SongMaster's Realm

by Wolfram Donat

  Joel nodded. “All right, I can see that. Then my next question is this: what would be the effect of destroying all of Reality? Would we all just disappear, or what?”

  “That is a much more difficult question,” answered Massar, frowning slightly. “Once again, think of the cloth. Destroying Reality would, in effect, be like unraveling all of the embroidery from the fabric. When you were done, you would have two distinct things: the fabric, and the yarn used to create the embroidered design. I do not know if the two depend on each other, or if they would be able to exist independently. In any case I would think that having the fabric of space ripped out from under us would be unsettling, to say the least.”

  “Can’t argue with that,” replied Joel. “Well, the last bit there is a little unsatisfying, but all in all it’s a good story. You should publish. Unfortunately, I can’t help you there.”

  At that, Massar leaned back again, and for the first time looked somewhat hesitant. He produced a pipe from somewhere and lit it. Joel couldn’t see if he used matches or a lighter. He puffed silently for a few moments, seemingly lost in thought. Joel strummed a few chords softly and watched him, wondering what had produced the sudden change in mood. He was beginning to almost like the guy, strange though he seemed.

  When Massar finally spoke, it was softly. There was no hesitation in his voice, however. “Unfortunately, Joel, the story is not finished, and so I come to why I have been looking for you.” He puffed a few times. “Joel, everything I have just told you is absolutely true, and I need your help. After being hidden for six thousand years, the Duran has surfaced again, and then disappeared. I am afraid it has fallen into the hands of someone who, for whatever mad reason, plans to put the book to the use for which it was intended. I am powerless to retrieve it. I need your help.”

  Silence covered the park like a blanket. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked. Thoughts were chasing each other around Joel’s head like frightened children. Witty and sarcastic remarks came to mind, but he quickly discarded them. What kind of game is he playing? wondered Joel. He can’t possibly expect me to believe this fairy tale, but he looks dead serious. He had always considered himself a rational person, someone who had figured out the basics of how the world worked, and this was entirely out of his realm of experience. He didn’t know how to react. His mouth opened, but no words came out.

  “Before you respond,” said Massar, “let me ask you this. Have you had any vivid dreams lately?”

  Images immediately came to Joel’s mind of a book, a bald man, a young girl and a wall of glass.

  “I can see by your face that you have, and I have a good idea what those dreams have entailed. I have had the same dreams, as have several other people on Alera. You, as far as I can tell, are the only person in this world who has experienced them. I believe that someone or something connected to the Duran is sending out these images, though whether they are meant as a plea for help or a warning I do not know. They are being received by the subconscious mind of any person who is equipped, in whatever way, to help. Such as me. Such as yourself.”

  Joel forced some words out. The man knew things he couldn’t know, he was as dry as a bone, and how had he lit that pipe, anyway? “Why me? No, no, skip that. Start over. Does this have anything to do with why my clocks keep stopping?” It wasn’t the question he had meant to ask first, but it slipped out.

  Massar smiled ruefully. “An unfortunate side effect, I’m afraid, of my visits to this world. I have been watching you over the past day or so, making sure you were the one receiving the dreams. When someone of great magical power visits your world from another, it can have unexpected effects on the time stream. I apologize for that.”

  “Okay, so I’m not losing my mind. On the other hand, the conversation I’m having right now could hardly be called normal. Next question: who are you?”

  Massar sighed and shifted positions, as if readying himself for a long discussion. “My name, as I said, is Massar. I travel often between many different worlds in search of knowledge, but I make my home on Alera. I am a wizard, and I have been alive for several thousand years.”

  He doesn’t look it. Not by a few decimal places. “Prove it. Do something magic.”

  Massar sighed again. “I wish I did not have to be so crude, but I must remind myself that were I in your shoes, I too would require some sort of proof. I am not sure what you are looking for. Would you like to be dry?” He made a small pass with his hand and spoke a strange word.

