Chapter 3
Days, weeks, months, and seasons slipped by, and the farmlands in the outer reaches of the Empire by the edge of the sea fell into a new, comfortable routine. The fertile orchards, tended lovingly by the widow and her Shadow, guarded by the black organoid, and washed in fresh ocean breezes, burst forth with one stunningly bounteous harvest after another, each tree straining its branches upward to produce for their mistress more leaves, more fruit.
Tongues still wagged, prejudice still snaked through the town, and the widow still faced the anger and fear in the eyes of her neighbors the few times she had to venture into society. But she always bore such indignities with grace, whether she was alone or had her Shadow by her side. The omnipotent and sinister presence of the black organoid at her farm put to rest immediately any plans even the boldest might have concocted of destroying her orchards and livelihood so as to drive her out of town.
The organoid, meanwhile, kept a sharp eye at all times on its master's wellbeing. The widow realized over time that these two were part of a pair and knew each other from a time long before their arrival at her farm: the organoid's appearance, in fact, had nothing whatever to do with her personally. It regarded her always with both trust and vigilance; she felt strangely honored when it dawned on her, eventually, that it accepted her care of the stranger as being in its master's best interest, to be good for him, even. It was for that reason, she guessed, that it did not ever intervene. So long as it viewed her as a positive agent in its master's life, it would serve her, in turn, by watching over them, the farm, and the animals.
The stranger - no longer so strange to the widow, nor seeming very much like a temporary visitor, either - had still not spoken a word, but somehow learned and understood all that must be done. Often he awoke even before the rooster announced morning's arrival, and the widow would wander down the sun-dappled paths between the trees with her shears or her basket a few hours later, wide straw hat hanging down her back by its ribbons, and find him out there, hard at work. His hand healed completely, leaving behind a great scar, but one that did not seem to trouble him. He grew tan and muscular from the hard work, and, thanks to the widow's good food, he grew, and grew, and grew. Although he did not become overly tall, he quickly surpassed the widow's own modest height, and she now had to look up in order to gaze into his unseeing eyes. The flashes of lucidity in them still came, every so often, and seemed to slightly increase in frequency as he grew older. His nightmares, too, continued unabated, and she sometimes lay awake at night, inhaling, exhaling, and listening to his whimpers, which began to sound more and more like words. He was changing, she knew, as he traded his boy's body for that of a man. She would lie there in the quiet of her room, clutching her pillow close to her chest, and wonder if his darkness would ever change, too.
-.-.-.-
It was so slow it would have been easy to not even notice, but the veil under which her Shadow lived did indeed begin to shift. It started when he came in early from the orchards one day, his organoid following at his heels. He came in to the cottage holding something in a rag. The widow watched as he laid it on the table as carefully as could be, then sat in the chair beside it. She came over to see, and found a small bird with an injured wing. The bird gazed at them both with liquid black eyes filled with fear, but, as she watched, Shadow touched his finger gently to a point on the bird's chest, rubbing it lightly. The bird closed its eyes, visibly relaxing, even when the organoid shifted position slightly in the doorway, where it had been standing motionless. The widow was touched at such tenderness, and amazed that such feeling and regard for even the smallest life had managed to emerge from the void into which his soul had fallen. "We are charged with caring for all of the Maker's creatures," she said, her throat swollen with pride, and she touched Shadow's arm, smiling warmly at him. And there, in his eyes, unmistakably, the fog dissipated for a second, and he smiled back.
With her Shadow's help, the Widow Engel was able to mend the young bird's wing, and several days later, they watched together as it hopped about in the dust with wings spread wide for a moment before taking flight, whirling brilliantly into the sunset.
-.-.-.-
What began with this small moment of compassion grew and blossomed. The trio's simple existence gave the young man a place to rest his mind and his heart, strengthening and fortifying him against the hate and fear that still howled along the fog's edge, hunting for the hunted. The veil lifted more often still now; his presence seemed to the widow, sometimes, like Pieter's had been: just an ordinary, good person in her midst, journeying through life by her side. But then, there was her Shadow's silence, and the illusion faded. Nevertheless, through bits and snatches, she felt that she was able to understand him better, not as charity, but as a whole person, a whole person with whom she had chosen to spend her days. His awakening with the injured bird was matched several more times, in calming walks by the sea together, or by a soft touch on her arm when she wept from the pain of her losses.
