A World Long Sundered -- Chapter 7 PART 2

The silvadena uprooted easily enough, the shallow roots and oversaturated earth guaranteed it. Lucia rarely had to even use her hand trowel. The problem lay in the unceasing torrent around her. Constantly bending to retrieve the plants, placing them in the increasingly heavier sacks quickly tired Lucia. Even more so due to the muddy, shifting soil around her. The lopsided weight of the shoulder bags caused her to fall several times. Soon, she was soaked to the bone, and so mud-covered that she wondered whether her clothes were even salvageable. It would be worth it, she told herself, if she could retain this season’s potency without reseeding.

She carried out the task with surprising swiftness despite the unyielding nature of the muddied earth. With every labored step, she ground released her boot with an inward sucking sound. She needed to be quick, visibility had worsened, she would barely be able to see whether Kyndra placed a lamp in the window or not. The soil and vegetation in of the mountains in the north and west had already become saturated. Now the rainfall had nowhere to flow but south and east. Soon, the waters would overtake the silvadena fields. Initially, she had thought the house and barn built on high enough ground to avoid flooding, now, she was no longer certain. As it was, they would need to check the roofs, barn, work, utility and all the storage buildings for damage.

Thankfully, the storm hadn’t brought with it lightning and thunder. She wouldn’t have dared to gather the dena if it had. The task gave her time to think. Why was the Bo allowing such a storm this close to the forest? Of course, it rained often, but their proximity to the great tree had always afforded them some amount of protection. To her knowledge, this area had never flooded before. Kyndra had said the Bo was ill, was there any truth to it? If they needed to evacuate the farm, she needed to know where she could take the children.

Out of habit, her first thought was the R’leigh Bo. Normally, that would have made sense. Except, even if she could carry Auryn the distance, something inside of her rejected the idea. Did the tree have any more aid to offer? Bo’s clearing was likely already underwater. Perhaps as a last resort.

The bridge crossing the Ro was sure to be underwater by now if not completely destroyed, so fleeing to the Primm’s or Haverglenn was foolishness. No, their best option was still here on the farm, they could stay in the barn’s second level if necessary.

Worry began to fester within her. If the R’leigh Bo really was unwell, it meant dire implications to her and her family. If so, they had more to worry about than a mere storm. Their entire family legacy would be endangered. True, they could still likely grow the silvadena here or elsewhere, but without those precious purple tree blossoms, the efficacy of her merchandise would decrease dramatically. She even thought of repercussions other than those directly affecting her family. What kind of impact would a failing Bo have on the entire area? Lucia had never traveled further than the Three Cities and surrounding area, but she knew that such wonders like the R’leigh Bo were almost non-existent in the world anymore.

Her husband often told her stories of how the world was declining. How had he put it? “A state of cyclical decay.” Even now, she could remember the intelligence in his voice. After years of waiting, Lucia underwent long stretches without thinking of her husband. She had learned to rely on her own strength, yet in the danger and uncertainty she now faced, her thoughts turned to him again.

“Richard, where are you...?” she sighed.

Lightning scattered through the sky overhead. Time to pack it in. She had salvaged what she could anyway. She leaned over to heft the soaked and laden burlap sacks just as the lightning’s counterpart reverberated above her. If not for bending down, the strike that followed would most likely have blinded her. The world went white as the explosion flung Lucia face first into the muck.

A stillness washed over her, the sound of the storm vanished; she was tempted to embrace the peace it promised. A cold throbbing in her face and side pulled her back from the edge of consciousness she teetered upon. Her ears began to ring as white and red images danced around her. She struggling to push herself up only to collapse again as pain sheared through her left arm and side. The pain served to bring the world back into focus. As her vision cleared, she found herself amidst the remains of burning wood and debris. The lesser fires around her were quickly quenched from the downpour, but the storage shed was still very much ablaze. Later, when Lucia would describe the incident, she would say that it felt like she had sat there watching the fire for hours, even though it only took her mind a few moments to comprehend what had happened.

