Tesser: A Dragon Among Us (A Reemergence Novel)

by Philbrook, Chris

  Abe grinned ear to ear. "Yeah, I mean that's one way to describe dubstep."

  "He'll do. Please play it loud," Tesser said as he flopped onto his back once more.

  "You're a strange man, my friend," Abe said as he hit play on Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites.

  Tesser looked up at the high ceilings of the pricey home and let the electronic cacophony take him away.

  Dear Abe, I'm not really a man at all.

  *****

  At 11:00 pm, Mr. Doyle fetched the boys. Not before reaming them out politely, albeit thoroughly, in his British accent for their loud music, along with their general levels of disrespect, of course.

  Tesser and Abe were humbled and a bit impressed by how much shame the man could dole out, all the while refusing to use curse words, insults, or raising his voice.

  The man has a strange gift.

  "We'll need to link hands on the floor inside the inner circle of ground feldspar. You'll notice the outer circle of salt and mashed insect. That's to keep the demons at bay, should we draw their attention. Take care to not disturb the circles."

  "There is no demon that can cross the threshold without being first invited. None that would be interested in interfering with this, at least," Tesser said flatly.

  Mr. Doyle started the argument, "My son, there are thousands of years of documentation showing clear evidence of-"

  "Creatures from other planes of existence cannot pass through the threshold unless brought across intentionally. It has never been done and never shall be done. If you fear ghosts, spirits, eidolons, poltergeists, gremlins, brownies, seelie or sidhe, that is one thing. Your barrier has value, but not against what you think it does," Tesser said with finality.

  "How do you know all that?" Abe asked as Mr. Doyle stared at the golden-eyed man, experiencing his own frustration again.

  "Experience. Can we begin? I'm not getting any younger," Tesser said as he took a seat inside the circle. Though I'm not getting any older, either.

  "You need to move over there," Mr. Doyle said, pointing at a different spot inside the circle. Tesser slid over immediately.

  I'll have some answers soon. Finally.

  The two mages sat down in their own designated areas of the floor, and all three took each other's hands at Mr. Doyle's insistence. The aged wizard took a deep breath, and after visually confirming that the two men were still in fact with him, he began his chant.

  I think some of that is the Latin language Abe mentioned in the alley.

  Mr. Doyle's chant drifted from one dead language to the next fluidly, as if the words belonged next to one another. Tesser tried to listen to each word, to pluck the meaning of the spell from thin air.

  "Loquor—Clara Voce—Nulla Timor—Veritas—Duo Magus—Kaula—," and it went on and on. Disjointed phrases strung together smoothly somehow, with a tenor that alternated between whispers and shouts that, at times, felt so right that Tesser couldn't help but smile at the beauty of it all. Hair stood at end.

  This man used to be powerful. His skill is admirable, though he is unable to tap into so much of the energy that is gone. I see now so clearly what he meant when he said wielding magic was like drawing blood from a stone. There is so little of Kaula left in the world, it is a surprise the sun is even shining.

  Mr. Doyle's voice was stringing together sounds now. He spoke syllables and consonants that couldn't possibly be words, but sounded to the ear like the turning of a gigantic tumbler inside the lock of reality. His words, his mouth, were recreating what was possible.

  "Ga—Ro—Re—Chal—Vo—Tem…"

  Then, silence.

  Everything went dark.

  A dome of blackened energy had formed around the outer circle of salt. It cast an absence of light that seemed infinite and reminded all three men of the vast, endless night sky full of mystery. Rather than drawing out primordial fear, the blackness drew out childlike wonder.

  "Speak to Kaula, Tesser. Our minds are drifting in a void of the universal subconscious. We are connected to a billion minds and a billion souls. Maybe more. Speak out firmly to Kaula, and if she can, she shall respond to you," Mr. Doyle said, his voice a breath above a whisper.

  "This is amazing," Abe said under his breath.

  Tesser closed his eyes and shifted his body. He kept the changes internal, altering his vocal cords, and lungs to enable an entirely different mode of sound. He might be saying words, but the sounds he would be making would carry meaning to only a select few.

  My dragon kin.

  "Kaula," Tesser said softly, beckoning to his long-lost love.

