Rest

Elements // Lindsey Stirling

What feels like hours pass with no sign of the beast. I watch out the window and track the path of the moon, trying to note some reference to time. The silence and the lack of information begin to unravel me. I attempt to see pull anything that Drue or Nicandros had said about the master and this dwelling from my memories . Nothing helpful comes to mind. In fact, all I'm left with is the sense that I've gotten myself in way over my head. I don't know what I was thinking when I decided to find this place and seek out my mother. What could I possibly do to help her? That is, if she's even here.

I begin to pace with worry when the door finally opens. It's slow enough that I realize it might not be my favored beast but someone or something else entirely. I step to the side, an attempt to remain in darkness in case my visitor doesn't know I'm in here. It's the only defense I have.

When I hear an irritated chuff, I heave a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness it's you."

His eyes widened at my statement. "Really now, that was the last thing I expected to hear. You won't be so happy to see me in about five minutes." He steps fully into the room and takes up the slack of the rope.

I'm relieved when I see that he's untying it rather than pulling me once again. "So far, still glad it's you," I say as he rewraps the rope and secures it to his belt.

"Just wait, human." He takes my arm right above my elbow and starts to pull me to him.

What is he doing? I suck in a breath when his face is a mere inch from mine, breathing heavily, directly into my face. Is this what he meant when he said I wouldn't be so happy to see him?

"Listen to me," his voice once again quiet. "I have to secure you, otherwise things will be worse. Just do as you're told and soon..." The beast's voice trails off as he looks toward the door. Footsteps grow louder in the hall outside and he stills, listening. We both seem to hold our breath. When the footsteps pass without entering, then fade away, the beast returns to face me. "No one can know what I've told you."

"You really haven't told me anything. Not even your name." I counter with a whisper.

"I've told you enough. Now, come with me quietly. If no one sees you until after I have secured you, it will be better for you later."

I nod, somehow feeling like he can be trusted, however ill advised it may be. I'm in no position to do anything else.

We enter the hallway and walk a short distance to a staircase which spirals downward. The beast puts me in front of him and we begin to descend to the next level. The last step leads us to yet another hallway. What surprises me at each turn is the opulence, the light and ornate designs covering all of the walls. With the exception of the room I was left in for the first few hours, this dwelling is magnificent, although even the view from the window of that colorless room was a marvel to behold.

The beast directs me forward as I slow my pace, mesmerized by the artful pattern of vines and flowers along the walls. Sometimes red, others are blue or yellow, and each room has a unique pattern of leaves and buds. I wonder what they all represent? As the hallways continue in a seemingly endless maze downward, we finally pass through an open archway and step into a kitchen.

Time seems to stop. As my eyes take in the space, the large work table and wooden slab, the flour dusting every surface in view, I hear nothing but the sound of my own breathing. Shock is the only term to describe it. Everything in this room feels odd, unusual, and yet utterly familiar. It's as though I've been here before. My breathing slows down as my eyes wander frantically looking for the answer to some unknown question. Then, I see it.

Only seconds have passed since entering this kitchen space, but when my gaze comes to rest on the main object of the room, it may as well have been years. I can't catch my breath. My heart pounds in my chest as my eyes take in the impossible. I don't understand what I'm looking at, what can only be described as the exact replica of my father's steam oven. The very same metals and gears, the same conduit of piping, the same gauges and design.

I feel sick, nearly feverish. This has to be a terrible dream, a nightmare. How could this be? My father tinkered our oven from scraps and the creativity of his ever-pondering mind. Why would its exact replica be here, in the high dwelling of a ruthless master?

There are no forthcoming answers, only a sense of dread and deception. Someone has lied to me for most of my life. I see that clearly now. And the only culprit could be my father. I hope beyond anything reasonable that I'm wrong.

The beast pulls slightly against my elbow, urging me forward and out of my daze. I comply silently, knowing that I won't learn anything about my past without potentially forfeiting my future. Here I am putting everything on the line for answers. Answers I'm no longer certain I care to have.

A short but sweet conclusion to the part which now leads us to more questions! The matching oven to the one her father built has twisted everything she thought she knew.

See you tomorrow!