Gift

{Ravinn, One}

Thud.

A tremor laced the ground, heavy and powerful, enough to wake me from my dozing. I was turned on my side, curled and filthy, with tear stains streaked across my face. Hours upon hours of sobbing had reduced me to nothing more but the frightened infant I was, weak from my own cries.

Thud.

Again the tremor, but suddenly closer, lighter. …Calculated.

Thud.

A current of air tickled my face, causing me to giggle softly. Then I shrieked, for there above me sat a dragon the color of dry cedar bark and longer than the trees above. It blinked, tilting its massive head.

Boy. A trickle of thought poured into me, tender like liquid starlight. It was enough to piece together as speech, or the impression of it, because never before had I heard sound. Boy, she repeated, and through some inexplicable connection, I knew that the dragon was female.

Slowly, I eased. Her being was a woolen blanket; warm and comforting, welcoming me into its folds like a mother does her child. I sniffed, mouth open halfway.

Then her tone shifted into contentment. …Eulio, she whispered, for indeed the thought was faint. Perhaps meant more for herself than me. I squirmed underneath her large brown chest. Eulio, she said again. And somehow I knew that the name was for me.

🞘🞘🞘

{Ravinn, Eleven}

It is midday, the sun resting at the peak of her journey, and I am already done. We are sitting together on our usual cliff, Eave and I - well, I atop her, and she balanced atop the rocky ledge - and Eave is instructing me on Tari, the tongue of the Drifters, most common folk, and herself. I had mastered much of its basic structures long ago, but the consequence was that now our work is complex and burns my mind quicker. It's not because of my impairment; no, that only becomes an issue when I try to form the words aloud. Those results are always horrendous, and I end every practice disgusted with my progress. Today, during our current lesson, I am only half focused because my mind refuses to forget the discovery I made last night. Later, I tell myself. It will just have to wait.

Eave continues. …And the last of their game is elk. They are rarer than deer, however most prefer the meat’s taste, which is another reason why the Lowlands benefit so highly from their exports. If you are ever to encounter a Lowlander, then you must first descry the nature of their trade, as much can be determined of the person from that alone. …Do you hear me?

I can’t hear.

She turns her long neck to me. Li.

Yes.

You are not listening.

I look away, at the bright azure sky and the rolling forest calling me beyond. I wish that I was back at the edge, so close as I was last night….

Eave sighs. I can tell because of the slight drop of her head, the slow blink of her golden eyes, and the almost imperceptible release of air which follows. I have become good at reading her, and reading the world around me. It’s the experience with mortals which I lack.

I can’t keep teaching you if my audience is only animals and the gods above.

To myself, I think drily, That is, if the gods had the will to care. A boy and a dragon deep inside Ravinn’s woods; now what interest would they have in that?

She sighs again. Her muscular shoulders shift, and I hop off before she stands completely. My bare, calloused feet land uncomfortably in the soil, and I wish that I’d brought my slippers.

I am off to hunt. We are not finished, you and I, but I can tell that lecturing you further, at least right now, is pointless. Do what you wish; I will be back by eventide.

Once I am far enough away, Eave unfurls her wings. Leaves rain down from the force, each still green and fresh from spring. Then she launches herself into the sky, leaving me with a usual but firm impression of caution. For what, I could never forget.

🞘🞘🞘

{Ravinn, Thirteen}

I move rapidly, knowing that if I do not, she will spot me.

Faster, faster.

The forest floor, which is dark and formless, stretches beneath me in dizzying monotony. Due to this, I have to use the stars as my guide, the sky as my map. Neither have failed me before, and I am confident they will not now.

I angle to the left, circumnavigating a familiar cluster of oaks. My exit from the camp had been achingly deliberate. Drawn out, so that Eave wouldn’t notice. It had worked, as it had countless times in months past, yet the knowledge would never trim the task’s length.