  I can still see your face.

  The void returned nothing.

  "Kaula, please. I must speak with you," Tesser said.

  I want to hear your voice.

  Abe turned to Mr. Doyle, "Can you hear that? Something different with his voice? A vibration? A tone? Like he's speaking twice, or something?"

  Mr. Doyle could only nod as he motioned for Abe to stop talking.

  "Kaula?" The trio let the plea sit in the darkness for several minutes, but nothing returned. No answers, no salutations, no faces, and no satisfaction. Tesser felt a hot tear streak down his cheek.

  She mustn't be dead.

  "Tesser, the spell will end soon if we do not forge a connection with someone. Are there others you can reach out to? You said there were six others of your organization?" Mr. Doyle suggested.

  "Six others of my kind."

  "Try for one of them. Better to reach a different person, than no one altogether." Mr. Doyle sounded conciliatory.

  Tesser wiped the salty tear from his chin and licked his lips.

  A Dragon's tear. Purest salt.

  He spoke again, his voice reaching out far across the world, "It is I, Tesser. Speak to me, my brothers and sisters."

  The void remained black and endless for a painfully long span of seconds before several specks of light appeared in the depths of the darkness far above. Pinpricks of color grew and swirled about, approaching the men where they sat, covering distances so vast, they were unimaginable. Eventually the motes of color buzzed between the men, dancing about like a child's sparkler on a midsummer night. Each was a different color. All of the streamers escaped away suddenly, except one; a blue like the azure sky.

  "Kiarohn," Tesser said with a rapid breath, on the verge of tears of joy.

  The mote swirled again, and a soft voice, neither male nor female could be heard by all present, "Tesser. It is good to finally see you again. We have mourned your disappearance, but now, we celebrate your return."

  "I have not died," Tesser said defiantly, proudly.

  The mote twisted in the air acrobatically. "That much is true, though we were beset with sadness when you left this world. Well, most of us. What say you of your story?" The color called Kiarohn asked.

  "I was forced to sleep."

  "Forced to sleep? You were never one to conjure excuses, Tesser. How does one make our kind fall asleep for so very long? Sorcery? Poison?" The whirl of blue energy changed its tint inquisitively.

  "I do not know. Both perhaps. My last waking memories are of a time very long ago. Wooden castles, men starting fires, and the first kings. Magic abounded with the humans, and mathematics was no more developed than the wheel. I have no memory of how I came to be asleep for so long. You know my word to be true. My soul is open to you." Tesser emphasized the point by pulling his shirt apart, busting the buttons and sending them skidding across the hard wooden floor. One stopped and spun dangerously close to the circle of ground feldspar.

  The mote danced near Tesser's chest, as if proximity would assure veracity. "You tell the truth. I am sorry for my interrogation, friend. Ever since Kaula…"

  Tesser leaned forward, almost letting go of Abe's and Mr. Doyle's hands. The two mages gripped the golden-eyed man's fingers strongly, and he tilted back. "What of Kaula? Where has she gone?"

  "She searched this world from pole to pole for a hundred years when you disappeared. E
ven her magic failed to find you. She hasn't been the same since. Distraught, depressed. Reckless at times even," the blue said.

  "What. Of. Kaula?" The unmistakable sound of anger had crept into Tesser's voice.

  "Always so short tempered. You were the hottest of our kind."

  "Zeud is the hottest of our kind. Yet she is calm, where I am anger. What of Kaula, Kiarohn? I'm begging you." The anger had given way to sadness.

  "A decade past, she was in Asia. That was her region of the world. Since your slumber, we've divided it. Seven continents, seven stewards. A simple plan, though North America was left orphaned in your wake. Then one day, with nary a spell cast or shout issued forth, she simply disappeared. Try as we might, the seven became five. And ever since, what she brought to the world has faded away. But that you've already experienced, I'll wager."

  "Kiarohn, you're not the wagering type."

  "So true, my friend. That has not changed since you've been away. Where are you?"

  "Boston. I awoke under the ground and fell into a subway tunnel where I stretched my muscles. It has been a challenging adjustment. This world is nearly alien to me."

