This follows Branson Gulch Blues, Part I…
Rory burst into the kitchen, leaving the mud room door to the garage wide open.
“Hey hey, there mister… shut that door. We don’t want Bixby getting out!” Nana admonished from the sink, elbow deep in pie making adjacent mixing bowls.
Meanwhile, and notably not moving a single muscle, Bixby laid on her customary memory foam mattress near the sliding patio door and barked once loudly as if discounting the whole idea of any escape.
Rory turned on his heel and in a smooth spin slammed the door shut and faced Nana in a panic. He held his hands out as if he was about to stop the room itself from spinning.
“A DRAGON? SERIOUSLY. NANA!?” Rory was yelling. His eyes were wild, and his hair stood at strange angles from yanking off the bike helmet so roughly. A small line of spittle was dripping from his lip, dangling precariously.
If Grandpa had been within earshot, he probably would have smacked Rory for yelling at Nana. Rory did not care. There was a capital G, capital D dragon in the capital, underlined, heavily emphasized F-ing neighborhood. And to be clear, while a raised voice felt appropriate at the moment, using actual swears would definitely be the wrong choice.
“Its barely a dragon,” Nana laughed dismissively. “You have a little something hanging from your lip, dear.”
“Yeah I puked,” Rory wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
She looked over her shoulder again, her eyebrow raised. “You puked?”
“Don’t worry about that! Nana! The draaaaaagon!?” Rory felt like he was the only sane one. What would his mom and dad think? “What would my mom and dad think?”
Nana shook her head. “Well considering your mom was raised in this house, she would probably think that her son puking is a bit of a concern, silly. Your dad did think it odd, but I think he had the hots for your mom, so it didn’t really matter.”
“Oh my god, I must be crazy. Why am I the only one that thinks this is crazy?” Rory was walking in circles in the kitchen, pacing without even realizing it. “Does the military know?”
“Out of all things that are crazy in this world, young man, having some neighborhood wildlife is the least of all of them.” Nana said, ignoring his other questions as she shifted rinsed bowls to the drying rack. “Where did you puke?”
“In Grandpa’s trashcan,” Rory looked over his shoulder as if looking towards where he did the deed. “Its fine. Its just… Nana! Its not a flock of turkeys.”
“I know, she is definitely not a turkey. She eats the turkeys.” Nana rinsed off a platter, moving it to the rack. She wiped her hands on a towel at her waist and turned to face her grandson. “You will need to hose it out.”
“What?”
“The trashcan.”
“Oh my god, Nana. Can you please forget about my puke. I’ll clean it up. But. What. About. The dragon!?” Rory tried again, he felt flustered that there was not a bigger commotion about this.
“A cockatrice, Rory love, and her name is Wella. She is mostly harmless.” Nana shrugged.
“Mostly harmless? Doesn’t she eat kids?” Rory felt his voice rising again.
“Oh that was decades ago, she has plenty to eat.”
“Nana!” Rory stomped his foot. Angrily.
Nana tried to suppress her grin, tucking her lips between her teeth and clamping down.
“ITS NOT FUNNY.” Rory exclaimed, his fists shaking at his sides.
“From where I am standing, love, I would say otherwise. This is a show.” Nana teased. Her tone shifted to something more authoritative. “Go clean out the trashcan and then come back when you are calm. I will be glad to tell you everything you want to know. I have some cookies that Grandpa doesn’t know about. Good ones.”
“Nana!”
“Rory!” Nana imitated him and she did not budge. Her hands were on her hips, which meant she was all business.
“Dammit.” Rory groused.
“Trashcan.” Nana raised a singular finger and with it waved him out of the house.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He trudged out the door and let it close behind him. He went about cleaning out the puke like he was washing a dog against his will. He threw the hose down, he threw the trashcan down, he threw the nozzle to grass, and the universe allowed him to throw his little fit without interrupting.
