Tauromaja's Air Link: Adult Fairy Tales and Other Such Stories

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

2008-12-19T22:29:00.004-06:00

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

2008-12-19T22:01:00.003-06:00

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

2008-09-21T18:25:00.001-05:00

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

2008-09-09T00:04:00.003-05:00

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)

2008-07-27T23:45:00.003-05:00

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)

2008-07-15T22:38:00.000-05:00

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)

2008-07-09T00:31:00.001-05:00

“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.

The Forest of the Keeper: Chapter 17 (Zjorn)

2008-06-16T23:28:00.003-05:00

It was after he had released himself into her and she lay caressing his skin that she asked:
“Oslin, what will happen once the moon cycle is over? Will you forget who I am?”
His eyes watered at the question.
“No, my love, I will never forget who you are.” She propped herself onto his chest.
“Will you stay? With me?”
“Only if you wish it. But will you? I may be a bore after one moon.” She laughed and then looked at him with a seriousness and an intensity that he had rarely seen in a person before.
“I will wish it with all my heart. It shall be cut out of me, if I do not.” Oslin was horrified by the thought.
“No, my love,” he said, kissing her face. “You shall do no such thing. I do not think I can enjoy you in equal form if you do.” They laughed heartily, creating enough time for them to prove to each other that they did love each other before making ready for war.
In the Great Hall, they were given weapons and provisions and set off for the Pinnacles. Oslin flew them easily to the place. Once they got there though, they realized their work would be cut out for them. The Pinnacles were a myriad of towers that were superimposed on top of each other, creating mountains of towers. Oslin informed them that it was also enchanted cleverly so that someone could be hoodwinked; he would not be easily able to break the defenses. Saria was the only one who was elated.
“Oslin, would you be able to see what I see?” He looked at her Eye of Fire and knew what she was thinking. He held her hands and suddenly their vision was one. He could see the endless tunnels, paths and traps. He helped to stretch her vision and soon they found the way: a narrow door partially hidden between pinnacles. And it was so that they ran through the labyrinth, opening door after door until finally they came to a pair of heavy doors which lead to Zjorn’s antechambers. But there was a problem: the key they needed was an enchanted key, which was located behind the doors.
Saria looked with horror at Oslin.
“Which one is it?” There in the middle of the next room was a large table with dozens of keys of different shapes, sizes and colors. Oslin magically conjured the key that was needed. It levitated off the table but fell promptly.
“The enchantment is shrewd. You can only physically take the key out.”
“How will we get to that key?” cried Koslor. Saria searched and found an answer: a narrow opening through a high point in the wall. An opening which no human could get through but something smaller would.
“It is a silver key with a blue stone in it,” said Saria, picking up Jorli and raising her magically up to the hole.
“Look at and touch no other key,” said Oslin. “If they are all enchanted, there will be a good chance that there will be traps.” From the hole, Jorli looked down at them, winked and disappeared. Saria followed her as she crawled through the narrow space and leapt down into the room behind the door.
In the room, Jorli sped across the floor and pounced upon the table. She looked at all the keys and found the one they needed, near the middle of the table. Quickly she darted over the keys and came to the one. Carefully, she picked up the key with her snout and rushed back. But the key was not balanced evenly in her mouth and started to wobble dangerously as she crossed the table.
“No!” whispered Saria. “You can do it…don’t drop…” The key slid out of Jorli’s mouth and was about to hit the table when she caught it with her paws. Saria exhaled slowly as she watched Jorli jump down from the table and scaled the wall to the hole. Jorli returned through the hole and jumped into Saria’s waiting arms. She examined the key and a realization hit her.
“Once we open this door with this key, we will not enter the room we just saw, will we?” Oslin could not help but feel admiration for this woman. Had it not been for the seriousness of the situation, he would have been quite disposed to show her right in that moment. He restrained himself by only saying that the key would most likely take them to Zjorn. They looked at each other for a moment and with a swift motion of her hand, inserted the key and turned. Light spilled from the crack of the door and shot into the room, shaking the room with such strength that when the smoke lifted and the dust settled, the room was completely destroyed.
From beyond the destroyed room, Zjorn stepped over rubble.
He was a tall, willowy man who looked older than he was. Years of searching for the way to break the spell of the Forbidden Lake, he, like very few others, knew the meaning of being denatured. What started as a search to increase his power turned into his own downfall. It was to live your life as if you lived between worlds, an eternal insanity that would only have moments of lucidity. In those moments, he sought to find the pure liquid to cure himself. But his mind would wander and he would find himself in this senselessness. It was during that same senselessness that he would have killed, as he did with his own flesh and blood. He had held his dead father in his arms during one of those moments of lucidity and cried at his misbegottenness. He never had very much time to think about it for from moment to moment. He saw how he erected towers in the Pinnacles, a maze in which he placed himself in the center. He had retrieved the child and now was aware that the boy was part of the plan. He had wanted to stop himself on several occasions but as the years went on, his lapses of lucidity were fewer and it made him realize that he would soon be consumed completely by the self he did not know. It was the death of his soul and for having taken that drink of the Forbidden Lake, he had destroyed what, in that moment, was of little consequence to him. All for the sake of greed and self-gain. And as he slipped into the insanity of his day to day, he wished that someone would have the decency of putting him out of his misery. If they could.
His alter ego surfaced and had heard the intruders come when the correct key was nearly dropped. Foolish, he thought. The intruders got what they came for. The room was completely devastated in such a fashion that anyone would have easily have thought that our heroes had perished. And as he moved a stone with the tip of the boot, hoping to find remains of these trespassers, he heard the unexpected:
“Give us the child.”
He spun around. Saria and the others stood in Zjorn’s chambers, unscathed. One look at the group sent him laughing in a maniacal fashion. It was a laugh that lingered and scratched but the group stood firm.
“I can see that you are to face your death in a few moments,” he said, recovering. “Pure luck led you this far but now, it is time.” With an upward swing of his hand, he threw forth a beam of light that sizzled the air as it shot at them. Only Saria and Oslin kept their eyes on Zjorn as both crossed their arms, sending a blue light in an arc around the group. Zjorn was stunned.
“How can that be?” he stuttered, staggering backwards. Then realization struck him.
“You are both human?” Saria smiled pleasantly as she brought her arms down in a full frontal attack. Arcs of blue light sped like knives and burst into smaller arcs, tearing at Zjorn’s counterattack. Oslin shot burst of wind in a rapid fury but wasn’t quick enough from blocking a blow from hitting Saria. She was thrown back and in a brief moment of distraction, Zjorn nicked Oslin in the shoulder. He cursed as blood was flowing crimson under his sleeve. He raised his hands in a counterattack and with all his might, blast the wall away, along with Zjorn.
Meanwhile, Koslor and Jorli went to find the child and found him in a small crib sleeping, quite far from the skirmish. The child slumbered peacefully and as Jorli reached down to pick him up, a cry erupted from Saria’s throat.
“I would not do that if I were you.” Koslor and Jorli turned around to find Zjorn nearing them menacingly. Suddenly, an ear-piercing cry filled the room as Perlen and Sinlar swooped down on him and slashed him with their claws. Oslin materialized and with a hurricane force, threw him across the room and against the opposite wall when he stopped slightly. And so did Zjorn.
They were both distracted by a light blue glow emanating in the room.
And there Saria stood, dust settling around her. Although her clothes were torn, she gave a air that was frightening to behold. Her hair danced around her and a wave, as if of water, emmanated from her and expanded slowly. As soon as it touched Zjorn, however, it hit him with a foce that pummeled him through the wall into the far wall in the next room, creating a recess in the brick. Seizing the opportunity, Saria appeared and with a swift movement, sent flying the blood-letting blade that the Keeper had given her and it hit him in the shoulder. A scream of scathing force burst from Zjorn’s lips as he lay in agony. His blood was spilling and for him, it was a sensation he was not aware could happen to him. Saria stood over him and was amazed as this man, the Keeper’s brother, slowly changed in countenance. He began to look haggard and simply old. He looked up at Saria and smiled weakly.
“I have wished for so long for someone to kill me,” he started. “I am never conscious long enough to know what I am doing.” He looked pleadingly at her. “Please kill me. I will never find the correct liquid. Please. Before he comes back.”
Saria looked at him with sorrow. Here was the man who killed the Keeper’s parents. Someone who, in search of personal gain, fell farther from grace than many could ever have done. And she felt sorry for him. Leaning down to pull out the knife, she was concentrating on the hilt and had barely noticed that the man in front of her had shifted shapes. He grabbed the knife from his shoulder, sunk it deep into her chest and in a blink of an eye, they were gone. Relir was gone as well.

The Forest of the Keeper: Chapter 16 - A Warlock's Heart

2008-06-09T09:51:00.000-05:00

At the banquet, they entered together and it was easy to see that they were in love with each other. Jorli scampered up to her friend and with no pretexts, she called council in her room later that night and then scampered off for a leg of lamb. The banquet provided for much food, drink and council with the King.
“Zjorn will be killing Relir at midnight tomorrow. He is still in the Pinnacles, according to our scouts so you must start early. The Pinnacles are still unknown territory for us and it is enormous. Zjorn created it as a labyrinth and we have yet to hear of someone who has escaped alive. The key would be to find out what is the ‘pure liquid’ that Zjorn must drink. We might be able to give the child some time…” He looked around at the other members of the group. “Will all of you be going?”
“Your highness, I speak on behalf of Perlen and myself,” began Sinlar “and we are bound to serve and protect Lady Saria.”
“Me too…your highness,” piped Jorli, who stopped devouring a roast pheasant to answer.
“The child is of the Range and I have sworn to retrieve him at all costs,” replied Koslor. Karil was about to make her statement when Saria interrupted.
“I believe Karil should stay for she has a family and does not have a real reason for going.” She smiled at her as the mare lowered her head in embarrassment. Saria somehow knew that she was not sure how to tell them that she had priorities that did not allow her to go. Thus, everything was settled and arrangements for the morrow were attended to. For the meanwhile, all were indulging in Drendhil mead.
Later, Saria excused herself and told Oslin that she will be in her room in a bit, if he would like to ‘celebrate.’ He held her close and whispered into her ear. They smiled at each other and she left. The King watched as she left and turned his attention to Oslin, whose gaze lingered a bit longer.
“She would make an exquisite wife,” mentioned the King, snapping Oslin from his distraction.
“She would,” he replied.
“What is this? Do I hear bitterness in your voice?” exclaimed the King. “Do you not see how much in love she is with you?”
Oslin concentrated on his glass, finding the mead interesting as it swished in his goblet.
“You must promise me that what I am about to tell you does not leave your lips. Ever.” Oslin looked melancholically at the King.
“Warlock of the Wind, I am King of the Drendhils but above all else, I am a man of my word.”
“Lady Saria is only in love because it is part of the enchantment my brother placed on me,” he said finally. “What she did would have been very difficult for any woman to have done and yet she did it for the love of her friends and family.” He paused for a bit. “You see, my brother Urlin, was jealous of me and so when he had the chance, decided to curse me in the most despicable of ways.” He stopped to drink the rest of the contents of his goblet. It refilled by itself.
“The nature of the third riddle and test was one. The fact that it had to be a woman; another. And the last, the worst of them all. The one no one knows about. The one who frees me will be enchanted for the space of one moon cycle, in love with me to the very marrow of her bones. When the cycle is over, she will forget me and never recall all the time we had been together. In her mind’s eye, she will see me as the ugliest and most repulsive man ever. This would not be so difficult had it not been for one thing: from the moment I found Saria in front of me, I did not want her to be anywhere else.” He turned to the King with sadness. “I had been a popular sort of man in my day, the reason for Urlin’s jealousy. And now, his revenge could not have been sweeter. I know what I want now and it can never be mine.” The King sighed and downed the contents of his own cup.
“Is there nothing to be done? Could the enchantment be broken?”
“Your Highness, you are talking to the Warlock of the Wind and even I cannot break this enchantment.”
“Because it has been cast upon you! Could not someone else convince the Warlock of the Sea to lift it? Could reason not be met?”
“If only I knew it to be so. For now, I will be content to love the Lady Saria with all my heart, for all of the days that are left us. And I may be able to recall these days and think that once, I truly was happy.” The King also fell out of spirits.
“If only there was something that was in my power that could help you…” he said. The two said nothing and sipped quietly their mead.
As for Saria, she was found knocking on Jorli’s door. It flew open and she was ushered in. As soon as the door closed in Jorli’s room, the Fox only gave her a stare.
“What happened in the Warlock’s chamber?” she asked. Jorli had always been direct. She was about to answer when the door flew open and Sinlar fluttered in.
“I was thinking I would find you here,” she ruffled. “Now what is going on with you and this young warlock?”
The door flew open a third time and it was Perlen. He looked around and was a bit abashed. But recovering he said, “Is this young man a suitor?” Saria laughed at the three.
“Well, I suppose I’ve been found out,” she started.
“Have you ever!” cried Jorli. “But I want you to start from the beginning: how did you free the warlock?” Saria turned several shades of red. Jorli raised her paw to her forehead.
“Don’t tell me you… Are you saying….? Was he…” Jorli’s words were coming out in jumble.
“Just answer us this then, child,” said Perlen. “What was the third riddle?”
“’What has not been taken must be freely given,’” she replied. It was obvious enough. Sinlar and Perlen’s beaks sat ajar while Jorli threw herself onto the floor. Perlen gasped before asking, “Did you…?”
“Of course she did, Perlen! Do you not see that he is alive and well?” reprimanded Sinlar.
“I still don’t under…” piped Jorli.
“Child, are you in love?” asked Sinlar.
“I’m not sure,” replied Saria. “I know it is too soon to fall in love but I care about him immensely and I could get used to a man like him. All I know is that when I am with him, I don’t want to be with anyone else.” The three friends looked at each other in turn.
“In love,” they said in unison.
“But I’m not sure what will happen after the moon is over. Will he go away? Will he forget who I am? Will he serve someone else? It is such a short time…”
“Short indeed…” mused Perlen. “Tomorrow we go to the Pinnacles to free this child. We shall ponder this at length afterwards. To sleep, everyone!” He looked sternly at Saria. “I mean it.”
Later, in Saria’s chambers, after she and Oslin kept their battlefield promise, they lay there spent and euphoric. A little before dawn, Saria woke to find Oslin watching her slumber and stroking her hair. She smiled at him and crept closer to his body, finding it warm and hard. She traced her fingers down the length of his body and found him waiting and wanting. Her mouth searched his face, his neck and wandered down to envelope him in the most aching of wants and needs for this woman that he had only met yesterday.
Love, it is said, is a seed that needs time to grow and however fast, one day seems to be much too short. Nevertheless, the warlock was not a normal man, by any standard. He had lived his years in an intense living dedicated to charm, battles and frivolous women. Long were those years and nothing could apparently change them or him, for that matter, had it not been for one event that would have seemed otherwise insignificant: he was bored. It was not something that he could have thought or said had those events in which he partook daily began to lose their diversion. He began to remember how he yearned for those experiences and how now, it really did not matter whether he did take a woman or not. He had enjoyed them but it did not matter because afterwards, they would disappear from his life. Traveling from land to land, he was given his choice in women. He was ‘lucky’ in other men’s words. Especially according to Urlin, and misfortune struck when Oslin took a woman that his brother was fond of. He was little aware of his brother’s feelings when he had done so but soon found out from an angry tirade that ensued from a man-to-man boast of the women he had had. Wounded, Urlin accused his brother of frivolity and incapability to love. It was a comment true and direct but it was one that Oslin could not eliminate from his mind for it placed a finger on his open wound, the one that did not have a name. It was then that Oslin became conscious of his actions and what sort of effect they would have on others. He began to look within himself and ask what had ever been meaningful in his life of excess and his view of life began to change. In the constant adoration from women, he was alone and he began to realize that his constant adventures were due to the fact that he really did not care to live for he had nothing to live for. And as his brother captured him and held him captive in the Tower, he told him of the curse he was about to place. And it broke Oslin’s heart for it implied the greatest sacrifice of a woman who did not know him when they would meet and would not know him when they would part. But for one moon cycle, she would give him what he needed the most: love. It would be true and honest and as the spell was cast, he yearned to meet this woman or never wake again.
When he did, Saria had just given him a kiss. Sweet and tender, unlike any he had ever had before. And upon looking at her face, he knew that an angel like her could not exist anywhere else but in his arms. She was coquettish but strong and a soul braver than most men. She was unique and the answer to a life-long search he had never known he had started. But there she was, lying next to him, satiating his passion and provoking others he had never known of. So what seemed to be a scarce rising and setting of the sun was actually a product of many years of experiences. In other words, he finally knew what he wanted. Now that he had her though, he did not want to let her go but that inevitability would end. Yet he preferred this to never having had her at all. So he loved her as if every moment would be the last knowing that quite soon, she would shunt him from her life. His, meaningless until he was cursed, was cursed again when the spell was broken. And now, he was so violently in love that he could not imagine a life without her. So as he entered her again and again, he hoped with all his might that at least her body would remember who he was and how he loved her.

The Forest of the Keeper: Chapter 15 - The Drendhils

2008-06-06T14:06:00.000-05:00

“Slowly, slowly...” said Jorli softly. The wall of the room they were in was completely gone and when the sharks realized that their prey was inside, they swam menacingly around the aperture. Some jumped into the room to snap at creatures that had scurried to the wall with the door. Koslor, however, was not fast enough and was pinned by a shark against a wall. He would have been taken into its bowels had it not been for precise timing: the shark froze mid-jump, mouth still open and Koslor nearly dead with fright inside its jaw. Jorli and the others were trying to pry Koslor loose without hurting themselves on the razors that the shark had for skin and teeth.

“Allow me,” said a voice, as the shark disappeared and Koslor dropped with a thud to the ground. Everyone turned around. There stood Saria with her hair flowing behind her and a handsome, long-haired man standing beside her.

“Saria!” cried out Jorli as all the creatures came crowding around her, licking and nuzzling her face. “You did it!”

I certainly did, she thought.

“What happened to your hand, child?” asked Koslor. Everyone looked at Saria’s hand and saw dried blood. Saria blushed slightly but it was Oslin who answered.

“A slight misunderstanding,” he said with a tiny smile.

“Warlock of the Wind,” said Karil trembling. “We have long been awaiting your return.” She bowed low. The others followed suit. He waved his hand for them to rise.

“I am honored but shall we go elsewhere to celebrate my return? Perhaps the Drendhils?” Faces fell at the suggestions as Saria informed him of their task.

“But the full moon is the morrow!” exclaimed Oslin.

“Impossible! When we entered these lands, there were seven days left!” interjected Perlen.

“These lands were enchanted to slow down time so that my age does not advance. Beings that come from the outside adapt differently to this movement.”

“Then we must move at once. If Zjorn is disposed to carry out his plan, he will be sacrificing Relir,” Saria ejected. “Oslin! Will you be able to get us to the Drendhils quickly?”

