episode 13: An Encounter in the Backyard

-David-

I woke in the middle of the night, the bed beside me still warm. There was the sound of a door opening. Not the bathroom then. I threw on pants and shirt, not trusting to my dressing gown this time, and headed downstairs.

As soon as I saw the glow through the kitchen window, I knew it was more than simple moonlight. I felt panic sweep through me. If Takara had heard the same music that I had, then who knew what perils she might face? Without pausing to consider what would happen if I heard the fae’s music, I rushed outside to a view that stopped me in my tracks.

The last time I’d seen the gate through a full moon, it had been a view through a haze, staticky and faint. Not tonight though; something had changed. I could see through to the other side, as through a dawn’s rising mist, an assemblage of fey creatures as exotic as I could have ever imagined. All were clustered around two sets of banners. To one side these flags were brilliant and shimmering, and around these danced a menagerie of wildly varied creatures, all of them embodying grace and life. Most danced on two legs; bedecked in flowing robes, adorned with jewels that sparkled like dew on a summer’s morn. Some had a doll-like aspect, idealized and a little vacant, while others were bestial, with snouts of wolves, big cats or birds, but all giving the impression of a certain fastidiousness. There were even a few creatures on four legs, or more, clad in fur of blue, green and gold, cantering and jumping as gracefully as antelope.

On the other side, the banners were as ominous as storm clouds in November. The creatures there had strange and varied symmetries, but they moved with a potency and force that could not be denied. Squat and powerful, they were heavily furred and clawed; predators, primal and cunning, deft in their movements as spiders with a web to spin.

One of the dancing dolls whirled his partner a bit too close to a five-sided crab with a shell of iridescent pink and grey. A pincer lashed out and a bit of gauzy fabric floated to the ground. There was an outcry from those under the banners of light, followed by a swirl of movement that resulted in a bright wedge of these fair creatures hurling themselves into the horde of darkness. This sent the shadowed contingent into a chaos that transformed swiftly into battle lines. What followed was as much dance as a skirmish, both formal and savage. I saw bows and gavottes, bloodshed, and the gathering of fallen comrades.

And suddenly the avenging force of light had travelled through their grim foes, honour satisfied for the offence of that fallen fabric, whereupon they regrouped and resumed their dances. The defeated hosts of darkness gathered together, licked their wounds and suddenly, there was equilibrium, the camps existing side by side, constantly in movement but not intermingling.

As I watched spellbound for I knew not how long, all thoughts of Takara lost in my amazement. In those lost moments, the contending factions exchanged sides a dozen times, sometimes the dark attacking, and sometimes the light.

These dramas swirled around one individual. From the way members of both camps deferred to him, it was apparent that he was the one in command. He was a tall creature with androgynous features that encompassed the natures of both camps. With a prominent chin, nose, and brow, he should have looked bestial, but instead exuded refinement, poise, and power. His billowing clothes, scarlets and yellows, set off leaf green hair gathered in a ponytail that fell to his calves. His hands and feet were bare — twisted and unmatched, covered with patches of fur and scale and tipped with wicked claws. I took him for some sort of Sidhe Lord, though his control of the creatures around him seemed haphazard. While many hastened to respond to his least comment, some seemed strangely oblivious to his authority. This included the spider-centaurs that I’d seen in my backyard, who would ignore his commands as often as they obeyed him. They would caper away in their defiance, escaping blows both magical and physical. But his retaliations seemed an off-hand, casual sort of violence, reminding me of bickering among family more than any attempt at genuine punishment.

More than his appearance, though, the thing that set him apart from his fellows was his focus, which was directed at the gate. After some considerable moments of study he gestured, and suddenly the gate in my fence coruscated with colours that I had never known existed. They were brightest, almost white, at the flat plane of the gate that marked the transition between their world and ours. As the Sidhe strained with some invisible effort, the periphery of the opening flared more intensely with those strange colours and they extended back towards the Sidhe, following the lines of some sort of amorphous shape that surrounded the creature. With a sudden insight, I realized I was seeing his aura! It was huge, and I saw it was rooted far into the earth beneath him. He was pushing his power, his essence, against the border between our worlds and was doing, well, something. The only thing I was sure about was that it wasn’t an attempt to close it.

