Chapter 2, Part 4

The Dark Forest

Clemsy sat straight up, breathing hard while the bark echoed and faded.

Or was it only in his mind?

He hadn't been asleep long; the fire was still fairly high. A pine branch hissed and popped. He looked down at Runt, curled up next to where Clemsy's head had been. Purring, Runt looked back at him with a soft chirp. There was no other sound.

He'd left the last settlement behind the day after that nasty downpour. That was the worst of his journey so far. He'd had enough time to build a shelter and get a fire started, and he'd even managed to find a spot where the canopy was thick enough to keep it going, but the drops that came through were the size of a fist. Sidetrack stayed fairly dry up against the trunk of a grandfather pine, but was still moody and miserable. A drenched and bedraggled Runt had run into the shelter complaining as if he hadn't really signed on for this adventure and what was it all about any? Clemsy told him he could have stayed home. Runt ignored him and started cleaning himself.

The night had turned much colder and the drops diminished and stopped even though the rain continued. Dang, Clemsy had thought. He knew what he'd wake up to if he could ever get to sleep: the rattling and snapping of ice covered branches up above and a road far too slippery for man or beast. Fortunately the sky had cleared, the temperature rose to where it should have been for early November and he was on his way, muddy though the road was, by midday. He was through the stockade gate of Fort Hamilton and fast asleep in the Inn well before sunset.

The following day had taken him beyond the border of The Territories and into the Wild. The road had diminished then disappeared beyond the ford of a wide river. The supplies he'd bought at the settlement would last him some time, but he wasn't worried about running out of food. There would be enough forage for Sidetrack here and there. Runt would take care of himself wherever they were and, as a child, old Mujekeewis had taught Clemsy how to get by in the forest no matter the weather or season. He'd met the Abo on the border of the field at sunrise once a week and, as he grew older, would spend days learning the Abo way. Of course his teacher despaired of teaching Clemsy how to track and stalk. The entire forest was always aware of Clemsy's presence, and didn't seem to care. He wasn't much of a threat.

Those lessons ended when he'd turned twelve. Pa and Mujekeewis seemed to believe some debt to have been paid in full. The two had nodded to one another and Mujekeewis had faded into the trees as if he'd never been there and Clemsy never saw him again. Afterward, Pa had reluctantly taught him to work a rifle. Clemsy may have been terminally clumsy but he wasn't, and isn't, stupid. He was well aware of his danger when handling a firearm, just as he knew what he was doing when he worked with explosives. Ironically this was part of his particular talent, so he became quite a respectable shot. However, he'd never killed a thing. He wouldn't and Pa respected that. If he had to, maybe he would. Otherwise, it just felt wrong.

Right next to his shovel, a rifle lay within reach. He looked at it but felt no urge to pick it up. Runt lay undisturbed and Sidetrack was fast asleep, one hind leg bent, the hoof barely touching the ground. The dog bark was a dream then.

Again.

For the past three nights his dreams had been vivid and very strange. In one he rode a mare through a forest of giant trees, much like the one he was in now. There was always a dog, large and black with ears that pointed straight up and a snout that looked more wolf-like than dog. As often happens with dreams after waking, the image appeared in his mind from wherever dreams hide. The dog had looked right at him and barked a warning. Just as it had the night before.

And the night before that.

Chapter 2, Part 3

Clemsy's Refusal

Clemsy eyed the ribbon of thickening cloud cover between the old growth trees lining the Road . No one was around to notice, so he indulged himself and pouted. What am I doing? Where am I going? Wherever I'm going and whatever I'm doing why am I doing it and why am I going there? She knows.

"Just go," she'd said.

What? Where?

"Don't worry about what. Just go. West."

West? Just go West? Dang, Ma! Why?

"Don't worry about why. Just go."

Jes' go? No, dang it! Ma, I got a job! The rains'r comin' then snow an I'm th'one keeps the roads clear and lamps lit! I cain't jes up'n leave! I got responsibilities!

"Watch how you talk to your Ma, boy," rumbled Pa, suddenly standing behind Ma. "But you have to trust us, Clemsy. You have to. We can't tell you any more now. Trust us, son. You know we wouldn't ask this if we didn't have reason."

No, no, NO!

That last No! had been shouted into the darkness of Clemsy's room at the boarding house. He'd sat up trying to remember the dream that had his heart pounding. He closed his eyes and saw his mother sitting at the dining room table back home. She winked, smiled and the image faded like smoke.

Then it all came back to him.

"Oh no," he moaned, head in hands.

He'd left home to start his own life. He may have stumbled and bumbled his way to a place in this town, but he'd done it. He was valued. Well, there was that incident with the black powder when he turned some rocks at a bend in the river into perfect number three drainage stone but had overestimated the charge. He'd promised the mayor not to play with explosives anymore, and Mr. Tanner was back on his feet within a few days with no hard feelings at all.

How could he just up and leave?

He couldn't and that was that.

"Dang, but Ma wouldn'ta done this without there bein' something dang important goin on. Shoot." He didn't get back to sleep that night.

Now here he was, three days out, heading West. His weather sense told him that cloud ceiling was deciding between a really cold rain or a heavy, wet snow. Sidetrack was not pleased. In fact, Clemsy had the distinct impression that the horse was not talking to him in a decidedly human, "I'm very angry with you at the moment" sort of way.

Runt had followed him out of town, but was nowhere to be seen.

