by Diana Estell
Is she glad I’m here because she likes me, or am I just an unexpected visitor helping to pass the time away? Well … she looks happy. That’s what counts.
She leaned back on the couch, kind of looking at nothing with a deadpan stare. “My parents died in a car accident when I was fifteen. A head on collision caused by a drunk driver. They died instantly.”
Light rain pattered the house as a few tear drops fell from her eyelashes.
“I’m so sorry, luv. Can I hold you? I want you to know you are not alone.”
She said nothing but scooted next to him. Dagon placed his arms around her. He smelled her hair and closed his eyes.
“I have only one sibling, a sister, Catherine. She’s four years younger than me. When our parents died, we moved in with our grandmother. Then, when I was eighteen, our grandmother died. My sister moved in with my dad’s only brother and his wife. She lives in Romeoville about thirty miles from here. Not that far, but I haven’t seen or spoken to her in years because of … being hurt … well … you know, from sadness.”
Dagon said nothing but held her tight. Some things in life require a silent presence, and in many ways, this described him; silently looking for her, a presence unseen though there.
“I would encourage you to reach out to her. I believe it would help you.” Dagon pushed a hair from the corner of her face.
“I know you’re right. It’s just … it’s been so long.”
“Time is irrelevant, and I’m not just saying this because of the world I come from. Family and time move together even if separated. Does this make sense?”
“I think it does.”
Even for a Seraph, it was hard to know what to say and what not to say. Maybe the language of his body holding her would speak volumes.
“My sister and I are my parents’ only children, and my grandmother only had one child, my mother, so when my parents and my grandmother died, my sister and I received equal shares of life insurance. That is how I purchased this house. I always loved this house. When I was little, my parents would take us on Sunday drives through old neighborhoods in the area. This house made a deep impression on me. The white color of the house looked innocent, hopeful. I wondered what family lived here or could a new family live here.”
“Do you have any other grandparents that are living?”
“No. I never met my dad’s parents. They died when he was young, and I never knew my mom’s dad.”
In a brief time, Mary shared deep parts of her heart. Losing her parents and her only grandparent three years apart broke his heart. All this suffering for what, power? So not worth it. His love for her? Worth everything. Now the deadpan stare made sense. Still, something felt off. Maybe being new to relationships caused him to read into something which wasn’t there.
“You know, I have a thought,” Dagon said.
“What is it?”
“I know the hour is late, but would you mind if I share a memory of my past?”
“I would love that.” Mary perked up.
“I believe this will help soften what you shared, and, baby, you have never been alone.”
Whether from what he said or from something else, her body and mood changed, so he began telling her one of his memories from his vast existence. Time is irrelevant. Both of them moving as one.
14
The Well of Souls Desire
“I was in Delphi, Greece, in 328 B.C. though we didn’t call it that back then. The very place where, legend has it, that the Golden Land and the Second Land, or Earth, would meet …”
“328 B.C.? How can that … in Greece?”
“I know, it’s ancient.”
“Well yes, but you were there?”
“So, antiquity aside, the issue for you is how can I be here yet had been alive that long ago. Is this it?”
“It’s hard to believe … it’s hard to take in.” Mary scooted to the edge of the couch and placed her hands under her thighs. Her eyes narrowed and focused in the middle of the room.
“You said you would love to hear a memory …”
“No, it’s not that. I don’t know … all this still is … well …” In a flash, Mary adjusted her position on the couch and stared point blank at Dagon. She slapped her thighs. “Seriously, 328 B.C.?”
“Mary, you know I’m half Seraph, and I’ve existed …”
Mary waved her hands back and forth in front of her shoulders. “Yes, I know, but processing this supernatural stuff is hard.”
Dagon opened his mouth and Mary held up her hand. “And for the record, I want to hear your memories.”
Dagon smiled. “I understand. This human stuff isn’t exactly a cake walk.”
“I guess it wouldn’t be.” Mary put a hand on his lap. “So, what happened in Greece in 328 B.C.?”
Dagon kissed her cheek. “My goal was to visit the Oracle of Delphi, whom I believed to be a fraud, but I hoped would offer me information on when I would meet my beloved. That is you, Mary.”
A stray tear streaked her check, which she wiped away.
“So, in a long line, in the hot baking sun, I waited to ask the Pythia …”
“Who’s that?” Mary asked.
“After answering this, let me continue, ok?”
Mary nodded.
“The Oracle of Delphi was a shrine dedicated to the Greek god Apollo, and the Pythia was his earthly mouthpiece to impart divinely-inspired answers to patron’s questions regarding their fortunes.”
“Interesting.”
Dagon liked her simple response to the goofy ancient fraud. “The hot sun of the day was relentless; the line moved very slowly. To pass some time, I made up a parable and shared it with some men standing next to me.
“A priest came upon three men who gazed into a well. The priest told these men this was ‘The Well of Soul’s Desire.’ The priest then asked the first man what he desired.
“‘To be the wealthiest man on earth.’”
