Description

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 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.”