He didn't like the guy, but the train had clearly announced it was leaving and Avery still wasn't here. DeMain had brought his bags out and waited for him a good ten minutes, but there was still nothing. Avery was a bit more of a recluse than DeMain, and he silently wondered if the guy had stayed for a bit longer with Ethel. DeMain still had Avery's bag in addition to his own things, and he didn't want to lug around the good extra 20lbs of clothes and what was probably snacks stuffed at the bottom. He gave a last desperate search through the train cars, hoping to find Avery asleep under one of the chairs or something. Nothing. He even went so far as to ask if the train's stewardess had served anyone else, but she simply shook her head. Nobody else had even been on the train besides him for this destination…
The station had payphones, and DeMain had the foresight to bring some change just in case. He had assumed he would be using it for a vending machine, not this. Still, it worked. He'd never been great with numbers, but he could remember Ethel's shop number well enough from the various ads in and outside that featured it. He rang her, knowing that after his lengthy train ride she had to be at her shop.
DeMain knew a cheat with payphones where you could use the space in which it asked for your caller name to send a message free of charge, but he unfortunately needed to talk to Ethel about this longer than the two seconds it gave. It rang for a long time, but eventually a very tired Ethel responded.
"...Hello DeMain. Did the train derail or something?"
"...No. Why would I…? Nevermind. Did Avery stay with you or something? I've still got his stuff right here." DeMain jingled the bag, but he doubted Ethel could hear it on the other end.
"No, unless he turned invisible and snuck into my car. Is he not with you?"
"No. I even waited for him. Now the train's about the leave and the stewardess says nobody else was even inside."
"Weird. Well I'll give him a call but I doubt he'd receive it out there. Service is fucky. If he turns up just let me know."
"...Alrighty." DeMain responded despondently. Worried maybe wasn't the right word, but it was certainly strange for Avery to just disappear. He'd need to drop off the extra bag when he could.
As the train departed from the station fully, DeMain was left alone in a small sanctuary park garden dedicated to Native American land. Brass plaque stands alongside the fence of the displays of the colorful, unfamiliar indigenous flowers told the tale of a group of Japanese immigrants who traveled here. In the hopes of finding refuge during turbulent times in World War II, they found with it a shared belief of naturalism with the Native Americans already living in the area. The natives welcomed the similarly oppressed people with open arms despite their own shortcomings at the time.
As DeMain journeyed down the cobbled path of the walkway, the plaques and displays painted a picture of just how resilient this place had been despite the world seemingly wanting to cut it off for good. The people who lived here had originally established it more than sixty years ago, and only rather recently had it become a place of open worship. It was odd to find relevancy of a surviving population the world decided it would be better off without—it reminded him rather harshly of his home city and the constant infighting within.
The end of the path circled back in on itself, but not before stopping briefly at a roped-off wooden archway. Behind the archway was a small structure that resembled an oversized birdhouse on stilts of wood. Definitely a private shrine of some sort. A sign was held in the middle of the archway's barring rope, black, blocky text written on its white, plastic surface.
'No visitors beyond this point'
Something about the wording struck DeMain as strange. Well, this entire place was strange. It wasn't like Ethel had told him exactly what to do here, just that he should be here in the first place. As he scanned the place for a tour guide or enigmatic old man in a chair to ask questions to, his attention was brought front and center by another voice.
"Pst!"
DeMain looked around in a full three-sixty. The voice clearly came from behind him, but nobody was there. Even with his witchsight, he could still only see the flowers and the wall of the forest behind the shrine site.
"Oh ho! This one can hear! But is he smart enough to look up?"
DeMain's eyes cast themselves skyward at the patronizing comment, spying a small, wildly dressed figure kicking his feet on top of the wooden archway. He could be generic and call the figure 'weird' or 'unpleasant', but the most striking part about his appearance was how plainly annoying it was. Blinking lights covered its small, doll-sized body, with safety tape acting as ties to keep everything in place. Below it all, the spirit's body seemed to be made of broken rubble in a humanoid shape. To top it off (literally), his head was a stoplight that seemed to have grown itself from the nose-up of a heavily bearded, dwarvish face. Despite never having driven, or dealing with the subject at all, DeMain immediately knew what spirit this was.
"…Traffic?"
"Yep yep yep! Bingo. We got a winner here folks. Now are you gonna come on through or are you gonna hold up the line?" The spirit said, its voice somewhere between a gruff construction worker and one of Santa's elves. Rather than eyes to follow its expressiveness, the traffic light embedded in its skull was stuck at a vibrant green.
