Welcome to my seemingly endless journey.
A trip that will take you to places I might have visited many moons ago.
It´s a tale that came back to me when I meditated on one of my past lives. A life I told you about in my unbelievable true story.
As promised in that story I will now share this story with you.
Chapter 125
Then she shows me how she has already seen the future. I see images of the realm in which fraternization flows. Images of a time when, together with the Sikh, they spread love and commitment among those who live in fear and those who sow fear. I see the world she wishes upon us. A world where everyone finds fulfillment in charity and no one is left out through no fault of their own or their own.
Softly I hear her voice like a whisper; "I know it's overly idealistic, but it´s a start, an improvement. That one first step towards total equality would have meant so much. But it was not meant to be and all my wishes will soon go up in flames."
Our unity is increasing as I notice her thoughts now coming to me from all sides, sometimes spoken, sometimes I experience them.
Her death can not be the next meaningless one, another soul wasted just so
that the empire can keep growing; “I will give my life if necessary to make your wishes come true. I don't know if I will be there to see them come true, but I will lead, in your name, the underground movement that we started this afternoon. I will nurture it until it matures into an unstoppable adult party,” I say this and wonder if this is to calm her of my own thoughts.
A warm glow fills her body, and even though I see that they've already lit the torches, this warmth comes from within. As the soldiers approach, torches in hand, I remember the words I wrote the night before:
The powerlessness in me grows,
The night, my huge lonely heart,
That blooms during snippets of the day
Is now Frozen by Darkness
She will no longer belong to me,
She will be lost forever
Fill me with her pain
Your mind makes love to me
Your soul belongs to me
He who did not see you
Owns what I don't
As the flames wrap around her legs, eating away at her black robes, I keep repeating these words.
The soft tones, the harmonic meter, or maybe just my wish, something works.
Because as by now the flames are already reaching her waist, but I feel what she feels. There is only warmth, no pain. The darkness surrounds us amid these flames we become one with the warmth, and I keep repeating the words.
I feel her slowly fading, our connection breaking as the flames roast her legs. She feels nothing anymore, she sinks. Then everything is gone, empty. It was so suddenly, she left the body without any indication, leaving the empty shell behind in the all-consuming flames.
With enormous force, I'm pulled back into my body, many times faster than when I left it, and set out to find her.
I'm back in the room, which I never left. It takes me several heartbeats to realize that the sadness that weighed me down so much earlier this evening is gone.
It pains me to know that I will never be able to look this woman in the eyes again, but what we shared, very few share. People are bound to die alone, to share death is the most intimate connection.
I try to get up, stagger, grab onto one of the seats to keep from falling over. My body is weak and exhausted. I drag myself to the bed with difficulty, only to wake up soon after by a knock on the door.
It seems that the Sikh wants us to leave earlier.
It's fine with me.
Our roles here in the palace are played. Still part of me hopes for one more miracle, not for myself but for Numico and Sion.
I slowly get out of bed, the clothes from the previous day still on my body. Before I even get up, there's another pounding on the door. In a few steps, I reach the latch; when I open it, it's the young soldier again. He rushes in, closes the door behind him, and speaks. "Gentleman,"
“Call me Martio and what can I call you?”
“I prefer not to say my name, but if you ever need me, leave a message at the drinking house in Nagisi for the Nightingale. But that's not why I'm here. The Sikh, the Sikh he is…"
He pauses, "he is dead.”
“Dead, you mean murdered?” The thought crumbles my heart as we would be the ultimate scapegoats.
“No, at least people don't think so. This morning, when his maid tried to wake him up and opened the doors, she found him lying on the floor bathed in a pool of blood."
"You can imagine what a shock that was for her; she screamed in panic. Sion's room is opposite her parents' room, and she was startled by the scream. She rushed into the room, and saw her father with a dagger driven deep into his chest and clutched in both hands."
"You should know that at that time she was not yet aware of her mother's death; she was so shocked that she took a seat at her father's writing desk.
It was full of sheets of rice paper, which also littered the floor. They all contain the same text.”
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