A fan-fiction

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Blythe
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A fan-fiction

Postby Blythe » Tue Mar 28, 2017 6:59 pm

So, this is a 'fan fiction' and doesn't involve anything that will probably ever happen. And it doesn't even involve any of my characters...

There was this story I read a very long time ago. I cannot remember if it was in a magazine or on the internet; in either case I cannot remember it in exact detail – I especially wish that I recalled the title or author (for credit and so that I may find it again). I probably had not given this story a second thought until last night, when it came springing back into my head like so many random things. To be fair, it was more of an impression that my mind turned into Valornian terms, or more appropriately N’rolav. So please keep in mind, this is not an original story. It is simply as much as my sub-consciousness could put together as a little bit of memory with a little bit of a dream.
I will post it on three pars because it is rather long.
And for now I will give it the title of:

Ashes to Ashes
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Re: A fan-fiction

Postby Blythe » Tue Mar 28, 2017 7:01 pm

Amara watched the strange little man stack straw into the over-sized bronze brazier. He reminded her of an insect; his arms and legs seemed too thin, his head moving side to side without pause and the way he worked without a second thought – almost as if out of instinct. The man had come that morning. He brought with him a bundle of straw and little else. No one else visited these temples and no one else brought offerings to the gods or goddesses these temples were once meant to honor. Amara, herself, was little more than left over relic in her old age. Yet, here was this man with his trembling hands and mumbled words stacking the straw into the brazier as if to build a tiny shrine of the cast away grasses.

Amara moved closer, shoving back the hood on her robes to reveal a once beautiful face now ruined by age and scarred by someone else’s hatred. She gave a small piece of rubble a kick to get the man’s attention. The broken stone clattered across the floor with enough of an echo to not be easily ignored. The man looked up from his work at stacking the straw and gave only the barest flinch at the sight of her, his eyes immediately dropping to her feet as he stood with his hands clasped in front.

Amara did not blame him for flinching. After what was done to her, she was so far from recognizing herself that she didn’t even bother to look. She knew that the healing was harsh and in many ways incomplete. Since the death of her goddess, many things in Amara’s life had become harsh. Her outward scars were the least of her burdens anymore.

“I am sorry you have come to see the Temple in such a state,” Amara began. Her words seemed dry in her mouth and she wondered when the last time she had spoken more than a silent prayer was, “The Mirandines used to be so beautiful. But that was so long ago…”

The man shrugged, “Miranda doesn’t need a temple.”

“But the Temple needs Miranda,” Amara said quietly, glancing at the ruinous demise that surrounded them. The stones were gouged from too many battles fought in such a once holy place and anything that might have remained had been looted long ago. Amara only guessed that the bronze brazier had been too heavy to be carried off. All that remained of the marble altar glittered like broken stars across the center of floor in the dimming light of day.

The man kept his eyes down, one hand pinching at the other as if to give courage, “They say all of the gods and goddesses of Valorn are dead.”

Amara swallowed hard against the lump in her throat, the threat of tears and the emptiness she felt inside every time she tried to recall her goddess, “Yes. They are dead. All of them.”

“But…” He finally lifted his eyes to meet Amara’s. They were brown and dull, and everything she expected from a disheveled man that wore little more than rags and uselessly stacked useless straw in a useless brazier meant to honor a dead goddess. After a moment, she realized those eyes were much younger than she first realized, “Nothing can kill a god.”

“They can kill each other,” Amara replied. “And that is what they did. Oh, and their heroes… Each fought for their own righteous reasons until none remained,” she lowered herself to a sitting position upon one of the steps, the tattered edge of her robe pooling at her feet, “I was young then and I would have never believed there would be day that I did not feel Miranda in this Temple,” Amara raised a hand to touch the toughened scars that streaked her face in so many jagged lines, speaking now so low as if she had forgotten the man was still there, “Her healing was gone when I needed it most.”

