Bardic Tales: Simply DivineIt had been two seasons, half a nynight, an hour and several thousand heartbeats since he'd found his wife dead and his daughter missing, several slavers' corpses scattered about the small clearing where they'd made their home.Summer had completed its passing, moving into Earthsleep and out again, and somehow the tentative birdsongs heralding Earthwake wereempty. Once he might have listened to the music his mother had gifted to the small avians. Once he might have even sang along, improvising harmonies as he wandered. But not without his lovely wife Cerua, not without Elena. Certainly, his great-aunt Karakele had told him she was at this very moment becoming one of the guardians that the mortals called 'gods'. The end of that metamorphosis would be mortals' centuries in the future, though, and meanwhile she was as much as dead as if her soul dwelt behind Grandfather's gates.Such a melancholy visage surely doesn't become a wandering minstrel, sir, a voice shocked him
BT: Once a Slave 12Bardic Arts lessons went well. That is not to say that Lena had resolved her doubts about being related to her patron godit had to be true; too much emotion had gone into that tirade for it to be a lie, but why herself of all people?nor had she lost much of the awe she felt in his presence. Rehyllan was her friend and mentor, but in his temple and teaching his own special art, Anoreil's true nature was impossible to ignorethe human warmth and kindness remained, but little else. An otherworldly air clung to him, his gray eyes shining until they seemed liquid silver. He truly loved that which he patronedLena could easily understand why he was so highly respected by the bards.But reconciling the god with the man was still a problem.On the other hand, the down-to-earth Rela taught her Advanced Music class. She never appeared unearthlyshe bustled about correcting forms, only stilling when she played along with the group. It wasn't lo
MasksI walk down a galleryPortraits hanging silent on either sideI look up at one, then anotherI carry the images inside.Here is Zeda, my scarred and darkhaired vengeanceHere is Casey, my steadfast hopeHere is Lena, my wide-eyed wonderAnd Ekai (without you I can't cope).Here is Mychael, cold stoicism,Friendship slowly breaks her shell.Here is the Winged One, my darkness;Her protection is a lonely hell.Here is my school self, the absentminded scholarHere is my wary self, quiet and observantHere is my friendly self, wild, spontaneous and joyousHere is my outside self, silent and subservient.Here is one picture, then another.To each an emotion, none the same;Here is fragment, then another,Each with a different name.I walk down a galleryPortraits hanging silent on either wallThey are masks to disguiseThat I am nothing, behind it all.