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“Probably a good thing, animating dolls tends to be done by putting lost souls into them and rarely works out well. I think they explored this in your world in that film Chucky.”
“You’ve seen Chucky? That is so bizarre! But yeah, talking to Miazydar… my sister doesn’t overhear and try to either tease me out of my mood or fix the problem. He listens, knows my every thought. There’s so much I don’t have to explain to him, he just knows.”
“Such as? Tess, you were such a bright young person when we met and now a pall of sadness hangs over you. I appreciate that your sister’s fumblings grow irritating, but I admit, I see grounds for her concern.”
I felt it then, the huge undigested lump of emotional shit sitting in my throat, too big to get out, too big to swallow down. I was able to ignore it most of the time if I stuck to my routine and didn’t engage in personal conversations. Damn Ash, damn Merlin, damn all of them for asking, always asking what the hell was wrong. How did I know? I’d been a superhero; I smashed that fucking rapey arsehole of a prince, burned the whole damned manor down in a blaze of glory. Everything I’d wanted as a child had come true. I had a portal to unknown numbers of dimensions; I made my living dealing with creatures I’d have been ecstatic to see one of. What did I have to be sad about? What? What? What?!
I felt the gap in conversation growing longer, larger, less socially acceptable. I swallowed frantically, but the lump remained. I needed to say something, anything, to deflect the attention away from me and back onto the other person. “Tess,” Merlin said, leaning forward and placing a hand on my knee. I looked at him, eyes wide, tears beading in the corners, not able to do a thing other than making an inarticulate croak. “Ah, Tess.” He flicked his finger, a tiny little gesture and the pressure in my chest began to ease.
“I’m bloody miserable most of the time and I don’t know why.” The words fought me as I tried to get them out, digging their claws into my throat to stop them. I panted for a moment then looked over at him with slitted eyes, I’d gone through this to pacify him, to fulfil my side of a conversation.
He nodded, patting my knee, a very Dad-like gesture for someone who appeared the same age as me. “When I was teaching you how to open the portal, you seemed filled with the most infectious excitement and zeal. What happened to that?”
I laughed at that. Past Tess was so damned clueless I felt like smacking her. All bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, expecting an adventure, that a bit of pluck and determination would get her through. I told him this.
“Ah, so what do you expect now when you come through the portal? You sit in front of an old dimensional gate, looking out onto the ruins of an empire built by a race of giants. Your dragon seeks his food in the fields below. Doesn’t this live up to your childhood dreams? Doesn’t it surpass it?”
I looked out to where Miazydar skimmed across a nearby field, claws outstretched. They snapped around the body of an antelope looking thing, he neatly dispatched it with a snap of its neck. “Yeah, of course it does.”
“No, Tess, not intellectually. How do you feel?”
The tiny Miazydar in the distance hunched over his kill, ripping the corpse apart with his massive jaws and gulping the meat down. “I guess, it’s like that,” I said, pointing to the dragon. “In the books, it’s all flying to victory and the loving bond between human and animal. But the reality of Miazydar feeding is there’s blood and guts and animal shit, the screaming of the animal when he kills it, watching its eyes go dull. Those descriptions are lacking, of course they are. No one wants to read that, but I guess it’s like something was taken from me. I’d read comics and books and got invested in the hero’s journey, been completely carried away by it. Now, I read or watch movies and I’m like ‘that’s not how it would go’ or ‘it wouldn’t feel like that, you’re missing the crushing alienation that comes from killing your enemy, the complete lack of vindication, the wondering what the fuck you’ve just done’. I don’t enjoy what I used to enjoy, I don’t love what I used to love. Instead, I work: I build contacts, source special products, things I would’ve imagined spending my whole life on crazy quests to find before, to make a buck. I make sure we have the right food on hand and cover-up for Ash’s gaffes and then I go home and talk to my dragon, not sure what else to do.”
Merlin smiled, but it wasn’t necessarily a happy thing or a sad thing. I cocked my head, trying to read his face. “You’re going through a transition, Tess. You’ve left behind your childhood—.”
“But I’m nearly 30!”
“Then it took a little longer for you to get there. The rose-coloured glasses are off and you’re not sure you like what you see. The thing you’re missing is what lies beyond. Adult life is filled with grinding, unending boredom, but it’s also about choices, real choices, that can have a positive impact on the world, to be a part of solving some of the wicked problems that plague our existence.”
“So what, oh great sage, I just need to commit to world peace and all will be well?”
He laughed at this. “You know that’s not true from the books you read. You commit to the values that are important to you and then you work like the devil to try and live your life by them. Find what you value, Tess, then you’ll know what to do, no matter the time of day. Think about it and I’ll check in on you tomorrow.”
Of course, that’s when he vanished.
“Values,” I muttered, “like I don’t have values already and look where they’ve got me? Not like he’d stick around to help me work out what the bloody things are.” I grumbled some more but there was something about the Circle. My words seemed to just dissipate, fall flat and disappear in the crisp, cool air. I sat and looked at the ruins, the greenery, grumpily over-analysing everything he had said until I could’ve repeated it, word for word. At some point I’d reached into my bag and grabbed out my phone, pulling up a note, tapping my thumb against the side of the case. What did I value? What was important to me?
Miazydar swept in some time later, looking me over quizzically as I tapped away. What’re you doing?
Working out what’s important to me.
Me obviously. Is this the wizard’s work? Are you going to start making those deplorable slogans emblazoned over images of sunsets and beaches?
I stopped what I was doing and closed the vision board I was currently creating. No.
Your world never ceases to amaze me. In Aravisia, young people go out on a quest to find out what’s important to them. Much more useful than this digital masturbation you all seem so preoccupied with, though I admit, the death toll is lower.
So, should we go and find a fair maiden, or small village being oppressed to save? I said with a smile.
You can’t seek a quest, you just need to be on the lookout for calls to action. I felt a familiar paralysing wave of fear turn my body to ice. You have nothing to fear; you blundered into an alternate realm, into a situation that should’ve certainly seen you served as dinner, and instead you assassinated a prince. Your grandmother was quite the witch, she has laid a spell on the two of you that seems to ensure, no guarantee, that you emerge successfully from anything you do. Imagine what you could do if you decided you wanted something?
We swept over Bordertown, Miazyda
r flying in large, lazy circles as we slowly descended. It’d taken a while, but I found it restful now that I’d learned to trust the dragon to get us to the ground safely.
I’ll always look after you, he said, then his head jerked up. I followed the length of his neck, squinting at the sky through my foggy safety goggles. I felt his spine ripple as his wings began to work, no longer simply gliding.
What’s going on? I said.
