"Well, perhaps taking ownership over the poor way in which you behaved is your only solace?" he proposed, while leaning forward over the podium. His voice tender and sweet. "Sena. Hendrix is just as imperfect as the next human, but you know her not to be a foolish woman, right?"
Cris wasn't sure about that, but he was certain that he was tired of this conversation. He turned back to the Keeper of the Halls of Sorrow and said, "I understand, and I do accept and forgive myself."
Russell looked him over for quite some time, surveying his face and body language. Cris didn't think there was chance in hell that he'd believe he truly understood that easily. But he figured it was worth a shot anyway. Russ rubbed his chin. Deep in thought about the eager and impatient man standing before him. "I believe you," he said without question.
"You what?" Cris blurted out, surprised.
"You may not know why you were so wrong in your actions, but still you question your own knowledge of yourself. This is what I seek. Not finite endings, but new beginnings for those with their imperfect secondary soul intact," his voice suddenly became serious and stern as Criston looked on with a glimmer of hope shining in his bright blue eyes. "You may now enter through the gates of Eterna."
There were nothing but clouds behind the Keeper, yet somehow, a gate emerged out of that nothing. A sparkling emerald gate. The light was blinding, but Cris was ready for anything at this point. He half-covered his face as the light intensified, and then he began walking as Russell motioned for him to move onward ... into eternity.
<*>
He was informed of so much that he couldn't keep his head on straight. "So, you’re telling me that the Great Eight, those who created the Worlds I come from, have total control over Eterna."
"No," Russell said, pursing his lips and tilting his head. "Not total control, and certainly not all eight."
"Well, then how many are we talking!" He was frustrated because he felt in over his head. Sena. Hendrix had only pretended to give him all the information she actually knew. Russell attempted to explain to Cris why she was such a secretive woman, but he was raised by that woman. So, that crap wasn't going to fly with him.
He was now glad that he, once again, prevented Hendrix from confronting Corinth as the boy's grandmother. When she brought it up back at the dorm, he quickly substituted her news with the fact that his new fate forging hand would make it very easy for them to see Julia again. They wouldn’t have to wait for her to build a new gate. Hendrix was disappointed, but chose to respect Criston's decision. She felt like she had undermined her son's life enough. He’s a man now, so she wouldn't intrude on the choices he made on Corinth's behalf.
The emphatic Russell interrupted Criston’s thoughts abruptly. "Well, there's the usual five who are making all the trouble. The one from Hyperborean is obviously aligned with the side of good. The ones from Lirio and Arco haven't yet declared their allegiances." Russell spoke tentatively. Once again, Cris' body language was giving him away.
"Assuming they have allegiances," Cris said. Russ shook his head in understanding. "They could be in it completely for themselves, or waiting to be swayed to either side."
"Swayed, you say?" the Keeper didn't quite get the insinuation.
"Yeah," he retorted like a cop. He sat in a wooden chair with his legs stretched far apart. His macho stance was a dead give away to how inferior he felt to those he was up against. "They could be waiting to be paid off, you know." He took a sip of the drink Russ had given him.
Russ watched him carefully as he consumed the beverage whole. "And I'd assume, though I'm no officer of any laws, that we wouldn't want the help of those that can be swayed by monetary values alone."
Cris threw his finger up, pointing out Russell's assumptions as reality. "Precisely!" Cris snapped. "There's no guarantee anyway. If we pony up the cash, or whatever dead guys value, we'd assumedly be trusting them. Then the other side offers them more. Well, now they’re just undercover spies in our midst."
He gently tapped the mug on the oak wood table in Russell's old style home. That was his way of asking for more to drink. Russell smiled politely, and lifted the mug without even touching it. It glided along with him into the small kitchenette, just a few yards away from the sitting area.
"Perhaps, some other refreshments are in order. Food of any kind can be ready before you can say; yes, please!" Though old and withered, he smiled like a young, lighthearted gentleman.
"You're really kind," Criston told him in a breezy tone. "I've always loved a good double cheeseburger and fries." As soon as he said fries, a bell rang. DDIINNGG! It was more like an unbearably loud buzzer.
Out of a microwave looking machine, Russell pulled a cheeseburger and fries ensemble. He didn't actually touch it, but it levitated with the guidance of his nearly transparent hands.
Cris watched him put together the meal for him while behind the tiny counter. Everything was painted mustard yellow in the kitchenette and living room. The floor had a nice and plush beige area carpet in the middle of the room. The two sofas were covered in plastic. Just like at his grandmother's house. He remembered that as he rubbed his hand across the couch beside the chair he sat in. All this centered around the large oak coffee table.
Cris ate and drank quickly. He didn't want to waste a moment. "So, do you know Gavin?" Cris asked Russell with ketchup falling down the side of his mouth.
"Yes, I do," the pale fellow retorted.
"How, exactly?" Cris asked, barely allowing any breathing breaks between bites.
"Well, he's my brother, of course!" Russell said, in that ever cheery voice of his.
