Wrote this a couple of years ago. Not interested in rewriting it any time soon. Just wanted to share it will you.
Chapter One
The dank stench was almost unbearable. The world was too cold live in, and too dark to see. Too cold and dark for a human, that is. But Heedoro, who had walked the Tunnels of Yumaso Mountain for nearly two hundred years, was not human. Not completely. As great as his desire was to be human and live in a peaceful town in Ireland, it would never happen. While his face and body were human enough, his thick, wrinkled, green skin was all the evidence needed to show Heedoro’s Hachian half. Not human, not Hachian.
He stood at the entrance of the Yumaso Tunnels, which faced the Kagunchi Valley, the Valley of Dry Grass, which was little more than brownish grass, some blue-green grass, and a river that flowed by the Tunnel entrance. He squinted when the light hit his eyes. Catching fish would be easy, but he was in no mood for fish. Today he desired a bird for his dinner. That, however, required a great deal of patience, for Heedoro was not permitted to leave the mountain unless instructed to do so. If he did, Lothum, Hachian King, would surely kill him. Heedoro did not fear death, but he needed to stay alive.
After waiting for several minutes, hunched over on one knee, hunger started to nag at him. He hadn’t eaten for three days, but he had gone longer without food than that. This was nothing. With the threat of death constantly hanging over him, he dared not come here too often.
His father had been human. That was the reason for his curse. The Hachian hated humans because, once upon a time, humans and the reptilian Hachian had lived on the same world. Humans called them demons, for they were a cruel and brutal race. Their cruelty has rarely been matched by humans. Most humans had been slaves. Other had been tortured to entertain the Hachian King. However, there were some humans who had been able to escape. After becoming powerful sorcerers, they had banished the Hachian to a world called Deinoma, and renamed their world Earth.
A bright red bird called sukuina fluttered down to take a drink from the river. Small, though it was, it had often proved to be a good meal, and was substantial enough to last Heedoro a few days if no other food was available. The bird’s blood was also very potent, though nobody knew why. It was used in many useful potions.
Heedoro crept forward, careful not to cross the shadow of the Tunnel. The sukuina caught a small river creature, tilted its head back, and swallowed the creature whole. It ruffled its feathers as it leaned forward to take a drink. Come into the mounain. The sukuina looked in Heedoro’s direction. Come, come. The bird waddled to where Heedoro knelt.
Heedoro pulled a small knife from a sheath attatched to his leather boot. When the bird was under the shadow of the Mountain, Heedoro grasped it by the troat. Loud squaking reverberated throughout the Tunnel walls. The noise ceased when, with one swift stroke, Heedoro removed the head without a thought in his own. Returning the knife to its sheath, he stuff the bird into a pouch tied to his belt, and turned back into the dark Tunnels of Yumaso Mounatin.
Every few feet, there lay a rotting, stinking corpse, or dried-up bones, and any other kind of filth imaginable. Most of the bodies were human. Poor souls who had frozen or starved to death, hoping that the Hachian King would grant them their wish.
After a time, the Hachian had become determined to reclaim the world they had heard about as children. But at the time, they were still very weak, and the humans were expanding at an exponential rate. King Gentano, Lothum’s grandfather, had decided that he would build an army out of humans that he would turn into Hachian. Unfortunately, because of the spell cast over ten thousand years before, humans would only be able to enter Deinoma of their own free will. So the wizard, Grolus, had created a legend. It said that humans who were able to reach the Castle, high up on Yumaso Mountain, in less than ten days would be granted one wish by the Hachian King. Those who failed would be turned into soldiers of the Hachian army.
Gentano, then his son Golard, who was Lothum’s father, maintained a strong hold over the Hachian, making sure that they would not defy their plans to reclaim Earth. Minara, Heedoro’s mother, had been one of the few able to break free of Golard’s control. With a complex mixture of herbs and blood, she disguised herself as a human. Changing her name to Ciara, she went to live in a place called Ireland. After living there for a few years, she married a man called Liam O’Shea. Sadly, when their first child was born, Minara was not able to recreate the spell she had used on herself. After Liam saw Heedoro for the first time, he and his mother were forced to return to Deinoma.
After walking for a few hours, Heedoro stopped and faced the wall. “Toseise,” he said. A portion of the wall fell forward to reveal a door. Although most of his powers had deminished over the years, he was still able to protect himself from Soari, the only large predator living in the Mountain. As he entered his small home, closing the door behind him, he said, “Toshimaru,” and the section of Tunnel wall hid the door once again. Despite the fact that Soari were more than strong enough, they were not smart enough to think of breaking through the walls.
