5.9.18 edited

Chapter 13

By the end of the first day my feet were not blisters, they were rubbed raw and bloody. Still, I walked on, my teeth gritted and nostrils flared in determination to keep up with The Shadow. Each step hurt, but I feared being left behind far greater than I feared pain.

Physical pain, after all, I could tolerate-or at least that is what I told myself. Solitude, I could not bear.

"We shall stop here for the night," my uncle announced as I lingered several steps behind him and made every attempt to hide my trouble walking. He looked at me over his shoulder before he weaved off the road and slung his pack behind several tall, shady trees. Breath held, I squeezed my hands into fists and followed in silence where the path was grassy and uneven. Stepping down hurt worse than walking a straight path, and I was grateful to finally drop my pack beside his.

My uncle stood with his hands on his hips and surveyed our surroundings without looking at me. "Stay here. I'll find water suitable for drinking. If there's any fish, we'll fry some up and dine like kings upon the road. The food in the packs we'll save for when there's nothing."

I nodded sullenly and waited for him to walk away. Once I heard his footsteps fade I removed my mask and wiped my face with the back of my hand. At last I sat and removed my shoes one at a time. My socks were blood-stained, and I swallowed hard before I peeled them away from my feet and surveyed the damage. Unbidden tears streamed down my face as I placed my ankle on the opposite knee and examined the broken blisters along my big toe and the back of my heel.

The wounds were worse than I had thought, and I knew it would be hell to walk come nightfall. With my flesh so raw I could possibly make it through half the night, but then what would happen? I wiped the tears away with the back of my hand and pursed my lips, attempting to curb my emotion. Dread filled me as I imagined my fate with everything from coyotes and wolves drawn to the smell of blood to my father stalking toward me and dragging me home. My adventure-my escape from hell-would come to an end if I did not keep up with the Shadow. With trembling hands I pulled at a flap of skin dangling from my heel and swore I would crawl like an animal and hope The Shadow would wait for this unwanted, burdensome child to keep up.

The thought of being left behind made me double over on the ground and clutch my knees to my chest. My hands and thankfully my feet became numb as fear turned into outright panic. Distantly I heard myself moan, my mind and body detaching momentarily. I would die here, I knew, or I would die a few miles away from infection if I kept walking on my damaged feet.

"Oh, child."

The Shadow came upon me unexpectedly and gasped. Startled, I squinted at his form as he stood with his back to the setting sun. The sky had been bright pink at dawn, and now that we had stopped I could smell rain in the distance.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.

I cowered from him when he crouched beside me and grasped my leg at the ankle, which kept me from crawling away. With a frown, he sighed. "I should have known you needed to rest your feet. You have done significant damage."

My eyes lowered. I had angered him. He would leave me at once and tell me to fend for my damned self. I fully expected he would take both packs of food, leave me a rotting apple, and be on his way.

Instead, he sat beside me and stretched out his legs. "You're not accustomed to walking great distances, and I should have known hours ago when you started to fall behind that you needed a moment to rest. I hope you will forgive me for allowing you to suffer."

His reaction left me stunned. It was still beyond comprehension that anyone would apologize to me.

"There is a stream not more than twenty paces from here. I'll help you walk down to the water's edge and you can cool your feet a while as I find us something to eat and dress the wounds. You will attract flies."

I nodded, seeing gnats gather on my raw wounds. The Shadow stood first, then leaned forward and grasped my arm to help me stand. He was stronger than he looked and far more patient than anyone I had known-not that I had known anyone besides my parents. I found I could walk on the balls of my feet as long as I kept my arm over his shoulder and took careful steps.

Once I stood by the shoreline I rolled up my pant legs and entered the cool water, mindful of the slippery rocks covered in algae. I hadn't realized my feet burned until I stood upon the smooth stones with The Shadow still at my side. After a moment he nodded for me to sit on a rock jutting out from the water, which I did gladly. Two turtles jumped into the water and disappeared, and a frog nearby stopped croaking when I made myself comfortable in its domain.

