Scene 4
For the earlier scenes: Scene 1, Scene 2, Scene 3.
Scene 4: Not On the Cards
The crowds in the market were beginning to thin. Most of the stalls were in the process of closing up. Time was running out. Chiri leapt up onto the box to search for him.
Two tall people — no, they were arm-in-arm — where was he? Where?
She scanned each of the five ways, each of the patterns of movement until she saw him. The aura. That was what she should’ve looked for. It was so different. So hot and dark. Not like anything else on … this … plane.
She’d think about that later, but first she had to stop him, test him, find out what he really knew.
The dog-groomer waved and smiled as Chiri jogged past. She waved back, blew a kiss. The woman Chiri affectionately called Amazon rolled her shoulders back, grinned as she mouthed the words ‘tease’ and pushed the padlock closed on the grillwork. The only woman who was in more than a few of Chiri’s constant stream of Saturday’s. Bruno and Amazon were almost constants. And Amazon wasn’t old. If Chiri was old and Amazon wasn’t, there was definitely something wrong with this time-line. And Amazon recognised her, so Chiri couldn’t be old. Couldn’t.
The problem had to be with him, not her.
The jeweller’s shop window next door to the grooming salon shimmered. A bell-sound, a wobble of audio-waves. Chiri turned to look — knew immediately she shouldn’t have. The window changed, became a pale, milky topaz before it cleared to a scene where two people argued — silently, there was no sound in the vision — before the man pushed at the woman, and the woman slid backwards, toppled, screamed — silently — as she fell backwards over a cliff with the dark blue ocean behind her. The man didn’t move. Didn’t step forward to offer a hand. He watched her fall. He turned around. Walked away.
Chiri smacked her head, dragged her eyes away. It was a past event. It had to be. If it was a future event, or even a present event, the colours would be different. She’d see the aura first, then the person. A past event. It meant he got away with it. It meant he still thought about it. It meant he felt it, every time he got in a car, every time he saw the ocean, every time a woman looked at him.
This was not the time to try to right a wrong. This was the time for her to find her own Way. She just needed him. And his key. Where was he? She’d lost sight of him and was too short to see over the heads of the milling crowd of last-minute bargain-hunters.
She leapt up onto the tall bin next to the laneway, covered her eyes with one hand while the other held her steady with a tight grip on the post. It was as high as she dared go to avoid being booted out of the timeline.
There! He’d changed direction. She leapt off and ran.
By the time she caught up with him, Chiri was breathless. His look didn’t make the task any easier. But at least he stopped, stiff-backed and scowling as he looked down on her.
“You have to listen to me. I have a daughter. You have a daughter. She’s trapped. In the doorway. When she was born. Trapped. You. The key. Need to find her. Soon.” She leaned her hands on her knees while she tried to get her breath back. “Please,” she said. “Just a few minutes, and then I won’t bother you again.”
His rigid posture said it all.
“I am not what I appear to be. I am not who you see me as.”
His eyes glazed over. This was going badly.
“I can prove Saffo exists. I can prove she’s your child. Come back in two hours and I’ll show you the rotational symmetry of the when we are, and if you don’t know what it is, if you can’t see it for yourself … Well, I can only let you go then. And I promise — you’ll never see me again. Not on any level, any plane, any time.” She stared at his eyes, waited for the tell-tale flash.
It didn’t come.
“Okay,” he slumped one shoulder and turned away. “I’ll hold you to your word, charlatan. I’ll see what you can show me, and if it’s nothing — it’s the cops who’ll be coming for you.”
The coldness in his words almost cut her skin. It wasn’t just that he didn’t believe. He didn’t seem to recognise the way she spoke of the Way Between Time. He didn’t respond to the sound or shape of the dimensional pattern.
What if she was wrong? What if it wasn’t him?
The doubts ran through her head as she turned back.
If he’s a normal, mortal man; if this is his true time — why is she so old? If he’s lying, or if he doesn’t come back, and she loses the only opportunity to find the key to the portal … she couldn’t think on the cost. She’d never see Saffo. Never know if her daughter lived beyond the moment of birth.
A brilliant flash of light from the passing traffic hit her eyes; the travelling flow of cars heavier now that everyone was moving to the places they lived, where they went for entertainment, where they travelled through their single strand of time. The flash reminded her of the small ball of glass, more of a marble, really, placed in the offering box by the last querent before lunch.
The young girl who didn’t really have a question, but wanted to see if Chiri was scary, if she might be an evil witch — or worse! The dare brought the girl in, and she left a clear ball that may enable Chiri to see to the truth of the soul of the one who may hold the key.
If it was him, she needed to know. Even without input from the cards.
Chiri trudged back to the tent. What she needed to show him could only happen after the sun fully faded from the sky, and before the moon-set. If she waited too long, the answer would belong to another time, another person, and her question would be useless.
She opened the flap. Smiled.
The marble rose into the air. It spun slightly. The cards lay on the table directly below the spinning orb, showing only the backs in soft greys and pearls and whites. Showing the side of the void. Not a good start, but she had to take the chance, and it had to be now.
The words of opening, the formula for opening the pathways, were the words she spoke in her mind while she hummed the music of the revolving icosahedron shape. The sound of her home.
The marble clouded over, hazed into shards of white and black like a sketch with charcoal on snow. There was one shape. One. A key. No. Not a key. The key.
One key among many. One key hidden with many other keys, wrapped within the tight possession of a specific creature. A possum. The thief.
Would the key come to her if she spoke the name of the Key-Maker?
It was a test. Chiri spoke his name and waited.
It didn’t take long. He opened the curtain and came inside.
“Will you help me find my daughter?” Chiri asked. “Will you save your blood child from the maze of time revolutions within the Way?”
“No. If you have a daughter, that’s fine. But I don’t. And using the curse of blood won’t make me do what I can’t.”
“But you have the keys.”
He lifted his hands, spread his jacket to show her the belt. Empty.
“No, I don’t. Your thief stole my keys, and if one of them was the one you want, you have to find him and get them back.”
“And if I do?”
“I’ll come with you and you can show me your idea of what you want from me. Once.”
“Do you know the congruence?”
“Of course not. This is a place I’ve been trying to escape from as soon as I found out when I was. This is not my home. It is not my time. I’m only willing to help you if it helps me.” He leaned over the table and gripped Chiri by the wrist. “Do we understand each other?”
Copyright Cage Dunn 2018 (in first draft mode; subject to modification).
Still on the injury list; working on it – now enrolled in physio. Yee-Ha! – Not. I’m trying to spend a few more minutes each day at my desk, but sometimes things just heal more slowly than we’d like … I apologise for being unable to communicate more than I am, but I will be back. I will. You just wait and see.
