Once again, I found myself standing before the pocket that held the scroll of Paris deaths. There, it sat undisturbed, as if it hadn’t been touched since I had held it last, as if it were waiting for me.
Pulling it from the pocket, I didn’t allow it to unravel entirely before I spoke. I had suddenly grown impatient.
“
Eran Talor.”
Instantly, the scroll slid through my fingers, settling on his name.
I reviewed the list even though a sharp pain ran through my stomach when I saw the most recent entry and its accompanying statement…eternal death.
My jaw clenched against the anger until I allowed it to settle. Focus, I told myself. Focus.
I gazed at that last entry a bit longer, knowing it was the reason I’d come. It would lead me to discover exactly what had happened to Eran.
Still, I couldn’t bring myself to run my finger across it. I was drawn by the desire to see him again, to feel him again, one so strong I couldn’t fight back.
Bringing my index finger to the paper, I locked on his first life in Germany and swiped it.
Dropping into Eran’s body, I felt entirely different than I had seconds ago. His body was strong, powerful, fluid, as he walked through a field of knee-high grass. His boots squished through the spongy mud making up the countryside and his arms swung alongside his body with ease.
He was healthy…and alive. And it was a bittersweet taunt.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, I considered, suddenly wanting out. But there was no out.
Feelings, a mixture of them, rose up, becoming a maelstrom of emotions fighting with each other over the need to leave and the need to stay.
Then he lifted his head and swung it to the right, hearing the break of a stick in the distance. His eyes sought the source of it and then something came over him, a pause.
Time stopped then.
He froze in place, his breathing halting, his mind numbing, his eyes locked on the girl strolling through the field several yards away.
She was petite with long, curly, cocoa-colored hair, which she was drying in the morning sun.
I’d seen her before, reflected in my mirror at home.
The girl was me.
As he watched, a comfort washed over him, an unbreakable confidence, one that would mock anyone who tested it. Alongside this feeling was a longing, soft but powerful, and an awareness that if anything were to hurt this girl they would suffer excruciating pain.
It was then, as I watched him notice me for the first time, I discovered that Eran had been my guardian long before he was ever given the title.
I was whisked away then to land in his body at a later date. He was older now, feebler, less energy but still strong. His body was slightly hunched and his hands shook when they brushed the hair from my face.
He sat over me as I lay in bed, my breathing raspy.
Fighting against the nervous awareness that the end of my life was near, I watched him lean forward to place his mouth against my ear.
The words came but not without a struggle. He had to forcefully swallow twice before the lump in his throat would subside.
“
I’ll see you soon,” he whispered, the lump in his throat rising again to jar the release of his sigh. He swallowed once more and said, “But it won’t be soon enough.”
He remained there, leaning forward, unable to bear moving away as I released my final breath. Teeth clenched, his lips quivering, he fought back the tears but they spilled over and streamed down his cheeks.
From deep inside, I felt a void begin to grow, an emptiness that sucked the vitality from him, a lost and hopeless despair that actually felt palpable, weighing him down.
He found my hand and held it firm and gentle as he spoke.
“
I am in love with you, Magdalene. What I feel for you is timeless. And when I die, when this body releases me, I will find you and I will be your eternal protector.”
Then I was shouting at him, my voice unheard as I had no control over his lips. Still, I yelled my warning anyways.
“
Run! Refuse my funeral! Run!”
But it was of no use. Eran would attend my funeral and there Abaddon would kill him. It would solidify Abaddon’s fall from the afterlife, giving birth to a desire to take Eran’s life, leading him to exactly where he had ended up now. A never-ending death.
Even as I was pulled back through the tunnel, I screamed for Eran to run, my voice given its freedom and echoing in my ears.
It continued until I was planted back in the Hall of Records, still holding Eran’s scroll.
Unnerved, I took a trembling step back. I was headed for a collapse but I stayed upright. My breath was tight in my throat and my mind was spinning but still I managed to brush my finger over Eran’s next life.
Back through the tunnel, I was transplanted in Eran’s body again. This lifetime was spent in London, a place I recognized instantly.
He was in flight, fighting with his wings to move faster, a sense verging on panic overwhelming him. The wind whistled in his ears as his eyes frantically searched the empty streets below him.
His wings tilted slightly and he began his plunge towards the center of the city.
The sense of dread engulfed Eran then, causing him to strain his appendages, flapping harder with an even and concentrated focus.
The difference was that the emotion he felt didn’t come from Eran. It came from somewhere outside his body, pulsating towards him, landing deep in his chest were it radiated like a harsh, constant light.
As he swooped down and through the side streets of London, that radar remained steady, drawing him in, directing him with each turn until he reached the street where its source stood.
He didn’t stop, instead bracing his body for the impact to come.
Flashes of movement to his left and right told him that he wasn’t alone. He didn’t pause, not even when his body slammed against another as he emerged from the mouth of the alley and out to the street.
Suddenly, his body was an amazing display of movement, techniques to gain the upper hand on the being he was now fighting. Teeth, jagged and stained, lashed out at him but he deftly moved aside. Claws gripped for him but he caught its wrists and used that force against it.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a girl. It was no surprise to him that she was there watching. He knew her and the sensation within him that had drawn him to her.
His awareness turned to frustration then, as he caught sight of her stepping closer, engaging in the fight.
