Blessed by Sapphires: A Dance with Destiny, #2

Prologue

A discarded Princess will knock upon our door.

Oh, thank the goddess. Will she arrive before Beltane?

That, I cannot see, Larie. Yet, she is meant to be the treasure long awaited. He closed his eyes and smiled. When I look upon her, calmness and peace wash over my essence.

"So she is the one. Excitement lit up her face. Will we finally be blessed with perfection?"

She must be the one, the one chosen from the beginning, for I can see nothing but love and harmony covering the whole of Praetoria following her blessed arrival.

At last, after a thousand years, we’ll finally please the goddess and receive our just rewards. She collapsed unto her knees, breathing a deep sigh of relief. I’ve only ever dared to dream this would happen within my lifetime.

As have we all, child, as have we all.

Pray, tell me. What does the chosen one look like? What color is her skin? Her hair? Her eyes? I must needs know for whom to look.

Fret not, Larie. You’ll know her minus those trivial things. What your eyes see will be but a ruse. The treasure lies within, hidden from mortal view.

She furrowed her brow, apprehension replacing some of her previous joy. Then how will I know her? How can I be sure?

Don’t concern yourself with the hows and whys, my child. Have faith that what will be, will be. He leaned forward and knowingly patted her arm. "She will come to you, Larie. She’ll trust you almost immediately."

You have seen this?

Yes, I have. She will very nearly love you before the end.

Happy tears burned her eyes. I tremble at the thought.

Take heed, Larie, for you will very nearly love her as well. His eyes narrowed as he imparted the warning he had envisioned. She’s a beautiful trap, a delicious poison. She is a deadly enchantment, my child, one you cannot easily look away from.

What’re you saying, Oracle? Is she to be feared?

Perhaps. Yet, you won’t be able to. She will not harm you, Larie. She’ll love the night people. Fear will be the farthest thing from your mind. You’ll only want to hold her, comfort her. She’ll need you, Larie. You will be to her as a calm place amidst a battlefield.

Will you know when she nears?

"I cannot tell. She is as water. I know not where she flows... she knows not where she flows."

*****

Sire, what will you have us do?

Hold, that’s what I’ll have you do. Move not until I command it. She can cease the very beat of your heart. She can cause your lungs to forget their purpose. Move not against her. This maiden is for me alone.

Emperor, draw not swords with a witch. They don’t fight with honor.

She is no witch, Yui. She’s an Angel.

Sire, Angels don’t exist. The young man narrowed his eyes and looked to his liege, skeptically. "Only the old ones of Jinn can wield powers like those you speak of. And they are no longer of this world. Someone has given you ill counsel, Milord. Give me their name and I will deliver you their head."

The Emperor cast the young Shinobi a knowing glance. Could you so easily remove a woman’s head, Yui?

He swallowed hard. If she intentionally bore false tongue to the Emperor, it would be my duty to do so.

Your loyalty is admirable, good Yui. The Emperor smiled. You will go far. Alas, it’s not blades I wish to cross with this woman. He looked to the clouds. My desire in her regard is not for her blood. Well, not wholly. I have undecided intentions toward the maid.

You wish to bed her? Yui shook his head, tossed a stone in the still waters, and stared blindly at the coming ripples. Sire, one so powerful cannot be trusted in the throes of passion. If you let your guard down with her—

Steady your thoughts, young one. A wry smile turned up one corner of the Emperor’s mouth. "When I take her to bed, it will be her deepest desire for me to do so. She will love me and give herself to me freely. My intentions are, ultimately, she will gift me her great power in exchange for my heart."

And, when you have gained her love and won her heart, what then, Sire?

Then, my dear boy... I shall destroy her.

Yui turned wide eyes to the Emperor. Sire, hell hath no fury—

He cut off the young man’s words. Hell itself cannot stand before my blades once drawn. He looked back to the clouds. "And this maiden does not boast the power of hell, no matter her trinkets."

*****

Decimus, come before me.

Yes, Master Shabriri. What is your wish?

