The wind was frosty, having originated in the north beneath the Cuspis moon. As it blew southeasterly across the sea, the wind grew warmer until it crossed the boundary of an island, lush and full of growth. Spying a group of trees, the wind offered a dance, and the leaves accepted. The wind moved with grace from branch to branch, from tree to tree. The leaves waved about and rejoiced in each turn. The wind could feel the sorrowful joy that trees always exude, growing full to bursting from the emotion.
As the wind took its final swirl among the greenery, a noise sounded, so gentle it drowned the wind's howl. The coo of a baby down beneath the shelter of the trees. Had it been there before and gone unnoticed for the thrill of a dance? The wind dropped low to caress the child and bathe it in a warm blessing before resuming its journey east across the meadows, over another sea, and into the alleys of a dangerous and lively city.
One day she was six, the next she was seven. The dryad sat in the vast meadow and wondered, again, how she knew the circles had been made seven times since her birth. She knew no words, numbers, or science; only a sense of another natural completion gave her pause. She dropped the thick blade of grass from her fingers and plucked another, molding her thumbs around it while cupping her hands for resonance. She blew across the blade, her melody for the meadow soaring out of her hands and across the short grass for as far as her eyes could see. She stopped and smiled, partly for the beauty of the notes, but mostly for her vastly improved skill, of which she was very proud.
She lifted her hands to play the blade once more, but was interrupted by a distant sound from behind. She flattened herself to the ground and slowly turned. One like herself but bigger was approaching on one of the four-legged beasts she'd often seen from afar. She'd often envied the riders from her hiding spots for the fun they must have moving so quickly. This rider was heading right for her, so she abandoned her attempt at hiding and stood up. Having never had contact with one like herself, she nervously relished the experience.
The rider stopped in front of her and dismounted from the beast. The rider was different, much taller, heavier, and had hair in places she didn't. The rider's skin was covered with cloth and metal where she stood bare. Sounds began coming from the rider's mouth, but it was the eyes that made the dryad suddenly afraid. The expression was indescribable, but she decided she would rather be elsewhere than have to look into those eyes. She turned to run, but rough hands grabbed her shoulders and lifted her off her feet. The rider explored the area between her legs, plunging a finger inside. The dryad shuddered at the pain, and at the horrible smile that grew upon the rider's face.
A moment later they were both on the beast riding swiftly across the meadow. She could not enjoy the moment; indeed, she now hated all riders, for they must all be horrible creatures.
Some time later they stopped outside a small cabin in the midst of a forest of lodgewood and oak. The rider dismounted, pulled the girl down, and pointed toward the door while emitting more vocal noise. She decided she was meant to enter the cabin and did so while the rider led the beast to a building of its own a short distance away.
The cabin was a wonder to the dryad, who had never seen a home before. Things filled the two rooms to which she could give no name. A pair of small four-legged wooden things stood on opposite ends of the room, each with more four-legged wooden things surrounding them. Those differed in that their flat parts were lower to the ground, smaller, and they had short posts protruding upward. She recognized the light-givers that she had seen others carry around at night. There were three of those. In the smaller adjoining room she found a large object. Short legs kept the object only a small distance off the ground, and the greater portion was soft. She sat on the object, then lay down thinking she may have discovered its function. The object was more comfortable than the grass and earth bed she usually used beneath her trees.
The door in the other room opened and closed. She heard clinks and clanks and other sounds of metal. A few moments later, the rider, bereft of the earlier metal covering, entered the room to find her sitting up. The half-smile that decorated the hairy face was disconcerting to the dryad. The rider sat beside her and began emitting more noises, often accompanied by a raised eyebrow. She finally decided to try emulating the rider's noises and so she croaked out a malformed, "Bitch?"
The rider grunted and stood, walking back into the other room, returning with a flat white sheet in one hand, a feather and a jar of black liquid in the other. The rider dipped the feather in the liquid and made marks on the white sheet. Placing the sheet in the girl's hands, the rider made noises while pointing to one set of marks. Eventually, she realized the rider intended her to copy the noises which apparently corresponded to the markings somehow. After some effort, the dryad spoke her first complete sentence, "Luckily, fucking doesn't take brains."
