Ground

by Kirsten Weiss

  Her hands fluttered, mothlike. “Real things, but not real.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I've been going to the same place, over and over. And each time I go, the place changes, as if it’s decaying.”

  “Where do you go?” I asked.

  “I'm not sure. It's not this world, or Upper or Lower World. And it's sure not Middle World.”

  A bat fluttered above us.

  “How do you know what Middle World looks like?” I asked. “I thought Middle World was too dangerous for journeying.”

  Her fair skin darkened. “I'm not a beginner anymore. It was time. And it’s not dangerous, not really. It’s just difficult.”

  I raised my hands in a warding gesture. “Hey, I was just asking.”

  We didn't say anything for a long minute.

  “There was a man there,” she said.

  “A man?”

  “I think…” She took a deep breath. “I think it’s the Rose Rabbit.”

  “He’s been contacting you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

  “I don’t know,” she repeated miserably. “It’s strange, but I just didn’t want to say anything to either of you. I wanted to keep it private. And I know that doesn’t make any sense.”

  “It does if whoever he is, he’s been influencing you.”

  “I know. If Karin hadn’t been shot… I still might not have said anything.”

  That’s us Bonheim sisters. It takes only a complete disaster to get us to budge. “I saw something too,” I admitted and shifted against the pickup. My jeans made a squeaking sound. “At the wellhouse. A vision of a place that was… strange. Decaying was a good word for it.”

  “You don’t have visions,” she said.

  “No.” But I’d had two today. Something was changing. Was it me?

  Again, we fell silent.

  “I've tried to ask my spirit guides,” she said, “but they haven't been around. There's been a new spirit hanging around, a white wolf, but he's not talking.”

  “That's not right. White wolves are supposed to be messengers. So what's the message?”

  “I'm thinking the messenger is the message.”

  “That makes zero sense.”

  A second bat joined the first. They wheeled in a palsied dance.

  “If I help you find the rose rabbit,” she said, “will you do something for me?”

  “We're trading favors now?” This wasn't like Lenore. We were sisters. We always helped each other, no questions asked.

  “Will you?” she insisted.

  “Why try to find this rose rabbit? Why not go after Belle?”

  “Because the unseelie's too strong to tackle, even for the two of us,” she said. “But I think if we chase this rabbit together, we might have a chance to figure out what it means.”

  “And what if the rose rabbit is the unseelie?”

  “Then we'll find out now.”

  “Okay then.” Uneasy, I crossed my arms.

  “I think, together, we can journey and find the rabbit.”

  Now I knew something was wrong. Lenore was the journeyer, not me. “Together? You mean, you would guide me?”

  She nodded. “I'd have to, since you aren't familiar with this on your own, but we’d be together the entire time.”

  I didn’t like it. But she was right – we were magically stronger when we worked together. “You'd see what I saw?”

  “I should. So? What do you think?”

  It was high time I made headway, somewhere, somehow. I nodded. “Let’s do it. I'll follow you home.”

  I trailed her Volvo’s taillights to our aunt's shingled house. Blowing into my hands, I waited on the front porch while Lenore unlocked the door.

  Stepping inside, I wiped my feet on the blue rag rug. The smell of home — indefinable, protected — hadn't changed, even though Ellen was months gone. My muscles unknotted.

  Lenore shut the front door.

  “So where do we do this?” I asked. “The attic?” That was where Ellen had practiced her magic, and her power and protection still lingered.

  “The attic’s freezing. It’s not comfortable enough to relax for a journey. Why don't we use your room?”

  “Why not?” I climbed the stairs to my old bedroom. Even though the room had been redecorated, its shape, its feel, was still mine.

  I sat, rumpling the bamboo-colored spread on the twin bed. On a high shelf, antique hats perched on their forms. The hats had been fashionable in their day, and belonged to our ancestresses. None of them had lived long enough to settle into an unfashionable old age.

  But I will.

  Unease whispered against my skin, revealing the lie.

  “Lie down and get comfortable,” Lenore said. She left the room and returned with a gourd rattle. My sister pulled a wicker chair to the side of the bed. “You know the drill.”

