Before - Legends "Legends of the Force"(epic drama with OCs), book 1, 32 Chapters, FIN

I will post some photos in my fanart thread tomorrow. For now, let me give you something decent to read, Darth_Furio!

And I will start reading all the fanfics that I got tagged in tomorrow.

But for now:



Dark adapted eyes, Chapter 4:

Only three moon nights later, more childhood memories come back to me.Each one contains clues for my survival out here. One of them is about my mother training me with a bamboo cane. Up to now I always believed that Luc has been my only teacher, but that seems utterly wrong. He just continued my training. I suppose that he knew the ways of my tribe.

The longer I am in the open desert, other memories linked to caporeiasurface. Solitaire spoke of this ancient martial art technique earlier on. It combines elements of dance, acrobatics and music. My mother and my aunts started teaching it to me when I turned just two moon years old. All the quick and complex moves come back to me.

The ginga. Tesouras, various knee strikes. Avoids that are called esquivas. Series of rolls and acrobatics, like the aú.

Of course I suffer from sore muscles very soon, but I go on nonetheless. There is this unexplainable urge that drives me. The caporeiatechniques are embedded in my bones like echoes. I wonder how I ever was able to forget all this leverage for a wide variety of kicks and movements.

One morning I use one of the lighter cotton blankets to make a long sleeved tunic for me. I will wear it straight over my camouflage hunting gear. Normally sewing business is a pain for me, but this time the overcritical Fleur is not around to slight me. My fingers move all by themselves as my mind remembers.

Clan Riwalan had been the finest of the twelve quilombos. I need to make my ancestors proud of me, to honour their ways. As far as I am aware I am the only capoeiristaleft on this planet. I should pass on what I know at some point.

When evening falls, I begin to use most of the gauze bandages that Solitaire has left me in the ambulance kit. I wrap them around my arms and legs. Those bandages will be an additional protection against the heat of day and the cold of night. I am slowly running out of supplies, so I need a new and better outfit.

To find water is not too difficult, but hunting with an injury turns out to be quite an adventure.My wounds are still annoyingly itchy. The old womp-rat bull had been a worthy adversary. I will wear my scars with pride.

Choosing only little beings as a start, I go on hunting with clenched teeth next night. I still fail to throw my self-made spear, but I am able to come up with cunning ground traps. At dawn I have eight scorpions and two dune mice, enough food for a decent breakfast.

The nights and days fly by and soon I am able to make greater and greater journeys away from my humble camp. I return with little treasures like new fuel for my fire place, little snacks and new water supplies.

After an entire moon-month I am able to move camp to a different spot. There I stay an entire week, finding an even richer hunting ground and a suitable staff.

Life is perfect again, a real pleasure. I only miss my beloved Crépuscule very much. With the eopie mare things would have been a lot easier, especially the travelling and transport matters.

********************************************************************

The longer I stay in the womb of the dune sea, the more I am convinced that the way of the town people is wrong. They are getting too soft and fat with water. Personal comfort and luxury goods from Draconis have become a great issue for too many households. Finally, the Ophidiae have found a clever way to tame my people, to enslave them once more. They have turned many Lidérc into loyal pets. I do not wish to end up this way, especially not after my strange encounter with the future god-queen. So I do everything possible to steel my body and soul.

I also do not like being infested by Midi-chlorians. I always regarded myself to be as clean as desert sand. Clan Riwalan always stayed off the temptation that the Force offered. They fought their wars by the laws of tooth and claw only. And so will I.

During the following weeks, I increase my muscle exercises, ignoring all signs of pain. No softness is allowed to be a part of my life ever again. This is a solemn promise I make to myself. I must turn into a deadly weapon, defeat all my enemies.

One night I reach my favourite oasis again. I take off my clothing as quickly as the bandages allow me and run straight into the water. With strong movements I reach the middle of the L’ œil du ciel rather quickly. Then I turn on my back and let myself float on the salt water.

With a satisfied yawn I cross my arms behind my back and gaze up to the glittering night sky.

It feels good to live in a world without stone frontiers once more. I am a bohémienne after all, a daughter of the crossroads. Only the desert winds know my next destination.

Even though I had to be grateful to papa for sparing me so long ago, his way is not mine. It will never be. Even Luc has to learn this. Besides, he is not my true brother. Matin was, my twin. We had been inseparable.

Suddenly, a comet passes by, dragging a long tail of light after it.

I smile and make a secret wish. “Once we will be together again, brother. Just have patience. Now is not the time.”

The pleasant smell of spice biscuits and fresh coffee with cardamom powder tickles my nasal hairs without any warning.

In shock I tear my eyes open. How long have I been gone? A quick check of the night sky tells me that it has not been within a simple eye blink.

Calme, who had shone on my way to the oasis, is already gone. But her mother, the by far bigger Sodalith, is still to be seen. Had I really been in this water for four hours, remembering Matin?

“Dinner is ready, milady!” Luc booms into the serenity of the night.

Hastily, I swim back to the shore.

The smoke of a camp fire waves like a torn flag and all of my oaths are gone. In Luc’s company I am nothing but a piece of bantha butter in the midday sun: soft and easily handled. It has always been that way. Like he puts a spell on me.

“Brilliant! I am rather hungry!” I cheer.

