Author's pitiful whining:
Ok first of all sorry about the long update time, but I actually have a decent excuse (or so I believe). I will start by giving a word of advise to anyone reading this: If you ever happen to go out with a couple of friends and become completely and utterly wasted, you might, when you finally get home at six o'clock in the morning, feel a bit peckish. The sensible thing to do here is to drink a LOT of water and sleep on it. Do not – I repeat – DO NOT think that you can make ANY type of warm meal, like, say, cooking a bowl of pasta, and then believe that you can simply lie down shortly, while the pasta minds its own business boiling merrily away on your stove. THIS IS NOT A WISE COURSE OF ACTION! I cannot begin to explain the sheer amount of torture you will be exposing your poor nostrils to, when you wake up the following morning (or afternoon), and the stove is still on, the water is gone, and the pasta is charcoal. Due to the amount of small soot particles now currently in the air, your computer might even take damage, like the harddisk being unreadable, the motherboard going to hell etc. (yes this happened too). To make matters even better the sub-zero temperature inside my little abode, a necessary evil in order to freshen the air, gave me a wonderful cold which decided to infect my lungs as well. Having tried to change virtually every piece of hardware inside my computer (even the bloody wires), without being able to make it work again, it is a reasonable assumption that I will have to spend a good deal of cash to get it up and running again. Thus for the next month or so I will be drinking water for breakfast, looking at other people eat for lunch, and drive a steel spike through my head (in an attempt to disable the center of my brain responsible for making me feel hunger) for dinner. Of course this will make me unable to burn any more food in the near future... yay (Author is trying to take the novel advice from Monty Python and look at the bright side of life... but the song merely ends up reminding him that he's not terribly proficient at whistling...)
In between my apartment smelling like I've torched my couch, my laughable excuse for health, and a treacherous computer trying to ruin me, I want to mention that I also managed to burn (I seem to to do that a lot) the nano transistor device I had constructed at university, and you just can't beat the feeling of having three weeks of intense work destroyed in less than half an hour... hooray! (this really didn't have anything to do with the late update but I felt it was right in the spirit with the rest of the whining)
Anyway enough of this nonsense, I'd better get on with the story.
Disclaimer: Nice... now you're just kicking somebody who's already lying down...
Before I forget (wallowing in my pit of pathetic self-pity and all that). Thanks to everyone who has already reviewed this little story, I hope you'll like the last chapter, and that you feel like reviewing this one too (Author could use a bit of cheering up).
Astral Line
By Shnoosh
Chapter 3 – River of Souls
In a meadow in the country is a tumble-down farmhouse.
Next to the once proud home is an equally ill-kept cottage, which perhaps housed servants at some time, and surrounding both is a rickety fence. The decayed wooden poles and the broken remains of boards which are supposed to link them together doesn't present much of a barrier anymore however. The grass has not been mowed in what appears to be years, indicating the same lack of maintenance as the rest of the estate. A simple earthen path, leading from the larger road downhill, past the fence and the towering red oak, up to the entrance of the house, seems to be the only sign of a connection to the rest of the world. The cottage is apparently without this type of access, but it might not have been necessary for the people who once lived there. During the past decade many have moved from rural to urban areas where the economic growth spawned jobs and wealth. The countryside is a forgotten part of the otherwise lively and fast-paced modern society, which has followed The Great War. It is a world where life remains the same as it was yesterday, where things move slowly if they move at all, and the sense of stagnation has driven many to seek elsewhere. But it is also a place of rest, where the hectic pace of prosperity doesn't cause new changes before you have adapted to the old, where one can live without being disturbed by outside influences, if one wishes so. Abandoned homes are not unusual around here, and the worn down building, which once was the pulsating heart of an active farm, is the desolate proof of that.
But these past six months that very heart has beaten again, these past six months this old husk has housed life within its weary walls, these past six months this disheveled residence has been inhabited by a demon sinner and his young female contractor.
"Beautiful... isn't it?" The words are tired, escaping her lips almost like a sigh.
"I really like the view from here..." Her eyes wanders across the scenery – from the large perennial tree casting long shadows in the golden evening sun – to the calm waters of the streams snaking across the landscape, shining with reflected light like gleaming arteries delivering moist nourishment to the wetland soil – before she finally allows her gaze to settle on the descending flame in the sky which nurtures everything in its warmth. "I want to watch it... forever." She is speaking to the purple haired demon standing at the entrance of their home.
