By: Sam Williams

 

            When I look in the mirror, I was always amazed at how it perfectly mimics inversely the objects seemingly outside of it, for I always thought the mirror was a window to another place. But now things have changed.

 

            I remember a time when I didn't care about things. I would just sit on my bed and play with my toys. I had a doll. I called her Cheryl and she had blonde flowing hair that came up to her shoulders. Her eyes were glass and color blue. Looking through it reminded me of looking at the mirror.

            In those days, those simple times, I didn't have to pretend. I didn't have to put a mask on. I didn't have to be "that" person.

 

            When did it all start? When did I become "that" person? I cannot remember. All I can remember was the enigmatic presence of the mirror. Was it really that bad? Was it really that painful that I had to become what I had become? Or was it that "that" person was the one who felt bad, who felt pain and became what she has become? I don't know. I wish I'll never know. But the mirror is still there. It makes me remember. It makes me know what I do not wish to know. How I wish I can break that mirror.

            Shattering into a million pieces, that is my wish for it. Only bits and fragments shall remain and I shall never have to know. Just a bunch of little things will reflect the light to the walls and the ceilings. No one will see it again.

 

            He came to the town of Villa, quiet and peaceful like so many of his journeys. However, he has learned that the most quiet and peaceful towns are most likely the ones who have sad spirits.

            Spirits. Yes. That was it. Why did they have to take her? Why? Or rather, why just her? She was not the only one. Was he not one as well? Why must spirits constantly haunt their paths, his and all like him?

            He paused as he reached the main road and discarded his appearance as one throws a cloak aside after getting in. And so, he appeared like everybody else. He was tall, has jet black hair, and had fairly brown skin as that of one who spends his time beneath the sun. He had big brown eyes that were accustomed to darkness as well as light. In this way, he looked like her. Well, in a manner of speaking. Her face was a bit rounder than his and fuller. Her eyes a bit bigger or rather more emphasized than his.

            He walked slowly in the brisk morning air. People from the village arise one by one to start the day. All of them were a bit surprised to see a visitor in their town. And a visitor always means a grand welcome. He sensed their anticipation and therefore proceeded to the town hall. Somehow, he must get accustomed to this kind of treatment. Somehow, he must adjust himself to the life of a traveler…well, until she comes back.

            "Good Day, sir!" said he who appears to be the mayor. "And wha' brings a man like yourself to our 'umble little town?"

            The question was supposed to be regarded as a welcome and paid with a smile or some pleasant reaction. However, he feels as if the mayor had all of this prearranged and the welcome remark with the town's unusual accent was recited over and over before. So, he simply coughed and replied, "Good Day. I am a traveler from afar."

            The mayor, who was a good-natured person, neither seemed angry nor hurt at the simple unemotional response from him. "Well, seems you be needin' much res' en."

            "Much what?" asked he.

            "Res' of carse!" said the mayor. "I said, you be needin' much res'."

            "Oh. I'm sorry. I am not familiar with your accent."

            "Don'cha worry, boy. You'll getta 'ang of it. Bee the way, I be the mayor of 'is town, Villa. Pleasure to meet you!" said the mayor as he extended his hand.

            "Thanks. I'm…" he was about to introduce himself when he recalled all of the things she called him, so many were they. He couldn't possibly use his own name. He'd use one of the ones she used and his least favorite, or so he presumed. "Call me Stick. It's my nickname, so to say."

            "Well 'en, Stick. You'd bes' sleep far now. We mus' dash on with all the arrangemen's far your comin'."

            The mayor took Stick's arm and together they went out. They walked the busy streets that were all too peaceful not long ago, 'til they came upon an inn. It was a bit old but well kept and it looked cozy, much like her room, their place.

            " 'Is place be the bes' of all inns. You're welcome to say far as long as you like."

            "Thanks very much!"

            She looked out the window and saw him for what he truly was. Was he like her? No. But he was definitely unlike the others or "that" person. Curious, she went down to meet her new guest.

            "Welcome!" said a charming woman, if you can call her that. She was rather short but had a mature air about her. "To the Glass Inn," she continued.

            "Good day!" he answered politely.

            " 'Ow long we'll you be stayin' 'en…uhm, sir?"

            "Stick's the name. And…uhm…I'm not sure how long."

            "I see. Well, doncha worry. We do 'ave someone like you sometimes and we're prepared far such." She went behind a counter and pulled a record book from under the table. "Id be bes' if you get a good res' tonight first. I'll be givin' you the bes' room in me inn."

