by M. Arcturus
“What are you doing?” Jarrah asked hastily. “You came here to dream, so start dreaming!” He then disappeared during a moment when the smoke became thick.
Oberon turned and stared at Zimbaja looking for answers, but the old man still had his eyes closed, and head lowered. He showed no sign of reaction to Jarrah’s ghostly appearance. Even the drummer, stilled his sticks, had his eyes averted, and head low. Then it dawned on him. They had already started the meditation, stilling their minds so the spirit could speak.
Almost in a trance-like state, Zimbaja started humming, and following suit, the drummer began making the drums roar with life. Once his mind became still, Oberon got up, and without any thought dug the heel of his foot down into the dirt and drew a large egg-shaped circle around himself just like he had been taught during practice.
He kept waiting for the moment when his body would break out into the steps he had rehearsed. Bobbing his head to the rhythm, he tried to find the pulse of the beat, which would inspire him to journey, but nothing was happening. His eyes fell on the old man. It would have been much simpler if it was just him. Even though Zimbaja’s eyes were closed, and his head low, he wondered when the old man would look up, and watch every move he made. Was he actually starting to feel stage fright? What if he screwed up the ritual? Would Zimbaja be there to critique him?
Oberon felt a hand on his shoulder. When he looked over his shoulder, his gaze rested on Jarrah’s ghostly form. “Your mind is too loud. Shut it off. Your body will never be free if you allow your thoughts to control. Fear is a feeling of the mind, not of the heart.” Thanks to Jarrah, it was obvious that he wasn’t done with his meditation. Sitting back down on his blanket, he started to still his mind.
As time passed, before he knew it, he had kicked his mediation blanket out of the way and was up on his feet, performing the first sequence of the dream dance. The whole event felt strange to him. It was as if he had blacked out. He didn’t even remember standing up. The drums started to get louder. The dance overtook him. Step, step, shuffle, kick, dodge, punch, the steps were strong and rhythmic. Dust from loose dirt started to fly up everywhere.
With his heart pounding out of his chest, the second and third sequence of steps washed over him like a tidal wave. Sweat dripped from every pore. His body started to feel heavy with exhaustion, and yet he felt so liberated. It was as if his whole existence had been waiting for this moment, waiting for his enlightenment.
After a few rounds of repeating the dance, he had to stop. The dust had become so thick that he no longer saw the circle he had drawn on the ground, the setting sun, or the stars up above—not to mention losing the whereabouts of Zimbaja and acknowledging the deafening silence of the drum. He had no recognition that the drummer had stopped. When did that happen? Did they leave him on his own? Out of the panic, he cracked a faint smile when he thought, was my dancing that bad? His mind started to race, and his stomach began to turn. He used every technique he had learned to still his mind. Once he mastered his thoughts, pulling taut on the mental reins, that’s when he felt it. Maybe stopping abruptly from constant movement was not such a bright idea.
Feeling dizzy and lightheaded, he put his hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath. His vision blurred and was replaced by a growing darkness accompanied by gold and blue sparkles. There was no denying it; he was blacking out. In no time at all, he hit the ground. Lying there, it felt as if his body was being sucked down into the earth.
Clack, clack, clack! His eyes winced each time the piercing sound called. Clack, clack, clack! He refused to open his eyes. The noise was bound to go away. Through his eyelids, he could tell that his surroundings were dark, probably right before the morning hours, but the shadowy forms floating over him were even darker. The sound of bare feet walking on grass encircled him. Soft, low humming started to get louder as it turned into singing, and yet the clacking persisted.
“Psst!” a voice said as Oberon shook his head trying to get the motivation to move. “Psst, Oberon! Over here!” Oberon turned his head to the side and managed to open his eyes.
