Kendo rounded the court at least five times before he found himself trailing an extraordinarily ordinary-looking ball python whose scales shone in the light of the Veins as if it had recently shed. The python slithered into a ball next to the open door of one of the huts and slurped its tongue at Kendo expectantly. Kendo looked inside. It was the same hut that girl had been in before, the one with purple hair and the dragon necklace that was always gnawing on its chain, the one who had claimed she was human. Not knowing what else to do with himself, Kendo let his feet take him inside. The python lowered its head and took a nap by the door.
There was an open table, and inside this particular hut they weren’t moving around on their own or being eaten alive by worms. In here everything was made of wood, even some of the monsters; Kendo wondered if that had significance or if it was merely coincidence.
Almost immediately after he sat down, the bartender set a goblet of sweet-smelling liquid in front of Kendo. The bartender’s black tie hung off his neck like a noose. Since Kendo had a closer look than last time, he noticed there were white jewels sewn into the collar of the bartender’s blazer that reflected his slicked burgundy hair.
“A gift from one of our most valued customers,” the bartender said, showing his shark teeth in an overly wide smile, “And my compliments for killing one of the most irritating creatures in the Court.”
“Huh?” Kendo’s momentary confusion gave him a slight reprieve from the depression chewing his insides.
“You got rid of Frock,” said the bartender, “For that alone I promise not to eat you.”
“Uh, thanks?” Kendo sank in his chair; it was surprisingly comfortable, cushioned into him nicely even though it looked like plain old wood. He regarded the goblet on the table questionably.
The bartender bowed overdramatically and mocked, “I promise this drink is perfectly harmless to measly humans like yourself.” Rising from his bow, he pointed with his chin to the far right corner. The girl with purple hair was tickling her pet lint goblin, that thing with one eye that looked like a fuzz-ball. She briefly looked up, acknowledging Kendo with a smile. “The drink was on her,” the bartender told Kendo; “It’s fairy wine. I suggest drinking it one sip at a time. You know, since you’re human and all.” With toothy smile and a wink towards the purple-haired girl, he returned to the marble bar in the back.
Kendo leaned to look into the goblet. The liquid was bright orange and stank of spearmint and marshmallows. “Well, if it kills me then whatever,” Kendo mumbled. He thought of Melanie and chugged it like a dehydrated hiker who had just found a waterfall. About half-way through he had to stop and cough some of it out of his throat; it was so sweet it choked him. He licked the top of his mouth and found an aftertaste of liquefied almonds mixed with fruit punch and an overwhelming zing of mint that made his eyes water and his nose run.
The girl with purple hair was laughing at him. She raised her own goblet in a toast and took a sip, completely unaffected. Then she nudged the little lint goblin onto her shoulder and picked up the book she had been reading (the title was written in fancy gold calligraphy on a deep crimson cover: Saga) and lost herself in the story. Kendo had a sudden bout of indecision. He wanted to know why she’d treated him to that—what was it, fairy wine?—and why she seemed so comfortable surrounded by all these creatures that could so easily gobble her up, just like that. The girl beamed up at the bartender, thanking him as he placed another goblet in front of her and collected the used one before skipping off to his post at the marble bar once again.
Seething at the girl’s nonchalant personality, Kendo bashed his goblet off the table and plodded over to her. He slammed his hands down to get her attention, nearly knocking her fresh goblet over the side of the table. The lint goblin on her shoulder narrowed its singular eye at him and made a noise like an angry chipmunk. Instead of giving him the reaction he’d hoped for: fear or shock or anything that suggested she might be even slightly intimidated, the girl simply closed Saga and set it calmly on the table to take another sip of fairy wine before she asked politely, “Here to thank me for the drink?”
“Yes, thank you. Wonderful of you to treat me,” Kendo said sardonically.
“You’re so very welcome,” said the girl, clearly playing along, much to the annoyance of Kendo.
Anger boiling, he screamed at her, “Why is it that you, supposedly a human like me, can be so comfortable sitting in this godforsaken hellhole!”
The girl blinked. One of her eyebrows jutted up and the other plunged down.
