Chapter One

　

New York, New York. September 13, 2120

　

Life endured, and the sun still rose in the east and set in the west. Toxic clouds composed of non-methane hydrocarbons, sulfur dioxide, ammonia, makeyourownlistandputithere, have long since cloaked the planet, and were in no danger of dissipating anytime soon. And waiting for the sun (he had never seen) to rise even higher (he had been told by Momma Cola it was a big yellow ball high in the sky) was a twig of a boy all of fourteen years old by the name of Pap. Pap’s stringy black hair was matted, lice infested, and shoulder length. He was wearing just enough to cover his narrow little fanny, and shoes.

　

Pap was busy, busy hunting cat. The quasi-telepathic tabby or calico that could easily survive without human intervention. Cats ate rat, and rats were good roasted, but Pap didn’t want rat. Not that night, or any night too soon. He was tired of rat. Rats ate roaches. Roaches were good fried, with a dash of hard-to-find salt.

　

Though Baby Sister never said so—she never talked, her eyes would speak to him, and in his own way he understood more from her gaze than all the words constantly hurled at him from Momma Cola’s puffy red mouth—Baby Sister was tired of rat, too.

　

Pap spotted his orange and white prey in the blanched morning light and let his mind drain. He nocked an arrow, slowly pulled back on the string, watching the curious cat as it sniffed ever closer to his position, and heard a distant deep rumble from the sour sky. Thunder lords in combat was the thought, but it was a thought he shouldn’t have contemplated.

　

The cat’s head popped up gold eyes wide. Its fuzzy ears panned this way and that, probing for Pap’s mental oops, quivering pink nose and all. Pap jettisoned any remaining thoughts out of his head, changed the even flow of his breathing into a non-rhythm the cat’s finely tuned hearing couldn’t place as hungry human, and waited.

　

The cat wisely crouched and surveyed its bleak environment for quite some time. It didn’t smell anything unusual from any wind-borne direction, and because it didn’t hear or see anything it could equate with danger, warily went back to snuffling the acid-scorched ground for whatever reason it had locked in its quasi-telepathic cat brain. Perhaps kitty-cat was hungrily stalking fat gray rat. Without thought Pap sighted in and let go.

　

The thin yellow arrow flew straight, and Pap watched it pierce the cat’s scrawny chest behind its shoulder blade. A good kill shot. The cat flipped side to side and end over end.

　

Pap, fearful kitty-cat might fall into an asphalt crevice he couldn’t retrieve kitty-cat from, nocked another arrow, but the cat was dying to dead. Its spindly body quivered and stretched as its nerves telegraphed their last.

　

Another clap of thunder roared across the murky heavens much closer than before, and a single drop of acid rain landed on his forearm, burning and smoking its way into his hide. Pap did two things almost at the same time. He spat on his arm to dilute the acid, and frantically clawed his way into the ruins of what was once Grand Central Station before the deadly squall began.

　

He still had a good view of his tasty meow meat, and watched with regret as kitty’s orange and white pelt smoked and melted with each toxic raindrop from the poisoned clouds. The blue plastic feathering on his yellow metal arrow would have to be replaced.

　

"Norse mythology, boy," a coarse voice inquired, "do you know anything of it?"

　

Pap pulled his knife and faced the potential threat this strange new voice held. In the stormy gloom he spied a withered old man in rags, doodling with a brown knobby finger in the dirt. A toothless grin under a bulbous red nose, round bald speckled head, one good ear. Yellowed old eyes rested above the nose, and spoke of clarity of vision and mind.

　

"In Norse mythology," the old man with one ear began, "maggots from the dead body of the giant Ymir changed into the Faerie. Bright light elves and dark elves. The Icelandic version had the first woman, Eve, washing her many children when God spoke, and in fear and with shame she hid her dirty children. God punished Eve by turning those children into the Faerie. Other races have their own versions, you know. Tricksters and pranksters, magical monkeys and more. Now, boy, what do you think about that?"

　

Pap’s agile mind asked itself many questions, none of which were about Norse mythology or the Faerie. In answering those questions Pap decided the old man was not a danger to him.

　

"Your words mean nothing to me, old man," Pap replied truthfully, never one to mince words, and turned his attention back to his kill. Fluffy’s exposed skin blistered and peeled itself off the tasty red muscle tissue. The delicious meat quickly dissolved off the white bone, which began to disintegrate into an ever-widening puddle of crimson goo.

　

"It doesn’t cost you anything to listen to them words of mine," the old man muttered through chapped thin lips. "You go on, watch that cat melt like ice cream on a hot plate. Don’t mind me. I’m old, I know it. The young never listens to the old. It’s like we don’t exist. Like you have better things to do right this minute than listen to a toothless old man."

　

The best of the cat was gone, it would stop pouring soon enough, and Pap still had to wait for it to dry before resuming his hunt. Baby Sister and Momma Cola were counting on him for their supper, not to mention how hungry he was.

　

"What about these Faerie you spoke of?" Pap asked, turning back toward the toothless old man momentarily curious. Only the old man wasn’t there anymore, and there wasn’t anyplace the old man could go, not without getting wet.

　

Pap searched where he could within the ruins, over and under thick stone and broken brick, finding squat and not much else. No corpse was nearby outside, melting.

