Posted at 2015-02-13 13:34:00 — Link
"A silly little story I was working on a while back. I think I remember it being for a contest called "A hidden power." but I'm not really sure. It's years old, really, but I can't decide whether to write it into a long novel. I like the concept though."
The bell ringers
”Klaangk, kluungk, klaangk.”
The heavy sound of the bells came closer and closer to their house.
Yaron clutched his wife's hand closer, feeling her pain and knowing her terror. Would the bells pass by? Or would they stop? Would this, yet unborn, child be important enough to stop for?
”Please, let it be a son, please.” He murmured the words without hope. ”Please.”
A horrid sound came from his wife's lips as she bended in pain of the labor. “Don't let them take her.” she forced the words from her throat. “Don't let them take her.”
Yaron did not answer. He knew, as much as she did, that he could not stop them if they came into the house to claim their daughter. For he believed that his wife was right when she called their child a daughter. Still he could not keep the words from being said. “Please, let it be a son.”
Rea started screaming, a wet and ruined scream that sounded like her throat was torn and bleeding. Her nails dug into his hands as claws, making little pearls of blood sprout on his skin. He clutched her hand, knowing that the birth had been going on for too long, more than a day and a night already, and that she was exhausted.
The bells were getting further away. Their vibrating and dooming sound was disappearing and that seemed to give strength to his wife.
“I did it.” she whispered. “I kept her from them.” And then, she pushed one final time, and as Yaron caught his daughter in his arms, he lost his wife. The small release of her last breath was hidden by the strong and healthy scream of a newborn.
***
“Come back here, Iliade.” Yaron calls to his daughter. “Come here.”
The seven years old girl comes running towards her father. As she runs, she stumbles and falls, only to get back up without crying.
“Monta.” she says, calling him as any young girl calls her father. “Monta, what is this?” she holds a tiny little mouse towards him, smiling. The mouse blinks sleepily towards him, as it cozies up against his daughter's fingers.
“It's a mouse.” he tells her, knowing that she has seen one before. “Why?”
“It says it's Snowflake.” she tells him. “But it's not cold. It's warm.”
Yaron smiles at his daughter. “It's Snowflake the same as you're Iliade. It's its name.”
She frowns at him. “But Iliade's Iliade, and the mouse isn't cold. How can it be a Snowflake?” The little girl is confused, but every bit as stubborn as all seven years old.
Yaron takes the mouse from her, holding it secure between two fingers he turns it around so that she can see the tiny white spot below its belly. “See?” he asks her. “Can you see how a tiny snowflake fell on it when it was born?” The mouse squirms and tries to escape him.
Iliade takes the mouse back, nodding. “That must be it.” she says. “Monta knows everything.” The mouse seems to calm down immediately when she touches it.
A couple of people passes them at the street and Yaron hits his daughter's hands without hesitation. “I've told you!” he hisses. “Stop doing that in front of people.”
A hurt look passes over her face, but disappears quickly enough when he picks her up and into his arms. “Shhh.” he tells her. “You can't let people see. They'll take you away.”
“Sorry Monta.” she whisperers, but Yaron knows why she does it. No one wants to play with her, but the animals. She has been far too sheltered for that and he has kept her far too hidden. The other kids finds her weird and scary and runs from her or calls her names. But he had to do it. Already two girls have been taken away from their families. A little newborn girl, minutes before Iliade had been born, and then another, two years ago, when Iliade had first shown her powers.
He holds his daughter close. He knows that it is her they are searching for. He has known since they took the second girl, a five year old, same as Iliade. And he believed that his wife might had known too, before she died. That that was the reason she kept Iliade in her for so long that it cost her her life.
He sets Iliade down again, smiling, and lets her run off to play again. They are in town for one reason only, and that is to buy food for the next couple of weeks. They have a garden back home, that gives them vegetables enough for the winter. And they have goats, for milking and meat. There is even a little lake not too far away with enough fish that they can even salt some for the winter. But here, in the first month of spring, food is scares in the little homes away from the town and they have to make trips to get flour, salt, cheese, apples and stuff like that, that they cannot make themselves.
