Widdershins

by Charles de Lint

  “Wait here for Joe. He won’t be long.”

  I will. I . . .

  She went down on one knee so that she could look him in the eye.

  “What are you trying to say, Rabedy Collins?”

  It’s just . . . thank you for believing in me. No one’s ever done that before.

  She shook her head. “Knowing how we can treat each other—that’s not something I’ll miss from this world.”

  She stood up.

  “Goodbye, Rabedy Collins. Perhaps we’ll meet again in the world beyond.”

  She stepped away before Rabedy could reply.

  Rabedy studied the beach, looking one way, then the other, before returning to the hidey-hole he’d found under the overhang.

  Joe Crazy Dog was coming for him.

  He only hoped that the crow dog cousin would keep his faith with Anwatan.

  And if he didn’t?

  He was still held by the memory of Anwatan’s calm presence and didn’t even shiver. Instead, her calmness seemed to have settled inside him as well, as though she’d left it with him as a final gift.

  Well, you don’t even deserve a second chance, he told himself.

  So if he got one, then blessings to the Moon. And if not, he would finally have to pay for running with Big Dan’s gang.

  He’d never believed in fate before. But now he felt firmly held in its grip, and all he could do was wait.

  Jilly

  Del’s exactly where Raylene and I left him. Lying against the wall, the leather cords holding him captive. He looks up when I come into the parlour and glares at me.

  “So, it’s just you and me again,” I tell him.

  “You’ll be sorry once I figure a way out of this.”

  I shake my head. “You still don’t get it, do you? It’s over, Del. We’re done here.”

  But he doesn’t get it, and why should I be surprised? This isn’t the old drunk Raylene tracked down in a Tyson County trailer park. This is the Del of our childhood, full of piss and vinegar. The one who figures everything’s always going to go his way because the world owes him.

  “I can wait,” he tells me. “I’m patient as hell, little sister. Sooner or later, you’ll let down your guard.”

  “The trouble is, it’s got nothing to do with whether I’m paying attention to you or not.”

  I crouch down on the floor so that we’re seeing eye to eye.

  “See,” I go on, “I know I can’t get rid of you. You’re always going to be in my head.”

  “Damn straight.”

  “Except it’s no longer on your terms. It’s on mine.”

  He shakes his head. “That’s not the way it works. And as soon as I get myself untied, you’re going to see.”

  “Yeah, about your being tied up,” I say. “That’s not going to work for me either. I don’t like the idea of leaving anybody like this, unable to move, lying on the floor in an empty room for the rest of their lives—especially not when that room’s in my head.”

  “So let me go.”

  He tries to use what he thinks of as charm, looking at me from lowered lashes, dimple in his cheek from the touch of a smile. Maybe that worked on the girls back in Tyson—though I’m guessing not, or why’d he have to come sniffing after his little sisters?—but it’s sure not working on me.

  “Yeah, right,” I say. “As if that’s going to happen.”

  “Hey, we’ll let bygones be bygones. You go your way and I’ll go mine. No hard feelings.”

  “Oh, there’s always going to be hard feelings,” I tell him. “Don’t you doubt that for a moment.”

  And just like that, the phony charm switches off and there’s that familiar look in his eyes. Feral. Calculating.

  “I’ll see you in hell,” he says, “before I—”

  “No,” I break in. “Here’s the new deal.”

  Once upon a time, I think, and build a fresh story in my head.

  Once upon a time . . .

  “Every time you have one of your mean-assed thoughts, you’re going to shrink to half your size. Have too many . . . well, you’re just going to meanass yourself into nothing. Bad news for you, but it’s all good for me.”

  He spits at me, but I saw him building up the wad of saliva in his mouth and was expecting it. I move my head so that he misses, though bits of spray still spatter on my cheek. I wipe it away with the back of my hand.

  “Because, see,” I tell him, “even though you deserve it, I don’t want anybody’s death on my hands. This way, you’re just going to be small and useless and unable to hurt anything.”

  I stand up and step back, finishing the story in my head.

  Once upon a time . . .

  And just like that, the leather cords are gone.

  He lunges to his feet and immediately shrinks to half his size—contracting from that towering six-foot-something to no more than three feet tall. The top of his head only barely reaches my waist.

  “Oh, you’re going to pay big time for this,” he says.

  But almost before he can get the words out, he’s half his size again—no more than a foot-and-a-half tall now.

  “Goddamn you.”

  It would almost be funny, if there wasn’t so much hurt wound up in my just having to look at him. Even now, when he’s less than a foot tall and still shrinking because I guess he just can’t stop thinking mean thoughts.

  Finally, he’s shrunk down so small I can’t see him at all.

  I look down at the floorboards where he was standing, but there’s nothing to see. He’s probably mean-assed his way right down to molecular size.

  I don’t feel any satisfaction. Only a sense of relief.

  I back carefully out of the room—he’s so small I could accidentally crush him and not even know it. I close the door behind me.

  It doesn’t matter if he stops thinking bad thoughts and starts to grow again, because he still won’t be able to hurt anything or anybody without having to go through the whole shrinking process all over.

