Dawn Breaks

Thatched rooftops glitter with frost in the village of Tennli. A sliver of morning beams over the horizon. Beyond the edge of the village, Scott, the young shepherd, shivers as he tends his flock. Strained bleats echo the discomfort carried on the wind. The breeze brings a dusting of snow that clings to his day-old stubble. He turns away, protecting himself from the icy wind. As he does, he notices a break in the horizon.

The silhouette of a cloaked figure approaches the village. Their posture is upright - too rigid for someone traveling in such weather. There's no village in walking distance that wouldn't wear down even the heartiest traveler.

Scott calls out, “Good morn’!”

There is no response, nor a change of pace from the mysterious figure. Scott’s curiosity outweighs his sense of duty to his flock as he keeps his eyes trained on the passing mystery.

“You must be dreadfully cold!” he shouts against the wind.

Again nothing changes as this curiosity maintains their pace and stature. Scott glances back at his flock. The sheep are huddled close together sharing their warmth as instinct dictates. Scott trusts that instinct as he turns his attention back to this strange traveler, leaving the flock to its own fate for now.

He sets off to meet them on their path toward the village. The wind is now at his back and no longer blowing against his bare face. Shivers creep down his spine replacing one discomfort with another.

Scott hunches forward, arms cling to his chest with the same instinct as his flock. The figure has or needs no such instinct. Their arms are in front of them but not grasping for protection from the elements. Instead, carrying something.

The gap between them closes as they near the village.

“Are you well?” Scott inquires, his voice carrying on the icy breeze.

Still nothing but a stoic march onward.

For a brief moment he can look upon the figure’s front. With sapphire eyes, she stares directly ahead, oblivious to Scott’s pursuit. Her pale, unblemished skin reflects the morning sun with the same radiance as Selene herself. Strands of golden locks peek from her hood falling gently against her slender neck. Her heavy cloak of black and tan furs drapes gently against the curves of her petite frame.

Scott struggles against the elements and her unmatchable pace. The more he strains, the air thickens against him, preventing him from getting a clear view of the long slender package she holds across her chest -an object concealed by a fur wrap hewn from the same furs as her cloak. She carries it firm in her hands; one end leans against her shoulder. The other lines up parallel with the opposite hip. It sways rhythmically with her steps.

Scott follows behind her, trudging against an unseen force as they pass the first house at the end of the village.

“Miss?” Nothing. “Ma’am?” Nothing. “Milady?” She simply carries on. Her impossibly steady gait unaffected by his pleas for attention.

Scott’s calls join with the rising sun in waking the village. A nearby door cracks open. Emerging from it while rubbing the sleep from his eyes is an older man. His pajamas hang as loose from his body as his weathered skin hangs from his bones. The creases of his eyes sharpen as his scowl targets Scott before easing from fury to curiosity as he surveys the unidentified woman. He turns his attention back to Scott who pauses a moment and offers back a silent shrug.

The old man finishes wiping the sleep from his eyes as he steps from his home, and he too begins to follow. As they move toward the village’s center, more citizens emerge from their homes and are dragged into the march by their curiosity. The steps of this parade of pajamaed villagers crunch through snow like a beating heart. More villagers pour from their homes filling the roads like blood in the veins of the village.

A thoughtless mass of bodies converges on the heart of the village. Finally, our mystery woman arrives at the village center and comes to an abrupt halt. Now at her destination, surrounded on all sides by the curious and confused villagers, she allows the wrapping to fall from the object in her arms. She reaches in front of herself, hand-over-hand.

Awe strikes the onlookers as a beam of light, rivaling the rising sun, reaches from her grasp toward the sky and into the earth at her feet. For a moment, the emanating heat accompanying the blinding light relieves the shaking bones in the crowd. Yet, the bones quake as the earth trembles from the beam’s epicenter. Rumbles roll through the hills beyond the edge of the village.

Scott stands amongst his people, basking in the heat and light she’s brought to his home. The world and its struggles melt away with the snow beneath their feet. In the delight and awe, he ignores the cracks forming in the earth holding him.

As the echoes of tremors rumble back from the surrounding hills they are joined by the terrified bleating of Scott’s flock. As these bleats reach his ears, he is snapped back to reality. Life forces itself back into perspective. Scott’s head swivels as he realizes everyone is frozen in place while the world around them falls apart. Stiff and vacant, they have unknowingly resigned to their fates.

Fear floods into the void left behind by his escaping awe. Sweat rolls down his brow from the intense heat and panic.

He grabs his nearest neighbor, an elderly woman with scraggly grey hair and a worn nightgown, by the shoulders. As he shakes her, there is a glaze over unblinking eyes staring into the beautiful destruction. He puts his hand over her eyes but still feels an absent stiffness. Scott tries and fails to rouse a few more empty-minded townsfolk the same way.

When he realizes the futility, he moves between them and the source of this impending doom. This too is to no avail. The crowd is as uninterrupted as the path of the woman now wielding earth-shattering power.

The increasing rumbling beneath his feet topples Scott to the ground. He lands on the soft furs once wrapped around the awe-striking beam rupturing existence.

He scrambles for the furs and to his feet as his neighbors domino into each other, their attention never breaking from the mysterious power. Frantically, Scott presses into the searing heat. Blisters rise on his smoldering skin as he pushes through pain.

Scott’s will is tested, but the shepherd will not abandon his flock again. As he forces the furs over the woman's hands, the rumbles lessen. The burning heat fades to a soothing cold. With wraps in hand, he pries the beam from the beautiful woman. He smothers the light, sealing it within, and, with it, his fate.

As he takes possession, his blisters begin to heal, the tremors cease, and the light is hidden. He is then consumed by instinct. His feet move on their own in the direction she’d been traveling. He pushes through the hollow crowd and beyond the village. Screams erupt as those he left behind return to themselves. His pace slows, but he dare not - or cannot - turn back to see the effects behind him. Stoically, he bears the weight of light – not with intention, only direction.

Thanks for reading. Wherever your instinct takes you, may Good Fortune follow.

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-Your Madman