A Leap of Faith: A Chronicle On the Triatlon del Pavo In Cancun, Mexico

I believe that there are certain points in life that you have to pass by to find out, not so much how good you are at something and not even how much so, but only to see, live and breathe.

I did my first triathlon ever. A great feat that carries with it the hardest of battles with one of the most assiduous enemies of my life: fear. And after nearly two years of hurting myself from falling off my bike, twisting my ankle, cramps in my calves that could have well been syndromes that required amputation, among other events, I arrived to that finish line.

This is how it went.

We arrived early with the wind blowing and the sun peeking between long strips of clouds. My friends and I were sitting on the sand, watching how beautiful the sunrise was. The ocean, like rumpled silk, tempted and taunted between whispers of the wind as the sun made its presence known before hiding behind clouds again. And after watching all the other categories start, it was finally our turn.

The squeal of the starting whistle.

Everyone ran to the ocean, splashing each other, dolphining, swimming, running. I slipped into the water and was rocked by the waves. My respiration started to peak and drop wildly. Panic slapped me in the face, making me stand on the sargasso. In the distance, I saw how the waves elevated all the other swimmers.

I froze.

It was in that brief moment that an ounce of doubt seeped in and said, "And if I tell my trainer that I'm not going to do this?"

"What's wrong? Are you okay?"

I turned and saw one of the lifeguards who was watching over the swimmers. His question erased everything on my slate and before I knew it, I put my face back into the water.

At the first buoy, I was panicking again and I grabbed a lifeguard's floater. Another swimmer was already there, on another floater.

"I'm going to throw up," he said.

And it was only the first 100 meters.

And as the lifeguard towed the swimmer back, the one who had my floater asked me if I was going to continue. I looked towards the second buoy and saw how far away it looked. A wave passed by gently as if the sea was trying to claim me as its own.

I am, and nothing more.

When I was finishing my first lap, the last couple of swimmers were finishing their second lap. When I stepped into the ocean again for my second lap, I was alone. Swimming 200 meters extra didn't help the situation either. I was practically on my way to Cuba when lifeguards caught up with me and pulled at my leg on four separate occasions.

"You're on your way back to Cancun," said one. In my last 200 meters, he corralled me so that I wouldn't swim so far off track again. And as I swam and saw how far I was from the course and from the buoy I was supposed to be swimming to, I vowed that if I ever got back to land, I would kiss the first person I see.

The only person who was on shore waiting was a friend I had no intention of ever kissing. He had waited for me.

Mental kisses, then.

The bike was the easiest part except for the first two kilometers. I saw something that wouldn't easily erase from my mind: an athlete (who I clearly remembered seeing on the beach before the whistle) was lying on the middle of the road with a dark puddle under her head. Two road bikes were leaning on separate trees and the race organizers were indicating that the competitors continue the race.

I didn't see a helmet anywhere.

As I passed her, I felt a numbness in the back of my head. In the following laps, I was repeating to myself a sort of prayer, hoping she wouldn't die on me. In the second lap, the dark puddle seeped across the road in a thick path, crossing in front of me. I saw the wet spot on my tire as I race across.

Please don't die on me. Please don't die on me.

By the time I was on my third lap, she was sitting on the side of the road, her head bandaged.

In the fourth lap, the only ones who were still on the bike was a teenager who looked like he was suffering from cramps and a guy on an old skool double suspension Mongoose with a rack for school books on the back. The only thing he had there was a bottle of Gatorade strapped firmly onto its grill.

Getting off the bike, the balls of my feet felt hollow, as if they had holes from where I had been pressing against the pedals. And as blisters formed on my feet from the grains of sand that were still stuck to my skin from the swim, my face contorted and formed a smile. Even though I knew that at that point, I was the only one doing the triathlon (most everyone had left and the roads were opened to traffic again), I kept going.

In the last 20 meters, I saw the finish line loom before me. Karla, Hector, Genaro, Odin, Vega and Rosana (friends from my mountain bike group) were shouting at me, urging me across. My heels kicked high and I sprinted, wondering if I was going to cry.

Crossing the finish line, I leapt as if I were in a tampon commercial.

I'm free.

Rosana grabbed me and hugged me hard (her specialty). And as I panted from that last sprint, I realized that I had just finished my first triathlon. An incredible wave of emotion came over me with a strength and elegance that only this grand moment could have given me:

I sobbed as I had never done in my whole entire life.

When I arrived to Cancun, the first time I went to swim in open waters was with Genaro. I remembered the fear that came over me as I held on for dear life to the line of buoys. He dragged me along for the little bit that I could manage to swim and was a real trooper that day, showing incredible patience for this scaredy cat. And when I saw him at the finish line with his big brother smile, I saw how that circle closed right in front of me.

