Chapter Forty Eight – Island

He stood on the hilltop, on the mountaintop and looked around, the cold wind blew, his clothing and hair became like the sail of a ship, buffeting him. He looked at the world around him, he seemed to be very high, high enough so that he looked down upon the land from a great height. It was night and the moons were full and in perfect conjunction, the smaller above the larger and around him the hills were painted with their blue light.

He was under the land, underground in a cavern, deep in the rocks of the earth. Here too there was blue light, the moonlight reached even here, it must pass through the bones of the mountains and illuminate the world inside.

He was on the land again, in a field. He was on an island that was not an island. This island wasn't surrounded by sea or the sky but by the land, he could feel it joined to the land around it by an invisible join, a thread, a link, the thinnest most fragile line. He could feel the line running through the rocks under the earth and grass. One good strong pull would tear through the turf and the island would lift away from the land. He could step across the join and leave the island but he didn't want to. He wanted to be here, separate from the world. Here he could fly.

The stone was around his neck, it was warm, it held the heat of her blood, of her gentle flesh, he could smell her on it, her pungent earthy girl smell, a little spicy. The smell that made his heart complete whenever he remembered it. The stone was heavy, too heavy for him to stand upright. He couldn't hold it up, it was too much for him. He bent down, collapsing under its weight. On hands and knees he was at the edge of the land, the stone hung on its leather string dragging him down, an impossible burden.

The stone lit up with blue light, moonlight. In the ground in front of him he saw a blue line, invisible under the soil, cutting through the soil, the blue line ran away from him to left and right, impossibly fast it went, breaking the land along it's boundary in a huge circle, carving the island out of the land. He was kneeling right on the border between here and there, between island and world, between him and her.

He looked up and she was standing on the land. She wore her blue dress. She looked as perfect as she had the night he had first seen her. She had the face of an angel and his heart went out to her, but tears were running down her face. Beside her stood a hairy yaoko and she was in a field of wheat, the golden sea swirling around her in the wind. In her hand she carried a bucket full of soil.

"Paetsu, I cannot go with you, my place is here, my life is here."

He called out to her but no sound would come. He struggled to stand up but the stone held him down, he could not move and he could not speak. He shouted at her come with me but even though he threw back his head and screamed at the top of his lungs, no sound came. The island was lifting, a beautiful scar ran around the island, the turf tore and rich soil ran from the edge of the scar, the ground lifted, a roar like doom filled everything with its booming sound. Where he knelt began to rise, to lift into the sky.

Still he screamed at her to join him and still she stood, her tears flowing, regretting that she could not. He lifted a hand and reached for her. With her free hand she tried to reach him. Almost, nearly, they were nearly touching. He stretched until it hurt and then he felt her fingers. For one beautiful moment they touched. The pads of their fingers exquisitely pressed together and they had love for each other so strong it would hold the world together.

But it was too late, the world was tearing, the island was rising and he was leaving. Their fingers parted and he rose with the island, up, up into the sky, far up into the blue moonlight leaving a great raw hole behind. In the hole were thousands of bodies, a mass grave. Soldiers, farmers, women, children. Inside the island there was a crystal. A crystal the size of a house, it made the crystal that kept Laputa aloft seem puny. This was a crystal of power, the power fed into him and he into it. They were one, the Forgotten Prince and the flying island. He shouted at her to come, there was still time but she didn't hear him.

The last thing he saw was her face, her streaming tears, her raised arm growing tiny with a distance he could not close.

He sat up in bed, shouting, sweat clammy and slick on his body. He gasped and choked in breath, his chest heaving. He put his hand to his ribs and felt his heart pounding. He put his face in his hands and moaned. Again. The dream. Again.

"Whassit? What?"

Next to him in her sleep she murmured and turned to him. She was unclothed and her throat was exposed and he saw the beautiful soft valley of her where it lay. The blue stone lay in its perfect valley. It was glowing faintly, inviting his touch.

"It's alright, just a bad dream. Go back to sleep."

He got out of bed and padded naked to the window. He opened the shutter and looked out at the night, across the walled yard to the sloping lakeside field and the lake, black and still under the dark mountains. Under the moonlight. The hills in the moonlight stood and silently watched him.

He breathed deeply, slowly calm returned.

"Just a dream."

Again, night after night.

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3 April 2007

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