by JM Guillen
“But not just Liz,” Baxter spoke thoughtfully, gazing at Simon. “You did… something back at the hotel, back when that creature attacked us.”
“Yeah.” I rested my chin on my hands and lent my tone a sarcastic lilt. “Tell us how summoning angelic presences isn’t some kind of ‘magic.’”
“That’s different, I promise.” Simon somehow nodded at Baxter and scowled at me in the same motion. “We’ll get to that.”
“So, if it’s not magic or something psychic,” Rehl puzzled, “what exactly is it? How does Liz do these things?”
6
June 13, 1991-Six Years Ago
Syracuse, New York
“The feller who first taught me a little bit about all this crazy nonsense had a touch of a poetic bent.”
“Yeah?” I took another sip of my strawberry shake. I still didn’t quite know what to think. My heart still thrummed in my chest, and my nerves tingled with readiness to run. “By ‘crazy nonsense’ do you mean ‘conning teenage girls’?”
“Not a con. You been cheatin’.” He cut back to his initial thesis from the day before. “You believed you had an astounding vertical jump, and that it all come from training.”
“Yeah.” I couldn’t keep the sullen tone from my voice. “I’m stoked to find out I was wrong. Not.”
“So, if it’s not all a result of training, what’s happening here?” He took a bite of fruit salad.
“You tricked me.” I narrowed my eyes. “Somehow.”
“Yes.” He nodded agreeably. “Won’t be the last time I trick you, neither. But was today a trick? Outside in the alleyway?”
I gazed at the battered hat on the table between us. It felt impossible to wrap my mind around what I’d done. I’d never come close to being able to leap like that.
It’d felt like flying.
“I just don’t know.”
“It’s weird,” he said. “I get that. Hard to explain. That’s why I thought I’d borrow someone else’s poetic metaphors for a bit.”
“Okay.” I waved my hand, still focused upon the hat.
“My teacher was a guy named Rufus. Cool guy.”
“Rufus?”
He ignored me and carried on, “Rather ‘n talk about mystical power or chakras, he cut straight to the heart of things.” Simon stabbed the air with his fork.
Mystical power? I shook my head. Where had this conversation gone off the rails?
“‘Simon,’ he used to say, ‘I want you to imagine some kind of day care, filled with bitty babies.’”
“He did, did he?” I had just about decided to grab the baseball cap and leave. “Poetic.”
“This isn’t the poetic bit,” he grumbled. “Now imagine one day one of those babies stood up and started to walk.” Simon raised an eyebrow at me. “Pretty crazy right?”
“No.” I stared at him as if he were an idiot. “That’s the natural order of things. Eventually, babies start walking.”
“Ah.” Simon gave me a clever smile. “I see. It’s the natural order for infants to learn to walk. But that’s a miracle to the other babies, right? Something inconceivable!”
“I… guess?”
“It doesn’t really matter if it’s natural for a child to learn to walk, here. What I’m talking about is the reaction of the crawlers.”
“Okay.”
“So what if it’s the natural order for people to alter reality around them? Say, do things that seem impossible to others?”
“So, we’ve moved from Liz having mad skills to New Age juju?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Isn’t that exactly what you’ve done?” He leaned forward. “Buttercup, Olympic gymnasts can’t leap the way you did while you wore that hat.”
“So,” I grumbled as I leaned back in my seat, “the old man I met in the alleyway is claiming I have some kind of power? And that it’s human nature to… what, grow into being able to work miracles?”
“I’m forty seven.” He scowled. “Not old.”
I shook my head and took another drink of my shake. “It’s stupid. If people could create miracles, we would hear about things. People would experience all kinds of strange shifts in reality.”
“Would they?” Simon took another bite of his burger, and spent a moment chewing. “Like teenage girls who can jump like a grasshopper?”
“I think you’re insane.” I shook my head.
“How high was your vertical jump when you went outside?” Simon reached across the table and took his battered ball cap back. “Are you insane too? How do you account for what happened here?”
