There is peace...
Smell of earthy grass, floral and woodsy musk hovers the air...
A soothing breeze drifting by...
Birds chirping, rustling sound of trees...
Neva slowly opens her eyes.
And she sees the grey and black branches winding through swarms of wavering yellow leaves. Through the agapes of the leaves, the beautiful azure sky expands above, with faint, slow–drifting clouds.
She just lies there, to breathe.
There is silence in her head.
A good tranquiled quietness.
Then, through her pheriperal vision, she notices someone lying beside her.
Neva turns dazedly...
And her eyes meet the familiar ones—the ocean eyes that greeted her the first every morning for the past four years.
Ishmael caresses her face.
Neva gasps and sits up abruptly.
Confused and all muddled...
She frowned as he sits up too.
She grips her head between her hands.
Wasn't she with Rhett on the sofa?
No, she remembers waking, unable to sleep and, stepping out onto the balcony.
And what after?
"Neva," Ishmael says, placing a hand on her shoulder.
Neva harshly shoves his hand away.
"Don't touch me!"
They sit over the pasture, underneath the shade of the green ash tree.
Yellow leaves fall softly to the ground—where new and molding leaves pile in layers. The scent of bitter grasses and sweet florals drifts to her nose.
Birds twitter, a soft whooshing sound rises as the wind whispers through the tall grasses and wildflowers.
She is in a meadow.
A meadow!
Her wide eyes take in the lush green meadow all around her, a sweeping, vast ranging nature all around her.
She glances at Ishmael again—who absorbs every detail of her, studying her expression, calculating her next move.
Her heart twists, hammering fast and loud in her chest.
Oh God, what happened?
"Neva," Ishmael reaches to caress her face once more.
Neva looks away.
Ishmael frowns, a flicker of hurt in his eyes.
"Where am I?" Neva asks.
"Miraeth," Ishmael repliesls.
Neva immediately turns to him, astonishment in her warm cocoa pools.
"We're back home," he says with a soft smile.
He reaches for her hand, but she flinches away again.
He feels a pang, a gnawing in his chest.
"Tell me you haven't abandoned me, Neva." Ishmael's voice trembles.
"Tell me you longed for me. Tell me you still love me."
Neva says nothing.
Hot tears threaten to spill from her eyes.
"They forced you, right?"
Still.
Not a word from her.
She does not even glance at him.
He harshly grips her jaw. "Answer me!"
Neva is forced to look at those black, stark eyes of his.
Ishmael's face is darkened.
She's never seen him this angry.
Pain shoots through her jaw.
Her hands attempt to claw off his grip.
He only presses her cheeks tighter.
She squeezes her eyes shut, tears floating down her cheeks.
Ishmael clenches his teeth, so hard his jaw trembles.
He lets her go—roughly.
Neva's face jerks sideways.
A dull ache pulses in her jaw.
"Why? Did you remember?"
Neva only stares at the ground—where the grass lies decaying, brittle and white–brown.
Tears fall silently, spotting the ground.
She bites her lip, holding back the sob, rising in her throat.
"Speak, Neva!"
She flinches.
"No," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
He sighs.
Then gently, he cups her cheeks, guiding her face to his.
"Look at me," he says, now softly.
"He lied to you."
She grabs his wrists and shoves them away.
"You're the one who lied to me!" Neva glares at him, tears unceasingly falling.
Ishmael's gaze turns tender. "All they want is my downfall. You were used, Neva."
"I wasn't!"
"You're confused. I don't blame you."
"I'm not a fool," Neva seethes.
Ishmael frowns. "Of course not."
"I want to go back! Take me back!"
There is a hint of pity in his dark brown eyes.
And Neva abhors it. She abhors him.
"You're a horrible person."
All these years, he has been everything but honest with her.
How could she be so blind!
Ishmael turns to the scenery.
He straightens his long, sinewy legs, flattens his palms on the ground.
He then leans back and faces the blue sky.
The autumn meadow in Miraeth is still lush and green.
This place still remains vivid in his mind.
He breathes in.
The sweetness of wildflowers mingles with the musky scent of decomposing leaves.
A gentle breeze blows through his hair. "Isn't it refreshing?"
Neva does not answer.
"I never thought we'd be back here... after everything."
