April 10, 2008
First Memory.
His earliest memory was of cold and damp. It was not a pleasant memory, but only in a childish and simple way.
Later, as he ran from the sea, his brother’s mockery ringing in his ears, his mind flew back to that first memory, and he thought he saw a violent ocean before the memory faded again.
His worst nightmares were always of water. He was too close to it – far too close – and the gray, roiling sea was reaching up with hungry hands, eager to extinguish him. Those waves would fall back as he struggled away, only to rise again, and again, and again…
Later, while he was imprisoned, with nothing to do but sleep and work, he dreamed it often. In those later nightmares, the sea had caught him, and was holding him fast, and no matter how hard he struggled, he couldn’t get away, and it was going to drown him…
Then, after his brother and that lady helped him fly free of his prison, he fell. The sea rushed up to meet him, and he felt his old, childish fear seize his throat, and as his vision went gray something else seized him…
…And he woke to strong hands wrapped around him, and the sea too close, and as he struggled, the arms holding him tightened, and a warm voice whispered in his ear, and Weilend felt the last fragments of childhood memory pop into place, and he relaxed into his father’s arms and slept.
—
In the Labyrinth.
Bothvild stood outside the door, listening to the sibilant mutterings and the eerie, whistling cries coming from the room within. The fiery red glow that marked the smith’s presence wandered back and forth across the forge as Weilend paced. Steeling herself, Bothvild opened the door.
A fiery hand that somehow avoided burning her seized her arm. “What do you want, captor’s daughter?” asked the mad smith.
Trembling, Bothvild extended a cracked ring. “M-my father sent me to give this to you, and request that you repair it.” The princess flinched as Weilend snatched it from her fingers.
A strange light sparked in Weilend’s eyes, almost a light of recognition. Then he blinked, and it was gone. Unsure, Bothvild backed up.
Weilend chuckled. “Are you afraid of me, captor’s daughter?”
Bothvild swallowed, trying to force some cooperation from her dry tongue. “My name is Bothvild.”
“I don’t really care.” Weilend walked away from her, turning the ring over in his hand. “Get me out of here, and you might deserve a name.”
“I can’t.”
A glare from eyes that crackle with genuine flames is very unnerving. “Are you your father’s daughter?” He snapped the broken ring in two.
Bothvild fled.
She collected herself halfway down the first bend. Am I my father’s daughter?
In the back of her mind, an idea began to form.
The Well-House.
Helith isn’t entirely sure how he ended up living with the other two. Oh, he’s pretty sure they faced the same problems he did, in trying to live closer to the Village – genderswapping spirits unnerve other spirits as much as they unnerve humans, if not more so.
That never bothered Helith terribly much. He only minded the long walk to the Green for meetings.
He minds a bit more, now that he has houseguests.
Shai was the first to show up, a haggard gray spirit hiding in the mist by the well’s feeder stream. He reminded Helith of nothing so much as a miserable wisp of smoke, trying to curl in on itself and out of existence.
So Helith invited him in, gave him some tea, and gave him a home.
A few weeks later, Inari showed up. The disturbingly androgynous spirit – disturbing even to Helith – was perched on the edge of Helith’s well, counting grains of rice into a small pouch and looking for all the world like he was right where he was supposed to be. Helith’s first instinct was to shove him in the well. Fortunately, he restrained himself.
Then Inari’s long sleeve slid up, revealing dark bruises around his wrist. So Helith invited him in, treated his injuries, and gave him a home, too.
The first few weeks Shai was there, he’d slept too much. Whenever he’d been awake, his eyes were filled with such despair that it paralyzed even Helith. He’d never been called on to treat depression before.
The first few nights Inari was there, he’d slept not at all. Whenever Helith saw him, the rice spirit was always remote, always haughty, but that haughtiness would dissolve into animal terror at the slightest perceived threat. Helith had never had so many giant spiders in his house before.
Then one night, as Helith was coming down the hall to check on his restless houseguest, he heard movement from the other room and stopped, curious, as a barely-awake Shai padded across the hall and opened Inari’s door.
To Helith’s knowledge, this was the first time they’d spoken to each other during their stay in his house. Refusing to eavesdrop, Helith stayed where he was until the voices and the pacing stopped, and then went to check on his guests. He found them curled together, half-sitting, Inari weeping silently, Shai with a sad smile on his face and something other than despair in his eyes.
Now, Helith thinks, the house is both quieter and not. Since those early days, since that night, both his housemates have begun speaking more, and Helith has watched, pleased, as the ice has fallen away from Inari and life has come back to Shai. Some traces of their trauma lingers, of course, and it is likely, Helith muses, that those traces will never leave. Shai always falls back into his bleak silence when visitors come, and it can take days to pull him out of it. Inari never leaves the house female, though in darker moments, Helith wonders how anyone knows.
Still, they are Helith’s now, happier than they were, stronger than they were, and starting, perhaps, to heal, and Helith never lets anyone hurt what is his.
