Chapter 11 Road to Ashton Venue Part 5: His Return

He sat there weak, frail, only able to move his mouth like one of those nutcrackers he'd seen during Christmas. Times of celebration, snowflakes, and the smell of peppermint trailing along the memory. And yet, because of the circumstances he found himself in above all else the cold had taken a much more lonely, tiresome meaning to it. There were a few instances of the elements leaking through the holes in the shed, and goosebumps going down his spine each time it occurred.

Being on the stage of death where repressed memories were on repeat, restricted from going any further down but a slow climb up meant those fleeting moments of barely being able to move a finger were accompanied by home. Slipping from the past to the present, the run-down walls of that cubicle would change the ground to flimsy carpet riddled with brown stains that he couldn't distinguish were coffee or just shit. After some time, strong smells became one singularity blending in together, forever tainting whatever happiness remained inside the people. Whether dying was better than returning was up in the air for him. Either way, the few instances where the good outweighed the bad lay at the forefront of his repressed memories. 

Young and naive, his happiest moments were when he didn't realize it was happening. Random events each day ending on a good note, going to bed unaware of what was next and not caring either. The warmth of his family together in one room, cheery music encompassing it, and the smell above all else, changed only then. Along the way details passed that became a blur, only the feelings remained and that sense of being protected. As it alleviated so did the veil of what protected him from what was in front of him, 

"Marie." He grumbled, his voice labored and weak, the feeling in his arms and legs like string. Not an ounce of strength, just a floppy useless body that could only whisper and beg for salvation.

Dried blood covered the floor, he wondered whose it was but as he peered down, his stitched arm and leg were in full display." Oh... that's right." He leaned back, too tired to fall asleep but too weak to do anything else besides breathe.

"She said she'd come back." That moon-lit sky was impossible at least to him to figure out how much time had passed.

Keeping an open mind could only take him so far. Accepting this for what it was but experiencing something entering your body, forcing you to say things you didn't understand. Well, that's not just something that can be ignored. It was that feeling of familiarity that disturbed him the most, the fact that it could've happened without him knowing made his stomach churn. Forcibly pushed aside while something else took control of him, the fear that it could happen again. He could hear what was going on outside, Marie confessing to burning down the church and another part that he wasn't supposed to hear. 

Her dad had died at the hands of a Visitor. In that, he couldn't help but think the course of events after she'd burned down the church was a way for the blame to be cast on him. As wrong as it was to say, the idea didn't seem implausible. The idea of a Visitor in Ashton Venue without a doubt was hostile, it didn't seem like it'd take much for any problem to arise and be cast to the outsider. Wanting to believe in the good in her didn't accompany the logistics behind her intentions. If he were to accept there was nothing more than just wanting to burn down the church, an outcome completely unknown to her or anything else then where was he? In the same blind without any questions answered just as confused as he was before. But believing that there was some ulterior motive even if his current theory was wrong led to more possible answers than being blind to the two truths he couldn't absolve. She was a part of the church but also young and naive. The two facts weigh against each other, tugging one side to the other meeting at the center neither coming to an agreement.

All he could do was sit and wait for a possibility that seemed like a far-off dream than reality. Truth be told he wasn't sure what he would do in the same situation as her. Leave the man who's dead weight on the verge of shutting down. In other words a liability. Or come back for the man and risk your own life. If he were her age again he was confident that there wouldn't be much to think about, leave, and don't look back, fend for yourself. As an older man though, he believed there was a responsibility to help the younger generation, an innate feeling that came with just age. At least it did for him. 

After pondering the thought for some time he stopped and looked around. Run down, on the verge of collapse. Those few hours of living on the hunk of rock known as Toblitche, the supposed Island of Desire, was tiresome to him. 

"This is what happens when it's quiet" His laughter turned into a horse cough, breathing in harshly before continuing to laugh. He stopped and darted his attention to the sound of footsteps on the grass beside him. Slow but intentionally loud enough to gain his attention.