I’m sending you to aid an old friend of mine. He’s on layer seven, the realm of Praetoria. One in their group has been dispatched back to the Otherworld by those damn Guardians. We must maintain The Thirteen. Go now. And tell Jago I will demand payment of him when next we meet.

The handsome demon bowed low. Is that all, Milord?

No, that’s not all, you sniveling little brat, Shabriri hissed. I wish you to send me many bastards. Lay with a human woman every night, send each spawn back to Spadroon.

Yes, Master.

The more screams and tears the woman sheds at the conception, the more powerful the offspring will be. Take care not to kill her, you fool, or you’ll defeat my purpose.

Yes, Master.

Chapter 1

Jenevier

(ZHEN-ah-veer)

I was walking down yet another busy city street. Hundreds of unknown faces, thousands of unseeing eyes, and still I was alone.

I had nowhere to go, nowhere to be. And yet, I walked... always I walked.

During my time on the eighth layer, I’d witnessed many horrific things. Countless muggings, beatings, drug use, burglaries, murder, abuse of all kinds, rapes, gang wars... and still, I walked.

This street was no different from the thousands of others I’d roamed. It was lined with small shops, large buildings full of office workers, street vendors, and all the unknowing masses numbly dragging through their unknowing lives. The sounds here mirrored all the others; honking horns, police sirens, subway tremors, accented voices shouting about their available wares, and the ever present homeless, begging for coins from businessmen who pretended not to notice them... and from the tourists who noticed them too much.

And that’s exactly where I was—head down, trudging along Baker Street near the harbor in a congested town called Baltimore—when I heard the blissful chiming. My mind rocked with the painful remembrance of those tinkling little bells. I slowly turned toward the beckoning OPEN sign, almost daring to hope, yet bracing myself for the disappointing reflection I feared I would find looking back at me from the dusty old store window.

Sorrow shook me once again when I saw the same golden curls and the same deep blue eyes. No tinkling locks and no flaming orbs could be found. I glared at the accursed cheap wind chimes that had made my heart skip a beat and caused my blood to race through my veins. I willed those taunting chimes to burst, or break, or just crash to the filthy sidewalk. But nothing happened.

A large bin underneath those wretched wind-tossed devils taunting me held a name which bade me come closer.

It was only a wire container, pushed out near the street, piled full of old books and faded novels. The shopkeepers used such things to tempt would-be customers into perusing the merchandise within as well. A large handmade sign simply read ‘75% off, all sales FINAL.’

Halfway down the mound of tattered, torn, and previously unwanted paper treasures, one bore the name... Jenevier. My name.

I have traveled through many layers of this universe and have yet to meet another Jenevier. I know not if it’s the name that’s rare or if those bestowed with such a name were simply not troublesome enough to need my sort of intervention. Yet, I alone can easily disprove that theory. And that little thought made me giggle. I’m amazed, after what I’ve lived through I can still manage to laugh on occasion. It feels good.

I carefully pulled the book through one of the large square holes and cautiously opened the first page. Written there upon that cheap, yellowing paper were the familiar words of my very last thoughts. Words I had never even uttered aloud. The same words that’d run through my mind as I lay dying at the end of all things. I read on.

Bitter word for bitter word, painful moment for painful moment, they were all meticulously recorded upon those loosely held pages within that broken old binding. Here was my entire life, written down for all to see and then haplessly tossed into a discount bin outside an overpriced tourist shop.

The rain started, so I walked on, the book tucked neatly under my shivering arm.

*****

The weather on layer eight is nothing like my homeland of Ashgard. It is unpredictable at best. I’m always traveling to a fairer place, never resting, always searching. Baltimore is definitely no place to be in the tenth month of their calendar year. I’m headed south in search of the blessed sun and the warmth I know it will bring.

I don’t believe I’m invisible. I mean, I can see myself and I can see my reflection. But not one single being on this entire layer has ever acknowledged me in any way. Strangely, that’s become my favorite thing about layer eight—complete anonymity.

