To David Warwick, being in downtown Calgary is like being in two different cities at once. Huge monoliths of steel and glass shot up in opulent decadence beside crumbling tenements; banks dealing in millions of dollars a day were the backdrop for street musicians eking out their existence on the pocket change of passers-by. The remnants of the old Calgary were fast becoming the home of the castoffs and homeless, all the while being engulfed by its cosmopolitan brother, the metropolis of the future. The four years he’d spent wandering its alleys and streets as a homeless transient had only solidified this opinion in him.
He had seen destitute poverty walking alongside wealthy businessmen, the former on his way to success, the other on his way to nowhere. And nowhere was where David had been heading for the past four years and was headed on a chilly October day. Cold winds were blowing in from the west, a precursor to the harsh winter months to come.
David was dressed in his finest; faded blue jeans (which had more holes than material in them), battered hiking boots and a army issue jacket which was nowhere near thick enough to protect him against this winter’s frigid temperatures. He had given away his heavier jacket to Bob the Indian, mostly because Bob didn’t have a jacket at all, but more so because Bob was a lot bigger and meaner than David. Bob’s method of begging went something to the effect of stating “I am a street person and need at least 75 cents from you.” which always seem to elicit at least a loony to buy the person’s safe passage past Bob.
Today it sufficed to wear a gray toque pulled down over his head of straight blonde hair which fell halfway down his back in a great tangled mass. A full beard kept his face warm, and he hoped to locate some gloves so that he wouldn’t catch frostbite like he had the year before.
He shuffled onto eight avenue mall just as Fred, the mime who sang opera beside Lily’s hot-dog stand began a new set. David always enjoyed Fred’s singing. It reminded him of something good, something that lay on the edge of his mind, waiting to be discovered. It was a girl; he knew that much. A girl with a beautiful voice. . .
“They’re handing out hot soup at the Mustard Seed this morning.” someone said behind him.
He turned and looked into the eyes of a young girl carrying a satchel. She brushed away a lock of her dark shoulder length hair, then dug a tract from the satchel and handed it to David. “I just thought you looked like you could use a hot meal.” she said.
“Yes.” David replied, and gazed at the tract.
‘Is There Anything beyond This Life?’ it read in a bold font. There sure is, David thought to himself, a river full of blood they drown you in after slitting your throat wide open.
Pastor Rick over at the Mustard Seed was always trying to convince him otherwise, but David knew better. He had been to Outworld and he had seen an angel and he had seen what happens to you. Pastor Rick had never been to the Outworld so far as David knew, so why should he believe him?
David discarded the tract in the nearest trash can and set off in the direction of the Mustard Seed church. He dug into his coat and pulled out the little New Testament that Pastor Rick had given him.
It was a wonderful book, though David wouldn’t tell Rick he thought so. David would often lie down in the parks in the summer and spend his whole day reading it, just to read something. Reading had been a big part of his life before Outworld. Reading and writing, he thought to himself, but not arithmetic. He still hated math. It was the worst part of begging, trying to add up all the change you had at the end of a day.

David reached the intersection which turned off Eighth Ave. Mall and ran down to the Mustard Seed. He turned back to wave goodbye to Fred, who was presently in between songs. But instead of waving at Fred, he turned to find himself staring at a cowboy.
Not that seeing cowboys in Calgary was a big deal. You could throw a stone and hit one of the fake cowboys who hung out at the new country clubs that played their music just as loud as dance clubs or even rock bars. The kind of cowboys who wore tight Wranglers and thought you were light in your loafers if you wore anything else. The closest those cowboys got to shit kicking was when they got it kicked out of them, David thought.
But this cowboy looked to be the real article; the kind that really did know how to ride a horse and rope cattle. Dressed in a long, worn-in duster, leather gloves, real riding boots and beat up cowboy hat, the man looked as though he had just stepped out of a Marlboro Man add.
“I’m supposed to give this to you.” the cowboy said to him.
In the gloved hands was an envelope. David took it, his fingers brushing the leather of the cowboy’s gloves.
“Those are very nice gloves.” David remarked.
The cowboy smiled. “Thanks. You look like you could use a pair.”
David nodded. “I was going to get some soup at the Mustard Seed. . . sometimes they have gloves in a big bin there for people like me.”