“Well?” Kendo yelled, not very much quieter.
The girl licked her lips and took a breath, getting ready to say what she was going to say. But then she stopped just before she was about to spit it out and smirked instead. “Who says I should tell you? You could easily be one of the creatures here, not human, not anything.”
Kendo roared in frustration.
“Okay, seriously. Cool your jets, man;” said the girl, adopting an out-of-place sympathetic expression, “I know you’ve had a shitty day, that’s why I put your wine on my tab. That’s it, I swear.”
Kendo punched the table and the girl snatched up the novel so it wouldn’t get damaged. “A shitty day? You chalk this up to a shitty day? What kind of sick freak are you! Sitting around here like you belong. Well you don’t! I bet you’re only here because you got thrown out of wherever you came from! You think monsters are better company than people, is that it?”
A dark look crossed the girl’s face. “Most of the time, monsters are better than people,” she said, “And you’re absolutely right. I don’t belong anywhere. Happy?”
Kendo just couldn’t win. He threw his hands up and began stomping away. He felt the eyes on him, the endless eyes. The zombies who were playing cards turned their heads, the bartender leaned over and perked his ears, the dancing red squirrels with fox ears halted and nibbled on their teeth near the entrance, the giant black winged horse that smelled of ink shook itself off and padded its hoof on the wall, all of them staring at Kendo.
Well, screw them. He could torch the place if he had a match; he could blow the whole damn hut to smithereens if he had some dynamite, could bulldoze it if he had a bulldozer; could chop down the whole fucking freak-show-of-a-forest if he had an axe. But he had none of those things and was forced to shake with rage and hate and sadness all rolled into one. It was pure teeth-grinding, chest-racing, throat-drying despair.
The girl cleared her throat at him. He refused to face her. Oh-so-quiet, she said, “I know how you can get out of here. I travel between Olden and Reality quite a bit.”
That got him to turn on his heel. “How?”
“Enkaiein,” the girl called to the great winged horse, “Mind helping him out?” When Enkaiein lowered his head she made a praying gesture towards him and added, “Pretty please?”
Enkaiein stretched out his wings, barely able to reach a full span inside the hut. “Of course,” he said in a smooth but deep vernacular, sounding ancient and proper.
Kendo stumbled back at the sheer size of him and swallowed twice. The lump in his throat would not go away.
“Do not cower, child,” said Enkaiein, folding his wings back down. They melded into his form so perfectly it was hard to see where the feathers creased. “It is unbecoming of you.”
Kendo found himself following Enkaiein out of the hut and into the chaos of the Court, never looking back. Below the Veins everything adopted a subtle glow, but Enkaiein remained jet black, a shadow amongst cascading monsters of all shapes and sizes. Some were even larger than Enkaiein, casting their presence in the center of the court like statues, but if you ever got too close they’d lurch at you. Kendo kept almost tripping over the smaller creatures under his feet but Enkaiein would snort at them and they’d always scurry away. So Enkaiein and Kendo made it to the outskirts of the Court fairly quickly and entirely without incident.
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“Climb on my back,” Enkaiein said and dipped one wing, “And hold on tight.”
Kendo caught Enkaiein’s deep-set eyes, saw that there was no getting out of it, and grabbed hold of the wing. It was slippery and stained his arms and clothing black (well, his clothing blacker) as he struggled onto Enkaiein’s back. Once atop, the utter size of Enkaiein took Kendo’s breath away. The shoulders alone were elephant-sized. Kendo’s feet slid in and out of Enkaiein’s inky flesh and he really wondered how the hell he was supposed to “hold on tight.” Still, there was no backing out now so Kendo sunk his fists into Enkaiein’s elongated neck, opened his palms inside and grasped whatever was there so tight he could feel the heat in his knuckles. He had something between his fingers, he just didn’t know what. He decided he didn’t really want to know and was just glad he had something marginally stable to hang onto.
“We fly,” said Enkaiein and Kendo was instantly terrified.