For the next three years, the dryad was sexually, mentally, and physically abused by what she came to know as a man. A man who would never give a name, but who taught her reading and writing during the days, and the arts of love at night. He was a malicious instructor, punishing mistakes with beatings by hand, whip, and any number of other objects at hand.
She learned quickly and within the year she'd mastered the common language as far as the man could teach. Without the act of teaching to mollify the man, he forced the girl to spend hours, locked in a dark closet, alone with her thoughts.
It was during those hours alone that she finally named herself. She went through several choices before settling on Aelyn for the beauty of the sound. The name also looked nice when written -- an important point given her recent tutelage.
Sanity was difficult to maintain for the eight-year-old girl, stowed away in a dark room. Questions and memories drifted through her hazy wakefulness. Memories of the meadow she had loved so much mingled with images of great black wings descending from a cold moon she swore she could see no matter how she turned her head.
In the blackest moments, she would sit with her head between her knees and rock slowly as vision solidified in the dark. Below her a graveyard stretched out in gray. She floated down over the stones, knowing what they were without having seen their like. She envied the occupants of the earth for the pain they would never feel. She would float the length and breadth of the yard, but in the end she would face the doors. Tinged yellow, they stood in stark contrast to the gray scene, but fit as perfectly as the exception that proves the rule. Always the doors would open and the breeze would flow out to caress her bruised skin. Pitches would faintly sound within the darkness behind the doors. She recognized the pitches but never knew why, and that frightened her. She tried desperately to fly away only to look over her shoulder and find the doors slowly coming closer.
Then the closet door would open, the man standing before her. Always naked, the man would simply stand aside while she scurried to the bed in the next room. The act required no consciousness; it had been burned into her instincts through violence.
Afterward, she would climb from the bed, his seed running down the inside of her thighs, and stumble to her spot in the next room. She called a hard wooden corner her bed, and was always happy to embrace sleep those days.
The door opened and her vision was shattered. She was more disoriented this time. The vision had been different. The doors had not opened to her, but the pitches had sounded. Hazy shadows of people danced across the doors to the rhythm of that melody. The shadows whirled about, intertwining and separating, but always moving so gracefully.
"Stay here and keep it shut," the man said gruffly. "If anyone hears a peep, I'll stick it in your rear again. I know how much you like that." Aelyn lifted her eyes, bleeding tears at the memory of the awesome shadow dance. She just nodded, not truly hearing the man's words. He shut the door and again she was thrust into darkness. She heard the cabin door open and close, and then silence.
The routine had been broken, and that gave Aelyn pause. The dream was different, and the man had acted oddly. She heard the man's words again in her head. "If anyone hears a peep…" If anyone. If anyone. There were others here; others the man didn't want to find her. That could mean they would take her away for their pleasure, or they would take her to safety. Either way, it could be no worse than her current situation. She aimed a kick just under the door handle. Her body was weak, but tempered by new desperation. The door opened, the lock broken by her blow. She left the closet and closed the door, attempting to conceal the break in case the man gave a cursory look to make sure she heeded his instructions.
Aelyn hunched over to avoid the view from the windows and ran into the bedroom. The window here faced the opposite direction of the cabin door. After nervous inspection, she opened the window and exited the cabin that was her school and jail. Hurrying to the corner of the house to her right, she discovered an abandoned wagon half-filled with various items. Her plan hatched quickly. She hurried along the side of the cabin until she reached the next corner. Carefully peeking around the corner, she saw the man talking with a group of people. He appeared to be giving them money in return for a number of bundles lying at his feet. The payees did not look happy at the payment.
Aelyn took a deep breath and moved as silently as possible toward the wagon. There were large bolts of cloth and assorted garments in the bed of the wagon. She said silent thanks to the gods the man sometimes mentioned, even Bast for whom the man seemed to have a greater affection. She climbed into the wagon and covered herself with as much cloth and clothing as possible. Then she lay still, making as little noise as she knew how, which proved a difficult task. Her heartbeats were the hooves of the stallion galloping across the hard ground, and her breathing was near to gasping.
Eventually, the wagon beneath her tipped to balance and began moving. Now she needed the man to forget about her for a couple hours and not come in search of his lost dryad.
"Sorry boys, I'll be using the bath for a few hours when we get back after going through that," a male voice said. The comment drew a few chuckles from the others.
"I wonder what comes out of his ass since his mouth enjoys the shitting," rejoined another to more laughter.
