A pile of glowing embers that only made the darkness more pronounced was all that remained of our fire. I heard someone say once that darkness had palpability, a thickness, that it wasn’t just an absence of light—can’t remember who said it. I never believed it.

Sat up and listened. Wondered why the darkness and the cold reminded me of what somebody said about something I didn’t believe, whose name I couldn’t even remember. Absence is its own presence and all that nonsense. Doesn’t feel like nonsense now, I thought. I wanted to laugh, only it seemed a sacrilege. Didn’t believe in sacrilege either, but night can make you renounce old doctrines and become a proselyte to just about any kind of craziness in the time it takes for a dying fire to draw the cold to it. I told myself that I didn’t laugh because the cave would just laugh back and wake Noelle.

I slithered from my blankets and crawled close to where she was—my hand bumped her, but she didn’t budge. Her breathing, faint and hollow as a ghost, was the sleeping kind; heat from her nostrils bristled the tiny hairs on my knuckles. Feeling her breath, I remembered what I had always known, that more than one kind of light exists. Sometimes it’s the light you feel but can’t see.

That’s what hope is, I thought. Faith and all that goodness Mom and Dad used to talk about before putting Noelle and I to bed. All of it was light felt and not seen. That was why we were hiding in a cave, to protect the true light in a world of reversing polarities. What that man said, maybe he thought it sounded clever. I don’t know. Maybe he really believed in the palpability of nothing. The rest of the world seems to believe it—they worship it now.

Got up and walked to where the cave opened to the escarpment leading down toward corkwood and canarium trees. The full moon cast its light through the trembling jungle leaves and reached toward the cave’s mouth, but I didn’t let it touch me. Been teaching myself how to think fast and move slow; seems the best way to protect yourself in a world where people are doing just the opposite. God knows I wanted to bathe in that light, but I kept close to the shadows, listened and watched. You learn to listen and watch for a good minute or two.

“Addy,” I heard her whisper. Her cold hand on my dangling wrist.

“Go back to sleep,” I said. Wind whispered in the jungle.

“I can’t,” she said.

“Another dream?”

I could feel her nodding “yes” behind me. Didn’t have to look anymore. More than one way to see. More than one kind of light.

“It was Mom and Dad,” she whispered.

I heard an anomalous crunch of leaves and almost shushed her, but thought better of it. It was an animal’s sound—the other kind would never announce themselves that way. With them it was always what you didn’t hear, what you didn’t see. I knelt down and, taking her by the hand, drew her back into the greater shadow.

“What did they tell you?” I asked.

“Mom didn’t say anything,” she said. “Dad just said tell you ‘Genesis 12:1’. I asked him what he meant and he said ‘wake up now’. After that, they were gone.” She started to cry and so I held her close.

“Don’t cry, Noelle. I know what he meant.”

She looked up at me. “You do? I never know what he means.”

I smiled. “Gather up our things as quietly as you can,” I whispered. “I’ll put out the fire.”

“We’re leaving?”

“Yes,” I said. “Dad wants us to and so we’ll make for the mountains. Tonight.”

I nudged her off and followed her. Covered the embers with rocks and dirt while she rolled up the blankets and stuffed them into our packs. Dad and I had agreed on Genesis 12:1 well before the onset of things. Get out of your country. Noelle was special—the other kind couldn’t listen in on her dreams the way they could mine. Mom and Dad knew that. I seldom dreamed anymore; if I sensed a dream coming, I would wake up on instinct.

“Ready,” she said. She handed me my pack and donned hers. I looked her over and remembered I would kill or die or both if it meant protecting her.

“Me too,” I whispered. “Stay close. We’ll keep to the shadows.”

From the escarpment, we began climbing the layered ascent above the cave. When we had climbed for about an hour, I looked down through the wiry branches at the jungle floor touched by strands of a falling moon. Shapes of men, like bats fluttering, were darting between the rocks and trees.

“What is it?” she asked.

I turned away. “Nothing. Keep climbing.”

We climbed until dawn.

* * *

            When Noelle was three and I was nine, we drove up to the farm to visit Granddaddy and Grammy. Four hundred acres of arable land surrounded by a forest of pine and evergreen. The snow had fallen heavy on the earth, so thick that I could climb in through the kitchen window without having to jump for the sill. Dad had said it was more because I had grown, but I liked the idea that the snow had somehow raised me up, as if it were on my side.

One night Dad woke me up, told me to put my warm clothes and boots on and to meet him outside. I asked him what was wrong and he said nothing yet, but that I should hurry and make certain I layered up. Passing through the foyer on the way down, I saw Mom in the kitchen but she didn’t look at me. She sat holding a mug of coffee, staring down past its rim the way she always did when she was searching somewhere inside herself.

“Hurry,” she said. “Don’t keep your dad waiting.”

In her cold reclusion I sensed something inevitable—that I had been awakened in the night because I was about to be born and so I needed to be present for it. For a moment I watched her without saying anything, as though to preserve her as an icon in the shrine of my heart. I knew that I would never see her with the same eyes again. In my first birth she had played the most active part, the lead role even. But in the birth that awaited me out there in the winter night she could have no part.

When I stepped outside, I closed the door gently behind me and stared at my father standing at the edge of the steps that led down from the porch. He did not look at me either. I wondered if he even could.

“Ready?” he asked.

I nodded. He made me follow him and I could tell we were heading toward the barn. As he walked, he plowed a gulley through the snow and I followed in it as if it were a lighted path carving its way through a crowd of night.

“Why are we out here?” I asked him.

“That question can’t be answered in the time it takes from the porch to the barn,” he said.

Then he glanced back at me or past me, I’m not sure which. When he saw that I was lagging, he told me to speed up. His tone was calm but I could hear in it a chill that had its roots somewhere in the core of his heart, sliding its branches into his veins and spreading a deep freeze through him. And then I knew—he was afraid. My father. A man marked by an incapacity for fear, known and respected for it. That realization of my father’s humanity was the first rush of blood and water thrusting me toward a new advent.

* * *

            Noelle was asleep next to me while I leaned against a tree, watching the slope we had climbed that morning. We were hidden behind a thin veil of leafy bushes and projecting rocks, but I could still see the treetops in the forest below. The sun was warm and I could tell the day was going to get hotter the higher we climbed. I didn’t like the idea of stopping so soon but she was tumbling in her steps, slipping on beds of loose pebbles. If we didn’t rest, I would either have to carry her or let her sink face-first into the black dirt. So far from their nearest enclave, the other kind would be reluctant to travel by day.

At least, that was my hope.

From my coat pocket I drew my short knife with its fat blade and its polished horn handle. Held it in my open palm, watching the sunlight burn through the glassy edge, casting a rainbow on the tip of my boot. I had only used it to kill small animals for food; Dad had taught me how to kill a rabbit and then skin it so as to preserve the meat. I always told Noelle to hide and look the other way during those times but I couldn’t stop her from watching if she wanted to see. The first time she saw me kill an animal, she refused to eat it. It took an hour to convince her that we either ate or we starved. That had been right after we left the village—two weeks ago. Since then, life in the wild had thinned her out.

Still, I didn’t know how much longer I could keep up feeding the two of us while we ran for our lives. We had to find help. If nothing else, I had to get Noelle someplace safe. I didn’t care what happened to me anymore, not like I used to anyway. It wasn’t just me they were after—if they got me without Noelle they had nothing; they’d have to kill me. But if they got her… if they got her I’d do anything they wanted.