  I knew it, but it had been a long time since she'd practiced her shamanism on me. My earth witchery had its own shamanic bent, working with the spirits of the plants and earth. But I didn't like visions. I never felt in control with them, so I wasn't a fan of shamanic journeying. There was something floaty, disconnected about it that didn't sit well with me, and I wondered if this was a good idea. I straightened my shoulders. Wondering had never stopped me before.

  I toed off my shoes and lay on the bed, closed my eyes.

  My sister rested her arm on the bed so it lightly pressed against mine. With her other hand, she rattled the gourd in a rhythmic beat. “Go to your starting place, to the beginning of your journey.”

  The rattle faded into the background, becoming white noise.

  I visualized myself standing in my aunt’s front yard, beside three aspen trees. As a child, I'd loved playing there, loved the feel of their papery bark, the way their leaves turned to gold in the autumn. The few times Lenore had talked me into journeying, this was where it had begun. Sinking through the earth, I’d followed the tree roots to Lower World.

  Now I imagined myself stepping into the center of the three trees, pressing through a shiver of magic as I crossed their invisible boundary. The ground was damp and soft beneath my feet. Night had become day, and puffy clouds floated in the sky.

  I didn’t sink into the earth, and I turned, puzzled, toward the house. A sparkling gold line of energy, as wide as a road, flowed straight from the house and towards Doyle.

  I’d never noticed that before, and I rolled my shoulders. This was my vision. I was in control. Through the roots. Down through the roots.

  A crow flapped above me and settled at the top of one of the trees. It clicked its beak at me.

  My vision. I swallowed. Down through the roots.

  The crow cawed, a grating sound. So maybe the bird was here to take me to Upper World. Or maybe—

  With a sickening lurch, I shifted sideways. The trees and houses blurred, and I was on my knees on a cracked sidewalk.

  I'm safe. I'm safe here. This is only a vision. But it didn’t feel like one. Cautious, I rose to my feet.

  Lenore's rattle continued, a steady drone at the edges of my consciousness. My sister knew these things, I didn't, and I had to trust her. She was with me on this journey, even if I couldn’t see her. I really wanted to see her.

  Across the street, the grass grew thick in the park. It was a green that glittered like a dragonfly. The sky was electric blue-white, bright enough to make me wince. Inside the gazebo, a band in tattered uniforms played an eerie tune. The town pharmacist knelt on all fours and grazed on that strange, glimmering grass, her head bobbing in time to the music.

  I’d never been on a drug trip, but it sure felt like I was on one now. The colors were too intense, and everything was… strange.

  I turned around. At my back the golden line extended toward my aunt’s house. The shimmering path ended at the road. Had that strange, gold path brought me to this place?

  I twisted the bangles on my wr
ist. This was Doyle, but it wasn’t, and it sure wasn’t Lower World. I didn’t believe it was Upper World either. And that only left… Middle World. My breathing accelerated.

  I could be injured in Middle World. There was a reason only shamans with years under their animal-hide belts traveled here.

  “Lenore?” I shouted.

  The band gave a blast of their wind instruments, mocking. Mrs. Fitzpatrick hee-hawed.

  I didn't understand any of it, but I’d been brought here for a reason. Unclenching my fists, I walked slowly up the hill toward Main Street, the road cold and sharp beneath my bare feet.

  On the sidewalk, the town mayor, his bald head slick with moisture, popped a paperclip into his mouth. He chewed, swallowed. “Where are your shoes?”

  “I left them…” What was this place? Fear pounded in my head, and I could no longer distinguish my pulse from the rattle. “Lenore?” I shouted, brushing past him.

  A buggy sped down Main Street, the miner whipping his horses furiously.

  Where the hell was Lenore? I continued down the sidewalk on autopilot – toward Ground.

  Another shimmering cable of light, wide as the road, cut across the town and passed through my café. Bizarre. I walked on, drawn to the light and home.

