Aria Remains
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

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‘Beckett?’ Aria repeated, shifting on the carved rock after he had introduced himself. ’You’re Beckett?’

‘That is what has come to be one of my names, yes. One of my identities,’ he replied quietly. ‘Why do you seem so surprised?’

Aria was about to answer, then paused to think.

‘I… I don’t know. For some reason I feel as though I already knew that, and that I should be scared of you, that I should stay away from you. I feel as though I… That I was warned about you.’

He smiled, then gestured with his head towards the glowing light.

‘It’s our proximity to kumulipo,’ he said. ‘It has recognised you and, now, it’s simply shedding some of its memories, some of your memories. But I must assure you again, there is nothing to fear from me.’

‘What memories?’

Beckett thought for a few moments, then said, ‘I am not certain which might be the best way for me to explain everything to you, for you to understand what has been happening.’

‘Because it’s too weird?’ Aria asked, watching the glowing body, feeling that she was becoming attached to it, that it was inviting her into itself.

’No, not that, not exactly,’ Beckett replied, looking at her, trying to read her face. ’It will be, as you put it, weird, of that I am sure. But, no, I mean to say that there are two ways we could go about it. One would be that I tell you myself, so that I might be able to answer any queries you might have, can expand upon any parts for which you need further information.’

‘Or?’ Aria asked, as he paused again.

‘Or, you could have kumulipo tell you, to reveal everything. It would be as if you were watching the story of your life, that you were an observer, but there would be no explanation, no exposition. There would be no opportunity for you to stop, to seek clarification, to ask any questions.’

‘What do you think would be best?’ Aria asked. She had, it seemed to Beckett, fallen into a dreamlike state, that she was already becoming too reliant on the light, too ensnared by it.

‘I think it would be best for you to hear it from me,’ he said. ‘Kumulipo is a great force, a useful tool, but it is not necessarily an adequate, reliable chronicler. Although it may be impartial in its revelations, it would also be, I think, too rudimentary, too cryptic. And there would be so much information for you to process, given to you so quickly…’ He paused again, then placed his hand upon her arm, causing her to face him again. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I think it would be best if you heard it from me.’

Aria nodded, turned towards him and, relaxing her shoulders, sighing, she prepared herself to listen. Beckett cleared his throat, removed his hand from her and began to tell the story. Her story.

’I was a poor boy, many, many years ago, living a rough and dispirited kind of a life. Poverty and squalor were rife, surrounding us, smothering us, yet we did as we could, somehow struggling through as people - at least those who are fortunate - often manage to do. It was myself, my dear mother and my sweet young sister and, together, we lived in a tiny, dirty shack, strewn haphazardly amongst the mud and the excreta and the hopelessness of life in those bleak times. Yet, it was all we knew and, even amongst that dilapidation, that lack of any kind of future, we knew we were not alone, that there were others around us who were suffering just as we and, as those at the lowest levels of the ladder are prone to do, we helped one another as much as we could.

‘And then, one day, my innocent sister came across a peddler who, in response to her enquiry as to whether he would be able to sell her any pins, was very unpleasant to her and then, by chance, he collapsed and became quite unwell. It was, I believe, later discovered that he had suffered from a stroke, yet it was my sister he blamed for his predicament, despite her waiting by his bedside, so upset was she at what had happened.’

Aria shook her head, but did not yet speak.

‘This peddler, this disreputable scoundrel, went on to accuse my poor sister of witchcraft and she was, soon after, put to trial. The Justice of the Peace oversaw the proceedings, becoming convinced that my sister, who would never hurt so much as a fly, was indeed a witch. So scared was she, so desperate to replace a way out of this awful situation, that she admitted to the court that she was embroiled in such skulduggery, as did my mother. They saw no way out, no other path to take but to admit what the baying crowds, themselves now caught up in this hysteria, wanted to hear. And so terrified and confused did they become, they saw no other way to deflect the focus from themselves that they - perhaps, too, snared by the frenzy - assigned the blame to others, others just as innocent, just as innocuous.’