I make good time. By midnight, I arrive at the small Drifter outpost and sneak successfully into its storehouse. The Drifters are a good people, and I would do nothing against them. When I come here, it is simply to learn, to see. Sometimes I do encounter one of them, or become trapped to their questioning. But never have I been caught. What I tell these people I chance across rotates between the same stories: I am getting my sick mother medicine; I tread in my sleep. And always it is too dark for them to pick up on our differences: how I have shaggy blond hair, and theirs is straight and dark. How my skin is of a lighter shade, and my clothes of a different make. How my facial expressions are not always accurate, because the Drifters I meet speak with tired, barely-moving lips which I have difficulty reading.

Luckily, tonight I manage to go unnoticed. After entering the library through a window, I take two books which I find interesting then head over to the same lakeside maple. I am fortunate that one of the Drifter camps left a book behind once, and even more so that Eave was able to teach me to read it. Now, at age fourteen, I absorb the Tari glyphs with ease. Nothing else brings me such joy.

I open the first cover delicately, relishing the new array of black text. Holding the lantern out and to the side, so as to not risk harming my treasure, I begin to read.

The Psyches, the three rulers of the Fold, began as all and began as one. Elkhazell emerged the Fabricator, he who starts and he who ignites. Ykrasil emerged the Undoer, she who unites birth and death. And Koris emerged the Mind, she who did and will always know, she whom none can hope to hide from.

I flip forward, past the sections about lower gods and mortals, then stop when I see the word Etcher. My eyes twitch open the slightest, gleaming with interest.

Etchers are strange beings. Some peoples of Ravinn label them the “Mock Children of the Gods,” others, “Divine Beggars.” But a sole element remains constant across all peoples: Etchers are to be feared.

I pause. Suddenly I feel I am back inside my nine-year-old body, searching for medicinal herbs with Eave. We had gone further than ever before, to where my feet stung even against the moist fall soil. Then, before I could process a change, Eave, who was flying high above, sent out a mental spike. Stop!

I had frozen in place. The starweed in my hand had dropped limp. What-

Stop. Lay down, and stop.

I obeyed, unwilling to question her. However, once I was level with the roots, finally brave enough to chance a look about, I found nothing in sight.

I don’t understand….

Look to your left.

Slowly, I craned my neck, trepidation refusing to let me move more than necessary. I gasped, as there was a woman some hundred paces away, cooking meat outside a wooden hut. She was so distant that all feelings of shame for my ignorance dropped immediately. Instead, I became ecstatic. A mortal!

No, Eave said carefully. An Etcher.

My breath caught. All at once, faded stories leaped back at me, the most prominent being the one which had scared me most, “The Tale of the Serpentine Lovers.” In it, two Highlanders had run away together, both cursing and denying the gods. And so, when they encountered an elderly Etcher devoted to the divine, they spat at her. Assuming she could not keep up, the pair stole many of the woman’s wares and started running. But before they could get far, the woman called upon Bindika, Goddess of Shells. With the goddess’ strength, the woman tore from the lovers their human shells and locked their souls into those of the first dragons.

I looked again at the woman across from me, studying as I often did. There was another story involving an Etcher; a man had taken pity on the dragons’ inability to speak their true tongue and gifted them with a new form of connection: the mind.

Confusion crossed my thoughts. The Etcher here appeared innocent, colorful… mortal. Eave’s instructions suddenly did not make sense. But… What if she is good, like-

She could be, Eave said sharply. Or she could not. In either case, you must never risk interaction with an Etcher unless you are utterly, utterly certain of their intentions. And even then, be wary, for their tongues are slick as oil and their minds as honed as a blade. Danger, Eulio, is the only complete name we can give them. Do not forget this.

I hesitated. My young mind was unable to grasp the idea of evil, of any kind. But, Eave….

Yes?

Why are they a danger?

Because, my boy, they can beg gifts from the gods themselves. They can ask for anything - anything at all - and so long as the god agrees, they can have it. We are dust to them.