On the way, I carried my dead with me: Donna, the mother of one of my dearest friends, died of cancer. Her daughter and my friend, Gen, dedicated her first triathlon to her mother and that, later, became my reason for starting this journey as well. Esperanza, a very good friend who used to accompany her boyfriend in his marathons, passed away earlier this year. Neither had ever seen me in a competition.

Now they have.

And as I saw the word "FINISH" rise in front of me, I heard the shouts of the only people waiting there, waiting for me, come from friends. I realized then that the one thing that pushes us on when we compete in a race, regardless of what place we come in, was reduced to the following words:

"Close up shop. I'm here and I'm done."

Un Salto de Fe: Cronica del Triatlon del Pavo del YEK, Cancun 2008

Creo que hay ciertos puntos que uno tiene que pasar por la vida para comprobar, no tanto la destreza de cada quien, ni quien tiene mas sino nada mas para ver, vivir y respirar.

Hice mi primero triatlón. Un logro para mí que conlleva una fuerte batalla contra mi enemigo más asiduo que he tenido en mi vida: el miedo. Y después de casi dos años de estar lastimándome por caídas de bici, torceduras de tobillo, dolores de las pantorrillas que pudo haber sido síndromes serios, entre alguna que otra cosa, llegué.

Y fue así.

Llegamos muy temprano, el viento soplando fuerte y el sol, asomándose entre nubes largas. Mis amigos y yo estábamos sentados en la arena, viendo lo bello que era ver el amanecer. El mar, como seda arrugada, tentaba entre susurros del viento y el sol se animó a salir un rato antes de meterse de nuevo. Y después de ver todas las diferentes categorías salir, finalmente nos toco a nosotros.

El silbatazo.

Todos corrieron al mar, salpicando uno al otro, delfineando, nadando, corriendo. Me metí y el mar me meneaba. Mi respiración se disparaba. El pánico me cacheteo, haciéndome parar de repente. Veía el horizonte y como el mar levantaba a los demás nadadores.

Me quede pasmada.

En este momento tan breve, pensé, “¿Y si le digo a mi entrenador que no lo voy a hacer?”

“¿Que pasa? ¿Estas bien?”

Volteé para ver un salvavidas, custodiando la salida. Su pregunta me borró todo de mi cassette y de nuevo metí mi cara al mar.

En la primera boya, me estaba apaniqueando y agarré el flotador de uno de los salvavidas. Un chavo ya estaba allí, con otro flotador.

"Me voy a vomitar," dijo.

Y eran los primeros 100 metros.

Y mientras el salvavidas jalaba al chavo de regreso, el otro de mi flotador me preguntó si me iba a seguir. Volteé la mirada hacia la otra boya y que tan lejos se veía. Pasó una ola suavemente como si el mar me estaba reclamando como suya.

Soy, y nada más.

Ya cuando estaba terminando mi primera vuelta, los últimos nadadores estaban terminando su segunda vuelta. Cuando entré al mar de nuevo para mi segunda vuelta, ya estaba sola. Tampoco ayudaba que nadé como 200 metros de más por haber querido nadar hasta Cuba. En cuatro ocasiones, los salvavidas tuvieron que jalar mi pierna para que regresara.

"Vas de regreso a Cancún," me dijo uno. En mis últimos 200 metros, un salvavidas me acorraleó para que no se abriera tanto. Y mientras nadaba y veía que tan adentro del mar me fui nadando y que tan lejos se veía la boya, pensé que si en caso que llegue a tierra, voy a besar al primero que me encuentro allí.

La única persona que estaba era un amigo a quién no tuve ningún intención (ni tendré) de besar. Se quedó a esperarme.

Besos mentales, entonces.

La bici era lo más fácil de todo salvo que en los primeros dos kilómetros, vi algo que no se me va a borrar: una chava (de quién me acuerdo claramente de haber visto antes del silbatazo) estaba tirada en medio de la carretera con un charco oscuro abajo de su cabeza. Dos bicis de ruta estaban apoyándose contra unos árboles y gente de la misma competencia estaban indicando a la gente que sigan la competencia.

No vi un casco en ningún lado.

Al pasar, sentí una sensación de escalofrío en la parte posterior de mi cabeza. En las subsecuentes vueltas, estaba repitiendo en mi cabeza que no se me muera. En mi segunda vuelta, el charco oscuro se atravesó mi camino y pasé encima.

Que no se me muera. Que no se me muera.

Para la tercera, ya estaba sentada con la cabeza vendada.

En la cuarta vuelta, éramos nada más un chavo que ya no le daba más y un hombre trepado sobre una Mongoose de año de la canica con doble suspensión y rack para sus libros de la escuela, lo cual traía un Gatorade.

Bajando de la bici, las plantas de mis pies se sentían como si tuvieran hoyos, por donde presionaban contra los pedales. Y mientras sentían como se formaban las ampollas sobre mis pies, mi cara se contorsionaba y se le quedó plasmada una sonrisa. Aún cuando supe que la única persona que estaba haciendo el triatlón era yo, que casi todos ya se han ido y que abrieron acceso al transito de nuevo, seguía.

