Chapter Sixteen – Future Sight

Joshua

North of Len Town, Eskershire gave way to historic Sandonshire. The shire was named for the castle town of Sandham on the east coast, encompassing Route 32 and the countryside northeast of Len Town up to the Ruins of Alph. Small towns and villages dotted the farmland; stone circles stood on the odd isolated hilltop.

Walking along the Sandonshire lanes was easy going after hiking down the Ilex Forest trainer's trails. Josh and Eve village-hopped, eating at village pubs and staying the nights at amateur bed-and-breakfasts. Usually, there was someone in each village who was prepared to put up passing trainers in a spare room in exchange for a few dollars. On the third day they pitched their tents in a small field just outside the village of Hunter's Green. It was one of those rare evenings where the setting sun gilded the edges of honey-coloured clouds and washed the landscape in golden light.

Fionn lurked in the shade of Josh's tent. Being a Ghost-type, it wasn't healthy for her to be out in the bright sunlight for long. She was, in many ways, the opposite of Screwball. She had a childish, gregarious temperament that was easy to read compared with Screwball's range of stares. Her sociable nature was most noticeable at dusk, when she'd harass him for sweets and play Tag with Bulbasaur.

Through sparring matches, Josh had discovered that his misdreavus liked battling with a trainer, up to a point. She followed commands enthusiastically, so long as she was commanded to battle capriciously. Fionn loved using tricks and traps; when Josh insisted on chess-game tactics she sulked for the rest of the day. But it was Bulbasaur who was responsible for a lot of Fionn's transition from a wild to a domestic pokémon. He'd started treating her as a protégé, teaching her, cajoling her, chiding her. At the moment he lay basking in the evening sun, keeping one watchful eye on her.

Josh was reading a book – well, he was trying to. Eve wouldn't stop pacing and prowling about. Every couple of minutes she'd sit down and browse her Pokédex or something, only to fidget noisily until she eventually leapt up again. The sight of her constantly crossing his peripheral vision was becoming increasingly distracting.

When Eve threw herself down for the umpteenth time Josh's temper finally snapped. "What the hell has got into you today?" he demanded.

"Nothing," Eve said guiltily. "Oh, I know! Let's work on your Poké Ball pitching!"

"No."

"Oh come on! Come on, boy scout, let's get active! You know you want to play," she coaxed with sly cheerfulness.

"No! You're driving me nuts, I'm going for a walk," Josh said, quickly recalling his pokémon.

"For how long?"

"I don't know. About an hour?" Josh said, grabbing the Capture Spear – well, it functioned just as well as a walking stick – and starting away across the field.

"About an hour?"

"Fine, an hour!"

"Really an hour?" Eve called after him almost anxiously.

"Eve!"

The sign at the fork in the lane read:

Whittington – 4m

Hunter's Green – ½m

Great Bottom – 3m

Josh strolled down the lane towards the village, humming quietly to himself. He'd forgotten the joys of walking by himself, and missed them. Well, truth be told he'd probably miss the joys of walking with Joy before too long – but her incessant bloody fidgeting had been annoying him all day. Maybe an hour apart will do us both good. He stopped by the village green, a wide triangle of grass, punctuated with thick clusters of nodding daffodils. Most of the village stood around the green, including the pub and the corner shop.

All this would have been entirely usual for rural Johto, if it weren't for the harlequin girl.

She gestured extravagantly, gracefully, like a dancer. A scattering of white feathers were twined into her jet black hair, and she wore a catsuit of bright red-and-green diamond checks. She was calling in a silvery voice:

"Come and see, oh you must come and see! Oh, what sights there are to see! Things that are and things that have been! Things that are yet to be seen!"

She spotted him from across the green, and literally danced over to him. Up close she was strikingly pretty. "Take a chance and come with me!" she declared. "The price of admission is not-yet-free! Come and see, oh you must come and see!"

For a moment Josh was tempted to tell her to go away, but then he did have an hour to kill. "Oh, alright. I will come and see," he said, indulging her wearily.

