Chapter 8: Dick Chelsea

The room was filled with a golden glow from the morning sun coming in the windows. It turned everything shades of yellow and gold inside, striking off of shelves full of odd objects and ones full of books. It played on a desk covered in homemade ink and papers and across the well-swept stone floor. On one side of the room lay a huge four-poster bed with the sunlight gleaming in the creases of a silken coverlet spread on it. The blanket molded to a thin, long shape laying under the covers. A head rested on the white pillow at the top of the bed, face shrunken and black hair thinning.

Bard came to stand beside the bed on the far side. “I’ve brought someone to see you, sir.”

Drifter came up on the near side and Dick’s head turned towards him, arms pulling out from under the coverlet as he sat up a fraction on the clean pillow. His eyes were bright and alive though his frame was so wasted.

“Young Bard said ‘a friend’,” he said, voice not as cracked now that he could speak in a quieter tone. “Do I know you from before or are you a new friend?”

Drifter looked down at him, taking in the bony, fallen face which he recalled as long and academic from before the disaster.

“Do you remember,” he said slowly, “a young man who used to visit you in your antique shop on Falcon street? He always asked you about the relics and fingered the one like a dragon made of jade. One day he bought an old ring which came from a sunken wreck, with a red gem. He told you...it was for his bride.”

Dick’s eyes narrowed as he studied the visage above him, then widened suddenly as his face seemed to collapse even further and cheeks suck inwards.

“Leith Summers.”

The loner turned away, face hardening into set lines. “They call me Drifter now. That is all I have become. It is who I am.”

“Drifter,” Dick whispered the word, turning his eyes towards one of the far shelves of objects. One of his thin hands pointed. “I still have that dragon. See there?”

Moving over to the shelf, Drifter swept his gaze over the items lined up on it. Book ends, a gilded box, statuettes of animals and even a pair of tongs. All with the branching symbol of a relic stamped deep into them. In front of him was a gleaming white shape of faintly opaque stone, a coiling dragon rearing its head. He reached out and touched it, feeling the familiar dips where his finger had sat many times, years ago. He picked it up and cradled it in one hand for a moment, before laying it gently back on its shelf.

“I’ve been looking for you, Dick,” he said quietly, “I’ve come all the way from a place near the old Falcon street to find you.”

“Why?”

“I have something I want you to identify.”

Walking back to the bed, Drifter took out the long key from his belt and lay it on the coverlet. “This. It’s a relic. And one I think you mentioned to me before.”

Dick sat up further with Bard’s help, eyes alight with interest as he reached out to pick up the heavy bit of metal. His delicate fingers held the key and turned it for those eyes to inspect from every side, the morning light gleaming off of it. Except for the symbol on its side and the apparent simplicity of the object it was not one to attract much attention.

“Di, Tidum and Kveth,” Dick murmured under his breath like some sort of magic spell. Finally he lay the key back down on the blanket, though he kept the tips of his fingers on it as if to prevent its leaving his side.

“Do you have a guess as to what this relic is?” There was excitement in his voice now, though it was held back by his weakness.

Drifter nodded. “I have a guess, or else I wouldn’t have cared so much to find you. But I want confirmation. And further information.”

His eyes sliding closed, Dick leaned his head against the wall. “Relics are a mysterious thing. They only started appearing in the world two hundred and six years ago, in a corner of Apex that was under development at the time. The very first one found, the Mask of Di, was laying on a shelf in an old building marked for destruction. Studies showed it to be about three thousand years old. No one had ever seen it before.”

Drifter made an impatient gesture. “I know the basic history. I want to know more about this key.”

Opening one eye, Dick gave him a disapproving look before going on, “researchers have also found papers about a few of the relics, though no one remembered studying the papers or hearing of the writers before the relics themselves began to appear. One of these papers...the writings of an unknown ‘Kveth’...claimed that there was a gate in a part of the land now in the Native sector of Apex, a gate which could only be opened by a certain key.”

His fingers tapped on the key triumphantly. “A key hidden in a place mysteriously called 'Tidum’. A key which no one ever found. The gate was discovered, but no one could open it. After a time of intense excitement interest waned. No one could find Tidum or the key.”

