Читать книгу Meraud - Robyne HypGothic - Страница 4

After the train disaster, the Portents returned to Death's cave to wait until the next mission. Meraud took herself to her own lodgings and shut the door behind her. She did not want to speak to anyone which was unusual for her. She felt changed. She felt altered. She suddenly felt that she had no further interest in Portent lore. There was no way that she could understand how or what had changed, she just felt it. Solitude was her answer to sift through this experience.

She thought of Joshi's face when she had found him and had taken his name. Images of Joshi's thin body in parts then pervaded her thinking. It was gruesome. His young and frail body being severed so brutally so that his young life, literally fell out of him. Strangely enough, it was not the worst death Meraud had ever witnessed and she knew it would not be the last. There was just something about this that had created some sort of indefinable shift within her.

Meraud started to pace around her lodgings. Her space was generous in size. It did have a bed, although it was rarely used; immortals hardly slept. It had a desk that was full of half read book, each stuffed with numerous makeshift bookmarks. She also had journals and note papers that were not just confined to her desk.

Meraud was a thinker and she was starting to think. She was starting to question. This was not the role of the Portent to question. Portents just did as they were commanded and watched impassively as humans died in the most tragic and dramatic of circumstances.

It just was.

Why do humans die? Why were they created, only to end? Why were they not immortal? Why did they suffer so? What was the point? Who said it had to be like this and why?

Meraud had tossed a crystal rock against the floor and it made a loud cracking sound that startled her. She had not been aware that she had even thrown it but it was in exasperation and thoughtlessness. What was wrong with her?

Meraud felt restless.

There was a knock at the door before it was flung open. Her sister Kensa stuck her head into the room saying, 'Another web is forming.' Kensa then moved rapidly away before Meraud could even speak. That was Kensa; she was about action. Meraud admired both of her sisters a great deal. They were both confident, wise and strong. Meraud always felt she was the most uncertain of the three. Still not feeling resolved, Meraud left her quarters and walked back into the belly of the cave. The other Portents were waiting as the next web was forming atop Deaths' walking stick.

Whilst waiting, Meraud mused to herself that there was so much that she did not know. She was aware that Portents do have the chance to advocate for mortals if they believed that it was not the mortal's time to die. She had heard that they could present before Death and if Death agreed, then the mortals' life would be determined by a spin of Death's Dial. This was the procedure for individuals and if it were to come up with death at that point, they would be taken by the Reapers. In theory, the mortals could receive a reprieve but mostly, they did not. Those who were reprieved, she had been told, usually earned a sacrifice so great that it weighed heavily against keeping their life, after their disaster has fallen. It is costly to attempt to cheat Death.

Although, Meraud had heard that there was one time that Death had taken pity on a mortal and allowed one of them to live on. Meraud had no idea how this was achieved but she had heard that it had happened at least once. So much she did not know, she mused again.

Suddenly Death moved over and placed a small ball into the middle of the roulette circle on his table before him and spun it. The ball bounced around, up and down to finally come to rest in a carved out wooden pocket. Directly above the pocket was a box with a symbol on its front. In fact, above all of the pockets were similar hand carved small boxes each with its own symbol. Death removed the ball and pulled the corresponding box out of the circle. It was immediately replaced with an identical box that seemed to form itself from the wood surrounding it. Death placed the ball that had been spun into its box and then held it out in his hand. One of the Reapers slowly began to rise from the stone seats and then shuffled across toward Deaths' outstretched hand. Eventually, the Reaper took the box from Death and then turned away to face the light at the end of the cave. The Reaper seemed to disintegrate into dust until there was nothing tangible left of it. The trails of dust then blew toward the mouth of the cave. The individual deaths that needed Reapers were many. This had no bearing on web that was forming becoming ready so that it would cover the next, large scale, human disaster.

It was not long after the Reaper had left that the web forming atop the crystal ball on Deaths' walking stick, stopped weaving. The Portens had started to gather closer around Death. Meruad noticed that Fears' eyes were flashing and thought to herself that they always seemed to before an assignment. Completely breaking with protocol and without proper thought, she left directly after Death cast the web upward to rise up and through the cave top, into the sky. She did not even hear Death speak the words, "Fire, fire, burn, burn."

"It was always the same, fire, crash, flood and so on." She thought to herself. Their duties were beginning to have a wearying effect on her and she felt unlike herself.

Consequently, Meraud was first to the site and began searching for her threads. They are to a Portent, like a scent is to a bloodhound. The threads were invisible to the mortal eye and would come from the web. These webs were also invisible to mortals and floated suspended above a site until the disaster would befall. It would then fall from the air to completely cover the site as the disaster would happen. A Portent would receive a mortal's imprint just by touching the thread. Each victim would have a thread emanating from the web and the Portents would follow the thread directly to them. This would be done as many times as there were victims.

