Airel - Aaron Patterson [134]
When he had reached the edge of the cliff, he dropped the body of the boy with contempt, allowing him to land clumsily in the dirt. To Kreios’s shock, Michael rolled and coughed, sputtering, gasping. He landed gently at the lookout point where the whole drama had unfolded, and laid Airel on the ground alongside Kim, whose eyes were closed. He looked from one to the other. Michael was nearby, coughing up blood and water.
Airel was limp, her mangled heart not beating. Kreios began CPR. Michael dragged himself over to her side and left a blood trail behind him in the dirt. “Airel! Is she dead? Will she be okay?” His voice cracked, and Kreios filled her lungs with air, not looking at Michael.
The boy was beside himself and started crying with big long sobs that wracked his pitiful body. “This is all my fault; I killed her, I betrayed her! Oh God, please help her, I can’t live without her, please, please!” He groaned finally and fell next to her, his wet arm draping over her lifeless body. He did not move, and his breathing was shallow.
Kreios stopped his CPR, knowing that it was no use, and looked at the boy, Michael. He pushed him over onto his back. “Let me help you, Michael… hold still.” Kreios wanted nothing to do with the boy. But he knew that what he was about to do was what Airel would have wanted.
Michael was almost gone.
Kreios retrieved the blazing red stone from where he had left it, and against a great pulling and tearing at his will, brought it to the boy, resisting the caressing whisperings of blasphemy that were flowing from its core. “Receive your accursed burden,” he said, softly, sadly, as he touched it to the boy’s skin, then tossed it away. The wounds closed up, leaving many red scars—not healed, but repaired. Michael’s eyes snapped open; he gasped and screamed and pushed away from Kreios.
He looked down at the marks of his wounds in horror as he realized what the angel had done—had damned him to a life of bitter emptiness, shame, and regret. “I don’t want to live! Why did you help me? Why did you do that?” He broke into long fitful sobs. He collapsed onto Airel’s body, sobbing, saying again and again, “I’m sorry,” in her ear.
Kreios stood and turned from him. The burden of pain that had been laid upon his back over many thousands of years was indeed heavy. Tears filled the blackness of his vision as he walked away into the forest. He sat alone, and the tears came once again.
Airel was his blood. His daughter. Kreios roared softly as the worst of his fears became realized. Now he had lost her, too. It was a fitting gall that they had been driven, all of them, inexorably to this sad and shattering end. He could not see her anymore; he did not remember her face; he was unable to recall anything of joy. Kreios buried his head in his hands and wept: for Airel, for Eriel and for his wife. All he could see was the grave, yawning wide and consuming all his loves.
***
Michael stood, finally. Far too late. Eyes marred by grief, he gathered to him the body of his only love and carried her in his arms. He looked to Kreios, who did not acknowledge him. Wordlessly he passed him by and started on the path back to the house, holding Airel in his arms. Life and purpose dropped away from his soul, leaving him naked, in exposure to the wicked ravages of the world. He welcomed them. He looked on what he had done with emptiness.
***
Kreios was alone. Again.
He stood and walked to the edge of the cliff, looking out over calm water that erased everything, and his whole life was not real. What had he done? He felt bound to loss. Every choice that was made under the sun, no matter how perfect and good when birthed in the confines of the heart, was destined only for an inevitable end and death. Joy was fleeting, and after thousands of years, time sped by far too quickly. The years had become seconds, and the hands of the clock, that malicious machine, were relentless and devoid of any mercy. The water was glass once again. It had no memory, and showed nothing.