“I found it.” Drifter bowed his head. “In a box of mixed junk in an underground garage. I was looking for fan belts for my car.”

Dick smiled slightly. “Odd, like all the findings. But the real interest lies, of course, in the name of the gate and the legends which surround it.”

Bard was listening with rapt expression as his guardian spoke the name.

“They call it the Gate of Eternity.”

Drifter’s head jerked up and his piercing eyes showed extreme excitement, though his face was set and hard as stone. “This is the right key, isn’t it? It will open the gate?”

With a nod, Dick pushed the key towards him. “It should, if the paper was correct. But you know what all this means, don’t you?”

Solemnly, Drifter took the key and slipped it into the cylinder at his belt. His eyes flicked to Bard. “Can we continue this conversation alone?”

Bard gave him a startled look, not comprehending right away. Dick gestured to him softly, with an affectionate expression. “Go for now, my boy. I’ll call you back later. Check on the new sand clock and see if it’s keeping time, would you?”

Though he seemed reluctant, Bard bowed his head in acceptance and trotted away. Drifter waited until he had been gone a few moments before moving closer to Dick, perching beside him on the edge of the bed. But it was the antiquarian who spoke first:

“I’m dying, Drifter. Not many more days will pass before my eyes close for the last time.”

The loner lifted his shoulders philosophically. “The whole world is on its way out.”

“It’s a cruel, cruel world, now...” Dick Chelsea’s eyes were still closed and his voice had dwindled to little more than a whisper. “The only thing I’ve lived for is that boy. But there is no future for him in Apex. No friends, no space to carve out as his own. Nothing...you know that, don’t you?”

The words had a hint of sharpness to them, a touch of strange, dark hope.

Drifter took the sick man’s hand and squeezed it lightly. “That is why I brought the key to you. I wanted to know if it was the right one. And if you are sure--”

“I am sure.” Dick’s eyes came open, surprisingly intense in his emaciated face. “It is the Key to the Gate of Eternity. And you know, Drifter, you know where we stand now.”

There was a hard spark of fire in Drifter’s voice as he answered, “at the end of the world.”

Dick did not answer, but they both knew what the other was thinking. They sat for some time as if in silent communion. The sun had shifted so that the light no longer struck directly through the windows, but played on the roof, giving the room a soft ambient glow. The row of relics on the shelf almost appeared to be illumined with their own light, objects of every shape and material, each carrying the many-branched mark.

“Are you going to find the gate and open it?” Dick asked eventually.

Drifter nodded. “It’s the only thing left for me to do.”

“Then I have one favor to ask of you.” Dick’s hand moved restlessly on the pale silken coverlet. “I can’t last much longer and I would not have Bard be alone. Take the boy with you.”

Drifter leaned back against the far bed post with a sigh. He still disliked the thought of being with another person in his travels. But he did owe something to Dick for answering his questions and not questioning his answers. The boy seemed naive and weak because of the comparatively sheltered life his guardian had given him. Drifter dreaded having to hold his hand and walk him through the brutalities of the ruined city. On the other hand, it would only be until he found the gate. And Bard might as well learn what he could, while he could.

“Fine.”

He stood up, flicking a glance at the man on the bed. “Will you be able to take care of yourself until your time comes?”

Dick’s smile was surprisingly sweet. “I don’t need much now. Send Bard up to talk to me one last time and then you may both go.”

With a bow of his head the loner walked out of the room. His boots clattered softly on the stairs as he made his way down until he saw, inspecting a machine in one room off to the side, the boy Bard.

“Dick wants you. I’ll be outside when you’re done.”

Giving him no time to ask questions, Drifter continued down until he reached the lowest story and could exit the door. The sunlight was a warm gold-red on the roofs of the old academic structures around him. He waited at his ease until he heard the sound of footsteps inside the tower. Turning to the door, he saw Bard come out, a sack over one shoulder, a scroll of paper in his hand and tears fogging his round glasses.