Cris was surprised. He didn't realize Gavin had any family. He thought he was like a ghost or something. Not born, nor would he ever die.
"So, who are your parents?"
"Well," Russ paused, putting a finger to his mouth. "That is an infinitely complicated question."
Cris kept chewing as he said, "I'm all ears."
"Okay, then!" Russell seemed quite pleased to have someone to talk to. It had been so long since he held a conversation with someone who wasn't simply denying that they did any wrong during their lifetime. "See, the Keepers are in an order. A rather secretive order, I might add. We oversee things that human-kind can't oversee or structure themselves. The watchtower that Gavin holds vigil from has been there for ages. As you may know the half of, he is posted there to look for troubles that could potentially bring about the end of human existence. It was constructed before humans themselves were created, for that very purpose. My post is more evident in that—"
This intrigued Cris as he took another sip from his mug. While putting it down he interrupted. "Wait, how can that tower be that old? Better yet, what existed before humans did?"
"Well, haven't you heard the stories?" Russ asked while putting his transparent hands on his hips.
"What stories?"
"You humans call them ... uh ... myths!" he shouted, after finally remembering.
"Sure," Cris started, "but we call them that for a reason. They aren't supposed to be real. They're, sometimes fun, but always imaginative stories people made up over time. Mostly, because they didn't have any realistic answers for what was happening around them."
"Oh!" Russ exclaimed. "Is that what that word means?" Cris looked at him like he was crazy. "Most people scream when they walk through the Halls of Sorrow; 'the myths were true, they were real!' Or something or another like that. I was always bewildered by this as I watched them on that television set there." He lifted a finger and pointed to the large flat screen TV mounted to the wall adjacent to the plastic covered couches. It was about the only modern thing in this very small apartment looking abode. "Well, not all your myths are true. Naturally, people will exaggerate the stories overtime. Likewise, adding on things they think make them more interesting, invigorating, and enduring. But many are based in truth."
"Wow!" was all Cris thought to say. "I hadn't realized that at all." He dropped his two layered burger on the
plate. It flopped a bit, forcing the plate to shudder against the wood. Russ watched as Cris searched his mind for some type of reasoning. He had just learned something that would forever change his perception of life.
"Do know—that overtime, humans lose a great deal of information. They are all too quick to forget, let alone direct themselves away from repeating the disasters of their past. But if history teaches us anything, it is to know when to act, and when to peacefully step aside," his voice grew bizarre and dark with every coming word. "How many wars will be waged before someone realizes that we all lose in the end."
That was the first time during their conversation that Criston heard any deep emotion radiating from Russell's voice. Now Russ’ body language gave him away to Criston's emergent keen eyes. They both sat there for a moment, trying to soak up the reality of what they knew was to come.
Then an alarming sound broke their brief silence.
"HOWLLL!!!" ... A dramatic pause came between the first and second earth shattering screech. "HOWLLL!!!"
"Oh my!" Russ grabbed his chest and spoke in a grave tone. "It seems you've overstayed your welcome." Cris was confused. He looked around, as if there were someone else in the room that Russell could have been talking to. "Time to go, friend, time to go now!" Russell waved Criston toward the door. Cris stumbled off the wood chair, falling onto the floor.
As he got up, he questioned Russell's fearful state. "What's going on? What was that howling sound?” He shouted as Russ continued to push him toward the rather small front door. The black and yellow frame of the screen door held tight as the netting of the door busted open with Cris pouring through. "Hey!" he yelled, falling backward onto the emerald road outside Russ' humble mustard-yellow house. Still, the house was encased by a walled-in flower garden surrounding Russell's door, with the rest of the road just over those very rose bushes.
"I'm sorry, Criston," Cris noticed the differences in Russell's body language. Well, what resemblance to a body he did have. His translucent skin seemed to be dissolving even further into the background image of the home behind him. He looked down at Cris on the ground and stretched his disappearing hand forward.
"What is this?” Cris asked. He was staring at a folded-up, beige sheet of paper that had not a single phrase on it.
"This map will guide you across Eterna and beyond!" Russell was rushing his speech.
He wasn't making any good sense to Cris. What the heck was beyond eternity? That's what Eterna represented after all. Didn’t it? How could there be something more than eternity?
"Tell me, Russell!" he begged, taking the paper from his hand."Tell me what’s going on, and maybe I can help."
There was no use in arguing. He had made up his mind. His white cloak clad body continued to dissipate into the thin air around them. He was nearly gone when he whispered with the winds once more to Criston.
"If you hope to make it out of here alive, never stay in one place for too long a time. You are still among the living, yet you consort with the dead. They use the howling hounds to sniff out your scent of breath. Know well, that the dead need not to breath. Criston, please stay safe. These characters aren't known here for showing mercy."
That telling message gave Cris none of the answers he wanted. But it told him that he needed to get out of dodge, before these so called, howling hounds, sniffed him out.
While sitting on the smoothly paved emerald road, he took a quick look around. His recon revealed a great deal. Too much even, which he figured was the perfect setting for a little imaginative magik.
