21 Your Mothers Ring (1/2)
Sleep came slowly, finally crashing over her late into the night. Arren's kiss distracted her from reading and so no matter how engaging the adventures of Jamsheed were, they couldn't compare to the confusing and alluring feel of his lips.
Why did he do that? She thought opening her eyes in the Veil, frowning.
The shade stared back at her, waiting, a wide smile on her face.
Isilla's frown deepened, ”What are you doing here,” she growled as Ilun tried to make his body small and pressed against her legs. She petted his head and sat, a bench appearing under her. Ilun pulled himself into its shadow.
”To win bet, yes?” she said, laughter in her voice. ”You see? No mark on your cheek, no mark on your arm!”
”I heal quickly,” Isilla said.
The shade leaned forward, their faces only inches from each other, ”What did others say? Hm? Say healing or magic?”
Isilla touched her cheek. Arren had noticed. ”It's not magic,” Isilla said, ”It just is.”
The shade shook her head, ”So stubborn. Is magic, your magic, my magic too, once.Not like them, it's more a part of us, like breathing, yes? No thought, just does what needs. You know, you travel, out there, out of little gate, always looking for the darkness, always to bring light.”
She shook her head, ”I'm just bored and lonely. It's nothing else. It's just something to do.”
”What you were made to do,” the shade said solemnly.
Isilla shook her head, ”What do you mean your magic too?”
The shade smiled slowly and took a seat next to Isilla on the bench, not close enough to touch but Isilla could feel the unnatural air around the woman. Ilun left his hiding space, the woman too near now.
”I was once Sorgia. Long, long before you. Too long. But now, you are here! Things will be as they should be.”
”What,” Isilla started, giving up and playing along, ”is the Sorgia?”
The shade looked away, staring up at the lavender sky above them, ”Sorgia is change of time, a mark of new season, new ways. Sorgia is the change of the world.”
Isilla sighed, ”I'm tired tired of talking to you, it's like speaking to a dreamer. Just riddles and half statements. I just want things to make sense but nothing has since I came here.”
”Not a dream. A memory left in the blood. Alight, little Sorgia. I will show, simple. You understand enough, you do what is meant,” the woman said.
Isilla turned to the shade as her hand snaked towards her. She jumped back but the shade grabbed her arm, pulling her into an embrace that froze Isilla's body, locking her inside of that unnatural space the shade created around themselves.
Ilun whined and growled, prancing as if to attack but keeping his distance, afraid.
A shock of cold ran through Isilla's body. From her head to somewhere deep in her belly, the cold spread like spilled water through her body, her vision filling with darkness.
She opened her eyes.
A breeze touched her skin, cooler than the hot air of the desert but warmer than anything she'd felt in the Dark Realm. Around her, the stone ground of the pavilion stretched under the full moon's light, white against the black of the sky above.
She looked down at her hands. These are not my hands, she thought, the color, the size, the feel of them all wrong, the same sense spreading throughout her body as the cold had done. It was all wrong.
”Are you ready?” a voice said behind her.
She turned to face the speaker. A man, just a bit taller than her stared back, his eyes glowed purple, the dark shadows twisting and sparking in them. He had the build of a worker, his clothes plain. He's not royalty, she thought.
The hand that was not her hand reached and touched the man's chest. She felt the face that was not hers smile and nod.
Under the light of the full moon his shadows spread, covering the white stone with rolling darkness, a color so deep it shamed the night sky. The heart that was not her heart beat fast as doubts that were not hers flooded her thoughts. What if I fail, they asked over and over again even as something built in her core.
Isilla focused on this sensation, a strange pulling at her center, as if some sixth sense she had been unaware of searched for some particular response that it knew by instinct. Ah, there, Isilla and the other thought at once, a sort of pleasure rippling through their shared body as the searching latched onto something and pulled, bringing it back to them.
She felt the face smile again.
”It is done?” the man asked.