"Accepted in the spirit in which it was conveyed. Be well. All shall be well."
--
Screaming gales threatened to fleece the stone from the mountain, and pale knives of frost were helplessly subjected to the whims of the storm. Her heavy cloak valiantly endeavoured to resist the tempest's ardour, the thick furs of the garment rippling like water in the zephyr. A towering silhouette, enveloped by the blizzard, trudged through the thick snow ahead of her, forcing a path through the drifts. A shimmering violet glare peered from under the hood and could see naught but the form of her imposing guide.
And yet, though the glacier protested with all its might, she would not be denied.
She reached out a hand, guarded by leather, to grasp the shroud of the figure ahead of her. It was impossible to gauge how far they had travelled or for how long, for the meaning of time and distance had evaporated long ago to be replaced with the single-minded determination that forced her to mechanically place one foot in front of the other.
Their wordless campaign came to a halt after what seemed to be an eternity when her guide stopped suddenly, nearly causing her to collide with his back. Eager to bark out a word of rebuke despite knowing that the wind would fervently kidnap her words, she peered around her companion's form and was both relieved and agitated to be greeted with the sight of familiar black granite. The snow had obscured much of the elaborate designs carved on to the surface, but it mattered not; simply seeing the texture of the structure ahead of her was enough to trigger the words and patterns that she had spent countless cycles memorizing. She stepped around her guide confidently, unfazed by the drift reaching up to her abdomen and nearly up to her chest, and placed a gloved finger on to the surface of the door. A quiet murmur escaped her lips, and a gloved finger reached out to trace elaborate yet unseen patterns on the polished surface. Suddenly, the pattern that she had duplicated lit in a blazing orange while simultaneously giving way to immense groaning, the granite wall sinking into the ground with a grinding protest.
Ungracefully did she and her guide stumble into the sheltering embrace of the structure as the wall gave way, her guide following in stoic silence. With a rasping complaint similar identical to its opening, the black granite wall began to rise from the ground, shutting out the blizzard with resolute denial.
An unrestrained gasp of relief escaped from her lips as she bent over with her hands on her knees to briefly catch the breath that had been whipped away from her by the winds. Such respite quickly forfeited itself to her hands impatiently beginning to undo the leather straps that held the cloak of white fur together. She pulled the hood away from her face to reveal a rounded face, splattered with elaborate face paint on smooth skin the shade of dark gray stone, accompanied by lustrous ebony scales that curved into slender horns framing her head. Glimmering violet eyes sparkled in the light with long, unkempt dreadlocks of sable black hair tied near the back of her head. Her slanted eyes seemed permanently fixed in stern disapproval, and a thin mouth was ever ready to crease itself into a frown.
The hallway was illuminated in cool, lustrous light. Old but well-maintained stones of polished black granite, identical to the shifting wall that marked the entrance, constructed a wide semi-circular tunnel. An otherworldly glow, constantly shifting in hue and shade, was emitted from fanciful designs on the walls that only existed as twists and curves, generating a comfortable amount of lambency that allowed the pair's surroundings to be visible. The female Xaela swept a hand through her locks to clear them of snow before sweeping her cloak off of her. Removing the heavy cloak revealed thick yet practical robes of tanned hide and argent fur that was worn in two layers and fell loosely around the Xaela's slender form. Her guide wordlessly extended a hand to take the cloak from her as she tilted her head to the taller male, still veiled by his shroud.
"Remain until the storm has passed. After, inform your brothers." the female Xaela said softly, though the confined space of the stone hall and the occasional howl of wind caused the amplified echoes to carry deep into the structure. The male merely nodded stoically as the female turned and began to venture into the hallway. The incandescent patterns seemed to grow dimmer and dimmer the further into the tunnel she went, but she had traversed this tunnel often enough that its layout and its doors had become second nature to her.
The reticent tapping of her boots on the impossibly smooth floor continued in utter silence, the stone of the floor evaporating into inky blackness until eventually it found itself accompanied by similar sounds, and though she could not see them, the Xaela could sense the others also moving in the other hallways. The faint luminosity of the hallway was naught but a tiny, defiant glimmer behind her, and she had now been completely shrouded in darkness. It was now a void, with nothing but the steps of her fellow Tsenkhai left to accompany her.
All she knew in this moment was to place one foot in front of the other, though at this point she could not even be sure if her feet were truly being placed in the right positions to maintain forward movement.
The bell. The first chime. Her feet froze. The steps of the Tsenkhai ceased.