“People like you?” The cowboy asked.
“Yeah. I believe they call us ‘economically challenged.’”
The cowboy broke into a big grin, took off his gloves and handed them to David. “I was actually on my way to drop these off at the church. Do you think you could take them there for me?”
David took the gloves, and after turning them over in his hands a few times, asked, “Do you suppose I could just have these ones? I mean, I can take them to the church, but I’ll just pick them out of the bin after I put them in.”
“Sure. That would be fine.”
David stuck the photo between his teeth and pulled the gloves on. The lining felt like the fur of Shep, Mason Ridge’s seeing-eye dog. When David looked up to thank the cowboy, he was gone.
Bob the Indian came up beside David. “Nice gloves.” he commented.
David looked up at Bob, immediately hiding his hands behind his back. “Not this time Bob.” he said, the photo still in his teeth.
“That’s okay. I’ve already got some.” He held up two right hand mittens of different colors. “What’s the picture of?”
David pulled his hands from behind him slowly, a suspicious look on his face. He let the photo fall into his right hand.
Though the creases obscured much of the photo, one thing stood out. A beautiful girl, her face framed by shoulder length brown hair. Her eyes stared out of the picture at David, full of concern for someone.
For him.
For a brief moment, David looked at the photo with a puzzled expression. Then a dam burst in his mind and in the flood that followed, David dropped to his knees. Bob the Indian reached down to help him, but David slapped his hand away.
“Don’t touch me!” he shouted.
He lay on the concrete in the center of eight avenue mall, just feet from Lily’s hot-dog stand, writhing on the ground as though he were having a fit. Fred stopped singing, came over and knelt down beside David.
“Hold onto him Bob,” Fred said, “Or he might swallow his tongue.”
David’s eyes shot open and he scurried away from Fred. “I’m fine!” he shouted. “I’m fine.” he said again, his voice more subdued.
He sat a moment, dazed, his chest heaving from exhaustion.
“What happened?” Fred asked at length.
David looked at him. “He’s found me again.”
His legs rubber, he struggled to his feet and looked about frantically. Fred’s voice shouted above the din of people and traffic, asking David what was wrong, and who was it exactly that had found him.
The rubber feeling began to leak from his legs, replaced by adrenaline. Gritting his teeth, he staggered towards the nearest alley. Then, from behind him came a crackling sound, like ice thawing quickly, followed by the roar of a motorcycle engine. He wheeled just in time to see a black Harley roadster speeding toward him, a leather clad form atop it . Even from a distance, he could see the cold and calculating eyes above the cherub-like face.
“Jordan.” he said beneath his breath, and began running.
He jumped up onto the nearest fire escape and began scaling it. Below him he heard Jordan turn the bike around and roar off in another direction.
What is he doing? David thought to himself as he reached the roof. He turned around, checking his situation. The roof of the adjacent buildings were decently level for the next block. If he kept to the rooftops, he'd probably fare all right.
He heard the sound of the Harley, quite close and getting louder all the time. He jerked his head up just in time to see Jordan accelerating in the parkade directly across the alley from him.
David cried out as the bike struck the concrete barrier.
The roadster seemed to disappear progressively, as though it were being shaved away by an impossibly sharp knife, accompanied by the cacophony of the crackling sound. The force of the initial impact shot Jordan through the air, his body tucking, rolling, then straightening out as he landed on the roof , only feet from his prey.
David turned and began running across the rooftops, his mind racing as to what to do next. Upon reaching the fourth building, Jordan overtook him, but David had already spotted his chance. He jumped from the fourth roof down through the skylight of the next building, flipping Jordan's body under his to take the brunt of the impact with the glass. He felt a few shards tear through his clothing and scrape the skin, but he knew Jordan had absorbed most of the damage this round.
They crashed to the floor of a leather boutique, the broken glass spilling about them. Jordan was on his feet immediately carrying David up with him. David felt his a vertebrae pop slightly as Jordan rammed him into the door of a change room. The wind rushed out of his lungs, but he mustered up enough energy to grab the top of the booth with both hands, then kick out with both legs, catching Jordan full in the chest.
