“But you know what I mean.”
“I do,” it said. “And I won’t lie to you. There are a lot of us, and not so many of you. Don’t expect to overturn the culture. Just be . . . with us. But don’t think that just because you’re joining with something larger, you won’t still be you. Fully you. And by that I mean fully yourself, and fully human.” The smile slowly escaped its wide face. “Or are you going home?”
“No,” I said. “I mean . . . yes. Or . . . I mean . . .” I turned my head slightly and looked back at the gray box. “There are people there . . . friends I’d like to see again.”
“We can arrange for you to talk to them. Exchange messages. Even several if you want.”
I bit my lip and thought a moment longer. “Okay,” I said.
“Okay?” George slapped its hands together again, and this time the expression seemed much more like joy. “Good! Very good. We’ll work out something about talking to those friends. Now, let’s—”
“I just have one more question,” I said.
The big head tilted to one side. “What’s that?”
“Why me?” I asked again. “And this time, really. Why me out of eight billion people?”
George nodded. It gave a wave to its right, and the flowing star scape faded. “It wasn’t just you, of course. We tried to get as many as we could, what you might call a ‘representative sample.’” The alien looked at me, and now the small eyes seemed to be studying me more closely than ever before. “We’re really selfish, Doc. We want what you got. What makes you unique. All those individual threads pulling together . . . that’s how we stand up when civilizations that are on their own fall apart.”
“So where I was born—”
“Where you lived, where you worked. And the fact that you’re not married. And you have little immediate family. All that was a part of your name coming out of the hat.” The broad smile returned abruptly. “And I have to admit that name didn’t hurt. A name like that . . . it just has to be preserved.”
I found myself laughing. George stood. I stood. And right about then I realized that somewhere I had lost my coat. Maybe I had left it on the bus, or at the university, or in Detective Kelly’s car, but all those places seemed light-years away now. Maybe they really were.
George advanced toward me, and this time I didn’t back away. “Welcome,” it said.
I extended my own hand. “So, my being a paleoichthyologist didn’t have anything to do with it?”
“Oh, no,” said George. “That was a big part of it. The next place we’re going? The people there are aquatic. We’ve been watching them for a couple of thousand years, but they’re quite unique. We think you might have something to contribute when it comes to understanding them.” George’s large purple fingers looked even larger from close up. “Who knows?” he said around that very wide smile. “Maybe you’ll be doing my job.”
We shook. It was a little awkward at first, but we worked it out.
RONIN
WILLIAM McCASKEY
I.
There is a stillness to the air, like the pause when you reach the highest point of a jump. That split-second hang, weightless, waiting for the inevitable plummet back toward the ground. The light moves oddly through the trees, the branches casting shadows that twist and spin on the ground. I step forward slowly, testing the footing with every step while reaching out with my other senses for any sign of my quarry. Silence has been laid over this part of the forest, muffling even the crunch of dry leaves beneath my feet. I come to the edge of a clearing and stop; the light washes the open grassland in a silver sheen that glimmers on the tall grass like crystals.
A dark shadow passes overhead, and not even the Silence is enough to quiet the heavy beat of leather wings against the air as the dragon circles the meadow to land in the center. The surrounding light highlights the emerald scales of her back, while the scales of her underbelly shine with a faint pink glow of their own accord. I step fully into the clearing, and the dragon turns her head to look at me, the violet irises of her eyes gleaming brightly in the night, and I smile as she dips her head in the dragon’s imitation of a bow. “Ronin,” she greets me, her voice a rich contralto.
Ronin, a weighted title that means less to me now than it did generations ago when I first took it. I bow to return the dragon’s respect. “Titles are too formal on a night such as this, Sparkles.” I chastise her gently, smiling to lessen the impact of the words.
She dips her head in my direction. “A fair point, Mr. Bear. Have you discovered the nature of our quarry?” Even with the formality gone, her voice is still a pleasure to listen to.
I had been expecting the question and had the answer ready. “Goblins, a pack of them, maybe four, no more than six. The Silence and the false moonlight gave them away. Now to find them before they get any closer to the border.”
“If it is a simple pack of goblins, why did you bring me along, Bear? Surely you don’t need my help dealing with simple night terrors,” Sparkles comments before lifting her serpentine head to sniff at the night air.
She’s right, I could have done this on my own and had before, so why did I bring her? Why did I continue to involve others in my duties? It could have been the loneliness, or was it pride that made me think I could turn toys into guardians the way the Sandman had done for me? I tell her neither, saying instead, “The borders are long and as Emily gets older, the nightmares will change. I will need someone to keep the lesser forms at bay while I hunt the monsters.”
It appears as though she accepts my answer. “Shall we hunt from the air?” she asks me, almost eagerly, and I have to remind myself that in generations past I had fought nightmares of similar shape to her. Apparently, dragons were changing sides in the real world.
I nod in answer to her request, and as she lowers her body toward the ground, she dips the front of her wing for me to use as a grip. My paws grip the bones of her forewing, and I hoist myself up onto her back. Sure-footed, I weave between the thin spines that jut from her back to seat myself at the junction of her shoulders and neck. A saddle awaits me, and I buckle myself in with a practiced ease that I would never have expected to possess nearly a decade ago. Her neck is long enough that she is able to watch my progress and wait for me to be secured before leaping from the ground and beating her wings fiercely to escape the chains of gravity.
