“We aren’t dealing with Nick, anymore. You should go,” I whispered.
“You city faggots are sneaky,” called Nick from the highest window.
Before I had time to look up, he was gone.
“What’s he doing, Jeremy? What’s going on?” Robbie asked.
Nick soon reappeared with a lifeless old waif in his arms. “She’s who you were looking for?” he asked before letting Rita go. Limbs and costume jewelry flapped against giant raindrops before hitting the ground. A stream of blood and makeup joined the river towards the drain.
Robbie stood frozen in shock but I still commanded him to stay put before committing myself to the shaky iron structure above me. The fire escapes of old buildings are more for show than anything. They’re comforting to look at but if an evacuation were actually necessary, the sudden plummet from five stories above would kill people faster than any fire. I made my way up, slipping and swinging like a contestant on a televised obstacle course. Nick watched from above with a grin so evil, it couldn’t possibly belong to anyone but an escapee from Hell.
For his amusement, he shook the ladder just enough for me to lose my footing, but not fall. He didn’t want to kill me that way. He wanted flesh on flesh, like he’d done centuries ago. I’d be tortured more than the first time he put me in the grave.
He was waiting in Rita’s dim apartment. Her collection of multi-colored hurricane lamps illuminated our faces like stained glass. I could see the toll my cousin had taken on Nick’s body. His eyes were bulged and bloodshot, skin clung to muscles so tightly it was almost transparent. His friends must have attributed the change to a drug problem, as possession isn’t the first thing to come to people’s minds.
“It really is you,” he said.
“Yes,” I answered…the Prince answered…we both answered.
“You know not the terrors I have endured these last centuries.”
“Deservedly so.”
“You killed us. You sent us there.”
“You would have gone there anyway.”
“No, cousin. You are mistaken. For our knowledge of the Way of Things would have far surpassed your father’s. Our father’s. He loved us more.”
“I am not that boy anymore. I have a new body, a new life. My father is nothing like that. The old days are over. You have no business here.”
“You are just as foolish as always. Those days are back. I will make it so,” he growled before lunging at me.
*
The birches were near but sunrise was nearer. Garth and Helena settled down for the day amongst scruffy pines. She remembered him saying “goodnight” to her.
Goodnight didn’t have the same meaning to them as it did to humans. While the mortal version translated to “safe night,” the Immortals’ was congratulatory, as in their night had actually been good. Many miles were traversed and their new lives had begun to settle. Helena had a feeling the orchard would bring nothing they didn’t already have. She was positive Garth secretly thought the same, that he was just humoring her. He was a good friend for trying. It would be a beautiful place to visit, though. Especially on a snowy evening. This acceptance had made for a good night.
That day, her mind raced as her body slept under the sun’s cold stare. She dreamt of love and loss and the two times she’d experienced those feelings. She had no idea how lucky she was to know them. Men live their whole lives yearning to feel such things. Many fail and go through life alone and numb, cold and contented. But she had known them. In stone she had done more than many men.
She saw herself an old woman. Her hair, whatever color it was, had dried and streaked itself grey. When she looked in the mirror she wondered where her youth had gone. When Francis looked at her he wondered why she wondered. His eyes were swollen with love for her. Sometimes he’d think of her and get sick to his stomach with feelings. He kissed her ageing hair and face and she kissed his.
Together they’d made a home, a family, and memories of their own, not borrowed. Their house was filthy from children’s feet and children’s games. They didn’t mind, though. The pair reclined and looked out at their ramshackle kingdom of spilled meals, broken toys, soiled towels, dried bouquets, love letters, and dust. It was all theirs, all created by their human hands and finally existing in their human minds.
Helena awoke from the dream and began to cry.
