by R. J. Ladon
“Don’t be rude, Donna,” Dad said to her.
“It’s alright, Jerry.” Grandma put a hand on her son’s arm. “Donna doesn’t like to listen to my stories.
“I have my reasons,” Mom said, her eyes flickered to the triplets. “Your stories tend to be on the scary side.”
Inez folded her arms. “May I be excused?”
Mom nodded, and Inez moved away from the table, keeping her eyes on Kevin. At the last moment, she turned and bolted down the hall. Mina and Tess followed their sister without asking to be excused.
“What is that all about?” Dad pointed at the seats the girls vacated.
Mom looked at Kevin and Grandma. “It seems that Inez has had some nightmares about Kevin. She said something about a monster. Nothing I understood, of course. I hoped she’d get over it. But as you can see, she hasn’t.”
“I should talk to her.” Kevin stood.
“No,” Mom said, grabbing his hand. “She’s afraid of you. Talking to her right now won’t fix that. She needs time.”
“I should go.” Kevin collected his dirty plates and brought them to the sink. He left without saying anything and went home, to his room, feeling guilty.
“Kevin, I’m home,” Ruby called up the stairs. “Is everything alright? Do you want to talk?”
“I’m fine. I want to be alone.” Kevin closed his door and paced back and forth in his room. He had a new window and curtain rod. Maybe he ought to do as Megan suggested and stay put tonight.
He pulled the drapes closed then took off his clothing. He sat naked on the floor and waited. He thought about the events of the day and wondered what Inez might have seen. Ten minutes passed.
“Nothing’s happening,” he complained. He looked at the clock and decided to give it more time.
Ten more minutes, then fifteen. Kevin looked at the clock, then leaned back to get his feet under him. Heat cascaded from shoulders to hips. His breathing quickened, then stopped. Pain tore into his spine at his shoulders, rolling down his back. Kevin felt lightheaded, and then he felt nothing.
Chapter 27
K ragnor opened his eyes. He recognized the bed, desk, and dresser and noted the window was whole again. “I slept in the room above, yet I wake here.” In the past, his home was on stable, beautiful high craggy mountains. Lush green hillsides flowed from his perch. Every night he would awaken to see stars. Every morning he would sleep as the sun rose. Sometimes he would stay awake during daylight hours to have conversations with other beings. Kragnor preferred the night. He felt the strongest then. For centuries, his pattern of movement and wake cycles didn’t change.
Even when he moved, the new location lasted for centuries. Until humans arrived and created cities, Kragnor lived in the mountains and forests of the world. After humans, most of his time was in cities, on top cathedrals, or other high locations. At first, the towns were small, not much more than villages. At those times, he had a prominent place in a city square or near an important building.
Each time decades or centuries passed before a new location came into his life. This place, although comforting, was not home. Too many things break at his touch. The church felt more like home, but it also was not a place he could stay.
Kragnor carefully opened one of the other doors in Kevin’s room and discovered clothing. A wardrobe. He snorted and tried the last door, which opened into a hallway. Sniffing the air, he continued slowly. Kragnor was careful to tread lightly in the delicate house. It was a space for humans, not akitu. Three more doorways crowded the end of the hall, and in the center was a set of stairs.
He stood at the top of the stairs and wondered if he should descend or if going out the window was the better idea. He touched the wall with his claw. The spot was soft and pushed inward, leaving a hole. Kragnor sniffed, billowing white powder. He inserted his claw and scratched the interior of the wall, drawing his finger back with white covering his nail.
A wall made from paper and chalk? He grunted, amazed. No wonder everything broke at his touch.
The stairs had a strange fur-like covering on them. Kragnor pulled at the fluff and freed a single strand. He looked at it and decided it wasn’t fur but a form of clothing. He pulled his wings in tight to his back and changed his stance to be on hands and feet, which spread his weight over more area.
The stairs didn’t buckle or creak. Kragnor made sure to keep his weight over the riser of each tread, where each stair was strongest. He entered a room that had soft appearing furniture.
A portal to another dimension flashed soundlessly at him. Kragnor looked around for the wizard that could conjure such a fantastic piece of magic. A human female slumbered in a long chair, with the portal pointing directly at her. She must be the originator of the magic.
Perhaps she is the one who brought me here. If so, why does she ignore me? Kragnor knelt before the prone woman. But she did not open her eyes. Her eyes fluttered, and she mumbled something incoherent. One arm glowed in the light of the portal. She turned in the chair, her back facing him.
Kragnor snorted, stupefied by her actions. “Why do you ignore me, my lady?”
The woman’s head lifted off the chair. She looked from the television to a black rectangle sitting on the table before her. She readjusted in the chair, sitting upright, then looked around. Her eyes skittered over Kragnor in his kneeling position, but she didn’t seem to see him. She reached toward the table and the strange black rectangle. White, red, and yellow marks covered its surface. The woman looked at it, blinking for a long moment before touching a white mark.
Sudden sound filled Kragnor’s ears. He jumped to his feet, wings spreading wide, tail whipping around, striking a wall.
