"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
Across strange aeons even death may die, it was writ, once, in a universe both like and unalike ours. And it is what she is, perhaps – a dead thing, a castaway soul, suddenly made flesh, an undoing of death in a way that nature must surely find abhorrent.
She looks dead, surely enough – her flesh is scant and tattered across her bones. She is a birth in reverse, a creature taken from the afterlife and reborn, but reborn dead, undying.
(Undying in the sense that this, all this, is a reversal. Someday, she will be whole, be flesh, but she does not know that, not yet.)
She is not bothered by her state, dead thing that she is. She walks alongside Ramiel with a spring in her step (there is a hole, gaping at her legs, where one can see the tendons and ligaments click alongside the bones, a horrific study in anatomy).
They come to the dale, green and rich and alive, and such a place is surely too vivid, too alive to welcome such as she.
But it does, the grass presses soft beneath her small hooves, and the trees rustle gently in the wind. The smell of it is overwhelming, the life of it (she is new to smells, to the fecund scent of grass and moss and dirt, it fascinates her). For the first time she feels nervous, eyes skating over them and seeing the wholeness of their bodies, aware that hers is not, she is a strange dead thing following the ghost king into a place she might call home.
And inside you're burning with some secret yearning
She is a serious child. How could she not be, given the circumstances of her birth? It is difficult knowledge to have, understanding that you are the reason your mother is dead. That she had been found by her sister had purely been a stroke of luck. Not that she appreciates or understands that quite yet. She is too young to be impressed by such things. She knows only that her mother is dead, that her sister had taken her in, and that this is to be her home.
And if it is to be her home, she would like to get to know it better. She isn’t quite certain where her sister had gone too. She knows that she is injured, healing. She doesn’t understand what had happened to make it so, but she does not hesitate to take advantage of it. So while Elysteria had been distracted, she had slipped away, intent upon discovering what she can.
This is how she stumbles across them. Her silvery eyes widen in a moment of shock, but she does not retreat. They are the first horses she has met, aside from her sister of course. A flutter of excitement and determination stir within her breast. She would make the most of this moment.
Though many would be disgusted or frightened by the mare’s appearance, Lirren is not. She has no comparison for such things. For all she knows, an appearance such as hers is quite normal. Instead she steps forward boldly, demeanor calm and quiet as her inquisitive gaze jumps between the two horses.
“I’m Lirren,” she announces. ”Who are you?”
Unfortunately she hasn’t quite yet mastered the art of politeness, and her bold curiosity simply will not be denied.
Lirren
starlit daughter of joythief and carnage
html c insane | pic c laura-ferreira.deviantart.com
She knows her family the way others know fictional characters in a story. Neither quite felt real to her, as she saw the tales unfold (her mother, gold and pristine, a wicked woman redeemed, in the end; and her father, dark and orange-eyed, sinner to the end). She knows the history, carries it in her, but they never felt real.
More real, perhaps, was the ghost-mother, the dead-not-dead woman in the afterlife. Gail, who did not speak overmuch of her history, but had loved her and had found a way to bring Graveling forth into a world she had never expected to live in.
She watches the girl with wide eyes, notes the flourish of color at her legs and mane. She notes her wholeness, too, but draws her rotting head high and tries to smile.
“Hi, Lirren,” she says. She’d never been shy, there amongst the ghosts, but this was a strange new world and she is thrown by it, “I’m Graveling. This is Ramiel. He’s magic.”
(He’s not, not in the way the phrase is used here, but she thinks him so – the ghost king is the one who brought her forth, who surpassed realms to make her real, all at Gail’s bequest.)
“You’re very pretty,” she says, some of the boldness returning, “I like your color.”
It will be good, he thinks to himself, walking alongside Graveling. It will be good for the girl to come along to the Dale. He’s glad she agreed to it. What else was he supposed to do with her anyway? In truth, himself being amenable to Gail’s request hadn’t had any thought behind it. He hadn’t considered what he’d do with a walking, immature corpse-child once he returned them both to the land of the living. He had accepted the idea on instinct. Yes, had been a quick syllable only a heartbeat after the black anchor had voiced her request. Ramiel thinks it will always be that way where Gail is concerned; he will do anything to put a temporary salve on his ever-burning guilt at leaving her behind.
So he’s more than glad when Graveling takes him up on his, admittedly, only idea. It will be good, he thinks again, the phrase becoming a mantra to ward against his own misgivings. Because the skin is too thin as it stretches across her body. Because he can see her tendons pulling and snapping back into place when her legs carry her ahead of him along the trail. What will the others think of this undead addition to their already-motley crew? He doesn’t much care what they will think of him, their gilded-haired, son-of-an-angel king bringing back a zombie to haunt their hills from his latest journey. He does care how they will react to Graveling. He wonders if he will have to balance the disgust of his people with the safe, wholesome childhood of his charge – what will he do if someone protests too loudly in front of her?
