Demon of the Black Gate

A dragonfly shot across the cattails the bunched at on end of the lake, and hovered over a patch of red that sat amid the heat rising from the flat rock. It scanned curiously for a moment and then moved on. Cerra heard the whirring flitter of the wings, recognizing the hovering sound of the dragonfly. It was the first piece of her secret garden that she was able to put back in place. The world had gone dark for her after the demon left. It was the glorious swim and the laughter, and the constant reminder of another in her own sight. When it was gone, she had let nothing else in for awhile, shutting off the sounds and letting the familiar smells go unnoticed. She settled back, and let her emotions sooth. She was both exhilarated and sad. The demon had been taken, no ‘summoned’ she thought to be more correct. He did not look like he wanted to go. She had seen and heard the first real emotion from the demon … ‘him’ … she sought to correct herself, but she really had no idea what he or it was.

The dragonfly had left its mark in her mind, and slowly she started placing the smells and sounds of her surroundings in their proper place. The cry of two hawks sounded from far above. They were always there it seemed, and Cerra sent out a silent greeting. The chirping of the birds and the smell of the orchard near her cabin all settled in her imagination and she finally felt ready to go. There was no visions of another world to interfere. Kamir was not around, but he wouldn’t be far away. Funny, she thought: the one companion she could place back in her secret garden was as black as her sight. She gathered her shift and slipped it on. Her towel and walking stick were close she knew, and kicked out her right foot, doing a pirouette to let it graze and locate the towel. She felt them and picked them up.

She chirped and clicked a little signal with “Kamir!” tacked on the end of it, her customary calling of the cat. Without waiting she picked out the direction of the path and began to walk with her occasional light taps. Moments later she heard the racing pad of little paws charging ahead of her in the direction of the cabin.

“He’s going to lie in wait” she thought. Sure enough, when she passed the rock with the big rhododendron, she felt the whack against her ankle.

“I’m going to get you this time.” she cried, running around the bush a couple of times as Kamir darted in front of her. All she had to do was turn around fast to tag him, for he would always ‘catch up’ to her from behind. She did, and darted her stick lightly across where she thought he must be. Tag!

“You’re it!” she laughed. She moved as quick as she dared in the direction of the cabin, no more than 30 paces away by now. She was nearly at the porch when she heard the cat bound up the three stairs to her door.

“By all the unnecessary gods, you win again!” Her mood was improving. She felt Kamir rub at her legs as she let herself in.

Cerra wondered what had happened to the poor soul trapped in the sorcery. She wondered if he would be back. She gathered greens for her salad. She had no taste for cooking this evening. Sitting on the porch she munched quietly on her spare dinner and thought of the swim she had experienced.

“It must be very much like the night sky.” she thought to herself.

It had been the most unusual and memorable day. Since she had become blind, she couldn’t think of a single day that had more impact. Thinking of the demon’s manifestations in air and water and earth made her think of the nature of those things. Jessann had taught her that life was in everything.

“Even the dirt under your feet has life” she had said.

“Well, like worms and bugs and things.” the young Cerra replied.

“Oh yes. But even the soil. You know about the plants … but don’t forget the spirits of rock and earth. They speak in a different tempo. They live long and time is different for them, so you must be patient to hear their words. The very waters know who you are and respond to your love and care. That is why you must always tread with respect. The spirits can guide you. They will always tell you true. They cannot lie.”

“What manner of spirit was he.” she thought.

Cerra was in a reflective mood. The memories of Jessann were sweet ones, and hearing her counsel conjured up the image she had kept of her mentor. Jessann was a little taller with a slender build. Her voice and manners to Cerra always seemed so elegant: what she imagined a queen or great lady might be like. She remembered the first time she had really understood the contours of Jessann’s face. The older woman had smiled under the touch of her fingers.

“What does that feel like.” Jessann said.

“Why you’re smiling of course.”

“Can you feel it?”

“I can. I am touching you. Your lips curve up.”

“I am talking of the air between us.”

