"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
How is she still alive? She’s certain that she was dead. She saw her boy. the colt that she’s dedicated her life to. At least she thought she did. Her mind is a bit foggy from the events. Why did the fairies grant her new life? She had heard about the Beqanna Fairies, but was always told by the elders that it was all folklore. They choose who they believe is worthy. But what had she done to be deemed worthy enough to have her life given back to her? She’s just a nothing mare. No one important or special. Was that a one time thing? Her mind wanders to every little crevice trying to find the meaning behind her rebirth.
None of that matters now. All that matters is she was given a new start. That she gets to spend more time with Doctor. She wasn’t expecting to feel so close and so attached to him as quickly as she had. Guess death will do that to you. Silence has fallen between the two of them as they walk through the grasses that tickle the sides of her legs. She doesn’t know what to say, or what to feel. But she does know that she doesn’t want to lose him.
The shadows that seem to follow Doctor like a clinging child lead the path for the two of them, swirling around their hooves, as the newly reborn golden mare playfully stomps at it. She lowers her head in the cloud and snorts, and it vanishes for a moment to come back with a vengeance and cover her sight. She chuckles softly, finding a companion in Doctor and his newly discovered friend. How is it that they both had discovered something new about themselves at the same time? There has to be some kind of explanation.
i know my soul's freezing , hell's hot for good reason
As the son of a magical mare (Anadil carried a strain of Beqanna’s original magic, raw and unbridled), Doctor had learned early on not to question the ways of their world.
Born out of strife and conflict and raised during a heady feud, he’d had little chance for childish wonder or imaginings. He had been faced with fantastical scenes from his birth. From cloudless storms, hideous golems of stone and sand, even his own pyrrhic breath – almost nothing seems implausible, nevermind impossible.
Their adventure at the base of the Mountain is no exception.
Just because he had not seen a horse reborn by fire before does not mean he is altogether amazed by it. Amused, perhaps, because Beqanna often seemed to find strange ways to entertain its earthly inhabitants. It is a rather impressive coincidence that they had both received such attention, though.
He hadn’t noticed the shadows at first, not after the mare’s fiery rebirth. He had thought them a mere interference before or a trick of luck*. As they had departed, though, it became hard to miss the fact that they followed him too, dancing and lively upon the ground even when he stood still. It feels well suited though, the inky cloak he wears now. Fire and shadow seemed a repetitive theme in his life.
They arrive at the Meadow, blanketed in the fresh green* of a blooming spring, and the brightness of it with its veritable rainbow* scheme of fresh flowers seems to clear his mind of the wandering thoughts that had occupied it. He stops there (the shadows continue their flickering, slowing to a gentle waltz over the tops of the patches of shamrock* and clover* underfoot) and turns to the mare with her freshly-reborn coat of gold*.
“You called me your friend earlier,” he observes rather bluntly, “but friends usually know each other’s names. Mine is Doctor.” He probably should’ve told her that sooner, before leading her to such a fatal encounter, but manners had escaped him in the thirst for adventure.
Lowering his head briefly to rub his face on his striped knee (he is still spattered with her blood and it itches), he recounts everything else she had said during her struggle. “You mentioned your son… You said you saw him, when you…” He tilts his head a little as if to shrug toward the Mountain they’d left behind. “What was it like? To… die.”
He is only hesitant to ask her for fear of her being angry or upset about the ordeal – he’d said he would protect her and had quite plainly failed at that. His curiosity, however, drives him to pose the question regardless of her potential backlash.
She followed him to the Meadow, greeted by patches of lush clover and flowers. She had never realized magic existed, let alone that it could heal her. Doctor's shadows still linger and move around sporadically. He mentions his name, and she never realized they didn't know each other's names. "My name is Umani," she replies.
He then mentions her son and what it was like to die. She stops momentarily, taking a deep breath to collect her thoughts before engaging in the conversation.
"I was scared, but the fear goes away quickly. It was peace. Like I was floating in complete darkness, I saw him glowing, Renewed. He was not there for long before it went completely black. I'm assuming that is when I died. I do not recollect coming back to life. Just felt like I took a very long nap," she says. "I didn't know it was possible; I thought I would be gone for good."
"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable in any way," she says softly, not wanting to burden him any more than she already has, "I understand if you would like to leave,”
i know my soul's freezing , hell's hot for good reason
His curiosity about death has been a lingering thing since his early years. He has seen many succumb to it and many who have, magically or miraculously, defied it.
He supposed he could consider Umani’s death to be a little bit of both.
If they hadn't been at the foot of the Mountain, would she have been brought back? Would her vengeful sacrifice have still won her the favor of the fairies?
Pointless questions, really; he'd been taught long ago that chasing ‘what if’s was a fool’s folly.
“I am not uncomfortable,” he refutes her apology and the suggestion to the contrary. “In fact, what happened to you has reminded me of a tale my mother told me once.” It had been in his early youth, when he'd just grown large enough to partake in the battles she waged.