Clemsy had done everything he could to not leave. But the world conspired against him from the moment he went into town the morning after Ma's little "visitation." The town's tool shed was locked. No one knew who locked it. It was never locked anyway, the key having been lost at some time no one could even recall. After practically destroying the shed trying to get the door open, Sidetrack threw a shoe and the blacksmith was nowhere to be found.

So, of course, Sidetrack wandered off to find him himself.

By this time, Clemsy's pale complexion was a beet red and everyone gave him a wide berth. Not because he was a bomb about to go off, but because accidents seemed to follow the boy like the plague on the best of days. His was the sort of personality that gave a town character, but you didn't want to get too close when his temper was up and he was mumbling to himself. That would have been tempting fate.

Clemsy made his way to the Post Office and ignored the workers repairing the window. (They, however, noticed him and acted like the glass would shatter all on its own just to be over and done with it with Clemsy so close.) He collected the mail for the Boarding House and came up short at a letter addressed to himself in his Ma's strong hand. His red face paled after opening the envelope and reading the short note:

You think today has been bad? Wait til tomorrow. Love, Ma

He gave up and, talking to himself, walked across the street to the Mayor's office to tell her he'd be leaving for an indefinite period of time. "'Why,'" she'll ask? 'Cuz my Ma says so,' I'll answer. 'In a dream.'"

"Dang embarrassin'," he grumbled.

But the mayor was very understanding. Unnaturally understanding. And everything after that went as smoothly and effortlessly as could be. Even Sidetrack was back in his stall in the boarding house barn... with his shoe replaced.

But now, the first cold drop smacked him on the back of his left hand. Clemsy growled low and turned Sidetrack off the road to find a campsite while there was still dry wood to be found.

Chapter 2, Part 2

The Plains

Doug spent a week gathering and preparing food for the crossing. Game was plentiful in the forest, and more often than not he retrieved the arrows he used. The rifle he saved for extreme need: a bullet that didn't save your life was a waste. He had a dozen, as reliable as he could make them.

His horse waded into the tall grass at a bright, cloudless sunrise. The air was dry and spoke clearly of the colder weather to come. The dog, a large hunting breed, all but disappeared, his head floating above the green blades and leading a wake of waving grass behind him. He'd follow on his own, patrolling ahead or flanking the horse depending on the messages brought to his ears and nose

Around noon of the third day, clear and warmer, the dog stopped, ears pricked up and nose in the air. Doug reached back and gripped the rifle, but didn't pull it from its leather case. The horse's ears darted up, alert. The wind shifted and a low, rumbling thunder came from beyond the gentle rise just ahead. To the right and north a golden haze hugged close to the ground. The thunder wavered with the breeze and faded. The dog looked at the man as if for instructions and Doug grunted, shrugged his shoulders and nudged the horse into motion. He pulled the rifle free and held it across the saddle in front of him.

From the top of the rise, the land sloped down into a basin a few hundred yards wide before climbing to the next long frozen wave of a hill. Across the whole expanse, the grass was pounded flat and the soil churned into brown clumps. The damage extended as far as the eye could see south and north, where the haze clung and a hint of low thunder drifted back for a moment before dying away.

He was out of his knowledge. The maps showed a wide plain, but of whatever creatures may have lived here there was no memory. Inspecting the ground it was easy to determine that whatever came this way, they were big and there were thousands of them. The hunter thought immediately of meat and hide and was reassured. Just then, the dog uttered a short warning bark and the horse moved nervously beneath him. Reflexively, the man readied his rifle. Growling low, the dog directed his attention north along the opposite rise to the figure silhouetted against the blue sky, gazing at them. It was joined by another. The two groups studied each other for a moment before the two figures turned and disappeared behind the hill.

"Wolves," muttered the man. The dog looked at him and wagged his tail twice, as if in agreement. "Let's hope the rest of the pack is far enough away following whatever passed through here. Don't want those two convincing them there's easier meat back this away. " The dog began nosing his way toward where the wolves had been. Doug whistled him back. "Mind your nose, dog. Bad enough they know we're here. Least we're downwind. All the same, we'll veer southwards for a day or so." He glanced at the sun which stood about an hour past noon. He'd put a few more hours between this place and his next rest stop.

On the eighth day the sun set behind the first trees he'd seen since leaving the forest. Huge maples, mostly bare with a few flaming red leaves, hugged the banks of a wide, shallow stream, and were centered around the remains of an Old World foundation. He'd crossed more streams and creeks than he'd hoped for, so his water bags were never empty, but this was a blessing. He'd run out of firewood the day before and woke that morning colder than felt safe. Also, the food was running low. The stream promised fish, and perhaps he could collect some groundhog or squirrel before moving on. He'd crossed two more herd trails since the first one, but hadn't caught sight of the beasts that made them. He couldn't take the time to follow one as he was now in a race with the oncoming winter. His goal was either out there and he'd find it or he'd lose the gamble and most likely his life.

But for now there was food, water and wood.

The dog woke him late into the night. The fire had burned down to glowing coals and his blanket was rimed with frost. He roused himself and fed the fire generously until the flames leapt high and shadows danced between the trees. Then he heard what he thought had disturbed the dog.

A long howl came down the wind, far off, but not far enough. Doug checked the horse, who seemed to be listening very carefully to the night sounds, then made sure of his gun and spear.

But the dog was not aroused by the distant wolf. There had been a sound out of place with the night downwind. Just one, but it worried the dog until he was growling low with his back fully bristled. Something was there.

