(Haven't posted anything here in a long while, so I figured I probably should. This time... it's something a little different, but also something original, rather than Zelda related, etc. There's not much so far, and I don't know how far I'll take it, but here's for those of you that keep up with this sort of thing. The most recent section of this post is not yet finished, hence the odd break... In any case, I'll just leave this here.) In The Dark When morning's light, pitchest black, dawns rays remember the lost. Wand'ring souls ceaselessly searching, never to find their host, all the world, now, their wrack. Great storms give birth to great seas, angry gods deign they never cease. Their shouts, their tears, mountains twained in their fervor, never to find again, their favor. No hope, no forthcoming light, in this tragic tapestry's seams. In this time of blood and war, only death, this time of dreams. Borne of hope, a failing star alone, ever shining bright. ---- There were signs enough. There were no tears, nor some great wailing. Only the babe's great, luminous eyes staring, not at someone or something, but through them. Like big silvery moons, they seemed to be beacons of light. Perhaps it was for this reason, this new-life that began in darkness, that she did not cry. To her, it was as if she had never left the womb. Perhaps she should not have. But no, there was no denying it; the silent birth, the death of her host, and finally, the deadly birthmark on her calf. She was branded, as one would brand a slave. No matter how far she ran, no matter where she hid, she could never escape her master. Always his heat would beat down upon her, his cruel eye burning in the sky. Her life was not her own, and never would be. She would be a servant until she came of age; and then she would become one of the Chosen, the God-touched, the Sunborn, among other names. All veils to hide the bitter reality, and their true name; Sacrifice. She would be taught to gladly accept her fate, and would come to know that it was a great honor. Her name would be remembered gloriously, penned among the other Sunborn on a great stone zenith in every city. But she would never live, not truly. Always, the blaring sun would beat down upon her, waiting to devour her in his flames. The man would not have her live that life. Yet, to anger the gods, especially the greatest of them, would mean not only his eternal suffering, but that of all the world. But the gods had already asked for too much, even now his life would have a hole that could never be filled. Already claimed was his precious Yu-e, his other half, with the birth of this fated child. Even as he thought this, his hand hovered over the ceremonial knife, used to cut the life-cord between mother and child. He could end it now, for them both. Neither would suffer further, with just a slip of a knife. What matter to the gods, if their sacrifice came to them early? If she lived, as it seemed she would, small as she was, the monks would come to lay claim to her. Once they heard of her strange birth, they would swoop down like vultures, to take the carrion to the skies. There would be no escape from her fate, then. If he was to do something, now was the time, before anyone saw, anyone heard. He made his decision, wrapping his daughter carefully in woolen cloth. They would flee, to the furthest reaches of the world, and the darkest of depths, were none who looked might find them. Even a life of squalor was better than no life at all. So began the last days. ---- 560 Prius Ater, Year of the Twilight Tai Yuan District, The Golden City He stood before the Sun-mother, waiting for her to speak. An honor on any other day, but not this one. Her cragged face looked so much like the dusty plateau upon which his people resided on; looking at her face, he thought of his own rugged living quarters. Ancient and made of implacable stone, that seemed to have been there an eternity. How old was she now? An outsider might have ventured a guess of perhaps ninety years; Jing would not be fooled. If all accounts were accurate, she'd be nearing her five hundredth summer solstice, the day of her birth. Despite the rheumatism that caused her hand to tremble at this very moment, there was something of power inside of her. And thus, Jing, too, trembled. Few had ever been within the personal court of the Sun-mother. Fewer still, had a private audience. That he had been called here spoke volumes, both of the importance of the matter, and the importance of the times to come. Contemporaries called his people superstitious, but they did not know the secrets of this world. Others believed that the Sun-mother communed with the Sun god himself, was his living conduit upon this earthly realm, as the others of the Celestial Council were avatars of their own gods. They were right; there was little speculation in the matter, for a monk of Jing's standing. Jing knew his history well, especially of his order, the Mandate of Flame. The last time such a meeting had occurred, between the Sun-mother and one of his kind, had been more than a century past. In that time, there had been a great drought, the angry sun beating down upon the fertile earth, baking the soil dry for generations to come. This was no coincidence; something had happened, that had invoked the wrath of the gods. Something had brought the terrible drought, that had sown the seeds of chaos, and given birth to war. It was their