I’ve never felt warmth like this … the granules of sand pressed between my toes, warms my feet, and the heat radiates up my legs. Everything has changed; those precious twenty-four hours I spent solid and touchable with Christopher changed me.
I can’t believe that just three nights ago, I was able to see him after all this time apart. At least, I think it was him; now that I think about it that wouldn’t be the first time my imagination created him for me to hold. This time was different though, I could feel him, actually smell him, and he had a dog with him that certainly was not Lune. She was beautiful, pure white with eyes that held unimaginable wisdom. Strangely, I think she was the one who called me back to Gothic. I’ve seen so many unexplainable things since I left Christopher; I’m just not sure that I wasn’t dreaming, but I’m grateful for the memory.
I have to smile at my memories of the past nine months: Japan, India, and Africa, traveling, finding more … like me. Most of the creatures were benign --deciding not to interfere with humanity. Many were good people once, but grew too tired of humanity's self-destructive nature to interact anymore. The ones that do interact are mischievous … some good, some bad … mostly all very strange.
Imagine my astonishment to find that I was the only one they’d heard of, in a very long time, passing entirely through the veils between the realms. Everyone thought I was insane when I asked how it was possible. They laughed at my innocence when I told them, “Someone had answered my prayers, and allowed me to hold Christopher.”
Virtually all of the creatures I met laughed, except for a select few insightful ones, such as Cassandra. As withdrawn and ancient as she is, she never turned away from me, never ridiculed me. Cassandra took me on as her student; she became my mentor, and my friend. Christopher would be pleased to know that I am working with her … learning from her.
I can feel the sun’s last rays as it sets. I look out over the sea, and the sun’s farewell kiss has lit the sky on fire. So much has changed, especially now that I am starting to understand what I am.
“Ellie, just because you can leave footprints in the sand, doesn’t mean you should. One of these days, you’re going to attract unwanted attention from all the wrong people.” Listening to Cassandra’s thick Greek accent always makes me smile, but not today; the frustration of her not telling me who the 'wrong people' are, is grating on my nerves.
“Cassandra, how long since the last time you had someone to talk to regularly?” I know asking her certain questions, only brings back awful feelings, but her secretive nature is making me bad-tempered.
In the 2,800 years since Homer wrote of the terrible turns in her life, and death, Cassandra has spent most of her time trying to understand that her powers of perception have nothing to do with a god. She dutifully watched others discover their “talents”, and with her observations came the realization that she wasn’t actually insane.
The emotions, which bubble up in response to my question, leave my brain feeling woozy, and a taste develops in the back of my throat … acidic and sour. Cassandra has the most powerful mind I’ve ever felt, intimidating and at times cruel; she can pick and choose the information I’m allowed to perceive.
The calm that I feel, when she tunes me out, has given me the opportunity to finally rest my frayed senses. But, over the past three months, the silence … after so many years of emotional, noisy clatter has left me lonelier than ever before. Who knew I’d miss feeling everything others felt, and hearing their thoughts echoing in my head, slamming my spine with gut-wrenching, volatile emotions.
Alone, I never realized that my sensitivity to others has always been as much a crutch, as a curse. Now, in the calm, I find Christopher -- breaking my heart and twisting my innards. My longing for him is crippling me.
Cassandra always says my feelings for 'that boy' are a weakness that will be used against me someday. She chastises me every time I mention him, especially telling me not to talk about what I accomplished to be with him: making myself real. She really hates the fact that I’m in love with a mortal man, the “Mortos” as she calls the living, “He can never truly love a Ho Thanatos." She constantly refers to us as Ho Thanatos, meaning ‘death that cannot die’. I’ve tried to explain my theory that we are “living” … just in another plane of consciousness from the humans around us. She won’t listen, always mumbling something about magic and curses. And usually, before disappearing for days at a time, she’ll curse men for existing in any plane of consciousness.
Cassandra isn’t mumbling this time, nor walking away; she just stands next to me… fuming. “You’ve been reaching out again, touching the Mortos' minds again.” This isn’t a question; it is a statement that brings up images of death … gnarled and burned, the images that remind me of when London fell during the Blitz. Burning flesh, the corroding taste of consumed emotions, hitting me in the chest; I see the demise of my human family.
Dropping to my knees, I dig my fingers into the sand, praying that its vanishing warmth will drag me back to reality, drag me back to life. “Why are you punishing me? I help people. I love to interact and support people.”
The sensation eases as Cassandra speaks, “You’ve already drawn too much attention … they will feel your mind searching. She will feel your mind searching. I cannot help you if you do not listen! You have to stop reaching out with your mind.”
“But, I’m so lonely … I miss connecting.”
“You don’t miss humans! You miss the sensation of living … but existing vicariously through Mortos, is not living. Why can’t you wrap your little head around that? You are not Mortos any longer … you are Ho Thanatos now! We are completely different creatures from them. Are you willing to perish for people who will never acknowledge your kindness or compassion?” She spits the last words at me, and yet, still won’t give me even the slightest clue as to who sparked such fear in her soul.