DeMain looked behind himself at the vacant pathways, then back to the figure.
"Uh… what line? There's nobody else here."
"Well duh, kid. Not right now, but I can't do the whole song and dance with someone else if they see me talking to you."
"I can't. It says no visitors. I don't wanna trespass, especially not on sacred grounds or whatever."
The figure facepalmed, its headlight shifting to yellow.
"Ugh, kid, kid. No visitors. Are you here to smell the flowers or are you here to change your life around for the better? I'm pretty sure you didn't come all this way and go through an Awakening just to turn back around, right?"
"No. I guess I didn't."
"Great! Then lift the rope and keep walking. Don't turn around until you come out the other side."
"…other side? It's just woods."
"Just trust me kid. Move along, my break's comin up."
DeMain sighed and lifted the rope, walking forward and passing the box shrine. Eventually he arrived at the entrance to the dense forest behind it, taking one last look at the quaint spirit for confirmation. Unfortunately, whatever he'd just talked to seemed to have taken its break already, gone with the wind like the smell of exhaust on the highway. DeMain was given no choice but to swallow any fear he had and push forward.
As DeMain pushed past splintered branches and walls of leaves, his mind felt as though it were suddenly ten times lighter. As if, for the first time ever, he'd dropped a three-hundred pound weight he never knew he was lifting. His hands found purchase on two conifer branches at the end of the treacherous path, and he stepped out onto a new ground made entirely of swaying, leafy canopies. Above him was a starry sky untouched by the light of man, its nebulas and starlit pathways fully visible in ways he had only seen in pictures. They flowed into one another, an infinite expanse of collapsing and re-emerging stars. The other side of the Veil…
Above him a reflection of the shrine he'd just passed by floated aimlessly in place, detached from the ground entirely. Despite the shifting trees beneath DeMain, walking on them felt as even as the stones underfoot had on the cobblestone path. It was something out of a dream, and the landscape past it was a refracted mess of places and things pulled from the world as he knew it. Canyons melted into expansive, eroded cave systems, waterfalls flowed freely onto the flooded streets of abandoned cities, and chunks of natural earth hung as if they belonged in the skies above.
DeMain's witchsight here felt so relaxed compared to when he used it on the other side of the Veil he passed through. He knew instinctively that it was simply because this was where witchsight belonged, although solid details on that notion of 'why' evaded his mental grasp.
This place was impossible, but that much felt obvious. From some sliver of insight that was not his own, DeMain knew that all dreams were drawn from here as much as this place drew from dreams. A fitting place for spirits, truly. It wasn't a completely logical place, but neither was anything else he'd encountered so far. It spread endlessly in all directions, DeMain's sight no longer limited just to human limits or the drop-offs of distance. He could see storms that raged miles away, destroying and rebuilding ruined castles like they were wood blocks for children. Massive, sprawling expanses of fire and destruction warred, flickering and bursting across the other landscapes. Oceans twisted and bent into formless shapes, their rivers coalescing into the lakes and ponds across the spirit world. He saw then a collection of eyes staring back at him, and his stretched vision cut itself off from fear. Surely whatever had built this place was not confined by the limits of mortals, only the pieces to their playsets.
Below the solid canopies, DeMain could see a strange assortment of scrapped-together houses and log cabins. He'd seen the mixed architecture, the unplanned sprawl of those just trying to get by in life. Whether it was homelessness or witch hovels, the telltale signs of the indomitable human spirit could be seen in the ropes and cables which held everything together against all odds. Generators ran, some packed together in cages with tubing for the easy pouring of gasoline. He wasn't sure what exactly they powered, but he didn't see anything that drained more energy than a few mini-fridges and some faerie lights that were draped along the pathways to keep the area well lit. The only objects which seemed less than modern in the encampment were large, oaked pillars with fine red twine, ink-and-paper sigils, and burning wicker arrangements placed near the top. Insight told him these were wards to keep away the worst of the spirits present here, though he knew nothing more than that.
It took some finagling of footing and climbing down to a more manageable position before DeMain could get to the entrance of the camp. Before, the people inhabiting it had looked shrouded, almost as if he were looking at them through a blurred lens. Now that he was past the spirit wards, the others of the small hamlet came into view along with exotic smells, sounds, and a surprising amount of colors. DeMain felt like the protagonist of one of those adventure movies that takes place in a foreign country, specifically the part where they run through the exotic market filled with fresh foods, woven silk arrangements, various statues of deities, and packed-together buildings. It wasn't obvious to him at first, but he could definitely see some of the Native American and Japanese roots in both the culture and the other witches here. Despite all of the packed diversity, the actual site was maybe only twenty or so houses at best, each inhabited by no more than one to two people at a time.
