World of Warcraft

by Steve Danuser

  Keda nodded, settling on the pile of cushions beside Toreth and staying quiet.

  “I wish I could have seen her destiny unfold,” Elyrion said, shaking his head. “Celebrate her victories, listen to her problems, and give her advice she wouldn’t take.” His eyes glittered in the lantern light. “But that all is gone, forever. I’ve known the greatest joy and lost it in the swiftest stroke. So I stay down here, and I do the thing I’m good at, and I try to help in little ways.”

  “You are very helpful, it is true,” Keda said. “But that is not the reason I wish for you to come back to the village with us.”

  Elyrion’s face shut like a door. “Foolishness. There is nothing there for me anymore—no friends, no family, no future. I would be as alone as I am in this bog.”

  “I have been without a family to return to for years,” Keda said fiercely, and that got Elyrion to turn and look at her. “But at a certain point, seeing you began to feel like coming home.”

  Elyrion blinked and suddenly dabbed at his eyes. “Forgive an old elf for being sentimental, but what a remarkably kind thing to say.”

  Keda took out a wrapped bundle and offered it to him. It was a gamble, but she was feeling bold these days. “Three crescent stones, two moss bunches, and a nightsaber’s tear.” She winked. “In the hands of a master alchemist, the mixture will help you see yourself as worthy of once again having a family.”

  She took his hand in hers, placed it on the ingredients. “I am just one Sentinel, but I have love enough in my heart for a father of my choosing. If he will have me.”

  Elyrion looked down, face unreadable. Then he smiled and took the bundle.

  ince the dawn of time, O my dearest, O my loves, there was the White Lady moon alone in the night sky. Her charge was to keep careful watch over sweet Azeroth and her people during the night, while the mighty, splendid Sun held that duty during the day.

  The White Lady loved sweet Azeroth very much and was honored to share such an important task with the Sun. Each night, as the Sun nodded in passing and bade farewell, the magic of twilight settled upon Azeroth. Dusk, like dawn, holds the power of the in-between: not one thing, and not another. And so when twilight comes, it creates a bridge linking day and night, upon which the Lady can walk into the sky from her rest and stand guard over her beloved charge.

  And every night without fail, the White Lady moon showed her face to them so that they could see and know that whatever befell them, she was there.

  At first, this was enough for the Lady. She raced joyfully to her task, settling in, shining her soft light so that the world was not completely shrouded in darkness. There was fulfilment in routine, in having clear purpose. While the Sun wound down his rays, the Lady eagerly anticipated pushing and pulling the waves of the great oceans and guiding sailors back to shore. When she gazed upon our world, she saw the verdant beauty of the jungles, which pleased her; the vast white expanses of snow, which reflected her light back to her as if to say hello. She marveled over the deep forests and rolling grasslands and the peaceful mountains.

  And those who peopled this beautiful sphere: How marvelous they were! How clever! she thought as they built their cities; How sad! she thought as she watched them war. How bittersweet, that they did not live long and their absence was mourned. O my dearest, O my loves, how very much she treasured them and shone her soft, gentle light upon all, great and small.

  Empires emerged, thrived, swelled with power, weakened, fell. Countless lives were lived, some rich and full and joyous, some short and cold and cruel. And every night without fail, the White Lady moon showed her face to them so that they could see and know that whatever befell them, she was there.

  But while it was a very true love, it was a distant love, separated by space and purpose. The Lady realized that she longed for closeness—someone to love, as those who walked the world she guarded loved. Someone to be with her, not to gaze upon with longing from afar.

  “How?” she wondered as her soft feet strode the dusk bridge to her nightly perch. “How would one find such a love?” How many centuries she pondered! Then at last she decided she would ask the stars, for they had many companions.

  “Stars, my bright and glittering friends! What do you do to feel love as true as that known by those on sweet Azeroth below?” she asked, her voice as soft and silvery as her face.

  And they replied in tones as pure as bells, “We turn to our families, and together we form constellations.”

  “And what does the mighty Sun do to feel love as true as that known by those I see every night?”

  The stars laughed, and their lights winked. “The mighty Sun loves himself well enough. He does not need the love of a family.”

  And the White Lady moon realized … there was no one to be her family.

  The mortals had one another. So too did the stars. And the Sun needed no one.

  “I wish I had not seen such a love,” the Lady said, her voice full of pain. “I wish I had not tasted the desire for it, for now I know such a thing can be. I wish it for myself, and in the wishing, I break my own heart.”

  She still trod the dusk bridge and the dawn bridge, but she no longer smiled at the Sun as she passed him. She still shone her pale light upon the world, but she no longer had interest in the comings and goings of its inhabitants. And sweet Azeroth, who might have loved her in such a way, slept on, and would do so for long and long.

  Time whirled on, as time does, and the Lady’s sorrow grew. Sometimes she turned away for a time, slowly, slowly, then hid her face entirely. But always, slowly, slowly, the Lady moon returned, maintaining her vigil as she had been created to.

  Then one day as she looked on the face of sweet Azeroth and those who lived there, she felt a fierce love for them all. Every laugh brightened the world.