“Addy…” Her voice came up from some buried place.

“Yeah?”

Birds fluttered in the branches overhead; an ant was crawling across my knee and I flicked it away with the knife.

“How much longer do we have to climb?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Until we find Uriel, I suppose. He lives somewhere near the summit.”

“How do you know?”

“That’s what the doctor told us back at the village, remember?”

“What doctor?”

“The tall man with the big hands,” I said.

“Oh,” she said. “I didn’t know he was a doctor.”

“The village doctor. Kofi.”

“Did you believe him?”

Did I believe him? What other choice was there but to believe him? Either I believed him or I threw away everything Mom and Dad had fought for… were still fighting for. They had sent us to the other side of the world because of what they believed, and so far they had been right about most things. They had been right about Kofi; it stood to reason that Kofi was right about Uriel.

“Of course,” I told her. “That’s why we’re out here.”

“The other kind are close, aren’t they?”

No reason to lie to her. Dad always told me to keep as much as I could from her but to answer her questions truthfully. She was young but she wasn’t a simpleton.

“Yes,” I said. “That’s why we can’t rest for much longer.”

For a few minutes we sat and listened to the life of the mountain and the forest. The day was deceptive in its peacefulness, just as the night had been.

“Addy,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“What if Uriel doesn’t exist?”

I sat quietly for several lingering moments, waiting for an answer to come. It came with a renewed burst of sunlight as a cloud passed.

“Then God will send someone else to help us,” I said, wondering if I believed it. Hell, I had to tell her something.

As we returned to the slow labor of the hike, I kept sensing movement to my left. When I  glanced in that direction, there was nothing. We would go on for a while and then I would sense it again, like an extra shadow moving apart from our own, parallel to our ascent but keeping itself at a distance. Of course, when I looked for it again, I didn’t see anything except a bird hopping in the brush. I don’t know if it was really anything; it didn’t feel much like the other kind. I can’t really describe what it felt like—all I know is it was with us for a good ways.

* * *

When we came to the barn, he had to shove his full weight against the door to open it. The door squealed on it hinges and skidded against the concrete floor, sounding like fingernails on a chalkboard. The doorway loomed like a rectangular maw of shadow; the air within felt colder than outside and as Dad stepped over the threshold he was half enveloped by darkness. From the inside wall, he grabbed an electric lantern and, switching it on, was ignited in a soft glow that made me suddenly miss the warmth of my bed. I thought about turning around and running back to the house.

“Hurry up,” he said, beckoning me inside. I stepped across and thought of Julius Caesar. Except I had no army.

I was startled to see the blackened shape of a man sitting on a workman’s stool at the far end of the barn, barely visible in the dim light of Dad’s lantern. He sat beside Granddaddy’s covered-up 1959 Chrysler Imperial. As we got closer to him and the light revealed some of his features, I got the sense that he was out of place beside that American relic, not because it was American but because it was of time and space. When the light hit him full on, I saw his face clearly, and I could’ve sworn then that he was both the youngest and oldest man I had ever seen—he didn’t fit beside the car because he didn’t fit anywhere.

“Addy,” he said, looking me in the eye.

“Yes, sir,” I said.

He nodded, as if assessing my response. Then he looked up at my father. “Leave the lantern,” he said. “You can wait outside if you like but I would suggest going indoors where it’s warm.”

“I’ll wait outside,” Dad said. He looked down at me and started to say something, but a look from the man made him swallow an empty breath instead. He nodded at the man and then walked back to the other side of the barn. The door cracked shut and suddenly I realized I had been left alone in the bone-freezing cold with a man I didn’t know.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked me.

“No, sir,” I said.

“I know you don’t but I have to ask,” he said.

“Why?” I asked.

“In case you did know who I was,” he said, smiling.

“How would I know you?”

His smile faded. “You would only know me if you weren’t yourself.”

I started to say something but he lifted a gloved hand to quiet me. He wore a heavy wool coat that covered his knees almost to the rims of his black boots. His hair was long and gray and he had matching stubble on his chin and cheeks. His eyes were black in the lantern’s red light.

“I don’t have time to answer questions,” he said. “Rather, I’ve come to ask you a few myself.”

“All right,” I said, a little reluctantly.

He sat up and started to lean back even though there was nothing to lean on; he was taller than I had originally guessed.

“Let’s start with a hypothetical question,” he said. “You know what hypothetical means, right?”

“Yes, sir,” I said, and my voice croaked from the cold.

“Good,” he said. “Now, let’s begin. You live a very long time, so long that you don’t know how old you are anymore—we’ll just say you’re half a billion years old. You keep getting stronger but the earth is dying and its people are diminishing. The sun grows dim and the planet is getting colder. Then, you realize it is within your power to destroy everything and attempt to create a new world, but you still have a choice: you can let the earth and its people fade, or you can put it all to an abrupt end and try to start something new.”

I was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Can I do both?”

He shook his head. “You must choose between them. Also, remember that there is great risk in destroying the old world, because there is no guarantee that a new world will be created. Only the potential exists. Still, the old world is dying and another opportunity to create a new one may never come again. Knowing that, what choice do you make?”

I started to answer what I thought to be correct: that it wasn’t my responsibility to make that kind of decision, that it was not within my power—only something in my insides locked up when I tried to say it. I went rigid, felt a sudden upwelling of terror without knowing what I feared. He saw the hesitation and lunged forward. In less than a second he held me in an iron vise with his right forearm, and then I felt something cold prick the skin of my exposed neck.

“If you’re one of them,” he said. “I won’t hesitate to kill you. Answer the question.”

“It’s not a question,” I rasped.

“What?” His grip loosened a hair’s breadth.

“It isn’t a question,” I said. “It’s something I’ve already done.”

“Explain,” he said.

“A dream I had three nights ago,” I said. “In the dream, I destroyed everything. I had a choice, like you said. I couldn’t let things go on as they were. I didn’t want to tell you because… because it scared me that you knew.”

In the moment, I was shocked by my own explicit honesty. I had never spoken with such clarity.

I heard him let out a heavy breath; his arm fell away and I rushed forward about six paces when something caught me. I looked up at a man of similar build and with a face that carried the same aura as the other man but unique in its own right. My captor gently turned me around to face the other, who was back on the stool and smiling with a kind of warmth that seemed out of character for a man who had just threatened death. Out of the corners of both eyes, I saw two more men appear, one to the left and another to the right.

“These are my brothers in arms,” the gray-haired man said, indicating the men who had just appeared. Then he held aloft a shining, phosphorescent blade—I was startled by how sharp it seemed.

“Are you going to kill me now?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No, Addy,” he said. “I never held the blade to you. I only let the crest of the hilt touch your skin.”

“Why?”

“The simplest explanation? To test how you respond to fear,” he said. “I had no intention of killing you, but the threat was necessary.”

“But you said you wouldn’t hesitate.”

“I said I wouldn’t hesitate to kill you if you were one of them,” he said. “I already guessed that you weren’t. But then you hesitated to speak the truth. Why?”

“I already told you,” I said. “I was afraid.”

“Afraid because we knew about your dream?”

“Yeah,” I said, forgetting the sir. “That among other things.”

