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Dolim Quietly tended his small field about a days walk from Lake Ashane. His hardened features pressed outward against his light leather vest. Both were tribute to the lands he called home. The air, quiet and still this day, seemed to resist his exhalations. As the air rushed past his lips is was forced into a vaporous cloud that hung about his head and clung to the thick hair of his upper lip and chin. There, his breath would rest forever, frozen it would seem by the chilling quieting cold.
The silence was only broken by the plow as it tilled the still frosted soil. As always if one waited for warmer weather the crops would not garner the time needed to grow to harvest before the land froze once more. It was a hard life and most peoples in the world would have left these lands long ago but he was Rashemi.
His work nearly finished for the day he began to stow his tools for the coming night. It was then he heard the first signs of a small band traveling the Western Trail. At the sound he paused and tensed. The spade he held would serve, as a weapon, should the band be hostile. No matter there number they would be foolish to think him an easy target. As the group materialized out of the now darkening landscape, Dolim let go a breath and relaxed. It was a small Fang it seemed. Though there was one riding in there midst. His tension returned. A Wychlaran was with them. The Witches of Rashamen, as outlanders titled them, did not travel with Fangs unless there was serious trouble, often only in times of war.
Dolim thought back when he had fought for one of the Wychlaran. He shuddered involuntarily when he recalled her power. Then his mind shifted to another. Someone he had not seen in well over a Tenyear. He wondered what Wychlaran had done with her. Was she still alive? Had the Wyclaran accepted her strange abilities or had they destroyed her for being different? As the Fang drew nearer his mind travel deeper into the past.
“Come to me, for I have come to you.” Whispered the figure standing in the near freezing glacial lake. The waters, quietly swirling around her, ended just above the middle of her thigh.
The water’s chill stung as he made his way out to meet her. Thoughts smash against the sides of his skull striving to be heard. All the warnings and all the tales of men who had been lost to creatures such as this could do nothing to alter his course.
“I am yours, Spirit of Ashane.” The words came as a gasp through his blue lips.
He was now standing before her. The water for him rested just below his shoulders. The creature smiled and began to sink slowly into his embrace. She tilted her face towards him and they sank further beneath the surface. Her lips met his as his lips slipped below the plane or the water. Warmth exploded with in him.
One day Dolim wnet to her, the Spirit of Ashane was simply not there. It was some months later that a child arrived in the night. It should have frozen to death there, outside his door. The fact that she had not, coupled with the dream that had drawn him to open that door, had left him with no illusions. This was Her child… this was his child.
He had done his best to raise her but her nature made it very difficult. I was shortly after her seventh birthday that a new set of problems manifested.
Not a year later her scream brought him running. He had found her in the shed her face in her hands, her small frame racking with sobs. His heart had torn that day and it had never mended. Before the small child lay the body of a man. He was an outlander by his cloths. He must have been using the shed for shelter from the previous night’s storm. His face was frozen now in the pain of what must have been his death throws.
Ashana heard his footsteps and abruptly spun to face him him. Horror was plainly scribed on her face.
“He was… just there… and surprised me. He rushed toward me… or maybe... the door. I don’t know.” She managed to get out between her sobs. She threw herself into his arms and buried her face in his chest.
He had tried to get out what had happened but every time he asked Ashana would begin to scream anew. There was not weapon no marks on the man nothing to explain his death he was scared and new only one place to turn. The Wychlaran.
They said she did not have the arcane spark and that her faith was far to lacking to have been granted such power from the gods. Perhaps some spirit had taken her and that if they could exorcize it then they would return her to him. The said they would need some time and they would send him word when they were able.
His mind was forced back into the present. He had never heard from them. Perhaps that was best.
Dolim watched the Fang move along the Western Trail. The rider paused as she came abreast of Dolim and his cart. She turned to him. She was masked she must be traveling to the outlands.
She gazed down at him. Soon he became uncomfortable. He was about to ask if he could help her when she spoke.
“Dolim of Ashane Lake, know this. Your daughter lives. She loves you and misses you. She has left these lands to fight forces from without to protect those within.”
With that her gaze returns to the road ahead and she urges her mount forward and the Fang moves out.
