Snow Business (Part 1): Space Angel

By Andrew Miller

Website: https://www.awlmiller.com/.

| October 23, 2020

It started with a few brave words … Picture the scene: A quill pen being tapped on the side of an inkwell … gliding across a heavy page. ‘… these truths … self-evident … all men are created equal … endowed by their Creator … with unalienable rights … Life, Liberty … the pursuit of Happiness …’ See the scene shift: The sounds of drums and the puff of gunsmoke … A ragged and starry banner in the twilight of either a rising or a setting sun … Little boats crossing an icy river in snow and darkness, to keep the flame burning bright …

But of course, it’s easy to forget, after a time, that legends were once real. Or at least, true enough.

Here again, picture the scene: Little wooden ships braving the guns of an enormous Armada, sent to conquer them for refusing to bow to tyrants …

Look back further: The dragon-headed longships appearing over the horizon … A man in exile in the Wessex marshes, and he just takes his eye off the cakes over the crackling fire for only a moment …

Further: A horseman riding through a land falling into darkness … dismounting by a lost and lonely lake … from which emerges, shining with an inner light that is all her own, the most beautiful girl he has ever seen, with a sword and a warning …

Yes, it’s easy to forget that legends were once real …

Now step back, or rather, forward, and see a rickety little space-port just this side of the Moon. Look closer … See the little ships (little by the standards of what followed), held together by spit and hope …

See their journey across the stars … See the discovery of new worlds beyond … See the passage of time swirling past … Though perhaps not so far into the future as you might think …

See a planet far away … A city, its streets new and yet strangely familiar … See the girl – a young lady, really, her eyes bright and curious as the world goes on around her …

She was watching him out of the corner of her eye as she sat at a table outside the wharf-front café, sitting just out of the cold glow of the streetlights. The neon sign behind her flashed the name Grumble’s, and below it, in defiance of available evidence, Quality Refreshments.

Something about him, she thought, something unusual. Something that … piqued her interest, made a part of her brain that she wasn’t usually aware of sit up and take notice – and she was wondering why that would be.

She rested her chin in her hand and absent-mindedly sipped at what passed for coffee. She didn’t actually like coffee, but then Grumble’s didn’t exactly serve it, so it could be worse.

He was young and looked out of place, and yet he sort of blended in. Longish hair – it was bothering him and he needed a haircut – clothes very worn, but about as clean as you’d expect around the spaceport …

Something about his eyes, she decided. A faint glimmering of a sparkle somewhere behind them that, to her, stood out amid the people wandering zombie-like through the strange lights and glaring screens that were suddenly everywhere around the place. Was that it, she wondered … someone who was still awake in spite of all, someone who still seemed human …

She drained the cup and wished she hadn’t, dropping some coins on the table. Before she’d finished standing up, the café owner was there scooping them up. ‘Thanks, Grumble. That was almost drinkable.’

The big paunchy man sneered, but like his heart wasn’t in it. Really, she suspected it was because he was approaching halfway honest and they were both glad of someone to pretend not to talk to.

When she looked back, the boy with the spark in his eyes was gone.

He tried to avoid the screens as he walked. And the strange new streetlights that were suddenly everywhere. The darkness somehow felt like it had more real light in it than they did.

He couldn’t remember the last time he ate. He had a feeling this should be bothering him more than it seemed to. In his pocket were the last few wrappered bars of fleet-surplus high-energy rations – so far past their use-by date that even the scoundrel who sold them to him hardly had the heart to feed them to his crew. The crackle of the wrappers sounded too much like “lawsuit”. He’d still taken the last of his money, though.

He didn’t mind them so much. But after a while you got awfully tired of stale long-distance space rations. He still had three-quarters of the previous one wrapped up in another pocket.

The bigger problem was that it was getting colder, and it was hard to find honest work, so it had been a long time since he’d had the money for a place to stay. The money for the space-rations had come from selling his overcoat. He was just starting to miss it now. It hadn’t been a very good overcoat – but it had been his. There weren’t very many things left that he could call his. And almost all of them were falling apart.

Which was about what the mouldering, abandoned section of town, where they hadn’t gotten round to swapping out the old lights for the new ones, was doing. It had seen better days, and better years.

Which was when the old streetlamp in front him chose that moment to fail and flicker out. There were only a few of them still working here. For a moment, his vision went blurry and the remaining streetlights sparkled, as if an angel was about to appear under one of them and tell him it was all right, or he could wake up now. His head started to spin and black and white spirals faded past his eyes. He clutched on to the now dead streetlight for support and tried not to throw up.

He didn’t need anyone thinking her was sick – whether because it marked him out as easy prey or because the last thing you needed out here was anyone thinking you were carrying anything contagious. It was a little too easy to leap to the wrong conclusions if you got all your information from the newsies[1] and the screens. And if you were constantly zonked out from whatever those strange new lights did to you.

So it was perhaps understandable that the genteel cough from a little way away made him whirl round in surprise.

He missed his footing, went over, and hit his head on something. Great, now he had double-vision, too …

Two young ladies leaned over him and asked if he was all right with one voice.

‘Zzt.’ He said. He had a feeling he was mumbling incoherently. He wasn’t sure if the two young ladies were picking his pockets, to leave him for the cold, or … or … He felt things going numb and black …

Someone touched his neck. He felt like he was being moved.

After all this, what a stupid way to die …

… No, actually, it probably about fitted, at that …

So cold … Everything was so cold suddenly … And dark …

Funny, the thoughts that pass before your mind at times like that. He was thinking: I wish I’d been able to make it all mean something. I wish I’d been able to make a difference after all— …

He felt the rush of winds over infinite distances, the glare of stars in strange colours, and stumbled to a standstill in the twinkling void – though apparently solid beneath his feet.

There was someone in front of him, only he almost couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing:

The space-angel looked at him over the old-fashioned desk and adjusted her spectacles. The spectacles were old-fashioned like the desk, and made her look a lot older. She was holding a big swoopy quill pen and was tapping it against the side of a bottle of ink.

She scribbled something and then looked up at him again. She scratched behind her ear with the tip of the quill, adjust her halo some, and took a sip from a teacup which set down again with a clink. ‘It’s all right,’ she muttered, ‘take your time. It isn’t as if I’ve got anywhere else to be.’

He tried to speak, but found he couldn’t. And then, at last, as if the years were all catching up with him at once, he started to cry.

This seemed to surprise the space-angel. She blinked at him over those ridiculous half-moon spectacles, then she put her pen down, and stepped out from behind the desk.

He thought he was in trouble. That he was going to be blasted down to the bad place for annoying a district recording angel.

The angel strode towards him. It struck him as he was about to die – all over again – that she had a nice face, and, light-headedly, that she was really quite pretty, in her way. He wasn’t sure this was a thought you were supposed to think. And then he saw the tears beading the edge of her eyes behind the spectacles, and she gave him a hug.

Maybe it was being a disembodied spirit – or maybe it was because he’d always been a bit that way – but there was only one word to describe that hug: Beautiful.

It made him feel for the first time in too long that someone cared. Cared about him, and what happened to him.

It seemed to last a long moment, and he wasn’t even aware that it was over, until he noticed the angel looking at him, mouth hanging slightly open. She’d taken off her spectacles and was peering into his eyes.

He could feel things: the halo’s warmth as it glowed bright and gold; the still greater warmth behind those bright, blue eyes and the sad half-smile beneath them.

The angel looked away, face contorted into a frown as if debating something inwardly. Then she nodded, and turned back with a big, bright smile. As if to say, after all, we’re a long way from anywhere, and what’s the harm in it …

He was aware of the air blurring. The angel was still standing their, shining bright and white – but it was like an outline, silver-blue and brighter still, reached out from within her, circling round through time and space with a kind of sidewise glance just in case anybody happened to be watching. He looked down and saw that his arms seemed to echo half ethereal, half silvery-blue too. And he felt a touch, light as a feather’s breath, somewhere about where his heart would be – then another, somewhere about where his mind should be – then another still, right where his soul should be …

He felt himself wrapped around with gold and white … “light” of a sort, shimmering and shining and glowing, whispering round him gentler than the softest breeze. The clank of armour solidifying into place around him, burnished and golden.

The angel in front of him seemed brighter still, and yet different somehow. As if he was seeing through layers and layers of outer forms, to something like an inner self. And from within, she smiled at him, brushed away a teardrop, and winked. He saw her lips move in a whisper, ‘Fare well – and good luck …’

He felt himself fading backwards, through the stars, past planets and galaxies and a thousand splendid suns, and all the while on the space-winds, a last lingering echo keeping him company on the way: ‘Come see me again, if ever you’re passing …’

He couldn’t quite make sense of it, but somehow he had a feeling that he’d made a friend …

He woke up feeling like death warmed up. Oddly cold and sick and as if he’d feel better maybe if he was dead – but overlying it a faint echo of something else …

He opened his eyes with an effort and tried to fight down the urge to throw up that all that muscle-movement induced.

Those two girls – young ladies, rather – from before were back, looking blurrily down at him. The two blurs seemed to solidify into one somehow more confused blur, and a voice seemed to echo down at him from a long way away. It didn’t make much sense.

It seemed kind, though. There was that. It carried a kind feeling with it. Which seemed to rule out several more unpleasant possibilities, at least.

He tried to turn his head and regretted it. As the blurring subsided again, though, he thought he might be in a doctor’s office. One of the old-fashioned kind that operated, just about, here and there still, on a handshake and whatever you could afford, be it chickens and potatoes or cash of the folding-money kind.

He was surprised. He didn’t know any of them were still around round here. Assuming he still was round here.

He caught a glimpse of a kindly looking man in a flannel suit, with a stethoscope hanging from his neck, sitting behind a battered but pleasant-looking wooden desk. There were a few shelves of books about the place. He missed books.

And on the air he caught the undertones of a whispered conversation – that or his hearing had gone funny again – though he caught the odd phrase or word … ‘Best get him out of here … No place for him … Why, yes, splendid idea … Do him the power of good … might just … saving … life … Uberalis, you say? … Good luck to you, young lady, and God speed … ’

He must have drifted off for a few minutes after that, because when he opened his eyes again he started to feel more capable of movement. He heaved himself up and sat on the edge of the examination table.

The young lady from before was back, standing in front of him in the little old-fashioned office. She brushed her hair out of her eyes and said, brightly, ‘Mister, am I glad I found you …’ She paused, as if thinking how to explain it to him. ‘See, I have this spaceship and – no, that’s not quite it. Look at it like this,’ she said, ‘I’ve got to go on an adventure, and I need someone I can trust – and I was hoping you might care to come along …’

He kind of blinked at that. This didn’t seem real, almost.

‘It’s just, well, I’d deem it a favour if you could see your way to coming along – the fate of the universe might hinge on it …’

He didn’t quite know why, but he found himself trusting her. ‘Okay,’ said his mouth before his brain had time to intervene.

‘Great,’ she said with a grin, offering him her hand. ‘I’m Rosella.’

‘Ace,’ he said, as he shook it blearily, with the unaccountable feeling that some strange and cosmic bargain had just clicked into place.

‘Pleased to meetcha, Ace. Let me just settle up with the doc and we’ll be on our way.’

He shook his head to clear it a little. What had he just gotten himself into …

See the ship sailing through the star-spangled darkness. See the cosmos stretch out beneath it like some infinite far sea. Deep and dreamless, far-off and yet, somehow, home.

The ship is like a refugee from an old Earth space program – the nineteenth century kind. It’s been built, sort of, on the kind of lines that an old ocean-going liner would be – if an ocean liner were small and space-going and had gone through some kind of strange redesign. On its side someone has painted with some care the words Bee Skeddler, along with a couple of twinkly four-pointed stars on the end.

Behind it is a planet. Not a very important one as planets go, but it’s got the odd little city-sized stretch that’s habitable and glows here and there with the lights of what out here passes for civilization. It was from here that the Bee Skeddler drifted off out of orbit, in an aimless kind of way.

Ships, of course, don’t have feelings or personalities, as any rational scientist will tell you, whether you ask him or not. All the same, the Bee Skeddler, glad as it was to be leaving the dismal-looking planet beneath behind it, didn’t seem keen about where it was going, and had a suggestion about it as if it were trying to warn its pilot somehow of what lay ahead.

If she heard it, she gave no sign.

The ship sighed. See what happens when people don’t listen?

To Be Continued …

[1] Which were really more of a public news-sance, aha-ha-ha. What, don’t look at me like that.

The Art of the Goof

By Andrew Miller

Member

Andrew Miller

Website: https://www.awlmiller.com/.

| August 31, 2020

16 COMMENTS

“It’s good sportsmanship to not pick up lost golf balls while they are still rolling.” – Mark Twain.

The gentle art of good-natured humour in a nutshell. Graceful, cheerful, and honest. It’s also a line that speaks to me. It says: Honesty in life makes life worth living. And always try to keep a light heart and hold on to your sense of humour – they’re the only things keeping you afloat sometimes.

Occasionally there comes along a Mark Twain or a P. G. Wodehouse or a Terry Pratchett. They make the world lighter for their passing through. They make the daft jokes, the soppy jokes – the jokes that dare not speak their name, sometimes – because if they didn’t make them, who’d be enough of a goof to do it?

They’re not particularly interested in politics, and they certainly don’t confuse it with real life. They are honest and gentle and quite often kind.

Wodehouse is possibly a slight outlier in that group, because it’s much rarer to come across him angry – but a certain honest anger is part of the art of the goof.[1] I say honest anger because it’s generally rooted in the truth. It sees through to what’s really going on and shines a big, bright shiny light on it, and then starts cracking jokes that are at once genuinely funny and at the same time deadly bloody serious. Terry Pratchett was a master at it – all the more so for being scrupulously honest and fair-minded.

(You’ve all heard the one about morality being about ‘shades of grey’: in Terry Pratchett’s book Carpe Jugulum, you hear the line ‘There’s no greys, just white that’s got grubby’ and sin ‘is when you treat people as things. Including yourself.’ And this in a book that gleefully has all manner of fun with every horror movie cliché it can get its hands on, and does it in a thoroughly good-natured, kind-hearted way. There are reasons I admire Terry Pratchett so much.)

And having said all that, you may associate P. G. Wodehouse with Jeeves and Wooster – but behind the ever-so-English (supposedly not very intelligent) voice of Bertie Wooster is often an extremely sharply written novel. There’s a reason so many people seem to say Wodehouse is what they read when they’re down in the dumps: first he makes you smile, then he makes you laugh, then he makes your heart sing.

When a writer makes you wish he’d written more, that’s probably about as fine a tribute as you could ask. When a writer makes you laugh and feel and cry, that’s reason to be grateful they lived. But when someone makes the world lighter, and the light brighter, for his having been there, and is soppy enough to make the joke that is, so to speak, hanging there in the air – that’s reason to believe in angels.

Sometimes we’re beyond their help.

The rest of the time they make it so much easier to dance in time with the music.

[1] Though I owe Wodehouse at least a nod for the title.

Tee-Time: Epilogue

By Andrew Miller

Member

Andrew Miller

Website: https://www.awlmiller.com/.

| August 25, 2020

7 COMMENTS

– The Time Waltz. – Once Upon a Time in Hollywood. – Knight of the Living Dream. – Closer. –

He was floating in space, which wasn’t where he expected to wake up after falling gently forward onto the grass by the last hole. But then as someone once told him, you couldn’t always expect time travel to be simple – that was how he’d gotten here in the first place and, from the look of things, that was how he was leaving, too.

The walls of the time tunnel swirled around him, as ways opened up ahead. Now he knew how poor Alice felt when she fell through that rabbit hole.

He felt kind of sad to be leaving. He’d never gotten to say goodbye to Morgana or anyone. And now he came to look round, he was on his own. He sighed. He always seemed to end up on his own. And when he got back nothing would ever be different. It would be just as he’d left it. Or worse, it would be as if he’d never been through time in the first place, never met any time-ghost who’d shown him the way to his own personal Wonderland, a little golf course far away where the Knights of King Arthur played away the hours till they were called.

Even in a time tunnel it’s never too good an idea to get completely distracted.

Whoosh!

‘Hey, you nearly hit me!’ he called after a car that had emerged from one side of the tunnel and disappeared with a flash into the other. ‘You had to have been doing ninety!’

And then there was the ringing of that bell. A gentle bong, bong, bong …

His passage seemed to slow down a moment and, as if through a portal, an elderly man leaning on a stick peered through. ‘Hello, boyo! ’Ere, what’re you doin’ in there, look-you! Adventures to be had, heroin’ to be done! You just come along o’ old Merwyn, eh … Oh, well, suit yourself. Got to get home for yer tea, I expect …’

Why did that seem so familiar, he thought, as he resumed his flight through the time tunnel.

It seemed to take a long time, to travel through time. You’d have thought it’d be more instantaneous. Flash! Whoom! Hello, 1955 … Er. Or something like that anyway. He’d always felt vaguely disappointed that something like that was unlikely to happen to him. And then it had sort of gone and had.

Could he hear music?

As things slowed down again he saw … boogieing maidens in old-fashioned dresses with long trailing sleeves. You know, like princesses in towers used to wear when they were sewing or letting down their long golden hair or waiting for their one true love to come rescue them or some such.

One of them looked vaguely like Morgana. She twirled out and the other dancers arrayed themselves in a kind of ascending upside-down receding pyramid. She brought a magic wand up towards her like a microphone and sang: ‘Let’s do the Time-Waltz again … !’

She gestured to one side. ‘It’s just step to the light!’ She pointed towards a swirling end of the tunnel.

And then, she winked at him.

‘And then another step into the light!’

As he drifted past, time seemed to slow right, right down and Morgana stepped nearer and grinned at him. ‘Well done, Hero Boy,’ she whispered so that only he could hear her. She kept waving till he couldn’t see her anymore. A voice trailed after him, ‘Let me know if you ever feel like a chocolate malt at the diiineerr … I’ll get my mootttooorbiike!’

Time seemed to speed up rapidly again.

And another motorbike, this one with flashing lights on it pulled up in moving space beside him. ‘All right, buddy, let’s see your poetic licence …’

It receded back down the time tunnel as he passed.

The weird parts were like when he flew through a collection of glowing spinning-wheels. What was that all about? But maybe he just imagined that part.

Through all this, he didn’t see the time-ghost, though.

He almost didn’t want to leave the time-tunnel. Because then everything was back to the way it had been.

But that wasn’t going to happen, was it?

He stepped towards the end of the tunnel.

The light was a bright glow at the end of it. Or this end of it, wherever that was.

What was it Morgana had said? Just a step to the light. He stepped forward. And then another step into the light …

He woke up on his workshop floor.

Wait, workshop? He didn’t have a workshop … Or a time machine … With or without – had there been a hole – or perhaps a whole, but that didn’t make sense …

He was in a home. Someone’s home. But he didn’t recognise it. He felt his heart sink. He felt his head and winced. He must have hit his head at some point. This had all been some concussion-induced fever dream when he should have been getting himself to the hospital, hadn’t it.

Maybe he’d hit his head hanging a clock in the toilet … No. Things like that never happened to him.

But who cared what happened to him … Not him, that was for sure. Not anymore.

It would have been nice, just once, if he could have woken up for a change and the marvellous dream hadn’t been just a dream after all.

He wanted to cry.

There was mail on the rug by, presumably, the front door. Presumably, his front door. And then the phone started ringing. It took him several false starts to get over to it. He almost didn’t feel like answering it, by the time he got there.

He’d started the kettle boiling and had just been about to make some tea. And then he’d felt like crying again.

He lifted the receiver.

‘Boy, you’d better have a good reason for not being here.’

‘Being here?’ he mumbled, feeling like he was about to break down. ‘Who is this, please?’

There was a silence on the other end of the line. ‘Are you okay? It’s Remi – you remember, the idiot who hired you.’

‘Hired me?’

The voice on the other end of the phone started getting worried. ‘Look, why don’t you just sit there and I’ll send someone over to bring you to the studio. They can bring a doctor over first …’

‘I think I must have hit my head,’ he mumbled by way of explanation. ‘What do I do at the studio?’

‘You write pa-ges,’ said the voice very slowly, ‘for me to give to those clowns we push in front of the cam-er-a so that people can smile and get teary-eyed in front of the movie screen. Then,’ it continued, ‘each week we give you the exorbitant cheque your ag-ent ne-go-ti-ated for you and plead with you to write the next one. Honestly, how hard did you hit your head? I don’t know about you, but I’ve never been in such demand, so don’t you go falling asleep with concussion or something. We need you here.’

‘Huh?’ he said intelligently.

‘Look, I know you don’t drink, but seriously, it’d be healthier than hitting your head. You’re in Hollywood now. Livin’ the dream, as they say – am I right or am I right? I know I am. Take care of yourself, and we’ll have someone over shortly. Are you going to be all right till they get there?’

‘I’ll be all right,’ he said slowly, and hung up the phone.

How had all this happened?

It was later. Remi turned out to be the nice director lady, a year or two older than he was, but who called him “kid” nonetheless. She took what he, apparently, wrote and brought it to the silver screen. Well, coloured silver screen, but same difference.

The studio … wasn’t what he expected. He had an image in his head of modern Hollywood being … not what it used to be.

Either he’d hit his head even harder than he’d thought or ended up in some different time stream, because the old studio system was back. And the actors … were actually human. Hardly anyone was getting into trouble or misbehaving, they were just enjoying making stories that people enjoyed. Most of them even seemed to go to church on Sundays.

One of them waved to him and smiled as he got out of the car they sent for him. She seemed nice.

Hollywood … and the movies had their sparkle back. The silver screen hadn’t turned grey anymore. And he was actually … wanted.

That took some getting used to.

‘She haunts your dreams, doesn’t she,’ said a voice from behind him. It was later. The end of the day. Drifting into the end of evening, actually.

‘Huh, what, who—’

‘Oh, I know,’ said Remi, stepping out from behind some scenery. ‘I watch you sometimes, when you wander around the set after everyone’s gone home. You’re here. You’ve made it. You’ve got a chance in life. There are at least three girls on this lot who smile and blush when they see you –’ he got the impression that Remi found this deeply amusing ‘– and you don’t really notice any of it. You behave like a perfect gentlemen, you treat everyone around you with kindness and decency. You even find a way to let Kara, Eddi, and Steph feel flattered when you ever so gently let them down. So what I want to know is: who was this girl?’

He felt the blurriness sparkling in front of his vision.

‘Oh, I know, you’ve tried to explain when we’ve had these little chats before. But it makes me so curious. I’ve seen your stories. I’ve seen the stories you want to tell. I’ve seen the way you light up. I’ve seen some of the ideas that you’ve let me see, and I want more of them. But the one story I want to know the end of is the one about you and the girl who you’re so confused about, and, probably, will never ever see again so long as you live – you don’t mention her, you don’t say anything much about her, but here you are. Tell Remi, kid. Who was she?’

He felt his voice going all croaky before he even spoke. ‘I don’t know. A friend. She was my friend. She was there when no one else was. And it was like I wasn’t alone anymore. She saved me. And I …’

‘Fell in love with her?’ said Remi, gently.

‘… let her down,’ finished the kid.

‘But you didn’t mean to?’ prompted Remi.

He shook his head.

‘Then why are you torturing yourself? Why you are living like a monk or some medieval Galahad, haunted by the memory of something that could never be? I tell you something, kid, someone who could weave a spell over you like that, I want to meet that someone and shake her by the hand.’ She whistled to herself. ‘Tell you what, I’ll make you a deal. You give yourself one more year of pining, then you open your eyes and realise there are people out there who care for you too. People here,’ she said softly.

He looked up. There were tears in Remi’s eyes too.

‘The last of the knights,’ muttered Remi, smiling. ‘You know, that’s part of why I hired you. I figured, anyone crazy enough to still believe in things like that, and to really mean it and be it – I said to myself, Remi, a guy like that is just crazy enough to bring magic alive – and to make it real. Something like that, anyway … Goodnight, kid.’ He liked he way Remi called him kid. It was like one of the little things that made the studio a nice place. ‘I hope you wake up one day and your dreams have come true. Because there are a lot of people out there who like living in your dreams. Me included.’ She stepped up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. ‘See you tomorrow, kid.’

For a moment he had trouble remembering her name, like, say, he’d only known it a day, and yet she appeared to have known him for months and months. ‘G’night … Remi.’

She looked at him funny a moment. Then she shook her head. ‘You know, it’s strange … I could almost swear that it’s like … Nah, forget about it …’

‘Like what?’

Remi apparently almost thought better of saying anything, but it was like she was itching to speak: ‘… Like you’ve just emerged out of one of your own dreams and here you are.’ She blinked. ‘I must be even more sleep-deprived than usual. Time for dinner and then bed. Don’t stay up too late. Security know the deal with you anyway, you’re just doing research …’

Remi wandered off past the lights towards the exits.

The kid sat looking into the semi-darkness of the sets, and almost fell off his folding chair.

There in the gentle starlit gloom of a perfect garden, where a little bridge crossed a flowing stream, a figure in outlines of light stood for a moment. It was wearing a scarf. It waved at him. It was waving goodbye. And good luck.

He never did get to say goodbye. When he blinked, it was gone.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Thank you for everything.’

He brought his hand up to his chest, and then he sighed.

He looked around and found a park bench on one of the sets, and curled up and went to sleep.

Behind him, if only for a moment, a vague and different figure, hard to see, seemed to catch the light for a moment and draw an invisible blanket over him. Then it too was gone.

Tomorrow was another day. Tomorrow was another dream. And one day, maybe they’d all come true. For someone, anyway.

It could be worse. It could have been a musical.

His breathing slowed.

Soft lights lit an area that hadn’t been there before.

There was something in the air.

As that something gathered, dancing Valkyries started clattering across the stage and, somewhere in the wings, a horse grinned.[1] Then it brought a hoof up to its throat, and started to sing. And the music rose.

As the Valkyrie chorus started to dance and join in, and the band struck up into a jaunty tune with lots of brass and strings, a lady in a sparkly blue-green dress like summer ice on the fjords stepped onto the stage and led off into the first song.

A thought seemed to float in the air:

You just had to figure it was going to go from bad to Norse …

The End.

[1] Just on general principles, you understand.

[You Are Here –> Epilogue: A Waltz in Time.]

[Previous –>Part 7, The Once and Future Swing.]

[Part 6, Find the Lady.]

[Part 5, Fairway to Avalon.]

[Part 4, The Friend of the Fae.]

[Part 3, A Knight of Course.]

[Part 2, The Missing Links.]

[Shall We Go Round Again? –> Part 1, Tea Time.]

Tee-Time, Part 7: The Once and Future Swing

By Andrew Miller

Member

Andrew Miller

Website: https://www.awlmiller.com/.

| August 24, 2020

13 COMMENTS

The Clubhouse was a mess. And slightly on fire. Sir Lance emerged through a doorway with Gwen held in an armlock. ‘Move,’ he said coldly to her.

‘Lance? I don’t understand. You said—’

‘And you believed me? More fool you.’

Tears rolled down Gwen’s cheeks. ‘You never said a truer word.’

The Boy rolled into a spinning stop out of the whoosh of fairy travel. ‘Hold it – right … there …’ he said, as he tried to get his balance back again.

‘You! How did you survive! I should have thrown you into space when I had the chance!’

Gwen took advantage of the distraction to try to break free. The knight stuck out a metal-booted foot.

‘Aah!’

The Boy rushed over. ‘Are you all right?’

Her face didn’t look it. ‘My ankle,’ she said. ‘I don’t know if I can walk.’

The Boy turned to face Lance with his hands curling into fists.

That was when he noticed that Lance wasn’t wearing his helmet, and there was a strange glow in his eyes.

‘I’m going to destroy you, boy. And then I’m going to unmake this place. Places like this should not exist. And soon, nor will you …’ Lance drew back a gauntleted fist and swung. This time the Boy didn’t go down like a sack of lemons. He just crumpled.

There was a scream from the clubhouse, and everything went black …

He woke up lying somewhere soft.

It was the carpet of the clubhouse bar.

He opened one eye – the other didn’t seem to want to. The blur in front of him resolved into a figure brushing its long dark hair out of its face, looking down at him and looking worried.

‘Morgana?’ he asked.

She smiled weakly. ‘I told you,’ she said, ‘it’s Morgan to my friends.’ She sounded like she was about to cry.

‘What’s … what’s happening?’ he said. His voice sounded oddly slurred.

‘Oh, the usual. You know. Lance is trying to destroy this dimension. He’s kidnapped Lady Gwen. Oh, and he’s done something to the doors. So none of the other knights can get back here. I think he may be possessed.’

‘Why’s he … ?’

‘… want to destroy everything? Something’s found its way into his head. An Ideaemon, I think they’re called. Merlin was always so much better at this than me.’

‘Merlin? Merlin’s real?’

For the first time since he’d got back, a look of genuine amusement twinkled in her eyes. ‘Boy,’ she said, gently. ‘What do I look like? Scotch mist?’

‘Sorry … I …’

‘It’s okay,’ she said softly. She ran a hand over his head, and he winced, and her face shut down a moment. ‘I’m surprised he didn’t kill you. Hitting an unarmoured man with a gauntlet on his hand. And Lance, whatever else he may be, was always strong. I mean, he was always … well, Lance, but I think the Ideaemon has taken over.’

‘What’s an … what is an … one of those things?’

‘An Ideaemon? Sort of like a cross between,’ she waved her hands about, ‘like a mad idea and a daemon. They take over people’s heads sometimes. Find ways in and bring more of their own kind in, I shouldn’t be surprised. Destroy everything around them. You’ve heard of the Dark Ages? The Fall of Camelot?’

‘Sort of. I can’t seem to think so clearly.’

‘That’s why you’ve got to rest. Don’t move about so much. It’s all right. I’ll look after you. He can’t get in here again. Not while the Ideaemon is still inside his head. I’ve activated the wards.’ She sighed. ‘Better late than never.’

‘Can we …’ the words were hard to form, ‘can we do anything?’

‘Not much,’ she said. ‘It’s part of my deal here. I get to work behind the bar, but I don’t have many of my powers. I can’t open the ways again.’

‘Is …’ He frowned. ‘What happened to Gwen?’

Morgana sighed even more deeply. ‘I tried to warn her about him. This is the Dark Times all over again. He’s carried her off. I think the Ideaemon means to use her to help unravel time and space around here. Or whatever else it’s got on its twisted mind.’

She paused, her expression darkening with every passing moment. ‘Do you know how many people died, how many lives were ruined or destroyed altogether the last time one of those managed to open a gateway for all its little friends?’

Suddenly Morgana just seemed very, very tired, and somehow, older.

‘Don’t!’ she said, putting a hand on his shoulder warningly.

‘I’ve got to,’ said the Boy, struggling up – and then falling back down again. .

‘You mustn’t move. You’ll kill yourself!’

‘Please – help me stop him.’

Morgan looked tearful. ‘I could get us out of here, you know. We could go somewhere. I think my old motorcycle still works. We could fly out of here.’

‘But what about everyone else, the world – wait, motorcycle?’

Morgana blushed. ‘Sometimes a girl just – have you ever seen something and it just felt right? Besides, it’s fun to fly up to the diner and get a chocolate malt sometimes on my days off.’

She sniffed. ‘But I don’t suppose …’ She looked at him. ‘You’re going to do it, aren’t you? You’re going to try and stop him.’

She murmured something under her breath which he didn’t quite catch and then wiped her eyes on a sleeve. She reached out for his hand and held it a moment, then nodded, as if reaching a decision. ‘What can I do to help? And why are you grinning at me like that?’

‘I think I’ve got an idea,’ he said. ‘I’ll need your help. And probably the faeries.’

Morgana smiled back. ‘Now you’re talking my language. They don’t call me Morgana le Fae for nothing, you know. What’s the plan?’

He told her.

She shook her head. Then she grinned. ‘Why do I begin to suspect you have more hidden depths than a magic lake?’

‘Can you – is there something you can give me to help me move?’

‘I can mix you something up. But you realise, I’m no good in a battle anymore. I gave up my powers a long time ago.’ She looked down at him. ‘You do know,’ she said softly, ‘even if you beat him, the strain will probably kill you?’

He tried to smile bravely. It came off as a wince. ‘Where I was before I got here, that was probably going to happen anyway. Morgan,’ he said. ‘… I’m glad you’re my friend.’

‘Me too,’ said Morgan. ‘Come on, let’s get you moving. I still have a few tricks left up my sleeve.’

She helped him gingerly to his feet, as if she was afraid he might shatter to pieces before she could do anything.

The faeries floated in formation in the warded area around the clubhouse.

‘Listen up, all you knuckleheads,’ a tiny voice was saying, ‘friend Boy needs our help. Are we going to let him down now?’

There was a tiny chorus of ‘No!’s, though also a few ‘Who?’s and ‘Why are we here, again?’s.

‘I heard that. Don’t make me fly over there! Get ready to move out!’

The Boy staggered out onto the terrace. Morgana had given him a potion to help him keep going. He didn’t like to ask what was in it, but she’d seemed to enjoy making it. He just hoped it was non-alcoholic, that was all – he needed a clear head.

He wasn’t entirely sure where to find Lance and Gwen, but he had a suspicion or two.

Namely that it might be a good idea to start looking over by that big glowing vortex near the lake.

‘Wait!’ said a voice. It was Morgana. ‘Are you sure about this?’

For a moment he was suddenly inside his own memory. Long years of being lost without hope, where no one had any kind of use for him. And now, as if it was meant to be, he was being presented with a chance to do something worthwhile.

Or something that needed doing, anyway.

He was sure it was worthwhile, too, but everything was a bit numb and hard to sense at the moment. Might have been him, might have been the potion.

‘What if I’m the only one who can?’ he asked.

Morgana looked at him, lip trembling. ‘Come back safe, do you hear? Or … just don’t let yourself get killed.’

As she stepped back inside, the air around the clubhouse up to a few yards out glowed solid and crackly and pale blue for a moment.

The Boy crossed the threshold of the Inner Wards and set out towards the lake and the vortex. His steps had an oddly final feel to them, like somewhere in his thoughts there was music playing from some unseen band. A last march, into the unknown – and the final battle.

As he walked, he had time to think. Never thought it was going to end this way, was what he thought.

It was almost a relief. Being killed in battle fighting for maiden fair was at least traditional. Maybe it’d count for something at last at the pearly gates. If there was enough left of him to count, he thought, eyeing the swirling vortex – spirals of dark purple and what he’d swear was negative light or “absolute darkness” were spiralling into it out of the void somewhere. Certainly they couldn’t be coming from surrounding space. Up there, it was the Och Aye Nebula as far as the eye could see.

Forward into battle, like the knights of yore … See, Arthur’s banner – flying as before …

Gwen was tied to a tree. There was no sign of Lance. There was a kind of circle gouged out of the turf. That was what the vortex was spinning out of into the sky above. He noticed that the outer edges of the Links – those he could see, anyway, up around the mountains and the outer hills – were getting … kind of grey. Like the colour and life was being sucked out of them and into the dark vortex.

‘Watch out!’ called Gwen. But he’d been ready. He swung around as Lance drew a sword and brought it whistling towards him.

Lance looked kind of miffed when it turned into a golf club as it struck the one the Boy raised to meet it.

‘What!?’ Lance’s voice seemed to have gone all echoey and abyssal, like it was coming from somewhere far away and not terribly pleasant. ‘You know, this is just what I hate about this place! Nobody ever takes anything seriously!’

He swung at the boy’s head again.

He just managed to parry it with his own club, but it jarred his funny bone.

‘Sir Lance,’ he began, ‘Knight of the Course …’

‘You stupid boy,’ came the echoey dark voice again, ‘I am so much more than Sir Lance now. I am rising. I will be as a god!’

As if to reinforce this, some of the clouds swirling round the vortex let out a burst of dark lightning which crackled into Lance and surrounded him with an aura of whispering bolts of electricity.

‘… Kn-knight of the course,’ he said again. ‘I challenge you.’

‘Challenge me? Oh, boy, you have no idea … soon I will be more powerful than Arthur and all his knights ever were. And when I am, your world and all that is in it will be mine. The old order, the old ages, the old world will be swept away! Camelot was just the beginning! And you – you think you can defeat me?’ The Knight Formerly Known as Lance laughed. It was clear “Lance” didn’t live there anymore. Something Else did – why, those capital letters practically dripped with Forgotten Evil.

‘I challenge you,’ the Boy repeated, remembering what Morgana had told him when he’d asked. ‘The form that holds you in this place is still that of Sir Lance, a Knight of the Course.’ He raised the club, gripping it by near the club part and holding it aloft like a knight would hold a banner. It glowed with white light and, here and there, a twinkle of blue. The amulet under his shirt glowed with it. He could feel the cool warmth of it.

A bolt of dark lightning smashed him to the ground.

The Lance Ideaemon grinned, and walked over to where the Lady Gwen struggled furiously against the bindings holding her to the tree. ‘You see – the Links will fall. And you will help me do it.’

‘Never!’ she screamed. ‘Get away from me!’

‘And whyever should I do that?’

‘Because I said so,’ said a voice behind him.

The boy was staggering to his feet again. The amulet under his shirt was smoking and the golf club disintegrated in his hands as he rose, but he was still standing. Just about.

The Ideaemon laughed again. That horrible abyssal laugh. ‘This is just too delicious.’ It called up to the sky, ‘Is this all that is left to oppose me? A boy – no good to anyone or anything – and the love of a dead king.’

‘He is not dead!’ said Gwen. ‘He lives always in my heart. Always. Do you hear me?’

‘Always, my love?’

‘Yes, always!’ she snarled in defiance. ‘If my Arthur were here, he’d destroy you!’

‘Arthur,’ it called, ‘oh, Arthur, wherefore art thou?’ It turned back to her, and its voice changed again: ‘I killed Arthur myself, love.’

He saw Gwen go pale as death. ‘You!’

‘So you finally recognise me at the last? I am Mordred, slayer of kings!’ The voice changed again. ‘I am Ideaemnos! Bow before me!’

‘I challenge you,’ said the boy again, calmly, from behind him.

‘Are you still here? Go away, boy. I may even let you live. The Lady Guenivere and I have a date with destiny. Together we will unmake this place.’

‘I challenge you,’ he said again. Only, this time, something started to change in the air. Mordred, né Ideaemnos, swung round. ‘Knight of the Course thou art, perjured and treacher, but still bound. I call upon thy oath.’

‘Nice try – but you are no knight. You have no standing to challenge me. Game over, boy.’

‘Not so fast. I am champion to the Lady Morgana, peer of the Round Table.’

‘And champion to me!’ called Gwen. She smiled at him.

‘No dice, boys and girls. The queen can have no champion but her precious long-lost Arthur. And as for that faded remnant behind the bar, her banishment still stands. She’s lucky she got off that easy –though if she did but know how I arranged it.’ It smirked. ‘And besides, you have no club with which to play.’

The boy looked down at the crumbling remains of the club Morgana had lent him.

The Universe loves a straight-line.

Yes, he does, said a voice of air and water.

An arm rose out of the lake. It held aloft what looked for a moment a bit like a sword, but soon resolved itself into …

‘It can’t be!’

The arm drew back and flung it and the boy raised his hand. It practically floated into his grip. Along the side it read: Ex Caliber: Niblickski No. 9.

He is mine, said the voice from out of the lake with an air of satisfaction. Game on.

It was the final hole. The flag fluttered wearily in the breeze from the vortex. It had come down to this. Sudden death.

Under the watchful eyes of the Faeries, Ideaemnos’s every shot had been carefully counted. There was no possibility of cheating. He had to play the game fair for once.

Ideaemnos hadn’t liked it, but the magic of the Links was a strong one. And possessing Sir Lance as its way in, it was bound. At least, as far as it could get away with.

But even so, it wasn’t as if the boy had ever played before. He was learning, and swaying, as he went – and half-dead besides. If he fell, he would forfeit. And the Lady Gwen would be the first to die, followed by all his friends.

He swayed in the breeze as he moved up to take his shot.

He could see Ideaemnos sweating.

Himself? He was praying: Please. Take me, if that’s what it takes, but please spare them. Spare Morgana and Gwen and Leilana. Spare the Links. And the Fluttering Tartan bar and grill. And the Och Aye Nebula. And … the world. They don’t deserve what Ideaemnos would do to them.

