141. Ruler of the World

Mrs Henry asked the class what job they want to do when they grow up. 

“Ruler of the world,” says Grace.

Hesitating, unsure if she’s joking, Mrs Henry tries to smile but Grace holds her stare.

“That isn’t a job, Grace.”

“It should be. The world needs a Ruler.”

“Then I want that job,” says the boy sitting behind Grace.

Everyone laughs at Marcus Jones, the most annoying boy ever. What annoys Grace most, what is downright infuriating, is that Marcus isn’t dumb, not even close, in fact he’s smart, maybe-almost-nearly-as-smart-as-Grace. 

Not that she’d ever admit that to Marcus Jones.

139. Dancing in Circles

“So, will you?” says the beautiful, blue-eyed mountain, clambering over the tiered seats.

“Will I want?” says Ameli.

“Dance with me,” asks Leo.

“I’m struggling to see you as the dancing type. I’ll have to risk my toes.”

“Are you willing to risk them?”

“Do you really want to dance. This isn’t some bet with your rugby friends?”

“Yeah, because my rugby team is a front for a bunch of hardcore ceilidh dancers.”

“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit,” says Ameli, standing up, “But I’ll risk it.”No way would Ameli pass on a chance to dance with Leo.

135. The Secret Weapon

She fled her centre months ago.

Now looking inward, Molly sees a grey, writhing tangle wrapped around her light; a shadowy octopus feeding off her glow. 

Living at the edge of herself, she does what is necessary, organising everything outside efficiently but doing nothing about the shadow inside.

When Gabriel left, Molly lost her heart, and her light became fodder for shadow. Only her mind survives.

On the edge of her being, she evades the shadowy tentacles and tries to find the secret weapon. The weapon with the power to reclaim her centre; found only in a hug from Gabriel.

130. The White-Wood Crown

“Raven!”

The booming yell of the King of Piskies, shakes every twig and leaf in Oakland.

Sweeping in, a young man bows with a flourish of his hand. “Father, you called.”

Before the King can respond Raven turns to a round woman in green and the piskling next to her, saying, “Mother you’re a morning bloom. Tulip did you borrow my crown again?”

Touching the oversized white-wood crown on her head, the piskling giggles and says, “You don’t really want it.”

“It doesn’t matter what he wants,” booms the King.

“Of course, my liege,” says Raven bowing even more extravagantly.

The Contamination Chamber (Gabriel’s POV)

Gabriel is angry.

He’s angry at Molly and at the Unmoved Master, and at himself for feeling anything.

Yes, anger is much easier to deal with than these ridiculous mortal emotions invading his light.

It’d been so much easier being self-absorbed and only concerned with how he looked. Existence had been good, but then the Red Tape had erupted, and he’d made choices and things had changed and it was his fault.

Stomping into the office, Gabriel is faced with his adoring fans and Management, ready to deliver him into exile. Posing, he smiles like normal and thinks that at least the pretty face is good for something.  No one bothers to speak to him because of course he can’t make conversation; he’s only good at delivering other people’s words.

Realising Molly is the only one not looking at him, Gabriel feels his outer light quiver, like a tremor before a volcano. It threatens to destroy his display of indifference. Focusing on management, Gabriel tries to listen, but his eyes keep flicking back to the hunched figure. The only one working.

He’s about to be contaminated and she’s busy counting beads.

Then the words break through, “…bravery…sacrifice…” says Management in that pompous voice. Stifling a laugh, Gabriel realises that he wasn’t being brave, and he’d never been brave.

He’d left with the Defenders, because he was terrified of what he’d done; the message he’d delivered, the consequences it’d wrought. He’d told Molly that it was her fault Lucy had Fallen, but it wasn’t it was his and he’d been too much of a coward to admit it.

Even now, accepting contamination isn’t about being brave, he thinks, but about fixing the mess he made. He doesn’t feel brave. He feels the light at his centre being smothered by doubt and his legs weak with fear.

If only Molly would look at him, he’d be able to get through this. If he only knew she understood.

The hiss of the chamber doors opening, sounds like a snake. Turning Gabriel, maintains his shining glory and steps over the threshold. The doors hiss shut, and red light illuminates the faces of the crowd. Their smiling faces now look like demonic grins, jeering at him.

No longer able to see even Molly’s hunched figure, Gabriel’s light dims a little more.

