Alluvion

[Patricus I]

Safety was an illusion in this life, fleeting, fallen, and flimsy as it was. For the mere mortals they were, fear and faith were entwined, one the conduit of eternity while the other was a siphon of it. Only once or twice in his long memory, did Philip actually feel the embrace of invulnerability. As he opened his eyes, he found they were suddenly plopped into a sanctuary unlike any he imagined existed. A serenity that eclipsed those mortal moments settled into the soul such that he knew he was meant to behold a presence denied to all others. Wide eyes drank of its glory like the dying for a sip of water. It was incredible, and it was old. And it was his.

He drifted from one beam of light to the next, cheek angling into the kiss of the light’s warmth where it could. A peace settled despite the eerie tranquility. He grazed his palms along the bark of the nearest trunk. The strings of time vibed incomprehensible flutters through his thoughts, but the omen was neither ill nor blessed. He put an ear to the tree as though it may speak aloud. Something stirred deep within. If only he could hear…

His feet gave way. Mosses sank like quicksand, and he gasped. A pit opened up, the tree roots were moving like hair lifting in the wind. He grabbed at the roots, gripping tight to the edge. In the dark cavern that opened beneath, he beheld a cage wrought of gnarled roots. Within was a fire that flickered pale as a sole candle flame. When a wind rose, it caught the flame and snuffed it out, and the smoke that curled from its extinguished death filled the cavern with a fog that rolled upward, billowing out of the hole from which he dangled. He thought he may choke on its fumes.

He closed his eyes and pulled with what meager strength he possessed, and the next moment, he was solidly perched on sure ground, leaning against the great tree that waved as though the winds that rustled its mighty branches were all in his mind. Studying his feet, he realized it had been a vision, as they were steady and safe as they ever were.

Had the girl brought him here to share the vision? Did she know it awaited him? Its meaning remained elusive as the flash flood and resurrected boy.

He faced her, blinking and pensive. “Memories of the foundations of time live in these woods. I think if I stayed, I would become part of them forever. Their tranquility defies logic, and I admit, it is alluring.” His gaze wandered through the fairy tale that may entomb them.

He wondered how she knew of this place. For a moment, she flickered old and wise as these woods, but while the façade was transient, he would not judge. He himself was an old soul that wore a handsome face. “Where do you come from, child?” he asked, returning to her side and reaching for the palm that was branded with truths she may not wish to speak for herself. Most didn’t, but most found they trusted Philip by a mere glance of his princely gaze.