"Why did you bring me here?" Neva asks, fisting the grass until her knuckles whiten.
"You let them take my children away."
"You didn't leave me a choice."
"You should have just let them be," he snaps. His voice trembles. "You were disgusted with being a mother to Naya and Isaiah anyway."
"How could you?" Neva stares at him, disbelief flooding her features.
He's playing mind games with her.
This man before her—she does not recognise him anymore.
He looked at her with a serious, flat expression.
"Yes. I had your memories remove.
What of it?"
Her lips pressed into a thin line.
Her eyes, wide and trembling, bore into him.
She believed everything that they had warned her about him.
But still it hurts. It hurts so much.
Because perhaps, somewhere a small part of her still had hoped, he wouldn't be this spiteful. That maybe, just maybe, he wasn't as vicious as they had portrayed him.
"Why?" she croaks out, voice barely there.
"Why did you have to be so cruel?"
"I love you."
"You are wicked."
"I can't live without you." He pauses for just a moment.
"I wanted to give you the world."
"I trusted you."
His eyes soften. "Neva—"
"I loved you."
Ishmael carefully, gently pulls a shuddering Neva into his arms.
"No," she whispers. "I thought I did."
She stays still, unmoving as he buries his face in the crook of her neck.
"You were never the man I believed you to be."
His gaze turns bleak.
"Come back to me.
Nothing has changed."
Neva squirns under his caging hold, pushing and writhing as his arms tighten around her.
"I changed!" she blurts, her clenched fists pressing hard against his chest.
"I've been happier in these past four days with Rhett than I ever was with you."
"Did you?" He smiles painfully.
His arms weaken.
He exhales shakily as he lets her push him away.
Neva moves back.
Hatred burns in her scarlet eyes.
She stands up.
How can she escape now?
Rhett—Is he okay?
Is her family alright?
"I did not bring you here," Ishmael states.
She doesn't care to listen.
"I was still in Erriador, searching for you."
"You—" "I see that you're both awake!"
Neva is cut off by a startling, faraway voice.
She turns to find a tall man waving at her from a distant.
He smiles and approaches them, making his way carefully through the tall pasture that rises to his knees.
Something green is held in his other hand.
Ishmael rises and pulls Neva behind him.
His frame towers over her.
His face is stern, brows forrowed at the unfamiliar figure.
Neva purses her lips at him.
The man almost comes running toward them now. He wears a worn, greying blue tunic and brown leather sandals, with cheap strings securing them to his feet.
Who is this man?
Now that he's closer, she sees him a good–looking man, with slightly tousled umber–hued hair and fair skin. His eyes are a warm hazel brown.
"Do you know him?" Neva asks.
"I don't," Ishmael replies.
He wears a kutonet draped loosely around him, like the peasants—the inferior people of Miraeth—dress.
"I assumed you might be starving. I found something for you to eat," the man says, uncovering the food wrapped in the package made of banana leaf.
Neva, who peeks around Ishmael to get a glimpse, sees that he has grapes, blackberries, apples and bread cloves, and baked fish all neatly arranged in a banana leaf.
"Who do you work for?" Ishmael asks.
He doesn't have any weapons on him.
The last thing he remembers is being isolated in a hotel room.
Then suddenly, he wakes up beside Neva—like a dream.
"Let us fill our stomachs before we begin, shall we?" He smiles and looks at Neva.
Neva glances away.
The man sits on the ground, then he looks up at Ishmael. "I shall relief all your burdens if you would please just take a seat." He pats the ground in front of him.
Ishmael eyes him with suspicion.
This man has paradoxes written all over his face.
Ishmael sits down.
"It's fine. Stay behind," he says to her.
Neva, however sits beside him, moving a little further away.
The man places the bounty of meal in the middle. He plucks out a purple grape from the bunch and pops it into his mouth.
"So, where do we start?" He hums, chewing slowly, gazing up and deliberating.
After swallowing, he looks at them.
"Let me introduce myself. You can call me Jeriah."
"Who send you here?" Ishmael asks curtly.
"God," Jeriah replies.
Ishmael scoffs.
"What do you want?"
"I'm here to relay a message."
Ishmael frowns.
Jeriah turns to Neva. "I'm here to guide you to your purpose.
The chosen one.
