"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
They don't remember how they got here, how they had fallen so far. It felt like they were pulled, and no matter how hard they pulled back, something dragged them down. They did know though, that for some reason, they could not get back Up. Down was strange, Down was heavy. One moment they had been floating, weightless, then they were trapped.
Up they simply existed, they were a mere state of consciousness. Down they were bony horses, running around on 4 legs instead of two. They existed opposite of each other, apart, instead of connected. Physically it was excruciating, but they had no choice but to endure. For whatever reason, they were Down.
She tells them to run, the big one, the one that was called 'Tioga'. She screams of things they should do, but she need only ask. Here they might be children, but they as an existence, were far older than the girl could comprehend. Here their bodies betrayed them, they could feel the constant aging, each day closer and closer to an end. What would it be like to finally be snuffed out? Romilly wasn't sure, she had never payed much mind to the goings on of Down dwellers. Guthrie though, he had become reserved here in Down, hardly speaking. He did not take mortality lightly, did not enjoy the feel of aging bones, however minuscule.
Finally they had reached it, the place where the earth was swept up against your eyes. Tiny grains of sand becoming lifted on the breeze, sticking everywhere. Guthrie stopped, sensing the borders, Bly almost walking right into his rear.
Another young thing had been sent with them as well, it's Mother telling it to go along and be safe. Romilly though, dancing at the border, she turned her head and shook it. "No time". She crossed the boundry and Guthrie followed, he always followed because they could not bear to be apart. Bly soon was trudging against the shifting sands as well, hoping Tioga was able to get Mother out.
Once, she too, dwelled among the stars; they were made a part of space and time and she saw the beauty of the universe stretched out before them. With Morphine as her guide, they dove in and out of galaxies and called out to other suns as they spread ever outward, moving with the force of that which created everything. She's seen beautiful births and devastating destruction, and nothing more so than than when she spent a year with Morphine, exploring everything that magic had to offer. Heaven. Hell. Space. Time. Back again. Yael, however, is not of the cosmos. She is of the Desert; she was born unto the dusty earth, and she will eventually (someday, maybe, though even that is questionable) return to its embrace. She is a Down dweller who has had a taste of Up, and while she likes it, it is not her home.
How curiously odd it must be, to be a grounded star.
Yael senses the other in them, but in the here and now they are children and must be cared for according to the bony horse’s needs. Instead of following Kushiel into the depths of the Desert (not yet, maybe when he starts to emerge… if he ever emerges), the golden mare follows the thoughts of the Gates’ children until she finds them – three of them. With a kind smile and gentle demeanor, Yael approaches, whickering a soft greeting. “Xello…” she begins, knowing full well why they are there, but want to let them explain it themselves. No sense in giving her involvement away. “Ahr you ok? Ahr you lost?”
It is the logical question. Why else would non-Desert children come wandering this far south?
It’s not because he’s a bleating child. It’s not because he cannot fathom a moment spent apart from his mother’s warm, safe side. Eldrian is nearly two, after all, quickly on his way to adulthood. He’s had the mind of one for far longer than his eight seasons of life, anyway. But his heart flutters when she tells him to leave; he shakes in a way that he’s never shaken before. Because the shouts are so loud and the smoke is so heavy (even much later, once they’ve traveled a fair distance into the sage-brushed Deserts, does the scent linger on his star-dappled hide). Everyone is running and screaming and fighting. He sees blood, even – his first sight of it.
He can’t do anything for his dam, he knows, but he still hesitates to leave her.
But she watches him, her cornflower eyes harder than he’s ever seen them, until he turns tail and follows the other children. He feels like a coward the entire time. Two are younger than him, at least. He takes solace in the idea of protecting them, of herding them to the relative safety of the once light-mythical kingdom. Surely they will help, those dwellers of the dunes. Mother Em had told him about all of the different kingdoms, as much as she knew, anyway. She had said that the Deserts were a magical place with magical people. She said that they were powerful – a dynasty of dragons and mages – in the recent past. Of course, that can have changed by now. The boy hopes they will be welcome to stay until the danger has passed. He only hopes it does pass.
He hangs back from the trio, following at somewhat of a distance. When the other three siblings come to a stop, he makes an effort to catch up. It’s tough, though. Even in the middle of winter, the heat of the place is unlike even the Gates in summer. He tries a smile for the others, but it melts quickly from his face. Worry stirs his gut. It’s hungry for information he doesn’t have, desperate for news of his mother, his home that he cannot satisfy. Fortunately, it doesn’t take long for one sand-dweller to find them. Already he’s thirsty, and the colt thinks that the twins wouldn’t last much longer without complaining of their own exhaustion and thirst. That’s the way of most children, he thinks, having no basis for the thought.
