Given Life

My dearest love,

It is with great regret that I write this missive. I have lived longer already than I ever expected to.

When I was a lad, only twenty-three years old, I was very ill. The doctors did not think that I would make it. I made a deal with someone that, in return for good health and long life, I had to work to promote a faith in him. They wanted another thing, something that I later vowed to never give them. There are facts involved that I hope that neither you, nor anyone else ever have to learn.

In my early years, I did work to promote the world's understanding of The Great One, likely not The Great One that you are thinking of either. Your mentor and I worked tirelessly to try to give Him more power. I pray that neither of us had any measured success.

In my later years, I’ve done all I could to undo His power, to destroy Him if I could. Your mentor knows more than anyone when it comes to these matters. Perhaps he can give you the answers that I cannot.

This issue is what came between he and I in the end. He never agreed with my planning nor my methods.

Please know that I have never loved another person as dearly as I have loved you. You are in my thoughts every day and my dreams every night. I hope that if there is an afterlife that I will spend it with you.

To be without you, that would truly be hell.

I am sorry that I have to leave you alone. I know that you will make the right decision.

I pray that I will see you again.

I shall love you for all eternity.

Truly Yours. Love

I reread his letter. Some of its meaning was unclear to me. Like it was written in code. I was all done crying though.

Now was the time for action.

After my crash and the heartbreak that had ensued, I’d resolved to go against the laws of nature and bring my love back from death.

I had read and reread the journal given to me by my mentor. Following the directions in the book, I’d driven south to the small farm outside Arkham where he had studied this working with two others. Both were women of Amazonian build and stoic demeanor. One might almost confuse them for sisters with their long ebony hair and aquiline features.

As it turned out, they were completely unrelated and their similar features were only coincidence. The little I’d been able to glean from them told that they were both orphans from different parts of the country. Both had met my mentor later in life and had trained under him for many years. He had personally selected them for this project.

The night of the ritual was perfectly aligned in the stars, the night of a total lunar eclipse in Leo, the height of summer. The night was to be clear and warm. It had to be tonight or else we would have to wait over a year for the next proper alignment.

I’d gone to a bar in Kingsport, less than an hour to the south. Picked up a guy, drugged his drink. The ritual called for the sacrifice of a human man who is unwilling to the ritual and expecting the pleasant touch of carnal desire.

I had not picked him for any particular reason, but he’d commented on my bluebird tattoo. He said he hated bluebirds, seemed as good a choice as any. I’d brought him back to the farm and chained him to the altar.

We prepared ourselves by becoming skyclad, we wore matching iron masks with a bull motif. We began the ritual at precisely 12:53am, when the eclipse started to blacken the moon. Our chant was perfect, it had been well memorized by us all. The sacrifice saw what was coming and tried to break our concentration, to no avail.

Exactly on queue I stabbed the athame into his stomach and severed his abdominal aorta. A quick and efficient kill, he’d hardly suffered. He died quite peacefully actually.

While he was still warm, I removed his heart efficiently. The ritual was quite clear. To give life to that which is without form I would need to bury the still warm heart of my sacrifice in the soft soil at the roots of an ancient tree that once bore fruit.

This farm was chosen specifically because it used to be a fruit orchard and there was a pear tree right at the center, planted in 1670. The pear tree had prospered for centuries when it was struck by lightning a decade ago and it stopped bearing fruit.

It’s thick gnarled trunk was three times as big around as any other tree on the plot and it stood like a great claw reaching toward the sky.

I placed the heart in a silver bowl and bore it to the tree. The two quickly dug down to the roots and began to chant and prostrate themselves toward the tree. I knelt, said the proscribed invocation and thrust the heart into the exposed roots. I pushed the pungent, moist, black soil into the hole to cover the seed of life.

It was only a matter of time now. Soon I would have my love back, I would be able to have my happiness back. I would no longer be alone.

The eclipse reached its height, the night went dark as pitch and then was bathed in ruddy light.

The ground began to shake.

I was ready for my love to hold me in his arms. I was ready to feel his caress. I recited the ritual with all my heart, I really put my soul into it.

Then the thought occurred to me. There was a line in the ritual as written in the book. The priestess was to be of broken heart and faithful soul, a deal wrought in iron and a life given for a life. The first to fall be the bearer of the greatest sorrow.

Great obsidian horns sprouted slowly from the soil. A rusted iron head and shoulders followed. I stopped chanting in terror. This was not what I’d asked for, this was not my intention. I’d wanted my love back. This was all wrong!

I rose to my feet, wracking my brain for a way to end this. I turned to break the circle and the Amazonians were upon me without hesitation. The ritual must be completed. The Great One must be given form. One of them held me in a tight bear hug, the other cut my throat.

My blood sprayed the great iron bull and His eyes ignited in a burning glow. He spoke, He lives.

In my haste and desire to bring my love back to life, I had doomed the world to nightmare.

I was dropped to the ground like discarded trash. The Great One stepped over me. I felt the darkness closing in.

The thought occurred that I might get to be with my love again in the afterlife. I hope that turns out to be true.

I feel myself crying.

I really hate crying.

Thank you for reading the final chapter of my story.

This piece was written for the "Pear Tree" challenge.

All eight chapters can be read in order here on Vocal. They are:

"The Barn", "Dinner and Diary", "The Package on the Table", "The Field Where They Found Him", “The Iron Bull”, "One Wrong Turn", and "Best Served Cold". This was the eighth chapter.

I will probably compile them all into one complete story in the next few weeks.