　

The old man talked nonsense and vanished like a ghost. Pap gave it some quick thought and decided the old man was already dead. There was no other explanation for the old man vanishing like he did with no place to go, especially during a cloud burst. Pap concluded he had seen his first spook.

　

Momma Cola worried about spooks. She believed the ghosts of those she killed over the years for food and supplies (and there had been a few) might, or probably would come back some dark day to haunt her. Pap never worried about ghosts before that day, and had never killed a one-eared, toothless old man with a bald speckled head. Momma Cola, to the best of his knowledge, never killed a one-eared, toothless old man with a bald speckled head, either. Considering the way she liked to tell stories, the same tired stories over and over, he would have heard if she had.

　

Momma Cola talked and talked and talked. Pap would spend hours tuning out her raspy rants. Baby Sister seemed to listen politely, nodding her head when appropriate, but Pap thought it all an act, something she did for Momma Cola’s benefit. If Momma Cola suspected, she didn’t object.

　

Fine. A dead old fart. He had met his first ghost. A spook who decided he was the one to haunt.

　

Pap could deal with a ghost, but his ghost had been doodling in the dirt, and the design was still there. The drawing the dead old man made looked like a number "8" turned on its side. Was that possible? Could ghosts leave marks in the dirt? Pap would ask Momma Cola when he returned home, but he couldn’t return home with an empty food pouch.

　

When the rain stopped Pap pulled out a small dirt-blackened rag and his yank. Haze from the quickly evaporating rain shower would make it hard to breathe for hours. He whizzed on the rag to block any toxic fumes from entering his lungs; then conserved moisture by filling a dented tin cup he always kept with him and drinking the rest.

　

Pap returned his thoughts to the gathering of dinner. No cat today, but fat gray rat was plentiful.

　

Many long hours later, with four roach-fattened rats tucked into his rough canvas food pouch, Pap picked his way home in and around the Big Apple’s rotten core.

　

"Momma Cola!" he shouted, taking the wide steps down into his subway station home two at a time. Nobody answered.

　

"Momma Cola?"

　

"She’s dead, boy. Over there. Under the mattress."

　

Pap recognized the dead old man’s voice, but moved to examine Momma Cola, making sure she was as dead as the dead old man said she was.

　

Momma Cola, big and black, now big, black and old, found Baby Sister and Pap a long time ago. Left to fend for themselves Pap and Baby Sister managed to find each other, and stole what they could when they could from whoever they could in order to survive, hiding like rats in-between raids. For the third time in as many weeks they were copping a few half-rotted eats from Momma Cola’s meager stash when the big woman found them and blocked their only exit.

"My Lord in Heaven!" Momma Cola exclaimed. "Two tiny little rats in my pantry! Perhaps I should eat ‘em?"

　

Pap might have been three, and Baby Sister four, or just turned five. That’s what Momma Cola said. Pap could barely remember back that far. Momma Cola said she talked them into staying by speaking softly without making any threatening moves.

　

Truthfully, Baby Sister made that decision for them both when she gave Momma Cola a wide-armed hug. She then forced Pap to do the same. That was the one thing about that day he remembered clearly. Having his face shoved between Momma Cola’s massive brown breasts, and choking over the funk.

　

Momma Cola had been field dressed. Skinned and boned, every available scrap of edible meat gone. All that remained was a greasy pile of innards, wide strips of brown skin, and a lot of fat with some bone mixed together.

　

"Where is her head?" Pap asked.

　

"They took it with them," the dead old man replied.

　

His next thought was for Baby Sister. The most beautiful thing Pap had in a very ugly and sad world.

　

"Is Baby Sister dead, dead old man?"

　

"I don’t know what makes you think I’m dead, boy, but I’m not. Neither is Baby Sister. In fact, I’m going to help you get her back. It means a lot to me to get her back alive."

"Are you Baby Sister’s father? Or are you like the trader scum who wants nothing more than to take her to bed. Is that it, old man? You’re here because you want to do her instead of Momma Cola? Missed your chance?"

　

The old man laughed loud and long, choked on phlegm, spat that out, and laughed some more. Pap thought his questions worthy.

　

Momma Cola, being a practical trader, did things for food and water. She’d kill a fellow trader if she knew she could get away with it, and keep what he had for herself. They’d eat good for a couple of days on his goods, and eat even better on the trader. Weeks of good food. Pap had to gather a lot of wood out of the ruined buildings, and it took a while for Momma Cola to jerk the meat, but the work and wait was worth the trouble.

　

"You are a stupid boy," the old man said. "Got any guns and ammo?"

　

"Momma Cola thought it safer to trade guns for food and water."

　

"When she got her grubby little hands on them, I suppose. Don’t want to become too big a threat."

　

"Who did this?" Pap demanded. "Who killed Momma Cola and took Baby Sister?"

　

"You’re in a big snit now, huh? I’ll fuel the fire. The who is the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel trader scum, and now you have a credible reason to despise them even more. The why, boy, is because they want to breed her. They want to do Baby Sister. Make her fat with babies. They already killed some off-islanders over in Jersey, and they did it for five little girls. Took their goods and weapons, gathered meat, and took the women’s heads. They want it all, boy, and you dead. You have to kill them first."

