“What was that for?” I wake up with a start.
“I am sorry,” Jack says, offering me a bag of frozen vegetables, “I may have gotten a bit carried away. I just thought, if you were unconscious now, you would dream, and you would know who some people were. I probably should not have punched you, though.”
I press the veggies against my eye, “You think? Am I going to have a black eye from this?”
He blushes, “probably. I am sorry. I should have waited, you would have slept eventually. Patience is not my strong suit, though.”
“Apparently.”
“More importantly, though, did you dream? Do you remember anything?”
“More importantly?”
“Sorry,” he takes a deep breath and spits out the next paragraph rapidly, without drawing another, “Are you feeling alright? Do you need anything? Are you in pain? Can I make you more comfortable? I am terribly sorry that I injured you and can only hope for some forgiveness and grace.”
“Yeah, whatever, I forgive you. How about a drink?”
“You are getting sober, remember?”
“You punched me in the face, remember?”
“I am still not going to get you a drink. Now, did you dream?”
“No.”
“Really?”
“Really. Or if I did, I do not remember it at all.”
He swears under his breath, “now I really feel like a jerk. I knocked you out cold and it did not even change or help anything.”
“Yeah. Basically you just punched me in the face for no reason. How long was I out for?”
“A couple hours.”
“I feel strangely rested. Which is strange, considering this was the second time today I got hit in the head, so I am pretty sure that I should not be feeling this good.”
“I am pretty sure you should not be feeling this good, as well. But I have a question for you, do you have the key with you now?”
“The what?”
The key, the map, the note, whatever it is that you would like to call it. Do you have it with you right now?”
“Um. No. Actually, I do not. I mean, I usually carry it, but since I have met you… lately I have been leaving it at home more. In a safe place, of course.”
“Hm,” he pauses, thinking about this for a few seconds, “have you had it with you when you have dreamt before? Every time?”
“I… don’t know. I suppose I probably have. I do still keep it with me most of the time.”
“Would you be carrying it on you, or just in the same room? Did you have it with you every single time?”
“I don’t know! I do not remember! I think I did, but maybe I did not. The first time… I lost it the first time.”
“You lost it?”
“No, well, yes. But not exactly. It is not as though I misplaced it or something, I had it, I swear. But it slipped out of my hand and it got away. I was chasing it… it was in front of me. It was right there, maybe fifteen feet. Then there was the tunnel…”
“The tunnel?”
“Yeah. Well, I don’t know if it was really a tunnel. It got very hot, though. There was an alley. I don’t remember ever seeing that alley before that night, but it was there. But that is not all that weird, because there are a lot of things in this city that I do not know. Then… the note, or, the key, it flew away, not blew, it wasn’t going with the wind. It was flying, like it knew exactly where it was going, and it went down the alley. It was hot. Very, very hot. Not like the sun, but stuffy, hard to breathe, and uncomfortable, like a tunnel. It was dark, even for an alley. Uncomfortably dark. And I do not really remember any walls to have felt my way along. It all seemed very… just uncomfortable. I have said the word uncomfortable a lot of times in explaining this, but I do not know what other word to use. It was all just so odd and surreal and… awkward.”
“Awkward?”
“Like maybe I was in a place I should not have been.”
“Okay, so there was the tunnel, and it was uncomfortable. Then what happened?”
“Then I came out, and the air was fresh, too fresh. I was very odd. It was windy before the alley, but when I walked out, there was nothing. It was just… air. Not wind, like it had been on the other side. It was about to storm… was it raining? It seems like it may have been raining. But not there. It seemed too clear. There was grass, Jack. I do not really know if I had ever seen grass before then, but I knew right away what it was. The sky was so blue there, not like the grey here, if you are even in a place where you can see the sky. It was certainly like some kind of different world.”
“You think that you were on a different planet?”
“No… yes? I really do not know. I mean, is that even possible?”
“A great many things are possible when given the right tools, the right time, the right circumstances… you would be amazed at what all is possible.”
“Like… walking down an alley on Earth and ending up somewhere else entirely?”
“Yes, I imagine that would be a good illustration of my point.”
“But… is that what happened?”
“I really do not know. In all honesty, you are the only one who can say for sure at this point, leastways until we found out who these people you met are.”
“What are the chances that I totally flipped my lid and I am hallucinating? Or that I’m having some crazy bad drug trip?”
He shrugs, “Knowing you, I would say they are pretty high. But some things, Anna, are real. And those are the things that are worth pursuing, even when no one else understands, even when everyone else thinks that you are crazy. Like I told you before, you and I, Anna, we are adventurers. Adventurers are meant to be a little bit crazy. We are meant to be full of passion and ambition and drive, and maybe even a few hallucinations. It’s like… you know… when you want something so bad you can just see it, touch it, taste it, and feel it. It becomes more than some kind of an abstract idea, it springs a life of its own, sometimes in a very literal sense. But then, it becomes difficult to distinguish between fantasy and reality sometimes, and you get comfused. Everyone else in this great big universe will look at you and say you are crazy, but when it comes down to it, there is only one opinion that matters, and that is yours. Are you happy? Did you get what you wanted? Is this the life you dreamed? And really, I don’t care at all what anyone else says as long as I get life. Life like this.
“It is the type of thing you have never even dreamed of, because it is too big for dreams. Whole galaxies we never knew existed, stars that have never been named, creatures never seen. That is the real beauty of it all. Certainly, I do not love everything that I am made to do. Putting back into place events in history that may have better been displaced, retaining order and justice at the cost of mercy… these are all things that I have to do, and I really would rather not. But it is worth it, because there is something more, there is something bigger. And that, Anna, is culture. Whole worlds just waiting to be explored! Faces just waiting to be known! And it is not about the fame or recognition or any of that, let someone else keep it. It is just about seeing those things, those crazy, beautiful, mind blowing things, things that will leave me dying at a young age saying “I’ve seen more than most men twice my age.” It is worth it, Anna. It is worth every cost.”
