The Rainbow Bridge and the Shadow of the Serpent: The Rainbow Bridge and the Shadow of the Serpent

by Sergio Pereira

  - Ok, let’s go.

  - Alright, but I want to take a little of this perfume with me.

  She plucked a flower from the middle of its stalk and tried to twist it to tear its biological structure.

  - Don’t do that. Leave the flower alone. It’s happy where it was born…

  Violet was too late. Two sounds could be heard simultaneously. One was human.

  - Ouch! I’ve cut myself!

  The other was coming from all sides; however, it was as subtle as a protest cast to the wind by mouthless beings – that’s why it wasn’t loud and the source couldn’t be identified.

  A trail of blood ran from her wrist. Stefanie hadn’t really noticed but one of the leaves had moved to defend the flower.

  She raised her wrist, where she saw a small cut. She was pensive while she waited for the bleeding to stop. She went to smell the flower again and, this time, she couldn’t smell anything.

  Violet watched, impressed. The bleeding just got worse. That little cut, because of some defensive property in the plant, wouldn’t heal. Stefanie pressed the cut and gave her friend a startled look.

  It was by pure intuition or pure imagination that Violet shouted:

  - Apologise!

  - Apologise? – snapped Stefanie, looking indignant.

  - Yes, apologise to it. Go on. Be quick.

  - To it? To the plant? To the flower? This is really starting to hurt.

  Violet ran towards the plants and flowers.

  - Little plant, little plant. She didn’t mean it. Little flower, she didn’t know. She likes you.

  - This can only be a nightmare. It’s not possible!

  The cut wasn’t getting better.

  - It has to be you.

  Stefanie felt some reluctance, driven not by disbelief, but by pride.

  - Go on, please – Violet shouted.

  Stefanie thought it was better to give in. She approached the plant.

  - Sorry if I hurt someone or something.

  - It’s the flower you have to speak to. They understand much more than we know. It’s always been that way. But in this world they’re much more sensitive than in ours.

  - More what?

  - It doesn’t matter. Apologise quickly.

  - Lady flower...

  Stefanie had never imagined that one day she’d be addressing a plant so formally.

  - ...forgive me if I hurt or offended you. Where I come from people pick flowers to put them in vases or give to someone. I didn’t mean any harm. Forgive me.

  Magic has no time or scientific reason to explain it. This case was no exception. The flower’s aroma returned to be exhaled and, again, a sound in the air – no longer one of protest, but rather one of harmony - could be heard. From the very flower that was going to be picked, a puff of pollen was sprayed towards the cut. Healing was instantaneous. Not knowing what to say, Stefanie stood still, in a state of shock.

  - Thank you, little flower. Do you believe in magic now? Let’s go, it’ll soon be dark.

  In silence, Stefanie followed her friend. The tropical almond trees and the mother-in-law’s tongues remained behind, but they would stay forever in her memory. A vigorous, biodiverse forest, like the Atlantic Forest, occupied the landscape and made the penetration of the luminous rays more tortuous and diffuse. The day was coming to an end and night wanted to fall.

  When darkness finally fell, they hadn’t passed anywhere they felt would be a good place to spend the night. But, to the surprise and delight of both, a weak but sufficient, alternating bioluminescence of some species permitted them to make out the way forward and proceed.

  The hours of night sped by and five of the seven Moons could be seen by those who were above the treetops of the forest, which was becoming denser and denser.

  Violet and Stefanie were tired. Some noises, which sometimes sounded like the howling of wolves mixed with the squeals of bats, ran quicker than their feet and reached their ears.

  The faint light wasn’t strong enough for them to be guided by the map. It wouldn’t be necessary, though, for the map was stamped on Violet’s memory.

  The temperature had fallen considerably, but the heat generated by the quick walking and the clothes made of magic fabric meant that they didn’t notice. Stefanie took off her shirt and put it in the backpack.

  At around eleven o’clock they saw a tree, whose trunk was about five metres in diameter. It must have been more than eighty meters tall. Leafy and with many branches, it resembled, though made of another type of wood, the ceboleiro in Manequinho Lopes Park.

