the Returning -- part one

PROLOGUE.
You said in your heart, I’ll make my throne above the stars of Elayuth; I’ll sit enthroned on the sacred mountain, the mountain of the gods. I will ascend above the clouds, and I’ll make myself like the Most High. 1

And though you spoke it not, your Creator felt the corruption of your heart. Do you realize how costly your thoughts were? None of us did -- we all were swept away by your actions...we were betrayed. And we will never forget that day, the day the heavens fell silent and the stars exploded into glass-like shards of radiance falling...falling into oblivion.2

You fell with them, Ceallach.3

Since He cast you down, the world has never been the same. It fears you, the planet you were appointed to protect. Yes, the very earth you were created to guard and cherish now cowers in your presence, trembles at your touch. Death overshadows it.4

My eyes haven’t seen you since you were banished from Nevaeh, but I’ll never forget how beautiful you were. Elayuth even called you the Son of Dawn, the Day Star -- those names fit you well. Indeed, how spectacular you were! Who could forget the precious stones that were your divine robes? Certainly not I. When you turned, carnelian gems blushed, and when you laughed, diamonds glistened. When you smiled, the yellow jasper on your cloaks simply glowed, and as you danced, the emeralds, the sapphires flashed in delight....! 5

We looked up to you; for many of us, you were a beloved mentor, a wise friend whom we went to for guidance, for instruction, for comfort and encouragement. Do you remember dear Skylar, the little scholar who ran up to you and yanked on your cloak one day, his guileless eyes wider than a pair of full moons as he looked up to you, questions spewing from his lips in an excited slur of eagerness? He was like a man with a boy's physical stature. I remember how you laughed -- that twinkling, fatherly laugh -- and how scooped him up onto your bent knee and brushed aside the blonde cowlick that had flopped over his eyes before imparting grace-filled words of counsel and love.6

Not in a hundred years would I have guessed that arrogance and pride lay smoldering behind eyes so kind, obliging, gentle, and caring.7

You were Ceallach, protector of earth, beloved of Elyuth and His angelic host...8

And now you are someone else entirely.9

A stranger.10

How I miss you.
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{{words in parenthesis are intended to be ITALICIZED.}}11

The world was different.
It was softer and susceptible, not as longer as resilient as she remembered it to be. Beneath her footfall did it give way, the dirt sinking lower beneath her brown toes as though...afraid? Her eyebrows raised. {How absurd.} Nevertheless, the anxious timidity beneath her weight stirred her spirit, and disquiet rose from the tranquil depths of her heart.
The earth did not use to be so anxious or fretful.
She lifted her eyes, lavender irises reaching to hold her surroundings in gentle inquiry.
"We used to be one, you and I," she whispered haltingly into the crisp air, the arms of the willow tree standing nearby shivering in accord. Her voice sounded raspy to her own ears; unconsciously, abruptly, her hand moved to her throat as though to soothe the roughness from it. Oh, to breathe in this place was like dragging in a breath of arid smoke, heavy with sorrow, dark with foreboding! No longer could she inhale -- nor exhale -- with hope's effervescence. {What has happened to you?} Unwonted, tears filled her eyes. She never dreamed it would be like this.
The hour was late, and the sun had long since retired to his veiled divan, the stars having wished him sweet dreams as they tucked him in. No wind blew through the cool stillness, and the silence alone was enough to undo even the most courageous. Having just emerged from the thick copse of oak and ash that hugged the edges of the ring-shaped meadow, she stood in the open plain, knee-deep in a slumbering fog that blanketed ground. With the chivalrous assistance from the moon, she could faintly make out the weak traces of straggly vegetation that struggled to grow from an earth much too balmy, much too yielding, much too poor. And though her legs were quite warm beneath her flowing champagne-colored gown, a chill rushed up her body, and she wrapped her voile-sleeved arms around her middle. She did not need to see the lack of evidence that testified to a deficiency of living creatures in this area—she {knew}. She suffered their absence as a mother's arms are bereft of a child that was just miscarried. Anguish stirred in her chest, and the haunting wail that swept from her lips was a terrible cry that echoed so far as to rend the blue canopy of the heavens above...12

*********************13

Never in his nineteen years of life had he heard such a tormented, gut-wrenching scream. 14

