The Realm, Chapter 11: Recovery

Written by Shaela Druyon Saturday, 17 December 2011 00:00

Again Alex found himself dressed in tattered clothes, covered in blood and filth, standing in a field of grass and staring against a blinding light.  Unlike the grass in his other vision—which had been scratchy and stiff—this grass felt soft and forgiving against Alex’s weary, bloodied feet.  The air was warm and sweet, and he drank in its richness, his eyes slowly adjusting to the intensity of the light.

The sky, a glorious, vibrant blue, made wisps and splashes of clouds seem to pop out, impossibly white and close enough to touch.  Alex recognized the soothing, gentle babble of a brook not far from the hill he stood on, and without thinking, began to walk toward it.  The sound of tiny life was everywhere, from the singing of birds, to the chirping of beetles, to the nearly imperceptible[i1]  buzz of ladybug wings.  Alex had never felt so aware, so awake…so alive.

As he approached the brook, Alex stopped suddenly, his peaceful state shaken by the unexpected sight of a robed figure sitting on the other side of the flowing water, watching him.  He caught a glimpse of gleaming white hair, but as the figure stood and turned a face blazing as brightly as a sun fully upon him, Alex’s legs collapsed beneath him and he fell prostrate on the grass, trembling with awe, his heart racing with equal parts excitement and dread.  The image of the figure was burned into his retina—he could see its purple-green shape each time he blinked.

Paralyzed, Alex managed to raise his eyes just enough to see the figure’s bare feet stepping across the stream’s flowing water as easily as if it were solid rock, and steadily approaching him. They were the color of bronze glowing in a furnace.  He could sense more than see the graceful movement of the body beneath the regal garments as it moved with the rhythm of each step.  The feet stopped directly in front of him.  

Alex could feelthe figure gazing down at him, and again became acutely aware of his filthy state.  The fear and shame from his recent nightmare rushed upon him.

The voice that spoke to him, however, was not the voice of that king, harsh and accusatory.  It held power, surely--the power of an ocean coursing down a mountain, or of peals of thunder rattling the sky--but it was kind, even jovial.

“Friend, who are you seeking?”

Alex’s tongue stuck to the roof of his ash-dry mouth, and it took him a moment of serious effort to dislodge it and form the gasped words, “Who am I…?”

“…seeking.”

Something warm and firm took his shoulder and drew him up, and Alex found himself standing face-to-face with a man garbed in simple robes, one arm still grasped in friendly greeting.  Courage and hope filled him at the man’s somehow familiar touch.  This was the mysterious figure across the river, Alex was sure, but the face no longer blinded him to look at, nor did the skin glow, nor the now-dark hair sparkle like sunlit snow.  He shook Alex’s hand, released him, and drew back a step to gaze at him openly.

“Who are you?”  Alex said abruptly, a growing eagerness in his heart, but the man did not seem offended by his lack of formality.

“I tell you the truth,” the man replied, “though you seek me now, I sought you, first, Alexander del Sovrano.  Yes, I know who you are—the question you yourself unwittingly asked a moment ago—but only in my service will you realize the truth for yourself.”

“You’re the King…”

“Do you believe I am?”

“I…I don’t know.”  A sliver of fear stabbed at his calm, and he broke off.

“Come,” said the man with a casual motion of his hand.  “Walk with me.”

Together, they set off down a path Alex hadn’t noticed before.  It wound through the trees, which dotted the field of flowers and gently waving grass.  The warm breeze stirred a sweet scent and carried it to them, and they both inhaled deeply.

Alex felt a sense of safety and comfort, walking on the path with this man of hidden glory.  Every moment spent with him made him more familiar and dear to the lanky boy, who had always dreamed of taking walks like this with his own father, conversing freely, sharing his doubts, his fears, asking the burning questions on his heart and mind, and finding guidance through life’s mounting difficulties.

“I don’t know what to think,” the boy continued.  “I believed so many different things before—things I never thought to believe, but just assumed to be true—and now…”  Alex exhaled his frustration.  “Now I don’t know what’s real or not.  Am I crazy?  Dead? What is this place?  Why am I here?”

“I’ve always loved that about you, Alexander,” said the man, sending a thrill of joy through Alex’s heart and completely disarming him.  Only his mother had ever called him by his full name, and the sound of it brought waves of remembered affection.  “You want to figure things out, to understand.  Well, ask and you will receive.  What do you want to know?”

Alex sifted through his curiosity and confusion, then took a breath and asked the question most burning on his heart.  “What was that dream I had?  Where is my mother’s soul?”

They walked on silently for a moment, as the man considered the question.  “So you at least believe there is something in a man that outlasts his body.”

“Well, yes,” admitted Alex.

“And you believe that there is a place where deserving souls go to everlasting peace, and undeserving souls waste away in eternal suffering[i2] …”

Alex felt rising discomfort.  “Most people believe that...”

