A Cup of Normal

  “Maybe you should have stayed gone,” she said to Sath. “Maybe you should go now.”

  Sath lifted up, high enough the blunt tip of his mouth could touch her fingertips. His whisper was so soft, she could feel it on her fingers more than she could hear it. “We are — we were forever-companions. You trusted me for many years. Trust me now. Then I will go.”

  Jai opened her mouth to tell the boy to leave but a gust of wind whipped by. The wood and string bowl in the boy’s hands hummed a sweet, low, soul-tugging tone. Even at half the yard away, Jai could see the child sway beneath the music’s power.

  “Please don’t be mad at the snake,” the boy said. “It’s not his fault. I will try to pay you back any way you want if you’ll help me.”

  Holy, holy, always the sweetest children. How could she turn her back on him now? Jai glared again at the snake. Sath arched back down to the ground and slipped through the grass toward the house, toward the boy.

  Jai stepped forward with a heavy sigh.

  “I’ll do what I can, child. Don’t expect miracles. You are tied to this thing,” she pointed at the instrument, “until the end of time.” Your time, she thought. “But that doesn’t mean you have to fear. You are the one who plays the music. It doesn’t play you.”

  As if to prove her wrong, the wind snatched at the strings again, and the boy’s fingers found their place on the strings. His eyes glazed and two strong notes rang out.

  Jai put her hand on the boy’s shoulder, breaking the spell. “First rule is you keep your hands off the strings if you want into my house.”

  The boy’s eyes cleared. He swallowed. “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Second rule is to listen to me. This is not an easy thing.” For either of us, she thought.

  The boy nodded. “I’ll try to do right.”

  Jai stepped past him, avoiding even a casual brush with the instrument. She did not want to feel its power in her hands again.

  “Come inside, and I’ll get us some food. We have some time yet before night thickens and Moon wakes.”

  The boy followed her into the house and stood in the middle of the small living room, a shadow in the uncertain light. Jai moved around the room and lit the kerosene lamps. The light revealed a wood rocking chair and padded couch, a braided rug and a rough stone fireplace with a mantel made of a lightning rod. Sath was no where to be seen, though she was sure he had slipped into the house ahead of them.

  Once all the lanterns were lit, the boy gasped.

  The stronger light showed walls covered by hundreds of musical instruments. Hung by cords, hung by nails, hung by strings, every conceivable musical instrument rested against the walls, repeating the sounds of Jai’s footsteps in gentle harmony.

  “Do you play them?” the boy asked.

  Jai raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t think I spent all my days hoeing the field, did you? I’ve been a few places in my long life, boy — what is your name, child?”

  “Julian Jones,” he said.

  “Julian?” Jai’s heart caught. Her first. Her oak-strong boy. Buried so many years ago beneath the moss and loam of a continent far and an ocean away. But this boy was different than her first Julian. This boy was built like a supple willow and had a voice as sweet as a afternoon dream.

  “I haven’t heard that name in a long, long time.” Jai walked into the small clean kitchen and lit the lamps. There were no windows here to let in sun or moon light. Sath might be here, but she did not see him.

  “That name has strength, child,” she said.

  “Will it help?” his voice was almost lost to the wind blowing outside.

  “Every little bit helps when Wind and Shadow want you to serve them. Do you know the old stories, Julian? About how music first came to the land?”

  Julian shook his head and took a step toward the kitchen, then stopped.

  “Come on, child. Sit at the table.”

  Julian came into the room and a long streak of orange followed at his side. The boy eased into the chair, keeping the instrument cradled in his lap. Once he was settled, Sath slipped up the wooden rungs of the chair until his wide diamond head rested just above the boy’s shoulder.

  Jai wondered why Sath was so protective of the child, wondered if he had promised the boy to be his forever-companion. That thought made her heart ache. She turned to the sink and pumped water into the kettle, putting the hurt aside. They had only an hour before Moon woke.

  Jai had told the story of music to every child. She had tried every way she could think of to defeat Moon and Shadow and Wind. But no matter what she taught the children, no matter what they tried, the gods always won, always drank the music down, and with it the child’s life.