punishment. Punishment for a faithless people. It had been years before order had reasserted itself, and even more before the people remembered the gods again. It was only then, that the drought had ended, that their punishment had finally ceased. Still the land was scarred, though, and it would be a long time before the people would forget their treachery. Or so the Celestials had hoped. “Take a seat, Brother Jing.” Quiet voice, reflecting the gravity of what was to come. He took the order silently, kneeling, then sitting back upon his own legs. Folding his hands, he placed them on his lap, waiting patiently. The quiet only intensified his pain, for he knew what she would say next, without her even uttering a word. She, too, knew this. “He has broken our most sacred law; to rob the gods of their chosen is to rob our people of life, their very existence.” She closed her eyes, as if she were exhausted by the effort of speaking; her time was coming, her second life nearing with every passing day. Jing could only nod in understanding. In his mind, it was all perfectly rational. The man was a heretic, who had to be destroyed and his daughter saved at any cost. There could be no doubt. “I know what I ask is great, but you may be his only salvation, from what he must know can only be a path to damnation.” She was hesitant, and spoke softly, as if knowing the growing pain in Jing's heart. It was beginning to swell, and was near bursting. He bit his lower lip, tried to keep the tears welling up from his eyes. He bit back the terrible words that might have come from his mouth, his teeth drawing blood. She's right, I have no choice. I must do this, not for myself, but for my people. He thought, and though the words were sweet, they still tasted bitter and sour, like the blood flecking his lips. “And should his salvation be unattainable, and you find that the deceiver has whispered in his ear too long, you know what you must do.” It was a command, with no softness behind it, only steely resolve. This was a command from the Sun himself, that Jing, by oath, must obey. And, for a moment, even Jing's own thoughts turned to heresy, wishing he had never taken his oaths. “Yes, Sun-mother.” His voice quavered, though it was hardly a whisper, tears streaming down his cheeks. He would leave at first light, to follow in the man's path. He could already guess where Zhen, his quarry, was headed. He knew the roads he might take, the people he might ask for refuge. He knew this man as well as he knew himself. He knew his brother all too well. ---- 566 Ex Ater, Year of the Sun Shi Yuan District, Broken Wings What knew they, of his pain, his sacrifice? They could not understand, could not fathom his suffering. Thorns had grown on his heart, a garden of self-pity, bitter tears the water from which it drank. Even now, watching his daughter play among the lingering snows, he could feel the tightness once again. Its hold was deep, the strangling vines of fear quickening his heart's beating. It would soon be time again, a time for change, that bitter word. He tasted it, and would have spat it upon the ground, had he the luxury of doing so. He did not. He had seen their gazes, heard the hushed whispers. Whispers, he knew, traveled with the wind. Zhen might have given up this unending game of cat and mouse, had it not been for his daughter. His life was nothing; hers, however, was not. He was a miser, she was his jewel, and none could have her, not even the gods. Shivering in the cold wind, uncharacteristic of this late spring, he pulled his furs together more tightly. “Mei, come here!” he called to her, his voice hoarse in the chill air. She turned her sightless gaze to him, smiled, and nodded. Leaving small prints in the white canvas behind her, she carefully stumbled towards him as best she could. “Opa, it's time to leave, isn't it.” she said expectantly, knowing what his reply would be. Her lower lip jutted out, while her hands took a defiant perch upon her hips. He was silent for a moment, letting out a deep sigh. She'd been like this ever since she could talk; always seeming to know what he would say next. Perhaps he would have attributed this to their closeness, had she not shown the same foresight with others, even those she had not met. Are all touched like this? He wondered silently to himself. Kneeling down, he looked into her small face. So like her mother. He brushed a lock of hair away from her face, placed her cap back upon her head. He pinched her cheek. “You're too clever for me, Mei.” He grinned, his hand wandering to beneath her arms, his fingers dancing. Her laughs were sweet, full of innocence, and for a moment, their warmth melted the ice around his heart. Picking her up from the ground, he set her down upon his shoulders, her fingers taking hold of his top-knot. He began to plod through the snow, towards the village. It was more difficult than Mei had made it seem; much of it had melted, yet the snow still lingered, now far heavier than appeared. Grunting, he walked onward, glad to find the path again. An old woman, and her husband, had taken them in. They had taken a liking to Mei, and had took it upon themselves to dote on her as if she were their own granddaughter. When he asked them if they had any children, or grandchildren of their own, they only shook their heads sullenly. He had not approached the subject since. It was not uncommon, here on the fringes of the Golden Empire, for children