*
Our battle was quick. I wasted no time in pinning Nick to the ground. My hands clamped around his neck and tried to squeeze the life out of him. I don’t know how I became so strong. My eyes seared his, helping me concentrate my strength on ending his life. He growled and tossed. For a second his eyes cleared and I saw Nick, the real Nick. Then my cousin. Then Nick. Then my cousin. Nick spoke, “Stop, please…”
I threw myself off him as he tried to fill his lungs again. I couldn’t do it, not to Nick. I didn’t like him but he didn’t deserve to die.
“Pathetic,” he said, not Nick anymore. “That is why you could not reign. You were weak. Like a woman.” He stood up and rolled his shoulders, cracking every joint. “The soul in front of you killed you. The man in front of you fucked your boyfriend behind your back.”
“He was never my boyfriend!” I bellowed. “Because your crazy ass was always in the picture ruining everything. And you’re still in the picture but now with a freaking ghost inside your body. I’m tired of you.”
“What are you waiting for? God, you are weak.”
“I am not weak! I killed you once. I killed your brother. I killed my father. I’ve watched you scream and cry and beg for mercy but in the end, it was I who tasted blood. You were nothing but a pawn in a failed game, you piece of shit!”
He ran at me, sending me through furniture and god-knows-what. Blood surged, insides moved, and hot iron began to fill my mouth…
Someone threw Nick off of me. Another tossed him into Rita’s photograph-covered brick wall. Punches and bodies flew. He was no match for the two Immortals on my side. Nick regained his footing and managed to jump out of the window. He landed like a cat on his feet. He smirked at Robbie, who was still waiting with the gnarled body of a witch. “Hey, babe,” he said, before running through the vacant building and into the city.
“Jeremy, are you alright?” Garth asked, leaning over me, brushing my hair from a gash on my forehead.
“Here, drink this,” Bryant said. He held out an uncrushed vile from Rita’s collection. “It will stop the bleeding.”
“Let’s hope. I don’t want you getting hungry,” I grumbled. The potion burned a good burn that let me know it was working. I was up in less than a minute. “Rita…” We climbed down the escape and met Robbie.
“Jerm, what’s going on?” he asked with eyes and mouth wide from shock.
“You should go,” I said. “I’ll find you later.”
He looked at Garth. Garth looked at him. They shared something strange and uncomfortable. “Yes. I’ll do that.” He backed into the building and disappeared.
Bryant was kneeling next to Rita, crying. He did his best to untwist her body and lay her out like the lady she was.
“Why did he do that?” I asked Garth.
“He did not want her to help you,” said someone. The masked Angel of Death was at the end of the alley. It walked towards us. “Guardian, we meet again.”
“Greetings,” said Garth.
“May I?” the Angel asked Bryant. He stood and let it near her body. The Angel knelt down, turned her head towards itself and gave her a deep kiss. Its hand grazed her body without shame or disgust. When it pulled away, Rita’s soul came with it, lips still locked.
She finished the kiss. “Woowee,” she said. “It’s been a while since I’ve done that, let me tell you.” She looked to her audience for a laugh.
I grinned.
“I guess you’re here to tell me what to do next.”
“I am,” said the Angel.
“You’re going to tell me to go see a witch, but honey, I’m the witch.
So you’d better start directing souls to that broad downtown or else their gonna show up here and think this whole afterlife thing is a bunch of hooey.”
“Then you know the path?”
“Those blinders are on tight, aren’t they? Yes, I know. Thank you.” She stood up and looked at her body. “Jesus Christ, I hadn’t even put my face on yet. I’m sorry you had to see that. Bryant, darling?”
“Yes?” he said, wiping tears from his eyes.
“You’re sweet to cry for an old thing like me. But you’d be even sweeter if you did something with this body.”
“Would you like the traditional rites?”
“Where would you do such a thing, in the park? That’d be interesting. Just do something nice and respectful. That thing is old. Deserves to go out in style.”
“Of course,” he said with a smile. “Rita?”
“Yes, dear?”
“You were the only one left. The only one who knew me before I…” His tears returned with more intensity. “Everyone’s dead.”