Los últimos 20 metros y ya veía la meta. Karla, Héctor, Genaro, Odin, Vega y Rosana me gritaban. Los talones se empezaron a brincar y cerré pensando si iba a llorar.

Al cruzar la meta, di un salto como si estuviera en una comercial de tampones: ¡estoy libre!

Rosana me agarró y me abrazó fuerte (su especialidad). Y entre la respiración agitada de la llegada y el darme cuenta de que llegué, se apoderó de mí un sentimiento tan fuerte que se soltó con toda la fuerza e elegancia que nada más este gran momento me pudo haber brindado:

Sollozaba como nunca en mi vida lo había hecho.

Cuando llegué a Cancún, la primera vez que salí a nadar en mar abierto fue con Genaro. Me acuerdo del pavor que tenía, agarrando la hilera de boyas, Genaro casi arrastrándome a nadar lo que pude nadar, con una paciencia monumental. Y cuando lo vi en la meta con su sonrisa de hermano mayor, vi también como cerró el círculo.

En el camino, llevaba mis muertos conmigo: Donna, la mama de una de mis mejores amigas, murió de cáncer. Su hija y mi amiga, Gen, le dedicó su primer triatlón y fue por ella que empecé. Esperanza, una muy buena amiga y alguien que siempre iba con su novio a sus maratones, se me fue a principios de este año. Ninguna de las dos me había visto en una competencia.

Ahora si.

Y mientras veía el letrero de "META" y escuchaba que las únicas personas quienes estaban allá eran amigos míos, pensé la cosa que creo que a todos nos impulsa cuando competimos, independientemente del lugar en que quedamos:

"Cierre el changarro; ya llegué."

A Flat Tire: A Story from the 70.3 Cancun Ironman 2008

There is something amazing about the way things work. You can be doing your same old routine and something always manages to find its way into your life to make you realize that perhaps, you aren't doing the same thing you always do.

I say this because today was a day like any other, except for the fact that it was the 2008 70.3 Ironman here in Cancun. I was going to wake up at the buttcrack of dawn to ride down to the track and sit out the race, watching friends who were competing. This would have happened had it not been for two tiny details:

1. I failed to wake at 3:30 to leave at 4:30 and 2. I woke at 6:20 to the ringing of my cell phone.

It was a friend, the one who was supposed to ride with me. He was just getting back from a party and wanted to work off the hang over/sleepiness. I wasn't sure if I wanted such a huge responsiblity as having the life of my friend (whose physical ability in this particular moment I doubted) on my conscience. But we agreed on meeting a my house and riding out from there.

I normally don't take the highway to enter the Hotel Zone, where the competition was, but my friend insisted it was shorter. So we went along and entered the HZ from the other side, avoiding the 25 kms before the beginning of the race. We came precisely to where the athletes were just passing by on their bikes. Road blocks prevented cars to come in that side as bikes of all types zipped by. I stood in the sun, on the side of the plastic road blocks that had been set up while my friend (the smart one, as it turns out; my face is now a tonality of baked lobster), on the other side of the road, in the shade.

As the competitors zipped by, some with their full rims whirling, I heard a sound of something like a scratch. One man in a blue jersey looked down at his tire.

"Fuck!" he said.

He pulled over to my side of the road and in the grass, started to unscrew the axel set on his back tire. Once unscrewed and the brake undone, he pulled at the tire, which wouldn't let go because the chain wasn't free of the freewheel.

He looked angry. I watched, wanting to help but didn't wanted to get screamed at so I stood aside. He looked up and around, maybe looking for salvation, a fully inflated wheel to fall out of the sky. But the tire slide off easily and he managed to slip out the popped culprit and slide in a new inner tube. And as he struggled with the tire, trying to get it on the frame, I decided the hell with getting yelled at.

I approached him.

"Do you want me to hold that straight for you?"

"That'd be great," he said. "Thank you."

And as I held the frame straight, I saw that he was having trouble with putting the wheel in the drop. I held the frame steady and tried to keep the situation calm and under control. The tire slipped into its place and realized that he had lost the spring in his axel set.

"I don't know what it does," he said. I did. It keeps the screw tight so that the cap doesn't fall off. My friends later told me that it really isn't necessary for roadies. I believe since there aren't tons of bumps in the road, there is less of a chance that the cap will fly off, ultimately ending in I what I originally believed was going to happen to this man: the wheel flying off. I was a bit scared but I decided that it wasn't the smartest thing to do to put this worry in his head: I just prayed there were no bumps.

He stood up and said something that I never expected:

"Thank you for saving my life."

I was a little shocked.

"I really didn't do anything."

"You did. You saved my life. What's your name?"

"Fumiko."

"Thank you very much, Fumiko."

"Good luck," I had said.

And with that, he streaked off.

