Something Eternal

by Joel T. McGrath

  The man’s fleeting smile dwindled, enjoying only for the moment while observing the people pass by, all of them remaining oblivious to his presence.

  Creasing a simple, closed mouth grin, he sat forward, and placed his elbows on his knees, with his hands clasped under, supporting his chin. A great trouble then draped over his face. A trouble few in the nine-to-five world knew existed and fewer still could understand.

  His brief delight had worn thin, replaced instead by gloomy frowns, short, nasally breaths, and dull eyes.

  Appearing like a regal sculpture until all traffic left, soon he was the last person amid the ancient, lonely, and silent ruins. With all traces of his smile erased, in a sort of tranquil, astonished admiration, he turned his head from side to side, while reassessing his surroundings.

  At the bottom stairs, far below his position, he scanned for any familiar face. He sheltered his eyes from the last, bright rays of the falling sun.

  The minutes ticked away.

  He tapped his foot, at first sporadically, but then without stop. Folding and unfolding his hands, he held them tightly, bowing his head, and curling his lips inward to nibble upon them.

  Trouble vented with infrequent self-expressions. The man submerged his blank, worried glance, shaking off the physical signs whenever angst presented itself to him.

  With a demeanor full of wisdom and strength, he succumbed to the weakness of trepidation, fret, and distress, combined with other mixed, disconcerting, all too human emotions. This would have been all right, that is, if he considered himself human, but he was no ordinary person.

  Once more, he scanned the valley below, raised his head erect, and nodded with a deep breath, filling his lungs with self-assurance. He was reminded of his strength, of his immortality, and by his own estimation, he was far beyond such feeble, imperfect human emotions. Though he blocked the negative of humanity out, it still burdened his very spirit as spiraling thoughts of grief consumed him. He hid all of his disquieting concerns, and smiled again, when he saw a familiar face at the bottom of the distant steps beneath where he sat on high.

  A younger, but mature maiden appeared from nowhere. The man in the tunic beamed an approving nod at her.

  From the far right she appeared, not visible the moment before. Within moments of her arrival, another man looking to be about her age joined at the far left from where she stood.

  The man to the left of her neither smiled nor frowned, and had little to show in the way of facial language. He had broad shoulders and a thin, well-kept beard along his jawbone. He appeared bold, striding, and carried himself with rigid poise.

  The two now stood at the far ends of the bottom steps from each other. At the lowest row of a mountainous climb, the two recent arrivals briefly acknowledged one another, before ascending the near vertical steps toward the man in the white tunic at the top of the stone slabs.

  The man across from the maiden also had a mature, but young thirty something appearance to his face. Neatly outfitted, he tugged the bottom seams on his ashen, short, open vest for a square fit. He looked at his clothes, checking his white, freshly pressed, button-down shirt. He then straightened one leg of his gray slacks, moving the pant hem from off his wingtip shoe. He gave the maiden a solemn look as they walked in unison to the top of the ancient ruins.

  The maiden’s long maxi dress was filled with floral patterns of colors. Purple gave the dress its dominant hue, along with earthy browns, greens, and blues. With long sleeves, the maxi dress ruffled in circled layers from just above her waist, wrapping both tightly to form, yet loosely down and around her firm body until it relaxed at her knees. And the dress, though long, fanned out, extending down to nothing but her beautiful bare feet, save for a gold charm, a trinket, dangling from her right ankle.

  With shoulder-length, tied back, loosely curled locks of dark blonde, wavy hair, the maiden exuded a calm loveliness. She seemed more sculpted from the stone around her rather than born into a world of flesh. However, she was soft, and pleasant to the eyes, yet she, like the man at the other end of the steps, had an eager determination for being there, and not one like the leisured tourists browsing the ancient, Greek ruins.

  The maiden rode a gracious stride.

  Like music, she appeared to dance with each step. A fluid advance of rhythmic elegance, she was aglow and seemed light on her feet as if carried by only the wind.