He felt a voice in his head: Why do they not deserve it? They bring it about. They acquiesce to all the little lies that make it possible. For what do you ask that they should be spared? They did not spare you. You are nothing to them.

A memory, the shadow of a memory, floating through all the head-trauma and amnesia and mystic time-travel complications and magical flim-flam spoke: For one who helped me, he thought forlornly, with his last breath of energy. For one who cared. And it wasn’t always like that. I remember, not so long ago, when it was all real. Help me save it. Please. For what once was. For one who cared when no one else would. … Hello?

There was a long silence from the voice. He guessed it wasn’t going to say anything more.

This was it. Do or die.

He felt it as he began to bring the club down. Like ghostly arms guiding his swing. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of a figure made up of outlines of blue. She was wearing a scarf. She smiled at him.

The Ex Caliber Niblickski No. 9 struck true. The ball sailed towards the flag. It bounced on the fairway and rolled forward – slowly, slowly …

‘No!’ Ideaemnos ran after the ball.

A small shooting star whizzed past the boy’s head.

‘Leilana, no!’

A taller than average faery blocked Ideaemnos’s path just as he was nearing the still-moving ball.

‘Don’t you know it’s bad sportsmanship to pick up lost golf balls while they’re still rolling. Mark Twain told me that once,’ she said, grinning. She span round, bringing one leg up as she did.

Beside him, the Lady Gwen, released on her own recognizance for the duration of the match, winced.

‘She kicked him …’ the boy said, faintly.

‘Yep,’ said Gwen, nodding.

‘She kicked him where it hurts.’

Gwen nodded again. ‘Right in the illusions.’

The ball rolled home with a bouncing sound that seemed somehow amplified so that you could hear it all the way from there.

‘Leilana, get out of there, now!’

The faery didn’t need telling. She ran and leapt into the air in tiny form again and zipped over, as the vortex spiralled out of control towards Ideaemnos’s prostrate form.

‘Noooo! I was so close! This isn’t oooooverrrrrrr – yoooouuuuu haven’t heard the laaaast of meeeeeeeee— !’

There was a sound like the end of a milkshake beneath a searching straw, or the last swirl of water circling the bath plug, and the vortex was gone. Colour started returning to the world around them.

And the Boy fell forward onto the grass.

‘Friend Boy!’

To Be Continued … ?

[You Are Here –> Part 7, The Once and Future Swing.]

[Previous –> Part 6, Find the Lady.]

[Part 5, Fairway to Avalon.]

[Part 4, The Friend of the Fae.]

[Part 3, A Knight of Course.]

[Part 2, The Missing Links.]

[Back to the Beginning: Part 1, Tea Time.]

Fairway to Avalon

By Andrew Miller

Member

Andrew Miller

Website: https://www.awlmiller.com/.

| August 20, 2020

20 COMMENTS

He was just walking across the grass when the first of the faery lights started appearing. It was strangely hard to find your way around the Links, especially if you didn’t know them well. They were somehow bigger than they seemed and yet all contained within this little pocket dimension. And the glow of pixies and peri was only making things worse. Or it wasn’t helping, put it that way.

And then there were the songs of the faeries, some of which could be quite distracting, whether through lulling you to sleep as you walked, or causing you to drift unwittingly in the direction of fairy rings in the woods, or just because you wouldn’t have thought a tiny fairy would be so fond of light opera.

‘Watch where you’re treading!’ said a little voice from below.

He stopped, foot hovering in mid-air.

‘That’s right, mister, move your foot back and gently step away from the toadstool.’

He did as he was requested, very, very carefully. Then he looked down.

He needn’t have bothered. The faery was rising up to meet him, and soon a girl as tall as he was stood in front of him, sparkling and glowing in the twilight as she looked him up and down. ‘They making knights kind of scrawny this year or something?’ she asked. Then frowned. ‘Say, what are you still doing walking the Links? It’s night-time,’ she added, accusingly. And then, in case he was slow of thinking, ‘Knights don’t walk around in the night-time,’ she said, blinking furiously and rocking back and forth till she was almost taller than him.

‘Um, I’m new here, and I got lost.’

‘Oh,’ said the faery. ‘Well, that’s okay, I suppose. What’sa matter, haven’t you ever seen a fairy before?’

‘No,’ he replied honestly. His mouth cut in on autopilot, ‘I never knew they were so beautiful,’ and then realised what he’d said, and blushed crimson in the gathering gloom.

You’d think he’d given her the moon. The faery maiden looked down, and sort of dusted the grass with her foot. ‘You think I’m beautiful?’ she said, in a very small voice indeed.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to—’

‘All the other faeries say I’m big and clunky.’ She snorted genteelly and then puffed a strand of hair away from her eyes. ‘I’m Leilana,’ she said, and stuck out a hand.

He looked at it.

‘What’s the matter,’ she said anxiously, ‘am I doing it wrong?’ She looked at her hand. ‘I thought big people shook hands when they want to make friends. Do you have a name?’ Leilana asked, skipping nimbly on to a new topic.

‘I did. But I got hit on the head, and I can’t remember it. Everyone seems to be calling me “Boy” since I got here. Or “sir knight”.’

‘I don’t like “sir knight”,’ she said, wrinkling her lip. ‘I like Boy,’ she said, and grinned. She looked down and did that kind of foot-dusty thing again, and started twining her hair around her fingers. ‘You’re nice,’ she declared. ‘I like you.’ She looked from side to side and confided in him, ‘Some of these other knuckleheads aren’t nice. And some of the knights are positively rude. You’re not rude. Even if you did nearly tread on me.’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t see you. You were so small.’

Leilana blushed and pulled her hair around her face to hide herself.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you—’

She peered out shyly. ‘Upset me?’ She seemed genuinely puzzled. ‘That’s one of the sweetest things anyone’s ever said to me. Will you be my friend?’ she asked ingenuously.

He had a feeling he needed to tread very carefully here, and even more carefully than when Leilana was tiny. ‘Would you like me to be?’

She blushed again. ‘Yes,’ she almost whispered. ‘Very much. And I’ll be your friend too, if you like.’

‘I’d like that,’ the Boy said gently.

Leilana beamed and shrank down into a glowing pirouetting little star that whizzed and whirled around his head. ‘Here, come follow me, I’ll set you on a better path.’ There was a sensation of a tiny hand being offered to lead him by. He reached up with his finger held forward. Where the two connected, there was a spark and he felt like a jolt of static electricity – and then things sort of blurred.

The light bounced around and he followed it as best he could, not really able to tell where he was going. He thought he might have bumped into some trees once or twice, as the little faery figure led him enthusiastically around. He wasn’t sure that they kept strictly to the bounds of dimensional physics, either. And he wasn’t even sure what that meant. Or where he’d got the phrase “dimensional physics” from.

This section of the Links seemed different. Even this section of the lakeshore seemed different. Like he hadn’t been to either before or, possibly, as if there wasn’t a way he could have.

Here and there it was like liquid twilight lingered on the grass and on the flowers. Elsewhere there was kind of like an evening dew – that occasionally sparkled with different colours (he thought he saw rings of mushrooms past some of the trees). And sometimes, just a kind of gentle peacefulness of evening rested over the whole area, like a sense of taking a rest after a long summer’s day.

‘See you later, friend Boy,’ Leilana called as she flew past his head, drifting back towards the trees. ‘Maybe later, you could come to the dances with me? You can lead if you like.’

‘Dance?’ he asked. ‘Wait, what – ?’ But she was gone, zipping off excitedly till she disappeared with a blink. It only occurred to him then, as life caught up with reality – or was that the other way around – that Leilana was a nice girl. He wondered why the other faeries picked on her.

Maybe he could help her, suggested a little voice at the back of his mind.

Be careful of that, another one tried, gently, to warn him: there were reasons for all the stories about mortals foolish enough to tangle with faeries.[1]

Another part of him had an even better reason: He didn’t want Leilana to get hurt. By her lights, the little (some of the time) faery maiden trusted him, with the faith of an honest heart. Usually it was him who was at risk getting his heart broken. He would have to tread as carefully and gently as he had it in him to. He didn’t know how else to put it. Things here were beginning to get complicated and dangerous – which was okay – but also … there was something on the edge of his awareness, that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but it made his heart ache.

He stopped over-thinking things for a moment, and looked around.

He was standing by the water, in a sort of valley cleft. Stars shone overhead. Almost different patches of time lingered at the edges, or floated over it like mist. Someone had mentioned something about some sign in the clouds, but he couldn’t see anything here.

There was a crackling sound, and something made him duck down. He had a feeling there wasn’t supposed to be anyone else out here that would make sounds like that. He peered out through the bushes, but he couldn’t see anything. Then someone tapped him on the shoulder from the lake side. It was a bit awkward to turn, hunkered down like that, but he managed.

There was a face in the water. The same face from before, smiling, and a bit hard to make out through the rippling and the waves beneath the surface.

There was at least one arm and a shoulder that went with the face. Both arm and face were sort of beckoning to him, as if to say, Come on, what are you waiting for?

There were sounds in the woods behind him, drawing nearer. And suddenly things felt very dangerous, like there was some dark intent behind all this. He could be wrong. He’d been wrong before – it was complicated – but—

—an arm shot out past the surface and pulled him, gently, but firmly, into the water. He didn’t even make a splash. Not a ripple. Not a sound.

Moments passed.

There were movements in other bushes nearby, as of someone searching.

They never did get near that bush, though. The roses and wild flowers let out a sweet smiling fragrance on the air, and the stars twinkled on. And a single rose petal fell to the surface of the lake and floated there.

It could keep a secret.

[1] And those were just the ones where survivors managed to come back to tell the tale – usually after about a hundred years or so, so worn with age or danced to death that they immediately collapsed or died, murmuring something about not going into fairy rings, or not to touch the food (especially the chilli dip, that stuff was lethal).

[You Are Here (Danger: Pixie Crossing) –> Part 5, Fairway to Avalon.]

[Previous –> Part 4, The Friend of the Fae.]

[Part 3, A Knight of Course.] [Part 2 –> The Missing Links.]

[Back to the Beginning (Part 1): Tea Time.]

The Friend of the Fae

By Andrew Miller

Member

Andrew Miller

Website: https://www.awlmiller.com/.

| August 16, 2020

6 COMMENTS

Morgana le Fae surprised him, in more ways than one. She was nice, and she was easy to talk to.

It was a little hard to keep up with the back and forth of those first few minutes, but he found himself babbling a little of how he’d gotten there. And as he did so, her eyebrows went up and up, and she smiled more and more broadly. She had a nice smile, and it showed all the way through to her eyes and in the depths beyond.

Which of course was when his stomach chose to burble pathetically and his legs started to give way.

Morgana looked at him, eyes flashing with amusement and something like concern, and then, with something like anger. ‘When did you last eat?’ she asked. ‘And what happened to your head? Did you know it’s bleeding?’

She insisted on fixing him something to eat and drink.

It was then of course he realised a snag. How was he going to pay for it? What had happened to his wallet in the plunge into the lake, and would the money in it even be any good here? It wasn’t exactly heavy on silver pennies or whatever they used here.

Morgana waved this aside. ‘Don’t be stupid. You’re hungry. You’re far from home. What are we supposed to do, starve you?’

He felt the blush rising in his cheeks till they practically burned. He stubbornly reached for his wallet – which wasn’t there. He must have lost it in the lake.

It was all getting a bit much. He felt like he was a little boy out of his depth who wanted to cry – which was stupid. What had that bump on the head done to him?

‘Honey,’ Morgana said, laying a hand gently over his, ‘please, it’s all right. Look at me – look at me’ – he looked up, and saw just a caring, smiling face and someone who knew what it was to be all alone in a strange place, hungry and upset – ‘C’mon – big lug like you. Let me get this one. I’d like to. I can’t remember the last time I made a new friend …’ And in those words there was a world of kindness, and loneliness. ‘Besides,’ she added, grinning, ‘I’ll be joining you. Let’s see if you can keep up.’

So that was how it came to pass that Morgana le Fae bought him lunch. Well, dinner, but it’s hard to call sharing a plate of beef sandwiches and a pitcher of lemonade dinner. But all the same, it was probably one of the nicest meals he’d ever had.

He hadn’t realised how hungry he’d been.

‘And if you find your wallet,’ Morgana was saying, her eyes twinkling like stars, ‘you can always buy me a drink later.’

He blinked. He didn’t quite know how to take that.

‘I’d love to,’ he said, and was surprised how much he meant it.

The smile she gave him in return made him feel like he was floating away towards the ceiling for a moment.

‘It’s Morgan to my friends, by the way. We seem to have gotten to know each other quite the little bit suddenly.’

And he was surprised by how good that felt. To have a friend, to be sharing smiles and laughter like this – and something else, which he couldn’t quite put his finger on, and wouldn’t be able to make sense of if he could, probably.

And while they ate and talked, Morgana explained a few things to him, and he learned about where he’d ended up. And the more things became familiar to him, the more he couldn’t quite remember what there had been before he got here. It was strange. And yet it seemed right.

Apparently, with no knights about, the bar was going to be quiet for a long time. He was a little unsure why Morgan was working behind the bar. She almost seemed a little out of place there. But maybe there wasn’t much else to do here. All the same, he wasn’t quite sure where she fitted in or where “Gwen” who he’d met earlier did, but they both seemed friendly enough.

It was only when he looked up that he realised, in the strict sense, almost no time had passed. Morgan caught him looking at the clock, and grinned. ‘Yep, that’s right. We’ve got the whole night ahead of us. It’s one of those few nice things I like about this place. It’s peaceful, and you’ve got time.’

After what seemed an age more, and couldn’t have been more than a few minutes by the clubhouse clocks, he found himself standing on the terrace looking out onto the Links. He didn’t remember getting up, but Morgana was by his side in a moment. ‘Thank you for dinner,’ she was saying looking at him, smiling.

‘But you—’

‘I mean, the company,’ she said quickly, looking down and – was she blushing? ‘I enjoyed talking to you.’ Then she added quickly, peering back ’round the doorway ‘Come see me again soon?’

And just like that he found himself wandering around in a daze, blinking in the starlight.

He was feeling more confused than ever.

He liked Morgana, he was thinking. Morgana was … nice.

And it was nice here, too. Better than wherever he’d come from. Wherever that had been. He wished he could remember, just so he’d know, but it was nice all the same.

He didn’t know how long he’d been wandering when the wind rose off the lake, calling to him – he felt a tingling on his neck and the cool weight of the amulet under his shirt smiled at him somehow. And all of a sudden, it was like an invisible presence took him by the hand.

Can we talk? said a voice he was pretty sure only he could hear. When you’re ready, it said. Enjoy it here. We’ll talk when you find me. I’ll wait up.

Only then did he realise the tension that had been building in his chest and his head. It felt like years and years’ worth. The golf ball hitting his head, the fall into the lake, all the strange sights – they’d all been starting to bring it out in a way that Lance wouldn’t have to throw him into space, he’d jump off the edge himself.

And the voice on the wind soothed it.

And then he forgot what he was thinking about.

Why was he having so much trouble holding onto his thoughts? (Is what he would have thought if the thought hadn’t faded almost as soon as it took shape.)

The boy wandered off into the grassy night, enjoying the peace of it all.

[You Are Here (I Tried to Warn You) –> Part 4, The Friend of the Fae.] [Next –> Part 5, Fairway to Avalon.]

[Part 2 –> The Missing Links.] [Previous –> Part 3, A Knight of Course.]

[Back to the Beginning: Part 1, Tea Time.]

The Missing Links

By Andrew Miller

Member

Andrew Miller

Website: https://www.awlmiller.com/.

| August 13, 2020

28 COMMENTS

They say in space nobody can hear you scream. It seems an odd thing to drop into conversation. They also say that in the boundless stars there are places that would give cosmographers and quantum physicists everywhere conniption fits simply by existing.

One of those stood below: It looked a little like a golf course, a grassy fairway in the stars, surrounded by strange trees rooted into the fabric of the cosmos where, of all things, figures that looked suspiciously like knights in armour (some of them wearing what looked suspiciously like plus-fours) were clanking around the fairway crying ‘Fore!’ You’ve got to have some sympathy for the poor academic physicists at times like this. This sort of thing wasn’t supposed to happen.

These are the Missing Links. Some call them a fairway to heaven. Which, considering that in a little pocket dimension such as this, the weather is still pretty Earth-like, seems a little unwise. A sudden thunderstorm and a well-placed lightning bolt can often offend, after all.

The Links are also right smack near the Och Aye Nebula – those tartan bands of coloured stars that twinkle away into eternity. How could it be otherwise?[1]

And from down below there was a tingling, a sense of something about to unfold …

Two stars twinkled in the air for a moment. Two figures materialised, spinning in a kind of dance step and then whirling around in an impromptu waltz.

It’s not entirely clear who trod on the golf ball that someone had left carelessly lying there.

Or who struck the other ball that came spinning through the air just then and hit the young man squarely on the head.

What was clear were the cries as he and the twinkly young lady with the scarf got tangled together and ended up rolling down the incline to the lake.

They say if you’re going to get anywhere in life, you’ve got to be prepared to make a splash.

‘Get out of there at once, sir! Get out of the lake, I say!’

He looked up blearily. Or was that blurrily? A man in armour and close-cut golfing-trousers was glaring at him from the shoreline and brandishing a golf club at him.

‘Oh, leave him alone, Lance. It’s just a boy, just some kid turned up out of the ether. He’s not doing you any harm.’

‘We’ll just see about that.’

The “boy” tried to think. There had been a girl, hadn’t there? ’S funny. He couldn’t remember that much else about her.

And she seemed to have disappeared.

‘Well, all right, then,’ the knight apparently known as Lance was saying, ‘let’s see his membership card. You do have one, I presume, sir? Come on, speak up.’

‘I … uh …’

‘As I thought.’ (He wasn’t sure why, but there was a gleeful edge to “Lance’s” voice that “the boy” didn’t like.) ‘Throw him into space!’

‘Lance! Steady on—’

The boy started suddenly in the water. He thought he’d felt a sudden pressure in his back pocket. Like something had just been placed in it.

He reached back and held it up.

‘Is this what you mean?’

‘There, you see, Lance, just because you haven’t seen him before. Boy seems to have his membership.’ The other knight leaned forward and offered him a hand. ‘Come along, lad, let’s get you dried out back at the clubhouse.’

Lance was fuming, but there wasn’t much he could do, apparently. ‘We’ll see about this,’ he was muttering.

The boy caught something about rules and challenges. He had a feeling he should be paying this more attention, but right now he couldn’t think to. The other knight clapped a companionable, armoured hand on his shoulder (ow) and murmured something meant to be reassuring.

Funny thing was, he was sure there had been a girl. She had been beautiful, he remembered that. And kind. And … And as he turned back to the water – and as a fish chose that moment to slide down out of his trouser leg – he could have sworn there was a face in the water. It smiled, and then it winked at him.

Then it vanished in the rippling surface of the water, and he caught the light of the sun twinkling on the horizon. When he looked back, the face was gone.

Guess it was just par for the course …

[1] Though the Honourable and Ancient Knights of the Course (known by other names, but hereafter known as the club) had petitioned for the big glowy advertising sign for The Fluttering Tartan bar and grill (“The Best Chocolate Malts This Side of the Milky Way!”) to be moved further out.

Although, this might just be because Lancelot complained that the light got in his eyes when he missed an important approach shot competing in the Christmas Day tournament.

Tea Time

By Andrew Miller

Member

Andrew Miller

Website: https://www.awlmiller.com/.

| August 11, 2020

44 COMMENTS

Things aren’t made the way they used to be. Take time: time used to have a much nicer quality than it does today. And light: when was the last time you got proper light? And something seemed to have happened to all the spaces, like they’d been … sort of shrunk down and actual space taken out of them … So it really wasn’t his fault when he stopped time.

He was trying to build time machine, okay? Never mind why. He had his reasons. He hadn’t meant to rip a hole in the fabric of causality. He just wanted to go back and make things right. Instead of just having them seem to go more and more wrong. And now there was a gaping lapis-edged void twinkling with stars and infinite blackness facing him from across the workshop, and he couldn’t get to the kettle or the sink. Never travel through time without a cup of tea – he thought he’d read that somewhere. Or else the thought had occurred to him in one of those times in the wee small hours, when the world is all your own. The other thing, of course, was that there was … like a “time ghost” blocking his way.

She was beautiful. Not just ordinarily beautiful, but beautiful in the way that lines of blue light flowed through the air like the most perfect sketch of a person, etched in time. She echoed with life.

‘Don’t even think about it,’ she said, stepping in front of the rip. ‘This rift is not stable. It needs to heal and disappear. Then time will resume, and it will be as if it never happened.’

‘Who are you?’ he asked.

The time-ghost smiled. ‘Not a bad question to ask, in the circumstances. I am a might-have-been, an if-only, a shadow of a memory – a spirit of being.’

He looked at her, disbelieving. ‘But—’

‘Oh, I’m as human as the next man,’ she said, glancing at him as if she was beginning to enjoy herself. ‘And who knows,’ she added with a twinkle, ‘we might even have known each other at some point in time and space, through the byways of being. Somewhere, anyway. You have another question?’

‘Um, would you like a cup of tea?’

The spirit nodded with satisfaction. ‘Ah, another very good question.’

‘It’s just – can you … sort of reach the kettle and the teabags? I can’t without crossing the rift.’

‘I believe I can,’ she said with a smile. ‘We shall have a cup of tea,’ she said moving about among the tea things, ‘since you so graciously offered.’

He was a little unsure if she was making fun of him. She turned towards him amid the tinkling of spoons and cups. ‘And we shall talk of many things. Of life and time, and might-have-beens.’

He didn’t quite know what to say to that.

‘Now, tell me,’ she said floating closer and handing him a gently steaming cup and saucer. ‘Why do you seek to travel the temporal plane? Why do you risk everything?’

There was a long silence.

She looked up from her cup. Then she nodded and reached up a finger to brush away a tear.

He felt the ghostlike touch under his eye and a tingling frisson like a perfect moment.

‘I think I begin to understand,’ she said. She patted his hand. ‘Drink up, before it gets cold. Never underestimate the importance of a good cup of tea to the process of time-travel.’

He looked up sharply.

She had her cup held over her face, but he got the feeling there was an inscrutable smile twitching across her features.

The teacups were on the sideboard. The spirit was looking brighter. She was glancing back at the rift and then at him. She appeared to reach a decision.

‘Here,’ she said, ‘take my hand, and we’ll walk awhile. The repairman probably won’t get round to this rift for a while. And who knows, maybe we’ll even bump into a few people along the way.’

He looked at her. ‘Do I have to come back afterwards?’

She glanced back. ‘We can talk about it. Can I borrow a scarf? The infinite void gets a bit chilly round about now.’

He lent her his scarf. The faded wool seemed to suit the time-spirit. The outlines of light in the air seemed to fill out a bit when she put it on, gaining solidity and colour. ‘Ready?’ she said.

He nodded.

They drew back the way she explained to him, took a leaping dancing step towards the rift, and disappeared in a twinkle like a pair of stars fluttering in the air for a moment.

One happy moment.

You take them where you can get them.

Quantum Blip

By Andrew Miller

Member

Andrew Miller

Website: https://www.awlmiller.com/.

| July 24, 2020

17 COMMENTS

‘What happened here?!’ He almost had to shout to make himself heard. ‘Did someone throw the switch on the next parallel universe or something?’

‘It’s fading.’ A hand grasped his. It was a nice hand. ‘It was worth a try,’ she said. Something sparkled around her eyes. ‘If we get separated again – remember me.’

‘I wouldn’t forget you.’

She looked at him as though her heart would break. ‘Believe me, it can happen. After the last time— Duck!’

‘What – where?’

‘No, duck, you moron!’ The nice hand grabbed his collar and pulled him down as quite a large tree was uprooted and flew past the ditch they were sheltering in.

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Duck …’

The lights on the buildings opposite flickered, as lightning crisscrossed the sky. She shouted over the wind and the storm, ‘We’ve skipped through a thousand parallel universes, lived a thousand lives, and I keep hoping – that this one will be the right one, the one where it all works out right. I hate quantum blips,’ she added, as the rain-soaked them through – and pulled him into a hug as if she was afraid the wind would carry them both off. Which, to be fair, was looking like a real possibility.

He felt like there was a lump in his throat. It was going to be a long lifetime between now and whenever they next met, in whatever parallel universe, in whatever parallel lifetime.

She pulled back slightly and looked at him, wet hair flying in the breeze, as if something had just occurred to her – like it had been bugging her for a while and she wasn’t going to get another chance to say it where she remembered. ‘It just about figures,’ she called near to his ear, ‘you’d be doing something stupid out here, and we’re stuck in the middle of the biggest storm of the century!’ She paused to think about it, chewing her lip on one side in that way he remembered from another lifetime. ‘That kind of thing happens a lot!’

‘I’ll try and remember that next time!’ he called back, his voice almost lost in the storm.

She started going fuzzy and concentrated herself back into existence. ‘In some of the worlds we end up in, we’ve even met early on. The ones where I don’t find you, after they end it’s like – it’s like there’s a hole in my world.’

He stammered as he faded in and out, ‘In the universes where you aren’t there, there is no world. There’s only a black hole. I remember the other lifetimes, sometimes. In dreams.’

She tried to blink back the blurriness that was coming over her vision. And then her glasses disappeared with a pop! into the realms of quantum instability. Or had she just made that last part up? She was going to have to write a paper about this when she got back to – oh, that was right, wasn’t it? She eyed the nearing, now-blurring funnel of air on the horizon. Maybe they’d fade before it got to them. ‘We found each other in the end in this one, though,’ she said, her voice going all crackly.

‘Whatever happens next time, I—’

He faded – disappeared in a sparkle of hazy lines. His eyes remained looking into hers in outlines of electrostatic blue for a moment, like the Cheshire Cat had heard of weird physics and wanted to give it a try. The teardrop that fell from them burst in the air as her other hand reached out to catch it.

Even as she disintegrated into a thousand motes of light, she found herself murmuring what was by now an old refrain: ‘Remember me …’

Once Upon a Spinning-Wheel, Part II: Outaya Dreams

By Andrew Miller

Member

Andrew Miller

Website: https://www.awlmiller.com/.

| June 22, 2020

16 COMMENTS

Feathers woke up with a start. He was perched on the back of a chair by a bed. Starlight twinkled in from outside through the huge open balcony. On the bed, a man who looked very young of a sudden was lying heavily bandaged and looking very, very pale. Ordinary paleness is just lack of colour – the kid looked like his soul had been bleeding out. Which, Cthoney said, probably wasn’t all that unlikely. But, then, Cthoney was a volcano goddess and tended to know about these things. It was part of the job description, apparently.

Feathers sighed. This wasn’t typical parrot territory. How time flew. It seemed like only yesterday the Amazons were telling him off for using the waterfall to shower in while they were away. Now, all of a sudden he had friends to worry about.

How’d ya like that, kid risks it all to defeat an evil witch doctress and save his friends, and there may not even be enough of him left to come back to his body. Feathers was a little hazy on quite what had gone on – partly through having a building fall on him (he still wasn’t feeling quite right) – and now he was keeping watch because Cthoney still wasn’t quite sure who could be trusted around the place.

After all, let’s face it, when a witch doctress has been sacrificing people to a volcano left and right to keep looking young and beautiful and nobody’s raised a peep, you’ve got to wonder about the kind of people you’re spending your days around. Who could you trust? This was getting uncomfortably philosophical for a parrot who was still trying to remember what day it was (he had a suspicion it might be a Thursday. This kind of thing generally happened on a Thursday. Or was that a Tuesday? Either way, he didn’t like it).

There was a knock on the door frame: Shave and a haircut – two bits.

Feathers looked up blearily. ‘Haircuts’ve gone up now,’ he mumbled as a key turned in the lock. ‘It’s six bits.’

Y’know, for an immortal being, Cthoney looked a lot less intimidating than she used to – oh, when was it – this morning? She had her hair tied back and she’d found a clean dress from somewhere. And she’d also made an effort to wash away the volcano smoke and the dirt and grime from the battle. She looked … kind of human.

Feathers peered. Something in his head was trying to get his attention, but for the moment, he couldn’t work out what.

‘How’s the patient this evening?’

Feathers sighed. ‘Still nothin’. I has to watch to make sure he’s still breathin’.’

Cthoney sighed and stepped over towards the balcony. She leaned on the rail and stood looking down over the night. Feathers stretched his wings awkwardly and fluttered over, keeping half an eye swivelled backwards towards Nemo. He almost managed to miss the rail.

Cthoney looked thoughtful. Down below in the village, strings of coloured lanterns glowed brightly across the streets in sparkling dots and pools of light. Feathers could hear music alternately crooning and tootling out into the air. Apparently, there was a luau going on. He seemed to remember something about it being planned anyway beforehand.

After all, it’d be slightly bad taste otherwise: Ding, dong, the witch doctress’s gone and all that – but, then again, not having to worry about being flung into the volcano because the boss has noticed a wrinkle probably qualified as cause for celebration, in the circumstances. But he was too confuzzled and muddy-headed – or was that muddled and fuzzy-headed? – to worry too much about that right now, anyway.

Feathers shrugged – and regretted it. Somewhere along the line he must have twisted a wing. Ouch.

He sighed again, and turned towards Cthoney, sparing a glance to check that Nemo’s chest was still rising and falling. ‘How’s toots?’

Cthoney looked up suddenly, as if she’d been falling asleep on her feet, and frowned – and for just a moment Feathers remembered he was dealing with someone who could roast him alive with a glance. Her face cleared a little as her mind apparently made sense of what he’d said. ‘The girl Nessa? Out like a light. Exhausted, but stable. She’ll recover. And I have the only key to her room – with things as they are, it seemed a wise … precaution.’

Feathers shuddered. They were surrounded by people who might decide he’d make a good feather duster, with only fear of flaming retribution to keep them from taking a chance on it. He glanced back at Nemo again and, shifting from claw to claw, gulped, and looked up into Cthoney’s eyes. ‘So … can ya fix him now? Do that hoodoo only you do so well? ’Cos if this place is as dangerous as all that still, y’know, the kid and toots and I, we really should be headin’ along. So, if you could just, you know, bring him back now … ?”

Cthoney’s glance softened. ‘The girl just needs rest. He,’ Cthoney pointed at Nemo – was that a tear in the corner of her eye? Feathers felt his heart not just sink, put plummet to the bottom of the well with a distant whistling sound and an even further-distant splash – ‘I’m not sure if he’ll ever wake up. You’re familiar with the expression “his life hangs by a thread”?’

Feathers nodded with foreboding tingling to his tail-feathers.

‘Well, I’m not sure his thread is even still there. And the thread that isn’t quite there is fraying apart. I don’t know why he hasn’t passed on yet. If he’s still in there somewhere, I’d say he’s lost without a way back and that it’s only a matter of time. A day, perhaps an hour. Perhaps less. I’m sorry,’ Cthoney turned away. ‘I know his actions helped save us all, but it’s just not in my power to recall the dead. Or,’ she turned back, and Feathers couldn’t watch her face, ‘the … how would you put it, the “mostly dead”?’

Cthoney looked out through unaccustomed eyes. She’d been having to get used to a lot of strange things in the last few hours. Like being free. Like being in a body … again? (She was a little hazy on that part.) Like talking parrots apparently capable not just of feeling the finer emotions, but of a spirit of friendship she hadn’t encountered with most humans she’d been around recently, let alone wise-cracking psittacids.[1] No, something more than friendship, even.

It was strange and interesting and unfamiliar, and at the same time … fascinating: Right now, she was watching a bird plead for his friend’s life. And she could feel her heart breaking for him.

Feathers had decamped from the back of the chair, and was now nudging at Nemo’s head with his beak, holding open one eyelid with a suspiciously hand-like wing and peering in. ‘Kid, c’mon now … ya gotta wake up …’ He turned back to her. ‘Please. Too— Er, lady – I’ll do anythin’.’ He looked at her wildly. ‘Can’t you, ya know, give him an outaya or somethin’?’

Cthoney’s eyes widened. And then narrowed. ‘An outaya gourd?’ She stepped towards the parrot. ‘Where did you hear of outaya gourds – and who told you about them?’ she said, sharply. Almost dangerously.

Feathers shifted uncomfortably from claw to claw on the mattress by Nemo’s head – but stood his ground. ‘Er … well, you know how it is …’ If he’d been human he would have been running a pen-feather around his collar right about now. ‘But it’d work, right?’ he said, quickly. ‘Bring him back? Give him a fighting chance?’

‘Bird, I get the feeling that if this pans out, you and I are going to have to have a little talk.’

Feathers gulped.

‘Soul Fruit are not to be trifled with. Even supposing you could still find any, which I dou—’ She narrowed her eyes at the parrot again. ‘Do you know where to find an outaya?’ She paced around thoughtfully. ‘I would have thought they’d gone the way of the mwahaha – which as anyone knows is only one step behind the dodo …’

‘Er – I can try! So if I finds one for ya, will it work?’

‘Do you have the least idea what you’re messing with here? If he survives, he will not be the same.’

Feathers mumbled something.

‘What was that?’

‘… can’t lose them …’ said Feathers, so quietly that it was almost lost on the night breeze rustling through from outside.

Cthoney sighed, deeply. And folded her arms. And then put her head in her hands. She looked up again. ‘Why do I have a feeling I’m going to regret this …’ She looked at Nemo again and bit her lip. ‘All right. If you think you can find one, then go – and hurry – you may already be too late—’

But Feathers was already half flapping, half hoping his way over the coverlet taking off in an awkward glide and down over the balcony. She watched him rise on the warm air currents that were whispering here and there through what was generally a chilly night and down towards the jungle. As he did so, the clouds seemed to part and she could see the stars up above glittering ever so brightly all of a sudden. Cthoney ran a hand thoughtfully through her hair as several of them caught her attention, amid a sudden bright flood of moonlight.

Reality had always been a bit … unusual here. She – remembered? – that, didn’t she? She was a bit rusty on her star charts – and besides that, the stars moved, which was its own can of worms right there – but some of those constellations looked … Oh sweet heavens … What had she let herself in for?

She looked back round at Nemo, lying there on the edge of life and death. Then she stepped back through and sat down on the edge of the bed and ran a hand through his hair. She sniffed. He probably needed a bath. But a man (even if in so many ways, to her eyes he still seemed like a boy – but he’d earned the right by his actions in the last few days to be considered a man) shouldn’t be alone when he prepared to look Death in the eye. (Although, if some of the blur of recollections from the last day and night were correct, at least he’d probably be treated kindly. Though some consolation that was, she thought.)

Hurry, bird. Hurry. And if by whatever hare-brained routes you manage to find an outaya, I promise not to ask you too many questions about it afterwards.

In the jungle, the starlit jungle, the mwahaha called out into the night. ’Mwaa. Mwa-aa.’ It was an old mwahaha. You could tell by the whispy growth of feathers near its long curved upper beak, that kind of looked like a curly moustache with twirled ends.[2] On its head was a strange thing made of leaves that looked almost like a top hat.

It plucked at its whispy moustache feathers with a prehensile wing. ‘Mwaa-ha-ha,’ said the mwahaha.

Somewhere not that far off there was an answering cry of ‘Hielp! Hiielp!’, which the initiated would recognise as the cry of a young lady mwahaha.[3]

A panting bundle of feathers landed on the branch above. ‘Say, pardon me, mac, but ya haven’t seen an outaya tree anywhere about these parts, have ya?’

‘Mwaa. Mwaha-ha.’

‘Oh, right. Thanks!’

The parrot took off again into the night.

As the stars twinkled above, the old mwahaha adjusted his leaf top hat and waited. From a nearby branch, there again came the cries of ‘Hiielp! Hielp!’ and ‘Saevami!’ that Hollywood directors and birdwatchers alike used to strive so carefully to hear.

The young lady mwahaha just hoped her betrothed hadn’t gotten lost again. The parson bird in the nearby boingi tree was elderly, and it was late besides, and he was falling asleep with a gentle chirrup of ‘Deerli-beluv’d.’

‘Engaard! Engaard!’

About time, she thought, as the old mwahaha adjusted his leaf top hat and swished experimentally with a beak-carved twig cutlass.

From his nest in the boingi tree, the parson bird woke up and nodded approvingly, as if to say, this was how it was supposed to go – and wasn’t it nice to see these things being done properly?

‘What do you mean you can’t find him? You’re a spell – I cassst you myself!’

The girl in the shadows shook her head and raised her hand to her mouth. There was a glow of light. ‘Well, what have you got to say for yourself?’

In the crystal ball a worried looking corona of pink light wavered back and forth in the air somewhere in the clouds.

A hand was extended over the crystal ball. Another over the slab of glass on the table. An eye appeared in it, blinking awake and shooting a dirty look at the figure in the shadows.

Images. Lots of images. Reflections. Pictures. Moving pictures – no, there was a word for this, an ancient islands word – vih-deios.[4] Projections floated through the air over the crystal ball. There had been a storm. A magical storm. A big one. (Well, she knew that already. They had felt the echoes all the way over here, and she was pretty sure the spell was somewhere way over on the other side of the mists – which, now she came to think of it, how in blazes could he have gotten all the way over there?)

She concentrated: A cloud that looked like a skull drawing nearer over an island. Coloured lights blowing to and fro in the storm winds. A sense of some real bad juju about to go down. And there, an undercurrent on the air, something that smelled of soap and – bath bombs?

She closed her eyes and reached out some more. There was the sense of dozens of little rectangular points of light, the signals from dozens of passing personal magic mirrors that people so carelessly kept in their pockets – if they only knew the power of them, the potential.

Because the mirrors were listening.

Watching.

Drawing in the echoes and reflections of a thousand details, a thousand little moments – every minute, hour, every day – hungry for the slightest tid-bit of raw, unrefined life.

Aaah! She gripped her head. The footage was flickering. Fading. The magical signal was blurring into an angry melge[5] of confused and darkening noisy pictures – and then just electrostatic jolts and black and white particles rattling through her head. With a conscious effort she pulled away with a violent jerk of her whole body and sat there in the darkness. She felt cold and shaky.

Magic – powerful magic – had just been worked somewhere. Within the last twenty-four hours. And she had missed it in the storm.

And of course there had been that little incident in the Room of the Spinning-Wheels. Threads getting crossed. Unravelling entirely, some of them. And they still couldn’t get any sense out of that sergeant who’d been caught up in it.

A suspicion started to form.

He was involved in this. Had to be.

Who was this boy? He turns up out of nowhere and smashes the enchanted spinning-wheel she’d been working on for weeks – months, even – and causes chaos.

Her eyes went back to the flickering images as something started showing through them. No sound. Just grainy images. In and out of focus, like the eyes of the mirrors, stretching out their seeking tendrils, had had trouble homing in on it. Then something big, a blinding flash. She was just able to start blinking back into focus when all the images went white with crashing sparkle of gold. And all the seeing eyes went dark.

The shadowy figure stared as if stunned. He’d knocked out all the mirrors. All the seeing eyes. No wonder her spell was wandering around punch-drunk in circles. It had felt the echoes of something so enormous and all-encompassing that you didn’t realise you were right in the middle of it.

She got up and strode across the room. She swung round at the window and stamped her foot. He was going to ruin everything.

And then for some reason, by the glint of the few candles about the room, and the unhealthy glow of the magic mirror, something caught her eye in the crystal ball. The stepped back over to it and peered, running her hands along the glass. Hello … This was going to require some thought. It may just be that he’s more powerful than I imagined. But, she smiled at the crystal ball, he has a weakness … And what a weakness.

Oh, well. We’ll just see about this. When in doubt, fall back on the classics. ‘And here’s me,’ she crooned, getting the slight lisping hiss back under control (the magic was working, it was definitely working) – ‘all dressed up to go dreaming …’ A girlish laugh rolled past her lips as she stared smokily into the crystal ball. Showtime.

Feathers leaned against a tree branch, panting heavily. He’d tried all the places he could think of that he’d seen trees or plants growing that usually led him to an outaya.

Don’t say they were all gone. Don’t say it. They couldn’t be. There had to be one – just one more.

He was on the withered tree by that fissure in the mountainside where he’d found one the last time. Not another to be seen.

