Rosemary and Lepius
at his awakening
Rosemary
As she watched the sleeping figure thrash about, her mana tried to leap out of her.
Should she wake him? Perhaps, but he had exhausted the last of his mana for Andura, and even if chewing him out for it was a good reason to wake him up, he needed to recover first. Sleeping was a good way to do so. Yes, she better not do anything rash.
But then her body screamed at her: “What are you doing? Wake him up! It's time for rashness!”
Her body was crumbling. A patchwork of cracks had spread out across it, and in between those cracks the last of her mana was spilling out as light. And mana wasn’t the only thing. What was left of her mind had started slipping away too, and as it did, the world passed by slower, their colors dimmer.
“Wake him up! Now!”
When her hand brushed against Lepius’ forehead, there were spots through which she could see his sleeping face. Her hand… was dissolving away. And when she saw that, a foreign mana rose within her, the very same that had risen earlier when the hooded mages torched her grove.
Fear.
It was a foreigner not because she had never felt fear before, but because that fear was for her family, for Andura, Manon, and Pellen.
This fear was for herself.
She prodded him, “Lepius, my dear. Time to wake up.”
He stirred and mumbled something along the lines of “Rose, it’s me, Lepius…”, and the carelessness of his tone stirred the volume of her voice higher.
“Lepius. Awake.”
Then, he turned the other way. This impudent… She considered kicking him, but when she lifted her leg, it was nothing but the faintest of light in the shape of her limbs. Her eyes grew wild and wide. The faded ember within her shrieked for her to do it.
Do it.
A clock ticked in her head. Tick.
Around her, the grass wilted as she called forth the last of her mana, and she knew if that if he didn't wake now, she wouldn't either. Her eyes glowed. She focused the rest of her life-force into the only thing she knew – a spire of light, to pierce through the veil separating them and bring him back to her.
The mountain continued to watch.
There was a great rumbling voice, and it was as if the earth underneath had started speaking, for the trees and rocks leant back to avoid it, the clouds overhead scattered, and the leaves fled to where the wind could not reach them.
“I AM ROSEMARY, TENDER OF LEPIUS AND ANDURA AND PELLEN AND MANON, AND I COMMAND YOU TO WAKE.”
The dreamer’s eyes flew open.
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Lepius
Previously.
“My toys are ever so fragile. But they are so fun to play with, even when broken. It’s been so long… you must forgive me if I have broken a few already.”
…
The voice from the dark sighed, “Well, it was getting boring anyways. I’ll come to visit you sometime else, my toy.”
…
“One day I will tear you from me and heal the world of you, you wretched thing!”
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Now
A flurry of images assaulted him the moment he woke.
A darkness above and below him, and everywhere else in between. A laughing pair of eyes in the dark. A rotten light that was once radiant, and himself standing at the boundary between the rot and the dark, unable to take a step to either horror. A grove – his grove. Something about his family dying, or hurting…
I think it was a nightmare.
Just a nightmare. A disturbing one that was slipping away from him with every breath he took awake. It was also one he wanted to cling onto, for he just felt like it was important. He couldn't understand why.
But nightmares were slippery, and the waves of reality and dreams always ran parallel, but in opposite directions. He blinked, turned his head, and the nightmare was all gone.
And now, his brain was waking up.
As it did, a buzzing filled his ears. Before his mind caught up to yesterday, there was a lull in his logic: he expected his mother clattering in the kitchen, Andura snoring, and even when he gazed upon Rosemary, he had a teasing remark halfway up his throat: “How dramatic do you have to be waking me up, Rose? Are you leading me to war?”
What an inspiring shout to wake him up, huh?
But then he noticed the cracks and fading spots on her face. And just like that, his eyes widened, and everything fitted back into the bloodstained jigsaw it was.
Each memory was like a slap.
There was no pattern to which came first – he couldn't parse it in any chronological order - so it all leapt for him at once: holding Rosemary’s hands over Andura’s dying body, Father and Mother, their village. And finally, Rosemary herself.
She was fading.