For the next few hours, Aelyn learned from the conversation that these men were part of a merchant train. Apparently, several groups separated from the train to find small farms and communities to sell to, and would then return to the train. She was relieved to hear that this group was returning to the main body with no more stops. That lessened her chances of discovery.
After what she estimated as a couple of hours, the wagon rolled to a stop and tipped downward.
"Wait, why don't we unload this now and get it over with?" a voice said. The rest of the men grumbled agreement and the wagon tilted upward and began rolling again for a short distance. This time when they stopped, the men began taking items out of the wagon. Aelyn panicked, knowing discovery was imminent, and as they lifted a bolt of cloth covering her leg, the moment was upon her.
"What the…"
"I don't remember trading for any legs." Someone poked her. "It's real."
"Well that's fairly gruesome. Alright fess up guys, who owns the leg?"
"No no, Derban. See, I postulate this leg is just the root of the tree. Behold!" Another bolt was lifted revealing Aelyn's other leg. The men outside gasped in feigned astonishment. She'd had enough of the joke, and pushed the rest of her covering off, using a cloak to cover her nakedness.
"Well Simmy," said a tall, thin man with a graying beard. "You owe this girl an apology. Trees are not so lovely."
"Trees also don't hitch rides in wagons. I rather like trees." Simmy's expression was of growing distaste.
"They're the poorer for it," the tall, bearded one smirked.
"What's your story, girl," a previously silent stocky little man said. "The Master's gonna be here soon, no doubt, and I'd as soon have an explanation for him." The rest fell silent, awaiting her response.
The truth was as good as anything, especially knowing the disdain they shared for her former teacher. "The last man you sold to, the one in the woods. I'm leaving him."
"And doing an excellent job of it I'd say," the bearded one said. "Might we expect to hear from him over your disappearance? I did love my time with him, but I'd prefer to keep the magic alive with some time apart."
"I don't know," Aelyn responded. "He may care or he may not."
"Lovely," Simmy said. "Are you his daughter?"
"No, he found me when I was seven and took me in."
"Why are you fleeing from him?"
"No doubt he became angry when she offered him some soap," the bearded one jested.
"One moment of quiet is all I ask Kitz," Simmy said. "Tell me girl, why are you fleeing?"
Aelyn was too embarrassed to tell these strangers the whole truth of what the man in the woods had done to her, but she told them most of her story. She told them of her abduction, the beatings, and the dark room. By the end, each man wore a face of pity for her. They were silent for a time, absorbing the words, until they noticed a golden-haired man approaching the group. Each man straightened his back and changed his expression. Aelyn decided it was probably the Master Simmy had spoken of earlier. She appraised the man who would most likely be deciding her fate, liking what she saw. He was a bulky man, but the mass appeared to be muscle judging from his bare arms. Of average height, he walked confidently with intelligent eyes weighing her and his men.
"Welcome back, gentlemen. Did one of your conquests finally track you down and relieve herself of a daughter, Derban?," the Master said, eyes twinkling. "This is what comes of bedding so many women, as I've often told you." The rest of the men laughed quite hard at this remark. Aelyn couldn't figure out why; it didn't seem all that funny. Derban was a short, ugly man who seemed injured by the Master's comments. The bearded man slapped him on the back in good humor, but Derban did not appear consoled. Aelyn was surprised that such a man would have had so many women, but she supposed there was no accounting for taste.
"This girl stowed away in our cart, unknown to us," Simmy said. "She flees a vile man to whom we sold wares in the woods to the southwest. Her story is sad, but I think she should tell it. We would not do her justice."
"She's as much a girl as Derban is pretty," the Master said, looking her over. "This is a dryad, Simarn, and they're born women, only in babies bodies. Tell me your story, dryad."
Aelyn retold her story, still leaving out the most embarrassing parts. Unlike the others, this man's expression did not show any reaction.
When she finished, he looked her over from head to toe again. "I can shelter you, but there's work you'll be doing for me in exchange. Sound fair?" She nodded in relief. She was free, soon to travel across the realm with these strange men. "Come with me and I'll put you in a wagon. We should be able to find some clothes your size. Customers need to be teased, not given the goods for free." Aelyn wondered at that as he led her off to her new life.
