It was fortunate that he was already upon his knees, for if he had been standing he did not think he would have stayed so for long. The woman before him was beautiful, quite possibly the most amazing creature he had ever seen. It nearly pained him to look upon her. In fact, it did. Immediately, he was filled with such a yearning desire for this creature. Not only physically, though.
A desire that promised a life in service to this creature would be the closest to perfection that he could possibly imagine. He wanted to focus any and all of his being for the sake of her. Yet knowing he could do nothing brought such a painful longing within his breast that he feared his heart might stop beating. Wouldn’t that be fitting, I could die here for a second time. If he could just look upon her as he died, it might just be worth it.
The creature’s arm rested upon the trunk of the R’leigh Bo supporting her petite body, her face downcast. Long light blue tresses cascaded around features fine enough to prove perfection was indeed attainable. Blossoms of the Bo swirled around her, bringing attention directly to eyes the same shade of violet, only brighter.
The woman was completely nude. Or at least she may as well have been, for the garment wrapped upon her left nothing to the imagination. The fabric floated as spider’s silk upon the wind and seemed nearly as delicate. Later, Riggs would wonder if it really had been spider silk. This did not surprise him, though. He could not imagine a creature such as this wearing normal clothing. He likened it to a jeweler fitting a precious diamond to a ring of clay. A waste of beauty.
Upon her touch, the intricate red-gold lines upon the trunk flared briefly. She seemed to gain strength from the touch and straightened slowly. An inhuman face of such otherworldly beauty met his gaze, unknowingly, for a blissful moment then continued its arc to survey the surroundings. Seemingly satisfied, she took a gliding step away from the base of the Bo. A voice both quiet and powerful whispered a single silvery word. Abruptly, the thrall in which Riggs was held, ended.
He shook his head in confusion, for a moment not understanding what had just happened. Looking up he saw the woman again, but now somehow she had changed.
Strangely, the change was not that significant. It was difficult for him to even tell if anything specific had changed at all. Yet, the need to devote his sole living purpose to the creature’s well-being had subsided. It was as if a veil had been place around her, dampening her brilliance or at least containing it. It was by no means complete however, she was still by far the most amazing creature he had ever seen but he no longer felt as if he would perish if his eyes left her face.
A Nymph! By the gods! She must be! But how is this possible? They were all... his thoughts trailed off. Everyone knew that magic was all but dead in the world. I should be dead! That, that was...it must have been. A Nymph’s Glory! But how am I’m still alive...
Then he remembered. He was dead, or at least his younger half was. He almost chuckled at the next thought. It was a damn good thing the boy was dead, for merely looking upon a Nymph in her Glory was a death sentence for all but the most steadfast of hearts.
“Dear heavens, a real Nymph. All that time we spent here...but how am I still alive?” The boy was protected in death, but what of his older self?
The answer struck him. Because this ain’t real Riggs. That must be the answer. It was a mere representation, as the bugs called it.
“Correct Riggs, this creature’s unusual defense system was initiated while your younger self had already perished, leaving you immune to its effect. However, some things do tend to linger, your body still remembers the creatures influence.”
Defense system? That didn’t really explain why her Glory still had such an affect upon him in this recreation. I’ve no idea. The bugs couldn’t have pulled this from his memory. If he was to believe them, he had been dead. How had they come to know events outside of his own memory? The mystery joined the growing list of all the other oddities he could not explain.
Gods, if the creature had that kind of effect upon him all these years later in a mere memory, he shuddered to imagine meeting such a creature face to face. He had heard tales of nations falling or rising based on a single encounter with these creatures. He’d never expected that the Bo would have been home to such as her. Nevertheless, now that he knew, it made sense. The presence of a Nymph would explain a lot about the tree. Gods! All those years spent within those branches; it hadn’t been the tree we played with, it had been her!
It was hard to imagine. How many lives had been affected just through the contact his family had had with the creature? Intrigued, he thought of his mother’s medicinals and their family farm. Much of it would not have been possible without her presence. Had his mother known? He followed the thought further. What of his father? It was hard to say. This was a fascinating turn of events and surely must have been what the bugs wanted him to see. It was getting harder to believe that all this was some sort of fabrication.
