Moments

I float away from the chaos.

Shadow clings to me like a cold fog.

I have knowledge and intent and need.

I am motion and energy and will.

***

 
The Child asked her mother where happiness could be found. The mother turned to her child and said that happiness was in a smile or in a kindness. Happiness was in the morning songbird and the blue sky behind the dark rain cloud. It playedin sweet berries and bitter English chocolates. Happiness was in a hand held not because you needed it but just because. Happiness lay round and about the “Yes”, the “Please” and the “Thank You.”
 
Then the Child asked her father where happiness was found. The father smiled benevolently at his Child and said that happiness was not found but made. It lay in accomplishment, in a job done well. It resided in knowledge and planning and building. Happiness was in the strength and fortitude created by the cohort of Men. That happiness was forged in the bonds between each of us and designed to uplift the whole community. 
 
Then the Child prayed to Saraswati and asked them where happiness could be found. The Goddess replied that happiness was everywhere that Man was not. Happiness was just beyond the stories of her elders and also right in the middle of them. It was as old as time and as young as the dawn. Happiness could never be truly found though its abundance dazzled. It was held in simplicity and stillness and motion. Happiness was everywhere then nowhere then elsewhere. 
 
One crisp autumn morning the Child was wandering alone through the woodland on the outskirts of town. In a meandering stream she found a curious stone, white as a swan’s neck with blue veins unlike any stone found in the province. The stone was very flat, smooth and almost circular with an oval hole just off centre. As was the custom she held the stone up, looking through it at the world beyond. 

“Oh my,” she said, eyes shining. “Is that Satyaloka?” 
 

***

I dance, cocooned in the shifting aurora.

Purples chasing blues chasing greens.

At the centre I am a pulsing dot of brilliant white.

The darkness diminishing beneath me.

***

 
Vihaan picked up the stone and passed it to Marcus. “Look, it’s a Hag Stone!” 

“What’s that?” Marcus asked. 

“A Hag Stone is meant to be magical. It’s a shield that protects you from witches’ spells and evil spirits. Only good luck can pass through the hole and if you look through it on mid-summer’s morning you can see the Kingdom of the Fairies!” 

“Vee! I am nearly seven,” Marcus looked at his Step-dadwith raised eyebrows. “I’m too old for fairy stories.” 

“Oh, oh, erm okay, fair enough - whatever brings you happiness!” Marcus was about to throw the stone back into the sea. “Of course, they also stop bad dreams, if you tie them to your bedpost…” 

Marcus, looked at the stone in his hand. The salt water was drying off in the spring breeze. The stone was a dazzling white, tiny blue lines danced across its wave smoothed surface. The hole in the middle was almost perfectly oval, itsedge looked sharp and dangerous. 

Marcus put the stone in his pocket. 

Vihaan smiled. 

They continued along the beach then detoured to the caféto get Mum her Saturday treats - mochas and almond croissants. 
 
“What’s this?” asked Jen.

“Oh, it’s Marcus’s,” Vihaan took the stone. “It’s magical. We found it on the beach this morning. I was going to tie it to his bedpost tonight - they’re meant to stop bad dreams.” 

“Right,” Jen said incredulously. “You do know he’s nearly seven?”

“Oh, yes: he was emphatic about that earlier!” Vihaantossed the stone into the air and caught it. “Still, it can’t hurt. Maybe there is a placebo effect with magic stones. It’s gottabe better than those pills.” 
 
Next morning Jen snorted awake, looked at her alarm clock and decided she couldn’t hold it any longer. She shuffled into her slippers and headed to the bathroom. On her way back to bed she heard a thump from Marcus’s room. She quietly opened the bedroom door and peered in. He was sprawled across the mattress, pillows thrown carelessly on the floor, duvet hanging over the foot of the bed. 

Marcus was smiling and sleeping and holding the stone in his left hand. Jen smiled, “After all this time...”