  Wind scraped across her rooftop, clawing to get in.

  She rekindled the wood stove and pulled the morning’s bread out of the warmer. Her thoughts raced. What way to destroy the instrument? What way to stop the gods?

  “In long ago days,” Jai said, “Sun would walk over the edge of the horizon to the dreaming world each night. Sun’s dreams were beautiful and terrible, frightening and foolish. They were so filled with wonder, the sound of them caused the stars to blink in awe and all the world to tremble.”

  She put the kettle on the stove and turned to place a plate of bread in front of the boy. Outside, Wind rattled in the hickory tree.

  “Every night sister Moon listened to Sun’s dreams and grew jealous of the beauty she would never see in her dark world. She wanted those dreams, wanted what her brother, the Sun, had.

  “So Moon sent Wind to catch Sun’s dreams and bring them into the night. But Wind had no hands, and the dreams slipped away before he could reach Moon. Then Moon sent Shadow into the dreaming land. But even in dream, Sun shone too brightly for Shadow to touch.”

  Julian was perched on the edge of his chair, looking as if at any moment he would fly away. Jai hurried.

  “Moon was crazy with want. A greedy, selfish want. She shone that hard cold eye of hers down across all the lands, across the seas, and into the hearts of every soul until she found herself a brave child. A girl with more curiosity than good sense.”

  “A brave girl,” Sath whispered.

  Jai shook her head.

  “A foolish girl that listened to Moon’s call and let her feet follow. She found her way over the edge of the world and into the dreaming land.

  “There, the girl scooped up armfuls of dreams that glittered like jewels. She put the dreams into the wooden bowl she carried and ran back to the waking world.

  “But Moon was waiting for her at the edge of the horizon. Waiting with Wind and Shadow. All three of them so greedy, they tussled for the bowl of dreams.

  “The girl tripped and the bowl flew. Moon tried to save the dreams by sealing the bowl with silver light, but Shadow and Wind wanted it too and tore at the bowl, shredding Moon’s light into strings.

  “The bowl up-ended and dreams poured out between the moonlight strings, crying a sweet music as never a soul on earth had heard.

  “The music of Sun’s dreams soaked into the land and was caught in every river, every stone, every tree, bird, beast and all the souls between.”

  Wind buffeted the roof. Shadow crept down the walls, leaching light from nooks and corners. But Julian watched only Jai.

  “What about the girl?” he asked.

  He didn’t ask about the bowl. Didn’t wonder where the magical instrument had gotten off to. Of course, he shouldn’t wonder. He held it against his heart.

  “A snake who had been resting on the edge of the world whispered for her to get up just as the Sun came into the waking world and discovered the spilled dreams. Sun was angry, but the snake told Sun it was not the girl’s fault. Instead of killing the girl, Sun bound her to guard the moon-strung bowl, to keep it hidden from Wind and Shadow, and most of all, from Moon.

  “The girl did this for a long, long time. She hid the bowl in all parts of the world, but always, always, Wind and Shadow found it. Always, always, t
hey lured a child to play the music for them and jealous Moon.”

  “They still want the Sun’s dreams,” Julian breathed. His hands clutched the bowl so tight, his knuckles were white.

  Jai did not want to tell him the rest — the worst. “No mortal can endure playing the instrument for long. Maybe a day, maybe a week. But Sun’s dreams are so pure, so strong, they burn flesh and bone to dust.”

  “I won’t play for them,” he said.

  Jai’s skin chilled.

  “I’ll break the bowl, cut the strings, or, or throw it back over the horizon.”

  “No mortal power can break that bowl, boy. No answer as simple as that.” Poor, sweet bird, she thought, what more could she give him? What words to guide him?

  “Teach him,” Sath whispered.

  Jai knelt at the boy’s feet and placed one hand on his knee. He was trembling. “I can teach you how to survive this night,” she said.

  “What should I do?”

  “Don’t say no to the wind, child. Don’t refuse the shadow. Play the music for them, let them have their song through you. Bend like a blade of grass, and they’ll let you free for at least a little while.”

