Lords of the Dance
Back in 2011, my wonderful wordwitch friend, Jodi Cleghorn, was the first person to publish a story of mine. Deck the Halls - festive tales of fear and cheer - was an anthology of short speculative fiction, inspired by the carol of the same name. Writers were allocated one line each, from which they let their imaginations run wild - mine was ‘follow me in merry measure’. The book is now difficult to obtain (I’m hoarding my two copies!), but for this festive season I’m sharing my tale.
I’m home at last, the crazy New York traffic noise behind me and the quiet of my apartment beckoning. I grin as I unlock the door and walk in with a bag of groceries, a bunch of flowers and Jenna’s Christmas gift. She’ll be here any minute. There’s champagne in the fridge and a new tree—our tree—ready for decorating.
“Welcome," says a tinny voice. “Please have your documents ready and move calmly to debriefing.”
What?
I put my keys on the hall table, but it’s gone. Not just the hall table, the whole apartment. My keys, the groceries, the flowers and the gift, all gone. Instead, I’m standing empty-handed in a high-ceilinged hall, filled with people.
Not people.
Creatures.
My heartbeat stutters.
I back away from… from… it's Buffy and Peter Pan and Mount Olympus and Narnia, all stuffed together in some crazy wormhole and poured into this vast space with me.
Trolls, vampires, manticores …
Even the pretty fairy next to me looks scary, with her wings and her wand, and her perfect face and hair and all that glitter.
My neural pathways fizz with overload. I stagger and drop onto all fours, as if that will hide me. I raise my paws in surrender.
Wait. What? My paws?
They’re big and golden, and as I stare at them, wickedly sharp claws emerge.
My gasp of surprise emerges as a deep rumble. A nearby werewolf backs away, alarm in his eyes.
A discreet bell sounds, and the voice is back.
“Debriefing and processing will commence shortly. Please have your documents ready.”
Documents?
Those with clothing look in pockets or down bodices, pulling out papers or rolls of parchment. A dryad, dressed only in her bark-like skin, begins scratching where her hip would be, if she had one. She closes twiggy fingers around something and pulls it from her flesh like a splinter. It uncurls into a sheet thin as onion-skin, covered in writing.
I reach down to my pants pocket, vaguely wondering if my driver’s licence is there. But my paw meets fur, not fabric.
I blink and the room comes into focus. My brain struggles to make sense of what I see.
We’re in an arrivals hall, timber floored with institutional green walls and a Victorian glass and iron lace roof. At the far end, creatures line up to pass checkpoints staffed by humans. Beyond is a vast ballroom with mirrors, chandeliers figures moving in elaborate patterns. The strains of a small chamber orchestra float over the hubbub of voices. I rub my eyes with the back of my paw, one claw glistening in the sunlight.
“It’ll be alright,” says a quiet voice beside me. I turn, awkward on my four feet. It's the pretty fairy. “You’ll see.”
A growl emerges from deep in my chest, and I hiccup with surprise at the sound I make. To her credit, the fairy only takes one step back. It's only now I realise how big I am. Even on all fours, I’m head and shoulder taller than most.
Where is my apartment? Where is Jenna? Tears smart at the back of my eyes.
“You’re next,” the fairy whispers.
“Thanks.”
She lays a hand on my shoulder and I nearly weep at the warmth of her touch. When I step up to the desk, the official smiles at me.
“I don’t belong here,” I say.
“I see.” The smile disappears. “Please come this way.”
He only comes up to my shoulder but he doesn’t seem frightened. I follow him to a tall door set in the corner of the hall and as we pass through, my wings… wings? … brush the door jamb. I fold them closer to my flanks with a noisy shuffling of feathers, and try to catch my breath.
“I am sorry,” the official says, “sometimes it takes a while for reintegration of true identity.”
Anger simmers in my chest. I know my identity.
I’m Paul Griffin, partner in the law firm of Griffin and Bartley. I live in a penthouse apartment by the park. My pregnant girlfriend Jenna is coming for the holidays, and I’m going to ask her to marry me.
The anger explodes into rage. “Get me back to my life!”
My roar fills the room. I feel my tail lashing my hindquarters, and I drive my beak forward to stab through his chest. But, fast as I am, he is faster. He leaps back and before I can try again, he’s grown massive and I’m in his cupped hands like a kitten.
