Gloom Town

by Ronald L. Smith

  They sat together on a bare patch of ground in the Glades, facing each other, legs crossed. Sunlight filtered through the high trees above them. Birds whistled in the branches.

  “Again,” Goldenrod demanded. “Focus. Make your mind as empty as a blank page in a book.”

  Rory looked at the stubby candle planted in the ground before him. He’d been trying to light it for an hour. With his mind.

  He let out a resigned breath, defeated.

  “It took me many years to summon a flame, Rory,” his father said, trying to console him. “When one begins to walk the path of the mage, they learn at their own pace, practicing, reading, and mastering their skills until they are ready to attend the Bastion.”

  “What is the Bastion?”

  “It is our institute for the higher mysteries. There, young mages learn the path. After many trials, if they are successful, they will go through the Ascension. It is the moment when a new mage is initiated into our order and given their own rod of learning.”

  Rory wondered if that would ever happen to him. “How will I learn all this?” he asked. “This is . . . too strange to understand.”

  “It will come,” his father said, reaching out and laying a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

  Rory sighed and nodded, grateful for the encouragement.

  The sound of scuttling creatures could be heard in the deeper part of the forest—calls from birds and foxes, the rustling of leaves and of burrowing things.

  “A mage gains power from the natural world, Rory,” his father explained. “We can summon fire and frost, enchant our enemies with confusion. To walk the path of the mage takes both study and natural ability. It will come,” he repeated. “I promise.”

  Rory couldn’t imagine ever being able to summon fire or frost. He picked up a twig from the ground and snapped it.

  “Tell me more,” his father demanded suddenly. “What else do you remember of this whole terrible experience?”

  Rory thought on that a moment. There was one question he still needed an answer to. “Why did I dream of her?” He balked. “Mara?”

  Goldenrod rested his elbows on his crossed knees and made a steeple with his hands. “A mage has many skills, Rory. Some more rare than others. But there is one that we hold in particularly high regard.”

  He paused, as if Rory would suddenly guess what it was, but Rory had no idea.

  Goldenrod closed his eyes. “Tell me, Rory, what am I thinking? What do you see in my mind?”

  Rory almost laughed aloud, but his father’s expression remained serious.

  “Close your eyes,” he instructed Rory. “Tell me what you see.”

  Rory breathed out through his nostrils and did as his father asked. He sat very still within a curtain of darkness for what seemed like minutes. He could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. He was aware of everything around him—the small beetle crawling on his shoulder, a leaf falling from above.

  Then, in the darkness, something flickered.

  He resisted the temptation to open his eyes and focused on the darkness instead.

  Again, a flicker.

  Light.

  Rory concentrated on it.

  “Candle flame!” he shouted. “A candle flame!” He opened his eyes.

  His father did the same. “Yes,” he said. “I was thinking of a candle. You may not be ready to light a flame with your mind, but you can certainly find it in the void.”

  Rory could barely contain his excitement. “What does it mean? How did I do it?”

  “You have the Gleaning.”

  “The Gleaning?”

  A ray of sun fell across his father’s face, highlighting his burnished gold hair. “Some mages have the ability to enter the world between dark and light, Rory. To look into another’s mind and read their thoughts. We call them ‘dream mages.’ You must possess this most rare skill.” He paused. “You have the Gleaning, my son.”

  Rory smiled, excited to discover this newfound talent, but Goldenrod’s face suddenly grew grim. “Being a dream mage is a great gift, but it also leaves you vulnerable to attack. Enemies with second sight can find you and read your thoughts and innermost secrets.”

  Rory tensed. “She could have read my thoughts? Mara? I couldn’t read hers. If I had, I would have known what was happening all along.”

  “But you did read her thoughts,” his father insisted, “even in the shapeless form she inhabited. ‘I thirst. I hunger.’ That is what you heard. Her internal thoughts. Her desires.”

  Rory stared past his father, into the surrounding trees. He had a gift. A secret power.

  “But,” his father went on, holding up a finger, “there are ways to protect yourself, methods that are taught at the Bastion to cloak your mind from danger.”

