The Princess and the Firecat

 

For Hannah and Hailee

There once was a magical kingdom, ruled over by a benevolent king, beloved by all his subjects. His name was Alcazar and he was also a powerful wizard. Above these, however, he was a father. No child was ever more adored than his daughter, Princess Annalee. Her mother, the queen, did not survive the birth. Rather than surrender to grief and despair, Alcazar focused on loving his new daughter beyond all else. This love was so powerful that it extended to encompass the world. And that is how Alcazar became the most magnificent king the world had ever seen.

Something else happened on the day that Annalee was born. A tiny creature appeared in the castle and befriended the great king. While she looked to be an ordinary kitten, Alcazar knew better. The small beast was mostly black, except for her paws and tail, which looked to have been dipped in white snow. Her name was Sashet and she was a firekitten.

For those unfamiliar with firecats, they are powerfully magical creatures, probably most famous for their ability to breathe fire. The flashy skills usually get the most attention. But they have other, more subtle gifts. All are female. Their male counterparts, locats, are the finders of lost things, though firecats have this ability as well. They are also poisonous, but possess great healing powers. And they can commune with both the living and the dead.

It is not well known that in the elder days, dragons and wizards were connected in powerful magical relationships that spanned centuries. Originally, the bonded pairs were charged with protecting the realm, but over time, power corrupted them and their bonds were broken. There was a great war and the wizards were victorious. This is important to our story because when the dragons were extinguished from the land, nature gave their part to the firecat. And because of this history, most are highly distrustful of wizards. The friendship that forged between Alcazar and Sashet was a rare thing.

But this is the tale of what happened to Annalee and Sashet after Alcazar passed to join the residents of the Underworld. It was devastating for the kingdom. A great shadow fell over the land that day. Annalee was only twelve years old when she became an orphan.

Being a great and powerful mage, Alcazar had foreseen his doom but could not save himself. Instead, he charged Sashet, his most faithful companion, with the protection of that which he loved most in the world. Despite all her magic, Sashet could not protect Annalee when her uncle Balthazar came to claim guardianship. For Balthazar was a great magician as well, in every way bad that his brother was good.

Sashet feared Balthazar more than anything. Still, when he came for Annalee, she tried to fight him. But her pure ferocious fire was no match for the dark wizard. He turned her powers against her, poisoning her. Left weak and defenseless, all she could do was hide. Her own healing magic was able to save her from death, but the damage was done and Balthazar was gone with the princess.

Sashet slunk away from the castle, appearing to all as nothing more than a common house cat.

***

Princess Annalee was lost in grief over the death of her father. When her uncle came for her, she was in too much pain to see that his intentions were not honorable. She believed his words of comfort and support and went with him willingly for she did not wish to stay in the castle where memories would haunt her.

It was not until many months later that she began to understand the danger of her new circumstances. Balthazar had taken her away to a dark fortress in the north that was surrounded by barren snowfields. While he granted her almost unlimited freedom within his walls, she began to see through the illusion and despair at her isolation. She felt small and alone and frightened.

***

Guilt ridden and ashamed, Sashet spent those months wandering the realm trying to block all memory of Alcazar and Annalee. Cutting them from her heart and mind cost her a great deal. As time passed, her soul withered and she forgot that she was a powerful firecat with a sacred charge. It was not until the spirit of King Alcazar visited her in the night that Sashet’s grief and shame overwhelmed her. She bowed at his feet and wept for all her failures.

Being a kind and gracious king, Alcazar waited for his friend to conquer her pain and then he spoke: “My friend, I trusted you to care for my most beloved daughter but you have left her to the mercy of my dark brother. He waits only for her blood to come, for with it will come all of my power. Once she passes into womanhood, she will come in to her inheritance. When that happens, my brother will seek to fulfill his devious plans and take those powers from her. You must find her and rescue her before that day comes. Balthazar must not be allowed to achieve his ends.”

Sashet kept her head down, “My lord, I am frightened of your brother. If I reveal myself to him again, he will take my magic as well. I will not survive.”

“Fear is a poor excuse for not doing what is right. You are charged with protecting the innocent. Not by me, but by the Grace which bestowed your magic upon you. Forsake your destiny and you betray all.”

For a moment, the small firecat closed her eyes. Then she lifted her head and met her friend’s gaze. “What must I do?”

“Find her. Tell her of her birthright. Help her to protect her magic. Will you do this for me, old friend?”

“I will,” Sashet nodded.

“For your service and your quest I will give you my ring. May it protect and guide you, always.” And as the spirit disappeared, the ring from the king’s finger formed around one of Sashet’s front paws. She looked down at it for a long moment before she began walking.

Unfortunately, while firecats can find anything that is lost in this world, their powers have limits and it was only when Sashet began trying to look for young Annalee that she realized she could not sense her location.

***

To fight off her despair, Annalee began to explore Balthazar’s fortress. But for all her supposed freedom, it turned out that for every open door, there were two locked ones. Being a resourceful child, she was able to penetrate some of these secret chambers, but was too innocent to understand the things she found there. Her father had taught her much about his magic, but whatever power Balthazar had came from some other source and its tools were unknown to her. She could not find anything that would help her to escape her uncle’s clutches.

Whenever he visited her, she played the dutiful niece and kept her true heart hidden from him. His feigned kindnesses terrified her more than anything, for she did not trust them to last. His heart was hidden from her as well.

***

Never had Sashet gone searching for something she could not find. Unwilling to accept further failure, she decided to go in search of the answer first. To find Annalee she would need to know why she could not find her. And so she went back to the castle, to the beginning, in search of the key.

What Sashet found was Beauregard, Annalee’s belligerent pet bunny. While Sashet and Alcazar had been inseparable friends, Annalee’s constant companion was Beauregard. From the time she could walk, Annalee had taken her rabbit with her everywhere, including to bed to sleep curled up next to her. Sometimes, Beau was carried around in a basket, or pulled along on a leash or in a wagon. Most of the time, he could be found held tightly in her arms, his bottom half swinging slightly as the young princess skipped about the castle gardens. Beau took all of this with patience and dignity, but Annalee was the only recipient of these virtues. Everyone else was treated with disdain.

Sashet had always thought him a unpleasant ball of fluff and did her best to avoid him. But upon her return to the castle, Sashet found Beau cornered by a large dog. The rabbit was tucked safely under a wooden beam, but the dog did not look like it would be giving up his prey anytime soon. Deciding that her loyalty to Alcazar and Annalee must extend to the trapped creature as well, the fierce little firecat seared the dog’s tail and chased him off.

Though undoubtedly grateful, Beau’s attitude was not endearing. He held Sashet responsible for Annalee’s capture. For a moment, Sashet was almost sorry to have saved him, but when she saw that he had also been wounded by Balthazar and was therefore unable to leave the desolate and lonely castle, her heart warmed to him. She knew that he had lost his best friend that day, just as she had.

To make amends, Sashet healed the rabbit’s wounds, leaving him free to run around the garden and plunder the vegetables. And though his mood never became actually gracious, Beau was able to tell Sashet (between mouthfuls of cabbage) why she could not find the princess with her magical senses.

Beau’s theory was that Balthazar had put shoes on Annalee, which he described as blindfolds for her feet. They effectively disconnected the princess from the mother earth source, and so shielded her from all who might seek her. Sashet knew that the only way to see beyond Balthazar’s shields would be to ask the assistance of the Mist Beings, they who dwelt where all prayers go and where the dead go to be kissed. Such a description of their destination did not inspire much confidence in Beauregard, but he went bravely and willingly along nonetheless.

Along the way, Beau focused on eating while hopping and left Sashet alone with her thoughts. She was pondering the road ahead. The Mist Beings were easy enough for a firecat to find. All Sashet had to do was to find a crack between the worlds and she would be able to contact them. Asking the question of how to find the princess was also fairly straightforward, but how much it would cost was still unclear. Secret knowledge was never free.

Sashet followed her firecat senses to an elder forest. The trees were thick and dark. Roots covered the ground, making the way treacherous and difficult for Beauregard. More than once Sashet had to help him through. They moved slowly and carefully within a labyrinth of thorn bushes and sinkholes until finally, they found themselves at the edge of a pond. The water was dank, thick with muck and weeds. Beau kept his distance while Sashet approached the edge. She bowed her head and dipped a paw into the water and said, “I am the firecat Sashet. I humbly seek the guidance of the Mist Beings, those who walk between the worlds and carry wisdom from both. I have a sacred duty and need thy help. I beg assistance.”

When she removed her paw from the water, she kept her head bowed silently. After several quiet moments, a great wind came through the trees, stirring leaves and dirt and water. Beau flattened his ears against his back and huddled as low to the ground as he could manage. Sashet kept strong and still as her fur became wet and then muddy. A fog gathered over the pond.

A voice from nowhere and everywhere spoke. “You are known to us Sashet. You are known to have a noble spirit. We know you seek Alcazar’s daughter, but your fear is misplaced. You fear that she is under the power of Balthazar, but you also know truth, that no soul can truly be under the power of another. All souls that live have free will.”

“You speak wisely and true, but my king charged me with the protection of his daughter and I cannot find her. Please, she is young and innocent and I must do all I can to save her.”

“We are not concerned with protecting physical life. It is always temporary and fragile. The soul within is eternal and infinite. This is the truth that must guide you. Fear clouds your vision. Release your fears of pain and death. They are all that block your way, young firecat. You need trust to see clearly.”

“I understand. For the grace of your presence and counsel, what would you have me give?”

“What touched the water must be sacrificed. That which breaks the surface between worlds must stay beneath with us.”

Sashet nodded sadly and dipped her paw back in to the water. When she pulled it back out, only a stump remained. She chose to be glad that she had not dipped the paw with Alcazar’s ring or the sacrifice would have been far greater.

The fog cleared and silence fell in the forest again.

There seemed to be more light as they made their way back out of the woods so it was easier to see, but Sashet limped slowly along on her mutilated leg without speaking. When they emerged back out into sunny fields, Beau stopped to eat the grass and spoke with his mouth full of green stalks.

“What was that? They didn’t answer anything.”

Sashet shook her head ruefully. “Of course they did. The answer is always that the answer is within.”

“Then why do you keep going back?”

“Because I forget and have to be reminded.”

“Steep price to pay… maybe you should tie a string around your tail like the people do to remember things.”

Sashet laughed and nodded. “Perhaps you are right.”

Beau continued munching, clearly happy just to be out of the forest. “So what now?”

“I must go to the Lake of Fire and purge myself of all that is blocking my power. Only there can I shed the old skin of fear and guilt and shame. Only then will I be ready to face Balthazar and save Annalee.”

The rabbit went still and stared at Sashet in mortified astonishment. Then he began chomping on his grass faster, the twitch of his nose betraying his anxiety. “Yeah, that sounds like a brilliant idea.”

Before they set out, Sashet took the time to bathe herself. The journey had left her fur matted and dirty, so she saw to that and let Beau eat to his heart’s content. Then they found a hollow to sleep in for the night, curling together for warmth and comfort. Beau rested an ear across Sashet’s leg, giving the illusion that the sacrificed paw was still there.

***

Annalee distracted herself from her situation by indulging in thoughts of her previous life. She found peace in thinking that if Balthazar meant to kill her she might be reunited with her father and they would pass forever in each other’s company. There would be green fields and flowers; she imagined Beauregard hopping among them. It began to seem to her the true world was the one in her dreams and the life lived under her uncle’s roof was not real.

One morning, a nurse came to Annalee in her bedchamber. She seemed a kindly old woman to the girl and they would talk as the woman bathed her. Hungry for human contact, Annalee did not realize that the woman was a spy. Balthazar knew all too well that Annalee had never known her mother. It was an absence he thought he could manipulate to his advantage. And the princess was too lonely to be suspicious.

***

Sashet and Beauregard traveled high into the mountains. Unlike the dwelling place of the Mist Beings, the Lake of Fire was cradled in a valley open to the sky and surrounded by snowcapped peaks. Above the timberline, there was a distinct lack of vegetation that Beau did not appreciate, but he kept his grumbling to a minimum for Sashet’s sake. She had grown quieter the closer they came to their destination and he knew that she was anxious about what was coming. But he was pleasantly surprised by the looks of the dreaded lake. It seemed nice enough to him.

The firecat was not deceived. She told Beau to keep his distance from the water, forbidding him to drink no matter how thirsty he was. Part of her wished he had been willing to wait for her in the lowlands, but mostly she was glad for the company. Especially since his temper had improved.

On the shores of the great lake, Sashet sat to ready herself for the coming ordeal. The glassy surface of the water reflected the pure blue sky and white peaks. It looked serene and calm. Sashet knew that it would remain so for anyone who was not prepared. There was the danger that she would wade into the water and nothing would happen. The lake had guardians who decided the worthiness of those who came to test themselves. If not properly initiated, the water would do nothing but make someone wet.

When Sashet looked back to Beau, she found the twitch of his nose reassuring. It was comforting somehow. She took strength and courage from his presence, though she still thought him a strange friend.

Stealing herself, the firecat walked down to the water’s edge and waded in slowly. The water was cold enough to sting like knives, but Sashet did not hesitate. The temperature was enough to stiffen her muscles and make swimming almost impossible. More than once she found herself sinking into an abyss, but when darkness would threaten to take her forever, she fought to regain the surface and kept going, missing her lost foot with every stroke.

When she was halfway across the lake and nothing beyond the cold had tested her, Sashet began to fear that the guardians had deemed her unworthy and it had all been for nothing. It seemed her body was becoming accustomed to the cold because she felt warm. Soon the warm became hot and Sashet saw flames gathering at the shore of the lake. They encircled her, moving inward.

There was no going back now. Either she would fall below the surface, to her death, or pass through the fire to the other side. As the flames moved across the lake towards her, they stole the oxygen from the air, making it hard for Sashet to breathe. And the water felt as if it would begin to boil at any moment. But Sashet endured, she kept fighting, keeping a picture of Alcazar and Annalee and Beauregard in her mind. Focusing on her love for them, she released all her fears about what was to come. She surrendered to the truth that there was only so much she could do. The rest would be the will of the gods. All she could do was give everything she had. Nothing else was possible. And as long as she committed to giving her all, nothing more could be expected… and she would not fail.

When she reached the flames and passed through them, she felt the pain of the burning. There was a ripping sensation inside. She could feel the fire taking something from deep within her. Still, she kept swimming and pushing and fighting. And eventually she emerged on the other side of the lake.

Her whole being felt scorched and raw, but when she looked down into the water at her reflection, she was whole and unscathed. Two things had changed. Her foot had been restored to her and she no longer looked like a full grown cat. She was again the kitten that had found Alcazar that day twelve years ago. She was no bigger than Beau anymore and he looked very confused when she returned to where she had left him. Of course, having lived in a castle with a wizard king, he had seen some strange things in his life, so he took it in stride that his friend should emerge from the lake like she had gone back in time.

***

As fate would have it, just as Sashet passed her test, Annalee was enduring her own trial. The nurse her uncle had sent to her had told her about the cycles of life and how a girl passed into womanhood. So the princess was not alarmed when the blood came, but she was unprepared for the pain. Curled up on her side, she wondered why it had to be so hard to become a woman–and whether it was really worth it. She was suddenly more aware of her body than she ever had been. Her skin tingled with strange sensations.