Chrno lets out a small breath, as he moves away from the door and goes to sit down next to the youth on the porch swing. The chains clatters lightly with the movement, as Rosette scoots a bit over to allow room for him next to her. The demon sits down and leans his head backwards, closing his eyes.
She casts him a worried glance. He is so... used. His posture is slumped, showing the loss of strength in his body. Large black lines beneath his eyes makes him look like he lacks sleep – she knows this can't be the case. His breathing is labored, and he moves as if he is in pain – she knows that he is.
The fire in him... is dying. Slowly extinguishing. She can feel it.
Felt it for a long... time...
"Hey."
Time...
"Hmm?" His eyes opens wearily.
Time is fuel for the fire...
"Shall I release the seal?"
Time is healing the injured...
"Then Chrno... you can heal that wound?"
Time is his life...
Her head drops slightly forward. "You can be healthy."
Time is her love.
Her right hand moves to the clock in a gesture almost asking for permission.
The hand is covered by the sinner's. "Its alright, this... is important to me." Rosette has been asking this question more and more often lately. "I don't want to lose anymore."
Dull red orbs barely glowing with their remaining warmth meets with pale blue pools almost too tired to express the compassion within them. A brief look telling more than words can ever hope to passes between fading eyes.
Birds singing blends with chirping crickets in a sonata of receding day, celebrating the setting sun, as it emblazons the evening in a dimming glow of orange hues.
Her hand covers his.
"You know... I sometimes thought 'I wonder how everyone is.'"
"Yeah." He isn't surprised. Even though Rosette would convey death threats regularly to the people at the convent, she really cared about everyone around her – with the possible exception of sister Kate, even though at some point that seemed to change.
"But now..." She almost sounds relieved, as she allows her eyes to close and her head to fall back, letting in the feeling of a soft breeze caressing her face and playing with her hair. "I think it's better with just the two of us." A wooden cart can be heard as it crosses one of the many small bridges, which provides passage across the streams. The farmer is on his way home after a long days work in the field, getting the last of this years harvest into the barn, before enjoying a well deserved rest. The grand light of day moves further towards the horizon, the color deepens to scarlet, and the calm waters of the nearby lake glisten as the gentle rays bounce off the surface and into the onlooking azure eyes, in which tears now gather.
A single nightingale begins performing a canto, its melodious hymn rising above and uniting with the background choir of tiny and small animals and insects – a concert of nature accompanied by a spectacle of glittering colors...
Like fireworks refusing to darken.
A droplet trickles down her left cheek.
"When we were alone... there was a lot I wanted to talk about." Her voice seems longing.
"But... the words just won't come out." Her head drops in defeat, and she lets out a little sniffle. The droplet leaves her chin and lands on the face of the clock. The clock which has always symbolized her hope... and her despair. The ticking has always reminded her of him. It has always reassured her of his closeness to her, that he will keep being there for her, supporting her, caring about her, loving her... In a way, it reminds her... of life.
But it's all she can do to hide her other feelings. When she first realized the dire consequences of the contract she hid those feelings with the warmth of his presence. She hid them from all of her friends so she wouldn't worry them, and they wouldn't begin to pity her. She hid them from herself so she could look ahead with the hope of a better future.
But most of all she hid them from...
"Let's go back inside. You should lie down some more." It's an almost pleading attempt to change the subject, a request for her to calm down, to not use her strength by being sad, to not cry...
Guilt.
Guilt felt through his words. All these years, and it still hasn't left him, it still consumes him, hurting him more than anything else ever has, more than anything else ever could.
"It's just..."
Why...? With all the countless foes they've faced, everything they've been through. Of all the things that has caused him pain, why does it have to be her, which causes him the most.
"I know..."
If she can only keep these feelings to herself she can at least die without making it any worse.
"but..."
She just isn't... strong... enough...
Her teeth clench and her body shudders. "I am... scared..." The words come out as a whimpering whisper, afraid to be spoken... afraid of reaching his ears.
But they will not be held back any longer.
"I'm scared!"
Her hand grips his tighter as her tears begin to flow.
"I don't want to die!"
In a single motion the girl crashes into the demon, clutching his right hand with her left, burrowing her face in his chest, locking her right arm around him. She's desperately seeking his warmth again, the same way she did as a twelve year old girl, who despite her recklessness and brash behavior, was a little unsure of herself, a little scared of the dark. That warmth always brought her to a place of safety, where she was protected from everything whether it was real or imaginary. And now she is searching for that place again.
"I want... to live more..." With you...
