Synopsis for
Avender in America
by S.C. Butler
Somewhere in Pittsburgh, PA, a building has collapsed. Fire trucks scream in the night; squad cars squeal to
stops on the asphalt outside the rubble. Officers scramble across the slick streets: one of their own is down.
Officer Andrew Venter is trapped beneath tons of debris. A freak accident that occurred while Venter was
pursuing a pair of carjackers and the baby they had taken hostage through a glass factory has blown up most
of the building. The criminals’ bodies have been found, but not Venter’s or the baby’s. As the night wears on,
rescuers have little hope of finding either of them alive.
His wife Phyllis arrives at the scene. She stands outside the smoking wreckage with the precinct captain and
another officer, who holds an umbrella over her head. Her two children are at home with her mother.
A loud cry breaks the tension. The rescuers quickly pick up the call, a note of hope finally in their voices.
Phyllis starts forward. Andrew has been found. She rushes up to the chain link fence that surrounds the
building. Fearing what she might find inside, a pair of her husband’s fellow officers hold her back. Moments
later, the call goes up that they’ve found him. And the baby. They’re both alive.
But not whole. The baby is fine; Ventner isn’t. In the collapse of the storeroom where he was looking for the
criminals, several large sheets of glass have smashed into him. He is covered with small scratches; worst of
all, his left hand is severed at the wrist.
And that isn’t all. The next morning, when Andrew wakes in the hospital and finds Phyllis smiling hopefully at
his bedside, he doesn’t remember her. In fact, he doesn’t remember anything. Not his children, his parents,
his job, the city of Pittsburgh, or even the Steelers. Instead he thinks he’s something out of a book or a role
playing game. He claims his name isn’t Andrew Venter, but Avender, and that he’s from someplace called
Valing. He doesn’t know what America is, and is astounded to learn the world is round. In fact this news
disturbs him as much as anything else, as he claims he’s been to the bottom of the world many times, and
knows it’s flat.
Phyllis is upset, but still hopeful. Her husband may not know her or the children, but at least he’s alive. Surely
therapy will help him. The city calls in the best therapists and counselors it can find. The newspapers and
television are calling Venter the Hero of the Glassworks, and no expense will be spared to help him recover his
memory. An eminent psychiatrist from New York City, called in by the wealthy parents of the kidnapped child,
have declared that Andrew is suffering from a particularly acute case of Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome.
Overwhelmed by the loss of his hand, his mind has invented an alternate life where he received his injury while
trying to rescue another kidnapped child called Hubley. Unable to deal with the reality of his accident, he has
pushed the events off into a made-up world. Which is why the psychologists hold out hope that Andrew will
eventually get better. “The fact that he has refabricated his life from the actual events is proof that he has not
cut himself off completely from reality,” they observe.
Phyllis clings to her hope. Andrew has no idea what psychologists and psychiatrists are, and marvels at the
fantastic instruments he sees on the magic box in his hospital room. Indeed, he marvels at everything, from
the medicine to the beds and chairs, which all seem so much more comfortable than anything he remembers
from his life in Valing.
He is a good man, and does his best to hide the fact that he doesn’t recognize them from the two children
everyone tells him are his own. In fact, since everyone agrees he is Andrew Venter, and show him the proofs
in dozens of photographs and yearbook pictures and home videos (all of which are incredible magic as far as
he can understand, far more incredible magics than even Reiffen or the Wizards could produce back home in
Valing, though the people wielding them seem no more magically inclined than Andrew himself), Andrew begins
to believe he actually is Andrew R. Venter, and that his memories are false, the result of the heavy plate glass
that caught the side of his head and crushed his hand when he tried to keep it from smashing the child. All
that about his friends Ferris and Reiffen and how Reiffen had lost his mind, and how Andrew was having an
affair with the king’s wife had to be something he’d made up. How else to explain the fact that everyone
disagreed with him?
He does his therapy diligently. Phyllis drives him to the clinic every day: along with everything else, Andrew
has forgotten how to drive. The doctors fit him with an artificial hand, a temporary one made out of metal and
wire that looks more like something the Dwarves in the Stoneways might have fashioned than anything humans
are capable of.
