by Cory Barclay
Shannon’s frown gave way to a creeping smile. She pushed his prominent belly playfully, her hands sinking in. “Stooop it,” she said in that cute, annoying way that reminded Steve of countless Southern Californian girls.
“I’m mad at you,” she whispered, but it was clear she wasn’t any longer. Sexual tension surrounded both of them so clearly that Steve could almost see it.
“I have an interview with that recording studio downtown. They need a sound engineer,” Dale whispered back.
“That would be a start . . .” Shannon said, trailing off as Dale kissed her again.
They held the kiss. Suddenly Steve felt very uncomfortable.
“Okay, guys, I guess I’ll just see myself out . . .” he muttered.
Then he remembered something. He reached into his back pocket and found his business card. It was from a bygone era, when Remington Studios was still a thing. He placed the business card on top of the dresser, next to a little lamp and a bra. He made sure it wasn’t in plain sight.
He didn’t want to freak them out by placing it on their bed while they screwed or something. But he did want Dale to find it.
They were moving to the bed, Dale leaning over her as he pushed her gently into a sitting position on the edge. It was Steve’s cue to leave.
He walked toward the white door, went through it, and closed his eyes . . .
And awoke in pain.
His head hung near his chest, painfully swaying left and right. Droplets of drool slid down his chin. He was bouncing up and down.
He blinked a few times and lifted his aching skull. When he did he was met with the gray sky and trees whirling by to his left and right. He thought motion sickness would make him vomit.
“W-What’s going on?” he croaked. His lips and throat were parched. He desperately needed hydration.
He was on horseback, squished in front of someone, whose arms were around his waist and held him in place.
“Ah, so you’ve decided to join the land of the living,” Geddon said behind him.
“Where are we going?” Steve asked. He hardly remembered where he’d been, other than Shannon Barton’s house in Ethereus.
His mind throbbed and pounded, with no respite against the chill night air or the nauseous repetitiveness of bouncing on the horse’s back.
“We crossed the border into Central Soreltris about an hour ago,” Geddon said.
Steve looked around. Selestria rode alongside them. “Can we take a break?” he asked hopelessly.
“Soon.”
“What happened?”
“You were banged up pretty good. Took a shield to the face. We’ll take a look at your head when we stop.”
“When will that be?”
“When we’re out of danger.”
“Danger from what?”
“The Brethren blackguards—if any are left, that is.”
Steve nodded morosely. Blips and images were starting to come back to him. He squinted and gritted his teeth, ducking toward the horse’s neck so he could try to hide from the stinging wind. His arms squished against his sides so Geddon could stabilize him on the saddle.
He remembered the Nawao fighting the blackguards—the pandemonium of battle. He flinched at the thoughts of men bleeding out on the grass, wailing and crying.
“That was horrible,” he said without context.
Geddon knew what he was referring to. “War is an ugly thing, Steve.”
“I never want to do that again.”
“And I hope you won’t have to. Remember, I told you you could have left. No one would have known.”
“I don’t think my dignity could have recovered from that.”
“Is your pride so important to you?” Geddon shot back, mocking Steve for asking the same question earlier.
Steve frowned. Who am I kidding? “No . . . I guess it’s not.”
“I’d rather live and be thought a coward than die and never be thought of at all,” Geddon said.
“Is that line from a song?”
“No idea.”
“Or a movie? It sounds like it’s from a movie,” Steve assured him.
“Okay.”
They stopped talking, instead listening to the night and the horse’s hooves rhythmically beating against the ground.
Steve thought back to the bloody battle. Many people had died, on both sides. He asked, “Did we win?”
“We wouldn’t be driving our horses full bore in the dead of night if we’d won, would we?” Geddon said, a bit of bite in his voice.
Steve recalled losing consciousness and seeing Barns surrounded by enemies. Dark fur had covered Barns’ skin, he was sure. “What happened to Barns?”
“No idea.”
“No, I mean, when we were leaving, before I passed out . . . he’d . . . changed.”
