Limbo’s Story Part 5

The ink had long since dried into my skin.

My right arm belonged to forgotten gods.

My left bore symbols of a God I had never truly known.

Neither side claimed me.

I was Limbo.

Somewhere between.

Not alive enough for one world.

Not dead enough for the next.

The Blue Tree Forest had many names for many things.

Every one of them was true.

I often wondered if that was why my own name fit so well.

I belonged nowhere.

Yet somehow...

I belonged here.

Or perhaps here was the only place left willing to have me.

The Weeping Willow stood behind me.

I no longer sought comfort beneath her branches.

She had wept enough for my grief.

Now...

I simply kept her company.

Beyond her stretched the endless sea of blue trees. Fairies laughed somewhere beneath their canopy, their songs carrying over the golden field behind me like children daring one another to misbehave.

I ignored them.

The Field of Golden Flowers welcomed silence.

I sat cross-legged among the blossoms, careful not to crush a single stem.

The flowers leaned toward the sun.

Toward warmth.

Toward life.

I closed my eyes.

For a little while...

I became neither my past nor my future.

Only the present remained.

The wind drifted lazily through the field.

Heavy.

Gentle.

Watchful.

The Leviathan was near today.

It always knew when I entered the field.

It tolerated me.

Barely.

That was enough.

The warmth of the sun settled across my face.

My right arm burned.

My left cooled it instinctively.

The two never stopped arguing.

Perhaps they never would.

My trinket chimed softly against my chest.

Three small souls.

Always reminding me I was never truly alone.

I opened my eyes.

"I know you're there."

A familiar voice answered from behind me.

"I should hope so."

I smiled despite myself.

"Good morning, Simon."

Simon laughed.

"Is it morning?"

He looked toward the sky as though genuinely uncertain.

"I've long since stopped keeping time."

I rose to my feet but remained inside the field.

Simon stood just beyond the flowers.

Shirtless.

His body was a contradiction.

His face belonged to peace.

His skin belonged to war.

Scars crossed his chest in every direction, some narrow as threads, others wide enough to fit a finger inside. They overlapped one another until they became impossible to count.

He noticed me staring.

"Admiring my beauty?"

I pointed toward a jagged scar that reached from his shoulder nearly to his hip.

"That one."

Simon looked down.

"Oh."

He shrugged.

"I remember that one."

"Did it hurt?"

Simon grinned.

"Everything hurts."

He studied me instead.

"Enjoying your new artwork?"

I looked down at my tattooed arms.

"They suit you," he continued.

"They remind me who I am."

"I was hoping they'd do that."

Silence settled between us.

Simon rocked lazily on his heels.

"Come out of the flowers."

"No."

"Oh?"

"I like it here."

"So do I."

His smile widened.

"But we don't always get what we like."

I didn't move.

Neither did he.

The wind picked up ever so slightly.

The flowers swayed together.

Simon sighed dramatically.

"Must we keep playing these games?"

I frowned.

"I'm not playing anything."

"I know."

He smiled toward the open field instead of at me.

"I wasn't talking to you."

The wind answered.

A low rushing sound rolled across the flowers.

The Leviathan.

Watching.

Waiting.

Simon looked almost disappointed.

"I see."

He took one casual step forward.

Then another.

My stomach tightened.

"Simon..."

He ignored me.

His bare foot entered the field.

Nothing happened.

Another step.

Still nothing.

"That's impossible."

"So I've heard."

He bent at the waist and gently pinched the stem of a single golden flower.

"No."

I took a step toward him.

"Don't."

Simon plucked it.

The flower screamed.

A shrill cry split the stillness of the Field.

The wind erupted.

Golden blossoms flattened as a wall of air tore across the meadow.

I staggered backward.

Simon didn't move.

The wind gathered itself.

Round and heavy.

Its invisible shape compressed until I could make out the outline I had come to know over countless meditations.

The Leviathan.

Its massive horn lowered.

Its enormous body pawed at the earth.

The flowers bent beneath its impossible weight.

It charged.

The impact should have shattered mountains.

Instead...

Simon calmly tucked the flower behind his ear.

The Leviathan struck.

The wind wrapped around Simon like a hurricane trying to uproot an ancient oak.

His hair whipped wildly.

The scars across his chest disappeared behind curtains of dust and petals.

Still...

Simon yawned.

"Oh, stop."

The wind screamed louder.

The ground trembled beneath my feet.

Every flower in the field bowed.

I dropped to one knee, shielding my face from the storm.

Simon stood exactly where he had been.

The flower behind his ear wilted.

He plucked it free.

"Shame."