  Dark eyes searched hers. “That’s never worked before, has it?”

  Wind tore at the shakes. Shadows spread like spilled ink across the ceiling.

  “We’ll make it work,” Jai said. “You are strong enough to bend.”

  Julian closed his eyes, his mouth tugged down. When he opened his eyes, Jai could see his fear, fresh and sharp. A fear she shared.

  Shadows licked out. A lamp dimmed.

  “Did you try to break it?” he asked.

  “A hundred, hundred times.” Beyond the living room, the front door bucked beneath pounding gusts. Instruments within the room rang out in answer.

  Julian stood and walked into the living room, facing the door, his back to Jai.

  “Did you play the music for them?”

  “For a thousand, thousand years.” She stepped up behind him and placed her hand on his thin shoulder. Sath had wrapped around Julian’s waist and rested his head on the boy’s other shoulder.

  Hinges groaned, darkness swallowed lamp light.

  “Did you try to play it wrong?” Julian asked.

  “There is no wrong way to play a dream, child. There is only your way.”

  The door burst open. Wind stood beyond the doorway, larger than the room could hold. His arms and legs were ragged tornados of dust and dead grasses, his face the flat cold mask of storm. Only his eyes seemed solid, and those were bottomless swirling vortices that drank thought and emptied minds.

  Behind him skulked his brother, Shadow. Against the dark of the night, Jai could only see Shadow if he moved, a nightmare shaped like a great cat or monstrous dog, with only the razored glint of fangs and claw to show his passing.

  Wind and Shadow strode toward the house.

  “Bend child,” Jai said, wanting to close her eyes and run from here, but unable to do either beneath the hold of Wind and Shadow. “Play for them.”

  “Your way,” Sath whispered beside the boy’s ear.

  “My way,” Julian said.

  He placed his fingers against the strings. But instead of plucking, his fingers lay flat, muting the music, denying the gods.

  Wind howled. Shadow swelled and grew, filling the air, until it felt the house would crush beneath the weight of the night.

  Jai squeezed Julian’s shoulder, hoping to hold him steady against the gods while Sath whispered to him.

  “Play,” she said again.

  Music, soft as a sigh, rose to fill the room. It was not the burning power of Sun’s dreams pouring through moonlight strings. It was a softer song, a child’s melody. A lullaby.

  Julian was singing, his voice sweet and clear, like river against stone, like time against the world.

  Please, no, Jai thought, don’t fight the gods. But Julian did not stop singing. This was his way, his denial of the music, his choice to stand strong and not bend. Just like her other oak-strong boy.

  And Sath was singing with him.

  Jai could not let them fight alone. She added her warm, low voice to their song. The instruments on the walls echoed the lullaby. Note by note, they stood against the gods. Wind tore at the room trying to stop them. Shadow crushed down.

  Still, they sang.

  In a moment of song, in a beat of three hearts, Wind and Shadow pulled away from the house.

  Julian swayed. “Are they gone?” he asked.

  But Jai knew that in only a moment, a beat of three hearts . . .

  Wind struck the house. The door exploded. Splinters of wood knifed through the room. Julian cried out, turned toward Jai.

  Shadow leapt through the doorway, so hard and cold, it was as if the air was made of claw and ice.

  Blinded, deafened, Jai pulled Julian behind her and reached for the bowl in his hands. Her palm touched the strings and moonlight left blistering burns. Wind snatched the bowl from her fingertips and hurled it against the wall. Wind struck her and Jai fell to her knees, holding Julian close to protect him from Wind and Shadow.

  Julian struggled free of her grip.

  No! she tried to say, but shadow clogged her mouth and the wind stole her words.

  One step, two, and Julian was gone. She could not see him, lost to Wind and Shadow, but she could hear him, his halting voice, his soft song.

  Wind and Shadow saw him too. They tore out of the house so quickly, the natural darkness brought tears of pain to Jai’s eyes. In that light, she saw Julian. He stood in front of the open the door, his clothes tattered, his thin body straight, bloody, Sath wrapped around his chest like braided armor.