　

Pap didn’t really love Momma Cola in any real sense of the word, but she hadn’t deserved to die. Not like that. She’d traded with everyone for years without incident, occasional disappearance notwithstanding. Everyone knew and respected Momma Cola. They didn’t trust her, the truth being the truth, but knew and respected her.

　

Baby Sister, though, was another matter. He needed her, and she needed him. There was something between them, a link he couldn’t explain. He would get her back alive and kill those who took her. A promise he made to himself without words right then and there.

　

All Pap had was one small bottle of water, some roaches, and a meager supply of rat jerky. The fresh rats he caught would go to waste. He didn’t want to take the time to fool with them. What he had would be enough for the old man and himself a quick bite. Baby Sister, when he got her back, would eat well on trader scum.

　

He checked Momma Cola’s not-so-secret stash and found it empty. Fair enough. He would care for the old man until he killed all those that took Baby Sister. He would divide the spoils, and from there the old man would be on his own.

　

"We have a long walk ahead of us, old man."

　

"I don’t do a whole lotta walking well, boy. But you can follow me and we’ll kill us some trader slime."

　

With that the old man strolled toward the platform’s back wall and proceeded to pull Momma Cola’s trash heap apart, throwing everything willy nilly. It was if the old man was looking for something. Since Pap had fabricated the trash heap in the first place, he stood, wondering if the old man was crazy. "Not right in the noggin," as Momma Cola would say, tapping the side of her head and rolling her eyes.

　

"What are you looking for, old man?"

"A tunnel, boy. We go through this here tunnel."

　

"There is no tunnel there, old man."

　

The train tunnel off the platform caved in years ago, from what Momma Cola said, before she had been born, during or after the Time of Pain, giving the three survivors a dry safe home.

　

"Is that right?" the old man said, removing a rusted blue car hood from against the grimy tiled wall. "Watch my ass."

　

Pap watched the old man crawl his way into a roughed round tunnel that shouldn’t exist. All in all, it confused him. That and the old man had a large hole in his baggy pants, showing flabby, white old-man rump.

　

Pap (a little afraid) followed the old man into the round hole in the wall. It was dark but dry, and smelled like butt crack thanks to the old man’s soiled trousers.

　

The walls of the tunnel seemed to glow, so Pap could see where they were going, and the tunnel appeared to change directions at a whim, growing larger with each twist and turn. Both got to their feet.

　

"This tunnel, old man. How is it possible?"

　

"People once thought that giants walked the land, or Big Foot, a half-man half-ape thing, if you know what an ape is, but they didn’t. No Big Foot, no giants, no trolls."

　

"Trolls?"

"Big ugly things. No trolls, no pixies, no brownies, selkies, fachan, phooka, spriggans or gobblins. The Faerie, they were real. They once lived all over the world, long before humans came about to bungle everything. They looked like us humans, too. A bit smaller, of course, but not by much. They taught men and women how to do magic, among other things, and taught—"

　

"All I asked about was this tunnel, old man. Why are you again telling me about Faerie?"

　

The old man stopped, turned around, and looked pissed.

　

"Did you ever stop to think that the two might be interconnected?" the old man leaned in and voiced, hands on hips. "Please don’t interrupt me unless it’s a life or death situation. I’ll shut my mouth until you’re ready to listen. Damn kids never change. Generation upon generation of closed-minded snot-nosed brats with loud opinions that spring from half-formed thoughts. Slap ‘em upside the head twice a day for fun, is what I say."

　

The old man turned, and deeper into the tunnel he went.

　

"Watch your head, boy. Don’t addle yourself more than what you are already."

　

Pap said nothing more, rather insulted the old man had called him a kid, a snot-nosed brat, and continued to call him "boy." He wasn’t a kid, a brat, or a boy. He was a man that took care of his family, and a good hunter. Rare was the day he missed his target.

　

They might have walked a quarter mile more before the old man stopped again, felt around the thick concrete wall, and pushed open a squat wide door Pap knew for a fact wasn’t there a moment before. Brightness washed in and hurt his eyes. The old man stepped out and Pap followed.

"Boy, I don’t know which is worse on these poor old knees. Crawling hurts like hell, and walking isn’t much better. I know my knees wouldn’t have held out if we walked all this way street-side. It pays the devil to grow old, boy. It pays the devil."

　

When the door shut Pap saw it was a sign bolted to a tall building’s cement wall. The faded image was that of a warrior covered head to toe in shiny steel. Pap didn’t want to ask the what or how with the door, sure he already knew the answer. Instead, he asked about the sign.

　

"Something about prophylactics, boy. Condoms. Things men used to slip over their peepees to stop from making babies. I was sure rubbers were a huge waste of time, and time proved me right. Used them as water balloons as a kid."

　

"I don’t understand."

　

"Fill ‘em up with water and drop ‘em out a window onto people’s heads. Very funny."

　

The old man sighed. He said, "It’s not important anymore, and Baby Sister is. We need to slide over a couple of blocks. There’s another tunnel I know about that should take us up inside the trader’s stronghold without any of their sentries seeing us."

　

"We haven’t traveled that far," Pap observed, "yet we’re miles from Momma Cola’s. How can that be?"

