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zg_shadows2007-09-12 10:52 am
wraithwitch.livejournal.com) wrote in zg_shadows2007-09-12 10:52 am
Entry tags:
Glory.
A story concerning Khara's mother, Silhouette, and the price of prophecy and choice.
Silhouette’s ears twitched as she heard the soft-padding footsteps outside her den. It wasn’t SharpClaw, nor was it Preaching Peace – the strides were too short, the steps too delicate. It wasn’t her new mate come back so soon because she couldn’t feel the air thrum across her whiskers as he purred... And it wasn’t Wynne Plasmacaster because the visitor walked on four legs not two – and besides, the Glasswalker had more sense than to visit the Sept of the Fearless Heart without her express invitation. That only left someone very, very stupid... or Glory.
Silhouette sighed. She didn’t want guests and she didn’t want well-wishers or curiosity scouts; she was still too tired and raw to play sweet host to the one and territorial bitch to the other. She lay her head down by her paws and willed Aunt Glory to go away.
“Silhouette Bon Bhat, honoured sister,” Glory called softly in kheuar, the language of all Selene’s chosen. “May I enter?”
The weary Legend’s eyes rolled briefly heavenward: Selene was obviously not listening to her pleas today. “Ilani, honoured sister, come and be seated.” Damn Glory for being this formal, she was in no mood for this pompous shit; she was exhausted, she wanted to sleep.
A small lynx with mottled fur the colour of antique gold entered the den; she had dark tufted ears, vertdegris eyes and an air of solemnity about her. “I need to speak to you.”
“You are speaking to me,” Silhouette complained, too late wishing she’d bit her tongue. She may be a Legend but cats were still cats, and that meant that if she wasn’t polite Glory might refuse to baby-sit her newest litter.
Apparently whatever the lynx had to say was more important than feeling slighted by a tetchy cougar queen. “I need to speak to you about your newborn kits.”
As if it sensed it was the topic of conversation one of the two little scraps of fur between her paws wriggled and mewed. Silhouette licked it quiet again.
Glory looked down her nose at the two kittens and it was hard to tell whether she was calculating or disdainful, but her eyes looked troubled either way. “One within the realm and one without – like two sides of a single leaf. That isn’t usual, sister.”
Silhouette kept her sarcastic retort about stating the obvious to herself.
“Do they have names?”
“He named the boy,” she said, refusing to speak her mate’s name even in Glory’s hearing. For a Spirit’s name is part of their power and not to be shared lightly. “It was quite a mouthful, so I think it’ll be ‘Kit’ for short...” The shortening would save time and tongues but it would also protect the little Chaya from enemies taking his power. She nuzzled vaguely at her offspring. “Been too dead to do much thinking on a name for her.”
The lynx looked down her muzzle at the cougar and her kits. “They are what they are, and she is what she is,” she said primly. “That’s plain as day.”
Silhouette sighed and minded her manners. It had been damn plain to her four months back when she found she was pregnant by a Chaya and stuck in Chatro that this litter would not be normal. It had been made (by excruciating degrees) even plainer to her when the birth had lasted three days, almost killed her, and finally delivered her two perfect little sabre-toothed kits. “Khara, then.”
Glory’s eyes took on a grimly satisfied glint as if all she had foreseen had just come to pass and she wasn’t sure whether to be smug or irritated.
Silhouette looked at her. “You gonna prophecy? You got that edge about you.”
“It is less a prophecy and more a choice I have to give you. While you were washing the blood off your new brood, I was dreaming. And my dream was of blood also. She will grow up strong, your daughter, and she will fight and kill until her fur is red with it, for she has a rage within her to shame us all. But what she fights – what she kills – that is your choice.”
The cougar scowled, an anxious purr rumbling in the back of her throat. “What d’you mean?”
“Teach her to hate. Tell her all the lore of our tribes and of every remembered atrocity visited upon the Folk. Tell her never to trust a Wolf. Tell her to keep their teeth as trophies. Teach her to hunt Gaia’s chosen and the hated veil will be lifted for us once more.”
The scowl deepened.
All cats needed a gift, spirit taught at mid-rank, to slip across into the Umbra. They could not step across through mirrors and teaspoons as the Wolves did. And that was the Wolves’ fault. Long ago in the time of Scarlet Sorrow when all the Shifters were at war, the Wolves held a great council of elders and spirit speakers. There they sang a song that wove shut the spirit world for the Bastet, and it was a long time and a harsh road before the Bastet were able to find their way back into the Umbra. (That was the main reason, she discovered, why the kheuar word and symbol for ‘Garou’ could best be translated as ‘Selene’s Furious Betrayer.’)
