Vesnorkis

“There's a wyrm in that abandoned railroad tunnel,” said Angela's grandmother. “His name is Vesnorkis.”

“Does he ever come out grandma?” asked Angela, nervously.

“Oh, no, that's his home. If he ever left the tunnel, he'd burn right up into the Sun.”

Angela frowned as she sat in her grandmother's lap. After a while she asked, “Why into the Sun? Don't ya mean he burns up under the sun?”

The old woman, sitting in her creaking rocking chair, looked up from her wide porch into the horizon, observing the glaring orb, hovering over the land but not quite ready to set.

“The sun is a mysterious thing,” she said. “It is indeed a giant ball filled with gasses and plasma and magnetic fields, but there's a whole world there too. It's invisible to most, but it's there and just as true as what you'll read in the books. I can see it, sometimes. That's how I know, and I can understand some. The rays would burn that serpent up 'under the sun' as you say, but there's a part of Vesnorkis that would travel up into one of the sun's seven cities. He would go there in some other form, a hidden form, into a secret place...”

When she said “secret place” she scratched her right temple and half closed one eye, appearing to be at a loss. She was speaking with confidence except for that “secret place.” Angela yawned and slid off her lap. She wandered over to the edge of the porch, and leaning against the porch railing, stared off into the vast landscape with her bright, blue eyes. The sun finally began to set, and Angela and her grandmother watched as it made it's downward trek, disappearing below the shadow of the earth.

Angela had strained her eyes to see her grandmother's “invisible world” in vain until all was dark. Another world, she thought, could there really be such a thing? If only I had my grandmother's gift of sight. Turning around, she saw the dark silhouette of the old woman from the dim light of the window behind. She could see a small, fading point of red-orange light where her grandmother's mouth was and a cloud of smoke rising above.

“Isn't Vesnorkis and the tunnel just a story?” Angela asked.

“No,” said the old woman, taking another smoke of her cigarette. “It's all true. You can hear the townsfolk tell all kinds of tales about it, but to them it's all fun and legend and superstition. Hell, I doubt any of 'em have ever even been there. I, on other hand, know for sure. I was there when it all began.”

Angela looked down and swung her foot to and fro, her hands behind her back. She did not know what to say. Some time passed in silence, and she could sense her grandmother staring in the darkness. When Angela looked up again, she saw the old woman lean forward.

“Dark tunnels often have a way of reaching out,” said her grandmother in a serious tone. “The world is filled with secrets, and whether people know it or not, they are always passing through those secrets. And those rare times that they realize something is happening, really happening...”

The old woman, having not finished the sentence, shook her head slowly and leaned back. For a while, she simply continued smoking, her eyes tired. Before Angela could inquire anymore about her mysterious words, her grandmother coughed a few times and said, “Well, I better get to bed.”

She put her cigarette out in a small red ashtray beside her and rose from her rocking chair, then went to the door and smiled with a “Goodnight, honey. Don't stay up too late,” and with that, she went inside.

“Goodnight,” Angela called out, her grandmother already in the house. She stood there in silence, the rocking chair still moving from the old woman having just got up.

The autumn night air was warm and still, the kind of atmosphere where anything could happen. Angela had an eerie feeling, but also a feeling of wonder. She felt a sense of magic, of unseen things all around her. Fear, as with most children, was a common emotion for her, but she was also brave. She had, especially after speaking with her grandmother, a strong determination to see hidden worlds, to discover the reality of such mysterious things.

Angela jumped off the porch and skipped to the front of her house, out to the dirt road and the old, white picket fence. Once her feet touched the dirt, she stopped abruptly, for something unusual caught her eye. In her small town, there was a large, wooden shed. Angela never went inside, it was almost always shut. But she knew that the town shared it to store tools, equipment, hay, etc. There was never anything out of the ordinary about the building. However, on that night, the doors to this shed were wide open, and she could see a flicker of lights within.

