07-18-2016, 10:54 AM
tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us;
It’s not forever, but she sheds death like a skin.
She feels the weight of it roll off, feels a sudden lightness in her bones, in her very self, and she is near-giddy with it, this sudden freedom. Death is a shackle, a pair of manacles about her ankles, and suddenly a key has been turned.
She follows the shaman and as they cross the strange, impenetrable border she holds her breath, expecting to be spat back out, as she had so many times before. But she is not. Instead, there is a sensation of stretching, and a heavy, leaden feeling between her ribs as she crosses from the afterlife into Beqanna.
Go find your someone, says the mare, and Gail embraces her for a moment, marveling at their warmth.
“Thank you,” she breathes.
***
She is flesh again, a dark woman, an easy beauty. The beauty is refreshed upon her, no longer so burdened by such things as death and time, and she looks almost as she did long ago – like a queen with a life before her.
The land is wilder than she remembers, the meadow strewn with brightly colored horses. Some of them crackle with electricity, and she sees one transform into a bird before her very eyes. She is no stranger to magic, of course (child of one, lover of one, mother of one), but to see it so rampant here is strange.
But there are familiar moments (she sees her dark god’s features painted across more than one creature here). The air is scented with memories and she recalls living here, dying here, coming back – and leaving, for the last time.
But it doesn’t matter. She is here for one thing. Her heart beats crazily in her chest and she reaches out her mind, tries to sense him, unsure if her dubious powers would even work here.
They do. She can feel his pulse, and invisible string pulling them together. She smiles despite herself. She follows the string.
It takes her to the dale, where he reigns as king.
She’s never been to the dale before, and she takes it in. She especially savors the fecundity of the earth, the rich green of the plants (she’s missed it so much, she realizes – how all things are so alive). She feels so wonderfully normal, here, looking at the other denizens. She is not particularly attention-grabbing – beautiful, yes, but beauty comes in handfuls here. She has no color about her, no wings or horns.
All she is to them is simply a woman. A woman who’s alive. Gloriously, giddily alive.
She finds him. It doesn’t take long. His heartbeat was like a beacon.
He is stunning, in the flesh. The afterlife has a way of muting things, dulling them. Here he is in his element, he is vibrant. She feels suddenly nervous, like she will not be enough – that in life, she is somehow inadequate.
But those are a fool’s worries. She is alive.
“I’m here,” she says, as much to herself as to him, “I’m here.”
It’s not forever, but that’s okay. She’s had quite enough of forevers.
Gail