"Is that you Marie?" He coughed holding pressing his side. No response.

He swallowed harshly forcing himself up to his feet. Sweat dripped down his brow, and an extraneous amount of effort that once accomplished surprised him. Leaning against the wall he grabbed the side of the door and pulled himself forward. Slow pace, making sure every step was firm, afraid he wouldn't get back up if he fell. The first thing he saw as he stepped out, was the dilapidated remains of the L-shaped building. Taking him some to remember what happened before going unconscious, was a repeated annoyance but at least after a short time, it came back. 

A man in the lighthouse- Glass he was sure that was the name. The Sun was out and Diedmons Roue was filled with people, the grey film that sheltered the town was gone. He could come up with no conclusive answer before being cut off by a streak of white in the corner of his eyes, half of a white mask covering the figure's deformed face. 

Too tired to feel fright or much of anything he sighed, his hot labored breathing a brief dew of air.

"What are you doing here?" He questioned, his eyes half open on the brink of slumber. Jim looked around as if looking for someone before responding. 

"Where's the girl?" Realizing he was talking about Marie, he refrained from answering truthfully. Unsure of his intentions.

"I'm by myself." Jim looked down at his arm and leg.

"And those stitches, I'd assume you did that by yourself as well?" Only right answer was no answer. Not that he intended on humoring him any further without receiving anything in return.

"Fine, you did it all by yourself." He snapped his finger, a blast of dust flying off of Gryce's shoulder as the sound rang throughout the town.

"What'd you do?"

"If you recall when we first met I touched your shoulder. The pain in your leg, does it still hurt?" The memory flashed before him, above all things his leg still felt strong.

"No, that was because of you?"

"As well as several other things but yes. It acted as a tracker of sorts as well."

"So you knew something was going to happen?"

He walked past him peering inside the mess of dried blood and filth. A whiff of rot struck Gryce's nose as walked past him.

"What's that smell? He coughed backing away, Jim clearly unamused.

"It was a safety precaution." He closed the door, drawing his attention back to the town. "My mission above all else as appointed by Lord Solomon is to bring you to Ichemound."

"Yup…" Gryce struck the wall of the shed with his back. Sliding down to the grass his legs splayed out. "Doing a great job then." After a moment of silence, Jim asked, messing with his collar,

"The girl, is she alright."

"Why do you care?" Gryce said, continually struggling to breathe correctly coming in and out of his consciousness. Each time coming back taking a large gasp of air.

"Is she okay?" Gryce looked up at him, confused about why he was concerned about her. Thinking back to what Elizabeth had said he wondered if he was on Jim's good side. Or if it was just Marie. Either way, he didn't see any point in continuing to keep it away from him.

"I don't know. Hasn't been that long since I woke up. Don't even know how long it's been."

"Huh. So the girl saved your life then?" Gryce nodded glad it was a yes or no question. Jim mumbled something under his breath the only word Gryce could make out was, "Why".

"She must be on the other side, Her scent continues towards the right side of town, that must be where she is."

"What are you a dog?" Gryce laughed quickly, turning into a horse cough.

"I'm an abomination. For all I know I could be." An abomination? He hadn't given it much thought before but he couldn't help but think the word didn't describe him correctly. Whatever word lay beyond that and perhaps even past that wouldn't put it into scope. Humanoid, but in appearance the way his face molded and cracked, his black veins moving like a river, and that strikingly white hair. He would confidently say he was one of the Schnee if not for all that contradicted it. Before Gryce could ask what he meant by being an abomination, he was interrupted by the bells of a church. Both of them look to the far right of town. Reminding him of the bells he heard in Ashton Venue, he never did find out where they were coming from so much so that he waited for the heat on his neck to return. 

Jim made the first move holding his hand in front of him and urging him to grab it. Reluctantly, Gryce grabbed a hold and, with one pull sprung to his feet stumbling forward.

