Tragic Innocence

Chapter 50

            She waited alone, understanding without a doubt the turmoil that Crow and Zolata felt emanating from her as she barged in wordlessly into the darkness with her lips pinched tightly.

            Pentulla shut herself in, a tranquil world of her own built by a simple flick of her wrist.  Magic, she could feel its strength crackling all around, enveloped her.  A peaceful cascade whispered down a steep cliff, velvet and green with verdant flowering moss.  A gentle pool of serene waters ebbed against the large flat stone, warmed by the heat of the Enon hidden behind a thick layer of darkening clouds.

            This was where she remembered she would come to sort out her raging emotions when they had become so thick and tangled in web-like destruction.  Her brow was furrowed in concentration, her lids wrinkled with twitching confusion as her lips remained full and relaxed.  A soft gale danced an eddy of fluff seed and beheaded blossoms of miniature proportions about her in an enchanting effect.

            No, it was no use.  Her eyes opened.  Deep, dark and empty.  Her brow puckered with a disturbance that rooted so deep, she could not find its source.  She had thought it to be simple, clear even.  But no…

            With a huff of frustration, she wrapped her fingers around the gem that rested against her chest and pressed her palm against its cold smoothness.  With a growl of disgust, for comprehension of its origin was of no comfort, she snapped the leather cord from her slender neck and gave it a wicked glare.

            For a very long moment, she stared into its multi-faceted deepness and tried hard not to admire its shimmering beauty of radiance.  Her hand began to tremble and her knuckles grew white with the effort of the grasp.  With one harsh scream, Pentulla flung her hand back and began to hurl it into the fathomless waters that surrounded her.  Then she stopped, for the image of Mikash’s tender face, soft and filled with admiration and love filled her heart.

            “No.”  Pentulla whispered to herself as she brought it to her eyes again, her thumb caressing the flat smoothness of the jewel.  “I can’t, Mikash, I can’t.”  She sniffled and carelessly ran the back of her wrist to dry off the moisture from her trickling eye.

            Denial would not absolve her this day.  Nor would it ever.

            Her weakened grasp caused the amulet to clink with a melodious ringing as it landed singly upon the flat stone she sat upon.  She dropped her face to her palms and began to tremble with frustration.  “Oh, how I despise myself for all the havoc I have wreaked upon this land, my kindred…”  She sobbed and sniffed back the tears that soaked through her hands so readily.  “My Mikash!”

            With a burst of pain, she tossed her head back and howled a shriek of despair and stood very quickly to her feet, her hands tight and quivering at her thighs.

            “Oh, how I loathe myself!”    Her voice echoed endlessly against the shielding cliffs that flanked her everywhere, like watchful giants.

            Pentulla had come here to her place of meditation, in hopes to sort out her feelings, thoughts and emotions.  She was yearning for the sweet taste of potion that only denial could offer her.  It was all useless, nothing came that would alleviate the clarity and sharpness of her own guilt.

            No matter what words Crow and Zolata would try to use as salve upon her gaping wounds of putrid flesh, she was still the reason why many came to such a brutal end.

            “Such a brutal end,” Pentulla echoed her deliberations numbly as she dropped inertly to the flat rock--cold and lifeless beneath the nakedness of her feet.

            Mechanically, the Sychra maiden placed ritual candles about her in an open circle and slowly lit them one by one with the point of her index finger.  The tiny sparkles of light glowed warmly against her skin as the sighing waterfall faded into a piercing silence.  Blackness swallowed the velvet-green cliffs and the serene pond of ebbing waters.  All that remained was Pentulla and the candles.

            A flash of metal gleamed hotly in her fist as she brought it to her face, examining the many details she knew that had been etched into it.  A sad smile flitted across her pristine features as her eyes held defeat.

            The hefty hilt consisted of a fearsome dragon carved from emerald, crowned with a dazzling blood-red ruby for its eye.  The teeth were bared, colored with the purest of white gold.  The sleek body shimmered with a deep green as its scales were lined with lacey silver.  She ran a fragile fingertip along the wrapping tail that held a tiny glowing globe of opal.  A glittering sapphire capped the end of the hilt, reminding her of the globe-like blooms that graced the meadows of Tikony.

            Her face was flushed and hot, tears refusing to obey her command as fresh wounds began to tear open inside her heart.  “Oh, my dear Mikash,” she hissed rhetorically and allowed her eyes to flutter closed.  She could still feel his warmth against her skin and see his caressing, loving eyes.

            Instead, what replaced Mikash was a lonesome coldness, a pain, an agony and indescribable sorrow.  She was alone.  Pentulla looked at the blade and noticed the shine had dulled significantly.  The double edges contained notches and some auburn rust.  It was well worn.  Just what had this dagger seen in its lifetime?  Had it seen Rolac?  She knew it had belonged to Shen...  How far back did it live?

            She smiled blankly as she absent-mindedly ran a thumb over a blunt edge.  The niches met her skin intermittently as the blade came to an abrupt end at the tip.  Yes, in spite of its rounded edges, it could still do its job.

            Pentulla tightly squeezed her eyes shut as she slowly pressed it against her graceful neck.

            “I am a curse to all those who know me--forgive me…”