The Prodigal Parents

Community › Artisanals and Bardics › Bardics By: Xaetas Posted on: March 29, 2010

-Chapter I-

They say my father was a great man. His peers are still alive, of course, and they often humor me with stories of his so-called heroic deeds and misadventures. They like to tell me about the time he fell through a trapdoor in Belladonna's Keep and broke his leg, but happened to be caught without a mending salve. He feigned death for two days before being rescued, fighting off leeches and hellbounds with every bit of strength he could summon. What they fail to mention is that my father had recently been temporarily exiled from the city for claiming he had the ability to converse with the Immortals at will. This is not a strange ability, and no one doubted that he did, in fact, possess it, the only alarming thing was that he was under the impression they were actually conversing with him. He said that Pentharian actually preferred his tea without sugar and that Pandora was simply suffering from an eternity of boredom. This did not sit well with the other citizens of Shallam.

To clarify, the Gods will speak to some mortals occasionally, and it is far from unheard of. However, it is a tad disconcerting when someone stares idly at the wall for three hours and responds to everyone with, "Shh! Do not interrupt the Great Mother!"

The great Jewel of the East did allow father to return, though he was strongly encouraged to never claim a personal relationship with the Immortals again. He obliged, but often had lengthly spells where he would appear to be in a trance-like state, not moving or speaking for hours. Everyone had apparently thought of him as slightly insane, though they don't like to tell me about that. They like to tell me good stories about him, as he was never able to tell me of his early days. He left when I was a mere eight years of age. Oh, I remember him clearly. Your father running about your house, hurriedly gathering every object within reach and muttering, "My time is close, I must go now! Now!" is not something easily forgotten. It was frightening, to say the least.

I'm one-hundred and twenty-two years old now, my face permanently stained with age. I've seen my fair share of adventure, but that almost goes without saying once you've been around for over a century. My armor-like skin shows no sign of decay, despite countless encounters with hostile creatures. I much prefer this body over my previous, weaker form of an Atavian. I feel more secure as a Horkval, and for good reason. I once wiped out an entire enclave of Gnolls without aid, using only my body and a few health vials; I am not one to be trifled with. I miss the skies, though. The freedom of soaring through the air, gliding above the whole of civilization is not one easily available to earthbound insect-like humanoids. No matter, I always resented those wings. My father gave them to me.

I've never known my mother, which has left a lot of people feeling sorry for me. Really, I only feel like I've lost one parent because you can't lose what you don't have in the first place. I don't blame her. If my father was as eccentric then as he was after I was born, you'd have to be crazy not to leave him. I never really got an answer from anyone about who she was or where she was, and I wasn't worried that they were keeping secrets from me. That's another perk of being telepathic: not many people are able to keep secrets from you. I've always wondered if I would ever be able to find her somehow, but I am not sure where I'd begin looking. It could literally be anyone in Sapience.

I don't know much about her other than her love for seafaring was legendary. One of the few stories my father would tell me was that she had apparently sailed from Shallam to Ashtan and returned, unharmed, with a drinks from the Seadog Tavern in hand. Sailing was everything to her. Well, that and exploring. She had ventured to nearly every harbor in the land, and is rumored to have founded many of her own. I've always suspected that one day she just sailed away, which could have led my father to follow suit years later. Maybe one day they'll return for me…

Currently, I am sitting on a bench under a small archway in the heart of Shallam, home of the Sentaari monks to whom I owe my allegiance. My uncle, Xcalon, paces slowly nearby. With a concerned expression sitting plainly on his face, he is wondering why I am thinking about my father for the first time in years. Recognizing my intrusion into his mind, he stares at me, questioning my thoughts. Telepathy is a useful skill to have, and we monks use it often.

"He's gone, left the realms. I can sense it." my dear uncle tells me. "There's nothing there for you to go searching after. Your father has become the proverbial white stag." Does he think I don't know that already? Of course father is gone, but I want to know why. I want to know where he went off to and what all the strangeness was about, or if it was just his eccentricity. He's left no clues as to his whereabouts, nor has he contacted anyone since his departure as far as I know. The answer I'm looking for is out there, though. It has to be.

"I'm going," I say.

"Where?" Xcalon already knows the answer, I'm sure. He's asking merely for the formality.

