Dream of the Shore Bordering Another World was still playing on loop. Sometimes, for whatever reason, a song just suits you for a few days. It was one of those songs that never demanded your attention but always rewarded it.
He lay and savored it while checking the ten or so apps and websites he checked each morning. But they didn’t hold his attention much these days. His own life was more interesting now, for better or for worse.
So, he got up, got dressed, went to the office, A/B tested, and planned out his next steps in saving the future. He had several promising threads to follow at this point. He sketched them out on a piece of paper:
- Get Mercune to choose to be a seer and not a doer.
- Get back on the right Fate Road. This involves Ausrine. Maybe Red too?
- Entrust Wentsworth and Uberta with something important. Avoid bad consequences.
- Go to Dubai and see Fyrir? Maybe. Or set up a Zoom call or something.
- Meet Mercune in real life? Risky. Might change our Fate Road. Maybe meet others who know her and ask about her.
- Find out why Flua-Sahng called Mercune “Daughter of Life.” And called me “Chaos Progeny.”
He’d just Googled “flights to Dubai” when his cell phone buzzed. It was a text from . . . Yemos? Huh. He sent a reply, and they exchanged some more messages.
Within a few minutes, it was decided what Proto would be doing that evening—and, more importantly, which of those promising threads he’d be following.
As Somnus would say, “Sometimes, you chase Lady Luck. And sometimes, Lady Luck chases you.”
The afternoon came and passed. A short walk later, Proto was sipping beer at a happy hour with Yemos, Mannus and Ausrine. He’d left work a little early. But this was post-Covid, and Thursdays were the new Fridays.
Mannus had picked the place—a sports bar with big booths, big T.V.s, and a small drink selection. This was no Black’s Rock, let alone Somnus’ lounge. But when all else fails, at least there’s Sam Adams.
Apparently, Mannus had planned this as a brothers’ night out. But Yemos had promised to take Ausrine out that evening, so she came too. And both Ausrine and Mannus then had independently suggested that Yemos invite a fourth—her because she didn’t want a “brothers discussing brother things” night, and him because he didn’t want to be a third wheel.
So, here was the fourth—drinking Sam Adams, watching the Rangers, and pondering what he could say to Ausrine to save the future.
“Yes!” roared Mannus at the T.V., slapping the table. It was the sort of bar where you could do that.
“You approve of the mozzarella sticks?” asked Ausrine calmly.
Mannus looked at the half-eaten stick he’d just thrust up in celebration, and the marinara sauce now dripping down his hand. “Absolutely.” He downed the rest of it.
As a result, his next “yes!” a moment later came through a mouthful.
She couldn’t help but smile slightly, then turned to Yemos. “Our first date was in a used book store. Look at us now.”
“He promised he’d pick a nice, quiet bar,” Yemos apologized. “Mea culpa. I won’t let this happen again.”
“It’s okay,” Ausrine assured him. “It’s like when the sun’s in your eyes. They adjust. It stops being so glaringly annoying.”
“As long as we don’t go blind in the process,” noted Yemos.
“Oh, come on!” It was hard to tell if Mannus was responding to them or the Rangers game.
“Blind with rage?” Ausrine gestured toward Mannus’ vexed face. “Or blind with the glare of massive T.V.s all around us?”
“Must I choose?” replied Yemos.
Ausrine chuckled quietly, looking down. “That said, we should mix it up more. Used-book-store-and-chill is nice and all, but maybe there’s a compromise. Like a whisky tasting! Proto and Red like whisky tastings. You like bourbon. And Mannus likes . . . well, drinking.”
“Well said,” noted Mannus, eyes still glued to the screen.
“I’d ask how you know that Proto likes whiskey tastings,” said Yemos, “but I’m even more curious who Red is.”
“Someone who likes whisky.” Proto eyed Ausrine sidelong. “And making fun of me in Japanese.”
“Amai mon, te ga deru,” she answered pleasantly.
“Same to you and more of it!” declared Proto.
“That doesn’t even . . . ” Ausrine began, turning as though to look for support, then sighed. “It’s just not the same when I’m the only one who gets it.”
“Ignorance is bliss.” Proto sipped his ale.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“Hmph.” She shook her head and looked upward. “Reddo-chan ouen shiteru. Mikata yo. Reddo gumi, ganbatte!”
“Enough of that gobbledygook!” commanded Mannus. “This is a sports bar, not a cosplay convention.”
“Actually, that’s a good idea,” mused Ausrine. “Let’s do a whisky tasting, then a cosplay convention. Besides the one I’m already going to with Red.”
“Is it that the one downtown on the 14th?” asked Mannus.
Everyone blinked at him.
“‘The one downtown on the 14th’?” asked Yemos. “Who are you, and where’s my brother?”
Mannus lifted a ticket from his pocket. “I’ll be at the hockey game across the street. I’ve been seeing ads for it every time I pass. That spiky blue-haired guy with an axe.”
He pocketed the ticket, turning to Ausrine. “Speaking of which, you need a ride? I’m driving there anyway.”
“Thanks, but Red’s got me covered!” she answered.
“Ah, cool. . . . Come on!” Mannus slapped the table again, his gaze having returned to the Rangers game.
Something about this exchange nagged at Proto. But the conversation moved on, and soon so did he.
“Yeah, buying bourbon isn’t what it used to be,” Yemos was telling Proto. “Twice the price, half the quality. I’m almost eager for the inevitable collapse, and the decades of paying sinfully low prices for well-aged stuff that no one’s buying.”
“You can skip to that stage now by buying armagnac,” suggested Proto.
Since, unfortunately, we don’t have decades, he mused grimly. An inevitable collapse was, indeed, coming for this world. And it involved much more than whiskey prices.