The greying stallion shakes his head, spins his mantra to account for these new worries: It will be good because I will make it so.
The Dale opens up on the duo all too quickly. His golden eyes find the river first, as they always do. He can see the other horses spread out in varying distances from it, most likely taking their midday meals in the bright sunlight falling across the valley. It must be a strange sight for an almost-ghost from a vastly different place. Different plane, even. Ramiel looks back at her, smiling gently, encouragingly at her nervousness. There will be nerves for a while, he is sure, but he thinks she will come to enjoy being alive.
It’s better than the alternative, anyway.
But before he can give his reassurance a voice, they are joined by another. It’s a young filly (similar in age to Graveling, perhaps, though he’s not good at discerning these things). He doesn’t know her, and her unusual coloring makes him think he wouldn’t forget if he’d seen her before. There is something about her face, though, something familiar in the lines of it. He is reminded of Aunt Ely and Josc – but the connection stops there. The grey is happily surprised when Graveling introduces him to the other girl, negating his need to; maybe it will not take so long for her to integrate as he thought. He’s even happier that Lirren doesn’t seem to notice any strangeness about the dead girl. “Hello Lirren. Are you new here, too?”
Once again, Gail’s daughter calls him magic. He looks at her, faux-exasperated, but then an idea comes to him. He rolls his shoulders. This time, surrounded by children - who he assumes that all of them appreciate fantastical things, no matter if they were dead once upon a time – he decides to play the part. Ramiel fades into his ghostly form, slowly disappearing into nothingness. As he does so, he pulls some of the leaf litter into the air around him. It takes a lot of concentration to do so, but the young stallion swirls the leaves around his nearly faded form as an autumnal vortex. After a moment, he sends them towards the fillies so that they rain down upon the two. If anything, he hopes it will flood Lirren with strangeness. If his showy appearance will stick with her more than Graveling’s rotting flesh, he will consider it a job well done. If nothing else, he hopes he’s entertained the children with his little ‘magic’ trick.
And inside you're burning with some secret yearning
Lirren would never meet her mother, not in the land of the living. Though Elysteria had been reluctant to tell her the details, she understands far more than she had ever said. Of her father she knows nothing. Her sister had told she does not know who her father is, but her gaze had held knowledge. She has suspicions as to her father's identity. And Lirren is determined to find out.
But that will only come with age. She is too young yet, her determination untested. One thing she had learned though, is that she has patience. She is willing to wait for the knowledge, understanding that someday it will come. And when it does, she will be ready.
But that day is not today. She has little awareness beyond her small world. Beyond the Dale and Elysteria, beyond these two horses she has just met.
The half-made girl responds easily to Lirren’s question, offering her name as well as her companion’s name. When she says Ramiel is magic, the star girl’s silvery gaze shifts to the dark stallion with the gold threaded through his tresses. A small smile curves her lips as she stares at him. The other girl speaks again, drawing Lirren’s attention back to her. She speaks words of admiration, complementing her unique coloring. Lirren nods, accepting the complement as only a child might.
”Am I?” she says. She is not fishing for complements, but rather she is truly curious. ”Ely told me my color is different.”
Her silver gaze lingers on Graveling, studying her with deliberate consideration. ”You have lots of different colors,” she announces finally. ”You are very pretty too.” The words are offered with the conviction and logic of a child.
Ramiel had also asked her a question, which she had nearly forgotten about in her perusal of Graveling. Wide silvery gaze turning upon him, she nods in response to his inquiry. ”Ely brought me here.”
Lirren
starlit daughter of joythief and carnage
html c insane | pic c laura-ferreira.deviantart.com
She laughs as he fades to ghostliness, leaves swirling around him. She does not see the morbidity in it, having been raised dead, she is more comfortable around ghosts than around living flesh, anyways. She finds comfort in transparency, and an ache of homesickness, for that realm that is and isn’t, the tenuous afterlife where a black queen reigns, anchored.
“See?” she says to the girl – Lirren – and smiles, burying whatever homesickness lurks. She is not dead, now. She is alive, like them, never mind the way skin peels from her, the way bones peek through fetid flesh – despite all this, she is alive.
“Yes,” she affirms, eyes on the girl’s coat, “like you walked in the sky.”
She likes the vibrancy of it, the colors adorning her at points. The girl returns the compliment, which is odd but keeps her smiling. Her own mix of colors is strange, a promise of palomino flesh placed against rot, with a gleam of bone shining through. In the end, she will be gold. For now, she rots, as her body scrambles to adapt to living.
“Who is Ely?” she asks, curious. There are already so many names – she knows Ramiel, and now Lirren, and she hears other names whispered, hundreds of them. Some of the names she knows from the afterlife, and she wonders how they are, her friends, her ghosts.