“Are you sure?” The man pressed, now standing over Amara as she sat crumbling on the steps, “All of them?” He seemed incredulous, as if what he had been told all of his life simply could not be true.

Amara’s heart ached with emptiness and her eyes closed against the memories that remained, as if to keep them inside of her just a little while longer, “Yes. I am sure. Most of the clerics went mad when it happened. When the gods died, those that were not killed in the Last War took their own life and the monuments gifted to us by the gods and goddesses had all sundered. No one comes back from Cory’s Plane now.”

“Then why are you here?”

Because I am as foolish as you. Amara looked across the temple arches to where she could see Sunrifter setting in the mountains. It hasn’t been as bright as when she was young and if she fooled herself into looking close enough, perhaps she could see its light dimming a little more each day. Or maybe it was her eyes that were getting old or maybe she was as mad as any other cleric and just too much of a coward to seek the end. Sunrifter was too bright to look into, she remembered. This Temple was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen. The red ruby veins in the rock and walls were gone now, looted along with everything else. Cut out of the rock like her vanity; with only jagged scars remaining where beauty once lay.

“Because who else.” Amara finally answered.
The man nodded as though that were all the answer that was needed. Amara liked this man, in spite of her first impression of him.

“What’s your name?” Amara asked as she struggled to rise to her feet and the man reached out a hand that was surprisingly stronger than the earlier trembling would have implied.

“I am Halen, Your Holiness. From south of Dundee.”

“I am not a ‘holiness,’ just call me Amara, please, “Amara said, “What are you doing here, Halen?”

“I thought Miranda would like her fires lit again,” He answered plainly, but his face became more animated than Amara had seen before.

Amara couldn’t help but give a laugh, hollow as it was, at the thought of Miranda’s smile suddenly piercing the gloom of her life again, “You certainly have enough straw.”

Halen returned a smile that made him seem practically young and naïve under all the filthy rags and too skinny limbs, “It is a good start, I think.”

Amara knew Miranda was dead, as certain as she knew her bones would break against the stone of the walls. But what harm could a fire do? Halen seemed kind and genuine, and in truth Amara deeply envied his devotion to the idea.

“There is more wood to the south of the Temple, if you do not mind chopping. It will last longer than your straw,” Amara motioned with one hand toward the southern entrance. Her hand hung motionless in the air, however, when she saw Halen kneeling before her.

“Will you give your blessings?” he said, without ever raising his eyes.

Amara sighed as sort of surrender, trying to speak the familiar words that no longer carried meaning throughout the land, “May Miranda smile on you, Halen. Go with the blessings of the gods.”

Halen practically bounded up and out toward the southern exit of the Temple, “Thank you, Amara!”
Last edited by Blythe on Tue Mar 28, 2017 7:38 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: A fan-fiction

Postby Blythe » Tue Mar 28, 2017 7:02 pm

Amara woke early the next day. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she was eager to see the inside of the Temple. It was true; she had stayed because who else would keep the plants and animals from overrunning the place. After the bandits had looted more than just what they could sell, she had nowhere else to go. She kept her hood up for most marcs so that any stray passersby would only see the hands and tattered robes of an old cleric and not the monstrous scars left behind.

Now that Halen was at the temple, Amara felt something foreign to her for as many cycles as she could remember since the death of the gods. She finished her daily rituals quickly and went to the temple to check on the man from south of Dundee. She was surprised to see that not only had Halen built a strong fire within the bronze brazier, but had also started clearing rubble and vines away from the walls. He was much younger and much stronger than she; and apparently enjoying himself as she walked in on the sound of him humming to himself. Immediately, Amara could see a drastic difference. While nothing of value remained and all of the inlays, jewels, and ornaments were gone; the Temple itself seemed to breathe the life Halen brought.

“Oh, Halen,” Amara’s smile ached, “Thank you.”

“There is much more to do.”

“Yes, there is.” Amara felt the thrill of excitement she had abandoned long ago. She had attempted to clean and keep up the temple, but without visitors there seemed no point in any of it. But now… Now if only for the company and enjoyment of accomplishment, it all seemed worth the trouble.

