Out of This World

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  “No,” Raven said, startled. “Of course not. Such things are the stuff of children’s tales. We know of no way Shadow can be fought save by slaying its creatures and combating its spells, as we have done since my grandfather was a babe.”

  “No?” It was Pel’s turn to be startled.

  “No! No, there can be no easy victory—can there?” An odd, hopeful note crept into Raven’s voice. “Do you know of some way that Shadow can be defeated? Has something like this happened in your world, and was a way found?”

  “No, of course not,” Pel replied, confused. “Magic doesn’t work in the real world.”

  For a moment Raven was silent, his face slowly reddening; then he stood up angrily. “You mock me, sir,” he said, in a tone that was pure threat.

  If this was a joke, Raven was a superb actor; he sounded utterly sincere. Pel blinked up at him, startled anew, and for a long silent moment the two men stared at each other.

  “No, I don’t,” Pel said at last. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean any mockery. Go on with your story.”

  Raven glared for a moment longer, then slowly settled back onto the couch. He stared at the far wall for a moment, where a blonde in white gauze rode a swing before a landscape of impossibly vivid colors.

  Pel had always loved that print, but Raven seemed puzzled by it.

  At last the stranger said, “Magic does not work in your world, you say?”

  “No,” Pel said. “At least, we generally don’t think so, except for a few loonies. Real magic doesn’t work. It never has.”

  Raven nodded.

  “That,” he said, “might well account for Grummetty’s illness. ‘Tis said by some that the little people are magical in origin, and yet need a trace of that magic to live. Perhaps in your world that magic is gone, and they cannot exist. Grummetty told us all that he felt as if his own flesh were burning him when he came here, and indeed he was sore ill when he returned to us. At first we feared he might not live, but when his fever broke and his strength began to return, I ventured through the portal. As yet, I’ve felt no ill here.”

  “Oh,” Pel said. “He said he felt sick. I wondered about that.”

  Raven nodded. “We sent a little person at the first because he might more easily hide, should danger arise. He said he found no danger save the illness, only a metalsmith at work. Would that be you, sir?”

  “I was putting together a wagon for my daughter,” Pel explained, a little impatiently. “She just turned six, and we had a party for her yesterday. Now would you go on with your story about the Shadow, and what you’re doing here?”

  “Indeed,” Raven said. “And gladly will I speak, an it be that my words can sway. That thing we call Shadow has conquered all my world, now; the darkness is everywhere. From one edge to the other it is supreme, and only in isolated pockets do a few of us still resist its dominion. In truth, we can do little ‘gainst it. And having thus triumphed, ‘twould seem that the evil seeks new challenge; our surviving free mages, working in secret, spied upon Shadow, and learned that it had sought new worlds to conquer—and had in fact found them.”

  “Earth, you mean?” Pel asked.

  Raven stared blankly at him. “Earth?”

  “This world, I mean,” Pel explained.

  “Oh,” Raven said, with a glance out through the glass of the sliding door. “You call this Earth? How odd.” He shook his head. “’Tis no matter, though. No, ‘twas not this world Shadow found, but another, the realm of the Imperials.”

  “Oh. Okay, who are they?” The tale, Pel thought, was getting unnecessarily long and complicated, and he wished that Raven would get to the point.

  “They are men, like us,” Raven told him, “and they rule not one world, but many. Not worlds that are reached by magical portals, such as the one that brought me hither, but worlds that float separately in the sky, among the stars, and that can be sailed to in special flying ships—or so I am told. I do not pretend to understand it, not having been there. They call all the worlds gathered under their rule the Galactic Empire, though I know not whence the name derives.”

  “The Galactic Empire?” Pel objected. “Aren’t you mixing genres?”

  “What?” Raven asked. His confusion was beginning to have a constant visible admixture of anger, and Pel decided not to provoke him with explanations of the difference between science fiction and fantasy.

  “Never mind,” Pel replied. “Go on.”