He slumped back. And then, there, hanging in the branches above was a single lemon-shaped fruit. No, tell a lie, it had gone slightly pear-shaped and had that red tinge you sometimes saw in them when they’d gone a bit too ripe. Hot crackers, it’d do! Except, why was it moving among the leaves there?

A gently curving beak emerged. Followed by the rest of a young mwahaha brave. Feathers watched disbelieving as it snipped the outaya from the branch and took off straight back the way he’d come.

‘Hey! Come back here!’ He started wobbling along the branch. I need to get in shape, he thought, panting, loping into a take-off that wouldn’t win him any prizes. ‘Come back here, kid, I need that fruit!’

Nemo woke up on the beach. He could feel the sunlight on his skin, the warmth of the waves lapping at his toes. The question formed in his mind: Well, where have I washed up this time?

Along with a lingering uncertainty. Hadn’t he been somewhere else just a little while ago? Hadn’t there been something important going on …

There was a chuckling on the breeze. With a faint sibilant murmur overlying it. ‘Well, fancy ssseeing you here.’

Nemo was up on his feet, opening his eyes quicker than he could blink. He’d danced this dance before.

Sure enough, a little way up the beach, there was a young woman lying on a kind of chaise longue sun lounger. She was sipping a drink through a straw. From a coconut shell. Her eyes were sparkling over a pair of expensive-looking sunglasses pushed down her nose. The serpent lady pouted. ‘What, no hello? No “nice to ssee you”? I took a lot of trouble bringing you here, you know.’

Nemo looked around warily as she got up and strode, slowly, towards him. Her sundress shimmered in the sunlight of wherever this was. Some kind of dreamworld, probably. Like the last time, in the diner.

Stay out of her reach, he thought. Who knew what she’d get up to if you let her get near. A knife in the back in a dream probably wouldn’t kill you. Probably. But with this girl, why take the chance?

He noticed the little slab of glass in her hand. It had an eye looking out from it. Watching him. Then it disappeared back into the glass, as if it had lost interest. The serpent lady frowned. Then she stepped towards him. Reached out.

Her hand passed right through him.

‘Dead?’ she said. She sounded puzzled. And vaguely disappointed. And if you didn’t know better, even slightly sad.

Nemo blinked. Dead? That’s ridiculous. I can’t be dead. I have too much to live for. I was alive just a second ago. And … Oh, that was right, wasn’t it. He looked at his shoulders.

A moment ago he’d been wearing red swimming trunks (that the serpent lady had magicked him into in his own confounded dream). Now he was wearing his ragged shirt and trousers torn away at the knee again. There was blood showing through at his shoulders. And at his heart. He fell back. The serpent lady watched him fall as the dream sands faded far away. Her mouth blank, her face blank, as she receded back into the distance. Then there was nothing.

The serpent lady sat back in her chair, a stunned look lingering about her eyes.

Well, guess he was mortal after all. Still. It wouldn’t hurt to be sure. Heroes had this awkward habit of turning up when you least expected it. She reached out through the mirror and the crystal ball in the direction she’d last felt his presence. She followed the trail. The softly cooling trail. Where there had been life just a moment ago, now just a lingering warmth fading into the night.

She wasn’t quite sure how to take that. But there couldn’t exactly be any mistaking the conclusion.

Rest in peace, hero boy. She sniffed. It was a good game.

Nemo … Wake up, Nemo … Please … Please wake up …

Nemo peered in the darkness. Wasn’t there supposed to be—

Then the lightning bolt hit his chest.

Cthoney rubbed her hands together one more time, building a charge. Lightning crackled round her fingers. She brought them to Nemo’s chest once again. ‘Clear!’

She had to push his body back down as it leapt a clear foot into the air.

There was a smell of burning bandages.

She waited. A beat, so faint she could barely feel it, crept through into her fingers from the heart beneath. Then she started ripping the sheet beneath into strips. One of his shoulder wounds had opened up again.

Damn it, bird, where are you …

Nessa woke in darkness. Well, no, that wasn’t quite true. She was in a room indoors somewhere. And what a room. It was like being in a palace by moonlight. There were wall hangings and carved furniture, and an arch that looked like it led through to a bathroom.

And she was lying in a bed. A real, soft, feather bed, with pillows so fluffy her head didn’t want to move. She felt … surprisingly awake actually. She rolled out and sat up. Then she started looking around for her boots.

As she was pulling them back on, she tried to make sense of it. And then everything went strange—

The spell sulked for a moment. It had just been abandoned. After all that searching, its target was no longer there, apparently. So, it had been cut off. Just like that. Except, something of it still lingered. Still felt. Felt something, out there …

It saw the open balcony windows lining the upper floors of the palace. Saw the fiery presence within one. No, not that one. There was something about the feel of the energy in that direction that didn’t agree with the spell at all, and made it think of what happens to a match after it burns out.

But the energy in the other direction, now that was more promising. It rolled towards it, through the window. A girl, sitting with her back turned. It reached out with a coil of energy and—

—Why did she feel so strange all of a sudden? Like she was floating in a cloud of … pinkness? Soft pink light tingled around the edge of her vision. Not a gentle shade of pink, but vivid, lurid fluorescent pink, just toned down to faintness. And then she couldn’t see it anymore.

Nessa looked down, puzzled, at her booted feet. At her hands. Where was she? What was she doing here. She stepped over towards the door. Rattled the handle. Locked? ‘Ow!’

She could have sworn— It was like there was a spark of pink light, and— The door swung open. Huh.

She stuck her head out into the darkened corridor. No lights burning. Just moon- and starlight filtering through from wherever. What was it she felt, though? Like she was being drawn in a direction she—

—That was odd. She could have sworn – she was somewhere else – just a moment ago … Like time had blurred.

There was a doorway, open before her, leading up into darkness by winding spiral stairs.

She felt … so tired, all of a sudden. Tearful. Like she wanted nothing so much as to sit down in a corner and bawl her eyes out. Things … blurring again – felt … her foot stepping up onto the first step, up the winding stairway, her hand reaching out ahead, feeling her way in the darkness. Something funny going on here. But she couldn’t seem to muster the attention to work out what …

Feathers followed the mwahaha brave back to where he’d seen the old mwahaha before. He watched as it swooped into a dive and— And – dropped the outaya!

The old mwahaha looked up. There was a notch in his twig-cutlass, and he had a few feathers out of place. But proud beauty was still bound to her branch by creepers, so …

Then he heard soft whistling noise, and turned his eyes upward just in time to see the world go pear-shaped.

By the time Feathers got there, the mwahaha brave was too busy untying his beloved to notice anything much. Looks like they’re getting married, he thought distractedly, as he landed with a skidding halt down on the ground.

The old mwahaha was sitting with his back to the tree trunk, a dazed smiling expression suffusing his features. His leaf top hat had been squashed almost flat and his moustache feathers were a bit askew. He looked happy enough, though.

Up above there was a rich, fruity chirrup. It sounded something like ‘Gath’rd-‘ere-tood-ee …’

There, by the base of the tree, seemingly hardly the worse for wear, was the over-ripe outaya. ‘Hey, pal, all right if I take thif,’ said Feathers, his beak already gripping the stalk.

The old mwahaha waved to him benevolently, nodding along.

Good enough, thought Feathers, and flapped back into the air. Hold on, kid. I’m on the way!

Only thing was, he thought, glancing down at the outaya, why was it glowing?

Figures stepped furtively along stone corridors. Here and there, there was the suggestion of polka dots. There was also the occasional rattle of a cutlass scabbard.

‘Quiet back there!’ came a young lady’s voice in a whisper that had its claws out.

‘Sorry, miss. See, only, what I don’t understand is, why we’s after this girl in the first place – it’s the other one the—’

A masked face turned to stare at him. He found himself trailing off into silence. There was something about that stare. He ran a nervous hand through his beard.

‘If you’re quite finished,’ the young lady’s voice said icily, ‘we are going after the girl because we cannot get to him directly. Not with Madame Fire-Tart watching him like a hawk. Unless you’d rather get your beard singed – as it floats down and lands on a pile of ashes on the floor – hmm?’

‘No, ‘m.’

‘Then keep walking.’

The masked figure in the dress stopped again. ‘What is that sound?’

The mysterious sound stopped.

They started walking again – and there it was again. Sort of like humming. A low musical undertone moving through the air. She span round. It stopped again. It didn’t seem to be coming from any of the pirates … and— There it was again! It was coming from— Oh, no. What was going on …

“Who’s tapping their feet? You all are, aren’t you? And why are you bouncing up and down like that? I’m warning you – I—‘ She looked down at her own traitor foot tapping along with the music that was filling the air. And there was a spring as she felt herself moving with a graceful jauntiness, twirling around. What had gotten in to her? Music like a trailing harp, whiffling along on the breeze. She could feel her voice rising in her throat, could see it in the others as whatever magic this was overtook them.

A low voice sang out softly, ‘Yearning gent-lee to the briny bay—’

‘What are you—‘

‘—with stealthy silent steps, we creep upon our foe!—’ boomed more voices.

‘You’re not being silent, you’re singing at the tops of your lungs— Go, ye scurvy pirate scoundrels – go on dread conspiracy!—’ She tried to swear under her breath, but couldn’t. It was too busy being used for singing. ‘And the one who finds the hero, on his cheek my kiss shall surely be!’ What! There was magic afoot and no mistake. Nothing on earth would induce her to give a kiss to one of this mangy lot otherwise.

I mean, look at them, she thought to herself. Not a decent pair of shoulders between them. At least hero boy had— She shook her head. No way she was going to voice that thought out loud.

And yet, she couldn’t help singing!

Well, she consoled herself, at least no one could see her smiling behind the mask. She’d never live it down, otherwise.

‘—trying our hands at a glorious burg-lar-ee … !’ came a quavering treble from a moustachioed pirate stretching his arms out and stepping forward in a great comic bounding stride, as the chorus took up the refrain.

‘Will you be quiet!’ she said, stamping her foot, and trying to pretend that it hadn’t just bounced up musically again as she went. And she wasn’t skipping as she went. She wanted that clearly understood.

‘Away we go, away we go – to endless glory, song and story, and the mid-night wave! …’

The motley crew bounced off down the corridor, singing as they went.

It was turning into a very strange evening.

Nessa reached a door. It looked gloomy and forbidding. And yet, somehow … feminine?

There was a sign on it. It said, ‘PRIVATE: Keep Out! Thif meanf you!’ It looked like it had been there a long time. It was a bit hard to take so seriously though with the girly loops on the dots of the i’s that belied the somewhat sinister slope to the letters.

Her hand reached out unbidden for the old iron handle. This door too just swung open. She half watched for a pink spark again, but if there was one it was being more careful not to be seen. As she tried to think that thought, though, a wave of something flowed across her mind and she forgot what she was thinking about. She had it just a moment ago—

It was a bedroom. A big vanity table with an enormous old mirror stood against one wall.

There was a click and a wooden slidy sound.

She peered into the darkness. Had that drawer been open a moment ago? There was, like, a glowing light coming from within. She found herself almost being drawn along behind her outstretched hand.

She stopped and peered at her hand suspiciously.

She could have sworn there was a faint twinkling of that lurid pink light playing along her fingers for a moment there. She didn’t even notice herself being drawn along again, as her eyes glazed over and the glow in the drawer beckoned to her. Sickly light glowing and calling out as she drew it open.

It was lined with grey metal. There was the smell of cedar and perfume. Lots of perfume. She looked at the surface of the vanity table with a slow feeling of unease gnawing at her – just whose room was this? – as her hand closed around … a rectangular slab of … some sort of glass?

Strange glowy light seeped out of it, wrapping its way around her hand and along her arm. Nessa felt funny again, all sleepy of a sudden, and yet still awake. Numb. Numbness travelling through her nerves, tingling through into her mind. Numbness and forgetfulness, soft, sweet oblivion.

And something else. Something … vaguely troubling, in a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

The surface of the glass flickered into life. Drawing her in. Pictures. Light and colour. Something subtly wrong, though. Couldn’t quite say what it was that was bothering her— She felt different. Nessa’s reflection looked out at her from the mirror, and smiled … Pretty lights danced in her eyes. Then something changed. She wasn’t sure what. Or that it had even been there at all. For a moment she felt a brief sense of panic – and then, nothing.

Booted footsteps echoed back towards the stairway back down the tower. Wait. What was that. Under that jar on the dressing table. She drew it out and looked at it – and her face began to shut down. For just a moment, her hand shook, and went sort of blurry.

There was an uneasy glow from somewhere and it was like the room was changing somehow before her eyes, and yet was still superficially the same room.

She shook her head and blinked. Then she wiped her eyes with her sleeve and put something in her pocket. There was the sound of boots dragging listlessly on stone flagstones. And a door closing behind her.

Cthoney peered out at the clouds rolling across the sky. The moon had disappeared behind one of them. She had one hand by Nemo’s neck, keeping a check on his pulse. With the other, and by an awkward manoeuvre of dashing about the room in an odd dancing step, she’d gathered a few objects about her. A stone bowl, a spoon, a knife, a piece of cloth, and a curtain cord. (What do you know, the knife had come in handy.) An outaya needed careful preparation, as far as she could remember. What she had gathered about her would just have to do, though.

She looked up. Was that a shape against the clouds?

Was it a bird? Was it a bat? Was it a mwahaha? No, it was …

‘… Fu-per Fea-ffers!’ Feathers mumbled trying to keep his grip on the outaya, as he swooped through the window. ‘Bombs away!’

The outaya seemed to spin in the air for a moment. Cthoney’s horrified gaze followed it as it span towards Nemo’s mouth where it hung, lolling open …

Nemo’s spirit floated in darkness. Lost and unaware. He didn’t know where he was or what he was doing here. He just felt – felt funny.

Wanna go home now. Where ‘m I? Why’s got’a be like dis …

Creatures, shadows in the darkness. It was probably just as well Nemo wasn’t aware of what was closing in on him. It’d only upset him in his last moments.

He tried to say something. But he was just burbling. It might have interested any listener to hear what it sound like, though, before— ‘Mmmph,’ he said. There was a piece of fruit in his mouth. Seeping juice onto his tongue. There was a hiss in the darkness, and then—

‘Hold him down!’

‘Lady, I’m a parrot,’ said Feathers, who was, nevertheless, trying.

‘Then don’t distract me.’

Nemo was floating, towards the window. They were several storeys up here. And he was glowing, with a faint but insistent bright white light, straining through to golden, with a tingle of other colours sparkling in amongst it. Musical notes twanged in the air. Chords like organ pipes in the high notes opening up. All sorts of confused songs rippling through her mind subliminally. The parrot had his wings held over his ears, his eyes wide and popping. And Nemo – was waking up.

And he looked a little different – aside from the glowing light spearing out through his fingertips, and the inner glow starting to pour off him like a thousand candle flames roaring into life from within.

And his clothes, ragged and threadbare as they were, were flapping in some kind of hidden breeze that certainly didn’t look like the night winds from outside, though plenty of those could have been blowing too, for all she’d notice right now.

Then a hand shot up from his side as he shook free of her and even Feathers who was frantically holding on to his foot somehow. Actually, the bird was still hanging in there. Cthoney was kind of impressed, in spite of herself – and in spite of the fact that the boy was floating out the actual window. She reached out and grabbed hold of his ankle, trying to hold on—

Nemo bit into the fruit. He felt different – and yet a little like he’d felt this way before. Each bite was like a lightning bolt running through his heart – but this time in a good way. And a golden lightning bolt at that.

He could hear singing from somewhere. And music. And golden chords and strains from somewhere within and without. He could see faces. People. Words writing themselves in the air. It didn’t exactly feel like a hallucination. In fact it felt both real and – he tried to reach out to some of them as they passed him by, walking off to and fro. It was like he was at a crossroads in a busy street. From somewhere he could squawking. He took another bite. And for a moment it was like he could see the future – and the past and the present – but especially the future. And none of it made any sense—

—Cthoney felt her feet leave the ground, like she was floating too. She felt them trail over the cold stone of the balcony rail, as he lifted off into the night.

She sighed. And held on. Now she knew what that woman with the flying umbrella and the carpet bag felt like. The one who was always dancing around on rooftops and jumping into drawings in the street.

And if anything Nemo was just climbing higher. She looked back with alarm. The palace complex was quite a long way below them now. Don’t look down, she told herself. Don’t look down. It was embarrassing to admit, what with being a semi-divine volcano goddess and all, but she had always been a little bit afraid of heights – she thought queasily as her eyes strayed over … one of the bays, beneath? And for a moment, she felt a little bit unsure what would happen to her if she fell into the ocean, out away from the island.

‘Nice night for it,’ said a voice nearby. Cthoney risked a glance sideways. The phoenix was fluttering along beside her.

‘I wasn’t quite expecting this,’ she called over a sudden breeze that threatened to send her falling onto an outcrop of sand stretching out into the waves below. There were some rather sharp rocks jutting out from some of those.

‘Looks like you’re off on adventure!’ said the phoenix pleasantly. She had the curious sensation he was beaming. ‘Do you the world of good. Get out and see the world. Away from that stuffy old island with its stuffy old volcano.’

‘I – I’m not sure I—’ she reached out with one hand. ‘Do you think you could heeel—’

The phoenix contrived to steady her in mid-air, but only so that she had to grab back on to Nemo’s leg.

‘—look after the island for you? Of course I will. Delighted, dear girl. Absolutely delighted!’

Something odd going on here. Well, not odd, exactly. But different. “Dear girl”? she thought. Good grief.

‘I guess I’m not quite feeling like myself,’ she called. Or am I? said a little voice in her head she couldn’t quite recognise.

‘Travel! See the world! Have adventures! Like you’ve always been longing for! And if you don’t want to come back to the island, you don’t have to. I’ll move on eventually, of course. But I’ll see that young Anaya is all right, first. You enjoy yourself,’ the phoenix gazed into her eyes, its own sparkling, ‘my very dear friend.’ A wing, fiery and warm, glowy, and comforting as only a phoenix can be, reached out and touched her arm. A fiery flowing warmth ran through her. Only then did she realise how cold she’d been getting. Hanging there in the stiff night breezes all the way up here.

She noticed lightheadedly that Feathers still wasn’t budging, hanging on to Nemo’s other leg. He’d got himself quite settled now. Though his eyes too were closed tight.

She was aware of that strange golden fiery voice again. ‘I hope we’ll meet again someday. I’ll miss you. And take care.’ A beak pressed against her hair for a moment. She reached out with a hand to touch the phoenix’s outstretched wingtip as it floated along behind them in the air flapping with its other wing and its tail feathers. Then it dropped back, smiled, and, somehow, waved, and was gone back into the clouds. ‘…. Good luck!’ its rich, melodious old voice trailed off behind them.

What had she gotten herself into?

Off in the clouds as the glow of the phoenix receded into them slowly, a voice like buttercream and whiskey and several dozen other subtle notes you apparently only achieve by being the world’s heaviest smoker – or inhabiting a volcano for several hundred years as one of its tutelary spirits – drifted back in song: ‘Te Kaboomlos Absentians! The Miss-ing Ka-boom … Its light is flowing. Through stars it is glowing … Te Kaboomlos Absentians …’ And then an upping of the tempo: ‘What was lost, is here; What was gone is back. Heroes and happy endings, Adventures and wendings! …’ She couldn’t make out an awful lot after that. And what she could hear didn’t make sense …

The Missing Kaboom? Where had she – she had a feeling she ought to have heard about that before. That she knew about that before. Except now, it was different. She was different. And why was she shivering. She could hear her teeth chattering.

‘I’m s-s-supposed to b-b-beeee a vol-c-c-cano goddess! Why am I c-c-cold!’

And why were they descending. They were descending, weren’t they. She was pretty sure. Slowly but surely. She looked up. Nemo appeared to have long since finished the outaya, and his eyes were still closed.

Why were his eyes closed, an outraged corner of her mind demanded – wasn’t he supposed to be the one steering?

She, carefully, adjusted her hold on his leg, and sniffed. She had a feeling this wasn’t quite how it was supposed to go. But here she was. And she couldn’t get that blasted tune out of her head. Te Kaboomlos Absentians … Adventures and faraways … Heroes and maidens … And that last puzzling refrain she’d heard through the clouds from the phoenix: He-re we goooo ag-aaaaiinnnn …

The pirates peered round the doorframe nervously. Some of them were still nursing bruises from the last time they’d encountered this girl: Who’d have thought she had a kick on her like that?

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ said the girl in the mask, striding past them. ‘See? Not so hard, is it— Where is she!’ She span on her heel. ‘You bungling imbeciles! You’ve let her get away.’

‘Well, how was we to know? The door – it was just wide open.’

Somehow, the face behind the mask contrived to frown him into silence. There was a tapping, as of an impatient sandal-clad foot on old flagstones. And the feeling of a glance, head on one side, weighing up taking on a volcano goddess with this bunch of clowns. ‘Very well. We go for them direct. This potion should incapacitate her for long enough – but no dilly-dallying. Grab the boy and then we go—‘

‘— And then we go …’ came a soft murmuring chorus from the pirates.

‘And stop that! For goodness’ sake. Come on. While we still have any night at all left.’

The door on Nemo’s room creaked open.

They saw the disarray, the objects sprawled on the floor. The cut curtain cord.

‘See! See! Someone else has beaten us to the punch! Now, if you hadn’t spent all that time singing and bouncing around—’

‘Beggin’ yer pardon, miss , but I seems to recall you was doin’ a bit of singin too— …’ The speaker fell silent under a gimlet-eyed bemasked gaze. ‘Tell ye what, shall we just be headin back to the ship. They can’t o’ got far and—’

‘Quiet! I’m trying to think.’

The pirates waited with bated breath.

‘We head back to the ship,’ she said, eventually.

They sighed with relief. It was good to have someone who knew how to think these things out.

‘We might just chance across them on the way.’

‘Right, lads, back to the ship. Last one on board the Mermaid’s Fancy misses his beard-wax ration!’

‘Can we sing on the way?’

‘No!’

‘What, not at aaaaallll?’

That ruddy magical tingling in the air jolted through the air again and stole her breath away, as her foot started tapping again. ‘Well,’ she said weakly, ‘maybe a little.’

Nessa watched the two chirruping mwahahas fly off towards the horizon, where, shortly, the sun would rise on another day. They looked ecstatically happy. In a swaying tree nearby, she thought she could see a bird that looked like it had spectacles and was wearing a parson’s collar. She blinked, but when she looked again it had gone, with only a rustling at the top of a tree that wobbled in the wind. She looked down. On the ground was what looked like a crushed little top hat made of leaves.

‘Mwaaa,’ said a sore but not altogether unpleased voice from another branch. She looked up and saw another of those strange birds with the long gently curving beaks eating some berries.

She kicked at a rock and sent it skimming along the ground as she headed out to where the jungle met sand. A moonlit cove. All on my own. Wasn’t this where I came in, she thought.

Then the air shimmered. She looked down and was surprised to find she had that little mirror in her hand again. It was surrounded by a shimmering glow. The surface seemed to ripple a moment, and then it was like she was watching a recorded reflection. ‘Have you seen this man?—’ She waved a hand viciously over the surface of the mirror and the recorded reflection disappeared. Huh. How did I do that?

And that of course was when she saw them. What the—

Nemo – floating through the air. With a girl clinging to one leg. Why I oughtta— ‘Rawk! How do ya steer this thing?’ – and Feathers clinging to the other. What was going on? She started running along the beach. How on earth was she supposed to catch them?

And that of course was when she saw the pirates singing and striding along the sand, towards the big, convenient pirate ship lolling around in the moonlit bay.

She stood with her hands on her hips for a moment, letting the wind rustle through her golden-green hair. For reasons unknown to her she found herself stretching out her hand with the mirror in it. There was a click. And for a moment, she could have sworn the mirror winked at her. And then there was her reflection fixed on the surface like a photograph. She looked so – so …

Oh, the pirates. Right. Ship. She ducked back behind the treeline and started making as fast she could her way round towards the other end of the bay. Looked like the pirates were taking their time over it, to the exasperation of whoever that woman in the dress there with them was.

She frowned a moment. Mask and dress? Oh, well. No time for that now. She had other things to attend to. And really, what could go wrong?

‘How far have we come?’ said Cthoney. She was starting to feel a little miserable. It seemed like they’d been flying for longer than the amount of time involved should have allowed. And they didn’t seem to be descending all that fast. ‘Is he still – are his eyes still closed?’

‘Rawk …’ said a voice miserably nearby.

‘What are you complaining about? All you have to do is take off and you can fly away if you need to.’

‘My wings’a gone numb,’ said Feathers.

‘Oh.’

‘Anyway. I thought you could do that fireball trick or turn into a bird. ‘S’what you did before.’

Cthoney paused thoughtfully. She was having to contend with a lot of strange feelings and senses, including the feeling that her past self was rapidly being left behind. ‘I … I’m not sure I can do that anymore.’

‘Well, what’s changed?’ said Feathers, scrunching up his eyes against the glow from Nemo.

‘Something has. I feel so strange of a sudden. Like everything’s different.’ She looked around.

‘Bird?’ she said after a while, ‘was all that mist here a moment ago?’

‘I think it’s just the clouds. But we might be gettin’ near the Mists.’

‘The what?’

‘Lady, you ain’t heard of the Mists? Where’ve you been?’

‘Trapped in a volcano for centuries,’ said Cthoney, evenly, glancing sideways at Feathers. Her fingers felt like they were going numb holding on to Nemo’s leg. And her arms were cold.

Feathers shifted around a little bit on his perch gripping on to Nemo’s foot with his claws and his leg with his wings somehow. ‘You know, the Mists – where the Sirens’ Triangle is? With sea-sirens and will-o’-the-waves and monsters unspeakable and lost ships and ghost-pirates?’ Feathers looked around as if to make sure they weren’t overheard. ‘And that ain’t the worst of it—’ He caught Cthoney’s look a little bit late. ‘Of course, we could just be passin’ through a big cloudbank …’

‘That’s probably it.’

‘Yeah. Bound to be.’

‘Only …’

‘Yeah?’

‘Do you ever get, like a feeling of deja vu before something’s happened yet?’

Feathers weighed this consideringly. ‘Sometimes. Maybe. Depends on who’s askin’.’

‘Well I’m askin’ – asking. And I—’

‘Land ahoy!’ said Feathers, with a grin. How did he do that? There was something beneath, not so far away. And it wasn’t anywhere she recognised.

‘Feathers,’ said Cthoney, mopily. ‘I don’t think we’re on Lava-Lava anymore …’

In the crows’ nest of the Mermaid’s Fancy, the lookout called down below. ‘I think I see ‘em! They’s … they’s flyin’!’

‘Flying!’ The girl in the mask shot a glance up at him he could feel from all the way down there. ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ she shouted.

‘It’s true, ma’am!’

The Fire Lady! This was her doing. ‘Follow them! I want him alive!’

What happened to him after that was not her concern …

Still, she thought, with a tinge of sentimental sadness in her voice – they were nice shoulders.

Cthoney turned to Feathers. ‘I suppose you do know what we’ve done, don’t you?’

‘Er …’

‘Outaya gourds are not just some harmless fruit. They bind whoever eats one on a quest of the soul. They bring to light things that can drive the bearer of that quest mad.’ She fixed him with a stare where something of the old fire still lingered. ‘Only a true hero may survive. A man has to be honest, brave, pure of heart … and summon up strength unimaginable in pursuit of a quest of his own making. Each one is the blessing that can bring you back from death, but a curse that binds you to life. It was not just some idle joke that had them also known as the Soul Fruit. A man is taking his life – and his soul — into his own hands who eats of the outaya gourd.’

‘Er … ya says each one?’

Cthoney gave Feathers a long, slow look. ‘Are you telling me that he has eaten of the outaya gourd before?’

‘Just, ya know, askin’ for a friend.’

‘Bird, I don’t know what prompts me to say this, but have you ever eaten an outaya?’

‘Who, me?’

Cthoney’s stare was beginning to make him uncomfortable.

‘Well, maybe a taste here and there – like when I was fetchin’ one for the kid when he needed to rescue toots—’

‘Aha!’

‘You say that like it’s a bad thing—’

‘Bird, think what an all-consuming quest it is when a man eats one outaya. What do you think would happen to him if he eats two – or, God help him, more? We have brought him back from obliteration – snatched him from the jaws of death (and not the nice girl with the cloak and scythe, I might add)’—she paused for breath in the still too-thin-for-comfort air, the choking mist cloying its way around her nostrils—‘but in doing so his eating of the fruit has bound him to face things that have driven men mad. I saw something of that boy when his spirit reached out int he tunnels beneath the temple: He is wounded in his heart, in his very soul. His body may be healed, but that kid’s got to be a walking basket case inside. You don’t face the things he has and not suffer for it. That’s what I’m telling you. Keep an eye on him. Look out for him. And,’ she added with a deadly serious look that made Feathers shift uncomfortably where he perched before it passed over, ‘an outaya gourd is no toy.’

‘Oh,’ said Feathers.

‘Yes, “Oh.”’ Cthoney looked at him a little more kindly, her face shifting somehow back again from fiery volcano goddess to rather attractive young girl shivering and thinking longingly of a good wood fire. ‘But aside from that, bird, you did darned well.’ She considered this. ‘Supposing we survive this little flight.’

Feathers was thoughtful for a minute or two. ‘But hold on just a second, Toots Mark II—’

‘What did you call me?’ Flames filled Cthoney’s eyes. There was a smell of burning flesh.

‘Uh, lady?’

Cthoney looked at Nemo’s leg. It was starting to blister. She took a deep breath. The burning smell started to recede.

‘Huh, he still hasn’t woken up,’ said Feathers, glancing up at Nemo, and then apprehensively back at Cthoney.

‘Sorry. I don’t know what came over me.’

‘Er, don’t mention it. But,’ said Feathers, hoping to keep the conversation moving swiftly on, ‘what I was gettin’ at is, surely it can’t work like that? Surely some kid can’t just find a fruit and eat one ‘cos they’re hungry and then be under some curse—’

‘They don’t. But what was that you said before – he ate one to save his friend, to give him the strength he needed. And note, just now, he ate it of his own volition – as well as at least once in an act of heroic virtue. He’s taken this on himself. Anything subsequent can only add to that. He’s in it up to his neck.’

‘Oh. Yeah, I guess I figured it’d be somethin’ like that.’ Feathers thought for a moment. ‘So, why’s he flyin’?’

Nemo jerked downwards in the air, dropping several feet.

‘Tell ya what, why don’t we forget I just asked that questiooooonnnnn—’

They made quite a splash. Which was bad news for Feathers. And even worse news for Cthoney. She let out a piercing scream and went dead in the water. It was good thing the splash woke Nemo up.

Nemo managed to drag Cthoney and Feathers towards the only bit of land in sight, a little rocky pebble beach they were decidedly lucky they’d missed on the way down.

Atchoo!

Cthoney shivered miserably. Her long dark hair was plastered down the front of her face and dripping with seawater. She peered out from under it, eyeing Nemo with disfavour. Her mood didn’t improve much when he even tried to offer her the shirt off his back, if it would help her keep her warm. That and the steam rising off her convinced him to let be. She was holding Feathers in the crook of her arm to warm him up.

Nemo shivered. Nobody was explaining anything to him. He wandered off, feeling bewildered and a little hurt. And for some reason his leg was aching.

‘Kid,’ said Feathers, gurgling seawater. ‘Watch out for sea-sirens and things. And if ya sees anyone playin’ strange attractive music, you run straight back here, ya got it?’

Nemo nodded, uncomprehending. What did people think he was, some kind of idiot who wasn’t safe to be let out on his own?

What he couldn’t work out is how he’d got out here, and what Cthoney was doing here with him and Feathers. And why she was glaring at him quite so much. He didn’t drop her in the sea.

Atchoo!

Cthoney was looking at him like she was about to shoot fire out of her eyes.

Time to be heading off exploring for a bit.

And people said he had no tact …

‘Um, just one question,’ he said. ‘But where’s Nessa?’

Feathers had fallen asleep, though. And Cthoney was staring flaming daggers at him.

Nemo wandered off feeling … strangely bereft and disconsolate. And pretty fed up. He still couldn’t work out why he appeared to be glowing again. And why there was a burning red handprint on his calf.

And also – what that sound was … ?

To Be Continued …

[Previous –> Part 10: The Many-Sundered Heart.] [Next –> … ?]

[Where it all began –> Part 1: The Serpent’s Kiss.]

[1] And try saying that with a straight face.

[2] And itched something dreadful. This is why, when an older mwahaha starts getting his moustache feathers, he tends to pull at them – which tickles. So, you got the traditional laughing cry: Mwa-ha-ha.

And thus, inspired no doubt by chance observation of another colony of mwahahas far, far away, was motion-picture history made …

[3] Which, funnily enough, in intonation, sounds surprisingly like that of a young lady bound to the railroad tracks, just as the express train is drawing near – and from which lamentable condition she certainly ruddy hopes the dashing young hero is riding heck for leather to save her. Coincidence is a strange thing.

[4] Don’t ask what it means in the original. You wouldn’t want to know.

[5] Sort of like a confused melting merge-y something-or-other.

Once Upon a Spinning-Wheel (Part 10): The Many-Sundered Heart

By Andrew Miller

Member

Andrew Miller

Website: https://www.awlmiller.com/.

| January 14, 2020

14 COMMENTS

Nessa-Cthoney’s long golden-green hair went flying back in the storm winds, as flames that had nothing to do with the torches flickering nearby glowed in her eyes like burning embers.

Lightning flashed and glinted over the Death’s Head pin in the witch doctress’s hand as it hovered over the ragged-trousered voodoo doll of the man known as Nemo.

Nessa’s hands twitched like a gunslinger’s, even though she had no guns at her belt, a suggestion of flame and blue lightning flickering at her fingertips.

She stepped forward.

* * *

Vexila, the witch doctress, took a step back. Even in the flaming torchlight, a few cracks seemed to be showing through her mask-like beauty. Even so, her face spread into a slow smile. ‘Not another step …’

‘Let the boy go,’ said Cthoney’s smoky-lava-and-thunderstorm voice, bubbling up past Nessa’s lips. ‘Or I will destroy you.’

‘That’s what you think,’ said Vexila, stepping slowly backwards all the while. She let a trickle of magic lace her voice as it drifted towards Nessa’s ears. (She remembered pulling the same trick, oh these centuries before now – as a girl slid to the floor, a poison apple rolling away from her hand).

‘But how willing,’ she went on, ‘is the girl whose eyes you hide behind to watch him die? Does she know what will happen when this particular pin goes through his heart?’

Vexila’s smile deepened as she saw the fear flicker among the flames in those still all-too-mortal eyes. ‘They won’t even find enough to bury him. So, I’m warning you – not another step …’

* * *

Nessa-Cthoney glanced down at her hands, wreathed in flame and lightning. She found her head rising of its own accord, the fire inside her boiling into an inferno, all the while the part of her that was still Nessa screamed inside in protest: What was happening? Stop! She’ll kill him!

The Cthoney side shook her head. Why was everything so confusing? Why couldn’t she think straight— She took another step forward, slowly and deliberately.

—Overhead, the Death’s Head cloud that had been making its way across the sky all evening thundered, its eye sockets illuminated by lightning altogether colder than the surrounding storm—

The needle twitched, plunging into the voodoo doll’s shoulder. The real Nemo, hanging unconscious from the stake, jerked suddenly, his shirt blossoming a bright liquid red.

‘Nemo!‘

* * *

Nessa looked round in panic, the certainty draining right out of her along with the flame and lightning at her fingertips. She’d seen the look that passed across the unconscious Nemo’s face. She could see the blood seeping through his shirt from his shoulder.

Part of her – the part that had suddenly found itself the avatar of a recently reawakened volcano goddess – wanted to hurl a fireball at that witch that would leave her a greasy patch of smoke on the ground, or a lightning bolt as would blast her all the way into the volcano— But now she was back in control of her own head, she—

She realised she’d taken another step forward.

The needle flickered in the witch doctress’s hand again.

Nemo’s unconscious body jerked forward on the stake with a muffled scream, as blood showed through by his other shoulder.

—Up overhead, only partly visible through a large hole in the pavilion roof, the Death’s Head cloud seemed to be grinning. Was that lightning in its eyes tinged with red of a sudden?—

The pin’s sharp, glinting point hovered once again over the Nemo-doll’s chest, just over his heart.

She stopped. The part of her that was still Nessa taking over again. If the Cthoney part of her sent a fireball at the witch doctress while she was holding a voodoo doll of Nemo, it could kill him too. (Never mind that there was also a voodoo doll of Nessa still somewhere about the witch doctress’s person. Would it still work now that she and Cthoney seemed to be walking about in the same body? Maybe it would just kill the Nessa part of her … And after that, what was left?)

Through it all, though, through the noise of the storm, her supernaturally enhanced senses kept trying to tell her she could hear something. Like a kind of … nibbling?

* * *

What looked like a charred bundle of feathers (which wasn’t far off) bit into the tough vine-like rope round Nemo’s feet again, sawing at them with its beak.

Tell ya what (thought Feathers, talking parrot extraordinaire), storming in on a bolt of lightning as a volcano goddess’s bird avatar’s carry-on luggage was no fun at all …

He looked down at his handiwork. Frayed and just about holding, but the kid could kick through that when he woke up. Better get to work on the ropes around his hands, while there was still time. Those voodoo curses could be nasty …

He fluttered up as stealthily as he could manage and grabbed on to what would turn out to be Nemo’s wrist. A little scrabbling around to get a firm hold (that shirt needed mending anyway – and those sooty claw marks? Those’ll brush right out …) and set his aching beak to work again.

C’mon … just a little more time …

* * *

‘Wait,’ said Nessa, speaking in a far more ordinary voice than Cthoney’s smoky-lava and rolling-thunder tones. In fact, in her own voice. ‘I’ll do what you want’ – she forced her hands down to her sides and willed the fire to go out – ‘please, don’t hurt him anymore.’

Vexila’s eyes gleamed. ‘So glad you’ve decided to listen to reason,’ she said. ‘Now, you see that path?’ She pointed to a steep rocky path that wound up towards a platform hanging over the edge of the volcano. ‘Start walking.’

Inside her head, the Cthoney part of her, confused and oddly tearful, raged at her to turn around and take her chances.

Quiet, she sent back, tears rolling down her cheeks. I can’t let her hurt him.

She silenced the response that came back before it could reach her mental ears, blocking it out.

She probably wasn’t thinking straight, but she couldn’t see another way out. The witch doctress could put a needle through that doll’s heart – and Nemo’s – before she could even get close.

Nemo had been willing to fight for her when she was caught helpless – well, so could she.

‘Oh, dearie,’ called the witch doctress as Nessa started to turn. ‘I almost forgot. Catch!’

Nessa only just caught what proved to be an apple. It was red, but with an eerie pink glow surrounding it. Somewhere inside, something went numb as it touched her hand. Like a memory from another lifetime.

‘When you get to the edge of the platform over the lava,’ said the witch doctress, ‘take a bite – and get ready to go swimming.’

Nessa kept a tight hold of the poison apple and forced herself to turn towards the path leading up the slope. Rain lashed down over her, the wind blew at her hair, and she was half soaked before she’d gone half a dozen paces.

She paused a moment and whispered something that was caught only by the wind and lost amid the sounds of the storm and the rumblings of the volcano.

Head held high, Nessa walked towards the fire …

* * *

That’d have to do, thought Feathers, scrabbling up Nemo’s back. No time for anything else. Almost didn’t matter if anyone saw him now

A sooty parrot’s-head shape appeared over Nemo’s shoulder and started murmuring close to his ear.

Thank goodness the witch doctress was too busy staring gloating after toots to think any other pieces on the board might still be in play.

* * *

The path wound its twisting way up the mountainside towards the lake of glowing lava.

She could still feel the fire in her veins, still feel the lingering presence of Cthoney, still feel the fire in her mind, overruling her judgement and her ability to think much about anything or even feel what was going on.

Was this it? One last long hot bath and then goodnight? There had to be a way – had to be …

She numbly forced her uncooperative legs to take a step further along the winding path.

***

‘Good,’ said the witch doctress. ‘Now when you reach the platform, do you know what I want you to do? Raise your arms above your head, crouch back, and get ready to do a graceful swan dive. Who knows, you might not even feel a thing …’

‘Nessa!’ shouted a voice over the storm, ‘don’t—’

A man screamed.