Enkaiein galloped down the stretch void of trees just beyond the Court, galloped so fast Kendo was sure he’d be thrown off Enkaiein’s back before they even took off and land twisted in the dirt. But he held fast and he felt the muscles of Enkaiein’s shoulders flex right down to his core as the wings flapped, as they leapt into the air and stayed there. Ever folding and re-stretching, ever changing, Enkaiein flew with Kendo hollering on his back, so sure he was going to plummet to his death. Kendo was so outside of himself he barely felt the blood rushing through his body, but what he did feel was his heart lurching, spasming in his chest, felt his hands gripping tighter and tighter, heard his own screams like bells in his ears.
Enkaiein laughed full and loud, louder than Kendo’s screaming. “Your first flight!” He bellowed, “Is it not exhilarating?”
Kendo couldn’t catch his breath to answer.
Neighing and laughing simultaneously, Enkaiein sped up, dove, spun, and did everything in his power to test Kendo’s grip. Mid-corkscrew spin, Kendo slipped off with rivulets of ink falling down after him and in that moment Kendo didn’t breathe or think; his heart didn’t beat again until Enkaiein caught him in his mouth midair and threw him over his wing back onto his shoulders, repeating, “Hold on tight.” That single moment was so surreal Kendo almost couldn’t tell if it really happened.
Kendo flattened himself to Enkaiein’s back, closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath. His ribs ached from his almost-hyperventilated breathing and his whole body pounded with an ear-drum bursting heartbeat. Thankfully, Enkaiein didn’t pull a stunt like that again, but Kendo could tell he was tempted to.
“What is your name, child?” Enkaiein asked slowing his wing-flaps as an updraft took them.
“Steve,” Kendo yelled over the wind, “But people call me Kendo.” His whole fist was numb with tension. Enkaiein’s ink-made body had dyed Kendo’s arms entirely black by now, and half his face from when he clung for dear life after that corkscrew spin that threw him off. Kendo could feel the ink slick and formless underneath him. It was both comforting and scary: comforting because there was at least something between him and the ground and scary because that something wasn’t at all stable. Nonetheless, aside from Enkaiein’s body shifting back and forth like a tide, it mucked onto Kendo’s legs and, for the most part, held him in place.
“An uncommon name to be sure,” Enkaiein said, “But it suits you.”
“How do you know?” Kendo asked.
Another horse-whined laugh before Enkaiein answered, “Because I know you’ve got spirit, being able to fly with me without fainting halfway through. There is only one other person who ever could.” Sentimental, he added, “How I miss flying with her.”
“Who was she?” Kendo couldn’t stop from asking. A conversation was just what he needed to distract him from the fact that he was wading in a giant horse-shaped inkblot thousands of feet above the ground in a world filled with monsters.
“She was a hero and a friend,” said Enkaiein, “Quite young but very brave.”
“What happened to her?”
Enkaiein lost some altitude as the updraft gave way and flapped strong, returning to a steadily rising course as he masterfully timed the beats of his wings. “She is happy,” was all he said.
Kendo looked down at the Veins swaying in the mist below. They were over a cluster of cool colored Veins, purples and blues and deep sea greens all flitting about the canopy, dancing like ropes. Enkaiein shifted his body so that he could hover and Kendo instinctively straightened his back so he wouldn’t slip off.
“Why’d we stop?”
Enkaiein nickered, “This is where you entered Olden.”
Kendo squinted at the starless night. He guessed that meant this was where Frock had transported him and Melanie into the sky. Kendo’s stomach rolled at that memory. “I can’t tell you. But I can show you,” echoed in Kendo’s ears. If Melanie hadn’t been so stubborn maybe she’d still be alive, he thought and then instantly regretted thinking it as his mind flooded with bloodied images of her. Forcing his eyes not to water, Kendo inhaled deep and long.
“So what now?” Kendo asked, surprised at how calm his voice was.
“Now we bid farewell,” said Enkaiein.
Then the great horse whinnied and the sky opened itself, a tide rolling back into oblivion. Kendo didn’t remember much after that, aside from the dizziness, the suffocating smell like burning ink, and the ungraceful crumple of his landing, right on his side.
