MESH Part 2

[Samus Aran]

They sailed through the sky, onwards for hours. Past Minas Tirith, far to the north where the land grew topsy-turvy, the villages more sparse and the mountains more rocky.

“I think it’s here,” Angel finally said.

From the ship’s window could be seen a small hill arrangement in which nestled a number of houses and what looked to be some kind of farm. The hills were bordered by a large forest which spread down the countryside back towards the south.

The settled down on the outskirts of that forest and disembarked, walking along the edge of the forest towards the gap in the hills where the entrance to the village lay. Samus was clad in her usual Camelot-wear of a tunic outfitted with brown leather guards, that of a warrior or seasoned traveller. Her hair was tied at the back. Angel’s hair by contrast hung loose, and she wore a long white shirt that draped down to her knees, over a plaid skirt that hung just above her ankles. It took a few minutes of walking to reach the mouth of the hills and start up the dirt path towards the village.

A young boy and girl of perhaps six years old bumbled across the path before turning to see the two arrivals. The children waved before continuing up, past a wooden fence that appeared to pen in sheep, and into the village proper. Angel and Samus followed.

Past the farmhouse, the rest of the village houses – mostly single-storey wooden houses that were barely past being called ‘huts’ – spread out in neat rows and lined the hills which enclosed the village boundaries. As they approached, people began to turn and look. The silence and stares met Samus as she moved through the small crowd. It was a familiar sight to the hunter.

Angel led her to the far end of the village, to one house which looked, despite its identical size and colour, perhaps just a little bit quainter than the others. It didn’t take a single knock for the door to open.

The man’s brown eyes were partially covered by a mop of greying hair and accented with eyebrows like brown slugs. He scratched his stubbly beard as he surveyed Samus.

“So you’re it,” he said, with the voice of one acknowledging the postman. “You’re the prime, eh?”

Angel placed her hand on Samus’s back. “This is Samus, dad.”

Samus extended a hand. “Sir.”

They shook hands. “Adol,” he said. He motioned for them to come in.

Candles lit the otherwise dim interior of the home. Angel led them through, towards the back of the house.

“This was mum’s sewing room,” said Angel quietly. Cloth and fabric was still littered about the place as though it had been untouched for a very long time. Angel cleared the table in the centre of the room and began to lay down objects. Photographs of some magical variety that appeared to move as you looked upon them. Hair pins and a wooden beaded necklace.

And finally, a burlap bag.

“What is that?” Samus asked quietly.

Angel turned around and her face all of a sudden looked far from the one Samus knew. “They didn’t leave much behind.”

Samus looked back to the bag and some of the colour drained from her already-grey face. “This isn’t how it works,” she said. “I’m not a … wizard. It works through thoughts. Memories.”

Angel continued to arrange the objects so that they sat in a circle. “These are the only memories I can give you.” She placed the bag in the centre. “You said yourself, this isn’t exact. We don’t know what might help.”

Samus was quiet for a very long while whilst Angel continued her arrangement. The curly-haired woman held in her air a quiet intent, a determination that was too far along to be refused. Adol stood in the corner by the door, watching.

The prime jumped as Angel took her hand all of a sudden. “You can do this, Samus,” she squeezed her friend’s hand. “I believe in you.” She turned to the corner and called softly: “Dad.”

Adol grunted and approached the space. He took Samus’s other hand, looking at her with an unreadable expression. Blame, perhaps.

“Now all you have to do is focus,” said Angel, her bright eyes swallowing Samus’s. “Everything that was Anastasia Marissa is here now. Just imagine her face. We’re here with you. Her closest loved ones.”

She smiled genuinely. “This can’t fail.”

Samus looked at the picture in front of her. It certainly gave her a good impression of the woman Angel’s mother had been. A quiet modesty with eyes that showed steel. She had been a strong woman. A dutiful one. One that took pride in all of her accomplishments. That showed in the way her animated self looked to the younger version of Angel standing beside her. Adol stood in the back of the picture, and he looked like a young man. His sly grin and massive frame dwarfed Anastasia’s, one hand resting on her shoulder.

Samus closed her eyes.

The room was silent for many minutes. Those minutes stretched on until the candlelight lit only their faces. Sweat dripped from Samus’s forehead as she stared at the pictures, as though she were trying to see into the frame, into another world.

Over time, the burlap bag began to glow.

Many hours passed. Adol glanced to his daughter and was met with nothing. He opened his mouth, she looked at him, and he closed it.

“You can do it,” Angel would whisper from time to time. “I believe in you, Samus.”

At these words, the hunter’s frown would become more strained still.

As light began to filter through the windows once more, another source of luminance began to fill the room. From above the table’s centre, motes of rainbow colour began to coalesce into the shape of a woman. She drifted down slowly, the colours beginning to settle into a tan white, the dancing lights at her head solidifying into curly blonde locks. Angel and Adol stood transfixed. And then the light broke, and the woman tumbled down to the table. The pair leapt up in unison.

“Mama!” cried Angel.

“Anastasia!” Adol cried in disbelief.

Samus surveyed her creation and watched it speak its first words.

“I’ve missed you,” it said.