He sustained his efforts until the leading edge of those colours touched his outstretched claws. There was a brighter flare of colour then, and he closed his hand into a fist, pulling it away from the gate. The outer edge of his aura contracted at the same time and the colours at the gate ceased, with only a few flickers running through the Sidhe’s aura until, they too, faded to invisibility. He held up his hand, flexing it, and I saw a few faint tendrils of smoke rising from the singed fur. He shook his hand, and I got the impression he was in some considerable pain, but still seemed rather pleased. Despite his magical interference with the gate, he made no attempt to pass through it. Indeed, he seemed hesitant to get any closer to the thing. The magic had its effect though, for I noticed that the view to the other side was clearer, and the edges of the opening better defined.

This improved clarity, disturbingly, seems to have worked in both directions, for one of the spider centaurs tug at the noble’s clothing and pointed at me, where my tracks had halted in amazement, just outside my back door. I could not say for certain from this distance, but I was sure it was the one that had been trapped on my side of the fence after the snowball fight.

It was the first time that one of these fey creatures had noticed me from the far side of the gate. The Sidhe’s eyes met mine, and a sudden shiver of dread overtook me, but I could not look away, held by my fascination. Apparently, this interest was shared, for, despite the Sidhe’s earlier caution, he stepped towards the gate. Abruptly, there was another surge of those exotic colours where his aura came in contact with the gate. Previously, his aura had been focussed, and carefully applied, but this time, there was a surge of exotically coloured lightning strikes, tearing the edges of that smoothly amorphous shape, leaving it cut and tattered in several areas. He stepped back sharply, and to my shock I realized that these cuts, those ragged edges in his aura had translated to a series of bloody abrasions on his body, one across his brow where blood leaked towards his eye, one across his arm, and another, I assumed, on his chest, given the wet, red discolouration on the fine fabric of his shirt. He wiped at his brow, scattering a few drops of blood. I felt sure that the words spilling from its lips were curses; the ragged edge of his aura, still glimmering faintly, spoke to me of pain. Nothing unbearable, but it was obvious that the edges of the gate were very, very sharp. Physically the Sidhe could have passed, but his aura could not.

The Sidhe recovered himself and made a beckoning gesture that seemed an invitation to join him on his side of the gate. I had no intention of passing through to Faerie, and the myriad hazards that assuredly would face me there. Nor did I trust the creature. He reminded me of the nobility, full of his own privilege and presumption. But, also, my mind swirled with stories of the Sidhe taking offence, and so with as much dignity as I could muster, I bowed and did my best to demur with raised hands and a shrug.

The Sidhe’s golden eyes’ hardened briefly, and he made a sudden gesture with his bloodied claws. I admit, I flinched, and then he laughed, apparently amused by my fear but not, apparently, taking any insult. As he wandered back to his companions, still chuckling, he grabbed the creature that had drawn me to his attention and flung it through the portal with a casual gesture. It hurtled through the gate with enough force that it hit the far fence in my yard. The Sidhe noble made some comment over its shoulder, which I couldn’t hear. The small creature scowled up at me, beady black eyes over a hooked nose and a pointed goatee. I was correct — it had been the one that had been stuck on my side of the fence. I smiled at it, but its expression did not change.

The clarity of the portal faded as the Sidhe walked away, and while the riotous festival around it continued, the vividness of the view faded, I was left with a cold sweat on my back as I stood there with a view of another world to my left, and one of its denizens crouched in the dead flowers of my garden, to my right.

The creature did not move from where he’d landed, but simply glared at me, sullenly rubbing its head where it had struck the fence. I returned its gaze, too dumbfounded to speak. After a moment it turned to its attention towards its surroundings, taking in my backyard and the alleyway to the street, its distaste apparent in the curl of its lips. It was, obviously, unhappy about its forced return.

But then my attention was distracted, as I sensed movement in the shadows of a low-hanging branch behind the creature on one of the big trees next door. It was the fox, observing the revelries, and the new visitor, with an expression that I could only describe as familiar —disturbingly so. My mind whirled as I contemplated the woman’s clothing that was still upon my bedroom floor, and Takara’s absence within the house, and the gold colour of the eyes reflecting the weak porch light in my backyard. Disturbing as the vague possibilities floating through my head seemed to be, the fox’s presence gave me a sense of reassurance. Like I had backup, or some such nonsense. Really, this was the only explanation for the madness of my next choice. I took a step towards my alien guest.

