The Spirit Watcher

by Cory Barclay

  “Damn,” Dale replied, and Steve couldn’t tell if he was being serious or his usual goofy self.

  Another awkward pause followed. There weren’t too many times when a silence between Steve and Dale was awkward. But bringing up Shannon’s loyalty, Scarlet having sex with Shepherd, all while Steve was in another world, made for an uncomfortable moment.

  “I guess I’ll have to wait ‘til we’re back home, then,” Dale added at last.

  Steve had butterflies in his stomach again. I have to tell him, he thought, shaking his head.

  “Tell me what?” Dale asked.

  Steve fumbled for words. He’d forgotten his thoughts weren’t his own when he was occupying someone else’s mind. After stammering for a moment, he said, “It’s about . . . home.”

  Dale cocked his head to the side.

  Steve took a deep breath and let the words fly. “I’m sorry to say, but Charlene was killed earlier today. It’s another long story. But you deserve to know.”

  “The blue-haired girl?” Dale asked, not catching on.

  Steve nodded. “And your Myth Maker.”

  Dale tugged at the flabby skin under his chin. His voice grew stern. “What does that mean for us?”

  “I’m not sure, Fats,” Steve said, trying to use a light, conversational tone. “I have it on semi-good authority that . . . well . . . it means you don’t have a ride home, so to speak.”

  Dale’s mouth fell open. “Y-You mean . . . I’m stuck here?”

  Steve slowly nodded. He shrugged, trying to lessen the sting. “Don’t throw away the Lego in your pocket just yet, though, man. I have a plan. Remember how I came crashing through your window that time, with Aiden?”

  “You mean when I barged into the bathroom and almost panic-slapped you with my di—” he cut himself off and cleared his throat. “I told Shannon I’d try to speak less crudely, so I’m going to try that again. Yes, Steve-o, I remember that.”

  “Well, I was able to do that through a magical mirror here. I’m hoping we can do it again, when this is all done. But you’ll need your Conveyor—the Lego piece—to do it. So don’t lose it.”

  “Right. Scarlet told me a bit about the Parallel Reflector. It still doesn’t make sense to me, but I’ll take your word for it.”

  Steve heard voices, but they weren’t coming from another room. They were inside his mind. He knew his time in Dale’s Ethereus plane was coming to an end. “Shit, I’ve got to go, Fats.”

  Dale stood from the chair, slightly wobbly. He blinked twice in rapid succession.

  “Are you all right?” Steve asked, taking a step toward him.

  Dale nodded. “I’ve been drinking all of Aiden’s . . . mead . . . I think it’s called? Well, whatever it is, it’s got me pretty tossed.”

  Steve smiled. “I’d expect nothing less, Fats.”

  The voices were getting louder in his head. One of them sounded like Pua Kila was trying to barge into his thoughts.

  Dale could see Steve was distracted. With a bit of worry in his voice, he said, “When can I expect you here? I feel like we won’t be safe here forever, man.”

  “Soon, Dale. As soon as I deal with this woman in the woods, I’ll be there. Expect me by tomorrow at the latest.”

  “Right-o, Steve-o.”

  Dale presented Steve with a drunken military salute.

  As Steve disappeared from Dale’s sight, he couldn’t help but worry about the scared, lost look on Dale’s face.

  “IT’S TIME TO RIDE ONCE more,” Pua Kila told Steve.

  Steve rubbed his temples, trying to massage the dull headache away. The horses were fed and watered, and everyone except Steve had rested for nearly an hour.

  “From here,” Pua Kila added, “it will be a direct journey to the burial cave. We should be there as the sun sinks below the horizon.”

  “Right,” Steve said.

  Without exchanging any more words, they were off, mounting their horses and spurring them onward.

  Galloping down the road, the wind blew into his face and he held on for dear life. When the horses slowed to a trot, things became more relaxed.

  At one point, Steve asked no one in particular, “I think I’ve figured out what Geddon turned into.” He’d been curious about Geddon’s Mythic status ever since seeing him. In the woods escaping the Overseer’s castle, he’d finally seen the first evidence of Geddon’s true self. He’d transformed into a giant, black-furred monster.

