Little Goddess Lost

Little Goddess Lost
by Heather Gallay

Chapter One

There was a seldom-used balcony on the third floor, tucked away discreetly on the eastern side of the house, recalled only by the maid who passed it weekly on her way to and from the guest bedrooms, where she changed the linens and swept the floors after the guests had checked out. Sometimes, on particularly bright afternoons in the autumn months, she would stop before the balcony’s glass door and gaze out at the spectacular array of warm colors carpeting the mountain side and trickling down into the fjords and valleys, like random drops of splattered paint. There were reds the color of Mrs. Perkins’ fingernails, oranges as bright as the pumpkins lining the shelves at Shop Rite every October, browns as deeply comforting as she remembered her mother’s kind eyes to be. And there was yellow, which reminded her of the sun, of bananas, of the pistils in daisies and always, always of him.

His hair had been fair and his irises had been a shade of blue so startling that she had commonly compared them to the ocean. He’d loved that because he had loved the ocean more than almost anything in the world—though never more than he had loved her. There were moments, not today but often, when she would let her lids slide down over her eyes and he would be there, waiting for her with a crookedly charming smile, his arms outstretched and his large hands eager to swallow up hers. So many times she reached out for him, her fingertips brushing his futilely, her lips calling for him without sound until, finally, she would be startled back into the present, left to grieve him one more time until the next. It was retribution, she knew, yet no small part of her understood what for.
Flattening her hand against the cool glass, she gazed across the country-side, merging with the wind and skimming the very tips of the canopy as it whizzed by below in long, multicolored streaks broken up, occasionally, by a lapse in the trees. She resented the wail of the crng wng wood beneath her feet, the laughter of the children outside playing near the rippling brook, the strobe-like effect coming from the flickering, naked bulb over her head; these things broke into her daydream and stole it away like a thief. T had had been a time when she hadn’t needed memories and imagination to feel free; now there were many more moments when she doubted if any of it had ever been real.


-------

He stood perfectly still and listened. She was yet five minutes away, but he could pick up the soft clicking of her heels as she strode down the long corridor, its polished hardwood floors beneath her soles. He wondered if she would recognize him and, doubting so, he glanced down at the smoldering cigarette pinched between two slender fingers of his right hand. A fragile tube of ashes was perched at the end, and he tapped the shaft of the cigarette lightly, watching the ashes drift to the forest floor in a snow-like flurry. It reminded him too well of how the Garden had fallen, of the billowing clouds that engulfed Syrondra for weeks, of the friends he was forced to mourn when the smoke had finally cleared.

He was shaken from his reverie by the sound of her breath; she was close now, very close. He tossed the cigarette to the gd and and squelched its embers with the toe of his shoe. Stealing a quick glimpse of his watch, still set to Galbadrian time, he scurried up the nearest tree and gracefully positioned himself on a branch. The house couldn’t have been less than a mile away, and was blocked by a tall, thick canopy of trees, but when he looked towards the third-floor balcony, he could see her as clearly as if she were sitting at his side.

As she had done yesterday and the day before, she stopped by the window and set down her bundle of soiled bedclothes, pressing a small hand against the glass, as if trying to connect with someone on the other side. He watched with tears in his eyes, longing to be that someone for, even a world away, nothing had changed: His dreams still throbbed inside of him like a dull headache, constant and unrelenting. He loved her already.

---

She left Perkins’ Inn at her usual time, shortly after five in the afternoon, and started down the worn, dusty path at the mouth of the wood, glancing over her shoulder to be sure that no one was watching from the main house. They did that sometimes, curious about her decision to take the forest path instead of the main road, which ran right in front of the inn and was far more populated and direct.

On many occasions, she had explained to them her preference for the wood, and just as often they had laughed mockingly, calling her peculiar. She didn’t care, for as long as they felt that way, the forest would remain her own.

Just as she entered the shade of the first pine tree, its brittle needles thickly carpeting the dirt floor, her keen hearing detected a crackling about a mile yonder ahe she stopped dead in her tracks. She knew every sound in the forest as well as she did her own heartbeat, from the delicate trot of the resident deer family to the nearly imperceptible fluttering of the hummingbirds’ wings; yet this one she failed to recognize and it triggered her every alarm.

"Who’s there? Hello?"

