MY GRAVE, THE OCEAN
By J Cae
A/N: Started on July 24, on the 1st Anniversary of the RG series, this short story is meant to be a standalone companion regarding the relationship between Illidan and the Naga from the perspective of Lady Vashj.
My grave, the ocean.
My cool bed of renewal.
My lullaby--sweet waves shall rock me back to sleep.
Cursed, transformed, banished--we Naga are creatures of repulsion and evil. The hideous disfigurements of our bodies cannot be reversed by any great magic, nor cured. We have been sentenced to eternal, edgeless darkness beneath the vast, cruel seas. For thousands of years, we have missed seeing the sky.
And yet we would never miss it.
For we knew, above our heads, over that clear cold water and the drifting white lace, floated the heavens, be it dawning, be it night. All we had to do was to ascend, break the surface, and look.
But we have forgotten how.
For thousands of years, we have waited for the sky to come near us, to take us closer to the surface. Yet we have waited in vain. It only drew further as we sank. Deep in the ocean, we stayed, craving, needing that strength to stand up again. But hope slipped away as all lights drowned out in the endless water realm.
Our hearts fell asleep.
But until that day when the Hand of Fate called us to its side and stirred up a great storm in the ocean...
Shallow waters plunged into the deep, and the deep was tossed and blended at the surface. We heard a voice calling to us who dwell below, awakening us from our dreamless sleep, promising us an altered fate--much better to this we have been cursed to endure.
Power. Homeland. A way out from this grave of ours.
We will be powerful, he told us, we will be beautiful, immortal and we will be loved. We shall be kings and queens on the surface world once again. We shall retake what was rightfully ours.
That voice, that hand--they belonged to our long-awaited master, our saviour and our true destiny.
The god of my heart.
We heeded his call, and to the surface we arose.
Away from our grave, the ocean.
No more shall we sleep.
One smooth of my sister Anaya's oil-slick hair...the silken quality of the ebony tendrils was almost unreal to the touch--so dark, yet so shiny. The pleasing but thick fragrance of the ointment seemed to seep slowly from another world, different and more beautiful than this--I envisioned her to be asleep, in a verdant pasture or a forest green. But not here. Yet my self-deception quickly gave way to the sight that her ageless features, frozen in time, was etched with haunted, eternal pain.
My leathery hands quivered violently as the strand of her hair slipped between my fingers. Oh, what was I thinking? I raised my palms to catch the tears that I thought would fall. But I forgot.
Naga had no tear ducts. No weakness should be shown. Therefore, no need for release from pain. We are warriors--have always been. We would fall, but we would keep on fighting. We question not our ill fate--rather we would strive for a better one.
Picking up one of the ivory pins placed upon the floor, I curled her hair carefully and put it up the way I saw Anaya did when my mother died. Ten pins to carry back to the spiritual world--no more, no less. Now, it was her turn.
I was alone at the darkening cove. Evening had begun to set in, and I was the only mourner.
I crushed some berries into a small cae I had with me, and in it were oyster shells grinded into powder form. I mixed it well. Whispering a lament, I dabbed the violet paint over Anaya's slack face. Warrior's blue mark on her cheek bones, I carefully painted, and a silver band on her forehead I placed. It was tradition--some foolish hope for the departed that she might be reborn a free Kaldorei, and not in some mutilated reptile shell.
Breathing a sigh, I drew the black-dyed linen over her motionless body, wrapping her up with care. Then, I would take her back to the ocean--and she would be dead to my people and I.
I had been struck by the fact that some races burnt their dead--and that satyrs were among those who carried out this brutal tradition. How could the souls of the dead ever find rest after such violent management?
Turning my eyes upon the setting sun, I began to sing to the flaring orange lights and the crimson heavens, an elegy.
I.
I still remember the panic I was in when the Well of Eternity imploded. I was not young enough to say I was innocent to the misuse of Zin-Azshari's power--to my people's faults. My mother and sister, both sorceresses, had explained to me on occasions. Yet still, I could not recall exactly how the explosion took place--only the terror as magical waters rushed into my sanctum and consumed everything in its path.
Though I had always been a strong swimmer, I could see nothing past the turbulent currents. I moved my arms and legs frantically, but I was unable to tell which way it was to the surface. I choked on water--it had a strange salty taste. I would have thrown up, but water just kept washing down my throat.
Drowning was perhaps the most painful death I could envision.
I kept my mouth open, gaping involuntarily like a fish. Almost stubbornly, I tried to suck in breaths when I knew perfectly well no air would enter my nostrils. The water burnt painfully into my lungs. Deprived of oxygen and in a state of total panic, I could not but flail. At the very worst moment when I thought I would die, a rumbling noise above made me look up...
...the rolling waves cleared for a moment and I could see a piece of the roof cave in. Magical energies forced its way through the cracks and fractured it, reducing it to crumbs. I tried to scream, but my voice was muffled. Only one thought shrieked out in my mind--window. Find the window and get out!