Aelyn spent the next few years coming into her own. It turned out her work for the Master involved enticing male customers into paying more money for items, often buying trinkets they had no use for in the first place. After months of awkward movements and misplaced flutterings of eyelashes, her skill improved. The caravan was soon pulling in more money than ever. For reward, Aelyn was given a covered wagon of her own for quarters.
She had few friends among the women of the train, but the men were a different story. Her accelerated maturation, which began in the woods, continued in the company of the caravan's men. Those she was around most were single men with little responsibility. They flattered her, touched her, and gave gifts, all in attempts to bed her. She did not disappoint. She had learned what her purpose in life was in that cabin in the woods. For three years the man had beaten it into her. At least with these men, she received gifts for the acts.
Often Aelyn would wander among the children as they played, partaking in their games. They would laugh together, sing, and kick balls around open fields. The mothers would give her strange looks during those times. She didn't care; she knew they were jealous that men found her attractive. The children were her only true friends in the caravan. She had no illusions that the men were her friends.
There was one man, however: Derban, whom everyone had joked about after her discovery. He never approached her for kisses or sex. In fact, for apparently being a ladies man, Aelyn never saw him so much as speak with a woman. She made up her mind to approach him one night, and knew afterward that she had simply not gotten the joke the men had been making. Derban had never been with a woman, and he was less a man for it. So he was told by every man in the group, and so he felt.
Aelyn had slept with many men by this time, but had never felt a part of the experience. She was simply a commodity. The man in the woods had desired her only for the slit between her legs. To these men she was an enigma. She was a child they could screw, with smallness in form, but ripeness in chest and hip. The caravan Master had said she was not a child, but a woman matured. She didn't feel like either.
With Derban, she felt different. She was a participant, the first this man would ever have. She was giving a gift instead of having it taken from her. She approached him while he sat away from the fire one night. She talked with him, cuddled, and invited him to her wagon. His inexperience made him a gentle but speedy lover.
The sexual experience was unfulfilling for Aelyn, but the encounter had changed her. From then on, she would be more than a cunt. She would gain as much as they, or more, from the use of her body.
She began with the caravan Master. There was much she wanted, and he had the power to give it to her. His wife was often away buying supplies, or under some other pretext. But from the talk of the caravan's women, she had a lover who followed the train at a distance. This provided Aelyn with all the rationalization she needed. The Master was no match for her improved resolve. She confronted him in his wagon at dinner time, and left the wagon with a pair of jade bracelets in the morning.
The Master had a large cache of things to sell when he reached the city of Thrace. Over the next few months, Aelyn acquired at least one tenth of the horde in the form of gifts. The Master would not, however, give in to her desire for one of the many instruments he had in his possession. "The instruments will be worth a great deal of money in the city because they're difficult to come by," he said. Aelyn tried different ways of giving pleasure, but the Master held firm his grasp on the instruments she so coveted.
The dreams didn't stop with her flight from the cabin. The doors remained closed, but were larger with each subsequent dream. As the doors augmented, the amount of shadow dancers increased, and the melody from within grew louder. Aelyn no longer ran from the doors. She stood and watched until the awful moment of awakening when the wonder of the scene would become a mere memory.
She was being shaken roughly, awakened from the newly changed dream. The dancers had halted their graceful intertwining. Now they danced sensually in place, their arms beckoning to her. Change was coming again.
"Get up!" the Master was whispering loudly into her ear. "Get in the closet! My wife is coming!" She was too drowsy to comprehend the meaning of his words, but he wanted her to get up, so she did that. She rolled out of the bed and stretched languidly. The Master pushed her roughly into the closet and closed the door. Shortly thereafter she heard the door outside open and close. She heard soft movements around the room, but no speaking. Soon there was no sound. He must have feigned sleep, and his wife joined him.
Aelyn settled back to wait until she was certain they would both be asleep. She thought about the unsettling nature of the changing dream and wondered what the true portent was. She soon found herself with arms wrapped around her knees, slowly rocking. She was back in the cabin in the woods, locked away from the world until the man needed her. She forced the thought away from her and instead thought about the control she had gained over her life. Of course, here she was in a closet again at another's direction, but that was beside the point.
It was in her contemplation of her battle for control that she remembered what treasures were in the closet. Among other things, the instruments she had practically begged for were stored there. That was all she needed. Another closet, another plan.
