FictionPress.com - let the words flow| FictionPress.com - let the words flow |
| Home Just In Communities Forums Beta Readers Dictionary Search | Login Register Extras |
A Woman Named Morgaine
In a small cottage, tucked deep in the Murmuring Woods, a middle-aged woman sits on the wooden floor, her legs folded beneath her and hands clasped gently in her lap. Around her is a perfect circle, drawn in some sort of powder, and before her sits a wide, shallow glass bowl, filled to the brim with a shimmering, molten liquid. Somewhere outside her glowing circle, outside her tiny little home, the soft voice of an owl can be heard hooting into the wind. It is only a small breeze which raps lightly on the glass with branches and whistles between the shudders... nothing to be worried about. The woman turns, her curling waves of deep auburn bouncing from the motion, towards the window and peers out and then turns back to gaze at the bowl of liquid. Or was it a breeze? One really never knew in this day and age—as would be evidenced when just outside the window a young woman, decked out in all the splendor that fur can provide, stands, peering in.
No tapping does this new arrival make. Not even the smallest sound, but the woman inside seems to hear her, nonetheless. One hand lifts out of her lap and stretches towards the window, beckoning the arrival in out of the cold night air. The door does not open, the younger does not even move towards it. Without even a blink of hesitation, she steps through the wall and into the heated main room of the cottage, the timber of its structure rippling from the magic which radiates off of her like a flood. The younger settles cross legged near the older woman, in a manner of reverence and respect. As she's making herself comfortable a midnight cat stalks gracefully in from another room, and with a slight meow, bunts first older than younger, going between the two.
“You found the maiden I have asked for?” The elder murmurs, a hand flicking out to stroke the feline. “The one who honors the old ways... the one who honors us?” She pulls back her hand, waving it gracefully across her bowl of liquid. Deep, royal blue eyes stare at it intently as the surface shutters and an image begins to take shape.
The youthful brunette nods a bit, her long hair draping over her shoulders. “I have, Lady,” she gives in a reverent tone. “She awaits your beckon, in the clearing,” she offers, her voice lilting and musical in it's ways.
A satisfied smile glides across the woman's features. “You have done well, Nafwyn. Very well.” She eyes the clearing as it is reflected in the bowl. Slowly, determinedly, she flicks a finger towards the figure that waits there. It flinches from the touch of magic and stands, following the Lady's call. “Send guides to lead her way... How does your sister fair in her retrieval of the two infants?”
Nafwyn bows her head in gratitude before she continues. “Mófwyn has nearly completed her task, it is the mother that is causing a dilemma for her,” she states, offering a smile. “Mothers and their children, hard to separate...”
“I have them, Lady,” comes the rich tones from all around the two. Beside the light-haired brunette, the one referred to as Nafwyn, light outlines the image, first, of a woman, and than two smaller, child-sized creatures which flank either side of her. Mófwyn's long dark chocolate hair sways as she steps to one side and allows the forest folk present the eldest with first one babe and then the other.
Gently taking them and placing them in the circle with her, the woman comments. “There was a time when mothers would gladly have given their daughters to be followers of our old ways... a time when they honored the wishes of one named Soebín. Those times fade from us as Ynoch fills the world with rage.”
Mófwyn tilts her head, taking a vigilant spot beside her sister. “Lady... do you truly believe ones so small can reverse the damage she has caused?”
Nafwyn looks at her sister and smiles. “Of course they can, Sister, if they are taught properly and brought up right, they will thrive and do as our Lady asks,” she notes, with a nod of her head as she looks at the two children.
“And your Sister has found the one how will do that raising. A woman named Morgaine,” Soebín murmurs softly. She turns from her pupils then and addresses the forest folk. To one, she instructs, “The silver powder, please. It's in the cupboards over there. And the oils for cleansing and blessing.” Then other is given its own task. “Go to your Master, the Fiddler. Tell him that Soebín sends her best wishes and says the time is upon us. He'll know what I mean.”
Nafwyn remains seated, quietly tucking a bit of long hair behind her ear as she watches as Soebín gives the forest folk their instructions. The two small people bow deeply, far more deeply than some might think possible for beings but the size of children, before setting about their business. One disappears, its form melting as if blown apart by an unseen gust of wind while the other quickly gathers the items requested. For some time, there is naught but silence and the soft bustling as the forestling makes short order of carefully placing the jars next to the lady. But the rise in the strength of the wind and the sudden clear, crisp howl of pair of wolves is not lost on those present.
“The door, my dears...” Soebín directs, “It appears our company has finally arrived.”