            She said all of this with a smile but he had realized there was something different about her. She wasn't like him but she wasn't like the others here as well. Her accent is too perfect, as if she had mimicked it from everyone in the town. Her movements and gestures seem to have been practiced. It was as if she was imitating someone. But those were just his thoughts. This is foreign territory. He doesn't have the right to say anything even if his observations are as acute as that of a hunter stalking his prey. "Thanks!" was all he said as he took the keys and began to walk towards the stairs.

            But then she reacted. And her reaction was that of a person who he has missed dearly. He turned around and looked at her when she said the words, "Very articulate, arencha?" The words kept ringing in his ears. Very articulate arencha? Very articulate aren't cha? Very articulate aren't you?

 

            "Very articulate, aren't you?" she said, her lips forming a simple smile. "You never say much these days, you know." She laughs with amusement. "Too bad. Sometimes you're the only one I can talk to, Mr. Stick."

            You're the only one I can talk to, Mr. Stick. Mr. Stick. Sir Stick.

           

"Sir Stick?" asked the girl frightened. "You seem to be starin' elsewhere. You had me worried qui'e a bit."

            "What?" he asked, trying to understand what she said. "Did you mean quite?"

            " 'At's wha' I said…I said qui'e," she explained.

            "Right. Sorry." He turned and climbed the stairs.

            "Peculiar Man," she thought. "He didn't even ask my name."

           

            He went up to his room silently. His long coat touched the ground as he walked briskly through the corridors. He found his room at the end of it. He put the key in the keyhole and entered it without further ceremony or thought. He locked the door the moment he was inside. Without hesitation he returned to his true form. He jumped on top of the bed and lied there looking at the window. He was so tired. He licked his paws that were a bit sore and finally closed his eyes.

 

            A slow rapping on the door woke him up. He jumped out of his bed and opened the door for as quick as lightning, he has changed his form. He looked out and saw a note lying on the floor, and not a trace of life which might have left it aside from the continued flickering of the candle-lighted lamps of the corridors. He carefully took the note with his (he now realized) cold fingers and began to read it inside the room.

            She saw him go inside with her note and she felt relieved. That was one job done and a bunch more to go. This would be a busy day since a traveler has come to town and noon was fast approaching.

            As he closed the door he began to read. The note goes:

 

 

Sir Stick,

 

You are expected at the town square at noon sharp and to prepare yourself for a grand feast this afternoon until evening. I apologize because I had to force you to read instead of telling you. I just did not want you to be disturbed knowing you must be tired and all that.

 

                                                                                                Your Innkeeper,

                                                                                                                        Sy

 

            "Oh Great," he thought. "A feast for me, just what I needed to hide myself." He sighed and looked around. He had no luggage aside from the small backpack he carried always. He had no need for clothes or food. He could hunt and he seldom changed his form. "Prepare? With what?" Another sigh. "I guess they'll just have to get used to how I look."

            Barely had he finished his sentence when a black cat entered his room from a window which disappeared as instantly as it appeared. He looked at the cat unsurprised and turned away to face the mirror.

"There is no mirror there," said a female voice. And true enough there was no mirror in front of him.

"They said this was the best room in the inn and they don't even have a mirror in it," he said in reply. "It has no windows as well. And to think, this place is called The Glass Inn."

The cat simply looked at him. He stared into the cat's big yellow eyes and let himself be absorbed in it. In an instant a beautiful maiden was in front him sitting on the bed where the cat was.

"You know, Wolfe," said the girl. "The concept of 'best' or bes' as this town put it, is different for different people. Could it not be that the best room in The Glass Inn for the innkeeper is the room with no glass at all?"

"I've thought of that. I'm not dense," he replied but without emotion and with no intention to injure. He looked at the maiden who was rolling and making herself comfortable in the bed. "For a moment I thought you to be a familiar, what of you coming here black and all that."

She stopped and looked at him sternly. "I am not a lowly familiar," she said with a hiss. Then in an amused tone, "You know I'm not."

"You can also be the sphinx, you know. The way you talk in riddles."

"No. No. No," she said smiling. She stands up and discards her playful attitude switching to a more seductive tone, her true self. Her hands circled his neck and her cheeks brushed his as she whispered, "Who am I really?"

He didn't do anything. He didn't shake at her warm breath or stiffen at her touch. He simply answered, "Get away, Bastet!"

The woman quickly withdrew. "About time, my dear. Now we can talk business."

"We both know I don't answer to you," he said realizing the sudden shift and the true purpose of the Kemetic Goddess.

She smiled her feline smile, the smile that lured so many into her claws. "Now, now is that the way to talk to someone who has been referred to as your mommy?"

"No matter how the olden times connected you and called you the same, both of you are still different, and I'm not referring to your pantheons," he said firmly. "I answer only to her of whom my mother has chosen."