Josh followed the dancing, cartwheeling harlequin girl through the village. On the other side of the village, partially screened from sight by a stand of poplars, there was a velvety-black circus tent pitched in the middle of a field. Butterflies scattered out of the way, like fluttering scraps of brilliant colour dancing and flirting before his eyes. A xatu perched atop the central tent pole, sitting as still as if it had been carved from oak. Just as Josh entered the tent, it suddenly spread its wings.

"Xaaa …" it droned.

Inside, a heavy black curtain sparkling with star designs separated an atrium from the main tent. Another pair of harlequins stood on either side of the curtain; one was tall and saturnine, the other jowly and vaguely sinister. Both wore red-and-green checks, with cloaks of white feathers and yellow beaked face masks.

"He has come to see," Harlequin Girl said.

"So he shall see," said Sinister.

"Ten dollars is the fee," said Saturnine. They spoke with rapid-fire delivery, each speaking almost immediately after the other.

"You haven't even told me what the attraction is yet," Josh pointed out, making no move towards his wallet.

"Things that are," said Sinister.

"Things that have been," said Harlequin Girl.

"Things that are yet to be seen," said Saturnine.

Josh sighed. "Alright, fine. But if I don't like it I will get my money back."

It was pitch dark beyond the curtain. He took a couple of experimental steps forward. His boots rang aloud on what sounded like wooden flooring. Light abruptly flooded in from above, like the sun rising in the space of a few seconds.

Josh found himself standing in a round hall. The walls were smooth, white marble lined with polished ebony doors. The floor was red mahogany, liable to be scratched up by the hobnails in his boots. Early evening light spilled in through an elaborate rose-shaped skylight.

Evidently those harlequins were mad enough to pitch a tent around the hall. Except … Josh did a few quick estimates – if the doors lead to other rooms, then the tent should be too small to contain them. The hairs on his arms started to tingle, memories of the Deepwoods welling from the back of his mind. There was a taste of illusion to this. How real is this place?

"Does it really matter?" a voice said from behind him. A jolt of sharp surprise shot through him – Josh reflexively spun round and brought the Capture Spear down hard. The dry hazel smashed in half with a splintery crack.

The young man straightened up, unharmed. "You proud of yourself?" he said irritably. Josh sighed, just as irritably. The young man was his exact double, minus the Spear and Poké Balls. Josh immediately gave him a critical look.

"I know what you're thinking," the other Josh said hurriedly. "I'm no pokémon."

Josh stared at his doppelgänger, thinking. "… the xatu. This isn't real, is it?"

"It's an illusion," the other Josh admitted. "As for 'real', well, it would be more accurate to say that this isn't a usual place. It may as well be real for you."

"Then who are you?" he said.

"I am you. More or less. Thanks to Xatu I know enough about this place to be your guide. But you already knew that."

Josh paused for a moment. He was about to object when he noticed that he really did already know this – the knowledge appeared in his head like sudden realisation. "I know this, because Josh knows this," he said acerbically. Other-Josh shrugged non-committally, quietly ignoring the movie reference.

"So … what happens now?" Josh asked, half-hoping that the answer would be 'nothing'. The light flooding in through the skylight gilded the marble with subtle shades of gold.

"Try a door," Other-Josh said.

Josh selected a door at random, his boots ringing loud on the mahogany flooring. The polished ebony gleamed at him; there was a brass doorknob in the centre. He hesitated briefly, wondering what he was going to see, then swung the door open.

The door opened onto a classroom. It was as though he were looking out of a cupboard at the front of the room. The afternoon sun was softened to a restful dimness by blinds drawn across the wide lancet windows. There were a number of clues here and there that marked it out as a classroom in a private school, among them the newness of the books, the modernity of the furniture, the smartness of the student's uniforms – and the fact that they were all teenage girls. The teacher, sitting at his desk quietly marking homework, supported that impression. There was something oddly familiar about the man – severely dressed in his plain tie and plain waistcoat, slim, austere glasses and salt-and-pepper curls.