My step-brother walks slowly towards me with a turned away face. I end up wrapped in a long towel that smells of jasmine blossoms. All the time his fingertips stay away from my skin in a very obvious way. His ice-blue eyes rest on a nearby crescent dune.

I take him by his wrists and shake them with all my might. “What is wrong with you? Look at me! Touch me!”
Now his eyes meet mine. “You are not a child any more, Isabeau!”

I cannot stop crying with anger, even though I know it is but a waste of water. Instead of giving out to me about it, Luc lets it happen, but he holds me at distance. I am not able to fling my arms around him.

Suddenly, my heart begins to flutter. It feels like pictures flow into my mind with the ease of sand corns that rush through an hour glass.

Tents of red-dyed Bantha skin snuggle against the star dune.

The happy laughter of women, drinking tea together, rings in my ears.

Eopie are flocked together, being taken care of by six children that look familiar.

A boy is smiling at me, while a masked man hands out porridge to us. They both talk to me gently.

Then the sounds of a battle are all around me, making my teeth ache and my head spin.

My field of vision contracts to a dark spot, then disappears altogether. I am plunged into a bright void.

“Do you want to live?” I can hear Luc say from far away. He sounds strange. His deep baritone has changed into a soprano. “Do you want to live?”

I nod vigorously. At least I feel that I am doing so. I am bereft of my eyesight. A blinding vision of white light envelops me.

“Take my hand,” Luc begs.

“Aren’t you a bit too young for bridal kidnapping, little Vicomte?” I hear somebody else snigger.

********************************************************************

(To be continued!)

 

Excellent bit of reflection on the serenity of solitude and how Luc is a welcome presence although he has to hold her aloof because she is no longer a child.

 

Growing up is hard. You remember the carefreeness of childhood and wish it to stay but like Dandelion seeds in the wind the clock cannot be turned back and time marches on.

Some societies view coming of age differently and that can be hard if there are drastically different standards for children and adults (children are allowed to embrace older people of the opposite gender but when they become an adolescent that is seen as inappropriate).

It is important to remember the old ways but sometimes, not always, the old ways are better off dead. My Nana when she was a child lived in a house with no running water and had to walk a mile and climb a hill while carrying a bucket to get water,


Sent from my iPadd from another galaxy using Tapatalk

 

As an older brother I understand Luc. Little sisters turn into young ladies.

 

Dear Nyota, nature always causes me to reflect. Even gives me the serenity of solitude... as long as my mother does not stand behind me in a forest in the middle of a night, asking me what I am doing. (Fortunately, it just happened once!) Anyway, I try to share those moments of clarity and self-reflection with my characters. Even though I was never in a desert. (We simply do not have them in Germany. )

Dear Lady_Misty, even before watching the Irish movie "Circle of friends", I was rather interested in different cultures. And now that the city, that I chose to live in from August 2013 on, is getting more and more crowded with foreigners, I try to understand even more. Luc never tries to understand. He judges harshly. Isa might overcome that in future...

Dear Furio, I was always the little sister. So it is indeed interesting to hear an older brother speaking.

Okay, after a fun weekend with many friends and my up-coming early shift on Monday morning, let me give you my update:


********************************************************************

With the greatest effort I force my eyes open and blink. I cannot really say that I have lost consciousness, but I feel strange. Stretched between the past and the present. I try to concentrate on the latter. When I speak at last, my voice seems slow and drugged. “Where are we?”

“Still at the lake.” Luc’s voice is so gentle that it almost makes me break down again.

To my surprise he does not wear his war mask any more. Without it he looks so young, so vulnerable. My forehead rests on his chest. His heart beats too loud and too strong. Instead of allowing his heat to seep into my veins as usual, to be the remedy for my illness, I push him away with all my might.

He looks genuinely startled.

I must not touch him or be touched by him in any way. Not right now. It is too dangerous to fall back into old habits.

Inhaling deeply, I curl my fingers into tight balls at my sides. Then I let the horrible images taunt me again. The bluntness of their substance has quite an impact on me.

“Border conflicts? Commercial agreements with Amnion? Is that why papa killed them all?” I burst out. My whole body shivers with blind rage. “For money he slaughtered my entire clan like rodents? Like filthy Elves?”

Luc seems taken aback. I eye him sharply. He actually looks as bad as I feel. Tired. Exhausted. Emotionally spent. There are deep lines across his temples and dark smudges under his eyes that his make-up cannot disguise.

His gaze sharpens and he says evenly, “Your mother was a stubborn woman who wanted to do things her way. Papa gave her several warnings, which she chose to ignore.”

“The desert belongs to everybody!” I yell, my cheeks aflame. “Nomads cannot be forced to pay taxes for using the caravan routes by accident.”

“I hear your mother talking,” comments Luc rather amused, his eyes alight with mirth.

“How can you remember the words of my mother, when even I, her own daughter, have nothing but blurry pictures of her in my mind?”

Even though I feel like crying, a part of me accepts all the war actions that have taken place. Life in the desert is a constant fight for survival. “I can’t remember!” I howl in pain.

At once Luc is at my side, crushing me to him with a growl. “Shush!” he begs me. “There is no need to give water to the Dead. Keep your precious liquids to yourself!”

Any reluctance against his touch evaporates. I melt into him, my fingers sinking into his mane.

“It shreds me when you cry,” he confesses. His fingers flex restlessly. “So don’t.”

