Elaina J. Davidson's Blog, page 355
March 26, 2016
March 25, 2016
The King's Challenge #255 and #256
TKC 255 and 256
A rustle in the low foliage has me swivelling my eyes without moving my body. If someone is there, it will not do to warn of my awareness.
I realise Damn is entirely focused on Iniri, while my sister has bent her full will and being to Damin. They hear nothing. I hope they at least hear each other.
Removing their words and presence from my conscious thoughts, I send questing tendrils out.
Someone is definitely hiding in the undergrowth, and that someone is listening carefully.
Unmoving, I wait for the action that will herald mine, and give thought to how it is the Warrior gene I was born with enabling this kind of focus. Truthfully, though, the overriding impetus comes at the behest of the orb.
How is a green orb given to me by my father under a blue dome in a place far away not only in space, but time also, able to confer such abilities? How has it been with me since? Most pertinently, however, how is Iniri the embodiment of an orb?
Here is the story, strange as it is.
On the day my father placed the glowing item into my palm, was also the day Iniri Makar received the Greater Talents.
Know this; Ilfin are born original and each receives a ‘gift’ in that originality. This is true to this day. Any Ilfin born on Makaran is original in body and soul. The concept of souls being born new is beyond my ability to explain, and yet it is. It happens all the time, although with less frequency as time marches on. There may be other races out there that also receive original souls for born bodies, but I know only of the Ilfin. We are the reason the Glonu seek to enslave us. They desire by conquer to have what we receive naturally.
Thus, on that day under the dome, Iniri and I kneeled before my father as new souls seeking destiny, the path into the long future. We understood we were on the cusp of a different kind of longevity. Every moment of our childhood had brought us to that point. Every day we were prepared for the event. It is the Ilfin way.
It is about binding. Souls need support. They do not need it to live; they require it in order to act. Act. Without a binding, a soul may become complacent, happily inhabiting a vessel without ever making itself known. In a binding, a pull and push is engendered, and thus the souls need to dosomething … or a soul is subjugated. One can say a complacent soul is by nature subjugate, and yet that is a choice and therefore it is not subservience. A linked soul, on the other hand, will be a servant to the other unless it chooses to act.
My father is a master of links. It is the reason he has ruled Makaran long. Few Ilfin are able to link souls for the purpose of action, and thus they come to my father. The reasons, though, for the need to link are complicated and perhaps a tale for another time.
We kneeled and my father bade us clasp hands. Placing his around ours, he held us together and whispered words over us. Lightning bolts raced through our veins.
I admit, I was in awe of my father that day.
He withdrew a part of Iniri’s essence and joined it to mine, thereby creating a tangible object. The Orb. The orb is our link. The reason he did so was to free us onto separate paths. Iniri could thus go her way and I mine; we did not require proximity to maintain the need to act or be as less.
We went our separate ways thereafter, but understood, on the day our mission becomes action to exactlythe same end, the orb would be absorbed. We would be together. She is again the orb.
Iniri, after all, has all the Greater Talents … and only now do I understand the gift was our father’s. He possesses the Greater Talents also and, on that day under the dome, he linked not only Iniri and Enris Makar; he linked us to him.
Closing my eyes, I understand, far away, on Makaran, our father is aware of exactly what transpires here on Massin.
The Greater Talents …
… I hurtle up, sword drawn, lips pulled back.
Our hidden assailant has decided it is time to act.
A rustle in the low foliage has me swivelling my eyes without moving my body. If someone is there, it will not do to warn of my awareness.
I realise Damn is entirely focused on Iniri, while my sister has bent her full will and being to Damin. They hear nothing. I hope they at least hear each other.
Removing their words and presence from my conscious thoughts, I send questing tendrils out.
Someone is definitely hiding in the undergrowth, and that someone is listening carefully.
Unmoving, I wait for the action that will herald mine, and give thought to how it is the Warrior gene I was born with enabling this kind of focus. Truthfully, though, the overriding impetus comes at the behest of the orb.
How is a green orb given to me by my father under a blue dome in a place far away not only in space, but time also, able to confer such abilities? How has it been with me since? Most pertinently, however, how is Iniri the embodiment of an orb?
Here is the story, strange as it is.
On the day my father placed the glowing item into my palm, was also the day Iniri Makar received the Greater Talents.
Know this; Ilfin are born original and each receives a ‘gift’ in that originality. This is true to this day. Any Ilfin born on Makaran is original in body and soul. The concept of souls being born new is beyond my ability to explain, and yet it is. It happens all the time, although with less frequency as time marches on. There may be other races out there that also receive original souls for born bodies, but I know only of the Ilfin. We are the reason the Glonu seek to enslave us. They desire by conquer to have what we receive naturally.