“I am at your command, My Lady,” he said with a deep bow and a look from her that left all interpreting how that blood got on Saria’s hand in a different light. He raised his hand in the air and a gust of wind blew around them. Slowly they rose off the floor and shot out of the room. The landscape slipped quickly by and Saria watched, amazed. Oslin watched her and felt delighted. Jorli only watched the two of them and knew that she was going to interrogate her friend before the day was over.

Within moments, they were approaching the Drendhil Stronghold and the sentinels were ready for them. Arrows and flaming projectiles shot at them in a furious rain. A sphere circled them and deflected the mortal shots. They flew closer to the castle where they landed. Saria and the others were ready. She drew a short sword from her belt.

“We fight side by side,” said Oslin as he brushed against her. She felt his muscles below the clothing and it provoked an avalanche of thoughts of what that evening would bring. She fought hard, knowing that she had to stay alive for her second private banquet. She would eat well.

The plan was to disarm and hurt as few as possible and as they neared the throne room, the soldiers multiplied by the droves. They broke through one barricade, then another. But the soldiers kept coming and soon they were surrounded. The small group squeezed together, seeing the imminent end. But the Warlock of the Wind had other plans: he had to live to see the evening.

“Saria,” he whispered. “Give me your hand.” Her hand crept into his and once he had it, he muttered an incantation under his breath. From their hands, a light began to glow. She realized what he was doing: it was a transportation charm. For a group as big as theirs, if one wasn’t strong enough, two were better. She repeated the incantation as the light enveloped their group and in a flash, they disappeared.

Meanwhile, the King of the Drendhils sat immobile under the charm of Zjorn. He stared blankly at the door before him, where the soldiers were keeping the intruders at bay. Even when the clash of swords ceased, he was barely conscious. It was only when he saw a figure rise in front of him and wave his hand in front of his face that he felt a jolt run through him, as if a string pulled directly from his heart and lifted him upwards. Slowly he sank back into the chair and with blinking eyes, looked up at the figure: it was the Warlock of the Wind.

“What happened? What is the meaning of this?” stammered the King. Saria and the rest appeared from the side and flanked Oslin. The King blinked and the memories rushed into his mind one by one.

“Zjorn!” he cried. “What day is today?”

“One day before the full moon, Your Highness,” replied Saria. “We are here to stop him before it is too late.” The King’s face fell.

“You must climb to the top of the Pinnacles of the Hoar Frost and it is impossible to reach it within a day!” He turned to look at the figure before him. Suddenly, recognition filled his eyes.
“It is the Warlock of the Wind! The curse has been lifted!” he cried gleefully. He turned to Saria and grasped her hands.

“And you must be warrior that set him free! Come! We must celebrate!” And with that, the whole stronghold rejoiced and a feast was prepared as they have not seen in a long time. As they prepared, the guests were shown to their sleeping quarters and to ready themselves for the banquet. So Saria found herself in a comfortable room which had a small tunnel that led to a large bathing pool. At the side of the pool, she undressed and found blood, dried and crusted, on her legs. She put one toe into the water when she heard a voice.

“I would rather you waited.” She turned quickly, holding a skin against her and saw it was Oslin. He stepped out of the shadows, wearing only a pair of pants.

“And why is that?” replied Saria, smiling. He drew closer and as he did, she let the skin drop.

“I’ve dropped something,” her face breaking out into a grin. Oslin swept down and planted a kiss on her mouth. She moved her legs against him so that she could feel his hardness grow against her and with deft hands, she freed him from his pants and let them drop to the floor. He maneuvered her to the floor next to the water’s edge, gently positioned her to sit on top of his legs, dipped a hand into the bath and brought out a handful of water. He let it drip slowly in between her legs and allowed the rest to bathe her breasts. He watched as the blood on her skin became liquid again and dripped onto his legs. Suddenly, he grabbed her hips and raised her to his mouth. He suckled on her as her arms flailed wildly from the sensation. The suction he created with his mouth drew a long ragged moan from her in which she shot liquid into his mouth. He drank desperately and when he had finished, he pulled her up by the arm and lowered her onto his waiting member. She threw her head back for she was still tight and clutched him with such unbelievable strength that he had to control himself from ending quickly. He draped his arms around her and held her in place as he slid the both of them into the bath. The water swilled against the bath edge as they created waves and bellowing sounds that reverberated against the bath walls.

The Forest of the Keeper: Chapter 14 - The Warlock of the Wind

2008-05-26T19:50:00.002-05:00

Suddenly, she saw a distant sparkle. A light. Where is it coming from? With the Eye of Fire, she saw that it was coming from the Fountain Room. What was that? She clasped her hand over her mouth. Behind her friends, who sat unknowingly around, chatting, there was a hole that was slowly growing in the wall. A wall that was the only thing that protected her friends from the thousands of sharks that swam outside. She looked desperately at the Warlock and ran for the door. It was locked. She slid down against the door and sighed. The only way out of this room was with the man who lay on the bier. She took a deep breath and stood up slowly. With another deep breath, she walked towards the naked man. If this was what she had to do, she will do it. Saria knew that this was what Destiny had in store for her. No one else could have broken this spell for there were few adventuresses bold enough to arrive here, that had never lain with a man. In a sense, it was good that no one knew the true intent of the Warlock of the Sea though she marveled at the ingeniousness of it all. She was told that the first was unforgettable. Scrutinizing the motionless body before her, absorbing the entire length of his flesh that would only wake if she wanted, she made a vow not to forget. His muscles were outlined under his skin and scars marred it in different places. She passed her fingers lightly over his chest, unsure really of what to do and self-conscious about doing it. Bringing her nose close to the skin of his chest, she smelled him as she breathed deeply over his chest. He responded with a slight sigh. ‘Okay, a little too tame,’ she observed. ‘Let’s try something else.’ The tip of her nose passed over his nipple and her lips followed suit. The Warlock jerked slightly. ‘That must have been something good,’ she thought. Her lips kissed his nipple lightly. He stirred softly. ‘I’m getting closer.’ She licked it. He sighed deeply. Then she began to nibble and tongue it. She looked down his body and saw that as he moaned his member had become thicker.
She led her finger to travel down his neck and onto his well-formed chest. The finger traveled smoothly to the nest of curls where his member was, slowly lifting itself from slumber. She watched transfixed as she stroked his manhood and it grew thick under her finger. She bent over it and felt it with her lips. It grew thicker and she heard a soft moan come from the Warlock’s throat. She burrowed in the hairs, against the member which was standing, warming the skin of her cheek. She placed her lips on the head and kissed it. She took off her clothes quickly and placed them in a pile by the bier, leaving only Eye of Fire in its place on her neck. ‘Here we go,’ she thought and climbed on top of the bier. She looked at his member which was losing stiffness. Craning over it, her tongue slowly wet it from base to tip. It immediately straightened into a stand. As her tongue worked, she caressed his body which lay strong and muscular in front of her. His hands were large and rough and she was instantly seized by an image of the Warlock holding her by the waist and breasts with those hands. She picked up his hand and held it against her breast. It felt sensual and as she moved his hand over her, she too began to feel aroused.
She began to nuzzle his neck and kiss it lightly as she rubbed her knob on his manhood. A surge of desire went through her. She couldn’t believe that this could feel so incredible. As her kneading of his manhood increased, she began to kiss his ear and lick it lightly. He groaned even louder and she matched his groan as she felt liquid trickle down onto him. He was moaning continuously. She wanted him to wake, holding her by the waist and kissing her, filling her completely. Underneath her, he was hard and thick and she felt swollen. She held him in place as she lowered herself onto him. She did it slowly and felt how incredibly generous he was. She held him tight and with every bit of him she entered into her, she felt as if she were going to split in two. He was finally completely inside of her and she couldn’t believe how thick he continued to get. Slowly, she started raising and lowering herself onto him until his breathing became erratic. She held herself in place and gyrated her hips forward, brushing her knob against his hair. His moans echoed within the room as she felt her desire about to shatter. She threw herself onto him and felt the knobs of her breasts slide with the sweat that both were producing. She needed to maintain that feeling and grabbed his arms to slide herself up and down him when their throats opened to emit one long note of happiness and pleasure. His eyes flew open at the same time he wrapped his arms around her body from which light emanated in a blinding torrent. As the sound of their throats died, Saria placed her mouth on his and found him receptive with her tongue. His hands explored her body and finally came upon her face. He detached their mouths and smoothed a lock of her hair behind her ear and studied her expression. He smiled. The woman on top of him blazed with heavenly glory.
“To whom do I owe the pleasure of waking me?”
“I am Saria of the Keeper of the Emerald Forest.”
“I am Oslin, Warlock of the Wind. At your service,” and with one swift movement, he sat them up but he held her close to his chest. Her smell was intoxicating. But as she lifted a leg to dismount him, she winced. He lifted her slowly and easily by the hips.
“Carefully. I would curse my brother for having you suffer as you have but I cannot say that I am displeased with how I came back to life,” he grinned boyishly. Saria beamed.
“I…” her glance focused downward for she did not need the Eye to see that where they had joined, the bier and the area between her legs were covered in blood. Her blood. She was flustered and could not say a word. Oslin took her hand.
“I am sorry. I did not realize that this would happen…” Her cheeks flushed with color. His finger traced a line down her face.
“It was your life blood that brought me back. Without it, I would have remained cursed.” He paused as a soft breeze whirled around them.
“Let us get dressed. I am told you have friends in the Tower.” She grasped his hand. As she surveyed the Fountain Room, she saw that much happened in the time she mounted the bier. He observed her as she used the Eye of Fire and he took pleasure in examining each curve at his leisure: the tautness of her body, the light spring of her flesh, her smell, her blood. His brother knew what he was doing. “They suffered a fright but I believe they are alright,” he said as he bent down directly passing his face before her body, to pick up her clothes. Saria felt the heat of his breath pass over her. She leaned her head back as she felt his lips and nose pass between her breasts. With a sudden movement, his mouth latched onto her breast and she arched against him. He swept an arm beneath her and placed her on the bier and would have placed himself deep within her again had she not stopped and said softly, “My friends first. We will have all night to ourselves.” Oslin took a deep breath as she jumped off the bier and dressed herself quickly. He counted the hours before nightfall. Too many.

The Forest of the Keeper: Chapter 13 - The Third Riddle

2008-05-22T10:45:00.001-05:00

Meanwhile, Saria walked through the wall of light and immediately found herself upon a narrow path. On either side, there was an interminable drop into nothingness. She walked slowly into the darkness of which she could see nothing save for the path she walked upon. Suddenly, she was in a desert. Confused, she turned around and looked back. The path behind her had disappeared into a sand dune. Walking back, she felt the sand dune; it was real and burned under her skin. All around, it looked hot and the heat rose from the sand as the sun toasted the ground. Saria, however, could not feel the direct heat. The path ahead of her led straight through the desert. There was no other path so she followed. Up ahead, she saw a figure lying on the sand. She approached and saw that it was a handsome man lying naked, face down, on the scorching sand. His skin was dark and sweat beaded lightly upon it. The man looked up as Saria approached and remarked with a smile, “It is a rather nice day, is it not? Care to join me? The sun is superb.” He propped himself up and extended a hand, revealing the length of flesh between his legs.

“Are you not thirsty?” Saria asked, surprised by the pleasantness of this man. She felt drawn to him but resisted. Jorli, my parents, the Keeper. She needed to continue with her mission.

“Quite the contrary! Sure you wouldn’t like to join me?” Saria contemplated. Something drew her to this man. She wanted to feel him and as she lifted her hand towards him, she caught a flicker of light. In the Eye of Fire, she glimpsed Jorli pacing the room, wiping away a tear that she tried to hide with her paw.

“Thank you but I should get going.” And she kept walking, wondering what was this all about. How far away that world seemed now…

She walked a little further when the desert transformed into a place of eternal fires. Nothing but fire everywhere she looked, save for her narrow path. She saw a man walking through, his clothes burning and his skin charred. Saria looked with horrified eyes as the man was slowly becoming disfigured by the fire. As disgusted and terrified as she was, she stammered, “Are you thirsty?” The man turned, looked at her and screamed so loudly, she nearly dropped her goblet. He ran off, his screams dying in the distance. Saria started crying and kept her feet to the path. She forced herself to walk, unable to believe what she had just seen. Her tears were still streaming when the surroundings transformed around her and it was a scene that was completely unexpected: water.

She turned to look at her feet; the path was still there. ‘This water is not real then,’ she thought and extended her arm. She nearly stepped off the path when she felt the cool sensation of water on her arm and even more surprised to see her arm completely wet and dripping. She reached up over her head and her hand was completely immersed in water. She looked at her hand, completely astonished. There were fish of all sorts swimming around her. Suddenly, she saw a strange-looking fish swimming slowly around her. It looked shriveled and dry like a root.

“Is that water you’ve got there? Would you mind giving me a sip?” it asked her.

“But that’s completely ridiculous!” exclaimed Saria. “You are in water!”

“Just a sip,” it said as it swam weakly. “Please…water…” The tone of its voice drove her to feel pity.

“But you must be in water. I just checked…” She stopped. Her hand drove through the water but around this fish, there was none and all she felt was its dry skin.

“Please…”

“I’m trying!” she said desperately as she tried to scoop water from one side to another. The water would fill her hand but would dry out as soon as it reached the fish. Suddenly, it started to shrivel in front of her.

“Help…me…” The combination of that voice, the image of the fish shriveling, its pleading was making Saria desperate when she looked and saw that she still had the cup of water in her hand.

“What am I doing with this?” she said to herself when she remembered the riddle: water you must carry without a drop on the floor.

“Wait a minute…” she looked at the goblet. Without a drop on the floor. She raised the glass to her own lips and drank the contents. As she did, the fish started to inflate and flesh out.

“You may pass,” it said and a door appeared in front of her. She opened the door and found a small room, similar to the one she left her friends in, with a narrower staircase leading upstairs on the right. She ran quickly up the steps.

At the top of the stairs, Saria found a smaller room with a door and another silver plaque on the floor.

“Hopefully the last,” she said to herself. The inscription read:

what has not been taken

must be freely given

“What is that supposed to mean?” she exclaimed. There was nothing else in the room so she opened the door. The room inside was fairly large and at its center stood a bier. Something lay on top of it. Something that she felt she did not want to see. Before she could turn and run out of the room, however, the door closed behind her and disappeared into the wall. Saria was frightened but she had come this far and knew she had to continue. She slowly approached the bier and realized that a white cloth was draped over it. It clearly was a body in shape. With a shaking hand, she slowly lifted the cloth off the face. It was a man. She dropped the cloth unintentionally from fright but she was intrigued by his face. It was a handsome face with long hair lying limply around him.

This was the Warlock of the Wind.

Slowly pulling the cloth further back, she realized that his chest was bare. She looked underneath the cloth; he was completely naked. She stepped back in shock. What was she supposed to do? She pressed a point in his arm lightly. It was definitely flesh so he couldn’t be dead. He could not possibly have been this well-kept if he were. Gingerly, she placed her ear on his heart. But her own heart was beating so loudly that she couldn’t tell if he were alive or not.

“What has not been taken must be freely given…” she said softly. “What has not been taken? And how could it be given away if it was not taken in the first place?” Her fingers brushed lightly over his chest, distracted by the riddle.

The Warlock sighed softly.

Saria jerked her hand back and saw him breathe for a moment then stop.

“Wait! Wait!” she cried. “Wake up! Can you hear me?”

The Warlock said nothing and his breathing stopped. Saria was confused so she repeated her action and he started breathing again.

“So I’m supposed to rub him awake?” she asked herself. She looked down his body and her attention was caught by something. The member between the Warlock’s legs had moved. Looking around and contenting herself with knowing that she was completely alone, she pulled off the covers completely. His manhood lay there, inert. Saria moved her finger slowly up and down his chest and she watched as that limb started to stiffen. What was it that the Lord of the Range said?

“Naturally, very few would know but apparently a pure damsel is needed.”

A pure damsel? A pure… Saria stopped. What has not been taken must be freely given.

“A woman that has never lain with a man?” she asked the Warlock, as if he could hear her. No wonder had this curse never been broken. Who would send their daughter to break this curse?

At the revelation, Saria held the edge of the bier and took a deep breath. She had never lain with a man and had thought it would happen differently. He would have been awake, she thought. She looked at the Warlock and caressed his face. He sighed softly. ‘How can I do this?’ she thought. ‘How can I lay with a man I don’t even know?’ She stepped away from the bier and paced back and forth, occasionally looking at the Warlock. She thought of her father and the Keeper. They had fallen in love and were still to this day madly in love with each other. ‘But look at Mother and Father,’ she thought. Those two were like cats and dogs. What was she to do? She asked herself the question over and over, when she sat down against the bier and contemplated her situation.