You—who were predestined according to His purpose, who works out all things in the wake of the counsel of His will."
The verse of Titus 1:1 in the Bible comes to Neva's mind.
But what does he mean?
"What rubbish is this?" Ishmael spits through gritted teeth.
His patience is running thin.
He needs to get them out as soon as possible—
Lest they end up imprisoned here for the rest of their lives.
Then, Ishmael's hardened features slowly maims.
No one could find them here.
Neva is with him.
It would be just as before, when they were children.
Lack of sovereignty doesn't sound so awful if he's all she has.
If she's all his again.
"You are the chosen one, Neva.
You will lead the people of Miraeth out of their misery."
Neva's heart flips.
What in the world?
What chosen one?
And of course, it doesn't surprise her that he knows her name?
"I–I don't understand," Neva says, growing afraid.
Jeriah smiles. "In redeeming the chosen people of Miraeth, you will serve your true purpose."
"Get up. We have to leave."
Ishmael grips her arm and pulls her to her feet.
"Your memories will return through dreams and visions with each ensuing days in Miraeth," Jeriah declares as Ishmael starts leading Neva from the green ash tree.
They are now bared to the bright sun.
Neva feels a shiver run down her spine.
When she squints her eyes against the brightness and glances over her shoulder, sees saw him smiling up at her.
And she knows—knows that he is not a simple man.
She feels this sweltering, bursting urge to listen to him.
To believe him.
To let him guide her.
So Neva breaks free from Ishmael's grip and makes to walk back under the shade of the green ash tree. But then, Ishmael grabs her shoulder and forces her back to turn to him.
"You don't believe him. Do you?" He frowns.
"Why do you care?" She retorts.
Jeriah welcomes her as she sits accross from him.
She'd be damned to have faith in a stranger in this situation.
But she'll be betraying herself if she chooses Ishmael over anyone else.
"I choose to listen," Neva firmly states.
"But I have my own questions. Will they be answered?"
Jeriah nods. "You will be heartened with all your hesitations."
Neva sighs in relief.
Ishmael, she senses, stands behind her.
"What is it that you want me to do?'' she asks.
Jeriah smiles.
"The people of Miraeth have long been enslaved by an emperor who dethroned the true royalty. His aim is to sever the only way to the truth and life.
He has gradually tempted the humans into condemning themselves. And you, my dear, along the chosen companions, shall revive the lost faith."
Neva just sits there, frozen.
"You will get all your answers down this path."
"But why me?" she asks, feeling her chest tightening.
She is suddenly struck by the reality of him.
She can't take upon this task Jeriah has put forth.
"I'm weak. I'm not smart. And I can't leave my children behind."
"You're very, very wrong about yourself. And who said you have to leave behind your children.
You will need the strong foundation that your family provides.
Your reason is grave. You will be scorned. You will be wounded.
But it is meaningful. And the Lord will always be with you."
Neva swallows hard. She looks down at her hands, placed in her lap.
Is she dreaming? Is it all just a dream?
"I can't," Neva murmurs.
"It's only you. Everything you've gained through life has shaped you for this.
Leviathan is becoming restless.
This plague is only the beginning."
Neva looks up at him.
He's talking about Ruhd.
"Who's Leviathan?"
"The emperor of Miraeth."
"He's tried you. And he will do everything in his possesion to weaken you."
"Enough!" Ishmael cuts in.
"You've swayed her enough." He sounds bitter, his face blackened.
And Neva sees a hint of fear in his cold eyes.
"You'll wake in your home.
If you don't decide until tonight, fear the unthinkable." Jeriah says.
"No, wait. I can't. Please, I can't." Neva shakes her head.
Her mouth shrivels up, her lips dry. She's shivering, panicking.
She can't shoulder it. She can never uphold such immense responsibility.
"Do not be afraid."
"She doesn't know what you're casting her upon." Ishmael clenches his fists.
His heart hammers loudly in his ears.
For all that he is unaware of this stupidity, he knew it. His soul screams at him: if Neva follows him, he will lose her for forever.
"It is you who will lead her back to Miraeth," Jeriah says to Ishmael.
"The truth will be revealed."
Neva only hears the shallow whispers of Jeriah, weaved with the whooshing of wind through the trees and the wildflowers.
Before her eyes goes black,
And she feels herself falling to her side.