Sighing, he braces his wings, ready for anything, and reaches to press the red button.  Just as his long fingers brush the surface, a brilliant, golden glow overwhelms the red flashing lights. Looking up, Gabriel sees Molly hovering above everyone.

His own light brightens in response, and another feeling overwhelms the anger and hate and fear at his centre.  It swells like a balloon filling with air and rising above all the pettiness.

Her thin, pink lips move. “Stay” she whispers.

Shaking his head, he feels something sting his eyes. He can’t.

She nods, maybe she does understand or at least accepts it. Mouthing three words back to her, he presses the Contamination button.

Al Finds his Wings

He’d walked out of the Never-Ending Office with Molly too many times to count but this time is different. This time Molly expects him to fly with her.

He freezes on the top step, long enough for Molly to look back.

Hearing a rustle of wings and feeling a caress of warm air swirl round him, he crosses his arms in defiance.

“What’s the matter?” asks Molly.

“I…” starts Al.

“Alexander?”

Molly had only used his full name once before, the sound shocked him into mumbling a reply.

“I can’t fly.”

“What? How? How did I not know that?” says Molly dropping to the steps. “But everyone can fly.”

“I try but I never quite get the hang of it,” says Al, itching his nose.

“You just have to glow,” says Molly with all the confidence of someone who can do something.  “Glow as bright as you can, and your wings will grow.”

“But that’s not who I am.”

“You’re Luminous. Be bright. Be light.”

To please Molly, Al tenses and strains, contorting his face into odd expressions but the more he tries the heavier and duller he feels. Giving up he slumps to the ground.

“Look, its easy,” says Molly and in a blink, without any apparent effort, Molly’s wings spread light and bright from her back.

“I can’t do what you want. I can’t glow like you!”

“But this is how everyone dances!” says Molly, her tone sharp with frustration.

“I’m not trying to dance, Molly,” says Al.

Realising what she’d said, Molly hears Lucie’s words in her own voice. Turning back to Al, Molly sits down next to him.

“Sorry, Al,” she says, softly.

“It’s okay Molly. Not your fault I’m imperfect.”

“You’re perfectly you,” says Molly, “Just because you don’t do something the way everyone else does, does not make you wrong or bad. We just have to find the best way to make you glow. So, what makes you glow?”

Looking away, Al shrugs. No way was he going to admit that the time of day he glowed brightest was when he saw her.

“Okay, how about we just start walking and have a think about it.”

“No, you should go on with out me. I’m not going to be of any help.”

“Come on, silly,” says Molly, and grabbing his hand pulls Al off the step. As soon as her fingers lace round his Al feels a sliver of warmth shoot up his arm and grow hotter and brighter. Gripping her hand, he lets her pull him up. Too soon she lets go but the spark has already ignited the fire in his centre. Adding fuel to the furnace, Al can’t believe that anyone is willing to walk with him, when they could fly, especially Molly. The light at his centre brightens and turning to Molly he smiles and when she smiles back he feels an explosion at his back. Twisting round, he hits Molly in the face with his light, white, bright wings.

The Pebble and The Pear Tree

Skidding to a stop at the lake Molly tears up a load of pebbles. About to fling them into the Lake, she stops. What has the Lake ever done to her?

Nothing, her brain replies.

But by asking the right question, her mind lights up and pinpoints on the cause of all this mess.

Out of breathe but not out of anger, Molly stomps through the Always-Orchard, smashes through the Garden of Forms, and on until she can feel the heat of the Forest of Flames that lines the Chasm of Darkest Nothing.

Glaring she focuses on the Unmoved Master’s manor house, just sitting there in sight of all the bad that’s happening but doing nothing to help.

The Unmoved Master caused all this but does nothing.

Slipping one of the stones from her bag, Molly feels the weight of the stone and with cold detachment imagines the large pebble, sailing over the chasm and hitting one of those twinkling windows in the Master’s house.

Molly wonders what the Master would do. She’d seen enough young mortals damage and break other people’s property and it invariably led to a confrontation; exactly what she wants.

Tossing the stone gently in the air, she takes a few steps back from the edge to give herself a run up and then drawing back her arm, she swings it over her head. Letting all her strength, fury and will flow down her arm she releases the stone.

The pebble is launched, and away. Flying straight and on target it appears to sail over the Chasm of Darkest Nothing but then something happens.

Too fast for Molly to react, the stone ricochets off some invisible wall and returns back over Molly’s head. She catches a glimpse of the small projectile, heading towards a cluster of trees. Racing up to see where it lands Molly finds Pear Tree, pale bark stripped away and highlighting the damage done. A stone is stuck in its trunk, like an exposed heart.