It shied away, fading into the shadows. With a start, I realized it wasn’t a metaphor — it had merged with the shadows — I still had a sense of it, for the glamour wasn’t perfect, so I crouched, to be less threatening and spoke, in what I hoped was a soothing tone, "Hey there, guy, you okay? My name’s David. Do you have one?"

There was a pause then, as the creature half emerged from its cloak of shadows, looking at me with curious eyes. Then, at the top of the fence, there was a hint of movement, and the fox emerged from her shadows. The creature’s eyes flickered between the fox and me and its expression shifted abruptly from cautious to hostile. Then its attention shifted to the alleyway behind me, the only path out of my backyard. With a snarl, it bared teeth and hurtled towards me, intent on escape. I tried to move out of its way, but either I wasn’t fast enough or perhaps it interpreted my startled movement as a threat. I held up a hand to fend it off. Its teeth sank into my fingers. I tried to scream at the surge of pain, but could not. Instead, I simply collapsed into the snow, blood gushing from half severed fingers on my left hand, while my vision hazed and breathing became difficult. I tried to move, but my limbs would not respond. The creature fled, the fox on its trail snapping at its chitinous legs, and it even sank its teeth into the spider-centaur’s shoulder. It responded with a backhanded blow that threw the fox off and dashed towards my backyard gate. Despite the stick-like construction of its upper body, the blow must have been remarkably strong, for it seemed to have momentarily stunned the fox. The creature paused, threw open the gate, and paused just long enough to make what had to be an obscene gesture at the fox before it scuttled away down the rest of the alleyway and into the wider world. The fox made to pursue, just as my increasingly constricted throat caused my breath to come out in a gasping rattle. She turned, looked at me, and after an instant of hesitation, she sort of drooped and returned to my side. I heaved another strangled breath — and then there was the scent of warm fur; a wet licking at the fingers of my hand, accompanied by a periodic retching from the fox. My breathing eased, though the paralysis and my mental haze remained. Then, between one moment and the next, the fox was gone, replaced by Takara, naked and seemingly unfazed by the cold, kneeling beside me. She helped me to my feet — my arm over her shoulder, her grip vice-like on my wrist. Bearing most of my weight, she dragged me in and up the stairs to my couch. She threw a couple of blankets on top of me. I tried to form words to ask her what was going on, she disappeared. I felt blind panic at being abandoned, paralyzed as I was, but then there was the sound of cursing and the banging of cupboard doors. A short while later, Takara returned with a cup of something hot that vaguely resembled tea but tasted terrible. I made noises of complaint, but she just said, "Shut up and drink, David."

After that, my breath eased completely and my consciousness slipped away. I came to a bit later, when a shock of pain went through my hand. I half-reared up, but Takara just pushed me back down onto the couch. "It’s okay, David, that’s the worst of it. I need to make sure the venom doesn’t cause any residual… changes."

And then, darkness.

I woke, feeling as though a truck had driven through my head. I was lying on my couch, my clothes still damp, still mostly covered by one of the throw blankets that were generally tossed over the back of the couch, the other having slid to the floor. That wasn’t particularly unusual; I’d had enough drunken nights where I’d ended up in exactly this position.

What was different was the throbbing pain in my hand — and the fact that it was wrapped in a bandage. As I pulled myself to a sitting position, I noticed a foul smell in the air. It came from a small cup placed on my coffee table, now in the middle of the room, where I couldn’t miss it. On it sat one of my mugs, and a note, scrawled across a grocery flyer with a sharpie, ‘drink me’.

I stared at it, wondering at the blur of memories from the previous night, and felt an incredulous surprise as I staggered over to the bitter scent. Despite some faint part of my mind waking and beginning to mutter imprecations to stop in this madness, I drank. I had a demanding thirst, and this was the thing I craved, even as I nearly gagged more than once as I downed the liquid. I felt an ease in the throbbing in my finger and staggered back to the couch. Once again, blackness took me.

photo credit: annie spratt on unsplash