"Yes, yes. But Artemis could not see your full potential as I do, child," she explained. "You see? She made you a slave to that infernal flower when you could have had more purpose when you serve us instead. She has lessened your importance…"

"Shut up! Or I shall, gods and goddesses be my witness, turn you mortal."

Bastet was silenced. "I was only thinking of you."

"Are you sure you weren't thinking of the sacrifice and the possible priestess I could have given you?"

"You are as fore-seeing as the oracles of your mother's twin. Very well, to show you that I did not mean you any harm, I present you with this gift." She waved her hand and a beautiful set of hat, coat and boots lay on the bed.

"Gift? You mean gifts," he corrected. When he looked at Bastet, she had already turned back into the black cat.

"By the way, I hope you will think about our earlier discussion regarding your room. It might be a clue on what your purpose in Villa really is."

He watched her jumped off the bed to the wall. A window appeared and she went through it before it finally vanished. He looked at the bed and at the gifts Bastet had left for him. "That went well," he said. He picked up the note that fell from his hands when Bastet came along. "Sy," he murmured. "What are you doing here?"

 

The ceremony was held. It was fun and festive but to him, uneventful. People ate and drank and welcomed him into their " 'umble town". Women made him dance for a while and drink a little but they could not persuade him to join them away from the crowd. One thing he did notice was Sy's behavior. She was acting like all the other girls. ALL. The way she laughs and smiles were like perfect imitations. To him, it was as if she was…a mirror. Yes. Now that he thinks about it she was exactly like one, reflecting everyone's way of living, their actions, their speech and even their attitudes. "How very appropriate that she should be the innkeeper of The Glass Inn," he said to himself.

When the feast was nearing its end, Stick asked the mayor if he could be excused for he was tired. The mayor eyed the young man, his new coat, boots and hat caught his attention. He presumed that Stick must have been from quite afar indeed to be able to have such clothing. He excused his guest but let the town bid him goodnight first.

Stick was glad of the flexibility of the mayor and his generosity for someone he barely knows. And although he wanted very much to show his gratitude it had become apparent that he had business to attend to. Besides, it was not like he could have shown it very effectively. He went straight back to the inn but did not proceed to his room. Instead he headed for Sy's room.

 

She looked around her. Nothing. There was nothing but reflections of one object bouncing from one mirror to another creating a sort of kaleidoscope with her at the center of it. Still, all of this was nothing.

He opened the door and found her sitting at the center of the room. But what was truly amazing aside from the fact the entire room was filled with mirrors or rather that each side of the wall was a large mirror, was that though she was standing at the center no reflection of her could be seen in any of them. He entered the room and saw his reflection, a wolf, bouncing from one mirror to another showing five of his forms. She simply looked at him with sadness.

"Look in the mirror. You'll see nothing. And when you see nothing it means your nothing," said Stick. "You don't have a reflection, do you Sy, if that is really your name?"

She smiled sadly and looked at him. "It's not a question whether I have a reflection or not," she answered. "It's am I a reflection?"

Stick was silent. He looked at her with his unemotional eyes. "So what you mean is, you're not nothing."

"Yes. I am not nothing."

"So, what are you?"

"I am a reflection of nothing."

 

Turbulence overtook the entire room and the mirrors began to crack. Neither Stick nor Sy moved from their places. Pieces of the mirrors fell from the walls and with each a spark of light twinkled. Soon thousands of sparks were seen until it blinded or confused the eyes bringing a soul into the world between dreaming and reality.

 

Villa was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Stick and Sy found themselves in a room similar to that of the best room in The Glass Inn. A young girl who looked like Sy was sitting on the bed playing with a doll. She was beautiful but Stick felt that there was something wrong or rather there was nothing there. The beautiful girl seemed like an illusion, created by a trick of light, like she wasn't even there.

"'That' person," said Sy. "I am the reflection of 'that' person."

Stick looked at the child closely, a mirror was beside her. "But she doesn't exist, does she?" he asked.

"No. She is nothing. Everyone is nothing. Even you, Sir Stick," said Sy. "You see a person can climb a mountain and reach the top but then he would have nowhere to go but down. And when he dies he would be nothing and his accomplishments nothing more than echoes in the summit. The fairest of all may be beautiful and be renowned even after her death and yet she will cease to be fairest and become nothing. And the fact remains that her beauty is nothing more but a reflection of her, a reflection of nothing. No matter what we do, it is all nothing."

Stick watched Sy lowered her head as a tear fell from her eyes. The tear dropped on the floor and seemed to cause ripples. Everything became hazy but the two remained once more frozen where they stand.

A voice was heard amidst this state, a voice that declared, "We are all reflections of nothing."