“Did you do that?” asks Gabriel, his voice singing, with humour and mischievous.

“Nooo,” lies Molly. “It’s always been like that.”

“I doubt, that all pear trees grow a stone in their trunk.”

“How do you know? Have you seen a pear tree in the Wild?” asks Molly. “Or it could have been a Chorister. They’re always playing tricks.”

“Sure,” says Gabriel, crossing his arms and posing in glorious splendour.  Molly is tempted to throw a pebble at him just to ruffle his feathers. “So, this Chorister must have had quite a good aim to hit the trunk.”

“Maybe it was just an accident.”

“Lumini don’t go around throwing stones accidentally.”

Suddenly they hear a cry from the garden. Turning in unison, they see a figure waddling toward them; basket in hand and waving a folk overhead.

“I don’t think the Gardener is pleased, with the addition to the garden.” Hiding a smile, Molly speeds up and takes off. Gabriel laughs and jumps into the air after her.

The Form of Cat

Gabriel finds Molly sat on top the snow-capped mountain, looking out over glistening inland lakes. Smiling, his light brightens and the snow shimmers in reply. Molly looks up. He hadn’t been looking for her, but when she spots him and waves, he feels like he’s exactly where he should be; even if he’d never admit it.

About to land Gabriel notices she has company, and his wings falter.  Flapping hard to regain his composure he eyes her feline companion. The Form of Cat is stretched out over her legs, play fighting with the laces of her sandals.

His light shivers, but he refuses to acknowledge the fact that he doesn’t like cats. 

“Are you going to land?” says Molly, “Or are you too busy being Glorious.”

Determined not to show he’s afraid, he steers himself to a suitable spot away from Cat. But because he’s concentrating on watching the feline he’s not looking where he’s placing his feet and he stumbles.

Watching, Molly laughs.

Gabriel frowns, which only makes Molly laugh more. The sound is like happiness bursting from bubbles and sparklers fizzing brightly on a dark autumn night, but he’d never admit that either. Pretending nothing happened, he stretches out on Molly’s other side from the Form of Cat, who is now sitting upright and licking herself, with the epitome of feline vanity.

Positioning himself several feet away, Gabriel lies back and pretends to go to sleep.

“Seriously,” says Molly. “You fly all the way up here just to go to sleep.”

“I’m not asleep,” says Gabriel, “I’m simply resting in my spot. Normally it’s a lot quieter than this.”

“I was here first,” says Molly.

But before Gabriel can offer another retort, the Form of Cat has slunk round to the prone glorious form and pounced onto his chest.

Two oddly similar yowls break out from both the Cat and Gabriel. The latter jumps up, but the former is attached; her claws ripping at his tunic.

Laughing again Molly stands up and unhooks the Cat saying, “You big oaf, you scared her!”

“She pounced on me!” says Gabriel brushing his tunic and finding several loose threads, which he’ll have to fix later.

“Because of course big Glorious Gabriel can’t defend himself against a small itty-bitty-kitty,” says Molly using a soppy voice that grates on Glorious, mostly because he finds it so adorable.

“If I didn’t know any better,” says Molly, still talking to the form of Cat. “I’d think Glorious was afraid of you.”

“That’s ridiculous!” says Gabriel, brushing back his hair, without denying it.

“It would be ridiculous if it was true, but since it’s not, why don’t you have a cuddle to make up,” says Molly the mischievous, holding out the feline.

A moment ago, Cat had been purring loudly in Molly’s arms (another reason for Gabriel to be annoyed with the creature) but now Cat hisses; fangs and claws out at Gabriel.

“The feeling is mutual,” mutters Gabriel.

Placing Cat on the ground, Molly laughs.

Everything In Its Place

Landing on emerald blades, that stretch on forever, Molly inhales the smell of fresh-cut grass and well-tendered Forms. The fragrance releases something in the centre of Molly’s light and her shoulders relax. Twisting the kinks out her neck, from a day lent over her desk, Molly feels the pinch of her hair still trapped in a bun. 

Tugging it loose, she allows her dark curls to tumble passed her shoulders. Then checking no one is nearby, she slips off her sandals and tiptoes onto the green carpet. Her light feet make no dent on the hard-emerald blades. In this moment she remembers her first feel of the Form of Grass, thirty-thousand years ago. 

