CHAPTER 1
Midnight
He stepped under the overhang and leaning his canes against the wall, shook the snow from his jacket and backpack. Gathering his canes, he opened the door and entered. The games room was busy as it always was, people spending their rent money hoping to double it and losing everything trying. Kristen was cleaning a table and saw him coming. Kristen was the bar manager and usually worked the dayshift.
“You’re out late DeWayne! Do you want a beer? The snow’s coming down pretty hard out there. I can’t believe it is only the fifth of September.”
“I do, but not just one can, an old man can have a lapse in his memory now and then. A dozen beer, and it is going to be another blizzard I’m afraid. You are working late again I see.”
“Linda’s youngest has the flu so I am filling in for her tonight.” DeWayne paid for his purchase and Kristen helped him with his backpack. “Are you going to be all right? Getting home I mean? The snow’s coming down hard out there. I can call you a cab if you’d like.” Kristen looked at the frail old man, a concerned look on her face.
DeWayne laughed. “It will take a cab an hour to get here, and I can be home in half that time. I will be fine; after all I have made this journey hundreds of times, but thanks for your concern.”
Kristen watched DeWayne make his way toward the door, as she had in the past. It was like watching a tortoise making its way across a furrowed field, slow and not so steady. She liked DeWayne; he was interesting, he talked about his past, the books he had written, and the books he would probably never get around to writing. For his age, and discounting his obvious disabilities, he was mentally sound; however, he did have a stubborn air about him. She knew that he was not going to be around much longer, according to him, but he was still going strong in her mind.
DeWayne stepped outside and stopped. Maybe Kristen was right. It was snowing heavily now, and the streetlights were dim as a result. He would have to be careful. DeWayne walked slowly, not because of the snow, but because of his disabilities. He stopped for the fifth time, by the vacant lot. Only one more block to go. He thought he heard a sound—other than his own heavy breathing— and looked around. He listened and heard the sound again.
A weak and pitiful meow came from the direction of the vacant lot. DeWayne spotted a dark shape in the six-foot strip of real estate between the sidewalk and the fence struggling to rise in the snow. He looked at the cat, evaluated the situation, and made his decision. He walked the few steps into the deeper snow and, planting his canes in the snow on either side, lowered himself to his knees. Pain shot through his body, but as he had done many times before, he blocked it, and pushed it out of his mind.
“I could have looked the other way.” He spoke his thought aloud. “But you have a right to live just as I do.” DeWayne unzipped his old winter jacket enough to put the bundle of wet fur inside. It was a good thing he had lost so much weight. He struggled to his feet and stood for a minute to let the pain subside.
Riding up in the elevator, DeWayne wondered if this was such a good idea. He had canned food, and milk, so the cat wouldn’t starve. DeWayne closed his door, took the cat out of his jacket and put it on the rug at the end of the hallway. He removed the backpack and shook the snow off his jacket before hanging it up.
He put all the beer into the fridge except one, which he opened and took to the table beside his favorite chair in the living room before scrutinizing the cat. As the snow clinging to its fur melted it resembled a drowned rat. DeWayne took a large towel and moved the chair he used while putting on boots closer to the cat. He leaned over, and putting the towel over the cat, lifted it into his lap.
He was surprised when the cat purred as he dried its fur, trying not to hurt the fragile-looking creature. The cat was big, with pointed ears that looked unusually large for a cat, with eyes the color of gold—a midnight-black oval slit down the center of each one—and a long tail. Its paws looked more like the paws of a jungle cat, wide and with large claws. DeWayne could not help shuddering at the thought of the damage those claws could do. But he couldn’t figure out if it was male or female.
DeWayne prepared two bowls, one with salmon and milk in the other. He put one of his throw rugs close to the cat and placed the two bowls on it. The cat sniffed the contents of both bowls before digging in.
DeWayne watched TV; the cat had finished eating and appeared to be sleeping when he glanced over to check on it. He had never had time for a pet with his work schedule. He had worked long hours with few days off right up until he got sick. Finding this stray right now wasn’t what either of them needed. He was on his last legs, so to speak, and didn’t have the right to get involved with an animal that needed a real home. The cat deserved a better place to live than DeWayne could offer. He would call the animal rescue folks in the morning and have them come and get it.
