Legend of Matai: Zera - 002

Pockmarks of light sparkled in the darkness, lucid awareness a distant dream. Vivid shapes swirled and bounded, figments, fragments, spots of memory. A tireless march through the snow, a terrible weight, the small frail arms of a child. Lonely gates looming in the dark, dark wood contrasting against the all-white world of snow. A door next to a pane of glass. Warmth kissing skin, blessed relief. An angry face, an old man’s fury, confusion, pain, dimming sight. Flickers of consciousness, laying on a bed, sweat, agony that stretched on and on until sleep claimed him again. A rising feeling, like drifting up from the depths of a pool after a dive. Surfacing, faster, faster, faster.

Light burned against Zera’s eyes as they flickered open, the scent of burning herbs filling his nostrils. His mouth tasted bitter and raw. His body ached and felt slick with sweat. A tremor went through him as he tried to sit up, his mind a muddled mess. He couldn’t remember where he’d been, where he was, what had happened to him. He cupped his head in his big hands and rubbed at his face and he tried once again to rise. At last his muscles permitted him a small amount of motion and he rose enough to lean against the headboard behind him. Headboard? My cot doesn’t have a headboard. He thought mildly, still waking up.

He sniffed the air and looked around. Herbs? I don’t know them. The scent was relaxing though, so he appreciated it. Some kind of spice, perhaps? He rubbed his head again. His thoughts were going in circles as he tried to take in more of the room. He was sitting on a bed, a comfortable one with fresh white sheets across his body. His chest was bare and he wore nothing but his knickers beneath the sheet. He coughed and noted the small table to his left where a book and a few vials sat in wait. The rest of the room consisted mostly of cupboards and shelves filled with all manner of tools and jars, a single door stood directly across from him. I know this room. He thought again, blinking a few more times.

The door opened and a pair of blue-green eyes greeted him. An elderly face with green skin mottled here and there crinkled with a gentle smile. Short slightly pointed ears stuck out beneath a head of white hair that hung down in a number of thick braids. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, “Priestess Moira,” He mumbled, bowing his head and looking down at his hands.

“You’re awake,” The old orc said quietly, her voice sounded like the creak of an old book spine, her steps like fluttering pages, “You’ve been out for some time.”

He blinked again and looked up at the old woman as she strode inside, shutting the door behind her. She wore a black gown with white accents, a silver chain hanging around her neck. A symbol on a silver disk hung from the chain, that of a woman with her hands pulled close, protectively holding onto a tiny, dying flame. He looked down at his hands as he tried to recall what had happened to him to end up in this place. He rubbed his thumb against his palm as his shoulders slouched forward, his eyes darting up to meet hers. “What happened to me?” He asked.

“You walked right into a hot spot, that’s what you did, young man,” She said with a small laugh, “You’re lucky to be alive. Your body was so saturated with mana I thought you would melt away on this very bed, if I’m being honest,” She added as she walked over to the table where the vials sat. She plucked a brown bottle up and removed the cork, “Drink.”

He took it when it was offered and downed it without question. Why would he? She’d been the midwife who had overseen his birth. If there was one person still living in this small town that had any sort of warmth in their heart for him, it was her. The medicine was bitter and it stung the back of his throat but he worked through it, only coughing once as he set the vial back down on the table. “A hot spot,” He tried to recall it, “I went out to…” He trailed off when he met her eyes and she raised an eyebrow, “...forage for grandfather.”

“Forage is what he calls it now?” Moira scoffed, “You poor boy,” She shook her head.

He winced at the words and looked down at his hands again, “I found-” He froze and looked up sharply, “What happened to that boy?” He asked, “Is he okay? He was in terrible condition when-” He trailed off when she held up a hand.

“You were rambling about a child when you arrived at your grandfather’s doorstep. Insisting that a cloak you’d bound up in your arms was some sort of sick orphan,” Moira said, “You collapsed shortly afterward. It was a hallucination brought on by exposure.”

He felt his throat go dry, “Hallucination?” He mumbled, “But-” He looked to the door again. He could only imagine how furious his grandfather was. Medicine wasn’t cheap and the old man likely had to dip into whatever he made off of the scavenging Zera’d done just to pay for it. Even if the priestess was kind, she still had to charge something for her treatments in order to make ends meet. He looked back at her, “-It was so real. He was standing there in the middle of the-” He trailed off again and hung his head in shame.

“You didn’t have a choice but to go out there, child,” Moira said gently and placed a wrinkled green hand on his before tilting her head, “Memna does not begrudge you, but I would suggest you spend some time at her altar next chance you get,” She sat down next to him and pat his hand, “Why don’t you tell me what you remember. Perhaps the hallucination has some deeper meaning for you, they say dreams tell us a lot about ourselves.”

He sighed heavily, a weight falling off of his shoulders as he clenched his fists, “It was a child, a boy,” He said, trying to pull the memory back up, “He was standing there in that terrible place, alone, he had his arms open like he was waiting for something or welcoming something,” He mumbled, “There was blood on his face and he he looked… serene,” Zera finally said, trying to wrap his mind around it. “I called to him but he didn’t answer. I knew the place wasn’t safe so I took his arm and then I saw things, terrible things,” He felt a sickness rise up in his throat and tears burn in his eyes, “So much pain.”

Moira stared at him for a long time before her lips crinkled in a smile, “I think your grandfather’s ravings have started to get to you, Zera,” She said with a chuckle.

“Huh?” He looked up at her and blinked.

“You just recounted one of the stories about the Lord of the Court of Slaughter,” She said with a shake of her head before making a hand gesture and mumbling something before continuing, “Goshgolah, curse his name, the God of War, he wanders fields of battle and sups on the suffering of the dying and dead. He consumes it in the form of an orphan child marred with blood on his face,” She tilted her head, “Sound about right?”