Annalee could feel a great power and energy that had not been there before. Though painful, it was an incredible rush and she wondered why the nurse had not told her about that part.  She stood in front of her mirror for a long time, looking for outer signs of the changes going on within. At first, she saw nothing. Then she began to detect a glow. Looking down at her hands, she could see it coming from her fingers. It was not only in the mirror. She was connecting to something beyond herself. If she touched the wall, she could feel the entire room surrounding her, including the floor and ceiling and the hall outside the door. Then, if she pushed out with her mind, she could feel farther and farther until she felt connected to every part of the fortress and everyone in it.

There were more people here than she had thought. She was not all alone. She didn’t know how Balthazar had kept them hidden from her, but she knew with absolute certainty that they were there. And she knew where Balthazar himself was. She knew the contents of every room.

Overwhelmed, Annalee went back to lie down in bed and contemplate the changes happening to her. It felt as if a fire had been lit within her and somehow she knew that the first thing she needed to do was learn how to control it, or it would consume her.

***

Meanwhile, Sashet and Beauregard were traveling as fast as they could to get to their princess. Having undergone the ordeal in the lake, Sashet found it easy to know where Annalee was. The connection was strong now. It felt as if Annalee had tapped in to something on her end as well, so Sashet knew that their time was running out. Annalee had come in to her inheritance and soon Balthazar would come for it.

***

With her newfound connection to all things in Balthazar’s world, Annalee found it easy to evade her uncle and his spy nurse. All doors were open to her now and she continued her explorations. She was looking for knowledge and magical objects that she could use to defend herself. For awhile, all she found were the tools of Balthazar’s dark trade, but as Annalee mastered more of her powers, her senses told her where to find other tools that would be useful to her. They had been hidden in the deepest parts of Balthazar’s citadel. There she found the key to her salvation, and his.

In the hidden room in the bowels of her uncle’s castle, Annalee found instruments like the ones her father had taught her about. And when she began to try working with them, she made her connection to the source.

A voice from within began to speak to her; it sounded like her father. The voice told her how Balthazar had once been a magician of the light, just like his brother, her father. He had even been on a path to become greater than his brother. Balthazar had wished for surpassing light and fell from Grace because of it. His arrogance and ambition had led him astray. Now he was an exile committed to the heartless pursuit of the light of others. Turning to the dark, he had regained much of his power, but lost more of his soul. And with each day that passed, he felt its loss all the keener and strove harder to get it back.

Annalee knew the power she had received was her father’s power, her inheritance. Once she knew the source, she embraced it with even deeper parts of herself. A great well of love and pride had sprung within her and she knew that she could prevail and make her father proud. She also finally knew what it was that her uncle wanted from her. But what Annalee came to realize was that she would not have to defeat her uncle. She could save him. She wanted to save him. He was her family.

It was in that forgotten room that Sashet and Beauregard finally reunited with Princess Annalee. She was overjoyed to see them and clutched both tightly to her chest and kissed their heads. Sashet purred and Beauregard nibbled on her dress.

Once the joyous greetings were behind them, Sashet began pacing the floor with nervous energy as she related their story to the princess. With Beau on her lap, Annalee sat calmly stroking his ears and listening to the thrilling tale. It was clear to her that the firecat was still afraid of Balthazar so she assured Sashet that she was fully aware of her uncle’s intentions and had a plan to save them all.

The young woman seemed certain of herself, but Sashet insisted that they should combine their powers before facing their foe. Annalee agreed, mostly to reassure the beautiful creature who had endured so much to get to her, though knowing it would not be necessary.

The soul voice was still speaking within her. It told her that a woman must be willing to burn, to burn hot with ideas and words and desires for all that she truly loves. To accept the power was to accept the weight of affecting the lives of others. Annalee felt afire as the trio returned to her bedchamber to wait for Balthazar to come for her.

They did not have to wait long.

Balthazar had been looking for Annalee for several days. He entered the room like a storm, impatience and frustration emanating from him in dark waves. But Annalee was not frightened. She stood calmly in the path of his rage, allowing it to wash over and through her, feeding her without harming her. Balthazar could feel the new power in her, could tell that she was not intimidated by him, and he questioned himself. Fear and doubt crept into his mind in the face of her unshakeable assurance. The fear was darker than what had come before. Far more dangerous. Still, Annalee bore the onslaught and kept her peace.

Finally, unable to stand her silent stillness, Batlhazar grabbed Annalee and began to shake her roughly. But as soon as he touched her, she began to draw the darkness from him as poison is drawn from a wound. She took it inside of her, as Sashet had given her the power to do, and transmuted the evil into light.

As Balthazar felt himself emptying, he fell to his knees on the floor before Annalee and began to weep. He begged her forgiveness for all his cruelties and intentions. In response, Annalee embraced him, cradling his head against her heart. Then she could replace what she had taken from him with love. All that Annalee had learned about her uncle’s past had given her understanding. And what we understand, we love.

Sashet came to rub against his leg and purr. Her firekitten healing powers adding to Annalee’s magic and compassion.

Not to be left out, Beauregard hopped up into Balthazar’s lap and twitched his nose and ears.

And all was well for all wounds heal and new life follows old.

 

Written November 2011 and published in the Galaxy Fest 2012 Omnibus http://www.amazon.com/GalaxyFest-2012-Omnibus-Sam-Stone/dp/1470088959/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1393180160&sr=8-1&keywords=galaxyfest+2012+omnibus

Firelight

Flying low through the mountains, Gideon allowed the tops of the pine trees to tickle the undersides of his wings. With only the barest sliver of a moon hanging low, the stars held dominion in the sky and the valleys slept in deep darkness. On the peaks shone a glimmering silver snow that defeated the pitch black. Gideon’s golden scales also shimmered softly. The smaller forest creatures scurried for cover when they saw his massive form gliding above them. He was not bothered because he was not hunting. He was playing.

The black night made it easy for Gideon to pick out a small fire set high on a rock face. He was familiar with the mountain passes and knew the fire to be out of place. The glaring beacon caught his attention and held it.  Even from a distance, Gideon was able to discern some useful things about it: not natural, not the effect of a lightning strike and not spreading as a forest fire. Nor did he smell burning pine. Also, it was not large enough to be a tribal bonfire.

Someone had to be tending it.  Most likely only one person, no doubt trying to keep warm. Yet even this last observation was troublesome because Gideon knew the crag on which this fire burned and it was not a place many humans could reach. One alone would either have to be very brave or else very foolhardy. Why would someone try on this near moonless night?

Intrigued, he changed course to investigate.

Gideon was still a good distance off when he spotted the young girl standing within the circle of light thrown by the fire. As the unusual nature of the scene increased, so did his interest.  As a thousand-year-old dragon, Gideon did not really believe in normalcy, but this girl was definitely a curiosity and those were sometimes hard to come by. He landed on an outcropping some distance above the girl’s ledge to observe without disturbing her.

She seemed very small to his eyes, but he knew he could not accurately estimate a human’s age. The fierce winds raging against the high peaks blew her bright red hair wildly. Gideon was briefly mesmerized by the way the tresses caught the firelight in snatches. Her hair was the only part of her which moved. She was strangely still and Gideon had to adjust his estimate of her age. None of the younger humans could be so still for so long.

Her gaze was fixed on the fire. It took him awhile to notice that her lips were moving. She was either talking to herself, or to the fire. Gideon clicked a sharp talon against the rock as he considered what to do.

Introducing himself would not be easy. She was on a precarious precipice. It might not hold his weight. And he might terrify the crazy little thing if he attempted to land next to her. Not generally the best way to strike up a conversation. Shifting into his human form seemed the only solution, but then he would still have the problem of reaching the ledge. Better to climb up or down? He might have found the problem bothersome enough to forget had it not occurred to him this girl had managed to get there. If nothing else he wanted to know how she had done it.

The great gold dragon got as close to the ledge as he could before shifting. The magic he used to transform himself also allowed him to design his garments. He chose sturdy leather boots, a loose tunic and plain brown pants – typical clothes for the time.

Still rather large, he maintained a strength and agility that made the climb down easy. He also managed to be stealthy about it and the girl was so absorbed in her own thoughts she was oblivious to him. Gideon stood at the edge of her circle of light briefly. Finally level with her, he could see her clearly for the first time and her beauty struck him. He had been mistaken. This was not a human at all. She was a shapeshifter, like himself, but not a dragon.

Introducing oneself to a Powerful One was tricky. Most were guarded and defensive at the best of times, not generally appreciative of revealing themselves without forewarning. Intermediaries were usually a good idea. Yet Gideon could not turn himself away. He was close enough now to catch pieces of her murmurings. They were definitely directed at the fire.

“I am not afraid of you… I can just walk to you and let myself burn… I fear no pain… I stand on the edge because I choose to… Fear does not control me… The pain you would inflict does not affect my courage…”

The fire. A phoenix. Gideon suddenly saw all the telltale markers. Her fiery hair, the gold eyes, the blushing skin, a certain inner radiance… It was her simple dress that had thrown him. She was in similar clothing to what he had chosen. All the phoenixes he had known in the past tended to wear flashier styles. All had been spectacularly beautiful, as this girl was. Still there was something different about her. He knew whatever it was seemed to already be seeping under his normally tough and scaly hide. He tried to tell himself to walk away before it was too late, but the fragility of this powerful creature was too fascinating to deny. It was not often one found an immortal who appeared frightened and small. He needed to understand her and what she was doing on this ledge speaking to the flames.

Stepping forward into the light, he saw the girl’s eyes lift and widen. Gideon remembered his human form was imposing. Had he been standing next to her, she would have been eye level with his chest and her legs were the size of his arms. Add in his dark skin, hair and eyes and she probably thought him a demon.

Epic fail at not frightening her, he chastised himself.

He kept his distance and waited for the shock to wear off before he spoke, “My name is Gideon.” He took it for a good sign she did not scream and run off into the night. “Are you alright?” he asked softly, hoping to appear friendly and gentle.

The girl did not seem to appreciate being interrupted. She eyed him warily and her voice shook when she asked, “How did you get here?”

Gideon smiled. “I flew, just like you did.” When she flinched, he realized he still had sizeable teeth. He was going to have to try harder to put her at ease.

“Have you been watching me?” she asked.

He hesitated to answer, doubting the truth would gain him her trust. “Yes…” he said, and then added quickly, “I had to be sure of you before I introduced myself.”

Surprisingly, she laughed, “And are you sure of me?”

Gideon could not help but smile this time, “Not entirely, but I am not afraid of you.”

“Afraid of me? Why should you have been afraid of me?”

“I thought you were human at first. I’ve had a volatile relationship with humans. But you are not human.” That does not mean we will have an easy time, Powerful One.

Her golden eyes narrowed, cautious again, “You saw me arrive here?”

“No.” Seeing she needed him to explain, he added,  “You are a shapeshifter, as I am. We have the sense to recognize each other. And I have been around long enough to know a phoenix when I see one, whatever your current form.”

“But you are not a phoenix,” she said, her tone suggesting this was a question.

“No,” he assured her.

“What are you?”

“A rather rude question when you have not even bothered to give me your name in return for mine.” Gideon was outwardly polite and courteous. At the same time he was scrutinizing every aspect of her to gather information. Her hair was still flying about her head in fiery waves and her gold eyes reflected the burning flames. She had a radiant light surrounding her. It was not a reflection of the fire. The grace of the immortals was strong in her, but she was hunched forward and hugging herself tightly – a mass of contradictions to puzzle over.

“Amara,” she answered.

“Mmmmm… That means unfading and eternal beauty.” He crossed the sandstone ledge to the other side of the fire so he could stand closer to her. “Well chosen for a phoenix, especially one as lovely as yourself.” He knew flattery to be an effective tool in making someone more congenial and he watched her relax slightly. Are you flirting with her now? he asked himself.

Even among his fellow dragons, Gideon was known for his ability to see hidden truths. He found the longer he lived the clearer it became. This was not true of all dragons, though it was more common to the gold dragons, like himself. Something about his vision made him strangely vulnerable to extraordinary beauty as well. He was wise enough to find beauty in the smallest things, but when confronted with magnificence, he could be entranced easily.

And this creature was not even trying. Well aware of this weakness in himself, Gideon was attempting to hold himself in check. Then she moved slightly to close the remaining distance between them and let her arms fall. He took a deep breath to steady himself; her scent filled him and made things worse. It had been a mistake to come this close to her.

Looking up into his eyes, she asked softly, “What does Gideon mean?”

He swallowed and composed himself before speaking. “In one of the human languages it means mighty warrior.”

“And are you?” Amara asked; her smile seemed to be a type of offering.

Gideon was pleased by her interest. She was flirting with him now and the simple pleasure of inspiring a smile on her beautiful face was enjoyable. He took a moment to relish it, uncertain if it would last. “I was. I have been many things. And to answer your question, I am a dragon.” His revelation was a test. He waited for her reaction.

“What kind?”  She shrank back and moved a few steps away.

Knowing the effect his admission might have, Gideon paused, “A gold chthonian.”

Amara’s eyes widened and she spoke in a terrified whisper, “One of the emissaries of the Underworld.”

“Yes,” he confirmed calmly. He could only wait for her to decide how she was going to respond. There was no way to sugarcoat his dark origins.

The fire crackled and spit. Amara cast an odd look at the flames. She shuffled back and forth and finally said, “I did not realize there were gold dragons from the Underworld.”

Did he detect a note of guarded interest in her voice? He hoped so.

Encouraged, he spoke, keeping his tone level, “We are not common. Then again, gold dragons from anywhere are not common. The alchemists saw to that.” He stopped himself from saying more. Was he trying to impress this girl? He growled under his breath for losing focus.

“Because they created the gold dragons, right?” Amara watched his face closely as she revealed to him her knowledge as he had done with her. “It was their magics which brought your race to life and graced it with immortality.” More softly she added,  “But it was a mistake they tried to undo.”

Wary, he regained his focus. “That is well guarded knowledge, Amara. You must be older than I estimated.”

Amara blanched as she stepped further away. He could see fear and shame in her eyes, both echoed in her voice when she spoke, “The years are meaningless for a phoenix. It is the transformations that count.”

Gideon paused. She had made a profound observation. There was wisdom in the girl after all. “How many times have you resurrected?”

“None.”

Gideon stared at her in stunned silence. He had never known a phoenix untested by fire. Truly fascinated now, he moved a step closer to her involuntarily. She had age and wisdom and innocence. The contradictions continued to amass. An extraordinary enigma.

Amara began talking nervously, “I cannot do it. I stand here looking at this fire and cannot step into it. I know in my mind I will not perish. I will die and be reborn. But I am still terrified and cannot move forward.” Her arms went back around herself and she hugged her form tightly in an unconsciously protective gesture.

“I see,” Gideon nodded. Still distracted by his own thoughts, he was not really listening. He was aware of a sudden protective instinct awakening within. But why? What was there to shield an immortal from? The only answer was: fear.

“Do you? Do you really? Do you see what it means to be a phoenix who will not catch fire? An immortal without faith in eternity?” her voice raised with each of her questions.

“Faith, by its nature, is constantly tested. What you need is knowledge.” But should I give it to you? he wondered. He needed to consider what to do next carefully.

“I would take either one at this point.” Her voice broke in desperation and Gideon impulsively reached out a hand to her. She hesitated before gripping it tightly in her own, as if he alone could save her from her fate.

Gideon could not ignore the call for help. “Knowledge comes from experience.” He paused. “I can help you. Let us sit by the fire together and talk.” He sat down on the rock and pulled her next to him.

At first, Gideon told Amara stories from his past. He made her laugh until she couldn’t breathe and knew the rest would come easily. Part of his mind was distracted by her physical proximity. He was aware this kind of closeness was only possible for them in their current forms.