The Forest of the Keeper: Chapter 12 - The Tower

2008-05-12T21:42:00.002-05:00

That next morning, Saria and Perlen flew up and landed a point below the mountain ridge. Using the Eye, Saria surveyed the area. As Perlen had mentioned, there was desert of pink sand for miles around and in the distance, right in the center of that beautiful landscape, there was the Tower, a tall white structure that wound like a conch shell up to the sky. There was not a soul and no movement as far as the Eye could see.
“Nothing,” reported Saria. “Let’s get back.”
At the camp, Saria stoked the fire for breakfast. The smell of the food woke the very drowsy Koslor and Karil from sleep. Perlen and Sinlar went to hunt as the rest accepted the meal Saria prepared. She asked Koslor if he knew what to expect as soon as they travel over the ridge.
“It will be normal until we reach the foot of the mountains. Once we are off the mountains, our paths will lead straight for the Tower even if we walk away from it.”
“We won’t lose our minds or anything like that, will we?” piped Jorli.
“Everything will be quite normal but we will walk without knowing that we are. In fact, I have heard that you could sleep and still be carried by your own feet to the foot of the Tower, though it has also been said that there is a curious sort of enchantment there as well but it is one that I know not how it would be.”
“So what happens when we break the curse?” Saria asked innocently. “Will we find safe passage to the Drendhils?”
“You will have the Warlock of the Wind at your command,” said Karil. “He was a powerful being, if I heard rightly.” Koslor turned, surprised.
“How much do you know of this legend?” he asked, his tail swirling around him. He obviously did not count on anyone else knowing.
“We Drendhils have heard many things, mostly stories of old but we know that the Warlock of the Wind is a powerful ally.”
“If he can help with Zjorn’s defeat, he is more than welcome,” muttered Koslor.
“And does he know of the legend of the Warlock of the Wind?” asked Saria. It just struck her that if Zjorn knew, and found out that Saria was on her way, he may well be aware to stop her advance at any cost. No one answered. She changed back into a mare and got up.
“Let us get moving. I want to get to the other side as quickly as possible.” She pushed them to move quickly but the advance was difficult due to the rocky outcroppings. As a human, she could advance quicker but Saria was against changing forms. No point risking it. It was better to hide as long as possible. But as they descended the other side of the ridge, she saw movement coming from the north: it was a horde of foot soldiers advancing towards them.
“Quickly! We have been found out!” cried Saria. And they descended as fast as they could. But the advance was slow and the foot soldiers were gaining distance. Karil trotted up ahead when suddenly, she disappeared from view. Perlen and Sinlar shot like darts after her. Saria stepped carefully and saw that there was a 100 meter drop. Between Perlen and Sinlar, they caught hold of Karil and started flying her to the base of the mountain. The foot soldiers were now in the proximity and were closing in with nets and darts.
“Koslor!” Saria cried and she jumped into the air. Jorli was in her pack and when she realized what Saria had done, she fainted. As she fell, Saria changed back into a human and suddenly felt Koslor’s talons dig into her shoulders. They dove downwards and then pulled up when they felt the updraft. He flapped with such strength that the feathers of his wings touched Saria’s body.
“I would hope My Lady will advise me when she plans on doing something that audacious in the future,” exclaimed Koslor. They sped away from the mountain quickly, out of range of the nets and darts. As they passed over the mountain boundary, the air around them became blue, light reflecting around them, as if there were mirrors. Their bodies became weightless. Saria looked around her, amazed. She waved her arms and legs. They were mobile but she floated this way and that with the movements.
“It’s as if we are underwater! But we can still breathe!” She looked around and saw Perlen, Sinlar and Karil in the air below them.
“Koslor, can you manage?” she asked. The bird was completely unaccustomed to the sensation of swimming in water. In fact, he was having difficulties moving.
“Here, take this,” said Saria as she drew out a length of rope from her pack. She tied the other end to her waist and swam downwards. Soon she and Karil were trotting through the air, leading the birds, all three of which were holding on to their tails or mane. Suddenly, a strong force whipped behind them as if they were being pushed by a wave. The current was taking them to the Tower. As close as the Tower looked, it was quite far and it was only after some time before they were neatly deposited before the foot of the tower. There was a door, large and adorned with mussels in front of them. Saria changed forms and tried to open the door. It was locked.
“Is this where the first riddle to supposed to be?” she asked Koslor.
“I do not know. All this was unknown to me…” A dark shadow passed over them.
“What was that?” asked Jorli, frightened. To Saria’s horror, not concentrating on the Eye, she realized it was something that was to give them incentive to find a way inside the Tower. Quickly.
“Sharks!” she cried. “Hurry! Look for where the riddle may be hidden!” The birds, completely unequipped to help, bobbed vulnerably as they gripped tightly to Karil’s mane and tail, who was pawing at the ground before the door. Jorli swam towards the door and scratched at the walls around the door. Saria swept at the door. She suddenly felt something nip and tug at her pant leg. It was a shark that didn’t quite make the target. She pressed herself against the door, breathing hard.
“I think I found it!” cried Karil. Jorli and Saria swam down at the ground and saw something silver below the sand on the floor before the door. They quickly brushed away the sand and it revealed a large silver plaque with the following words:

What two things differentiate humans from animals?

Saria thought about it for a moment.
“Are we supposed to answer out loud?” she asked. A gasp prevented her from saying much more. The Eye was showing her sharks swimming towards the Tower. There were thousands of them.
“War!” cried Sinlar. “Humans wage war!” The sharks were now circling the Tower and were snapping at the areas near the door. Suddenly, a horde broke from the circle and was diving at them.
“Love!” cried Saria. “Humans love facing each other!” The doors flew open and Karil, Jorli and Saria swam frantically inside. With their combined strength, the three pushed quickly at the door which closed right on top of the snout of a shark. It wriggled violently and wrenched its snout free. The doors closed and they were safe behind the door. The entire group fell in a heap onto the floor.
Inside, the sensation of water was gone and now the birds were able to fly. They were inside a large room and to their left was a wide staircase. There was no other door.
“I suppose we are to go up,” said Saria, leading the way. The climb led them to a smaller room. There was a table in the center with a single crystal goblet and a door behind the table. In the corners on either side of the door, there were natural springs from which water flowed freely into carved grooves which disappeared into the floor. They saw another silver plaque on the floor before the door. It read:

Human you must be to pass this door
Water you must carry without a drop on the floor
And thirst you must quench
Who, of water, is poor.

Saria looked at the others. After hearing Jorli’s findings the night before, she knew that it might come to this. She took Jorli out of her pack and took a deep breath.
“Wish me luck,” she smiled and looked from Koslor and Karil. “If there is anything else you know about the Warlock of the Wind, now is the time to say something.” Both looked a bit sheepish. Karil was about to open her mouth when Saria interrupted her.
“Do not worry; we already know,” and with that she walked over, picked up the goblet and filled it under one of the springs. As soon as the goblet was full, the springs stopped flowing. She stepped in front of the door which opened to reveal a blue wall of light. Saria looked back at her friends. The faces of each were tense and three of which she loved with all her heart. She was doing this for them. For her parents. For her Forest. She smiled at them.
“Whatever happens, know that I am doing this for love of you,” and with that, she disappeared through the wall of light. Jorli’s mouth dropped open and she started to weep. Karil lay down, looking after the door which closed slowly behind Saria. The birds perched, unable to speak. Little did they know that behind them, a small hole was opening in the wall. Outside, the sharks circled lazily.

The Forest of the Keeper: Chapter 11 - To The Land of the Tower

2008-05-06T00:05:00.001-05:00

“They approach!” cried Sinlar. “But they do not gallop. Be on your guard everyone!” And so they watched the group draw closer. It was definitely a horse of a mottled variety. Saria looked off into the direction from whence it came: from over the mountains to their right. When the horse was near enough, it bowed low.
“Lady Saria of the Forest,” she said. “I am Karil of Drendhil. We are in need of your help.” She continued into a quick summary of events in Drendhil: Zjorn has enchanted the castle of the Keepers and all did his bidding. Karil was only able to escape because she was the only one outside of the castle when it was enchanted. Confused, she watched to see what was happening and realized that there was evil afoot when her kin were carrying in Relir of the Range Realm. She galloped as hard as she could but the roads were covered with her enchanted kin. Travel had to be conducted at night until she was far enough away to gallop during the day.
“How far away are we?” asked Sinlar.
“Three days.”
“And over those mountains,” Saria motioned towards the front, “are they also being watched?”
“They might be. The pass that goes straight into the land of Drendhil is found at the foot of the mountain, on the other side.”
“And what is over those?” Saria motioned towards the left.
“The Land of the Tower,” she replied a bit apprehensively.
“I have heard of that land,” interjected Perlen. “Desert country but it is also the longest way into Drendhil. It is easier to hide in those lands.”
Karil, however, looked torn.
“Yes, it is a good route,” she replied. “It’s too far away for Zjorn to think of coming after us.”
Saria studied her countenance.
“If you have something to say, Karil, keep your head down and say it in your mane; we are being watched. Stay down, Jorli,” she said to her friend. “They watch from the rim of the peak.”
“With all due respect, my lady, but that is a cursed land!”
“What do you mean, ‘cursed’?”
“It is called the ‘Land of the Tower’ because of a solitary tower that lies near the path to the Drendhils. Anyone who travels beyond those mountains gets drawn to the Tower and must answer a riddle. If the riddle is not answered correctly, all will perish!” She looked at each of the group, hoping desperately that they will were not thinking of going over those mountains.
The mare looked in the direction of the Land of the Tower and with consternation added, “I was told that they would kill my family if I did not lead you away from the Drendhils.”
“Then they shall have their wish,” and with that, Saria parted first towards that accursed land. The others followed, careful in not giving themselves away. From the mountains in front of the Drendhils, the spies lay, reporting back to their superiors that the perpetrators were being led to their demise.
Perlen was concerned and sat on the pommel of Saria’s pack as she proceeded forward.
“How do you propose we get through the Tower Land?” he asked. “Is there any we can avoid that accursed fate?”
“I am not sure, Perlen,” replied Saria. “All I know is that there were guards on the mountains directly in front of us and there were more coming from the direction from whence came Karil. And I can assure you, they were more than five.”
“And how do we know that this Karil is telling us the truth? How do we know that ambush is not awaiting us in those mountains instead?” Saria contemplated the question before she realized it was going to be much easier than anticipated.
“We will be near the foot of the mountains when night falls so we shall scout for a site to camp in those outcroppings. You and I will rise at daybreak and in my human form, we shall scout this side of the mountains. I will be able to see if there are any enemies on the other side.”
“And if there are?”
“Then we shall skirt the mountains on this side and climb the ridge that separates the Tower Land from the Drendhils.”
“Agreed. It is all we can do for the moment. Still, I do not trust the mare.”
“Nor I but we shall put her to the test. And Koslor, just to make sure. Jorli!” The Fox was sleeping in the pack.
She rubbed her eyes.
“Yes?”
“Were you listening?”
“Every word. Do I look like an amateur to you?”
“You know what to do. Tonight.”
The sun was setting slowly over the mountains as they followed her path over the sky. But they were able to make good time and were halfway up the mountain when they found a hidden spot with sufficient cover and view of the ridge. Jorli went to collect twigs for the fire. Saria, in her human form, took out food for all to eat and heat a little bit of spirit to warm against the night cold. A small fire cheered up the camp in a matter of moments and the whole group sat around relaxing. Jorli sat stoking the fire as Saria passed the spirit to Perlen, Sinlar and then, to Jorli, who had finished her chore.
“Jorli, pass the spirit to Karil and Koslor please,” commanded Saria. “A bit of Forest mead, a little tradition we have amongst our kind.” And so the six drank to health, luck and to the good of the world. In moments, Karil and Koslor were in a deep sleep. Jorli observed them as she put away her sleeping draught and with a pounce, she disappeared: she had jumped into the ear of Koslor and entered his memory. There were many pieces of memory but she had done this often enough to know what to look for and how to look for it. There were shards all around her so she had to be very careful that she not probe too deep for if she did, the owner of the memory would see her in a memory that she had never been in. If she was cautious, she would only provoke the memory to wake in the person. From deep within the shards, there was a memory that resounded loudly and she followed it. And it was there that she found it: Koslor speaking with the Lord of the Range. She tapped the memory and it unfolded around her.
“My Lord?”
“I have a mission for you, Koslor,” said the Range Lord. “I need you to go and seek the daughter of the Keeper of the Emerald Forest, Saria. She is the only human born of humans and is soon to turn Keeper that exists. Only she may be able to bring back my son and perhaps break the enchantment of the Tower.”
“What enchantment, sire?”
“I have only heard of it but do not know its contents. Naturally, very few would know but apparently a pure damsel is needed. The Warlock of the Wind would be quite useful to end Zjorn’s reign. But go, we are losing time.”
“I shall bring her immediately.”
Jorli sat in thought. What was that all about? She searched for the ear and jumped out.
“Did you find anything?” asked Sinlar. The owl rustled her feathers as Jorli came bounding out.
“Well, I know that he isn’t a turncoat but there is something that I don’t understand. I’ll tell you when I check our filly here.” And with that, she jumped into Karil’s ear. Soon enough, she found the memory: Karil’s foal being locked up in a corral. Her stallion being roped and tethered tightly to a tree. The threat. Nothing wrong there but just as she was about to jump out, she saw another memory flash from the corner of her eye. It was a memory of Karil as a young foal.
“I shall tell you the story of the Tower, my dear Karil,” said an elderly mare. “It was many years ago, even before my ancestors were born. In a brotherly feud, Urlin, the Warlock of the Sea placed an enchantment on his brother Oslin, the Warlock of the Wind. The enchantment can only be lifted by a brave damsel and she must pass three tests by answering three riddles. Once she does that, she can set the Warlock of the Wind free…”
Jorli was even more worried. She hurried out and jumped.
“What news?” asked Perlen anxiously.
“Let’s go over here, a little ways away. You’re not going to like this…”
“Well, at least we know that they aren’t trying to betray us,” finished Jorli as she retold her whole experience.
“But three riddles!” cried Saria. “And have any of you heard of this Warlock of the Wind? And what became of his brother?”
“There are Warlocks which rule different aspects of nature. They have at their command the element that corresponds to them. The Warlock of Land understood the treachery of the Warlock of the Sea and with the help of the Warlock of Fire, transported him to the Netherworld.”
“Where there is no water…” said Saria softly. “Do you really think this Warlock of the Wind will help us?”
“Apparently, he is bound to serve the one who frees him for the space of one full moon,” hooted Sinlar.
“We shall find out for sure when we find him. Now we must rest. Perlen, before daybreak, wake me.” The group retreated to the site and nestled down to rest for the night.

The Forest of the Keeper: Chapter 10 - The Land of the Realm

2008-04-30T00:34:00.001-05:00

They flew long hours, stopping to rest at night. The Range Realm was a journey of several moons and as they passed around the Snow Mountain Ranges, they could marvel at the view that was those lands. It was rocky and the people that lived there were mountain creatures, adapted to the life and the thin air that the mountains gave.
They landed in the center of a circular colonnade of stone pillars. Within moments, the creatures climbed out of their outcroppings as the Keepers of the Range approached Saria. They were an older couple or perhaps, they only looked older due to their present worry.
“Thank you for coming, Lady Saria,” said the woman. “We are the Keepers of the Snow Mountain Range. Come and rest. It is near nightfall and you will need your strength for the morrow.”
The group dutifully acquiesced as they were led through underground caverns to sleeping quarters were they were to refresh themselves before attending a banquet held in their honor. They ate heartily for the journey thither did not provide for much variation or for exquisite tastes.
The Lord Keeper asked about the Forest and told of the recent dealings with the Drendhils.
“We had always been on good terms,” he started gloomily. “But it has not been a full moon when they came with accusations. Unjust in nature, those accusations were hurtful and dissimilar to our ilk. To kill wantonly and revel in it is not the way of the Range Realm. And as a reprisal, they kidnapped our son, Relir.” He shook his head and the Lady turned her face away.
“But that was not the real reason,” he continued. “The Drendhils are themselves at the mercy of Zjorn. They have been enchanted and cursed and under that spell, they have done his bidding and taken our son. He searches for the Liquid of Purity. What he does not know is that liquid is different depending on each drinker. The Liquid that cured one may not necessarily cure another. But he has become twisted and now cannot control his string of thoughts. He believes that Relir’s blood will cure him and if his plot succeeds, he will perform the bloodletting at the next full moon.” He sits, ashen, staring at his Lady, whose tears fall like rain.
“I will do everything in my power to rescue your son,” exclaims Saria, as she stands in front of the Lords and gets down on bended knee. The Lord of the Range, with a shaken voice, asks Saria to rise and presents her with a mesh necklet. It held one transparent jewel that seemed like it held fire, surrounded by a row of tinier blue jewels.
“This is the Eye of Fire. It will give you sight where you cannot see. Your journey must take you to the Pinnacles of Hoar Frost, a very unkind country and where Zjorn has made his refuge. The Land of the Drendhils is at the foot of the Pinnacles. Break the curse on them and they will help you to the Pinnacles.” He called a Handmaid who took the necklet and placed the Eye of Fire on Saria’s neck. Immediately, she felt a strange sensation. It was as if everything was clearer and her vision could bend around things. She looked to her left and saw what was behind the throne of the Lords, without moving a step: rich velvet draped across the floor, the shine of the tiles. She could see the Handmaid behind her, the Lady in her throne, her companions perched or seated nearby.
“You must get accustomed to the use of this sight for it is difficult to control at first. Your mind can control it and switch from your regular vision to the Eye’s vision but it is a question of time. Koslor will help you train on your journey to the Drendhils. It would be better to train here but the passage is long and next full moon is only a fortnight away.”
Saria stood and bowed low. “I will be ready.”
By the time she got to her chambers, however, Saria felt that her mind would explode. She was experiencing sensory overload and she could not concentrate on any one thing. Jorli slipped into her chambers.
“Nice to see you Jorli,” said Saria, without turning around.
“That Eye thing gives me the creeps,” she replied, padding softly towards the sleeping skins where Saria lay.
“Are you going to be okay?” Jorli asked as she put her forepaws on Saria’s arm, seeing her eyes closed.
“Once I understand how this Eye works, I think I will be,” she replied, closing her eyes. She needed to concentrate on speech for now. The Fox sat watching her childhood friend, concerned about her.
“Why don’t you take the thing off? I bet it’s easy, now that you can see behind your head,” quipped Jorli.
“I’m supposed to leave it on. Help me get used to it quicker but right now, it’s giving me a major headache. It’ll be dead useful, I’m sure, once we get to the Pinnacles,” replied Saria from the darkness of her mind.
“Are you scared?” asked Jorli as she came around to curl up in front of Saria.
“A little but with you and the others, I can’t say that this won’t work. I think we’ll come out of this fine,” she said, stroking Jorli’s head.
“I’m scared out of my wits,” remarked Jorli, “so I’m not sure why I said I’d do it but I didn’t want you to be alone. Now that I’m here though, I guess there’s no point in going back. It’s a long way…”
Jorli was already sleeping and soon, so was Saria.
That next morning, the group rose early and got together their gear for the journey, Saria to carry the most of it. Koslor, Sinlar, Perlen and Jorli were given charms that would protect them. Before leaving, Koslor gave Saria her first lesson in using the Eye of Fire.
“You must concentrate on an image. Those that are directly in front of you will seem clearer. Those that are around or behind you will be a hint different in color. The Eye will show you everything that is lit for what you call color is actually the reflection of light.”
“So it will work when I change forms?” asked Saria.
“As long as you can see light. As a mare, it may be difficult seeing as that horses are color blind. It will be the intensity that you must rely on,” replied the bird. “Now concentrate on me.” The time following, she spent concentrating on Koslor and on the objects around the room.
“We must start off soon. Dawn approaches quickly and the way is long. We shall practice on the way so I shall carry you for the first leg.”
The Range Creatures were waiting when they arrived to the colonnade. A light breeze appeared as the Lords of the Range bade them farewell. A gust suddenly pushed upward and the three birds extended their wings and caught the draft. Soon, the colonnade disappeared as they flew over the Range. The air was colder as snow whirled around them lazily. As Saria practiced with the Eye, it was decided that they would allow the birds to rest when they arrive to the steppe lands. The air was thinner there and it was even more difficult for them to carry the weight of Saria and Jorli. That way, the birds could keep vigil and send word, should something happen. Saria called to the others and gave them indications to land in the grasslands below. Plans were talked over and agreed upon and as Saria and Jorli ate, the other three went hunting.
“What kinds of creatures are the Drendhils?” asked Jorli, as she bit into a piece of bread. “Are they like us?”
“I’m not sure. We’ve had so little to do with them and it’s no wonder; they live a world away. From what I gather, they are.”
“I hope we can just talk some sense into them. I really would rather not fight.” Saria only watched the birds circle but agreed wholeheartedly with Jorli. The practice with the Eye made things easier for her and now she had gotten better with controlling the images. It was then she saw it: on a path between the mountains, a tiny speck was approaching.
“What’s that?” she cried, getting up. Jorli stared off in that direction, her eyes finer than Saria’s. Then she sniffed.
“I think it’s a horse but it’s hard to say. Should we run for it or wait until it gets here?”
“We need to get the birds to make contact,” she said, sweeping a hand to the sky. No sooner said than done. Koslor was already on his way as Sinlar landed.
“Koslor went to investigate. I sent Perlen to accompany him,” she said, extending her wings.
“You do not trust Koslor?” asked Saria dumbfounded.
“It is better to not trust than to be betrayed,” she remarked. “If he is trustworthy, we shall find out soon enough.” She stared off into the distance. It was hard to discern what was happening.“My Lady, I would suggest changing forms. If we need to escape quickly, your four legs would give a better advantage.” The tone Sinlar adopted frightened her but she did as she was told, making ready. The Eye of Fire indeed worked when she changed into a horse as it expanded magically around her and formed a headstall without reins and bit. Her pack was hoisted onto her back and Jorli jumped into a small pouch, holding on tight.