The bell, again. The second chime. She raised her left hand.
The bell, again. The third chime. A curl of the fingers.
The sensation that was impossible to adjust to. The runes of impossible patterns boring themselves into her skull, invading her mind. In one second, she felt one hundred thousand years. The patterns stretched. Thoughts became words. Words became sound. Sound became colours, a show of brilliant chromatics that were impossible to describe or imagine. The colour of truthful insincerity. The colour of idiosyncrasies that did not distinguish the personality. The colour of memories that were recalled unbidden. The colour of grief that had failed to harden into regret.
And then the colours sang, as they stretched inside her, without her, above her concepts of height. Inflating to the size of tolerance, amplified by the graciousness one felt when an unfamiliar host unwittingly offered exhibited a pleasant melancholy. The sounds were familiar, the notes to the melody the same as they ever were.
The bell. The fourth chime. Her eyelids closed.
"Paasejhc," she spoke. Her voice was soft and lilting, the voice of a blossom that spurned the bees.
It was not a word. It was merely a series of sounds, a series of syllables, imagined on a whim. Pointless in its utterance, insignificant in its absent definition. Meaningless, and therefore more meaningful than anything.
"Paasejhc, paasejhc," a cacophony of feminine voices echoed, a chorus of rivers that ended in futility.
The bell, the fifth chime. They waited for the colours to speak, yet it only watched in sorrow.
All shall be well.
Arrange your own betrayal. All shall be well.
Mysteries are fire, for the truth burns. All shall be well.
It is so, so it is not. All shall be well.
Rend yourself. One more scar among many. All shall be well.
Her eyes flew open, the violet glimmer replaced by the colours.
Flames at her feet, with puffs of sickeningly sweet smoke and mist. She discarded the pages and threw her books upon the pyre. The flames shrunk. She removed the fur and threw her clothing upon the pyre. The flames shrunk. She peeled her skull and threw her skin upon the pyre. The flames shrunk.
All shall be well.
--
The blizzard had ceased. So, too, did the Khadai.
They felt the Forfeiture howling, tugging with all of its might, threatening them that their hearts may leap out of their chest. Kaizhan fell, a silent scream accompanying the thud upon the snow. Kasrjin fell, for the Forfeiture would not accept refusal.
All shall be well.
--
To Be Continued
--
Screaming gales threatened to fleece the stone from the mountain, and pale knives of frost were helplessly subjected to the whims of the storm. Her heavy cloak valiantly endeavoured to resist the tempest's ardour, the thick furs of the garment rippling like water in the zephyr. A towering silhouette, enveloped by the blizzard, trudged through the thick snow ahead of her, forcing a path through the drifts. A shimmering violet glare peered from under the hood and could see naught but the form of her imposing guide.
And yet, though the glacier protested with all its might, she would not be denied.
She reached out a hand, guarded by leather, to grasp the shroud of the figure ahead of her. It was impossible to gauge how far they had travelled or for how long, for the meaning of time and distance had evaporated long ago to be replaced with the single-minded determination that forced her to mechanically place one foot in front of the other.
Their wordless campaign came to a halt after what seemed to be an eternity when her guide stopped suddenly, nearly causing her to collide with his back. Eager to bark out a word of rebuke despite knowing that the wind would fervently kidnap her words, she peered around her companion's form and was both relieved and agitated to be greeted with the sight of familiar black granite. The snow had obscured much of the elaborate designs carved on to the surface, but it mattered not; simply seeing the texture of the structure ahead of her was enough to trigger the words and patterns that she had spent countless cycles memorizing. She stepped around her guide confidently, unfazed by the drift reaching up to her abdomen and nearly up to her chest, and placed a gloved finger on to the surface of the door. A quiet murmur escaped her lips, and a gloved finger reached out to trace elaborate yet unseen patterns on the polished surface. Suddenly, the pattern that she had duplicated lit in a blazing orange while simultaneously giving way to immense groaning, the granite wall sinking into the ground with a grinding protest.
Ungracefully did she and her guide stumble into the sheltering embrace of the structure as the wall gave way, her guide following in stoic silence. With a rasping complaint similar identical to its opening, the black granite wall began to rise from the ground, shutting out the blizzard with resolute denial.
