I look around me and see no one. I am alone. I look back to the egress and look at the sign hanging from a chain hooked across the entrance. The sign reads two words, and these two are all I need for the cold to finally reach me.
Hanging Gallows.
I breathe breathlessly in a soft manner, trying to remain quiet in case there is someone near. I hesitate. Should I? The sounds of water dripping onto cobblestone echo in my head. I look once more for any danger. No one.
I shakily step forward, making my way through and ducking under the chained sign. I am inside. I glance back and see the cobwebs and dust on the back of the sign. Since the siege there weren’t many hangings, all were too busy trying to save the city to concentrate on an occasional criminal. I dismiss it and turn back to my path. I ignore it as I hint the smell of mold across the walls and continue to step down the route. The passage has stone walls and was built evidently for the usage of a few to enter at a time, looking from the size of its girth. I had never been inside before now. Moeder would not let me.
It is dark and the torches above carry no flames, this contributing no doubt to the chilly air. The atmosphere is getting slowly denser, and I cannot help but notice the stale smell of odor becoming more potent. I continue on. I walk for at least a minute until I reach another archway leading out of the tunnel-like route. I stop a moment to listen to what is around me. Once more there is nothing to worry for. I embrace what now lies ahead and move on.
The moment I enter the large open room, I smell it before I know I am there. The aroma is thick with mud and a drafty sort of dust appears to carry the waft of mildew. The room feels like a prison, but without bars which you could look through. You see nothing but everything. The walls are sealed tight despite their cracked stone fittings, and the floor is swept with dust and cobblestone. Embedded in some of the rocks on the wall are scratches as though for marking dates. Lining the walls are occasional torches, which seem to have been of more use to people than the ones in the passage. Somehow despite the stillness of being in a closed in space the temperature drops. So does my ability to breathe in the fragrance of this place. My eyes gravitate towards the center of the room, but as my gaze finds the occupation there, I find I have less want of this place.
I watch as it sits there, the very damnation of this room. The ropes and splintering wood beams all making up the horror picture. My heart beats uncomfortably as I can think of nothing but the poor souls, who were here once, could be here still, if they had not been taken. I am lost as I try to find any rationality in using such a machine, how society takes any pride in such treatment to their fellow people.
I swallow hard.
This is truly one of man’s death mechanisms.
Then, I notice some other still shapes lying in the far off shadows. I am stopped. No. It can’t be that they would…but it is. My breath is caught and I stand frozen, chills run down my legs and I grow faint. How? How could they actually…is it humane? I feel sick. I knew I would see this. I had wanted to see something of death, but dreaming evidently is much easier than seeing. I briefly scan over the figures, searching for what I beg not to find. Please. Please God in your grace grant me this one thing if nothing else...please.
I want to look away, more than anything I want to ignore it and run from this place. To leave for good. My eyes continue to search as though it is survival. I am torn between knowing the truth and protecting my innocence. Evidently I am taking truth over wellbeing. I try to breathe, but it is harder now than ever. My lungs feel collapsed and my stomach is upset. I need fresh air but there is no will in me to move from my spot unless I am delivered the motivation to make myself move.
I grow impatient. I feel my eyes sting and feel my throat closing up. I want to cry out, scream, sob, fight, and yell, even though I know there is none here to hear me except the dead, and none here to feel my blows but myself. I battle with myself to remain calm, but in about 30 seconds I have lost that battle. My heart falters and vision blurs, I feel nothing but grief, guilt, ruin, depression…but these start to fade.
I grow cold and fear my mind as it grasps at the sore spots in my heart where I keep moeder and Meyleia. I realize how quiet it is for the first time and it scares me more than the sounds of armed forces would. The worry grows as I think of Nadeje, and how more than anything I wish he wasn’t away from me too. I scare myself. My tears grow to an unstopping point as I try not to admit it.
I am alone.
I can’t remember how long I have been here. I am lost, alone, scared and want to leave. I want to go. I feel haunted. I can’t possibly move. I cry. All I can do is cry. What if men find me? Will I be hanged? Would I be taken away? Killed? Be thrown in that bloody pile as those were before me? Only three words come to mind in description of my pain; paralyzed, shocked, and frightened. I am too involved with the thoughts spinning around in my head to process the sounds of boots hitting the cobblestone ground. My body feels tense and cold. I can’t feel or sense anything. I want to curl up and hide, like a child, fearful of the most harmless things.
Then, I feel it. There is a gentle sensation and touch against my hand. It is warm and no more than a light presence, but ever so softly Nadeje moves me to him. In moments I am shielded from all the cruelty and ghosts of the room. All I can see is his shirt. I let it happen, not knowing what else to do. He is warm and undeniably comfortable. I almost immediately let my sobs unfold and feel no resistance towards the salty tears which I cry.
I can think of nothing, only the tears which pour down my face can dwell in my mind in this moment. All I can feel is guilt and shame, grief and fear, from what I am now aware of to be in this city. I feel loss for moeder and Meyleia and for all the souls who departed here. I cry out all I held inside, releasing what I have been burdened by for so long. I let it out; all of it.
