by T. M. Lakomy
She hesitated briefly on the porch, then entered, taking in the layout of the house with a swift, sweeping glance. It smelled familiar, like things she knew but could not place, and certain odors recalled the fragrances of home. The house was full of the sweet, homely, dusty, and fresh tinges that carry memories of sunny seasons and bygone times. It had a stillness within it that echoed the slumber of dormant trees, mellow and patient, beneath its burden of time.
Estella entered and the door closed behind her. The ethereal aura that lingered from the Twilit paths dissipated like a dream in the fog, and the twinkle in the old man’s eye was the only ember left of the fay world to remind her of where she was. There was a hearth burning merrily, and its flames danced in the shapes of humans and animals, twirling and intertwining. Nana mewled contentedly by the fire. The furnishings were simple and bare, roughly carved of dark wood, the only ornaments being jars of dried fruits and pickled berries haphazardly scattered around in glistening glass jars. Her host beckoned to a table modestly, and she obliged him, sitting as he hummed to himself jovially and threw a bundle of dried tea leaves into a kettle. Thin and tall, he resembled an elderly elm with sinewy fingers and long limbs. As he leaned over the kettle, his thin frame seemed translucent in the dim light of the little cottage.
He placed the steaming mug of tea before Estella, then sat down on a nearby stool, expertly tucking his long, white beard away into his belt. As Estella gazed into his eyes, trying to read his thoughts, she found herself meandering into her own mind. There she strayed into her own dimensions of ideas and flights of fantasy, till he winked enigmatically and the spell was broken.
Amazed at his subtle sway over her, she asked, “I see before me someone wise and old, who seems to hide many secrets, or better still, holds answers to them. Maybe you can tell me if I am lost?”
The old man chuckled heartily with knowing in his eye. “What do you think you see before you, Tsura? Is not your sight the most troublesome of gifts? I think you can look so far into the empty vastness of the heavens that you’ll find yourself detaching your sight from sanity in the great end of things. Beware, for sight does not give you all the answers you may seek. It reflects the fragments of the endless broken mirror whose shards will one day pierce you blind.”
His tone was gentle, but his eyes burned with a dark passion that crept over her like a shadow and enveloped her in a tide of confusion. Looking into his eyes, she found darkness, the infinite darkness that is the well of everything. But she defied it smiling, for she had already faced the worst.
“Come into my garden. Look at all I have cultivated and wept over. Not all salt is barren, and not all that’s nurtured grows.” The man left his stool and waddled towards a door that she had not noticed till then, weathered as it was. Curiosity stole over her, and she followed him as he swung the door ajar. It opened onto a garden lit by the plenitude of the full moon. The cascading white light denuded the garden of its color, swathing it in a silvery glow.
Estella stepped into the garden tentatively and heard the creaking door close behind her. When she turned around, she found herself alone. The old man was nowhere to be seen, and the only companionship she had were the numerous trees and the flowers opened to the starlight, expanding before her vision as it adjusted to the strange, luminous greyness of the garden. Everything seemed uncannily mundane. She walked around, scanning her surroundings for anyone watching, then she surreptitiously kneeled to inspect a rosebush. The white roses were fragrant and beautiful, but as she touched them, she pricked her fingers. Frowning, she quickly withdrew her hand.
With more care, she circled the garden, eager to discover what was unusual about it. The flowers were blossoming and thriving, the trees were silent and did not respond to her touch nor call, and the plants seemed in a reverie—cold and near dead, their souls wandering in forlorn regions even farther from this perfidious domain suspended between the heavens.
The grey light made the garden look faded, and the tranquil silence, so pleasant at first, began to seem unnaturally heavy to Estella, and filled her with foreboding. Her uneasy footsteps were intrusive upon this timeless place where nothing moved or breathed, and she found herself tiptoeing lest she disturb some slumbering being. At length, when she was well near tired of her fruitless search, she chanced upon an apple tree. It was tall, bearing fruit the same silver as the rest of the garden. It seemed to radiate subtle hues of green and red, and she extended her hand towards it carelessly. She did not pluck from it, for she knew not what could be the price of anything done in this place, but inspected it carefully.