Months pass. Despite intensive therapy, drugs, and hypnosis, Andrew has recovered nothing of his former
life. All he remembers are the imaginary events of Valing, although he has come to believe these memories
are all false. He has fallen into a bit of a depression because of it. Not being a depressive sort, he tries to
make the best of the situation, turning his false memories into bedtime stories for his children, enjoying the
companionship of his wife, whom he finds very loving but a little dull. Unlike their children, she has no interest
in hearing about his made-up world. The children, however, love his stories, and start inviting their friends
over to hear them, too, especially the ones about Redburr the shapeshifting bear.
Given a desk job at the department, Andrew gradually drifts away from his old life on the force. He no longer
knows his old friends, and all attempts to socialize with them fall embarrassingly flat. Taking his disability pay
and pension, he stays home and, at his children’s insistence, begins to write down some of the stories he’s
been telling them. Phyllis, however, grows more upset and depressed that he can’t remember their old life,
and hates the way his false memories seem to be taking over. Out of respect for her feelings, Andrew starts
going down to the local library or coffee shop to write. He joins a writing group, where he learns there are
actual markets for this sort of thing. Submitting a few of his tales, he collects rejections along with the rest of
the group until he submits what he thinks is his very best story to a magazine called Fantasy and Science
Fiction, a tale of an underground balloon trip he and Ferris took across the bottom of the world when they were
trying to rescue their friend Reiffen. The editor likes the stories, and buys a few more. But, shortly after the
first one hits the stands, Andrew receives a letter from a lawyer telling him to cease and desist. His stories, the
letter claims, have all been plagiarized from the work of a little known fantasy writer named S.C. Butler.
Andrew, not having any particular interest in fantasy, having written his own stories as if they were the actual
truth he thought them to be, goes down to the library to look for one of S.C. Butler’s books. Not finding it there,
he goes to the local Borders, where he can’t find it either. One of the clerks suggests he look for a copy
online. Of all the magics in this magical world where Andrew has found himself, the Inter-Net is the most
fantastical, and he has always preferred to avoid it. But now, if he wants to find out why S.C. Butler’s lawyer
thinks he’s was plagiarizing the man, he has to go online to find out. He finds copies of the book for sale easily
enough on Amazon, and, ordering overnight delivery, is reading the entire trilogy the next afternoon.
It is his life. By morning the next day he has read them all, though, by all accounts, he was never a good
reader in this life or the other. Eyes bleary, he stumbles into the bedroom shaking the last of the books in the
air. His wife, annoyed at first that his madness seems to be increasing, finally lights up at the idea that his
madness might be linked to the books. Perhaps he’d read them once, though she’d never known him to read
a book in his life unless he had to. But it’s worth a try, so the two of them go down to the clinic to see the
psychologist, hoping they might finally have found the key to Andrew’s madness.
The psychologist is excited, too. But, as several weeks pass and his patient, instead of beginning to detach
himself from his false memories, begins pointing out places in the books where Butler has gotten the story
wrong, the doctor’s and Phyllis’s optimism decreases. Andrew spends all his time pouring over the books,
eventually attacking them with scissors and glue so he can rearrange the stories in ways that are closer to his
memory. One night, after a particularly vigorous rant about how Butler had gotten the whole thing wrong and
how Queen Wellin was in no way the selfish, calculating bitch the writer had portrayed her to be, Phyllis packs
up the children and moves back to her mother. The fact that he thinks the affair was real, and seems to love
this character from a book more than he loves her, is more than she can bear.
While she’s gone, Andrew/Avender leaves his reconstructed manuscripts alone and takes to the internet,
trying to find out everything he can about S.C. Butler. This proves hard to do as Butler, being a relatively
unsuccessful author, has little presence on the web.