DeWayne put his empty beer can in the kitchen and went to bed. His mind was not willing to quit working though. Frustrated he got up and grabbed another beer. There was enough light coming from outside, even with the blowing snow obscuring most of it, so Sorcerers Reborn 5he didn’t turn a light on. He glanced in the cat’s direction every couple of minutes as he sipped, then he went back to bed once more.
The cat felt his frustration. She knew that she should wait, let him get used to her being around. But if he tried to get rid of her as he was thinking of doing, she would have to do something. She had to prepare him for what was to come, and for that he needed sleep. She could help him with that, and she could give him what would seem like a dream.
She closed her eyes and concentrated, shutting down DeWayne’s thoughts one by one until he was calm and relaxed. With a thought, she put DeWayne into a deep sleep. She jumped onto the bed and pressed her wet nose against his hand for a second, then she turned and jumped back down to the floor. She sat by the bedroom door and narrated the picture show with her vivid memory of those events.
###
<Thousands of years ago, on our world called Orighen, a Sorcerer named Tay’Ron, from the southernmost continent, decided that he wanted to rule our world. Of course, the rest of Orighen wasn’t going to let that happen, so a long war was wage: one that lasted over five hundred years. Jakiera, the Queen of Geldania, a continent just above Orighen’s equator, was a fair and just ruler. Geldania also had the most powerful army of all the other continents; they had the largest army and more Sorcerers who were battle-ready. The southern tyrant, Tay’Ron, was intent on conquering the world, and making the people from the other countries bow down to him. Jakiera, and the other Queens and Kings of Orighen banded together to stop him. Jakiera also played a part in recruiting the hundreds of Dragons, and Elves, to aid in this war.
<Over time, the opposing armies of Orighen finally drove Tay’Ron back to his own continent. Six Sorcerers, a Furl cat called Midnight, and a dragon called Scarlet, brought Tay’Ron, to his end. Tay’Ron was a powerful Sorcerer, and with his dying breaths, he sent the six Sorcerers, and Midnight, to this world. The seven of them had no idea what happened to Scarlet. They arrived on an Island to the west of here, almost three thousand years ago. At first, they had no idea what was going on, or where they were. They did figure out that they were no longer on Orighen because nothing looked the same; plants, flowers, and animals they saw were not from Geldania or Orighen. Nothing looked familiar, and they had no idea how they came to be where they were, wherever that was.
<They had their weapons, so food was not a problem. With the gift they could discern what was edible or not when it came to vegetables and greens. They utilized whatever they found to survive. It wasn’t until several years later that they discovered Tay’Ron had also given them a virus. A virus they would never be able to cure. But that story is for another day.>
###
DeWayne woke up lightheaded and lethargic, like he would be waking up after taking a sleeping pill or drinking too many beers. He felt like he had slept forever, and not at all. He was relaxed and didn’t have the discomforts he usually had when he woke.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat thinking about the dream, the sluggishness leaving him. It was so realistic he could not seem to get it out of his mind, and that bothered him because any dreams he had in the past were forgotten minutes after he awoke. It was like someone telling a story and he was a part of that story; he remembered the details.
He wondered why he was feeling so much better than he usually did—another mystery he supposed. As he walked to the kitchen he looked at the cat, sitting on the rug, looking back at him.
“I suppose you’re hungry. I will fix you something in a few minutes. But first I need a cup of coffee to help me wake up completely. My brain is still a little foggy from sleep.”
DeWayne fixed a cup of coffee, then put milk in one clean bowl and a can of flaked chicken in another and set them down. He sat in his chair and watched the morning news and weather. When the cat was finished with its meal it sat under the TV watching him. For a moment, he wondered if the cat in the dream was the same one looking at him now, but that was foolish…or was it?
DeWayne looked outside and saw that the sun was out and the snow was melting so he decided to go shopping and do his other daily routines. The cat was waiting for him when he walked back in the door. He felt a bit uncomfortable with the cat staring at him like that. Its golden eyes seemed to look right through him.
“You had something to eat a couple of hours ago, so I know you’re not hungry, maybe you have decided to go outside and relieve yourself. Damn it, do you even know what I am saying you confounded cat?”
