by Dylan Peters
“I’m okay,” she mumbled. “I’m okay.”
I helped her sit up, and then we both laughed.
“Thank you,” I said to her.
“Don’t thank me, thank her,” my mother said while nodding her head toward Anna.
I stood up and turned until my eyes met Anna’s. “Your wings are beautiful,” I said.
She blushed, and we stared at each other in silence for just a second too long.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about them,” she said.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I don’t know what we would have done without you.”
A large hand grabbed my shoulder, and then Jim stood next to me. “Creepy’s right,” he said to Anna. “You saved us, kid.”
“Yeah,” Kay said. “You were amazing.”
Anna didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to. Her blushing cheeks and smile said it all. The sad girl in the wheelchair was gone. Anna had come through the worst the world could offer and she had survived. She was a fighter, a protector, a leader—and yet she was still Anna, still the same awkward girl in black-rimmed glasses, uncomfortable being the center of attention.
She shyly turned from us to look for Wisket, and that was when we noticed the fox’s melancholy gaze. He glumly stared at Reego, and the wild dog was fading.
“Reego,” I said softly and walked over to Kay as she held the dog. I placed my hand behind his head and gently stroked his fur. “I owe you, too. More than I can ever repay.”
I didn’t know what else to say. I remembered my conversation with the shadow bear. Ah’Rhea was gone, and Reego was growing more transparent by the moment. He had lost his partner, his mystical. There was nothing I could do. I searched inside for some answer, for some hint from the shadow bear or for a light from the Everflame, but there was nothing.
“You can fix him now, right?” Kay asked me with a trembling voice. “I mean…” Her face crumpled, and tears fell from her eyes onto Reego’s fur.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my chest tightening. “Ah’Rhea is gone. She and Reego were bonded. I can’t do anything.”
“The Everflame was supposed to fix everything,” Jim said.
“I don’t think that’s how it works.” My mother pulled herself up on the branches and sighed deeply. “Sometimes the world changes, and there’s nothing that can make it go back to the way it was, no matter how much you might want it to. It’s not natural to keep things the same. We have to make peace with the world around us and adapt to it as it moves and changes. The Everflame can’t stop time. It can’t stop things from coming,” my mother gestured to the Nullwood around us, “and it can’t stop things from fading.”
Kay sat down upon the ground and cradled Reego in her arms. She cried hard, and the dog lazily licked her on the nose, as if to tell her it was all going to be okay. But it wasn’t going to be okay, not for Kay, and not for any of us. Jim sat down and cried with Kay, wrapping his big arms around her. Anna came back to the ground with hurt in her eyes, and sat, holding Wisket in her arms.
This wasn’t right… but it was life.
“I love you, Reego,” Kay said.
I knelt on the ground and watched Reego fade away slowly until there was nothing left in Kay’s arms at all. I watched her weep and I felt hollow. I retreated into myself, as I always did when I couldn’t handle what the world forced me to bear, and within myself, I found my mystical.
The shadow bear was staring at the ocean’s shallows. I walked to him, leaned up against his massive bulk, and buried my head in his fur as I cried for the loss of Reego.
Why do you cry? the bear asked.
“Because that’s what happens when you lose someone you care about,” I said. I lifted my head out of the bear’s fur and saw his mouth part with a bearish grin.
But he is bonded, the bear said.
Suddenly, my heart grew light, since I could feel what the bear felt.
I heard Kay gasp loudly and I quickly came back from my place with the shadow bear. Her eyes were wet and red, but she was no longer crying. Jim looked at her with concern.
“What is it?” he asked her, but she didn’t respond. Jim turned to me instead. “What’s happening?”
I laughed with happiness, unable to hold it back. Wisket leaped out of Anna’s lap and howled like a fool. He could feel it, too.
“They’ve bonded,” I said. “Kay and Reego bonded. Reego is alive.”
Suddenly, a glittering light grew in front of Kay, and once again Reego was cradled in her arms, his body fully whole. Kay squeezed him tightly and the wild dog licked her face excitedly. Jim wrapped his arms around them both while we all celebrated a miracle. Kay looked at me and she was happier than I have ever seen her.
And I knew at that moment that this was how we would do it. This was how we would move on… together. We were learning and growing every day in our new world. We were finding ourselves, and we were slowly finding one another in this mystic wild.
20
There were still people and animals that needed to be freed. There was so much more we wanted to know, so much more we wanted to learn from the Nullwood, the Everflame, the dome, and even the Starless Tower, but it was time for us to leave the forest. We were bruised, battered, filthy, and struggling to find food and water. We barely needed to have a conversation about what should be done next. We were in a bad state and needed to save ourselves before we could save anyone else. It was time to go home. We gathered what little we had and headed directly east for the Nullwood’s border.
Jim and I helped my mother along, and the going was slow, but we managed just fine. The only difficulty was ascending the cliff where the river had once been, but we were lucky to find a place where the climb wasn’t so steep. We encountered no danger on our trip out of the Nullwood. In fact, there had been two occasions when we observed mynahs flying overhead and the creatures ignored us completely. Kay said she wondered how much Kesia and the mist had influenced their campaign of terror, and it was at that point that I revealed my ability to see their memories. Everyone felt horrible that the mynahs had been victimized as much as the rest of us.
