She wasn’t particularly happy with herself; with hardly anytime left together, she could have at least tried keeping her eyes open. Her short rest had cleared her head though; the pain that had been slowly building was receded - not entirely gone, but not promising anything either.
Her father got to his feet. It looked as if the movement pained him. She felt fear grip her heart.
“Is it really time?”
Even as she asked it, she already knew the answer, and her father knew she knew, so he didn’t say anything.
“Which way?” she said, sombre now.
He looked around him. “This way,” he said, after a minute.
They walked in silence. He was still in pain. He was doing a good job at hiding it, but his thread told her everything.
She wanted to say something, but couldn’t think of anything good. Everything felt either dramatic, or cheesy.
Her father seemed to know where he was going, though she was sure if she asked him the destination, he’d draw a blank. He was being drawn there.
Eventually they came across a small, modern, wood-built house. Her father chuckled. “This is what I always wanted us to live in. You know, before.”
They walked in. Inside was the typical, cluttered, family house. Here, the dining table covered with flowers and papers; there, a TV with a stack of DVDs to the side; over there, a stack of sneakers messily piled up. Everything was slightly out of its place. Toys littered the floor, toys she recognised from her own infancy. The walls were adorned with pictures; of her as a baby, as a little girl, of the three of them - happy family pictures, showing something that existed only as a desire.
She turned to face her father, her throat all choked up. She’d never really understood the depth of his love for them until just then, how much he’d given up to be a Shepherd, and how much he wanted it back. He didn’t see her looking, he was so absorbed with the room. This was the first time he was seeing it, she realised.
“I guess I should apologise for the mess,” he said, amused. He walked through the room, picked up bits and pieces to look at them. “I remember that day,” he said, waving a photo absently at her. “It was the first day you went to school. You mother was in tears before you’d even finished your breakfast.”
He paused at each one, relishing the memory it brought forth, the story behind them. She kept silent, letting him have his moment. His time was here - she could feel it - but perhaps if she said nothing, the moment could be pushed back a little further.
“Ha! And this one -” he turned to her, his face a delight. Years later, when she thought of him, she’d picture him in that moment, happy, lost in reverie. He saw her face. She tried to smile for him, but it didn’t quite work out. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” she said apologetically, nodded quickly, sniffing.
He replaced the photo with care, in exactly in the place where he’d found it, stood back, and looked slowly around the room, drinking it in. This was his dream, his wish. “I guess I’m ready then.”
She turned away from those eyes, for she knew she’d never be able to open the door otherwise. As it was, she was having a hard time achieving the necessary clarity of mind. She stood uselessly in front of the door, before she felt her father’s hands on her shoulder.
“It’s okay,” he said, resting his forehead against the back of her head. “You’re doing the right thing.”
She closed her eyes. It took her a long time before she could see the other door, as if her subconscious mind was trying to work against her, to keep her father there. Eventually, it solidified, and she gripped the handle. With a heavy spirit, she heaved it open.
The bleak, grey sands yawned at her; seemed to suck her forward. The very thought of sending her father through there made her quail. There was nothing there, and she was sure it extended into infinity; nothing but blackness and coarse, grey sand.
“What do you see?” Her voice was hoarse, shaky. This would be the first time for him that a door had opened to show something different. Tell me you see something good.
He took her head in his hands and kissed her on the forehead. “You, kiddo.”
It was real now; it was really happening. Back when she was younger, when her grandfather died, she’d passed the wake without really feeling anything, puzzled at the tears from everyone else. It was only at the sound of the first shovelful of earth hitting the coffin that it’d become real to her. Her grandfather had passed, and she’d never see him again. It was like that all over again, but a hundred times worse.
The tears were flowing freely down her face now. “Please, don’t go…”
Her father’s eyes were wet, and his stubble rasped against her cheek as he pulled her into a hug, the last she would ever receive from him. “I don’t belong here anymore,” he whispered into her ear. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to see you grow up, kiddo, but I’m glad you’re here with me now. I’ll always love you, Aisling. You’re everything I could have hoped you’d be. Don’t let anyone ever say otherwise.”
And he let her go, and she felt cold, and her heart wrenched in her chest as he stepped over the threshold. The thread that she’d always felt in the back of her head, even without realising it’d been there, snuffed out. She felt as if a piece of her had been ripped from her body.
He looked back at her, raising his hand to his mouth to blow her a kiss. He already looked healthier on the other side. Then he turned, and walked on.
She kept the door open long after he’d left the pool of light that fell through, hoping to see him again, hoping he’d come back. Knowing that it was a fool’s hope. The room behind her was too quiet, too empty, and already fraying at the edges.
Her father was gone.
22
She walked, dazed and lost in her own thoughts. Like a tragedy that came about without any warning, she was still trying to process it, trying to adjust to her life that had been irrevocably changed in such a short time. She felt lost, adrift, no longer anchored to the one sure thing that she’d known since she’d been here. She kept wanting to say, No, I’m not ready yet, I still have so much to learn, but to whom could she say it? Without realising it, she’d learned the lesson that marked the transition from child to adult; there is no-one in control of her life except herself. She didn’t have to ask permission from anybody; they were all making it up as they went along.