I tear at the flesh beneath me with beak and claws. It’s like trying to rip concrete with my fingernails.
He looks down at me and there is pity in his eyes. I scream and cry and beat my wings, yearning for my lost life, until I have nothing left.
“Please. Please, send me back.” I’m reduced to begging. “I’ll do anything you ask. Tell me what you want.”
“I’m sorry,” says the official, “but there’s nothing to go back to. Your mission is over.”
“Mission?”
“You’re an undercover operative, in the human world.”
“What the fuck? No!”
“You insisted on staying undercover, long beyond what is deemed safe. I’m so sorry.” There are tears in his eyes and I cannot withstand that compassion.
“I want to go back,” I whisper, and I lie down with my head beneath my wings. I am lowered gently to the floor, and when I look up the official is back to his normal size.
“What are you?” I ask.
“We’re old friends,” he says, “but you don’t yet remember me. I am Hyperion, Lord of Light. This is Mythology Central, and through there is the Eternal Dance of Creation, called by some the Merry Measure.” He points in the direction of the ballroom.
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s a symbiotic relationship. Humans create us, and when enough of them believe, we come into being. Humans call it consensual reality. We call it the Eternal Dance. We perform it here and send operatives to their world to inspire more stories.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“You and I, we are among the oldest. Our strength is needed when humans go through periods of great change.”
The memory of my human life crumbles. The law firm I worked so hard to build. My body, carefully tended. The penthouse apartment I’d made my home.
The only thing left, when it’s all fallen into the void, is Jenna. She was real. WE were real.
My head droops to the floor and I lay it across my front paws. Hyperion puts a hand on my mane. The aching familiarity of his touch tells me this is all true.
“What does it matter?” I whisper.
“It matters.” The Titan’s voice is gentle. “Beyond anything else. The so-called age of reason nearly threw everything awry. Human imagination was put at risk by the insistence that science, and only science, explained everything in the Universe.”
“I believe in science!” I say.
“We all believe in science!” He smiles. “Humans experience emotions like love and rage and terror through neurotransmitters and the endocrine system. But the mechanics don’t create the emotions. Without our inspiration, humans would cease to imagine new worlds.”
I’d been human. I’d had all those emotions and ideas. And I’d had Jenna.
“Griffin and Bartley was set up to support creative individuals—writers, musicians, painters, film makers—to move into the digital world,” he says, “The work can now be taken over by younger souls. Your wisdom and strength are needed here.”
I don’t speak as he guides me back into the processing hall.
My human life is fading fast. I try to remember Jenna’s face but it’s a pale blur. I can’t remember how she wore her hair, or even what colour it was. All I can see are her green eyes, filled with love. For a moment I hear her voice, telling me something I can’t remember. Something important. Something secret.
“There is no need for documents, old friend,” Hyperion says, but he can’t meet my eyes. “Will you take your place in the Dance?”
“No!”
My eagle’s eyes can’t weep but my lion’s heart is breaking. I tear at my chest, try to rip it out, but I’m not strong enough. My cries shake the thick marble walls and cracks appear. The floor shifts. Creatures waiting to be processed stagger, covering their ears in pain. Hyperion towers up again, but this time I match him. The music of the dance is lost beneath my pain.
My humanity is gone and I remember my power. I can crush them all; end it all.
“Please,” a voice trembles beneath me.
I look down and see the pretty fairy hovering near my paw. At last I remember the secret she’d whispered in my ear, while I slept.
“Jenna?”
In the space of a breath, I match her size. Her green eyes fill with love. Her smile wraps me in bliss.
The Universe rights itself.
She pats the tiny swell of her belly and laughs, then takes my paw and leads me forward. Dazed with joy, I follow her into the Merry Measure.
Excerpt from DECK THE HALLS: tales of festive fear and cheer, republished by kind permission of the publisher.
Edited by Jodi Cleghorn. Published by Literary Mix Tapes: Brisbane, Australia & London, United Kingdom
All rights reserved.
ISBN 978-0-9871126-5-1
Deck the Halls: festive tales of fear and cheer © Literary Mix Tapes. All stories contained herein are © their respective authors, 2012 and appear under license.