Cerra had to think. Was she feeling the joy because she knew it was there, or because the air itself could tell the tale? She knew that she could feel if Jessann was angry, even across the room. She said as much.

“See? You know without knowing. Cerra, you do not have eyes to see the faces of those who talk with you. You must listen with your heart as well … with every part of you. Not only what people tell you, but what they don’t. And what the world around you is telling you or not telling you. Everything you sense. And don’t sense. It is all important.”

Cerra slept heavily that night, her dreams lively and intense. She saw the woman she knew as Jessann, and danced in a sunlit field with her. She felt herself at one time soaring high in a world where all was shades of blue. She woke feeling much like she had after her swim the day before, both refreshed and exhausted.

“There isn’t enough kafi in the house.” Her voice was scratchy. She felt her way to the kitchen. Her familiar path felt a little askew, as though the cabin had been tugged at a corner. Kamir hopped off the bed and followed her. Cerra fumbled for the poker to prod her cookfire.

“Someday someone will figure out how to have kafi make itself.”

When she finally had her morning elixir brewed, she gathered up a warm shawl and went outside to sit on the porch. The intensity of the dreams had stayed with her or else she’d have noticed the strangeness of the weather upon awakening. Though she couldn’t see it, the sky was hazed and yellowed, as though the smokes from distant fires were shoved against the mountains, preventing their passage.

She sat, pensive in the still morning air. Kamir would normally hop on to the bench where she sat and curl himself against her hip. Instead he paced at her feet, brushing them and then standing still, his attention elsewhere. She listened for the usual calls of morning but heard nothing. The morning chattering of birds was but a few tentative chirps. No breeze fluttered the tree leaves nor carried the sounds of fish jumping in the lake. It was the faintest trace of iron, a burnt nutty flavor that had gotten supplanted by the flavor of her kafi as she sipped.

“Well that was quick.” she said to herself. The substance of the demon was in the air. After the past encounters, it had taken many days before the demon had reappeared. She had yet to see his approach, but the air said enough. She wanted to sit and savor her kafi, but she had the premonition that her life was about to change drastically. That had happened once long ago when she was but seven. She had survived and in many ways she was better because of it. Her lips pursed in a wry smile as she sipped.

“I wonder how long he’ll stay around this time.” she asked the cat. “Like you.” she added, scratching the black cat’s neck.

She heard the distant commotion before she felt the airs around her finally begin to stir. Rumbling thunders were punctuated by crunching erratic thuds, uneven treads that were staggering closer. The faint glow of the demon finally became apparent as she watched to the south, the direction of the sound. A spin of tight, swirling gases touched the earth at random, ‘the long strides of the wind’, she thought to herself. She felt a wave of anticipation sweep over her even as the first strong gust of hot wind tore at her clothing.

#

The demons passage from the desert mesa to the Stands had been as swift as he could make it. The air was too vagrant to use alone for his passage, so he gathered the dusts of the desert to keep him grounded. He felt like he was taking long strides over the land, though the eyes that saw his passage saw a churning funnel that touched the earth, scouring the land where it fell. The storm of the demon’s passing touched down again and again as it crossed the Camelbacks and into the Stands. Passing over Cendiega the impacts devastated several buildings and caused a multitude of fires. It wasn’t until the demon had reached the plateau that he felt close enough to his destination to slow himself. He blanketed the ozones against the mountains until he felt the tendrils of the woman’s presence. He shed the fires and debris he had accumulated in his passage, seeking the earth and the balance of elements that would form him.

The demon finally materialized to Cerra as a shrieking wind lashed the trees and pulled at the thatch of her roof. She held at her hair as it whipped in the sudden gust. She instinctively shut her eyelids as the worst of it seemed to pass over her, and when she opened them the man was shifting in blue fires in the grass field beyond the house. The wind died as suddenly as it arose. All sound had been erased in its passing and Cerra wondered if all living things had been sucked away. But the noises of life slowly returned as she watched the man walk toward her, stopping at the foot of her porch steps.

“I need your ... “ the demon wrestled for the word, “ ... aid.’