Skating to Nowhere

I don’t have ice skates on. The physics of this world would make them a moot detail. It feels like I’m sliding in socks on a freshly mopped floor. But with a frozen floor. And with leather boots. I extend a leg, and with a sudden movement launch myself into a lazy single salchow jump. My cloak hugs me during the turn, and bellows slightly as I land. I have no audience to applaud me. No judges to critique me. There is only the frozen surface and me.

If I were to attempt ice skating in the Waking, my graceless ankles would have shattered by the time I was done lacing up the boots. But I’m Dreaming. Such movement here is possible because I’ve given myself the freedom to express it. With gentle sways, and quiet smiles, I glide ever onward over this glittering, featureless, frozen ocean.

My eyes are closed. I don’t need them to see. They would be a hindrance if I kept them open. The Winter sun is low in the sky, and the ice, while frozen solid, does have a latticework of cracks. These imperfections are like planes in a crystal, catching the light and throwing it in unusual directions. I would have been blinded by the beautiful glare at once if I hadn’t trusted my Dreaming Sight.

I say I’m skating a frozen ocean because there are ice covered hills and rises nearby, while I’m skating a nearly true flat surface. While the expanse beside me is past my field of view, I can see the outline of a shore in the near distance. But I’m here to skate, not to climb. I don’t know why I’m here, or what this world is, but it is allowing me to have a moment of peace. Gliding across the emotionless ice, I am warm from being at peace with myself.

Up ahead, I notice the landscape has stopped unfolding itself. The hills on either side dwindle and end. Behind me, I see the landscape has shifted. Where there was an endless expanse of frozen ocean before, is now blocked by steeply rising hills. My ocean, has become a lake.

I skate up to the sudden darkness, and find myself peering over the edge of the world. The ice blue sky darkens to midnight black, and the yellow sun becomes a point of pure white light. The ice still retains its blueish tint, however. I turn around, and see my frozen lake surface is now a very large pond. If 4 Olympic skating rinks were joined in a 2 by 2 matrix, that would be a little smaller than my available area.

I sense the land has stopped its transformation. It will not allow me to double back the way I came. Somehow, I know if I were to try and leave the ice for the frozen land, I would be thwarted there as well.

Very well then. I may be constrained, but I will enjoy the fullness of my limits. Eyes still closed against the even brighter glare, I skate. Loops and turns and slides. I enjoy the sensation of motion, and delight in the bliss of movement.

As I’m arcing into a gentle stop, I feel a sudden presence beside me. I come to a stop and my back softly touches the person that has appeared beside me. I don’t have to turn to know who this is. My flint-eyed friend, the Svartalf, is here. Wordlessly, he offers his hand. Smiling, I accept. Together we skate on the frozen lake at the end of the world. Loops and turns and touching and apart. No lifts, though.

His form is still changing. Every time I see him, he has morphed more away from the non-threatening appearance I met him as, more towards the scary underworld denizen that he truly is. Yet, I still recognize him. Not by sight, nor by smell, nor by action. There is a deep emanating presence from him, that can’t be hidden. And it is this presence that I know him by.

He towers over me by at least a foot now. No longer a thin Tolkien elf with dark skin, he is as stocky as he is tall. Thick of chest, thick of arm, I wonder how is it he is so graceful on the ice with me. As soon as I think it, I chide myself for forgetting I’m in the Dreaming. I hear him chuckle as well. I know he has many secrets, the least of which is his name. I accept him for him, and we continue skating together.

He pulls slightly, signalling his desire to take the lead in this duet of motion. I yield to the pull, signalling acceptance. He starts to guide me into complex turns and jumps with more turns than I’m used to. I start to protest, that I wasn’t capable of these more advanced movements. Then I realize, the Svartalf knows me better than I know myself. He knows my limits and has pushed me to them and beyond many times. He wouldn’t be setting me up for these movements, if he thought I was not capable of achieving them.

That, or he knows I’m not and wants to show me the hard way.

Either way, I have to trust my friend sees more in me than I see in myself. I stop resisting the guidance, and allow the momentum to sweep me into beautiful arcs and graceful twirls on the frozen lake at the edge of the world.

Our skating changes over time. He is no longer leading me into the elaborate gestures. He is acting as support for those gestures that require more inertia than I can generate alone. No longer being led, no longer a duet, my skating with him has become an exhibition of myself, with him as the silent, and fading assistant.