He examined the lifeless blossom.

"They're prettier alive."

With a flick of his wrist, he tossed it onto the ground.

The Leviathan snorted.

The sound rolled through my chest like distant thunder.

For one terrible moment I thought it would charge again.

Instead...

the wind slowly unraveled.

The invisible beast lifted its great head.

Watched Simon.

Then...

retreated into the endless currents flowing through the Field.

The breeze returned as though nothing had happened.

Simon brushed a bit of dust from his shoulder.

"I do enjoy our visits."

I stared at him.

"You..."

I struggled to find the words.

"I thought you couldn't enter the Field."

Simon smiled.

"I never said that."

"No one can."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Apparently someone can."

I looked around at the flowers.

None accused him.

None welcomed him either.

The Field had resisted him.

It simply...

hadn't won.

Simon watched realization spread across my face.

"You've been listening to rumors again."

"I've seen what happens when others step into the Field."

"And?"

"They're driven out."

"They are."

He nodded as though agreeing with a student.

"So?"

"So..."

My certainty slipped away.

"...why not you?"

Simon chuckled.

"Oh, Limbo."

He stepped back out of the Field as casually as he'd entered it.

"You spend far too much time asking the wrong questions."

"The right question isn't why I can."

He looked back across the sea of golden flowers.

"It's why the Field allows me to leave."

The thought settled like a stone in my stomach.

I had never considered there was a difference.

Simon seemed delighted by my silence.

"You really are learning."

He folded his hands behind his back and wandered toward the Weeping Willow as though the conversation had drifted naturally in that direction.

I remained standing among the flowers.

For the first time since arriving in this strange place...

I wasn't certain I understood it anymore.

Everything I believed had shifted.

Not because Simon had broken the rules.

Because he had revealed I never knew them to begin with.

Simon stopped beneath the outermost branches of the Weeping Willow.

She wept as she always had.

Long silver strands swayed gently in the breeze, their tips brushing the ground like fingers searching for something they had long ago misplaced.

The two bodies rested beneath her canopy.

One lay exactly where I had left him.

The other...

had no head.

Simon looked at them for a long moment.

"You completed your task."

"I did."

He nodded toward the headless corpse.

"The Mortician?"

"Yes."

"I never liked him."

I almost smiled.

"He talked too much."

"He did."

Simon continued studying the body.

"And Eliot?"

I walked to the second corpse.

Unlike the Mortician, Eliot’s body was still fresh. His hands remained bound behind his back. A burlap sack covered his head.

I pulled it free.

His face stared blankly toward the blue sky.

"I brought him."

Simon looked from Eliot’s face...

to the empty space above the Mortician’s shoulders.

Then back to me.

Silence.

Finally...

he asked,

"Is he alive?"

"No."

"I see."

He crouched beside Eliot as though inspecting a piece of artwork.

"I asked for him alive."

"I know."

"And yet..."

His fingers traced one of the ropes binding Eliot's wrists.

"...here we are."

"I made a choice."

"You did."

I folded my arms.

"I won't become what you are."

Simon looked up at me.

"What am I?"

I didn't answer.

He smiled.

"I asked you to bring me a wicked man."

"You received one."

"I asked you to bring him breathing."

"I refused."

Simon stood.

"So you did."

He dusted his hands together.

"I'm proud of you."

The words struck me harder than any blow.

"I wasn't trying to please you."

"I know."

"You told me to keep him alive."

"I did."

"I killed him anyway."

"You certainly did."

His smile never changed.

I frowned.

"Then why are you smiling?"

Simon tilted his head.

"Why shouldn't I be?"

"Because I disobeyed you."

"Oh."

He almost laughed.

"You thought this was rebellion."

"It was."

"If you say so."

His answer unsettled me more than anger ever could have.

I searched his face for disappointment.

Frustration.

Anything.

There was none.

Only amusement.

"You really don't understand me yet."

"I understand enough."

"Do you?"

He glanced down at Eliot.

"You believe this was about Eliot."

"It wasn't?"

Simon looked genuinely puzzled.

"I couldn't care less about Eliot."

The words fell so casually I almost missed them.

"He was useful."

"Useful for what?"

"For this."

He gestured between us.

I stared at him.

"You made a choice."

"Yes."

"A difficult one."

"Yes."

"You believed it was your own."

"It was."

"I know."

Again...

that smile.

Never mocking.

Never cruel.

Simply...

certain.

"I enjoy watching people become themselves."

I felt something cold settle inside my chest.

"What does that mean?"

"It means..."

Simon stepped around Eliot's body.

"...the interesting games are never about whether someone obeys."