Heedoro’s home was simple. It was a dry, dirty, hole in the deepest Tunnels. There was not room for much, just two chairs, a wooden table, a cot barely big enough for him to sleep in, and a cooking fire. The walls were so short that if Heedoro were to grow any taller, he would not be able to stand. This was where Lothum had forced him to live once he learned of Heedoro’s human half. Lothum had given him two chairs as a joke. A constant reminder that he was alone. Not of one kind, but not of the other.
Shortly after his mother died, still only a small child of ten years, Heedoro left the home he and his mother had been hiding in, which was very far from Yumaso. Speaking both English and the language of the Hachian, he went to work in the Castle. King Golard had recognized his skills very quickly. Though his skills as a soldier were few, his telepathic abilities were some of the greatest Golard had ever come in contact with. It had enabled Heedoro to hide his human half, and allowed him to work directly with Golard in the Viewing Chamber, where they watched Earth, persuading humans to make a wish. Heedoro had lived that way for nealy one hundred years, so long that he had even forgotten what he really was.
He sat in one of the chairs and removed the sukuiana from his pouch. As he began to prepare the bird for cooking, a disembodied voice boomed, “Come to the Viewing Chamber.”
Heedoro need not have done anything but drop what was in his hands and stand up. As he did, his surroundings changed from his small room to the vast stone chamber Lothum had just called him to. It was greater than twenty times the size of Heedoro’s room, and was made of the same smooth, grey stone that the entire Castle had been constructed out of. The only visible difference was that this space was completely empty, free of all the furniture and decorations that filled every other chamber. Only Gentano, Golard, Lothum, and Heedoro had ever been in this place since the creation of the Viewing Window.
Standing by the small Window, Lothum was not the image of a king, but that of a villain, dressed completely in leather. He also did not have the face of a Hachian, but rather one that seemed almost human. Ever feature of his symmetrical face was perfect by many humans’ standards. His skin was smooth and pale, almost white. His straight hair, which was even lighter in colour than his skin, hung several inches below his broad shoulders, and was tied back with a leather thong. Heedoro believed that he chose to stay in human form so he could move freely between Earth and Deinoma.
As a child, Lothum had always been suspicious of Heedoro, for he looked nothing like any of the Hachian races. Golard had accepted the idea that Heedoro’s father was a traveller from a great distance away and had been killed by a sunaru, a venomous river snake, a few days before Heedoro had arrived. Lothum, on the other hand, had never believed it, and became obsessed with learning the truth about Heedoro. He spent years training his mind. By the time Golard died, he was stronger than Heedoro, stronger than his father had ever been, and forced Heedoro to tell him the truth. But Lothum, as mad as he had become, was still able to recognize Heedoro’s usefulness. Rather than killing him, he was stripped of all rank and privilege, forced to live in the prison, and called upon every so often when his skills could be put to use.
“Come here,” Lothum said, pulling Heedoro to him with his words. In the past, Heedoro might have tried to resist, but now knew that Lothum’s grip was far too strong. Lothum looked into the window. “Tara Solomon.”
Heedoro peered into the Window. The image of the distant forest rippled like reflections in a lake and faded into the image of a human child. The child was standing in a . . . What had Lothum called it? A bus. The child seemed excited about something. When she ran off the bus, she tripped. She ran into a large brown building up to the fifth level. She entered a white room full of adult humans and machines that Heedoro did not recognize. “It’s okay,” a male voice said, “you need to see this.” The child approached a bed. In it lay the body of a woman. The woman was dead. “Mommy.” The child began to cry.
“What is this?” Heedoro asked as he leaned in closer, gazing with fascination as a man tried to comfort the child.
“That girl is one of the few humans who still believe we exist. She and her mother, the woman you see lying in that bed, have nearly all of the books that have been sent to their world.” As stories of the Hachian died out on Earth, Gentano and Golard had written many books and sent them to Earth. Now, they only existed as fantasy novels. And of course no normal human would believe something they read in a fantasy novel. “She has many reasons to ask a wish of me, but she will not likely need any persuasion.”
Lothum paused, grimacing. Heedoro would not have believed it had he not been standing next to him, but Lothum appeared to be straining to understand something. Suddenly his face did not seem so perfect. His features tight and was filled with confusion. It seemed as though the most powerful King to ever rule Deinoma was . . .
