Beneath this Veil

By: Joiya Posted on: March 22, 2006

Author's Note: This work is a fictional account of the true event in which Lady
Valnurana was involved. I do not presume to understand Her thoughts and
emotions, simply drawing upon my own mortal soul for a humanized glanced into
the mystery of the noble goddess.

The Dreamworld holds many secrets. Is it any wonder that it veils one of Mine?
There is a dark forsaken corner, if My realm indeed had corners, in which I
have placed a memory. It is a continual nightmare, a slow churning of a
windmill's blades. The horror spins almost lazily, images dripping down walls
of liquid cloud and shadow. My face flickers there. The echoes of My screams
shiver like broken chimes. It is there I feel Sartan's fingers upon Me...those
blistered claws scrapping over My skin. I relive My horror to remember, to
contemplate, and to dream. I do not fear this nightmare, nor shy away from the
blood moistening My hair as I sit inside this hidden secret. For what is a
nightmare but an embodied fear...and how can I fear My own creations.

The end of a year is like a delicate raindrop splattering into My upraised
palm. It is neither fast nor slow for I have witnessed the passage of many. But
one year, the year of the Infernals' rebellion and disgrace within Ashtan, it
was not a raindrop that hit My palm but a drop of liquid fire. I shall never
forget its burn.

Sartan, angered at the events concerning the Infernals' Guild, turned His eye
upon the city. An army of skeletal warriors, dragons, and demons rose up to
besiege the Bastion of the North but the city firmly turned aside each attack.
It was during this time that Sartan sought Me out. His words were simple,
clear, stating His wish for My aid to broach peace with the Alliance. There was
not a trace of arrogance, a jest or boast. I arrived at the suggested meeting
place, confident in My defense and Sartan's plea. But the breath on My neck was
anything but cowed and repentant. His gnarled body towered above Me like a
diseased tree, and with a careless curse He imprisoned Me inside a blackened
trance. The dreamlike state shouldn't have held Me yet it did, but when a
mirror shadow of Sartan loomed inside My realm like a vicious cloud, so too did
My awareness travel. When I tried to move, to access My Power, I could not even
blink My eyes. I was bound, even there, crumpled upon the ground with My own
lifeless hand dead in front of my face. Sartan seemed to have forgotten Me as
He slashed His arms and dripped blood across His contorted feet.

Slowly I cast out My awareness in a delicate mote of consciousness, and stared
down at My crumpled form. The physical body had never hindered Me before. Yet
somehow there I was...trapped...powerless as Sartan brutally thrust His fingers
into My world and scratched at its beating heart. What resides there should
never be let out, and I bit My tongue as a strange skeletal creature wound
itself around His ankle and faded slightly, as if gaining purchase within the
physical world. Malicious words hummed beneath Sartan's breath like a hoard of
angry bees and the iridescent sky, full of shape shifting clouds of lavender
and gold, began to darken. My gentle garden of dreams began to wail.

The corporeal form of a woman, merely sixteen, flickered into view between two
elm trees. A man's body, shaped from the clouds in one fast movement, slid into
her arms. She smiled as if he had always been there. She laughed into his
handsome face, and ran her hands over his golden hair. I also smiled, for a
moment...almost forgetting Sartan's gruesome form. Then the elm began to
blacken.

The tree twisted and warped, and the leaves crackled and screamed. A bead of
blood dripped from the leafy canopy overhead and splattered on the girl's
forehead. She should not have noticed for the droplet was oddly out of place in
her nocturnal fantasy, but her delicate eyebrows drooped into a frown. The girl
glanced up and her eyes widened as another bead splashed onto her nose. My
heart shuddered as her gentle dream transformed into a nightmare and her
lover's face began to transform. It was Sartan's presence. It was the effect of
the words slithering from His mouth.

The man's beautiful eyes disappeared, replaced by gaping holes. Blood trickled
down his hollowing cheeks and tiny tendrils of smoke fluttered out from the
empty sockets. His hands were tightening on the woman's arms, becoming claws,
brutal manacles, ripping flesh. It was then that the girl's eyes returned to
his face. She screamed and screamed and all I could do was drift and watch as
the enlarging mouth lowered and ripped open the girl's creamy throat, laying
bare her collarbone. She gurgled and thrashed, releasing one scream before her
body shimmered and disappeared. I breathed a sigh of relief. She had awakened.
She was safe. The man lingered a moment after the girl's disappearance and I
watched him with growing alarm. He should have vanished when the girl had for
he was nothing but a shadow in her sleeping mind. The blackened face turned
towards Me and the reddened mouth twisted into a terrible smile. Abruptly he
was gone, a pair of beautiful orchids fluttering down from the air. As they hit
the ground thorns emerged from the dirtied grass and brutally shredded the
flowers as if eating. They writhed about, brushing over My lifeless ankle and I
shivered, or would have, though I did not feel it.

Thick sorrow thundered through Me as a beautiful black swan wandered into the
dying garden. Its glistening eyes turned towards Me, for a moment, not to My
motionless body but to where I lingered in the air. Then the creature about
Sartan's ankle untangled itself and with a guttural scream tore the swan apart,
scattering blood and features across My body. Blood dripped down My cheek and a
feather stuck in My hair...and I did not feel it. No, I thought. No! I
understood what Sartan was attempting. He was trying to make the nightmares
real. He was breaching the veil of dreams!