　

"That’s what I’ve been getting to in my own round-about way," the old man said. "Anyway, where was I? The Faerie . . . they taught men and women magic—"

　

The old man suddenly stopped his lesson. He first considered one direction, and then another. He turned a slow circle. He said, "Something isn’t right." Then his eyebrows came together and drooped down in the center.

　

"Do you feel it, boy?" he whispered.

　

Pap could feel it. "We’re being watched."

　

"We’re being watched alright, but it doesn’t feel like a who, it’s more of a what, probing the area. Open your mind, boy. Close your eyes and open your mind. I want you to experience this. Know it for what it is."

　

"How?"

　

"You’re able to hunt cat, right? Same thing. Close your eyes and open your mind."

　

Pap closed his eyes and cleared his thoughts as if he was on a hunt, and began to construct a mental illustration of the immediate area. He distinguished obvious hiding places, and not so obvious hiding places, but no motion. He could sense a darkness about him, icky-sticky-gooey, but the darkness seemed out of reach.

　

Pap whispered, "What is it, old man?"

　

No answer.

　

He opened his eyes and looked around. No old man, and Pap never heard a sound.

　

Pap hunkered down and policed for movement. He stood and tugged at the metal sign, but it was bolted to the old concrete wall. There was no hidden latch he could finger. The sign opened for the old man, but wasn’t going to open for him. If he was being observed, and Pap still felt as if he was, he needed to find a place to hide.

　

Across the street was a building that looked fairly intact. Pap picked his way around what seemed to be a parking lot of rusted hulks, crossing the street. A thin stairwell, choked with stone and brick, led to a basement.

　

A dented mailbox had made its last stand at the bottom of the stairwell, and died half buried, clinging to a corroded steel door he hoped to hide behind. Next to the door was a hole-of-a broken window big enough for him to scramble through, covered by a rusty, metal mesh grate.

　

Pap pulled the thin grate off without much trouble, goaded any remaining shards of dirty glass out of the window’s metal frame, and clambered inside. He hurriedly nocked an arrow and waited for his eyes to adjust to the gloom.

　

The room was altogether barren. Not even a piece of crumpled paper on the floor. A door leading into the building’s interior had long ago been removed, the empty frame bricked up, hiding something, possibly food or water. His stomach voiced its indignation at the thought of food.

　

He searched outside the window, left to right, top to bottom, but saw nothing, and heard nothing more than his stomach.

　

Pap ate one small piece of jerky, and then one roach at a time, savoring his meal, staring out the window, reasoning his strange new predicament.

　

The old man was gone, but wasn’t dead. He just acted like a ghost, vanishing at will. Tunnels that shouldn’t exist, and doors only the old man could open. Baby Sister needed to be rescued. The traders needed to be killed, representing a continuous threat to both Baby Sister and himself. That meant going into dangerous and unfamiliar territory alone.

　

The idea of a more complete mental map inched its way to the top of his how to kill traders and save Baby Sister musings. He chewed another crisp salty roach and chased it down with a slug of warm water.

　

The jerky and roaches calmed his gut, and the water renewed his energy. Still nothing moved outside.

　

He breathed deep, almost the rhythm of sleep, and backed away from the window. Pap let go his concerns, his fears, and let his mind sculpt the streets and buildings around him. This time the little things: trash, rats, a cat prowling for its dinner, entered his thoughts.

　

There was a presence. A darkness that seemed to be searching for something. Suddenly, many such dark presences revealed themselves within Pap’s mind, only these presences didn’t feel dangerous. It was as if they were shadows of people, and he could reach out to them and know them as well as he knew himself. Pap perceived they were the people who had died during the Time of Pain. Their spirits doomed to wander the dead streets of a dead city as the world gasped its last uneasy breaths.

　

One, though, wasn’t of them.

　

One was feeding from the others, drawing from them their ghostly essence until all that remained was their fear. One that pounced into his living mind.

　

It first felt like an annoying itch he couldn’t possibly scratch, driving deeper into his brain. Then pain the likes of which he never felt before raced around inside his head. It bulldozed through his memories of hunting rat and cat, cleaning and cooking and eating with Momma Cola and Baby Sister. Memories of him gathering wood among the ruins, pulling it off of or out of walls, collecting potable water by draining old pipes in dangerous basements. The force inside his head was picking out locations. The best places to find survivors. A wail of pain could be heard; then a scream Pap knew came from his own lips.

　

The pain stopped, and Pap felt his mind abruptly yanked into a measureless black that threatened to asphyxiate him. He mentally thrashed about until exhaustion forced him deeper into the all-consuming gloom.

　

Slowly, Pap became aware of himself in the syrupy pall. He realized several things at the same time. The first of which he was heart-thundering-in-his-chest alive, sucking air. The second and third things he realized; he seemed to be standing upright on absolutely nothing.

　

He let his mind unfurl to encompass the naught, trying to understand where he was. He expanded his awareness to such an extent he was afraid of forfeiting himself, what he was, to the darkness. He reined himself in and understood nothing, and nothing was what he understood.

　

He was in the nothing before there was something. It was an unusual thought to think, but he recognized this unique concept as a bold but simple truth he could not deny.