No living thing made such a sound as that -- yet, no airless lung could have possibly chilled his blood with such a passionate blast. He bolted upright on his cot, forgetting sleep, wide awake and breathing heavily. His gaze swept the entirety of the wikiup, the domed abode in which he lived. It’s frame of limber saplings arced wide above his head, the wooden scaffolding covered by overlapping mats of braided rush plants and bark. Making sure that no danger threatened, he slid his feet out onto the ground. His father’s hand smacked him square in the chest to postpone him, and Galahad squinted to make out the older man’s features in the twilight. 15

“The others have already risen.” His father paused as another keen of wailing drifted from somewhere west of their camp. “Make haste.” Lifting the flap of deer hide that was their door, he ducked and disappeared from view. Galahad had no time to lose--they would leave him behind if he wasn’t fast enough. A long-sleeved shirt hung over the far end of his cot, and though it was in need of washing, he shrugged it over his shoulders. He grabbed his bow and slung his quiver over his head in a single motion before following his father outside.16

A group of his people had already assembled in a clustered circle near the edge of the wood, mostly the older men of his clan. Each had at least one weapon; some had two. Galahad joined them just in time to hear his father’s parting words of instruction: “Stay together in your groups of five. We head west.”17

* * * * * * * * * *18

“Mm...m...m...M‘lady...??” The long haired youth with light blue skin stuttered imploringly behind her, his brown eyes wide in astonishment at finding her and slightly shadowed for reasons she could not presently determine. He was tall, slight of build, and the dark strap that traversed his shirted chest was telltale of a quiver, most likely filled with ammunition for the bow he clenched in his left fist. Pivoting, she turned to face him. Ah yes. She could perceive the reason for the shadows now that she looked upon him fully: He was afraid. 19

“There is no need for fear.” A subtle, good-natured chiding hung upon the words she murmured; her arms and hands spread apart in a gesture of appeasement. She watched emotion presently skitter across his young face in a rapid parade of shock, indignation, anger, uncertainty, and finally, submission, in the span of a few seconds. His eyes flickered to the flank of trees off to his right, and then his gaze settled uneasily upon her once more. Oh, she knew he was not alone; the shadows amongst the trees were more than just shapes cast by the glow of the moon. Yet those of his party were too far to be of any real concern to her. He still had not spoken, struck dumb, perhaps, by her existence. So she continued to watch him with thoughtful reserve.20


To his naive eyes, on the other hand, she was like a glowing apparition, and before approaching, he’d stood still and blinked to make sure she did not indeed disappear in-between the fragments of his unawareness. Not taking heed of the warning issued by his clan’s leader, he had put distance between himself and the four others of his group to discover the origin of the late-night commotion. Very much at ease in the forests of his birth, he’d crept along in near silence until he had reached this wide open expanse. His first impression was that the lustrous being standing far off was a goddess, but closer study quelled such speculations.21

The woman appeared to wear a long flowing dress, but it was made of linen not of this world, for it was translucent and smooth. Though he’d never seen a woman without clothing, her nakedness neither aroused inappropriate feelings nor caused him to blush. Her bareness was a state of purity, honest and beautiful, and somehow he knew that what he saw now was the {essence} of the woman. It was the transparency of her character, of her soul. She wore her spirit on the outside of her person -- perhaps as the outside of her person -- and the dress, well...it was rather unnecessary, now that he considered it. But it did add to the lovely vision that was her.22

Somehow she was familiar to him, yet unlike the characters in the stories which his grandmother shared around late-night fire pits. Not like Haruka, Cybele, or Angra Mainyu, those gods that had no concern for his life today. No, it was as though he had met her in his infancy and had been estranged from her until now. He had no reason to explain her departure -- hardly noticed it, being an oblivious child -- but he’d never understood it until he’d realized in this moment that she had been gone. Unwittingly, the softness of these thoughts were revealed upon his face.23

24

“You recognize me, don’t you, Galahan?” She smiled, pleased at the revelation of his expression. Joy was in her eyes, but some bittersweet emotion that exuded from her laid a certain urgency and gravity upon their dialogue. She clasped her hands together.25

“Y..Yes, M’lady..“ His head dipped in a courteous nod, but his dark eyes never strayed from her countenance. He paused then, wondering at her omniscience in regards to his name. “You know me...but...your name I........it is unknown to me.”26

Skepticism arched one of her eyebrows, but her twinkling laugh lifted any condemnation the look might have contained. Affectionately she reached to touch his shoulder. {Dear child, you‘ll remember me in due time.} A smile accompanied the thought. “Go and find the others...” He turned immediately to comply while her gaze turned knowingly to the forest, but the fulfillment of her request was suspended with further continuation of speech. “And Galahan......Tell them my name.”27

