A Faust Legend

You've heard about those sunsets where gold, yellow, and pale pink and blue paint the sky. Where you can see the sun's last pure golden rays piercing through the clouds. You've probably actually seen a few yourself.

I wasn't watching one of those. Oh sure, I'd seen plenty like that. But this one was simple. No clouds, no complicated color schemes. Just the yellow sun sinking behind the mountains and leaving a wash of pale watercolor-blue in it's wake.

I liked to come here sometimes when I was feeling down. Or sometimes just when I felt thoughtful. It wasn't a lonely feeling, not really. I'm sure it came across as one most of the time, but it just felt... calming. It was comfortable.

I'm not sure what the road behind me is called, though I know it branches off of Fifth Street. I didn't really care, but I supposed I could ask my dad when I got home. I looked down, not able to keep myself from appreciating the white and blue glitter of the Kootenai River from up high. Part of me wished I had my sketchbook and pastels with me, but of course, I'd left my backpack at home for once. The one time I actually wished I had it, I didn't.

I shifted into a more comfortable position on my rock, taking a deep breath of the evening air and wishing that I could just sit till the stars came out. Maybe even longer.

Unfortunately, I had to be home by six, and I couldn't ignore the Autumn chill for long anyway.

"Peaceful. Isn't it?"

I nearly jumped halfway up the mountain, turning to stare with not just a little shock at the man behind me. He was tall. Very, very tall. Taller than most basketball players. I'd guess he was maybe seven-foot something-or-other. Though maybe my perceptions were a little off considering he was standing a little above me, and closer to the road.

His hair was neatly slicked back, it's black color reminding me of cloudy nights when the moon wasn't shining, and there were no streetlights to be had for miles around. Pure unadulterated black, save for one streak of startlingly-white silver on the side a few inches above his ear.

His features were hard and cold. He had muscle, but it was subtle. It was the kind that didn't speak of going to the gym every day, this was muscle that was earned through hard back-breaking labor. Lots of it. Yet the way he held himself was almost cat-like, lazy but with enough power and grace to leap into action before any threat was even established.

His skin was so pale I wondered if he'd ever seen the sun before now, and it was emphasized by his eyes, which were an unidentifiable color so pale that the irises were almost invisible against the whites; his pupils a glittering stark and unsettling contrast.

His overall demeanor was somewhat at odds with the clothing he wore. An open red plaid shirt, showing the black tee beneath, and tattered-beyond-repair jeans. But his shoes were nice, and, I assumed, expensive. Black, shiny, maybe even Italian, though I never was fond enough of shoes to learn the difference.

In my head I could hear Forrest Gump commenting on how you could tell a lot about a person by their shoes.

"Geez, man," I complained, placing one hand over my racing heart, "You scared the living shit out of me!"

"I know." He murmured, his voice a low bass that came out smooth as silk yet with a dark promise in his tone. He smirked knowingly at me, an expression I would normally have found presumptuous. But for some reason it just made me feel... outclassed.

Outclassed and very naive.

"So... what?" I asked, irked that he could make me feel so inferior, "You meant to do that?"

"Well, it was certainly a pleasant reaction, but no. I didn't have any original desire to startle you."

For a second I just blinked at him, then I smiled dryly at him, "Wow, formal much?"

"Certainly. This is, after all, a business meeting." The stranger replied smoothly.

I frowned, looking around at the darkening woods and then the river far below my feet. Then I glanced down at my own casual attire, and then at his. "Um..." I muttered, not bothering to hide my confusion, "Dude. We're outside in the middle of nowhere, our clothes are about as business-like as a redneck's, and I have never laid eyes on you before in my life. I'm just curious, but, ah..." I paused, allowing him a moment to absorb my skepticism, "What have you been smoking?"

He just laughed, a quiet low chuckle that sounded almost normal. Almost. There was something—I don't know what—that was just completely, fundamentally wrong. His laugh sent icicles stabbing down my spine, and ants to crawling under my skin.

No human being should be able to make a sound like that. It just wasn't right.

"Of course you've never laid eyes on me. Do you know how often I get out into this world?" He asked, his low voice sounding wry, but still amused, "No. I am here to offer you a deal."

I narrowed my eyes at him. What was he? Some kind of agoraphobic fantasy fanatic? "What kind of deal?" I asked instead. A question I would later come to regret.

