Undesirable

At the school of the Hands of Deth, Land of the Rognari, Land of the Shadow Riders

Orneli’s voice took on the rhythm of a loom, pitched low so that his students tipped forward and settled in their seats with the eager ears of children listening at a door, hearing tales swept out from dusty corners by thirsty old men with long memories and lonely days, men who were the last of their kind. And even those men only told this tale in the brightest light of day, when shadows were small and darkness held no sway. “In ancient times, during those days when our long-ago history was only the moment just past, there were three lands within the Land and three seas within the Sea. Each of these had a name and a purpose and a distinct people who dwelled within their borders. Does anyone remember the names we have been given for each of those Lands?” he asked, the question breaking the flow of his rhythm and startling the listeners.

Dtha Orneli was teaching history, taking over the class while the regular instructor, his twin, Ornez, lent his expertise on ancient swordcraft to the new metalsmith. Dtha Orneli always made history more than dry bread. He focused not on the when or where but on the whos and the whys and the what happened next. History wasn’t dead. It was real and sharing your desk space.

“The Lindarii, Taliari, and Rognari?” came from the corner of the class. Dthali Orneli smiled, “Very good Ibette. Yes. Those are the names of the three lands. Does anyone remember the names of the three seas?” Silence settled and Dthali Orneli waited them out, silently counting to himself for seven seconds. A hand twitched behind a desk and then dove back down for safety. “Yes, Vree?”

“Was one of them the Okenos?” Orneli’s smile spread, “Yes, that is very good, do you remember any more?”

“The only other one I think might be the Soe?”

“Very good! We have remembered the Okenos, the Soe, and the ...?”

“Abyssos. It was called the Abyssos.”

Orneli paced back and forth across the front of the classroom, “Well done class. Now, to continue, each of the peoples of these Lands had their own Gifts. We don’t mean presents or possessions, but rather abilities. And a subtle but specific sign that they were born of that place and that people and which gifts they would have marked each child.” He turned to the class, eyes bright, hands and head motions punctuating and outlining every thought with precision, “The borders of the Lands and Seas were as distinct as the line between the shore and the surf and as easily crossed. Here is a question for you. Did any of the people of the Lands ever marry another from a different Land or Sea? And what would happen to the gifts?” The students thought and were silent. Orneli smiled, “How many of you think that people did marry others from different Lands? Raise your hands. Good. How many of you think that inter-Land marriages were forbidden? Raise your hands. Everyone must vote for something. Indifference is a sure bet that you’ll never make a difference and I will not have a discussion wherein the bland lead the bland.”

Every hand counted and tallied on the board, Orneli drew forth the answer. “The children of multi-Land relationships would be usually blessed with a single Gift, which would be apparent at their birth by the land-mark, or many simply called it the birth-mark as with any marking upon a child. For example, those of the land of Rognari were born with black eyes, the iris darker than the pupil. Rarely, a child would receive a mixed-gift, which was often more powerful for the blending.” Voice deepening with each word, Orneli paused, glancing away from the students for a moment and then resumed his pacing, words, and steps falling slowly, “The gifts within the Lands were varied in strength and individual purpose but related to a central focus. The Rognari were gifted with the ability to see within shadows.” Furrows appeared and students leaned forward. A hand shot up, but Dtha Orneli ignored it. “Yes, this seems a simple and not very valuable gift, no? Until you start to think about everywhere that shadows can be found. They lie not just under your bed, but in hearts, and words, and minds”

Turning toward the door, ignoring the rising hands, he couldn’t see the glances but he could feel their doubt and confusion. No one spoke of the Land-gifts, most people did not remember them beyond, “I heard great-Gran had funny eyes.” It was not his purpose to convince the students, it was his work to allow them the opportunity for learning, for learning their own history, the purpose of their creation. “Each of the Land-gifts served a purpose and balanced the others.”

Orneli sighed, speaking slower yet, “The coillir was a thought first, just a murmur in the heart of one who was of mixed-Land heritage. One who hated his sister’s gift, for his sister Colleen born at the same birthing as he, received heritage of their father’s Taliari with a blending of their mother’s Rognari. Dethlin was born with a smaller Gift solely of their mother’s Land.

Brilliant, reclusive and paranoid, fear and jealousy chittered at the edges of his mind, whispered deep within him that without his twin, the more powerful Gift would have been his, should have been his, by right.

“He tried to root it out, but the tendril that was left in the darkness grew inside of him, fed by the muck of his jealousy as they grew. But he loved her, she was the other half of him, and so it grew slowly, stunted by the strength of his love.”

Only the soft slides of bodies shifting on hard wooden seats filled the air when he paused, gathering memories of ancient heartbreak. “Until the wrong day came. It should have been a dark and stormy night, on such a night his actions might have fit. Instead on a beautiful fall morning, he watched his sister’s Gift flare, red-gold curls bouncing across tawny eyes melting to purest gold as she spun wildly dancing with the swirling leaves in the forest home of the Taliari. “Oh, Dethlin! You wouldn’t believe what I See! It’s so beautiful!” Dancing closer she flung out an eager hand, “Will you let me show you? You haven’t let me show you in so long!”

