Nights in White Satin
She visits in the blanket of dark – illuminated by the white-gold glitter of stars, lantern-light of the goddess – the beating of her wings a raucous symphony for night-creatures. She finds her in the boroughs of an old, ancient tree: a resting place among roots, some distance from the latent, beating heart of Eventide. The apothecary woman is bathed in silver tendrils of moonlight – her breath a white, willowy veil, interrupting the cavernous mouth of darkness. Eska finds roost in a cove of branches above her, consumed by a ray of hoary moonlight.
“Aylin,” she murmurs – her voice but a lissom fragment of the wind, motherly and knowing. Time moves slow, temperate. The girl will awaken – finding herself here, forlorn from the family that awaits her in Eventide – unsure of how she had made it into this lonesome alcove of night. She will not have fear, though – for Eska is watching, devoted and benevolent, accompanied by the ruffle of mottled-grey feathers and the restless sonata of night creatures.
White hair spilled over leather bound books, evidence of the studious habits that had lulled her into slumber. Sleep had been incidental—only exhaustion capable of drawing her away from the anticipation for all there was to yet learn.
The words were a lullaby in themselves, a bringer of peace. A harbor of reminders to draw her in come nightfall, to sing her to sleep with familiarity. She thought of her mother in those moments: when pages were spread before her, the crisp smell of parchment reminding her of her dam’s tutelage. Aylin would be hunched over the book, her mother laughing kindly, her lips kissing her daughter’s ivory mane in praise. It was easy to sleep with such memories in mind; with a ghost cradling her close.
Her name hit the wind, a word of power that came upon her as a gentle wave, coaxing her awake. The woman’s head lifted slowly, her lips parted and her eyes drowsy. A dream, surely—phantoms whispering her calling. No. Illuminated by the moon, an owl gazed down upon her fondly. Her heart stuttered, and the warm hand of fate caressed her cheek kindly; her Mother was with her, indeed. She had seen the Owl once before, her forehead painted with the crescent of the moon. Aylin remembered what the Totem had whispered to her: they love you, still, and her beak had gently preened the apothecary’s forelock before she’d made to bless the next Paragon. The Silver Wheel would never forget. “Eska,” Aylin breathed in reply, her words drowsy. It was different than when she had first seen the Mother Owl—intimate. The Totem had come to her individually, joining her in the moon-streaked shadows of the canopy, their whispers mingled with the cacophony of night dwellers. No matter the weariness that plagued her, she found a smile lighting her features, lunar light stream lighting her muzzle as she lifted it into the beams. “You are beautiful in the night, Mother,” she remarked amicably, her voice kindled by the warmth of respect. The moment was hallowed—indubitably appreciated; she was honored.
“My child,” the totem responds: for each profound piece of her was hand-crafted to be tender; to be the idol of protection that one might worship in abysmal, broken moments, and feel upon their brow the glacial kiss of her reverence.
The idol blinks in slow, unhurried moments: her eyes two pale saucers of butter-yellow, enthralling and benevolent. The world is quiet around them – tranquil except for the chatter of night-creatures, the forlorn sigh of sleep that consumes the metropolis of Eventide.
Her silver, witchwood daughter – her child of opal marble – made in Eska’s image, each mottled-blue fragment of her.
“Inside you, there is a light,” she murmurs, her voice soft and lissom – carried by the rising swell of moonlight to the girl that rests beneath her – listless betwixt handfuls of leather-bound books and silvery ringlets. The girl knows of what she speaks: that creeping, enchanted piece of her. A looking-glass of ivory, tendrils of gold that reach inside of someone and pluck out the secretive, innermost parts of them.
“Do you yearn for it to be born?”
To be christened as the Totem's child was a norm for her followers, Aylin knew, but that knowing did not cause the warmth to recede. Awash with a wholeness, she found her smile broadening and her eyes glittering with a sheen of tears. None fell from her gaze, and her sorrow was tended to by Eska’s kindness alone. Admiration blossomed even more at her response to the compliment. She did not stammer helplessly under the light of the flattery, nor did she bask in the words as though they were food for the soul. That was part of her beauty, Aylin supposed—the graciousness of her disposition, the thin line between humility and poise. Eska was everything, and she inspired a deference that clenched the mare’s heart. The young woman straightened as the Owl spoke, her words both riddled and clear. “A light…” she echoed faintly, an eager disciple—a loyal parishioner to the Mother’s word. But one who so often hid her fears behind a bubbly guise, behind a babbling tongue. Before the Totem, she was raw—she was the frightened girl stumbling around a glade in the wake of her parents’ absence. There was no secret withheld by Eska’s words, only an understanding that Aylin presently lacked. For a moment, she appeared confused—but she knew of what the Mother spoke. There had always been an itch, deep below the surface, a muscle that trembled with the insatiable need to be stretched. Her mentor had once attempted to draw it out from her, but as one might sew thread through a needle and draw from the spool, Aylin’s gifts had been elusive. But perhaps that light would guide her to the answers she so desperately sought.