‘That’s awful,’ Aria said quietly. ‘So, what happened to them?’

‘They, and all the other woman, were acquitted, since no evidence could be provided as there was no evidence to provide, but it was then that something dreadful happened, something that has blighted me from that day to this.’

He took a few breaths, his eyes now focused on the ground at his feet. It seemed to Aria that the retelling of this story was causing him great upset, yet now she needed to hear it, needed to know everything that had happened.

’You see,’ he started again, ‘one of the people, the honourable people as far as all were concerned, that my mother and sister accused of thaumaturgy was a strange old woman who lived alone, at a distance from our tiny hamlet. We did not know, had no way of knowing, that she was indeed a sorceress, although she was one who had been living a quiet life, a life in which she had caused no harm. She dealt in medicine, I think I recall, in matters of health and recovery and was considered by all to be an odd yet helpful woman, to be of no danger. But now, having been labelled such, she found that it caused her business to die. I believe her mother had become embroiled in an argument with another at some time in the distant past, who had then set upon them a curse which take a great toll on the family. But…’ For a moment he paused, as if he were deciding what to say next and then, choosing his words carefully, continued, ‘No longer was she required to attend to those in need, such was the fear that had grown about her. And so she grew angry, began to change, to fall into the darkness. She wanted her revenge, wanted those who had turned their backs on her to suffer. And, of course, the first place she looked for what she saw as redemption was towards my sister.’

‘Oh, no,’ Aria said.

Beckett raised his eyes from the ground briefly, but was now transfixed by his story, by the terrible things that had happened.

’She was wily, however. Cunning. She had decided that she would not see her name dragged through the mud any further and so, rather than be seen to perpetrate her vengeance herself, she decided that she would recruit someone else to do her filthy bidding. And so, this is where I enter the tale.’

He paused again for a time, his face sullen, his eyes filled with regret.

’One evening, as our prospects began to fall to ruin at the old woman’s hand, I was desperately trying to plant some seeds in the sterile dirt next to our hut when something happened. Something that shook me from that pitiful existence but, at the same time, threw me into one that has been far more tempestuous. At least, I suppose I might say, what I did in those final moments, in that last few seconds of my life, could be seen as something close to noble, to expiatory, and it is that I hold most dear at the times I am forced to perform the most odious of actions.

‘I sometimes think of all I had to give away, all I have lost. It has beleaguered me throughout the years, has almost driven me to the verge of self-immolation, yet I know, of course, that is something I would never be able to do. For a great deal of time - or, at least, for a lengthy period you would recognise as the passing of time - I floundered, struggled with what I had become, what I had been forced to do.’

He quickly turned to face Aria, looking into her eyes and placing both hands upon hers.

‘It was not me,’ he said rapidly, forcefully. ‘If there is nothing more you can comprehend from all of this, I wish you to understand that the things I have done, the horror I have despatched, it was not of my doing, was not something I ever wanted to do.’

‘What do you mean?’ Aria asked, swallowing hard, her heart breaking. ‘What happened to you?’

Beckett told her of the old woman’s visit, of the deal he had accepted that would see him spend the rest of time at her side.

‘And you never saw either your mother or sister again?’ Aria asked, when he had finished this part of the story. She was sniffing and wiping her eyes.

‘Never again,’ Beckett said sadly. ’They moved away and went on to live long and happy lives, so I must be grateful for that. And then, as the years passed, the old woman to whom I was now tied, under whose command I was now encumbered, did just as she chose, dispensing as much cruelty and causing as much damage as her evil will dictated. We continued like that for many years and I thought that would be the end of it, living in a decrepit hut as putrid and abhorrent as the one my family left behind them so long ago, alone at the edge of the world, at the edge of time.

‘And that,’ he muttered, now at what seemed to be his lowest point, ‘that was when we met William East.’

