51 Nightmare Space (1/2)
The warmth of their love making followed her to the Veil. Around her the fountains ran clear, the sun sparkling off the water, the flowers bloomed huge and bright filling the air with their fragrance.
She smiled at Ilun, his tail thumping on the ground, the beast happy to see her so happy.
”Him after all?” the familiar voice of the shade broke her from her celebration. She turned to the smiling woman.
Isilla touched her chest, ”Whatever that was, this binding, he engaged in it with me.”
”And more besides,” the woman laughed. ”Wonderful for you, little Sorgia, so wonderful but not done.”
”There is no more, I felt it, it's done,” Isilla said.
The shade shook her head, ”Must use.”
Isilla frowned, ”No. I'm not doing anything else until you explain to me what's happening. The last time I saw you, you said something about magic dying with me.”
The woman smiled showing bright teeth, ”Yes, it will. You, Sorgia, you must reset the glass, the sands are running out.”
”You speak in riddles,” Isilla said.
”That is what death does, muddles the words, hides what needs said. What needs done,” the shade said, her voice sad and heavy.
”Then you are no help, so why are you here? If you can't tell me what's happening to me, why are you here?”
”You are awakening, bit by bit, slow, much slower than should but you will be very powerful Sorgia. Will set world right, turn the glass,” the shade said solemnly, her bright eyes fixed on Isilla.
”More riddles?” she rolled her eyes.
The shade shrugged, ”How can answer when you don't ask?”
Isilla opened her mouth to argue before she stopped, her mind rushing over the things that had happened in the weeks she had been in the Dark Realm, what the shade had told, and not told her. ”The healing,” she said finally, slowly, testing the communication, ”that's not because I'm a dreamweaver.”
”No, little Sorgia,” the shade said, a smile in her voice.
”That is because,” she started.
”You are what you are, have always been,” the woman said brightly, her words reminding her of Arren's from weeks ago. You are whatever you are, he had said over that first breakfast between them.
”So I was always meant to come here, as a bride?” she poked at the boundaries of what the woman could tell her.
”You or some other but it is is you so it must be,” she waved the question away, unimportant.
”You were the last, before me, you were the last Sorgia, the last bride,” Isilla tried again.
The shade nodded.
”Why so long? What happened?”
”Long? Longer than it should but not so long. Only a handful of mothers. Few women from me to you. My blood, your blood. My little Sorgia.”
Her gate opened and she turned to the sound. Aseir this time strolled through, scratching his bare chest, his face, eyes still hidden pointed at the sky. She turned back to the shade but she had disappeared.
Sighing, she turned her attention to the man who had come to see her. ”Hello, Aseir,” she said softly, crossing the garden to where he sat with Ilun, scratching his head.
”Hello, Isilla,” he responded. ”I came to see if you were keeping your promise to us.”