“Harmonia, the most rational and logical of the Three Sisters, has the unenviable task of reining in her two sisters. She’s the voice of reason, but they don’t always listen. Her job is to keep sudden twists of fate to a minimum and make sure that the tapestry of life is free of as many botched stitches and tangled threads as possible.
“Together, the Three Sisters decide how and when to spin the threads of life. They choose the destined paths that any one human being can travel by weaving the thread of life into the fabric of a human’s destiny; they create the advantages and obstacles a human will face given his or her predetermined path; and they snip the thread of life to determine its ultimate length, or when a human’s life shall end.
“To change the course of a human’s life for the purpose of prematurely terminating it, the Servants must successfully intervene at one of these three stages of fate. Any interference by a Servant will not go unnoticed by any one Sister for long. As I’m sure you can imagine, the Sisters do not take kindly to the Servants’ meddling, and any one of the Three certainly will not allow their work, their craft, to be undermined if they can at all help it.”
“Peter, do the Servants always try to kill a human? I mean, are our assignments always about saving humans from near-certain brushes with death?”
“Hmm,” Peter mumbled as he thought for a moment. “Actually, I am unaware of any other kind of assignment, so I suppose the answer to your question is ‘yes.’” He didn’t let me linger on the point long as he quickly highlighted another feature of my watch.
“And, of course, your watch is also equipped with a date-keeping mechanism just underneath the Incident Timer that will help you keep track of the current month, day, and year on Earth.”
“Of course. What watch doesn’t have that feature these days?” I teased.
“Eve, I’m just trying to be thorough, but if you think you’ve got this all figured out, we can end your lessons here. I have plenty of other things I could be doing.” Peter sounded annoyed.
“Sorry,” I said, feeling foolish.
Apology accepted.
“Hey!” I looked at Peter wide-eyed with shock and excitement. “I heard that … in my mind! How did I do that?”
“Oh, so I guess there are a few more things I can teach you,” he said smugly.
“I get your point wise, old St. Pete.” I raised my eyebrows in jest and exaggerated a grand gesture by tilting my head and shoulders downwards as if to curtsey before him. “By the way, when do I get to see the pearly gates?” I laughed.
“Go ahead—have your fun. But you just wait … I’ll be the one laughing soon enough. You have yet to meet the rest of my team.” Peter flashed me a mischievous grin, which made me a little nervous. I wondered what he had up his sleeve.
11. You’re a Shepherd—Not a Superhero
“Eve, clear your mind and close your eyes,” Peter instructed.
I did as he requested.
“Okay, now open them,” he said eagerly.
I opened my eyes to discover that Peter and I were standing in a quaint little garden; it was beautiful. Every single flower was in bloom. Bursts of purples, reds, yellows, whites, pinks, and blues were complemented with lush green bushes and herbs. A smorgasbord of floral and herbal aromas swirled around my head.
“Where are we?” I asked in awe.
“We’re in the English garden outside of the Archives.”
“How did we get here?” My eyes had been closed for only a second. I scanned the exterior wall of the Archives that butted up against the garden. The wall was draped with ivy; I didn’t see anything that resembled a doorway.
“We traveled here by way of our thoughts. As we are no longer constrained by the physical restrictions of the human body, our minds can do many things we never could have done while alive,” he explained.
I followed Peter to a little stone bench at one end of the garden near some bushes and a small fountain and sat down beside him. Immediately, I recognized the pleasant scent of a nearby lilac bush. I wondered how I knew it was lilac and whether I always had liked its smell. I looked around the garden and realized I recognized other flowers as well. There were roses, hydrangeas, gardenias, sweet peas, daisies, poppies, sunflowers, and a variety of herbs, including rosemary, dill, and mint.
“Peter, how is it that I can still remember the names of these plants? I thought my memory was erased. Wouldn’t my memories include my knowledge about things I must have come across or studied during my life? And another thing—if I’m dead, how is it that I can smell these flowers? I would have assumed that my sense of smell died with my body.”
“You’re one step ahead of me again.” He chuckled. “Before I answer your questions, allow me to ask one of my own. Eve, do you happen to hear something deep within you?”
I sat still and listened. It was perfectly quiet—not even the chirp of a bird or the buzz of a bee around me. I focused on my “new-old body,” my Shepherd body, and noticed something reverberating within. It was barely audible at first, but the sound quickly grew louder and louder to the point that I couldn’t ignore it. In fact, I was surprised I hadn’t heard it before. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. I swore I was hearing my heart … beating.
That’s impossible, I said to myself. I listened again. There was something different about the sound; it actually wasn’t a thumping noise at all—it was more like the ticking of a clock. I didn’t understand. I was dead. I shouldn’t have a heartbeat. Nevertheless, I definitely heard a rhythmic pulse, if that was what you could call it, deep within my chest.
“Is my heart beating?” I asked, half-bewildered and half-amazed.
“No, but I suspect you feel like it is,” Peter remarked in amusement. “You no longer have a physiological heart, so you can’t have a heartbeat per se. But your body, or, more accurately, your mind, has attuned itself to the Time Keeper. All Shepherds feel the ticking of the Time Keeper resonate within us—the Shepherd’s pulse, so to speak.”