The cat looked at him as if it was wondering what kind of fool had rescued it. DeWayne shook his head, picked up the backpack and put the groceries away, took a beer out of the fridge, and sat down.
Midnight looked at DeWayne. She was getting anxious, she knew she should give him more time, but she was beside herself with worry, so she blurted it out.
<You are dying, DeWayne Richards, as I too am dying. My time, like yours, is running out. Will you hear my story?>
DeWayne looked at the cat, almost dropping his beer as he jumped. The voice seemed to be female, like the voice in the dream.
“I must have drunk more beer than I remember. I’m hearing things, or at least I am imagining I’m hearing voices.”
<There is nothing wrong with your hearing, DeWayne; I am speaking to you telepathically. Everyone knows cats can’t talk, and I don’t believe you are all that drunk, yet.>
DeWayne finished his beer in one gulp while looking at the cat; he looked at the empty can and went to the kitchen for another. As he sat down, he realized he was gawking at the cat.
“Maybe I’m going crazy, or maybe I’m dreaming, or maybe it’s a combination of the two.”
<I am called Midnight. I am a female of my kind, and I mean you no harm! Will you listen to my story or not?>
“I have to think about this for a while. Maybe, after I have had time to process this, and have a beer, or four, or maybe six, I will realize that all this was only a dream,” DeWayne said, more to himself than the cat.
Midnight just sat there. She didn’t say anything else—if she’d said anything to begin with. DeWayne’s mind went back to the dream. Maybe if he wrote it down he could put what happened and the dream out of his mind. He sat at his computer and typed the dream as he remembered it, word for word, describing the images as close to real as words could paint the pictures.
There was no way to verify anything this cat, who called herself Midnight, said. He had no idea if this Orighen even existed. Even if it was a world that scientists had found, that’s probably not what it would be called. It would be called Planet 1451 or something. He still had no reason to believe that any of this was real. DeWayne was frustrated. The cat hadn’t spoken to him again; so, he was leaning toward the fact that it was probably another dream. Daydreaming was quite common.
“She said it herself, ‘cats can’t talk!’” DeWayne laughed at those words. Was he really buying this bullshit? He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. He read the words from his dream again. Maybe he could save these pages and use it to write another book. DeWayne chuckled at the thought. It had been almost twenty years since he wrote his last book, but it wouldn’t be that hard. The only problem was that he wasn’t going live long enough to finish it.
DeWayne turned his computer off and laid down for his afternoon nap. Because of his lung disease, the fluid his lungs produced made it hard for him to breathe, which woke him up on a regular basis. He stretched out on the bed, but sleep did not come. He tossed and turned, but he could not stop thinking about the cat. Was any of this real? Could this Midnight be from another world, and what did she want with him anyway? Frustrated with not being able to sleep, and not being able to think of anything else, he got out of bed and went for another beer. The cat was still sitting there, watching him. He went back to his bedroom, beer in hand.
Midnight sensed his discomfort. Until he can believe in the possibility that what I am saying is true, I cannot help him. I don’t know what I can do to show him I am telling him the truth. Unless…I show him my magic, let him see that it is real, that he is not imagining all of this.
She turned away. Midnight knew she was getting weaker and her time was running out. Of course, time to her wasn’t the same as it would be for someone who hadn’t already lived for over ten thousand years. She would let him struggle with his thoughts for now. She sat down in front of the fridge. The door opened and she looked inside.
He likes his beer, so that is what I will do.
When DeWayne came out of the bedroom she was sitting in front of the fridge. DeWayne’s thoughts were still scrambled but the cat was his responsibility now regardless of the situation.
“You must be hungry. I’ll fix you something to eat.”
DeWayne opened a can of flaked chicken, put that in a bowl, and he put milk in another. When she finished her meal, she sat in front of him while he watched TV in the living room. He tipped his can of beer up to drain it.
<Let me do that for you.> she said before he could get up to get another.
A can of beer began to materialize on the table beside the empty can, right before his eyes. DeWayne swallowed hard, as he looked at the unopened can. He picked it up, opened it and took a drink, hoping it wasn’t going to kill him. It was like the beer he bought from the store.
“How did you do that?” he asked, eyes wide.
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