After avoiding a fist coming at him, he drew in a breath and grunted, “Stay…back…Magdalene.”
But she didn’t listen and his irritation grew.
Instead, he sighed while noting that she’d torn the cloak from her shoulders and was entering the fight.
From inside his body, I watched, an awareness dawning on me…I had known for a while that Eran could feel my emotions as I could feel him. But it wasn’t until that very moment that I understood Eran had his own type of radar, one directly tuned to me.
Then I was yanked back through the tunnel to once again stand in the Hall of Records.
I stood, quietly amazed, enjoying the solitude of the moment.
Eran continued to amaze me, even in death.
My lips trembled against the hint of a smile and then it was gone, replaced with an incredibly strong desire to hold him again just once.
It actually made the void in me widen.
In an effort to end the feeling of emptiness, I swiped my finger over his name in his next life, carrying me back to him during his life in France.
Sadness invaded that void momentarily when I recognized that this was the lifetime when Eran had finally admitted his love for me. A commanding, confident man who was so drawn in by our love that it had been one of only two times when I witnessed him behaving nervously, the other being in his next life while proposing to me. The memory of both almost made a smile surface.
The scroll, however, didn’t show these. It took me to another part of his life, this one when he was younger.
Being only ten years old and with a memory that told him there were better things to wear, he squirmed against the insistent buttoning up of the shirt collar he was being forced to wear.
The man knelt in front of him, glowered, and said, “Stop fidgeting,” in French.
Eran did, allowing the man to finish, before responding politely in French, “Thank you, Papa.”
“
Now…eat,” his father commanded and Eran did.
I was shocked, having never seen Eran follow orders before. He always gave them.
He bent and took a piece of meat from a basket only to stroll to the chairs set out directly next to them. Another family was sitting beside them, and as he walked by the ladies he gave them each a tip of his hat, causing them to giggle and making it clear that Eran knew how to impress women at any age.
But when he reached the last and youngest one, he stopped.
She looked directly at him and oddly enough I knew it was me because I recalled this very moment.
He and I grew up together as family friends and on this particular occasion we were taking advantage of the warm weather to have an outing together.
But as we stared at each other, we knew something they didn’t. Having come to earth as Alterums, we remembered each other.
He nodded towards the small space at the end of the bench, which I conceded to give up.
Then, as he slipped up beside me, only a brief moment passed before his hand slipped underneath mine to take hold.
This I could never forget because it was the first time, ever, Eran had touched me with evident interest, beyond compassion a guardian would feel for their ward. And it caused my stomach to burn with excitement.
I had never known it until now but his reaction was the exact opposite. Touching me soothed him, like a salve to an open wound, immediately calming him and putting everything around him in perspective. It made him feel powerful, like a lion calmly surveying his territory.
He turned his head ever so slightly then to peek from the corner of his eye at my reaction.
This, I couldn’t forget either.
I was smiling.
Then, far too quickly, I was pulled from this life, through the tunnel, and dropped back to the Hall of Records, only taking a second to realize why.
I was running out of time. Daylight was approaching in the other dimension.
It’s too fast, I thought. I haven’t had enough. I haven’t felt him enough…
Quickly, I swiped my finger across his next life, landing in his body again. This time he wore clothes that fit him, loose and rugged, breathable. As he strolled the street I noticed we were back in Pennsylvania. Thick green trees towering over dusty storefronts leading to a dirt avenue overrun by horses and carriages told me so.
He shifted something heavy lying across his right shoulder to a better position on just as he came across one store in particular and entered the darkly lit room. Inside the street sounds dulled but the smell of freshly cut lumber still hung in the air. At the back, stood a man leaning forward on a bar that ran the length of the room. He was trim with a beard that covered most of his face. Clear green eyes shined out from above, lucid, catching every movement Eran made.
Eran approached, his face lifting to a grin, telling me this man was familiar.
“
I see you have them,” said the man.
Eran nodded and dragged the weight off his shoulder to the bar in front of the man.
They were furs, I found as Eran placed a hand on them, the tips of the hair prickling his palm.
The man grinned and pulled money from a satchel, handing it to Eran.
“
But I don’t think that’s what you really came for,” suggested the man, which prompted a loud laugh from Eran.
“
I was thinking you might have something else for me…” Eran ventured with a smile, which faded as the man withdrew a ring and placed it on the bar.
It was stunning, taking even Eran’s breath away.
Cut on six sides and resting in a white gold setting, even in the dim light, it was spectacular.
Fighting to restrain a proud smile, he reached across the bar and clapped the man hardily on the shoulder.
“
Thank you. It’s perfect, Mr. Beedinwigg. Perfect.”
I almost missed the name and then jolted inside when I did.
As Eran spun around he took a final glance at the man, in which I rapidly absorbed every detail I could.
Yes, he had the same mischievous grin as Ms. Beedinwigg.
I released a sigh from inside Eran, pondering the surreal reality of it. Ms. Beedinwigg’s ancestor had sold Eran my engagement ring…
The familiar tug of the scroll pulled me back to the hall. There, I felt a sudden wave of panic, my internal timer telling me that my time was up.
Refusing to believe it, I moved my finger over the final entry next to Eran’s name, the one with the words ‘Eternal Death’, and was rapidly sent through the tunnel.