Gatewright
Authors: J. M. Blaisus
Gatewright
By
J.M. Blaisus
For my incredible parents, Mary and Steve
Malicki. Thank you.
Table of Contents
One
How
would
I
react if I was exiled from my homeland and my best friend got to
tour it?
I hesitated before pressing “dial” on my cell, euphoria
transforming into anxiety. My heart still pounded, but I couldn’t
make that call. I took the coward’s way out and sent a text instead. [I
need to talk to you, in person. Preferably tonight.]
I
waited for a moment for a reply, took a deep breath, then put the phone with
its cracked screen in my pocket. I frowned, determined to keep my hands
busy while I waited. My living room certainly deserved some TLC… stacks
of class notebooks and textbooks were scattered across the wooden floor.
I’d graduated with my Master of Science in Interdimensional Life five months
ago, a span of time that
should
have been plenty to organize my things,
considering I only had a part time job at the game store.
I
flipped through the old blue notebook I’d used for Fey Influence &
Exo-Anthropology, scanning my carefully structured classroom notes framed in
doodles, ideas, notes to myself, and surreptitious notes to my classmates. I
couldn’t imagine the exact scenario where I’d need this, but I couldn’t bear to
toss it, either. I heaved a sigh and put it back on its pile. This
is why nothing ever got clean. Was I in the very early stages of
hoarding? Or did I finally just own enough stuff to notice?
My
iPhone saved me from further contemplation of my bad habits by vibrating in my
pocket. [Everything ok?]
[Yeah,
just need to talk.] I typed back.
He
responded instantly. [My studio’s a biohazard right now. Unless you
want to wear a gas mask or get really high, I’d recommend Ahromah. I can
be there in 15.]
[C
u there
^.^
]
I
stuffed my feet into orange flip-flops and threw on my old varsity jacket
against the October chill of Virginia. I really needed to start dressing
myself like an adult. Wasn’t that what a Master’s meant, that I was an
adult now? I grabbed the letter causing all my turmoil from the coffee
table on my way out.
Within
the short drive to the coffee shop, the town transformed from blue-collar
suburbia to bustling college town with vintage clothing shops, pizza parlors,
bars, and numerous coffee shops. Parking for Ahromah could be a tricky
business, with the one-way streets and parallel parking. Luckily, I knew
a secret parking lot meant for the building’s tenants, hidden down an unmarked
alley. No sign threatened visitors with towing, or perhaps a less honest
individual had done away with them years ago. Either way, I helped myself
to a spot. Such was the reward for more or less having lived in
Charlottesville my whole life, what we natives tended to call “shawsville” in
our slight Southern drawl.
The
late afternoon sun hid behind layers of grey, depressing clouds. At least
it didn’t look like rain. I hustled around the building, jacket held
tight against the cold. Ahromah’s door chimed politely as I entered. Soft
light illuminated small tables and chairs, an impressive number of knickknacks
hanging from the decorative wood framing that gave character to the brick
square of a shop. Jack sat comfortably on the squishy brown couch against
the back wall, where we’d first met four years ago. I’d been in my final
year of undergraduate study at the University of Virginia, studying a book by a
prominent fey author that caught his eye. He’d asked how it was, and
actually had the knowledge to keep up with my tangents about fey culture and
politics. We’d been friends ever since.
I
detoured to the counter, where a good line had already developed for a Thursday
evening. I ordered a double espresso over ice (“for here, please”),
waived hello to Lisa, a former classmate, and joined Jack on the couch.
He was in his late 30s, so it seemed, with shiny black hair that reached past
his shoulders. His features were vaguely Native American, and his Western
style of dress seemed to try to make a point of it. I swear, he was one
bad day away from wearing spurs, but he’d be damned if we ever caught him with
a cowboy hat. He smelled vaguely of aerosol, and I wondered what his
latest project entailed.
His
bright emerald eyes were the only indicator that he was at least part
fey. Their unblinking intensity made me suspect he’d recently been
spending time near the gate. When the gates to Azry first opened around
the world, humans had called the visitors ‘elves’ and ‘Sidhe’ and ‘fairies’ and
‘fey’, just as when Columbus discovered the New World and called the Native
Americans ‘Indians’. ‘Fey’ stuck, probably because it was the
shortest. Even the Azry had given up and called themselves ‘fey’ to
prevent further confusion. And it more likely than not that the Azry were
the source of all those myths. Not that any of them had admitted that, of
course.
“What’s
up?” he asked, concerned yet relaxed despite how quickly he’d arrived.
His melodic accent was the second clue that he was more than part fey, and one
that most people missed. Did he
run
here?
“You
probably won’t believe this,” I said, and drew out the carefully folded
envelope out of my coat pocket. The white paper had about three
times as many stamps as was appropriate for its light weight, with my name,
“Jan Leeman”, and address in child-like handwriting. The postman had
misread the apartment number (#10 instead of #16) and given it my elderly neighbor,
Eleanor. By the time she both had checked her mailbox and had given the
letter to me, a week had passed. Of course, she also graciously shared
with me a long explanation of how great the postal service used to be “in her
day”.