“But you cut me off. Shut me out,” I protest.

He exhales audibly. Then his grip on me tightens. He rubs the tip of his nose against me. “You cannot stay a sweet, innocent kitten forever. By the laws of our people, I have to let you go. I don’t want to. But this is not about you and me, Isabeau.”

This time he says my name with reverence and tenderness, not with the usual strictness.

“This is about what is right in the face of the moon goddess and her virgin daughter,” he moves on. “Always do what is right in Her face, because the ways of our people are not Her way. She is a pure, inerrant vessel of the Living Force. We are not.”

“I do not want the Living Force. My mother never wanted it either. This is why Clan Riwalan had to be wiped out, right? Because some of us believed in the theory of the Unifying Force. Like the god queens of Cunabula.”

“There was no other way for Alezan. He did what he felt was right.”

Then Luc falls silent, holding me hard against him. I can feel the pulse beat in his throat, hammering like my own. There is a conflict in him. One that I do not understand. That wears me out as much as it bothers him.

********************************************************************

After a long time, Luc lets go of me. I feel a pang of regret immediately, feel somewhat bereft, even though I know I should not.

“Let’s go back home now!” he announces and starts trampling out the camp fire to underline his words. “I wanted to be home with you before dawn.”

Home. For him perhaps, but not for me. Houses are the graves of the living. I am more an outside person. My fancy clothing and the heavy jewellery will not change this. I need the thrill of the hunt, the daily act of survival. Only then I am whole. Pampering will kill me in the long term.

“Why not stay out here once?You taking a break from your many duties and me just enjoying life as it should be,” I suggest lightly, holding up a bag of ripe dates. “With just three of these you could live out here for nine nights.”

Luc looks at me with awry curve to his lips.

“We eat just a date skin on each of the first three nights,” I explain eagerly. “And for the next three nights we eat the meat. Then we suck one date stone each night until night nine.”

“Unless we get to water on the tenth night we are going to die though,” he mocks me. His smile has turned razor sharp. “I was already aware that you have a death wish. But that soon?”

I make a face at him.

He continues to pack our belongings, changing right in front of my eyes. His posture gets different.

A sick feeling settles in my gut. My feet feel rooted to the sand.

There it is again, that distant, almost vacant expression on his face. In the past he wore it but occasionally, by now it clings to his beautiful features like his war mask.

I start to ask myself if Luc is too afraid of emotions. Not only his own emotions, but also those of others. It seems strange to me, that someone as respected and feared as my big brother should be angst-ridden in any way. He is always so poised in the society of others.

With burning eyes, I watch him put on his war mask. Furious, I claw out for it and try to tear it off with all my might.

Luc lets out a gasp and hits me in the face. It burns like pure fire.

We look at one another full of shame, but not for very long.

The desert falcon appears from nowhere, majestic and beautiful.

My hunting dagger is in the air. It hits the main artery of the animal.
“Enderv!” Luc yells as he has been hit himself. “Diwall!”

I clearly hear his words, but I do not understand their meaning. They belong to a language I do not know.

Luc drags the dagger out of the dead body. His eyes turn tender. “Sioul eo armor, sioul evel al laezh”, he whispers, “Devezh mat!”

It seems absurd but I have the impression that Luc is bidding an old trusted comrade good-bye. He presses the lifeless bird against his chest, walks to a nearby stone, sits down cross-legged. Then he starts humming a weird melody.

********************************************************************

(To be continued!)

 

maybe she shouldn't have killed that falcon

 

Dear bird, Isa simply listens to her feline instincts since she is back from the desert!

 

Nice interplay of emotions again and it looks like Isa did something instinctive but she didn't know it was breaking some sort of rule. She shouldn't be punished or criticized for doing something that was more out of ignorance than willful malicious intent.

You can really feel the pull and pushing away of filial feelings with Lucien. The dynamics between them have really changed, and new habits of interacting will have to be gotten used to.

 

Dear Nyota, sometimes change is a good thing. But most of the time it makes us feel helpless!

 

Isa has some interesting thoughts and sometimes living in the middle of nowhere and surviving on your own strengths is fun and can be relaxing if you are not prepared you might die. I do enjoy camping in the woods in a tent with no modern amenities. And there are some that live without modern conveniences and do very well.

Some people have twisted ideas of how their supposed to be where their emotions are concerned.

 

Dear Lady_Misty, emotions are always a tricky thing. Especially when you want to stay on the light side of the Force.

Okay, here is my next update:


********************************************************************

It is more than my bad conscience that plagues me. It is the cursed silence that makes my ears ring after Luc has stopped his song. He has not sung the lyrics for very long, but every single word has made me sick. It was an Elfin language, I am sure of it.

With shaking hands I put my desert clothing back on. The bandages especially prove to be a problem at that moment. I curse under my breath.

Luc still sits on the stone, the falcon in his arms.

My helplessness mixes with resentment. A falcon is but an animal, nothing more. Food that could be eaten and digested. My step-brother is acting ridiculous.

I touch the bindu on my brow.

Solitaire would have been able to read Luc’s thoughts and understand them. But I cannot claim such bewildering powers. I am simply myself and no enigma.

A couple of moons I had been proud of my step-brother. Now I am getting more and more annoyed about the things that lurk under this surface of politeness and efficacy. How many languages is he able to speak? What else is he hiding from me?

