Shadows - Shayde Mel'for

[rohenna]

(DUPLICATED IN LYRE-LEI'S STORY)

As the ritual began, the scent of oils and incense seemed to thicken the air. Lyre-lei forced herself to empty her mind, breathing deeply as the prayers rose like waves around her. It was time. She slipped into the shadowfell, tuning all her senses to the location of the shining orb, sending her consciousness probing ahead as the old priestess had taught her.

Ash toned wastelands opened up before her. Grey deserts, white cities, silver forests full of whispers. She travelled faster than ever before, thanks to the aid of the Moonsingers ; their prayers wrapped around her like a cloak, their magics helping her to skim across the landscape.

There it was. The orb. In this world of grey and black and ash, it was almost painfully bright. Lyre-lei slowed as she neared it, noting the bright golden light lacing around it like a webbing...so the Rel priestess had been successful with her blessing.

The shadows began gathering protectively, whispering warnings to her, but she noticed they would not touch the orb. She stepped closer.

“I have come to take what does not belong to you.” The whispers grew louder.

“Not yours to take...the key...the time is near to shatter it, scatter it...the gate shall be opened...”

“You will not stop me. The gate was never meant to be opened. I am Lyre-lei, Shadow Knight, and I will not let you destroy this child!” She stepped closer again. The shadows shifted in one rolling mass, tightening around the orb. Shadowy faces leered at her. Clawed ashen fingers scratched in her direction.

The whispering became almost a unified shout as the voices drew together.

“IT IS TIME. IT IS THE KEY! THE GATE SHALL BE OPENED!”


In her little cottage by the docks, Shayde cried out, suddenly grasping at the table, doubling over. Her fingers missed and she collapsed on the floor, curling protectively around her belly, crying out in pain.


Lyre-lei inhaled sharply. The shadows swirled up in a large vortex around the orb so thickly that its light was concealed. A sense of someone urging her...NOW!...and she pushed forward blindly, drawing from a scabbard at her side a blade etched with holy symbols. In this realm, it shone golden. She brandished it. The shadows fell down around her as she hacked through, interrupting the swirling mass and creating chaos. A second light flashed – the orb...she pushed through the shadows to the centre, and looked up. All around and above her was a thickening darkness as it seemed every shadow form gathered around this hope for their liberation. The priestesses helped her decipher: if the baby’s soul was shattered, it would prise open the gates between the shadowfell and this realm and the shadows would be unstoppable, pouring out of them. It must not come to pass.


Shayde was sobbing now. Waves of pain rolled through her body, and she was helpless to even rise to her feet. As soon as one wave finished, the next would begin, and she felt herself drawing back into that old place where nothing hurt anymore. But her child...grief washed over her...it did not even have a soul...she would lose it and there was nothing she could do...why was he so far away from her...she cried his name...then the child's name...then retreated back into herself where pain could not touch her.

She grew silent, her body moving in response to the convulsions, but her expression placid and her eyes vacant.


Lyre-lei had reached it. She took a deep breath, slipping the sword back into its scabbard, and called out the prayer taught to her by the crone, pulling off her gloves and casting them to the ground. Her bare hands touched the orb. It felt like warm silk threads that wrapped around her fingers in welcome. She held it gingerly to her chest. A warmth spread through her as if her whole body was love. A sob burst from her throat, and she cried out “Mother!”

The orb vibrated a little, and she looked down at it for a brief second, tears running down her cheeks. A small face formed in the glowing mists. Lyre-lei spoke softly. “Go to your mother, Bright One. Go now.”

The orb flickered, then vanished.

“SHE TOOK IT!” The shadows roared. The vortex swirled higher and higher, then plunged down toward the small form of Lyre-lei, her blade once again drawn, luminous in the darkness.


Back in her house, Shayde’s body quietened. Her eyes closed gently, and the soft flush of sleep crossed her cheeks. Her hands strayed to her belly in her slumber, as a small elbow shaped bump appeared and then vanished where the fabric of her dress drew tight over the swelling.


A little further north, in the Temple of Nuarari, six priestesses gathered around the pale, lifeless body of a young woman.