One last separation, one last great arc across the frozen lake, one last crossing of our paths, and he is gone. As fast as he had materialized onto the lake with me, he has left. The tracks he had left in the ice are slowly fading as well, melting into the substrate until the only tracks being left behind, are my recent ones.

But I have his dance in my memory. To the eye, it is as if he never was. To my heart, he is there still. I know this to be a Mystery, and ponder on it.

Continuing to skate alone, I find pleasure in movement. In stopping when I wish to stop. Sensuousness in the arcs taken so slow, I risk falling. Exhilaration in successive leaps and sprints. There is no one to watch me. With my eyes closed, it can be said I wasn’t even watching myself. I didn’t care. My existence comprised of movement, and what a glorious movement it is!

I feel a strange pressure well up from within. As much as I wanted to remain in this static and frozen world, I felt an urge to leave. The hills that ridged the frozen lake did not appear to move. But a careful observation revealed the frozen lake was shrinking. Little by little, it was being pushed off the edge of the world. Falling away, not in great chunks of ice, but in almost imperceptible flakes.

I did not hear the delicate cracking and tinkling, as the sound of my skating had drowned it out. Standing perfectly still, I heard it faintly. It reminded me of the fading echoes of childhood laughter, of Kool-aid tea parties, and birthday cake forgotten in the afternoon sun.

When I came to a stop, I was originally about eighteen inches from the edge of the world. Returning from my reverie, I see I am maybe three inches away now. Behind me, there is only about ten feet from me and the shore. But the shore has changed. No longer the gentle sloping upwards, it has become a series of unscalable cliffs. Glass smooth and perfectly vertical, I would not be able to climb it.

When did the lake level drop? When did the cliffs ascend so high? Fragment by fragment, the idyllic lake drops away into a bottomless eternity. As I peer over the edge again, noting the fragments disintegrate as they fall, a strange question presses heavy on my heart.

When did I become an adult? Was it much like this, pushed forward, with no means of retreat?

Why should I be afraid? I have the raven feather cloak around me. I have trinkets that act as interdimensional keys. There are many safe places I could escape to, and many means of getting there. I stand at the edge of the world, feeling it crumble under my feet. Above me, the brilliant white sun increases in intensity. Beyond it, the night deepens, swallowing all light. My cloak flares about me as giant raven wings as I leap forward and out.

Once my decision is made firm, that I would not be returning to the frozen world, it crumbles away behind me. I am reminded of a scene from “The Langoliers” when the survivors take flight, just as the langoliers devour the remnants of the past. The scene reminds me of other things, that cause me to cry out in sardonic delight.

My laughter is short lived, as the sun destroys itself above me. Shock waves from the sudden supernova catch me without warning. Instead of destroying me, they push me from the frozen realm. I open my eyes in shock, only to be buffeted with impossible images. Nauseous, I lose my bearings. The waves keep pushing me, forcing me between worlds and realms. Daylight, then darkness. Deep ocean, then pushed onto a mountain top. I smell diesel exhaust, then am pushed to a simple woodfire.

Each push is weaker than the last. I allow it to continue pushing me through worlds, even though I am able to resist the force. The very last shock wave from the frozen world’s supernova pushes me out of the last realm, but not into another one. Somehow, I’ve wound up, between worlds.

The first clue something was not normal, even for Dreaming, was I was standing. Usually, when forced from one realm to another, I wind up face down in something pebbly or muddy. But I was standing, perfectly still. I wondered if I was in the Salt Flats again. At the thought, the landscape changed to the salt flats. But as fast as I recognized it had changed, the appearance faded, leaving behind a dark foggy grey. I wondered if I was in the Desert, and was surrounded with the scent of sage. In the distance I could see hints of the pinks and mauves of distant mesas. Before I could tell my leg to rise for a step, that faded.

I called different landscapes to mind. And with each one, the topography would change to show me that landscape, then quickly fade away leaving me standing in a dark grey expanse of exposed dull grey granite. I will my feather cloak to become wings, but it just drapes limply about my shoulders. I call my ‘keys’ to my hand, but none of them appear. I have only what I entered this Nowhere world with.

I have my Sight, and my Touch, and my Cloak. I feel a strange tightness on my left wrist. I look, and am surprised to see a tricolor cord wrapped around there. The cord is not fixed in place, however, but wrapped around and half-hitch tied to keep it in place. But as soon as I see it, I know what would complete it. I make a note for the Waking. As I place my hand on my hip to pat down pockets, I find a trinket hanging on my belt. It would appear, I have Horatio. I’m so fucked.