Above the canopy the light is clearer and the air cleaner, while below us the treetops sway, but not from the wind. The trees weave back and forth, like the waves of the ocean, controlled by a force separate from the wind that beats against my face as Sparkles relishes the environment she was made for. The strokes of her wings are long and steady through the air, and she flies with such grace that I barely waver in my seat.
It is her hunter’s eyes that spot the flicker of torches first. The faint gleam against what appears as a sea of darkness below us gives away the goblin pack, and I thank my lucky stars for enemies that hunt one another in the Dark. Sparkles rocks over her right wing twice to warn me of an impending dive, and I tap her right shoulder to acknowledge her warning. Moments later she rolls up and over her right wing toward the ground before sweeping her wings back to slice downward on the clearing and the unsuspecting goblins.
The wind screams in my ears and pulls at my face as we race toward the ground; with my left paw I find the quick release for the seat’s harness and steel myself. So rapid is our dive that the goblins fail to notice our approach until we are almost upon them; a twist of the clasp, a leap, and I am in free fall. Any higher and I might have used Emily’s blanket as a parachute, but surprise is on my side and I want to keep it that way. The ground rushes toward me; I pull my legs up against my torso, folding myself in half as I wrap my arms around my legs and torpedo toward the ground.
That tiger can make all the claims he wants about his tail, but he isn’t the only one that can bounce. My aim is perf
ect and I come down right in the middle of the pack of goblins. I hit the ground and feel my stuffing compress on itself; it is the release of that compression that launches me back into the air. The night spins as I somersault forward, the goblins panicking around me. Typical bullies, vicious until someone stands up to them. The solid weight of Dreamer’s hilt appears in my right paw as I land. I spin to the left to avoid a spear thrust at my head; the silver edge of my sword flashes in the torchlight, and the slightest resistance against the blade tells me I have connected. The goblin who had attacked me with the spear, now behind me, disappears in a slow coiling of smoke and dust that returns to the Dark that had birthed him. I face the remainder of the stunned hunting party and grin. “One down, four left. Who is next?” I ask calmly.
As one, the four goblins turn on their heels and sprint for the edge of the forest behind them. Three quickly outpace the fourth, and I stoop to pluck the dropped spear from the grass. Sighting my target, I launch the spear with my left paw before following my quarry. The spear takes the trailing goblin in the back, tumbling him forward. This one shatters like glass into shards of smoke before hitting the ground, and the spear buries into the earth, still quivering from the force of the throw that had launched it. The final three goblins are about to enter the forest, and I know they will turn and attempt to fight, their numbers just enough to make them stupidly brave.
As I near the edge of the forest, I do not slow. The underbrush slaps against my legs and torso, almost hiding the telltale whisper of a blade cutting the air. Almost. I dive forward and below the swung weapon, my momentum carrying me past my attacker. I roll to a knee and lash out with Dreamer toward the second goblin in the line. The first cut takes the goblin’s arm from below and continues upward, carrying my blade into a sweeping reversal that removes the creature’s head from its shoulders. All three pieces return to the Dark at the same instant. Two to go.
The snap of a branch and I stand, turning as I rise with Dreamer a fraction of a second behind. The goblin I dove past is rushing me, and he is too close for me to bring Dreamer’s blade around to make the kill clean. I swerve my body to the right, slipping past the spear thrust. Momentum carries the monster closer to me, and his face into Dreamer’s cross guard. The goblin emits a pained cry as he swallows a couple of teeth, but I cut it short. As he stumbles back, I step away, slicing up and across his chest and throat. The goblin melts like wax, and only one remains.
The forest around us darkens momentarily as Sparkles flies over, and the goblin breaks eye contact with me to look up. His pale yellow eyes are wide with fear as he casts them around, searching for any means of escape. Finally, in a high-pitched voice, he pleads, “Please, I’ll never come back.”
“No, you won’t,” I answer as I lower Dreamer and flick the blade, the residue of the monsters slain this night flying off into the darkness. I can see him relax for a moment, believing I intend to be merciful, until he sees my advance, and the meaning of my words hits him fully. My arm rises, Dreamer shining in the false moonlight of this forest that will never know the touch of the sun.
The sound of shattering glass echoes from far away and all around me at the same time, halting my advance on the goblin. Voices, too faint to distinguish the words, fill the night. I cannot hear what they are saying but I know the speakers. Emily’s mother and father, loud enough to wake Emily. The world around me begins to blur and I know that my own form is fading from the forest. My eyes will be the last to disappear, and they lock onto the gobsmacked goblin. Without words, I make him a promise: if he ever again crosses the Dark near the borders I defend, I will hunt him down. He nods and turns to sprint away, and the last thing I see are his arms pumping wildly as his legs fight to carry his diminutive frame away from me as fast as possible.
II.
