Secret Places and Hidden Things

Chapter Eight

Michael was looking into darkness, all the strands of reality billowing around the edges. The helm, and Jack, had faded away as his song ended. The fox was gone too, but he could feel it somewhere nearby. Each step he took was a step into nothingness, his body tense with expectation. Each time his foot landed on something solid and real, it was a surprise. He stopped often, looking as far as he could see, squinting his eyes as if there was a bright light, as if there was something just beyond vision he was trying to catch. Sometimes the darkness moved within itself, and his eyes would dart towards the motion, always to be disappointed—like trying to catch a flash of lightning.

It became routine, after a while, and his steps became more confident. He curled his toes in the fresh grass as it bloomed around his feet, entire worlds unfolding behind him, a hurricane of creation dancing just outside his vision. Occasionally, he would turn to look, watching the event horizon as it curled away into the distance. None of it was new, but there was nothing wrong with that. If there was anything the universe didn't lack, it was usable space.

The fist major shift happened when he came to a snag between places. There was a knot in the air with long filaments stretching off in all directions. "Well, now this is new," he mused to himself.

"We are not new," the knot said. "We are the oldest."

Michael raised his eyebrows and tilted his head forward. "Why are you tied up like that?" he asked, poking at the knot.

"Something needed to anchor all of this confusion. We are the still point."

"Oh!" Michael nodded. "I've seen you before." The threads retracted and the knot became an old maple tree. "The end is the beginning, or something like that." Michael giggled.

"The shape doesn't matter," the tree said, "so long as the roots are strong." It pulled itself up as if it had legs, thick clods of dirt leaping into the air as a white rocky island grew beneath it. After a flurry of leaves and dust, it settled into a comfortable hollow. With little fanfare the island set off across the plain.

Michael followed. "Where are we going?"

"We don't know. We are never going anywhere. You are the only thing moving."

Michael looked around him at the landscape stretching off into the distance. It was very flat with just a hint of hills on the horizon. There were more wildflowers than grass. Behind him the darkness swirled in the sky, turning to clouds at its edges and sending thunderheads speeding off overhead. The sun was only visible in rays.

"Why does it look like you're moving, then?"

The tree rustled its leaves. Perhaps it was a shrug. "We cannot tell you why you are who you are. Only you can say that. There are consequences, however."

"Consequences?" Michael asked.

"Yes. The more space you need, the less private it will be. You cannot have everything to yourself in a world of finite possibilities."

"Maybe that's a good thing," Michael said. "I've been known to do silly things to cure loneliness."

They walked for a while, or rather, Michael walked beside the moving island of rock, and the void became smaller in the sky behind them. Michael wasn't worried; it would always be there. It was still with him, even as he walked away.

A tree line appeared, and in no time at all, they were walking along its edge. Tall, ancient pines stood like buildings, higher than he would have thought possible, leaning their high branches out over the planes in a massive awning. It was dark among the trees. Dark and spacious—a place for wild things.

And then Elliot was there, and the fox. "Oy, look out!" he cried, and Michael jumped out of the way. They were riding on another island of rock. It came without warning and crashed into the tree Michael was following. He braced for impact, but there was no cataclysm. Where there were two islands, suddenly there was one.

"Who's that, there?" Elliot said, shading his eyes. The fox barked and hopped from side to side. "Jump on, friend! It's a free ride if you know how to catch them!"

Michael did a bit of a jog and clambered up onto the rocks. Elliot lifted him the rest of the way with one of his strong arms.

"Isn't it fun?" Elliot said, as they drifted out across the plains away from the trees, the massive maple like the sail of a ship.

"Yes." Michael said, smiling. "This is from before the helm, isn't it?"

"The helm?" Elliot asked.

"The end is the beginning!" Michael said, laughing. He slapped the maple tree low on its trunk.

"You're a strange fellow, aren't you?" Elliot said. "What are you doing out here in the big wilderness?" The fox looked up at Elliot, its expression unreadable.

"It's me—Michael. I suppose you don't remember me if this is the beginning."

"No, I remember you. Haven't seen you for a few weeks, though, after we met in that clearing." Elliot caught sight of his arm and held it up in front of his face. His brows furrowed and he looked down. "But, wait..." He said, mystified. He felt his face, rubbing a finger along the stubble of his beard. "I'm old!" he shouted, shaking his arms out next to him. "That's so weird!"

"Is this the first time that's happened to you?" Michael asked.

Sudden understanding crossed Elliot's face. "Oh, but you told me this would happen didn't you?" His face relaxed a bit. "I guess that means I'll go back to being a kid again sometime."

"Probably," Michael said.

"Well, it's been a strange couple of weeks."