What also made it a strange sight was that it was a generally quiet, uneventful town, and during the night, rarely anyone was outside. Angela had to know, she had to see what it was all about. She began to walk slowly towards the shed, her heart beating with anticipation. Finally, she reached the entrance, but only from the side. Angela could only see the walls, nothing more. She stood for a second, hesitating. This doesn't make any sense, she thought, what if it's something terrible? Terrible or wonderful she had to look inside. With a deep breath, Angela went around and stood in the doorway.

The first thing she noticed was a bright, sepia-tone, flashing screen. A silent film was being projected for an audience. Angela could not see the faces of the audience, the people were only dark shapes. They appeared to be strongly focused on the film, and absolutely motionless, more so than seemed normal. There was a back row of seats, all completely unoccupied. Angela, taking this bizarre sight in, decided to sit and watch.

The movie was at first uneventful. There were simply a long series of images, all of rural living. Angela observed scenes of houses, farms, animals, and people working. They appeared to be places she knew, but were at the same time unfamiliar. Eventually there was a scene of a single, large farm house in a vast, hilly landscape, and it lasted for an unusually long duration. It must have gone on for ten minutes, and the audience remained in their unmoving concentration the entire time.

Angela grew bored and irritated with the scene. Why would anyone want to watch this, she thought. But then something began to happen. The roof of the farm house started to crack and crumble. Sharp limbs were breaking through, and there emerged a gigantic spider. Angela had seen monster films before, but she knew the destructive creatures in them were just small models and wires. This was different, for the spider looked very real. At this the little girl was horrified, and was paralyzed in her seat.

The scene switched to some people on a hillside watching the catastrophic sight, eyes wide with fear. But it was not just fear, their eyes were bright and in some way both hypnotizing and trance-like, and Angela in her state of paralysis felt her own being pass into their realm of experience, something that could only be understood in a vivid nightmare, but never quite recognized in waking.

Again the spider appeared on the screen, menacingly twitching its many legs. It began to crawl towards the people, and the watchers appeared again, eyes still wide, entranced. Their mouths were gaping holes of soundless screams. But these screams soon became audible, at least in Angela's ears. They were loud, blood-curdling screams, and as they cried for their lives, so did Angela. The people on the flashing screen started to run, and right at that moment, the frightened girl snapped out of her petrified state and ran too.

Some time later, Angela found herself in her backyard, sitting in her tire swing. She could barely remember getting there, it was all a mad rush of terror. So, there she was, swinging slowly from side to side in a complete daze, her mind empty. Angela fell into a dreamless sleep.

Morning came and the girl awakened. It was a shock to find herself still in the tire swing, for it was an odd position to fall asleep in. She got out and rubbed her eyes. Angela looked around at the quiet, softly lit scenery. A group of deer roamed in the distance, occasionally peering at her with suspicion. The girl had a bit of a headache and felt little hunger. She thought about going inside to her bed to sleep more, but felt the morning calling her to push forward.

Angela slowly stumbled over to a glistening stream that ran near her house. She kneeled down to splash some chilled water in her face, feeling the surprise of cold awake her a little more. She sat there awhile and the memories of the prior night began to creep forward. Angela quickly ignored any thought of the incident and was regretting her curiosity for the mysterious. She simply got up and began walking, just wanting to get away, to remain active and not allow her mind to ruminate.

As the morning carried on like the monotonous reverie of a dream, Angela walked and walked across fields of tall grass. She was on a faded, dusty path and had never gone out that far before. The girl, up to that point unaware of how much she had walked, finally realized the immense distance covered and wondered if she should turn back. Just when she was about to head home, Angela heard yelling in the distance.

She looked in the direction of the alarmed voices and saw about fifteen people running across the field. They were coming her way, all in simple, plain outfits. Most of them seemed to be farmers.

“Run!” “It's Coming!” “Get out of here, follow us!” they shouted to Angela as they flew past.

The people from the film? she wondered. The impossible sight was too much. She wanted to cry, but her tears were frozen behind her shocked eyes.

