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 Posted: Tue Apr 08, 2008 12:39 pm
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Posted: Wed Apr 09, 2008 6:54 pm
"Have y'ev'r been'n love, Man'aan?"
The flames were beginning to jump from the spit carved out from the wall, licking at the Chrysaetos seer's long, tapered fingers. Bodil looked up from the kindling, the fire nipping at the russet pinions that lined her winged arms. She murmured a word and sprayed the flames with an off-white powder that chalked her hands upon their dismissal and the fire was coaxed from its home to greet the cave with a roar. She turned away to face her questioner.
A little girl with hair like burnished copper sat tearing into a hank of meat, the creature long since indistinguishable, pulverized as it was within her tiny clawed hands. She ate with the finesse of one inexperienced at eating raw meat, but she was eager to teach herself and licked at her stained palms like a kitten. Bodil observed in silence. Vila was learning.
She looked away when the child lifted her eyes of mercury; she wiped her powdered hands against the down on her thighs and moved to her shelved jars and cups. Though there was not much in their home, they were quite well off - Avians relied on little within their abodes to live; the shelving was little more than an indulgence on the Seer's parts. Her talons clicked against the smooth stone and reaching back into the recesses of the dark space, she pulled out a cup of charcoal.
"Wussit for, Man'aan?" Vila said from around a large piece of meat. Diluted pink blood was trickling down her dark chin.
"Your stomachache, little one. With the way you're eating, you're bound to get one." She mixed the charcoal into a pitcher of water.
Vila contemplated this and then shrugged it off as her mother's innate ability of knowing rather than a mother's intuition. The bones of her meal were readily devoured, "Yeh ne'er ans'ered m'question."
"This is true," Bodil said. The little girl studied her, watched the russet strands of her hair devour the firelight like an over-eager lover. The shadows crept into the straight edges of her mother's face, slunk into the feathers that lined her strong jaw and long neck. The Avian woman had spoken as though she were going to finally put her daughter's question to rest, but instead she fell silent again and worked at shaking the small remedy bottle. The little girl frowned and her dark brow dimpled.
The uneaten portions of her meal squelched within her hands as she squeezed them. And then, looking down at her lap, she ventured out on a limb with trepidation and curiosity in her voice -
"Did y'love Pan'een?"
There was only the swish, swish, swish of the mixture and the crackling of the fire to answer her. Looking up, she caught her mother's dark eyes boring into her and quickly looked away. Bodil had such unnerving black eyes that even Vila, her own flesh and blood, wondered if they were eyes or simply holes that swallowed visions of the universe. She had asked once before of her father, and had garnered no response. She expected the same on this venture.
"Y'see," she began guiltily, trying to cover her tracks. "Caelius --"
"De'n Caelius."
"De'n Caelius," she corrected hastily. "He w's tellin' us how w'is all born'd fr'm more'n jus' th' sky n' win' n' stuff, but love too, so I wus wond'erin'...."
Bodil knelt beside her child and unfolded the demolished meat from her hands, pressing the stone chalice of charcoal and water into her fingers. The torn flesh of her meal passed into the Seer's mouth and she jerked her head, motioning for the little girl to drink; Vila obeyed.
"De'n Caelius loves to tell stories," she imparted, taking a seat at Vila's feather-speckled feet. Her talons stretched out in discomfiture. "Children born of love are fledglings for the rest of eternity."
"Huh?"
"It's nice, of course, love, but not good for the clan."
"Then wha's better, Man'aan?" Vila suckled on the rim of the cup, looking expectantly at her mother's profile.
Bodil appeared as though she were considering it, looking into the gloom of their abode. She didn't smile.
"To be born out of respect," she told her daughter quietly. "And defiance."
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Posted: Wed Apr 09, 2008 11:59 pm
There was an explosion in the distance. Trees were uprooted, sent flying through the air, fire pushed into the evening air like the snapping jaws of a great beast. The small group of Chrysaetos warriors, painted for battle, huddled around the only woman of the group. A hand shot out and caught her in the chest, halting her in her tracks.
There was another explosion, closer.
"How exactly are we supposed to make it through this mire, Brictius?"
