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Surviving the Fall
by Chutnee BornOdepression

Like children on a seesaw,
We let life push us up and down:
Sometimes rising way high up,
And sometimes rudely hitting ground.

I suppose, if one tends to rush headfirst into situations, falls are inevitable. I suppose, if one does not analyze the motivations behind others' actions but accepts them at face value, such falls can be quite hard. I suppose all this, but know it will not change me. I am a rusher and non-analyzer. To be anything else is not to live life to the fullest. And life is all that matters, making it as stuffed with sensation as possible.

Perhaps that is the real reason this particular fall so unnerved me, because it denied life in many ways. Perhaps the reason is that I imagined myself more "attuned" to the emanations of those around me. Perhaps it is simply that I was betrayed, though betrayal -- in and of itself -- has never so unnerved me before. I consider that too but a part of life, a sensation to be savored.

Let me truly recommence this tale by saying the decision I had come to about carrying Vazridth's baby to term, instead of adhering to the arrangements we had previously made about having the infant cut from me early, did not suddenly change me into a maternal type. At the Oleani Fest, I overindulged in cinnamon liquor as tongues clucked about my disregard for my condition. I rode in the mine cart, my stomach churning, but I wasn't going to miss the sensation, the thrill. I just wasn't. All this being said, however, I also was of a mind that the infant was vicariously getting all these sensations of life through me. That the unborn did not have to be treated like blown glass, but instead should be immersed in the very fullness of living.

Hearing of my escapades in this regard of course angered Vazridth. I did not expect less. And was not in any way aghast when he himself used the infliction of physical pain upon me to try and demonstrate what I was doing to HIS child, as he insisted on calling the unborn within MY body. Even this, however, did not much fluster me. I accepted the fullness of sensation -- even though in this case was less than enticing -- and went on about my business.

But life is odd sometimes, and my body itself decided to rebel... or perhaps the infant so decided. In any case I found myself in a situation, bleeding and cramping badly, where I needed to get to Odevalis for help. I found her in the Hall of Wounded Heart that night and, after a quick examination, she told me frankly there was now no choice: she would have to take the infant early or both the child and myself would likely die. Vazridth arrived in the temple as she was trying to tend to me, and at first he believed me to be "faking" the problem. Until he realized how concerned Ode was, and then all he kept saying was for her to "fix it."

From the shadows we heard the voice of Armaxis advising that this was no place for a child to be born, on the cold temple floor, and he counseled getting me to my home. This they did, with Ode and Vazridth supporting me between them. Armaxis followed as we made our way -- a most strange procession indeed -- to my bungalow. A block or two from the door I all but collapsed, and Vazridth carried me the rest of the way and then laid me on the fur pillows in my house.

Kadesha came. Apparently Odevalis had told her there was trouble via private thought. And it was an odd assemblage about me in many ways, except for my dear Ode. Vazridth and Armaxis pressed Ode to get everything done rightly, as this infant was of Luukos and theirs to take. Kadesha was solicitous of my welfare, and yet disputing with both Armaxis and Vazridth at every turn. I, meanwhile, was in absolute agony and endeavoring not to think death was eagerly awaiting either myself or the infant. I had no intention of keeping, raising or mothering this child, but I wanted him or her to have life. Life is the essence of all, and no one will ever convince me otherwise. The soul may have its place, but the flesh is immediate ...and immediately satisfying.

Again it was Armaxis who seemed the most concerned with aiding in the entry of this child whole and living into the world. Vazridth was too anxious and flustered to be of much use. And it was indeed Armaxis who found and handed Ode the things for which she asked to begin the procedure of cutting. Odevalis did ask Kadesha to hold me and to bless the blade as an added precaution before she began the process. ...And then it started -- the cutting - and, the pain was so excruciating, I began to wonder if death -- as a quick and final end to such pain -- might not even be preferable (a great deal for this firmly-grounded Ivasian to even momentarily ponder).