He smiled again. “The dream is proof of your humanity,” he said. “I sent you that dream to prove that you weren’t one of them.”

“But you said you already knew I wasn’t.”

For the present, I overlooked the revelation that he had sent the dream, whatever that meant. I didn’t understand it but I didn’t doubt him either—in some way, it made sense if only at a subconscious level.

“Yes,” he said. “I did know.”

“Then why go through all of that?” I asked.

His face grew solemn. “Because you need to know for yourself that you are not, nor will you ever be, one of the other kind. Do you know about them?”

“Dad has told me some things,” I said. By some things I meant very little, but I did not feel compelled to explain that to him. He seemed to know enough without me telling him anything.

“Did you know that they are incapable of dreaming?”

I stared at him. “No,” I said. “I didn’t know that.”

“They have proven more than capable of spying on the dreams of human beings,” he said, “but that is where their powers stop. Have you ever felt that someone or something in one of your dreams was both an outsider and a threat?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Lots of times. I always try to wake up.”

“Good habit,” he said.“The dream you had about the earth is one we sent to numerous individuals, but you are the only one who made the choice to risk everything. That makes you a very important person. And, while it tells us what we need to know about you, it also means you can never safely dream again.”

Never dream… never again. “Why?” I asked.

“Because the other kind were present in your dream too, if only as silent listeners,” he said. “And now they know who you are, just as we do.”

“And who am I exactly?”

He laughed softly. “Someone who might make a difference.”

* * *

            In a narrow cleft of rock we huddled, while from behind a thick bush of prickly needles I peered down at a silver stream, scanning the stony riverbank from the high ground to where it bended toward the lower valley. No one in sight but that never meant much. I listened and watched for a good five minutes if not longer. Below us, the sun was flooding the rocky slope with light and heat. There’d be nowhere to hide when I came out from our meager covering, but we needed water.

“All right,” I whispered. “I’m going down. You can watch me from here. Just keep low. Okay?”

She nodded. “Just hurry.”

Hurry. Everybody was always asking me to hurry. Just like I always praying to God to hurry. Please help us and hurry and don’t let us get caught and hurry and send someone to help us and please, please hurry.

I climbed down from our lookout and ran with stunted strides toward the stream bank, skidding on moist pebbles as I neared the water’s edge.  A series of short, grassy shelves carried the stream into the valley like an uneven stair, flowing in little dips and falls that hummed with the surge of water. Trees were thicker on the opposite bank. I hunched down with my boots touching the stream.

Filling the first canteen, I scanned the dark network of leafy branches and low-hanging limbs as they swayed between narrow bands of sunlight and shade. And then I felt the presence, a noiseless shadow hovering toward me, and at the same time I heard Noelle scream.

The knife was out of its sheath and glistening in my right palm even as I turned toward the presence at my left. I saw the tall shape of the hooded man, the markings on the ashen face, the eyes gleaming like tiny shards of ice in the stream’s reflected sunlight—more light than they were used to and yet this one endured it.

In that split-second, I was aware of more than his proximity, of more than the long, outthrust needle between the knuckles of his left hand. How many were with him? They had heard Noelle scream; how long before they got to her? How many seconds did I have before the one approaching at my back would strike? If there was one in front then there was one behind. Count them when they’re dead.

The blade did its work quickly—the hilt left my palm and the knifepoint struck the enemy in the heart. Stained with his blood, the weapon was in my palm again in almost the same instant and I hadn’t even moved. I did not see him collapse before I felt the force of the blade leading me, and so I turned with it, all the way around toward the valley-side of the stream. But I was too late.

A shock of ice coursed through my arm as the whip struck, curling around my wrist and tightening like a boa constrictor. The knife twirled in the air as it spun loose from my hand, its guiding power lost to me now. It landed somewhere in the bed of long grass as my enemy tackled and drove me backward into a rush of cold water that swelled above my ears. He held me there while drawing something from his cloak, and then I saw the needle flash as it caught the sun.

God, not here. Not now.

His weight lifted from me as though it had been torn away. A yellow blur leaped across my vision and displaced the enemy’s black shape. I lifted my head in time to hear a wild animal’s roar followed by a crunching sound, like bones snapping. After that it was just the trickling of the stream, the slight hum of the miniature waterfalls.

Blood in the water but it wasn’t mine.

I saw the black-robed body lying face up against the opposite bank—a tawny lioness stood over him and stared at me, licking her teeth. This was the Africa I had been told about but had not yet seen, at least not up close. She stared at me as if waiting for me to thank her, but I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. And then I thought of Noelle. Had they gotten her? Why wasn’t she calling out to me?

“You all right, kid?” A man’s voice from my right.

His low-cut boots, splashing through the slow current, seemed heavy enough to make the stream rise up and flood the bank. I looked up at his face: young and yet old. His blonde hair, suffused beneath a trekker’s hat, would turn white depending on how the sun hit it. I couldn’t tell what color his eyes were in the shade of his hat. Across his chest he carried what looked like an M-16 assault rifle. I didn’t say anything, but kept looking between him and the lioness.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “She won’t eat you.”

I stared at the rifle, at his finger resting near the trigger.

“And I’m not going to shoot you, either,” he said.

“Where’s my sister?” I said, but he just looked at me.

I jumped up and ran back toward the slope, calling Noelle’s name as loud as I could and not caring if the other kind were still around to hear it. She didn’t answer. When I got to our hiding spot, I found her pack.

Just her pack. No footprints, no sign of struggle. I remembered her scream. She had screamed only once. From behind, I sensed the man nearing and whirled on him as if he, like the other kind, had come with an ungodly purpose.

“Where is she?” I demanded.

He didn’t say a word, but just stared at me the way he had before. Like he didn’t know anything… or like he knew something I didn’t.

* * *

            That night on the farm, he told and showed me lots of things I can’t talk about. At least I can’t talk about them yet. He sent one of his men to bring my father inside and then had us stand together. Dad didn’t say anything, but waited like he knew all the rules; what you did and didn’t do. That was when the gray-haired man gave me the knife. As I held it in my open palm, it glowed with a pale, distant light… almost as if it were a mirror reflecting the farthest stretch of the known universe.

“Never let another man wield it while you possess it,” the man said. “Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” I said. “But what would happen—”

“What would happen is meaningless so long as you keep your word.”

I only nodded.

Seeing my withdrawn look, he added: “It will not bend to an evil will. Rather, it will destroy itself before it lets the will of darkness command it. That’s the way I designed it. Let it guide you only in times of need—otherwise, keep it hidden and don’t use it.”

I nodded. “I won’t use it. I hope I never have to.”

He smiled. “We all hope that, Addy. Though no man hopes for it more than your father.” He and Dad exchanged knowing glances. “Still, I feel better leaving you well-equipped,” he added.

I had been staring at the knife, at its inexplicable phosphorescence, when I was stricken by the weight of his words. He was leaving. Why did that matter to me? I barely knew him… and a few minutes ago he had threatened to kill me, or pretended to threaten I guess.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“My work does not allow me to put down roots, or to rest my limbs for very long,” he said, rising. The drape of his cloak hung below his knees. “I’ve already spent more time with you than I ought to have.” He looked at my father and said, “The rest of the work lies with you now.”

“I’ll teach him everything I can,” Dad said.