“That axe was cool though,” observed Mannus, jumping back into the discussion where it’d left off when he last was listening. “The thing was tall as he was. Wonder if I could swing that monster?”
“It’s called a halberd,” noted Yemos.
“Hm. Is it legal to own halberds?” asked Mannus.
“Everything’s legal till you’re caught,” Ausrine philosophized.
Mannus slapped the table. “That’s the spirit!”
Yemos pointed at his brother. “First crime: forging an ID. Second crime: forging a halberd.”
Mannus pointed back. “Hey. Hey now. That charge was dismissed.”
“You forged a halberd?” questioned Proto, turning to Yemos. “Is that what Mannus did in shop class while we were in calculus?”
“That’s Smithmaster Mannus to you!” retorted the blond twin.
“Anyway, happy hour’s ending.” Yemos checked his watch. “Are we about ready to close out?”
“Close out? What, so we can go sit in some dim and dusty basement?” Ausrine asked lightly.
“I don’t know about dusty. But this glare is giving me a migraine.” Yemos waved toward the many screens.
“Sometimes it’s nice to have some light in life!” she admonished.
“Maybe, but I could use some shade,” said Yemos.
“Well, let’s go do something fun before the sun sets,” urged Ausrine. “Or you’ll get plenty of shade from me!”
“Yeah, this is how they talk to each other,” Mannus observed to Proto. “Like boy band lyrics.”
“‘Something fun’?” Yemos replied to Ausrine. “What’d you have in mind?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Her face suddenly looked faraway and a bit wistful. “Think of all the fun things we wanted to do when we were sixteen, but we couldn’t since we had no money. Now, we have the money, but we don’t do any of those things. Instead we just, like, drink and talk.”
“We ‘have money’?” questioned Mannus. “Speak for yourself!”
Meanwhile, Yemos raised his brow at her. “Weren’t you just saying we should stay here? Or go to a whisky tasting?”
“Well, sure. But better yet, what would our old fun selves have done?” she asked. “If they’d had money.”
“At age sixteen?” Proto pondered. “Set off fireworks in an abandoned parking lot?”
“Bought a house and turned it into a four-season sports arena?” suggested Mannus.
“With an arcade room and putt-putt golf course?” added Yemos.
Mannus pointed at him and nodded agreeably.
“Good thoughts!” praised Ausrine. “But only one of those sounds like an option tonight. And it doesn’t involve getting a mortgage!” She threw some money on the table and started putting on her coat.
“Um, you’re not really—” Yemos started.
“Oh yes we are!” she countered, slapping the table Mannus-style. “Today, we’re going to live the lives we promised we’d live. Seishun wa ippai! Kanpai! Banzai!” She raised her half-drunk Sapporo and downed it.
And at that point, who could argue with her? They each threw some money on the table and followed her away.
The waiter rushed to their table, opening his mouth as though to call them back—then blinked at the thick pile of bills, shrugged, and let them walk away.
Proto hesitated as they neared Mannus’ car. Part of him was thinking, For someone charged with saving the future, this is a curious way to spend an evening. But another part was telling him, Ignore that guy. He got you nowhere for twenty-seven years. I’ll get you where you need to go.
And so, he found himself piling into the back seat and, minutes later, searching for places selling fireworks in the Spring.
This was harder than they’d hoped. They’d almost decided to buy a family-friendly variety pack from CostCo when, on the side of the road, they saw a circus-style tent with a banner reading “FIREWORKS SALE.”
Nearby was a smaller sign: “Independence isn’t a Day, it’s a Life.” Beside it was a man in sunglasses and a Hawaiian shirt.
“Oh, this was just fated, wasn’t it?” cried Ausrine.
“He’s leading the life we said we’d lead! He’s keeping the promises we broke!” admired Proto.
“Yes! It’s never too late to be true to yourself!” affirmed Ausrine.
“I feel like we’re all having midlife crises right now,” observed Yemos.
“The best time for a midlife crisis is before midlife,” Proto philosophized.
Ausrine thrust up a fist. “That’s the spirit!”
“So,” Mannus began to his brother. “About that indoor sports arena—”
“Maybe next midlife,” the dark-haired brother interrupted. “When I have more money.”
“Be the man you were meant to be!” urged Mannus. “What’s money next to life?”
“Speaking of which, who’s paying for the fireworks?” asked Proto.
Yemos slapped his brother’s back. “Be the Mannus you were meant to be!”
Whether they’d be the men, woman and Mannus they were meant to be had yet to be determined. But they did all exit the car and approach the tent to buy fireworks from the shady roadside dealer.
The man had been packing up to close for the night, but now he paused and waved. “Lucky you. Just in time for”—he checked his watch—“my 5:32 discount.”
Inside the tent, most of the fireworks were in colorful little boxes and looked like the sort you’d find on store shelves. But in one corner were some fireworks in heavy-duty crates. They were two to three feet tall.
“How much do these cost?” called Yemos to the fireworks dealer, studying the waist-high rockets.
“How much you got?” the man replied. “In cash, for those ones. Small denominations.”
They negotiated a price and paid.
Meanwhile, Mannus was lifting two fireworks like dumbbells. “Good workout. It’s amazing these things are legal.”
The dealer nodded agreeably. “Everything’s legal somewhere, right?”
“Wait.” Yemos paused in carrying away some rockets. “If we set these off here, is that illegal?”
The dealer shrugged. “If a tree falls and no one’s there to hear it, did it make a noise?”
Mannus scrunched his forehead. “What?”
“Nothing. Have fun, kids!” The dealer waved.
So, an hour later, they found themselves in a huge abandoned parking lot on a mountain outside the city.