This
morning felt eons ago. I hadn’t had the chance to open the letter until
after a long, annoying day at work, so the poor letter had endured being
stuffed into my coat pocket, acquired three tell-tale coffee rings (I did
not
have a caffeine problem), and stained from a leaking tube of pink lip gloss in
my purse. Plus, it still smelled like the lavender perfume that permeated
Eleanor’s apartment. My coat pocket had been safer.
Jack
frowned at the damage and opened it as if it were made of tissue paper.
As soon as he started reading, his eyes widened, and his face slowly closed up
on me. I felt my stomach drop even further. I had no idea how to
measure our friendship against this opportunity. Was I willing to
sacrifice one for the other?
He
finished the letter, but said nothing, going back to the top and tracing his
finger along the paper. He quietly read, “It is with the greatest
pleasure, in light of your record of high scholastic achievement and
contributions in the field of Interdimensional Travel and Relations, that we
are able to offer you a place in the first guided tour of Azry, to begin the 28
th
of October.”
“I
don’t know why they picked me, I never asked,” I blurted.
He
chuckled, and I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. “I’m surprised they’re
letting
anyone
in. I’m guessing enough fey have enjoyed the
pleasures of the human world as tourists by this point that they’re starting to
want to get some human tech on their side, and that wouldn’t happen without
humans actually building and maintaining in Azry.”
“Why
wouldn’t the fey just learn here? We could set up a university in the
Outer Circle.” The Outer Circle was entertainment and novelty for
fey. Nice and enclosed to keep the crazy humans out. Humans kept
the area safe by making sure that everyone allowed into the area had a pass,
which could be obtained either through the U.S. Department of Interdimensional
Affairs or a qualifying business on the site. Like a Visa.
He
wrinkled his nose. “Trust me, there are reasons.”
I
sighed. Jack could enlighten one moment, and stonewall the next. He
kept me on my toes. And curious. And asking questions.
He
finished reading the letter for the second time. “They didn’t give you a
lot of time, either. Two weeks? Humans are remarkably slow
preparing for expeditions.” His nose twitched and he held the letter a
little further from his face. “How long did this stay with your
neighbor?”
“A
week. But… I was worried that you’d be upset.”
His
face darkened. “Yes, now that you mention it, I’m thrilled you get to
visit and that I’m barred from ever seeing my home again. Thank you for
the reminder.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.
My
throat tightened. I wanted this trip, more than I’d ever wanted anything
before. But if it ruined my relationship with Jack… sixteen days in Azry
vs. years of friendship? He saw my expression and his tense anger
softened. “It’s not your fault. And I recognize that. But I
am… apprehensive… about this. Fey don’t like visitors. You know
this, you’ve been studying us for years. There’s something about this
that is…” he searched for the word, “unsettling. Dangerous, even.”
I
tried to be optimistic. “Perhaps there’s finally enough popular fey
support that the Queens had to start thinking ahead to a stronger relationship
with humankind.”
“I
wish
it worked like that.” He gently placed his hand on my
arm. “But I’d rather not find out that it’s a trap. Especially with
you.” His lips tightened. “I wish like hell I could go with you to
watch your back. Of course, it would give them all a heart attack to see
me.” His eyes twinkled with mischief. “That alone would make it
worth it.”
“Double
espresso over ice?” A perky brunette offered me a steaming cup of black
deliciousness.
“Thanks,
Suzanne.” I sipped, pleased it was already at the right
temperature.
“Jan,
I don’t know how you do it.” Jack made a face. “No cream, no
sugar. It’s beyond me.” He grew serious and considered me. “If
anyone was to help build bridges with Azry, it would be you. You know,
you might be the first human to ever officially be their guest.”
“Officially?”
I raised an eyebrow at him.
“The
Druids kept doing that changeling thing till they got caught by the Council of
Queens. They have a bizarre human fetish. The Anowir may have
stolen people from time to time, but they usually gave them back. The
Anowir better keep up the habit, and make sure that you get back in one piece.”
The
Anowir were the local, ruling collection of clans in Azry. By default,
the land that they possessed held their name. No linguistic delineation
existed between Anowir, the people, and Anowir, their land. Or Anowir,
their language. Learning it had been a headache and a half. Few
words, odd grammar, much of the understanding purely contextual. Half of
my graduate school classes had been dedicated to the language alone.
I
nodded. “I’ll come back and write a book about it, become a millionaire,
and then retire in the Outer Circle.” My private fantasy, to live among
the fey with all the pleasures of humankind.
“As
long as you share the wealth,” he teased, but the sadness in his eyes refused
to leave. The sadness was not
new,
he just hid
it more successfully at times. Now was not one of them. As Jack
handed the letter back to me, the envelope caught his eye. “You
know,
I think the fey tried to mail this from the
Circle. Look at the handwriting.”
I
giggled into my espresso. “And the stamps! So many stamps!”