The gray-haired man only nodded. He gave a subtle glance to his men, and they moved to the back door of the barn—the one that faced the nearest vanguard of trees that led nowhere but deeper into a wild forest. One by one they vanished into the outer dark, while the winter chill howled at us from the open door. Following his brothers, the gray haired man was about to cross the threshold when I called to him.

“Wait,” I said. He stopped and turned his head. Standing in front of the covered car, he waited for me to speak.

“Who are you?” I asked.

He smiled. “Just a half-billion year old man abiding the space between you and everything else,” he said. “My name is Michael, or at least that’s what they call me in your world. So long, Addy.” He gave a little two-fingered salute and then stepped outside.

Compelled by some unnamable force, I sprinted after him. Dad just stood where he was like he knew what to expect; I could feel him watching me. When I got to the door, I stared out at the flat, white plain of snow as it stretched toward the forest. In the cloud-covered darkness, I could just make out the black outline of the trees.

Not a man in sight. There weren’t even tracks in the snow.

* * *

“Addy…” Her voice, unmistakable.

She came up from under a thick row of bushes, holding the knife. Still streaked with blood, it beamed a full spectrum of colors in the hot, midday light.

“I went down to help you,” she said. “But then the man with the lion came, and so I hid again.” She looked up at the stranger, and then at me. I found it curious that she seemed less suspicious of him than I was; it comforted me a little. She handed me the knife and I started to wipe the blood off on my shirt.

The man thrust his hand toward me as if I were about to step from a ledge. “No,” he said. “For God’s sake don’t do that. You’ll be lit up like a bonfire on a midnight plain.”

“What?” I looked at him with questioning eyes. Noelle crouched under the net of leaves, poised to dive back into her newfound hiding place at the first sign of danger.

“The blood,” he said. “They can smell their own blood better than they can smell yours. Come, we’ll wash it off in the stream. We need to be quick though. More of them are headed this way.” He started back down the slope.

I looked at Noelle. “What do you think?” I asked her.

“I think he’s Uriel,” she whispered.

I took her hand in mine and we followed him to the stream. When we got to the bank, I saw the lioness hovering over the water, drinking. She looked up at me, and then at Noelle; just as before, I was startled by the lucidity of her gaze. More than this, I discovered that I knew her by her presence more than by her look. She was the presence I had felt walking with us earlier that morning, during our ascent up the first slope.

“Let me see the knife,” the man said. The rifle was strapped across his back, while his hat hung by a thin, leather cord around his neck. He scooped water into his cupped palm and then rubbed it through his hair. The water ran down his forehead and along the curve of his narrow cheeks like tears.

“I was told never to let another man handle it,” I said.

He smiled. “Michael gives explicit instructions. But I’ve never heard of him giving away one of his weapons, least of all to a scrawny kid. You must be a very important person. You said your name was Addy?”

“I didn’t say what my name was,” I said.

He laughed. “No, you didn’t. But she did.” He pointed to Noelle with his eyes. “My name is Uriel, in case you hadn’t already guessed. I was told to expect you.”

“I told you,” Noelle said, looking up at me.

“How do we know you’re who you say you are?” I asked, ignoring her.

He laughed again. “Boy, there’s wisdom in caution. But don’t pretend you don’t already know who I am without me telling you. Learn to trust your heart. Things move a lot quicker that way. I am Uriel, and nothing else in this world can attest to being me. Now, clean that knife so we can be moving. I’ll fill your canteens.”

A red murk loosened from the blade as I dipped it in the water. While letting the stream do its work, I saw Uriel whisper something to the lioness and point toward the descending slope, where the stream curved and faded into the trees of the valley. She sprinted off in that direction and in less than a minute was out of sight.

When I had dried the blade, it glistened with renewed intensity. We set out just as the sun began curving toward the west. Noelle clung to my side while Uriel walked in front of us. A little ways into our journey, Uriel glanced back and saw that I was still handling the knife.

“You had best keep that hidden for the rest of the way,” he said. “It isn’t wise to reveal a weapon like that unless need demands it. Power draws lust from even the humble soul.”

I returned the weapon to its sheath. “Are there more people where we are going?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “But that’s another day’s journey ahead, which means one more night with the enemy tracking us. We’ll need to find a good hiding place sometime after sundown, but we should walk for as long as possible. I can carry the little one when her legs give out, at least for a while.”

When, not if. Noelle looked at me with clenched teeth behind taut lips—an expression I knew too well. I squeezed her hand the way I did when I wanted to let her know everything was going to be all right.

“Where’s the lion?” Noelle asked, her voice like a baby’s when contrasted to Uriel’s staunch tones. She seemed to have forgotten our guide’s prior foresight regarding her legs.

“I sent her to spy on our pursuers,” he said. “She will remain near our trail, but she will not approach us unless the enemy is too close to ignore.”

“I thought they were already too close to ignore,” I said.

“The two you met by the stream were scouts,” Uriel said, his eyes ahead of him. “The rest of their party is much larger, perhaps even more than I could handle in close quarters.” He lifted a low hanging, thorny branch so that we could walk under it. “That’s why we must keep moving for as long as possible. And we really shouldn’t talk either.”

And we didn’t talk, except to answer when Uriel asked us how we were managing. The landscape folded and rose, folded again and rose again toward greater heights as the sun sank toward the west and burned like the last strand of wick in a candle. When night fell, we walked in the dark, up and up, sometimes climbing with our hands in places where the slope was steep and rocky. By the time the moon had risen, Uriel had to carry Noelle.

I dreamed while I walked, even while I climbed. Of the night before, when it had been just the two of us in the cave. Of when we left the village and spent our first nights alone in this country’s wild jungle, more afraid of what was hunting us than any animal that might have killed us for food. Of Kofi, the village doctor, who told us where to seek Uriel. Kofi… was he still alive or had they gotten him too? I dreamed of Michael and the night he gave me the knife. Of my dad teaching me how to survive in the cold wilderness on Granddaddy’s four hundred acres. Of Mom sipping her coffee the night I was born, I mean really born. And through the haze of it all, Uriel was there—a fiery star amid the shades of my past.

When the dreams had at last abandoned me to the cool and hollow night, Uriel was still there, carrying my sister over his shoulder. He was that rare kind of fire that burned long after all the other flames turned cold. And then I wondered if God hadn’t sent us all the help we would ever need.

To Be Continued…

unto green glades under a cloud-ridden sky,

a traveler takes in the sweet mists

and is reminded of a dream.

Breathing out, he shares what life he has

with the long, unkept grass

flowing as waves atop a stormy sea;

waves that break against the stony road

and sink back toward trees skirting the northern fringe,

whose wind-tussled leaves shiver in the gusts

of early autumn.

The ashen Sky, his guardian,

She groans from labor pangs,

withholding until the last second

the bounty thus preserved from its conception

as God might retain such gifts until some fullness of time…

if only time would ever grow full.

and cleanses himself of the night’s dreams?

To recall an epoch when he could dash

from the shadowed room to the one in which she slept, sound.

There, the shadow not so real as she…

and crawling into bed beside her

he sleeps the night into a day.

The sound of her breathing akin to a bay tide flowing.

She, a steel door set against the deluge of tormentors

who call for the little one beside her.

She holds them at bay though she sleeps unknowing of them.

