Читать книгу The Band - PJ Shay - Страница 8

5 months ago…

He didn’t know where he was. All around him was white that billowed and drifted like clouds on a gentle breeze. He ran a hand through the banks of pale fog, a wispy trail following his hand and hovering in his palm before fading away.

He suddenly heard a gentle whisper, soft and serene. His ears perked, but the voice faded away before he could make out what was said. Hoping to hear it again, he stood stock-still and waited, hardly daring to breath. Several tense seconds passed, and then he heard it calling out once more. “Matakh…”

He started running in the direction of the sound, batting at the white mist in an effort to clear his path. Looking behind him for an instant, he could see a faint disturbance in his wake, but it closed up quickly once he passed. He briefly wondered how he would find his way back, but decided that it didn’t really matter; he meant to go forward, after all. He soldiered on through the fog, finally bursting through into a large circular chamber, its walls an unbroken line of the same cloudy white he had come through.

As he stood examining his surroundings, a young man suddenly appeared on the other side of the space and began striding over to him. Not an anthroktin, he realized, but a human. Or was he? In truth, he almost looked like a god. His eyes glowed with a golden light, flashing like lightning. A softer glow shimmered out from his whole body, faint next to the radiance of his eyes but present nonetheless His skin was like polished ivory, his hair shone like gold, and his robe gleamed and flowed like spun silver. And he didn’t seem to touch the ground as he walked. He floated just above it, each step landing on nothingness and giving off a soft yellow light. Matakh noticed that while the being was clearly visible, he could faintly make out the cloudy wall through his body, as if he was not fully tangible.

“Matakh Etari,” the being said, his voice soft yet strong as steel. In some strange way, it almost reminded Matakh of a soft thunderclap, and he noticed a slight shimmer shone from his mouth whenever he spoke. It was not a question, merely a statement mixed with a command. Matakh nodded and stepped forward.

“What are you?” he asked softly.

The being smiled bemusedly. “I am what you think I am.”

“What does that mean?” Matakh pressed, still not understanding.

“Exactly what I said,” the man replied. “What am I to you?”

Matakh thought for a moment. “Well, I’m not really sure. But I guess I would say that you’re an angel.”

The being nodded, and before Matakh realized what had happened he had changed shape. No longer human, but a lion with pure white fur, though his hair and eyes remained the same. Matakh took a step back. “How did that happen?”

The angel smiled. “I told you; I am as you see me. I am Eli, and I am a Guardian Angel, your Guardian Angel.”

He took a few steps closer and reached out a hand. “I don’t have much time, Matakh, so listen carefully. You have much work to do. Ahead lie four years of turmoil for your world. Friends will become enemies, and enemies will become friends. There will be times when you will not know who to trust or where to go. Remember always that the Maker holds all in His hand. Look to Him for guidance, and you will see the path. As the psalm says, ‘Your Word, it is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.’ So may it be to you.”

Eli took hold of Matakh’s arm, and the lion felt a rush of energy course through him, as well as a flash of pain. He saw the white world around him darken until the only light came from Eli’s eyes. “Wake up…” he heard the Guardian whisper, “and be strong in the Lord.” Then even the light from the seraph’s eyes vanished.

Matakh awoke with a jolt, only to groan as the pain from before sharpened into a splitting headache and aching torso. Fighting the pounding in his skull, he managed to force his eyes open. He was met with the sight of the basement ceiling, or at least what remained of it. Large portions of it had collapsed and left gaping holes in their wake, and piles of debris on the ground. Judging by the expanse above him, he guessed that one such heap was now pinning him down. He reached a hand up to his throbbing head to find that his fur had been matted down by something. When he examined his palm it was streaked with muddy red, which he realized was dried blood. “Must have been from the beam that hit me,” he reasoned.

The beam! Suddenly it all came rushing back; his mother rousing him from one nightmare into another, the sounds of the air raid, his father shoving him down the basement stairs, and the blast that seemed to shatter the entire universe around him. Worst of all, he remembered seeing the door to the basement slam closed, with his parents on the other side.

