Rain and the Day
"Erasing memories is as telling a good friend to become an enemy or that the sea must cease its everlasting ways. It is quite impossible."
The dawn filtered through the cell bars like fingers from something that had nothing to touch. It gave a little prison cell in Port South a soft, almost dreamlike glow as it washed the walls in gold. The etchings on one wall stood softly and displayed their quiet meticulousness in contrast to the violent scars upon the wall opposite. And on the little bed inside, Renne remained and quietly woke.
The previous night had been surreal and too real for him. He'd followed his deepest instincts and went out on a limb that was years untouched. He was filled with joy, fear, wonder and curiosity all at once as he heard the acceptance of the Bonding in the ancient way. It wasn't surprising then, that his dreams were too, just as surreal and stark in reality.
He thought back on the dreams.
-The rain never stopped.
He knew what the rain was -- had known it almost since it had begun. The rain wasn't rain at all but it did its job. It fell when his eyes shed no tears and the shades howled when he could not scream. Renne stood as he did eight years ago. He stood upright, almost-passably humanish and held his head up. Renne used to smile a lot back then, had found as many reasons as possible to do so.
Renne let himself smile for a short moment.
And then he began walking down a road that had long ago turned from vibrant earth into smooth, sterile bone. The ground was dead and the rain kept falling.
Like the path of a star
His feet made little sound against the bone walkway aside from splashing in the pooling rain that had few places to go. Renne didn't need to see where he was; he already knew. He stepped off the bone-path as the ceaseless rain dripped down the dead trees and crumbling headstones in this little-visited place. The ground here was still soft and spoke of dead grass and bare, powdery earth. Stones here spoke of erosion, time and on some, names were still readable.
Renne stopped when he found one of the headstones. Overhead, the wraiths howled and wailed in the rain. They screamed as Renne thought back over his past. When he knelt for a moment before the stone, the ghosts' voices softened into a plaintive sound.
He was not able to outrun the ghosts of his past. He wasn't that fortunate.
"Hello, Intended-from-Then. Hello. And goodnight."
He stood up and traced his way back to the bone road. The ghosts had started their keening again up in the rain-filled maroon sky but he ignored them.
I'll be anywhere you are
Each step began to bring a gradual change in his gait. Each passing minute brought a change to himself. He let it happen, knowing that he could learn to walk again eventually. Someday. He'd learn again and he'd pray on that day to hear earthen laughter.
Six willowy feet became three skinny, bony feet. Striding steps became a clumsy crawl and the face elongated from humanish to what the world had come to know. Blue-veined tan became deep blue. His voice lost its linguistic skill. Renne no longer walked on the bone road -- he crawled.
He didn't turn back. He couldn't even when he wanted to.
In the spark that lies beneath the coals
The terrain around him changed as he drew closer to the fortress. He didn't let the howling of the spectres deter him. He didn't turn off into the barren landscape surrounded by a sea black and viscous. He knew that sea and for now, it was calm.
The rain didn't let up or intensify as he journeyed to the fortress. It kept drizzling its steady pattern. It was rain, after all.
Just rain.
Renne didn't stop as he reached the first of the fortress's defenses -- the black roses always opened for him. When he crawled onward, the ghosts began to dive and scream. He didn't mind them, just kept going through the barren courtyard. When the great wooden doors loomed in front of him, he waited.
The doors were wary of him.
He was wary of himself.
In the secret place inside my soul
When the doors opened, Renne made no sound as he crawled into the dark place. It was a dark place and his eyes had no use for light. Light was forbidden here.
Light was taboo here.
The dust on the cold marble floors puffed up in clouds as he moved. The acoustics spoke of cobwebs so thick as to deaden the intended echo of a vaulted ceiling hung with now rusted, burned-out chandeliers. The candles here weren't lit. Many had burned out. Some had been snuffed out.
The candles here abhorred the light.
Renne crawled deeper into the fortress and up a flight of sweeping stairs.
The second floor yielded tattered shrouds and moth-eaten tapestries of a time that must have measured in centuries. Vibrant, fiery red was faded to dull maroon. Piercing white and gold were toned down to gray and bronze. Wild, bright blue matured into subdued cobalt.
He crawled onward and out into the northern balcony. The wind was as still as this land was dying.
Not all of it was though. There were places of life, light and warmth. He knew them all.
And he turned back, aiming for one of these bright spots where light didn't scream out his flaws. Where the light didn't put him up against the glaring standards of heroes that had both remained heroes and had fallen.
I'll be right by your side
Down the corridor, he turned and went up another stairwell. The stone here somehow cleverly faded into warm, solid oak. The smell of coffee brewing caught his nose. Voices laughed somewhere beyond a closed door.
