Cauldron Anthology Issue 3: Year 1 Collection Cauldron Anthology Year One Issue FINAL 1.17.18 | Page 36

A baby’s wails are carried to me through an open window, reaching my heart as well as my ears.
I jump at the sound and the man’s smile fades. His boots turn up little clouds of dust as he takes a
sliding step backwards in the gravel.
“I will return another day and we will finish our talk then.” O! Those eyes. Those eyes never
leave mine as he backs his way down the path to the road. Only when he is at a distance does he
turn away from me and disappear as if he never existed at all.
My rocking slows, then stops. The crying of the newest Kalip woman fades into happy little hic-
cups. Though the sun is still at its zenith, I rise. As if it will somehow lend clarity to my situa-tion, I
squint off into the distance, my eyes trying to trace the path left by the man. I cannot see it.
Was it all a dream? Was he just a figment of my mind?
I leave my perch at the top of the stairs, touching the stone lionesses as I pass, their skin rough
and warm under my fingers. I cannot remember the last time I left my chair while the sun was still
in the sky. My foot, outstretched, hangs in the empty space, waiting to take that first step down. For
a horrible instant, I consider moving my feet down the stone steps, following af-ter him, trying to
see what he sees in this world. But I am a coward.
My body quivers as I sit back in my chair, reclaiming my position. No one else comes to seek my
answers. I do not rock anymore that day and still my body shakes.
This is not my way.
As the sun breaks over the horizon, I step into the purple-golden light to where the lionesses
have stood sentry all night. The chill of my rocker seeps through the red cloak that wraps around
me. Mist swirls across the ground and I feel as though I am high amongst the clouds.
It has been days since the man with the ancient eyes came and went. Two sunrises of tingling
dread, wondering if he was going to reappear. Three sunsets of sinking relief when the day end-ed
without me seeing another person. Three nights of restless sleep filled with smiling serpents and
willful women.
I am beginning to think I imagined him. That he is (was?) just a phantasm.
I relax as the sun climbs higher, hotter. Summer looms, the glory of Spring has almost passed.
Even in the heat of the day, I sit in my cape. Waiting. Rocking. Everything is silent except the
creaking of my chair. Back and forth. Back and forth. Living. Dying.
I blink and he is standing in front of me again. I swear to you that I did not see him ap-proach.
I had closed my eyes but for a heartbeat and he returned, his grin full of the brightest stars and the
blackest night.
I do not hesitate to speak this time. “What do you want with me?”
“I want to help you.” His voice is resolute, but tinged with something else that I can’t deci-pher.
“I have no need of your help.” I help others. Help them to find their way, to find whatever
peace they need in that moment. I am the Helper, not the Helpless.
“And, again, you are a liar.”
There is ice in my veins, colder than before.
“No, I speak the truth.” Did my voice waver?
“For others, perhaps. Not for yourself.”
A laugh, little more than a bitter hiss, escapes me. “And what do you think is my truth?”
“Sadness.” His eyes seem to burn into my very core, but cannot melt the ice that has grown