O! For the fighting Ninth
Aug. 6th, 2005 12:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rosipheleeBecause I was in this sort of mood tonight....
(937 words, less than an hour's writing, minor but significent spoilers for Dandelion & Thistledown)
Devon C’Fara was dreaming of the fields of home when she woke him. For a moment, in the warm air, he thought he was back in Har Atmon, on his parents’ farm. The soft sleep noises around him could have been his brothers, their pallets spread across the roof garden.
Then he opened his eyes and saw the sweep of Maria’s wings and knew he was far from home.
“Devon,” she whispered, her voice uncertain, and that woke him all the way. A fair few of his private dreams involved Maria cor Tiessa rousing him from sleep. In his fantasies, though, she was never crying.
“Maria,” he murmured and reached out to cup her hands in his. “What’s wrong?”
She laid a finger across her lips and rose, her wings flaring as she turned. Devon breathed in as the breeze she created brushed his face and tasted the dust from her wings. Biting back a sneeze, he followed her through the tent. She moved softly, careful with her wings, and he followed as quietly as his bulk would allow, not wanting to wake the other scouts. Garren was snoring and Nimbus was muttering in his sleep.
Maria pulled the tent flap back and he took it from her, holding it clear so it would not tangle in her wings. She ducked out of the tent and he followed her, out into the moonlight. The night was warm and heavy and, as the wind sighed across the savannah, he could smell the sweet, parched scent of the grass.
The scouts were on the very edge of the camp and they did not have to walk far to be safe from interruption. The ground rose slightly as they moved away from the tents of the Ninth and out of the shadow of the great bridge of the Tírial. As the top of the rise Maria turned to face him and said again, “Devon.”
“What’s wrong?” She was shivering, her wings blurring in the bright moonlight.
“I’m scared.”
He had always thought that if courage took human form it would look like Maria.
“I thought the Saisorhi didn’t know the meaning of fear,” he said, trying to make her smile.
“Look up.” She flung her arm out, towards the bridge.
He lifted his eyes. The low tents of the legion lay at his feet, dim lights marking their fires where they watched for the Dark. Rumours and whispers through the known universes had suggested the Dark would target the centenary carnival here and so the Ninth had been sent to this calm and golden country. The festival was almost at its peak and the Dark had not come. Afraid now, he looked upon the bridge, seventeen levels of arches linking two mountains. Lights still showed across the great monument and he could see shadowy figures dancing.
“Further up.”
The moon was full, almost golden. Behind it the stars shone in unfamiliar patterns. At this latitude they were almost as bright as the stars of home, swathes of them crossing the depth of the sky.
Then he saw it.
The stars were going out.
It was no trick of the moon. It was too steady for that. One by one, the fainter stars were flicking out. As Devon watched, his heart pounding in his throat, parts of the sky went dark, as if someone was spilling ink, or blood, across the firmament.
“Do you see it?” Maria asked urgently.
He nodded slowly, not wanting to look away. Some part of him was insisting that someone ought to witness this.
“Oh, sweet Farailin, I thought – I hoped my eyes were failing me.”
“Do you think it’s the Dark?” he asked, groping for her hand.
She grabbed his fingers, squeezing tight. “I don’t know. What else would do that?”
“But they’re just people,” he said. “Corrupted people, aye, but flesh and blood like us. Nothing more. If they can do this…”
“We’re doomed,” she said and shivered, her wings brushing against his bare shoulder.
He pressed her hand, feeling how long and frail his fingers were in his palm.
Above them, five more stars faded.
“Have you told anyone?”
“I wanted a second opinion.”
“Best rouse the consuls then.”
She nodded and pulled away, turning to seek the wind. “Wait here. I’ll come back to you.” Then she was running into the wind, her wings flashing through the sweet night.
Devon looked up again. Was this how worlds ended, slow and silent?
If it had been day they would never have known. He shivered, suddenly cold.
It seemed an eternity before he heard the sigh of her wings. She landed beside him, her wings folding back as she straightened.
“I woke Lynx,” she said, as if that would be enough to save the world.
“What did she say?”
“She’s called the cohort commanders in.”
“We should wake Nimbus, then.”
“We should.” But she did not move from his side. After a moment she said, “Bobcat wanted to know how many people we could evacuate.”
Devon turned to face her. “We’re the Ninth. We don’t fail.”
“What can we do? Even we aren’t stubborn enough to stop the end of the world.”
“We’ll do what we can and hope it’s enough.” He took her hands again and caught her gaze. “We’ll do it together.”
She studied him, her eyes wide and serious. Then she leant forward and brushed a kiss against his cheek. “So we will.”
O! For the fighting Ninth!
The fallen and the lost!
They fell from the bridge of Sorrows
And still we count the cost.
O! For the fighting Ninth!
(937 words, less than an hour's writing, minor but significent spoilers for Dandelion & Thistledown)
Devon C’Fara was dreaming of the fields of home when she woke him. For a moment, in the warm air, he thought he was back in Har Atmon, on his parents’ farm. The soft sleep noises around him could have been his brothers, their pallets spread across the roof garden.
Then he opened his eyes and saw the sweep of Maria’s wings and knew he was far from home.
