Solitary

Solitary
by Julie

Story Notes

Spoiler: Not really any. It is caught between Bewitchments and Fulfillments.

uthor: Storm gave birth to the Wraeththu, but this idea came into the head of Julie Carpenter. If she uses it, all I want is a hug and a signed book. 🙂 As well as her knowing if she is nearby, she is welcome for tea any day.

Contact: little_bit1.1@juno.com
Credits: Thanks to Storm for making Wraeththu.

Disclaimer: Anything Wraeththu is property of Storm Constantine. Even this new character. I just hope she likes it.

Solitary

My life. What was or is it, exactly?

I know that I am a Varr.

I will always be a Varr.

Not the anathema that has been expunged from the minds and memory of Wraeththukind.

I am the Varr that could have been.

My Father and hostling escaped before Ponclast fell, while I was still a pearl forming within my hostlings loins.

How romantic, eh?

Pardon my derisive sarcasm.

My life has been far from romantic, I can assure you.

My family unit was encountered by a band of human marauders, when I was in the process of being born.

The Wraeththu psyche is impressionable, especially before birth. That is when the connection to the hostling is the strongest.

I saw through my hostling’s eyes. I felt what he felt when he saw my father ambushed. No matter how strong we are, a group of twenty or more humans against a Har protecting a Hostling is not a fight.

It is a massacre.

I hate the humans, but I will not waste my time hating them. They are going away. Like a bad dream. Falling into the mists of history. But my thoughts wander…

They allowed my hostling to live long enough to purge me from himself, and watched the process. They had wanted to learn how a man (they really were stupid humans) could give forth life. My hostling, Kalah somehow convinced them that he was necessary for my life
to thrive. Really, he wasn’t, but the humans didn’t know that, and he used that precious time to instil within me the urgency to escape.
Imagine a human baby in that position. That would be a death sentence for the mewling helpless child of Man.

Not for us.

Not for me.

The humans were amazed with how fast I grew. They also noticed that Kalah would become more of a threat, and while I was sleeping next to my hostling, I was roughly pulled away, and he was taken from me. I never saw him again, but I did hear his scream…

I was incarcerated within the room.

A pet Har.

Something to study.

They underestimated me.


I waited for the moment.

They thought I was a helpless child.

I am not like them.

I squeezed through the slats of my window, and ran and ran. Into the forest. Probably not the smartest thing to do, but I didn’t know what else to do.

Imagine a dirty little Wraeththu child, haunting the roadways, coming across the smell of food.

I was lucky enough to be near the main road that the caravans would travel on, so I would pilfer at will.

Survival of the fittest indeed. All this before I was three.

I lived in the trees. As I got older, I thought of things. Discovered things. Within myself. Abilities.

Like when I fell from the tree I was sleeping in, and broke my ankle. That hurt.

But I could see the injury, and I pictured the bone moving, and setting right before my eyes. Then I felt it move, and set, and put my hand over it, and warmth crept from my hand and the pain went away.

Another time, I met myself in the bowers. I was hate filled, and angry. I was a beautiful but very ugly Har, and I didn’t like it. I didn’t like what I could become, (as if I knew any differant?) I turned and walked away from myself. A thin layer of ash fell from my flesh that night.

My coming of age was a dream.

Literally.

Well, almost.

For almost fourteen sunrises and sets, I was miserable. I itched, moaned and cried. I thought I was going to die. y skin flaked and flaked, my hair fell out in places, and I was never appy.

In a delirium, I awoke to see a Har so beautiful, I thought I had died and gone Elsewhere.

His hair was flame, and his eyes infinite.

I tried to speak, but in a fluid movement, he was beside me. Placing a finger over my lips, words caressing my thoughts.

“Hush, little Harling. This is what you burn so brightly for. It is Febreiha. You coming into yourself. I have seen you for quite some time.
You, this island in the darkness. Dezial. That is your name, my nameless one. I name you, and I quench the fires within you.”

He placed his lips over mine.

“This is the Sharing of Breath.”

I opened my lips for him, and the breath was alive! It was smoke and pine. Then honeysuckle and cinnamon. With the definite taste of power.

I discovered that this was what I burned for. Awakening me to a new level.

I was soume at first. I swam in an ocean of feeling, riding the tides and falling into the swells with utter abandon. The universe became a microcosm compared to the way I felt. Then something within me happened, and something from him whipped out and satisfied the wailing within my soul.

Then I was Ouana, and that is too hard to put into words.

When we were spent, he pulled out something called a cigarette. I was offered, but I declined.

“You don’t know what you are missing, Dezial.”

My new name rolled off his tongue like the lazy wind on prarie grasses.

He propped himself up, his fiery hair crowning his head in delicious disarray.

“There are Har coming to you. A few here, and a few there. Slowly this tree city idea you have will flourish. It is really a good idea. Who
trained you?”

The question snaked at me, catching me off guard.

“Trained me?” I looked at him oddly.

His eyes narrowed, then he smiled a smile so bright I thought that the sun was within the room.

“Yes. Trained. Somehow you have taught yourself. You are truly the Island in the Darkness, my Dezial. There are castes of development for us. You become Kaimana usually when you come of age. But your situation is differant. Necessity really is the father of intervention. You are an oddling. Sometime in the future, we are going to have to talk over sweet coffee. I want to know how you were Pyralis for me. If my guesses are right, caste training can begin much earlier….my sweet flower. My Algomalid.”

Thoughts were obviously moving too fast, and his interest level here was diminishing. He wanted to leave. In a way, I wanted him to go as well. Being close to a fire such as his well, touch fire, you get burned. I was touched, and I was better for it, but still.

The scent of flowers wafted heavily into the room, and I sneezed. When I looked up, he was gone.

No goodbye, no soft words.

Looking back, when Thiede takes an interest in something or someone, and lays claim with a name, and calling me “My Algomalid” I should have known he was far from being done with me.

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