* * * * * * * *28

{Tell them my name.} Each word of the phrase punctuated each beat of his heart, which hammered wildly as he ducked a low branch, took two more strides, and leapt over a fallen log. Swift! Swift! Run! Her voice flashed in his head, the words a quickly-scrawling marquee of bright neon letters that would not relent. {Tell them my name. Tell them my name.} A pause in the sentence, a change. {Tell them HER name.} But he didn’t know it!! Confusion spanned the width of his forehead, now damp with sweat, and a mixture of doubt and anguish weighed down his eyebrows. The mental chords of memory knotted as he struggled to remember, and his lungs, scrambling for air, gave him a good reason to rest a moment before continuing onward. The growl that hesitated behind his clenched jaws was stifled; the youth instead dispatched his trembling fingers to repeatedly twang the string of his bow.29

The fog swirled about his sturdy legs, and as he inhaled, those tufts of cloud threatened to slither down his throat. This forest -- the Uaithne -- was not often visited by even the Vidarë, his people, because of its comatose, almost sinister aura. Many of the Vidaran children believed it to be haunted: anyone that ventured within it, their parents warned, returned sunken-eyed, skeletal, and near-mad. But Galahad, of course, never believed that the woodland in and of itself held the power to suck half the life from a Vidaran. No, the Vidarë were the warriors of the forest, the skillful keepers of it, known for their clandestine existence and dexterity as combatants. It was rumored that the Vidarë were maybe the mixed offspring of some sort of spirit and the split-hoofed deer that used to populate the Uaithne. For their swiftness and intelligence they were highly regarded above other races.30

There was no doubt that Vidaran blood was in Galahan’s veins. His eyes, dark and luminous, were drastically slanted, allaying to him the mysterious, vague quality of the Vidarë. His skin was light blue in color, but it was thin; in the right lighting, the Vidarë appeared as flimsy as apparitions. There was no hair above his lip or riding his chin; his father and his grandfather were just as baby-faced as their fathers before them. None of the Vidaran men could grow facial hair. But the dark brown hair on his head, perhaps, made up for it, hanging freely to the middle of this thigh. Unlike his kinsmen, Galahad, when last measured, stood five inches past the standard height of those of his clan. (The normal height was five feet.) But all --men and women alike -- were willow-figured and slim, more like enchanting wisps of people, moving with both lightness and grace.31

Having sufficiently caught his breath, he bolted forward again, desperately scouring his few early memories for even a clue that would tell him just who the enchantress was. {Come on, Galah,} the self-incrimination came. {Remember!} Had he not be running at full speed, he might’ve thwacked his head a few times on a tree trunk to hasten his recollection. {You must remember her name, Galah...you MUST!} The pile of rock and moss he had just passed was vaguely familiar--all at once he was upon the group of four he had left behind, consisting of Belial, his father, and three other Vidaran men. He did not have to look to know that Belial’s eyes were fairly smoldering with displeasure. Fathers of other clans would’ve grabbed their son by the arm and jerked him close with a brutal string of verbal rebuke.32

However, the young Vidaran heard, telepathically, words that his father did not utter aloud. "You have shamed me." Galahan met his father’s eyes then, but not for long. The others looked away uncomfortably, half-turning to give father and son some privacy. The youth opened his mouth, but no reply formed on his tongue.33

What Galahan had done did not need to be repeated; Belial knew that the boy already knew his offenses. There was no discretion in repeating his follies to him.34

Indeed, the boy knew he’d been disobedient, irresponsible, and probably even stupid for running off alone in Uaithne like he had. But his father did not know what -- or rather, whom -- he’d met! He struggled for words, bow in hand falling to his side. Tell them my name. Its edge began to tap the air as its master inwardly writhed in agitated concentration.35

"Speak, son." His father never wasted a spoken word. Calm, eerily firm.36

"I saw---" His eyes squinted shut, painfully, probing his brain yet again for a word that would ring true in his soul. {Tell them my name. Tell them my name!} His eyelashes flung open, and although he did not see the physical world beyond his eyelids, the image of her hovered in the forefront his consciousness. "I SEE her!"37

