In a house so run down it looked abandoned the
old woman paced back and forth working an obvious path in her 70’s style orange
shag carpeting as she flattened the pile. The walls were covered in paisley
wallpaper and 2 china cabinets full of knick knacks gleamed and shook as she
stomped by. Instead of pictures of Jesus or Elvis on her walls there were
framed photos of wood nymphs and trees, of oceans and mountains.
At
first she was angry, but it subsided quickly as her mind continued to worry and
the air around her vibrated slightly. She knew at that moment what she had to
do. The old woman had never had to go on a long trip before and yet she knew
that at this moment she needed to pack and leave…for how long…she didn’t
know…all she knew was that she had to leave right away.
Each time she changed direction she would shake
out her fingers and there would be an audible pop as her knuckles snapped. She
paid it no mind and continued to pace relentlessly as her thoughts felt
unsettled and she had never had a feeling of dread so deep inside of herself
before.
“Something’s wrong…” she mumbled to herself even
as Jack the Blue Hyacinth Macaw sat on his perch preening himself and could
have provided an audience. “This isn’t right…” continuing as she walked a solid
track across the floor and couldn’t shake the feeling that she needed to do
something, that something unexpected was about to happen. As the long-time
Caretaker of the goddess in the stone, for what was going on for centuries now,
she watched over the vessel that housed her Mistress. As the long time protector she knew when her
Mistress had been released to live her next cycle and also knew that this time
things felt drastically different than they have in the previous ones.
Just as she protected her charge, Gertie
also knew that what she herself called a pack of thugs watched over living
vessel in much the same manner except that when her Mistress was released then
the her job was over.
This time she worried, although she didn’t
exactly know what she was worried about, she just felt that something was not
quite right. She felt the energy shift when Skye made contact but by now she
should be able to feel the living essence of the Goddess and she couldn’t feel
anything past a hum of vibration.
So often she would hear the goddess in her head,
talking to her and keeping her company in her solitary world, the two of them
alone and yet still having each other. Gertie knew that when Georgia took hold
she was out of control, causing trouble while she was free, making the ‘Thugs’
jump and skitter to clean up her messes before she drew too much attention but
for her it was a simple duty and she missed it whenever her time was over. For so long she would see Skye and each time
she had a different name but always the same face and always the same contented
sense of self.
Sometimes she would meet Skye face to face
just like at the flea market and pass on the white oak box, other times the box
found its way to its vessel all on its own.
Gertie had always felt that it was safe... not
this time though…this time she felt strange and knew she had to find the box
with her mistress within it. Gertie knew but she had to make sure he Mistress was
alright because her job was to keep her charge safe until she was in the right
hands or body such as is was again. To lose that job meant that she would lose
the magic that kept her alive all of this time.
“Changing of the
guard!” the Macaw’s shrill voice had startled Gertie out of her trace. As she
turned exasperated and glowered at him… he chattered again “Changing of the
guard!” the old witch couldn’t help smiling as she watched him while he had a
cobalt blue feather stuck in his beak that he was trying to shake free. She
shuffled her withered legs towards him, put her arm in front of his perch and
held it there until he stepped forward. His claws pinched her skin lightly
while he got a better grip on her and she liked the feeling.
Gertie reached up and plucked the feather out of
his beak, tossed it aside and stroked his head. He pushed into her dry boney
thumb. “What do we do Jack?” she spoke softly nuzzling him with her knuckle.
“Without her…we die…” As if understanding her sudden sadness Jack tilted his
head and looked at her with one small yellow rimmed eye, extended his wings,
proceeded to wrap his wings around her head and pecked her hard on the bridge
of the nose before he quickly jumped back to his perch.
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