The Last Gate

Day 1

I’m so stupid!

How could I leave my sketchbook at the park! I search my bag again, dumping everything on the table. It’s not here. My eyes well up again.

Why am I grieving over a sketchbook? Seriously, it’s ridiculous to feel this devastated — yet, I’m sobbing. I wipe stupid tears away and plop into a chair. Think, I tell myself. The only place it could be is the park. But if it’s there, it might as well be lost! I startle as another rumble of thunder precedes a crack of lightning. Heavy rain batters my window.

My sketchbook. Dammit!

Day 2

My bag bounces against my waist as I walk. The sun is bright and warm, but the ground is still damp. I found a similar sketchbook at the store, but it isn’t my book. I mourn for sketches half-finished, for progress erased. I have to start again.

I shake my head. No crying!

I close in on my bench, steeling myself, when I see the sun glint off a book. It can’t be! I rush forward, snatching up a clean and dry sketchbook. I peek inside and see the raven I’d been sketching. It’s mine!

I clasp the book to my chest looking around. The usual suspects are present: Two moms and their rambunctious brood; the widower with his newspaper; the jogger, ponytail swinging. None look at me or take credit for the miracle.

Elated, I sit down ready to draw. Only to find a second book on the bench — a compact, well-made journal. Its exquisite black leather cover binds crisp ivory pages. It’s wrapped with a vertical elastic cord.

I feel someone watching me and look up, searching. There’s no one.

Fingers tingling with excitement, I open the journal to find an inscription in a strong, neat cursive, possibly written with a fountain pen. There is even a drop of ink! The archaic look of the writing would make me think the journal is an antique, but it is clearly brand new.

“Your sketchbook slipped from your bag. I didn't want you to lose something so important.”

It’s written to me!

“I apologize for invading your privacy, but your work is beautiful. The way you see the world is... unexpected.”

No one has seen my work. I feel warmth in my lower back at the thought of this mysterious stranger with my sketchbook.

I set the journal down, then take a charcoal pencil from my bag. Opening the sketchbook, I draw a tuft of grass in a sidewalk crack; a blue-black feather near the flagpole; a butterfly on a trashcan. But my eyes keep drifting back to the journal.

****

Her cheeks flushed as she read my words. And when she looked around, her eyes briefly landed on me… but she didn’t really see me. Now she opens the sketchbook, busies her pencil. Godlight frames her, disappearing into her thick curls. She is lovely.

And distracting. I tear my eyes away and focus again on the Gate, my duties.

I observe all comings and goings here; she comes every other day to draw. I paid her little mind until she began gifting nuts and seeds to the birds. Her kindness moved me.

I was surprised to see the abandoned sketchbook. When I sensed the storm, I took it home. It didn’t seem invasive to open it, until I saw her work. She’d observed creatures — the tiny things humans usually deem insignificant — and brought them to life on her pages. She had also observed me. Seeing my face, my own eyes from her perspective, felt intimate.

My mind has wandered again. I glance at her.

She’s writing in the journal. Pleased, I watch her place it on the bench. Again, those eyes look right through me before she hurries away.

When it’s safe, I take the book and return home.

Day 3

I cannot go to the park today. So...why am I looking out the window? Do I seriously think he’s gonna leave another message?

I sit, look at my laptop, but the park beckons me. Before I can think, I leave walking faster than usual. But when I see my bench, my heart gives a painful thud. It’s empty.

****

Why is she here? She never comes on Fridays. I thought I had more time. Cursing myself, I watch her shoulders slump in disappointment. I won’t make this mistake again.

Day 4

I hear the rain before I open my eyes — then abruptly remember yesterday.

I shower and dress, trying to dismiss my heartache. Why should I care that some rando left a note in a journal? And he probably didn’t leave one today either! Besides, I can’t draw in the rain. I’ll stay home, do laundry.

Who am I kidding? I put on my rain gear, grab my bag and go.

Preparing for the inevitable disappointment, my heart lurches when I reach my usual spot. A package! My hood falls away as I dash to the bench. Ripping at the rough twine, I remove the protective wax paper: It’s the journal! I hunch over the pages, protecting them from the rain.

****

Raindrops glisten in her hair like diamonds as she devours my words. She looks up with a sweet smile, her eyes searching. They land on me and, surprisingly, linger before moving on.

I love her.

Watching as she carefully places the journal in her bag, I know I’ll see her tomorrow.

Day 26

I have the park to myself today. Dark clouds blanket the sky, keeping visitors away. When it rains I’ll leave too, but for now, I’ll draw, because he’s here.

This is so strange, yet I’ve never been happier. How can I love someone I’ve never met? I think of our correspondence, smiling. But...why doesn’t he want to meet? Is he married? Disfigured?

Does it matter?