Waiting under the bed, peering up at the towering human, a dozen shiny, unblinking eyes.
 

***

There is a murmuration of sound.

A sensation of beating wings.

Under that the insistent chatter of a billion voices.

The sound boring through me.

***

 
Being a Watcher had never been easy. 

At least the Fungal Plain was behind her now. Sahmi was traversing the relative safety of the foothills. Another hour or so and she would see the scree and the river and, if the dull clouds and mist parted long enough, her settlement perched high up on the mountainside. 

The Watcher-Suit sat heavy on her shoulders, never fitting just right but always necessary. The heavy rubber boots, a size too big, made each step arduous. Her breather and mask rubbed her nose and obscured her view. The firearm in its holster smacked against Sahmi’s thigh with every step, the backpack pulled down on her shoulders. 

This time she had witnessed three individuals give themselves to the fungal mass. Three. Last month four, the month before that five plus two to the seas. At this rate the settlement would be finished in a year or two. No-one left to watch. What would she do then? 

They said that giving yourself to the Fungal Mass was like walking into a dream. More peaceful than the Seas. Having watched both Sahmi thought the Seas a better option:it was infinitely more painful but at least the beasts made sure it was over quickly. The Fungal Mass took it’s time to absorb you, she had to stand witness for many days and nights. 

The sound, like a hollow murmuring on the wind, haunted her in her sleep. 

She crested a foothill and stopped to catch her breath. In the middle distance she saw the grey line of the scree and just beyond the river. Then, movement to her left, a dark, angularshape crossing the foothills, coming toward her at speed.Sahmi stood her ground, planted her boots firmly on the rocky earth. As the beast approached her, she drew her firearm and unhooked the safety. 

The Nekkawolf stopped in front of her, panting, its eyes yellow and watchful, its ears pointed straight up, its hackles raised. Slowly, the beast turned its long snout, sniffing the air, making its assessment. 

Sahmi stood tall, trying to intimidate the Nekka’ in her oversized Watcher-Suit with the sheer force of her will. Shetrained her firearm on the beast’s chest. As best she could she scanned the hills for others: recently, they had begun to hunt in packs. 

The Nekka’ looked Sahmi in the eye and then bowed its head. It held her gaze for a moment more then leapt up and over her, clearing the top of her suit by a good thirty centimetres. Sahmi turned as the beast sped off down the foothills, its hard paws kicking up stones and dust, seemingly intent on different prey. 
 
As she reached checkpoint Sahmi thought, “At least I’ll have a juicy story to tell at dinner tonight!” 

The guards waved her in to the washdown area and turned on the chemical showers. She raised her arms, turned in a slow circle to allow the jets to wash her suit thoroughly. She realised that her chest was wet. Only a small spot, in the middle of her sternum, but she was wet with the chemical wash. 
 
That night she sat in the cold isolation cell. The cell was within the perimeter but outside the settlement proper. It was likely that within the next few days her contamination would become visible. She had been in the faulty suit for three days, no telling how long the small tear on her chest had been there for. Contamination seemed inevitable and as such Sahmi had asked to be taken to the sea, but the Council had decided to make her wait; her position as Watcher afforded her special treatment. 

She swore heavily and tried to sleep. 
 
They watched her for thirty days and then thirty more. No signs of contamination. She was healthy. She was a miracle. Just beyond the cell’s outer door she was greeted by her wife with hugs and tears. As they walked back along the path to the settlement, before the crowds would follow her on a daily basis, her wife returned her stone necklace to her. 

Sahmi put the necklace on with a smile. Her Grandma had said that the treasured stone was ancient. It was still a dazzling white, the tiny blue veins almost iridescent. The oval hole at its heart sat just over her sternum, as it always had. 
 

***

I rise again and am twisted by the cosmic currents.

Forces pull and split me into We rather than I.

Then We three are hurled from the void.

Sent spiralling into the world beyond.

We are deliberate, silent and patient.