by Damien Love
Get off, get off, get off, get off!
Alex turned in time to see Beckman pulled screaming silently over the edge by a group of flailing gray hands that had appeared among the tentacles. Alex, his grandfather, Kingdom, the tall man, and Zia formed a huddle. Still fighting, they headed as one back along the path.
As he rounded the corner, Alex saw that Harry stood inside the gateway, light smashing against him as the portal tried to close. He was holding it open, but despite his efforts, even as Alex drew closer, the opening narrowed. The sparking light intensified. Kingdom sprinted forward, ducked through, and vanished.
Let’s go, Alex, his grandfather’s voice urged him on. They ran for it together.
No!
Alex halted as Zia’s simple, terrible cry pierced his mind.
Looking back, he saw the tall man fall. Zia’s flier flew slashing at the wing flapping above him. The flying creature plucked the robot from the air with a beak and disappeared upward with it. Zia stumbled in pain. Her father lay motionless.
Alex!
Harry’s voice. The gate was closing. Alex’s grandfather grabbed him roughly by the shoulders to push him through, then paused. The old man and the boy looked back. Zia knelt at the prone figure, uselessly trying to drag her father by his feet. She looked very small.
Alex and his grandfather exchanged a serious look. The old man nodded. Alex threw his flier into the air and built his bridge to it as another wing swooped toward Zia. He slashed the creature hard with his blade and hook, holding it off.
His grandfather jumped over the tall man, then bent to lift him by the shoulders. You two. Grab a foot each.
Zia balanced her plant in the crook of her arm and they took the man’s legs. The flower jiggled as they started moving. The tall man was heavier than Alex could have imagined. But together they shuffled closer and closer to the gate. A horde of figures came climbing onto the path behind them. Alex slashed at the wing again and called his flier back. Then light was crackling all around him, angry and intense, like a static electric field barring his way.
Before, passing through these openings had taken only an instant, but this was different, the going much harder, as if he was forcing himself against a raging ocean tide. Swimming lattices of light formed before him and linked up, bleeding into one vast, incandescent corridor that warped and stretched out infinitely ahead. Beyond its edges, he had the vaguest impression of rushing, twisting landscapes, wild swarms of star fields colliding in blinding explosions of color, then gone like matches struck in the night. He was gripped by a sudden, seductive sense of insignificance that bloomed into an overwhelming sense of wonder, and then the urgent sense that he had to go on, push forward against the weight of time and distance. He heard the great gears grinding slower, felt himself moving faster. The pressure grew unbearable, as if the air was trying to slam itself together around him, crush him out of existence, smash his atoms and make them pop.
And then he was through.
The pain in his ankle returned. He was wheezing for breath in the dark and the rain, and the ruined castle lurched above him. The ground shook and the ripped sky shone and roared painfully as unearthly lightning flashed across it.
The whole world howled. Alex looked up to see his grandfather standing in the blazing gateway with Harry. The old man took his cane, considered it for a second, then swung two-handed at the old wooden structure, beginning to smash it apart.
A thin, flailing tentacle reached through from the other side and curled tightly around Alex’s grandfather’s ankles. He staggered as it started dragging him back in. While he struggled, another, greater limb emerged, knocked Harry flat, then wrapped around the lifeless life-sizer that had been abandoned by the gate and lifted it through. The dying light of the broken gate flared brighter and rushed over Alex’s grandfather in blue-white flames. He bent in pain.
Alex threw his flier and sent it diving at the tentacle that held his grandfather. He struck out with his hook. As the metal plunged into the pale, sticky flesh, Alex felt a sickening, burning sting on his mind and had to let go. His flier dropped. But it was enough. The tentacle uncurled, releasing the old man, and shot back into the place beyond. The last of the light winked out as the gate collapsed.
The earth stopped shaking. Alex stood panting. The sky had healed. The moon shone down, tinting the black clouds silver, and the rain rattling the leaves of the Black Forest sounded like endless applause from a vast, unseen audience.