At that sight, he locked away all the memories somewhere safe. That was a chore for some other day.
He grabbed her hand. It was like sinking his fingers into jelly.
“What’s going on? How do I fix this?”
“My anchor is you. Think of me. Hurry.”
Lepius didn't waste a second. Into the hand, he pushed in all the wondrous and terrible things that he had shared with Rosemary: his sixteen birthday, pranking Andura with poison ivy, all the horror and pain of the morning. Especially the morning, for all emotions were mana. He gave them all to her, then watched as her bark darkened and the splotches once translucent began to fill in.
She was flush with life and magic.
“Better?”
“Much so. Thank you, my sapling.”
He returned to laying down.
And now that he had tempered the immediate danger, his mind returned to the memories, and he choked air down, for there was nothing left in his body to retch up. It tried, nonetheless.
"Andura, Mother, Father…"
He repeated that chant, declaring it in his head as if to brand it into his mana, carve it into his bark, so he could never forget.
But he never forgot the fourth name either, the one that belonged to her, kneeling before him: Rosemary.
Somehow, through the eyes filled with tears and sap, there she was, as eternal and dependable as the mountains themselves. She was proud. Despite everything, her eyes were glowing with it, all fierce pride and concern, and he couldn't look upon them.
I am no one to be proud of, he thought, as the ghost of that human returned to haunt him. He forced himself to rekindle that memory, remembering the twitching, gold-purple body.
I have murdered. Let me never forget it.
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Rosemary pressed a hand to him and said, “Are you well? You look sick.”
He clenched his hand around the ring.
“Father… Mother… Andura… I want to feel sick.”
Tears filled his eyes, and he clenched his mouth tight so that no sound could escape. If he didn't, he would be screaming. His lips begged to, begged him to scream at the mountains and the sky, who had both had witnessed it all: “Look upon me, and pity me! See how I am?” The witnesses to his tragedy. And deeper beyond tragedy, there too was horror, a stranger within him that he didn't recognize – it made him hunger to hunt and kill and tear flesh from bone.
He wanted those who did this to burn in his mana.
That sinister voice giggled inside him, making a reappearance. “Oh, yes. That sounds lovely, hmm?”
No. Not here, and not like this. He’d give it a name, so he could put a shape and space to pour his mana into, to purge the monstrosity – he’d call it the Voice.
“Damn you, Voice! Get out of my head!”
He saw Rosemary recoil, and so hurried to claim her hand back.
“No, Rosemary, it’s not you. I’m sorry, it’s… it’s been a long day. There is something inside me… I’m scared of it, so scared.”
She pulled him into her. What little she could cover with her arms she wrapped around Lepius, but nothing more than a hand would’ve been enough.
“What is it, my sapling?”
He could hide this no more. Rosemary would sniff it from him like a pig does for truffle.
“It’s… something in me. It tells me – it whispers to me to kill and hurt. And I... I think saw eyes, in a nightmare, or something... bright eyes -”
All she did was pull him close and hum every now and then. A sound of agreement. It was enough for him to keep rattling on, and she didn't say a word, content to have him spew the rest of it out.
When he was done, she spoke only a sentence.
“If it is so, listen to me instead.”
Then she started humming. The screaming faces all went silent after he narrowed down to her.
“Just like mana. Focus on me, Lepius.”
He slept again.
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It was nearing dusk when he woke up a second time.
Rosemary sat above him, brushing the leaves of his hair into waves. He noticed that she was only using her left hand, and it wasn't long before he saw why. Her right hand was missing. In fact, her entire right arm was missing, all the way up to the shoulder, with only faint light to mark what once was.
Not this again.
He grabbed the hand that was still solid and forced himself through it all again, all the bodies and birthdays, the silly jokes before the morning, then the tears afterwards. A small part of him enjoyed the torture.
Perhaps through this he could atone.
“How do I keep you from… slipping away like this?”
She fussed over him a little before she said, “I am sustained by your mana, as I don't have a grove now. It is not... ideal for me, especially when you sleep and do not think or feel.”