 

Stick looked around him. He was in the middle of a barren land. A few steps in the direction of the East revealed to him an old hand-held mirror, the one on the girl's bed. He picked it up and looked into it. Behold, he saw inside the mirror the town of Villa and Sy was there as well. As if sensing his presence she turned and smiled at him.

"The moment you stop looking at the mirror will be the moment when Villa will once again vanish. For we are after all reflections, and we cannot be reflected without something in front of the mirror," she said. Then she smiled at him.

He raised the mirror above his head and with one powerful move he shattered it into a million pieces. He smiled as he said, "But I am not a reflection of nothing…"

 

"…I am one of the children of the night." He transformed once more into a wolf and he ran straight into the woods once more. He would find her. He would find the flower…soon.

 

The man who was supposedly the mayor looked at the direction where Stick was headed. And losing the town's accent, he said, "He's picked the right road this time. I wonder just how lucky can this wolf get." He chuckled and turned away. Then he flapped his owl wings and set out for Athens where Athena was waiting for him for news of the travels of the other children of the night.

 

REFLECTIONS OF NOTHING

 

A caress brings warmth

To stone-cold corpses

But can never return the spirit

Back into frames of time

 

A memory may spark

A light to dimmed minds

And yet it is fated to once more

Be forgotten in the closet

 

In the end of all

If we allowed to call it

Only words can endure so

Death is becometh

 

And yet it is

As empty and shallow

As air enclosed inside a dome

It circles but it is meaningless

 

Perhaps only a glass

A mirror only could

Surpass time and emotions of old

And yet shatters to more than one

 

By: Sam Williams

(Property of Mr. Mark De Guzman)

 

            "Where is she?" he asked, his eyes turning silver and his voice becoming more hoarse. "Where is she?!"

            "I don't know," said the other, his eyes turning blood red

            Both were arguing in the middle of a clearing. Both felt the anxiousness the moon was bestowing them. And yet, anger and fear were over-taking these children of the night.

            "You were suppose to be with her," said the first, more with fear than with anger.

            The other's anger also subsided. He cast his eyes down and said in his low deep voice, "I know."

            For a while, the two were silent. Both were lost in thought, thinking of a way to find her. And as they stood there, the clouds parted to make way for a moonlit night. Like a lamp illuminates a room, so did the moon illuminate the clearing with its pale and mystic glow. Its soft rays touching the boughs and leaves of the trees, enveloping the cold earth. The rivers and lakes fell silent, the moon reflected on their surface. A soft breeze passed through the two figures. And in the blink of an eye, there stood before them two beautiful goddesses of the moon. One was called Selena and the other Artemis, goddesses of Mayim and night.

            Selena was clothed in flowing white robes that touched the soft earth as she strides. It had long loose sleeves that looked like moon beams, more translucent than actual white. She had a golden chain that circled her waist emphasizing her slim figure. Her dark brown hair, made almost black by the night, flowed in rich waves about her shoulders and her back. This made a great but elegant contrast with her attire and her pale milk complexion. Her eyes were dark but soft and seemed to see to the very depths of one's soul. Her slender hands were slow in movement but gentle and mother like. When she speaks, it is in simple tones and never harsh. It was melodic and hypnotizing. She was an embodiment of motherhood at night, ready to comfort a tear-smeared babe in her arms even though it was late and tiring, ever happy to hum a tune to its fragile ears, lulling it once more into a deep peaceful sleep.

            Artemis, who seemed ever young and strong, was dressed in hunter's clothing of buckskins with quiver of arrows behind her. She wears leather boots that matched her buckskins. And yet there was something feminine in the way she lures wild animals into her presence and tame them as her companions. Her arrows, like her bow and belt, were made of finest silver and delivers painless death to mortals. Her hair was as black as coal and as smooth as silk and was tied in a way so that it would not get in the way of the hunt. Her eyes are alert and sharp as a hawk citing its prey. Her complexion was darker than that of Selena for it must be confessed that she was more into hunts and adventures. As a consequence the sun's rays have also played on her immortal skin. Over all she embodied independent yet caring women, women who can be strong and gentle at the same time.

            The two gazed at their mothers with silent anxiety, a secret in their hearts but fear in their eyes. Both were thinking of the same thing, where was the flower?

            It was Selena who first broke the heavy silence, her hand gesturing for the Bat to be by her side. "What has happened, my child?" she asked with tender eyes. "Where is she?"

            Unable to bear the steady gaze of his mother, he replied with embarrassed tones, "I do not know, mother," he explained. "I lost her a while ago."

            "And now she's impossible to find with these filthy humans running around the world, intoxicated at the slightest element of beauty, power and wealth," interrupted the Wolf his head bowed so low it almost touched the ground.

            "Hush, loyal one," said Artemis. She knelt down beside her son and stroked his back. "You will find her soon."