It was all he could do to remain standing. It had been so long with out word and now this from a Wychlaran lead Fang on it’s way out of Rashamen. Then it struck him.
“Farewell my little Ashana.” A tear accompanied his words and froze half way to his prideful smile.
The silence was only broken by the plow as it tilled the still frosted soil. As always if one waited for warmer weather the crops would not garner the time needed to grow to harvest before the land froze once more. It was a hard life and most peoples in the world would have left these lands long ago but he was Rashemi.
His work nearly finished for the day he began to stow his tools for the coming night. It was then he heard the first signs of a small band traveling the Western Trail. At the sound he paused and tensed. The spade he held would serve, as a weapon, should the band be hostile. No matter there number they would be foolish to think him an easy target. As the group materialized out of the now darkening landscape, Dolim let go a breath and relaxed. It was a small Fang it seemed. Though there was one riding in there midst. His tension returned. A Wychlaran was with them. The Witches of Rashamen, as outlanders titled them, did not travel with Fangs unless there was serious trouble, often only in times of war.
Dolim thought back when he had fought for one of the Wychlaran. He shuddered involuntarily when he recalled her power. Then his mind shifted to another. Someone he had not seen in well over a Tenyear. He wondered what Wychlaran had done with her. Was she still alive? Had the Wyclaran accepted her strange abilities or had they destroyed her for being different? As the Fang drew nearer his mind travel deeper into the past.
“Come to me, for I have come to you.” Whispered the figure standing in the near freezing glacial lake. The waters, quietly swirling around her, ended just above the middle of her thigh.
The water’s chill stung as he made his way out to meet her. Thoughts smash against the sides of his skull striving to be heard. All the warnings and all the tales of men who had been lost to creatures such as this could do nothing to alter his course.
“I am yours, Spirit of Ashane.” The words came as a gasp through his blue lips.
He was now standing before her. The water for him rested just below his shoulders. The creature smiled and began to sink slowly into his embrace. She tilted her face towards him and they sank further beneath the surface. Her lips met his as his lips slipped below the plane or the water. Warmth exploded with in him.
One day Dolim wnet to her, the Spirit of Ashane was simply not there. It was some months later that a child arrived in the night. It should have frozen to death there, outside his door. The fact that she had not, coupled with the dream that had drawn him to open that door, had left him with no illusions. This was Her child… this was his child.
He had done his best to raise her but her nature made it very difficult. I was shortly after her seventh birthday that a new set of problems manifested.
Not a year later her scream brought him running. He had found her in the shed her face in her hands, her small frame racking with sobs. His heart had torn that day and it had never mended. Before the small child lay the body of a man. He was an outlander by his cloths. He must have been using the shed for shelter from the previous night’s storm. His face was frozen now in the pain of what must have been his death throws.
Ashana heard his footsteps and abruptly spun to face him him. Horror was plainly scribed on her face.
“He was… just there… and surprised me. He rushed toward me… or maybe... the door. I don’t know.” She managed to get out between her sobs. She threw herself into his arms and buried her face in his chest.
He had tried to get out what had happened but every time he asked Ashana would begin to scream anew. There was not weapon no marks on the man nothing to explain his death he was scared and new only one place to turn. The Wychlaran.
They said she did not have the arcane spark and that her faith was far to lacking to have been granted such power from the gods. Perhaps some spirit had taken her and that if they could exorcize it then they would return her to him. The said they would need some time and they would send him word when they were able.
His mind was forced back into the present. He had never heard from them. Perhaps that was best.
Dolim watched the Fang move along the Western Trail. The rider paused as she came abreast of Dolim and his cart. She turned to him. She was masked she must be traveling to the outlands.
She gazed down at him. Soon he became uncomfortable. He was about to ask if he could help her when she spoke.
“Dolim of Ashane Lake, know this. Your daughter lives. She loves you and misses you. She has left these lands to fight forces from without to protect those within.”
With that her gaze returns to the road ahead and she urges her mount forward and the Fang moves out.
It was all he could do to remain standing. It had been so long with out word and now this from a Wychlaran lead Fang on it’s way out of Rashamen. Then it struck him.
“Farewell my little Ashana.” A tear accompanied his words and froze half way to his prideful smile.
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