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A Calling[]
It was summer. The birds sang and chirped as they always had, the sun shone brightly through the deep green canopy covering the bridges that linked tree to tree. The local boys, all tall and tanned from their various forms of play and learning, had spent much of their day climbing to tie a rope to one of the higher, stronger branches in the trees that were our homes. The other girls all gathered, their pale hair glimmering gold and red in the sunlight while they giggled, each one betting the others the boy they fancied would swing higher, and farther than any of the others.
I, of course, was not in this group.
I stood in the middle of one of the rope bridges that formed the walkways of our home. I could hear the faint giggling of the girls, and the laughter of the boys, on the platform above me, but standing there, it was always easy to tune out. I could watch while the sunlight shone through the forest roof above, each ray highlighted against the deep green leaves until it dispersed to join with the rest, lighting the forest floor. The breeze carried the sweet smell of the trees, lichen, moss, and flowers bringing a smile to even my face. As a child and I suppose even for a sylvan, I had always been serious, quiet. I had often heard my mentors, and once even my mother, describe me as a grey child. The colors of the world had often seemed washed out and distant to me, and I often didnt realize how this might affect how I might act towards the rest of the world.
Ive gotten off track. You may need to excuse the occasional wandering, as this story, even after so much time, is still rather hard for me to tell. If I dont write it now, however, I might not ever get to it.
I stood in the middle of the bridge, watching the birds swoop and play through the shafts of sunlight, hearing them sing their joys and loves. Behind me the other children played. A particularly large boy took his turn on the rope, and took a good hard run at the edge of the platform. To clear up, this platform was slightly higher up than I, and normally the other children are careful to measure the length of the rope to ensure it doesnt actually come across the bridge, but someone was lax this time around. The boy took his swing, the rope twisting until he was facing back where hed leaped from, leaving him unaware of the mistake until he collided with me.
Being rather small, and caught completely off guard, it didnt normally take much to knock me over, and the combined force of his weight and the swing, rather nicely sent me over the edge of the guard rope. I found myself in free fall towards the ground. Looking up, I could see the dark color of the leaves highlighted against the pale sky, a beautiful sight. My left leg hit the ground first, I could feel it shatter, and then my hip, followed shortly after by my arm and shoulder. Red clouded my vision as I briefly felt my head make its contact with the ground, I closed my eyes.
I opened them again immediately. But I wasnt lying on the floor of the forest staring at the beautiful sky, I was standing. Standing before the dark Ebon Gates, they filled my vision. That is until I spotted the grey clad figure standing quite near. She was beautiful. Her features expressionless, the white feathered wings would have put the most gorgeous swan to shame. There were no words, and I knew there was no need for them. She was Gosaena, revered among Sylvans, to a lesser extent than Imaera, but everything with a beginning must have an end. It was after a few long moments staring into those ice blue eyes, that I again opened my eyes.
The village empaths had managed to heal my body, their skilled hands, and amazing talents leaving me without mark from my incident. My mother lay over me in the bed, sobbing. Apparently I had died, Imaeras cleric stood over my bed, looking drained, but pleased with himself. It wouldnt be many years later before Id discovered the joy of bringing back life, and the connection it provides with those we follow, but seeing the look in his eyes told me all Id needed to know. There were no questions left. The memory of those ice blue eyes lingers sharp in my mind, even all these years later. Often, I think, granting wisdom that I had not previously earned.
I travel now; to find the reason I was called to the gate before my time, and sent back. I have no words of wisdom to tell me what it might be, only the sense that when I do it, I will know. Sending each soul to meet its proper destination, be it to pull it back from the gate as theyd not yet met their time, or to send them to meet the ice eyed goddess, who will yawn the gate open to accept them.
Orainissa
Year 5108
Leaving Home[]
The snow fell thick over the forests, leaving the small village cocooned in a heavy blanket of winter. The silence encasing the hyrrad-strewn trees was eerie, but the Sylvan watchmen making their way along the rope walkways joining tree to tree attributed it to the heavy, sound dampening snow. Stopping for a moment along his route, one man turned to watch the dark forest beyond the edge of the touch lights. For one moment the darkness seemed to move, and then suddenly it swelled.
First dozens, and then hundreds of trolls spilled into the faint light. With their monstrous arms it took the first of the creatures mere seconds to climb up the trees, swarming the small grove. A sharp cry of alarm was all the Sylvan managed before being hefted easily into the air by a long hairy arm, and launched against a far tree. The wet thud of his body hitting the tree was drowned out by screams and the sound of ripping hides.
The first cry spread quickly through the village, reaching they hyrrads at the far end side of the village. A tall blonde Sylvan woman sprang from her bed, not even attempting to dress as she ripped a small dark haired girl from her bed. The girl let out a gasp of surprise, stumbling sleepily on her feet before looking questioningly up at the woman.
“Out the back and don’t stop running, Ora.” The woman rushed towards the front of the dwelling, grabbing her bow as she ran past, pausing to turn back for a moment, yelling “Go, now!” before she disappeared from the hyrrad.