As she walked, the inhabitants of Limbo came up to greet her, each seeking something from her in return; a smile, a kind word, reassurance. She had nothing to give, and wished they’d all leave her alone. It wasn’t right; she was the master now, but her achievement was tainted with melancholy and felt meaningless to her. One by one, she brushed by them without a word, eyes unseeing. There would be a time for duty, but it wasn’t now.
She needed to get away. Without stopping to think about what she was doing or how she was doing it, she stepped into the air, pushed off, and flew. With her mind blank, instinct took over. She willed herself up, higher and higher, discovering that humans were surprisingly adaptable to flight. She read the eddies and currents like she’d been doing it her whole life, using her hands like fins, rolling in the buffeting winds, spinning this way and that, but always upwards to that multi-hued sky. The people, and their wants and their problems, dropped away, their threads fading from her mind, leaving her blessedly free to think of nothing, but just delight in the wind pulling at her hair and whistling in her ears.
She flew higher, feeling the air change, becoming less dense. Below, the ground was a patchwork of colour; so different from what she’d normally see on maps and pictures. Here, there was no artificial grid imposing on the land, marking civilisation from wilderness. There was only the pure, organic flow of nature from one region to another; the way it should be.
She flew higher.
The air stung her exposed skin, and she concentrated, warming a bubble around her. Above her, the sky darkened. Around her, the horizon started to curve slightly. She had no idea how big Limbo was -
the same size as the earth that it served? All things considered, they’d only ventured into a tiny portion of it. She turned that thought away as it led to pain.
She flew higher.
Here the air was thin, and she had to concentrate again, condensing it around her, giving her enough to breathe. There was no wind. Everything was utterly silent. She stopped, sitting cross-legged in the air. She felt as if she balanced on the edge of a coin. Above her, the sky was black, lit by a million, billion stars and nebulae, brighter than anything she’d ever see on earth. Below her, the curved myriad of colours, life, duty, responsibility.
Both halves were starkly beautiful in their own rights, though one promised release, while the other a future. She knew that if she flew much higher, she’d just drift off into the frozen expanse. Perhaps she would split into uncountable atoms and disperse in all directions, and her aura would continue to journey and travel among the stars.
The idea had a certain attractiveness to it.
But her body would slowly waste away without her spirit.
She looked down. She thought she could see how Limbo intertwined with the real world. At once inside it, while at the same time encompassing it. Borders didn’t exist here; there was no concept of countries. In the end, everyone’s the same, she thought.
Even from this great height, she could make out the world tree. It stood at the centre of everything; the cog that drove the world. She could see the top of it, but she was sure that if she went down, it would go from being very tiny, to passing up and out of her sight in an eyeblink.
Just the sight of the tree brought back memories of her father. And there it was, that pain that she’d been trying to forget. It dug deep into her heart, and each time she thought it was as bad as it could get, it deepened further, until it felt overwhelming. They’d had some good times there, he’d taught her much and more, and it was where she’d last met him, sitting back with his head against the trunk, as casual as could be.
There was peace to be found there.
She looked up again at the vast expanse above her. She made up her mind, and dropped down.
She landed lightly. From the moment that she’d entered its zone of influence, she felt calmer, at peace. Sunlight cast a golden hue everywhere, refracting rainbows in the moisture that covered her from her descent, until it seemed like she was sparkling. The tree stood before her, ageless and permanent; to move this tree, you’d have to move the world.
She wondered just how much influence it had in the real world. It was found throughout religion and mythology, that much she knew. Was it responsible for conscious thought? Had it just been waiting for the right species to come along to gift them the ability to perceive and question and search? Did it connect all the realities? Was there somewhere in the world where you could sit, lean back, and experience the same flows of power?
She walked up to the bole, her feet vibrating underneath her. She turned outwards. Moved to the left a bit. Sat down. He’d been sitting right here - she brought her legs under her - just like this, head back, eyes closed…
The tears were coming before she could stop them, if she’d had an inclination to. Here, she could imagine touching him again, knowing that he’d shared the same space not so very long ago. If she hadn’t have overreacted, if she hadn’t have run… no. There was no use going down that path. She sat back, soundlessly weeping, rubbing her hands through the grass on either side of her.
A small thump on her leg brought her head up. A golden apple had fallen into her lap. If there’d ever been an iconic image of an apple this was it; perfect proportions, clear, crisp skin, a short stem adorned by a single luscious, green leaf.
Excellent, I get to write my own Principia now, she thought wryly.
Her father had, for all intents and purposes, lived on these for the last few days of his life. She bit into it. It was as sumptuous as the first time she’d tried one; each mouthful filling her immediately with warmth and happiness.
By the time she was finished, sucking on the core to get every bit, her tears were gone, and she was more alert and less depressed. Enough to think a bit about the future. She’d have to go back soon, though she didn’t particularly want to. The real world was drab and grey compared to Limbo, and to leave now would feel like closing the door on her father; something which she wasn’t quite ready to do yet.