Captivated by apprehension and wonder, her eyes widened in a wordless stupor as she regarded Eska. Do you yearn for it to be born? She would not deny the opportunity for the gift; she would not shun a meaning that she searched restlessly for, day in and day out. “Yes,” she seemed to gasp in response, her thoughts fizzling. “Please, Eska," the tautness in her chest was overwhelming, and she reminded herself to breathe, the cool Lumenor air expanding her lungs in a simple reminder: this was not a dream. She was awake—she was alive.
Her daughter’s eyes are luminescent, radiant wet and white under the cavernous mouth of night: the moon, her tendrils of silver soft and forgiving, leaving indulgent kisses of ivory on the woman’s marbled cheeks. Eska’s eyes, saucers of igneous gold, are abounding with untold words: versus of comfort, of incredible, irrepressible devotion.
She esteemed all her children: each of them, fashioned from the gentle pieces of her, so that they might be tender; benevolent. But not all her children cherished these willowy, transcendent gifts, nor demonstrated the self-efficacy and unyielding devotion that this stippled daughter did: and Eska is wordless, except for the remarkable of depth of emotion that eddies in the lantern-light gold of her eyes.
Perhaps Aylin might feel some indulgent touch on her cheek: impossible, and indistinguishable. Perhaps her heart might swell with comfort – and surge with the understanding that she is cherished, by energies greater than she might ever comprehend.
Confusion transforms to some anticipative, hopeful understanding: Eska nods, once, her movement near imperceptible in the lissom glow of moonlight.
“To see into the depths of the soul is a great power – and a terrible encumbrance. For you – a task.” Her voice is compassionate: it whispers, you will be brave; you will be resilient. “Seek out three troubled souls: laboured by their thoughts, and the great weight of what they have done. Reach in, child. Ease their pain.”
She pauses; the night consumes them, alight with the white-gold of stars.
“But, sweet daughter – have caution. Be compassionate; be kind; but do not forget who you are.”
Her worries melted beneath the weight of moonlight as Eska gazed upon her. A specter brushed its cool touch along her cheek, and her heart swelled with relief. She was not alone. Perhaps she had thought she was, all this time, homeless and without a family. But that was not true. The Owl looked upon her now, a beloved apparition as tangible and true as the night sky. The Totem was an embodiment of Halla's love; her devotion for her children, and the silver Paragon felt safe.
Her bravery mustered in fragments, though it was easy for the compassionate embrace of Eska to gather the pieces together and create a wholeness, molding Aylin's fear into confidence. The light within frightened her, but had she ever been afraid of the sun? No. The strength of nature had never caused her to shudder, and she would not shy from the inherentness of the gift drawn from within her now. Instead, she blossomed with the strength of its light as Eska called forward its fragile smolders. There was no flame yet, but it was enough to keep her warm.
A smile moved Aylin's lips, surer than before and bearing a semblance of relief. "Thank you, Eska," she spoke softly, yet her voice was stronger now. With the Mother's wing draped around her wither in that momentary, proverbial embrace, her strength was renewed.
Widening her gaze to regard the mottled owl, the pegasus listened obediently to the task lay out before her. Ease their pain, she could feel it already. A sign that she was no longer a mere apothecary to wield herbs; and though her powers lay out of reach in their entirety, she held an inkling that she knew what Eska's instructions called for. It was intimidating, but hardly a weight she was uncertain to shoulder. To reap the silver lining sewn in all tragedy, to lay out the wonder of the world for those who could not see it; that was a task she was all too willing to take on. She would help, however she could.
But the mare heeded the warning, her brow knitting together. Again, there was a flare of confusion, but the longer she dwelled on the words the more she realized their weight. It would be so easy to be lost in another's pain. Her compassion was both her vice and her virtue, and it would take all she had to not become the anguish of others.
"I will, Eska," she vowed quietly. I will ease their pain. Rising to all fours, sleep dizzying her mind for a fleeting moment, she took a small step forward to regard the owl with warmth. Her eyes were soft, her expression revering.
Again, she repeated her gratitude.
"Thank you."