As The Shadow started a fire and boiled water at our campsite, I rocked back and soothed my feet. There were birds in every tree, and I listened as they cawed in disapproval of our presence. Every so often The Shadow would whistle, then grin as he imitated the birds. Soon I did the same, and as the sky turned a dull gray-pink and eventually dark skies replaced the last of the sunlight, I sat comfortably and enjoyed the evening.

The Shadow had caught two small fish and one larger, which he gutted and skewered over the small fire. He brought our food to the water and sat beside me.

"It's been years since I've had fish," he said as he sprinkled salt and pepper on his meal. He asked if I wanted spices and I nodded even though I didn't care for salt. "I was a fisherman all my life. All the days at sea have turned me off to fish for good, but sometimes you have to eat what is available." He shook his head and made a face. "When my boys were younger, I would step outside on the nights my wife put fish on the table." He smiled and chuckled to himself. "It surprises me that she didn't serve tuna nightly to starve me."

I stared at him, my eyes wide with horror. I had no idea how he could speak so fondly of a woman who had not cared for him-and yet I knew all too well what it was like to love someone and not have affection returned.

"A jest, my son," he explained after a long moment of studying my expression. "She was a fine woman. You would have liked her and I have no doubt she would have loved you as well."

My cheeks flushed. I had no idea what his wife looked like, but in my mind I pictured a slender woman with long, pale blonde hair and a bright smile. I was certain I had plucked the image from the village, perhaps a woman I had seen a dozen times before serving tables at the tavern and thought she looked kind and motherly. I spent a great deal of time fantasizing a new life with parents who loved me. In my head I was made whole, the left side of my face the same as the right. My parents loved me dearly in my imagination, and they had other children as well so that I was never lonely. My hopeful fantasy was really nothing more than self-torture.

"How did she die?" I asked suddenly.

His face clouded. He inhaled sharply and nodded. "It was her time."

I stared blankly at him, having no idea what he meant. I had no idea each person had some sort of clock with their time of expiration silently ticking away. I wondered what hour my own clock showed-and if it had been reset a time or two. Given how I had lived beneath my parents' home, I could not believe I still breathed.

"Illness took her," he explained. "And the angel of music swept in and plucked her from my arms. She went peacefully in her sleep as I sang and played only for her."

Even when he had made the comment about her serving the food he hated, I could tell by the twinkle in his eyes that he loved her dearly. I'd never heard a man speak of a woman with such fondness in his voice. I wondered what it felt like to be committed to another person, to love with all of your heart and have that love returned.

"The angel of music?" I questioned.

"Aye, my child. He knew she was very ill and didn't want her to suffer alone."

"Why didn't the angel of death come for her?"

He smiled thinly. "The angel of death is sinister. She much preferred an angel of comfort, which only a spirit with a violin could provide."

His words stirred within me for quite some time. I wondered what type of angel would come for me-if any at all.

"What does she look like?"

He stared at me a moment. "The angel of music?"

I nodded.

"Well, what would you like the angel to look like?" he asked with a chuckle.

I was not sure how to answer. In my mind I pictured white and gold robes and a beautiful violin that matched; golden strings and white wood.

"No one has ever seen this angel, at least none that are living."

"You did not see it?"

He shook his head. "No, no, I was not allowed to see the angel because it was not yet my time to join my wife. The angel is as we believe. Long hair, short hair, tall, short…it doesn't matter. Our minds provide much clearer vision than these." He pointed at his eyes and winked at me. "But you must remember that beauty, my child, is here." He pointed at his heart.

I felt hopeful. Perhaps there was something good inside of me.

We left the stream and finished making our camp beneath the trees. The ground was cushioned by ferns, the air sweet with the scent of cut wheat. I replaced my mask even though my uncle said it was unnecessary and lay with my hands behind my head staring at the sky. While I looked on, my uncle boiled a combination of leaves he'd gathered and made a salve, which he applied to my feet before wrapping them in strips of cloth. He spoke to me all the while, perhaps realizing I was still quite nervous.

I watched the flames lick at the darkness and found myself at first anxious as the conversation lulled, then comfortable as the silence lengthened and we both stared at the fire.

