Slivers of Light

Year 756 of the New Age -- Autumn

Throat dry and heart pounding she raised her tiny head to the ceiling. The vague impression of moonlight cutting into the eternal darkness that was, generally, her vision. A shudder ran through her body in response to the eerie voice. Who or what was calling her name? She had to have been hearing things. There was no one around and the cave was still deathly still.

Why do you hide from me, Mindelan? That was definitely not her imagination. Her ears turned forward towards the wavering moon. She shivered, swallowing her fear and forced herself back to her hooves. Water fell in silent silver-rimmed ink-blots back to the almost still surface beneath her. That could only be one thing- the voice that is. Dropping her gaze only long enough to locate staggered stalagmites she clamored up them, the fawnling grace all but lost in her struggles to balance on the precarious spires.

Ah, there you are, little one, oh yes that definitely had to be Gaelach's voice. Her heart skipped a beat. She hadn't heard that voice in a great many years. And even then they had not addressed her by name but in a collective whole with many other youths. She had feared she'd never hear that voice again.

and here she was.

The stone pillars beneath her tiny, split hooves groaned under her weight, unaccustomed to supporting anything but their own growing forms. She was oblivious to the danger and focused only on the moon wavering in and out of her vision. Whether the hazy affect was from clouds or her own bad eye sight she couldn't be sure but she'd be damned if she stopped listening now!

I'm not hiding. . . she tried to speak and the words wouldn't come out. Her skin puckered with goosebumps as she remembered the unearthly silence. It was as though a jaguar was prowling, stalking her. The deadening affect of a forest that knew a predator was about. Was a God a predator? The thought intrigued and frightened her. How could a God she so beloved, that cherished their children be a predator? And yet, in a way, they were! They preyed on, and demanded, the lives of those that were not Oakfern. A sacrificing act Mindelan had avoided her entire life.

Death did not become her.

Ah, and there you see our problem, my dear. You are not one with me, the voice, though soft, was booming in her ears. The energy from it thrumming through her body like a hammer driven home on a nail just so. She shivered and gasped. Why do you so fearfully avoid the one thing I ask? Because killing was wrong!

They killed hundreds of you. . . they exiled you to these caverns. . . but I quite like the caverns. She found herself arguing like a petulant child, still mouthing the words soundlessly. They're mysterious, and beautiful, and safe. Nothing can hurt me here. They're home. They weren't always home, child. Indifference filled the otherwise monotonous voice.

Mindelan scowled into the darkness. Do not give me such attitude, Mindelan. You know what it is I want. You know what you must do Why? Why must I do it? Why must I kill? Is it not enough that I lure them to those that willingly, mindlessly slaughter them? Is it not enough that I have grown so callous as to be weary of dealing with wanderers and lend them no caution in my old age?

Doddering fool! with this Mindelan felt her body whimper, cringing. The stones beneath her cracked at the violence of the voice. I did not ask for your back talk! The stones rumbled. The cavern heaving and groaning and still it was all so silent. The silver-kissed blackness welled up beneath her stalagmite perches, lapping hungrily, greedily at her hooves. Her eyes widened in shock. You will learn. The pillars shattered beneath her. Mineral shards flying in every direction. Her body pitched, rocked and bucked in the air as her balance vanished and legs collapsed beneath her.

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