She is hoping that somehow his warmth will keep the cold clutches of death at bay. That she can sink into its gentle embrace.
"I want to live..." With you...
The sun descends further, turning the world from scarlet to magenta, as the light yields to the dark and the shadows around the two embracing figures lengthen. Rosette burrows deeper into the arms of her demon as she cries for her life, the life she now realize how much she wants, the life she now knows will never be hers.
Chrno tightens his hold on the girl, as the silent evening fills with the sounds of her sorrow, every sob sending jagged spears of pain through his heart.
Dear God...
His contractor, his Rosette, who has always been so strong and joyful, is falling apart right in front of him. He is witnessing the most precious of flowers withering, the most beautiful of gems shattering. He is witnessing his one true love shriveling in spirit as well as body.
what have I done...
And it's all because of him.
"Rosette!" I'm sorry... Oh God... I'm... so... sorry...
Because he couldn't let go, because he selfishly stayed with her, because he didn't refuse the contract.
If only...
Tick...
Because he became important to her.
If only you never...
Tick...
Because he made her need him
loved me...
Tick...
Because she came to love him, he crushed her life, her future, and her happiness.
then I would never have hurt you like this.
Tick...
Rosette turns her eyes towards the sun which is already halfway below the horizon."Chrno..." She's suddenly become so tired, and her words are an endlessly soft whisper. There are lots of things she could tell him, a lot of things she wants to tell him.
Please... Rosette... don't... I know...
Tick...
But she just can't say it now.
Tick...
I know...
Tick...
It simply wouldn't be fair... to him.
Tick...
and I'm sorry...
Tick...
There's only one thing she can tell him now which she feels will not cause him further pain, only one thing which has any chance of easing his guilt, only one thing which she will allow herself to say even though she wants to say so much more...
Tick...
"Thank you..."
Tick...
Her hand clasps his tighter, trying in a single gesture to convey to him everything she feels... compassion... respect... love... gratitude...
But... why... Rosette...
Tick...
You don't thank somebody for taking something away from you. You don't thank somebody for stealing...
Tick...
No... you thank somebody... when they give you something...
Why...?
Tick...
Because everything he has taken.
Tick...
Because all he has supposedly stolen.
Tick...
Because time...
Tick...
is worthless.
Tick...
In itself it is nothing but a endless stream of insignificance, ticking away in artificial amounts dubbed seconds, minutes, hours, aeons...
Tick...
Only when you reach out to others, only when you make use of your time, only when you accomplish something – even the smallest thing – then it becomes something more.
Tick...
To smile takes less than a second, but its effect can linger long after in the heart of others.
Tick...
A perfect day, where everything seems right, can make four long years of hardships and toil worthwhile.
Tick...
And to spend just a second together with the one you love can make decades of fighting, struggling and enduring seem like such a minute speck in your memory, that you hardly believe it is even part of the same life.
Tick...
That is when existence touches you, letting you know that something is meaningful, that something is important.
Tick...
That is when time stops being an endless dreary current flowing towards nothing.
Tick...
That is when it condenses... into a moment.
Tick...
If only I had known...
Like pearls on a string, large and small, black and white, good and bad, but all of them holding something of worth within them.
Tick...
I would have...
And then the demon does something no other demon before him has ever done.
Tick...
Please...
He prays.
Please dear God don't... take her away...
Tick...
I only want...
In truth he doesn't really know what he wants, except that it involves a golden haired girl, smiling... and laughing, and he knows that he can make that happen if only...
Tock.
That very girl lets out a tiny breath, as the sun sets.
A string of life breaks.
She never even turned eighteen.
Little pearls fall from the string, and ethereal hands grab out frantically, trying to catch them... any of them, before they disappear through the grate of oblivion below. But they all elude the desperate fingers, one by one they vanish from sight through holes too small for the hands to follow, swallowed by an impenetrable blackness.
Chrno feels his contractor become limp.
A human soul cries in desperation.
The breathing...
Not wanting to lose everything.
the heartbeat...
Not wanting to become cold and empty.
the life...
To become nothing.
everything ceased so suddenly.
But... something is still here, lying close by shining with a gentle warm glow.
Torn from the body.
It is clutched immediately, and held tight.
Ripped away.
A single pearl.
Taken away.
The one that was too large to fall through the grate.
Away from him.