The Forest of the Keeper: Chapter 9 - Saria's Mission

2008-04-21T21:38:00.001-05:00

In the middle of the clearing, the Keeper stood and held her hand out to Saria. She approached that place where she first met the Keeper so many years ago and stood silently in front of the Lady of Obsidian. The Forest was silent. The clouds parted and the moon was watching over the shoulder of the sun. A soft breeze lifted the leaves from the clearing floor and started to sweep them higher. They swirled around the Keeper and Saria and as they breeched the top of the Forest, they broke away from the spiral and spread out over the treetops. The swirl was thick with leaves, making it difficult to see. Suddenly, light started to emanate from within the swirl and it froze everything that moved. The silence was deafening as the light grew brighter and shot through the leaves. Everything within the clearing was enveloped in white light and Sebastian, knowing full well that his Saria would be alright, still held more firmly the hands of his children. Like that night before he was to go and confess everything to Clara and shared that kiss of passion with his true woman, he remembered feeling that same anxiety.
Slowly, the light grew less intense but was still strong enough to keep everything in the clearing without color. The Keeper and Saria approached from the clearing, both changed. His love, his lily, petal soft yet strong as rock, stood with obsidian locks flowing and cheeks slightly pink. She was the same yet different and in that moment, he fell in love with her again. She smiled at him and his heart fluttered. He followed her gaze and saw his daughter, standing proudly; her mahogany hair glinted with sunlight. Sebastian embraced his daughter. A precious living jewel, her heart beat with excitement and he felt proud of her. He knew that the Forest was in good hands. The Keeper smiled warmly at her.
“Saria, the Forest has now accepted you full-heartedly. You will go with creatures and learn of their needs. The owls will help you. Take the children. They will need to learn as well.” Saria nodded, kissed the Keeper on the cheek and disappeared in a passing breeze, only to reappear as a mare. She was an elegant looking horse. Yorin and Selan were ecstatic as Saria knelt and helped them on. Saria’s best friend, Jorli the Fox, also followed, jumping onto Saria’s rump and grabbing fists full of hairs to avoid from falling off. The group then walked out of the clearing and deep into the Forest. Sebastian felt the Keeper’s hand in his and she guided him towards their home. He followed, intoxicated by her change. Something about her was different. The air around her was fragrant, as if she were a draught of fresh water. He wanted to taste her. The door closed behind them as her hand slid down and found him waiting, yearning.
“I felt your desire,” she said as she kissed his neck. His hands were already burrowing into the front of her dress. “And I wanted it to grow within me as well.” She walked slowly out of her dress as her hands explored that body she loved and knew so well. Clothes fell like leaves in autumn and with one swift movement that surprised Sebastian, she pushed him onto a chair as she threw herself on top, impaling herself with precision. Sebastian gasped as she sidled against him. He put his mouth on hers as they breathed heavily into each other. Her muscles gripped and pushed against him. He held her waist, hands drifting to her buttocks, arms wrapping around her. He found a knob, moist with sweat and taut with expectation. He suckled long and hard, well after she was slowing her rhythm to enjoy his mouth. As he suckled the other in turn, he put an arm under her and, without ever disengaging himself from inside her, he laid her on their sleeping skins and pushed inside her as she throatily approved. Without separating himself from inside her, he closed her legs under him and pulled himself in and out by pulling on her shoulders. The reaction was immediate and she was clamoring for him not to stop. The heat fused them in a mix of sweat and skin as their throats exploded in a series of cries, long and drawn out.
They lay on top of each other, enjoying the feel of the weight of their bodies pressed against each other, prolonging their touch, intimate and tender. Fingertips traveled lightly over limbs and hair, communicating affection, which again would soon ask for love to quench an insatiable thirst.
As Sebastian and the Loral’s search for exhaustion continued, Saria led Yorin and Selan through the secret corners of the Forest. The creatures explained their plights and Saria helped to solve them. As dusk fell, the Sun said goodbye and the Moon accompanied them home. Around them, the owls were watchful of their nightly hunt and the crickets chirped as they passed by.
They came to the clearing of the ceremony earlier on in the day when Saria noticed something different: it was a bird of plumage, the likes of which she had never seen before. A dark emerald green that shone with resplendence, its tail hung like a train behind it. It was a messenger.
“Lady Saria of the Forest,” it said as she drew closer.
“Identify yourself.”
“I am Koslor, from the Land Beyond The Mountains. I come on behalf of the Keeper of the Snow Mountain Range. We request council with the Forest of the Keeper.”
“It has been long since we have heard from the Realm of the Range.” It was the Keeper who appeared from the shadows of the Forest. “The Range People have always been welcome here. Please.” She indicated to the clearing and with a wave of her arm, the trees rustled as the wind took the message to the other creatures of the Forest. In moments, the clearing was occupied by the various representatives of creatures and the Council began.
“A grave matter has befallen our People,” spoke Koslor. “The youngest son of the Keepers of the Range has fallen captive to the Drendhils.” There was uproar from the creatures.
“I thought the Drendhils were allies,” interjected the Keeper.
“They were until there was treachery at play. Or so they claim. The Drendils have been victims of purges which they have blamed on us.”
“Are they not evenhanded enough to understand reason?” asked Saria.
“They would be had we not discovered the real motive behind the kidnapping.”
The creatures looked around at each other, confused.
“It seems that Zjorn is behind this.”
The Keeper sat back on a stump of a tree. Zjorn was the Keeper’s long lost brother, a spirit who was torn in two when he drank from the Forbidden Lake. To drink from the Forbidden Lake would give the drinker knowledge if their intentions were pure. If not, the drinker would be denatured and the only way to return to their original state was to drink liquid that was pure. But the answer as to what was that pure liquid was not known. It had long since been rumored that the pure liquid was none other than the blood of an innocent. In his denatured state, the Keeper was forced away from her only brother, saved by the sacrifice of her parents, who placed her in the custody of the creatures of her Forest. She dreaded this day and it had now come.
Koslor flew down to the Keeper’s feet. “You do understand why we came to you, my Lady.” She nodded her head. “The only one who can face a being that, with impure thoughts, drank from the Forbidden Lake,” she looked up at Saria, “is a human. A human with powers of a Keeper, chosen freely.” Sebastian looked alarmed.
“I am going with you,” he said to Saria.
“No Sebastian, you cannot.” The Keeper spoke softly.
“You are not barring me from accompanying my daughter, are you?” he cried. “I must go with her!”
“You do not understand!” cried the Keeper. “Zjorn is a being that has decomposed from the inside out. To face him as the mate of his blood sister would give him just cause to sever that bond! We have made a pact that cannot be broken for I have given you my name to hold in your heart. That makes your blood run through mine and mine through yours.” She pointed at Yorin and Selan. “Those are the bonds that unite us. If Zjorn finds out that we have children, their lives will be in danger.” Sebastian glanced at Saria.
“And you expect me to stand by and watch as my daughter travels to danger?”
They stared at each other for a moment.
“We must let Saria decide,” said the Keeper with sadness.
They both turned to look at her. She stood, hair flowing behind her. Her eyes glowed brightly. Crystal amber light emanated from them. She turned towards her father and held his hands.
“Father, you must realize something before I give my decision. If the Keeper has given you her name, she has given you her heart and only true-blooded Keepers must keep their names secret. If you die before Yorin and Selan turn of age,” she looks at her beloved Keeper, “she will die as well. One cannot live without the other. If the Keeper dies, the Forest will not be so far behind. After they come of age, and your love remains pure, a new cycle will begin and an enchantment will bind you to the magic of the Forest so that you will live long lives.”
Sebastian turned to the Keeper.
“My darling, is this true? Why have you never told me?”
“Was there reason to?” He wiped her tears away and kissed her face.
“So you understand Father, that in order to keep this Forest alive, it is imperative that the four of you stay. And in order to keep the Range Realm alive, I must save that child.”
“But you cannot be going alone!” cried her Father. Saria embraced him.
“Of course she won’t!” replied Koslor. “I will protect her journey to our lands.”
“We will also accompany her.” Sinlar the Owl and Perlen the Hawk perched in a nearby tree.
“And I would be more than glad to go,” quipped Jorli the Fox.
“Then we leave at daybreak,” stated Koslor. “The winds will carry us up to a higher current so that we may arrive quicker.”
Jorli sat in surprise: she hadn’t counted on flying.
As the Council ended, Saria drew close to her father and explained:
“I know what you are going to say, Father,” she said quickly. “You were going to say that you would never put your daughter in danger and I know this. No parent wants this. And though I am not as strong or as fast as you, I have your experience and your teachings to accompany me. If I have learned well, I will not let you down.” Her father looked proudly at his daughter.
“My child, you could never let me down,” he said as held her close. “I just would rather that it not be you.” Saria stepped back and held her father by the arms.
“You may not believe me but I can do this. Trust me. I shall get through this and who better to go with than Sinlar and Perlen. And Jorli…well, she’s got a lot of heart.”
They both laughed. Jorli was not particularly known for her bravery.
Early the next morning, the five rose and got ready for the journey. Saria, in her human form, carried all the necessary items that they would need for the journey. The Keeper found a moment with her alone.
“My dear Saria, I had hoped that my past would not have to affect you in such a fashion,” she started with a pained look. Saria smiled and embraced her.
“You have given me my life back,” she said softly, “and I would gladly do whatever is in my power to help you.”
“If that is your decision, I must give you this,” said the Keeper and drew a knife with an ornately wrought hilt. “This knife was born of the hands of my ancestors. It is a knife that will only draw blood of one of this same bloodline.” The Keeper looked at the knife with sorrow. “It was made for bloodletting, when the land was in need of life. It was what my parents sent with me when I came to live here. If you should face Zjorn, you will need it to protect yourself.”
Saria took the knife and examined it carefully.
“What would happen if someone other than one of the bloodline fell victim to it?” she asked.
“The metal of this blade would act as poison. It would kill the victim slowly.”It was with that knife, strapped snugly on her thigh, that Saria said goodbye to her family and her Forest and, in the clutches of Perlen, they flew off in the chilly current of the morning. And as the ground disappeared beneath their feet, Koslor lead the way into the sky.

The Forest of the Keeper: Chapter 8 - The Keeper's Name

2008-04-14T21:03:00.000-05:00

Sebastian rode as he never had before. He was elated and felt that Destiny had finally answered all his questions. He arrived to the alcove by nightfall and found that the Keeper was not in. He went to Saria’s room and found her drawing. He told his daughter that he finally found his wife and had a long talk with her, “because that’s what adults do.” He explained that he knew that they had acted like children, fighting all the time, and both her mother and father understood that they were wrong. The Horseman wanted Saria to understand that it wasn’t anyone’s fault but that her mother and father were still friends.
“So your mother and I had a very long talk. We have decided that we like being in other places, with certain people, to be happy. We love you very much; that will never change. But your mother and father want to be with other people.”
Saria was silent for a while. Sebastian was worried about her reaction. What will she say? Then a smile appeared on her face.
“I like the Keeper a lot and I would really be happy if she were the one you want. You are not sad at all when you are with her. But won’t Mother be lonely?”
The Horseman wasn’t sure how to answer but he decided that if he owed Clara something, it was to make things easier for her.
“She’s found a very lovely family who care for her very much.”
“Do they care for her as much as you do for the Keeper?” Saria asked.
“Just as much.”
“Can I meet them?”
“Of course you can, love. Your Mother has missed you so much!” He embraced his daughter. He could not believe how lucky he was.
“I will take you to see your mother tomorrow so that you can meet Celina and her Grandmother Lynn,” he said, kissing her on her forehead. “But what say you to a bit of supper? You must be famished.” They ate with a light heart and Saria was giddy with happiness. They played, laughed and joked and when he finally put her in bed, Saria slept with a calm that she had rarely known in the years past. The Horseman got up, finished the chores of the house and went out to look for the Keeper. The rain had stopped completely and in the pond nearby, the temperature was warm. He decided to bathe. Clothes folded neatly on the bank, he slipped into the dark waters as the moon watched. He cleansed himself and felt free. The waters enveloped him and the light shone on his wet skin. He could not wait to declare his love to the Keeper; he did not have to.
On shore, there was an opalescent light that glowed. He turned to see a figure standing next to his clothes. He did not have to see the figure to know who it was. Swimming towards the shore, his excitement grew. In waist-deep water, he called out, “Come and bathe with me!” She smiled at him, clearly tempted.
“You know my answer,” she replied, controlling the edge in her voice.
“Then I will convince you to,” and with that, he walked out of the water, dripping and naked. Few were the occasions when the Keeper had seen a naked human man but she knew that what that man in front of her had, she wanted badly.
“I went to see my wife today,” he started, looking at her as calmly as he could. “She was found by an old woman and her granddaughter.” He took a step closer. The air was filling with pheromones and the Keeper felt as she did those long and lonely nights, watching her Horseman.
“And she found love,” he said, as he caressed the Keeper’s arm.
“With?” The Keeper was imagining those muscle-bound legs between her own.
“With the granddaughter,” he said, blood pounding through one part of him, reaching, pointing, desiring.
“They are equally in love?” asked the Keeper, seeing her hunger augmenting by the second.
“They are practically married,” he breathed, his leg just brushing against the union of her legs. He was so close that the air grew thick.
“Will you swear it?” she whispered.
“I will have to admit, I felt as though it was something against my manhood—“
That would be me, thought the Keeper as she felt his tautness prick at her desire.
“—but I realized that Clara really loves Celina and nothing I could do could put me in the same range of comparison. It is as simple as man and woman,” he murmured as he smoothed the fabric on her chest.
“Look into my eyes,” she said, regaining control. “I will know promptly.” She detached herself slightly and he looked into those eyes that bewitched him so long ago. Her eyes glowed in the light of the moon and seemed to flash like a cat’s. His desire grew and knew that she was the one. He wanted to show her all the love he had for her, take care of her and love her as she deserved and needed. Imagination spilled out of all his known boundaries and desire for her taste, wet and hot to trickle down his throat, made him thirst. He pointed in between her legs. She smiled. The trees told her as well as his eyes: he was telling the truth. But she decided to further test him. And torture him. Just a little.
“Do you love me?” He looked sternly at her, passion flaring higher and higher within him.
“I swear on everything that is important, on my heart, on my life. I want to be with you because I was yours since I first looked into those eyes. You gave me freedom and if you are so willing, I want to learn love from your hand. A hand that holds my very heart, if you will have it.” He took her hand in his own, kissed it and placed it on his chest. She leaned forward and kissed the flesh near his heart. Lightning ran through his body where her lips touched. He stroked her hair as her hands slowly slid down his chest. His head craned backwards and then suddenly twitched as her fingers slid over his nipples. She kept sliding towards his stomach.
“Then swear it. I will reveal to you my name, as a token of my love and bond to you as the only mate I will have for all my life. Will you swear?” She looked at him, pausing and bringing herself to her feet. They stood eye to eye, he staring at her with an expression that could only have been pure love.
“I swear it. I am yours forever.”
She brought her mouth close to his.
“Loral. And I am also yours forever.” They sealed their union with a kiss which was followed with warmth in their limbs. His nakedness was quickly recalled and she delighted in the acts of love in which she was about to partake.
“What do you want to do to me?” she said, breathing against the only wrinkled skin he possessed. Her hands were exploring a forest of thick curls. His eyes were closed.
“I want to take your clothes and tear them from your body, kiss your face, your mouth and anywhere I can reach. I want you to guide me and allow me to enter that swollen wetness you once told me of. I will never be able to love if it is not with you.” She stood slowly, taking care to smooth her body against his as she went. He trembled with desire as her hand moved to her breast and undid the ribbon of her bosom. She smiled as she watched his face, his body, as he became red and swollen, large and hungry. Her frock slid to the ground as she led him to a small clearing. He watched her silent nakedness: the curves lit by the moon, the silhouette of her breasts and was losing control of his already wild desire. He held her against him and with all the control he could muster, sent forth only his hands to glide across her stomach and covered her chest with anxious fingers. She felt him hot against her in body and breath. She turned and kissed him full, her tongue searching, finding and probing. She shivered against him where there was no cold. In moments, they were on the grass and he placed his mouth on the soft swell as another part of him waited in between parted legs. He controlled the burning desire to start for she guided his fingers to the other knob between her legs. His fingers pinched and rubbed. Sound erupted, long and low, he felt her juices flow onto his hand. He nearly lost control, fighting the urge to think about her swollen holding him tight in pleasure. He thirsted and his mouth found that knob where he drank to drink dry. Her legs buckled about him. She moaned loudly and placed her hands on his head, her fingers pressed roughly through his hair as his hands and his mouth were squeezing all three of her knobs. She breathed and arched sharply and he knew that she had finally matched his own need, which was bursting to find her. He pointed towards her and pointed until her borders would not allow him to go any farther. Her dark eyes closed in ecstasy. She was inviting and responsive and he wanted her to know that this was the beginning of eternity.
“I am going to explode,” she cried breathlessly. He placed his mouth on hers as he rushed into her, over and over. A chain reaction. They pulsated. Supernova.
The Forest bristled as the creatures shook the trees to life. Birds twittered. Foxes mewed. Birds chirped. Owls hooted. Everything burst into sound. Flowers bloomed thick and heavy from every tree, stem and bush. Dew formed and trickled down petals. A thick, languid fragrance filled the air as the moon shone through the steamy vapor.
Sebastian had found his home, the place he had always yearned for. And as he caressed that skin, those hands, the soft curves, he found solace, hope and future. He realized that his happiness was only his to seek and as they rested in each others arms, both knew that hardships were to come. But both also knew that they had kind words and actions to help understand and as the Keeper nibbled on Sebastian’s ear, he knew that he would do anything in his power to share his life with her for the rest of their lives. He tongued and tickled her as they swelled and collided. Even in the lake, as she sat on his knees, found her seed swollen to a heavy ripeness and felt the nectar slide down his face, he rose to meet her again, where he never would have been able to before, partly because Clara did not want to and partly because he did not want to. And yet, he was able to prove many times that he could through sheer desire and love. Even as they slept in her sleeping quarters, he nursed gently as his hands studied her body. Later, he would find her on top of him, licking him wet and awake.
As for Saria, her life dramatically improved. Though sad that her parents were not going to live together, she was infinitely happier to feel that she was not the cause. Her parents got along better now because they were much happier with their new lives, Saria spending time with her parents separately and gradually feeling better about their choice. Her mother was a bit worried about how her daughter would take the relationship with Celina; she only explained that “they were closer than sisters” and left it at that. Of their parents, however, the only one who knew the truth was Sebastian’s mother, who ranted at first. It was his fault that his wife had ‘gone that way’ and how could he have let her become so? However, she understood her son’s reasoning in time and accepted it. They loved each other as friends and that was all. Sebastian’s father and Clara’s parents, on the other hand, were under the impression that Clara was learning crafts and homemaking from Celina and her grandmother.
“People will believe what they want,” said grandmother with a wink at Clara.
As for the Keeper, she kept away from all the family matters. Her obligation was with her Forest and revealing herself to the others was unnecessary. Her presence must be kept secret. Sebastian only mentioned to Clara that his woman was from a foreign land and must travel continuously to her lands. It wasn’t entirely false but he knew that here, he could not tell the truth. His father was under the impression that everything was normal with Clara. Sebastian’s love for his Lady of Obsidian, as Saria would call her, would forever protect her from prying eyes. And under her tutelage, the Keeper brought Saria closer to her world for she had decided that she would follow in the Keeper’s footsteps.
“If you do this, child, you may never go back. Except,” she said, looking at Sebastian with a smile, “when you are looking for a mate.” By this time, Saria had become a beautiful young woman and she embraced the Keeper.
“The Forest has become my home. You have taught me so much and I want to protect this Forest because it has always protected me.” She had gone to see her mother and then her grandparents several days before to let her family know that she will be going to lands far away to marry a young man she had met. The man, a young traveler who was in need of money, agreed to pose as her husband-to-be and promised never to return to these lands, thereby keeping the illusion intact. The lie was necessary but she could not help feeling a bit guilty. Her mother’s relationship with Celina had grown stronger over the years and she had long since accepted it. Her mother would never be alone and the three women were inseparable. So she had made her decision. She had a life to lead and she must lead it alone.
The two women smiled at each other as the Keeper walked ahead into the clearing. Saria led by the hand a young boy, Yorin, and an even younger girl, Selan, her brother and sister and children of the Keeper and her father. They were to attend the Forest Council and Saria’s presentation.