Rita’s soul put her arms around him. He shivered at her touch. “There, there, babyboy. It’s over now. Fresh starts, right? New friends. New adventures.”
The Angel had turned away and was about to take flight. Garth stopped it. “Wait!”
“Yes, Guardian?”
“How do you know it’s me?”
The Angel turned. “I can sense your presence. How could I forget? This mask has not been removed since our last meeting,” it said with a protective hand near the knot.
“I apologize for the offense,” Garth said. “But I also want to thank you. Helena was a good friend.”
The Angel stopped him before he could say any more. “No worry. I am glad for it. Your actions will never be forgotten, Garth the Guardian, Challenger of the Way of Things.”
“The Way of Things is falling apart, isn’t it?”
“No. The Way is changing. It is up to the few who know it to change it for the better,” the Angel replied.
With one flap of its wings, it was airborne and fading into clearing night sky.
*
The winter sun had set early. Garth arose to a full moon; the brightest he could remember. The new fallen snow intensified its light, nearly blinding him in the first flutters of waking. When his vision cleared, he was alone. Hours prior his arms had held Helena, but now they were full of rubble. His mind was attacked with memories of Francis’ tragic end.
It was happening all over again.
The King hadn’t been brought down.
All of their sacrifices had been in vain.
Footprints in the snow lead towards the orchard. As he ran through the trees, he thought once again of the King. He didn’t know how but he’d find a way to destroy him. That man had robbed him of everyone he’d ever loved. If there were anything virtuous about the Way of Things, vengeance would be had. He could still see the blood on his hands; hear the crushing of his skull beneath his fists. How satisfying it was. Would he be granted such satisfaction with a ghost?
The orchard was a mystical place, and the King could work great magic there. Garth had to arrive before the treacherous work could be completed. He sped faster than his legs had ever carried him, even faster than his war days when swords and fire were often at his back. As the glistening birches began to announce themselves with their stunning whiteness, the footprints stopped. Clouds darkened the sky and cast the evil King in shadow.
Garth stood before the ghost of the man who enslaved him, killed his friend, murdered the Prince, and forever changed his life. He growled, demanding that the vile spirit face his final demise head on. The shadow moved and found Garth’s eyes.
Garth the Guardian was not was not met with the cold, malicious glare of the King; but the soft, beautiful gaze of a young woman.
The moon reappeared, gracing Garth with her full presence. Her skin and hair were as white as the birch bark, her figure as tall and lithe. She stood motionless, seemingly trapped in her own body. Pallid hair flew about her face and crystal tears froze in her marbled eyes and on her untouched cheeks. At last, Helena was human.
“Help me!” she screamed. “This body…I don’t know how…” She didn’t finish. She seemed to choke on saliva and sobs and air. Her body thrashed as the snow fell on her skin. Her arms braced her chest at the movement of her lungs. Her tongue dangled from her mouth, its wetness and weight apparently not what she expected. Wind grazed her long hair against her face and into her eyes. “No! It’s too much! I should have stayed on my fountain…”
What could Garth possibly do? She was helpless, naked, and freezing. He could provide no warmth, no shelter. He was just as cold as the air that was killing her. Maybe death would the best option. Finally, she was a mortal possessing a mortal soul. She could join Francis and be happy.
His Immortal duties rang in his head. Allowing her to perish would be the antithesis of them. He was her protector. She needed to live.
Before he could reach her, she had fallen to the ground. The life was draining from her quicker than it had entered. Garth gathered her up and searched for shelter.
“Immortal,” boomed a voice from the sky. “She is expiring.” Garth looked up and saw the Angel of Death descending. Its huge wings scooped the air with thunderous claps.
“No! Leave us! Turn back,” he yelled at the Angel.
Just like he’d been told, the Angel was blindfolded. It’s head bobbed around in search of her. It laughed. “This is the Way of Things, brother. You know that.”