The mare that greets them is striking. Her body is luminous gold with a sheen of silver in her mane and tail. Large wings stretch across her back (how strange it is for the boy who’s never seen a pair for himself). But it’s her voice that catches his attention the most. He’s always been a bookish boy, considering himself a scholar of the world, and her accent fascinates him. “We are fleeing our home, seeking safety in the hospitality of your sands, if we may.” His green-flecked eyes turn to the others, looking for back-up should the need arise. “I’m Eldrian”
Romilly turns her head to take in their small convoy, blinking her eyes against the irritation of dust. Dust had never bothered her before, not in Up. The Gates had little in the way of it, so none there either. Oh, how it burned against her eyes, threatening to draw all moisture from them. The discomforts of Down were never ending it seemed, always another to take up slack for the last. She counted them all, one, two, three, and herself four. All there still, even the little one that had almost not kept up. She hadn't thought to slow, she had never exerted her body in such a way. The fatigue and hunger she felt were odd sensations, ones she did not immediately recognize the importance of. Here though, crossing the sands, she was for the first time feeling dehydrated, thirsty. She didn't say anything to the others, doing her best to turn away when her tongue scraped along her jaw. Failed attempts to draw some sort of moisture trapped in her mouth. Guthrie did not complain either, not out loud, but the worried glances, the surprised looks he gave his sister. That was enough.
Bly was perhaps the most frightened, even though she was eldest. Romilly could see it in her eyes, the way they frantically searched behind them. The girl would give herself whiplash if she was not too careful. She offered what she could of a smile to the dappled boy closing in, she was sorry she could not help him more. Down made the body weak, the mind slow, or so it seemed. Reactions sometimes seemed to late where they were needed. Luckily this last time, they had not been. They had scampered, escaped, and now they were smack dab right where they were told to be. Guthrie lifts his head and Rom soon follows suit, he's spotted someone approaching, apprehension crossing his starlit eyes. She doesn't seem too put out by their sudden house call, but she doesn't know why they are there either. Guthrie isn't sure that she would be so quick to care of she knew they were seeking refuge from War.
It was War, to him, in all aspects of the word. From what he knew so far in this strange life was, his people were peaceful. They had kept to themselves, they had often been the broken down or simply broken creatures who had no where else to go. No where else they might fit in and be accepted, and they were attacked. For what? For a Queen that sat on the throne of an all but fading Kingdom. No, he didn't think so, but he did not trouble the others with his thoughts. He is surprised to see the other male speak right up, address the golden woman that found them. She was an exotic creature, wings, gleaming skin. An accent so unfamiliar he could barely understand her.
Romilly steps up near the boy, the one who has just given his name 'Eldrian'. They have not previously met, she can't say she had even seen his Mother on their walks through the Gates. He was kin though, part of the little home they had been given, the cards they had drawn in this life."Yes ma'am. Our sister," She thinks it odd to use that word, sure the girl was her sister here in Down. Of this flesh and blood they were kin, but not truly. "Our sister bid us to run, to come to the Deserts. Mother is pregnant, the Sire hails from this Kingdom. Perhaps she thought we might be welcome here, there wasn't much time. We won't be any trouble." As if to solidify this Guthrie shakes his head, they would be well behaved.
Once (oh how that word rings bittersweet), once they were a haven for the weak and weary, for the war-torn refugees and for those of all shapes and sizes. Once they were a bastion of light, torches held high against the shadows of the night. Once upon a time, Morphine told her. The old mage’s words had seemed sad, at the time, and now Yael knows how she felt. Once she held the Kingdom’s gates open for everyone, as if she could gather them all within the vast reaches of her luminous wings and sing their fears away. Alas, for good is not always so straightforward and there are always too many to fight against. Once, she thinks. Once they had ideals. Once upon a time she had the luxury to be so naive. Once she wore the coronet, and once (and then again and again in her dreams) they died for her.
Once seems a thousand years ago, and yet as fresh as yesterday.
She nods solemnly to Eldrian, her eyes softening around the corners, where laugh lines once ran plentiful. “Ze Desert ees alvays open to t’ose xoo need eet. Come vit mee, you vill be safe for as long as you need to stay.” And then she turns and looks at the star-twins, chuckling. “Oh I raised treeplets ahnd ruled a keengdom at ze same time. Do not worry. Be as vild as you vant.” She winks, cinnamon colored eyes warm and twinkling. Yael turns and looks back into the interior of the Kingdom. It was a bit of a walk to the oasis, but there was a little underground spring hidden amongst the red rocks. With a twist of her head, she beckons the four of them to follow her, saying as she walked, “Een a couple of days, I’ll take you back, yes?”
