You are currently browsing the monthly archive for May, 2008.
Reza dropped Jason onto the flat stone of the roof. It was like a plateau cut into the tower just beneath the spire at the top. The wind howled across it like a dragon, clawing at Reza’s clothes. He stood against it, immovable, as if carved from stone himself.
“Are you ready?” Lamb asked, standing nearby in black robes. He was holding a wickedly sharp knife.
“Are you kidding? I was made for this!” Donovan laughed. He hauled Jason forward, to the centre of the platform. He then forced the quivering prisoner to look into his eyes by pulling him by the hair.
“It’s almost show-time, little Jason. Let me walk you through what’s going to happen: I’m going to use Simon’s knife to cut you open. Then Simon is going to draw a diagram on the floor with your blood. This won’t matter to you, but that picture will be a pentangle. It’s really a door, and we’re going to use you as a key to unlock it.”
“A door to what?” Jason found the focus to ask, his voice distant and faded.
“You’re like a magnet, a touchstone.” Lamb told him. The two villains seemed to be enjoying this exposition, dragging out their victim’s death. Torturing him with time. “You possess a level of psychic sensitivity that draws forces to you. We’ve been pushing you all along to attract our kinds of forces. Dark forces. When enough collects in one place, it becomes like a sinkhole, a weak spot in reality. Now we’re going to punch through that soft spot.”
“In other words, we’re going to use you to open the Gates of Hell.” Donovan grinned with a malevolent joy. “Doesn’t that sound fun?”
Tears streamed down Jason’s face again.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because it makes you more afraid. And, because we’re giving you a chance to stop us.” Reza smiled. “Now you can play the hero. All you have to do is walk across the roof and throw yourself over the side. All you have to do is find some guts and you’ll stop us, and our nefarious plans, for good. Come on, Jay. The Good Guys always win, don’t they? All you have to do is try.”
He dropped Jason again by nonchalantly letting go of his hair, knocking the wind out of him as he hit the stone. Jason knelt there, feeling the wind tearing at his clothes with clawed, cold fingers. He tried to crawl, certain that the gusting air would knock him over if he stood.
“Naughty, naughty, that’s cheating!” Reza giggled, but there was anger in that chuckle. He kicked Jay in the ribs, rolling him over on his back. “I said you had to walk, no crawling allowed, you little worm! Now be a man! Get up!”
Jason struggled to catch his breath. He was certain that something had snapped with that kick, and was equally certain that the Reaper could tear him in half with his bare hands. That kick had been barely a love tap to this monster. He held up his hands as if to ward off further blows, and then rolled onto his knees when no blow came. The wind growled and pulled even harder as he rose upwards. He wobbled as he found his feet, steeled himself to steadiness, and tried to take a step forward.
Another big gust hit him, and he wavered. For a moment, he was certain he could right himself. Then he fell over, crumpling to his knees, frozen with fear. He couldn’t do it. Good Guys finish last. The Bad Guys win.
“I can’t do it.” He whispered.
Reza grabbed his hair again.
“That’s my boy. I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”
Donovan Reza tore off Jason’s shirt and cut into his skin with the knife.
Neal leaned against the wall of the balcony with his arms, barely holding himself up as he looked over his burning city. He took it all in and knew that it was his fault. Everyone was dead and it was his fault.
“Top of the world, ma,” He chuckled to himself, near hysteria. “My fault.”
He murmured this last and slumped to his knees, collapsing against the stone railing and held up only by his shoulder against the stone. He felt his blood leaving his body.
“I’m glad to hear you say that. To finally hear that you accept some responsibility.” A cloaked figure said from the doorway to the Hall.
Neal moaned, startled by the unexpected voice. He was even more startled when the figure removed his hood and stepped into the starlight.
“Ethan?” Neal asked, “Ethan…” He started to laugh and cry at the same time. Once he had seen the real thing, it was obvious that an impostor had been in their midst. Neal wondered how he could have been so blind: Ethan’s eyes were intensely alive, while his doppelganger’s eyes were void.
His laughter turned into painful coughing, blood spitting off his lips. Neal held his wound and knew that he was already dead. Ethan knelt beside him to offer comfort to his friend.
“No…” Neal whispered, and then he gathered the strength to yell. “NO!!!” He slapped Ethan’s hand away. “Let me die. I deserve it.”
“No one deserves to die alone, Neal. And maybe I can help.” Ethan responded patiently.
“I don’t want your help, or anyone else’s! I destroyed the world, Ethan!”
With that, Neal hauled himself to his feet and hurled himself over the balcony plummeting into darkness before Ethan could even reach out a halting hand.
Ethan stood slowly, wiping a solitary tear from his cheek. He looked out over the charred ruin of the city, and contemplated the ending of a world.
“Even in death your pride got in the way, Neal.” He said quietly, pitying his friend. “You didn’t do this alone. We all had a part in it.”
He turned away from the cityscape and re-entered the black tower. Neal’s part was over, but Ethan still had his part to play.
They were an army with no one to fight. Comprised of converted soldiers and bedraggled peasants, they had been gathered for days by the mysterious man in the worn cloak. Led to no purpose, apparently, as the city had become a graveyard. They had come to offer truth and healing, to fight for people’s souls, and found only corpses.
“Now what?” A farmer asked, looking around the charred ruins.
“I suggest you all get out of town as fast as you can.” Their leader said. He did not look at them, his gaze was riveted on the Citadel. He drew a glowing sword from within his robes. “One way or another, it’s all going to be over soon. And if I don’t get to the top of the tower in time, none of you are going to want to be here to see what happens next.”
With that, he left them as quickly and silently as he’d come, the only sign of his passing the faint, white light of his blade.
***
Reza dumped Jason onto the floor of the Hall of Elders like he was an unimportant sack. He didn’t even deign to look down at the cowering huddle by his feet. He knew that the simpering coward wasn’t going anywhere.
Donovan strode into the Hall grinning widely as he called for Neal. A moment later, the richly robed, self-styled king of the world emerged from the balcony.
“Ethan!” Neal smiled. “Have you been down among the troops? Are they pleased with our victory?”
Reza smiled back. In Neal’s imagination, the silence of the necropolis below signified the triumphant ending of battle, with his loyal guards taking a well-deserved rest.
“Yes, old friend, victory is good!” Reza laughed. Neal chuckled too, and moved to embrace the demon he perceived as a friend. He seemed oblivious to the blood on the Reaper’s clothes.
“Well done, well done!” Neal clapped him on the back. “I’m glad you’re here, Ethan. Not like the others, the one’s who betrayed and abandoned us. The ones who were weak, and broke under the pressure. You and I, we’ve done well, haven’t we?”
“Things couldn’t have turned out better in my wildest dreams,” agreed Donovan, embracing Neal again.
