IMPERFECT ORB

by K. Lorel Reid

  It did not matter, really. What had been done had progressed to a point where it was impossible to be undone. The magic had quietly invaded his mind and supplanted his will, deformed his body. And yet still was unsatisfied. In truth the magic would have kept up its invasive attack until it had taken the creature over completely, body and mind, but the creature could not withstand the assault. When the creature showed signs of imminent death, the magic did as well. They were now linked in life and in death.

  The creature knew what the magic really wanted was to be amongst the human world. To do that it needed a corporeal incarnation, preferably one that was not painfully and grotesquely deformed. So far the magic had not succeeded. But the magic was persistent and it was patient. It had existed for a hundred years — they both had, such was their bond — and there was every indication that they would exist for a hundred more. The magic would keep trying.

  In the meantime the magic had secured its existence in this long-forgotten corner of the valley. It had willed into being the canopy of leaves which now blotted out the sun. It had coaxed Healing Plants to flourish beneath that canopy where they would not normally take root — again by sheer will. It ensured the caves, which had only ever been infrequently visited by the locals, were soon forgotten altogether — that, by sending the creature out to wildly attack and fend off any who approached.

  But sometimes all this was not enough and disaster would strike. Every once in a while someone would manage to incapacitate or even destroy the crystal. But the crystal always came back. So long as the creature continued to live the crystal would always come back. (Such was the nature of their bond.) And now, with the Healing Plants well established, the crystal could rebuild itself in record time.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  David was, for the tenth consecutive morning that summer, approaching the Drop. The air was thick and misty and damp; fog obscured every and anything more than a foot away — and then there was that smell…. It had grown in intensity even though it was still obscured by the overwhelming odour of pine. He was completely perplexed as to what it could be.

  Despite the heavy rains that had returned again in the early morning hours David had gone out running a short while later knowing full well there’d be large puddles to hurdle. Puddles randomly dotted the paved areas of Ceedon’s Valley when it rained, even more so where the roads were not paved. In addition to simply poor road maintenance, randomly covering the landscape were great dips and cracks that, when it rained or when the winter’s snow was melting, held water like those large office fish tanks. He was approaching one of these great dips in the sidewalk now and, in preparation for another jump, moderately quickened his pace.

  From a distance the puddle of brown-grey water appeared to be less than a meter in diameter but as David neared the fog seemed to shift and the puddle grew. By the time he was ready to jump, the realization that the puddle was in fact much larger than he had first thought came to him. David faltered. Still undecided, he first began to slow but then quickened his pace again at the last minute, committing himself to go for it.

  He wouldn’t have made it over the pool of water even if the earth had remained still and there had not been a low rumbling slowly cutting through the air. But these things had happened. The rumble was not hard enough to send plates tumbling off of shelves, but enough to be noticed. David, who was already curiously on edge, frighted. And in that moment when his mind was distracted it was his right foot that hit the cold water first. Less than a second later David found himself sitting back in the very centre of the same puddle he had been trying to hurdle. His clothes were drenched and still wicking up water fast. He sprang up and rolled out of the water onto all fours as soon as the shock of his current circumstances left him. He gasped once and managed to cough up a spoonful of muddy water which made an audible splat as it hit the pavement. His eyes were stinging and felt as if they must have been red — similar to how they felt after an afternoon swimming in the chlorine-filled community pool — sans the accompanying feeling of cleanliness, of course.

  Less than two feet away there was the dirt path which ran crookedly alongside the Drop. Somehow David managed to get to it. There, shrouded in the early morning fog, he made himself a seat on the damp summer grass, being sure there was sufficient distance between himself and the looming cliff. For the better part of two minutes he had been breathing audibly but when all this subsided he began to actively wonder where that rhythmic shake had come from. He suspected it could have been a minor earthquake. To the extent of his knowledge Ceedon’s Valley had never been the epicentre of an earthquake before, but that was hardly a reason to say it wasn’t possible — he figured there was a first time for everything. Whatever it had been David hoped he would never experience anything like it again. This made his second bad experience jogging this particular route. As his ears alighted on a sudden, deep, harsh cry David decided he’d never run this route again.

  The cry had come from somewhere further up the dirt road but when David looked in that direction he saw nothing but fog. It had been a man’s voice, he could tell that much, but the fact that anyone was up so early in the morning surprised him. Besides himself, Mike was the only person he knew of that rose before the sun. Even the campers on the other side of the path were usually still sleeping and if they weren’t they hid quietly behind the thick screen of pine and oak trees.

  Now, as he keened his ears, David heard other sounds, muffled and indistinct, their direction of origin hard to pin-point — no doubt an effect of the dense fog. The sounds seemed to punctuate through the fog in a disjointed manner, making it impossible for David to determine what was going on. David wasn’t surprised when he found that all he had to do was to walk the length of the dirt road to come upon a circular blockade of men.

