Got Luck

by Michael Darling

  They were also Stained. All the colors of the worlds, real and imagined.

  All those things The Mama talked about—maybe she wasn’t crazy after all. Or maybe I’m the crazy one.

  I felt Toto come up behind me and bump into my left shoulder, making sure I’d remember who was there. My breath caught in my throat as a hundred pairs of eyes looked my way.

  I turned my head and scanned from one side of the circle around to the other.

  In a voice that rang out louder than I intended, I said, “Who ordered the kung pao chicken?”

  A few of the faces stared back in shock. Most gave no reaction at all. I realized it was entirely possible that none of them understood what I had said. I didn’t know if we spoke the same language. They certainly didn’t look like the kids I’d grown up with.

  A woman—no tail, no wings—detached herself from a group of confidantes and came languidly toward me. One of her friends had scaly skin and another looked like she was made of papery, white tree bark.

  The woman who approached was as human-looking as any here. Her face was long with delicate features, almost like a living Modigliani. She had eyes that were tilted and shaped like almonds and a mouth that was a little too wide. Still spectacularly beautiful. She would have blended in with the girls at Nat’s gym, except for her outfit and her Stain. Instead of workout clothes, she wore a tight, shimmering gown. It was silver with a blue pattern of stripes like a zebra. Or a tiger. The skirt was split up the side to an alarming height, revealing long, sensual legs. She walked on her toes as if she wore heels but her feet were bare. The dress left her shoulders exposed. It was a feat of engineering that the dress stayed in place at all as she walked.

  She stopped in front of me, standing entirely too close. Desire came off her skin, infectious. I cleared my throat.

  Her gaze ran down my body all the way to the ground and back up again.

  When she spoke, she paused and breathed between the words as if there was nothing more savory than her own thoughts. “Thou art. So deliciously. Broken.”

  Her long, delicate finger wove a sinuous path toward me.

  Her fingertip brushed my chest, ever so slightly.

  I wanted to die.

  I felt my chest split open. Acid poured down the splayed interiors of my skin and the edges caught on fire and rolled back, layer after layer until the bones were exposed. It lasted only a moment, but it was long enough for me to realize that life was the last thing I wanted to cling to. Then the pain went away just as quickly as it had started. I found myself kneeling on the ground, my trembling hands pressed against my chest. I looked down. I was unharmed but my breath had left me completely.

  “Thou shalt. Respect. Thy masters. And kneel,” she said.

  I coughed. My breath returned in great, heaving gulps. I continued to stare at the ground in front of me. Those stripes she wore. Definitely not zebra. I wrested control of my body back from the memory of pain.

  When I was finally able to look up at her, standing over me with a sneer on her face, I said, “No fortune. Cookie. For you.”

  She giggled. “So very. Broken,” she said. She bent over and touched me with her finger again. Pleasure ran through me in great shuddering waves like a top-ten list of life’s best experiences rolled into one.

  “We can. Also. Reward,” she said.

  A long double note from a horn sounded in the air. The woman turned her head and sighed. Playtime over. She straightened to her full height and tip-toed away.

  The horn sounded again, closer this time, and the sound was accompanied by a thundering riff of deep drums.

  On the third sounding, the willows parted on the opposite side of the glade. A procession entered, led by a dozen massive warriors in silver armor. The armor was intricately detailed, showing deer running through forests and bears rampant on stony hills. The warriors moved with inhuman fluidity. Their helmets were slotted and I could see no details of their faces, except for their glowing emerald eyes.

  Behind the warriors rode a man on a pure white stallion. His head was bare, save for a simple silver circlet. Instead of armor, he wore a plain tunic and a waistcoat along with breeches and boots. The man stood in the saddle and raised his hand. Everyone with two legs knelt and bowed. Those with four legs put their bellies to the ground.

  The man dismounted. Clover sprang up everywhere he walked.

  A pair of attendants brought out a simple oak table and chair. They were taller than their master by at least a foot, but they moved bent over, keeping their heads lower than his. Servants brought a plate of bread and cheese along with a chalice and placed them before their master as he sat.

  He looked at me. Raw power emanated from him like a wall, and he had a Stain like earth-toned armor. He was the shortest person in view, of the humans at least, but he was the most splendid specimen of any species I had ever seen. I felt an incredible sense of loyalty and admiration sweep over me. In that moment, I would have followed him to the brink of Armageddon and fought every demon on the way before I would have allowed a single hair of his head to be harmed.

  It was all I could do to keep myself from running to kneel at his feet. It helped not knowing what was expected of me. What if he didn’t want me to approach? Who was I to even look upon him? I was an insect looking upon a god. I stayed where I was. But I prayed for some direction from him so that I could fulfill his wishes.

  Honeysuckle had emerged from the ground and was climbing the legs of the master’s chair, blooming as it went. All of nature worshipped this man.

  A functionary with a cat-like face stood in front of me. He gave me a bow but I hardly noticed.

  “With the Alder King as witness, and before the assembled court of the Fae, we are gathered. Thou art known among mortals as Goethe Luck,” he said.

