Fortune’s Wheel

The light of my life had gone out that night. I saw hints of her glow on paths of cold stone. I felt her silver strands brush across my neck as I darted down the alleys she floated above, and I saw her leaving through the blood polluting the pristine streets; but she lingered on the metal weapons that followed each step I took as if to say goodbye.

I know I lost her in the terror of pursuit, when I fled beneath the city, into those walls built atop an older, more painful love. The soldiers of fear and rage grew into haunted specters as they chased me down away from her light.

Or perhaps it was my fear, which drove me into those wicked halls. I was a boy beckoned by shadow, tempted by sweet perfume. Vanilla, jasmine, honey, and peach crept around each corner, and the houndlike men pursued me hard. Through dilapidated hovels, a sprawling catacomb, the undersides of churches, their heavy howls followed, but even those devils of passion could not approach the unlit arch and its silken threshold. It was here, as I passed under the paroketh, in the final flickers of their torches, that I could see how sunken their countenances had grown. The marks on their brow were cracking crevasses and their eyes like black stones of terror. I turned forward to the descent that awaited me. In that pit beneath the city, I found myself blind. Here, I believe, the moonlight finally left me, and my shadows led the way.

Without my loyal eyes, Fortune was a fickle guide. I traced walls and odors into the depths, my hands following a feeble crack while my nostrils inhaled a burning sweet perfume. Across walls blanketed by that blinding scent, my fingers followed a crumbling surface.

They found purchase in the surface, and from beneath the wafting honeysuckle emerged the lingering musk of rotting wood. Light poured forth, and with it, incomprehension.

As the portal crumbled into my hands, masked figures gathered beyond, washed in a scarlet glow. They made their introductions from the cusp of archway, offering food and drink. The scent of spring orange blossoms poured forth, blanketing my overwhelmed senses. Gentle and rich names washed over me in invitation. “Avalon” a masked goat called himself, “Eden” one mare was named, “Elysium” came from behind the countenance of a smiling gazelle.

I was tempted to stay in their company, to join their marvelous feast with its lush fragrance and Dionysian charm. Yet underneath lingered a familiar musk, hidden by perfumes and lavish adornments was the scent of fresh rot and old death. It lingered like a creeping miasma, quietly feasting below in sinister destitution, to be kicked up violently whenever the feeble equilibrium was disturbed. A mask slipping to uncover a raw mandible mouth, a scrumptious morsel disappearing with the sick cracking of bones, and the smell of unearthed death would rise through the perfume as a reminder of what lay beneath the golden masquerade.

Hidden beneath every field are the creatures of roots. While deer prance above, beings of manifold limbs scurry below. Beneath the Emperor’s city, they had adorned themselves in costumes and perfumes, and they wore the visage of noble beasts like a second skin, yet their nature was not the same.

I bared my teeth in a gentle smile and spoke. A magpie had taught me to whistle on a fall morning long ago, as it fluttered below the shade of a date palm. They were whimsical delightful calls, reserved for evenings of gentle disturbances when solemn things had no place, and so I spoke them here.

The masks remained unchanging, but the scarlet light no longer illuminated them. Their offerings grew distant and faded beyond the frame, pulled back silently, and without protest. Perhaps they still expect my return.

In that fresh darkness, amidst the miasma of lichen and decay, new scents called to me. As I traced my hand down the ragged walls again, they grew stronger. I was now breathing in the sea breeze, amidst it was a waft of fresh pressed olive oil, palm trees, and grapes. Memories of fresh fish, warm bread, sweet dates, and red wine danced behind my lips. Ahead, I heard a gentle voice calling me, like waves across the shore.

I pressed onwards again, further into the darkness.