🞘🞘🞘

Before the Drifter boy arrived at the maple, I had already felt the vibrations and slammed the book shut. However, I did not have enough time to run away, so I resolutely planted myself against the tree, hoping for mercy. He was at most two years older than me, with tired eyes and half his dark, straight hair tied in a bun. I doubted I could beat him in a fight, and that was what made me queasy.

“What are you doing?” he asks, or that is my best guess at his speech, here in the dark with only moonlight and my lantern as illumination.

I gulp, smile, then mutter something about “treading” and “sleep.” The boy appears puzzled, and my stomach tilts. “Goodnight,” I say, then head back, attempting to drive him away with my false sense of belonging. Instead, he grabs my arm. I jerk my head to look back in time, but he is already speaking.

“See you come… tree… book. …Not Drifter …let you over.”

I gulp again, and point to the outpost. “I have to go.”

He drops my arm. I move to leave, face burning from whatever horror my speech really was, but before I can go farther than four paces he is back in front of me, holding the book and beckoning. His jumble of words ends with please.

I hesitate. What to do?!

The boy frowns. He examines the book in his hands and returns his gaze on me. A thought seems to strike him. He pulls out a small rod of charcoal and begins to write in the book with haste the likes of which I’ve never seen. When he finishes, I take the book carefully from his hands. Relief seeps through me upon sighting the Tari.

I saw you twice while out with friends. I told my mother about you, and she said to let you over when you come next. She likes inviting people.

I look at him, a crooked smile on my lips. He passes me the charcoal, and I write, thanks to Eave’s teachings,

I don’t have time. Another day, maybe.

The boy: Can you not hear? I called you three times.

I bite my lip. No.

Ah. My name is Peitor.

…Eulio.

The charcoal dances in his hands. When will you come next?

I ponder the question for a moment. A handful of days is too soon, but….

A fortnight.

He grins. A fortnight it is.

We part, and on my run home I feel lighter than a windswept dove.

🞘🞘🞘

{Ravinn, Seventeen}

It is the first time I’ve come to see Peitor during the day. Eave is off on a lengthy trip to the mountains, leaving me to myself. When I arrive, Peitor’s mother is happily surprised and eagerly guides me to his spot by the lake. The rest of our group is not there, for it is Idles’ Day, and each must help in their own homes.

My heart jumps upon spotting him. It has begun to do that a lot recently. Carefully, I approach the docks, and am about to tap him when his head leans backwards, catching me prematurely. “Hello.” He drops the fishing rod and signs, I heard you coming. You may be tall, but not in the least stealthy.

I roll my eyes.

And hello to me, as well. He studies me. Your hair is brighter in the daylight.

Well, one would think.

He pushes my ankle playfully. The warmth tingles my skin. He pats the spot beside him on the deck, and I sit.

Eulio, I have been posted here for four hours, and I haven’t caught a single fish.

Mmh. It takes patience, you know.

Yes, I know, he sighs. But I’m done waiting for the little bastards, and done with this blasted stick. …How much time do you have?

I look into his umber eyes, an eyebrow raised. Why?

Let’s just say… Do you have enough time to dry?

I gasp. Peitor!

But before I can scramble away, he takes my arm and pulls me under.

🞘🞘🞘

The lake is cold, clear. I can feel each bubble and the sand between my toes. Peitor’s hair is waving in the currents, an elegant mess like that of a resting sea god’s.

He beckons up, towards the dock’s underside and the gray-green light. We pass through the many wooden weavings and metal nails, and just as I feel my lungs scream, emerge.

The little world we’ve found, with water-soaked walls and flecks of sun from slits above, is in a way quite entrancing. Magical.

Peitor taps my shoulder. “Eulio.” His breath is warm against my lips.

The pounding inside me doubles. It's as if each second is drawn-out and slowed. I laugh nervously, looking down at the water. At the little space between us. “You’re a deuced idiot.”

His shoulders quiver. I don’t know if it's because he’s laughing too until he lifts up my chin, gently, and lets me see for myself. I flush.

