“Did you see a dog or a lizard about?” the Seeing Man asked. “Both of them have color.”
“No,” the girl said. The Seeing Man rode up to and looked down at each of them before noticing something under the debris on which they stood. He jumped down and because they were frightened of him, they took a step back. Without a word, he walked up to the girl, knelt down and lifted up a large sheet of metal that lay on the ground. Almost completely charred, except for a small green patch, there lay Clementine’s jacket.
“What about a fox and a girl, fifteen years old or so, also full of color,” he asked.
“We saw no one,” the girl said. The Seeing Man stood up, towering over them. The pupils of his eyes expanded and contracted. A loud kaaw sounded around them. The scavengers simultaneously fell to the ground and convulsed, a glittering clear liquid seeped out of their ears. The Seeing Man gave them all a sweeping glance. His eyes focused on the liquid momentarily before returning to normal. The scavengers stopped shaking and sat up.
“I apologize,” he said. He put his hand inside of his own chest and pulled out a box of crayons, all glowing in color. “Here,” he threw it beside the girl. “Get out of here.” His beak retreated into the cluster of eyes. He mounted his horse and rode off.
The night dragged on.
The flames crackled and popped and all but Clementine slept. She stared through the hole in the roof at the black sky above. Drunk on the dark heaven’s ambrosia, she felt calm. She watched as the fox’s chest rose and fell, as his whiskers softly swayed with each exhalation. Gently, the edges of her lips curled upwards as the beagle’s eyes fluttered, dreams of picnics and games past replaying in her mind.
“So many things are happening,” Clementine thought. “So many separate events, both bodily and mental, are taking place in each of us, all in the same tiny grain of time. All these happenings, these moments, and all that we’re really doing, all that we really are, are lonely morsels looking for other lonely morsels so that we can be lonely together. And instead of sleeping,” she smiled to herself, “I stay up wondering about stupid things. ‘Sleep is a little slice of heaven, so enjoy it while it’s there,’ mom used to say ‘Leave all wrinkly worries for your dreams to iron and fold.”
Clementine looked at her feet and wiggled her toes. Curious, she looked over Meditations: the stained cover, the broken spine and the black lettering. She opened it and looked at the detail of the pages: the flaws of the paper, the bends and the wear of the edges, the ink. She took in the scent of the text and a warmth of nostalgia, a deep satisfaction of verse fever, washed over her. “Someone needs to invent book scent perfume,” she thought.
She took the handkerchief in her hand and watched the lines dancing with one another. “Dad would find this thing fascinating,” she thought. “He always liked odd things that no one else did.” She grinned, remembering the mailman’s face, disgusted and nauseated, by the sight of a dozen shrunken heads that he delivered or the spitting slug from Burma that somehow got out of its package and slimed his shirt or that creepy Bosnian statue of a baba yaga eating children. Her toes wiggled with excitement. “Mom and dad were never worried about what others thought of them. ‘They will judge you no matter what,’ dad used to say, ‘but don’t you let them make you judge them back. The moment you begin to do so is the moment you begin to misunderstand them.” Clementine put the hanky back in the book and stared into the flames. Her mind drifted off into the past—the silent nights of sitting by the fireplace with Alice and Bell telling stories. Accompanied by the serenade of crackles and pops, the flare dance hypnotized her mind and she fell asleep.
It was winter. The snow fell in sheets. In the distance sat a large silver thing shaped like a bean. Behind it, illuminated by a faint light reared a silhouette of a skyline. Shovels in hand, three teenage boys stood in the middle of a field surrounded by leafless trees. Thick metal pipes arched above them like a web while a great stage with large silver sheets stretching skywards stood nearby. Clementine, barefoot, wearing nothing but yellow sundress, stood upon the stage and watched as the boys began digging.
“They will find a door,” a voice said. Clementine turned and saw the stranger from the park. He no longer wore a shiny suit but a tattered one. Atop his head sat a hat resembling a rabbit’s head with four ears instead of two. “Each of them will die but one of them will return from the beyond. What you do in the Valley will save that boy here, in the future.”