I had no idea how I managed to find the window. I pressed my hands against the wall and began to search frantically, as though I was rummaging through a rug for a small lost diamond that just could not be found. Bricks and chunks collapsed on me, and I felt a pain numbing my shoulder. It took me seconds to realize that a fragmented statue had just brushed forcefully past my arm.
Window!
Somehow it materialized before me as though it had been there all along, staring mockingly back at me. I pried it fully open and dove out before the whole roof collapsed to dust suspended in the currents.
Suddenly, my certain death seemed irrelevant.
Other thoughts seeped into my mind--I never figured if I actually cried, but I remembered the horror. My mother and sister should still be somewhere in the vicinity, trapped, if not already crushed to death.
Somewhere, at a distance but not too far away, I heard a shriek that echoed my own mental one. It was the most horrifying sound I have heard--Azshara's denial.
My head spun--I could have been losing consciousness. Or I could have imagined the scream. I could not be sure now. It was too long ago, and I was too afraid.
A monstrous, serpentine creature materialized--its scales were of obsidian glass and I would not have noticed it if it was not for a full swipe of its powerful, spiked tail.
Instinctively I began to pull myself away, only to find another creature, almost identical to the first encircling me. Mother Moon of Mercy! If they were hungry predators, then I certainly would be prey. I knew my chances were slender, but still I searched for a chance to escape--never in my life had I wanted to live more than I had then.
But strangely, the creature caught sight of me and began to retreat clumsily. The scene was so awkward it was almost comic despite my fear and my nearing end. It was as though the reptile was terrified of me--but why would anything be terrified of a drowning girl? My gaze followed it as it surged towards darkness.
And then the first hideous creature neared me.
It moved its mouth. I braced myself for an attack--or at least a terrible howl. Neither happened. Though water obscured sounds, there could be no mistake that it was trying to speak. I heard two names being called, names so familiar to me.
"Anaya? Vashana? Where are you?"
That creature was what my mother had become.
Realization hit me--I was no longer drowning.
I was already dead.
I looked down at my robes, torn at the stomach. My chest rose and fell rhythmically. I was breathing in saltwater, breathing out saltwater. I blinked and figured my vision had become clear without my knowing. The transformation brought about by the magical energies in the water was quick.
And irreversible.
Rather I had drowned that day. Rather that, than to live through eternities of disfigurement and torture.
"Mama?" the other creature that had tried to get away from me responded to my mother's call--that was Anaya. I saw mother's face twist in horror and pain.
"Anaya? How?"
"We have changed, Mama. I do not know how or why."
"I do not understand."
"Look at your hands, Mama."
"Oh, Elune! Oh Elune! How could this be?"
Involuntarily, I drew my eyes to my own hands, half-expecting them to be altered into flippers. But they were still there. Instead of the soft purple hue I was so accustomed to seeing, my hands were a faint tint of blue, leathery and covered with obsidian scales. I gasped in disbelief. Was I also a monstrosity? What had I become?
"Vashana, is that you?"
I told them no. I am not Vashana. I am a monster. I just swam away.
I would have wept for my loss youth and beauty. I could have wept for their fates as well. Yet I felt I must protest. I was no sorceress--oh, all right, I knew a spell or two. But only my mother and sister were serious acolytes of Azshara's dark ways. They were members of her court. I was not. I was too young to be allowed into the sorcerers' guild. If the implosion of the Well was result of their faulty exploitation, why, then, must I also be subjected to punishment?
"Done?"
Master Illidan's voice greeted me as I returned to his base. His tone was somewhat softer than what he would usually use on me. But still...done? Aye, I wanted to say, I have completed the rituals, but I shan't be done with my grieving so soon.
"Aye, master," I only replied. "Anaya has been sent back to the ocean."
He made no comment, but I thought I could read it on his face that he had rather I died and my sister lived. He had always favoured her over me--Anaya the shrewd, wise and brave. Anaya, first in command of his sea witches. She was always sent on more important tasks while I was kept out of everything. He despised me and tried to keep me away from him. But there would be time enough for self-pity later, not now.
"Your sister has left, Vashj," he interrupted my thoughts. "You are the rightful successor to your family's legacy." The unspoken truth--I was the only one still alive to inherit the legacy. "Therefore you are now in charge of the sea witch's council." His voice was not unkind, and yet I gritted my teeth to keep them from clattering in anger. Could he not feel my pain? Was he blind to my feelings as much as he was blind to another's face? I could do it--I could lead the sea witches' order. And yet could he not feel that I was exhausted in heart?
I longed for peace. I longed for Nazjatar. I longed for a space of my own so that I could hide--if only for a while.
But that was what I said, "Aye, Lord Illidan. I am yours to command."
A/N: To be continued...Chapter II is on its way.