  Customers formed a zigzag line in front of my coffee shop. The house flipper Eric Gertner and his wife, Rasha. The city manager, Wynter Swanstrom. Melanie, Matt's widow.

  Melanie turned her sad gaze toward me. “He knew too much, pushed too hard.”

  Unthinking, I stepped into the gold path of light and swiftly shifted sideways again.

  I was inside my café.

  Heart pounding, I stood frozen, too shaken to move.

  Ground’s red brickwork was covered in orange lichen. My tapestries and carpets hung in rotting tatters.

  A log stood at the counter and ordered a double espresso.

  My assistant manager Darla took his (its?) order. A butcher knife, sharp and gleaming, floated above her head.

  “Darla?” I asked, my voice faint.

  She looked up. “Oh, hey, Jayce. What are you doing here?”

  “I’m not… sure.”

  The only thing “normal” in this Ground was the scent of coffee. I inhaled deeply, grateful for this bit of sanity.

  Lenore’s rattle submerged into the clatter of plates and mugs.

  At the table where Karin usually sat, a knight in dented armor drank a mochachino. I frowned. How could he drink anything with his visor down?

  The knight set down the mug, his armor groaning. “I wondered when one of you would arrive. However, I did not expect it to be you.”

  I walked to him, the wood floor a caress after the cold sidewalk. “Are you my spirit guide in this place?” I asked.

  He laughed, a rusted sound. “I thought you were here to guide me.” He leaned forward. “Where is she? Have you seen the queen?”

  “I'm not... I'm looking for the rose rabbit.”

  He leaned back in the wooden chair, and his armor squealed. “The rose rabbit. I haven't heard that name in ages. Where did you learn it?”

  “Do you know where it is?”

  “Do you know what it is?”

  “I'm asking the questions,” I snapped. “This is my vision, buddy.”

  “Are you certain?”

  I wasn't, and I didn't reply.

  “Lenore brought me here,” I finally said.

  “Did she? Clever girl.”

  My voice trembled, an awful idea growing in my mind. “The rose rabbit, what is it?”

  “A faithful vassal, betrayed. A doomed soul. Lost hope.”

  “I don't have time for riddles. Lenore's arm is going to get tired shaking that rattle, and—”

  He sighed. “Why do you want to find the rabbit?”

  “We've been receiving signs, omens, word of a rose rabbit. And we thought the rabbit might be connected to the strange things happening in Doyle.”

  “Doyle?”

  “This town.”

  “Town.” He rolled the word in his mouth, savoring the round tones. “But the blight is in the woods, at the spring, sacred no longer.”

  “What do you know about the blight? I saw it too. It's infected the redwoods.”

  The noise in the café rose to a roar, but I could hear the knight’s words as if we were alone in the woods.

  “The curse spreads,” he said. “It will destroy your world as it has ruined mine.”

  “Curse? It's a curse?”

  “Metaphorically.”

  Metaphors, I thought, disgusted. This entire vision was a metaphor and I understood none of it. “And realistically? What did you mean by destroy?”

  “You needn't worry. You burn too hot. Soon, you will be ash.”

  My palms grew damp, and I rubbed them on my jeans. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “We are not in our proper places. The world is wrong. I must find the queen. And you are not the one.”

  Enough with the mystery! “Are you the rose rabbit? Do you know who the unseelie is?”

  “She is my queen.”

  Horror swelled my throat.

  Black wings fluttered at the edge of my gaze and thudded into the window. I gave a little jump and whirled toward the movement. A smear darkened Ground’s front window. I leaned toward it, pressing my hands to the glass, and peered down.

  A dead crow lay on the sidewalk, its neck broken. I sucked in my breath and stepped away, the room growing shadowy and silent.

  The knight and customers and Darla had vanished. I stood alone in Ground – the real café, not the imaginary one – and my feet burned. The lights were off, the chairs upside down on their tables. A police car cruised down Main Street, its headlights illuminating empty sidewalks.