Nessa looked back. Nemo was awake – and he was loose (and her heart soared). He had both hands gripping the witch doctress’s wrists, keeping that demon pin away from the voodoo doll – but there was blood showing through his right sleeve – and his arm was shaking.

She started back down the path, but she was having trouble maintaining control. Her hair was crackling out behind her as if lightning was running through it and her eyes were developing a deep smouldery glow. Her body seemed to be taking orders from someone not quite her—

‘I will rend you to pieces,’ came the lava-and-lightning voice of Cthoney once again.

Nessa, her thoughts suddenly speeding up even as time slowed down, thoroughly approved of this sentiment.

The bit of her that was still Nessa, however, seeing the witch doctress’s momentary distraction, added a twist of her own: She drew back in a pitcher’s crouch and let fly with the poison apple—

—she cheered inside as it hit the back of the witch doctress’s head with a satisfyingly distracting smack!—

—even as she started running with all her might back down the slope.

She’d seen how much blood was pouring down Nemo’s shirt.

* * *

By the time she got there, Nemo was on his knees, trying to keep the witch doctress from bringing the pin back to the voodoo doll. There was blood pouring down his arms. Guess the witch doctress must have managed to get a couple more jabs in.

Almost there …—

—Vexila sent Nemo falling back with a twisting kick to his wounded chest, bringing the hand with the pin round in one hideously graceful motion.

From out of Nessa’s mouth, both she and Cthoney screamed – as the Death’s Head pin went straight through the Nemo-doll’s chest …

… Time slowed almost to a stop …

—She couldn’t look. She couldn’t watch—

Nessa felt the Cthoney side taking over with a vengeance, burning fury running through her. She found herself smoking, as flames licked around her hands. And …—

—Should that voodoo doll be glowing like that … ?—

A soft golden glow had wrapped itself around the Nemo-doll. The witch doctress just stared at it for a moment, even as she drew out the little voodoo doll of Nessa from earlier, fumbling for another pin. It too was glowing, except mixed among the gold was a flaming fiery red and a crackle of blue lightning.

It was kind of hard to make out what happened next, as fire spread across her vision, but she thought she caught a glimpse of golden flames wrapping their way around the Death’s Head pin through the Nemo-doll’s heart and—

—The explosion sent her sprawling—

* * *

… Drifting through the dark, floating, whirling. Landing heavily. Then the blackness seemed to fade into light – soft, dim pinkish light. Thump-thump.

Nessa blinked. The fingers of one hand glistened translucent and silvery for a moment. She blinked again and her hand was back to normal. Thump-thump.

What was going on?

She was on a sort of balcony at the top of a swirling double staircase, looking out over the most magnificent hall. It was like a ballroom out of a fairy tale. For a moment she just looked around, open-mouthed.

Then she noticed the dress.

It was beautiful … It was about the most beautiful dress she’d ever seen. And she was wearing it. She ought to be able to find words to describe it – the colours, the way it flowed, the way it fitted like a glove … anything. She couldn’t, though. To try to describe it would be … Thump-thump.

And now she thought about it what was that noise? Thump-thump.

Her eyes went back to the dress again as she caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror.

Apparently, she was wearing makeup. A lot of makeup – in a way, it was ridiculous. She’d never really thought about it before, how silly – how odd – a lot of makeup really was. She looked like Nessa the Clown, practically. But this was … she looked so glamorous, and …

… Wait a minute, though, she thought – this wasn’t real, was it? A sick feeling rose up in her stomach. This isn’t who I am. This isn’t who Nemo thought I was. He cared when I was wearing sea boots and baggy clothes, and when the nearest thing I’d had to a bath, let alone makeup, was managing to make bath bombs explode. (Which wasn’t as silly as it sounded, all right?) Looking like this, he probably wouldn’t even know it was me …

… A sentimental smile drifted across her face: Nemo was a nice kid. She didn’t know anyone she’d ever met who … And then it hit her, like ice running down the back of this stupid dress: Was …

The ballroom seemed to fade away, till she was standing in blackness again. Even the silence seemed to grow quieter … thump-thump, the beat came as if from a long, long way away … thump-thu— …

She was alone, in the darkness. The beautiful dress was gone, and she was back in just her ordinary shirt and breeches and sea boots. She was willing to bet that all that makeup was gone too. Somehow, she felt happier knowing that.

It was odd, alone in the blackness, with just light enough to see in front of her face, but nothing all around her. Footsteps sounded in the darkness – she tensed, ready for anything …

… Except that: Nemo stepped out of the darkness.

Thump-thump went her heart. Thump-thump.

Nemo was dressed … a little differently.

Thump-thump.

As he got nearer, he looked at her, wide-eyed, as if stunned to find her there. ‘Nessa?‘

‘Nemo? Look, I’m sorry, I’m sure this was going to be a nice dream and all but, I’ve got to—’

Before she knew what was happening, Nemo had pulled her into a hug. (What had gotten into him?) But somehow, it felt strangely comforting in the circumstances. In fact, it felt … real?

‘Wait – Nemo? Is this … Is that really you?’ She looked at him as if not daring to believe her eyes. ‘But there was an explosion, and …’

Nemo stood back again. He put his hands on her shoulders, and looked her straight in the eye. Then, apparently, he realised what he was doing and drew back, blushing absolutely crimson.

It was Nemo, all right … (Thump-thump.)

‘Did you … did you come to say goodbye … ?’ Why wouldn’t he hold still? He kept going all wet and blurry.

‘Nessa,’ said Nemo, urgently. ‘There’s something’ – his voice seemed to vanish into strange wobbling echoes – ‘… got to tell you—‘

There was sort of long echoing tinging sound, and a whooshing sound like of something going by, and … wheels? And then Nemo was fading, being drawn back into the blackness.

‘Please, don’t go – not yet …’ She reached out a hand towards him and … Blackness … Endless blackness … Thu- … -mp- … -thu—

* * *

Her head was spinning and she felt sick.

When she was able to look up again, Nessa felt as if someone had stabbed her through the heart: She saw smoke still not quite clearing, and dust in great clouds, mixing with the pouring rain and wind of the storm. The explosion had brought down most of the great stone pavilion. Golden dust spilled down from amid the smoke and sparkled quite prettily over the rubble for a moment as it settled. Even the rain seemed to be having trouble washing it away.

Felt numb. Everything felt numb …

It’s hard being a girl split, so to speak, into two halves. Two different sides warring for control. Being in two minds is one thing, being two minds (and probably more) in one being just now was more than anyone might bargain for.

The Nessa side blinked through a blurring haze. The remaining torches under the surviving edges and corners of the pavilion seemed like a smudged glow amid the smoking ruins.

Along with the numbness, there was a great wrenching pain somewhere around gut level, running through to her heart and sending all her senses into a comatose sleep.

An echo of the Cthoney side, though, was linking up with the Nessa side in a great fiery burst of supernatural strength that tied in nicely with Nessa’s own self. She pushed forward and started pulling at the rubble, frantically trying to remember where Nemo had been standing in relation to the confused mounds of stone and wood – all the while trying to work out what just happened.

Was he— No, don’t even think that. But, could he … still be alive? What happens when a voodoo doll explodes? Does it kill the person it was made as an image of? She appeared to still be here, but then she had a volcano goddess inhabiting her head, along with everything that came with that.

Was there even anything left of Nemo? Was he just a pile of golden dust mixed with a thousand tons of rubble?

And another thought, inappropriately nagging at her: Don’t get her wrong, the supernatural strength was coming in handy just now, but she couldn’t help but notice that she felt – fire and flame running through her veins and mind aside – rather more like her old self, and as if Cthoney wasn’t much to be seen, even if still vividly felt as a presence.

Had the exploding voodoo doll done something there, too? Half killed her, almost? Was she going to be stuck with a little fragment of Cthoney’s spirit (along with whoever else had come along for the ride) forever?

And why was she even worrying about this right now?

Probably to stop from thinking about what you’re going to find under there, said a little voice in a distant, dark, and echoey corner of her mind. Or not find under there, as the case may be.

It’s not as if you’ve known him very long, or all that well, said a different voice – one that Nessa would cheerfully strangle if she could get her hands on it.

I do, too, she sent back. Don’t try and tell me my own mind. Not in my own damn head, too. I know who I am, and I know who he is. And then she wondered where that thought had come from.

A wave of lava spilled over the side of the volcano in the background, glowing red and gold and hissing with steam in the storm. Nessa didn’t care. This was more important right now …

* * *

Death hovered close at hand, amid the rolling white mists. Contrary to custom, she drew back the hood on her midnight cloak, her long red hair spilling out carelessly on the wind that wasn’t there. Except, spilling out not in the happy carefree way of before but in the way of one who, despite her profession, is having to bite down on her lip and blink really, really hard to stop the sparkle in her eyes spilling down over her cheeks.

Hovering over the eternal mists, just lying there floating, was someone — well, she knew she was going — that is to say, she’d suspected she was going to be seeing him again, only she’d thought it would be more regularly, given the kind of adventures he looked set to be having — and not for the last time for quite some time.

She sighed and knelt down beside the floating ghost-body, its eyes staring up into the ether. Here in the mists — well, just where the Mists were at any particular time was complicated. Occasionally a bit to the side or above would clear and you could be looking out just about anywhere. Right now, there were stars swirling by silently as they moved through space.

Death raised her scythe — drew back her hand — and opened it. The scythe faded back like smoke. She reached down and straightened the spirit-Nemo’s shirt on him and patted his shoulder a little. Most people don’t see Death enough to get to know her[1], let alone to be something like a friend …

She glanced up again. She should be doing her job, but she had time. Sometimes she had nothing else. Just worlds and worlds of time. Time enough, anyway.

‘You might like this,’ she said, smiling, reaching down and brushing a stray hair out of the way of his eye, before pointing to a tartan patch of stars through the mists. ‘That’s the Och Aye Nebula.[2] It’s someplace far away from here. I like the way you get those bands of different-coloured light running through each other. See the red, and yellow, and white, and little bits of green and blue and …’ She felt the coloured lights blurring in front of her eyes. ‘Oh … why couldn’t you have been more careful,’ said Death, bringing a clutch of midnight fabric up over her eyes.

The ghost Nemo floated, almost oblivious, watching the tartan stars go by …

He felt like someone was calling him.

Nemo! … Nemo! … Where are you …

But still other voices, nearer to, reached out to him:

Nemo … Ne-mo …

Nemo.

Around him, something crackled gold as he faded from view.

* * *

The sea fog rose over the shore. The waves lapped against the sand. There was a girl standing a little way away. He could just make her out through the mists, her hair tied back. There was a circlet resting in it. Like a plain band of silver.

He got up off the wet sand and tried to get his balance. He felt a bit woozy for some reason. All this shifting about.

The girl turned at the sound, her cloak swirling behind her. She smiled when she saw him. ‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ she said, moving towards him. Nemo wondered if the ground was uneven as she—

A little way off the ground, the Amazon’s ghost ended in ragged trail of spectral absence.

The Amazon paused, looked down, and blushed. She closed her eyes and focused for a moment and her legs faded back out of the trail along with the rest of her. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ve been out here so long and … you know, sometimes you find yourself sort of drifting.’ She concentrated some more and appeared to come back into focus.

As she did so, Nemo found himself light-headedly noticing things. Like the way that even in death, life seemed to shine out of the spirit in front of him.

Then she strode purposefully towards him and pulled him into a hug.

Nemo felt a kiss on his cheek that was somehow simultaneously both cold and filled with warmth. He also felt … tears?

When the Amazon stepped back, her eyes were indeed sparkling with teardrops. ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she said self-consciously, ‘where are my manners … I’m Cora … You don’t know me, probably, but … I feel like I know you …’ A spectral hand reached out and touched his face—

—A flash of golden fire. Nessa, clawing through rubble, then … a memory … Not his, but … A girl, sleeping by a fireside. Other Amazons around her, in deep hooded cloaks. The girl asleep by the fire looked sort of like Cthoney … except different and … sort of familiar?—

‘Her name was Anaya,’ Cora explained. ‘Is Anaya. She wasn’t with us for long but—‘

There was a soft metallic sound in the mists. Nemo turned to find a sword point hovering at his throat, eerily still and steady.

‘Kyra!’

Another figure peered out from under a hood.

‘Kyra, stop that. He … he helped Anaya.’

The sword-point slowly withdrew. There was another soft metally sound as it was sheathed. The newcomer drew back her hood, to reveal long flowing black hair, and eyes like burning obsidian, glaring at him. ‘Why should I trust you?’ she said, voice cold and withdrawn.

‘Kyra,’ said Cora, softly, laying a reassuring hand on her shoulder, ‘he fought the witch doctress. He fought Vexila.’

‘Oh.’ Kyra twirled a finger awkwardly through a stray tress of her striking black hair. ‘I guess he got it like you did, then …’ She turned quickly and stalked back off into the mists.

Cora smiled sadly. ‘I took Anaya’s loss kind of hard. Those were dark times and … Anaya was like a ray of sunshine into our world. She was my friend,’ she added simply.

Nemo saw that even Cora’s face hardened as she continued.

‘I declared all-out war on Vexila after that. We’d been fighting hard anyway, doing what we could to stop her … but we’d been losing … losing friends …’ Teardrops flowed unashamedly down Cora’s face. ‘I got reckless. I went in on my own, tried to put an arrow through her. They caught me … We vow never to let ourselves be taken alive, but I wasn’t watching carefully enough, wasn’t thinking and …’

Nemo felt a tear starting down his cheek.

‘They tried to rescue me, the others, but Vexila seized her chance. By the time they got there, it was just about too late. I don’t think Kyra ever forgave me for that … You can’t do what we do and not care about your friends. I guess I let it get the better of me. I promised I’d look after her, you see … I promised …’

Nemo looked at her – and felt an overwhelming sense of anger. He could feel what had happened to the girl in front of him like it had happened to him. Vexila had thrown her to the lava after—

‘It’s so hard to remember sometimes …’ said Cora, as if looking deep within. She seemed to drift out of focus for a moment, and then she was back. ‘I’ve been … waiting here … so long … ‘May I … call you Nemo? I’m sorry,’ she said — Nemo saw her eyes filling with tears — ‘Please, can you — can you …’

Nemo found himself instinctively stepping forward and drawing her into a hug. Cora rested her head against shoulder gratefully as her own shoulders shook. ‘I waited so long … I promised I’d look after her – I promised …’

Some things don’t need saying, don’t need analysing. They just are.

‘It’s all right. It’s all right … got all the time in the world …’ It seemed funny to him as he said it, but it also seemed oddly true. Maybe he did have all the time in the world …

He found a tear-streaked face looking up at him. Some things don’t need saying.

He also realised, he was blushing – and he wasn’t the only one who was blushing. Nemo found himself saying, ‘Is there … is there anything I can do?’

‘Besides this?’ said Cora’s voice. ‘Yes … there is something. But for now you’re—’ She looked around. Nemo was gone. Like he’d just faded into the mist. ‘—doing it …’ she said. She looked around, sniffling as she brought her hand up to wipe her eyes. ‘Thank you,’ she said to the air. ‘Whoever you are …’

* * *

Nemo faded back into view among the mists. His eyes widened.

‘Now, wait a minute, buster—‘ said Death, her hand reaching out to him – and passing through empty air. She snapped her fingers and sighed. ‘You’re not making this easy, you know …’

She snapped her fingers again and faded from view herself.

Up above, the stars of the Och Aye Nebula twinkled in a tartan glow, flowing into the constellations shining around it. There were quite a lot of them visible at the moment. Except they didn’t quite look like the constellations back in the “real” world, where you had to join the dots yourself.

These stars moved, refracted beams of light shining off them in curious ways so that you could see the figures they described. In such a way as would have any poor astrologer shaking his head — and handing Nemo his horoscope with a sad sigh and a wince …

* * *

As Nemo came back into focus, he found himself back in the garden from before.

Cthoney was still there, but he was having trouble focusing on her as she stepped towards him. From somewhere she’d got a vast feathered costume more like the one she’d been wearing when she’d emerged from the tunnels, and she seemed taller. Fiery outlines moved like trails of light behind her, describing shapes like wings, or someone reaching out from within.

Then her chest started glowing. A large glowing shape about where her heart would be, flowing outwards.

‘Aatchoo!’

There was a whoosh and then a thump as Cthoney flew backwards and landed on the ground.

Fluttering in front of him was a bird, fluttering and floating lightly on the air, its feathers a coruscating glow of red and golden and yellow and white. Though it seemed to Nemo there also crackled in among there a little bit of lightning and storm blue.

Cthoney got up again, only this time the outline of a person, slightly smaller than her shone through. ‘Oh, not again …‘

Aaaaaattchooooooo!

She went rocketing back and landed heavily against the tree with the different-coloured blossoms. A bunch of them floated down on top of her as she looked up with a rueful smile – and a wince.

As Cthoney got up, stretching her back, a girl stood where she’d been standing, a little way behind the phoenix.

‘Finally,’ she said, as she stepped back towards Nemo.

The phoenix stretched its wings and did a little loop the loop on the spot. ‘It does feel good to be able to move about again,’ it said.

‘Where — where am I?’ said the girl. Then she spotted Nemo. ‘You!’

‘Ah, there you are …’

‘Why’s he backing away like that?’ said the phoenix. ‘What’s the matter, boy. Haven’t you ever heard a bird talk before?’

Nemo faded from view.

‘I don’t know,’ said the phoenix. ‘Here today, gone tomorrow. These young people just don’t stand still anymore.’

Cthoney, now that she was separate from Anaya again looked rather different. Like the appearance of the two had been combined when they shared a form, both having also something less of the phoenix.

The volcano goddess smiled ruefully at Nemo’s fading form for a moment. ‘I guess we’ll see you when you fade back round again,’ she said.

She turned towards Anaya, who seemed to be having trouble. ‘It’s all right, my dear. It’ll take some getting used to. Why not have a walk among the flowers there. I’m sure our friend will be back in a moment …‘

* * *

‘There you are!’ said Cora, smiling and stepping towards him. ‘I wondered where you’d gone. Are you all right?’ she added. ‘You look quite blurry.’

‘… be all right …’ he said. ‘Just need to … catch my … breath …’

Nemo looked around. The sea fog had cleared quite a bit, and he could now see a lot more of the beach as well as the water. He could hear rowing in the distance, as a long war canoe that seemed to have something of a longship about it sailed through the mists.

* * *

Getting your head straight can be difficult at the best of times, let alone under rather trying circumstances – and not to mention when you happen to have been sharing headspace between three people. Well, one human, a goddess, and a magical phoenix. But that was three enough for anybody. Or any head – sort of.

Cthoney, being the goddess end of the equation, had found it particularly trying. Feeling neither one thing nor the other, particularly with how phoenix and goddess and then goddess and human mixed. Or, if not quite mixed, then sort of … it was mind-numbing even thinking about it.

Things had certainly gotten very confused for a while there.

And when you added in the influence of that witch doctress’s spells – Cthoney shuddered, as if reliving things she’d rather not remember – it had been a long time since she had been properly awake. Since she’d actually felt alive.

She wasn’t there yet, but the difference alone made her feel like a new woman – albeit a semi-divine one.

Trouble was, like a lot of people who found themselves in these crazy islands, she almost wasn’t sure who she was anymore.

Taken together, all these things combined had probably made her … well, admittedly somewhat erratic, lately.

She picked up a fallen rainbow-coloured blossom off the ground and twirled it in her fingers. At least she was no longer incinerating everything she touched, though this … between-world, so to speak, was a little different than the other end. She sniffed at the flower and then smiled, threading it in among her hair. There were more fallen blossoms. So she enjoyed picking each one up, drinking in the scent, and plaiting it in among the others.

Being a goddess sometimes isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Sometimes it’s nice just to get to be human, so to speak, to let your hair down and, if the fancy strikes you, wear flowers in it.

Cthoney had a pretty good sense of what was going on, time-streams-wise, and besides, she had kind of a feel for things like this. She was content to just take a moment while she may, while time was running slower than a tortoise through treacle and— She noticed the phoenix flutter up alongside her.

‘My Lady,’ said the phoenix, formally, ‘would you mind awfully if I joined you?’

Cthoney smiled softly. ‘Not at all, my old friend. And there’s no need for the “My Lady” business. I think the two of us can dispense with all that …’

The phoenix smiled and landed next to her with a swish of tail feathers. ‘Nice place, this. Where is it, exactly, do you know?’

Cthoney just smiled and looked up at the stars. She raised the blossom in her hand, holding it up into the wind, then released it from her fingertips, where it was caught on the wind. The wind wafted it up high towards the stars, as the phoenix’s eyes followed it. Past the great twisting tree, where birds with many-coloured feathers and long curving beaks laughed among changing coloured blossoms and fruits. ‘Consider the stars, now,’ she said, and smiled. ‘I’m not sure exactly where we are … but the stars – the stars here are … interesting …’

The phoenix looked up. The sky was odd here. You could almost feel like the sun was shining, and yet it merged into curious sort of half twilight. The different constellations drifting in out of view depending on how you squinted.

* * *

Beneath stranger stars than those, Nemo watched the longship-canoe drift in towards the beach. Cora stood next to him. ‘I guess I’ve always wondered,’ she said, ‘what comes next … I guess it’s almost time I find out …’ She looked up at him. ‘Tell you the truth, I’m a little nervous. I … I haven’t always – I always tried, you know. But I’ve done things … things I’m not proud of. Things I’m ashamed of. I’ve messed up, fouled up, any way you care to mention. I always tried … But now … I don’t know, I—’ She looked at him. ‘I’m afraid … I’ve never been afraid in my life … and I’m afraid now … I don’t want to go …’

Cora had just kind of drifted back into a hug, and Nemo held her close. ‘Shh. It’s all right. It’s all right …’

‘Please don’t tell anyone. I’d die if anyone saw me like … But I’m … I’m already— I didn’t want to die, Nemo … I didn’t want to die … I wanted to get married … I wanted to be a mother … And now … I’ll never get to be …’ She looked at him, almost as if she wasn’t able to believe what she was telling him, but as if she needed to say it. ‘Please … you won’t tell anyone I—’

‘Not a soul,’ he said, looking her right in the eyes.

She looked back into his, her eyes going wide. As if for a moment she was lost staring into his. After a few moments, Cora seemed to come to. ‘…’ she said.[3]

‘Are you all right?’ said Nemo.

‘I …’ She shook her head. ‘I didn’t realise … I mean, I had some idea, but I … You have a nice soul,’ she said, simply.

‘What?’

‘Sorry … It’s just … I had to know … And, well, you know how they say the eyes are the windows of the soul … I couldn’t help it …’ She looked at him. ‘How do people not notice … ?’

‘Notice what?’

She shook her head again. ‘You really don’t see it, do you …’

‘See what?’

She just grinned and walked back into the mists a way. ‘I’ll be back,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘Don’t go anywhere.’

Nemo looked after her into the mists. He was overwhelmed, and mystified, and for some reason he was blushing so deeply the boat must be using him as a lighthouse.

* * *

Nessa heaved at the rubble. The winds had been dying back down, but it was still pouring with rain, still thundering, with lightning bolts striking the side of the mountain. With the supernatural strength of a volcano goddess flowing through her she was able to lift rocks that must have been heavier than her, some of them. Well, move rocks, anyway.

As she heaved a carved corner piece away, she heard coughing from beneath. A sooty, charred, dust-covered be-beaked head peered out from underneath. ‘Thin’ … Thin’ a buildin’ fell on me,’ said Feathers, blearily. ‘Rawk?!’

A semi-goddess Nessa hugged Feathers close, tears overflowing from her eyes. ‘Birdbrain … you’re … you’re all right …’

‘Toots …’ said Feathers … ‘Good ol’ toots … Where’s’a kid? Where’s … what’s-his-face. With the torn trousers … and the … you know …’

Nessa’s face sprouted a haunted look. ‘He must be still under there. The building collapsed, there was an explosion and … gold … and … He’s got to still be under there …’ She looked at him such that Feathers shook his head back into focus a little. ‘Are you all right in this wind?’

‘This stuff? ’S nothin’. The way up, though,’ Feathers shook his head. ‘Just nestle me down back in there and I’ll try and help.’ Feathers noticed the heavy rock corner-piece lying nearby. ‘Say … how did you …’

A flash of fire and lightning ran through Nessa’s eyes for a moment.

‘Tell ya what, let’s keep looking …’

* * *

‘Ah, there you are again …’ said Cthoney, as Nemo faded back into the garden. ‘Excuse me, please, dear phoenix. Nemo? Walk with me, please …’

* * *

Nemo was feeling a bit blurry again. Cthoney regarded him as they walked together under the trees. ‘I wanted a word with you in private,’ she said. ‘Things have been very … confused, lately. These last few centuries have been … difficult … But I just wanted to say thank you.’

Nemo gawped open-mouthed.

Cthoney saw that and smiled. ‘Who was who and what was what may be hard to straighten out, but at least part of it was me. I have a memory of reaching out in darkness, and a soul, through his own temporary indisposition, was in a position to answer me – and for the first time, did. What passed between us – kindness, caring without strings attached, a reaching out between souls – my words I find hard to handle right now, I am long unaccustomed to being able to see and speak clearly. But I do thank you.’

Nemo’s mouth moved up and down in a way reminiscent of a guppy fish blowing bubbles.

Cthoney’s mouth quirked upwards at the corners. ‘You are perhaps worrying about what had been your impending nuptials. You need not. A marriage takes two. Still, if you’re ever in the area, you might visit me as you pass through. I do like you, as a friend if nothing else. And I shall treasure your kindness in my hour of need. Besides … I am a little older than you, and such matches need careful thought …’

Nemo looked at her. He had a feeling she was laughing slightly behind her smile. Not in a malicious way, just seeing the humour in the situation. And then, before he could do anything, Cthoney swooped down and planted a kiss on his cheek. It burned with a volcanic fire – and a flash of red light that almost eclipsed a fizzle of green. ‘One good turn deserves another, after all. Go with my blessing. But as I say, stop in a while when you’re passing through. And now, I think there’s a young lady who’d also like to talk to you …’

‘By the way,’ she said as he turned to go, ‘did you ever notice the stars here …’

* * *

Anaya was waiting for Nemo at the end of the trail. Wordlessly, she just strode towards him. He felt a hug fit to push the breath out of him wrap around him. She tried to speak but couldn’t. She mouthed the words ‘Thank you’, and then turned and ran back up the trail.

Guess it was all a little much for her …

* * *

When he got back to the garden, Anaya and Cthoney and the Phoenix were waiting. So was Death, tapping her foot against the ground furiously. ‘You idiot! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. We’ve got to get you back there!’

* * *

‘Get me back there? But I’m—’

‘Still alive, you idiot! Time may be moving very, very slowly back there, but you’re still out of your body with— Well, I’m not even supposed to say even that. Come on, and don’t you fade on me again!’

‘Nessa!’ He looked at Death. ‘But how do we get back?’

‘Well, how on earth did you get here?’

‘Exploding voodoo dolls, I rather think,’ said Cthoney. ‘Quite spectacular.’ She peered at him as if wondering if he had hidden depths.

* * *

‘Hey, uh, should that rubble be glowing like that and shaking and looking like it’s about to — er, toots, you might want to take cover …’

Nessa ducked down behind a pile of already cleared rubble, grabbing Feathers as she went.

Just as one of the big central piles blew apart in a shower of trailing sparks of fiery and golden light. When some of the dust cleared, Nemo was standing in the middle of a ring of golden fire, next to a re-incarnated Cthoney, a large fluttering bird with great swooshy tail feathers and fiery wings, and a very beautiful girl — or, she blinked, the silvery outline of one.

The blast had dislodged a lot of the other rubble though, as well as bringing down some of the remaining sections of the stone pavilion. And it was still raining in sheets, thunder and lightning still blasting across the sky. And the volcano, in the background, still looking like it was about to have an inferno of an upset stomach, lava bubbling up over the sides.

Seeing them there, she realised the supernatural strength she’d been enjoying had steadily faded and was now disappearing altogether. She also realised that Cthoney looked different than before. A little like the girl, Anaya, the one she’d seen in her dream, and Cthoney herself had been combined, and now she was seeing the real old fire goddess. Except … she thought, with a frown, she looked rather young to be hundreds of years old. Let alone over a thousand. Keeping hold of Feathers, she started scrabbling over the rubble.

‘Where have you been! I’ve been worried si—‘

She didn’t see Vexila among the rubble, as an arm clamped around her throat, horribly strong, and a wavy bladed dagger appeared in Vexila’s other hand held in front of her.

‘Let … her … go …’ said a young woman’s voice. Nessa’s eyes went to the newly arrived party and was surprised to realise it’d come out of Nemo’s mouth.

Cthoney quirked an eyebrow at him.

The spirit of Anaya was gazing at him in something like shock.

And then Nemo fell backwards, caught by a not altogether surprised volcano goddess, who lowered him to the ground.

A spot on his chest somewhere around his heart glowed white a moment rising in a burst of light – and Cora of the Amazons stepped forward, silvery white, drawing her sword as she solidified again on the mortal plain. Not quite dead, not quite alive, but real enough.

‘Cora!’

‘Sorry, Ani, I can’t stop. This is costing him weeks to the minute.’

Behind her the phoenix was somehow still floating while resting its head between the tips of its wing feathers like fingers. Though there was also the shadow of a smile about its beak. Nessa thought she caught the whisper of something on the wind, as it spoke but she couldn’t hear what it said.

Cora strode out of the fiery circle and stood silvery-white, her hood thrown back, cloak floating in the wind, unhindered by the rain, sword held in front of her. She turned to Vexila the witch doctress. ‘Let the girl go. You will sacrifice no one else.’

Nessa felt the grip on her neck tighten.

‘You’re forgetting something little Amazon, the dead cannot interfere with the living. You are outside whatever power you have left here.’ Nessa felt herself being drawn roughly to the side. She wanted to fight back but … she guessed she was paying for expending all that super-strength when … when she’d … It was like she was completely drained …

And now the ghost was talking to herself. Not the pretty one next to the phoenix, the Amazon. Hadn’t she seen her too before … somewhere before …

‘I can’t,’ said the Amazon talking to someone inside. ‘I can’t ask that of you. You know that it will burn through your life by years—‘

She appeared to listen to a response. Her eyes widened. Then she nodded sadly, smiling ruefully. ‘As you wish.’

The spirit of Cora raised her sword as the other cloud, the one from before, seemed to push the Death’s Head cloud out of the way, nudging it aside with the air between them. It sort of looked like … Nessa glanced back at the phoenix who was looking on with an odd sort of smile, watching …

Golden lightning spiralled down out of the Phoenix cloud, wrapping itself around Cora’s upraised sword.

Mist seemed to envelop her for a moment.

She noticed Cthoney frowning and kneeling down, feeling Nemo’s neck. Get away from him, she thought, without knowing quite why.

As she was still being dragged back towards the volcano, the mists cleared …

* * *

Cora drew in a breath and almost couldn’t believe it, stretching out her hand, examining her fingers. This wasn’t her old body – that had … she felt the volcano’s heat behind her … — but … she was alive … for a while. Living on Nemo’s borrowed time.

‘Look at it this way,’ she found herself saying, ‘if you get me now, you get everything. You won’t get her to the volcano through me.’

‘But you, my dear, are not truly alive. You are a parasite being, living for a time on someone else’s life force. You are useless to a spell, because you have no life and no heart of your own left.’

‘Is that what you call it? Is that what you think? Well, even by your logic, you still win. I am tied to his life force. You take me down and into the volcano, you get him – you send the spirits of the volcano back to sleep and your power is renewed – maybe not as long as you’d like, but long enough. It’s really a win–win for you. So … what’s it going to be? You know what I think? I think you’re running out of time … I think you’ve left it too long. What’s it feel like to be growing old, Vexila?’

‘Insolent wretch!’ The witch doctress let the half-conscious Nessa fall roughly to the ground, and strode forward over the rubble, that vicious wavy black obsidian blade glinting in the storm-light. ‘It’s going to be a pleasure taking your heart away all over again …’

* * *

Anaya’s spirit watched with a swirl of emotions. Cora was alive again for a time … Cora … Her friend. She’d felt it when she’d … when … and now there she was, fighting again. And in spite of it all, she could see her smiling to be in battle again, to be alive … To have a chance, however slim …

She remembered the witch doctress … she remembered biting into an apple …

* * *

Cora watched in dismay as her sword went spiralling away, landing with a clatter yards away behind the witch doctress.

Vexila had lost her mask somewhere, but her eyes gleamed in triumph.

As Cora was reaching for her hold-out long fighting-dagger the dark obsidian blade slashed across her shoulder. Vicious cold bit into her, dark light flashing across her eyes – and she remembered—

—She was bound to the altar. The masked figure standing over her. She could feel her smiling behind that mask. ‘And so it ends, little Amazon …’—

—she brought her long-dagger up clumsily in time to intercept another strike. The vicious cold from her shoulder was distracting her. It felt like … before …

She stepped stumbling backwards up the winding path behind her, the volcano’s heat at her back growing ever hotter … Not again …

* * *

In the mists between the worlds, Death tore another strip off her shirt and tightened it around the spiritual reflection of the wound on the unconscious spirit of Nemo’s shoulder. Really she wasn’t supposed to be doing this, but – well, if anyone asked, she was off duty …

Still, she could get in a lot of trouble for this …

* * *

The wavy obsidian dagger lashed down towards her again. Cora just got her dagger up in time to block it. The sucking cold on the wound on her shoulder was getting too distracting, though. With each heartbeat she could feel days of Nemo’s life passing by, bleeding out, even. She brought the knife up again, but—

‘Aagh!’

‘Too slow … much too slow … Where’s that old Amazon fighting spirit of yore …’

So cold … A warm trickle from a cold cut in her other shoulder. Staggering backwards … the flames behind her getting hotter. How much farther was the edge? She felt the tears start down her cheeks. Not again …

Vexila’s eyes gleamed. So did her dagger – rivulets of red sizzled blue-white on it.

Cora felt herself drifting out of focus as Vexila pressed her backwards, that damned dark dagger swishing to and fro in front of her. Weaving … teasing … tormenting her … rubbing it in that she was going to die – all over again.

* * *

Cthoney frowned as she rested her fingers on Nemo’s neck.

Just as there was a poof! next to her. Anaya had disappeared.

* * *

Death gave a vicious rip and the other sleeve of her shirt came away. She started tearing it into strips. ‘Of all the stupid, idiotic, brain-dead, moronic, suicidally noble hare-brained schemes this is the dumbest …’

Poof!

There was a girl standing over them. She looked at Nemo’s spirit lying unconscious floating above the mists. ‘Tell me how I help them!’ the girl demanded. Then, noting the scythe floating nearby and the midnight cloak – ‘Please?’

* * *

Cora felt the hot breath of the volcano on the back of her neck. Felt the ground starting to give way. Stumbled for her balance as her heel started to touch over empty air …

Vexila smiled a long slow smile under her mask-like “beauty”. ‘Haven’t we been here sometime before?’ She drew the obsidian dagger back in a reverse grip. ‘Cor ex corpore – vene, vulcanis …’

Cora, swaying in place, borrowed life force draining away by inches, focused blearily on her. ‘You took my friends away … They weren’t anyone to you – but they were friends to me. Do you know what it is to have a friend? A true friend. Honest, brave, and true. Do you know what it is to care?’

‘Oh, I am so sorry … Where are my manners? Any last words, or were those it?’

Cora blinked. Whispered words floated through her head. For what was given, for friendship true – a debt I can never repay, I give all I have and am … ‘Ani, no!’ she said.

Vexila blinked. Then she smiled again. ‘Still troubled by old regrets?’ She exhaled smugly. ‘Ah, little Anaya. Pretty as a picture – the Fairest One of All, in fact. Did you know it’s seven years’ bad luck to break a mirror? I broke the one that told me that? But I don’t seem to have been especially unlucky …’ She glanced at the glowing beads of life force on the obsidian dagger, the hungry edge radiating cold. ‘You on the other hand, my dear … well, it just hasn’t been yours for about … what is it now? Seven centuries, even? One for each of your little friends … Those I caught died hard … Those I missed? Well, I made up for lost time with t hose that followed … You Amazons – I couldn’t have done it without you, you know? I mean, where’s a girl to get a steady supply of young maidens – how they begged for mercy—’

‘You liar!’

‘Now, now – no personalities, my dear. Let’s try to die with dignity, shall we?’ She brought the sacrificial knife into position. ‘Now – I’m afraid I really must insist on those last words …’

Cora looked at her, looked her straight in the eye, keeping a little bit of attention on the poised black blade. ‘You want last words? I’ll give you last words: You killed my friends …’ She took a deep, laboured breath. Had to … had to hurry …—More words, whispering through her head. A man’s voice, echoing as if being thought: ‘This I willingly give. This I knowingly sacrifice. New friend or old, take it with a friend’s love …’—Cora felt the tears running thick and fast … Did he not understand what he was doing by redoubling it? But something in her grabbed on to the thread of life force flowing through to her out of the ether. It was done. Nothing she could do now but press on. Please don’t let me kill him … she murmured to herself, her lips even moving slightly. ‘I … Please no …’ She felt everything drift back into clear sharp focus. She stepped forward, bringing her dagger up so fast, she could have almost sworn it glowed—

—Vexila stepped back, shock blossoming across her mask-like beauty. A fine cut, the mirror of the ones on Cora’s shoulders, blossomed red …

—Cora spoke fast and low: ‘I had my whole life ahead of me … And you took it all away … For what? … For that!?’ She struck again—

—a second cut, sister of the first. Vexila’s dagger hand started to shake. The cuts were bleeding more than blood … She stepped shakily backwards as a glowing light emerged from one. And then another … and another … Figures, pale outlines of life lined themselves up behind Cora. Some wore long cloaks, such as Amazons would. Some had their hoods up, others down. Others, wide-eyed … not knowing where on earth they were as the knife fell …

Cora could see the panic in Vexila’s eyes.

Was that a wrinkle appearing in that unreal mask of makeup made flesh?

* * *

Vexila felt it as the glowing ghosts flew out from where the Amazon’s dagger had struck. Saw them advancing on her with the her.

‘Please … no! Why are you looking at me like that? …What do you want!’

* * *

You don’t get straight-lines like that every day in seven centuries …

… as the witch doctress sprang forward grabbing Cora by the neck and pushing forward—

Only to feel too late, the dagger point, glowing silver and gold, as it ran her straight through the heart …

The phoenix cloud centred itself right overhead, glowing red and gold, as back down the sloping path, the ring of fire stopping the others from quite entering the mortal plane flickered out.

Cora looked Vexila straight in the eye as they were both about to topple back into the volcano – ‘I want my life back, you evil witch …’

She saw a flight of golden wings heading towards her. Guess this was it … She fell back, even as Vexila grew a century older with every heartbeat before her eyes … She felt the flames rising … Thank you … Ani … Thank you, Nemo … I’m sorry … but I got her …

Cora closed her eyes as the light faded.

* * *

Up in the sky, the Death’s Head cloud exploded into a billion tiny pieces, in a shower of golden sparks that lit up the sky.

And up in the stars, something glittered into being that had not been seen in far too long … But that—

* * *

The storm began to dissipate. The rain slowed softly into a drizzle, the winds to a light breeze, the thunder and lightning, well satisfied with their night’s work, abated.

The twilight gloaming settled on the mountainside. Rubble and ashes.

Nessa blinked open her eyes.

There are many kinds of beauty (and some things that go by the name of beauty but are really something else), but each is highly – and surprisingly – specific to the individual person, whose myriad tiny imperfections come together to make something more magnificent than you could possibly make up. In the gleaming, half-dusky morning twilight, as the sun was too nervous to peek over the horizon, or, possibly, the volcano, Nessa saw one from an interesting perspective.

Cthoney stood over her. She looked … like an ordinary human being. She looked, well, not that much older than Nessa. The feathers in her mantle and headdress, and elsewhere about her person, were a little ruffled and rain-soaked, her dress was a little smudged but … she looked human. Cthoney reached down towards her.

Nessa flinched back.

‘I feel I should correct a misapprehension. I am in control of my fire now that I am free and in my own head again. I wish you no ill. Quite the opposite. Please, allow me to help you up.’

