Legends of Belariath
Eraelabryn
Mother
Was it the Darkness that called me so? A whisper on some night breeze, and thus I awakened. Silence. Noone stirred within the walls of my Home. No sounds other then Crassius and Bennu, curled together at the foot of my bed. Kurenai slept upon the chaise, incase there was need for her in the Night. I lay in the shadows, watching, listening, needing the voice to repeat, until I could bear it no more, and rose. Silent as death, I glided, wrapping myself in the crimson robe, that seems to me so beautiful, so liquid. Down the stairs, not a word, the breath heard of Kiara in her chambers.
Out into the courtyard, a simple enough affair, having bid Crassius and bennu to arrange the gardens as they saw fit. Simple joy, to keep them content. Wandering out into the earth, the Moon high, bearing down that white light that at times reminds me of what it was to live under ground.There it was again, a calling, a soft sound, a whisper, a chant. Can I explain how cold one becomes knowing you are prey? Knowing what it is to hunt, but then the sharp clarity of finding ones self the hunted? Quickly enough i waited. Again, further in, the calling came, and unafraid now, simply enraged one would dare enter into my bit of shadow, to tease as such, i answered.
It was in that moment, that response awaited, that it seemed the floodgates to memory were opened. The night I lost my arm, the night I was dealt such pain. The awakening, my eyes opened, that is when I accepted my own path, my own fate. Back from the light I came, into the arms of the Dark Mother once more. Her voice, accepting the rite to weild her words, her teachings, her lessons. I was reborn in brutal pain, washed clean again by the Mage, scoured in flesh, until her voice would speak to me again.
Cool breeze, the thought that perhaps I, like him, had begun to spiral, to lose myself in some derangement. No. Soothing tones, like some long lost song of comfort my nurse had sung to me as a little one. Whispered out, into the night, as I closed my eyes, walking unassited, into the unknown. Faith, stupidity, perhaps both. Not one for emotions that do not bring power, but only weakness i found myself longing for home. So many things i had wrought, I had done, I had brought about the cleansing of my taint, my tarnish. Down upon knees I went, supplicated for something that I could not see, nor hear, only feel.
In an instant, the pain of those days, of the dark ones torment of me, of the regrowth of my arm, the stunning transcension of the Mage's brillant masterpiece, all of it, in one fell swoop relived. It could not have been more then a heartspan, a breath taken and expelled. A scream. I felt every lash, every mark, every burn once more. Clarifaction in flesh, given back to me. Retching from the torment of it, laid out like some drunken whore within my own garden, weeping like some babe. Golden, the revelation. I was what i was meant to be. Every lie, every horror, every depraved action of my hands. The turning away, the coming back. I was never in control. No. I was merely tracing the footprints laid out for me to find, the map of my fate given in steps, to bring me to this point.
Shivering, the robe falling loose, bearing my flesh to the nothingness around me. Naked, as I crawled from the seclusion of the arbor, into the clearing. Before me Her, the statue of her, gifted to me, bearing her likeness even here in the most calming of places. The altar, i could see my hand, feel the dagger within it. Words, taught to me at my teachers knee. Watching as if somewhere outside my form, as I once more sliced the palm of my hand. Welts of beautiful essence, gifted upwards, swelling to stain the stone, as my voice, I heard it, felt it, declared those words from which my House was known. Calling to her, awaiting some answer that would come when she deemed it fit.
There are some who say that the Blood of a Priestess of Kirva, a Moriel of the House Hu`ccan Lodar, is holy. It is akin to spilling Her own blood. Spells wrought on just the essence and a few whispered words, have brought down castles, have won wars, have decided the fates of thousands. Tonight I prayed not for those things, merely for my own knowledge, that she would take me to her bosum, that i would once more feed on darkness in others, that I would know power as my own, and be her tool to guide those who were standing in the twilight to the Night itself.
Let me be charming, let me be coy, let me be ruthless, and wise. Show me how to use what the surface dwellers see as weakness, let this weakness be my sheild, my facade while I garner what it is you wish, mother. Teach me to be a weapon, to be the voice, to be the undenaible. Show me what it is you desire, tell me what it is I must do. I will not rest, until even unknowing their actions speak of your violence, your pain, your pleasure and your power. I will not sleep untroubled, until your name becomes what is below, above. I will not gift myself into the arms of you, to that succor of endless rest, until I have become what you wish. I will teach, I will lie, I will decieve, i will play the parts given to me, converting one by one, until once more there is no doubt that you are SHE who will not be denied.
Was it the pain? Was it my own start of insanity? I felt her. knew her. As a lover, as a form beside me. I lay against nothing and in it, felt the body of anouther, and within that nothingness, I was regifted. Power. Horror. Fear, loathing.Unending pleasure, and horriable agony. I will be the flower that blossums and blooms. I will be the hand that pleases, and pains. There will be no drawn line I will not seek out. I am the shadow, the time before Night, the usher into the darkness. I will be quite simply the voice that calls to awaken those who slumber is false safety. A kiss, and then I slept. I dreamed of home, of station and duty. I dreamt of Her. Once more..she spoke to me, and I recall every tone.
"No."