Page 4 of Chained Knight

A small furry grey animal bumbled away from a knot of tree roots, nosing at mossy ground. It looked a little like a raccoon, except its tail was flat as a beaver’s and when it lifted its head to regard her a pair of big, bulbous golden eyes held only mild interest. It watched her for a moment, shiny black nose sniffing again, and its whiskers twitched gently.

What in the name of Darwin is that?It definitely wasn’t a possum either; the creature visibly decided she was no threat and wandered up to a nearby cabbage-pearl, nimble paws patting at the broad, fuzzy leaves cupping the central jewel before it commenced nibbling at the edges.

The small sound of teeth chomping on something like crisp lettuce halfway convinced her it wasn’t a dream. Were hallucinations always this vivid? Or was this some kind of native microhabitat she’d never heard of?

“Okay,” a thin, terrified little voice said, and she realized it was her own. “Where the fuckamI?”

4

DEFIANCE OF RATIONALITY

The not-possum looked up,blinking first one golden eye, then the other… and continued chewing. Very much like a cow with a cud, in fact, and the slight pooching of its cheeks was yet another tiny, overwhelming detail. This entire place was full of such touches, damn near photorealistic.

Damn near real.

Fortunately the animal didn’t seem to consider her a threat, or even very interesting. It continued its lunch—or perhaps its midnight snack, since no sunlight filtered through the branches overhead. The tiny sounds of chewing mixed with birdsong, wind, and other small noises. How many of these things were hanging out among the trees? Were they all docile?

God, I hope so. Slowly, Ari pushed herself upright and backed away along the pond’s edge, her boots sinking into moss. The creature glanced up again. It didn’t shriek or bristle, just watched her while nibbling, which was great.

The thought that other critters, maybe not nearly so relaxed, might be lurking in the woods at night should have kept hernailed in place. Maybe she’d used up a lifetime’s worth of fear, though, because Ari was blessedly numb.

Well, she did feel something—faint curiosity, growing by the second. The pearl-cabbages glowed, their leaves softly fuzzed like lamb’s ear, each individual hair lovingly crafted. When she passed close to individuals the sweet scent intensified. It didn’t mean they were edible, but the water seemed fine. She could return to this clearing and at least not die of dehydration.

Isn’t that a happy thought.She turned, hoping the not-possum wouldn’t decide to leap once her back was exposed, and peered between trees, pushing at mud-heavy hair. Some people paid good money for this kind of spa treatment, right?

Of course, they didn’t wear their clothes while getting it, but a murderer on the run couldn’t be too hung up on the small stuff. And she felt far less battered than she’d thought—even her throat was a lot better.

Had she imagined the whole episode? Overreacted?Thatcaused a faint twinge; maybe she was just as crazy as Mike and Wanda Lee always said. Had she done something else, something awful and irreversible?

Well, somethingotherthan shooting her husband? Was she criminally insane?

Ari stopped. The trembling was back; she had halted at the edge of the clearing and reached out blindly, her hand finding a tree trunk. Cool, smooth bark under her fingers certainly felt real. So did the mud, and the involuntary shaking. The light was strange, but no painter—no matter how gifted—could produce this kind of detail. No sculptor or set designer could either. Maybe she’d found a weird new kind of psychoactive fungus scientists would go gaga over if she managed to bring out a sample?

Well, she wouldn’t be contributing to botany or biology just yet. Ari took a deep breath, squeezing her eyes shut, and openedthem again, expecting to see pine and oak, or maybe hemlock since there was water nearby. She expected kudzu or multiflora rose, blackberry or raspberry, and all types of rhododendrons. She’d never been a big fan of botanical illustration before, but retreating to the woods and catalog-drawing for the rest of whatever life she could manage was a beautiful thought.

That was the trouble with hope. It kept creeping in, no matter the poison poured on its leaves.

No change—the same smooth grey trunks, the same lack of undergrowth. The faint silver glow from pearl-cabbages cast sharp, ink-black shadows. There was an answering gold-tinged glimmer in the near distance, a horizontal ribbon, and as she strained to focus she found it was a road.

But not paved. Or yes, paved, but not with concrete. Ari glanced over her shoulder. The pond and the cabbages were still there, still detailed, still glowing. Then she looked back at the road, squinting though she’d never had any trouble with vision—a little farsighted, childhood visits to the optometrist said, but nothing to worry about. Which was a relief; her mother had worn the same glasses since high school even if her prescription needed changing.

Blocks of yellowish stone, carefully fitted together. Unimaginable labor must have brought them, dumped them, and tamped them down; their edges were sharp and definite, forest moss not daring to creep onto the road’s margins. It was also wider than she expected; Ari judged it at about three lanes, though there were no ruts or painted lines.

The highway just sat there in defiance of all rationality, faintly luminescent, secure in its own existence. Ari glanced up, gained a quick impression of thickly clustered stars scattered on a black velvet sky, their dry fires peering through wide fanlike leaves, and just as quickly focused on the ground again.

One thing at a time. She could worry about the fact that there seemed to be no streetlamps or orange cityglow later; even in the high hills on the way to Legeville there was the occasional collection of lights at a railroad crossing or where a few farmhouses clustered near a gravel turnoff.

“This is so weird.” Her own voice startled her again, and she jumped guiltily. There was nobody around to hear but the not-possum and whatever else was in the trees, so she might as well vocalize if it would help her deal, right?

Assuming the cops hadn’t found her and she wasn’t stuffed in an institution already, having some sort of chemical nightmare administered by injection. Was this what a psychotic break felt like?

Now that she wasn’t occupied with the problem of getting through the day without giving Wanda Lee or her precious baby boy cause for complaint, Ari’s brain had its accustomed bandwidth back and was using it to… what? Create a seamless illusion of a forest full of glowing cabbages plus a yellow stone road?

What. The flying. Fuck. If she said that out loud Wanda Lee would purse her taupe-lipsticked mouth, or Mike might give a casual, stinging slap. He could cuss, sure, and his mother could let loose bursts of unladylike language at will. But Ari, not really a part of the family, was held to a much higher standard.

“Fuck that,” Ari whispered, and a laugh boiled in her throat. If she was sedated and dreaming, it explained the altogether uncharacteristic sense of physical well-being creeping outward from her ribcage. There were still aches and pains, sure, but they seemed very far away, retreating toward finger- and toe-tips.

It was no doubt a mercy of short duration, and far more than Wanda Lee would say she deserved. When Ari woke up she would find herself in a straitjacket, but if she behaved maybe they’d give her art supplies? Even jails let prisoners scribble onpaper sometimes. A public defender might loan her a legal pad. Of course Wanda and Earl had the money to make something happen to their errant daughter-in-law, even in a solitary cell… but that was tomorrow’s problem.

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