They worked together in silence, except for the occasional humming of a prayer song by Amara. Halen moved heavy rubble, tugged and pulled at the vines creeping up the walls, and chopped enough wood to keep Miranda’s fire burning for turns to come. Amara swept and wiped at the murals, clearing the way for a new altar that one day might need replacing and saw to the details of cobwebs and corners. They worked until around mid-turn when Sunrifter was highest in the sky. Amara had brought with her a basket of stewed beans for the two of them. At first, Halen declined the offer of the beans but at Amara’s insistence he eventually ate a light meal.

After their small meal, Halen asked, “When did the gods die?”

Amara was tucking away the remainder of the beans for her later meal, “Many cycles ago. I was younger than you, I think… at the end of the Last War. They call it the Sundering.”

Halen merely watched her, as if awaiting the finish, unsatisfied with the answer by his expression.

“The Last War,” Amara drew a steeling breath, “Was a war between the gods. For whatever reasons gods go to war… and the heroes of Valorn joined, taking sides. It was said to be the war to end all war. There were many gods and goddesses of Valorn and there were many heroes dedicated to each. I was here in my temple, so I do not know exactly what happened. Except that none ever returned,” Amara looked up into the reaches of the temple, as if to see through them into an unknown battlefield, “And we knew the gods were dead at the Sundering. All of the life monuments in Valorn suddenly shattered. Where once we were given the gift of returning from Cory’s Plane after death, through the power of the life monuments… through the power of the gods… now there are only broken bits of stone. None return from Cory’s Plane. This life is your last.”

“And you are certain they are dead?”

Amara looked back at Halen, the emptiness from before achingly plain in her face, “Nothing except the emptiness where once I felt the love of a goddess could ever have convinced me that they are dead.”

“Maybe they are sleeping, or hiding…”

“Halen. It’s not just me. Every cleric I knew, or met soon after, felt the same. The blessings are just words now and the healing is gone.”

“But what about Sunrifter? The gods are too powerful to just… die?”

Amara envied Halen once again. She longed to replace the hole that was devotion with belief that somewhere Miranda still watched over her, “Gods and goddesses get their power because we believe in them. We believed in them so much that their power was without bounds. And now without them, what was once a beautiful a prosperous land has ruined. The rivers are poisoned and the beasts of the wild are more demon than animal. Thievery, banditry, piracy, and the like are more common than kindness. The gods killed each other and all of their heroes. They left behind the hopeless, the helpless, and the ones that will prey upon them.”

Halen hung his head again, looking much more the man Amara first met than the lively young man that had helped her restore some light to temple, “Do you not hope?”

Amara studied Halen, and then looked at the fire with another smile that brought tugs of pain from the too-tight scarring of her face, “I do have hope. I have hope that we can each make the difference we want in the world. That we can bring light into places that need it most. Like what we have done here, Halen. But as you say, Miranda does not need a Temple.”

Halen seemed to understand as his gaze followed Amara’s into the brazier. Finally, he said, “I am just a farmer.”

“Your father and grandfather too?” Amara asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t remember.” Halen frowned, searching the patterns of the floor for answers.

“Don’t you have a family?”

Halen shrugged; sadness to the resignation, “Everyone in Dundee always said I was too dull to be lost.”

Amara reached her hand over to touch Halen’s shoulder, “I think there is more to you than that. Look at what you’ve done here…”

Halen returned a smile then, “This work makes me happy.”

They continued their work until the last rays of Sunrifter sank below the horizon. Amara enjoyed watching Halen work. He did seem happy. His steps were lighters and he began to hum the prayer songs along with her. By the end of the day, Amara felt happy and with Halen here she felt safe.
Last edited by Blythe on Tue Mar 28, 2017 7:41 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: A fan-fiction

Postby Blythe » Tue Mar 28, 2017 7:04 pm


A quarter- cycle had passed and Amara felt like she was home again. She and Halen scrubbed the inside walls and replanted the Mirandines in the outer gardens. Halen kept the wood chopped and the fire in the bronze brazier burning day and night. Amara had not given a second thought to the last time bandits came visiting. The bandits seemed a thing of the past and Halen’s happy working made that life seem so far away.

