Everyone’s soul lies somewhere,
Waiting to be discovered.
Some are never found,
Their fruits never reaped;
They are lost, never to be uncovered.
You are fortunate,
For here,
In this very book
Lies a soul
Waiting for you to understand it.
It is written,
All you have to do is read.
Come; follow the maze of my mind,
Let yourself succumb to my thoughts,
And feel my feelings.
Discover a soul today,
Don’t let the chance slip away.
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
Poetry
The ghostly galleon
Rising above the
Mountains
In all it's mystery;
Dispersing the last
Gypsy's ribbon of
Color,
Fading the final light of
The bright day to nothing.
It's the scent of
Rain
After a summer storm.
The ground is
Overturned with
The force and
Power.
It's the song of
Caoimhe, the fays’ tune;
The haunting sound
Trickling, flowing over the
Far hills.
It’s a swirling stream,
The silver water
Gliding down your
throat as you
sip, being
deprived for so
long.
This is freedom.
This is simply,
Poetry.
Rising above the
Mountains
In all it's mystery;
Dispersing the last
Gypsy's ribbon of
Color,
Fading the final light of
The bright day to nothing.
It's the scent of
Rain
After a summer storm.
The ground is
Overturned with
The force and
Power.
It's the song of
Caoimhe, the fays’ tune;
The haunting sound
Trickling, flowing over the
Far hills.
It’s a swirling stream,
The silver water
Gliding down your
throat as you
sip, being
deprived for so
long.
This is freedom.
This is simply,
Poetry.
Riding the Waves of Life
Twisting
Swaying
Changing
Intriguing
Deceiving,
I wade into the pool of life.
My hasty walk is disrupted repeatedly.
Crashing
Sweeping
Tsunamis
Tempests,
The storm swiftly scales to its climax
As I press forward.
I glance at the thought of turning back.
Pushing
Tugging
Pulling
Thrashing,
The tide sweeps me to the unknown.
I wish this tossing and turning of fate to end.
Night
Late,
The sun droops below the horizon.
I reach the mystical island;
I succumb to sleep.
Light
Sun
Warmth,
I awake replenished
The past journey’s fury no where to be found.
The isle is so celestial,
It must be the heaven I was searching for.
Through the Rolling Hills (talking about the palm of a hand)
My lifeline is…
A long winding dirt road
Stretching far beyond the line of sight
Twisting and swaying dramatically,
But always moving towards the sunset,
Forever glimmering, shimmering on the horizon.
It takes me away from dark experiences in the past
The hurt is still pushing me on, pressing me forward.
The endless amount of dust is being kicked up by my briskly trotting feet,
Blocking all rear sight, keeping me from turning around.
The wind on my back forcefully leads me forward over rolling hills
Always moving toward the light.
The trudging will continue till I die,
Of thirst or desire, I’ll never know.
The passion to keep moving is fixed in me by some unknown force.
I will eventually meet the cliffs that lie before the ocean
Signifying the end of my journey.
But till then,
I will press on.
A long winding dirt road
Stretching far beyond the line of sight
Twisting and swaying dramatically,
But always moving towards the sunset,
Forever glimmering, shimmering on the horizon.
It takes me away from dark experiences in the past
The hurt is still pushing me on, pressing me forward.
The endless amount of dust is being kicked up by my briskly trotting feet,
Blocking all rear sight, keeping me from turning around.
The wind on my back forcefully leads me forward over rolling hills
Always moving toward the light.
The trudging will continue till I die,
Of thirst or desire, I’ll never know.
The passion to keep moving is fixed in me by some unknown force.
I will eventually meet the cliffs that lie before the ocean
Signifying the end of my journey.
But till then,
I will press on.
Die Flote
It lies there
Open,
A book, waiting to be played
And its stories told.
A mole
Lost in the dirt
Peeks above the surface
To create hollow holes
For which the wind can give sound to his entire life’s
Song of work.
It’s a magnified scrap of material,
The gaps waiting for a redemption needle
To thread and weave to and fro;
Waiting for pudgy human hands to
Pick and Prod at the string
And temporarily fill in the gaping emptiness.
The reflection of light from its internal prism mirrors
Ocean waves;
There nature as mysterious as a masked moon.
As the air sweeps through the metal chamber,
A vibration releases giving you
The solemn sound of satisfaction;
A living artifact of the past.