I half feel Nadeje against me, half feel only the clearing pain inside. I lightly grip him and try to breathe deeply once. The breath catches in my chest and I exhale quietly, trying not to choke on the air.
Then all I feel is nothing. I dive deep within myself in search of further pain but find no more. I let the last of my tears leak down my cheeks and breathe slowly, regaining control. I then let a few silent drops fall as it ends. I smell no blood. All I smell is…I open my eyes a little to find the fabric of Nadeje’s shirt. I close them again and I feel myself slowly wake up to the present circumstance. I feel suddenly fearful, not of Nadeje, but of myself. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut as I realize this is the longest I have been held by anyone since childhood. I can’t think of anything straightly…apart from him.
I unsurely move my hand a little up and curse myself as I falter at the rise and fall of his build. This isn’t allowed. I never have gone against law. I had reason. It is not suitable enough for others to judge though. The chance to let them judge it is also unsuitable and precarious. I feel shaky, but I remain only a moment longer.
I unsurely press my hand to his chest in request of him to move for my release. I slowly raise my face from his chest and look up. His eyes watch me, reading mine and my expression.
“Are you finished?” His voice is gentle, warm and sincere.
I shy a little and can only manage a nod, even though I don’t feel I could ever be done.
He slowly releases me, and I wipe away the drying tears which still rest on my face. He moves only enough away so that it is not uncomfortable and I am thankful. He waits a moment as though to see if I am alright, and giving me space he steps ahead to the passage. When not too close and not too far from my place he stops and turns back for me.
I glance at the dead bodies still lying there once more. The uneasiness returns from the gore and unpleasant sight. I wish to leave. He lets me come a few steps of him and then turns and leads me as before, only it feels less rigid. I keep my distance as earlier, though no longer mind being within reach of him. He leads me in silence down the route and I am left to wander through my own thoughts. I try to avoid the thoughts of wha
t I just saw and wish to see what I feel better with.
Nadeje walks slowly, and I can’t help but watch him as well as where I step. I shiver and try to not act like a child. I can’t seem to think exactly of what happened or where I had just been by my own choice, or of whom I had been saved by not my choice.
We make our steps quieter on the cobblestone as we near the egress to the city streets; us seemly knowing the risk of night watchers. We are almost there, when he stops and turns to face me. His face is shrouded with shadows, but the features I looked up to from his hold are unchanged.
“Why did you choose to come here?” His voice is soft and undemanding.
I watch him a brief moment, not sure of how to respond. “I…I thought I could handle it. I just never thought it to be as…never expected it as…” I pause, not sure how to end.
He amends it. “As it was.”
I look him in the eyes. “That much cruelty...”
He watches me. “Any killing is cruelty, Ms. Thimlet,” he responds calmly.
I look down. “I agree, but this was…somehow…much more so.”
He watches me. “Lyra,” I hear the gentility in his voice. “There is only so much the world can hold of goodness.”
I look up at him and he waits a moment. He turns again and starts off. I swallow thinking of his words and the informal way of him calling me by that name. I wait, but knowing my surroundings are unsafe, I follow.
Chapter 14
It takes us a little longer to reach the market than I remember my travel to the Gallows, and this is appealing because I know I had hurried there. I feel the verge of a headache closing in and decide against listening to the shops closing up along the road and instead pay attention to our footsteps. When I find that also too strenuously repetitive for my head, I look up to the houses and air.
The sky is a pale blue beyond the grey clouds. The sun’s light has dimmed through them, making it so that it is more of a charcoal grey than a lighter atmosphere.
Finally, we are outside his house. He leads me to the front door and unlocks the bolt. I am unused to this way of entering (it is safer to get me out unnoticed using the back way along the wall) but I am grateful for this door, so that we did not have to enter in the dark of the alley’s shadows. He lets me enter first, then follows and locks it once again.
Once he has turned, it only takes a brief catch of his eyes lifting to me to get me shy again. I turn to the room where I can rest and go silently through the kitchen. I quicken and hope I do not look as though I am trying to get away. The flutters in my stomach return.
“Ms. Thimlet,” his voice is once more soft, but bearable.
I stop and am forced to turn out of politeness. I face him only partly, and do not raise my head all the way.
“Are you in lack of anything I could get you before you sleep?”
I look up to him, my mind spinning with no set thoughts. I push away the fear rising inside me. “No, nothing.”
He looks unconvinced, but seems to agree for my sake. “Goodnight.”
I turn and step to the door and put my hands to the knob when I stop. I hesitate, but turn my head towards my shoulder. “Mr. Gilch.”
He looks up from moving and stands still.
I feel my chest tighten but hold my ground. “Thank you.”
It comes out to soft, to brief, to barely, but it lingers. I know he hears me. I step into the room and don’t look back as I close and lock the door.