  Aiden raised his eyebrows as he bounced on his horse, riding alongside Steve.

  “A werebear?” Steve guessed. “Like a werewolf but . . . a bear.”

  Aiden shrugged. “I didn’t get a good look at his face. I was busy trying to outrun you.”

  Steve snorted. He remembered the old adage: if you’re running from a bear, you don’t have to be faster than the bear, just faster than your friends.

  Pua Kila called from the front of the group. “No, Koa Steve, Geddon is not a werebear. But you’re close. He is a bugbear.”

  Steve furrowed his brow. “Did you say a . . . bugbear? But he didn’t look anything like a bug.”

  A gentle chuckle swept through the ranks of the Nawao warriors. Apparently, Steve had made a marvelous jest.

  But he simply felt like an idiot.

  “A bugbear is a type of hobgoblin,” Pua Kila said. She turned in her saddle to face Steve with an unsure expression on her face. “A, uh, bogeyman, I believe your people would call it.”

  Steve scoffed, incredulous. “You mean a monster that hides under beds and scares children? That kind of bogeyman?”

  Pua Kila shook her head. “There are many types of bogeymen. Geddon is not that type.”

  “Then what type is he?”

  “I do not know,” Pua Kila said with a shrug. She turned back in her saddle, facing forward, and kicked the flanks of her steed. “Come on, let us move again.”

  Just like that, the conversation was over. The horses were barreling down the freeway again.

  Pua Kila was almost exact in her timing. The sun was setting as they reached the northern edge of the Central Soreltris forest.

  Steve admired the horizon for a moment—in fact, the entire party did. The great orange sun molded the sky into a brilliant pink and red painting. Then it disappeared behind the ocean in the distance.

  With that signal, the group dismounted and led their horses by their bridles, into the forest.

  Pua Kila and the men and women she traveled with were expert trackers. Only Steve and Aiden were out of their element here. But Steve had begun to learn little tricks of the trade, from his time working in the Reynolds household.

  They crept through the woods, making sure to take the paths most traveled. It made it easier for the horses to navigate through. They did not fear bandits or robbers, or even blackguards. No one would be foolish enough to attack an armed retinue of trained, heathen-looking, spear-wielding warriors.

  Steve felt a moment of déjà vu as he trailed behind the barebacked Nawao warriors. He felt like he was in Apocalypto, the Mel Gibson film, following his tribe through the trees, heading toward prosperity. Or, in the case of the movie, certain death and subjugation to the conquistadors.

  Steve saw trees that leaned a certain way—rocks piled a certain way—and felt he was passing through familiar territory. He went up hills he thought he recognized. But as they went deeper into the woods, he lost track of all that and noticed he was lost once more. I was probably lost to begin with, he thought.

  They came to the clearing by following a thin, trickling stream. The stream led them through underbrush and low-hanging branches. It widened, eventually passing underneath a natural bridge in the landscape. Then it opened up into a wider body of water. Steve noticed the waterfall at the back, spilling into the medium-sized pond.

  The waterfall poured over the mouth of a shallow cave. It had probably created the cave through centuries of erosion.

  Steve understood where the déjà vu was coming from. He had been
here before. He’d just been in Lig’s body during that time.

  Pua Kila cautiously crept toward the cave. Steve and Aiden were close behind, and the superstitious Nawao warriors lagged a bit. The native Hawaiian soldiers had their spears leveled and were ready for anything to pop out at them. It was like they expected a dragon to come slithering out of the cave, so apprehensive did they seem. Maybe it’s superstition, Steve thought.

  The group reached fifteen paces out from the mouth of the cave. The waterfall had built into a loud, continuous stream that stole the other noises of the forest from their ears.

  Then a howl erupted and shattered the smooth serenity.

  Everyone’s eyes darted above the cave, to where the waterfall started about ten feet in the air. A wolf was perched on the bank, staring down at them with piercing yellow eyes.

  The Nawao murmured to themselves and tightened into a military formation, unnerved by the eerie appearance of the wolf.