A flute from our homeland.
Open,
A book, waiting to be played
And its stories told.
A mole
Lost in the dirt
Peeks above the surface
To create hollow holes
For which the wind can give sound to his entire life’s
Song of work.
It’s a magnified scrap of material,
The gaps waiting for a redemption needle
To thread and weave to and fro;
Waiting for pudgy human hands to
Pick and Prod at the string
And temporarily fill in the gaping emptiness.
The reflection of light from its internal prism mirrors
Ocean waves;
There nature as mysterious as a masked moon.
As the air sweeps through the metal chamber,
A vibration releases giving you
The solemn sound of satisfaction;
A living artifact of the past.
A flute from our homeland.
Momo-ville USA (dedicated to my best friend Michelle)
Momo-ville,
this is the place
where everyone is Perfect.
There are Perfect husbands and wives,
Perfect jobs,
Perfect houses,
and a ton of Perfect children
who never make mistakes.
It is made up of
cookie-cutter castles
and lavish layered lawns.
But what lies beyond this
full fledged facade?
A gaggle of gossipers
filled with hate and spite
ever-using blackmail to backstab
neighbors and “friends”.
It is a place where politics rule
and talent is tormented
because envy and jealousy take control of their hearts.
It’s a unique person’s nightmare
crawling with hypocrites and deadbeats
just waiting to drag down your self esteem.
As the paper drawings of the once towering manors
tear themselves down in a dramatic fashion,
they reveal a broken home,
bankrupt in heart as well as the pocket.
The parents have trained their children to put on their masks,
the ones they’ve been forced to create since birth.
For some, the mask doesn’t fit
so they are forever excluded from the army of mechanical robots.
But you will do anything to fit in here
even sell your soul.
No one knows what it’s like to be alone
till they’ve been to Momo-ville USA.
this is the place
where everyone is Perfect.
There are Perfect husbands and wives,
Perfect jobs,
Perfect houses,
and a ton of Perfect children
who never make mistakes.
It is made up of
cookie-cutter castles
and lavish layered lawns.
But what lies beyond this
full fledged facade?
A gaggle of gossipers
filled with hate and spite
ever-using blackmail to backstab
neighbors and “friends”.
It is a place where politics rule
and talent is tormented
because envy and jealousy take control of their hearts.
It’s a unique person’s nightmare
crawling with hypocrites and deadbeats
just waiting to drag down your self esteem.
As the paper drawings of the once towering manors
tear themselves down in a dramatic fashion,
they reveal a broken home,
bankrupt in heart as well as the pocket.
The parents have trained their children to put on their masks,
the ones they’ve been forced to create since birth.
For some, the mask doesn’t fit
so they are forever excluded from the army of mechanical robots.
But you will do anything to fit in here
even sell your soul.
No one knows what it’s like to be alone
till they’ve been to Momo-ville USA.
Caged (written for a WWII assignment)
Once strong men,
Now have flesh clinging to their glass bones.
Once proud women,
Now are forced to wait for liberating death.
Once playful children,
Now are humbled with a sense of starvation.
Once a free people,
Now with agency gone, are confined to a cage like tamed animals.
We were at one time care free,
Now sorrow, grief, and regret pierce our thoughts.
You ask, “Are we caged?”
We are caged.
Once filled with life,
Now it is like we are living dead.
Once our eyes twinkled with a spirit of light,
Now they’re dull and unreadable.
Once overflowing with passion,
Now our love is lost.
Once we didn’t know true pain,
Now we are consumed by it.
Are we caged?
We are caged…
We are caged.
Now have flesh clinging to their glass bones.
Once proud women,
Now are forced to wait for liberating death.
Once playful children,
Now are humbled with a sense of starvation.
Once a free people,
Now with agency gone, are confined to a cage like tamed animals.
We were at one time care free,
Now sorrow, grief, and regret pierce our thoughts.
You ask, “Are we caged?”
We are caged.
Once filled with life,
Now it is like we are living dead.
Once our eyes twinkled with a spirit of light,
Now they’re dull and unreadable.
Once overflowing with passion,
Now our love is lost.
Once we didn’t know true pain,
Now we are consumed by it.
Are we caged?
We are caged…
We are caged.
Spontaneous?
Two sided;
one for part
another for the other.