The Forest of the Keeper: Chapter 7 - The Kiss

2008-04-07T20:44:00.002-05:00

The days that followed brought more rain and no news. Grandmother noticed that the behavior between her granddaughter and the stranger was a little distant. She shook her head. She knew her granddaughter and her adventures and had long since given up trying to convince her of anything. Her Celina will always be her Celina and whatever she did was not going to change her love for her granddaughter. Just accept her, she thought. This is how she is happy. How she will ever find another like her to be happy was beyond her but that will be her granddaughter’s problem. She observed Clara’s interaction with her Celi. They were polite but she noticed how she kept stealing looks, her blushed cheeks, her confusion. Looks like love to me, she contemplated. I suppose I could do my good deed of the day and give a push. I think I’ll have to have a talk with Clara but for the while, I’ll have to just keep my nose in my cooking and watch, she mused as she stirred the pot of soup. I’ll know when.
Celina was ecstatic. She now knew that Clara did not reject her and did feel something. Yet she knew that there was a battle that was waging within her that reminded her of when she was a child. For the while, she tried her best to show what kind of person she was and took care of Clara.
As for the bed-ridden woman, she lived in confusion dotted by moments of clarity. Little by little, those moments extended into lapses and were becoming more frequent. She fought nail and tooth. This could not be happening to her. It was…wrong. No one does that. But why? Just because it was not right, not well-looked upon. But her mind wandered. Why, if it was so wrong, did it feel like the most natural thing to her? She realized she kept wishing how her husband were more like Celina: her smile, her laugh, how she wrinkles her nose, sensitive, perceptive. And that kiss, soft and unlike any she had ever experienced before. She thought desperately that in reality, she did not want her husband at all. But she was too scared to admit it.
The next morning, Clara was embroidering a small handkerchief when grandmother came in with breakfast. She admired her work as she bustled in.
“You’re quite a hand, dear. How are you feeling now?” She set the tray down and felt her forehead and her cheeks with the back of her hand. It had now been several weeks since they took Clara in. She began to shine with a healthy glow and she was coughing less now. Her face was still strained with worry however. Time for the push.
“I’m feeling better…” she replied. Her thoughts ran races and they showed. She embroidered buds and stems.
“I was just thinking…when your daughter is found, would you go…back?” Clara stopped. It was something she had been thinking as well.
“I…”
“I think that Celina and I would be very sad to see you go.” Clara looked up quickly. She was torn.
“Especially Celina.” Clara turned away. Grandmother looked at her with motherly eyes, soft and understanding. She busied herself with setting the food in front of Clara.
“When Celina was a child, she lost her parents. They had drowned in an accident on the river. She never had it easy, that girl. No one understood why a girl with such beauty would refuse a marriage, then another, then another. It was the thing that would have helped her situation in the life. But she always told me, ’Gran, I will never marry unless it was for love.’ Always a romantic, that child was. But she was right. Not enough people do what they do for love. They do it for show. To keep appearances. She always hated that and so she struck out on her own road. She had always said that it was because of my love for her and that I was the only one who took her in and cared for her. Once I realized the real reason, I also said that I could not let her go.” Clara’s hands twisted nervously. Grandmother took her hands in hers.
“You see, dear, people can be quite daft when everything looks fine and normal and one can always take advantage of that. You can too, you know.” She smiled a toothy smile.
“I don’t know what to feel or think anymore,” she said unevenly.
“What your heart says. I will always accept you as you are.” A sob erupted from her throat. Grandmother held her and patted her arm.
“I think you’ll feel even better to know that your daughter is alive and is right now with your husband. Word just came in this morning.” Clara sat up, eyes like saucers.
“Is this true?” She cried but now with happiness. She gripped the old woman’s arms, hugging her, the news sinking in.
“Yes dear. And now, you’ll be having a choice to make.” A warm smile and the swish of her skirt followed her out.
The smile faded a bit from her face. She kept embroidering.
Later that evening, Celina returned home from town. She had gone for provisions and other necessities. It took the better part of the day for the roads and the bridges were difficult to cross in wagon. She heard the news of Saria’s being alive and well in town and sent word to her home with a passing horseman. She had thought much about Clara during the better part of the day. She would do anything to make it work.
That evening, dinner was served first between the two women in the kitchen. Grandmother decided to turn in a little early therefore Celina needed to attend Clara. “A lot of work to do all day and I’m half-dead on my feet,” exclaimed the old woman. “Now that her daughter has been found, you have to help with her things now that she’s getting better.” She smiled slyly to herself. Ten to one says she decides to stay, she thought, as she closed the door to her room.
Clara was finishing the embroidery on her handkerchief when Celina went in to serve dinner. As she was eating, Celina informed Clara that she would pack her trunk when she felt ready to leave for home. Food going to her mouth never made it there for she said, “I’ve been thinking about my husband lately.” Celina stopped dead in her tracks.
“All day, in fact. When I heard Saria was found, I was elated. But then I thought of the fact that I was going back to Sebastian. And then it made sense.” Celina made a move to stand. Clara placed a hand on her arm. They locked gazes. Their faces were within centimeters from each other.
“You see, he always complained about wanting something else. About living a life that he wanted, not one that others wanted for him. I did not want to listen to him because I knew in my heart that he spoke my words. Words I did not want to believe.” Their faces were millimeters away from each other and the air became dense and hard to breathe.
“I kept wanting him to be someone he wasn’t.” With a sigh, she rested her head on Celina’s breast that began to resound with a quick-beating heart. A quick gasp, nearly inaudible, sealed Celina’s fate; she was lost forever. Clara smiled as if she were shy and trying it out for the first time. She wrapped her arms around Celina’s neck and said, “I wanted him to be more like you. I wanted him to smile, laugh and smell like you. And then I realized: I do not want him, I want you.” Inside, Celina’s heart was hammering and her mind was already doing indecent things.
“And then, I came upon a certain dilemma,” she continued, stroking Celina’s neck. “I should go back for my daughter and somehow maintain my marriage.” A heart nearly stopped with fear. And a finger traced the outline of a quickly paling face. Clara smirked.
“It was then that I remembered: we were always fighting. He was unhappy. I was most definitely unhappy. So I thought what good would it do to go back if both of us have a genuine chance at being happy,” she said, punctuating with a soft kiss on that pale mouth, “by being apart?” Smiles broke through the paleness. Mother and wife finally had a voice.
Clara sat back, looked into one eye, then the other, as if trying to decide. She felt her body shiver with energy. Desire was stoked, her flesh woke from its slumber and before she knew it, she placed her mouth onto Celina’s in a swift attack. In the distance, hormones exploded and drowned out the sound of the thunder outside. She kissed gingerly at cheeks and neck. The skin below came to life, warm, moist, sweet. Then she received Celina’s mouth with such intense pleasure that she wondered why she had ever thought this was wrong before. The dress fabric could not hide from her touch a nipple. Frenzy took hold of both as if time was short. Celina’s hand disappeared beneath the covers, provoked deep, resounding moans and surfaced wet. Those fingers disappeared into her own mouth and she savored the taste. It was hers. It was hers forever.
Clothes unbuttoned, unfastened and slid to the floor. Hands caressed shoulders and breasts, warm and wanting to be suckled, protruded, anxious to be noticed. Fingertips teased as backs arched with pleasure. Fragrant flowers turned into two ripe fruit, bursting with nectar, squeezed of every last drop.
The hours to come were filled with discovery followed by moments of peace and as a hand reached or a mouth found, they were pulled to travel further down that road of discovery and undeniable passion, as if they had never known each other in the previous numbers of times. Clara felt stronger than she ever did and her new-found love cured her in ways that she found exhilarating. She felt alive.
Early the next morning, the two woke entwined and pressed against each other’s bodies. They whispered, giggled, kissed.
“Why do I feel so comfortable around you?” asked Clara, studying the face of that naked woman, caressing her breasts.
“Do you really want to know?’ was the reply. A mischievous smile curved Celina’s mouth, which traveled a path, nibbling and kissing a road that would never be well-worn. They slept, tired but happy to have found that in this world that could have so many twists and turns, they had found each other.
The later that morning, Clara got up to help as she could around the house. The old woman noticed an extreme happiness that emanated from those two and it was contagious. The three women worked around the house, laughing and singing. The rain had waned and they were in the process of preparing dinner when a knock came at the door. Clara answered. She swept open the door and found herself face to face with her husband. The smile was also swept off her face. Her husband noticed and asked if they could speak. He was genuinely pleased to see her and gave her a swift kiss on the cheek as he was introduced to the other women of the house. Celina paled a bit and grandmother gripped her hand as husband and wife disappeared into Clara’s room. There were there for a good part of the afternoon. The other two worked in the kitchen, one obviously distracted.
“She’ll be back,” said grandmother from the fireplace, where she was checking the chicken on the spit. Celina looked at her grandmother, who walked towards her and held her. The young woman cried softly and said through thick tears, “Clara is the one I want to spend the rest of my life with.”
“Then you should be with her.”
But it wasn’t her grandmother’s voice. Celina stood up and saw Sebastian smiling at her, his arm around Clara. He turned to his wife and said, “I will admit, I was shocked but all I want for you is to be happy and I know that I wasn’t doing a good job. If you are truly happy here, I definitely cannot oppose. Will you forgive me?” Clara embraced him and kissed him on the cheek.
“If you can forgive me. I know I did not make things easier,” she said as she smiled at him. He nodded; the light of his smile bathed her with a sense of hope and aspiration. She then walked to Celina, wrapped her arms around her waist and kissed her. And just like that, they were married in heart and spirit. He got ready to leave and refused the invitation to stay for dinner. Clara was understanding of his thoughts.
“If this woman you met is anything like the woman that you need and deserve, you must go to her and give her your heart.” She looked at Celina, who kissed her forehead. She looked sternly at her husband. “At once, Sebastian.” It was a command but they both smiled, knowing that it was a word of wishing him well. He promised to bring Saria to the house that week so that Clara and her new family could spend time with her.
“I need my honeymoon as well,” he joked as he dodged Clara’s playful swat. He was horseback in a moment and rode off towards the Forest. Grandmother looked at the new addition to her family and remarked slyly, “I say, you two look right tired. Why would that be, I wonder…”

The Forest of the Keeper: Chapter 6 - Clara

2008-03-31T22:44:00.001-06:00

The conversation, light and happy, awoke her. Her head pounded under her scalp. She remembered the wagon, the storm, Saria, the tree branch…she couldn’t recall anything more. As she pushed herself up with her elbow, the door opened. It was an elderly woman who looked as sweet as she was old. She was elated that her patient was awake and went to bring food.
“It gave us quite a scare, you know, to find you in the wagon drenched to the skin. We had thought you were all but gone. But Celina, my granddaughter, saw you breathe, she did, and we both carried you in. Caught a bit of pneumonia, you poor thing. Been out the whole week but here you are. Quite a fighter you are,” she chatted gaily.
“Is my daughter Saria here?” she asked.
The old woman froze. “Was she in the wagon with you? We found no one else.”
The worry crept quickly through the old woman and even as she assured her patient that there was nothing to worry about, her mind raced with hundreds of possible scenarios. As soon as she was outside the room, she called her granddaughter into the kitchen. Celina was almost out the door to send word to search for the child when her grandmother held her back.
“The storm has gotten right worse in the last couple of hours. I absolutely forbid you to go out. Do you know how dangerous it is?”
“Grandmother, if it were me, what would you do?”
“It’s because it’s me that I would not let that happen to another person’s child.”
“Look, it’s a little girl that’s out there. She may still be alive if we get word out in time.” Her grandmother held her by the arms.
“Child, you are all the family I’ve got. Your parents, my daughter have long since gone. I lose you to this and I don’t know what I will do with myself…”
“That’s why I’ll take care to come back, grandmother.” She said with a smile as she swept down and kissed her on the cheek. With that, she went out. Her grandmother stood for a bit, staring at the door. Damn child is so stubborn, she grumbled to herself as she started peeling potatoes for dinner.
The aroma of stewed rabbit meat wafted through the door when Celina finally came back home. Her grandmother came running out of the kitchen and embraced her. Then she gave her a little playful slap on the shoulder.
“I swear if it weren’t for my nerves, I would have never let you go,” she said with moist eyes.
“Dinner smells wonderful. And I’m always careful about your nerves, grandmother, you know that.”
“I say that because you would have driven me up the walls to let you go.”
“Gran!”
“You know it’s true.” She smiled impishly at her granddaughter. For as antiquated as she may seem on the outside, she was quick-minded and open, a fact that Celina was grateful for. She doesn’t know if her parents, had they been alive, would have accepted some of the things the things that she has done as easily as her grandmother had. She would never know.
Her grandmother lowered her voice and became serious.
“By the by, any word?” She nodded towards the door where her patient lay.
“No.” Celina sighed. “But the word has gone out quickly so we should be hearing soon.” She took off her rain boots and sat them near the door. “I’ll help you with dinner for our patient. Start in if you’re hungry.” In moments, the tray was laden with stew, bread, cheese and drink.
“Child!” her grandmother exclaimed. “She’s not swine we’re taking in to get butchered! You saw her. I doubt a fourth of that she’d finish!”
Her granddaughter winked. “Appearances can be deceiving.” She was inside the room before her grandmother could argue.
The patient was sleeping. A very beautiful and slender woman who looked to be in her prime, it was hard to believe that she was a mother, save for the tightness in her face. A look of worry, perhaps. She looked like an angel, otherwise. As Celina set the tray down, the smell of food woke her patient. She blinked her eyes and saw Celina smile at her.
“Good evening! How are you feeling?” Celina asked. “Are you hungry?” Her patient blinked her eyes again to get the sleep out of her eyes. This must be the old woman’s granddaughter, she thought. She bundled up to avoid the bout of coughing she felt approaching.
“Yes, please,” she replied, not realizing until then how hungry she was. As she ate the soup, Celina introduced herself and asked for the name of her mystery guest.
“Clara,” she said, between bites of bread. She had eaten more than half the tray by this time.
“I just want you to know that I went out and got word to town that your Saria is missing. If anyone has seen her, they will know.”
Clara stopped and chewed her mouthful completely before she spoke. Her eyes had grown wide.
“You did that? The storm must have been horrible!” Her eyes were incredulous.
“I couldn’t live with myself if I did nothing for a lost child,” replied Celina.
Clara took Celina’s hand in hers and with a look of utmost thankfulness she said, “Thank you so very much. How could I ever repay you?” Celina looked back into those eyes and knew that what she could wish for could not be given easily. Her hands were warm and comforting. She gripped those hands lovingly back. Instead, she smiled bittersweetly and said, “You owe me nothing. I did it because I know what my grandmother would have felt if it were me.” She mused a bit and changing the subject she said, “You could tell me why you were running though.” She cast a look at Clara, who had stopped eating and sat looking at her plate.
“What makes you think I was running?” she asked with a hint of nervousness in her voice, still looking at her plate. She stifled a dry cough with her blanket.
“You started out in the middle of the night in one of the worst storms in recent times, with a trunk and a child. I would take a gander that most anyone would say the same.”
Clara took another mouthful of food and chewed slowly. She looked at Celina and observed a very intelligent face looking back at her. Attentive and kind. Sensitivity with a hint of sarcasm. All aspects that made her countenance very attractive. All pleaded for an answer. Clara did too. She picked up her drink and stared at its contents.
“My marriage is falling apart and … I don’t know why.” For as simple as that sounded, for as insignificant as it could seem, it took a lot to actually say those words. So much so that the first tear dropped before Clara realized what was happening. Celina quickly cleared off the tray and drink and was soon holding Clara, who sobbed as if her child had been killed in front of her very eyes. Grandmother, upon hearing the crying, opened the door slightly. A sign from Celina told her that everything was under control. She closed the door and proceeded to clear off the table and wash dishes.
The tears that fell represented days, months and years of anguish and unhappiness. She felt unfulfilled though she did everything that she was supposed to in order to be the perfect woman. What had she done wrong? As for Celina, it broke her heart to see Clara cry and when she had finally calmed down and was wiping her tear-stained face, she told her, with the utmost sincerity, “I wish I could take away your pain but I think you really needed to get that all out. Learn from it because it is yours and only yours.” She traced a finger down the cheek, pink with emotion. Somewhere, something stirred.
After dinner, Celina, hearing a fit of coughing, went in to check on Clara once more before turning in.
“Can I get you anything before I go to sleep?” she asked Clara. There was a bit of uneasiness in her face, as if she were fighting within herself. She hesitated.
“It’s all right. Just tell me,” Celina said, hoping for a sign. Will she give it?
“I was…it’s just that…if you wouldn’t mind…holding me. It would help me sleep…no, no, forget I ever said anything—“
Clara was flustered as if she couldn’t believe she made such a stupid remark. Celina smiled broadly.
“I would be happy to.” She arranged the pillows so that she could hold Clara comfortably.
“I feel embarrassed with all this but I need someone to be with me…right now…the truth is a hard thing to face alone.” Celina did not respond. She just caressed Clara’s face and smoothed her hair.
“You don’t mind?”
“I don’t mind at all.”
“May I ask you a personal question?”
“You may.”
“You are such a young and beautiful woman. I wonder why no one has made you their wife.”
“They have tried.”
Clara sat up.
“’They?’ You mean you’ve turned down more than one? How many?”
“Too many to count.” The quizzical look on Clara’s face demanded explanation.
“The reason I told them was that I had to take care of this house and my grandmother. The real reason is that I haven’t found the one I truly love.” Her eyes probed into Clara’s and she knew then that the answer was there. She lightly traced a finger down her cheek to her chin, where her gaze lingered on those lips. The bed-ridden woman raised her lips and without knowing why she did it, placed a kiss on Celina’s mouth. Both looked at each other with surprise and stared with new eyes. Neither realized that their arms had wrapped themselves closely around each other. Suddenly, Clara’s eyes filled with fear. It struck her that she was doing something that her heart desired but that no one would accept. Anxiety filled her but she was backing up on a slippery road: she was already too far down the road to get out untouched. But she tried. The voice that had always needed to be heard had finally found a stage and her attempts to hold back the dam were feeble. She found that her arms had traveled far around Celina’s waist. She drew her arms back.“I shouldn’t be doing this…I’m married, I’ve got a child. I’m not supposed to be…” Clara covered her mouth with her hands. She looked up, terror-stricken. Celina studied her. How beautiful she looked even with the terror. She touched Clara’s shoulder, got up and left the room.

