Tanya Huff - Gate of Darkness, Circle of Light

Gate of Darkness, Circle of Light

By Tanya Huff

"Rebecca!

Rebecca paused, one hand on the kitchen door.

"Did you put your tins away neatly?

"Yes, Lena.

"Have you got your uniform to wash?

Rebecca smiled but otherwise remained frozen in the motion of leaving. Her food services uniform was folded neatly in the bottom of her bright red tote bag. "Yes, Lena.

"Do you have your muffins for the weekend?

"Yes, Lena." The muffins, carefully wrapped, were packed safely on top of her soiled uniform. She waited for the next line of the litany.

"Now, don't forget to eat while you're home.

Rebecca nodded so vigorously her brown curls danced. "I'll remember, Lena." One more.

"I'll see you Monday, puss.

"See you Monday, Lena." Freed by the speaking of the last words, Rebecca pushed open the door and bounded out and up the stairs.

Lena watched her go, then turned and went back into her office.

"And you go through this every Friday, Mrs. Pementel?

"Every Friday," Lena agreed, settling down into her chair with a sigh. "For almost a year now.

Her visitor shook his head. "I'm surprised she's allowed to wander around unsupervised.

Lena snorted and dug around in her desk for her cigarettes. "Oh, she's safe enough. The Lord protects his own. Damn lighter." She shook it, slammed it against the desk, and was rewarded by a feeble flame. "I know what you're thinking," she said, as she sucked in smoke. "But she does her job better than some with a lot more on the ball. You're not going to save any of the taxpayers' money by getting rid of her.

The man from accounting frowned. "Actually, I was wondering how anyone could continue smoking given the evidence. Those things'll kill you, you know.

"Well that's my choice, isn't it? Come on," she rested her elbows on the desk and exhaled slowly through her nose, waving the glowing end of the cigarette at his closed briefcase. "Let's get on with it...

"They cut emeralds from the heart of summer.

The grubby young man, who'd been approaching with the intention of begging a couple of bucks, hesitated.

"And sapphires drop out of the sky, just before it gets dark." Rebecca lifted her forehead from the pawnshop window and turned to smile at him. "I know the names of all the jewels," she said proudly. "And I make my own diamonds in the refrigerator at home.

Ducking his head away from her smile, the young man decided he had enough on his plate, he didn't need a crazy, too. He kept moving, both hands shoved deep in the torn pockets of his jean jacket.

Rebecca shrugged, and went back to studying the trays of rings. She loved pretty things and every afternoon on the way home from the government building where she worked, she lingered in front of the window displays.

Behind her, the bells of Saint James Cathedral began to call the hour.

"Time to go," she told her reflection in the glass and smiled when it nodded in agreement. As she walked north, Saint James handed her over to Saint Michael's. The bells, like the cathedrals, had frightened her when she'd first heard them, but now they were old friends. The bells, that is, not the cathedrals.

Such huge imposing buildings, so solemn and so brooding, she felt couldn't be friends with anyone. Mostly, they made her sad.

Rebecca hurried along the east side of Church Street, carefully not seeing or hearing the crowds and the traffic. Mrs. Ruth had taught her that, how to go inside herself where it was quiet, so all the bits and pieces swirling around didn't make her into bits and pieces, too.

She wished she could feel something besides sidewalk through the rubber soles of her thongs.

At Dundas Street, while waiting for the light, a bit of black, fluttering along a windowsill on the third floor of the Sears building, caught her eye.

"No, careful wait!" she yelled, scrambling the sentence in her excitement.

Most of the other people at the intersection ignored her. A few looked up, following her gaze, but seeing only what appeared to be a piece of carbon paper blowing in the wind, they lost interest. One or two tapped their heads knowingly.

When the light changed, Rebecca bounded forward, ignoring the horn of a low-slung, red car that was running the end of the yellow light.

"Don't!

Too late. The black bit dove off the window ledge, twisted once in the air, became a very small squirrel, and just managed to get its legs under it before it hit the ground. It remained still for only a second, then darted to the curb. A truck roared by. It flipped over and started back to the building, was almost stepped on and turned again to the curb, blind panic obvious in every motion. It tried to climb a hydro pole, but its claws could get no purchase on the smooth cement.

"Hey." Rebecca knelt and held out her hand.

The squirrel, cowering up against the base of the pole, sniffed the offered fingers.

"It's okay." She winced as the tiny animal swarmed up her bare arm, scrambled through her hair, and perched trembling on the top of her head. Gently she scooped it off. "Silly baby," she said, stroking one finger down its back. The trembling stopped, but she could still feel its heart beating against her palm. Continuing to soothe it, Rebecca stood and moved slowly back to the intersection. As the squirrel was too young to find its way home, she'd have to find a home for it, and the Ryerson Quad was the closest sanctuary.

The Quad was one of Rebecca's favorite places. Completely enclosed by Kerr Hall, it was quiet and green; a private little park in the midst of the city. Very few people outside the Ryerson student body knew it existed, which, Rebecca felt, was for the best. She knew where all the green growing places hid. This afternoon, with classes finished for the summer, the Quad was deserted.

She reached up and gently placed the squirrel on the lowest branch of a maple. It paused, one tiny front paw lifted, then it whisked out of sight.

"You're welcome," she told it, gave the maple a friendly pat, and continued home.

A huge chestnut tree dominated the small patch of ground between the sidewalk and Rebecca's building, towering over the three stories of red brick. Rebecca often wondered if the front apartments got any light at all but supposed the illusion of living in a tree would make up for it if they didn't. Stepping onto the path, she tipped back her head and peered into the leaves for a glimpse of the tree's one permanent inhabitant. She spotted him at last, tucked up high on a sturdy branch, legs swinging and head bent over the work in his hands; which, as usual, she couldn't identify. All she could see of his face were his eyebrows which stuck out a full, bushy, red inch under the front edge of his bright red cap. "Good evening, Orten.

"'Tain't evening yet, still afternoon. And my name ain't Orten, neither.

Rebecca sighed and crossed another name off her mental list. Rumplestiltskin had been the first name she'd tried, but the little man had merely laughed so hard he'd had to grab onto a branch.

"Well, hello, Becca." The large-blonde-lady-from-down-the-hall stepped through the front door, thighs rubbing in polyester pants.

Rebecca sighed. Nobody called her Becca but she couldn't get the large-blonde-lady-from-down-the-hall to stop. "My name is Rebecca.

"That's right, dear, and you live here at 55 Carlton Street." Her voice was loud and she pronounced each word deliberately, a verbal pat on the head. "Who were you talking to?

"Norman," Rebecca ventured, pointing up into the tree.

"Not likely," snorted the little man.

The large-blonde-lady-from-down-the-hall pursed fuchsia lips. "How sweet, you've named the birds, I don't know how you can tell them apart.

"I don't talk to birds," Rebecca protested. "Birds never listen.