But they were not so far away. The sound of metal clanking against metal was enough to make Amara immediately feel light headed and sick to her stomach. The scars on her face throbbed and the one hidden by her robes that cut into her shoulder caught fire when she moved too quickly to motion for Halen, “Come quick!” She cried in a half shouted whisper.

Halen obeyed and came to her side quickly, although he clearly did not understand why. Amara clutched her robes and pulled her hood up to cover her face, “Take the southern path down the mountain. There is enough time for you to escape.”

“What about the fire?” Halen pulled back, looking over his shoulder toward the brazier. They could hear the shouting of men outside the Temple.

“Halen. Thank you for what you have done. Now you must leave.” Amara was desperate to get her young friend to safety.

“We can’t let it go out.” Halen moved back toward the brazier and began heaping logs by the arm load into the fire, causing it burn high and bright to light even the highest reaches of the temple.

Amara ran to Halen, grabbed his arm and spun him around as she threw back her hood, “They did this to me. I cannot watch you harmed. Now, please. Go, Halen!”

Halen turned back to the fire stubbornly, bending and throwing in another arm load of wood. Amara’s only choice was to hide as she heard the foreign voices burst through the northern entrance of the temple. She yanked hard on Halen’s shirt, throwing herself to the ground and dragging the young man down with her. He smelled of sweat and life, and Amara wanted anything to be young enough again to save him. She could hear the stomping of at least a dozen boots, but they were not nearing the brazier. Amara prayed silently into the emptiness where she once felt the bond with her goddess, Please. Please don’t let them hurt him.
Suddenly, Halen sprang up as if possessed. He stared back at Amara, eyes and mouth wide open. Amara pulled at him again but it was too late. One of the bandits cried out and the footsteps followed quickly. Amara struggled to her feet and tried to run, but it was too late. One of the men already had a strong hold on her arm. She turned in time to Halen throw off his captor.

“Run!” She shouted at the top of her lungs. The bandit grabbed her by the back of the hair and threw her forward, face first into the hard stone floor. She could taste the blood through the jarring pain of broken teeth. While she couldn’t hear the blade slide free from its scabbard, Amara went limp on floor expecting its bite at any moment. It will be easy, she thought, not like last time. Amara knew his escape would be much easier if the bandits were distracted with a woman that didn’t fight back. Halen would come back to keep the temple. He had to.

Just as the bandit’s boots straddled her hips, Amara was assaulted by the sudden and overwhelming stench of burning flesh. It was jarring enough to force her and the bandit to look into the direction of the rising fire of the bronze brazier. Halen was there, hovering above the flame. His arms were outstretched as the fire rose higher and engulfed him; searing through his flesh and bones that dropped as ash to the fire below. He was bright, white hot flame with wings as arms and red embers for eyes.

Some of the bandits fled and what didn’t was reduced to ash throughout the temple until all that remained was Amara.

That’s when she felt it. A timid presence at first in her mind, something in the emptiness that had consumed her for so many years: Hello, Amara.
“Hello,” she said. Halen burned too bright to look at, but she could feel the warmth of the flames flowing through her.

I am sorry it has been so long. I was wounded… and I needed a vessel to heal. I was sleeping, healing. Your prayer for the young man woke me.

“Who… what are you?”

You know me, child. I am your goddess. I am Miranda.

Amara wept as she felt whole again. A new hope now filled the places where despair once lived; a hope that Amara was determined to spread throughout the lands.


The end. Or is it ;-)
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Re: A fan-fiction

Postby Lavender » Wed Mar 29, 2017 8:18 pm

I enjoyed the story. Thank you!
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