  Steve stepped forward.

  He said, “Fuscia, I know that’s you!”

  The wolf stared at him but made no sudden movements.

  In the sky, the red sheen had become purple. The moon had finally come out to play, shining murky light through the canopies in spidery tendrils that lit up the ground.

  It must have been serendipity, or tremendous timing on Pua Kila’s part, because at that very moment the wolf in front of them began to change.

  The hair on her four legs faded away and the fur became finer. Her hind legs shortened, making her misshapen, and her front legs followed. She howled and growled in rage as if she were fighting against the transformation. She put her forehead against the ground so no one could see the expression on her wolfish face. The entire shape of her head changed. It made grotesque cracks and snaps, like she was being subjected to the ultimate chiropractic treatment.

  When she slowly lifted her head, it was the head of a woman. Only her eyes remained yellow, to show the wolf underneath her skin of human flesh. She was on her belly, facedown, and took a moment to gather her bearings.

  Then Fuscia stood, naked as always, and said, “Steven Remington, you have come. The Spirit Watcher has been awaiting your arrival.”

  Steve’s eyes were still huge in his head, unable to comprehend what he’d just seen. The transformation from wolf to woman had seemed excruciatingly painful. It had not been like he’d seen in the movies. Even now, Fuscia didn’t seem completely herself.

  “Step forward,” Fuscia commanded, putting her hands on her hips.

  At first, Steve’s eyes glanced at her unabashed, hairy pubic region. Then he looked away, embarrassed, and did as he was told.

  His eyes narrowed on the cave. He squinted. It took a moment, but before long, he noticed a humanoid shape in the reflection of the water. No, behind the water.

  A hand reached out and passed through the waterfall, beckoning Steve forward with a long-nailed finger. No water seemed to soak the person’s dark, black sleeves.

  Steve gulped and turned around.

  Pua Kila, Aiden, and the Nawao warriors were nowhere to be seen.

  He panicked.

  His eyes shot up overhead, to the top of the cave, but even Fuscia was gone from sight.

  Where is everyone?!

  Come forward, a voice said in his head. The voice sounded utterly familiar, but he couldn’t place where he’d known it. It was like he’d heard the voice in a dream, from when he was a child . . .

  Steve stopped at the mouth of the cave, before the waterfall. He could see the spittle flying off the pond as the waterfall plunged into it. But he couldn’t feel any droplets of water.

  Come, the voice said, into the waterfall.

  Steve creased his brow and screwed up his face.

  Trust me.

  He took a deep breath and stepped forward.

  The water neither caressed nor touched him as he passed through the waterfall.

  Once inside the mouth of the cave, he stared at the black-veiled figure in front of him. She was shorter, coming up to his shoulders. Blonde hair poked out from the ends of her veil. He could almost see the outline of her face.

  The light of the moon beamed onto the waterfall, which in turn reflected into the cave in a shadowy, Rorschach blotch.

  Steve found he was holding his breath.

  The Spirit Watcher put her hands to her veil and pulled the mask up over her head.

  Time seemed to slow down.

  With the veil removed, the Spirit Watcher lifted her face and locked eyes with Steve, studying his face for recognition. She had a very normal, pretty face. He’d been expecting a crone. It was wrinkled in a few places and her blonde hair was dashed with white. She seemed to be about fifty years old, give or take, and Steve thought—

  His heart stopped in his chest. He couldn’t breathe. He uttered a gasp and took a step back, until he was against the rocky wall of the cave.

  Tears came to his eyes.

  “M-Mom?”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The Spirit Watcher reached out and put a soft hand on Steve’s shoulder. Her tender touch caused his trembling body to calm, but in his mind, there was a glitch in the matrix. He couldn’t hold a complete thought—it was like he’d taken LSD and it had just kicked in. The shadowy, shifting blobs from the waterfall’s moonlit reflection didn’t help.

  Steve couldn’t get a grip. As soon as he felt his mind might be soothed, he took one glance at the Spirit Watcher’s face and chaos ensued once more.

