A Gift from a Friend: 2

Darkness. Total unblemished pitch black. John would have been frightened if he hadn't been infatuated with the dark since he was born. In the depths of a pokemon burrow, at night in the folds of a makeshift tent, and the weightless unconsciousness after getting smacked in the head by pokemon larger than himself nearly every day of his life created many a fantasy. So much light came out of the darkness that John easily found his way within it. What lay within the shadows? It was a question of taboo standards. Most people tucked tail and ran at its utterance. John recited it with vigor. Each answer filled with a hushed whisper of excitement. What lay beyond the veil? A newborn rattata, buried treasure, or maybe even a second whisper just as elated as yours to venture into the dark? The latter not so much.

John blamed the stars for his obsession. It was because of their light that most of his escapades turned into adventures. Where the light of civilization couldn't reach, the stars extended their silver touch across the land. Constellations never failed to tell a good story. They always pointed home, and even when they were hidden away, that twinkle was always there just beyond storm and cloud. The darkness was never empty. John could never be alone with the stars watching over him. Besides, the shadows he knew were warm and never failed to keep him company.

And this time, they even sang.

John lay on his back, his head facing the sky. A shadow crossed his face, humming with curiosity as it did. He lay quiet and still, so much so, Celebi wasn't sure the trainer was going to wake up again. She clutched the Cork City gym badge tightly to her chest and called softly to see if it would help. It didn't. John didn't wake. Aside from a coating of rock dust and dirt, there wasn't any damage. Not that she could see. Celebi fluttered over him to make sure. It wasn't time for hibernation. Was it the work of a status effect? Celebi nervously buzzed back and forth, looking for traces of powder or sting. She wasn't equipped to handle something like that. Luckily, neither were found. But then, what could she do to wake John up?

The pixie pokemon held out the badge between her hands. It was the first thing she saw when she woke up, maybe it would work for him as well? But where to put it? Celebi glanced over John one more time until she spotted the Cork City Dojo emblem on his jacket. It matched her prize, and thus, must be the right spot. She gently dropped down, kneeled on John's chest, and pulled aside his jacket with a grunt. There was red and brown flannel underneath, a true mountaineer's skin. It was colored like the forest undergrowth. Celebi rubbed one hand over the fabric above his heart. Soft like it too. Perfect. Now, she could plant the seed of life.

Celebi quickly tucked the badge into John's chest pocket and pulled the jacket back over it. She patted it down with confidence. There was no reason the badge shouldn't wake him up. He smelled just like a dandelion seed and those sprang up quick and strong in the most scraggly of rock piles. John stirred. One eye winked against the sunlight but a shadow quickly drifted in front of it to shade him from the discomfort. John recognized the smooth round lines but it was the hum of the wings behind it that made him smile.

"Hey Celebi," John winced.

He sat up and the pixie pokemon twirled out of the way with a joyful squeal. Darkness resisted the motion, clouding John's eyes with shadows once more. He put a hand to his head with a wince and blinked away the haze. Several leaves were stuck within the folds of his hair. Even more fell from his clothes as he traded his head for his ribs. Breathing wasn't easy, but then again, having the wind knocked out of you tended to do that. He felt around his body. Nothing seemed broken and all limbs were still attached. His body knew what to do when it fell. A lifetime of stumbling, tumbling, and falling down the mountains on accident and on purpose made sure of that. Even his pokegear was still attached.

John glanced around him. For having just taken a tumble off of a cliff, there wasn't a rock face or ravine in sight. In fact, a grassy clearing replaced the woody hillsides he expected. Trees as old as the dirt beneath them surrounded him several yards away. Their trunks blocked out any view of the forest. John followed them up to the sky. When the branches reached their limits, white clouds skated across the blue hole in the canopy. No wonder the light was so bright. John dropped his gaze back to the earth and ran his hand through the thick grass beneath him. Fields like this belonged in the ponyta valleys down below, not up here on the mountain. The blades bounced and waved in a fibrous green ocean around him. Just when exactly did he wade into these waters?