  Every kind deed mattered. Every living thing was precious, and sweet Azeroth gave of herself to nourish and bless them. This time when the Lady wept, it was with surprise and joy at how very much she, even alone, could love others. And it was then, holding this love inside her, that something wondrous happened. Even the old stories do not tell us how, but we know this much: out of the Lady’s love for us, the Child, small and blue and marvelous, came into being.

  It is said that this was the most joyous time the cosmos had ever known. The Sun beamed upon Azeroth, taking joy in the Lady’s joy. The stars had never gleamed so brightly before, and never would again. It is said that even sweet Azeroth stirred in her deep, deep slumber, sensing the love and smiling. And we hear tales of the tender beauty and harmony of that time even now as something half remembered and wholly longed for.

  And oh, how they danced together—mother and daughter, White Lady and Blue Child. It is said that for long and long, the little one ran circles around her mother, laughing and playing. Together, hand in hand, they skipped across the dusk bridge and the dawn bridge that connected day and night, slumbering deeply in each other’s arms while the Sun kept watch, and smiling down upon sweet Azeroth’s dreaming.

  But nothing such as this can stay forever, even if it can stay for long and long. The Child began to question.

  “What was I before I was with you?” the Child asked one night.

  “You were all I had longed for,” the Lady replied, holding her daughter’s hand tightly. “You were the tears I wept, the dreams I dreamed, the sighs I breathed, and the hope I held in my loneliest heart.”

  “And what am I now?” the little one asked of her mother.

  “You are the fulfillment of my hopes, the answer to my cries, a blessing so bright I could not even have imagined you to be as you are.”

  And the Child would laugh—the sweetest, purest, and most perfect sound the cosmos had ever heard—and bury her face in the crook of her mother’s neck and wonder.

  The Blue Child began to have more questions for her mother. And these questions, O my dearest, O my loves, weighed on her mother’s heart.

  “Lady Mother, those people whom we see each night
—are they like us?”

  “They are, and yet they are not. They are mortals.”

  “What is a mortal?”

  “They are here for a time, and then they are not.”

  “What happens to them?”

  The White Lady did not know the answer to this, and so she gave none. Together in silence, mother and daughter walked the dawn bridge to rest.

  The next day, the Child had another question.

  “Lady Mother, these mortals whom we see each night—can we descend from above them and meet them ourselves?”

  “No, we cannot. We must stay here and watch over sweet Azeroth as she dreams,” her mother replied.

  “What does Azeroth dream about?” asked the Child.

  The White Lady did not know the answer to this, and again, she stayed silent. And the Blue Child said nothing either.

  It was the same on the third night.

  “Lady Mother, what was I before I became myself?”

  But as she turned to smile at her daughter, she saw only empty sky. The Blue Child was gone.

  “Ah,” said the Lady, her heart full. “Now you have asked a question to which I know the answer. You were all I wished for, longed for, and dreamed of. You were the thing I loved best, even before I knew you. Loving you makes me happy.”

  The Child looked solemnly at her mother, then asked, in a voice so sad and puzzled and pure that it would make the coldest heart melt, “What do I need … to make me happy?”

  O my dearest, O my loves, pity the Lady then, for she did not know her daughter was not happy. Nor did she know what could make the Child so. The Lady was learning a lesson that all mothers must learn: children grow.

  As she had the first night, and the night after that one, the Lady stayed silent. Except this time, tears fell from her pale, glowing face to land heavily on the surface of the drowsing world below. And as she had the first night, and the night after that one, this night the Child sat quietly at her mother’s side, and it was in silence that they walked the dawn bridge back to their rest.

  The next evening, the White Lady awoke from her slumber. But as she turned to smile at her daughter, she saw only empty sky.

  The Blue Child was gone.

  A terrible feeling struck the Lady. She did not know what it was. But she felt as though she were lost, as if she would never laugh again. O my dearest, O my loves, for the first time, the Lady was tasting fear—and grief.

  “Where is my daughter!” she cried, her voice sharp as a blade and loud as an earthquake. “Stars, you who shine everywhere, even places I cannot go, where is my Child?”

  “We do not see her, White Lady,” the stars answered.

  Desperate, the Lady raced across the dusk bridge too early and stood with the confused, mighty Sun. He was so large that he made her feel tiny, and so hot she felt she would be burned away. But still she stood with him, her fear, her grief, and her anger making her turn a dark, smoky crimson. And so it is, O my dearest, O my loves, when the moon turns red, we know she is angry.

  “Where is my daughter?” she demanded. “Sun, you who shine so brightly upon sweet Azeroth, where is my Blue Child?”

  “I did not see her, White Lady,” the Sun answered.

  The Lady, maddened with grief and pain, fell to her knees on the dusk bridge. “Sweet Azeroth,” whispered the Lady, “you whose beings taught me what love might be … where is my Child?”

  But Azeroth drifted and dreamed and did not stir. Like the sun and the stars, she had no answer for the Lady.