Every last girl was fast asleep, for some reason. The girls were all lying slumped on their desks, resting their heads on a pillow or a cushion. Some of them were snoring gently.

Josh stood on the threshold for a while, watching the scene carefully. The xatu's illusion was a powerful one, flawless, as far as he could took a careful step forwards, more than half-expecting to walk face first into the side of the tent. Nothing happened. Instead his boots shushed on carpet, a disquietingly ordinary sensation. Neither students nor teacher stirred, as if he weren't there at all. Now Josh was in the room he began to notice some odd details – there was a kettle in one corner, accompanied by large jars of coffee, sugar, and teabags. Perched on the edge of the teacher's desk was a tall stack of used paper plates.

At that moment a woman swept imperiously in from the corridor. If the teacher was severely dressed, she radiated cold, stern respectability. She abruptly stopped short, regarding the scene before her with a thoroughly surprised, affronted expression. The teacher acknowledged her with a deferential nod.

"Afternoon, Miss Witherspoon."

Miss Witherspoon appeared to pull herself together. "Mr Cook, what are you doing?"

"Teaching," Mr Cook said. Josh hurriedly circled round to get a better look at him.

"Teaching," Miss Witherspoon repeated.

Josh suddenly realised why the teacher looked familiar. Mr Cook was himself – noticeably older and tidier, with a very short beard, but most certainly himself.

"Mr Cook -" Miss Witherspoon started, but then she spotted the stack of paper plates. She pointed them out at arm's length. "Explain."

"The girls had half a sandwich each," Mr Cook said, keeping his voice low. "Nice, fresh mackerel and salad."

"Hwhat?"

"On brown bread."

"And this is teaching," Miss Witherspoon said coldly.

"Yes, ma'am. Excuse me for a moment." None too quietly, Mr Cook opened the blinds, washing the classroom with sunshine. The girls stirred with a chorus of mumbled complaints.

"Come on, rise and shine, sleeping beauties," Mr Cook cajoled.

"Oh, Sir, why did you wake us so soo-oon!" someone karped.

"Quiet your fizzog, Tonia, you're not missing English," Mr Cook said. "Ok, girls, you've got time yet for coffee or cola, but don't overdo it! Why don't we overdo it?"

There was a scatter of grumbles.

"I'm sorry, was that a sentence? Répétez votre réponse, s'il vous plaît!"

"It's 'cause caffeine dun't reelly give you energy, sir."

"Thank you, Richenda," Mr Cook said. "Now I've got to have a word with Miss Witherspoon."

With a none-too elegant hop, Josh followed his older self through the classroom door just before it closed. His face was very calm, which of course meant he was secretly apprehensive.

"Mister Cook," Miss Witherspoon started. "These girls have grades to maintain. Friday Homeroom is intended to support them in this endeavour. And yet instead of finding a room full of students hard at work, I find them sleeping. And you call this teaching."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Explain."

"I'm teaching them to look after themselves."

"Home Economics -"

"Teaches them to cook and clean," Mr Cook broke in. "Entirely adequately, I might add. I'm teaching them well-being." He paused to think for a moment.

"These girls don't lack for motivation," he said mollifyingly. "What they lack is perspective. They treat the trimesterly assessments with as much gravity as the finals. Danielle seems to think that she'll be doomed to poverty if she gets anything less than a B, and I'm quite sure she's not the only one. And so that means studying till two in the morning, most days, chaining energy drinks and never properly winding down."

"And so you want to teach off-syllabus."

"I want to teach them healthy ways to deal with the pressure before they turn to unhealthy methods."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean. And what about maintaining your student's grades?" Miss Witherspoon persisted.

"Who functions properly on consistently short sleep, ma'am?"

"Yes, well … you will shave your beard, Mr Cook! It does not Do for a male teacher to appear rakish in front of the students!"

"Yes, ma'am," Mr Cook said obediently.

"You are a teacher, not a disc-jockey!"

"Yes, ma'am."

"See that you do," Miss Witherspoon warned.