XXXVI.
OUTSIDE/INSIDE
Alex’s grandfather lay facedown, surrounded by pieces of broken old picture frames. Harry and Kingdom were already by his side. As Alex limped to join them, Harry glanced up anxiously. He shook his head.
Alex knelt. “Grandad?”
Silence. Rain fell steadily. Alex touched the old man’s shoulder. He shook him gently, to no response, tried again more urgently, then let his hand fall to his side.
He knelt staring at the body before him, watching raindrops land on his grandfather’s coat and disappear, absorbed. His mind was blank and heavy.
“Aw, Gawd.” Harry stood and turned away.
“I think I’ll take a bit of a holiday after this one.” The voice was faint, but the old man managed a grin as he turned his head. “Somewhere with a bit of sun, I think. Nice café by the water.”
“Grandad,” Alex said. Relief beat through him. “Grandad, I—”
“There should be a first aid kit in the Rolls,” Kingdom said. “And blankets and things. I saw it up there, not far from where we left the car we, uhm, borrowed. Philippe was out cold inside, tied up. I couldn’t wake him. I should check on him. I’ll bring back what I can.”
“Now, Alex,” the old man said weakly as Kingdom and the dogs ran off. “I really wish you hadn’t dabbled with using the flier. We’ll need to have a serious talk about that later. But in the meantime: thank you. Give me a hand to sit up, eh?”
Alex helped Harry maneuver him upright. He was sure his grandfather’s hair had grown even whiter. Alex sat back. His ankle ached. He noticed the old man’s hand trembled badly on his cane. Alex looked over at the space where the gate had stood.
“Beckman,” he said bleakly.
“Yes. Well, don’t shed too many tears, Alex. Hans Beckman made his bed a long time ago,” his grandfather said. His breathing was ragged. “Now he’s gone to lie in it. I mean, leaving aside everything else—he killed Harry.”
“Yeah,” Harry said grimly. “I’m not one to ’old a grudge. But I’m ’aving an ’ard time forgiving that one. Mind you, came in ’andy.”
“Huh?” Alex said.
“The opening that the gate made started closing behind you when you went through,” Alex’s grandfather said. He was mopping at his face with a handkerchief. “Nothing I did could stop it. But it opened again when Harry reached into it. It’s just a theory, but I think it’s because he has a different kind of energy about him now. A different kind of life force—when it tried to close around him, it was like, you know . . . like two magnets forcing each other apart.”
“I’m officially repulsive.” Harry beamed.
“I think Harry might have been responsible for the damage that was done, actually,” Alex’s grandfather continued. “His holding the gate open for longer than it should have been, that’s what caused the convulsions, the rip in the sky, the earthquake, all that.”
“The collapse of the Devil’s Pulpit back in 1981.” Alex nodded.
“Eh?”
“I’ll explain it later. If I can work it out.” Alex sat still gazing fixedly at the empty spot. The memories of what had happened in the strange, pale place were still vibrating in his head. But even as he thought about it, he realized, the images were fading, slipping away from him. He tried to hold it all in his mind before it vanished.
“Is that it?” he said.
“Hmm?”<
br />
“Is that what’s coming? At the end? When we die. The things we saw through there, through the gate. Is that where we go?”
“Oh.” The old man pulled a wrinkled paper bag from a pocket. He fished out a candy, popped it in his mouth, then held the bag toward Alex.
“Lemon drops. Exactly what’s needed. Ah, to answer your question, Alex: I don’t think so. It’s just another theory, but I think that . . . that”—he wiggled his fingers at the wreckage around them, searching for words—“that place, where we were, that should never have been opened, and we should never have been in there. Think of it like a wound being opened in a body, and us as bacteria getting in. An infection. The . . . things were like . . . what’s the word . . . antibodies produced by the body’s immune system, coming to get rid of us. Get it?”