He could see the trees that were standing over in the other lake bed over the top of Nana’s house, and they seemed to move in the wind. Or did they? Was that actually wind? Was it the dragon moving around? What if it got hungry? He was out here all by himself, hosing out a trashcan into the runoff drain, a tasty little snack in a jacket and jeans, just ready to be stripped clean. They would find a running hose, an empty, mostly clean trash can, and maybe a singular sneaker, just lying there alone in the browning grass. Accusingly.
He shook his head, clearing the thought away. Nothing but the breeze spoke in the distance, and the call of far off birds was carried upon it.
Rory finished rinsing his crime down the storm drain. He tipped the trashcan on the rocks to dry out in the afternoon autumn sun of late November, and put everything away as he had found it, just like Grandpa told him time and time again. Rory trudged in, kicked of his wet shoes in the garage and sat at the kitchen table, where a plate of cookies and a glass of milk was sitting and ready.
Nana sat on the other end, drinking a cup of tea and reading her book. She took a heavy sip, marked her spot with a clipped coupon and set the book down. She watched Rory carefully as he sulked to his seat, huffed as he sat down, and ate a cookie in sullen silence. Not for the first time she was reminded that her grandson was a lot like his mom had been, but for some reason, even more adorable? The volume of personality contained within the child was nearly volatile.
“So you are obviously fine. Why did you vomit?” Nana asked with a smirk.
“I went too fast.” Rory grumbled around another bite of chocolate chip.
“Too fast?”
“Adrenaline? Got all excited? Scared? I don’t know. The trees moved… and Mrs. Givins spooked me, I guess.” Rory tried. “I pedaled home as fast as I could, and I must have… ah… overdid it.”
“Oh?”
“And Mrs. Givins says hi,” Rory added.
“Ah, well that is good.” Nana said. “But you didn’t see her? Wella?”
“No. I didn’t see her.”
“Ah. But you did see or hear something,” Nana ventured. Her face was making an odd expression.
“I heard it.”
“That will do it,” Nana smiled at some form of confirmation. “Have another cookie, love.”
“Have you seen her?” Rory looked up from his cookie.
“Of course. It is hard to miss a dragon, Rory. She sometimes flies over the house to get to the big lake.”
Rory’s eyes went wide. “How is this not national news? Isn’t a dragon… I don’t know… a bit of huge deal, Nana?”
“No, silly. Lots of things happen every day and never make it to the news. Too many news stories about fat old white men stealing power and money from other fat old white men… and then everyone gets all fired up about which political party is doing what when they never stop to think that all the parties are there to protect the fat old white guys on both sides. Who would ever care about a dragon? Especially a good girl like Wella? She minds her business, we mind ours, and everyone gets along fabulously.”
Rory leaned back and nibbled the edge of his cookie, thinking it over.
“Probably lots of dragons in the world, but everyone is too busy fighting over the silly things. They never look up to see it fly over their house.” Nana smiled graciously.
Rory frowned and nibbled another bite from his cookie. He felt famished all of sudden… the excitement was starting to wear off and it was turning against him.
“Is it a secret?” Rory’s eyebrows furrowed.
“Wella is a ‘she’ not an ‘it’, and no dear, she is not a secret. What your grandfather does is a secret, but Wella, she is no secret. How would one keep a Cockatrice a secret?”
“I suppose,” Rory thought it over. “Does she really eat kids?”
Nana laughed brightly, looking years younger than she should have been. “Only the naughty ones. She has good taste.”
“Wait.”
“What?” Nana raised an eyebrow.
“What does Grandpa do and why is it a secret? I thought he was a Forest Service Ranger? Isn’t that like the ones at the Grand Canyon and Yellowstone?”
“You have to keep this a secret.” Nana finished her tea and set it down on her place mat.
“I promise.”
“Your grandfather is a Ranger, yes, but he is not employed by the US Forest Service. He is a… different… sort of Ranger.”