Though she talked encouragingly to me throughout the whole ordeal, as did Kadesha, I could see Ode was truly alarmed. But, with the sure hand of one who empathically knows every muscle and blood vessel in a sylvan body, Odevalis managed to make the cut and remove the infant living from me. She handed the child -- a boy -- off to Kadesha to get breathing, while she transferred my wounds onto herself and healed them down. Kadesha cleared the phlegm from the babe's lungs with a tap on the back and this new little being began to scream for attention most demandingly. Ode examined him thoroughly, once I had been properly seen to, making sure all was aright, and then pronounced him healthy and whole. I leaned back amidst the pillows and considered my part in all this at last done. The boy had life: was all I had wanted to be sure he received from me.

But things seldom turn out as we expect. After wrapping the infant in the blanket my mother had provided her -- a blanket apparently which had held newborn male children in my sylvan family for many generations, Ode made to hand me the babe. Armaxis protested this, as did Vazridth, insisting the child be handed over to them. Ode hesitated, but I told her to do as they asked for I had struck a bargain -- a bargain in many ways, considering the circumstances of curses and counter-curses which had been bandied about, between Ivas and Luukos -- and I would not go back on my word. Accordingly Odevalis, with a small sigh of regret, handed his son over to Vazridth.

To say Vazridth was excited and thrilled with the reality of his son is putting it really very mildly. I had never seen such... non-self-centered animation and emotion in this oddly hot-blooded snake. He cooed and clamored over the child, his face an unexpected visage of pure joy. He thanked me for this "gift" I had given him, and kissed me on the forehead most benevolently. He showed the infant off to Armaxis, and the elder snake asked to hold the babe. Vazridth handed the boy to him, saying, "Yes, bless my son. Let Luukos bless him." And then the unspeakable act...

Armaxis held that newborn in his arms and began chanting in that arcane tongue he often uses in ceremonies to his god. Though the unfamiliar sound of his words was definitely disquieting, I believe all of us in that room -- even Vazridth who surely was somewhat familiar with the content of that chant -- thought Armaxis to be but performing an elaborate form of Luukosian blessing. Yet the sound of those unknown words, the very cadence of them as it were, seemed to fill us all with a sort of lethargy, as if our bodies were relaxing against our wills. When that lethargy had fully overtaken us, Armaxis produced a dagger from his inky robes and with a startling cry to his serpent god, stabbed the infant firmly through the heart.

I felt my own heart stop momentarily as my limbs refused to move. Odevalis attempted to lunge toward Armaxis and only managed to fall flat on her face, her limbs too leaden to obey her. Kadesha, unable to rise to her feet because of the strange hypnosis, crawled toward Armaxis, but could not seem to find the strength needed to strike at him. Vazridth raised his sword and did strike at Armaxis, but the blow in the cloying atmosphere was off-timed and off-center and did little damage. Meanwhile Armaxis himself shouted about an innocent and unsullied soul, in all its freshness of new life, having been offered to the emerald coils of the serpent god and, to maintain the "purity" of this pristine sacrifice, the mother must follow.

Ode screamed as I recall. I seem to remember the horror in her voice reaching my ears as Armaxis sent a wave of darkness over me that tore me to ribbons where I lay upon the pillows. I did not physically feel the jolt to my body so much as emotionally sense it as my last breath escaped my lips. And then Armaxis dropped the babe like a used rag to the floor of the bungalow -- blood from the little corpse bathing that blue blanket in which he was wrapped, and strode out the door into the night, leaving the living women wailing in mourning and Vazridth spluttering in bewilderment.

Odevalis and Kadesha finally were able to move again and they came to my bedside, intent on resurrecting me before my soul departed into the final blackness. But I begged them instead to see to the child. Kadesha reminded me the babe was too young to be resurrected, that her clerical magic would likely prove ineffectual. I knew this was the established idea. I knew Kadesha would be risking her own life to try such a feat. Yet all I wanted for my son was life. Nothing more but nothing less. And Armaxis had stolen it from him. I would not let the snake, who had so effectively betrayed me with kindness, keep his triumph.