I go where I please, eat what I crave, and sleep where I want. No one seems to even notice. If I wish to yell, I yell. If I want to cry, I cry. If I feel like singing... I just open up my mouth and belt out the tune at the top of my lungs, no matter where I happen to be standing. And when the time comes that I decide I’d like to take a lazy summer nap in the very center of a beautifully manicured flower garden... well then, that’s exactly what I do.

I mean, my banishment was severe, yes, but not completely cruel. I could have all I needed, except companionship. I’ve used up all the friends and love this life had to offer me. I haplessly squandered all that was truly precious, all that was worth keeping, so it was taken from me. Or perhaps more appropriately, I was taken from it.

*****

I made my way into the dank office of another dingy old motel and chose a random key from the hooks on the wall behind the desk. I’d never figured out how to retrieve one of those sliding cards used by all the newer, much nicer places to sleep. So I either stayed in a rundown old dump still using metal keys, or I slept under the stars when the weather permitted.

Once inside my humble home for the night, I hung up the new clothes I’d taken right off the store rack, uncontested. I peeled off the wet ones still mercilessly clinging to my trembling, ageless body, and turned on the shower. I sat down upon one of my favorite things this layer had to offer, an indoor toilet, and began to read my newly found treasure as I waited for the wonderful water to warm all by itself. No fire needed.

I didn’t sleep that night. I read the stolen novel from cover to cover, the whole of my life, right up until I ripped Prince Merodach’s still beating heart from his pleading chest with my angelic hand. I murdered Ashgard’s Dark Prince, and thus sealed my fate.

How could this be? How could someone upon layer eight even know of my existence, much less my entire life, verbatim?

Yet, here it was. Every single moment, every single decision, perfectly recorded for all time and eternity. My many sins were written right here in black and white for curious eyes to freely behold.

I felt violated and naked as I finished the last page and closed the painful little book. I looked for the prophetic author but found only initials. The inside cover had my life listed as a work of fiction. I’ll admit to you now, I had to laugh at that little revelation. It had most definitely seemed like reality while it was happening. I yet bear the horrible scars to prove it.

I missed my home now more than ever. I missed my beloved friends I could never see again. And, I missed my precious Varick with all my heart and what little of my soul yet remained to me.

I won’t claim to know who the author was or how they saw my tormented life, but I am extremely grateful the gifted seer stopped their words before recording my fateful ending. I alone wish to be the purveyor of the words written herein so inquiring eyes may know my true end, lest I be heralded a hero to even one soul upon even one layer.

Let it be known that I, Jenevier Olesia Embarr, tore the still beating heart from the pleading chest of Merodach, Prince of Wrothdem and crushed it before him in my mighty hand. I witnessed, judged, sentenced, and executed him without a summons from God. In so doing, I murdered this man and freely took the life of an innocent.

Now, if you’ve read the prophetic story of my life, you know well why I carried out this horrific deed. Merodach was twisted, evil, destructive, and definitely no innocent. At least this was true in the eyes of all who knew him. Alas, I am but a created being, flawed at best. My ways are not His ways and my thoughts are not His thoughts. I couldn’t hear Merodach’s pitiful pleas for love and mercy through my bitter, vengeful rage. But God did. I was meant to be the vessel He used to finally turn Merodach’s wicked heart. I was unknowingly sent by God to show the dark Prince what love was, what it truly felt like.

The Prince of Wrothdem had been denied the meaning of love since he was orphaned as a babe. With Merodach’s heart now capable of priceless love, coupled with his wonderful gift of Elven magic, God was going to use this newly remade Prince to bring prosperous peace and righteous unity to all of Ashgard. Merodach was to be given a second chance to fulfill the role God had intended for him. If he did not, the summons would come down and I would have been chosen to carry out his long overdue death sentence.

Yet, I alone robbed Merodach of his destiny. I alone robbed God of His divine plan. And it was me who robbed the good people of Ashgard from knowing the true euphoric paradise intended for them and their children.

I murdered an innocent!

My vile act was witnessed by my brother Vareilious, my summons was sent down to Vareen, I was judged by my beloved Varick, and my sentence was mercifully carried out by God’s own glorious hand.