‘William East?’ Aria repeated, her throat sore from her tears. Her mind raced with a countless number of questions. She wanted to ask how any of this could be real, how it could even be possible, and she wanted to know when all of this had happened but, at the same time, she wanted to replace out what happened next, wanted to understand whatever it was this man was going to tell her. Besides, she considered, she had been struggling with her own perception, her own understanding.

Beckett nodded.

‘Would you recognise,’ he said, ‘what I might mean, should I talk with you about time, about the passing of time?’

Aria sat more upright.

‘I have been thinking about that a lot,’ she said. ‘Although nothing compared to what you’ve been through, I have had a pretty difficult time of things myself. I’ve been having these visions, I’ve been struggling with time, with reality and illusion. I’ve been worried that I’ve been losing my mind.’

‘I know,’ Beckett said. ‘I know all of this because I have been linked to it all, and that is something further I need to tell you about. But, for now, I would just like you to see that time does not pass, does not flow. Instead, everything that happens, that has happened and is yet to happen is all contained within the same space, so that all things are concurrent, all things are parallel. Therefore, what happened to me so many years ago, and what happened with William East, and what has been happening to you, it is all happening today, at the same time. It is this,’ he continued, pointing to the glowing light. ‘It is kumulipo that makes these things possible, that allows you and I to be here, together, right at this moment, just as we have been together before. Just as, out there in the world, William East still stands, yet at the same time, he has long since passed away.’

Aria, her mouth now open, not quite able to register all he was saying yet amazed how it was so similar to the things she had been thinking about, was presented with another shock.

‘In the same way, Robert and Sam still stand, as do your mother and father, as does my family and…’

‘How do you know?’ Aria interrupted, astounded. ‘How can you possibly know about them, about Robert and Sam? And about my family?’

‘Well,’ Beckett said, suddenly looking uncomfortable. ‘With regard to your family, that is something else we need to talk about. And we shall, we shall talk about it all, but first I must tell you of William East. Despite there being no order, no chronology in the world, in the real world that most choose to ignore, still I feel you should hear of William first since, in some ways, his story must come before your own.’

And so, as Aria watched and listened intently, her eyes wide, the glow from kumulipo revealing the absorption in her face, Beckett told her the story of William East, of the trials and hardships he and his family and friends had suffered prior to the establishment of Easthope and the deal he had forged, and of the decision he had been forced to make on the one hundredth anniversary of the village.

‘There were things that, unfortunately, William did not know at the time,’ Beckett told her. ’Things that would have benefitted him greatly, had they not been… concealed from him.’

‘I’m confused,’ Aria admitted, biting her lip. ‘I mean, William East made the deal with the old woman, the same old woman who had the control over you? But it was actually you who was making the deal, except you were disguised as the old woman?’

She breathed out and frowned.

‘Well, yes and no,’ Beckett told her. ‘As far as William was concerned, he brokered the deal with me, with this person sitting before you now. But, even though he thought he was talking with me, he was, in fact, talking with her, with the old witch. And so, as far as he then knew, the whole arrangement was discussed and agreed between the two of us, myself and William. However, I had no control over what I was doing, I was just a puppet, a marionette mastered entirely by the old witch, doing her bidding, exercising her will. It was just that she did not want him to know it was she who held the deal, who retained such power over him. He did, through various means, later discover the truth and went on to face her, to attempt to break their contract.’

Aria nodded slowly, putting the pieces of the story into an order in her mind.

‘And what were the things that he didn’t know? I mean, the other things, the things being hidden from him?’

‘The original agreement, so far as William was concerned,’ Beckett said, speaking quite slowly, taking care to not make any mistakes, ‘was that he would be able to construct the village, to build Easthope, in a matter of days…’

‘Easthope?’ Aria asked, amazed. ‘That was the name of the village he founded? I’ve been trying to replace it, trying to get to Easthope because that’s where I thought I would replace an answer to all of this.’