This time, he slid his dagger between Neal’s ribs, twisting the blade with a grin of satisfaction and malice. Neal stared at him for a moment, as if unable to believe what had just happened. He was still lost in his fantasy. But then cold reality hit him and he understood it all. His eyes filled with horror, but the scream he tried to bellow came out as a gurgle, blood spilling from his mouth. He reeled away dizzily, back towards the balcony, his blood trickling down to the floor where he left red footprints trailing.
Reza was content to let him walk away. Neal’s final moments would be terrifying enough now that he knew the truth: blinded by his ambition, he had let the world around him crumble to dust. He had tried to build an empire, and seeing it destroyed as easily as a wave destroys a child’s sandcastle did more damage than physical torture could ever do.
The Reaper turned back to Jason and dragged him from the room. They had urgent business on the roof.
Jason had heard the shrieks of pain and suffering as Reza walked through the city, killing its denizens. Through the slaughter, he began to hear the sound of breaking glass and smashing wood. As the sounds grew closer to the tower, they grew in intensity. Soon it sounded as if entire buildings were being toppled, as if some monster approached, growing in strength with every step, bringing devastation in its wake.
Jason hid like a child in his chambers, cradling his head in his hands, cringing at every cry. He began to shake when the army engaged with the killer, knowing that they stood no chance. The Reaper was coming to get him, Jason knew, and he knew that no one could stop it.
Intent on the clamour of battle, it took a moment to comprehend the silence when the tumult ended. The silence crept up on him the way night slowly creeps over the land as the sun sets and the shadows of the world lengthen. It just crawled and lurched into his chamber, a silence that was loud in its significance.
It meant that everyone else was dead.
As that thought struck him, Jason’s trembling increased by an enormous degree. He looked up from his hands like a trapped animal listening for the hunter, his eyes glazed with terror. Panicked in the extreme, the trembling became a compulsion to move, and he fled from the solitude of his rooms in a mad dash for the door. He was driven by the impulse to find someone, anyone, who was still alive in this tomb of a world.
He screamed so loud that he lost his own voice to the quiet when he found, not the living, but Death standing on his doorstep instead. Jason fell over, whimpering on the stone floor of the corridor, shaking at the feet of the dark figure looming over him.
“Why, hello there, little Jason. Aren’t you happy to see me?” Reza asked, his grin that of a shark. He reached down and gripped Jay by the neck, his hands clamping just under his jaw. He effortlessly lifted Jay until his feet dangled six inches above the floor. Jason was sobbing quietly, with tears running down his face and hocks of snot escaping his nose. He stared into Reza’s eyes and finally saw them for what they were: empty and soulless. Unable to stop himself, Jason felt his bowels cut loose.
“You’re such a child.” Reza laughed. “Let’s go see if your cousin is a real man or not. There has to be one around here somewhere.”
The world had turned to ashes around them, and the air was full of the stench of charred flesh. Had they been an invading army they would have been glad to see their work done for them, as no resistance barred them from the city gates. However, though their leader bore a sword, violence was the furthest thought from their minds.
The cloaked figure at the head of the column knelt down in the dust and closed the eyes of a corpse lying bent around cracked rubble, a grimace of terror etched on its battered face. His followers could see a brief flash of sorrow pass across his visage before the strong lines of determination returned.
“It has already begun.” He said, nodding to himself. “We have to hurry.”
With that, he led his prayer warriors into the city of the damned, intent on their mission of mercy.
***
Neal stood on the balcony of the Hall of Elders, looking out over his domain. In his mind the sounds of battle signified his soldiers’ successful defence of the Citadel. He smiled smugly to himself, convinced that his leadership had groomed them into an efficient, professional army.
No matter how efficient, the Citadel’s defenders found themselves ineffective against their current opponent. Their arrows missed the mark, sword slashes and spear jabs were evaded regularly, almost routinely, and with every moment that passed, they felt victory slipping further and further away.
This was particularly frustrating, given that their opponent was only one man.
“CHARGE!” A captain of the guard shouted, and a platoon of soldiers ran forwards. They swooped down on the lone figure in the street with their captain in the lead. He swung at their target with his sword, only to chop through empty air as the figure stepped neatly to the side. The captain hardly knew what happened, as their enemy moved with unbelievable speed, but afterwards he realized that their adversary must have dodged and then grabbed his arm, redirecting his aim. A heartbeat later, and his sword was lodged in one of his men’s intestines.
By the time he turned around, the captain saw that all ten of the men who had followed him into battle were dead. He saw the last man die, his head torn from his body by their foe in a burst of blood.
“No man can move that fast.” The captain moaned, incredulous.
“Who ever said I was a man?” Donovan Reza laughed. He shoved his thumbs into the captain’s eye sockets and pulled off his face. “Men feel fear. I feed off it.”
Reza looked up at the black tower, his smile clean white in the scrim of red blood on his face. His hands and clothes dripped with it, spattered by an entire city of the dead.
“I feed on fear, and it’s almost time for the main course.”
“That’s impossible!” Neal all but screamed, tossing one of the chairs in the Hall across the room to break against the wall. He beat his hands on the table and then slumped into another chair, running his hands through his beard and then his hair.
“I’m afraid that’s what the man said. A rebellion has begun to the east. Already several of our outposts have fallen.” Jason told him again, repeating the messenger’s words.
“But how? We killed Alex, they were utterly destroyed, no one would dare…”
“It appears that your benevolent rule has not quelled those seedier members of society that crave violence and revolution. There are always rabble-rousers, Neal. It is a king’s duty to ensure peace in his land. We must gather our forces.” Simon told him.
Jason fought hard not to react to Simon’s description of Neal as a benevolent ruler of a peaceful community. The sounds heard through his window put that to a lie. If anyone craved violence it was no doubt Lamb. Jay suspected that the rebellion was probably more trustworthy. He guessed that they weren’t rebelling because they wanted to hurt people; he thought it much more likely that they believed in overthrowing tyranny. That they remembered what liberty was like.
“This is the report the messenger brought from the frontier.” Jason said, holding out a scroll of paper, dusty and a little worn from the man’s panicked ride. Simon took it, as Neal hung his head in his hands, obviously deeply perturbed by the news. Jay reflected that the news did not sit too well with the idyllic picture in Neal’s head, the way he wanted the world to be. When you’ve convinced yourself that you’re beloved by your people, open rebellion is something of a shock to the system.
Simon read the scroll to them both:
To his lordship, Neal Osborne, from Outpost Fifteen, Captain Jasper commanding:
Today at dawn we changed the guard as per routine. Just as the new sentries reached the wall a man was spotted on the road, wearing a cloak and scraps of cloth to guard against the sandy winds of the Badlands. We have had little snow of late, but it was still bitter cold.