The site was 2010, an old theatre that had been preserved from many years past and was now used as a cinema complex. It had three floors and was of the art deco period with ornate zig zag all around the building. The floors were tiled with ornate pagan designs and even the roof tops were patterned with 'modern zig zag.' It had a cocktail bar that had been added but was made so well, that it looked like it was the original 1920's design. The Cinema had become very popular of recent times as it played cult and alternative films and many artistic types, students and young people frequented it.

Meraud easily located quite a number of threads and ran her fingers through their pathways by way of identifying that she would follow them to her peers. They would feel her presence upon them if they were to touch them after she had. It wasn't long until Fearghas arrived, attired as usual in tartan trousers and a long black coat. He nodded to her and started to search for paths to identify for himself, his white blonde hair throwing a hint of ginger in the sun.

Because of his matter of fact manner, Meraud was quite surprised at his sudden comment as his fingers almost stroked a path that he had chosen to pursue.

"Sad this one. Third child to die in this family."

"You could take it to Death to spin for another fate."

"Why bother? If it were to let him live, which I doubt that it would, it would only demand that he live without happiness or love or something equally as important as breathing." He spoke with an irritated tone.

"Erm, would you like me to handle that one Fear?" She helpfully offered. In actual fact, Meraud was at a loss as to what else to say. Fearghas always appeared to be so intense and thorough in carrying out his duties that she was astounded he could be so cynical. She suddenly felt desperate to help him but was aware at the same time that he was too proud to allow her to ask personal questions of him.

"No." He snapped back and fell silent in contemplation.

"Ok then, well, I'm going to wait for the others over there. I have all of my threads now." Meraud awkwardly stated as she gestured to the footpath directly opposite the cinema. She wished that she could casually ask him if something was wrong and then adeptly solve his problems but she was not self-assured enough. She was also feeling out of sorts herself. She was not irritated. She just felt peculiar.

Fear suddenly fixed his green eyes on her and she froze to the spot. Of all the other Portents, he was the only one other than Meraud to have green eyes but his had a hint of yellow. His scrutiny caused her to unconsciously hold her breath as if anticipating something. "Enjoy the hunt this time." He gave her a wry smile and then turned back to the site.

"As long as I fulfill my duties to Death, I doubt that I will ever understand that Fear." Meraud thought to herself. Was he mocking her for leaving early just before, or was it something else? She gave up thinking on it and let it go from her mind; too many times she had dwelt on Fearghas' hidden meanings when they spoke. She determined that she would allow him to remain a riddle, forever to elude her understanding.

Some time after, the rest of the Portens arrived, drawn to the disaster that was yet to be. After the last had claimed their threads, they lined up with Meraud and observed the site. Fearghas deduced that it would take them one week to complete their task given the numbers that each had taken on. He suggested that it was not worth their finding lodgings for such a short stint. The more deaths to come from a disaster meant more work for the Portents. The worst disasters could take them a month to tie up and with those longer ones, Portents found it necessary to take lodgings to assist in their assimilation with the mortals. This made it easier to gather the names.

Eventually, the Portents broke away from each other to begin searching for their first name to gather. The Portents would return to the site the next day and so on until the very last name was gathered and the disaster was to fall. They were eternal witnesses to human tragedy.

At the exact hour of when the disaster would fall for exactly eleven minutes, the Portents would gather together for all the days leading up to it. They would stand in a silent vigil each day until the disaster was to fall. By the time the disaster occurred, their vigil lasted as long as it took to affix the names to the threads from the web. Often, they stayed a little longer out of respect. The Portents could already feel the impact that the impending disaster was to make as to them, the wound had already begun. Each day that they gathered, they could feel it. This is why they were always solemn as they silently stood watch.

As Meraud turned from the group to leave, she felt a pressure on her arm. She looked up and straight into Fearghas' eyes. The two were standing apart from the rest and were unlikely to be overheard.

"Meraud, I'm sorry for being abrupt with you before. I know the little boy in the train got under your skin. He got under mine too. The things that we have to see when we perform our duties are very difficult. If you ever need to speak to anyone about it, please, I would be honoured if you would come to me."

Meraud studied his face for some hint of irony but he was serious. She slowly gave in to a smile and said simply, "Thank you Fear." The physical contact made her feel awkward and self-conscious. His close proximity forced her to examine his attractive features. He then gave her arm another squeeze before letting her go. For some reason, Meraud wished that he did not let her go but as he had, she felt compelled by him to leave.

"Be kind to yourself." He said by way of parting.

Fearghas stood for a while in contemplation after Meraud disappeared. He had seen her face when she came to realise that the boy was to die and the look of horror reminded him of himself, when he was younger; before he had steeled himself against the plight of the mortals, their loves, their hate, their tragedies and their pain. He knew that Meraud had begun the path to losing her natural optimism from that moment. All of the Portents became jaded. It annoyed him more than his own right of passage, as devastating as that had been to him. He wished that it need not be so but immortal or