Josh watched Miss Witherspoon sweep off in a pedagogical wrath, wondering what that 'rakish' comment meant. Mr Cook returned to the classroom, this time leaving the door open. After a moment's dour contemplation, Josh followed. He went back through the open door to the hall, shutting it behind him. The noise and chatter of the girls immediately cut off, and the hush of the hall returned.

Josh stalked thoughtfully around the circumference of the hall, followed at a respectful distance by his faintly-smiling guide. So … this isn't a usual place. He experimentally opened another door at random.

Behind it was an official battlefield. Young, strong trees overshadowed it; thick, nettle-filled undergrowth torn up by recent battle choked the meadow beneath the leaves. At the near side another older version of himself was handing something to a despondent teenage boy.

"- I present to you the Wood Badge."

"But … I lost," the boy protested.

"But you learned," the older Josh continued. "How much do you know about Grass-types now that you didn't know two weeks ago? You earned this Badge with your hard work training and preparing for this rematch. Take it. You deserve it."

Another door. This time he had a view of the back of his own head as he lurked in the lee of a boulder at the top of a gully, observing a pair of charizard tear into one another in the midst of a barren, stony valley. The rock around the fighting was scorched black, the charizard roaring and hissing at each other between attacks. The older Josh was typing blind on a tablet, constantly taking notes while he watched. Suddenly he leapt down into the gully – not a moment too soon as a Dragon Pulse scoured the boulder with violet flame.

Another door. Another older version of himself stood in a conference room, severely, almost fussily dressed, next to a tall board showing an array of neatly arranged photos of jewellery. A panel of three very professional-looking women sat before him, with impassive, faintly critical expressions.

"- fashion has trended towards the elaborate for many seasons," he was saying. "I'm bringing the designs back to a very simple, very contemporary look. The Legendary Wing motif is subtly carried through the collection – as you can see, the Silver Wing suggested here and here, the Rainbow Wing on the ring here. The Wings mirror one another with some of the His 'n' Hers pieces -"

"- I see that in the His 'n' Hers collection you have some matched barrettes," one of the women interrupted. "Can you explain that?"

"There's been a greater movement in recent years towards … 'metrosexual' styles and fashions," he replied, trying to pick his words carefully. "The 'man-bag', the 'man-bun', etcetera … despite these fashions being in vogue with fashionable celebrities, there's still something very self-conscious about the concept. What I've created here – with the barrettes, the chokers, the pendants – is an attempt to bring an unselfconscious elegance to the style."

The woman gave him a cool look that went on for just a few seconds too long, while another made a few cryptic notes.

"What are these?" Josh asked, still watching from the doorway.

"Futures," Other-Josh said. "They could be your future."

"Mr Cook," the third woman said in an authoritative voice, laying down her pens. "I think your collections would be a fit for the Saffron branch of Fleury."

"What?" Mr Cook said disbelievingly.

"Suitably up-marketed, of course."

The three of them began an animated discussion, while his older self watched helplessly.

"- high quality gold and platinum, certainly -"

"Can you work with diamond, Mr Cook?"

"- some form of prestige endorsement, obviously -"

"Are you sure?" Mr Cook managed weakly.

"You must understand, Joshua," the third woman said rather patronisingly. "We are not just selling a product. We are selling a brand. We are selling you,"she gazed into thin air, as if reading off an invisible board. "Metal Earth jewellery, designed by salt-of-the-earth jeweller Joshua Cook, the man who pulled himself up from the coalface to dazzle high society with his stylish simplicity."

"Do these doors show what will happen, or what might happen?" Josh asked sceptically. The scene behind this door was an unconvincing one.

"Yes," Other-Josh replied.

"Yes, alright, I walked into that one," Josh snapped, closing the door. "You know damn well what I meant."

Other-Josh half-smiled at him. "They all have potential. Any of these futures could be yours, if you want it."

Potential. Well, that's a broad word. There were eleven doors in total. Eleven doors. Eleven potential futures. Hmm. He experimentally opened the next door along.

On the other side of this door, there was a battle.

