4th of Ymiden Arc 722
Continued from here
Speckled with twinkling stars, the night sky appeared as a vast tapestry of dark blue silk and shimmering diamonds. Their size only increased their elegant beauty, and contrasted the moons.
The trio of platina-and-red shapes was gaudy by comparison. Ostentatiously huge, ill-fitting within the swirl of stars. Not surprising considering they’d been created to outdo Faldrun’s suns. Treid had let their rivalry cloud his sense of aesthetic. One single silver disk of moon would have been enough, a nice complement to the whole. A centerpiece to draw the eye, enhanced by the stars and enhancing them in turn.
Instead, he’d fashioned three moons. Spread across the horizon unevenly, unbalanced. They weren’t pretty either. One was a large egg lying on it side, one resembled something close to a rectangle, and the last was nice and round, but also red with ugly yellow spots. Clashing completely with the rest of the night’s palette.
Quantity trumps quality, Treid must have believed as he hastily sculpted his poorly thought out creations, unconcerned with the greater whole. Ignoring that Faldrun’s suns hung lonely in the blue of day, and that Xiur had already scattered his stars all over the dark. Only focused on his own ego, on proving himself better by pumping out more pieces than Faldrun, he’d flung his ugly moons into the night sky despite their hideousness. Ruining an otherwise perfect work of art.
For all Oberan was concerned, that alone justified the gouging out of the Ice Immortal’s frozen heart.
At least some nights had fewer moons, and some had none. Those were his favorite, but tonight was not one of them.
He leaned back, rested his head against the rooftiles of the spire, and observed. Gaze meandering between the random smattering of specks of different size and brightness. It added a sense of depth to it, almost as if the stars sat at various distances. The smallest and dimmest ones further away, nearly too far to see. Giving the illusion of an endless expanse, stretching beyond comprehension.
A patch of dark swept over the tower, clouds drifted by on gusts of wind. White by day and blackish blue by night, they blotted the visible moons, leaving only the field of stars. The clouds were beautiful in their own right. Irregular shapes like ragged scarves. Hiding, obscuring. Like fluffy shadows untethered from the ground.
Even obscured like this, the night sky still seemed too bright. It had ever since—
Oberan glanced away, eyes flicking to the vista below. Cleared his throat, swallowed. Allowed the tiny, wistful smile to stay as long as it liked. It left some time later with a sigh.
Letting more time pass, huddled tighter beneath his cloak, he eventually returned his gaze up. Small silhouettes sped past. Nocturnal birds and bats, hunting for their next meal. Soaring high, wings allowing them access to a domain otherwise reserved for clouds, weather, and mountains.
So far above the surface of Idalos, yet not even close to the roof of the sky, where the suns and moons chased each other from one end to the other, again and again. Where Xiur tilled his fields at dusk to sow his stars, watched them grow all through the night, then harvested at dawn.
He’d had to have many barns full of them by now, stockpiled all neat in large sacks of rough-spun clouds, not unlike a regular farmer storing excess seed in burlap sacks. Set aside for hard times. Or did he really not have any to spare? Did his supply run dry too quick for any surplus to pile up?
The question brought forth memories of long ago, when Oberan had once asked Gallan why Xiur continuously cultivated stars at night. “If he has this many already,” he’d said, arms spread wide to encapsulate the vastness of the star-speckled sky, “why does he need more? He could just leave the ones he planted alone, and then there’d be stars by day too.”
“They’re hope, my boy,” Gallan’d said, nibbling on the mouthpiece of his pipe. The tobacco inside the bowl almost sizzled when he inhaled. “They shine brightest in darkness, where they can fill hearts with warmth, and light the path you couldn’t see before. You don’t need them if you’re already bathed in light.” He lifted his pipe from his lips and puffed out rings of smoke. Drifting up as if drawn to the myriad stars, dissipating before it could get anywhere close. “It is just a tiny little speck, you see. Invisible by day, but when all around you is black, it tells you which way is forward. So, whenever someone feels like their heart is stuck in the dark and they feel that they can’t go on alone, Xiur sends one of his stars to guide them.”
“Is that when stars fall?”
The old man chuckled. “No, my boy, no. Those are for wishes.” He leaned forward, beckoned Oberan close. One finger pressed against the lad’s chest, gentle, but firm enough that he would sense his own heart pulse underneath. “Stars for hope are planted right in there, where you will feel it the most. Because that’s where the problems are, most of the time. And it’s the only other place a star might grow and bloom besides the sky.”
