The Last Feather: Chapters 1 -4

By Salome Nightshade

 

Spring, it comes!
The Well of Souls overflows,
By the bluebells in the tender heat,
Under the silver-moon leaves,
In the caress of the Father's glistening heat,
Eliar pondered and wondered.
Beneath the blush of Mother's cradle,
All was peaceful, swaddled and beloved,
Fae-creature's songs tinkling trills,
Along Ellindel's healing river,
There was in Southwards the shadow's claim
Along the crooked murmuring lanes
Where wyrden light touches each canopy of lace,
He stared expectantly, breath withheld,
To vanguard his duty, his axe its judge,
Beneath the starry heavens, foggy darkness blew
To cover the moonlight sight of Eliar.
Shafts infrequent of the shadows drew in silk,
across the bough-doors of trees they knocked,
Enemies stood there, wreathed in the thorny mauve,
With youth his despite fright, it grew and yet, he found
His bravery when summoning the with the Bear's howl,
'They are here, beneath our traps, come at once,
Come of the Jaguar's fury, with haste, to me!'
The mist from their dark trails, seductively danced,
Fleeting targets in the meadows with bodies half-whole,
Night's slithering embrace through blackthorn leaves,
As Eliar raised the gleam of axe and shield.
The companions of Eliar lept from the high branches,
Inashi, the Pious came, with shofa twice in hand,
whirling winds his dance, where Eliar remained unharmed,
Hiawiath, the Twice-Horned sprang enwreathed in vines,
the thunder of his mighty hooves pounding as future's drums,
Murklac, of the Bones poured through the inky shade,
his eyes with moonfire's rage aloft as banshee's screams beheld,
Sorian of-the-Leaf-Flute, rose in a storm of symphony,
Shrieks of ancestral spirits protesting evil, claiming the enemies,
Where the afterlife awaited them along the Ellindel's healing river.
The meadows flooded with scarlet and flesh, as visions of terror
Kept all at bay, as through the mystic weald of black, the enemies
six, retreated, came and attacked,
until their lines depleted and dead, Eliar's horde gave loud the
baying of their victory, with hands grasped on heads of their foes,
Viscera splattered for all to see,
'We return triumphant, for the North shall see,
just what Eliar's band will contribute to war!'
So said Hiawiath, the Twice-Horned, cudgel aloft,
'It is in the name of humility and harmony,' uttered the Pious One,
Here upon he sheathed the wiped-clean shofa,
with him-of-the-Bones and Sorian stood,
And they all cheered for Eliar, while stoic, lifted his axe,
In his heart which thrumed with joy, there was no greater purpose,
to behold the glory of the Northern Forests,
yet enemies beguiling already moved to cross the neutral
Lines of the Fields of Maeve, to swallow in buzzing insects refuse,
to blanket with wyrd and decay,
'If we are to return, we must uphold the council to the Seneschal,
these may be of Southern necks, and blades,
but they grow bolder still,' the warrior Eliar orated to the throng,
Where all upon a pall of silence grew,
to seek to quash their contentment at the hunt of foes,
And as the circling of dawn its pale light glowing,
the companions withdrew where once more
Pondered and wondered Eliar.

.