A cracking noise like thunder startles me out of my thoughts. Goosebumps rise when I hear it again, then a vicious snarl rumbles from the copse. I see…what the hell is that?! My brain shuts down. Something massive and menacing appears from the shadows, fangs dripping, hot breath condensing. Beady eyes lock on mine just before it charges. I'm paralyzed in my fear.

With a prehistoric shriek, a raven dives at the beast’s head, swiping with razor-sharp talons. The creature tries to pull the raven into its slobbering maw, but the bird maneuvers, narrowly escaping. It dives again, tearing at the beast’s face. With a final cry, the monster finally retreats into the shadows where its wails abruptly cease.

Was that real?

The raven lands heavily on the back of my bench startling me. I’ve never seen him this close; he’s huge, imposing. Protective? His feathers glisten blue-black, his beak and talons drip blood. He scans me with oddly intelligent eyes, the ones I’d tried so hard to draw. We stare at each other.

Suddenly, he snatches up the journal, gone before I can manage a shocked gulp.

Day 27

Tossing and turning all night from terror-filled dreams, I wake wondering if I imagined the beast...the raven snatching the journal. Do I dare return to the park?

An hour later, I warily approach the vacant bench. Trembling, I watch children play as if monsters don’t exist. Without warning, the journal drops into my lap, and the raven settles on the back of the bench. He glances at the journal, then at me. Read it those eyes say.

I open the book to find a strange tale written in the now-familiar hand.

“My love, I apologize that I’m unable to say this face to face.

I am a Guardian, charged with protecting Gate 27 of the 42 trans-dimensional Gates between this realm, Earth, and my own land called Fortulon. What you witnessed yesterday proved what I’ve long suspected: the Gates are weakening, and humans are at risk. After the Scraulog broke through, our Council took action. In three days, all Gates between our realms will be sealed. Permanently.

I can imagine your disbelief. Yet, time is so short. I must be blunt.

When my species pass through the Gates to Earth, we take on bird-like forms. Here, I am a raven—"

My eyes flicker from the journal to the imposing bird next to me. I shake my head in disbelief before I continue reading.

"On Fortulon, I am a man. My home is beautiful and safe, and in my true form, I will be able to love and care for you as you deserve. I want to be with you always.

I love you.

Please, join me.”

My mind reels, the journal falling from numb fingers. “N-no,” I stammer, shocked. “I don’t believe this.” I stand shakily, the journal tumbles from my lap. The raven picks it up, looking at me with those strangely intelligent eyes.

I stumble backward, turn. Run.

Day 29

Two days have passed, and she has not returned. Time is short.

After the Scraulog, I followed her safely to her home. Now, I risk alienating her more — but I must convince her.

I drop a velvet bundle on her doorstep and land beside it, tapping the door with my beak.

She is at the window, staring at me with miserable, tear-swollen eyes. I tap again. She abruptly disappears. I’m grateful when she cracks the door.

She looks warily at the velvet bag, then at me. I nudge the gift. There is hesitation but finally she pulls the journal from the bag.

“I have supplied everything you need to join me. But if you will not come, I will stay here, in this form, with you.” She looks at me again, then looks inside the bag. It contains a neat $20,000 stack and explicit instructions.

She drops the bag with shaking hands. “No.”

I do not move.

“I don’t like this game!” she shouts to the air. “Please, come out!”

I do not move.

Glowering at me, she grabs the journal and slams the door.

****

It’s been four hours. I peek out the window. He’s still there. I wish I didn’t find his presence comforting.

The journal taunts me from my table. Opening it, I examine the archaic script, his odd word choices. I reread everything. At the final entry, I gasp.

I open the door. “How many days left?” He scratches a line into the porch. When I hesitate, he nudges the sack. Stares at me.

“Okay,” I whisper, surprising myself. But now I am full of purpose. I quickly pack a small bag and lock everything up tightly. Absorbing the elaborate instructions, I drive to the airport as he follows.

Day 30

I’ve barely slept. It’s taken all his money, all my willpower, to get me to this tiny country I’ve never heard of before. Exhausted, I stand on the shores of sapphire waters just before sunset.

The raven perches nearby. “What now?” I ask wearily. He lifts my bag from my shoulder and flies out over the water, circling a spot about ten feet offshore.

The sun begins to dip below the horizon, urgency washes over me. I wade fully dressed into the water. There’s a strange shimmer ahead, like rising heat. My eyes want to slide away; I focus on the raven.

I swim to him, treading. He flies into the shimmering wall... and transforms. Feathers melt into a thick mane of blue-black hair. He stands tall and strong. His eyes are piercing and direct, but kind. Smiling, he extends a large hand toward me, beckoning me through the Gate.

I falter, looking to the shore I’ve left behind. Am I ready to let go of everything I’ve ever known? My eyes find his again. In his steady gaze, I see no doubts, nothing but naked love for me. There’s no going back. I’m ready.

Smiling, I swim through the last Gate as the sun dissolves into the sea.