“But this is different. She hasn’t had a chance.”
“Many don’t; the still-born child, the victims of war. All things run their courses differently. She wasn’t meant to live.”
“That isn’t fair! If she was not meant to live then I was not meant to be Immortal. We both can do impossible things.”
“I am not a Judge, just a Messenger. I must rouse her soul from her body and lend it counsel. I wear these blinders so all are equal and my task is completed without corruption.”
“She is new to this world. Help her. You have the power. As Immortals, our duty is to them.”
“And this is my duty to them.”
“You are more powerful than I. Take her somewhere safe. There is still time!”
The Angel grew irritated from the sympathetic picture Garth was drawing. “Be gone, brother. You must not interfere with the Way of Things. Let her die so I may do my work. You were not meant for this one.” With a beat of its wings, it touched the ground and Helena’s breath became short.
“I am tired of being told what I am and am not meant to do!” Garth screamed. A fury for the rules of the Way had been building within him for quite some time. There, in the snowy orchard, it finally showed itself. In a haze of flying snow, he jumped for the Angel. Before it even had time to realize it was being attacked, Garth had already begun to unwrap the binding over its eyes.
The Angel eventually regained ground but it was too late. Its protection against the human condition was stripped. Its eyes beheld Helena.
It saw a brand new being, hardly touched by the world, twisted and shivering in the snow. “I have never seen a death,” the Angel said.
Garth had nothing further to do, even though he was prepared to do anything. The Angel picked her up and flew above the trees.
“Where are you taking her?” Garth yelled into the sky.
“To the witch in the woods. She will be safe there.”
17. Variations on a Theme
Bryant left with Rita’s body in a hurry. There was limited time to perform her rites. I asked Garth what they included but all he could say was, “Bryant is friendlier with the witches than I. Surely whatever he has planned will be appropriate.”
Rita’s apartment was an absolute wreck. I mean, it was always kind of a disaster but after that episode with Nick it looked like a refugee camp. We sifted through the surviving artifacts for anything that might be helpful but neither of us knew what to look for. Other wi
tches would be there in the morning to claim her valuables. Then they’d wipe her existence from off the face of the Earth. Like everything else in the lives of followers of the Way, Rita would become nothing more than a memory.
“What should we do about Robbie?” I asked. I hoped he’d run home and was hiding under the bed. Or maybe drank himself into a stupor.
“I’m sure there is a charm or herb around here to help him forget,” Garth said on his way into the kitchen. “I believe the Night Creatures use black rosemary to make their victims forget. Or is it white thyme?” He opened a cabinet holding hundreds of unlabeled ingredients. “We should just ask Bryant when he returns.”
“No. I don’t want to hide anything anymore. If we’re supposed to help the Way, people need to know it exists. We’ll start with him.”
He stopped and clutched the filthy doorframe. His eyes concentrated on the floor.
“Are you okay?”
He perked up. “I am fine. I just find it surprising that you trust him after what happened between you. I did not know you were—”
“I ran into him earlier,” I said, squirming with the uncomfortable duty of explaining forgiveness. It’s a concept understood by few. “People have lapses of stupidity that hurt others. But I enjoy his company. I miss it. I think he’s moved past whatever ate at him. I can, too.”
“There are some things that are not forgivable.”
“Yeah. But grudges should be reserved for bigger things than a twenty-year-old boy being…a twenty-year-old boy. There are worse problems in the world.” I shivered from the breeze coming in from the broken window.
“Fall is here,” he said as he impulsively came towards me. His hands reached out and then retracted. “I am sorry. I still forget I cannot provide much warmth.”
“No,” I laughed softly. “Probably not. Here…” I took off my wet shit and put on one of Rita’s kimonos. It smelled like old Chanel and cigarettes. That smell would stitch itself in my sense memory forever. “How do I look?”
In Stone: A Grotesque Faerie Tale Page 23