"I don't know how long I can do this," Gryce wheezed, crunching down and struggling to catch his breath. Feeling hot and cold, his body felt reluctant to move. Jim Ignored his plea walking towards the church and leaving him behind. So much for his mission.

***

To his amazement, the church was not of the eye origin but to a far away Lord that until then had assumed he was the only one who knew of him. Memories of when he'd attend church with his family, the songs that blared the neighborhood afterward, a calming spell. 

"How's is this here?" Gryce muttered just loud enough for Jim to hear.

"Oh, that's right. You would recognize this wouldn't you." Both looked up, the cross still standing high. "For as long as Ichemound and the Eye existed so did this. I'd say most consider it to be the most resilient of the line of religious heretics that have scorned this land"

 The front of the church was in tatters, holes scattered the building as if struck by hundreds if not thousands of tiny rocks shooting down from the heavens above. The bell and cross still standing high unbothered by what lay underneath it. Shining with the moonlight's embrace, the entrance had the largest gathering of gray spores as if something large and grotesque had been thrown up. The gray compost acted as a walkway, leading inside as it continued.

"Have you ever attended this church in your homeland?" Jim asked the question, surprising Gryce. 

"Didn't think you'd ask something like that."

" I'm a keeper of all forbidden knowledge on Toblitche. "Think of it as a hobby of mine." The long bench seats were up against the walls as if a powerful gust of wind had tossed them away. Only shattered colored glass and dust remained on the open ground.

"When I was younger sure, my family used to come on Sundays, when I was a kid at least- Agh," He kneeled, clenching his arm, his body trembling. 

"I'll clear an area for you just stay there." 

He disappeared into one of the rooms at the far end of the church, coming out a few minutes later with an old broom. He cleared a corner, moving the large benches as if they weighed nothing. Setting them away Jim helped him up his arm around his, setting him down in the corner. 

"Thank you," Gryce said, leaning his head against the wall, sighing of exhaustion. 

"What are we supposed to do here?" Gryce asked as he paced around the empty chamber, examining every square inch of the church. Gathering whatever he found that seemingly could be of worth.

"Finding evidence of the other side." He responded, back to the norms of vague answers Gryce thought.

 Stacking them beside him, unparticular items like scraps of paper and- wood, he didn't understand the reasoning behind but after setting down the last bench, a loud crash echoed throughout as it fell. A dense cloud of dust flew into the air and through it, the outline of Jim's figure stared at the window sill.

"What'd you find?" Gryce coughed as the cloud of dust flew over him.

"Their book, you might have a better understanding of it than I do." He tossed it to him landing with a loud smack against the floor as it slid to the side of his leg. It was the Bible.

"What happened to your hobby?"

"I can make exceptions." A bitter tone breaking into his melancholy way of speaking.

Instantly Gryce realized that copy was completely different from any version he'd seen back home. Firstly and more than likely most importantly it was written by hand. It was clear some parts were erased multiple times; smudges of black covered other verses that he also noted weren't familiar to him. As he flipped through the pages, the city of Ichemound continued to be mentioned, continuously referring to it as the accursed city or the city of the damned, prophesied to one day be fated to face righteous judgment against the Lord. Solomon even rather than being the king of Israel was the king of Ichemound and events that ranged from persecution and elimination of those who followed this form of Christ were apprehended. Treated less than the other worshippers, they were driven out, scattered across the Island to spread the word and fated one day to destroy the eye, before its inevitable reincarnation in human form that will bear the same properties and powers that let the evil rise in power.  

Death begets change, change begets rebirth, and its spawn will share this power, in the form of a Visitor. Who will see, three creatures not from this land. A Bat, the symbol of death, a Butterfly the symbol of change, and transformation, and in its selfish desire be reborn to continue a path that until satisfied, the day will be restarted. And be the hummingbird that carries the message across Toblitche that it has returned.