REVISED EDITION of THE GREEN MAN of DESTINY
Chapter 7: Point of No-Return
Lightning and Glass
He dismissed the dream as evil, as those ghosts that wished to dissuade him from his mission and his journey. Gren heeded it as a reminder of the great strength that would be needed later. On the fourteenth day his daytime sleep was tested with interruptions. Awake — to find nothing. In the night, as he strode across the featureless plain, the destination as far away as the day before. His gait was less steady, less confident, and weary. From the fifteenth to the twenty-second day his sleep during the hours of the most intense heat was fitful and disturbed. Insects and bird calls gnawed at him, plucking at his mind. Yet there were no insects, no birds.
Travel by night, sleep by day and on and on…
Gren pressed onward, only to grow tired under the dark of the moon. Finally, near the thirtieth day of the trek, he stopped in the night, hours before dawn, gathered his Spirit Coat all around him and fell into a much-needed sleep. It was a deep sleep followed by a long rest, a luxury, a day off. He allowed himself to feast on both the brown and the green cakes. He drank more than a mouthful of water. It was wealth and indulgence. He slept again, into the night.
Several hours before the coming of the day, he awoke with a great restlessness in his legs. They twitched and jittered on their own. He stuffed his belongings into the pack and jumped up, but was blinded by the Spirit Coat wrapped around his head. He struggled anxiously, then gave in with a sigh, and easily loosened the neck straps and slipped his head through the hole at the top of the coat.
He set off under the starry dome, his youthful vigor restored by the long rest. He strode through the night. Little by little the stars grew dim. A slight breeze nipped at the edges of his coat and bit his ears.
At dawn the giant red sun slipped out of darkness into the sky. By mid-morning the sun was enveloped by clouds churning from the horizon. Not far ahead was a rise of rock that had peeked its face from beneath the sand and salt. It was glassy and reflective, though irregular in shape. Gren recognized the disturbance on the horizon as a sand storm. He peered toward it, remembering what his father had taught him. Observe the shape of the clouds and count the swirls: intensity. He heard his father’s words. How fast do the swirls churn? Rate of movement?
“Landmarks?” he wondered aloud. None — at least none that Gren could detect.
The rise in the desert, the reflective rock, that’s where he’d make his stand. Time? How much time? It would be short.
He ran toward the place, remembering to keep his mouth closed.
The first winds blew up as he reached the beginning of the rise. It was there that he stumbled and fell. Breathing heavily inside the Spirit Coat, he tried to think, working to control the panic rising inside him. Gray sand pelted the coat. He heard this and knew the storm would be a fierce one. If he did not act he would be etched out of existence.
“Herbs for the skin.” It was a phrase Great Grandmother had used.
He acted instinctively, opening the medicine pouch and taking out the herbs that were used to protect the skin. He chewed on these and spit them onto the outside of the Spirit Coat. Then he chewed on some green cake and some brown. Again he spit them onto the coat and smeared the mess together, continuing until he covered the whole coat, especially where it met the ground. He joined the coat together, sealed it from the inside, and waited, breathing heavily and praying to the Deva Spirits of Shelter to save him from the abrading sands. He prayed to all Devas, the spirits chained in all beings, all elements in every way and in everything. As he prayed, he recognized the first wave of winds and sands. This was the mild phase, the smaller granules that could foretell the intensity of any storm. They seemed to grind into the outer layer of the coat. He winced as the sand tore into the fabric.
The next set of winds slapped into the coat and flattened it, with Gren inside. Fragments from the ground were blown up all around him, as if the wind had hands that tortured him with all the deaths of his ancestors. He lost track of day and night. But the Spirit Coat righted itself and became a structure against the onslaught of the howling wind. For a while, the winds howled and tore along one side of the coat. Gren could hear a flapping at the top. Then the wind died away.
Lightning pierced the night. It slashed the ground nearby and sizzled against Gren. A flash pierced the tent coat structure, blinding him. Thunder shook the ground beneath him. His body functions let go and he wet himself. Shivering, he felt his bowels release as more lightning danced around the tent, cracking the ground in the eye of the storm. Dry lightning.
As the winds resumed he stopped shivering and slept, exhausted by the ordeal. When he awakened, the winds were just as fierce, but his sight had returned. He could tell by the dull light that it was day, though the winds howled brown, darkening the daylight. The odor in the coat tent was foul. In a moment he remembered, and realized the odor was from himself.
“Endure,” he whispered in his teeth, though this was drowned out by the screaming winds. He forced his mind down around the words, found the stamina in the core of his body, and fixed his jaw to endure and survive.
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Thank you for joining me in the hero’s adventures across a dying planet ready for resurrection through the ways of alchemical magic. And in search of the Being to restore the world to greenery once again.
Blessings, Passion, and Grace on your journey. May whatever or whomever you looking for — find you.
(If you do NOT wish to be tagged, let me know, and I’ll tag you not):
Barbara Murray | K. Pearson Bradley | Rebecca Romanelli | Joseph Lieungh | Dr. Preeti Singh | Pene Hodge | Dr Mehmet Yildiz | Kris Bedenian | Alberto García 🚀🚀🚀 | Blaine Coleman | Lee David Tyrrell | DL Nemeril | David Price | Rip Parker | Annelise Lords | Libby Shively McAvoy | Marcus aka Gregory Maidman | Alison Hollingsead