  “As you will,” Raven said, calming. He continued, “When ‘twas learned that Shadow sought these other realms, certain mages among those who strove ‘gainst the darkness took careful study and discovered the secrets of the spells Shadow had used in its researches—Elani was one such. Those mages then opened portals to the worlds of the Galactic Empire, that they might forewarn the Imperials, and thereby gain their aid in fighting Shadow. However, those who passed through these portals found that the Empire was strange beyond our understanding, and was perhaps itself no better than the lesser of two evils. Some, my group among them, therefore resolved not to trust the Imperials, but to proceed on our own.”

  “So you looked for another, better world, and you found us?” Pel asked.

  “No,” Raven answered. “The Imperials did that. Once they learned that one other reality existed, and that ‘twas ruled by a hostile force, they set about finding another, in hopes of acquiring an ally in their coming battle against Shadow. They have no mages, but they have men and women who can hear the thoughts of others...”

  “Telepaths?” Pel suggested.

  “Aye, telepaths, the very word they use!” Raven agreed, startled.

  Pel nodded. For once he’d guessed right about something in Raven’s tale. “Go on,” he said.

  Raven continued, “’Twould seem that these telepaths had sometimes found traces of thought for which they could not account. Some, it seemed, had leaked through from my own native realm—but some, so it chanced, came from your world. Thus, they sought out your reality, and attempted to send messages to a few receptive individuals therein. When that yielded no useful results, they devised a means of transporting one of their sky-ships into whatsoever other realities they might find, and sent that ship hither, to your land. This morning it arrived, and if Elani’s spell be sound, not far from here. My group learned about these plans, and our mages opened a portal, that we might communicate with your people—this, that you might have some contact with our realm other than through the Imperials, and that, perhaps, we, too, might benefit from whatever your people can teach us.” He frowned. “We had hoped that our messenger might bespeak your rulers ere the ship of the Imperials came, but alas, Grummetty’s illness cut short our first attempt, and ‘twas not until some hours after the ship was sent that we made another.”

  Raven spread his hands.

  “And here I am,” he said, just as Pel heard the whir of the garage door opener.

  * * * *

  Amy Jewell watched as the last of the crewmen from the spaceship—if that’s what it was—climbed reluctantly into the police van.

  “What’s going to happen to them?” she asked.

  The plainclothes cop beside her looked up from his notepad. “Them?” he said, pointing his pen at the van.

  Amy nodded.

  The cop shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “I never heard of anything like this before. If it’s a publicity stunt I expect the movie company will bail them out tomorrow morning—not today, because it’s Sunday and the judge won’t be in, but probably first thing tomorrow. If it’s for a movie. And they didn’t resist arrest or give us any trouble at all—hell, you probably heard them, they were asking to talk to the authorities—so even if they don’t get bailed out we may not be able to hold them.”

  Amy nodded again. “I see,” she said, though she wasn’t sure she did.

  “You worried about them?” the cop asked, giving her a shrewd glance.

  Amy grimaced. “Not really,” she said.

  The cop didn’t answer.


  “What about the airpl... the shi... that thing?” Amy asked, pointing. “How are you going to get it off my lawn?”

  The cop frowned. Then he sighed. “I don’t know, lady,” he said. “That’s not my job. I’m sorry, but it’s not police business. Either you can move it, because it’s your yard, or they can move it, because it’s their ship. Either way, they’re liable, but you’ll probably need to sue them to collect.” He glanced at the huge purple object. “The FAA people are supposed to be on their way out here now, you know, Sunday or not—they want to look at the thing and figure out how it got here. You probably shouldn’t touch anything until they get here.”

  A siren started up, then cut off abruptly; a white pumper truck with GAITHERSBURG-WASHINGTON GROVE FIRE DEPARTMENT lettered on the doors in gold pulled away, engine roaring and the tires spitting gravel from the roadside. Amy and the cop watched it go.

  “I’ve gotta say,” the plainclothesman remarked, “that this is the weirdest damn thing I ever heard of.”

  Amy nodded.

  “If worse comes to worst,” he suggested, “you could sell tickets and run tours.”

