On the third of March, at eleven o’clock in the morning,  Amare Amayemi, at the age of sixty-two, died of old age and starvation.

He was an orphan and a negro of poor origins. Bought at the age of eleven near the ivory coast from the Tribal Chief Masegao, he came under the hands of his first master after a year of waiting in the eastern shore of North America. His initial price was eight dollars; with consideration of how finely built he was in both upper and lower body, and of his seclusive nature that curbed any and all attempts at building a relationship with other negroes, he was well valued by his first and second masters.

He worked in cotton plantations for many a year, and changed owners many times. He traveled through half of North America and Mexico, and when he hit the age of sixty; unable to lift, pull, or slash as he did before, his master of that time, which made him the eighth, sold him to his last owner-  To me.

Priest Jackson stopped writing at the mention of himself and put the quill on his hand aside. His body stiff and heavy from long hours of writing, and his hands trembling from the still-cold nights of the early-spring, he decided to stop here and stood up. 

He stomped on the ground twice to hear it rattle- he sighed and leaned his back forward. Like old Amare, he was old too, and it came natural to his body to bend towards the earth. He walked, hunched, to the outside to take a fresh breath of air; the door swung before him and the night’s darkness rushed over to the candles lighting up his humble cottage. 

Moonlight scarce, and the field he and Amare worked together too blurry to see with his bleak eyes, Priest Jackson couldn’t perceive the world past a few feet in front of him. Even then, though, by the miracle of the god and almighty, and by his connection to the last negro he freed from labour, his eyes captured that one grey stone delving into the earth.

It stood far from the cottage and near to the field, and there were several, silver-white flowers blooming beside a lump of dirt in front of the stone. Though moonlight was scarce, they still gleamed off of their petals with no end, and though his eyes were bleak, Priest Jackson could very-well see all of nature cloaking the grave.

He took two more breaths. The darkness turned brazen enough to flicker his candles, Priest Jackson noticed, and so went back in with the door open. 

He came beside the table and grabbed his quill; he dipped its tip to the half-fresh ink, gathered every single piece of paper on the table, stuffed them under his cold armpits. He turned around and grasped one of the candles from their metal handle- with both hands full, he didn’t bother closing the door.

He went through the dirt road leading to a three-way branch, climbed uphill from the leftmost one and after a minute of walking, strayed to the left. 

Swaying grass laid plenty in front of him, some as long as his knees, others as short as his sandals. Careful to not stomp too much, he followed the hard-imprinted footprints of his from the few days back and kept going for several minutes. After a revealing of pine trees bent themselves to greet his incoming, they disappeared to reveal an opening; the sight of a dark world going down and down until it reached a flat zone.

At the top of this sight, two steps to his right, was the lump of dirt, near its silver-ish flowers a grey stone.

Priest Jackson sneaked beside the grave and settled down on empty earth. Cold soil bothered his bottom more than he liked it; it sent a chill through his spine and shoulders. That, however, passed as fast as it appeared. 

With the cold seeping in, he put the candle on the flat top of the stone, placed all the papers, blank or filled, on the dirt in his front, and laid his pen upon the page he had been trying to write this whole day. 

‘’Amare,’’ Said Jackson, ‘’I can’t seem to get this part right, dear friend.’’ 

‘’I wrote everything past that point; how we met and worked, how we pounded those fields and harvested a good amount. I believe, and god wills it if I didn’t, I wrote well and detailed as well. I put everything I remember, and the rest you helped me finish. But you know I am determined-’’

Jackson raised the half-filled page and raised it to the sky. ‘’I do want to tell your story myself; with my own hands and with my own words. That is the least I could do to honor a man like you, can’t I?’’

He lowered it again and put it next to the candle’s flickering flame. With how it swayed back and forth, Jackson knew it could burn the edge of the paper. 

He didn’t seem to mind it.

For a few seconds he let the paper rest there and listened around. There was no voice; Amare didn’t speak, the earth didn’t speak, heaven didn’t speak. The owls were the sole owners of the reverberations echoing inside his ears. 