Chapter 2

Vareilious

(vah-REEL-ee-us)

When I beheld my majestic Guardian standing before me, my joy was lifted to the heavens. The heartbreaking spell I’d been under was broken by his regal growl. Merodach’s drugs no longer clouded my mind and all was right with the world again.

My first love, Alastyn, was freed from his self-imposed horse bondage. The cursed Shadow Wraiths now roamed the beautiful palace on wobbly human legs, bewildered and confused, but free.

I headed back to Vanahirdem with my loyal friend, Vareilious, who to his valiant credit, only stopped once to speak of what he had heard.

In my hazy dream world, I had confessed my undying love for him. Not for Varick, and not for Dante, but for Vareilious. I professed hidden desires and spoke aloud things that should never have been given voice.

My perfect love, I know now your true feelings for me. I desperately needed your declaration to validate my tormented soul. I shall press you no more, for it is a sin against you and my brother to do so. Yet know this, my enchanting maiden. I will always be with you. God Himself will never let me forsake you. I have only ever loved you, Jenevier. Always remember that. Now I will wing you to your magical wedding and my blessed brother. We will never speak of this again, tiny Angel. But I will never forget it.

He whispered that last part. Yet, I heard him.

Vareilious tenderly kissed my forehead and smiled. Then, we made our way back to our beautiful, ethereal home—Vanahirdem, the city of my heart.

*****

We were met with neither glorious wedding bells nor shouts of praise and victory. Instead, our Commander-in-Chief, Valadrog, stood within the gate as all Vanir stood, downcast, behind him.

Warrior Vareilious, you were witness to the execution?

Valadrog’s booming voice, even when kind, caused me to tremble.

Yes, Father, and it was glorious!

Vareilious recounted the entire episode with minute detail. How he had sensed me, how he heard me (he left out the part we were never to mention again), and how his growls broke the spell, clearing my mind. He then recited, with added dramatic effects, every single word exchange between me and Prince Merodach. He even acted out some of the gory parts and finished his excited reenactment with a radiant smile spread across his angelic face.

It’s true then, Varick solemnly said as he stepped forward to stand between his majestic parents.

The elegant Vareen, with her hands outstretched, spoke the words as God revealed them to her. She told of the glorious plans He had in store for Merodach, Wrothdem, and the entire fourth layer realm of Ashgard.

I was in shock. My legs would have betrayed me if not for the support of my ever loyal friend and brother, Vareilious.

So it has been witnessed, so it has been spoken— Varick’s words broke off with bitter sobs. Mother, I cannot.

"You have no choice, my son. None of us do. Whether you speak the words or not, the guilt remains and the sentencing will come."

"I love her. She is my Anicee. The guilt is mine! I trained her to carry out this very deed. Now, I am to stand in judgment of her? For simply doing what we all knew she was here to learn to do? How is this justice?"

And we may yet have to stand before God for our part in this vile murder, Vareen whispered.

I could barely speak. Nothing being said was making any sense. "Murder? You accuse me of murder?"

No, my child, God accuses you. Vareilious gave testimony and now your beloved Varick must judge you. Apologies, my child, we are so sorry for what we have done to you—

Vareen’s tears choked off her words. Valadrog took over for her.

In our zealous quest to save you, dear child, we have brought about your ultimate demise.

"I am to die? But, you of all people know the treacherous sins this one man has committed against hundreds of innocents. My executions have never been deemed murder before. I don’t understand."

At the end of things, dear child, Merodach was repentant. He begged you for mercy. Mercy you could have granted, but denied him. Have you ever carried out a summons where the guilty pleaded for forgiveness?

I answered the wise warrior the only way I could. No, sir.

Yes, and that’s because they had gone past mercy. They had sinned past accepting grace. Only then does God hand down the summons. There was no order against the man, no summons for you to carry out, child. This... well, this you did on your own.

I see. My voice sounded so tiny.

I looked to my beautiful brothers and sisters. Every eye was glassed over with sorrowful tears, every head lowered.