It ignored both man and dog and exploded across the firelight onto the horse's back, whose screams were answered by another wolf, closer and from a different direction from the first.

Chapter 2, Part 1

Doug

This much was certain, no human had come this way since the oldest tree was born. He'd followed the river into the Trackless Forest as well as he could, detouring along the numerous deer trails where the banks were steep or cut into the bedrock. Mostly there was more than enough room between the towering trees for his horse, the way made difficult here and there by deadfall. Occasionally the canopy opened up and the undergrowth grabbed annoyingly at the spear strapped to the horse's side. Once, he'd almost gone into a rectangular, Old World pit matted over with creepers. Soon after he'd come upon crumbled, overgrown ruins. He'd camped to the side and, with the dog, briefly explored the place, but any value had been stripped well before the forest had claimed possession.

He'd come upon many such ruins. Some the remains of individual dwellings, others the bare Old World bones of towns broken by the creeping vegetation, towering trees and countless winter frosts. The stream he'd been following ended at the largest body of water he'd ever seen. Following the shore he'd come to the open grave of an Old World city where the remains of towers thrust into the air like broken fangs. He'd spent a week exploring, but all was dust, stone and the constant cacophony of countless shore birds flittering about the towers like a cloud.

Beyond the City the coastline curved north but the man followed the sun into the Forest once more. The old documents gave him a clue as to where he was and told him there was much to find this way, but they were copies of even older documents which had crumbled to dust lifetimes before. This was a gamble, no question.

But wasn't everything?

The old maps had shown two rivers after the City, and he had spent days finding a way across one and weeks to cross the other which worried him as the nights were growing cooler. The third river came as a shock, but just a day upstream he'd found an Old World bridge, where the water ran wide and shallow, that appeared to have been repaired long ago with some crude stone work.

The Forest on the other side diminished after three more days of easy travel. Now he stood next to his horse with the dog sniffing about his feet. His deep blue eyes gazed over an endless expanse of open plain. The sky was iron gray and a rising breeze made the tall grass wave like the sea. He took off his wide brimmed hat and long blond hair fell over his sun darkened face. Wiping the cooling sweat from his forehead, he replaced the hat and, nodding, turned back under the trees. He'd need to stock up on food and water to cross the plain.

Interlude I

Reality. What a Concept. ~Robin Williams

Everything is really quite simple as long as you're focused on precisely where you are and what you're doing. Even if there's a bit of worry over the consequences of what may have happened before on what might happen next, it's all rather straightforward. Good word for it, 'straightforward.' What other choice is there?

However, when what you're precisely focused on is how things work and what's at the roots of it all, things can get more complex than even an intelligent person can wrap a head around. Hidden deep down below where subatomic particles pop into and out of reality for no seeming reason at all is a secret that shouldn't affect anyone. In fact it wouldn't affect anyone as long as everyone minded their own business focusing on where they are and what they're doing.

But of course, eventually someone will come along and muck it up making things a bit more interesting than usual. 'Interesting' is another good word often used to understate a certain trend toward a particularly nasty catastrophe.

Reality has a structure, hinted at back in Forward II, which may come as a shock to everyone except quantum physicists and Hindu mystics. Reality only appears to be straightforward. It also goes straightbackward, straightsideways, straightup and straightdown.

It even straightcurves and straightspirals all over the place.

Thankfully we're designed for just straightforward, keeping things simple, although there are occasional exceptions brought on by various mental disorders or controlled substances.

But there's a catch.

Imagine reality as a great big apartment building. Let's say we're in apartment 10A with a nice view of the river. Well, suppose some moron in 5F decides to investigate his bathroom plumbing with a good sized wrench just to see what would happen. Well your water pressure drops, doesn't it? And the poor sap in 4F is trying to understand why God is telling him to build a boat and gather all creatures great and small and can't He just make it stop raining?

You see how it works? Don't even get me started on what happened to the dinosaurs.

There are various utility lines and pipes behind the scenes connecting reality into one Great Everything, and while there are backups and circuit breakers and valves and such to keep one reality (apartment) from affecting another, sometimes God (The Super) isn't Paying Attention (watching the game with a beer and chips with the phone off the hook) or He just has it in for the poor sap in 4F (Who do you think gave the moron in 5F the wrench?).

The result, after the dust settles and the population comes back from the brink, is often a new religion with a new Book and a new God (the old Super having been fired by the Landlord.)

Next up, of course, is the amateur plumber.

Chapter 1, Part 5

Later that Day...

Anyone who had ever met her had no doubt within the first few moments that Clemsy's Ma was one powerful person. One also learned quickly that she had a very well defined system of values, aspects of which didn't quite match up with what might be considered "common." Step on those values, whether on purpose of by accident, and one also learned that Ma was not as reticent about using her power as others who considered restraint a noble virtue.

Clemsy knew all this quite well. As a lad she could summon him from the creek a mile away by saying, quite conversationally while adding a piece of wood to the fire in the oven, "Clemsy, time for supper." That always meant he had fifteen minutes to cover the distance and get washed up. If he dawdled any she would say, "Now," and his attention would be yanked from whatever interesting thing had distracted him. If she actually had to open the door and yell his feet would take over in an uncontrolled sprint that ended in the trough by the hand pump. (Nothing amused the farm hands like the sight of Clemsy, leading a trail of dust, running at maximum speed while yelling, "AAAAHHHH!!!!!")