When he opened it, the voices crowded around him. They laughed, smiled and joked with words of humour far too bawdy for him to understand quite yet. He heard stories being told. He heard the coffee maker do its thing and he reveled in the low bubbling and occasional sizzle. He knew their voices, every last one.
Some were voices of Home and some were voices of Abroad.
"Is it house-trained?"
"Mi corazon."
"Where one in every ten..."
"Tree Biting Imp..."
As the voices backed up, Renne crawled to each in turn. To them, he gave an embrace and when he found his place, his spot on a sturdy bar, he found three tree-chunks. One was a handsome specimen and of a pretty good size. That one was soon taken by the earthen-smelling one and Renne blushed.
He knew where it was now by the rhythmic pounding.
He heard laughter and his face blushed all the brighter. His own laughter joined them and he sat in the comfort of steady, dauntless strength.
Outside, the rain kept pouring down.
It seemed like hours he stayed there. Hours of laughing, joking, low-toned seriousness and occasionally, the warmth of touch. It was forever and the blink of an eye.
Don't blink
The powder-smelling voice was repeating something. Teaching. Renne repeated and smiled as the voice kept a sage tone. The females spoke of things, everything from island hopping to bright green undergarment straps to what it means to learn the lesson of faith. One spoke in a language he didn't know. He liked her sound and her word. It sounded primal and simple, complex and learned. He liked the way it rolled off the tongue. Corazon.
When the voices began to fade and let the rain drown them out, Renne's ears perked forward.
Keep my life in your eyes
He heard the first clap of thunder.
He heard the thunder come as distant rolls and sharp, resounding claps. The voices faded out one by one. The footsteps started and faded. He scurried after each set of footsteps until all he heard inside the wooden room was the rain.
Just the rain.
Even the ghosts had gone a little quiet.
Renne crawled to the window and lit a candle. It burned steadily, protected by the closed window but that didn't assure him. He stayed there beside his candle even as he heard the voices only distantly murmuring. He stayed as the door clicked shut. Within a hand's-breath of himself and his candle, he found an old note. He knew which one and refused to read it.
Say goodnight. Not goodbye.
He realised the voices were nearing again. They spoke quietly and then faded to silence. They stood and he knew they were watching him. One came to him and put a blanket over his shoulders. His useless eyes asked them not to disappear. While he didn't hear an answer, he didn't hear the thunder again for a while.
Outside, the rain kept on falling.-
~<>~
*Chantal Kreviazuk; Say Goodnight, Not Goodbye
"Erasing memories is as telling a good friend to become an enemy or that the sea must cease its everlasting ways. It is quite impossible."
The dawn filtered through the cell bars like fingers from something that had nothing to touch. It gave a little prison cell in Port South a soft, almost dreamlike glow as it washed the walls in gold. The etchings on one wall stood softly and displayed their quiet meticulousness in contrast to the violent scars upon the wall opposite. And on the little bed inside, Renne remained and quietly woke.
The previous night had been surreal and too real for him. He'd followed his deepest instincts and went out on a limb that was years untouched. He was filled with joy, fear, wonder and curiosity all at once as he heard the acceptance of the Bonding in the ancient way. It wasn't surprising then, that his dreams were too, just as surreal and stark in reality.
He thought back on the dreams.
-The rain never stopped.
He knew what the rain was -- had known it almost since it had begun. The rain wasn't rain at all but it did its job. It fell when his eyes shed no tears and the shades howled when he could not scream. Renne stood as he did eight years ago. He stood upright, almost-passably humanish and held his head up. Renne used to smile a lot back then, had found as many reasons as possible to do so.
Renne let himself smile for a short moment.
And then he began walking down a road that had long ago turned from vibrant earth into smooth, sterile bone. The ground was dead and the rain kept falling.
Like the path of a star
His feet made little sound against the bone walkway aside from splashing in the pooling rain that had few places to go. Renne didn't need to see where he was; he already knew. He stepped off the bone-path as the ceaseless rain dripped down the dead trees and crumbling headstones in this little-visited place. The ground here was still soft and spoke of dead grass and bare, powdery earth. Stones here spoke of erosion, time and on some, names were still readable.
Renne stopped when he found one of the headstones. Overhead, the wraiths howled and wailed in the rain. They screamed as Renne thought back over his past. When he knelt for a moment before the stone, the ghosts' voices softened into a plaintive sound.
He was not able to outrun the ghosts of his past. He wasn't that fortunate.
"Hello, Intended-from-Then. Hello. And goodnight."
He stood up and traced his way back to the bone road. The ghosts had started their keening again up in the rain-filled maroon sky but he ignored them.
I'll be anywhere you are
Each step began to bring a gradual change in his gait. Each passing minute brought a change to himself. He let it happen, knowing that he could learn to walk again eventually. Someday. He'd learn again and he'd pray on that day to hear earthen laughter.