  Most of the men wore light windbreakers. A couple of them dressed in khaki shorts and short sleeved polos. They all wore hiking boots. In short, each one looked like he made his living in the great outdoors. David could tell that in one way or another they all worked for National Parks. Of the khaki and polo variety there was a man with a large bushy moustache with frayed and curly ends that looked like it had recently been singed by fire.

  “Hey kid!” the moustache-man called out to David as he approached. It wasn’t in a mean way but David always took the defensive when anyone — especially any adult — showed a direct interest in him. It usually meant that he was in some kind of trouble.

  David stopped walking for a moment, undecided, then approached the loosely formed circle of men.

  “Sir?” he asked the man who had called out to him.

  The man’s right hand went into his left shirt pocket then came out with a small stack of photographs. “You seen this girl before, son?”

  The man with the moustache was pointing at a standard issue school photograph — one of those yearbook mugshots — of a girl of about seventeen. David shook his head to indicate he had not and before he was done doing so the man had shuffled through the deck of pictures to come up with another girl. This one had a round baby face but it was clear she was well into her twenties. David remembered seeing her at the party last night. He told the man about how she had arm wrestled all challengers and in fact had won an arm wrestling match against Mike.

  “Was she there when you left the party?”

  “I couldn’t say for sure,” David admitted, “after the arm wrestling I didn’t really see her again, but I suspect she was there some place.”

  “Why do you say that, son?”

  “Well, I can’t imagine anyone leaving so early. The party was just getting started.”

  Moustache-Man made a small grunting noise that seemed to be a sign of disgust and soon came up with another picture. In this one there was a young boy with sleepy eyes holding a fish that was almost as long as he was tall. David answered the question before it was asked, saying he didn’t even look slightly familiar.

  The other men had drawn into their own
circle when the interrogation had begun. Now, as David left, they drifted back, throwing him curious glances. He thought perhaps it was because of the soiled condition of his clothes. They probably thought he had yet to return home after a night of serious partying. Sadly, his life just wasn’t that interesting.

  “Kid,” he heard the moustache-man call again.

  David turned in that direction.

  “Do you know if there’s any way into that place?” He was pointing in the direction of the Drop.

  “Definitely not,” David answered honestly, “it’s a very steep hill.”

  He read the look in the man’s eyes and quickly added it was next to impossible to fall over and there was probably nothing down there but stunted bushes and the trunks of trees.

  David was again thanked, and as he turned away the moustache-man told him that if he saw any of the kids in the pictures to send them back to the camp site office immediately. David agreed then began walking at a purposeful pace, eager to get home and get out of his uncomfortably wet clothes. As he walked away he heard a voice giving instructions. It wasn’t long before David figured out the men were going down into the Drop.

  David could tell the men thought the obviously missing individuals may have somehow fallen over the edge of the Drop. David figured that was next to impossible. Even if they had fallen over, and three people falling over a cliff at the same time seemed — unless they were in a car — quite impossible, there was no way they would get that far down before their descent came to an abrupt and painful halt. The cliff that demarcated the Drop was just too densely covered by vegetation — thick roots of trees and shrubbery stood sentinel today as they no doubt had for hundreds of years. David was certain of this although he’d never tumbled over the side of the Drop himself and the centre of the Drop was hidden by a canopy of leaves and pine. He didn’t even think the men would be able to weave their way down the steep slope. Not that it mattered. Frankly, he felt that on the spur of the moment the kids had decided to jump in a car and drive across the province for waffles. It was just the type of thing the campers liked to do; especially the young ones.

  The morning was growing brighter and as the sun rose it began to burn off some of the mist and fog. David thought that wherever the kids had gone they were probably on their way back by now. He quickened his steps further, remembering the bargain he had struck with Samantha. She wouldn’t take him seriously, he didn’t think so, but he had always lived by the motto — in situations that mattered — that it was better to be safe than sorry. Arriving an extra ten minutes early should secure him the isle seat.

  David turned the corner, only a few blocks from his home now, and as he did so he saw a familiar figure stepping out of the convenience store. Unkempt red hair twisted and danced in a gale of wind. The figure was turned so his sharp pointy nose jutted out of his profile. Although the silhouette was instinctively familiar, there was something not quite right about the overall shape of it…. David couldn’t say exactly what it was but the posture was not the way he would have recalled it. The figure turned now, and when it did David was privy to the dorsal view. Even from behind it seemed as if the clothes were hiding some kind of deformity that David had never noticed before. Thin shoulders hitched as they heaved a plastic bag into a more comfortable position. Despite not seeing the face directly, there was no question as to who it was.

  “Mike! Hey Mike!” David called, breaking into a slow jog.

  The thin figure stopped and when David was spotted running towards him, bright pink lips parted in a smile to show slightly off-white teeth.

  “Hey, what on earth are you doing out at this hour?” Mike asked, now pursing his lips and hitching the plastic bag up against his chest.

  David shrugged, “I too can get up before sunrise if suitably motivated.”