Thus, on that day under the dome, Iniri and I kneeled before my father as new souls seeking destiny, the path into the long future. We understood we were on the cusp of a different kind of longevity. Every moment of our childhood had brought us to that point. Every day we were prepared for the event. It is the Ilfin way.
It is about binding. Souls need support. They do not need it to live; they require it in order to act. Act. Without a binding, a soul may become complacent, happily inhabiting a vessel without ever making itself known. In a binding, a pull and push is engendered, and thus the souls need to dosomething … or a soul is subjugated. One can say a complacent soul is by nature subjugate, and yet that is a choice and therefore it is not subservience. A linked soul, on the other hand, will be a servant to the other unless it chooses to act.
My father is a master of links. It is the reason he has ruled Makaran long. Few Ilfin are able to link souls for the purpose of action, and thus they come to my father. The reasons, though, for the need to link are complicated and perhaps a tale for another time.
We kneeled and my father bade us clasp hands. Placing his around ours, he held us together and whispered words over us. Lightning bolts raced through our veins.
I admit, I was in awe of my father that day.
He withdrew a part of Iniri’s essence and joined it to mine, thereby creating a tangible object. The Orb. The orb is our link. The reason he did so was to free us onto separate paths. Iniri could thus go her way and I mine; we did not require proximity to maintain the need to act or be as less.
We went our separate ways thereafter, but understood, on the day our mission becomes action to exactlythe same end, the orb would be absorbed. We would be together. She is again the orb.
Iniri, after all, has all the Greater Talents … and only now do I understand the gift was our father’s. He possesses the Greater Talents also and, on that day under the dome, he linked not only Iniri and Enris Makar; he linked us to him.
Closing my eyes, I understand, far away, on Makaran, our father is aware of exactly what transpires here on Massin.
The Greater Talents …
… I hurtle up, sword drawn, lips pulled back.
Our hidden assailant has decided it is time to act.
March 24, 2016
The King's Challenge #253 and #254
TKC 253 and 254
“Lyra?” Damin says.
My sister turns her head to the fair man known to Lyra as Damin Mur. Iniri, of course, will know better. My curiosity soars, for I wonder how she will respond to his summons.
She blinks and then closes those mesmerising eyes. “Damin, we will talk later. At this point we have to focus on the battle ahead.”
Damin goes on staring at her. Lifting Siri’s hand from his shoulder, he rises. “No. I need to understand now.”
She draws breath, holds it, and then releases explosively. “Fine.” Glancing at Commander Gennerin, she says, “We will pick this up in a few minutes.”
Gennerin bows his head.
“Come with me, Damin,” she goes on and heads for the exit. “We do this outside; this sterile space does not allow for emotion. Enris, you better come with us.”
After punching the button that opens the door to the forest, she sweeps out. A queen; she is again as the royal daughter she always was. Swallowing, Damin follows, but he has lost his purpose, for his gait is uncertain.
“Prepare the men for the incursion,” I tell Gennerin, and follow the two receding forms.
With my sister leading the way, we wander deeper into the forest. As we are about to vanish from view, I gesture at two soldiers to unobtrusively follow us as guards. They fall in, silent and watchful. At least now I do not need to concern myself about what is behind. What lies ahead may be a different matter.
Under a massively spreading tree, Lyra comes to a halt. Damin hunkers, looking up at her, his fingers in a tight clasp to still inadvertent movement. Damin knows how the small gestures reveal one.
Lyra sits. It places her lower than Damin, but I am aware she chooses to do so deliberately. My sister ever was the student of the nature inherent to a soul.
I sit as well, my back to a tree trunk opposite. Not only does this allow them a measure of privacy, but I am able to watch for danger from the territory beyond us. Thus far, all is quiet.
“My name is Iniri,” my sister starts.
“That I have already gathered,” Damin mutters.
She huffs, but then lifts one hand in apology. “This is difficult for you, I am sorry.”
“It is. First Horin, a babe I saw the day after he was born, becomes this warrior over there. Enris has superseded Horin and it is surpassingly strange. Academically I understand the concept of souls returning, and yet to see it as a physical truth is uncomfortable. I wonder, for instance, where Horin is.” Damin pauses. He clears his throat. “If you are Iniri, where is Lyra?”
“The lives we lead before we are aware of our souls shape us. Horin still exists, as Lyra will ever be with me, but who we were first assumes the ascendant position. This is the way for all, not merely the Makar line.”
I smile. She stated it well.
Damin is unmoving, although his calves must be protesting his stance. “I have the clearest feeling you are telling me I am not merely Damin.”
“Only new souls can claim the host as original,” Iniri murmurs. “Iniri was original. Enris also, for beings then were scarce. You are not a new soul, Damin. You were not created originally for Massin.”
Damin’s head lowers. For many moments there is only silence.
“You are afraid to ask who you were,” Iniri says.