“There is something else.” The strain was now evident in his voice. “Had I yet desired it . . . I cannot see inside her mind. She has some hidden powers that she is not yet aware of.”
Heedoro leaned even farther, so far that he might have fallen out of an ordinary window. Men in green clothing and many-coloured head coverings removed the child’s mother from the room. The child no longer had the strength to stand. The man who was trying to comfort her lifted her up and carried her to a more comfortable room.
“But such a small child could not possibly . . .”
The man lay the child, who was so exhausted that she had fallen asleep, on a large couch, her chubby face wet with tears. The man, looking haggard and miserable, sat with his face in his hands. He was full of deep sorrow, and the grief that came with losing a loved one. Heedoro realized that this must be the child’s father, and the woman his wife.
But then Heedoro felt something. It was very faint, but as tiny child slept, she began to glow with warm energy. She would be strong one day. Very strong. And this strength would only grow with the ache in her heart.
“So you feel it, too.” It was not a question.
“Yes . . .” Heedoro said slowly, his eyes transfixed on the pleacefully sleeping child.
“With the knowledge she possesses, such power could easily be a threat to us.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Watch her. Just enough to understand her, and remain aware of how her powers grow. When she makes her with, you will bring her to me.”
“Very well,” Heedoro sighed. “What will you do when--?” But before Heedoro could finish the question, Lothum had returned him to his home.
This new task troubled Heedoro. What human could possibly have such power? Still, regardless of where this power had come from, it was great. With proper training the child would become an extraordinary telepath. Perhaps she would even be able to rival Lothum. Any human with her abilities and knowledge would certainly be a threat. If she were ever to come to Deinoma, she might even be able to defeat Lothum.
But how would she be able to do that when all she had ever read about the Hachian said that the Hachian King was the most powerful being in Deinoma and Earth? None who had ever tried had even come close to rivaling Lothum. Heedoro would just have to make her believe.
For the next few days Heedoro went into the Grolus Forest, which ahd been renamed in honour of the famed wizard, to collect the materials needed to make a Window. He savoured every moment of freedom, but worked swiftly so as not to anger Lothum; he also took this chance to gather food he would not normally be able to eat, such as berries and nasagi. This Window would be similar to the one in the Castle, but different in that it would be temorary, made in something small like a bowl.
Back in the Mountain, he ground the plants he had collected into a find power in a wooden bowl, and mixed them with water and the thick, yellow blood of a sukuina. After reciting a few chants, the Window was ready. To activate the Window, one had only to say the name of the desired person or place. “Tara Solomon.”
The liquid in the bowl rippled. In it appeared the child, Tara Solomon. She was talking in a very green area, holdind a thin, red rope. Attached to the other end was a small, grey animal. Tara was watching a group of children playing a game. She looked so sad, and the other children were having fun. Perhaps she would join their game.
But she did not. Instead, she said quietly, “Come on, Wizard, we gotta go home,” and walked back to her house. Once home, she removed the rope from the animal’s collar and walked up to the second level. She entered a room with her name written on the door in gold letters. She removed a book from the shelf. It was one of the first books Gentano had ever sent to Earth. As Tara sat on her bed reading the book, she cried.
It was this moment that gave Heedoro an idea. This child believed in the books so strongly that if she were to read a book about a girl like herself, one so consumed by grief over the loss of her mother, who is able to defeat Lothum, perhaps she would believe herself capable of it as well. But how to do it? It could take a number of years with his limitted resources. No matter. He would find a way, and it would be done. Tara Solomon had the ability. She only needed the faith to do what was needed. Heedoro would write the book, and when Tara read it she would come to Deinoma and stop Lothum. Earth would be safe, and Deinoma could be made as it should.
Chapter Two
It had been a daunting task, but Heedoro’s book was finally complete, and was waiting on a bookstore shelf for Tara to read. Nearly seven years had passed since her mother had died. Not knowing how to move on, Tara had delved deepeer and deeper into the books of Deinoma. She had even begun to study the language of the Hachian. For Lothum it had become a game. He had sent book after book to Earth. These new books were for her, and only her. They would remain invisible on the shelf until Tara touched them. Yet after so long, she still had not asked Lothum to grant her a wish, and Lothum was growing impatient. He was breaking her down.
In these last few years, the Tara’s powers had begun to develop. These abilities had appeared in very small ways. Books and movies had become boring and predictible. On rare occasions, she would catch a glimps of a teacher’s thoughts before they asked a question. For the last few months, she had always been able to tell when someone was lying to her.
