The God of Salt & Light by Smith Logan Ryan

Author:Smith, Logan Ryan [Smith, Logan Ryan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B0857KMGQ6
Goodreads: 52010510
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2020-02-28T08:00:00+00:00

nineteen

In retrospect, I knew something was amiss upon Jasmine’s return. She was quieter. Her Light didn’t shine as bright. As we lay with the initiates, her heart didn’t seem to be in it. We all were making love in bone-sand but it seemed she was staying on the outside, barely participating, and pulling punches when she did. Her lips drawing away from a kiss. Her mouth not as open and accepting. Her touch cool, hardly feverish. Now I know that she was in mourning.

As I too would be, as soon as she told me.

Without Marcy there with us, it felt like the breaking of a perfect circle. Every day. Of course, we had our twelve pupils, and there was our shared son in the care of Teresa, his appointed nanny. But how could anything be the same?

Life went on, of course. Jacob, Curtis, Angela, and Jasmine tutored their people. It was studious, yet casual. Casual enough that other Slabbers were invited. Even the Slabradors were welcome. Sometimes they sat with a class around a fire, singing songs of salt and Light, songs of tears and souls, songs of everlasting salvation through the freedom She had granted us. They would sing under blinking stars while sitting on a land that stretched for miles into the dark, all the broken glass upon it twinkling as if in response.

Still, I couldn’t help feeling somewhat responsible for Marcy’s premature expiration. So I visited Teresa and my son, my last tie to Marcy. I informed Teresa that Marcy would not be returning. When she asked why, I explained that she had drowned attempting to spread her faith, her love into the world. Oh no! Teresa said, pulling me in close and tight when the tears began to fall.

She asked me when I would show her more of my book and I told her I didn’t know. She asked if she could join my group now that Marcy was gone and I said no. She asked who would take care of the boy, and I said that she was no longer his nanny but his mother. She must make do with him. Earn her keep.

After we made love, I peeked into the crib at the back of her camper. The boy slept soundly. He looked healthy. Teresa had done well by the boy. He had grown. How old was he then? A year? Probably not quite but it wouldn’t be long before the baby was a toddler.

After a time of peacefully watching him, I reached down to caress the boy’s rosy cheek but I nicked him with my crystal hands. A banshee crawled out of his throat. Such a strong voice. Such strong lungs.

Quickly, Teresa rose from the disheveled bed, pulled the boy from the crib and placed her nipple in his mouth. She wiped the blood from his cheek with her thumb, then sucked the blood off that. She shushed and quieted the boy so quickly, her focus so intent, so nurturing. She enveloped the child, made him feel safe and warm.

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