A warning was shouted as this lone figure approached, and still he came forward in silence. A warning shot was fired, and by this time one of the sentries coming off duty had fetched me to the wall. I saw the cloaked man come closer, ignoring the arrow that went past him. Then he drew a sword from beneath his cloak and held it up to the sky.
I know this sounds unbelievable, but all my men attest to the same thing: that sword glowed white. I remember light bulbs from my youth, and it was something like that. The light shone from the blade. From down the road suddenly many more men appeared. Some were dressed like our soldiers, others were peasants. We had not received word from Outpost Sixteen for two days, and I suspect he had been there first and the men in his outfit were deserters.
They attacked the front gate, and I am writing this as they do so. I fear that we will fall soon, and write to you so that you might know that there are those who oppose you. Send your troops as quickly as possible - there is little hope that we will survive, but if you move swiftly you may be able to quell this rebellion before it gains strength.
Neal was visibly enraged. The cords of his neck stood out as he roared in anger, rising to his feet. He called for servants to ready his horse and armour.
“Perhaps we should not act rashly, Neal.” Simon said, his voice flat.
“Rashly? We must ride down on them and take our vengeance swiftly!” Neal roared. He knocked over another chair.
“No doubt they are following the messenger who brought this news. They are coming here,” Lamb said. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. It may be a few more days, as they gather troops, but they will inevitably reach this fortress. Since it is the seat of our power, it may be best to let them come. They cannot challenge our strength here.”
Simon’s voice was low, almost melodic, and as he spoke Neal began to calm. As Simon finished talking, Neal slumped back down into his chair. Jason watched in astonishment as his cousin was hypnotized.
“Yes, you are right.” Neal agreed, his voice monotone. “We will wait for them to come to us. They seek revolution, but all they will find is death.”
He and Lamb both grinned, and their smiles were like Reza’s grim visage. They grinned like madmen, like death’s heads, their eyes cold and empty.
Neal stood on the balcony outside the Hall of Elders surveying his kingdom. He held out his arms, reflecting that all he could see was his, from horizon to horizon and beyond. In his mind it was a mighty empire, he was unable to see the abject poverty and vast suffering of his people. He laughed, turning to Simon Lamb who stood in the shadows of the Hall behind him.
“Look at what we have done!” Neal laughed, grinning at his advisor. “Look what we have made! They said the world was ending, and we built a civilization!”
Simon laughed along with Neal, nodding. Look what we did. Look at the world we have made. He looked out at the muddy streets of their city, filled with slaves and serfs, butchering soldiers and festering evil. He thought it was as wonderful as the world Neal saw in his mind. For Simon Drake Lamb, the world was as it should be.
“And so peaceful!” Neal smiled, looking out over his kingdom once again. “No one would ever dream of rebelling again, like my foolish cousin. What better sign of our good works, than that our people live in peace and harmony?”
“They love their king.” Simon agreed. Fear him, really, but what does it matter? You believe you rule the globe, and I rule you, Simon thought. Together we have made this world a charnel house.
One of the world’s best butchers, a stalking shadow, strolled the streets of the city unimpeded. Day or night, the peasants scattered if they saw him coming. Or heard his footfalls. They whispered about the black man, the reaper that walked. Children heard bedtime stories that gave them nightmares and ran screaming if they saw his shadow. If Neal Osborne was the king and Simon Drake Lamb the power behind the throne, than Donovan Reza was the sword that power wielded.
What the frightened citizenry failed to realize was that if they saw Reza coming then they were safe. He hunted his prey from the darkness, came out of shadows like winds blowing up out of a still sky, something no one saw coming until it was upon them. He walked the streets openly because he knew that it frightened them. And he enjoyed their fear. Relished it.
It was late winter, but here on the west coast that did not mean as much as it did in other places. It rained frequently, but rarely snowed. It mattered not at all to Reza: he could have walked through the Arctic now in his usual black pants and shirt and he would not have felt a chill. His blood burned hot now, and fierce strength filled his sinews. His hour was approaching again. He could feel it.
“Hail, good sir!” Donovan called to an old man trying to scuttle off the street. His voice was filled with good humour on the surface, but underneath there was something else entirely. Something that made the aged peasant stop cold, pinpricks of frosty terror crawling up his back.
“H-h-how m-m-might I be of service, sir?” The cowering man asked.
“Do you know what year it is?” Reza asked, smiling.
“I believe…” the old man paused, trying to remember, “In the old ways, it would be 2022. No one much keeps a calendar anymore, but I’d say that would be right.”
A young woman and her grandmother were trying to creep away down the same street, hoping to sneak past without being noticed while Reza held this conversation. But when the old man said the year, the grandmother stopped short. She stared at the back of the dark man, the night-stalker, and muttered something.
“What was that?” Donovan asked, whirling to stare right at the old woman. Her granddaughter was trying to pull her away, but the crone kept repeating herself.
“What is she saying?” The old man asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.
“She only speaks Mandarin now,” the young woman explained. “She understands things, but forgets how to speak in English. She was never much good at it. She says…”
“She says it’s the year of the Tiger.” Reza smiled. “I like that.”
“You understand her?” The grizzled elder asked, genuinely surprised.
“The curse of Babel does not apply to me,” Reza said, staring at the old man with blazing eyes. The aged figure did not understand. He only looked at the dark man in stupefaction. He was once again genuinely surprised when he blinked, and found that Donovan was no longer standing there. He understood why when the grandmother shrieked and the young woman screamed, pointing behind him.
The old man turned as quickly as he could and felt the iron grip of a hand around his throat. Single-handedly, Reza lifted him into the air. He was still grinning, the smile of a skull or a spectre. The old man could not believe how fast this demon moved.
“I am the Tiger. My time has come.” Donovan smiled, the cruel grin of a predator, and then threw the old man across the street into a building, where he heard the snap of breaking bones. The women continued shrieking as he stepped towards them.
Jason heard the screams from his rooms in the Citadel. He didn’t even bother to look out the window. When he heard the gallop of a horse arriving below he hardly even pricked up his ears. It was not until he heard the running footsteps and hands banging on doorways that he got curious. He opened his door and saw a messenger, eyes glazed with panic, going from door to door in the hallway.
The frenzied courier caught sight of Jay and ran forward eagerly, crying out. He gripped the front of Jason’s rich robes and almost wept with relief.
“Good lord, help me please!”
“What is it?” Jason asked, his heart beating too quickly in his chest for comfort. The man’s obvious fear was almost contagious.
“I bring a message from our outposts in the desert… But I don’t dare tell them myself! No, no, it’s bad luck to be the bearer of bad news. I dare not! But they’ll listen to you!” The man seemed almost mad with terror, speaking hurriedly and glancing swiftly from side to side.