Conflicting times, awashed across the Northern Forests,
and the aging Seneschal had perished,
Aged to the slumber of the tribal Elders of long past,
Their deaths perceived as a final weakness of
The warrior King Tetlal, who now rests in Mother's roots;
The Court of Winter strived to find a worthy king, save for
The Heir, who had been murdered only days before the confirmation,
That he, Leesil, son of Tetlal would ascend to his father's place.
All a flurry, arose dissent, between the Sacred Grove's of Glinshari's
Make, and soon the Serenguard which stalwart held,
Threatened within the Lodge, that there would be no worthy male
From the bloodline to uphold Tetlal's prosperous kingdom,
In hope and in the blossoming of their patron of the Serenity,
Small battles were waged of wits and gold lots were cast,
Elected was the one who held of the most wealth, and the most wit,
Whose Queen, of the Flowers and the Artful Moon, was named Cassandra,
Taking the side of her husband Herrick, who ruled for the years
Where the Southern battles waged against the borders
Of the burning white scar,
Ended in the victory of the great, legendary warrior Eliar.
His band wandered the Basin for many years in service to the Seneschal,
Always returning to the stalwart Mother-Tree for blessings and feasts.
Songs were sung, poems told of the battles that even were bore,
Unknown heads, churning about pikes about Miakoda's place at the paths.
Honeycomb mead was passed as the Spiritsinger's led by Sorian,
While the rejoicing of triumph, the Seneschal Herrick grew vocal,
Calling upon Eliar, the Dauntless.
'You have shown loyalty beyond your own meager years,
Eliar, warrior of Serenguard,' said he,
his prounounced brows lifted in thought,
His burly figure, a cast of coppery blood,
His pelt shining where he knelt,
'It is to my band I attribute my success,' he humbly responds,
The flourshing murmurs of the crowd growing
As the great consort Cassandra rose,
Glittering in radiance to the side of the Seneschal,
With a voice like snow, 'You will bear the highest honour, regardless,
For the Serenwilde now rivals the South, your name feared,
just as the Armies you have led,
and trained from the Basin's dregs to true Soldiers,'
She glowed, with her pale skin, the smile motherly-touched,
And Eliar knew this to be true, but his modesty allowed,
'I am thankful for such an honour, but it is unnecessary.'
The Seneschal let forth uproarious laughter, his elfen eyes as stars,
As a moonstruck elfen slipped pass'd his side,
Clad in the sapphire rivers of Moonfall's sheen,
and Eliar's eyes followed despite his bowed piety.
'Our daughter, the gem of the Moon, Elfelianha, shall be yours,'
So says the Seneschal, arising from the highest boughs of the stairway,
The shock entered the entire gathering, the songs ceased, as most voices,
Hushed, uncertain, and tense within the silence,
Eliar pondered and knelt at the roots of Mother-Tree,
Her beauty, her voice was used to charm the
Cruellest, the most-tortured beasts,
But as he was only a warrior, he only thought of his prize,
'I accept,' the wide-shouldered Eliar said,
Only to see relief in the face of Cassandra,
And deveastation in that of Elfelianha,
And as his mind wandered blurrily with the pungency of mead,
Poems flew through his heart, at the wanton hope of peace and love-true,
'The dowry,' the Pious Inashi remarked to Eliar,
who sat amongst his friends,
'Shall it bring a pretty sum for our wars?'
The Igasho, His mind always upon the plans,
was met with laughter by the others,
'Certainly, knowing the coffers of Herrick - But this Gem,'
Sorian, the blond-locked remarked,
'She is a worthy prize, and shall Bear strong children,
Warriors, for the cause.'
Eliar, who lifted his shoulders felt indifference,
'Coin is coin,' said he, 'Women are women,'
At this, Murklac croaked, and Hiawiath slammed his back agreeably,
As Eliar gazed upon the milk-white Gem of the Moon, taking draught.

.