Clementine wanted to say something but her mouth was missing.
“You have to be the heroin of this story, Clementine,” the man said as his features changed, growing skeletal and gaunt, “so that they may be heroes in a different one. Now, do you want to guess which one of them is your son?” Clementine looked at the stranger with shock. He smiled and her eyes began to sink into her head, drowned in flaps of skin that ascended from her cheeks. “Don’t disappoint me, Clementine.”
Clementine awoke to Mika’s cold nose poking her in the face.
“Sorry,” the beagle said. “But the fox says that we need to move. It’s daytime.”
Clementine rubbed her eyes as her stomach gave a demanding grumble. “Okay,” she said and slowly sat up as not to awake Nir who remained asleep atop her shoulder.
“We should let him sleep,” Mika told Clementine. “He won’t show it but I know the ordeal with the poachers really drained him.” The girl nodded then gently lifted and placed the gecko in the front pocket of her pants. “He’ll be a bit more comfortable here,” she said.
“Morning,” the fox said. The duo echoed his hello then Clementine put Meditations in her back pocket, moved the chunk of stone aside as much as she could, opened the door and they all slipped on through. The morning was chilly. Smidges of mist floated in the air while thick fog hung low hiding their feet. Colorless sunlight rained down from beyond the overcast sky.
Venturing onwards, they saw shadows moving through the mist only to vanish behind fallen and collapsed remnants around them. After passing under a broken archway, just past a fallen tower, a trio of shadows glided through the mist, skimming Clementine’s hand.
“Jeez!” she yelped.
“Don’t worry,” Mika said, running up beside her. “They won’t harm you. They’re just ombras, shadows that have lost their owners. When they come up to you like that, they’re curious to see if you’re their owners. When they realize you’re not, they flee.”
“How do you know that?” the fox asked.
“Papa used to talk about them,” Mika said, smiling. “He even helped a shadow reunite with its owner once. The saying goes that often we don’t realize we’ve lost something until we really need it. That’s what happened to this man.”
“Why would you need a shadow anyway?” Clementine asked, intrigued.
“That I don’t know,” Mika said.
“You need a shadow because they act like flytraps for all the ruthless thoughts that people have towards you,” Nir said, emerging from Clementine’s pocket. “Shadows feed on those ill wishes and instead of them sticking to you, hurting your mind and soul, they stick by you, in the form of a shadow, as a reminder to be mindful of your own opinions of others.”
“So what will happen to them, these ombras?” Clementine asked, eyeing one as it glided past her, touching her hair and disappearing behind a lone wall.
“They’ll eventually make their way toward the one thing that does not judge them but accepts them as they are with open arms: the Other,” Nir said surprising everyone.
“What happens when you don’t have a shadow?” the fox asked, his eyes scanning the fog.
“You become ill,” the gecko said. “Your mind grows heavy. Life becomes a dull, quotidian fever and some Men go mad; others simply fall sleep, smothered by their own ill contemplations.” Suddenly, their tender touches became less creepy to Clementine who began to view the ombras with a sense of pity, seeing them as creatures whose yearning for the warm comfort of touch was something relatable, like th
e loss of being able to hug her parents. The hundreds of them hiding and peeking out from beyond the solid remnants of the past became companions in longing.
“Why are there so many of them here?” Clementine asked.
“That I do not know,” Nir said. “But if I had to guess, something horrid must’ve happened here, something so bad that it made Men run so fast that their shadows couldn’t keep up.”
“If you grow ill without a shadow, wouldn’t their owners notice and come back for them?” Clementine asked.
“You can’t comeback for something when it’s lost somewhere you haven’t been, can you?” the gecko said. “I doubt the owners of these ombras are still alive anyway.”
“A shadow lives on even after a person dies?” the fox asked.
“After a person passes, the living still have an opinion of the dead, and, as is often the case, the living judge the dead through a harsher set of glasses than they do the living,” the gecko said. “The living, through their memory of the dead, gives life to the shadows.”
“Lost shadows in a lost city,” the fox said, “kind of like us.”
