M'ithriin, lay your palm upon my
breast again. My reflection in the open
of your eye. Through all storms. Shrieking, in whisper as the stones call
the sea. From the mountain of binding
river to the shore of quenched thirst. As
when all throats need the water. Please,
ancient one. Be my sight once more. Show me dancing lights, and softest
Seiđr. Root and star of every beating
heart. Before the hill was cleaved and
the tree adorned with wraith. The broken sky beneath our feet. Hear me now, myriad path. Upon these tainted grounds I call forth the
truest counsel of kiss, and light. Mother,
Father. Grant me hidden knowledge of
unmet tribes and unwalked lands. Distant
brother, distant sister. Enemy and
friend. Bridge, shield, Elen. Speak as my tongue beneath all tongues, with
healing mara. Upon the dragon's head and
the care of kin. Eternal are the old
songs, M'ithriin. Eternal is the old
song.
I
am burning pages, in dreaming. Pages that seek to pass as lost, shattered
truth. I rarely burn written things, regardless of their abhorrence to me, but
I’m particularly terrified on this night. A silver dish awaits me in my
candle-lit cell, standing on legs of iron. Tapers and wick sit beside. I can
smell the sickness of the burning paper and the sleeping horrors therein. Many
times I’ve wished I was dead, or forgotten, or mere figment. Tonight is one of
those times...
Things have changed, my
cherished one, and I won't try to make it like it was before. But I do still recall the unimaginable power
of a dream. Enough to reshape causation
itself. Spilling secrets like sea-salt
through the gate of evening. Holding
open the iris; a dusk deeper than ocean rose. Far, far below. In the church of thorn. Drowning lowlands and remains of the day, just
to shatter my palms on the curve of your shoulder. Stitching letters there, my darling. Waiting
for almost forty years to see you truly taken with love again. The way you run toward it now, unafraid. Like those earliest visions that first broke
and blessed my heart.
It's so beautiful.
I'll stand for love, till the end. I'll exist this way even if it hurts. I'll steal each cut if I can. Every agony,
that my beloved ones might finally breathe and rest undisturbed. I know I sometimes fail in that, and I'm
sorry. I'll keep trying until I am salt
and sea myself. Living far from my
family, if that's what it takes to keep them safe from these hideous wraiths. Yet, as near their hearts as possible. Three kings, for sisters and brother, still
following star and song. From world to
world, edge to edge of everything. And I
found you, at last. Here in this fallen
royal court beneath the twinning river. This
frightening place where they think we no longer exist. Mirage. Fata Morgana.
But I didn’t come all this way to reclaim
you, or to demand a single thing from any of you. I came to see the lives you should have
lived. Your own chosen paths fulfilled. You're as safe as I can possibly keep you in
this unsettling place, my darlings. Running,
truly running. With new love. I am far below, even now. Like my Mother. Living drowned in bluest dusk. Laken hilt. Guardian of the Well, still tending the innermost
of every holy place. Till the day of our
waking. It’s the price I pay. You never knew me, and I never was, except in
dreams. Thankfully, my Father doesn't
believe you can ever truly erase something from a dream.
It’s not a lie when I say
I've known such tears before. Yours,
mine and theirs. Those tears know me
too. I wear one hollowed on my finger. A circle of salt screaming of betrothed. The sun’s hidden midnight, living below
horizon and sea. A church of thorn and
mirror beneath the blue. Mira, you gave
me your name. So that you would look
back at me every time I face myself. Too
much, and not enough. Fairest and true. I've known sorrow, my darling. Ways and ladies of sorrow. Every binding. Every bitter wraith.
Apprentice, I beg you. Pretty my devastation with all the glamour of peace. That one day you might know me once
more through softest eyes. I've lost so
many lovers in this river of the thousand stars. Make a Father of me again. This wounded ray of sunlight dipped in
ink. Forever falling into an angel's
longest nights.
Teach me sweeter secrets, Mira. An endless hunger for honour. A hidden tongue of birds. Gift me with flight
and I shall bring the skies with me. And
the grey, and the rain. To the door of
any who dare defile my beloved ones.
Love is worth my drowning and the agony of
this open eye.
Indeed.
If character is fate then hammer me upon the
anvil of life itself, until this fury of mine is fit for daughters and
dreaming. It isn't enough to rage,
righteous or not. Torment must be
tempered with a certain sweetness. I
have borrowed enough of it from my girls. Time now to repay. A place to believe, for guardian eternal. Of poetry and prosper. Descending, still, into those longest nights
of the year. And you’re with me,
Mira. No man is an island. Not even the blackened sun. I didn't forget you, teacher. I gave you my name.
I want you to know that I'm
still listening, my friend. To the
rivers, the breeze. Trying to stay
attuned and of service. Just as you
taught your students. Now the world is
harder, darker, and demands so much more from all of us. But there is still unimaginable wonder hidden
everywhere. The book, the hand, the
song. What it means to travel. To honour and to dream. Wolves.
Angels. The way we circle back. This kind of dreaming can happen anywhere. This shining reciprocity. In the forests of dusk and dawn. At the city's edge where lost things dwell. Or
upon the bridge, the refrain or verse. These
are questions of faith in the end, aren't they? Ritual writ large, and blind. The oldest songs are always songs of place, of
love and the unseen. We need to believe that something cares, that something
underpins and reveals. We craft hymns of
creation and experience, that we might know ourselves and each other. That we might order the maelstrom with such holy
writ, and soothe our fear of wraith and shadow.
As it was on that fragile edge.
