Shaklyri's Journal
Kythorn - 1372 DR
20 Kythorn,
Year of Wild Magic
I am called Shaklyri — the bridge. It is not the name of my birth,
but it was given to me by the only family I have ever known. It is
one of many things for which I am grateful to them. Vlandril, Liriel,
or Chalithra might know the name given to me by my birth mother, but I
am not certain I would want to know it. That name was a name given
not to a daughter, but to a tool by one who would use it. Shaklyri,
the name of my childhood and the name I will most likely use with all my
dark-skinned kin, describes a part I might play, but it was given out of
love in the hour that Vlandril first held me to her breasts. It honors
my heart-mother's crossing into the light after a dark journey, and offers
hope that I may be a channel of understanding between those who live in
the sun and those who love the moonlight. It is a good name for me
here, among my people.
I have no house name. I never felt difference from the lack of it.
Most of the children here have never been called by a house name, and those
who join us later in life often find it freeing to drop the appellation.
Here, we do not belong to houses or serve houses. Here we live with
those who share our work and our beliefs, and we live with our families
— mothers and children together and fathers often nearby. I am told it
is not the same below, and I believe it. I have seen the scarred
and wrinkeled face of weaponsmaster Rizzen holding his newborn daughter;
I saw his tears of joy and heard the clumsy prayer he sang to Eilistraee:
a lament for the children he may have fathered below counterpointed with
heartful thanksgiving for a daughter who would know him as a father, not
a gamepiece. I have seen the weaponsmaster and others who, like him,
grew in the underdark shrink from a female's gaze or freeze, momentarily
afraid to move, when a priestess calls their names. I am glad I was
taken from that life before I could remember it.
We call ourselves Mietza — hope, because we are all children of hope; without
the wealth and power our ancestors bred us to crave, sometimes we feel
hope is all we have.
I come from a place called Hope, but my hope is flawed. There is
a hole in my life that must be filled before I can call my people's hope
my own. I do not know my father. I have been taught about humans
— that they fear us who wear the brand of the drow, but there is this one
human I must seek out, for I am not as my people are. I need to know
what I am, and why, and I want to ask one question of the man by whom I
was conceived: did he take me away so my mother could not use me against
the surface-dwellers, or did he love me? This last is my own hope.
To be loved by my darker kin is like being bathed in cool moonlight in
summer, would not being loved by my lighter kin be like the warm kiss of
the sun in springtime? I will seek that sunlight, if it is there
to be found, and embrace it with a heart finally whole — or I will discover,
as have the kin of my childhood, that the sun can burn more cruelly than
any flame, and, tasting the bitterness that has wounded so many drow, I
will make my heart more fully of the night and try to heal the wounds I
will then have shared.
I come from Hope, holding out my hope to the world of men. I will
ask them to call me Hope, for then I cannot forget my way or my purpose.
What
is a Man?
21 Kythorn,
Year of Wild Magic
My foster mother is called Vlandril. Her skin is satin the color
of midnight; her hair is soft and bright like moonlit snow. When
I was small, she would sit me on her knees and tell me the story of her
journey to the surface. She would tell me always the same way, with
plain words, but when she spoke them, her voice made them poetry for me.
I have always been known for my impatience, yet I never interrupted her.
I looked up into her eyes, seeing myself reflected in shining ovals the
color of the hedge-flowers that turn the air honey-sweet as spring becomes
summer, and I knew — even in my infancy — that this story was more
important than I could imagine.
First, she would tell me of her lover. I do not think she ever spoke
his name to me, or to anyone. His name may have been Lorr'st, for
there were times in my young years when I would wake to find Vlandril tossing
in her bed, sweaty, muttering and whimpering nonsense; these recollections
could only be broken by a gentle touch, and always, before slipping into
a more restful meditation she would murmur, "forgive me, Lorr'st, forgive
me." I think perhaps she could not bring herself to speak his name
in waking for the pain it caused her; when the High Priestesses of her
house became aware of Vlandril's affection for the male, they arranged
for her to sacrifice him to Lloth. It was less than a tenday later
she discovered she carried his child. At this point,
my mother's eyes would stare into the the past behind my head. She
would grow silent for a time, then she would tremble slightly, and return
to the story. Afraid the child would meet the father's fate, and
afraid she would be unable to conceal her heart's true nature in the face
of her grief, she ran.