An unrestrained gasp of relief escaped from her lips as she bent over with her hands on her knees to briefly catch the breath that had been whipped away from her by the winds. Such respite quickly forfeited itself to her hands impatiently beginning to undo the leather straps that held the cloak of white fur together. She pulled the hood away from her face to reveal a rounded face, splattered with elaborate face paint on smooth skin the shade of dark gray stone, accompanied by lustrous ebony scales that curved into slender horns framing her head. Glimmering violet eyes sparkled in the light with long, unkempt dreadlocks of sable black hair tied near the back of her head. Her slanted eyes seemed permanently fixed in stern disapproval, and a thin mouth was ever ready to crease itself into a frown.
The hallway was illuminated in cool, lustrous light. Old but well-maintained stones of polished black granite, identical to the shifting wall that marked the entrance, constructed a wide semi-circular tunnel. An otherworldly glow, constantly shifting in hue and shade, was emitted from fanciful designs on the walls that only existed as twists and curves, generating a comfortable amount of lambency that allowed the pair's surroundings to be visible. The female Xaela swept a hand through her locks to clear them of snow before sweeping her cloak off of her. Removing the heavy cloak revealed thick yet practical robes of tanned hide and argent fur that was worn in two layers and fell loosely around the Xaela's slender form. Her guide wordlessly extended a hand to take the cloak from her as she tilted her head to the taller male, still veiled by his shroud.
"Remain until the storm has passed. After, inform your brothers." the female Xaela said softly, though the confined space of the stone hall and the occasional howl of wind caused the amplified echoes to carry deep into the structure. The male merely nodded stoically as the female turned and began to venture into the hallway. The incandescent patterns seemed to grow dimmer and dimmer the further into the tunnel she went, but she had traversed this tunnel often enough that its layout and its doors had become second nature to her.
The reticent tapping of her boots on the impossibly smooth floor continued in utter silence, the stone of the floor evaporating into inky blackness until eventually it found itself accompanied by similar sounds, and though she could not see them, the Xaela could sense the others also moving in the other hallways. The faint luminosity of the hallway was naught but a tiny, defiant glimmer behind her, and she had now been completely shrouded in darkness. It was now a void, with nothing but the steps of her fellow Tsenkhai left to accompany her.
All she knew in this moment was to place one foot in front of the other, though at this point she could not even be sure if her feet were truly being placed in the right positions to maintain forward movement.
The bell. The first chime. Her feet froze. The steps of the Tsenkhai ceased.
The bell, again. The second chime. She raised her left hand.
The bell, again. The third chime. A curl of the fingers.
The sensation that was impossible to adjust to. The runes of impossible patterns boring themselves into her skull, invading her mind. In one second, she felt one hundred thousand years. The patterns stretched. Thoughts became words. Words became sound. Sound became colours, a show of brilliant chromatics that were impossible to describe or imagine. The colour of truthful insincerity. The colour of idiosyncrasies that did not distinguish the personality. The colour of memories that were recalled unbidden. The colour of grief that had failed to harden into regret.
And then the colours sang, as they stretched inside her, without her, above her concepts of height. Inflating to the size of tolerance, amplified by the graciousness one felt when an unfamiliar host unwittingly offered exhibited a pleasant melancholy. The sounds were familiar, the notes to the melody the same as they ever were.
The bell. The fourth chime. Her eyelids closed.
"Paasejhc," she spoke. Her voice was soft and lilting, the voice of a blossom that spurned the bees.
It was not a word. It was merely a series of sounds, a series of syllables, imagined on a whim. Pointless in its utterance, insignificant in its absent definition. Meaningless, and therefore more meaningful than anything.
"Paasejhc, paasejhc," a cacophony of feminine voices echoed, a chorus of rivers that ended in futility.
The bell, the fifth chime. They waited for the colours to speak, yet it only watched in sorrow.
All shall be well.
Arrange your own betrayal. All shall be well.
Mysteries are fire, for the truth burns. All shall be well.
It is so, so it is not. All shall be well.
Rend yourself. One more scar among many. All shall be well.
Her eyes flew open, the violet glimmer replaced by the colours.
Flames at her feet, with puffs of sickeningly sweet smoke and mist. She discarded the pages and threw her books upon the pyre. The flames shrunk. She removed the fur and threw her clothing upon the pyre. The flames shrunk. She peeled her skull and threw her skin upon the pyre. The flames shrunk.
All shall be well.
--
The blizzard had ceased. So, too, did the Khadai.
They felt the Forfeiture howling, tugging with all of its might, threatening them that their hearts may leap out of their chest. Kaizhan fell, a silent scream accompanying the thud upon the snow. Kasrjin fell, for the Forfeiture would not accept refusal.
All shall be well.
--
To Be Continued