Of course there were also times when the breaking of a particularly valuable family heirloom had him running in the same manner but in the opposite direction. The neighbors were all in agreement that, as a result of such training, Clemsy was probably the fastest human that ever lived, at any distance.

Feel free to consider this a bit of foreshadowing.

Right now, Clemsy, chin in hand and tapping his upper lip, was sitting on the bench outside the stable mulling over the situation. The late afternoon sun cast a long, maple tree shadow on the packed earth in front to him. A soft breeze wafted the smell of hey and manure into the occasional short lived swirl of a dust devil.

Ma and Pa had a chore for him, no question. The image of Ma sitting at the dining room table with Pa standing like a bear behind her, was as clear as crystal. The sense of calamity was so strong it had initially sent him into a chicken-with-his-head-off panic in front of the whole town. The sight of Runt sitting between Sidetrack's ears like a vulture over a kill provided a strong enough distraction to break the spell... and allowed the memory of Randi's heady scent and her body atop his to creep in. He had turned and looked up at her Cheshire cat smile and raised eyebrow and blushed from his forehead to his toenails. Her laugh had nearly stopped his heart. Randi got up from the boardwalk, brushed the dust off her skirt and looked Clemsy in the eye.

"Gee, Randi," he had stammered. "I'm so gosh danged sorry fer fallin on ya just then. I guess I sorta lost m'balance. Fer some reason." He looked down at his boots. "I guess I should rope off the area when I'm cleanin' the lamps. Put up a 'Danger! Fallin Fool Zone' sign... Er somethin..."

"Clemsy?" said Randi. "You just saved my life." Then he noticed the smashed Post Office window.

"Wheel off that wagon up the street would've ended her fer sure, Clem," said one of the bystanders. The small audience nodded in agreement and a few familiar folks patted Clemsy's back before moving along.

"What?" said Clemsy, totally confused.

"That's what happened," Randi replied. "You saved my life. Now what am I gonna do?"

"Huh?"

"Clemsy, my Pa's people take the savin' of a life real serious." She smiled again. "I guess it'll work itself out. But you went out cold for a bit. You didn't hit your head hard did ya? You came to talking about your Ma..."

"Ma?" Clemsy had become thoughtful for a moment as the memory of the vision started coming back. He couldn't see the whole thing, but the feeling of urgency returned. "I musta had a dream there, Randi. Wasn't nuthin, I think."

She looked at him and her deep brown eyes seemed to penetrate the lie.

"Maybe. Maybe not. Some dreams are important." She looked away then back again. "Then maybe you'll tell me what it was sometime." She took him by the arm and kissed his cheek. "Thanks again, Clemsy. I think we'll see each other again fairly soon." Then she had blushed and looked uncomfortable for a moment before smiling again and walking away.

A horse in the stable snorted in his sleep. Clemsy touched his cheek, his mind aswirl with Ma and Pa and calamity and Randi and scents and touches and a kiss.

He stood up and scratched his head. He was supposed to do something. He could feel it.

But what?

Chapter 1, Part 4

Someone Else Takes Notice

Chanting softly, Mujekeewis swiped the burning sage above his head, moving down the front of his body, then his back as far as he could reach. He swept beneath both feet and stepped forward onto the rug. Then he removed the misshapen lump of lead from its pouch and, still chanting, gazed at it for a moment. Though he wished otherwise, this metal was not welcome inside.

It had taken the life of his son.

He placed it in the bowl before the entrance to the Lodge, gently removed an Eagle feather from his head band and, blessing his relations, ducked into the small, skin covered dome lowering the flap behind him. The only light came from the seven Grandfathers, glowing in the Navel of the Mother.

His prayer, barely a whisper now, followed a pinch of cedar onto the stones. He swept the aroma over him with the feather. Next, a pinch of sweetgrass, which brought, as it always did, memories of childhood, of his Father teaching him the etiquette of the Lodge. Bowing his head, he sent his thought to Father's Spirit, asking for the strength he knew would soon be asked of him. A growing unease had sent him here. It was time to open his heart and ask for instruction.

Last went the tobacco, the smoke allowed to rise straight to the top of the dome above the Mother's Navel where the Great Spirit listens.

Praying for guidance, Mujekeewis tilted the dipper over the stones, the steam whooshing up and covering him like a blanket. Another pour. Then again. He began rocking back and forth as his pores opened and streamed his body's water, cleansing.

Raising the flap, he exited and stood silent for a moment before taking up the deer antler to remove another Grandfather from the Sacred Fire. Three more stones he placed in the Navel, then entered and repeated the ritual.

It was after the third pour of the third Sweat that the Vision lit up before him, a lightening stroke that widened his eyes and stopped his lips mid-prayer. Heart pounding, he spread his arms wide and accepted the awful gift. When it was done, he breathed deeply three times and again focused on Father. Strength, he prayed. Strength. Lips set, he exited the lodge.

Mujekeewis faced West, his body glistening. Fitting, he thought, that the threat grows there. The West brings Change.

And Death.

No matter. Once again, his steps cross with the White's. A piece of pine popped in the fire sending up a fountain of sparks. He looked down at the bullet in the bowl. One path to the future ends with such a thing for him. Another for his Granddaughter. Others to other deaths. This is a delicate matter, he thought, requiring patience. Haste will kill blindly. He sighed deeply, indulging in a moment of regret. His braid was more gray than black. The still pool by the river showed a face, deep-lined. No peaceful nights before the fire, telling the children stories. Not for him. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Enough. Setting his lips again, he carefully inserted the Eagle feather into its accustomed place in his headband, picked up the bullet and held it in his fist. A breeze from the South cooled his skin. He turned in that direction and nodded. Sister Butterfly lighted on a milk plant. Mujekeewis smiled and thanked her for the reminder. Wash and eat, she said. Prepare.