I stood there for a bit, awe-striken. Had I come from the other direction, I would have never had experienced the above. The fact that he got a flat right in the area where we were (and there was no other civvie around, cheering on the competitors, for miles) was perhaps fate.

My friend says it was my bad vibes that caused him to get a flat right there. He jokes and realizes that he has done so after I gave him a dirty look, which implied a subsequent ass kicking.

Whatever it was, I was left moved by the event.

And so starts my search: if anyone knows who this man is, one who competed in the bike leg of the 2008 70.3 Ironman on an orange bike, tell him that he made my day.

Thanks.

What's Phat and What's Fat

I suppose if you look on your own life, you'll begin to see that all that we have from the outside in is a construction of all the things you've ever learned and experienced over the years. I was not a very popular gal in high school and that does take its toll. After years of sloughing off the excess and the idea that I can't be attractive, I think I'm finally breaching surface.

So when you have that self esteem near the ankles, you start to wonder why is it that you attract men who are 40 somethings and fat? I had the slight impression that they all thought themselves hot in my eyes. A hairy beer gut that would give Santa a run for his money, a slew of cheesy pick-ups ("I have a full-sized bed," "Who is the lucky guy you're sticking your tongue out at?") and a lascivious look that would turn you into a gagging mess have been sad constants in my life.

That is, until the day I decided to fuck it all and be myself. The day I decided that I can't live by the books of others. The day I decided that I can turn that fine-as-hell man's head. Those were, obviously, various days and not all one. It took me a while to figure out, though, and the wisdom came in stages. It came in pieces. It came in the hands of angels.

And so it began.

I've learned that if you know how to ask, you get what you wish for. Only most people don't know that they've gotten what they wish for when they get it. I normally ask for a good man to walk into my life but every time I ask differently and the funny thing is, if you're not specific, you might end up with something you don't want.

And as I became bolder with my petitions, I began asking for someone with all those things that I felt that I did not deserve before.

One by one, I opened the door to my life and began seeing those men I've always looked for but never thought were possible. The handsome Philosopher who does not think himself that attractive. The gorgeous Swim Instructor who sees me as a peer. The Unknown Soldier who cast his eye in my direction.

I have begun to believe.

And with each man that wanders into my life, I realize that I always had the key to get here. It was just the moment that I've chosen that made all the difference. And so possibility courses through my veins like an electric shock.

And I awake.

The Forest of the Keeper: Chapter 20 (Jorli's Merit)