“I dunno.”
“I’d like you to consider the possibility that I’ve shown you something incredible. Nothin’ you’ve experienced before can explain it.”
“I get that.” I sipped at my shake and met his blue eyes. “I definitely can’t explain it.”
“I told you that you were cheating yesterday. What I meant is that you weren’t simply leaping under the strength of your muscles, even though you thought you were. There’s another process in play, somethin’ you didn’t know about before.”
“So… I’m a mutant.”
“You’re—?” He blinked. “What?”
“There’s a whole comic series about what you’re talking about… like with the babies? People mutate into the next stage of humanity. There’s all kinds of racism and prejudice, and the heroes deal with it.”
“No, idiot. You aren’t a mutant.” He scowled at me. “It’s a story. Just a metaphor. I’m not revealing secret history here. Just an idea.”
“I’m waiting for the poetry.”
“The thing is, Elizabeth—”
“Liz.”
“The thing is, Rosebud,” he chuckled, “your mutant comic assumes that I’m talking about something mankind is turning into.” He thrust his fork into a small bowl of fruit salad. “I’m saying, what if this is what humanity is now?”
“Well, again, if humanity has these powers, I think someone would have noticed,” I insisted. “I just don’t follow.”
“That’s because you’re used to being one of the crawlers.” He set his fork down. “That’s okay. I have to tell you a story. It should enlighten you, just a bit.”
“Good,” I sighed. “Good.”
7
August 29, 1997-Present Day
New York, New York
“So let me tell y’all a story.” Simon took another sip of his beer. “Actually a buncha stories, but it’s really just one.”
“Is it about monsters who can possess theatre screens?” Bax took a sip of beer.
“Yes.” Simon pointed at the scrawny guy. “Kind of.” He paused. “Okay, no.”
“What is it then?” Alicia asked, slightly less sullen now that she’d had a drink.
“I’m tellin’ a story about the stories people tell. It’s about myths, and the truths behind them.”
“I like mythology!” Alicia smiled and placed her chin on her fist. “So which ones?”
“Most specifically?” Simon appeared to think for a moment. “The Eden story, the one with the apple, but also the tower of Babel.”
“Odd choices,” Rehl muttered.
“I can throw in Hesiod and his Chronologies of the Ages of Man, the stories of Atlantis, and the Hindu tales of the Yugas.” He thought a moment. “Those are also the ages of humanity, but from India.”
“Quite the mixed bag.” Baxter eyed him skeptically.
“I’ve heard this one.” I grinned at my friends. “I’ll tell the barkeep we need another round.” I stood and stepped away.
And here Simon said I’d have to tell all this to my friends myself. I smirked. Sucker.
When I came back mere minutes later, Simon was already hard at work, waving one hand while he articulated his favorite theory.
“What I’m saying is, all of these examples are actually the same damn story!” He jerked his chin at me as I set down.
“I don’t see it.” Alicia titled her head and furro
wed her brow. “The Judeo-Christian story of Eden and the story of the Tower of Babel take place in the same narrative. How can they be discussing the same event?”
“You know how there are dozens and dozens of different flood myths?”
“Right.” Rehl leaned back to expound, “Some people think there actually was some kind of great flood or perhaps a racial memory of the melt during the Ice Age.”
“That’s bogus though.” Baxter looked around the table. “There may be a lot of stories about the flood, but we know it never happened. There were many cultures that existed during that time that kept meticulous records.” He paused. “None of them mentioned being entirely wiped out.”
“That’s a good point,” Simon agreed. “What cultures are you talking about specifically?”
“The Chinese for one,” Baxter opined. “But also the Egyptians, the Mesopotamians, and the Sumerians. All alive during the time of the historical flood. They did not get mysteriously destroyed by a wrathful God.”
“I’m not necessarily discussing just the Abrahamic religions here.” Simon turned from Baxter to Alicia to me.
“Oh yeah?” I rolled my eyes, having heard this song and dance a dozen times or so.
