To Live In Revelry

by M L Adams

  The night gave way to day with an almost sour disposition. The sun's rays struggled to permeate through the thick clouds which had crept in under cover of darkness. They now settled on the horizon, a thick black mass that didn't bode well for the day ahead. Well, Micah thought grudgingly, at least the crops would be thankful for the coming rain.

  His journey had been fairly uneventful since his earlier run-in with Bojie. Occasionally a blue jay flitted by to confirm he was on the right track. His friend had kept his word, not that he had doubted him for a moment. Eden was not more than half a day's walk from here, apparently. She had not yet pierced the barrier into the Golden Fields, and for that Micah was thankful. There was still time, it seemed, but that didn't stop him from pushing his body harder than he had in a long, long time.

  Once more, his ink-black hair fell into his eyes, dripping with sweat. He brushed it back again, cursing the strands that were still not long enough to tie back with the rest. He reminded himself never to let Luca cut his hair again. As predicted, the smell of rain was gifted to him upon the air. He prayed the rain would force Eden and Mokoto to seek shelter and wait for its passing.

  Micah took a short detour from his path of hard-packed earth onto a narrow, grassy bank surrounded by tall trees. It wasn’t long before he spotted the wide, deeply veined leaves he was looking for. He took out the larger of the two knives he had brought for food preparation and started digging. The rich, damp earth gave way easily beneath his hands, revealing the gnarled, pitted bodies of the potatoes below. He gathered several of these and stored them away safely before climbing back onto his path.

  Micah shook his head in absolute disbelief as he considered his situation. Last week his only concern had been the amount of corn he and Adam, Eden’s father, would be able to yield before winter crept up on them. Now he found himself hurrying after the man’s daughter to stop her from getting into grave danger, and all the while Micah’s brother was out for the count! What had gotten into Eden’s head? He asked himself angrily, but there was no way for Eden to know of the perils she would encounter beyond the Golden Fields. It was a place known as the Unknown. And it was just that — unknown. Yes, he and Luca knew what was there, as did all his kind; after all, it had been their job to keep it secret from the rest. If anyone were to find out about the Tree, and what it was capable of, the world as they knew it would never be the same again. So he asked himself again, what was Eden up to?

  Micah sensed a subtle change in the air before a small body cast a momentary shadow upon his path. It ducked through the trees above, followed closely by a second. ‘Show yourselves!’ Micah ordered. He instinctively braced himself, his palm resting lightly upon the hilts of the cooking knives he carried at his side.

  He turned his ears to the sounds around him and heard what sounded like many sheets of paper being shuffled together — feathers being rearranged, perhaps. Then the rattling call of a magpie followed.

  ‘Flit, Quill — is that you?’

  ‘Rat-a-tat-tat-tat,’ sounded their reply.

  Micah breathed in deeply and removed his hand from his blade. Two birds of iridescent beauty swooped down to greet him. They bowed deeply, hiding their faces by extending one wing to catch the muted rays of light. Micah saw the deliberate gesture in this, but he had to agree that their wing and tail feathers were startling. Once, he had seen a substance spilled upon a pool of water recreate a similar effect. The darkness showed off the brilliance of their snow-white breasts. Despite their beauty, Micah usually had little time for these two; the Mocking Brothers were known to all for their jokester ways.

  ‘Still can't resist a show, I see.’ Even before the words were out of his mouth, Micah knew his mistake. The brothers fed off attention.

  Their glossy black faces rose above their wings in unison, dark eyes glinting. ‘We greet you, Walker.’ The sound was akin to old wood creaking in the wind. Only a minuscule nuance in their pitch helped Micah tell them apart.

  ‘And what have I done, this time, to deserve your esteemed presence?’ Micah asked, struggling to keep the sardonic tone from his voice.

  If the brothers picked up on this, they didn't react. ‘We have information we know you would long to hear,’ the other bird — the one Micah guessed was Flit — replied.

  ‘Information to help you,’ his brother, Quill, continued.