Seven years, Heedoro mused. Was that a number that was considered to be unlucky? Or was it thirteen? Earth’s population had swelled so greatly since the time that his mother had lived there. It was becoming impossible to truly understand was human beliefs were. Perhaps it was better not to try to understand. The many differences made it easier for people to find a place where they belong. Still, there were always those who were labeled as outsiders.
Tara Solomon was one of those people.
Heedoro sprinkled some ground-up leaves into his Window and said the girl’s name. The liquid rippled into the image of a fourteen-year-old Tara. She had the appearance of any happy girl her age, but Heedoro could still see the pain that had never quite faded. She was with her friend, Jessica. Jessica was the only person Tara spent much time with. They were in a bookstore, in a place called a mall. This was a place they went often, though they rarely did anything besides eat, and read books in the massive store. As difficult as humans were to understand, none were more difficult than those of Tara’s age.
* * *
“Which one are you going to get?” Jessica asked, arms crossed, leaning against the shelf.
“I dunno . . . There’s so many.” Tara crouched down, balancing on her toes, arms crossed over her knees. Her eyes scanned the titles on the bottom two shelves on the fantasy series section for a third time.
“You gotta chose one today,” Jessica urged.
“I know, I know,” Tara said with a heavy sigh.
“Well, hurry up, will ya! The reports are due in a month, and you haven’t even started your display board.”
“I know, I know. I hate this assignement, though. Why did Miss have to make us read three books that all different genres. But reports and a display board are easier than an essay. When we do one for the exam, that’ll be pure torture.”
“Oh yeah.”
Tara ran her fingers across the spines of the books, and took out a few of the Deinoma books and looked at the covers. One had a picture of a pack of Soari, absolutely disgusting creatures that were about six feet tall when it stood on its two back legs, with the body of the most horrifying scorpion you’d ever seen. Another had a picture of the Mountain, a bright light shining from roof of the tallest tower of the Castle. She put the books back in their proper place, and again ran her fingers across the spines of the books, the smooth binding squeeking under her fingers.
Suddenly, the last book on the lowest shelf seemed to stick out at her. A voice inside her head chimed, “pick me.” She pulled the small book off the shelf. It seemed to be crammed in quite tightly. Why did they always try to put more books on the shelf than would fit? On the glossy cover was a terrified girl sitting in the middle of the Grolus Forest, which was full of twisted, sick-looking trees. There was a nasty-looking gash of the girl’s forehead. Just above the trees, the Castle could just barely be seen in the dark sky, the light shining from the tower.
“A New Era,” Tara read slowly. This girl looks like me, she though. “Must be new. I’ve never heard of this one Ciara O’Shea . . . New author, too.” She opened the book to the last page. “Only two hundred pages. I can read this pretty quick.” Tara had been known to read a different five-hundred-page novel every week.
“Well, then let’s get it an go!” Jessica said, almost shouting. She looked at her watch and rolled her eyes. “Shit, the movie’s starting in ten minutes.” It was the first Friday the movie was playing, and everyone knew that if you went in too close to starting time on those days you might not get the seat you wanted.
“Yes, Mother, dearest,” Tara said, which was an unofficial signal they used when the other was getting too serious. Since her mother died, sometimes, despite being the same age, Jessica would pretend to act like a kind of mother for Tara, buying the sorts of things mothers usually bought for their daughtors, and guided her through the early stages of puberty. That part, she was particularly grateful for. She didn’t know how she would have been able to ask her father for money--who always asked what it was for before giving it to her--and tell him it was to buy pads the first few times she got her period.
Tara rose to her full height, book in hand, slinging her purse onto her shoulder. The pressure finally released from her toes, she had to wait a few seconds before she could walk, as her toes shifted back into their natural position. They went down to the first floor to pay for the book, then back up to the second floor to the movie theare.
* * *
As the movie ended and the lights came back on, hundreds of people began to flood the stairs to the exit. The excited voices of two hundred different conversations echoed throughout the theatre. Voices blended together, making it almost impossible to pick out to pick out any idividual comments. But Tara was good at that. She was deflated by many of the statements she heard, most of which were complaints. People moaning about the tiniest problems, picking it apart like a fruit salad that had something you didn’t want. They were the worst sort of people to go to a movie with, Tara thought. Too negative, couldn’t get over the fact that the computer animation didn’t blend well with the cell animation. As if that was enough to ruin an entire movie: the story, the voice actors, character relationships and development, and excellent dialogue. Tara liked to focus on the possitive, rather than mediocre animation. After all, if your reality is miserable, wouldn’t you want to find the good things wherever you could?