Nessa watched dazedly as the volcano goddess Cthoney knelt down and got an arm under shoulder and helped her to her feet.

Which was when she noticed Nemo, still lying there on the ground, breathing shallowly. His shirtfront was still soaked with blood from the battle with the witch doctress. Nessa found herself freeze up inside. She shifted out of the supportive lift Cthoney was holding her up in and flopped down beside him. Sure, he was breathing, just about … but if he was alive, it looked like it was because Death hadn’t got around to collecting him. But he was alive.

She was still here and … he was hanging in the balance. And she was struggling to keep her eyes open after all the strength she expended when … ‘Oh … why does everything with you have to be such a drama …’

She heard a sooty cough from nearby. From under a hollow in the rubble, Feathers emerged, with some difficulty. He hopped up closer, saw Nemo, saw her. ‘ ‘S okay, toots, I’ll take it from here, you look like you’re ready to pass out— …’

* * *

Nemo’s spirit felt a leaf-edged blade at his throat, and a presence behind him.

‘A word in your ear,’ said Kyra the Amazon. The blade was withdrawn.

He turned round to find the dark-haired Amazon facing him, her hood down.

‘That was an incredibly stupid thing you did,’ she said, simply.

‘Oh.’

‘Heroic,’ she said, grudgingly, ‘but incredibly stupid. You have no idea what you were risking when you did that.’

‘Ah …’

‘Are you always this articulate?’ asked the Amazon. She ran a hand through her long black hair. It occurred to Nemo that he hadn’t seen her wear it down before. It looked nice. Then, she smiled at him, turning away, He thought he caught a mutter of something on the breeze, but he wasn’t sure. It sounded like, ‘Maybe there’s hope for men yet …’

Kyra turned back to face him, having composed herself. ‘I … have a favour to ask of you.’

‘With a knife at my neck?’ he said glancing at the sheathe at her belt.

Kyra frowned. ‘It is not a knife. It is an Amazon leaf dagger,’ she held it up to him. She drew an ordinary knife from some holdout position in her cloak. ‘See, this is a knife. Completely different.’

Nemo nodded weakly, swaying in the breeze. He seemed to have lost a lot of spiritual blood or something …

Kyra sheathed both knife and dagger in quick practiced motions and reached forward to steady him — not altogether unkindly. ‘You are a puzzle, a clueless wanderer meddling with things he cannot possibly understand, someone who goes to insane lengths to do the right thing regardless …’ Her mouth twitched. ‘I think I like you …’ Then she looked at him again. ‘Thank you, for what you did.’ She nodded at him formally. It was probably some kind of Amazon salute.

Nemo tried to keep up. ‘You … wanted to ask a favour?’

‘Yes.’ She stepped aside. Anaya was floating in mid-air a little way away. ‘Whatever you did for Ani was enough to wake her when she was sharing a head with a phoenix and a volcano goddess, but something of the … the witch’s magic still lingers.’ She shuffled her feet awkwardly, as if struggling to get round to the point. ‘Traditionally, only true love’s first kiss may wake a sleeping princess — but, one, I’ve always found that to be a little too cute, and two, if Ani’s a princess, I’ll eat my boots. I think the chaste kiss of a true hero should be sufficient.’

‘But where—’

She glared and nodded at him meaningfully in a “don’t make me say it” look.

‘Oh.’ Nemo felt himself turning red.

‘You can’t be that dense,’ she said, still glaring at him. Then frowning in puzzlement. ‘Can you?’ She stepped towards him, hand on the hilt of her Amazonian leaf-shaped dagger. ‘I’m not in the habit of saying please. But … please, will you help Ani this one last time? …’ Kyra was apparently struggling with something. ‘For me?’

Nemo blinked. ‘Of course I will.’

Kyra’s face split into a warm and genuine smile.

‘You should smile more often,’ he said before he could stop himself (one of these days his mouth and he were really going to have to have a little chat), ‘you look very pretty when you smile.’

She scowled at him.

‘Right, right, I … Er. Anaya, right …’

Nemo knelt down, bashfully, hesitantly, and placed his lips against Anaya’s cheek. As he straightened up, wincing again, he whispered, so low that he couldn’t believe anyone could hear him, ‘Sweet dreams, and may they all come true when you wake.’

He got up, painfully — he found an arm gripping him under his shoulder and helping him up, and turned to find Kyra looking at him strangely. She squeezed his arm as he shambled off embarrassedly, and said to him, ‘I’ll take it from here … By the way, I think Cora was looking for you …’

As he faded away into the fog, though, she watched him go for a moment. It was hard to tell in the sea mists, but you might almost think there was a tinge of pink in her cheeks. ‘ “Look really pretty when you smile”,’ she muttered.

In the mists, Kyra beamed.

And she did.

It was nice to be noticed.

* * *

After he’d gone, Kyra drew her leaf-shaped dagger, and raised it up in front of her in something like a swordmaster’s salute, and muttered something to herself. Then she sniffed to herself and knelt down and lifted Anaya without much apparent trouble. ‘Let’s get you back to that statue the phoenix turned your body into. You’re probably going to be sleeping a while, but I expect you could do with some real rest,’ she murmured as she carried the girl into the mists and down towards earth.

She shouldn’t have been able to, but she’d had a conversation with a redheaded girl with no shirtsleeves and a long midnight-coloured cloak and a scythe and arranged a special dispensation. Kyra liked her. People who knew that one of the most important thing about rules was to know when to bend them (or smash them to flinders, as the case may be) were all right in her book.

‘Come on, Ani,’ let’s get you settled … And … I’m sorry if I was a bit gruff with you when you were alive. You wouldn’t believe how I cried when you went …’

The mists faded over a private moment. Somewhere within them, a redhead with sparkly eyes and a scythe smiled, and then stepped back into the mist again.

* * *

Nemo’s spirit limped through the mists, wincing as he went. He wasn’t quite sure how he’d gotten back here, or even how he was still standing, even in spirit form (which probably didn’t bode well). His shoulders ached, and there was something funny with his chest. Probably one of the supernatural types could have explained it to him, but they all seemed to have gone mysteriously missing.

He found himself on the beach again. The sound of waves lapping against the shore.

Cora was there, waiting for him.

Behind her, he saw what looked like one end of a boat, floating right at the edge of the beach, grounded on the sand.

She had fresh bandages visible near here neck that probably ran down to her shoulders too, under her other clothes.

‘Guess we’ve been in the wars,’ he said lamely.

She stepped towards him, slightly stiffly but determinedly.

With some difficulty, she stood up on the tips of her feet and kissed his cheek. It seemed to glow white and warm where she had for a moment. ‘The last time was for Ani,’ she said, looking at him, then glancing down, blushing. ‘That was for me,’ she explained. ‘I …’ she glanced back at the boat. ‘My boat’s waiting … to … what comes next,’ she finished as lamely as he had, ‘I just wanted to make sure to see you.’

Nemo found himself blinking. This sea mist really got into your eyes … ‘You’re ready?’

‘As ready as.’ She looked him over. ‘Are you up to hugs?’

‘Always for a friend,’ he found himself saying.

Amazons were strong. But oddly, it didn’t hurt as much as he thought it was going to. He thought he heard a muffled whisper near his chest. Cora looked up at him. She placed a hand on her heart. ‘Thank you, Nemo,’ she said. ‘For always. I … You know what I mean don’t you?’

Now the sea mist was getting at his throat too. ‘I think I know,’ he said froggily.

Something that sounded like an old war horn sounded through the fog.

‘That’s my call,’ said Cora, as the sea breeze wafted at her cloak, a stray lock of hair that had come loose from her circlet rustling in the wind. She turned to go.

As she was almost at the boat, she turned back a moment, both hands clasped to her heart. ‘Wherever you go, take me with you. With a friend’s love. Always …‘ The mist must have been getting at her eyes too. Cora turned, half running for the boat, splashing her boots through the waves, and climbed aboard.

The horn sounded once again, and the boat cast off.

Nemo stood there a moment on the sands — probably of time — amidst the mists of eternity. He heard the boat fading into the distance, and as he did so he was aware of fading back himself till he almost seemed somewhere else. Before he’d quite gone, however, he heard voices echoing over the waves. And was that … a glow of light …

‘Rest easy, Cora, knight of the Amazons,’ said a voice that flowed like harp strings, ‘your heart is pure and you have served true — and then some …’ it added with a golden strain of emphasis.

He thought he heard a muffled sob of what … sounded like relief. And the flood of tears as the pent-up worry of seven centuries was released all at once …

‘Godspeed, Cora,’ he murmured, blurrily. ‘My friend …’

* * *

Aboard the boat from the Shores Between, Cora glanced back at the mists.

‘So I can go anywhere I want, right?’

A response glowed through the mists.

‘I get to choose?’

Another glowing answer.

‘Then I’d like to go back. For a while. You’ll be back round again, won’t you?’

* * *

‘Nemo …’

Nemo’s spirit blinked. Someone was gripping his hand. But there was no one there.

‘Please wake up … Please …’

His face felt wet, like little drops of water were trickling down it.

He felt himself fading backwards …

To Be Continued …

[Previous –> Part 9: The Phoenix and the Flame.] [Next –> … ?]

[1] Although others may occasionally dance with her or even go to the movies and dinner afterwards, or even just for a pleasant walk in the moonlight. Even those who tread the light fantastic like to get out now and then.

[2] The Och Aye Nebula, flowing like a silent bagpipe melody through space. Discovered by the famous* and unpronounceable explorer Angus Grishe. (Apparently, the discovery went something like this: ‘Hey, wouldja look at tha’! Looks just like a giant kilt! Now, wha’s that word for when the stars and flaming gases and things do all that swirly stuff … ? Och, aye – nebula! That’s it!”**)

*: Or infamous, depending on your point of view.

**: This story is so apocryphal, it’s probably even true.

[3] And if you think it’s difficult to pronounce a row of dots, you’d be surprised. Sometimes it’s the only thing you can say.

Once Upon a Spinning-Wheel (Part 9): The Phoenix and the Flame

By Andrew Miller

Member

Andrew Miller

Website: https://www.awlmiller.com/.

| December 26, 2019

19 COMMENTS

The Phoenix wheezed as it flapped slowly higher over the volcano, sparks trailing from its side like liquid drops of light. Molting feathers shimmered red and gold as they spiraled down to the ground and burst into flame. Not much further now …

As it rose over the rim of the volcano, the phoenix looked down – and saw only cold black rock. No lava, no healing fire and warmth. The volcano was dead. Not just dormant, but never coming back. And the phoenix … was dying. And not a cloud in the sky …

A phoenix was supposed to be reborn. Pass in smoke, rise from the ashes, that was how it went. But – it felt its side going numb – not this time, apparently … Something had gone wrong.

The phoenix sighed. It was the screwy time-streams in this world, that’s what it was. There was supposed to be a volcano here. (Though something else would do at a pinch – a pool of lava, a cook-fire, anything …) There was also supposed to be a storm. But there wasn’t. And it was too late now, the phoenix could already feel itself fading …

It didn’t remember falling.

One moment it was in the air, the next it was lying awkwardly in the middle of the once-flaming caldera, taking a last deep, shuddering breath.

The phoenix thought a number of things at this point: Shouldn’t be like this. Should have been a fire. Should have … should have been a storm … but the sky was calm and cloudless …

It closed its eyes.

Thick smoke rose high over the volcano. Somewhere beneath, there were lights even visible by daylight, incandescing into a rainbow of color.

The mountain rumbled.

And down below in the depths, something stirred. Something old – and in among it, traces of something else, something a little like belief, a little like a story, and somehow alive. It met the spark of the dying phoenix and …

The mountain rumbled some more, with an echo like a cry from the deeps.

Men talk of old, old things that have been around since time forgot. And of course, many creatures could answer to that description: extinguished deities, mythic beings, monsters – and more besides – even what some called “Old Ones”, who slept and dreamed the eons away Elsewhere[1], looking for a way back …

No one ever quite knew what made the old volcano start up again like that (or if they did, they weren’t saying). By morning, a mountain grown cold had got its old fire back, and strange things were starting to happen (even stranger than usual, that is).

The islanders joked that old Mount Lava-Lava ‘musta eaten somethin’ that disagreed with it,’ and it was indigestion they were hearing. Others, more mystically inclined, said that an old long-dormant volcano deity had stirred in its slumbers and was waking up – its power reaching out into the land.

The Amazons, though, who got the tale from the mwahaha birds, watched the volcano with deep unease. And sharpened their swords and readied their bows.

Such things had power. And power has a way of attracting those who would seek it.

Spurred by the newly rekindled warmth of the volcano, the jungle rose …

But then, this was all a long time ago, of course …

* * *

… Time rippled back to the future.

Lightning bubbled through storm clouds, rolling their way towards the island in an electric waltz. Raindrops pattered down amid the sea fog and did an impromptu tap dance on the surface of the waves. And, off in the near distance, the sullen fires of the volcano swirled around in a confused ballet of glow and shadow.

It was a night when time itself seemed in flux, wobbling unsteadily back and forth between past, present, and future …[2] And when the island’s (never very stable) reality field justified the repeated warnings that someone really should have patched those holes.[3]

In fact, it was turning into the kind of night when just about anything could happen, as the fates wove their tangled threads, sharpened the scissors, and frantically teased the fraying strands of destiny back together again. If it wasn’t so serious, it might even be funny – like the one about the parrot, the mermaid, and the mortal, who all wandered onto an island and— …[4]

* * *

Far, far away, in the Room of the Spinning-Wheels, the threads spin round and round. Though they look like the kind of yarn spun by few spinners ever, as they shimmer and glow and crackle with energy, whispering through the air like the stuff of life itself.

But why, the question seemed to hang in the air, did a room full of old-fashioned spinning-wheels need so many mirrors in it? If you were paying attention you might think you could almost see scenes and faces in them, people’s lives whirring past.

If you were looking even more closely, you’d perhaps notice the way the threads, or some of them at least, seemed to be drawn from within the mirrors, flowing silvery and translucent and glowing slightly blue towards the wheels.

And if you’d noticed this much, you might also wonder why some of the spinning-wheels seemed to have more than one wheel – or a complicated arrangement of wheels – sending threads back and forth.

Or what that sound was, the one that sounded like — and why the phrase seemed appropriate, who knows — wheels within wheels …

Tonight though, it was starting to sound like those wheels within wheels were about to throw a spring. Which, considering some of the spring mechanisms were made out of the wood of the rubbery volcanic boingi tree from the slopes of distant Mount Lava-Lava, was bound to be a cause for concern.

Especially when some of those other threads, the ones tinged with green light and running back into those other mirrors there, were starting to throw off sparks – red and gold and white.

A door opened. A guard, with a brand-new pair of sergeant’s stripes on his arm, put his head around the door, his eyes though somehow still riveted to his little magic mirror, as he made a perfunctory show of checking things were working all right.

‘… No, no, really I am,’ he said into the mirror. ‘I’m thrilled your friends are getting married … How old are their kids now? … What d’ya mean that’s got nothing to do with it. Look, I didn’t mean it like that – I love ya, baby, you know that. I’m your boyfriend aren’t I— Partner, partner – I meant partner!’ he added hastily, remembering the story in time,[5] ‘… Hey, don’t be like that … Tell ya what, we’ll talk about it when I get home …’

Eventually, though, it began to dawn on him that not all was tickety-boo in the land of spin. It may have been the subtle wrongness in the room, the way the wheels seemed to be whispering to each other – or, possibly, the way something went spploooiinng – before explosively embedding itself in the door by his head, juddering with a disconcerting rubbery sound …

‘What the—!’

… just as one of the overwrought threads broke free and snapped towards him like a lasso.

The new sergeant jerked back so suddenly he almost dropped his magic mirror, slamming the door shut behind him with a resounding boom.

In the safety of the corridor, he breathed a sigh of relief. The boss would have to be told, of course …

… Right after he’d finished taking this call …

* * *

Back on the volcano island, meanwhile, amid the colored lights and the puddles, Simeo and Vaxil were on guard duty again. And it was raining.

In fact, raining doesn’t quite cover what it was doing: It was raining like it was catching up for lost time, or – ridiculous thought – like it was flowing through time from somewhere else like it had gotten lost on its way to work a few centuries back. Like a real granddaddy of a storm was waiting in all its righteous fury just over the horizon. Which, in point of fact, it was.

What with the sea mists and the thunder in the distance, lightning flashing, and the cold, creeping fog that was winding its way in among the streets and around the lanterns overhead, it was turning into a miserable evening.

‘This,’ said Simeo, turning to Vaxil, ‘is all your fault.’

Vaxil looked up from the cigarette he was trying to assemble, as the rainstorm washed away the shreds of tobacco again before he could blink. ‘My fault? You were the one who was supposed to be watching—’

‘See! This is why no one likes working with you. Always looking for something to criticise. I’m telling you this for your own good, dude.’

‘Me! You—’

Lightning flashed across the sky. And from the witch doctress’s tower up the hill, strange lights glowed red and—

Vaxil looked awkwardly sideways. ‘Er … Simeo?’

‘Yeah, buddy?’

‘You can let go of me now.’

Simeo coughed awkwardly. ‘Uh, dude?’

‘Yes?’

‘You can let go of me too. Just sayin’.’

There was an embarrassed silence, when they both recovered their lanterns and spears.

‘It’s not like we were frightened,’ said Vaxil, voicing a theory.

‘Nah, nah, bro, like, exactly,’ said Simeo, racing towards consensus’s open-armed embrace. ‘Tell you what, though,’ he said, in a slightly strangled voice, ‘why don’t we find somewhere else to guard …’

Vaxil nodded. ‘Good idea,’ he said, as they started walking, sandals squelching through the puddles in a vaguely waterlogged way.

* * *

A voice issued from the magic mirror. The newly-promoted sergeant listened with a glazed look.

‘No, not you. Baby, I already told you. No, I’m not gonna hang up on you again – look, like I said before, some kid had just fallen out of a tower— No, I’m not making that up … Would I lie to you? … Look, I tried to tell you about that – it was just an innocent misunderstanding … No, I’m just at work and— No, I’m not sweating …’

And then he realized, actually he was. Like he’d been running. Felt … strangely out of breath.

Only then did he notice the silvery half-invisible thread roped around his foot, or the fiery red-gold sparks it was throwing off.

The newly-promoted sergeant slid to the ground, his magic mirror slipping out of his grasp and skidding away over the tiled floor. He felt things going … odd, felt it as something was pulsing out of the room behind him, through the door, through the very walls, and flowing out into the night.

He could feel his mind wandering – drifting – back, back in time, almost, which was weird because— And he really didn’t remember much after that …

* * *

After a while, Simeo said: ‘Y’know, I’ve been thinking.’

Vaxil considered this for a moment, as if Simeo thinking was a new one on him. ‘And?’

‘And … well,’ he gestured vaguely around with his spear in a way that encompassed the volcano, village life, a dating pool consisting of assistants to the witch doctress, and, to put it bluntly, being a guard in the pouring rain. ‘Y’know?’

Vaxil nodded. ‘Hey, I never knew you were this articulate.’

Simeo thwacked Vaxil in the leg with the butt of his spear.

Vaxil thumped the butt of his spear down on Simeo’s foot.

After they’d both finished hopping around, Vaxil appeared to think this over. ‘There’s a boat for the big islands in the harbor,’ he said.

‘We could get on it.’

‘Leave Lava-Lava?’

‘I … just got this feeling.’

Vaxil nodded. ‘I know what you mean.’

It wasn’t exactly that they were shivering and it wasn’t exactly the rain. If Simeo were admitting to anything, it was more as though something had just passed through him, something old, and yet … strangely familiar, somehow. And … like someone was walking over their graves …

Simeo appeared to think some more. ‘Y’know, we haven’t patrolled down by the docks yet.’

‘We could look in,’ agreed Vaxil.

‘Check the boats are seaworthy.’

‘Any particular boat whose seaworthiness might need longer-range testing?’

‘Well, Captain Sequestrian’s probably still in port …’ Simeo paused. Like he’d just felt something else. Something … different, but familiar in a good way. ‘Say, put it there, pal … put it there …’

‘… Put what where?’

‘I don’t know, but it sounds right …’

‘Fair enough, fair enough. Kinda musical, actually, if you don’t mind me saying so, my old compadre.’

‘You’re not gonna start singing on me, are you?’ said Simeo, suspiciously. It was the “old compadre” bit that had tipped him off. Still …

Vaxil contrived an air of injured innocence. ‘Now what kind of thing is that to accuse a fella of?’ Though, as they walked off, there did seem to be the sound of someone muttering under his breath, ‘Boo-boo-bi-doo … boo-boo-bi-doo …’ followed by, ‘We’re off on the road to … something somewhere …’. And then, ‘Nah, it would never work …’

From atop a dripping tree, a parrot watched, and listened, with interest for a moment, then flew off into the night.

* * *

Feathers was a bird with a plan – if only he could make sense of what it was. It seemed like days since he’d last slept, and he was falling asleep on the wing, almost, flying through the rain-sodden night.

The thing to do, he thought, would be—

—Soaring, flying high, the feeling of purifying flame and warmth sizzling through your wings. That was the life … Letting out a cry of defiance as something whirred out from below. Pain, cold and numb, running through. Sparks spilling out of his side. Even the phoenix can die …—

Feathers shook his head in mid-air. What was that?

Need sleep, that was what it was. Suddenly he felt so very tired. He sailed down towards a likely looking tree with a restful looking nook in it.

Just a few minutes, a few hours, just some time to … Zzzzzzzz …

* * *

Lying amid the straw on the dungeon flagstones, Nessa stirred uneasily in her sleep. Through the high barred window up above, night breezes whispered through and down towards her heart. Something shivered through her and then she felt a chill – a cold pain – and drifted into a deeper sleep …

She dreamed … Except, she felt for a moment before she drifted away completely, it didn’t quite feel like a dream. One moment she felt an overwhelming sensation of suddenly being long ago and not so very far away— And the next, she was running …

* * *

Fairy tales sometimes speak of a maiden so beautiful that she was the Fairest One of All, the most beautiful in all the land – typically phrases like “hair black as ebony”, “lips like a rose”, and “skin white as snow” will start elbowing their way in at this point.

And whilst it’s true this particular girl did have long dark hair (or at least it looked it by storm-light) – that would have been nice if it hadn’t been bedraggled and windswept, with bits of jungle stuck in it – it wasn’t quite a part of the job description. And admittedly, she would probably have a nice smile – if she wasn’t running for her life. And what color her complexion was was a little hard to tell on account of all the mud-splashed puddles she’d tripped, fallen, and over-balanced into whilst running full tilt through a jungle lit mainly by odd flashes of lightning amid the storm of a century.

All of which of course is at least mildly misleading.

She was beautiful, as it so happens.

But beautiful in a way that’s easier to miss and harder to fake. Oh, sure, she had looks – and if she hadn’t been overwrought with terror and exhaustion, bruised, and bleeding from at least a dozen visible cuts and scratches, and otherwise impersonating Jane of the Jungle – well, she wouldn’t need no steenkin’ makeup, put it that way.

But she also had something else: Something like the fire of a thousand suns lighting her up inside and shining out through her – with warmth and grace and an indefinable charm that would make a hero blush, feel tongue-tied, and walk into a tree, all in one glance.

She had a voice that could practically lift said young man up off the ground again, or indeed from the very pits of despair, all with a whisper.

And she had eyes which, although hard to focus on in the midst of all that, could win his heart with a look, and have his soul elbowing him out of the way because he’d only mess this up.

But in addition to all this, as has already been hinted at, she was pretty much also the Fairest in the Land by traditional definitions.

And in a place where fairy tale and the like run so strong and reality is occasionally one trailing thread snagged on a tree-branch short of a full scarf, you were also bound to find a wicked witch queen, one with a penchant for a much older kind of magic mirror and for apples you’d be really ill-advised to eat.

Which might have been why—

—She was running. Through the jungle puddles, the storm flashing through the night – Nessa felt like she’d wandered into someone else’s life — wait, who was Nessa? — …

Was it her imagination – thought the girl running for her life – or were those lights up ahead? There, through the undergrowth?

Her heart was beating a frantic tattoo against her chest. She felt like her lungs were about to burst – if her legs didn’t give way first. Just a little further …

As she staggered into the undergrowth, eyes watched from the trees. And particularly from the branches of an old and twisting tree nearby, hung heavily with odd, lemon-shaped fruit. The mwahaha birds watched some more, and then took off in unison.

Some flew off in the direction the girl had gone, and soon the distinct mwahaha equivalent of a cry for help sounded over the jungle.[6]

Others, though, flew down low back the way she had come, with a look of strange determination playing about their beaks.

Because there are few birds braver in a pinch, or with more noble hearts, than the old mwahahas. And their age-old soft spot for a boy or girl in trouble is the stuff of legend – but, then, some creatures are like that – it’s who they are.

From the looks in their eyes, these ones were going to war.

* * *

—The guard sergeant froze and tried to see where his magic mirror had gotten to. His girlfriend was going to be … And then he thought, Magic mirror? Where am I—

—The huntsman looked around and sheathed his knife. His clothes were soaked and there was water leaking into his boots. Wait – boots? He looked down again. Sandles. Of some sort. Where had his boots gone? He felt sure he’d been wearing boots just a moment ag—

He paused. He had the weirdest feeling that it felt like a long time ago … but, obviously, it was right now …

He looked back at the knife at his belt, drew it again experimentally. It was viciously sharp – and old. Honed to a killing edge. It looked like it’d cut right through the jungle ahead of him – or—

—A memory that seemed to belong to someone else flashed across his mind, ringing in his ears: ‘I don’t care how you do it, but I want her found – I will have her heart, do you hear me! Now, go …’—

—The huntsman shivered. And not from the cold or the rain. That creepy mask of hers … Then he shoved that thought to the back of his brain, put it in a box, locked it, and swallowed the key. Best not to even think thoughts like that within any distance of her.

He had to find that girl.

Or it’d be his heart in a box – being turned out into the lava beneath …

He loped off into the dripping undergrowth. He tried to listen as he went, but some stupid birds were making a racket up ahead. Mwaaa. Mwaaa. Mwaaa-ha-ha …

Never mind. He had his bow and his knife. Just let him get within distance …

* * *

It was like a wall of living trees and vines, she saw. Just beyond the end of the clearing. There was a gap. And there were lights …

She made it a few more yards and then collapsed.

She heard footsteps around her. Cloaked figures, their faces concealed under deep hoods, lifted her out of the puddle she’d fallen face-first into. Others strung their bows.

As the huntsman rounded the jungle corner, half a dozen arrows thunked into the trees around his head. They made quite a neat circle.

The message was clear: We didn’t have to miss.

The cloaked figure directly in front of the girl drew back her bow again. The huntsman found himself looking along the arrow notched in it and then at the look that seemed to emanate from the dark depths of the hood.

He skidded to a halt and swerved back round into the jungle.

They never did find out what happened to him.

* * *

One of the cloaked figures knelt down by the girl and drew her hood back. ‘Now, where did you come from, I wonder?’

The girl opened her eyes a moment, looking round wildly in sheer terror.

‘Shhh, safe now … You’re going to be all right. I promise … Shhh-shh-shh. It’s okay. No one’s going to hurt you here …’ She smiled softly. ‘Come on, let’s get you in out of the rain.’

* * *

Inside, there was a fire, heaped with dry branches. And a big, warm cloak that felt like some kind of wool and seemed to drain all the cold and wet and fear away. And there was stew – it made you feel things were going to be okay again. The girl managed a few spoonfuls before her eyelids closed and she slid away into restful oblivion.

* * *

Legends speak of the Amazons, maiden warrioresses and heroes, lady knights of the sword and bow, and defenders of truth and light in a fairy-tale world that’s thrown a screw.[7] Seven of them sat around the fire that night.

They sat with their hoods drawn back and their faces set in hard-to-read expressions while they wondered what to do about the girl.

They’d learned that her name was Anaya. Though that didn’t necessarily mean anything. A lot of people seemed to pick up new names in a world where it was hard to remember who you were.

Though ‘Anaya’ meant ‘phoenix’, or ‘she who will rise again’, which was … suggestive …

Only one voice didn’t seem pleased to see her. ‘Well, what are we supposed to do with her? You know we can’t leave the island to get her somewhere while that old witch is working on the volcano. All she needs is one more sacrifice and she’ll have the volcano’s power in her grasp.’

The Amazon who’d comforted Anaya out in the rain just looked at her and said simply, ‘If we don’t help her, who will?’

‘Will you still say that when the witch doctress is lowering you into the flames? No, because she’ll have your heart out, so you won’t be saying anything! I’m not losing anyone else!’

‘What would you have us do? Hand a poor frightened girl over to her? Look at her. That could have been any one of us. Look at her and tell me if you could live with what would happen to her. Tell me we can’t at least try to help her.’

When you’re trying to avoid someone’s gaze, the crackle of the flames in a fire is suddenly full of interest.

And that was how the Amazons got a new watch-girl. She’d tend the fires and look after things while they were off fighting the forces of the wicked witch doctress – who seemed bent on becoming a Witch Queen – over on the other side of the island.

And never, they cautioned her, never let anyone in while they weren’t there …

… Events get a little vague at this point. There was a near-miss with a poisoned comb that somehow found its way into her hair – and the feathered necklace that wound its way so tight around her neck that if one of them hadn’t arrived back in the nick of time, she’d have been done for. And that was that.

Until, that is, one drizzly grey and lightless day when they found her, sprawled on the ground, an apple with one bite out of it trailing away from her open hand – and Anaya wouldn’t wake up again …

They laid her to rest under Phoenix Mountain (the Amazons didn’t miss much, and had ways of sensing things sometimes), in the hopes that somehow, one day, maybe she’d rise again like her namesake. Or at least, so the story goes.

They say that as they carried her on their shoulders, the mwahahas lined the way in state. They also say that, it turns out, birds can cry.

Years afterwards, outaya trees sprang up along the path they trod. And they called it Anaya’s Wake, the Outaya Way, or the Way of the Phoenix.

There was a cave beneath the mountain, with a natural rock shelf at its heart, just big enough. As the amazons laid Anaya’s body down, red and gold sparks started to fall and the chamber and tunnels around it to transform, glowing jewels sparkling from the ceiling, the stone shelf beneath her growing elaborate carvings, the walls shining with symbols carved deep into them with liquid fire – and Anaya herself turning slowly to stone.

They passed the story down as new Amazons arrived and others left, as all Amazons must do one day, one way or another – but still, it got blurred and faded with the passing years. Though a few remembered and kept a lost and frightened girl’s memory alive. Even if she would rise no more from her bed of stone.

And as stories blur in time, Anaya became “Anaya C’thonea” – the maid of fire in the underworld. And then “the Lady in the Lake of Lava”. And finally, simply, Cthoney, the slumbering volcano goddess …

… And in her sleep of dreams meanwhile, Cthoney, as she had become known, lay lost and lonely, calling out for someone to talk to … As the sun rose and time whirled back away into the future …

* * *

Nessa stirred in her sleep — living stone, they’ve buried me alive, where am I – except … she couldn’t seem to wake up. She couldn’t seem to open her eyes.

Think, she thought. No time to panic. No time to panic …

* * *

Nemo woke up tied to a stake. There was a feeling of boiling heat someone nearby. He thought he caught a glimpse of greenish-gold hair somewhere nearby, but his vision was still all blurry for some reason.

‘Well, well, well,’ said a voice nearby, sounding awfully smug. ‘How things have turned. You may have a slight headache for a while, a little residual drowsiness – it’s just the poison-apple juice, one drop and it sends you out like a light …’

Nemo found himself face to face with the witch doctress. Or face to mask, anyway. That carved, creepy mask – and Nemo thought he’d worked out what was bothering him about it. It was the way that, in stylized traditional form, of course, it seemed to resemble makeup layered so thick on someone, in such a distortion of their features, that it was a mask in itself. ‘You’re wearing a mask of a mask,’ he found himself mumbling.

‘What did you say?’ The witch stepped round towards him and lifted his chin with her hand. The witch doctress looked from side to side a moment, and then she lifted her mask. Nemo found himself looking at the features of a woman who should have been beautiful. Or at least extremely attractive … except, it was like she was still wearing a mask underneath. Her face looked like it was permanently made up, even when it wasn’t. And she was smiling at him. ‘I guess you’ve worked out by now that you’re not going to have to marry that volcano strumpet after all.’ Then she added. ‘You have interesting eyes, you know …’

‘Thank you,’ said Nemo, not knowing where to look.

She smiled at him and drifted closer. ‘It’s not easy,’ said the witch doctress, looking at him still.

Nemo didn’t know what to say.

‘For a girl to keep her looks, I mean.’ The witch doctress toyed with her hair, even while she held his chin up. ‘It’s not easy, to look as good as this.’ She sighed. ‘But as you can see, it’s been a long time between spells and I need a little … pick-me-up …’ She reached behind her, letting golden-green hair trail between her fingers.

Nemo shivered. ‘Please … let her go.’

‘I wish I could do that … Nemo, isn’t it? Most people call me Lady Vexila or Madam, but you can call me Vexie if you wish …’ Was it the poison-apple juice hangover talking, or did the evil witch doctress just giggle at him? ‘And I wish I could … but, you see, I’m a girl after your little friend’s heart …’

“Vexie” let his chin fall. From somewhere, she produced a long, wavy-bladed obsidian dagger. It glinted with sharpness in the torchlight. His throat kept trying to gulp in proximity to it. That blade … had a history. It radiated off it like cold.

A certainty formed in Nemo’s mind. They were right up near the volcano here. The witch doctress must have taken care of Cthoney somehow, maybe even with the poison-apple juice in the water she used to get to him and Nessa. And she was going to sacrifice Nessa to the volcano. Going to— He just found himself speaking: ‘Take mine instead.’

The obsidian knife paused in mid-air, as the witch doctress regarded him for a moment as if he were something she’d forgotten even existed – just as there was a gasp from somewhere nearby. The witch doctress looked round. ‘Vala! Be about your business!’ Nemo saw a female figure in a carved mask scurry off.

The witch doctress turned back to him, thoughtfully. ‘You know, you’re hardly the first to offer a girl your heart, and I’ve got to give you points for originality – but it’s got to be a beautiful young maiden, you see. My hands are tied – well, or rather hers are. Sorry, but I don’t write the rules …’ She drifted back towards him again, trailing her fingers over his cheek. He found himself not knowing where to move. ‘Oh, the Amazons are going to be sorry they missed seeing you … You’re just the sort of boy who’d appeal to them. I was going to ask if you might like to stick around a while after I’d taken care of your friend and put Cthoney back to sleep for a thousand years, but … well, you do rather wear your heart on your sleeve, don’t you … I’m afraid you might take it upon yourself to seek revenge on li’l ol’ me …’

Suddenly it all dawned on Nemo. Like he’d known roughly, but it finally hit home. Just as some girls apparently stop aging at the age of twenty-one or so, so some women can cheerfully go around being thirty-five for centuries … and it dawned on him that the witch doctress had done so by literally throwing girls like Nessa into the volcano. She was going to throw Nessa into a fiery lake of lava—

He found himself ripping at his bonds, struggling forward against the stake. ‘You leave her alone!’ he shouted—

* * *

In the darkness, and through the storm, the whoosh of pink light sped across the sky over the water. The serpent lady’s spell seemed, somehow for a ball of light, to sniff at the air. The spell had got the scent. It was tangled amid a confusing lot of scents — fire, and soap for some reason … as well as … apples? But, it was there. He was near. Tally-ho!

* * *

It was the dark elbow of the night, heading somewhere into the early hours, and far darker than it should have been. At the edge of the stone pavilion leading up to the winding outcrop over the volcano, Vexila gazed out at the storm. She was watching a cloud like a Death’s-head skull drift slowly nearer. When it was over the volcano, the time would be right.

She examined her hand for a moment. It was amazing what you could do with a little elementary volcano magic, some witch-doctoring, and a steady stream of beautiful young maidens washing up on shore (an Amazon would do at a pinch, but they made it so difficult to take them alive). Get the right tool – a wavy-bladed obsidian dagger, for example – and you could go right to the heart of the matter, so to speak.

A poisoned apple here and there didn’t hurt either. People had forgotten so much, so many of the old stories, that she could even get away with it outright again, but … she liked to be a little more creative than that. And she couldn’t understand how no one had ever considered poison-apple juice before. Just a touch added to water, and people wouldn’t even notice until it was too late. Just enough to make sure they weren’t out too long, of course. And now, here they were.

For a moment she watched the storm and listened to the rain pattering down. She used to enjoy things like that a lot more, but things changed, over the centuries. Gotten number, somehow … colder …

She shook her head. This wasn’t helping … The outsider and the girl were in place — they’d love to talk, but they were all tied up at the moment, haha. She’d had to have the guards subdue the boy. Shame … And that meddlesome volcano deiess was out cold by the same expedient as the others – only a rather stronger dose. And they were almost ready to begin. Just a few more finishing touches.

Something in the water? You’d better believe there was …

* * *

Feathers twitched open an eye and wished he hadn’t. His head was going round and round in an achey swirl of recrimination and accusation. And the worst thing about it was he couldn’t think why. He gingerly poked a beak out of the tree hollow he’d been resting in and out into the storm.

Tha’s all right. Still there.

But look, some awfully pretty lights up on the slope of the volcano— Wait a minute. Up by the volcano? There really was an awful lot of torchlight under that sort of roofed enclosure …

Now, what would anyone possibly be doing up there on the edge of a fiery volcano in the middle of a storm at this time of night? He had a bad feeling he knew the answer, as he shuffled up out of his nice warm dry nook and out into the rain and wind and lightning …

* * *

Feathers fluttered down and pushed past the bars – and then sighed, panting as he gazed down at the empty dungeon cell. No Nessa. They must have grabbed her. And – he glanced back outside, dripping rainwater over the sill – the wind was picking up.

He had a fair bet that Nemo was up there too. But how to help them? A bird in winds like this near a raging volcano is going to end up as crispy-fried duck if he doesn’t look lively.

He needed something to change the game.

An idea occurred. ‘Sometimes,’ he said to himself, ‘I really hate how my mind works …’

A parrot in a thunderstorm may be a bird in trouble, but that was nothing compared to how much trouble he was about to be in.

He sighed even more deeply, shaking his head even as he wobbled back towards the window. Could be he was about to get cooked anyway …

* * *

Nessa stirred and stretched in her sleep. She’d been having the strangest dream … She couldn’t move —sleep of living stone. Buried alive. Something … seeping into her head … something else, too. Something old and ancient and— She opened her eyes.

Oh, no. Not again …

She was bound hand and foot. Around her, she noticed in weird fascination, were fruits and leaves and flowers and jewels, gemstones cut and uncut, and various things she wasn’t even sure she wanted to know what they were.

She also couldn’t help but notice that someone had put some extra clothes on around her existing shirt, breeches, and sea boots. I appear to be wearing a feathered headdress, she thought to herself. And if that isn’t the worst of it, someone’s going to have some questions to answer …

She could see figures moving around in the shadows and the torchlight.

Tied to a stake nearby on her right was Nemo. His shirt was torn. Actually, she thought with a pang, he kind of looked like somebody had been working him over, the beginnings of a nasty-looking black eye swelling into being on his face— a loose thread whirling around in time— Something flashed across her mind—

—‘Leave her alone!’

Nemo tried to pull free of the ropes around the stake. (She could see his muscles straining.) He was almost doing it, too. He looked like he was about to take on the world …

There was confusion, a struggle, guards grabbing hold of him. Six of them were having quite a job, him being tied to a stake notwithstanding …

‘Stop!’ said a woman’s voice. The witch doctress stepped forward, in one hand a long death’s-head pin, in the other a doll (Nessa peered at it) – it had long golden-green hair wisping out behind it in the wind. The witch doctress raised the pin over the doll’s chest.

Nemo stopped dead, his eyes going to the altar (it was kind of odd seeing herself from the outside), almost not daring to breathe.