John looked behind him and lost his breath again, this time, because there was a lost temple at the bottom of this grassy sea. Pillars of stone older than the surrounding trees adorned an invisible walkway down the clearing. Several were broken. A few failed the test of time and lay broken on the ground but not one dared to defy its purpose and cross the path it once guarded. Whether fallen or still standing, all proudly extended their hands to the shrine constructed in the back of the clearing. A tiered platform created a series of steps up to an altar that had not felt the footsteps of humanity in centuries. Flowering vies hung as tapestries. The woods beyond now serving as walls, expanding the temple to hold the very essence of the mountain itself. Wind and rain had worn the runes carved into the masonry down to unshaped ripples but it did not change the fact that this place was built for a very special, if not holy purpose.

The grass stretched towards the shrine with the fingers of a meadow. Wildflowers painted the tips. Yellows and purples rubbed up against the shrine's foundations. They now colored the stories written there since the paint had worn away centuries ago. A shallow but distinct path flattened the colorful carpet from the countless steps of pokemon coming to pay their respects. Aria used to tell stories of a place deep within the forest, a place that couldn't be found on a map because she had never been there the same way twice. A sparkle no less than magical gleamed in her eye whenever she spoke of it. "It belonged to the Range," she always said, "and appeared only during the beat of the mountains' heart." Considering the lifespan of a mountain range, it wasn't very often. So powerful was this life force that a single pump rippled the very fabric of reality, transcending dimensions and allowing those who heard its beat into a world un-bequest to them.

Even for a youngster's imagination, it was something hard to comprehend, and thus, John convinced himself it was mere fiction. Until now.

"She was right," he whispered. "I knew it."

Celebi flew within the ancient ruins. The hum of her wings soaked into the clearing more naturally than a morning dew, making the minerals in the stones suddenly glisten with fresh life. She flew back to John and circled around him as he stood. She grabbed his hand and pulled. He coughed out a chuckle and followed her down the path. His smile was much harder to break than his bones. Celebi released her grasp and floated backwards with a joyful whistle of her wings. The sound found its way to the nearest pillar. She motioned to the stone's magnificence. Her eyes reading something far deeper than the carvings. Story by story, she bounced between the walkway, forcing John to stop halfway through and spin in order to keep up. When the tale was complete, she dropped down to the path and hugged a bouquet of grass. Several wildflowers pressed against her face to return the embrace.

John glanced down at a pile of stones purposefully arranged on a flat block nearby. Celebi rushed over and picked one up, waving it around and exchanging it with others so that he could see each one. Some looked familiar, no doubt more tidbits and tokens found at the garden. Whether they were there for a purpose, decoration, or game, there was apparently far too much to see to linger on it. Celebi flew off deeper into the temple, and when John didn't follow, she flew back, grabbed his pocket, and tugged him along.

"Alright, alright, I'm coming," he laughed.

Together, they walked down the grassy path towards the altar. Celebi lazily spun between the pillars. She played with the dandelion spores kicked up from the trainer's feet. They twirled together up along the ruins. John's hand followed them. He laid a palm upon the glyphs of the nearest pillar, tracing his fingers across a language he couldn't tell whether it was made by pokemon or humans. Just what sort of stories did they tell? This place was a researcher's dream. One crack of the code and a paradise of history would flow out, probably changing the interpretation of an eon. Just exactly how old was the Valic Mountain Range? Old enough to instill a sense of magic, and yet, John felt as if he had seen this sort of thing before. But where?

The trainer slowly lowered his eyes to the straps of pokegear across his shoulders. His thoughts went even further to the box Carol had given him. It may have been that magic was drawn to mystery but John felt the need to look at the feather again. He swung his bag over his shoulder, unzipped the pocket, and pulled out the wooden box. The symbols carved into it were different than the trace work on the pillars, but somehow, John knew they had to be related. Celebi leaned over his shoulder and also looked at the box. She grabbed his jacket to anchor herself. Her curiosity dangerously peeked beyond curtesy but the hum of her wings tickled John's ear. He tilted closer to her in a whisper.

"Want to see what's inside?" he asked.