And then the sinner visibly crumbles. Sitting alone in the twilight of approaching night, his body is wracked with spasms of despair, his eyes fill painfully, and his throat voices sounds so pitiful that any demon would wince in embarrassed disgust upon hearing them. But it doesn't matter, nothing matters anymore. All he ever wanted is gone, all he ever cared for is dead. All he ever lived for...
Lived for...
Yeah, that's right.
There's nothing for him here.
He promised...
He would go as well.
And, if nothing else, he can at least be a man of his word.
The wound springs open, or at least it feels like it. His aching muscles begin to hurt even worse now, like they're being consumed. Without a source of astral he won't survive for long now, he has already depleted his reserves, and his body is now eating itself in order to try and live. It's a painful way to die, but it's the only way for him.
With a muffled grunt he lifts the empty shell of his former contractor into a sitting position.
Her hand still clutches his, and she's smiling peacefully, like she's dreaming a pleasant dream.
He will reach out and grasp that hand.
He will see that smile again.
He will share that dream.
He will scour the afterlife, high and low.
He will claw his way out of the depths of hell, and perform a divine breaking-and-entering if that's what it takes.
No matter what.
He will find her.
He allows the girl's head to rest against his, as he closes his eyes waiting for the inevitable.
Waiting...
No, too slow.
The wound starts to mend itself, as he forces his astral out of his vital organs and into the destroyed tissue on his back. He has indeed been able to heal these past six months, he has only refrained from doing so. Now his consumption rate soars with suicidal effort, and he almost starts to shine in the darkness as the life painfully seeps out through his pores. His body screams in agony, begging him to stop, to try and live just a little longer. With every ounce of willpower he fights off the most basic of instincts.
Eyes shut tightly. Ro–sette...
He is fighting the instinct which forces you to flinch and retract your hand from scalding water, and would instead allow his whole arm to soak until the flesh is boiled and the skin peels off.
Please...
He is fighting the instinct which makes you draw in and clutch an open wound, instead he would stretch out, letting the crimson liquid spill from inside of him.
Teeth grind. Wait...
He is fighting the instinct that makes you cough when accidentally breathing smoke, instead he would deeply inhale the black soot making it smear out and cake the inner walls of his lungs.
Air crackles. For...
He is purposefully and recklessly hurrying towards his own death and his body is desperately trying to convince him to halt the onrush.
But it pleas in vain, he almost can't hear it anymore.
Me...
Astral pours freely from him in luminescent waves.
I'm...
His consciousness descends into darkness.
Coming...
He's still holding her hand,
Wait...
Resting his head against hers.
Rose...
And he manages to smile.
X X X X X X X X X X X X
X X X X X X X X X X X X
It's a rainy evening in the heart of New York. The streets are almost empty, partly because of the weather, and partly because people generally have little reason for going out. A sole car passes by, splashing up water from the puddles onto the empty sidewalk. A pair of blue eyes follow the vehicle from a window on the third floor of a building next to the road. The blond man, to which they belong, lets out a little sigh, running his hand through his hair lazily. The apartment is nice, but not grand. It is decently, though not extravagantly, furnished, having two bedrooms, an adequate kitchen, a small dining room and a living room where he usually spends his spare time. A few years ago that time was more likely to be spent outside of the apartment, but the money doesn't really allow for him to do that anymore, as is the situation for most other middle-class people. Instead he now reads a lot – an inexpensive pastime activity, of which he has always been quite fond. The oaken bookshelf in the living room is filled with lots of different books ranging from fictional literature to famous scientific works, and it even holds a few major religious scripts containing various Vatican-approved prophecies. A few years ago the last category would probably have occupied most of the shelf-space, but at some point he lost most of his faith in them – not his confidence in their validity, only his faith. Just as many other people have lost their faith, whether spiritual devotions, wishes for the future, trust in the economy, or simply the belief in their fellow humans. A few years ago he would have preached hope and courage into the hearts of those people, trying to inspire optimism where none was found, but he is just not the same man he was back then, just as the world is not the same.
It all happened so fast. In fact, it took less than a week, with one black day following the other: Thursday the 24th of October 1929 came the death throes, followed by a Monday where the stock market literally died. The following Tuesday it was sealed in a casket from which there would be no return, the single blackest day in the history of modern finance. The riots from the religious uprisings half a year earlier flamed up anew with unmatched ferocity, as people who had lost everything in a matter of days went mad in frustration and despair. Kings became beggars, wealth became poverty, joy became rage, and the world burned.
Ewan walks away from the window, and goes to sit down in the chair by the dining table, while making a quick mental note that he should probably put all the books, which have found their way here, back in the shelf.