The woman’s eyes flew open. Kragnor could see her fear and surprise. She pointed the rectangle at him, striking the white marks repeatedly. The portal changed and made strange sounds. Her movements slowed, and her eyes rolled up. She crumpled into the chair, and the rectangle fell to the floor.
Kragnor picked up the rectangle and sniffed. It smelled of metal, oil, and something odd. His lip curled with disgust. It was not natural. It must be a magic weapon. Surely this is another human test. He placed it on the floor where it fell and waited a moment. The woman didn’t move. Kragnor snorted and left.
A white feline rubbed on his leg. Its green eyes studied him. Kragnor reached down and petted the cat on its head, scratching under its chin. The cat meowed, turned with tail raised high, moved to its mistress, and licked her hand.
The deep thrumming of the grandfather clock startled him. He crept up on the clock, a feeling of recognition overcame him. The pendulum swung and brought a memory to life. He lived on top of a giant clock in the center of a city for years; the vibrations of the chimes helped him sleep. The tick and thud of the gears of the enormous clock were ever constant, like the hum of mother earth. He caressed the oak surface and smiled, something to remind him of home.
Kragnor entered a room with a white floor and cabinets. An iron rack hung from the ceiling directly over an elevated flat wooden surface. The wooden table smelled of meat, blood, and plants. Inside, one of the cabinets were glass containers. In another were herbs. How strange. Is this a torture chamber or an apothecary? Kragnor’s mind flitted back to the wizard woman. This could be where she makes her spells or where she tortures those who do not cooperate. He huffed.
Kragnor looked back into the room where the prone woman still lay. He breathed deep, trying to ascertain her nature. The tip of the cat’s tail flicked back and forth. He shook his head, not pleased with the lack of information.
He opened the door with a red and white checkered curtain. It exposed the backyard and the house behind the metal-net fence. The movement of three children was evident through the curtains and windows. He smiled at the antics of the three girls that looked alike, but not alike. One of the girls looked out the window; she waved and shouted for the other two. He felt their eyes touch him for a long moment.
A woman entered the room.
One of the girls waved at him shyly then closed the curtain.
Kragnor lifted a hand in response but was uncertain if she saw. At least there is one friendly face. He squatted then kicked off the ground catching air under his quickly deployed wings.
Kragnor returned to the Catholic church, landing on the top of the building. His weight and claws caused the roof to groan and creak. What happened to the strength of churches? The flying buttresses? The stone? The brick? He sighed disheartened. He scanned the church grounds and noticed an area further away from the church which contained tall and stately tombstones. A small building separated the two sections. The building was too small to be a horse stable.
He walked down the peak of the roof, setting the wood into a crescendo of squeaks, grinds, and whines. Some shingles loosened under his talons and skittered to the ground.
“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” A man in black clothing and a white collar yelled at him. The man picked up a shingle. “I’m going to call the police!” The man’s voice changed from concerned to angry.
Police must be law-keepers or guards. He looked from one side of the church where the man stood to the other, where the small building was. He jumped from the roof, diving toward the secluded cemetery, away from the man.
“My God!” The man proclaimed.
Kragnor stretched his wings, gliding past the small building and into the small cemetery. He crouched and waited, expecting a commotion of activity. The man in black came around the corner. He looked around the immediate vicinity near the church's base as if expecting Kragnor’s jump to result in a corpse.
The man went into the church and returned with a bright directional light. He flashed it on the roof then around the grounds.
Kragnor studied the tombstone that was closest to him. It was a large red granite slab. At least six times the size of the small headstones in the other cemetery. A toran. The stone had a date that read 1820 – 1860. There was another nearby that was black granite; its date was 1804-1820. The surnames on the slabs were the same. It was a family plot and much older, which explained the separation of sections. A flash of light caught Kragnor’s attention. The man approached.
Kragnor touched the red stone toran and pushed his hand into it. He noticed a subtle difference in temperature on his hand. He ducked low, pulling his wings tight against his back and sides, and pressed the rest of his body through the tombstone-gateway.
Kragnor’s body mingled with the material of the headstone, transferring through, like a doorway. He emerged from another red granite headstone into a cemetery that seemed lost to time. He was somewhere deep in the country with a forest and an unkempt fence. The yip of a dog or wolf broke the stillness.
Most of the headstones in the cemetery were small, and the elements wore away the writing. Kragnor pushed aside the tall plants looking for another large stone, another toran. Going through the red headstone, the way he came out would take him back to the cemetery where the church was. The man would still be there. If he went through the stone from the other side, he could end up somewhere new.
The clearing that held the lost cemetery seemed to have defined borders. Kragnor swept through the weeds and grasses, looking for more stones. He found a large black granite piece lying down, hidden by old grass. Kragnor ripped the dead grass off the stone’s surface and wiped it clean. This slab, too, was beaten by time and weather. It didn’t matter; it was solid, which would allow him to port through. He saw other mounds of grass and cleared them. He found three more headstones that would serve as toran. Two were marble, and another was black granite.
Kragnor went back to the first black granite stone and touched it, remembering its shape, texture, and voice. He went headfirst through the stone slowly to make sure he knew which way he would emerge on the other side. His stone memory was sharp. Once through, its destination remained with him for life.