The place was nice, but he stuck out like a lost dog in a park. Some of the other teens and adults present in the makeshift town noticed, but only one in particular decided to approach him. DeMain also noticed he couldn't see anyone's souls or spirits directly yet, making it very hard to get a read on them. Ethel was wise and benevolent, Avery was… rough. He had no idea how these new people were, especially if they were like him. He couldn't imagine living through an objectively terrible life would make too many nice folk.
"You lost, kid?" He said with an arrogant, cocky grin. He was a tall guy, with dyed blond hair styled into a curly mullet, a pencil mustache, and a spiked biker's vest. Chains hung from the belt loops on his jeans, and he was covered everywhere that DeMain could see by tattoos of every sort. Nude women on bikes, demonic faces, pretty much everything DeMain had been told never to get a tattoo of by his mother. DeMain would have thought something completely different about the guy if it weren't for the much younger, smaller woman clinging to his side, dressed in a black dress with a raven, twintail haircut accentuated by metallic spider clips tucked within. She winked at DeMain, and he felt flustered for a moment.
"Uh… no, actually. Ethel sent me here."
"Oh god, another one of hers. Ugh. We have enough guys already." He said with a clearly exaggerated sigh.
DeMain looked around the camp and couldn't figure out what the older guy meant. There were maybe two guys here total, and both of them were looking at each other, save for a much older grandfather strumming a guitar on the porch of his cabin home. The guy was clearly joking, DeMain remembered the countless boys like him from his high school who weren't the greatest comedians. They still tried though, he appreciated a laugh amidst all the crushing, heavy shit he'd dealt with lately.
"Is there a rule or something that there can't be more than two of us? We gonna have to fight, maybe kiss a little?"
"Yeah. Full on makeout sesh. Loser has to leave. Deal?"
They slapped their hands together before both of them began to bust out laughing. The spider-girl rolled her eyes in annoyance.
"Sorry, sorry. It's been a long time since I've had another guy to joke around with. I'm Kurt." The mullet head said, pointing to himself. "And she's Kaiyo, my girlfriend."
Kaiyo still said nothing but waved, before leaning in and whispering something to Kurt. Afterwards, she strutted away down the twisting routes of houses and the paths leftover from their thin, unoccupied spaces.
"Don't mind her, she doesn't like to talk to people unless she's comfortable. Don't take it personally." Kurt spoke, beginning to walk deeper into the center of the witches' hamlet while DeMain follows. They passed by a lot of strange sights on the way. Massive dream catchers with stitched-in spirit sigils, lamps which seemed to glow dimly with the help of weaker spirits trapped within, and paintings he assumed to be Witch Gods in front of small prayer shrines. DeMain wasn't pleased to see Heressa rendered in acrylic, but her shrine was empty save for a few pieces of trash. The rest of the neighborhood seemed very closely knit. One girl who looked straight out of a teens fashion magazine with red dyed hair, dark eyeliner, and combat boots stared him down aggressively as he passed, a toothpick wedged between her lips. In front of her were two much smaller girls playing with dolls, no older than 8.
DeMain knew what Kurt meant. Honestly were he a little less prepared for anything that had happened so far, he would have gone mute too. Even with all he'd gone through, he couldn't imagine going through a definitely awful life, an Awakening, and being thrust into a strange new world as a much younger person. Much less a little girl who barely got to have a grasp on their childhood.
"Nah, I get it. But how come there are only us two guys? Minus uh… gramps over there." DeMain asked, gesturing to the old man who'd since ceased his strumming and passed out in his chair.
"It's not very common for male witches to experience an Awakening. There are a lot of reasons why, like some of them rejecting it outright or not being in touch enough with their emotions to do so. There's an even slimmer chance they make it here. A lot of them either end up dead or they get whisked away by people trying to exploit them." Kurt explained, scratching at some of the more faded tattoos. Old hate symbols, some of which had been covered by less extreme depictions. Namely, some dreamy-looking windows and mazes imposed overtop of them.
"I'm guessing they don't come back from those often, either." DeMain said, trying not to feel intimidated by the red-haired girl who still had her eyes on him like a hawk. She finally turned her gaze away as a boombox a few houses kicked on and began to play an old song DeMain couldn't make heads or tails of.
"Not often, no. A couple of guys come by every year or so, but even the prospect of living in a town of mostly women isn't enough to keep them here. Last month two of them went off past the spirit wards and we never heard from them again."
"Why not just make more wards and expand the town?"
