Music and Silence
T he avatar tumbled amid a sea of stars, falling and falling and falling. Alone in silence. She could not remember her name or purpose, or what she was, and nothing of existence. Perhaps she was ice, a remnant of a dead comet set adrift in the great dark.
And yet, she remembered music, the gleam of jewels and the beautiful gowns of ladies and how dancers flowed and twirled. Golden light, the rise and fall of the dance. The warmth of a man who held her, the light upon his face as he looked down at her.
One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three, the rising and falling rhythm of the dance.
Darkness. So much darkness. The glow of numinous vapor bled from her wounded armor in a plume. She was a star, a falling star bleeding light.
The man. He had looked at her with concern. She flickered between his reality and her own nonexistence. She had wanted to reach out to him, wished for nothing more than his touch, but allowing him to touch her would have destroyed him.
One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three
Spinning on the dance floor, spinning through the heavens. Music and silence.
· · ·
She came to rest upon the landing of a crystalline staircase. Seemingly not far off, seven stars in the shape of a sword glistened with the tip pointed nearly in a downward position.
Winter. The word came to her unbidden, though she could not recall what a winter was.
Her armor crackled as it died. She felt the jolt from within and knew only pain. A tall figure descended the stairs toward her, a cloak flowing behind. The figure, clad in some ancient armor, halted on the step above her. Male or female or neither, she could not discern. It did not matter.
The being gazed down at her. “Avatar, you should not be here.”
“What is avatar? Where is here?”
“You are the host of Westrion, god of death. The death of Salvistar has weakened him, and his heart stolen. In his disarray he has abandoned you.” The being sighed.
“Serving the gods is no easy task. This I know all too well. ‘Here’ is the staircase to the heavens mortal souls ascend after the passing of their physical forms. You’ve not parted from yours. It is not your time.”
“Time?”
The being remained silent as they stared at her. Finally, they said, “Touch the feather in your hair, then you will know.”
“What is a feather?”
The being made an exasperated sound and reached down to grab her wrist. The being’s hand was cold pain and she gasped. They guided her hand to a thing that hung from—
“Feather,” she said.
“Yes,” the being replied. “Memory.”
Knowledge and some memories poured in, though much remained distant and intangible. “I am the avatar.” It sounded strange coming from her own lips and it would take a while to recall all the implications.
The being stood above her with their fists on their hips. “I imagine your knowledge and memories will remain rudimentary for a time. For your sake, I hope it is temporary.”
Stars near and distant pinged and chimed with cutting clarity.
“Who are you?” the avatar asked.
“I am the warden of the stairs. I was, and I am, called Sevelon.”
“The sword is yours,” she murmured, glancing toward the seven-starred constellation.
“Yes. Do you see the new constellation up above? Salvistar has transformed.”
Her steed. No, Westrion’s. Slain by evil. More memory presented itself and she cried out in grief at the great stallion’s passing.
“For Westrion’s avatar, you are quite shortsighted,” Sevelon said. “Salvistar is transformed, reborn. See how he gallops across the heavens.”
She gazed at the constellation and how the shape of the horse filled around it and seemed to run.
“He has become,” Sevelon continued, “his true essence.”
A tear frozen into a bead of ice glided down the avatar’s cheek.
“You do not belong here,” Sevelon said. “Not just yet.”
A charge of energy burst through the avatar’s armor, jolting her body.
Sevelon shook their head, and with their toe, nudged the avatar off the landing. The void of the heavens swallowed her scream as she bumped down the crystalline staircase. She was too weak to stop herself. Another discharge of her armor’s death energy carried her away.
One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three, and . . .
· · ·
. . . turn
F’ryan Coblebay was telling her stories. “I couldn’t go to the big royal balls, of course, being just a common messenger and all, and if anyone found out about Estora and me?” He shook his head. “It would have been very bad for her. To begin with, she’d have been disowned by her family.”
The avatar craned her neck and looked about. She lay on a roadside and F’ryan sat on a stump. Somehow, she had known him. And yet, wasn’t he dead?
“After the annual spring ball,” he continued, “the Riders held a surprise secret ball for us in Rider stables.”
Freezing rain and sleet cascaded down from a clouded sky. It bounced off her armor, stung her cheeks. She raised her hand to shield her face, but bright energy crackled down her arm and she cried in pain.
F’ryan remained oblivious to the weather.
