"Selona" by Amber Silver

Selona,

            You know, when I think very hard, I can vaguely recall when we first met. I think the weather was sunny and terribly hot. You and your family came into town in your covered wagon drawn by that old nag of yours - no, not your mother, I meant the mare. I remember I had been sitting in the garden pulling up carrots when you clattered past in your wagon; you, your father, your sister and your mother, all of you squeezed together with your meager belongings and your dog, in that old cart. I remember I looked up from my basket and caught sight of the wagon on the road. Then I saw you, sticking your head out of the canvas, drinking in all of the scenery. Once I saw you, I raised a soil-covered arm and waved with all of my might. You grinned cheekily and waved back.       
            I laugh when I remember the vigor with which I ripped the carrots from the earth once your cart had rattled past. I dashed to the kitchen and handed my mother the filthy vegetables before I was out of the house in a flash, and trotting after your carriage. I knew that you were coming to Steady Brooke, of course, because all of Steady Brooke was in disarray over how a military colonel was to retire in our small, pacified, religious town. People did not know whether to be outraged or pleased; but either way, the news had traveled quickly.
            You remember our old neighbors, don't you? I shudder to remember the nosey women and the strict, religious men of Steady Brooke! That was the thing about our town. It was so... suffocating. Creativity was scorned, and all of my budding dreams were dashed away under the heel of our town, like tiny ladybugs crushed beneath unfeeling stones. I think that's was why I took to you like I did. When I saw you climbing our of your cart, with your untamable black curls and your wild eyes, my imagination screamed with delight at the prospect of having a breeze to stoke its flame; and I trilled with joy when we first spoke, because I could tell by your voice that you were different from all of the other gray aproned, dull-eyed little girls that I knew.   
            And indeed you were. I felt that from the moment I saw you, but my intuitions were realized the afternoon after you decided I was a worthy companion. Do you remember when you pulled me into the woods behind your little farm to explain in excited whispers of your Gift? I was skeptical at first, and who wouldn't be? You said you were a Seer, a person with the ability to observe the magical beasts of the land, who were otherwise invisible to human eyes. I mean, in the name of The One True Lord (Praise and respect be spoken of Him), it was difficult for me to wrap my mind around it, despite the fact that I was an imagination-starved little girl! Do you remember my rudeness when I demanded to know why I couldn't see the unicorns and faeries that were so readily available to your spoiled and lucky eyes? Well, I certainly remember your retort! You sniffed, picked a piece of pine branch from your sweater, and informed me that the magical beasts that once were plentiful in the world had cast a great spell over themselves to stay hidden from human eyes, because humans ('especially the humans here', you said) were close-minded and unimaginative. Without those qualities, human eyes did not deserve to behold the spectacle that was magic. I was crushed, of course. Not only crushed, but a little dispirited at the invisible unicorns that were supposedly hidden in the woods. Didn't they notice how creative I was? I was always in trouble with my mother for day dreaming, for goodness sake!   
            There was nothing you could ever do to prove your words to me, of course, but I was a believer before the sun had begun to slip into the forest that evening. I don't know why I believed you, or why I still believe you, for that matter. Perhaps it had something to do with the way you sometimes slipped into dreamy silence in the middle of a story, staring off into the woods with a happy expression painted over your face, while your eyes followed some figure that I could not perceive. Or maybe it was the way you talked to yourself when you thought I couldn't hear you, or the way you never complained of being lonely or sad. I remember when you told me that the animals spoke with you often, and that they explained to you that they loved creativity; you said that they could see the inner essence of a person, and they fed off of their creativity, as a plant feeds off of the warmth of the sun. You had said, 'I have several escorts', which was your label for the creatures, 'a pixie, a tiny little wyvern and some sort of goblin creature'. I knew that you were very fond of the pixie and the wyvern, and they cared for you dearly. I also knew that you were terribly frightened of the goblin. You explained to me once that the spell cast over all creatures of magic extended to the creatures of dark magic as well, and they especially loved to feed off of the creativity of artists, as the light of creativity was especially pleasing to the dark-souled creatures of black magic. The problem was that too many goblins depleted an artist's creativity and left them barren and dry. I rather believe that that is why you were so afraid of that goblin; you were terrified to lose your gift. I would have been too.       
            I remember how enraptured I was when you informed me one day, in a gasp of surprised delight, that a unicorn had attached herself to me. Do you remember how I leapt to my feet, turned wildly around, and then grabbed your hands in mine and begged to know of her? You just smiled at my exaltation and said calmly, 'Her name is Valora. She's young,' and your eyes examined a bit of space behind and to the left of me, 'and very beautiful; all dazzling white with such a voluptuous mane and tail! She is very fond of you, so you must stay creative, Maya, or she'll leave you forever'. I was so happy, Selona. I couldn't concentrate on any of my chores when I went home. My mother reprimanded me severely, and threatened put an end to our afternoons together. That sobered me into submission and I managed to peel the remainder of the potatoes without incident, while quietly imagining my beautiful unicorn companion.
            But my mother's irritation at my daydreaming was but the first step towards our separation. When your father received the letter from the Writer's Academy, he was so furious. He had been trying for years to beat some sense into you, and snuff out the disdain of your neighbors at your eccentric behavior in the process. The Writer's Academy was a school of bards and poets, and they recognized the talent in you. I recognized it too, Selona. When you told me stories, you would paint a finer picture then the most well-trained artist; you could put famed weavers to shame with your beautiful scenery embroidered in the fabric of the mind; you told stories so harmoniously and with such symmetry, vocalists would turn a jealous ear to your tales. You were really incredible. The Academy knew it, I knew it, and your father knew it... but he hated it. So he denied you permission to enter the Academy, and you retaliated by running away into the forest.