Tara and Jessica waited in their seats--as close to the centre of the third row, as usual--until the mob of incredibly impatient people, who seemed to feel that they needed to get out of the theatre before everyone else, had gone. The girls knew that it was no use trying to fight their way through the chaos. How would they be able to talk about the movie while so many others shouted over their tiny voices. Abnormally quiet and patient compared to their friends and classmates, although not always with each other, they prefered to sit and watch the credits go by, and wait until everyone else had gone before they did. It was a nice release after the intensity of the best movie they had seen in a very long time. It hardly mattered to Tara that she had known from the start that Corran, as kind as he appeared, would betray Luke. Besides, Tara liked the music they had chosen to play during the credits. A soft rock song about holding on to dreams for the future.
Tara looked behind her to see if everyone had left. Only one other person remained, but he soon got out of his chair and walked away, leaving his nacho tray on the cupholder of one armrest, and what was left of a large drink in the other. As soon as they were left alone, the girls exited using the door near the scream which lead to the parking lot, rather than the one which lead back to the mall; they only ever went out that way if they planned on sneaking into another movie, which was surprisingly easy if the crowd was big enough.
They walked through the noisy parking lot, which was much like the theatre but with cars, to the subway station. At the newsstand they each bought a pop and a bag of chips before going up to the subway platform. This was where they had to part ways, though, because the northbound train arrived as soon as they got off the escalator.
“Bye, see ya Monday,” Jessica said as she boarded the train. She lived at the north end of the city, while Tara lived a little farther south.
Tara didn’t mind that she would have to ride alone, though. In fact, she prefered it. She loved her friend, but
also loved the quiet just as much. There were some things, like riding the late-night subway, that you just didn’t want to share with anyone. Besides, it would give her a chance to start reading her new book.
Two minutes after Jessica’s train had left, Tara’s train arrived. To her great joy, not only did it stop with a door directly in front of her, after two or three people got off to go to the latest movie, that particular car was completely empty!
Tara had only ever had a car to herself once before, and it had seemed like the most exciting thing in the world to a twelve-year-old. Afternoon classes had been cancelled that day, so she’d had nothing to do until her dentist appointment at three thirty. She and Jessica had had the fabulous idea to ride the subway for a while. But Jessica got bored after they had finished the doughnuts they bought at the subway coffee shop. “Go on, it’s okay,” Tara had said. “I don’t wanna waist an extra bus ticket going home, though. I’m gonna stay.” But five minutes after Jessica left, that’s when it happened. That was when everything, as bad as they had been, had suddenly taken a nose dive into the deepest tunnels of Yumaso mountain.
Tara settled into a seat in the back on the train car, propping her feet on the seat in front of her. Before opening the book, she took a moment to absorb the silence, then read the summary on the back of the book.
It has been ten thousand years since the
humans banished the Hachian to the other
world known as Deinoma. King Lothum is
preparing for war. His army is almost
complete, and he will attack within the
year. But not if Miriam can reach the
Castle in less than ten days. For
although she is untrained, and unaware
of it, she possesses powers that could
defeat Lothum. Lothum knows this, and
he will do anything he can to stop her.
All Tara could say to this was, “Wow.”
Lothum. That was the thing that had started it all. She had seen numerous illustrations in many of the books. But on that day in the subway, she had seen him for real. She hardly remembered what happened. It was just a flash. She had woken up in the hospital several hours later, her head aching. Nobody could figure out what caused it, or the dozens of other, similar attacks she had had over the last two years, each gradually getting worse that they had been a month before.
Tara shook away the thoughts--she hadn’t had an attack for a month--and opened the book. Within seconds, she was completely drawn in. The story was so enthralling that she almost missed her stop, where she would have to transfer to the eastbound bus, and wouldn’t stop reading, even as she walked off the train and onto the bus platform.
Miriam was just like Tara. A sad child who had lost her mother at the age of seven So tormented by her grief, she delved into a fantasy world inspired by the world of Deinoma. It was her only comfort, the only thing that protected her from the loneliness brought on by her mother’s death, for they had always read the stories together. Just as Tara had with her mother.
It was on the seventh anniversary of her mother’s death that she was pushed over the edge. In a movie her class was watching in school, one of the character’s mother died. At that moment, she just couldn’t take it anymore. She ran out into the street, fell to her knees, and screamed, “Lothum, please, Hachian King, Lord of Deinoma! I want my mother back. I’ll do anything. Please grant me this one wish!”