“Devon,” she whispered, her voice uncertain, and that woke him all the way. A fair few of his private dreams involved Maria cor Tiessa rousing him from sleep. In his fantasies, though, she was never crying.
“Maria,” he murmured and reached out to cup her hands in his. “What’s wrong?”
She laid a finger across her lips and rose, her wings flaring as she turned. Devon breathed in as the breeze she created brushed his face and tasted the dust from her wings. Biting back a sneeze, he followed her through the tent. She moved softly, careful with her wings, and he followed as quietly as his bulk would allow, not wanting to wake the other scouts. Garren was snoring and Nimbus was muttering in his sleep.
Maria pulled the tent flap back and he took it from her, holding it clear so it would not tangle in her wings. She ducked out of the tent and he followed her, out into the moonlight. The night was warm and heavy and, as the wind sighed across the savannah, he could smell the sweet, parched scent of the grass.
The scouts were on the very edge of the camp and they did not have to walk far to be safe from interruption. The ground rose slightly as they moved away from the tents of the Ninth and out of the shadow of the great bridge of the Tírial. As the top of the rise Maria turned to face him and said again, “Devon.”
“What’s wrong?” She was shivering, her wings blurring in the bright moonlight.
“I’m scared.”
He had always thought that if courage took human form it would look like Maria.
“I thought the Saisorhi didn’t know the meaning of fear,” he said, trying to make her smile.
“Look up.” She flung her arm out, towards the bridge.
He lifted his eyes. The low tents of the legion lay at his feet, dim lights marking their fires where they watched for the Dark. Rumours and whispers through the known universes had suggested the Dark would target the centenary carnival here and so the Ninth had been sent to this calm and golden country. The festival was almost at its peak and the Dark had not come. Afraid now, he looked upon the bridge, seventeen levels of arches linking two mountains. Lights still showed across the great monument and he could see shadowy figures dancing.
“Further up.”
The moon was full, almost golden. Behind it the stars shone in unfamiliar patterns. At this latitude they were almost as bright as the stars of home, swathes of them crossing the depth of the sky.
Then he saw it.
The stars were going out.
It was no trick of the moon. It was too steady for that. One by one, the fainter stars were flicking out. As Devon watched, his heart pounding in his throat, parts of the sky went dark, as if someone was spilling ink, or blood, across the firmament.
“Do you see it?” Maria asked urgently.
He nodded slowly, not wanting to look away. Some part of him was insisting that someone ought to witness this.
“Oh, sweet Farailin, I thought – I hoped my eyes were failing me.”
“Do you think it’s the Dark?” he asked, groping for her hand.
She grabbed his fingers, squeezing tight. “I don’t know. What else would do that?”
“But they’re just people,” he said. “Corrupted people, aye, but flesh and blood like us. Nothing more. If they can do this…”
“We’re doomed,” she said and shivered, her wings brushing against his bare shoulder.
He pressed her hand, feeling how long and frail his fingers were in his palm.
Above them, five more stars faded.
“Have you told anyone?”
“I wanted a second opinion.”
“Best rouse the consuls then.”
She nodded and pulled away, turning to seek the wind. “Wait here. I’ll come back to you.” Then she was running into the wind, her wings flashing through the sweet night.
Devon looked up again. Was this how worlds ended, slow and silent?
If it had been day they would never have known. He shivered, suddenly cold.
It seemed an eternity before he heard the sigh of her wings. She landed beside him, her wings folding back as she straightened.
“I woke Lynx,” she said, as if that would be enough to save the world.
“What did she say?”
“She’s called the cohort commanders in.”
“We should wake Nimbus, then.”
“We should.” But she did not move from his side. After a moment she said, “Bobcat wanted to know how many people we could evacuate.”
Devon turned to face her. “We’re the Ninth. We don’t fail.”
“What can we do? Even we aren’t stubborn enough to stop the end of the world.”
“We’ll do what we can and hope it’s enough.” He took her hands again and caught her gaze. “We’ll do it together.”
She studied him, her eyes wide and serious. Then she leant forward and brushed a kiss against his cheek. “So we will.”
The fallen and the lost!
They fell from the bridge of Sorrows
And still we count the cost.
O! For the fighting Ninth!
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no subject
Date: 2005-08-06 11:16 am (UTC)Happy Saturday.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-06 11:19 am (UTC)*sighs* So did I. I just got hit by a grey mood late last night and in the middle of it Maria told me the stars were going out. Got rid of my mood, though.
Happy Saturday ^_^
no subject
Date: 2005-08-06 01:27 pm (UTC)The only thing I could pick at is the use of the word 'wings' get to be a bit much, especially in paragraphs 5 & 6. Maybe substituting 'feathers' at some point might help.
Gorgeous though, and the snippet of your poem at the end is perfect. Thanks for sharing!
no subject
Date: 2005-08-06 01:58 pm (UTC)The more I write around this bunch the more I like Devon. He's a rare voice of sanity in a world full of Saisorhi.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-20 02:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-21 11:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-29 01:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-29 05:14 pm (UTC)Thanks for reading. I was quite pleased that a gloomy mood managed to link Wind's Road, the Isolan stories, Choices, ShadowHunter and the poems. Not bad for less than a thousand words, if I do say so myself.