And inside you're burning with some secret yearning
As leaves rain down upon them, Lirren blinks wide, silvery eyes. Suddenly she laughs – a clear, bell-like sound that rings into the air. She doesn’t move as the leaves swirl around her, but rather watches them curiously. Slowly, a faint sparkling crystallizes into the air, a glittering, hazy echo of the leaves dancing into the air. Those muted leaves of light swirl around her in the same fashion, imitating the real thing as closely as a child is able to. Her gift is weakened by the day, saddening the small filly. She had not realized this fact, for the night has always called to her and up until this point she had only played with the lovely lights beneath the twinkling stars.
But she is learning, and even so is delighted by the swirling stars. She smiles at Graveling, a bright smile filled with the innocence of youth.
”Is that magic?” She asks, her small features bright and curious. Her silver gaze turns then to Ramiel, seeking an answer from him as well. She had never considered it magic before. It is just how the world is, how she had been born.
The girl answers her first question then, one she nearly forgot she had asked. She flicks her short, fluffy tail at her flanks as she glances down at her teal legs. She considers them for a long moment before glancing back up at the half-made girl.
”Really?” She pauses to ponder the statement. Perhaps she had walked in the sky. ”Ely told me was born with starlight on my coat. Do you think I walked in the stars?”
And then Graveling asks the obvious question. Lirren had never considered that this girl might not know who Ely is. But how could she have possibly known? ”Oh! Ely is my sister. She found me.”
Lirren
starlit daughter of joythief and carnage
html c insane | pic c laura-ferreira.deviantart.com
A warmth grows somewhere near his heart when Graveling laughs at his trick. He doesn’t see beneath her cracked, smiling lips to the pain that is still fresh, to the loss of the only home she’s known. All he knows is that his actions, however juvenile, have brought her some measure of happiness, as they were intended to. But there’s more to the warmth than that, even. There’s a familiarity, a degree of knowing that he hadn’t expected so soon. Graveling is his charge, yes, but it is so much more than that. And though he’s been responsible for an entire kingdom (and the horses who inhabit it) for nearly three years now, somehow the weight of this responsibility is more personal. An almost paternal protectiveness comes over him for the first time in his life.
It warms him further to see the interaction between the two girls. Lirren is open and welcoming; she does not question the now-alive girl’s complexion or differences. Even as the leaves fall down upon the two fillies, Ramiel begins to shift back. He supposes Graveling should get used to his own fleshed out form rather than the alternative he is nearly more comfortable in. He hadn’t thought of the consequences of being a ghost around her – that she’d likely prefer the familiar, see-through version of him rather than the horseflesh he was born with. If anything, though, she needs to adapt. Her own skin is doing much the same; he’s noticed the bits of gold creeping over her skeleton form, assuring that one day she will be whole. He’s relieved, truthfully, though it’s a sad commentary on the world they live in. The rest of Beqanna is not likely to be as kind to the face of a rotting woman.
Before the leaves have stopped swirling, new light-echoes of the real ones join in the chaos. It’s a rather dazzling display, but at first Ramiel has no idea how it is happening. He looks at Graveling first, his brows quirked. Is this some lingering effect from the afterlife, or is she gifted with her own brand of magic? Lirren interjects, claiming it as her work, and he turns to the young girl. “Yes, of course it is.” The grey stallion smiles, his gaze flickering between the lights and their source. “Far more pretty than mine as well.”
It is not lost on him that Lirren claimed Ely had brought her, but he is too caught up in her display to address it at first. Now that he looks at her properly, though, he can see the resemblance. They are the same bay shade, but where Elysteria’s hair is dark, the girl has unusual teal features. Not that he’s one to talk about unusual hair with his strands of gold. He’s not sure if Joscelin has another sibling (is she Ely’s daughter? Who, then, is the father?) until Lirren clears up her heritage for them. Well, mostly. She doesn’t mention a father, and Ramiel wonders if she even knows herself. Knowing that is a conversation for adults, not the bright children he’s currently in the company of, he doesn’t ask.
Her question grows his smile. As unreal as it seems, it is all too possible to walk amongst the stars. “You certainly could have. Your sister Joscelin and I did once.” He doesn’t add that they’d ridden on the back of a space-ray. He forgets to mention the rest of it, too: that they’d battled monsters and heard the clash and clank of the langoliers. He doesn’t tell her that it had nearly cost him his life, that it had cost Joscelin her once-flawless skin and years of self-assuredness. The stars were beautiful, sure, but he’s glad to feel the firmness of the earth beneath him now. “It’s terribly cold, though. You wouldn’t forget that cold.” Ramiel looks at Graveling then. “Perhaps you and Lirren could explore the rest of the Dale sometime. There’s plenty of adventures to be had here as well.” He doesn’t think she needs the confidence-building, not really, but that same warmth makes him provide it anyway. If anything, he wonders if the two yearlings are past the point of exploring and make-believe. Their lives have already been more tumultuous than others three times their age – certainly more so than his and Joscelin’s had been.
