Prologue
I heard him come through the doors behind me. They were simple in design, shaped from some old oak tree at the turn of the century, and their age revealed when the old creaky hinges echoed through the room. The church interior had been remolded, but the doorways had escaped the carpenter’s hammer because of the rather unfortunate fate the resident preacher met, so the hinges were aged and rusty, well past due for an oil job.
A wind gust whistled by him, wrapped around me, and tugged my hair. It might have been cold or it might not, I can’t tell anymore. The storm outside brewed, but it would grow into a torrential down pour, and blot out the very moon and stars, which watched over us that night. The trees swayed and dark clouds overtook the dying evening. The rain would fall down and batter the ground, and the storm would come.
He lingered for a long moment and let his eyes adjust. The shapeless darkness, all too often I forget how difficult it once was, but I still wouldn’t have turned the light on for him had I remembered. His stasis wasn’t the shadows fault. I'm sure his sorrowful eyes had adjusted long before he took his first timid step. It has been said in lunatics’ whispers and long forgotten authors prose we give off a particular vibe, an icy chill around the edges where your blood doesn't reach all too often. At your fingertips when they turn blue and your heart jumps in your chest, or your earlobes when they turn so red you can’t touch them and the tip of your nose where Jack Frost nips on unbearable winter mornings. I've even heard the air around us described as heavy and rancid, like lying on nails with cinder blocks on your chest. It makes the taste in your mouth dry and stale, and your nostrils burn with a repugnant scent, but you can’t describe it. All the hairs stand up on your body and observe for themselves what traps your stomach in a vice and twists without remorse, and your breath staggers but you can‘t catch it, because it’s lost. I'm sure he felt it every time he saw me, even in the warm sun light, death.
However, he was always a brave man no matter the events set before him or left behind him, so he took the fated step. It was a timid and rigid step, but determined, no surprise, because I've seen it a million times. The wind howled outside and rattled the shingles between his heavy steps. They fell in hollow thuds. The fresh cut wood shrieked against untarnished nails and my ears twitch. I miss the silent world where my life was a war of whispers and those who might hear were deaf. Every cautious and resigned step he took echoed. The wind howled, chased every echo into the distance, and heralded his coming. A thousand trumpets with flowing banners pressed against angel’s lips as tears streamed down their fair cheeks. The floorboards under his feet were new, but the foundation old and though much had happened in the quaint little church over the years this would be a significant event. On hopes and dreams, he walked, but not soft or with grace, but instead fearful. I wish I could tell him, but I dare not risk it.
By the time he reached where I sat in the main front pew, the wind outside faded, an early spring rain beat its cadence. I could see the mist settle in the fields, the fog rolled down the mountains, and a faint steam rose from the creeks. When he first spoke I didn't acknowledge him, I never do, because I’m lost in thought. I considered his worn and fragile emotions evident from the dirty blood stained bandage, which dressed his right wrist. I always waited for him to speak again before I faced him, because I knew the poor lost child couldn't handle what he would see, and though I pitied him I loved him, in what way I could.
In my youth I had flawless bronze skin, my long black hair shimmered, and amber almond shaped eyes, but in my endless age little had changed save for my eyes which changed with my mood. Anyone astute in my kind’s knowledge would read them like a book, my secrets would be clear as day, but he had no idea. He knew disbelief when he saw the dingy yellow glow peer out into his soul from vibrant darkness. You shouldn't read every book, but he sought to break my spine and learn the secrets within nonetheless.
As I said, I knew he wouldn't be prepared at first, and he wasn't. He recoiled back a few steps and grasped at something he had slipped through his back belt loop. It was a long slender sterling silver sword. It was a gift from a more knowledgeable friend. It could have served him on his journey into the unknown future, but he had accepted it in haste and left too early. That doesn’t surprise me either; he has always been hasty and enslaved by his emotions. Some things never change. Even so, he always comes prepared, even though he never is. He asked a simple question, as always.
"Where is she?" He asked, and Mother Nature gave him emphasis as lightning lit up the windows and cast tree limb shadows across our faces. We were two pale figures in a blue sea, and we swam through shadows.
I knew where he could find her, always in the same place, and I believe he knew I knew, but I would never admit it. I sat and stared into his big brown puppy dog eyes, so lost and confused. A man, but you could still see the child behind those eyes through the wispy brown locks, which dangled down from the mop on his head like vines from a pale stone building. No matter what he goes through, or how long it took he always looked the same behind his eyes, on the inside where his soul lived, a powerful soul, but a lonely soul. As if he had lacked a part since the dawn of time and throughout the ages, his search never ends and he’ll always ask the question. "Where is she?" I wished I could tell him, but I could not dare risk it. Some things are far too important to juggle in the dark; some things break too easy.
