The Depths of Sorrow

by Eleanor Eden

  The goodbyes at the big house were tear-filled. Somehow, witnessing Odyssey whisking Money, Eve and Garrett off in quick succession was discomforting. When loved ones travel, you typically picture them on the plane or in a car for some time, hoping to hear from them as soon as they’d safely arrived – but watching Odyssey pop in and out with the people I loved, from home to destination in the blink of an eye, was surreal. One minute I was kissing Money goodbye, and the next, he was in Spain.

  From what I could tell, everything went smoothly. Jay’s was the only departure I couldn’t check off the list as a success. He went last, and though Odyssey had planned to come back and say goodbye to me afterward, she was less enthusiastic when she returned for him.

  “Are you OK?” I asked, my hands out to steady her in case she fell, but it was only habit; she’d been more solid with her landings as she practiced. But now, her smile had vanished, replaced instead by a tinge of pale green around her lips.

  She nodded, hands on her hips and breathing heavily. “The act itself is getting easier, but the disorientation tends to build.”

  Jay stepped toward her, frowning, and I watched his expression with interest. I recognized that look; not too long ago, it had been for me.

  “You need to rest,” he said his hand lightly on her forearm.

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to leave Money alone with the children.” She looked sideways at me, then back at Jay. “The storm is bad; as bad as we’d feared.”

  Jay nodded, then came to stand in front of me. He studied me with an intense look, a mixture of anxiety, hesitancy, and love, I thought – though the love in his eyes when he’d looked at Odyssey was – different.

  I smiled before he spoke. “It’s OK; I know she shouldn’t come back to see me off,” I peeked around Jay’s arm and met Odyssey’s gaze. “I’ll be OK.”

  She nodded. “I’ll see you in Newfoundland, that’s certain.”

  I nodded back. “Thank you,” I said, surprised at the emotion that welled in me at this particular goodbye. She knew my mother, I reasoned inwardly, but that wasn’t it, entirely.

  I looked up at Jay.

  “I promise to take care of them,” he said, his voice quiet and tense with emotion.

  “You always take care, Jay. I trust that more than you know.”

  He made a pained expression. “I don’t relish the weeks you’ll be on your own; I don’t feel right when I’m not looking out for you, too.”

  “That’s because I’m your Fated now, just like Money. We’re family.”

  Jay’s eyes filled with tears and he embraced me, my belly pressing into him.

  A sound from behind him had me pulling away and going to Odyssey. “Be careful,” I said as she wiped the tears from her face.

  “You, too.”

  “Take care of each other, too,” I said, and in a moment of spontaneity, I took Odyssey’s hand in one of mine, and Jay’s in the other, then put them together.

  The two of them looked at each other, Odyssey blushing furiously, setting off the green of her eyes in spectacular fashion, and Jay grinning, even as his eyes remained sad.

  He looked at me, still holding Odyssey’s hand. “You have all the paperwork for your travel?”

  I gestured toward the neatly-organized folder he’d created for me, laughing. “You’ve made sure I have all I need! Thank you, Jay.”

  “I had to add a bus trip in there; I’m sorry. It’s less than a day’s trip, just from Halifax to Sydney, where you’ll -”

  “Board the ferry to Newfoundland,” I finished, smiling. “You’ve already told me. But thank you; you’ve made it easier already.”

  “Don’t forget we all have phones, guys,” Odyssey laughed. “I know none of us think to use them, but let’s commit to checking in on them a few times a day, OK?”

  I nodded, and Jay did, too.

  Odyssey looked between us one final time, then asked, “Ready?”

  Jay smiled at me, raising his hand in a sad wave.

  “Kiss Eve for me,” I said, suddenly hit with a fit of panic.

  Jay smiled.

  “And Money, too!” I laughed, and then Odyssey was rounding his back and stepping up to his side, and they both stepped into non-existence with that popping sound.

  I stood listening to my own breath, for several minutes, I think.

  And then I started to cry.

  But I was determined not to wallow just then; I needed to organize myself and start off on my own journey. I remember picking up Jay’s file and going through it carefully, then going through the luggage in the car.

  I may have had a nap somewhere in there – I can’t be sure, but I do remember driving away from the house later that afternoon, tears on my cheeks.

  Chapter 34 – The Journey

  I’d never travelled by train, so by the time I was boarding, I was positively bouncing with excitement. I’d fretted over the separation from my family all the way to the station; but now, as I took in the distraction of a new adventure (presenting itself in the form of a sleek line of passenger cars) I found myself able to gain a new perspective.

  Jay had spared no expense when he’d booked my trip; I had a little one-person cabin with a comfortable bed – he’d even made sure it was close to a bathroom! But I spent much of the days that followed in the dining car or lounge areas. The quiet of my little room was disconcerting, and in the absence of distractions, my thoughts would stray to the people I missed and the task ahead of us.