The next morning, the Master found he had lost three things from his life, and regretted ever getting involved with the dryad. He was out a horse, a girl, and a valuable flute that was the vision of night itself. He didn't set out after her, however. Enough damage had been done, and he hoped she would be happy - but not that happy.
Meanwhile, Aelyn rode north on her stolen brown gelding. Somewhere she knew she would pick up the road that would take her to the city of Thrace. The merchant caravan was heading toward Thrace as well, but Aelyn knew they would never find her among that many people. She didn't know what to expect when she reached the city, nor did she care.
Along the way, Aelyn tried her hand at the darkly lustrous flute she had taken from the caravan Master's closet. She had trouble making sense out of the different holes and their function. She knew that one blew into the hole at one end, and covered the various other holes with fingers, but that was the extent of her training. The melody from her dream seemed an adequate place to begin, but the flute could not be made to reproduce the tones, partly because she lacked the technical skill, and partly because she couldn't recall the exact melody. It was there, on the corners of her memory, and she felt as though it were stronger than just a dream could make it. She knew that melody from somewhere else, and she was determined to grasp the memory in its entirety.
The journey took her through vast meadows of green grass until she was finally deposited upon a wide thoroughfare. The hard packed dirt road was lined on either side by rounded stones which followed the edges east and west as far as she could see. West was her direction of choice because it was as good a direction as any other. Queries of other travelers along the way proved her choice correct. Shortly thereafter, Aelyn arrived at the immense southern gateway to the city of Thrace.
The iron gate was a massive structure operated by thick chains. A gatehouse guarded access to the city, which Aelyn discovered meant a fee. She had no money; in fact, she had nothing but the flute and the clothes she was riding in. No, she had something else she thought might win her way into the city.
"I'm sure I have a danar somewhere," she told the guard. "Would you help me look?" This, accompanied by a coy look and slight smile, gave the guard the intended impression. A few minutes later, Aelyn was riding down South Wind Way, washing her mouth out with water from her waterskin.
Sunlight was growing short, so Aelyn stopped at the first inn she found, not too far from the southern gate. To her good fortune, the clerk was a young man who required nothing more than some batted eyelashes and playful flirting, which seemed to hint at things to come, to give her one of the cheaper rooms. After settling her meager possessions in the room, Aelyn set up camp in the common room. She was delighted to find a musician performing for the crowd. She hadn't heard most of the songs he played, but she was fascinated by the control he had over the crowd. At the end of most tunes, drunken revelers would throw coins to him in appreciation.
But it wasn't the control that intrigued Aelyn the most. The simple beauty of music had always been of interest, and to finally see one who was skilled in performance was thrilling for her. She thought about approaching him after he finished, but decided to investigate the city further before making any decisions. It was probable that more musicians performed in Thrace, some who might be better than this gentleman. Eventually the innkeeper would expect her to start paying in one form or another, so the right musician would need to provide her not only with lessons, but also with housing. She decided she was going to like Thrace.
The next few days were spent exploring the city, which was intimidating to Aelyn, who had never seen anything larger than a village. In one day of looking, she decided cities were far more interesting than the countryside she had spent all of her life in. She was awed by the magnificent buildings, particularly the massive temple of Tempest. The towers were so high she could see them almost everywhere she went in the city.
As to her mission, Aelyn watched street performers sing while juggling knives, and listened to musicians in taverns and common rooms, but she couldn't find one that caught her fancy. While returning to the inn she decided she would be less selective on the morrow.
Fortune was with her, however. There was a new performer at her inn when she arrived. A crowd was gathered, larger than the night before, listening intently. The musician was a pretty sort of man, and if he could draw such appreciative crowds he was certainly good at his job, not to mention well to do. He was the best prospect she had seen yet. She approached him after his final song.
"What's your name?" Aelyn asked him. He had seemed rather aloof during the performance, so she decided to be more direct than was her usual seduction practice.
He looked up from the cases which housed his instruments. "Ditran Chance, maam," he replied.
"You're really good."
"I thank you for your kind words." He returned to packing up the remainder of his equipment, effectively dismissing her.
"I have an instrument which I was hoping you would appraise."
His empty gaze seemed to indicate his astonishment that she was still there. This time he looked her over from head to foot. "Where is it?"