A drab khaki jeep hurried down a dirt path by a strip of woodland, followed by a motorcyclist. In the flatbed behind the jeep sat a man in a leather jacket next to a crate full of Poké Balls. Suddenly, a bellowing rhyhorn thundered out onto the path – the driver swerved hard and ended up skidding right into it with a crash. A squad of pokémon rangers burst from the trees, one riding a ponyta – a ranger vaulted off the rhyhorn – converged on the stricken jeep in grim silence. The motorcyclist sped off down the path.

"Jenny!" one of the rangers shouted, his bronze sergeant's oak leaf flashing on his epaulette. The mounted ranger flipped a salute and galloped off after the motorcycle.

The man in the leather jacket leapt off the flatbed. There was a foot long machete in his fist. He charged the sergeant with a savage yell, chopping wildly down. The sergeant calmly drew his baton and blocked the slash in one sweeping movement. His free hand shot up and seized the man's wrist. His adversary started to throw a punch – the sergeant simply brought his baton down onto his fist.

"Drop your weapon!" the sergeant commanded. The man struggled and earned himself a sharp blow on the forearm. He howled, and the machete slipped from his fingers.

"On your knees! On your knees!"

Maybe it was the threat of the baton, but the man seemed to realise that the game was up. The sergeant wrestled him to the ground and snapped a set of cuffs on his wrists. "I'm arresting you on suspicion of pokémon poaching," he said methodically. "You do not have to say anything, but anything you do say may be given as evidence in a court of law."

The other rangers had the man's companions subdued and cuffed. The sergeant pulled off his field cap, revealing a tired, stern face – a familiar tired face.

"You're telling me I could be good enough to be a pokémon ranger? That I could make it to Ranger Sergeant?" Josh said pessimistically. "Really, me?"

"Why not?" Other-Josh said. "You're focusing too much on the physical side. Rangers have to possess intelligence, patience, integrity … now who does that sound like?"

Josh was quiet for a moment. Sergeant Cook was confidently giving a fresh round of commands. At his direction the rhyhorn rider mounted up – another Ranger gave each of the prisoners a drink. Josh thought about the way his older self had arrested the machete-wielding man with perfect sangfroid. It rather strongly reminded him of Lorelei's battle composure. Divination is fine, but how am I supposed to know what to do to get there?

"This place is a compass, not a map," Other-Josh said. "What you do with this knowledge is your business. And in any case, didn't you start this journey to find out what you want to do with your life? Come. Try this door."

The next door was another third of the way round the hall. Josh shrugged, and pulled it open. This one opened onto a bright forest clearing. It reminded him of the Heartwoods – at the far side there was an immense oak, the finest Quercus robur that Josh had ever seen. A wedding was taking place beneath it, rows of folding chairs occupied by guests before it, portable hokora for the spiritual guests on either side of the tree. Josh knew enough by now to look for his older self, scanning though the guests.

But he wasn't seated with the guests – his older self was standing in front of the tree, shifting nervously from foot-to-foot. He was dressed fairly simply in shades of dark brown and green, with a circlet of oak leaves on his head in what must be a reluctant acknowledgement of the forest spirits. Am I really going to start going grey that young? His future self didn't look much older than thirty, but already his hair was salted with grey.

A voice in the back of his mind kept prodding him to pay attention. He scanned the scene again. More than half of the guests on the left hand side had bright pink hair.

He looked round at Other-Josh in the hall behind him, who just shrugged cryptically. When he looked back, the scene had skipped. An older version of Eve stood with his older self by the tree, proud and beautiful in white silk, crowned with miniature white roses. As Josh watched, she leapt at his older self to kiss him, knocking his leafy circlet askew.

"What do you think?" Other-Josh asked.

"... I don't know," Josh said.

"Liar. How do you expect to figure out what you want if you won't even be honest with yourself?"

Josh didn't look around. He was still watching the scene through the door, and thinking. Not content with just the one, the future Eve enthusiastically kissed his older self again just as he was trying to straighten his circlet.