Zimbaja could barely be seen hiding in a ditch. It was now obvious that the shadows floating above him were people walking past and over him. They were almost zombie-like, wearing pale yellow robes and carrying white candles. Clack, clack, Clack! Once again, his eyes winced with each sharp whack. In the few peaceful moments of listening to the people hum an enchanting hymn, Oberon had nearly forgotten the piercing, heart-wrenching sound; and to his delight, the humming was getting louder.
“What in blazes is that?” Oberon shrieked as there came another kind of racket. This one sounded like there was an old, rickety door being opened. Oberon could tell the door was gigantic for the moans and groans bellowed for miles. He lifted his head. Peering down his body and down in-between his feet, he spied what looked to be a stone gateway that stood miles high. Except for its size, it could have been mistaken for an arch from Stonehenge. A sliver of light tore vertically through the center of the dark landscape framed by the arch. As the crack consumed the opening, bright white light poured out momentarily blinding him. Clack, clack, clack! The noise penetrated his eardrums, this time temporarily deafening him. Whatever produced that horrid sound, it was nearly upon him. He sucked air in through his teeth, trying to get past the pain in his ears.
“Will you get over here already?” Zimbaja’s voice was urgent. “The drummer is the forerunner of the soul reapers. If they mistake you for the dead, you will be finished in the physical world. They will drag you kicking and screaming into the light if they have to. Get up and get over here!” Before Zimbaja had finished his last sentence, Oberon had jumped up and hopped into the ditch beside him.
“Don’t you think some of what you said was overkill? You had me at the words ‘soul reaper.’”
Zimbaja buried his head in his hand. “I should have told you to be discreet when moving over here. Let’s just hope they didn’t see you.”
Long bony fingers caressed the crest of the hill that had provided them with protection. There came a heavy sigh, which tumbled over Oberon’s chest, chilling him to the core. It was as if someone had put a freezer on full blast, and he was the lucky one to be the first to open the door. He felt icy drool land on his shoulder. Praying that it wasn’t what he thought it was, he slowly turned his head to see what was there. A dirt-encrusted decayed skull was staring him down, nose to nose. It hissed, baring its teeth. His heart jumped, nearly knocking him over. He scooted away on his butt.
He heard the clamor of chains, and a voice cry, “Get away from my father!” Pandora jumped onto the soul reaper’s back, choking it with the shackles that bound her arms together. “Father, go now! The other soul reapers are nearly upon you!”
“I will not leave you!” He jumped to his feet, looking around trying to find a blunt object. He glanced up at her, looked down at his hands, and figured if she could fight them off without a weapon, so could he. The other soul reapers were now at her back pulling her off of the first one. Oberon lunged into action. Appearing out of nowhere, another soul reaper stepped in his way. As he threw a punch, the reaper grabbed his wrist. Death escaped the reaper’s touch, slowly killing his arm, and it was spreading up to his shoulder. The pain was excruciating! It was as if the soul reaper had freeze-dried his arm.
Zimbaja ran at the reaper screaming a war cry. With a hefty stick in his hand, and using all of his weight, he clobbered the reaper’s arm. The reaper let Oberon go by dropping him to the ground. Frosty smoke rose from the brown-black flesh from the reaper’s grip. His arm was pretty useless to him now. He could only hope that outside of the Dreamtime, his arm would be as it was. Not worrying about Zimbaja, and ignoring the pain from his arm, he picked himself up and raced toward Pandora. As he approached, he watched with awe! She was so strong that they could barely contain her. No wonder they kept her in shackles!
Within arm’s reach of Pandora�
�s location, he instinctively turned his gaze to Zimbaja. Zimbaja was standing, eyes shut, nostrils flared, nose to nose with one of the ghoulish beasts. “They sure like getting in your face don’t they?” Oberon murmured, not expecting a response from anyone when Pandora spoke up.
“Yeah, I especially love it…” She gasped under strain, “When they breathe on you. As if their breath was…,” she gasped again, “minty fresh.” Oberon turned to see what she was doing. Pandora had all of them bound in her shackles.
“Wow! How much chain did they give you?”