　

Pap grinned, pushed his foot down, and immersed it in zilch. He then noticed another item that stilled his happy feet. There was a small pinprick of bright blue-white light off in the far distance.

　

Before he could think about it Pap drew himself toward the small point of light. He circled the light with his mind, and stared into it. His curiosity got the better of him and he touched it with his thoughts. The spark exploded, and a brilliance quickly enveloped him, passing through him, seething with colors he had no names for. Great bubbling globs of light.

　

Pap wanted his mouth to give all around him some visage of sound. A great cry of anxiety erupted to become nothing more than silence.

　

After a short while it all seemed to slow down. Whirlpools of light began to form little dots that radiated out at him untold shades of white, yellow, blue and red. Pap turned a small circle and marveled. It was like being on the inside of a great bubble.

　

Could he? Should he? It meant swallowing all uncertainty.

　

He took a small step and found his footing held, despite what his eyes were telling his brain. He took another step, and then another, and then another. He quickly decided admiring his feet was not the best thing to do during his unique jaunt.

　

There was no real direction to go within his bubble of swirlie-whirly light, so Pap chose the nearest spiral. Each step took him closer than he ever thought possible. He’d never run distances such as those he now traversed with each gangly footfall. One arm within that spiral enveloped him, and Pap stopped to think.

　

With questions he had no real words for, and no hope for answers, Pap scanned the immediate area and discovered one point of dim yellow illumination seemed to entice him. So, for no other reason than it was there, that’s the one point of light he approached.

　

He stopped again when a massive—bigger than he ever imagined—ball of battered gray rock surged past him. Another step later he saw another massive ball coming at him. This one was also round, almost perfectly so, and smooth.

　

The third sphere to pass by, actually roll past him like a ball on the pavement, was pale blue with some muddy green stirred within. Momma Cola once had three marbles, and had shown them to him, explaining what they were. That’s what these balls looked like. Monstrous marbles.

The fourth globe was larger than the last three, bright yellow, and had a dense set of rings. The fifth sphere was fantastically gargantuan. It was angry with clouds of orange, white and yellow. The most memorable feature of this tremendous orb was a great whirling red spot. It looked like an unblinking eye.

　

Another step brought him into a region that choked with rocks of all shapes and sizes. Yet another step brought him to a rust colored ball with thin wispy ribbons of white, floating above its surface. That’s when Pap understood what it was he was seeing, giving the phenomenon its proper name. The first answers to his many unasked questions.

　

Momma Cola’s long forgotten picture books named the bubble the Universe. Momma Cola also called them the heavens. The bright yellow blaze-of-a-ball far from where he was now, was called the Sun. He had seen things called galaxies form, traveled to his own solar system, and walked from planet to planet. The big one with the angry red eye was called Jupter, and the rust-red orb he stood next to was called Mars.

　

"It’s pronounced Jupiter, boy. I knew there was some intelligence in that pointed head of yours. Had to pry it out, though."

　

Pap turned several circles to find himself still alone, yet he heard the old man’s voice.

　

"Where are you, old man?" he asked aloud.

　

"Close enough. Take another step, boy."

　

"Why can’t I see you?"

　

"Because I don’t want you to. Take another step. Learn something new."

　

Pap did as he was told. Earth, the properly named planet he supposedly inhabited ballooned into view, seeming to park itself in front of his eyes. It was a bright blue and white ball, with masses of brown and gold and green, dotting its surface. A pitted moon lazily swung around it, rendered in bright white and drab gray.

　

"Before you ask," the old man’s voice said, "this is what the Earth was, what it looked like before the Time of Pain. Before Faerie or Man walked its surface. Take another step."

　

And just like that Pap was standing on the Earth’s surface, surrounded by things called trees. Looking up past the canopy, Pap saw for the first time in his life a clear blue sky. The sun hung high and bright. Sweet on his lungs was the air, with many agreeable aromas about to tickle his nose.

　

"Feels good to breathe?" asked the old man.

　

"It doesn’t burn."

　

"Enjoy it while you can. This is your home, boy. New York. What it once was, what it may be again."

　

"New York?"

　

"That’s what I said. Once, great forests filled with countless more animals than cats and rats circled the planet, doing nothing more than living, eating, shitting, sleeping, procreating and birthing more of their kind; then dying. The smallest things being food for the small, the small food for the large, and the large for the larger still. The largest living and dying to feed the smallest. A circle of never-ending life. The Faerie came into this world because of the thoughts all these creatures could almost think. Thoughts akin to happiness and love. All that above the underlying instincts to eat or defecate made form. Take a step and move forward within Time."

　

Pap took a step and saw his first Faerie, flittering about the trees.

　

"I see them," he said. They were tiny balls of bright light, representing almost every color. Sapphire, amber, scarlet, more.

　

Did the names he gave their colors come from long dormant memories? Or was it the old man’s influence, giving their colors names as exotic as their substance? Either way he didn’t care. To him they were—reaching for the word on the tip of his tongue.

　

"Magic?" asked the old man.

　

"Magic. But you said they looked like us, only smaller."

　

"So I did. Step again and see them evolve."

　

Pap took another small step and saw the Faerie grow in size. They were still multi-hued balls of light, dancing amongst the foliage, but now Pap could see the bleariest hint of wings.