  And Joel was dry. He felt nothing, but one moment he was wet, the next he wasn’t. His hair was dry, there were no small puddles in his overcoat – even the mud on his shoes became dirt and flaked off when he touched it wonderingly.

  The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he stifled the urge to jump to his feet. Very calmly and very slowly, he touched himself all over as if he had just discovered himself inside this strange new skin. At the same time, a small part of his brain was doing cartwheels and laughing maniacally. He had always been intrigued by magic and mysticism, and now he had just met someone who was quite obviously an expert at it.

  Joel struggled to collect his thoughts as he looked again at Massar. The man seemed to be containing a half smile as he watched Joel attempt to keep a lid on his emotions. Finally Joel spoke again. “Okay, so that much is definitely true. So assuming the rest of it is true, why me? Why anyone, for that matter? Why don’t you just magic yourself off to wherever the book is, and steal it back from whomever took it? What do you need me for?”

  Massar took another long pull from his pipe. “Another good question, and not so easily answered, I’m afraid. Let us just say that, for reasons I can not discuss, I am forbidden to interfere directly in the affairs of Alera or any other world. I can give advice, answer questions and help in other subtle, indirect ways, but I cannot directly interfere with matters as they stand.

  “As for your involvement… Well, as I said before, you are the only person on this world by whom the dream was received. I am not sure how or why a person from this world can help, though I have a few ideas. The book does involve all beings in all the universes, and just happens to be kept on Alera (or at least I believe it to be still there.) As for why you in particular, I can only speculate. You received the dream; you must be equipped to help. I did some spellcasting before I came here, to try to discover what about you was so special, but the answers I received were vague, to say the least.”

  Joel shifted against the tree trunk to avoid a piece of bark that had been sticking in his back for the past…hour? Two? He had no idea how long this conversation had lasted. “Well, I certainly don’t feel very special. I’m about as average as they come. I don’t know why I’m getting this dream either. Sounds to me like you need a Sir Lancelot more than you need a Joel Peters.

  “But, assuming that I’m the one you need, why bother with this charade at all? Why not just spirit me away to your world, point me in the right direction, and sit back and laugh? Why go to all this trouble to convince me with what you must admit is a very difficult story to believe?”

  “Please, Joel. Even I am not so tactless. For one thing, that would very obviously be meddling, something which I am forbidden. For another, could I possibly expect you to help if I whisked you away from your life here without even bothering to ask your permission? What would your reaction be to that? Free will must be involved, and I think I made the right decision.”

  For some reason, that irritated Joel. “Wait just a damn minute. I haven’t said yet whether or not I believe your fairy tale, much less whether or not I’m going to help you. What makes you think I’m going to just drop everything and go along on some interplanetary pleasure cruise? Sure, just find a book, slay a dragon, rescue a princess or two. Hell, I’ll be a regular Indiana Jones!”

  Strangely, Massar did not get angry at Joel’s outburst. Instead, he leaned forward. “But don’t you see?” he asked softly. “You half believe my tale already, and as you ponder more upon it, it wil
l ring with more and more truth. You will realize, on your own, that you can help, and so you must help. For surely you realize that if Reality is destroyed, all worlds will be destroyed, not just Alera. The inhabitants of every world in every universe, including your own, will most likely die meaningless deaths. And those deaths will seem even more meaningless when you realize that you had a chance to save them. I do not think that means nothing to you.”

  Slightly mollified, Joel settled down. “Well, the least you could do is give me some time to think about it,” he muttered.

  “Of course.” Massar got up and secreted his pipe somewhere in his clothes. “Unfortunately, we do not have much time. The new keeper of the book is probably attempting to decode it as we speak. I will meet you here tonight, an hour past sundown, to hear your answer. Please give it careful consideration.” As Joel slowly stood up and slipped his guitar into its case, Massar touched him on the shoulder. “I have one thing to give you to aid you in making your decision.”

