Reflection
The day’s light faded slowly towards dusk breaking into all of the familiar beauties of sunset. Looking out over the sea, Victor watched the thickish storm clouds on the homeward side of the island plowing towards the waning colors with their thought provoking contrasts. At once ominous and threatening with the quick flashes of lightning reminding of the dark gray-white truth of the storm then returning calmly to the wash of breathtaking skyfire, crimsons, tangerines, and indigos.
With a faint huffing of breath the shapeshifting youth that had come along to see the advent of war stepped up the southern slope stopping a few feet behind Victor.
“What do you see?”
Victor hesitantly broke his upward gaze recognizing the voice and wondering with a slow blink of his eyes what face he would see this time. As his own face prepared to master any outward signs of surprise he started to glance toward the voice. Calmly checking that sideways motion of his head he resumed his slightly raised westerly view deciding his poise was better kept without seeing whichever unfamiliar or uncomfortably familiar visage his enquirer might choose to show.
“I see a reflection of myself, my mind, my heart, my spirit, my past. What is it that you see?”
The boy, Aushedar, choosing now to look out with eyes strangely resembling Victor’s own said, “I see a reflection of the world around me, storms behind me, fading beauty in front of me, darkness to be.”
“Darkness is ever the herald of tomorrow’s light. You have seen much of the world at the same tender age I had. Your parents killed, enslaved by those who care not for your well-being and now you travel with your mother’s killers to see more bloodshed in the name of a just god whose service you have been asked into. I will confess that often times I have thought that tomorrow’s light be far more terrible than it’s precursor. Ironic that we both go forward under the banner of this god Elos, god of the sun, giver of light.”
The storm drifts closer as the setting light changes to only a lingering blush withdrawing from the blue-black curtain of dusk. Aushedar’s voice struggles to rise in his throat, this time less certain.
“Y-you speak truly. I came here with you murderers that would be saviors to see something of men and this Elos and the evil beyond my mother. I am a-afraid. H-how do you do it, how do you calmly wait for the light?”
A soft sprinkling of rain gently started to fall on them as the last reminder of tomorrow reluctantly fell beyond the eastern horizon. Victor regretted his bluntness and turned to face the faceless whose face was none other than his own though younger and afraid, as he had been, as some part of him still was. No surprise arose this time for he was prepared now to look in that face, his own face, the face of truth, anger, the past. In the last half-light he answered honestly and with compassion.
“I will show you. Now, as you feel these tears of Narduna, my chosen goddess, wetting your brow, now is the time of all men who would ask such questions. Now you must let your own tears fall until you can no longer tell hers from your own. She will cleanse you in the darkness, she will listen as you spill out your truths. She will wait as you empty yourself, hollow yourself, making a dark void within, for darkness is ever the herald of light. That is how I do this. Would you take a knee now beside me?”
The rain poured a little heavier now, the clouds blending their grays into the dusky beyond. Without another word Aushedar moved close enough for Victor to hear that familiar sound, the choked muffling of sobbing barely discernible from the pattering water falling about them. Their hair sponging full dripped forth its streams with the impact of knees meeting dampening earth.
Victor let his mind sink deeply having glimpsed the face of himself, so young, fighting back pain, not so different. The sky, the ground, the sound of rain, all fading away as the sun until all that was left was the warmth on his face. It was good that the rain was warm tonight, warm as tears.
- by Jon
With a faint huffing of breath the shapeshifting youth that had come along to see the advent of war stepped up the southern slope stopping a few feet behind Victor.
“What do you see?”
Victor hesitantly broke his upward gaze recognizing the voice and wondering with a slow blink of his eyes what face he would see this time. As his own face prepared to master any outward signs of surprise he started to glance toward the voice. Calmly checking that sideways motion of his head he resumed his slightly raised westerly view deciding his poise was better kept without seeing whichever unfamiliar or uncomfortably familiar visage his enquirer might choose to show.
“I see a reflection of myself, my mind, my heart, my spirit, my past. What is it that you see?”
The boy, Aushedar, choosing now to look out with eyes strangely resembling Victor’s own said, “I see a reflection of the world around me, storms behind me, fading beauty in front of me, darkness to be.”
“Darkness is ever the herald of tomorrow’s light. You have seen much of the world at the same tender age I had. Your parents killed, enslaved by those who care not for your well-being and now you travel with your mother’s killers to see more bloodshed in the name of a just god whose service you have been asked into. I will confess that often times I have thought that tomorrow’s light be far more terrible than it’s precursor. Ironic that we both go forward under the banner of this god Elos, god of the sun, giver of light.”
The storm drifts closer as the setting light changes to only a lingering blush withdrawing from the blue-black curtain of dusk. Aushedar’s voice struggles to rise in his throat, this time less certain.
“Y-you speak truly. I came here with you murderers that would be saviors to see something of men and this Elos and the evil beyond my mother. I am a-afraid. H-how do you do it, how do you calmly wait for the light?”
A soft sprinkling of rain gently started to fall on them as the last reminder of tomorrow reluctantly fell beyond the eastern horizon. Victor regretted his bluntness and turned to face the faceless whose face was none other than his own though younger and afraid, as he had been, as some part of him still was. No surprise arose this time for he was prepared now to look in that face, his own face, the face of truth, anger, the past. In the last half-light he answered honestly and with compassion.
“I will show you. Now, as you feel these tears of Narduna, my chosen goddess, wetting your brow, now is the time of all men who would ask such questions. Now you must let your own tears fall until you can no longer tell hers from your own. She will cleanse you in the darkness, she will listen as you spill out your truths. She will wait as you empty yourself, hollow yourself, making a dark void within, for darkness is ever the herald of light. That is how I do this. Would you take a knee now beside me?”
The rain poured a little heavier now, the clouds blending their grays into the dusky beyond. Without another word Aushedar moved close enough for Victor to hear that familiar sound, the choked muffling of sobbing barely discernible from the pattering water falling about them. Their hair sponging full dripped forth its streams with the impact of knees meeting dampening earth.
Victor let his mind sink deeply having glimpsed the face of himself, so young, fighting back pain, not so different. The sky, the ground, the sound of rain, all fading away as the sun until all that was left was the warmth on his face. It was good that the rain was warm tonight, warm as tears.
- by Jon
posted by Abram | 12:55 PM
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