It was not easy. My mother told of the tricks she used to conceal
her pregnancy, of the mask of fervent devotion she would mold her face
into around the other priestesses, and of the desperate escape attempt
she finally made. They hunted her, she told me, her face tight and
expressionless, they hunted her and wounded her with poison crossbow bolts,
leaving her for dead when she stumbled out into the midday sun. The
scouts from Mietza found her, and brought her to the settlement.
She fought them, poison and infection coloring her senses; She was convinced
she had been captured by the Spider-Queen's servants. The priestesses
reversed the poison's effects on Vlandril's body, but could do nothing
for the child inside her. He never moved again; when he was born dead two
days later, her fevered delusions became darkness.
"I do not remember the next tenday," she would say to me, her eyes deepening
to the color of those five-petaled flowers that form the first carpet of
spring in the forest. "I was insane. I am told that I would
leave the shelter and walk under the midday sun, but I knew only darkness."
Then her eyes would lighten again, and she would look directly at me.
"They brought you to me," she would say, speaking faster, though she never
could finish before the tears came. "Through the darkness, they brought
you to me, and I knew your belly was as empty as my heart. I only
had one thing left to give, so I offered you my breast, and you took it.
Your eyelids drooped and the sun shined at me from your golden hair, and
I knew then that I loved you."
My mother told me this story, and from it I learned truths. I learned
that the only true tears are born in pain or in love. I also learned
that the two are often one. Vlandril loved me, she loves me still,
and I know this because when she tells me the story of that love's birth,
the tears are always there.
Today I asked Vlandril to tell me that story again. I had not heard
her tell it since I learned I am half human — there had been no time, but
today I asked. I am too big now to sit on her knees, so I sat at
her feet and rested my head against her thigh. She told the story
exactly as I remembered it, except for one thing: when she spoke of her
stillborn son, a coughing fit came upon her, and she hid her face from
me until she regained her composure. I looked at her eyes as she
drew her hands from them, and I saw in them a sadness I had not seen before,
yet I recognized it. Vlandril will outlive me, and has lately come
to truly understand that. Some part of her is afraid the darkness
will return at my departure, and she has no one else to love as she has
loved me. I wish she would take a consort, or at least have a child
— I know of several males of Mietza who would be willing to father children
for her. I think she is afraid to love a male again, afraid she might
betray him, and perhaps it is that she will not settle for less than love,
at least while I am here.
I have been thinking of going to find my father. Perhaps I should
go soon.
22 Kythorn,
Year of Wild Magic
I talked with High Priestess Chalithra today. I spoke to her of my
desire to seek out my father. I expected her to counsel patience
as usual, to tell me that such a journey should be undertaken only after
I am prepared to deal with the outside world. I expected her to ask
me to delay my decision until I could use my sword one-handed or to send
out inquiries with the traders so that I might locate him before setting
out. I expected any number of delaying tactics and the ever-present
lecture on patience and the dangers of rash actions. I didn't get
what I expected.
I will leave Mietza after the high hunt. I have a tenday to prepare.
I will be alone for the first time in memory, but I will go with the blessing
of the goddess of my youth. Perhaps the Dark Maiden will even hunt
beside me, the least of her daughters.
Chalithra nods and said, "You should go."
"What?" says the half-human, the steam of her argument diverted by unexpected
agreement.
"You should go," the priestess repeats. "Shaklyri, I realize it has
taken us a long time to adjust to your rate of growth, but you are obviously
an adult, or near enough. We cannot force you to stay, though we
may wish to ask you to." She smiles crookedly. "Besides, I promised
your father that I would not prevent you from seeking him, when the time
came. He told me you would have feelings to work out about him.
Since you have waited until you have a chance of success, I may even be
able to help you, if you will give me some time. Can you delay your
departure long enough to join us in the High Hunt?" She crooks the
corner of her mouth almost as if she were a child caught sneaking sweets
before a feast. "I must admit I was secretly hoping to send you on
this journey armed with the peace and power of Eilistraee."