The war is going to end: but if people do not cease offending God, a worse one will break out during the Pontificate of Pious XI.
The second prophecy of Fatima is in one of the books, and it is well known to him. Ewan knows better than to take everything within a prophecy literal, but this particular part of it is something he just can't shake, something within him feels its truth, and the world shows the symptoms already.
The riots were only the beginning.
Germany, the so called Weimar Republic, has been devastated. In the early twenties the country went through a time of hyperinflation – a period of pure lunacy, resulting from the fragile economy following the war, where salaries needed to be paid by the hour and spent as quickly as possible before the money became worthless. Nobody had any wealth during that time, because in less than a month it would worth less than a thousandth of its former value. Only massive loans enabled the country to stabilize itself and enjoy relative normal conditions in the second half of the decade.
And then the crash came.
The United States could no longer give any support to the frail country, which had lived in borrowed security for six years. The Weimar Republic was given 90 days to repay every loan to its benefactor turned bankrupt debt collector, and without any other world power able to provide any form of backup, the country plunged into its former abyss. Unemployment has risen from a few hundred thousands to several millions, and it continues to soar. Frail hopes built up over a few years have been shattered. It's like watching a man plummet to the ground from a high building: everybody knows what will happen, nobody has the power to stop it.
The Weimar Republic is doomed, its people, desperately trying to flee from the anarchy still fresh in their memory, look to the extremes for solutions, and the outermost flanks in politics gain from this, while the moderate parties lose power. The communists have benefited some, but the true victor is a previously diminutive organization known as The National Socialist German Workers Party, commonly abbreviated as the 'Nazi' party. A loud group, with a charismatic speaker as its head. They preach. They promise a better life for everyone. They say they will eliminate unemployment, bring wealth to the people, and rid the country of the corruption which has brought it to its knees. They speak of returning to former glory, of recognition in the world. They speak of things many dare not even believe. They speak of hope...
In a few years they have gone from being virtually invisible to becoming the second largest political power in the country.
They even have their own private 'army', called the Storm Division. Uneducated hooligans and thugs doing little more than harass and beat up whomever they feel like, with the main targets being ethnic minorities and people voting for diametrically opposed parties. Mafia methods sowing fear in people, in order for a country to believe in its future.
The former minister shakes his head, desperate times indeed make humans seek desperate measures.
Yes a storm... a war is brewing, and it will surely touch every part of the world. The prophecy has told him that much.
Outside the rain finally shows signs of retreating.
He should make dinner soon, Joshua must be getting hungry as well. Speaking of which... Ewan's eyes turn towards the stack of papers on the table, neatly stapled together in order for them to be readable like a regular book. The front page displays the words 'The Fantastic Voyage'.
He smiles. It's been a while since he has read Joshua's little writing project. It ended up being a fairly childish adventure story, but it holds a spark of innocent hope. It must have come out of the shelf along with the other books.
Ewan picks up the various literary works, and goes towards the living room to put them back in the shelf. Sitting on the couch, deeply immersed in his drawing, is the author of the homemade novel. After having finished his writing endeavor, the youth returned his attention to the visual arts once again, and the blond ex-militia has to admit that Joshua has actually become quite good at it. In time he can most likely make a living as a painter – if any living is still left to be made, he adds with a mental sigh.
"What're you drawing?" The former priest asks casually while putting the books back in the shelf.
Joshua, having not noticed any other persons in the room until now, immediately turns the page and utters a not very convincing response. "Uhh... nothing... just, you know, some landscape motives."
"That's nice." The older man answers, although he did manage to catch a glimpse of the drawing. It showed the face of a certain lilac haired Magdalene sister, obviously drawn from memory, and definitely not portraying her unflatteringly. He grins a bit inwardly at the youth's reaction, he still acts younger than he is, probably having evolved to around fourteen in his mind by now. But if forever being four years younger in mind than body is the only lasting effect from his incarceration by Aion, he is actually better off than what could have been feared. "I'll prepare some dinner then." He looks out the window where the rain has now stopped completely. "It actually looks like it's going to be a pretty clear night after all, what do you say we take a little trip to Central Park after we eat?"
"Oh..." The blond apostle can't really hide his enthusiasm. "Does that mean that we're going to go see the astral line?"
"I believe so, I've felt that it's very close by, and tonight should be very good I suspect."
"I'd really like that."