‘’Now that I realize...I didn’t write about myself, did I?’’ Priest Jackson smiled. Candle felt much warmer, hotter to his left palm. ‘’Should I write about both of us, then?’’

‘’That should do it,’’ Jackson took the paper away from the candle and laid it on the dirt bump. His hand crossed all the lines above and around the top of the page, and once they all turned into unrecognizable lines of black, he tore the page from half.

The blackened part he rolled into a ball and threw to his back, sending it descending to the earth below. The white part, now half-brown from the soil, he pressed on to straighten it and wrote.

On the sixth of March, at eleven o’clock in the night, Amare Amayemi and Jackson Goldsmith, at the ages of sixty-two and sixty-three, passed away.

After he let go of the quill and his power, Priest Jackson dropped hard beside the grave of his dear friend and fell into sleep.

Two days later, grandson of Jackson Goldsmith would report his grandfather and his slave as missing to the Colonial Bureau Of Security. He received an inheritance of twenty dollars that would later be donated to an orphanage. 

*********

‘’And here you are at last, dear friend!’’ 

Those were the first words spoken to Amare when he opened his eyes after meeting God. 

The owner of this greeting was an old white man; almost as ancient as the years boulder presented on its texture, and with a pale, blue robe in coalition with its weariness. He settled on that exact yellow-ish boulder, which he forsook as soon as Amare laid his eyes on him. 

‘’Welcome Amare,’’ He smiled and gave him a nod, his long beard shook with the motion. ‘’I know why you are here, and what you wished for.’’

Was he the man he wished for, Amare thought, and from his appearance and the initial treatment of his self, indeed this person could be no other than what he asked from God. 

‘’Thank you, sir,’ He said, ‘’I will be in your service in this lifetime.’’

‘’Are you sure about that?’’ 

Though he phrased it like a question, Amare did not answer those words. He gave a silent bow, paired his both hands together, then gave a bow again. 

‘’Then let me ask this,’’ the old white said. ‘’What if I were to free you here- right now?’’

‘’I...I- I don’t know, sir.’’ Amare fell silent right after. While he had not many thoughts about this master of his who seemed to not want him in service, from the initial glance he deemed the old white as the kind of man he wished for from God; A friendly, kind master who had a nostalgic smile. These kinds of masters weren’t a rarity in his past life, and probably here as well; they were that one in a million chance of any black slave like him.

He didn’t have the opportunity to show him his labour even before being cast aside, and knowing the fate of many who were granted freedom, he knew he wouldn’t last beyond a few days before being sold to another master- and in no way he could find another man like him and this old white.

‘’Amare- you are the same old wheathead, aren’t you?’’ The old white, faced with the oppressive silence, at last spoke; and he did with a laughter that sent tremors through Amare. 

He slightly rose from his bow, raised his head, and stared right at the old white covering half his face with a veiled hat. That nostalgic smile, now Amare noticed, wasn’t that dissimilar from his last master.

‘’Sir...sir? Mister priest!?’’ 

‘’Hahah! I thought you would be much slower to recognize me.’’ 

The old white passed his staff to his left hand and took off his hat. With the veil out of the way, Amare saw two black eyes circled by many layers of wrinkles- his scalp turned cold, for there was the familiar birth-mark of a hammer on the glabella. 

‘’How is my new attire...Amare?’’

‘’Thank god almighty!’’ Amare shouted and threw himself to Priest Jackson’s feet. ‘’My God, thank you- thank you!’’ 

‘’Amare, old friend, please get up!’’ Priest Jackson kneeled in shock. He caught Amare from his shaking, tiny shoulders and raised up to meet his eyes. ‘’Calm down, don’t cry, don’t shed your tears for this-’’

‘’I am- I am,’’ Amare’s voice came choked and unrecognizable, and he kept shaking his head to touch the earth. ‘’Jhust gratefuhl! Thank God almigh-!’ His tears didn’t seem to stop.

‘’It is fine, it is all fine right now...’’ Priest Jackson patted his head with a smile.

*********

A few minutes later, Amare calmed down and apologized to Priest Jackson for the outburst. The old Jackson dismissed it with an unperturbed smile and raised Amare to his feet. 

