Airel - Aaron Patterson [94]
Kreios was ready to deal in real justice now—and as the fog rose around them, enfolding them in concealment, he filled up his Sword with retribution, the wages of sin, the reward of judgment reserved for those wicked enough to ask for fairness.
Kreios opened his eyes and beheld his hand. It was almost transparent, and the dagger in his hand could not be seen. His friends had always told him that he had no imagination. The sight of his own flesh disappearing right before his eyes, however, made him break into a fresh smile.
Yamanu opened his eyes too, looking at Kreios with a hearty invisible smile. “You must keep careful track of me. I will let you know if you are in danger of straying too far from my side and losing cover.” He paused, then said aloud, “Not bad for an old man, eh?” He chuckled, slapping Kreios on the shoulder.
“Careful I don’t kill you, boy.”
“You’d have to see me first, little girl.”
Kreios almost laughed out loud. Yamanu turned aside in his mind, Kreios opened up to him, and then they could see one another in the fog through their thoughts. It was an odd sensation to see with the mind and not with the eyes; it reminded Kreios of true faith. “The evidence of things not seen…”
They moved through the fog into the dark wood, alert, the fog penetrating before them and trailing after them in the wind. The Seer was sleeping, truly—campfires.
Chapter IV
Somewhere in the Mountains of Idaho, present day
I dreamt the story of Kreios, the fight for his daughter Eriel, and the memory of his amazing love. I took great pleasure in fitting the pieces of the puzzle together. He was someone who had loved without fear of death. He was all-or-nothing. A little like me, really, which I liked—though I feared death like nothing else. In that sense I’m still normal.
I read the entire book in two days. I loved to read stories that I could relate to. I could relate to the story of an angel—epic battles, soaring sonic booms, deep and meaningful friendships. I guess it’s true that the best stories are somehow universally true. I felt like I knew Kreios, that somehow I was linked to him in ways I could only dream and think of with the aid of She.
Michael didn’t read the book for a couple reasons. One, because Kale insisted that it was for me and me alone, and two, because when Michael opened it all he saw were blank pages. No amount of focusing or magical wishing could bring the smooth script into focus for him. I, however, grew to love that handwriting and could recite every line. I cherished each letter as if written to me.
Kale left me alone as I studied my ‘history.’ I spent most of my time by a tree, seated on the clump of green grass under its branches. I felt each day that passed drew me farther out away from the only home I had ever known.
I missed my home fiercely. Thinking of Mom and Dad made my heart sick. I wished I could at least call them to let them know I was okay, though that probably wouldn’t help once they started asking me questions. Even so, I was growing apart from that home and into a kind of new life. Could a person forget so soon?
Here in the heart of the woods, I began to like the quiet. It was the not-so-busy life; like how Jane Austen’s characters would just walk and talk their lives away.
I had to admit, the difference between those stories and my own was that I was terribly alone. Though I had no homework, no chores, and no responsibilities, I ached for all of it because it was at least familiar to me. The hardest part was the inescapable feeling that things would only get harder. It was as if I had walked into a dream, and here everything was all about me. Lots of girls, and probably some guys, fantasize about that kind of thing, I bet. Now that it had happened to me, I realized the foolishness of such a thing, and how bad selfishness can truly be.
Michael had left me alone as well, and I had thanked him for it. I had told him, “I know I’ve been kinda out-of-it lately; sorry. I should get myself sorted out in a day or two, though.” He