The airport was windy, which was to have been expected after the turbulent ride on a Dash 8 aircraft. Lorelei Erinyes had disembarked into the afternoon warmth that accompanied the fall in this area of southern Alberta, the feelings of queasiness that travel tabs could not dissuade causing her to stumble a bit walking into the small municipal airport.

Having flown all the way from New York, jet lag began to take its toll. It had only been four days since her secretary had informed her of a business proposition from Sullivan Terell, the Regional Director of Culture in this corner of the province. The message had concerned her writings on the occult and other planes of existence; there had been a recent discovery pertaining to Blackfoot legends which spoke of such matters. Such matters had been the topic of Lorelei's thesis is in her senior year at the University of Lethbridge, only a hour and a half drive from her present location.

Lorelei saw it as a chance to get away from the Big Apple and return to old stomping grounds. If the discovery turned out to be a wash, she could always take a quick jaunt to Lethbridge to visit familiar haunts.

Her present work was no indication she had received from the University. Following her graduation, she discovered that her degree in Religion and Philosophy though extremely satisfying in a Girl Scout kind of way, held little merit in terms of career success. She worked as an advisor for the Provincial Government for a while on Native Reservations. During her spare time, she began composing short stories fabricated around the Native mythology and after being goaded by fellow workers and friends, submitted one to a science fiction and light horror magazine. The response from the public was good, as was the money she received upon publication.

In the two years that followed, she built up a cult following among readers of various fantasy magazines, including some of the more prominent ones. This was followed by an offer from Doubleday to publish the stories as an anthology.

The anthology became an almost overnight success, hailed in Entertainment Weekly as “the new Anne Rice, a cross between King and Steele.” Her successive novels continued to deal with the supernatural and the occult, which was a natural progression from her studies at the University. This past year saw the release of her third full length novel, “Beyond the Pale” which was garnering more rave reviews and even a movie deal. Lorelei was doing well. Well enough that this trip wouldn't put a sizable dent in her bank account.

She was attractive, to the point where people in public places and men in clubs often asked her if she was a model. A beautifully styled black mane of hair surrounded a tanned complexion, inset with deep brown eyes. Her features were almost elfin, but not to the point where it made her appear a child. She was slender, and fit the business suits she wore with a sophistication that breathed professionalism.

At the airport, a dark skinned man with long hair pulled into a ponytail and a goatee was waiting for her. Lorelei thought him to be South American, possibly a Brazilian. Introducing himself as Sazerac Torres, he took her luggage and drove her to the Provincial Building, where she was to meet Terell.

Sazerac wasn’t much of a conversationalist, and the ride from the airport was filled more with Lorelei trying to start a conversation than the actual presence of one. The few comments she did elicit from him reminded her of the men she had encountered in her life who had never quite gotten over the need to impress everyone they met by their gruff strength. He reminded Lorelei of a collection officer or mall security guard more than a government employee, or driver or whatever it was that he actually did for Sullivan Terrell.

They pulled into an underground parking lot built under the Provincial Building, which was located on a slope overlooking the South Saskatchewan river. Sazerac informed her he would wait there to take her to her accommodations following her meeting with Terrell.

After a short elevator ride to the main floor she was greeted by a tall man with hawk-like features who escorted her up a tall flight of stairs to the second floor.

“Are all of Sullivan’s employees so stoic, are have none of you ever met a girl before?” she asked the tall man.

The hawk like features registered surprise and discomfort. “No,” he stammered, “I was just told to meet you in the lobby and take you up to father’s office.”

“Father? Does that make you Sullivan Jr.?” Lorelei asked, pleased to finally have some congenial company.

“I’m sorry,” the tall man said sheepishly, “I’m Thane Terrell.”

“Pleased to meet you Thane, I’m Lorelei Erinyes.”

“I know, I’ve read your book.”

“Which one?”

“Beyond the Pale.”

“Did you enjoy it?”
“Scared the hell out of me.” Thane replied. “It’s because of that book that father sent for you.”

“What?” Lorelei exclaimed. “I thought I was here as a consultant on the occult. ‘Beyond the Pale’ is a work or fiction.”

Thane shrugged his shoulders. “Someone had the book in the coffee room and father saw it. He never reads fiction, to tell you the truth, but that night on the way home from work he picked it up and didn’t put it down until he finished it. Then he told me he thought it would be a good idea if I read it. And then he contacted you.”

They reached the top of the stairs and turned down a hall to a conference room, which, unlike the majority of offices in the building, was without glass walls and doors. Instead, a great oak door with a brass handle stood, intimidating dark amidst the modern decor of the building. The sign on the door read: Sullivan Terell, Regional Director of Culture.