‘’Mister priest,’’ He asked whilst caressing his red ears, ‘’Have...have you died as well?’’

‘’Would I be standing here had I not died? I might have,’’ Jackson asked and answered himself. ‘’But yes, I did.’’

Amare gave a slight nod and looked down at his attire, and he found nothing but a ripped trouser of poor quality flashing his scrawny legs- the same as always. In comparison, his upper tunic remained in good shape, albeit dusted. 

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

Amare patted the dirt and dust off its surface, and there he noticed a problem. There were no callouses nor wrinkles on his palms. His both brows rose in surprise, and he looked towards Jackson in search of an answer that he might provide, for he was unwilling to bother the man himself.

He, however, explained nothing involved and instead straightened his own robe. He put his hat on, tapped the gem-ebbed tip of his wooden staff, and let out a deep breath.

‘’Shall we return?’’

To where? He didn’t ask. He nodded, lowered his head, and followed behind Jackson as he pried open the path ridden with weeds, pushing and pulling any green barring their way. His feet stumbled on roots of some trees along the way and tripped, but the end of Jackson’s staff always came when it was needed, saving him from tasting the earth.

For dozens of minutes they traveled with the sound of shuffling of grass and whirling of a vitalizing wind- but Amare, blaming it on his old age, felt a stifling weight in his lungs accumulating with each step. He indeed did not possess the most capable body in his later years, and while the case was the same for Priest Jackson, he didn’t show any signs of a break even until now. This confused him to a great extent, but he didn’t inquire about it.

When the lush green forest grew dimmer and the Sun above fell from its place bit by bit, he was panting from exhaustion. How long had they been walking? A few hours or more? He didn’t know much about counting and calculating, but estimation should have been close.

Then why was Jackson still fine?

Amare didn’t ask. He kept following and trailing behind the old white as their path cleared up- the sun peered at them from the peak of a gray-ish mountain far away and blinked through a river in their front. Past the gurgling body of flowing water, at the other side of the bank, was a stone paved road winding to their left.

Right after the first glance, the sound of the river boomed in his ears with the help of his body. He was thirsty, too thirsty. 

‘’Are you hungry?’’ Priest Jackson turned back and asked. There was no trace of a sweat on his forehead. 

‘’...a little bit,’’ Amare said. His stomach argued otherwise.

‘’Good, because I am hungry as well! Beside the river seems good, doesn’t it?’’ Jackson trod towards the river and settled on a patch of grass a few steps away from the water. ‘’Come, settle down, relax yourself. We have a long way ahead.’’

Amare gave a slight bow, noticed the slight frown of Jackson that went as fast as it came, and sat across him; with a leg long barren earth between them, instead of looking at the man, Amare glanced towards the road.

It is well-made...I’ve never seen a road made of stone. Back then it was all mud and dirt...

‘’Here, have some-’’ Amare looked back to see Jackson holding four triangular pastries, two in each hand, bigger than his palm. Wondering where he took them, Amare raised his arms, opened his palm,  and waited.

‘’Why don’t you take it?’’ Jackson asked with a raised brow.

Amare’s gaze froze for a second. Ah, I forgot,

He plucked two and put them on his bare knees, lowering his head.

‘’I’m sorry,’’

Jackson didn’t utter a word for a few seconds. 

‘’You shouldn’t be- my mistake,’’ he said. ‘’But, Amare, look at me here for a second-’’

Amare raised his gaze to match the black eyes.

‘’You need to think for yourself. For both of our sakes...’’ Jackson fell silent, then shook his head.

‘’No, no, sorry my friend, forget what I said. Just, try to be more active, alright? Can you promise me that?’’

‘’I’ll he-...I promise.’’ Amare nodded and bit down on one of the pastries.

‘’Thank you-’’

*********

After finishing their meal, Jackson and Amare straightened their garments and tip toed at the edge of the river.

Jackson leaned forward to rinse his teeth and wash his mouth, but Amare, his legs straight and his back hunched, made no other move. His brows and pupils trembled on their own at the reflection in the red dyed river. 

The image of his palms came back and forth in his mind, so he raised his two small arms up high and set his eyes on their surface. 