Why can’t I laugh like a Chevy
in school,
or around the individuals there?
Why do the
Claytonettes know no serious side?
Why can’t I be
spontaneous
with people I love?
Why do I only
climb when provoked?
Which one is
the 4.0 façade?
I will continue to try
to morph into one,
but
Will you ever know
the Spontaneous
side
of
me?
one for part
another for the other.
Why can’t I laugh like a Chevy
in school,
or around the individuals there?
Why do the
Claytonettes know no serious side?
Why can’t I be
spontaneous
with people I love?
Why do I only
climb when provoked?
Which one is
the 4.0 façade?
I will continue to try
to morph into one,
but
Will you ever know
the Spontaneous
side
of
me?
Composition
As I stroke the keys,
A man of fire
Clenches,
Penetrates my soul.
Faster, faster he tempts,
His voice as smooth as silver,
Yet raging, a waterfall;
The water, my fingers,
Weighing down,
Pressing the keys.
Its zest and flame for life
Always moving.
Liquid so calm in nature
Pushed to its potential.
He becomes me
And I him.
Pushing, playing, becoming.
I am overcome with
Passion.
A man of fire
Clenches,
Penetrates my soul.
Faster, faster he tempts,
His voice as smooth as silver,
Yet raging, a waterfall;
The water, my fingers,
Weighing down,
Pressing the keys.
Its zest and flame for life
Always moving.
Liquid so calm in nature
Pushed to its potential.
He becomes me
And I him.
Pushing, playing, becoming.
I am overcome with
Passion.
Guardian of the Gate
Her all-seeing eyes
Remain closed.
Guarding,
Watching,
Waiting for prey.
She is the guardian of the gate,
Those unworthy to pass
Become her evening meal.
She is wise though,
Oh yes, she is wise.
She is the judge of men’s souls;
She knows the world’s intent,
The dirtiness of a mind,
And the impurity of a heart.
Her silver-blue moon frame
Sits poised,
Patient,
Waiting.
Her wings span the stars
And her tail strokes the sky.
Her human head stands tall,
Her eyes ready to pierce,
Confident,
Yet divine in her womanly godliness.
The sphinx perches;
Guarding,
Watching,
Waiting.
Remain closed.
Guarding,
Watching,
Waiting for prey.
She is the guardian of the gate,
Those unworthy to pass
Become her evening meal.
She is wise though,
Oh yes, she is wise.
She is the judge of men’s souls;
She knows the world’s intent,
The dirtiness of a mind,
And the impurity of a heart.
Her silver-blue moon frame
Sits poised,
Patient,
Waiting.
Her wings span the stars
And her tail strokes the sky.
Her human head stands tall,
Her eyes ready to pierce,
Confident,
Yet divine in her womanly godliness.
The sphinx perches;
Guarding,
Watching,
Waiting.
Writing Alright
Hi ya'll! If you didn't know, I'm starting to write a book; I've decided to name it Anwell. This decision I made to write it was also made right after a happy time in my life. If you look hard enough, there's probably a character just like you in there because it's based off of real life, of my life. See if you're a Nyrneve, Marek, or one of the other deep characters! This is going to be one fun summer project! :^}
Piano passion
Piano's my passion, after 8 and 1/2 years, it has become one of the best ways I pour out my soul. I have created 4 new songs in the past two weeks, and if you're lucky, you might just hear them soon! I got this awesome new program on my computer that lets me write it all on the computer, then listen to it so I can print it into sheet music!!! (thanks Connor!) I have a recital before summer, then in the fall, my competitions begin. I'm exited, I get to play in the solo, concerto, and theory parts this year. Wahoo!My favorite song that I've made up is Caoimhe, or the beloved. It came to me right after one of the happiest times in my life so far. It's being closely challenged by a new piece I'm working on though, I'll tell you how that battle in my brain ends up.
Anwell (guys this is the first chapter in my book, if you like, WRITE TO ME!)
Chapter 1
The question lingered in the crisp, winter air as if frozen in time. It was as the prophecy described the night to be; the moon was a ghostly galleon, creeping above the light of day, the last of it painted and spiraling, a gypsy’s ribbon of color. The stars were hinting of their light, but being secretive enough to conceal their true power. Their alignment had been correct for days, and the fays were holding their breath in anticipation.
