The Rapha and the Firefly, page 16
“Remembering everyone’s birthday and anniversary,” Rosie nudged her husband.
“Hey, that was only once,” He reminded her and then rethought. “Ok, twice.”
Dill shook his head in awe. “Man, Keeper, you’ve got it made.”
“Oh, please!” Keeper pushed himself up out of the chair, disgusted. He stalked over to the fireplace.
“Come on, Keeper!” Dill couldn’t believe his mentor didn’t understand how lucky he was. “Anyone would give his eye-teeth for such a gift!”
Keeper whirled around. “A gift?!?” he barked. “You think this is a gift?!?”
It was a moment before anyone answered. They all stood perplexed, staring at the elder. Tanner turned the dilemma over in his mind and suddenly saw the flip side. He blinked at Keeper, horrified as the implications sank in. The rest of them weren’t quite so insightful.
“Well, yeah,” Dill tentatively answered for all of them. “How could it not be a gift?”
Keeper stared at them in disbelief. His eyes found Tanner’s and locked on them. Oh, he understood. Tanner shook his head.
“You don’t have to go there,” he said.
“Go where?” Thyme asked.
“I don’t know, but I’m sure it won’t be pretty.”
Grandma Love suddenly caught the jest of what Tanner said and gasped. The youngsters in their innocence still didn’t understand.
“What won’t be pretty?” Peter asked.
“The memories.” Tanner answered.
And suddenly, the rest of them understood, too. But it was too late: Keeper had a far off look on his face. He started talking. Fast and without pause:
“When I was four years old, my mom died. My dad had beaten her to death. He used to beat on her nearly every day. 564 different times. Want to hear some of the names he called her? ‘Slime worm’, ‘maggot face’, ‘ugly lizard girl’, and his personal favorite: ‘worthless dung licker’.’ He called her that 72 different times. There were others, but I won’t repeat them. No, but I remember every one of them, as well as every cut and bruise, every broken bone, every broken nose, blackened eye, cut lip, dislocated joint: don’t believe me? 58 cuts – to the face, 1,348 bruises, left arm broken twice, right arm once, broken toes: maybe three (it’s hard to tell with toes), three broken noses…”
“Ok!” Tanner interrupted. “We get the point.”
But Keeper wasn’t finished. He went on to a new topic, one much closer to the memories of those present.
“Remember The Plague?” he asked, without waiting for an answer. “Know how many people died? 353. I’ll name them in chronological order: Tom Sunset: died August 4th at 4:13 pm, son Billy: died August 6th, 5:18 am, wife Sarah: August 6th 6:20 am, Frank Lowfield: August 7th , 9: 28 am, his wife Beulah: 7:08 pm…”
“STOP IT!” Tanner demanded. But it didn’t stop.
“Tanner: your wife: August 12th, 12:35 pm. The raspy breathing, her hallucinations: I could repeat every one of them for you. Eli’s heart attack: I remember how…”
“JOSEPH!” Grandma’s loud cry made everyone jump, breaking them out of their horrified stupor.
Keeper stopped, blinked, and stared at the group of huddled listeners, but not seeing them. His face was pale and sweaty, his eyes shiny and wet with the awful memories behind them. He looked lost for a moment, then his eyes focused and took in the others. Keeper dropped his eyes, ashamed, and chuckled. It was a hollow, humorless laugh: tinged with sorrow and sad irony.
“Sorry. I just…” but his voice trailed off. He stared down at his hands and noted the tremor they’d acquired in the last minute or so. Taking a breath, he tried again.
“I can’t get them out of my head. Their faces, how they looked when they died. They’re always there. I remember it all. I can make myself forget for a few days, maybe months, but they always come back as sharp as ever. Everything. Every blessed little thing that’s ever happened in my life. It’s there, inside.
“Pick a day: I can tell you how many times you sneezed. Did you scratch your nose? I’d remember it. Why? It’s worthless information, but I’m stuck with it. I can play it back, detail for detail. Have you any idea what that’s like: having all that trapped in your head, all day, every day? I don’t know what’s worst, the mundane memories or the heartbreaking ones.”