"The wards have to be taken care of. Like all things, they can fall apart if you don't keep eyes on them. It's even worse if a spirit manages to get inside and ruin them for good."
"Has that ever happened?"
"Once, but it was brief and we singled out the Crab Spirit responsible. Typically we keep a ward around for every one to two people, but that's still not a lot of space when they can only protect up to about a ten-foot radius."
Kurt arrived in front of the center space of the town. A large plot of grassy land was dominated by a single, massive sakura tree with branches that had been fused with those of apple, pear, and other saplings he couldn't identify. It had clearly been well tended over its life, and its oldest roots seemed to stretch far enough that it likely spread out through the entire town. DeMain could see one of the oldest women here attending to it, gently plucking out weeds and watering any dry spots around its roots. A larger shrine than any belonging to the Witch Gods was placed in front of it, consisting of an old mirror and table combo with countless pictures of those who'd lived here before. Some were painted, others were polaroids from only a few years ago comparatively. He was a bit saddened to see some were rendered only as children's drawings. Kurt stopped in front of it all, presumably touring DeMain at this point.
"This is the Kami Tree, or the Shinboku if you follow Shinto at all." Kurt said, looking to DeMain to confirm his suspicions that the black boy was not, in fact, from Japan. DeMain only shook his head. "Even if you don't, it's pretty important. It's been around a lot longer than any of us have, and it's a big staple of stability and safety. In a way, that belief is a lot more effective than spirit wards. The more wicked spirits you might hear about in folktales prey on insecurities and fear, and too much of either of those is practically a free invitation inside, even if a barrier is up."
"What about The Veil then? Maybe I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure the world ain't exactly a paradise."
"It comes and goes. Sometimes the world is in turmoil, but even then there are people who aren't affected. Whether they're ignorant or genuinely happy doesn't really matter, they serve their purpose. We think witches who remain in the mortal world can affect it too, but the spirits have never been concurrent on how. Maybe nobody knows."
"I guess the spirits wouldn't want anybody to know for sure. If they did, they couldn't slip through the tears in the Veil as easily, right?"
"Yep. It's a pretty precarious balance, but I'm not sure it's really up to us. None of us are Atlas, at least."
"What?"
"Atlas. He's a guy in Greek mythology. I meant like, none of us can save the world alone."
"Oh. Yeah. I don't think I could even…" DeMain trailed off.
"I don't think I could even save my dad." He thought, his heart squeezed by guilt like dry hay in a tight bale. Kurt slapped his hand on DeMain's shoulder and wrenched him back to the present, noticing the boy's sudden silence.
"Don't get too torn up about it. The Veil isn't coming down anytime soon. Though… you could learn to help us a bit with the more ornery spirits about. Our most reliable spirit hunter got too old and now he can't do it anymore."
"Are you sure? I barely know how my abilities work, I'm—"
"Not right now, duh." Kurt exclaimed, pointing DeMain to the sleeping old man back down the path.
"Ask him. His name's Malik Rich."
"…Wait, Rich?"
"Well, not literally no. That's just his name. You know, like his last name?"
"Uh… yeah. I knew that."
DeMain sped away from Kurt, instantly facing the man with fists balled in anxiety. He hadn't given the old man a close eye, but he could see it now. Skin a little darker than DeMain's, curly, frizzy gray hair, and a round, protruding beer belly over a faded graphic tee. An old black leather hat was hiding his face.
"…Malik Rich?"
Halfway between a snore, the man stopped abruptly. He didn't even lift his hat to uncover his eyes.
"That would be ma name, yes." He responded, his voice low and rich like a folk singer.
Well shit. DeMain wasn't sure what to say now. He couldn't be sure they were even related, since Rich was a decently common last name now that he thought about it.
"…Did you ever know an automotive mechanic?"
That got the old coot to lift his hat.
"Man, what the fuck kinda question is that? Have I ever seen a garbageman? Have I ever seen a news anchor? I dun fuckin' know!"
"Well, it's just that your name—"
"Kid, I'm gonna let you off the hook but I'm tryin' to get some winks in."
"I'm DeMain Rich. Do you think we're… related…"
DeMain trailed off. Maybe the guy had gotten a good look at him, or maybe his name finally rang a bell in that dusty head of his. Or he was having a stroke. His eyes were wide and trapped in a thousand yard stare while his mouth hung slack.
"Uh… are you okay—" DeMain didn't get to continue. In a burst of speed unfit for the aged body it came from, Malik was wrapping DeMain in a very, very tight hug. The teenager could feel fresh tears trailing down the side of his shirt.
"We have so, so much to talk about, DeMain."