"Apologies, dearest family, forgive me. I selfishly acted out of vengeance and I will accept whatever punishment God demands. Varick, my love, please continue. I do not hold you at fault, dear husband. I acted alone and I do not wish God’s anger to be kindled against any of you because of my sins. Don’t make my guilt all the greater. Speak it now and let it be done. My heart will always be yours. I’m sorry I failed you, all of you."

I fell to my weary knees, bowed my head, and numbly accepted my fate.

Varick’s shaky voice continued with the ardent task he had no choice but to perform. So it has been witnessed, so it has been spoken. Jenevier Olesia Embarr, sister Vanir, loving wife of my soul. My most precious Anicee, because your sin was committed egregiously and with prideful vengeance, and because this one sin has unduly harmed an entire layer of this universe, your sentence can be nothing less... than death.

No! Vareilious screamed as he lunged for Varick’s throat.

Varick made no move to resist him. He kept his tearful eyes on me alone. I know my beloved wished only to share in my sentence with me.

Valadrog pulled the enraged warrior off his shattered son. "Calm yourself, Vareilious. You of all people know Varick can only speak the words God places in his mouth for sentencing. Can you not see he wishes for you to kill him before he has to witness her execution?"

Vareilious calmed as Varick numbly mouthed out the rest of my judgment.

The sentence is death and it is to be carried out, forthwith, by the warrior servant of God... Vareilious.

Varick fell to his knees, reaching out to lovingly touch my bowed head before it was severed from my trembling body. I looked up to meet his beautiful amber eyes for the last time.

This was supposed to be my wedding day, I whispered.

Sobs shook my betrothed’s massive body as Vareilious’s protests echoed throughout the Thralldom Mountains.

"No! I refuse! I will not do this thing. God will have to strike me dead first, for if I unsheathe this holy sword, it will be to remove my own head, not hers. Not the only woman I have ever loved. Not by my hand."

Stop this immediately! I’d never heard Vareen’s voice so shrill, so terrified. Stop defying an order from God lest you fall beside her by His hand.

Then so be it. I will not kill her. You do it, Vareen. You carry out the commandment of God. The trembling giant offered the hilt of his blade to the elegant seer.

Vareen stepped back. I cannot.

Then you, Valadrog, chief of us all, you kill her, Vareilious yelled as he turned the hilt toward the ancient warrior.

God forgive me, I cannot, Valadrog said through his tears.

Anyone? One of you must step forward and do the will of God. I cannot!

No one answered Vareilious’s cries for help. Tears poured down the mighty sentinel’s face as he looked to the crowd, pleading with each of them to have mercy on him and take up the blade in his stead.

Then, God will take vengeance upon us all for our disobedience, Vareen whispered.

Aye, Brother. Vittorio stepped forward. I cannae take her life. But I’ll gladly take her punishment. Remove my head an’ my wings as well. For if ye claim my wee sister, I wulnae be using them again. Strike now, Brother, an’ see if God will accept my sacrifice.

I could take no more. No one else I loved would suffer one moment longer for my cursed existence. I wished the day I had been born were blotted out from all history. I wished the accursed day could not be spoken of throughout all time. My change was swift and powerful. Vashti now stood before them.

"Enough! My sin is mine alone. I have sinned against God and none of you shall pay for that. God demands my life, so I shall let Him take it."

The next second, I was standing before the gigantic doors of the ethereal temple in the middle of Vanahirdem. Placing my swirling misty hands upon both handles, I listened for the haunting melody to blow through the intricate lattice, ordaining my admittance.

I heard nothing save the loving voice within my head. Enter, Jenevier, my child.

I easily pushed open the massive doors as my mask fell away. Running to the center of the grand hall, I threw myself across the mercy seat and poured my sorrowful soul out to God.