The frightened mob disappeared over a hill, and Angela, now no longer able to escape the memories of the prior night felt everything around her; the trees, the air, the land, become dark and ominous. She began to go in the direction of the fleeing crowd, it was the only choice.

Her journey now was one of running mixed with intermediate periods of unsure walking. None of it seemed real, and yet the people really did appear and something must have been following behind. She thought of the safety of her home, that maybe she should turn around. But what if the terrible creature should meet her on the way? No, she decided, I'll stay on this path.

Angela tried her best to catch up with the crowd, but in vain. She expected to see them after every hill, after every break of forest, but they were nowhere. Out of breath, the girl eventually reached another open field, and she once again heard yelling.

It's them, she thought. Strangely, the sound of their voices were not ahead, so she turned around and there they were, running towards her, then running past with the same words of warning and caution, just as had happened before.

“Wait!” Angela called out.

The frightened runners just kept going until they disappeared into a forest. I know they were ahead, thought the girl, this is impossible. I feel sick.

Now Angela wished she had at least taken something with her to eat, she was dizzy with hunger and confusion and having spent up her energy. Heart racing, she staggered to the forest and pulled herself through the thick and the brush. Finally, she reached a clearing, an upward grassy slope. It was mostly farmland, and there was a sight there that, had Angela not been through the many unusual incidents, would have thought the scene very strange. Yes, she found it peculiar, but there was no shock in it. The foremost thought in her mind was to keep going, to reach a safe place.

Angela, walking uphill, observed a land strewn with hay and torn pieces of fabric, stakes everywhere in the ground. She nearly tripped a few times. At the top of the hill was a man rummaging through something. The little girl had a positive glint in her eyes, here was someone who might provide answers, perhaps a guide and protector.

She reached the man, his back to Angela. The girl could now see he was pulling apart a scarecrow. This answered the question to the bizarre litter upon the field. With all the torn pieces of clothing and hay and stakes she came across, the man must have ripped apart one hundred of the garden sentries, perhaps more. Maybe this was not a good person to talk to, Angela thought, but she was desperate.

“Excuse me,” said the girl, trying hard not to sound nervous.

The man stopped what he was doing. He simply stood there a moment, back still facing Angela. Then slowly, he began to turn around, his grey eyes unblinking and unemotional. He stared at the girl with an empty, forlorn gaze. The strange man must have been middle-aged, he had black-gray hair and wore fading blue overalls.

“Did you see those people run by?” Angela asked, not quite sure what to say. “There might be something really bad coming.”

“Oh yes,” said the man, looking beyond the her into the distance. “I see them all the time. They run in circles, it has always been that way. They come from nowhere and run from nothing, but as they believe that something chases them, it is they who in reality do the chasing, for they chase their fear.”

The man held a fist full of straw, of which he slowly loosened his grasp, and the golden threads fell lightly to the ground.

“But what do I know?” he continued, looking down and behind him to his tattered mess. “I wander these fields, and I see these crucified, straw men. You see, I am trying find their souls. Sometimes I think I'm close, but it all ends in a wild mess of abstraction. Look around, I think I've destroyed every one of them, and it is in vain, for they will reappear. I could tear twenty down, fall asleep, and awake to find fifty new ones. And the soul! The soul is there but I can not find it, and tomorrow they will all be back, all will return and I will resume this cyclic game and find nothing. I am a fool, it is an illusion most likely. But it is an honorable task, the only reality, and I must continue. Nothing else exists.”

Angela was silent, scanning the strange landscape before her.

“I exist,” she said, in an attempt to establish her sense of reality and self as the world around her seemed to slip away.

Before the unusual man could reply, the familiar shouting was heard. Angela's people came running again.

“Look,” said the grey-eyed man. “Here they come. It will never stop. Hear their shouting, see their meaningless emotion. It is absurd, absurd!”

He covered his eyes with smothering hands and laughed violently as the frightened townsfolk ran past, and as they disappeared into they distance, his laughing turned to sobbing.

