Revelations

Revelations
Justin Freyvogel

Lucas stood in the mouth of the alleyway, steeped in shadow, and staring intently down into his hands. The walls were brick, a dull red, very nearly black. Runoff trickled in from the street along narrow sluices and pooled in the back. It should have emptied away through a drain but the space was so choked with waste it was likely blocked.
The book was slim and unassuming, bound in worn black leather, and without adornment except for five stars along the spine. Their edges threw sparks of light where flecks of gilding remained. He turned it over in his hands looking for some label or marking, but neither presented itself.
A gust of wind stirred the refuse, and sent unseen creatures scurrying for better shelter. Strands of his hair, fine and black as night, came loose to fall into his eyes.
Carefully he opened the book to its inside cover, finding an intricately drawn landscape, enclosed in a border of arcing stonework and vines. The detail was beyond comprehension. Sprawling forests and plains, no larger than the nail of his thumb, occupied the foreground. In the distance snowcapped mountains pierced the clouds. Oceans and deserts and rock-encrusted hills filled the narrow confines of the page. It was a miniature world, stilled permanently in vellum and ink.
Lucas found himself little more than a finger’s length from the thin volume, trying in vain to capture the beauty so plainly described. Slowly his eyes were drawn upward. There at the top of the scene, and just slightly off center: the sun. Its rays stretched to reach everything below, and though colorless, seemed to bathe the land in its warmth. His eyes returned to the sun, compelled. Beneath it, at its right was a single star. Sorrow rose unbidden, and tears clouded his vision, spilling onto his cheeks and running down his face. He made no move to wipe them away. Shame all but overwhelmed him, buckling his legs, and shuddering he fell to his knees.
Filthy water, stinking of garbage and cold as ice soaked into his clothes. Tearing himself from the heavens he turned the page with trembling and aching fingers. Flowing script as beautiful as the illustration was scrawled in neat lines. The language was foreign to him, and his heart fell.
The words shivered. Recognition loomed within and he cowered in fear and agony.
“You left it behind.”
He spun to confront a tall man, thin and seemingly young despite the grey hair framing his face. His eyes were the palest blue, vivid and clear even in the darkness. His clothing was nondescript, but clean and the color of midnight.
“It was his gift to you,” he said, in a voice that was light and musical. The man offered Lucas his hand.
“You can come home. You don’t need to do this,” he gestured to their surroundings.
Memory returned with the pain of unbearable loss. The breath fled his lungs, escaping his mouth in a muffled sob.
“He forgave you, a long time ago.” His eyes were pleading.
I can’t. Lucas did not speak the words aloud yet they must have shown on his face for his brother’s arm fell to his side, and his head bowed in acceptance. He ran then; from the alley, from his blood, from that past and his shame. Dimly he felt the book slip from his fingers. Please take it away. The night drew once again over the light of memory. In its wake was left the faint residue of grief.
Why am I running? He asked himself, but could find no answer and slowed to a walk. At some small sound he spun. It was just a stranger. The man stooped to pick up something, a book it looked like which he tucked into his coat before striding away.