“It was written: now they are coming…”
Her voice was calm, and her friend understood she was merely stating a fact. She too had thought of the omen in the last nights, as they both laid, enlaced, on the soft land, under the moon.
They looked at each other, in silence. Evolution is about that, she thought: we live, we prosper, we ruin the land, and then we have to accept: someone cleverer than us will take our place. In a cloud, without a word. Gaia is always right, in the end.
As they prepared to leave and go home – a long way away – they started fantasising… There would be an island, a secret garden, a view over the old church, new colours and space for dreaming and loving. Perhaps even a shortcut to the lake from their porch?
They would have to invent a way to travel easily to the island, and there build a shelter. But would a shelter be needed? Wasn’t their place already basking in an eternal summer?
“Those worn steps,” she said as they stood in front of their door, “speak of our story…”
She was right, but he was pleased there was then no-one to hear, or see them. How could they explain? They were coming home, after so many years. Years? Ney, decades, or worse. This house his ancestors had built. When? He smiled, took her hand, and they walked up to the door. Their door.
Behind that door was their life, their secrets. And her, his lady, his immortal love. On the doorstep they kissed. He was already enabriated by her scent, the touch of her tongue.
The small entrance was dark. She shut the door, and led him to the back, to their room.
“And now, let’s celebrate!” she said, pushing him on the bed. This was worn too. As he felt the delight of her teeth on his throat, he knew they were really back home.
You see, after all it is coming, as you said it would. All we have to do now is wait. The land is dry. We will wait for the rain, we will wait for more.
Then the deluge will come, as you said, once darkness has arrived.
As you said.
Is this you, running toward me, in the dying light of our star? Is it you, or your double, or your servant? I know it cannot be you, how much I wished it were. But I know: I lost you, eons ago, far away. Tonight I remember, the long voyage, the hopes, the battles. And you, your beauty, your strength, the knight this girl dreamed of. I see you, slaying the devils, archangel in a shiny armour. I see the broken sword.
And now this: a dying star, a dead sea. All hopes lost, so few of us left, waiting for the end, on the glistening sand.
“Soon we will be back, walking those hills, and finding ourselves, again.”
It’s true, she thought, life is an eternal come back.
Simply, we change, not the hills, not the sky. Only us grow old.
Or it feels like it.
So, we will have to rewrite the story, or is it stories?
Will the nights be as silent, the vistas as inspiring?
Will we retrace our steps, or lose our way, as if in a foreign land?
How do we rewind time?
They were back, still in a daze, amazed at the colours, the air, the clouds. She took his hand, in silence, knowing he could not be reached, yet. Was this real? Or was it a dream, another dream? If it was, then she did not want to wake him up, or herself. Not now.
If it was a dream, was there a purpose? Were they expected to go back, abort the mission, or go forward, further still into the future? Was this land their world, was it now, or was it down the tunnel of time? Then who was treading the sand under their feet?
“I am glad you brought me here, Paul,” she said in a whisper, “I have never seen water on this scale. Even here, this small pool. And the wet sand…”
The boy looked back at her, his young bride, as through her veil he saw the blue in blue eyes. “This is Caladan, a water world. Eighty percent of the globe is oceans. I was born here. You can imagine how I felt when I came to Arrakis…”
They were both silent. A small displacement of air signalled the arrival of their transport. Soon, at the top of the dune, their escort appeared in the traditional long robes.
“M’Lord, your transport is ready when the Princess and your Lordship are.”
“We are, General, we were admiring the silver reflection in the lagune.”
Inspired by Sue’s prompt on Thursday, and thoughts of Caladan. I must say I look forward to Villeneuve’s Dune.
“They are already on the move? They are geese, I think, perhaps a vanguard, it would mean a very early winter…”
“Or they are tourists, having a look around. Besides, a storm is bubbling up above us, they could be looking for shelter.”
“Or they are spirits, warning us to leave, while we have a chance. It may not be winter that’s coming. It could be locusts, or a big earthquake…”
“Are you trying to cheer me up?”
You can stop worrying, no-one will ever know, your secret is safe, hidden, under key. Now you have regained your freedom, there is no evidence, no proof, nothing has ever happened. Your thoughts are safe, and as you well know, time erases everything.
So, it is up to you, what you do with your life, where you go, who you meet. In the meantime, you only need to think of your enjoyment. As for her, she too will soon be forgotten.