  It seemed I should be paying closer attention. This might be about me. The master’s power . . . the Alder King’s power . . .

  The functionary went on, “Thy days have been numbered and thou dost approach ten-thousand dawns. The time has come to test the vessel of thy true self.”

  I felt silver encircle my wrists. The bindings were fashioned to resemble flowering vines with little moons and stars along the borders. I had a feeling the manacles weren’t a birthday present. At first, I almost laughed. The silver was so delicate I could easily break it. As soon as I had the thought, however, the thought left me. In the back of my mind, I understood that without the desire to break free, the flimsy manacles might as well be inch-thick, cold-forged iron. Then that understanding also fell inaccessibly deep from useful thought.

  The cat man placed a long silver dagger between my hands. The handle was wrapped in soft leather and the sharp end was pointed at my chest.

  “Thou wilt be victorious or thou wilt end thyself.” It couldn’t tell if it was a prediction or a command.

  I turned and looked at the expectant faces surrounding me. One or two of them held unconcealed bloodlust in their eyes, but most appeared to be indifferent at best. Potential self-evisceration apparently wasn’t fresh enough to entertain this crowd. Toto sat directly behind me. Probably, the liondog would finish any uncompleted death-dealing. Comforting.

  The last eyes I met were the Alder King’s. He nodded to me and raised his chalice.

  * * *

  Darkness. Nothing more.

  I was suddenly free of my bonds, but limited since I couldn’t see anything around me. I felt something underfoot, holding me up, so I had to be somewhere. I bent down and felt around, but there was nothing for my hands to touch. It might be a mistake to try walking. I might fall off of whatever molecules are holding me up. I saw light over my shoulder.

  There was something behind me.

  It turned as I did. It was human in shape and masculine, exactly my height. But it was featureless, barely three dimensions, and composed of the same pale blue ener
gy I had learned to associate with magic. I moved my arm and the figure did the same. I raised my foot and the figure did the same. I moved my foot ahead of the other one and gradually transferred my weight. The figure did the same. I didn’t fall. Neither did he.

  Cautiously, we approached each other. Like a reflection in a mirror, it copied everything I did, except it had its own left and right sides.

  When only a few feet remained between us, I stopped.

  I heard my heart pounding in my ears. How many times in a day would I feel fear? What kind of test was this? Was this an enemy? The functionary had said I would be victorious or die. I stretched out my right arm and it did the same with its right arm. Our palms faced each other. The most bizarre high five in history. At least in my history.

  I feared there would be a jolt of pain when contact was made. There was a vibration to it but the energy was cool and soothing. It clung to my skin like water.

  Holy mostaccioli. That felt amazing.

  I took a step back. Fascinating. But I had no idea what it meant or what I was supposed to do.

  We stood looking at each other for a minute.

  I almost felt betrayed when it attacked. Blink of an eye and the thing had its hands around my throat. Cool and soothing—but getting tighter. Choking the life out of me. I grabbed its wrists and pulled. It didn’t yield. I tried turning and throwing it. I tried kicking it. I had no mass to use against it. Nothing solid to make contact with. I started to see lights dancing at the edges of my vision.

  They had given me a silver knife, but it had vanished along with the silver manacles.

  Wait. A knife. I still had the knife that I had used to cut my thumb and open the circular gate in my house. It was in my back pocket.

  I pulled it out and slashed through the thing’s wrists. The energy divided and my own wrists erupted in sudden pain. I could still use my hands but it hurt. I backed away from the energy. The parts that had been the figure’s hands were floating in the air. They were losing their shape and energy seeped out of them and floated away. They grew incrementally smaller, like squashy blue balloons with slow leaks.

  I could whittle it down, I decided. Cut it into small chunks and let the energy drift away.

  “Don’t!” A voice, quiet but urgent, echoing inside my head. “Don’t hurt it!”

  Forget that! I was going to take a step forward and let this thing walk itself into my knife.

  “You need it!” The voice was muffled and warped, like listening to a conversation through a wall using a glass like in old movies. But the glass was full of water.

  “What for?” I thought.

  The voice did not respond. I waited. I didn’t hear anything. Screw it. I took a step and the figure did the same. The blue light guy bumped into the blobs I had carved off and absorbed them again. Shoot! I raised the knife.

  “Stop! I’m risking everything!” The voice was female at least. I could tell that much.

  “What?”

  “What I’m doing is dangerous!” She sounded desperate.

  “Who are you? How are you talking to me?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Well, that’s too bad. For all I know . . .”

  “There isn’t time . . .”

  “. . . you’re making it worse.”

  “. . . it’s almost dawn.”

  I sighed. I didn’t know what to do. If time was running out, maybe it didn’t matter what I did. But this felt so real. And I was tired of being afraid.

  The blue man had not moved at all during my exchange with the voice. Perhaps, since I had thwarted its attack, it was just going to wait me out. What possible purpose could there be for this scenario?

  “It will need blood now,” said the voice.

  “That’s handy,” I thought. “Since I’m the only source. Shall I just kill myself? Save you the trouble?”