Dethlin turned away from her as the inner darkness breathed soft words into his ears. Clinging to the sound of her prattle he battled against the the dark, but the comfort vanished when a slender callused hand lay cool on his cheek. He jerked away, but it was too late, she had already begun to See. “Dethlin? A dark thread winds through your dreams. It wraps around your heart and slides into your mind when you look at,” her voice trailed away, and when she spoke again there was a wild note flirting with the edge of panic, “when you look at my eyes? Dethlin? There is such, such hate in you. Hate for,” Then she put into words his greatest secret, “for me? Dethlin you dream of my death?”

The darkness parted as mist drifts in a breeze and he saw her, eyes wide and pure unsullied amber, curls flying, standing there, jaw trembling as her Gift brought her Sight of the darkness within him. He screamed a denial, cried out that he loved her,” Orneli took a breath and the students gasped for air as one, having forgotten to breathe as they took in his words, lost in the visions within a long-dead woman’s eyes. “but the pain in his birthmate’s wet eyes shattered his control. Guilt turned to rage as fragile sanity he had been gripping so tightly, too tightly, shattered.

“Leaping towards her his hands caught her throat and found the butterfly pulse. Wildly she fought Dethlin’s hands, but the Sight was still in her and while she fought she Saw the many futures, the endless golden paths once open to her driven one by one into the Dark by the crushing fingers around her throat. Seeing and knowing he would not be persuaded from his course, she still struggled. Clawing at his face, his hands, slamming her body against his, she fought for time, enough time to See a single slender path where she could, where she might, if only, live. As the visions tumbled by, shattering one by one in an endless cacophony of death, Colleen fought for a single word as her tears burned his hands and love burned as hot as hate. With fading strength and the final darkness scraping off the edges of her vision and filling her eyes she whispered. “Why?” Hard hands spasmed tighter, feeling important things beneath her smooth skin crush and pop between his fingers, shaking her, her curls flying wildly around his hands, “You Colleen. You and your furering twisted Gift. And like a shrilihana you had to use it, you shouldn’t have done that, it damned you, no one should see like you do. No one should see so clearly, so deeply. It’s unnatural. It goes against God’s will. I have to do it, no one should see like that. I have to.” Something flickered deep in her eyes, darkness rising in bubbles until black stars burst on the surface of gold, spreading and swallowing it whole until she finally sagged, limp in his arms. Hiding her face against his shoulder he held her body tight, dry-eyed, “Not even you, Colleen. I’ll keep your memory untainted, keep us all clean. No one will know of your shame.” Perhaps Dethlin went his way dreaming that the terrible matter was all over. He had done the deed, and it could not be undone; he had struck the blow, ridden himself of the presence of one who was obnoxious to him; the blood had been swallowed up by the earth, and there was an end to the business which need cause no further thought beyond a few pale tears and a few simple words leaving him a strong and hale man, with little or nothing to fear; no one to punish him, and no one to accuse or upbraid him.

Dethlin’s lies spread and with them grew a legend that he had gained a more powerful and perfected, purer, Gift after the tragic and ‘accidental’ death of his beloved sister. As with every people and every land in every age, there were those with jealousies. Some desired a different Gift or a stronger Gift than that with which they were born. And there are always those foolish enough to believe empty promises and false legends of the possibility of stealing a Gift for themselves by learning or force. Others bore a hatred for all others who were born with the marks of a certain Land, suspicious of any abilities different than their own. Many believed falsely that those of mixed heritage were lesser, impure, and tainting the power and purity of the Gifts. Others deluded themselves they were meant for more. And even Dethlin came to believe his own lies.

“It was an era of innocence and killing and slaying were new terrors to mankind. Whispers grew until the stories formed, stories of evil and strangeness, of a darkness spreading through the Lands and Seas.” Orneli spat the word from his mouth.

“This secret system of culling, the Coillir, reigned supreme. Thousands, innocent of any crime but being born, fighting for those they loved, or simply dissenting were put to death in the name of purity, in pursuit of power.” Orneli drew in a sharp breath and plunged on, nearing the end of his strength, and his tale, “A power that would soon be denied completely.

Instead of gaining them power the followers of coillir gained enmity from the very Lands and Seas they called home. for though that blood was silent in the seared consciences of those who slayed, it had a voice elsewhere. The Lands and Seas refused to swallow and conceal the blood and Gifts of innocents. Instead the disembodied power flowed in a crimson stream through the earth to form a new Land.

Gifts grew weak and eventually forgotten. To gain access to a Gift again, one must make binding blood pacts with denizens of the Dark, the Land formed of broken promises, innocent souls, and lost Gifts

As Orneli’s own eyes cleared, seeing his students again, not the dying eyes of the first Taliari See’r, he was un-surprised to feel the sticky tear tracks on his cheeks, it happened every time he remembered her or told the tale “So, there you are, the story of Dethlin’s betrayal of his other half, Colleen, the first act of soul splitting, Land-splitting coillir, the end of the Gifts and the birth of the Dark.”