Then, two days later, Butler posts a notice on his home page saying he will be attending a convention that
weekend at a Pittsburgh hotel. Andrew’s heart pounds. He can confront the man himself and find out what he
knows. He can tell Butler what’s wrong with his books, and accuse him of trying to steal his life. But, before he
can finish making his plans, a knock sounds at the door. Looking suspiciously out the living room window, he
discovers his doctor and wife standing on the doorstep. Of greater concern is the ambulance on the street at
the edge of the yard, and the three large men in white standing round the doors. Knowing they have come to
get him, Andrew grabs a loaf of bread and several apples from the kitchen and flees out the back. Spotting
him as he sneaks across the neighbor’s yard, the attendants chase him down the inside of the block. They
nearly catch him at the last fence, which Andrew finds he can’t climb very well one-handed. But the slats are
loose and, using his claw to pull them free, he slips through the opening and dashes away. A little girl riding
her bike screams at the sight of his claw.
The rest of the night he spends dodging patrol cars, knowing they’re after him. His old friends on the force are
hunting him out of sympathy, not understanding what has happened to him at all. But Andrew’s sure he’s
never read any of S.C. Butler’s books, that no one he knows has ever read them, that there must be some
other explanation. He has to find the writer, meet him face to face and see if perhaps some other factor is at
work. Maybe it was the writer who had stolen his life, and not the other way around.
Hiding from the police is easy. Hiking cross country to the nearest mall, he buys a hat and new clothes with
one of those amazing pieces of plastic Phyllis has shown him how to use. After that, as long as he keeps
moving, he isn’t noticed. In this world it is easy to become anonymous. The communities aren’t as tightly knit
as they were in the world he knew, where a stranger was remarked instantly. And there are more public places
here, where no one expects to know anyone else.
Eventually he heads toward the hotel hosting the convention. His imagined past is very helpful the first night,
which he spends in a nearby woods. He finds he’s not frightened of the night at all, and builds a fire. Despite
his one-handedness, he’s oddly confident of his ability to handle anything that comes his way, even the pair of
vagrants drawn to the light of his fire. They think him asleep, but he comes alert the moment they approach
within several yards of his camp, the rustling leaves and snapping twigs of their passage as effective an alarm
as any clock. The intruders laugh at the sight of him crouching with his back to a tree. At first they pretend to
be friendly, but when one of the men insists Andrew give him his shoes, their mood changes. One produces a
knife, the other picks up a heavy branch. If they’d had guns, Andrew would have given them the shoes, but
they are the sort of bums who would have sold a gun as soon as they got it.
He finds he isn’t afraid of the knife at all. His memory is full of a hundred fights with a hundred better men, and
monsters, than these. Whether he’s made up the memories or not, they prepare him well. Instead of waiting
for the vagrants to take the initiative, he grabs a couple of branches from the fire and tosses them at them.
The attackers duck; by the time they’ve gotten their bearings again Andrew has broken the arm of the man
with the knife, taken away his weapon, and stabbed the one wielding the club. The wounded men crawl away,
but Andrew let’s them go. His instincts aren’t to kill, only to win. If the stabbed man reaches a clinic in time, he’
ll be fine.
Too late, Andrew remembers the world he now finds himself in takes such fights much more seriously than his
old world did. In Banking or Valing the magistrate would have seen at once that Avender was only defending
himself; in America the authorities are likely to be frightened by the way he defended himself so easily. And
even if they judge him to be in the right, they will probably detain him long enough that he’ll miss his chance to
confront this Butler fellow.
At dawn he washes his bloody hands and shirt in a filthy stream at the side of the road. He smells terribly, but
that’s better than having blood all over him. Hungry, he hikes down the road to the nearest strip mall and buys
one of the horrible meals that pass for breakfast in this world. At another store he buys another set of clean
clothes. If anything, these Americans are as sensitive to appearance and how one smells as the most
pompous and pretentious barons and baronesses in Malmoret.
As clean as he can get without a shower and a shave, he arrives at the convention. He soon discovers he has
to pay for that as well. Nothing is free in America, not even the festivals. He also discovers that, untidy as he
is, he’s come to a place where almost no one seems to care about their appearance. Nerds, he believes the
people attending the gathering are called. And yet they seem unconcerned with their nerddom, as if theirs is
the right way and everyone else’s wrong. He feels an immediate kinship to them. They also pay less attention
to his prosthesis than any other group of people he has ever met in America, including his friends.
