The Owl and the Endless Night

Asa was ripped from his sleep by a deafening clap of thunder. Had he ever been this tired before? Surely that was impossible. Yet, he struggled to remember the last time he had awoken without asking himself that question. Couldn’t the storm let him be for a few hours? It felt like years since he’d known rest. A few measly hours of sleep was all he needed to clear his head, then he could finally decide how he would get out of this cursed place. The storm had other plans. With a metallic screech the surging wind ripped away part of the roof directly over the mound of hay he had claimed as his bed. Water began to fall yet he hardly noticed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been dry, had he ever been dry? It was so hard to remember anything before this endless night.

Knowing it would be useless to try and go back to sleep, he calmly sat up, his slow movements a stark contrast to the raging storm attempting to invade the sanctuary of the barn. He noticed a pair of eyes, tucked away in a dark corner. It was probably just… it was, well what could it be? He knew it wasn’t a smokeling beast, those foul creatures of embers and smoke, he should know what this was. It was, a creature, a… why couldn’t he remember? He could picture the small, furry creatures that he must have once known. But, for the life of him, he could not remember their names. How strange. He felt no fear for surely nothing in the barn could be as terrifying as what waited for him outside. Before he could decide what those eyes might belong to, his own eyes flicked to his bag, and the spot on the ground where he’d left his candle.

“Oh no!” he shouted. Panic surged in his chest as he lunged to protect the candle from the rain falling through the now leaking roof. How could he have been so stupid? The candle was wider than it was tall, but small enough to fit in his palm. He covered the flame with his hand, its heat was almost gone. This candle did not follow the rules that most candles did. It could warm hands, but never burn them. Had he thrown the candle into the hay that made his bed it would never catch fire. The waters and winds of the storm were slow to dampen the flame when it shone brightly. Asa could scarcely remember the last time his candle had been that bright. If this candle went out, he would be lost for good, never to leave this stormy forest. Protecting the candle from the falling rain he rummaged in his bag for a small metallic sphere. He found it, a smooth thing the size of his fist, brought it to his mouth, and blew. Thin green lines twisted and danced across the sphere where he blew. It was normally a vibrant display, however, just like the candle, the sphere hadn’t been bright for quite some time. The top half of the sphere opened to receive the candle. Asa carefully lowered it in, and the sphere closed to seal the candle away. The sphere began to softly glow with the candle’s yellow light. His candle would be safe for now. How could he have been so reckless? He could better feel heat of the candle when it was outside the sphere. That had become more of a luxury as the candle had slowly, yet steadily, dimmed. The night had been growing colder for weeks, the storm more forceful. The only thing that kept Asa trudging through this nightmare were those lowly moments when he found shelter from the endless gales. Those moments, while not the respite he needed to clear his cloudy mind, let him hold his bare candle close. A small mercy.

But how had he fallen asleep before putting it away? He really was insufferable. He knew better than to trust even the sturdiest of shelters to completely protect him from the storm. Only an idiot would take such a foolish risk. It was a miracle he hadn’t already fallen to the beasts outside. A small drop of relief in a desert of anguish, his candle was safe for now.

He remembered the pair of eyes in the dark. His body ached as he stood, but he was used to this constant dull pain. He picked up his bag, containing his every possession, and held the weakly glowing sphere in front of him as he made his way to the corner where those glinting eyes still stared. The eyes followed him as he strode closer. It was comforting to know that smokeling beasts weren’t his only company in this storm. Asa stopped walking; the light of his sphere had stopped pushing back the night. It was as if there were a wall of darkness that his candle was too weak to push through. The small creature, shrouded in this immovable darkness, began to move closer to Asa. It slowly approached until it entered the light of his candle’s sphere.

Asa screamed and dropped his sphere; this couldn’t be happening to him. The names and faces of a thousand creatures from another life had fled his memory, all they had left were vague impressions. And yet, one creature suddenly came screaming to the forefront of his mind, a creature of the devil’s omen. The harbinger of death. The herald of the damned. A brown and white owl, not half the height of Asa’s knee. He suddenly remembered pieces of who he was: a son, a friend, a brother. Flashes of, could that be a mother, maybe a father? And clearly, he saw this other truth: the owl always summons death, always. This was it, Death had finally found him, sending him the owl, a herald to announce the coming doom. Asa threw himself back, desperate to get as far as he could from that damned bird.