Then, he whispered, I must speak to the Farmer.

Chapter 1, Part 3

Ma and Pa Consider the Situation

The late afternoon sun streamed in crystal purity through the dining room window. Dust motes didn't dare interrupt sunlight in Ma's home.

Pa stood, arms crossed, head down in deep thought like a brooding Atlas. His blond hair, touched here and there with gray, hung softly to his shoulders. Before him Ma sat, lips pursed, pensively tapping a finger on the table. Her gaze was piercing and distant, as if she saw something other than the tall, Clemsy proof cupboard against the wall.

"I can't see no way 'round this, Pa," she said. "He's the only one'll fit through, dang the boy." That Ma would come anywhere close to the approximation of a swear word gave evidence of the situation's gravity. Pa looked up and nodded. Neither of them wondered why this should be. They both had the talent of knowing and this they knew for sure: The responsibility was their's and Clemsy was the only tool for the job. Their son. They didn't like it, but the world was like that. Likes and dislikes were just distractions.

"Jes like poundin a nail in a board," Pa grumbled. "Might split the grain, might not. Sometimes a guide hole is what y'need if it's the only board y'have. We can't crack that board, Ma. Some gambles are jes plain crazy and this'd be one a that type. No question. It's him or the risk."

Ma sat back and sighed. The maple tree outside replied in a warm breeze. "Well, his talent'll get him through. It'll lead him whether he knows or not. That girl, now..." Ma shook her head. " I can't see her clear-like. She's there, but..." She stared into the table as if she could see straight through to the bedrock below the foundation and shook her head again. "No good. There's deep water in there rippling the Light. I don't feel any Dark, though Dark can hide Itself pretty good," She squinted her eyes, "...if It's got the mind to."

"Half Abo, that one." Pa's voice was calm and certain. "Interestin. If she has a role in this, I can't see it."

"That right there could be proof enough that she does."

They looked at each other. Pa nodded his head once. Ma relaxed, closed her eyes a moment and let out a slow breath. "Well," she said getting up, "it's been set in motion. All we can do is watch and maybe nudge a bit here and there. In the meantime..."

"...Somethin's worryin' the horses," Pa interrupted.

One of the farm hands ran by the window holding on to his hat.

Chapter 1, Part 2

The Next Moment

"Ma!"

"Clemsy?" inquired Randi.

"Randi?" replied Clemsy slowly coming to his senses, which were registering the fact that Randi was keeling by his side, her left knee lightly pressing against his hip.

"Clemsy. I'm not yer Ma."

"Not m'Ma? Dang, a course yer not m'Ma. What're you talkin' 'bout, Randi?"

By this time Clemsy was up on an elbow trying to make sense of the world. A crowd was gathering, blocking Sidetrack's view until he nudged up against the hitching rail and looked over the onlookers' shoulders. There was nothing like Clemsy putting on a show. Runt sprang atop the horse's back and climbed to the best seat in the house between Sidetrack's ears.

Of course, only the children, pointing and giggling, noticed this.

"You called me Ma, Clemsy."

Clemsy sat up shaking his head, brushed his hair out of his eyes and looked at Randi. A small part of his mind was aware of how amazing this moment was and wondered how long it would take for the rest of his mind to realize he was talking to a beautiful young woman sitting well within his personal space.

"Why would I do that? My Ma..." He paused and looked down, scrunching his eyebrows together in concentration. "Ma?..." There was something... "Ma..." He found it. "Ma!" His eyes went wide and he scrambled to his feet almost knocking Randi over. "Ma!" he exclaimed again and stepped purposefully one way, turned around and stepped the other way, stopped again as the vision he'd had while unconscious went from foggy to blurry to crystal clear focus. "Ma! Pa! I gotta git..."

Slack-jawed, he looked up at Sidetrack and Runt looking down on him. Then Randi and everyone else noticed the odd spectacle.

"What?" Sidetrack snorted.

Chapter 1

Part 1: Clemsy's First Kiss

No one, that I’ve heard , has had as much practice at landing as Clemsy Diggs. Of course, this is because no one, that I’ve heard, has found himself at the mercy of Wizard Newton’s Law of Gravity half as many times as Clemsy had by the time he was ten. This particular moment's misadventure started, not surprisingly, with Randi, one of the town's more attractive young ladies, walking towards the Post Office. Clemsy was up a ladder cleaning the street lamp and replacing the candle and his particularly sensitive radar picked her out from the other pedestrians on the boardwalk before he was consciously aware she was there. So his blood pressure and heart rate had already started increasing when she entered his field of vision.

Sidetrack, tied to the hitching post nearby, raised his head and looked from the one to the other and waited for the fun to begin.

Clemsy was quite aware of his peril. He reached over and grabbed the lamppost firmly while his head swiveled involuntarily to follow Randi's approach. She looked up and assaulted him with the kind of smile that lit up not only her whole face from her eyes to her ears and chin, but bathed everything within ten yards in a radiant glow. Her brown eyes sparkled and one lock of silky brown hair escaped her ponytail to fall across her cheek.

With a hair-flip of her head followed by a lightly tanned hand which tucked the errant lock behind an ear, cardiac arrest and embolism were racing in Clemsy to the finish line.

