The Realization

The third-floor terrace of the Quail Run Inn provides an uninhibited view for the night’s celestial show. Malevand’s two moons climb toward each other surrounded by glittering silver stars in the black sea of night. The waning crescent Moon of Lewana rises from the east over the Violet Elm forest while the waxing crescent Moon of Lucinana progresses from the west over the Tringali Sea.

During the third solstice, the two crescent moons bisect creating a silver halo over the Spire of Ascension, and become the Moon of Ascension. This culminates the Night of Ascension - a time when fifteen raffle winners will ascend to one of seven worlds.

The chest high wrought iron rail that surrounds the terrace stands resolute against the weight of his distraught body. The thin balusters cast shadows like prison bars behind him. His chin rests on his arms and this night, he wavers from one side of the decision to the other. Should he be here, or should he avoid witnessing such an event?

Hazel eyes, flecked with gold, cast their absent stare beyond the fieldstone outer wall of Ostlyn. Past a spattering of elms escaping into the vast, open field from the eastern forest. Beyond the white summits of the Bearded Mountains that silhouette the dark horizon. They stare far into a time and place only he sees. Staring from his distant balcony, there are no festivities for Dendrobates.

The Ascenders celebrate with festivities that began seven days before this night and the carnival atmosphere now surrounds the spire. Torches and lanterns float like fireflies in a circular motion around a chain ring. Family and well-wishers dance, sing, and play lively music accompanied by the tribal pounding of drums. The spire, though still, seems to pulse with life as the celebrants leap and twirl around it. Jovial voices echo in the night and in years past, his was one of them – feasting and drinking, dancing and singing. The moons are close and those destined to ascend begin to gather within the inner circle around the spire.

He is about to turn away when his heart flutters and his back tenses. The ghost of delicate fingertips walk up his spine to the nape of his neck – he shudders. Her soft, tickling touch always reverberated through him before turning into a warm enveloping comfort. He arcs and twists his neck to her massaging touch. This reminds him of the struggles to describe how she made him feel. It was the little things, like running her fingers up his spine that filled his being with… “You.”

“What troubles have brought forth burdens upon my love?” Her soft Aurorian voice, barely a whisper, tickles his left ear.

In the lazy flickering light from candles and Amethyst Crystal oil lamps, his sight beholds her delicately sculptured face, partially concealed by a veil of blonde swaying hair. She rocks on her bare heels while leaning forward on her elbows over the balcony rail, hands clasped in front of her; a burgundy Archeress dress adorns her. Green eyes, accented with the dreams of candlelight, peer through the veil of hair and her smile – a smile for such a night as this – baits him. His breath escapes and his heart drums hard craving oxygen just as he craves her.

This scene; revealed countless times, every moment held together by memories, and rehearsed religiously at nightfall does nothing to prepare him for this night.

“I miss you.” He barely whispers and swallows hard against the lump in his throat.

She continues to smile, her eyes never release their gaze upon his, and gently places a hand on his. There is realness in the velvet caress against his rough, dry skin and warmth that penetrates his night-cooled hands. Such realness in something not there causes him to look away, to look toward the spire - the place she spent her last moments on this world.

She was bound to the spire and the process of Ascension, waiting on the ghost of a hope, on the ghost of his heart. Others danced and celebrated as she moved against them within the circle - scanning the crowds outside – but he never appeared to her eyes. They were to ascend together to start a new life on a new world. He was not there, so the process did not bind him. He was not there one year ago, so now, he watches from afar.

“Foolishness of my actions anchored me here. Betrayed and near death I…”

“I am aware, Den.” She softly interrupts firming her hold on his hand. Her exquisite Aurorian accent plays upon his ears like a song of beauty and purity. He closes his eyes and takes short breaths to hold tears at bay.

“My Lily, how can that be?” His voice wavers and he shakes his head.

He looks at her, observing every feature of her face as he remembers them.

At one hundred seventy-three years, she is young in terms of Aurorian age, and is deceptively youthful looking. Her skin is pale and silken like porcelain, with nary a blemish or wrinkle. A smile that accentuates her bow-shaped lips and the shape of her lips – she claims – was the inspiration for becoming an Archeress. Thin arched brows mirror the roundness of her upturned emerald green eyes. Eyes that change hue based on her mood and are green, without a trace of white, and are spellbinding - especially when she smiles. They are clear and crisp with a glint of sparkle – she is happy.

His eyes trace along the angular cut of her blonde hair. The green-dyed tips slightly curl beneath the jawline before evening out along the nape of her neck. She used Lily-of-the-Valley to dye the tips light green because it matched her name and accents her green eyes. This Aurorian tradition signifies she has chosen a life partner.

Four thin braids combine at the base of her neck and continue as one just past her shoulder blades – this signifies her occupation as an Archeress.