Varied emotions whirled around Angela's mind. There did not appear to be any monstrous creature in pursuit and this brought little comfort. She was disturbed by the never-ending trek of the people and feared that she too, regardless of her beliefs, might somehow get caught up in the tangled web. As for the demolisher of scare crows, she felt sympathy but could not help being a little afraid of him.

The weeping man before her lowered his hands from his face, eyes red with tears. He looked into Angela's eyes.

“I don't know who or what you are,” he said. “But you must come from something, some thought, perhaps my own. But if you are, in fact, something outside my being, you are indeed afraid of being trapped in all this. You would be correct in thinking that way, for this field, wherever it is, has no escape. It does not matter if you came from somewhere outside, for you could go in any direction, take any path, and you will simply find yourself here again.”

The man looked for some time at a wooded area, the same place the frightened people ran toward.

“Listen,” he said. “In those woods is a tunnel. I have never gone in there, something about it blocks my existence, it is hard to put into words. Perhaps you being here means something. In this moment, you and that tunnel are the only things in my world that I have no real knowledge of. Pass through it, and maybe you will find a way out. Maybe that would have meaning for me too.”

Grandma's tunnel, thought Angela, I can't go in there, I won't!

After the man spoke, he sat down and buried his face in his hands. The girl knew he was done talking. She looked to the woods, and thought for a while. The world around her seemed hopeless.

I'll just go over and see, she thought. She had to find a way out of the bizarre land she had stumbled into.

The ever brave but frightened Angela walked slowly to the woods, leaving the grey-eyed man behind. As she reached the forest border, her eyes caught the head of a scarecrow lying on the ground, against a tree. It's face had two, black button eyes, and crudely stitched patches for a nose and a smiling mouth. She stared at the decapitated head for a moment and thought she heard a faint whisper.

“Vesnorkis,” it said, or seemed to say.

Angela wondered if she imagined it, or if the disembodied whisper came from the head, perhaps the woods. She did not want to dwell on the subject, and soon entered the crowd of tall, dark, yellow-red trees.

The forest did not cover as large an area as Angela thought, for the girl quickly reached the other side. She was then in a clearing, upon a dirt path in which some places the remnants of train tracks could be seen, a downward hill along its edge opposite the woods.

There, of course, was the abandoned railroad tunnel, about forty feet away. It was made of dark-gray stone, and large in height and width, it's gaping mouth a void of nothingness. Above, at the very center of the arched, domed entrance was engraved the date 1924. Angela wondered if the tunnel curved or was simply blocked, as she could see no light.

For the fourth time, the all-too familiar shouts of terror were heard. The endlessly fleeing mob burst out of the woods and past Angela with their warnings of the monstrosity chasing behind. They disappeared into the black darkness of the tunnel as their voices echoed in the vast space, then lowered in volume to a dead silence.

The girl was no longer surprised. She lacked any particular feeling in this, just an emotional exhaustion left over from hunger and immense anxiety. There the tunnel was, standing before her as an endless chasm, and it was the only way out, if there was any exit at all; she knew that now. Angela just wanted to go home. Vesnorkis, however, was in the back of her mind and would not go away. He was now the fear of the moment and loomed over all things like a great, dark cloud.

One step, then another, Angela walked to the entrance in disbelief of her own action. There was no standing in hesitation just before the passage as the girl soon found herself within the confines of the tunnel.

The inside was damp, and there was a breath of soft wind that was heard continuously, haunting the cold surroundings. The light coming from the entrance behind gave some impression of the way forward, but created deceitful shadows causing Angela to constantly look about her, thinking she was not alone. Despite the realization of each of these shaded movements, the feeling of someone else being there did not subside. The girl traveled deeper and deeper, and all became darker until a pitch-black screen covered her sight.

Angela, going forward in the unknown world of the abandoned structure, wondered at her being there and all that had occurred up to that point.