Inside, the shards were many and she looked for those memories with Oslin. She crept past memory after memory and was confused: where were those memories? Suddenly she saw a thick shard, black and without visible images. What’s this? she thought. It slid through the other memories, which sparkled brightly with colorful scenes. That must be it, she thought. But where is it… She almost screamed: the thick black shard was moving towards the ear. The memory was going to erase itself forever. Jorli sped through the shards, not bothering to dodge them. One by one, Saria remembered different parts of her life: her parents’ shouting, her solitary nights in the Forest, her training with the Keeper. The Black Shard was at the ear when Jorli grabbed it, wiped an opening through the soot and jumped inside.
What Jorli saw in those particular memories left her speechless. Out of shame for finding out about her closest friend’s most private and intimate moments, she reached for another memory. And then, another. All she was able to convince herself of after she went through them was that there was no doubt that Oslin and Saria enjoyed being in each other’s company. Finally she came to one memory that wasn’t so vividly explicit. She tapped it and was instantly inside.
“I’ll be in my quarters a little later if you have time to discuss tomorrow,” started Saria. Oslin beamed at her and held her close. He whispered into her ear. “I am yours forever, my flower, whether you remember so or not.” He kissed her on the cheek and she started to walk out of the room. Oslin sat back down with the King of the Drendhils.
Jorli ran after her.
“Saria!” she called out.
“Jorli! What are you doing here? I thought we were supposed to meet in your quarters?”
“I couldn’t wait,” she replied quickly. She had to keep this up long enough to keep the memory from vanishing. She motioned for Saria to follow her to a corner of the castle out of earshot. “I wanted to know now.” She took a deep breath.
“Are you in love with the Warlock of the Wind?” Saria’s face lit up.
“With Oslin? He is such a wonderful person; so caring and sensitive.”
And a lot of other things too, thought Jorli.
“I just want to make sure that he’s good for you. How do you know?”
“How?” Saria smiled shyly. “I like it when he holds me and treats me as if I were the most precious thing in the world. I like it when he kisses me and makes me feel like each part of me is sensual and…” she blushed heavily.
“What?” asked Jorli. Come on, just a little bit more.
“Delicious,” she said a little exasperated. “I cannot believe I just told you that.” She was now several shades of pink.
“What is the thing that most attracts you to him? His looks?” Remember Saria, remember…
“He knows how to listen and I really love the color of his eyes and how they seem to smile. I love his hands and how they caress my skin.It’s so strange that we even seem to understand each other better than I could have ever imagined. His hair, when it is wet, smelling of pine needles…”
“Keep going…,” prodded Jorli.
“I feel like we were made for each other and I don’t even know him…” She stopped. She stood up straight as her body shivered in a sudden spasm. Her eyes blinked several times before she could register that she was seeing. She looked at her hands, as if she could not believe that they were there. Then, slowly, she turned to Jorli.
“I remember…everything…” Jorli yelped with happiness. She closed the memory and now saw that the Shard had broken up into many fragments, releasing all the memories with Oslin as the soot fell as dust and trickled out of Saria’s ear. She jumped out after the soot.
The Warlocks jumped at the sight of Jorli as Oslin rushed up to her. The Fox held out a paw.
“Let’s just make sure,” she said and took out a small vial from her pouch. Uncorking it, she dropped one drop into Saria’s mouth. Momentarily, her eyes opened.
“Jorli, what happened?”
“Saria,” she said cautiously. “Do you know who that man is?” and pointed to Oslin. She blinked once, as if adjusting her sight and her eyes grew wide; it was with recognition.
“Oslin!” She stood up and ran to his waiting arms. They kissed as only two people could kiss when they are in love. Fenlin coughed loudly and cleared his throat twice before Oslin detached himself.
“My love, come and meet my brothers,” he said with a smirk.
And as Yorlin had mentioned, there was much to celebrate. Oslin and Saria waited before announcing their union so as to wait for Urlin, who went to rescue his love from the Anemone Beds. Once freed, Elizabeth went into the painful explanation of what she had done with Oslin and tearfully asked for forgiveness. She had realized that Oslin had only done what he had done for the sake of the act and really did not care at all. And upon comparing his behavior with Urlin’s, she understood the magnitude of her mistake and immediately went to search for him in high waters. She offered him her heart, if he be so considerate in taking it. His love could not help but overflow and he kissed her sweetly, after which he offered to show her how much he was in agreement with her proposal if she would be so kind as to follow him to private quarters in the Merlands where they could discuss the matter at length. She assented by saying that she had several things she would like to show him. The fact of the matter was that after several days of lengthy discourse, they finally agreed to prepare for the double wedding.
Many came from far and wide to the celebration, which was held in the Land of the Tower where the Tower was adapted for living, although Saria and Oslin decided to keep the bier as an eternal reminder of their first meeting. As for Zjorn, he was completely healed by Saria’s blood for it was liquid given out of one human’s free will that was what he needed and now was conscious enough to understand his horrible greed for knowledge and power. When he finally was reunited with Saria and then later with the Keeper, it ended in a tearful meeting that left everyone feeling content with finding several additions to the family. On petition of the Keeper, Zjorn went to live in the Forest where he also helped in its protection. His physical body was still beset by the trials of time but he began to regain in strength and color. Sebastian and the Keeper were quite shocked when they received the notice from Perlen and Sinlar, who flew back with the news of Saria’s union to the Warlock of the Wind but upon meeting their future son-in-law, they realized that there really was nothing to fear.
Saria, Oslin, Elizabeth and Urlin were all wed and though they did not promise many children to their respective spouses and parents, they did promise love, respect, communication and many intents at children, however unsuccessful be the intent. With these four things, the two couples lived happily albeit with their occasional dispute, which would be followed by an escape and quickly closed by explanations and apologies. They continually renewed their passion in the most creative of ways, some of which, for Saria and Oslin, involved reenacting their first meeting whereas for Elizabeth and Urlin, it was playing shark and victim.
Urlin was the first to become a father, after which he and Elizabeth had ten more. It seemed that he had to make up for lost time. As for Saria, she and Oslin wanted to enjoy their couplehood before they had children. They found that as their love for each other grew, it also augmented their desire to unite for a product of their love for each other.
Now that they were free from their guard duties, Fenlin and Yorlin were also able to find mates, though they did not see the need to marry. Fenlin, a hard-to-please sort, took a bit longer to see that as an option in his life, was happy with living his life with liberty and not complicating himself too much. Yorlin was more sensitive but was not very lucky until he finally allowed himself to understand the wonders of tolerance and self appraisal. Once that was learned, a whole world of possibilities came knocking on his door: in other words, he was not so choosy. They both, in their own ways, lived the sensual bliss that marked Oslin’s rebirth with their own incursions into love.

Our heroes and heroines, however, did not always live that wonderfully false romantic happy ending. They fought like the fiercest of creatures and made others tremble in their shoes. They broke things, sometimes hearts, and cried a great deal but they did learn that their lives were dictated by the choices that only they themselves made. Creators of their own destinies, the power of choice distinguished their happiness from their loss of interest in life. And as the years trickled by, they would all reminisce about the past and however different were their experiences, they all had one thing in common: none ever regretted a single thing they did or did not do.

But that is another story to be told another day. Today, we live.