He sighed, realizing how old he felt. Much too old, he was: aged by the weight of all the memories that only he suffered under. And he was totally alone.
“Anyway, thanks for dinner, Basil, but I think I’ll call it an evening. Peter, ...” He paused, unsure of what to say.
“How ‘bout you stay at our place tonight, Pete?” Sage offered. Peter vigorously nodded. That was fine with Keeper too.
The mentor slowly shuffled toward the door. He left them without another word.
An uncomfortable silence was left in his wake, weighing down the very air in the room. Tanner sank into a chair, his head in his hands. Grandma came to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He took one of her hands in his and the two silently wept together.
It was a few very long minutes before anyone was able to speak. And then, Dill breathed the words they all were feeling.
“Man, I wouldn’t want that curse for anything.”
25
Comfort From a Chameleon
Keeper sat there before the cold dark fireplace, staring into its nothingness. He’d made it home, back to the safety of his own sanctuary, but it wasn’t quiet. And he wasn’t alone. The ghosts that dwelt in the back corners of his memory had been awakened and demanded attention.
Usually he could control the flow, allowing the door to his memories to only open a crack. But, not today. Something in his discussion at Basil’s had unburied the key he’d long kept hidden. The door had forced it’s way open, swinging wide and unleashing a flood. Memories cascaded down on him, overwhelming in their volume and rapidity. Images flashed in his mind, carrying with them the raw emotions of their instants in time. It was a deluge. Multiple images, sounds, and emotions played in his mind, too rapid to get a handle on: anger, joy, brightness, wind, shouting, laughter, dark, screams, blood, blue, lightning, dandelions, a whistle, smoke, flowing water, moonlight, and so very much more – they all flowed together madly screaming for attention.
Stop it! Stop it! he demanded. But his pleads only hastened the cacophony on, faster and faster, deeper and deeper, images flashing, sounds crashing through his mind. Too much, too fast, too loud.
Faster and faster it spun. He couldn’t stop it.
But suddenly it did cease. One image was thrust to the forefront and all the others froze before it.
Celeste.
Everything grounded to a halt.
Celeste. The one image. A snapshot in his mind.
Celeste. Ariel’s mother. The image of her face suspended all other memories with its sovereignty.
She was staring at him, eyes wide with terror, her mouth open screaming.
“THUNDER!!!”
She had screamed out his flyer name at him.
What happened? He couldn’t remember.
What had happened that day? He had no idea.
They had been together, down by the stream. Beetle was gone. He would be spending the day with the leaders from the other tribes, making plans for the Alliance.
But Keeper had been by the stream with Celeste.
What had happened?
Celeste had screamed, terrified. He had no idea why. It was all a blank. The next thing he remembered was waking up days later, wracked in pain, multiple bones broken, deep lacerations, and crippled wings. More dead than alive.
Even more days passed before he learned what had happened: standing before the flyer elders, he’d been tried and found guilty of killing Celeste. The colony had beaten him, and he was left for dead.
The years ticked by. In time, he could recall bits of the trial. The rest of the ordeal remained an empty hole in his memory.
What had happened?
Celeste’s face was frozen in time, her eyes terrified, screaming his name.
Thunder! Thunder! Thunder!
What had happened?
He buried his face in his hands. What had happened? What had happened? He had no idea.
What had happened? Keeper squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to remember. But it was an empty void. Nothing was there but the snapshot of her terrified face and her voice screaming over and over.
Keeper was trembling, his temples throbbing, as the voice screamed on, demanding his attention as it shrieked to him.
Oh, Celeste, Celeste! Memories of her flooded his mind. Oh, how he’d loved her! The memories cut deep – her bright smile and sparkling eyes. She’d been the brightest of all his students: so quick, so clever, and so brilliant! At times, her insights had even astounded him! How he had cherished her ideas and her friendship! Her vibrant laugh always brought a smile to his lips. The way she tossed her head to get her hair out of her eyes. How she loved her little daughters so much. Oh, Celeste! Oh, how I miss you!