One slipped out of the chain’s hold. Without the added tension on the chain, it gave the others enough slack to untie themselves. “Obviously, too much,” she replied trying to wrangle them back in.
Eerily like puppets with invisible strings, they finished untying themselves, straightened up and started to float toward them. In one big flash, they were all blinded. Oberon kept blinking until his eyesight came back. Pandora shook her head, trying to clear out the intense pain that the bright flash created.
“Are you okay?” asked Oberon.
“Yeah, I’m fine. What about the soul reapers?”
“Looks like they’re nothing but ash,” replied Oberon slowly squatting down and examining the new piles of dirt. Once he was satisfied with the examination, he looked for Zimbaja.
Zimbaja was sitting on his knees on a patch of dirt, not far from where Oberon had been dropped by the soul reaper. His hands were on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. To their surprise, the yellow ocher markings on Zimbaja’s body were glowing with a golden light. As Oberon helped the man up, he was shocked to see how young the old man looked. Oberon replayed the events in his mind. Was Zimbaja actually getting younger? Once Zimbaja had caught his breath, he seemed to be rejuvenated despite the energy it took to fight off the reapers.
“Are you getting younger?” Zimbaja was amused by Oberon’s question.
“In the underworld, those past a certain age regress to about thirty-five years of age.”
“Yeah, dad, I almost didn’t recognize you!” said Pandora with a giggle. Oberon would have killed for a mirror. Pandora continued, “I’m guessing you are a friend?” Zimbaja nodded in response. “What are those yellow markings on your body?”
“They are symbols of protection, but as you use them, they disappear.”
She gingerly looked his body over trying to see if she could tell where a symbol had vanished, but it was futile. There were just too many of them.
“You guys have no clue how much I would love to see what I look like, but can we go back to the moment when you said we were in the underworld? I thought we were in the Dreamtime?”
“The underworld is the starting point. To reach the Dreamtime, we go over there.” They followed Zimbaja’s finger pointing at a location way off in the distance to a transparent, pale purple, sparkling bridge that looked like it vanished into nothingness. From the other distance, they heard a deep horn sound, and on the peak of a nearby hill, they saw an armored skeleton riding to the hilltop on a dark horse.
“Hide!” ordered Zimbaja. They all took cover behind the nearest bush.
“Who’s that? What’s going on?” asked Pandora.
“Have you never heard of the grim reaper? He is the commanding general of the soul reapers,” answered Zimbaja.
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Oberon stated dryly.
“You have every right to be worried, my friend. He’s pretty ticked that we killed members of his rank.”
“Does he know who killed them?”
Zimbaja nodded, “Yes.” He sized Pandora up. “You must have news for your father. Otherwise, you two wouldn’t have run into each other.” Pandora nodded her head in agreement. “Then take your father to the bridge. Talk to him along the way. I’ll hold them off. Oberon, don’t wait up for me. This is your journey.” His eyes fell on Oberon. “Why the long face? I’ll be fine,” he said with a smirk. “Now go!”
As Zimbaja stepped out from behind the bush, Pandora grabbed her father’s hand, and off they went. “Last one to that big rock by the bridge is a rotten egg!” shouted Pandora over her shoulder. When they reached the rock, Pandora sat down on it to catch her breath. Her body was becoming transparent.
“What’s happening to you?”
“I’m being called back to Avalon.”
“What?”
“You know, reincarnation.”
“But what about the light, weren’t you supposed to walk into the light?”
“Not this time around. I was able to talk the ancients into sending me back early. It doesn’t really matter if I make it into the light or not. My life has restarted.” Oberon didn’t like the sound of that. He was glad that she was going to be reborn, but the thought of her being held by a different father sent jealousy to his core.
Through clenched teeth, he asked, “Who’s your new father?”
“You are, silly!” With a circular wave of her arm, she opened up a round window in the sky allowing them to look in on Avalon. There she was, the Lady of Avalon glowing with pregnancy. Her hand was on her belly as she gazed half-panicked out of a palace window.