　

Another step bought the vaguest suggestion of form. Arms and hands in which to pluck things, with legs and feet to alight on branches or the ground, and they were larger. Pap took another step.

　

"Now they look like you, boy. Their wings are gone because they didn’t need them anymore. Magic allowed them to fly without wings. They evolved quickly in intelligence as well as body. Creatures of great power. They learned the potency of thought; the might in invention. They lived with life, not above it. By this time us humans began to take shape. One species of tailless monkey learned to walk upright and left the trees for good. Then they learned to pick up rocks and sticks as tools."

　

"You sound like Momma Cola when she played teacher. Baby Sister and me used to look at the picture books. I should be saving Baby Sister, not playing school with you, old man."

　

"What makes you think I’m playing here, boy? That thing you felt watching us, the thing that picked your brain apart, you don’t know what it is, but I do. I’m not playing at anything. You needed to know a few things, and I took you to the beginning of Time and Space to show you the what and the why. Take another step, boy."

　

Pap did as he was told.

　

"Men and women came into these lands," continued the old man, "crossing barriers of ice and sorrow, and the Faerie taught them how to survive. What to eat, how to build shelter, how and what to hunt. Taught them other things, too. Magic is taking the forces of nature and applying the power of thought to said forces. Desire makes it happen. All over the world, everywhere, Faerie taught humans magic. Most of humanity had no ability to work magic, but a few did. Those choice few were called wizards and witches. Men and women."

　

The forest faded, and majestic slabs of colored stone formed a city that dwarfed New York in height and breadth. Great fountains and waterways nourished all manner of food for the picking, and everywhere was clean.

　

"This city, boy, is called Mu."

　

Humanity populated Mu, and it was wonderful. The air itself radiated kindness, cheer, and purpose.

　

"Men and women of talent came here to live and study magic," the old man said. "Magic was this city. Its teachings kept it all together, block by block. Take another step and see Mu through new eyes."

　

Pap lifted his foot and saw fear in the people of Mu. Saw people running for their very lives as great bolts of energy tore through the crowds, wiping the multitudes out of existence. Buildings toppled as wizards and witches battled each other, and something yet unseen. Pap watched, stunned.

　

As his foot touched down, nothing remained but the smoking ruins of Mu. All was leveled. The tart stench of death was powerful. Pap stood horrified over such wholesale destruction.

　

"Again, boy. Step again!"

　

Over the devastation of Mu rose a single dark, shadowy figure. Unlike human or Faerie, it surveyed the smokey remains; then focused on him. He could feel its malevolence seep into his heart, holding him in place. A familiar sense of—

　

"Step, boy! Now!"

　

Pap did as instructed, though it took all of his inner and outer strength.

　

Sad waves lapped at charred stones now half buried by sand. Bone fragments and short green grass lay side by side. Mu, and whatever that thing was, both were long gone.

　

"Mu, Lemuir, Atlantis, Le, all gone," the old man explained. "Civilization took a mighty step backward."

　

"What was that creature, old man?"

　

"That-which-was-called, boy. You have felt it before."

　

"That’s what was watching us."

　

"That’s what has Baby Sister. That’s what we have to kill in order to save her and the others. All the children the traders took."

　

Pap hung his head. He felt power in the bone at his feet. "Is it a Faerie? Am I to fight a Faerie?"

　

"Think, boy. I took you to before our universe was born, you saw its creation, saw the cosmos come into being, and in your heart did you name it as evil?"

　

"It was good."

　

"I walked you through Time and Space to see what goodness and joy can create out of nothing. Now imagine a creature that lived its entire life, yet refused to die. Part of it lives elsewhere, but part of it lives here. What called it to our world was sorrow, pain, and all the negative emotions both Man and Faerie were capable of producing. Where life evolved from the good, the bad within life accumulated and grew loud. It became a voice, an urge, a need unto itself, and as it called out into the dark void, so to was it answered."

　

"I’ll kill it," Pap said.

"I hope so, boy. Wake up."

　

Pap woke to find himself still in the basement room, and squatting next to him was a woman so aged and wrinkled, she frightened him into instant action.

　

He rolled to one side and stood, only to become dizzy and fall, scraping his head against the plaster wall. The knife he plucked from his pouch on the way up, flew from his hand on the way down.

　

"The old man sent me," the old woman said. "I’m here to help you survive."

　

Pap let her words register while he caught his breath. Blood seeped into one eye, which he then wiped clear with the back of his hand.

　

"You are the hero I’ve waited two million years for?" the old woman said. "Pap, is it?"

　

"Hero?"

　

"Not the brightest bulb in the stadium, eh? That may very well work to our favor." Two pops and a snapping sound signaled her upright stance.

　

"Old bones," she explained.

　

Pap reclaimed his blade and bow and stood, more slowly than before. The old woman was dressed in a simple flowered gown, and her dazzling white hair was twisted into a tight knot, crowning her head. Gunshots echoed outside the window.

　

"Traders?" he whispered.

"They’re hunting everybody left alive," the old woman replied. "A block by block search for survivors. Kill the adults, take the children. The girl children. You can’t help them. Not yet. They’ll have to fend for themselves. Some will make it, some won’t. Come on, I have a place that’s safe from prying eyes and minds."