“Barns is . . . was . . .” Geddon trailed off and cleared his throat. He seemed to be on the brink of crying, but Steve couldn’t be sure. “Barns is shapestrong. He is a berserker, able to hamask—or change form—when angered beyond control.”
“Change form into . . . what?”
“A bear. Barns is a descendent of the great Norse bear-warriors. Of course he was born here on Mythicus, but he raised himself in the footsteps of his Viking kin.”
“And that’s how he could ‘follow our scent’ to the hideaway in the valley?”
“Good memory,” Geddon said. “And yes.”
“Do you think he lived?”
Geddon gasped the beginning of a word, then let his words die. He cleared his throat again. “I’d rather talk of something else, Steve.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I know Barns is dear to you.” As an afterthought, he said in a low, meek voice, “Even though we thought he’d betrayed us up until that battle . . .”
“But he didn’t.”
“Right. What did you want to talk about?”
“What you did to that blackguard,” Geddon said.
“Pardon?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Steve.”
Steve sighed. Geddon was correct—he was playing dumb. But it was only because he didn’t have a clue how to explain what had happened out there on the field.
“I’m not sure what happened. I thought I was going to die.” Steve paused. Before Geddon could retort, he added, “But tell me what you saw from your side, and I’ll try to explain it the best I can.”
“One minute I was sure you were dead,” Geddon said, “piled on the ground in a heap, an enemy swordsman standing over you. The next minute, the harbinger of death standing over you turned on his comrade and slew him. Then he was killed by a Nawao.”
Steve nodded along. Geddon’s chronology of events made sense. That’s how it had happened in his mind. He thought he knew what might have taken place, now that his brain was starting to work a little better.
“I think I spontaneously dream-leaped,” he said.
“How?”
Steve shrugged. “Perhaps it happened because I feared for my life—a last-ditch attempt to save myself. My options were either to do something drastic, or die.”
“Interesting,” Geddon said. He pulled the reins of the horse and brought his steed to a trot.
To Steve’s delight, he looked at the horse’s mane for the first time and realized they rode Francesca the Third. He smiled and patted the side of her neck as she huffed and relaxed her gait.
“Even stranger,” he added, “before I woke up just now, I dream-leaped again, to my friend Dale’s place.”
“That’s incredible,” Selestria said as she brought her mare alongside Francesca. “I’ve never heard of anyone being able to dream-leap so accurately and so frequently. Even when you were unconscious and your brain was in ruins, you were able to focus your thoughts to go to Ethereus.”
“It is quite intriguing,” Geddon added.
Selestria was excited and talked over him. “And to do what you did to that blackguard . . . it was like you controlled his mind and . . . I don�
�t know, what did you do to him?”
Steve shrugged. “I think I convinced him we weren’t his enemy—that the blackguards were his enemy.”
“Remarkable,” Selestria said. “You turned him against his allies. That could be very useful . . .”
Steve was as fascinated as Selestria. He wondered if his power had existed before him. If it had, it must have been very rare.
For the first time in a long time, Steve felt special—like he was part of the team. He had no idea how to activate the power. He assumed it came from heavy duress in dire situations.
As if reading his mind, Selestria said, “You’re a true Mythic, Steve Remington. No longer simply a Myth Seeker, it seems you’ve become one of us. Perhaps this newfound power laid dormant until a strenuous situation took place.”
“That was how my original Myth Seeking powers came to be. January Amos told me a tragic event—the death of my father—triggered it.”
“I hope we can learn more about this later, but for now, look.” Geddon pointed forward.
Steve and Selestria followed Geddon’s finger to the horizon.
Their two horses trotted down a road. Houses lined the streets around them. In the predawn light, Steve saw other horsemen traveling up and down the road, starting their day.
Hills dotted the horizon. Steve recognized the hills, and he recognized the road they were on. He could identify the tusks of traffic signals: poles with three black holes sitting atop them. There were no red, yellow, or green lights on Mythicus—at least none that Steve could see. The power grid that kept the traffic signals running on Terrus apparently didn’t send power to the Mythicus equivalent.