I pleaded with Kadesha and, seeing my distress, she agreed to at least attempt the all-but-impossible. I asked Ode to heal up my dead son's gaping chest wound, knowing this was dangerous for her as well, to connect empathically with one so young. Ode only nodded solemnly, however, and proceeded to take the wound from the babe's little broken body. I will never forget her face, a mask of such concentration and anguish, I found myself emitting the wail of the dead. But she stoically endured the unusual intensity of the pain and successfully took the wound onto herself. Then Kadesha traced a symbol of Lorministra upon the head of the infant and called upon her goddess to aid her in restoring life to one who had not yet truly even tasted of it. The bolt of light which surrounded my son was particularly bright -- blinding, and I saw Kadesha's brow furrow in wordless angst as from her spirit alone -- since his, so fresh and untried, had unknowingly already fled into oblivion -- she revived life in this tiny being.

Vazridth watched the whole procedure with his eyes round and glassy, his sword still poised within his fist. He said nothing, not a word. But, when breath returned to the lungs of the babe, his face glowed with a sort of reverent exaltation.

Before I would permit Kadesha to raise me, I made her promise that she would take my child far away to safety. To Vazridth I stated firmly, "The bargain is done, and this child is entirely mine now. And I will have Kadesha take him, Vazridth, and ye will not naysay this." Vazridth only nodded, still stunned at all that had happened. Kadesha performed the rite of resurrection upon me, and then I held my infant in my arms for the first... and last... time.

His body was warm and soft. And despite the bloody blanket, which yet surrounded him, he smelled of new skin and new life. I told Vazridth I would permit him to name the child. "Shilan Rendahl," he pronounced, "after my father." I nodded. "From this time forward, so shall he be called," I assented. Vazridth then asked to say goodbye to his son, and I handed the infant to him. He kissed Shilan's forehead and shed a single tear which fell upon the babe's cheek, and then he handed the boy back to me with a murmured "I'm sorry" and wandered out into the night.

I fondled and caressed little Shilan a while longer while Kadesha spoke of a place she knew where holy women of Lorministra took in babes in particular danger from the throes of Luukos. As one of Lornon myself, I was not quite comfortable with the idea of sending the child to such, but I knew of no other way to protect him for I surely had not the power so to do. I did beg that he be taught music; to which wish she said she did not see why the holy women would object.

I fed my son at my breast before I kissed him final farewell and gave him into Kadesha's custody. As the dwarven priestess wrapped the child in her beard to secure him against discovery as well as the cold, I knew I would never see him again. She made her way into the blackness of the surrounding nightfall through the door of my bungalow with my eyes glued to the sight of her back for as long as I could see it. Ode stayed and soothed me a while, and then bade me rest. I was indeed exhausted. After my dear friend Odevalis had left, I fell quickly into a deep slumber... and dreamed of a musician of great talent and renown called Shilan.

In the weeks following my son's birth, I became most uneasy. I wondered if I any longer pleased my goddess. I resumed full service to Her, including the dancing in Her honor in the temple and at private gatherings. Yet would I kneel many hours before Her red altar in the Hall of Wounded Heart in the IceMule Temple and wait in vain for the green smoke to rise from the incense burner, indicating Her pleasure. I sensed a... disgruntlement in Her for my "collaboration" with those of Liabo in providing my son life through the auspices of She of the Golden Key.

If I was in emotional turmoil over this, I must admit Vazridth was in emotional chaos. His bewilderment deepened and he was often distracted. At this point in time only those who had been gathered in my bungalow during Shilan's resurrection and subsequent placing in Kadesha's care knew the full truth of what had occurred. Most simply believed Shilan dead, sacrificed by Armaxis' hand, and gone from all boundaries of the living. Those in the circle of Liaboists surrounding my mother comforted and consoled Vazridth, therefore, and tried ceaselessly to suborn him away from Luukos during this time of his obvious vulnerability. When the pressure of their words haunted him too much, he would come to me.

