The Deer's Cry - prose

I wrote this piece this past summer when I was having
a hard time concentrating on anything else. The passage
I borrowed and quoted is entitled The Deer's Cry and is
also known as St. Patrick's breastplate. I think it's
imagery is beautiful and rather apt here. Although
primarily reflective poetry, all the standard disclaimers
apply, along with my thanks for the chance to share this.

The Deer's Cry

The woman sat before the fire absorbed by but not seeing the flames. What she beheld
were images she'd sink into each night when memories could nor longer would be denied.
The flames were a release for the loneliness and the pain of watching life taken before its
time yet again. She realized perhaps for the first time how it must have felt to be a victim
of the woman she once was. Having something special ripped away before you while you
were sick with helplessness. It was fitting.

It had begun with the loss of a brother. Lyceus had been her best friend since childhood,
her shadow. Theirs was a closeness that had only deepened with the many growing seasons
that would follow. A devoted son, he'd stood and defended Amphipolis to the end alongside
her, and was spitted with his own blade while she watched and could do nothing. She lost not
only someone she loved, and someone who believed in her, but everything she believed in as
well. No. No more would she look on the world and what might be done. She would make her
own destiny; she would make things happen, and she would not succumb to anyone or anything.
She left a part of herself behind when she left Amphipolis. Things would never again be the
same.

Her mind travelled from the past to the recent present and to thoughts of Solan. A loss
that at times still felt raw, could bring her to her knees in silent supplication. Her only child.
Something beautiful borne of a stark, ugly period. A time in her life where supremacy was
savored with an obsessive, feral quality and simply put she lived to destroy. And she was
very, very good at what she did. But Solan survived , had grown to be a sensitive and trusting
boy as adventurous as she had ever been. Ready and eager was he to start a new life with her,
with them. As eager as she was, finally having allowed herself to believe in the reality of being
a part of his life. That perhaps finally it could happen. How foolish she'd been to ever believe
she could have something real with him. Yes she'd made her own reality, every sordid last
detail of it. All she needed do was remember who and what she was and she would have had
her answer. Instead she chose to believe. Her mind returned to the moment she's found him
on the altar, willing him to awaken; willing herself not to believe. But he lay very still, his
death at the hands of a filth she had never destroyed. How ironic, she reflected. Gabrielle
whom she had blamed for too long for Solan's death was the one who'd finally taken down
Hope, and all it had required was her life.

Looking down into the embers, the warrior took a ragged breath. The pain in her chest
was something that stayed with her and she continued letting the night take her where it would.

Gabrielle had given up so much to follow her; a family, the chance for a normal and secure
life. Although she didn't think normal and secure were words the bard would have felt should
reasonably apply to her. At this she had to smile. She'd weathered physical and emotional trials
few should ever have to bare. And she had played so many roles, provided so many things in their friendship and journeys the effect of which was only now beginning to be realized. She'd given
a tortured existence meaning and she had somehow always endured. She never fathomed through
all the hurt and pain they'd caused one another how anyone could still believe as Gabrielle always
had, and to trust in that faith. Until the moment a life was traded for a life and a final look
shared. In that look was everything she had ever held and lost. And it was the last thing
Gabrielle would ever leave her.

She thought back to Solon's final ceremony. She was in such pain, filled with such
overwhelming bitterness for Gabrielle who had dared to put her trust in Hope rather than
her, the beginnings of a hatred had begun building she had no desire to fight nor relinquish.
So she didn't. Rather, she nurtured that hatred with an intimacy seldom shown. Her child
lay dead. And she was lost. She couldn't sing his dirge. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't
do anything but think on everything that had happened and the one person she thought she
could always count on. Perhaps had she been able to open her heart and grieve instead of
closing herself in through old, familiar walls, she and Gabrielle might have had a chance at
working things out, could have found some semblance of reason in an impossible reality. So
many what ifs... But they didn't work through their mutual pain, crashing instead into a torrent
of emotions and brutality that proceeded and followed them to Illusia. But they survived that
strange, frightening journey and even more unlikely found a measure of peace between them
and a friendship strengthened as never before. Death could do that.

The warrior's mind drifted to the more playful moments she'd shared with the bard in their
three seasons of travel, when significance could be found in simple things as well as in the life
and death situations that marked their existence. She'd honestly forgotten what laughter was
until she was surrounded by it. Funny thing about laughter is that you can only resist it for so
long. Gabrielle brought with her and the warrior thought on this a moment. The bard would
know exactly the word she was striving for. It was one of her many skills. Then smiled as the
errant word was realized. Exuberance. Such an exuberance for life, for the adventures they
shared. And how she loved to write, relaying those adventures into tales she'd never tire of
telling, her fondness for poetry something that moved the warrior in ways she could never
express but that strangely comforted her and allowed her to feel closer to the bard. There were
so many things she'd never said, though how she'd wanted to, but something always held
those words back, some hesitancy, some fear.

She thought back to a much earlier time, to a different land and to someone who hadn't
been hesitant to express herself and smiled. M'Lila had been a spirited one. She also had
brought a beauty to the warrior's life before a period where blood and gore were the only
things that held meaning, the only things she wanted or needed to understand. Ancient words
long buried seemed to slowly stir in her mind. In sparing the life of a stowaway she'd made
an ally, and a friend. Gaelic, proud, a lithe form disguising lethal fighting skills. And so
beautiful. They shared a love of the sea and of battle. She found herself drawn to the richness
and resonance of the language, and could remember the lilt in her voice when she'd sing
lullabies under a full sail and a setting sun. It was a brief but glorious time, each day begun
with an ancient Celtic prayer. A warrior's prayer for safe journey. These were the words that
had finally broken through her memory, and the haze of pain that surrounded watching yet
someone else she cared for, someone she loved, although she didn't realize it then, give her
life for her without the slightest hesitation. And what followed this ultimate gift was a
transformation she had still never completely reconciled. She turned the words over in her
mind, heard M'Lila's voice in her head, and knew this time there would be no hesitancy and
no fear. She would give Gabrielle the only thing she had left to give and hope the translation
somehow did justice and that the bard was listening.

~ I arise today through the strength of heaven. Light of sun. Radiance of moon. Splendor of
fire. Speed of lightening. Swiftness of wind. Depth of sea. Stability of earth. Firmness of rock.

I arise today through the gods secret strength to guide me.~ *

When she'd finished the words, the tightness eased in her chest for the first time in an
endless stream of days and nights that had held little meaning. Focus something always
previously and pridefully mastered was seemingly beyond reach. The words had seemed
fitting. The significance of light was held in reverence by a culture highly regarded for its
artistry and passion. Gabrielle had been her light from the beginning and her strength. Yes
they'd stumbled, had hurt each other badly. Had very nearly lost something precious between
them. But there was always something deeper that seemed to guide them. It was something
that could never be diminished. Not through circumstance, nor time. Not even through death.
It was something inside. A part of themselves felt in each other, and given freely. Perhaps
now the one person who had ever held that part of her would know just how special it had
felt in return.

celticblue