  It was an inviting tree. It even seemed to have a face which would have a friendly expression – if it had a face. It wasn’t difficult for them to climb up, at least, some five metres to the first branches. Just as it wouldn’t be difficult for them, it wouldn’t be for some animal either. That’s why they decided to climb further up.

  They began their second ascent, in which Violet reached an upper branch, using her friend’s hands as a support. And then, from the upper branch, she extended one of her arms to help Stefanie. With an effort, they were far above the level of the ground. They hung the backpack on a knob on the trunk. Like two sloths, they lay face down on two large branches and fell asleep.

  - Don’t fall, ok?

  - I wouldn’t be seen dead...

  CHAPTER VII

  THE STAGE OF THE DANSE MACABRE

  Although Violet and Stefanie hadn’t noticed, the large tree was very near a circular clearing more than five hundred meters in diameter. How it was there and why was a mystery. The forest that surrounded it ended abruptly at the clearing edge and none of its countless seeds carried by the wind or any insect or bird germinated. Thus, nothing in this great circular area sprouted. Just very green grass covered it and nothing reached more than four centimetres high.

  Around twelve thirty, a not very dense mist occupied the clearing. Subtly, but gradually gaining strength, the tuning of violins and other instruments could be heard.

  Violet was the first to wake up. She opened her eyes and saw shapes and more shapes moving in the clearing and appearing in all directions.

  Her instinct told her to be scared and she obeyed at once. But the order from her mind to remain curious was even stronger than the previous order and so she, again, obeyed, looking for the best visual angle. Meanwhile, Stefanie woke up. Violet asked for absolute silence. It wasn’t necessary, for the first view her friend had was of many large, partially hairy bodies, balanced on two legs that ended in large paws, not feet. They had strong, long arms, whose hands would be considered human if they hadn’t had just four fingers, with thumb nails, and the other fingers like bear claws.

  They were beings of a species on the borders of humanity and pure animality. About three metres tall, they did not have human heads. There was no fur or a single hair on their exaggeratedly muscular thoraxes, but the rest was covered by white fur on some and brown on others. They had several names, but liked to be called Wolf Heads.

  These creatures dragged chains with heavy rings made to hold the heaviest men by the ankles. Apparently, the rings weren’t holding prisoners; however, desperate cries and shouts could be heard.

  They headed towards the centre of the clearing, where the shapes formed a group. As they got closer to each other, dark magic happened. Captive in the rings, previously invisible spirits began to materialize in suffering bodies, young, old, good looking, fat or thin.

  - Goodness! The poor things! This can’t be real.

  - What’s going to happen to them? Hey, where are you going? Are you crazy?

  There was no point in Stefanie saying anything else. Violet climbed down very carefully. She was followed and copied. Under no circumstance did Stefanie wish to stay alone or abandon that impulsive girl. The backpack was left where it was. She didn’t even think of it.

  Furtively, crouching, protected by the mist, they approached the centre of the clearing. They stopped when they judged it wouldn’t be prudent to continue. />
  What they could make out looked like a mediaeval painting of the Black Death. The chained beings were wearing clothes from several social segments. They were period clothes and reflected such different social positions as bishop, priest, king, countess, noble, ballerina, prostitute, teacher, soldier, shopkeeper, general etc.

  The first expression of those in chains was one of shock and surprise. They didn’t recognise themselves in the clothes, but, at the same time, they fit as if they’d been made to measure.

  The second expression was one of panic. They were standing before an imposing lady wearing a great black cloak with a heavy hood. Her face was barely visible, and what could be seen of it revealed that her expression showed no aggressiveness or any other sentiment. The light itself was reluctant to illuminate the face of she whom everyone feared to meet, but whom no one could escape facing one day.

  On that night, as on every night, those who were there as prisoners did not know that in reality they were afraid of themselves, because that lady made them remember constantly their own lives and unfortunate choices.