“What news?” Jason asked.
Seven years like that was enough to drive a man mad. Of course it wasn’t every night, just often enough to disrupt Jason’s well-being, and infrequent enough to keep him guessing. He began having nightmares about that voice, with vivid manifestations of its source as vampires, slavering beasts, pale ghouls and foul creatures of the night. His already slender frame became gaunt, and he lost much of his hair. Dark circles ringed his eyes, but no one really noticed. Jay spent most of his time sleeping, or lounging, immobilized by his fears and guilt. No one came to the Citadel for healing anymore.
What use would it be? The army had an iron grip on the countryside, as Neal and Simon increased their tyrannical control. People starved or died of diseases all the time, or fell prey to the army. No one saw the Citadel as a place to seek help any longer. Instead it was the source of all their sorrows. Executions took place frequently in the town-square of every village. Jason remembered history classes and the discussion of feudalism, and he imagined that the Dark Ages could never have been as cruel as their merciless regime. He was revolted by it all, especially considering they had started as a church to help people. They had wandered so far from their origins that this future was unrecognizable from the vision shared in their youth.
Neal styled himself a king, and even sat in a throne with a crown. He would frequently parade through the city, and crowds cheered him because of Simon’s armed soldiers. Jason knew his cousin was quite insane by now, for the fool believed that the city prospered and that the applauding crowds were jubilant. He had been a passionate and driven leader before the Outlander War seven years ago, but he had come back changed. Now he listened to Simon’s plans and acted on them like a marionette obeying its puppeteer, and Jay knew that this schemer was the real power behind the throne.
Not that he could do anything about it. His anxiety had driven him to ulcers, insomnia, weight loss, and shaking. He couldn’t guess what else might be wrong with him, since doctors had no real diagnostic equipment. They relied on basic examinations and folk cures, since medical drugs were things of the now distant past. Jason suspected he might be even worse off than their suspicions, as they had no tests for cancer and he knew something was eating away at him inside, along with his conscience.
Tyger, tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes!
On what wings dare he aspire!
What the hand that dare maze the fire?
And what shoulder and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the hammer? what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!
When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger, tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
William Blake
***
They returned like conquering heroes. Neal paraded in at the head of the army, waving to the cheering crowd. In his mind they were happy, though in reality they were there because they knew that if they didn’t come then the army would soon be after them. Jason was horrified to see the slaves arriving in chains, first marched across the mountains and then treated like animals. He had tried not to think about what they were doing, but now they had brought back spoils of war and that was hard to ignore. He almost fell over when he saw them from the balcony. Jay leaned against the wall, badly shaken, his thoughts and heart racing. He felt sharp stabbing pains inside his chest and fought to breathe.
By the time the others had arrived he had regained his composure. To show weakness like that, well, it seemed unwise. Jay hated what they had done, but to show them his fear would be the end of him. He joined them at the feast in the Hall of Elders, toasted their success, and felt like dying. Simon had the battle-hardened army resting, recuperating from the Outlander War, and he had slaves from that crushed city serve their needs, fetching them food and drink. The fortress-city had fallen rather quickly after the death of Alex Rothrock, and its survivors were dejected, a conquered people in body and in spirit. Human cattle to be used. Jay had little appetite at that meal, but still raised his glass in every toast.
That night he had a great deal of trouble sleeping. His sheets were dishevelled as he fought to find a comfortable spot, but he could find no peace. The dark silence of the night seemed like an accusation, reminding him that he had remained quiet while his friends had descended into darkness, bringing the country with them. He had done nothing to stop any of it.
Jason remembered his childhood, being afraid of the dark. Alex would tell him there was a monster under his bed or in the closet, the way older brothers do, but Jay used to believe the stories. Most children turn the lights on, or get their parents. Jason would lie in his bed and shake in fear, every night-sound amplified by his imagination into monsters. Slobbering beasts and hungry wolves, creatures with fur and claws. Now, years later, he was again a frightened child, shivering in the dark.
Only now, the darkness was alive.
“Hello Jason.” A voice hissed from the void.
Jason would have screamed, but only let out a very tiny yelp. Little boys who don’t have the courage to hit a light switch a foot away apparently grow up to be men who cannot even get up the strength to scream. The boogeyman was real, and Jay felt his insides shrivel up into a cold little ball, tight in his chest. His heartbeat was like a frightened rabbit, so fast he thought he might explode.
“‘Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.’ And yes, Jason, there are things that go bump in the night.” The voice (that terrible, terrible voice!) told Jason, and it seemed amused, as if death could sound like it was laughing. As if a cold winter wind was happy that it was covering flowers in a killing frost. Jason’s weakened fingers clutched at the edge of his blanket. Like a child, he had this irrational hope that if he could pull it over his head the voice would go away.
“I… I don’t b-b-believe in you…” He whispered, but with no real strength.
The voice in the darkness laughed. “Oh yes you do. You have always believed in me. That’s always been your weakness Jason. That the darkness scared you more than you loved the light. It seemed so much closer, so much more real.”
The voice was like a dagger, piercing him. He had known his faith wasn’t strong enough, and the frightened thoughts that came to him at night when his conscience had awakened had now returned with the night’s voice. But the source of that voice seemed to have no conscience. It was blacker than midnight, it was the source of darkness; it was here for him, to drag him down where no light could find him ever again…
“I’m not here for you yet,” the voice said. “But soon. Perhaps I’ll poison your food. Or maybe I’ll creep up behind you some dark night in the corridor. Or sit beside you at a banquet and slide my knife between your ribs. Mayhap I’ll startle your horse when you go riding, or push you down the stairs. If I can reach you here, safe in your room, I can reach you anywhere, now can’t I? Be seeing you, little Jason.”
Jason lay there, sleepless, knowing that the voice was never gone. The darkness never really left. It might recede when the sun came back, but you could not escape the darkness that was in your mind. It followed you like your shadow, everywhere you went.
“Follow me.” Mara beckoned, and Evie and I walked behind as she went downstairs to the main level, and then turned and opened the basement door. We followed her down into the dim interior, the only light from small windows along the ceiling.
Mara led us to the playroom as if she’d been there a million times. In one corner was a table, and she stood by it. We stood beside her.
“Ethan and I built this,” I told my sister. “Before he went back to school.”
We looked down on our Lego city. There were forests around it, but the city itself was populated with a mixture of people. We’d used spacemen, pirates, Robin Hood’s men, and built a ramshackle town. Outside were the knights, attacking. The city was using space guns and bows and arrows to defend itself. I think we’d used nearly all the Lego in the house to build the massive scene.
“Recognize anything?” Mara said, chuckling.