  The man at the far end of the maiden stood tall with an unyielding gait. His overall exterior made him also seem out of his proper, historical time, even though his modern attire attempted to hide such a thing from the world. He spouted a stern, or perhaps even a certain rugged quality. Compared to the maiden, he seemed uninteresting and dull. Prone to harsh expressions, he had the appearance of an austere person, full of pride and self-denial. A set of elusive eyes darted and fixed, and darted again. His short, brown hair was straight, thick, and parted down the middle of his scalp. His chin and cheeks were chiseled, with a threadlike, bearded growth from over his lips, down around his chin, and up in a thin line from his elongated jaw to his sideburns. Altogether, he had a chic look of business, without a mere hint of pleasure about him.

  The two stood pat, midway up the near vertical steps, which they climbed with ease.

  Closer now, they looked favorably at one another. It was a quick, but telling gaze, such as when people have been torn apart by immeasurable distance and time, never knowing if they would see each other again, and then when they do, no greater gift can be found.

  Giving some signs of advancing years, they were surprisingly youthful, strong, fresh with vigor, and seemingly untouched by the ravages of time.

  After the brief pause, the maiden turned. She beheld upward, toward the man in the white tunic, and began her mountainous hike once more. She, along with her fellow male traveler, ascended the steps at a gradual pace. Together they walked the vertical pitch effortlessly as the width of the steps narrowed to the very top. They merged both closer to each other, and also to the man in the tunic, sitting, waiting for them to arrive.

  The man in the white tunic held his smile at them. His distress melted as they drew closer.

  Joyful to see them, the man in the white tunic waved them onward openly to where he sat. From his sitting position, he reclined back once more, placing his arms straight behind like wooden poles. He planted his elbows on the hard stone slabs, each arm anchoring, holding his body in an uncomfortable-looking, rested position.

  The travelers reached the top, and then halted. For a moment, they stood above the man in the white tunic, gazing at the other before casually taking a seat on opposite sides of him.

  Now all three, without a word, looked out across the valley and over at the mountains as the sun set around the puffy, low-lying, pink, orange, and dark blue clouds.

  The three briefly shone like golden idols in among the ruins. They appeared contented as the sun’s passive slivers granted rays of hope upon an unsettled world below.

  “It’s good to see you again, Revekka, and you as well, Maximilian.” The man in the white tunic dusted his hands and sat upright, breaking the silence first. He then placed an arm around them, hugging them inward. After releasing his affectionate hold, he opened his palm, while stretching out his hand with a slow sweeping gesture from north to south, he said, “Of earthly things, is a sunset from the Acropolis not the most beautiful thing of all?”

  The three quietly watched the burning orb slowly plummet from the sky. Revekka tilted her head toward the man in the white tunic. She grew wary of the silence. “Surely, Acuumyn, you did not come all of this way for a sunset?” she bluntly asked.

  Maximilian turned toward the man in the white tunic, looking sideways at half of his face, he questioned, “It’s bad, isn’t it, Acuumyn?” A rough, frank manner broadcast his somber tone.

  Acuumyn mildly replied, “Just enjoy the sunset.” He patted them both on the
knees.

  The three sat there silently, watching the yellow-orange, warm circle sun brilliantly dissolve below the distant hills. Divine rays of the dominant star lasered through the puffy pastel clouds, evoking a red-violet backdrop—covering the modern city with a splendid radiance from horizon to marvelous horizon.

  Revekka fastened her elbows to her knees, and rested her head on open palms, angling her view several times at the panorama. Not only was dusk her favorite time of day, but she also loved this particular vista as night fell upon the unsettled world.

  Maximilian anxiously nibbled on his thumbnail, looking past the sunset and the valley. He secretly reviled all that he viewed while watching everything around him.

  Acuumyn reclined again, inhaling a relaxed breath, quietly observing Revekka and Maximilian before sitting up once more.

  Revekka leaned over and lowly spoke in Acuumyn’s ear. “Though you appear at ease, you’re more tense than I’ve ever seen.”