“My guardian says I am to go with you.” His words were on the brink of unsteadiness. “And that you’ll need this.”

He held out the scroll, not meeting Drifter’s gaze. Drifter took it with a brisk nod and glanced at the contents. It was a copy of ancient writing, part of the manuscript of the writer Kveth. It laid out vaguely where the Gate of Eternity could be found. At the bottom were notes added by Dick Chelsea explaining where some of the still existent landmarks were now, in the Native sector of Apex.

“My car is this way.” Drifter jerked his head in the right direction. “We’ll be taking it.”

“Yeah.” Bard still looked away, stealthily wiping at the tears which trickled down his nose.

Without further conversation they walked back through the twisting streets and sunken avenue to the courtyard where the shimmering dome stood. Bard came up and touched the smooth force shield once before following Drifter around the end of the division wall, past the stubby tower to where the gray car was parked in the shadows.

---

Bard had not traveled by car since the disaster. He was uneasy at first, stowing his bag in the back and perching awkwardly on the seat. When the car started to move he gripped the door handle and his pale face seemed to become another degree white.

Once they were in an open avenue without slabs of stone or too many corners in the way, Drifter poured on the power. The car leaped ahead and Bard gave a little gasp of surprise. Looking sideways at him a second later, Drifter saw a smile growing on his face.

“Not so bad, eh?” Drifter prompted with a touch of pleasure in his grim voice.

Bard nodded his head enthusiastically. “I like it.”

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The driver kept the car moving at a good pace until their way became too torturous, down narrow lanes with burnt branches laying in them. Then he was forced to slow and pick his way more carefully. Their course was back out through the Academy sector, towards the land off of Terminal point. They threaded between large buildings, avoided the wreckage of a smaller one that had been toppled by quakes and came out on a main street. Drifter instantly recognized it and scanned the buildings they passed as they neared the end of the academic section. As one loomed up, tall and jagged with a smashed roof and gaping round window, the car slowed further.

“What is it?” Bard followed his gaze towards the structure.

Drifter shook his head. “Nothing...I wonder what that building was before the Greenspark.”

“Let me see,” the boy said, tapping a finger on his nose, “I think it was the Library of Mechanical Thought. Or maybe the school for the same thing. I’m not sure.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Drifter turned away and increased their speed, giving up on the faint hope of seeing a purple robe moving through the windows.

Now that he had a solid destination and it was not far off, Drifter did not stop the car except for a brief halt at mid day for food. They had plenty of fuel to burn and Bard had brought a small amount of provisions with him in the sack, so there was no need to go scavenging. They made miles fast until places where the road was so ruined that they were forced to pick their way at a maddening crawl through the broken city.

It was late in the afternoon when the car began to have problems. First, it was just an odd note in the engine’s running that caught Drifter’s notice. But soon there was a cough and a splutter, then the engine went dead. The vehicle coasted to a stop and Drifter made a sound of frustration.

“What’s wrong?” Bard flashed him a frightened look.

“I haven’t found out yet.” Drifter opened the door to get out.

Outside, he popped the hood and began to fiddle with the engine underneath. Bard got out and joined him, peering shyly at the mass of parts, half of which he did not know the names for. As Dick Chelsea’s pupil he had studied ancient history, relics, physics and other old-fashioned knowledge. He had also learned to take care of and run the water turbine in the dank, dark underground beneath the dome of living plants. But he had never studied modern crystal-fuel machinery and had not often seen vehicles serviced before the disaster.

After plugging and unplugging various wires, checking connections and inspecting the air filter Drifter shook his head, “I think the fuel feed’s plugged. Get in and turn the key half-way to the left, will you?”

Bard scrambled to obey. He felt nervous turning the key, but when the gauge lights jumped on and Drifter did not shout at him he guessed that he had done everything correctly. After a moment the driver told him to shut it off again.

“Can you fix it?” Bard asked breathlessly, hopping out and pushing his glasses further up his nose.

“We’ll see what happens.” Drifter fixed a tube back into its place and shrugged. “It’s clean, now.”