"Howdy, Clemsy!" she said as she was just about beneath him. Then time slowed down as it usually does just before a catastrophe. Sidetrack looked up at the sound of a yell, noticed the wagon up the street list to the side as one of its wheels fell off and commenced rolling and bouncing toward them as if it was just as attracted to Randi as Clemsy and was intent on claiming her.

At the sound of her voice, all of Clemsy's being focused on trying to return the greeting, but his mouth could only move up and down soundlessly, at which Randi stopped, crossed her arms and tilted her head to the side with a giggle making everything much worse.

In the meantime, Sidetrack jingled his harness and stamped his huge iron-shod hoof in warning. People started to call out as the wheel made its single-minded way to its destination. Randi glanced first at the horse, then at the people up the street who were starting to turn away from what was very definitely going to happen, then at the oncoming wagon wheel. She had that one thought we all have just before an accident that can't be avoided: "I can't avoid this accident." Indeed, Fate had already put a period on the last sentence of Randi's life and was about to close the book, when the emergency crew in Clemsy's brain, putting all its resources into getting the boy to say, "Why, howdy Randi," sent the parts concerned with holding onto the pole and staying atop the ladder off to help. He leaned to the side away from Randi, the ladder went onto one leg, and his brain sent some attention back to where it should've stayed in the first place. He leaned back the other way, over compensated and, arms windmilling, fell ladder and all towards the boardwalk. The ladder and he parted company midway and his hands, quite without permission, grabbed Randi as he passed by. This spun her around and pulled her off her feet just as the wheel sailed through the space where Randi should have been and smashed through the Post Office window.

Clemsy turned his shoulder into the boardwalk and came to a stop, without so much as mussing his hair more than it was, (Good thing as this would have been impossible anyway.) with Randi face to face on top of him.

Applause erupted up and down the street. Randi, realizing she wasn't going to die today after all, gave Clemsy the first passionate, lips to lips kiss of his life which would have killed him cold if he hadn't already fainted. ("She's lying on top o.............") Fate grumbled and started erasing her last entry. She always used a pencil when Clemsy was around.

Runt arrived on the scene and sat down next to Sidetrack. He looked up as if to say, "Again?"

"What do you think," the horse snorted. "You can't make this stuff up. No one would believe it."

Randi, realizing Clemsy was out cold, looked concerned. "Clemsy?" she asked patting his cheek.

"Ma?" he mumbled.

Forward IV: Clemsy Comes to Town Twice

I think you'll meet Ma and Pa in the storyline (There will eventually be one.) sometime later on. After composing Forward III, I found these two characters rather promising and decided they should be moved up in the credits and developed further. Of course that complicates the issue addressed in Forward II, but I'm sure something will come to me while brushing my teeth or talking to the dog.

Anyway, Clemsy grew apace into a tall, gawky eighteen year old. His basic character description goes something like this:

Name: Clemsy Diggs

Height: 6'1'

Appearance: lanky but strong with shaggy blond hair that won't stay combed, face so innocent you could cry.

Magical Tendency: "Well, i don't know bout no tenencies, but Ma iz allus tellin me I had a nak fer puttin one fut in the way of t'other."

Weakness: see Magical Tendency. Spelling. Loses the ability to speak, think, and respire in the presence of an attractive woman. Or a glimpse of one 200 yards away out of the corner of his eye. (He is 18 after all.)

Strengths: Excels at all manner of excavation and drainage. Also has an intuitive skill with explosives, which doesn't go well with his Magical Tendency.

Other: Animals regard him as exceedingly harmless.

The lad was quite handy around the farm keeping the cellar dry and digging sweet water wells, but eventually he woke up one morning and decided, "Today I yam a man!" The glance between Ma and Pa when Clemsy expressed the desire to make a go of it on his own didn't quite say "At last!" but didn't quite not say it either. Pa's weather sense told him a major winter storm was in the offing, but weather and he had an understanding so the hours into town and back again didn't worry him. That Clemsy chose such a day during such a season could have been considered a bad omen and all concerned would have gone back to bed, but if 'bad omens' were to guide Clemsy's life, his Ma would still be trying to get him out of the womb.

Clemsy's first entry into town went something like this:

Clemsy got down from his Pa’s sleigh as the snow swirled and blew.

“Now you watch yerself, Clemsy,” said Pa. “The folk round here are peacable and God fearin’. They won’t let ya freeze ta death, but if you want to try an dig graves in weather like this ya just might anyway! But its your decision, boy. Yer a man now. If things don’t work out, you jes come on home. Remember to let us put away the breakables before comin’ thru the door. Good luck!”

“By Pa!” yelled Clemsy, “I’ll make ya right proud!”

Clemsy shouldered his bag, shovel and pick axe and walked through the driving snow. His father shook his head, turned the horses around and headed out of town.

Clemsy leaned into the wind and stopped by the town bulletin board. After mouthing the words and scrunching his eyebrows he stopped short and dropped everything to put his hands on his hips.

The sign read:

Nede help digin Mr. Averys grav. Munday mornin. ~Tanner

“Tarnation! Ya caint pick axe through this herekinda frost! I reckin I got here jist in time. Man’ll hurt his back fer shur! This'll need an all night fire, or maybe a bit of black powder! A' course keepin the deceased in the ice house til spring... Nah!”