"It's in my room in this inn. If you'll follow me I can show you." He stared at her - almost through her - before assenting. The pair adjourned to her sparsely furnished room. Ditran sat on the bed while Aelyn removed the flute from a dresser. The musician studied the instrument for some time without saying a word.
"A well-crafted flute. Fortunately the color is dyed into the material. Ebony would make a terrible substance for a flute. I prefer wooden pipes, but the metal does increase volume." He then played what sounded to Aelyn like beautiful, though technical, exercises for several minutes.
"Wonderful tone. I'd be willing to pay four orbs for it."
This surprised Aelyn. She hadn't expected him to offer to buy it, and four orbs would go a long way toward her independence. If her plan worked, however, she would have no need of money for a while.
"Thank you for the offer, but I want to learn the instrument," she told him.
"Then I wish you luck in your endeavor." He stood and moved toward the door.
"Would you teach me?"
"I haven't the time."
This was embarrassing for Aelyn. This man seemed to care nothing about her, which was contrary to her experience the past few years. Well, I've taken the direct route so far. I might as well use what I've got. "I can cook, clean, and do … whatever you wish in exchange for lessons." With an enticing smile she took his hand and led him back to the bed.
The deal was secured when she moved to his home the next day. She was surprised to find out that she was still expected to cook and clean, despite what she thought was an excellent performance the previous night. Fortunately, her workload diminished with each trip to the bed. After a month, she was romantically involved with the bard, at least from his perspective. To her, he was a tool that needed care and nothing more.
As she hoped, her skill with the flute increased dramatically, but so did her passion and enjoyment of music. She even dabbled in some of Ditran's other instruments.
Perhaps Ditran's most important revelation came when he told Aelyn of his own training in Sable across the Regelian. There, an entire guild was dedicated to the instruction of bards. A major portion of a bard's training was dedicated to instrumental instruction which was second to none. A bard was more, however, than a musician she learned. Several other skills were involved, skills which interested Aelyn very little. The prospect was something to ponder though.
A year later, Aelyn had surpassed Ditran's skill with the flute, and had come to realize he was not a terribly skilled musician. With this realization, she began to feel wrong about continuing to take advantage of his feelings. He obviously wanted a larger relationship that she was not prepared to enter in to. She remained with him, however, intending to further advance her knowledge in other instruments.
Aelyn rolled off Ditran, unable to continue making love to him. Shrugging off his concern, she said she wasn't in the mood and didn't feel well. He seemed to accept this as he accepted most things. He had few cares in the world, and approached all situations in the same aloof manner. Her feelings of loathing toward herself had grown intensely the last few days. The situation wasn't right. She didn't want to be there with him, but yet she continued to use him for what he could provide.
For a time she lay there awake, silently shedding tears. Then, abruptly, she fell asleep.
She couldn't breathe. She couldn't move. She couldn't see. She was on her back. One was on top of her again. They always were because she told them they could. Panic struck a blow to her core. She flailed about only to discover there was no man, but she was confined in dirt. She clawed at the soft walls, some of which caught beneath her fingernails. She punched straight up with the strength of fear. She felt air on her hand as she broke through.
She pulled herself out of her earthen grave to find herself at a crossroads inside the dream. This was not Thrace, but it was a city. The buildings were tinged yellow, lit by the light of the large, cold moon above. The ground was gray beneath her feet while the night above was black beyond deep. Dreams were never this real to her, but much was as she remembered. One discrepancy was the location. Nearby was a massive marble fountain. A statue rose from the center, a man with a lance astride a large warhorse. A flag tipped the lance. Though not made marble, the flag could easily have been part of the statue in its motionless state. There was no wind.
It had been months since her last such dream. They had all been similar to the one she had the night she'd set out for Thrace. The doors remained closed, but had stopped their growth. The strange, familiar melody would sound from behind the doors, but was now soft as it had been in the beginning. The shadow dancers remained, but undulated in place on the doors. This place lacked all those mainstays, but she knew it was the dream, nonetheless.
Down one road she spied an immense structure that dwarfed all other buildings. From what she had seen in Thrace, she judged this to be a temple to a god or goddess. Since one way seemed as good as another, she walked toward the temple.
