Laverna

O.K. Mantz

Sensing the spindly fingers of the sun vivaciously pricking his neck, Alastair slapped his skin and shoved his body further into the huddling crowd. Utterly hypnotized by the masked man on the stage, the people stood limp and ragged amid the town square, their eyes shackled and unconscious. Yet Alastair’s eyes tore free from the bond and roamed over the motionless mass, incessantly blinking to dispel the stench of death that lingered ominously among the people. He smacked his neck again, a terrible shiver running down his spine despite the startling heat that procured glassy beads on his forehead.

Frightened by the sun’s brilliance, no cloud dared manifest itself in any form beneath the stratosphere. The entire square seemed bathed in light, and every space was occupied by itself and its effervescent shadow that dictated every move. To Alastair’s right lay a forest: thick pine trees grimaced painfully amidst beeches and silver birch trees, obscuring the land through their lush leaves and the pullulating shrubbery beneath. Even at its most destructive, Nature retains clean hands while humanity does not. Congregating beside the forest like a pool of cockroaches stood at least four dozen men and women with their children, facing toward a wooden platform and grinning crookedly in twitching anticipation. On the stage was propped a guillotine, the wooden contraption boldly reaching for the cloudless sky, its metal knife scintillating and reflecting resplendent beams of light. Just as proud as the guillotine, stood a paunchy, bare-chested man, whose visage remained hidden by a dark cloth draped over his head. The people began to twitch and suddenly he thrust his arms upward as though worshipping himself and, riling up the crowd in his own favor, justified his wicked heart with lavish words. But Evil, in whatever semantic scaffold, is by definition a monster.

The people screamed and tossed their fists into the air, the voracity unmistakable within the crevices of their covetous eyes. Alastair shrank together for a moment, the din penetrating his ears and rattling his soul, spitting curses at his reluctance to conform. He stretched out his arms and shoved a man aside to squeeze himself onward, mumbling an apology as the man ripped apart his lips entirely unaware of Alastair’s presence. Turning his head toward the stage, he watched as the man unclamped his fist and let the rope of the guillotine fly from his hand before he caught it again, the crouching figure beneath squirming uncomfortably in the wooden Lunette. A broken voice rose above the wails, a voice drowned in infinite tears trickling over the greasy heads of angry men.

“Laverna!”

The woman crouching under the guillotine lifted her head ever so slightly at the sound of her name, her long hair falling backward and revealing an earth stained face and pale skin. A mist clouded her pupils, and the sapphire within the white’s of her eyes was gradually drained of color.

“Laverna! No…please!”

The masked man chuckled, his baritone voice silencing the desperate cry. With his palm, he played with the rope, the blade bouncing dangerously up and down, gleefully holding death’s bony hands and dancing to the shrill music floating through the atmosphere. Laverna’s eyes were dying, but a subtle and persisting beauty still emanated from her essence. The crowd thickened and Alastair struggled to break through, forced to witness the crimson tragedy unfold. He realized that man is, on the whole, a catastrophe to himself and the cosmos; and wondered if perhaps God is a catastrophe to man in the same way.

Even through the mask, the impious smirk blazed palpably across the town square and Alastair placed both hands on someone’s back before shoving him sideways and stepping across. Gasps escaped and rose from the earth like weary souls lifted up on their journey to the heavens as Alastair’s presence was realized. Yet Alastair ignored them and bounced onto the wooden stage in haste, the crooked figure of Time staring avariciously at the gold coins falling inside his palm as Death generously paid for Laverna’s corpse. Startled at Alastair’s sudden appearance, the masked man grunted and loosened his grip altogether, allowing the rope to slide through and the blade come sailing down. Laverna’s neck remained openly displayed and unable to move as the metal shot downwards, hurrying to give in to its bloodlust. The livid screams ceased and all was quiet, every fiber of life watching the stage and holding its breath. Fiercely, yet strangely slow, the blade fell; not a single eyelid covered arid pupils as all focus remained on the forthcoming sound.