Clemsy picked up his excavating tools and duffle bag and, completely oblivious to the worst storm in fifty years, walked right into a hitching rail, did a complete somersault, and landed smack on his back. The pick axe landed point end down in the snow not 3 inches from his head. Unconcerned, he sat up and whacked his head on the rail.

“Shoot,” he said.

Looking around he noticed, as if for the first time, that he could barely see his hand in front of his face for the snow.

“Looks like my shovel'l come in mighty handy affer these flerries is over.”

Brushing himself off and once more picking up his gear, he headed down the street towards the cafe.

For purposes of illustration, we'll watch Clemsy come into town once more, this time after visiting his folks. Pa gave Clemsy the horse his son seemed to get on best with. The beast was really more trouble than he was worth, considering he does have a mind of his own. Really. He even has his own character description:

Speaking of animals, Clemsy rides a huge, brown, shaggy draft horse named Sidetrack, so named for his tendency to follow his nose to pies cooling on windowsills when he should be doing something else, like pulling a wagon of cow manure out to the field. The result then is Sidetrack, Clemsy and the cow manure looking for the pie while Clemsy yells and uselessly pulls the reigns. Sidetrack is quite confident that he is smarter than Clemsy. You may think so too. Sidetrack also keeps company with an orange tabby named Runt. Runt, an excellent mouser, has the run of the town and tends towards mischief.

In fact, perhaps a vignette starring Sidetrack is in order here. Note: Sidetrack's words are a translation of body language and the author's whimsy. The kitten's body language, however, speaks for itself.

Clemsy led Sidetrack into the carriage house and his stall after a day inspecting Main Street for any needed repairs. Sidetrack moved his massive body to the feed bin, snorted in surprise, raised his head and eyed the orange kitten he found curled into a purring ball in his food. ("What the....!" is how it translates.)

Clemsy came over, smiled at the creature who was eyeing them both the way a cat will when roused from a nap without invitation.

"Well now!" said Clemsy reaching in to remove the stowaway. "Thet ain't no bed fer a WHOOF!" That last was the sound Clemsy made as Sidetrack swept his head into Clemsy's midsection and sent him into a pile of straw.

Sidetrack eyed Clemsy and stamped a hoof for good measure. "My stall. My feed bin. I'll decide about the guest." Sidetrack poked his snout close to the kitten for a good sniff. The ball of fur started purring and gave the horse a long, lazy blink.

"Suit yerself, Sidetrack," said Clemsy getting his breath back and climbing to his feet, "but I was jest thinkin' thet havin a critter in yer food might, well, spoil the taste, iffin ya take m' meanin."

Sidetrack's ears stuck up as he raised his head, looked square at Clemsy and snorted. "When Clemsy has a point, Judgement Day can't be too far behind. Well boil me down to a tub of glue."

He stuck his snout down close to the cat. "Hey you," he huffed, "I see you scratching in there I'll fling you clear into a foreign language." The kitten rolled onto his back and started batting Sidetrack's nose with his front paws. He suddenly stopped and commenced to wash, hind leg in the air, his nether regions.

"Well now, " the horse chuffed as Clemsy started brushing his flanks. "A cat's one undignified gesture. At least I know to call you a he. Hmmmm...up between my shoulder blades if you wouldn't mind there Clemsy. Well my diminutive feline friend, I find some of your breed somewhat full of themselves, and others just this side of good company. You can stay until or as long as you don't become the former. Just the same, I think we'd both be better off if I arrange more suitable sleeping arrangements. I saw a most worthy mother cat do this once..."

Sidetrack bared his teeth, reached in and lifted the kitten gently out of the feed bin by the back of the neck and placed him in the straw which recently broke Clemsy's fall.

Clemsy's jaw dropped at the sight. He went to scratch his head and gave himself a good whack with the brush instead. "Sidetrack," he said rubbing his left temple, "if you ain't the dangdest horse in all a the good Lord's creation..." The cat sat in the straw and yawned. His right front paw then required attention. Sidetrack looked at both of them.

"If you're done assaulting yourself," the horse said with a piercing gaze, "you might want to start on my neck. And think up a name for the cat while you're at it."

Clemsy began grooming the horses neck and shaggy mane. "Well," he said "I guess I should think up a name fer the cat."

"Good boy," the horse nodded.

So now you know who everyone is, so far, but let's watch Clemsy come into town one more time:

He came out of the late afternoon shadows at the end of town, riding slow and easy atop a mountain of a horse. From under the brim of his hat came the sound of a ruby whistle. Those on the street stopped and stared, believing the instruments strapped to the sides of the great beast to be some new type of firearm. Who was this peculiar and unkept stranger? Someone bound to break the peace? Someone intent on upsetting the ordered lives of the community?

As the stranger came closer, the pedestrians smiled and stood easy. The weapons on the horse turned into a shovel and pick ax. On the rump of the horse an orange cat lay curled asleep. The stranger took his hat off to the passers by to reveal a shock of unruly blonde hair, deep blue eyes the color of innocence and a smile known to melt the ice off the eaves in winter.

He rode up to the Inn and swung his long, lanky body off his shaggy steed. His right foot, however, didn’t seem to want to come out of the stirrup. At that moment the horse decided it didn’t quite like the hitching rail it was about to be tied to, and ambled off to find a better one.

“Whoa! Sidetrack! Whoa dang it!” exclaimed the rider, hopping alongside the horse. The cat, wakened by the disturbance, sat up and looked at the young man. Anyone close enough would have heard him purring loudly. “Sidetrack, ya dang fool horse! You stop right now!” The horse, apparently having found a hitching rail worthy enough to be tied to, stopped.