Steve was still baffled by everything around him. He doubted his guides knew the extent of Mythicus’ power, as opposed to Terrus’.
Steve wondered where Mythicus ended and Terrus began. He realized he might never learn that answer. Somehow, they were entwined: electricity was apart of Mythicus. He knew that because he’d seen wall switches and light bulbs lit. But that electricity was scarce and uncontrolled—unfocused. The power electrifying Mythicus came from a source other than the electrical grids powering Terrus.
He wanted to get to the bottom of it.
Geddon tapped his shoulder and he heard someone call his name.
He snapped back to reality and said, “What?”
“Do you recognize this area?” Geddon asked.
“Oh, of course,” Steve said, pointing down the main thoroughfare. They were on Mission Bay Drive, which turned off to Balboa Avenue. They were about a mile from where his old studio had been. “If we head east, we’ll reach Aiden’s house in Bay Park, in about two miles.”
“Good,” Geddon said. “Prepare yourself, then.”
“For what?”
Geddon laughed joylessly. “For Aiden O’Shaunessy. He’s a conniving, dangerous, reckless man, as I’m sure you know.”
“Oh, yes,” Steve said, reminiscing, “I remember him quite well. I was hoping I’d never have to see him again, but I guess it’s the leprechaun’s lucky day.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
GEDDON TRIED THE HANDLE of the front door and it gave way.
Aiden’s house on Mythicus was completely different than it was on Terrus. On the outside walls, vines and trellises snaked up and around the brick and stone structure. The house looked much older, like it had been built centuries ago and hadn’t been renovated in as long. Steve remembered Aiden’s house on Terrus was a new, sleek mansion overlooking Mission Bay.
Once inside, Steve recognized the house from his dreams. He gave a great sigh of relief. It had the same black and gold walls, with priceless tapestries and paintings hanging from them.
Steve wondered why Aiden kept his front door unlocked, when he had so many valuable objects lying around.
Then he remembered this wasn’t America, and Aiden probably didn’t have to worry about burglars in the night. And he’d been expecting the trio.
They walked through the main foyer, passing an antique table with a set of framed photos on it. Steve led the group, since he was most familiar with the layout, and he stopped for a moment at the table. He inspected the photos. There were four pictures, all with Aiden front and center. In one of the pictures he had his arm over the shoulder of an older man. It was a black and white photo, but Steve could tell the older man had red hair like Aiden. On the other side of Aiden was another ginger that looked similar to him. All three boys smiled at the camera.
Geddon saw Steve staring at the picture and said, “Aiden’s father and brother. Both dead now.”
Steve frowned. He turned to another picture. This, too, featured Aiden, plus a middle-aged Japanese man. The Japanese man had a long, thin mustache and wispy catlike whiskers hanging from his chin. He wasn’t smiling in the picture, though Aiden was.
Steve pointed at the picture. “And that is . . .”
“That is Tetsuo,” Geddon confirmed.
“The leader of the Kinship,” Steve said, veneration in his voice.
From behind Steve and Geddon, Selestria fought off tears and sniffled. Tetsuo was her husband, and Steve could only guess how long it had been since she’d seen him. Even though he didn’t know her history, he felt bad for the nymph.
“Come on,” Geddon said, putting a hand on Selestria’s shoulder.
They walked down a hallway and turned a corner. A bright, crystal chandelier greeted them in the middle of the next room. Steve gauged his options: four hallways leading in different directions.
This place is more of a labyrinth than a house.
He pointed down the furthest hallway to the left, which went into blackness, lit only by a flickering wall candle.
Halfway down the hall, Steve passed a room and glanced inside as he walked by. He double-took and stopped in his tracks, looking back.
The massive black wooden chest was positioned in the back of the room like an abandoned artifact. On the wall behind it hung the picture that was their target.
But the room was empty.