“Kind of,” the gecko agreed, “except we can leave this place behind, we can find a way out, they cannot. A shadow that loses its body is a shadow that loses its ability to attach itself to reason.”
Out of the mist emerged a great, yet dilapidated, stone bridge. Mika ran up to its edge and looked down. “There’s a river below,” she said. “It’s lost in the mist but I can hear it.” Skeletons of the once great towers lined the bridge sides. Stones littered the bridge way. Large pieces of its form had fallen into the water long ago. Its former glory remained only as a fickle flicker in the imaginations of the adventurers who meandered between the holes in its structure. Massive statues of wolves sat on each side of the short staircase that lead up the bridge proper. They commenced their crossing.
“Long ago,” Nir began. “When Fenrir the Wolf caused The Great Winter, men built bridges like this one to cross crevasse filled glaciers. Back then—
“Awwwwwa!” a chilling shriek cut through the air. A stone fell from the nearest tower, struck the ground, bounced, and slid off the bridge. Scanning the fog, they all remained silent. Suddenly, a gaunt woman with patches of hair missing from her head jumped out from the haze and tackled Clementine to the ground with her feet, sending Nir flying.
“Ahwahwha!” the woman screamed in Clementine’s face. The smell of decay spilled out from between her rotten teeth and she bit into the girl’s arm, ripping off and swallowing a chunk of flesh.
“Get off her you bitch!” Mika yelled and bit into the woman’s thigh. The woman screamed and shot up ten feet into the air with Mika still lodged into her leg. She landed a few yards away and swatted the beagle with such strength that the dog flew off and struck the edge of the bridge with a crack. Wild eyed, the woman quickly scurried toward Mika and lunged for a strike. The fox—as large as a lion—swiftly intercepted her and the two of them tumbled on the ground. The woman was immensely powerful. She grabbed the fox by the rib, picked him up above her head and brought him down with a mighty crash.
“Follah em elendor,” Nir said from behind her and five thin plates of ice appeared before him. The woman screamed and charged. “Ulah!” Nir said and the ice flew at her so quickly it was nearly invisible. She dodged four of the panels, but the fifth sliced off her arm. Before he could act, the woman slapped Nir away.
Mika stirred. The woman turned, gave off a feral noise and moved toward the dog. Upon reaching her, she screamed and grabbed her by the neck. Stone in hand, Clementine rushed up behind the woman and brought the weight of the rock down upon her head. The woman gave off a surprised grunt, let go of Mika and, with the stone halfway in her skull, turned toward Clementine. The girl saw blood flow from the woman’s mouth and down her chin. Her right eye bulged out of its socket. She took several steps away from Clementine and fell through the hole in the bridge into the river below.
Clementine sighed and sat down. The fox rushed up to Mika. “Are you all right?” he asked. She stood up, nodded, and limped over to the girl. “Clementine?” she asked.
“I’m good,” the girl said. “Check on Nir.”
“I’m fine,” the gecko said coming up to them. “But you are far from it. That woman took a chunk out of your arm.”
“No, I’m okay,” Clementine said slowly losing consciousness.
“Ignis sana,” Nir said and Clementine felt an immense burning pain surge through her. She felt fully awake. The wound on her arm sizzled and charred. The fox helped her up and when they turned around hundreds of hyssops appeared in a narrow line that disappeared into the fog. “We should follow them,” the fox said. Mika and Nir looked at one another with hesitation, but obeyed anyway. They reach a collapsed tower, where the hyssops encircled a cluster of white flowers sprouting from a crack in the stone.
“Yarrow,” Nir said. “Perfect for mending wounds.” The hyssops faded. Clementine sat down, and Nir and Mika got to preparing the yarrow.
“Are you okay?” the fox asked, sitting beside Clementine.
“I killed her,” Clementine said and they remained silent for a long time.
“You saved Mika,” the fox finally said. Clementine did not say anything.
“It’s ready,” Mika said. “Come over, Clementine.” In a conclave rock sat a thick yellow liquid with ground up yarrow. “You’re going to have to apply that to your wound,” Nir said. “I infused it with a mild healing spell. It will help with the pain and mending but it will leave a scar.”