He began panting heavily, his hands struggling to push away the rubble that covered him. A beam fell away, and then a clump of wires. He was just preparing to shove a chunk of tiling when he heard a soft, feminine moan from nearby. He suddenly remembered that he had not been alone in the basement when the bomb had hit. “Meea?” he rasped out, his throat bone-dry and raw. He coughed a few times to clear his lungs before trying again. “Is that you, sis?”

“Matakh?” His sister sounded just as sore and parched as he did, but at least she was alive.

“Are you all right?” he asked worriedly.

“I… I think so,” she told him, and he saw a section of rubble to his left shift as her head poked free. Even in the dim light of the basement, her blonde hair looked dull and filthy. “How about you?”

“Eh.” He pushed away a piece of metal rebar. “My head’s killing me, but I think I’m okay.”

“What about Mom and Dad?” Meea asked. “Any sign of them?”

Matakh felt a cold pit settle in his stomach. He realized that Meea still hadn’t grasped the truth, and he was unsure of how to answer her question. Unfortunately his silence spoke volumes, and he heard her breathing quicken, a soft whimper rising from her chest. “No…” she said softly. “No… No they can’t be… They can’t have…”

A cry of anguish tore from her lips, and a loud clattering resounded as the lioness started shoving chunks of rubble in an effort to free herself. Matakh felt his heart break as he heard his sister’s sobs, tears streaming from his eyes and trailing down his cheeks. But his urge to comfort her gave him a new strength, and with a growl he heaved the remaining beams off of his body before shakily getting to his feet. He saw Meea pushing desperately at a wooden crossbar that had pinned her legs, her face a tortured mask of despair and the fur below her eyes already soaked with bitter tears.

Matakh made his way over to his sister’s side and grasped the planks over her ankles. Bracing his arms, he heaved against the rubble, feeling it resist him for a few moments before giving way. “Now,” he gasped down to her, and she quickly scooted out from under the heap. No sooner was she free than she tried to stand and race for the door. But the weight of her anguish was too much; her legs failed her, and she tumbled to the floor once again, her heartbroken cries filling the space. The sound made Matakh’s blood run cold, and his grip on the beam slipped. The wood slipped free, the section of rubble it had supported crumbling after it.

“Meea,” he whispered, crawling over to her side and wrapping her in his arms. “I’m so sorry.”

“It can’t be,” she choked out. “It’s not possible… This is a nightmare, it has to be.” She pinched herself on the arm, and when nothing changed around her she tried a hard slap. “I want to wake up,” she whimpered. “I want to wake up, Matakh.” She looked up at him, her eyes clouded by tears.

That did it. Matakh couldn’t control himself any longer. The sight of his sister’s face so tortured was more than he could bear. “I’m sorry, Meea,” he bawled, holding her close as he felt her begin to sob again. “I can’t. It’s not a dream. They’re… gone.” He choked on the last word as a wave of nausea rose up in him.

For a long while they just lay there together in the ruins of the basement, clutching tightly to one another as their tears soaked the floor beneath them. Their spirits were broken, their hearts destroyed, the weight of their grief like that of a thousand worlds on their souls. They felt broken, defeated, shattered; everything that they had ever known now lay heaped about them in ruin, and the most important people in their lives were gone forever.

Finally, Meea’s sobs quieted to whimpers as she held tightly to her brother. His own died away soon after, and the two siblings looked into one another’s eyes with silent thanks. Matakh reached a hand out to brush the dust away from Meea’s face, and he felt a gentle touch against his own cheek as she returned the gesture. It wasn’t much, but any amount of comfort was welcome relief to their tortured souls.

“Should we try to get out?” Meea asked him, her voice breaking.

Matakh nodded. “Yeah. We have to check on the house, see how much of it was damaged. Maybe we can still salvage some of our things.” He got to his feet and held out his hand, which Meea gladly took. Together, they made their way through the ruins of their basement, wary of sharp pieces of metal and broken glass. “We were lucky,” he told her. “We could’ve been crushed by all of this junk.”