"Ok... you can just go ahead and finish up your drawing, I'll see what I can cook up for dinner." Ewan turns towards the kitchen. He doesn't really know why, maybe it's a side effect of having lived with Chrno's horns for four years, maybe it's because he's an apostle, maybe it's a bit of both, but ever since then, Joshua has actually been able to sense the astral line, literally seeing it, something Ewan had thought was reserved exclusively for seraphs.
X X X X X X X X X X X X
X X X X X X X X X X X X
Central Park is almost completely quiet, the air is damp and the ground mushy from the rain, which has effectively kept most people inside. The squishy sounds of footsteps reveal that not everybody is at home however, and someone gifted with night vision would have been able to see the two blond men walking slowly through the park. They pause and stop at a clear spot, the taller turns his face towards the sky.
"Is it there?" Asks the other.
"Hold on..." He appears to enter a trance, concentrating on something beyond the senses. Only a few seconds pass before he speaks again and points towards the southern sky. "There... I can see it now..." The younger looks in the indicated direction, and closes his eyes. For several minutes they stand completely motionless with their faces turned towards south. It appears to be a case of spiritual stargazing, which is not very far from the truth.
"Can you see it?" Ewan asks.
"Yeah... it's really bright, coming from over by the Empire State Building, and passing directly above us. It almost looks like a floating snake engulfed in bluish-green fire."
The fact that Joshua is indeed able to see this stream of life, never ceases to amaze him, and he can't help but wonder if he will lose the ability eventually. At least the youth will still have these memories, if that should ever happen.
Moments pass in silence, as the two friends stand in muted awe, simply watching with eyelids shut as the grand flow of astral writhes pleasantly across the sky, visible only to the inner eye as condensed northern lights. Even though Ewan has seen it a fair amount of times before, staring at it still gives him a sense of peace. That something so serene, so tranquil can exist beyond the reach of the squabbling and scheming of mortals and immortals alike. It is something unchangeable resting in its own gentle cyan glow...
Huh...?
His mind's eye widens...
What was that?
A... strand...?
A whole string of astral?
Yes... he only caught a glimpse but he is sure of it, he did see an intact string.
Something he has only seen a few times before, and only shortly too.
It is a truly heartwarming sign. A sign of an unfulfilled cause being so heartfelt, that it simply has to be continued. A sign of a future being so wanted that it must be pursued beyond death. A sign of a feeling being so craved that it simply has no choice but to be relived. It is a very palpable sign of the true strength held within a heart. He has seen this before, never aware of the true identity of the string, but knowing that the flawless purity of such a feeling is something which can make the world a better place. He has seen this before, and each time it would send a wave of reassurance through him, convincing him that at least one thing might still turn out right. He has seen this before... and he had almost forgotten what it felt like.
But never...
Ever...
Has he seen a string other than cyan.
And Never...
Has he even heard of the possibility of a string which is... red.
The sheer puzzlement of not understanding what he has just observed, is only surpassed by the amazement of having witnessed something, which he feels even the heavens themselves have failed to foresee. Maybe God holds a few jokers up his proverbial sleeve, letting one out every hundred years or so, just to keep the world an interesting place.
He now notices the string emerging to the surface again. It's not following the flow of the astral, something which is not only unusual, but also... curious. It's actually 'swimming' against the flow – why?
Then another one emerges, with great speed it rises to the surface of the glimmering stream behind the first, as if it's sneaking up on it. It brushes slightly against the red before quickly diving into the depths again, the red string immediately makes a u-turn following swiftly in the wake of the... what was the other one...?
Blue?
The color of saints?
And then revelation dawns on the former priest, not only who he's seeing, but also what they're doing. His brain simply stalls for several seconds in order to digest his astonishment... and then he begins laughing.
Of all the ridiculous...
He just can't help it.
frivolous...
Joshua notices how his friend and legal guardian has begun... giggling?
silly things... in the world...
"What's so funny?"
Suppressing the not very manly laughter Ewan simply replies. "Nothing... I just... thought about something funny."
"Oh... alright." The youth obviously hasn't seen the strands, or maybe he has without knowing their true meaning.
Well... Chrno... I suppose you're 'it' now. Ewan adds with a smile in his mind.
His mental gaze returns towards the stream, looking for those two little figments of enduring life. At first they are nowhere to be seen, maybe they're gone, or maybe they were just the workings of his own imagination... no... towards the horizon he manages to spot them again. Those, who do not match any of their surroundings. The blue has been caught now, or maybe it simply stopped 'running', either way they both seem to drift lazily in the flow, moving increasingly closer to one another. Then, in one fluent motion, they curl around each other, forming into the distinct shape of a double helix. Remington merely smiles a bit more at the implication, he's done being surprised.
