The Emerald Deep

     We of the Citadel called it the Day of Darkness. Mariana, the Moon’s Rising. A time of reflection, of hope, of new beginnings.

     Setarian’s first of many, or so we wished.

     Looking back, it’s fitting that I met Mariana during the Month of Collecting. Fall colours—something I had not experienced until the Great War—swirled around me like things possessed. Aimlessly wandering, fallen from their tree on high to the dusty ground below. I felt their sorrow, knowing that I, too, could never find comfort from the branches above me.

     A Darigan, fallen. Leaving my family, my friends, and my life behind, for the hope that isolation could bring me peace of mind. Knowing full well that if I returned there, I would be branded one of Kass’ defectors, one of the thorns he had sworn to pluck from the vine. For some time, I found shelter in Meridell’s old-growth forest, a place that scouts called “The Emerald Deep.” The secret to this emerald’s shining glow… was its murky moats and mucky bottoms. Few dared to venture there for fear that it would be a one-way journey, a perfect hideaway for a Darigan renegade.

     After I arrived there, I thanked the Citadel above that I hadn’t given into the temptations of nobility. That I had the humility to ask my soldiers for survival lessons: how to make a fire, to forage, to catch and cook a meal. Only the foolish held onto notions of class on the field of war. Such was a swift way to earn a stone marker on Meridell’s fields.

     It had become a routine, seeing to my basic needs, finding ways to keep myself distracted from other thoughts. Today I would check the traps and forage for wild root vegetables. My mind was at ease then, caught in the usual, the dull, the life of a swampland hermit.

     I turned around. All the carrots slipped through my hands as I instinctively reached for the short sword at my waist.

     I did not hear her steps at all. It was as if she floated above the dead leaves and fallen twigs.

     A patchwork-dressed Usul with a travel pack and piercing blue eyes bore into me with a strength that belied her lithe frame. She looked guarded, afraid, unsure as to what to make of me. Who could have blamed her? I spared a withering look at my reflection in a shallow pool, noticing the clumps of algae that clung to my purple fur and the many twigs that had made a home in my once-healthy Eyrie mane. My poor attempts at clothing made me look even more the part of a swamp monster. Mother would have fainted at the sight of me.

      “You’re one of them,” she finally said, speaking with a thick accent that I had not heard before, “a Darigan creature.”

      “We prefer Darigani.” I let out a sigh far louder than I intended; a bitter sigh kept inside for far too long. “We used to, anyway, before [i]he[/i] came along.” I attempted to brush aside some of the more obvious grime, and as I did, she took a large step back and I muttered, “Not that it matters anymore.”

     She stood in silence for some time, watching my every movement. When it became clear that she posed no immediate threat, I continued my chores. The fire needed starting before the evening chill. And so it went, a fire, a meal hanging over its lapping flames. And a mysterious Usul who could not keep her eyes off me, despite how tightly she wrapped her shawl against her dress.

     “There’s room for two,” I said simply, not expecting her to move. Or for her to sit across from me on a log that she rolled beside the fire. She took out a few sticks of dried meat and held it towards me. In return, I offered her a bowl of fresh vegetables that I had found in the swamplands. We gratefully accepted the other’s offering that night, speaking little, letting the food do most of the talking. When forage grew scarce, we turned to meat and fish. Thank the Citadel she had skill in smoking food or that first winter might have claimed me.

     With what we could trap, we made basic clothes. Between my long, unkempt hair and wild mane, I looked more Eyrie-thing than that of the ballroom dancing bachelor that I had been years before. It seemed like a lifetime ago. None of my siblings would recognize me now. If they laid eyes upon me, they would write me off a street beggar asking for spare change and scraps. But even then, even so… I felt oddly happy. At ease. Something I could hardly say during The Underground’s days.

      Over time, she told me about Meridell, of the ways in which she danced or sold flowers for her bread. In return, I spoke of my family, of my siblings who I left behind to avoid the madness of a Citadel lost in its own grief.

     It took a long time before she finally spoke about her daughter, about her husband who had been lost to sickness and the ways in which the locals turned against her. “Outsider,” they called her, with swords, pitchforks, and torches at the ready.

     I offered her a hug, a gesture she gratefully accepted, as she melted into my arms and let the bottled-up tears flow like a waterfall.

     Which brings us to here, The Emerald Deep. The forgotten lands claimed by none and lost to time. Despite its challenges, it felt like home. We could rebuild our lives without the pressures of our upbringings, without the expectations of nobility. We could be ourselves, unburdened and free.

     Before we knew it, we were three.

     Setarian, we called him, at Mariana’s insistence, a combination of her mother’s name, Seta, with part of my own: Dorian. I admit I was shy to the suggestion at first. Naming a child after oneself always seemed a bit… self-indulgent to me. But the way it made Mariana beam with joy… well, how could I say no?

     When I held him in my arms for the first time, I felt something new. Something warm, as if a fire started in my heart. The little Eyrie opened and closed his hand until he found my talon. When the two met, he wrapped his finger tightly, all while snuggling against my wild ruff. And with the gentlest of touch, I stroked his forehead, humming a tune I heard his mother sing until he fell asleep.

     Tonight is the full moon, the Solstice, the Day of Darkness. New opportunities await us all in the next year. When Setarian is old enough to make the trip, we’ll find Mariana’s daughter in Meridell, then return home, here, where we can live in peace, away from the world and its troubles. If all my hardships in this life have taught me anything, it’s that there is always a brighter tomorrow.

     And as my son is surrounded by the sounds of music, of our hopes and dreams, may he remain steadfast. No matter how our lives may change, how they may twist and turn in unexpected ways, I know that we will be there for him, always.

     Through the light. Through the darkness. We’ll always be there.

     The End.