“She spoke of a bird wreathed in flame which never burned it,” he recounts, watching as the shadows play in the fresh grass beneath his hooves. “She said it was giant, that its song was pure and if it were to feel sorrow, its tears would heal all manner of wounds. Only if it were stricken from the sky did the fire ever touch its body. And yet, when the fire burned out, the bird would emerge anew.”
He pauses as he now looks skyward, imagining such a mythical creature in their midst. “It sounds very much like what I saw happen to you.” Doctor smirks a little, looking back at her curiously. “Except you aren't exactly a bird.” He snorts faintly.
“But what if you had those powers? The flight, the strength, the magical tears… You may have been able to save your son.” He can still remember what she'd shouted at the lion, the accusation that it had been the one to kill her foal.
“Would you have used those powers for him?” The answer may seem obvious to some but not quite so for Doctor. He'd been trained not to interfere with death.
As Umani listens intently to the story of the fiery bird reborn and renewed from ashes, she can't help but feel a connection to it. Although she doesn't recall being engulfed in flames, she takes his word for it. "It sounds so similar. I believe I heard that tale when I was young. It's been years since I thought about it. If I could go back, I would do anything to save my son," she says, her voice filled with sadness as she realizes that it's too late and he is gone for good. "He was such a cute little colt, so full of life. He brought spring to my stride."
Taking a moment to imagine her life if her son were still in it, Umani wonders if she would have met Doctor and realized the magic brewing inside her. She looks to Doctor and asks, "Is it all from my son's death? What if the fairies sacrificed him? Maybe he somehow knew that for me to have my rebirth, he had to die."
i know my soul's freezing , hell's hot for good reason
Such strange tales had fascinated him in his youth – the phoenix ablaze, the siren’s song, the demon’s grin – but he has never quite fixated upon them either.
Even as he stands now, exhaling a thin veil of smoke from the fire in his lungs, surrounded by shadows that flicker and move of their own accord, he does not realize the vaguely hellish look he possesses. Short of fangs and a forked tongue, he could nearly pass for some lesser devil himself with his coat of sooty gold and coppery eyes peering from a darkened mask. If he could see himself in full, he would have grinned with approval.
Instead, he lingers at Umani’s side and poses questions like an interview about her experience with death and with loss. It does not quite cross his mind that such queries might be intrusive or upsetting to her.
Such is his thirst for knowledge.
But as she speaks, his mind does return to the notion of the winged bird with its wild fire and various magical properties. A true master of death, he muses in the back of his mind while his ears turn to capture her voice.
“Perhaps…” he replies vaguely when she wonders whether the fae had been testing her by stealing her son’s life. “I certainly would not put it past them. But then, you shouldn’t dismiss the idea that his death was only natural.” Only now does a vague hint of empathy touch a faint print of guilt upon his conscience.
“We all must die, eventually,” he continues with a barely noticeable attempt at sympathy as if to soften the blow of his prior words. “Some sooner than others. At least, those of us who do not have such gifts as yours.” Here he nods toward her to suggest her newfound loophole. (He is unaware of a similar magic lying dormant in his own blood.) “If his death was not a test, it was at least a lesson to learn from.”
He falls silent for another moment, gathering his thoughts. “I believe a more likely reason for your magic’s manifestation is twofold,” he goes on. “Because you fought to avenge his death, the fae were sympathetic to your trauma. And because, in your heart, you were willing to die for him in spite of him being gone, they gave you their blessing to start again.”
He does not admit that he is curious to know whether her rebirth was a one-off event or if it would be a repeating facet of her life. The only way to find that answer, obviously, would be for her to die again and although he may not have the purest heart, he is certainly not callous enough to test that theory himself.
“The phoenix from my mother’s story was equally compassionate,” he recalls aloud. “She mentioned its benevolence, too. How it would seek out those in need and rescue them from their plights, even at risk to its own life.” He studies her again. “Since your new power seems to mimic that story, do you think you’ll become a hero too?” His smile now is a bit disquieting as he imagines the endless possibilities of deathlessness and the gallantry it might inspire.
She walks side by side with Doctor, listening to his questions. Questions she doesn't have an answer to. She stops as he mentions that her son’s death was potentially natural rather than the fairies intervening. “I had thought that his death was an unfortunate circumstance, and now I thought that it was the fairies punishing me. But I don't know what it real,” she says as her voice breaks a little. She clears her throat, blinking the tears that well in her eyes.
“We all die, you're right,” she says with sadness in her voice. “But does this mean I never die?” she looks up to him, confused. She smiles at the word hero. She wouldn't consider herself a hero just because she saved her friend from the attack of the lion. The same lion that shed her son's blood. The lion that she sacrificed herself for.