  The two mages were wide-eyed with the conversation. Neither had experienced anything quite like it.

  "I can only imagine. The world has changed much since your disappearance. We fear the world will change far faster, and for the worse, without Kaula's essence." The blue color darkened, sad.

  "Has Ambryn...?"

  "No. He has not died." The color said confidently.

  Tesser's head drooped in slight relief, matching the color's change, "How long was I asleep?"

  The mote of energy moved up and spun in rapid circles, thinking. "I do not recall the exact number of years, Tesser, but I would guess it at around twenty thousand trips around the sun."

  "No," Mr. Doyle blurted. "That doesn't add up at all."

  The blue stream of color twisted, suddenly aware of the presence of the elder wizard. It drifted accusatorially between Tesser and the British man, its colors flickering in intensity rapidly. "Who is this? Has he been here all along?"

  "Yes, I'm sorry, Kia. Meet Mr. Doyle. He has been very helpful to me. This conversation is occurring due only to his and his apprentice's assistance. I owe them a debt of gratitude."

  The storm blue color lightened steadily to the color of clear sky. "I thank you then, Mr. Doyle. And you are most correct in your statement. That does not add up."

  "What does he mean?" Tesser asked no one in particular.

  The Brit ex-pat answered, "You said you remember castles and fire. Kings and the wheel. The wheel was invented seven, or perhaps eight, thousand years ago. You speak of a history that doesn’t exist. Humans were not where you say they were twenty thousand years ago."

  The color spoke, "Mr. Doyle, humans are only aware of the history we want them to remember. In Tesser's absence, we have had to take drastic measures to steer the course of humanity. Ultimately, we were unable to do what we wanted and had to.... start you over. It is his task, and his art, not ours, to manipulate life on Earth."

  Abe was the one who asked the ultimate question, making the boldest statement. "Alright fuck this. What are you? Kiarohn, Kaula, Tesser, Ambryn, Zeud? Coleco? Atari? Five names of the seven, that much I get. Each tied to the Origination Stones right? The only thing older than you?"

  "You speak these words like you know them, young one," Kiarohn shot back.

  "I'm pretty much making it up as I go here," Abe shot back honestly.

  "Well, young mage, if Tesser hasn't told you, perhaps I should not either."

  Abe pleaded, "Tesser come on. This just-the-tip bullshit is killing me. I've been waiting my whole life to see something amazing, and here I am, on that threshold. I want to see spells. I want to see gnomes, and ghosts, and magic, real magic. I want to tell my grandchildren that I had tea with a troll and watched a giant fell a tree so he had something to pick his teeth with. I want to tell them I snuck into a dragon's lair and stole his treasure. I want to live, Tesser. I'm sick of being an accountant that dabbles in wonder part-time. And I know you can show me what I want. I can feel it deep inside me, and you can give me my dream right here and right now."

  Hm. Well, if only for the speech.

  "I do not know if there are any gnome hills left to take you to, Abe. I am sure with some searching we can find a trapped soul somewhere, and then you can see your ghost. Here we sit, practicing real magic. Trolls? I haven't seen a troll since I slept, and they are wondrous creatures, though the sunlight hates them so. And should we find a giant, you'll find they are not nearly as large as you'd hoped. A tree would be more cane sized for a proper-sized titan, though an angry one would pick your flesh from his teeth using your bones."

  Abe's eyes were alight. Mr. Doyle's as well.

  "And as for stealing a dragon's treasure…"

  Both men held their breath.

  "I have no treasure for you to take. But one day, I shall breathe fire and you shall see me for what I am.

  I am Tesser. And I am Dragon."

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sergeant Henry "Spoon" Spooner

  Spoon looked down into his whiskey tumbler. It was empty again.

  That makes me angry.

  Spooner sat in a bar near the north end. He'd gorged on oysters, called a fellow cop buddy of his, and started drowning his concerns in watered-down whiskey. The bartender knew him, and as it was the afternoon, and as the bar was mostly empty, there was no reason not to simply hand Spoon the entire bottle.

  It could wind up being a mistake.

  Fuck, Bobby, where are you?

