She had managed to secure a job as an archivist for a law firm down the road. It was her first job in the real world and not a freelance gig on the internet. The pay was good and they had onsite childcare, which was better, and she was grateful to have landed it. But it meant that she would be out of the house.
Her eyes drifted to the cupboard door under the sink.
“Mama,” said Jacob, the oldest. He was four now. “What are you looking at?”
He was always the most attuned to her. She had read that oldest children were like that.
“Nothing,” she said. The door appeared to rattle. Just a little. All on its own. She told herself that she was imagining it.
“Nothing,” said Alice, the girl portion of the twins. “Nothing, nothing, nothing,” sang Andrew, her twin brother.
Rufus, the baby, had no words. He just pawed at Corrina’s breasts and opened his mouth wide. At only seven months old, he was already twenty-three pounds. A tank. At this rate, he’d be bigger than the twins before his first birthday.
“Mommy starts a new job tomorrow,” Corrina said.
Jacob wrinkled his brow. He looked around the kitchen. “Where?” he said, as though a job was sitting in a bag on the counter, like a new toy.
“Not far,” she said. “Down the road.”
“With Daddy?”
“Daddy isn’t coming back.”
“I know that,” Jacob said, his cheeks going quite red.
Corrina readjusted Rufus’s weight so as not to overburden her shoulders. His thick muscles kicked and rippled and squirmed. It was like trying to nurse a gorilla, she thought.
“No, we will be going together. You and your sister and your brothers and me. I will work in the basement, and you guys will go to the day care center. A school. We can walk there in the morning and walk home at suppertime. You’ll like it.”
Jacob looked skeptical. “I don’t think I’ll like it.”
“I like it,” Alice said. Alice liked everything.
“I like it, too,” Andrew said. Andrew liked anything that Alice liked. It drove Alice crazy. She whacked her brother on the head with a block. He didn’t seem to notice.
The next morning, before the kids got up, Corrina stood in the kitchen. It wasn’t as though she had never left the house. She did. She went to the store occasionally. And the library. And she went in for her interview. But she never left for very long. And never all day.
Still. It was time. How many years had it been? Too many. Eleven was a long time ago. And here she was, wasting her life. It was time to rejoin the world—she and her kids together.
Her eyes drifted back to the cupboard door. Was it her imagination, or was it rattling again? It was her imagination, clearly. She was sure of it. Still, she reached into her correspondence box and pulled out a blue note card and a black marking pen.
‘BE RIGHT BACK,’ she wrote in large, bold letters. She wasn’t sure if the High Priest could read, or if he could read English. He had explained to her that part of being the Chosen One meant that everyone could understand her and she could understand everyone else. She had been skeptical of that at the time.
“So,” she said, “we might be speaking the same language and not know it.”
“Well,” he allowed. “I suppose, but that wouldn’t make very much sense, now would it. How could we have the same language in different worlds?”
“What’s two plus two?” she asked.
“Four,” he said, “but what’s that got—”
“We have the same math. Maybe we speak the same language, too.”
They agreed to drop the subject, but she wondered about it now. If she wrote, ‘Be right back,’ in English, would he be able to understand it, given that she was, after all, the Chosen One? She had no idea, but she figured she’d try anyway.
WHEN SHE GOT home, the card was undisturbed and the door was closed. The High Priests still hadn’t come.
THAT NIGHT, AFTER spending two hours trying to get the kids to stay in bed and then falling heavily asleep on the couch without washing her face or brushing her teeth, she dreamed of the Land of Nibiru again. It had been years since she had done so. She couldn’t remember the last time. In her dream, she was back in the Resistance camp at the banks of the Iygath River. They had suffered several losses in the battle the night before, and had used the thick forests leading toward the Iygath as cover during their retreat. The Zonnier Hordes, being as they were from the high Zoni plains, where trees were as rare as skyscrapers—which was to say, nonexistent—were afraid of the forest. They quaked in fear every time they went too close.
The forest was safe for now. It was only a matter of time, though, before the Zonnier Hordes enlarged their collective courage enough to swallow their fear, approach the forest, and light it on fire.
Nothing gave the Resistance more worry than the possibility of fire. The trees were their greatest defenders, but could be transformed into weapons easily enough. Every day they prayed for rain.
But for now, the Resistance was focused on filling hungry bellies and nursing wounds. This was one of the first battles that Corrina herself had fought in, and it was the very first time that she had held her sword in the way that she had been taught, allowing herself to hook the blade right under the chin of the Zonnier and then snap her elbows straight, whipping them in front of her body in a wide arc, neatly removing the Zonnier’s head from its shoulders. The High Priests instructed her to examine the body after she had done so, that she might be able to watch the twisted soul of the Zonnier wiggle from the open neck and extend its nine legs and three mouths to the sky before shuddering once and expiring on the ground. They had described the process in sickening detail, giving Corrina nightmares for over a week, and she had no interest in seeing it as described.
It was a mistake, as it turned out. One of the Zonnier souls was wearing the circlet that was destined to rest on the head of the Chosen One. And, according to the High Priests’ various ministrations, that soul emerged in the most recent battle. And then it was lost. Every other warrior carefully examined the souls as they emerged from the bloody neck stumps of the slain.