The lightning strike had made short work of the of the storage shed. Even though the rain was quickly taming the flames, the damage was already done. Thankfully, the shed only held basic tools used for the field and was too far away from other buildings to spread the fire. Forgetting the sacks of uprooted silvadena, Lucia forced herself to stand, taking care not to use her left arm.

She hoped it wasn’t broken. Something had also shredded through her leather cloak and jacket to graze her ribs. She was lucky to be alive, but would need to get inside to see the extent of her injuries. With a testament to force of will, Lucia began hobbling toward the house still very much dazed.

Before she took her third step a soft whimper halted her progress. Scanning the rubble, and unable to find the source of the sound through the downpour, she began to turn back to the farmhouse. It would take some time for her ears to recuperate from the blast she told herself.

A soft voice crashed through the darkness.

“Mamma…,” came the tiny voice. Instantly frantic and still dazed, Lucia screamed for her daughter.

“Kyndra! Where are you?” Her own injuries forgotten, she tried to locate where the sound came from. A Few seconds of broken sobbing pierced the din of the storm. What was going on? Where was she, why wasn’t she inside? Perhaps she had tried to come get her mother for some reason. Questions raced through her mind faster than she could handle them. She circled to what would have been the rear of the shed. Kyndra’s moaning had ceased. Oh gods, why did I ever come outside? A board shifted nearby revealing a tiny pale leg underneath. Lucia screamed again, collapsing to her knees she flung the rubble away one-handedly.

No parent should have to witness the death of their child.

A bleakness so abhorrent and tainted breaches the soul. At first you fight it, you war against it with all your being until you realize that there is nothing to war against. Never in all their lives will a person feel the same frenzy for battle than a parent fighting for the life of their child. Even though the spark of life has already fled, a parent will still grapple for its return.

Why do we do this?

Having no target for such newfound fervor only enrages a parent further. Death is often seen as an object of blame, a macabre figure slinking in the shadows and stealing the gift of life from the living. The truth is death is more like a lover’s embrace. Always there for you, always accepting you and willing to shoulder the blame regardless of the truth, regardless of how you lie to yourself.

Eventually, the burning desire to fight for life transforms inward to self-blame. Wielding such rage but having no opponent to cast it upon yields a spirit-numbing helplessness. Eventually the blame has nowhere to turn and settles on oneself.

Lucia fought for her child now.

There was no room for anything else in her heart and mind in that moment. Only the desire to save her daughter. Her desire conflicted with the small part of her mind that remained logical, the part that told her there was nothing she could do. The years had made her an accomplished healer—she had helped housands. Yet, she knew of nothing that could save her daughter now. The concussive force of the lightning bolt that had crumpled wood and iron had been unleased directly upon her daughter. Kyndra lay impaled upon a charred and splintered piece of board. It had shattered her torso and nearly eviscerated the girl. Her moaning had ceased for she no longer took in breath.

Oh, why had she come outside? The shock of it all so far kept the tears at bay, but no longer.

It was impossible to differentiate the blood from the muck and mud. Frantic rage quickly turned to helplessness. Kyndra’s lifeless eyes told her it was too late to worry whether she should remove the board or not. With her injured arm, she barely managed to unpin her child from the slick earth and lift her limp form into her arms. All the while, a small broken keening bubbled forth from Lucia’s throat. She held her daughter, rocking back and forth. The keen became a wail and she screamed. She screamed to rival the storm around her. Her fight was in her scream, she screamed at everything and at nothing. She screamed for the spark of life to return to her child.

Why do we do this?

The second bolt came while she screamed. It struck directly at the wailing woman and broken child, enveloping them and blinding Lucia. Its green light thrusted the darkness away. Lucia waited for it to end the pain, yet no explosion came, no thunderous crash of finality. Green light? She was still alive, and her child was not. Reality returned to wash over her. But where had the bolt struck? Did it even matter anymore? The flash came again, not from the sky, but from the darkness beyond the deluge. Her eyes followed the flash to its source, and this is what she saw.