The Forest of the Keeper: Chapter 19 (Breaking the Curse)

The woman in his arms had a deathly pallor about her but he caught the slight rise of her chest. He watched as Oslin murmured softly into her ear and the fox sat on his shoulder, looking with concern at that deathly face. It was a strange vision to behold but somehow, it suited Oslin. Yorlin smiled inwardly: the first woman to win Oslin’s heart was the one who took him and not the other way around.
Presently, they arrived to the bottom of the pit. It was a large hall, in the middle of which there was a wide glass cylinder in the center. Underneath the top pane of thick glass was a young man lying with his limbs extended outwards. Circlets of light held his wrists and ankles. This was Urlin, the Warlock of the Sea.
He had his eyes closed as they approached. Yorlin and Jorli stayed back as Oslin drew closer to his brother.
“Urlin.” It was a command. And though his eyes were not open, he knew who it was.
“I was wondering if you were ever going to break the curse.” His eyes slowly opened, as if he were used to keeping them closed.
“I want to make peace.” Urlin looked impassively at Saria and studied her for a long while.
“You are in love with her.” Oslin could not answer. A tear rolled down his cheek.
“Then now you know how it feels.” Oslin looked at his brother with incredulity. He found his voice and spoke firmly.
“Yes, I love her and I want to spend the rest of my life with her.” He looked frustrated. “Nothing is perfect, Urlin. I am not perfect but I know that I did much to wrong you.” He looked at his brother sternly. “I know your heart has been colored by hate and I wish to the high heavens that I had never lain with her. I wish I had never lain with Elizabeth because the only person I want to be with is dying in my arms. And the only family I have hates me as his worst enemy.” He blinked back a tear.
“Please Urlin, forgive me. I cannot change the past. What is done, is done. All I want is for peace to be between us. And so I come with an offering.”
Urlin cocked an eyebrow.
“An offering?”
“As I was trying to eliminate the poison from Saria, I inadvertently drank water from the Forbidden Lake.” He looked at Jorli with a smile. “Upon drinking it, I found out how to save Saria and how to redeem myself in your eyes.” He had Urlin’s attention.
“How?” he asked skeptically.
“But first I shall explain Saria’s cure: the four of us, you, me, Yorlin and Fenlin must call on the powers of the elements. The strength of the elements will eliminate the poison still left in her body and close her wound. This would also break the curse placed on her.” His face fell a little. “There is a chance that she will fall out of love with me but it is a chance I need to take.”
“So what is this offering you spoke of?”
“I found out where Elizabeth is.” Urlin gave a hoot of laughter, the most animated he had been during the entire conversation.
“If you haven’t noticed ‘dear’ brother, we have been under time-slowing spells. Elizabeth,” and his voice lowered to a whisper, as if in reverence of that woman, “is most likely a grandmother by now.” A grin cracked upon Oslin’s face.
“She would be save for one small fact.” Urlin was rapt with attention.
“It seems that she had been sailing in a small boat when she was sucked under into the whirlpool leading into the Merlands. Apparently, she landed in the Beds of Anemone, stung to sleep, and where she has lain sleeping ever since.” There was a look of shock on Urlin’s face.
“You know, brother, they say that in the Merlands, people age quite slowly. Would you like to take a guess as to why she was manning a boat? And that far from shore?” The shock had Urlin paralyzed.
“Elizabeth,” he whispered. Oslin came closer to the glass pane.
“Urlin, I am willing to give up the love of my life only to see her alive.” The two brothers looked at each other.
“Even if it means losing her forever?” Oslin nodded his head.
“Forgive me.”
Urlin stared hard at his brother, his flesh and blood. His eyes began to fill with emotion.
“I forgive you,” he said in a shaky voice. In a flash, the circle of glass lit up and glowed a bright red. With an explosion absent of sound, the glass disappeared as the light shot out, filling the hall as if it were pure daylight. When the light faded, Urlin stood there, freed of his bonds and cell.
