Indigo: Enduring
by Seralis
Chapter Three - Enduring
I have been at the Temple for many moons now, but I admit that I do not like it any better now than I did when I arrived. It is a cold, hard place, completely unlike my home. To be truthful, my dislike for the place stems from my boredom. There is nothing to do here; no stars to watch, no water to play with, no plants to pet and coax to speak. There are those who can speak the language of those beings, understand their gentle whispering in the wind. I used to spend hours outside, trying to persuade them to speak to me. I would hear a soft murmur, and my hearts would stop for a second, thinking that I had, at last, learnt the secret of their language. Then the wind would rush by me, its thin laughter floating by, and I would realize that I had been fooled by her again. I miss those plants. That is what I will do. I will go to the Greenery, away from this dull cell of closed grey walls. That is, if I can find it.
The halls of the Temple labyrinth in a thousand directions, always changing. I sometimes think that I will never navigate them all. I probably won’t.
After several dead ends, and an intentional visit to a strange, empty room, I reached the Greenery. The Greenery is what I can almost call beautiful. Plant life fills the vast area, some so small they are hardly noticeable, and some so large I cannot see where they end. Some of these beings are familiar to me, others are completely foreign. The only thing the Greenery lacks is a sky. Far above me, I can see only a grey ceiling, the colour of my rooms. Regardless, this place is nothing short of fantastic.
Wandering through this lush forest, I find a clearing surrounded by young estarn, bright blue flowers with a dark indigo heart. They are my favourite flowers, the most beautiful and startling for all beings of its kind, I think. Fingering its soft, velvety petals, a sense of calm comes over me. I can feel my body relax, inhaling the warm sweet scent of the estarn. I close my eyes, savouring the feeling.
A rustle pulls me out of my peace. I open my eyes to see another pair of curious eyes, looking down at me. Jumping back in surprise, my hearts are racing. From a distance, I can see that these eyes belong to a boy about my age. This boy is taller than I, and I cannot help but notice the strength that lines his blue-tinged limbs. His mouth widens, baring his startling white fangs at me. No, not quite fangs, they are not nearly as sharp as mine, I think proudly. Still, to threaten me like this…
“Who are you?” I demand of this intruder, “And how dare you threaten me with your inferior mouth protrusions?”
His mouth grew even wider, mocking me with those blunt white things. “My inferior mouth whats?” he asked, his voice surprisingly deeper than I’d expected. Before I could answer, he made a deep sound with his throat that intrigued me more than frightened me. “My teeth, you mean?” he asked, suddenly realizing that my questions were, in fact, earnest. “Haven’t you ever seen teeth before?”
In a flash, I recalled that I had seen things like the ones that resided in this boy’s mouth. In the mouths of the humans. “Only in the gaping holes of scum,” I replied, sounding more confident than I felt.
“Humans, I suppose you mean. You’d be right then,” he said, confirming my suspicions, “I’m half human myself.”
I knew I should feel repulsion at this revelation, but I felt no wave of disgust rise within me. Half human? Surely that meant he must be half demon then? This was acceptable, was it not? “And what is it you were doing with your mouth then?” I asked, wishing to let my thoughts stray from these questions.
“Haven’t you ever seen anyone smile before?” he asked, as if I was dumb.
“Of course I have,” I answered, relieved at having found something I knew of, “But one needn’t show one’s fangs when smiling.”
“One needn’t show one’s fangs when smiling,” he mocked my words, making them sound silly and pretentious. I disliked this feeling. “Don’t I look happier when I show my teeth though?”
He…smiled at me again, showing his teeth. I had to admit he did seem to possess an air of contentment with this expression. “I suppose so,” I admitted.
“There then. Now what’s your name?”
“I haven’t got one,” I replied, suddenly ashamed. What if this boy had been named? Would that mean he was greater than I? Should I have spoken in a fashion according to his station?
“Well, well, well. You’re one of the new ones then, aren’t you?” he circled me, appraising me with his eyes.
“I am.”
“Well I can’t just call you nothing, now can I?” he asked, although I got a feeling he was talking more to himself than to me. Suddenly he whirled around, to look right into my face. “Shall I give you a name then?”
“Are you allowed to?” He was certainly not old enough to be one of the Elders, and were not the Elders the only ones who could name?
“Is anyone allowed to?” he challenged, “You can’t just not have a name, you know. It isn’t right to have no name. You must have one, for you can’t go around nameless forever.”
This was a question I knew the answer to, “The Elders will name me,” I declared proudly.