‘And you shall,’ Beckett assured her, calmly, not wanting to be distracted from his narrative, ‘but first, please, let me go on before I tell you the rest. You see, Easthope was built in just a few weeks at most. And we are taking about an entire village, with homes for twenty families, with barns and other outbuildings, with tools and equipment and tracts of land prepared for farming. And in return for this arrangement, which was to last for five hundred years, he would relinquish his soul, would allow the old witch, who had become something of a collector of souls, to take ownership of his very anima.’

‘Five hundred years?’ Aria interrupted. ‘Why would anyone make a deal for so long? How did they think any of them would still be alive?’

‘It’s nothing more than a number, in most respects,’ Beckett said. ‘A mark on the calendar, just as you might indicate something happening on a certain day on your calendar, or in your diary. In and of itself it means nothing, relates to nothing. But, in this instance, this marking of time meant something to the witch. As you have heard, she swore that nothing and no one would survive, let alone flourish, on this area of land, this area where I once lived and which did indeed become, years afterwards, the site of Easthope. But, when she was approached by William, she saw not only an opportunity to gather his soul but the souls of all those who were to come and inhabit this new village. She had become obsessed with this, with the power it brought her and with the harvesting of so many souls that had been so filled with hope and happiness.’

‘And that was what she hid from him?’

Beckett sighed deeply before he spoke again.

‘William was aware that his soul would be taken, but had no idea that the arrangement also included everyone who came with him, who came to call Easthope their home. It was only much later, when the ghosts of Easthope discovered the truth, that he realised he had a decision to make.’

‘What do you mean?’ Aria was starting to lose the thread of the story. ‘What do ghosts have to do with it?’

‘When William agreed to forfeit his soul so that Easthope could enjoy peace, that it would be a success, that it would not only sustain itself but would prosper, would be a sanctuary from the changes of the outside world for the next five hundred years, he had considered the price to be of almost no importance. As you say, such a great period of consciousness becomes virtually meaningless. However, he did not know that the deal included the old woman’s reaping of all these other souls and that, in return, they would, indeed, live the whole of that half millennia, would carry on, barely ageing, until that date when the village would be destroyed, would be wiped from the face of the earth. It was written, it was fated, and so was destined to happen.’

‘So, it was destroyed?’ Aria asked. ‘When did that happen?’

Beckett rotated his shoulders and changed his position slightly.

‘There came a great storm to Easthope, in the year 1551, during which the old woman, bored in the tiny, stinking hut so far from the rest of life, the rest of the world, decided she wanted to have some fun. And so she sent me, much to my disgust and regret, to do her evil work, to take the lives of twenty seven of the villagers on that very same night.’ He stopped, looking away so that Aria would not see his pain. ‘It was as though I was watching a film of myself, seeing the things I was doing but being completely separate from them, completely helpless to stop it. That was the night the ghosts of Easthope began walking the earth, visiting the site, trying to relay their messages. You see, they had learned of the old woman’s deceit and were able, many years later, to tell William of the village’s fate.’

‘That’s so sad,’ Aria said. ‘All that work they had done, just to be destroyed.’

‘Well, when William found out, he made another momentous decision, another resolution that showed just what a great and noble man he was. The other side of that deal was that, if those first settlers were to voluntarily take their own lives, then the future of Easthope would be secured, and all those who came afterwards would live their lives as nature intends, would have families, children who would have children, who would have children, so on into the future without any fear.’

‘So, when was this? And where is Easthope now?’

‘Easthope was only ever discoverable by those who had been invited, by those the villagers wanted to come. To all others, to the rest of the world, it did not exist. It was nothing, just an empty area of land, as I believe you have just seen. It existed, yet its existence was only tangible to those who were worthy.’

‘And that’s why I couldn’t replace it? Because I’m not worthy?’

‘No, no,’ Beckett said, shaking his head. ‘You are the most worthy. You have been here many times, you have lived here for many, many years.’

You are the beloved, the cherished. You are the one who has been chosen, Aria heard, although it was not Beckett who had spoken the words.