My mouth becomes dry. “Can we please go?” I creak with a voice that is not fully my own.

Luc rises wordlessly. His eyes go right through me as he walks towards the eopies that he has tied to one of the bigger palm trees.

It feels good to be reunited with Crépuscule. She is such a gentle and understanding creature. Her presence calms me on the way back. My hands constantly rest on the outline of her slender neck.

When we reach the small canyon that leads back to Montségur, I wish for the high stone walls to give in and bury all of us.

In the very narrow inner yard of the homestead our ways suddenly part. With a muttered excuse Luc turns his steed around and gallops away through the still open entrance gate.

I would have preferred another slap in my face. He has deprived me of my prey. Now I have returned to the homestead with empty hands.

My fingers grab harder for Crépuscule’s reigns. I move us further on.

A boy comes running towards us: Tourbillion, one of Luc’s countless half-brothers. He is only twelve moon-years old, but already a groom.

"Salut la zone! Ça boume?“ the youngster calls happily in our common mother tongue Ronronner. Most of the time papa encourages everybody to speak Basic only.

Crépuscule lets out a small snort and allows herself to be led away by the boy. There are not many Lidérc the proud eopie mare likes at her side. She is a wild thing that enjoys biting people.

While I make some neck exercises in the leather saddle, Tourbillion is chatting non-stop. I prefer him to do the talking to me for I am not ready to face any questions yet.

********************************************************************

Inside the stables, the smell of fresh hay, herbs and eopie excrements surround me at once. To be honest, I prefer it to the perfume loaded air of the serail. Even though is tradition to seek a sanctuary after a long, hard hunting party. It is a place that males are only permitted to enter with the allowance of the pride.

When I was still a daughter of the dune sea, my mother’s humble tent had been the serail of my tribe. I remember that now. There had been nothing more than animal furs to sit on and in the middle stood a samovar made out of copper. My mother had shared tea supplies very generously with her sisters, cousins and aunts. The women had met on a daily basis. They had told stories to each other and had sung caporeia songs, accompanied by drums and flutes at times. Love, happiness, music and laughter had filled our camp.

The women of the ducal pride do not sing with one another. Even their laughter is unnatural. There is a constant competition going on. About a respectable hunt, about dresses, about the education of their children and about papa’s attention. Some leave their food untouched when a rival is in sight. They even pass on their hatred to their offspring. It is a disgrace.

Once upon a time, my mother’s tribe had been following the voices of the wind. I had learned how to ride an eopie before I was able to walk. The taste of my mother’s milk had gradually turned into that of fresh bantha milk. My body had been hardened by sand, wind and the extreme temperature changes. Even the bright sunlight had not mattered to me when I had played in the shadows of the tents with Matin.

Matin, my twin. Dust in the wind like my past. There is only the future to tread on.

“I forge my own way, I walk a new path!” I say to myself.

With ease I jump out of my saddle. I take all the time in the universe to greet all the eopies that gaze out of their boxes. I find a kind word for each of them, stroke many nostrils.

********************************************************************

Papa loves his breed deeply, perhaps even more than his five wives and his offspring. He is present at the birth of every foal. Not only does he observe everything, he takes a very active role in it. With ancient love songs he calms the females down, makes them forget their pain and agony. He dries the newborns with perfumed linen and drinking water.

When one of the eopies turns ill, he calls the most skilled healers from Calme’s temple grounds, also referred to as Ostal Blanc. He never hesitates for the costs of a treatment. And when an animal dies due to high age or a battle wound he is in rage until he breaks down crying. Then it is Luc who cheers him up again.

Even in these stables here, eight yards deep underground in the heart of the building complex, my step-brother is mirrored in all that surrounds me.

I let out a hateful spit, that makes Tourbillion jerk back from his duties and earns me reproachful looks by some from some of the elder eopies. I cannot help that Luc is a plague. There is no escape at all from his almighty presence. Why has it taken me so long to see the bitter truth?

My stomach makes strange noises.

It is his fault that I did not have a decent breakfast yet. Midnight is over by now. I could not even finish the coffee that he had prepared for us. He has left the tea pot at the camp-fire. Such an act of forgetfulness that is not typical for him.

The death of the falcon must have shaken his soul very badly, but I refuse to take the blame. I am an honoured chasseuse now. Death is my business. With the corpse of the falcon Luc acted like some mind twisted vegetarian from Amnion.

I simply fail to understand him and his motives any longer. Something has changed him beyond the mascara and his war mask. Perhaps it is even more than the responsibilities of the homestead.

There are bewildering rumours. The supporters of Dealg, a god whose worship is forbidden, have formed a secret society. They call it the Brotherhood of Shadows. It is about using dark magic and weird rituals.

Tourbillion steps into my way and indistinctly I grip my lance. I whirl myself through the air, land softly on my feet again and hold the pike against his throat. “From now on: never bother me when I return home from the hunt. I am not in the mood for your childish gibberish then. Is that understood?”

He looks at me with big, frightened eyes, but I stride out of the stables as fast as I can.

Only when the adrenaline wears off, I feel sorry for the boy. It is all Luc doing this to me. He comes and vanishes as he chooses. No commitments, no attachments, no honesty. I hate him as much as I love him.