He haggles with the man in the shop, an old and angry man, who does not care much for Yaron and Iliade. Still, he gives them a decent price since they are good customers of his. Yaron even manages to get him to throw in some sweet honey covered fruits for his daughter, without extra charge.
That is when he hears them. The dreaded sound that with seven years old, or new born daughters fears and hate.
”Klaangk, kluungk, klaangk.”
The men are covered in black cloaks, so long that they drag through the dust behind them. One carries the large, golden bell that makes the sound, another a long staff decorated with gold. A low humming comes from their throats as they walk through the town, searching.
Yaron's eyes seek out Iliade, sitting at the edge of the road, mouse in her hands again. Fear strikes him. Will they find her this time? Will they take her?
Iliade stares at them, her black eyes huge and curios at the sight. Her mouth is slightly open, her clothing dirty. Maybe they wont notice her, or think her too young. Maybe she will just be another girl to them. Maybe he has nothing to fear.
But one of the cloaked men turns his head towards the girl and stops, and so does the others when they realize.
Yaron starts walking towards Iliade as fast as he can, his heart beating violently with the same fear that makes him nauseous. He does not even dare to call her name for fear of attracting their attention further too her.
The man removes his hood and walks towards her, but stops as she pulls back.
“Hello.” he says, kindly. “What is that in your hand?”
Iliade looks towards her dad, wondering whether to answer or not, but shakes her head when her father does.
“Nothing.” she says and hides Snowflake behind her back. “It's just a rock.” She knows that her dad does not like her talking to strangers, so she releases the mouse behind her back. It falls to the ground and runs away, but the man has seen it.
The man smiles at her.
“Can we talk to you father? Your Monta?” he asks her, politely. “It is important.”
Yaron is close enough to hear it and his shoulders sink together. It's too late. They know. They have seen it. Her powers can no longer remain hidden, just as her existence has been revealed.
“I am her father.” he says. “But she is nothing to you. She was born after the twenty four hours had past and the day had been born again together with the Goddess.”
“Monta.” Iliade says and goes to stand behind him, hiding her face in his pants. Her fathers reaction to these men makes her afraid of them. Are they the men he has told her will come to take her if she does not hide her powers and behave?
“How long after?” The old man asks. “A day? A month? Years?”
A man, one Yaron knew from the old days, before he moved further out to hide from the travelers that might come to town, stepped closer.
“That same night, I believe.” he says. “His wife had been in labor since the daybreak before, but it was hard and something must have gone wrong. She only gave birth much later, and died from it.” He sends Yaron an apologetic look. “I helped bury her.”
The man looks at Yaron and then down at Iliade. “How about you child?” he asks. “Do the animals speak to you? Do the fire dance or the water rise?”
Iliade looks at her father. “Monta.” she says. “Who are they?” Her voice shakes and fear is growing in it. “Will they take me away?”
“Shh.” her father says. “They won't take you away. You were born too late to be of any value to them.”
“If she has the powers...” the man says. “Then she belongs to us.”
“You have your incarnate.” Yaron says, coldly. “You don't need another.”
The man shakes his head. “She hasn't shown any sign of powers.” he tells them. “Animals run from her. Your daughter on the other hand...”
Yaron just stares at him. “Plays with rocks?” he suggest and the men seems to feel uncertain. Most of them only stopped because one of their own did, and only the man who had spoken had seen the mouse run away.
“We will be back to check on her.” he says, but the men continues their wandering without taking Iliade. They seem satisfied to know that she is there, in that town, if anything should happen to their Incarnate or if she should show no signs of the Goddess' powers.
”Klaangk, kluungk, klaangk.”
The bell's sound goes with them, heavy as if proclaiming grief and hurt.
