In Light's Shadow

Chapter 1-2

Two dispirited pegasi, wings clipped, stood in the first cage, munching from the clover, fresh grass, and alfalfa that spilled out of a trough onto the earthen floor. Neither looked up as the children passed, despite their waving. A lone unicorn stood in the next cage, eating the same food. The gargoyles’ cage looked like a pile of rocks. Two gargoyles sat motionless on one boulder, side by side, almost if they were rocks themselves. The Cheshire cats’ cage enclosed a thicket of trees, the animals’ natural habitat. Gavin had to show Latisha where the two cats were, on low branches toward the back.

“See that ripple of—sort of an orange—back there? That’s what they do sometimes when they are sleeping—flicker back and forth being visible and invisible,” Gavin told her, remembering one of the daily Enemy Awareness broadcasts he had heard almost every morning in high school. Know the enemy. Always be on guard. Today: Cheshire cats…

“I have a cat that color at home. Pumpkin. Pumpkin doesn’t disappear.”

“Pumpkin isn’t a Cheshire cat; he’s a normal cat. He’s a good cat.”

The centaurs’ cage was empty. Gavin was disappointed, but not surprised. The last wave of induced hoof, hand, and mouth disease had decimated the few herds remaining in the Columbian Empire. The grocery store tabloids reported rumors of wild herds in the Far Northern Territories or Alaska, and across the border in Quebec, or way south, in the Yucatan jungles of the Mexican Empire, or even farther south, in the Brasilian jungles. But who believed the tabloids?

* * * *

Gavin had met a centaur once, years ago, when he was in high school. He and his mother were spending a week in the western Northern Carolina mountains, in Sylva, near the Cherokee Reservation. One morning they had gotten up early, before dawn, and drove even further west, to Robbins to see the Big Trees in the Joyce Kilmer Imperial Forest. There had been others who had the same idea, but even so, when Gavin and his mother were on the path, they felt alone and safe in a world of green quiet. If anyone spoke, it was in a whisper. The brush of the early morning light painted the Big Trees with gold, and they rose, shining spears, their top branches far away.

They saw the centaur when they were just past the halfway path marker. A male, a stallion, with the body of a roan Clydesdale. Deep and full red beard, thick, curly hair, the points of his ears barely showing, a silky-looking mane growing down his back. A quiver of arrows and a bow were strapped across his broad chest. Gavin’s mother held up her hand: Be quiet. She and the centaur stared at each other, as if they had once known each other and had forgotten and were staring to see if they could remember. Finally, the centaur nodded his head in recognition and Gavin saw his mother do the same. The centaur trotted away, his hooves crunching the leaves, and disappeared into the green and yellow shadows.

“Don’t tell anyone,” his mother whispered, her voice barely audible. “The rangers would hunt him down and kill or cage him. Don’t mention him at all until we are in the car.”

Gavin nodded. Another secret. Right then he could not speak, and only after the centaur had left, did he realize he had been holding his breath. He had never seen someone so beautiful. He waited until they were back in the car and on the road to start asking his mother how the centaur had known her, but gave up in the face of her unyielding, stubborn silence.

He never asked her again why she left little bowls of milk and plates of oat cakes outside the back door of their rented cottage all week. It wasn’t for cats was all she had told him.

That centaur was magnificent. Homo sapiens equus.

* * * *

The name on the sign by the empty cage read, Equus caballus malum. No government-authorized sign would ever have any reference to human for a centaur. His mother had taught him the other name that morning beneath the Big Trees.

A pair of golden gryphons, also with clipped wings, and as unhappy looking as the pegasi, were in the next cage.

“There are supposed to be two silver gryphons, too,” Gavin said, after he read the sign. “I guess they are hiding in that cave in the back. Maybe the female is sitting on her eggs, or nursing her cubs.”

Latisha just nodded and tightened her grip on his hand. God only knows what her parents told her before this field trip.

The werewolf was next, sitting hunched over a rock in its forest habitat. It was an eastern red werewolf, with intensely blue human-like eyes. Listed on the sign in front of the cage were instructions for identifying werewolves in human form, and ways to protect oneself from such monsters. Canis lupus malum, evil wolf.