            You were gone for three days, and when you came back you were none the worse for wear, albeit you were a little grungy and sticky from the woods. Your father beat you and kept you away from me for the better part of two weeks. When we were finally permitted to see each other, we went to the hillside overlooking the road that meandered through our little town. You laid on your belly in the tall grass and watched a small squadron of armored soldiers march toward town; they were Steady Brooke's small pocket of highway guards and were probably returning to gather more foodstuff. Then you sat up and took my hands and yours and said, quite poetically, 'Maya, I have something that is weighing heavily on my heart. Hear me out before you react, all right? My father told me last night that he has made arrangements to leave Steady Brooke, two weeks from tomorrow. I was heart broken at first, of course, and I raged bitterly, but that only encouraged him to beat me again. So I have decided to obey my father - that's rather like a martyr, don't you think? No, don't answer, I'm not done - and even though my heart is agonizing over my decision, I think it's for the best. Don't you think I ought to go and help some other little girl in another town find her Escort? Don't you think? It would be for the best if I left, because you could stay here and keep the Escorts well fed, and I could help them in another sector.' I knew that you weren't 'deciding' to do anything, you had no choice; just as I had no choice other then to support you with a little nod and a quiet sigh of pain.
            The afternoon before you left, we went to the river for a quick swim. We splashed and played in the water like little otters, chasing after each other beneath the ripples, screaming and crying in delight at the pleasure of it. We had so much fun that we didn't even notice when the clouds turned black, and the mist changed into a ferocious thunderstorm. I had been about to dunk you under the waves when the whole sky flashed brightly, and then dimmed as the lightening vanished. I squealed in fear, and began to swim to the shore, but you caught me by the foot and pulled me towards Sharp Rock. Do you remember Sharp Rock? That was the name of the rock a dozen meters from the shore which stuck from the river like a thorn. You pulled me to that rock and we huddled together in the tiny alcove on the left side, dripping and freezing as the storm raged on. And then you did the most peculiar thing; you stepped from the rock and jumped into the water!
            I was so dumbfounded I couldn't move. I thought at first that you had fallen, but then you surfaced and began to tread the water, floating on your back and watching the storm with eyes that were just as fierce and bright as the lightening that flashed overhead. You stayed there for the duration of the storm, and I stayed huddled in the stone embrace of the rock, watching you through the haze of rain that lashed at us like tiny whips. You floated there, bobbing in the water like a corpse, staring down the storm in a silent battle of wills. In due time, the storm cleared up and I made haste to swim to the shore. I never inquired about what ever possessed you to swim through that storm, but I think I understand why you did it.
            The next morning, you and your family packed up your belongings and drove out of town. I almost didn't go to your house to see you off; I waited until it was almost too late when a terrible urgency enveloped me, and I ran to your cabin as swiftly as the wind flowed through the trees on the lovely summer evenings we spent running together through the hidden trails of the forest. I was sure I had missed you, but you and your family were at the town's edge, rattling down the road in the same old wagon that had gone past my garden five years earlier. I ran behind the wagon with my breath stabbing my lungs until I could run no more and stumbled to a stop. It was then that you poked your head out of the canvas and waved a solemn goodbye.   
            I didn't see you again for several years, but one glance was enough to shatter the illusions of a thousand nights spent dreaming about all of the adventures you had been on since we last spoke. When I saw you, you were on the arm of an overweight young man whom you absolutely adored, but who I scorned from the moment I first laid eyes on him. You were a young woman who was certainly not in the mood for stories about unicorns and faeries; you were too busy planning a wedding and maintaining a farm. When I asked you about your pixie and wyvern, you turned red in the cheeks with embarrassment in front of your new groom-to-be and snapped that those days were over. I was crushed and left in a breathless state of despair.
            That was eleven years ago.
            Now I am writing this to you by candlelight at the Healer's Academy. I was accepted to become a healer when I was discovered by a Senior Healer friend of my father's. It will take some time, but the strenuousness and difficulty of the work are balanced by the simple pleasure I get from dabbling in magic, no matter how simple a spell is required to ease a headache, or soothe aching joints. It is still magic, and it still makes me feel closer to Valora.
            I am a Healer now, and hence I know that things are not as beautiful and mystical as I would have them be. I remember sword-fighting amongst the long grass with you, and dying a marvelous, theatrical death when you 'won', but now I see the woes of battles every day; I have sewn the stomachs of dying men closed while they were writhing on the tables; I've been elbow-deep in blood and guts and pain, and I know that there is nothing magical about it. I guess I am writing to tell you that I am done pretending.
            But even if I am done pretending to be a famous swordsmistress, or a black-magic wielding sorceress, that does not mean I am done believing. I have enclosed the braid of unicorn hair that you presented me before you left. Remember how you said that you wove it from Valora's mane hair, as a gift from her to you to me? I treasured that braid for years, even after my mother cruelly informed me that it was nothing more then common horse hair. I am sending it to you in hopes that it may rekindle some of your imagination, because I have maintained my part of our bargain and kept the Escorts well-fed where ever I have traveled in my life. Now it is time for you to take charge of your part of the bargain and expand the horizon of an imagination-starved little girl somewhere in the world.
            I am not sure if I will send this letter to you at all; maybe it is just my desperate attempt at closing the last chapter of my childhood. I am not even certain of how I would get the letter to you, as I've no idea where you live. But if I do decide to send it, I think I will fold it carefully into a wax-sealed envelope and deliver it personally to our forest surrounding Steady Brooke. If I do so, then perhaps an Escort will speed this letter to you and rekindle some of that wonderful imagination that was stolen by that greedy little goblin so many years ago.

                            the blessings of The One True Lord (Praise and respect be spoken of Him),

                           Your dear friend,

                                                      Maya