  “I suppose so,” Amy said, unenthusiastically. She wasn’t really very interested in the idea; she wanted her yard back, not a tourist trap. She didn’t really need so dubious a source of additional income.

  As she watched the pumper depart she spotted a blue sedan creeping up the road. She thought it looked as if it had writing on the door, but at that angle and distance she couldn’t make it out.

  “That’s the FAA boys now,” the cop said. “I’ll be going along. If you could come to the station tomorrow and let us know whether you want to press charges or anything, we’d appreciate it.”

  “All right,” Amy said distractedly.

  “That’s it, then,” the cop said, closing his notepad. “Have a nice day.”

  He turned and ambled toward the remaining county police cruiser as the van pulled away and the blue sedan coasted to a stop.

  Chapter Three

  Nancy stared stupidly as Raven bowed deeply. Rachel giggled behind her hand, and dropped a small plastic shopping bag to the floor.

  “Hi, honey,” Pel said. He gestured at their unexpected guest. “This is Raven.”

  “Hi,” Nancy said, looking questioningly at Pel as he came to take one of the bags of groceries from her arms.

  “Your servant, madame,” Raven said, bowing again.

  “My wife, Nancy, and my daughter, Rachel,” Pel explained as he carried the groceries into the kitchen.

  “A pleasure to meet you, I assure you,” Raven said.

  Nancy murmured something vague, then followed Pel into the kitchen with the other bag.

  “Who’s he?” she demanded. “Why’s he dressed like that?”

  Pel put the sack on the counter and started putting cans of soup on the pantry cupboard shelves while he tried to think how to answer that.

  “He says to call him Raven,” he said. “I’m not sure if it’s really his name or not. And he’s apparently dressed like that because that’s what he wears at home.”

  “Where’s home? What’s he doing here?”

  A can of Campbell’s cream of mushroom slipped, and Pel caught it in his other hand.

  “I don’t know, really,” he said. “I mean, I sort of do, but it’s... well, it’s not that it’s hard to explain as that nobody would believe the explanation.” He paused, considering, and added, “I’m not sure I believe it.”

  Nancy stared at him. “Pel, what are you talking about?” she asked, worried.

  Pel looked helplessly around the kitchen, as if hoping the cabinets would tell him what to say.

  The cabinets remained blank.

  He could hear voices from the family room, he realized—Raven and Rachel were talking. He crossed to the door and leaned through.

  “You see?” Raven was saying. “It is indeed a real sword. And sharp—do you not touch it, lest you cut your pretty fingers.” He had pulled about a foot of the blade from its sheath, and Rachel was admiring the dull gleam of the metal.

  That wasn’t cheap chrome, like some of the ceremonial swords Pel had seen, nor stainless steel, nor plain iron. Even from the kitchen door he could see the fine finish, the sort of finish one saw on very expensive carving knives.

  Nancy came up behind him and looked over his shoulder.

  “Pel,” she whispered in his ear, “what’s he doing here?”

  Pel turned and pushed Nancy back into the kitchen.

  “He’s from some sort of fantasy world,” he said. “Where magic works. He’s a warrior of some kind, I guess.”

  “You mean he’s crazy? An escaped lunatic?” In an instant, Nancy’s expression went from mildly concerned to seriously worried.

  “No,” Pel told her. “Or at least I don’t think so. I think he’s for real. There’s some kind of space warp that comes out in our basement.”

  The worried look now verged on panic. “Maybe you’re crazy, too!” Nancy said. “Pel, what are you talking about?”

  Pel groped unsuccessfully for words, and finally just said, “Come on.” He took Nancy’s hand and pulled her back into the family room, where Rachel was admiring the silver embroidery on Raven’s tunic. Raven was watching the girl’s little fingers indulgently as they explored the textures.

  Raven looked up as the pair entered, and smiled. “A lovely child,” he said. “And well-spoken.”

  “Thanks,” Pel said.

  “In her sixth year, you said? Or was it seventh?”

  “She just turned six.”

  “Ah!”