Suddenly, I notice a fleck of green in his eyes, so small and faint that it had eluded me until now. In an instant, I piece that fleck with all of him that I know and see: the wet sheen of his sepia skin, the hook of his nose, the softness of his gaze… the many days and years we spent together; him always glowing under the moonlight amidst our crowd of friends; him fumbling with me to learn the Highlanders’ signs; him here, with his hand on my chin and a strand of hair hanging close to my face. All at once and over eons, these shards come together. I feel a yearning glow flutter in my heart at the collision, and don’t try to make it stop.

Slowly, shakily, my hand takes his underwater. I lace my fingers through his calloused ones, and grip with a strength meant to hold but never hurt. Then, just when I’m about to lose my nerve, his mouth meets mine.

🞘🞘🞘

{Ravinn, Eighteen}

I managed to sneak over and see Peitor five more times before I was caught. I loathed them for it.

These visits had been the most golden days of my entire life. No one had known but us, and that was just the way we’d liked it.

But then somehow she came, and they saw her.

Somehow. Some Lowlander, by some way, at some moment, saw her. She had trailed me just long enough and stopped just close enough to the outpost that the encounter had lined up perfectly, and the gate of no return had been instantly, undeniably, opened.

Before I knew it, the cord that held Ravinn together snapped. I could not even breathe or blink, it occurred so hauntingly fast. I felt as if I stood in the midst of a silent fire, unable to put it out and unable to call the ocean back. Lowlanders were poisoning Etcher camps, claiming the Divine Beggars liars and a threat - claiming that mortals had trusted them with the dragons’ destruction, and now it was evident they’d been deceived. Etchers burning nearby villages, some making heathen alliances with mortals and propelling the villages’ strength. I remember my original disbelief and horror, and how I had screamed at Eave for keeping me ignorant for seventeen years, for allowing my world to topple without the slightest hint, and for veiling every drop of civil chaos underneath her great wing.

Why? I had yelled, tears shimmering in my eyes. Because you thought I could not handle terror? Because you deemed me too sheltered to understand? Did you want me blind, too, Eave? Is that what you wanted?

No! She’d roared. Thoughtless boy! Do you not understand? I have nursed you, protected you, taught you all the gifts I have to share, and still you cannot piece together what I’ve told you every day: never would I hurt you. Never would I do anything without reason. Then she’d swung her head not two inches away, fixing me in place with the strength of her gaze. Do not dare think to know my thoughts, Eulio, for they are mine alone and always shall be.

This story which I’ll tell you now… is one rightfully reserved for another year - perhaps another decade - but circumstances force me to do otherwise. The war feasting on Ravinn is growing quicker and deadlier than I feared, and I have held my secrets long enough.

She paused for a moment. From her mind, I sensed a wave of calm and clearness trickle through. Eulio…. My son. It pains me heavily to share this with you, and it pains me more that this is the lone truth I have to give…. She sighed. I found you… an abandoned god. Left to die. I know this because a rare sympathic goddess told me so. However, she did not know what abilities you possessed, and hence, fearful of whatever wrath you could unleash upon Ravinn, I kept you isolated as my own.

The rest you know, until only a couple years past. Frankly, I find it shocking that you believed you could fool me for this long, going so often as you did in the night. I’ll admit it now: I heard you every time from the beginning. But, that first trip, when I followed and saw you near the outpost, I must say that something loosened inside my heart. For I am the last of my kind, and before you came, I knew well the life of walking alone. Every day, I saw you in me, and once I realized that the similarity was isolation, my being could bear the thought no longer. So, I chose to free you. The act did not stop me from watching over you each journey, but it did stop me from holding you as close.

You see, my son… I come from a line of broken people, torn together and torn apart. I cannot help which soul I was born into, nor which shell I was armed with. I cannot even change the fate of my line, doomed as it is.

…Eulio, one day they will come for me, and I will die by their hands. But when they do, I will not fight.

