3

The Chronicler

            I knew that it was a relapse. Maybe the Alnese poppy didn’t agree with me, who knows. I thought I was flying. I thought I saw the land the way it had been at the dawn of my hosts’ arrival, white, cold, hostile. Alnos looked like an unending glacier when the Space Gypsies got here after hitch-hiking around the universe close to two thousand years. The wind howled right through me, then gave way to a flute arrowing a sudden silence.

Afterwards Peg said earnestly, “You’ve had a vision. An Earthling! Barely here a few weeks, and he has a vision. That’s grace, Raymond, God’s grace. I wonder what it means, seeing our current planetary space ship at the dawn of our arrival.”

She decided to call their high priestess Lady Ciani and tell her about my vision.

In the dark I first mistook Lady Ciani’s amber eyes for Leila’s. Then I caught a glimpse of thick bronze hair falling to her shoulders, and more of her came into focus. I knew she had the “original” color from Oryn, the planet of the first Space Gypsies, but I still caught my breath and felt for the first time that I was looking at an Alien. She knew, joked, “I thought Earth lore tells of little green men.” I just kept staring.

“It is our custom to welcome guests no matter what the circumstances. But when God visits grace upon a man, we must honor him. Peg tells me you’ve seen God’s breath as it first appeared to Pallas when she was looking out over the lay of our land and giving thanks for it.”

I started to stammer something and decided to just shut up.

“Will you accept to become my chronicler?”

“Your what?”

Kick this uncouth asshole!

She smiled graciously and added matter-of-factly, “My chronicler, a historian of sorts. My old one decided to travel.”

“I . . . I’m an outsider.”

“A new perspective on everything is probably what God wants us to have right now.”

How do you tell a lady from outer space that you’re all fucked up? I lost all inhibition and stared frankly at her gray-blue skin. She lifted her hand and offered it to me. It was warm. I turned it over and stared at her palm. Many fine lines criss-crossed it. Before I knew it, I mumbled, “You’ve had many lives.” She looked across me to Peg, then back at me, “Do you accept?” Since I still couldn’t say anything coherent, she withdrew her hand and decided for me, “Pallas Leila knows enough to get you started. If you wish to separate, though, I’ll provide you with another teacher.”

The name snapped me to my senses, “Leila?  Where is she?”

“In Eden Hamlet.”

“Can I go there?”

She shook her head, “Not yet.”