I struck out for the beach, trying to conserve my dwindling energy. Others did the same, and by the time I pulled myself up onto the stony shore, shivering with the cold, arm and leg muscles spasming, twelve people had made it there before me. Eight men, the rest women, all with the same wide-eyed look of confusion in their eyes. One woman looked as though she’d stepped out of an eighteenth-century period drama, her long dress clinging to her body. Her auburn hair had been tied back in a bow, but it had come half-undone and flopped over her face. Another, a man this time, was dressed in robes, or maybe it was a toga. Another wore an expensive looking suit, and another some kind of military uniform. Others looked to be dressed in similar attire to my sweat-shirt and jeans, but there was something about the style that seemed dated to me, though I couldn’t put my finger on exactly why.
While I lay there catching my breath, shivering hard now from the cold, two of the men I’d seen pull themselves from the water—and who I assumed must know each other—grabbed the woman dressed in the eighteenth-century attire and dragged her screaming up the beach toward the forest. Another man scrambled after them, yelling in a language I didn’t know. They disappeared into the trees before I could even find the energy to push myself to my knees.
Behind me, the others still struggled to make it to the island. Allowing myself ten seconds to gather my wits and energy, I forced myself to my feet and waded out into the surf.
Grabbing anyone I could find, I helped as many as I could ashore, depositing them one-by-one on the beach where they collapsed, feeble as half-drowned kittens. Some looked at me with obvious terror in their eyes but were too weak to resist my help, and I wasn’t in the mood to take no for an answer. Others seemed grateful; obvious words of thanks spilling from their water-wrinkled lips. I thought I caught what could have been a couple of words in French mixed with a recognizable word or three of Spanish or Italian. But for the most part, their speech was unintelligible to me.
Then someone did yell in English.
To my right, about a hundred feet away, I spotted a small head bobbing in the water, raised hands waving in an attempt to catch someone, anyone’s attention. It was a young boy, twenty feet offshore and he was being dragged further out to sea.
Riptide.
Instead of allowing the riptide to carry him along until it dissipated, the boy was fighting it; trying to swim directly to shore. That was a sure way to quickly exhaust yourself and drown. A surge of adrenaline pumped through me, and I stumbled down the beach, pebbles crunching beneath my sneakers until I was parallel to him. I considered dumping my clothes but thought better of it. I waded out as far as I could, hoping I could simply grab his hand and pull him to shore, but by the time I got close enough, the boy floated face down in the water, ten feet still separating us.
The riptide tugged greedily at my legs. Instead of resisting, I allowed it to take me, relaxing as it pulled me out until I was parallel to the boy. Once within arm’s reach, I grabbed his still body by the collar of his jacket and flipped him over while I trod water.
He was no older than ten I guessed. I pulled him close and leaned in until my ear was against his lips; he was unconscious but still breathing, thank God. I maneuvered myself behind him, rolled onto my back, slipped my hand beneath his chin to keep his head above water and allowed the riptide to carry us further out. Eventually, I felt the grip of the riptide slacken, and I began to backstroke the two of us toward land.
My feet touched the shoal of the beach, and I heaved myself and the boy up into the surf as far as my weakened body was able. I collapsed, unable to move another inch as waves lapped at my elbows, lifting me gently from the ground then depositing me back down again. I flopped back, gasping like a fish, staring up at the leaden sky, my vision darkening as exhaustion overcame me. Muscles cramping, I closed my eyes and tried, again, to regulate my breathing, but my mind was racing uncontrollably as it tried to process the impossibility of everything that'd happened.
I heard footsteps crunching across the beach toward me. I opened my eyes and tried to push myself upright, but for the second time that day, my muscles refused to obey, and I simply lay there, unable to do a thing. My eyes closed again.
The footsteps stopped near my head.
My eyes fluttered open, and I found myself looking into the face of the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.
“Are you an angel?” I croaked, pain gripping me, squeezing me like an iron fist.