“The Chinese, the Sumerians, the Babylonians…” He took a drink of his beer. “They all had flood myths. Deluge myths occur in ‘most every ancient culture across the world.”
“That’s why I always liked the idea that it was some kind of racial memory.” Rehl gazed at Baxter. “The Ice Age covered most of the northern hemisphere. I would think that the melting of that much ice would be something that humanity would remember for a long time.”
“Maybe something in prehistory,” Baxter mused, but I could tell that he wasn’t sold.
“Exactly.” Simon pointed at him. “Well, I’m gonna suggest to you that there’s ‘nother event humanity remembers, and we still tell stories ‘bout it, just like we do with the Flood.” He wriggled his eyebrows. “This story is about our little magpie here, and people like her.”
“I still don’t see how the tower of Babel ties in with Hesiod.” Alicia shook her bright head. “I studied Greek myths in school. They’re too different.”
“Are they?” Simon chuckled and took a long drink from the mug I’d brought.
“It’s about to get deep in here.” I elbowed Rehl.
“Once, everything was perfect.” Simon set his beer down and peered at each of us from across the table. “People were good, the world was happy, and all was prosperous.” He winked. “Perhaps, as in stories of Atlantis or the Satya Yuga, mankind even possessed highly advanced technology; things that we can’t grasp today.”
“Okay.” Alicia still seemed skeptical.
“Yet we grew filled with hubris.” His tone grew dramatic, and he met my gaze for just a moment. “We sought the wisdom of the gods.”
“Knowledge of good and evil,” Alicia supplied.
“Or the tower to heaven,” Simon pointed out. “Babel.”
“Prometheus,” Baxter added. “He went and stole fire from heaven.”
“Coyote stole fire from heaven.” Rehl grinned. “Although that seems like a different kind of story. I always kinda thought Coyote made that one up.”
“Whatever it was—” Simon held up one finger, “—things were once wonderful.” He held out a second digit. “Mankind sought the power of gods.” He held up a third. “We were punished. Cast down.” He shrugged. “This is why the world is the way it is today.”
“Atlantis was flooded.” Baxter took a sip.
“Mythic heroes were punished for grasping the power of gods.” Alicia cupped her chin in her hand and tilted her head. “You aren’t saying they’re the exact same story; you’re discussing theme.”
“I’m suggesting that, like the Flood, it’s possible this particular theme exists in human consciousness for a reason.” He tilted his head at me. “And this reason is directly connected to our little harridan here, and her special capabilities.”
“That’s—” Baxter muttered and shook his head in disbelief.
“So in this story, the gods punished men, usually for trying to steal somethin’ from ‘em or reaching into heaven or some other hubris.” Simon sat back. “What do gods do?”
“Rule… everything?” Rehl knew that wasn’t quite what Simon wanted. “Fight demons?”
“Gods are ineffable.” Alicia shook her head. “Incomprehensible.”
“Gods—” Baxter’s blue eyes suddenly went wide. “Oh shit!”
“Yes?” Simon raised an eyebrow.
“Gods create the world. They literally shape reality itself, through their will.” Baxter turned to me.
“Fuck,” Rehl breathed.
“Yes.” Simon pointed at Baxter and enunciated with care, “The gods hold the power to shape reality itself. And what happens when humanity grasps that power?”
“They are cast down. Punished.” Rehl’s tone became very quiet. He glanced at me.
“When Prometheus stole the god’s fire from heaven, he was punished by ‘em.” Simon took a sip. “Fire is one of my favorite metaphors here. Rehl mentioned that Coyote stole fire too, but it also happened in the Rig Veda, the book of Enoch, and Polynesian, Cherokee, and Algonquin myths.”
“Lucifer.” Alicia quirked her mouth up at the thought. “He brought enlightenment to humanity and then was thrown into hell.” She paused, as if struck by a thought. “You’re saying this happened.” Alicia blinked slowly. “You’re saying all this stuff is real, but when someone learns magic, real magic, the gods punish them.”