The figure stood upon the roof of her house to the east. A figure stoic, unaffected by the flurries and torrents of the storm. It stood there casting its dark-bright gaze westward towards the forest, towards Lucia. Its gaze was terrible and awesome, two feral and verdant beacons burning the darkness away. No, that was wrong; the emerald light didn’t chase the darkness. It welcomed it, lured it in, and devoured it, mercilessly, letting nothing escape. The gaze affixed itself upon her. Slowly and with inhuman fluidity, the creature crouched, never releasing its eyes from the mother and child. It halted there a moment, grasping the roof’s edge like some hellish gargoyle before leaping to the drowned earth below. It’s bright emerald eyes left streams of fierce light that lingered in Lucia’s vision, giving the figure the effect of elongated fiery horns as it fell.

The creature made no splash as it landed, the rain continued to cascade around the creature embracing its naked body, its wild hair the only thing affected by the swirling winds and torrential downpour. Momentum from the fall seemed to propelled the figure forward into a sprint with such liquidity that Lucia thought she must be hallucinating. Unhindered by slick or shifting earth, the creature advanced to the woman on her knees with unreal swiftness. So close now.

She saw deeper into those eyes, the eyes that absorbed light and darkness both. Pinpoints of golden light raced and shifted at odd angles in its lush and verdant gaze. The flowing lights began in the eyes but did not halt when coming to the edge of them. The lights simply continued racing through the creature’s face, just under its skin, illuminating it from within.

Without hesitation, Auryn reached down and took the bloodied and broken form of his sister from his mother’s arms. Despite her shock, Lucia still tried to protest. Holding Kyndra in one arm, Auryn placed his other hand upon his mother’s shoulder. His unsmiling stoic gaze halted any further action from her. Standing to his full height, with his sister cradled in one arm he placed his free hand upon the rupture in her chest and stomach. Kyndra’s arms and head fell back towards the ground in seeming supplication.

Looking heavenward, Auryn closed his eyes, which did little to stop their otherworldly glow. The pinpricks of golden light continued to flow under the boy’s skin downwards always at odd angles, through his arms, focusing in his hands. Their pace rapidly quickened as if preparing to break some unseen barrier. Finally, the flow of light burst forth as if from a floodgate and poured into the broken body of Kyndra.

Auryn began to sing. A rich soprano unhindered by the din of the storm. If anything, the storm’s ferocity only accentuated and empowered the voice of the boy. Although incomprehensible to Lucia, she felt its affect. The storm no longer fought against them, or they against it, no longer did it beat its will against her unyielding body. Now it accepted her, joined with her, sharing with her its own exhilaration. Invigorated, she stood noticing the pain in her side and arm vastly diminished. Looking down she gasped to see the odd points of golden light streaming under her own skin.

Kyndra’s body now shown with golden light. The points settled around every rip and gash until every injury was highlighted both outward and in. Taking a step forward, Lucia saw that the wounds of her broken child were closing. More than that, bones and tissue were mending, growing where no tissue had remained. Even the crusted mud and blood quickly disappeared. Soon enough, she was clean and whole, the only evidence of injury lay in her tattered dress. At last, the golden light released a final pulse, and Lucia saw Kyndra’s body lurch as if struck, and the girl took a breath so deep and beautiful as the day itself.

Wordlessly, Kyndra opened her eyes. If seeing her brother in such a state shocked her, she showed no sign of it. She simply reached for her brother’s alien face and whispered, “I told you I’d find you help, brother.” With that she fell asleep. The slightest smirk flashed across Auryn’s face as his song ended. He wasted no time in returning his healthy and whole sister to his mother’s arms. As he did, every point of light, every ethereal emerald radiance faded from the boy’s body.

The boy collapsed to his knees. Lucia was forced to do the same in order to catch him.

Uneven sobs of joy staggered from her. She let the tears flow, large rivulets that she shared with the storm. Her tears mixed with the rainwaters. Just as the storm shared its energy and ferocity with her, she now shared her joy and thankfulness with it. And both were satisfied.

Why do we continue to fight after all hope is lost, even after the spark of life is gone? Why do we do this?

Because, sometimes, it works.