A sob escaped him that was quickly joined by others, racking his body.
Thunder! The memories screamed. Thunder! Thunder!
He covered his ears, but the terrified scream continued. Thunder! Thunder! Thunder!
The memories crashed down on him, the weight crushing the air from his lungs.
Thunder! Thunder!
He squeezed his eyes shut against the tears that burned.
THUNDER!
I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! He silently screamed back, wishing he could do something, anything to relieve the terror immortalized in that snapshot memory.
I am so, so sorry!
He could feel arms wrapping around him.
“I gotcha, little brother.”
It was the Chameleon, sitting there beside him, enveloping his shaking body with its own. Keeper gasped for breath, trying to control the emotions, but found the effort useless. He was hurting, trembling, and sobbing, but he didn’t care. The arms held him tight, and he had to give into the embrace. His heart broke and sobs racked his body.
He had no idea how long he cried. Five minutes, maybe more. The emotional release left him physically and emotionally exhausted. He was cold and still trembling. He didn’t complain as the Chameleon wrapped a blanket around him. When the tears finally subsided, he was curled up in his friend’s arms, feeling like a young child, but not caring. The Chameleon didn’t care either. That was why he was there. Keeper leaned against his guest’s shoulder. He felt cold and empty. His limbs still trembled. The memories had settled down, but he could feel them peeking at him from the dark recesses, reminding him they still lurked there. “Why did she die?” he finally whispered.
The Chameleon sighed, long and sad. “She shone so bright. I don’t think people understood.”
They were silent for a few minutes before Keeper spoke again.
“Did I kill her?”
It was the question he most feared. What had happened? He needed to know. Why couldn’t he remember? The tremors in his limbs had all but died down, but they began quaking again.
What had happened?
“Do you think you killed her?” the Chameleon asked.
Keeper shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t remember anything about that day.”
“I didn’t ask if you remembered. I asked if you think you killed her?”
Keeper thought. “I loved her,” he finally said.
“Do you think you killed her?”
The seconds ticked by.
“No,” he finally answered.
“Then, why are you asking me?”
“But YOU know,” Keeper looked up into his friend’s eyes. “You know what happened! I know you do! It’s the one memory I don’t have! That one memory: I need to know what happened! Why can’t I see it? Why can’t I remember?” The tears were creeping back into his eyes and he didn’t even bother to wipe them away as a sob escaped him. It was joined by others. The Chameleon stared at him, looking deep. He could see the pain and fear trapped inside.
“It’s there,” he answered. “It’s just locked away safe for now.”
That wasn’t the answer Keeper wanted to hear. He shook his head, frustrated. Why can’t I remember? Why can’t I remember?
He was sobbing again, gasping for breath.
Why was she dead? What happened?
Why can’t I remember?
“You need to sleep,” the Chameleon told him.
That actually got a laugh from the mentor, high pitched and manic.
“You know I never sleep,” he reminded his guest.
“You will tonight. Come on.” The Chameleon tightened his grip on his friend and stood up.
“Hey!” Keeper struggled in his arms. Was he actually being carried? Wait! He seemed like a little child! Was his guest that big, or had Keeper shrunk?
“I gotcha,” the Chameleon reminded him.
“I’m not going to sleep,” Keeper insisted. The crying had tired him, but he wasn’t sleepy. He rarely was.
“Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”
Keeper was deposited on the bed, but the flyer immediately sat up again. He glanced down, but then had to take a second look. Was he wearing his pajamas? How did that happen?
“Go to sleep,” the Chameleon told him.
“I’m not tired!” Keeper clambered out of bed, but was gently pushed back down. His guest bent over him, staring into his eyes.
“Sleep, sleep. Rest tonight.”