Dark tunnels often have a way of reaching out, she thought as her grandmother's words came back to her. She wished her grandmother was there.

Just as Angela thought the darkness would never end, she saw a faint light appear ahead, shining in from the left. Her pace quickened as it seemed the way out was near. But she was soon stopped in her tracks. At first the girl thought it was just another shadow, but in straining her eyes, she saw the shadow had dimension. It stood directly in front of her, and after morphing through a series of varied shapes, took the form of a tall man. While the figure was clearly there, there was something unstable about it. The being was not a complete physical entity.

Angela knew it was Vesnorkis the Wyrm, the Serpent.

“Welcome child,” he said in a hissing, not quite human voice.

The girl made no reply, unable to move or speak as the dark being gave off fearful vibes, producing a feeling very similar to the effects of the silent film the prior night.

“This is my kingdom,” continued the Wyrm, “but it is not the tunnel as you see it. There are chambers beyond the walls and beyond space, and my will is the cornerstone of its arrangements. So-called etheric beings can make a home out of anything.”

Angela's eyes grew more and more accustomed to the dark, and dim light helped in further revealing Vesnorkis' appearance. His features were mostly human, but his face would constantly dissolve and melt in places and he took on subtle reptilian characteristics that increased with time. She could see he was smiling with a conceited smirk

“Do not worry,” said Vesnorkis, chuckling. “You are not alone here. There are pilgrims who have settled and aimless ones who pass through but never truly leave. Ask yourself, you entered from one end but some may come in through the other, so where is the true entrance and where is the true exit? The answer is impossible, so just give up such puzzling things. Allow this place to be your home, for it is the only home you have ever had. Let all of the citizens, all of my family tell you.”

Vesnorkis raised an unusually long arm, and a hand with sharp, overgrown fingernails. He waved on either side of the tunnel walls, and with each motion, openings began to form on the stone surfaces. At first, they were lines of yellow, soft-glowing light, then grew wider into rectangular windows of varying sizes and heights, heights matching the people looking through them. In each opening was indeed a head peering through. There were men and woman and children, and all had a vacant look, simply gazing ahead, no feeling or emotion. They were Vesnorkis' family.

The tunnel was now bathed in a strange light, but for Angela, something about the light was not real. It was not a true light and it produced a hypnotic feeling. The girl's focus wandered, and her vision drifted. While she stood in one place, her sight began to travel throughout space, and panned across the walls. Slowly, stone brick and other-worldly window and person began to move past her eyes. During this, a faint organ could be heard, producing music that might be heard in a church but would trail off in uncertain notes. The people in the windows began to sing a hymn with mechanical voices.

In this world we live with bliss,

And create in our bright lives,

The will to remain, not miss,

The Wyrm's heart that ever thrives.

The Dragon forever true,

Builds up lovingly, his mass,

And freedom he gives to you.

From your eyes may glory pass.

Hold vigil for this pattern,

Pray for those who must die late,

Be steadfast in strict Saturn,

Be watchful for the pure fate.

It is only a small death,

That brings the light from the dark.

Through word, sound, and holy breath,

Does Vesnorkis' make his mark.

The music and singing faded, and Angela's field of vision blurred into a shadowy, uncertain stillness. Then things came into view once again, and she found herself standing in the same place, Vesnorkis still before her.

“The Hymn of the Serpent,” said Vesnorkis with pride.

The little girl and the Wyrm stood in silence for a time. There was tension in the air.

“Are you thinking of leaving?” asked Vesnorkis. “Try it, if you wish. You will do so in vain, and soon realize the only reality.”

The draconian phantom took a shifting step to the side, an invitation for the girl to attempt an exit. Angela wished, above all things, to escape. Perhaps there was no point in trying, she thought, but she knew she had to act in that moment. The girl started forward, and passed Vesnorkis. She ran towards the faint light, but once she got around the bend, there was simply more tunnel that broke off into separate passages, becoming a maze. Her heart sunk, but Angela never stopped. It was an odd state of determination, for the fleeing girl's movements became slow and lethargic, as if she was running submerged in water.