to be lost to sickness, the wild, or even bandits. Walking into the small wooden house, Zhen began collecting their things, sitting Mei down onto a chair. Possessions collected, he was startled when the door opened behind him. There the old man stood, looking behind him furtively. “What is it?” His muscles tensed; something was amiss, danger lurked just beyond sight. He took Mei's hand, who was silent, sensing the gravity of the moment. “Word has been passed that the Mandate is looking for a man and his daughter, a daughter who shows signs of being different. Signs of being of the touched.” He said quietly, his gaze piercing deep into Zhen. His hand tightened on Mei's, the other already preparing to deliver a deadly blow to the man's neck. “My wife is with the village elders now, stalling them, making them doubt. They will not be fooled much longer. You should leave.” He began shuffling through his own home, appearing to look for something in the floorboards. Apparently finding what he sought, he pried a part of the floor up, revealing an underground passage. It was dark, and smelled deeply of mold. “This has been here since even I was a child, and was used by the villagers to smuggle food out from under the Empire's nose, during the great drought. They will have forgotten about it by now. It is safe.” The old man seemed determined that Zhen should escape. There was more here than what was being said, yet what choice did he have? He had to keep moving forward, keep putting one foot ahead of the other in the snow, lest he catch his death. “Thank you.” Zhen said quietly, climbing into the hole with his daughter. A flame exploded to life in the palm of his hand, and though it was damp in the cave, it would survive. The planks shut out all light from behind them. All that was left was to move forward. The old man closed the door, content with himself. The two would be safe, and would be long since departed, when the Mandate arrived. Grasping a small statuette, that of a god none remembered, he closed his eyes. “Zaun, hear my prayer...” ---- 567 Ex Ater, Year of the Crescent Moon Shi Yuan District, Broken Wings The door to the dilapidated shack crackled as it was pushed to the side, the warped wood sliding noisily. He shuffled in, the cloth of his robes whispering against the wood grain. Blinking, it took several moments before Jing could once again see. Dust flew into the air as he moved across the room, his feet encased within a soft cloud. There were no lights within home, and it had long since passed into night. Walking measured steps towards a table, Jing paused. Passing his hand over the candle there, the wick burst into bright flame, coloring the room. Placing it within an wrinkled, paper lantern, Jing grasped the loop and held the globe into the air. Sucking in a breath, he continued his search of the home. He looked for some sign, some leaving, that might show the way. Sinking to his knees, he closed his eyes and fell into trance. The world flowered before him, warm lights of red and orange dancing around him. He felt the lingering fires of the past, ghosts of heat passing to and fro. Almost recognizable forms did menial chores, mingled with each other, dispersed. Opening his eyes and straightening himself, Jing was glad. He had not come here in vain; Zhen had passed through here. Still, the shades of heat had long since dissipated. There was nowhere to follow them, and once again, it seemed the trail had ended. Letting out a heavy sigh, Jing continued to wander around the room, hand grasping his shaved head in exasperation. Grabbing a small figurine, with little real intention of looking at it, Jing traced the wooden features of the statuette with a finger. His finger finished tracing the face, revealing the features. Jing glanced at them, staggering at the realization. This was not a simple figurine. It was a fetish. If the Sun-mother had heard his curses, he would have promptly been thrown from royal court and sacked. Thousands of questions wriggled through his mind, threatening to spill from his ears. He took a deep breath, forced his mind to quiet itself. There would be questions to be asked. Setting the wood figure onto the table, Jing gently set a finger upon the wood of the table. The Mandate's rules had to be observed. Wood burned beneath his touch, as he slashed lines into the table. Elegant with his calligraphy, he removed his finger from the table, wiped the ashes from his finger with his sleeve. The word glowed with latent power, crackling as if it were wood whose flame had only just died. Striding to the door, Jing promptly closed it behind him. He would be the last guest the home would send on its journey. A torrent of fire came to life on the table's face. Sprites of ash and flame danced along the old wood, their tiny feet leaving small footprints in the grain. Faster and faster they spun, whirling in dizzying patterns. Their heat only intensified over time, the concentric circles they formed swirling together. A sun was born for only a moment, arcs of flame drawing ashen lines with their passing. Old sins and old regrets were passed through the fire, and in time, all would be reduced to nothing. The house burst into flame, heat warming the back of Jing's neck. And although the home was being consumed in immeasurably hot flames, nothing surrounding it caught flame. The foundations of the home seemed to melt, bending to the old magic. He did not pause to