The rain and sleet simply fell through him, and he carried on as if caught in a reverie, unaware of her agony, his manner distant.
“I have never seen such beauty as Estora in that gown in the candlelight. How one so perfect could love one such as me, I will never know.” He looked wistful, then grinned.
“The horses enjoyed the whole affair and wore ribbons in their manes. And who knew the captain was such a dancer?”
She tried to sit up but could not. Frozen leaves crunched beneath her as sleet continued to fall. Where was she? She touched the feather and remembered. She recognized the particular curve of the road, the stump F’ryan sat on.
“This is where it all began,” she murmured.
He looked down at her as if just noticing her, eyes otherworldly dark and glittering. “Or ended, depending on your point of view.”
. . . a horse and rider staggered onto the road. The rider, clad in a green uniform, half-dismounted, half-fell from the horse, two black shafted arrows impaled in his back.
“How is it I am talking to you now?” she asked.
“You tell me,” he said. “You are the death god’s avatar. Happily I never held that honor, though a few who have worn our brooch have.”
She struggled to rise again but only managed to prop herself on one elbow. “It is not something I want.”
“Unfortunately, we are seldom rewarded with that which we desire. Estora was never destined to be mine no matter our love.” His expression was immeasurably sad. “You, however, have done well, Rider G’ladheon.”
G’ladheon. She considered the name. It sounded familiar.
“You have done better,” he continued, “than any of us could have imagined despite the circumstances that made you a Green Rider, though I doubt it was any coincidence we met on this road that day. Know that I am very proud of you.” His form blurred.
The road and woods stretched out in her vision, and his voice faded.
“Tell Estora I love her and tell her one day we shall dance again among the stars.” Her vision dimmed, and his final words came to her: “And do take good care of my horse, eh?”
She hurtled through the heavens again like a volatile comet as the dying protections of her armor flared with tiny explosions, a dance of forces that pushed and pulled and spun her. If the armor of the avatar failed her entirely, she who was the vessel of the death god would surely cease to exist.
I am Rider G’ladheon, she thought. Not only an avatar. Without her the avatar would not exist. What would happen if the avatar failed?
—three, and turn
· · ·
She lay in a rectangle of stone like an oversized bathtub. She knew exactly where she was, and the inscription at her feet confirmed it.
Regna Solis
Regna Luin
Estora of Coutre
Queen of Sacoridia
Beloved of Zachary I
She recalled that this was not the first time she had lain in Queen Estora’s unfinished sarcophagus, and right next to it was Zachary’s with—
An unseen block and tackle strained and creaked as the solid stone lid directly above was slowly lowered. The light darkened.
No! she cried. I’m here! I’m not dead!
No one responded.
She screamed as it got darker and darker, and still no one heard her. She was unable to move or help herself. The lid scraped into place and she was trapped in total darkness.
Nooo!
Death, suffocation, silence, and the end of light was the answer to her question of what would happen should the avatar and her armor fail.
—turn
She struggled to retain awareness as she tumbled through the stars, struggled to retain sanity.
Falling, falling, one-two-three
A greave disintegrated from her leg, diminishing the protections that kept her mortal self intact and alive.
One-two, one-two!
· · ·
The stars streaked by and she soared by mountains like the great eagles she saw far above her.
She swept through many scenes of shoreline and hill and vast woodland, glimpsed the faces of people she thought she knew.
Her father? Tired and careworn as he tossed and turned in a hammock.
And the woman with red hair, a captain? Colonel?
waking in her bunk. The moonlit ocean glimmered through a window and across the woman’s face as she stared directly back at the avatar.
Do you see me? Help me! the avatar thought, for her voice failed her. She reached out but was ripped away again, sparks spitting off her armor through the dark of the heavens. Her limbs jerked uncontrollably as more protections died.
She fell and fell until suddenly caught, caught in a net of pulsing energy that halted her descent and held her suspended.
The silhouette of a figure stood above her in a rectangle of light like an open doorway in the great dark and hauled her in.
The doorway grew larger as she drew closer, and finally she was dragged over the threshold.
She lay there panting, now more Karigan G’ladheon than avatar, though much remained missing from her memory. The familiar setting of a ballroom surrounded her. After having been tossed about in time and space, she was back where she had started.
However, when she looked more closely, the ballroom was not quite the same as the one she had left.