The werewolf seemed even sadder than the rest of the Bestiary’s denizens. It hadn’t looked up, no matter how loud the kids ahead of Gavin and Latisha had been, or how many faces they had made. But it did look up just as Gavin got to the cage and stared at him with those very bright blue eyes. Human eyes. Homo sapiens lupus. Gavin froze.

“Mr. Booker?”

He didn’t answer Latisha at first. Instead, Gavin watched as the werewolf, shaking its big shaggy head, came slowly over to the corner of the cage where they stood. Its eyes were focused intently on Gavin. It jumped on its hind legs, its big paws only separated from Gavin’s face by the glass.

“Help me, please, fairy, help me. They won’t me let change. They make me take drugs,” it said in a rough voice. “I need to change. Get me out of here.”

“I’m not a fairy. Shut up,” Gavin snapped back.

“Mr. Booker? Look, the silver ones came out,” Latisha said. She was staring at the gryphon cage. She turned when the werewolf asked again for the fairy to get him out. “Mr. Booker? What’s it talking about? What fairy?” Latisha asked, looking back and forth between the silver gryphons and the werewolf. The silver gryphons ran back into their cave.

“Not a fairy? Look at your hands, fairy,” the werewolf hissed.

Gavin dropped Latisha’s hand and looked at his own. The tips of all his fingers glowed, a faint, faint yellow glow, as if he had dipped them in fluorescent paint. He quickly slid them into his pockets.

I took the pills this morning. This shouldn’t be happening. Suppress, suppress, suppress.

“I’m not a f*****g fairy,” he yelled at the werewolf who only growled and snarled in return. He looked quickly around the Bestiary. Was there anybody who’d hear him yelling? What was he thinking? Thank God nobody but Latisha was anywhere near Gavin and the werewolf.

Latisha stared at Gavin and the werewolf. “You aren’t supposed to say that word; it’s not nice. Mama told me so. What fairy is it talking about?”

Gavin took a deep breath. Seeing the fear in the little girl’s face, he spoke slowly, in as even and as calm a tone as he could muster. “I don’t know what fairy it’s talking about. There’s just you and me and we’re certainly not fairies.” The glowing had stopped, he felt it. He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I got upset—that thing upset me. Your mother is absolutely right; you shouldn’t say that.”

“Fairies are bad, too,” Latisha said. He could guess what she was thinking. Latisha was remembering what she had been taught in school, the same things he had been taught in kindergarten and first grade, in Sunday school, and all the way through high school and college. Never mind the ads on TV and that radio that played over and over. The government made sure the lesson got through, that it was repeated over and over so no one could ever miss it. Even the youngest knew what the warning signs were, what to look out for. And what to do if they saw glowing people.

For your country and your Emperor, for God, for your family and friends, and because Jesus loves you: call the police. Just hit the big blue star on the nearest Automatic Reporting Machine and start talking. If you don’t know how to use the phone or the ARM, or neither is nearby, find the nearest normal adult and tell them. Normal people, good people, do not glow.

“Fairy, please. Help me.”

Gavin ignored the werewolf. “It’s not supposed to talk to us. Let’s go find Mr. Phillips and the rest of the class.”

Latisha nodded and reached for his hand. They walked away quickly, not looking back.

The werewolf yelled. “Fairy, help me, please!” Then it howled. They walked faster, Latisha looking over her shoulder.

The rest of the zoo trip was uneventful. Christopher slapped Gavin on the back before he went to his car. “Thanks, man. See ya on Monday.”

One of his old dreams caught Gavin just as he got to his car.

Long Beach, the family beach trip, and I am up before anybody else and I run and run in an early morning rain. There is no one on the beach but me. Finally, I stop, panting, and lean over, shaking the water out of my hair. I lie down on the sand, close my eyes, and stretch. Then I make sand angels.

I open my eyes. From somewhere, there is another boy, sitting beside me on the sand.

Curly dark red hair, yellow-streaked, as wet as my hair, the boy sits beside me on the sand. Eyes greener than mine are brown, and mine are honey-brown.

At first, the boy says nothing. He only touches me with the palm of his hand on my chest, on my heart. I feel a sudden warmth, a spark, where he touched me. I want to touch him back, but I am afraid. Is it okay? Like a flashlight blinking on and off, he glows with a rosy-golden light.

“Not here, I can’t think of the golden boy here. It’s too dangerous,” Gavin whispered into the steering wheel of his car.

His hands glowed.