Penance
Posted: Sun Aug 17, 2008 5:44 pm
It was dark and wet in the forest, the rain dripping through the thick canopy of the Faydark. It was warm though, but the Dark Elf walking through did not feel the warmth or the cold. The watery deluge plastered her silver hair to her face, but she did not shiver. She seemed preoccupied, occasionally tripping over a root as she wandered apparently aimlessly.
An earlier conversation was playing through her mind, one at which she had scorned then at the mention of it, but now deep in the forest, it didn’t seem so strange. She had never really been here before other than passing through, despite her grandmother being from here. She had always considered it the pale elves forest, but a forest nonetheless; full of trees. Never had it occurred to her to touch the trees like the tall pale Priestess had said to, to get sap on ones fingers. What an odd thing to do.
She stopped at the base of a tall twisted tree, whose top disappeared out of view into the murkiness of the dense canopy. The forest was silent but for the soft rustle of nocturnal creatures hunting, the howl of a wolf in the distance and an answering howl nearby. She looked around, a slight frown on her face. The nearer wolf had a familiar tone to it, but she shook off the feeling of déjà vu. A wolf was a wolf. Then she saw it, a shaggy black wolf with golden eyes watching her through the trees. Again the sense of familiarity, and she took a step towards it but the black wolf darted off as silently as it had shown itself.
She shook her head and leaned against the tree, rested her palm on the scaly bark. She half expected to feel something, for she remembered Jetamio speaking of the wood song. But it just felt cold and wet to her.
Then warmth engulfed her hand and she gasped as her ears were suddenly filled with glorious song. A steady beat intertwined with a melody that seemed both random yet in time with the beat, and underlay with numerous other tunes that accompanied it. She knew she was hearing a song that no mortal bard could accomplish, the song of the woods, the world, of life itself. She closed her eyes, knowing that she could quite happily listen to it forever. But as abruptly as it had started it ended and the warmth was gone from her hand.
Disappointed, she opened her eyes. Jetamio smiled at her, the druid’s hand hovering over her own. Tajer stared at her, surprised at her being there. Yet she wasn’t sure that she actually was here. The rain was still falling in sheets, but Jetamio was dry, her long red hair cascading gently over her shoulders, her golden eyes glowing with a touch of amusement. Her form shimmered over so slightly, as though part spirit.
“Beautiful isn’t it?” said the Druid, watching the Tier’Dal intently. Tajer nodded, solemn in the presence of this strange apparition that was both real and yet not. “It is. I have never heard it before.”
“And you never will again if you remain as you are. You are out of phase with the world. Death has a place in the Circle; it is a state of transition, a preparation for rebirth. But you and your kind, you are apart from the Circle, refusing to take your place in it. So the world does not sing to you when you ignore its most basic rule.” Jetamio paused, letting her words sink in, watching to see if she would understand.
“But I don’t want to die.”
The Druid smiled, and spoke softly. “But do you want to live, Tajer?”
The Priestess didn’t answer, not really knowing how she wished to respond. Being Sanguine was all well and good among their own kind. But Mogadeche had disappeared, leaving her alone. Kalsari was dead, choosing death over a ‘life’ without him. Vendayvian too had disappeared, the only lover Tajer had ever had. The Druid was right. They were out of phase. The dead were dead and the living despised her.
“They hate me anyway, they say I have done wrong to you. Changing what I am won’t change that.”
“You cannot change the past Tajer. But the power to change your future lies within you.” At the Tier’Dal’s confused look, she continued. “You have not done wrong to me. You made the mistake of taking me to the Dragons. You didn’t know what that would do, the consequences of mixing the blood. You will never know the battle I had trying to keep myself while the Dragon’s blood grew stronger. I did things then that I regret to this day. But I never regretted bringing you back. You were not meant to die, you had to correct your mistake. Only by death could I be released from the Dragon. You might not have wielded the blade that killed me, but you were instrumental to it happening. I believe you were Her instrument, even if the others do not.”
Tears ran down Tajer’s face as she relived those memories. How she had used to look for Jetamio despite Mogadeche’s disapproval. She had never meant to kill her, she had intended to keep her essence to keep her close in spirit if not in body. That had been Kalsari’s original purpose when Tajer took her from the streets, to carry the essence of Jetamio. But she had come to love the girl as she was.
Love. That was her biggest failure. Her ability to love and the desire to be loved and cherished was what kept her bound to Mogadeche. He had made her feel like that. But all along Jetamio had loved her too, unconditionally.
“The power is within you,” Jetamio continued, “I gave part of myself to bring you back to life, a part of me that no Dragon’s blood could touch. All you have to do is want it, and embrace it.”
She smiled again, then leaned forward and kissed Tajer’s forehead. “If nothing else, remember that you are of my blood. Your father, my son, is dead. But I am not, and you have yet to decide. But you will always be of my blood.” She took a few steps back, her hair suddenly swirling in a wind that touched nothing else and her form becoming less distinct, but her eyes glowed as bright as ever as she looked upon her wayward grandchild. Then she was gone.
Tajer stood frozen for a moment in the silence of the Faydark. Eventually she realised her hand was sticky with something warm to the touch and she pulled it away from the tree, her hand covered in sap. Her fingers tingled, and she thought she heard a whisper of song.