  In his hands was the moon-strung bowl. He lifted the bowl up above his head and called out.

  “I have them! I have all of Sun’s dreams and all of the songs.”

  From the black sky, Moon woke. Moonlight poured over him like platinum fire, the cold cruel eye of a jealous god.

  “Julian!” Jai called. “Come back.”

  He glanced over his shoulder, his dark eyes filled with fear, his mouth set in a thin line. Sath lifted his head and whispered, “Good-bye, forever-companion. I am sorry.”

  Then the boy turned back to the door and held the bowl out in his hands.

  “I won’t play for you,” he said. “They aren’t your dreams to hear.” Julian softly sang the lullaby.

  Moon’s anger was like sharp fingers pressing into Jai’s ears. A snap, a flash of pain, and her ears popped and bled. Beyond the door, Wind roared like a great ocean, and the air filled with Shadow, choking out all light except that single beam of ice surrounding Julian and Sath.

  Jai pushed up to her feet. She had to pull Julian and Sath away from the moonlight. She couldn’t let them die.

  Wind and Shadow and Moon pulled back to strike.

  “Now!” Sath hissed.

  Julian yelled and held the bowl before him like a shield. Wind and Shadow struck. Moonstrings snapped. The bowl shattered. A thousand, thousand glittering dreams fell from between the splinters of wood. All at once, beautiful notes cried out, the pure, the last song of Sun’s dreams.

  Wood and moonlight sliced through the room, whipped by the wind that battered Julian down to his knees. Jai stumbled toward Julian, but could not reach him through the flying debris.

  The walls groaned. Instruments fell and shattered against the floor.

  Wind and Shadow clawed into the room, snatching at the remaining bits of the bowl — wood and broken strings that would never sing again — then screamed away to the distant face of Moon. As if released from a spell, clouds crowded the night sky and smothered the moonlight.

  When Jai could hear again, when she could see, she found a lamp and match and brought both back to find Julian lying dazed in the middle of the destroyed room.

  He was covered in dust and splinters of wood and reed, Sath still wrapped around his thin chest and waist. A trickle of blood ran tracks down his arm a
nd hand, too dark to be his own.

  “Sath?” Jai said. Her hands shook as she ran fingers against Sath’s cool glossy scales trying to find the source of the bleeding. Not a fast flow, she realized. Just scratches, no deep wounds.

  Sath shifted, his head appearing from near the boy’s neck. “The child?”

  Jai brushed dirt and wood from Julian’s hair and felt for his pulse.

  “Fine,” she said, her voice trembling with relief. “He’s fine.”

  Julian looked up at her, his eyes wide with shock. “Should I go now?”

  Jai brushed the dust from his cheek. “No. I think you should stay right here.”

  “You said there was no place for me here, and your house, the instruments, Sun’s dreams. I broke them. I ruined them all,” he whispered.

  “Hush, child,” Jai said, “you didn’t ruin anything. You made it right again. Something I’d never been strong enough to do.”

  “But the music, your music . . .”

  “The music wasn’t mine. It was Sun’s.”

  She drew him into her arms.

  “So I can stay?” Julian asked softly.

  “Yes,” Jai said.

  “And so can the snake?”

  Jai brushed her fingers across the top of Sath’s head, remembering the hurtful things she had said to him. “If he wants to stay with such a foolish girl.”

  Sath tipped his head to one side, his dark eyes warm and deep. “I promised a brave girl I would be her forever-companion. My home is here with her.”

  “Thank you,” Jai whispered. And she held the boy and the snake in her arms until Sun walked to the edge of the waking world and brought with him the warmth of day.

  The heart of this story came from the concept that life often forces us to change and grow, and sometimes, so does death.

  HERE AFTER LIFE

  It took the four of them half the day to convince Jim he was them, they were him, and they were all dead. It finally hit home when the twenty-four-year-old guy in cut-offs and no shirt shoved the baby in Jim’s hands and said, “You can fucking argue all you want, but I am not looking after this kid anymore.”