In my anguish he seemed to find the mirror of his own. We formed an understanding. I knew he was leaning heavily upon the Amasalenite witch, his betrothed Bablistia, to keep him grounded in his faith. Yet apparently she could not soothe other needs in him for reassurance, while I could and did. He thus visited me often, and it was during one of these frequent visits that he discovered my guilty secret...

Behind a small screen of fire-branded crimson leather to the right of the fireplace of obsidian within my bungalow I kept a... memorial to Shilan. Though it was not so much a memorial as a... shrine to ensure the proper wandering of his spirit in this world. While not soul-oriented, I yet firmly believe that darkness knows its own. And Shilan had been born of the darkness -- of the joining of one of Ivas and one of Luukos. Lorministra was truly not his mistress, nor could She ever be. He was of dark, of Lornon, and in the end such would be his fate, I was certain. But I was still angry with Luukos for Armaxis' foul act, and I could not bear to envision my son somehow drifting naturally toward the serpent. So I had set up the shrine: a pale blue candle kept ever burning, a small lute-shaped rattle I had once intended to give my babe as a gift, an incense burner to Ivas steadily and comfortingly emitting Her green smoke, and a serpent rag doll with a dagger stuck firmly through it.

The shock on Vazridth's face when he pulled aside the small collapsible panel to reveal these sights was something I will not soon forget. "What are you doing?" he screamed at me, his voice wild not only with rage but with fear as well. Narrowing my eyes as I gazed at him, I responded, "I am helping Her to find Shilan, Vazridth, and to keep him to Herself."

"Are you insane?" he demanded. "You will kill the boy! Luukos will find him through Ivas! She is His lover! She will not deny Him!"

I shook my head emphatically. "She will guard him to Herself. The candle will guide Her to Shilan. I keep it always lit."

Angrily and impetuously, Vazridth purposely knocked over the candle, snuffing it out. "No!" I wailed out in distress. But all too late and all for naught. The candle was extinguished and the sacredness of the rite had been desecrated.

"Vazridth, it is ye who will kill Shilan!" I spat out venomously. "Yer greedy serpent god will come across him now while he has no protection. The darkness always knows its own, Vazridth. Shilan, therefore, needs Her to protect him from Luukos."

Vazridth dismissed my words with a wave of his hand and slammed out of my bungalow.

A few days later in the Hall of Holy Struggle I came across him harried and alone. His speech was wild, as were his eyes. He talked about requiring redemption so that he might know his son at last. The Liaboists of my mother's circle were soon surrounding him, hemming him in with talk of how true this was. But I asked Vazridth outright, "Do ye ever feel we did not quite wrong, Vazridth, but not quite right? And that we will have to be punished by our gods to be cleansed of our... misjudgment?" He seemed to ponder this while the Liaboists tried to assure punishment would only strike if he did not come fully into the light. And then he did it... he took his dagger and carved his tattoo of the serpent -- Luukos' symbol -- from his forearm.

As others tended to his bleeding and he seemed much demoralized by his own deed, I reminded him again, "The darkness always knows its own, Vazridth. We cannot escape what we are" and left him in the care of the Liaboists.

Yet in the end I must suppose my words did ring true to him. Several days later I heard that Vazridth had announced to all in the Hall of Mind the truth about Shilan's whereabouts and how he himself intended to insure the boy "walked with Luukos" though as a living being. "I know a way," he pledged all who doubted such a thing possible, who tried to verbally pound into his skull that Luukos would only immediately kill Shilan for his soul because the babe had been a "sacrifice stolen".

For now I know not what will happen in this regard. Vazridth is certain there is a way to secure Shilan life while still guiding him into Luukos' twining emerald coils. I will be honest and admit I would prefer Ivas guided my son's steps into Her own green smoke, but that Shilan is of the dark I cannot and do not deny. Lorministra's ways in the end will not hold him as he grows. So, if the bargain with Luukos can be struck now in some way by Vazridth in Shilan's behalf, I cannot object to such a purpose. And perhaps such a bargain, guaranteeing to Lornon what is of Lornon, will as well regain me full favor in the eyes of my own goddess.

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