"You know where, it's the only place all answers can be found." I'm sure of this. Every answer can be found there, so hopefully it will at least provide clues to mine. Time will tell.

Xcalon waves me away without speaking, at least he understands. He can tell that I'm resigned to this quest, and isn't going to waste any more time trying to talk me out of it.

"Be well, Xaetas." he tells me. It's a family thing, I suppose, to name children something beginning with an 'X.' I rather like my name, it's one of the few things father left me. As far as material possessions go, he let me keep the clothes on my back and a note that he had written to me before departing. Sadly, the parchment was somehow ripped down the right side, so that the only word I could actually make out was his signature. He didn't even bother to sign his full name, simply writing "-Him." No matter, I keep the letter with me now for purely sentimental reasons, as I've yet to decipher the meaning of the torn words.

I wave goodbye and depart, making a quick stop on Fish Street to stock up on supplies, as I'm not exactly sure what I will find along the path to my destination. It will be a dangerous task, no doubt. I stuff the various vials of elixirs and salves into my worn wyrmskin pack and head north, doffing my hat at Pericles as I pass through the gates of my fair city. I'm never quite sure where I consider home to be, so I refrain from calling Shallam that very often. Most of my life was spent living in Actar among the halflings, who greatly appreciated my help in reaching tall objects. Upon my return to Shallam a few years ago I found it hard to visit my old house, so I didn't. Instead, I spent my time talking to those who would pass by the archway or disappearing on lengthy hunting trips to Manara. I never allowed myself to go back to the subdivision I grew up in, and no one asked me to.

Now, I stand at a crossroads. To the southeast is Shallam, the northeast Delos, The west…my destination. I gaze into the distance and can faintly make out the Vashnar mountain range. Among them, a few mammoth peaks rise far above the rest. I stare intently at the Pillars of Heaven, and know in my heart that at the very top sits the Garden of the Gods.

Carefully getting my bearings, I set off west toward my goal.

-Chapter II-

It has been many days since I left the comfort of my lovely city. I wandered up through the Pash Valley with ease, but found myself longing for the ability to fly once I came upon the Pachacacha River. I am not a strong swimmer, I must admit. I walked the banks of the river for a few hours, trying to find the will to cross it. It was getting late, and would be dark soon. Finally, I took off my pack and sat down, pulling out a few balloons that I'd gotten from a prankster friend at a party. I inflated them, fashioning a small raft upon which I set my pack. Using some twine, I tied the raft to my own body, allowing a good seven feet of slack on the rope. Holding my breath, I dove into the water and began to work my way to the opposite bank. Trailing behind me, the small raft holding my pack barely kept afloat in the rough current.

As is my usual luck, the balloons burst. My pack, carrying every one of my earthly possessions splashed into the water and sank slowly, the current carrying it for a few hundred feet before delivering it to the riverbed. Did I notice? Not until the twine around my ankle went limp. By then, my lungs were begging me for fresh air and my heart was beating like a snare drum. Needless to say, I couldn't turn back for the pack even if I had wanted to.

I coughed and sputtered as I dragged myself onto the land, grateful to be alive. As I lay there, my spirits beaten and battered, I saw a pale, ghastly glow in my peripheral vision. I quickly sprang to my feet and forced myself into a rat stance, tightening my muscles and preparing for the worst. There, among the trees, stood a deer. A stag, to be exact. What's more, it was white, a beautiful pale white. I allowed myself to relax as I admired the creature, which suddenly turned to look at me and stiffened. We locked eyes and stared at each other for a timeless moment before he bolted into the forest. Before I could realize what I was doing, I took off after him. I chased him for a great distance, until my surroundings began to seem familiar. Distracted by the eerie sense that I'd been there before, I lost the white stag and fell to the ground, having tripped on a overgrown root.

A nudge in the side jolted me awake. It was morning, and the sun shone down brightly upon the beautiful green grass and luscious foliage that I had evidently been sleeping in. I rolled over onto my back and blinked. As my eyes adjusted to the bright light, I could make out Biba, a halfling woman standing over me. She peered at me curiously, without a word.

"Biba!" I exclaimed, "It's been so long! How have you been?" I stood up and brushed myself off.