“No.” Alex rubbed his head. “Sort of. Not really. Grandad . . . what do you think does happen, then?”
“Oh, no idea,” the old man said, dusting sadly at the dirt coating his clothes. “That’s the whole fun of it, don’t you think? Not knowing? I suspect it’ll be calmer, though. But let’s ask an expert. Any thoughts, Harry?”
“Oh,” Harry said. “Well, yeah, I mean, it didn’t seem to do me any ’arm. I don’t remember much about it, Alex. Eh . . . but I do know it smells like coconut.”
“There you go.” Alex’s grandfather smiled. “I’ve never yet encountered anything bad that smells of coconut. Could you help me stand?”
Alex and Harry got his grandfather to his feet. The old man took a second to steady himself, then brushed off their support and walked slowly toward his father and sister, leaning on his stick.
Zia sat with the tall man’s head in her lap. The ugly flower drooped in its pot beside them. From what Alex could see, the man’s face was entirely burned and ruined once more. Zia had placed a red silk handkerchief over him, like the mask a bank robber would wear in an old western movie. Above it, the staring eyes fell in and out of focus.
Moving stiffly and with difficulty, Alex’s grandfather lowered himself to one knee.
“How bad is it?”
“Body’s done now,” Zia answered without looking at him.
The tall man lifted a hand in a faint, beckoning gesture. Alex’s grandfather bowed lower.
“You saved us. From in there.” The ghastly voice was less than a whisper.
“I had to.”
“How could . . .” The words faded. The tall man coughed, tried again. “How could . . . I . . . ever . . .”
Alex’s grandfather bent toward him, face ashen. “Yes?”
“Have raised such a fool?”
“Plan B,” Zia said. Her head snapped up. “B for bunny. Let’s see how predictable you are. Catch, old man.”
There was a flier coming out of her coat, going for Alex’s grandfather. The old man fell backward. Alex instantly reached out with his mind toward his own little machine, lying nearby amid the gate’s debris. He built the bridge across to it, faster than ever. It was becoming second nature now.
“He’s doing it!” Zia whooped.
Something was different, Alex realized. There was something else at the other end of this bridge. Something dark, charging over the bridge, racing toward him. A cloud. The same cloud of heads he had encountered at home. Surging around him, through him. Then the bridge was folding up toward him with a slamming sound, closing in, getting smaller until suddenly it wasn’t a bridge before him at all but . . .
A door. He was in a small gray room, looking at a door.
And there was something behind him.
* * *
• • •
In the forest, Zia called her flier back to her. She smiled sadly as the last frail breath left her father’s body.
“Alex!” Alex’s grandfather yelled, staring up at him in alarm. “Harry, help me to him.”
Harry and the old man cautiously approached the boy, who stood rigid, rooted to the spot, staring wide-eyed at the ground between his feet.
“Alex?” Alex’s grandfather said again. “Are you okay?”
The boy stumbled a step, then reached out to touch the old man’s cane. Alex’s grandfather let him take it.
“Alex?”
With abrupt ferocity, the boy swung the stick up so the heavy handle caught Harry square in the side of the head, knocking him out cold. The boy grinned at Alex’s grandfather.
“My name is Alexander. But you shall call me Father.”
Zia clapped her hands.
* * *
• • •
INSIDE THE GRAY room, Alex turned and found the tall man standing there. His face was healed and clean once more. Alex looked around the small space in bewildered fright.
“What’s . . . where are we?”
“Don’t you recognize it?” The man spread his arms. “Your mind. You opened the door to me when you opened yourself to the Soaring Spirit, child. I’ve only glimpsed it from afar before, but I was right: you have an interestingly shaped mind. Great potential. A combination of your physical inheritance and some innate talent that warrants further study. We can do very good work together.”
“What?”
“Fair is fair. Twice now, through blind ignorance and sheer luck, you have managed to damage my body. This time, you have destroyed it. This angers me, but I see no profit in that. So I will allow you to make amends.