Celebi pulled the jacket up over her face and nodded but this was no place to reveal such a secret. John glanced around for a better spot. A strong ray of sunlight would accent the feather much more extravagantly than the shade of the pillar. Luckily, there were plenty of options in the clearing, but none better than the top of the altar. John approached, hopped up the steps, and set the box on top of the granite slab. Celebi repositioned herself on the crown of his head, laying on it with the eagerness of a Saturday morning cartoon. John turned an eye up at her in a smile. Compared to the linoone that normally occupied the spot, the burden was light. The one in his heart, even more so.

Although the box was unstained and unpolished, placing it on the altar gave it a depth and a shine that rivaled the glimmer of a jewel. John half expected to see wood shavings from its creation scattered across the altar. The box set its presence in the stone as deeply as the roots of the trees surrounding them. Celebi spread flat on her stomach as the lid opened. John paused for dramatic effect. She crawled down, never once pulling her eyes away from the box, and hugged his neck cheek to cheek. A little too magical for even the pixie pokemon?

John resisted a chuckle and gently unfolded the blue cloth. Celebi rushed forward before he finished. She peeked over the edge, took one wide eyed look at the feather, and threw her hands up in a single note song. Heightened by the hum of her wings, it pitched into a chime louder than church bells. The call echoed farther than it should have, reaching a place uncharted by any map. And in that place, something answered. The chime ripple the trees in a stirring wind. The canopy flashed in a blueish green hue, serving as a medium to mix the ocean of green grass below and blue sky above. They shimmered in successive and quickening concussions of energy that electrified the air with each passing wave.

Celebi quickly covered her mouth in a gasp but it was too late. Pressure filled the ruins, causing distortions in vision and temperature. She fluttered back and forth, unsure of how to swim in these strange turquoise waters. Whatever was happening, it was out of her control. The feather suddenly began to glow. John looked away from it and towards his clothes as they slowly began to lift from his skin. Now, he really felt underwater. Time to go. John quickly snapped the box shut, shoved it in his bag, and zipped it up tight. A tremor rocked him into the edge of the altar. He grabbed it but the silver glow of the feather had already found its way into the stone. The altar glowed beneath him. It's light spread down the platform and along the pillars. Without glyphs to guide it, the energy encased the entire stone network of the lost temple.

Another tremor rocked through the clearing. Celebi covered her head with her hands and slowly floated away from the altar. On the ground and in the air the vibrations of the tremor didn't stop. The entire clearing vibrated with the building energy. John whirled around and saw Celebi drift away from him, cowering from the thing that had answered her call. Whatever it was, John wasn't going to let her face it alone. He grit his teeth against the numbing pressure, reached out for her, and leapt off of the platform. The world went with him.

Colors streaked out of focus, pulling into a sharp white light that strobed John blind. With it, the energy vibrating within him suddenly pulsed outward in a nauseating summersault. As his stomach flipped, so did the rest of his body. John fell. First, into darkness. Then, into water. It splashed as he dropped out of the air and into its depths. Sight and sound roared into a muffled deafness. There was no up, no down, and especially no air. John inhaled a lungful of water in search of it. He didn't know how, but suddenly, he was drowning. Panic set in. He groped at the weighted nothingness, mind and muscle flailing with the instinctual desperation of survival. Two hands met him in kind. They grabbed him by the collar and pulled him upwards. John broke the surface but found no air until he hit solid ground. A rough impact knocked some of the water from his lungs. A coughing fit spat out the rest.

What the hell just happened? One leap lands him in a mystical half dimension and the other in a body of water where grass should have been. John attempted to push himself up but just because he was on solid ground didn't mean the world had stopped spinning. His arms crossed one another and he fell to the ground again. Mud splattered across half of his face. A stick jammed into his cheek to add injury to insult. At least in the water there wasn't anything to run into.

"Whoever came up with this festival idea should be shot," a voice exclaimed above him. It was distinctively feminine and pissed as hell. "This is the third one tonight."

John stuck his backside in the air in an attempt to plant himself in a direction distinguishing up from down. Both hands firmly slapped the mud and the trainer shoved his upper body from the ground. He swung upwards, bringing with it, Carol's cookies. John bent over and tossed them in a hurl worthy of the colorful nauseating light show he just unwillingly experienced.