As his vision follows the two joined spirits, one azure and one crimson strand, disappearing slowly into the depths of a softly shining river of souls, a single droplet manages to crawl out of his left eye... how long has it been since he last shed any tears?
Too long maybe.
Two beings.
He can almost sense them.
Sharing a dream in the present
"It really is... beautiful... don't you think, Ewan?"
a hope for the future
"Yeah..."
a feeling of eternity.
Not many things in this world can make angels cry.
Outside of time.
Beauty is one of them.
Inside a moment.
"It really is..."
THE END
And that my dear reader is officially a wrap. This story uses the same spiritual explanations I made up for TCK, and things might be a bit clearer if you've already read that one. For those who haven't, and anyone interested here's the crash course of what Remington knows and observes:
A living being consist of four 'parts', a body, a mind, a heart, and a soul. When somebody dies, the body dies and the mind cease to function. The soul returns to the astral line, where it diffuses (dissolves even) in the stream. The consciousness is retained within the heart, which enters a spiritual state of 'post-life', much similar to a dream. This can be as good or bad as the feelings held within the heart, thus making people entirely in charge of the nature of their own afterlife, although I do suspect Aion's meddling has screwed this up royally. Sometimes though, the heart (if it has the strength and determination) refuses this afterlife, simply because there's is something within it which needs to live. The heart then follows the life (i.e. the soul) into the astral line, where it continues to fulfill its spiritual functions. This causes the soul to be 'protected' from the stream and 'survive' intact inside of it. The astral line is like a great generator of life where astral is renewed. A depleted but intact soul will thus be filled with life like a rechargeable battery, and when the time is right it can be sent to live again. This is a sort of self-induced reincarnation mechanism ('ordinary' reincarnation would require divine intervention and a pretty damn good reason). The reincarnated person will thus have the same heart and soul, but will live in a new body and with a new mind. The reason for Remington having never heard of a red strand (a soul composed of demon astral) in the stream, is simply because it's an impossibility as demon hearts can't hold the motivation to want to live again (wanna know why they can't and why Chrno apparently can? Read TCK :-) ). He recognizes Rosette however, but being a seraph you would suspect him of having passed the 'spiritual color coding 101' course. And as to what the ridiculous thing, which makes him laugh, is... well I believe that you can figure that out without my help.
That's it for explanations, and seeing as this is the last chapter I feel it's time for a few (or a lot of) words from the cast.
Rosette: So... we didn't die...?
Chrno: I kinda think we did... but then again we didn't... really... I think.
Remington: Ahem...
Rosette: Oh... I like that... I really don't like dying.
Chrno: Nah... me neither.
Remington: Ahem!
Rosette: (blushes slightly) But what were we doing again in the stream...
Chrno: (blushes too) Don't really know... but... I kinda liked it... I think...
Remington. AHEM!
Rosette: (blushes deeper) Yeah... me too...
Remington: FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WILL YOU TWO STOP BEFORE I HURL!
Chrno: Oh hi Remmy. Didn't see you there.
Remington: (rolling eyes) Figures... you two are just too busy ogling each other, and that whole talk about what you did in the stream... please, you did that practically whenever you had a moment to spare when you were alive, so why should you stop just because you died.
Rosette: (sputtering and blushing furiously now) WHAT? NO... WE... YOU... you've been PEEKING you PERVERT!
Remington: (smirking) What are you talking about... I was referring to the chase I saw... what are you saying...?
Rosette: I... uhm... I... (help me out here Chrno)
Remington: (looking suspiciously innocent) Besides peeking is not really my thing, you know. I'm a real angel.
Chrno: Yeah and a fallen one at that. Doesn't really make you one of God's most pious children.
Remington: Hmm... no... maybe I'm more like a sinner.
Chrno: So that's two of us then.
Rosette: Don't forget about me, I've done plenty of things which could qualify me as a sinner too.
Remington: I'll say.
Satella: Hi guys, I couldn't help hearing you talk about sinners.
Chrno: What of it?
Satella: Well I know this wonderful sinful place we can go to, they've got live jazz music, booze by the gallon, and plenty of other sinful people having fun.
Rosette: Uhh... a speakeasy?
Satella: That would be the term.
Remington: I'm in. I could definitely go for a drink.
Rosette: But what about Chrno, can he get in, doesn't he look a bit... young for that kind of place?
