A Sermon of Chains and Chaos

Prologue

THE ENCOMIUM

The Book of Aethya

Chapter 6 THE SERMON: Verses 4-5

6 THE SERMON The gods give their lesson and prophecy, which the children will follow. Chances are offered for redemption, and consequences are intended by balance. 

4 The project is done, though the hindering still paints. You each hold a paintbrush of different colors. And though those colors look beautiful, you must avoid finishing the canvas with such temptations. 

5 Thus, the dryad is loyal, but if he is to paint with a green that is not the grass's, he shall be stubborn and become stone. The Ondine is compassionate, but if she is to paint with a blue that is not the sea's, then she shall be anxious and left thirsty. The Sprite is ambitious, but if she is to paint with a red that is not the flame's then she shall be unsatisfied and become ash. The Sylph is proud, but if he is to paint with a white that is not the wind's, he shall be selfish and choked. The Akasha is wondrous, but if they are to paint a color that is not the world's, then they shall be mad and become lost.  

19 ½ Years Ago

         The mother rocked back and forth in her rocking chair, staring out into the night sky from her humble home. Though the streets were quieter than usual, her mind was not, and neither was her babe. Her babe cried as she held the newborn in her arms. 

Her babe's cry did not bother her tonight. In fact, it soothed the mother's mind as a lullaby would because her daughter's cry sounded of a harmony she long since knew—the harmony to the mother's sorrow. And a prelude was born. The rocking chair sounded of a rhythm, the drum beat to her grief. She hummed, trying to soothe the distressed babe. The humming sounded of a melody: notes to her anger. Revenge haunted her dreams. Her revenge became a song: the song to her madness. 

Sleep, my babe. Please don't you cry 

Mother wants your eyes closed tight 

For she has a vow to keep 

To her babe that doesn't breathe

Sleep, my babe. Please don't you cry 

Mother wants your eyes closed tight

For she has a vow to keep 

To my love that stole from me 

Sleep, my babe. Please don't you cry

Mother wants your eyes closed tight 

you won't see the blood that spills 

From your father, as he stills 

         By the time the mother finished her song, the babe had begun to sleep with eyes closed so tight that the mother knew her daughter understood the anger that drove the mother's dreams. Maybe her babe had had them, too, when she was still in the womb. Maybe her womb told her babe of the one who slept in there before her. 

The mother placed her babe in the crib and walked to the kitchen with an unnatural stillness and quiet. She did not dare interrupt the presence of the silence that now lingered. She thought of the silence as her friend. Something she had now long depended on. It comforted her when the voices were too loud. It was there for her when all she could hear were the screams of the babe that she had lost. The silence would help her tonight like all those times. She could rely on the silence again. 

  She picked up a kitchen knife and walked to the bedroom. She held hands with the silence. The only sound she could hear was the song that she sang in her head. She let herself move to the music that drove her mind. The silence seemed to enjoy the song, too, for it was not hummed aloud. The mother would not dare do so, for she loved the silence.