  For a moment the Browns just stood there, and Raven sat, and Rachel ran her fingertips down the silver piping. Then Raven carefully lifted Rachel off his knee, placed her on the couch, and stood up.

  “My presence here troubles you, I see,” he said, “and I’ve no wish to trouble anyone.”

  Pel chewed his lower lip, glancing back and forth between Raven and Nancy, while Raven awaited a reply. He was obviously hoping for a polite denial, but Nancy was obstinately silent as she stared at the stranger.

  Raven sighed and picked up his sword. “I’ll be going, then,” he said.

  “I’m sorry,” Pel said, “but I can’t think of any way to explain you that doesn’t sound crazy.”

  “Ah,” Raven said, comprehension dawning, “I see. I’d feared it was something else, that perhaps I’d given offense somehow. I know so little of your world, after all!” He looked hopefully at Nancy.

  She remained silent; it was Pel who assured him, “No, you’ve been charming. But your clothes, and your name... well, it’s strange.”

  Raven nodded.

  “Madame,” he said, “I beg your pardon for intruding, and for my garb, which I take it you find outlandish. In truth, I am outlandish—I’ve come here from another realm entirely.”

  Pel listened to this with interest; it was remarkable how much more believable that sounded coming from Raven than it did coming from him.

  It still wasn’t very believable, though, and in fact Nancy obviously still didn’t believe it.

  Rachel was also skeptical, judging by her expression. Nifty embroidery and shiny swords were all very well, but modern kindergarteners knew better than to believe stories about other worlds. Rachel had independently figured out just weeks before that Santa Claus wasn’t real; she was still working on the Easter Bunny and the tooth fairy, but she wasn’t about to accept Raven at face value.

  Raven could see the disbelief as well as Pel could. He sighed. “You doubt me,” he said, deliberately understating the case, “and I can scarce blame you, for who in her right mind would believe such an assertion without proof? But perhaps I can convince you. And if not, I’ll go, and at least you’ll be rid of me.” He rose and reached for his sword and belt. “Pel Brown,” he said as he fastened the buckle, “if you would be so kind as to lead us to the cellars?”

  That was clearly the thing to do, though the idea had n
ot occurred to Pel. “Come on,” he said. “Everybody down in the basement, and you can see why I believed Raven about where he came from.”

  They trooped down the stairs, Raven in the lead, then Pel, then Rachel, and last Nancy. Raven did not hesitate; he walked directly across the basement and into the concrete wall.

  Unlike Grummetty, who had whacked his head the first time he tried to return to his own reality, Raven vanished immediately.

  Rachel’s eyes widened, and her mouth opened.

  Nancy turned to her husband and demanded, “Pel, what’s going on here?”

  “You saw,” Pel said. “He vanished into the wall. See, night before last, when I was down here, this little tiny guy, like an elf or something, appeared out of nowhere, and talked to me for a minute, and then disappeared into the wall just the way Raven did.” He didn’t mention the bump. “Then this afternoon, when you were out, I heard knocking, and there Raven was, in our basement. And he gave me this whole story about another world, and I know it sounds stupid, but I bought it—it sounded real, and he looked real, and I couldn’t figure out any other way it could happen.”

  “Well, he’s gone now,” Nancy said, and just then Rachel, who had wandered halfway across the basement staring at the spot where Raven had vanished, let out a shriek.

  Raven was stepping back out of the blank concrete wall.

  Rachel came running back across the basement floor to her parents and flung herself against her father, who bent down and picked her up, hugging her to him.

  “It’s okay, Rae,” he told her, as Nancy laid a comforting hand on the back of the little girl’s head. “It’s just Raven. It’s okay.”

  The dismay he saw on Raven’s face over Rachel’s shoulder could not be feigned, Pel was sure.

  “My humble apologies, Mistress Rachel,” Raven said, going down on one knee and lowering his head. “I’d not meant to startle you. Please, forgive me?”

  Rachel lifted her head from her father’s chest and peeked behind her. When she saw Raven’s posture she pressed against Pel’s shoulders, and he lowered her to the ground.

  She turned to face Raven, but didn’t say anything.