Serve

Ash covers the ground where she kneels. Trees ahead of her are blackened, some still smoldering from the battle that happened three days before-a sign of how much destruction an entire war can cause. Her face is covered in soot and dirt, her dress once a vibrant forest green now covered in black, torn, frayed at the edges. It is a spring morning, with a fading winter chill, causing her to shiver unknowingly. Dirt covered hands dig into the ground, planting seeds of rose bushes. She knows there was death, perhaps there could be life.

Her senses are attuned to what is unseen, residual and intelligent. The world shimmers before her, always between the physical realm and the next. Same as her fingers in the dirt she sees a level that often is glanced over, it is this skill that led her to the remains of this broken land, to life that once was.

In her quiet endeavor, she feels before she sees-hyper aware of the footsteps on the dirt road next to the field of a once thriving town. She continues to dig further into the soiled ground, unwilling to even glance up at the figure who is now standing next to her. She is truly not interested in what this random stranger is doing. “Funny-why would he stop here?” is her fleeting thought.

Plunk!

A heaviness lands on top of her, warmth hitting her limbs that were cold from a brisk morning. Her frigid hands stop-pause as heat spreads through her. One glance at her shoulder and she realizes he has gifted her his cloak. Black and woolen, she does not think as she finds the button clasp and wraps it around her. Only then do her eyes track the back of him-finding that he holds a black book in his hands. Automatically, she stands beginning to follow him-intent on thanking him.

He stops, turns to her. Everything she could have thought to say dies in her throat. She stares at him for a moment, grasping for even a word, a phrase like “hey thanks.” Instead, she stands, insecure, ungrounded and utterly terrified. He seems to sense her panic as it claws her way to her throat.

“Come on then.” he says, turning his back once more to her. He leaves her with a choice: Stay or Follow. It is with a hesitant foot forward that she follows him. Up and over hills, past more ebony soil-every once in a while looking back to see if she was there. She kept her steps soft, eyeing him warily, stubbornly unwilling to talk.

It is at the fire in the evening that she notices he is writing in the black book in his hands-her green eyes raising curiously at what his thoughts may be. He shakes his head at her, carefully she takes off the cloak he had given her, draping it over his left arm. “Thank you, but I am warm enough now.” She smiles, tight, guarded. The feather pen in his hand stops, his gaze taking her in.

She turns away from his study-afraid of the walls that could come crumbling down if she continued. She nestles in on the ground, staring at the flicker of an orange flame licking into the night, until an unsettled sleep graces her-to keen on his presence to ever really sleep deeply.

Plunk!

It is not the chill of another early morning that starts her awake-but the familiar heaviness of his cloak enshrouding her that pulls her from a tightened sleep-the vestiges of a nightmare clinging to her. She pulls the cloak around her as she sits up, wide eyed and staring at him as he walks away, leaving her to scramble and catch up.

She follows a little closer this time, curious enough to wonder again why he would drop his cloak on a girl kneeling in a field covered in blood and fire. He seems to read that she is wondering-trying to put the pieces all together-line them up to see the pattern. He holds out his hand waving her to his side. “Look.”

She inhales sharply at the scene before her-a thriving village in the middle of a war greets her eyes. People are milling about, pulling in the injured, laughing and caring for the children-sharing food between each other. Laughter and tears fill her eyes immediately as the in between shimmers before her in gazing lights. He nods to her. “Welcome home.”

She freezes, one hand to her heart. “I can’t-I don't fit here, I’m to-well me.” He gently tugs her arm, beginning to pull her down the hill and into the throng of villagers. “Give it a chance-you may find you fit more than you know.” She sighs-heavy but nods. “I’ll stay for now, no promises.”

He smirks, nods. “Fair enough.” Just at the entrance, she pulls back, stopping him. Unclasping the cloak around her, she drapes it over his left arm once more. “Thank you.” He says nothing, staring at her far longer than she expected, seeing right through her. He motions her forward, and she steps into the village, him trailing behind her.