“You’re right, I guess.” She sighed. “But Mom…”

Matakh lightly tapped her muzzle to shush her. “Don’t think about it. Let’s just worry about getting out of here.” Meea nodded once more, sniffling a little but otherwise remaining silent.

They suddenly heard a faint scampering from overhead, as if something or someone was moving around on the floor above them. For a moment they felt hope rise in their hearts. “Mom?” Meea called. “Dad? Is that you?”

There was no response; even the faint sound of activity had grown still. The lioness’s ears drooped. “Probably just an animal”

Matakh gently stroked her head, feeling his own hope die with his sister’s. “Most likely.”

They took another few steps towards the door, but started when they saw it swing open on its own, admitting a stream of light. The siblings raised their arms to shield their unprepared eyes from the glare. When they could finally see again, they looked up towards the door, hoping to see someone standing in the opening, but there was no sign of anybody.

“What…” Meea stuttered. “How did that happen?”

“I’m not sure,” Matakh admitted. “But we’re going to find out. Come on.” He made for the stairs, but Meea stepped back a bit. He turned to look at her and noticed that her face had become clouded with apprehension.

“You go first,” she said softly.

Understanding her hesitation, Matakh smiled kindly and nodded before starting up the steps. Looking up, the door suddenly seemed much farther away, as if it drew back with every step he took. “That type of thinking won’t help,” he scolded himself, taking another step upwards. The wood creaked in protest, and for a moment, he feared that it would break, but the stairs held steady underneath him. Every subsequent step sent up another creak, each one seeming louder than the last until he was sure the entire staircase would give. When at last he reached the top, he heaved a sigh of relief and stumbled out through the doorway, into the ruins of what had been his home.

As he looked around, a new wave of sadness crashed down on him. Where the front door and foyer had once stood there was now a massive crater, the point at which the bomb detonated. The resulting blast had obliterated the front half of the building, leaving only the strongest of supports standing like exposed bones. The living room and kitchen were ruined, the cheerful yellow walls that he knew so well now scorched and blackened beyond recognition and the once-elegant furnishings no more than lumps of charcoal and piles of soot. So many things that had been near and dear to his heart were gone, and the pain was a bitter blow to his spirit. But as he panned his gaze around, he realized that the rear of the house was still relatively intact, including both of their bedrooms.

“Well?” Meea called from the basement. “How bad is it?”

He turned towards the doorway. “The front half is gone. It looks like the bomb went off right at our door. But the back doesn’t look too bad, and I’m hoping our rooms will still be in one piece. We’ll just have to…”

His voice trailed off, and he suppressed a gag. In his haste to escape the basement, he had failed to notice something. And now that he realized what he had walked by, it was like a fist to the gut. He heaved again, desperately trying to quell the nausea before Meea heard.

“Matakh?” she yelled up, sounding concerned. “What’s wrong, brother?”

“Don’t… Don’t come up here,” he said shakily. “Okay? Just stay down for now.” He gagged again, much louder this time, the taste of bile in his throat.

“Are you okay?” He suddenly heard the sound of creaking wood. “I’m coming up.”

Matakh opened his mouth to protest, to reassert that she should stay down, but his voice had failed him. His stomach felt like it was trying to push its way up through his mouth, and it was all he could do to fight it back. He stood there, one hand on his mouth and another on his abdomen, unable to do anything but watch as Meea stepped out into the ruins of their kitchen.

She instantly saw her brother’s distress, and her own face clouded with worry. “Matakh? Are you alright?” When he didn’t answer she stepped over and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Brother?” She suddenly realized that he was looking behind her, and turned to follow his gaze. A strangled whine escaped her when she finally saw the blanket beside the basement door… and the two bodies it was draped over.

They were lying side by side, Linalia’s slender back nestled up against Kotaho’s strong chest. The blanket covered them from shoulders to ankles, but their faces were surprisingly peaceful, without any sign of pain or fear. Kotaho’s arm was draped around his wife in a final embrace, and Linalia’s hair was neatly brushed and pulled away from her face. It was as if they were just sleeping, but Matakh knew that they would not wake up.