  He took Joel’s hand and dropped what looked like a small blue gemstone into it. As Joel looked at the stone and slipped his guitar case over his shoulder, Massar stepped back. “Until tonight,” he said. Joel looked up at him. The wizard was gone.

  He shook his head, feeling a headache forming. If that wasn’t the weirdest… He looked down at the stone he had been given. It was pale blue, multi-faceted and about two inches in diameter. It was heavier than it looked, and was very smooth. Although it was quite beautiful, Joel wasn’t sure how it was supposed to help his decision-making. He tossed it into the air.

  It never came down. The stone stopped in mid air directly in front of Joel’s nose. There was a small ‘pop’ and Joel found himself eye to eye with a little man about a foot tall, hovering directly in front of him. He staggered backwards, almost losing his footing, and stared in open-jawed amazement. The creature had brown curly hair, an even curlier beard, and was dressed all in blue. His hands and feet seemed disproportionately large, but otherwise he looked like a small human.

  “Howdy,” said the little man with a grin. “Sure glad to get rid of that pompous old fart. Ah, hey, you’re about to run into that tree.”

  Joel had unconsciously been backing steadily away, jaw working in astonishment. He stopped himself short. “Wh- What are you?” he managed to blurt out.

  “Me? Oh, I’m what they call a Ramiken. Name’s J’Mart. Pleased to meetcha. You are -?” He stuck out his hand.

  “J- Joel,” he stammered, tentatively taking the small hand.

  “J’Joel? Now that’s an interesting name. Where’d you come by that one?” The Ramiken removed his hand and wiped it on his trousers.

  “No, just Joel,” said Joel, struggling to regain his composure. “That’s what my parents named me.”

  “Your parents named you, huh? Interesting custom. Learn something new every day.” J’Mart reached down and with a dramatic gesture, pulled off one of his shoes. He held it upside down and a small stream of dirt poured out. “That’s the problem with being a rock too long,” he grimaced, replacing the shoe and repeating the process with the other one. “You get dirt in your shoes. As well as in other places.” He grinned again and winked.

  Joel did not respond, as he was trying desperately to wrap his mind around this new development. First Massar with his incredible story and abilities, and now this. It was definitely shaping up to be a very interesting day. He shook his head and considered pinching himself to see if he had actually woken up this morning at all. At any moment he expected to feel Maestro’s claws in his chest, or maybe hear his alarm going off.

  The little man had been hovering in front of Joel during their conversation. Now he floated forward and sat on Joel’s shoulder, looking at his surroundings with interest. “So, hey, where are we, anyway?”

  “Tempe. That’s Mill Avenue, over there, and –“

  “Hoo, boy, I forgot humans could be so dense. What world are we on? What plane, which universe?”

  “Oh. Um, this is Earth.”

  J’Mart snorted. “Fat lot of good that does me. Do you have any idea how many worlds call themselves ‘Earth?’ Sure, they’re all different words, like ‘Alera’ or ‘Snorkhauer’ or whatever, but they all translate the same. Makes no sense to me. No originality. Now if I – oh, wait a minute!” He snapped his fingers. “Humans. English… I know where we are! The good old United States of America, right? Down with the Redcoats, long live George Washington!” He hopped off of Joel’s shoulder and proceeded to do a little dance in the air.

  Joel smiled in spite of himself. The Ramiken was pretty entertaining. “You’re in the right general area, but I’m afraid you’re about two hundred years too late.”

  J’Mart stopped dancing. “Oh. Well, you know, I haven’t been through this area in a while. Errands, things to do, you know.” He looked sheepish. “So who won?”

  “Who won what?”

  The Ramiken gave him a disgusted look. “Boy, are all humans nowadays as dense as you? Who won the war? You know, where the mean old British king started oppressing the poor colonists, so they dumped him into a bucket of tea and slapped stamps on him… No, wait; they dumped tea in the water because he tried to sell the stamps. So who won?”

