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Heroes Community > Library of Enlightenment > Thread: Morning Star - Jenova' s Story (fiction)
Thread: Morning Star - Jenova' s Story (fiction)
vlaad
vlaad


Admirable
Legendary Hero
ghost of the past
posted September 04, 2005 07:39 PM

Morning Star - Jenova' s Story (fiction)

“While they sleep, all men and women learn their roles and rehearse the lines over and over… So they can act them out when they wake up in the morning.”

Milorad Pavic


When the very first ray of sunlight glimmered on her pillow, Jenova drowsily opened her eyes. She didn’t move, watching the golden specs of dust chasing each other in the single beam of light. Then she yawned, hungrily – one of the few moments of the day she truly enjoyed, when there was nobody around. The girl lazily sat up straight in her bed, breathed in, slowly stretched her arms high up in the air, and finally breathed out.

Still sleepy, she glanced about the bedroom, as if searching for something. A jolly unicorn smiled to her from a tapestry on the wall, but the girl showed him her tongue instead. On the carved chair, right next to a beeswax candle, Jenova saw a few ripe figs swarming with bar flies, and a dry piece of blackberry pie. She felt sick. Looking away, the girl managed to reach the goblet with several gulps of ginger ale left. She drank it up. It was sour but refreshing and she smiled. The elfess suddenly fell back to her bed, swiftly pulled the sheet over her head, her eyelids closed tight with one notion: oversleep the morning.

Then she remembered it was the first day of the week!

Jenova leaped from the bed in panic. Hastily, she pulled away the heavy curtains and opened the huge window. The sun loomed behind the distant treetops, bathing the room with silver light. She gave a sigh of relief and murmured: “Oh, it’s still early…”

Ivor, her dearest cousin, was to return around noon in order to recruit some reinforcements. Her only task was to gather gold; her daily income was three hundred fifty coins, more than enough to afford fancy armor and a double quantity of arrows for Ivor’s wood elves.

When she realized there was plenty of time, the girl leaned onto the wooden sill and stayed like that for a moment, once again lost in her thoughts.

When she was younger she used to stay up until (just before the crack of dawn) Morning Star would twinkle strongest. It was that single moment when everything seemed possible. If she beat the sleepiness, the star would promise her glory. Her parents, a couple of devoted druids, frowned upon her story, uncertain how to deal with the whole matter. They still are.

She will never forget that summer evening many a year ago, when a most peculiar traveler found the shelter from a sudden storm under the roof of the hall. The blue-skinned stranger claimed to be a man of quill, yet had deep tooth marks on his arms.

Jenova felt embarrassed in his presence, especially after her mother told him about her reveries, as if it was some insignificant gossip you chat about with your idle neighbors. Surprisingly, the newcomer found the tale rather amusing and not childish in the least. He started to spin the story about the Festival of Life; his verse was entangled like vine and his rhyme sweet like wine. The sizzling coals of his eyes seemed to pierce right through the little girl.

The awkward silence that followed his tale was broken only by the last drops of the drizzling rain. “I should better be going”, he smiled. On the doorway, he stopped and turned back, as if he forgot something, and said: “That poem is called ‘Jenova’… it means ‘Morning Star’ in the language of my people.” It was then the girl heard the word for the first time, and she knew it was her real name, forbidden and forsaken.

Other kids mocked her when she shared the story with them. (On the other hand, they always mocked her, especially when she refused to knit buttercup garlands with them and went swimming with otters instead.) Nevertheless, she knew the name was special, a secret rune on her forehead only a chosen few would recognize.

A lost lacewing flying before her face woke her up from her daydreaming, and she went to the marble basin, still absent-minded. The girl looked at her reflection in the silver-rimmed mirror in front of her: her long dark hair was a mess, her lips bloodless, and she had two dark pouches below her eyes. “Well, good morning, princess”, she gabbled. “If only my numerous admirers could see me now!” She looked like a gargoyle.

Jenova took off her night gown (the one with silly pegasi) and just stood naked for a while, studying her strong body in the looking-glass. She imagined Aeris’s arms around her, his large palms on her breasts… then she felt his hands on her shivering belly, slowly sliding down… But she laughed, for it seemed impossible. Although nice and gentle, he was too meek and soft; his sheepish eyes glowing warm but without a flame. Yet, she felt close to him (why, they grew up together!), but she could never fall in love with him. After all, she was a better hero than him, and that was important… wasn’t it?

Jenova couldn’t wait another moment, so she quickly put on her leather armor and ran downstairs to the dining hall. Half way to the kitchen, her nose caught a strong scent drifting in the air. Was her mother already boiling mussels for lunch, or was the girl just hungry…? The room was a complete mess: a pillar of dirty bowls towered above the greasy bones, unused dill and mint, and a scattering of wine bottles. She put a finger in an empty jar and slowly licked some jam, thinking for a while. This will not be her fate.

Eventually, she grabbed two apples, chose larger raspberries and a slice of fresh cheese, threw them into the backpack and tiptoed outside. The door was slightly ajar, so nobody heard her leaving.

Nobody will see her in weeks.

The town hall stood proudly at the outskirts of the outpost, surrounded by beautifully trimmed gardens that stretched to the very borders of the forest. The waves of tiny birds stormed above the wild roses, breaking against the high gable of the mansion like against a cliff. The winding cobbled path rolled away to the shipyard, between orchards and high hedges.

Jenova couldn’t care less.

She flew between the beds of myrtle, skipped the mossy garden wall and ran past the old vineyard. She laughed at the aged dendroid guards that made outrageous faces as she climbed the hill, towards the ancient grove that crowned the top. Finally, Jenova reached the heather-floored space overshadowed by oak trees. Few silver rays of light showered through the dense leaves on the bustle of life around the girl. These trees were the pillars, these branches were the roof. This was her temple, not the rugged mage guild of her parents.