She is standing aloft of the village, summer air twirling around her. She can see the people down below, working for the cause-aiding in a war that is so much bigger than themselves. She stays still, observing-commiting to memory anything and everything she can, a quiet sadness nestled in her chest, trying to rear its ugly head. She catches him looking at her-she offers a smile-before turning away from him and walking away from what she thought would be home.

Plunk!

It falls on the back of her shoulders, a hug in the making. She jolts in total surprise this time, and she spins around on the trail. Instead of being her meek self she snaps at him. “Aren't you sick of this yet?”

He stares at her a moment before turning his head away. “Some days.” “So why do it then?” She had found her voice while being in the village, but in that voice was fear: “I don’t Belong.”

“No one gets left behind.”

Her heart stops at his words-unsure of how to take that. This time he levels her with a different look-so piercing she takes a step back. “I serve a higher court-Come on then.” His words a solid reminder of so long ago-just like then she follows, only this time grumbling-all the pieces not in place and everything so very confusing.

He leads her to a stone house, the entrance wide open. She crosses the threshold-finding herself in a room barren except for a wood chest in front of a used fireplace. She opens the chest and stutters back, trying to grasp the undercurrent. $20,000 worth of gold coins stare back at her, and she hits her knees so hard the floor shakes. Every moment passes through her mind-reflecting in the pieces that are shimmering. She slowly rises to her feet, leaving the room-stepping outside, to find that this time-he is gone.

She stands in the back, to the closest escape necessary, hearing the words floating over her. She struggles still-wrestling far more than she lets on-the difficulty in putting pieces together, is sometimes there are no pieces to put together. She turns to leave once all the speaking is done, not willing to engage this time.

Plunk!

She stops, slowly turning to face him. She doesn’t say anything, even as her hands find the edge of the cloak, clasping it around her. There is a quiet resignation between them-as she searches for the shadows to be brought to light. Another memory hits her, flash back after flash back. Quietly, she starts to talk, broken words echo in the air between them.

“I don't understand why of all the people in this war, I would be asked to come forward. I have seen many get hurt, bruised, and broken. Ejected, rejected, ignored, alone. I have felt it myself. I have been stubborn, unyielding, opinionated and loud.” She stops, the lump in her throat stronger than it's ever been.

“Yet you still ask this of me, why?”

He hands her the black book he carried, her hand taking it, opening to the first page that reads:

“'Athas,*

If you're reading this…”

She reads through every word, every thought, some of it very clear-others a muddled passage that will have her spinning circles if she reads too long. By the time she is done, she has tears streaming down her face. He says, “You can walk away, break the agreement.”

“I have been enslaved to and allowed myself to fall for the wrong things my whole life. It's how I ended up in a field full of ash and blood. I have gotten so busy in my own life and fighting for my own self that I forget that there are other people out there fighting for me too. I can offer you nothing-yet you won’t let go.”

“Every time I turn around, you're dropping your cloak over me.”

“Love is so much bigger than us.” is his response, authoritative ringing with a truth that etches to her spirit.

It takes them both by surprise when she kneels, much like the day he found her, only this time-she is crying.

“You have shown me a kindness that very few in this world have.” She looks up at him then, eye to eye. “I am your servant, what is the work that needs to be done?”

“We walk beside each other and we do the work together-in service to each other.” he reaches his hand down to her. “Rise-Come on then.” She smiles as she comes to her feet, sure of her past, unsure of her future-knowing she is not alone.

This world has forgotten kindness. It has forgotten that serving one another does not mean being a slave, but caring deeply and lovingly for each other, even if the other has nothing to offer. We all have something to offer this world, to offer each other. Find a way to give to someone today, for kindness will always breed kindness.

“And this boulders heavy

But you take the load

And these storms gone crazy

But you take the blows

And I can't offer nothing

Still you won't let go.” Nathan Wagner, “Hope”

*Athas is Irish for Delight*