observe his work; it would be nothing more than a heap of ashes within the next few moments. Dark thoughts had their hold on him now, thoughts of small statues, of heretics, of forgotten gods. ---- “We are truly alone in this bleak world. We are borne of darkness, ever seeking the light. Greedily, we claw towards its brightness, its comfort, and some even manage to grasp it. The light can be held for a time, but never possessed, our hearts consumed by its flame. There are some, though, that never let go. And though they lose themselves, their light shines the brightest, their memory warding away the darkness to come.” – Sunborn's Creed ---- Lo Tan District, Falling Sun Once more they had evaded the grasp of the Empire, once more they had to reacquaint themselves with a new city. This one was familiar, identical in spirit to a dozen others. Refuse littered the streets, both of the living and non-living kind. Small shadows swept the streets, looking for even the tiniest of crumbs, small feet slapping against the wet stone noisily. Rats and mice were their dearest enemies, stealing what little food they could find, and sometimes stealing a life, too. Zhen watched through dull eyes as children bit and tore at each other for the tiniest morsel, in this case a mere fragment of a steamed bun. He was long since used to such scenes, and was glad his daughter did not have to make a daily bid for survival, that her belly would be warm at the end of the day. She was asleep now, strapped to his back in a bundle of cloth, a lock of hair laying upon an unwashed face. Zhen looked at his own hands, calloused and hard with dirt. He no longer felt the blisters that had plagued him so, now only lumpy scars that riddled once perfect hands. But that was another life, a life of comfort and luxury, one that he no longer had. But it was a life freely given, in exchange for his daughter's, and it was an exchange he did not regret. He wondered, though, what life could have been. Sometimes he would waken from a dream, in which he could still feel her soft skin, the warmth of their daughter nestled between them. He would wake, and through sleep filled eyes, he would reach to brush her hair away from her face. Always, he would find that his hand held nothing but air, that the pillow beside him contained but a single, tiny head. He reached to his shoulder, enfolded a tiny hand in his. Even now, feeling a smaller heart beat with his, Zhen knew that although his soul mate had departed from this world, she lived on in this child. Each day, he heard her laugh, saw her smile, and once again knew her love. Zhen was glad for this, for as his love for this child grew, so too did his will to live. Though time would never fully heal him, food no longer tasted of ash, and he no longer woke to a barren life. Purpose and direction had cauterized the wound, but his daughter had brought life back to him. He smiled, as he felt her stir at his touch, and smiled at himself. How long since he had last smiled, and truly felt it? She was a child of death, of ash and flame. Born into darkness, born for the light, Mei was a doomed child, who had brought nothing but pain and suffering to his once peaceful life. Yet, despite all that, he loved her with all his heart, and couldn't help but feel warmth fill his chest each time he looked at her. Her fist balled the cloth of his shirt as she awoke, a contented smile spreading across her face, new teeth like small pearls. He brushed her cheek with a finger, set the groggy child down, whose fists were now rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Zhen sighed. He had not the time to be pandering around within his own thoughts. He laughed slightly at himself, admonishing his behavior. It seemed as if he'd already become an old man, completely absorbed with the regrets of has-beens and never-dids. The chasm left by the loss of his wife would never be entirely mended, but wallowing in self-pity would hurt himself, but moreover his daughter. And he would not allow that. Looking down at curious, luminous eyes, he almost forgot that she was blind. What other blind child could stare straight back at their father, as if they still saw? Smiling, he tousled her black hair. “Good morning.” He said cheerily, though he was exhausted. He'd been walking from the waning of the sun, until it woke again. And they had made it, finally, to the last bastion of the Empire. Er-Ko, City of Wonders, City of Gold, nestled firmly in the Dragon Spine Mountains. Born a humble trading post, Er-Ko had grown quickly, being the only route through which traders from other lands, to the west, could pass their way into the Empire. It came as a surprise to no one, when certain entrepreneurial merchants had come together and founded the city. Zhen still remembered his childhood lessons. Shaking his head, palms massaging his tired eyes, he continued to recite the library's entry. Er-Ko, City of Masks, the Hidden Corridor. The only laws here were money and power, and with neither, even a king would be reduced to beggar. It was a city of intrigue, embroiled completely within its own designs, and tolerated by the Empire solely because of its raw, unfiltered wealth. It was here, that they would finally be safe. Just beneath the noses of their pursuers, yet out of their reach, hidden deep within the folds of politics. Here, their long journey came to a close. And for the first time in a long time, Zhen was truly glad.