“What else are you?” The question startles me and I jump in surprise. I turn to look at the questioner. Where before there was only bare granite, a large granite boulder has appeared. Sitting on that boulder, was a man in a three-piece black suit. He looked quite professional, with neatly trimmed black hair, and shiny patent leather shoes. His black Windsor knot tie contrasted against his crisp white linen shirt. He jumped down from the boulder and approached me. His face was both clearly visible, and completely devoid of features. He looked like he could be Every Man, but I knew better.

His image filled me with a deep, instinctual fright. He is No Man. I had no myths to fall back on, no stories handed down about him. I didn’t even understand how I knew what he was. But every fiber of my being was screaming at me to get away from him, and to hell with the cost of doing so.

“And where would you run to?” At his question, I took several steps backward. Fuck, do I really think that loudly? I’m going to have to work on that. He smiled, brilliant white teeth flashing in a world without a localized source of light. I felt an undercurrent of a shark preparing to charge its prey. The fear grew.

It grew too much. I turned away from him and broke into a sprint. I ran and ran and ran in complete panic for what felt like hours and hours and hours. The uneven granite finally tripped me and I sprawled face first into the unforgiving rock. The sound of my nose breaking was loud in my ears. Blood and tears flowed down my face as I tried to pull myself together. But all I could manage to do was sit back on my knees and shiver in fear.

“Hold still. I’ll only do this once.” His voice shocked me to attention. Before I could react, his hand was in my face. He had hooked two fingers into my swelling nose and was pulling gently. With his other, immaculately manicured hand, he pinched the broken bridge back into place. It hurt like hell, but the nose was restored and the bleeding stopped.

No Man stood before me, as if I had never ran in the first place. I watched my blood dry and flake off his perfect skin. What little had touched his clothing, was absorbed into the perfectly black cloth. Fuck, he has my blood.

“If I wanted your blood, you would have been exsanguinated the moment you entered here.” I felt my fear rising. But I understood the futility of running. I can’t escape No Man. I nodded, and forced myself to look at his… face… again.

“Your culture would call this effect, the Uncanny Valley, I believe.” I nodded. “My apologies, I can’t do anything about that. If your Sight was a little less sharp, I could perhaps find a face you would be able to tolerate. But you are not a child to be deceived, not anymore.”

It took swallowing dryly several times, before I was able to stammer my thanks for the repair of my face. No Man stood before me, very patiently, and watched me struggle with my fear. I forced myself to stand up, to remain standing, to not back away. He watched me, ever patient.

“Wh…” My voice fled me from the fear again. I took a few deep breaths and tried again. “Where am I?” He smiled, but this time he didn’t show his teeth. He smiled and nodded his approval of the question.

“You are Nowhere. But you surmised that at once. Many mistake this place for Everywhere, because they can see any place they have already been to. But you, you identified it from the start. You are Nowhere.”

“Why am I here?” I caught myself leaning away from No Man. Standing straight up, means standing two inches closer to him. He watches my struggle with myself with a smirk of amusement. I focus on that smirk, as if it were a dare. It helps me strengthen my resolve not to run.

“You are here, because I brought you here. Did you enjoy your playtime?” I eye him suspiciously. If the Svartalf had not appeared, I would have assumed No Man had brought me to the frozen realm, and then to Nowhere, from that statement. But Svartalf is not one to be bullied about, and there were many realms I could have gotten off the supernova shock wave at. Feeling brave, I challenged him.

“You didn’t bring me here. I allowed myself to be pushed here. You didn’t bring me to the frozen realm, or my friend would not have been able to join me.” His face grew stiffly stern at my quiet spoken rebuttal. At the sight, the fear flared up within me, but I held my ground. We stared at each other for a few tense seconds. No Man’s sudden laughter buckled me and I fell to my knees, whimpering.

“Even as you collapse in fear, still you find a way to be brave! Bravo!” He claps with genuine emotion. “And your supposition, is mostly correct. I did not bring you to your playground. You went there, of your own free will. And yes, if you had resisted the push at any of the transient worlds, you would not be here. But I called you, and you came.” He spoke as I collected my wits and stood up again.

“So. No Man. Why am I here? Why did you call me?” He stares deeply into my eyes. I want to look away, but am held fast. I know I am completely exposed to him.