“I did say that the place was cleverly enchanted,” said Yorlin approaching and taking Saria from him. The two brothers faced each other, pausing for a moment and embraced. Urlin stepped back from his brother and held him by the arms, smiling.
“I would love to stay and chat, dear brother, but we both have damsels in distress we should tend to.” They turned and found Fenlin there. He embraced both and apologized to Urlin.
“You really gave me no choice, Urlin,” said a shamefaced Fenlin.
The four knelt down and distributed themselves around Saria. Jorli watched as they held their hands over Saria’s wound. They mumbled words under their breath which turned into a rhythmic chant. Light began to glow in their hands and as their chants grew stronger, it began to spill out through the spaces between their hands and fingers. The light shot out and reached every corner of the hall as the four figures were illuminated in a globe of radiance. Slowly, the brightness dimmed and they removed their hands. Saria’s wound was completely closed and color had returned to her face. Oslin held her hand and stroked her face lightly. There was movement beneath her eyelids as they gradually parted and blinked. Oslin broke into bright smile.
“My love,” he murmured as he drew her close to him. He leaned down to kiss her when she stopped him.
“What are you doing?” she asked, pushing away from him. “Do I know you?” Oslin looked as if he had taken a blow to the stomach.
“It is me, my love, Oslin,” he said, pulling towards her, his voice sounding a little unsteady.
“And what is this place?” she asked, surveying the hall. “How did I get here?” She saw the rest of the Warlocks. “Who are you?” Oslin started to look a little frantic.
“Don’t you remember who I am, Saria?” he said desperately, trying to hold her hand. She pulled it away quickly and started to look frightened.
“I do not know how you know my name but I want you to keep away from me,” she said, placing her hand on the hilt of her short sword. Oslin turned to Urlin.
“What is happening, brother?”
“I think when we cured her wound and drained the poison, it also quickened the enchantment. She does not remember.”
“What don’t I remember? What is going on?” Saria got to her feet and started to back away from them, unsheathing the sword. Yorlin was still kneeling when Jorli climbed to his shoulder. She whispered in his ear, “Let me handle this.” He nodded and she slid down and ran towards Saria.
“Jorli!” she cried. “How did you get here? And who are these people? What has happened to me?” She embraced the fox.
“I’ll tell you on the way and the only way to get out of this place is to take this transportation potion. It’ll take us to where we want to go. Just hold me tight,” said Jorli, holding out a small non-descript bottle.
“Anything to get away from this place,” she said, shooting looks of disgust at Oslin; his heart nearly crumpled. She drank the potion in a single gulp. For a moment, she stood there, waiting for something to happen when suddenly, the bottle slid out of her hand and she collapsed to the floor. Jorli jumped out of her arms before they hit.
“Sorry about that, Saria,” she said. She turned to the Warlocks. “So what is all this about this enchantment? What happened that I don’t know about?” Urlin stepped forward.
“I suppose, I better than anyone, should explain. When I cursed my brother, apart from all that Saria had to go through, she was also enchanted for the space of one moon—“
“Wait, I thought it was Oslin who was enchanted. I heard that he would be her faithful servant.” Oslin shook his head.
“No,” Urlin resumed. “The truth is that Saria was the enchanted one. She will be madly in love with Oslin for one moon, after which she will forget she had ever met him and see him as the most undesirable man alive.”
“So are you saying that she never really loved him at all?”
“If she does not remember all that has happened, no. You see, the curse will make her forget everything concerning Oslin if she does not remember on her own accord.” Oslin placed his head in his hands. Jorli looked at him and knew what she had to do.
“I’ll be right back,” and with that, she jumped into Saria’s ear.