  ‘What information?’ Micah prompted impatiently. A light drizzle, the soaking kind, had begun to fall on them. If he didn't carry on soon, he would miss his opportunity to gather any dry kindling for his evening fire.

  The magpies turned their heads to the side to catch a better glimpse of him. Quill gave him a coy look. ‘You seek the girl, yes? The golden-haired maiden?’

  ‘Yes —’

  ‘The one all alone but for the protection of a mere pup?’ Flit asked.

  His cackle reminded Micah of two dry sticks striking each other in the wind. How had they managed to find and isolate his fear so quickly? ‘Yes,’ he admitted, frowning at them. ‘What have you come here to say? Spit it out!’

  The birds simply stared at him.

  Micah closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, then unclenched the fist not currently delivering a death grip to the straps of his knapsack, and rubbed at the new creases lining his brow. He knew this was not the way to conduct a conversation with these two. Because of his temper, the brothers would now make it even harder to get the information out of them. This day had tried his patience in every way he could think imaginable.

  Quill finally bobbed his head excitedly. ‘Maybe they're in danger.’

  Flit shrugged his glossy wings. ‘Maybe they're both tucked up, waiting out the rain — how are we to know? Are we not but lowly magpies, with nothing to our names?’

  The brothers put on a show of looking downtrodden.

  Their behaviour sickened Micah; two young lives hung in the balance, and yet they sought to profit from it. ‘What do you want?’ he asked, deadpan.

  The birds gasped, looking hurt at his bluntness.

  ‘I assure you, we have no idea of your meaning,’ Quill said, pacing the width of the path in front of Micah and rearranging his feathers in mock indignation. ‘My brother here can vouch for me when I say that we saw you and thought, Oh look! Isn't it that tall fella, Micah? Wouldn't he so love to hear what we have just discovered? I bet he would be so full of gratitude that he would be unable to help himself. He’d show us a small token of thanks, that’s for sure! To know that she is so close to peril, but also to be capable of preventing it… and we were the ones to have told him...’

  Flit shook his head with pity. ‘It's a real shame!’

  Both birds turned to fly away.

  Micah dug into his pocket and retrieved a small bundle of cloth. With an unfamiliar feeling of loss, he carefully tipped the precious contents out upon his palm. The iridescent lacre that lined the inside of the small perlemoen shell glinted up at him, bright against the darker tones of his skin. The colours varied from pearly white to deep blue and green. He had found it some time ago, whilst searching the beach for edible seaweed, and hoped to carve it into something one day. Perhaps a pendant? It would look perfect against Eden's slender neck. Maybe then she would see that his brother was not the only one capable of creating beauty.

  His thoughts ground to a halt; he was too shocked at himself to carry on. These thoughts were not his to have. ‘Here!’ he said to the birds. There was a hint of steel in his voice mixed with the reluctance to part with such a trinket, but that was all that it was in reality — a trinket.

  The birds turned to peer at him once more. Micah could see the interest spark in their tilted faces.

  ‘Tell me this important news of yours. Tell me now so that I might still have time to act upon it.’ Micah held out his hand, so the palm-sized treasure was revealed, making sure it caught as much light as possible.

  The Mocking Brothers took a tentative step towards him, and Micah knew they were hooked. He could just about discern their
pupils from the near-black irises as they contracted and expanded rapidly. If they could drool, Micah mused, they would have.

  ‘We saw her camping on the edge of the Golden Fields, by the giant oak,’ Quill said quickly, his eyes never leaving the new and shiny trinket. ‘But she is not alone…’

  Micah frowned at the piece of useless information. He already knew Mokoto was with her.

  Flit took over from his brother. ‘There is a presence hiding there…’

  Micah stopped breathing and listened in horror.

  ‘It’s waiting for her to cross over onto its land. The presence is one we cannot see, but we can feel its displeasure —’

  Micah didn't wait for Flit to finish. He knew what waited for Eden and it filled him with terror. He threw the shell up in the air, not waiting to see it being snatched up by a greedy beak. It was just a trinket, after all.