‘Strengthen those bonds. And make sure the girl is secure on that altar. One more squeak out of you, and you know what will happen … Guards, our guest is getting a little … overwrought.’ The witch doctress stepped closer lifted Nemo’s chin with the hand with the pin in it, saying, ‘You had your chance.’ Then she let his chin fall and turned to the guards, jerking her head back towards Nemo. ‘Administer a sedative.’ A guard drew back a fist (Nessa winced) and Nemo went lights out …—

—Nessa shuddered. And closed her eyes again, not wanting to look. She was probably about to die, and not pleasantly – tied to an altar near a lava-filled volcano was a circumstance that almost never ended well. And even though he was probably about to die too, Nemo – poor, dumb confused goof that he was half the time – was trying to fight for her. Looked like he wasn’t going to be married off to the volcano goddess after all, she realised. Except, she—

* * *

Feathers knocked over a goblet on his way in. It clattered noisily to the ground. He staggered around clumsily on the table. What the— … he felt like he’d … been drugged … A pitcher still with a little water in it fell even more noisily. Lightning flashed, illuminating the room, as a figure stirred on the big ornate bed.

Feathers gulped.

Still time to back out of this, he thought woozily to himself. Still time to not be incinerated in a fit of rage after you tell her what’s going on. Still time for – your friends to have their hearts cut out and be flung into boiling lava.

Feathers fluttered, drunkenly but determinedly, forward, landing on a stone chest at the end of the bed. How did she not set fire to the sheets, he wondered nervously.

There are many kinds of courage in this world, but perhaps it takes a very special kind of courage and heart to—

‘Rawk! Rawk! Rawk!’ squawked Feathers, and prepared to go to the great big Jungle in the Sky.

And there was movement. A pair of flaming eyes looked directly and intently at him, as the volcano goddess Cthoney sat up in bed.

Feathers’ beak babbled into life ‘—before ya cooks my goose and good, there’s something ya oughta know …’

* * *

The storm rose towards a crescendo, as the Death’s Head skull cloud crept ever nearer to the summit of the volcano. Out of the corner of your eye, though, if you squint a little bit, doesn’t that other cloud look like a – … huh … fancy …

* * *

‘Vene, vulcanis. Cor ex corpore …’ The witch doctress chanted, pacing back and forth, swirling the knife around in the air, watching from behind her mask as the Death’s Head drew nearer. Not much longer now.

* * *

Nessa blinked her eyes. She’d tried to struggle out of her bonds, but they were too secure. She blinked again. Stupid volcano ash … The witch doctress had wandered off and seemed to off muttering to herself.

She glanced about. No one else around. Something she had to do. ‘Nemo,’ she whispered. She could just turn her head enough to see him, still slumped forward. ‘Nemo …’ she said again.

He wasn’t waking up.

‘This is stupid,’ she said. ‘I know Nemo’s not you real name, but it’s the best we’ve got right now … best you’ve got. And here I am rambling. I’m about to die and I’m rambling … Nemo, I …’

Lightning zig-zagged to earth and blew a hole in the roof. Nessa closed her eyes and shifted her head as bits of debris scattered down, and the sheeting rain started pouring in from outside. “Outside.” Hah. Outside’s in and inside’s out. She felt weirdly reinvigorated. Like the lightning had entered her heart, in a way. Hah! Take my insides out, will ya? And just what makes you think I won’t have anything to say about it?

Tie up my friend and try to kill me, will you? I’m not taking this lying down!

Admittedly, she was lying down and tied to an altar, but not by choice. And those ropes were awfully secure. But that didn’t mean she just had to take it, didn’t mean she— Just because she couldn’t move didn’t mean she had to lay down and die. Lay down and watch Nemo die …

She closed her eyes and did something she hadn’t done for a very long time, something she’d said she wouldn’t do. Her mind focused in with lightning-like focus and clarity through the thunder and the rain pouring down over her through the hole in the roof. Her lips moved silently …

Thunder rumbled like the heavens themselves were opening. Lightning clashed. There were flashes of impact from all around the sides of the mountain, and the volcano gave a great shuddering roar …

* * *

… As the mother of all lightning bolts zig-zagged down out of the storm with a thunderous crash— …

… As the smoke cleared away, standing on a smoldering, half-molten patch of stone, was a large bird.

One moment it looked a deep storm blue, the next you could see the array of colours rippling over its – strangely feminine – feathered form. It opened its wings wide, and a charred-looking bundle fell out. Then it stretched its wings out even wider. Time flickered – and from where the bird had been a moment before, Cthoney stepped forward out of the storm, sparkles and lightning-motes glimmering around and over her.

Her eyes looked like thunder – not merely disgruntled, but like actual thunderbolts were whirling around inside of them.

Her dress, once a kind of doe-brown, crackled storm-blue and shimmery with sparkles of lightning. The feathers of her headdress and mantle glowed in an array of beautiful storm-bright colors.

And as she stepped forward, lightning crackled beneath her feet, and at her fingertips …

The retreating figures of several guards could already be seen fleeing down the slope, flinging away their masks as they ran.

* * *

Steam hissed off Cthoney as she stepped forward through the driving rain towards the open-sided stone pavilion. As the storm flashed around her, reflected in the dark molten pools, along with tears … ‘How dare you …’ she said, stalking nearer and towards the witch doctress. ‘You – you have been keeping me bound in chains of darkness, leaving me to rot in restless sleep. You, you would have me thrown back into that for an age …’

Nessa risked a sidewards glance and saw that the Witch Doctress had her mask thrown back and, that despite everything, she was still smiling. Now that just couldn’t be good …

The witch doctress stepped around the altar, a book in her hands, or rather something in a leather cover – a book of enamelled sheets of bronze bound together, carvings etched deep into them. With her other hand she drew something from a pouch at her belt, a handful of dust that she flung onto the wind so that it went flying towards Cthoney, it sparkled green-gold as it came into contact with her, then blue and bronze, and finally pink and red.

‘Back to the fire I send thee. Sleep, Old One, sleep. From lava to lava, fire to fire, ash to ash. Sleep – sleep …’ As the incantation was finished, Nessa saw Cthoney’s eyes drifting shut, saw her start to shake, light beaming forth out through her eyelids. She looked like she was about to fly apart.

‘And so it ends,’ said the Witch Doctress. ‘You cannot maintain your form here, and so, my dear, it’s back to the volcano for you …’

‘No!‘ came a scream, as Cthoney seemed to disintegrate from her toes up, into wavering specks of light. As if bending with the wind, the volcano goddess reached up a hand, calling out to the storm. A lightning bolt spiraled down out of the heavens, wrapping round her hand and then the rest of her, even as she flew apart.

Outlines of fiery orange-white and gold kept walking, flowing together into something that almost looked like a bird – and towards Nessa.

It hit her in the chest, and suddenly her heart was on fire. Nessa gasped for breath, struggling against the flames running through her veins, the thunder and the storm … What was happening to her …

Lightning crashed across the sky again. Thunder rolled.

And on the altar, Nessa-Cthoney opened her eyes. This was interesting …

* * *

She looked at the bonds around her wrists. Suddenly they burst into flame – searing consuming flame. The same for the ones around her ankles and waist.

She dusted the ash off her wrists as she swung up over off the bier, sending fruits and gems spilling away.

Vexila stepped back, something like uncertainty and something like fear in the eyes behind the mask.

Nessa-Cthoney stepped nearer. She smiled a small little smile. She could get used to this. It was good to be back in a proper body again, after all this time … She opened her mouth, and when she spoke, it was Cthoney’s voice that came out. ‘No more Miss Nice Goddess …’

* * *

Vexila looked around in panic. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Fortunately, she’d prepared for just such an emergency. Time for the other voodoo doll. ‘Hold it right there …’

Nessa-Cthoney froze.

In the witch doctress’s hand was a doll, with a little ragged shirt and trousers hanging loose at the knee. It had a black eye swelling on one side of its little face. And it was hanging unconscious. The Death’s Head pin was back, poised over the Nemo-doll’s heart.

‘No!’ she screamed—

To Be Continued …

[Previous –> Part 8: The Mirror’s Eye.] [Next –> Part 10: The Many-Sundered Heart.]

[1] And you just know that capital letter is going to bode nobody any good.

[2] Like a talking parrot who’s got at the rum and keeps changing shoulders.

[3] You know, with a flux needle and the special thread and a tube of reality glue.

[4] But that would be telling, wouldn’t it?

[5] It’s so easy to forget, isn’t it?

[6] (Which by a strange coincidence, sounds just like that of a beautiful maiden tied to the rails just as an oncoming steam train approaches.)

[7] The same legends speak in the passing of a bird, hard to describe – some say it has a long gently curving beak**, feathers of many colors, and a strange laughing cry.

Which first adopted the other, mwahaha or Amazon, is a mystery. People who miss the point and have to take a thing apart to understand it might say it’s an example of sympathetic evolution and mutual self-interest. The Amazons put it rather more bluntly: “Whoever harms a mwahaha better be able to outrun an arrow, and also, have iron underpants.”

**: Though of course toucan play at that game.

Once Upon a Spinning-Wheel (Part 8): The Mirror’s Eye

By Andrew Miller

Member

Andrew Miller

Website: https://www.awlmiller.com/.

| December 11, 2019

20 COMMENTS

They called them the big islands — locally, at any rate, in the little subsection of reality just past Schrodinger’s Drywall (you have an idea that the cat’s got in behind there somewhere, but you won’t know for sure until you knock a hole in it and check). They exist in a place in time and space where reality has gone so far out the other side that it’s circled back on itself. Here, magic is real. (It’s real back in the other place too, of course — people just mostly pretend not to notice.) Here, anything can still happen, and quite frequently does: See the sea … It’s quite pretty and blue. See the way it twinkles in the sunlight. See the serpent lady …

… Whoops. You can just see her reflection, overlaying the scene below in the crystal ball. She adjusts her hair in it and smiles a breath-taking smile. Reflections were important, after all. They were, in a way, why she wasn’t using her magic mirror. That, and you couldn’t necessarily get that big a picture in the little slab of enchanted glass that, at present, lay in its little drawstring velvet bag by her side. The serpent lady smiles and waves a hand over the crystal ball: The image in it pulses, floating, so to speak, in mid-air.

Near her other hand is a piece of wood and metal, a spindle from a spinning-wheel. It still has a piece of thread on it, shimmering oddly in the light. It also has blood on it. Not as if some princess has carelessly pricked her finger in the time-honoured manner, having wandered into one of those deserted tower rooms that can be such an attractive nuisance, and then fallen into a sleep of a hundred years and a day (always throw in a little something unexpected, that was the serpent’s lady’s motto. Or one of them); but as if instead, a man, a blundering idiot of a man … She’d have his— Well, never mind – but not even a prince, mark you. Just a man, who’s come along out of nowhere and cut his hand open on the spindle, and then tried to spoil everything.

She’d put a curse on him, of course – and such a curse – just before she threw him from that tower window.

Now, with most people, that would be that. Curse from a deadly and, though she said it herself, beautiful enchantress, and thrown from a tower window – end of problem.

Only, she strongly suspected, this one was still alive … and the magical feedback that was already playing out from that little incident was rebounding in unexpected ways. She sighed. Why did people feel the need to play the hero?

She drew her magic mirror out of its drawstring bag. Who’d have thought, a little piece of enchanted glass no bigger than a hand (or thereabouts) – with enough magic in it to do quite a lot – and more than most people bargained for …

She looked into the magic mirror … And it looked back …

‘None of that,’ she said with a slightly sibilant smile. ‘People aren’t sssupposed to ssee that …’

The eye, the actual big staring eye that had opened up on the surface of the glass, frowned at her.

‘It’ss no good making faces at me — Although – there’s a thought …’ she said. ‘Anyway, don’t disstract me, I’m working here …’ The serpent lady lifted a finger to her lips, her forked tongue pressed thoughtfully between her teeth. Now if I were a would-be hero, where would I be? How to find him before he could mess things up any more than he had already …

So far, her efforts to trace him had come up empty: Scrying the seas and islands in her crystal ball, spells and enchantments, reaching out in her dreams (though there she felt a bit fuzzier about the whole thing) — even, goodness knows— …

Her attention was drawn back to the all-seeing eye in the mirror. You could do a lot of magic, with ordinary things, or so she’d found. Things people didn’t necessarily expect to be magical could conceal quite a lot behind their simple-seeming exteriors. Take mirrors, for example, and spinning-wheels …

She raised her hand over the glass, wiggling her fingers here and there as the spell started to take shape. She concentrated on the image she’d reconstructed from her memory – a young man’s face faded into view.

As it did so, she set the mirror on the table, eye side up. She moved her fingers through the air, weaving and twisting in strands and threads, musical notes, streams of light … They floated together over the eye of the mirror.

Then, she picked up the spindle, with the would-be hero’s blood still on it – that he’d left his mark on in the psychic blast as the enchantment round her spinning-wheel had been smashed. She could see it over again, seething through time and space: He cuts his hand on the wheel, but instead of falling into an enchanted sleep – he fights back. That was … unusual.

That alone had her more curious than she was prepared to admit, let alone all the other little unanswered questions that were niggling at her … She released the spell in a dash of vibrant pink light that leapt from the spindle and through into the crystal ball, whirling around over the ocean for a moment, getting its bearings, and then whooshing off into the distance. She moved her hand again over the magic mirror. ‘Ssleep. Sleep now … There’ll be work enough for you ssoon …’ She slid it back into its pouch and threw the cover over the crystal ball.

Through the doorway, out onto the stone balcony, sunset was spreading over the islands. Just the time when all sorts of things came out to play.

‘Resst well, little hero,’ she said into the air. ‘I’ll sssee you in your dreamsssss …’

***

Nemo watched the setting sun gloomily. He supposed he should be happy. After all, he was getting married in the morning …

… Apparently.

Well, tomorrow evening, anyway. Except, when you find yourself suddenly and peremptorily betrothed to the avatar of a recently reawakened volcano goddess, and probably now having the approximate life expectancy of a chocolate tea-kettle, it kind of put a new perspective on things.

And whilst he was sensible of the honour that any girl should wish to marry him at all – it was just … he’d never thought it’d be like this.

That, and his friends were either in jail or missing (and consisted of mermaid, one, and talking parrot, one – and guess which one was still at liberty). Added to which, there was his bride-to-be (although in the circumstances, it kind of seemed the other way around), who, although beautiful and no doubt lovely, had a tendency for anything she touched to burst into flame after about a minute.

Funnily enough, this and other more immediate problems seemed to bother him a lot less than the fact that Nessa wasn’t speaking to him. And would probably never speak to him again. (That she was in jail – at least partly on his account – probably didn’t help any.)

Nemo, my boy, he told himself, you’ve got to buck up your ideas. Think, man, think! There had to be a way out of this. Preferably without anyone getting their heart broken – or incinerated.

But just getting out of here might prove a little tricky. Outside the window below, were a pair of guards. The same two guards in fact who he’d, ah, helped into unconsciousness when breaking Nessa out of jail the first time. They looked up at him sullenly. He waved. They glared. And, outside the (locked) inside door, was another pair of guards. It was almost like they didn’t trust him …

Standing there, though, something in one of the trees caught his eye. He looked at it for a moment, and then jogged back inside and came back with something, which he held up to the light. ‘Pretty polly wanna banana?’

‘Rawk! Put it where the sun don’t shine. Rawk!’ Nemo chanced to look below. The two guards with black eyes and bruises were grinning.

‘Smart bird,’ said a voice from below.

‘Every home should have one,’ said the other.

Rzzl-frzzl rckn-frtz … mutter-mutter …

Except, and he knew it wasn’t just his imagination, the bird in the tree had just winked at him. He saw a surreptitious pinfeather whirring round ever so slightly in “keep going” hand – er, wing – gestures.

He went back to the fruit bowl.

‘Polly wanna date?’

‘What d’ya think I am? Rawk!’

There was snickering. Gratuitous, strangled-laughter-type snickering. These guys really held a grudge.

He looked meaningfully at the parrot.

‘C’mon, you must be hungry … Polly wanna …’ he looked at the fruit bowl, ‘papaya?’

‘Hot-diggety!’ said the parrot and swooped in towards the window.

‘I think it’s a shame,’ said a carrying voice from below, ‘what some creatures are reduced to.’

‘Yeah, someone should feed ’em. Even a parrot deserves better company than that … Still, probably won’t catch anything from him, will he?’

Now they were just getting mean.

‘Nah. Well, not in about half an hour anyway,’ the other one said mysteriously.

There was whispering from below. Followed by more laughter. Well, that couldn’t be good … He wondered what they were talking about. Apparently, they knew something he didn’t.

Feathers landed on the table by the fruit bowl and started nosing through it. Nemo stepped over.

‘Yeesh, what a buncha maroons,’ the parrot said. Not for the first time, Nemo thanked his lucky stars that Feathers had sense to whisper on occasions. ‘Say, I wasn’t kidding about that papaya …’

***

‘You just like it ’cause it sounds like outa—’

‘Don’t say it! I’d just forgotten about that …’ Feathers twitched slightly.

‘Feathers,’ he said to the parrot, ‘are you telling me those … lemon-shaped gourd-like fruits that you fed me and Nessa are addictive?’

‘What? No … Potentially … Sorta. Maybe. Anyway, it was in a good cause – got ya out of a scrape didn’t it?’

Nemo put his head in his hand. ‘Anything else about those you maybe neglected to mention?’

‘Hey, you were glad to get ’em, both of you. ’Side from which, if I were in your shoes, pal, I might welcome another outa— Ou— One of them.’

‘That bad?’

‘You’re up to your eyebrows in lava and sinking fast. Rawk!’

‘Keep it down, keep it down! There are guards outside that door too.’

There was a heavy knock at the door. ‘Everything okay in there?’ said a suspicious voice.

‘Er, yes! Just enjoying the, er, fruit. Thank you.’

‘Outsiders,’ muttered a voice from the other side of the door.

Nemo got Feathers onto one hand and grabbed a papaya with the other and took him over to as out-of-the-way a spot as he could manage.

‘You seen Nessa?’ he asked.

‘Hooboy!’

‘She tell you she’s not speaking to me?’

‘And how! Rawk!’

Nemo swallowed. He broke open the papaya. It made a mess. Feathers’ eyes lit up. He looked to Nemo to check it was okay and the dug in to one of the halves. ‘Ain’t you gonna have any?’

‘I don’t feel like it.’

‘Aw, c’mon. Ya gotta eat something. You need to keep your strength up. You’re a vital part of the operation. Keystone of the plan.’

‘Plan? You have a plan? To get out of here?’

‘Trust me … Have I ever let you down? (Don’t answer that.) Yer gonna love it!’

***

Feathers had just flopped out the window again when there was a peremptory knocking at the door. It swung open to reveal a girl dressed like one of the witch doctress’s assistants, only swankier. She stared at him in disapproval. ‘What a mess … Don’t you outsiders even know how to eat?’

Nemo looked down. There was papaya all over his hands and down his face and shirtfront from breaking into it for Feathers, and from where’d he tried to eat some himself.

‘Ugh. I don’t know what the Lady can see in him … Vala, Larissa, Loney, come – it looks like we have our work cut out for us …’ Three more young ladies dressed in the same sort of way stood outside the door. Along with half a dozen guards.

‘Yes, Madam Zara,’ came a chorus of female voices from behind their masks. The guards stayed silent, resting on their spears. The looks behind their masks didn’t seem any too friendly either.

‘Now,’ said Madam Zara, turning to him, ‘we can either do this the easy way or the hard way – and I’m having a bad day, so which is it to be?’ The guards flexed their muscles threateningly. Though from the look in her eye, Nemo was more worried about Madam Zara. She looked like she knew her way around a voodoo doll and a set of pins – and probably wouldn’t bother about the voodoo doll.

‘Hey … can’t we all just get along …’ said Nemo, backing away uncertainly.

‘The hard way it is: Girls, grab him!’

Girls?

***

They got him. A cloth laced with something potent was put over his mouth and suddenly he found himself going night-night.

When he started to come to again he could feel himself being dragged backwards by his arms. Also, he couldn’t help but notice that he appeared to be blindfolded. And gagged.

He really needed to get some more shoes, he thought, as his heels trailed along the ground. Being barefoot was getting to be a pain.

He heard doors opening. The surface beneath his feet changed to smoother stone. Then another set of doors, and then strange sounds – gurgling and bubbling, pouring and sloshing …

Feathers had warned him about this. That there may be those among the islanders who may not be happy about the local volcano goddess wanting to marry him (how did they think he felt?), and might arrange for something to “happen” to him.

‘Is it ready?’ said a woman’s voice. Zara’s, he felt pretty sure.

They got hold of his legs. He could feel his feet being lifted up. Actually, come to think of it, it was warmer in here. Quite a lot warmer. He could feel steam and …

He was swung to one side, as they tried to turn him round towards the steam. There was heat rising towards his bare feet, and he tried to struggle out of the way. Were they going to cook him?

‘Stop that!’ said Zara peevishly from somewhere behind him. ‘Hold still! This is for your own good, you know …’

He was aware of giggling off to one side.

Well, this was it …

***

Cthoney sat on her Throne of Dreams, her head resting in her hand. Her eyes stared into the stillness, with the vacant stare of a long-dormant volcano goddess who is struggling to make sense of things – or even to find her way out of her own head. She was … getting married tomorrow …

She tried to think. She remembered waking up. Remembered a dream … There had been a boy, a young man, in the darkness. She remembered that part. She had felt a name on the air, echoing around him. She had seen him, glowing white, like a spirit along the way, with touches of gold radiating through him and out into the gloom. She pictured him again as she had seen him: His shirt and trousers half in rags (his trousers, in particular, barely came down past the knee anymore), and … Focus, she thought. Concentrate. Had to make sense of …

She saw him again. She’d called out in the darkness. And he’d … answered.

It had been a long, long time since anyone had bothered to answer her, or even to talk to her. Just to ask after her, to ask her how she was – so that she could feel someone cared … A fiery tear trickled down her cheek and evaporated into steam.

More than that, he’d been kind to her. And … She shook her head. Everything was so confusing … It shouldn’t be like this, it shouldn’t … auggh!

Something didn’t feel right. Several somethings. But she couldn’t make sense of … She tried to smile. She was getting married … Wasn’t she?

***

In the flaming heat of the temple-palace kitchens, pots bubbled, ingredients were gathered together. Off to one side, great baskets of fruit were laid up. Barrels of laki-laki (a local liqueur, made, among other things, from bananas) were hauled up from the cellars. Herbs and spices were gathered in. And, under the Lady Vexila’s watchful witch-doctressy eyes, a barrel of apples was carted in on a little bamboo trolley.

She turned back to the chief cook, a lady of long experience with a deep appreciation of the gentle art of coaxing food to mouth-watering perfection – and who wouldn’t have nuthin’ to do with that “eatin’ people” nonsense some folks was so keen on. Then there was the question of the traditional hog roast—

‘… and ya want my advice, Lady, ye won’t get none. Not in time for tomorra evenin’. They’s all been scared off clean over t’other side of the island. Just as well, really. I never did like the idea of some poor dumb creature turnin’ round and round over a fire with an apple in his mouth.’

For a moment the words ‘poor dumb creature with an apple in his mouth’ conjured up an image in the witch doctress’s mind. But, no … she’d have to be a bit more subtle than that in how she attempted to dispose of the man Nemo. ‘But it is a wedding feast,’ she reminded the cook, trying to keep ahold of her patience. The cook tended to have that effect on her.

‘Don’t you worry your pretty li’l head over it, sugar, ’s my advice. I been doin’ this a long time. Weddin’ feast? No problem. You leave everythin’ to Cooky.’

People just didn’t speak to the Witch Doctress that way. (Terrified kitchen maids tried to avoid drawing her gaze upon them as they passed.) Well, except Cooky. And, Vexila reminded herself, there was a tradition on the islands of being respectful to elders … And besides, good cooks were hard to find. Now, apples, why did she have apples on the brain … She looked down at the open barrel. They glistened there, red and shiny …

‘You don’t mind if I take a few things along with me, do you, Cooky?’ she said sweetly.

‘Larn sakes, help ya’self. ’T’ain’t as if we’s wantin’ for food roun’ here.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, her voice dripping with saccharine, though her eyes seemed to be elsewhere. She’d just had rather a good idea …

***

Thrown up into the air. Feeling the boiling, rolling heat … falling, plunging, through the steaming vapour— Splash!

Nemo got his hands up and pulled away the gag and blindfold … Oh.

He was in a big stone-tiled room. In a pool, in fact. That resembled nothing so much as a giant bath. There were bubbles on the surface of the water. They looked kind of soapy and … pink? Pillars rose up to an open roof around the corners of the pool – er, bath. The young ladies from earlier were busy around the edges, pouring in liquids by the amphora-ful or sprinkling in salts and powders.

The one he thought he recognised as Vala was pouring in a soft pink liquid that bubbled up and frothed as it hit the water. The beautiful, warm, steaming water … He’d forgotten what a bath felt like. As long as this was a bath, and there weren’t any crocodiles or piranhas in the vicinity. He looked. The other two, Loney and Larissa, were sprinkling in a pale blue powder by the handful, that fizzed and frothed over the surface.

Well, say this for them, that was one advantage about having volcano heat “on tap”, as it were. He wondered how they drained it …

A little sulphur-y, the water around here, but … not bad … Not bad at all. He was still in his clothes, mind, but, then, they probably needed a good wash too.

He wondered how big this place was. From the look of it, he wasn’t sure if this was even the only room of this kind in here. There were big double doors going through to one side, and though the outside windows were shuttered, there seemed to be internal “windows” running through near ceiling level beneath the open roof. He floated along experimentally, glancing around at the walls. Scenes on some of the wall tiles depicted volcanoes and parrots and girls in feathers and – huh – something he couldn’t quite make out … As if the tiles had crumbled away or gotten broken somehow …

The guards seemed to have vamoosed, and he couldn’t see Madam Zara. Must have wandered off in disgust or something …

Something made him look up. Splashing sounds from one of the other rooms. Sounded like someone else was getting the same treatment … Nessa, maybe?

But why?

***

In the twilight, the ant looked up at the tree as it swayed and wobbled in the breeze. It was of the kind known locally as the boingi or volcanic rubberwood tree. Carefully seasoned and treated with the help of volcano heat, its planks made the finest diving boards in the world (particularly prized by pirates, for some reason). But that wasn’t what the ant was thinking about.

It had this idea whirring away inside its head. The other ants would probably all laugh if it told them; although, through a strange concatenation of circumstances (involving a leaking barrel of treacle, a perilous sea voyage, and – well, that was another story), he was currently the only one of his kind on the island. It was just that some instinct seemed to speak to him out of the sunset – he didn’t know why, but he just had this feeling it was something he was supposed to do.

Of course, everyone knows an ant can’t move a volcanic rubberwood plant. Still, it’s amazing what you can do when nobody tells you you can’t … And, of course, he had high hopes …

***

Nessa was torn between fury and … well, it had really been quite some time since she’d been able to enjoy a good bubble bath. Her boots rested beside a dressing screen. More screens and potted palms surrounded the sunken bath, a little pool filled with warm bubbling water and mounds of suds. Which was good, because she was feeling strangely tearful. Well, not strangely, but –

She found herself looking round with interest despite herself. There were loofahs and natural sponges. Little stone bottles that smelled of things like rose petals and mint and cinnamon and limes. Some smelled of tropical flowers. She picked up a round powdery white ball from a woven basket. It fizzed on her fingers a little as she tossed it up and down experimentally in her hand.

Who knows why we do what we do sometimes? Maybe it’s just that the mind has gotten so overwrought, so overheated, that we have to do something, however zany or loopy it may seem, just to keep ourselves from cracking. She selected a few more from different baskets. Pale blue, pink, purple, and yellow. She kept them up in the air, juggling as she sat back in the bath among the foamsome suds and bubbles. She was a bit rusty it was true, but it was amazing how it all came back to you. Another one? Why not. She managed to scoop up another, orange this time, and add it into the mix.

Her eye was caught, though, by a label pasted on the side of a wooden box nearby, that for some reason reminded her of fireworks: Madame Splodo’s Bath Bombs – Kaboom-Boom Mix assortment. Warninge: Do notte add ye more thanne one at ae time …

That was probably what made her take her eye off the ball for a moment, as they all came tumbling down …

***

An explosive splash echoed through the walls. Multi-coloured foam fell in patters through the open roof and the connecting windows high up towards the ceiling line. Some of it made it into the big bath. Quite a lot of foam, actually. It was really rather pretty, in a way … On the tail of it, a number of spinning pasteboard boxes opened in mid-air, with their distinctive lettering and the picture of Madame Splodo on the front. Larisa and Loney spotted them at once and sped out of the room mysteriously quickly. Vala didn’t see them until a second later, and had to dive for cover. The doors closed behind them with a resounding boom – as more than a dozen brightly coloured powdery spheres spilled out from each box and down towards the water.

Nemo, in the middle of the giant bath, couldn’t get out fast enough, and even so he found himself watching in fascination …

***

In the smaller bath room, Nessa poked her head up out from under the water, and through the swirling multicoloured foam that half filled the room. Whoops …

She wondered where all the other boxes had gone … The sponges and loofahs still seemed to be here – somewhere – but the rocketing fountains of foam seemed to have taken—

The great watery explosion that came from the room next door was really quite spectacular.

Rainbow-coloured foam cascaded through the window up above.

Nessa tried to make a note of the name. Mama Splodo’s, was it? If they ever got out of here, she was going to have to remember that one …

***

The Great Bath Room (in fact there were bigger and better, but Nemo didn’t know that) was almost swimming with surprisingly weight-bearing foam. You could practically swim through it to the roof, if you were so minded. The trouble was, finding pockets of air to keep breathing. Floating near the top, this wasn’t so much a problem for Nemo. And it’d probably dissipate some when the doors were re-opened – although, by the booming sounds and shouting from outside it seemed that Loney and Larissa had bolted them shut in a way that meant it wasn’t easy to open them up again, when they’d secured them against the inevitable tidal wave of … whatever this stuff was.

A voice, frightened and tremulous, and slightly muffled, came from below. ‘Please, is there anyone there … Help!’

Vala. The other girl in the mask. There was a burst of frantic coughing from under the foam. Sure, she was one of the Witch Doctress’s assistants, with all that probably entailed – but what could a man do?

He dived down into the foam, and started swimming.

***

Nessa had struggled into her clothes again. She’d heard a cry from the other side of the big double doors. The ones with the window high above them where foam was still overflowing from the next room.

And then she’d heard someone calling for help. If the foam was pouring through like that, that must mean – she dreaded to think. She rushed for the communicating doors.

‘Hey, you out there,’ she called back to the guards and handmaidens outside the other door. ‘Get in here and help, someone’s in trouble!’

‘Yeah, right. Just get clean already, lady. Witch doctress’s orders. It’s just soap, it won’t hurt ya.’

‘Why you—’ She didn’t have time for this. The voice on the other side of the double doors didn’t have time for this. She tried to work on opening them. Something was holding them shut … Think, Nessa, think … What to do … How to get through …

***

He tried to make for where Vala would be, pressed under the foam. Except, he couldn’t see. He just had to go by ear (which were both filling up with bubbles). Fortunately, sound carried – vaguely – through the porous layers of foam. It was just kind of hard to breathe if you ran out of air pockets.

He swam deeper. Too deep. His foot went through, and he found himself falling into the water of the bath below. No time to panic. He struck out for the sides, the solid, stone sides and lifted himself against the surface tension of the foam. His arm muscles burned, but he manged to wriggle forward. And, an air pocket. He took a soapy breath and kept going. This was strange stuff … As he lifted himself up enough it was like he was swimming in it again. He reached out and found an arm. It was barely moving. He heaved and started kicking out for the surface. His lungs were burning now. Almost there … Almost there …

And then it was like someone pulled the plug …

And they were swirling back downwards …

***

As the doors burst back and foam started flooding into the room, viscous and strange, the colours twirling in amongst each other, Nessa realised that it needed somewhere to go. The shutters on the lower windows were closed. No time for subtlety, she got a chair and heaved it with a strength borne of desperation. It smashed through with quite a satisfying ke-rash!

Next one. Ah, she should have held onto the chair. She drew back her booted foot and kicked. Her toes hurt, but at least the next set was open. Hopping slightly, she pushed the shutters open wider and stepped back as foam started pouring out through them. It was up to her knees already, and rising. And then, in a swirling tangle of colour, two figures washed through.

One was a girl, dressed like one of the islanders. She’d lost her mask, though, and she was coughing as she drew in great gasping lungfuls of air — and looking, wide-eyed, at the vague foamy figure next to her. The figure next to her, she saw, as foam fell away, though still kind of indistinct among the bubbles, was Nemo.

***

‘Are you all right?’ he said to the girl … Why was she looking at him like that? All wide-eyed and … something.

The guards burst in, through the other door. Along with Zara and Loney and Larissa.

Zara looked around, surveying the scene. It looked like a brightly coloured soap-filled typhoon had rolled through. Folding screens lay flattened on the floor. The windows were bust open. Bath-time paraphernalia lay scattered about the room. Oh, and they were all completely covered in foams of many colours.

Nemo opened his mouth and a few soap bubbles came out, floating into the air. One of them, shimmering like a rainbow, drifted over towards Zara, who extended a long-nailed finger and burst it. Still, it looked quite pretty as it went …

Zara folded her arms, and looked at him, one foot tapping up and down on the ground, as if to say, This had better be good …

Which was when he happened to glance to his right and recognise the only other person who was about as be-sudsed as him. A great drift of foam fell to the floor as she shifted the set of her shoulders. Some fell from her long hair. It looked more greeny-brown than golden when it was wet, he noticed. But her eyes were just as bright, nailing him to the wall. Nessa just stood there. She didn’t say anything, she just weighed something in her hand and drew back her arm.

The sopping-wet sponge made quite a thwack as it hit him squarely between the eyes.

Through the windows, out to sea, the last glimmerings of sunset faded over the horizon.

***

Nessa sighed, sitting back against the wall in her cell. What a difference a day makes …

To think, just twenty-four hours ago, she’d been sitting in a prison cell waiting for goodness knows what to happen to her. And now … well, now she was in a prison cell, waiting for goodness knows what to happen to her, dripping dry against a cold stone wall – and shivering. After she’d thrown the sponge at Nemo, one of the women in masks had pointed a sharp fingernail at her and had her hustled away by the guards. Again.

She kept waiting, half hoping, for the sound of fluttering wings near the bars of the window up above. At least Feathers hadn’t abandoned her — had he? Early evening was getting fairly settled in by now and was looking to make a night of it. She thought she’d seen the distant curve of a yellow moon through the clouds a little while back.

That nice warm bubble bath seemed a long time ago. So did the last time she’d had anything to eat. She was cold and hungry and soaked. She leaned back and tried to squeeze some more water and suds out of her hair and sniffed. At least with the breeze blowing through, her clothes were drying off a little.

But where was Feathers?

***

The apple twirled on the thread tied to its stalk, round and round … The Lady Vexila, her witch-doctoring mask lying to one side, peered at it. It had been a deep crisp red before it went into the potion. Now it practically glowed. It just went to show, there was nothing wrong with variations on the classics – if done right, and you gave it your own little twist. Apples. So often it came back to an apple. She wondered why.

She paced around the great open tower-top room. When she had serious juju to brew up, this was where she came. Hardly anyone else was even quite sure what was up here – and you can bet they were afraid to ask. It was a bugger in the tropical storms sometimes, when the driving rain leaked through into downstairs, but from here she could look out over the island …

She could see the jungled expanses and hills off to one side. She could see the village out below, twinkling with coloured lights awaiting the morrow’s festivities. It couldn’t be often that a god married a mortal, after all. And they’d already had a big luau planned in any case, so, there you go.

But still, it was always as well to have a little something extra up your sleeve. Something they didn’t know you had. Something nobody knew you had or could do. It also kept life interesting. For her, anyway. And, after a fashion, quite interesting for other people, too …

She gazed out to sea and saw the pirate ship at rest in the bay. And then at last she turned to the slopes of the volcano. Mount Lava-Lava. A searing cauldron of fire and molten rock, and a source of power, if you knew what to do with it. But you had to be careful, if you didn’t want to get burned …

That, and whatever magic was in there was probably too closely tied up with Cthoney right now. Sustaining her “mortal” form. Vexila had made quite a study of volcano magic, but for the first time in a long time, she found herself nervous.

She stared back out past the village, out to sea, to the rolling ocean where the sea mists were seeping in. A fog was building. The weather round the islands had always been … idiosyncratic at times, but there— Did she hear the distant rumble of a storm cloud? The flash of lightning? Now that she could work with. It was a while off yet, though.

She put it to one side in her mind and descended the steps down to her workshop. There, she lifted the cover from something that might give her the edge she was looking for. It was a good thing the ceremony was only tomorrow evening, she thought, gazing out the window, as the sun fell on the stone-terraced slopes of the volcano. But she had everything she needed to hand …

After checking that things were proceeding to her satisfaction, she covered her little surprise over again. Walls had ears and mirrors had eyes … Which was why she kept hers in a little drawer in her quarters below, lined with lead and cedar. Just in case.

She locked the door on her way out, to the sounds of the distant rumble of the storm. Fog and flame, lightning and rain, enchanted apples and the dance of the storm, she thought, as she stepped down the spiral stairs. Magic mirror in the drawer, what, oh what, can the future have in store …

***

Nessa looked up. A faintly parrotty shape was struggling through the bars on the high window of her cell.

‘Confrazzle it!’ she heard it muttering. Something seemed to be getting stuck, but, somehow, Feathers managed to finagle it through.

He had a string gripped in each claw. The other end of each was tied round a bundle of shrivelled roasted-looking yellowish things. The big birdbrain looked pleased with himself.

‘Feathers!’ she cried out. A couple of same trailed down as she grabbed him and pulled him into a hug. ‘Boy, am I glad to see you!’

A slightly strangled voice managed, ‘Urk — glad to see you too, toots, but … need to breathe …’

‘Oh, right. Sorry.’

‘Don’t mention it,’ said the parrot, straightening himself out a bit and flopping down by his cargo. ‘Anyway, look what I brought ya. Go on, take a look.’

She reached out to one of the bundles. It was piping hot.

‘Roast bananas, island-style,’ he said with a big birdy grin. (One of these days she was going to have to ask him how he did that.) ‘Go on, try ’em.’

She pulled one loose. It was almost too hot to handle but she didn’t care. She was too hungry. She puffed a little air on it to cool it and took a bite. It was hot. It was food. It was heaven …

… but it was also hot. She reached out in the darkness. There was a bowl with some water in it. She managed to sip some down without spilling it, and then judged that the next bit of roast banana must be cool enough by now. ‘Aren’t you having any?’

‘Nah,’ said Feathers. ‘These are fer you.’

Nessa put down the roast banana she was eating and looked at him.

‘Ah, well, maybe just a small one, since ya insist.’ He hooked one away and spit it open along a seam.

‘Are you thirsty? I can pour a little water into my hand if that’d work.’

They managed somehow.

As she started to feel a little more human again, Nessa glanced at the parrot again. ‘Feathers,’ she said. ‘Where did these come from?’

Feathers shuffled slightly awkwardly from claw to claw.

‘Feathers …’

‘What? What? Ask me no questions and I’ll tell ya no lies.’

A suspicion crystallised. ‘Did Nemo get you to bring these?’

‘If I said no, would ya believe me?’

‘No.’

‘Well, there ya are, then. Eat up, enjoy. Food’s hot, and you gotta keep ya strength up. ’Cos tomorrow, one way or the other, we’re gettin’ outta here!’

She kept glaring at him. He looked back, waggling his eyebrows. ‘Say, ’d’ya get ya hair done? Looks great. You clean up nice, toots—’

He didn’t even try to get away from the bit of flung banana, but hopped up and caught it in his mouth instead. ‘Mmm-mmm-mm. C’mon, c’mon. Eat.’

She reached over and ruffled his feathers. ‘Thanks, birdbrain.’

‘Rawk!’

***

Nemo lay down on the floor and tried to settle. It was no good, though. He couldn’t sleep. It’s true there was a perfectly good big, fluffy feather bed, with real sheets and everything, just waiting there against one wall. There were even rugs so thick you could lose yourself in them. But he’d found the only patch of bare stone in the room and lay down on it. Because if Nessa had to make do with straw, there was no way he was sleeping on any feather bed.

Eventually, though, he drifted into something you might call sleep, even if it didn’t seem to be actual rest. There was too much going on. Too much happening.