  In my fist were clenched three, long dark hairs. My own.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “About time!” I locked the alley door behind me and hobbled across the pavement to Lenore’s waiting Volvo, pebbles pressing into the soles of my feet. “Ouch, ouch, ouch!” I half-fell through the open door into the passenger seat and brushed the dirt from my feet.

  “What happened?” Lenore asked, pale and anxious.

  “You tell me! How the hell did I leave the house? This was supposed to be a vision, not a barefoot walk across town. And look.” I unclenched my fist revealing the three, long, brown hairs. My pulse beat in my skull, throbbing, painful. This hadn't been a regular shamanic journey. I'd gone somewhere in the real world – to Ground. Had I been stumbling around in a trance?

  “Let’s talk inside,” she said.

  “Did you bring my purse?” The keys to my apartment were inside it. I don’t know how I’d gotten into Ground, but I was locked out of my own apartment.

  “Your purse?” she asked blankly.

  “With my keys.” Irritated, I plucked at my knit top.

  “Uh, no. You didn’t tell me on the phone you wanted them. I should have thought—”

  “No, we were both freaked out.” I was still freaked out. This shouldn’t have happened. It was impossible. How had I walked to Ground, gotten inside…? I shut the door and buckled up.

  “So what happened?” I asked more calmly.

  She drove down the alley and turned at its end. “I was in trance, in a deep fog, searching for you, calling. And then when I finally snapped out of it, you were gone.”

  “No kidding. But how? How did I just… leave?” Though I hadn’t just left. The dirt and cuts on my feet were proof some walking had been involved.

  A vein throbbed in her jaw. “I wish I could answer that. I can only assume you walked out of the house while in a trance. But I checked the clock. Only ten minutes passed while we were both in trance. And it takes longer than that for you to walk to Ground.”

  “Well, I walked somewhere outside.” But I’d also shifted, traveling swiftly along that energetic highway.

  “What exactly did you see?” she asked.

  Soon, you will be ash. My heart rac
ed and tumbled like a mountain stream. Ash. It didn’t mean anything. You couldn’t always trust the spirits, and I’d never gotten the hang of metaphors. “I was in Doyle, but it wasn't Doyle. It was like a filter was laid over the town, and everyone was acting or looking weird. There was a ghost band at the park, and Mrs. Fitzpatrick eating grass. The mayor, Steve Woodley, was eating paperclips.”

  “Woodley?” she asked sharply, turning the Volvo into her neighborhood of oaks and gentle hills.

  “Yes, why?”

  “Karin told us she once saw him eat a piece of plastic. She thought he had that disease that makes you eat weird things — pica.”

  “So you think I saw real things, the truth behind the town?”

  “I think you were in Middle World, but not the way you should have been.”

  “Should have been?”

  “I told you Middle World was dangerous. You can’t just wander around in a daze.”

  “I wasn’t wandering.”

  She pushed out her jaw. “I’m sorry. This is my fault. It never should have happened.”

  “I didn't have much choice. Was it normal? What I saw? What do you see when you travel to Middle World?”

  “Doyle.” The word came slowly, reluctant. “This is Middle World. Shamanic journeying through it is just a different way of seeing our world.”

  “Oh.” I thought about that. Was seeing the world differently that hard? What I’d seen was certainly different.

  “What else did you see?”

  “I went to Ground. It was packed. There was a knight sitting at Karin’s table, and he knew about the blight. He said the curse was spreading.” A chill rippled my skin, and I pressed my toes into the Volvo’s thin carpet. “He was looking for his queen.”

  She darted a look at me. “She’s his queen?” She swore softly. “Then he works for her. No wonder he wanted me to keep our visits quiet.”

  “Did he say anything to you in your dreams?”

  “No. He just made me feel sorry for him,” she said. “He looked so… pathetic. What about you?”

  “The knight seemed lost. He thought I might be his guide, then said I wasn't. And he said...” I swallowed.

  “What?”

  “He said I'd soon be ash.”

  “You can't interpret that literally.” She pulled into her driveway, the gravel crunching beneath her tires. “The journey speaks in symbols and metaphors. The knight was probably speaking of some sort of internal transformation, a loss of self.”