The Forest of the Keeper: Chapter 5 - The Encounter

2008-03-24T23:30:00.002-06:00

The storm raged for days which turned into weeks. The Keeper knew that this was the cleansing before winter and worked accordingly in the Forest. The Horseman looked after Saria and daily went to the stables of his home to check on his horses. The evenings were spent in conversations with the Keeper about all sorts of things. The Horseman found the company of this strange woman comforting and enjoyed those nights as the happiest in a long time.
“I have sent word to the home where your wife is being cared for to let her know that you and the child are safe,” said the Keeper one morning.
“Thank you,” he said with a chilly note in his voice. “Forgive me for being such a bother. I do not feel comfortable moving Saria until she and the weather are better,” he apologized.
“I am far from being inconvenienced, if that is your meaning. It is my pleasure that I am able to help. And the company is gratifying.” She smiled broadly. This was beyond her wildest dreams for she was able to talk with her Horseman long hours and what she found was to her taste. But that was as far as it went. She had a responsibility. And he did too. But his smile fell into a frown.
“Do you know why she was in the wagon that night?” he asked softly.
“Should I know?” she asked, looking at him with concern.
“You have more than earned your right to know,” he replied and proceeded to tell the whole story: the letter, the arguments, Saria’s birth…and the Raven story. He stopped. It all came back to him. He looked at the Keeper, wide-eyed. It was with new eyes. How could he have been so blind?
“Are you really her? Are you really my Raven?” The Keeper was nearly beside herself with joy. He remembered and had held her in the same esteem as she did for him. He took her hands into his gingerly.
“So many nights I had waited for you to take me away with you…” he said in a whisper. A tear rolled down his face as he kissed her hands. “And now, without even knowing it, I have been taken away.” His face lit in happy release and inched closer to her. He brought his face close to hers as he placed a hand on one side of her face. As they sat so close to each other, the Keeper felt electricity surge from her heart and race through her body. The liquid blackness of her eyes sparkled into his. From deep within her chest, her heart glowed and grew brighter, spreading to the rest of her body. As it reached her hands, a light began to glow from within the Horseman and it grew to match her own.
“You have always loved me, though you knew not who I was,” she whispered.
“After all these years…” he said with a joy that grew. He caressed her face and smoothed her hair. But her smile faltered.
“Yet you married without love.”
The Horseman felt a slight chill. He was in love with another woman as his wife lay recovering in a strange home.
“I have lived all my life in this Forest,” started the Keeper, taking a step back from the Horseman. “With beings I consider of my very blood. They are what some call ‘animals’. You could consider me ‘animal’, therefore, when I tell you that the blood within has always held you in such special regard, with a passion and desire that has long since burned for you. I have yearned for you with such impatience that I can barely walk for swollen wetness.” The Horseman drew close but the Keeper stopped him.
“But the human within me knows that we are wrong. Your wife knows not of the treachery that has befallen her. It is, of course, your decision but I have long since renounced lies.” She turned away when the Horseman caught her in his arms and kissed her passionately. With that kiss, he pleaded that she would not disappear from his life so quickly. The Keeper, resisting the sweet temptation that so readily laid him at her feet, drew back.
“She would never need to know,” he said, nearly desperate, trying to keep her in his arms.
“But I would,” retorted the Keeper as she slid from his grasp. They stood quite a distance away from each other. It was a test of wills and the Keeper had won. He stood dejected but knew what had to be done.
“My heart has always been yours and that kiss has sealed it completely for me. I will put an end to this falsehood I am living but I must talk to Saria first.”
She nodded her head as he went to Saria. The Keeper, on the other hand, walked out into the knoll where it still rained heavily. She was smiling and the trees, creatures and all the elements were giddy with her excitement. In the clearing, she stood, looked up into the sky and held her arms up to the heavens. She let the rain fall upon her and reach every dark corner of her body. Suddenly, a bolt of lightning crackled down from between the clouds and struck down upon her. It exploded with a force that shook the ground. The Forest became silent, save for the soft pitter of the rain against the grass and the leaves. White smoke steamed in curls from the clearing.
The Forest sat in suspense, holding its breath.
A slight gust of wind blew the smoke away and there she stood: a little taller, her eyes kinder and brighter with wisdom, with curves that desired. The Horseman had run out upon hearing the thunderclap and found her standing in the middle of the clearing with a smile that beckoned him. The rain fell upon him, light and pleasant. She approached him and placed her mouth on his. Fires lit within the both.
“Tomorrow the rains will stop,” she said as they held each other. “You will be away so I have shown you what is in my heart. I will have no regrets.”
“Then lie with me,” begged the Horseman. His hands begging just as hard with a confidence that had stopped being respectable.
“Our paths have been chosen,” she said as she stepped back. “There is no turning back.” And with that, she walked back into the alcove.

Saria woke with a slow start. She had heard the whistling of wind. The bed was warm but she knew it wasn’t hers. She raised herself to a sitting position and turned to see her father sitting by her bed.
“Father!” she cried as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He embraced her and hoped to the high heavens that he would never have to live through something like this again.
“You don’t know how worried I was,” he said, with tears in his eyes. “Are you hungry, my love?” She replied that she was and returned with a tray of food.
“Father, where are we? And how did you find me? All I can remember is being in the back of the wagon…is mother alright?” Her spoon stopped midway to her mouth. She was wide-eyed with fear.
“Your mother is alright. And I would have never found you had it not been for a special friend of yours—“
“The Keeper!” cried Saria. “Is this her house? Can I see her?”
“I am here, dear Saria.” The door had flown open and there she was, in all her regal glory. The Horseman picked up the tray and moved aside as Saria held her tight and sobbed.
“I thought I would never see you again…”
“Dear Saria,” she said, incredibly touched, “nothing could ever stop me from finding you.” She was not the only one who was touched. The Horseman never realized how deep their relationship had gotten. If things had only been a little different… Saria raised her head and motioned for her father to come closer and hold her hand. He sat down on the bed, behind the Keeper, and held Saria’s hand, placing himself very close to the Keeper. The Keeper turned her head back and their eyes locked. The look was more than telling. Saria noticed and wondered why she had never thought of it before: this was the man that the Keeper had fallen in love with. With an innocent that belied her maturity but was lost on the two love-stricken adults, Saria remarked casually, “I feel so happy. I wish this could last forever.”
She knew she was not the only one who thought so.

Anger and a Pink Toothbrush

2008-03-21T19:23:00.004-06:00

I am so filled with anger.

Emotions bubble from the pit of my stomach, waiting to rise. Hoping to perhaps hurt. Lash out. Whip unmercilessly. Tears that do not want to fall sit hot and seething on my eyes. They will not pass beyond my lashes.

My throat clenches as if it were a fist, waiting to fly and connect hard against someone's jaw.

He took the pink toothbrush.

They were nights when we would sit in the comfort of my apartment and talk of our lives. Long hours where he revealed so much. Too much. I took that confidence he had in me and it slowly became a promised rest stop. His time with me became something I needed and the rest stop he offered was a place I had wished to arrive to for so long. There was no crossing of boundaries. No ungentlemanly conduct. He was propriety in the flesh and I was everyday more impressed by this soul that I had never considered such a formidible source of emotion.

I did not like him at first. I thought him someone that I would never have considered. Yet words were his allies and he was eloquent and master of thought and memory. I was astounded. How could I have misjudged him so? And it was then that he slowly crept under my skin and into my very veins.

He took the pink toothbrush.

It was one night, then, that he had stayed later than usual and announced that the next time, he would bring a sleeping bag. Nothing to worry about, I thought, my own plans forming. I knew what this was about. Or so I thought. And the next night brought him and a late movie. It was late and I offered him my bed.

It was only two bodies in a bed, under the same covers. And then my need to feel someone at my side, when that someone was only one foot away, won me over. I snuggled closed to him and felt him hold me. Bliss would have been complete had I left it as is. Or would it have been? I softly kissed his neck and chin and with a swift motion, he kissed me on the mouth. But even as the act was being consumated, I felt no need for it. I felt no desire.

In the morning, we had to go to work. He had brought no change of clothing, no personal effects. But things had changed for me and I felt that he was forming a part of my future. He dropped me off and with a half kiss, he dropped me off near my bus stop to go to work.

That evening, we had a group meeting with mutual friends. He walked in and greeted me with an innocuous kiss on the cheek. There was no indication that we were anything to each other and as he sat aways from me, I felt a slow burning sensation rise through my neck.

That night, I went home, confused. And as I took out my contacts, I realized:

He took the pink toothbrush. The toothbrush I had given him in the morning. Had he left it, it would have been a clear indication that he would be back.

He hasn't been back since.

And as my confusion muddled my feelings for him, happy one moment and elegant disdain the next, I decided to lay the cards on the table: I asked him.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Um... I guess."

"What are we?"

He looked straight ahead at the ground even though there was enough light to see. We were trying to flag down a taxi but they all just passed me by. I thought he didn't hear me so I looked at him.

"Don't look at me that way." He didn't even have to look at me.

"I'm not looking at you in 'any' way. I just want to know."

An empty taxi sees me and slows to a halt. He told me he would catch another one, since he lived in the opposite direction. A vile excuse.

I hugged him goodbye.

"Aren't you going to answer my question?"

He looked sheepishly at me.

"Didn't I say were were friends?"

I climb into the passenger seat and smiled nonchalantly. Whatever, I seemed to be saying to him as we drove off. The taxi driver chatted cheerily about the evening's boxing match and we discussed at great length what really at that moment, had no meaning for me.

The weeks that followed were roller coaster rides, taking my emotions to the state of "somewhat good" to "pitifully depressed". I was frustrated and angry and I did not understand why. Little by little, the pieces have been falling into place and I now understand what it is that I want.

I want to feel loved. Frustration.

I hate being rejected. Anger.

I want to throw a brick at his head. And then, I want to be his friend.

I want things to be as they were. And I want to kick him in the leg.

There are days when I absolutely hate him and others when I miss his presence. And as the days pass, our old friendship is slowly reappearing. That first stage, when we talked casually and laughed together. He looks for me again.

And in his time of need, I did not step forward. He was looking for a place to stay because his contract had run out and the housing arrangements were the company's. He asked to stay with me. I was reluctant. I asked him if he could let me think about it. And so I weighed the ideas in my head. To let him stay. How would I feel? How would I react? At first, I was ecstatic and yes, I wanted to say yes from the very beginning. But I knew that that was not the best for me. I had to think of it in other terms. He clearly stated that he was not one for a relationship now. It was then that I decided that his friendship was something I wanted and now that we had done everything, there really was no reason why living together couldn't be all the more easier. There was no sexual tension anymore. I could handle it.

In the meanwhile, he had found someone else to stay with.

In retrospect, it was better that he stay with his friend. I see this moment I have now to write and know that I would perhaps be beating myself over the head if I didn't know what he was up to or why I was here and he was not. I would have sabotaged myself and perhaps have been much more depressed than I presently allow myself to be.

And I would be in no mood to write.

So now, the clock ticks. I do not believe he loves me. I believe he holds me some kind of regard and finds me to his liking. That is all.

With another. He is with another. And never a word about her. I know her and she is ignorant as to what went on between he and I.

May it stay that way.

And as I watch this latest episode where I fall on my face yet again, I pick myself up and tell myself that it is alright. I dust off doubt from my clothes and remind myself that I am looking for Gerard Butler. Or rather, someone who is romantic, smart, funny and will have no problem loving me. The only thought that keeps me going is that if I've waited this long to meet that man, he must pretty damn special.

The Forest of the Keeper: Chapter 4 - The Escape

2008-03-19T22:38:00.000-06:00

The Horseman had rode for a long time and stopped by a lake that shone like a crystal mirror. He sat by the bank and contemplated the clouds that lingered thick, threatening to overtake the moon. A storm was coming.
His wife also sat in contemplation but was not going to allow her world to fall apart. She decided to take Saria with her and that very moment was as good as any. She finished packing her trunk and roused Saria. They would be going to visit grandma and grandpa, she had said. Wouldn’t it be nice to see them? But Saria knew what her mother planned on doing: going to most likely never come back. The arguments between mother and father had gotten worse and she was perceptive enough to know that reconciliation was slim.
“Where are father’s things?” she asked, trying to confirm her suspicions.
“He will be joining us there. He has much to do before being able to join us.”
Saria stopped and looked her mother in the eye. She was remembering the Keeper’s words. Her battle was now and right in front of her.
“He does not know.”
“I left a note on the table,” she replied as she packed the last of Saria’s things.
“Do you love father?”
Her mother stopped.
“I do not know him anymore.”
“I love both. What do I do?”
Her mother froze. She had forgotten to take into consideration Saria’s feelings. She embraced Saria.
“You can come visit. Come now, we must be off.”
“Can I go say goodbye to a friend?” Saria asked. She had not seen the Keeper that night.
“Don’t disturb your friend. It is late. You can write. Into the carriage you go,” she said briskly as she helped Saria in. Her mother climbed in and started the team. But Saria felt uneasy. Everything was wrong. The clouds told her it was not a good moment for a journey. The wind whispered loudly. She wanted to see the Keeper.
“We are never coming back, are we?”
Her mother did not answer. The note on the table would explain it all. She would be far away by the time it was read. A low growl of thunder awakened her from her thoughts.
“Saria, into the back. Keep yourself covered. It is going to rain.”
Saria did as she was told but doubted the intelligence of the command. Her mother rarely drove the team to town much less anywhere further and her grandparents lived much further. The impending storm was something she wished not to be caught in. She suggested stopping somewhere till the storm passed.
“It will be a light rain. We will arrive quite soon.”
But as her mother spoke, the drizzle became heavier. Saria knew not what demon force drove her mother to believe that they had to keep going in this rain but she knew her fear was growing with every step they advanced. Her mother continued, driven by her need to forget and to punish, as the rain doused her clothes. They were driving into the heart of the storm and the wind began to howl fiercely. In her heart, Saria knew that this was wrong and if they continued, there would be something horrible in store. She shouted at her mother but the gale winds picked up and drowned out her voice. She stood and carefully approached the front of the wagon when lightning struck high in the treetops and unfurled a furious crack of thunder. The horses, frightened out of their wits, took off in an uncontrolled gallop, causing the reins to slip out of her mother’s hands. With a lurch forward, she grabbed hold again when she snapped back as a tree bough flew down from the broken tree top and struck her in the face. She flew back into Saria, who lost her balance and fell out the wagon. The woman lay unconscious on top of the trunk as the horses ran for their very lives.
Below, the river churned quickly as the trees rustled in despair. Saria was being taken downstream.
The Horseman, coming in from the gale, read the note on the kitchen table.
The Keeper, listening to the music of the autumn thunder, was awaken from her thoughts by a cacophony of rustling leaves, all trees shouting the same message: Saria’s life was in danger.
The Keeper roused the Forest and commanded all who could to help in the rescue to come quickly. She shifted into a raven and flew out of the alcove into the storm. Following the trees, she quickly found the river but there was no sight of Saria.
“She disappeared beneath the water moments ago!” cried the trees.
“Beavers!” cried the Keeper. “Quickly!”
The beavers dove into the water as the Keeper swooped low over the river. The water churned rapidly. Suddenly, something appeared in the middle of the river: the beavers pushed up Saria and swam her to shore. The Keeper landed on that side of the bank and quickly pulled the child out of the water. As she put her on higher ground and wiped her hair back, she noticed that Saria’s lips were blue. She realized that she had swallowed too much water. Concentrating with all her might, the Keeper placed her hands on Saria’s chest. It glowed blue and intensified until Saria gagged and heaved up water. She embraced the tiny body, exhausted but relieved. You could not distinguish the tears from the rain.
“A human!” murmured the trees. All creatures slipped out of sight. There was a thick clopping of hooves. It was the Horseman. He dismounted and ran to the Keeper. She was stunned. After all these years, she still saw him with the same love that time could never have changed. He stopped and looked at her: her dark eyes were matched by the glow of her face. He was disconcerted but did not understand why. His gaze drifted upon the face of his daughter.
“Saria!” he cried. He ran and knelt in front of the Keeper. As she passed Saria to him, their hands touched and what she felt told her that her yearning for him had not died.
“Saria is alive but we must get her to my alcove. The storm is worsening by the minute. It is nearby.”
The Horseman did not argue and the three mounted the horse. He held Saria with one arm as the Keeper mounted in front of him.
“Hold on,” she shouted. “I gallop hard!” And with that, they took off through the Forest. He had no choice but to wrap his arm around the waist of this strange woman. Instinctively, he wondered what that would feel like in just skin. He shook off the feeling. He remembered he was still married.
Within moments, they arrived to the alcove. She guided the Horseman to a room with a small fireplace and brought him fresh tunics as she stoked the fire.
Outside, the storm raged mercilessly.
In the main living quarters, the Keeper was busy preparing some food and drink. The room was warmed by the large fireplace, which cast a pleasant light. The Horseman appeared from Saria’s room, looking exhausted.
“I think you could use one.”
The strange woman with the dark eyes had handed him a delicious smelling tankard of something steaming. He accepted the drink gratefully. Her hair swirled around her like seaweed in a low tide when she turned towards the fire.
“I want to thank you for finding Saria,” he said as he approached the fireplace. “I do not know who you are but I am in your debt,” he said as he knelt by her.
“The word went out in the search for your wife,” the Keeper said as she stoked the fire. Her cheeks were a little too pink to be a result of the fire alone. “She has been found several towns over, in the wagon. The residents found it odd that a drawn wagon had no driver so when they managed to stop it, they found her unconscious in the back. She is being cared for.”
The Horseman sat back, stunned.
“How did you find her so quickly?” he asked, perplexed. The Keeper flashed a knowing smile.
“We have our ways.” The Horseman looked at her with curiosity. Who was this woman? Why did he feel like her knew her?
“What could have possessed her…?” he said slowly, finally allowing the knowledge of his wife’s rescue.
“Are you sure you do not know?” the Keeper asked, half smiling. “It is obviously none of my business but Saria is a friend here. Though she does not say anything in spoken words, her eyes tell another story. You say you are in my debt? Remove that sadness I see too often in her eyes. My heart does not like being broken.” She stood in a sweeping motion, her hair floating around her like curious tendrils.
“We shall speak in the morning. You may sleep here.” She turned to leave when she found her hand caught in his.
“Where do I know you from? Why can I not remember?”
He saw her blush and realized that he was being inappropriate. He let her go.
“We shall speak in the morning.” And with that, she swept away.