“Alexander, the situation is this: I believe that the mind and the body are one; can you understand the concept? I have done all I can—and I have done truly astonishing things, boy—to keep my mind and my body together as one. But if I cannot go on in my own body, I will have to go on in the next best thing. Yours. The blood in your veins is my blood, after all.
“That is why it is so easy for me to reach out—you have used the Soaring Spirit, so you understand, yes? A lock of hair was enough for you there. Now: imagine how much more potent it is for me, with my blood beating through every part of you. Diluted a little, yes, but still stronger than any other.
“The power in that blood is a power I cultivated and can call. Even your features are my own. You are as close to an exact replica of me as could be. Certainly better than any of the toys Beckman ever produced. So I propose we share.”
“What are you talking about?” Alex shouted. “Let me out of here!”
“Listen,” the man said patiently. “Try to understand. It is much better that you do not attempt to fight, Alexander. You can never win. The proposal is this: join with me. There is plenty of room for two of us here. Infinite space. Although, only one can be dominant, of course. But I will develop your body and your mind, and we will both profit. We shall let the body age naturally a little while, and then, at the optimal moment, we shall stop aging forever. And then we will go on, until we have solved all the secrets and created new ones.
“I realize you will need a little time to think this over. To understand. I will give you that time. Say, thirty years. I am not cruel. And in the meantime, I will give you a whole world to keep you satisfied and occupied. A world of wonder. Visions of dazzling happy endings, where all the darkness disappears, and you become a legend. Or, no: perhaps I will simply give you a small world of contentment. Give you the thing that you have always wanted most, with the pitiable lack of ambition my son has allowed to fester in you. Yes. This will be your reality for the time being. Honestly, you will never know the difference.”
The man stepped past Alex and pulled open the door behind him.
“Thirty years of . . . What?” Alex flinched away. He was getting lost in panic. “Just let me go. . . .”
“Are you lost, son?” the man said in a kindly tone. “There, behind you. Isn’t that your parents?”
“What?” Alex looked behind, uncomprehending.
He was in a little dark street and he was five years old, and there were his mum and his
dad at the corner where the sun was shining, calling him to come.
He turned back to the thing he’d been looking at.
A crammed old toy shop window. Behind the glass, there stood a grinning tin robot that he had wanted to show them. But when he looked at it now he realized it was just old and battered and very dusty. He turned away and ran to catch up with his parents.
They each took him by the hand, one on either side.
* * *
• • •
AT THE RUINED castle in the forest, the boy who called himself Alexander winced as he took a step.
“Damaged his foot, too,” he muttered to Alex’s grandfather, indicating the offending ankle. “Tiresome child. I fail to understand how you put up with his bleating.”
“Bunnies don’t bleat, Father,” Zia chirped, delighted. “They make squeaking sounds.”
“And look at you.” The boy jabbed Alex’s grandfather roughly with the cane. “You’ve allowed yourself to become decrepit. Ridiculous.” He threw the stick down as the old man collapsed.
“Nothing to say? Wits failing you now, too?” Alexander gestured toward the flower, which seemed to move its head slightly on the breeze, as if following their conversation. “There’s still time, you know. You could come back to us. Play the repentant prodigal. But, no. You and I have been through that.”
The boy limped across to the tall man’s lifeless body. He stood staring down at it for several seconds. Then he stooped to retrieve the man’s shiny black cane. He swished the stick in the air with satisfaction, then twisted the silver handle to withdraw a long, swordlike blade from inside.
“I’m already growing stronger.” He smiled at Zia. “Far sooner than I thought. It’s because the body feels so familiar, you see? I can even spare a little energy to dull the pain in this wretched ankle now.” He called across to Alex’s grandfather—“Mind over matter!”—then leapt in an almost dancerly fashion at him, landing lightly on the injured foot.
