Ashes by Stelmarta

Hello again! This chapter was almost on time, close enough I suppose. This one's dedicated to St. Patrick, because not only did he introduce Christianity to Ireland, but also gave us a great excuse for a holiday. I can't make any promises for the next chapter; it's coming along very slowly. Mata ne!



PART XII – The Aurora

Crow looked out at the sky through her window. The moons had long since passed her view, but the stars were bright. It was almost midnight. A violent shiver ran through her body as a hint of light flashed at the edge of the horizon. It came again, but larger, and again, waves of light heralding the oncoming tide. Soon, the entire sky was filled with sheaves of radiant color – the Aurora. It was the day of the Heguinides Hejffeclipse.

Crow knew, from her training as a shaman, that this was no ordinary aurora. It was the wedding present from Brayan to his brother, Dust. There was no way that it could be natural, they were far too south.

She shivered again and turned away from the window. She might have enjoyed the aurora, if it hadn't been on the day of her death.

She could still see it, though; the colors were cast onto the white walls of her room. Cayn had attempted to make her cell more comfortable, being as she was the guest of honor by attempting to disguise the fact that it was halfway underground with a coat of paint and a proper bed. He couldn't, however, in all his might, change it from what it was: a prison.

She lay down on her bed, but didn't even close her eyes; she knew that sleep would not come.

What a way to spend one's last day alive, she thought despondently, all the other Ashes' spent their last hours with their friends and family, experiencing mortal beauty to the fullest. Then they would go to their house, or at the foot of their favorite tree, or simply sit down with their parents, and pass to the next world in peace. Simply, quietly, and without fanfare or tears. Some would undergo a ritual, depending on their customs, such as drinking poison, jumping in a lake with weights tied to their ankles, or at the feet of a priest. Not at the mercy of the leader of a cult, a boy too bloodied to be called a boy anymore. Not in a cell.

None of the others had had regrets, either. They knew who they were from the time of their births to their deaths, and had prepared for it. They had been taught from the beginning that they were receiving a great honor, a gift, and had come to eagerly look forward to their ascension to the heavens. Same for their families, once their beloved daughter passed on, they would receive bounty from Dust for another twenty years as a reward for taking care of her during her stay in the mortal world. The crops would grow, healthy children would be born, and Ashes would be remembered with fondness and gratitude for many generations.

But from the first, Crow's father, the old shaman, denied her identity. He couldn't bear the thought of loosing his only child, and the only thing of his wife's left to hold onto. So he hid the knowledge from her and the entire community. He had Seen it at her birth, there was no doubt, for he gave her her name: Crowmariqel, the morning star, the 'Leading Light'. But he dropped no other hints, let no suspicion enter the village. He only told the old legend once, and then at a direct question.

She found out eventually, how could she not, when the memories of her past lives began to bubble up to the surface of her dreams? Once the questions became too much for her young mind she got an explanation out of her father.

It hadn't seemed like such a big deal at the time. Twenty years old seems a long way away when you're eight, and she thought she had all the time in the world. She couldn't help wondering what would have happened had the old shaman revealed to the rest what a great honor the gods had bestowed upon his daughter. Maybe everyone would still be alive; maybe right now she would be resting underneath the stars, watching the Aurora with gladness, instead of fear.

But Cayn would have come anyway, she knew this, and there was no stopping him short of divine intervention. And she had prayed every night to the gods for this intervention since he had first found her.

But there was never any answer. No shamanic rituals, fasting, or vows of any kind had yielded results, not even talking to the gods themselves. She was inexorably drawn to her fate, there were no pauses, no reprieves, no second chances. Cayn would kill her at noon today and receive Dust's blessing.

This was his reason for every one of his actions, this god-given bounty. He killed her family so there would be no one else. He would be killing her in a few hours, because he believed that handing Dust an unwilling Ashes was sure to improve his reward. And he had made sure that Crow would be unwilling, simply by reminding her every day that it was her fault that the Tori had been destroyed. She knew that this was his aim, but the accusation still hit its mark, because she had been blaming herself for that every day since on her own.

And she knew that there was no escape; whether or not Cayn killed her with his own hand. Dust would claim what was his no matter what she, or anyone else, tried to do.

She could not win today, and her mind was darkened by the knowledge.

~*~

/ A figure in black stood in a pool of blood. Arms open, a gesture of welcome to a dark embrace. His robes made no ripples in the crimson surrounding him, and his face was shadowed. There was another, standing nearby, a figure in white. She was real, her bare ankles were stained and she sent little waves to the end of the ocean of blood every time she moved. She was talking; her words were indistinguishable at first but slowly came into clearer focus.

She was begging for deliverance, if not for her than for the others. But her real meaning was made clear and it hung in the air like a thick fog. Don't kill me, she meant. The figure in black was silent and motionless, but his rebuke flowed through the air, dispelling the fog of the truth like a gust of wind; you are selfish, like a human. But that's what I am! She screamed back, but the truth betrayed her again; but that's what I want to be! Too late, too late, the figure silently replied, that which is made by mortal hands will be unmade by them. She cried out, and whispered a denial. No rebuke awaited her this time, but the scene slowly faded out. The figure in black remained clear the longest, and just before the image was gone, a pair of pale eyes flashed from the shadows. /

/ Too late. /

Owl started out of his rest, sweat on his brow and his heart pounding. The dream…no, the message, had been very clear.

He kneaded his eyes with the heel of his hand, how could he have misjudged Crow so? How could he have mistaken her fear and her pain for cowardice and treachery? The dream had let him see that she had tried. For all that she would be able to care, he knew why now, and wouldn't forget.

Everything was changing. The revenge that he had set upon so long ago seemed to be unimportant and selfish now, no longer a noble quest for justice. But it was too late to turn back now.

He got up, severely doubting his ability to sleep after a dream like that and went to the window. There was an aurora sweeping its way across the night sky. It was utterly spectacular to behold, but he couldn't dismiss the unsettling knowledge that they were far too south for it to be possible.

After a moment he tore away his gaze from the captivating lights. Laesha was sleeping soundly, curled up against the wall. She had exhausted herself before going to sleep by testing her ability to change shape numerous times, preparing for the revolt the next day.

He turned back to the window. A new light was beginning to soften the edge of the horizon: the light of dawn.