“Most people believe lies, Alex.  But you’re not one to blindly accept common opinion.”

An odd mix of relief and anxiety washed over him as he glanced up at this man who seemed to know him better than he knew himself.

“Some people say that our souls are eternally reborn in different forms, or that we get a better or lower life-form depending on how we lived our most recent one.  That sounds kind of arbitrary to me, though—I mean, who’s the judge of who gets to come back an eagle and who comes back as a beetle, anyway?”

The man listened quietly, his bare feet barely rustling the grass as they walked off the path toward a majestic oak breaking the horizon.

“Or,” Alex continued, “some people think we just die and disappear, you know—cease to exist—but…that just sounds so depressing and hopeless to me.  I mean, what’s the point of life, then?  Whether you’re good or bad, you’re going to die, so why live a good life?”  Alex looked up expectantly, but the man remained silent as they walked beneath the overhanging branches of the oak tree.

Then all at once he turned to Alex and said simply, “What do you believe, Alexander?”

Alex stopped short and blinked.  “What?”

“Do you believe your mother’s soul now inhabits a butterfly?”

“What?  I don’t know…”

“Do you believe she died on that hospital bed with a smile on her face because she simply ceased to exist in a purposeless world?”

“No, what?  How did you—”

“What do you believe, Alexander del Sovrano?  Answer me.  If she even has one, where is your mother’s soul?”

“I don’t know!”  Alex yelled back at the man, startled by his own aggression.  “I don’t know,” he yelled again, a catch in his throat. 

Then he did something he would have been ashamed of had he been standing in front of Mark, but that here, looking up at those fathomless eyes of endless mercy and understanding, he felt no need to hide.  He cried. 

The man opened his arms to the lanky boy, who fell into them unashamedly[JB3] , and for the first time in his life, Alex felt something he had longed to feel his entire life—home.  All the doubts and fears crumbled down around his heart, and Alex knew that this man—this being of inexpressible glory and goodness—was the answer to all of his questions, the end to all of his striving, and the destination of every true desire he had.  Whatever this man said was true, and nothing else mattered.

“Is she in the other place?”  Alex sobbed into the man’s robes, staining them with his tears.

The man remained quiet, his arms anchoring Alex to hope and comfort as the boy released his anxiety and fear.  At last, when Alex’s tears had subsided, he said, “I cannot[JB4]  tell you her story, Alexander.  I can only tell you your own.”

Alex took a steadying breath and swallowed, pulling away to look up at the man and ask, “And where will I go?”

 Now the man knelt so that his eyes were  level with Alex’s and grabbed the boy’s shoulders , saying earnestly, “You are marked, Alexander.  Unless you follow my directions exactly, at your death you will be dragged into the wasteland of your fevered dreams.”

Alex took a sharp breath, his heart beginning to race.

“But if you trust me,” continued the man, his voice full of authority and honesty, “if you follow me as I lead you through the unseen paths and pitfalls, you will return to me.  You will be safe, Alexander.  You will make it home.”

Alex remembered the words from the scrap of parchment, and the promise of the King, and he believed.  He believed in a King of a world he knew nothing about.  He believed that his soul was marked, whatever that meant, and that he had to do whatever it took to get rid of it, because he wanted nothing more than to return to the King—this man in front of him, the speaker of the words that continued to give him hope and life every time he heard them.  And he decided with a determination he had never known before that, whatever the cost, he would follow this man.

 “What do I have to do?”

“Listen carefully,” began the man in a low voice.  “You are eager to follow me now, but the road will not be easy, and you will be frustrated when you don’t understand the reasons behind my instructions.  Don’t turn from the path I set for you, or forget my promise to you.  You have enemies, as you have already been warned.  They will not spare an attack now that you have spoken with me directly.  From now until you reach my city, you are in more danger than ever.  Trust the guides I have assigned to you.”

“Jase and Faringer.”

A smile crept onto the man’s face, and his eyes gave a twinkle of pride.  “Yes.  Trust them—they will teach you more of my ways, and prepare you to enter my service.  Follow them as you would follow me.”

“But aren’t I ready now?  I believe….”

The man shook his head gently.  “You don’t yet know what it is you believe, but you will soon.  Be patient, trust your guides, and follow my voice.  Do you understand?”

Alex nodded, feeling a mounting sense of urgency as the man spoke again.

“You won’t always receive these visions of me so clearly, Alexander, but you can always speak to me, and you can hear my voice through the words I have spoken.  Remember them.  If you need anything, call on me in faith and I will answer you.”  He gave the boy’s shoulders a quick squeeze, then stood.  Alex did the same.

“But, what is your name?”  the boy asked, suddenly realizing his ignorance.

“That, Alexander del Sovrano, you will have to discover for yourself.” 

And then the man was gone.