The night lengthens; he presses himself close to her and uses her as a shield…

Morning comes and he greets it

as though to say, “I have come round to you again

at the turning of the earth.”

He kisses her as she yet sleeps and returns to his own bed,

for the morning is as young and beautiful as she.

Farther behind lay the severed, cauterized body parts of Maverick assassin-bots. Their graves were as tracks marking the boy’s path.

His broken helmet rested beneath the fold of his weapon arm, the red jewel cracked and bereft of its previous glow. The helmet was useless to him now, but he held to it as though it might yet keep him safe.

Snow hovered over the long metallic causeway, falling away and melting into the stygian water of the bay, whose waves rose in the wind, rushing toward the distant shores as if being called home. The causeway stretched on for nearly a mile toward a burning city. She would burn well into the night.

A voice spoke within his internal communicator chip: “You all right, boy?”

“I am all right, yes.”

He checked the rate of power consumption on his arm-cannon. The readings were lower than he would have liked. He only had enough energy for standard blasts. He could manage against the smaller bots, but if he met another of the Reavers…

“You need to repair,” the voice in his brain said. The voice was like his own, though older sounding and dryer in tone.

“I can’t do that,” the boy said. He brushed a strand of matted hair from his face.

“If it were just the bike I wouldn’t ask you to come back,” the voice said, “but without the helmet you’re as vulnerable as anyone. And your power consumption–”

“Has drained all but my reserves,” the boy said. “I’ve managed with less before.”

“Those were different circumstances,” the voice said.

“I can’t abandon these people,” the boy said.

“One blow to the head and you’re gone, just like the rest of us. Come home.”

The boy stood for a moment in thought, looking out toward the flaming ruins. The sounds of mechanized warfare drummed from somewhere beyond the burning citadels and shattered columns. He looked down at the helmet.

“Son…” the voice pleaded now.

“Would you come home?” the boy asked.

“What?”

“If you were me,” the boy said. “Could you bring yourself to turn back?”

There was a long silence. The boy calculated how many might be dying with every moment that he lingered, but he waited with calmness. The energy levels on his arm cannon had risen by half a bar.

“No,” the voice said. “I could not turn back.”

“I will return when it is finished,” the boy said.

“This may not end as soon as you hope.”

“Can’t expect a hundred years of war to end in one night. Have you plotted my course?” The boy tossed the helmet toward the crashed bike, watched it roll and collide with the wreckage.

“I’m downloading the map into your memory core now,” the voice said. “Can you see it yet?”

“Yes. Eighty-four percent.” When the bar reached one-hundred percent, a cognitive map of the city replaced his previous map data.

“There is an underground canal where the causeway connects with the main platform,” the voice said. “It leads to the inner city plaza. There are no guardians watching the bridge. That is the safest route. You can make it.”

The boy leapt into a full sprint, the cleats on the bottom of his boots catching the ice. He ran three-quarters of a mile in under two minutes and when he came to the end of the causeway, dropped into the shallow water at the platform’s edge. There was a small, circular canal directly under the causeway where the corroded water from the city’s storm drains washed out into the bay. The boy entered, disappearing into cold darkness.

Not by a boatman or an angel, but by train to a place he had not expected to be taken because no one had ever told him that such a place existed. A place of forever night without moon or stars; a place set within the grooves of stratified worlds.

The train traveled swiftly, the tracks winding through hollow desert valleys and over canyons of unseen depth. Eliot stared out of his window at the sweeping view of wild, barren landscapes—sand so white it reminded him of salt flats. He tried to remember where he had seen salt flats before… and then he wondered how a world without any semblance of physical light could show anything but darkness. Yet, the desert was white. It was white because he could see that it was, even though there was no light to see by.

When he awoke the train had stopped and people were getting up from their seats. He knew he was on a train only when he looked out of the window and saw the station platform. He searched his mind, trying to remember a journey. There was nothing, only some obscure perception of motion through a swirling mesh of darkness. He got up from his seat and followed the crowd out onto the platform.

When he got to the platform, he looked back at the train and decided that he must have just come from there. He had no memory of having been on a train.

It wasn’t until he was being led out of a cave and into the chilled, open air that he first began to retain his experiences as they came to him, one after another. He looked around and found that he was among a herd of slow-moving people, all with their eyes on someone at the front of the procession—a man as far as he could tell.

Eliot could not see the man with any clarity, as he seemed to be shadowed against the light of the cave’s outlet. Above the sea of swaying heads, Eliot saw the man lift up a hand and beckon to the crowd with it.

“Keep up, folks,” he called. “Almost there, now.” His voice broke into an echo that swam along the deepening walls into darkness.

Eliot looked down at the dusty floor ridden with pebbles. He had not imagined it being anything like this. He tried to remember how he had imagined it… couldn’t remember what it was. He didn’t know what this was either.

A little girl came up to him and tugged the sleeve of his sweater.

“What is it?” Eliot said.

“I can’t find my daddy,” she said.

Eliot took her hand in his and held it tight.

“I’ll help you look for him as soon as we get out of here,” he said.

“I don’t think he is here,” she said.

“Maybe not, but we’ll look… just to be sure. He may be with another group.”

The little girl seemed satisfied with this and stuck close to Eliot the rest of the way. When they came out into the light, Eliot realized that it wasn’t light at all. He didn’t know what it was because he had never seen anything like it before.

“Is that a sky?” the girl asked.

“Doesn’t look like one,” he said.

Eliot and the little girl followed the crowd along a wide ledge overlooking an empty valley. The grass in the valley was a rich, dark green; from far off, the fields appeared both holy and at peace under the grey light that was not a sky.

“I’ve seen this place before,” the little girl said. “In a dream.”

“I think I have too,” Eliot said. He looked out beyond the sloping grass toward the high-rising cliffs guarding the valley on the far side. There was a dark recession high up in the face of the cliffs. Another tunnel or cave by the look of it.

Guardians were posted along the ledge to keep people on course. One of them heard Eliot and the little girl talking and snapped his finger at them.

“No talking during the procession,” he said.

Eliot remembered something being said earlier about the need for silence during the journey, but that had been right after… a train ride? He was, after all, still a baby in this new place.

“Why don’t they want us to talk?” the girl whispered after they had walked a ways.

Eliot shook his head. “Just the rules, I guess. What does your dad look like?”

“I… I don’t remember,” she said. Tears began to form in her eyes.

Eliot could hear her sniffling. For a moment, he wasn’t sure what to do, if anything. He kept walking, pulling her along with him as if he were a little boy dragging a stuffed animal. She continued to cry.

Eliot stopped, looked around, then knelt down beside her. His knee stuck through the hole in his jeans, grinding into the hard path. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “We’ll find him. All right?”

She nodded, wiped her eyes. Eliot felt bad for lying, but he couldn’t stand to see the girl cry. Things were heavy enough without a child’s tears.

“Promise?” she asked.

Eliot looked into her sad eyes and felt something cold press against his heart. He had not anticipated that she would ask him to give his word.

“Do not stop.” It was the same guardian from before.

Eliot got up and, taking the girl’s hand again, moved back into the solemn procession. They followed the ledge along the jagged cliff walls until the path opened out onto a flat shelf overlooking the valley. From his position in the rear of the group, Eliot could see that everyone was being rallied together on the shelf.

He felt the little girl’s eyes on him.