“Get away from me!” he said, soft voice turning to a yell.

He screamed at the bird. He said no words, yet his voice shouted to the winds that Death was a hunter, and Asa His prey. He tripped, falling to the floor. Scrambling away on hand and foot, never taking his eyes off that cursed owl.

The bird cocked his head to the side, it didn’t seem to mind the shouting.

“This isn’t fair,” he said. His voice broke into soft sobs. “I’ve been trying so hard to leave this place. I haven’t seen a sunrise in, only the gods know how long. But I keep running and running. I’m finally getting somewhere, and now He sends you?”

Asa sat with his back to the rattling wall of the barn. There was nowhere to go. He had seen the owl, soon he would see Death. His body shook as he cried into his hands. He was finally learning how to live and get through this dark storm, well… he was, wasn’t he? But it didn’t matter. He hadn’t learned how to live in this storm until it was time for him to die. A cruel circumstance. Every tear, like drops of the storm, dampened his candle. His candle had grown so dim he could hardly see the sphere that usually glowed with the candle’s light. He was breaking on the inside, he would never leave this storm. Eternity would claim him and leave him to rot in this windy hell.

He had spent so long drowning in his fear of the storm that he’d forgotten anything but wind and thunder could exist. He had believed he would never leave the storm. Until, suddenly, he hadn’t. Once, when the shadows were strong in the night, how many weeks or months ago he didn’t know, Asa had decided that the storm couldn’t have him, he was going to get out. That didn’t matter now.

His shaking stilled. He had clung to his bag when he fell, he reached inside and pulled out his sphere. The song of his breath and the dance of the green lines brought his candle out of the sphere, and into his hand. Its light had grown so dim. He would enjoy its warmth one last time. Asa could almost feel the rage of the storm closing in around him, ready to lead him to madness and smoke when his candle went out.

The light was almost out; he could run from Death this way. He wouldn’t be Asa, but he wouldn’t be dead.

But why should Death get to decide? This wasn’t fair, he shouldn’t have to let Death set the rules. THIS. WASN’T. FAIR.

Asa got angry.

His candle surged with warmth and light. He wasn’t going to sit and do nothing.

“Get out of here,” he said, voice low and brimming with anger. He hurled his sphere at the owl. The owl didn’t move, but Asa had missed.

“Tell him he can’t have me! TELL HIM!” Asa shouted at the unflinching owl. He dove to the ground, hands searching for something to throw. A small, perfectly black stone. This time, he hit his mark. And then it passed right through as if the bird were never there. Yet there it was.

His candle dimmed in time to his anger, he couldn’t even touch the bird, there was no way he could do anything to stop what was going to happen. He closed his eyes and began to cry, knowing that the last sounds he would hear would be this endless storm. It was so loud. He had been drowning in this noise for far too long. Death would be relief, and at least he’d tried.

Asa felt a touch at his elbow. The storm that had once sounded so fierce, was now no stronger than the sound of a rushing river. The winds still blew, but the quiet enveloped him.

Opened eyes saw the owl, resting its head on his elbow. Asa wanted to jerk away but his anger and fear had been quelled, he was given a taste of a peace he’d long thought impossible. The bird moved away, and the noise of the storm rushed back as strongly as before. The bird ruffled and hopped, motioning for Asa to hold out his hand. He had no idea how he knew what the bird’s little jumps had meant, but he did. He held out his hand, the owl reached out with its beak. In its beak the owl held the stone that Asa had thrown at it. A small, black stone, with a single thin band of white. When he touched the stone that same quiet came over the storm. He could still feel the same strong winds coming through the hole in the roof and the many cracks in the barn’s walls, but the storm, though audible, was hushed. He could finally think again. He thought about the owl as they waited together for Death. But Death never came. The owl was in no hurry, Asa could feel that the owl would patiently wait until he was ready to move. Had he been wrong about the owls? Now that he could think clearly, those stories of the owls seemed a touch unrealistic.

This owl wanted to help him. Had his mind spent so long in this midnight whirlwind of fear that he’d shouted at this friendly bird? What an idiot he must have looked.

“I’m sorry I shouted and threw things at you,” he said, voice timid.

He didn’t know how, but he knew the owl didn’t mind.

“Can you help me get out of this storm?”

The owl made no noise and rested its head on his arm. It was going to try.

“Thank you, for helping me be still. I don’t know if I’ll make it out of here, but I’d love to try it with you.