Yaron grabs the food he has bought and takes his daughter's hand in his own, dragging her from town. They need to move, before the bell ringers make it known that there is a girl with powers. They need to get out of there. It hurts to leave the town he has lived most of his life and lost his wife in, but he will not loose his daughter too. He will not loose Iliade. He will protect her. Always.
”Klaangk, kluungk, klaangk.”
***
Iliade smiles as she puts her hands into the water. It has been five years since they moved, and she feels at home by the river where she spends most of her days. She has this lovely place, with thick green grass, where she sits and cuts little figures from wood.
Animals will gather around her, relaxing, and she will play with them as she always has. Her favorite, a squirrel named Yatatask, sits beside her with his ears raised with curiosity.
Will you do the magic water trick? He asks her silently. It's so pretty when you freeze it in the air or dance with it. I love seeing you dance. You're like a squirrel jumping from branch to branch.
She smiles at him but shakes her head. “No.” she says. Twelve years old, she has learned to control the urges to use her powers. Once she hurt her father when she was playing with the fire, and ever since she had not used her powers when others were near. Now she did not even use them when she were alone. Her father still bore the scar upon his chest, an angry red mark, blazing like the fire that burned it, but every bit as ruin and crumbled as a shirt thrown in the dirt.
But it is only her powers with water, earth, air, fire and lightning that she does not use. She still speaks and listens to the animals, as they speak and listen to her. And occasionally she will use her powers to make the plants in their garden grow, or they would not have enough food for winter. She could also sharpen their knifes and other tools without using stones as any other would. She simply places a finger on each side of the blade and drags them from shaft to point. After that, the blade would be sharp enough to split a hair in two.
She lets her fingers glide through the water before collecting them and bringing some up for her to drink from. The water is cool and clean, and flows right down. Then she stands and Yatatask jumps to her shoulder, sitting proudly beside her head.
Are we going back now? He asks, wondering. I don't like it. It smells wrong.
Iliade smiles at him. “I'm sure it's nothing.” she says. “Maybe dad tried to his own cheese again. Remember how it went last time?”
That smelled wrong too. Warm milk, bwadr. The squirrel shakes its tail at the memory. Disgusting.
Iliade laughs, but as she steps into the open place around their house, she also feels that something is wrong. It is quiet, although her father would normally be working by his forge by now. A carriage, black and with covered windows, stands at their gate.
“Father?” she calls, already too old to call him Monta as she had done through her first ten years. “Father is something wrong?” She stops and looks around, everything looks normal. But her dad appears in the doorway, and she knows from his face that something is indeed very, very wrong.
“Iliade.” he says. “They've come. They've found us.”
Chock is the first emotion that hits her, then fear and terror. “Father.” she says. “Will they take me away?” The same words comes from her lips as they did five years ago in town, when the bell ringers came. That same cloaked man who spoke to her that day, steps from the cabin, smiling.
“Iliade.” he says. “We finally found you.” He spreads his arms as if she is supposed to jump right in them and give him a hug. Instead she steps backwards.
“Who are you?” she asks. “What do you want?”
“The fake Goddess-incarnate is dead. Killed by the very animal that her powers should have tamed, and here you are!” he says. “With a squirrel on your shoulder and no doubt all the powers of the Goddess within you.”
Iliade does not know how to react and Yatatask, sensing the pressured situation, jumps from her shoulder and runs off. Iliade does not blame him. She would run, could she, without leaving her father behind.
She knows of the Goddess and the Incarnate. Knows that the Goddess that protects the land, lives within a woman and therefore feels the pain of humans and the sorrows so that she may be merciful. That when the old Goddess-incarnate dies, the new is born into the world twenty-four hours later. But Iliade was born too late, and it cannot be her. It must not be her, for she will not leave her father.
“You are wrong.” she says. “I can speak with animals, but that is all the powers I have.” She knows that they know of her powers with the animals, but they do not know of the others and she will not tell them.
“Really?” the man asks and smiled. “Then we will send you back when you have been examined at the temple, unless we might find use for your powers. After all, we do have a beast that needs taming.”