            "But how?" asked the Bat.

            "That is up to you, dear ones. Only you can find the flower again."

 

 

            He looked out the window, lost deep in his thoughts of the past. How long has it been since those nights? How far away was he from her? He must find her, he must.

            He continued to gaze out unaware of the rising sun. He did not seem to notice the once black horizon turning into a deep purple, then red, then orange with a tinge of rose. It was summer, the season he dreaded the most. It was a time of prolonged days and sunshine. A time where the heat was almost unbearable for him and the light blinded his eyes, which were accustomed to the dark. And yet he did not notice summer this morning, or the morning before. His thoughts were too occupied, occupied by the thoughts of her. Already the sun was shining bright and its rays flowed through the town like sweet honey. It was going to be a beautiful morning ahead for the people.

            "I must find her," he murmured in his half trance. Already the sun's rays were stinging his hands while holding on to the windowsill. It turned almost pink in the light when he suddenly drew it away with a painful cry.

            "Damn this season of light," he cursed under his breath. "But I know I have to go on." He opened his injured hand and watch it heal itself in the shadows of his room. He decided it was best to draw the curtains at least for now.

            He circled his room for a while and began to notice things he hadn't before. For one thing the roof of his room was uneven. It was high in one part but then slides down to a height where he had to bow his head. Since he was in a "corner room" he had two windows, much to his annoyance. One was at the side, adjacent to his bed, which was placed on the right side of the inn. The other, the one he had been gazing out of, was in front of his bed where the ceiling dipped low. The main façade of the inn was facing the East and so did this window. There was a small desk at the left of the bed. It had one dim lamp and a mirror was hanging on top. There was also a coat rack at the northeast corner of the room. He had but one hat there and he wore his coat despite the heat. The floor creaked and the walls were whitewashed and bare. The only comfort he could use was the mirror.

            He used it now checking if there are more burns in his face. He was contented to see that only his forehead was pink. But he was dismayed when he saw dark circles around his eyes.

            Had he not slept? He couldn't recall. He was so tired from flying the other night that all he could think of was shelter from the fast rising sun. But what about last night? He wasn't flying. In fact, he barely left his room. What did he care about his looks anyway? This isn't what he really looked like in the first place. He missed his big ears which were so acute and helpful in his journeys. It infuriated him that he had to hide them in this manner.

            A slow rap at the door alerted him. And he asked who it was. A hoarse old voice answered him and informed him that it was already seven in the morning and that breakfast was served if he cared for it. He simply thanked the old innkeeper and said that he would go down after a while.

            He looked in the mirror and decided that he needed to wash at least. He opened his door, which creaked, and headed towards the washroom down the hall. He almost cursed when he found it already occupied by another. Nevertheless, he waited patiently.

            After a while, the door opened and he was soon faced to face with the daughter of the innkeeper. She was the youngest and the only girl, barely sixteen years of age. She had washed herself as well and had put up her hair in a manner that it made her look older. They gazed at each other for a brief moment, caught in each other's eyes. Then she blushed, greeted him good morrow and went down the stairs to help her old father. He stood still for a while and then entered the washroom.

            He quickly dipped his head in the basin of water as if sobering himself. What was wrong with him? She was only a girl. He lifted his head as soon as he felt he needed to breathe. He scrubbed his face with his towel and soap. He dried and combed. He was going to shave a little when he noticed that it was alright for now. Then, happy of his appearance he decided to go down and have some breakfast for himself.

            "Sure is bright this morning," said one of the men. He was already devouring his breakfast.

            "It's summer after all. What's to happen to your fields by the way?" said the innkeeper. "I heard you're son got married and gone of with his foreign sweet, I believe."

            "That there is true. But as I always say to ém young ones that a bird's gotta leave the nest. Don't you trouble yourself about me own affairs, it's all settled we'll have another hand for ourselves then blast it all I'll rest." He laughed after this short speech.

            The innkeeper suddenly glanced at his new customer who just arrived the other night and who never left his room ever since. He was coming down the stairs. "Good morrow, there young man," he greeted him with a smile. "Thought you'll never get out of that room. Here have a spot of breakfast, Mr. Bate."

            Bate? So that was the name he gave when he had signed in the inn. He thought perhaps he had said Bat, betraying his true identity. He sat down on the chairs in front of the counter, relieved. The men continued their conversation.

            "By the way, did you hear what happened to that town?" asked the farmer.

            "You mean the one that disappeared without any trace?" asked the innkeeper.

            "That's where they were wrong, old chap. There was a trace. There were pieces of broken mirror everywhere. But no one paid no mind to it, saying perhaps some merchant selling mirrors met ill luck or something."

            "That is possible."