The world around her became disjointed, and her consciousness dream-like. Architectural deformations and gravitational impossibilities abounded as she seemingly ran up crooked walls and across ceilings. In some places, she would see grotesque faces and limbs appearing in stone, sometimes resembling Vesnorkis, all while strange languages could be heard chanting in the shadows. Other times, the windows of false light could be seen, and the absent-eyed denizens within, that followed Angela with their gaze. In a few instances, the passages would break open or simply dissolve into structureless gaps, patches of the world through the windows, and the girl would go through until the tunnel began again. A most disturbing feeling struck her in those momentary spaces of the illusive glowing universe.

Angela continued the phantasmagorical journey for some time, and for how long she did not know. Eventually, her mind became more lucid, and she found herself in a vast darkness, seeing nothing at first, but as her perception grew clearer, Angela saw an area of white light, a soft ray beaming down from some unknown place over a rectangular object.

In a way the girl could not explain, something seemed genuine about it, so she walked over and the closer she got, the more she noticed the rectangular thing was like a stone table, and that something lay on top of it.

It was her grandmother.

“Grandma!” Angela cried, and ran over to the stone slab.

When she reached the table, she became uncertain. It looks like grandmother, she thought, but it's not quite her. There was a small difference in appearance, but then there was something else, something she could not grasp. The old woman's eyes were closed, and Angela wondered if she was sleeping or dead. The girl was at a loss, both in what to think or what emotion to have.

Suddenly, the mystery woman's eyes opened, and she raised her head, looking intensely at Angela.

“A mansion has many rooms, the Serpent has only one,” she said urgently, wearing a black dress that accentuated the paleness of her wrinkled skin. “He keeps it in the mind, and in keeping it, he maintains his power.”

The old woman then closed her eyes, laying her head back down, motionless. Angela wanted to say something, make some motion to rouse her, but before she could, the imperfect duplicate of her grandmother opened her mouth slightly and breathed, emitting a luminous, transparent wisp that rose into the air, forming a lambent cloud. Organ music could once again be heard, but it was clearer and more concise.

Angela could hear a strange clicking sound, and a metallic grinding far off in the direction she had walked over from. The sound disturbed her, and seeing the cloud begin to move and drift away, wanted to follow it. She was concerned about abandoning the old woman, however, as she resembled so strongly her grandmother. But as the girl looked to the cloud then back to the stone table, the old woman was gone, simply vanished. The dark sounds grew more intense, and Angela felt she did not have time to think about the disappearance, so she followed the glowing cloud, leaving the table behind.

The cloud led the way, and for the first time in awhile, the girl had some sense of direction. She walked on in the darkness for some time until her drifting guide stopped. It floated high in the air for a moment, becoming brighter, and more opaque. Then, it lowered to the ground, hovering and elongated, forming a pillar. The pillar became concentrated and produced definite shapes, and was soon a body.

Before Angela stood a young woman. She wore a white nightgown and her hair was black and long, her eyes just as black, so dark that her pupils could barely be seen. In her left hand was a golden candelabra, burning bright. She did not look at Angela directly but into some unknown place, not blinking once. The girl thought about the man with the scare crows and the people in the windows, how the grey-eyed man seemed to have a hollow, lost gaze; then how the people in the glowing world had eyes of blank, nothingness. The young woman, however, did not seem altogether absent, just in another place, and that from that place, something was being directed. In any case, all examples of the silent staring appeared to tie together in Angela's mind, in some inexplicable way. She then thought further back, to the wide-eyed people in the silent film, viewing the monstrous spider, and how it all began from there.

Finally, the young woman lowered her gaze and looked straight into Angela's eyes. She spoke, but did not move her mouth. The voice somehow came from the stranger in the white nightgown, but the sound of it was only in the mind of the little girl. It was not imagined, but quite clear.