The Forest of the Keeper: Chapter 3 - The Meeting

2008-03-13T22:17:00.003-06:00

In the moonlight, she could see that the colors of the Forest were even more intense than in the day. The grass and leaves shown like emeralds and the farther she went, the more intense were the colors. The starlight gave a soft glow to the Forest, something like a dream. On she went and the more she felt like she was in her own world. Her own private world. She felt safe, without eyes prying to see what she was doing or saying. She felt herself. And then she found it: there was a small clearing, with a small knoll and a river. She sat on the knoll and marveled at the sight. She felt like she had found heaven, excited by her discovery. The moonlight warmed her from the inside. ‘How beautiful,’ she thought. ‘I could stay here forever.’ Her problems drifted off into the distance.
She lost track of time, watching the clouds overhead, floating past the moon when she was surprised by a voice, “Are you lost?” She jumped up and nearly fell over. Standing over her was a woman with sharp eyes that shown like obsidian. Her hair fell dark to her waist and moved as if it were underwater. She may have been beautiful or she may have not been but Saria knew that something within her made her the most elegant person she had ever seen. It was hard to look at her and not be amazed that such a person existed.
“I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I shouldn’t be here. I should be getting back…” She hadn’t realized that she had been sitting there so long. Her limbs were stiff and the light was shifting. It was nearing dawn.
“Do not worry,” replied the strange woman with a smile. “But are you lost? Are you in danger?”
Saria, for as young as she was, spoke with a maturity unusual for her age.
“Only from the dangers of my own mind,” she said with a reluctant smile.
“That is quite an unusual danger her in my Forest,” said the woman with a broader smile. “Do you have a name?”
“I am Saria, my lady,” she said, bowing slightly. She had never been in front of nobility but she felt it was appropriate. This woman seemed to command respect and was like a queen.
“I am the Keeper of this Forest, Saria. Does my Forest not frighten you?”
“It is a noble Forest,” Saria replied. “I fear other things.”
The Keeper smiled and felt an immediate liking for the child.
“Wise words, the likes of which I have rarely heard from humans! And to hear them from such an uncharacteristic source! Are you not tired, Saria? Night is when humans rest, is it not?”
“I do not feel much human tonight,” said Saria with sadness. “There are times when I would like to forget that I was.” The Keeper was surprised. This child was unlike any human child she had ever encountered. She was innocence in its purest form with a heart that was open and exposed to all, especially hurt. Particularly hurt. Saria was scratching lines into the dirt with a stick, focused and not focused in what she was doing. She lifted her gaze to the Keeper and said, “Why can’t people be happy forever?”
The Keeper’s heart broke and she knelt down in front of Saria and held her face in her hands.
“So that when we are happy, we will treasure it as if it was worth all the riches in the world.” The Keeper remembered all that passed with her Horseman and how truly happy she felt. She stared into that tiny face and could almost feel him with her, there in the clearing. All those old feelings came back and she felt wretched. He was gone and she might have been able to do something about it. Her eyes started to water.
“Was he your husband?”
A tear slid down her face. Saria gently wiped the tear away.
“He was someone who took care of me when I was ill.”
“Did he die?”
“He got married and had a child.”
Saria’s head hung lower. She knew that she and this strange woman were very similar in some way. They both hurt and it would make her feel better if she could do something about it. She wrapped her arms around the Keeper’s neck and whispered into her ear, “I’ll take care of you so that no one will hurt you.”
Perhaps it was because it hurt still and she had denied it. Perhaps it was because she wasn’t able to forget the Horseman and knew that it would be a long time before she did. But when Saria wrapped her arms around her neck, she felt the last of the ice around her heart melt. She wept. They did not know each other but what little they knew in that moment was enough. As the first of the Keeper’s tears fell, the rain started to drizzle. The trees stretched their leafy arms to create a canopy over the two. The entire Forest witnessed the liberation of damaged spirits of two young souls.
They wiped each other’s tears away and laughed.
“Do you know your way home?” asked the Keeper.
“I would rather stay with you,” said Saria, with a pleading look.
“And your parents?”
“They don’t get along too well. I don’t like listening to people shouting.”
There was a cool breeze that swept past them.
“Saria,” said the Keeper, taking her hand into her own, “There are times when you must realize that you must stand your ground and fight for what you believe. Had I done so, perhaps I would have found happiness…”
“You still love him?”
“Yes I do and I regret not having the courage you have to confront my fears.”
“How could that be? Anyone looking at you would know you are a great woman. I am only a little girl…” The Keeper was amazed. So much hurt resided in this little person before her. She smiled at that tiny face.
“But even the big make mistakes. And warriors much smaller than you have won battles. It is all a question of heart.” Saria looked at that swirling hair and knew that she must be an angel. Only an angel could be so beautiful and good. She fidgeted a bit and pulled at her night dress.
“Would it be alright if I came…back? I would really like to see you again.” Her eyes pleaded. The Keeper’s eyes gleamed.
“You are welcome here, if you can keep a promise.” Saria was attentive.
“You must promise that you will never bring another to this place nor tell anyone of me. Not even your parents. To do so would be to forfeit your right to ever see me again.” Saria’s eyes opened wide. She looked deeply into those obsidian eyes. She knew that the last thing in the world she would want to do was to have this mysterious angel disappear from her life.
“I promise.”
“Good. Now, go and fight your battle.” And with that, the Keeper walked into the Forest and disappeared. Saria stared into the patch of Forest where that Lady of Obsidian had disappeared into. In some strange way, she felt better and with a sigh, she got up and walked home.
As she neared the edge of the Forest, she saw a figure sitting on the paddock gate: it was her father. He sat staring out at the moon. With the Keeper’s words still ringing in her ears, she approached her father quietly. He seemed lost in another world.
”Why do you and mother fight?” she said.
He looked down quickly with surprise.
“Is that you, my little Raven? What are you doing up?”
“I could not sleep, father. And why do you call me that?”
“Hmmm…’Raven’ you mean?” he said as he gave her a hand up so that she could sit next to him on the gate. “Have I never told you the story? Would you like to hear it?” Saria nodded her head and smiled. Her father wrapped an arm around her and kissed her on the head.
“It was something that happened to me when I was about your age,” he started. “Timmy, from the next town over, had gotten a sling shot for his birthday and he shot down a raven. I was walking by the Forest when I heard Timmy and his boys searching for her. Only I came across her before Timmy did. I took her home as quick as I could; I didn’t want to run into Timmy, you see. I read all the books I could and consulted the doctor from miles away to mend her wing. She was the most beautiful bird I ever did see and when it was time to let her go, I did not want to. She belonged to a world that I wanted to belong to: free. Something I never felt with anyone except you. But I let her go. And that is why your mother and I fight.” He paused. It was a reality that he never wanted to face but now, with a simple question from his daughter, he felt the truth tumble neatly into his palm. He lowered his voice to a whisper.
“She knows that I was never hers to begin with.”
“I’ve known it too, Father,” Saria said with her chin on her chest. He stiffened but embraced his child, kissed her good night and sent her to bed. As soon as the door to the house was closed and he was alone with the moon, he wiped his face with the back of his hand.
“I have been humbled by my own flesh and blood,” he choked. “What am I to do now?”
Looking at her father from her bedroom window, Saria wondered as well.
As for Saria, she found absolute bliss and happiness with the only person she knew who was at peace. Given her situation at home, meeting the Keeper couldn’t have come at a better time. For her part, the Keeper felt as if this new being was slowly becoming part of her fold, a part of her Forest and she welcomed it. She taught Saria how to care for the Forest and protect its harmony. The creatures of the Forest, the trees and the moon began to accept her though they did not reveal themselves to her. The Keeper was the only one who could freely reveal herself to a human as a human and if any of the other beings of the Forest wished to reveal themselves, it must be in a Forest Council. Therefore, for the while, the Keeper did nothing to reveal her guise to Saria. And so as Saria spent happy nights in the Forest, her home life was another story. Conversation between her mother and father was becoming scarce. Misunderstandings were plenty. Her mother continued to follow her line on things and looked for any other excuse that wasn’t the one she knew was the answer.
“Is it another woman?” she asked.
“You know damn well it is not!” he replied, getting just as frustrated.
“Why did you marry me then?” she rose accusingly. Those were words that the Horseman hoped never to hear.
“Just tell me,” she said, with a sublime wrath. Take the blame, she thought. Tell me anything; just tell me it’s your fault. “You know it doesn’t matter now.”
And in that moment, all his years of trying to hold up the marriage from his side had slid deep into a pool of mud. His resistance broke and he explained what he vowed never to explain to his wife: how he married her because his father wanted him to. Because that’s what they all did but that was not what he wanted.
She looked at him hard. In her heart, she was relieved that both went into this for the same reason but in reality, she did not know what would proceed. This marriage was doomed to unhappiness. And as the walls of lies started to crumble around her, she was very scared to see what lay deep within. She wanted to embrace her husband and thank him for saying the things that she had always wanted to say, forget about everything and just be friends but she dared not. She needed to think. She needed to get away. She needed to do the right thing.
So she went to the bedroom and began collecting her clothes in a trunk.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I am going to take the carriage and visit my family,” she said, as she threw clothes haphazardly from her drawers. “I haven’t seen them in months so they will think nothing of it. I will go early tomorrow and return in a fortnight. When I come back, we will need to talk.” She whisked by him and closed the door. The Horseman looked after her in a loss. He did not know how to close the breach between him and his wife. Slowly, he pulled a jacket off the wall, went to the paddock, saddled up his horse and rode off. In the distance, thunder rolled.
From a shadowy corner, Saria was listening: she had heard everything.

The Forest of the Keeper (Chapter 2)

2008-03-01T22:58:00.002-06:00

In the days that followed, the Horseman searched for solace and rode everyday. His thoughts would not clear. Someone, somewhere was trying to tell him something but he knew not what. In his heart, he knew that something else awaited him but it was something he could not wait for. His father’s heavy-handed reminders of what was expected of him told him clearly that second thoughts were not allowed. And though he was known as an honest man, as the days drew closer to the day of his wedding, the Horseman felt like the biggest liar that ever lived. But he knew what was expected of him and as he watched his horses in the paddock, thoughts of his raven came to him and his hopes for freedom was piqued. He looked into the distant valleys and saw the wild horses that grazed and grew jealous. But he could not withdraw from this commitment. What was done was done. He was to get married, have children and live in the home he built with his own two hands. His father had grand hopes for him and was sure that his son was suffering last minute jitters. His mother wasn’t so sure.
The night before his wedding, his mother went to him and asked frankly: “Are you going to be happy?” He turned and with a melancholic smile that she never wanted to see in her own son, he said, “Do not worry about me. I will be alright.” The look that ensued closed the subject forever. There was no turning back.
Early the next morning, the Horseman got married and took his new bride to the house he built, close to the Forest of the Keeper. It wasn’t long before she became pregnant and one sunny afternoon, days before she was to give birth, the couple went walking along the edge of the Forest. High above, the Horseman spotted a large bird flying above them. His heart stopped. It had been long since he had seen a bird of that size in the area. Could it be his raven? Taking advantage of his wife’s condition, he begged her to sit in the shade of a tree and rest while he went to fetch some water. He ran off and spotted the bird again. It came closer and landed in a nearby tree.
It was a hawk. And he felt disappointed. That evening, a great rain fell, the likes of which had not been seen in ages. And it rained until his child was born. It was a girl and they named her Saria.
And so it began that the Horseman found love. He could not believe that something so tiny was capable of filling his heart and he doted on her as he had never doted on his wife. His wife noticed and for a while, accepted it as if it were an extension of his love for her. But clouds of doubt filled her mind and little by little, she became jealous of her only daughter. “What ever happened to happily ever after?” she thought bitterly. As the years passed, it was a question that she asked with more frequency. She was the most eligible woman of the land and quite frankly, she was not completely convinced that she was being treated as such. She had thought that she would learn to be happy but she was convinced that no such thing had happened. It was then that they began to stop understanding each other. Something was wrong and she had no one to blame but her husband, even though in her heart, she knew he was not the cause. But she needed to act. She was not happy and that confused her so she confronted him. She wanted this to work and was disposed on doing so at all cost. Anger, jealousy and rage, all fueled by frustration, reared up within her. The Horseman was shocked but he began to understand that it was the lie he had created for himself and for his family that was at the root of his wife’s behavior. He confessed for the second time: he wanted to be free because he felt that something was missing from his life.
“Have you never felt this?” he asked, nearly pleading that someone would understand him. “Have you never felt that you wanted to do something more than become a daughter, a wife, a mother?”
Her rage exploded. How could he be the one feeling so? How could he allow himself to feel all the things she denied herself to feel? How could he? He was supposed to be the strong one, the one who could not be broken. She was angry at him and angry at herself for having repressed the reality she so wanted. And what was it that she wanted? It did not matter. She had to keep her marriage working at all costs. This was expected of her. To not do so would only reflect how insufficient she was as a woman. This was the only reality she knew and her whole world would collapse around her if she let one stone sit out of place. And in spite of all the shouting and anger, she understood what her husband felt. She had felt the same for many years but she had repressed the feeling. She had repressed herself and it scared her to lose that control and live as she wanted.
Little did they know that there was another pair of ears listening from another corner of the house.
Saria was now a little girl, bright and lively, and listening to her parents argue was not new. They had been so for a long time. She had never seen them truly happy but both seemed to love her very much. They just did not love each other. Or rather, they loved each other but not in the way that a mother and a father should love each other. Most of the town people weren’t sad but she did have the feeling that most weren’t as happy as they should be. They also said that her parents were the happiest and the most perfect couple in the land but she could not see how that was possible. ‘It’s always greener on the other side of the fence,’ she thought. She just wanted to play and be in a place that wasn’t so angry. The Forest, for her, was always such a place. So she slid out of bed, put on some clothes and climbed out of the window. It was nighttime and the cool breeze of the summer air was dizzying. It made her feel like adventure was near. She slipped into the Forest and looked back at the shadows that paced back and forth in the house. Their voices were distant. Their shouts were tiny scratches between blades of grass.

She wandered farther into the Forest.

The Forest of the Keeper: A Fairy Tale for Adults (Chapter One)