[rohenna]

The woman’s skilled hands travelled gently over the swell of Shayde’s belly. A soft chuckle accompanied the drawing together of her loose gown, and the dark green eyes of the midwife fixed on hers.

“Oh my dear...have you a good friend close by? I’m afraid you won’t be getting much sleep this evening, and nor will I.”

The fires blazed all night in the little cottage by the docks of Cear. As the first light of dawn began to filter the darkness of the city, the candles were burned almost to stumps, the three women in the cottage worked together; a timeless bonding of feminine strength and endurance.

The midwife stepped back as the small body slid free. Reina’s smile spread across her face as the first cry pierced the air, and laced through her musical voice.

"Well...damn...you had to go and give him a son...we will never hear the end of it now..."

"A boy? Oh Reina, I want to see him."

Swaddled, Reina brought the small creature to Shayde, laying him gently in her arms.

"Can I at least...tell him it was a girl until he changes that first diaper?"

Shayde’s laughter was soft, weary, then she gently pulled back the wrap to touch the little hands, long fingers evident already. Her face was aglow with awe and exhaustion, her eyes travelling greedily over him. She smiled softly, sadly, as the fuzz of downy hair on the babe's head revealed a reddish tone.

“Hello young man. I’m your mother. I’ve been waiting to meet you." Wonder rounded out her voice, edged with sadness. “Your father couldn’t be here, but I know he loves you all the same.”

[rohenna]

It was harder than it used to be, climbing up onto the rooftops. The moon hung so smugly and lazily over the city that she was drawn outside, gazing at the sky line for a few moments before restlessness overtook her. A soft cry from within drew her attention a moment.

Half an hour later she was in her climbing leathers, a black sling around her torso, the small bundle wrapped inside. She made her way up the old familiar way; then came to a stop at the first jump between rooftops, her hands instinctively going to the babe. She frowned. This was going to be a little more complex than it once was. Her balance was different now, her body changed, and the babe’s weight on her chest set things differently as well. And this confounded instinct, which drew her hands away from balance to the babe without her conscious thought...just like it was the first time, all over again, Shayde, she told herself. Just take it slow and be patient, and feel your way through it.

It became a battle of instincts; her natural catlike grace over the familiar paths was stilted by the different balance, and her protective instincts set off warnings in her mind she never considered. Suddenly she was taking the slower, sturdier path, avoiding the slippery tiles, steering away from the edge. By the time she reached the summit of her perch, she was mentally weary.

The babe had stayed fairly still for most of the climb; but now she had stopped he began shifting, awakened by the lack of motion. She pulled the wrap back to free his hands, and they pushed out, fingers splayed, as if he were trying to reach for the moon. Shayde chuckled.

“I tried that too. I always wanted to touch the moon...I would not recommend it. Especially after several ales.” She tucked her finger into the tiny palm and the fingers closed around it. Looking out over the rooftops, she thought of all the times she had climbed here, in grief, in joy, in pain, in love, in anger...the first time she had been driven up here was after she had cast Sam away in fear just after they met. A terrible ache filled her now. "The boy needs a name," Ardaion had said, "to welcome him properly." She was waiting...just a little longer...

“Have faith, hun...” Celestia’s gentle words floated around in her mind. Faith. She gazed up at the moon and murmured quietly over the small boy’s head. “Lady of the Lighted Night, can you see him? Can you see my beloved from where you are? Can you keep him safe for me? Deliver my love to him, and bring him home?”

[rohenna]

It came to a head one evening. A song, the tune too familiar; someone had overheard one of his in a tavern and had attempted to learn it by ear. The words were true but the melody was insincere, and to Shayde it seemed as though the whole world had fallen silent but for the mocking, cruel tones of the song, taunting her.

Memories - his scent, his warmth, the way she felt whole when he stood beside her, the way his smile brought laughter so easily to her lips – crashed over her like a cold wave, and finally her heart broke. She rose blindly, unable even to glance at the young bard on stage, and pushed her way out into the cold night air of the docks, gasping and sobbing.

He was gone. Gone, and if he was dead, she would never know how, or why, or whether hers was the last name on his lips...and if he lived, she would never know why he could not, or did not return to her...