He came through a block that was larger than the headstone. He stepped on the floor, which was also small granite squares. Gentle light exposed the black granite walls of the room he entered. A little red light blinked at him from a high corner. Being surrounded by so much stone made him feel at home. He turned to study the wall he came through. It had metal letters raised off its surface Banco de Mexico.
The words lighted on his mind like a butterfly. Kragnor recognized the Latin and Arabic influenced Castellano language or, at the very least, the flavors of them all. But this too had changed, like English.
“Bank of Mexico. Where’s Mexico?”
Kragnor walked through the room, enjoying the stone surfaces. He touched each slab, wondering where they might lead. Another red light blinked at him from a different ceiling corner. Kragnor stepped through a doorway into a vaulted antechamber. His nails clicked on the floor, echoing off the high walls and ceiling.
Suddenly, loud, pulsating sounds screamed, and lights turned on. His presence was noticed, and he was not welcome. Kragnor ran back the way he came, diving into the slab with the words written on it.
He rolled out of the headstone and across the grass. The tiny cemetery lost to time welcomed him with the chirping of crickets. Seven hundred years had passed. These new magics were unfamiliar and potentially dangerous. He rubbed his ears, hearing the echo of the screams as if he were still in the room.
He snorted. One thing he always had in abundance was time. Kragnor would take his time to explore. There is no reason to rush these things. He watched the stars move across the sky and meditated for a couple hours.
Kragnor ported back through the red stone and into the family cemetery on the church grounds. Where could he go to be safe? How can he explore the world with so much time passing? Things changed. Not just the materials of the buildings being weaker, but magic was bigger and stronger than before. He could be in danger, and he would never know. Kragnor knew he was ignorant. It would be helpful if he had an ally. He must find other akitu or humans to trust. He needed someone to teach him the strangeness of this time. Perhaps he needed to fly to a big city to find his answers.
While he pondered, the sun rose over the horizon. Kragnor slowly hardened and slept.
Chapter 28
A cold wind whipped across Kevin’s naked body. His eyes snapped open. “Aw, come on. A cemetery?” He sat on the ground with his back against a red granite headstone. The tall stone seemed to draw the heat from his body. He moved from a sitting position to a squat, so only the balls of his feet touched the cold ground.
He peeked over the gravestone and saw the church. “Aw crap, it’s Sunday morning. I can’t stay here, but I can’t walk twelve blocks home either, at least not naked.”
Kevin was an altar boy at the church for years when he was young. He knew the church and its grounds quite well. In the basement was a small kitchen and a room where the church held donations for the poor and needy. He’d be able to find some clothes if he could get in.
He waited for a passing car then ran to the back door of the church. He pulled the handle. Damn, it’s locked. The small basement windows looked promising, but they were secured too.
A car passed.
Horrified, Kevin ran around the side of the church, hoping the car didn’t see him.
The car tires squealed to a stop. The engine revved, and it turned around.
Near the side entrance to the church was a metal door with the word COAL embossed on it. Above the door was a wooden sign that read “Delicate Packages.” Kevin pulled the door open. A laundry basket filled with blankets and pillows was tied to the door and was in the way. He broke the string and shoved it toward the church stairs. There was an old, beat-up, metal slide that went into the basement, probably for coal.
The car slowed and pulled into the church parking lot.
Kevin slid down feet first, pulling the door shut behind him. He let go of the door and slipped the rest of the way into the dark room. An edge of the metal slide tore into Kevin’s thigh. He landed on soft fabric, biting his tongue as the pain throbbed.
The car came close to the coal chute door. He heard the engine turn off and a door shut. Kevin moved beneath the slide, hoping to hide in the shadows.
The door opened, flooding the dark room with light. So much light that Kevin briefly wondered how he could have seen before the door opened.
“You there, what’s going on?” asked a familiar voice.
The door swung freely and closed. “I saw someone lurking around the church. And after what happened to your roof, I wanted to look.” The voice was deep and masculine. “I didn’t think you were around this early.”
“Mass is in a couple of hours. I turn on lights, heat, and get the Lord’s House in order.” Crunching gravel and kicked stones skittered near the coal chute door. “What happened? Did you move the basket?” Father Patrick demanded.
“No, I thought I saw someone jump down the chute. They must have moved it.”
“You, sir, have done me a favor,” Father Patrick said. “Would you please call the police and let them know what happened? Feel free to be on your way; I’ll take care of the trespasser.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me around to help you? You know, to be your muscle?”
“I’ve caught a few rabbits in this trap, and often it’s a young woman escaping a bad situation. That’s why the basket is there, for the abandonment of unwanted babies. Better that than an abortion.”
“But, Father, what if it’s a man who doesn’t want to be caught? You could be hurt.”
“I’ll go inside and wait a few minutes before going into the basement. If the person doesn’t want to be trapped, they can leave. The coal door is low enough. No harm, no foul. I forgive trespassers.” Father Patrick chuckled at his joke.
“Okay, Father. I’ll call the police.”
“That would be best, my son.”
The car door opened, and the vehicle started. It sat idle for a few minutes and then left.