For the second time, Tara almost missed her stop. As she stepped off the bus, her entire body was surging with the depth of Miriam’s suffering. But even though the book was calling to her, she had to stop until she got home. It was far too dark to read while walking, even though she was a master at it during the day. It was also safer, anyway. She hadn’t broken a single bone in her life, and was not going to change that by letting herself get hit by a car.
She walked the four blocks to her house with hardly a thought in her head. Every cell in her body seemed focused on Miriam. Everything around her faded into the blackness. Her steps on the sidewalk were silent The warm air was so still that the world seemed totally lifeless. A crazed murderer could sneak up behind her at any moment, and nobody would no until it was too late.
When Tara opened the door, she was hit by a sudden burst of cold air. Her father must have left the air conditioner on again. Tsk, tsk, not conserving energy. But he did so like the cold more than the heat. So did Tara, but even this was a bit much. Before doing anything else, she turned the temperature up a few degrees. As she did, she noticed a note on the mahogany coffee table. It said that her father was out with his girlfriend, Kate, and should be back around one a.m. There was some lasagna in the oven if Tara was hungry.
Her father had only had a few girlfriends since her mother had died, but all of those relationships had been short-lived. The first one had only been her father’s way to comfort himself. Tara had never had a problem with that, though. She wasn’t going to be like those girls in most teen novels about divorce where they hated their fathers’ girlfriends no matter what. As long as they treated her like she was fourteen, not four, and didn’t try too hard to be all chumy, it was okay. She understood that her father could not be alone forever. For the first year, he would hardly leave the house unless he had to, and would take Tara almost everywhere he could but work, evem though there was a perfectly good baby-sitter in the area. Maybe he had just feared that, were he to let Tara out of his sight for too long, something would happen to her too.
Tara went up to her room to continue reading. The door still had her name written on it in gold letters. he interior also remained almost as it had been for nearly ten years. All of her little dolls, toys, and figurines had been placed on the same furniture in carefully chosen places. The same old posters of cartoon characters covered her pale-pink walls; her favourite was the one of North Star, a black horse with strong, broad wings. The only new addition was a bed more suited to her size, but it still had the same comforter with fluffy, white kittens on it, and the matching pillows her mother had made for her seventh birthday, just before the disease she had always had as long as Tara could remember began to ravish her body.
Turning her CD player on as loud as she could, she lay down on the floor, propping herself up on her elbows, she continued to read. The next series of events were completely stunning. Miriam met Heedoro, Lothum’s half-human slave. He convinced Miriam that preventing Lothum from finishing his army was more important that getting her mother back. Together, they made it to the Castle with one day to spare, and killed Lothum! Tara would never have thought it possible. Miriam never did get her mother back, though.
As soon as Tara closed the book, she heard her father openning the door. He was asking Kate if she wanted to stay for coffee. Good, Tara thought with a smile. She couldn’t remember a time when her father had been as happy as he had been since meeting Kate. Tara tossed the book on her dresser and ran downstairs.
* * *
Martin dropped his keys onto a little dish by the door which he had started using after he had lost them one to many times. Once he had left them hooked to his back belt loop without realizing it until Tara poked him in the back with them; she had somehow managed to unhook them without him noticing. She had giggled the way a girl her age ought to. It was in that moment that Martin was sure that his daughtor would be okay. That she had stopped reliving the day her mother had died. Only two days before she had her first attack. She hadn’t giggled like that since.
He heard the thump of Tara’s clunky shoes coming down the stairs. She never did want to go to sleep without him in the house. “Hi, Tara,” he said, taking Kate’s purse and hanging it up on the coatrack.
“Hey--” Tara began, but stopped, stricken with fear. “Lothum.” she choked out, then backed away, her breaths coming quick and shallow. Tears built up in her eyes as the occassional whimper escaped.
“Tara,” Martin said slowly, not showing his frustration. It had never helped to get frustrated, anyway. “Nobody’s here. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”
She backed into the wall and slid to the floor. “No, no, go away.” Her trembling voice was barely audible.
Martin knelt down in front of her, moving the hair out of her face. “He’s not here,” he whispered when she finally fainted. He sat there for a moment, stroking her hair, whispering comforting words into Tara’s ear, Kate all but forgotten.
He picked up the limp figure of his daughter and walked to the stairs when Kate asked, “Will she be okay?” clearly confused, but deeply concerned.