“This is the apple of all apples,” came the voice of the old man filtering through the branches of the tree. Estella crooked her neck to find him, but he was nowhere to be seen. She shrugged, scrutinizing the tree thoughtfully.
“Let me reveal to you something, Tsura of the farseeing eyes,” the voice continued. “There was never any tree, nor any garden, and that fabrication has been the most lucrative force of deception wielded over you mortals. Look to the stars for the truth, for the world shall change and another darkness smother creation, but the immortal stars weave their tales infinitely from their heavenly sphere.”
Estella looked up to the skies and saw the stars wheeling above, more radiant and beautiful than she had ever seen on mortal planes. She stood transfixed like a pillar of marble soaking in the immense and immeasurable glory. A fine rain came down, and like drops of silver it fell, and she smiled beatifically.
“In this game there are pawns great and small,” said the voice. “Some are wondrous and others fell, and in their rivalry many get lost to darkness. But I know many things and believe not in death but in rebirth. Here I shall give you your freedom, regardless of whether you would take it. Look up!”
Estella tasted both warning and danger in his words. Startled, she sought him furtively, but neither the verdure nor the voice yielded any clues. Wary of his intentions, she hid behind the thick bowl of a tree. The heavy silence rolled over her crushingly, and she felt as if the garden begrudged her presence.
Time passed and when nothing moved or changed, she decided to try to find a way out of the garden and back to the grey road. Stepping out from her shelter, she noticed that the rain had stopped. With an instinctive reflex she looked up to the flowering stars. The rain had indeed ceased, but instead sharp looking particles of glittering white were falling swiftly. She looked away too late.
A shocked, agonized scream rang throughout the silent garden followed by thrashing, wild footsteps. The trees shook, awakened from their muted spell as their leaves and branches were slashed by tiny particles of glass. The garden’s pain resounded with Estella as it was shorn of bough and petal. Estella pressed her bloodied hands against her bleeding eyes.
The old man clung to the door, bowed in shame and sighing. In a cold world where he nurtured goodness, he often found himself dealing out bitter but necessary remedies. And often he was forced to use deception, for it was a good panacea and made the task easier.
He knew Estella had ceased weeping now, so the pain must have subsided. Then she was sure to discover that she was not blind, but that her sight had been excised. Now she would no longer be a danger to herself or others. And she would have also lost her appeal as a pawn for the chessboard. Well, he corrected himself, she wouldn’t be of any use in this chapter of life, not until she reincarnated. He had merely bought the world a little more time.
Nana was on the porch, and her baleful, reproaching eyes drove stakes into him. He shooed her away angrily, but she had already disappeared, undoubtedly bringing news of what he had done to the gods. It was sure to incur their displeasure, and perhaps their enmity, but he did not mind. He fumbled in his pockets and pulled out a battered old horn. It was a long hunting horn, blemished and old. Taking a deep, weary breath, he blew on it hard. It ripped through the silent garden, slicing away the shroud of tranquility that had lain over it like a lid.
“Hurry up,” he grumbled to h
imself, and slammed the door moodily behind him.
26
TWILIT GODS
You whipped my flesh with words in barbs
And watched the furrows of streaming blood
For you came to me in the guise of angels in all garbs
Just to trample my spark in conquest into the mud
THE SHOCK THAT SLICED THROUGH HER BODY WAS LIKE FIRE AND ice coursing through her veins. Searing hot agony dripped acid into every bone, and every particle of her soul felt like it was being torn apart by shards of ice. Estella was dimly aware that she was weeping, but could not muster the strength to ascertain whether it was blood or tears. It felt as though the glass had entered through her eyes and slowly descended into her body, filling her limb by limb, and leaving a bloody trail of torturous burning. She screamed as one whose entrails were on fire, feeling a million cuts of glass excoriating her innards and bleeding them out through her eyes. She had never anticipated the betrayal and devilry of the old man, and she cursed his name with every renewal of her torment.