  Rory shifted on the hard ground. Do I even want to be a mage? What about Mum and Izzy? Does this mean I’ll have to leave them behind, like my father did to Mum?

  “I see you’re thinking on your future path,” Goldenrod observed.

  “I . . .” Rory started. “It’s just all so much. I had no idea I had this . . . gift, and now I have to decide what I want to do with it.”

  “Walking the path of the mage is a great honor. It is something that our family has practiced for generations.” Goldenrod paused, picked up a stone from the ground, and rubbed its smooth surface with his thumb. “If I had known I had a son, it would have been easier. You would have been raised knowing our ways.”

  The cry of a hawk sounded in the distance. Goldenrod reached into a bag at his side and pulled something out. He handed it to Rory without saying a word.

  It was a small, leather-bound book, and Rory thumbed through the pages. Symbols, letters, and intricate drawings filled the pages. He didn’t understand any of it.

  “Every apprentice mage receives this book when they begin to walk our path,” Goldenrod said. “It contains the secrets of our order. Study it, and commit it to memory.”

  Rory looked at a drawing of a star with circles on each point. He flipped to another page. The letters looked familiar somehow, like he had seen them in a dream.

  “There was something else,” he said, pulling another memory from his head. “When I was at the manor, I had to prove to them that I could read. I was given a book, and after I read from it, I was told it was written in something called Old . . . Aramaic? How could I have done that?”

  His father raised an eyebrow. “Interesting.”

  “What?” Rory asked. “What does it mean?”

  “That language was lying asleep in your mind, waiting to be awakened.”

  Rory just looked at him. He was overwhelmed and numb by all he was discovering about himself. Cool air stirred the fallen leaves around them.

  “It is called ‘transference,’” Goldenrod said. “As a mage, you have the history of our kind lying deep in the recesses of your mind, to be called upon when needed. Our order must have had a mage fluent in Old Aramaic somewhere in our past. For you to already be able to tap into this is indeed remarkable.”

  Rory felt something stir inside of him, a fire spreading through his whole being.

  “Tell me more,” he said. “About the order. About what we can do.”

  The mariner began to speak, and as they sat in the afternoon light of the Glades, Rory heard tales of hidden lands and faraway mountains, of giant squids and sea creatures, of mages who could control lightning from the sky, of men and women who spoke not with their mouths but with their minds, and of the art of using spells to entrance your enemies.

  When he was finished, Goldenrod stared at his son for a long moment. “So,” he said. “Does that sound interesting?”

  Rory grinned. “How far away is the Bastion?”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Desire

  Rory and Izzy sat in their usual spot on the docks at Quintus Harbor.

  The mermaid figurehead on the prow of the Desire shone in the sun.

  A few crew members were on deck, checking k
nots and polishing the brass ladders and handrails. A white, frothy tide slapped against the hull. A few days earlier, Rory’s father had taken him aboard and showed him the gleaming navigation instruments. Rory had run his fingers across the compasses and imagined setting a course for them to sail. He had looked through a spyglass, which extended out in sections and showed distant objects as if they were nearer. But Goldenrod’s prize possession was a telescope. It had the same function as the spyglass, but was more decorative and much bigger. It stood on three legs anchored to the deck. “So we can study the stars,” he had told him. Rory had seen drawings of these things in books, but to see them on a ship—his father’s ship—was pure joy.

  Izzy nudged him with her shoulder. “What’s wrong? You daydreaming again?”

  Rory turned to her. “Just thinking about all this training. It’s hard, and I’m not even sure I really want to do it.”

  “Well, if someone told me I could be a great magician, I’d sign up right away.”

  “Mage,” Rory said.

  “What’s the difference?”

  He shrugged. “Let’s say I do all this training and then decide to go away to this . . . Bastion to become a mage.” He swallowed. “I wouldn’t want to leave my mum and . . .”

  “Me?” Izzy said. “Ah, I’ll be all right. We had a big adventure, yeah? I can tell people I knew the great Goldenrod and his son, the seafaring magicians. Or mages. Whatever.”

  Rory shook his head, grateful for the laugh. He was too embarrassed to tell Izzy how much he cared about her.

