I: Calling Out

“What is this?” I muttered. The hoarse words were scarcely audible to even myself. The movement of my dry, cracked lips created a new pain. It was a much welcomed distraction, but what caused my utterance was of far greater intrigue. My burning eyes had detected a peculiar movement along the edge of the gnarled forest.1

I strained my gaze to focus on this phenomenon, mysterious even to such a place as this. Had my endless years in this arid wasteland finally caused me to hallucinate? No, my eyes had not deceived me. I could now clearly make out three figures. There were two men. They were being lead along the perimeter of thorns by a creature, part man and part steed.2

“Who walks through this Hell unscathed?” I shouted to them. The beast and first man paid my word no heed, but the last in line slowed and turned toward me. The other man turned to him and said something, for they picked up their pace and continued along the ghastly orchard. “You’ve naught to fear,” I called out, desperate to speak with them. Noticing that the rain of embers was passing momentarily I made a final attempt and yelled “The smoldering flakes are moving on, it is safe here!” Again the third turned to me, followed this time by the second. The beast then reluctantly turned and spoke with the two.3

I knew full well that their passage to me was not safe. They would surely be burned by the scorching sands. And so I watched them with a dwindling empty hope. To my amazement they began to come toward me, the men riding atop the beast’s back. When they finally arrived I saw an expression of horror on one of the men’s face. “Why is it that your head and body lie here within this blazing tempest?” he asked in bewilderment. “First,” I said to the beast, “Tell me how is it that you are able to tread the firey terrain to this very spot?” “My blood is that of burning poison,” he replied coarsely. “These sands are of no harm to me.”4

“It would be wise,” inserted the other man, “That you relate to this fair poet of why you have come to reside in such a place. He will return to the world above and will be able to bring your tale with him.” “No, you mustn’t,” I pleaded. “Have you not wondered why we have come to pass through here?” he demanded. “We have been granted passage by the power that you condemned and squandered.” My eyes widened. Perhaps this was my chance to repent and gain pardon. “Yes, I will tell you the tale.”