“Except you, Corrina,” the High Priest said. “I mean Princess,” he amended quickly, though it seemed to Corrina that he did not mean it.
“I’m sorry,” she said for the hundredth time. “I just couldn’t do it.”
“Not couldn’t,” the High Priest said. “Didn’t. There is a difference, you know.”
In her dream, she was no longer eleven. And the High Priest’s voice sounded suspiciously like her father’s.
“It’s not my fault!” she said in her grown-up voice.
“Of course it is!” the High Priest said. “But it is understandable. It was your first beheading, after all. It is unfortunate, though. Now we must find that circlet—if the Hordes haven’t found it first. And our collective task is much harder.”
Corrina stormed out.
There was a boy waiting for her outside. Cairn. He smiled broadly as he watched her approach. He didn’t seem to notice that she was older.
Corrina found this odd.
I guess this means I’m about to wake up, she thought. She resisted the idea, hoping to stay in the Land of Nibiru for as long as she could. It had been so long—so very long. And she missed it.
“Are you going somewhere?” Cairn said.
“No,” Corrina said. “Maybe. I can’t tell, actually. I’m not sure if I was here to begin with.”
“Oh, you’re here,” he assured her. “But there’s something you need to know.”
He had begun to fade at the edges. She would be awake soon.
“What?” she asked. Her throat hurt. Like she had swallowed a fishhook. Her life had not been unhappy. Far from it. It had simply been indifferent. She sometimes felt as though her life had been suspended in a jar full of formaldehyde. She was in stasis. Her year in the Land of Nibiru was the only time she was ever truly happy.
“The High Pries
ts don’t know what they’re talking about. Remember that.”
And she woke with a start.
The door to the cupboard under the sink rattled and shook. She had a crick in her neck. Stupid couch, she thought. The door rattled again.
Her throat still hurt. She pulled her legs out from the cocoon of her cardigan and quietly placed her bare feet on the floor. She had been trained in the Noble Art of Stealth and had practiced the fundamentals of it every day since she left the Land of Nibiru. She was coiled like a spring. Very slowly, she approached the door. Very quickly, she flung it open.
No portal.
No High Priest.
Just a rat.
Or she assumed it was a rat. It squeaked and darted across the kitchen floor and launched itself down the stairs leading to the basement.
“UGH!” she said. “Nasty.” She hated rats.
There were smallbeasts in the Land of Nibiru. They looked like rats, and were smart like rats, but they were far more adorable. Or at least she remembered them as being more adorable. That was surely a rat. It wasn’t adorable at all. Wasn’t it?
Her alarm blared upstairs.
“MOMMY!” Jacob shouted from his room. He was, no doubt, sitting on his bed, wide awake, minding the time. Watching the minutes tick by on his sun and moon clock until he could be reasonably allowed to trot into her room and wake her up.
“I know, honey!” she called back.
The pink edge of dawn crept into the eastern window. The cupboard rattled again. “Stupid rats,” she muttered, and went upstairs to take a shower. During her lunch break, she’d call an exterminator. If she remembered.
By the time her first week ended, she’d had seven dreams about the Land of Nibiru. Sometimes she was eleven in these dreams. Sometimes she was her proper age. Each time, she had to arrange childcare in order to go into battle.
On her fourteenth night, she dreamed that she taught Jacob to parry and jab with a wooden sword.
On her twenty-first night, she dreamt that she went riding into the center of the Zonnier Hordes with Rufus strapped to her back. Her battle cry rang in harmony with his please-nurse-me wail.
On her twenty-eighth night, she dreamt that she confronted the High Priests in front of the whole Resistance. “Your plan is stupid,” she shouted, as her children clung to her legs. “And more people will die needlessly for a war that has waged for far too long.” Rufus sobbed. “Grow up!” she shouted, though in retrospect, she was not sure if she shouted it to the High Priests or to Rufus.
“You tell ’em!” Cairn shouted, who obviously thought it was directed at the High Priests.
“You are supposed to be eleven!” the Highest of the High Priests retorted, growing very red in the face. “And you’re not supposed to have opinions. Or... what are those things called? The things she had to bring when she took her own sweet time getting organized to come with us?”
“Tampons, your Excellency,” said one of the lower High Priests.
“Exactly. Or brassieres. You’re not supposed to have those either. Or opinions. Did I say that already?”
“You did, your Excellency, but it is still just as apt.”
“It is not out of the ordinary to pack a brassiere,” Corrina said. “Or tampons. I had no idea how long I’d be here. I also brought a diaper bag. Does that bother you, too?”
“You brought nothing with you when you came the first time,” the High Priest huffed.
“True. But I was eleven.”
“I liked you better when you were eleven.”
“And I liked you less,” she said with a smile. “I’m terribly fond of you now.”
And then she woke up. The cupboard rattled. Her forehead itched. She got out of bed and practiced a perfect Wolf’s Feint using her fuzzy bunny slipper instead of a sword. Her muscles knew every angle. Her bones snapped surely into place.
