Crossroads

© 2001 Lee Garrett
All rights reserved.

His once-white cloak grayed by time, Jason climbed the coast road toward the verdant crown of the cliffs. His armor was heavy and dull, oft-patched, and dented. His long sword—asleep in its scabbard. The round shield on his arm was plain, its paint faded by desert sun, scoured by sandstorms.

Tying his long mane of hair back from his face, the loose ends of his lady's scarf fluttered bravely in the evening breeze off the sea.

Delphia, soon I shall hold you—somewhere besides my dreams. Home. Almost there. Haven't seen it ... in ages.

He paused, staring ahead for any sign of life. Where are the lights of the village? Why has no one come to welcome me? Puzzled, he pushed on. How long has it been? Can't seem to remember...

He came to a corner of a building. The rest of it was fallen and wrapped in vine. Here and there, rotted beams poked up from the undergrowth, stabbing the sky.

He began to run, scrambling over broken columns, slanted pieces of wall, kicking up pot shards, the bleached bones of a goat. He found a courtyard with a dry fountain and a statue with shattered limbs. Wildflowers adorned the wreckage, perfuming the air, as the sky darkened toward night.

Jason found the remains of his home. Little of it still stood. He fell to his knees and wept.

I don't understand. What curse has consumed my past? Why have I alone been spared?

"Oh, you're back."

He lifted his head, spinning quickly around at the sound of a child's voice. A strange child, dressed outlandishly, with a hat woven of straw and a mask of dark glass across her eyes. Her guileless eyes, just visible beyond the tinted glass, were fearless, and she clutched a bundle of flowers. Some ghostly creature wandering free of Hades' realm?

"Has Hekate sent you to plague me for the blood I spilled in Ares' name?"

"Nah. I come here from the lighthouse to pick flowers."

"Lighthouse? Has Apollo a temple near here?"

"You asked me that last night, too."

"Last ... night? I was here last night? I don't remember..."

"I know. It must be hard bein' dead for so long."

"I'm dead?"

"Yeah. People haven't used swords in ages."

"It can't be true!"

"Well, it is. Like my mommy says—get over it, and get on with life ... or whatever."

"You should take your own advice, little girl," a deep voice rumbled.

They both turned to face the newcomer, a three-eyed creature wrapped in silver cloth, a glass ball around his head and a heavy pack on his back. A small clicking sound came from a box in its hand.

"What sorcery is this?" Jason asked.

"A Geiger counter, I think," the girl answered.

"Exactly," the silver-clad one said. "Most of the radiation from your third world war is gone now, along with all your Terran cities, but a few hot spots remain. We have to be careful."

"Who is we?" the little girl asked.

"Jyrillian colonists. We come from the star you once called Sirius. We're here to plant our dreams in the ashes of your own."

"I hate it when that happens," the little girl muttered.

Jason laughed. He wasn't sure why, or who the joke was on, but it made the moment bearable. After a while, he stopped. Drying his eyes, he asked a question of the silver one.

"Are you sure that even you are real? This is a place of the dead, it seems, much as I might wish it otherwise."

"Don't be ridiculous. If I were a ghost..." the Jyrillian bent over, grasping for something in the vines, "...could I pick up this stone?"

His fingers slid through the rock, leaving it in place.

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