Memories and Heartbeats
by Vicki Stephenson
Disclaimer: Elfquest characters, situations and their distinctive likenesses are
trademarks of Warp Graphics, Inc. This is simply fan fiction.
She sits, high and regal, above the stone floors, shadows shifting around her still and delicate form. Her pale skin is porcelain; her eyes are vacant seas. She is draped in white folds of softness and upon her blonde head rests a tall crown of intricate swirls. She stares ahead, seeming to never blink, waiting vigilantly to be called upon to perform her duty.
Memories drift through the fog of her mind, like seeds carried by the wind looking for fertile soil in which to rest. Some memories suddenly become clear and close, then they move away unhurriedly into the shadows. Most of her memories carry a familiar face, his features becoming hazier with the passing of time.
Time's passage is meaningless to her. When she first came to sit upon her cold throne so long ago, she sometimes felt the need to move and stretch. But eventually it came to matter little, as she drank the healer's potions and devoted herself to the one meaningful gift she could give to her people; her one and only reason to continue breathing. Since then, she has had the mountain's time to contemplate her life in silence.
She feels soothed in her detached way as a warm memory enfolds her of a smiling face with twinkling blue eyes bright as stars. Sinewy arms entwine her waist, as she glides in a dance with her mate. Laughter, which died ages ago, echoes through her mind, and then falls away. She and he were filled with hope, then. Hope of creating new life from their own essences, hope of seeing their Lord smile again. Waiting at their side, a round white face surrounded in black peers above a feathery robe. The figure's skeletal hands promise life as they touch the blonde elf's abdomen and she feels the healing power emanate from them. Then blackness presides as the memory fades.
The chambers are silent except for the hushed brushing of clothing as a glider floats up to her. She stares at him, barely seeing him. He may have been a friend or brother at one time, but it matters little to her, now. She quietly accepts the fluid he gently pours into her mouth. When he is finished he pauses, as he always does, to look at her face. He sighs softly and moves a few blonde strands from her forehead. Then he is gone.
Suddenly, another memory scratches across her senses. Ancient despair fills her as once again in her mind the lifeless bits of flesh expel themselves from her body. It is not physically painful, except that her heart shatters as she realizes what she has lost. She lays on the floor feeling nauseous, heaving until her chest feels it should burst. She feels hands pulling her, and then arms around her shoulders. Her lifemate's pale face is obscured by her tears, then she feels his mouth upon her cheek and tastes his own salty sorrow as it wanders to her lips.
Her thoughts are snapped to the present as her keeper speaks a simple command, "Door, open." It is her gift to her people to protect the entryways from the curious five fingers. Only the healer may decide who comes and goes. She barely notices as she absently uses her powers to move the stone below, creating an opening to the world outside. Before she can drift back to her musings, she receives a more urgent command, "Door Close!". She is momentarily confused by the strange quality to the healer's voice. Is it fear, she wonders? No matter, she sends her powers through her delicate hands and melts the rock below her until the opening is closed.
She is vaguely aware that there are raised voices and much movement in the chambers. But beyond her duties, she does not usually wonder. Her mind fades back to the time after she lost her child from her womb.
In her memories, the small mouth above the soft feathers frowns as it explains there is nothing a healer can do. But there is a strange twinkle in the healer's eyes. It arouses suspicion in her sweet mate. She can do nothing to still his mistrust. He insists on speaking to the strange and secretive healer who he has never much cared for. She is beside herself with grief and lost dreams, and does not stop him or go with him.
In the present, she realizes with a start there are new voices below her and she brings her thoughts back to the now. She senses the presence of strangers and feels their sadness. Before she can think on this, she is mentally assaulted by an elf with a strong will. She is shocked and exhilarated at the same time and she cannot resist him. She again melts the rock below her to open a passage for two figures to leave.
Her frame remains still, but one eyebrow lowers slightly as she ponders this strange occurrence. She has difficulty remaining in the present long, however, and she once again slips into her past.
Her memories of the time her mate was missing flash through her mind like figures illuminated by skyfire. She flies through the mountain searching faces, sending questions as far as her skills can reach. She rips at her hair with frustration. No one has answers.
Not until his body is found that evening.
In the present, she is once again startled from her thoughts by the same strong will which had left some time ago. She could not say how much time had passed. She shakes with the force of his anger-tinged sending and, once again, bends to his wishes, opening the mountain's entrance once again. She feels the remnants of her will shudder with distant anger. There was another time someone stronger than she forced her will upon hers and won.
The memory flows over her like rushing water, pulling her under its current. She is standing in one of the aeries screaming at the others to leave her alone, even threatening to scratch out their eyes if they dared to come near. They stare at her, a mixture of shock and pity on their faces, and then silently glide away. Finally alone, she looks over the edge at her mate's bloody form shattered among the rocks below. She felt the bright stars were mocking her by illuminating his broken form, shining their light on his lost blood. She hated that they had seen his once beautiful figure now grotesque with limbs lying in unnatural poses. She felt too overcome to even vomit or weep. Never before had she encountered such grief and such change all at once. She felt ready to plunge forward and take her life as he had.
She hears movement behind her and is suddenly filled with anger that someone would intrude. Her limbs become rigid and her breathing shallow as she strains her ears for an answer to her voiced question: Who is there? The long rustling of fabric against stone tells her it is the alabaster healer. The robed figure moves to stand beside her and says that her mate was weak and selfish. He took his life when he could have given it to his people. The healer speaks of ways to ease the grief, to slip into a fogged existence where little could hurt an elf. It is suggested that she could give something of herself to her people using her rockshaping gift.
At first, she is unsure and resists. She tries to stubbornly defend her mate's actions, even as she is angry with him for leaving her. But the guileful healer does not allow her time to think, but continues to persuade her with sweet promises of relief and harsh reprimands which bring her shame. The healer is persuasive at a time when her defenses are low and her strength ebbing.
It is not long before she finds herself perched high above an entryway. She has swallowed a potion that the healer had promised would take away her pain. It washes over her senses and dulls them. For a time, she could not say how long, she simply stares ahead, her mind thankfully empty. She opens and closes the passage below with barely a thought, content to have a useful purpose.
It could be the age of the mountain that passes before she begins to remember, distantly, how she came to be Door. Once they began, the thoughts and memories have continued to repeat themselves endlessly like the beating of her heart. She sometimes wishes she could stop them, but she can control them no more than her own weak limbs. Her mind is so distant and vacant, she cannot even send for assistance. She simply continues to wait and watch and remember.
Eventually, more strangers come and go from the mountain, interrupting her unnatural cycle. She once again feels pain in the hearts of others as they pass below her. As she vaguely wonders about them, the mountain begins to shudder and she is puzzled when the walls begin to close in. As they press against her body, she calmly tries to move them back with her rockshaping abilities, but the power of the walls are stronger than she and her mind feels weary as her powers weaken. She knows she has the strength left to open the passage below one more time, but she also feels the deadness in her limbs and the weakness in her heart and knows she could not survive beyond the mountain. She feels the pressure of the shifting rock against her form, but her body, numb from potions and disuse, doesn't feel any pain. She lies on her evolving niche silently awaiting her certain death.
As she lies with her cheek against the cool rock, watching the mountain's transformation with bleary eyes, she dimly sees a strange squat figure moving below, holding his side in pain. Though he is not tall, she sees he has elven ears and her heart soars that she can perform her duty to help him. She can use her gift for her people one last time. Even as the rock around her crushes her breast, she uses the last of her will to open the rock below her. She sees the strange figure hesitate, then move out of the mountain.
The beating of her heart stills, she gives her last breath and smiles.