The streets were devoid of people and sound, but despite that fact, she felt at home in this place. An unbidden smile crossed her lips and she picked up her pace till she was running toward the temple, laughing wildly. When she reached the structure, she looked up. She could see no end to its heights. She started to enter the building when movement to her left caught her eye. Another road joined hers a short distance away, and the shadows were dancing on the sides of the buildings on that road. They danced in such a way that they surged down the crossroad away from her. She was being bidden.
She abandoned the temple in favor of the shadows. She walked their road, following their movements. As the road curved, so did the surrounding buildings, and so did the dancers as they shed the yellow light. Soon she stood before a wooden door set in a long, high wall. This door bore little resemblance to the closed doors of previous dreams, other than the presence of shadows, but still she listened for the melody. Hearing nothing, she decided to try it. She pushed and pulled but could not open the door. Still, the dancers flowed gracefully around the door. Something lay behind that door -- something important, she knew.
A soft, warm wind rose around her, caressing her flesh. The wind had an almost physical quality. She watched the wind curl along the wall. As it did, the shadows separated from the barrier to join the wind. Together, they moved in excruciating elegance. The wind turned back to her, and as it touched her naked skin, she could not help but join the dance. Time and circumstance was lost as she joined shadow and wind in climactic ecstasy. She rolled with the breeze, and twirled with the dancers. When the wind subsided, she slowed her movements to a disappointed halt, and as she did the door slowly opened. Black lay beyond, but she passed through the doorway.
She stood on another road, one she had stood on over a year ago. Rounded stones lined both sides for the length of the road. An expansive meadow rolled away on one side. She turned around and found what she only half expected. The door she had passed through had been replaced by the massive southern gate of the city of Thrace. The dead moon had not moved, and still lit the area in yellowish tones.
Something long and cold was lodged in the waist of her breeches against her back. She reached back and pulled forth her ebony flute. Its presence was oddly heartening.
Then she noticed the whispers, so imperceptible that she had to strain to hear. The very land and air seemed to be the source. She tried without success to discern individual words, hoping the whispers were providing instructions. She decided trying to reenter Thrace would be pointless. She had just come from that direction, and, even if she could open the gate, that strange city would, most likely, still be there. Instead, she closed her eyes and spun around, then began walking in the direction she ended up facing. By this method, she was soon walking southeast across the meadow.
She walked for what felt like hours, though the moon never moved from its position in the black night sky. Her legs ached and her head swam from the constant whispers. Occasionally one word would sound more pronounced, and she thought she could understand its meaning. Among those words were "motherless", "fatherless", and "brotherless". She also thought she heard the words "red", "white", and "purple" on more than one occasion. None of it made sense to her, and at the moment she didn't care to understand. She wanted badly to rest her legs, but she staggered onward.
What must have been over a day into her hazy journey, Aelyn heard distant music above the continued whispers. She wandered dazedly in what she perceived to be the correct direction. Her eyes being turned downward, the first sight she saw were her shadow dancers, undulating almost erotically along the ground to the syncopated rhythms of the music. She had no strength to join them this time; instead, she sat down for the first time in this cold, yellow world, put her flute to her lips, and played with the music. Eyes closed, she swayed with the song until it came to an abrupt stop.
Aelyn opened her eyes and raised them from the still shadows on the ground to find something her other dreams had never held: people. Darkly colored men and women stood around a bonfire, all of whom were staring at her. She slowly rose to her feet and studied the people before her. She found them instantly fascinating. Their dark coloring lent appeal to their rugged features. Most had colorful tattoos on their bodies as well as bright jewelry. Many of them had smiles on their faces, directed at her. She smiled back and started to walk toward them, but an elderly woman in purple robes stepped out and motioned harshly for her to stop.
"Avoid her," she said over her shoulder. "She walks the shadow."
Aelyn was confused. "What do you mean?"
"I mean what I say, motherless child. Your place is not here. Journey the salt and seek the scorned and brotherless. One door has opened for you, but two remain. You will not find them here. Sing your meadow melody with him, not with us, and they will open to you again." The strange people turned away from her to resume their festivities. The hag reached into her robes, pulled something out, and tossed it to the ground near Aelyn. She picked up what turned out to be a danar coin. Unbidden tears soon lined her face. She dropped to the ground and curled into a ball, weeping savagely. A hand rested on her shoulder, the bony hand of the old woman.
