The Beginning of the End

The Begining of the End 4

Patrick stood on the porch of his current home; he has lost count over the years of how many places he has called home over the decades. He smiles as he thinks about it and gazes out over the lake, the one constant in his life has always been a lake or ocean not far from his secluded home. He picked up his cup of tea and started down the stairs headed to the lake. ‘What was the name of this one,’ he thought to himself as the butterflies fluttered and honeybees buzzed, ‘Break Lake,’ he thought though he honestly couldn’t remember right now.

He stood at the edge of the lake for what seemed like an eternity, watching as the fish jumped breaking the calm that laid over the waters. The sounds of nature always comforted him, and he knew that soon the tranquility would be shattered. He turned and began to walk north, following the lake’s edge, the first shots of battle were fired today, and this poor small mountain town just didn’t know yet. He sat on an old bench under a very old oak tree and once again gazed out over the lake. He watched as a mother duck was waddling next to the lake with three ducklings following behind her, the fish continued to jump snagging various insects off the top of the calm water. A loon was calling in the distance and, the growl of a bobcat returning as if it was answering the call. Once he finished his tea, he sat the cup on the little table next to the bench and stood.

With one final look over the tranquil waters he turned to the tree, raising one hand he rested it on an old, twisted knot on the trunk and a small section of the tree vanished, leaving a dark opening. With a deep breath he stepped into the darkness, the opening closing as soon as he was through, he stood and waited for the light to direct his path. Patrick stood in the dark with his eyes closed for an unknown length of time, in this place time was nonexistent, years were as long as a second and as short as a century. When he opened his eyes, he was surrounded by an inky darkness, it almost seemed to cling to him like wet clay, still he waited. Eventually he saw a flicker out of the corner of his eyes, he did not move or even breath, it disappeared then he saw it far, far in the distance, seaming to be the size of the head of a pin. He continued to wait, focusing on the tiny prick of light.

The light began to drift closer, he never took his eyes from it, it seemed to flutter bobbing left, right, up, down, not seaming to have a steady direction. He only knew it was getting closer due to the fact that it was getting steadily bigger as it moved on its drunken path. Minutes, or maybe hours, later an ornate door stood in front of him, light leaking out around it. He stood there and took in every stroke if each carving, this door was as old as time itself, yet it looks as if it was carved from the ancient tree of life that very morning. He reached out to touch it, halting his hand, fingers only millimeters off the surface. No one was allowed to touch this ancient gate way, each one who had in the past became a new carving forever etched on it, never making it to the hereafter. He let his arm fall back to his side and stood there studying the surface, Patrick knew that the door would open when it was time and not before.

He stood there studying a figure of Fenrir, the son of Loki, the giant wolf who had been chained to a rock and awaited Ragnarök. It was not yet time for him to break his chain yet, the battle that was approaching was the pivotal battle that every elf, light or dark, would face. His hand once again hovered over the door, this time tracing the outline of Fenrir as he did every time he stood before it. He often wondered if he would be the one standing with Oden during the final days, or if his double would be the one here standing on the side of evil. His breath caught in his throat when the full weight of the upcoming battle settled on him, this would be the end for one of them. As he pondered this new thought the eye of the great wolf twinkled blood red, as he withdrew his hand the eye lightened. Once it reached a golden yellow hue the door began to slowly and silently swing inward. Once it was fully open and the light poured out bathing him in warmth and comfort, he stepped through, and it slowly closed leaving only the darkness and the golden yellow twinkle of the carved eye.