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Save Point: Beyond Imagining

The Age Of Eversion

The night is as strange as the day, sort of light and mild and jumpy, and Terrowne Kilroy totes up the list of strange things that have already happened as he makes his way to the shops, as high summer approaches on the longest day of the year.

Yesterday, of course, there was the lunar eclipse that shadowed the full moon, turning it diluted blood red, at least where there wasn't so much cloud cover you couldn't see it. (Some amateur cameraman barely known to Three News got an excellent shot, when all the other networks managed was an epic fail). It was all very traditionally apocalyptic and high noon for werewolves. Of course it was just a warmup.

Then of course, later in the evening, he found himself involuntarily casting vardogrs, temporal shadow double precursors, the first evidence of which was that both he and Cleo heard himself taking a shower, complete with footsteps and running water. Ironically, he had not originally been intending to do so, assuming that Cleo was already taking one purely for herself, since she had her best silk bath robe on. When it turned out that she was just enjoying the breezes in the heated weather, and they were the only ones in the building, he ended up taking the shower instead, even though he hadn't been going to, on account of his own _vardogr_being the one currently making use of the facilities. He'd tried not to think too hard about the wider predestinative implications of the event, in case he made it worse.

And now, as he makes his way through the early evening night that is like an infinitely extended day, the sky still light into the reaches of the night and all is still and edgy, he finds that the reflexes are twitching uncontrollably. The name is something he borrowed from First Encounter Assault Recon, a handy term for the ability to step down time and see the world in slow motion, which nicely covers the extended temporal abilities of the Dragon. Considering that the game also included strange and disturbing paranormal visions into other times and places, and altered states of reality, he feels he can relate. The fact that the reflexes keep kicking in, at nothing at all, manifests itself as a series of very tiny twitches which he suppresses unnaturally quickly, before anyone can see them all.

Nonetheless, he can feel that he is inadvertently manipulating local reality around himself, something he spends most of the time desperately trying not to do, otherwise he's forever tripping over lost coins from nonexistent cultures that never were and misplaced notes of largely implausible denomination. At the mall he knocks over a calender from the calender stall (something with pictures of sensuous cats on it) at the same time one of the twitches kicks in, and the calender glides all the way across the polished marble floor, stopping only when he hastens after it and catches it. It seems to have engaged some form of ground effect, as though it was the worlds smallest ekranoplane.

"How'd you do that?" demands the stalls wandering manageress, a small but attractive young asian lady who is naturally concerned about her calendars flying away.

Terrowne distracts her with a story about the highly aerodynamic, roof-launched stationary set from the movie The Dead Poets Society - "it wants to fly" - and implies that the behaviour of the calendar, like its shrink-wrapped counterpart, is due to its streamlined plastic wrapping. "That thing is a menace," concludes the lady, having visibly already rewritten the entire incident in her head to match his convoluted explanation.

On the way home (it's still light - dark clouds hang ominously on the horizon, heat haze building) he tries to deal with the effects by giving the reflexes full rein, dashing across roads just in front of cars as they approach in slow motion, striding along the pavements as though he is about to air-walk across empty space. As he climbs the hill on the way home, two heavily bearded young men pass by at speed in home-made, three-wheeled, road-legal dog chariots pulled by huge and frantically panting hounds, mad with crazy enthusiasm as they drag the vehicles along the open road at the end of long lengths of rope being wielded in the manner of reins. On the slope, the chariots nearly overtake the dogs and they end up running alongside their owners, until the brakes are engaged at the bottom of the hill to make a turn into traffic. Terrowne notes that the dog chariots have a complete set of fully functional indicator lights, and that more importantly, amongst the vehicles to which they are giving way is the heron van that he encountered earlier, with the damaged exhaust streaming black carbon smoke and the battered door that makes a sound like a bird. The unlikelihood of any or indeed all of this is quite extraordinary, and asserts loudly that something is definitely going on.

As he approaches the top of the hill, he waves hello to a random stranger, a man in a nightgown drinking a cup of tea who has somehow been drawn out his front door and down to the end of his driveway by the strange qualities of the endlessly extended evening. The man waves hello back with his spare hand, continues to sip tea daintily with the other. If you asked him, he would be unable to explain why he was there, but there is an air of expectancy, as though something is about to happen.

In fact, contemplates Terrowne, it is reminiscent of nothing so much as the start of The Dark Is Rising, the novel by Susan Cooper. "Today is bad. Tomorrow will be worse. Christmas day will be beyond imagining." Even the timing and the general nature of the story seem to fit, although here it is summer instead of winter. ("Ahh, but it would be winter, if you were back living at home," says a particularly insistent voice inside his head, that may or may not be the Dragon.)

Terrowne redoubles his not thinking about it, because if he thinks about it too hard it might influence its happening. He already fully expects that when he arrives home, the werewolves will have sent him a cellphone text message, inviting him on a Wild Hunt to celebrate the solstice day. They'd be rather obliged to attend, but it could lead to complications under the current set of circumstances.

At home again, he turns the key in the lock and Niphur stirs from its bed, tongue lolling in the heat and looking at him with big golden eyes. "Good kitty-kat," he tells Niphur, scratching it on the head where there is a patch of scarring the size of an unmade coin beneath the fur, and behind the ears. Niphur preens proudly and raises its chin insolently at him.

Cleo is still in her bathrobe slash nightgown of silk (the slash being on either side and all the way up to her midriff) and is lying back on the couch with her digital high-resolution camera out, collecting photographs of Niphur for the sensuous cat calendars of the world, and occasionally taking porn pictures of herself as and when she gets bored. Terrowne inquires affectionately as to whether he can see the collection, and is treated to previews including Niphur standing up on top of its outdoor enclosure looking handsome, Niphur playing with frayed rope looking fierce, and Cleo looking relieved as the cool breeze plays across her elegantly bared nipples. "Aww, you're both so pretty," Terrowne teases. "We should get one that combines both of you."

This suggestion is ultimately achieved by turning on the portable fan in the corner of the room. Niphur likes the fan, and crouches in front of it with muzzle down, optimally streamlined, ears streaming in the airflow. Cleo then strips off her robe and crouches down on top of Niphur, hands and feet either side of its front and back paws, adopting an exactly identical pose and rapturous smile of enjoyment as the air streams past her, huge heavy breasts hanging freely such that her nipples can brush against Niphurs silken night-black coat. The result is awesome and he collects an entire photo set before Niphur gets bored and stalks off to do whatever it is that cats do when no-one else is watching.

Whilst Cleo is posing, and in-between talking fascinating nonsense to mesmerize Niphur and keep it staying put, he tells her about all the strange things that are going on. "Something is warming up," he concludes. "We'll just have to wait and see what it is."