A Flight of Souls

“I found a message similar to this outside my own front door,” River said. “I-I think I have some idea how they got here. As crazy as it sounds… I think that the griffin who saved me from the hunters and brought me back here was your son.”

There were so many things about that statement that blew my mind, I didn’t even know where to start my questioning. But I didn’t even get a chance to as Rose said, “We need to talk to Corrine, and then River suggests that we visit the oracle.”

Ben

The journey was long and arduous. Perhaps it was just because my mind was unfocused, my soul still crying for the island I was flying away from, but the journey across the Pacific Ocean seemed to take twice as long as it ever had before. I lost count of the hours, but eventually, I spied land. Moving ashore, I was relieved to discover that I had, by some miracle, reached Canada. I found my way to the nearest town and gathered my bearings in a tourist center, which had a detailed map pinned against the wall. By the next morning, I had located the foothills of Mount Logan. From here, with much more zigging and zagging, I was able to find the route I’d taken with the ogres and make my way back to the gate dug into a snowy mountain plateau.

I moved to the edge and gazed down into the starry portal, its swirling, smoke-like walls almost beckoning to me. I prepared myself to dive through when a voice spoke behind me. A voice with a French accent.

“Are you here for the full moon?”

I thought at first that there must have been some hikers camping up here that I hadn’t noticed. I whirled around and found myself face to face with the ghost of a man, staring directly at me. Hovering over the snow only a few feet away, he was of average height and meager build, with a sharp nose and bony cheeks. He had lanky, shoulder-length hair and a goatee. His appearance was youthful—I guessed that he could not have been much more than thirty years old when he died, and, bizarrely, he wore shorts and a tropical, pineapple-patterned shirt. Evidently, his death had not occurred on this cliff—or anywhere nearby. He looked like he had just stepped off a Hawaiian beach.

His clothing only made his sudden appearance all the more confusing. What was this person doing haunting this icy landscape if he’d died thousands of miles away?

“Who are you?” I asked, staring.

“My name is Nolan,” he replied. “And this is my wife, Chantel…” I followed his gaze as he looked over his shoulder. The ethereal outline of a small, slight woman with a blonde bob drifted toward us across the snow. Like the man, she appeared young, and also like the man, she wore what appeared to be beach clothes: a strapless, light cotton dress that fell just above her knees. Now I also realized that both of their feet were bare. I scanned their bodies, looking for marks or clues as to how they had died, but found none. I wondered if they might have drowned in the ocean.

“Joseph,” I replied instinctively, even as I mocked myself. It didn’t matter if the whole world knew my name now. It wasn’t like there was anything worse that could happen to me.

“So you’re not waiting?” Nolan asked, raising a straggly eyebrow.

I narrowed my eyes on him in confusion. “Waiting for what?”

He paused, flicking his tongue across his lower lip, before exchanging a furtive glance with his wife. He cleared his throat, his tone subdued as he spoke again: “Never mind then. If you don’t already know… I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”

He had piqued my interest far too much for me to allow him to brush me off now.

I remained rooted to my spot, even as his hand passed over his wife’s back and the two of them began turning away from me.

“Wait,” I called. “You must tell me what you meant.”

The couple paused, the man twisting slowly to face me again. There was a span of silence as he considered my request. He glanced again at his wife. She spoke to him in French—a language I had not learned. He nodded slowly before addressing me. “First, why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?”

“I was about to jump through the portal and travel to the supernatural realm before you spoke to me,” I replied truthfully.

“What would you do there?” Chantel addressed me for the first time. Her accent was richer than her husband’s.

“Try to find out… what I am,” I said, raising my arms and gesturing to my body.

Chantel smiled a little, her crystal-blue eyes warming. “I remember it like it was yesterday,” she said quietly.

Nolan’s eyes lowered to the portal in the ground behind me. He swept past me and stood at the edge of it, beckoning me to do the same.

I approached next to him, my eyes cast downward into the dark abyss.

“I do not know how many times you have passed through a portal,” Nolan began. “But for supernaturals who die while still in this human realm, after their death, they often have a strong instinct to drift back to the supernatural dimension, since many feel more at home there than in this mundane world. I’m guessing that you must have come through this gate at least once in order for you to know its location.”

I nodded. “I have. I have also explored the supernatural realm a bit. I’m headed back there now because I need to speak to someone.” I paused, frowning. “You speak of supernaturals like they are familiar to you. Were you not humans in your past life?” They certainly didn’t have the appearance of anything but humans.

Nolan shook his head. “My wife and I are not—and were not—human. We are the descendants of witches, though we have never considered ourselves among them. We saw hypocrisy in their ways, and ultimately rejected them altogether. Almost three hundred years ago, we decided to leave the Sanctuary and settle like humans in this realm, anonymously.”