When we finally left the Nullwood behind, the departure was bittersweet for me. I couldn’t speak for anyone else, but I had found myself in the dark forest. I had changed so much. I left the Nullwood with a confidence and a purpose that I really never thought I would find. I left the Nullwood with a new understanding of life.
Yet as much as the Nullwood meant to me, it felt like a monumental blessing when we finally saw the school on the horizon. I had no fond memories of the place, but it was like seeing an oasis after trekking through a desert. We knew we would have food, water, new clothes, the ability to clean ourselves, and a place to rest and heal. It was odd, but when we saw the school on the horizon, Jim had called it home, and not one of us objected to the comment because we knew that whether it had ever been that for us in the past, it would be home for the foreseeable future.
Anna stopped flying and let me carry her before we reached the school, and Jim continued to help my mother. We approached the fence and were met by people with guns, but they didn’t threaten us or shoot us. They welcomed us. Even the sight of Wisket, Reego, and the blue squirrel didn’t stop them from letting us inside. They gave us everything we needed, and even sent doctors to us. It was so different from my last time at the school. Instead of being separated from the group, tied up and locked away, I was provided for and cared for.
Jim looked at me and said, “I guess you’re not kicked out of school anymore, huh, Creepy?”
I laughed, but after everything that had happened, I almost felt like crying.
Almost a month had gone by since we returned to the school, and life had more or less regained some normalcy. The mynahs never attacked again, and the school was developing a sense of community. There was even a plan to supply the building with electricity. Hope was in the air. We had come through the end of the world only to find out it wasn’t an end after all.
It was simply a new day.
I woke to one of those new days and sat up in my cot as the sun came through the gymnasium windows. It was not a working day for me, Anna, Kay, Jim or my mother. We’d arrived at the school on the same day so we were on the same work schedule. It made getting used to a new place easier, since it meant we had free time with one another.
I stood from my cot, stretched, got dressed, and then left my small partitioned bedroom, and headed for the locker room to get ready for whatever my friends might want to do with the day.
Once I was ready, I knew I would find Jim and Kay in the cafeteria eating breakfast, so I decided to visit them first. It was difficult to blend in or be anonymous with Jim and Kay. Their mysticals had a way of drawing attention. Everyone who walked by usually felt the need to wave or smile at Reego and the squirrel. And the cafeteria was always busy, even with those who lived outside the school, since people came there to eat, socialize, and trade. It was a local hub.
Today, the bustle created a din that made having a private conversation easier. I found Kay and Jim at their own table. Reego sat in his own seat, watching the people walk by and occasionally dipping his nose into a bowl that had been set before him. The blue squirrel sat on Jim’s shoulder and snatched little pieces of apple when Jim offered them.
“So, big news, Creepy,” Jim said as I sat down at the table.
“Oh yeah?” I replied. “Big plans for the day?”
“Nope,” Jim said. “Actually, I’ve decided to finally give somebody,” and Jim paused to point at the mystical on his shoulder, “a name.”
“Really?” I was honestly surprised.
Jim and I had agreed that we would only name our mysticals once we came up with the perfect names. We weren’t going to force it. The names needed to be special.
“Yup,” Jim affirmed. “I finally came up with something that means a lot to me: Gus.”
“Why Gus?” I asked.
“Gus was my dad’s name,” Jim began, “and I know my dad wasn’t the greatest guy in the world, but I thought by naming the squirrel Gus he could kind of… well… I don’t know.”
“Just say it,” Kay prompted.
Jim nodded bashfully. “I guess I just figured that this Gus, squirrel Gus, marked a change in me. Like, when Gus, my dad, was around, I lived selfishly, but now this Gus is a reminder that I’m a different person, a better person. So maybe… I don’t know… my relationship with this Gus could sort of make up for the relationship I never had with my dad.” Jim shrugged uncomfortably. “I’m not really explaining it well, and it sounds stupid.”
“No,” I said. “I get it. I think it’s an awesome choice.”
Jim nodded. “Thanks, man.”
“And to celebrate you choosing a name, I got you something,” Kay said to Jim. “I found it yesterday while scavenging, but decided to save it for a special moment.”
Kay turned around and reached into her shoulder bag. When she turned back with her gift, Jim’s eyes widened. It was one of his favorite snack cakes, the very same kind that Kay had found that day before we first met Ah’Rhea. Jim mumbled with excitement and reached for the little cake, still pristine in its plastic wrapper. But before he could take it, Gus leaped from Jim’s shoulder, snatched the cake, and ran away with it.
“Oh! What the—” Jim exclaimed and began to get up from the table, but Kay stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“I found a whole box,” she said with a smile. “They’re hiding under my cot.”
Jim sat back down and smiled. “I do love you, Karalana Drake,” he said in his fake Southern drawl.
“You know you’re creepy when you use that voice, right?” Kay said.
“No, he isn’t,” I interjected with my own fake drawl. “I’m still the only Creepy round these parts.”