Shadows danced across my vision and I felt myself lifted into the air, then pressure against my chest and back. Emily’s arm reached over my head to grasp the doorknob; I could hear her grunt softly with the effort of pulling the door open one armed. The hallway beyond was dark, but there was light coming from the living room, and I could hear the voices of her parents.
She hugged me close as she walked slowly down the hall. She was afraid. I could almost taste the fear rolling off her, and I did what I could with my magic, letting just a touch of it resonate out, to reassure her. Her arms tightened around me for an instant and then she was calmer; at a level below even her subconscious, she knew I was responsible.
The light grew brighter as we moved closer, and the voices became distinguishable. “Jason, talk to me. They’re getting worse.” The plea was evident in Emily’s mother’s voice.
The sound of a cap turning echoed in the quiet of the room, then the sound of liquid pouring out into a glass. Emily paused at the end of the hallway, the clever girl still trying to figure out what was going on. “And say what, sweetheart?” I could hear the weariness and pain in Emily’s father’s voice even if neither Emily nor her mother were able to. Jason was once my charge, as his father had been; just as on the day he laid me in Emily’s crib my responsibilities changed to focus on her.
In the heavy silence that followed, I felt Emily shift her weight. She was debating her options: go back to bed, or step forward. I could have influenced her, pushed her in either direction, but I wouldn’t have, even if I could have. She must learn to confront her fears and decide how she will face life. She took a step forward, and then another. If I could smile, I would have. I am proud of her. She rounded the corner into the living room. Her mother was standing in a black bathrobe with her back to Emily, her hair disheveled as if startled awake. Looking past her, I could see Emily’s father hunched forward on the couch. From where Emily stood I could make out the puckered white of scars on his nearest shoulder. He was hunched forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands clutching a glass filled with something honey colored that gleamed like gold when the light hit it just right. The table in front of him was littered with assorted glass bottles, most of which were empty. He looked up and I wanted to recoil. In the instant it had taken for him to see his daughter and recognize that she was in the room, I caught a glimpse of a haunted, distant look in his eyes that was just as quickly buried and forced down beneath a father’s love for his child. “Emily, sweetheart, what are you doing out of bed?”
Emily clutched at her mother’s bathrobe and looked from her mother to her father. Her mother stooped down to pick her up, and as she lifted us, I was pressed against the terry cloth of the bathrobe and could see nothing. I felt Emily shift. “Why are you out of bed, Daddy?” she asked in a soft voice, turning her father’s question back on him.
“Daddy had a nightmare, sweet pea,” her mother answered, and the truth beneath the lie rang in my ears. What was she hiding from Emily? “Do you want to come lay down with Mommy, and Daddy will join us in a little bit?” The tone was pacifying and raised my suspicions even further.
I felt Emily shift again as she nodded above me, and then the tightness around me increased. I heard Emily’s father kiss her head and whisper in her ear, but the words were too soft for me to discern. Without warning, my body whipped away from where it had been stuck and I hung in the air, dangling from Emily’s hand. “Take Mr. Bear, Daddy. He’ll make you feel better.” Emily’s voice was soft, filled with concern for her father. She knew there was something wrong but couldn’t identify what.
Her father took my arm in his hand and looked down at me. Those few seconds are the longest he had held me since tucking me into a box as he moved from his parents’ house. There was something behind his eyes that he was fighting to keep hidden, something he was trying to bury that was eating him from the inside. What had happened to the boy I’d protected for so many years? What had happened to my friend?
He kissed the top of his daughter’s head again and then kissed Emily’s mother. As she moved toward the door that led to their bedroom, I saw her lay a leather-bound book o
n the coffee table. The faded gold lettering on the cover showed it to be a Bible. She looked back at her husband for just a moment, a glance that carried the same concern and worry that had hung in Emily’s voice, before carrying Emily into their bedroom and shutting the door gently.
III.
I hung suspended, my arm secure in Jason’s grip. The hand holding me was rougher than I remember. I could feel his fingers, calloused and worn, tensing as if they would be more comfortable holding a sword than a ragged, stuffed teddy bear. I began to swing in his grip as he walked toward the couch, but that’s not what caught my eye. Below the dark green shorts he was wearing, his thigh had been tattooed; a thin wire, maybe chain, encircled his leg with six oblong shapes suspended from it. I couldn’t make out what was written on them; they appeared to be words with numbers beneath them. Names and dates, perhaps? It finally dawned on me: Jason had shown Emily the dog tags that he wore around his neck, and explained that they were identification tags. The shapes on his leg were dog tags, but why six? Jason only had the two hanging from the chain around his neck.
Without warning, I was flying through the air, my body twisting as it defied gravity. The momentary weightlessness disappeared, and I could feel the earth reassert its control on my body and pull me down. So different from the dreamscape where the rules change, and laws, like gravity, are mutable. I landed soundlessly on the couch and fell backward into the cushioned corner. Jason sat back down, resuming his hunched-forward position, and retrieved his glass. He stared into the amber liquid and I sensed that while his body remained near me, his mind was far away. “Till Valhalla,” he muttered, almost too quiet for me to hear, as he raised the glass in front of him, as if in salute. Then the glass was carried to his lips and the liquid disappeared down his throat.
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