Six willowy feet became three skinny, bony feet. Striding steps became a clumsy crawl and the face elongated from humanish to what the world had come to know. Blue-veined tan became deep blue. His voice lost its linguistic skill. Renne no longer walked on the bone road -- he crawled.
He didn't turn back. He couldn't even when he wanted to.
In the spark that lies beneath the coals
The terrain around him changed as he drew closer to the fortress. He didn't let the howling of the spectres deter him. He didn't turn off into the barren landscape surrounded by a sea black and viscous. He knew that sea and for now, it was calm.
The rain didn't let up or intensify as he journeyed to the fortress. It kept drizzling its steady pattern. It was rain, after all.
Just rain.
Renne didn't stop as he reached the first of the fortress's defenses -- the black roses always opened for him. When he crawled onward, the ghosts began to dive and scream. He didn't mind them, just kept going through the barren courtyard. When the great wooden doors loomed in front of him, he waited.
The doors were wary of him.
He was wary of himself.
In the secret place inside my soul
When the doors opened, Renne made no sound as he crawled into the dark place. It was a dark place and his eyes had no use for light. Light was forbidden here.
Light was taboo here.
The dust on the cold marble floors puffed up in clouds as he moved. The acoustics spoke of cobwebs so thick as to deaden the intended echo of a vaulted ceiling hung with now rusted, burned-out chandeliers. The candles here weren't lit. Many had burned out. Some had been snuffed out.
The candles here abhorred the light.
Renne crawled deeper into the fortress and up a flight of sweeping stairs.
The second floor yielded tattered shrouds and moth-eaten tapestries of a time that must have measured in centuries. Vibrant, fiery red was faded to dull maroon. Piercing white and gold were toned down to gray and bronze. Wild, bright blue matured into subdued cobalt.
He crawled onward and out into the northern balcony. The wind was as still as this land was dying.
Not all of it was though. There were places of life, light and warmth. He knew them all.
And he turned back, aiming for one of these bright spots where light didn't scream out his flaws. Where the light didn't put him up against the glaring standards of heroes that had both remained heroes and had fallen.
I'll be right by your side
Down the corridor, he turned and went up another stairwell. The stone here somehow cleverly faded into warm, solid oak. The smell of coffee brewing caught his nose. Voices laughed somewhere beyond a closed door.
When he opened it, the voices crowded around him. They laughed, smiled and joked with words of humour far too bawdy for him to understand quite yet. He heard stories being told. He heard the coffee maker do its thing and he reveled in the low bubbling and occasional sizzle. He knew their voices, every last one.
Some were voices of Home and some were voices of Abroad.
"Is it house-trained?"
"Mi corazon."
"Where one in every ten..."
"Tree Biting Imp..."
As the voices backed up, Renne crawled to each in turn. To them, he gave an embrace and when he found his place, his spot on a sturdy bar, he found three tree-chunks. One was a handsome specimen and of a pretty good size. That one was soon taken by the earthen-smelling one and Renne blushed.
He knew where it was now by the rhythmic pounding.
He heard laughter and his face blushed all the brighter. His own laughter joined them and he sat in the comfort of steady, dauntless strength.
Outside, the rain kept pouring down.
It seemed like hours he stayed there. Hours of laughing, joking, low-toned seriousness and occasionally, the warmth of touch. It was forever and the blink of an eye.
Don't blink
The powder-smelling voice was repeating something. Teaching. Renne repeated and smiled as the voice kept a sage tone. The females spoke of things, everything from island hopping to bright green undergarment straps to what it means to learn the lesson of faith. One spoke in a language he didn't know. He liked her sound and her word. It sounded primal and simple, complex and learned. He liked the way it rolled off the tongue. Corazon.
When the voices began to fade and let the rain drown them out, Renne's ears perked forward.
Keep my life in your eyes
He heard the first clap of thunder.
He heard the thunder come as distant rolls and sharp, resounding claps. The voices faded out one by one. The footsteps started and faded. He scurried after each set of footsteps until all he heard inside the wooden room was the rain.
Just the rain.
Even the ghosts had gone a little quiet.
Renne crawled to the window and lit a candle. It burned steadily, protected by the closed window but that didn't assure him. He stayed there beside his candle even as he heard the voices only distantly murmuring. He stayed as the door clicked shut. Within a hand's-breath of himself and his candle, he found an old note. He knew which one and refused to read it.
Say goodnight. Not goodbye.
He realised the voices were nearing again. They spoke quietly and then faded to silence. They stood and he knew they were watching him. One came to him and put a blanket over his shoulders. His useless eyes asked them not to disappear. While he didn't hear an answer, he didn't hear the thunder again for a while.
Outside, the rain kept on falling.-
~<>~
*Chantal Kreviazuk; Say Goodnight, Not Goodbye