“I guess we could just take it,” Steve said with a shrug.
“Hello, Aiden,” Geddon said, putting his arms over his chest as he entered the room.
Steve tilted his head in confusion. To him, the room was devoid of any life save him and his two friends. He was puzzled to see Geddon nodding his head as if conversing with someone. He turned to Selestria and saw she had a blank look on her face, but one that wasn’t nearly as confused as Steve’s.
Then he remembered: this was Mythicus. Even as a Myth Seeker, he couldn’t see people living on Terrus, like Aiden. If he was on his home plane of Terrus, he’d see both Mythics and humans alike. But here he could only see Mythics, because he wasn’t on his home turf.
Geddon was a Myth Maker, the inverse of a Seeker, and he was on his home plane. So he could see both Mythics and humans here. If he were on Terrus, he’d only be able to see humans.
It was a strange dynamic. A human on Mythicus, like Steve, could not see people on Terrus—he couldn’t see cross-dimensionally.
Just as Steve could see both humans and Mythics when he was on Earth, such as when he’d met Annabel, so too could Geddon here, on Mythicus.
Steve realized what all his friends felt like when he’d first met Geddon, as Pancho. Geddon had been talking to Tumbleweed in the alley by his recording studio. No one had been able to see Geddon. It was because Geddon/Pancho had not been Seared to Terrus yet, but Tumbleweed had. Everyone had thought Steve was crazy or seeing ghosts, and that Tumbleweed was a mad homeless man talking to himself. In actuality, Steve could see both of them.
Geddon pulled out a dollar bill and held it up in front of him.
At the same time, the painting on the wall moved, rattling against the wall, then floating into the air.
Steve jumped back, startled. His logical mind told him the painting was flying on its own, which was impossible. His deeper understanding told him Aiden must be taking it from the wall.
As the painti
ng floated toward Geddon, he held out the dollar bill.
Then Aiden was standing there, abruptly. There was no explosion or extra-dimensional teleportation. No Star Trek “Beam Me Up, Scotty!” moment. One moment the painting was bobbing in the air, the next second Aiden held it under his skinny arm like a briefcase.
Aiden wore the same green jerkin that made him look like the Lucky Charms leprechaun. It was a garment that Steve thought did him a serious disservice. His curly red hair was on end—an unkempt mop.
He had a look of triumph on his face.
“Fucking finally, eh?” he said, the first words spoken on his home plane in who knew how long.
“Welcome back to Mythicus, Aiden,” Geddon said. He hunched over, grunting. He seemed weaker. Steve remembered Searing and Binding people took life force from the Seeker or Maker.
He had not expected the change to be so drastic: Geddon looked ten years older in a matter of seconds. His dark, wavy hair was sprinkled with gray and his neck was even flabbier than before.
Steve was shocked. He knew Geddon was responsible for Searing himself and Aiden, but who else? Was Selestria Bound to him? Barns? Ulu Koa?
Steve wondered, but didn’t think it was appropriate to ask. All he knew was Geddon looked much older and weaker than he had moments before.
Aiden took the dollar bill from Geddon and tucked it inside a pocket of his jacket.
Geddon held up his other hand, expecting payment. “And your part of the bargain?”
Aiden hesitated with the painting, then sighed. He held it out, and as Geddon tried to take it, he snatched it back so Geddon only grabbed air. Geddon frowned, but Aiden smiled. “Only playing, mate,” he said, then held out the painting again, this time so Geddon could take it.
“Even though I can only see the ceiling,” the woman in the painting said, “I do believe I am changing ownership.” Steve suppressed a chuckle. He was half tempted to get the forgery from Selestria’s horse and have these two portraits exchange words.
But there was no time for fun and games.
“Finally, indeed,” Geddon said, ignoring the woman in the painting. For Aiden, the “finally” was because he was back on Mythicus again. For Geddon, the “finally” was because he had the object of his desire—Tetsuo’s Conveyor—which would hopefully lead the Kinship to their leader.