  Flit looked at his brother as Quill inspected their newest treasure, but truly it was himself he was searching for. Flit’s reflection stared back, echoed clearly in Quill’s black eyes. He blinked, the reflection blinked, but he couldn’t shake the feeling there was someone else looking out at him too.

  Micah had broken free from the forests and journeyed past the Opal Courts. He was thankful for the change to open space, and noted the cave in which Eden and Mokoto had slept not so long ago. He'd run all day and night, not daring to stop once, even when the heavy rain had turned almost painful, obscuring his vision to little more than outlines of his immediate surroundings. The rain had eventually cleared, and he now followed a rivulet he knew lead straight to the Golden Fields and, judging by the two sets of footprints he'd found, he was heading in the right direction. The prints looked fresh; luckily the rains had not touched these sands. Micah judged that Eden and Mokoto had been there but hours previously. He was half a day’s journey behind, at most. There had also been a lot of paw prints leaving and returning from the cave he had found. He could only guess that Eden had managed to meet up with Mokoto’s family, but Mokoto had chosen to remain with Eden. Nothing seemed to be making sense these days.

  Micah's breathing was steady, in and out, sending little puffs of steam into the early morning air. His physical body did have its limits, but it would be a while yet before he would be forced to rest and feed it.

  In the near horizon, a band of gold caught the eager first rays of daybreak. It ignited a feeling of hope in Micah’s heart, quickening blood and stride. The Golden Fields! The sight made him wonder at the sheer enormity of grain that had gone into forming the wall. What made it even more of a wonder was Adam’s insistence on planting each and every shaft of barley by hand. Micah shifted his gaze along the horizon until he glimpsed a spot of green.

  The oak.

  He leapt across the small rivulet to land upon its opposite bank, leaving it behind, as he raced against the rising sun. He knew Eden to be an early riser; already she could be packing up camp, ready to move on.

  A blue jay swept by. ‘She is near! She is near!’ it cried, before turning back towards the safety of the forest.

  Micah dropped the cumbersome knapsack to the ground as he cut through the low-lying scrubland with his powerful strides. A hundred feet became fifty, and soon the old oak was directly in front of him. He looked around frantically. There was no sign of Eden or the pup, but for the compressed grass at the base of the tree where they had rested. He looked up at the lonely oak, desperate for answers, but it shared nought. The fine hairs at the back of his neck and arms pricked to attention. His inner voice was shouting at him; This is wrong! See what is missing! A feeling of nausea turned his stomach to quicksand. The wards he had placed upon the barley many years ago had been activated, and they were in full swing. How had the two of them managed to spend the night here?

  Consumed with worry, he charged into the live barrier of barley. ‘Eden?!’ he hollered, spinning on the spot, forcing his eyes to see something — anything. ‘Mokoto?!’ It was hopeless. The morning sun was all about him, turning the surrounding crops into strands of spun gold. The illusion was designed to stun and confuse any who ignored their body's warning and ventured further. The blinding light was meant to force intruders to turn back. Trust he and his comrades to have done such a thorough job.

  Without warning, a solid blow struck him on the back of the head, swift and precise. Clutching a hand to his skull, Micah ducked, fully expecting a second blow. He spun to meet his attacker and faltered.

  A Keeper.

  Everything Micah knew regarding them flashed in his mind’s eye in a kaleidoscope of images. Keepers were masters of combat and deadly with any weapon. They had been created for only one reason: to keep Adonai's Tree of Knowledge safe at any cost. Even when Micah had walked amongst them as an angel, a brother, he had felt their… otherness. They possessed no trace of humanity. The being before him had the overall appearance of a man but was monstrously tall and solidly built. Its almost human face held the dark almond eyes of an eagle, sharp and capable of discerning even the slightest of movements. Thick yellowed canines peeked out between dry lips. Its arms were long and tipped with talons that could tear through the toughest of flesh.

  There was a split moment when Micah felt his stomach drop and all the fight drain from him, but then he recalled who he was and who he was trying to protect. He reached for his belt, taking hold of both cooking knives, and crouched down into a warrior’s stance. In truth, he had never planned to set foot here again. The blades were only a few inches long, but he would make every one of them count.

