Thomas Gardiner

Valley of the Gods

It feels first like a quiver, then more like a rattle. As the cold, colorful sunset turns endless desert mountains into a silhouette, Apollo’s chariot ushers in a parade of connect-the-dots heroes whose cosmic guardianship has guided countless warriors through this valley. The rising moon promises to wrap the hills with its signature blue hue as soon as the sun drags the last of its golden rays beyond the horizon. Never am I more in the moment. This is the space in time that blurs the line between night and day, between celestial and material. Here, we stand together. Gods of men and men of the gods. I feel an icy, familiar touch on the wind across the tip of my nose. For a moment, that metallic taste of nostalgia lingers on my tongue. Did I get the placebo? Deja vu with a pinch of salt. A hint of cardamom. And gone. And what is this feeling, like a glitch or a stutter but way, way down. Up comes a wave of energy like a slow motion lightning bolt, shaking through my body from toe to scalp. I let out a full body shudder entirely outside my own control. Too eerie. There’s no denying this wind cuts straight to the bone and I know we are not alone. I stack another loaded magazine in the pouch next to the last and notice the rest of the team bringing their attention in as well. Everyone knows we aren’t alone but we all just stare. We just stare at one another in total silence and continue packing up gear..