“What’s your name?” she whispered. He was glad that she seemed to have forgotten about the promise.

“Eliot,” he said without looking at her. “What’s yours?”

“Eliza,” she said. “Our names are alike.”

Eliot looked down, saw that she was smiling. He looked up to see another one of the guardians eyeing him suspiciously.

“I think we better keep quiet until this is over,” he said after they had safely passed beyond the guardian’s view. Eliza only nodded.

Strange girl, Eliot thought. He glanced down at her again, noticed that she was actually very pretty. He thought about her father and felt pain at the thought. She was so young…

He felt her hand tighten in his as they came to a halt on the wide ledge, then felt it tremble as a chill wind blew through the quiet throng. Eliot and Eliza were at the far back of the group and as such could not see over the crowd, stretching on before them like a field of somber statues. Nobody moved; nobody breathed.

“Eliot…” Eliza whispered.

He could tell that she was nervous. “Let’s just wait and see,” he said, trying to comfort her. He felt her hand loosen a bit.

Neither of them knew what to expect, but they both expected something. Amid the silence, they listened and waited.

Eliot saw a man step up onto a rocky platform overlooking the crowd; he could see the man clearly even from the back of the group. When the man spoke, Eliot recognized his voice. It was the same guide that had led them all to this point.

“All right, folks,” the guide said. “Pay close attention because I will not be repeating myself.” His voice carried over the precipice, echoing down into the valley. “Most of you are probably wondering where you are,” he went on, “and with good reason. Well, let me start by saying that this is not Heaven.”

A gasp could be heard from a few people in the crowd. Eliot wasn’t surprised. It was obvious to him that this place was not Heaven—at least not the Heaven he had been taught about. He could remember something of what he thought Heaven was supposed to look like… and this place did not look one bit like Heaven. He looked down at Eliza. She appeared calm, unmoved. He wondered if she even knew what Heaven was.

“It’s not Hell either,” the man quickly added.

The frightened people in the crowd seemed to relax.

“No,” the man said, “this is the place that exists between the world you came from and the world into which you are headed.”

Murmurs rose among the crowd. When Eliot heard this, he saw the logic of it. He realized why the valley had the aura of something both desolate and peaceful. It was the place between places.

He felt Eliza tug at his hand. He looked down into her questioning eyes.

“I don’t want to go to another world,” she said.

“It’ll be fine,” he whispered. “Don’t worry.”

The guide began to speak again. “But before you go on to the world that awaits you…” the man paused a moment, observing the crowd, preying on their anticipation. “…it is your right to be granted an opportunity.” He smiled.

Eliot found something about that smile unsettling, almost as if there were a malignant thought at the root of it. But then he was looking at the man from far away, and the light—or the indescribable substitute for it—was just odd enough to play tricks.

A man’s voice rose up from somewhere in the crowd: “What’s the meaning of all this mystery? What the hell kind of place is this, anyway?”

The guide shifted his eyes through the ranks of people, all dying to know what he was going to do or say next. Eliot could tell that the man was enjoying himself. The guide turned his head toward the valley.

“Bring up the first glider,” he called.

A sound came from somewhere beyond the edge of the cliff, a sound like metal wheels rolling along on a track. People near the back were standing on the tips of their toes, trying to see what was coming.

“I want to see it,” Eliza said. She pulled Eliot into the crowd.

“Eliza,” he said. “Wait.”

“Come on,” she said, and pushed forward through the ranks, tugging Eliot along with her.

They bumped into someone different at every step. Eliot tried to ignore the irritated looks people gave him as Eliza forced her way through the crowd. He glanced up to see the guide eyeing him from the platform. The man still had that curious smile on his face. Now everybody was looking at them.

“Eliza,” he said. “Please stop.”

“We’re almost to the front,” she said.

He only followed because he was afraid to let go of her—it never entered his mind to hold her back with force.

The sound of machinery grew louder as they neared the edge of the shelf. The people near the front saw them coming and stepped out of the way. Eliot got the feeling that it was not out of reverence or consideration.

Eliza came to a halt as the valley opened before her. Beyond the ledge, the green fields rose and fell like waves in an ocean; the sharp points of smoke-colored rocks broke out from beneath the hills. Eliza looked up at Eliot and smiled.

“That was easy,” she said.

Eliot just stared down at her. Such a strange girl, he thought.

Then he saw the grey edge of something triangular peek above the ledge.

“Looks like a kite,” Eliza said.

To Eliot it looked like a hang-glider, only bigger and different in a way he could not explain… something about its oversized frame perhaps. He was surprised at himself for making the connection; he knew what hang-gliders looked like, only he didn’t know how he knew. It was being brought up by a rising platform that looked metallic, only it didn’t reflect light because there was no light to reflect. The wings of the glider stretched out beyond the edges of the platform, casting no shadows.

Eliot heard the metal wheels lock as the platform leveled with the edge of the flat shelf. There was a boom that resonated in the cliffs at all corners of valley, then died out somewhere among the empty glades and scattered rocks. The glider rested in silence.

“Does it really fly?” Eliza asked. Eliot started to answer…

“Magnificently,” a voice said.

They both looked up to see the guide standing before them; he had come down from his pulpit to walk among his sheep. He smiled at the little girl without showing his teeth.

“But don’t take my word for it,” he said. The guide looked up at Eliot and frowned. “So you are to be the first to fly it?”

“Uh… I didn’t…”

“He was in the back of the group the whole time,” a voice spoke from behind. It was the same voice that had spoken out earlier. Eliot turned to see a man scowling at him from the front line. The man stepped forward.

“He shoved his way to the front only a second ago,” the man said. “Hell, you saw him do it. Why should he get to fly it first?”

“He’s right,” Eliot said. “We did push our way to the front. It wouldn’t be fair… and besides I’m not sure why I would even want to fly it.”

“Why indeed?” the guide said. “For where would it take you?” The guide stepped past Eliot and addressed the crowd. “I spoke of an opportunity. Here it is.” He motioned to the glider.

“On the other side of this valley,” the guide continued, “there is a tunnel.” He pointed to the dark spot Eliot had seen earlier when he had emerged from the cave.

Eliot looked back at it, noted how small it seemed. To accommodate something as big as the glider meant that the tunnel was a lot farther away than the eye made it appear.

“This tunnel leads back to the world from which you all came,” the guide said.

“You mean back to our lives?” the man from before asked. “We can go back to living again?”

“If you make it through,” the guide said, the lack of confidence evident.

“What happens if one of us goes and doesn’t make it?” the same man asked.

Eliot noticed the guide brighten at this question, almost as if he had been waiting for someone to ask it.

“If you do not succeed…” the guide looked over at Eliot, who was standing off from the rest of the group. “Then you die the real death,” he said.

A shudder went up through the crowd. Whispers and murmurs rose together and blended into a single, inarticulate voice.

“My daddy is on the other side of that tunnel,” Eliza whispered.

“You don’t know that for sure,” Eliot said.

“Yes, I do,” she said.

“Those of you who are unwilling to take the risk,” the guide said, “will accompany me to the next world, where you will be dealt with justly. Of that I can say no more.”

“Eliot,” Eliza said, her voice pleading, “I don’t want to go to the other world. My daddy is not there.”