My heart stopped. But you must save yourself-

No, she retorted. A glint of sorrow touched her eyes. No. I will not die the beast they’ve named me.

🞘🞘🞘

{Ravinn, Nineteen}

For so long as I've lived, I've felt drawn to the natural world. Thus, there I was when it happened, in the woods with Eave, a cluster of white ailish flowers around my bare feet. We were not far from Peitor’s village, yet neither of us cared anymore. He had seen her; the Drifters had seen here; everyone knew of her. This season, life was running dreadfully thin, such that recklessness had turned to normality. We would all die soon, it seemed, so why hide?

Eulio, Eave interrupts. Accept these truths, but do not dwell on them. It ill becomes you.

I run a hand through my hair. I know, yet-

A shocking dagger of pain jolts from her mind.

Eave!

Her enormous corpse shudders to the ground, mouth open and foaming.

Before I can recover, she jerks up a fraction and slams back down. She is vibrating - the whole earth is - and I fall with a yell. EAVE!

…Li, she chokes. Her body slams once more, and my eyes begin to burn. I reach for her. NO! Leave! Leave me!

I step again. I won’t-

LEAVE ME! She trembles. I cannot… Eulio, please….

My thoughts are racing. Not now; this can’t happen now. Why, why, why? I stumble to my feet, and suddenly, from some extraordinary luck, an idea snaps into me. Without pausing to think it through, I sprint north, sidestepping the fallen branches. Stay there; I’ll come back.

Don’t, she orders. This… is evil, do not-

I won’t leave! I snap. She is too weak to respond.

Minutes later, I jerk to a halt beside the Etcher woman, chest heaving and tunic drenched. She was chopping firewood, but abandoned the task once I arrived. I interrupt her soundless words by grabbing her arm and begging for her to come. She tries to escape my hold, but I keep sputtering and pulling anyway. Then, when tears spill out of my eyes, something sparks in her, and after a pause, she agrees to follow.

We hurry through the forest. I can feel my throat scorching and my legs throbbing the whole way, but I equate them as nothing, for no physical suffering can outweigh mine of heart.

When we reach the clearing, Eave is frail and twitching. The Etcher comes to a standstill at the border, her eyes wide.

“Please help. Please… anything, please….”

She drops her satchel and approaches Eave with wonder.

I gesture frantically. No! You must help-

She dismisses me and kneels amidst the ailish. Before I can protest further, her voice rolls forth, breaking the chaos like a gentle crystal river.

I freeze. I can hear it. Indeed, it appears the whole world can, and it dances with her song. I watch as the Etcher’s mouth closes and her tune flutters out into the clearing. It booms at a fervent pace and balances with the vibrations. Leaves, dirt, and ailish petals alike float up to sway in its storm, and were the situation any other, I might have smiled.

The Etcher woman looks at me with a somber expression. I approach quickly, not having caught the words. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. “I’m sorry.”

My veins slam so hard I think they will rip free. “No… please….”

“The gods will not help.”

“Ask them!”

“They will not help. The gods will it to happen.”

I claw at my hair. Mortals are now arriving, armed and fearful, circling the clearing like spectators. The song continues to reverberate, increasing in volume.

“Ask again!”

Her face contorts. “They will not help, boy!”

“No….” I collapse next to Eave, my head shaking on top of hers. We did not get enough time…

The pounding grows. It is in my limbs, my veins, my being. I want it to stop. I want it to end.

Soon Peitor lands next to me and envelops me in his arms. I grab onto him, weeping. He whispers something into my neck, but I don’t look to see what.

Suddenly, amidst the raging storm, I sense a sliver of quiet emerge from the corner of Eave’s mind. It brushes me tenderly with its folds.

Eulio… she says, and I can feel her life force ceasing. So distant now, a mere flicker compared to the fiery passion I’d always known. Eulio… I had as much time with you as I could possibly have wanted. She heaves, and somewhere beside me Peitor gasps. Eulio, your name… means Gift.