He lifts his head. “I am afraid I am losing you. Nothing else matters.”
My sister smiles then, a beautiful sight. “My love, this is not our first time together. You will not lose me.”
“Lyra?” Damin says.
My sister turns her head to the fair man known to Lyra as Damin Mur. Iniri, of course, will know better. My curiosity soars, for I wonder how she will respond to his summons.
She blinks and then closes those mesmerising eyes. “Damin, we will talk later. At this point we have to focus on the battle ahead.”
Damin goes on staring at her. Lifting Siri’s hand from his shoulder, he rises. “No. I need to understand now.”
She draws breath, holds it, and then releases explosively. “Fine.” Glancing at Commander Gennerin, she says, “We will pick this up in a few minutes.”
Gennerin bows his head.
“Come with me, Damin,” she goes on and heads for the exit. “We do this outside; this sterile space does not allow for emotion. Enris, you better come with us.”
After punching the button that opens the door to the forest, she sweeps out. A queen; she is again as the royal daughter she always was. Swallowing, Damin follows, but he has lost his purpose, for his gait is uncertain.
“Prepare the men for the incursion,” I tell Gennerin, and follow the two receding forms.
With my sister leading the way, we wander deeper into the forest. As we are about to vanish from view, I gesture at two soldiers to unobtrusively follow us as guards. They fall in, silent and watchful. At least now I do not need to concern myself about what is behind. What lies ahead may be a different matter.
Under a massively spreading tree, Lyra comes to a halt. Damin hunkers, looking up at her, his fingers in a tight clasp to still inadvertent movement. Damin knows how the small gestures reveal one.
Lyra sits. It places her lower than Damin, but I am aware she chooses to do so deliberately. My sister ever was the student of the nature inherent to a soul.
I sit as well, my back to a tree trunk opposite. Not only does this allow them a measure of privacy, but I am able to watch for danger from the territory beyond us. Thus far, all is quiet.
“My name is Iniri,” my sister starts.
“That I have already gathered,” Damin mutters.
She huffs, but then lifts one hand in apology. “This is difficult for you, I am sorry.”
“It is. First Horin, a babe I saw the day after he was born, becomes this warrior over there. Enris has superseded Horin and it is surpassingly strange. Academically I understand the concept of souls returning, and yet to see it as a physical truth is uncomfortable. I wonder, for instance, where Horin is.” Damin pauses. He clears his throat. “If you are Iniri, where is Lyra?”
“The lives we lead before we are aware of our souls shape us. Horin still exists, as Lyra will ever be with me, but who we were first assumes the ascendant position. This is the way for all, not merely the Makar line.”
I smile. She stated it well.
Damin is unmoving, although his calves must be protesting his stance. “I have the clearest feeling you are telling me I am not merely Damin.”
“Only new souls can claim the host as original,” Iniri murmurs. “Iniri was original. Enris also, for beings then were scarce. You are not a new soul, Damin. You were not created originally for Massin.”
Damin’s head lowers. For many moments there is only silence.
“You are afraid to ask who you were,” Iniri says.
He lifts his head. “I am afraid I am losing you. Nothing else matters.”
My sister smiles then, a beautiful sight. “My love, this is not our first time together. You will not lose me.”
March 23, 2016
March 22, 2016
The King's Challenge #251 and #252
TKC 251 and 252
Less than an hour later, Damin and Lyra join us in Gennerin’s camouflaged shuttle. Hidden under a canopy of trees and further blended with nets, branches and leaves, the shuttle becomes the command centre as a matter of practicality.
Other shuttles fly further afield to guard the terrain, while being far enough removed to not give our position away. The bulk of the force has returned to the vicinity of the Spire to keep the Glonu distracted there.
Damin and Siri fly into each other’s arms. Joseph and Hal immediately begin muttering together, while Marian and Hanna fall into intense discussion.
No one, not us, not them, speaks of the horror that went before this reunion. Perhaps no one will ever speak of it. War forces a soul into silence.
While the rest of the Arc troop is fed outside, we gather in the central area. This time Siri refuses to budge, daring everyone with a fierce gaze to say anything to the contrary. Kay grins at her side.
I explain the plan.
As expected, Lyra nearly disembowels me with her fury. “It is suicide! Why Damin? Send someone else!”
Damin grips her hand. “I trust no other to do this.”
Her lips compress and flames erupt around their clasped hands, her elemental self ignoring the usual controls. Abruptly she withdraws her hand and smacks it flat upon the metal table. Flame licks at the surface, skittering from her fingers to spread.
Commander Gennerin backs up, his eyes wide. Thereafter he hurtles to his feet to bow from the waist. “My Lady,” he breathes. “We believed you lost.”
