She was like me.
In a way.
I was not sure.
She was like me!
I had so many questions. I wanted to stop her, and yet I wanted to keep listening until my ears fell off.
“What… uh… sorry. Sorry. Go on.”
This is my third life.
Kishirra nodded, her hand reaching for my hair, and she pulled off more ash stuck to my locks.
“You asked how it began. It began with cinders.” Her grey eyes lost themselves in memories, turning dull as she recounted. I scooted a little closer, pretending it was just to listen better, but I actually wanted to hold her against me. Was she a returner just like me? But she never mentioned Earth. What was going on?
“Whatever the Kiengiri did to give life to our kind, they mismatched our bodies to our souls. We are a hardy bunch: we share in many of the boons our creators had: we are swifter, hardier, and more resistant than proper Men. But our souls do not pass on.” She sighed, balancing her open palms like the plates on a scale. “When we die, our souls retain our previous experiences, though only some of the memories. Over time, with each great cycle our souls incarnate and fold again, rebuilding a proper body for themselves. We grow stronger with each cycle.” A pause. “And for a time, it is good.”
But then… maybe I was starting to put the puzzle pieces together. If their bodies were mismatched compared to their souls, what would happen to Elves who strained themselves too much, who learned too much, during their life?
“It starts with a sense of confusion,” Kishirra resumed. “Memories get muddled. We long for people who are long gone, and we cannot find them. Friends are dust. Lovers are echoes at the edge of blindness. And with each cycle, our soul strains our bodies a little further. We can contain it less and less. Our time grows short.”
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“You are…”
“Like a wave contained to a pond. But each time it crashes upon the shore, it grows a little higher. In time, the wave bursts into pure chaos, and the soul rips itself apart.” She rubbed her fingertips together. “And our bodies turn into ash.”
“What a horrible way to die. I’m sorry, I…”
“Die?” She interrupted me with a grim expression. “If only.”
“Wait, do you mean-”
“The soul cannot pass on.” She traced cycles with her finger in the air. “It is folded upon itself and imprinted into the world, an echo that will not disappear. Knots tying themselves up over and over. Our soul keeps stretching and stretching, trying to anchor itself to a new incarnation, but no flesh would properly welcome it. It burns itself up in burst after burst, turning more vicious each time. Memories, identity and desires get stretched and warped, and all that remains in an ever-lasting wail of madness and pain, gnawing on itself. In time, it seeps into the earth and stains the land with its madness. Many dangerous places of this world used to be brave and kind Elves.”
“Oh my god,” I hissed, covering my mouth in shock. “That’s even… that’s worse than I could imagine. Are you going to… end up like that? Please tell me you won’t!” I leaned forward, holding her hands in my own. “Is there a cure? Anything I can do? I’m just a reedsmith, but there must be something we can do!”
“Your concern is-” Madama Kishirra stuttered, and she stumbled on her next words. I was holding her hands, but for the first time I felt like I could deal with a bit of embarrassment. This was too important, I was not going to let go! “Endearing. I already told you I have Someone who is going to take care about it. If I manage to take this Quest of mine seriously, that is. If I pass my Test.” She hesitated for a moment. “Then, in a few short dozens of years, Ansàrra will have pity of my soul. I am going to earn the right to sit next to her above the stillborn stars… and that’s also the reason why I told you I am such a terribly selfish person.” She gently detached our hands and folded hers in her lap. “I am doing this to save myself from an eternity of pain. Please do not worry yourself over it: you are of Mannish breed, and your souls are free to pass over when your time comes. There is no need to be upset.”
I balled my fists. It wasn’t right. Why did she have to fight every day just to do something that to all of us would come naturally? And to avoid such a horrible fate.
And all alone.
“Madama Kishirra, I…” could I tell her? That I was a Strander. That I understood her better than anyone else could! That she could open herself fully with me, that I would be able to feel her pain and her loneliness, and that thanks to her I could even look people in the eyes nowadays! “I wanted to say…”