But before the blade sliced through Laverna’s gleaming skin, Alastair thrust out his hand and the knife suddenly exploded in a thousand shards. The sumptuous light of the sun was broken and glittered in every direction as the metal shattered and sprinkled down onto the wooden ground. Baptized in the metal rain, Laverna slammed her eyes shut, expecting her body to slump and lose all sensation as her soul escaped through every pore and, wrapped in chains, followed the fearful frame of Death. But her body did not succumb to that inescapable finality and remained instead soaking in the futile waters of life. An agonizing wail rose up from the crowd and the people widened their eyes as they beheld the guillotine shatter; without hesitation, Alastair sprung forward and tore at the wood, ripping apart the planks and allowing Laverna to lift up her head. The masked man grunted, his anger viciously spraying from his gums and permeating through the cloth as he grasped for Alastair, however vainly.

As elusive as the morning dew, Alastair evaded the masked man’s stupefied movement and gently raised Laverna to her feet. Guiding her by the elbow, they swung round and jumped off the wooden stage, harking the patter of a hundred sullied feet behind them. Dazzlingly, the sun streamed down upon the earth, enveloping the two in lustrous brilliance and following them as they dipped into the forest, running swiftly beneath the cover of the grimacing trees. The pines bowed their heads in display of their undying gratitude, their speechless thanks for preventing human blood from soiling the earth and substituting water as their nourishment once more. The beeches and silver birks utterly indebted to the hero who had battled against the bloodlust of mankind and returned to the world a bit, however trivial, of the tenderness and love that once thrived abundantly.

Through the shimmering leaves fell the sunlight, thrusting the atmosphere into a coruscating panorama. Thin streaks of gold and silver fluttered down with such grace like the gentle kisses of the snowflakes caught in a winter wind. Striking contrasts of moss and fern, juniper and lime, danced between the gingerbread trunks and butterscotch shrubs. Bouncing over fallen branches, Laverna clenched Alastair’s hand and followed him, her tears begging to kneel and kiss his feet, utterly indebted to their saviour. Shouts lingered in the distance, yet the mob’s vicious breath perished somewhere in between the leaves and the light, bathing the forest in the silence of the grateful.

Then, out of the corner of his feeble eye, Alastair discerned a gleam, swiftly shooting forth from Laverna’s hand. The blade, situated gently in her palm, sunk into his flesh, tearing apart his skin and jaggedly shoveling out the blood in a fleeting moment of lust. He felt his essence pouring out of the wound, much too enthusiastically spilling down onto the teeming earth. The light around him seemed foreboding and vapid as the knife cut deeper and kissed his heart, slapping the throbbing muscle and squeezing the veins with hungry lips.

Is there more evil now, or less, than there was five years ago, or five centuries? And who is to blame for all this wickedness? Is it natural or moral?

Alastair peered into Laverna’s eyes and saw returning to them that same scintillating sapphire light he had first perceived draining out of her. He found no answers to his questions, only marked before him the face of his own ending fate: disheveled hair that draped across a pale face, but a strange fullness and vivacity washed her lips in color. The thousand shades of green interlaced behind her, wrapping around several tints of brown, and magnifying the frail features of her stature. Her countenance twisted, her expression remaining unmoved by the thick paste spewing from Alastair’s skin and pouring now from his throat, outlining his yellow teeth in red. The blood squirmed through his gums and dripped over the roundness of his lips, falling just as gently, together with the snowflake light, down onto the trodden earth. Before the glittering sun was perfectly consumed by the darkness of the end of time, his blurry vision watched Laverna’s vibrant lips signal to his gushing heart. His ears barely discerned her words and his soul splintered then, shattering in that very moment to lose the hope of heaven and the crippling fear of hell, but dying twice instead. Her voice was sweet, yet her words bitter: like licking honey from the thorns of love.

“Grief owes no debt.”