  I turn away from the closed door of the parlour and step out onto the porch.

  There’s only one thing left. One loose end.

  Mattie.

  And I think I know what to do now.

  I walk back into the house, up the stairs and into my old bedroom. It’s still ratty and abandoned, with only a bed pushed up against the wall and a dirty mattress on it. But that doesn’t matter. I just start another story in my head—

  Once upon a time . . .

  —and reach under the mattress. I don’t know if it’s really there, or if it’s only there because I believe it’s there, but I pull out that old Ellen Wentworth storybook that I read and reread as a kid. The book where I first met Mattie through “Prince Teddy Bear”—the story Wentworth told about her.

  I flip through the book, past familiar illustrations, then there it is.

  The one of Mattie and her bear.

  I reach under the mattress once more and this time my questing fingers find a pencil. I sit on the floor under the window so that the light comes in over my shoulder. Opening the book to the end, where there are some blank pages, I get to work.

  Joe

  “Honey was a city dog, wasn’t she?” Jack asked as they approached the arroyo where Joe had met up with her earlier when it was still light.

  Joe nodded. “Bred for the fighting pits.”

  “So what’s she doing here?”

  “I’d guess trying to put as much distance between herself and the crap that was her life.”

  Jack nodded. “Good point.”

  “Do me a favour,” Joe said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Play it cool.”

  “You mean with those dogs that are circling around us that we’re not supposed to know are there?”

  “They don’t know you, and I’m not sure they really trust me.”

  “Can’t I just give them the ghost of a scare? Shake up their lives a little?”

  “Jack . . .” />
  “Hey, it’s cool. I’m just mouthing off. Do what you need to do. I’m only here to watch your back.”

  Joe nodded. They were almost at the arroyo now, and the circling dogs used the cover of darkness to work their way closer, not realizing that the two canids could read scents from the wind as readily as they could. That their hearing was also as good, if not better.

  Joe stopped and sank down to the red dirt, easing into a cross-legged position. Jack followed suit, keeping his back to Joe so that he faced the other direction.

  “You let her know we’re here yet?” Jack asked.

  “Soon as we touched down in these badlands. She’s on her way.”

  But before Honey reached them, a ghostly presence took shape in front of Joe. Looking at Anwatan brought Walker’s face to Joe’s mind. The sorrow of having lost a child that lay so deep in the cerva’s eyes.

  Can you come with me now? she asked.

  “I’m kind of busy. I need to deal with my other problem before I get to yours.”

  Your sister.

  Joe nodded.

  “Who’re you talking to?” Jack asked from behind him.

  Joe hadn’t realized that she’d only spoken to him.

  “Anwatan,” Joe said.

  “Yeah?”

  Jack started to turn, but then the dogs came out of the dark, circling around them.

  This is where he is, Anwatan said, sending Joe an image.

  Joe recognized the cliffs by the lakeshore that she showed him. It was the place where the deer people held their blessing ceremonies.

  He’ll be waiting for you when you’re done.

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he told her.

  Thank you, she said, and then she was gone.

  Joe focused now on the dogs that stood watching him.

  “You want to tell these boys we’re the good guys?” Jack said.

  You don’t have to, Honey said.

  She gave a sharp bark and the pack faded back into the night. But not far, Joe knew.

  “You can turn around,” Joe told Jack. “We’re good now.”

  Jack scooted around so that he was also facing Honey.

  “Hey, Honey,” he said. “Long time no see.”

  I remember you. You were with Joe the last time we helped Jilly.

  “Yeah, that goes back a bit, doesn’t it? And here we are again.”

  I’m always ready to help Joe.

  Jack nodded. “I know the feeling.” He studied her for a moment, then added, “You’ve changed. You weren’t near so articulate the last time we met. Next thing you’ll be walking around on your hind legs like some five-fingered being.”

  I will never take human shape, she told him. All it does is bring trouble into the world.

  Joe gave her a look of surprise. The last time they’d talked about this she’d seemed keen on the idea. Then he realized that seeing Del must have reminded her of the freak who’d run her in the fighting pits.

  “I don’t know,” Jack said. “It’s got its benefits.”

  I would rather be deaf and dumb again, than walk on my hind legs.

  “Ouch.”

  “You about done here?” Joe asked.

  Jack spread out his hands. “Just making conversation, Joe.” He turned to Honey. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  I know. I’m . . . She paused as though needing to find just the right word. Unused to diplomacy.

  “No, it was my bad.”

  “I hate to break into the bonding here,” Joe asked, “But what happened to Jilly? One moment I know she’s back and safe, the next she’s right off my radar again.”

  Honey explained, keeping it as brief as possible.

  “Manj, I thought we were busy,” Jack said.

  Joe nodded. “So you just let her go back?”

  A low growl rumbled in Honey’s chest, but when she spoke, her voice was calm in their heads.

  There was no stopping her, Joe. She paused, then added, This is something she needs to do. You know that. If she doesn’t, she’ll never be free of her brother’s curse. You’ve said the same thing to her.

  “I never—”

  The only difference here is that you didn’t know the specifics.