Then the pain suddenly ebbed away, leaving her body contorted and shaken, riveted with tremors and half sobs. Estella feared to open her eyes, unwilling to be confronted with the dark reality that her eyesight was gone or face the mangled mess that had been made of her. But she girded herself with a grim determination and opened her eyes tentatively. As her eyes fluttered open, the pain renewed, but it was a much milder ache this time. The moonlight dazzled her sore eyes, and she hiccupped in amazement. There was blood mingled with tears upon her dress, and the garden was as it had been before, unchanged in its appearance save for the weighty silence that had lifted and the new deposit of slashed leaves and flowers on the ground. The trees were awake, and moths and strange butterflies surrounded her head like satellites, flitting in the greyness of the light.
Many insects came out, buzzing and twirling in a welcome cacophony of sound, some landing on her shoulders and staring at her with strange eyes. Her sight was clear, but she felt different, as though the dissipating pain were not truly gone but ingested, dormant and ever present. She blinked many times, carefully averting her sight from the sky. Then she tried to lift herself, wincing with dizziness, and leaned against a tree for support. Furtively, she looked around her for the traitor. Her fear was great, and quickly she darted away deeper into the garden, thinking to find its end and depart. Only then did she realize that the garden was another illusion. It was a forest that had been tamed to take the semblance of a garden, and the farther she went the wilder and more unruly it became. Then she knew beyond a doubt that she was irredeemably lost in its wide domain.
A sudden weariness dealt her the final blow. Leaning against a broad tree, Estella wept silently. In the endless starry night the trees echoed her sadness, whispering to her songs of their past. She longed for her home and the solace it brought her, even amid the chaos that had wrecked her life since Mikhail had entered it, leaving ruination and damnation in his wake. But she was no longer bitter against him, for all were pieces on the great chessboard. And she yearned for someone to lend her companionship and safety, like in bygone times Antariel and Mikhail had offered her.
Estella was so lost in her dismal reveries that she did not heed the forlorn sounds of a ghostly flute reverberating winsomely through the forest. It had woven itself assiduously into her thoughts and memories, seeping into her breath and heartbeat with an ethereal equanimity. Still, she was unaware of her enchantment till her tumbling thoughts began to hum along with the sound of the flute, and she awoke suddenly to her senses. The faint notes seemed distant, and she wished to follow them, but the sluggish movements of her body were unyielding to her desires.
The wonder that lingered within the subconscious of her people was awake, and she felt a tenderness for the song as it sailed towards her like a vast ship of memory. A few branches broke in the distance, and her mind painfully snapped back to reality. The woods moaned and the bushes sighed as something brushed against them and moved with deft precision and ease—no doubt one who was accustomed to these parts of the uncharted worlds. The flute took up its suspended tune and capered back to her like a flock of birds, enveloping her with subtle warmth and trepidation.
Estella scanned the expanse of darkness before her searchingly, then dropped stealthily to her knees behind a tree as the music rolled over her, its notes hanging crisply in the air. Softly, small flowers that were slumbering began to open and glow, expelling a sweet odor. The gloom lifted drowsily as little lanterns started to glimmer with a pale golden light among the tree boughs, forming a path through the forest.
Movement out of the lingering shadows to her right alerted her to another presence—an elk watched her with tender brown eyes. Whence it came, she could not tell, and but for the brief intermittent blinking of its eyes, it was motionless. Then soundlessly it broke into a graceful gait, coming towards her majestically with clusters of butterflies perched on its ivory antlers. It approached a tree with a low hanging bough and artfully lifted a dangling lantern with its antlers. With its docile, intelligent eyes fixed on Estella and the golden light glistening in the warm darkness of its gaze, it came towards her. Estella extended a hand to it trustingly, and it nuzzled her briefly before tilting its head insistently. She took the lantern from the elk’s antlers. Then it nudged her again, the same placid look in its eyes.
