In Lost Dreams the Four Were Bound

56 - Elis - Trying to Take Matters Into Her Own Hands

Elis had sat alone in the infirmary for a time as the village drew itself toward the great terrace for the ceremony. As the sluggish people made themselves prim and proper, Elis decided to throw away all notions of formality. She expected to be loud, angry, and beyond it all, to have to stand on her own. Though she had played at fighting over the years, she had never bared her ancient weaponry against anything more threatening than a wooden dummy. Deer and birds, even of unusual size, were akin to jelly when brought to bear against a Renai twistblade. She did not care anymore about being an outcast or an elder. She didn't care if the people respected her or feared her. Those who hurt Rais would reveal themselves. And when they did, she would have her revenge.

"I'm sorry, Neris," she whispered.

As the wind ripped through her hair and tugged at the drawn tail of her golden locks, she heard the feasting of the ceremony. All around her, the forest seemed quiet and empty. The village was still, save for the teasing air rattling the leaves of the trees. The sun was bright, but the birds were not singing. The whole place was eerie and unsettling as Elis strolled, twistblade in one hand and the tome containing her life's story in the other. If they would hear her, she would read the words inspired in her by Hyun. If they would listen, she would recite the tales of a golden-haired woman and her adoptive daughter and the fairy-tale time they had woven together. If all those failed, she would crack the whip.

Drawing herself across the penultimate crossing, she heard the voice of the oldest elder speaking to the people. Looking to the side, her flickering violet eyes glimpsed the whole of the procession with their hands raised, the people's voices falling off as the older woman spoke.

"It has been eight generations since the time of Hyun that our people have dwelled within the giant trees of our Emri ancestors. For generations before, we remember the time of the people as they were divided, yet spirited, as they wandered the forests of talvuo and beast with a song in their hearts and music in their hands. For those who gave birth to our solemn matron, we remember how songs became ballads and how our hands were turned to the wood of our homes, drawn into the making of great works for ourselves and our allies abroad."

With sandaled feet, Elis slowed her gait, listening to the story of the christening of the Hyunisti. Her gilded ruby ears perked up as the woman spoke, her heart gripped by their shared solemnity. Their heritage was great, and what followed was an equal abundance of loss.

"Then in those of the time of her hand, we remember the struggles we endured as our would-be allies fell," another elder said as Elis turned to her final approach. Her knuckles were white as her hands tightened around the weapon and book. The silence around them was unbearable. "And so with great pain, those who lacked understanding turned their ire against the people. With fire and steel, they scorched and cut away the trees that are our homes. Gripped by malice, they tortured our brethren. With hatred in their hearts, they sought to destroy what they could not comprehend. And so, with a heavy heart, our great founder acted to stem the tide of ignorance. So ended the time of the Emri, and so began the time of the Hyunisti."

"But in the generations of our salvation, many trials also came," the most youthful of the elders said, speaking with purpose. Elis tried to force herself up the final steps, but as their words reached her ears, her heart filled with hesitation. Memories of the woman who died for Rais tore at her as the procession continued. "To protect ourselves and the wood, the people sacrificed much. Sickness, sterility, fatigue, and old age came to afflict our people. Over time our blood grew thin. With every stillbirth, the bones of fate seemed cast against us. With every friend lost to hopelessness, so too has our joy been stunted. But in these times, we find solace in the rites of spring, that one time of year where the earth shows us that life moves on and flourishes. And as we have seen, new blood brings fresh blossoms to the trees that are the people. And with each passing year, our roots grow deeper, and our flowers become all the sweeter."