With grim thoughts in mind I bump into something rather solid and large.

“Oh, I beg your pardon, milady! I fear I got lost in this facility. May I humbly ask where I can find the man’s rest rooms?”




(And yes, this text contains a Darth Krayt quote!)

 

She loves her eopie and love her poetic musings

And what's more to come with all those visitors

 

Enjoyed Isa's reflections about Lucien and now more intriguing meetings are around the corner.

 

Dear Nyota, somehow Isa cannot stop thinking about Lucien... for the worse or the better...

 

Oh Isa, it seems she doesn't understand pets. But then for someone from a society where everything has a purpose a pet might seem extra odd.

She shouldn't blame Luc for how she treated her younger brother. Yes, she's upset with Luc and his attitude towards her but that doesn't excuse her shortness.


Sent from my iPadd from another galaxy using Tapatalk

 

Lucien, in all his incarnations, is always an engaing and interesting character. Isa is maturing nicely IMHO.

 

Dear bird, the next chapter will show you.

Dear Misty, Isa may be an alien life form with cat genes, but she is a teenager after all. And they are moody and unpredictable.

Dear Furio, I like complicated. Even though this is some kind of fairy tale in a galaxy far, far away, I like my characters in 3 D and not flat like a fairy tale person. And I like a good story that keeps me interested. This is why Lucien is like mist at times: hard to catch, teasing the eyes & hiding what is beyond.



Okay, let us go on and because Easter is coming up let it be a somewhat longer update, okay?



(More SW Easter eggs can be found in my fanart thread.)


Dark adapted eyes, Chapter 5:

A human man fills out the small passage, bowing formally as if I am a god queen of Cunabula. He is wearing a white senator’s toga with the traditional stripe of purple attached to it. Even though he is no old man by human standards he wears a very dense beard, that has a lot of curls in it. They look natural though. It is his skin colour that is unusual. It resembles the surface of an olive. His deep brown eyes rest on me with an air of friendliness that triggers more hatred of mine.

“Learn to read a map next time, outlander!” I snap.

“Isabeau! How dare you!”

Flor’s head, framed by a half veil, pokes out of a door frame. Her eyes tell me that I had done something very stupid just now.

“Yes, maman?” I ask with a trembling voice. I can still smell the human behind me, bewildered and sweaty.

“Tourbillion’s mother would like to have a word with you... among women.”

Even though it relieves me to hear that the scene between the human and me has totally escaped Flor, I feel that I am in trouble. But then I see her pupils widening and this deep puzzlement in her look. “Senator Aletheia,” she slurs. “I expected you to be with my honoured husband.”

“I fear that I got lost, milady. Alezan explained to me en detail were the gentlemen’s rest rooms were, but the passage ways look all so similar to me.”

Flor steps out of the door frame, wearing nothing more than her casual serail clothing. But she shows no embarrassment at all, but put on a big, honest smile. “This must be all very, very strange for you, Senator.”

“Yet it is charming and stunningly beautiful.”

I roll my eyes and whisper, “Merde!”

Flor fixes me like a hunting target. “I would feel very honoured if I can escort you personally, Senator.”

The human holds out a hand and she takes it without hesitation. I am annoyed. All this physical closeness with a stranger is not normal. And standing half naked in front of visitors is usually out of question, too. A rather strange etiquette rules this household of late. How many changes have been made during my absence?

“May I be so bold and ask the name of this young lady here?” the human wants to know suddenly.

His request is almost as breathtaking as my step-mothers reaction. Flor is nonchalance in person. “Oh, I beg you pardon, Senator. I must remind myself that my daughter is a real woman now and worthwhile to be introduced to a good friend.”

Her hand is under my chin suddenly, lifting it up in an attempt of acted tenderness. She mistakes me with an epoie foal. “This is Marquise Isabeau Riwalan, the last surviving member of her House.”

“Enchante, madame!” the human dares to say in my mother language and reaches out for my hand in order to kiss it. But I shake it off.

“Forgive my daughter. She is desert-born and has her own ways. Social contacts are difficult for her. She prefers the freedom of the winds and a good hunt. But she is a good daughter.”

I frown at Flor’s remark. Does she pretend to know me out of a sudden, or has she always been aware of the things that make me mad in this homestead?

The human beams at us. “There is nothing to forgive, milady.”

“Her divine majesty must be a very interesting woman to be married to, senator”, my step-mother muses.

This bearded creature is Arcānā’s husband? He could be her elder brother, her father even.

“It was a pleasure to become acquainted to you, Marquise.” Once more he bows in front of me with his unnerving honesty. “I hope we can deepen our relationship next time. But now I must return to your honoured father before my long absence causes him any distress.”

********************************************************************

The labyrinth of small gangways is separated by guarded doors. Flor and the senator are too deep in conversation to notice me. With endearment they speak about the new born babies of Arcānā.

I am still puzzled. How can a boring human be married to such a proud and dangerous alien? How old is he anyway? Thirty-four? Thirty-five?

The name of the next crown princess in line falls more than once: Adamah. She seems to be a spoiled brat, but the senator does not seem to mind that. I become to understand that he loves all his twelve children. Who could ever love a snotty toddler? Or even worse a crying baby? Perhaps Arcānā has chosen her husband because he is a fool, easy to please and even easier to handle.