For shapeshifters, it was important to remember what form would best serve the purpose. Form and function were interrelated. On this occasion he had chosen the human form, like her, to make her more comfortable. What it meant now was that certain avenues were open to them – the current forms allowed for this intimacy. He could put an arm around her, feel her breath against his skin, feel the vibration of her laughter, see her smile and watch the light dance in her eyes.

The more stories he told her, the more he saw in her eyes. She was analyzing and integrating it all, soaking in the knowledge of him. He told her stories about his warrior days and how he had come to leave them behind. There were stories of travel and adventure and friends and lovers. And then eventually, she began to offer her own stories in return. She made him laugh and he held her tighter. It was easy, reciprocal.

Somewhere in the coldest part of the night, Amara grew quiet. Gideon softened his voice and kept talking until he felt her breathing deepen and slow. Her head was in his lap and he stroked her hair, allowing his thoughts to progress down paths he had not considered in some time. He knew he needed to be clear in his purpose. A good deal of his interest was in her transformation. He wanted to watch the process and see her go through it for the first time. There really was no point in becoming attached to her. Everything could change when she passed through the fire. The nature of the change would depend on her intention, and perhaps his as well.

The thought pulled him up short. He was in dangerous waters. Not only did he need to know how much creative power he had, but how and when to use it. Such a task was not to be undertaken lightly. Attempting to manipulate the outcome of Amara’s first resurrection was not something he wanted to do, no matter how tempting.

It was the shadow side of power whispering he should control the result and get what he wanted. He knew pushing her to undergo the change right now was risky. He could lose her. But sometimes you had to settle for one night; sometimes it had to be enough. He was old enough to know that. The bond they were forging could be complicated anyway. Having similar forms did not mean they were the same. He was a creature of the Underworld, she the sky.

***

When Amara awoke the sun was just peeking over the mountains. Streaks of yellow, orange and gold set the morning clouds on fire, gilding the edges. Gideon stood quietly by the ledge, looking out over the precipice meditating. He hoped she would not disturb him. He was searching for the strength to do what had to be done. He could see the moment coming, but the night spent with Amara in his arms had only served to intensify his feelings and cement his attachment to her, despite his misgivings. He would have to find the selflessness necessary to commit the act. That required letting go of his ego and expectations and desires. There was no telling if she would forgive him for his actions later. He had to find his center and go from there. He needed to prepare her for the ordeal and help her to claim her power. He was now only an observer and guide. The future was uncertain.

“Visita interior terrae rectificando invenies operae lapidem.”

He was not looking at her yet he sensed her start. His voice sounded different to his ears and his manner had to be distant now. The words were for him as well as for her.

She moved to stand beside him. “What does that mean?” she asked.

“Go down into the bowels of the earth, by distillation you will find the stone for the work.” He kept his voice level and instructive. He was the teacher now. All else would wait. Amara did not respond. She waited for him to continue. “The alchemists believe that is the first step on the path to gold, the ultimate state of being, their path to immortality, which you and I are granted by grace.” He felt her body go rigid next to him, but she remained silent, listening. “Some think the idea is to mine the depths of the earth for the legendary philosopher’s stone. They believe it has the ability to turn metal to gold and produce the Elixir of Life. The more scientific alchemists design formulas in attempts to create the stone, believing the creative process to be the key. But the philosopher alchemists see the stone as a metaphor. They believe at the core of every being with a soul there is an eternal seed, an indestructible and infinite aspect which is the key to the work. They call it the Prima Materia.”

Gideon was intentionally creating an objective distance between them. He was equipping her with the necessary tools. She needed to be focused on her task. Deep down, he could feel the desire to bridge the distance between them already building again. He wanted to reach out and take her hand, feel its warmth against his skin. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and refocused himself. One must come before the other. There was a proper order here.

“As a chthonian dragon you must be uniquely positioned to observe these various approaches.” She had matched his tone, becoming distant with him as well.

“Yes. As a phoenix you will be, too. We are the guardians of eternal secrets. I have watched generations of mankind struggle with attachment to physical forms and their fears of death. I said grace had granted us immortality, but the truth is, it is granted to all who can perceive it. Fear of death clouds the vision. One need only lift the veil to understand.”

“How does one lift the veil?”

“By experiencing death. Undergoing the transformation. Letting go of the fear that this life is all there is. By realizing your own eternal nature. Gaining the knowledge.”

Amara crossed her arms, “Easy for you to say. You have lived with the secrets of death and transformation for centuries. You are one of the guardians of the Underworld. All you know is death.”

Gideon controlled a sudden flare of temper. He accepted her reaction. It was partially his doing. “I know death, that is different. And as I said, knowledge dispels fear. You speak of nothing but fear. Fear of change. Fear of pain. Fear of destruction.”  He dared to look at her.  “You know your nature defends you against them, yet you let fear cage you. Don’t let anything or anyone cage you.” The frustration was evident in his voice now. “You must stop, Amara.”

“I do not know how.” Her face flushed with shame.

Gideon turned to face her fully, but he had to force himself to keep his hands away. He wanted to shake her and remind her she was strong. “The answers will not be revealed standing here staring into a fire. The fire, or calcinatio as the alchemists call it, is merely a tool. It does not control the nature of the act. We are creatures of fire, both creative and destructive. You must learn those forces do not exist in opposition to each other, but are reciprocal. And I know you have already experienced reciprocity because I showed it to you.”

Silence fell between them. Gideon was thinking about the night before and the easy affection they had enjoyed. He began to wonder if he had become another obstacle for her. If she were getting too attached to him, she could hold herself back to protect their connection. Do not let me cage you, Amara. I know too well how tempting it is. He also knew the destructive influence fear could have on her transformation. She had to release it all.

“I can see you are getting impatient with me. You want the intimacy and friendship we found together last night,” he said. “But even in sleep we change and awaken someone else. Life is cyclical. We do not get to escape that simply because we are immortals. Change is the nature of every living thing. You cannot avoid transformation any more than you can avoid breathing.”

Her expression was tight, as if she might be fighting tears. “And yet change does not always come so easily. I have seen resurrections. I know what is meant to happen. But I have also seen too many of my kin step forward unprepared. Their transformations are superficial and meaningless.”

“You are not really in a position to judge,” he told her.

Glaring at him, Amara’s posture strengthened and she stepped closer. “I’ve spent a great deal of time in this form,” she said, motioning to her human body. “A phoenix who doesn’t resurrect is seen as a bit of an outcast, so I’ve sought the company of humans. I’ve been to their temples and seen the frightening guardians they place outside the doorways to keep the uninitiated out. You can walk past them easily, but the uninitiated effectively remain without. They do not pass into the sacred space and so do not experience the divine quickening. That is what I am trying to avoid. The ones who step lightly into the fire, come out the same. They’ve done none of the work.”

“So you do the work and stay out of the temple?”

She paused as if considering his words. “Yes. I suppose you could put it that way.”

Gideon smiled warmly at her, watching her reaching for readiness. “It’s time to go inside the temple, Amara. It’s time to find the stone for the work. You’ve come this far. You’re right on the edge.” He motioned out into the blue sky.

“I have been here before.”

“This time you have me to help you. I do not think I would be here if you were not ready.”

“How can you help me?”

Gideon was encouraged that she was becoming less frightened. “I am an agent of death. The death of an old way, a pattern that no longer fits. Life and death are not in conflict. We are uniquely designed to understand this. And I mean you and I, not myself and my fellow chthonian. This is going to happen. You would be best served to release your fear surrounding it and stop acting against your own nature.” He took a breath, wondering if he was being too harsh. “Have you seen the symbol they call the yin yang?”

“Yes.”

“It describes how seemingly contrary forces, what appear to be polar opposites, are interconnected and interdependent. They give rise to each other in turn. Opposites only exist in relation to each other. Though they are opposing, they are not in opposition to one another. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“The forces of life and death are closely interwoven. The chthonian dragons are masters of these forces. It is that power which makes us frightening. People fear us because all they can see is the sudden, violent, irresistible strength lashing out at those physical forms they are so attached to. They bury us underground, call them earthly secrets, make us loathsome monsters. But you have seen the warm and loving aspect as well. You’ve felt the embrace and desired closeness, even knowing my nature. You overcame your fear. You are ready.”

“To die?”

“To transform!”

Gideon could see the moment coming. She was still stalling, but her arguments were losing steam. He knew her weak procrastinations would not last. Time was running short.

On impulse, he grabbed her by the shoulders and he knew the intensity of his gaze would convey his earnestness. “This flesh is passing. Its desires. Its scars. Its pain. Release your attachment. Focus on the place within you where there is joy and the joy will burn out the pain.”

She stared at him for a long time. Then she turned and looked at the fire, recognizing her moment. “And now you would have me sacrifice myself to the fire.”

“It is a sacrifice to accept anything less than glory.”

Amara stepped away. She stood straight and proud before him. “I have glory.” In a flash of white flame, she shifted to her natural form and took flight.

Gideon watched her. He took in the long crimson and gold plumes of feathers flowing around her, reminding him of what it had been like to watch her hair blowing in the wind. An ethereal light surrounded her and she looked like flames blazing in the sky. She was magnificent. He felt a painful sadness, knowing what he was about to do. He knew why destiny had called him to this place with the light of her fire. The time had come to step up and become a tool of transformation.

Knowing she would resurrect did not ease the pain of losing her. Uncertain of her heart or intent, Gideon could not predict the nature of the act or what she would become.

Gideon transformed himself into the proud gold dragon. His wingspan could shelter a herd of deer. He took to the sky. Circling Amara easily, they began dancing in great spirals, reveling in being back in their natural forms. He enjoyed the feel of the cool, mountain air against his wings. They soared to great heights and then relished long free falls through the sky.

Beyond words, it was a silent communication between them that led them to land on the ground again at the same time. Gideon was back on his large outcropping above the ledge and Amara had settled in the top of a tree opposite him. He watched her in stillness for several moments before he took a deep, shuddering breath. Amara motioned with her wing, a sign of acquiescence and surrender.

Gideon exhaled an inferno. It incinerated her and the tree instantly.

Now you have glory, he thought to himself, even as his massive heart broke at the sight of her ashes falling to the ground below.

Nine days later, Gideon was back in his human form sitting next to another fire on the same ledge. Waiting.

It was dawn when he heard the call. Her proud, clear song echoed out across the peaks and he squinted into the eastern sky until he saw the dancing flames flying towards him. Shining and glorious, she was even more magnificent than she had been before. Gideon did not think the tears in his eyes were a reaction to the harsh glare of light.

The radiant phoenix flew directly to the ledge where he stood with astonishing speed. The winged beauty stopped and hovered above him, still in the air, taking a moment to look at him and let him look at her in all her new splendor. Gideon wondered if he should fear her, then she shifted back into her human form in mid flight and allowed herself to fall into his arms. The trust inherent in the act was all he needed.

It was not necessary. She could have landed without harm. He knew that. But she had wanted him to catch her.  It was an act of grace to make him part of the process, for his touch to be first she felt in her new form.

A Powerful One indeed, he thought. He was stunned by the changes in her as well as what remained from before. Physically, she looked much the same, though she had designed new garments. Now she was wearing a jeweled gown covered in amber and rubies and carnelians. They caught the morning light and made her look as if she was still on fire. There was no mistaking the new intensity of light and energy radiating from her. No more shrinking. No more defenses. She was open and free and without fear.

His voice broke slightly when he said, “Tell me.”

A brilliant smile broke across her face. It was like a ray of sunlight breaking through clouds. “You were right about the joy. The pain was excruciating, but I focused on joy and thought of you and the pain was extinguished. I was not afraid. I died to my flesh and was born into my spirit. I connected with the consciousness and life. It transcended my physical body. The vehicle was dead, but the consciousness able to perceive revelation remained.” Her fingers traced his cheek. “I understood the nature of soul and eternity, the spirit, the radiant manifestation shining in all things.” Her eyes glowed. “I know it now.”

He was awestruck, which made it difficult for him to speak. “You returned.”

“Yes.” The knowing smile on her face said she knew what he’d been thinking. “Thank you for the fire.”

Gideon closed his eyes and swallowed as relief flooded him. “You are welcome, Amara. You will always be welcome. My fire is yours whenever you need it. I am honored to have been the means.”

“I came down off the mountain. I will learn how to maintain the connection here, how to remember the truth of it. I want both – the flesh and the spirit. I want it all.” Her eyes locked with his. “And you.”

Gideon smiled. “We will have it all.”

**

Written in March 2010 – Published in http://www.amazon.com/Fire-Tales-Cats-Dragons-ebook/dp/B004VS35OU/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1375199246&sr=8-2&keywords=jessica+heckathorn

Artwork by Sam Perez of New York, NY

Rhapsody In Wood

Roak was listening.

There was music in the forest air. Music was not unusual in this forest. That it had gotten Roak’s undivided attention was unprecedented. He had heard the instrument played before, but this was a new melody and it affected him like a siren call. Even the soil resonated with that irresistible rhythm. Suddenly his being was focused not on the sun or the earth but on that sound. Slowly, his being filled with a sense of reaching and an imperceptible change began. That day the forest learned that even trees could be moved.

Rosemary was humming to herself.

“Mmm hmmm hmmm mmm… mmm hmmm hmmm mmm…”

Her expression was intent as her fingers lit softly, tentatively across the keys. This was the beginning. The notes were still uncertain, but she was finding them. For her, the rush of inspiration was a slow build, a steady increase of pressure until the release of completion. This was going to be a different kind of composition. She was creating something beyond a simple song – she was weaving a spell. Sitting at her piano with the great window open so the forest air could caress her, Rosemary thought of love – the abstract concept, the ideal, the dream. And she thought of a man. Not a man she knew; perhaps not even a real man, but her loneliness was building him in her mind and translating him into music. She knew how to manipulate the notes, calculate the fourths and fifths to elicit the desired response. There were masculine and feminine cadences that could be fused together to create a passionate communion: appassionato.

The chords were her words, singing how it would feel, how it would be, calling for it. The beginning was full of dark, minor falls that cried out in desperation. Then the transition to major lifts that swelled with a sense of rising and reaching, release and freedom. She thought falling in love would feel like basking in a warm, bright light that chased off the fear and the dark. All bounds would fall away leaving anything possible. Consumed by the need for this feeling, Rosemary focused every part of her will on describing the sensation in harmony, choosing the right timbre for the melodies.

Roak was getting closer.

His roots were like fingers in the soil, grasping and pulling at the earth to move his enormous bulk. All his energy was focused on reaching that sound. Need drove him past all previous bounds. Branches swayed, caught not in the wind, but by the passion compelling the music, compelling him.

His forest brethren watched in perplexed silence. They could hear the music, but were deaf to its call. Still and quiet sentinels, they maintained their dignified watch. The thrumming earth did not beckon them. Only Roak. It was for him alone to answer that harmonic resonance with his own resounding movement.

Tugging, pulling, dragging, needing, reaching, ripping, rending the earth…

Rosemary was caught as well.

The creative fires held her firmly in thrall as the music came faster and harder. It welled up within her and poured out like lava – molten, explosive. Through the open window she could hear it echo against the surrounding forest. Dense and deciduous it made an effective wall. The sound came back to her multiplied and overwhelming. It was an answer. She felt a response from without but could not grasp it, only sense the struggle. Something was fighting, not against her, but towards her. Even as she felt herself struggling toward it as she played, there was no relief, no way to ease the strain on either side. The melodies called and answered, intertwining and blending. The process of creation was exhausting and there were tears standing in her eyes. She finally stopped playing to brush them away.