  As Henry was expressing his turmoil in his mind to no one in particular, his friend Bobby came into the bar. Bobby served with Spoon in Afghanistan. Both men had been in different units but assigned to the same FOB for a stretch and they were still close. They'd shared more than one bottle of Scope that had been dumped out and filled with dyed vodka. Bobby was tall and thick, like a linebacker for the Patriots, and had long hair and a rough beard. He worked for the narcotics division of the Massachusetts State Police, and frequently worked undercover. He had to drive a couple hours to meet Spoon that day. Bobby Haleman was one of the only people Spoon trusted completely.

  "Spooney, brother," Bobby said in his gruff, thick voice.

  "Shit, Bobby, all those Parliaments are crushing your voice. You sound like a Broadway two-pack-a-day whore," Spoon said as the two men gripped hands in a rugged handshake.

  "Hey, it's nice to see you too. You got cum on your face."

  Spoon shrugged. "Hey, it happens. Thanks for making the trip. I got us a bottle."

  Bobby nodded and waved to the bartender. "Glass, please." A few seconds later a tumbler identical to Spoon's slid down the counter and Bobby scooped it up gracefully. The bar was covered in cigarette smoke stained photos of familiar Boston entertainers and athletes. Larry Bird, Bobby Orr, Paul Pierce, Red Auerbach, Bob Cousy, Robert Parish, Carl Yastrzemski, Ted Williams, Aerosmith, and a hundred more. There was a history of the city here, right down to the nicotine and booze ingrained into the walls, and Spoon liked it. It felt comfortable, like a worn-in recliner.

  The two men made their way back to the tired booth that Spoon had claimed. The shorter ex-paratrooper slid into the booth easily, but the massive Bobby had to suck in his belly to squeeze in.

  "Bobby, I forget how big an ape you are. Christ man, what do you eat to stay that large?"

  "Just ate ten bananas and a blonde on the way here. Feed me a few drinks and the pain of this table in my spleen will go away." Bobby pushed the glass towards Spoon, and Spoon filled it. Bobby took a mouthful and winced from the burn. "God, that's horrible. Like piss and diesel. Thanks for nothing. Hey, congrats on making Detective Sergeant. You deserve it. Good man, good cop."

  "Yeah, well, the papers aren't in yet, just all the extra work. Easy way for them to get me to do the job without adding what I'm owed into my paycheck." Spoon took a mouthful of the whiskey a
nd let it slide down his throat. It burned, but it was a cleansing fire.

  "Ha. City job, state job, they fuck you somehow. Either way man, good on you. You'll get what's coming to you. What brings me out here? You need help on a case?

  "In a manner of speaking, yes. I uh… I don't even know where to start on this, and I know you're not going to believe me. But you gotta gimme the benefit of the doubt on this?"

  Bobby drained his glass with a wince and a cough and pushed it forward again. Spoon filled it. "You got it."

  "Okay, so I was assigned the attempted rape near that new nightclub right outside Chinatown, right?" Spoon started.

  "The one with the naked dude that came to the rescue?" Bobby asked, wrapping baseball glove sized hands around the tiny glass.

  "That's the one. So, I get a tip that leads me to the dude, the naked dude, and I track him down to a Back Bay pizzeria, where he's working as a late-night bouncer for the drunks. He's got clothes by this point. So, he and I sit down for a chat. He's foreign, got an accent I still can't place, and I immediately get the feeling from this dude that he's on a different level, if you know what I mean…"

  "Like Stephen Hawking, ‘on a different level?' Mila Kunis ‘on a different level?"'

  Spoon laughed. "No. Remember when the Special Ops guys would come through the base? Or when we'd deploy with them? You know how some of them just… exuded that air of 'I wipe my ass with the enemy?' That subtle arrogance? A healthy cockiness that only comes with being through the fire? The good kind of cocky?"

  "Yeah, like a fifth-degree black belt. I think I know what you're saying."

  "Yeah, so this guy is like dripping with badassery, but he's soft-spoken, and patient, with a good sense of humor, and I know that he's going to be snapping drunk college kids’ collar bones within a month at this pizza shop, and I just get that fucking itch that there's something deeper going on with him."

  "Like Russian mafia shit?" Bobby sipped the whiskey.