Without saying anything, Clementine applied the medicine to her wound. It felt cool. They rested for a few minutes, then, silently, crossed the bridge. The turquoise thing followed.
On the other side, columns and ruins disappeared while trees altogether vanished, replaced with a great many puddles hidden in the mist. The trio walked to the sonata of splashing water. While their feet grew cold and muddy, the surroundings vanished, overtaken by the nearly solid wall of fog. “It’s all right,” the fox reassured them. “Nothing can surprise us if we stay together.” Their color grew vibrant and acting like a lantern it gave them a better view of what lay ahead in the whiteness. A large boulder came into view and nailed upon it there sat a rusted sign with the word “LACRIMAS” cut into it.
“What does that mean?” Mika asked.
“Tears,” the gecko replied. “I’ve seen that word before.” It took only a dozen more steps until they realized that all around them stood rickety shacks made of plywood or sheet metal, all of them crowned with roofs of sticks and twigs. As if on command, the fog dissipated and their color grew brighter still. Doors began to open and thin men, women and children dressed in non-descript gray clothes emerged. In moments, gray people—who eyed at their color ravenously—surrounded them.
“The girl,” a man said.
“It’s the girl,” someone said from further away.
“The gods, it’s her,” an old woman said.
“Bless my eyes and soul,” someone else said.
“Is that her, Mama?” a lanky boy asked an equally lanky woman.
“It’s her, baby,” she answered. “It’s the girl who will bring back color.”
“The girl,” the crows spoke unanimously, first as a whisper then as a chant. “The girl.” The tone of their words frightened Clementine and Mika. Upon seeing the frightened beagle, the fox barred his teeth, grew larger and the orange of his coat shined brighter than ever before.
“Out of my way,” a voice said from beyond the crowd. “Let me through.”
“Lilita is coming,” a man said. “Make way for the Headmother.” The crowd parted and a thin old woman with an elaborate headdress composed of a multitude of feathers of all shades of gray and garbed in a dozen white and black robes walked down the aisle, a grand smile spread across her face.
“So you’ve come,” the old woman said, wide eyed. “Come, follow me.” Then she turned and walked off.
“What d
o we do?” Mika asked.
“We follow,” Clementine said and, with a renewed sense of confidence, she walked down the human aisle. Her companions followed. In an attempt to touch her, the gray people put out their hands only to withdraw them right before making contact. Mika and the fox watched the strangers: their eyes ravenous, hungry for the colors they were seeing.
“This doesn’t feel right,” Mika said.
“Keep moving,” the fox replied, nudging her back with his nose, the aisle vanishing into the crowd behind them. Following the Headmother, they entered a great building made of sheet metal—barring the far wall, which was built of brick—and with a proper, shingled roof. Inside stood a long wooden table surrounded by heavy wooden chairs. Torches lined the walls adding to the light coming through the narrow horizontal windows.
“Sit, sit,” Lilita said, pointing at the chairs. Clementine pulled back three of them. Mika and the fox took theirs and, after letting Nir climb down her arm and onto the table, Clementine took hers, prompting the Headmother to do likewise. “Thank you,” she said. “It’s been too long since we’ve seen hope around these parts.” People began to file in. They lined the walls, whispering under their breath. Mika felt unnerved as she saw several of them twitching.
“Don’t worry,” the fox said, touching her paw with his. “It will all be fine.”
The building shook and a loud crash boomed outside.
“It’s mad, oh ho ho. The Other is mad and rightfully so. Hope, hope, hope has come,” Lilita spoke, all the while licking and sticking her fingers in her mouth. “Such wonder has not been seen in Lacrimas since before the Other came and took our dreams away.”
The old woman tilted her head sideways, turned right and nodded at the wall as if someone was there. “She came,” the Headmother said, “the girl who’ll bring back color, she came. Who would have thought, huh?”
“If we may,” Nir began. “We’re all very famished and—
The Auburn Prince Page 18