“Well, the term ‘magic’…” Simon vacillated with one hand.
“Gods aren’t really real though.” Baxter looked sheepishly at Alicia. “I mean, no offense, but who ‘cast humanity down’? Not something like Zeus, Odin, or Jehovah?”
“And who could watch over the entire planet?” Rehl rubbed his gleaming head. “I mean, we don’t exactly see thousands of people expressing odd talents like Liz, so it makes sense that there must be some… controlling force.”
“That’s not the point tonight, and is a larger discussion.” Simon and I exchanged a quick glance, and I instantly knew the truth. The depth of that topic remained far too vast.
Stories about the Silent Gentlemen wouldn’t help anything, not this evening.
Shit. I needed to talk to Simon about the horror supposedly known as Garret. Simon would be livid that one of them had found me, and certainly wouldn’t listen to any theories about any ‘opportunities.’
The thought also called to mind the irrational buzzing sensation he seemed to emit. I could almost feel my skull crawl with pins and needles.
I shuddered at the memory.
“Seriously, though.” Baxter tapped his fingers on the table. “Follow the logic here. This thing would be… vast.”
“Fact.” Simon pointed at him.
“Magic doesn’t exist, typically, I mean.” Bax gave me a shy smile.
“Okay.” Simon leaned back and took a drink. “I don’t like the word, but okay.”
“Hesiod wrote about the golden age… when?” Baxter glanced at Alicia.
“Somewhere around seven hundred BCE.” She placed her chin in her hand and mused, “That golden age ended when Prometheus stole fire from heaven, supposedly.”
“Whatever.” Baxter peered at Simon. “So if we follow what your story claims and keep going, humanity attempted to grasp…” He stopped, glancing at Simon. It took me a moment to realize he didn’t want to use the word ‘magic.’
“Heaven’s fire?” I quirked up one eyebrow. “Although it’s much more like heaven’s wind in my case.”
“Whatever.” Baxter waved one hand. “Basically, this means humanity sought the power to alter reality, what, thousands of years ago?”
“The Satya Yuga is part of an eternal cycle that is twenty four thousand years long.” Simon set his mug down. “It’s really hard to pin down any kind ’a true timeframe.”
“The
re’s a difference between any actual event and the stories, anyway,” Rehl interrupted. “Historically, we’ve had civilization for what, nine thousand years?”
“Maybe closer to eleven,” Simon interrupted. “And yes, this is fascinating stuff. When you really start digging, it’s interesting to find all kinds ’a things in history that tie the theory together.”
“And I bet we could do that all night,” Alicia agreed, then shifted the subject. “How long have you been piecing this idea together?”
“‘Bout twenty years now.” Simon chuckled. “And there’re still lots ’a holes.”
“So if humans have the capability to shape reality—at least in potential—what stops us from rising and attempting to grasp that kind of power again?” Baxter scratched his chin.
“Gettin’ too complex.” Simon waved a hand. “We can dig through the droppings all day, but in the end, these theories don’t really matter.” He leaned forward. “I often find that truths make more sense when presented simply. What I told Butterfly here was—”
8
June 13, 1991-Six Years Ago
Syracuse, New York
“The poetic explanation is a lot simpler than all that.” Simon chuckled.
“Yeah?” My head spun. “It better be or you’re going to have to buy me a third shake.”
“The world is a realm of shadows, Kitten.” He leaned forward and folded his fingers. “Malleable, changeable. Fleeting.”
“Okay. Shadows.” I eyed him.
“Before these shadows, folks like you are a light. You shape the world with the same ease that a flickering candle shapes the darkness.”
“That’s stupid.” I shook my head. “Not really poetry. Just pretty words.”
“Your kind has existed throughout the history ’a man,” he said, his tone grave. “Shamans, wonderworkers, medicine men. In every culture, their actions have echoed far.”
“It’s… jumping.” I eyed him, enunciating the word. “I can jump well, Simon. I’m not healing the sick or raising the dead.”