Consulting his pocket program, he learns that S. C. Butler isn’t scheduled for anything till that evening. His first
appearance is at a panel on monsters, followed by a second panel entitled “We Are the Orcs”, which Butler
would be moderating. Later, he would do a reading. Andrew doesn’t think he’ll be able to meet with the man
personally until after the reading. In the meantime there is the entirety of the afternoon to get through.
He attends a few panels and is impressed with how passionate these people are about something that is, at
least as far as they’re concerned, completely imaginary. He wonders if some of the other attendees are in his
situation, refugees from someone else’s book. He wouldn’t be surprised. Maybe Phyllis and the doctors are
right and he is deranged. Maybe he should just make an effort to relearn his American past and forget about
the rest. Based on the evidence around him, he’s not the only person who finds himself a stranger in a
strange land.
Which is the title of one of their most famous books, he discovers.
Tiring of the panels, he finds himself drawn to an exhibition of martial arms. A large crowd, mostly male but
with more women than he would have thought for such an exclusively male pastime, are watching a pair of
middle-aged men engage in mock combat. Many of the spectators wear homemade costumes of cardboard
and plastic, but the two demonstrators have real chain. Steel chain, of the sort that only a baron might wear,
but real chain all the same. Their swords are real too, and clang together with a satisfying ring whenever they
clash. Were it not for the death he knows such weapons cause, Andrew might have felt a flash of nostalgia at
the sound. The sight, however, brings him close to laughing. The two mock soldiers fight with all sorts of
exaggeration. Even allowing for the theatricality of the presentation, they clearly have no idea what they’re
doing. Frequently they turn their backs on each other, and every move looks more calculated for show than
purpose.
They end with one of the men on his back, the other pointing his longsword at the fallen fellow’s throat. After
that they demonstrate several other weapons, morning stars and short swords, axes and knives, and others
Andrew doesn’t recognize.
A few people in the crowd grow excited as the demonstration draws to a close. Andrew, sensing their
anticipation, moves closer to the front. The mock soldiers lay their assortment of weapons on the table and
ask if there are any volunteers in the audience who might like to try their hand at a duel. Several of the
younger men step forward immediately. Most of them have come outfitted with their own mock mail. The two
men giving the exhibition dispose of their new opponents quickly, their moves a little less exaggerated than
before. When the last is finished, they ask cheerfully if anyone else wants a try, and are already turning back
to their table of weaponry when Andrew steps onto the floor.
They don’t want to spar with him at first, not when they see his hand. But the crowd reacts angrily at this, as if
fair play demands everyone get their fair turn, no matter how improbable. Reluctantly, the mock soldiers
agree. Andrew, not trusting his ability with a longsword one-handed, especially after so long a layoff, chooses
shortswords for the fight.
He disarms his first opponent easily. The crowd cheers. Realizing he’s dealing with someone who knows what
he’s doing, the mock soldier gestures for Andrew to come at him again. Andrew disarms him just as easily
even though this time his opponent is prepared. The man lacks the strength and familiarity of someone who’s
used swords every day – he’s no match for Andrew at all. When the second one demands his turn, Andrew
disarms him easily also. The crowd cheers. Someone wonders aloud if Andrew lost his hand in a real battle.
Andrew asks the mock soldiers if they want to take him on together and they, beginning to enjoy his prowess,
agree.
The crowd grows as Andrew and the mock soldiers have at it. This time he toys with them a bit before
defeating them. Even two at a time they’re no match for him, but then, he was the Hero of the Stoneways,
right? Word spreads through the convention of the one-armed man defeating the professional stunt men at
their own game and the crowd grows even more. Inviting anyone who wants to onto the dance floor, Avender
leads them in a mock melee of the sort he remembers from his days in the royal city of Malmoret, their dull-
bladed swords sounding like an endless twelve car collision. When it’s over, Andrew finds himself the center of
attention at the con. Everyone wants to shake his hand. He almost feels at home.
A group of boys wearing black t-shirts with the names of rock bands on the front ask him his name.
“Avender,” he tells them without thinking.
“Wow,” said one. “Just like the guy in the Stoneways books.”
