The TwiceBorn

Riding Out The Storm

 “...I've known damnable beauty - the turgid pull of swirling blackness - but in the end, it's futile - purity alone redeems...”--John Geddes

 Alora didn’t understand this line of reasoning at all.  To her, it was weak.  She tried to imagine herself as Islinn and couldn’t fathom more than the first five minutes with Behrin where she would either rip his throat out or he would hers.  Turning the other cheek was never one of her strong suits and the only time she’d ever done it was when she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she had the upper hand.  At that point, it was a luxury she could afford.  Her eyes followed Islinn as the girl sat back down and gathered up the cloak.

“How can you feel that way?” Alora asked, honestly curious.

“What way?”  Islinn’s face was instantly guarded.

“To just want to be left alone when you know it’s impossible.  To not…do anything.”

“What am I supposed to do?”  Islinn asked, baffled.

“You don’t have to do anything, Islinn.  That’s the beauty of it.  Let me do it.” Alora tried to hide the eagerness in her voice.  Islinn studied the other woman for a moment then shook her head.

“No.”

“Aren’t you angry at what’s happened to you? What he did to you?” Alora stood up and paced, agitated.

Islinn contemplated the question then shook her head again, much to Alora’s surprise.

“No.  I’m not angry.  I don’t have any anger, it’s not my way.”  Islinn quietly replied.  “I am…was…a Sentinel.  We take on the sins of others and bear.  Being angry won’t bring back anything I’ve lost or change Behrin and how he is.  I pray to Brede that it’s done with.”

Alora’s eyes were hooded and dangerous. 

“You’re praying to the wrong god.  Amon or Abigor are more likely to listen.  And believe me; they know far more about justice than Brede does when it comes to people like Behrin.”

“What’s just?” Islinn laughed diffidently. “For him to be tortured like I was?  That wouldn’t make anything different.  I got away with my life and that makes me more fortunate than countless others.  And I hurt him in a way he’s never been hurt.  Him and I are even.”

Alora stopped pacing and stared at Islinn.   When hopeless and run to ground, any animal will turn and present one last growl.  Try that one last desperate bite that might make bad odds better. She knew this because she’d done it herself many times in the past. 

None of that desperation though had made itself to home in Islinn’s eyes or on her face and Alora detected none of the pained incomprehension that usually went hand in hand with being backed to the wall.  Not even a bit of resignation. 

Acceptance

That was the expression on the girl’s face.  When it came to breeding tractability, Islinn’s bloodline ran deep but the cost had been high.  Alora realized it was no wonder why so many people were paler shades of herself. 

Goodness…true goodness…was rare indeed and the cost more than what most people wanted to pay.  Alora found she couldn’t take her eyes off Islinn.  The scent of innocence wound its way lazily through her being, reminding her of summer roses and silky wind-blown grass.  The restless shadows of her mind stilled as the sweet scent worked its way through and Alora didn’t remember crossing the grass towards Islinn, she only knew she did. 

A part of her shied away, not liking the honest light cast over the black but for a brief moment Alora’s attraction was savagely and joyfully complete.  Ignoring the quick lance of pain that quick-silvered its way through her head, Alora brought her hand up and rested it against Islinn’s face.  There was a price for the small gesture but Alora didn’t care what it might cost.