“When I awoke, I heard a voice whisper" Remember, you are dust, and dust you shall return.’ I didn't know what it meant, but I guess I do now,” she looks at him with a sense of pride and honor. “If the fairies have bestowed to me this honor of being able to help others by sacrificing myself for them, I embrace it,”
i know my soul's freezing , hell's hot for good reason
He has heard the saying as well, how they were all creatures made from the very land upon which they live. He’s seen it himself over the years – everything in Beqanna seemed set to recycle. He’s even heard tales of the stars falling to walk among them, only to procreate and to wither and fade as mortal beings.
But some things were made to last, or were blessed with the ever-present magic to remain far longer than normally possible. He himself bears the blood of the first magician in Beqanna, a fact his mother had imparted upon him in her hopes to elevate his sense of worth (and, no doubt, impart some superiority into his persona).
Oftentimes, he forgets such truths. But his discussion with Umani now reminds him of many things – of his ‘special’ bloodline, of the oddities that have graced the land over its many centuries, of the reality that death and magic are the only constants here.
These thoughts in mind, he speaks of her son’s death without pausing to consider her emotions. Her voice wavers and he sighs softly; the shadows shudder beneath him as if sensing his minor regret. Although it feels a bit forced, as if he is speaking through a veil, he admits: “I am sorry for your loss.”
Anadil had never taught him how to apologize. It was something unbecoming of him, in her mind.
“I suppose you’ll never know whether his death was by design or default,” he continues. “But it happened and there’s nothing to be done now.” He cannot recognize how cold of an observation it is; he wasn’t supposed to be soft-hearted.
She asks the question he had just been pondering himself – whether her rebirth means that she is now deathless – and he rolls his shoulder in a shrug. “I cannot answer that. Maybe it was a one-time gift… Or maybe it will always happen when tragedy finds you.” A faint, dark smile finds his lips – a grim remnant of his desires for destruction.
“I just know that the phoenix lived many lives, each ending and then beginning in flame. It never hesitated to do what it must to aid those in need. It seems a pity that you were only given a second chance of life… if you had wings like the bird in the story, you would truly be the hero it was.” Those, he knows, are a much more common feature among the horses of Beqanna and seem equally as useful as immortality.
“Imagine what it must be like, to see this world from the skies…” He looks upward, suddenly envious of the winged creatures in their world.
She smiles slightly, acknowledging his condolences. “Thanks. It's been years, but this whole situation has dug up some guilt and grief that I thought had gone for good.”
She recognizes that it is difficult for him to be soft-hearted.
“It doesn't matter anymore if his death was purposeful or not. If it hadn’t happened, I never would have met you and might not have been granted this blessing. Maybe it is a blessing in disguise, but a blessing nonetheless. I guess I’ll find out whether it's a one-time thing or if I will constantly be reborn like the fiery beast that was once told to roam our lands like we do at this very moment,”
Her ears perk at his mentioning hero. “I’m not a hero, nor would I ever be one. If Beqanna and Her fairies have more plans for me, my heart, mind, and soul are willing and open,” she looks to the skies, smiling. She closes her eyes, feeling peace as the breeze blows through her flaxen mane and tail. She imagines what it would be like soaring through skies closer to the heavens. Closer to him. Even if it means that she has to suffer with each rebirth in flames, so be it.
i know my soul's freezing , hell's hot for good reason
Guilt and grief are rather foreign concepts to Doctor.
Indeed, perhaps he feels some guilt for his actions in the past, but his darkened heart has steeled him against such an emotion. When she speaks of these feelings, he does not share in them. He has never experienced a loss like hers and presumes that this is the reason he cannot relate to her sorrow. After all, he’s never even met his only son, nor is he truly aware of his existence; he doesn’t know the bonds of parent and child.
He is glad, therefore, that she moves past the topic rather easily. She refutes the notion that she is a hero, at which Doctor only shifts his weight and looks out across the Meadow again. “I don’t know whether the phoenix in the tales believed itself to be a hero either,” he muses thoughtfully, shaking his mane and lowering his head again to rub at the dried blood still smattering his face. He begins moving again, directing his path toward the small river that runs through the land.
“It would seem to me that the best sort of hero is an unlikely one,” he goes on as they walk. “Those who claim to be one seem too often to find themselves harboring more ill intents than pure.” He snorts slightly at his own words, a smoky exhale in the fresh air. Their conversation has turned a bit more philosophical than he’d anticipated.
“Not that it matters, but my opinion of you is that you have a good heart, Umani.” He wades into the water when they’ve reached the edge of it, relieved to see that the blood has not dried past the point of simply washing away. The stream becomes slightly muddied by it as it leaves his tarnished fur. Briefly, he dips his dark face into the water and shakes himself free of the stains upon it. “I’m sure you will make the right decisions when faced with dangerous situations,” he continues when he straightens up again.
“Perhaps the fairies will see fit to give you even more of the phoenix’s powers,” he finishes as he leaves the water.
