Return to Valjiir Stories
Return to Valjiir Continnum
Eontril Plad lay alone in the small bed in the cabin he shared with Rian ani Rina. His Antari lover was fulfilling her duty shift on the High Stakes, and he was finding it difficult to sleep without her presence. He tossed and turned, lying first on one side, then the other, then on his back, then on his stomach. The recent contact with the members of the crew of the Drake had disturbed him, almost more than had meeting an actual, undisguised Seeder. While he hadn't had much time with the Human tel/empaths, and certainly no real intimacy with them, there were things happening within him due to it - particularly the interaction with the tall, dark-haired, foul-tempered powerhouse. Bits and pieces of music and poetry seemed to wander around in his brain, popping to the forefront at strange times, almost as if they were trying to form background music - or an opera based on his thoughts. And despite his relationship with Rian, his thoughts were increasingly returning to those of the brooding, Roshian poet.
Maybe it was because there was an Aeman in Sulu's crew. Maybe it was simply thinking about Seeders and Organians and the origins of sentient life in the galaxy. Maybe he had simply absorbed too much of the tall Terran's foul temper.
He started at the words and tune that suddenly invaded his mind. He got up from his bed, reaching for his ontonte, hoping he could find the proper chords and melody line before the odd music disappeared from his head.
Images crowded his brain, full of sorrow and anger and regret. He could hear the voice of his Zindariin, the priest of Roshi who had taught him of the error of the Aemans:
"It is said she waits, still - but that is a lie! How can one wait for what has already happened? We who are truly His children feel more than the Aemans do. We have the greater portion of Roshi's power, and we know the truth. His sad-eyed, so-called widow is blind, too invested in her misery to understand. Roshi kept His promise. It was she who would not keep hers!"
Well no one told me about her, the way she lied.
Well no one told me about her, how many people cried?
But it's too late to say you're sorry.
How would I know, why should I care?
Please don't bother trying to find her,
She's not there..."Well let me tell you 'bout the way she looked,
The way she acted,
The color of her hair...
Her voice was soft and cool,
Her eyes were clear and bright,
But she's not there!
The world was far more beautiful than his memory had imagined it. There was a grace and beauty to the architecture, the use of prisms of glass in the windows covered the white marble with pale rainbows of color. He smiled at the coloring of the people - pale skin that shimmered, a clear reflection of his own, with the same dark red, rich hair of his beloved. They had inherited his eyes, too - again only a faded mirror of his own silver. The emanations of their emotions were bright and sweet to his senses - they clearly had learned their mother's deep caring and open expression. They cherished their children, raising them with a firm, guiding hand, yet with warmth and loving indulgence.
He wandered among them for a time, enjoying their honest tolerance and lively emotional interchanges, then rose to the ethereal plane to see what had become of their higher knowledge. How had his beloved answered their questions? What wisdom had she imparted to them, and how had they interpreted it? What form did their greater essences take?
There was a grand palace, surrounded by a beautiful and peaceful courtyard. There, shadows of the people existed much as they did on the physical plane, loving and giving to one another, but with no work, no hardship, only the full and rich emotion sustaining them and bringing them eternal contentment. He smiled, shaking his head in fond recollection.
She never did like the idea of their having to labor, he thought.
He expanded his awareness, not yet ready to seek her directly. He wanted first to be able to understand all she had done with their creation, to please her with his knowledge and approval.
Then his gaze turned to the high walls and gates that surrounded the courtyard, and his heart froze in horror.
Outside those gates knelt thousands - maybe tens of thousands - of shades, moaning and crying, desperately entreating non-existent guards to allow them entrance to the courtyard. They wept, their arms upraised, and on the left hand of each being was an ugly, dark slash, a long-healed scar against the pale flesh. In their thoughts was but one cry - have mercy, have mercy!
He shuddered with the horror of it. This could not be the work of his beloved! She would not be able to bear their weeping, her tender heart would break at their lost sorrow, their despairing misery! What could they have possibly done to merit this kind of exclusion from her care, and who could have come to enforce this travesty of their creation?
He turned from the sight, desperate now to find her and to right this terrible injustice.
She was seated in an elegant throne, her head bent, her hair throwing her face in shadow. Her pale skin shocked him - he remembered it as rich and earthy. There was a basin in her lap and in it, clear, silvery liquid shimmered. As a drop fell into it, ripples spreading out from its fall, he realized it was a tear. Was she captive then, was some other being forcing her to endure the suffering of her children? He shuddered. His people had powerful enemies, but they had never before interfered with the seeded races. Was this, then, some new ploy, or perhaps a trap meant specifically for him?
He approached her silently, reaching out with his thoughts to the sweetness they had once shared. He found a wall, as cold and desolate as those that blocked the misery-laden souls from her palace, a prison around her loving heart.
"Aema?" he whispered.
The answer came not from her lips, but from some empty place within her.
I hear your petition. What do you seek?
"Aema, I have returned," he tried again.
Who are you, and from whence did you journey?
She didn't know him. The shock made him gasp, and he took a step back.
"I am your beloved, and I have come from the stars as I promised," he said.
She lifted her head, her eyes the same silvery liquid as her tears. My beloved is gone, she said. I am alone.
"Aema, my love, I said I would return to you. Why did you not wait for me?"
I am betrayed, abandoned, she whispered. What cruel jest is this?
He swallowed, moving again toward her. "I did not abandon you, beloved. We spoke of it, and you chose to remain..."
HOW DARE YOU!? she shrieked. You come to me with such wicked pretense? I will not be played thusly!
"Aema, look at me, see me!" he begged. "I am Roshi, do you not know me?"