“I guess this is it.” Lorelei asked

Her eyes followed Thane's hand as it went for the handle, noticing there was precipitation on the brass. And as the door opened, she felt a blast of cold hit her in the face, as though it were later in the fall than it was.

Thane motioned for her to enter the room, and as she did, she noted the dim track lighting and the extremely cold temperature. All of the windows were blacked out, giving the room a closed, crypt like feeling. Lorelei shivered and turned to look down the long conference table into the shadows that lay at the other end.

“Well met I hope, Lorelei Erinyes.” came a voice from out of the darkness. “This is my son, Thane...” Thane smiled at her, and she smiled back, glad for his presence. “You are as beautiful as I had supposed --truly, the photos on your book jackets do you no justice.”

“Thank you.” Lorelei responded, trying to be pleasant in the face of this uncomfortable situation. She hugged herself, trying to remain warm. “Air conditioning on the fritz?” She asked.

“Finding it cold, I presume.” the voice said. “Thane, adjust the room temperature, and turn up the lights. My apologies, but I can’t really discern variations in temperature. I also have trouble with taste and smell. Many of the pleasures as well as discomforts of this life are beyond this body. My sight will soon be gone as well, and so it matters little if I sit in darkness.”

There was the sound of a fan shutting off, and then the lights came on. Lorelei looked to the end of the table at her host and stifled a gasp.

Sullivan Terell, though he was only fifty years of age, looked to be more than one hundred. His skin was tight against his skull, so that his eyes were sunken far back into his head. Predatory feature’s revealed his relation to Thane, but the wrinkled lines and lack of hair took away much of the resemblance. Thick glasses which magnified the eyes behind them to comic proportions sat upon the hawk-like nose, and his teeth were rotted, almost black. “I am dying Miss Erinyes.” croaked the mouth.

Lorelei faltered a moment, caught off guard by Terell's statement. “I'm sorry.” she stammered.

Sullivan breathed a thin, raspy breath, and then said, “So am I...” He motioned to a chair on his left. “Please, sit down here so we can talk.”

Lorelei crossed the room, all the time calming herself, regaining the confidence she had when she first arrived. This is stupid, why am I allowing this decrepit old man intimidate me?

“I understand you studied the local myth of the Pale while at school.” Sullivan said as she seated herself. Thane had reentered and set a cup of steaming coffee before Lorelei.

“Yes,” she replied, lifting the cup to her mouth, taking a sip, then setting it back down. “In fact, that was the subject of one of my books. Thane tells me that’s why I’m here.”

Sullivan nodded. “That is true. ’Beyond the Pale’ ; In that book, you mentioned another dimension, a plane of existence where the mortal becomes immortal, the perishable imperishable and so on.”

Lorelei nodded her head impatiently. “Outworld. I know, I wrote it.”.

“Do you actually believe such a place exists?” Sullivan asked.

“No,” she said bluntly. “In all my research on the afterlife in my last year at University, I came to the conclusion that even if such a place did exist, then the doorway had been lost many years ago.” Lorelei was feeling more relaxed as the room's temperature rose, and sat back in her chair, intrigued by where this conversation was headed.

Sullivan continued; “But in the Blackfoot legend, where was the doorway located?”

“It was generally believed to be an area just north of here.”

“Yes...” Sullivan motioned to his son. “Thane; the map.”

Thane walked behind his father and pulled a map down from a receptacle built into the wall. Lorelei assumed that it was of the surrounding area, as the city appeared to be located in the center.

Sullivan turned his chair slightly so that he could see the map. “I did a little research of my own...” He pointed to a square on the map grid that was north east of the city. “This plot of land here came to my attention during the General Assessment of this Municipality two years ago. The same family has owned the land ever since records were kept on farm titles in this area. The family name is Porter. The land is useless for farming, so no one's ever paid any attention to it. The man who owns it now makes his livelihood ranching in the summer out West, then moves back for the winters.”

“I'm not following you at all.” Lorelei interjected. “What does this have to do with Outworld and the Pale?”

Sullivan raised a hand to her, then continued. “Located on that quarter section of land are old burial circles from the Blackfoot. . . it’s holy ground. And the same Caucasian family has owned that land since before 1883, at least according to some of the old men in this area. 1883 was when the Blackfoot and Cree fought a battle in this area and the shaman of the Cree signaled defeat by laying down his headdress. That meant that the area was predominantly Indian territory -- they wouldn't go letting just any white man settle his land right on top of their sacred land, would they?”