Genevieve and I kept staring. There was a hole in one wall of the fortress city, with the fight spilling through the gap, the pirates and astronauts entangled with knights on horseback.
“Oh shit,” I said.
We retreated to the bright living room. I wasn’t willing to talk about my thoughts in the dark basement. It was too chilling.
“I don’t get it.” Evie looked at both of us.
“The city, one wall was destroyed. It let the invaders in, and they killed everyone,” I whispered. “Everyone died, except us.”
“It was a game, Gwen.” Genevieve raised an eyebrow.
“NO! It’s still a game. This has all happened before!” I shook, my fingers clenching. “Lancelot fought Arthur, and this time Gawain killed him. The city was ruined. Oh, this is creeping me out.”
I shivered, sitting down on the couch. I didn’t want to think about this.
“What?” Genevieve asked, concerned.
“You’d better tell her,” Mara said quietly.
“I can’t,” I moaned.
“Tell me what?” Evie asked.
“The Seven Deadly Sins…. he’s going to kill Jason and Neal. Sloth and Pride. Oh shit, oh shit…”
“Gwen? What is it? Tell me.”
“Ethan’s stories. His favourite books. His movies. They’re all becoming real. It’s like, it’s like…” I couldn’t stand it.
Mara handed me a book, and I guess she found it in the pile on Ethan’s bed when I wasn’t looking. I stared at the cover.
Alice through the Looking Glass.
“It’s like the Red King,” Mara told me. “Who’s dream was it, Gwen? His or Alice’s?”
“What is going on?” Genevieve said. “Somebody better tell me.”
“It was a game that we played. They were just stories that he wrote. How is this happening?” I asked Mara. “He built the city, and he destroyed it. How?”
“It’s all chess. You tell me.”
I screamed. My ears and throat hurt, and I fell to the floor. I covered my eyes with my fists.
Genevieve’s arms were around me, hugging me tight until I stopped. I cradled my head in her shoulder, trying to breathe.
“What does she mean, chess?” Evie whispered.
“Ethan is playing both sides. Dan was a knight, Evan and Jason the bishops, Owen and Alex the rooks. Alex castled Neal, to become your consort. But they’re all really pawns. It’s a game, and he’s playing against himself. The Red King dreams it all, and Alice just has to survive the story. But it’s really Lewis Carroll’s dream, and he was imagined by Reverend Dodgson…”
I whispered these words to her, knowing she probably didn’t understand. My voice was hoarse. My eyes watered.
“Ethan is fighting himself, and all he has to do is stop, and the game can end.”
Our farmhouse had a cupola for an attic, giving a view of the four points of the compass. The windows also opened up, allowing us to sit on the roof of the house, if we wanted. Mara spent a solid month watching every sunset from the roof. She seemed to be in love with the sky. I would see her up there, basking in the sunlight, arms spread to feel the wind. I guessed maybe she missed her wings.
One morning, she pushed at me to wake me up.
“Whazzitwhaddawant?” I muttered from under my pillow, trying to block her insistent nudges out. Which translates as “What is it, what do you want?”
“Let’s watch the sunrise!”
“Lemmeloanimsleepingowaynextimemakeapointmen…” I groaned back, holding the pillow over my head. Which was to say, “Leave me alone, I’m sleeping, go away, next time make an appointment.”
“I forgot to ask you yesterday. Come on!”
“I’m not doing this for a month!” I finally said, removing the pillow.
“One time, I promise. Then I’ll handle early mornings myself.”
So we trekked out to the roof. Mara wore a thin white nightgown she’d sewn herself, while I wore my brother’s Glendon t-shirt and a pair of old boxers. I put my hair in a ponytail to keep it from looking too dishevelled. The air was chilly, the leftovers of spring before the beginning of summer. The air was dimly lit, a washed out colour like faded jeans across the sky.
The sun broke the horizon like a blade, piercing, and growing warmer. Mara watched in glee, clapping her hands as it took the sky. I smiled at her childish joy. I remembered feeling like that, long ago. I was only twenty years old and felt like a crone. I hugged my knees.
“Something wrong?”
“I dunno. I mean, you’re seeing the world through your own eyes for the first time, and it’s beautiful. But I’ve been seeing what it’s become in the last fourteen years, and it’s monstrous. Just a weird feeling. Especially because Ethan has something to do with it. I still can’t figure it out.”
“You will.” Mara patted my shoulder. She stood up, letting her fingers run through the wind, closing her eyes.
“What was the deal with the Sherlock Holmes thing?” I asked, tilting my head to watch her over my shoulder, squinting to keep the rising sun out of my eyes.
“What do you mean?” She said, spinning slowly in the sunbeams.
“The Moriarty thing. Ethan wanting a worthy opponent. Like his life’s a game, and he’s bored playing it.”
“You wear his clothes, see with his eyes, read his thoughts. You tell me.”
“What are you two doing?” Genevieve said. She leaned out her window, peeking up at us. “I can hear you from my room!”
“Sorry, did we wake you?” Mara asked.
“Just a little. What are you talking about?”
“Oh, your sister is just trying to piece together the mystery. I’m surprised she’s having so much trouble. There’s a big clue in the basement.”
“What?” We both asked.
Ethan’s Chess Rules
Chess begins with eight pawns, who journey across the playing field to face their adversary on the opposing side. Should they reach the opposite end, they can be transformed into the other pieces: the knight, the rook, the bishop, the king and queen. The ultimate goal of these pieces is to defeat the opposing side.
The bishop, obviously, represents the church and travels at angles different from everyone else. The rook comes from the Italian rocca, for the siege tower, and travels in a straight line towards his doom. A rook can take the king’s place early in the game; this is called castling. The knight travels across steps, skipping two forward and one to the side. Commonly called an “L” shape, it can just as easily be described as a “7″. The queen goes where she wants, but when the king falls the game ends.
It seems so simple. But so few play it well. I don’t know why, but I’ve never had an opponent I couldn’t beat. I stopped playing at school, because it was making other boys angry. I remember playing Alex once in high school, and I could sense he was getting frustrated with how easily I dealt with the majority of his pieces. To let him save face, I arranged a stalemate, getting his king in a position where he couldn’t move, and where I couldn’t checkmate him. He felt glad to have forced a tie after such a long game.
I need an adversary worthy of my abilities. I remember reading a theory that Sherlock Holmes and Moriarty were the same person: so far, I really only enjoy playing chess with myself.
***
Mara stared at me. I looked up at her slowly.
“You didn’t want to learn chess,” I accused.
“Yes, I do.”
“But you knew this was here.”
“Of course I knew. But do you know what it means?”