In the years past the victories of the Great Warrior, Eliar,
His marriage to the precious gem, Elfelianha,
Was of strange legend, as it was told to me, so that Skalds recall it;
I tell it now,
As it begins upon the brink of a dusky autumn morning,
When the leaves of silvery-trees grew dense and dull in crisp air,
As the Mother-Tree's bark grew hardy for winter's kiss,
It was then, that, for the first time, from his friends,
Eliar felt contentment within his heart.
With drink, dowry and glory, the worn warrior felt no satisfaction,
Simple pleasures of mortality no longer beheld his attentions,
Save for the sweet singing of his little bird, his sweetling,
Elfelianha, moon-pale and innocently sachrine,
Many nights before joining would come, the pelt of Eliar's strawberry hue
Would slip between the garden's of Abeytu, and listen,
Sotto, and grieving, she would call:
'Ah, behold the gentle face, within the sky,
Her light reaches beyond my eyes,
Take me from this place, I pray Mother Moon,
Give me your blessings as wings, to fly away!'
This little bird, would sing until she could not,
A hopeless prayer, a ceaseless one, that bore from Eliar's mute heart,
The blossoming fauna of love's first breath,
How he felt, depraving her of true happiness,
To merely become another trophy to recall his battles, and prowess,
Eliar within his heart, was not at all comforted.
At last, harkened the day of joining, adorned in all the harvestal glory,
Beneath the Mother-Tree there union was perfection,
Save the tears of its bride,
And as great Eliar, of the Jaguar's Eyes stood at the feast to accept his gifts,
A word of toasting arose through the tables, and with demands to be met,
Eliar rose, and swayed with mead, yet he was steady,
He turned to her, and pounded the table, with his massive paw for silence,
'To my bride, Elfeliahna, your beauty and intelligence shall forever,
And always outmatch mine own, but let this union with my strength,
Give you the wings you require,' said the tae'dae,
His dark, serene eyes prickling with flecks of auric veins,
As she heard this, she gave her first smile to him, though sudden it was real,
Surprised faces and raised brows followed, as all stood, and shouted,
'To the bride, to Elfeliahna!'
With Moon shining bright, the fullness of her face abreast in Night's bed,
There was no other beautiful day that Eliar had thought of 'fore it,
Yet it was in the following years that this magnificience dwelled,
Remaining at the first thoughts of love, for all after decayed too quickly,
Withering leaves, bitter fruits from the lips of Elfeliahna dangled high,
Using Eliar's strength to overthrow all that came in her way,
Honeyed words and promises of sweetness changed his heart,
Spurned his simple mind grew, as Elfeliahna would take and give,
Until, he could no longer remain.
Plots between plots, lies within lies as fountains of shimmering springs,
Bursting to touch, flooding the seedlings of Eliar's hope,
As all love for the cold, ruthless gem of Moon, shattered into worthless dust,
To take the throne of her father, Herrick,
Casting him out upon the judgement of the Bones,
Resounding cracks of lignting, from the storm of Wisdom's Silver Hand,
Elders from the Forest attended, the Wanderer coming on lilts of autumn leaves,
The Peaceful Blossom, adorned in all Her arts,
Moon-Mother of the Three, rising in blazes of saphhire fire,
And the One-Who-Dreams, through the whispering trees,
But Eliar was alone, restrained by his former admirerers,
Encircled in a ring of disdain, as accusatory voices filled the still air,
To croak, to snarl, Bandrui, Bone-Judger and Collector raised beady eyes,
Her words a hiss upon a humid, swampy wind,
'Unfaithful, unloyal brute, your cunning has long gone unnoticed,
Though acts of truth and valiance cloak it, your death is nigh,' says she,
Raising the crowds dissent into murmurs of contentment of the sentence,
Nothing, Eliar felt, the numbness of his face refusing to act as eyes,
Searched and searched for his companions in arms, who stood sentinel,
Within the crowd, hooded and calm, as they could do nothing,
His fate was sealed, Eliar knew, bowing his muzzle low,
Teeth gritted tight, with straining muscle, the tae'dae accepted waking death,
As water filled his chest, he fought and stood brave,
The blackness reached, and whispered for him, with eyes rolling back,
His last thought before the final rise of his breath,
Was to punish the wicked creature who stood,
Laughing with the crowd whom with she had painted this design,
He could hear the future scream,
Vengeance. Vengeance.

.