The sudden silence intruded on her focus. Rosemary looked up and around. It had gotten dark. When she hit the light it turned all the windows to mirrors, all except the open one next to her. She looked out into a darkness interrupted only by fireflies. They distracted her and made her smile softly. They brought sweet childhood memories on their wings. Love would feel like that, too. It would come with an easy, free, defenseless dance of abandon. She would forget the loneliness in the arms of hope.

Turning back to the piano, she began to play again.

Roak had stilled.

The sudden silence had freed him from his need, but left him caught out of place, in Limbo. He had lost the will to move and yet could not stay in this new place. It was not his. Uncomfortable, he began to question himself. He recognized that his behavior was ridiculous. But when the music began again, he could not resist. There was no turning back now.

Every movement was a strain against his nature; his branches creaked under the pressure. A tree is not meant to uproot itself. It is not meant to desire anything beyond the earth and water of its forest home. Not meant to respond to passion and longing. Their strength is meant to hold them in place. But Roak could not be subdued. There was new purpose in him. And though it burned like the flames of the destructive fire, he endured and struggled on. Leaves and twigs fell like a trail behind him, pieces of him cracked and tore away.

On and on, through the night, as the music drifted to him on the breeze, he persisted.

All Rosemary could do was continue struggling in answer. She stayed at her piano composing long into the night. The music had control of her, it drove her fingers to pound fiercely on the keys; it was relentless. Her arms ached from the strain but there was still more to come. The song was becoming more and more complex. The themes wove together in intricate ways, then separated, changed, and blended again. Two lines of harmony complimenting each other formed a reciprocal circle of tone that matched and enhanced each answering piece. Through the night it came, washing over her with a resounding power that left her exhausted and spent until finally, around dawn, she crawled to the couch and collapsed.

Roak had made it to her front yard by then but he stopped when the music stopped. It was a clear area where he was not encroaching on anyone else, but it was still an uncomfortable pause. The burning sensation did not fade and he grew anxious as the hours passed. The fear was a new feeling. Her silence was torture for him.

When Rosemary awoke several hours later, it was full day and the room was bright. But even half asleep she registered that something was not right. The light in the room was wrong. She yawned and stretched and wiped her eyes but the strangeness stayed with her. Looking out the front window did not immediately help. The large tree that now stood within the wide circle of the drive looked so much as if it had been there for decades that Rosemary did not at first remember that it had not been there the night before. She turned her back on the window and went to the kitchen for coffee.

When she returned to stare out the window as she drank, which was her habit, the thought finally occurred to her that the tree was new. Of course, the thought was ludicrous, so she dismissed it. The tree must always have been there. Trees did not move or simply appear overnight. But it was a rather large tree to have escaped her notice for the five years she had been living there. Then again she lived in the north woods; it blended in. Shrugging off the oddness, Rosemary went back to her piano and refocused on her composition. Nothing else would get done until it was finished.

Roak experienced a relief that bordered on ecstasy when she began to play again. His branches danced, stirring the air and cooling him, but the burning sensation increased. It was unbearably painful. Pain was new for him, but he recognized it for what it was. Whatever new fires these were felt as if they were melting him into something else. Some alchemical transfiguration was taking place.

Rosemary’s peripheral vision caught movement, but whenever she stopped playing to focus out the window she saw only stillness. A feeling of unease grew within her. The air worried and strained, pulling her attention away from her task. She watched the tree for several minutes trying to pinpoint the source of her disquiet, but she could not discern it. Was it smaller than it had been?

She tapped her fingers on the top of the piano for a minute trying to picture her front yard without the tree in it, but she could not manage a clear image. Finally she got up and went out the front door. It was a cool, spring afternoon. The blue sky contrasted beautifully with the fresh, new green of the surrounding forest. The dense underbrush had grown in and everything had a hefty weight to it. Even the air was beginning to hint at the humid summer to come. Barefoot, Rosemary made her way cautiously across the gravel drive, ignoring the pain it caused. She would not hurry her step, though her feet were glad to reach the soft grass. Her driveway came up a steep hill and then made a large circle in front of the house. The circle was mostly grass, though there was now a large tree in the center. The closer she got the more convinced she was that it had not been there before. The air in the circle was different, charged with something like electricity.

Breathing heavily, Rosemary let her eyes travel up the height of the tree and along the graceful branches that now reached over her. Standing beneath it, she looked for movement, but everything was still. The leaves were no longer rustling. Approaching the trunk slowly, she reached out an unsteady hand and touched it softly. The bark felt warm to her skin and she thought she felt a small tremor so she jerked her hand back.

Stillness returned.

Rosemary looked up at the sun and then back to the tree. Over by the house it had been cool. Here in the shade of the tree it was warm. That was backward. Her hand was still shaking as she reached out to stroke the smooth bark again. The heat coming out of the tree was strangely intense and she felt again a tremble as she let her hand trail down the length of the trunk. This time she took a step forward instead of back. Her breathing was picking up again and the sound of it mixed with the rustling of the leaves above and around her. She placed her other hand on the trunk of the tree and felt a surge go through her fingertips. It was disconcerting at first, but the sensation was so amazing that her fear wore off quickly. The tree was quivering and the whole encounter felt sensual.

Moving closer, Rosemary wrapped her arms around the trunk and laid her cheek against it. She closed her eyes and listened. The branches were frenzied now and created a wind that picked up her hair and blew it across her face. The rest of the forest remained unmoved. Heat seeped through her skin, arousing a familiar warmth within her. She smiled. Composing often gave her that heightened sensitivity and inner heat, but somehow the warm and trembling tree was an extension of that. Stimulated anew, she carried the feelings with her as she returned to her piano to finish.

The embrace lasted a long time. Roak was astonished by the effect it had on him. The music was one thing, but the physical connection to her was something else entirely. A new kind of consciousness was invading him. The crushing, shrinking sensation intensified and continued even after she had walked away. Her touch had wakened something in him and he needed flesh to respond. When she began to play again, the music soothed some of the pain. There was a new sensation: a softening.

Rosemary felt again the sense of something struggling to reach her through her music. Her whole body was fighting to answer: her feet working the pedals, her arms lifting and dropping her hands to the keys, her heart keeping time. Every note reverberated through her.

Some primal part of her brain made the connection between the music and the wild tree dancing in the yard. It no longer stopped moving when she turned to look at it, but she noticed a change in its intensity when her playing would slow or stutter. The image of this great tree flowing to her song was remarkable. She responded by intensifying the crescendos, breaking her chords into furious arpeggios, and commanding it all to a sublime climax that brought her to her feet, face to the glass.

The tree had changed dramatically and was continuing to do so. Her music had done its work. As she watched, the tree seemed to fold in on itself, shrinking and compacting and shaping itself to another form. Somehow Rosemary felt the pain of the transformation throbbing in her bones. She had to grip the window frame to stay on her feet and small moans escaped her. Tears poured from her eyes at the sight of something so glorious. Until finally the transformation was complete and the amorphous shape finally resolved itself into a figure with a voice. The wild cry reverberated off the forest and thrummed against her chest. The note of pain and relief and desperation ripped through her, but she could not move. Rosemary stood at the window, astonished.

The tree was gone. There was a man. A naked man. Rosemary blinked. Yes, there was a naked man in her front yard. A man who had been a tree.  She exhaled slowly, watching.

Roak did not move for a long time. The echoes of the pain still trembled through him. He was remembering how to breathe and swallow, reconnecting with the sensation of arms and legs, these different limbs experienced in another lifetime. He spent several minutes feeling his heart beat and the blood rush through his veins. It was similar to the feeling of water coursing through his branches, but it was warm, really warm. His fingers dug into the grass, into the earth beneath. It felt so strange to feel it with flesh instead of roots. He was crouched on his hands and knees. He thought about the reality of suddenly having hands and knees for a moment before he tried to use them. His muscles responded to his intention to stand. Once he knew he had control of them he started to stretch and twist and bend. The feelings were pleasant, but definitely strange. His arms reached toward the sky, but it looked so far away. The sun burned his eyes, making them water. He turned away, blinking.

The sound of a door got his attention and he turned.

Rosemary had finally managed to move. She was standing on the porch, still watching, fascinated and amazed.

Roak tried walking and found that it came fairly easily. His long legs made quick work of the distance between them. Rosemary was too stunned to move, until it appeared he was going to walk right in to her. She backed away and hit the wall behind her. Screaming occurred to her, but she knew there was no one to hear her and she was not really scared – more curious than anything. But he was standing very close to her and the way he was looking at her was unsettling. He was reaching for her and there was nowhere for her to go.

“Whoa.”

The word came out involuntarily, but it worked to make the tree man hesitate. His expression turned quizzical and he tried to mimic her.

“Whoa.”

Suddenly absorbed with his new voice, he said it several more times, a smile slowly spreading across his face.

Rosemary smiled too. That was also involuntary, but the joy on his face was infectious.

“I’m Rosemary.”

He looked confused. “You’re a flower?”

Rosemary was astounded. Apparently there was not going to be a language barrier. His voice had a deep, resonant quality that was pleasant. After a pause, she shook her head and clarified, “No. My name is Rosemary. Do you have a name?”

He took a moment to process before he answered, “Roak. I’m known as Roak.”

Rosemary smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Roak.”

He smiled in return. “It’s nice to meet you, Rosemary.”

Rosemary noticed that he gave her name four syllables and stressed the second instead of the first. She liked the sound of it, but was not sure what to do next. He was still standing really close her and she could feel the heat coming off of him. Her heightened state had not subsided at all and she found herself distracted by the smooth, darkness of his skin, the carved look of his muscles, and the surprising intent in his eyes.

She took a deep breath and swallowed, trying to compose herself. “Why don’t you come inside?” He nodded and followed as she went back in the house. His eyes stayed locked on her and she felt strange under such focused scrutiny. He had gone quiet, so she turned away and took a blanket off the couch. Offering it to him, hoping he would use it to cover himself a little, she asked, “Are you cold?”

Roak gave her a smile, “No. I’m not cold.”

Rosemary had to swallow again. She certainly was not feeling cold either. Motioning with the blanket again, knowing that she was blushing, she whispered, “Well, maybe you could just wrap this around you anyway.”

“Why?”

She started to laugh. Suddenly Rosemary saw the ridiculousness of asking this man to cover himself. This being had just transformed from tree to man and after a brief introduction she was going to what? Try and inflict modesty on him? Was she really going to try forcing him to conform to some rule about decency? A rule that was really about shame. Why try to cloak this magnificent and magical creature in the bonds of her civilized world? Everything about her world had just changed. The rules would have to change too. Maybe there were no rules in a world where trees became men.

Roak was watching her laugh. He did not entirely understand what she found so funny but he liked the sound and the way her face looked. He had understood why she offered him the blanket, had seen the shrouds people wore to hide and protect their fragile skin from the elements. But he had traded for this skin and her blanket was a barrier. Why take it only to cast it aside?

The laughing eventually subsided but it left behind a brilliant smile. Rosemary wanted to bask in the glory of the moment but she wasn’t sure how. There were no words that fit, no customary paths to follow and no limit to the possibility of what could come next. All rules and boundaries had fallen away, taking fear with them. She felt free.

The blanket fell from her fingers to the floor. She closed the distance between them, approaching him slowly, as she had the tree. He seemed unnaturally still, but his eyes followed her. Again, her hand was unsteady as she reached out to touch him softly, but her fingers met warm skin this time and she did not pull away when she felt him tremble.

Roak was having trouble processing all of his responses. This new flesh was too sensitive and excitable. It was so full of energy it felt as if it would leap off of him entirely. He wondered over how her touch on his chest could be felt all through him. How could her fingers, now trailing down his stomach, make his legs shake? He felt unsteady and reached out to embrace her. She was so soft. The way her body just melded against him. And he could yield to her too. He could bend and tuck his head into her neck, inhale the scent of her and warm her skin with his breath. It was incredible and intoxicating. Every moment brought a new sensation…

…her lips touched his skin…

…her lips touched his…

…her tongue found his…

…her hands caressed his chest…

…his back…

…his arms…

…his face…

…his hair…

He was consumed by a new fire. Again there was the sense of reaching within him. He could not get close enough to her. Even when she let him pull her clothes away and he felt the rush of her skin against his, it was not enough. Dragging his fingers along her skin he feared he might rip it off and yet the touch was not deep enough. Still this yearning for more.

The moments built on each other. Each breath was a new astonishing height. And he who knew what it meant to touch the sky found out that these creatures who had once seemed so small had also found a way.

For Rosemary, the experience was astonishing in different ways. Each motion, practiced before with other lovers, was rediscovered as something entirely new. As she awakened him, her own being responded. She too felt lifted and amazed by the new heights suddenly possible. He smelled like the forest, his breath was the breeze and he had the heat of the sun. It was like lying with nature himself. She felt herself expanding, rushing forward, and when he buried himself in her, she felt it so deep he took root in her soul. What followed was not the stillness of the forest, but the thrumming harmonic resonance that had brought them together resounding through both, the vibration increasing until it shattered everything.

Then a slow return to stillness.

She lost him the first time that it rained. Suddenly he was gone and she searched the house with an increasing frenzy until she chanced to look outside and saw him standing in the yard naked, arms outstretched to the heavens and a look of pure joy on his face. Terrified for no discernible reason, Rosemary went to her piano and called him back with her song. He returned willingly and embraced her, sensing her need for reassurance, but there was a chill in him that went beneath his soaked skin.

In the days that followed, Roak was aware of a change in himself and that Rosemary felt it too. She would seduce him more frequently and prolong their lovemaking. When they were not sharing their bodies, she would sit and play their song over and over again. Her music could still raise the fiery heat in him, but it ebbed away a little more every day, despite all her efforts. It pained him to watch her struggle, knowing that what she desired of him was impossible. Still, he gave in to her passion and indulged her.

Rosemary grew more frantic with each passing day. She felt him growing colder and more distant. He began spending hours wandering the forest and he would always return pensive and distracted. Some reckless part of her kept exploiting their physical connection, hoping to keep him with her, while always knowing deep down that she could not win this fight. And the more sympathetic he became to her transparent ploys, the more frantic she became. His patronizing indulgence drove her crazy because every day the distance between them grew and he seemed perfectly content to let it.

And then her pain became too much for him.

“Rose, I am leaving.”

She stared at him, frozen and afraid. The statement had come out of nowhere, and yet had not. Those words had been approaching for days, haunting her every thought.

“Leaving?” she stalled, knowing exactly what he meant but unable to face it.

“Going back,” he whispered.

Rosemary swallowed and looked down, afraid to speak or move, hoping to hide from the truth in silence.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracking in the face of her pain and his own. “But we both know I cannot stay here.”

“Yes, you can.” She wanted to sound sure and strong, but her voice broke, betraying her and she kept her eyes on the floor.

“I don’t belong here.”

“You wouldn’t be here if that were true.”

He sighed and took a step toward her, “You…” hesitating, he paused and then corrected himself, “We stole this time together. It isn’t right.”

She finally looked up at him, shocked. “What does that mean?”

Roak faltered under the look in her eyes and stayed silent.

“Tell me what you mean, Roak.”

He took a long time to answer, knowing he should choose his words carefully, needing desperately for her to understand. “We are soul mates. We have spent many lifetimes together in many forms and I believe we will continue to travel together. This connection is why I respond to your music the way that I do. It means I cannot be oblivious or indifferent to you, your pain, your desire, your loneliness, your passion, your power. You called me from the forest with that power.” He stopped for a moment because he could hear the strain in his voice and had to compose himself. “But this is not our time to be together. You are meant for another in this life.”