　

Pap’s ears heard up to the word "survivors" before he blocked out the rest of the old woman’s blah, blah, blah.

　

"Stay here and stay safe!" Pap said as he pushed his bow out the window.

　

"Stay with me!" the old woman called out in a gruff voice, but Pap didn’t hear that, either. He scrambled out the window, peeked over the stairwell’s edge, and a zing noise flicked his ear with a pop, whining into the cavity behind him, followed by an "uh" and a faint thud. He ducked down and fingered his shredded earlobe.

　

He whispered, "Old woman?"

　

Three more bullets splintered the concrete behind him, leading him to realize their trajectory placed them below rooftop. A stationary guard had been placed in a top-floor room during his unique jaunt, while other traders ousted those unseen. The basement room, now a death trap, was his only option.

　

"You may call me Mother Mary, child. Help me up."

　

"You weren’t shot?"

　

"Faked it to get you back in here with me."

　

"Stay down, against the wall. I’ll kill them as they try to enter."

"Help me up and I’ll take you somewhen, where prying eyes and minds can’t go." Pointing with a flesh-covered framework finger toward the walled-up doorway. The doorway was now open. It was as if mortar and brick had never touched the frame.

　

"A small feit," Mother Mary said. "One that doesn’t attract attention. The wall within the doorframe was built in the past. It’s easy enough to send the doorframe backward in time to before the wall was built and walk through."

　

Pap gently held her outstretched arm. He pulled up, she pushed up.

　

"Can I learn magic?" Pap asked, walking through to a hallway much larger than he would have thought possible. Behind him, the brick and their safety was back in place.

　

"From what the old man told me the magic is already inside of you. Nobody can walk from before Space and Time and not have magic inside. But, you’re worried. You’re worried about Baby Sister. You’re worried that if you don’t get to her soon, she’ll be killed."

　

"She’s all I have."

　

"Do you love her? Like a man loves a woman?"

　

"I don’t know," he said. They turned a corner, and the hallway before them narrowed and ramped up.

　

"Yes, you do. It’s a need for her in your arms. A want to touch her hair. To look over and see her; then wait for her to notice you and smile. To live or die for that smile. Do you love her?"

"I need her."

　

"That’s the answer I expected. Well then, you have to trust in us, Pap. The old man and me. You have to learn what we have to teach."

　

"If the magic is inside of me, what do I have to learn?"

　

"You have to learn how the power resides in you. How to command it. We are your guides, nothing more. Others will teach the lessons we think you need to learn. The first lesson will be self-discipline, but not on an empty stomach. That door there, that’s my place."

　

Mother Mary produced a key from somewhere and slid it into the lock. But, before she unlocked and opened her door, she said, "On this side of the door is the present. On the other side is the past. Don’t be afraid. It’s going to be noisy."

　

Mother Mary opened the door, and Pap truly thought he was ready for anything, but the noise that reached him was powerful loud. Out the windows, though Pap didn’t know what was what, were the sights and sounds of New York past.

　

Traffic choked the streets with rumbling, stinky cars, moving like roaches on parade. People lined the streets, doing everything or nothing. Half of them were speaking, and some of them were shouting. The other half were listening, waiting for their turn to speak or shout back. Sirens blared from many directions, the echoes of which traveled great distances through the concrete canyons. Car horns blasted away like bad music from incompetent instrumentalists. Mother Mary didn’t seem to notice or mind, but Pap stuffed a finger into each ear to salvage his remaining sanity, and for the second time in his life he saw blue sky and sunshine.

　

"Pull your fingers out of your ears and take it all in," Mother Mary shouted at him, moving across the tidy room to shut the window. "Like a bad smell, give it some time and it fades away into the background."

　

Pap waited until the window was down before he removed anything from anywhere.

　

Outside the window was amazing-frightening. Outside the door was quiet and desolation. Pap solemnly shut the door.

　

"So much death," Pap said. "So many died."

　

"It is a bit overwhelming, but, like I said, you’ll get used to it."

　

"Mother Mary, what happened to all of them? The people . . . the city . . ."

　

"Didn’t Momma Cola ever tell you stories about the past?"

　

"She told us many things about the past, but not why they died."

　

"You want to know why they died? Fine. Grand Central Station, where you met the old man, used to have tens of thousands of people moving in and out of it each day and night like maggots through stinky dead flesh. Greater New York once had eighteen million men, women and children, with their piss and sugar attitudes; the crime, grime, wildlife and nightlife, competing for the same space at times. All of it is gone. That’s the shame of it, child.

　

"I doubt if Momma Cola knew the real reasons. She only saw what was left after the worst was over. The world and those in it could be absolutely heartless at times, but that would have been indicative of a symptom. The world didn’t die from pestilence, even though drugs acted as a qualifier. Not from war either, though small skirmishes were fought every day for every dim-witted reason you could think of. Death, he liked to vacation New York at one time, early in the fall months, falling in love with the ambience of Central Park in the late twentieth century, but even he couldn’t stop the inevitable. Earth’s leaders spent too much time frigging their privates instead of solving the real problems the people faced. Industrialists in charge of the only force in the universe more powerful than God herself—greed—kept doing what they did best to keep the gold rolling in, and the rest of the planet be damned. Ignorance destroyed it all, child. Ignorance. All of us should have fought to keep our world alive. We should have given our lives to see to it that it stayed that way. There is a general who leads the forces of evil, and that is who you have to exterminate."

