Link to part one: here Wordcount: 843 Part: 9/9
Synopsis: The finale!
The storm was dead. It had dissolved long ago, though I couldn’t say when. The voices of the bells had returned. Or was that really what the sound was? I had forgotten how the bells actually sounded. I had forgotten a lot of things. From a distance, I observed that my mind was falling apart. It had started when I got here. Piece by piece my mental faculties drifted away into the expanse. I didn’t know how far I was from where I started, or when I started. I’d forgotten where I was, and how long I had been there.
But this hardly bothered me, because now, all I knew for certain was I was searching for something and I couldn’t remember what.
And then there was nothing but the glass prairie, and the marbled black sky, and the music. It would have been a terrifying moment…if I had been there.
An enormous blast of light and heat surged through me. I knew this feeling. My body threw itself and the light went out. I couldn’t breathe. I was lying under shallow water, but I couldn’t remember how to move. My face burst above the surface and my head whipped from side to side. Thunder exclaimed through the atmosphere and lightning beat at the foggy rain. I was in the bell grove again. How had I gotten there?
I staggered to my feet and squinted through the rain. Had I really been struck by lightning? Apparently I was alright, which didn’t seem likely. I mopped my hair out of my eyes and took in a breath. Tormaigh was there, loitering between two shorter bell-trees. He didn’t act like he knew I was there.
For a minute, I watched him weaving around the trees. Suddenly, he sprung into a low branch and reached out to a pair of young bells. He barely touched the before they started to ring through the storm. There was a pause, and then I strode to his tree. “I found out something,” I called up to him.
For a few seconds he sat there with his eyes closed listening to the bells. He opened them–pools of silky darkness–and slowly looked down at me. Then he jumped out of the tree, hood falling back on his shoulders. The feathered ear-crests flicked up from the fluttering mass of mane-feathers. “What did you find out?”
For a second, I couldn’t talk. Then the questions came. “What do you mean only the thunderbird could do it? Why did you make me go after it when you were right there? What’s the cloak for? Why did you pretend you couldn’t talk?”
“You understand now. I knew you would.”
He smiled and the fangs showed. For some time, we stood there in the stormy bell grove. I had no idea what he thought I understood. He didn’t answer any questions. He didn’t say anything more. Lightning flashed and I felt a huge wing sweep over me. I breathed in a gasp of bright electricity, stumbled, and fell backward on the cold wet grass. I blinked in the clear light of early morning.
I got to my feet and wiped my grassy palms on my thighs. My clothes were dry and the fog was gone. So was the hum of the bells, or the storm, or the music, whatever it was. “Well, huh,” I said.
I don’t see Tormaigh anymore. Whoever or whatever he was, seems to be more or less confined to Echoland. I still don’t think I had been there before that morning. I don’t remember it. Why wouldn’t I remember if I had? You don’t just have these kinds of experiences and forget all about them once they’re over. At least I haven’t forgotten this last time, not yet.
I do see the thunderbird sometimes. He’s quiet when he comes here. No thunderbolt-hurling and tearing up the sky. Usually he’s just sitting in some treetop, pretending not to watch me. I think he’s just making sure I don’t forget him.
Last Friday I was driving back from the studio—driving, because it looked like rain. It was around six at night, and getting quite dark for the time of year. When I turned east, I could see why. A rolling mountain of storm clouds was moving in over the dark green fields and shadowy woodland. Lightning flickered in the haze of distant rain and I could hear the melodious rumble of approaching thunder.
When I got home, I stepped out of the car and slung the strap of my gym bag over my shoulder, staring up at the storm engulfing the sky. I half expected to see the bird flying in the middle of it, and I don’t think it was my imagination when I heard him singing—not really.
I smiled and started toward the house. But my first step faltered, and I wasn’t sure the ground was solid. I’ll be alright, I know I will. It’s just that I thought, for a minute, that I was back in Echoland.
THE END
Author’s Note: Thanks so much to everyone who read Echoland all the way to the end. This is the first serialized short story I have ever released on this blog–the first of many to come!
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