Rosemary ignored the obvious pain in his voice, too focused on her own. “How can you say that?” When he did not appear about to answer she added, “You think I deserve something less than my soul mate in this life?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head and crossing the room to be closer to her. “Of course you will find another soul mate in this life. We all have many. You can’t imagine how many with the multitudes of lifetimes we experience and the infinite nature of the soul. I want you to have more than this, not less. I love you.”

“Then why do you want to leave me?”

Roak noted that she had not said she loved him in return. He believed that she did, but something was missing. It took him a moment to put his finger on it. “You can’t expect me to be anything other than a tree.”

“Well then maybe you shouldn’t have come to me as a man!”

“Ah, but you couldn’t let love come to you in any other form. You wove your spell with your music, bent the elements to your will and used your creative power to call me from my home and transformed me into a being that could love you. And now you think you own me because you fashioned me from wood as a sculptor with a chisel. But I am not art; I am a man. I had to be a man to love you as you wanted. As a man I have my own will and I am going to leave.”

“You’ve forgotten something. I needed you to be a man who could love me, but also so I could love you. This is magical and I don’t know why you want to take it back now. I didn’t know this feeling was possible. That’s what I was trying to conjure when I created that song. Not art. Not a mindless slave. A lover, in every sense. You say we are soul mates, then how am I to survive your loss? Why would you ask that of me?”

“It is no more than what you ask of me when you ask me to stay.”

They stared at each other in silence for a long time before Rosemary finally broke. Tears streamed down her face but she kept her eyes on him.

“I can’t lose you, Roak.”

He took her in his arms and stroked her hair until she stopped crying and grew quiet again. “I don’t want to hurt you, Rose,” he whispered into her ear. “I don’t want to see you in pain. We are the same and your pain is mine. Don’t you also feel the pain that I feel every day being here and away from my home?” He felt her tense against him and he knew that she did feel it, even if she would not look up and admit it. “Maybe I was allowed to come here to show you what you are capable of feeling. To show you the nature of love. But you’ve only learned part of the lesson if you think you can lose me by letting me go home. I will always be with you and you with me. True love never dies, Rose. I will love you forever.”

She could not speak, but she held him as tightly as she could and cried fresh tears into his chest. He was already growing colder and harder. His embrace was no longer warm or easy or comfortable. For awhile that made her hold tighter, fighting to prolong the moment. Eventually she loosened her grip enough to pull away and look up into his face. His eyes were still warm and he brushed the hair out of her face and the tears from her cheeks with a soft, gentle hand.

“I’m not sorry I came, Rose. Trust that trees have long memories and I will never forget.”

Roak kept her hand in his as he turned away. Their arms extended and their fingers trailed across each other’s palms, stretching until they were no longer touching. Then he walked out the door, crossed the drive and the open circle of grass, and then disappeared back into the embrace of the forest.

—

Written in January 2011

Photo taken by me in Black Forest, CO

The White Forest

Lily did not immediately panic. She spent several minutes studying the wall of snow outside her window dispassionately, pondering her new circumstances: snowed in to this house. His house. The dread crept up on her slowly. This was exactly what she had been afraid of. Not of freezing to death – a five thousand square foot shelter surrounded her. Not of starving either – there was a pantry full of food. What scared her was being trapped … here.

In the four months since she’d moved in there had not been more than five consecutive waking hours spent here. Now, she was stuck with only her father’s memory for company … No, that wasn’t accurate – herself, two cats, and his memory lived here. She closed her eyes and shook her head; this was going to send her over the edge.

Goodbye, sanity. I wonder if I’ll miss you.

To stave off the fear and the shaking, Lily closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. Hibernation occurred to her as a sanity-saving option. Maybe Emma, her stepmother, had left a stash of sleeping pills somewhere in the house before she fled the country for the winter. Who needed Valium in Fiji?

When Lily opened her eyes again, the wall of snow was still there, somehow closer and heavier. The walls of her room were shrinking. She could feel the weight of the entire house above her. Time to move.

She made a dash for the door, threw it open hard enough to hit the wall and was halfway up the stairs before she heard it crash back into its frame. The stairs turned and came up next to the front door, which opened to the main room. Under the two-story vaulted ceiling, Lily was able to breathe a bit easier, but when she looked out the wall of windows on the back of the house, any relief she had felt left her. The panoramic mountain view was obscured by a monotonous pale gray sky and the pine forest was completely transformed. What was usually a soft dark green was now a distorted mass of white and shadow. The snow made everything bulbous and grotesque.

No more Black Forest, she mused. It was now the White Forest.

Moving slowly, Lily approached the windows and surveyed the landscape. Looking down she could see the slope of the drifts burying her bedroom windows and those of the office next door. The north windows were clear, but to her left, the deck was also buried and there were drifts against the doors. The open floor plan was losing the battle with the buried forest’s claustrophobic feel. Before true panic could set in, Lily went to the kitchen and made coffee. She had faith it would help coherent thought return and her world would be a better place.

Of course, that hadn’t been true for months. Eight months, to be precise. Eight months of hating the world and most living people in it. Lily had disconnected from the world the moment she got the call. What difference did it really make that snow had finally fully cut her off from it? Just another separation.

She had spent the last eight months pretending he was just somewhere else. Even here she would pretend he was in another room. He was still present, with his shoes by the door, his glasses on the counter, and his magazines on the coffee table. And the pictures … For the first few months, when Emma had been on her own in the house, she had put pictures of him everywhere. Lily felt like someone had punched her in the stomach every time she caught one looking at her, but she could not bring herself to move them.

Avoiding a framed snapshot of the happy couple on a Mexican beach, Lily took her coffee to the front door and poked her head out. It was not as cold as she thought it would be, but there was still snow everywhere. No, not everywhere. The two large Chinese dogs that guarded the entrance to the house were untouched. The deep red porcelain shone in stark contrast to the new world. Lily assumed the house had protected them from the storm, but the sight was still unsettling. They were meant to be temple guardians. This house had been his shrine to life. Now it was a shrine to his life. And she was stuck here. She would hope for just a day of solitude. She thought she could survive that. Read some books, watch some movies, wake up tomorrow and start running again.

Unfortunately, there was not a book, DVD or website that could distract her from the reality of her situation. A mile of snow-covered drive lay between her and the next house. Add another mile to the road. Most of her friends were a good thirty miles away, if not a thousand. The men she had been spending her time with recently were more coping mechanisms than gallant souls willing to brave the elements to rescue her. And the cell phone, whose signal out this far was sketchy at the best of times, was now a glorified flashlight. There was a house phone, but she refused to call for help. Eight months of distancing herself left her with no right to solicit aid now.

Wandering the house, Lily grasped at any momentary distraction until she finally found herself in the loft. That was not one of her comfort zones – it brought her too close to his room – but she knew the cats would be there, camped outside the door. She hated their air of waiting. Still, they were company, and more than happy to abandon their post when she beckoned them. Tab Benoit, the boy, was a tabby cat named after a Louisianan blues guitarist. Shana Madela, or Maddie for short, was a silky tortoise shell. Avoiding the closed bedroom door, Lily managed to coax both cats downstairs with her.

Both joined her when she took a spot on one of the two large burgundy leather couches by the fireplace, Maddie on her lap and Tab by her feet. Snow was falling again and the huge wall of glass kept drawing her gaze. There was a peaceful beauty about it that Lily could not appreciate. She did not like feeling trapped and the longer she stared out into the blank whiteness, the more paranoid she became. The storm felt deliberate. The lingering presence in the house now seemed focused on some ill intent and the more she thought about it the more menacing it became. The silence was oppressive.

Forcing her attention away from the windows, Lily shifted to face the massive stone fireplace that dominated the north wall. Wood was laid for a fire and Lily wondered how long it had been there. Had her father done that last winter? Or Emma, before she left? Neither scenario made much sense, but she decided that lighting it would be a good idea. If nothing else, it would give her something else to look at. She refused to look at the framed picture of him on the mantle: the picture they had enlarged for the funeral, the picture she had taken when she was only sixteen, the picture of him looking at her.

Maddie glared at Lily when she stood up, but settled next to Tab and closed her eyes again. Lily added pinecones for kindling and lit them using a long match. Within moments, the fire was crackling, warming the chill that had settled under her skin. For a while, she stayed sitting on the stone hearth watching the flames dance, then she remembered how his ashes had sat there for a week before they’d taken them up into the mountains and she moved to back to the couch. The hypnotic colors eventually lulled her to sleep.

*

She was startled awake. A noise had invaded the quiet. She listened for a long time before she could will herself to move. The cats were gone. Maybe they had done something. Wind was throwing snow against the glass. Maybe that … It was dark outside and the mantle clock told her it was early evening. The fire had burned down to embers. Lily got up and started turning on lights. Once she had loved what she called the Magic Sleepy Couches, but now sleeping there felt too exposed. The high ceiling made it feel like Limbo.

The kitchen felt safer and she was hungry so she started foraging for food, but every sound was amplified by the silence. The bottles rattling in the refrigerator door, the water rushing through the pipes, the clanging of the pot against the stove all seemed too loud. Already jumpy from whatever had woken her, Lily’s anxiety grew worse.

She was moving a pot full of boiling water to the sink when a sound from upstairs startled her and the contents splashed down her leg making her scream. The first garbled sound was followed by a string of expletives as she flung the pot away from her and clutched reflexively at her burning leg. Touching it turned out to be a horrible idea and she bit hard on her lip as she punched the cabinet next to her. Another sound echoed above and her eyes moved upward.

“Fucking cats.”

Another moment passed before she realized what that sound meant. Directly above her was the bedroom; the bedroom with the door that was supposed to be shut tight. Closed a month ago when the room’s only remaining living occupant had fled the country. And now the cats were up there. Lily would have to check things. Set them right. In that room. The sudden, lethal heart attack had struck in that room. He had fallen to that floor. Taken his last gasping painful breath in that air.

Lily moved instinctively away from the stairs that would lead her there, but her wounded leg protested and she hit the ground with a strangled yelp. Fear had taken over. She wanted to curl into a ball and wait for dawn, or spring, or a blissful coma.

Her leg needed tending.

She could not move.

The mess needed cleaning.

She could not move.

The door needed closing.

She took a deep breath and after a long moment started speaking into the silence.

“Okay, Dad. I love you and I know you love me. I believe that you can still love me. So if you opened the door because you want to communicate something to me, I will listen. But not now. You can’t come right now, when it’s dark. Every part of me aches to see you again, but right now, that sight will send me screaming out into a blizzard where I will freeze to death and join you. I don’t believe you want that. So I’m going to hobble my terrified ass upstairs, chase the cats out of your room, shut the door, and go back to the safety of my cave. Just take your ethereal self elsewhere until tomorrow. Deal?”

She waited, heart pounding, praying for silence.

A moment later, both cats came around the corner and started lapping up the water on the floor. Lily let out the breath she had been holding and decided to leave the door for morning. Bad things happened to people who investigated strange noises. She reached across to the dishtowel hanging from the oven and used it to mop up the floor, tossing it over her head into the sink when she was done. Then she used the counter to pull herself onto her feet and limped her way back downstairs to her bathroom. Discarding her sodden pants, she sat on the edge of the tub and ran cold water onto a washcloth. The first time she touched her leg with it, she screamed. By the fourth time she was only whimpering softly.

Even exhausted and in pain, it took her a long time to fall asleep.

*

Lily dreamed she was wandering lost in the snow. There was a forest of dead trees, bare white trunks that looked like bones. Her father’s voice was calling to her on the wind. At first she tried to follow it. Running desperately, calling out in answer. Then there was a grove full of golden-leaved aspens emanating a warm, welcoming light. The voice called from within, beckoning her. Fear kept her from moving toward it. Instead, she turned and ran back into the dark.

*

She woke up shaking.

The fear from her dream stayed with her and she turned on the light with trembling fingers. Her clock said it was the middle of the night, but she knew she would not make it back to sleep. She stretched out her hand for the remotes on her nightstand and hit play on whatever was in the DVD player. The images and sounds helped to push back the panic but it was replaced by hunger. She had not managed dinner. Her throbbing leg reminded her why.

Pulling the covers away quickly as if she were ripping off a bandage she checked her leg. It was an angry red and there were blisters on the top of her foot.

“Aloe, genius. Aloe would have been a good idea.”

Lily shook her head and stood up. She forced herself to walk normally, despite the pain, to punish herself for the oversight. It was easier focusing on the physical pain rather than acknowledging the new thoughts that were threatening to push themselves into the forefront of her mind. An important wall had come down. Bargaining with her father’s ghost was the first step towards admitting that he was dead and she did not want to face that. Pushing the thoughts aside, she knelt down on her injured leg. Pain radiated upward as she dug around under her bathroom sink looking for lotion.

What she found eased the sting enough to get her upstairs without wincing too much, but the pain was forgotten entirely when she reached the main level anyway. Every light was on. She stopped and looked around for a prolonged moment. The lights turned all the windows into black mirrors and Lily could see most of the house, including herself standing by the front door. Nothing was moving, but she had the impression that she was not alone. Her chest constricted painfully.

“Not what I meant about the dark, Dad.”

She cursed herself for talking to him again. She was being ridiculous. Maybe a power surge had turned on the lights. That was better than turning them off. Determined to pull herself together, she went to the kitchen. Avoiding the stove, she opted for toast and coffee. There was still a mess in the sink to clean up as well so for a while she was occupied and distracted. But once the kitchen was settled back in to order, the oppressive silence returned.

But within the silence was something else. Were those whispers? After a long terrified moment, Lily realized that she was hearing her television. She had left the DVD running and now the distance distorted the sounds. Lily was starting to shake, angry with herself for being so scared. But her world was diminishing to this five thousand square foot shrine. What had once seemed massive was now a prison cell. She was trapped here with a truth she did not want to face, and it felt as if her father was forcing her to deal with him, admit his loss, and accept his death.

With her anger increasing, she forced her legs to carry her up the stairs. She made it all the way to the bedroom door before she could go no further. It was open, as she had feared, and hoped. Standing there staring at the small corner of the room now visible she realized that not all of her was scared. Part of her wanted to enter that room and see him standing there. She wanted open arms and a warm embrace. She wanted desperately to believe that was possible. Had he really opened the door? Was he trying to reassure her that he was still there?

Her response to that thought was not pleasant. She started to breathe rapidly and her fists clenched.

“You don’t get to come back like this: tormenting me with the idea that you could be here. You’re not! You left me here, all alone, and now there’s nothing but pain. I am in pain all the time and that’s your fault. It was cruel of you to be the best father ever and then leave. You made me beautiful and then made the world ugly. You taught me it was wonderful and magical, and then took it away. You made me strong and then crippled me, made me weak. I’m broken. I have nothing. You killed the future, too, you know. Stole my sense of security and safety. I’m scared all the time. If you can be gone without warning then nothing can be trusted. But I have to face that alone. You can’t help me now, so why don’t you just go. I need my father, not a ghost.”

The door swung slowly closed.

“No!”

Lily leaped forward and tore the door open again. The room was still and quiet and bitterly cold. Suddenly she could not breathe. What had she done?

“Daddy!” she choked. Her legs gave way beneath her and she crumpled to the floor. Rough carpet rubbed against her leg, but she was already sobbing. “I’m sorry. Don’t leave me.”

It felt like drowning. She could barely breathe and there was nothing to hold on to. In one moment the pain of grief was tearing at her – fear that she had chased him off with her petulance – furious anger that he could be sent away at all – a terrified kind of fear that he would return and punish her in some way. All of this washed through her. Pain. Sadness. Fear. Anger. Fear. Pain. Chaos had her in its grasp and she had no weapons to fight it. Life had never prepared her for this. There should have been warning or training or at least some answer to the question: Why? The tears would not stop. Pent up for months, they refused to abate. It was exhausting and she was terrified of falling asleep on that floor. She could be lying in the very spot; she did not know, since she had not been there. There had been a phone call and a plane ride.