“Oh, Creepy,” Jim said sympathetically and shook his head. “You’re really working on being funny, and I respect that. I do. But that joke was corny, man. Does your mom laugh at jokes like that? Speaking of Echo, have you talked to her yet?”
“You’re calling my mom Echo now?” I asked.
“I’m a grown man, Creepy,” Jim answered, sitting up straight. “I’m not some kid asking her if I can mow the lawn for money to take my girl to the movies. We’ve battled together. Besides, don’t change the subject. Have you talked to her yet?”
“No, I haven’t talked to her yet,” I said.
“Today is as good a day as any,” Kay said. “We can’t wait forever, and you know Anna won’t wait much longer.”
“I know,” I said. “Has anyone seen Anna yet today?”
“She’s in her room preparing for a trip to Esteban’s,” Jim said.
“You should go with her,” Kay said to me. “I’m sure she’d enjoy your company, but you do need to talk to your mom first.
“Just dive in, Creepy,” Jim said. “Stop thinking about it, and just do it. You’re psyching yourself out.”
“Okay,” I said in frustration. “I’ll do it. Jeez.”
“We’re only pushing because we care,” Kay said. “You know that, right? We care about you and Anna, and your mom. You’re our family now.”
“I know,” I said and got up from the table. “I’m going to talk to my mom, I promise. I’ll catch you guys later.”
I knocked on the door to the guidance counselor’s office which had been converted to a bedroom for my mother, and she invited me inside. As I opened the door, I found her sitting on a cot, in recently scavenged athletic gear, slipping on her new prosthetic leg. It wasn’t the best fit, but she’d made it work. She was thankful just to have one after losing her own in the Demise. My mother was still thin from her time at the Starless Tower and had a scar on the side of her face as a reminder, but she was looking much healthier otherwise.
I walked into the room quietly. I always walk quietly.
She smiled warmly and waved me over to her. This all felt familiar, as if we had had this very interaction sometime before, but in another life, on another world, as two completely different people.
“I was just about to go for a walk,” she said. “Want to come with?”
“Um,” I began awkwardly, trying to think of a good excuse. “I was actually already doing something with Jim, but I wanted to stop by and talk to you first.”
“Oh,” my mother said and gave a knowing smile. “Okay.” She looked down and started tying her sneakers. “What did you want to talk about?”
I paused before speaking. I never would have thought about saying these things before the Demise, not because they were things I didn’t feel, but because it was awkward for me to talk about my emotions. Yet time had helped me realize how much words could matter to me and to others. I knew it was the right thing to do.
“Sounds like you have a lot on your mind,” my mother said sarcastically, noting my silence.
“Sorry,” I said, realizing it was now or never. “Do you remember the last conversation we had before the Demise?”
“Yes,” my mother said plainly.
“I’m sorry about how that conversation ended,” I said. “There were things I really should have said to you but didn’t. Not saying things has been my go-to option for way too long. The Demise and my trip through the Nullwood kind of made me realize that if I don’t say what I should, I might never get another chance. So, now that I have a second chance… well…
“I knew you felt guilty that I got kicked out of school. I knew you blamed yourself for reasons that aren’t necessarily logical, but that doesn’t mean your feelings weren’t valid. I guess when you raise a child, they can feel like an extension of yourself. The things I do and feel, the way I behave and think; these things feel personal to you, and I get that.
“What I should have said to you then was that I knew you blamed yourself for what I did at school, but really, you should have blamed yourself for a whole lot more than just that. I missed my opportunity, but I’m not going to miss it again. So now I’m going to tell you all the t
hings you should blame yourself for.”
My mother raised her eyebrows at this but didn’t say anything.
“You spent a lot of time reading to me as a child, and I grew to love books. When I vented my frustrations through writing stories, you blamed yourself. But I love my ability to write, to imagine, and to create. I’m proud of my intellect and the stories I come up with. It’s a source of confidence for me. So blame yourself for that.
“Also, you blame yourself that I never had a father while growing up. You’re afraid that his absence stunted me in some way, or made me weaker, but you’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever known, and I’ve learned from you almost every day of my life. So make sure you blame yourself for that.
“Also, you’ve never had many friends. You’re a private person who values solitude, and those are traits I have as well. You blame yourself for the fact that I never had any friends, but I value my independence, and when I finally did make friends, I made the best friends. So you should blame yourself for that, too.
“You see, mom, when I look into a mirror I see all of my imperfections and flaws, physical and mental, real and imagined. They’ll weigh me down if I let them, but I still look into the mirror, day after day. Because flaws aren’t all I see. I also see my strengths. I see me. All of me. I can be flawed, and I can value myself. You raised me right, and whether you know it or not, you helped me understand this.
“And what I should have said to you then, what I’m not going to miss out on saying to you now, is thank you, Mom. I love you.”
“I love you, too, Arthur,” my mother said, and gave me a hug. “I’m more proud of you than I can ever explain.”
“You stabbed a witch for me, mom,” I said with a wry smile, “so I think I pretty much get it.”
We laughed together, and I was happy. It made what I had to say next so much harder, because I was afraid it might ruin everything I had just said. The last thing I wanted was to upset my mother. She had been through so much, but… there were just things I had to do.