After what felt like many hours, he answers. “To introduce myself.” A thought crosses my mind, one that even I consider blasphemous and heretical. To No Man, my thoughts are written in the sky. He chuckles. “You mean, like this?” He makes a tossing motion to me. In reflex, I prepare to catch something. It is small, flat, and round. I hear myself making a keening noise. I’m very close to panicking again. I don’t want to accept the thought as genuine. I force myself to open my hand and look at what feels like a coin. But as I open my hand, the object dissolves into smoke and wafts away. I am holding nothing.

My face twitches as I try to process what I did see, and what I didn’t see. “Come, Woman. For you are a woman now.” He looks at Horatio’s trinket hanging off my belt. “Come, Woman. Sit. I have a story to tell you.” I feel a small dense presence behind me. Looking down, I see a chunk of granite has risen from the ground. It is the perfect height for a seat. I know I can’t leave Nowhere until No Man releases me, I sit down on the cold stone.

He begins telling me a story. It is one that I already know, but of the words, I can not remember. It is a new story, and an old story. I have heard it spoken by a man, but in the tone of a woman. As he speaks, I notice the area around us changing. Instead of the dull grey expanse of endless granite, it shows me the background scenery of his story.

I start to relax. I realize his tone has leveled off into a drone. He’s not so much speaking, as he is using singsong. Suddenly, I’m standing beside him, watching myself being pushed into Nowhere for the first time. Suddenly, I’m standing off in the distance, watching myself being pushed into Nowhere again, and again, and again. Suddenly, I’m in the hospital where I was born, watching my mother straining to birth me. Suddenly, I’m at the rail yard where I was hit by the train, watching the SUV teeter dangerously on two wheels and starting to spin from the impact. Suddenly, I’m at a memorial service, listening to my daughter’s son talk about the impact of his deceased grandmother. Suddenly I’m on the granite ground, laying at the feet of No Man, twitching spasmodically as I am unable to process all the simultaneous input.

He waits until I have my wits about me again. “My apologies. I thought you were able to transverse time. Ah, well. Not yet. Sometimes I forget when you are.” No Man’s non-face still bothers me, but I notice I don’t have the sudden fear reaction anymore. I’m just unnerved, and even that is fading. At my quizzical expression, he explains while I reseated myself on the granite stone. “I know that once you see something enough times, you are not afraid of it. You conquer your animal fear reaction by forcing yourself to become acquainted with it. So, I brought you with me on some… excursions.” He smiled, showing true white teeth again. I didn’t recoil in fear, but I did want to slap the smirk off his face. “That reaction too, will fade.” I rolled my eyes, then realized. I did feel as if I had been with him for years, and not just this one night.

A sudden movement brought me out of the introspection. He had thrown something at me again. Again, in reflex, I catch it. Small, cold, metal, flat, and round. Again, with the heretical thought. Wishful thinking! Again, when I opened my hand, the coin-sized object disappears in fading grey mist. I become angry at being toyed with. That emotional wound is too raw still to poke at.

“I am being quite serious, my dear. I know what this object means to you. I would not play with something, someone, that had changed you that much.” He makes the throwing motion again. There is a flash of something glimmering in the air between us. With ease, I catch it. Small, round, metal, cold, and flat. A coin. This time, I don’t open my hand. A tear runs down my face as I struggle with my emotions. I don’t know what is in my hand. I don’t want to know. I beat the heretical thought into the depths of my mind, but I do not open my hand. The feeling of the coin, remains.

I wonder…

“No Man, I know that is what you are, to me. But, are you known by a different name?” No Man smiles. He bows, a stiff formal gesture. I know he is about to depart. “Dammit! Don’t you do this to me! ANSWER MY QUESTION!” I leap off the stone to grab him with my free hand, but No Man has already retreated into the enveloping shadows. My hand closes on grey smokey mist, and even that fades.

Nowhere dissolves under me, and I pitch forward into the space between worlds again. I hear my world rushing to catch me with the roar of a thousand newborn cries.

~~~

I’m awake. My right hand is tightly clenched to the point of spraining. I can’t feel my fingers. I can’t tell if I’m holding anything. Slowly, I force my hand to open. In the dim ambient light, I can see clearly, I am holding nothing. I hold my tears until I can write down the notes of the dream. Only when I am laying back down, do I give in to tears I did not know I still held. Sometime, in the crying, I fell back asleep.

Make of that, what you may.