Biba merely glared at me, suspicious. I realized then that my last venture to Actar was in my old body, which was causing the confusion now. Rather than explain the situation, I decided to be on my way in order to avoid slowing down and being tempted to spend another long stretch of time here.

"I'll be on my way then…" I was unable to mask the sadness in my voice. I really didn't want to leave.

Gathering myself together, I set off once again. I traveled down a few roads but was often forced to forge my own, the Vashnar range looming on the horizon. A few days and restless nights later, I arrived at my present location at the foot of the Pillars of Heaven. I am cold and hungry, not to mention exhausted. Nevertheless, I must begin the steep hike through this blasted blizzard as I make the final stretch of my journey.

I look around, searching for a suitable object. I spot a gnarled old stick nearby and grab it, planning to use it as a walking staff as I ascend a staggeringly tall mountain. I am not positive that this is even the right one, but it is certainly the highest and most daunting which makes me believe it is the most likely to contain a handful of secluded, hermit-like beings at the top. This leg of my journey begins the same way it ends: I trudge up the ridiculously steep mountain.

The rock cut deeply into my hands, but if there's one thing my training as a monk has taught me it's that pain is an illusion. I quickly use my mental prowess to clot the wounds that currently secrete warm blood, though I soon regret it- it was the only warmth I've felt in hours. I curse the blizzard and continue trekking ever higher, passing preserved corpses of adventurers but no living creatures in this frozen wasteland. The wind is what gets you up here, not so much the temperature. Your body adapts and you pile on the clothes, but the wind keeps blowing you around no matter what. It gets worse the higher you go. Right now, I feel like I'm about to be blown off the mountain altogether and will find the end of my quest in death at the bottom. There are old fire pits every now and then, but every one is covered in snow. Clearly, no one has been up this way for a while now. On second thought, they probably could have been here yesterday and the snow would have destroyed every trace. I get the feeling that I'm being watched. I don't mean that I constantly have this feeling, just right now, up here in the oblivion crafted out of pure white. It doesn't help that I swear I saw that stag again up here, which is insane. My mind just likes to play tricks on me.

Eventually, I spot a winding path ascending the side of this titan that extends up past the clouds, which I can barely make out. I decide that it must at least lead somewhere, so I follow it. As the road levels off, just barely, I spot what appears to be the mouth of a cave, but the way is blocked by enormous boulders which appear to be the work of a rock slide. I push on, the way becoming impossibly steep once more. As I enter the clouds, my vision becomes horribly impaired and I am forced to use my other senses to keep going. I nearly crawl up the mountain, feeling my way as best I can with my almost numb hands.

Suddenly, light. I open my eyes and look around. The snow is gone, along with the clouds. I stand up and take a deep breath for two reasons: the air is very, very thin here and also, the view is absolutely stunning. It is nighttime, the moon shines down softly upon cotton clouds of silver. The completely clear sky above me reveals tiny, diamond specks of light against a sapphire background. The mountain levels off significantly here, and after catching my breath and stopping to appreciate the scenery, I continue.

The air becomes warm now, strangely. The heat, along with a soothing aroma, lets me know that I'm close. This must be it. Flowers become more and more frequent, and a luscious plant life begins to surround me as I stride down the path. Pruned, wall-like shrubs now surround the path, leading me onward.

Then I see them.

-Chapter III-

The gates are beautiful. The purest silver known to this world forms towering barriers, preventing mortals from entering the garden inside. Topping the gate are impressively realistic representations of an elegant grey owl, which I know to be the symbol of the Great Mother, Maya. A snow-white owl is studying me closely, and I assume that it must be Maya's personal gatekeeper. I wave at the owl and it cocks it's head to the side in curiosity at my presence, I assume very few mortals dare to venture this close to the home of Gods.

If you have ever realized that one of your best laid plans only goes so far, you'll understand my current feeling.

Like an axe kick to the chest, it occurs to me that I haven't the faintest idea of what to do now that I'm here. My heart feels like it has turned to lead and seems to sink down far below the extent of my body as the knowledge that my quest has come to an abrupt halt washes over me. My legs begin to grow weary, my eyes droop, and my head feels light, so I ease myself down to the ground and stare off towards the gates, mouth agape. I bask in my own defeat. My head finds its way to the grassy bed below, fighting sleep. I blink my eyes a few times before slowly closing them for good.