  Those there had to answer to the Fairy Queen of the Death of Art. Neither good nor evil, she was the Fairy Queen of Renovation. But few knew this. And even fewer were aware that the intensity of the fear felt when facing her was directly proportional to the amount of artistic talent wrongly utilized in life.

  Who they really should have feared was the queen in the recently arrived second cortege. Violet knew her from long before. The Girl with the German Piano had never forgotten, from the time when she had travelled at eight years of age to the Kingdom of the Seven Moons, the two columns of strong rats, the size of pit bulls. They were even bigger and now that her vision had changed as she had grown, Violet recognised even more the evil in their eyes. The two large, circular beds were even larger and still held objects and desires perceived in a specific way, according to the perspective of the observer.

  At that moment, where Violet saw appetising fruits, Stefanie saw champagne and jewels. However, they both saw plenty of clothes, chocolate truffles, and toffee apples.

  Besides the giant TV, the beds were home to every type of electronic communication device imaginable.

  Lying on the bed, the Fairy Queen of Easy Fame was still the stunning, seductive woman as always. It’s just that for Violet, her beauty recalled the true face of ugliness. The same could not be said for Stefanie.

  Not knowing about the two visitors hidden by the mist, the Fairy Queen of Easy Fame haughtily addressed the Fairy Queen of Death with authority.

  - You have no business here. A deal is a deal.

  - You could give them one more chance – uttered a funereal voice.

  - No! Forget it. A deal’s a deal.

  - They’re mine now.

  - But not forever.

  - For as forever as I can manage, and I will manage.

  - Let’s go, do your part of the show.

  It should be explained that it was only near the end of the Middle Ages on Earth when the Black Death broke out, which took thousands of lives, that people accepted the idea that everyone is equal in the eyes of death.

  Years later, in 1874, the French composer Camille Saint-Saëns was inspired by a painting called “Danse Macabre” and composed one of his masterpieces, of the same name.

  Now this symphonic poem was performed every night in that lost clearing in a corner of the Kingdom of the Seven Moons.

  At the command of the Fairy Queen of Death, a pianist and a violinist stood out from the others. They went to the centre and made their instruments soar in the mist. They were eminent instrumentalists who performed as soloists in an orchestra of shapes without form.

  Their pale faces expressed no sentiment. To the absolute delight of the Fairy Queen of Easy Fame, the others in chains were released from their ankle chains and compelled by a higher force to dance and dance against their will. As the music swelled, the frenetic movements became more and more pronounced. The ballet, with its macabre choreography, made them mere puppets on the Stage of the Danse Macabre. The disconnected choreography, full of unnatural positions, caused simultaneous exhaustion and remorse because, in a certain unknown way, each one of the prisoners was seeing and re-reading in accelerated time, but in perpetual motion, the impacts that their artistic actions had had on people in the Kingdom of the Blue Earth.

  In other words, although it was a collective ballet, each member had their own, unique torment within the criteria of the Law of Karma.

  - Hah! Hah! Hah! Hahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

  That was the echoing laughter from the mouth of the Fairy Queen of Easy Fame.

  - Aaaaaaaaaagh! Enough! I can’t stand anymore! Have mercy!

  There were so many cries from the others.

  - You are fallen artists! You met every type of demand on Earth. You owe me. I made you and I have you.

  The movements continued without stopping. But, unlike Camille’s work, the music played had the power to make time go more slowly. So, the more frenetic and rapid the chords and succeeding notes were, then the more the macabre ballet corps had no end to their suffering.

  The collective torment increased, when Violet recognised someone very much loved.

  - Where are you going? Stay here!!!

  That was the desperate voice of Stefanie, who couldn’t prevent Violet from getting up and running towards the centre of the clearing.

  CHAPTER VIII

  The ARGUMENTS

  - Let her go!

  Violet ran towards one of the dancers, who not even a thousand years of separation could let her forget. On hearing the girl’s voice, the young woman, or what was part of a tormented spirit, fainted. Before she crashed to the ground, she was caught by Violet, who rested the fragile face and head of the young woman on her lap.