“The park kind still?” Rory said.
“Oh yes, most definitely. Still the park kind. He is a… conservationist.” Nana smiled as if waiting for a reaction.
“That doesn’t sound like a secret.” Rory admonished is grandmother. He was disappointed.
Nana reached over and pulled a drawer open, she pulled out a stubby length of wood, something that almost looked like a burnt length of tinder.
“Do you know what this is?” Nana asked, handing it over to Rory.
Rory held it in his hand, feeling the texture of it, the weight as it rested between his fingers. It was strange. Like it was delicate in one moment, but unbelievably heavy the next. He had the impulse to drop it, but it was locked to his fingers like they were sticky. The length was nearly black, but he noticed a fine webbing of cracks all along its length, they flickered like they had gold nestled in its hidden folds.
“Is it a pencil of some sort?”
“The technical name is a caduceus. In make believe books, it is called a wand. We most often refer to it as a rod.”
“Like a magic wand?” Rory’s eyes went wide.
“Sort of. Wands give the wrong impression. This is not used to wave around and cast silly spells with funny words. No, this rod is a conduit for energies. The energy is prevalent all over, but in some places it is stronger. It collects. It attracts certain types of creatures, plants, and… people to it.”
“Like a Cockatrice.” Rory made the connection.
“Yes. And…” Nana’s voice trailed off.
“Like you and grandpa.”
“Yes.” Nana appeared to be very proud of something all of a sudden.
“And grandpa protects those places… doesn’t he?” Rory asked. But he knew the answer. It was like a light turning on in his head. “He is a Ranger for creatures like Wella.”
“We both are. In our own way. Especially Mrs. Givins… And most other folks around here.”
“That’s why.” Rory sunk back in his seat. The world returned to a sudden level of normalcy in nothing but a mere moment for him and he felt a sense of peace about it, still holding the rod in his hand.
“What’s why?” Nana asked.
“That’s why you are all acting so normal about it. Because it is normal.”
“Yes. Yes it is.”
“Is it normal for my mom? Or my dad?”
Nana shrugged. “I love your mom and your dad, but sometimes, modern life snatches our family away from us. Your parents don’t see things the way we see them, Rory. Which is fine, it just makes us a little bit different.”
“Like what do you mean?” Rory’s brow furrowed.
“Like that caduceus you are holding.” Nana waved her hand. “Your mom can’t see it. Or your dad. But you see it. You are even holding it correctly. Over the centuries, they have been called all sorts of things. Divining rods, dowsing rods, holy staffs…”
“Ca-de-se-us?” Rory tried the word, it felt strange on his tongue.
“That’s right.”
Rory waved the strange rod around in his hand, feeling the weight change as he moved it. It was like it was attached to something at one end. He yanked on it a little, and Nana’s hair fluttered around her head.
“Huh.” Rory grunted. He felt a set of senses that overlaid his own like he was seeing, smelling, hearing, and touching with a new set of limbs and sensory organs he had never used before. He felt duplicated in place, like there were two Rory’s occupying the same seat. At first, he felt a sense of panic rush over him, but the next there was a sense of peace, as if it was supposed to be this way and somehow he had just forgotten that fact somewhere along the way.
He felt ageless. Like he had always been here. But at the same time he knew that he was nine years old.
Nana watched on quietly, her lips pressed together in the semblance of both pride and happiness. She looked fit to burst.
The ancient at the hearth watched on passively. He wanted to say something, but it would break the bounds of his altar, which would decouple him from his vessel. So he watched as well, carefully taking in the scene so he could give his opinion later on. Aron wasn’t surprised that Vera’s grandson had the Touch, but it was odd that it had taken this long to manifest. The Touch was usually present from birth, not something that came on later. That was exceptionally rare. Aron knew that if the boy pointed the rod at the hearth, the boy would inadvertently satisfy the conditions of the altar and Aron could finally say something aloud. His voice bubbled in his head like a geyser needing to fount.
