Drink the Rain

Some things heat the fans of our hearts, like dark hair under moonlight, other’s turn warmth to cool stone. That was an old saying, something my grandmother’s grandmother would repeat under her breath as she tended to her garden. Whispering to the dirt in case something was listening.

“Grow strong, reach for the sun, drink the rain,” She would say, “while you can, while you’re here.”

There was an earnest quality to people back then, a depth that seemed to extend and stretch for miles, never reaching an end. Lifestyles swung back and forth between the generations; depth to shallowness to profundity to hollowness to enrichment and then to an empty age. I was born at the end of the enrichment age, I knew nothing but warmth as a child, of worms and the robust smell of soil. But the more intelligent we became the more we forgot who we were, why we were here at all.

When the West Coast caved in giving us the Broken Bay, something deep in people was lost with it. It was promised to be rebuilt elsewhere, but you cannot bring back the dead, you can only remember them. I suppose all places have their end, fated to fade into ruins at some point, but it is a sobering reality to watch unfold. We found out a long time ago that the body always knows, that it records and remembers all life. After that, humanity never recovered, we were jaded genetically. You would think we would learn to be better, knowing that whatever we experience as a whole is passed down. That we would fight for love and for passion. That we would be mindful of what we put into the world but too many only think of themselves.

I feel it this…fatalism in me. I fight feelings of aimlessness, I do my best to call on the enriched lessons of my youth, to remember. I beg myself to never forget those feelings of loud music, heads hanging out the window of cars, my hair being pushed back. They grow wispier with age. My hair is the same length that its always been, just long enough to tuck behind my ears. My hands are the same, a bit older but the same long fingers and slightly bent right ring finger as my father. But this setting I’m in, is so different, so unrecognizable. I don’t know how it’s possible, that this world I see now is the same one I was born into.

The cry of the anti-crows bring me out of my head. I watch their ghostly white wings resist the wind as they fly across the green sky signaling nightfall. I remember when they were black, most don’t. It’s easier to travel at night, the moon is so large it illuminates the Earth and anything hidden in the dirt seems to rise to the surface. I sat for too long, I always sit for too long. My muscles are snug as I stand, quaking as I stretch them out. I pick up my pack, sling it over my shoulders hearing my oxygen canisters clanking against each other. Moving jostles the earth I was perched on and I nearly slip.

I’ve been assigned to the oldest sector of the Broken Bay, to gather soil samples. We once raided the West for Gold, now we scrounge it for Silver. Funny how times change.

Some things heat the fans of our hearts.

Why is that camping out in my head? I shake my head hoping to disturb the frequency of my memories as I begin my long walk down the jagged coast.

Like dark hair under moonlight.

I guess that shake wasn’t enough. I watch the ocean lap the coast lazily, I can feel sea spray on my cheeks, at least that feeling remains exhilarating. I rub my brow, I’m still bothered.

What could my great-great grandmother have meant? She was one of the first citizens with proven Gnorízon. She’s why I’ve survived, why the Masters trust me on the Broken Bay, I come from the oldest lineage of Sensing. I know that this old saying of hers means something more. How could it not? She was a true Oracle in her old age. That was the whole thing about Oracles, their truth and their wisdom was unusually simplistic. It could not be straightforward for the process of discernment that the Wisdom Seeker went through, was as key as the knowledge itself.

Other’s turn warmth to cool stone.

What would she do now, if she knew the world had fallen to stone? That the very place she had lived was extinct? She probably would’ve said something humorous, flicked her catlike eyes then shrugged. I have her eyes, I guess she still found ways to keep an eye on things.

I slowed my gait so I could scramble down the loose gravel hill. The smell hit my nose before I reached the bottom, rot. The coast was clear, there was nothing on the path for as far as the eye could see. Especially with the visibility the moon was giving me, I could see further than normal. It had to be on the beach. I got down on my hands and knees and crawled to the edge. The edge was known to crumble if you didn’t disperse your weight evenly. Pebbles stuck to my palms, poking through my pants, my patella’s didn’t appreciate the burden of my body weight. A gust of wind came over the cliff, sweeping my hair back and filling my gut with nausea. Whatever this was, it had been decomposing for some time.

I swallowed and peered over the edge, my heart fluttered. It was a twisted dark mass, covered in Walking Anemone’s consuming the flesh. I knew it was human. I could feel it.

Keep walking Gerard.

