Immortal Memory (Iris' Atlantis 1)

21: Little One

After some meditation, I decided that I felt like going on to a walk after all. I drew a coat on and picked up a black pair of woolen gloves. I wasn't sure whom the gloves really belonged to, but the detail fit perfectly well my mood. So I took the black pair.

It was dark outside, even as the light had augmented with the approach of summer. But I was late out and the warm sunny day was only a memory as my breathing misted around my head. Every surface glistened as the day's moisture had frozen with the night's shadows.

Without really intending to or even thinking about it, my feet seemed compelled to a destination. I let them guide me toward the center of Dale. The traffic was slow and I didn't need to worry about cars as I crossed roads. Only every now and then I heard the humm of an engine and bright front lights passed me by. A motorcycle sounded too loud.

I came to the river that separated me from the old center. I walked by its bank, passing by bridges to the other side of the stone canal. I didn't cross. My destination was on this side of the river.

The clock must have been past eleven by the time I found myself standing in front of an old stone church. It wasn't a cathedral by any measures, just a big stone house with a high ceiling. And it was closed for the late hour. But there was no gate to the churchyard, just a gap in the stone wall surrounding it.

As I understood it, the Dale Church was the oldest church building in Atlantis, dating back to the twelve hundreds. It was built by the first congregation of Christians from Europe.

There was no one else wandering between graves as I entered. I liked graveyards, though most of my friends thought it slightly odd. Which I in return couldn't comprehend. There was no park better kept and respected than a graveyard. Not a single misplaced candy wrapping to be found. Of course, in Atlantis it was common to burn the deceased. So there weren't that many graveyards. And the American media, for some reason, insisted on rendering graveyards the home of ghouls and ghosts.

I sat on a bench to watch a stray cat slip underneath a bare hedge. It glanced in my direction. It had caught something in its mouth, though the shadow was dense there and I couldn't tell what it was holding. Then the cat went and left me alone in the towering shadow of the stone building.

I didn't look at it, but stared at the nearest tombstone in front of me. It was a rough, simple stone, as most stones in the yard were. Very few were especially ornamental. It was an old yard.

I sighed a long, misting exhale.

"I don't understand," I said aloud in a whisper. "Couldn't you explain it with a sign? I know I already saw the dream. But why is this knowledge forbidden? Is this a temptation? Why is my faith put to test? Have I not always followed Your path?"

Who the hell was Little One?

Why did he affect me so much?

And should I go and ask Valentina about it? I didn't have her number, but surely I could find out some contact information on social media.

But then again, God had clearly warned me to stay out of this matter.

My thoughts traveled in circles. And I was ready to leave the mystery as it was and return home, when my ears picked up humans speaking. It seemed like someone else had also decided that a graveyard was a good place for a late night walk. The conversation was punctuated by a rhythmic sound, as if one of them were toying with a small rock, tossing it in the air and then catching it again. Over and over again.

"I tell you, she is up to something. The Queen hasn't left the capital for many months. Something is cooking in Breasinghae." A woman's voice.

"Mmm... I don't really think it is her though. The Queen hasn't been much of an actor for some centuries." A male.