“You tellin’ me that she’ll break the curse if I tell her to spit on the Garou?”
“Yes. She will slaughter their best and favoured. There will be a gathering of Wolves and many Chaya – the Wolves will beg the Chaya for aid.” Glory’s piercing gaze settled on the smaller of the two scraps of honey-gold fur between the cougar’s paws. “He will agree to betray his sister in return for the lifting of the curse, for those will be the terms she tells him to offer. She will be sacrificed, and the Folk will once again move freely between this realm and the other.”
Silhouette was puzzled. That prophecy didn’t merit the heavy, deadened tones in which the lynx was speaking. “And then what?”
“And then the world will end,” Glory said simply.
“Oh.” That was that then. “And if I don’t? If I teach her to slaughter only Ashura’s brood and to protect the Garou like the dumb war-elephants o’Gaia they are?”
The lynx shrugged and started to wash one of its forepaws. “Who can say? The world may still end.”
Silhouette growled. “That’s the great choice you’re givin’ me t’hand down? Kill the Wolves, raise the veil, end the world… Or don’t?”
It was the lynx’s turn to sigh. “Ashura grows more fat, putrid and numerous with every passing year. Nala grows weak and Rajah and Calesh battle ever onwards with no thoughts of compassion for their lover or her children. There have been portents, only one or two, but they warn of far worse to come. The wisest of the Folk fear that the battle for all creation will be fought here and now, within their lifetime.” Her whiskers twitched and turned down in sorrow. “If we are selfish, your children will free us of our curse and the Folk will vanish into the far lands leaving the Wolves to stand and die. If we are generous, then your children will fight beside the Wolves against the ending of creation.”
The Legend licked protectively at her two new kits, feeling their soft fur and their steady heartbeats beneath her tongue. “But will they win?” she asked quietly, for she was a cat, and to a cat such things mattered very much.
Glory bowed her head. “I cannot say.” A pause, and the slightest hint of a smile graced the lynx’s lips. “But they will have their father’s blessing, your strength and my teaching... which I think gives them a damn good chance.”
Silhouette’s ears twitched as she heard the soft-padding footsteps outside her den. It wasn’t SharpClaw, nor was it Preaching Peace – the strides were too short, the steps too delicate. It wasn’t her new mate come back so soon because she couldn’t feel the air thrum across her whiskers as he purred... And it wasn’t Wynne Plasmacaster because the visitor walked on four legs not two – and besides, the Glasswalker had more sense than to visit the Sept of the Fearless Heart without her express invitation. That only left someone very, very stupid... or Glory.
Silhouette sighed. She didn’t want guests and she didn’t want well-wishers or curiosity scouts; she was still too tired and raw to play sweet host to the one and territorial bitch to the other. She lay her head down by her paws and willed Aunt Glory to go away.
“Silhouette Bon Bhat, honoured sister,” Glory called softly in kheuar, the language of all Selene’s chosen. “May I enter?”
The weary Legend’s eyes rolled briefly heavenward: Selene was obviously not listening to her pleas today. “Ilani, honoured sister, come and be seated.” Damn Glory for being this formal, she was in no mood for this pompous shit; she was exhausted, she wanted to sleep.
A small lynx with mottled fur the colour of antique gold entered the den; she had dark tufted ears, vertdegris eyes and an air of solemnity about her. “I need to speak to you.”
“You are speaking to me,” Silhouette complained, too late wishing she’d bit her tongue. She may be a Legend but cats were still cats, and that meant that if she wasn’t polite Glory might refuse to baby-sit her newest litter.
Apparently whatever the lynx had to say was more important than feeling slighted by a tetchy cougar queen. “I need to speak to you about your newborn kits.”
As if it sensed it was the topic of conversation one of the two little scraps of fur between her paws wriggled and mewed. Silhouette licked it quiet again.
Glory looked down her nose at the two kittens and it was hard to tell whether she was calculating or disdainful, but her eyes looked troubled either way. “One within the realm and one without – like two sides of a single leaf. That isn’t usual, sister.”
Silhouette kept her sarcastic retort about stating the obvious to herself.
“Do they have names?”