2008-02-24T14:42:00.004-06:00

It began many nights ago (or so the story goes) somewhere deep in a far-away Forest where a young girl lived. A girl as beautiful as a midnight sea and just as mysterious. Her hair flowed as if she had puffs of wind always swirling around her and it shimmered as if it had locks of silver. Her eyes gleamed like a cat’s does when it concentrates on a kill. She was, in short, a very peculiar looking girl with a very peculiar sort of beauty.
She always lived deep in the heart of the Forest where no one dared go. The Forest was alive, you see, and she was its keeper and as Keeper, she rarely let any human come close. “Humans are not worthy,” she would say but that was not the real reason. Deep in her heart, she hid a secret. A secret so great, she would not even admit it to herself: she had fallen in love with a human. Who was this human? He was just a boy when she saw him first. A raven was wounded by a slingshot and the boy took it home and mended its wing. Helpless, the bird lay while the boy fed, healed and protected it. That raven was the Keeper, in her guise. A guise she would have to keep whenever she would leave her Forest. Within, she could always take which ever shape she chose. It was a spell that bound her to her home and prevented her from ever finding harm. Harm from what? From those very same humans that all creatures within the Forest feared and avoided. They were not to be trusted.
All this she thought as she lay there, at the mercy of this human boy, but as the days passed and she saw that he meant only to heal her, she felt a growing sentiment towards him. A feeling that she could never admit to herself could ever be felt by the likes of her kind. The strange gnawing at her innards. The quickness of breath. The heavy heave of her chest. All things she never expected to feel.
And so when that fateful day came when her wounds had healed, others opened. The boy took her outside and told her she must fly home, where she would be safe. He bid her farewell with a kiss on the head and with much reluctance, let her go. He was not the only one who was torn for in a way, both knew that the kiss had bound and sealed the fate of both.
She flew back to her home and grew distinctly aware that she was lonely. But her pride spoke loudly and her duties reprimanded. She was bound to the Forest and here she must stay.
And so the years passed, she in the reign of her Forest. Secretly, she kept an eye out for the boy, who grew to be a fine young man. Handsome and just, he had the fame of being an honest man and a fine horseman. At a distance, hidden by pride, her love for the boy grew and in her solitary nights of insomnia, she would fly to his abode and watch him sleep. His slumbering countenance provoked strange yearnings and a downtrodden sadness but she would not yield. Humans could not be trusted and she belonged to the Forest. She would have nothing to do with him. She could not have anything to do with him. And so she decided to stop her nighttime wanderings and dedicate her time to her Forest.
The actions of the Keeper, however, did not go unnoticed. The wind and the moon. The owl and the hawk. The grass and the trees. All kept their eyes open, worried about the Keeper. She became distracted and the melancholy she felt was reflected in the Forest. Her sadness paled the colors of the flowers and plants. The creatures of the Forest lived paltry existences. There was no hunt for necessity and the predators killed just to kill.
The equilibrium of the Forest was completely off-balance. The Moon watched with sad wonder and decided it was time: word must be sent to call forth the Forest Council. The Hawk spoke on behalf of all and the Keeper, with her head hung low, heard each grievance spoken as if they were arrows clipped neatly into her heart. She was disturbed that her behavior was so easily seen and even more devastated that she did not notice. But what was beyond her grasp of understanding was that she was exposed so completely. Her nighttime wanderings to the house of the boy (now turned man) was not lost on anyone and the Moon made it very clear what the consequences of her actions were: nearly dried riverbeds, withered plant life, scarcity of creatures. The list went on and she was shocked. So concentrated was she in her sadness that she never saw what was happening to the home she had always vowed to protect. All knew of her love for the Boy-Turned-Man and she was ashamed. Perlen the Hawk perched close and explained that it was not wrong to love Humans but there were some who could not be trusted at all. For what the Boy-Turned-Man did in his youth for the Keeper, it has absolved him from the wrongdoings that many of his kind had committed.
“But there is something I must tell you,” said Perlen in a grave voice. “The Boy-Turned-Man is now a famed Horseman. When you stopped your vigilance of his home, he traveled and his fame found him a woman whom he wed and she is now with child.”
The shock was deft and potent. Tears that were threatening to fall were now falling with ease. The destruction was complete. The Keeper cried with a force that shook the clouds to wake and storms began to rise. Thunder rumbled loudly with deafening crashes. The Keeper cried, scratched her skin and tore at her clothes. And for the first time, she grieved for that Boy-Turned-Man who would never be hers. Repentance shook a thick finger at her and she felt its full force. Gale winds whipped at everything in sight and as the screams shot through the air, the creatures scurried for cover. Pandemonium broke the Forest Council up. Only Sinlar the Owl, Perlen the Hawk and the Moon remained nearby, keeping vigil. But as the days crept by and the river began to overflow, the Owl conferred with the Hawk. With a swift swoop, the Sinlar slid through the rain and picked up the Keeper in her clutches. They flew far and long and though the Owl’s wings were tiring, she could not stop. Perlen and the Moon followed at a distance as they flew many days.
They finally arrived to a small island, far from the mainland. Sinlar deposited the Keeper atop of the highest hill while she nestled herself into a tree hollow. She was shortly accompanied by Perlen and the Moon, all realizing that this will take a little longer than they thought. The Keeper must wish to heal to do so. She must mourn: come to terms with the feelings she did not want to recognize. Her erroneous pride led her to fear the one thing that would have helped her live a happier life: the truth. And now that the truth was known, she realized that her stupidity and foolishness were products of an insecure heart.
So on a small island, sheltered from the rainy tears, they waited.
It was a matter of time before the Keeper could accept that the Boy-Turned-Man was now gone. Not all humans were like him but not all were as she had first assumed. She stopped crying and flew back to the Forest with her faithful guardians. She was received warmly and she vowed to learn from those around her who were only too glad to share their wisdom.
“Live free,” Sinlar said. “You have wings but do not fly.”
The change of heart had also brought another change which the Forest noticed upon her return. Her girlish aspect had disappeared and maturity had formed her countenance. She became a woman. Intelligence made her eyes brighter. Wisdom made her movements swift and listening to the other beings of the Forest made her sensitive and respectful and though her heart had been broken, she did not become bitter because of it. What she felt inside was mirrored in the Forest. As she matured and grew in spirit and heart, so did the Forest. The colors of the rivers and trees shone like precious jewels, colors so magnificent that it was hard not to be enchanted. The Forest became a forbidden jewel, a mysterious place. The trees stretched towards the sky, the beings of the Forest thrived in number. The Forest had never been so alive and life never felt so lived as it did in that particular place.
What the Keeper and her Forest did not know was that the Boy-Turned-Man, the Horseman, had always kept close to his heart that moment when he took care of the raven that was the Keeper. It was a moment in life when all he knew was true. He wished he could be like her, to fly free and live simply. He remembered nights when he would see his raven perched in a tree near his bedroom window. He feigned sleep and felt happy to know she was close. Then one day, she disappeared and stopped coming to his window. He had always wished for the day when she would come and take him away.
But she did not.
By this time, he had come well of age and his parents reminded him of his duties of finding a wife. A wife. If he were to have a wife, he would want her to be like his raven. But of all the people he knew, none were like that raven, men and women alike. Everyone lived according to rules that he could not understand. Hiding, keeping secrets, saying things that were not true. He searched far and wide for his answers but found only that happiness was to be with his horses. He grew to be a fine horseman but still had not found that other piece of happiness he longed for. His father, anxious to see his son wed, talked daily of different young eligible women of such-and-such a town. He was tired of hearing those things as a daily topic and, frustrated with not finding the answers nor the woman he desired, he agreed to marry the most eligible woman in that part of the land.
His mother, however, took note of a sudden depression in her son. He talked of his coming happiness but she knew better. She pulled him aside one evening and asked him in a concerned voice, “Son, do you really love your bride-to-be?” He had expected the question, knowing that his mother had always known things about him, and confessed. He wanted nothing more in the world than to run to the hills and ride away. His bride-to-be was beautiful but there was something missing. He wanted to be freed and like his raven, fly and see new wonders. His mother looked with sadness at her son. He was, after all, her son. For she, at one point in her life, also wished to see more of life. See beyond the borders of her little town. Find new faces. Search for meaning. She saw her youthful self in her son’s eyes. He had inherited her wildness of heart, a wildness that she had long since quelled when she gave birth to him.
She embraced him and whispered, “You will find your answers in time, love. Whatever you do, remember that you will always have my strength when you need it.” It was then he understood that his mother had also felt what he was feeling in that moment. They were both trapped in a life that was not theirs to begin with. His mother held him with all the love she could bring forth and hoped with all her heart that he will find his way.

The Story of Being Indecisive

2008-02-11T22:17:00.006-06:00

For as long as I can remember, my father has always considered me "indecisive and a slow poke". I can attribute it to those times when he would take me shopping (a fate that balances on a skinny thread of a good mood or a bad one). He always wanted to provide for the family but he couldn't be bothered to wait. I suppose if he could have his way, we would all walk in, spot something in the nanosecond we entered the vicinity, take it to the counter, have it paid for and be in the car in 5 minutes flat. They were repeated sessions of absolute terror when I was a child. I remember being in a store in Italy somewhere and not seeing anything I liked. My father placed before me a pair of brown suede shoes that my present sensibilities can now appreciate but as a 9-year-old with a taste for sneakers, these were not anything on my list of good taste. I found them far from my liking. Yet one was never at liberty to say what was on one's mind in my home, especially with the temper that my father was lord of. So I said what he wanted to hear and in the months after our return home, I was wearing oversized shoes that flopped around me as I walked ungraciously.

No hope for landing a boyfriend that way, I thought with a sigh.

And it continued like that for years. My mother would get a bit tired of standing there in the store, watching as my head would tilt this way and that, weighing the options in my head. The counter clerk would fiddle with his pen or drum his fingers on the glass top of the counter which was the very culprit that brought him this particularly difficult client into his life. Taking matters into her own hands, the woman who gave birth to me, one day just snapped and at the slightest nod of my head, took the watch game that I supposedly indicated and paid for it before it had registered in my mind what she had done.

Over the years, I have gotten better though I do admit that I have my relapses occasionally. I think forming an opinion is vital to that process. In a way, I was reduced to thinking that personal appreciation was not to be appreciated. An opinion that immediately got shunted aside when I got to university and which was further reinforced when I arrived to Mexico. Being in a foreign country is most definitely different from university in that in a foreign country, you really truly are one in a handful. And when you really are the outsider, you have to work that much harder to fight the stereotypes that movies from Hollywood (shown, as I quickly found out) project. Because it is Mexico, anyone who is tall, blonde and blue-eyed must be American. All Asians must be either Chinese, Japanese or perhaps Korean. I realized that I wasn't what people thought I was. I knew no martial arts. I was no relative of Bruce Lee. I wasn't Yoko Ono. And yet, here I was, answering the incomprehensible question of "if you aren't Chinese, why do you look like that?"

I decided to be American.

At first, I enjoyed seeing people seemingly struggle with the idea of looking as I do but not coincide with their idea of who I was. But they "seemingly" struggled because my response of "I'm from the US" would always prompt the banal "so where are your parents from?" I found it rather unnecessary that the person ask where my grandparents conceived my parents so the question always found me a reluctant host. And so what originally seemed to me a game quickly became a daily torment for the nearly ten-and-a-half years I lived in Mexico City.

But I decided not to have it easy.

Indecision is waning though I have seen that where I am taking baby steps is with men. I have been seeing someone who happens to be the most decent person that I have met in my entire life and coming from a woman who was used to "green-means-go" from Date 1, I am unsure of how to proceed. It should have perhaps been the other way around but then, the experience would not have tasted the same. He remembers having seen me weeks before we actually met. I was on my bike, ready to go and he was just arriving. He wasn't sure whether or not he should speak to me; with distinctive characteristics like mine, the likelihood that I spoke Spanish seemed slim. I cannot profess having that same perception. In fact, I do not remember him even when he started coming to the rides with us.

The first time I had actually seen him happened much after having met him. He was attractive and seemed nice but I really did not see him. It was only when we were pedaling along, chatting about life that I had mentioned that I was rugged chick. He answered that I wasn't "rugged"; more like a non-prissy woman.

That was the first time I actually looked at him.

Since then, I have been more and more impressed by this man. I have a sense of building admiration for him and when he came to my house to watch a movie (a plan which he suggested), he ate the dinner I prepared graciously (even though the chicken needed salt) and never tried to touch me. Even when we watched the movie in my bedroom (the most comfortable room in the house, seeing as that I do not have a sofa), sitting on my bed. He sat close but not enough to have our skin touch. He left soon after the movie had ended and I felt a strange sense of incompletion, as if more were supposed to happen.

I have no idea how to go about starting something with a guy like this but I know that I will regret it if I don't.

And so I regressed into my Movie Mode, playing scenes out in my head and creating dialogue that is better constructed and with extensive vocabulary, too witty to actually be a part of 21st century informal dialogue. I would start with the story of friends of mine who had died in a car accident but not before I had hugged one goodbye, her parting words weaving themselves into my soul, unknowingly leaving her soon-to-end legacy three weeks later. How because of this I decided to seize the day and not ever regret things I had not done.

I would continue to explain that I had never met a man like him before and if there were ever the slightest possibility that he could entertain of being with me in a relationship situation, I would not mind in the least bit. I plan to be discreet but to allow for insinuation and dramatic build-up. I was writing an Oscar-winning moment in the awards ceremony of my own life. How will it end?

I am quite able to do it. The point is that I have not had it easy.
-----------------------------------------------

And she was not going to have it easy either.

She had sent me a text, one Saturday afternoon. That girl-who-thought-she-was-a-woman was now going to have the abortion, after dithering for two months between yes and no. 'You're the only one I can trust,' she had said and it felt strangely like Princess Leia petitioning for Obi Wan Kenobi's help. If the batallion that was sent to stop her from originally having the abortion were to know of this, they would have been brandishing crucifixes and bleeding Jesuses outside my door, proclaiming me the Devil's Advocate.

I never asked her if she was sure this time. I thought it was unnecessary at this point. She looked for me as the clocked ticked on, a race that gave different reactions to the same outcome. Being a winner depended on what you thought was the finish line: a baby or not.

And she just about to fall behind.

We went to a different clinic. It was much more costly but it was a sure bet that she would turn out alright. It was recommended by a friend of mine and a safer option. The doctor gave her several options and she embraced the one decision that best suited her: the cheapest in the public hospital. Even at this point, I was shocked that she would still consider a cheaper option, seeing all that she had to go through. She had no money, though, and a loan of that quantity may look a little suspicious but to have so little regard for one's own life as to not pay for the best left me dumbstruck.

So I spoke my mind offering only one thought for I am not one to lecture people.

"What $3 worth of latex could have saved you," I said.

But her desperation of changing what becoming pregnant by a married man left her to kick that last bit of indecision out the door when he said, "If you don't want it, my wife and I will take care of it."

She has done it.

Sadness reigned over her heart for the loss, as it should with something of this magnitude. She is getting better and she had decided.

We all did.

Of The Hotel Which I Call "Heart"

2008-01-27T13:59:00.000-06:00

Ever since I was in my early teens, my friends dubbed me "boy crazy". This one and that were all part of my special group, privy to all which I could only give in my mind's eye. Nothing ever came about it seeing as that I was a part of that group of girls who was never popular. I did not wear the most fashionable clothing, have the most "in" hair style nor date the cutest boy. In fact, for as boy crazy as I was, my first boyfriend happened at 21.

Boys at that age were a little facetious and even in my university days, I was duly rejected by several to whom I had expressed a certain affection. I look back now and wonder if it was really for my looks that I was rejected but the thought passes over me in a swell and crash and it drifts out with the tide. What do I care now?

At 33, however, I still have my doubts though I understand that in the grand scheme of things, this is a natural process. We are all volatile and like it or not, it is as it always has been in love. They say that I will love you forever or that I can't live if living is without you. I realized somewhere along the line, change is the only constant and that Mr. Boyfriend at Month 1 is quite different from Mr. Boyfriend at Month 9.

Can such a thing as a romantic skeptic exist?

I mention all this because I had met a young man in my biking group. To be truthful, I've met one for every ride I've done, which has come to the grand total of 7. Each has his particular charm and conversation skills. My favorite, however, was No. 1. Tall and with sun-kissed skin, I felt that there was quite some chemistry between us. "Felt" being the operative word seeing as that today he focused his attentions elsewhere (i.e. another girl). And as I stood there alone, while the group photo was being taken, I knew that sooner or later, there had to be someone who would be interested in me as equally as I in him. For I had Nos. 1, 2, 5, 6 and a possible 7 all there today, I cannot be told that not one is not interested!

And yet, I am conscious that I can err. My previous choices speak loudly on that count and I'm not sure if one can be completely cured of such grievances. I am proud to say that I've become more selective but that doubt lurks nearby. What if I still manage to "open mouth, insert foot"? Ahhh...but where is the harm in that? I've been doing that all my life, what is another foot?

So I continue on my path, aware that I am keeping all these men close to heart for the chance possibility that one will show me that he considers me different from the rest and for me to see that there is something more behind those eyes. Seven pairs that reside in the seven compartments of that multi-compartamental construction which my heart houses.

How To Be Human

2008-01-26T16:09:00.001-06:00

When someone close to you passes away, there is a sensation of the most disconcerting kind. It comes in varying degrees, depending on how well you knew the person. If it was a relative who you hadn't seen nor heard from (or of), you may be more inclined to say the customary words and then go on with your life. If, however, it was a person close to you, you rush back in your memory to that one place in time when you last saw that person. You try to remember what you said, how they reacted, what they wore, how they laughed or didn't.

I lost a good friend of mine just recently. An ex-student who took English classes from me, she was not the most ideal pupil but became an excellent friend instead. The most foul-mouthed woman you ever did meet, Esperanza (whose name means "hope" in Spanish) was as sweet as her language was floral. She came from a little city in the state of Veracruz, Mexico called Martinez de la Torre, very close to the port city of Veracruz. She had been a nurse in the public health sector in Mexico and was sent around to implant a health/education/nursing program sponsored by the government. The worst stories you could possibly imagine about health care and social mores were in her repertoire and in those hours when we should have been practicing the use of the present continuous, she told about prejudice and how hard it was to break through and promote family planning, the condom and explain how God wasn't necessarily the one who believes that having multiple children on a $3 a day income is a good move.

She was there at birthdays and at my last day at work. And even now, I don't think I should talk about her in the past tense because in my heart, she continues to be a good friend. She is gone and I do accept it but when I spoke to her sister on the phone, my tears cut my throat in two and I gasped animal answers, trying to make them sound intelligible. I wanted her to tell me that she didn't suffer those last few days. I wanted her to tell me that it was quick and that the light in her green eyes snuffed out as quickly as lightning striking. In my desire to hear those words, I vaguely heard the things I did not want to hear: that it was acute pancreatitis and that it struck 6 days before she died. That she was in the hospital and just like that, she went.

Her sister was calm and collected before the sopping mess I had quickly become in the five minutes we talked. I think she had to deal with a lot of that before I called.

I console myself with the thought that now Esperanza is having the sex of her life (or death, as it were) and is thoroughly enjoying herself as she never had in life. Her last boyfriend was apparently excellent and I would have been happy had it not been for the fact that he tried to share that excellence with me in her absence.

I say thee nay.

Somewhere, in this immense universe of living and dying, I imagine my friend content, perhaps sharing her bed with the different men of her dreams. Somewhere, she is smiling and I'd like to think that somewhere, she is approving or disapproving of my choices. Somewhere, she is telling me that I'm doing okay.

It was a couple of days afterwards that I find a co-worker worried. She had slept with her ex-boyfriend, unprotected, and he came inside her. I couldn't help thinking of all the stupid things one can do, sleeping with a man who is still is still in love with his wife (from whom he has yet to complete his divorce) without that oh-so-insignificant piece of latex can truly top my list and take the proverbial cake.

I and another co-worker went to the store with her for moral support, when she purchased her pregnancy test. The door to the supermarket bathroom stall was closed awkwardly as we heard her unzip and lower her pants. I called out to her and asked if she wanted me to keep time. Three minutes, the box said. Through the crack, I saw her lean against the stall divider and heard her nervous laugh cut short.

"I've already got the result," she said softly.

The two of us that stood outside that stall looked at each other, faces a bit pale, as the door swung open. The little white stick showed one pink line.

"You silly girl," her co-worker said. "You've read it wrong."

"No I didn't," she replied, as she pointed out the faint pink line that stood next to its darker counterpart.

A faint pink line next to a darker one may indicate pregnancy, said the box.

The walk that ensued took us to a nearby park. We ate in the silence of the evening. She was pregnant and didn't want to have it.

Over the course of that next week, however, she changed her mind, upon finding out from her ex- that he was really happy about having a child. He proposed that they live together and that he would care for the needs of the child.

Then, he also changed his mind and calling him one night, she found him with his wife.

"Are you going back to her?" she asked.

"Yes," he said.

I quickly axed her plans to take abortive pills and sent her to a clinic to seek medical attention. By that time, many in her area found out about this latest development and sent out what seemed to be a batallion to stop her from doing it. The appointment was made, however, and that next day, she was to undergo the procedure to abort. I was to accompany her and lend her half of the money needed for what a piece of oh-so-insignifcant latex would have prevented.

The next day, I prepped and got ready, organizing my time and going to the bank for the money.

A little under two hours beforehand, I sent her a text, confirming the appointment.

"I'm not going to do it. Called the doctor and canceled the appointment. I heard its heartbeat and it was beautiful."

And all that weekend, I thought of how ridiculously insensitive this girl-who-thought-she-was-a-woman was to have not even called to let me know what was going on. Monday brought controlled wrath into a compact email, letting her know full well how incredibly displeased I was to have been slighted so. She apologized but as I am a stranger in these lands of anger and reconciliation, I never know how to react afterwards and wear what is easiest: distant silence. Several days passed before I realized how stupid it all was and asked her personally how she was. Morning sickness was upon her and the dark circles that colored her face told me she was not having the time of her life. What awaited her (for her father still does not know) would guarantee that thrice over.

She's going to have a baby and now, I wish for it to be named Scarlett Zafiro.

And then, a surprise of a different sort: the 28 year-old Aussie actor, Heath Ledger, dies of an overdose of sleepers and anti-depressants.

I did not know him personally yet for some reason, when I was told by a friend that he had read it minutes before, I felt a cold chill run through me. I checked on the internet, dubious. And when the different stories popped up, I felt a hand go to my mouth and the cold touch of a fingertip, which contrasted with the wet warmth of the tail of my eye. I had only seen four movies of his and for some reason, I considered him as if he were the next door neighbor that always would say "hi" in the mornings, pull my newspaper out of the bush and leave it on my doormat. He just didn't strike me as the person you would read about in the obits and yet, there he was. The media pulling up quotes, photos and the "no comments" report from his wife's representative.

And so he is gone. I don't know if Esperanza will try for Heath (he's a little too young for her) but I hope she can at least help him on his way. And as the spirits do their rounds, I hope they can take a little time out to help out the living. Help out this soon-to-be mother, who will not have it easy. Whisper a couple of words of support to the crying. Send "esperanza" to those who need it.