Ora stood there another moment after the woman vanished from sight. Staring at the flap, she could hear the sounds beyond. People screamed and trolls roared, the sounds of weapons clashing, her family and her friends defending themselves. Finally she ducked out the back, dropping to the ground and shivering as the snow began to cling to her nightgown. The fighting was spreading quickly through the village, but had not yet reached her hyrrad. The others fighting kept the trolls from spreading too quickly, though the overwhelming force was slowly pushing its way towards her. The thick snow quickly covered the small tracks her light feet made.
She ran for what felt like forever before she finally stopped, exhausted, and crawled into the heart of a deep thorn thicket. The thorns ripped at the bottom of her nightgown, scratching painfully across her unprotected skin. Peering back through the snow, she could see a reddish glow lighting the horizon. Quickly she dug into the snow, creating a hole to hide in before she curled up, watching the glow spread and brighten across the night sky.
The snow stopped as the sun finally pulled itself over the horizon, the night seems to have lasted for years, rather than just the few hours that had passed before dawn. Smoke hung heavily around the trees, but the normal sounds of the forest had returned. Quiet in winter she could hear the far away deer nibble and a few snow birds chirped sleepily from their nests. Slowly Ora crawled from the thicket, beginning to warily pick her way back through the forest, through the smoke to where her home had once been.
The burnt skeletons of the trees she used to know so well stuck up from the ground, horribly grotesque pillars leading to the grizzly graveyard that used to be home. Slowly she made her way through the burnt wreckage, turning her face away from the sight of burned bodies, only to be confronted by more. Finally, a familiar object seemed to rise through the wreckage, and she scrambled over the scorched earth to see it. The seemingly un-scorched bow peered half way through the debris. Lifting the bow slightly, it snapped suddenly in her hand, a skeletal hand wrapped around the scorched wood fell from under the debris pile. With a loud cry she dropped to the her knees, head falling forward as she let out a loud cry, the sound echoing through the forest.
It was nearly midday before Ora had finally cried herself dry, her pale blue eyes sweep over the wreckage that once was her home, the sight scorched forever into her memory. Carefully she rose to her feet and made her way slowly through the burned wreckage. Once reaching the edge, she began her way north, where she knew the trail to Ta’Illistim would lie.
Four days of walking, resting for a few brief hours through the night, and Ora finally emerged from the forest’s edge. She was cold, her thin nightgown tattered and torn. She knew to the west was the land of the Humans, the town of Wehnimer’s Landing, wild and untamed. She knew, while she could read the Common language, there was no practice in the actual speech. To the east was Ta’Illistim, then Shining City, and one of the seven Elven cities. While she’d not yet met an Elf, she did have a vague familiarity with the Elven language. Turning east, she began her way slowly up the trail, watching the snow pass beneath her feet, step by step.
It was another day and a half before Ora saw or even heard anyone else along the trail. From behind her a large wagon rolled up, wheels cutting deep into the fresh fallen snow. Two large oxen pulled the rig, a virtual cottage on wheels. The driver was unlike anyone she’d seen before in her 80 years of life. His features appeared to be elven, at least from the descriptions she’d heard others give of the Elves, but his skin was black, nearly ebon in color. His hair was meticulously brushed and braided, and was as white as the snow surrounding them, but his eyes were liquid pool of swirling green.
Pulling up along side Ora, the man spoke, his elven accent seemed harsh in her ears. “My it’s a long way out for one so little, and badly dressed for the weather. Why don’t you climb up here with me, Child, give me your name and we’ll get you somewhere warm.”
She paused, momentarily mesmerized by the strange man before she nodded, climbing up out of the snow and into the seat next to the driver. “I… named Orainissa. Thank you.” her elven was slow and she trembled as she settled in next to him.
“Of course ,Orainissa… here, wear this cloak, we’ll find something else to warm you further when we stop for the night,” he spoke as he draped his cloak over the small girl. Then, giving the reins a quick flip, the oxen began plodding forward again.
The dawn peered over the trees as the back door of the wagon opened, a small bundle wrapped with a black cloak was heaved easily from the back of the wagon, and into the snowy ditch. A faint groan emanated from the bundle as it his the ground. Closing the door behind him, Dark Elf made his way to the front of the wagon and flipped the reins, wheels groaning as the wagon pulled away.
Hours passed by, and the dark unmoving lump on the side of the road was soon covered with a thin dusting of snow. The air was finally filled with sound again, the creaking of an old cart pulled by a pair of somewhat scruffy looking Elves. The cart was filled with soft linen and other fabrics, bound for sale in Ta’Illistim. The pair were hoping to make a profit while the supplies were low in the city. They paid very little attention to the lump in the ditch, until one heard it groan faintly. Stopping suddenly in their tracks, they quickly set the cart down and slid into the ditch to carefully unwrap the rather damp package. Pulling open the cloak, they exposed the battered face beneath. One Elf lifted a bruised and abused Ora from the snow, and carrying her to their cart. Gently he laid the body among the fabric, while his companion pulled what he could, bundling the fabric around Ora to help keep her warm. Carefully, both men made their way back to the front of the cart, lifting the cart again, pulling the unconcious Ora ever further from her home.