They returned to their seats in the cab and started rolling again. The sector of town they were in was typical to many parts of Apex. Structures of white marble lay scattered in ruins or stood valiantly despite everything the Greenspark had thrown at them. Their wounded brethren leaned on them or stood staring in surprise at the hunks of broken stone broken from their sides, laying on the ground. Unburned garbage blew gently across the road or lay in disintegrating heaps down alley ways. Piles of charcoal and partially melted metal showed where other pieces of people’s lives had been scorched away.

Bard had rarely been to the edge of the Academy sector and had not left it since the fall of Greenspark. He looked at the widespread ruins in wonder, frowning nearsightedly at places the earthquakes had hit particularly hard. After passing many empty streets and buildings made of too much destruction to be inhabited, he ventured, “but what happened to all of the people? The ones who ran from the Academy sector and the others who lived out here...where did they go?”

“Mostly to their graves.” Drifter gave him a hard look. “You saw them die. It happened all over.”

Bard bit his lower lip at the harshness of the answer, before pressing on, “I didn’t mean those. I meant the ones who survived it all. Like you.”

Drifter snorted, “the ones like me are few and far apart. More than that, they are hard to find.”

The boy turned in his seat to stare at the driver for a long space of time. His gaze was wide and naive, but not afraid. He seemed to be inspecting Drifter and trying to find the answer to him, as if he were a riddle.

“Were you a soldier, before?”

“No. I stole the clothes from a dead soldier’s body.”

“Even the cape?”

Drifter shot the boy an exasperated look. “No, not the cape. I got it elsewhere.”

“Then what were you before the fall?”

“A human being.”

“But, I mean--”

The driver cut him off by pulling to an abrupt stop and turning towards him.

“I forgot to tell you the rules about traveling with me. You go where I go, do as I do and make no judgments. Forget my past. And yours as well, for that matter. We’re traveling to the Native sector to find the Gate of Eternity. That’s all you need to know.”

With this statement, roughly as it was given, Bard was finally cowed into silence. A minute later Drifter noticed that tears were rolling off the tip of his nose again. It made him wonder if all children vibrated so easily between extremes of emotion. One moment asking questions curiously, the next weeping in bitter silence.

But Bard would be sensitive because of being recently parted from his guardian and thrust into the outside world. Drifter let out another sigh, soundless this time, bracing himself for what could be days of having to travel with a youngster’s swinging emotions. Drifter decided that he would simply say as little as possible. Wounds would either heal themselves or, he thought with a wry shift of his injured leg, become part of life.

They drove the rest of the day through a hard-hit section of the city, where buildings and burnt-out vehicles often lay across the street, forcing them to find new routes around them. Progress was slow and the only variety to the scene was even more pathetic mini-scenes of human misery. Such as the tableaux of an ambulance parked in the middle of the road, back doors hanging open on rusted hinges. The tires were burnt off and the sides scorched, especially on the wall facing the curb, where decorative trees used to grow. Behind the ambulance a gurney sat burnt and rusting on the cement, its cushions and blankets long gone in a chance gust of wind, blowing the ash away. All that remained in it was a few bones, too blackened for any scavenger to pick over. Of the medics, no sign could be seen, though they would have been gathered around the gurney at the time of the attempted rescue. Or, more terrible to think of, caught trying to flee with their patient left helpless behind.

As evening drew on, the car’s engine kept givings signs of distress, hitting odd notes in its functioning or almost stalling when power was applied. Drifter looked grim (more than usual) and began considering pulling over. Before he could decide, there was a cough and the engine suddenly died for the second time that day.

He looked slowly across to Bard. “I’m afraid we might have got some bad fuel. It was all scavenged stuff...some of it could be impure.”

Once again he swung out and went around to look under the hood. After a moment he gestured to Bard, who hopped out to join him.

“While I check it out, you look for fuel for a fire. We’ll just camp here for the night. Charred sticks and browned moss both work fairly well.”

