They go back.
Back, when violence bloodied the bodies of Baltians and Stratosians. Back, when war was new and the fight was fresh in their minds. Back, when the middle earthland was destroyed – and back further when it was unmarked and unmarred. Back, when a few of each of them met secretly, before it was a total impossibility. Back, when two foals found a playmate in each other. Back, when the sound of fighting was replaced by the giggles of two children kicking up their heels on a shoreline.
It should be dizzying, this hurried foray into the past, but Glaw is so absorbed in solving the mystery that she hardly notices her stomach’s flutter. She watches everything play out with a keen gaze, seeing the crescendo of war in reverse and understanding the ‘how’ if not the ‘why.’
All of the skirmishes become like fire ants building a colony; small in number at first, but capable of so much pain as their numbers swell. Her skin itches with it all. She so desperately wants to shout out at every point they reach. She wants to inform them of the terrible path they are on, regardless of the starting point that she and the other Beqannans will soon see. She wants to throw herself between the fins of the Baltians and the wings of the Stratosians. She wants them to see what they have become: creatures of violence and hatred, creatures of misplaced history and a sad, improbable future.
But she is whisked further back until her own feet sink into the sand near the crashing shoreline.
Two little lives intersect here, and it feels like their time-travel is at an end.
Glaw watches with the ghost of an uncertain smile on her lips. The boy and girl become braver and surer of their sudden friendship in the way that only children can. It softens the lines of tension that run through her limbs and tighten her jaw. She doesn’t suspect what will happen. She thinks it not be so horrible, not so bloody, in that naïve way of her’s. Maybe the parents will come and demand them not to play, maybe that sparks the nightmare war? Surely, it won’t be the double death of the innocents so content in the company of a stranger?
But then she sees it. The Roc nestled above the colt and the filly makes its presence known when it shifts forward. Rocks fall and Glaw screams uselessly just before the crunch as they meet the boy’s skull. The girl follows him down into the water, and as more rocks follow her, she does not resurface.
Glaw feels her own heart go with them as it sinks deeper into the cavity of her chest. She feels cold, suddenly – helpless in a way she has never been before. To be a spectator to such unbridled joy and to have it ripped away by the grisly hands of history is almost more than she can bear.
The parents come and she can understand it all now. She can see the direct line of devastation turning to misunderstanding turning to outright hatred forming in the corners of Stratosian and Baltian eyes. It is obvious why the battlefields are littered with them all throughout the centuries. One bouncing boy and one brave girl and the love of their families all shattered together.
The sprite that has carried her through time does it again. This time, Glaw swears she can feel the gravity of it stronger than ever. This time, her bones feel grounded and her blood feels warm as they both propel her forward, an active participant in time once again.
“Please,” she starts gently, her voice like the morning’s first songbird. She bows her head at the same time and when she lifts it, there is pain in her eyes. It is not the pain of a parent but that of the observer, of the informed. Not greater and not lesser, but different. “It was an accident. They were just playing and the Roc knocked stones from the cliff and they just fell. They were friends.” She had meant to explain it slowly and clearly, but emotion rushes her words and pricks tears in her eyes. She can’t get the images out of her mind. She doesn’t think she ever will. “If I could have stopped it, I would have. It was a terrible accident.”
They stand before her, both parties so different from herself and most of Beqanna. It is clear that one belongs to the sky and one belongs to the sea, in the same way that she herself belongs to the sunrise lands. But that doesn’t mean they have to isolate themselves. That doesn’t mean that they can’t all live cohesively, learning from each other and appreciating their differences as strengths. They have lost something dear to them and Glaw realizes with a start that she could, too.
If this rift isn’t sealed here, it will tear Beqanna apart.
“Please,” she repeats, her voice stronger now but not losing its undercurrent of compassion. “Have their deaths become a unifying occurrence, not something that will forever cleave your two people. Celebrate their lives and their ability to see past what set them apart in their pursuit of pure happiness. Have this be the day that the kingdoms of Baltia and Stratos grieve together. Have tomorrow be the day that they both move forward together.” She pauses, hopes beyond hope that it is enough to save her own home. “Do it together. Imagine how much bigger and better your world and lives will be for it.”
glaw