American Elsewhere

CHAPTER SIXTY




The fight begins.

It is a fight beyond nearly everyone and everything in the valley, save for the two fighting: it is a fight that takes place on many invisible fronts, using methods and modes undetectable to nearly everyone’s senses; and it is a fight that only rarely intrudes into the physical realm and its rudimentary dimensions. To nearly all onlookers, each blow and each small victory has completely random results throughout Wink, while First and his Mother stand almost utterly still, staring at each other across the ruined southern end of the valley.

The first effect of the fight—a warning shot, a glancing blow, perhaps—is the sudden appearance of a river in the sky, stretching from north to south along Wink. It is an immense rope of water, suspended about seven hundred feet above them all, and were it to fall it would surely drown them.

Thrust.

First shifts his feet. The river in the sky dissolves, and there is a sudden deluge, a blitzkrieg of a torrent that comes howling down, even though the sky is completely cloudless. It rains for six seconds before it halts as suddenly as it started.

When the rain stops, it is, without warning or reason, night: stars twinkle above them, and the pink moon is there as always.

Parry.

On Grimmson Street seven homes abruptly burst into flames, which turn bright green before going out, with no structure showing any aftereffects of a fire. As the fire dies out, the sun returns, and it is day again.

A riposte, perhaps.

In eastern Wink, buildings and roads and the ground shatter in a straight line across a city block, as if an enormous blade has swung down out of the sky. Several family members who gathered there to watch the fight are crushed, obliterated: as there are no more human hosts available, they are gone from Wink forever.

A lunge—most certainly.

A pinhole appears in the space behind the giant, which grows and grows, sucking all nearby matter into it: earth, broken trees, chunks of asphalt, and several dozen of the children, who tumble into its nothingness with tinny screeches.

A definite coup d’arrêt.

The giant cocks its head, and the hole slowly shrinks and disappears, sending a bolt of pink lightning arching across the skies. First shifts his feet again, and the lightning bolt disappears, though another massive, invisible blade goes slashing across the city, vivisecting homes, trees, and several people: it is as if an enormous, imperceptible force has been captured and diverted into purely physical energy, which is far less dangerous than its original state.

Perhaps—a croisé?

And does it succeed, and throw someone off their stance?

The skies quiver. Suddenly there are two suns above the town, one large and pink, the other small and blood-red, like an infected eye.

Thrust.

The skies quiver again: now it is night again, and the skies are filled with eight moons of many sizes and many colors. Some have rings; others have tiny moons of their own.

Again, a thrust.

The skies quiver again: they are now filled with a cold, frigid mist, and there are no mountains on either side of the town—only huge blue ice shelves, as if the town lay in a valley in the Antarctic. But there are buildings or colonies among the icy peaks, blocky, gray, ancient-looking structures that do not align to any building principle on earth.

A riposte, but a desperate one…

The skies quiver again: the ice is gone, the mist is gone; above the town is nothing but black, solid black: no moon, no stars, no suns or clouds, just… nothing. Just abyss.

A lunge, and—perhaps—a touch?

Slowly the streetlights of Wink flicker on, as if someone somewhere has flipped a switch. The streets fill with white, fluttering incandescence. The many figures standing in their front yards cast stretching shadows like a line of fence posts.

An attempt, possibly, to disengage?

Then there is a series of bursting lights at the south end of Wink, like soundless fireworks; with them, the streetlights die, and the world is bathed in darkness.

A touch. A touch.


(In the dark, Mona feels a small hand grip her wrist. It pulls her down, and there is a voice in her ear: “You know that the wildling is in Wink?”

“Yes,” whispers Mona. “I know.”

Parson asks, “But do you know where?” And Mona listens very carefully as he continues speaking.)


Blue pinpricks appear in the darkness above Wink. They flare like magnesium, and light slowly returns to the sky.

What they illuminate indicates that though things went queerly dark and silent, the fight continued: for example, huge, twisted, oddly fleshy trees have sprung up through the streets and even through a few homes, crinkling the asphalt and foundations like paper; stretches of the lawns and parks have become flats of black volcanic glass; the western end of Wink now features a mammoth, leaning tower of five-sided basalt columns; and the ground between the two combatants—the giant at the southernmost end of the valley, and First at the southern edge of the town—is now a reeking, bubbling, black marsh.

First, though mostly invisible, appears tired: though he stood stock-still before, now he sways like a willow in a storm. The giant, though it has been barred from entering Wink, does not appear winded by any of this exertion, nor is it irritated or angered at all: it is as if this has been an interesting, diverting little game, but no more.

The giant studies First coolly, then cocks its head again. Immediately a fierce buzzing rings out over the whole town, as if a hive of hornets a billion strong has just been punctured with a rock.

The people standing in their yards and in the street turn all at once, and begin marching toward First.

The giant cocks its head in the other direction. First becomes a little more corporeal: the crinkle in the air becomes slightly gray and filmy, though still translucent. He turns to see his brothers and sisters approach him.

The giant cocks its head once more. The crowds of people begin to sprint.

First waves a shimmering hand at them: No, no. Do not do this. But they pay no attention.

First flickers, and seems to melt off in one direction, as if he is sliding through the air, attempting to get away. But the giant’s fingers twitch, and it is as if First strikes a glass wall.

He attempts to transport himself away again, but meets the same obstacle: Mother has trapped him.

The crowds of people—and, now, many of the children—swarm down to surround First. They ring him in completely, staggering across the black marshes to contain him.

Then, without a word, they charge.

Mr. First, of course, cannot kill any of his brothers or sisters in Wink, nor can they kill him: this is the agreement all of them made before making their home here, and it binds them like a law of physics. But his brothers and sisters do not seem intent on killing him as much as holding him down, grasping one of his many invisible limbs and pinning it to the ground. Though First is quite strong, and is capable of resisting for a time, their numbers grow too great, and he, shrieking, bellowing, is brought to his knees.

They pile onto his shoulders. He tips forward, and falls onto the ground.

The giant approaches. It bends over the prostate First with a vaguely self-satisfied air, as if to say—Now do you see what that sort of behavior gets you?

First bellows and tries to stand. The pile of people—there must be several hundred on him—billows up, then falls back down. First moans, weeps, screams.

The giant bends its knees, and begins to reach down to him.

As its fingers near him, a shout rings out across Wink:

NO! NO! I WAS HAPPY! WHY CAN’T YOU LET ME BE HAPPY? WHY CAN’T YOU EVER LET ME BE HAPPY?