  “Quite so, Revekka,” Acuumyn replied aloud. “As the Artifex is living, dynamic energy, it has gifted you with the power of an empath, and perception beyond that of any other immortal.” He addressed both of them at this point. “Maximilian, the Artifex has given you the power of a knight, and though the Artifex grants many different gifts based on the abilities of that person, no gift is greater than another in this respect.”

  “My mission is not yet complete…” Maximilian let out a forced sigh. After, he hung his head briefly before glancing at the skyline, and then back up at Acuumyn.

  Revekka interjected, “My mission is close to being finished. I need only transcribe my findings before approaching the council.”

  Acuumyn bent forward, covered his mouth, and repetitively rubbed the top and sides of his lips, for he grieved his next words immensely. “The knighthood is grateful for the missions you have performed over the last five thousand years, but they must now end.”

  Maximilian pulled his shoulders back and away from Acuumyn. His eyes restricted and fixed with a pinpoint stare. “What!? Why!?” His face tightened before he slowly cooled the muscles under his skin, and muttered, “Those damnable bureaucrats!”

  “I understand.” Revekka remained calm, her demeanor and position changing little with any good or bad news.

  “I’m afraid the Doyen Council back home has discovered the covert nature of our missions among the mortals.” Acuumyn gestured one hand toward the city as the evening tide washed over them, and night brushed away the day’s sunny remnants. “They think us criminals. The knights’ temple—the home of the Galinea—has been locked up, with only council member Corbrak holding the key.” He then twice tapped his index finger to his own chest. “I myself am now a fugitive from justice. However, I could not turn myself over until I came to you first.”

  Revekka placed her hand on his shoulder. “Acuumyn, you must stay here with us instead of going back. The Shroud rules the council now, and if you return, they will…”

  Acuumyn put his hand gently upon hers, thus saving the next terrible words from passing over her lips. “I know what they will do.” He smiled and nodded with a wink.

  “Yes!” Maximilian agreed with Revekka. “Come with us to the castle. There we can finish our case for humanity versus the Shroud. Surely others will see reason when we present our findings,” he urgently said.

  “That is not why I am here.” Acuumyn solidly jetted his finger into the air, shaking his hand from side to side. “The people are why I am here.” He exhaled sadly. “We are advocates for them.” He pointed his finger toward the lit valley and then over toward the dark mountains and beyond. Noticeably emotional, tears canopied up under his bottom eyelids. “I am fond of the mortals. But evil is more prevalent now than ever before in their history.”

  Maximillian jumped to his feet, clenching his fist. “Then we should take the fight to what plagues this system!”

  Acuumyn friskily tugged at Maximillian’s elbow, prompting him to sit back down. “We try to refrain from interfering in the mortal’s world.” He hung his head for a moment of silence. “I have great sorrow and pity for the misguided Shroud, yet more so for blinded humankind, which follows the Shroud unwittingly.”

  Maximillian’s mouth gaped. “Why would you!?” He thrust his open palms up, out from his chest, and away toward the city below.

  “Because, while the knighthood is peaceable, the Shroud revels in warlike acts,” Acuumyn said. “Knights are vigilant, with unselfish concern for others, but the Shroud practices corrupt things. Knights declare order, yet the Shroud spread exaggerated reports causing confusion.”

  Acuumyn compulsively wiped his hands together, unaware of the rubbing friction sound he produced. “Knights are masters of the arts,” he stared off with distant focus. “Knights unselfishly use their power to balance the scales of justice. They make bare, uncover, and expose wickedness.” He rose his head gracefully up toward the sky. “Knights signify, give meaning—they do good, and are kind. You…” he quickly flipped his head and neck from one side to the other, looking briefly at Maximillian and Revekka. “You are the greatest symbols of knighthood.” He bowed his head with a stiff lower lip. “In a former time, these qualities abounded, but now…the Shroud is all that is left, and they justify twisted doctrine by abandoning what they once held true.”

