Legends of Belariath

Saphamira

From darkness she came, and from darkness, she would return, ferried to and 'fro across the river by a woman's voice. Just as the stories hold, it all began with that. With the Word, and her name.

"Rise and shine, little Saphamira. Rise and shine for me."


From the first moment she opened her eyes, she was lost. The first thing the Magi saw, was the same thing that would be her last. The face of a Goddess. Deep blue eyes like the summer sky, hair darker than the soft bed of stars, and a smile to put the sun to shame. Soft fingertips on the new born Magi's cheeks, and softer lips on her forehead as the natural darkness of sleep rose to reclaim her.

That was Saphamira's earliest memory, as it is for many Magi, and the Goddess, of course, was Morpheous. Thus was she "born" at twelve years of age, and began her life on the floating content of Oceania. What came before was as much a mystery to her as to any Magi - memories of their former lives both rare and undesired.

From the very beginning of her apprenticeship, the brunette's talents were obvious. A hunger for knowledge only surpassed by her devotion to the Goddess, exceptional even among the Magi, coupled with an easy, quickly used silver tongue. No challenge was too much for Saphamira, no task too difficult. Physical combat proved a hurdle for some time, and one the girl drove herself against repeatedly, as did the humility required by the Earth Temple's Apprenticeship.

Both physical grace, and humility, or at least the wit to pretend such, came with maturity. As required, she passed with flying colours in every area of the Magi's study, and proudly stood before her peers on her eighteenth birthday to accept the blessing of the Goddess she adored. She received honours almost immediately, from the Sun and Azure temples, blue and golden stripes inked through white-feathered wings. Heliotrope, always late to the party, soon added a purple blaze to them.

Her tutors despaired when Saphamira turned to the libraries, rather than more noble endeavours. She could have been an emissary of the race, a diplomat, a general, a spellcaster fit to stand with the highest - yet their star student chose to squander herself in -books-. Nonetheless, Saphamira could not be dissuaded from her chosen course, and soon made herself irreplaceable in the libraries of Oceania. With every bright star, though, every bringer of light, comes a Fall.

The country formed by the floating continent does not feel like a dictatorship. Morpheous rarely, if ever, expresses her will, and most of the day-to-day administration is carried out by the senior Magi. There are some commands from on high, though, that were to be obeyed without question. One of these dealt with the libraries, and in particular, a specific restricted library. That of the Star Temple, a mysterious and shadowy organisation answering only to Morpheous. The library contained within was rumoured to be small, but containing only the most precious and forbidden of texts.

Like a moth to a flame, Saphamira was drawn to this in her research for a definitive work on the History of the Magi. Unsatisfied with the accounts in what seemed like lesser works, she ventured into the only place on the whole continent that was barred to her. Unlocked, of course, for what Magi would dare disobey their Goddess?

This one did. Driven by a desire to be the best, to outshine myriads though bright, Saphamira stole into the library of the Star Temple, undetected. Or so she thought. The first tome fell open before her, and disappointment crashed over the brunette like a wave. It was written in a language she'd never seen before. She shut the book with a sigh, and turned to leave, reduced by her efforts, to be confronted by a Magi she'd never seen before. On an island where everyone knew everyone, that was next to impossible.

A man she'd never seen before, dark-feathered wings glittering like stars, and a spell she'd never seen before, either. Nor heard of in any book. A single word spoken, and darkness overtook her. No incantation, no gestures, no runes. Just a single word. And, try as she might, she could never quite remember how it sounded.


She woke in chains, to a soft, familiar voice. What came next was burned into her mind for the rest of her life.

"So. Saphamira. I'd been wondering how long it would be before we met like this.. I've been watching you, you know."

The Goddess sat up, slowly, and crossed the room to her Child in chains. Perfect fingertips bring the brunette's chin up, sparkling eyes of quartz flashing, almost angrily up at Morpheous. Behind her, white wings blazing with gold, purple, blue thrum in their shackles.

The brunette on her knees finally breaks her silence, voice ringing off golden flagstones.

"Goddess, this isn't fair! I have done nothing wrong! All I seek is to chronicle our history.. tell the tales of our creation, our birth! All I wanted to do was extol -your- glory, Creator! How can you blame me for.."

She is cut off by a voice that manages to be both gentle and steely at the same time.

"Those might be your reasons. The fact stands, you were reading, or attempting to read books you should never have even touched! If they were written in a script you understood, you could have destroyed us all! Would you have been happy then? Brothers, sisters, home, all ripped from the sky and burned for your curiosity? You are a fool, Saphamira!"

Footsteps echo away over the flagstones, then back, as the angry Goddess paces. Eventually a weak voice tries again.

"H-history books? What power could possibly lie in history books? And if I could not understand them, then what was the harm? I have gained nothing from this, no forbidden knowledge, no power, not even a single story!"