I knew I had loved, and loved completely. I knew love had been returned to me a hundredfold. I knew I had done good in this world. And, I also knew I had done irreconcilable harm. The tears I poured out upon that sacred seat were not tears for me. I was past that. I cried for my withered friend, Jezreel. I cried for my beloved Alastyn. I cried for my loving husband, Varick. I cried for my best and truest friend, Vareilious. But most of all, I cried for the poor people of Ashgard who would never know the joys God had laid by in store for them, save for my selfish hatred and rancid pride. I begged for forgiveness and pleaded with God to take my death as a sacrifice and trade my wretched life for Merodach’s. I prayed He would rip my soul from within me and place it in the crumpled form of the murdered Prince, allowing everyone I loved to benefit through the man I had once hated.

Then... I begged God for swiftness in this deed.

Chapter 3

Anicee

(ah-NEE-cee)

I woke face down in a putrid stinking swamp. Mud under my fingernails, creepy crawly things covering my body, tangled within my once beautiful hair. I gasped for air, tearing at the hideous little vermin trying to make a meal of my flesh. I walked out of that rancid bayou and didn’t stop until I came to a little town called Lake Charles. I knew by the look of the people I was on layer eight. And it didn’t take long to figure out I was in Louisiana.

I had been called to Louisiana many times as Vashti, but that was usually near Baton Rouge or New Orleans. This lovely little town of Lake Charles was big enough to hide in, small enough to still be beautiful, and seemed to boast more tourists than residents. It was the perfect place to get lost.

I thought I was dead and this was my Otherworld. No one looked my way. No one ran screaming from the filthy stench that was turning my own stomach. Lake Charles is where I discovered how to fend for myself and take what I needed.

I must have washed my hair eight or ten times before my curls no longer reeked of the swamp water still lingering in my nostrils.

It only took me a couple hours to realize God hadn’t taken my life... He’d taken my life away. A fate I feel may be worse than peaceful death. When my belly screamed for food, I knew I lived, but wished I did not.

God had indeed ripped out all but a faint trace of my soul. I hoped Merodach used the precious gift wisely. I walked through those quaint little back streets, a mere shell of a human. I was likened unto that inviting pink cookie jar sitting on Aunt Marlise’s cabinet. An enticing, alluring promise. But when sought within, was full of disappointment and empty, save for the crumbs.

I wallowed in self-pity for a dreadfully long time as I roamed the eighth layer. Eventually I found myself standing at the entrance to that familiar apartment building in Detroit. Hands pressed against the front doors, tears streaming down my hollow cheeks. I prayed for the children I’d once held in my arms, imparting sweet, warming love upon.

I wanted desperately to hold that quivering little girl once more. I would have sought her out, sought them all out. But I was neither blessed, nor haunted, with a single name from that tragic yet glorious night.

I walked up the many flights of stairs and stood outside the door which contained the memories of the beginning of my lost past. A charming couple carrying a small babe and leading a chattering young girl left the apartment dressed in their finest clothing, smiling and happy.

Gone were the horrors that once lived within those painted walls. Love now filled the humble home. Time had moved on.

I have no idea how long I’ve walked, nor what day it happens to be, nor what year in which I live. But my haunting reflection never changes and all the shattered pieces of my heart can never be restored.

I roam this layer doing neither good nor ill to its inhabitants. I simply walk and breathe and sleep.

When I first woke in that Louisiana bayou, my left hand ached as if a nail had been driven through it. Later, as I bathed, I could only sit and stare at the deep indention that now replaced the spot where my beautiful woven tattoo had marked the place Varick’s manacle once fit. I was no longer his Anicee.

I still cry daily for the husband I never got to marry and the perfect love I threw away. I know he mourned my death just as surely as I know he now loves again. I am haunted by dreams of his fair silver-haired children dancing gaily through the streets of that beautiful city, while the perfect smile of their gorgeous father watches over them.

Oh God! Why didn’t You kill me? Why are my tormented bones not now rotting within those sacred mountains? Why has my consuming grief not snuffed out my pitiful life? Is there no end to my suffering, to my punishment?

I proclaim to the Reader now, I have gone weeks without food or drink. Yet I perish not. All I’ve managed to accomplish is to add to the pain and misery of my worthless existence.

Tomorrow, I will continue my journey south and be done with the bitter chill invading Baltimore.