  Echoing his thoughts, she said, “Steven, get a hold of yourself. Please.” Her tone was casual and soft, but her words were stern. There was hurt in her voice. Something else lingered in her tone that Steve couldn’t put his finger on.

  He hadn’t seen his mother in . . . he couldn’t remember when. Since he was a child. The tears that threatened to fall weren’t tears of joy or happiness.

  They were tears of pain. Long-held abandonment issues, surfacing at last.

  Because that’s exactly what Steve’s mother had done when he and his brother were children: she’d abandoned them. She’d left Steve and his brother to be raised by Richard. She’d never returned, never called, never written. She had vanished like a ghost chicken, never to be heard from again. Steve had built a brooding resentment for years. When he was old enough, the pain seemed to subside a bit.

  Time healed all. Even the cold feeling of hate.

  Steve had never gone to therapy to resolve his issues over his mother’s abandonment. But he knew he should have. Without having a female role model, he’d been a callous youth. He’d never been able to nurture relationships. He’d always looked for his mother in the girlfriends he’d had. It was some Freudian shit, but it was something Steve had always recognized in himself. He’d never known true womanly, nurturing love, because he’d never felt it. That is until he’d met Annabel.

  Now all the dark, buried thoughts of anguish and sadness crept up into his mind and heart.

  His heart pounded in his chest and he breathed rapidly. He was aware he was having a panic attack. He closed his eyes, trying to control his anxiety. He tried to forget his mother’s hand was resting on his shoulder. He eventually exhaled deeply and pacified his fears.

  “W-What are you doing here?” he asked at last. His voice was filled with emotion, though he’d tried to sound cold and detached. He glanced outside the waterfall, where his friends should have been. They were still either invisible or gone.

  It suddenly dawned on him that he was in Ethereus. He could tell by the mystical, dreamy nature of the world around him. He hadn’t dream-leaped, but it was like he’d been forced to leap outside of his own mind.

  His mother said, “Is that really the first question you’d like to ask me, Steven?”

  Steve gritted his teeth.

  He paused, gathering his thoughts. His mind no longer seemed to be hurtling toward disaster. He turned and stared at her brown eyes. He could sense the sadness there, but it didn’t seem directed at him.

&
nbsp; “No,” Steve answered, “it isn’t.”

  Another pause. Then she said, “Well?” and looked like a mother scolding a child.

  Steve’s lower lip trembled. “Where did you go?”

  The Spirit Watcher sighed. She seemed regal and otherworldly. She belonged in this mythical cave beneath a waterfall in the middle of the woods.

  “Before we speak about the important business at hand, I suppose it’s best that we begin there.” She removed her hand from his shoulder and stepped back. “I left because I thought I had to, my son. I left to protect you and your brother.”

  Steve narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. “Bullshit.”

  “You may think that—and I don’t blame you, Steven. I don’t expect you to forgive me—”

  “Good, because it’s not gonna happen.”

  “But let me try to explain. Perhaps it will ease your conscience.”

  “Maybe it will ease yours,” Steve snarled. “My conscience is golden.” He felt petty and vindictive. He tried to think of words that would sting, but then he let the thoughts die away. He knew he was being rash and childish. Maybe she did have a good reason . . .

  No, he yelled to himself. Nothing she can say will ever make me forgive her.

  Steve’s mother frowned and her eyes became glassy. She seemed on the verge of tears, like she’d been able to read Steve’s thoughts. And then Steve knew she could—he was probably in her Ethereus plane, after all.

  “I realized I was a dream-leaper quite young, Steven. That is why you have such a powerful dream-leaping force. You received your mythical qualities from me, not your father.

  “I became adept at using my power. And obsessed. I became so strong I began to see the future in other people’s dreams. It terrified me and I had no one to help navigate my thoughts or curb my power.” She paused and glanced toward the rocky wall.

  Sniffling, she continued. “I thought if . . . maybe if I left, I would steer danger away from you and your brother. I thought you and your brother would have a chance at living normal lives. That you’d never realize your true nature. I was young and had no idea what you would become—how strong you would become. This was around the time I found out about your father’s affair . . .”