Shaklyri shakes her head no, answering the question most important to the
priestess' heart, then answers her with words. "I can stay that long,
unless something happens. It will give me a bit more time to prepare
more for interactions with humans and other races. I cannot fully
enter the service of any goddess until I know both sides of myself.
I am honored that you invite me to join, and I will hunt with the goddess
gladly, but if I pledge myself to her and her cause now, it will be with
onlyhalf of myself. The Dark Maiden and her people are all I have;
She, and they, deserve more that."
Chalithra places her hands on the young bard's shoulders "Then linger
a little, and join us in the hunt. Eilistraee understands we all
must follow our own paths to the light. She will accept your offerings
as a daughter who honors her too much to risk falsehood."
23 Kythorn,
Year of Wild Magic
Today I told Vlandril I was leaving. She only nodded, but I understood
her silence. Drow who grow up in the underdark cry on the inside.
"I will miss you," the half-human says, taking her foster mother's hands
between her own.
The drow female nods again. "I know you have to go," she says.
"I've always known. It's just that you've grown so fast..."
"You are the mother of my heart. I hate to see you lonely, but I
have to do this. Find somebody else to love — I can neither live
nor die in peace if you are left alone."
Vlandril runs her fingers through her hair nervously. Looking away
from her daughter, she speaks haltingly. "You don't understand.
The taint of Lloth... It's still there. Every time I look at
a male with affection or desire, I see the chapel... I see..."
"I know, Mother." There is silence, the younger female shifts her
weight nervously. "I also know Lorr'st is beyond the spider-queen's
grasp. He would wish you peace, for love and for the release.
As for yourself, you live in moonlight now. There are no high priestesses
of Lloth here, only servants of Eilistraee."
Vlandril looks at Shaklyri as if in shock. The half-human puts her arms
around the drow and holds her until the tremors of barely-concealed sobs
have passed.
Vlandril
24 Kythorn,
Year of Wild Magic
I used to think I was the bravest of all us children. I used to run
outside in the late afternoon, when we were supposed to be writing, and
dance in the bright sunlight. My friend Qilue would come to the doorway
of the children's commons and shade her eyes with her hands, calling, "Come
in! Come in, Shaklyri! It's not safe to run in the bright sun!"
I would laugh, and romp a little farther from the compound until I heard
her voice develop a frantic edge. Then I would come racing back,
arms full of the flowers that closed up in the night as an apology gift
for frightening her.
I was about eight years old when I first realized it was more than bravery
that allowed me to play so freely at highsun, and it was Qilue who taught
me. I was trying to teach her a new game I had learned from Alak
and Tebryn, with whom I had recently started weapons training, but she
seemed unable to grasp the rules. I know now that I was outgrowing
her, due to my accelerated aging, but then I did not know I was half human,
and, had I, I would not have understood what that meant. I told her
she was stupid. She burst into tears and shouted that I had funny
eyes. She ran off to her mother's dwelling, and I went and sat in
a tree by myself.
I thought about what she had said, and it frightened me. I knew she
was right. I had seen that my eyes were different from many of the
others, but I had not realized until that moment that the darkened centers
of my eyes were outside the normal genetic variation. When my mother
came out to comfort me and to coax me inside I would neither look at her,
nor speak to her of what was upsetting me. I remember thinking that
if she realized how different my eyes were, she might not love me anymore.
Qilue and I continue to be good friends. She is as a younger sister
to me. Today I told her I will be leaving soon. She threw her
arms around me and we both cried.
My
Friend
25 Kythorn,
Year of Wild Magic
Seven people said farewell to me today. I had not told any of them
I was leaving. I don't know whether to feel glad or angry that my
plans are known by the entire community.
26 Kythorn,
Year of Wild Magic
Checked my bow and arrows today. The bow is in fine shape, but seven
of the arrows need repair if there is to be any chance of salvaging tham
after the first use. Will ask Maya tomorrow if she can repair them
for me before I leave.