With alarm I gripped onto the lingering traces of power inside Me and followed
the traces of the woman's dream back to her bed. I saw her only for a moment
before I was pulled angrily back into the Dreamworld. She was not safe...she
had not awakened. The young woman was dead, brutally exposed in blood sodden
sheets. "No!" I screamed. I'd actually screamed. My awareness snapped back
inside My crumpled figure, projected here inside My hurting realm. I shifted,
hands slipping on blood and feathers as I turned to the dark outline of Sartan
just as He turned towards Me. The ominous words of His ritual faltered for a
moment as I dug my fingers into the ground and cast Him out of My Realm. The
ritual broke. Sartan stopped.

I rolled onto My back, gasping up at the churning sky and smiled as it began to
lighten. The trees had just began to fight the brutal decay souring their bodies
when searing pain raced up my side. Sartan had pulled Me back into my weakened
physical body. I could feel My side drip blood as His blistered hand wrenched
My chin up. I stared at Him defiantly. With a maniacal squeal, like the hissing
of steam from the bowels of the world, His twisted dirty finger drove into My
eye.

I've often wondered if mortals realize that a Goddess can feel pain. In that
moment I envied the slain woman...I actually envied her for I knew she had
died...and I did not. As He gouged out My eyes I lost My divine sight as well.
I could not feel or see My realm, I could not even see the essence of life
about Me…I could see nothing.

I felt Sartan's hand clutching My face, and heard His labored breathing as He
hissed above me. The pain exploded in a flash of fire as if my entire head had
been ripped open. My head dropped back, slamming into something hard. A truly
horrifying scream rent the air. It was heavy with heartache and terror and I
would have cried if I could...I did not realize it was My own as Sartan ravaged
My essence. My body, My soul was nothing but a feather in His torturous hands.
He might as well have laid My spine bare for what I felt. Time became
meaningless. Years...who cared about the years...

Pain gave way to blackness until I awoke in the arms of Eris. I knew it was
Her. She's always had a certain smell...bitter and sweet at the same time. Her
gown felt silky and cold against Me and I smiled slightly in remembrance at the
rainbows. In remembrance...would I ever see another rainbow, a mortal's dream
slipping and sliding within its luminescent streak? Her strong arms bit into My
waist as She pressed Me against Her chest. It was not a malicious gesture even
though it did drive shooting pain through My face. She had tried to heal Me.
She had tried. I touched trembling fingers to My bloodied face and shuddered as
the tip of My finger pushed My eyelid inward...

I look back on that day with almost bittersweet longing. Eris healed My body,
but My spirit felt torn like a ragged handkerchief caught in a brutal wind. I
would not let Her give Me eyes, for what use were they to Me if I could not see
what I used to see. What use to Me were weak orbs of vein, flesh, and blood.
Despite My lack of sight while I slumbered I found a tiny cord to the
Dreamworld and with a cry of anguished joy, retreated inside. I hid Myself, and
warded my realm so strongly I fear I don't know what effect it had on mortal
dreams. Perhaps they didn't dream at all, a soothing blessing after Sartan's
dreadful nightmares. I had heard they had driven some into suicide, just to
escape the feeling of terror sinking into their bones. I tried to speak out
across the physical plane and offer some comfort and explanation...but Sartan's
attack had left me mute. I was silenced, blind, and broken.

It was then I crafted my secret haven, spending my first night in darkness and
decay. Perhaps it was shame at first that made Me face My terror again and
again. Sartan had used My realm and My power to terrify and destroy. Even
though I had lain like a broken pawn at His feet, I had walked into the trap
willingly. I had truly believed, if only for a moment, that He wanted My help.
And it was My help He received with a gleeful rape of My soul and mind.

Perhaps I would have stayed thus, watching sick parodies parade across My skin
as My realm warped the truth into numerous possibilities. Perhaps I would have
remained silent and broken...but My sons and daughters did not leave Me thus.
Phaestus, singing Me a song of stone and sweat, drew Me out of My self-imposed
isolation. His surprisingly melodic voice rung musically, oddly reminiscent of
hammers crafting swords and dreams; physical dreams. He gave to Me sapphire
eyes. Exquisite, precious eyes, and when He fixed them carefully into My empty
eye sockets and they became supple like flesh, I felt a tear swell in the
corner of My eye and slide down My cheek. I watched Phaestus' strong, ruddy
face as He wiped it away with one rough finger. And then I watched Achaea.

I was not to be forever silenced. Agatheis, fiery, glacial Agatheis, headed a
truly tremendous concert in which a scattering of mortals raised their voices.
Their rite gave Me back My voice. It was the second time I cried with My new
eyes as I watched physical versions of their notes spin inside My realm as they
played and sang. A chord nestled within the hollow of My back, and a crescendo
tickled My palm. I could not contain My smile.

And yet even 'whole' as I am I often retreat to My secret sanctuary, to taste
Sartan, to become blind and silent, to live again through My nightmares just as
mortals endure theirs. I remove My dark veil, spread My wings so that they fan
out about Me, and silently watch. For what is a nightmare but an embodied
fear...and how can I fear My own creations.