by Anna Young
Today we have a story by my writing friend, Anna. This is a short, but beautiful tale, and I can’t wait to share it with you! Enjoy!
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The man stands before the old log house, scowling at his fields and plenty. The snow stretches away before him until the horizon is lost in the grey of the clouds. Cold silences the birds. The snow is silent.
‘All these long years I’ve heard her calling,’ the man mutters to the looming trees. ‘And I haven’t answered her yet.’
As he speaks the voice commences, “Lindorea! Lindorea!”
The man strides from his doorstep. His face is pinched in anger as he shakes one mittened fist at the silent woods. ‘Curse you! Curse you! Curses on your relentless calling!’
Silence falls. Snow sighs softly in the stillness.
“Lindorea! Lindorea!” It is a woman’s voice that beckons.
‘No!’ the man howls into the spying trees. ‘You took her, you took them, and I will never answer your pitiful groaning!’
He hears nothing but his own echo in reply.
Then, “Lindorea! Lindorea!” Is whispered on the air.
“You’ve taken it all, witch of woods!’ The man belows in fury. ‘My wife, my children, you took it all in a hurry!’ His boots crunch in the frozen snow as he takes a step towards the budding trees.
‘Lindorea! Lindorea!’ Drifts with the snow from the sky.
‘I will not, I cannot, I daren’t go forth thither!’ The man protests with a sob. The crunch of his next step is as loud as a gunshot.
‘Lindorea! Lindorea!’ The relentless cry continues.
‘My jewels, my crops, my animals, my friends!’ The man excuses himself in desperation. ‘My home, my land, my loves, my life!’
“Lindorea! Lindorea!” It doesn’t miss a beat.
‘I gain nothing!’ He screams, a mere foot from the trees. The branches look hauntingly down upon him, the snow breaths as it falls between the underbrush. ‘Yet I must or I shall die!’
He steps into the woods.
The man stands before a lake, as wide and as deep as the ocean itself. Warmth floods his senses; his care falls from his shoulders. Green surrounds his passage as he stumbles through the forest, wondering, bewildered. Delighted.
A spring dances at his feet. Birds chorus through the kindly treetops, and a herd of deer watches calmly as he passes them by. Peaceful.
Suddenly, a woman rises before him, tall and gentle. Like the sunrise on the prairies, she is graceful, stern, and stunning. A robe of purple glides down her body and pools at her feet like water, shimmering in the golden light.
The man falls to his knees, hands clasped before him. ‘I beg mercy.’ He pleads. ‘For I did not see until the end.’
‘Mercy is granted, my brother, my friend.’ Grace extends her hand; lifts him to his feet. ‘For here in Lindorea, mercy is neccessary.’
‘My wife, my children?’ The man echoes in a dream. ‘They were right all along, yet I could not see.’ His tears shine like dew upon the teal grass at his feet.
Another beauty, an angel, a myth with auburn hair, runs from the trees and embraces him with care. ‘My love,’ sighs she ‘I knew you’d come, at last. For put all doubt behind you. Behind us, and past.’
Five children race to greet him, scaling up his legs, like little insects or monkeys. ‘Father!’ The cry. ‘Father, you have come! You have seen with your eyes what you know in your heart.’
‘O blessed Lindorea, hidden world of truth. Some think it only possible, to find this land in your youth. Yet I have found otherwise, and this I know is true. In giving up life, one should never fear death’s demise. For through it and Grace, we are given a pledge. If we leap of a cliff, never fear, for He is there. Know this, and know it well, He stands between you and the edge.’