And somewhere in his chest, something pained him. He saw himself, hanging from the tower window, a hand reaching towards him, coruscating with rippling green light. A forked tongue flickering over red lips. From somewhere he thought he could hear something like music – and a voice, softly singing: ‘I’ll ssseee you in your dreamsssss …’

The hand with the green light touched his chest, running through like lightning – and in his dreams, the man called Nemo screamed …

***

Over the ocean the spell travelled, then paused. It had heard something … from somewhere. Somewhere out there in the ether. It turned. Ahead … Somewhere ahead … Pink light rippled and accelerated. And far away, inside its little velvet bag, the enchantress’s mirror opened its eye …

***

To Be Continued …

[Previous –> Part 7: Lure of the Lava Lady.] [Next –> … ?]

Once Upon a Spinning-Wheel (Part 7): Lure of the Lava Lady

By Andrew Miller

Member

Andrew Miller

Website: https://www.awlmiller.com/.

| December 6, 2019

16 COMMENTS

On an island far away, the mwahaha flies.

The mwahaha is a bird – not, funnily enough, so called because its cry resembles the laugh of an old-fashioned villain, twirling his moustache as the express train draws near – but just out of sheer soppy sentimentality. There used to be a thriving colony of them somewhere up around old Hollywood way, back in the “real” world. People keep hoping they might come back someday, but, sad to tell, no one in living memory can remember seeing an active colony of mwahahas. Like the dodo, they have passed into the mists of history …

… Except, here, where one watched with curiosity from the branches of a flowering tree, on the slopes of the volcano. It was watching a curious assemblage running towards it. A man, who seemed faintly luminescent, carrying a beautiful young lady in his arms, apparently unslowed by shifting rocky ground or jungle scrub, or even by running straight uphill. On his shoulder, a parrot was squawking encouragement. Behind them, masked warriors flung spears, darts, and arrows while giving chase. It’s a strange world, sometimes, the mwahaha thought, and fluttered off. Some ancient instinct warned it what might lie ahead …

***

Even in the moonlight, the temple of the volcano goddess Cthoney glittered. It was an intriguing place: Partly because, it was rumoured, swirled among the marbled columns were veins and lumps of ruby and emerald, gold and silver – and partly, because when a temple hasn’t been so much constructed as shaped and moulded from the still-smoking molten lava, and is decorated around with statues that looked like someone had just been standing there five minutes ago, asking, so to speak, for the time, a certain … not quite magic, but “energy” seems to descend upon a place, so that it practically glows with it. Who or what designed it, no one was quite sure or wanted to know (and what happened to the builders was anyone’s guess).

Under ordinary circumstances, sane people didn’t enter it, or go knocking at the door. However, when you’re being pursued by a couple of dozen angry islanders in carved wooden masks, with darts, arrows, and spears whizzing past your ears, you start to get a mite less fussy about the shelter you’ll consider. ‘Whew!’ said Feathers, talking parrot, wise-ass, and rescue co-ordinator extraordinaire, as the big bronze doors closed behind them with a clang and the man Nemo pulled the switch that brought a gigantic reinforced bar down across them. ‘That should hold ’em. At least, for a while, anyway …’ He sniffed. ‘Um, does anyone smell something burning?’

***

‘More like … sulphur, I’d say,’ said Nessa, wrinkling her nose. ‘Though now you come to mention it, there does seem to be a certain magma-like quality to the place. It sure is dark in here.’

They felt it as Nemo stepped forward. For one thing, the ground sunk about an inch with the sound of shifting stone, as fiery lamps flickered into life.

Nessa gazed up and around, mouth open. ‘Wow …’

Feathers whistled. ‘Yep.’

They were in a kind of entrance hall, with rising pillars reaching off to a far off ceiling, the walls were covered in strange glyphs and pictograms, beautiful but strangely haunting statues stood in a variety of poses around it. Here and there and between some of the pillars, great jar-like flame lanterns that resembled nothing so much as giant lava lamps lit with real glowing lava provided a reddish-yellow orangey glow to the proceedings.

The thing was, if this was an entrance hall, there didn’t actually appear to be any other doors …

‘Is it just me,’ said Nessa, ‘or is there not any other way out of here?’

‘Yep,’ said Feathers again, nodding on Nemo’s shoulder opposite her, ‘we’re trapped.’

As if to reinforce the situation, what sounded like a giant gong seemed to go off behind them, as the bronze doors shook resoundingly.

‘Would that be a battering ram, do you think?’ said the talking parrot.

Feathers glanced sideways at the man called Nemo, who was still sort of glowing with a strange energy after someone (Feathers shuffled his clawed feet) had arranged for him to eat an outaya gourd – one of the rare mystic fruits to be found in this tropical paradise – and so charge off on an insanely heroic rescue attempt. Even if that meant he had gotten so carried away he hadn’t noticed they were running up towards the volcano with nowhere to go but into this strange and forbidding temple with no other apparent exits. Guess you can’t win ‘em all.

‘Um, Nemo,’ said Nessa, gently.

‘Yes?’

‘I think I might nearly have the circulation back in my feet. You can put me down now.’

‘Oh. Right …’

‘Only, it might be best if we all looked around. To see if we can find another way out,’ she added quickly.

Was his face a bit flushed? Probably just the glow from the lava lanterns, she thought, as he set her, very gently, down on a stretch of glyph-inscribed floor. She noticed the way he kind of looked away and to one side.

‘How are your … your, um …’

‘Ankles?’ she provided.

‘Yeah …’

‘Much better. Thank you.’ She lifted one of her feet demonstratively.

Nemo didn’t seem to know where to look.

She smiled at him.

‘Best get looking, huh?’ he said.

‘Yeah …’

She was actually kind of glad of the reddish-tinged glow from the lava lanterns. Hopefully no one could see her blushing. She sighed, and leaned on to her elbow to try and push herself up – the floor seemed to tilt out from under her—

‘Neeeeeeeeeeeemmooooooooooooooooo … !’

***

Nemo turned around and saw the hole sliding off into the blackness where he’d set Nessa down a moment before. ‘Nessaaaaaaaaaa!’ he called, diving after her.

‘Hey, kid, what are you—‘ Feathers sighed, as he watched Nemo disappear down a sloping hole in the floor. Ah, well, he thought, flapping over. When ya can’t beat ’em, join ’em:

‘Geeeronimoooooooooooo!’

***

Outside the temple, masked figures brought the impromptu battering ram round one more time. As it thudded into the big ornamental bronze doors it made a sound a bit like a giant gong. Bonggg … Bongggg … Bonggggg ….

‘What are you doing!’

Uh-oh. About two dozen grown men were suddenly anxious to be elsewhere, as Vexila, the Witch Doctress herself, strode on up the hill, the eyes on her mask blazing with some sort of glowing fire, several of her widely feared assistants in tow.

‘You idiots!’ she said. ‘Get that thing away from there! Do you want to wake Her up?’ She strode up the doors, pushing past as they shuffled awkwardly back. ‘Captain Argalos!’she called to a man in a grass skirt and big elaborately carved mask.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ said the captain of the guards, stepping forward smartly.

‘Send out patrols. Circle all the known gates. They must not escape. I will have that girl, and when I find her I will cut out her heart and throw her to Cthoney!’

The mountain echoed with the rumbling thunder of the volcano.

‘Ma’am …’ he said, fiddling with the straps on his big wooden mask nervously.

‘Have some of your guards wait here. The door mechanism will reset soon. The rest of you, get going. Well, what are you waiting for!’

‘Yes, ma’am!’ The captain hurried off, frantically giving orders. He didn’t want to be around if the Witch Doctress should decide he was to blame for letting the girl escape. Come to think of it, had anyone seen Simeo or Vaxil lately?

***

Nessa raised her head. Everything was pitch black. She could hear the distant rumble of stone, presumably that trick floor sliding back into place and sealing them in.

She tried to get up but couldn’t. Everything felt bruised. She reached out her arm awkwardly and patted at her breeches pocket. Still had it. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too damaged. ‘Parrot,’ she said, ‘are you there?’

‘Present,’ said Feathers.

‘Where are you?’

‘Over here.’

‘Well, stand clear. I don’t want to singe your feathers.’

A soft golden flame flickered into life in the darkness and Nessa held up a slightly battered, but still working, cigarette lighter. The parrot was off to one side, a few feathers out of place, but otherwise fine. Nemo … was sprawled bonelessly over her legs. That had been why she couldn’t get up.

‘Nemo,’ she said, pushing at his back. ‘Nemo … wakey-wakey, rise and shine. C’mon,’ she said encouragingly, ‘up and at ’em, champ.’

‘Guess he’s just tuckered out after all that heroing. It takes people that way sometimes,’ said Feathers, hopping over to him. ‘Here let me give it a try.’ Nessa blinked at what, in the flame-light, looked like a mischievous grin on his beak.

‘Bird, wait.’

‘Awww, I never get to have any fun!’

Carefully lifting one leg at a time and then another (he was heavy), she slid out from under and brought the lighter round. She felt his neck, and then his head. It was wet. She held her fingers up to the light. Blood glinted back at her. As she had touched him, something happened: ‘Why’s he glowing like that again? I thought he’d stopped.’

‘Yeah, ain’t that odd,’ said Feathers, thoughtfully. ‘Is … is he okay?’

If Nessa didn’t know better, she’d say there was just a hint of worry in the parrot’s voice. She tried not to show it in her own as she reached forward to try to wake him. ‘Nemo,’ she whispered again, squeezing his shoulder. ‘Can you hear me … ?’

***

Nemo could hear voices, calling to him in the darkness … His head throbbed. Thump-thump. His heart beat. Bum-bump.

‘Nemo …’ a voice called. ‘Ne-mo …‘

‘Nessa?’ he asked.

The voices went still for a moment. Whisperings in the darkness, faint twinklings like underground stars. He saw things, floating, fading in and out of his imagination in a way that didn’t quite make sense. A cloak of night … and fire. Glowing flames, in a fiery ring …

The voices called to him. And one voice in particular …

‘Nemo …‘

‘Polo,’ he said, dozily.

‘Nemo – is that your name … ?’

The voice became clearer, focusing in on him. It was a beautiful voice. And a lonely one … Why did things have to be like this, it seemed to say. Why won’t anyone talk to me … Be there with me, in the darkness of my deepest night …

He found himself whispering back, words that passed through his head without him knowing them …

The voice called again: ‘Neeeemo …’

***

In the ancient legends of the islands, there is an old verse that has survived in various forms to the present day. It runs as follows:

‘In her Halls of Sleep,

Cthoney lies dreaming,

Waiting for One Who Is Lost to set her free:

Once more to see the Sunlight,

Dawning o’er the Mountain.

To taste Soul Fruit and flowers’ scent,

To walk with her through the Garden …

… and the Ring of Fire …‘

Nobody’s quite sure what it means …

***

Nemo woke up. So beautiful and yet so alone …

He tried to open his eyes. A blurring face. Fire and flame. In the fires of a heart that has never stopped burning, fiercer than all the stars, yearning …

Something soft brushed his face. Set me free, mortal … and never die …

He blinked, confused, trying to separate the voices … ‘ … What is it with you and getting knocked on the head?’ Nessa was saying to him.

‘Huh?’ His vision seemed to clear. Golden hair, warm smile, slight sparkle about the eyes—

‘Glad to see you’re still with us.’ She looked at him uncertainly. ‘Nemo?’

He shook himself awake, felt the sudden throb in his head. Winced. ‘I …’

‘Yeah, you got a slight bump on the head on the way down. Just try not to do it again …’

‘Rawk! Time to be movin’! We still need to get outta here. C’mon, glow-boy, toots,’ Feathers said with a nod to Nessa, but she seemed to miss it, ‘we needs ta get going! Had ya forgotten all those mad islanders, tryin’ to kill us? Honestly, good thing ya both gots me to keep your minds on the job. Let’s go, let’s go,’ he finished, and then fluttered up onto Nessa’s shoulder. Nessa glanced at the parrot slightly uncertainly but didn’t try to shift him.

Only one way to go: They headed into the darkness.

***

‘It’s like the set of a movie …’ said Nessa, eyes wide, gazing around the tunnels.

‘Yeah …’ said Nemo. ‘Wait, they have those here?’

‘Uh, yeah …’ said Nessa. ‘Don’t they where you come from?’

‘Kids, kids, kids,’ said Feathers. ‘Concentrate. Booby-traps at every turn, spiked pits, rolling boulders, ceiling blocks that come hurtling down at you, and poisoned arrows that shoot outta the walls? Any of this ring a bell?’

Nessa looked at him, as he sat bobbing along there on Nemo’s shoulder.

‘What?’ said Feathers. Something about the intensity of Nessa’s gaze was making him nervous. He tried to change the subject. ‘Hey, is it just me or is it getting hot in here?’ He ran a fore-feather around the inside of a metaphorical collar. ‘Whew-ee!’

Nessa stopped, putting her hand out in front of Nemo. ‘You know, he’s right. I hate to admit it, but the feather-brain is right.’ She felt her shirt.

‘Feather-brain?‘ sputtered Feathers. ‘I’ll have you know, lady, that if it weren’t for me, you’d still be stuck in durance vile about to be thrown into a volcano— Mmmph. Hey, hey! Hands off the beak!’ But he didn’t quite dare to try nipping Nessa’s fingers, the way he would, say, Nemo’s. Something about the way she was looking at him just now told him it wouldn’t be a good idea.

‘Quiet, you,’ she said. ‘How close are we to the volcano –’

‘The name is Feathers, lady. And pretty close I should reckon. We musta fell a ways, and if ya listens real close there’s a sort of … rumbling … I didn’t likes ta mention it, or make anyone nervous, but hey, ya did ask.’

‘Hey, birdbr— Feathers,’ she said, carefully. ‘Come over here a moment. I want to talk to you. Nemo, don’t go anywhere, all right?’

Nemo nodded airily. She looked at him. The glow was getting worse. He was like a walking lightbulb. Er. Whatever one of those was …

She got Feathers over round a turn in the tunnel. ‘He’s getting worse.’

‘You said it, sister! Rawk!‘

‘Shhh. I don’t want him to hear us! It’s just … did you hear the way he was whispering when he was … sleeping? I couldn’t really make it out — but together with that glowing… Is something happening to him? Something to do with this place? And don’t you breathe a word about this to him. I don’t want him thinking I don’t trust him.’

‘Oh, I gets it. Just our little secret, right. Tell me, honeycakes, you been in the mermaid business long?’

‘What— I, oh … Honeycakes?’ She scowled.

‘Anyway,’ continued Feathers, moving swiftly on, ‘what we got here is a bit of a conundrum, like one of them mysteries of the sea. Like, suppose, you has one of them ships that floats into port … no crew, but all the table’s set out for a meal, candles still lit – and no one knows what’s happened … Like the — what was that ship called, the one that ran aground off the Sirens’ Triangle? — the something-something … the Lulu-Marie Celeste?’

‘Lulu-Marie?’ said Nessa. ‘That can’t be right.’

‘Oh, well, you would know, being a mermaid and all … But what I was trying to say was, you get places like this sometimes. Just like you get ghost ships, and Old Ones in the Hidden Deeps, seeking a return to this plane of existence …’ he intoned melodramatically. In the background, the volcano rumbled, as if on cue, like thunder echoing down to those very Hidden Deeps. ‘On the other hand,’ he continued, backing and filling, ‘maybe it’s just an interesting natural geographical feature and— Mmmpphh!’

‘This isn’t helping,’ she said. ‘This volcano’s still active, right? And it’s been rumbling a lot lately, hasn’t it? I’ve heard it. So we need to get out of here. I mean, these tunnels could leak. Maybe that’s why it’s getting so much hotter. Maybe the volcano’s about to erupt. So if we don’t want to end up in a river of lava, and you don’t want to end up as Parrot a l’Orange, we’d better come up with something constructive here.’

‘—Guess we just keep going,’ said Feathers. ‘Only … hadn’t we better go check on the kid—’

‘He’s not a kid,’ said Nessa heatedly, ‘he’s— Wait a minute …’ She stepped back round the corner. Sitting on her shoulder, Feathers sighed deeply. Nemo was gone.

From somewhere down in the tunnels ahead, she could hear voices, voices echoing with the sounds of things past trying to claw their way into the present (as Feathers might say), and, in the darkness, a strange clear note … And the temperature was still rising. Nemo, you idiot, if anything happens to you, so help me, I’ll …

No time for thinking, she ran ahead, Feathers gripping on tight to her shoulder and trying not to wince at impending descent or springing of things going squish, splat, or spike.

***

The tunnels split off multiple ways ahead. And, there were traps, only someone had triggered them and apparently gone by in one particular direction. It was how she could tell which tunnels to follow, quickly doubling back if there were no signs of disarmed traps ahead. In one of the corridors, it was the strangest thing, but there was a hat lying on the ground. With a whip. Huh. She wondered how long they’d been down there. Someone had apparently left them behind. She hoped they’d got out.

‘Hold it, hold it,’ said Feathers. ‘You hear that?’

A voice – Nemo’s, except somehow not – speaking soft and low, but surprisingly clear. It echoed through to them. ‘Deep in her prisoned sleep, the Lady lies dreaming …’

‘Follow that voice!’ said Feathers, urgently. ‘Trust me, if this is what I think it is, we better stop him before—’

But Nessa was already running, loping forward as fast as her legs would carry her. Nemo …

***

She skidded to a halt in a large open cavern. Nemo was there, glowing still, before some huge … altar? No … Yes. But not quite. It was complicated. Up above, a fissure in the rock let a beam of daylight through. Formations like huge drips of molten rock frozen in motion hung from the ceiling and around the cavern. Gemstones and jewels sparkled in them. Fiery lanterns, like the ones that had lit up the entrance hall before they’d fallen down here, burned with a fierce heat.

Nemo was stepping slowly, hypnotically, towards a bridge over a shallow channel. On the other side, a kind of raised dais with a stone plinth or bier on it – like a bed – and a stone figure in the shadows lying as if in sleep.

On the walls, glyphs and pictograms began to glow into shades of magma and lava, searing with incandescent heat. Refracted light sparkling off rubies and sapphires, emeralds and diamonds …

‘Madre de Pollo!’ whistled Feathers. ‘Will you look at that …’

From the direction of the bier on the dais, a voice, rich and feminine, flowed out over the cavern. Smouldering with long-banked fires. ‘I have been waiting, so lonely through the centuries … Will you be my hero, Wandering One – will you release me from my Endless Night?’

Nessa had a bad feeling about this. ‘Nemo!’

He wasn’t listening. He couldn’t hear her.

‘Kid, step away from the dais. Trust me on this … This is not good …’

‘Cthoney in her Halls of Sleep lies dreaming,’ intoned Nemo, drifting zombie-like towards the bridge, ‘waiting for One Who Is Lost to set her free …’ At the mention of the word Cthoney, the whole chamber rumbled and shook. Had that statue just moved, Nessa thought.

This had gone far enough. She ran forward and grabbed Nemo and tried to pull him back. ‘Feathers, do something!’ she cried.

She risked a backward glance. ‘Feathers?’

***

Feathers emerged struggling through the open fissure onto the ashy mountainside and scanned the horizon. Please, please, please, he thought … Bingo-bango, we’re in luck. He’d thought it might. Now, to find the right one … He scanned through the leaves quickly, but he couldn’t see … Oh. Well, beggars can’t be choosers. She’d just have to make do.

***

‘Feathers!’ Nessa called again. ‘I can’t hold him much longer. ‘He’s almost at the bridge! Feathers!’ Nemo was dragging them both ever nearer to the sleeping stone figure. It was a woman, beautiful in her feathered head dress and feather-decked costume. Her eyes closed as if in endless sleep, but as if troubled constantly by an uneasy dream. Her hands and feet were manacled with stone chains bound to the rock. A stone band with a stone lock was bound around her waist running into the rock of the bier. Someone had gone to an awful lot of trouble to make sure she stayed down here.

So this is volcano goddess, she thought. Someone must have worked ages to carve her so intricately. It was like— A suspicion dawned, and then it hit her. ‘Nemo. Nemo, please …’

But Nemo’s eyes were unseeing. He was glowing more than ever now. A fluttering from above caught her attention as Feathers the parrot struggled back through the fissure in ceiling ungainlily. A moment later, he flopped down heavily on her shoulder, with something that looked like a pear-shaped yellow-reddy lemon lodged in his mouth.. ‘Eat thif,’ he mumbled.

‘What!’

‘Ib’ll helf.’

‘Feathers,’ she said straining to keep Nemo from getting past her to the bridge. ‘I’m a little – busy – here.’

‘It’f ‘ur only chanfe.’

No time to hesitate. She grabbed the fruit from the bird’s beak. It came away and she bit into it, holding on to Nemo and pushing with her shoulder.

‘Keep going. I think you’ll need it all – it was the best one I could find.’

‘What is this?’ she said, chewing. But she could feel herself getting stronger. She took another bite. Nemo’s rate of movement was slowing. Another. She had him stready. She finished the strange fruit with a gulp and jerked Nemo back. ‘Right, mister, we are getting out of here.’

He tried to turn back towards the statue of the sleeping Cthoney.

‘Oh, no you don’t.’ She’d never felt like this before. As she pulled Nemo round again, with surprising ease, she grabbed him by his collar and drew him towards her. The sound of the slap she gave him made quite an echo through the cavern. Nemo opened his eyes.

‘Er, Nessa,’ he said. ‘Why are you glowing?’

She looked down at her hand, still stinging, but also glowing with a yellowish golden-red light. The same sort of light Nemo was glowing with, roughly. ‘Feathers …’ she said.

‘What? It got the job done didn’t it? No harm, no fowl — so to speak.’ He grinned at her.

Nemo glanced at Feathers, who was twitching again. ‘Feathers, have you been at the outayas again?’

‘I had to hold it in my beak to get it to her. Don’t look at me like that, you was about to wake up a dormant volcano goddess.’

‘I — what?’

‘Actually,’ said Feathers, ‘while we’re on the subject, should that statue be moving like that?’

On the bier, the stone Cthoney was restless and shifting. Glowing slits of light pouring out from about where her eyes would be. Beneath the little stone bridge over to the dais, lava seemed to be pouring in from somewhere, glowing as it flowed through the channel. Over the moving stone form, fiery lines of light seemed to be gathering and coalescing in an outline of something.

They turned to each other in unison: ‘Run!’

***

It’s surprising how quickly you can move through trap-infested tunnels when the alternative is being roasted alive in a molten-rock bath or, as it may happen, the reawakened avatar of a restless volcano goddess.

‘Rawk! Careful there! That one almost got me.’ A few feathers floated down behind them as if to prove the point.

‘Bird, if we don’t keep moving –‘ Whfft! — ‘our goose is cooked!’

There was light up ahead. Which was just as well, even though with the combined glows of Nemo and Nessa meant they hadn’t really needed the cigarette lighter when they were to see by. ‘Almost there …’

***

They emerged into the jungle at a dead run and kept moving. A little way further on, as the mwahaha (or perchance, the parrot) flies, they found themselves in a small clearing, where they tried to catch their breath.

‘We made it,’ Nemo said, panting. ‘Oh, hey, you’ve got a little – actually quite a lot of—’

‘You too,’ said Nessa, looking at her hands. ‘Guess it was all the smoke down there.’

Feathers, meanwhile, was looking around. He flapped up into a tree. Something was unsettling him. Nice enough place and all, flowers twining among creepers, a little overgrown perhaps, but almost like a little garden. Sun was shining, birds were— Oh. No, they weren’t, really, were they? Ah.

***

‘Thanks for—‘

‘Nessa, I—‘

‘No, you go—‘

‘No, it’s okay, you—‘

‘Rawk! Whi-hoo! Shiver me timbers! — run! — pretty Polly! Rawk!‘

‘What’s gotten into that bird now …’

***

Captain Argalos motioned to his men as they trod stealthily through the jungle. He thought they’d found them, the girl and the other one. It was difficult to be sure, but he was pretty certain there weren’t another pair on the island that looked quite like that – i.e., as if they’d been through a furnace and then gone swimming in a vat of smoke. He was man with a curious imagination at times, but there you are. He passed the signal to close in.

***

Nessa paused. Her attention had been caught by a bird. And not, for the first time in a while, a certain talking parrot. She thought it might be what they called a Bird of Paradise. It had big beautiful feathers, in so many different colours. Purples and pinks and yellows, orange, red, and gold, green and blue … In fact, the colours seemed to shimmer, changing as they went, almost glowing with different-coloured light and heat mist and … was that branch beneath its feet … smoking?

She shook her head. Probably just imagining it. Dehydration, that was what it was. Overheating. After all that time in the tunnels.

‘Say, we should find some water—‘

‘Don’t anybody move! We have you surrounded!

They turned together, suddenly back to back. Spear and arrow points seemed to sprout from the undergrowth.

‘I was afraid of that,’ she said. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the Bird of Paradise was no longer be there. Where it was, a couple of sets of claw marks smouldered.

‘At last, my love, I am free …‘

She spun them round, pulling Nemo flat to the ground as arrows and darts started flying — and then suddenly stopped. She dared to look up. Feet were walking towards her. A woman’s feet. And where they stepped, the jungle started giving off smoke and heat and little bursts of flame – which didn’t seem to affect even the trails of her flowing feathered dress in every colour of the rainbow (every colour of a Bird of Paradise, in fact) — or her tropical feathered mantle or head-dress, resting amid her long black hair.

For a moment, molten dark eyes flashed with fire and flame and all the heat of a volcano’s fiery heart. And she was looking, Nessa noticed, first at her, with something like curiosity – but always coming back to Nemo.

‘After endless years of dreaming,’ said the feather-decked fire lady, ‘Cthoney is free.’ She turned to the masked islanders around them, before letting her gaze fall on Nemo once again, with a long, slow smile, and a strange look in her eyes (if anything could be stranger than a fiery volcano goddess come to life, that is). ‘Prepare a wedding feast! And bring … my betrothed …‘ she said.

Nessa couldn’t hold it in any longer. ‘Your betrothed — you don’t mean— You leave him alone!’ she said, springing to her feet and towards Cthoney. A hand gripped her arm. A burning-hot hand. And those eyes looked into hers. She pulled away quickly, but not quick enough. She felt searing heat run through her arm. Cthoney was ridiculously strong, but lucky for her Feathers had got her that outaya. As she pulled away, there were charred holes in the sleeve of her shirt and a vivid hand-shaped patch of skin blistering up on her arm.

‘And bring this other one,‘ said Cthoney. ‘She may be … of service …’ The volcano goddess made a strange hand gesture over Nemo. Clutching her burnt arm, trying to fight back tears, Nessa watched him struggle to his feet, the glow that had suffused him flickering as he struggled with something internally. His eyes looked like he was fighting for control of himself.

‘Leave … her … be …’ he managed, though Nessa doubted if anyone else could make it out.

‘Patience, Beloved. Bring them!‘

The guards closed in.

Daylight, come, and carry my Beloved home …

***

Swaying upside down from a carrying pole, with your hands and ankles bound (again), gives a girl time to think. One of the things Nessa was thinking about was Nemo. And Cthoney …

Nemo, swaying upside down between another couple of bearers on the pole next to hers, tried to speak to her. ‘Nessa, are you all right, are you—‘

‘I’m not speaking to you,’ she said.

‘Nessa …’

But she didn’t say another word.

***

Dear Ma, she thought to herself. Well, here I am, in jail again … She kicked out and her boot hit a stone wall. A more solid and difficult-to-get-out-of jail than the last time. It wasn’t as if she’d even done anything. The witch doctress had shot her an evil look when she saw her again. Which felt the wrong way round, somehow. (How she could tell through the mask, she wasn’t sure, but just on general principles she was sure it was evil.)

This building she was in now seemed older somehow than the village, and as if it hadn’t been much used for a while.

A fluttering sound up above caught her attention. A beaked head peered in through carved stonework before descending.

‘Hey, birdbrain …’

‘Heya, yourself … I … brought ya something.’

‘Another outaya?’ she said, hardly able to keep the bitterness out of her voice. But it wasn’t directed at Feathers. She wasn’t even sure who it was directed at. Nemo? (She wouldn’t even say that fire thing’s name in her own head.) Herself?

‘No, it’s … well, that burn looked pretty bad before I took off there. I didn’t want to, ya understand, but I thoughts to myself, if one of us keeps free, he might be able to help the others escape …’

‘I’m not sure if you’re going to be able to help us this time, Feathers,’ she said, wiping her eyes on her sleeve with a sniff. ‘Anyway, lover-boy already brought me something for the burn, when he came in, under armed guard.’

Feathers noticed a pale green splat against the wall and a shattered jar beneath it. He also noticed how livid the burn was still, as if it hadn’t been used. It’s true, pride’ll kill you. But there were worse things …

‘Here, c’mon now, kid. Chin up. It ain’t over till it’s over.’ He fluttered awkwardly along, dragging a little green fruit with him.

‘I want it to be over,’ she said.

‘Oh, c’mon, now. That kid’s crackers about you, you can see it in his eyes—‘

‘I don’t care what he—‘

She felt a bird-like head and a spread wing against one knee.

‘Are you – trying to give me a hug?’

‘Ya looked like maybe ya could use it,’ said Feathers. ‘Only don’t tell nobody. I got a reputation to keep up, here.’

‘Not a soul,’ she murmured. ‘C’m’ere, birdbrain.’ She reached out to lift him up as he folded his wing in again.

‘Mind the feathers! Mind the feathers! Rawk!‘

‘Now, what do I do with this?’ she said, picking up the little green fruit the parrot had brought.

‘Just break it over the burn and rub it in. Should stop it going bad. Or at least from bad to worse. Ya gotta look after yourself. I don’t know how, but somehow we’ll make it. You, me, the kid.’

She put him down and broke open the fruit against her arm.

Then she huddled into the straw in the corner of the cell, a strange fruity smell tickling her nostrils as the fruit soaked into the burn. It felt a little less sore, at least. ‘Feathers … Can you … sit with me a while?’

‘Sure, kid. And don’t you worry, we’ll think of something.’

A hand reached out. A clawed foot rested on an outstretched finger. Occasionally, it shook.

‘Shhh. It’s all right. Goin’ to be all right …’

***

Vexila, A.K.A. the Witch Doctress, snarled, hurling a potion bottle into the flames. It burned with a sickly green tinge mixed with blue. After all these years of careful planning … After everything she’d done, everything (and everyone) she’d sacrificed, and some … goof comes and messes it all up at the critical moment.

They could have sent Cthoney to sleep for another thousand years, and she could have continued to rule. Now … a wedding … she was going to marry that … that … imbecile! Where had he even come from? And the girl was to be spared, apparently … for now …

I don’t care who you think you are, she thought, I own you. I rule here. And I will have that girl’s heart out and use her to send you back to sleep where you belong! But first, she’d have to do a little something about the stranger – the one they called “Nemo” … Far be it for her to predict the future, but it looked like the groom-to-be was going to have himself a little accident … A magical accident – the best kind. It would take some arranging. And she’d have to be careful. She couldn’t afford to challenge Cthoney directly. Not in a straight fight. But there were ways. Oh, there were ways, all right …

Nemo or whatever your name is, your days are numbered …

***

To Be Continued …

[Previous –> Part 6: Out of the Frying Pan.] [Next –> Part 8: The Mirror’s Eye.]

Once Upon a Spinning-Wheel (Part 6): Out of the Frying Pan

By Andrew Miller

Member

Andrew Miller

Website: https://www.awlmiller.com/.

| December 4, 2019

11 COMMENTS

Nessa woke with a start. She’d been having the strangest dream …

She glanced around the hut she was in. Outside, night had fallen, or near enough, and there was a cool breeze wafting in through barred bamboo windows. That, and her hands and ankles had been tied together by the islanders who’d taken her prisoner, bound tightly around with some sort of jungle creeper (which had so far withstood all attempts to gnaw, wriggle out of, or cut through it). Her head felt muzzy as she blinked more awake and tried to remember.

They’d been in the medicine woman’s hut. Nemo had just drunk that potion (she smiled slightly. Poor goof had been hit with so much magic he couldn’t remember his own name, and that was before the potion. Well, he didn’t know who he was anymore, so she’d called him Nemo “No One” because everyone should have a name at least.) Then the medicine woman had thrown something on the fire, and the fumes had started making her drowsy, and … the mask had come off — she wasn’t a medicine woman — and they’d walked into a trap.

Nessa kicked out angrily against one of the other pillars of the hut. Dammit!

She sighed, leaning back with her eyes closed. Nothing was ever simple.

***

In the jungle, the mighty jungle … Feathers the parrot bobbed jauntily up and down on the man called Nemo’s shoulder as he walked. ‘Wait, wait, stop here.’

‘Why?’

Feathers turned ’round and looked at him with a gleam in his eye. ‘Because I just spotted something, and I think I got an idea. Trust me, you’ll love it.’

***

‘Ya ready?’ said Feathers from up in the branches.

‘Yes, I’m ready. What’s all the—’

‘Just be sure you catch it, is all I’m saying: This is genius …’

There was a kind of beak-like snipping sound from up above, he reached out, and a lemon-shaped fruit fell into his hand.

‘A lemon? What happened to the genius plan?’

Feathers fluttered down and landed on his shoulder, shaking his head to one side and shuddering. ‘Don’t you know what that is? That’s an outaya. Answer to all your problems.’

‘It looks a bit like a gourd.’

‘How’d ya think it got its name?’ said Feathers, waggling his eyebrows. Nemo frowned. Could parrots do that? ‘C’mon, it’s a great idea. Let you shake off what the witch lady drugged you with.’

‘Which one?’ Nemo asked, and then despite himself, ‘… What else does it do?’

‘It’ll help you rescue that girl you mentioned …’ said Feathers, with the assurance of one laying down an ace. ‘Rawk!’

***

They were in the bushes near the edge of the village, on the low side of the volcano, watching a couple of sentries in brightly painted carved masks go by in the moonlight. He could hear the ocean from here. ‘Was that a pirate ship in the bay I saw earlier?’ he whispered.

‘Yeah, yeah, pirates.’ Feathers grinned at him. Strange, it never occurred to him to wonder how he did it. ‘Ya got the fruit? Now bite into it, and keep eating till ya feel it.’

Nemo sighed. He hadn’t got any shoes on, he was cold and tired — he bit into the fruit — and surprisingly hungry … He took another big bite and another …

‘Hey, steady on there!’ whispered Feathers urgently. ‘Not too— much …’ he trailed off as Nemo finished licking the last of the outaya juice off his fingers.

He felt good. Stronger. More in tune with his senses. Like something was building in him, like it was making a new man of him. For a moment a sudden burst of suspicion flashed across his mind and he grabbed hold of Feathers. ‘Wait a minute. Outaya? As in “out’a ya gourd”?’

‘What, don’t look at me like that — it’s great stuff, make you twice as strong, help you shrug off the poison,’ said the parrot, trying to struggle free.

Nemo noticed how Feathers’ eyes were swiveling a little and he was twitching. ‘Did you by any chance ingest some of this too?’

‘When I was snippin’ it off the branch for ya with my beak. Birds aren’t supposed to, but it kinda gets to you and—’

He let go. He felt great. Feathers was right. Good Feathers. He patted him on the head and nimbly dodged the nip of an annoyed beak. Outayas. He should have one for breakfast, every morning. Maybe two or three. Or five. He should take some seeds home with him. Only just now, he had something to do …

‘Wait, wait!’ hissed Feathers. ‘Not out in the open like that! It makes you stronger, not arrow-proof!’ He shook his head. Crazy kid! He was going to get himself killed. He jerked his head to one side. Say, this outaya was good stuff …

***

Simeo the sentry stood with his mask back, leaning against the privy wall, enjoying a quiet smoke. His spear rested against the wall beside him along with that of Vaxil, his co-sentry for the evening, who had had something disagree with him at dinner and was wrestling out the disagreement behind the door behind him with the crescent shape cut out of it.

‘There, there,’ said the Simeo, exhaling a stream of smoke into the night air as he tried not to listen to the retching sounds behind him. ‘Soon be over, pal. Say, do you think I should ask Matiki to the luau on Friday?’

‘Why ask me that now,’ said a queasy voice from behind the privy door. ‘I—’

‘Yeah, yeah, sorry, bad time … Still …’ He flexed his muscles. They were nice muscles. All the girls in the village thought so. He worked on them, toned them. He wished there was a mirror nearby. Lala and Sarassa, he thought. He could ask them to the luau. Apparently, the witch doctress had one of those new little magic mirrors that everyone was talking about, from the big islands. A man who looked as good as he did should have a magic mirror of his own, he thought … They said you could take reflections of yourself, so everyone could see how good you looked. And, you could talk to people on them and send them your, “self-reflections”, were they called? They even said that on the big islands you could get paid for standing around attractively while people pointed magic mirrors at you and took reflections of you. He’d like that. He’d like that a lot. They also said, on the big islands, they had indoor plumbing. Better not tell Vaxil, he might want to go too. Wait …

What was that rustling?

Did those bushes just move?

He looked down at the cigarette. They said these things were bad for you. Still, it wasn’t as if they were his, Vaxil had left his pouch hanging on the door next to his carved wooden mask, and, well … what did he expect?

He turned. ‘Vaxil, dude, are you nearly done in there? Only, some of us got work to do—’

***

Vaxil sighed and rested for a moment. Senora de Cthonos! Our Lady of the Lava! What was in that chilli! There was no rush to get back on guard was there? Besides, who was going to actually attack them? The pirates? They were all too busy combing their beards. Plus he happened to know because he’d heard it from one the witch doctress’s assistants that the Amazons were all off the island right now, off on some crazy crusade or something. Their war canoes had last been seen heading off into the distant sunset. And the witch doctress had ways of knowing that—

—Unfortunately, before he could learn more he’d had to go on duty. And then the chili had struck. Cthoney’s Revenge, as they sometimes called it. Only not too loudly, and not near the witch doctress or the big stone temple complex, and never round about now, he thought — as the volcano rumbled ominously in the distance. Uh-oh. Cthoney was vengeful, but merciful, but merciful, he hastened to add goddess, and worthy of respect, he thought fervently. The rumbling seemed to die down. Phew.

There was a little oil lamp hanging from the privy roof, casting a yellowish light. Huh, the new catalog from the big islands. Why hadn’t somebody told him? Something fell out of it. He held it up to the light and read: ‘WANTED, Mostly Dead or Slightly Alive’ …

‘… dude, are you nearly done in there?’ came Simeo’s voice from outside. Lady of the Lava, couldn’t a guy get over Cthoney’s Revenge in peace— Rumble. Uh-oh. He didn’t mean it, he didn’t mean it, honest! ‘Only,’ came Simeo’s voice again, ‘some of us got work to do—’ Thump. There were some heavy meaty sounds from outside, a brief gurgling – and then silence …

‘Simeo?’

No response.

‘Simeo, if this is another one of those practical jokes, it isn’t funny. And those better not be my smokes I smell out there. I told you about that before, dude.’ Tell ya, he thought, unlatching the door, when I get to the big islands, and the young ladies are all swooning over the handsome guy from the volcano island … ‘Simeo …?’

***

After it was all over, Vaxil was never keen to talk about what happened that night. But when the witch doctress’s assistants got him alone afterward and asked him about it — with the help of a firepit, a turning spit, and a big cauldron of Mama Witch Doctress’s special chili — this is what he said:

There was this … guy, and he sort of … glowed. And he didn’t have any shoes on. I mean, hey, even out here we have the latest sandles from the big islands — aaah, all right, all right! Anyway, he was dressed so strangely. And he just said, ‘Tell me where the mermaid is, or I’ll shove this spear so far up—’

(Apparently, Vaxil passed out at this point and had to be revived. But it was one heck of a black eye he had. ‘One punch. Knockout,’ he had muttered as he faded off.)

***

Nessa jerked awake guiltily. She must have dozed off. Aah. Her hands and feet had gone to sleep again. These bonds were too tight. Hard to move her legs. Pins and needles … What was that? She froze — and listened. There was a fluttering behind her, and a kind of scratchy sound followed by a rustling. She tried to peer her head round the post. A … creature was shuffling in through the bars on the window. It hopped down on to the floor and fluttered over to her.

‘The bird flies at midnight,’ it said mysteriously.

‘What—’

‘The bird flies at midnight,’ it repeated and swiveled its head. ‘Yowzer, but that outaya’s good stuff!’