The angel looked down at me quizzically, her head canted to one side, her eyes narrowed while she processed what I'd just said. Then she laughed, a bubbly melodic laugh, and said something in a language that my addled mind could almost understand; words that were almost, but not quite, English. Her voice was sweet, intoxicating, like wine.
“Okay,” I said, “sounds good.” Then I closed my eyes again and slipped away into blissful unconsciousness.
Part Two
Children of Earth
Three
When I came to my senses, it was to the stinging smell of woodsmoke in my nostrils, the thrum of rain against leaves overhead… and darkness; a darkness only held at bay by a campfire that crackled and flared brightly a few feet from where I lay. The air was thick with moisture and the dank smell of rotting vegetation. My mind was a blur of incoherent thoughts. The last thing I remembered was… Oscar? No, that wasn’t right. I was on a bridge… there was… a voice...?
It all came roaring back to me: the double-barreled blast of soul-destroying news; the pall of depression that had possessed me; the bridge; the voice; falling; and then the events on the beach. The memories returned one after the other, each one like a punch to my gut.
I had no idea where I was or how I'd gotten to this forest. I knew I hadn’t lit the fire, which meant someone else must have. With that in mind, I forced myself to remain absolutely still and allowed my mind to work backward over my recollection of the events, trying to decide whether what I thought I remembered was what had actually taken place, or whether it was all just some kind of an awful dream. It had to have happened, I decided. It was all just too real.
I allowed my eyes to move slowly to the left then right, trying as surreptitiously as I could to get a better look at my surroundings. Whoever had made the fire knew what they were doing. A ring of large stones had been arranged in a rough circle, the branches and twigs used as fuel formed into a pyramid, tee-pee-like. The flames created a halo of orange illumination for about four feet around the fire before the absolute darkness beyond stopped it.
The ground was littered with twigs and bushes and a layer of wet leaves in various states of decay, and the trunks of several large trees were just visible within the perimeter of light, the largest one just a few feet away. Whoever had built the fire had managed to find a spot beneath its heavy boughs, the sprawling limbs giving enough protection that the rain I heard smacking above was funneled off to the left and the right, leaving the area around the fire quite dry.
Directly across from where I lay, on the opposite side of the fire, I saw the woman I had thought was an angel. She sat on a short rotting tree trunk, leaning forward, elbows placed against the top of her knees, the palms of her hands supporting her chin, her fingers pressed against the light brown skin of her cheeks. I thought she was looking at me, but after a few seconds had passed, I realized she was staring deep into the flames of the fire, lost in her own thoughts.
To the right of the angel was the young boy I’d pulled from the water. He sat cross-legged on the ground, his back against the dead tree trunk, also gazing into the fire. He had something in his hands that glinted in the light of the fire. They clinked together with a glass-against-glass sound as he absentmindedly transferred them from one hand to the other.
Near my feet, stretched out on his back next to the kid lay the body of a man who was either unconscious, asleep… or dead. That question was answered a few seconds later when he exhaled a deep groan of pain and grasped at his right arm resting across his chest. The
arm was wrapped in a crude sling. He struggled to sit up and failed, then tried again, moaning loudly. With his good arm, he reached for a wide piece of torn material on his forehead. His pale face illuminated by the flames, I saw he had a nasty-looking ragged gash about five-inches-long running from just above his left eye, over his temple, stopping just below his hairline. Flakey, dried blood had caked around the wound, and a scab had already formed.