  They sat in silence a moment.

  “Maybe I can go too,” Izzy said.

  “Go where?”

  “With you, dummy. To be a mage. I don’t wanna read those cards anymore, and my mum would probably say it’s okay. She went on a journey herself when she was my age. She said that’s how she learned all of her, you know . . . stuff.”

  “I think you have to have Sumerian blood or something,” Rory said, but he wasn’t sure. The thought that he was part of an ancient bloodline was too much to comprehend. He scratched his head. “I really don’t know, Izzy.”

  “Maybe they just don’t want girls,” Izzy said, bringing him back to the moment.

  “I don’t think that’s true.” Rory cocked his head in the direction of the ship. A tall woman with dark skin and green tattoos up and down her arms lifted a coil of rope.

  Izzy looked at her with admiration and a smile spread across her face.

  * * *

  The sun was setting by the time Rory and Izzy left the dock.

  “Stomach’s rumbling,” Izzy complained as they began to walk.

  Rory chuckled. “Doesn’t your mum ever cook anything you like?”

  “Only if you like vegetables and green stuff.” She made a sour face. “I’d rather have fish and clams. And nobody makes better fish stew than your mum.”

  Rory couldn’t argue with that.

  They walked by Black Maddie’s, where several of Goldenrod’s crew sat on barrels outside, regaling the locals with tales of adventure over mugs of ale. A few sailors were locked in arm-wrestling matches with the patrons, a bounty of coins resting under their clenched fists.

  In a few more minutes, they passed Market Square, where the Circus of Fates was still drawing crowds. Rory thought for a moment to try his hand at a few games of chance, but reconsidered.

  They turned down Copper Street, then walked on to Rory’s house.

  “Surprise!” a chorus of voices rang out as they entered.

  Rory and Izzy jumped back, startled. Rory’s mum pulled them in and shut the door.

  Rory took in the room. Ox Bells, Vincent, Miss Cora; Izzy’s mum, Pekka; Goldenrod, and a few of his shipmates all mingled together in the sitting room. Rory even spotted One-Handed Nick in the crowd. There was barely enough room to hold them all.

  “What’s going on?” Rory asked.

  “Do you know what today is?” His mum grinned at them.

  Rory and Izzy looked at each other.

  “No,” Rory said.

  “Well, you and Izzy were both born on the same day. Remember?”

  Of course Rory remembered. He just didn’t think about it much, growing up in the town known as Gloom.

  Pekka joined them. Yellow flowers were braided into her hair. “That’s right. We figured it was time for a party. A celebration!”

  Rory thought on it. A party. Why not?

  Izzy smiled beside him.

  Vincent approached, walking with his ivory-tipped cane and sporting his monocle. “Rory, my boy. So good to see you. I’ll be having a séance in a few days. A very select group. Now that you’ve seen a few things, you might prove to be a most excellent medium.”

  Rory was taken aback. “I don’t think I—”

  “No need to answer now,” Vincent cut him off, raising a hand. “Just let me know soon.”

  He wandered away, leaving Rory looking after him with a dazed expression. Before Rory could trade a glance with Izzy, Miss Cora turned from the conversation she was having with one of Goldenrod’s crew, a woman with a long strip of hair that ran down the center of her otherwise bald head. “I can write a play about your adventure,” Miss Cora offered. “I’ll call it . . .” She raised a finger in the air as if waiting for some kind of signal. “The Fall of Shadows,” she said. She adjusted the hat on her head, which to Rory looked like a strange fish of some sort. “Of course, we’ll need to find the right actors,” she finished. “Maybe some of the carnival folk?” She sipped from a glass of sparkling liquid.

  Rory and Izzy shared a look of befuddlement.

  Rory found his father in the crowd and headed toward him. Izzy followed.

  “Happy birthday, Son. I’m sorry I wasn’t here for the others, but let this be the first of many we spend together.”

  Rory smiled and then looked down at his feet. He didn’t know what to say. Then suddenly, the right words came to him. He looked back up. “It’s the first one I’ve celebrated, so we can call it even and go from there.”