The very air of the room is electrified with the force of the Goddess' reply. "You disobeyed the one who made you! You betrayed -me-! I, who have given you everything.. you betrayed me! No matter that you gleaned nothing from those tomes, you disobeyed my direct instructions!"

There was nothing she could say any more, and the Magi bends low on her knees, forehead coming to rest against the ground. Dark brown tresses splay around her fallen head, and tears run over gold.

"I'm so sorry, Goddess. I didn't realise.. I didn't know.. I'm sorry!"

The anger has gone, replaced by a resigned frustration, and pain. No mother likes to punish her children.

"I know, Saph.. I know. But you must learn this lesson well. Your punishment is threefold. First."

A hand laid upon that fallen head.

"I take from you your hair, and wings."

From those hands, the colour bleeds away. Soon the rich brunette is crowned instead with shimmering silver, and the royal blues, golds, purples, fade from her feathers, leaving the Magi with only the silver of lost joy.

"Now.. I take from you something far more precious."

Gentle hands cup the girl's face, lift her up to face her Goddess.. and perfect lips lay a kiss on each eyelid. When they open, the pupils, though still living, shining as if alive, seeing what lay before them, would never see again.

"Hopefully, this will keep you from forbidden books in the future. Finally.. I send you out. Go out in the world, Saphamira. You have until dawn today."

The room dims, golden flagstones fading back to stone, diamonds easing away into nothingness as Morpheous returns to her Temple, leaving her Child with nothing but tears, and darkness. And perhaps those whispered, remembered words.

"Rise and shine, Saphamira. Rise and shine."


Life after sight, after Oceania, and after Morpheous.. was different. Saphamira nearly died in the first few days on the Surface. Friendless and alone, newly blind and only slowly learning to cope, the Magi came close to simply lying down and dying. Her People had not been so cruel as to abandon her in the wilderness, but even among the elves she was left in the care of, her life was very different from what she remembered.

Doing anything she could for a living, making ends meet by the skin of her teeth - fighting off those who intended to lay immodest hands upon her, rather than selecting those she pleased, as should have been her right, Saphamira sank into a pit of depression that sapped her will to live. It was around this time that she first met Omiros.

He was working in a tavern that she'd managed to find employment in, cleaning tables for copper to buy food. Not even elves wanted to hire a blind woman, and a useless one at that, but she'd convinced the owner. His voice stood out in the blurred fog of conversations, steady and controlled, rising, falling, growing louder or softer as the moment demanded. He was of course, a bard, a teller of stories, and Saphamira's first friend on the surface.

They were more properly acquainted after she made the mistake of attempting to serve drinks. With her impairment, this was far from an easy task, and she ended up spilling a flagon of ale all over the man. He hushed her apologies with easy words, and paid for the spilled drinks himself. More, he insisted the "little lost Magi" stayed for a conversation. He revealed his trade, his life's work, how he functioned in the world around him, and finally, when the Magi was beginning to fidget, considering returning to her duties, the fact that he too, was unable to see. Of course, he'd been born this way, but it made no difference. They were equals, in a way. The same.

From there on, things were easier. Omiros took the Magi under his metaphorical wing, and slowly, taught her how to survive without sight. She also slowly began to learn some of his poetry, his great work concerning the fall of a city named Miles (Mee-lays), ruined by a face that started a war. The unlikely pair flourished, and might have become more than friends, were it not for Omiros' silver tongue. Like many of those blessed with the gift of the gab, he was unable to keep his mouth closed when the situation demanded it.

Saphamira returned to the tavern they favoured to find him gone, nothing but a poem in her memory. The owner said he'd made the wrong kind of comment to an irritated moriel who'd had enough of Bards, and paid the price.. and he recommended that Saphamira leave before the same fate befell her. In a kind of shock, the Magi booked passage on a caravan into human lands, leaving the High Elven city behind. As the sounds of the streets faded away, she realised she'd never even worked out what race Omiros belonged to. What he looked like. Where he was born. With a deep regret for what might have been, and the debt she owed the man heavy on her shoulders, Saphamira vowed to herself never to forget the poem he'd composed, no matter how long she lived.


It has been more than few years since that day. Not enough to earn the forgiveness of Morpheous, of course, but enough for the Magi to establish a few basic patterns in her travels. A knack for bartending, for one. She'd finally managed to work out how to pour drinks without looking at them. A collection of stories, for another. Many from the Magi, some from the elves, and countless more from the towns the blind woman has moved through, then left behind. Nanthalion, and the Empire held an attraction for her, drawn in part by rumours of powerful men and women, around whom great stories naturally propagate, and by the excellent reputation of Unigo for magic. Perhaps the Magi would finally find a way to lift her curse, and be reunited with her Goddess. With such hopes high in her heart, she managed to talk a merchant into allowing her passage with his caravan, and soon, took her first steps into The Lonely Inn.

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