“Tell how word reached you when so few knew of my peril? As time passed, barely could a thought of you be carried. The night seemed forever lost. What thought I could muster - how death seemed the only cure.” He solemnly shakes his head. His eyes see only the memory. “I had Leridian to protect. I could not let go.”

He closes his eyes and expects her to be gone, and yet, with a heart burdened with sorrow, somewhat wishes she would be gone.

He crosses his arms and turns his back to the spire. Reliving this part of the night will relive the entire night. But, it is too late, he clenches his hands and scrunches his face against the memory of the physical pain he endured during the battle. Through his tear-laden eyes, she still stands next to him. She brushes away two trickling tears from his cheeks. His dry lips stick together as he swallows hard at her touch.

“I have only to lament the bitterness of my decision to leave your side.” His voice thick with regret and more tears prickle in his eyes. “Thy foolish reminiscent mind begged to take just one last stroll when you beseeched me to spend the remaining day and night with you. All farewells were provisioned, no more were to give, I should have stayed.” His chest heaves with each wavering deep breath.

"Word reached me, believe in this.” She whispers caressing his cheek. “Absolve your heart of such burden, Den my love.” She places a hand over his heart. “I knew. Tears plagued thy eyes as I prayed to any God, if such exists, to preserve your safety.” She leans in close, her cheek brushes his before she whispers, “A simple plea from me to thee, "Save him."

There is a moment of silence as she lifts his chin. His eyes try to dart away but they cannot escape her gaze.

“My desire to escape the spire, to search for you, to rescue you – I was bound to the spire as you were to Leridian. I could not leave the ring as you could not leave the cave.”

He moved to speak, but she places two fingers to his lips. “In your heart, you know that which I would have you do.” She says with a raised brow.

“You would have commanded I save my niece.” He looks beyond her with the slightest twinge of a smile. “And I would not hesitate to save her again. I do not regret that decision.” When he looks into her eyes, he sees the reflection of the night.

“Others before ourselves.” They say in unison.

That was their mantra and no matter how hard the decision, they always carried through with it. They found it gave them strength and courage and determination to overcome whatever separated them so they could return to each other.

“Lily, how did you know? Who told you? Daily I languish, die, and ponder should I meet you in the next world. My soul, where doubt and deceit never crept, now consume me. I sought to oblige my fears, mercy on me, and by virtue of a heart devoted to one, to seat myself amongst the fixed stars, and onward wait for you.”

"The symphonies of grievance and despair roiled one and the other that night. Cherish me, yes Den my love, but to what end should I approve? Would the wishes of wishes expect one to wait amongst the stars for me? An affectionate gesture to no doubt, but a wish never to be granted - not by me, not by you. Live the life given fully and only then shall our hearts dance once more."

"Am I capable of feeling henceforth? Dare I ask this in your presence to justify my ineptitude?"

"You have not?"

He shakes his head. “Such a path is overgrown and hidden now.”

“Through sorrow and angst perhaps, Den. By the light you bestow, cast your eyes beyond the shadows and your fears to those who remember.”

He stands quiet and indeterminate harboring the answer, shrouded in layers of denial. Reason, for what it is worth, cannot easily sway matters of the heart.

"Den, search beyond the reach of your own eyes. Bar the coldness of displeasure due to our absence from each. Remembrance holds the key to the duet of hearts and time, only time can take me away from you."

Her strength fills him and he cries, truly cries for the first time. A year of agony rush forward in a stream of tears now soaking the sleeve of his night robe. She wraps her arms around him and buries her head into his neck. He desires to reciprocate her embrace but fears she will disappear like the memory she is. The delightful, sweet fragrance of Evening Primrose she wore peels away layers and awakens memories.

“When I miss you the most, I shoot your bow.” He chuckles through the tears. “Do you recall how you found me?” He says wiping his face with the cuffs of his sleeves. The remaining dampness on his cheeks are wiped away with her slender thumbs - her green eyes dance between her thumbs and his gold speckled eyes.

“Never have my eyes born witness to a male running such as you that day.” They turn and look toward the spire. “Or ever again.” She nudges him and laughs at the same memory - and he smiles at the song of her laugh.

“And what did my eyes witness?”

“Besides my arrows whistling past you?”

“Strength, determination, confidence, focus, and beauty - individually and combined.”

“Your appearances strayed toward love struck. I thought never had your eyes graced upon an Aurorian.” She giggles biting her bottom lip. “My heart never looked twice.” She whispers in his ear before her thin, quivering lips brush a kiss against his cheek. He holds still with closed eyes - his last breath held in his chest savoring the sensation.