Clemsy, however, didn’t. He bumped into the horse, lost his balance, swung around by the stirruped foot and landed, in a puff of dust, outstretched on the road. That his head hadn’t collided with the hitching rail he found to be very fortunate… indeed a good omen.

He always hit his head on a hitching rail when he came into town.

“Sidetrack,” said the prostrate figure, “you did that a’purpose!”

The horse looked down at him and nodded his head as if to say, “Well, that would be about right.”

The cat looked down at him and uttered a little feline chirp which said, quite plainly, “Well, we’re here. When do we eat?”

As long as I'm documenting the problems I'm having with the storyline (which I haven't even gotten to yet), I have to admit I also have great affinity for Runt and Sidetrack. The three really do make a team. (I'm thinking Marx Brothers.) The cat may be fairly easy, but how do I squeeze a draft horse into a present not quite here?

And I may be just about out of Forwards.

Forward III: Ma and Pa

Hmmm. Since this is a blog, and readers (assuming I have readers) would have to catch up from the bottom, maybe I should have titled these first entries Backward instead of Forward. No matter! I promised not to diddle.

I suppose it's time to actually introduce the main character as this is supposed to be about him, after all, and not about me. (See Forward I to get an idea of how confusing that actually is.)

Okay, let's build a character. Got your blank slate ready? Good.

Clemsy Diggs is the one and only child of very successful farmers. Note that. Not a farmer and his wife. A farmer dad and a farmer mom. Both are equally farmers and Mrs. Farmer (Farmer? Not Diggs? What the hell?), being the indomitable force of nature that she is, would not take kindly to being known as "the farmer's wife." So if you should find yourself in an alternate 19th century Midwest and a few dimensions to the side and happen upon Mr. and Mrs. Farmer's snuggly farmhouse and curiously fertile fields, don't assume this to be a standard, patriarchal Christian home. Mrs. Farmer will, in no uncertain terms, eviscerate your assumption and I strongly recommend becoming a bit enlightened at that point as thunder and lightening do fall under "force of nature."

However, neither should you assume, the one assumption having been reduced to smoldering ashes, that this must then be your standard, New Age, matriarchal, pagan household. The Farmers would probably look at you for a moment, then commence with the kind of deep belly laugh that starts with "BWAAA HA HA!," rattles the dishes in the next room and unsettles the animals in the barn.

One could suspect this powerful, indeed archetypal couple through some kind of trans-dimensional leakage inspired the mythic figures of Zeus and Hera in our world. (Of course, human psychology would have twisted up the trans-dimensional reception some. Mr. and Mrs. Farmer are not brother and sister, and neither act like Mafioso loan sharks threatening to break your knees without the proper sacrifice.)

Anyway, the Farmers are well respected in their community, even if that community doesn't mind the day's carriage ride between that homestead and anyone else's. Ma and Pa Farmer can be a bit overwhelming.

That Clemsy is the product of this union does seem unlikely if not downright ironic. The Farmer's just put it down to the mischievous nature of the Great Creator, loved him to pieces and did the best they could. Of course his name was originally Clem, but it didn't take too long after toddlerhood for the continuing trips, scrapes, bangs, near misses, smashed pottery, and daily dunks in the pig trough for 'Clem' and 'clumsy' to become Clemsy.

Even Google knows what Clemsy means.

Forward II

Here's the problem: Clemsy was born somewhere in a 19th century American Midwest. I say 'a' 19th century because it's an alternate history. Not only that, but it's an alternate history where people are often born with bits of magic. They have 'tendencies' in certain areas. Maybe one can find things, another 'feel' a person's health with a touch, another able to find water or make fire (dangerous!), etc. Magic is in the air, you might say, part of the way the world works. So not only is Clemsy's home in an alternate history, it's a few dimensions over to the side.

You see my problem. I have to get him from there to an alternate present not quite here.

Okay, okay, I don't really have to especially since I seem, for the moment anyway, to have chosen the third person omnipotent.

At least, being omnipotent, I don't really have to make a whole lot of sense, so psychotic is just fine and worry free. (I mean, if the Old Testament is any model. It's what omnipotent really means, right? Being random just for jollies?) Of course, a sneering criticism of 'contrived' or "What the hell?" is always a risk but... what the hell? It's not like you bought this at Borders.

I feel fairly safe in the knowledge that all authors really do make it up as they go along, then go back and diddle with stuff.

I'm going to do all of that except for the going back and diddling part.

Forward I

Difficult to decide right now which person to write this in. The first person (What did you think I meant?) may be somewhat weird as I've posted under the name Clemsy since the virtual community he was created for petered out a decade ago. Couldn't let the lad go. But that Internet presence known as Clemsy isn't the real Clemsy. He's an impostor!

(Whoops. I switched people at the end there. Did you catch that?)

Anyway, he is an impostor. The real Clemsy is nothing like that guy.

You want to psychoanalyze that last bit, be my guest. But you won't be able to figure me out (Damn! Did it again!) until you get to know the real Clemsy to the point where you become the real Clemsy.

Then, no explanations will be necessary.

Anyway, writing in the first person will just feel narcissistic even if that's not technically true. On the other hand, writing in the third person will feel a bit psychotic. The second person of course would be just plain stupid.

Narcissistic, Psychotic or Stupid.

So I haven't decided yet.