“I’m sorry, Cass … I promise not to do it again. But please, won’t you tell me why, or who, I’m supposed to be so bloody suspicious?”
“No, Ellie, you’re not ready. You can’t control your temptations, or ego … they will find you, and that will be the death of us both.”
Her tone softens, and the images in my mind all but disappear. “Imagine you are a fish that can talk, and when you’re on land, you can even walk. Now imagine that, since you are in both worlds of sea and land … the fish can find you, and man can find you. What if there are those in your sea environment, those that see you as a threat … possibly giving away their precious secrets? And what would some men want to do to you … a walking, talking fish? You have to be careful, Ellie, whatever you think your existence means … you are powerful, and there are those in both worlds that want to hurt you."
For the first time in our relationship she reaches out and takes my hand, lifting me off of my knees; the rush of emotions that are expressed in our touch is under incredible control, but I can feel Cassandra's compassion and consideration filling the cells in my brain. “I don’t punish you, Ellie … I just give you glimpses of the premonitions I’ve watched come to fruition over the years. My ‘talent’ and yours are very much alike; I feel as much as see the events that will take place … that have already taken place. I’m not punishing you; I’m just showing you my world, in hopes that you will listen to me when I tell you something … no questions asked.”
The realization of her pain, dealing with the vicious cruelty of humanity, watching as the Mortos learn newer and more efficient ways of torturing one another … almost three thousand years of watching, sensing, knowing what will happen. My respect grows for her in ways I never expected; more than anything I am in awe that she is still sane.
“I never realized, what you were showing me were events that you had watched come to pass. Christopher would have seen the amazing quality of the images you show; I am ashamed that I didn’t realize how personal and important what you were showing me was.” So much needs to be said, but I am at a loss. So I turn back into her humble student, hoping to show her that I am ready to listen.
“Ha! That Mortos boy is no more powerful than you … you are capable of so much more than either of us understands right now. First though, you need to learn how to block your emotions from other “readers” and in turn you will need to learn how to control your mind. Besides the fact that it’s very rude to walk around in someone else’s feelings without permission, you leave a trail back to yourself when you reach out. I can see it, you know, faint lights in my peripheral vision, bright-green trails like snakes leading straight back to where you’re standing. Your range is impressive; I followed one of your marks out at least 40 kilometers before it started to fade just slightly. The more you mature the more powerful you will become, but it is a necessity that you learn defenses first.”
“The more I mature? Cass, I’m already over eighty years old … trapped in the image of a seventeen-year-old’s body.” I feel like a child compared to Cassandra, but I need to defend myself from her degrading tone.
“Child … I am three thousand years old, give or take a century. I have only met one other Ho Thanatos as old as I am … and I am still learning new things every day. That is why I have not faded away like the others. That is why I am still sane.” I can feel the pride in her mind and heart as she speaks the word ‘sane’ out loud. Reminding me of the ridicule she had to endure for her entire existence. She truly is Homer’s exceptionally beautiful prophetess, driven insane because no one would believe her warnings. She was forced to watch her loved ones die the horrible deaths she had foreseen ... wanting to help, trying to help, just to fail because they refused to believe her premonitions.
“Faded away? Is that what happens to us in the end? I’ve been wondering what happens … why there are so few of us, compared to the amount of ‘special’ Mortos that must have died over the years. Don’t all the ones with special talents, such as Christopher, turn into Ho Thanatos?”
I can feel an unexpected fear swell up inside me, as if the tide was being controlled by the rising moon, “What if Christopher doesn’t become one of us?” Eternity without him … I would fade away; there would be no other choice but to fade away.
“What a sappy existence to allow your life, your emotions, your choices, to be controlled by your feelings for another.” Cassandra shakes her head and I can feel pity rolling out of her words.
Not wanting to reopen wounds that we have just started to heal, I keep my sarcasm to myself. “Cass, I hope you know that without Christopher, I would have never looked for a mentor. If it wasn’t for Christopher, I would have never tried to understand what I am, what I could be … that I’m not alone. Love maybe nonsense to you … but it saved my life, and I’ll never think of it as an irrational choice of giving up control.” I keep my voice calm, fighting the anger or whining that is threatening to rear its ugly head.
As Cassandra turns and walks up the beach, moving gracefully, feather-light, she doesn’t disturb one granule of sand. When she looks over her shoulder, peering through her red hair, I can feel her emerald eyes cutting into me … willing me to follow. I grudgingly plot my way through the soft, damp sand, feeling it press up between my toes. I smile in satisfaction at the deep, heavy footprints I leave behind. I feel like a child, rebelling in the slightest ways just to feel some sense of control. Cassandra is right … I know when I’ll look back at my time with her: I’ll see that she was right about everything.