“Why do we have a pulse if we don’t need it?” I asked.
“Well, we may not need it physically, but having an inner rhythm does help us in several respects. For one thing, we are immortal. Like time, we can go on forever … constant and without interruption. If we do not consciously keep track of time, we can lose decades, even centuries, only to look back and wonder where it all disappeared to. Having a pulse is a way for us to maintain some sense that time is continuously passing.
“Second, and most importantly, in my humble opinion, our pulse also reminds us of our own humanity. We were all human once. And in the afterlife, most Shepherds work closely alongside humans, spending the majority of their time on Earth, so it’s important that we retain several human-like behaviors and characteristics to remind us of what it was like to be mortal. Plus, having a pulse helps us blend in better; it’s simply another small detail of our mask, our cloak, which makes us seem more human to mortals when we’re on Earth.”
“Why would we need a cloak? Are we visible to humans?” I was intrigued. And I had to admit I liked the idea of spending my eternal days back on Earth.
“We are visible when we want or need to be. We even interact with humans from time-to-time,” Peter noted. “Please understand, however, it is crucial that we hide our true identities from humans. All would be lost if they knew who we were and what we did. Our cloaks, namely, our bodies, help us appear anonymously human—just another soul that walks amidst the masses.
“I should note that our cloaks do serve another purpose while we’re on Earth, albeit a fairly limited one.” Peter paused for a minute to make sure he had my full attention. “Humans are not our biggest threat.”
“Who is?”
“Some demons . . . and a few other types of immortals that are up to no good,” Peter cautioned. “And while we can never be fully cloaked around them, if we must be visible, it’s best to assume our human form in a crowd of people so as to make detection by these miscreants more difficult. Much like
how a zebra’s stripes make it difficult for a predator to tell one zebra apart from another when they stick together in their herd.
“That said, I will tell you that invisibility is almost always our best defense—particularly around our charges. Demons still may be able to sense us, but they won’t be able to find us. And we will be less vulnerable to attack by them.”
“But … I thought we were immortal? How could anyone, or anything, threaten us?” Anxiety stirred within me.
“We may be immortal, but we are not indestructible,” he clarified.
“So we can be … killed?” I squeaked out.
“Killed? No.” Peter smiled. “Eve, we’re already dead; we cannot die again. But we can be destroyed.”
“How? How then do I defend myself if I’m attacked by a demon? I mean,” I rambled, “I hardly know anything about Shepherds … much less demons! How am I even going to know what a demon looks like? Do they have cloaks? How will I know if one is close—”
“Relax, Eve. Relax,” Peter interjected. “Chances are you’ll never run into one; face-to-face encounters with demons are extremely rare. Nonetheless, you’ll learn how to detect and avoid them and even to defend yourself against them if the need arises.
“Besides, we have no intention of ever letting you wander into harm’s path. As your mentor, I won’t let you.” Peter took my right hand in both of his and smiled at me.
“Okay,” I replied. There was something in Peter’s eyes—he looked fiercely protective and affectionately tender at the same time. He made me feel safe.
“So,” I took a deep breath, “back to my original question—if I’m dead, why do I still feel so alive? I mean, the mask, the cloak, whatever it is that we use to appear more human, seems to be working its magic on me. I feel human. I look human. I have a pulse … of sorts. I can still breathe. I can still smell these flowers. I don’t understand.”
“Well, you feel human and alive because part of you still is human and alive. Remember, your soul and your spirit—your mind—still lives on in the afterlife, making you a member of a select group of beings that is neither wholly dead nor wholly living.” Peter paused again to let the weight of his words sink into my mind. “To complicate matters further, you also were chosen to be a Shepherd, which makes you part of an elite order of ethereal beings.
“Nevertheless, with your living mind comes all of the knowledge, beliefs, values, and so on that you possessed in life. In a nutshell, you still possess the wisdom gained from your life lessons and experiences. We only erased the circumstances, the context, in which you gained such wisdom.” Peter picked a small branch full of lilac blossoms and held it up for me to see. “You know this is a lilac bush, you just have no recollection of the first time you ever saw, smelled, or heard the name of this type of plant.”
“So what about breathing?” I asked. Before he could respond, I took a deep breath and held it, counting in my head to see how long I could go before I felt the need to inhale again … forty-eight-Mississippi, forty-nine-Mississippi, fifty-Mississippi … My lungs started to burn. I fought off the urge to take another breath. Sixty-two-Mississippi, sixty-three-Mississippi … The discomfort I felt could now only be described as sheer panic and desperation. I gave in and took a deep breath and then another as I sighed with relief.
Peter looked very amused by my little experiment. “You don’t need to breathe, but you’ll still do it. You breathe because it’s what you’ve done your entire life. Breathing is a primal, involuntary, and necessary course of action for the survival of the human body. As such, you instinctively will continue to do it each time you assume your human form … at least for a while, anyway, until your immorality becomes second nature to you.”