“But why does Xiur gifts us only one?” Oberan couldn’t help but ask. “What if you need multiple before the darkness leaves? Doesn’t he have many to spare? He plants enough in the sky to make it glow every night, surely he can put two or three or more at a time inside a heart that needs it.”
Gallan smiled, the wrinkles around his eyes deep and soft. He ruffled Oberan’s hair. “No need to be so greedy, my boy. There’s many, many people out there, so Xiur needs many, many stars to bring hope to them all. Besides, the sky is very large, so it needs thousands upon thousands of stars in order to shine as bright as it does, but your heart only has room for a single one.” He exhaled more rings, and chewed the mouthpiece of a moment or two, teeth tapping against wood. “But if your star fades and dies, if the shadows around your heart are too deep and dark, Xiur will give you a new one. Again and again, until your star blossoms and lights up your heart all the way. Even the furthest little corners and hidden places. That’s why he needs so many, and why he needs to grow more every night.”
High atop the one of Etzos’s watchtowers, Oberan reclined against the spire. A faded melancholic smile tugged at his lips as he grabbed for his chest. Fingers digging into flesh, clawing hard enough to make it hurt. Feeling for a wound that wasn’t there, yet was. Deeper within, where he could not reach, where he could not put soothing pressure on, no matter how hard he tried.
This wound was old though. Ancient. It had already healed over the lengthy course of several years. Which didn’t mean it had gone back to how it was before. The damage done was irreversible, missing tissue replaced with rough and knotted scars. Sometimes it still ached. Short, sharp pangs. Yes, it had healed, but it wasn’t gone.
Oberan focused his gaze on the sky, tracing passing clouds, and trying to find patterns, constellations in the silver swirl above. He couldn’t find any archers or serpents, bears or warriors, or other images astronomers claimed to see. Only a great emptiness in the space between stars.
Exactly the same as it had always been. Regardless of weather conditions or the position of the suns and moons, the sky never changed. It hadn’t reacted when Treid –no longer heartless these days, but surely still a bastard—had his heart gouged out, stuck in a box, and hidden in the most obscure nook in existence. The moons remained, all the ice hadn’t thawed. Idalos continued on as if nothing had happened. Just as it would have if the rumored Doran had succeeded in assassinating Xiur.
Even now, with several Immortals slain not too long ago, Idalos stayed virtually unchanged. The world simply did not care for the death of any individual, no matter how powerful. Mortals, animals, monsters, Mortalborn, Immortals,… If a member belonging to either category died, Idalos shrugged callously and kept turning. It was oddly sobering, and, in the case of the Immortals, also rather tragic.
Oberan had figured, or perhaps hoped, that the world itself would shed a few tears, even mourn them for some time. Instead only the natural phenomenon the dead Immortals oversaw seemed to. While shadows hadn’t ceased to be since his mother’s … passing, they’d become sullen and lonely. Seeming somewhat emptier, devoid of the hint of presence he’d always believed to sense within, but clinging to whatever remnants of her they had. Just like he did.
Maybe he was projecting.
Oberan cast his eyes down once more, to his hands holding an elegant glove fashioned from black silk. It resembled a woman’s hand, and its disturbing origin had made Oberan unwilling to interact with it more than necessary. In recent times however, that reluctance had evaporated, and he found himself bringing it out every so often, just to stare at. Reminiscing. No longer having the gruesome creation of it be on the forefront of his mind, but everything that occurred surrounding it. Focusing on some of the details he wasn’t aware he’d paid so much attention to. Reliving that night each time he laid eyes on the glove. Often, it also made him want to kick himself.
A sigh fled into the dark sky. Rolling up from deep within, causing chest and shoulders to heave, quivering as it reached the end of Oberan’s throat and left through his mouth. He brought a hand up to wipe at itching eyes, then hugged himself tighter under his cloak.
He wondered how mortals endured. The shortness of their lives, and the fragility of their bodies ensured that they and everyone they knew and held dear would die one day. Yet, they forged so many bonds and attachments, regardless of the pain their inevitable severing would bring. Those severings happened often during their lifetime, cutting deep each time. Each mortal acutely aware of just how much their own death would hurt those around them. Perhaps that’s why they were such tenacious, resilient little buggers. Why they were obsessed with their own legacy. So that they might persist even after death to live on in victories and accomplishments. In heirlooms and family businesses. And if a mortal qualified for none of those, they still lived within fond memories. In the void they left in those that stayed behind. Making their presence known with their absence. With the small aches that cropped up whenever memories did too.