“None like you, my Lily.” He says exhaling with a smile. The ghost of the petite hand in his provides memories of how they were soft as lamb’s wool yet carried strength stronger than any forged steel. “I struggle to describe how I saw you that day. However, love struck is a fitting description.”

They stand in silence, leaning up against the balcony rail and each other, looking at the spire. He relishes this night with her, even if it is a way of saying farewell.

“You stood there as if holding the ground at bay.” He breaks the silence. “Wonder and astonishment as your silver aurora radiated in such magnificence to blind a fool like me.”

“You were no fool, Den, only in a smidge of trouble.”

“Fool enough to be caught unable to cast magic and hordes of beasts at my hide. Yet, lucky enough to have an angel save me.”

“It was good practice to have many moving targets. Only recently had I completed the Second Succession and received my Bow of Awakening.”

“Your aurora, Lily, is the only one I have witnessed.”

“Tis destiny to bear witness of an Elvin aurora, any Elvin aurora.”

Destiny, he thinks. What destiny lies within the stagnant pain and savage wrath of a broken heart?

“Lily?” He asks the shadow of his thoughts.

“Yes love?” He hears her respond just the way she would have, and that makes her voice more haunting.

“Changes in my life, remarkable and absurd, have occurred since that night. Many things I have learned about my life and myself. And,” He pauses struggling with how to continue.

“And?” She asks.

“And, there is another, here, with me.”

“Another?” She asks with a raised brow. “Is she pretty?”

“She is my twin per se.”

“A twin to Dendrobates? Oh, help the world!” She exclaims raising her arms to the heavens. “However, is she pretty?” She quickly snaps back.

“She,” he pauses for a moment and takes a deep breath. “She reminds me so much of you. You two could have been twins.”

“Oh, so she is beautiful.”

He chuckles. “She is Cimmerion.”

“Cimmerion?” She squeezes his hand. “A dark beauty for which no contest can be held.” She looks down and shakes her head in defeat.

“Contest?” He chuckles at her theatrical flair. “Lily, no contest can be held where you are involved.”

She lays her head on his shoulder and rubs her cheek against the soft cloth of his night robe. “Does your twin have a name?”

“Dendrianna.”

“Dendrianna. Dendrianna. Mmmm, a very lovely name. A fitting name for a twin as well.” She looks at him quizzically. “Who named her? Tis not mere coincidence your names share such a similarity.”

“Nay, not coincidence. As I mentioned, I have learned many things; so many lies, so much deceit, and yet truths I could not dream of. I do not know whom to trust anymore. I wonder if I know what truth is.”

He leads her to the sitting table on the terrace. A place they often shared in the morning to sip tea and watch the morning sun creep over the Violet Elms. When the sun’s first light reaches the spire, the crystals shimmer and shine in reds, greens, blues, gold’s and silvers.

He pours two glasses of red wine, sits, and watches her sip from the glass. She runs the tip of her tongue across her lips.

“Not to waste a drop.” She says through an enticing smile and she patiently waits for his story to begin.

“Dendrianna and I were created by Agac Ana.”

“The World Tree?” She interrupts surprised.

“Aye, so neither of us have true parents nor were we true orphans. We were given to the Magistrars of our races to be raised.”

“Being a product of such a deity explains your slow rate of aging and your unique spell casting.”

“Aye, the explanations present themselves. Before we were given to our Elders, Agac Ana summoned our guardian.”

“Your mother, Elinari?” She asks.

“Our guardian who became our mother.” He nods.

“And Dendrianna, as your sister?” She coyly asks.

He dreads this question and it is the reason he jokes about being twins. But there has always been Dendrianna from his earliest memories of dreams. He looked forward to the night and waited with anticipation for her in his dreams. He grew up with her and fell in love with her, with a dream of her. That was before Lily and before he discovered Dendrianna existed on the same night he lost Lily.

“Den, do not fear that which you cannot control.”

He looks at her green eyes and sees the answer he puts there. Would she really be smiling and encouraging him? If she were truly sitting across from him then this discussion would not be.

“We are bound together. One cannot live without the other. Had we ascended that night, Dendrianna and I would have succumbed to the broken bond. You and I would still be without each other, but I carry the burden knowing we were meant to be separated. Months passed and death seemed the only cure to the pain. I tried. I used a Death Scroll.”

“Den!” She exclaims. But, there is no cure to such magic. How are you here now?”

“Aye. Through the course of six lonely and painful days, I sat letting life escape me. I did not lament my decision, as such a decision, I felt, brought forth a heavenly place to which I shall wait for you. On the seventh and final day, as the last moments slipped beyond consciousness - the woeful silence preceding death - I heard a simple, distant plea. Not unlike a plea I spoke months before when the world crashed around me. Only this was a mere whisper in my mind, soft as a butterfly fluttering about the nectar that gives life.”

“What was the plea?” She leans toward him.

