by Cody Lakin
Jezebel’s eyes brightened with awe. “An ocean,” she echoed.
“In a sense, yes. An ocean. A universe ocean, you might say. It connects all things, and contains everything that makes the world what it is. The water it’s made of is full of knowledge, emotions, thoughts, consciousness… almost everything you can imagine. And the pools over there are just pockets of it. Little previews, I suppose.”
“What would happen if we drank from one of them?”
“It would be the best water you’ve ever had.” He smiled, and she laughed. “When it’s visible in this world, it’s mostly just water. That’s why I call it a preview of the ocean behind the world.” Edgar paused for a moment then, excitement in his eyes as he looked in the direction of the pools. He scratched at his beard and adjusted his straw hat. “There are beings which tend to the pools, too. Tall Shadows that walk like us, like people.”
“Shadows.”
“That’s what the fairies call them, because that’s what they look like. Shadowy figures, tall, lanky, like dark formed vapor moving through the air.”
The look of wonder on Jezebel’s face had intensified. “What are they?”
Edgar grinned. “Well that’s the big question—a question I have spent most of my life trying to answer. Lucky for you, I have been able to learn quite a bit about them over the past few years.” He leaned back, putting his arms out behind him to support himself. Jezebel kept her legs crossed. Edgar continued. “In ancient Greek mythology, the first thing to exist was Chaos. Darkness, formless nothingness. They called it Chaos. Imagine it as an endless mass of darkness, pure mass and energy without form. It was intangible, and it existed both before and outside of time.” He chuckled at the uncomprehending look on Jezebel’s young face. “Perhaps someday you’ll understand it. For now, all you need to know is that it… it existed before anything else did. It was the essence of existence. Pure formless Chaos. And even though it has the potential to destroy and consume all things, sort of like a black hole, it is also the reason for all of existence. Chaos gave birth to life. From Chaos came order, and structure, and life. You understanding any of this?”
“A little bit,” she said. “I remember learning about the Greek Gods in sixth grade, but we never learned about any of this. All we learned about was like the main gods. The most powerful ones, like Zeus, and Hades, and Poseidon.”
“Right,” said Edgar. “The basics. I bet they never taught you about gods like Achlys, or Moros.”
Jezebel shook her head.
“Well at least you know some stuff about it. What’s important here, though, is Chaos. It came before the world, even before the gods, and gave birth to everything.”
“Got it.”
“Now imagine that Chaos is eternal. Like the ocean behind the world, Chaos exists behind the ocean.”
“Like an island?” she asked.
“What?”
“Like… if our regular world, and this one, are both islands on top of the universe ocean, or whatever it is, then the universe ocean sits on top of Chaos.”
“It is, of course, more complicated than that, but yes. That’s a very good analogy, I must admit. Different layers.”
Jezebel smiled, pleased with herself. “All right. What else?”
“This is where it gets a little more complicated, so I’ll do my best. I’ll explain it your way,” he said with a wink. “Like an island. Or an iceberg. The top layer is our world: the one where your father is, and where you and I and all your friends and family live. The second layer is this place: Fairlane Road. In fact, I think one of the fairy translations for this world is Fairlane World, so I’ll call it that. The third layer is the universe ocean. And the fourth layer is Chaos. Every layer supports the other layers, keeping each other stable, functioning—alive.” Edgar pointed to the glittering pools visible through the trees. “The pools are portals. The Shadows come here from Chaos through the great ocean, and appear through the pools. And the Shadows are like the gardeners of the many worlds and layers.”
“Gardeners,” she echoed, mesmerized.
“Have you ever read anything from the poet William Butler Yeats, Jezebel?”
Her eyes lit up again, seeming almost to glow their vibrant purple with inner exhilaration at all the amazing, hardly comprehensible things she was learning. Edgar couldn’t help but think that, although she was fifteen, she was so delightfully young and innocent at heart.
“Yeah! Wow! We read a poem of his in English one time, called The Second Coming. I’ve only read a few of his other poems, but I love all of them.”
“He is certainly one of the true masters of poetry. More so than most realize, in fact. Have you perchance read his Introduction to the Shadowy Waters?”
“I don’t think so.”
“It’s a poem Yeats wrote as an introduction to a play. It isn’t the first time he wrote about such things, but in that poem he mentions, more than once, what he calls ‘immortal, mild, proud shadows,’ walking among seven woods.” Now both of them were smiling excitedly. “The pools and woods he wrote about were actual places, but he describes them so beautifully, and with such magic, that I personally believe he must have seen the Fairlane World. Perhaps those woods were his portal to the higher world, just as Fairlane Road is ours. He so often wrote of enchanting things, of magic, nature, even fairies. And, of course, the immortal Shadows.” Edgar cleared his throat and recited, from memory, a section of Yeats’s poem about the pools and the shadows.
‘How shall I name you, immortal, mild, proud shadows?
I only know that all we know comes from you,
and that you come from Eden on flying feet.