“The priest bent over and gazed into the well. ‘Your desire is granted, however, to be the wealthiest man on earth you must give your money away.’
“The first man stared at the priest in stunned disbelief and left mumbling to himself. ‘How can I be the wealthiest man on earth by giving it all away? I desire the well to dry up.’
“Then the priest asked the second man what he desired.
“‘To have fame and glory.’
“Again, the priest bent over and gazed into the well. ‘Your desire is granted; however, you will soon die.’
“The second man walked away in disgust at what the priest told him and said, ‘I will die soon? How is this fame and glory? I also desire the well to dry up.’
“The man walked away carrying a spear and shield, off to battle in search of fame and glory.
“Now the third man looked nervous when the priest asked him what he desired. The man pondered all that happened to his friends then spoke. ‘I desire to have the water of life pour forth through me, so I can live forever.’
“The priest smiled. ‘Your desire is granted.’
“The third man did not hear the priest speak, however, at which time the man leaned over and gazed into the well. Whereby, the priest pushed him into the well and a loud thud could be heard as his body hit the bottom of the dried up well. New water consumed the man, pouring forth from him, bringing water to all. Now the priest marveled at this and yelled down.
“‘The well sees the hearts of men and granted your friends’ deepest desires, thus the well dried up, but you have it all. Wealth, for the giving of water; fame and glory, for people will come near and far to drink from the wonders of these waters; and your desire to have the water of life pour forth through you and live forever. Though you meant your desire not for good, good it will be, and forever you will live.’”
Dagon paused, and Mary started to speak. He held up his right hand, silencing any of her questions, ideas, suggestions, or comments, at least for now.
“I must give you the meaning o
f my parable. The first man wanted to be the wealthiest man on earth, but he knew not what true wealth was, so the priest’s words were but a curse to him. His deepest desire was known, the drying up of the well, thus denying others happiness.
“The second man wanted fame and glory, but he knew not the cost of fame and glory, for to gain it all, you must risk it all while knowing full well your death cometh soon. This man wanted to live long and reap the rewards of fame and glory without paying the price for the immortality of it. His deepest desire was also known by the drying of the well.
“The third man was yet wise, for he thought before he spoke; but like the previous two, his heart was his judge, and he was found guilty. Yet the judge pardoned him and let his life bear a witness to all, by the giving of water to all who thirst. His life will then live forever, a constant reminder to himself for the price of selfishness and the solution for it.
“Go ahead, step right up and have your fortunes told. You never know, you could become the wealthiest person on earth, have fame and fortune and glory, or we could be drinking from your waters, toasting a cup to you. Goodness knows I could use some water about now. It’s hot out here.”
Mary laughed. “Dagon, that is amazing. How long did it take you to come up with that?”
“It was all impromptu.”
“Really … amazing.”
“Is there anything that jumps out to you about the parable?”
“Love and selfishness.”
“And … what love and what selfishness did I reveal in the present?” Did she get it right?
“I’m not good at twenty-one questions.”
“I only asked two.”
“Oh ya … well …”
“The love is …”
“Me. I’m the beloved you wanted to ask the Pythia about?”
“Yes, and the selfishness was my desire for power and the curse I desire to end.”
“I see.” She slowly nodded as her gaze drifted across the room.
“Do you?” He doubted she fully understood. How could she.
“Sort of. Did you ever meet the Pythia?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Well, what did she say?”
“The line kept slowly meandering through a small narrow path, which led into the temple where the Pythia resided. Priests, whose souls desire wealth, fame and fortune, and not water but wine. All at the expense of the poor souls who waited eagerly. Beautifully carved statues lined the path. These statues were tributes given by the wealthy in honor of Apollo. These brazen priests lined their own pockets and filled the temple’s coffers.”
“Dagon, what did she say already?”
“Oh that. Mish mosh hibble jibble, that’s what she said.”
“You couldn’t understand anything?”
“Sort of.”
“Sort of what?”
Being alone for so long, he dragged the suspense out, but he didn’t want to make her mad, just curious.
“If time is moving, then why are you here? For your answer lies beyond, not far, but near.”
“Is that what she said?”
“Yep.”
“How could anyone understand anything with that?”
“They can’t, and that’s the point. The double cryptic meaning is a sure-fire scheme to keep the money flowing by having the customers come back again and again.”
“Then she didn’t help at all.”
“She kind of did. She was no more clairvoyant than I expected. True, she did not know when or where I would meet you, but still, I took it to heart. Deducing you were in fact real and out there somewhere.”
Mary leaned into his arms.
“What happened to the person who killed your parents?”
“He’s in prison.”
“What prison is he in?” inquired Dagon.
“He’s in Statesville in Joliet.”
Dagon kept listening with a poker face though he was grief-stricken and angry. Mary told him that she had seen the man at his trial, and she described what he looked like.
Dagon shifted his attention inside the prison, listening intently for anything regarding the criminal, but it was in vain.
“Mary, it’s getting late. I’ll come back tomorrow in the morning hours if that is acceptable to you.”