I remember how the emissaries all continued
to build stunning halls and schools in Ethri-sol, even as mirrors bled and
stars began to fall. We weren't ready to
simply abandon everything we knew in fear of those terrifying shades. Instead we held steadfast to our principles
and our hopes. Churches of higher
thought. Libraries, archives. Places of learning and rest. We cherished them even as they slowly
darkened.
Even as the sky itself began to fracture.
But I still recall meeting a girl in one of
those schools. A beautiful musician. She could write songs with only a glance, just
as Yash’a did. A gesture. A palm against the heart or a hand placed
gently across the eyes, to invoke such melody. Summoning even the subtlest harmonies. We became
great friends eventually, despite our world beginning to darken all around us.
Slowly at first, then with increasing rapidity. A thousand years was nothing to the teachers
and students of Eth'iri. This girl was a
true visionary. She taught me many
things about music, but never how to play. We would joke about it now and then. I still haven't learned an instrument beyond word
or sky. But I often sat listening as she
taught the others, enjoying the sweet poignancy of her wisdom. She spoke of how she could hear music in the
rivers and the breeze. In birdsong and
forest murmur. We carry that music with
us, she said. And we shape it. A continual, constant exchange. Like breath. More than simple conceit or metaphor. A literal music of the spheres that could be
heard by an attuned soul or ear. In our
depths, our graces. The joy of our
fingers on strings and keys, the dexterity of the hand that moves a pen. The promise of a kiss, or the sculpting of a
star. Wherever we go, there the music
is. It's something I've never really forgotten.
Flowers planted on the banks of the
river. Prayers sung on the sands of the
shore. The way spirits breathe and
mortals imagine. My friend described
this hidden music as a powerful secret, in that enigmatic way of many teachers
and poets. A traveller's secret, she
said. She wasn't wrong. I still remember. "With love nothing is impossible. Can you hear?"
It's no secret that Kasi
often feels like one of the dead, despite this arduous and seemingly endless
life. I find succour among the kindest
of the lost and broken. Dwellers at the
occulted edge. I often speak about never
giving up the fight for truth, and I never have. Even though I've wanted to, many times. Desperately, with almost every fibre of my
being. Those hideous wraiths feeding on
the wounded in this battlefield of living dreams. This demimonde. It’s an awful, brutal thing to be fed upon by demons.
I speak from experience, all too
real. Vampiric shadows, forever ravenous
beneath the black light of their Mourning Star. Proximity alone begins to sicken the spirit,
no matter how many of these wraiths I bind or slay. Knife-mouth grin. Defilement and desecration. But I stay for my beloved ones. For my family. Believe me, friends, the true warrior's path
is brutal and exhausting.
Even in dreams.
I’m not the first slave or regent to
question all star and song. Who among us
chooses the slain, in the end? And what
of the slain who never wavered? Those
who kept their faith and their honour? I've
seen glimpses, and more. Raven
pale. Emerald black. A thing among the trees. A thing of branch and moss, and strange rains. Walking and wandering for a thousand years. Chlorophyll, Elven, Elemental. The wild one, victorious. The tempest and her kin. Do you still think I belong in a churchyard,
Fallen? Have you learned nothing? I can move quicker than candlelight. Quicker than hand, eye or glass.
Love is like lightning.
It can strike when you least expect. Like Fate.
Thrice-fold, all through the night.
Valour is no paltry thing. When
all is ashes once again, love shall remain. Carried by the valiant Kiir, across the
shining bridge of colours and song. Reflecting
my daughters, brave as snow. Stronger
than iron. Wise as the clasp of each
clan. Onward to the hall where I still
dwell with my Father, even in this earthly flesh. Tell me, Fallen. What side of the king's mirror do you think
you're on? Listen closely. I won't choose for you but I have you in my
palm, and always will. This is what it
means to dream. Love is eternal, and
death is nothing without its brighter twin.
I know how it feels, Princess.
Like a chaotic, unstable realm. Like your plans have been stolen. Snatched from your grasp by the maelstrom all
around. Despite being grateful for the
opportunities still available, you cannot help but feel a little cheated. It feels like the entire world is on a razor's
edge. Angels weeping on the head of a
pin. A realm that seems tailored for the
merciless and the cruel. But you and I
both know there's more to this world than what we can see with our eyes.
Kara, don't let these
wraiths and their trickery harden your heart or break your spirit. They only become so powerful because people
give over their own power to them. I
don't have to tell you about the importance of keeping your faith. Often you've helped me recover my own. Through
song and kisses, and kindness. You helped
me find my courage again.
For that I am
indebted to you, always.
Because even angels can
break. Winged songs of living light,
shattering like glass. The men and women
they have become. The messengers they
used to be. Everybody needs friends,
after all. Those special souls who truly
care. Even at a distance. Princess, when I was weak you cared for me. Like my own.
You believed when I couldn't. So,
when you are low or tired or anxious, I will do everything in my power to
believe for you in kind. Because
believing in dreams and fairy-tales makes them truer. It helps them manifest through tender heart-light,
with the sweetest intentions. Never
underestimate the power of a dream, or the human imagination.
They can raise both mortals and angels from
the dead.
Heaven is very real. It thrives on the joy of mutual affection; the
shining reciprocity of the heart. Our
Father would have it no other way. I
know you grasp this, my beautiful lavender star. These are the arcs and triumphs of creation
itself. This is Love, even at a
distance. I truly was an angel,
Kara. Once upon a time. I'm an angel still, perhaps. In dreams. A Song of Songs, far and near. My wings are with you always.