Martin hadn’t told her about this. Hadn’t told anyone about this. Had never known how to. “Yeah, I think so,” he said simply, deciding to explain everything in the morning. “Let me put her to bed, then I’ll call you a cab. I don’t like to leave her alone when this happen.”
“Okay,” was all Kate could say.
Martin continued up the stairs and into Tara’s room. He lay her gently on the bed. While he was untying her shoes, Wizard came in. He stuck his nose in Tara’s hand and licked it, whimpering quietly. He knew what had happened. Martin patted the dog and rubbed him behind the ears., hoping to reassure him. “I know, boy,” Martin said, “but we can’t do much for her now. Just have to hope it doesn’t happen again before Monday. She can’t keep missing school like this.”
Tara began to wake up when Martin had finished dressing her in a cotton night gown; he had bought a few of them a year ago to make nights like this a little easier. Tara coughed and sputtered, rolling onto her side. Amongst the babble of a made-up language that Martin did not understand, one word escaped: “Help.”
But he was trying to help. No matter what he or the doctors did, the attecks just kept getting worse and worse. At first it was just seizures, but it wasn’t epilepsy or a brain tumor. Anticonvulsants helped, but none of the tests the doctors had done could figure out why it was happening. Then the hallucinations started. That character from her books started talking to her. Tara had never told him what that character said, but every time he spoke she would scream for him to be quiet. Whatever he said, it terrified her. She got so depressed that the doctors had given her antidepressants. So many pills. Prescription pain relievers for the headaches, and pills they thought might stop the hallucinations. The pain relievers and anticonvulsants worked most of the time, the antidepressants helped a little. But the other one had never worked, and they had to try a new one every few months as the hallucinations came back even worse than they had been before.
“Make him go away,” Tara pleaded in her semi-conscious state.
Martin sighed. “I wish I could make him go away,” he said. But I don’t even know why he’s here.” He kissed Tara on the forehead and went down to call a cab for Kate.
Chapter Three
On Monday morning, Tara dragged herself out of bed, her head throbbing as it always did after an attack. She’d had one a few minutes before going to bed the night before, though it had been a fairly minor one. Lothum had only appeared for a few seconds. All he said was, “Come with me,” the vanished. Her father didn’t know about it. She didn’t like him worrying about her.
She had slept through Saturday, waking up only for a couple of hours to take her pills and have a bowl of chicken soup. A Jewish mother’s cure for everything. Only Tara didn’t have a mother to make the soup for her. She had to settle for soup from a can. It had more noodles that chicken. And little orange things that were supposed to be bit of carrots. Oh, well. It was better than having to eat something solid. Something that might make her sick. And even if she didn’t want to, she knew she had to eat something.
As she dressed, she tried not to think of anything, just hoping that the pain killers would work their magic again. Jessica got migraines all the time, even when they were only eight years old. She could handle them until they were at their worst. Tara, on the other hand, had hardly had a minor sinus headache until two years ago. Like everything else that came with the attacks, this was new territory.
She gathered up her books under one arm, rubbing her forehead with the other. Big mistake. She had hoped to keep the attack a secret this time, but the first thing she heard upon entering the kitchen was, “It happened last night, didn’t it?”
Her father was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking tea. Tara tried to ignore what he had said by walking to the fridge, but Daddy didn’t want to leave the matter alone. “Are you sure you want to go to school today? They’ve never happened this close together before.”
“It wasn’t that bad. Just lasted a few seconds. I didn’t even pass out.” She opened the fridge and took out the milk carton. “I’ll be fine once the headache goes away.”
“What if it happens while you’re at school? I remember how the kids used to treat you in middle school.”
Tara slammed the fridge door closed and put the milk down. “I don’t care!” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. What her father didn’t know was that it hadn’t stopped after middle school. The abuse got even worse. Nobody teased Trina, the girl who had epilepsy. But everyone knew what that was. Trina could explain it to anyone quite easily. Before Trina’s first day--she’d started late because she’d been in the hospital--someone had come to talk to all her classes so everyone would know what to do in case she had a seizure in class. Tara’s doctor had done the same thing for Tara’s classes, but since he couldn’t explain why she had this “condition,” or even what it was called, it hadn’t helped very much. People who had met her doctor just pitied her, or were confused by her; some treated her like she was slow, or not as able to do things. Everyone else who had witnessed one of her attacks treated her like a freak. Some were afraid of her. Others laughed at her. But really, how were you supposed act towards someone who cowered in fear, begging for some invisible force to go away just because a teacher asked her if she knew where Omar was?
“Tara . . . I just want . . .” her father stammered. “I just want you to be okay.” He stood up and walked towards her.