The blackened cat rises gracefully from its position as Mófwyn does the same and it stalks towards the heavy wooden door at the front of the cabin. The dark-haired young woman follows gracefully, one slender hand stretching out to grasp the cold metal knob. It turns, slowly and determinedly, before swinging open to reveal the visitors who wait patiently behind it. To wolves pant lightly, padding in past the woman to take a spot on either side of Soebín where they wait patiently. The maiden who has followed them looks meek in the shadow of her fellows and her gaze falls to the floor in humility.
“Come now,” Mófwyn welcomes her. “We shall not harm you and it is our joy to greet you with open arms.” She steps slowly to one side, allowing the black-haired figure to make her way into the cabin before shutting the door behind her.
Morgaine jumps as she hears the metal latch behind her and spins. The heavy, gentle tones of Soebín envelope her as the woman speaks. “Child... Your name is Morgaine, is it not?” The young woman nods slowly. “That is good.” There is a pause, Soebín reaching out cradle the cheek of one of the two small babes who reside inside her circle. “Do you know why you are here?”
There is a nod and Morgaine murmurs a response. “Because the Lady Nafwyn has invited me and my Lady Soebín has allowed it.”
The woman chuckles. “A wise response indeed,” she notes, seeing a small glint of pride play across the fir-wrapped brunettes soft features. “But there is more to it than that. Let me see… Do you know where we are? And the history of this place?”
“This is the Murmuring Forest, m’ Lady, the domain of Codwy, the Fiddler and Wild One,” Morgaine steps closer towards the circle as she speaks. “Once my people revered this place and welcomed the melody he plays. They would dance amongst the trees and the creatures but no more. They have come to fear the music he makes, mistaking it for the tune of those who ought to be dead and forgotten.”
Mófwyn’s features darken as the young woman speaks of the new views of this once sacred ground, stepping towards one of the windows and glowering out. Her sister stands and straightens, picking her way silently over to the darker-haired kindred and gently places a reassuring hand on her bare arm. Mófwyn sends a quick gaze to Nafwyn; about to shake of the contact, she changes her mind and places her own hand on top of her sister’s, thankful for the comfort.
Soebín coughs ever so lightly. “All you say is correct. Do you feel the same, Morgaine? Do you fear being here amongst the wild and the wondrous?”
The young woman shakes her head violently. “Not at all, m’ Lady! It is an honor to be in the presence of those I serve.”
“Good manners. Very nice,” Soebín smiles. “Come closer, my dear. Into the circle,” she instructs. “Yes, yes that’s right. Now have a seat.” She pauses and captures Morgaine’s gaze somberly. “I have much to tell you about the task we will request of you. When I am done, you will have a choice: to accept this task or to leave this cabin forever.”
Morgaine takes a seat within the circle, as instructed, and crosses her legs, listening patiently to the words which spill forth from Soebín. The elder woman motions the other inhabitants of the room closer, waiting for them to sit before she carefully lifts one of the two babes, passing her into Nafwyn’s awaiting arms; the smaller child goes to where Mófwyn waits to cradle her. Then, Soebín speaks.
“Once, your people loved us and loved the old ways. We were kind to them and they flourished and reciprocated our emotions,” she murmurs. “There were times when we were not as nurturing as some would have liked but they understood that life, like the passing of the moon, would always be subject to dark times… loss of a loved one, failure in a much desired pursuit, the devastation of nature’s wrath. But they continued to follow us; they continued to cherish us and the magic that we bring into the world.” As she weaves her tale, Soebín passes her hand over the bowl of liquid occasionally, the picture shimmering with her words.
“Life continued well for a long time… And then Ynoch decided it was time we, the more powerful beings, played some games with you – the lesser ones. We did not worry as we should have when it started. Perhaps if we had, none of this would have come upon us. But we did not heed the signs and so we let her play. She began arrogant and greedy, flaunting her power in ways which she should not have. Your people shrank from her and began to despise her wicked ways.”
“In some ways, I feel that the rest of my kind and I are to blame for things getting so out of control... If only we had stepped in before it had gotten so out of control. Alas, we waited, instead, for her to cross the line, killing and ruining at her will, before we got involved. But by that time, the damage was done and your people had already begun to loose faith. Ynoch prayed on this, filling them with rage and spite... terrible emotions which were directed at us for our failure to act. And now it has come to this... the terrors Ynoch has unleashed threaten to tear this world to shreds and your people, unaware of the severity of the danger, wish to overthrow us and all that we hold dear. If they are successful in doing so, they would unwittingly plunge themselves into Chaos and destroy the only chance of bringing Ynoch down that there is.”
Morgaine shifts uneasily. “But, m’ Lady... cannot the three of you overturn her thrown? And if not just you three, what of the other deities? Can they not give you the strength you need to do so?” Her voice is soft and wavers slightly as she asks such a question.
