On a small farm outside of a small town in Canada, a horde of four-hundred thirteenth-century Mongol soldiers on horseback rode out through a hole in time and space.
One of them had a thick leather glove, on which a golden eagle perched. Its handler reached up, slipped the little hood off the eagleās head, and flicked his wrist. It took off, caught a thermal, soared in a lazy arc, dove, spread its talons forward, and then hit a window with a thunk.
Daniel DiSebastian, who was fifteen and on the other side of the window, stared. The eagle had managed to sink its talons into the mesh of the window screen before it stunned itself. It was hanging upside down. Over it, Dan saw a horde of four-hundred thirteenth-century Mongol soldiers standing in formation in his neighbourās field.
He stared for a moment longer. Curiosity won over self-preservation, and he walked out onto the porch of the house for a better view.
There was a ripping noise, the sound of panicked flapping, and something huge and tawny swooped low over Danās head. He ducked and only just managed to see the golden eagle fly in a wide circle back towards the horde of waiting soldiers. He heard a distant shout. Then two-hundred-and-forty of the soldiers drew their bows and fired into the air, creating a screaming cloud of arrows that blotted out the sun before raining down in a lethal shower.
Eighty-seven of these arrows hit Dan.
Dan died instantly.
He got better. When he did, the horde was already gone.
*
Eleven months later, Dan was mostly sure that whatever had happened that day eleven months ago had not, in fact, happened.
He was very happy to accept that it hadnāt happened until he walked into a Tim Hortons for a coffee and a donut and walked out to find a golden eagle perched on the sign for the drive-through.
Dan blinked. The eagle blinked. It took off with a heavy thump of wings, and Dan noticed the four-hundred thirteenth-century Mongol soldiers on horseback in the parking lot.
There was a whistling noise. Dan was hit by one-hundred-and-seventy-nine-arrows.
Dan died instantly.
He got better. The horde was gone again. One of them had stolen his donut.
*
It was already dark when Dan and Cameron Burnaby walked out of the theatre.
āGod, what a bad movie,ā she laughed. Her breath came out in puffs of vapour in the November air.
āLike not even so bad itās good,ā Dan said. āItās so bad it goes all around the world and crosses back into bad.ā
āItās supposed to be the last one, right?ā
āThatās what I heard?ā
Another puff of laughter. āHope,ā Cameron Burnaby said, grinning. āThatās what you hope.ā
A huge bird took off from the sign over the theatre. Cameron Burnaby oohed at the sight and watched as it flew away.
Dan looked at her. This was nice. It was slow, but it was nice. It was nevertheless slightly spoiled by the little anxious voice that banged around in his hindbrain. It had been a year since his last attack. It was bound to happen eventually, and he had no idea how to bring it up in conversation. āSo, I see you like the Mongolian beef and broccoli. Speaking of Mongolia, have I ever told you that Iāve been killed by Mongols four times?ā
He had to tell her. But maybe he didnāt. Maybe they were done. It had been a whole year. Maybe killing him four times was enough for them. Surely killing somebody once was enough for most people, right?
Cameron Burnaby turned back at him and grinned. āSo!ā she said. āWas it the worst horror movie youāve ever seen?ā
He shook himself out of a vision of archers on horseback. āNope, not even,ā he said, walking forward again. āThere was this one movie that came out last year. Itās about a guy who kidnaps tourists and turns them into walruses, itās amazinglyāā
Dan slipped on the ice. His leg flew up from underneath him. He felt sudden weightlessness and there was a crack as he landed on the sidewalk.
Everything hurt. Stars flashed across his vision. They faded to reveal the face of Cameron Burnaby, mittens clasped over her mouth. āAre you okay?ā she asked.
No, Dan thought. āYep,ā Dan groaned. He pulled himself up onto his elbows. āTrust me, Iāve had worse.ā
Cameron Burnaby offered him a hand. He took it, she pulled him up to his feet, and the two were suddenly standing much closer than he had expected.
Dan swallowed. He was suddenly aware of a thousand tiny details. The snowflakes that hung in her hair. The freckles on her nose. The shape of her lips. The terror in her eyes which were looking at something just over and past his shoulder.
He was briefly aware of seventeen arrows hitting the back of his skull.
Dan died instantly.
He got better. Cameron Burnaby was retching in the snow.
āWhat the fuck was that?!ā she finally said, wiping the corner of her mouth with a mitten.
Dan considered a variety of responses. He decided that they all sounded stupid. He settled for the only one he knew was accurate. āA horde of four-hundred thirteenth-century Mongol soldiers,ā he sighed.
āThey ā youāā She gestured wildly. āYour face.ā
Dan winced and eased himself onto the sidewalk. āI didnāt want you to see that,ā he said.
There was a pause. āHas this happened before?ā Cameron Burnaby asked.
Dan thought. āYeah,ā he said. āFive times, counting this one.ā
āSo this is just a thing that happens.ā
āIt ā yeah,ā he said. āI think so. It is.ā
Cameron Burnaby nodded. āOh. Okay.ā
Another pause. A car drove past. Cameron Burnaby stood up. āIām going to go.ā
Dan nodded. āRight,ā he said. āSome other time?ā
There was no answer. Dan closed his eyes. He laid down on the sidewalk and listened to the crunch of snow under boots until they died away. Snowflakes landed on his face, tiny pinpricks of cold which stung and faded almost instantly as they melted.
There was a thump. Dan opened his eyes and looked over. There was a golden eagle standing there, twisting its head to glare at Dan.
Dan glared back. āI hate you,ā he said. āI really, deeply hate you.ā
The eagle, apparently satisfied with the answer, took off.
Another two-hundred-and-forty arrows sprouted from the sky.
Dan died instantly.
He got better. Physically, at least.