“I think I feel plenty of things in a nightmare.”
“But you don’t focus it onto me, do you, sapling? Yes?”
Some indignance washed over him at her tone, and he discovered a rebuttal waiting at the bottom of his throat: “Thank you, Great Sage.” But he didn’t speak it, and smiled instead. Only the Lepius of yesterday would've found that rebuttal, and after he mulled that through, the tension in his shoulders eased. He barged his head into her lap and sank into the thyme. The chant worked its way through him: “I am Lepius, I am Lepius.”
Two hands were now sorting his hair. How it should be.
“How do we… fix you fading away? Permanently?”
“We must build a new grove. I can anchor to that… for as long as you call it home.”
Ah, that word. Home. Those memories began assaulting him again, all the burning wood and the ashes, but he withstood the siege. This was for Rosemary. There would be no lying down and waiting for the right time, for him to feel a little better to do this… not with her so close to the edge. For if she slipped off that cliff, he would be alone. And he would cry again, and maybe he would never stop, and he knew that while she was falling, she would be crying too.
That was that – he declared to the mountains and the sky listening: “Rosemary shall never cry again.”
Then he forced a smile on.
“So, have you picked out a place?”
She nodded, “A small streams run through the spot, and the soil is good.”
It struck him as they got up.
“The staff!”
They found it twitching in his direction, the foot stuck in the foliage. When he held it firm in his hands, a bubbly feeling spread from the tips of his fingers to the bottom of his feet. He gripped the staff tighter, his hands curling around those roots.
How he missed this.
Here it was, the blossoming in his heart whenever he cured a wound or treated a sore. His mana was still with him. It wouldn’t be enough, not nearly enough, for him to work himself through and yank the Voice out, and maybe it was childish to think he could tear off something so intrinsic, but he did a lot of indulging recently.
A little more wouldn’t hurt him.
Rosemary took his hand in hers. He could feel her tracing the circular scar in his bark, the one from the ring. “Ready?”
“Yes. Let’s go. Let’s go… home.”
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at the same time
Karra
Karra was, hopefully… a good girl?
Well, at least her mother told her she was, and the elders knew so too. Why else had the clansleaders entrusted her with such a critical mission, and one just for herself, at that? Well… she wasn’t stupid, or anything, but harvesting grass was important.
No, it was!
From the blades of grass she bundled under one arm, there came forth noodles and greensilk, two staples of her people’s trade. And beyond her people, there was one staple for her. That honour belonged to sweetgrass, this very grass, but charred over the grill to release the hidden flavors, and how sweet it was. Nature’s best candy.
Not only that, but the grass also tasted good right off the soil. And indeed, she was munching on a handful as she picked, moved, and felt the sun behind her warm her back.
She let her imagination take her as she pulled up stalk after stalk.
Karra returns home with a mountain of grass, to feed the clan for weeks – they now call her Karra the Gatherer, the grass genius!
Her daydreams took her far away from the Plains. The sun descended as it watched her voyage to far away.
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hours later
When she emerged from the daydreams, she noticed the long shadows she cast over the grass.
Then she turned to the horizon, and nearly dropped all she had gathered – it was late. Had it really been that long?
She cast a glance at the bounty under her arm, a bushel of grass-stems tied up in a length of rope, as wide around as her hoof. For an adult, it was a snack. It wasn’t much grass… and she didn't want to have those whispers drifting about when she returned, but maybe they’d give her a new nickname then, and that wasn’t so bad.
Silly Karra was stale and boring.
She sighed, and returned to gathering. There was still time.
Her ears batted against a wasp as it flew circles around her head. Her hands were tough, blessed with thick nails that dug into the soil like a human shovel, and the two horns atop her head gave any opponent pause. If only she could ever cast a miracle that granted her the ability to stand and fight.
She couldn't remember any time at which she did, but that was bovines for you. Content to gather and eat, and as she was a good bovine girl, she would do so with relish.