She thought of the phone call. The broken sobs trying to say the words. They made no sense and were too ridiculous to be believed. Her father could not be dead. He was the healthiest person she knew. Their last conversation had been about a twenty-mile bike ride he’d been on. The next she heard could not be death. And yet, it had happened. Even though they had no reality a wall had come down within Lily at those words. If there was no sense in the world then what was the point? Reason was impossible. Her blessed, amazing life had ended with his. The world was less. Now there was only pain and fear and sadness and anger, all running in a constant loop. They kept her paralyzed on the floor. Some reflex in her wanted to fight its way out of that room, but she could not move. Some other force was keeping her locked in that place, like a great magnet was holding her frozen. She was not in control.

Finally, there was only pain. Her heart was beating too hard, not just pumping her blood but beating against the walls of her chest as if trying to escape by ripping its way free. She could not breathe. Add to that the coarse carpet fibers scraping mercilessly against her burned leg. She had started bleeding but was not aware of it. It would be a long time before the stillness would come and free her. Longer still before she could find the strength to stand. By then her raw nerves were not able to stand the sight of her blood on that floor. Some kind of ritual bloodletting had just happened and she did not know yet what she had sacrificed. It seemed impossible for there to be anything left of her to lose. She backed away from the stain and out the door, closing it behind her.

All she could do in that moment was get back to the safety of her room. Her cave. Her bed. She was too numb to notice if it hurt to walk. Somehow the pain had stripped her of all feeling. As if the total immersion had led her across some threshold where nothing more could touch her. She had reached the limits of her ability to feel. There was nothing left in her. She had emptied herself on that floor. It was a shell that crawled into bed. A ghost that lay unable to sleep until dawn finally came.

*

Lily dreamed that the house was full of snow. The roof was gone and everything was covered in shimmering crystals. A fire burned in the fireplace but it gave off no heat. It was powerless to melt the ice that coated everything. She was naked and frozen. The bitter cold floor scorched her feet and her leg was still bleeding. A red trail followed as she wandered from room to room. With everything glazed in snow the place felt abandoned and empty, as if no one had been there in years. There was no life left in any of it. No memory. She had forgotten her name and where she was. What was this place? How did she get here? She touched a chair and it shattered.

*

She woke shaking again. Freezing and scared, she pulled her blankets around her and tried to get warm. The room was as she had left it. There was no snow on the floor, but there was a chill in the air. The only sound was each shaky breath and her pounding heart. She wondered if she really was going crazy.

Once she had heard someone say that crazy people did not know they were going crazy; they think they’re getting saner. If that were true, maybe she’d be okay. But in that moment, raw and defenseless, she felt like she had a pretty tenuous grip on herself.

Something was moving upstairs. The wooden floors were creaking. She forced herself to believe it was the cats. She was alone. Dangerously alone. She had been forced too deep into her own head and her senses could not be trusted. With her eyes clenched shut, she waited. Silence returned and for a moment she was relieved. But as it stretched on, she started to shake again. Silence was bad; it was never complete. One heard things.

Swallowing a lump in her throat, Lily felt tears falling again. Reflecting on the image of herself bawling on her father’s floor, she feared the emptiness that still overwhelmed her. There was emptiness and pain, but she was not ready to give in to them yet. Time to move again.

The covers were stuck to her leg with dried blood. It hurt to pull them away and the sight of the red stains made her shudder. She needed to start taking better care. That was asking a lot. Any medical supplies in the house would be in the master bathroom, which meant walking through that room. She’d barely made it through the door last time. The thought alone was almost enough to send her into a blind panic.

No. Enough, Lily. Time to suck it up and deal.

With a deep breath she managed to stand. Pain shot up her leg as soon as she put weight on it, but she stayed standing. She took it slow, giving herself time to ride each wave of pain. The first few were bad enough to make her nauseous, but she kept going. She started in her own bathroom. There was no way she would be able to handle a shower or bath, so she used a washcloth to clean herself up. Her robe was hanging on the back of the door, which saved her a trip back to her room. She took three of the painkillers she found in her cabinet and pocketed the rest.

Back at the stairs, she sat down and used her good leg to push herself up. Out of breath when she reached the top, she took a moment to rest against the wall before she stood up again. It was only a few feet to the other set of stairs that led to the loft, but she was grateful to sit again by the time she got there. Inching her way slowly up to the loft, Lily was able to focus on the task at hand rather than where she was going. That was how she had gotten through most of the last several months: detaching her actions from their meaning. Making the phone calls. Picking out flowers. Planning the service. Spreading the ashes. Moving into the house. Going through his things. All she had to do now was walk across the floor.

The door was open again.

Lily closed her eyes and took a deep shuddering breath. She did not allow herself to stop for long, but she paused again at the door. The carpet was clean. She distinctly remembered the blood left behind the night before, but now there was no trace of it. Her hands started shaking. Had he accepted her sacrifice and come back? It was either proof that he was really there or a sign of how delusional she’d really become. No point debating the difference with herself if she was losing her mind. She started walking again. The master bathroom was on the other side of the room.

There was a tube of antibiotic cream sitting on the sink. Lily stared at it for a long time. Either Emma had serendipitously left it there a month ago or her spectral father had given her what she needed. She did not know how to think about such possibilities. She was not sure it mattered anymore. All alone out here, who was there to care if she went slowly insane?

Sitting down on her stepmother’s vanity stool, Lily propped her leg up on the counter and applied the cream to her wounds gently. Once done, she wrapped gauze around her foot and leg to protect them from further injury. Who knew what Crazy Lily would do to herself next?

She made it back downstairs without incident and checked the view out the front door again. Sun glinting off the White Forest blinded her for a moment. It was still very cold, but the sky was now a clear blue. There was still just as much snow as there had been the day before, though she noticed that Grandfather Tree was completely clear. Her father had saved the elder tree when they built the house. Some of his ashes were spread around its base, though most of them were at the top of Wilkerson Pass. The vision was a bit disturbing, but it helped that the Chinese dogs flanking the porch were no longer the only things without a blanket of snow.

Lily let out a careful breath and went back inside. She could not think about anything right then. Her mind was still fragile. Out the back of the house, the sky was still pale gray and the mountains had not reappeared. She shook her head at the freakish nature of Colorado weather, and then something about the fireplace caught her attention.

It was clean and fresh wood was laid for a fire.

No. She had lit the fire that had been laid. It had lulled her to sleep while burning down to cinders. She stilled. No more moving. Just staring. How many signs added up to proof? Did she require more?

Covering her face with her hands, she started rocking back and forth. He was still there. He was still caring for her, helping her. She could almost feel his presence fading in, becoming more tangible. She let her hands fall and turned around, expecting to see him. There was nothing she could see, but she felt him. After thirty years, his loving, supportive presence was recognizable. It was comforting and reassuring now.

“I want to see you,” she whispered, begging. Whatever was there remained invisible, so she closed her eyes and pictured him. “I miss you, Daddy.” She felt the fold, the surrender, and then the break.

This spectral presence was all that was left for her. Falling onto the couch, she pulled a blanket around her and focused on the feeling that she was not alone. She held onto it like a life preserver. No more running. If this was where he was, she would stay with him. The snow was irrelevant now. There was no other place she wanted to be. The past could live here, forever.

Tab and Maddie appeared and curled up with her. Both were warm and purring. Lily decided they were her father’s emissaries. She stroked both of them more lovingly than she ever had. Her tears were falling steadily now, but she was quiet. As she looked out the grand windows at the White Forest, she felt at one with the peace at last: the peace of the grave. She would stay here with the dead, in the presence of grace.

**

Written November 2010 – Published in http://www.amazon.com/FrostBitten-Fantasies-Anthology-Winter-ebook/dp/B004V9GGYU/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1373754167&sr=8-1&keywords=jessica+heckathorn

Photo taken by myself in Black Forest, CO.

A Little Help From Captain Jack Sparrow, Pirate

It’s not unusual for lines from movies to come up in conversation among my friends. Really, we pull from film, television, books and music–we’re not picky about our mediums. Most of the time things come up in jest (though I think that one guy was serious when he tried to pick me up with a line from Buffy the Vampire Slayer). Then there are the occasions when I put my knowledge of pop culture to real, helpful, use.

I’m a self-confessed movie fiend and sometimes I fall back on that when in a tight spot. Recently, I had to write a rather difficult email to someone and I found myself resorting to quoting Captain Jack Sparrow. This of course prompted a full-on Pirates of the Caribbean marathon and further thoughts on the lessons I’ve taken from the trilogy. Granted, it’s a pretty action-driven franchise, but there are a few gems that have stuck with me nonetheless. I’ll start with the quotation that I used in that difficult email I referenced.

Captain Jack Sparrow: “The only rules that really matter are these: what a man can do and what a man can’t do.”

A fairly simple commandment, but how often do we boil things down to their essential natures and conflicts? In general, I am a black and white thinker. I try to be objective and straightforward. These are traits that come in handy when I find myself in a sticky spot. They can help me to lead myself or someone else out of a maelstrom of emotional crap and into a place where forward motion is possible again. I don’t know if it helped the recipient of that email, but it helped me to write it. In that situation, I could pose the questions that needed answers, but I could not resolve them.

That was a line from the first film, Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl. Now, I’ll pick something from the second film, Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest.

Captain Jack Sparrow: “Complications arose, ensued, were overcome.”

A clever quip that has enough spark to give me pause. I think this sums up rather nicely what most complications amount to. They take up some time and make things more difficult, but your general complication is eventually overcome. Obviously, there are extreme cases that I am not trying to demean here, but think about the things that were in your way in the past and how they were overcome. Whatever is in front of you now, will share the same fate. People are resilient creatures and there is very little we can’t triumph over when we put our mind to it. Everyday life inevitably comes with complications, don’t sweat it, ride the wave.

Johnny Depp as Captain Jack Sparrow

Three movies, three quotations. Here’s a snippet of a scene from Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End.

Elizabeth: I didn’t have a choice.
Will: You chose not to tell me.
Elizabeth: I couldn’t tell you. It wasn’t your burden to bear.
Will: But I did bear it, didn’t I? I just didn’t know what it was.

I love this exchange. This ranks as one of my favorite scenes ever. I think it speaks for itself well enough without the context. It has such an important lesson to teach. We’ve all lied about something in our lives. I imagine most people lie to protect people that they care about. Sometimes we lie to protect ourselves, but that’s the same thing. The reality is that if you have people close to you that you hide things from, they feel it. It feels like a glass wall. You can’t see it or touch it or explain easily why you know that there’s something there blocking your connection to another person, but you know it’s there. And the longer those lies stay in place, the thicker the wall becomes. As soon as you tell a lie to another person, you burden them with an illusion they can’t fight, but must live under. I wonder why it’s so easy to delude ourselves into thinking  people need protection from the truth.

Orlando Bloom as Will Turner

I don’t mean to get preachy and this isn’t directed at anyone in particular, unless it be myself. But I love movies for this reason: that they can offer these insights in underhanded and unforeseen ways. Pirates is not necessarily the place I would go looking for answers to life’s questions. That first example I adopted as a life motto as soon as I heard it, but I have a tendency to forget about the other two until I watch the films again. Here is my record that I watched, I listened, and I took heed. Wisdom comes from unlikely places sometimes. I will take it where I can get it.

Encounters with Strangers on the Upper East Side

Awe is what moves us forward. –Joseph Campbell

This is a field of play. This is a place where I explore the things in this world that amaze and inspire me. Given the dramatic and wondrous nature of this place, I never find myself short of such things. All you have to do is keep your eyes open and you’ll find plenty to wonder at. Well, at least that’s what I find to be true. So far my posts have focused on the fictional characters that I love and draw inspiration from. There are real people in the world who have just as much, if not more, to offer. Despite the fact that I am constantly surrounded by people, most of the time I get stories from the news or on TED. But every now and then I encounter a stranger who simply sits down next to me and shares an amazing story. It helps to be reminded that everyone has a story and most are worth taking the time to listen to.

The other day, I was out with my friend Ryan trying to find a drink to celebrate his birthday. We had heard about a bar on the Upper East Side that was supposed to have inexpensive happy hour martinis. It was Ryan’s birthday so I was humoring him. Martinis are not usually my friends. Anyway, we found the place easily enough but it was 3:00 and it was not going to open until 4:00. Ryan had plans for a birthday dinner and show with Trent, so we could not afford to wait. Instead, we started wandering the streets. For those who don’t know, Manhattan’s Upper East Side is not the best part of town to look for an afternoon cocktail. We‘re of a determined sort, however, so we persevered and found a place called Jacques. Past lunch and before dinner, the place was almost empty.

There was a couple at the bar when we came in, but it was not long before the female left the gentleman alone with his Cognac. Of course that meant he sought out Ryan and I for company. Now, most of the time when I find myself approached at the bar by someone a few drinks beyond me, my impulse is to get them to leave me alone as quickly as possible. This time, however, the circumstances provided the man an opening and Ryan and I found ourselves listening to the man’s life story. It did not take long for him to get our attention.

He did introduce himself, but I have forgotten his name. The rest of the story stuck with me. He was a man in his 60s, dressed in linen pants and a yellow button down shirt. There was a thin bit of grey hair on his head and an intelligent glint in his eye that was not entirely dulled by drink. Having grown up in Alabama, he moved to New York in 1968 after teaching water skiing in New Hampshire for a summer. His first interview in the city was with Esquire Magazine; he got the job. Three days later, or three days after he started, he was on a plane headed to a conference in Puerto Rico. A shy young man from Alabama just starting out, he looks for a place on the plane to sit. The only seats her finds available are next to the CEO, the CFO and the head fashion editor. Fate smiling? Maybe. Then he finds out that the fashion editor is from Alabama, too! What? Crazy.

From there, my new bar friend went on to run GQ Magazine for 20 years. He opened 17 offices around the world and started 20 magazines. He was there when Ralph Lauren got started and became famous; of course they were friends. Amazing. And he buried 9 staff members to AIDS during the 70s and 80s. Sad. We’ll just say he was a man with an interesting perspective on fashion, New York, business, success, life, etc.

Now, he and his wife have been unemployed for six months and cannot find jobs. This means they have to sell their apartment at 94th and Park Avenue with its 300-square-foot terrace that looks out over the East River and has a pond with statues and a reproducing turtle population. He didn’t get married until he was 49, so I imagine that’s why he didn’t mention children (though he did mention a nephew that works in the White House). Instead, he mentioned 6 rabbits that have the run of his place. He and his wife volunteer for the animal shelter on 110th where Ryan and Trent got Gatsby the Cat last year. He wanted Ryan and I to volunteer our time as well, to come by and walk dogs and play with cats and such. We were all for it. Too bad I don’t know anyone who could afford to take his apartment off his hands. He says it costs him $6000 a month just to wake up. Wow. Still, I picture he and his wife selling their apartment in the city to retire to some beach house in the Hamptons, or maybe Paris.

A fascinating and amazing story, even if delivered with a slight slur and distinctive odor. Of course, as most people do, he had words of wisdom to impart to us: the next generation. He seemed most worried about the danger of us spending our entire lives doing the same thing every day. It’s the most common mistake he has seen people make and he was adamant that we avoid such a trap. A worthy admonition, but not my favorite piece of his advice, nor his. What he kept coming back to and repeating was that we should surround ourselves with people who are smarter than we are. We should endeavor to go to bed every day smarter than we were when we woke up. And he told us that this is the best city in the country for doing just that. I love it. Everyone should be given this kind of advice, challenged to push their limits. Consider this post my way of paying it forward.