No wrinkles, no calluses, no white and red lines of past wounds remained on the surface of his chocolate skin. As if he had no contact with even the word of labour, let alone doing the deed, any and all traces of his past disappeared. When? He asked, and thought of the moment he noticed his hands.

When I died? He thought, but in the presence of god, when he wished for a kind and merciful master, his clasped palms were still of ‘his’ old flesh. 

He forgot about drinking or rinsing or cleaning; he turned around, cast his disturbed gaze to the Jackson inspecting his state. The man had questioning eyes- ‘Why aren’t you asking me yet?’ might have been what he had in mind there. But Amare did not inquire.

It might have been from the shock of his childish, once-again youthful appearance, or it might have been from scars buried deep within his body, but he had not even a shred of will to ask about the matter. He contemplated, if standing frozen could be counted as one, and once the feelings overflowing in him dried up, he turned back and leaned towards the river.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Jackson shaking his head.

He grasped handfuls of clean, cold water and splashed his face. In succession he struck again and again, and after his countenance relaxed from the frosty sensation he started drinking.

A moment later he was done and straight again, looking at Jackson tapping at the gem at the tip of his staff. 

‘’Let’s get going- night time is not peaceful around here.’’

Amare nodded and followed behind Jackson’s steps. They walked beside the wide river’s bank for a few hundred meters until it changed its course towards the forest- at that point it had turned shallow enough to pass, with few rocks stuck in the riverbed to step over. 

Jackson passed with ease, and so did he, hopping over the stones to the other side. There they climbed up a small green slope for a dozen or so seconds and reached the hard paved road; the Sun blinked away into darkness under the shade of the far away mountain.

While they proceeded over the road for another dozen minutes, their path, alike the river, slithered into another patch of the forest. Though the sky remained visible above the road- the tree branches swayed left and right, yet refused to get into the periphery of the it- the forest alone provided a numbing dread with its sheer darkness.

But with the road remaining clear on their front, they kept going.

For some time they continued at the same pace, but along the way something irked Amare- it came from the forest.

A shiver went down his spine, and his scalp turned cold. At some point he had slowed down his steps and came to a halt; Jackson in front of him had done so as well, looking back at him.

‘’Amare, are you tired?’’ He asked, retaining that unperturbed smile. 

‘’I am fine, let’s continue.’’ He collected his calm and looked back. Yet, Jackson did not move.

They stared at each other for a while, black against brown eyes. The same shiver and cold returned, and seeing him tense up, or so Amare assumed, Jackson sighed.

‘’Come to my side-’’ He said, waving his hand. ‘’Walk beside me.’’

Amare did not utter a sound as he nodded and trodded to Jackson’s left. They resumed walking again, but that cold dread didn’t seem to disappear from his back.

Not aware of his actions, his steps slowed down once more; the end of the staff slithered like a snake to his back and stopped him from falling back.

‘’That is a bad habit, old friend...’’ Jackson seemed tired for a moment. He sighed, passed his staff to his right hand, and held out his left one.

Amare cast his gaze up- there, he realized for the first time, Jackson’s figure was twice his size. He seemed like a giant, yet human, but in that smile, in that feeling of safety and mercy, he was both.

He reached out and grasped the hand- he held it tight. Jackson let out a soft smirk and muttered.

‘’Lighten up our path, O’Tsetse.’’

Amare watched, his eyes wide and his mouth agape, as a round, merry-yellow glow rose from the staff’s tip- it came out from the gem. Its color was of the lightning, blue and gold, and it released a deep hum reminiscent of a thunder awaiting to sound. 

The path in front of them revealed its deep gray and many eyes hiding in the darkness of the forest; at the first sight of light, they all scurried away into the woods with shrieks.

Amare held onto the calloused hand tighter then before and let out a deep breath. He looked up at Jackson, his veiled face lit-up and healthy. Jackson nodded at him and looked to their front, and so did Amare.

Together, they took a step and descended into the road.