The Forest of the Keeper: Chapter 18 (Urlin: The Warlock of the Sea)

“NO!” cried Oslin. He raised himself to full height and with a tempest that rose with such sheer power, he nearly demolished the tower they were in. Oslin raised them to a point high above the Pinnacles and with a rage that thundered through the valleys, he screamed.
“WHERE ARE THEY?” The wind whistled around them and promptly they were hurtling towards the west, speeding through with such velocity that they were barely noticed as they passed towns below. Upon leaving the foot of the Pinnacles, the group disappeared from sight.

The hour was ticking closer to midnight as Saria lay there, chest falling and rising heavily. The poison was slowly taking effect. Zjorn was bleeding profusely but was more mobile. He had transported them to the Forbidden Lake and was making ready for the blood-letting. Through foggy vision, Saria could see Zjorn looking up at the moon awaiting the hour. Relir squirmed in the skins and started to cry.
“Take my blood,” she said weakly. “Don’t kill the child.” Zjorn looked at her nonchalantly. For an instant, however, he looked as he was going to falter.
“Your blood has been poisoned. I doubt it would do me much good.” It would be nearly midnight. Hurry, please.
“Take it,” Saria said, her eyes dropping closed. “Spare the child.”
Zjorn looked at her. Something began to stir within him. No, no, no…the child must die…
Saria began to cough up blood. Her hand shook slightly as she conjured a goblet from the air and from her wound, made the blood float to the goblet, filling it.
“I give it to you willingly.” Suddenly the glass glowed brightly and before she fell to the ground, Zjorn caught it in one hand as he caught Saria with the other. He looked uneasily at the contents. It was supposed to be the child… He looked at the baby crying and waving his arms angrily. He felt the goblet weigh heavily in his hand.
It was then that a moment of determination entered him and it moved him to drink the glass with one gulp and as a clock struck midnight, the contents of that goblet trickled down his throat.
The reaction was immediate: a scream died as a white flash emerged from his torso and extended out from that point. The light was blinding as Oslin emerged from the teleportation. He ran, as he had never run, towards that light, the others following him. They reached it just as Zjorn fell to the ground in a heap. But that did not matter. Nothing did for as Oslin saw the prostrate form of Saria, a gaping hole in her chest, he broke down and placed his hand over her wound. With all his strength, he conjured a spell to extract the poison and close the wound. He worked tirelessly for the poison had reached most of her body.
The others tended to Relir who was carried back to the Drendhils by Koslor. Between Sinlar and Perlen, Zjorn was also carried back, leaving behind Jorli, who could not leave Saria behind. She was beside herself with grief and padded towards the water’s edge, watching them until the sun began to rise. It was when the sun began to peer down at them that Oslin sat back, exhausted, with tears running down his face. The blood on her face had dried and Jorli, saddened by what she knew was the inevitable, washed the face of her closest of friends, gone forever. Oslin placed a trembling hand over her and carefully pushed back the strands of hair. The woman he was always meant to love was now gone. He kissed her face, a final act of love, and lingered on those lips that would never kiss him back. He sat her up and held her close to him, trying to remember the feel of her skin, her body in his arms, and the scent of her hair on his clothes.
His eyes suddenly flew open. He looked at her and felt her cheek with his hand.
“Jorli, where did you get the water to wash Saria’s face with?”
She looked at him confused.
“Well, from there,” she pointed towards the lake. Then she placed her paws on her hips. “I didn’t bring any with me, you know.”
The face that was only moments before wrought with tears now wore a smile that matched the light of the sun, which illuminated his face.
“Jorli, I know how to save her!” He held her close to him and kissed her forehead. “That was water from the Forbidden Lake. Anyone with pure intentions will obtain knowledge if they drink it. And now I know how to keep Saria alive! Come! We have very little time!” With a leap, Jorli landed upon Oslin’s shoulder and the three disappeared.
They reappeared in a rocky crag, where mountains were so high, the light fell in tiny shards, barely touching the ground. Jorli sat fearful on Oslin’s shoulder and in a voice, even tinier than her size, she breathed, “Oslin, where are we?”
“This is the Gate to the Netherworld.”
“What?! Are you insane? What are we doing here?”
“Looking for my brother.” Jorli looked at him, fear slowly seeping in through her.
“I’m scared,” she said in a whisper.
“You are with me. Do not worry but stay close, all the same.” Jorli gripped the chain mail on Oslin’s shoulder. Just in case.
She glanced down at Saria’s countenance: it was pale and looked as if it were fading in color.
My friend isn’t going without a fight, she thought as they traveled deeper into the rocky crags.
They soon came upon a large clearing in the middle of the rock formations and at the other end, there was a large gate, tall and imposing.
“Identify yourself or your life is forfeit!” The voice came from above the gate. There, standing against the shadows was a figure that was encased in an aura of fire.
“It is Oslin, Warlock of the Wind!” he shouted. The figure of fire flew down and stood directly in front of Oslin. He smiled at the figure.
“It is good to see you again, Yorlin.” The Warlock of the Fire broke into smile and gripped the other’s shoulders.
“The curse has been broken! But who is this?” he nodded towards Saria.
“We haven’t much time. She has been stabbed by a Keeper’s Blood-Letting Knife and the poison nearly killed her. But I know how to cure her and I need all of us, including Urlin, to help me.” Yorlin looked at him carefully, arching an eyebrow.
“She’s the one who broke the first half of the curse,” he said, matter-of-factly. Oslin nodded slightly. He could not nod any harder without having his tears fall. Yorlin understood: he was in love.
“We shall have much to celebrate when she awakens. Urlin is in the pit. I’ll send word to Fenlin.” And with that, he lifted a hand and a small phoenix rose from his palm and flew off. The group descended into the earth, beyond the gate. Jorli observed as they descended further and further into the ground.
“Oslin?” she said, gripping tighter on the mail.
“Yes Jorli?” he answered as they flew past the unchanging scenery of rock.
“Just what exactly are you going to do when you find your brother?” Yorlin suddenly stopped.
“We go down from here.” In front of them, there was a large pit that’s width extended far into the shadows. They looked down and saw that the pitch blackness reached far. There was a miniscule dot of light in the distance: their destination. Yorlin went first and they descended, feeling a waft of warm air surround them.
As they descended, Yorlin looked at Oslin. He had the woman held tightly to his chest, kissing her forehead as if she were only asleep. It was an attitude that surprised him for Oslin was little disposed to show his feelings this openly for a woman. And after so many years, he awakes with sensibility after being born without it. Yorlin was not a blood relative but they were as close as if they were. Urlin, who had always been the runt of the family, was always a severely self-conscious young man who was not seen in the shadow of his older brother. When the curse was placed, Yorlin and the Warlock of the Earth, Fenlin, made a vow to hold Urlin captive until his brother woke from the curse. They took turns on the watch for though their protection was heavy, they could not take chances. They were not there when the curse was cast so they would not let Oslin die on a whim of Urlin’s, should he escape. All they could do was allow for the course of time to bring the correct person to break the curse.