According to WorldAtlas.com , New York City has the world’s fifth largest population: 16.6 million people. I know I have a pretty serious ego, but even with a genius-level IQ, how many thousands of them out there are smarter than I am? Meeting this guy just made me anxious to meet all of them. I need to figure out how to find them and make sure I don’t mistakenly block them out or blow them off. Hopefully I don’t need to spend more time drinking martinis on the Upper East Side. Not the way I usually like to spend my Tuesday afternoons. But it is good to be reminded that they are out there, waiting to be discovered. I just have to be brave enough to find them and invite them to share stories with me. I certainly went to bed smarter than I woke up that day. May we all live lives that are full of such days!

New York in the Rain

Heroic Endeavors—Part Three: Return

“I certainly think Star Trek is an example of a science-fiction franchise that at its heart really possesses a sense of optimism and faith in humanity and I think those are things that are never more relevant than they are today.” –Zachary Quinto

Here we are in the final stages of the heroic journey and the problem is that we have passed the new incarnation of James Kirk. No doubt there will be more stories in this new series, but for now I will have to get creative when it comes to providing you with examples. Luckily, there are many other stories about Kirk to draw from. I’m going to use the movie Star Trek Generations to help me. Being circa 1994, it may seem outdated and those of you who have seen it will have to dig deep into your memory banks, but it has the pieces I need. I’ll be as clear as possible. These are the trickiest steps, yet. Make sure you haven’t missed Part One and Part Two of this series.

Return – 1. Refusal of the Return

Once the heroic quest has been accomplished, what remains is for the hero to return to the real world with his prize. Whether he has attained enlightenment, or has rescued the princess, or found the Holy Grail, it is then up to him to bring his trophy back and share it with the world. As in the beginning, when the hero didn’t want to leave his childhood sphere of relationships and connections, he doesn’t always want to leave the bliss found in the presence of grace. It’s a nice place and it is difficult to leave by choice.

Example: In Star Trek Generations, Kirk finds himself in a place called The Nexus. Guinan describes the Nexus to Picard as:

“Like being inside joy, as if joy was something tangible and you could wrap yourself up in it like a blanket. And never in my entire life have I ever been as content… None of us wanted to go. And I would have done anything, anything, to get back there… If you go, you’re not going to care about anything, not this ship, not Soren, not me, nothing. All you’ll want is to stay in the Nexus; you’re not going to want to come back.”

It is a place where the mind has the power to grant any desire and command time. It is the bliss place and while Kirk is there, he does not want to leave. He sees the chance to live his life over again and do everything differently. When Captain Picard seeks out his help, Kirk refuses to return to the real world with him.

Return – 2. The Magic Flight

If the hero does decide to return to the world, there are two ways it can go. One, he has the blessing of the gods. They have specifically commissioned him to take their grace back to the world and share it with humanity. In that case, his return is supported by all the supernatural forces and goes swimmingly. Or, if the hero has stolen his prize or tricked it from the grasp of the gods, then the return can look like a great chase scene. The hero tosses obstacles behind him to delay his pursuers. His allies attempt to block the path and give him a greater lead. We’ve all seen this play out. But the truth of the monomyth is this: to fulfill its promise, not human failure or superhuman success but human success is what we have to be shown.

Example: Let’s go back to the new film for a moment and consider the red matter as the divine grace our hero steals. Kirk teams up with Spock to steal the ship with the red matter and destroy the Nerada’s drill that threatens Earth. Then Spock flies off, leading the enemy ship to the Enterprise, while Kirk is rescuing Captain Pike—they all beam to safety. The Enterprise destroys the missiles aimed at Spock, he crashes the ship into the Nerada and thus a black hole is created which destroys the “supernatural” enemy. A very magic flight.

Spock In Magical Flight

Return – 3. Rescue from Without

But what happens if the hero maintains the refusal of stage one? Someone has to go get him. The journey is not complete until the hero re-enters, with his boon, “the long-forgotten atmosphere where men who are fractions imagine themselves to be complete.” He has to confront society with his elixir of enlightenment; he has to take the blow of people’s questions and resentment and inability to understand. If he refuses to do so, then the supernatural forces that have been helping him all along, will come to rescue him and set him back on his path.

Example: We’re going back to the Kirk in The Nexus (I apologize for the back and forth—I trust you can keep up). Kirk is enjoying the power of fulfilling all his desires, fixing his mistakes, healing his regrets. He doesn’t want to go back to the world where his life is coming to an end, where his glory days are past. But Picard needs his help. Picard persuades him to come back and make a difference in the world again. He persuades him to put himself at risk again to make the world a better place and save millions of lives, 230 million lives.

Kirk and Picard in The Nexus

Return – 4. The Crossing of the Return Threshold

Ah, another one of those thresholds! I’ll let Joseph explain this one:

“The two worlds, the divine and the human, can be pictured only as distinct from each other—different as life and death, as day and night. Nevertheless—and here is a great key to the understanding of myth and symbol—the two kingdoms are actually one. The realm of the gods is a forgotten dimension of the world we know. And the exploration of that dimension, either willingly or unwillingly, is the whole sense of the deed of the hero. There must always remain, however, from the standpoint of normal waking consciousness, a certain baffling inconsistency between the wisdom brought forth from the deep, and the prudence usually found to be effective in the light world. The boon brought from the transcendent deep becomes quickly rationalized into nonentity, and the need becomes great for another hero to refresh the word. How teach again, however, what has been taught correctly and incorrectly learned a thousand thousand times, throughout the millenniums of mankind’s prudent folly? That is the hero’s ultimate difficult task. The first problem of the returning hero is to accept as real, after an experience of the soul-satisfying vision of fulfillment, the passing joys and sorrows, banalities and noisy obscenities of life. The returning hero, to complete his adventure, must survive the impact of the world.”

I think the last few lines are the most important to understand. There have been heroes making this journey throughout time. We know of some and not of others. But they come back and try to tell us what is true about ourselves. They try to tell us that we are all capable of this journey, that we all have this potential within ourselves—and we close our ears and ignore them. Most of us cannot accept that as possible. We call it myth. We put it on a big screen and call it a movie. We put it in a book and call it fiction. And then we ignore it as irrelevant to our own lives. That is our mistake.

Example: In the film, there is an energy ribbon that travels through the universe that acts as a doorway to the Nexus. This is the threshold Picard and Kirk must cross to return to the world. The Nexus also allows them to choose which moment to return to, so they are both masters of crossing space and time.

Threshold

Return – 5. Master of the Two Worlds

The hero has been blessed with a new perspective. He has seen beyond the scope of normal human destiny and been granted an awareness of the essential nature of the cosmos. His personal fate is now only part of the fate of mankind, the fate of life, the solar system, the atom. All of this knowledge has opened to him. He transcends personal ambition and stops resisting whatever may come to pass. He accepts the truth that there is nothing to gain or fear because all things are one. If that’s hard to grasp, consider this metaphor: just as an actor is always a man, whether he puts on the costume of his role or lays it aside, so is the perfect knower of the Imperishable always the Imperishable, and nothing else. That is the hero, whether in the state of perfect enlightenment or not, he remains at one with the imperishable force. The truth is that we are all at one with that force, we just don’t know it.

Example: After successfully returning from the Nexus and saving part of the galaxy, Picard ruminates on time with his first officer.

Captain Picard: Someone once told me that time was a predator that stalked us all our lives, but I rather believe that time is a companion that goes with us on the journey, reminds us to cherish every moment, because they’ll never come again. What we leave behind is not as important as how we’ve lived. After all, Number One, we’re only mortal.

Commander Riker: Speak for yourself, sir. I plan to live forever.

Return – 6. Freedom to Live

The goal of the myth is to reconcile the individual consciousness with the universal will (The Force). Once the hero has completed his journey, he is able to recognize his own relationship with the passing phenomena of time and the imperishable life that is within everything. As Joseph says:

“The Self cannot be cut nor burnt nor wetted nor withered. Eternal, all-pervading, unchanging, immovable, the Self is the same for ever. The hero is the champion of things becoming, not of things become, because he is.”

It is tricky to explain these last pieces. They are deeply spiritual states of being that I certainly have not achieved myself. I have not passed beyond my own attachments to this world of duality where life and death are different things. I perceive change everyday. But the hero is beyond thoughts of permanence or attachment. He does not fear change or loss. He knows that nothing retains its form forever. Nature, the great renewer, is always making up forms from forms. Nothing perishes, it simply varies and renews its form. That is the lesson.

In the broad sense, what does it mean that we have “rebooted” the series? Our vision of time and events is altered because the mythology continues to grow and change. What came before is intact for all who experienced it and it is there for anyone who wishes to experience it in the future. But the great thing about mythological heroes is that they vary and renew their forms to teach us yet again what has been taught a thousand times. We see Kirk die to this world twice in Generations. But he lives again! The lessons transcend time and space. The stories are meant to grow and change as we do. Long live Star Trek!

Our Hero

Heroic Endeavors—Part Two: Initiation

Attention, crew of the Enterprise. This is James Kirk. Mr. Spock has resigned commission and advanced me to acting captain. I know you were all expecting to regroup with the fleet but I’m ordering a pursuit course of the enemy ship to Earth. I want all departments at battle stations and ready in ten minutes. Either we’re going down or they are. Kirk out. –James T. Kirk

In my last post (Part One: Departure), I described the Departure stages of Joseph Campbell’s heroic journey theory using examples from James Kirk’s story in the latest Star Trek film. This will be part two of three in which I will cover the Initiation stages. So without further delay…

Initiation – 1. The Road of Trials

The heading for this stage should give you the basic idea. The path is fraught with danger and pain. Obstacle after obstacle must be fought and overcome. The original departure into the land of trials represented only the beginning of the long and perilous path of initiatory conquests. There will be momentary victories, glimpses of the promised land, unretainable ecstasies. Anyone who undertakes the journey into the crooked lanes of the spiritual labyrinth will find himself surrounded by symbological figures, any of which may swallow him. From Campbell:

“The psychological dangers through which earlier generations were guided by the symbols and spiritual exercises of their mythological and religious inheritance, we today must face alone, or, at best, with only tentative, impromptu, and not often very effective guidance. This is our problem as modern, ‘enlightened’ individuals, for whom all gods and devils have been rationalized out of existence.”

Example: This should be a bit self-explanatory. All of the obstacles and conflicts that Kirk faces are his Road of Trials. Some moments include: the space jump onto the drill above Vulcan, Spock banishing him from the ship and exiling him on Delta Vega, provoking Spock so he could take command of the Enterprise, the fight on the Nerada to save Earth and rescue Captain Pike, etc.

Kirk's Road of Trials

Initiation – 2. Meeting with the Goddess

“She is the paragon of all paragons of beauty, the reply to all desire, the bliss-bestowing goal of every hero’s earthly and unearthly quest… She is mother, sister, mistress, bride… Incarnation of the promise of perfection… The soul’s assurance that, at the conclusion of its exile in a world of organized inadequacies, the bliss that was once known will be known again.” I think you probably get the point. The goddess in this stage is the Universal Mother, a source of desire but also a nourishing and protecting presence. But she also has a destructive aspect. Life and death are both necessary. The goddess is not meant to be greater than the hero, but she can seem to be beyond him at a certain point. She is part of what must be earned in the process of the journey. She is luring him, guiding him, motivating him to rise above his current state and achieve greatness. The meeting with the goddess (who is incarnate in every woman) is the final test of the talent of the hero to win the boon of love, which is life itself enjoyed as the encasement of eternity.

Example: This is my favorite example, because it’s pure symbol. Kirk’s goddess is the Enterprise. Often, ships are referred to using feminine pronouns. Scotty refers to the Enterprise as a “well-endowed lady.” But here’s an excerpt from the novelization that illustrates this point nicely:

“He only had eyes for one of them, its markings stood out clear and sharp against the ivory-hued metal and composite skin: U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701. He remembered the first time he had set eyes on her, unfinished, skeletal, with gaping holes in her sides where her multiple outer hull had yet to be completed. She had been striking then, awkwardly balanced within a web of construction scaffolding on the hard, cold plain of central Iowa. Incomplete and out of her element she had appeared ungainly and graceless, an adolescent starship. Finished and sitting in her service dock she was a thing of beauty. He could not wait to embrace her.”

Kirk Meeting His Goddess

Initiation – 3. Woman as the Temptress

Here enters a different kind of feminine energy. This woman is all about the desire of the flesh. She keeps the hero’s focus on the physical world and the pleasures to be experienced here. Not in a good way. This temptation distracts the hero from his quest and delays his success. “Not even monastery walls, however, not even the remoteness of the desert, can defend against the female presences; for as long as the hermit’s flesh clings to his bones and pulses warm, the images of life are alert to storm his mind.” Sometimes, once the hero has broken free of the spell, there is a feeling of revulsion that’s directed toward all the acts of the flesh, the acts of life. Then woman becomes a symbol of defeat and sin instead of life and glory. But this is a diminishment of her role. The hero must find a way to balance the goddess and the temptress, love and accept both as pure and natural.

Example: Kirk is a legendary lothario. He’s well in touch with the pleasures of the flesh, a consummate flirt. I learned from the novelization that it is Kirk’s affair with Gaila, Uhura’s Orion roommate, which allows him to “cheat” on Spock’s test, thus landing him on probation. Uhura is another temptation for Kirk, but she is the unattainable one.

Kirk with His Temptress

Initiation – 4. Atonement with the Father

The son must grow in to his birthright and take his father’s place. One cannot be reliant upon a parent’s nurturing or protection, nor can one suffer their judgments or punishments. The time has come for the hero to be fully his own person. This requires accepting the dualities of the father—vengeful and merciful, arbiter of justice and wrath. For the son, the father is a sign of the future task. For the daughter, he’s a sign of the future husband. The father can’t pass along the duties of his office to a child who isn’t ready. The son must be able to rule justly without motives of self-aggrandizement, personal preference, or resentment. This is the moment where the hero achieves a perspective on the tragedies of life and lets go of his judgment about them.

Example: Since his real father is dead, we’ll use the moments when Kirk rescues Pike from the enemy ship and then relieves him as Captain of the Enterprise, thus taking on the role that his father assumed just before he died.

Initiation – 5. Apotheosis

Boom. Hero achieves his godlike potential. He transcends ignorance, fear, change. Pain and pleasure do not enclose him, he encloses them—and with profound repose. God is love, that He can be, and is to be, loved, and that all without exception are his children. This is not a state that is necessarily meant to be maintained. We are still talking about a human journey. Some of us have experienced moments of illumination, moments of broadened perspective and understanding. But we don’t stay there. These moments are meant to be drawn upon later, reminders to us of what is possible to achieve. But this isn’t a way of functioning in the world on a day-to-day basis. Once the hero attains this place, the task becomes holding onto it as best he can. Reminding himself that the people he encounters are merely lost souls and that we all have this godlike potential, we’re just not all aware of it, or in the same place along the path. But the truth is that the sufferer within us is that divine being as well. We and the protecting father are one. And, that protecting father is every man that we meet. So the “hero does not abandon life—he perceives without the same ocean of being that he found within. And he is filled with compassion for the self-terrorized beings who live in fright of their own nightmare.” The agony of breaking through personal limitations is the agony of spiritual growth.