He was in Melanie’s apartment. It made it that much worse. Collecting himself both emotionally and physically, Kendo rose to his feet. Instead of pining over the what-ifs and why-didn’t-Is bombarding his thoughts he strode right out the open screen door and didn’t close it behind him. Then he walked back home, finding refuge in the monotonous clack of his boots and the predictable breeze blowing around the trees. The sun was shining; how he had missed the sun. He wondered if his father would even care how long he’d been gone. Although honestly, Kendo wasn’t so sure the exact amount of time he had been missing. Time seemed to flow differently in Olden. That or the endless night just confused him. He suspected it was a mixture of both.
When he squeaked open the door to his house, he asked his father what day it was. And the time, for that matter. He didn’t waste any energy saying hello.
“It’s Thursday,” said John with his eyebrows all the way up to his hairline and his teeth getting ready to grind, “Three in the afternoon. You should be at school right now.” He looked his son up and down. Kendo was slathered in ink, grime, and sweat. His hair was greasy and flat against the sides of his head, pink strands sticking out at funky angles out the top. He had no idea where Kendo had been the past few days but didn’t think asking straight-out would get him an answer. He also didn’t bother pointing out that Kendo was filthy and dripping inky footprints onto his floor, even though it was beginning to irritate him. Taking a sip of his mug, John asked instead, “So where’s your girlfriend?”
The look on Kendo’s face made John not want to pry any further. After an eternity of silent pauses wherein his mouth hung open with the words not yet reaching his tongue, Kendo finally said, “I need a shower.” Then he dragged himself to the bathroom and didn’t come out for four hours.
When he finally did emerge, Kendo still had a faint tan outline of where the ink had been on his skin and his clothes were beyond repair, drooping out from his fingers. He went to the kitchen and tossed them into the trash, mourning the loss of his trademark leather jacket.
His father made an ahem at him.
“Melanie’s gone,” Kendo said before John could ask the question.
“Shame,” John said, leaning on the counter next to his towel-clad son, “I liked her. Thought she’d be good for you.”
“Me too.”
John knew his son. He knew that look. He knew that was the same look as when he had told him his mother was dead. John’s fatherly reprimands evaporated from his voice box. He settled to dig out the messy corner of the kitchen counter and pluck his work cleaner out from against the wall. Goop, it was called. It could get practically anything out of your skin. He handed it to Kendo. “This is the only thing that’ll work to get rid of that stain.”
Kendo took the bright orange bottle. It reminded him of the fairy wine; the aftertaste was still sticking to the roof of his mouth even after eight tooth-brushings. At least he wasn’t hungry. He shuffled to his room and slammed the door.
For a long while Kendo stared at his knife. The handle and sheath were gold-painted and it was really meant only for display, but he had sharpened it himself a long time ago on his father’s slab by the sink so it was combat-ready. He held it over his wrist, over his scar. Then he lifted it and stared at the blade, inspected it. It hadn’t dulled at all since it was last unsheathed. He hovered it over his wrist again.
And then Melanie’s face flashed in his mind, the face she had made when he told her about his mother, so uncomfortable and worried and awkward. And he couldn’t do it. He didn’t think he wanted to anymore. He didn’t know what he wanted but it wasn’t that.
“Fuck,” Kendo said and tossed his knife away. It skidded across the floor and stuck into the wall, chipping the cheap wallpaper, leaving scrapes in the faux-wood floor. He sat there for a while, drowning in his misery. Then he climbed out of his window, over the bush and onto the lawn for the sheer fact he didn’t want to face his father again. He spent until dusk up in the oak tree out back, remembering Melanie and the Court and Fowlina’s beak poking out of her blood-stained face and Frock and what the hell was he really doing out here?
“Trying to escape,” Kendo said in a self-hating titter. The wind spiked his damp hair, seeming to agree with him.
In a grand sigh, he decided to go to class tomorrow. It would be Friday after all; Fridays were usually the most tolerable. Descending the tree, he climbed back into his window and tried his best to have a dreamless sleep, which of course failed completely.
Friday morning he hadn’t slept more than two hours soundly but he scuffled out of bed and washed his face with Goop and went to school.