“Two bishops, two rooks, two knights, the king and queen. Genevieve went where she wanted. Owen worked in the Citadel, their tower, and he died a glutton. Daniel was head of the army, a knight on horseback, and fell to lust. Alex was besieged, and fell at the broken walls he was defending. He took Neal’s place in Eve’s heart, and defended the castle she chose. That leaves Jason in his false church, Evan as the other worship leader, Neal their king, and Reza as their dark knight.”
“Well done. Except, Evan’s already dead. One bishop, one king, and one knight to go.”
“It’s getting close to the end of the game,” I said.
Mara wasn’t as shallow as four hours of shoes and dresses led me to believe the day I met her. It wasn’t a great first impression, I admit, but eventually I understood. She spent three days with my mother in the kitchen, learning how to cook. She made breakfast for six hours on the first day, and then started on dinner. She mastered sandwiches and cookies on day two, and spent day three doing things in order. Everyone in town went through our kitchen, eating all the food.
I’ll also admit, she ended up popular in town pretty quickly. The girl sure made friends easily: free food certainly didn’t hurt. She then threw herself into learning sewing, and made some clothes for herself. That took about a week before she was satisfied with her abilities. Then she helped clean the whole house. And the stables and the barn. She learned to feed chickens, pigs and cows, and horses. A neighbour gave her a puppy, and she taught it how to bring my parents their slippers.
And she read every book in the house. And that was just the first month.
My point is, Mara did everything with joyous gusto, like it was a thrill. Chores were fun to her. I realized eventually that there weren’t messes to clean up in Heaven, nor food to cook. Everything was new to her, and inspired wonder. I couldn’t imagine what that felt like: I supposed I always hoped Heaven would feel that amazing, and it was funny that being out of Heaven did the same for her. Weird.
So, I was a bit wary when she asked me to teach her to play chess one day.
“Are we going to play tomorrow?” I asked her.
“I don’t know, why?”
“How about the day after? And the day after that? I just want to be able to plan my week.”
Mara laughed. “Is that sarcasm? Or irony? I can’t tell them apart yet. It helps when you use a different tone.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Sorry. But you tend to get pretty fanatical, you have to admit.”
“What does it matter if I play chess for a week? It’s not like things have to be done at certain times. I know when to feed the animals, and when to make meals, so it’s okay to fill the rest of the time any way I want, right?”
“I guess. Most people try to balance out their day.”
“Most people have their whole lives to discover their habits. I don’t know how long I have, and I want to be good at everything I can.”
She was hard to resist. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and she was very stubborn. No wonder my brother was willing to spend years in the desert for her.
“Okay, let’s go find Ethan’s chess board.” I conceded.
We opened up his closet and I rummaged on the top shelf, finding the old box. I had been taught to play on my grandfather’s board as a girl, but it had gone missing in the interim. Ethan’s board was still in its old spot, but I knew that of course: my mother didn’t let anyone in his room while we were gone.
I blew dust off the top and opened the box downstairs, on the kitchen table.
“Where are the rules?” Mara asked.
“Huh? I can teach you,” I said.
“I like to read them myself. Genevieve missed three rules in Monopoly last week.”
“Oh. Um, here they are.” I pulled out the board and gave her the piece of paper under it. I started setting up the pieces. “Do you want to be white or red? Huh, that’s funny. Most boards are white and black.”
“Um, Gwen, these aren’t the proper rules.” Mara handed me the paper. It was hand-written, in Ethan’s familiar scrawl.
“Of course they are: Chess begins with eight pawns, who journey across the playing field to face their adversary on the opposing side…” I started to read, my voice gradually tapering off as I gave it my total concentration.
“Oh crap.”
Mara spent an hour trying on Genevieve’s shoes. She had to look at every pair twice, and strut around in them, up and down the hallway. She borrowed my mother’s floor length mirror to admire them.
“I’ve never worn them before,” was the only explanation she offered. “I’m making up for a few thousand years of deprivation.”
“In one afternoon?” I said.
She laughed. “Why not?”
“You used to be an immortal angel. There aren’t more important things than shoes? I mean how girly is that?”
Genevieve smiled. “It’s her first chance to be a girl. Who else would have taught her? I say she deserves some pampering. Want to try makeup?”
“Yes! I really do. It’s not like watching Ethan’s life gave much opportunity to understand girl things. And I never knew my mother.”
“Ethan’s on a quest to save the world, and you’re trying on shoes.”
“Oh, that!” Mara giggled. “Me trying on shoes today won’t affect that in the slightest. I told you, the pattern is pretty obvious. If you think about it, you know when he’s coming back.”
“We do?”
“You should. Think about it. When did he disappear?”
“You mean, the first time? On the plane?” Genevieve asked for clarification.
“Yes, the plane. When was that?”
“I was six, I don’t remember.”
“Well it was Reading Week in my freshman year, so the beginning of February?”
“Was there anything happening at that time? Anything significant?”
“Besides our vacation? I don’t know what you mean.”
“Okay, maybe you need bigger hints than I thought…” Mara smiled ruefully. “Um, did you go to church?”
“That was more Ethan’s thing than mine. But I remember him talking about pancakes at church, and how he wasn’t able to go because he was finishing a paper at school. I can’t believe I even remember that.”
“Pancake Tuesday? They still do that, before Ash Wednesday and the start of Lent.” I finally found something I could comment on in their conversation. “So the plane disappeared around the start of Lent…”
“Is that important?” Evie asked.
“Well, maybe. I mean, Lent is a reminder of Jesus’ forty days in the wilderness. When Ethan disappeared, I’m assuming he went to the wilderness Mara mentioned. That’s a bit more than coincidence…”
“And when was the first time he came back?” Mara asked, interrupting my thought process.
“The spring, like seven years later. That had nothing to do with Lent, though, it was long after Easter.” I shrugged.
“How much longer?” Mara was trying on a new pair of heels, adjusting the strap. Her question was a little too casual. I looked at her.
“You know exactly how long, don’t you?”
“Well, of course I do. But you’re the one who’s supposed to figure this out.” She smiled winningly. I sighed.
“Like almost two months later. That was seven years ago!”
“Well, what happens in church two months after Easter?” Genevieve asked. “The first clue was Lent, so what else is there?”
“You should have gone to church more. I was just a kid.” I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to think. “There’s nothing two months later. All summer is ‘Ordinary Time,’ where there are no major celebrations. Oddly enough, the Christian calendar is basically packed from November to May, from Advent to Pentecost, and then nothing happens for half the year.”
“When’s Pentecost?” Mara stared at her shoes in the mirror.
“It means ‘Fifty days after,’ and it’s when the Holy Spirit came to the disciples fifty days after the Resurrection.” I wracked my memory. “It’s usually in like May.”
“Which is when I came back to the house and heard that you’d seen Ethan.” Genevieve stared at me.