“Another thing,” Peter continued. “As a Shepherd you can call on and take the shape of your past human form whenever you so desire—like you’re doing right now. In fact, you will most likely prefer to be in your human form. In life, your mind was used to being anchored to a physical being—a human body. In death, your mind operates no differently. And along with the new version of your former human body comes many of your biological senses—your sense of smell being one of them, which is why you can smell this lilac.” He waved the blossoms under my nose; I closed my eyes and inhaled, taking in its sweet floral fragrance.
“As an immortal,” Peter added, “you also have several capabilities that go well beyond what is possible for a human being. Combined, your human and immortal traits make you quite a powerful force with which to be reckoned—a guardian of humans against evil.”
“A Shepherd of the flock amidst the wolves,” I threw in.
“Exactly,” Peter said as a huge smile spread across his face.
“What did you mean when you said that along with the new version of my former self, my new-old body, came many of my biological senses?”
“You still possess certain of your human senses, such as smell, sound, sight, and touch, but each of these senses is now heightened. In fact, your senses are now much more acute than those of any human being—even the most perceptive of mortals.”
“So I can see through buildings?” I threw out in jest.
“Eve, you’re a Shepherd—not a superhero.” He sounded slightly irritated. “Please do not make light of this; I need you to focus. This information will be of key importance when it comes time to carry out your assignment.”
“Right—sorry.” I cleared my throat and adjusted my posture to strike an exaggeratedly studious pose. Peter unsuccessfully fought off a grin and all of the disapproval in his eyes seemed to melt away.
“As I was saying,” he continued, “your sense of smell, sound, sight, and touch are much more sensitive and finely tuned. For example, you will smell and hear things many miles away. And you will be able to see things from a great distance as well, that is, as long as your visual path remains unobstructed. Combined, these three senses alone will be invaluable to you when on assignment. You will be able to smell, hear, and see anything that would pose a threat to your human.”
“If my sense of smell is so acute, how do things taste?” I tried to imagine what a bite of chocolate cake would taste like—or a ripe peach.
“You could say that your sense of taste died with your body. It actually makes perfect sense when you think about it. We cannot eat or drink anything because we have no means to digest food or beverages—in other words, what goes down must come back up. Thus, your mind will preemptively cure your hunger and thirst cravings, and you will soon lose your appetite completely. Anything you attempt to eat or drink will taste bland in flavor and texture and will be wholly unsatisfying. You won’t even want to swallow it, which is the point. Don’t get me wrong, you’ll always have an appreciation for certain food and drink, but that’s where your love affair with them will end.”
Nothing to eat or drink ever again. I pondered that strange realization for a moment.
“Okay, so no food or drink. No sleep either?” I looked at Peter, who responded with an affirmative nod of his head.
“Then how do we stay strong?” I asked. “Where do we get our energy?”
“Eve,” he laughed. “We are energy. We are the light of the stars, the sun, and the heavens above and the vitality of the spirit and the soul all wrapped up into one.”
“What—so we don’t need anything to rejuvenate ourselves? We have an endless reserve of energy?”
“Not quite. There are certain ways to deplete our energy, and when that occurs we need time to restore that energy.” He lingered on this point like he wanted to add something else, but he didn’t.
“So,” Peter continued, “last but not least is your sense of touch, which is the most important sense you now possess. With respect to physical objects, your tactile abilities are much more acute now, so much so that you will be able to feel each imperfection on every tangible surface. The tiniest of physical disparities will be obvious to you, yet remain completely undetectable to a human’s naked touch. You will be able t
o tell with utmost certainty the exact temperature of any object. Words like “hot,” “cold,” “smooth,” and “rough” will be wholly inadequate to fully describe what you now experience through touch.
“Your extraordinary tactile sense will also affect your understanding of all living creatures,” he explained. “Not only will you be able to see a living creature’s aura, but you will feel its life radiating through your fingertips before you ever make contact with it. You will feel its life force, its heat signature, emanate from across the room. And you will learn how to interpret these signatures to determine how a creature is feeling, both physically and emotionally, at any given moment in time.
“And most significantly,” Peter remarked, “you soon will learn that with your heightened sense of touch comes the power to heal.”
“What?” I interrupted in disbelief. “Did you just say that I have the power to heal … to actually heal living creatures? Like animals?”
“And humans too. But you also will discover that this power is to be used sparingly, if ever,” he noted.
“Finally, your sense of touch also makes you a reliable moral barometer, capable of measuring the balance of good and evil in all living things. Like a magnet, you will be drawn toward those creatures that are good and repelled by those that possess a reckless disregard for humanity—or worse.”
“The Servants?” I asked uneasily.
“Yes and no. Demons have no souls, so you will not be able to read them the way you would humans or any other living creatures. Nonetheless, demons have their own unique signatures, much like we do. But theirs are unmistakably dark and disturbing. Should you ever find yourself in the unlucky position of crossing paths with a demon, you will immediately discover that Hell itself rages deep within it.” A haunted expression crossed Peter’s face, which sent shivers down my spine.
Borrowed Heart Page 12