He put his glowing purple hand in front of his mouth, as he heard more chilling howls calling in the distance. He saw nothing but gray skies as he looked out beyond the far edges of the colorful emerald road. Russ' yellow house stood out, but not by far. There were many colorful houses lining the long winding road. Reds, blues, oranges etc. And the road was lined on either side with silver bushes. They looked to Criston like they were sprinkled with pixie dust. But he had no way of knowing whether that existed in the afterlife. He was sitting just in front of those bushes on Russ' side of the road, when he made a bold choice to deceive his pursuers.
"Spiritus Capere," he whispered with the hand of fate idling so close to his face.
His hand lit up a steady violet, as he used his magik to pull a blue lit thread out through his nose. His nostrils flared up and he gritted his teeth, trying not to yell out. The pain wasn't too bad, but it tickled him. And he’s a ticklish fellow, so he wasn’t nearing a scream… he wanted to laugh from the thread brushing the sides of his nose as he slowly tugged on it. But that would divulge his position to the hounds, Cris figured. He didn't know exactly how perceptive they were, so he was better safe than sorry.
The thread was finally out. Cris gazed at it like it was something he'd forever miss. And it was. A piece of his spirit captured, now clutched between his fingers. He used some of the passing winds to encase his breath in a perfect violet colored sphere. He then got up to his feet, and threw the violet orb of his breath clear across the low rooftops of Russell's former home. It landed in the small backyard, on a very plush and well kept tomato garden.
While the air bubble trapping his breath inside it lay in its final resting place, Cris breezed across the emerald road like a track star. He had been feeling a lot more athletic since all this trouble came about. He had a certain confidence in his speed now. He ducked down and hid behind the bushes on the opposite side of the road. He thought that he could give them the old slip and slide, while they searched for his breath of life in the back area. He'd gingerly tiptoe away, right from under their noses.
He stayed low. He didn’t want anyone one, or anything to notice him. The silver line of bushes wasn't perfect cover, but it was all he had. He tried to stay as still as possible. He didn't want anything peering through and seeing him wiggling around like some five-year-old having a tantrum on the grassy grounds. He kept listen and continued to hear howls coming from the opposite end of the wide road. But nothing showed up. He thought, perhaps Russ had overreacted. Maybe they hadn't come for him after all.
After a few agonizing minutes, he poked his head out to take a look. He wasn't prepared for what came next.
This screech was different. Not only was it louder and more terrifying than the howling, but it was also all too familiar. Cris looked at his hand, as it reassembled his skin cells over it to cover up the true nature of what lies beneath. He didn't want that thing to see his hand sparkling like a beckoned call over to him.
It roared louder than he remembered. The flying jungle cat was back on the scene. It walked on the ground, while some daring fellow straddled its back, making it look even more imposing with the contrast of human to beast. The guy was just a dirt spec on top of a mountain to Criston's line of sight, from behind the bushes. While he laid flat to the ground, all he saw was the monster that used its lightning tongue to tear apart those majestic, friendly firebirds.
Multiple hounds surrounded it, as well men draped in oversized burgundy velvet cloaks. The hooded cloaks were so large that they covered the tops of their heads and had much extra material hanging over. It seemed like it would block their view, but they moved around emphatically, with a sense of purpose. The extra material on the bottom revealed nothing. It dragged across the emerald road along with the persons covered up inside.
Cris hoped that they'd get caught on something then trip and fall, cracking their skulls open. Then he’d just have the beast to escape. Though the thought of tangling with that monstrous beast was no more promising than the cloaked figures he dared to trip over themselves. But when the first guy, holding back a leashed dull orange hound, kicked in the unscreened front door to Russell's house, he knew that wouldn't be the case. They moved very easily fully draped in the massive overcoats. The yellow door had already lost its screen, and now this guy went ahead and clear lifted it off its hinges. The door fell flat to the ground, as the other orange hologram hounds anxiously sniffed around the perimete
r of the one level house.
He wondered from across the road, what is it exactly that they're looking for? Was it him? Perhaps Russell? Or something he'd yet to find out about? Russell seemed to think it was both of them. So, he didn't want to just go over there and try to introduce himself to a massive half-tiger, half-dragon creature. He figured, the less they saw of each other the better.
He didn't know why he was waiting around for them to figure out his escape plan. So he started escaping. He turned himself around steadily. Not knowing why he decided to lay flat down, facing the way he had walked into Eterna through the gate. He wasn't leaving just yet. And when he did decide to leave, he'd just use his portals, not the gate that had long disappeared since Russ brought him through it.
Sena. Hendrix had already informed him that he couldn't travel through Eterna by those means. He didn't understand why, but he didn't see any reason in questioning her. She only told him what she wanted to. That's how it always was with her. Though so many secrets locked up inside like that can drive a person mad. He giggled as he righted himself toward the end of the road. He knew his mom had long crossed over the bridges of insanity. He covered his mouth quickly. Mistakes like that could compromise his entire mission. Then Sena. Hendrix would really have something to complain about.
Original Souls (A World Apart #1) Page 27