  It was the last day of the train trip that hinted at a fraught journey. The tracks transitioned from a lazy meander to something more twisted as we approached Halifax, and as though it had been watching and waiting for an opportunity, nausea sunk its claws into me again. When my head wasn’t in the toilet or in the lined garbage pail in my room, I was resting. Trying to visualize a quick and easy end to the journey as the train snaked its way to our destination, those passengers that were suffering helpless within its womb.

  The bus ride was – and I will borrow an expression from Money to accurately describe it - a shit show.

  A late departure translated to a bus packed with disgruntled passengers, few of whom had the patience or empathy for a very pregnant woman who needed the one bathroom every twenty minutes.

  To say I was disenchanted by the time I checked into a cute B&B in Sydney – the ferry to Newfoundland didn’t leave until the following day – would be a vast understatement. And, though I remember specific moments of that sickening bus ride as though they happened yesterday, I can’t tell you much of anything about the overnight stay in Sydney.

  So, I assume it was fine. Maybe even pleasant.

  But the events of the days leading up to boarding the ferry – not to mention the fourteen-day stay on the enormous freighter - had me anxious as the time drew near. I Googled acceptable anti-emetics for pregnant women frantically, coming up with very little in the way of help. “Visit your doctor” was the recommendation across the board, which was hardly feasible in the paltry hours I had before I embarked on the next part of my journey.

  And there was a little voice in my head, poking me with sharp jabs of fear and whispering, if you don’t like the one-day ferry, imagine what the fourteen-day freighter will be like!

  I managed to snag the last set of anti-nausea wristbands at the little shop on the dock, and even had the lady at the checkout help me place them correctly.

  A little bolstered and a lot eager to get the next part over with, I boarded with a sea of other passengers, most excitedly chattering about what waited for them in Newfoundland. Some of it caught on, too; I’d always wanted to visit the province, but hadn’t had a chance.

  I wondered how much sight-seeing a person could do in half a day.

  Thankfully, the ferry ride was fast and unfettered by complications; even my nausea seemed successfully held at bay, though I can’t say whether it was the little wristbands I wore, a placebo effect of wearing them, or the calm waters that allowed the sabba
tical.

  But it turned out that all I had time for in between the ferry and the freighter was a sandwich and a taxi ride to the dock, where, nearing exhaustion, I boarded with only a dozen other passengers. I made a note to return to Newfoundland with Money, then smiled, inwardly correcting myself. Money and the kids.

  I was almost looking forward to two weeks of solitude on the open seas. I got acquainted with the upper passenger deck and settled into my room, which was wonderful, with a prime view of the water and all the comforts of home. And for perspective, I’ll tell you it was nearly as big as our tiny house, too.

  If only I had known how quickly my improved outlook would fade. For it wasn’t nausea alone that plagued the last leg of my journey; no wristbands could stave off what tormented me.

  The first dark one I saw appeared on the very night I boarded. I was still feeling well, especially after having a late nap before dinner, and had made my way to the deck of the giant freighter to explore.

  Despite the surprising luxury of my quarters, this was no pleasure cruise. Myself and the other passengers were akin to stowaways, left to entertain ourselves and expected to eat what and when the staff did. I’d never had a problem with autonomy, though. In fact, it was refreshing to remember how successfully independent I could be.

  I noted how the oncoming colder months were that much more evident on the water; there was a biting chill in the air that had me gathering my jacket around my belly and hugging my upper arms as I explored the dimly-lit deck at the helm. The view was spectacular; the last wisps of sunset still lingered on the horizon, even as the sky deepened to a dark navy overhead, the stars already winking down at me.

  I inhaled deeply, the crisp air stiffening my lungs with yet another reminder of the season to come. I wondered absently about the seasons in Spain. Surely, I couldn’t expect the same as I’d left, but I’d never travelled so far to know what to expect. I made a mental note to use some of the time I’d have on this last leg of the trip to research my destination.

  And then something caught my eye; a movement in my peripheral vision that made me catch my breath, for it came from over the water rather than the deck.

  And I discovered as I turned ever so slowly to look for it, that it was, in fact, a good thirty feet off the side rail and hovering over the dark mirror of the water’s surface.

  And it was one of the new manifestations of darkness, silhouetted against the fading colors of the horizon, it’s scraps of clothing listing in the breeze.

  And I was certain it was looking at me.

  My first reaction – besides the immediate acceleration of my heart - was a puzzled one. Why here? To keep track of me? But how did it know? Or is it a coincidence?

  I shook my head. Journey had referred to them as spies.

  I patted my pockets, hoping to find my phone, then cursing myself in its absence. I knew I needed to keep it with me at all times, but I was finding it to be a difficult habit to cultivate.

  And then my secondary reaction kicked in.

  Fear.

  “What do you want?” I said under my breath, and grasped the cold upper rail.