There is a certain unnerving air in the room when an unfamiliar, strikingly beautiful woman wakes you up from a deep sleep. It is even more unnerving when you realize that you are on top of a mountain, towering miles above all humanity, while waking up from a dream-filled slumber to an unfamiliar, strikingly beautiful woman. Because of this, I am extremely unnerved, for that is exactly what is happening.

"Oh, I'm sorry, my lady," I manage through slurred words, "the hike did a number on me and I must have fallen asleep. This grass is quite comfortable, strangely enough."

"I know, dear one," she says. Her voice is soft, like the fur of a newborn rajamala, and at the same time seems to carry with it a power unrivaled by any in the cosmos. This voice can fell entire forests and give rise to civilization itself, I am sure. Even though I am blinded by the shimmering sun directly overhead, I can somehow sense this woman's identity. It is more than the fact that I am unable to hear her thoughts, more than the radiant light emanating from her entire body that tells me who this gorgeous woman is.

Maya, the Great Mother speaks straight to my soul without moving Her lips, "Why do you come here, youngling?"

I am well aware that just as my uncle, Xcalon, asks me many questions to which he knows the answers, Maya is merely asking so that I can respond, possibly in an attempt to relax me. I tend to analyze everything that happens in life, a trait that I often find annoying in myself. Now is not the time to examine everything, though, so I will attempt to stop this now.

"I…I've come to find an answer, Mother, though I'm not sure I know what the exact question is anymore…"

A smile breaks across Maya's face as she responds, "You're wondering where your father has gone." Her raven hair is elegantly swept back at the sides of her face, appearing to blow in the gentle breeze without dissenting from its meticulous, however effortless, styling.

"Y…yes," I barely whisper to her. It is hard to keep command of your voice when the Mother of all civilization is staring deeply into your eyes, needless to say.

At this point, the Great Mother ceases to pierce my soul with her all-seeing eyes and instead looks out towards the horizon, in the opposite direction of the gates. As if on command, I pull myself up onto my legs and turn to gaze towards the area She is focusing on. The clouds are parting in the distance, revealing a great ocean that stretches out as far as the eye can see, and as I stare in wonder every cloud in sight dissipates. I feel immensely powerful, slender arms reach around me in an embrace as the Mother pulls me close to her. It is a familial hug, it feels like one shared between relatives. She releases me and points once more into the horizon. As I watch on, I am able to feel my eyes reshaping and morphing within my head, and as they redevelop I realize that I am able to see for much greater distances than ever before. To my great surprise, I am beginning to make out land on the other side of this ocean! As soon as it comes into view, it instantly disappears and my vision returns to what it once was. I turn back to Maya, and see Her flash me a dazzling smile before walking back toward the garden gates.

"Mother!" I desperately call out, longing for Her to stay with me as I feel my long sought-after answer rapidly slipping away. As the gate swings open for Her, She turns to face me once more without breaking stride.

"To you, Xaetas, Great-Grandmother." She states, clearly winking at me as the gate closes behind her. Then, she is gone.

For a moment, I stand bewildered and confused. The weight of the situation crashes down upon me, as I think about where I am and who I was speaking with mere seconds ago. I move to pick up the walking stick I acquired a few days ago, and discover something tucked into my clenched fist. I open my hand and take the small, torn parchment from my palm. I smooth it out and hold it at eye level. It is frayed and ripped, worn with age. It has obviously been ripped down the left side, thus making it impossible for me to discern any of the words.

Bright like a priest's mace, an idea hits me, and I pull father's note from my pocket. As I align the two papers, I find that they were once one and the same. The two halves of a complete message reunited at last, I eagerly pour over the writing, To my disappointment, the document is written in a language foreign to my eyes, I will have to bring it to someone who may be able to translate it…but I can make out the signature. In the lower-right corner of the parchment, in faded black ink, is the completed form of what I thought read "-Him," meaning my father. Instead, this letter is signed "Himalia, Daughter of Sinope, Daughter of Maya".

I glance quickly from the ocean upon the horizon back to the letter, the gears turning in my head.

Suddenly everything makes sense; this letter wasn't from my father at all, but from my mother.

And now, I know exactly where she is.