　

"That thing killed our world?"

　

"Others promised wealth and power, destroyed everything to achieve wealth and power. They lived the lives they thought they wanted, only to see it all fade away. Like Mu before it, the creature turned us against ourselves."

　

"How?"

　

"The truth can hurt even more so than a lie, and the greatest lies are often told in silence."

　

Pap didn’t understand, not fully, but he got the gist of Mother Mary’s words. This creature destroyed the world by promising and delivering that which destroyed the world. It made death happen by using people, much like it was using the traders. They had been promised something.

　

"What were the traders promised?" Pap asked.

　

"They get to rebuild humanity, with total control over all the old and the new."

　

"That isn’t going to happen, even if the traders win."

　

"The creature wants the children, not the traders or us."

　

"Mother Mary, what happens when our world is completely dead?"

　

"The beast moves on."

　

"Can the children help it do this?"

　

"In time another race will come to our planet, and will find life once lived here, and once was great. The entity will still be alive, thanks to the life-force within the children. It will do to them what it did to our world, and more, everywhere. Galaxies will fall. Baby Sister, she’s to give birth to the beast’s new form. Are you hungry? You did walk from the beginning of our universe to the here and now, more or less."

　

"You old people talk funny."

　

"We know enough to speak our minds, and have many colorful words to do so."

　

Pap wasn’t hungry. Not really. Peering out the window at the past, knowing his present, guessing the future, bought to him resolve. In him was a great force he had no understanding of, but needed to harness. The depth of his ignorance, appalling.

　

"Eat," she said, "even if you’re not hungry. This is your first lesson in self-discipline. Food and drink build inner and outer strength. You may have to do without food or water later."

"I’ll eat."

　

"Good. While I get things started you can watch something on TV I taped. A wizard’s duel. Boris Karloff and Vincent Price. I can’t remember the name of the movie right off the top of my head, but you might find it interesting. Push this button to turn on the television, and don’t be frightened by what you see, and then this button to play what I taped. The Raven. That’s the name of it. I’m sure."

　

Mother Mary moved over to the window and opened it. Pap found the noise less painful. She called down to someone for food, with a "Yes, Mother Mary!" shouted back. She closed the window but remained close by.

　

Pap first pushed one button, and the TV box lit up. There were funny-paper people in the box, moving and talking, and Pap almost lost himself in the enchantment of it, but remembered Mother Mary’s words. He pushed the second button.

　

The words they spoke were not important. What they were doing, was. Gestures produced energy to shield or attack.

　

"I saw the same thing in Mu," Pap said. "They destroyed everything."

　

Mother Mary sat next to him with something in a large flat box.

　

"Pizza," she said. "Eat."

　

The duel continued with both men growing tired. Expending magical energy drained them. Both were trying to outwit each other. Pap ate the strange and tasty new food without much regard, wiping his oily fingers on his bare thighs.

　

"There’s reality," Mother Mary began, "and fantasy. Mu was reality, this is fantasy. Magic can do only as you direct. You control your magic. The force magic is, is all around you. It always flows, and it can do almost anything. You can win by channeling that flow into and out of your body. It’s done by thought and focus. Desire and self-discipline is the key. Here’s a napkin to wipe your hands on. Would you like to see the duel again?"

　

"Please."

　

"And manners, too. Will wonders never cease?"

　

Pap watched as Mother Mary pushed a third button, which made everything he had seen run quickly backwards. He watched the weak and crafty become strong and careless. The duel began again. Pap ate more pizza.

　

"Only you can be broken, Pap. The magic will still flow whether you’re alive or dead. The creature you must face knows this, but will try to convince you otherwise. Self-discipline will keep your mind ready to fight, but self-discipline must be learned. You’re going to go to a place where rules are everything. Lots of rules. Breaking the rules is not self-discipline, learning not to break the rules is. Problems will confront you, thinking them through is your only salvation. Those who will do the instructing will only see what they expect to see. A young man, not a shirtless young boy in shorts. They will teach you many new and important things, and expect you to learn all the knowledge they impart. You play games and act the fool, they will treat you like a fool and be rid of you.

　

"Now, don’t worry, I won’t leave you there alone not knowing how to flush a toilet. Another will help you in comprehending the small things you’ll need to know to get by. You will be two minds, sharing one body. His name is Deon, and you’ll be able to think thoughts at each other as easily as we trade speech. Speak out loud to each other and they’re going to think you a fool. Not right in the head. Do you understand?"

　

Pap nodded and asked, "How long will I be gone?"

"I said we can give you the time, so that doesn’t matter."

　

"Can I have the last piece of pizza?"

　

"Have at it. Nothing wrong with a healthy appetite."

　

Pap choked down the last piece as he watched for the fourth time the wizard’s duel.

　

Mother Mary asked Pap if he was still hungry. Pap said no, and Mother Mary said it was good. She looked him in the eye and said, "Begone."