Her dead eyes looked at him, the tears falling faster and more freely into the basin. My love was beautiful, she murmured. He shone, like white Za'faran. His heart beat with passion, as does red Zindar. You are cold and distant, your essence does not touch as his did, your love does not heal my broken soul. I have watched the stars for eternity, and he has not come. Her head bent, sobs rasping in her voice. He has not come...
He went to her side, reaching for her. "My love, I am here!" he cried. "Forgive me, had I known you would be so devastated..."
She pulled away from his touch. NO! I will not be deceived! I will not fall into betrayal and damnation! My love is pure, I will wait, he will return... he must return...
"Aema, I AM HERE!" he thundered, but she only hissed at him, tear after tear sliding down her pale cheek. He gathered his power, prepared to thrust the truth into her essence...
"No, my son," came a strong but compassionate voice. "This is the path carved for her people. This is the world she made when you left. It is as it is, and must unfold as it will."
Father, Roshi pleaded, this is not what we envisioned! It is not the way these gentle people were meant to evolve!
"It was your choice, and hers, my son," his father's voice rejoined sadly. "We all must live by our choices, even as I do."
Roshi frowned. I will not be estranged from her, Father, as you are from...
"That you are not allowed to speak of," his father reminded.
But... she doesn't know me! She cannot see me, her eyes are changed, her grief has stolen her sight...
"There are things you cannot see, my son, and truths you do not yet know. This is as it must be, as hard as that is."
What of those beings outside these walls? Roshi demanded. How can this be right for them?
"Ask her. She will explain."
With grim determination, Roshi turned again to Aema. "What is the meaning of those locked outside your Court?" he asked.
I gave my children just one inviolate, Aema answered sadly. They are not bound to wed, but if they so choose, they must - they must be as faithful as I to my beloved. If that faith is broken, they are condemned to abandonment as I have been abandoned.
"But - you gave them emotions, my love, we planned together that they would share in each others' joy and sorrow..."
You speak with too much familiarity, she chided sternly. I do not know what you are, but you shall not gainsay my judgment.
"You spoke of cruelty," he went on. "Is this not the ultimate? To be so merciless, so unpitying..."
Do you think I do not feel their pain? she cried. I weep with them, I mourn for their faithlessness. But I cannot make them whole until I am myself renewed. When Roshi returns to me, then will the gates be opened, then will their sin be forgiven, their long trial complete as my own ordeal is ended. She paused, then went on, as if speaking only to herself. He told me they must know labor, they must know hardship... Her voice broke, and she wept unending, bitter tears. The basin filled, then overflowed - and on the planet below, it rained. The people came out of their homes and stopped their work, their faces upturned, thanking the Goddess for the blessing of Her fertility.
Roshi watched, the grief in his heart great enough to burst. "But I am here," he whispered. "I have returned...."
There was no reaching her. He examined himself, trying to remember if he had, indeed, changed beyond all recognition - but no. His kind was eternal. It was she who had been altered, yet that, too, was his fault.
I should never have left you, he thought bitterly. I should have known that time is a different thing, even for those touched by our eternity. There was nothing he could do...
No. Little, perhaps, but not 'nothing.'
He returned to the physical plane and went among the people. He touched what hearts he could, telling them of his return. Most turned from him in a horror born of sacrilege, but a few - oh so few! - listened and heard and believed. They embraced him, and called him rosh - he had to smile at the word Aema had chosen for 'father,' though it was a sorrowful smile, full of grief. He told them to speak of him, to tell any others who would listen that the time Aema waited for had come - and gone. He told them of the creation of their world, of his love for Aema, of hers for him, though it had been scarred and broken. He told them they were free of her restriction, that they could love as they chose. But he could not bring himself to encourage blatant disregard of the devotion she cherished, for, in truth, he still cherished it as well. Therefore, he forbid them to undergo the ceremony that bound them to each other, as he had so long ago bound Aema's blood to his essence. In that way, he said, they would not be punished for her lost ability to see and know who he was.
He tried one final time to reach her, but she was adamant, as still and as cold as stone. He returned to the stars, but every now and then, he came back, never losing hope that one day, his beloved would see him and know him - and love him again.
Well no one told me about her, what could I do?
No, no one told me about her, though they all knew.
But it's too late to say you're sorry.
How would I know, why should I care?
Please don't bother trying to find her,
She's not there...
Well let me tell you 'bout the way she looked,
The way she acted,
The color of her hair...
Her voice was soft and cool,
Her eyes were clear and bright,
But she's not there!
Eontril's eyes were wet with tears as the song reached its end. He could hardly claim credit for it, and, indeed, had no idea where it had come from. But its eerie sound and bitter sorrow were too fitting.
Roshi, Father, how long will you hope? he cried to the universe. How long will Your children suffer until she comes to her senses? Why won't she listen, why can't she see...
He bent over his ontonte, his chest heaving with frustrated anguish. He didn't hear the cabin door opening. Only the warmth of Rian in his mind broke the hold of loss on his heart. Then he heard her voice whispering to him... or, at least, he thought it was her voice, until a new melody filled him, one of haunting misery and aching loneliness.
I taste your lips,
You shine so bright.
You understand,
You take my hand,
My breath goes still.
You understand,
I never will.
My mouth falls numb.
Your laughter skips,
My voice is dumb.
My eyes are blind.
You are delight
I ache to find.
I never will.
You take my hand,
My breath goes...
He cried out in agony, the touch of the Goddess too bitter to bear, even in Rian's loving arms. The final word echoed within him, and he feared it would reverberate there for the eternity which was her hallmark:
...Still.
She's Not There by The Zombies
To go to the next story in chronological sequence, click here