After a little eternity we enter the wing of the homestead, where papa spends his time when he is not at war or dealing with business partners. He is not allowed to enter the serail at all. When he wishes for the presence of one of his wives, he has to send a female slave.

As a child I had needed no invitation to visit papa. A fact that I have slightly abused until he had scolded me dearly. After his stern speech it had been no fun any longer to sit on the laps of his visitors and be spoiled with sweets.

A pair of Elfin eyes spots me at once when I entered the luxurious chamber with it’s mirrors and gold ornaments.

“Hi there, lass! Long time no see. Nice to bump into you again.” Ahearne nudges his grim looking companion. “Is it not, Ciall?”.

Alezan rises to his full impressive height. He claps in his paws with gentle lightness. Without his war mask he looks old and grey. His fur is somewhat shabby, its radiance almost gone. “What a splendid idea!” he booms. “First we had no female company and now we have two honoured huntresses joining.”

Only now I am aware what is wrong in this chamber. The pillow where Solitaire should be seated is as empty as the single cup that stands in front of it.

My eyes turn narrow.

“Lady Solitaire is not feeling well,” Papa answers clipped.

Then it dawns to me. The Elves, of course. A loyal servant to the throne of Cunabula would not share the same air with their kind.

“Well, I will send Luçien to her later on.” My step-mother makes herself comfortable on a pillow. “That will do her good.”

“Later on?” I ask sharply. “Poor her. If she is ill you should send a real Force healer, not a grave digger.”

All eyes in the room rest on me now.

“I reckon you know then where your brother is?” Papa’s voice does not match his gaze, but I do not yield.

“Grave digging.” I think of the falcon. “I am very sorry, papa, but I cannot stay in a room that is infested by humans and Elves."

A shocked silence follows me to the door and stays behind, when I close it.

********************************************************************

Getting towards the ducal boudoir gives me no difficulties. Each gardien pair on duty bows. Heavy double doors open, no further questions asked.

Finally, I come to a hold in a small gangway with brazen mirrors. At it’s very end is a small door with the golden emblem of the ducal insignia: a cat claw that reaches for a crescent moon. The claw that has wiped out my mother’s noble tribe.

My hands begin to shiver uncontrollably.

A fire storm burns down the tent walls of our camp in no time. Blood and death are spread by House Ankoù.

The head of my favourite aunt rolls by, her eyes wide open in furious anger. An unspoken curse hangs on her lips.

I lift the lifeless head up and run. I want to carry it away from further harm. But I do not come very far. There is an eopie. An unmasked boy sits on it. His cat eyes are as blue as polar ice.

I feel the urge to ram my head against the door, when the violent memories stop as suddenly as they have befallen me. My knees feel wobbly.

“Maman? Are you there? May I come in?“

She does not answer and so I push the door open, eager to sink deep into her arms and cry.

It is semi-dark inside the boudoir. Salt crystal glow globes send their weak orange light into the room. I touch one of them gently and increase its strength to the level usually I appreciate.

The bed is empty and unused, but in the air hangs a tiny echo of her presence. Solitaire has been here recently.

Due to the traditional rotational cycle of the pride it is her term to be in charge of the dynastic interests. At daylight she is expected to be in the marital bed, but at dawn she can join the other women in the serail or to go hunting in the moonlight.

I catch a glimpse of my own reflection in a bronze mirror that is opposite the bed. Even though I am not overly fond of mirrors at all, I start taxing myself.

My taint has definitely gotten darker due to the merciless midday sun. As for my cheek bones, they have gotten a sharper edge to them. The greatest change yet are my eyes. A wild fire burns in them, telling everybody that I am no harmless kitten any longer. I am sure that this message even got through to Ahearne and O’Maoilrian tonight.

Smiling, I get my golden hair clips loose and start combing my hair with one of Solitaire’s brushes. Then I take one of the perfumed tissues that a slave had put down close to the mirror. The tissues do not smell of jasmine, but of the way stronger tuberoses. I do not mind smelling of salt water and sand, yet I want to be polite towards my young step-mother.

I start stripping layer for layer, taking time with the cleaning procedure. It feels good to have the cool tissues touching my skin. Usually, I am not very fond of them, but tonight it felt right. So soft, so fresh, so clean.

After a while I grab for a greenish perfume flacon, that is standing between all the make-up and the jewellery boxes. The bottle has the form of a resting snake, being rolled up. I open it carefully and sniff. The essence of flowers, that swarms my brain like a clash of water, is not entirely unknown to me. It was Solitaire’s favourite perfume. One of the few things she has brought with her from Draconis.

I hold the flacon closer to my face. While I do so, my mind opens its gates once more.

High stone pyramids reach boldly into a rainy sky. They shimmer in a violet light. There are also giant trees with massive roots. A brownish river makes it’s way through the all-present river delta, showing no particular haste.

A blond woman, high and erect, makes her way through the jungle. She is only clad in a cotton sari as green as the nature around her. Her arms and legs have tattoo marks on them. So has her face. Each blue line makes her seem more beautiful and desirable. She smiles at me, warm and natural. The sound of her deep voice makes me happy beyond any measures. “You have been well trained, my young apprentice. They will be no match for you.”

I fall on my knees and kiss her beautiful feet. I do not mind that they are covered with mud. They are as perfect as the rest of her.