*****

I haven’t laid pen to paper in a terribly long time, Reader.

I am now on a small stretch of land off the coast of Georgia—still on layer eight—known as Tybee Island. The winter months have passed and the rising heat now pushes me back to the northern parts of this forsaken realm. I can imagine no worse hell than the one I now live.

My mind remained dormant as I wasted away the dreary winter months. Not a single thought of my former life had even encroached upon my dreams... until last night. I dreamt of a woman with long silky hair the color of sunshine, screaming out from the cursed pain of childbirth. The mesmerizing emerald eyes of the fair babe matched those of her handsome raven-haired father.

I plunged a blade deep into my decrepit heart. Not a single drop of blood spilled forth, not one. I managed only to ruin the lovely pink dress I’d procured just yesterday. And now, I walk. Newly clad all in black—displaying without, to this unseeing world, what truly resides within.

I remember fondly the beautiful lehenga Vittorio had gifted me after my first mission. My smile came unbidden as I recalled the strange words he whispered in my ear as I unknowingly asked for and purchased that lovely red dress.

He only wanted to see me smile.

And... I walk.

Chapter 4

Jenevier

(ZHEN-ah-veer)

I’d almost forgotten you were there, Reader.

I have traveled far and wide since I left Georgia. I spent much time in the beautiful Smoky Mountains, pretending they were Thralldom. I slept amongst the trees, bathed in the cold streams, and feasted upon the many different herbs covering those hills. Yet, not once did I glimpse a feisty little Pixie or stumble upon an enchanting young man with olive skin, strange markings, and an innocent heart. There is no magic in layer eight, no enchantment. I hate this place.

I journey through town after town and city after city. Ever walking, ever restless. I now stand, once again, in the middle of the busy streets of downtown Detroit. My heart pulled me back to the only place upon this horrid layer where the ghosts of my past life yet remain.

*****

Ma’am? Ma’am? Can you not hear me? Ma’am, you can’t stand here. Come on. You’re gonna get yourself killed. Let’s go.

I heard the concerned voice but turned not. I couldn’t bear to see another death, another crime, another painful tear. Only when I felt the increasing tug upon my arm did I stop writing and look into the worried eyes of a man trying desperately to save a forgotten woman who wished only for death.

I stared at him for many heartbeats before I found my voice. You can see me?

Of course I can see you. Now, come with me before you get the both of us killed.

I followed his frantic voice to the crowded sidewalk lining the congested street. Blaring horns and angry shouts accompanied our journey.

I couldn’t stop staring at this strangely forceful man. Well, I couldn’t stop staring at the back of his head as he pulled me along behind him.

How is it you can see me?

How is it I can... He was shocked at my questioning. Because you were blocking all of downtown rush hour traffic. That’s how.

I looked around at the hundreds of unseeing eyes now focused solely on me.

I can only describe the look on his stern face as... cross. Do you have a death wish or something?

Yes. Yes, I do, I whispered. Can you hear thoughts? Do you see what hides inside the heart? I didn’t realize ones with such talent resided within this realm.

You need help, Lady. You’re coming with me.

The man held fast to my arm as he pushed past the gathering crowd, leading me to an older building. Precinct 6 was written in white letters on the glass door. He escorted me into a tiny room with but a single table and a couple hard metal chairs.

That little table is where I now sit as I record the bizarre events unfolding before me.

Coffee? he asked, smiling, sort of.

Do you have tea?

No. I’m afraid all I can offer you is a bitter black cup of Joe. His amused laughter was warm and gentle.

Gratitude and apologies, good sir. I’ll be fine.

He took a drink from his cup and nodded his head toward me. What’re you writing there?

My life. I only glance at him before returning my attention back to this journal.

May I see it?

I stopped writing then. I looked deep into his tired eyes. He didn’t seem bent on ill intentions toward me, curiosity only.

If you wish, I said as I handed him this journal.

He sat for a long time, quietly reading my words and drinking his coffee Joe.

And where’s this stolen book which recounts your previous life? he finally asked.

I pulled the battered old novel from the leather bag I’d worn draped across my chest since my first week of exile.