            "Right but you see there was more. There were tracks, beginning from where the center of the town outta be. "

            "What kind of track was it?"

            "Some say t'was a dog, but methinks it was something else. Can you believe that the tracks were at the very center? Came out of nowhere! Then, whatever this beast was, simply left it, as it were."

            "Strange indeed.'

            This whole time, Bate listened intently to their conversation. Missing town? Dog-like tracks? That seemed very strange indeed. He pondered as he swallowed little by little his morning porridge. Could it be that it wasn't dog tracks but wolf tracks? A wolf! It may have been Wolfe, Stick-Wolfe. But he traveled opposite to him.

            "Excuse me, I beg your pardon," he interrupted the two men. "Where does this town lie?"

            The two looked at each other smiling. "An interest in mystery, eh?" said the farmer. "Well, if you really wanted to know, it's in the western border of the land. We're in the eastern so it would probably be a long journey, if you care to see it."

            He was silent at first then he thanked the gentlemen. He ate the last few spoonfuls of his breakfast then excused himself. He needed a walk. Walks made him think better, calm his nerves and make him more alert. He opened the door and went out.

            He followed the road all the way to the wide fields of this town. It was wider than it looked on that night he almost died of fatigue. Then again, it may be the intense heat of the sun. His coat could only protect his skin from its rays. His eyes were burning. Nevertheless, he moved on. So it was Stick, no question. He was moving on as well. How many travels had they taken anyway? They could no longer count the centuries. However this century had a dangerous aura about it. Both were feeling something dark, something powerful. Soon they knew that the end of this world was nearing.

            "Look sharp!!!" said a voice. Suddenly a ball made of cloth was about to hit him. He simply caught it just when it was a few inches away from his face, undaunted and unsurprised. Suddenly a memory passed through his mind.

 

            "Look, Sharp, it's a turtle!" her voice was full of innocent glee. In this way, she reminded him of a child who has discovered a new toy. She picked up the small sea turtle and showed it to him. "Too bad he isn't black. I like black, it's like the color of the night," she said simply. Then she put it back on the sand and watched it make its way back into the sea, new born as it is. "The turtles can always find their way back to their home, can't they, Sharp?" she asked with sad eyes. He merely nodded.

 

            "Nice catch!" said a young man who was running to his direction. It was one of the sons of the innkeeper, the one called Caleb. "Sorry about that. Me and them boys were just out for a bit of fun," he explained.

            "It was no big deal," answered Bate indifferently.

            Caleb eyed him a little bit. "You're that new gentleman who came to our inn a few nights ago, ain't you?"

            Bate nodded and excused himself. Not knowing how to explain why he was out he merely said that he needed a change of scenery.

 

            Sistine, the daughter of the innkeeper was wiping the tables with an old rag she had washed yesterday. She kept her hand busy trying hard not to think about that encounter with their new occupant, Mr. Bate. But no matter how hard she tried she couldn't help but think. He has the most admirable gait. The way he walked was relaxed but at the same time alert. He was also tall and quite shy. His skin was pale, though. It was like marble. Maybe he came from some foreign land where the intensity of the sun is so much less than here. He had a marvelous timbre and his voice deep but gentle. A true gentleman!

            She was thus lost in thought when her father discovered her, worked to the bones, flying hither and thither to do something. She was sweeping, wiping, dusting, washing and even serving continuously. His paternal heart felt swollen with pride and love for it must be confessed that she was the favorite of the bunch, not to mention the only rose among the thorns.            It was not that the sons were a constant headache or that they were of no help. It was rather because they were much less affectionate than this little angel in front of him. He felt his heart would be torn to pieces if anything were to happen to this child of his.

            Filled with fatherly love he called his daughter to his side. "My dear," he said softly. "You have been working without rest."

            "Oh no, papa. I slept well last night," interrupted the girl.

            "Yes, yes. But I meant that, perhaps, you're getting your hands full too often."

            "Papa, if it would help you then I wouldn't mind at all."

            The innkeeper felt his heart leap of happiness. "I know, my angel. And now it is your papa's wish for you to go out and enjoy yourself for a change."

            "But," the girl tried to protest. However, her father was already guiding her out the back door that led to a small garden of her late mother. Not wanting to argue further she simply kissed his cheeks and stepped out without excitement. Where was she to go?

           

            Bate, not knowing where the road might take him, followed a nearby river instead. It circle field after field like a snake encircles its nest of eggs. He thought perhaps that the whole river merely circled the entire town. He was of this notion because, while maintaining his course, he saw the inn where he began. He was mistaken in thinking that the river simply circled the town from the waterfall he had seen nights before. He would soon discover that there was a bend in the river near the inn itself that passed through a long and wide cave. The cave was cool because of the steady stream of river that passes through it and the complete absence of light, except near the entrance of the cave. And in here would he find something that he did not expect.