  Acuumyn gnashed his teeth. “They have poisoned the air of this world. The system is a shattered illusion, and the Shroud thrives in misleading sick humankind. The Shroud causes rifts between nations and peoples of different colors and religions. Humanity feels the oppression, and while they lash out at each other in wars and strife, the oppression is not directed toward one race or another, but rather, the system itself, which the Shroud created, and in doing so, subjugates them all. Though the Shroud is not concerned with political matters, they subversively resist all governments, thus interfering unjustly with individual liberties. And why you may ask…all for their power and amusement.” Acuumyn’s breaths shortened and his knuckles curled, blanching white at the joints. “They are harmful to the welfare of all living things. The Shroud is a dry and barren group, devoid of value. They seek to dominate others by clouding over truth. They are disloyal at their core, whereas knights are obligated by duty to love. Hmmpf.” Acuumyn grunted. “I am sorry for the rant.”

  “Hmm,” Revekka interjected. “I have seen the Shroud perplex, bewilder, and baffle humans for thousands of years. The Shroud built this contrived system upon corruption, and the only way the system works is with the deception of freedom, though everyone is nothing more than just food to power the system itself.”

  “Bah!” Maximillian eagerly interrupted. “The knights are skilled craftsmen, perfectly capable of combating the Shroud,” Maximillian added. “The knights were appointed stewards for this world until humanity was ready to see the control the Shroud had over them with their own eyes. Yet I fear we have reached the end, and so has the mortal realm.” He bent his body forward, almost in half, as he leaned over and glanced down the near vertical, stone, block steps beneath his feet.

  Acuumyn abruptly got up, and walked over to a large, ancient boulder wall in amongst the ruins, impatiently urging Revekka and Maximilian to follow him. “Come, see. For this is why I am here.” He pressed three small stones in coded succession along the wall, and a large, several ton section of rock milled backward. It scraped and ground against the other stones as it slid sideways on its own power.

  Acuumyn reached inside and pulled out two separate scrolls from the large wall. Both were coiled tightly, and each was tied with a cloth bow in the middle. The scrolls flared out wider with jagged edges at the farther ends away from the cloth bows. One scroll was beige and the other was transparent. Both scrolls were rolled securely in the middle, resembling an hourglass shape. And of the two tied cloth ribbons on each of the scrolls, one ribbon was blue, and the other green.

  Acuumyn clasped the scrolls, arr
esting his movement before turning, after which, he simultaneously stretched his arm out and handed a scroll to Maximillian and the other to Revekka.

  “What’s this?” Maximilian asked, attempting to untie his scroll.

  Acuumyn quickly put his fingers on Maximilian’s hand. “No,” he calmly said. “If the Shroud captures you or the scroll, not knowing what you have will be a benefit.”

  Maximilian looked at the scroll and then up at Acuumyn. “I refuse to take a mission I do not understand.”

  Acuumyn half frowned at him, but dipped his head. “Very well. Untie them then.”

  Maximillian rapidly pulled apart the blue ribbon. Revekka peeked over at Maximillian as she gently unwound her green ribbon. With the ribbons untied, both slowly unfurled the scrolls.

  A look of puzzlement splashed across Maximillian’s hard face. Revekka tilted the scroll from top to bottom, her head tilting one way and the scroll tilting opposite her head. Both extended their arms, locking elbows straight, peering from afar, and then pulling the parchment just inches from their noses.

  Revekka frowned, her lips gyrating up, down, right, and left.

  Maximillian huffed a sigh. “Huh?” He rubbed his thin beard, before dropping his hand, along with the scroll to his side.

  Acuumyn folded his arms behind his back, and watched them, grinning as they tried to figure out what they were looking at.

  Acuumyn waited a few more seconds. “Here.” He motioned to give the scrolls back. He laid the two scrolls side by side on a waist-high, stone slab next to them. Maximillian and Revekka circled around the slab with Acuumyn. “Maximillian, your scroll appears to have nothing written on it at all. Why it is just a clear piece of parchment.” Acuumyn raised an eyebrow. “And Revekka, your scroll is a tattered, beige rag, with blots of smudged ink scattered about. But together…” Acuumyn placed the transparent scroll over top the ink blotted, beige one. “They are magnificent.”