“Mommy?” Jacob said. “What are you doing?”
“Breakfast,” Alice said.
“Breakfast,” Andrew said, not to be outdone.
And she got them ready and took them to work. The rat watched them from the top of the basement stairs. Of course it was a rat. She could see him out the corner of her eye. He had long ears that came to two sharp points. Just like the smallbeasts from Nibiru.
That night she checked under the sink. No portal. And the note was still there. Though, strangely there was a hash mark that she could not remember putting there herself.
That night she dreamed of Nibiru. Again.
A FEW DAYS later, her boss came to visit her in the archives. He was an older gentleman, about the same age her father would have been, had he lived. He had wide, soft hands.
“Listen, Corrina,” he said. “We have an issue to discuss.”
Her heart sank. She thought of the cupboard under the sink and her husband’s truck driving away. People leave and they do not come back, she thought. “Are you going to fire me?” she said.
“What?” He was truly surprised. “No! Of course not. Everyone says that you’ve integrated yourself into our daily operations beautifully and no one can imagine what we’d ever do without you.”
She relaxed. At least that.
“Listen, did you drive today?” Her boss’s voice was deep, serious. He had a face full of concern.
“No,” she said. “My kids and I prefer to walk.”
He nodded. “Okay then. I am going to arrange an escort for you to make sure you get home safely. There is a gentleman from the police coming to chat with you in a moment. I took the liberty of requesting a watch on your house. A man came in today, asking for you. And then he wanted to see your children. And then he threatened to slay any that stand in his way.”
“Slay?” Corrina said. “He used the word slay?”
“Does that mean anything to you?”
“No,” she said, her face was blank. “Not at all.”
“The thing is, he was armed.”
“A gun? My god.”
“No,” her boss said. “Even weirder. A sword. Randal and Julia from accounting jumped him when he wasn’t looking and got the sword away. He’s in police custody now. But he kept asking for you.”
“What does he look like?” Corrina asked, though she already knew.
“Old guy,” her boss said. “Weird clothes. With a long gray beard.”
AFTER CHATTING WITH the police and being escorted home, she checked the cupboard under the sink. There was no door. There was no portal. It was just a coincidence. She couldn’t even find any evidence of the rat.
The High Priests hadn’t come. They would never come. She wasn’t the Chosen One. There was no Nibiru.
ON THE FORTY-ninth night she dreamed of Nibiru again. Seven times seven nights of dreams. It felt significant. In her dream her feet were bare and she was walking across a berry patch. With each step, the berries swelled and burst, inking her feet with juice. From time to time she’d reach down and slide her hands along the stalks, pulling berries into the cups of her palms, and pouring them into her mouth.
“Don’t eat all of them,” a voice said. Cairn. She’d know him anywhere.
“I’m glad to see you,” she said.
“Of course you are,” Cairn said. “I’m amazing.” She took his hand. She was eleven. She walked. She was twenty-two. She looked at him. She was eleven. She turned away. She was twenty-two.
They came to the edge of a ridge. Down below was a valley. The Resistance was there. They were tired and cold and bedraggled. Their children were hungry. Beyond, past the edge of the Forest, the Zonnier Hordes nursed their wounds. They were tired and cold and bedraggled. Their children were hungry. Corrina opened her eyes wide.
“They have nowhere to go,” she said. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t known it before.
Cairn shook his head. “The High Priests told the King to poison the land on the Zoni plains. Some kind of magic. The animals died and the water is bad and the grasses withered and the crops killed anyone who ate them. It was a total
disaster. They came here looking for refuge, and their presence was mistaken for war. Unfortunately, they are very good at war.”
Corrina dug her hands into her pockets. “Assuming I am the Chosen One,” she said slowly.
“You’re probably still the Chosen One,” Cairn said.
“Well. I’m not admitting that I am.”
“Don’t you read stories?” Cairn said, exasperated. “If you doubt you’re the Chosen One, it pretty much proves that you are.”
Corrina waved him off. “If I am, it means I have the gift of languages, right? That’s like, one of the things. Which means I can talk to both sides. I could negotiate a peace.”
Cairn was silent.
“They killed my parents, you know. Slaughtered them where they stood.” He wiped his eyes with the heels of his hands. He was still a boy, after all. He had not grown up.
“You killed many of their parents, too,” Corrina countered. “So did I. More than I wish. Maybe it’s time to be done. Farm. Rebuild. Share with each other. It’s not new stuff—people have done this before. It can work.”
“So you’re coming back?” Cairn said hopefully.
“If I can,” she said. “I’m not eleven anymore, you know. And I need to bring my kids. What’s the childcare situation?”
Cairn frowned. “What’s childcare?”
“Never mind, we’ll figure it out.”
“In any case,” Cairn said, reaching into his satchel. “You’ll need this. I found it yesterday. I haven’t showed it to the High Priests yet. I don’t trust them to do the right thing.” He handed her a gold circlet. She felt the weight of it in her hands. It hummed with its own kind of magic.
She woke up in her bed. Her feet were stained with berry juice. She was still holding the circlet.
The Best Science Fiction and Fantasy of the Year, Volume 12 Page 5