 

            She was aimlessly walking around, enjoying the scenery. In her heart she felt something that she had never felt before. Her surroundings were boring her. Inside her seemed a burning flame. She felt annoyed for some reason, irritated with everything and disgusted about everyone. What was wrong? Was it the heat of the sun that so enraged her? Thinking this, she looked at that ball of light and screamed.

 

            Bate stopped at the entrance cave. An ominous feeling overtook him. Something was wrong here. He shrugged his shoulders. Whatever it was, he had not time for it. He had spent more than enough of his time in this town of light. So, without a second thought, he changed his direction. He set out once more to the inn wishing to pay his lodgings and then take his leave. Little did he know that there would already be someone waiting there for him.

 

            "It's a monster! Run for your life!!!," yelled one of the farmers.

            People reacted immediately. Panic spread towards the town. Shopkeepers hurriedly closed their stores and locked their windows. People in the streets were running everywhere and once or twice tripped on each other. There were those carrying bags and boxes that were soon seen tramped on the ground. There were still more mothers entreating their little ones to stay hidden or to at once come inside safe doors.

            And as these panic-stricken citizens scatter and run, an eerie and mournful cry was heard. Some felt a chill went down their spine. Hairs stood on end. Others wept without reason, as if carried into mourning by this…monster. Others felt an uncontrollable feeling to go out of their houses and had to be secured by the others. Still the heart-wrenching wailing continued. It seemed to be everywhere, the echoes of its cries resounding in the people's hearts and homes.

            The town was at this state when Bate had returned to the inn. He asked what was happening and the people at once told him. A strange cry, a monstrous sight to behold, a beast was at large. Everyone who had sought refuge in the inn found themselves seated altogether in one of the tables of the dining room.

            Bate silently stole out of the cramped room and went straight to his room. It was surprisingly dark. Then he remembered that he had drawn the curtains earlier. "What in the world was going on?" he murmured as he gazed at the repressed light from the windows. He disliked the idea that there was something going on and he didn't even know what it was all about.

            "I know," said a soft voice. "You never did like it when something is out of your hands."

            "Who are you?" he asked looking around his room.

            "Honestly," it said in an exasperated tone. Then, like a moonbeam that passes through windows, her slender figure appeared. Her entrance was ghost-like and graceful that he had to hold his breath for a few seconds. Her hands wiped the perspiration off his forehead. "How are you, my child?"

            He put his arms around her waist in loving embrace. "I thought you had forsaken me, mother."

            "Why ever did you think that, Bat? Or Bate?"

            "I thought, perhaps, it was my incompetence, my failure. I'm sure you're well aware of the fact that the flower is still not with us. I was so ashamed that night. Wolf was even reprimanded by Artemis. I recalled her saying that she will not look at us until we have found the flower. I assumed that you had resolved also to the same statement." He paused as he looked at his mother's smiling face. "I have dearly missed you."

            "Likewise, my darling. But remember that it was through you that she was found again that night. Remember?"

            "Yes. We were too busy getting angry at each other that I forgot to think. She had always loved the sea, as much as the gardens and the cemetery. We had walked there the night before she had gone missing. I recalled her expression as she watch the turtle found its way back to the sea. I even made her a remembrance of that when we found her sitting on the sand."

            "Exactly!" she said. She passed her palm on his. "To remind her that turtles can always find their way back to the sea."

            And with that, she disappeared. Bate opened his hand and found a black turtle necklace, the remembrance he had given her. She had cried when she had lost it. He sat down on the bed for a moment to reminisce.

 

            "Here," he had said as he gave her the necklace. Her face lit-up at the sight of this. She wore it at once. "Just to remind you, that you're also a baby sea turtle, and that you'll find you're way back home with us, even if we have to find you ourselves." The moon never shone more brightly as it did that moment. She smiled.

 

            "HELP!" This sudden outburst bade him come back from his memories. He was still inside the room, which was getting colder and darker. "What on earth?" he exclaimed. He listened very carefully and heard the people downstairs talking. No one was to go out for the beast was using some sort of trickery to lure them to its grasp. They all thought of the same thing. Not wanting any further nonsense, Bate wanted to look out the window and see for himself the monster that had so caused terror. He withdrew the curtains and was amazed at the sight. Summer seemed to have gone immediately. No more sun, no more blue sky was to be seen. In fact, everything was covered in snow, fields, gardens, streets. The river has also turned to ice. His eyes roamed the town and saw for the first time the monster. "A yukina?" he asked himself. "How can that be?"