********************************************************************

When my vision starts to crumble away, I hold the flacon closer to my face, but I cannot hold on to it. Arcānā is gone.

Feeling hollow and empty beyond all means, I put the perfume away. I turn to the cabinet, in which I suspect Solitaire’s household garments.

One of her thin dresses, made of wild satin, impresses me. It is an elegant neck holder. Its colour reminds me of the dawn above the hamada. Normally, I do not care for such fancy dresses, but tonight I am in a rare mood after all.

“It fits you like a glove, cherida.” Unannounced, Solitaire stands in the door frame, wearing but a morning robe. The odour of the most exquisite massage oils surrounds her like a cloud. “You can keep it.”

“I... could not possible...” I start, but my voice trails off, when she saunters closer.

All my senses tell me that Solitaire is on the hunt, but I cannot move a single muscle. There is something amiss with the perfume. My blood whispers strange stories into my brain.

Solitaire joins me in front of the mirror. Her bloodshot eyes frighten me. She opens her jewellery box. “This dress goes best with this trinket here.”

I notice her raising a diamond collier from the box. “Papa will not like that.” I mumble. My lips feel so daft.

Her iris turns yellowish. “It is for me to decide what I do with my belongings.”

Not able to protest, I close my eyes and wait for her to put one of her many diamond colliers around my neck, but I then feel something sharp in my skin.

“Tonight he will finally end this dreadful farce between the two of us. I feel him coming for me.”

Her fingernails drill deeper and deeper into my neck. The grip she uses on me is unfair. In ancient times mothers had used it to carry the young ones out of a danger zone with their bare teeth.

My feline heritage takes over. I am fully hers now, and defenceless.

All my feelings for Solitaire are washed away by disgust and hatred. This is no way to attack ones prey. There is no honesty in it at all.

“Honesty”, Solitaire muses, once more being able to read my thoughts with no difficulties. “Let me tell you something, cherida. Honesty is an illusion. Everybody hurts. And everybody lies. Especially Arcānā. It has been so long and my path has been so dark. Darker than I ever dreamed it could be.”

One of her fingers plays with my hair absent mindedly. I do not like the intimacy of it. “But I still love her”, she says. “My mission will be completed in one way or the other.”

I cannot care less for that mission, even though I seem to be an important part of it.

The fangs of a reptile are lurking out of her mouth. I never have noticed them before. “I will give you a decent chance of survival. My poison will work slower than usual, if I do not hit one of your main blood vessels.”

Frightfully sweet pain hits me full force.

“Now it is done. May the Force be with you, even though you shun it out most of the time.”

Out of a sudden I notice my surroundings with a sharp clarity. The carefully placed ornaments of the porcelain tiles. The shimmer of the satin cushions on the futon bed. The surface of the bronze mirror. The carvings of the cupboards

And even the movements of the light.

“It is the effect of the poison, cherida. I need you to observe all that happens tonight in silence.”

I am dragged into the open wardrobe. Once Solitaire has put me inside, she gets me seated in a kneeling position between her garments.

When the doors are closed on me, I am swimming in a colourful sea of satin. Breathing gets more and more difficult.

Then a polite knock comes from the hallway.

********************************************************************

(To be continued!)

 

Excellent meeting with the Senator - and wow, Solitaire's mysterious behavior to cap it off.

 

Well, there might be an Easter special tomorrow. There might be more mysterious behaviour from more folks.

Thanks for reading, dear Nyota. I just sat down to write more about Palpatine and his niece. I will send the rest of the text to you via PM later, if I may.

 

Like your eggs, it's been too many years since I colored any but my family was never big on Easter Egg Hunts.

Looks like things are going to get really bad for Isa.

 

I simply love Easter eggs. Because they teach us much about the frail beauty of life. Anyway, dear Misty, Isabeau will learn more lessons about the power of the dark side of the Force any time soon.

 

Things are intensifying for Isa. Solitaire's thoughts on honesty are telling.

 

You of all people know what influence the dark side can have, dear Furio. What is does to emotions and relationships. In one of your own stories you portray that drama fairly well.

Arcana needs to redefine her understanding of truth and love as Solitaire proves us in this update here.

Okay, because it is Easter and I am having some on-line time right now, let me give you all another quick, reasonable update, dearies:



********************************************************************

Through the wooden ornaments I watch Solitaire rushing towards the futon bed. She starts an enchanting song from the depths of her throat, electrifying the air in an instant with sexual yearning. The melody and couleur are those of a pure Lidérc, but there is a wilder tune to it. Something very demanding.

„Buenas noches!“I hear Luc call out on the other side of the door.

Do they have an affair with one another?

„¡Qué calor!“purrs our step-mother in a very slow deep tone, that even manages to make me dizzy with lust.

„En el desierto hace mucho calor,“comments Luc dryly, sauntering into the room. He still wears his travel garments and the war mask. There is sand all over him. Normally, he switches into some clean clothing when he enters the homestead.

„¡Qué calor!“Solitaire turns onto her belly in a very delicate way, pressing her torso deep into the mattress while raising her backside up high.

Luc stares at her naked back, but makes no move to give into the obvious invitation to mate with her.

„¡Coge!“she sighs without turning around.

„¡Tengo lo que necesito!” He remains in front of her, cool and aloof.

Our step-mother presses her thighs together again and rolls around to face him again.