Since the beginning of time, fairies, fays, and magical creatures alike had been ruled and governed by druid stones’ powers. Painted the color of a soul, it hypnotizes, the magic within mesmerizes all who lay eyes on it. The first stone was created by all the separate species placing a fraction of their power in a magic orb and sealing it forever. It cannot be alone with no mind to govern it; the one druid stone of a time takes on the mind of its caretaker. Even if it is quickened by a good fay or fairy, it could have its powers poisoned and harnessed for evil.
Fays’ births are rare and with each one, a new cycle begins.
Druid stones are life, the life and light of the fairies and all magical creatures; their delicate crystalline structures can be shattered if not put in the proper care. Painted the color of a soul, it hypnotizes; the magic within mesmerizes. Though beautiful, the one druid stone of a time could have its powers poisoned and harnessed for evil uses, thus poisoning the changeling it is connected to. If a stone ever was to burst, it would kill the changeling. No fairy had the slightest idea what would happen if the stone was ever just to crack, a tiny fracture; it had never happened before and no one was keen on testing it for the risk of losing the life of the changeling.
The new druid stone had been forming for centuries waiting for the changeling to be born that would unlock the magic held deep within it. With the power of the ancient stone growing older and weaker, the fairies and humans were loosing peace in their worlds. The tension was high; they were on the brink of destruction. This birth was necessary for the survival of both races, the birth of the changeling and equally important, the magic quickening of the stone.
This magic, if preserved, could save the fairies’ world from contentions among themselves and separation from the human race. If lost, it would mean the destruction of all relations outside the fairy realm causing wars and evils to occur in both peoples.
Amber had selected her successor for some time now and was anxiously preparing for the time when she could give up her burden of being the stone’s protector to the baby changeling’s fairy protection. She had been the protector of the stone with the royal line since the birth of the last child of the changeling heritage, Umaith. Amber was the head of protection for the fairy empress and had given her life to the safety of magical beings, though her destiny and true devotion lie with her role as a Lune guardian, the task she had been given on the day of her birth.
A true changeling child is born every five to seven generations to the bloodline Lune; these births are rare and with them not only come mysterious magic, but the new druid stone to look after and guard. They are able to have a single child who carries with them the Fay magic, but as the generations pass on, the magic becomes more diluted and harder for the Fay seed to develop and use to protect the stone of that time.
Umaith, being the fifth generation since the last birth of a changeling, barely showed signs of powers; she was more human than fairy race. She had grown up with basic spells and enchantments without the isolation her daughter to be born would face if she was the changeling. If she was the next changeling, the cycle would begin again and there would be new hope and new challenges for the fairy world.
Souls of magical creatures never die, they are only freed of their mortal state; you can still feel them after their bodies have long passed away. When a changeling is born though, the rules shift; the mothers’ bodies die, as well as their spirit unless the spell of unbinding their souls is completed before the maturing of the baby’s scar. This enchantment strips the fairy and fay of all magical abilities and cancels the spell of binding enlacing their souls together, setting their spirits free before they can disappear forever.
If this was the child, Umaith would die this night, as would Amber, her protector; for through these deaths, the new cycle begins. The old stone would be destroyed and with the power within free, the new druid would awaken in its glory more powerful than any that preceded it. So much depended on this one twist of fate, this one child.
Amber’s head snapped into position as a soft cry carried by the wind over the rolling hills in the land of Ire brushed the very tips of her pointed ears. It was time to examine the turning of fates, to see if this was the changeling.
She flew with her silver wings stroking the clouds as she went by. Her perfect auburn hair complimented the gold sparks of nervousness in her eyes. Her tattered dress with her symbol played on the wind revealing her anticipation. She carried a baby fairy on her back with hair as black as the night that surrounded her; the mark on her left shoulder revealed that she was to be a Lune protector as Amber was and to be called Aine.
As Amber and Aine swiftly approached the ancient stone cottage by the rigid ocean, the new baby’s cries grew quieter as if being calmed by some unknown force. After a few more brief moments of flight, all that could be heard was the crashing of waves against the giants known as the cliffs.
They reached the old wooden door made of drift wood. Amber raised her hand to knock, but stopped. Were her ears deceiving her or was Umaith singing Caoimhe, the song of the Fay. The words danced through the window and slowly, almost magically moved the innermost soul.
