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Disclamier: I take no credit for this story as it was written by a friend who left it on my computer. she has given me permission to post it here on Gaia.
The tale of Ceyreal.
I can remember a quieter time, back before I was chosen. Mostly quiet, anyway. My family would be doing their jobs and chores, the sounds of animals milling about in the yard the soundtrack to my life. I can still see their faces if I close me eyes, the family nose, the wide green-gray eyes, the crooked smiles and scruffy brown hair. I can remember the sudden stillness, the abandonment of all animals, the sudden earth shakes and black clouds. Mostly though, I remember the fire.
Fire rocks rained from above as we abandoned our home to flee to the docks. My family made it there, and onto the waiting ships. They made it to safety, and a new life on another Isle. They did, I did not. I fell into a chasm, and tumbled down to land in a shallow pool of water. I crawled under an overhang, and waited for the end. Only, it never came. The sleepy mountain we had built our lives around erupted in fire, ash, and rivers of red heat. The rivers crawled down the mountainside, consuming everything, and the shores were buried under layers of ash and soot, but my little crevice was untouched. I lay there, feeling the earth tremble around me, feeling the heat of the rivers as they warmed the rocks, but they never came too close.
Finally, the trembles subsided, the heat cooled, and I could creep out to stare up at what my crevice revealed. I saw grey, shades and shades of grey. I felt the water, and it felt clean, so I drank my fill. Reaching up, I climbed out to view the results of the sleepy mountain’s temper.
There was no green. That’s what I saw first. Everywhere I looked, the earth had transformed drastically into a barren wasteland of black and grey rock. The air wavered with the heat, but I shivered at the devastation I beheld. There was no birdsong, no animal sounds at all. I found myself listening intently, feeling more and more alone as the minutes passed me by. I began walking to the docks, feeling the heat around me, beginning to understand my situation.
There were no docks, not anymore. The land now stretched into the see for several more feet, and it had encased the docks in its mad race. I stood there, staring out at the murky water, at the ashy beach and grey sky, and cried.
I found that the mountain had lost only three sides, and that the fourth was as fertile and as green as it had been before, it simply was under layers of thick, white ash. I worked hard, gathering food and clearing land to till and plant. I sheltered under trees and in caves, building a small shelter when I could, and coaxing animals that found their way onto my new home. Over time, I had my own homestead, large enough for me, and self-sufficient enough to keep going if I died. The animals could fend for themselves, and the plants would keep flourishing, and I was simply a temporary guest to this world.
I found myself forgetting how to talk, so I began to sing. Little, insignificant songs of work and crops. Simple, easily remembered, and quiet tunes to fill the hours as I worked. I needed to hear the sounds of voices, needed to hear something that sounded familiar. Already I had forgotten the voice of my mother, the voice of my father left slower. My brothers and sisters all blended together and faded away in memories, and the sounds and calls of animals became all that I could hear. Every now and then I waged a war with myself, dragging my body outside to work, needing the feel of the plow in my hands, or the water buckets.
One day, I saw something blue on the mountain, up close to the rim. I stared at it a while, debating the journey up there. I eventually caved into myself, and packed provisions for meals and a blanket for sleep. I left the homestead, and worked my way past the little oasis of green into the black desolation that surrounded it. I wondered if this was what the first twelve felt like, in their banishment from the Celestial Gardens. If they glanced back to see it shimmering like a mirage behind them, only bleak rocks awaiting ahead. I wound my way around giant outcrops, through strange circular formations, and skirting hot, half formed earth.
I stopped by the remains of a lake for the night, digging a shallow hole to the fresh water bubbling up from underground. Falling to sleep was a little of a challenge, so I watched the sky, seeing stars wink in and out of the clouds. The next day was spent much the same as before, and I slept under petrified trees, their white wood shimmering in the pale moonlight. The next day had me looking around in earnest, realizing I must be getting close the source of the blue I had seen before. The sun was setting before I came to the rim, a golden orange turning the sky red with it’s last rays. I dropped my bag to my feet, and spread my arms wide, my head falling back, eyes closed. I embraced the sun, feeling its warmth, feeling its light. Even as it sank, it still shone as brightly as it had during the day, defying night as long as it could.
I opened my eyes, and something blue flashed out of the corner of my eye. I turned, and saw a strange flicker, glowing as blue as the sea before the eruption. Walking towards it, I felt a different kind of heat. It was hot, but it cooled the closer I came to it. Eventually, I stood before a flaring blue flame, encasing the statue of the Patron Protector of the Isle. Her hands reached out in a welcoming embrace, hair carved in a windswept visage, face kind and protective. Her clothes were simple, and she wore no weapons. I could remember the color of the stone, the warm pink marble that had been dredged from the heart of the mountain when the First settled.
I came closer, feeling as if she were waiting for me, feeling as if I were coming closer to understanding why I was alone. I walked into her embrace, and felt as if I came home. I wrapped my arms around her waist, my head fitting under her chin. I laid my cheek against her breast, and thought I heard a heartbeat deep inside the stone. I felt a tear course down my cheek, and I felt phantom lips in my hair. Then darkness consumed me, and I sank into its gentle embrace, just as I had slipped into her flaming one.
I awoke later the next day, and saw blue shimmering around me. Sitting up, I saw I had fallen asleep in a field of luminescent blue flowers, their color flickering in the wind as they swayed. The flickers made them look as if a blue fire claimed this land, stationary against all elements. I felt one flower, the buttery soft petals a gentle caress against my work roughened fingertips. I sat there, lost in my reverie, when the bleating call of a rock goat drew my gaze further up, towards the very lip of the mountaintop.
He was a handsome creature, large and stout with curly brown horns and black hooves. Small brown eyes regarded me out of a narrow face, the curly grey wool covering him from crown to tail clean and bare of twigs and brush. We looked each other over, and then he bowed his head once. Turning, he leaped over the rim, and vanished. I stood, and began plucking flowers, careful to take the roots and bulbs, wishing to grow some at my homestead.
Several times a year, I made that trip to the mountain rim, each time returning with blue flares and other wild roots to eat. Time passed, and I grew from a sapling girl to a woman, my figure filling out, and my height gaining about seven inches. I stitched my own wear, really just for protection against stingers and heat rather than privacy. In all the years I lived at that homestead, I lived alone with the animals. I journeyed to the other sides of the mountain every now and again, but saw no signs of settlement, no signs of returns or new arrivals.
One day, I awoke and felt as if today were going to be different, as if my life was going to change dramatically. I pondered on this as I milled about the yards, refilling troughs and food bales. Finally, I packed my bag and headed up the mountain. I stopped for brief rests, but I continued on through the night, only brief naps my respite. I felt as if I needed to reach the top, as if something waited for me there, something that needed me.
I came to the rim, and saw nothing. Only the blue flares and other wild greens. I felt a slight pang of disappointment, but I shoved it aside with a tire chuckle. Kneeling, I began to rip out wild onions and potatoes, finding ripe red strawberries hiding in the underbrush. I was so bent to my task that I never noticed the arrivals until a clear voice said,
“I found her!”
(thus the tale of the Knight of Fyre begins)
 SwordOfTheDarkOnes · Sun May 02, 2010 @ 09:07pm · 0 Comments |
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