Nana sensed Aron watching and turned her head towards him as Rory played with the rod, sensing the currents in the room. She shook her head softly as if telling him to relax. Aron would have curled a lip if he had a lip, but he was just a skull in an ornate box.
She held her hand out to Rory and took the rod back, she made a strange movement and the rod was gone from sight. “Tell me what you felt?”
Rory’s head felt like it was spinning again. The cookies and the milk sat forgotten, and he was staring at his palm in wonder.
“Nana, I could see you. But not with my eyes. It was like I could see…” Rory tried, but he found he didn’t have the words to explain it. “When can I get one of those?”
Nana laughed again, her joy was sparkling at the corner of her eyes, something that Rory had never seen before. Nana wasn’t just happy, she was jumping out of her skin happy.
“You have to make your own.”
“Like a lightsaber?” Rory’s eyes went wide. “Wait. Are you and grandpa like Jedi?”
“I suppose we are. I have never thought of it like that, though. Because what we are is far easier to understand. We are ecologists.”
“Is that like a tree hugger? Dad is always saying that the tree huggers are ruining this country.”
Nana rolled her eyes. “Yes, I would expect that, I suppose.” She paused. “Tell me what you saw.”
“Can I hold it again?” Rory asked instead.
“No. You won’t be able to. The test was passed, and that caduceus was not meant for you. You will have to make your own to hold one again.”
Rory growled. “That seems like a stupid rule.”
“A rule? Not a rule, just a fact.” Nana waved an arm like she was shaking a bug off, and held out her hand. “Take it.”
Rory looked at Nana’s open, empty hand and then to Nana’s face. She was serious. “There is nothing in your hand.”
“My caduceus is right here, Rory. In my hand.” Nana nodded to emphasize she was telling the truth. “You will see it again someday, when you make your own.”
“But I saw it once!”
Nana nodded patiently as she waved her hand away again. “You did.”
“I want to see it again.” Rory argued.
“You will.”
“Why not right now? I don’t understand.”
“Do you understand the rising of the sun or the position of the moon?” Nana’s face was serious again. “Do you know the tides? The shift of the mantle beneath you? Do you feel the forces that act on your body, right now, as you sit there, Rory Masters? Do you know the gravity that pulls at your mass? Do you approve of the magnetic orientation suffusing your cells? Do you allow the bouncing of light waves in this room? Or agree to my voice reaching your ears through pressure changes in the air?”
“Huh? Uh? No?” Rory tried again. He felt unsettled. Nana’s eyes were fierce all of a sudden, far different than the joy and happiness she was radiating a moment ago. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, love.” Nana softened. “It is just important for you to learn these things in order. There is a reason that most people can’t see or feel or understand the whole of reality as it is. It would cause madness. The human mind is structured to survive… while the human soul is designed to connect. It takes time to build the understanding that allows one to bridge wholly to the other, and to do so in right way. That is why some things are as they are. It is the glimmer that we see on the edge of our vision… the sensation that something is just on the edge of our understanding, but then we ignore it and go about our day.”
“I… I…” Rory paused. “Does mom know?”
“No.” Nana’s voice was soft and brittle. “She does not have the Touch.”
“But I do.” Rory finished.
Nana looked up. “What?”
“I do. And that is good, Nana. You don’t need to be sad about it anymore.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly as if she was evaluating her grandson for the first time. “No, I guess I don’t. Your grandfather should be home any moment. Go wash up for dinner. You can help me and cut the lettuce. Hurry up. I need my sous chef.”
“Yes, Nana.” Rory pushed away from the table and ran past her towards the half bath to wash his hands.
Vera picked up the plate of cookies, took one in her hand and thoughtfully took a bite. “I know it is killing you stay quiet, but I think for the time being, you should keep your mouth shut, Aron.”
The box on the mantel rattled once, but it stayed mute.