In a sense, Immortals weren’t so different. They left voids too, and just as with mortals, those were only tangible to those adjacent to them. Certain races, their blessed, their devoted. Immortal allies, siblings, lovers.
Children.
For a moment, his heart wavered, thoughts halted in their tracks. Hesitating. Then he pushed on. Oberan let out another sigh, and tried to clear the constriction in his throat. It didn’t work.
Yes, he had to be honest with himself, didn’t he? No matter how much Oberan tried to run away or ignore it, truth always caught up, forced its way in. Audrae’s death had hit him harder than he wanted to admit –to others, but most of all himself.
He’d been dancing around the uncomfortable feelings, quickly withdrawing from them when he accidentally touched. And if driven in a corner, he refused to dive deeper than surface level. Only ever acknowledging that Audrae’s death happened, fighting and walling off the rush of grief it brought. Denying the small truth he’d stuffed in a lockbox and hidden within the furthest, most obscure nook of his heart.
Audrae’s death had left him adrift, aimless, and hollow.
Despite how little he’d seen her throughout the decades, despite how few interactions they’d had, and despite the fact that Oberan couldn’t really figure out how he felt about his mother, she had been a huge part of his life. She’d not been present, and yet somehow she’d been omnipresent.
Her initial rejection and subsequent neglect had fueled him for so long, propelling him along a path she might not have intended or foreseen. Yet, she’d been motivation, a goal, all the same. Not anymore. Now all of his defiance seemed infinitely stupid. What had she called it? The tantrum of a whiny child.
The statement had stung back then too, but more so now.
He hadn’t been ready to see eye to eye, to let go of the resentment towards her. Perhaps unwilling was a better word for it. Stuck in the past, he’d let the whole incident control him, increasing its importance until it drowned out near anything else. Treating it as the core of his being rather than just one step along his path. Oberan might have realized it too, but stubbornly clung to his grudge like a drowning man to a piece of flotsam.
When she’d appeared before him a few years ago, he ascribed her all the traits everyone else did, refusing to see her as more than the sum of her domains. Not because he didn’t know better, but because it made it easier to hold on to his anger. Too proud to admit to himself what he wanted, he wore his failure as armor, and brandished cutting words as a blade. The truth was simple: he’d been afraid.
If he’d known it’d be the last time…
Secretly, he’d been elated she’d approached him for aid. Not at first, of course, but afterwards, when thinking back. Glad for the chance to prove himself superior to her daughters –though he never really needed it.
Most of all, however, he’d been thrilled at how animated Audrae had been describing his little victories. Of all that she’d said and gestured that night, those were what stuck to the forefront of his recollection. The gleam in her eyes, the quickness of her words. A hint of pride.
So, after some consideration, he’d chosen to accept her request. He’d journeyed to Rhakros with the armies of Etzos. He’d snuck into the underground laboratories to gather evidence of Sintra’s schemes. Afterward, he had delivered it to those who’d use it, and ultimately succeeded in thwarting Sintra’s plan. Then, all that remained was to eagerly await Audrae’s return.
Oberan had imagining how it’d go, where they’d go from there. Envisioning the scene in his mind’s eye, grinning to himself as he waited. Patiently impatient as days turned to seasons, then years. Telling himself Immortals experienced time differently, that there were many other matters requiring Audrae’s attention. Unsure if he was deluding himself. Having the doubt gnaw away at him from the inside. Wondering if perhaps he had been deceived after all, or worse –forgotten.
But still choosing to believe, even if it meant lying to himself, because that didn’t hurt as bad. Waiting, longing. Conscious of the irony in being the Mortalborn of Thieves, who could not seize his true desire for himself. It could only be gifted. For it was a simple string of words he’d wanted to hear spoken his entire life, and now never would. One day, in the span of a single moment, his desire had become unobtainable, but the longing remained.
“You were supposed to be immortal…”
Clouds blocked the moons, cloaking the roof of the tower in shadow as if to comfort Oberan. Draping themselves over him, holding him in an ethereal embrace. Not the one he’d desired, but it would do. They still smelled of her, just like they always had.
He closed his eyes, and surrendered to the tightness in his chest and throat, to the burning itching of his eyes. Let hot streaks form on his cheeks. Entrusted all of it to the blinking stars above. Allowing himself to acknowledge, accept, and hurt. Turn to face the pinprick of distant light, and perhaps take a small step forward while he waited for his wound to scar. However long that’d take.