“I told you to stay down,” Matakh finally managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper.

Meea reached a trembling hand out towards her parents, only to stop and pull it back. “Are… are you sure that they’re…”

He sighed, tears welling up in his eyes. “Yes, Mee. They’re gone.” He placed his hands on her shoulders, feeling them tremble. “I’m sorry.”

Meea just stared at her parents, the expression of horror and disbelief seemingly frozen on her face. A faint shiver ran through her, one which passed into Matakh as well. Time came to a halt, and the horrible moment seemed to drag on forever, as though all of the universe had ceased for one instant to spin.

Then a piercing wail cut through the air, shattering the silence like a pane of glass. “NO!!!”

With that, both siblings fell apart. Meea buried her face in her brother’s chest, quickly wetting her face and his shirt with a new flood of tears. Matakh held her close, his arms wrapped around her slighter frame as she cried. Sorrow streamed from his own eyes, carving tracts through the dust on his face before soaking into Meea’s hair, his own shoulders shaking with grief. Desperately they clung to one another, seeking comfort together amidst the horrible pain that had filled their souls and crushed their hearts.

It was several minutes before Matakh finally managed to regain his composure. He glanced once more at the bodies of his parents, feeling his stomach convulse again. But as his mind grew clear once more, something stood out to him that didn’t quite make sense. “Meea, look at them again.” Sensing her thoughts, he stroked her head. “I know it hurts, but please try.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he assured her. “But there’s something that just doesn’t make sense. They were killed by the bomb blast, and you can see what it did to the house. So if they were caught up in all of this, then why do they look so peaceful? I mean, their hair should have been burnt or tangled, but it’s clean and brushed. And the odds of them ending up together like that, in such a gentle way… There’s just no way that could happen naturally in an explosion like that.”

Meea finally worked up the nerve to look over at the bodies again. “You’re right. And there’s something else.” She walked over, her steps shaking, and slowly bent down to brush her mother’s hair. He could hear her sniffle faintly, but otherwise she managed to keep herself collected. “I just noticed this, but there’s a flower in Mom’s hair, a red rose. And there’s a leaf in Dad’s hair, too.”

“Someone must have been here earlier,” Matakh realized. “They must have placed them in that position, cleaned them up, and left those gifts. And that may have been the sound we heard earlier when we were in the basement, and why the door opened on its own like that.”

He had barely finished speaking when a small stone landed a few feet from the two. Surprised, Matakh looked around to try and see where it had come from. He was just in time to see a bushy tail vanish into a nearby alley.

A smile crept across the corners of his face as realization finally dawned on him. “I think I know who did this.” He leaned down and examined the stone for a few moments before lifting it in his hand. “I’ll bet that it was our little friend, the fennec.”

“Really?” Meea stepped over to stand beside him.

“Yep.” He held the stone out for her inspection. “And he was the one who threw this stone, too. I saw his tail just before he disappeared down the alleyway. Take a look.”

Meea took the offered pebble, examining it carefully. It was just an ordinary rock, almost perfectly round, but it had been polished smooth as glass. And etched into the surface were strings of characters that were not Filian or Standard, coiling around the stone in an elegant spiral fashion. The detail was astounding, even though they had obviously been crafted in haste.

“I know these characters,” Meea told him. “I’ve seen them before in my seventh-grade linguistics course. They’re from Ma’reinka, Cunia’s original language.”

“What does it say?” Matakh asked.

Meea studied the characters for a few moments longer before beginning to recite. “‘It isn’t much, but it’s all I could do. Rose for beauty, leaf for strength. May they find peace with God. Fea lairu se litham, nir lairu se attau.’ If I remember right, the last phrase means ‘From dust we come, to dust we go.’” She turned to him. “I guess we know who did all this for Mom and Dad.”

Matakh nodded and wrapped his sister in another hug, silently giving thanks to the Lord for blessing them with the little fox. True, it may not have seemed like much, but what he had done was a light of comfort breaking through the darkness that had overcome their lives. An act of selfless kindness had helped to wipe away the tears shed for the lost.