           

            "Where am I?" Sistine asked to no one in particular. She felt so cold. She opened her eyes but found that there was no difference. Pure darkness surrounded her and that same cold feeling. And yet, there was a spark, somewhere far. A flame, a glow was there, she felt it. She felt its warmth. It burned with such intensity and within a brief longing, she found herself face-to-face with it.

It was not an ordinary flame. It was a flame of intense emotion. A flame of eternal love combined with the flame of complete loathing, this was what it was. "I remember," said Sistine as she looked into the flame and saw herself feeding it, fueling it, making it grow. "I must have my revenge."

 

The ghostly apparition was walking slowly in the middle of the street. Her hair was covering her face. Her long white robes flowed around her as she made her way into the town. Her eyes were blood red. She raised one snowy white hand as if in supplication to a leaving loved-one. A melancholic aura was surrounded her. And, as Bate looked closely, she stopped in her tracks. A fresh shower of snow fell heavily but not where she was standing. He looked at her carefully, trying to figure out who this was that the yukina, if it was a yukina, possessed. Like an answer to his prayers, her hair, as if blown by the violent winds, parted to reveal her face. He was shocked. The yukina has possessed Sistine.

 

"Death and suffering to those who parted us. That must be their fate," chanted Sistine. "Death and suffering to those who parted us and who killed the beloved late. Death and suffering to those who do not cheer, when our bond is once again strong, and to those who laugh and jeer." She was filled with vehemence. She wanted to destroy for the sake of love.

 

Bate rushed downstairs to look for the innkeeper but when he asked around, no one knew where he went. Then one of his sons came to him.

"Papa and Caleb went out to find Sistine," he explained. "I was just about to go after them."

"What's your name?" he asked the young man.

"Zachary, sir."

"Well, Zachary, your family is in danger. I want you to get me an empty glass bottle as clear as they can be. We need it to seal the monster. I will go out and tell the others to find shelter."

Zachary went in search of the bottle. This was only an excuse to get him to stay indoors. Bate told the others not to step out of the house, no matter what happens. Then he himself went out. The moment he steeped out of the door he discarded his form and flew overhead.

The specter still stood there, oblivious to everything and yet alert for the nearest human presence. This he saw as he flew. Being the animal that he is, she paid no mind to him as he sought in desperation for the innkeeper and Caleb.

Alas, he found them. It seemed that one of them recognized the yukina as Sistine and was moving towards her direction. He tried to warn them but being a bat, they did not understand. All he could do was fly as fast as he could towards the yukina before they get close. This was not to be the case. The yukina looked at the two men coming towards her. The snow ghost smiled an evil smile. Then her beautiful features changed into a gruesome face. With sharp teeth and slanted red eyes, she looked more like a snow demon than a maid. And with one chilling scream everything went blank.

Bate was not in time to stop the attack. But he managed to shield the two men by absorbing the attack himself. However, not being human himself, a strange thing occurred. He was transported into Sistine's mind. There he something he had never before thought possible. Sistine, though in complete darkness was covered in flames, like a woman in purgatory without the chains. She had her eyes closed but as he approached she opened them in an instant. Sistine wasn't possessed by a yukina,; she was the yukina.

"Impossible! A reincarnated spirit?" Bate circle around her as her eyes followed him without emotion. Then she suddenly took hold of him and then embraced him without warning. The flames were gone and so was the darkness.

It was a fine summer but Bate didn't feel the sun's rays or the heat. He was simply a shadow here, a ghost. He looked around and saw a wide tree. Under it a beautiful girl was sitting, she had long black hair that tumbled about her and she was wearing a blue robe with red flowers printed in them. He looked closer and saw, a familiar face. It was the same as Sistine but he knew it was someone else. Who was she?

As he drew closer, he realized she was crying. On her right hand she held an envelope, on the other an opened letter. She lifted her face and he soon found it hard to breathe. "Saya," he said in a sad voice. "Saya!"

The girl could not hear him. He remembered it now, their story, his love, their separation and her eventual death, or at least that was what he thought.

The scenery changed dramatically. Snow fell in large amounts and soon the entire ground was covered in snow. The tree was leafless, the grass was white and winter breeze was felt. But all of that did not matter for the girl in white, standing under the tree and looking down near its roots. Bate followed where her eyes had rested. There was a cross. It was a grave. He looked at the girl who held her bosom and then smiled a painful smile. The grave was that of her child. He was alarmed with what he saw next, she took a dagger out of her sleeves and pierced her heart. She looked in his direction and seemed to him as she raised his hand for him to hold. He advance and reached for her but it was in vain for she merely slipped in between, he was only a shadow of course.

Another change. He saw Saya again, holding a giggling babe in her arms, as she entered a cave, a cave where a river passed through. He seemed to catch the message in her eyes.