“He named the boy,” she said, refusing to speak her mate’s name even in Glory’s hearing. For a Spirit’s name is part of their power and not to be shared lightly. “It was quite a mouthful, so I think it’ll be ‘Kit’ for short...” The shortening would save time and tongues but it would also protect the little Chaya from enemies taking his power. She nuzzled vaguely at her offspring. “Been too dead to do much thinking on a name for her.”
The lynx looked down her muzzle at the cougar and her kits. “They are what they are, and she is what she is,” she said primly. “That’s plain as day.”
Silhouette sighed and minded her manners. It had been damn plain to her four months back when she found she was pregnant by a Chaya and stuck in Chatro that this litter would not be normal. It had been made (by excruciating degrees) even plainer to her when the birth had lasted three days, almost killed her, and finally delivered her two perfect little sabre-toothed kits. “Khara, then.”
Glory’s eyes took on a grimly satisfied glint as if all she had foreseen had just come to pass and she wasn’t sure whether to be smug or irritated.
Silhouette looked at her. “You gonna prophecy? You got that edge about you.”
“It is less a prophecy and more a choice I have to give you. While you were washing the blood off your new brood, I was dreaming. And my dream was of blood also. She will grow up strong, your daughter, and she will fight and kill until her fur is red with it, for she has a rage within her to shame us all. But what she fights – what she kills – that is your choice.”
The cougar scowled, an anxious purr rumbling in the back of her throat. “What d’you mean?”
“Teach her to hate. Tell her all the lore of our tribes and of every remembered atrocity visited upon the Folk. Tell her never to trust a Wolf. Tell her to keep their teeth as trophies. Teach her to hunt Gaia’s chosen and the hated veil will be lifted for us once more.”
The scowl deepened.
All cats needed a gift, spirit taught at mid-rank, to slip across into the Umbra. They could not step across through mirrors and teaspoons as the Wolves did. And that was the Wolves’ fault. Long ago in the time of Scarlet Sorrow when all the Shifters were at war, the Wolves held a great council of elders and spirit speakers. There they sang a song that wove shut the spirit world for the Bastet, and it was a long time and a harsh road before the Bastet were able to find their way back into the Umbra. (That was the main reason, she discovered, why the kheuar word and symbol for ‘Garou’ could best be translated as ‘Selene’s Furious Betrayer.’)
“You tellin’ me that she’ll break the curse if I tell her to spit on the Garou?”
“Yes. She will slaughter their best and favoured. There will be a gathering of Wolves and many Chaya – the Wolves will beg the Chaya for aid.” Glory’s piercing gaze settled on the smaller of the two scraps of honey-gold fur between the cougar’s paws. “He will agree to betray his sister in return for the lifting of the curse, for those will be the terms she tells him to offer. She will be sacrificed, and the Folk will once again move freely between this realm and the other.”
Silhouette was puzzled. That prophecy didn’t merit the heavy, deadened tones in which the lynx was speaking. “And then what?”
“And then the world will end,” Glory said simply.
“Oh.” That was that then. “And if I don’t? If I teach her to slaughter only Ashura’s brood and to protect the Garou like the dumb war-elephants o’Gaia they are?”
The lynx shrugged and started to wash one of its forepaws. “Who can say? The world may still end.”
Silhouette growled. “That’s the great choice you’re givin’ me t’hand down? Kill the Wolves, raise the veil, end the world… Or don’t?”
It was the lynx’s turn to sigh. “Ashura grows more fat, putrid and numerous with every passing year. Nala grows weak and Rajah and Calesh battle ever onwards with no thoughts of compassion for their lover or her children. There have been portents, only one or two, but they warn of far worse to come. The wisest of the Folk fear that the battle for all creation will be fought here and now, within their lifetime.” Her whiskers twitched and turned down in sorrow. “If we are selfish, your children will free us of our curse and the Folk will vanish into the far lands leaving the Wolves to stand and die. If we are generous, then your children will fight beside the Wolves against the ending of creation.”
The Legend licked protectively at her two new kits, feeling their soft fur and their steady heartbeats beneath her tongue. “But will they win?” she asked quietly, for she was a cat, and to a cat such things mattered very much.
Glory bowed her head. “I cannot say.” A pause, and the slightest hint of a smile graced the lynx’s lips. “But they will have their father’s blessing, your strength and my teaching... which I think gives them a damn good chance.”