Zera stared at her and felt a chill wander down his spine. He felt nauseous again as he tried to look anywhere else but at his hands or at her face. Heat rose up to his neck and cheeks. He couldn’t remember if he had heard that particular story from his grandfather but it wasn’t outside of the realm of possibility. The old man enjoyed rambling on about the dark gods that ‘followed Zera’s every step in life’. Just a hallucination? My mind filling in with details I already knew? He cupped his head in his hands and let out a groan. There was no child? But he was so frail, small, I could feel his body heat in my arms.

“Zera, if you ran into a Greater God, a Court Lord, in the form of its avatar and laid hands on it, you would not have made it home, dear, you would have died on the spot,” She pat his hand again, “A trick of mana sickness, nothing more. Your body was thick with it when you were brought to me as I said, hallucinations are normal for anyone in that state,” She added and got to her feet, brushing down her gown and turning to face him. Her old body leaned forward as she inspected his eyes and face, “Though I am surprised to see you so healthy now,” She chuckled, “Must be your unique constitution.”

He scoffed and looked away, “Unique constitution,” He muttered and placed a tired hand on his massive bicep. He was barely a year into adulthood and yet he had the body of a man who had fought and bled his entire life. He towered over every other resident in the village like a behemoth, only the male orcs were comparable. It was why his grandfather was convinced he had something wrong with him, something evil, and didn’t hesitate to share his suspicions with anyone who would listen.

“Your mother would be sad to see you hate the body she gave her life to give you,” Moira scolded him and he winced, chewing his lip. His stomach sank a little and he looked back at her with hurt eyes. Her eyes softened just a little, “She loved you,” The old priestess insisted.

“Yeah,” He mumbled and looked away, a lump in his throat, “I’d like to get up,” He said mutely. “I can stand and move.”

“You’re too weak to move around right now,” Moira said, “You should stay and rest.”

He sighed and shook his head, “My grandfather-”

“Will understand or I will cuff his damn ear myself!” Moira grouse and put her hands on her hips, “You will stay put, young man, and rest. You survived something that should have melted the organs right out of your body! You should be praising whichever god or goddess was looking over you the past few days because as far as I’m concerned, it’s a miracle you’re alive!” She wagged a wrinkled finger, “And I’m going to have a word with your grandfather about forcing you to go out to perform sacrilege, the defiling of corpses is an affront to Memna!”

He lowered his head, “I’m sorry,” He said quietly before looking up, “I’ve been-”

Her hard eyes locked with his and melted into soft disks of blue-green color. She smiled at him gently, “I know. It’s a kind thing, collecting all those tags. I found them in your pocket.”

He scratched his nose, “Can I give them to you?”

She shook her head, “No, I think it would be best if you presented them to a clergy of Memna yourself. I serve Adrianna specifically and so I don’t have the qualifications to perform a funeral rite. I am a healer.”

“Right,” He said with a quiet nod. “Thank you, Priestess Moira.”

She poked his cheek and squinted at him, “And quit calling me that!” She snorted, “I’m practically your grandmother! I watched over your mother more than that old codger ever did!” She rambled, “Granny, Auntie, something else! Goodness!”

He snorted as a small laugh rose up in his chest. Even with the dread of inevitably returning home, he couldn’t help but feel a small amount of lightness. Little bits of kindness, of humor, for him they were like a balm for the soul. He turned and wrapped a pair of big arms around the old woman, squeezing her in a gentle hug. She let out a croak of surprise before easing and patting his back, “One of these days, young man, you’re going to leave this place,” She said in his ear, “When you do, don’t look back.”

He pulled away and looked at her but she had already turned away, “Speaking of which!” She grunted and hobbled over to one of the cabinets where she reached in and pulled out a parchment enveloped. “You got a letter! The old git was about to go through it when I snatched it up to deliver to you,” She said and handed it over to him.

He took it in his hands and squinted at the letters and broke into a smile. He couldn’t read to save his life, but he knew names well enough. 

To: Zera in the town of Benhurst
From: Catherine Elaine Haust, The Imperial Academy, Matra

He ran his fingers over the words of her name, even if he didn’t understand the rest. His closest and dearest friend. Of all the people in the village, someone who had been there for him through thick and thin growing up. She was far away now, studying to become a great mage. He smiled a little and looked up at Moira, “Thank you, I’ll keep it with the others.”

She squinted at him and let out a sigh, “Give it here,” She said and sat back down on the bed.

“Huh?” He blinked.

“Give it here, I’ll read it to you,” She said and beckoned with her thin fingers, her black fingernails glinting a little as the light shifted.

Read it? To me? He felt a thrill rush up his back and he sat up straight. He could hardly believe it. He looked at the letter and then up at her, “Will you say anything to-”

“Stars and skies, no!” She laughed, “It’ll be between us.”

He handed her the envelope and she whipped it once in her hand, the top of the envelope tearing open of its own accord. He marveled at the simple use of magic as she reached in and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. She unfolded and swept her eyes over it once before glancing up at him. She cleared her throat when she gave him a bit of an odd look, raising an eyebrow before looking down at the paper again. “Yes this definitely stays between us. Her father would not be happy.”

“Huh?” Zera blinked.

She cleared her throat one more time, “Dear Bird-brain,” She began, “How have you been? The Academy is as noisy as ever. I wish I could show you the city, it’s amazing every time I see it. Like another world,” Moira clicked her tongue and glanced up at him again, “Got dumped again, a waitress this time. Probably should have mentioned I was a soldier before anything else. City girls are scary, did you know that?” 

The windows nearly shook as Zera let out a loud, hearty guffaw.