Nafwyn, kind and gentle as she is, shakes her head slowly. “No, dear one. They cannot,” her eyes glance over to her sister and then back to their pupil. “We are as Ynoch is, immortal in all but the direst circumstances. It was written in the stars many eons ago that none of our kind could kill another... we had hoped that would prevent any of us from becoming malicious as Ynoch has.”
“But there is a way to bring her down. She must be overthrown by one of your kind, the people who follow us,” Mófwyn amends, her gaze studying first Morgaine and then each of the two babes in turn.
The young woman blinks in awe. “You mean for me to raise them? And for them to bring her reign to an end?”
It is Soebín who gives the young woman her answer. “Only if you are willing.”
Nafwyn nods her head in a mournful manner. “If you are willing, great blessings would be brought upon you, though we would not begrudge you anything should you choose not. Your reverance satisfies us, Child.”
Morgaine begins to respond with earnest acceptance when the auburn-haired deity holds up a hand. “Think about this clearly, Child. Consider all that you will face and all that you must prepare these two children to endure…”
The maiden halts briefly, a small, meek smile curving over her lips. “It would almost seem you wish me to say no, m’ Lady. Surely that cannot be correct?”
“It would be better that you leave this place and our service than enter too quickly or uncertainly into this agreement. Many things hinge on the success or failure of this task… It is a great amount of pressure and should you be unable to endure it…” Soebín’s voice fades. “This is not a quest to be entered into lightly.”
Morgaine nods, understanding the woman’s concerns. “Will you come back when they,” she indicates the two bundled babies, “are old enough to understand? Will you offer them a chance to retreat from their destiny?”
Soebín shakes her head. “No, these two will not be given a choice. They will be expected to challenge Ynoch in due time, whether they wish to or not. But it would be best if someone raised them with the desire to do this great thing for the goodness of the world for it would be much easier on all involved.”
Mófwyn watches the exchange carefully, studying the reaction of the maiden, judging how well she might be able to handle this task. Her eyes widen in appreciation when Morgaine gives her decision. “Then I will not decline this task. You had Her Lady Nafwyn invite me here because you obviously felt I might be fitted for it. What kind of a servant of the Old Ways would I be if I ran from what is so clearly a stepping stone in the river of my destiny?”
Nafwyn smiles as Morgaine answers, a hint of pride upon her face as she watches the girl, the girl she'd seen grow through the years. “You bring pride to the Old Ways, Child,” she murmurs quietly.
“A great deal of pride,” Mófwyn agrees softly, rocking the child which sleeps silently in her arms. “There are two few left with your understanding and dedication. Too few...”
Morgaine flushes at the praise, her gaze dropping to the wooden floor, only glancing up when Soebín speaks. “They are right, Child. My confidence in your abilities is reaffirmed when you speak so preciously.”
The young woman turns to study each of the two babes in turn. “What are their names…?”
“Their mother wished them to be named Ananda,” Mófwyn nods to the one in her sisters arms, “and Elyne,” she indicates the one in her own.
“They will not be?” Morgaine asks, curious.
The three deities shake their heads in unison and Soebín speaks. “The will be give names from the Old Tongue, from which our own names come.” She nods at the women on either side of her. “And what shall they be called,” she prompts.
“The elder will be known as Cyra,” Nafwyn starts.
“And the smaller, Ata,” Mófwyn finishes.
Nafwyn looks down at Cyra, a manner suiting that of a mother, though that is certainly Nafwyn's own manner, as she has a very motherly manner to herself.
Soebín smiles at the circle surrounding her. “And now if there are no more immediate questions, it is imperative that we cleanse and bless our dear small girls before either Ynoch or the angered decide to attempt to track them down.” A slender finger reaches out, calling the cat and two wolves forward. “Stand guard outside, if you will,” she murmurs before turning to the forestling, who has been watching in patient fascination. “Come now... if you will help me with these mixtures...”
The small person nods silently steps forward into the circle before Soebín calmly raises its faint glow to rise, towering above them to seal this most important magical working from any unwanted, prying eyes.
Notes from the Author(s) : This piece, like some many of mine (Briah) is presently untitled. At almost 3,000 words, it is certainly one of my longest chapters I've written for any piece... and by far the longest, most detailed first chapter. It must, and I highly stress must, be noted that this particular project is sort of a joint effort between myself and a very dear friend of mine -- I'll call her Artemis for now -- who, in some ways, serves me as a muse. I'm currently debating whether or not to keep it present tense, that's how it comes out when the two of us write joint sessions, or to switch it to past tense. All opinions are welcome. Constructive criticism always much appreciated.