This morning Jenova has taken her cherrywood bow, a fond treasure that she once found in an obsolete treasure chest north of the deserted marletto tower. She thought Ivor wouldn’t be back in at least an hour or two, so there was plenty of time for her secret ritual – archery practice.

Now her legs are slightly spread, her breathing shallow. Faster than a human eye could see, she pulled two arrows from the quiver on her back and nocked them one by one. They both hit the bull’s eye of the old battered target.

Having noticed a rabbit nearby, Jenova froze. As slowly as possible, she pulled another dart and pointed it towards the fluffy ball in the grass. For a moment the forest seemed awfully quiet. She just frowned and held her breath.

“You filthy little goblin!” she screamed a moment after she had loosed her bow.

The arrow whistled and split the old wooden target in two, while the frightened animal ran into the undergrowth.

Jenova gave a cry of joy which echoed throughout the grove.

Then she heard a whistling in the breeze.

At first the girl felt like leaping into the branches above, but next moment thought the idea childish. After all, Jenova already heard a similar tune a number of times in her childhood, although she was unfamiliar with this particular melody. One quick glance at her blissful home nearby regained her calmness; nothing bad could happen this close to the fort.

The young elfess narrowed her almond eyes but failed to make out the intruder among the creepers and bushes. The girl took one deep breath and smiled - now she could shoot by the smell. However, she was almost sure the newcomer wouldn’t pose a threat.

She swiftly gathered the scattered arrows and leaned onto her longbow. She wanted to greet the rider with a solemn expression.

Then he appeared, looking as stunning as always. Ivor stood nearly two meters tall, his strong painted arms still scarred from the latest skirmish. The worn out green cloak concealed the impenetrable chainmail and a golden string of unicorn mane. The elf smiled and the girl ran to give him a hug.

“My little sister…”
“Ivor…! You are back!”

Then she glanced behind his back and finally noticed several tired centaurs approaching in silence. “The others…?” she gasped. “They fell”, the ranger smiled just like he smiled a moment ago; nameless little deaths meant nothing to him. “How are your studies? Have you visited the old witch in her hut? Has she taught you the ways of the scholars? You must show me all the new spells you have mastered! What about the taxes…?”

Jenova just smiled and took Ivor to the garden behind the family manor, and they sat on the bench of carved stone in the shade of a fig-tree. A small fountain with lily pad was placed in the centre of the yard, so the sound of bubbling water mingled with the humming of the myriad of bees drowsily flying around, dizzy from the heavy scent of lilac in the air.

Jenova listened to her kinsman talking, but didn’t say anything for what seemed like an eternity. Her mind drifted away again, to another morning, the one she spent playing in the watermill on the Harp Song.

The mill belonged to one of her father’s allies, a grumpy human whose strange name she could never remember. The dwarves were busy unloading heavy sacks from a river boat and seemed to have forgotten about the little girl. Meanwhile, she was fascinated by her latest discovery: a line of mice stretched from the storage hut to the field nearby. A mouse would peep from the lofty grass, swiftly run to the dark room and soon return with its booty, which consisted of one or two grains. Eventually, one of those small creatures disappeared behind the opened door but didn’t come back.

Jenova leaped from her shrubbery shelter and entered the hut. The interior was floored with a thin layer of silvery flour. The millstone grinding made deafening noise. Then she spotted a muzzle and two black eyes trying to escape through a tiny hole in a basket. The mouse was too hungry to steal a grain or two like the others – it stayed inside, it ate and ate, until it was too fat to come out through the same hole it entered the basket.

Jenova knew the same thing happens to those who dream too much.

Years later, she is standing before Ivor, listening to his gibberish about magic and estates.

“Look who’s talking?!” she thought so loud she was afraid her cousin could hear her.

Then a sudden sadness overcame her, and a shadow covered her face.“Come”, softly said the elfess, and gently took the ranger by his hand. Her smile was but a curve in the corner of her lips.

She led him by ivy-covered hazels, following a ringing stream and leaving the wooded hill behind. They reached the edge of the grove in silence, and soon stopped at the place where the slope fell into a long stretch of reed. Ahead lay the Harp Song, its surface glittering in the bright light. On their right, the rampart rested in the wide shallow valley between the lake and the river.

Finally, aware of the elf’s puzzled stare, Jenova spoke up:

“I grew up here. I used to play among those blooming orchards over there.” The girl paused.
“My father’s manor has always been full of merchants and artists… I recall my harp teacher, who sang of pastoral bliss… Until I told her that I had choirs and drums in my head. When lawns were mowed, I imagined each meadow was a battlefield swarming with orcs. Every bush in the dale hid an ogre ambush.”

Ivor was beginning to understand.

When Jenova spoke again, she was looking somewhere above the river: "Can you see those swallows, Ivor? Do you know they are the only birds that fly on their backs?"

The warrior smiled: “Are you sure? Antagarich is vast and there are many kinds of birds.”

"If there are", she smiled back, "I must find them. I must find other birds like me."

An obelisk glimmered in the distance.

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guitarguy
guitarguy


Responsible
Supreme Hero
Rockoon.
posted September 04, 2005 08:44 PM

Good job Vlaad, but I couldn't help but notice slight similarities between this story and my "In The Beginning" story. Coincidental similarities, perhaps?

-guitarguy
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vlaad
vlaad


Admirable
Legendary Hero
ghost of the past
posted September 07, 2005 11:13 PM

Quote:
Good job Vlaad, but I couldn't help but notice slight similarities between this story and my "In The Beginning" story. Coincidental similarities, perhaps?

Yes, both stories begin in the morning.

Mine is actually an adaptation of an old RPG session.
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