and raised the hairs on the back of his neck. He quickened his pace.
Moving from Cabot Lane into Lambert Street, he saw the wall that surrounds the Woodlands and the gaslight’s yellow glow. His pocket watch chimed ten as he crossed the road heading towards the light. A voice called from out of the fog. “Who’s there?”
Turning, he faced the direction from which the voice emanated and answered, “Professor Belmont. Who’s asking?”
A dark figure emerged out of the fog. A man walked towards him. He was at least six foot six in height, broad shouldered and swinging a truncheon in his right hand. There was something familiar about him.
“Professor! What are you doing here this time of night?”
“Darshan, is that you?”
“Whom were you expecting?” he asked.
“I’m supposed to be meeting a woman under the gaslight,” Nathanial murmured.
“Why Professor, a secret rendezvous at your age? Wait till I tell Oonah!”
“No, no, no, it’s nothing like that and leave your wife out of this,” Nathanial replied quickly.
“So Professor, when can Oonah and I expect you for dinner?”
“Darshan, we’ve been good friends for almost eight years. Don’t you think it’s about time you called me by my given name, like I’ve asked you to do?”
“It seems disrespectful,” Darshan replied, still unsure.
“Disrespectful! Darshan, of all the thick-headed… Professor is a title for my students, not my friends. Besides, as of this morning, I no longer lecture on mysticisms and the occult at the university. I have resigned.”
“You finally did it. Good for you, Profess…sorry, Nathanial.”
A low guttural growl interrupted their conversation.
“What is that hideous sound?” Nathanial remarked, staring into the murky darkness, feeling suddenly uncomfortable.
“Your guess is as good as mine. But my blood runs cold every time I hear it.”
“Who’s walking your section of wall with you tonight?” Nathanial enquired, hearing the edge in his voice.
“Troy.”
Just then Darshan’s two-way radio started squealing. He adjusted some buttons and Troy’s voice came through loud and clear.
“Darshan, get here quick. I got trouble!”
Darshan was off and running with Troy’s voice still emanating from the radio. Nathanial stood listening to his footsteps disappearing into the fog.
Walking off the street Nathanial headed towards the wall that encircled the Woodlands. Gardens, walking paths, fountains and seats had been incorporated around the outer aspect of the structure. Sitting on a bench behind the gaslight, he wondered if his mysterious stranger would show.
This section of town was almost completely destroyed in a fire when the original gaslight exploded. The ensuing fire gutted the Phillcon Enterprise buildings that encircled the Woodlands. Woodlands Incorporated had the rubble removed and a wall constructed where the buildings had once been. They hounded the council relentlessly to obtain the last remaining gaslight, insisting it be placed in front of what was originally 71 Lambert Street.
His mind wandered from the local history to the message he had received. It was written on an old piece of parchment. One of his staff found it on the floor at the base of the staircase in his bookshop. A shiver ran down his spine as the fog thickened about him, his face numbing in the night air. The gaslight’s yellow aura appeared to be floating in mid-air. It looked uncanny with the luminosity bobbing to and fro. He sat mesmerised by the flame’s ethereal dance.
A warm blanket of tenderness enfolded him as his awareness was drawn to the figure of a woman materialising beneath the gaslight. She must have been about five foot nine and seemed as though she was made from the surrounding mist; her silvery hair cascaded down her back. A gown of white gracefully flowed over her shoulders embracing the curvature of her body. With elegant, fluid movements it swept the path about her feet as she walked toward him. Her bare arms hung lightly by her side, and the soft contours of her face showed the fullness of her lips around a beautiful smile.
“Hello, Nathanial, I am Kalareena.”
The richness of her voice held him spellbound. A peal of laughter escaping her lips helped to regain his composure. Rising from the bench, he indicated for her to be seated.
“Good evening Kalareena,” he replied, his voice wavering slightly. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
“Oh my, you’re so politely spoken and well-mannered,” she said, smiling as she made herself comfortable on the seat.
As he sat beside her he couldn’t help but admire her beauty. Her clothing appeared to be translucent and he wondered if she felt cold. There was a familiarity about her that disturbed him. She chuckled at his obvious discomfort and he wondered if she was making fun of him.
“I need you to heed my warning, Nathanial.” He looked at her in surprise; Kalareena’s manner had become quite serious. “You must stop your research into the Woodlands. Your activities have come to the attention of Slegna and your life is in danger.”
“I see,” he answered, bewildered. “I don’t wish to appear uninformed, but who or what, is a Slegna?” he asked, intrigued.
A knowing smile caressed Kalareena’s lips as she answered, “You know Slegna as The Mystery of the One Truth.”
“Interesting,” he responded, his mind going over his research notes. “Out of curiosity, what do you call The Mystery of the True Light?” He wanted to see what name she put to that.
“She is called Oletha.”
“She!” he exclaimed. “The Mystery of the True Light is a woman?” Nathanial asked, disbelieving.
“Actually,” Kalareena clarified. “Oletha and Slegna are both beyond our abilities to fully comprehend. However, because Oletha is creation and pregnant with everlasting life, it’s only natural to refer to her as she and Slegna as he,” she finished respectfully.
Nathanial had for many years been interested in the origin and interpretation of people’s names, so it struck him as rather amusing that The Mystery of the True Light would be called Oletha. “If my memory serves me correctly, the name Oletha means truth, doesn’t it?” His curiosity awakened despite the unusual conversation.
“Yes,” she calmly replied.
“Lovely name, most fitting.” Assuming his professorial manner he asked, “Now young lady, what’s this nonsense about my investigations into the Woodlands and who are you?”
A low menacing growl echoed through the night fog.
Kalareena’s face changed slightly. “You hear that? That’s one of Slegna’s hounds of despair. They are born from the unwholesome deeds of humanity. Their claws can rip you to pieces and
