Source manuscripts: pestaner.com/sm08 A08.docx
Content advisory: Adult language, content, and situations, controversial religious and cultural references, speculative histories, acts of violence, and self-harm. Find more information about the novel at SHATTERED MIRRORS NOTES
What happened before [H8]
Ikart, a celestial detective, investigates the mysterious disappearance of Guardian angel Panea. With few leads, he plans to question Salina, leader of the Angel’s Union. Before he can proceed, Luci informs him that Henry Snyder, a budding shaman, had ties to Panea. Ikart interviews Melvin, Henry’s Guardian, and monitors Henry for further clues.
While meditating on the beach, Henry experiences a vision where he encounters celestials, including Panea. Panea blesses Henry before being arrested by two archangels.
Ikart continues to observe Henry through Lindsey, his shape-shifting protector when Lord Lakita—responsible for the arrest and execution of Henry’s brother Tom—contact him. Despite deep mistrust, Henry prepares to confront Lakita.
Henry engages Lakita while ascending Burris Beach’s observation tower through an emo connection facilitated by Lindsey. Henry demonstrates fragments of his evolving power as he confronts past grief and suspicion. By the summit, Henry’s acceptance of Tom’s fate marks his transformation into Zhulong.
Chapter 8: The Gull’s Witness
Narrators: Lindsey McCauley
Location: The Beach behind the University of New Berkeley in Serenity, Arizona
Lakita’s quick and uneven heartbeat echoed in the video connection with a young, powerful shaman in the making, nearly 50 years in the future. Henry’s demeanor toward her had changed. What was once cold contempt now softened into something closer to empathy. “Lakita, I sense unrest in you. The path is ours to choose—peace or conflict.”
Henry knew what Lakita needed: more power in her Queens, New York City power station storage center. Henry removed his cap and placed it gently beside him on the sand—a silent cue for me to scan the perimeter. I lifted into the air, circling above the Observation Point. From up here, I could see everything. Jehovah and Bootswami were on the prowl. If there were even a hint of aggression, I would warn Henry, and we could disappear. Henry says that he would pause the sunrise.
I never fully understood how he thought he could halt something as inevitable as the sun. Yet, with Henry, nothing seemed impossible. His power had grown, and he carried it with the quiet confidence of someone who had tested it and survived. I squawked softly. No threats. Not yet.
The wind caught Henry’s voice carrying across the empty beach. “I am thankful for this day. The sun, the sky, the moon, and the wind—they strengthen me to protect life. I honor those who have guided me.” His words shimmered, feeding the energy around him. Henry’s strength grew through the simple act of gratitude. Joy, sorrow, even fear—every emotion became fuel. His adversaries thrived on pain and hatred, but Henry’s victories proved compassion wielded its own power.
I kept my distance. When Henry spoke to the divine, I knew better than to interrupt. Subtle signs gave away his power shifts—his hair lengthened with strength, and his eyes dulled when his reserves dipped too low.
Henry knelt, arms outstretched. A glow pulsed from his body, intensifying with each word. “Essence, I call upon you at the rise of the sun. I was hoping you could grant me the power to heal, to shape, to command prana. Please give me the strength to protect. I ask not for myself but for life.”
Essence stirred in response, her voice drifting on the breeze. “You have chosen wisely. All shall be given except for time. These gifts reside within you, but you cannot take what is not yet yours.”
Henry absorbed her words, lingering in stillness before speaking again. “Lakita, I feel your heart open. As you soften, so do I. Let me guide you deeper. Lock in with me.”
Through the link, Lakita’s presence flared. “I feel it. I’m ready.”
Henry’s eyes closed. “Follow the current. Let me show you a distant place—where alarms blare, wind hums artificially, and hollow whistles replace nature.”
Their connection shifted. “These people,” Henry said gently, “are deaf to the spirits. They cannot hear the herald’s call. I grieve for them. They drown in the noise. Can you feel their sorrow, Lakita?”
A seagull strutted by, oblivious. Henry’s lips curled into a faint smirk as he glanced at me. “Admirers, huh?” I thought. “Not my type.” I squawked louder, pulling him back to the task at hand. Henry gave a small nod.
“The sunrise is sacred,” he whispered. “Simplicity opens the heart to life’s message. This beach, this moment—it holds more wisdom than any grand hall. Here, I pray for those blind to such peace.”
Lakita’s soft laughter rippled through the link. Henry smiled. “You laughed when I said simplicity opens the heart. I know you weren’t mocking me. Let me tell you a story. Lie down and listen.”
Henry walked to an area at the back of the beach, waiting for Lakita to lay down. Once Lakita was relaxed, he reclined himself on the smooth rock near the beach, crossing his arms behind his head. “Close you regular eyes and open the eyes of your heart, Lakita.”
“I’m ready.”
“This is a story about a blind boy. I will charge your power station while I tell you this story.”
The Story
“A boy was born blind and mute to a mother who shared his afflictions. The mother was a prostitute and a drug user; she was deeply in debt. The boy was taken at birth and sold to a wealthy man who owned a great library but had no heir. The mother gave most of the money to her pimp, who wasted it all in in a few nights.
The wealthy man hired a young woman as an au pair to care for the baby boy. The boy’s cries and tantrums became routine and severe, growing more severe daily. The boy was healthy and growing, so there were no worries. One day, at three years of age, the small boy began to refuse food. A week later, without a change in the boy’s disposition, the au pair despaired, fearing she would lose her position. Her prayers to God were met only by silence.
The next afternoon, while cradling the child, the boy reached for a book on the table. As his small fingers brushed the cover, warmth spread through the girl, and milk filled her breasts. She nursed the young boy, and he thrived. For over a year, the same miracle occurred each day the boy touched a book.
But stranger things followed. At five years old, those who brought books would sometimes burst into song, their voices echoing like choirs of angels. At ten, the boy’s book-touching cured people and brought fortune to others. All the visitors who wanted a miracle brought a book. Word of the boy’s touch spread and people from distant towns carried books to the rich man’s library, hoping to witness the wonder.
At 17, the boy had grown into a man known for wisdom and miracles, though he never spoke a word. When the caretaker, now a woman, became pregnant, rumors stirred that the rich man raped the au pair or that the teenager was the father. Rather than dismiss her, the wealthy man promoted her to caretaker of his estate. Soon, barren women arrived in buses, placing books before the boy in hopes of bearing children. And they did.
As his final days approached fifty years later, the caretaker asked the blind man in her care the question that long burned in her heart: “How are you creating miracles when you touch the books?”
The man answered through his granddaughter, who was not blind but was telepathic. ‘My heart sees what eyes cannot. Words are empty without understanding. Ask why, not how, and you will truly see.'”
Henry paused, his voice soft. “This is truth, Lakita. The boy was my father. His silence shaped my life. In rejecting the noise, I learned how to listen. This is how we touch life.”
Lakita’s energy shifted. “I understand.”
Henry rose slowly, tears streaking his face. “Lakita, I am with you. “I hope this has blessed you. I must go now, but we will speak again. Check your power station; it is full now.” Lakita was incredibly confused. It had taken months to fill the energy storage.
Henry wiped his face with his sleeve, walking toward the Conference Center. I had already beaten him there.
Summary [S8]