The large Avian man with speckled and fire eaten wings glanced at his inquirer, Cicero, silencing him at once. The seer looked agitatedly between the two.
"If we keep stopping," she ground out. "We'll be captured."
"You saw that?" Brictius turned on her.
The clay-hued feathers around her face leapt upwards, "No! It's common sense. Let's go."
They had known of Ala Al-Din's want to enter their realm for a long time, but anticipating his attack would have been nil without Bodil's guidance. With his kingdom situated on the cusp of the sea and nothing to worry about in the south except the brutal sands of the desert, why wouldn't he want to secure his home on the Western and Eastern fronts as well? Their territory, as well as their brethren to the West, impeded his need of absolute safety. And perhaps, since he was human, he wanted to sate his war-thirsty cravings.
Bodil had never known fear, not until she saw the great forests of her home crushed beneath the might of the Sandlord. She had never tasted her own blood on her tongue, and never had it crossed her mind what the scent of burning flesh and hair and feathers smelt like. She never wondered what it would be like to see men fall from the sky, their wings cut free and crushed underfoot and never had she known the petrifying song of women as they were caged and carted off into the unknown. Bodil had never known fear.
Not until now.
Her visions of the torment had been nothing compared to living it. Seeing the future was nothing to living it. She had seen too many comrades fall, and for what? A selfish king's priorities? In the beginning she had been more than terrified, she had been helpless. Now, however, that fear had become bitterness. She wanted to survive. She wanted to see her clan survive, and so with little a disparaging thought, she had been thrust within a group of warriors whose main prerogative had been to get her to the West. After all, she was a valued commodity.
Brictius lead the formation of survivors through the trees, more cautious since thus far, Ala Al-Din's forces had been swatting them from the sky. It didn't stop them from flying, oh no, but it did put a damper on things when the enemy was hurling great flaming balls. The fire seemed to get closer.
"Into the ravine, hurry!" He shouted against the din of war.
Bodil, however, lingered near its mouth. The pinions covering her body were prickling uncomfortably as though covered in a layer of something that wasn't soot; a feat as she wore no clothes.
She licked her cracked lips, "Brictius, we shouldn't...not down there."
Brictius's gaze was again seized by the seer, and he stared long at her, wishing with all of his might that he could glimpse at what she saw. Black eyes, black eyes that reflected the horrors of battle found his; he looked away and back to the convoy. He made a motion with his winged arm, "Out."
The cluster scrambled out of their temporary safety. Cicero, however, remained staunchly at the mouth of the hole.
"Being grounded is dangerous, but without cover we're prey to them. They're going to pick us off no matter how you look at it - the best we can do is find cover now and hope they don't find us," he snapped.
Brictius opened his mouth to speak, but Bodil raised a hand to silence him -
"Yes, but being cornered is not a risk I am willing to take! You've no idea what lurks beyond the bend, Cicero, not even I do!"
The young man curled his nose, "Then we'll scout ahead while the rest take up roost in the trees. It's worth a sh--" thok.
Cicero looked down in disbelief, trembling vision greeting the pointed, bloody end of an arrow that had pierced through his back. He collapsed. Bodil screamed in terror. Brictius seized her around the middle and forcibly turned her around.
She ran.
The first instinct had been to spread her wings and fly, but her talons had clutched steadfastly into the earth. The pandemonium of battle crashed over her head like a hot wave, the clatter of hoof beats and armor, the cacophony of war cries and shrieks of terror. She could hear the bestial roar of combat rising behind her, the screams of metal against metal. She had never been so close.
My God, she was going to die.
In fear her arms outstretched and the sky sucked her up and as she tasted hope at her wingtips, something sharp thudded against her ankle and flung her into the unyielding bough of a tree. She hit it with a crack, her breath pumping from her in one, quick gasp. Stars exploded before her eyes just as fire exploded nearby. She felt temporarily blinded, could not think outside the boundary that yes, she was going to die, she was going to die. A hand grabbed at her, flung her across something just as hard and equally unbending as the tree. In her short life as a seer, never had she feared.
And never had she seen this.
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