Once fairies and humans ruled the earth
Together in harmony.
They lived and loved, did no wrong,
No hatred or Jealousy.
One day a human faltered,
Sold her soul to see
The difference of her brother,
Decipher human and fairy.
She was shown their secret
The stone of the druids was theirs to keep.
They did not tell her this their secret,
So envy was hers to reap…
No child should hear their purpose so early in life, Amber decided though she longed to hear the heart-gripping melody. She let her hand fall to make contact with the wooden panel. Immediately Umaith was silenced and gave her quivering reply, “Enter.”
The door unlocked and creaked open without the touching of hands. Amber glided in with her fairy poise, her feet barely stroking the ground, the wooden floor made no sound. Umaith sat upright on her bed cradling her new born baby girl in her arms; her Lune ring glowing in the candlelight was the only thing to separate her from a human to the naked eye.
“Is i’ time alrea’y,” Umaith stuttered.
“Yes, I’m sorry Umaith, but the fates must be satisfied, you know what must happen.”
“I know Amber, my kindr’d friend, but I cannot accept that. If she is the changeling, the world will change forever more. ‘er name will be remembered for generations as either our savior or d’struction. How can one so young be responsible for the heavy weight of this world?”
“Aine is well prepared; she being of the royal line was born with all the obtained fairy knowledge. She will teach Aerin everything she will need to fight and much more,” Amber reminded Umaith for words of comfort.
“I know, eh, but I want to be ‘ere for ‘er for mothers’ guidance,” she whimpered in her native Irish accent.
“You forget; if she is the child, I will sacrifice just as much as you.”
“I didn’t mean that Amber; I know we share the same fate, we ‘ave since birth. If we die, we shall die together and leave our li’l lasses behind to fend for themselves. ‘ow will they survive without us?”
“We can’t waste any more time sulking Umi, if this is to be, it must happen now!”
Amber pulled back the blankets of protection covering Aerin so perfectly and turned her over to reveal her symbol; no time for words, it was as they had feared for so long. Amber pressed her palm with her second fairy symbol to Aerin’s shoulder and muttered the spell of binding to Aerin and Aine. Umaith began to weep; she knew what was happening and lost all self control. She tried to mutter a soft goodbye to the world, but Amber was too filled with power to be tampered with. With her last breath, Amber screamed the spell for unbinding, the only thing that could save her and Umaith’s souls from utter destruction. Ctatia! Their bodies would be lost forever, but their spirits would not die this way.
Magic is what holds fairies’ and the children of the blood-line Lune’s bodies together, it is nasty business to have the magic sucked out of one’s being. It is said to be one of the most horrifying experiences yet known to the world and few are ever forced to witness it. Neither mother could have ever anticipated the pain about to come upon them, not even the most skilled wizard could create a spell to ease this kind of inhuman torture.
Umaith’s body began to rise from the bed till she was parallel with Amber’s floating frame. Aine glided gently from the babe-pouch to the bed next to her newly-bonded bosom friend. Their cries could be heard for miles, even over the crashing of the seas; the scars on their palms burned, split open from the spell of binding. Only a few brief moments later, their cries of pain turned to significantly more bone-chilling shrieks of absolute horror as they watched the magic being pulled from their mothers’ bodies.
The mothers began to spiral in the frozen air, their eyes never diverting from the blank space above. The light that filled their eyes before was long since gone. Their bodies became shriveled shells, their faces once angelic to behold, now wrinkled till there was nothing save one final breath of dust which blew away on a gentle draft that unexpectedly swept through the shack.
By this time, the babes’ cries had been heard and the fairies could tell by their tone that part of the prophecy had been fulfilled. They sent a nurse fairy to the babies’ aid to care for them until they could manage themselves. But no one was to tamper with the girls, never a word spoken to or about them was the enforced rule; only by this could they have a chance at defeating the foe.
The babes would have this traumatic memory etched into their minds for the rest of their lives; it was too scaring to be removed, even through the most powerful magic. The cries continued through the night and days even weeks after; some say they can still hear the ear-piercing screams night after night on the wind that continues to flow over the rolling hills of Ireland.
The question lingered in the crisp, winter air as if frozen in time. It was as the prophecy described the night to be; the moon was a ghostly galleon, creeping above the light of day, the last of it painted and spiraling, a gypsy’s ribbon of color. The stars were hinting of their light, but being secretive enough to conceal their true power. Their alignment had been correct for days, and the fays were holding their breath in anticipation.