“I want to live.” She whispered to the silence.
Leagues away on a northern shore where in the summer sky only a faint imprint of the brightest stars was the night, a flame haired Elven woman smiled.
An earlier conversation was playing through her mind, one at which she had scorned then at the mention of it, but now deep in the forest, it didn’t seem so strange. She had never really been here before other than passing through, despite her grandmother being from here. She had always considered it the pale elves forest, but a forest nonetheless; full of trees. Never had it occurred to her to touch the trees like the tall pale Priestess had said to, to get sap on ones fingers. What an odd thing to do.
She stopped at the base of a tall twisted tree, whose top disappeared out of view into the murkiness of the dense canopy. The forest was silent but for the soft rustle of nocturnal creatures hunting, the howl of a wolf in the distance and an answering howl nearby. She looked around, a slight frown on her face. The nearer wolf had a familiar tone to it, but she shook off the feeling of déjà vu. A wolf was a wolf. Then she saw it, a shaggy black wolf with golden eyes watching her through the trees. Again the sense of familiarity, and she took a step towards it but the black wolf darted off as silently as it had shown itself.
She shook her head and leaned against the tree, rested her palm on the scaly bark. She half expected to feel something, for she remembered Jetamio speaking of the wood song. But it just felt cold and wet to her.
Then warmth engulfed her hand and she gasped as her ears were suddenly filled with glorious song. A steady beat intertwined with a melody that seemed both random yet in time with the beat, and underlay with numerous other tunes that accompanied it. She knew she was hearing a song that no mortal bard could accomplish, the song of the woods, the world, of life itself. She closed her eyes, knowing that she could quite happily listen to it forever. But as abruptly as it had started it ended and the warmth was gone from her hand.
Disappointed, she opened her eyes. Jetamio smiled at her, the druid’s hand hovering over her own. Tajer stared at her, surprised at her being there. Yet she wasn’t sure that she actually was here. The rain was still falling in sheets, but Jetamio was dry, her long red hair cascading gently over her shoulders, her golden eyes glowing with a touch of amusement. Her form shimmered over so slightly, as though part spirit.
“Beautiful isn’t it?” said the Druid, watching the Tier’Dal intently. Tajer nodded, solemn in the presence of this strange apparition that was both real and yet not. “It is. I have never heard it before.”
“And you never will again if you remain as you are. You are out of phase with the world. Death has a place in the Circle; it is a state of transition, a preparation for rebirth. But you and your kind, you are apart from the Circle, refusing to take your place in it. So the world does not sing to you when you ignore its most basic rule.” Jetamio paused, letting her words sink in, watching to see if she would understand.
“But I don’t want to die.”
The Druid smiled, and spoke softly. “But do you want to live, Tajer?”
The Priestess didn’t answer, not really knowing how she wished to respond. Being Sanguine was all well and good among their own kind. But Mogadeche had disappeared, leaving her alone. Kalsari was dead, choosing death over a ‘life’ without him. Vendayvian too had disappeared, the only lover Tajer had ever had. The Druid was right. They were out of phase. The dead were dead and the living despised her.
“They hate me anyway, they say I have done wrong to you. Changing what I am won’t change that.”
“You cannot change the past Tajer. But the power to change your future lies within you.” At the Tier’Dal’s confused look, she continued. “You have not done wrong to me. You made the mistake of taking me to the Dragons. You didn’t know what that would do, the consequences of mixing the blood. You will never know the battle I had trying to keep myself while the Dragon’s blood grew stronger. I did things then that I regret to this day. But I never regretted bringing you back. You were not meant to die, you had to correct your mistake. Only by death could I be released from the Dragon. You might not have wielded the blade that killed me, but you were instrumental to it happening. I believe you were Her instrument, even if the others do not.”
Tears ran down Tajer’s face as she relived those memories. How she had used to look for Jetamio despite Mogadeche’s disapproval. She had never meant to kill her, she had intended to keep her essence to keep her close in spirit if not in body. That had been Kalsari’s original purpose when Tajer took her from the streets, to carry the essence of Jetamio. But she had come to love the girl as she was.
Love. That was her biggest failure. Her ability to love and the desire to be loved and cherished was what kept her bound to Mogadeche. He had made her feel like that. But all along Jetamio had loved her too, unconditionally.
“The power is within you,” Jetamio continued, “I gave part of myself to bring you back to life, a part of me that no Dragon’s blood could touch. All you have to do is want it, and embrace it.”
She smiled again, then leaned forward and kissed Tajer’s forehead. “If nothing else, remember that you are of my blood. Your father, my son, is dead. But I am not, and you have yet to decide. But you will always be of my blood.” She took a few steps back, her hair suddenly swirling in a wind that touched nothing else and her form becoming less distinct, but her eyes glowed as bright as ever as she looked upon her wayward grandchild. Then she was gone.
Tajer stood frozen for a moment in the silence of the Faydark. Eventually she realised her hand was sticky with something warm to the touch and she pulled it away from the tree, her hand covered in sap. Her fingers tingled, and she thought she heard a whisper of song.
“I want to live.” She whispered to the silence.
Leagues away on a northern shore where in the summer sky only a faint imprint of the brightest stars was the night, a flame haired Elven woman smiled.