"May I see it as well?" he said, reaching.

This was a much harder request to fulfill. Do you promise to return it? It’s my only worldly possession. My only window back to the people I love.

I promise, he answered. You can’t trust anybody if you can’t trust me.

He smiled then. His grin carried no malice, sympathy perhaps, but no malice.

He read for hours as I studied his common eighth layer features. Perhaps he could be considered handsome, I’m not certain. I cannot judge beauty on this layer. The beings I find the most charming, the most interesting, are not usually the ones admired on their television sets or upon their giant movie screens. I mean, he looks to me much like all the others rushing about within this sterile building. He has short black hair—not Alastyn’s raven black, just the normal Earth realm black. His is sprinkled about on the sides with bits of shimmering gray and he has that odd patch of hair above his mouth that so many eighth layer men share.

That’s one of the biggest differences between the people here and the ones back in Ashgard—all the body hair. I mean, it’s not a bad thing I suppose, just different. My people have hair upon their heads only. The people of layer eight boasted hair pretty much everywhere. On their face, their arms, their legs. Some even have hair on their bodies, their chest and their back. I giggled when I thought about how funny Alastyn would look with hair upon his face, Jezreel with it covering her arms, or even the glorious Vittorio with silver hair upon his magnificent chest... hysterical.

Actually, Valadrog was the only person I had met upon the whole of layer four who had hair somewhere besides his head. And he wasn’t crowned with a single strand, I thought. Bald as a newborn babe, he was. Blessed with silver hanging only from the corners of his sternly set mouth.

I didn’t realize I’d laughed out loud until I looked back at the man. He was staring at me, rather worrisomely, actually.

Apologies, I was lost in my own remembrances. I’m pretty sure I blushed, my cheeks felt hot. Please, continue.

I noticed then that his eyes had once been a brilliant blue. They were now faded, tired, and framed by tiny lines matching the ones currently furrowing his brow.

Only once did someone knock on the door and bring in a flat white box and a blessed steaming cup of tea. It was foul compared to Aunt Marlise’s but it was especially kind of them to have tried. I smiled at the young woman handing me the bitter drink and she looked at me with pity in her eyes.

I didn’t like how that made me feel, not one bit. I believe, if this is to be the common reaction, I prefer it better when I roamed about unnoticed.

Don’t you want any pizza? He asked his question between large bites.

I inclined my head toward him, respectfully. I am fine.

Aww, come on. You gotta try this incredible pie. Bet you’ve never tasted anything like it before.

The smell alone turned my stomach. I took a small bite of the grease covered bread he insisted on sticking in my face and prayed that would be enough to satisfy his demands. I used the foul tea to wash down the even fouler oil now coating the inside of my mouth. I presume the twisted look upon my face answered his next question.

"You’ve got to be kidding me. You don’t like pizza? Everyone from around here loves pizza."

I choked out a cough and tried to clear my throat. I’m not from around here.

So I gather. He stared intently at me. I returned his curious gaze. Is there somewhere I can take you?

Gratitude, but I can manage just fine.

I can see that, he said with a laugh. But you’ll be hard-pressed to find a decent place to sleep around here that still uses keys.

I spoke not.

The precinct is no place for someone like you to spend the night, and I can’t just let you walk out of here not knowing where you’ll end up or what’ll happen to you.

Gratitude for your concern, but it’s not necessary. I reached for my book but he snatched it off the table. I could only stare at him, confused. But, you promised. Tears were burning the backs of my eyes.

"Hey now, it’s okay. I’m not going to keep it. But I am curious as to how it ends. I only want to finish the story you feel is your life. I only want to find out what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours."

He smiled then winked, as if he were speaking to an injured child. I could only sniff and brush the tears away.

The man stood up, still holding my book. I’ve got the perfect place in mind—walking distance from here. I’ll finish your book tonight and return it to your lovely hands in the morning, he promised as he led me back through the building filled with busy people and ringing boxes.

Hey, Chief!

He waved his hand in the air but didn’t look toward the yelling