He looked directly into my eyes.

"They're about discovering who they are when they're convinced no one is watching."

He began walking away from the bodies.

"I already knew who you were."

I remained where I stood.

"You were just catching up."

Silence stretched between us.

For the first time...

I wondered if killing Eliot had ever mattered at all.

And for the first time...

I wasn't certain whether I had defied Simon...

or merely arrived exactly where he expected me to be.

Simon turned from the bodies.

Without another glance toward Eliot or the Mortician, he began strolling through the grass surrounding the Weeping Willow as though he were admiring someone's garden.

I watched him carefully.

"That's it?"

Simon stopped.

He looked genuinely confused.

"Is what it?"

"You asked me to bring you Eliot."

"I did."

"I refused."

"You certainly did."

"And you're just..."

I searched for the word.

"...leaving?"

Simon laughed.

"I've seen enough."

He folded his hands behind his back.

"Good work today, Limbo."

"I didn't do it for you."

"I know."

He smiled.

"You never do."

He continued walking.

His bare feet made almost no sound against the blue grass.

I looked once more at Eliot.

At the Mortician.

At the blood soaking the roots of the Weeping Willow.

Then I looked toward the Field.

The wind had changed.

Until that moment, every flower had swayed aimlessly with the breeze.

Now...

they all leaned together.

One direction.

Like worshippers bowing toward an unseen altar.

I frowned.

The Leviathan circled somewhere beyond the horizon of blossoms.

Not charging.

Waiting.

Watching.

The flowers began to sway.

Not randomly.

Purposefully.

A narrow line slowly revealed itself through the sea of gold.

Petals bent away.

Grass lowered.

A path.

I had spent countless hours meditating in the Field.

Always hoping.

Always believing.

Always waiting.

The path had never remained.

It would appear for the briefest heartbeat...

only to vanish the moment I stood.

Today...

it remained.

My breath caught.

The wind settled.

The Leviathan did not object.

For the first time since entering the Blue Tree Forest...

I understood.

The Field was releasing me.

I laughed.

Not loudly.

Just enough to hear it myself.

"So..."

Simon called without turning around.

"I suppose this is goodbye."

"It is."

"I'm happy for you."

I smiled.

For the first time...

I believed him.

"I won't be coming back."

"I know."

"You'll have to find someone else."

"I'm sure I will."

I took my first step onto the path.

The flowers glowed beneath my feet.

Warm.

Alive.

My right arm burned.

My left felt lighter than it had in years.

Another step.

Another.

The air itself seemed to welcome me.

Behind me...

Simon sighed.

"Oh..."

It was barely more than a whisper.

"I nearly forgot."

I stopped.

Not because he commanded me.

Because something in his voice sounded almost apologetic.

I turned my head slightly.

Not enough to see him.

Only enough to listen.

"What about the Weeping Willow?"

The words settled over the field.

Quiet.

Gentle.

I looked toward the tree.

She stood exactly where she always had.

Her silver branches swayed softly.

Weeping.

Always weeping.

Simon continued.

"I suppose she'll understand."

I didn't answer.

"She survived before you."

Another pause.

"I imagine she'll survive after you."

The wind lost some of its warmth.

"I'll keep feeding her."

He shrugged as though discussing tomorrow's weather.

"The blood of wicked men has always sustained her."

He looked up into her hanging branches.

"I doubt she'll notice the difference."

My jaw tightened.

Simon took another slow step away.

"Although..."

He glanced over his shoulder.

Not at me.

At her.

"It did seem like she'd grown rather fond of you."

Silence.

The path remained open.

The flowers waited.

The Field waited.

Everything waited.

Then Simon spoke one last time.

Quietly.

Almost to himself.

"You wouldn't want to abandon her..."

He looked down at the ground.

"...the way you abandoned your family."

The words struck somewhere deeper than my heart.

I couldn't breathe.

Not because he was right.

Because I had spent years trying to convince myself he was wrong.

My shoulders sank.

The path lay before me.

Freedom.

The one thing I had believed impossible.

I stared at it for a long time.

Long enough for the wind to grow still.

Long enough for the flowers to stop swaying.

Then...

I stepped off the path.

Not forward.

Back into the Field.

I knelt among the golden blossoms.

"I am sorry."

I wasn't certain whether I spoke to the Field...

or to myself.

I opened my hands.

The flowers leaned toward my palms.

One by one...

they released themselves.

No scream.

No resistance.

Only trust.

I gathered them carefully against my chest.

Behind me...

I heard Simon's footsteps continue into the Forest.

He never looked back.

He didn't need to.

He already knew what choice I would make.