A young boy was running past, barefoot. She stopped him, pushed several crowns into his hand, and whispered hoarsely “A horse and a cart please, and I will double the coin when you return.”

Arriving back at her little cottage, she paid the nanny a months wages and bid her a quiet farewell. “We need to go.” She began filling two chests with her things, and another smaller one for Luth’ien’s belongings, her breath heaving. A few of Sam’s tunics, a book, his cards. Those she shoved down deep in the bottom of her chest, unable to face them but knowing one day she would be ready to take them out again.

The boy was kind enough to help her load the cart without asking questions, and so she gave him half an emperor, not noticing in her grief that he stood for a few seconds in disbelief before slipping into the shadows and away. Last of all she bundled Luth’ien quietly into his basket and lifted it onto the cart, climbing up beside him. She would stop in Ravenswatch the next morning and withdraw her savings.

Just past the gates of Cear, she slowed to a halt. She looked back, once, then flicked the reins, urging the horse into the oppressive darkness. She would rest for the next evening in her little inn room. Not their home in Ravenswatch. Not the Vanguard barracks in Lendose, where they had set up their shared quarters; gathering dust now, she imagined. Not her farm. She and Luthien were going to find somewhere away from the war, away from all that was familiar.

Shayde Mel’for-Card, possibly a widow at twenty three, had centuries ahead of her still. If she was going to find a way to deal with this pain and live for her son, she needed to start again, somewhere new.

[rohenna]

She was sitting in the Mistyvale Inn, reeling from the shock of the destruction of the grove near Tristan, having just found the Archdruid, still noble in his grief but bereft all the same. A bright haired man in a dark cloak and spotlessly clean scaled armour sat beside her, his eyes guarded and his tone serious, listening intently as she spoke of being woken from a daze of sorts.

“I have sat idly by and thought of nothing but my own survival. But after that...after seeing what they did...” She paused, shaking her head as words failed her. “I want to make a difference. I have been changed. I cannot no longer ignore what is happening. I...I want to help.”

There was a moment’s silence before the man beside her spoke. “Would you consider joining the Vanguard?”

He turned, and those green eyes found hers, and she gasped softly as first tears came, and then became sobbing...


...Sobbing that drew her from sleep, her arms reaching instinctively for Luth’ien who had been startled into wakefulness by his mother’s dream.

It was not yet dawn, but through the cracks in the curtains she could see the first touches of indigo and gold as darkness began to bow to Rel’s light. Luth’ien settled, content in the warmth of his mother’s embrace. A wakeful Shayde carefully drew the curtains aside to watch the remains of the night catch fire, musing over the dream: so vivid.

Years ago she was transformed by an act of abomination, of grotesque destruction and deliberate desecration. And now where was she? Fleeing a spectre of love, seeking a place to run from herself again? She looked down at the babe in her arms. How did this serve him? It did not. It would teach him to be cowardly, to hide from things; it would show him that his mother had endured trials but in the end had given in to fear.

Was that truly who she was? The woman who climbed the castle walls one night, spent a night in the royal dungeons wondering if she would see the light of freedom again? The woman who battled Thayne Rhaz and eluded the Temple of Lochwar? The scout who had led hundreds of groups of soldiers to the front; who was prepared to sail to Gulashir at a moment’s notice to sabotage the Imperial Highway? Who overcame Tyne McWilliams, and watched as his empire crumbled and burned?

She ran from memories. An aching heart. A shadow she glimpsed in a head of bright hair or a vivid green eye in a crowd...a melody carried across a crowded inn...a scent in an old tunic folded away, a single hair caught between the pages of a book. Leaving Cear had not eased the ache. Her eyes still scanned every crowd, hopeful.

An old saying of her grandfather’s came to mind. “Wherever you go, there you are”.

She had made a promise. Two, in fact. One could not be helped: every beat of her heart held that vow to be true, to bind her life to his. The other was to stand and fight, to make a difference, to offer her life if need be. She was a mother, a wife, a Vanguard and a scout. Nobody had ever said any of it was to be an easy path, and her son needed her to be all of those things if he was to grow into the man she hoped he would be.

Shortly after breakfast, she settled the account with the innkeeper and turned back toward Cear.