There was nothing, and after a few moments of listening for more telltale sounds, she was convinced of her folly and continued down the trodden path, losing herself to the warm and gentle breeze tickling her skin and the smoky scent of the autumn afternoon, which she inhaled as deeply as her lungs could stand.

---

If not for the fact that his sun-yellow hair stood out magnificently against the flaming-orange tree he stood before, she might have passed him completely without even a glance. His clothing, a hooded cloak of scarlet wool, seemed only to materialize after she had been aware of him for several seconds; from beneath the cloak’s floor-length hem peeked two ebony-colored boots with thick, stacked soles and a peculiar steel emblem adorning each toe. He remained so still that he resembled a brilliantly crafted statue, yet his verdant eyes were aflame as they bore into her with an intensity that made her tremble.

She froze in her tracks not fifty yards from where he stood, and instinctively gripped her shoulder-bag tighter, preparing to dash back in the direction from which she’d come. Frantic thoughts bobbed through her mind like buoys in a rough storm.

Not again.

The sanctuary of the secluded grove had been violated; this stranger’s company was not welcome.
Just as she was about to turn back, the robed man finally spoke.

"Hello, Phoenix."

She inhaled a sharp slice of air and stumbled backwards, slamming into the thick, knotted trunk of an old spruce. Her tailbone sent a white-hot jolt of pain searing through her gut and she cried out, doubling over in agony.

Not half a second had passed before the stranger was at her side, easing her to the forest floor with a gentle hand and consoling words in her ear. For a brief moment, she forgot to be suspicious and let the young man hand her a small, silver flask which he had procured from the lining of his cloak.

"Drink this, it’ll take the pain away immediately."

"What is it?" she cried, as he lifted the cruet to her lips.

"It’s nosuffrin juice, the best remedy there is—and it doesn’t taste half bad, either." He smiled warmly and poured the sweet, green liquid into her mouth, taking care not to let any escape her lips and drip down her chin.

As he promised, the pain vanished instantly from Phoenix’ body, and she blinked away the tears that had sprung to her eyes seconds before. Venturing a glance up at her champion, she found that he still wore a kind smile.

My God, he’s beautiful.

He smiled shyly and cast his brilliant eyes away. "Thank you."

Had she said that aloud?

---

"Are you all right?"

Phoenix blinked and tore her eyes from the stranger’s face, extricating herself from his grip.

"I’m fine."

"I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to scare you."

"You should’ve thought of that before you went lurking in the woods." She eyed him warily and got to her feet, brushing the crumbs of dead leaves from her pants. "Now, who the hell are you, and how do you know my name?"

"Both very good questions. I was going to open with that, but…" He smiled sheepishly. "My name’s Vashari—Vash, if you’d like—and I’ve come from—"

"You’ve come from a land far, far away," she interrupted, her voice mocking. "Another dimension, in fact. Galbadria, a beautiful world whose peace and serenity has been fractured by warring sides."

Vash was thunderstruck. "You know?"

"You’re not the first weirdo who’s stalked me," she snapped.

"I’m not?" he asked, flabbergasted. "Wait—I’m not stalking you!"

"Really? Then why were you waiting for me in a deserted wood?"

"I can explain that, I swear—but would you mind elaborating first on what you said? About being stalked, I mean."

"No!"

"Why not?"

"Because it’s creepy that you’re even asking! Are you looking to compare stalker techniques or something?"

"Aren’t you being a little premature in calling me a stalkquotquot; Vash wanted to know, feeling rather affronted.

"I’m sorry—did I hurt your feelings? Why don’t you tell me what you’d like to be called?"

Vash exhaled a long, irritated breath. "I already apologized for scaring you."

"I know, but I don’t think you really understand how unnerving it is for a woman to be approached in a deserted area by a strange man. A strange man who knows her name, no less." Her dark eyes panned his long form, and she knitted her brows together. "A strange man wearing a red mantle."

"Duly noted," he said, self-consciously adjusting his cloak. "Now, will you please tell me about the times you were stalked?"

"Fine," she sighed, grudgingly. "The first time was twelve years ago, right after my moth—after the woman who raised me was killed in a house fire. The day before her funeral, some guy approached me and recited the same words I just repeated to you."

"Did he give you a name?"

"No, but he did warn me that I was being watched closely, and that if I tried to escape my destiny, it would prove futile." Phoenix shook her head, incredulous. "Who actually speaks like that?"