  Micah fought to keep his breathing even and his face neutral as he watched the Keeper unfurl four translucent wings from its back. Only by the minor distortion in the air could Micah discern their presence. They were so long, seems to have no end, and from them an iridescent sword of many colours came forth. Micah felt the gusts of air beat down upon him as the Keeper took to the sky. They began circling each other with slow, measured movements, sizing one another up.

  ‘So, you return to us, Brother Michael…’ The Keeper’s voice resonated with power, reawakening memories of another life. Its avian eyes mocked Micah. ‘But for what cause, one wonders?’

  ‘I put that name behind me when I chose to leave this world. I go by Micah now.’

  Micah kept his eyes fully trained on the being before him, his arms ready for any sign of attack. He saw no trace of Eden or Mokoto; did that mean they had decided to walk around the barley instead of entering it? He had to try and distract the beast until he knew for sure.

  ‘Do you now? Micah…’

  The Keeper’s laughter caused Micah’s stomach to roll. ‘And what makes you so special?’ the Keeper jeered. ‘What makes you believe this world would ever let you go so easily?’

  Micah faltered for a second. He had harboured his own doubts on this matter for many years. He could be called many things, but naive was not one of them.

  That slight hesitation was all that the Keeper was waiting for. In a lightning-fast move, it launched itself at Micah, aiming its blade for the inside of his thigh. Micah managed to move back just in time and parried the Keeper’s magnificent sword with his lesser substitutes.

  ‘Look at you,’ the Keeper hissed between sharp teeth, once again circling its prey. ‘You think you are so special!’ Its face crumpled into a grotesque snarl. ‘So blessed. You and your Morning Star!’

  Micah’s back snapped up straight. ‘You leave Luca out of this!’ he warned.

  ‘That is not his true name, either. It seems you are both hiding under some grand delusion if you believe Father would forget His favourite sons so readily.’ The Keeper’s eyes gleamed with the feral light radiating from his weapon.

  Micah memorised the lay of the land surrounding him. ‘We never sought His favour. You know this,’ he replied, confused by the depth of the Keeper’s hatred, but he knew there would be no reasoning done today. Keepers didn’t know how to reason. That was what made them such accomplished weapons.

  ‘No! I suppose yo
u didn’t...’ the Keeper continued, before running its tongue over the tip of a sharp canine. ‘But that matters none to me.’ It shook its great head, causing its golden mane to break free in the growing breeze. ‘You were not here to witness how your betrayal hurt Him. You were not here to see that — no matter what the rest of us did, pledged to do, it was never enough to fill the void you left. It would never have been you!’

  ‘Keeper, I have no quarrel with you. Let me pass!’ Micah had no time to get into this right now, and his thighs had begun to burn with the crouch he had been sustaining. Deep down, he had known his and Luca’s absence would be hard felt, but it was his shame and his alone to despair over. How could he ever begin to explain why they had agreed to abandon everything they knew? Because of the love, he held for Luca? The Keeper would have no understanding of the concept. The love it held for its Maker was singular and incorruptible. It had been clear to Micah that his brother had been slowly suffocating from decades spent both curbing his tongue and stemming his need to create in a world already made perfect. Micah had only wished to bring his brother peace. Once it was decided, he and Luca never dreamt of returning, certain they would never be welcome. ‘I have come seeking another, a human girl, and then I shall leave. I mean for no harm to come to you.’ He stared the Keeper down, not daring to break eye contact.

  The replying laughter was cruel. ‘No, no, Brother. I see our prince’s sense of humour has rubbed off on you.’

  ‘I told you to leave Luca out of this!’ Micah growled through gritted teeth. A minute movement caught his eye as the Keeper's knuckles readjusted along the hilt of its blade. Micah knew then that there would be no leaving this without a fight. Maybe he deserves it, he mused darkly. Maybe this was the price for turning his back on his Lord.

  But he wouldn't give up — not without a fight. No, he would hold this beast off for as long as he could, hoping Eden would hear them and be frightened enough to quit her foolish quest and find safety.