  The voice sounded irritated. “It’s important for you to survive. More than you know.”

  I wanted to believe that. I’m sure the voice wanted me to believe it too.

  I raised my hand with the knife.

  The figure raised its corresponding hand but it wasn’t a hand anymore. Its shape had changed and now it had a knife of its own.

  Great. If I cut or stabbed the thing now, it would do the same to me. Mirroring me. Except I can’t reabsorb my body parts if they get cut off. It would kill me before I could kill it.

  “Think about what the chancellor said.” The voice bordering on panic. “You have to figure it out.”

  “What’s it to you if I don’t?”

  No response. I needed to do something. Anything.

  Then, “Don’t say my name.”

  “I don’t even know . . .”

  “Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, you walk into mine.”

  She just told me not to, but I almost said her name right out loud, Erin. I was stunned. I could trust this voice. “What do I do?”

  “Give it blood. Figure it out. Hurry. It’s almost dawn.”

  I tried to focus. If I attacked it, it would attack me. Make me bleed. Then what?

  I had a better idea. If I cut myself, it would cut itself too. But it wouldn’t hurt itself. It would be like water attacking water.

  I turned the knife. I cut my thumb again. The being made the same motions, cutting its own thumb to no effect. That’s good, I think. I put the knife back in my pocket as a crimson line ran down along my thumb to my palm. I tried the high five again. When the blue guy’s hand touched the blood, there was a flare of light. The being absorbed the blood for a full minute. The dazzling flare of light stopped, but the aura surrounding the blue guy was vital and bright.

  The chancellor had said something about this test. What had it been? I’d been so distracted by the Alder King’s power. What were the words? A test of my true self. That wasn’t it. There had been more. Vessel. The vessel of my true self.

  Vessels held things—other things—inside them. A glass was a vessel for holding liquid. Could it be something simple? Just holding . . . I stepped into the blue light and embraced the energy. It clung to me, embracing me as well. My skin began to tingle. There was no pain but it filled me to the point of satiation. I felt refreshed and at the same time barely able to contain the power that surged through me. I started to shake. It was too much. I closed my eyes, clenched them shut. My hands became fists and the bones and tendons groaned as my entire body went rigid. I threw back my head and roared.

  I opened my eyes when I felt grass on my face. I was no longer in the empty space. I heard a voice say, “Call for a healer.” Then I blacked out.

  Chapter Six

  Gifts

  “Well done, Fáidh Bean. He awakens.”

  I’d been hearing voices for a little while, but those were the first sounds that had formed themselves into something recognizable.

  “I’m fading?” I mumbled.

  I felt a warm hand on my forehead. “No. I’m Fáidh. That’s my name in this realm. It sounds like ‘Fae’ but you have to add an ‘ah’ sound on the end.”

  Okey. And also dokey.

  Recent events came swimming up to my consciousness. The glade. The creatures. The strange people. The empty space. The blue guy.

  “Did I fall on the knife?” I asked.

  “No. You dropped it before you came back.”

  I let that process for a minute. “Why do I need a healer then?”

  “You landed on your face.”

  That would explain the pounding in my temples. I ventured to open my eyes.

  There’s that moment in the Wizard of Oz where Dorothy steps out of her house and the world is no longer dull and monochromatic but filled with color. I was old enough to remember VHS tapes; for years, they were the only way to watch a movie at home. The Mama played that tape ove
r and over because she said she had seen Judy Garland in concert once. Then came digital technology and high definition. When I later saw the movie again on disc, the contrast was even more striking. When I opened my eyes, the world had changed like that.

  I was lying on my back and no longer bound. Dawn had broken and the early light filtered through the glade. The colors were different and I could see more of them. Everything was more detailed than I had ever noticed before. I looked at my own hand, front and back. I wasn’t looking at skin. I was looking at a collection of textured flesh with whorls and ridges and different gradations of small hairs and pores and wrinkles and tiny flakes of skin that were coming loose. Underneath were networks of veins, protrusions of bone, and overlays of muscle. Although incredibly more delicate and soft, the pattern of my skin wasn’t all that different in its basic structural pattern than that of an alligator.

  And I had a Stain. White and as gossamer as a baby’s ghost, but it was there. A single ribbon woven from a million tiny symbols encircling my chest.

  My head hurt.

  I transferred my gaze to a particularly well-constructed face.

  “Hello,” I said. I had to blink and look again.

  The woman smiling at me really was Erin, even though she said her name was Fáidh. Maybe she was a superhero. Her eyes were perfectly emerald green. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “I think so,” I lied. I tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t betray my shock at seeing her here. I couldn’t think of a thing.

  “You broke your nose when you came back and fell on the ground,” she said. From her expression, I think she was trying not to laugh. “I fixed it for you. While you were out, I also took care of your ribs and your leg. I can heal you faster here than in the mortal world.”

  I tried moving and found that all my aches and pains, except for the one in my head, were gone. “That’s really nice,” I said. Awkward seconds passed.

  A shadow fell upon us. “Can he stand?” It was the chancellor.