Since the beginning of time, fairies, fays, and magical creatures alike had been ruled and governed by druid stones’ powers. Painted the color of a soul, it hypnotizes, the magic within mesmerizes all who lay eyes on it. The first stone was created by all the separate species placing a fraction of their power in a magic orb and sealing it forever. It cannot be alone with no mind to govern it; the one druid stone of a time takes on the mind of its caretaker. Even if it is quickened by a good fay or fairy, it could have its powers poisoned and harnessed for evil.
Fays’ births are rare and with each one, a new cycle begins.
Druid stones are life, the life and light of the fairies and all magical creatures; their delicate crystalline structures can be shattered if not put in the proper care. Painted the color of a soul, it hypnotizes; the magic within mesmerizes. Though beautiful, the one druid stone of a time could have its powers poisoned and harnessed for evil uses, thus poisoning the changeling it is connected to. If a stone ever was to burst, it would kill the changeling. No fairy had the slightest idea what would happen if the stone was ever just to crack, a tiny fracture; it had never happened before and no one was keen on testing it for the risk of losing the life of the changeling.
The new druid stone had been forming for centuries waiting for the changeling to be born that would unlock the magic held deep within it. With the power of the ancient stone growing older and weaker, the fairies and humans were loosing peace in their worlds. The tension was high; they were on the brink of destruction. This birth was necessary for the survival of both races, the birth of the changeling and equally important, the magic quickening of the stone.
This magic, if preserved, could save the fairies’ world from contentions among themselves and separation from the human race. If lost, it would mean the destruction of all relations outside the fairy realm causing wars and evils to occur in both peoples.
Amber had selected her successor for some time now and was anxiously preparing for the time when she could give up her burden of being the stone’s protector to the baby changeling’s fairy protection. She had been the protector of the stone with the royal line since the birth of the last child of the changeling heritage, Umaith. Amber was the head of protection for the fairy empress and had given her life to the safety of magical beings, though her destiny and true devotion lie with her role as a Lune guardian, the task she had been given on the day of her birth.
A true changeling child is born every five to seven generations to the bloodline Lune; these births are rare and with them not only come mysterious magic, but the new druid stone to look after and guard. They are able to have a single child who carries with them the Fay magic, but as the generations pass on, the magic becomes more diluted and harder for the Fay seed to develop and use to protect the stone of that time.
Umaith, being the fifth generation since the last birth of a changeling, barely showed signs of powers; she was more human than fairy race. She had grown up with basic spells and enchantments without the isolation her daughter to be born would face if she was the changeling. If she was the next changeling, the cycle would begin again and there would be new hope and new challenges for the fairy world.
Souls of magical creatures never die, they are only freed of their mortal state; you can still feel them after their bodies have long passed away. When a changeling is born though, the rules shift; the mothers’ bodies die, as well as their spirit unless the spell of unbinding their souls is completed before the maturing of the baby’s scar. This enchantment strips the fairy and fay of all magical abilities and cancels the spell of binding enlacing their souls together, setting their spirits free before they can disappear forever.
If this was the child, Umaith would die this night, as would Amber, her protector; for through these deaths, the new cycle begins. The old stone would be destroyed and with the power within free, the new druid would awaken in its glory more powerful than any that preceded it. So much depended on this one twist of fate, this one child.
Amber’s head snapped into position as a soft cry carried by the wind over the rolling hills in the land of Ire brushed the very tips of her pointed ears. It was time to examine the turning of fates, to see if this was the changeling.
She flew with her silver wings stroking the clouds as she went by. Her perfect auburn hair complimented the gold sparks of nervousness in her eyes. Her tattered dress with her symbol played on the wind revealing her anticipation. She carried a baby fairy on her back with hair as black as the night that surrounded her; the mark on her left shoulder revealed that she was to be a Lune protector as Amber was and to be called Aine.
As Amber and Aine swiftly approached the ancient stone cottage by the rigid ocean, the new baby’s cries grew quieter as if being calmed by some unknown force. After a few more brief moments of flight, all that could be heard was the crashing of waves against the giants known as the cliffs.