He steps aside from the door and out comes too large men. The men grabs her and drags her towards the carriage, the cloaked man walking behind them, smiling.
“Father!” she calls, expecting to be saved, but her father just stands there, staring at her with a blank expression. He has given up. He knows, as his wife knew, that he cannot keep their daughter away from them if they come to take her. He could only try to hide her and her powers, and now it is too late.
“Father!” she yells as she is stuffed inside the dark emptiness of the prison that will take her away. As the cloaked man enters with one of the large men, she calls one last time to the only human she has ever felt close to.
“Monta!” The broken cry of a little girl comes from her mouth and she does not understand why or how. Why does her father not save her? Why is he not running towards the men, trying to take her back? Why is he abandoning her to these men?
“Monta.” One last ruined word makes its way through her lips, before she falls silent and sits still at the seat she has been forced on. How could he let them take her away? Had she made him mad? Had she done something wrong?
The carriage is moving, even though she did not notice it starting. The man with the cloak sits across from her, starring at her. She does not notice that either, as she is still in chock from her fathers lack of reaction. Tears run down her face, but she does not make a sound. Crying does not help, as her father always told her, and it is that one thought that makes her break down in loud and painful sobs.
“Shh.” The man tells her. “Don't worry. You'll like it at the temple. It's a magical place and you'll feel at home.”
She stares at him, feeling strangely angry. It is all his fault. If he had not come everything would still be the way it had always been.
“Who are you?” she asks.
He smiles, and only now she notices the tattoos that decorate his face, so close in color to his skin that they are almost invisible.
“My name is Cartox, and I will be your teacher.” he says. “I have powers of my own, and I'll teach you how to use yours, but first you must face the companion of the Goddess and show that you might indeed be the Incarnate. We have already wasted twelve years with fake Goddesses, and the temple is loosing the trust of the people.”
“And if I fail?” she asks.
He shrugs. “We'll send you home, but if you fail to tame the beast there might not be much to send home.”
A cold shiver runs down her back, remembering his earlier words.
The fake Goddess-incarnate is dead. Killed by the very animal that her powers should have tamed.
And now it is her turn to try and tame the beast.
***
As she steps into the arena, she can feel her body vibrating with the powers she has been hiding for years. They rage and turn and create turmoil inside her, but she keeps a firm grip on them, even as she stands still with fear.
The priestesses took her from Cartox as soon as they reached the temple, bathed and cleaned her and clad her in a white dress. Then they lead her to the arena and left her in front of the beast.
It stares at her, with its huge and yellow eyes. Its scales are jet black, like onyx, and she can see herself reflected in them. It moves, slowly like a reptile, towards her with its bat-like wings slightly spread. Smoke comes from its nostrils as it looks at her.
A small grumble comes from its throat.
Iliade cannot help breathing faster, just as her heart beats harder. This beast, this dragon, is so familiar to her and yet it is scary. She seems to know it, and yet she does not, just as it does not know her.
Normally animals would just come to her and talk, presenting themselves by names and being her friends without her actually doing something consciously. Therefore she had no idea at all how to deal with this monster in front of her.
The dragon takes a step towards her, but then stops and raises its head far above her. She remembers one of the priestesses having told her that the holy beast is more than five thousand years old and that it has lived in the temple for at least that long.
Suddenly Iliade feels sorry for the dragon, looking at its wings, thin and delicate with lack of muscles. How must it be, for the incarnates and the dragon to always be captured within these cold and white walls? Will this be her fate if the dragon accepts her? To be kept in a cage for the rest of her life? And if so, would it be better if it killed her?
Hesitating, she takes a step towards the proud creature in front of her. She feels like it can see right through her, but unlike the other animals she has met, it does not speak to her.
“Hello.” she says, hesitating. She can feel the eyes of the priestesses and the bell ringers from the openings around the arena, but she does not pay them any attention. Her eyes are on the dragon. Its gaze is dark and sad, like it is the loneliest creature in the world.