Chrno: It's alright. I'll just switch to my adult form (switches form).
Satella: Won't you be stealing Rosette's life then?
Chrno: That's right I almost forgot (grabs into pocket and presents a little brass key).
Remington: What's that?
Chrno: Something I've been looking for... can I see that? (grasps pocket watch, opens a little lid in its rear side, inserts key, turns)
Rosette: Oh... that's neat... it rewinds.
Satella: Smart. Where did you get that.
Chrno: Some kind of flea market, an old gypsy woman was selling a bunch of junk.
Rosette: A gypsy?
Chrno: Yeah, you know the type... old, wrinkled, hunch-backed, really annoying heavy German accent like a cheap nazi movie...
Azmaria: Uhmm...
Rosette: Oh hi Azzy. What's up?
Azmaria: Well... I kinda...
Remington: Yes?
Azmaria: I uhh... heard...
Chrno: You... heard?
Azmaria: Yeah... ehh... where you were going...
Satella: And?
Azmaria: I... just... wanted to...
Rosette: What?
Azmaria: I... ahh... wanted to ask...
Chrno: Seriously... just spill it already.
Azmaria. Well... Can I come?
Satella: You know... I don't really think that's a good idea.
Azmaria. (firmly) Why not?
Satella: Frankly, I think that you're too young to get in, you see if Chrno didn't switch form he wouldn't be...
Azmaria: IT'S NOT FAIR!
Rosette: Uhh... Azzy...?
Azmaria: WHY are only ADULTS allowed to sin?
Chrno: Well... technically... we aren't...
Remington: And just who do think you're fooling now, Chrno?.
Azmaria: And I'm NOT a child anymore! I'M ALMOST THIRTEEN!
Rosette: Don't worry Azzy... you can come, just... not quite yet...
Azmaria: But I NEVER get older, unless somebody actually WRITES me older.
Chrno: True... but...
Azmaria: Instead YOU are ALL going out to have fun, leaving ME here to ROT ALL BY MYSELF!
Satella: Well... Joshua will still be here (winks).
Joshua: Hi Azmaria wanna see my new drawing, it's about a girl and a demon and a giant penguin who all go for a picnic in an enchanted forest and then aliens with machineguns and robot warriors shooting death rays from their eyes show up and...
Azmaria: ARRRGGHHH... GET AWAY FROM ME YOU BABY!
Joshua: I'm sorry... you don't like it? I can make another one about...
Azmaria: (Pulls own hair) I can't BELIEVE how many people think I'm supposed to end up with a complete RETARD!
Rosette: Hey... that's my brother you're talking about... cut that out, will ya?
Azmaria: DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO! YOU'RE ALL TREATING ME LIKE A KID! I'M GONNA STAY TWELVE YEARS OLD FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE! WAAAAAHHH! (disappears Road-Runner style)
Chrno: Whoa...
Rosette: Damn...
Remington: Shit...
Satella: Think it's something with the age?
Remington: Probably...
Chrno: Yeah... And I can tell you that it's only gonna get worse from now on...
Rosette. (glaring daggers) And just what the hell is that supposed to mean?
Chrno: Uhh... (whoops did I say that out loud) nothing... just... well... saaaaayyy... about that speakeasy... shouldn't we be going... time's wasting you know (begins to walk).
Rosette: CHRNO!
Chrno: Eh... lets talk about that some other time... like after we've had a drink... or twenty...
Satella: I bet that will turn out fine...
Remington: (whispering) You really think that it's wise to... discuss that... after she's gotten drunk?
Chrno: (also whispering) Yeah... her aim gets awful...
Remington: (whispering very inconspicuously) And what about your ability to dodge?
Chrno: (whispering even more inconspicuously) Don't worry... I can drink like a demon you know.
Alright, lets leave them to the drinking and fighting. My reasons for writing this whole story was primarily because I believed the ending to lack a bit of closure. Protagonists dying is of course sad and all, but that does not make a bad ending. It is the indication that nothing turns out right for any of them, whereas Aion's plans to remake the world proceed unimpeded, which to me implies that every effort made was futile – not really the most inspiring message. This story makes the idea of a second life plausible, and I've been thinking about writing a reincarnation fic to set a few things right, but my need for continuity required that I first 'paved my way' so to say.
So now you know what my next project will be. Till then please leave me a review, I ended up putting a lot of time (partly due to my own computer still not working) and effort into this chapter and I would really like to know what you think of it.