I awaken the next day sore and yet better after my trip from yesterday. I dress in a slow fashion and ready myself for today’s endeavors. I pause a few moments by the window to look out on all the sights of the street. It is mostly empty, most probably at home or contributing to the protection of the wall. I turn away and go out through the door.
Nadeje is out of sight but eggs and porridge cook steaming on the stove fire. I find silverware, plates, and bowls set on the table and mean to look for something to be useful at, but not a moment later Nadeje enters through the opposite entryway. He takes care to lift the oatmeal from the fire and sets it upon a few layers of heat-sustainable linen and then does the same with the eggs. Once he has stood straight he turns and sees me.
His eyes are unreadable, but his voice is as common kind. “Did you sleep well?”
I nod lightly. “It was warm in your bed,” realizing how odd this sounded I continue. “It was cold outside though…but it was comfortable to sleep there…”
He watches me.
I feel entirely impulsive. “You slept well…too?”
He picks up a ladle and begins to stir the porridge. “Well enough,” he stops and turns to the cabinets and takes a pear from the fruit bowl.
I watch him a moment, wondering over the thoughts I had yesterday. Before I lose the courage, or think I am hearing Moeder scream in my ears again, I allow the words to come out of me. “What do you believe in?”
He turns and regards me unhurriedly, looking almost uncertain. “I do not understand you.”
I clear my brain and try to stop my voice from trembling. “I meant what is your religion? Or faith…you believe in God don’t you?”
He turns to the stove a moment then back around.
“I believe in a force that is like God. It doesn’t have a name, but it is there and present at all times, ready to serve and take. Like a creator. I suppose I believe in the spirit, not the Holy Spirit, but different…spirituality.”
I have never heard of something so absurd, but I feel absurd myself, and only want to have further absurdity.
“Is it…what is it?”
He is quiet a moment. “I would think it would be freedom and service, hope and love for the world, an understanding, and a way of life.”
“Can you teach me your religion?” It comes out softly but sincerely.
“Once more, I don’t understand you.”
I understand why he wouldn’t. I didn’t understand it last night when it came to my mind either. “Arturo told me you could teach me about your…faith. Would you teach it to me?”
He watches me calmly. “Yes,” it is soft, with hardly any emotion.
I feel a little hope flicker inside. I don’t know why I want to learn it, but since last night I had been thinking over what Arturo said about my religion, about how it made you feel sin, and about how that sin made me act yesterday. I didn’t want sin to control me, or me to let it control myself if that is how it went. I just wanted to learn how to let it not. Nadeje was the only option for this to come about.
“We could start today if you want?” It is gentle and calm.
I nod in response.
“The porridge looks finished. Would you like to eat?”
I nod again.
“First, we begin with what you believe in.” Nadeje’s voice is calming.
I watch him from across the table, unsure of what he is implying.
Between us on the table are two journals. Both look used and dusty, but I have an urge to open them and start to scan the pages.
“Tell me everything you know,” he says assuredly.
I don’t feel that assured.
“I don’t…I can’t explain…everything.”
He watches me. “What are you following?”
I glance up into his eyes and find no judgment in them. They are clear and open, comforting almost. If not for his eyes, I don’t know how I could have said it before his Spanish decent. “Protestantism.”
He nods slowly, then looks past me. “This should be almost the same then…just freer.”
I want to ask how. How would it be like it? However I am already too nervous after admitting my religion to a Spanish soldier to open my mouth and control it.
He looks back to me, and though I do not look up, I feel him watching. “I was Protestant too.”
I look up at this, and I can tell he read me.
“Do not worry about my beliefs. They are only open to you. You do not have to be open to them.”
It is someth
ing I had never heard of before, and I feel something I had never felt before. I desire more than anything to be able to understand it.
I watch him as he takes the top book from the two, and opens it up to the first page. He flips a few pages, and then skims it thoughtfully. When finished, he nods and sets it down.
“Openness is the first step. You have to be open to my ideas if I am open to yours. You see that?”
I take a moment before I realize he is waiting for me to respond. I do with a nod. He observes me a moment longer, then picks it back up.
“In the beginning, if there was nothing, why must there be something now?”
It is a question, and I don’t understand it as he goes on.
“If there was something divine about every little thing on earth, then why are different ideas looked on as not as divine as another?”
Once more I cannot answer, but I think he doesn’t expect me to.
His eyes are lit with a peace of mind as he continues. “Oneness of everything is how we could find the answers to these two questions. Consciousness of this oneness could lead to us having partial understanding of these questions, for never can we truly understand the world’s whole diversity.”
I watch him unsure of how to feel. It is great speaking, greater than any repetitive Preacher, Pope, Vader, or anyone I ever heard before. All I can do is watch him and try to figure it out.
He seems a little amused by my silence, and seems not to mind. “I want you to think about this, as you read the book I will give you. It is not charged by God or by a religion, it is written by someone with hope, with no conspiracy, and with awareness. I will read along in my other copy, and I will help you along the way. If you are a fast reader, I don’t want you to go fast. I want you to take your time until you understand it, and to enjoy it if you find it entertaining.”
Tears of Leyden Page 9