After several moments, he asked again with a bit more force behind his words, and the sky above grumbled with thunder. I didn’t turn my head, but I cast my eyes up toward the ceiling and let my mind wander in the storm. It’s always storms, an endless gathering storm, and the thunder and lightning always punctuated his words, which didn‘t surprise me. The world bends around those who will shape it, even if they are unaware of their power. He took a step toward me and I could hear the silver scrape against his belt loop, and I met his eyes so he could see my reassurance. It gave him pause. I didn’t want to hurt him again, but I knew I would. It’s hard to fight destiny, impossible to challenge it, but it’s a task I accepted, and it brought me here. He attempted a stern and confident look, but his jaw quivered and I watched the frog go down his throat. I stood and towered over the boy, but he didn’t back down, or ever break eye contact just as I knew he wouldn‘t. I could see him search my soul for some answer, perhaps not even for the answer he sought, perhaps an answer for some other question, but I don't know because he never asked, not once in all these years. After all this time there’s still a mystery in all this, still the unknown, it's how I know my job isn't over. How I wish I could stand in my God’s presence once more and not fear his gaze, feel the heat on my face, the sand under my feet, and a child‘s laughter, my children.
"Where is she?" He snapped me from my day dream, but with far less conviction, and he punctuated his sentence with a "Please?" The sky above darkened and thunder clapped then groaned.
If I had tears left in me, I would have shed them for him, and if my heart could still beat it would have gone out to him, but after all this time there’s dust and ash in my chest, and desperation burns inside. I didn't answer him again, but instead I turned and he grabbed my shirtsleeve, as I knew he would, and the blade slid from behind his back, but he wasn't prepared. My calm and steady hand reached out quicker than he could see and caught his wrist. With a slight and subtle twist I heard his wrist snap, and then the soft whoosh the blade made as it fell, followed by its clang and clatter against the new floor boards and old foundation, it gave the sound gravitas.
It happened so quick the poor boy didn't even realize what had happened until I had already released his arm. He gasped and protected it against his stomach. I've seen it all before; lost, hopeless, angry, desperate, and any other pointless emotion you could imagine. All of them in his eyes all at once. By then the storm had begun, rain splattered against the tall thin windows and ran in streams across them raised and directed by the cold relentless wind, thunder roared above the clouds, and lightning lit the room up in bright blue flashes. I turned my back on him and left, before I disappeared into the gathering storm I heard him collapse, and once again utter the word.
"Please."
I could not risk it.
When I stepped out into the storm I lunged up on the roof through the rain and wind, and before I planted my feet I leapt up the nearest tree limb, and then own up the mountain. With every plunge upward I took, the church grew smaller, smaller, and disappeared under the trees and the mountains shadow. At the peak, I stood at the cliff edge and looked out at the moon as it rested above the clouds. I could still hear his voice "Please," it echoed a million times in my ears. How many times I will hear it, I wondered. High above the storm I waited, for yesterday. Now allow me to tell you a story.
A wind gust whistled by him, wrapped around me, and tugged my hair. It might have been cold or it might not, I can’t tell anymore. The storm outside brewed, but it would grow into a torrential down pour, and blot out the very moon and stars, which watched over us that night. The trees swayed and dark clouds overtook the dying evening. The rain would fall down and batter the ground, and the storm would come.
He lingered for a long moment and let his eyes adjust. The shapeless darkness, all too often I forget how difficult it once was, but I still wouldn’t have turned the light on for him had I remembered. His stasis wasn’t the shadows fault. I'm sure his sorrowful eyes had adjusted long before he took his first timid step. It has been said in lunatics’ whispers and long forgotten authors prose we give off a particular vibe, an icy chill around the edges where your blood doesn't reach all too often. At your fingertips when they turn blue and your heart jumps in your chest, or your earlobes when they turn so red you can’t touch them and the tip of your nose where Jack Frost nips on unbearable winter mornings. I've even heard the air around us described as heavy and rancid, like lying on nails with cinder blocks on your chest. It makes the taste in your mouth dry and stale, and your nostrils burn with a repugnant scent, but you can’t describe it. All the hairs stand up on your body and observe for themselves what traps your stomach in a vice and twists without remorse, and your breath staggers but you can‘t catch it, because it’s lost. I'm sure he felt it every time he saw me, even in the warm sun light, death.
However, he was always a brave man no matter the events set before him or left behind him, so he took the fated step. It was a timid and rigid step, but determined, no surprise, because I've seen it a million times. The wind howled outside and rattled the shingles between his heavy steps. They fell in hollow thuds. The fresh cut wood shrieked against untarnished nails and my ears twitch. I miss the silent world where my life was a war of whispers and those who might hear were deaf. Every cautious and resigned step he took echoed. The wind howled, chased every echo into the distance, and heralded his coming. A thousand trumpets with flowing banners pressed against angel’s lips as tears streamed down their fair cheeks. The floorboards under his feet were new, but the foundation old and though much had happened in the quaint little church over the years this would be a significant event. On hopes and dreams, he walked, but not soft or with grace, but instead fearful. I wish I could tell him, but I dare not risk it.