“He left for the wilderness at Lent, and came back during Pentecost?” I asked Mara. “Is that it? Why Pentecost? The disciples were given the Holy Spirit, but so what? We certainly didn’t’ get that.”
“You didn’t? The disciples were given their mission, and the means to fulfill it. Isn’t that the time when Genevieve started planning her revolt against the Citadel?” Mara stared at me, her expression serious.
“Oh, crispy crap. Ethan came back in the winter this year, again, and it was probably February. Ash Wednesday. I bet anything, it was the start of Lent again.” I turned to Eve. “Ash Wednesday is a day of remembering the dead and mourning, and being penitent for our sins. Ethan was worried about all the men being killed, and was after Reza to stop the killing.”
“Are you seriously telling me our brother’s life is following the Christian calendar? And King Arthur stories? What’s next? He comes back at Christmas bearing gifts?”
I sat down on her bed, staring out the window and trying to think.
“It won’t be Pentecost again… We already tried to follow in his footsteps. Order isn’t important, but what they mean is. If it was in order, he wouldn’t have skipped Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday. Lent was the beginning of the wilderness, Pentecost was anointing followers, Ash Wednesday was mourning the dead. His mission…”
Mara smiled, as if she knew where my thoughts were heading. Which, she probably did. I tousled my hair with my hands, trying to get the racing thoughts in my mind to reach some sort of finish line.
“His mission changed!” I practically shouted, turning at Genevieve and shaking her shoulders. This made her shriek. “He was out in the wilderness and came back with the sword. How much do you want to bet it was a quest to find it? Arthur had to find his sword, and Bilbo had to find the ring, but those just led to other quests. It was the first stage!”
Genevieve had her hand on her heart, trying to calm down from her scream. “What?” She managed to breathe out.
“He needed the sword first, to become a champion or whatever. Now he’s got it, he has to face his enemy. Reza. The Dark One, you called him. He’s Death. When did Death get defeated?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Genevieve wheezed, exasperated.
“On the cross! Jesus defeats Death with the cross, He died and was resurrected. Ethan’s going to show up sometime between the start of Holy Week and Resurrection Sunday to fight Reza. If we can get to Reza by then, we’ll find him too!”
“Easter was like a few weeks ago,” Evie said. “We missed it.”
“Not this year.” I shook my hands with excitement, figuring out the problem. “He disappeared in 2001. He came back in 2008. He came back again this year, which would be 2015 on the old calendars. Seven years, the year of the Sabbath. So we just have to be there…”
“In 2022?” Genevieve asked.
I groaned in frustration and collapsed on the bed.
“See? I have six years and eleven months to try on shoes. How about that makeup?” Mara giggled.
I knocked on Genevieve’s door softly, leaning against the doorframe. She peeked out.
“I’m sorry I made you cry.”
“I’m sorry I don’t swear anymore.”
I laughed. She gave a chuckle that was half a sniffle, wiping away the last of her tears. She opened the door and I hugged her tight.
“You don’t need to swear. I just don’t know what’s happening in the world, and I felt like I lost my sister.”
“I’m right here, Gwen. I may not be a warrior anymore, but I’m still your sister.”
“I know.”
Mara was standing a short distance away. She smiled at us both once we were finished with our little family drama.
“I’ve promised to help Gwen with understanding what’s going on. That seemed to reassure her.”
“You know?” Genevieve said.
“Of course I do. I’m surprised you haven’t guessed yet. After all, the clues are all in this house.”
“Ethan’s books!” I said, rushing to his room. The others followed. I gestured at the pile on the bed. “I’ve been trying to tell Evie, it’s all here. Isn’t it?”
I held up the Dark Half and the Fight Club tape. “Donovan Reza,” I said.
Mara just nodded, smiling to herself. I held up The Stand and The Last Battle.
“The end of the world?”
She grinned wider.
“The Lord of the Rings, the Hobbit, The Dark Tower… they’re the Quest?”
Mara almost giggled.
“Come on, what do they all mean?”
“I can’t just tell you. You’re supposed to figure it out. He left everything for you to find, after all. Telling you is one thing, but to understand it, to believe it, you have to discover it for yourself.”
“Are you just saying that to frustrate me, or are you serious?”
“I’m serious. When people really learn something, it’s from experience. You can’t just tell them. If it were that easy, everyone would have faith. Everyone would do the right thing, all the time. People have to learn the hard way.”
“That sucks.” I almost laughed as I snorted in frustration.
“That’s why the first part of the Bible is called the Torah, which means ‘teachings.’ It’s a book to help people to think, to learn, to explore the world. But it doesn’t give easy answers; it gives scenes and parables that must be interpreted through the readers’ experiences. That’s how people learn.” Mara smiled patiently. “I know you’ll figure it out.”
“It would still be easier if you just told me.”
She laughed, a ringing joyful sound.
Mara sat down in a comfy chair in the corner of the living room. She bounced on the cushion a few times, almost giggling. Once finished, Mara folded her hands in her lap and smiled, while we sat on the couch.
“Ethan has been chosen to perform a Task for the Lord. He was chosen before he was born, and designed for this one Purpose.” As Mara spoke, I could hear a special emphasis put on certain words, as if they were of great significance. I capitalized them in my mind as topics to ask about.
“Ethan has a purpose?”
“All humans have a Purpose. Their Dharma. Ethan’s special destiny is this quest.” Mara was smiling with pride. “He is a Champion.”
“What’s he going to do? It has to do with Reza, doesn’t it?” I said, on the edge of the couch cushion.
“His dark half, yes. He will find the Dark One, certainly.”
“When and where? We have to help him.”
“Ethan told us to come home and stay safe,” Eve reminded me quietly. “He doesn’t want us endangering ourselves anymore.”
“I don’t care what he said, he’s alone. When is he coming back?”
“You haven’t detected the pattern yet?” Mara grinned. “You’re supposed to be the clever one, Gwennie girl.”
I glared even more fiercely as this stranger used Ethan’s nickname for me. “You’re not part of this family! You don’t get to say things like that.”
“I’ve been a part of your brother’s life since the beginning, dear girl. I’m not here to be your enemy. Ethan sent me here.”
“Why?”
“Because he loves me.” Mara grinned broadly. “He wants me to find myself, just as I told him to do, so long ago. He brought me here so I would be safe while I learn how to be human.”
“Learn how to be human?” Genevieve repeated.
Mara giggled. “There’s so much to tell you both. My mother was human and my father is an angel. I’m a hybrid, and I was raised in Heaven. I never knew what it was like to live on Earth, and it became my dearest wish. Ethan saw the truth of that, and his sword transformed me into a human being so that I could experience the part of my nature that wasn’t being expressed in Heaven.”
