04-30-2015, 09:56 AM
There are some days she wishes to return to the way things were before she had magic. She is too much like Morphine and not enough like Evrae to reach the pinnacle of their potential. She is a good witch through and through and if she didn’t have wings, she might float down in a pale pink bubble, and no one would think it strange. This is the land of the yellow-brick road, isn’t it? A road that has expanded to encompass all the light touches, leading down the path to the Oz of their minds. Only there was no Dorothy yet; only the strange and odd creatures that could be at one point flying monkeys, and at another, the Tinman.
Isn’t that the way of magicians?
The Oz of their minds is a constant parade of color and whirling swirling topsy turvy curly possibilities. And for some, she is sure the figments of potential possibilities break out into song and dance. That seemed like something Evrae or Camrynn might enjoy.
She opens her mind again and is sucked into Camrynn’s past, nothing well that neither of them were born with the gift, and both of them endured some sort of natural tragedy. How odd, she thinks. How similar, and yet dissimilar. They were not quite the two-faced Janus, they could not be complete opposites; they were more the aspects of a multi-faced Goddess, even more than the Maiden, Mother, and Crone. They were the Stranger and the Trickster. They were almost unable to be categorized.
When the memories break, Yael nods her thanks for Cam’s sharing says simply, “Everyone’s story is important.” She hardly thought her own was, though it explained much about her, even if the only thing they ever wondered was where she originally came from. Soon her reign would vanish into the annals of history and Van’s tree would simply be the magical oak in the Desert, erected as a memorial to a King no one remembers. Who now remembered the War? Who could say they knew of Roark, the leftover King from some silly little Blood Alliance? They do not realize that everyone’s stories are built upon the stepping stones of others.
Camrynn asks her Why and Yael hmmms in the back of her throat. They (including Yael) always want to know why, don’t they?
She has her ideas, though she was not privy to their individual competitions. She knows what she asked from the Gods, and she knows they gave her two answers. So she can surmise and draw conclusions, but in the end neither of them may never know. “Vell…” she begins slowly, “Vhen Nocturnal and I ruled, ve deed not vant ze ruler to be based on bloodlines, t’ough zat ees vhere I first looked for an air. No vone vas… suffeecient. No vone stood out as a natural choice. I t’ink zey chose you because, as you said, t’ey xad somet’ing to ensure your loyalty and because you are eenovative and young and xaf a sort of energy t’at ze past four rulers never xad. I t’ink zey saw ze goodness een Pevensie and ze ambeetion een you, and t’at ze two of you togezer vould be a good match.” She adds hastily, “t’at ees not to say zat you are not good! Just… vell, you know vhat I mean. You two ahr ze ekal scales. Pevensie ees like me, and you are more like Vankish.”
Yael shrugs and smiles and knows it is not meant to be mean in any way. It is simply the truth of the matter. Pevensie wanted to make the world a better place. Camrynn wanted to play with it. The Desert had been ruled by murders and liars before, so goodness wasn’t necessarily a qualification. But there was a balance that had to be maintained. Perhaps Pevensie had been chosen first, and then Cam second.
Or was it the other way around?
Isn’t that the way of magicians?
The Oz of their minds is a constant parade of color and whirling swirling topsy turvy curly possibilities. And for some, she is sure the figments of potential possibilities break out into song and dance. That seemed like something Evrae or Camrynn might enjoy.
She opens her mind again and is sucked into Camrynn’s past, nothing well that neither of them were born with the gift, and both of them endured some sort of natural tragedy. How odd, she thinks. How similar, and yet dissimilar. They were not quite the two-faced Janus, they could not be complete opposites; they were more the aspects of a multi-faced Goddess, even more than the Maiden, Mother, and Crone. They were the Stranger and the Trickster. They were almost unable to be categorized.
When the memories break, Yael nods her thanks for Cam’s sharing says simply, “Everyone’s story is important.” She hardly thought her own was, though it explained much about her, even if the only thing they ever wondered was where she originally came from. Soon her reign would vanish into the annals of history and Van’s tree would simply be the magical oak in the Desert, erected as a memorial to a King no one remembers. Who now remembered the War? Who could say they knew of Roark, the leftover King from some silly little Blood Alliance? They do not realize that everyone’s stories are built upon the stepping stones of others.
Camrynn asks her Why and Yael hmmms in the back of her throat. They (including Yael) always want to know why, don’t they?
She has her ideas, though she was not privy to their individual competitions. She knows what she asked from the Gods, and she knows they gave her two answers. So she can surmise and draw conclusions, but in the end neither of them may never know. “Vell…” she begins slowly, “Vhen Nocturnal and I ruled, ve deed not vant ze ruler to be based on bloodlines, t’ough zat ees vhere I first looked for an air. No vone vas… suffeecient. No vone stood out as a natural choice. I t’ink zey chose you because, as you said, t’ey xad somet’ing to ensure your loyalty and because you are eenovative and young and xaf a sort of energy t’at ze past four rulers never xad. I t’ink zey saw ze goodness een Pevensie and ze ambeetion een you, and t’at ze two of you togezer vould be a good match.” She adds hastily, “t’at ees not to say zat you are not good! Just… vell, you know vhat I mean. You two ahr ze ekal scales. Pevensie ees like me, and you are more like Vankish.”
Yael shrugs and smiles and knows it is not meant to be mean in any way. It is simply the truth of the matter. Pevensie wanted to make the world a better place. Camrynn wanted to play with it. The Desert had been ruled by murders and liars before, so goodness wasn’t necessarily a qualification. But there was a balance that had to be maintained. Perhaps Pevensie had been chosen first, and then Cam second.
Or was it the other way around?
Yael, guardian of the desert