"Simple," He answered, "One conversation for one favor."

I stared blankly at him, waiting for him to elaborate. He didn't.

"So... wait," I began, mentally replaying what he'd just said, "You want me," I pointed a finger at my chest, "To do you a favor—one favor—in exchange for... what? Some scintillating conversation?" The man merely gave me a smug nod.

I couldn't help it.

I laughed. Who the hell did he think he was? Mab? Well, it sucks to be him, because I don't believe in faeries.

I managed to control my laughter, wiping mirthful tears from the corners of my eyes, "Oh man," I wheezed, trying—and almost failing—to withhold another bout of incredulous gales. "That's the funniest thing I've heard all week."

"I can tell." The man said, though he didn't sound as irritated as I felt he should have. On the contrary, he was acting like he knew something I didn't. I couldn't help but be reminded of an arrogant teenager, yet there was still that presence to him... one that spoke of immeasurable knowledge and power.

I narrowed my eyes again at the stranger, suddenly wary. Abruptly I wished that he didn't stand between me and the road, my only path of escape. "Obviously it's not a conversation with you that you're thinking of. You're offering me a conversation with someone specific. Who?"

I hoped that I sounded as disinterested as I felt.

I'm not sure he bought it, because his lazy cat-smile widened, and there was a brief flash of bright color in his white eyes. It was gone too fast for me to tell, but I'd thought for sure that—

"I'm offering you a chance to speak with your unlost loved one."

I frowned. 'Unlost loved one'? But if they were un-lost, didn't that mean that they were still around? And if they were still around, couldn't I just talk to them whenever the hell I pleased?

I shook my head, "I don't get it."

He just chuckled, and again that exceedingly disconcerting sense of wrongness washed over me, making me shudder. "So dense." He murmured, the amusement still tinging his basso voice. He cocked his head to one side, looking down at me as one might when observing the clueless ramblings of a toddler.

"Don't push your luck, buster. I don't have to hear your deal." I snapped, scowling fiercely, "What do you mean, 'unlost'?"

I opened my mouth to keep talking, but he talked over me.

"Silence, child." He barked, his amused and arrogant demeanor quickly vanishing and leaving behind nothing but cold compassionless emptiness. I blinked, shocked—and a little frightened—by his sudden shift. And he called me 'child'...

I swallowed nervously, suddenly more aware of that simple deadly presence of him. Again, there was that flash of color in his eyes, but for the second time it was gone too quickly for me to see.

Then the arrogance returned, and the man let out a tiny huff of laughter.

"You yourself have said often enough that you can't really lose someone you never had to begin with, have you not?"

I felt the blood drain from my face, and instantly I knew who he was talking about. "But... she's dead..." I muttered, shaking my head and staring wide-eyed at the stranger.

"Of course she's dead. I can't make deals regarding more than one living mortal; it's not allowed." He sniffed, waving one derisive hand.

Okay, I've always believed in God. I wouldn't say I was all that faithful, and I definitely wasn't a Christian, or a Catholic, or anything like that.

But I admitted that there were some unexplained things in this world, no use denying it. I believed there was a God, and that meant that there were angels. Hell, for all I knew there were ghosts! I didn't know.

But if there were angels... didn't that mean that there were demons too?

"Who are you?" I asked, genuinely curious.

He gave a proud little bow, "I was once known as Mekuriel."

"Once? What about now?"

Mekuriel smiled, though there was nothing resembling mirth in it, "You're fast. What I am called now is of little consequence."

I snorted, but it didn't take long for my mind to drift back to my sister. The one I'd never had the chance to know.

"You can give me a conversation with Angela? You're not pulling my leg?" I finally asked quietly and—I hate to admit it—hopefully.

He scoffed, almost as if offended, "Certainly! Do you doubt my word?"

I glowered at him, for a moment not really caring if he could burn me to a charred crisp on the spot, "Dude. You're a freaking fallen angel. Why should I not doubt you?"

His white eyes flashed a third time, the color once again vanishing almost before it was there, and he shrugged, "It's your choice. Should you refuse my offer I can always take my business elsewhere."

"No!" I said, a bit more loudly than I'd originally intended. Mekuriel simply quirked a brow at me, and I cleared my throat, "I mean, no. Please wait."

What was I doing? Dealing with the devil? I wasn't really going to take him up on it, was I?