Hands
27 Kythorn,
Year of Wild Magic
The traders returned from their lateset expedition today. After the
carts were unloaded and reports were made, I went to ask Kyrnill's advice.
I know what Zeerith would counsel me to pack, but that would be for woodland
survival, and I will spend much time in other terrains. I asked Kyrnill
what to take with me into cities and towns.
"Caution, primarily," Kyrnill said abruptly. "And money, and means
of earning more. Your dark skin will win you few friends, so you
will not want to stay in the towns other than to buy supplies with good
coin. Whenever you find a city with a diverse population, resupply,
earn what you can, and move on after a few days."
Her words were not encouraging. We of Mietza do not use gold amongst
ourselves; if we need something, it is made or traded for for us, and if
we want something, we barter services or materials for it. I do have
a few silvers from children's flutes I sent out with the traders a year
or so ago, but it is a long way to the nearest city, no matter which direction
I am to take. Kyrnill's advice convinces me of one thing though:
it is best if I travel light. I think I have decided what to take
with me.
Notes:
~I will
take my bedroll and blanket, as I anticipate sleeping out-of doors much
of the time.
~My sword
and bow I will take, of course, as protection and to hunt. The longer
I can stretch my rations, the better.
~Fifteen
days worth of dried meats and berries, nuts, and hard bread.
~My waterskin,
which I must remember to fill each time I cross freshwater.
~Flint
and steel for fire-building.
~My woolen
work clothes to wear while washing or mending my linen shirt and trousers,
or to wear under my linen for warmth.
~My harp.
I have not yet decided whether to take the flute Iljrene gave me.
It is too good to lose or break, and a flute is simple enough to make should
I find I need one. Perhaps I will pass Iljrene's flute on to Zeld
— already she is coaxing decent music from that toy I made for her last
fall.
~This
journal I will take, of course, along with two pens and a bottle of ink.
I must continue to record my thoughts and to compose. What good is
a dangerous adventure if its lessons are forgotten?
I have decided to leave my festival attire here. I had thought it
might come in handy as performance costume, but I feel as though something
that is mine should stay here, as if the connection between me and these
people will dissolve if I take everything.
28 Kythorn,
Year of Wild Magic
Have handed my scouting shift back to Sune'yorl. She says she doesn't
miss the bright sun, but of course I can't continue to do it when I'm not
here. Spent most of the afternoon in the council room trying to memorize
maps of Faerun. Not much help, as I still don't know in which direction
to start.
29 Kythorn,
Year of Wild Magic
Kyrnill stopped me today on my way to weapons practice. She advised
me not to wear my festival outfit on the Outside. I should keep my
skin covered as much as possible around humans, she said. I wonder
why. It's not as if my face is less dark than the rest of me.
I had already decided to leave my festival dress behind, but I mentioned
this curious comment to Rizzen as we sparred. "Good plan." the weaponsmaster
grunted as he countered my attack with a disarm. "No sense you learning
what I've lived through that way. You're going to have to do better
than that if you want to survive out there. You're letting your elbows
get too tight. Try it again."
Now I am even more confused. Rizzen has hardly been outside of the
Moonhallow since he was brought here before I was born, so how could he
know something of the outside world that makes him advise me to cover my
body?
A
Father's Prayer
30 Kythorn,
Year of Wild Magic
The high hunt begins at twilight. Chalithra had said she might help
me in my quest, but as yet she has shared nothing with me. I have
decided that, unless she presents me with information that suggests another
course, I will head west. I am beginning to wonder if this is really
what I should be doing. Why should I go on a quest to find a single
human, when there are thousands of drow who have never heard Eilistraee's
call to come live a life of peace and friendship on the surface?
My only answer is that my blood is as much human as drow. I understand
the meaning of my drow half, the purpose of the drow female within me.
I know almost nothing of her human counterpart. Does she, too have
a purpose? Are the missions compatible?
Iljrene has been threatening to demand some of my songs after the feast.
I do not know if I want to share my work with my kin. I can take
the rejection of outsiders, but I have shared very few of my songs with
those of Mietza — some of them border on blasphemy, or tell members' stories
in ways that could break the trust we have so carefully built here.
I must rest before tonight.
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