  - Why? Why her? – she protested with uncontrollable indignation.

  General surprise. The sudden presence of a girl brought the Danse Macabre to an abrupt end. The Fairy Queen of Death did not alter her expression. But the Fairy Queen of Fame did.

  -You here again? You brought the game forward and didn’t tell me! How can that be? You should have let me know. Mmm. This doesn’t count! Whose wretched idea was this? – said the Fairy Queen of Fame.

  - So, you can be taken by surprise! That’s interesting and maybe a first – the Fairy Queen of the Death of Art retorted.

  - Shut your mouth, gloom-puss! I’m not afraid of anybody, Fairy Queen of Death or anyone else.

  - But you should be. No one, not even a Fairy Queen, is free of the chains they make themselves.

  - So go ahead, take them away from me, dearie. Chains don’t go with my beauty. And there’s more, you know you have to obey the End Agreement. Everyone does! They’re all mine now. There’s nothing to be done to alter that.

  The Fairy Queen of the Death of Art went coldly silent. At that moment, Violet was looking at her friend with such tenderness that she had forgotten about the danger she was in. Supported in her arms, a shape or spirit, apparently female, with blonde hair, remained inert. Hanna was unconscious.

  - Well, well, look who we have here. Surprise, my dear. What a surprise!

  - You witch! You’re not the Fairy Queen of anything. Fairies don’t do this.

  - But what a pleasant surprise, my dear –she repeated, tossing her sometimes red, sometimes black hair.

  - But why her? Why? She was always good. So good.

  - That isn’t always what counts when it comes to being here or not.

  - Witch! Witch! You’re nothing but a witch!

  - Mind your tongue, girl. Be careful...or it’ll rot and fall out.

  The Fairy Queen of Easy Fame seemed to grow bigger. Her eyes were bulging. Then it was possible to see her real appearance. The image of her true essence became visible. It was terrifying.

  Only the largest rat in her retinue kept up his rat smile with flashing front teeth. The others hid under the bed, fearful of their lady’s wrath. With the sudden movement of t
he rats, the huge, circular bed where the queen was, shook and made her a lose her balance a little. Steady once more, she almost fried her retinue with one look. Then she recovered her composure.

  - Be careful...I’ve already told you.

  - It can fall out for all I care. So, let it fall out. But why her? Not her. Please…

  - Well, because...she had two slip ups with fame, and now she has to pay. Everyone does.

  - But that’s not fair.

  - And do you happen to have something fair to propose?

  There was a deep silence. The Fairy Queen of the Death of Art was still almost entirely covered by the dark cloak. The other terrified prisoners waited, while the hairy two-legged beings with wolf heads looked at each other expectantly. A cold, bitter wind blew among the bodies of those there. It actually seemed that life and light were trapped at that moment.

  - So...nothing to say. I haven’t made your long tongue fall out yet.

  Violet remained staring at her in silence. A bead of sweat ran down her forehead. Her look was not one of an intimidated girl and neither was it decipherable, however experienced the observer. This was already irritating her interlocutor, who, for her part, managed to disguise her own irritation very well.

  - Do you want to set her free? Mmmm. Maybe. But then you’ll have to be useful to me. Agreed? I have to get something out of this. But I’ll also be very good to you. Have you ever imagined the classic pop or rock star you could be? Choose your genre, life and country. I’ll do the rest. OK?

  - Can I speak?

  - Of course, my dear.

  It was impressive how the Fairy Queen of Easy Fame’s expression altered so suddenly. No actor or actress, however talented or trained, could do the same. A few seconds beforehand, she had assumed her most seductive form. Then the pores at the nape of her neck exhaled a seductive cocktail of intoxicating pheromones that only few species of hot or cold-blooded animals would be immune to. Primates and hominids, including homo sapiens, are the most affected by it, mainly when they inhale it for a long time. The retinue of red, perfumed rats that supported the bed also recovered their composure.