But then again, if I didn't deal with him, someone else most certainly would. "What kind of favor did you have in mind?" I hadn't realized I was going to accept the offer until the question was out of my mouth. I couldn't help feeling as if I'd made a huge mistake, but all the same...

Her name kept echoing in my head.

Angela Celeste. That's what her name would have been, though my—our—mother miscarried before the decision was final.

"It depends on what the future holds. I may need your assistance with something, but until then it is merely a debt."

I eyed him cautiously, "It's not for my soul, is it? Because if it is, you can take your deal and shove it up your feces-excreting-sphincter."

He laughed again, and I could barely suppress an irritated demand for him to stop. "No. It's not for your soul, but I will require your services in the future."

I thought about it. I thought hard. This was too good an opportunity to pass up. I could talk to her. Mekuriel was offering me a conversation with my sister.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I stuck my hand out and said, "You've got a deal."

"Excellent." He whispered, his white eyes flaring with brilliant scarlet.

But before I could even begin to react, he moved. Then he was suddenly standing barely two feet from me and taking my proffered hand in his.

Just as his cold fingers closed, fire like nothing I've ever felt shot up my arm, spreading through my veins in white-hot rivers of molten steel, and tightening with icy-cold daggers around my heart. I jerked in shock and pain, an anguished scream bursting from my lips. I felt my entire body convulse, the pain only heightening and becoming even more intense.

Then, just as swiftly as the pain had come, it was gone. The memory of it was still there though, and I ached with it from head to foot. Vaguely I realized that at some point I'd fallen to the ground and that Mekuriel had released my hand. I groaned, blinking my eyes open only to be blinded by an impossibly white light.

I squeezed them shut instantly, letting out a pained grunt.

I could feel my left hand burning, the pain throbbing in time with my heart beat. I forced myself to a sitting position and chanced opening my eyes.

It was still impossibly bright, but after blinking a few times I managed to adjust. I stared down at my left hand, too shocked to wonder where I was.

Slashed into my palm in a circular pattern was a series of some sort of runes. I didn't know what language it was, only that the oddly-shaped cuts had been cauterized shut, the skin blackened and red around each letter. For a brief moment, I thought my hand might've been steaming, though I wasn't sure.

It didn't take much imagination to figure that it was Mekuriel's doing; I could still feel the burn of his touch, when he'd somehow carved the sigils into my palm.

Looking up from my aching hand, I noticed that I was lying in an unending realm of white.

Kind of like what you would expect to see in some movies. I couldn't tell where it began or where it ended, there were no shadows to be had, and there wasn't a single landmark by which I could get my bearings.

"Hello?" I called, hating how barren the setting felt, "Mekuriel?"

"Naw, he took off."

I jumped for the second time that night, swinging my head around so fast that my braid smacked into my face. It stung a bit, but I'd felt far worse. And in any case, I was too enraptured by the young girl standing before me to really care.

She looked like a younger, female reflection of my dad. Only with my mother's blonde hair and my grandma's turtle-green eyes. I could just see my mother in the narrow set of her jaw, but the shape of her eyes and cheeks was almost square, like my dad's.

I'd guess she was maybe twelve or thirteen by her height, though I knew for a fact that she was really fourteen.

She wore a plain black T-shirt, faded jeans, and bright red sneakers, her long hair--like mine--tied into a braid that lay draped over her shoulder.

Her green eyes held a certain innocence that you only see in newborn eyes, yet a wisdom that you only find in the elderly. She reached down to offer me a hand up, innocently wise green eyes glittering with mirth, "You must be Petra." She said.

I took her hand, aware of the fact that my mouth was hanging open, but too shocked to care.

She helped me to my feet, and I noticed that she was a half a head shorter than me.

I could do nothing but gape at the phantom before me, literally speechless for the first time in my life.

Finally, I managed a single, three-syllable name, "Angela..."

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Ta Da! So this is kind of a sneak peak at an idea that I've been playing with. And I know I kind of left you hanging... Sorry... Mostly... Kind of... Um... (I say 'kind of' a lot.)

Okay, so maybe I'm not all that sorry, but I'm trying to be. Really. Truly.

Well... Maybe not. But you don't need to know that! (Although I kind of already told you. Rats!) In any case, please tell me what you think! 

Till next time!

PS: I just posted the introduction of my new book/project-thingy. It's called the Book of Songs, so if you get the chance, please check it out!