They figure out who he is at once. Some of them begin laughing behind their hands. Avender (which is how
he thinks of himself now) suddenly realizes how late it is, and that the first of S.C. Butler’s panels has already
started. Excusing himself, he heads off to Conference Room B and takes a seat at the back of the room. The
panel on monsters is just finishing up. Butler looks bored, unable to get a word in edgewise as his co-panelists
are only interested in talking about a monster called Godzilla.
Avender follows discreetly as Butler moves on to his next panel. Some of the crowd from the ballroom show up
as well, making the panel as well-attended as any Avender had yet seen. He guesses they’re expecting some
sort of confrontation, which is the last thing he wants. So he concentrates on the panel, which is enjoyable,
especially Gary K. Wolfe’s explanation of how the literary world doesn’t understand the genre community’s
taking their imaginary worlds literally. When the time comes for questions, the back of the room looks at
Avender expectantly, but he keeps his mouth shut.
Most of them follow to Butler’s reading as well. Butler seems surprised as the room fills. He reads from a
strange story about attending a con, and when he’s finished the room again turns expectantly to Avender.
Realizing his original plan has failed, Avender leaves the room quickly. Maybe later in the evening he will find
Butler alone.
He finally catches up with the writer and some friends at one of the parties on the fourth floor of the hotel.
When Avender explains who he is, Butler suggests they talk at the bar. The writer is cordial enough, but
denies having anything to do with Avender’s predicament. “Listen to your doctors,” he tells him. “There isn’t
any Stoneways. I made it all up.” Only when Avender pleads with the writer to do something about his
predicament, maybe write about how he finally gets home, does Butler show his irritation. “If you really are
Avender,” he says, “you’ll get home in thirty-one years, just like in the book.” Then he stalks out of the bar.
Avender is distraught. He doesn’t want to wait thirty-one years. He wants to get home now. After the display
of swordsmanship he’s just put on, he’s more certain than ever he doesn’t belong here. But, without Butler’s
help, how can he ever get home?
He orders another drink, and is distracted by a murmur from the front of the bar. A pair of policemen enter.
Without a thought, Avender slips off his barstool and glides through the kitchen door. A shout goes up behind
him. Knocking over cooks and busboys, he heads for what he guesses is the hotel exit. Another pair of cops
greet him in the hall beyond, but he knocks them aside. They call after him to stop, but he’s out into the night
before they finish.
The parking lot is filled with patrol cars. Avender dodges into the woods. The police come after him. As
Redburr has taught him when being pursued, he doubles back as soon as possible, crossing the highway and
heading back up the road in the opposite direction.
He’s passing a gas station a mile from the hotel when someone calls his name. The boys in the black t-shirts.
They wave at him from the van and, telling him they are on his side and want to help him escape. Is what the
radio said true – did he really attack two men in the woods that morning? If he wants to get out of town, they’re
happy to take him with them. They are headed back home for a big Magic the Gathering tournament they don’
t want to miss and are happy to give him a ride.
Avender explains he only hurt the two men in the woods because they attacked him. The boys nod. “We
figured it was something like that,” says one. “Avender’s the hero of those books – he’s not like Reiffen.”
They drive east and north, toward Wilkes-Barre. At a small town named Frackville Avender notices smoke
rising from the western hills a few miles off the road. The boys explain that’s the Centralia fire, a coal fire that’s
been burning in the mines since 1961. When he hears the word mines, Avender makes the boys pull off the
road. He decides to leave them here, and walks the rest of the way to Centralia. News of his escape having
made the Pittsburgh news, he’s recognized at a gas station. The police reach Centralia about the same time
Avender does, and chase him into one of the old mine shafts. No one ever hears from him again.
A week or so later Butler decides to write the final scene of Avender in the mines, and how Hubley Mims digs
him up again in the Great Forest north of Banking and Wayland.
Just in case.
Note: There is not going to be a lot about S.C. Butler in this book. Mostly he will be poked fun at. Currently I
am planning to write a short introduction (2-3 pages) and a short epilog (3-5 pages) in first person. The rest of
the story will be third person from Avender/Andrew’s pov. The story is intended as a standalone, with all
references to the Stoneways Trilogy explained within the text.