THE EARLY DAYS DUET:

BOOK TWO: THE WILL OF THE FORCE

Prologue – Weight of a World

The awful shadow of some unseen Power

Floats though unseen among us; visiting

This various world with as inconstant wing

As summer winds that creep from flower to flower;

Like moonbeams that behind some piny mountain shower,

It visits with inconstant glance

Each human heart and countenance

~"Hymn to the Intellectual Beauty" by Percy Shelley

I am a mask. Meant to be seen but not heard. Perceived, but not understood. I adorn the scene as a silent, vacant entity. White-faced and ornate. It is a cruel sort of irony, being trapped in a cage of beauty while the ugliness of war roams free.

A collective chorus of carefree laughter rings through a claustrophobic scene: Crowds of people are donned in gowns, gloves, and sashes. It is crowded. The rustles of dresses and movement of dancing causes lights to swim in the kaleidoscope of beauty.

Amidst the swirl of activity, a lantern is knocked from its place along the wall and rests at the foot of a long tapestry. A flame ignites in the opulent room. The guests are so immersed in their own trivial pursuits that they are ignorant of the fire that they have started.

I stand by, helpless, watching the tragedy unfold. I see the flames begin to lick the curtains, the hems of gowns, then along the painted flesh of the expensive guests. They laugh at their friends as they alight, but the laughter transforms into terror when the fire seizes them as well. The heat is soon overwhelming and I am blinded by it until the flame's hunger ebbs away into nothingness, revealing a new scene.

I am a solitary figure trapped in the wake of devastation. I am to observe the consequences of my silence and passivity. The opulent ballroom has been reduced to ash, and the burnt bodies scatter the ground.

Just beyond the aftermath, the surrounding area is marred with war torn fields, and a sky that has been ravaged with shrapnel and debris. Dead bodies, scorched skies, derelict ships…Yet I stand unscathed in the midst of it all. I walk slowly through the scene, careful not to step on any of the dead.

I approach a lone tree. Its limbs are sturdy, though contorted and angular. At the canopy of the tree I hear the giggles of two little girls. One with brown hair and the other with hair whiter than a blanket of freshly fallen snow. They are clamoring up the tree with excitement and elation, seemingly ignorant of the destruction that lurks below them.

The ground collapses from beneath me, and the dream changes. I see glaring, bloodshot eyes with yellow irises. They are all I see, and they are impossibly big as they intrude upon the encroaching darkness. Behind the pupils of each eye, plumes of angry fire dance as though caught by wisps of a harsh wind. As my gaze draws closer, the eyes turn their focus directly toward me, penetrating my very soul.

I want to scream, but cannot.

The eyes fade from sight, yet I can still feel them watching. Waiting.

An enormous vessel intercedes the veil of night. It glides imperiously between the stars, slow and magnificent; oblivious to the menacing eyes that lurk beneath the cosmic blanket of space.

I sense the danger before it happens. Then I watch the glory of the barge detonate into an explosion of death and debris. Only fragments remain.

I close my eyes, desperate to clear the image from my mind. A red crystallized stone emerges into my mind's eye, warm and comforting. I know this stone. It is the Jewel of Zenda…a royal jewel gifted to me from the queen herself. It begins to glow, emitting a bronze light.

"Sabé," a voice calls my name. It is feminine, neutral, and regal. There is a comforting familiarity to the voice that I cannot place, and I find that I am yearning to hear more of what the voice may have to say.

But the voice melts away from my dream and coaxes me back to the waking world.