Jordan fell back into a rack of coats as David ran for the doorway, pushing back a burly man with a hairy chest wearing leather pants and a leather vest. Jordan picked himself up and continued his relentless pursuit.
David ran out of the store, onto an open strip mall.
He dashed across an intersection as the lights turned red. Jordan yelled behind him, and David turned to see the leather clad man do a flip over a moving car, then land on another, deftly push off in mid flight to land not two feet behind his prey.
I'm dead. David rolled his eyes and continued running. He turned quickly at the next street and ran as hard as he could for the C Train, which was starting to pull away. He leaped over the ticket dispenser, up the steps and banged on the door, to no avail. Jordan reached the steps at that moment. Gaining the platform, he lurched at David. His opponent off balance, David grabbed Jordan’s leather lapels and swung him past himself. This added centrifugal shove sent Jordan flying into a window of the C Train.
The glass shattered, and there were screams mixed in the sound of the train’s wheels clicking slowly on the tracks. David tried to pull away to avoid the shower of glass shards but before he could, Jordan caught his wrist.
The dark angel’s form continued through the glass. David was pulled off the platform as the train gained its momentum and began its course. His tattered army jacket nearly tore as his body slammed against the outside of the car, his feet dangling only inches above the ground. Jordan’s grip held, despite rivulets of blood running down his arm. He lifted David’s hapless form into the train and threw him down on the floor.
David’s eyes darted about and located the emergency stop. Shaking his head and gritting his teeth, he launched himself up, caught hold of the lever and pulled as hard as he could. The train lurched as its brakes kicked in. Jordan, caught off balance and weakened from the blood loss, was thrown to the floor. David waited until the train slowed some more, then jumped out the shattered window.
In front of him, the air crackled and his ears were filled with the sound he recognized all too well. He’s opened a doorway between worlds and I’m jumping right through it!
As he passed between the tangible worlds into the spiritual realm, he felt his progress halt abruptly. He hung in midair, then as if in slow motion, completed his jump, landing perfectly on both feet. Behind him he heard something strike the ground and turned to see Jordan, gun in hand, standing backdropped by the train which was unmoving; frozen in time.
In between worlds; a place where neither the body nor soul really belongs; dreamworld, where there are times that are, times that have been and an endless weave of times yet to come.
“I'm not trying to kill you David.” Jordan said , his breath coming in sharp ragged gasps. “I need to talk to you.”
“So talk. I'm sort of a captive audience.” David remained still, cursing himself for falling into Jordan’s trap, letting himself be in close enough proximity with the man to allow him to open a doorway.
Jordan lowered the gun and sat down opposite David. “There's a problem and the Wind wants your help.”
David grimaced, “I want nothing to do with you, or the Wind.”
“You have to go beyond the Pale.” Jordan told him, an urgent fire lighting in his eyes.
David grimaced, his mind recalling the black crag and the bloody river. “Do you take me for an idiot?” he shouted. “You killed the woman I loved! You took my life from me! This-” he shook his arms, displaying the tattered clothing that housed them, “is all I have now! You ruined my life you son of a bitch, yet here you stand, making demands as though I owe you something!”
“David, you don’t understand. . .” Jordan lowered the gun.
“What’s there to understand?” David jumped up and grabbed Jordan’s arm, pulling the gun up to his head. “I understand fine what you’re all about. So let’s save ourselves the walk up that black mountain; get it over with and blow my brains out! ”
Jordan wrenched the gun away from David’s head and out of his grasp. “You still don’t get it!” he growled. “What can I do to make you see the need?”
“Nothing!” David replied. “Nothing could be urgent enough for me to make any sort of pact with you.”
“You of all people should know that resisting the Wind’s calling is futile. Sooner or later, for better or for worse, the call will be so loud - too loud, and you will have no other choice!” Jordan's face, normally passive, was fully emotive, a mask of desperate fury. “It can save you David!”
David knew what Jordan meant. “I don’t want salvation. I want Odessa.”
Jordan started. “What happened to Odessa was not what you think-”
David cut him off. “The answer remains no. I won't go. If you try dragging me up that hill I swear I’ll smash my head on the rock’s or drown myself in that bloody river before you ever get me to the top.”
Jordan raised the gun, and David smiled. “Go ahead. You’ve been trying to do it for four years.”