That was a strange sight. Even in his quiet, private moments he wasn't good at imagining himself kissing anyone, really … watching himself kissing Eve, in perfect detail, was … strange.

"If … if this was my fate, rather than my choice … I wouldn't be unhappy."

"But do you want that future?"

"No. No, I meant what I said to her the other day, but … why did I dream about her?"

"Why did you enjoy it?"

"What?"
"Just indulge me. Think about it; why did you enjoy the dream?"

Josh took a deep breath. His thoughts went first to Ninetales, disguised as Eve in the Deepwoods. The memory still made him nervous. He'd never felt so out of his depth as he had then, and never so vulnerable. That ninetales had a predatory glint in her eyes that her illusion just couldn't conceal – somehow, it was worse than being confronted by an ursaring in the Heartwoods. The dream Eve though … the dream Eve was certainly assertive, but she felt safe. The dream Eve cared that he had his insecurities.

"I like Eve a lot," he said eventually. "I like cooking for her. I like holding her. I like the way she squeezes me. I liked kissing her in the dream, but not because I want to kiss the real Eve. Er … does that even make sense?"

"Yes," Other-Josh said. "Look, Eve likes you. You know damn well she likes your cooking. She often demands a hug from you before bed. Forget about Ninetales and forget about the dream. Neither of those things matter. What matters is how you know you feel about her."

Josh looked back at the future. His older self had picked his new wife up. Rather incongruously, she was wearing white hiking boots.

"She does look beautiful in white," Josh said admiringly.

"Yes she does," Other-Josh agreed.

Well, it was nice to have seen this, Josh thought, closing the door carefully. In that moment, he realised that it was time he divorced the concept of a crush from liking Eve in a – what would be the word? - platonic way. Forget about Ninetales and forget about the dream. Josh still had no intention of thinking about the dream any further, much less telling Eve about it. Ninetales had, ironically, brought them closer together. Even so, Josh didn't feel comfortable thinking of her in a sexual way.

Eleven doors, eleven futures. "You know, I think I've seen enough," Josh said slowly.

"Are you sure?" Other-Josh said. "There are five doors you haven't opened yet."

"I have enough to go on … I'm not convinced that more omphaloskepsis would help. And I should be getting back."

Other-Josh pointed towards one end of the hall, the direction Josh had originally entered in. There was a heavy black curtain hanging there. "That way will take you back out," Other-Josh said. "Be seeing you."

"Next time I look in the mirror," Josh replied to his double.

Josh pushed his way through the curtain. He found himself back in the atrium at the front of the main tent. The harlequins were gone, to Josh's lack of surprise. Somehow, he'd expected it. He sauntered back down the lane towards Hunter's Green, followed by a few errant butterflies, and only then noticed that he was still carrying a broken length of hazel. He tossed it into a hedge, and walked back through the village.

By the time he reached the campsite, the sun had set and twilight had fallen. Eve was sitting by the fire with a satisfied smile on her face.

"Someone's pleased with herself," Josh drily remarked.

"You could say that," Eve said contentedly. She looked so dippily content that he couldn't help but smile a little.

"I brought beer," he said, tossing Eve a can. He snapped open one himself and dropped down next to her.

"So where have you been?" Eve asked.

"Off thinking," Josh paused for a moment. "Eevee, do you think I'd make a good teacher?"

"I think you'd make a good Gym Leader," Eve said casually.

"A Gym Leader?"

"You could take over the Florando Gym and specialise in Grass-types," Eve caught sight of Josh's expression. "Oh. I'm sorry Josh, was that a serious question?"

"Yeah … I'm just thinking about the future."

Eve took a contemplative draught of her beer. "I can actually see you as a Gym Leader, you know. They have to be teachers as well as trainers," she added.

"They also have to be great trainers," Josh countered out of habit.

"So? Who says you can't be," Eve said. "Honestly, Josh, I don't think you have natural talent. What you are is stubborn and clever and that counts for more than just natural talent," she paused for a breath and a cooling sip. "So what I'm saying is that I believe you are good enough if you want to be."