“When is this going to take place?”
“It’s happening right now. I’ve been traveling between here and there for almost nine months.”
“She wasn’t pregnant when I left! I’ve only been gone for a month!”
“No father, she was pregnant. She had just conceived. That’s why I need to talk to you. Something is wrong. The speed of time on Avalon no longer runs slower than the time of the human world. It’s running faster, much faster. By the time you get back home, who knows how much time will have past.”
Oberon looked away from the window only to witness his daughter fading away. “Goodbye father, I’ll see you on the other side. You know I always liked the name Nualah Hecata,” she said with a faint smile.
“No, wait!” It was too late. She was gone. The next thing he knew, he heard a woman screaming. Looking back through the window, it was the Lady giving birth. Guilt gripped him, and he felt useless, for she had to give birth without him. Sadness tore him apart. He wanted to be there for her. The sound of a baby crying and a brief showing of the baby was all that he was able to see before the window faded the same way Pandora had opened it just moments before.
There was no changing history. His goal was now to journey as quickly as possible and get back before he missed out on life with his family. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another golden flash. Zimbaja had disappeared, returning to the material plane. The grim looked and pointed up the hill at him. This was the perfect time to start his dreaming. Without a moment to spare, he darted across the bridge. As the grim approached the bridge, it trickled down into the darkness like falling rain, tearing away from the earth. Oberon had to hurry before all of the bridge fell out of existence.
He lunged for the dream plain just as the last bit of the bridge fell away. Hot tears instantly ran down his face. Not in a million years did he believe that he would react this much to seeing Pandora again. He had been blocking his tears for so long. After the sea ensnared Pandora, he went home to Avalon only to discover he had to reclaim his Kingdom. Now that the war on Avalon was over, the grim was out of reach, and the bridge leading home was gone, he was able to let it all go.
Hating to admit it, he had been using the physical activities of the war with Queen Mab to block out Pandora’s death. When the war ended, he used his trip to the devil’s land to learn the walkabout as a new means to push away the pain of losing her. Oberon brushed the remainder of the tears away. Remembering that she had been reborn, he needed to collect himself and continue his journey. His ultimate goal was now to make it home as quickly as possible.
He looked around the world surrounding him. It was as desolate as his own soul. Wind whipped around the loose dirt on the desert fl
oor. Rock formations jolted up out of the ground. The sun sat low on the horizon as if wondering whether to set or rise. Far off down the dirt road, there was a large rock where a plump black figure sat. The figure adorned a loose garment that flapped in the wind like a flag. Oberon rubbed his eyes, trying to focus his vision.
As he neared, Juron looked up, “Well hello, fancy running into you out here!” Juron eyed Oberon heavily. “At least you’re taking good care of that body of ours. It’s a shame that I always got the short end of the stick.” He added rubbing his big belly.
“I’m confused; I thought there was going to be more to do, and more to see on the dream plain, like gods playing war with each other.”
“You don’t see them?”
“Who is there to see?”
“The gods, of course!” he stated out of surprise. “Hmm, you must be vibrating at a lower frequency. A few more trips here ought to do the trick. Newcomers always have difficulty at first. Speaking of newcomers, how’s our little Pandora getting along?”
“I’m not sure. I haven’t been home for a while.”
“Off on one of your wild excursions? You know it’s going to catch up with you after a while. The Lady of Avalon is not stupid. If only you had my knack for emotion, she would be loved till the end of the world.”
“What do you mean? I do love her!”
“Lust for her, you mean. I might have been delusional while I was living, but an amazing thing is this life review. It clears the mind, and since we’re the same person, I see what you see. Unlike the others who come here, my life review will not be completed in one sitting. For the moment, all I can do is observe, watching all of your ill-fated moves.” Juron’s face grew dark, “I saw the way you looked at Campanula!”