Is Eden far away, or do you hide
From human thought, as hares and mice and coneys
That run before the reaping-hook and lie
In the last ridge of the Barley? Do our woods
And winds and ponds cover more quiet woods,
More shining winds, more star-glimmering ponds?
Is Eden out of time and out of space?
And do you gather about us when pale light
Shining on water and fallen among leaves,
And winds blowing from flowers, and whirr of feathers
And the green quiet, have uplifted the heart?’”
Jezebel looked stunned. “Oh my god. Yeats wrote that?”
Edgar nodded. “He did. And from all I’ve been able to learn throughout my life and studies on the Shadows, Yeats was right. The Shadows come from Chaos, so, in a sense, all we know—and all we are—really does come from them. And they tend to this world, keeping it safe, cleaning it, fixing it, so that all the worlds are kept in balance. Like gardeners tending to their garden.”
They were both silent then, basking in the golden light of the higher world, Fairlane World, eyes on the star-glimmering of the pools through the trees. “I like them,” said Jezebel. “I haven’t even seen them, but there’s something really… sweet, and comforting, about that. About what they are.”
“I agree. And we’re not the first to think so. In ancient times, the Shadows were worshipped. They were gods, in every sense of the word. There’s almost no actual accounts of them, like historical encounters and what not, but you can find their presence weaved throughout mythologies of almost every culture that has ever existed. And speaking of gods, there actually are gods here in Fairlane World, but they aren’t as omniscient, or powerful, or important, as the Shadows. I’m sure you’d be interested in that. Somewhere in this world, for example, is Zeus, and Poseidon. And other gods, like Pan, or there’s also other versions of other gods, like Thor, Eostre, or hundreds more neither of us have even heard of. They go by al
l different sorts of names, and humans have called them different things across history, of course, but they’re here, somewhere in the Fairlane World. They’re more powerful than humans like us, or rather they exist on higher planes, sometimes not even physical planes, and they’re eternal in some senses of the word, existing in cycles of reincarnation—I’ll tell you all about that someday, too—and in many ways, they are not at all like mythology has tried to depict them as, or as we pretend to understand them, but more importantly they’re not as omniscient and all-powerful, all-knowing, as the Shadows. Even I’ve considered worshipping the Shadows, though what I do instead, more so, is honor them. I’m not the worshipping type anyway. And sometimes, instead of being worshipped, the Shadows have been feared as demons, angels, even ghosts or spirits. But that is mainly superstition. From what I’ve learned and seen, they are peaceful, quiet, harmless beings, tending to the worlds, all without needing or asking for recognition.” He smirked. “But the Shadows, like Yeats wrote, are proud. They have never been known to meddle in even the most dire of affairs. They do their jobs, and let the worlds go about their existences, while they remain indifferent.” Edgar sighed. “Unfortunately, it is almost impossible to communicate with them, because they exist on so many planes of existence simultaneously, not to mention their infinite knowledge, which is far beyond our comprehension. It is even possible that they have no consciousness at all, and merely exist the same way the trees do, or the wind, or the cosmos. Serving their natural purposes.”
“And none of us would be here without them,” said Jezebel.
“That’s true. The fabric of the world would very likely come undone if not for their tending to it. You catch on very quickly, Jezebel.”
“You’re a good teacher.” She looked toward the pools. “It’s kind of sad. They keep everything alive, they’re the reason for everything even existing… and no one knows about them. Or thanks them. Everyone’s busy paying attention to… to silly things, and other religions and stuff that are all about control and, like, doctrine or whatever, and things people made up hundreds of years ago.”
“It’s the nature of things,” said Edgar. “But you sound a bit like your father. Neither of you are fooled by things like humanity’s belief systems. You’re stronger-minded than that, than to need any of those things to get by, or to be good people. That is what I love so much about the Shadows, if I may say so. Whereas so many religions on Earth exist for the sake of giving people morality, or tricking them into thinking they need religion to have morality, the Shadows are entirely indifferent. Neutral, yet in service of the world’s existence on a scale far broader, and grander, and more encompassing, than daily life and invented morality.”
Jezebel nodded, though she didn’t seem to know exactly what Edgar meant. Her mind was too restless to dwell on it. “How do you know all of this? About the pools and the Shadows?”
“From the fairies. Some of them have lived for thousands of years—the oldest ones even longer than that—and their libraries are the most magnificent things I have ever seen.”
“Oh! Can we go see them?”
Edgar patted her on the back. “Not today. It’s quite a journey, one I’ve made twice in my whole life, so we’ll go someday, when you’re older, perhaps.”
“Awesome!”
Again they both went quiet, eyes on the forest and the glittering pools, perchance to catch a fleeting glimpse of a walking shadow.
* * *
Jezebel’s heart ached at the memory of that day, as though she were grieving for lost times and for the innocent, brave little girl she had once been. Standing now at the edge of the forest of the glittering pools, she felt inexplicably small. It was like standing at the shoreline of the ocean, where the water stretched onward for uncountable miles and eventually met with the sky. It was like sitting under a sky full of stars. She couldn’t help but feel the weight of her own insignificance.