In his infrequent moments of clarity, he felt the demons' presence near. Though he wanted more than anything to be free of the fog, his muddling protector, he knew that if the demons ever found him, nothing short of a miracle would be able to break him free of their grasping claws. A miracle, he thought, like this beautiful young woman drawing a blanket over him as he settled in to the small bed she had had built just for him near the fireplace on the first floor.
Noticing now his rare alertness, she sat on the edge of his bed and regarded him with an almost heart-rending fondness. Deep, long-buried desires stirred within him at the same time that her loving gaze - could it be? Love? - blazed so brightly it burned away the fog. Here, then, was clarity: a dazzling array of color, a world revealed. Places he had not been, people he had not seen since that terrible night so long ago came racing back to his consciousness: sights, sounds, smells, the warmth and security of a hug from his mother, his father…
Rage and terror came then with ungodly screams, grasping, lunging, baying lustily, having at last found their opening to catch him. He closed his eyes sadly against the widow's kind face and slipped back, allowing the mists and the silence to overtake and protect him.
-.-.-.-
That night, the Widow Engel was startled awake by the creak of her door. It opened slowly, and a man stood cloaked in darkness in the hallway beyond. She shrieked, fumbling by rote for the drawer of her bedside table, but when he stepped forward into the patch of moonlight spilling silver through the window, she finally gasped, "My God, Shadow! You gave me such a fright!" He stood there, glassy-eyed, impassive. He had on only the tattered pair of breeches he usually wore to bed, and contrasting pools of light and darkness flowed across a torso well carved by physical labor. She became aware suddenly of how very insubstantial her simple night shift was, and blushed.
"Are you alright?" she asked him, diverting her thoughts from the places they threatened to go. "Did you have a bad dream?" He, of course, did not respond, but stepped across the room to her, as deliberately as if there were a path to be followed. She could not see his eyes; they were lost in the shadows cast by the strands of his messy, coal-colored hair. "Are you there?" she asked tentatively, unsure, now that this undeclared line had been crossed.
He still said nothing, but came to the side of her bed and sat, placing one hand behind her back. The widow felt...afraid, but not for her life; she understood almost immediately that his burgeoning adulthood would find a way to express itself, no matter how deeply into the fog his soul had been lost. The thought of what was about to happen, then, was both terrifying and exhilarating. It had been so long.
In absence of knowing what else to do, she did not resist, nor did she yield, but she waited, apprehensively, to see what he would choose.
He leaned forward while also drawing her closer to him, kissing her mouth lightly. His lips were soft and warm; his dark locks intermingled with her lighter ones. He broke off after a moment, leaning back to study her with violet eyes intensely focused upon her yet seeing nothing. "Shadow..." she whispered. He kissed her again, wrapping his arms around her, lips roving down her neck, then slowly, carefully, he eased her back into a prone position.
This man, this stranger, who had been shattered, who had barely tasted stability and love before they were taken away, who had tortured and killed and laughed cruelly at it all for so long, did not move nor touch her in any way that was not slow, and gentle, and deliberate. Responding innately to all of the caring and kindness she had shown him through these years together that had flowed by like water, he caressed her with delicate and peaceful hands. She, in turn, considered the unholiness of this act and discarded such thoughts, instead opening herself to the sacredness of a heart that had been broken, then scarred, then hardened, but never lost entirely. She felt it glowing bravely still: a tiny flicker daring to shine against an endless night.
Shadow, or Raven: both names given to him in the absence of his own, neither his. Deep within, his true, unnamed soul had been dormant, resting, but now, he risked discovery by the demons and emerged from the fog. Lying beneath him, breathless, the Widow Engel saw the moonlight falling into his suddenly bright eyes that were like amethyst pools that went on into eternity. "You're here," she whispered, hallowed tears of joy leaking down her silver skin. "You're finally here."
"I cannot stay," he whispered back. "But I'm here...I'm here."
Outside, above the cottage, above the black organoid half-dozing in the yard, above the animals sleeping in the barn and the orchard trees bowed with fruit and the ocean singing forever, the countless stars wheeled gracefully through the heavens, bathing the landscape below in their holy light.