Eliot stared at her for a while, thinking. Then he looked back at the glider. The great wings seemed to linger in the air, sometimes lifting at the slightest force of wind beneath them. Once, the glider leapt up as if to fly, but the ropes tying it off at the bottom held it in place. It settled again onto the platform as the breeze dwindled.

“Is there only one glider?” Eliot asked. He remembered the guide had called it the first glider.

The guide laughed. “Good god, no. There is one for every person here. But, usually no more than one ever goes out.”

“Why is that?” Eliot asked.

“Because nobody ever wants to follow the one who failed, especially after they see it. So, who will be the first to fly?” The guide turned back toward the people. The same man who had complained about Eliot pushing through the crowd stepped forward.

“I’ll fly it,” he said.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the guide said, “our first volunteer. Your name, sir?”

“Crowe,” the man said.

“Mr. Crowe. If you will follow me, please.” The guide led Crowe onto the platform.

Eliot felt his sleeve being tugged.

“What is it?”

“See what?” Eliza asked.

“What are you talking about?”

She sighed. “He said that nobody ever wants to fly after they see it. What do they see?”

Eliot thought for a moment. “I don’t know,” he said.

As soon as Crowe was secure in the glider’s harness, the wind began to blow hard, pushing up against the wings. The glider leapt up into the air and hung there, pulling the ropes taught. Crowe seemed tense but collected, holding the bar with both hands. Eliot noted that he never once looked back.

“You’re right,” Eliot said. “It does look a lot like a kite.”

“Let her go,” the guide called. The ropes uncoiled by themselves and fell back to the platform. The glider shot out over the valley and rode the wind over rolling green hills. Crowe flew as if he knew what he was doing, Eliot thought. The guide walked back over the platform and stopped close to Eliot.

Eliot watched the glider get smaller as it traveled into the distance. It wasn’t long before it looked like a speck in comparison with the dark spot, which now appeared like an open mouth in the broken face of grey cliffs.

Then Eliot saw something move inside the mouth… or thought he saw something.

“What was that?” he asked.

“What?” Eliza replied.

Eliot narrowed his eyes on the far-away cave. He searched for several moments but didn’t see anything.

“What was what?” Eliza asked.

“I saw a shape inside the cave, like a shadow or something.” He looked over at the guide. The man stared blankly across the valley, seemed inattentive to what Eliot was saying.

“I see it,” Eliza said.

“Where?”

“It’s gone now,” she said. “It did seem like a shadow, though.”

“Like black outlined against black, right?” he said.

“Yes,” she said.

The glider was close to the tunnel now. Eliot turned toward the guide.

“You didn’t tell him everything.”

“Didn’t tell who everything?” The guide continued to stare out into the valley.

Eliot gestured toward the glider off in the distance. “The man—Crowe.”

“I made the risks known,” the guide said. “And then he chose.”

Eliot turned away, disgusted. More and more he found himself hating this place… this desolate place with no sky and no light and—

“Eliot,” Eliza cried, “Look!”

Eliot looked out over the valley just in time to see it erupt from the darkness. The wings unfurled to reveal the muscular, bird-like legs curving down toward buckled claws. The skin was as black as obsidian yet dull as ash. The narrow head coned up behind the spine just like…

“A pterodactyl,” Eliza said.

Eliot heard her speak but could not lay hold of her words. He could barely comprehend what he was seeing. He felt like a child and an old man all at once and neither of them resembled the Eliot he thought he was.

He watched the glider turn away from the winged monster, then saw it bounce through the air in an unruly manner. It flew as though it were in a panic.

The beast brought its wings up and snapped them down, folding them inward with ageless grace. The glider begun to spiral downward, its flight broken by the new force of wind. The beast swooped down, caught the glider in its claws and in one motion tore it apart. Shreds of lacerated fabric floated down and disappeared beneath the hills.

The creature never roared or gave any kind of cry. It flew back toward the cave; the only sound came from the resonant beating of its wings.

“Eliot…”

Eliza’s voice seemed to come from somewhere far off. He looked down at her, saw that she was in tears again.

“What?” he said, and found that he too was crying. “What do you want me to say? That everything is going to be all right? Well it’s never going to be all right…”

“Eliot…” She began to cry harder.

“Because it was never meant to be all right,” he said. “Nothing is all right.” He squeezed her tiny arm. She stared up at him, helpless. “Because in the end,” he said, “it’s always the same goddamn monster. So stop standing there expecting me to sing you back to sleep. I’m not your father. I’m not…”

He fell down into her arms, hugging her as if she were his. Her tears seeped through the fabric of his sweater, felt cold against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t…”

“I know,” she said.

He took her hands in his and looked into her eyes. “I’m going to get you out of here,” he said.

Eliza only nodded, then looked up at something behind him. Eliot followed her gaze, turned to see the guide staring down at them. To Eliot, he appeared perplexed, as if he had never seen two people crying before.

The guide abruptly turned toward the people, standing like rows of headstones and staring out into the valley. “Who will go next?” he asked. The crowd rustled; a bed of dead leaves suddenly windswept.

“We will go,” Eliot said, rising to his feet. The guide looked over at him, then down at the girl.

“Both of you? At the same time?”

“Yes,” Eliot said. “Is that against your rules, as well?”

“There are no rules,” the guide said. “But if it is to be both of you, then both must choose. What is the girl’s choice?” He stared down at Eliza while waiting for her to answer.

She looked up at Eliot, saw him smiling at her; it was the first time she had ever seen him smile.

“It’s whatever you want,” Eliot said.

For the first time, Eliot realized that he was happy—happy that he had found her, or that she had found him. Without her, he would have been like all the other empty souls standing out in the crowd: lost, alone, afraid.

Eliza smiled back at him, her eyes still aglow with tears. “I want to go home,” she said.

“Very well, then,” the guide said, then turned toward the platform. “Bring up the next glider,” he called out. The rumble of machinery echoed down into the valley as the platform began receding into the precipice.

“Are you out of your mind?” a man from the crowd said to Eliot. “You won’t stand a chance against that… that monster.”

The guide stood by calmly, waiting. Eliot started to say something, but was cut off.

“I’m not going to let you take that little girl,” a woman near the front cried. “You’re insane and she doesn’t know any better. She’s only a child.”

Eliot just stood in silence, holding tight to Eliza’s hand.

The woman spoke to the guide. “If he wants to go and get himself torn to pieces, then that’s his affair. But he can’t take her. He can’t.”

Seeing that the guide made no attempt to respond, the woman stepped forward and stretched out her hand toward Eliza. “Come here, sweetie.”

Eliot looked at Eliza. “Stay by me,” he said.

“Don’t you say another word to her,” the woman snapped. “Sweetie, please come here.” The woman stepped closer.

“I’m going with Eliot,” Eliza said. The woman was about to say something else but the guide stopped her.

“The girl has chosen,” he said. “Now get back if you will not fly.”

“You can’t just—”

“I said, get back.”

The woman looked down at Eliza, then narrowed her eyes as she looked up at Eliot. She turned and went back to her place among the crowd. Eliot saw a man turn to her, heard him say: “Poor girl. It’s really a shame. You did the right thing, though.”

“They don’t understand,” Eliza said. Her voice sounded older as she spoke under her breath.

“No,” Eliot said. “They don’t.”

“This way,” the guide said.