“I’m not tired!” Keeper struggled against the larger elf. He could feel the memories creeping out from the recesses, ready to take over his thoughts again. The Chameleon’s hand came to rest of Keeper’s forehead. Peace rushed in, driving out the memories and leaving a quiet nothingness.
Surprised, Keeper stared up at the guest.
“No dreams, no nightmares, just rest.” The Chameleon promised.
“But…” Keeper struggled.
“Sleep!”
Suddenly, the mentor elf was very tired indeed. He could hardly keep his eyes open. His limbs went slack.
“But…” he tried again.
“Shhh.”
The eyes closed. As he drifted off, Keeper heard the Chameleon speak again.
“You’re still hurting. You’re hurt, you’re scared, you’re angry. Sleep, little brother. Tomorrow’s going to be a hard day,”
“What do you mean?” Keeper wanted to ask. But he was already asleep.
26
Reconnaissance
4th week of June
Ariel looked out from her hiding place in the tall prairie grass. The sun was just peeking its way over the ridge, spilling a golden glow on the low rise in front of her. Peering intently, she could just make out the door set back in the tunnel. Basil’s door. And there, under the bush by the cottonwood tree: was a warm glow shining beneath it, informing her the fire was still burning in his fireplace. Basil was still home. She wasn’t too late this time. She’d arrived a half hour earlier, afraid she was too late again, but no – this time she had made it on time. The light changed and flickered as it beamed up from the window hidden under the bush. Hidden from human eyes, but very visible to someone only five and a quarter inches tall, like a young flyer. The light flickered again. Basil was moving around.
A shadow passed overhead as a meadowlark came in for a landing beside the hole. There sat Dill, mounted above its wings.
“Hey, Basil!” he called out. “Hurry up!”
After a few moments of Dill cursing under his breath and the bird anxiously giving a few tentative hops, the fire was doused, the door opened and Basil hobbled out, supported by the crutches.
“You’re late,” he grumbled.
“Yeah, and you’re slow. You try sweet-talking a ‘lark into taken a flight at this time in the morning. Any sign of Ariel?”
“She didn’t come knocking if that’s what you mean.” Basil transferred the crutches to his left hand and held the right hand up for his friend. Dill grabbed hold and hauled Basil aboard.
“But,” the younger one continued, “I wouldn’t put it past her to be hiding somewhere in the grass watching us. Did you remember the syrup?”
Dill nodded and patted his backpack as Basil settled in behind him.
“Sage should have built his house in a maple.”
Basil couldn’t help laughing at him. “But you’ve got the only maple for miles, and I don’t think he’d like living that close to you.”
“Keep a good eye out for our flyer friend,” Dill reminded Basil.
Ariel silently sneered at them. So, they’d been expecting this. She’d have to be doubly careful.
The flyer watched as they took off, the bird heading North, flying past one tree and then another. When they passed the third tree, roughly fifty feet off, she took to the air, staying in the tree line. Ariel kept them just in sight for a good four minutes before another bird darted across her path, large and dark, wings flapping inches from her face. She stopped in midair and gasped. Was it a hawk? No, her brain told her after a spit second - it was only a robin, and it had been just as startled as she was. But that split second had been enough. She’d lost sight of the meadowlark. She looked around frantically, trying to determine which way they might have gone. There were no clues.
Ariel’s face fell. She’d been so close this time! She wanted to cry. Not another Sunday morning alone! It wasn’t fair!
But wait! What had they been talking about? Something about Sage. Could they be heading there? Ariel sighed. She may as well try there. She had no other ideas.
Determined, Ariel put on a burst of speed, flying between the branches of trees on the most direct route to Sage and Rosemary’s.
Sixty panic-filled seconds later, she caught site of the ‘lark banking to the left toward the river. She followed, a little closer this time and low to the ground. She didn’t dare to take her eyes off it again. It was only a few minutes before the bird began descending. Ariel quickly slowed to a hover and looked around. She knew this place. They were headed to Sage and Rosie’s. The princess landed on a branch in a neighboring tree, hid behind a leaf and watched as the gnome came out to greet the hoppers.