Someone’s going to have to tell Mam, she thought. Someone’s going to have to find his body, which was an altogether grimmer thought. He’d never even told her where in the real world he was. He might not be found for weeks. Months. She felt sickened; he deserved better. But there was nothing she could do about it.
She rested her head against the ridged bark. The tree continued its enormous heartbeat regardless of what she thought or was going through. Life goes on.
A wave of power beat down, and she let her mind cascade along with it, feeling herself whipped away from her body faster than she could think. Over and over the wave split along the roots of the tree, and her mind divided. Again the power split - along time, it seemed - running through the same roots, though in younger or older versions. She saw worlds and places and people, all overlaid on each other, all for merely a fragment of a sliver of time. Or times, as each sliver existed across all timelines, so skyscrapers shared the same spot as dense forest, as molten plasma, as something her mind couldn’t describe as it has no frame of reference, as nothing. Some glimpses, she wasn’t sure were real, or at least they belonged in a dream world. Or perhaps the religions were right, and there was something after life, and those worlds overlaid the others, so people shared spaces with the dead, and the yet-to-be-born, and the never-will-be-born; each affecting and interacting with the other without realising it.
On and on it went, pictures and perception flashing through her mind. She couldn’t understand or process the vast majority of it, and the rest left merely a fading impression of a memory, but it was a good thing. Humans experience only the most basic form of the mind, but this much information would fry it in all its forms.
She traversed the worlds and times, and slowed and eventually stopped. Then the great wave reversed and came flooding back to the tree, gathering with it fragments and information, much as roots would gather water and nutrients. The flow out was infused with life, the flow in, with data. Back it came, tributaries joining streams joining rivers, until it was raging along, barely contained.
It flooded back into the tree, and the breath was knocked out of her as her mind rejoined her body. For a split second, she felt like she knew everything, everyone, before it damped down and faded, allowing her body to restart necessary functions, like keeping her heart beating, or breathing.
Another pulse came shooting down and she let it go, allowing the vibrations to massage her tired body. She should sleep soon; with all that had happened today, she had over-expended herself again. But she didn’t want to. Sleep meant she’d eventually wake up. She sat, and later, watched the sun set, trance-like.
She felt something tugging at her; like a hook in her mind. It broke her train of thought. She’d not felt something like that before.
It came back, harder, trying to drag her out of Limbo. She resisted, pulling back, confused. It pulled harder, and this time her left cheek flashed hotly, and her name rang faintly in her head.
She understood.
She concentrated and looked behind her, and though she could feel her back against the tree, she was also sitting at the foot of the ornate door, with the dim reflection of her room swirling viscously. It was time to go back to her mother.
She opened her eyes, and felt like she’d just died.
Her mother was kneeling over her on the bed, her hand raised. “Oh, thank God, thank God, I was so afraid!” Her mother wrapped her in a tight hug, squeezing her to the point of pain. “You were just lying there, hardly breathing, I couldn’t wake you, I tried and I tried, but nothing was working.”
The panic in her mother’s voice made her feel guilty. S
he should have thought about what her mother would think, finding her again while she was off in Limbo.
Her mother grabbed her by the head, not unkindly. “What happened? Tell me what’s wrong, please, tell me.”
Looking into that pained, searching face, knowing what she knew and the news that was waiting for her mother, she cracked. She tried to talk, to tell her everything, but when she opened her mouth wracking sobs took hold of her.
Her mother was crying now as well. “It’s okay, honey, hush, it’s okay.”
But her mother didn’t understand, and it wasn’t okay.
They held each other.
23
When she finally woke, the sun was high and the sounds of a city in full swing were floating in through the window. She stretched, catlike; bones popping and sore muscles protesting. After coming back, she hadn’t lasted long awake, and despite her worry, her mother had finally let her sleep. Though this time, it was true, deep, recuperative sleep.
It was strange to wake up and realise she was without a father; the pain stung deeply, but she was done with crying. She had accepted it. The only thing to do now was to make him proud; to use what he’d taught her to become even better than he’d been. The night before had been a rite of passage. She’d come through singed and bruised, but she’d come through all the same.
When she went into the kitchen, her mother was sitting at the table, a box of old photos in front of her. She raised her head, and her eyes were red-rimmed and it looked like for all the sleep Aisling had gotten, her mother had gotten none of it.
“Aisling, I…there’s…we need to talk.”
Aisling sat down opposite her.
It took a while for her mother to mentally compose what she was going to say. She stared at the table between them, internal drama playing out across her face, before she finally braced herself and faced her daughter. She held Aisling’s eyes with her regard. “It’s…it’s about your father. He was,” she took a shuddering breath, pushed herself on. “He was found dead this morning, honey. Your father’s…I know he wasn’t the best man, but he was still your father, and he’s gone. He’s gone.” That last sentence came out wavering, and Aisling leaned over and gripped her mother’s hands. Her mother folded them on top of each other and encased them in her own.
Shepherds: Awakening Page 12