"Not all of quotquot; Vash smiled.

She didn’t return his smile, but he hadn’t expected her to.

"Anyway, there was one other time—after my …" Her voice trailed off, she she averted her eyes.

"After your what?"

After. Just after.

"Nothing, it doesn’t matter. But that time, it was a different man and he said I’d just been given a warning. That was when I took off."

"Took off?"

"Left town, ran away, however it’s phrased where you come . I’. I’ve been on the move ever since—until now. Until you."

"I’m not here to hurt you, Phoenix."

"I know—or, at least, I sensed that." The girl’s face softened considerably and she shrugged heavily, as though she were loath to admit anything of the sort. "You feel different from the others." Her eyes lingered, briefly, on his and she sighed, resignedly. "Look, I know my mom and grandmother were involved in some sort of cult before I was born, but that was their business. I just wanna be left alone, okay?"

"Is that what you think this is about? A cult?"

"What else could it be? My grandmother was always telling me colorful stories of that Galbadria place, about faeries and wizards and places thaundeunded like they came straight from a fairytale. I loved that stuff—I ate it up. But did I believe it? No way. My grandmother was a nut, and so was my mom." Phoenix shrugged, and pulled her bag back onto her shoulder. "But I had no idea that there were more nuts just like them out there—not until they died and that guy showed up. I don’t know what they want with me—or what you want with me, for that matter—but I’m not interested in taking up where my crazy mom and grandmother left off. Just… just leave me alone."

She started walking west, towards the hilly path leading out of the woods, and Vash cantered after her.

"Phoenix, this isn’t a cult—those men are dangerous."

"No kidding."

"I have reason to believe that they were sent by a man named Gorwen. He’s a Lieutenant General in the Galbadrian Army. We’re not sure why he’s so interested in you, yet, but we know it has something to do with a—"

"I said leave me alone!" Phoenix cried, coming to an abrupt halt. "I don’t want any part of it, Vash! I’ve already lost too much because of these lunatics—I don’t want to give up what little I have left. I’m sorry that you’re caught up in this mass psychosis or whatever the hell it is. You seem like a nice guy. But none of this is my problem and I really don’t give a damn what happens. I just wanna be left alone."

"I need you to care," he said, desperately, grabbing her wrist when it looked as though she were poised to run. "Please, Phoenix—at least give me the chance to explain."

---

"You can’t tell me that you’ve never noticed things—about yourself, about the men who’ve appeared to you—about me. Things that couldn’t be so if we were merely Upper Earth humans involved in some sort of cult, as you call it."

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," she said, stiffly. And, truly, she had no idea what "upper earth" meant.

"Oh. Then I guess it’s normal for human beings here to materialize out of thin air like I did over there by that tree. Like I’m guessing those strange men did when they appeared to you years ago."

Phoenix remained silent.

"Right. And maybe," he said, reaching out to finger her long, dark hair. "Maybe women in this dimension always have to chemically dye their hair on a weekly basis to keep it from being its natural shade of blue."

Slapping his hand away, Phoenix glared at him, irate. "How could you know that?" she demanded, her voice unsteady. "Have you been spying on me, too?"

"No! Of course not! At least … at least not the way you’re thinking."

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

"It means that I’ve been having dreams about you. Sometimes, I even have them as you, through your eyes. For a long time now."

"Dreams? You’ve been dreaming about me? Who are you people?" she shrieked, unraveling, at last. "Is it not enough that you’ve ruined my life and forced me to spend the rest of it on the run? Now I’m not even allowed to be alone in my head!"

"It’s not like that! I don’t do it on purpose. The dreams, they just started happening … sometime after the book was found."

"What book?"

"Well, that’s part of what I came here to tell yPleaPlease, if you’ll just calm down enough for me to explain—"

"Fuck you!" she hissed, tears pricking her eyes. "I’m getting out of here."

"Phoenix, I can help you find answers!" he called after her. "Not all at once, but I promise that if you come with me you’ll start to understand everything that’s happened to you."

She ignored him and kept pace up a small hill.

"Don’t you want to know who your mother and grandmother really were? Who you really are? Don’t you want to know why Kevin died?"

Phoenix stopped short.

"What? What did you just say?"

"They killed him, Phoenix. I know they did. If you come with me, you’ll be able to find out why."