“Tell me about it, then.”
“A history lesson?”
“Of course, what else?”
“Let me see, what was I going to tell you earlier?”
“Kelderdash.”
“Right, exactly, Kelderdash.” He takes a deep breath, then begins, “long ago there was a town by the river that ran all the way around Kelderdash, and in that town there lived a girl whose name was Isobel. Isobel was very beautiful and a very eligible young girl, but she had no interest in the men of her town or even in the idea of marriage. She was filled with both wisdom and knowledge, a modest and shy young lady who spent a great deal of her time studying and learning from books.
“She lived with her father, who was a blacksmith. He was a good man who loved his daughter very much. His wife had died giving birth to the girl, and to his dying day he would never look at another woman, for he had loved her so much. He raised his daughter, Isobel, in a very good and right manner, with much love and affection, yet not overspoiling her. And she became quite the sensible lady, for her father was a wise man, and passed on his wisdom to the girl from the time that she was a very young child.
“She had few friends, but was quite content to be alone. She spent much of her time imagining. As she grew older, this imagining became more vivid, and soon it seemed that what happened in her mind was also happening in front of her. The thoughts and characters and creatures in her mind were no longer just in her mind, they had come alive and were active. She certainly knew that this could not be true, yet saw more and more proof that, beyond all logic, the thoughts in her mind were awqakening into reality.
“She still fought against this, but in the woods at night, the town began to hear strange bnoises. There were reports of odd and unusual creatures seen in the river – creatures the like of which had never been seen before, or if they had been before thought of, only heard of in old wives’ tales and wistful ledgends of far off places long ago. Yet strange, these things were now appearing.
“One day into town came a strange young man. His hair was firey red and his eyes deep brown, his skin was tan, and there seemed an odd countenance about him. Now Isobel rarely ventured into town, but she had to run errands one day, soon after the arrival of the man. The moment that she saw him, she was filled with terror. She ran all the way back to her home and begged her father that they pack up and leave the town immediately, for there was great danger to come. Her father inquired of her what was amiss, but she could not give him answers of any satisfaction, and so he refused to pack up and leave on such a wild emotion.
“But leave is exactly what they should have done, for soon people in the town began to go missing, one by one, and the reports were heard of it about town every morning. Soon, less than half of the town was left. And all this time, Isobel had not ventured back into town, for she knew what had happened.
“This was certainly no ordinary man. By day he was charming and had any girl in the villiage on a whim, but by night he was something entirely difference. When the moonlight touched him, he would transform into a beast. His name was Ithranger, and Isobel knew him well, for he had sprung from her very thoughts.
“Now, I will not go into the details of this tale and bore you, for I imagine you know quite well how these sorts of tales go. Isobel fooled Ithranger and slayed the beast, though strangely to the dismay of the town. For though they had come to realize that he was a beast, they were strangely enthralled with him. But that is not really the point of the story, see, Ithranger was just the beginning. The town saw that he had sprung from Isobel’s mind, and they had a great fear of her, and sent her from society. Her father was devastated, and died of grief soon after her departure.
“As for Isobel, she wandered through all of Kelderdash, seeking out the beasts of her own creation, and destroying what she could, for she alone knew their weaknesses, still better than they themselves knew. But she could not capture nearly as many creatures as she created. The creatures of water were more tricky, as were beasts of the air. And it must be said, many of these creatures were good and beautiful.
“As she was on her quest, she was found by a young man, and they fell in love, of course. Soon she gave up on her quest, convinced by the man that it was not her fault, that what had been created was meant to be created, it was destiny. She settled down with the man and they started a family.
“This family was a new race, for Isobel was the first of the creators, and all her children after her also had the ability to shape things out of nothing. The gift has weakened over many of thousands of years, but it is important to note a few things about the creators. They are still very real, and very formidable enemies, though they are generally very amiable creatures. They also have created many of the races that we have today, in fact, they created many humanoid species, such as the werewolf, of which Ithranger was the first. They are also very dangerous if they are unaware of their abilities. They are creative creatures by nature, and will spin tales in their mind which will creep into reality. Their tales can be both beautiful and terrifying, and the effects of these tales are entirely unpredictable.
“However, and sadly, I feel, the creators have become a nearly extinct race. They have been crossbred and hunted and mutated so much that they are now nearly impossible to find, which is very much a sad tale, in my opinion. They were once a strong, healthy, thriving, and altogether beautiful race. But now they have become nothing more than a species eaten away by time, worn away over the years.
“If you walk away from this history lesson with nothing else, remember at least this. Time is one thing we cannot stop. We can surf through it, we can play with it, we can shape it even, in some ways, but it is unstoppable. And nothing stays the same over time, all things will change. Things grow old, things die, things wear out, and new things are made, which will in turn grow old, wear out, and die. And that is one of the few constants in the whole universe. The inpenatrability of time. Sad, but altogether true.
“Now then, I can see it written all over you that you have had a very long day, I would imagine this has much to do with your family. I am also imagining that you would not wish much to talk of it. So go home, then, and get yourself some rest. I will call a taxi for you. I will see you tomorrow, same time, same place.”
I nod somewhat absently, realizing how much ths day has taken its toll on me, and wait patiently on his couch, maybe dozing off a little, until the taxi arrives and carries me back to my house. Once inside, I stumble up to my room and fall quickly asleep on my bed.
And there, only a few feet away, on top of my dresser, lay one very peculiar note, which held far more power than I had realized.
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