Belial looked at his son intently, regarding him with a startling rush of intensity. All former disappointment and annoyance had fled, and he jerked his head askance to send a sharp glance to his other companions. "Who is it that you have seen?" His eyes were wide now, focused on his son, dark irises shimmering with something that had not visited those solemn depths in many years. "Whom??!" Almost a demand.38

The youth blew out a long steady stream of air, suddenly altogether awestruck; he was unable to draw another breath for a full minute. But when he did, three beautiful words were breathed:39

"Ayda. Ayda Astraëa."40

Belial's jaw dropped. The three other men gasped.41

Returning. The returning star.42

* * * * * * * * * *43

So. She’d returned. And by a new name, one that had been given to her since he’d last looked upon her: the day they’d witnessed the creation of the earth many, many years ago. 44

To break through the haze that had frozen Galahad in place, Belial strode forward and clasped his hand tightly on his son’s shoulder. The boy actually jumped.45

“Where is she?” 46

The young man blinked repeatedly, entire body trembling as his eyes focused on his father. He leaned toward him for stability, willing himself to stop shaking. “She’s...about half a mile southwest.”47

A grunt of affirmation sounded in the stillness of the wood; otherwise, Belial was silent.48

One of the men with them spoke up. “Shall we meet this...Ayda?”49

The echo of metal -- in sword form -- sliding from its sheath pierced the heavy irresolution of the moment. 50

Belial lifted a hand to still the notion of violence, head turning to meet the gaze of the one who had spoken, the one who was always eager for battle. “No, Jarair.” Slowly he shook his head. “No...when we do meet her, it will be with neither weapons nor pride.” Belial looked back toward his son.51

“She is not inclined to the ways of the Vidarë, or any human kind.”52

“Who is she?” A younger voice broke in, finally steadied, full of insatiable curiosity. Galahad.53

He did not answer, for he was gone from that place, remembering. His son’s question murmured in the background of consciousness...54


{{The worlds Eyaluth had molded -- especially Earth -- were pristine, exuding His glory from every angle. He and Astraëa stood beholding Eyaluth as He murmured across the planet’s surface, ruffling into the Earth’s facade hills and plateaus and mountain ranges. For a second, all was smooth and flat, but as Belial watched, the dirt rose and fell. It moved; it was alive! He was seeing the ground frolic exuberantly in obedience to Eyaluth’s tender mutterings. His mouth gaped open.55

A finger poked him in the shoulder--Astraëa’s arm extended, pointing, urging him to continue watching life unfold before their very eyes. Eyaluth, entirely satisfied and engrossed in His creating, did not hesitate. Continuing on, He raised His majestic head and......laughed. The entire universe shivered, scarcely able to contain the joy and love in that mighty chuckle! Then all manner of tree and bush and every kind of plant danced up from beneath the soil, their trunks and stems whirling, their leafy arms stretching toward them in their own hallelujahs. His breath blew through the new vegetation on Earth...and a sound rose from the leafed nation, at once small and hardly noticeable. But within minutes it had grown to a colossal roar: an ovation. Neither of them could breathe. As their praise vibrated in his ears, his lungs inhaled the oxygenated air, and his eyes took in how beautiful they were, clothed in that fresh hue...what was it? Ah yes. Eyaluth called it ‘green‘. 56

Glancing sideways, he saw Astraëa’s countenance. It glowed with joy, and tears streamed down her cheeks. Feeling his consideration, she turned her head, and they shared a wonder-filled smile. They looked down again just as Eyaluth dipped His hand into Earth’s empty depths, its valleys and caverns...and blue liquid began to ribbon from each of His splayed fingers, a swirling array of green-blues and indigos. The light that shone from the glowing ball that Eyaluth had fashioned earlier -- called the Sun -- jumped and skipped over the surface of the liquid, shimmering, reflecting Him. Waves rolled from the bigger areas of liquid, labeled seas, bowing one after the other to honor Him. Tears filled his eyes. 57

Yet still He was unfinished.58

It seemed impossible that Eyaluth could outdo Himself. But what He created next...they were His crown, His masterpieces, the pinnacles of creation. How tender was the voice that whispered something from nothing. Where once no life existed, there was.59

The man...and then the woman.}}60


“Take us to her, Galah.” The boy hesitated, his question having gone unanswered. But he nodded anyway before taking off at a jog, his feet making not a sound on the damp ground.61

“Then we’ll take her to Sardigh?” Jarair’s monotone question sounded behind his right shoulder as soon as Galahan was out of immediate earshot.62

“Yes. We will escort her to the village.”63