"You look like a young tom cat stretched out for his nap," my uncle commented as he lit his pipe. "And I look like an old dog standing by."

As exhausted as I was, I couldn't sleep. The smell of the stream nearby and the heady scent of dirt and foliage were new to me and worth exploring. I wanted to examine the world around me, but my raw feet kept me still. After a while I realized was grateful to lie down and rest my aching back and shoulders. My feet continued to throb, especially when there was no water to cool my soles.

The Shadow smoked his pipe and absently talked about his time upon the seas, the peril he faced daily, and the storms he encountered. He looked at me every few moments, a gleam in his eye. Not once did his gaze linger on the mask or my thin hair. When he looked at me, he merely smiled and continued speaking as if he did not notice all of my faults. Eventually-with great hesitation-I removed the cloth mask he had given me and gripped it tightly in my fist.

"There were times when I though I would be lost at sea forever and I prayed to both Aegir and Neptune," he said with a wink. "Do you know who they are?"

I shook my head, having no desire to interrupt his story with questions. "They are gods of the sea. Aegir is a Norse god and Neptune is Roman. There is another, Poseidon."

"He is from Greek mythology," I proudly blurted out. That one I had heard of before as I lingered in shadows outside of taverns in summer.

"Yes, yes he is. You are a very smart young man," he praised. "What was I saying? Oh, yes, when the gods of the sea did not answer, I held on for dear life and hoped I would be spared."

I folded my hands across my stomach and watched the leaves tremble above my head. "I like the water," I murmured more to myself than to my uncle.

"Yes, I've seen."

My face straightened, my body suddenly tense. I wasn't certain if he mocked me for my folly by the sea the previous night, but ashamed of my actions I could not bear to look him in the eye. It embarrassed and shamed me to have no secrets. Yet another facet in which I was different, in which I was wrong.

"You need gills, Erik." He shifted onto his side. "You would make an excellent fish, too smart for the hook or net." He motioned with his hand like a fish through the water. "Forever free to roam. I think all men would prefer to be fish…as long as there was a sea full of beautiful mermaids. I cannot remember if I told you already, but I saw a mermaid once, a very long time ago. And then I met my wife, and never did I look at mermaids again."

I still could not bring myself to look at him. The previous night played through my thoughts starting with the moment my father had his companions snatch me from the water and drag me ashore. I swore I could still feel their hands gripping like vices on my arms, still see their cruel eyes staring at my naked, floundering body.

"You are not the first boy your age to be interested in such things," The Shadow said when I made no remark. "And you will undoubtedly not be the last, either."

My breath caught in my throat. Had my feet not been so damaged I would have considered slinking away into the darkness, but I had no choice but to lay still and stare at the branches and leaves dancing in the firelight.

"You hurt no one," he continued. "And I understand why you would be embarrassed, Erik, but... I will say no more of it. I suppose there is nothing I can say that will make you feel any better. God knows when I was your age this is not the conversation I would wish to have with my uncle." He looked over at me with a wide grin and laughed to himself.

I gave as much of a nod as I could and swallowed hard. Emotion crept up unexpectedly, which I blamed on exhaustion as well as my throbbing feet.

He rambled for a while, telling stories—or truths, as he called them. He recited poetry, offered bits and pieces of Shakespeare's sonnets, which I later discovered The Shadow had either misquoted or made up entirely. It did not matter much what he said or whether it was truth or made up stories; he spoke to me for hours, asking me questions and waiting for me to ask him about life. Eventually the previous night at the seashore slipped from my thoughts and was replaced with the dozens of stories and smaller tangents my uncle frequently went on.

The fire died down a bit and I drifted to sleep with my head resting on my pack. My dreams were filled with violins and feathers. I imagined a faceless angel with such beauty inside it needed no eyes and nose, no mouth and chin. It was perfect unseen-in fact it was so beautiful that no living man or woman could look upon it at all.

The evening was endless dark and a clouded sky when I woke to the sound of voices. The Shadow was already awake and aware. He looked at me and placed his finger to his lips. I had no intention of making a sound. Frozen in place, I did nothing more than breathe.

I waited for him to protect me.