Lyra swallows and retracts her fire. Until this point her features had been in the shadows created by the bulkhead where she is, and thus the Ilfin has not yet marked her eyes, but the flames are an unmistakable sign. She gives me a look, which I meet with a skewed smile.
“Gentlemen, meet Iniri Makar,” I murmur, watching her.
Sighing, she straightens. The light captures her eyes in that moment. The blue is sapphire in the halogens overhead, while the green is emerald. It is akin to staring into my orb.
Every Ilfin in the vicinity slams to knees.
Touching my nose, I grin at my sister.
“Stuff you, Enris,” she mutters. “I have no knowledge of that past.”
Gennerin glances at me from his lowered position. I gesture, and he straightens. “At ease, everyone,” I add when the soldiers on board do not move from their knees. They rise, but are no longer the focus of my attention.
Standing myself, I lean over the table and grip Lyra’s wrist. Ignoring Damin when he shouts denial, I press my orb into the palm of her hand and force her fingers to close over it, holding them in place.
“Deny it now,” I say, staring into her eyes. I lift my hand away, leaving her in possession of the orb.
Siri’s slender fingers creep in to rest upon Damin’s shoulder, for Damin has frozen. He stares at Lyra as if he has never seen her before.
“What is going on here?” Commander Gennerin demands, his gaze flicking from me to Lyra, to Damin, to Kay, to me, and back and forth.
I ignore him. I am waiting for Lyra to react.
Long and silent minutes pass.
Finally the dark-haired woman with her two eyes looks up from her closed hand, but she is no longer Lyra. Iniri Makar is now gazing at me.
She opens her hand and displays an empty palm. Her eyebrows hike up and she offers me a twisted grimace. “I am the orb.”
“Yes, sister,” I whisper. “Indeed.”
Less than an hour later, Damin and Lyra join us in Gennerin’s camouflaged shuttle. Hidden under a canopy of trees and further blended with nets, branches and leaves, the shuttle becomes the command centre as a matter of practicality.
Other shuttles fly further afield to guard the terrain, while being far enough removed to not give our position away. The bulk of the force has returned to the vicinity of the Spire to keep the Glonu distracted there.
Damin and Siri fly into each other’s arms. Joseph and Hal immediately begin muttering together, while Marian and Hanna fall into intense discussion.
No one, not us, not them, speaks of the horror that went before this reunion. Perhaps no one will ever speak of it. War forces a soul into silence.
While the rest of the Arc troop is fed outside, we gather in the central area. This time Siri refuses to budge, daring everyone with a fierce gaze to say anything to the contrary. Kay grins at her side.
I explain the plan.
As expected, Lyra nearly disembowels me with her fury. “It is suicide! Why Damin? Send someone else!”
Damin grips her hand. “I trust no other to do this.”
Her lips compress and flames erupt around their clasped hands, her elemental self ignoring the usual controls. Abruptly she withdraws her hand and smacks it flat upon the metal table. Flame licks at the surface, skittering from her fingers to spread.
Commander Gennerin backs up, his eyes wide. Thereafter he hurtles to his feet to bow from the waist. “My Lady,” he breathes. “We believed you lost.”
Lyra swallows and retracts her fire. Until this point her features had been in the shadows created by the bulkhead where she is, and thus the Ilfin has not yet marked her eyes, but the flames are an unmistakable sign. She gives me a look, which I meet with a skewed smile.
“Gentlemen, meet Iniri Makar,” I murmur, watching her.
Sighing, she straightens. The light captures her eyes in that moment. The blue is sapphire in the halogens overhead, while the green is emerald. It is akin to staring into my orb.
Every Ilfin in the vicinity slams to knees.
Touching my nose, I grin at my sister.
“Stuff you, Enris,” she mutters. “I have no knowledge of that past.”
Gennerin glances at me from his lowered position. I gesture, and he straightens. “At ease, everyone,” I add when the soldiers on board do not move from their knees. They rise, but are no longer the focus of my attention.
Standing myself, I lean over the table and grip Lyra’s wrist. Ignoring Damin when he shouts denial, I press my orb into the palm of her hand and force her fingers to close over it, holding them in place.
“Deny it now,” I say, staring into her eyes. I lift my hand away, leaving her in possession of the orb.
Siri’s slender fingers creep in to rest upon Damin’s shoulder, for Damin has frozen. He stares at Lyra as if he has never seen her before.
“What is going on here?” Commander Gennerin demands, his gaze flicking from me to Lyra, to Damin, to Kay, to me, and back and forth.
I ignore him. I am waiting for Lyra to react.
Long and silent minutes pass.
Finally the dark-haired woman with her two eyes looks up from her closed hand, but she is no longer Lyra. Iniri Makar is now gazing at me.
She opens her hand and displays an empty palm. Her eyebrows hike up and she offers me a twisted grimace. “I am the orb.”
“Yes, sister,” I whisper. “Indeed.”
