Season 2 - Blogisode 12

CHAPTER 12



The night sky layers a dim depression that drapes delicate over the fern and fauna surrounding the four unlikely travelers as the day surrenders to the first signs of twilight.

The path had long past abandoned them and they had taken to a slick maneuver through root and bramble rush, Persia had been making best of her time to silence by reworking the events leading up to their recent predicament in her mind; every which was she saw it, not a part of it made any sense.

The mystery, draped in cloak, Christina and child in arm, had been less than cordial and capable of converse these past six hours and every attempt she had made to delve into his inclination had been met with swift rebuttal, and little else.

“We need to stop for the evening, build a fire and take to rest until sunup.” He ceases his advance and words back to Persia.

“Are you crazy? You can’t just stop to rest and build a fire just anywhere in these woods. Do you have any idea what kind of blood thirsty shit lives out here? Half of the plants are as deadly as the animals and they’re all drawn to light.”

She stumbles her way through the near impassable dark to his side, a respectably sized piece of her mind in hand ready to offer him.

“You’re either crazy or an idiot or both and it hardly matters which because the last thing I’m going to do is let you get Christina and I killed.”

He shifts his weight slowly toward Persia, woman and child in arms, his eyes meet with hers and even in the deep jungle night she can see them as clear as day, glowing.

“Sometimes you need to let go of your preconceived notions about what is and what isn’t and simply, trust.”

Both Christina and baby sleep soundly pressed warm and full of peace against his chest.

Persia stumbles over her momentary shock then gains her stand once more.

“I… you, you still can’t build a fire. It attracts bugs.”

He leans in to it, eyes brighter than the day shining into a dim passage to be the first sign of salivation on a perilous journey. They hold themselves well for such an uncommon trait.

“Trust.”

The word sounds more command than thought of suggestion, not a plea but a statement of fact that one need adhere to or be made a fool in the eyes of the rest of the world.

Persia swallows something, perhaps her pride or simply the lump that had accumulated in her throat while her new companion had been speaking. Either way it leaves her speechless for enough time to pass to imply an agreement based on a state of no contest.

“Very well, now please do your best to tend to these two while I tend.”

With the care of a father and new wed husband he places the sleeping woman and her cradled newborn gentle to the mossy ground at Persia’s feet, cloak still wrapped about them in swaddle.

“Where are you going?”

“No place”

He turns away and steps forward, enough distance to lose all but the faint phantom of his visage in the moonless night; A shift and a crackle, a hum for just a second, then birth to fire.

The blaze flames up in a rush of cylindrical light, fast peak like a microcosmic atom bomb illuminating the scene with fierce intent, then back to earth to a humble glow, meant to dance over night play hide and seek with shadows, enough light to satisfy the trio, or quartet depending on how you look at things.




TWO HOURS LATER

The fire churns dim and inviting center set between the half resting company. Christina had risen long enough to feed her new son back to slumber then quickly returned with him to dream. Persia had considered the thought to sleep with one eye open but then abandoned the notion for no sleep at all.

Their strange savior sits cross legged at the opposite side of the fire, his eyes closed, hands on knees.

“So what is your name anyway? Not that it’s very important but I would like to know what to call you. Hey strange fucker just doesn’t seem very appropriate you know?”

He pauses midway between the deepest of breaths, the ceasing of the hypnotic monotony of his breathing makes the eve seem that much more peculiar. It instills the sort of feeling you get late at night when your refrigerator stops making that low humming noise that had been going on so long you had forgotten about it, and in turn shows you just how much more silent silence can be.

“You can call me anything you like Persia.”

“Well that sort of defeats the purpose of having a name.”

“Does it?” He speaks calm, slowly, with a level pitch and tone, no emotion in his words, his eyes remain closed to her.

“Yes, yes it does.”

He finishes the breath he had halted seconds earlier then with the faintest of sighs allows his lids to part.

“When you first come into the world your parents decide for you what the world is to know you by. Their opinions regarding what a name should be, how it should be pronounced and whether or not you should be referred to as Bill or William has little bearing on the life you will live, or the man you will become. So I leave it to you.”

“If you leave it to me I’m just going to call you asshole.”

“Then asshole it is.”

“Oh for fuck sake…”

“Constance.” The words slide out from between Christina’s sleeping lips with a tone offered up only by a smiling face when spoken through.

“What?” Persia turns to her companion, fast and sound in her mossy blanket, child in arms.

She speaks again from dream, eyes shut tight. “His name is Constance.”

She says the name as clearly as if it were her own, then shifts about her newborn child to reposition herself in dream.

“It would appear that I have been named, unless of course you prefer to call me asshole.”

For the first time in their long defeating day the man opposite of Persia smirks, ever so slightly, but she is certain of it.

At the edge of dark where the jungle night meets the glow of campfire a figure holds in wait, listening to the party as they spit words to one another in a garbled tongue.

It twitches and tenses with anticipation as it peers out from the line, tucked in shadow, waiting for chance to rush and give way to its internal frenzy.

If the beast adhered to the sign of any God, now would be the time that it would pray to him or her, for giving thanks for the bounty which it has been provided.

Its low heavy breaths tell the tune of an animal in the full grasp of its seasonal heat, urges need be satisfied or the pain becomes too much and makes way to madness.

Now.