"I'm sorry," Aelyn said between soppy gasps. "I don't know where I am. I don't have any idea what you just said. I'm miserable and I can't remember a time when I wasn't. I'm cruel to people. I don't belong anywhere I go, and I just want to go home."
"Look at the coin," the hag said in a softer tone than before. "Concentrate on it, because it's your passage home." The hag's hand tightened painfully on her shoulder.
Aelyn opened her eyes to find a brightly lit blue sky above her. She lay on a sandy beach near a long wooden dock. She heard gruff shouts in the distance.
"Tie the lines, dogs!"
"Ya ain't got no bloody leave, imps! We're off in ten minutes."
Aelyn stood groggily to have a better look around. What she had was her first glimpse of a sea vessel. From what she'd heard and imagined, this boat couldn't be one of the larger ships on the sea. Men were sitting along the deck with legs dangling over the sides. They looked dark and rough, much like…. The memory of what had to have been a dream came back to her. The journey to the gypsy folk, the old hag, and her baffling words. Aelyn dug in the pockets of her breeches and found a dull danar coin nestled in the folds. She studied the coin and the boat, making a quick decision. She scrambled up the bank to where the dock began before remembering her flute which lay down where she had slept. She fell down the bank in her efforts to retrieve the precious instrument, but soon, with flute and coin in hand, she was racing along the dock.
"Ya want passage?" a sailor near the boarding plank asked.
"Yes, thank you."
"A danar'll get you to Sable."
"This goes to Sable City?"
"Where'd you think it went?"
"I don't know. Can a ship this small go that far?"
"Sable ain't far, miss. If you got the coin you can get on, otherwise get going." She relinquished the hag's coin and boarded the boat bound for Sable.
A short time later, as the ship nearly flew over the water, Aelyn stood on the bow and looked out over the salt sea. The doors were out there, she knew that now. This ship would guide her to them. She would stand before them and sing the song, dancing once more among the shadows. And, for her, the doors would open.
Offered With Respect,
Siric Silanoi
It's a few minutes after midnight, and I sit, bathed in what light I've gathered from the dark, perusing the biography I've just completed. I still wonder if it's entirely correct.
Aelyn was never forward with me about her life. I knew she'd had problems with a man when she was very young, and I surmised them to be sexual in nature. Over the years I spent in Sable, I learned bits and pieces here and there, most from other sources close to the dryad. I finally obtained a copy of her personal autobiography, which gave me more to digest.
When I assembled all I knew of her I stood back - and found a great many trees missing from the forest. Her autobiography was far too understated, even misleading, in many parts. For example, accounts vary as to how long she spent in any one place. The pride displayed in her wiles during those formative years was false as well.
My disbelief with her own story, in my mind, began when I heard of the time she spent with the gypsies on Thrace. I came to harbor serious doubts about that fact because she never displayed any of the gypsy style, which is very overt and noticeable. Gypsies have a swagger to their step, and a mournful bounce to their music. Aelyn avoids notice from most, and her music is subtle and subdued. She did know of their interesting complexions and features, however. That, combined with other pertinent information, led me to surmise that she had spent only a small amount of time with the gypsies.
The most glaring omission from the Elegist's autobiography was the dream. The dream has both frightened and excited Aelyn for almost her entire life. She never specifically told anyone about it; indeed, the piecing together of that portion has been the most difficult. I admit that the dream is a hypothesis, and a combination of many conversations and tidbits of information. I have a feeling I'm close to correct on the matter, however. I also believe the dream and its permutations finally ended with her acceptance into the thin ranks of Mortis. The reader will see that conclusion embedded into my written interpretation of the dream.
Her misdirection and omissions have been agitating at times, but also endearing. I have not spoken with Aelyn in 20 years and more, but I hope she has come to terms with the unfortunate circumstances of her youth. Our misfortunes often blind our souls with emotion. As are all, Aelyn is a product of those misfortunes, and a product of the choices she has made because of them. I met Aelyn through her music, I befriended her because I could not help myself, and for me that is rare.
It is the dichotomy of Aelyn that fascinates me so. She is both a beaming, beautiful creature, and a brooding, moody character. On the one hand, she and her clan promote liveliness in life. On the other, she worships the Bone Lord completely. Certainly these two modes of thought are not inconsistent. Some would even argue they are perfectly in sync. I agree with them, for I have known and loved her.
Copyright © 2001, Matt Ackerman