Estella rose to her feet as the elk led her, tilting its head occasionally to ensure that she was following. It led her down the lantern-lit path while the music quickened. The path was a golden ribbon of a road with the numerous flowers greeting the golden light coming from above. Estella began to forget her sorrow and weariness and the vagaries of fate that had uprooted her from the world she loved. The pain was lifting, and so was her heart, and it eased her rambling thoughts. Soon she was walking with sprightly steps by the side of the great elk, whose silent eyes were watchful and deep.
Then the flute ceased abruptly and Estella cried out in surprise. She felt her somber thoughts fall back over her like a mantle or a net wrought of thorns. As she wiped away her tears, through her clouded vision she saw the elk break away from her, with each step dissolving into the ether. She looked around disconcertedly, unsure of who or what was baiting her. Then, to her amazement, beneath a great tree laden with lanterns she distinguished an elf, who clapped his hands felicitously at her. She had never seen one up close before. Once, during a childhood fever, she had briefly glimpsed their argent diadems while wandering the woods, seeking to cool her enflamed mind. She had felt the pull of their lordly eyes even through the throes of her delirium and the alluring fantasies it conjured.
The elf was seated cross-legged beneath the tree. He wore black suede boots and leather trousers with a dark green silk shirt. The shirt was girt with an elaborate jeweled belt upon which hung a long knife with a filigree hilt that held numerous pale gems. It was half hidden by a velvet cape of black and silver like spun shadow. The elf’s face was singular and captivating. His almond-shaped eyes were large and emerald green, and they had a sharpness and detachment that radiated nobility and deep wisdom. The brows were high and arched as though they were unaccustomed to frowning, only ever lifting in amusement, and the curves of his lips, quick to laughter, were in a perpetual half smile. His pointed ears protruded from beneath long, pale gold hair woven with intricate braids and jewels. It was held back by a thick, beaten gold circlet that dipped at his brow and held a sparkling emerald. The hands that held his silver flute were delicate with long fingers, and he twirled the musical instrument dexterously. But most striking of all were the magnificent pair of ram’s horns that grew out of his head and curled behind his ears.
Estella was speechless as she nervously tugged at her loose curls, waiting for the elf to make the first move. After blinking impassively for several moments, he jumped to his feet. Unhooking one of the lanterns swinging over his head, he brought it before him and blew onto the dancing flame. Immediately the tongues of fire broke into a multitud
e of butterflies with luminous wings, and they flitted ecstatically over his head. He shooed them away crisply in Estella’s direction. Then he stood before Estella smiling.
Estella felt unnaturally compelled to blurt out her mind. “You’re even more splendid than I ever imagined!” she began. “I ran once as a child mad with fever chasing your people. But now your music led me to you,” she said abashedly, dimples appearing in her cheeks. “I do hope I have not strayed too far from the right path,” she added, his silence beginning to make her uneasy. His benevolent green eyes flashed chidingly at her as he leaned against a tree, lazily crossing his arms.
“I do hope you weren’t one of those hapless humans that stalk us blunderingly through the woods,” he replied teasingly. “I wonder if other creatures ever try to ambush your species as they stroll around minding their own business.” Mischief glittered in his eyes as he reveled in her ever growing embarrassment. “You know there is no right path here, or there, or anywhere. This is one vast maze of intercrossing paths that lead to everywhere and yet nowhere, and it has its own will, too.” He smiled at her while appraising her with his cunning eyes.
“I happen to be caught in everyone’s games but my own,” Estella sighed. “My guess is that you are also party to that web of deceit that had me strung along like an unwitting fool!” She snorted impetuously and turned her back on him. He detached himself from his languid repose against the tree and with uncanny swiftness grabbed her by the arm.
“Let go!” she said coldly, but despite her feigned indifference a sparkling malice rekindled in her dark eyes.
“Oh, but I cannot,” he said, mildly apologetic, his eyes narrowing. He pulled her gently towards him, pushing her chin up so her eyes met his. “It would not do to lose your company so swiftly after contriving my finest melodies to soothe you.” He affected a low bow and held out his hand to her, as though inviting her to dance.