  “My mother sent me out to get milk, what’s your excuse?”

  “I’m in training for the marathon.”

  “Oh yeah?” Mike seemed genuinely interested.

  “Sure, why not? I even think there’s a possibility I might win.”

  Mike thought about this and then agreed. Ceedon’s Valley was a small town and all the runners in the marathon were easily classified as amateurs. Nobody really took the marathon seriously; it was just something a few joined and even fewer finished. It was more a social gathering than a serious athletic competition. This year there was an added attraction, however: The newest mayor had secured enough sponsorship to raise the grand prize to more than a thousand dollars; definitely something to talk about for an event that, in previous years, offered the winner a hundred dollars and a coupon for a free dinner.

  “So what about summer school?” Mike asked after a moment of silence.

  “What about summer school?”

  “Remember the Regional Schools Track & Field Tournament?”

  Of course David remembered. How could he forget? It had only been a few weeks ago — around the time his mother found out he was failing science. He had won trophies and ribbons for himself and Ceedon’s Valley High at that track tournament. Of course when he returned home with his spoils and told his mother of his victories the reason why her only child was failing science suddenly became clear.

  “It’s all the training he does,” he had overheard his mother complaining to his father in an overly frustrated way. “No wonder he can’t concentrate on his school work. He’s out practising before school, after school, weekends…”

  Mystery solved. It was the running that was to blame for David’s indifference towards school; and when he thought about it he figured his mother was probably right. It’s just that David wanted to win the marathon so badly. And that was a fact he no longer denied. Naturally it was for the money, he knew that was it; or at least part of it. It was also for the glory. Athletically he was on fire. How awesome would it be if he could make a clean sweep of it for the year. He could become a Ceedon’s Valley track and field legend. Imagine the perks that would ensue: ribbon cuttings, officiations, free pizza for life….

  To date David had done quite well with sneaking out early in the morning before Mrs. Ryan awoke. Mrs. Ryan worked nights as a nurse and after a night shift she seldom rose before noon. This was good because once her head hit the pillow at about five in the morning her eyes didn’t open again until much later in the day. Mr. Ryan, on the other hand, was an early riser. He usually awoke around seven in the morning, after his son had already snuck out of the house. The plan worked because until Mrs. Ryan awoke — or until Mr. Ryan left the house and headed off to work — the latter crept around the house like the whole world was still asleep. Mr. Ryan never went anywhere near David’s bedroom, and David appreciated that. So the only problem for David was to get out of the house before his father awoke. This had the potential to be a serious obstacle considering, contrary to his wife, Mr. Ryan slept very lightly. David had found early on that the solution was to change into his running gear the night before and defer noise-making activities like brushing his teeth until he returned from his run. In short the trick was to get up and get out as quickly and quietly as possible.

  “Don’t worry about my mother,” David said now, helping his friend stabilize the two four litre bags of milk that had been stuffed into one grocery bag. “Just because I run in the marathon doesn’t mean I’ve been training every morning.”

  “I suppose not… if you loose, but then it just may be possible for a completely out-of-shape person to win a marathon… if they don’t fall dead first.” Mike was saying this with a type of sarcasm that was only his and David knew he was right. Quickly his head started to work on explanations he could give when he won the marathon. He was that confident that he would win.

  “Hey, what happened to you, anyway?” Mike asked, raising his chin in David’s general direction, referring to the caked and soiled running clothes David was wearing.

  The cotton material felt heavy and uncomfortable on David and he didn’t hide his disappointm
ent when Mike reminded him of what he had on. Nevertheless David explained about his tumble into the puddle — consciously omitting the tremor he had felt shake the earth. When Mike didn’t mention anything either he was glad he’d skipped that part and went on with his story. Eventually he told Mike about his encounter with moustache-man.

  “I think they’re going into the Drop.”

  Mike, who was walking slightly in front of David, was about to turn onto his street but suddenly stopped when David said this. The young boy didn’t turn around. In fact his body was so unnaturally still it was frightening. Although there was no movement on Mike’s part David could feel an anger or some other strong emotion coming off of his friend in waves. The whole scene was so uncharacteristic and so unnatural that David, for reasons that were difficult to articulate, was suddenly afraid. It took everything in him to stop himself from taking a step back.

  “Hey Mike? Mikey, you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Mike replied in a strained and trembling whisper; a voice that suggested he was anything but fine.

  Mike’s unnatural stillness soon yielded to an equally unnatural trembling. David could not help himself any longer: He took that step back as Mike’s body seemed to shiver in the warm summer air. David couldn’t explain the odd behaviour but somehow he was certain that it had nothing to do with the ambient temperature. David was convinced that, if he should, at that moment, look into his friend’s eyes he would see a cold so dark, so deep and so absolutely filled with hate, it would physically hurt him to look on it. But David couldn’t see Mike’s face and for that he was grateful. He was grateful because he only felt the cold and hate radiating from Mike — and that could easily be chalked up to imagination.