The Forest Omphalos

All revelations end and become history. Both soldiers, clad in gray and steel, marched into the forest at the direction of the archangel. The clouds behind them formed a wall, and the mount grew three sizes. What seemed a small hill only moments before became a formidable peak surrounded by clouds. With a smoke-ring surrounding it, the gates of Gehenna looked straight out of—!

“…a fairy story…”

The private turned. “What?”

Dave shook his head.

“Nothing. It was nothing. I just… I remembered something from a long time ago.”

Watermann sniffled. His eyes were still red with joy. “What’d it remind you of, Lieutenant?”

He sighed.

“I’ll tell you later.”

Later was the better option, as Dave and Watermann had to find their bearings. The forest they entered in blind instinct instantly surrounded them. Since they had woken up at the crack of dawn, it seemed that quite a few hours had passed judging by the high placement of the sun. Dave conveniently remembered the pocket watch given to him by his father-in-law and took it out of his breast pocket, cutting himself on the rose that he had forgotten about in the joy of revelation. He checked the time.

7:34 PM AST - Aethel Standard Time.

OK, well that certainly wasn’t right. This new world—at least, this section—was behind the Lamian capital by seven hours. The last offensive near Merite had brought them southwest. At most, they should be ahead by thirty minutes.

The celestial might be different here, too. With their compass out of flux, they might need to chart constellations like the ancients once did. Perhaps the night sky would hold more answers. Until then, they had to find somewhere suitable to camp for the night.

Watermann gawked at the redwoods surrounding him. He’d heard, in distant discourse he couldn’t bother to recall, about a similar genus inhabiting the New World, but none were as massive as these. They seemed to stretch onward and onward, reaching into the sky and calling for life-sustaining rain. Damp earth and moss were evidence that this practice worked.

The forest teemed with flowers and fungi. Beetles scurried up and down bleeding bark. Cool wind kissed their faces, with lips of a fair maiden. Wildflowers crowned the base roots. Alien yet somehow endearing critters scurried. A satisfying calmness ensued. Before, they only knew calm tainted by fear, but this return to man’s natural environment provided a fulfillment that started from the depths of their lizard brains. Here, there was respite. There was no shell. There was neither brass nor whizzbang. Neither mortar nor chlorine. Whatever shadow death cast retreated before the forest canopy. Pure peace made the men want to burst into tears. Instead, they walked gratefully and in awe of her majesty.

Evening was soon approaching. The men found a clearing and made themselves a fire. Another lucifer spent. Their half-tents sat adjacent. Dave hugged his greatcoat as he drifted in and out of sleep. This wasn’t the first time he felt tired, but the exhaustion of a good day’s labor was better than the rat’s exhaustion of dodging traps. Watermann’s voice brought him out of sleep’s embrace.

“Lieutenant?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you going to explain what you were mumbling about?”

“Maybe.”

“Come on. There’s no shame in it. We’re past it all, you know.”

Dave sighed.

“You know, when I was younger, I didn’t get on very well. It was a different time, and I wasn’t used to how things were being run now. My grandfather raised me—I think I’ve told you—for a period while my father managed the business.”

The sounds of crooning animals and insects returned to them. A small smile crept its way across the lieutenant’s face.

“He was a real hard-ass, but he cared about me in his own way. I remember on my seventh birthday my grandfather gifted me a novel. Before, he’d been taking me on long walks through the forest on our estate, so I expected a sporting jacket, or a coonskin cap like those wild frontiersmen wear in the New World.”

“But a novel. By God! What was the man thinking? I felt devastated, but also curious. It was still a gift from my grandfather after all. So I read it.”

“It was a fairy novel, ‘The White Cliffs of Wittner’ by Ronald Schwartz. The story was about a boy named Joseph who travels to a distant land after his mother sends him out to forage. He stumbles upon a coast full of chalk and white sand, and far away, peaking above the horizon, was an island shrouded in fog. If I remember correctly, Joseph swam towards it until he’s caught in a whirlpool and rendered unconscious. He then awakens to a benevolent faerie, who tells him that the king is ill, and he must help them find the tincture of life that’s sealed away in the Devil’s keep.”

Watermann snickered. “God, no wonder you’re like this.”

Dave chuckled. “Let me finish, dammit.”

“Anyway, Joseph embarks on a quest. He joins a talking jackal and a wizard on their way to find the three treasures of Devil’s Keep: the Tincture of Life, the Beads of Rasori, and… err… oh—the Crystal of Truth. So, they venture into the keep, braving obstacles and illusions, only to find themselves at the great seal that guards the treasures. The jackal skips ahead, trying to get ahead of the other two and take all of them for himself, only to be repelled by magic. He gives up and walks away. The merchant tries to use his tools and various implements only to be repelled likewise. He too, gives up. Joseph approaches the seal, and he places his hand on the circle where the field was cast. It shatters, and he moves forward. He returns to the kingdom and gives the tincture of life to the king, who knights him.”

“I don’t get it. Why did the seal break for him?”

“Because he approached with humility in his heart. The seal rejects those who come with pride. The jackal had pride in his deception, and the merchant had pride in his works.”

“I think that makes sense…”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t get it until later.”

“Please continue.”

“The merchant and jackal approach, lamenting their hubris. Joseph gives the beads to the former, and the crystal to the latter. The beads become a dowry for the merchant to marry the love of his life, and the jackal learns honesty.”

“All right,” said Watermann. “I can see why this new world reminds you of that book. But why were ya so private about it?”

Dave stared silently. His voice wavered a bit.

“After they knight the boy, he goes to sleep in the castle where he is staying. When he wakes up, he’s on the beach again. Joseph still has his knight’s outfit, and his sword and everything else is dry. He finds his way back to the house, and his mother answers the door. She hugs him and cries. Every day he spent in that world was real. It had been two years.”

Watermann nodded in his half-tent.

“I’m thankful that I’m alive, but I feel like everything is going to slip by me. This world is real, and we are alive. I’ve pinched myself enough times to confirm that.”

“What kind of man would I be to leave a lady and child waiting?”

The response went unsaid. Dave ruminated. The kind to hitch a train heading straight to the front line, regaled by flowers. One that kills and is forever stained. The kind to come home and feel alien.

“I don’t know what kind of man that is, Lieutenant, but the one I know is a great man.”

Watermann smiled to himself.

“The kind that holds the world on his shoulders.”

There was a comfortable silence.

“Goodnight, Watermann.”

“Goodnight, Parker.”

When he awoke in the morning, Dave grasped his head.

“So that’s what you meant, Io.”