by M. E. Eadie
Chapter Twelve: First Game
The pluvial damp was thick in the air, on the pavement, covering everything, making the night street glisten with a shiny gloss. Colin looked down at his reflection in a puddle and frowned. Although it was becoming harder to tell what was dream and what was real, he knew that this was a dream. Yet, he felt the chill damp of the mist making his clothes heavy and sodden, smelling of the river’s freshness. Maybe this wasn’t a dream. He calmed down and thought. What made this a dream: he had never been here before; there were no people around; and he knew that, before being here, he had been curled up in his buffalo skin listening to Spike’s abrasive snoring. Still, everything seemed so real--no, it was beyond real, it was surreal.
A black shadow, no more than a wisp of smoke, flickered across the street. As it traveled it grew, taking on size and form until it stepped into a pool of light beneath one of the lamplights. Casually, it leaned up against the metal pole that supported the light, that tilted so far down that it almost came in contact with the upturned collar of the shadow’s trench coat. Colin thought of Shadow Nixes and spies.
“Who are you?” he called out, watching as his own warm breath curled into the water-laden air. He didn’t know how long he could stay because he was starting to shiver. Then he reminded himself that this was a dream.
The shadow remained, silent, but the head moved in response to his voice. Colin noticed that the shadow had its hair bound in a long pony tale that went halfway down its back. It looked as though it was holding onto an unopened umbrella. There was something familiar about the thin form, and he relaxed a bit, confident that the shadow wasn’t a Nix.
Then the music started to play, and with an adroit move, the tip of the umbrella pushed the tilted fedora back so that Colin could see the shadow’s features. Grandfather Thunder started to dance. Where the music came from, he didn’t know, but it seemed to come from all around them all at once. It scampered out of the wet air to accompany Grandfather’s whimsical skill of splashing in the puddles and swinging around lampposts. Age melted from his frame, leaving him with blurring feet that made him seemingly float across the street. He wasn’t so much dancing alone in the rain as he was dancing with it. When the music slowly wound down, petering out into a whimsical, humming stroll, he casually walked up to Colin with a big grin on his wet face. He flipped the umbrella open and held it over them to protect them from the rain that was now coming down in curtains.
“Sorry about that, but dreams are a safer place to meet these days. I bet you never thought I had a thing for musicals?” When Colin just responded with a blank, unknowing almost stare, he continued. “For you and Spike it’s comic books, for me it was musicals.”
Colin nodded beginning to understand. The street seemed safe, but it was still dreadfully cold.
“Don’t worry, the Shadow Nixes can’t get inside your dreams … nightmares, maybe, but not dreams.”
“What’s the difference?” asked Colin, his teeth beginning to chatter together. His hands were turning purple.
“You control your dreams, even though most don’t know it, and nightmares are controlled by others. But, I’m not here to talk about dreams. How are things going?”
Colin felt awkward, not knowing exactly what to say beneath grandfather’s piercing gaze.
“Grizzleda is back to her nasty self,” Colin blurted out, feeling a sudden release of the dread that had been building inside him.
“I know, I know,” he said in a conciliatory manner, “but which is the real Grizzelda? The root you can only bring out what is already there.”
“I don’t understand,” said Colin confusedly.
“You know when I took her in, she was in quite a state. Wouldn’t talk, but she really hung onto you, as if her life depended on it. Grizzelda can be domineering, controlling even nasty at times, but she cares about you, deeply.”
Colin thought about this. She did care for him, but he doubted his aunt was entirely sane. “She talks to herself.”
“I talk to myself, especially now, and I dress up and dance, and…”
“Yes, but she talks to herself in the mirror, and the mirror talks back.”
Grandfather Thunder took his fedora off and rubbed the rim of the hat with his finger. “The mirror talks back?”
“Yes.”
“What’s the voice like?”
“It’s hard to make out. It’s like a whisper, but I think it’s a man’s voice,” explained Colin.
“Listen,” said Grandfather Thunder. “If you can, try to find out what the voice is saying. I don’t think you’re that far off from what you tell me about your aunt. You may have given her a reprieve by giving her that root, but remember whatever she does, I don’t think it’s the real Grizzelda doing it.”
“There’s something else -- the statue, it’s really strange; it’s like something is making it magically appear.”
Grandfather Thunder waved his hand at the rain with a dismissive gesture and the rain stopped. “What do you think that power is, that’s making the statue appear?”
“I don’t know.” No answer came to Colin’s cold, numb, mind. Grandfather had a way of asking questions that couldn’t be answered.
“Magic is the wrong word, and is often fitted to things not understood. Have you ever wondered why your special gifts, Spike’s ability to use his senses, and Melissa’s gift for music, come seemingly out of thin air? You’re not doing anything that isn’t already there around you, ready for you to use when the time is right. You see, Zuhayer, for all his faults, was a very smart man. He knew where this power was the strongest, and that’s where he built his house. Years ago, when I was a boy, young shamans were taken to very special places in order to learn. They were instructed in the art of healing and in the laws of nature-–but it isn’t magic. The similarity between these places and Horwood House is this: they all marked a fault line, a crack in the earth where this power was actively seeping up into our world.”
Colin shivered, refusing to see himself in the same light as Zuhayer Horwood. “But he’s evil!”
Grandfather Thunder let out a long breath. “Did you know that evil spelled backwards is live? Even though “evil” is used as a noun and “live” as a verb the twisting of one into the other does make them comparable. Just twisted, remember that, and by all means, don’t use fear as a base for judging others, use wisdom. Your aunt is being twisted and you have to find out who is doing the twisting. It may be her only hope.” He started to hum again, the music returning, his legs twitching to life.
“Wait!” shouted Colin, afraid Grandfather Thunder would dance right out of his dream. He had so many questions he needed to ask. “Grizzelda is interviewing teachers for us.”
“Good, it’s about time! See, that’s evidence of her caring.”
“But, what if she finds someone who is … like her?”
“You could do worse.”
“How?” asked Colin getting a bit frustrated.
“She could’ve abandoned you, left you to die. There are people that delight in inflicting pain. Your aunt does it inadvertently. You may not believe this right now, but she is a lot harder on herself than on you. Just watch her.”
“The voice in the mirror, do you know who it is?”
Grandfather Thunder shrugged. “What do you see when you look in the mirror, any mirror?”
“Myself,” stuttered Colin as the music sprang up, full of energy, and inserted itself in-between them, pushing them apart. Grandfather Thunder began skipping across the wet street, leaving.
“Don’t worry,” he said flipping the fedora up onto his head and rubbing the brim between his thumb and forefinger, “just be true to yourself. I have all the confidence in the world in you.”
“What about the statue?”
“Don’t worry,” said Grandfather Thunder jumping into a puddle of water and splashing about in it, becoming transparent as he did so, “j
ust be true.”
He was gone, and Colin woke up.