The angel jumped to her feet and moved to the man’s side. She was tall, around six feet. She wore a white blouse and matching skintight pants that accentuated her athletic figure but looked impossibly clean given we were in a rain-soaked forest. A voluminous cloak of the same white material reached down to just below the top of a pair of knee-high black boots. The inner lining of her cloak scintillated like Mother-of-Pearl in the firelight. The hood of the cloak was pulled down, revealing the long thick black braids of her shoulder-length hair and the finely cut features of her face, her mocha skin contrasting perfectly with the pure white clothing. High cheekbones, full lips, an aquiline nose, and a slim jawline gave her face a proud yet gentle look. But it was her eyes that truly held me: large and expressive, they seemed to glow with a deep ice-blue in the light of the fire. Thin purple strokes of what could be makeup but might just as easily be tattoos below and above each of her eyes only served to emphasize their intensity. She moved with an assuredness and grace, like a ballerina floating across a stage. She was, as I might have mentioned, the most stunningly beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life.
The angel dropped to her knees beside the restless man, clasped his shoulders in her hands and gently eased him back down to the leafy ground. She murmured something to him I couldn’t hear, then picked up the makeshift-bandage he'd removed from his forehead. She dipped the bandage into what looked like a large clamshell filled with water, twisted it to wring it out, and placed the bandage back over the man’s head-wound. Her patient groaned then slipped back into unconsciousness, his chest rising and falling rapidly for several seconds before returning to a more natural rhythm. The angel hovered over the man until she seemed sure he wouldn’t try to sit up again, then pushed herself to her feet… and noticed me watching her.
The angel smiled and said something in the same beautiful language she had spoken on the beach. I still had no idea what language it was; couldn’t even take a guess at her accent, but that was okay because the tone of her voice conveyed her concern for me.
I smiled weakly back at her and tried to sit up.
Major mistake, and one I instantly regretted as my brain felt like it was being bounced around the inside of my skull. My vision swam violently, and I felt myself sway, as my sight grew misty. Muscles cramped like I’d just finished a five-hour workout, every joint throbbed. A headache pounded above my right eye, probably from dehydration judging by my chapped lips and swollen tongue. My stomach felt twisted and overflowing with nothing but bile. Above all of that, prowling through the hinterlands of my nervous system was the ravenous beast of my opioid withdrawal. It clawed at my mind and insides. Every cell of my body felt like it was alternately on fire or frozen. Every nerve-ending vibrated agonizingly. My body itched as though it was crawling with ants. A greasy sweat peppered my skin, and my mouth was as dry and rough as a sheet of sandpaper.
I need a fix, right now, the beast screamed at me, demanding I give it what it desired.
I’m ashamed to say that, at that moment, if I had been given the choice of saving the people collected around the campfire or downing a single pill of Oxy, I would have swallowed the pill in a heartbeat, never giving a thought to the well-being of my three companions. Shit, I would have sold my own soul for half a Percocet.
Now, please, don’t make the mistake of thinking I enjoyed being an addict. No, that would be the furthest thing from the truth. After the accident, I never asked for the pills. Was never warned of just how addictive they were. Jesus, until the crash that sent my life careening down this detour I’d never even tried marijuana. Before all of this, I’d known exactly where my life was going, had it all mapped out; I would graduate from law school, pass the California Bar Exam, get picked up by some big law firm, and work my way up the ranks. After five years or so, maybe I’d dip my toes into the political waters. If nothing got bit off, I’d aim for the DA’s office. Maybe higher.
This junkie version of me was something I had not planned on or for. It had been inflicted on me.
I turned on my side and vomited nothing but bile toward the fire. A few seconds later, I threw up again, which made the throbbing behind my eyes even worse. When I was done, I rolled over onto my back, gasping from the ferocity of the pain.
The kid got to his feet, a grossed-out grimace on his young face, and I felt a moment of shame at him seeing me this way. Even through the haze of pain and self-loathing, I registered that the boy was dressed in what I thought was a school uniform: gray pants, a light blue shirt made of some rough looking material, and a black, threadbare blazer. He was a skinny little thing; narrow faced, unruly brown hair, a larger-than-average nose, and hazel eyes.
“Is she alright?” the kid said, with a very British accent. I could still hear the quiet click-clack of whatever it was he was holding as he moved them from hand-to-hand.