Bard nodded. Leaving the loner picking apart the car’s internals, he scouted around for the best place to find fuel. On their left-hand side, towards the west, stood tall apartment buildings with pillars and rubble laying all around them. They cast long shadows on the car, darkening Drifter and his work space. Their lowest stories all seemed to have walls and supports missing, giving them the precarious look of being poised to fall over. With a shiver, the boy turned to gaze in the other direction. Towards the east, where the shades of evening were coming on, was a sagging chain-link fence with gaps where hedges used to stand between sections of wire. Past it, was what had once been a small park, hedged in on all sides by more living spaces. Now a great pile of ruined stone and cement lay across the center of the park, hiding most of the stubs of trees which had stood there. But near the center of the broken pile Bard could just make out the bare, charred branches of a great oak, buried in rubble but still reaching valiantly above it.

With a nod of his narrow, pale face, he set off between the sections of wire, crossing a bare lot of brown earth and bone-like gravel before reaching the base of the heap. Finding a way up the cold slabs, jutting rebar and dusty cement was somewhat of a challenge, just what he was looking for to take his mind off of the rest of life. He probably could have found other fuel in an easier to reach location, but the physical hurdle of climbing the rubble lured him on, as well as the picturesque stance of the surviving tree.

Drifter would not find fault with him, he thought as he scrambled up onto the first layers of stone. He was hunting firewood as he had been told.

“But,” he grunted to himself as he reached one thin arm up to haul his body to the next slab, “I’m also getting some fun.”

Frustrated with his quiet companion, angry and saddened by the dismissal of his guardian, Bard took his pain out on the climb. When he reached the edge of the pile he was out of breath. Without looking around, he rolled onto a slab and lay still for a moment. Getting up, he turned around to look towards the tree. It stood on the edge of a low depression, reaching its thick bole and wind-torn branches up through the coarse material. Its base was hidden, buried feet deep in the broken stuff. Filling the center of the depression was an object that Bard did not at first understand. It was wide, black and glittered with a moist sheen like snake skin. The thing was spread out in a low hump, with one curling limb stuck to the side. Thinner, membranous sections lay crumpled beside it like deflated rafts. Strangest of all, the hump was slowly billowing in and out, as if breathing.

It was breathing.

All in a moment Bard realized that what he was looking at was not an inanimate object at all. It was a creature. A large creature all covered in scales with a short, thick head tucked under one bat-like wing. Three of its legs were hidden under it, tucked like a cat’s. The forth stuck out with the toes twitching in its sleep. Claws as curved as a sickle slid in and out from each of these four splayed extremities.

Bard gasped, freezing. Either this small noise or some deep instinct made the creature shift in its sleep, gradually uncoiling its head. A huge yellow beak was unsheathed from under its wing. The bird-like head turned with a majestic slowness to take Bard in with one black, glittering eye. It was a beautifully shaped eye, curved and bright like a cat’s. So dark that no pupil could be seen, only the depths of midnight.

With a grunt the creature heaved itself to its feet. A body like a lion’s, but three or four times as large in every dimension drew itself up on poised limbs. The claws rasped out of their sheathes, grating on stone. Large, bat-like wings unfurled, veined in somber purple. The scales glittered black all along its body and a leonine tail lashed as the murderous beak angled the other way so that its opposite eye could take him in.

The boy felt locked in place, glasses slowly fogging with fear. The thing stood so close that its head curved above him, cocked as it tried to decide if it should kill him in a moment or let the pale, shrimpy being go.

With a scream, Bard broke free of its gaze and scurried for the edge of the rubble. In a moment he was tumbling from one slab to the other, bruising his arms and cutting his hands as he scrambled to the ground.

Drifter looked up from his work, hooded head turning in his direction. The dark shape of the huge creature reared up on the broken mountain, hopping to the edge to look down at the fleeing shape of the boy. Some hunter’s instinct was aroused in the creature by the sight of a smaller being running from it. In deadly silence, it spread its wings and jumped into the air. The wind rushing past them was the only noise it made. The creature blotted out a section of blue sky.

Dropping everything in his hands, Drifter began to run. Bard was coming towards him, panting and stumbling as he dashed with frightened speed in the direction of the car. Drifter met him part-way and jerked him aside as the flying monster stooped.