I’m so close to nothing, she thought. A soft breeze blew, making the trees all around rattle. Strands of hair flew across her face but she didn’t brush them away. I’m here, coming and going, thinking I’m so special sometimes, the way everyone does. But I’m just… a speck of dust, stuck in time. And these pools, and the immortal Shadows, they’re so eternal, so infinite. They’ve seen it all, from the very beginning, and they’ll see every ending… and won’t even notice or think of me after I’m gone.
A sad smile touched her mouth as she lowered her gaze to the ground, and a tear fell from her eye. She sniffled. No wonder humanity created religion, she thought. It was too scary to face one’s own mortality and insignificance in a world so massive, so endless, and so chaotic. It was so much easier to make things up in order to make oneself feel important, to feel like a part of something bigger yet still personal.
She and Edgar had never gone to the libraries of the fairies together even though it had been six years since that day. The journey to their realm—a country of the higher world known only as Faerie—was more than a few month’s walk “as the crow flies,” as Edgar had told her, but Jezebel looked now toward the distant mountains and hills looming above the forests and she wondered if it was something she could do. In the past she had always been too young, or held back by obligations. Visiting Faerie was not a leisure activity. It had taken her a long time to understand this, no matter how many times Edgar had explained it. When you went there, nothing would ever be the same; you would never be the same. But now she was her own person, and was a part of far more important things than she had ever been before. She could tell her father she was taking a personal trip, and though he would worry, she knew he would understand. She could picture it now, with growing excitement: how endless the libraries would be, or how it would feel to be among the fairies, some of the most lovely creatures to have ever existed. What it would be like to go there, to truly be part of something important, something so beyond herself.
Maybe that’s what I need, she thought. To take that kind of time for myself, and really explore this world. And maybe Edgar will want to come with me.
The mountains in the far distance were a brilliant white beneath the blue sky and above the emerald green of the ocean-like forest. It was at the foot of those mountains, and within them, that the fairies lived. It was from there she could hear their enchanting songs, songs which called to her day and night.
There was a happiness here, in this world. It was present in the trees, the flowers, the vibrant sky, the sun’s golden light, the glittering pools, even the soft wind, grass, and dirt. A happier happiness than any other that Jezebel had ever known, making it all the more difficult to believe that this world harbored layers of darkness in equal measure to the light. The pools, the trees, the mountains all had their opposites; the immortal Shadows tended to that darker plane of existence as carefully and proudly as they tended to this lighter one.
But for now I’m here, and I should enjoy it, she thought, trying unsuccessfully to shake her sadness.
She surveyed her surroundings, noting the silence in the air, the golden light falling between the trees and glittering on the pools, and then she left the road completely and made her way into the trees, towards the glittering pools.
Edgar had warned her before about wandering too far from the road. He had told stories to her, ones she found both interesting and frightening, of other world-walkers who had their own versions of Fairlane Road wherever they lived. Many, like Edgar, were old, wise, and reasonably knowledgeable of their duties and of the wonders and dangers of the higher world. But some, though few, had met violent ends. She could remember Edgar explaining about one world-walker he had read about, who had one day wandered from the trail to explore the forests of the higher world, and had never returned. Jezebel had asked what had happened to him, or if he had ever been found, but she had been too young at the time, and Edgar
had refused to tell her any more.
Despite these stories, Jezebel sometimes wandered off the trail to sit by the glittering pools. There were at least a dozen within a mile radius of this very spot, and she had spent time at every one of them, sometimes meditating, sometimes just sitting. She had even, in the past, brought books with her to read while by one of the pools.
She was just entering the tree-line, stepping over an upturned root, when she noticed movement ahead of her through the trees, and she froze, eyes wide.
A faun was there by one of the glittering pools, bending over for a drink. Its skin—his skin, as she could see it was a male—was rosy, appearing almost sunburnt; his fur was brown and thick along his goat legs and also atop his head, which was bushy all around two considerable, curled horns. And although Jezebel had seen many unusual creatures here in the forest, she knew immediately that this was no typical faun. If Edgar had taught her anything, it was how to recognize what was known as a god, compared to a regular creature.
This faun was a god. In fact, she knew which one.
It was the god Pan. One of his many physical forms.
Her curiosity was suddenly replaced with caution. Pan was a god of many things, mainly nature and the wild, as well as sexuality, and he was, according to mythology, incomparably clever and tricky.
“Pan rarely has bad intentions, but we are mortal, and if he engages you, or wants help from you, your safety and wellbeing might not factor into his thinking. The lives of mortals rarely matter much to gods. Sometimes that isn’t the case, but it’s always hard to tell. So be careful,” Edgar had said. Edgar had taught her all of this about the many gods that lived in the higher world, and she remembered his words clearly because it had all been so intriguing to her. In her years of visiting this world, she had only ever encountered one god, though she didn’t remember its name.