I
I was. But the was never leaves
It rattles about in my head and
whispers
About the birds flown south
Never returning
I am. I am turmoil
Am thoughts
They tear through me with all the force
Of the wind off of wings
And I tremble
in the breezes and the falling leaves
I will always be this:
Never gone
Never existing
And never
Returning
And she
The light of the darkness dimmed my eyes
I saw her
Her eyes, bright
Like mine but brighter
Her lips, pink
Like mine but with a darker flush
Her waist, curved
Thinner and smoother than that which encircles my own spine
And her voice
Sweeter than angels' singing
Softer than a sigh
Sad and soft and almost silent
And prettier than mine
Part One, Section One: Behind the Waterfall
Shi’van, bastard prince of the Shir, was conceived in the sixth month of the 999th year in a room nearly as old as the seven-pointed valley of Riavach itself, concealed at the end of a network of twisting tunnels which extended into the stone of the cliffs. Light filtered through the one crudely shaped window into the room from beyond a rushing curtain of water. During the night the lights were at times purple, golden, and red; pale and colorless when the Heavenly Lights did not stream across the valley from an unknown source beyond the faraway clifftops.
It was through the window- the only one in all the tunnels- that the silvery morning mists came on the fateful day when the wife of the second prince and a hated man from Irin defiled the personal sleeping couch of the second prince, the only part of the room which had been added since its creation. And it was there that Shi’Orin found them when the sun had reached its peak and was fully flooding the valley- and the room, through the shimmering waterfall- with golden light.
Shi’Orin, a man of relatively small stature among the Shir people but still an imposing figure, with flashing dark eyes and a muscular build which was defined still more by the light against his jet-black skin, looked down at his wife, a bright red wooden tube held loosely in one hand. His wife looked back up at him, perhaps a little embarrassed and annoyed but still relatively unperturbed.
The man next to her, his usually dark green complexion now the shade of leaves in the sun, scrambled from the couch and attempted to run. With a single swift movement, Shi’Orin had him by the collar of his robe. Shi’Orin, short among the Shir, still towered over this man and could look nearly directly down into his wide, frightened red eyes.
Another swift movement with his other hand, which still held the wooden tube, and a jetty black dart had flown into the Irin’s forehead. A weak scream was all the man could emit before his eyes had rolled back into his head and his breath had stopped.
Shi’Orin released his grip on the robes and the man’s corpse dropped to the ground in an unsightly heap. A stream of jewel-hued blood made its way to the cold, smooth stone floor, where they shone dimly from the dust of centuries.
Shi’Orin, stepping aside to avoid the steadily increasing pool, now returned his gaze to his wife, who, after glancing at the corpse, met his stare evenly and cooly.
“Another?” he asked calmly.
“You were to be gone until these seven suns had passed.”
“That, woman, is no excuse for high treason. You are lucky that your dowry is a continuous source of wealth and not an immediate payment.”
Shin’Zel’s chin set stubbornly. “It is not as if the man was a Llan. You see it has not harmed you. I suppose you will be composing a note to the accursed Irin High Priest this afternoon with an appropriate excuse. Then all will be ended.”
“You would do such a thing with a Llan, were the filthy half-beasts in any other place but the accursed Forest and Lake. And not all will be quite ended. You forget that these cushions and this floor-” he glanced at the blood, which had by now reached the dark, clawed wooden legs of the sleeping couch- “must now be washed.”
“A simple task.”
“And still we have not discussed how it is you came to know of these secret chambers.”
“Nor how you came to know.” Shin’Zel, increasingly anxious, glanced to either side at the only other objects in the room, a large stone coffer and a perfectly round black orb, large as two fists, on a stand of the same material. Neither could provide her any aid in this case. “Vision teaches that the cliffs are sacred and not to be touched, or even approached. Yet here it would appear you sit daily, within the cliffs themselves and directly beneath the sacred waters. It is no easy feat to open all three of the hidden portals beneath the palace gates. I should never have managed it if I had not watched you do it these thirty moons past.”
“You are one to discuss the teachings of Vision, woman. I seem to recall several passages regarding fidelity to one’s partner.” Shi’Orin paused and looked around at the room and its contents, a dangerous unease building in his haunted dark eyes. “These tunnels I discovered through mere chance. They hold untold secrets which are worth the sin of uncovering them in a place such as this.” He turned to her, his eyes suddenly intense. “What have you uncovered of this place? What do you know?”
“Very little.” Shin’Zel sniffed and nodded at the coffer. “In there, I have seen dusty records. In the globe, I see nothing. It is merely a stone. This room I value for its privacy and secrecy. Yet even that, it would seem, cannot be found here.”
“Have you read the records?” Shi’Orin stepped closer to his wife, his left hand clenching tightly once more around the dartshot. It became apparent to Shin’Zel that it was not her infidelity which she was going to need to defend.
“It is all written in Old Tongue,” she huffed. “The one scroll which I attempted to read spoke only of things called drakons. A battle. Musty wars and history, as if I cared.”
“Nothing else?”
“No.” Shin’Zel shifted on the couch, rumpled silken sheets still surrounding her from her waist down. She passed a hand nervously over a cushion. “And I- I do not care to know more.”
“Nor must anyone else in this palace, if you value your life. Do you understand?”
“Why-”
“If I am to become Shir when my father, bless his name, dies, I must have two things- a child and an untouchable reputation.” He glanced distastefully at his wife. “The way you behave, I am almost sure to have a child. Although the chances of it being truly mine- well, they are significantly less, are they not?”
Prophetic words. For exactly nine months later, in the 1000th year, Shin’Zel gave birth.
And the child was a Llan.
Don’t Get Too Close
She perceives my flaws
Talks of them behind my back
She is porcelain.
He looks at my flaws
Tells me I am not enough
Like the looking-glass.
She could see my flaws
But elects to ignore them
She, a lifeless bird
Which hits the cold glass
and crumples to the pavement
not understanding
Where I love the most
The more is the harm
.