And then the pounding ceases.

🞘🞘🞘

“Eulio….”

He says my name and signs it. Tears are in his eyes. One hand is on my shoulder, and one on his quivering self. “Eulio, I-” A wheeze. Come here.

I feel like I am in a dream; a blur. What is happening….

“Please, just-”

He falls onto my chest, and our fingers intertwine. Fear has gripped me now, so great it threatens to engulf me.

“Eulio.” He switches into signing. I feel ill…. Beside us, there lies Eave’s corpse, and around us, the bodies of fallen people. Their faces are pale, as if leeched of energy. At the sight, I begin to hyperventilate.

“Peitor,” I whisper. My body feels fine. I am the only one who’s fine.

Come here, he repeats, then chokes with grief. A single drop rolls down his cheek. Please, I don’t think-

My eyes wet too, and in an instant, we are locked in a kiss, both hugging each other and crying. When I open my eyes, he is gone. “Peitor…” I weep, rocking his pallid corpse in my arms. “No. No….”

🞘🞘🞘

I am walking. Walking far, far away. My eyes are red and my body is weak.

I am alive. Alive, while the world is falling. It is gone. There is no one, yet I am here. I kick at the ground and scream, stronger than I ever have, so forcefully that my throat goes raw and the vibrations shake inside my head.

I fall to the ground, clutching myself. An Etcher did this; an Etcher or a god. Divine Beggars and mortals are no more.

There was no one that lived, except me.

There was nothing at all, except me.

Except silence.

Silence.

🞘🞘🞘

A pattern. It is all a pattern.

The web is far away. I know that I can reach it, but I don’t have the strength.

They killed each other. They will always kill each other. Civilizations will live and fall, merely a blink to the divine. To people like me.

🞘🞘🞘

No.

No.

The web is in my view; it is closer. A world which I have always felt, but never once touched.

My being rises.

I am no divine.

I will not live here.

I will not have this gift and let them die.

I reach out, grasp the ethereal folds. They are cords of being, cords of the universe. Patterns, which I will use. Patterns, which are my strength.

I roll them between my fingers, play their many-layered tunes. They said I was a useless god, but no; that I am no more.

It all happened because of me; because Eave found me, because she was a dragon and the world chose to brand her evil.

Dragons. Etchers. War. It was a pattern, a broken picture. Ever repeating, while the gods sat above and watched. They were selfish, unconcerned with the world.

Never shall they become me.

Slowly, I rearrange the cords of Ravinn, the cords of my life.

Ages pass, sunrises and sunsets, yet I do not notice, do not care.

Then, when my work is done, I falter before setting it together. What this would do to gods, to Eave….

I stand there silently, hesitating, until suddenly in the dark, her words come and embrace my soul. Eulio… she whispers. I had as much time with you as I could possibly have wanted.

I cry, and before I can stop myself, lock the pattern in place.

🞘🞘🞘

{Ravinn, Fifteen}

We’re there! We’re there!

I shield my eyes, examining the outpost with relief.

Come, signs Ani beside me. Let’s set our things down.

At our new homes, fellow Drifters of the tribe begin unpacking, and I follow suit.

Once finished, Ani leaves me to explore. Of all the places, I pick a peaceful tree beside the docks, and there I begin to read.

🞘🞘🞘

Before the Drifter boy arrived at the maple, I had already felt the vibrations and twisted the scroll shut. Resolutely, I planted myself against the tree and eyed his expressions for guidance. He was at most two years older than me, with tired eyes and half of his dark, straight hair tied in a bun. I doubted I could beat him in a fight, yet through some inexplicable way, I felt I’d never need to.

“Can I join you?” he asks, or that is my best guess at his speech, here under the bright sun with the wind snapping at our hair.

“Of course,” I say, already pulling out the charcoal and scroll. My name is Eulio.

Peitor, he writes.

He smiles, and I smile back.