Example: I’m not sure Kirk has one of these moments during the course of the film. But there are two places near the end where a more experienced and level-headed Kirk is shown. One, after escaping from the Nerada with Captain Pike, upon observing a moment between Spock and Uhura:

“The briefest of glances was exchanged between the Enterprise’s science officer and its communications chief. No one noticed it but Kirk. Varying from the sly to the snide several suitable comments took shape in his mind. Ultimately he voiced none of them. Like lightning, maturity can strike anyone unexpectedly and at the most peculiar moments.”

And then when he offers assistance to the crew of the Nerada as their ship is going down. A show of mercy. Not exactly an apotheosis, but a sign of a broader perspective. There are undoubtedly more films to come in the series. I am sure he will get there.

Initiation – 6. The Ultimate Boon

Gods and goddesses in the mythical realms are not meant to the be the end in themselves. They are guardians or bestowers of power. They have the elixirs of life, the creative fire, the grace of immortality to give the hero. What the hero seeks from them is their grace, the power of their sustaining substance. The gods can either choose to give the power to the hero who has overcome all his obstacles to reach them, or he may have to trick them in order to get it, as Prometheus did to Zeus. “When is this mood even the highest gods appear as malignant, life-hoarding ogres, and the hero who deceives, slays, or appeases them is honored as the savior of the world.”

Example: At the end of the film, James Kirk is made captain of the Enterprise by the threshold guardians—Starfleet Academy Administration—who were operating against him at the beginning. And Spock, who was his accuser, has become his friend and first officer. The Enterprise, his goddess, is under his command.

That’s it for the stages of Initiation. Think we’re done? Not yet! There’s still one phase left: The Return. I’ll continue next time…

Kirk as Captain of the Enterprise

Heroic Endeavors–Part One: Departure

Where there is a way or path, it is someone else’s path. –Joseph Campbell

The first time I read the above quotation my brain gave a hearty and resounding YES! I have never been one for following any kind of traditionally prescribed path. The idea that most people do something in a particular way has never seemed like a valid reason for me to do it that way. Guess I haven’t grown out of my rebellious stage, yet. I will do as Robert Frost suggested and choose the less-traveled road. We don’t need no stinking path!

And yet… And yet…

For many years now I have been fascinated by Joseph Campbell’s work on the heroic journey. Once I learned how to see the underlying structure, I suddenly couldn’t help but see it everywhere. And not just in fiction or mythology either. A few years back I wrote out my best friend’s personal heroic journey using the outline. He hasn’t achieved godhood, yet, so it’s not done, but he has time and the potential. We all have the potential. That’s kind of the point. It’s a path for everyone, as well as Christ, Buddha, Shiva, Frodo Baggins, Anakin Skywalker and Harry Potter.

Anyway, as I plan to spend a good deal of time talking about Campbell’s outline here in this blog, it seems appropriate to offer a kind of beginner’s course for those of you who are unfamiliar. In his book The Hero with a Thousand Faces, Campbell theorized that mythologies from around the world and throughout history share a fundamental structure, which he called the monomyth. The monomyth has three main stages: Departure, Initiation, Return. Some classic examples of the monomyth that Campbell used to illustrate his ideas include the stories of Osiris, Prometheus, the Buddha, Moses, and Christ, although Campbell cites many other classic myths from many cultures which rely upon this basic structure. Here’s a snippet from his introduction:

“The whole sense of the ubiquitous myth of the hero’s passage is that it shall serve as a general pattern for men and women, wherever they may stand along the scale. Therefore it is formulated in the broadest terms. The individual has only to discover his own position with reference to this general human formula, and let it then assist him past his restricting walls. Who are his ogres? Those are the reflections of the unsolved enigmas of his own humanity. What are his ideals? Those are the symptoms of his grasp of life.”

Remember that myths speak in a symbolic language. They’re metaphors, not to be taken literally. I’ll be dividing this into three separate blog posts in hopes of making it accessible. And I’ll be taking my examples from James Kirk’s journey in the new Star Trek film because it’s fresh and convenient and I think it will make sense even if you haven’t seen the movie. So, we begin with the five stages of the Departure.

Departure – 1. The Call to Adventure

Fairly self-explanatory, the first step is to call the hero. Some event marks a shift in the unsuspecting hero’s life. This is the beginning of a transfiguration—a rite, or moment, of spiritual passage. When the passage is complete, it amounts to a dying and a birth. For the hero, his familiar life has been outgrown. It is time for him to let go of old patterns, beliefs, concepts, ideals, emotional connections, etc. Sometimes it appears as a blunder, apparently the merest chance, reveals another world. Other times, a herald may appear who calls the hero forth.

Example: Kirk gets into a bar fight and serendipitously runs into Captain Christopher Pike, who urges Kirk to get out of his own way and enlist in Starfleet.

Departure – 2. The Refusal of the Call

So, maybe the hero isn’t too excited about giving up everything he’s ever known in order to go on some dangerous adventure whose reward is uncertain. Joseph says: this refusal represents “an impotence to put off the infantile ego, with its sphere of emotional relationships and ideals.” But, not all who hesitate are lost. And sometimes, the refusal is about being unwilling to respond to anything but the deepest, highest, richest answer to the question of destiny.

Example: Kirk tells Captain Pike that he has no interest in joining Starfleet. As “the only genius-level repeat offender in the Midwest” Kirk is safe and unchallenged.

Departure – 3. Supernatural Aid

This is the wizard, hermit, shepherd, smith, Jedi, guide, teacher, ferryman, conductor of souls to the underworld. He comes along to give the hero amulets and talismans of protection so that he can complete his journey. Even to those who have apparently hardened their hearts, the ageless guardians will appear to get them on their way. Sometimes they even come along for a bit of the ride. Their purpose is to show the hero what he is capable of achieving, giving him the opportunity.

Example: Pike responds with: “Do you feel like you were meant for something better? Something special? Enlist in Starfleet… You understand what the Federation is don’t you? It’s a peacekeeping and humanitarian armada. It’s important.” Later, when Pike is leaving the ship under Spock’s command, he raises Kirk to second-in-command, helping him on his way to becoming captain of the Enterprise.

Departure – 4. The Crossing of the First Threshold

I’ll let Joseph’s words sum this stage up:

“With the personifications of his destiny to guide and aid him, the hero goes forward in his adventure until he comes to the “threshold guardian” at the entrance to the zone of magnified power. The first, or protective aspect of the threshold guardian: one had better not challenge the watcher of the established bounds. And yet—it is only by advancing beyond those bounds, provoking the destructive aspect of the same power, that the individual passes, either alive or in death, into a new zone of experience. The adventure is always and everywhere a passage beyond the veil of the known into the unknown.”

Example: Kirk’s first threshold is probably leaving the Midwest via shuttlecraft to join Starfleet, thus leaving his previous life behind. But, to use an example with threshold guardians, I’ll use the example of his journey to the Enterprise. He’s on academic probation at that point, so there are forces trying to keep him on the ground. He risks a great deal by joining with Dr. McCoy in a subterfuge that gets him on board. But that is the moment that he truly leaves Earth for space, the final frontier. Space is one of our greatest unknowns. But he is the bold adventurer and he has allies. Pike is on that ship.

Departure – 5. The Belly of the Whale

This is the point where we head deep into metaphoric waters. Remember the story of Jonah being swallowed by the whale? That’s where we get our heading. The belly of the whale is a symbol of the worldwide womb, which is itself a symbol of a zone of rebirth. It is a place where one goes to realize or remember one’s true nature. A worshipper passes into a temple to be quickened by the recollection of who and what he is, dust and ashes, unless immortal. It is a form of self-annihilation. “Allegorically, then, the passage into a temple and the hero-dive through the jaws of the whale are identical adventures, both denoting, in picture language, the life-centering, life-renewing act. No creature can attain a higher grade of nature without ceasing to exist.” Many times the hero is severely physically wounded at this stage, dismembered, even slain, scattered over land and sea.

Example 1: Kirk descending into the hall for a trial in front of all of his peers. He is accused of cheating, placed on academic probation, and stripped of his privileges. He is reminded that he is under the power of the Starfleet administration.

Example 2: A slightly more interesting and provocative example of this stage might be when Spock banishes Kirk from the Enterprise and exiles him on the ice planet, Delta Vega. This is a more complete separation from his world. He is alone and threatened by the great red crab-squid from hell. He finds refuge in a cave with a wizened elder who tells him that his place is on the bridge of the Enterprise as her captain.

That’s it for the Departure stages of the monomyth. I’ll leave you with that for a few days before continuing with the Initiation stages.

Chris Pine as James T. Kirk Before Joining Starfleet

Spock: Ambassador For A Rational’s Utopia

“As a Vulcan I require no additional training to control my narcissism when making command decisions. They are and will always be invariably based on reason, logic and the facts as they exist in reality, not as we might wish them to be in order to conveniently fit some private notion of how the universe is supposed to operate.” –Spock

Make sure to file this under arrogance, not vanity. There is a difference. It is intensely gratifying to find heroic characters that are like me. It’s fun to read about people who react to things the way that I would, who think the way that I think, who say things that I would say. Honestly, it’s rare, very rare. Anaïs Nin and Ayn Rand are the only authors I’ve encountered that have come close to creating someone like me. It is similarly satisfying when I see a heroic character that I resemble in some significant way gain the love and respect of a wide audience.

The latest Star Trek film hit theaters last Friday. But even before then, the film, and Spock in particular, were getting serious media attention. As Spock has always been the quintessential rational, I have been exceedingly pleased by the praise heaped upon him. Of course, I give credit to the writers, Alex Kurtzman and Roberto Orci, as well as Zachary Quinto (yet again). Zachary was able to imbue the character with the appropriate intense stoicism that reflects Spock’s thoughtful and purposeful nature, while Kurtzman and Orci gave him the requisite material to work with. And while this incarnation is certainly more volatile and emotionally vulnerable than the Spock we have known in the past, he is still dedicated to logic. He is a hero to anyone who experiences their own nature as intensely rational. (Note that spoilers do follow—continue reading with caution if you intend to see the movie and have not done so.)

According to David Keirsey, in his book Please Understand Me II¸ in which he details the character traits of his four major personality types (Artisans, Guardians, Idealists and Rationals–in addition to the sixteen specific types), he estimates that only 5-6% of the population fall into the category of Rationals, the NTs, or intuitive-thinking types. So it’s not surprising that we don’t show up very often in film or fiction. Perhaps that’s why we stand out when we do show up.

Why is that we seem like such enigmatic creatures to the other personality types? Keirsey says we are “often criticized for being unfeeling and cold… what is taken for indifference is not indifference at all, but the thoughtful, absorbed concentration of the contemplative investigator.” He also says:

“Concerned as they are with logical investigation, they seem detached and distant from others, who conclude that this type has no interest in social reality. This conclusion is correct in the sense that when Rationals are concentrating on some complex problem they do detach themselves from their social context and remain distant until they solve the problem. At that moment they are not interested in others, but that does not mean they do not care about others. They are just as caring as any other type when they are focused on those they care about.”

I found this idea eloquently illustrated in the moment when Uhura goes to Spock to offer sympathy after the loss of his mother. When she asks what he needs, he responds with: “I need everyone to continue performing admirably.” His own pain in that moment is not sufficient reason for crucial work to halt. As a Rational, he would find comfort in an efficiently running system. Another amusing moment that illustrates the idea is when Spock says to the ship’s doctor: “I intend to assist in the effort to reestablish communication with Starfleet, however, if crew morale is better served by my roaming the halls weeping, I will gladly defer to your medical expertise.” Brilliant.

Vulcans attempt to live by reason and logic with no interference from emotion. Keirsey’s Rational category, being specifically meant to designate a human personality type, does not attempt to insinuate that we do not feel emotions. On the contrary, he goes out of his way to explain us to the other personality types and elaborates on the depth of our feelings and the reasons why we keep them under tight control. When he is a child, Sarek, Spock’s father, explains to him that “emotions run deep within our race, in many ways more deeply than in humans. Logic offers a serenity humans seldom experience, a control of feelings so that they do not control you.” This is a Rational’s philosophy.

Leonard Nimoy, the original Spock, liked the character’s logical nature, observing that the character struggles “to maintain a Vulcan attitude, a Vulcan philosophical posture and a Vulcan logic, opposing what was fighting him internally, which was human emotion.” A Rational often finds himself fighting this kind of battle. Our emotions run as deep as anyone’s, but as they tend to get in the way of getting things done, we do our best to keep them in check. When we cannot, we step aside and separate ourselves.

Spock: “I am no longer fit for duty. I hereby relinquish my command based on the fact that I have been emotionally compromised.”

I think compromised is an apt description of how it feels for a Rational when emotions get the better of us. This is in direct opposition to how feeling types perceive their emotions. Kirk = Feeling Type. How does Spock respond to Kirk-the-Feeing-Type? “I will not allow you to lecture me on the merits of emotion.” Ha! And yet, while Spock will, when necessary, put Kirk in his place—“You advocate a methodology based on assumption and emotion, not familiarity and knowledge”—he will not hesitate to acknowledge when Kirk is thinking rationally—“The cadet’s logic is sound.” Rationals will listen to anybody who has something useful to offer regarding their choice of ways and means, but they will also disregard anyone who does not. Ideas must stand on their own merits. We are compelled by our very nature to point out errors in argument. Keirsey says:

“In conversation Rationals try to avoid the irrelevant, the trivial, and the redundant. They will not waste words, and while they understand that some redundancy is necessary they still are reluctant to state the obvious, or to repeat themselves on a point, limiting their explanations and definitions because they assume that what is obvious to them is obvious to others.”

My favorite part of the Rationals chapter could be when Keirsey writes: “They will heed the demons if their ideas are fruitful, and ignore the saints if theirs are not.” Oh, so true.

Much as I might sound boastful, NTs are easily the most self-critical of the personality types. We have trouble measuring up to our own standards and are frequently haunted by a sense of teetering on the edge of failure. It is perhaps this vulnerability in particular that I feel Zachary Quinto brought so vividly to life on screen. After relinquishing his command, exposed as compromised, Spock confesses to his father that he is failing to control his anger towards the one who took his mother’s life. He feels that he should be able to control that emotion, to keep the pain in check. That he fails to do so is a source of disappointment and shame.

We prefer to appear unemotional when we communicate. We try to minimize body-language, facial expression and other non-verbals as much as possible to express ourselves in a carefully crafted manner. Sound familiar? Our intention is to be accurate, to get things straight, sort things out, so that we can avoid errors in reasoning. Logic tells us how to avoid such errors. For our own self-image, we gain self-esteem by being ingenious, self-respect by being autonomous and self-confidence by being resolute. We value being calm, trusting reason, yearning for achievement and seeking knowledge. We have an insatiable curiosity about how nature works; complexity itself intrigues us. We are also: abstract, adaptable, analytical, competent, complex, curious, efficient, exacting, experimental, farseeing, flexible, impersonal, intellectual, independent, inventive, logical, open-minded, purposeful, scientific, skeptical, theoretical, systematic, and more.

If this is you, you are not alone. If this is not you, but sounds like someone you know, let this shed some light on their inner workings. There are few who know me that would call me cold, a bit brutal at times, but not cold. To an outsider, however, I can see how I might appear so. I’ll leave you with one last classic line from Spock: “If you eliminate the impossible whatever remains however improbable must be the truth.”

In conclusion, Vulcan is a Rational’s utopia.

Zachary Quinto as Spock

*Quotation at the top taken from Alan Dean Foster’s novelization of the film Star Trek. All other Spock quotations taken directly from film, screenplay by Roberto Orci and Alex Kurtzman.