“Of course not.” Lorelei said matter-of-factly. Then the realization came to her, up from the research she had done on the most recent legends concerning the Pale. “Oh my...” she said, “the Mystic Cowboy.”

“Bravo Miss Erinyes.” said Sullivan, his eyes lighting up behind the great lenses. “The Porter farmstead contains the gateway to Outworld. . . and now I have access to it.”

Lorelei laughed out loud. “I'm sorry Mr. Terell. Even if the coincidence between this man owning a plot of unfarmable land that was once an Indian burial ground is a bit strange, are you really asking me to believe you when you say you think you've found the doorway to what lies beyond the Pale?”

“Explain to me the countless sightings of UFO's, the Loch Ness Monster, clairvoyance, ESP, Kirlian photography, and I will join you in your skepticism.” Sullivan adjusted his glasses and leaned over to stare into Lorelei's eyes. “There are many mysteries in this world that one would find difficult to explain. Take it upon faith, Miss Erinyes, or just humor this old man. It makes no difference. I don't need you to believe it. Just hear me out.”

“Go on then.” Lorelei said, fascinated by the situation she found herself in.

“You still speak as though this were all but a fancy of my senility.” Sullivan grinned. “If this man is truly the Mystic Cowboy, then it is his sworn oath to protect the land so long as he is alive. Mr. Porter refused to allow me to even see his land, so I took some action and procured unquestionable access to the it.”

“How?” Lorelei prodded.

“Politics is like chess my dear...you just have to know the right pieces to move to lock your opponent in checkmate.”

“You forced him off his land.”

Sullivan waved his hands in protest. “Not in so many words, no. I merely insisted that the site be opened as a tourist attraction. . .the Municipality’s Council voted in favor, and before Mr. Porter could raise a fuss, I filled out the proper documents and had them approved by the Alberta Provincial Government. Such are the advantages of working in high places.”

“Sounds illegal.” Lorelei said, sitting up. She was beginning to feel uncomfortable again. This was the sort of stuff she wrote about, not lived out.

Sullivan's face darkened. “The laws of humanity are but petty tripe and fastidious platitudes when placed beside the possibility of immortality.”

“Immortality?” Lorelei shook her head. “I'm still not buying into this.”

“I can see your interest in the Pale did not become a religious zeal...Whoever enters Outworld may go beyond the Pale and gain immortality.”

“Beyond the Pale? But how? Only those appointed could. . .”

Sullivan cut her off, “True, in your book you described how only those with a quickening spirit, chosen by the Wind could go beyond the Pale and gain the gift of Life Eternal.” He sat back again and placed his hands together, the tips of his fingers resting on his chin. “Well, Miss Erinyes, if one is not a quickening spirit himself, then one must find a quickening spirit.” Lorelei stared at him uncomprehendingly. “I have discovered a way to take the essence of a quickening spirit from a body, and place it in an inanimate object. . . a talisman that will act as a key to the Pale.”

“But the essence of a quickening spirit is the soul, or the quality thereof. Wouldn't its removal kill the host of the spirit?” Lorelei couldn't believe she was arguing the matter, but the man was so convincing that she felt compelled to believe, even if only for a moment.

Again Sullivan waved a hand in protest. “Oh no my dear. . .its merely the action of borrowing a needed item to accomplish an end...the process can easily be reversed once my goal is realized.” He paused a moment, then stood and raised his gaunt arms. “Think of it! Beyond the Pale, Miss Erinyes! Nirvana! Heaven! The Elysian Fields...” He lowered his arms and leaned across the table at her.

Lorelei kept her cool, even though the proximity of Sullivan's presence unnerved her. “What do you want from me?” she asked.

“I need you to be my scribe,” Sullivan grinned, “my voice to the world.”

Lorelei raised a skeptical eyebrow. “But I'm a fiction writer. I think what you're looking for is a journalist from the Star.”

Terrell laughed. “But not just any fiction writer. . .a best selling fiction writer - I don't want some low key reporter with a lot of moral integrity - I want popularity. I want hype! This will be the greatest discovery of all time! A way to sell immortality to the world! Healing for the sick, resurrection for the dying; that's what everyone wants, isn't it?” He had stood straight again, and his eyes were wild. “Are you with me...?”

“What's in it for me?” Lorelei asked.

“I have arranged for a hotel room.” Sullivan began. “I will also supply you with a vehicle, a weekly salary of $5,000 and an overall honorarium of $500,000.”

Lorelei tapped a finger against the table, thinking back to years past. The Pale. . . if its really there, a chance of a lifetime. The very thing David Warwick disappeared looking for. And even if it's not, it was a paid vacation away from that deadline back east.

"I'm in."