They reached the old wooden door made of drift wood. Amber raised her hand to knock, but stopped. Were her ears deceiving her or was Umaith singing Caoimhe, the song of the Fay. The words danced through the window and slowly, almost magically moved the innermost soul.
Once fairies and humans ruled the earth
Together in harmony.
They lived and loved, did no wrong,
No hatred or Jealousy.
One day a human faltered,
Sold her soul to see
The difference of her brother,
Decipher human and fairy.
She was shown their secret
The stone of the druids was theirs to keep.
They did not tell her this their secret,
So envy was hers to reap…
No child should hear their purpose so early in life, Amber decided though she longed to hear the heart-gripping melody. She let her hand fall to make contact with the wooden panel. Immediately Umaith was silenced and gave her quivering reply, “Enter.”
The door unlocked and creaked open without the touching of hands. Amber glided in with her fairy poise, her feet barely stroking the ground, the wooden floor made no sound. Umaith sat upright on her bed cradling her new born baby girl in her arms; her Lune ring glowing in the candlelight was the only thing to separate her from a human to the naked eye.
“Is i’ time alrea’y,” Umaith stuttered.
“Yes, I’m sorry Umaith, but the fates must be satisfied, you know what must happen.”
“I know Amber, my kindr’d friend, but I cannot accept that. If she is the changeling, the world will change forever more. ‘er name will be remembered for generations as either our savior or d’struction. How can one so young be responsible for the heavy weight of this world?”
“Aine is well prepared; she being of the royal line was born with all the obtained fairy knowledge. She will teach Aerin everything she will need to fight and much more,” Amber reminded Umaith for words of comfort.
“I know, eh, but I want to be ‘ere for ‘er for mothers’ guidance,” she whimpered in her native Irish accent.
“You forget; if she is the child, I will sacrifice just as much as you.”
“I didn’t mean that Amber; I know we share the same fate, we ‘ave since birth. If we die, we shall die together and leave our li’l lasses behind to fend for themselves. ‘ow will they survive without us?”
“We can’t waste any more time sulking Umi, if this is to be, it must happen now!”
Amber pulled back the blankets of protection covering Aerin so perfectly and turned her over to reveal her symbol; no time for words, it was as they had feared for so long. Amber pressed her palm with her second fairy symbol to Aerin’s shoulder and muttered the spell of binding to Aerin and Aine. Umaith began to weep; she knew what was happening and lost all self control. She tried to mutter a soft goodbye to the world, but Amber was too filled with power to be tampered with. With her last breath, Amber screamed the spell for unbinding, the only thing that could save her and Umaith’s souls from utter destruction. Ctatia! Their bodies would be lost forever, but their spirits would not die this way.
Magic is what holds fairies’ and the children of the blood-line Lune’s bodies together, it is nasty business to have the magic sucked out of one’s being. It is said to be one of the most horrifying experiences yet known to the world and few are ever forced to witness it. Neither mother could have ever anticipated the pain about to come upon them, not even the most skilled wizard could create a spell to ease this kind of inhuman torture.
Umaith’s body began to rise from the bed till she was parallel with Amber’s floating frame. Aine glided gently from the babe-pouch to the bed next to her newly-bonded bosom friend. Their cries could be heard for miles, even over the crashing of the seas; the scars on their palms burned, split open from the spell of binding. Only a few brief moments later, their cries of pain turned to significantly more bone-chilling shrieks of absolute horror as they watched the magic being pulled from their mothers’ bodies.
The mothers began to spiral in the frozen air, their eyes never diverting from the blank space above. The light that filled their eyes before was long since gone. Their bodies became shriveled shells, their faces once angelic to behold, now wrinkled till there was nothing save one final breath of dust which blew away on a gentle draft that unexpectedly swept through the shack.
By this time, the babes’ cries had been heard and the fairies could tell by their tone that part of the prophecy had been fulfilled. They sent a nurse fairy to the babies’ aid to care for them until they could manage themselves. But no one was to tamper with the girls, never a word spoken to or about them was the enforced rule; only by this could they have a chance at defeating the foe.
The babes would have this traumatic memory etched into their minds for the rest of their lives; it was too scaring to be removed, even through the most powerful magic. The cries continued through the night and days even weeks after; some say they can still hear the ear-piercing screams night after night on the wind that continues to flow over the rolling hills of Ireland.
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