A blue crackling light is all around Luc. With a powerful hand gesture he sends her hurling across the boudoir like a rag doll.

Solitaire crashes back on the bed, panting hard.

“Why would you break papa’s trust and your marriage vows? I considered you to be more clever than that.” His eyes are frightfully intense. “What is your true plan? To keep me away from the newborn babies? Is something amiss with them?“

Solitaire is struggling hard underneath him. “Your mind probing is useless,” she wheezes. “Come on, finish it!”

“As you wish!”

Our step-mother begins to shake uncontrollably. Blood runs out of her nostrils, her ears and mouth. Despite all, she manages to reach out in the Force one last time. Just to push the cupboard doors open. Unceremoniously, my limb body rolls on the floor.

********************************************************************

The stench of Argan oil is everywhere. I am lying on my belly. A warm cloth rests on my neck. Somebody has taken the effort to wrap my arms and legs in towels, but left my entire back exposed to fresh air.

I try to open my eyes, but the lids stick together.

There is the mixed pressure of fingertips and knuckles on my skin. Now and then a pair of hands moves up and down my spine, stretching my body carefully.

My heart begins to beat faster.

Luc, only he can massage so well.

“The golem was more clever than I thought,” I hear him mumble like a sullen boy. “I should have recognized her side plan. Her poison almost killed Isa. Forgive me, papa!”

“It is a miracle that you are not resting next to Isabeau.” His voice brings tears to my eyes. He is in it as well. “I should relieve you of some of your duties at last.”

“Please don’t, I can manage.”

“Chef du la sécurité, master assassin, witch hunter, defender of the faith. You have too much on your plate. I want you to rest now and again.”

I almost swallow my tongue at this revelation.

“I sleep enough.” Luçien stops his massage. “You had better leave. Isa will wake up soon. Her breath is becoming calmer and more relaxed already. You have guests to attend to.”

“Will you honour us with your presence later, my son?”

“I have a funeral to attend to,” Luc answers after a very long silence.

I hear papa kiss him on his brow. “I am very sorry about your loss, my son.”

“Thanks.”

A door falls shut.

Papa leaves me behind with a cold blooded murderer. And it is possible that I am next on his death list.

A towel is placed on my back.

“I am tired of this, Isabeau. Leave now, before your thoughts hurt me even more. I cannot believe that you really think I am capable of harming you in any way.”

I grab the towel and flee.

Luc is a mind reader like Solitaire. Another secret of his.

The guards outside look away in shame, but I do not mind. I run and run until I am in the stables. The eopies there give me curious looks, yet snort in compassion and sympathy.

Crépuscule is all over me when I step into her box. I cling myself at her white and gorgeous neck, sprinkling it with my tears.

It is madness to waste my waters this way, but I want to let it all out: my fears, my anger, my misery. So much has happened the past moons, too much to deal with it in any way.

My beloved eopie mare tries to lick my tears away gently, tickles me with her concerned attempts.

“He can kill people without touching them. Like a dark wizard from Draconis. And when he kills... he... he is so unnaturally calm. No, Vicomte Luçien Ankoù is not my brother. Not any more.” My cheeks are on fire. “He never really was.”

********************************************************************

From that night on I try to avoid Vicomte Ankoù as much as possible, visit all the places that force him to stay away from me. At daylight I either sleep in the box of Crépuscule, spend many hours in the bath house, or on a divan in the serail. But as soon as the sun goes down, I disappear into the desert night. All that I have with me are my hunting weapons and my camouflage suit.

Then comes an evening, when I have an antelope giving me quite a chase.

A hunt seldom takes place in the open desert. The labyrinth like canyons of the hamada offer much better opportunities. To scout out the ancient water holes of the local animal popularity is always very deserving.

Panting hard I sink down on my knees, the neck of the dead goat still in my hand. I take his blood in the traditional way of the desert. No drop of humidity is to be wasted. I hold my flacon close to the wound, watch the red stream flow out of a body that gets more and more rigid.

In between I clean the blade with my tongue. The old ram has been healthy, indeed.

I seal the flacon and start taking my bait apart, bit by bit. My hands perform the old rituals without wasting any drop of blood at all. Solitaire would have been proud of me. While I dance the animal’s soul up to the stars, I say grace as my birth mother Chaleur once has taught me.

“There were but two beneath the sky -
The thing I came to kill, and ...“

“Isabeau, may I talk to you?” a voice cuts in.

Alarmed I turn around.

 

These last two chapters have been intense, adventurous, and bewildering for Isabeau. Is anyone around her as they seemed? Maybe that's true in our reality too, but I hope not to this extent! Then again, both Lucien and Solitaire seem to have something of Dexter, Hannibal, etc - those figures our author finds so intriguing.

Isa still seems a bit of a spoiled brat, or perhaps someone who's really put in a gilded cage but is only now realising she's having a Stockholm syndrome that makes her love her goalers, whose true intentions and feelings she has little idea of. Part of growing up, no doubt

As I said, bewildering for Isa, sometimes for the reader too, but with enough clues and narration to keep us from getting lost

I really like the richness of the universe you paint with words - sometimes opulent and byantine, other times stark, and clear - but almost always, I get the impression, harsh, even if that harshness is covered by a layer of vineer. You manage that without making it into a cliche.

 

Great chapters with many twists and turns for Isa