REVISED EDITION of THE GREEN MAN of DESTINY — Part 1
Green Man 17: Choices Ahead
Indecision — A Life of Comfort with a Wife and Children, or…
Previous Chapter
“Oh.” Gren awoke.
“The guards come with food — we must be quiet.” Lux/Kondrite spoke.
The storms of night ravaged Gren’s body as he slipped back and forth. The divide between his life as Might and his life as Gren oscillated with the other. The days and nights blurred in the murky torch-lit darkness.
The plaintive moan of the rising wind against the house startled Gren. He turned, squinting, swathed within layers of garment. Facing the dry wind in the waning light, his hazel eyes glazed over. He saw his father marching out of the mouth of the desert toward their home in the small oasis. The house — shut, as his father had left it. Gren had disobeyed by leaving the safety of the interior. His face was streaked with tears, eyes red from continual sobbing.
His father was alone. His mother was gone, taken by the storms. As the father scooped up the boy of four, the dust storm hit.
Holding his breath, the father entered the foyer. He shut the door, exhaling as the raging winds struck. With all his strength he lashed the outer door first to one cleat and then to the other…
With all snapped shut and battened down, he entered the smoky interior.
Wry sank into a heap of weary bones. He was too tired and too worn to scold Gren for his disobedience.
“Where’s Mother?” the small boy asked, struggling to hold back tears.
“Gone,” Wry said feebly. “Taken by the storms, eaten by the desert. Gone on to the green fields and deep green forests of the Souls of the Ancestors.”
“Gren, you are a sweet boy. I love you…” His Mother Spirit appeared and disappeared.
Gren awoke wracked with tears.
A long pole jabbed in his ribs and then his jaw, and he woke again, a torch flame in his face.
“Who are you?” The harsh voice accused him.
He wished he were no one, for no matter which life he chose, he knew he must bear suffering and loss.
“Who are you?” The voice asked again, unrelenting.
“Doesn’t matter,” Gren surrendered.
The priest entered and mumbled alien words over him. It didn’t matter, Gren, lost in a hinterland without identity, only his breath carried him forward. In the darkness, there was, at best, only night and fitful rest. A blur of dreams, green forest, Meanna, and his children — the twins. Everyone sped through the darkness like a stream in a cave flowing underground. A priest came from time to time to chant over him.
At times, when he was Gren, he spat at this strange man. The guards took him deeper into the hole of the mountain. They strapped him to a board and left him thirsty and hungry.
One night or day the priest came, and Gren slipped into Might.
The guards took him back into his cell. Flecks of daylight spilled in as the guards opened the doors at the end of the corridor.
For a time he was Might, so that when he heard Kondrite/Lux speak through the vent he sang a song of love for Meanna.
The other man’s urgings, addressed to Gren, fell on deaf ears. “I feel the pull of my children, of my sons,” he told Kondrite.
“You must do what you must. If it is your choice to turn away from the Light, so be it.”
The priest came with two guards. They unlocked the tiny cell and dragged Might into a room bright with sunlight.
One of Meanna’s midwives entered and introduced herself. “Your wife calls for her husband and the father of her children.”
“I have heard the call,” he said weakly.
“You have healthy twin boys, but your wife is weak from the labor. She needs your strength.”
“Yes, I know.” He averted his face in shame because he was too weak to stand on his feet.
“I must return straight away with news of your return. As soon as you regain strength you must come, master Might.”
“Yes, tell Meanna I am coming. Please give her my sweet love.”
In the days that followed, Might conversed at length with the priest and the guards, while they walked him. They gave him better food to help him regain his strength.
They moved him from his cell to a room with a small window. From it, he could see part of a wall, and curiosity captured him. A hunch came to him. He spoke to the priest, who in turn spoke to the administrator, who in turn spoke to Tock, who was now Chief Engineer.
Tock visited him.
“The city came to the conclusion that building your wall would be in their best interest. Hope looms large — the traditional rainy season will soon be upon us.”
Tock cleared his throat and continued:
“I have gained special permission for you to visit the wall, which is almost half completed. We have high hopes. And you should be happy because it is your design.”
“I am walking better now,” Might replied. “By tomorrow I could come. Would that be acceptable?”
“The administrator has indicated that we need to wait until the beginning of the week, four days from now.”
Might seethed with frustration, but he forced a breath and let it go. “I will wait, and look forward to seeing the wall. Thank you Tock — for your efforts.”
At the beginning of the week, a guard, and Tock escorted Might to the wall. Might had to rest often but finally reached the top of the wall. He beamed with pride. It was exactly along the lines he had designed.
“But what of the lightning rods? Where are they?”
“We will begin to put them on very soon. We wanted to wait until enough of the wall could split the sky and empty rain here, not just lightning.”
Might nodded. “A good plan.”
The following day he was released from his confinement. This is a test, he thought. He was on foot. Freed to leave, but there were no beasts available for him to ride. All labor was for the wall.
It took four cycles of sunrises for him to reach the camp area at the edge of the Second Island. From there the Third Island was visible. It was the end of the fourth day. In the waning light, he looked out over the expanse of desert to the meager beginnings of Third Island. Might knew he was to perish there. It would not be anyone’s fault. For two days he waited at the edge of the desert.
Next Chapter:
Contents:
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.
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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 | Alison Hollingsead | Bruno T. | Vlad Casian