Seraphim

One

A little light on the skimmer's prow told Sevalyn that the day had come at last.

She released a breath, and tried to focus on letting her fingers relax. It was no use. Her palms still tingled, as though her hands were about to go numb.

And thus so, she focused her eyes on the flat horizon and gunned the skimmer's motors.

Behind her, the great city of Isdrasil seemed to chase after the dot of white on the yellow desert sand. Its stone walls a pale pink shot with gold, it loomed like a great, elegant, deadly flower over Sevalyn, threatening to reach out and lovingly insert her into its jaws again.

The monks would find her gone the morning after this. The final meditation, the calm before the storm, was an honored tradition in the Great Monastery, and not even the most hypocritical of them would dare break open her peace.

Peace. It was something Sevalyn hadn't felt in a long time. She tried to feel it as the skimmer glided over the desert effortlessly, as Isdrasil shrank into a smaller and smaller dot behind her, but her heart was beating too fast.

Golan would be the first to enter the courtyard garden where she had been left alone. He would walk his serene, smooth walk to the hollow in the ash trees where he had left Sevalyn sitting three days before. He would find it empty. No start, no sudden panic, just a moment of silence.

He would sweep his robes around then, turning on his heel and striding around the garden and searching for her calmly and methodically. He would allow himself to call her name several times, and would receive no response.

He would search the whole monastery, hiding his growing apprehension. He would not find her. He would have to, at last, go to the Council. They would listen to him in silence, faces expressionless, and then would rise.

Farys would speak---yes, it would be him. "You have allowed the chosen one to escape?"

Golan's eyes would widen. "Escape, Father Farys? I only said that I could not find her."

Farys would stare at Golan for a moment. "I see," he would say.

The Council would gather around the spot Sevalyn had sat meditating. With chanting, dusky murmuring, they would find the traces of her magic still embedded in the soil. Golan would see them, and he would hide his shock and pain.

"Escaped, Brother Golan," Farys would say.

Sevalyn shook herself. Golan had to be left behind. This new horizon, this wind in her face, they were her future. The monastery was not.

So, as the sun rose, as Sevalyn tried to feel free at last, the skimmer took her further and further from the only home she had ever known.