  “I want you dead,” came the reply, with no hesitation. Clear as a bell in my ears, though the thing was some distance away. I startled, gasping as I recoiled from the rail, my eyes on the figure as its visage faded smoothly with the sunset.

  But it didn’t go. I could still feel it there; an uninvited presence. Watching.

  I started back to the door, remembering to exhale when my lungs began to ache. My retreat was a reaction I rarely indulged in, standing my ground and fighting always being my first choice. But who knew what eyes were watching; weren’t the captain’s quarters just overhead? Or maybe he manned the helm…and if not, someone did.

  I couldn’t risk the show I’d be putting on for prying eyes if I obliterated the thing. Besides, it was only a shadow; just a hint of the thing that had borne it.

  I leaned against the door when I got inside, breathing fast. Closed my eyes and let the warmth seep into me, then gathering myself to make my way to my room.

  I wanted sleep.

  But first, I had to tell Money.

  I wish I could tell you that the sightings were all that easy to deal with. Or that I was able to drive them away – for there were many more – without drawing attention. I wish there were words of comfort to sustain you through the next bit, but I have none.

  The truth is that it was just a bit of foreshadowing of the events to come, during which I would learn in a terribly intimate way just how evolved the dark ones were.

  Just how vengeful Legion had become.

  Chapter 35 – The Storm

  I wish I could start by telling you that, while Burden was alone on that monster of a boat and dealing with a faction of darkness designed specifically to torment her, we had everything under control in the mountains of Barcelona, but no. Instead I must say that the storm we arrived in was not like anything we could have expected.

  Our first experience of what Legion had done to the property above us was nothing if not sobering. Even in the light of day, the peaks above were shrouded in a slowly-swirling storm; clouds of deep greys and black were rightfully ominous, and any growth that remained – tree and vine alike – wavered and swooned and eventually tore and fell. It was a desperate thing to witness, but the saving grace was that any roads up the mountain had been blocked by deadfall and ruin. Only brave – or demented – souls could make the journey, and on foot, at that.

  But the atmosphere was far more devastating psychologically than it was physically.

  We all felt it; an almost tangible weight in the air – heavy and dragging. And those most susceptible fell quickly into sadness. Garrett was first, shrinking back into himself and regarding us with grief in his eyes and despair in the few words he spoke.

  It broke my heart.

  Journey and I had worked so hard with the boy; we saved him, and then we brought him back from the brink of hopelessness, loving him first by necessity and then with our whole selves. Because he was wonderful. A special boy even without his gifts – insightful and kind, and so sensitive to the plights of others.

  In my many hundreds of years, I had happened upon the occasion to feel motherly, thank the Entity. Despite our marvelous design, it was a cruel oversight not to take away our maternal – or paternal! – instincts along with the ability to have children. But Garrett – I loved him as though he were my own, and protected him just as fiercely.

  To watch him lose ground that had been so hard won was nearly unbearable.

  Money was next.

  We could all see him holding on, trying with everything he had in him to stay positive, to think of his family and to look forward to reuniting with Burden. But it hadn’t even been a year since he’d decided, after ten years or trying to die, that life was worth living. Journey watched his decline with growing desperation. He took increasingly long walks in the forest and even up to Legion to study it. And he broke into tears whenever I pried the will to share his thoughts with me from him.

  And you may remember that Journey hadn’t been entirely cheerful of late. And so, I watched him fall to sadness, helpless to stave it off, but impressed as he struggled to carry on.

  He’d always been one of our strongest. I loved that about him.

  Yes, loved. But it didn’t matter; not really. At least I didn’t know then that it did; I’d decided very early on that, with no hope of bearing children and the constant pull to seek out the Fated, love was a luxury most easily limited to friendships. It was a stubborn rule, but one that had saved me from terrible sadness.

  Or so I thought.

  As the days wore on and the thought of making progress against the darkness diminished, I felt it, too. But I fought it. I transported into the surrounding cities, sometimes convincing one of my companions to accompany me, if only to alleviate the pall that hung so heavily over us. The practice was good; I was becoming more skilled, and more confident as a r
esult.

  It was good for another reason, too. I could see the mountains from the perspective of the villagers and city-dwellers. I could speak to acquaintances from our earlier stay and gather insight into what citizens thought was happening at the source of the ongoing storm. And all was not doomed, yet.

  The mist of the mountains still served as effective camouflage, and mountain storms were too frequent to have caused too much suspicion, yet.

  But the fact remained that Garrett and Money would rarely be persuaded to practice, much less approach Garrett’s family property and try to weaken the growing presence there.

  Eve was the only constant. Her light was unflappable, and we all clung to her cheer like it was a life raft. And I caught she and Garrett now and then, practicing quietly, Eve smiling and chattering to encourage him and Garrett trying in order to please her, if only in a diminished way.