Made wary by the entrance of a new creature into the scene, it missed its aim and landed on the ground a few yards away, claws digging up tufts of earth as it landed. Making small, inarticulate clicking and creaking noises, the creature folded its wings and reared back the curved yellow beak to fix the newcomer with its shadowed gaze. For a minute, dark eyes met light ones in a seizing up of fighting spirits. Bard leaned gasping on Drifter’s right arm, sobbing with fright and the shock of his run. The wind of the griffin’s landing blew strands of his hair awry across his face.

Drifter continued to meet the beast’s gaze and held out his free hand in a gesture of peace. “Beast of the night, relinquish the day. Back to your sleep and forget the prey.”

A long, drawn-out croaking sound, like a chicken would make when curious about an unknown object, gurgled from the griffin’s throat. One set of talons dragged through the ground, leaving furrows half a foot deep. It made no other move to advance and Drifter began to back away, murmuring to the boy, “walk slowly to the car. Don’t run whatever you do.”

Bard drew in a struggling breath and tried not to look back, walking as if in a bad dream towards the parked vehicle with its hood open. Drifter followed him, backing up, keeping his one hand held out in a sign of peace. The beast stood regarding him with one eye for a moment, before twisting its head over on one side in a motion full of curiosity and chained fury. Gradually, it began to edge towards them, but not in a direct line. Instead, it crab-walked sideways, claws retracted so that it made hardly a noise moving on the bare earth. Like a cat stalking a mouse it came after them as they went through the gap in the fence and arrived at the car. Bard went first, skipping around to the other side of the vehicle to look back with a frightened expression. Drifter came second, leaning against the car with his face still towards the creature. It had reached the fence by now and stood on the other side, head lowered as it peered through the gap at them. First one glittering eye showed, then the next.

“Beast of the night, bane of light--” Drifter began another invocation, hoping to send it on its way so that it would not stalk them. But instead of calming the scaled griffin, his voice seemed to have the opposite effect. It had been standing quite still, shoulders hunched and head down, tail jiggling behind in a threatening manner. When he started speaking its head jerked up, tail went still and shoulders rippled in a muscled movement. With wings half-furled it leaped high into the air over the chain-link fence. Curved talons glinted in the late afternoon light.

“Run,” Drifter ordered, turning to vault over the hood of the car and slide off the opposite side. “Under the buildings!”

He grasped Bard’s shoulder and dragged the boy after him, moving with surprising speed. Behind them there was a sharp impact as the creature hit the cement, claws clicking and weight slamming into the ground. In another leap it was beside the car, wings brushing heavily off of the raised hood, making it crash down into a closed position. Drifter dragged Bard into a narrow space where the stone-work had given way, shoving the boy into the dark crack ahead of him. He heard the griffin pouncing, shoved himself under the stones just as the creature landed outside.

Claws scrabbled off of the wall as the two travelers huddled back into the dark, finding themselves in a small hole walled off by old ducts and crumbling wooden planking. Above them the building shook as the griffin battered against it. Dust sifted down and a few slabs of stone fell from the top of the little opening, slamming down onto the ground in front of it. A yellow beak was inserted in the remaining gap, clacking off of the hard material.

When it retreated, the claws started scraping again, making vibrations move all throughout the precariously suspending structure.

One paw reached in, claws extended to catch at the hiding human mice. Drifter saw his chance and jerked forward, whipping the knife from its place in his belt. Using it like a spike, he drove it down into the soft, fine scales at the base of the creature’s leg where it branched into a foot. The griffin finally made a loud noise, a screech like nails dragged over sheet metal. Drifter barely got the knife back as the foot was pulled away.

After the screech, a heavy silence ensued outside. Both of the travelers’ breathing was loud in the little space and Bard was still sobbing quietly in fear. The musty, tingling dust lay heavy on their shoulders and in their hair. Outside, there was a soft scuffling and scraping, followed by a hoarse mixture of croaks and soft cawing noises. After a minute, footsteps thumped with a sheathed sound away from the hole, gradually getting quieter until they could not be heard. Bard had fallen silent, too afraid to make a sound, and too intent on listening.