Voids of endless dark did come, spinning fates upon needles,
Some threads clipped with the shears of finality,
There was no light, at first, in empty spaces
Down, down, down into spiralling ends,
A consciousness fell from graceful, conflicting life,
How futile the fight, to resist the last plunge,
Into the ravenous hunger of rest and peace,
Where the soul of Eliar, small and humble lingered,
For eons it seemed, he hung within the Nowhere,
Where voices raised dins through the pitch,
And silence was carved with holes of their despair.
Wandering in his descent, others passed wordlessly by,
Intent upon invisible goals not known to him
Through the cosmic light shimmering in a small crevice,
That he had slipped through, silently, resignedly.
The Fates debated, in their soft voices,
Amongst the quiet clicking of the loom,
The shears produced, his soul wavering along with others
And somehow, he was returned once more,
Feeling the prickling numbness of life's weight burden
Him with a brief wash of grief that waved over his heart
Upon gazing at the sky, and knowing the constellations above
Did not boast favorably of the future to come,
Despair, despair, the wailing of his mind,
The gnashing of his great jaws, clamoring to find
The great axe at his belt, assisting him in standing
How clumsy death was, in its conclusion to life,
This construct a mere, feathery instance that where one could
Breath their last, and first again, all at once,
Serenwilde held nothing for him, his once-home
Beheld a ignorant wickedness sheathed in purity,
Within the clutches of a little elf maiden,
How he understimated her, how love had blinded him,
For it was not pride against this woman he held,
In outwitting him, no,
It was the endless torture she had placed upon him,
In a land where things were as never as they seemed,
All his thinking had distracted him, and there snuck
His comrades-in-arms, cradled beneath grasping,
Strangled veins of moonlight, as if the gleam clung
In desperation, to hold its warrirors firm,
Eliar, of the Blinded Eyes gazed to his friends emptily,
Who all awaited his voice in the nothingness.
His voice rasped, heavy with gurgling moisture in his lungs,
'Come to execute me a second time, brothers?'
Hiawaith, the Twice-Horned scowled, as Murklac overspoke him,
'No, we know of the folly placed upon you,' said he, spitting,
Inashi, deft-handed, strode to Eliar's side,
'We know what was done, she betrayed you, and us,
The moonwitch has ceased to entrance us, no more than she has yourself,'
The igasho murmured, moving to embrace Eliar, who hindered,
'We thought we were doing what was best for Serenwilde,' said Sorian,
Who was the most agrieved of them all, tears of crystal in his eyes,
The very sound of his songful voice snapping at the constricting throats,
It was Hiawaith, who held the Leaf-Flute fast, responding,
'Serenwilde betrays us, the very forest moves too slow to save
What is left of the truth we used to know,' and at this, Eliar agreed,
And so then, they all conformed, as the distant caw of birds
Above in the heavens grew discordant as shadows fell,
Destroying the last vines of moon-shine about the band of men,
The call of pitch leopards rang out in a dark howl of wind,
As a pack descended from all sides, growling, and snarling
Within the wake of the Predator, whose physique towered
Over even Eliar, who did not show fear upon the Elder's reveal,
Even as the others flinched at the dark presence, the tae'dae feared not,
For long his soul was as kin to the Predator, the hunt merciless
Against His great pack which was renown for its slaughtering,
At last as the moment of silence passed between their stares,
The Predator spoke, His great voice low like the clash of blade on blade,
'Forsaken, are you not, Eliar, of the Jaguar's Eyes,'
With this a rumbling roar of harsh laughter followed, Eliar unmoved,
'The Pack offers you a home with us, now that you are marked a traitor,
The cities shall not take you, not even the Overcity, which logically
Would accept your feeble mind, to craft it to their purpose,'
Burly as he was, Eliar shrunk inwardly upon the comment,
Though truth was in it, the flesh and heart were raw,
Turning to his companions,
He stepped forward and knelt at the Predator's feet,
Whose smile was pointed and leering,
'Your path is the victorious one, Eliar, the Lumbering,' rumbled He,
'All the loyalty within your heart shall be tested,
Though as to when, and where, who can say,'
His companions fell, one by one to their knees,
Swearing their souls to the cold-eyed Predator,
That Eliar felt a forming, new kinship.