“No.” Jordan said, lowering the gun once again.
Adam threw up his hands in mock defeat. “What difference is there between you shooting me here or shooting me on the top of that rock?”
“Obedience.” Jordan said.
“To what? To the Wind - your god?” David hissed. “Odessa obeyed just fine and look at where it got her!” The smell of perfume filled his memory for a moment, and was gone.
Jordan shook his head. “It's your decision. Your choice only makes matters more difficult; every path you've ever taken since the Incident has been leading you West. The Outworld has marked you.”
David rolled his eyes. “Fantastic. Now if you're finished spouting cryptic bullshit, either shoot me or return me to the world.”
“This is the world.” Jordan said.
“You know what I mean.”
“Will you at least hear me out?” Jordan pleaded. “If nothing else, you stand to gain the money and supplies you’ll need for the job.”
Davis raised an eyebrow. “How much money?”
Jordan sighed. “You’re not the man you used to be.”
“How much?” David snapped.
“Enough to get you back on your feet - maybe more.”
“‘The cattle on a thousand hills.’” David murmured sarcastically.
“I wonder at the Wind’s decision to choose you.” Jordan sneered.
“So do I.” David replied. “Can I do the job without going beyond the Pale?”
“It may be possible, but it would be the difference between running against the Wind or being carried by it.”
“I’ll take my chances. I’ve been running against it for the past four years. . .”
“And look where it has gotten you.”
David scowled. “Can it be done?”
Jordan lowered his gaze. “Yes.”
“Then tell me what the Wind wants me to do so I can get on with it and get rid of you for good.”
Jordan nodded, “Do you remember the order of spirits?”
David had a sense of deja vu, of huge monolithic stones and a night sky, so long ago. . . “I think so. There are five; ‘Damned, Perishing, Juxtaposed, Quickening and Perfected.’”
“Right.” Jordan holstered the gun. “We have reason to believe that a very powerful perishing spirit is about to attempt to breach the doorway to Outworld to allow the Raven’s brood access to the Pale. This,” he said, placing a photo in David’s hands, “is Ariana Desirae. We’ve been able to foresee that she is the target for this attempt. The being who is undertaking this atrocity believes that if he can steal her spirit, he can use it to enter Outworld, go beyond the Pale and become immortal. He thinks her quickening spirit will act as a ward against me and others like me.”
“Would that work?” David asked, looking up at Jordan.
Jordan shrugged his shoulders. “Its been tried before, but never with any measure of success. The Children of the Wind normally intercept any trespasser before they enter Outworld. At any rate, the issue for you isn't whether He can succeed, but how to protect Ariana. That's why you've been called; you are to be her guardian, and protect her.”
“How is it that you know who she is but you can’t locate this other guy?”
“He’s masking himself with powerful magicks. The Wind could see through, but that would be a violation of cosmic order.”
“Oh, and we wouldn’t want to have that.” David railed.
“No, you wouldn’t. Free will on the part of humanity is one of the consistent truths of the universe. If the Wind made such an interference into main time whenever It chose, then it could send you beyond the Pale this instant against your will. You wouldn’t want that, would you.”
David raised an eyebrow and asked, “Why me?”
Jordan ignored the question and placed an envelope beside David. “Here’s your money. You will be sent east, to the banks of the South Saskatchewan River.”
“What's to guarantee I won’t just take the money and run?” David asked.
“There are only two guarantees in life David. One is that you will die, the other is that you don't know when. The promise of death is for all men. Some are better prepared for it than others. That is the secret of Outworld.” He stopped and looked back at David. “I believe too, that some of the David Warwick who once braved the unknown in search of truth still breathes in that shell you call a body.”
“All of him died in Outworld, four years ago.”
Jordan shook his head, glowering at David. “Would that he had, for perhaps then I could be tending to more important matters than goading you onto your path.” He made several swift hand motions and opened a doorway on his left which David could see overlooked the Medicine Hat River Valley. “If nothing else, make that your motivation, for I too, tire of this game you and I have played for so long.”
With that, David stepped through the portal, back into his reality. Behind him, he heard the doorway shut. He paused for a moment, marveling at the strange turn of events the past hour had produced, and wondered if Bob was missing him.