“I am the name and the word of The Mystery,” said the young woman in an echoing, strong tone. “Follow my candlelight and observe the image.”

She then turned around and walked off, holding the candelabra before her. Angela, who felt she could trust the woman, followed behind. The organ music still played, but grew more and more foreboding as the young woman led the girl into the unknown. It was not long until walls, illuminated by the candles, became visible. They resembled the dark-grey stone of the tunnel as before, and Angela could sense they were in some kind of passage.

The young woman slowed her steps, for she came to a plainly framed painting, and held the candlelight near the image, motioning Angela to look. The girl took in the picture before her. The painting was dark, but vivid and realistic. Displayed was the unmistakable form of Vesnorkis, in what was a full serpentine state. His scales were a mix of deep crimson red and a dark, murky green, and two curving, black horns pointed out from his head, where he wore a golden, jeweled crown. There was still a definite, anthropomorphic feature in his body as he stood on hind legs. His eyes stared directly at the viewer, they were yellow with black slits. He was adorned with a bright, red halo.

The Wyrm's sharply clawed hand was pointing downward. Angela looked to the floor in the painting, which was checkered black and white and noticed, on a black tile, a brilliant white pearl. As the girl wondered about the significance of the imagery, the young woman began to fade, her bright candelabra with her, and everything was dark. The images in the painting, however, began to glow with the same unreal light of the world beyond the windows, and the now swelling organ music was powerful and intense. Angela felt a searing malice coming out of the painting, but in straining her eyes, she noticed that the pearl, as small as it was, gave off a true light.

The girl turned away from the painting and began to think, the organ stopped abruptly. She closed her eyes and could trust the darkness of closed eyes more than the enveloping shadow around her; just as she wanted a real light she wanted a real darkness.

“He keeps it in the mind, and in keeping it, he maintains his power,” the girl thought out loud, repeating the words of the old woman. “That must be the pearl. I have to find and take the pearl.”

She began to imagine the white gem, and just then the pearl in her mind's eye could be clearly seen, very bright and tangible. In that moment, Angela had a realization. She knew that Vesnorkis kept the pearl in the mind, but that was plain truth. He kept it, hid it there. The secret was to realize the pearl, to be consciousness of it.

Angela continued visualizing the gem, forming it not only in the mind but in the heart. Soon enough, she could sense sunlight, and opened her eyes to find the end of the tunnel ahead of her. Vesnorkis was there still, but he was now just a shape, a thing. It almost seemed that the sinister being was a projection, perhaps of the girl's own creation. Angela maintained the spirit of the pearl, and started to walk forward, fearless. The image of Vesnorkis began to fade, and the girl raised her arms in front of her, palms forward as if she was pushing her way out, and saw that she was going right through the now formless thing that was the Great Wyrm, and finally found herself outside the abandoned railroad tunnel.

Angela breathed in the fresh air and felt free, and her world coming back into place. And yet the world was new. She looked about her, and noticed there were others with her. Somehow, the girl was not surprised, aware they were the people in the windows. They were free as well, and no longer vacant and emotionless. They were full of life, but full of wonder and questions.

The girl was, however, surprised at what was ahead. Not too far away were the endlessly running, frightened townsfolk. But they were now no longer fearful, and they stood in calm stillness. They were all looking at something, as if in reverence. Angela and her group, in curiosity, walked over and joined them. Once there, the girl realized everyone was looking across a small stream, at a person standing atop a hill.

It was the grey-eyed man.

He was wearing what appeared to be multiple fragments of fabric woven together. The man was standing upright, arms raised horizontally across from side to side, as if he were a scarecrow hanging on a stake. There were two black birds on each of his shoulders.

“Behold,” said the grey-eyed man. “I don these garments and the seeming enemies and shadows of the field alight upon both pillars of my being.”

Angela, as with all around her, also looked on in reverence. She then raised her eyes to the heavens, and while her feet were planted and rooted in the earth, Angela felt her spirit rise upward, into the sun.

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