“I would love that.”
Dagon hugged her goodbye, and Mary opened the door. He glanced over his shoulder at her several times before he melted into the darkness.
Mary fought the loneliness of night. Her mind reeled from everything she learned. Desperately she clung to the immortality of love and how Dagon placed the image of her into his heart, shielding her from Savila. This outweighed everything else, strange, scary, or otherwise. He was her knight, her superhero knight. Everything in her life had been preparing her heart for him. Night after night when she was little, he would be in her dreams running as if on a treadmill, rarely covering much ground for how fast he appeared to be going. A few nightmares involved kids bullying her or a cruel teacher singling her out in class. In front of a dry erase board she would stand and sweat, the marker in her hand quivering. The teacher would belittle her, telling her she would be less stupid if she studied. Most of the students felt sorry for her, but at the time, it felt like the whole class laughed at her. Perhaps Dagon’s presence, his body wrapped in light caused the mean kids to unanimously shut up, their postures stiffening in their seats. These dreams made Dagon appear like Mary could almost touch him. Only a few short years later and her dreams will become hideous in comparison. Like always, Dagon was there, letting her know in some way she was not alone.
Dagon wasn’t alone either. He didn’t have to be or do anything for Mary to love him, she just did. Deeply, her heart ached for him, not only because of the things he showed her, but also concerning what she couldn’t see. Dagon was larger than life, though small too, his knowledge of human life being miniscule. The image of Dagon picking up that massive sword like a twig, contrasted with his fragility. Not only because of the outward wounds, but in his reaction after telling her that he couldn’t leave his original home.
One thing which kept crowding her mind besides his feeling trapped was his loneliness. How could he be lonely for over a million years? If that’s the case, that’s sad. Ok … does it really matter that I’m in love with a man who’s older than the dinosaurs? He doesn’t look that old. She now saw the impulsive taking of a first aid class as a part of her being able to help Dagon. Somehow this made her think how youthful her parents had looked when Dagon’s sword plunged into them in her dream. She wasn’t sure exactly why. In youth, all things seem possible, a clean slate of life. Maybe there was a connection between her parents and her present situation.
Now in her bed, she desired to place herself in front of Dagon like a shield of armor. He had placed himself in front of her, protecting her from the dark, cold, stifling place, and she would do the same. Maybe I can help him with his curse, whatever it is. With the unburdened mind of youth, she dreamed of Dagon more vibrant than ever before with the immortality of love.
15
The Ninja
Magethna and Dorian made their way up the stairs and into Mark’s room. Mystil and Raglen greeted them.
“The boy sleeps,” said Mystil.
Sure enough, Mark slept sprawled out, snoring lightly.
“What a lovely time we had,” said Magethna, as she reached inside her pocket and took out a pink quill.
Dorian looked at the quill in wonder and asked, “What sort of bird has pink feathers?”
“I decided that I should write with flair and what better way to write, than with a pink quill? I think everything should be pink.”
“Wouldn’t that be a strange world to have everything pink.”
“Not to me.” Quick scratches of her quill moved along thin ivory pages.
“Or me,” said Mystil with a big grin on her face.
“Guarding Mark. Guarding Mark. Guarding Mark. Guarding Mark.” Magethna spoke aloud a
s she filled in each day. Her quill paused as she wrote silently and solemnly, “Awaiting word about how Mark will end up in the presence of old.” Only the scratch of the quill on the paper and the quiet tick of Dorian’s watch made any sound now. “Guarding the Bennett house.”
Pondering and planning occupied Dagon’s mind as he walked toward his bench. Dagon’s boots barely made a sound on the sidewalk as he strolled along. The bandages comforted and yet restricted him at the same time. Had he not chosen a pact with Savila, none of this malevolence would be happening. But then, he never would have known Mary. The rain stopped, but his boots still splashed in darkened puddles.
As he approached his bench, Dagon walked past the Seraphs and saluted. Dorian stood still with no visible reaction to Dagon’s presence. As usual, none of the Seraphs returned his salute, but Magethna gave him a smile.
Dagon plopped down on the bench, his heart-break hotel. He tried hard to not tell Mary about the Abyss. He couldn’t keep stalling on this—she would eventually find out. His mind spun, and his boots dripped, which irked him, for they hadn’t been cheap, and he thought Mary liked them. His boots reminded him that he needed to take Mary dancing. They would get their groove on and dance the night away someday.
The Seraphs began to sing, and Dagon listened. He enjoyed it, for even though he had other emotions competing for his attention, for the moment, happiness won. He reckoned that maybe Mary wasn’t sick of him. But maybe she had only cleaned his wounds because she felt sorry for him. Still, he would take what he could get. He sat back on his bench and enjoyed living in the light.
With every good image, a bad one followed close behind, including a conversation he had had with Savila when they had walked out of the First Land.
“I think we committed treason,” said Dagon
“No, you aided an enemy of the Golden Land. I re-ordered the law.”
“How is that not treason?”