My mind knew better, keep gathering soil samples, look out for veins of Silver. Don’t go.

There’s something down there.

The feeling came deep from within. Do nothing to ignite your heart and your Gnorízon! I rolled over and laid on my back. That had been my promise to my mother. She didn’t want me fated to a life of serving The Master’s, using my gifts for selfish agendas like all my other family members had. That’s what my grandmother had foreseen when she said, “Other’s turn warmth to cool stone.” I presented myself as an anomaly but I was no dud. I took this Scouting job to keep my psychic frequencies low, nothing the radars could detect. I laid there for some time on the edge of the cliff grappling with my principles. I promised myself that if the King Tide hadn’t swallowed it, I had to go down there. I took a deep breath and rolled onto my elbow.

Shit.

It’s still there.

I lowered my head, then glanced at the winking stars. There was an old disintegrating staircase about 30 feet away, I would be able to get down okay but coming up would be tricky. I backed onto the old path and got to my feet and walked along it until I came to the stairs. The wind was picking up and the smell was worsening. I pulled my purple gaiter over my nose, then started the treacherous climb down. I had to move with precision and agility so my body weight didn’t break the wood. My heart raced with each groaning beam.

My boots sunk into the sand. I took deep breaths, evening my heart rate then turned to the body. The tide was getting closer but I still had some time. The moon was reflected on the water, full and omnipresent. I trudged through the sand, the air thickening with moisture and death. The Walking Anemone’s, startled by my presence, scurried back into the sea. From what I could tell, the body was female, but the flesh was horribly bloated with ocean water. A searing sadness overwhelmed me. The lack of life, so still, forever unmoving never got easier to see. There was a contusion on her head and her dark hair was matted.

She fell when she was trying to escape from somewhere in the East.

I shook my head, let it go heart.

I decided to get a soil sample of the sand beneath her body, I figured there could be something interesting there. Movement out of the corner of my eye distracted me. An anti-crow and a Walking Anemone were facing off over something in the surf.

That’s strange, the only thing both are drawn to, is luminosity.

I stood up, stepped over the woman and came towards the two creatures. They fled at the sight of me. My eyes were fixed on a glinting chain of Silver.

Like dark hair under moonlight.

Every hair on my body stood on end as I got closer to it, my ancestors words chanting in my being. It was pure Silver, the most I seen in some time. The chain was of medium thickness the pendant was still buried in the sand. Foam and salt clung to the chain, I didn’t have time. I’d have to touch it. I stuck my hands in the cold water cleansing them, then I gently dislodged it.

The chain was long, I ran my thumb over the ornate pendant. It was a heart with a clasp on the edge, a locket. Against my better judgement I placed it in my right palm, the Palm of Receiving and the images came so quickly and vividly I had the urge to throw it and run. I held on, my head threatened to split open. The locket felt magnetized to my hand, it had so much to say to me.

It was old, almost ancient feeling. It had been handcrafted somewhere in Europe, it had been loved by whoever made it. It had been a gift to his lover who left it to their bastard child. It had seen many owners, it had been left behind in a hotel room and on a train. It had spent many years in someone’s jewelry box, there were whispers of it being enchanted. There was fear attached to it, murmurs of a puzzled family, worries around who should oversee it. It was such a big piece of Silver, what were they supposed to do with it?

My heart began to race, I was standing in a palace with high ceilings, looking in on a family of exquisite beauty. Two tall gangly men spoke rapidly to a woman with dark hair that was even taller than the two of them. They were speaking a different language, one I hadn’t heard in a long time. The woman seemed to sense that I was watching, her gray eyes lingered on me, one of the men with thin lips held out the locket. There was a loud banging on the door, it startled all of us. The woman took the necklace, slipped it around her neck and exited through a hidden corridor.

The visions became choppy and ragged. I saw her in the shadows of a dock, waiting for the crew to go below deck. She had a plan, she scrambled onto the boat, hid her tall frame in between the cargo. Halfway through the journey she was discovered by two crewmen. In her attempt to escape she slipped and hit her head. They threw her overboard without checking her body.

I opened my eyes, my head ached from where her contusion had been. My heart had ignited in a way I knew I could not return from. This locket promised hope, somehow, with all its dark history it promised me something crucial. I popped the clasp open, I had to know what was inside. The wind was knocked out of me by the power in my palm by divine timing.

Some things heat the fans of our hearts, giving us a chance to drink the rain.