“Save me. Her whisper was a deafening din through the silence of death; it was in that moment my entire life surged through me. From my earliest memories to her final plea and I realized…”

“Realized what Den?”

“Dendrianna and I cannot live one without the other. A spell cannot exist without another - its counter. The Death Scroll is merely a spell and what is the counter to death?”

“Life?” She says more than questions.

“Precisely. The revelation of life dependent upon me coupled with, to answer your earlier question about Dendrianna; no, not as my sister, dissolved the spell.”

When the admission left his lips his eyes lit up and he smiled a true and earnest smile. His heart beat weight free and his soul felt as if released from its confines after so many months.

He is about to speak, but her bemused look stops him. She tilts her head and listens, and then a smile graces her lips and she side-glances at him. “Fiddles.” She says with a wink extending her hand. “The time is nigh.”

Dendrobates stares at her petite hand with a simple silver band on all four fingers and realizes the finality of the moment. He dares not look into her eyes, resisting their inherent allure. She will be relentless he knows, but every second in her presence is a gift.

The bells from the cathedral bell tower begin to toll a melody; The Travelers Waltz. There is a brief lull in the commotion around the spire, and then the fiddlers and drummers accompany the bell’s tune.

Lily flexes the fingers of her outstretched hand beckoning him. “Come my love, it is time.”

Never did he care to dance and found himself clumsy and awkward when forced to, but that was before Lily. It was before he understood the romance of the dance, like a mid-summer nights kiss; gentle and caressing, exciting and passionate, filled with crescendos and lulls.

He stands tall and straight and proud, her hand held in his. No words need saying - she curtsies her reply and they walk to the middle of the terrace and take their positions.

Their bare feet glide across the cool sandstone tile as they dance in sweeping circles, twirls, and twists. The music is a symphony in their ears. His night robe is a Nobleman’s outfit and her Archeress dress is now a flowing crimson Berengaria gown. He relishes every movement, color, and detail of her without ever leaving the memories and magic in her eyes. They dance a lifetime in the quick pace of the Travelers Waltz.

The cathedral bells ring their final notes followed by a thunderous single note from the towers Coronation Bell. They freeze, chests heaving – the final moments are at hand.

They walk to the middle of the rail – a perfect view of the spire and the two moons now nearly as one. She stands behind him and wraps her arms around his shoulders, her cheek pressed against his.

They watch the final moments as the two moons perfectly bisect creating a brilliant silver halo above the spire.

All is silent.

She firms her embrace, her heart beats hard against his back. His beats just as hard in his chest and he notices both beat as if one.

She whispers in his ear, “You now proclaim your destination and show the Shaman your document.”

Dendrobates reaches into a pocket of his robe and fingers a wrinkled and folded parchment. He swallows hard. Their hearts beat harder.

“Aveelno” He whispers like a departing spirit.

“The Shaman recites an ancient spell and…” She is cut short as they both shudder at the immense flash from the spire – no sound, just light.

“And what?” he mutters, spellbound by the pulsing flash of each traveler – fifteen in all and a distinct color representing each of the seven worlds.

The familiar touch of her arms around him and her unforgettable fragrance release him of his mesmerized state. He takes a full breath inhaling the mysterious fragrance of Moonflower.

He turns in her arms, but no longer sees Lily, the Aurorian love that he lost. Tears trickling down a misty grey face is Dendrianna, the Cimmerion love he has disallowed.

He fights back his own tears and looks surprised, perplexed; confusion settles in.

“I have always been here Den, but you mind's eye saw Lily.”

“I… I am sorry. I…”

“Do not allow such thoughts. You never said goodbye. You hid this, wrapped in pride, from yourself and everyone else who cares about you.”

“But, how? Your words… her answers?”

She releases her embrace allowing her hand to trace his shoulder until a single finger from her outstretched hand slides away. She walks back to the table and sits, dabs at the tears, and nods for him to join her.

When he sits, she pulls a small stone from a jute satchel and rests it in his palm. He stares at the flat, jagged, black and white stone.

“Den, with this stone you showed me your memories and my heart aches for you. How could you move forward in life with such a burden to carry? There was nothing you could do and as you finally admitted, you would have died had you left this world."

Dendrianna places a second small stone in his palm; round, smooth, red in hue, and cool to the touch.

“Memories from you?” He asks puzzled.

She closes his hand over the stones and cups his hand with hers. Her blue eyes, softer than he ever noticed before, steals his breath.

“In the days of yore when you were but a dream, and before knowing you truly existed, I loved a boy and then a man. And if only in my dreams, but never as my brother. Not within the despair and pain held in a broken heart does one seek their destiny. Destiny reveals itself after, and only after, one has crossed that soul of the storm. My dreams you now hold in the palm of your hand.”