  His father smiled and laid a hand on his shoulder. “So, have you decided, Rory?”

  Rory hesitated. He thought he didn’t have to make a decision about attending the Bastion until he was ready.

  “Your present,” Goldenrod said. “What would you like?”

  “Present?” Rory thought for a moment. What did he want? What had he always wanted to do? “I want to go out on the sea,” he said. “A trip, to see some of the world.”

  “And so you shall,” his father replied.

  Rory beamed.

  “I want to go too,” Izzy chimed in.

  Goldenrod took a step back, his expression puzzled.

  “What?” Izzy said defensively. “I saw a lot of women on your crew. I want to sail the seas with Rory. And go on some adventures.”

  Rory’s father rubbed his chin, considering. “Well, we could use someone to help with sails and rigging.”

  Izzy grinned, giddy.

  “The work is hard,” the sea captain went on. “Long hours and running lots of errands on the ship.”

  “I’ll have my sea legs in no time,” Izzy boasted. “Plus, I have some other skills too.”

  Goldenrod looked to Rory, who only shrugged and smiled.

  “I’m a witch,” Izzy declared.

  The mariner nodded, a little hesitantly. “Well, I guess I have no choice then, do I?” He lowered his voice. “I don’t want to be cursed.”

  He smiled, and Izzy smiled back.

  “No one’s going anywhere without me,” said Rory’s mum, who had been watching the whole spectacle unfold from a few feet away.

  Surprise and delight dawned on Goldenrod’s face. “I wanted to ask you,” he said to Hilda. “More than anything. But I thought you would refuse.”

  He took her hand, and this time, Rory’s mum didn’t bat it away.

  “I would dearly love for you to sail with me,” Goldenrod said.

  Rory looked to Izzy, her face flush
ed with excitement. “I guess that’s settled then,” he said. “We’re all going!”

  And as the fish stew was passed around, they smiled and laughed, and for the first time in a very long time, there was a birthday party in Sea Bell.

  Chapter One

  I first started freaking out over aliens when I read a book of my dad’s called Communion. The cover showed an alien with big bug eyes and a little slit for a mouth. The nose was just two tiny pinpricks. Dad said it was all make-believe—​that the author was crazy, that he needed to see a doctor—​but once I started reading, I couldn’t stop.

  The aliens I’m talking about are called Grays. They come from a binary star system called Zeta Reticuli. It’s about forty light-years from Earth. They’ve been coming here for ages, all the way back to Egyptian times.

  There are other types of aliens, too. The Reptilians—​who look like lizards. The Nordics—​who are tall and blond and resemble humans. But the ones that scare me the most are the Grays.

  Grays.

  Just saying it freaks me out.

  It’s such a simple word. A color. Not black or white. But something in between. Something unknowable. Something that makes me not want to sleep.

  In the book, the Grays come to Earth and take this guy on one of their spaceships. They do a bunch of experiments on him and then let him go. But before they do, they put an implant under his skin so they can track him. Just like we do to animals.

  Animals.

  That’s what we are to them.

  Lab rats.

  Have you ever seen those pictures of weird crop circles in cornfields? Or heard about cows being cut open and dissected? The aliens do that, too. No one knows why.

  I’m going to stop now because I’m really freaking myself out.

  * * *

  My dad is in the Air Force, and we live in what’s called base housing. All the houses look the same. Everything we need is right here: a commissary, which is what you’d call a grocery store. The BX, which stands for base exchange—​kind of like a small department store. There’s a swimming pool, a movie theater, a library, even a McDonald’s. And there are rules, too. Lots of them. If you don’t cut your grass, someone will come by and tell you to do it. You can only water your lawn at 1800 hours. (That’s military time for six o’clock.) You can’t play loud music in your backyard. And soldiers in crisp, white uniforms come by without warning and inspect the inside of your house. They want to make sure you’re not living like a slob or growing marijuana in your basement. A guy in school named Jerry Finfinger had marijuana in his basement, and his dad was arrested and his family kicked off the base. What would that be like, I wondered, to have to live out there? With them. Civilians.