“Will they? And how long will that take? And what will I call you until then? No, no, you must have a name,” then he peered at me questioningly, “You do want a name, don’t you? If you want to wait for the Elders to name you, then that’s fine by me, but I do think a creature as beautiful as you ought to have a name.”
I felt a heat rising to my face, suddenly embarrassed by this word. Beautiful. Was I beautiful? The estarn were beautiful, but could that word be applied to me? I liked to think so. “You may give me a name then,” I agreed shyly.
“Excellent.” He took my hand in his, and I felt a strange tingle. I nearly pulled my hand away, feeling awkward with this contact. No one had ever touched any part of me like this, not even my samara. He looked into my eyes, his own a silvery gray colour. After several moments like this, he whispered my name into my ear, as if the flowers around us might hear.
“Your name is Illyria.”
Illyria. I tried the word out in my mind, trying to apply it to myself. Surprisingly, it was not difficult. The word flowed through me, making me feel calm and powerful. “I like this word,” I pronounced.
“Name,” he corrected, “It is your name.”
“My name,” I said, liking the sound of it, “My name is Illyria.” This I liked even better. I felt my mouth stretch, opening to show my fangs. Smiling.
He smiled back, filling me with a warm feeling. Before I could say anything more, Shivon, the old man, appeared at the foot of the hill of estarn. His eyes flickered down to my hand, still held by the boy. Instantly, I let go, as if burned. I almost felt like I had been.
“Come child. We have your training to begin.” He turned away, heading back to the Greenery’s opening to the rest of the Temple, knowing I would follow.
I was halfway down the hill when I turned back, a question burning in my mind. Seeing the boy still standing there, I asked, “What is your name?”
He came closer to me, bending over again to whisper, “Kathos.” He smiled again, and I turned away, back towards the Temple to Shivon and my first training session.
I would not forget that name. Kathos.
“That is how I met him,” Illyria said, proud and defiant of anything Wesley might have to say about her actions.
“I see. And you loved this man?” Wesley asked.
“I do not feel love,” she replied, her face cold and impassive, “It is a weakness I have long been free of.”
“Then you did feel it once,” Wesley said, wishing to crack that stony façade and uncover the warmer core he felt, he knew, was hidden deep within this goddess. Why else would she have reacted so strongly when he questioned her about this Kathos? Why else would she feel any pity for him at all, for his loss of Fred?
“I admit I did. Once.”
“For Kathos?” he probed.
She grew impatient now, tired of his constant interrogation, “I grow weary of your questions Wesley. I will answer no more.”
“Very well.”
“I did, however, promise you I would tell you of your Winifred Burkle, did I not?” a faintly devious look crossed her face.
“You did.”
She looked down at her hands, no, Fred’s hands, before speaking, fascinated with these foreign limbs. “When I was liberated from my prison, I had a faint consciousness of my surroundings. I could feel life being breathed back into me, I could feel the strength of bodily existence returning. All this time I could feel another being, there, with me. As my strength returned, I could feel her strength slipping away, her life slowly sapped by my resurrection.”
She looked up at him, seeing the pain in his face, and could feel no remorse. She too had grieved, had suffered the way this meaningless man did. Her pain had been great; enough to rip dimensions apart, to toss worlds from one galaxy to another. So she continued.
“She put up a resistance to me, the way you humans do to those viruses that plague you so. But for her there was no drug, no chemical that would stop me.” She spoke detached from her surroundings, unfeelingly. “I took her body for my own, a shell to host my power, my being. That is what I did to Winifred Burkle. Are you satisfied Wesley? Is your insatiable hunger for knowledge fed?”
Tears slipped silently down his cheeks, his heart clenched in sorrow for what he had lost. “You murdered her,” he accused.
“Murdered her? Oh no, my Wesley, you cannot even begin to fathom that there might be more beyond the simple death. For me, there is no death, no final rest. There is only the eternity that I choose to walk. Now, bound by this body, I have no choice.” He refused to look at her, too absorbed in his own feeling, his egocentric pain. “You and I are not so different, Wesley. We have lost, the two of us. The difference is that I accept my losses, and I release them into the past, for that is where they belong. Ghosts have no place in the present.”
There was no sound from him, except for harsh, choked-up breathing.
“I will continue,” she decided for them, “And then I will tell you what makes our losses truly different.”
“And what might that be?” he asked, his voice hoarse and heavy with emotion.
“When you are as ancient as I, Wesley, you too will learn patience.”
He laughed dryly through his tears, “And you are patient?”
She thought this over for a moment before correcting herself, “No, not patient perhaps. But I am enduring. As your Fred is.”
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