No longer under the creature’s thrall, he stood once again and refocused on the scene at hand. After dimming her Glory, she stumbled as if weakened. He could see that something was wrong. The creature’s movement, still graceful by human standards, was obviously diminished. Whatever she had done to veil herself had also affected her garment (if you could call it that) as well. Although still accentuating her figure, it had lost its near translucency and had become a milky white. Riggs was thankful, for it was hard enough to concentrate upon the creature as it was without such distractions.
She seemed to almost glide over to the body of the boy, stumbling to her knees as she reached him. Her grace almost made the fall seem intentional. Holding out a fragile hand, the ground shifted next to her, as a root manifested offering support. The rune lines upon the tree flared again slightly at her touch. With the tree’s contact and added support, she caught her breath.
She hesitated briefly before placing her other hand upon the boy’s chest. Her brilliant eyes closed and her head dipped. A full minute passed before she withdrew her hand and raised her head. Once again, she scanned the surroundings, perhaps expecting the boy’s sister to return any moment. Possibly satisfied she was alone, the creature looked back towards the tree and spoke again. Although not familiar with the words he still understood the meaning. She was calling to the tree.
The lines upon the tree intensified once again. Riggs barely had time to shut his eyes before yet another flash enveloped him. This time he was able to make out another figure step from within the gigantic trunk. Before him stood a girl, not unlike the previous creature, but with the diminished figure of youth. A child seemingly no older than his younger self. Of course, age was likely deceiving when dealing with such creatures he told himself. She was dressed in similar garb as to what Riggs now considered must be the mother. Either the girl had not yet come into her Glory or it had been veiled before her departure from the Bo, for Riggs had not been inundated by the compulsion to serve like he had before. He was, however, filled with a very different emotion.
The child’s rounded face was full of fear. Seeing her fear woke him. Somehow, witnessing the Glory had caused Riggs to momentarily forget about the ever-present taint within him. However, looking upon the girl brought his bitterness back in a rush. In addition, flashes of memories bombarded his senses. He reeled as memory resurfaced, none of it completely coherent. He tried to put the pieces in place, tried to make sense of what came. He couldn’t be certain of their validity, but one common aspect linked them all. The girl.
Internally, a battle ensued. He wanted desperately to grasp the images, to make his mind once again whole. However, the bitterness that came with the knowing warned him otherwise. It caused an internal hesitation, a moment that let many memories slip away once again into the void. A part of him relished in this defeat.
Nevertheless, seeing her face awakened something which had long been slumbering within—a strength. Although similar to the Nymph’s Glory, and slow in awakening, the fear in the girl’s violet eyes awoke such a desire to protect her that Riggs was overwhelmed. Rising to his feet a newfound resolve began to course through his mind and body.
Although the taint was still present, always present, looking upon the youthful face of the nymph-child gave him the strength to fight back. Not enough to overcome the bitterness completely, but the resolve allowed him to grasp a few powerful images before they fell back into the darkness of his mind. For the first time in years he remembered, and this is what he saw.
Two figures. The first was of the girl herself, only older, a figure that possessed the maturity that follows youth. She stood resolute, a gnarled walking staff held before her in both hands. Details were blurred by a brightness that flowed from the young woman’s brow. Focusing upon produced the image of a pendant or circlet, perhaps a crown. It was too bright to tell which. Brightness was the wrong word. It was not a brightness that hurt the eyes. It was more of a whiteness, and astonishing whiteness. Too white—pure, it made him feel unclean, or unworthy, or both. Confusing, the image filled him with concern for the young woman.
The memory vanished and was replaced by another. The new image did not possess the clarity of the first. It was more of feeling, a blurred, shadowy darkness. Unable to hold form, it twisted into that of a man briefly. Points of light flickered and danced around what Riggs took to be the head of the figure. At first, he took the presence flowing from the inky blackness to be malevolence, but later described it as a dark sadness. Next the dissolved into a multitude of distorted gaping maws. A wailing emerged from them that threatened to compromise Riggs’ newfound resolve. He willed the memory away, but it’s effect still lingered for some time.
There were other flashes, of unknown places, of people, but nothing coalesced into anything nearly as substantial as the two figures.
He knew a few memories were not much of an accomplishment, but Riggs couldn’t help but feel a small amount of satisfaction. It won’t last, Riggs, you know that. You’ll be better just letting it go. Trust me, this path leads only to pain. Unable to completely push the whisper aside, he returned his focus again upon the girl and her mother.
Copyright © 2017 by David Kottas. All rights reserved
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