The Clockwork Changeling
©2012 by Sylvan Scott
“Never try to out-drink a satyr,” Wiste declared.
He leaned back and drained his beer like water.
Anthony took another swig of his Surly Hell. “Who said I was keeping up with you?”
“Exactly!”
Packing boxes surrounded Anthony’s rickety card table, their poker hands: forgotten. A balloon floated limply against the ceiling and a half-eaten cake slumped on the computer desk. Wiste opened another can and raised it.
“Happy birthday!”
Anthony raised his lager. “Here’s to another twenty.”
“Oh, at least!”
There weren’t many friends like Wiste. Most people would hesitate to cross town after midnight to celebrate a birthday. Wiste had crossed the barriers between worlds and even promised to stick around and help Anthony pack for his annual move back home for summer break.
Every kid, or so he’d been told, had adventures in some magical “Neverland” of talking animals, fierce dragons, powerful wizards, and evil knights: they just forgot. Mortal minds couldn’t retain the memories forged in those other realities. Furthermore, as a person got older, the length of time in which a young mind could recall their exploits grew shorter and shorter. By age twelve or thirteen, the memories vanished altogether. Although he couldn’t usually remember them, each time he encountered something from that parallel world the experience would shake loose the darkness and his childhood adventures would come streaming back. Wiste, just by visiting, carried Anthony’s memories with him.
“So, Meripone has been censured by the Alabaster Throne. She’ll never bother you again.”
“And Rosa? What about her and Auntie Willow?”
“They’re dryads.” Wiste shrugged. “They may have helped you against Meripone but they’re also capricious.” He downed more beer. “Like all forest spirits.”
Anthony harrumphed. “I could’ve done without Rosa’s prickly brand of help, thank-you-very-much.”
“Her penance will come.”
Anthony nodded, taking another drink. “Wish you’d been there.”
“So do I. I missed my chance to meet your boyfriend.”
Anthony nodded.
Karl had already left campus for his Aunt and Uncle’s place in Baton Rouge. He’d spend the summer there while Anthony whiled away the hours in the Chicago suburbs. Although they’d both forgotten their NeverEarth adventure within a day of getting back, they’d grown closer, since. He wondered if the forgotten memories of the place had somehow strengthened their relationship.
“At least my best friend is here,” Anthony said and raised his beer.
“Hear, hear!” Wiste opened another can.
When Wiste had arrived through Anthony’s dorm room closet door, it was as if no time had passed since their last meeting. Bringing with him a cake baked in the kitchens of the Alabaster Palace, Wiste had come to surprise him and celebrate. He’d even gotten the time differential right and arrived on the correct date. Time in NeverEarth travelled about three times faster than on Earth. That he agreed to stay and take the long drive back to Illinois just made Anthony even more grateful for his age-old friend.
Tomorrow, they would move Anthony’s stuff back to his parents’ house in Northbrook.
“So, how is a satyr going to go unnoticed on Earth?”
“I got myself a clockwork mask,” the satyr said proudly. He held it up.
The device looked like a plain, ivory-white theater mask with two eye-holes in it. Etched into the surface, barely visible beneath its patina, were the subtle outlines of gears and joints. In its side was a small keyhole. “Like the changeling you got, it’s perfect for disguises. While I wear it, no one will know I’m not human.”
Anthony raised a brow. “And your legs?”
Wiste snorted. “The magic’s a bit better than that. I’ll be concealed just fine.” He drank half the can of Surly’s and belched.
“But what was this about my changeling? I’m not sure I follow you.”
“Your changeling: the clockwork that good King Alimonde bestowed upon you after your defeat of Pirate Lord Insarius.” He paused, looking curiously at Anthony’s blank expression. “To take your place during your visits to NeverEarth: so no one would get worried?”
Slowly, Anthony’s eyes grew wide. “Holy shit.” He smacked his forehead. “Holy shit, how could I have forgotten? The little amulet that—”
“Unfolded into the changeling, yes,” Wiste concluded. “You still have it?”
“It … I think it’s at my parent’s place.”
Wiste chuckled. “I guess not all memories come back so quickly.”
“There’s just so many of ‘em. I guess the unimportant stuff can get lost in the shuffle.” He paused in thought. “Y’know, if I bring it back to college this fall, I could go on longer visits to NeverEarth without my absence being noticed.”
“That’s the idea,” Wiste said. He drained his beer and let out a long, low belch. Smiling, he patted his stomach. “Ok, it’s not as good as ale from the Dwarven Deeps, but passable.” He stretched his arms and yawned. “Time for bed?”
Anthony nodded. He hoped Wiste wouldn’t have a hangover in the morning. A drunk satyr wasn’t half the problem as one nursing a headache and dry-mouth. He showed his friend to his ex-roommate’s room. Max had, like Karl, already left for the summer. Next year he’d have a new roommate. Soon Wiste was asleep leaving Anthony to finish packing a few boxes.
He thought fondly of the times he’d wound up the little locket and watched as it expanded, impossibly, in a flurry of gears and springs, into an exact replica of him. They’d talk and conspire against his parents finding out, joke and trade stories about what happened while it covered for him during his adventures in NeverEarth. He shook his head, tired.
Tomorrow they’d be on the road. Tomorrow he’d arrive home and find the locket. And tomorrow, unlike most times following a visit from NeverEarth, with Wiste around, he’d still remember.