The angel was halfway to where I lay squirming on the ground, she looked back over her shoulder at the kid, flashed him a smile and said something that sounded reassuring. The kid sat back down as though he'd understood her, but continued to stare at me with wide eyes, worry lines creasing his pale forehead.
Then the angel was kneeling next to me. This close to her, I could see just how perfect her features were. Most everyone I’ve met has some kind of blemish or scar or out of place feature when you get close enough to them, but there wasn’t a single mark on her skin. She picked up something from the ground near the roots of the tree we sheltered beneath. It was another shell that she had placed close enough to the tree to collect rainwater running off the bark. She leaned in close, gently placed a hand behind my neck, and raised my head, bringing the makeshift-cup to my mouth.
The water was cold and tasted slightly woody as it spilled over my lips, dripping onto the front of my sweatshirt. I drank deeply, gulping the liquid down. My throat unclenched, and I pulled my lips away momentarily to whisper a ‘thank you’ to the angel. She smiled, nodded, and lifted the cup back to my mouth. When I was finished, the angel lowered my head just as gently back to the leaf-covered ground. I felt better, enough that I tried to sit up again, slowly this time. The angel took both of my hands in hers to help me, easing me to a sitting position.
I grimaced in pain as my guts suddenly twisted, cramping violently as the beast gnawed and gnawed and gnawed away at my insides. I flopped back down again, trying hard not to throw up. The angel’s forehead creased in concern and she reached out and took my hand in one of hers, squeezing it gently while whispering what could only be words of comfort.
I tried to relax, to focus on the angel’s touch rather than the waves of pain. Eventually, as the pain eased, my eyes drifted away from her, to the thick trunk of the tree we sheltered beneath. The light from the fire illuminated enough of the trunk I could make out the lowest branches, about eight feet or so above the ground. Miniature rivers and tributaries of rainwater ran down the bark. The pitter, patter, pitter of random drops hitting the canopy was soothing, and I felt my anxiety begin to subside a little.
My eyes swam in and out of focus before fixing on something… well, I wasn’t quite sure what it was I was looking at. Two pinprick green dots of light glowed on the tree trunk, midway between the lowest branch and the one just above it, burning like tiny jade fires. I blinked a couple of times, not sure if what I was seeing was real or if maybe it was light from the campfire reflecting off rainwater as it ran down the trunk. I continued to watch, trying to focus my eyes on the lights. The two jade dots looked strangely out of place against the sinister backdrop of trees and darkness, sitting just within the penumbra of illuminati
on cast by the fire, and I was sure they had not been there moments earlier… but the way my head was pounding and my sight fading in and out, I couldn’t be certain they hadn’t been there all along.
My heart jumped as, without warning, the lights moved. Just a couple of inches first, then after a few seconds, with a rapid spurt of movement, traveling down to the leaf-choked twist of roots at the base of the tree. They leaped the final foot or so onto the forest floor, vanishing momentarily into the detritus of leaves, before popping up again and moving quickly toward the dead log the angel had been sitting on. The lights disappeared behind the log. Both the boy and the angel were focused on me, so neither noticed the two little lights.
I tried to say something, but my tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth, all my saliva having dried up. I chided myself to focus, but my mind was just too foggy, as another wave of nausea knotted my stomach. I managed to tilt my body on its side, so I wouldn’t choke, and heaved up most of the water the angel had just fed me. Rolling over, I saw the jade eyes (that was what I was convinced these things were now, eyes) reappear on the top of the dead log. They began to move slowly toward where the boy stood watching me. The eyes came to an abrupt stop. And as they did, I got an immediate and unshakable feeling that behind those two jade sparks, someone or something was watching us intently, surveying our little camp. Then the eyes were off again at twice their previous speed, leaping from the end of the log down to the forest floor, heading directly for the boy’s feet.
I managed to raise my hand from the floor and weakly point a limp finger in the direction of the eyes. “Look… out…” I mumbled.
The Paths Between Worlds Page 3