She hung her head. She was going mad. She was hallucinating. Maybe it had been that fumy stuff the witch doctress had thrown into the flames …

‘Now hang in there, dolly, we’re bustin’ ya out of here,’ said Feathers. ‘Rawk!‘

‘Who are you? What are you?’ Then she thought about it a second. ‘Dolly?’ she said, dangerously.

‘Name’s Feathers, but you can call me–‘ he glanced at her, ‘–anything you like, actually. Rawk! Help is on the way! Now, hold still,’ he said angling his beak, ‘and let’s see if we can get ya untied …’

She held still. Best not to argue with a hallucination, especially if it might get her bonds cut. She paused. Had that bird just waggled its eyebrows at her … ?

The vines fell away from her wrists. ‘Up-si-daisy! There ya go, now we’re cookin’ with charcoal,’ said the parrot, hopping down to free her feet. ‘How d’ya like them coconuts, huh?’ he continued, apparently to himself, as Nessa tried to rub a bit of life back into her hands. Then she heard something else. A tapping, as if a-rapping, tapping at her prison door …

It was playing ‘Shave and a Haircut, Two Bits’.

‘Sounds like a signal,’ said Feathers conspiratorially, dragging away cut creepers as she stretched her legs out and then fell sideways. ‘Er, I’d get clear of the door if I was you. I think he’s a had a little much …’

‘A little much what?’ she said, scrabbling painfully to one side.

‘You’ll see,’ said Feathers, just as the door exploded inward and shattered against a pillar, which snapped and brought half the roof in with it. As the dust cleared, standing there with his leg out in a kung-fu pose, was Nemo. In the distance, there were shouts and cries as the noise attracted attention.

Feathers sighed and somehow contrived the birdlike equivalent of putting a hand against his eyes and shaking his head. ‘I only told the kid to kick the ruddy door in! Rawk!’

***

Nessa shook off whatever the tropical equivalent of half a thatched roof was and spluttered away some stray straw. ‘Nemo? I … hardly recognized you …’ And she didn’t. He was walking taller, he had this … and he … she’d never noticed him quite like that before …

‘Yeah, the kid does have that glowy effect going on,’ said Feathers. ‘Tell ya what, boys and girls, this is nice and all, but I think we’d better am-scray before the annibals-cay catch up with us, eh?’

‘Can you move? Did they hurt you — if they did, why I’ll—’

A hand gripped his wrist, another touched his cheek. ‘Nemo,’ she said firmly, ‘I’m fine — I’m okay. But the talking hallucination is right, we’d better—’ she staggered as her legs gave way – grabbed out to stop herself falling – grabbed on to Nemo … The circulation to her feet was still cut off, no way she could run like this. And then she realized she had her arms ’round Nemo’s neck — looking up into his eyes … Nemo had nice eyes, she found herself thinking—

‘Rawk! Trouble on the way,’ called Feathers, fluttering up onto Nemo’s other shoulder. ‘Grab the girl and run, Forrest, run!’

‘Hold on tight!’ said Nemo as he lifted her up, and started sprinting away into the night. Not even the fact that he was carrying a well-built young lady (plus talking parrot) seemed to slow him down. What had gotten into him?

‘He must be out of his gourd …’ she said, wonderingly, as arrows and poisoned darts whistled through the air around them.

‘You said it!’ said Feathers happily. Only, a dim and distant part of his brain had started to ask, should they be running towards the volcano … ?

***

To be continued …

[Previous –> Part 5: The Limey and the Coconut.] [Next –> Part 7: Lure of the Lava Lady.]

Once Upon a Spinning-Wheel (Part 5): The Limey and the Coconut

By Andrew Miller

Member

Andrew Miller

Website: https://www.awlmiller.com/.

| December 1, 2019

11 COMMENTS

I lay back in the firelight and tried not to be sick. Which wasn’t easy. Nessa had conspired to get me to a “medicine woman” – which seemed to be a polite way of saying “witch doctress”. When I’d tried to point this out, Nessa had shushed me with a well-placed elbow to the stomach. It doesn’t pay to offend the only person with a knowledge of magic and potions for miles around.

The medicine woman wore a carved painted mask with red curving lips and big stylised uptilted eyes. It looked disturbingly feminine. And the way she looked at me through the slitted eyeholes was plain disconcerting. Hungry, almost … She swayed about the place like someone who was used to not hobbling around in baggy robes and stirring potions over smoky indoor fires, and I couldn’t work out why that was bothering me.

I looked woozily up at Nessa who was sat leaning against a pillar of the hut nearby, ‘Are you sure we’re in the right place?’ I’m not sure how well it came out because my voice tends to get all slurry when I’m like this anyway, let alone when I’ve been gently but firmly fed a potion I’m assured has not got alcohol in it, not even a teensy-weensy wee drop. Could have fooled me. That and it was served in a coconut with the top taken off and had a slice of lime perching on the rim. Maybe I was just the suspicious sort.

‘Hush,’ Nessa said. ‘Let the medicine work.’ Yeah, medicine … Did anyone else hear drums?

‘Anyone ever tell you you’re a funny kind of a mermaid,’ I tried to say. But I’m not sure if she heard me or if it even came out as anything other than the doped-to-the-gills mumbling equivalent of ‘You’re my best friend in the whole wide world, you know that? Here’s to ya!’.

‘Shhh, just rest.’ There were definitely drums, though … and animal noises in the undergrowth outside the walled enclosure around the hut. The medicine woman lived apart from the rest of whatever tribe or village was out here. What that said about how terrified any monster or predator must have been of her, I didn’t like to think. I just lay back smiling to myself, listening to the sound of the drums, just some poor sap who’d had a drink from a suspicious coconut with medicine in it … You take the Limey and the coconut, you … Wait? What were all those noises? I couldn’t seem to move … in fact, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t see, either. What was going on … Were those screams? Soon, even that thought, pinned in my mind like a butterfly to a cork, faded into the drowsy, fumesome, smoke-laden night …

I woke up as cold early-morning light fell through an open window of the hut. I was cold and shivery. The fire had long since died down to ashes and gone out. Which was odd. Where was the medicine woman? And where was Nessa?

A weary certainty seemed to dawn in my mind: I had a bad feeling about this. I blinked and tried to push myself up off the reed mat I was lying on and succeeded only in turning myself awkwardly half onto my side.

The hut door was lying flat on the ground. Things were a mess in here. There must have been one heck of a struggle. Things broken, powders and liquids everywhere … A forlorn-looking coconut shell lay crushed on the ground along with the squashed remains of a lime. The only sounds, a few squawks from the undergrowth and … wait … something else. What was that in the distance?

It was one of those cold mornings that semi-tropical islands in bent-out-of-shape fairy-tale worlds mysteriously seem to get from time to time. There was the chill of pre-dawn and the beginnings (or remains) of a fog lying trailing along the ground. The gates to the enclosure were wide open to the – I guess you’d call it a jungle. And there was no one to be seen. Eerie …

That was when I noticed the arrows and the poisoned darts, the scuffed up ground, the signs of someone being dragged – kicking, screaming, and fighting tooth and nail, by the look of it – away into the night. I shivered again. A cold sweat trickling down my back. Somewhere in the numbness that was my head a voice kept saying, Please be okay, please be okay … I realised it was mine. I followed the trail until faded it into the undergrowth, but it seemed to vanish.

My head swam as I leaned back against a tree, just to catch my bearings, you understand – not to stop from falling over or anything. I couldn’t see clearly enough to tell where they’d gone. But I could still hear. For want of anything better I turned back and listened.

It wasn’t much of a lead, but it was the only one I had. It led me to a strangely steaming pool, almost perfectly round, surrounded by rocks and tan-coloured sand. It had a small waterfall pouring into it. Here and there, little lumps of porous stone littered the ground. From somewhere behind the waterfall, there was an oddly musical sound. It sounded like someone was singing in the shower.

‘If yoouuu were the only giirrl in the worrrld, and I were the only boyyy …‘ It came out all gurgly through the splashing falls. ‘Singin’ in the bath tub … ruffling a few feathers …’

I stepped closer, careful not to make a sound. Maybe whoever it was had seen something, could help me on the trail. I hoped. I didn’t like to think what might have …

‘What good would common sense for it doooooo …’

‘Um, excuse me, please, but I wondered—’

There was an outraged spluttering behind the falls, as if some of the faintly steaming water had gone down the wrong way. ‘Rawk! Who goes there! I mean … Look, I know you guys told me not to use the falls …’ A feathered, beaked head peered out from behind a rock. Water was dripping off it. ‘Say, you don’t look so good …’

‘A parrot?’ I said. ‘You’re a parrot.’

‘Give that boy a cigar and a key to the banana plantation,’ said the parrot, ruffling its feathers and shaking off water in my general direction. ‘Name’s Feathers. Pleased ta meetcha.’ It extended a soggy wingtip towards me.

And that was how I found myself shaking hands with a talking, singing, sopping-wet parrot.

‘But what … What were you doing under the waterfall—’

Feathers the parrot tilted his beaked head onto one side. ‘Kinda slow, ain’t-cha? ‘S all right. You probably can’t help it. Like, maybe you was dropped on the head when you was small … Or more recently,’ said the bird, looking me over and somehow waggling its eyebrows. ‘I was having a bath. Only … Well, the Amazons, they don’t like it when I use the facilities. They say it’s not hygienic – I mean, I ask you …’

I just kind of swayed on the spot looking at him. ‘Amazons?’

‘Yeah. You know, female warrioress-ess-es – they live out here. On this island. Only, a word to the wise, don’t get on their bad side – I seen that happen once. Not pretty …’ Feathers grimaced, shaking his head. Then his expression clouded over and he glanced quickly downwards. ‘Still, couldn’t-a happened to a nicer pirate.’ He spat.

And that was when I noticed that there was something wrong with the parrot’s legs. There were sores around them, just above his clawed feet. Almost like he’d been wearing tiny manacles …

‘Anyway …’ he said, ‘I haven’t seen them around for a while, see, so I thinks, Feathers, this is your chance. The pool’ll have washed out by the time they get back – so where’ s the harm, I ask you?’

I nodded slowly.

‘Right, right. Hey, sit down, sit down,’ said the bird generously. ‘You look dead on your feet. Only, be careful, some of them other guys around here see you, they’d grab ya – no questions asked. We gots all sorts, just on this one stinkin’ little island. Amazons, pirates, and don’t even get me started on those jerks up by the volcano … I’m tellin’ ya, some people just ain’t right … Luring people in with a phony “medicine woman”, pah! Who’d be dumb enough to fall for that …’

‘Uh …’

Feathers eyed me. ‘So it’s like that, is it.’ He sighed. ‘At least ya got away. It’s their big ceremony coming up and they been scouring the island for victims. I wouldn’t want ta be a live human, right now, I tells ya. No, sir. Why, if I was human, though, I’d show ’em. You bet I would— Hey!’

I’d grabbed hold of Feathers with both hands. ‘Victims?’

‘Watch the feathers, watch the feathers. I just got clean.’ Feather sniffed. ‘Say, uh, pal, you know, seein’ as the Amazons ain’t around at the moment, you could do with a bit of a bath yourself, you know what I’m sayin’?’

‘What ceremony?’ I asked, my voice tense.

‘Oh, right, that. Well, it’s kinda gruesome, really. They ties people up in a bamboo cage and lowers them down over the lava on a vine … But don’t worry – you’re still here. Anyway, if they’d caught you, they’d probably just eat’cha. It’s only the young ladies— Hey, buddy, are you all right?’

I had this horrible sinking feeling. Nessa …

I told Feathers everything. Or as much of everything as I could remember or bring to mind. I don’t process so good when things get on top of me like this. By the time I’d finished, the sun had started peering over the horizon.

‘Can you take me to them?’ I asked. ‘To where they’ve got Nessa. Do you know where they’d be?’

He looked at me. ‘There’s a lot of them, you do know that, right? Dozens and dozens. They’ve got spears and poisoned darts and knives and bows and arrows. They eat people. They throw them into volcanoes, they— Aww, who am I fooling …’

‘So you’ll do it? You’ll help me?’

Feathers sighed. ‘The things I get myself into … Rawk!’

To be continued …

[Previous –> Part 4: A Date with Death] [Next –> Part 6: Out of the Frying Pan.]

A Valhallan Interlude, Part 3: Smokey Bourbon Blues

By Andrew Miller

Member

Andrew Miller

Website: https://www.awlmiller.com/.

| November 26, 2019

7 COMMENTS

The horse’s ears flattened down on instinct. He knew that voice. He knew that silhouette … Not here. Not now. He leaned down to the girl in brass next to him, and said out of the corner of his, admittedly, long-muzzled mouth, ‘When I give the word, run. This is no time for heroics. We need to get out of here … Hey, are you listening?’

‘Naughty-naughty, horsey!’ said the figure in the doorway, stepping in out of the storm. Heavy raindrops ran down her biker’s leathers and dripped onto the floor as she walked. Behind her, more figures, also in bikers’ leathers, stepped through. (Just knew this was a bad idea, the horse was thinking.) The woman in the lead pulled off her helmet and shook her hair out with, it seemed to the horse, a gratuitous amount of flourish. It didn’t seem quite so gratuitous to some of the people standing around in the bar. In fact, some of them were now standing with their mouths open. Swan maidens tended to have that kind of effect on people. And particularly, swan maidens who’d, so to speak … gone to the bad. This was not good.

He was just about to say to Helheim with it, scoop up his Valkyrie charge, and make a break for it, when more black-clad figures emerged from the doorway behind the bar, and through from the kitchen. Hey, he thought he’d locked that door … That just wasn’t playing fair …

‘You weren’t thinking of going anywhere, were you, horsey? Not away from little ol’ me?’ drawled the woman with the voice like bourbon-laced cigarette smoke running over swan’s feathers, a voice that somehow bubbled up through its owner’s voice-box to give an effect more than itself. ‘We have so much catching up to do, you and I … And you can introduce me … Who’s your little friend? As if I didn’t know already …’

The girl in brass — would-be Valkyrie, and swaying slightly after consuming quite a quantity of mead in the last little while — turned to the horse and spoke in an undertone that somehow managed to carry further than she meant it to, ‘Horse … Who is this?’

‘Don’t say he’s forgotten me,’ the dark swan maiden crooned. Behind her, her gang was already spreading out, sealing off the exits. ‘And after all I taught him, too … Ah, such is ingratitude in this weary, cynical world …’ she added with a theatrical sigh.

Careful not to say his friend the Valkyrie’s name, because there were things someone sufficiently motivated with a knowledge of dark magic — like, say, an anarchist rogue swan maiden with a penchant for biker’s leathers — could do with that, he said, ‘You know how I said I had a few bad experiences before coming to you?’

The girl in brass nodded. ‘Mmm. Yes?’

‘Well this is one of them. Meet Cygna … my last rider …’

She looked to a part of the horse’s back which, if you didn’t know what you were looking for, was easy to miss. ‘She the one who—‘

‘Yep, that’s the one.’

‘And the—‘

‘Yep. Also her.’

‘With the … — and the—‘

‘Yes, yes. That’s her. Evil harpy swan queen of the nether reaches. Please … I’m begging you, we have to get out of here. No, wait—‘

The girl in brass was already striding forward. Several of the dark swan maiden’s goons stepped up menacingly as she did so. She looked grim as she stopped within a few feet of her. ‘Seems to me, you and I should have a little talk about the proper care of talking horses.’

Cygna just smiled, running a hand through her hair. Several fascinated male pairs of eyes watched breathlessly. Men were so easily led sometimes … And then she started … laughing? ‘Is that what you think he is? Well, far be it for me to disillusion you, darling. I’ll just take my horse now and be on my way. We have such plans for him … Don’t we, horsey, darling?’

The horse, who, out of politeness and because he’d just been bought a bucket of beer, had been sitting on his haunches, tried to back up and knocked into the bar.

His imploring eyes reached out to the girl in brass. Please, they seemed to say, I’m begging you. Come away.

‘And it’s no use your making horse-eyes at the little Valkyrie wannabe like that, horsey. And, yes, I know who she is. And,’ she said glancing at the horse, ‘what she is.’ She smiled.

‘Run!’ shouted the horse. ‘Just get out and run. Don’t worry about me.’ He was on his hooves again, pawing at the ground, ready for the charge. ‘Go!’ he said again.

The girl in brass looked puzzled, and slightly hurt, and as if she was trying to catch up with what was going on. One thing was clear, though. They were trying to take her horse. They were going to hurt her friend. She swung.

Unfortunately, Cygna, never one to let an opportunity for treachery go by, was swinging first. ‘Grab the horse!’

Neiggghh!

The girl in brass turned. The goons behind the bar had thrown some sort of net over the horse. He was struggling like mad. She turned further to try to go towards him, and paid for her distraction as a biker-glove-clad fist smashed into her jaw. She went down like a bag of brass hammers.

A lot of things seemed to happen at once, it dazedly occurred to her as she tried to pick herself up again.

Cygna reached out with her other hand with a weird gesture, the net around the struggling horse, surrounded by black-clad goons, suddenly seemed to glow with a painful white light. The horse sagged, drooping before her eyes. He gave her one last imploring look as if to say, Go! For the love of God, go!

And then something else seemed to happen at the same time, something funny. Their gazes met, and she … saw something. Just a flash of something — bright and shining forth … and then it was gone. And she wasn’t even sure what she had seen.

Then he just … went. It was no longer a being who could talk to her. The eyes just went blank, and empty. As if he was just a wild animal again. Horse …

The horse had always been a wise-ass, a pain in the neck … her friend. But as the light died out of his eyes, it was like he wasn’t there anymore. Somewhere inside, her heart was screaming. She could hear a wobbly metallic sound and realised through blurred, wet eyes — as if from far away — that it was because she was shaking and it was rattling her armour …

Also at around about the same time — because you can’t start a fight like that in a room full of proud, well-brought-up people, whilst obviously trying to pull some sort of evil shenanigans, without someone noticing — people started fighting back.

The bartender had slid over the bar-top with some kind of wooden club in his hand, and some of the other not-so-easily-led men were moving towards Cygna and her goons. She just laughed girlishly, raising an outstretched palm in front of her, crooning some sort of dark song in a language that girl in brass couldn’t make out, but seemed to thrum with old runes and Viking sagas and even — the girl in brass sniffed suspiciously — opera: the men stopped in place, swaying with vacant looks on their faces.

Cygna’s goons were dragging the horse, half unconscious and on his side, along in the magic net. Which seemed to suggest they were pretty darn strong. She looked around wildly for any kind of an opening in the chaos that was opening up.

‘Oh, little Val-kyrie!’ called a voice. Cygna! She turned. ‘Too late, darling. Thanks for the horse! I promise I’ll take very good care of him … But then, I’ve never been one for keeping my promises … See you at the apocalypse!’ She heard a thump behind her, and turned to see the horse being dragged through the kitchen doors. Everything was happening too fast!

A woman in biker’s leathers like Cygna’s stepped up to her with a smirking smile, raised a hand, and blew some sort of blue dust in her face. What the … Others, similarly dressed, were throwing flaming rags and bottles onto the ground. People were screaming. And … why was the ground swaying like that … Ugh … A noise like tinkling brass cymbals filled the room. She found herself giggling abstractedly to herself: Ladies and gentlemen, the evil swan maidens have left the building! Thank you! And goodnight …

***

She woke up outside in the pouring rain. The worst of the storm had apparently departed with the swan maidens. But they’d gotten away, and they’d taken her horse … And who knew what they were going to do to him?

She hadn’t been in the Valkyrie game long, but she had a really, really bad feeling about all of this: Clearly magical creature with hidden importance, seized by seriously mysterious bad guy with evil plans … Not good. And what had been that bit about “See you at the apocalypse” …

People had managed to put most of the fires out, and they’d seemingly gotten out mostly okay. A few people had probably had to go to the hospital, which was about as lucky as you got, she supposed, in the circumstances.

Someone must have dragged her outside, and there she sat, half kneeling in the rain, clutching her sides as raindrops rolled down brass plates and dripped into a puddle in front of her, leaving ripples that shimmered in the neon and the moonlight … That was one thing at least … nobody could tell whether the water running down her face was raindrops, or tears …

Horse …

To be continued … ?

[Previous –> A Valhallan Interlude, Part 2: A Need for Mead] [Next … ?]

Once Upon a Spinning-Wheel (Part 4): A Date with Death

By Andrew Miller

Member

Andrew Miller

Website: https://www.awlmiller.com/.

| November 25, 2019

12 COMMENTS

Life is full of surprises. Here today, gone tomorrow – one moment you’re stepping in front of a magic trident meant for someone else, the next you’re lying passed out waiting for the tide to wash you away … At least, that’s how I found myself when I woke up, darkness drawing in and the sea lapping at my toes – and only then did I realise: someone had stolen my shoes. D’y’ever have one of those days? At least I had my positive attitude, there was that. And pins and needles – aaagh!

Manfully, I staggered on up the beach by the light of the setting sun, looking disconsolately down at my bare footprints in the sand and shivering to blazes with the cold sea winds chafing at my still-damp clothes. Everything hurt, my head, my heart – here I was with nothing – no life, anything, feeling like it was never going to work out for me. I was concussed, half-drowned, half-dead, bone-weary, ensorcelled, and up the creek without a paddle. But I still had my positive attitude! I had a curse to beat (my hand was still throbbing from that spindle cut), a band of vengeful sirens to avoid, a snake-tongued sorceress not to be killed by, and a growing list of to-dos that made it look like each passing moment I kept walking around was a minor miracle. (“Ya see, son, that’s that positive attitude right there! You’re not listenin’, son, I say, you’re not listenin’. Nice kid, but a little stuck in his ways, you know what I’m sayin’?”)

Okay, start with the possible: Finding the missing mermaid – about so tall, golden-green blonde hair, answers to the name of Nessa – and, oh, yes, she’s got the nicest smile I have ever seen in my life. Right, glad we’ve got that straight. Now I just had an island to search and hope she was even still here. I was fairly sure she hadn’t gone with her former friends (the aforementioned vengeful sirens, led by a redhead named Lyra, who hated my guts and would cheerfully have them for garters given half the chance). So what did that leave?

I’d noticed that Lyra had scooped up a trident that I’d presumed had belonged to Nessa, before shimmering back into the sea in mermaid form and swimming off. Were those tridents important somehow? I vaguely recalled something about how some mermaids needed magical artefacts to assume the traditional fish-tail-and-clamshell-bikini form hallowed by history. Did that mean Nessa was as stuck on this island as I was? Of course, at that moment, as if on cue, I heard a plaintive scream – as of, “Help! I’m being attacked by monsters! Help! (Did I mention the monsters?)”. Without thinking, I was dimly aware of some foolhardy soul running towards the sound of the screaming. Someone needed my help.

***

Running barefoot on a strange island in the dark is apparently a good way to break a leg — I made it somehow, though. Over sand, over rocks, past wind-twisted trees, until I came to a sort of natural rocky hollow, walled in on all sides by sheer cliffs. Some over-active part of my back brain chose this moment to cut in with a little overthinking: Just how well did I really know this girl, anyway? In fact, we hadn’t really even been formally introduced. So why was I rushing to risk my life for her? How did I know this wasn’t all some elaborate trap set up by my old friend the snake-lady. Or just the sirens’ way of amusing themselves? Get some poor sap to fall for a girl with a nice smile, lure him in, and then, “Bingo-bango, that’s good barbecue!” …

… Sometimes I think my brain doesn’t like me very much …

… Anyway, I skidded through into the hollow, juddering to a halt on one foot like a cartoon rabbit, and – well, I found the source of the screaming. I stopped, and looked on in quiet awe.

On all sides, bearded and moustachioed pirates (I assume they were pirates, they had the look) were running around in circles, trying desperately to get away. Several lay writhing on the ground, keening in agony, or else feigning unconsciousness. I had to brace myself not to be knocked over by the rush as they fled, pushing past me to the narrow opening in the cliff walls, dragging fallen comrades as they went.

‘Arr! This be no fair! I grews the beard fer the ladies, and the ladies show me no appreciation!’

‘And these shoes don’t fit at all!’ complained another, whose footwear seemed vaguely familiar somehow.

The only way was forward. Unfortunately, that turned out not to be so good for my health:

‘Hiiieeee-yaa!’ A flying kick took me out at about chest height. Ooof!

‘Hiya, yourself,’ I tried to croak from somewhere on the ground, but for some reason all the wind seemed to have gone right out of me. That, and there was an arm across my throat, a knee on my chest, and a tree-branch club raised over my head to make me go night-night if I showed any signs of giving trouble.

‘You too? You want some – huh, pal?’

I lightheadedly noticed the glimmer of golden-green hair in the bad light. Time seemed to go funny. I couldn’t seem to say anything … In my weakened half-dead condition, I figured I had about three seconds before I was heading for a big light at the end of a long tunnel. ‘N—’ Nessa, I tried to say. Couldn’t breathe. Getting lightheaded. No oxygen left in lun— …

‘No? Then why did you— Oh, it’s y …’

I felt the pressure ease, but my chest had gone numb. A trickle of air seemed to be trying to get past my windpipe but not having much luck. What a way to go …

***

Death wasn’t what I expected. Or rather, that is to say, Death wasn’t quite who I expected. Let me explain: In most worlds, real or skewed into a bad corner of imagination and misbegotten fairy tale, Death – the Grim Reaper, the Final Curtain, the Big Enchilada— … I’m not explaining very well, am I?

Well, let’s just say I’ve encountered the idea that in some worlds, Death has become someone who, although unwavering, has begun to feel and care for those he ushers into the next world. “He” being the operative word, if you see what I’m saying— Gawrsh, this is kind of embarrassing … He was a she: Death was a lady. And … well, I overthink enough for that to not be entirely unexpected, I just never considered that …

‘Hello …’ said a voice that made my heart go pitter-pat. The voice belonged to a young woman in a long hooded cloak, white shirt, slacks that could have been cut out of the midnight sky, and long folded-top boots that trod the immortal measure through time and space.

‘Hey, mister,’ she said gently, although there was a smile in her voice when she said it, ‘I’m up here.’ I looked up – dreading what I might see – to find a girl, about my age, shaking her hair out. Her long, glossy, red hair. What is it with me and redheads – and why are they always trying to kill me? Don’t answer that.

‘Oh, I’m not trying to kill you,’ she said.

‘Can you read minds?’ I blurted out.

‘I recognise the look.’ She seemed … amused, and also, keen to put me at my ease. ‘Relax,’ she said. ‘Sit down. Take the weight off. Have a cup of tea.’

I stared, slack-jawed. Look, don’t look at me like that. I’m human – and it’s kind of a confusing situation and—

‘Wait – you said not trying to kill me … Does that mean I’m not dead?’ Something in my head was fighting for attention. ‘Did you say tea?’ (What can I say? I’m not made of stone — I couldn’t remember the last time I had a cup of tea.) I finally paused enough to look around me a little.

I was in a garden – there was a scythe leaning up against one wall (’ulp) – and it was almost literally filled with flowers. Roses overflowed their borders with sheer vibrant colour and life. Sea-lavender waved gently in the breeze. Jewel-coloured everlasting-flowers glowed in the twilight … Welcome to the Land of the Setting Sun, I thought. Or was that sun rising? There was a table on a gravel path, set for tea. I looked back at Death – wait, this was ridiculous. ‘Um, excuse me, Miss,’ (you bet I capitalised it – pretty redhead or not, Death is Death, and it never hurts to be polite). ‘I don’t mean to be rude, but do you have a name?’

Death paused for a moment. Hesitated, actually, I’d say if I didn’t know any better. As if she wasn’t really expecting the question. ‘A name?’ she said eventually. ‘I’d have thought you knew who I was already.’

‘No, but I mean—‘

She said quickly, ‘Aren’t you keen to know if you’re still alive?’

Well, that got my attention.

‘In answer to your first question,’ she reached out, feeling the air, staring into the distance as if watching some far-off scene—

—for a moment I was looking at a vague figure on the ground, a flash of spun green-gold floating in the air above him, and something else like a glow of light …—

‘—Hey!’ she said. ‘No peeking!’ Before it had a chance to resolve itself into anything more definite, the scene vanished. I found Death looking at me with her head turned on one side for a moment, before resuming, ‘Reasonable chance – could go either way. Ask again later.’ She caught my expression. ‘But probably – this time, anyway … Now, will you pour, or shall I?’

***

On the wrought-iron table, was a steaming teapot and two of the daintiest little cups and saucers I’d ever seen, inlaid with patterns of roses and … I peered closer … scenes from my recent adventures. Okay, that wasn’t weird at all. Not even a little bit.

It reminded me of those old Greek amphorae they used to dig up: There was one of me being dangled over the parapet by the snake queen, only the artist had stylised it so that she looked a bit more like Medusa. Then there was one of me stepping in front of Lyra’s trident (which had gone all glowy at the end — I didn’t remember that …)— I looked away. I probably didn’t want to see the rest. ‘What are these?’

‘Scenes from your life. I must say, you do cram it in, don’t you? Would you do the honours?’ She gestured to the teapot.

‘Eh? Oh.’ I picked up the teapot — and nearly put my back out. It was indescribably heavy. ‘What’s in this thing!’

‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,’ said Death, her voice carefully blank. Then, she winked at me.

I sighed. What did I have to lose? I poured the tea. ‘Milk and sugar?’ I asked, lowering the world’s heaviest teapot, carefully, back onto the table. How did it take the weight?

‘Please.’ Death smiled at me again. She had a very distracting smile. (It seemed quite unfair that anyone should manage the lipsticked equivalent of a Cheshire Cat grin fading through the air while she was still there, and whilst also looking amused – probably at my expense – and curious and bright-eyed and generally confusing the heck out of me.)

‘Say when,’ I said. Figures, first time in I didn’t know how long that I get to sit down and spend time with a girl my age, and she was Death. My life … which, now I came to think of it, probably still hung in the balance.

Apparently, Death liked her tea strong, sweet, and with plenty of milk – except, I was fairly sure, it was no ordinary tea – and I had my suspicions about the milk and sugar, too. For one thing, the milk seemed to shimmer and echo with reflections of music and laughter and something I couldn’t quite define. The sugar, now the sugar almost glowed in the light, smelling of meadow-sweet flowers and honey and … ‘Thank you,’ the redheaded Death said, taking the cup and saucer from me. There was a faint musical ting-ing sound that echoed into the air around me as she stirred it with her spoon. I added milk and sugar to my own cup and sat down.

I looked at her, one moment sniffing a rose contentedly, the next twining the handle of her teaspoon through a lock of hair. She caught me looking and sort of smiled back uncertainly. And in that moment I couldn’t help but realise something. Death – the End, the Last Call, the Great Goodnight – was as lonely as I was. It’s kind of hard to be afraid or intimidated by someone when you catch a glimpse of the human being underneath.

‘I haven’t poisoned that tea you know,’ said a voice after a few minutes. I looked down, and saw I had my teacup raised to my lips. The girl in front of me (it was hard to think of her as just Death anymore) raised her own cup and took a sip, leaning back with a contented sigh. ‘Just right,’ she said. ‘You make a good cup of tea.’

‘Thank you,’ I trailed off. ‘Can I ask you a question?’

‘You’re wondering if time is passing where you left your body. The answer is … complicated. I can stretch time a little while longer, but when you get back, you won’t have been gone long. Does that answer your question?’

I nodded slowly, suddenly not sure I’d even had a question.

‘Well, aren’t you going to drink your tea then?’

If this was some kind of cosmic ambush meant to trap my soul in limbo or something, it seemed a funny way of going about it. I took a sip — and was immediately transported. I won’t say I was in heaven, but I was suddenly a long way from hell: It was like all my aches and pains, all the heartaches, all the suffering down through the years in this fairy-tale-gone-wrong nightmare had just melted away … They were still there – but it was like I wasn’t feeling them for a time. It wasn’t genuine rest, but it was the closest thing I was likely to get for now.

The rest of the time seemed to pass in kind of a blur. Or at least, I couldn’t seem to remember much afterwards. What was in that tea? All I remember was fading away as a nice young lady thanked me for a lovely time and wished me good luck in my future endeavours. And, of course, she’d take a keen interest in my progress. Wait— What? … Pretty soon, I didn’t remember even that …

***

‘… wake up. Breathe, damn you!’

Someone was hammering on my chest, which felt wet. My throat felt warm, as if someone had been trying to knead some life back into it. In front of me, was a golden blur, that resolved itself into a face.

For a moment, something flashed through me, as if I wasn’t quite looking at things in this world. I raised a transparent hand, reaching out. Wait, did something seem out order here – like time had criss-crossed over or something? Kneeling over me was … something else. Like someone reaching out in soul form to touch my heart, tears streaming down her face, glowing inside with something bright and—

—and then my vision returned to normal. Looking down at me was Nessa the mermaid, her eyes brimming with tears again. I breathed a little. She looked about ready to cry. It’s probably a good thing I didn’t have the breath to say anything just then, but, just at that moment, I had never seen anything, or anyone, more beautiful in my life. ‘Hi …’ I said.

‘Thank God,’ Nessa choked out. She pulled me up by the collar and looked down into my eyes, tears trickling down her cheeks. And then, she slapped me. Hard. Owww … I tell you what, mermaids have a heck of an arm – my skull was ringing. You could probably hear the echoes in Greenland …

‘Don’t ever do that again!’ she said, her voice filled with fury. ‘Don’t you ever, ever do that to anyone ever again …’ But there was warmth in it. I relaxed. It was okay. Just another brush with death and my life was back to normal. Except, I half suspected, I might just have a new friend … Life could be a lot worse …

To be continued … ?

Once Upon a Spinning-Wheel:

[Previous –> Part 3: The Mermaid’s Tears.] [Next –> Part 5: The Limey and the Coconut.]

Hokey Croaky

By Andrew Miller

Member

Andrew Miller

Website: https://www.awlmiller.com/.

| November 15, 2019

25 COMMENTS

Ripples spread out across the surface of the lagoon, sparkling in the starlight, as the girl surfaced from under the water. Trailing behind her, there bobbed up a coloured glass lantern, sealed around the edges with a grey, clayey substance. Well, this dress has probably seen its last dance, she thought as she swam for the shore. The lantern came floating along with her.

In the distance, coloured lights glowed and strange music played out across the night. The dance goes on, as they say. Carefully, she lifted the lantern out of the water and hauled herself up onto the rocks. There was a kind of dull tap on the glass. A frog peered out at her. It was a bit hard to see through the coloured glass, but something about its eyes and the way it looked at her was somehow … human. She scraped away some of the clay with her nails and twisted. ‘Alright, buddy,’ she said, her voice coming out as a hoarse whisper, ‘you want to explain what’s going on?’

Ribb-et, said the frog, peering up out of the open lantern.

‘Very funny …’ she wheezed. ‘This is … serious. Why am I’ – she coughed – ‘losing my voice?’

The jar started shaking. Something was happening to the frog. It hopped in one great leap past her and— Poof!

As the smoke cleared, it left a young man in a torn suit, with bruises running up and down his face and showing through various rips and tears. There was a nasty gouge near one eye. He looked kind of dazed and confused, one hop short of a leap, so to speak. What happened to you, she thought. She watched as his eyes slid into focus again.

‘I … don’t know— I was … there was this … and a drink … with a little umbrella in it.’

‘I had to run for my life, and ruin my best dress,’ — she found herself coughing, tears running down her cheeks, blending in with the seawater – ‘for that! Because you … got soused? How come— … how come you’re a frog?’

‘But I don’t … I don’t drink—’

‘Then how come you’re a frog … !’ Stupid coughing fit. She must have swallowed some seawater or something. And her voice was getting fainter and fainter. And she was shivering. Crimity, but she was cold. Tears streaming down her face. She was aware of something being placed around her shoulders. She opened her eyes again. A torn jacket. The boy who had been a frog was kind of staring at his bare feet sheepishly, as if he didn’t know where to look.

She actually felt grateful for the jacket. At least it was dry, somehow. She blinked through her tears and rested a hand on his shoulder for a moment. He jerked up with a haunted look and—

—suddenly they weren’t there on the rocks anymore. She wasn’t sure where she was. She looked down at her hands. Except they weren’t her hands. They were his. There was firelight nearby, and drums and tropical music, and strange, fuming smoke that got into your nostrils and— What was going on here?

There was … a mask. A huge, carved mask, moving through the smoke in strange dancing motions. Her – his – limbs and whole body ached as though someone had been using him for a punching bag. And there was blood pouring down over his face. It felt like he— Arms grabbed him from behind. The feel of ropes tying him to a post. A strange song rising up over the night. The mask got nearer. Witch doctor – no, witch doctress. You couldn’t see much past the mask, but the way she moved it was clear she was smirking. Snake-like and sinuous and— a coconut shell was being pushed to his lips. It was sloshing. Sure enough, there was a little paper umbrella in it, with a bright red candied cherry on the end, she noticed light-headedly — a burning sensation in his throat — then the world went funny. She – he – was falling. Shrinking. Down, down, down … Riiiibb-ettt …—

—riiibbettt! He’d turned back into a frog again. And he was … kind of dancing up and down on the rock like it was too hot. It almost looked comical. You put your left hand in, you put your right hand out, dance the hokey-croaky and— Salt, she thought in a panic, and scooped him up as gently as she could and slid him quickly into a jacket pocket so as not to touch him too much with saltwater hands. The salt would mess with even an enchanted frog, surely? Wasn’t it supposed to be dangerous to them?

She had best conserve her voice, but … ‘You all right in there?’ she whispered. A faint croak answered. She felt a sudden overwhelming sense of relief. Her own head was kind of hazy, now she thought about it. That was odd. She tried to think back. What had she been doing when she – concentrate now, this is ridiculous … She patted the strangely reassuring presence in the jacket pocket, almost as if just to make sure he was still there. What had she gotten herself into this time …

Lightbulb Moment

By Andrew Miller

Member

Andrew Miller

Website: https://www.awlmiller.com/.

| September 30, 2019

12 COMMENTS

We were sitting on wooden crates. They must have been sculling around in this old cargo hold for decades. Longer. It was an elephants’ graveyard of discarded technology, goods that had long since ceased being traded (at least in this corner of the universe). We pried open the lid on one, carefully. Inside, packed among musty, but still-dry, straw and shredded newspaper was a lamp. ‘Hey, this is solid brass,’ said Maya.

There were even some smaller crates inside. I opened one up. Inside were disintegrating pasteboard boxes.

‘Glory be,’ I breathed. ‘Lightbulbs!’

‘And? What’s so special about— Are those … incandescents?’

‘Exactly.’

‘But we can’t sell any of this stuff,’ she said, patiently, but quietly. ‘It’s contraband.’

‘Sell? Who’s talking about selling? I’m saying – look.’ I got busy with some wires and connectors. A few adjustments. Didn’t want to overload the thing. I was breathing heavily – I never thought I’d live to see one of these again, or be able to get it working. I rummaged around in the box some more and settled the shade I lifted out onto the lamp. The bulb into the socket.

‘Here goes,’ I said.

A pool of soft, warm light lit up the cargo hold. I should have been looking at the lamp, but honestly? It was worth it just to see the look on Maya’s face. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but I thought I saw tears around her eyes. ‘It’s beautiful …’

Yes, it was …

1 2 »

Conservative Conversation + Podcasts

Andrew Miller

@andrewmiller

Snow Business (Part 1): Space Angel

The Art of the Goof

Tee-Time: Epilogue

Tee-Time, Part 7: The Once and Future Swing

Fairway to Avalon

The Friend of the Fae

The Missing Links

Tea Time

Quantum Blip

Once Upon a Spinning-Wheel, Part II: Outaya Dreams

Once Upon a Spinning-Wheel (Part 10): The Many-Sundered Heart

Once Upon a Spinning-Wheel (Part 9): The Phoenix and the Flame

Once Upon a Spinning-Wheel (Part 8): The Mirror’s Eye

Once Upon a Spinning-Wheel (Part 7): Lure of the Lava Lady

Once Upon a Spinning-Wheel (Part 6): Out of the Frying Pan

Once Upon a Spinning-Wheel (Part 5): The Limey and the Coconut

A Valhallan Interlude, Part 3: Smokey Bourbon Blues

Once Upon a Spinning-Wheel (Part 4): A Date with Death

Hokey Croaky

Lightbulb Moment

Andrew Miller

@andrewmiller