by Kevin Gordon
my abilities, and how I should use them. While it wouldn’t be wise to bring every Rell back from the dead, I knew I needed to right some of my wrongs. I don’t even think I would be able to resurrect another person. I feel as though, more and more, the universe, or Kal, lets us do things sometimes, and prevents us at other times.”
“You’re speaking of divine intervention?”
Graid nodded, as he helped Wejholl up a narrow, steep incline. “I suppose. I believe it all goes in a motion that was set by Kal. Only when something threatens to disrupt that motion, does Kal become actively involved. Perhaps that’s how we were able to bring this world back near our home dimension. Perhaps that is why we have been unable to terminate Kolob’s life.”
“And what of more intimate matters?” pressed Wejholl, trying to understand. “Like how you happened to stumble on my home village. You can’t think that was coincidence, or some latent psychological directive?”
“No. I have begun to sense another presence, not nearly as powerful as Kal, but certainly associated with Kal.” He thought on Ilahon, whose identity seemed to fade in and out of his cognizance. “And often I come near to understanding and identifying this force, but then it grows distant, and unfamiliar.”
“Again, Kal becoming active?”
Graid nodded in agreement. “Possibly. But you didn’t answer my question. What of death?”
“I experienced something, something I was totally unprepared for. But I also have a very strong impression,” he said, his words speaking of a deep conviction, “that you don’t need to know about death.”
“Why?”
“Because you will never die.”
Graid stopped, looking hard at Wejholl. “What do you mean?”
A graceful smile echoed a subtle joy in Wejholl’s heart. “I wish I knew. All I do know, is that you will never experience death, as I, or other mortals know it. Whether or not you will cease to exist, I cannot answer. But when I was dead, I had some sense of all who had died, and all who will. And you were not among them.”
Graid abruptly dropped to his knees on the ground, feeling the weight of his destiny on his shoulders, on his very soul.
“Why am I so different!” he cried, his voice shaking all of creation, as he was unable to move forward. “There were times I felt great joy to have my abilities, but now, it feels as though I am destined for sorrow and pain. I feel as though I inherited some sin, that I alone must be held responsible for.”
Wejholl knelt beside him, to offer comfort. “I don’t know your fate.” He was pained to see Graid’s distress, and wrapped his arm around him, drawing Graid close. “I am so sorry to have upset you with my words! All I can say, is that so long as you live, I will never break the fellowship I have with you. No matter how dark things seem, you can always look to me for support and counsel.”
“Thank you, my friend,” said Graid, slowly feeling some life come back into him. “Maybe with a few more like you, Arciss, and Chelie, hope will return where despair reigns.”
They resumed their climb, though Graid seemed more distant and troubled to Wejholl. In those steps, he understood more of what the Kal-Alçon had gone through since his birth, and the unending struggles he would face until he faded from existence. After several droas, eventually reached the ridge of the range, and the great ribbons of color Graid encountered earlier rose in front of them now. Wejholl smiled, fondly reminiscing about many trips taken there in his youth.
“I see you’ve discovered one of our best treasures.”
“Yes,” replied Graid, awestruck. “It’s as if I’m looking into a nebula, standing here, watching whole stars and planets flicker into creation, then wink away.” Graid stood still for a moment, as the ribbons seemed to roar in front of him.
“Are you expecting something?”
“Ilahon told me of the unique properties of this place. I was just watching.”
Mist rose up from the ravine, swallowing the ribbons in a swirl of deep violets and reds. A sound could be heard, or felt, Graid wasn’t quite sure which, that seemed to resonate within him. He glanced at Wejholl, who nodded back, feeling the same thing. Graid felt a force pull him, saw a tunnel open within the mist, and he willingly succumbed to its thrall. They both walked through, and saw a figure ahead, shrouded in darkness.
“Who is that?” asked Wejholl.
“Come on.”
Graid struggled to see through the mist, with his mind as well as his eyes, yet could not sense the person’s thoughts or resolve any detail in the form. As he drew nearer, and as the figure turned, he understood. Wejholl drew to a stop beside him, pondering the significance of what was revealed.
“What does one ask of oneself?”
Graid stood before a reflection of himself, perfect in every detail. He looked as he did those many troa ago, when he first passed over the ravine. The old Graid nodded in understanding.
“I see something unexpected has happened,” he said, gesturing to Wejholl.
“Yes. I guess, I have found a great deal.”
He came close, the old Graid, and gleaned some of the thoughts from the new. He reached up his hand, as did the new, and their fingertips touched, and in that touch, their minds connected. They stood for a few moments, as Wejholl looked on in amazement. The old Graid suddenly pulled away, then moved through the mist to the edge of the ravine, which overlooked a bottomless abyss.
“I guess this part of you truly is gone forever.”
“The lessons I learned stay with me,” replied the new Graid. “My time with the Novans was necessary, as was this time with my own people. One should never be ashamed of one’s past. I was, once. But all it takes is one person to see all of your past and forgive you for it, or love you in spite of it, and it immediately becomes a part of you like not thought possible. Even terrible mistakes,” he glanced at Wejholl, “must be assimilated and integrated.”
“Do you still feel temptation?” asked the old Graid, looking off into the distance.
“Of course I do! But it will never control me, as it did before. I had such hatred inside of me, for myself, for my own people, I sought to destroy as much of them as I could. Now, a warmth fills my heart and soul. Friends and lovers fill what once was empty.”
“You still have much hatred for yourself,” he said, turning to face the new Graid. “I can sense it.”
“I can’t get rid of my past, only work to understand and embrace it.”
The old Graid stepped to the very edge, balancing on the lip. “I am your past. Let me take that part of yourself, that has corrupted you and only brought you shame. Let me die, and with my death, brighten your life . . .”
He seemed to float off the precipice, his body as light as a cloud. The ribbons enveloped him, as he seemed to disappear into their form. Wejholl followed the figure’s descent as far as he could, then stood mute before the Kal-Alçon.
“I wish I knew why this time is so different, why these experiences are so unique,” said Graid, looking off towards Piros. “There are times I feel guided by a force more powerful than anything I could ever be. And I know in my heart, I must surrender to its thrall.”
Wejholl couldn’t speak, so entranced was he as a witness to the travails of the Kal-Alçon.
“Come, my friend,” he said, smiling at the awe on Wejholl’s face. “There is much to sort out at Piros, before I head back to Novan for what surely will be the last time.”
CONTINUED IN A MEANS TO AN END