Again and again, her hands plunged into the soil, seized the roots, and tore out a clump of grass. She separated the blades from the body. The roots she chewed on, and she repeated this simple process with consistency, never looking around, never straying, with her daydreams the only other thing her mind would entertain.
So it was that she didn't notice it. The rock.
And down she tumbled, over the stone hiding under the grass. She hissed as a thin line of red formed on her fur.
If there were bovines around, they would be laughing like they always were, snickering behind their hands. “Silly Karra, clumsy yet again.” How silly and clumsy she was… she wiped her eyes, glancing at the bushel of grass she had dropped.
She snorted.
“It’s… bright, but not warm. I might just take a quick rest… my leg stings…”
In her mind, she was already on a ship to her many worlds – worlds with dancing elves and tall cities of human-glass. She laid back and allowed the daydreams to take her. Again. This time, she closed her eyes too, for it was always easier to dream without the world to remind her.
Before she knew it, she was asleep.
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more hours
When she woke, it was night.
Oops?
Before she left, her mother had forced her to repeat something ten times: “I shall be back before dusk.” She stood up, her ears flapping about. There was a fluttering of her eyes and a wrinkling of her nose, something her mother called the 'I’m in trouble' face.
Her hooves jittered in the soil.
Yes, well, that was a problem for later, as right now, she had a more pressing concern.
She turned and turned and couldn't tell where the beaten track she started from had been.
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Lepius
“So, here?”
“No, no. The tree to the left. So, the stream passes underneath, that way you don't need to head outside for a bath.”
They had been at it for half an hour, and already the sun was slipping away, and the trees above and around looming taller against the sky.
He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes as Rosemary needled him again. There was another urge too, one just to… surrender, to find the softest pile of leaves and just curl up. He didn’t need the perfect tree. All he wanted was a home for Rosemary, and most of all sleep, a dream to hide his mind away from all the memories. The ghosts clinging onto him wouldn’t be able to follow him there.
“Okay, how about now?”
“How about-”
“How about we just pick this tree?”
His voice came out harsh, and then a silence descended onto them. Rosemary cast her eyes away from him, then his mouth opened, and hers too.
“I’m sorry, that-”
“I shouldn’t have-”
They had spoken at the same time, and the silence came back to stay.
Eldertrees, what was he to say to Rosemary? It was as if the invaders had burnt down more than their grove, but themselves too, for sometimes it felt as if he was talking to a stranger. And maybe she was, just a little. He had loved her his whole life, but then again, you could love something without understanding it.
It was probably easier, too.
Anyone should have either a heart or sense, he thought, but never both at the same time. That would be one blessing too many. And even then, with either blessing alone, you died anyways. Those with hearts die the moment they stop loving, those with sense die the moment they stop thinking, and those with both die the moment they think for the word of love. Because a heart is not made for thinking, nor sense for loving. Such was the nature of blessings.
He died the moment he tried to think for the word of Rosemary. He had taken her for granted for far too long.
“I’m sorry I cut you off… you – you go first, Rosemary.”
Rosemary took his hands, “I’m sorry. I just... when I came to this world, I was just... given your grove. There were always little things I wanted to change, and here, I get to choose. It’s… stupid, I’m sorry. I’m being selfish. You need to sleep and rest.”
Oh, Rosemary.
She was really saying all of that just to end it thinking about him?
How precious you are to us all.
The instinct to hug her close welled up into him, and if it were possible, it’d be stored in an unbreakable bottle for her to hold and warm herself with, the silly spirit.
Never change.
“You are being selfish,” and Lepius started to smile, and said, “I always wanted a waterslide from the top of our old grove. How about we get selfish together?”
Then Rosemary started smiling too, and Lepius realized then that they had plenty of time ahead. No need to rush things.
“We’d need to make it big enough for two people.”
“Ha! What about if we had a guest over?”
“Do you think we’re getting customers this quickly?”
“Do you think we’re getting customers this quickly?”
Under his teasing, Rosemary giggled. She was alive, vibrant beyond what mana could bless her with. The moon turned its jealous gaze upon her.
“Alright. Let’s make it a big one. We’d best get started.”