  “You’re right,” Joe said after a moment. “But I’m just so damned worried about her. Have been ever since the accident. There was a dimming of that light she casts after the car hit her, and it never really came back.”

  It has now, Honey assured him.

  “Well, that’s something.”

  I’m worried, too, Honey said, but I also have faith in her. She will prevail.

  She seemed to believe it. Joe wanted to believe it, too, but he knew better than her how quickly things could go wrong in the otherworld. Especially in a situation such as this. A world that existed inside her own head? How could she possibly go there? The physics were improbable, even for the otherworld.

  But that didn’t mean it wasn’t true. The problem was it was all new territory, new rules.

  “The others are still waiting for her on the mesa?” he asked.

  Honey nodded. Joe, if there’d been another way . . .

  “I’m not laying blame on anybody,” he told her, “except on me. I should have handled this differently. What was I thinking, setting some ordinary safety spell on her? If there’s one thing I should have learned over the years, it’s that Jilly’s anything but ordinary.”

  “So, maybe she knows what she’s doing,” Jack said.

  “Right. That’s why, when she went back in, she was still stuck in the body of a child.”

  Have faith in her, Honey said.

  “I . . .”

  He was about to say that he did, but if that was the case, then why was he so worried?

  “I’ll try,” he said.

  He started to get up, but Jack put a hand on his arm.

  “Wait,” he said.

  “Wait? For what?”

  “Well, for one thing, to get centered again. I’ve never seen you like this, Joe. If you don’t get focused, something is going to get screwed up.”

  “And how are we going to get centered?”

  Jack smiled. “For starters, we’re going to sit here a moment and let the night fill us. We’re going to appreciate the beauty and the stillness. Then we’re going to offer some smoke to the four directions and the Grace.”

  Joe gave a slow nod.

  “And then,” Jack said, “we’re going to see what needs to be done. And if we need to kick some ass, we’ll be ready for that, too.”

  He waited until Joe nodded again, then pulled out his tobacco and started to build a smoke.

  “Pretty place you’ve got here,” he told Honey. “I can see why it appeals more than where Joe first found you.”

  I wanted to raise my pups far from the stink and smell of that world.

  “Yeah, well, it’s not all pretty. No argument there.”

  Joe could feel Honey’s smile in his mind.

  But it’s not all bad either, she admitted.

  “I wasn’t going to bring that up,” Jack said. “But since you did, yeah. There are parts of that world that’ll just take your breath away. I figure it’s just like most of us. We’ve all got some good in us, we’ve got some bad.”

  Not all of us. There are some that are all bad.

  “Or the same as,” Jack agreed. He grinned at her, a feral coyote’s grin. “And the ones that are like that, well, we just put down to make more room for beauty to grow.”

  He finished making the cigarette and handed it and his lighter to Joe.

  “Do the honours,” he said.

  Joe flicked the wheel of the Zippo and a small flame sprang up from its wick.

  “Light in the dark,” Jack murmured.

  Joe nodded and lit the cigarette.

  “Light in the dark,” he agreed.

  Jilly

  I write down the story the way I made it happen for Mattie, how every time Del came swaggering into my
room, I put all the evil and hurt he did to me onto her so that she had to carry the weight of it instead of me. He would always say that I made him do those terrible things, but in my head, she was the one who made him do it. Not me. But all I really did was transfer my pain to her just so that I could get through the days and nights I had to live in that house of my enemy.

  I don’t sugarcoat the story now, or leave anything out, because it’s not going to work if I’m not totally honest.

  It doesn’t matter that I didn’t know what I was doing at the time.

  It doesn’t matter that I was just a messed-up kid myself.

  All that matters is for me to find a way to make things right for Mattie.

  So I sit there on the floor, working on it, filling the handful of blank pages at the end of the book with lines of tiny printing and little sketches.

  After awhile I get up and take the book outside. I realize that this isn’t the kind of thing I can finish in here. Not in this house, in this room.

  It’s where it all started, not where it should end.

  It’s still sunny outside and the humidity’s completely gone. It’s a perfect summer’s day—the kind you’d get once or twice during the season back in the real Tyson County. I lean against the porch pillar to listen to a jay somewhere off in the spruce, scolding and raucous, then sit down on the top step and open the book again.

  “Do you really think that’s going to be enough?” an unfamiliar voice asks.

  I suppose I should feel nervous, but I’m very calm as I turn to see who’s spoken. I’m even calm when I recognize the newcomer as another character from the Ellen Wentworth book.

  This time it’s Tom Foolery, the title character from “The Scarecrow That Couldn’t Sleep.” Like Mattie, he looks like he simply stepped out of one of Wentworth’s paintings. I could turn to the page of the book on my lap and find the same raggedy man with the painted cloth face and the bits of straw sticking out of his seams and from under his floppy brown hat. He’s wearing a checkered shirt, old worn overalls, and a pair of rubber boots that are cracked with age.

  “Don’t tell me I did something to you, too,” I say.

  “No,” he says. He waves a floppy arm out past the yard. “I was just hanging around out in the fields and got this sudden inclination to come back to the house.”