*********

For a reason unknown to him, the lightning-colored glow gave him a sense of security. Amare felt warm in his back and scalp and chest; in his feet and legs and hips he found a fresh strength rising, aiding his attempts at keeping up with Jackson’s long steps; in his arms and hands he felt less heavy, and feeling as such his grasp on Jackson weakened.

‘’Don’t let go-’’ said Jackson. ‘’There are more than wolves and bears in the forest.’’

Amare wondered for a moment, there of course would be, wouldn’t there? There would be venomous snakes and bugs and birds, and there would be many poisonous plants and similar trees. He had an inkling as to which of the few names he thought that Jackson considered dangerous, but he had no idea on which- or how many- of those were the cause of his nervous trembling. 

They walked and walked with no end in sight, and with no conversation between them Amare turned his gaze towards the glowing ball floating above them. Had he piled up two or three trees together, perhaps he could reach and touch it. Would it still be warm? Would it be like fire, burning when touched?

‘’Does it interest you?’’ Jackson asked.

Amare leaned his head right and looked at the smiling Jackson. He hesitated for a few seconds, then nodded.

‘’Tell me what you wonder about it.’’

Amare did not respond for a moment. His gaze fell from the glowing ball to the staff Jackson held. 

‘’Does...is that stone also warm?’’ Right after he asked, Amare shook his head. ‘’Is it as warm as the ‘glow’?’’

‘’Oh, the stone isn’t hot- it is quite cold to even touch, here.’’ Jackson bent the staff to the left, the gem-embedded tip came right before Amare’s eyes. ‘’Try it yourself.’’

Amare gazed at the multi-colored gemstone. Apart from the blue, yellow, red, and green quarters on its surface, he saw a fifth, blank socket gleaming with moonlight. His head shot up and darted around the sky, but neither moon nor the stars were visible. In confusion he looked down again and raised his left hand; he tapped with his finger.

It indeed felt cold; too cold. In the instant he made contact, Amare pulled his palm back with his fingers. A sharp pain traveled through his left index finger and shocked his brain; his eyes opened wide and he let out a loud gasp. In his vision, he saw the mark of a pair of half-moons appear on his knuckles.

‘’Ah!?’’

‘’Her highness...how good for you!’’ Jackson smiled and pulled his staff back. ‘’Does it still hurt?’’

Amare glanced at his empty hand, shook it twice; with no feeling, he shook his head. His curiosity to know what this implied had no discernible effect on his unwillingness to ask after, even after the shock. 

‘’Good, good,’’ Jackson nodded and pointed up to the glow following them from above. ‘’For the ‘Glow’, it is quite hot, much hotter than the gem- you should not touch one with bare hands.’’

Amare nodded and turned his attention back to the path.

They continued in silence for a few more minutes.

‘’You know, I can actually hold it without burning myself,’’ Jackson said. ‘’I can even make dozens of them fly around like birds!’’

Amare nodded in wonder, and instead of answering, inquired for the first time.

‘’Won’t they hurt you for using magic?’’

‘’Hurt?’’ Jackson tilted his head and raised a brow. ‘’They wouldn’t, of course.’’ 

He took a breath, cast him a smiling gaze, then drew a cross on his chest.

‘’Son of God almighty, his name reverberates even here, had declared so on earth that magic was evil- in any kind and form. But evil here is of a different kind, Amare. These people had no man or divine to shoulder their unholy desires; their sins and their acts went unpunished longer and...no-’’ Jackson suddenly stopped, then laughed.

‘’No, forget that,’’ He said. ‘’They won’t punish me or hurt me, or you, because we are not evil.’’

‘’That is all there is to it.’’

Amare felt a slight discomfort from his master, one that he also felt in his grasp; his palm had trembled when he renounced his own words. Was he feeling contradictory to himself, or did he have no belief in God anymore?

Amare suddenly went stiff at the blasphemous thought and prayed for forgiveness in his heart. 

In darkness, an uncomfortable silence followed them behind. This time, neither the ‘Glow’ nor the palm of Jackson helped Amare calm down the terrifying gloom striking at his heart. His bare feet stomped against the ground and he looked back.

There, from the boundary between the forest and the road, a gray leg popped out with tremors.

Its length alone towered above them both.