Breathing deeply, she lets out her breath and in the same moment stretches her legs forward, her arms out and her wings up.  Spinning round she delights in the cool air flowing over, under and round her as she whirls and leaps.  

Normally, her light would empty itself of the minutiae of mortal life and fill with the Long-Blue, Night-Stage and the Forever-Sunrise. But this time her light fills with the memory of a figure dancing across the grass. Lucie Morning Star, the brightest of all creation beckons her on, wanting to show her the way.  But Molly wasn’t made to follow the brightest Star and now she stumbles at the memory.

Thirty-thousand years ago, Molly thought she could follow Lucie. Lucie who rose high above all creation on Night-Stage. But Lucie fell. She fell into the Wild, never to return. A wave of loss and fear, washes over Molly’s light when she remembers that moment. But she shoves the memory away, reminding herself she couldn’t have done differently. Lumini are what they are made to be, only mortals have choices.  Messy and chaotic choices that need ordering.

Slowing her pace, Molly walks into the Garden of Forms. Where everything that was or is or will be is grown. Molly remembers her first time here as well. She’d just run away from Lucie and her brutal words. Thirty-thousand years ago, among the Form of all things Molly had stopped and seen Everything, and Everything had a place, and Everything was in its place. She’d found peace in that order, knowing things that are made cannot choose to be anything else.  

Reaching the Always-Orchard, Molly furls her shining wings and wanders among the ancient Form of trees. Her eyes drink in the many shades of Brown and Green, and her smooth fingers caress the rough bark of Oak and the silky skin of Birch.  The Form of every bird tweets, chirps and coos in the branches of the trees, flitting and flying and soaring high in the Edge of the Light.  The slow pace of the trees, their whispered mutterings and the sense of time standing still calms the fire in Molly’s light. 

But something still feels out of place, and Molly worries that it’s her. That there is a shadow, at her light, an uncertainty that will smoother the light of Everything around her.

Gabriel Location Description

Gabriel falls.

Down and out.

Down and out.

Down and out.

Passed Night-Stage, numerous Stars and into cold, wet cloud. 

Blinded, he instinctively spreads his wings, slowing his fall. Feeling heavier, it takes more effort to lift himself than normal. Muscles bunch and release, as he he drags his less luminous body up.

Breaking free of the sky-sheep, Gabriel hovers taking control of himself again by checking his hair. His toes skim the fluffy looking surface. Water droplets, cling to his feet and his physical body shivers. Looking down, he sees his hands are nearly transparent, but otherwise they feel just the same. Flexing his fingers, he can’t see spots or warts or sickness. He doesn’t look contaminated.

The Long-Blue stretches overhead, the colour looks paler from the Wild.  The light is dimmer too, but there’s something interesting about it. The constant movement of air, the refracting light, and the clouds reshaping every second.  Taking several deep breaths of the thick atmosphere, Gabriel waits for some reaction but again he doesn’t feel contaminated.  

He feels – alive!

Smiling his glorious grin, he looks round for someone to share the moment with. Realising he’s looking for Molly, he stretches his wings and soars as high as he can, but when he can rise no further, he reaches out a hand grasping toward the heavens. The perspective here makes it look like he could pinch the sun between his fingers, but he can’t return.

There’s no way back to Molly.

His decision was final.

Forever.

But?

Before he turns away, he wonders if maybe, just maybe, she’ll follow.  Did she understand his message?

Watching and waiting, he hovers between the Long-Blue and the coming dark. As he waits the sun sinks into the west and the curtain is raised on Night-Stage. Time is different here; he could live a Wild day and it would feel like a moment in the Light.  If Molly was coming, she’d have already arrived.

But still, he waits.

The longer he waits, the tighter his chest muscles tense, the harder it is to breathe. Unable to bear it any longer he stops flapping, and like a swimmer giving up on treading water he sinks down and down and down. As he falls, he tries to let go. To shed everything he thought he was, like water sliding off an umbrella, and become who he was made to be; a messenger.

Landing lightly on a grassy plain, he startles some nearby earth-sheep, which run away bleating. Below him in the darkness he can make out many regular, dark shapes – buildings he thinks – set in a natural basin and surrounded by hills.

Behind him, is a fire some distance away. Mortals are moving round it. He can hear shouts.

Refracting his light, Gabriel casts a glamour on himself and walks toward the fire.

One mortal rises as tall as Gabriel, but not as broad. He grips a wooden rod, but then says in a voice with some depth, “Welcome stranger.”