“I know, Dad,” Tara said as her father wrapped his bag arms around her tiny body.
Father and daughter stood silently for a few seconds, Tara with her face buried in his shirt, hot tears burning her eyes. When they broke away from each other, her father sat back down, while Tara went back to her milk.
“What did you tell Kate last week?”
“That you had a brain tumour. Seemed like the most likely thing to cause what she saw. And that’s what they thought it was at first, anyway, before they did all the scans.”
“I hope I didn’t scare her,” Tara said with a deep sigh as she poured herself a glass of milk.
“Worried is more like it. She called as soon as she got home to see if you were okay.”
Tara put away the milk carton and sat across from her father. “It’s just . . . you guys get along so well. I don’t want my . . . I don’t want to get in the way.”
Her father took her hand, grasping it tightly. “You will never be in the way. I care about Kate, but you will always be my priority as long as you live under my roof.”
Tara smiled, but felt guilt bubbling deep within her. He was trying so hard. There were lots of single parents out there, but it was never easy. She loved her father, but . . . You’re not a mother. And what did a girl do without her mother?
* * *
“Hey!” came the bouncing voice of Jessica from behind her as she weaved through the crowded hall.
“Oh, hi,” Tara said flatly, her mind still on the conversation she’d had with her father. She had hoped to forget about it, make it through one day without thinking about Lothum--
“Did you finish that book? What was it called . . . ?”
The question stabbed Tara right in the eye. “A New Era,” she choked out, digging the heal of her hand into her eye. The pain had gone away briefly, but it had come back just as Jessica asked the question.
“You had one last night, didn’t you?” Jessica’s expression turned serious, and she put a supporting arm around Tara’s waist. “Did you bring your pills with you?”
All Tara could do was shake her head. She had hoped she wouldn’t need them. Every single pill felt like its own little curse. They were a part of Lothum that she could touch. Although she took them as prescribed, every time she did, she could feel Lothum digging deeper into her mind. Everything good they did, if they did anything at all, only lasted for a few hours. When the effects of the pills wore off, the problem came back even worse.
Jessica led Tara to a quiet corner and sat her down. She put her head between her knees and breathed deeply, willing the pain away. Jessica sat beside her, rubbing her back. In a few seconds, the pain began to subside, and Tara leaned back. “See,” she said. “This is why I couldn’t audition for the play.”
“But Mr. Richards loves you! You would have any part you asked for.”
“Same with Trina, but she didn’t either. She doesn’t have seizures that often, and I keep getting worse. What if I had an attack at rehearsal, or even during the show. I can’t do it.”
Jessica sighed. Tara could tell she was frustrated. Everyone wanted to help so much. But they couldn’t. Only someone who really knew what was happening to her could help. But there was nobody who truly knew. Only Lothum. Only her mother.
“Well,” Jessica said, ”come on, class is starting a minute.”
* * *
That afternoon in English, the teacher decided that they had to schedule what order they would be presenting their book reports. Because of a poor choice of numbers, Tara was chosen to present first. Without thinking, Tara blurted, “I can’t.” No, no, not that day.
“Why not?” the teacher asked, clearly perplexed.
“I just can’t, okay!” She could feel the confusion all around her. And Jessica’s knowing eyes staring at her. Jessica knew why. She was the only one who knew. The only one who knew that this was more than the normal stage fright that came with being chosen to present first. Only Jessica had known her long enough to know that the day their teacher had chosen to start presentations was no ordinary day for Tara. It was the seventh anniversary of her mother’s death. She hadn’t gone to school on that say for six years. Maybe something would happen to her father if she left him alone on that day. The teachers at her elementary and middle school had known. Had understood why she refused to come to school on that day, purposely scheduling things around it. But Tara had never told anyone after starting high school. There seemed no reason for them to know.
“The presentation orders are final,” the teacher said. “I’m sorry, but I’m not changing it without a doctor’s note.”
Tara did her best to control herself until the end of the period. A few people laughed silently at her. They knew better than to allow the teacher to hear their laughter, but they didn’t know that Tara could hear things that other people couldn’t. It was fortunate that her period five class had been cancelled because the regular teacher was away and they couldn’t get a supply. She wouldn’t have to suffer through another hour of people staring and silently--or sometimes not so silently-- snickering. As soon as the bell rang, she found a quiet corner and cried.
I know there are probably lots of spelling mistakes, but please don't bother with them. But if you like anything anout it I WANT TO KNOW.
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