Eliot turned to see that the next glider had been brought up. He and Eliza followed the guide onto the new platform.

“The girl will have to ride atop your back,” the guide said. “And she’ll have to hold on.”

“Can you hold on?” Eliot asked her.

“I’ll have to,” she said. “I won’t go if I have to fly by myself.”

Eliot climbed into the harness and wrapped his hands around the guiding bars, tried not think about how he was going to fly the thing. Eliza climbed onto his back and wrapped her arms around his neck, then fastened her legs around his back.

“You on?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Eliot looked over at the guide. “I guess we’re ready,” he said.

The guide just stared at him. Eliot saw that the man’s curious smile had found its way back to the surface… only this time there was something different about it that Eliot could not quite place. It was as if the guide’s smile was such that it teetered on the line dividing true hope from a kind of mockery.

The wind swept under the wings and the glider lifted, causing Eliot to center his gaze over the fields—the cave looming in the distance. He felt Eliza’s arms and legs tighten around him. The subtle leap made his stomach rise; he had never been fond of flying.

“Set her free,” the guide called. The ropes holding the glider fell away.

Eliot could feel the wind beneath them, lifting them up high above the valley and pushing them forward with great force. Flying was easier than he had expected—all he had to do was hold on.

“You all right?” Eliot called, tilting his head to the side.

“Really cold,” she said, raising her voice above the hum of wind.

“Me too,” he said. “Just don’t let go, all right?”

“I’m not going to let go.” She sounded irritated.

The glider rose higher and held its course toward the cave, which was growing larger. The rocks and boulders in the valley looked like pebbles. Eliot tried not to look down. He kept his eyes on the cave. They were almost there.

“Eliot,” Eliza said.

“What is it?” he yelled back.

“I don’t think we’re going to make it,” she said.

“We will,” he said. “Don’t worry. Just hang on to me.”

“Eliot…”

“Yeah?”

“Nothing.”

The glider lifted higher as another gust of wind pushed up against the wings. The cave opened before them, a stygian maw ascending into their heaven… or descending into their hell. For a while Eliot peered hard into the nearing dark—at last he saw the shadow move.

The beast dropped down from some high place in the tunnel, its wings folded back behind it, and shot toward the glider like an arrow. Eliot was startled by how large the creature was; its head alone was the size of their glider, perhaps bigger.

He felt Eliza bury her head into his shoulder.

Eliot looked for the eyes—he wanted to look into the eyes of this terror before he conquered it… but there were no eyes. Where eyes should have been, there were only black folds of calloused skin.

The creature was blind… and yet it saw everything. The world it saw with blind eyes was lightless and yet the world was there to be seen by any who would choose to see it. Wind blew from all directions and yet the grass in the valley below lay still… and with every burst of wind the glider grew more unruly—with every burst of wind, Eliot grew more afraid.

“My god,” Eliot said.

“What?” Eliza cried, barely lifting her head.

“I know how to beat it.”

“How?” she cried.

He could not believe what he was thinking, could hardly bring himself to say it. He saw the beast’s wings rise up high into the air.

“You have to let go,” he said.

“What? You’re insane, Eliot. I’m not letting—”

The wings came down. The blast met them head-on and sent the glider spinning backward. Eliot looked away from the whirling horizon, focused on harnessing the undercurrent. When that failed, he focused on harnessing his fear. After a moment, he brought the glider back up to ride the wind, then turned it around to face the cave. He saw the beast fly upward and then dive after them. He pushed that sight from his mind and held his gaze on the tunnel.

“Eliza,” Eliot said, “We don’t need the glider. Let go.”

The beast swooped over them, claws outstretched. Eliot anticipated the movement without seeing it, pushed his weight forward and dove low out of the monster’s path. The glider plunged toward the hills and then shot upward. He looked back to see the beast coming around, its wings flattened against the grey world behind it.

“Eliza,” he said, “I can’t keep this up. You have to trust me.”

“I’ll fall if I let go,” she cried.

“That’s just it,” Eliot said, “You can’t fall—not here. No rules, Eliza. It’s all one big trick. You can fly out on your own.”

“Eliot… I…”

Eliot felt a shadow rise over him, felt it swallowing the glider. Again he didn’t see it, but he knew that it was there.

“Eliza,” he yelled, “Let go!”

He felt the weight on his back lift off… for a moment he wondered if he had done the right thing in telling her to let go. Looking to his right, he saw a little girl flying through the air, her hair blown back.

“That’s it, Eliza,” Eliot cried. “Now fly home! I’m right behind you.”

He watched her vanish into the cave’s enveloping dark, then turned the glider down and to the left just as he felt the shadow enfold him. He pulled at the bands securing him to the harness, was able to get the first one loose.

The claws tore through the wings. The glider lurched to the side as the beast caught it and lifted it up toward its narrow mouth. The creature bit down on the wing, then the metal frame. Eliot looked up into a fold of black skin.

He didn’t pay any attention to the sound of fabric tearing, the razor-tipped teeth gnawing away the metal braces. He unstrapped the other band from around his leg and fell free.

He felt the cold wind rush against his chest and into his lungs. For a moment, he thought he was going to keep falling until his body would be thrashed against some jagged rock in the field below. But flying came so naturally, so quick. All he had to do was ride upon the wind and let it carry him to freedom.

He never looked behind him to see if the monster was following, but kept his eyes on the tunnel. As he flew under cover of the cave’s top rim, he could hear the sound of metal rods snapping as the beast tore the flying machine to ruin.

Eliot drove deeper into darkness until he saw the tunnel curve up toward something… something that had the look and feel of light. As he rose toward it, he thought he heard a shrill cry coming from over the plains outside the cave.

Then the light caught him and he forgot everything.

The light began to dissolve into a less familiar world and through the white haze he glimpsed the form of a little girl. She was lying on something white beside him and all around her everything was white. She was staring at him with half-closed eyes and for a moment he felt as if he knew her or had known her once in some other time or some other place. She was beautiful, fragile… alive.

She whispered something, called him by a name that he wasn’t sure belonged to him. He wanted to speak but no words would come. After some length of time he fell back to sleep.

The End

Down from the path, a broken bed
of stones sleep beside a moonlit stream
and bright-beamed stars overhead
burst like holes in a blanket’s seam.

To sleep would be a blessing
but the autumn leaves have long since fallen;
the road stretches on, time is pressing…
What if he should wake, find his warmth stolen

by winter’s first snowfall?
Near the bank, the grass is soft;
he thinks, “Just a moment is all,”
and goes down to escape the draft.

As he bows to the water for a drink,
his eyes follow the stream round
a sharp turn at the forest’s brink,
diving past the slope of a grassy mound.

A bristly paw steps out into the light.
Under starry sky the wolf feels welcome.
‘But who is this seeking shelter from the night,
sitting under my moon? He is far from home.’

Their eyes hold upon each other.
No breath outweighs the trickling
of the water, joining them together
as though it were a sacred link

untouched by ages time had forgotten.
“Tonight we share the moon, the river,
perhaps as we did in the Garden…
when my father walked with his father.”

A howl from over westward hill
calls the wolf home; the beast is gone.
Under coarse shoes, Earth lies still…
“We who are divided, once were one.”

A hollow night. An empty road
winds down through a field of evergreen.
The traveler rises, tightens his load
and drifts into forested shadow, unseen.