"Ugh, nasty . . ." the voice continued. "What's your bet? Drugs or alcohol?"

John refused to give in to the weird swirling circus act of his senses. He stood up sharply in an attempt to overcome it, stumbled off to the side, and fell over hard enough to doubt whether he had ever left the ground in the first place.

"Both," the second voice answered. It was slower and deeper, most likely from a man.

The hands grabbed the back of John's jacket again. They yanked him to his feet and held him there. Darkness swirled in his eyes but quickly retreated against the flashlight running across his vision.

"Jesus, did you see his pupils?" the female voice exclaimed. The light strobed just like the energy pulse, causing John to lurch again. "He's lucky we're on watch duty and heard him splashing around like a maniac or he would've drowned in two inches of water."

"I think you mean 'lucky we just so happened to be making out in the nearby vicinity while we were supposed to be on watch duty'. We should make out more often. Apparently, it saves lives."

John blinked but the darkness didn't go away. Stars spun in a waltz across his vision. Did he get punched in the face or had he finally left earth and drifted into outer space? Right now, he couldn't tell the difference.

"Shit, let's just leave him in his own mess. He's standing now."

The two hands holding John up suddenly released their hold. He crumpled to the ground again. At least that answered his question. Earth it was.

"Whoops, sorry buddy," the male voice said.

John waved an arm in recognition. At this point, he had enough ups and downs to gauge his position and that was progress. With handfuls of grass, he was determined to keep the ground within reach this time. His stomach thought otherwise. It cartwheeled with every shift of his gaze. Colors still left tracers in his vision from his leap through quantum physics but at least the nausea was now recognizable. There was only one thing that could poison without toxin and confuse without thinking and that was a psychic pokemon attack. So that was Celebi's energy type . . .

"He looks pretty bad. Should we take him to your house? Its closer," the male continued.

"Hell no. Let's bring him to town, everybody's down there anyway for the festival. The clinic's got the tent set up, remember? We'll dump him there," the female answered.

With several deep breaths, John wobbled into the eye of his sensational tornado. Light and dark separated into two shadows that stood over him. He spoke, but whatever gibberish came out of his mouth only made the female voice sigh even harder.

"Let's get him up," she relented.

Four hands now lifted John to his feet. They wobbled harder than gelatin on a fault line, forcing the two people to hold him up in a joint effort. John sagged suddenly to the side. The female cursed and the male shouldered more of the burden. They carried him into the lights of an ATV. John lifted his head with a squint of his eye. There was no bright sunlight here to narrow his gaze, only a greyscale color scheme, shadows, and blinding battery operated lights.

"Is it night time?" he asked, or rather, thought he asked because the female snapped back sharply. "No, it's not 'naps time' and I swear, if you puke on me-,"

"You'll probably smell better than this pond muck. Whew, man, you stink!" the male interrupted. John attempted to look at him but his head only rolled to the side and back down again. He caught a glimpse of the green Outpost trooper uniform on the way around. Good, he was still on the mountain but it was hours later than what he expected it to be. Did he pass out from the weird undulating pressure burst or land head first on a rock?

"Is night time?" he tried again.

"Lord, how much did you drink?" the female asked. "It's practically midnight."

"Don't be so harsh on him. Today is a celebration," her partner added.

"Celebration my ass. God, this guy weighs a ton. You wouldn't think he'd be this heavy given how lean he is."

"Set him in the middle, you ride in the back and keep him steady. I'll drive. I hope you're ready for a bumpy ride, Stranger."

"Ride?" John asked.

"Yeah, the worst ride of the night for us," the woman added. "For you, it'll be in the morning."

They positioned John on the ATV. He offered no resistance, after all, he was familiar with the sensation of other people throwing him around all the time. Plus, there was something familiar about these people, and if they worked for the Outpost, than they had to be good people. Two hands reluctantly hugged John's waist to brace him for the upcoming descent. For a moment, he thought the disorientation would pass, but when the world began moving again, stuffing his face into the back of the man in front of him was all John could do to stay sane. At this rate, he wouldn't make it to morning.