  “The colonists did. And the United States now covers almost the entire continent of North America.”

  “I’m impressed. You guys were getting the snot beaten out of you when I left the last time. Say, hold on a sec, will you? Don’t go anywhere.” There was another small ‘pop,’ and he disappeared.

  Joel closed his eyes and scratched his head. All of this was happening too fast. Yesterday, life had been normal enough, playing a studio gig and trying to remember to buy new wiper blades for his truck. Today, it wasn’t even noon yet, and he had met an enigmatic wizard and was deep in conversation with what appeared to be a leprechaun. Maybe I hit my head when I was getting out of my truck yesterday. Or maybe I was hit by lightning on the way to my apartment, and I’m actually lying in a hospital bed right now, hallucinating about wizards and little men. So where’s my beautiful fairy princess?

  There was a ‘pop’ and J’Mart was back, sitting on his shoulder.

  “Where did you disappear to?”

  “To the library. Had to catch up on my history. Interesting stuff.” He scratched his nose. “A lot has happened since I was here last. World Wars, automobiles, moon landings. But I tell you, I’ve got half a mind to pop into Princeton and tell them they are way off on this superstring nonsense. Boy, talk about getting it all wrong.” He leaned over and whispered conspiratorially in Joel’s ear, “No one’s taking into account the turtles.”

  Joel made a conscious decision to ignore the last comment. “Didn’t anybody see you?” he asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.

  The Ramiken grinned mischievously. “Nope. You’re the only one who can see me, so you’re the only one who has to worry about his sanity.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because you’re the one who was given the S’Lel.” J’Mart sighed. “That old fool didn’t explain anything, did he? Probably just said, ‘Here, have a rock,’ and then poof! He was gone.”

  Joel nodded.

  “Figures,” muttered J’Mart. “Says he’s not allowed to meddle, but he does a damn good job anyway, if you ask me. Still,” he brightened, “he gave you the S’Lel, so that says he’s got some faith in you.”

  “It does?”

  The little man was standing on his head on Joel’s shoulder. Without meaning to, Joel had begun the walk home. “Yup, because we Ramikens are rare and hard to come by. If you get one in a S’Lel, you are very careful about who you give it to. And that’s because,” he continued, anticipating Joel’s next question, “we’re loyal, hard-working, intelligent,” he tapped his forehead, “trustworthy, yada yada yada and we’ll stick with whomever owns us until the job, whatever it may happen to be, is done.”

  Joel stopped walking. “I’m sorry,” he said, feeling a little fooli
sh. “I didn’t realize I owned you. I mean, if you want to, you-”

  “Oh, relax,” J’Mart snorted, and did a flip. “It doesn’t bother me. It’s the main reason for my existence. Besides, you seem to be a lot better than some of the owners I’ve had. Some could peel the bark off a gula tree without thinking twice about it.” He gave an almost comical shudder.

  “What’s a gula tree?”

  “It’s a tree that encases a human soul. Peeling the bark off would be like having your leg dissected. While it’s still attached.” He grinned at Joel’s expression and perched on his shoulder again. “So where are we headed anyway, Kemo Sabe?”

  Joel resumed walking. “My place, I guess.”

  “Hoo, I get to see your pad, eh? Your living quarters, your place of residence? This should be very – Hey! Whoa!” Without warning, a sparrow, ignoring the rain, launched itself from a nearby tree and dive-bombed J’Mart’s perch on Joel’s shoulder. The little man fell over backwards and caught himself a foot above the ground. The sparrow had disappeared again, so J’Mart floated back to Joel’s shoulder, making a great show of brushing himself off, although Joel noticed he wasn’t even wet. “Sheesh! Some people…”

  “I thought you said no one else could see you.”

  “People can’t, my friend. Animals can see me just fine. And birds and I don’t get along very well. Word gets out you stole one egg, and they never forgive you,” he muttered.

  Joel sighed. “Great. I wonder how my cat is going to react to you.”