Fallen Ash

Chapter Eight: Misworth River

The train reversed slowly out of Lylet Station as Ash made her way down the aisle. It was her second time riding a train, and she wasn't sure of the etiquette, but she took the first seat she saw, pressing herself against the window to see the sight of the city dwindling into green. Industrialization crumbled, although traces, like ruins, peppered the countryside as they passed through - telephone wires and bumbling tractors. Still, she felt peaceful, and at the same time, thrilled by the prospect of fulfilling her assignment. She would be back in the Second Sphere before she knew it.

The task at hand was not a pleasant one, but there was nothing she could do for Intizara Fadel anymore. She foresaw the second part of her task and was ready for it - help the boy overcome his grief and shine a light on what had really happened. She would have to guide and mentor him through it, towards the fulfilment of a divine plan lying in store for him.

Unwrapping a chocolate bar, she tried to shift her focus towards the immediate problem. She wasn't exactly sure what her plan was when she got to Misworth, but somehow, she had to contrive a way for the body to be discovered, presumably without drawing attention to herself.

Ash chewed thoughtfully. If she had been given this task as a Virtue, she would have channeled a storm through her numinous body, spread herself thin across the firmament and raged like rolling storm clouds. She would have battered the landscape, swiping at the water until it began to undulate violently, drawing the girl to the surface to wash up on the bank. She never would have been given a task so simple, however. This was grunt work.

The train hurtled through the landscape, stopping at intervals. Ash was distracted and curious - the human world was so multifaceted and diverse, she realized. No train station was identical. Every stop had its own sense of character. As they pulled into Misworth after an hour - the final stop - she was no closer to deciding what to do than she had been at the start of her journey. She was not worried though. She was confident.

At the bookstore in the station, she bought a local walking guide and studied it on a bench in the street. Misworth was a small, cramped town she grasped, as cars at the roundabout ahead of her struggled to maneuverer around one another. She would have to be wary of being remembered. She had switched out her patchwork jacket for a nondescript leather jacket from Heather's wardrobe and she thought blended ceaselessly with the residents of the city, but still felt the overwhelming presence of herself. The body anchoring her to earth weighed so heavy, she felt like every footstep drew gazes, and every whispered word was practically broadcast. She had liked being unseen and unknown. She didn't like this.

"Stupid body," she mumbled to herself.

As she stood up, a boy narrowed his gaze to her and looked her up and down appreciatively, whispering something to his friend. She flushed and hurried on, pushing the walking guide into her shoulder bag. It was best to not stay in one place for too long.

To get to the river, she needed to pass through the town center to the opposite side, so without further ado, she began the trek down the cobbled road, her face a passive, sullen mask. It was a surprisingly busy day, and as she ducked around groups of shoppers, her feet drew a zigzag across the pavement. The road began to slope upwards gradually, and more dramatically, the space between houses growing wider and wider until she saw nothing but rolling hills and sheep ahead of her. The few homes she did see appeared older and larger. She breathed a sigh of relief and looking at the now crumpled walking guide, cautiously pushed open a wide iron gate.

The walking trail was barely perceptible - a narrow space where the ground had been trampled and nothing grew through the compacted earth. It led into a thicket of trees up ahead. Unlike the park, the area seemed wild and untidy - the grass around her unkempt, the only flowers belonging to a class of weeds. She remembered when the earth was like this in every corner - before nature had been groomed and restrained to suit an aesthetic, when wealthy people tried to emulate its wildness without the authenticity. This strange, quiet place still belonged to the earth, she thought.