By the time he reached where I sat in the main front pew, the wind outside faded, an early spring rain beat its cadence. I could see the mist settle in the fields, the fog rolled down the mountains, and a faint steam rose from the creeks. When he first spoke I didn't acknowledge him, I never do, because I’m lost in thought. I considered his worn and fragile emotions evident from the dirty blood stained bandage, which dressed his right wrist. I always waited for him to speak again before I faced him, because I knew the poor lost child couldn't handle what he would see, and though I pitied him I loved him, in what way I could.
In my youth I had flawless bronze skin, my long black hair shimmered, and amber almond shaped eyes, but in my endless age little had changed save for my eyes which changed with my mood. Anyone astute in my kind’s knowledge would read them like a book, my secrets would be clear as day, but he had no idea. He knew disbelief when he saw the dingy yellow glow peer out into his soul from vibrant darkness. You shouldn't read every book, but he sought to break my spine and learn the secrets within nonetheless.
As I said, I knew he wouldn't be prepared at first, and he wasn't. He recoiled back a few steps and grasped at something he had slipped through his back belt loop. It was a long slender sterling silver sword. It was a gift from a more knowledgeable friend. It could have served him on his journey into the unknown future, but he had accepted it in haste and left too early. That doesn’t surprise me either; he has always been hasty and enslaved by his emotions. Some things never change. Even so, he always comes prepared, even though he never is. He asked a simple question, as always.
"Where is she?" He asked, and Mother Nature gave him emphasis as lightning lit up the windows and cast tree limb shadows across our faces. We were two pale figures in a blue sea, and we swam through shadows.
I knew where he could find her, always in the same place, and I believe he knew I knew, but I would never admit it. I sat and stared into his big brown puppy dog eyes, so lost and confused. A man, but you could still see the child behind those eyes through the wispy brown locks, which dangled down from the mop on his head like vines from a pale stone building. No matter what he goes through, or how long it took he always looked the same behind his eyes, on the inside where his soul lived, a powerful soul, but a lonely soul. As if he had lacked a part since the dawn of time and throughout the ages, his search never ends and he’ll always ask the question. "Where is she?" I wished I could tell him, but I could not dare risk it. Some things are far too important to juggle in the dark; some things break too easy.
After several moments, he asked again with a bit more force behind his words, and the sky above grumbled with thunder. I didn’t turn my head, but I cast my eyes up toward the ceiling and let my mind wander in the storm. It’s always storms, an endless gathering storm, and the thunder and lightning always punctuated his words, which didn‘t surprise me. The world bends around those who will shape it, even if they are unaware of their power. He took a step toward me and I could hear the silver scrape against his belt loop, and I met his eyes so he could see my reassurance. It gave him pause. I didn’t want to hurt him again, but I knew I would. It’s hard to fight destiny, impossible to challenge it, but it’s a task I accepted, and it brought me here. He attempted a stern and confident look, but his jaw quivered and I watched the frog go down his throat. I stood and towered over the boy, but he didn’t back down, or ever break eye contact just as I knew he wouldn‘t. I could see him search my soul for some answer, perhaps not even for the answer he sought, perhaps an answer for some other question, but I don't know because he never asked, not once in all these years. After all this time there’s still a mystery in all this, still the unknown, it's how I know my job isn't over. How I wish I could stand in my God’s presence once more and not fear his gaze, feel the heat on my face, the sand under my feet, and a child‘s laughter, my children.
"Where is she?" He snapped me from my day dream, but with far less conviction, and he punctuated his sentence with a "Please?" The sky above darkened and thunder clapped then groaned.
If I had tears left in me, I would have shed them for him, and if my heart could still beat it would have gone out to him, but after all this time there’s dust and ash in my chest, and desperation burns inside. I didn't answer him again, but instead I turned and he grabbed my shirtsleeve, as I knew he would, and the blade slid from behind his back, but he wasn't prepared. My calm and steady hand reached out quicker than he could see and caught his wrist. With a slight and subtle twist I heard his wrist snap, and then the soft whoosh the blade made as it fell, followed by its clang and clatter against the new floor boards and old foundation, it gave the sound gravitas.
It happened so quick the poor boy didn't even realize what had happened until I had already released his arm. He gasped and protected it against his stomach. I've seen it all before; lost, hopeless, angry, desperate, and any other pointless emotion you could imagine. All of them in his eyes all at once. By then the storm had begun, rain splattered against the tall thin windows and ran in streams across them raised and directed by the cold relentless wind, thunder roared above the clouds, and lightning lit the room up in bright blue flashes. I turned my back on him and left, before I disappeared into the gathering storm I heard him collapse, and once again utter the word.
"Please."
I could not risk it.
When I stepped out into the storm I lunged up on the roof through the rain and wind, and before I planted my feet I leapt up the nearest tree limb, and then own up the mountain. With every plunge upward I took, the church grew smaller, smaller, and disappeared under the trees and the mountains shadow. At the peak, I stood at the cliff edge and looked out at the moon as it rested above the clouds. I could still hear his voice "Please," it echoed a million times in my ears. How many times I will hear it, I wondered. High above the storm I waited, for yesterday. Now allow me to tell you a story.