It is silent. It just changes its position a little and continues to stare at her. Smoke still rises from its nostrils as it observes her.
She has a stirring feeling in her fingertips and head, like she has to use her powers or she will perish, but she knows that if they see, if they know, she will not be allowed to leave.
The priestesses needs a Goddess-incarnate to put on a pedestal and worship, just as the bell ringers needs an Incarnate to help breathe fear into the people. The mightier the Incarnate they controlled, the more fear they would get. This her father had taught her as she grew up, this her mother had known and had died to protect her from. This she believed, for she had seen the bell ringers and the priestesses.
She would have to survive without taming the beast and without using her powers, so that she would be allowed to go back to her father.
She takes another step towards the dragon, knowing that it will not attack her. She does not know why, but she feels it in the depth of her heart.
“Please.” she says, not knowing what she asks for, but knowing that she must ask anyway.
The dragon moves its head closer to her, its eyes round and filled with the wisdom of ages. It knows what she asks, even if she does not know herself.
I cannot, young one. It says to her. My call is to birth the incarnate, as phoenix from the ashes. And my call I must follow as you must follow yours.
Tears run to her eyes and down her cheeks as she takes a step back, suddenly terrified by this beautiful beast in front of her. Her powers tingles in her fingers, making it clear that the dragon could not hurt her, but that is not what scares her. What scares her is that the dragon could make her fate.
And that it would.
Its neck arches above her as it pulls back its head and reveals its white and sharp teeth in the smoke that runs from the abyss of its throat.
She stares into its deep eyes and knows that this would be the moment that her life would change. Is she not the Incarnate she would burn and die, and if she is, that would be her fate. She lowers her hands and her shoulders sinks in surrender as the flames starts to roar around her and surround her completely.
They burn her and screams tears themselves from her lips, as the smell of burned hair fills her nose and the pain seems to cover and become one with her body. She doubles over and presses her hands against the earth, knowing that she must not use her power.
But she does it anyways. The flames curls around her and leaves her, as the strength of the earth flows into her and takes away the pain. Slowly she stands, looking at the dragon, but also at her own hands as flames, earth, water and air springs from them mixes with lightning. Streams of water runs from her arms and over the earth that moves to cover her feet as fire dances around her fingertips. Lightning runs through the remains of her burned hair and air twirls around her.
For she is the Goddess that controls everything. She is the Goddess that gives life, and death. The Goddess that makes volcanoes erupt and tsunamis rise, all the same that she turns spring to summer, summer to autumn, autumn to winter and winter to spring.
Every power is hers as all the bad things and good things are too. And at once she understands why the Goddess-incarnate accepts the bell ringers tyranny and the golden cage set by the priestesses. For the people need the sense to fear, and the sense to respect. And the bell ringers keeps anyone from taking power, all the same as they keep each other away from it too. They are the shadow to the priestesses light and hope.
But she also understands that no Goddess-incarnate can be kept captive and that none ever were. Only the dragon carries the burden of not being free, and that is because normal people would fear and kill it.
She takes control of her powers again and her shape returns to the young girl that she has always been, and not been for a long time.
Iliade looks at the bell ringers, not understanding what just happened. The dragon has wandered away, and has left her all alone in the part of the arena where there were flames and pain before. The bell ringers look back at her, and Cartox smiles.
“It is you.” he says. “It is you.”
And she understands that it is, indeed, her.
“It is me.” she says and smiles. She can not return to her father, for she is not truly his daughter anymore, just as she is not truly human. She is like the dragon, something forgotten that can only exist on a pedestal or in the temple. Something that humans fear as much as they worship, something that they would kill, should they find it alone.
She is different. Even if she has powers she cannot kill any human. After all, which mother would kill her children? And now everything is her children, just as she herself are a child.
She is the goddess child, but she is also the goddess and she will be reborn over and over until there no longer is a dragon to wake her and no powers to control and the world slowly dies and disappears.