“Ethan used his sword on you, too?” I asked. “Genevieve’s been a proper pill ever since he hit her with it.”
“Gwendolyn Pitney, no one should use language like that.” Genevieve’s tone was soft, but that was exactly what was bothering me.
“Genevieve Pitney, you used to swear like a sailor if you were pissed off. I’d rather you yelled at me, then this ‘Little Miss Sunshine’ bit.”
Mara giggled again. “Teach me to swear like a sailor! Please?”
We both looked at her. Genevieve looked at least as shocked as I felt.
“Um, pardon?”
“I want to know how to swear.”
“I think you’re missing the point,” I said. “Eve isn’t acting like herself, since the sword. And you say that it hit you too.”
“Well, yes. But that makes sense, doesn’t it?” Mara smiled.
“No. It doesn’t make sense. That’s why our faces look like this.” I gestured at Genevieve’s perplexed expression. “We don’t know what the sword did. I’d like my sister back the way she was.”
“I’m glad you feel so confident expressing yourself, Gwendolyn, but I’m afraid I have to disagree,” Genevieve said pleasantly. “I used to be full of anger, and now I’m not. Truthfully, I’m a lot happier this way.”
“How can you be happy?” I yelled. “Most of humanity is dead, and Alex was butchered before your eyes just a few months ago!”
Genevieve’s eyes misted up and she fled from the room sobbing. I sat back on the couch, exasperated. At least something got a reaction out of her.
“That wasn’t very nice,” I heard Mara say. I looked in her direction.
“It was honest.” I folded my arms.
“So was she. Genevieve has been purified of her falsehoods, her sins. Everything she says, everything she feels, right now is the truth of her heart. That’s the power of Ethan’s sword. It reveals truth. I wanted to be human, and now I am.”
“Truth like hers doesn’t belong to this world. It’s full of ashes and death. There’s nothing left for us.”
I stood and walked to the window, which looked out on a sunny yard and garden.
“This, this is a lie. There’s nothing like this in the rest of the world. And I think you know why.”
“Of course I do. And I’ll help you to understand.”
Mara smiled, and I believed her.
I stood in Ethan’s room, staring at the illustrations on his wall. His books and papers were spread out across the bed and desk. I kept tilting my head, trying to puzzle it through. I knew the answers were here somewhere.
I held a checklist in my hand, on a clipboard. I had identified all of the portraits of his friends with Genevieve and Zoë’s help. Neal, check. Jason, check. Alexander, check. He had drawn them all. Next, there were superheroes and villains, which I had compared to his stories. I couldn’t see any obvious connection, but the demonic monsters and larger-than-life heroes were obviously significant to Ethan’s imagination. He had spent years on them.
I groaned in frustration. I had organized his books and films into themes, as some reflected quests, others the struggle with dichotomy, the nature of good and evil. But I had yet to figure out any discernible pattern. It was too subtle for my eyes.
“The Dark Tower, that’s like the Citadel on the west coast…” I checked that off, as a real world reference point. “The Hobbit went to a mountain, Frodo went to the Cracks of Doom…”
There was a knock on the front door. I cocked my head, certain I had imagined it. People didn’t make neighbourly visits anymore.
Then it came again, definitely not a figment.
“I’ll get it!” I hollered. I went bounding down the hall to the stairs, taking them rapidly. I ended up in the front hall, opening both the wood door and the outer screen. I wanted to see who it was. “Hello?”
I found a young woman, at best guess in her early twenties. She had rich auburn hair and deep blue eyes. I had to look twice to guess the colour; they were so dark.
“Hello.” The stranger smiled.
“Can I help you?” I said, raising an eyebrow when she offered nothing but the short greeting. She looked back at me for a moment, and then finally spoke.
“Is Genevieve at home?”
“Sure… one moment.” I called out over my shoulder. “EVIE! Someone to SEE YOU!”
I waited in the doorway, appraising the newcomer, trying to ascertain who she might be. She wore a frilly white dress and, unbelievably, no shoes. Genevieve strolled down the stairs.
“Gwen, there’s no need to yell. That’s not proper manners.”
I rolled my eyes at this. Evie came to the door, looking at our visitor.
“Hello,” The young woman said again, still smiling.
Genevieve’s eyes widened. She put a hand to her mouth, gasping.
“It can’t be…” She murmured. “You were on the plane! All those years ago. And you haven’t aged a bit…”
“It’s nice to see you again, Evie.”
I raised an eyebrow at the use of the family nickname. No one else ever got away with that.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Mara. I’m a friend of your brother’s.”
“How do you know Ethan?” I said, “That’s not possible. You’re like my age, and he’s been missing for fourteen years.”
“He’s not missing. I know exactly where he is.” Mara smiled again. “May I come in?”
Genevieve held the door open, and I took a step back. I glared at the newcomer.
“How could you know where he is?” I turned to Eve. “Who is she?”
“I saw her, on the plane, before we crashed. In all these years, I’d almost forgotten. How is it that you look the same?”
Mara smiled. “I wasn’t human then. I was your brother’s angel, I watched over him. I have been with him his entire life.”
She looked around the room, smiling at furniture and knick-knacks as if she knew our home. “In fact, this is the first time we’ve been apart. It’s a little discomfiting.”
“Where is he?” I demanded.
“In the wilderness. He has a quest.”
“Why? What is it? Why Ethan? You know, don’t you?” I tried to approach her, a little testily I admit. Genevieve put out a restraining hand, slowing me from charging forward.
“Give her a chance to talk.”
I limped out of Lilith’s apartment and walked to the subway, eventually making my way back to my room on campus. I slept deeply, and woke up sore. I had slept for at least twelve hours. There was an email waiting in my inbox the next day when I logged onto the Internet. It was from someone named E.C. It simply said:
E,
Good work. You’ve earned a rest. However, a word of advice: You might consider going skiing when you have Reading Week this winter. Don’t your friends have a chalet out west? Maybe all your friends would like to go.
Best of luck in your future endeavours,
D and R
I deleted it when I finished reading it. And I made sure to stay in touch with Alex, Jay and Neal all semester, so it was natural to suggest a reunion of the group, since all of us were finally university students and had the same week off from classes. I even helped pay for plane tickets, using my inheritance.
I believe everything happens for a reason. And I got on that plane after the hardest year of my life, confident that everything would work out.
***
I remembered. I remembered that for all the years of loneliness and pain, all the times I got picked on, all the times I thought life wasn’t worth anything, I had never quit. The only time I had ever given up on trying to live was in the blizzard, and God had found a way to give my life meaning there. So long as God took an interest, I would never quit again. With or without my beloved, I was still Ethan Keaton Pitney, and I had a job to do.
I stood up in the desert, remembering. And I started to walk.
