fight them at all. But you'll be okay. I know you better than anyone else, and I know you're strong. In spite of how I messed up, in spite of everything that has and will happen, you'll win. And you'll thrive, far beyond what anyone thinks will be possible. Remember that for me.”

  “Okay, Daddy,” I said, and child-me sniffled, still not understanding what was going on. “I'll do that for you.”

  “Good,” my father said, smiling and with twinkling eyes. “Now get to the car. I will see you again, but not yet. Hopefully not for a very long time.”

  Child-me didn't understand that last part, but I ran to the car anyway, because the voices were getting even louder now, and Daddy has always been right before.

  “TRAITOR-PRINCE! TRAITOR-PRINCE! CATCH AND KILL THE TRAITOR-PRINCE!”

  “MALUS FILTH!” my father roared, and suddenly I realized that Dad must have been catching and eating bears with his bare hands his whole life, somehow behind everyone's backs, to be able to sound that loud and that mean. “COME SEE IF YOU CAN TOUCH HIM HERE! COME SEE IF YOU CAN WALK RIGHT PAST ME AND STILL LIVE!”

  The voices quieted immediately. For a moment they were altogether silent. Then they began again, quieter than before, as if they were trying to build themselves back up.

  “Traitor-prince, traitor-prince...”

  “YOU! WERE! WARNED!” my father roared again, and as I neared the car I turned back and looked at him one last time. He stood tall and straight, with flecks of stone breaking out of the asphalt to add to his muscles. The air around him began to billow and whirl quickly, giving me the impression that he was surrounded by a dozen invisible chainsaws. The skin that wasn't covered by rock was starting to glow like heated metal. His left fist was clenched and sparking with powerful electric current. His right hand was open, and some kind of massive, angry weapon was blazing into existence into his palm.

  Far away, at the opposite end of the street, something black and hazy was massing together, stretching across whole blocks.

  “Traitor-prince, traitor-prince,” it chittered, like some crazy man made out of insects. “Curse and catch and kill the traitor prince!”

  “YOU WILL DIE REGRETTING YOU EVER TRIED!” My father roared back. He stretched out both hands, holding weapon and lightning as he threw his voice out to the sky.

  “VENI INVICTUS! VENI IN AUXILIUM MEUM!”

  Everything near my dad began to shake. I grasped the car door, and he turned to look back at me one last time.

  “Son,” he said, his voice suddenly quiet again. “Whatever else happens, I love you.”

  I woke up in a cold sweat, back in my room on Earth. Air came into my mouth via huge gasps I couldn't stop making. My body was shaking all over. I couldn't hold either hand steady for even a second.

  He was gone.

  Dad was gone again.

  Why did he have to leave again?

  Why couldn’t he just get in the car?

  I bawled, still shaking all over. For how long I don't know, but eventually my shaking died down and I could breathe without heaving.

  The back of my mind, which had been quietly waiting for the dream and my little breakdown to finish, now threw its thoughts forward into the rest of my skull. Why did I dream after leaving Avalon? That never happened before. And as far as I could remember, I never dreamed about Avalon. I either went there in my sleep or I didn't think about it at all until I woke up.

  I recognized most of the magic I saw surrounding my dad at the end of the dream. At least two of the spells were ones I could use, though my versions were much, much weaker.

  But that just prompted more questions.

  Could my father have gone to Avalon? Someone had clearly gone there recently, at least recently enough for Stell to have been surprised by my own arrival. Could that…

  No, I decided. That was absurd. My father was dead. And unlike every other visitor to Avalon that I had heard about, he had died in disgrace, with all but a handful of people believing he was an awful degenerate that had taken advantage of little girls. If he had gone to Avalon he would have already been a legend.

  But I could remember every word he had said in my dream. And he had known he was dead. And he tried to warn me about something.

  And he had spoken Latin near the end.

  I had never heard him speak Latin.

  And I don't even know Latin, except for the word 'veni' which means 'come here.'

  Whatever language he had spoken, I have never heard of, not from anyone.

  So how could I have just dreamed up every word?

  I couldn't, I realized.

  Suddenly the past couple of years came together in a new light.

  The fact that there was a typed, instead of handwritten, note on my father's desk when we found him.

  My therapist's questions about my dad's work.

  Her new questions about my dreams.

  The fact that my injury has completely baffled doctors for years.

  I had ignored all these things before because they kept making my life seem life it
was part of some conspiracy movie, and I knew it wasn't.

  But now I was traveling to other worlds.

  What if Dad had really gone to Avalon before?

  What if other people had found out, and wanted to go there as well?

  And why wouldn't they?

  A person could get stronger, healthier, learn to do magic. Possibly live multiple times. I had no idea if I could even age when I was there. And even if a magical wonder-world wasn't really a person's cup of tea, they could probably just come back here, stronger, faster and more powerful. Like how I was doing.