  Anger is the shadow that trails after fear, and it burned inside the Lady, in her heart of hearts where her love for the Child had once waited to be born. Now the Lady gave herself over to anger and shouted in a mighty voice, “Hear me now, you cold, glittering stars! Hear me now, you scalding, arrogant Sun! Hear me now, Azeroth, over whom I have watched so faithfully! I will not take up my charge. I will not give my light. I will not pull the tides or slow your days. I will sit and wait with my face turned away, and all you shall have of me are my tears. So it shall be until my Child comes home to me.”

  And oh, what a terrible time it was, O my dearest, O my loves. The world sped up, turning faster, till the days buzzed by like bees seeking summer nectar. The tides ceased, and ships could not travel. The water of the oceans crept upon Azeroth until many cities were underwater. The people of Azeroth cried out in fear, and they pleaded for the return of the White Lady.

  The Sun, who beheld what was happening, told a star, who told another star, who told a third, until word reached the White Lady moon that the children of Azeroth were suffering.

  “Let them suffer,” she cried. “My Child is gone!”

  “Perhaps she is lost,” said the stars, “and she will come home if she sees your light shining.”

  These words were wise, and the Lady knew them to be so. She rose, smoothed her gown of moonlight, and took her position again in the sky at night. The people of Azeroth rejoiced, and their world returned to what it was before.

  So for long and long, O my darlings, O my loves, the White Lady waited at the dusk bridge at the end of every day. She shone luminously in the sky, making of herself a beacon for her wandering Blue Child to find her way home. She was full of hope and love and even patience, for she knew something of this quality.

  Time whirled on, as time does. But there was no hint, no glimpse, no whisper or rumor of the Child’s whereabouts. The Lady began to grow fearful again, but instead of turning away from sweet Azeroth and hiding her light, she glowed ever more brightly—becoming not a cool, milk-hued beacon of comfort to a lost child, or a soft, gentle guardian of a dreaming world, but a fierce, ivory sun herself.

  She grew larger and larger and moved closer and closer to sweet Azeroth. Her light outshone even that of the Sun. The tides raged, surging higher than ever before as angry beasts devouring the boats that dared sail across their surfaces. There was no rest for those who needed to sleep when all was ever bright. Travelers could not see the stars, and all was fear and tumult upon the surface of the world.

  O my dearest, O my loves, how they raged. How they wept. How they despaired. But one, only one among them, began to sing.

  It was not a song from a great monarch or a fierce warrior, but a simple mother grieving for her own child. Hunger was upon the world. Crops burned beneath the constant light. Without food and rest, the mother could not nurse her child; without sleep and nourishment, the babe was near death. This woman, too, raged and wept and despaired. But as the days without nights continued, she instead sang.

  ’Pon the surface of the world,

  A mother weeps and sighs.

  She holds her child close to her,

  And watches as she cries.

  ’Bove the surface of the world,

  A mother weeps and grieves.

  She wants her child close to her,

  And oh, she still believes

  Her lost Blue Child shall return,

  And join her in the skies.

  But while you wait for yours, White Lady—

  So my child dies.

  The stars were still there, O my dearest, O my loves. And the closest among them heard the mother’s song. Their bright hearts were filled with sorrow, and they sang the song to their brethren in the next constellation. One by one, star by star, the song was borne through the cosmos until it reached the White Lady.

  She had thought her heart could not hold more pain, but she was wrong. Her beacon, to bring her child home, was harming others who also loved their children. It did not matter that they were mortal and she eternal. It did not matter that there were many children, and there was only one Blue Child. A mother loves, a mother grieves, and no mother who has lost a child would wish it upon another.

  “I do not know if you will be able to see me, my Child,” the Lady whispered. “But I cannot cause more pain to the children of sweet Azeroth.” And so she dimmed her light and retreated. No longer would she usurp the place of the Sun. She would be the soft guar
dian of the night skies and hope with all her aching heart that the Child would still be able to find her.

  Long and long, O my dearest, O my loves, did the Lady wait. The human mother who sang the song taught it to her daughter, and her daughter to hers, and so we remember this time and this song. How many have sung it now? I do not know, nor do the trees, nor the wind. Only the Lady knows.

  But one day she saw something in the night sky. Something that had not been there before. Something small and blue and loved.

  She returned to the Lady more than simply a mother’s daughter; she was a person all her own.

  The Blue Child skipped across the sparkling night sky, smiling wider than she had ever smiled, and leaped to embrace her mother. And all the inhabitants of Azeroth slowed their steps and turned their faces upward to behold the wonderous sight. There had been much love seen in the world and the skies before, and there has been much after. But there has never been a joy greater than the return of the Blue Child to her mother’s empty, aching arms. How the Lady blazed! How the Child clung to her! Their combined light stretched across the sky like the love connecting all parents and children.

  And for long and long, the Child stayed near to her mother. She spoke of travels, of speaking with distant stars, dancing with other moons and suns, traveling to worlds upon worlds. She had even watched sweet Azeroth, studying the children of our world. As she learned the stories of these people, the Lady again heard in her heart the song of the frightened human mother. And the Lady wept, yet again, beside herself for channeling her anguish into harming others.

  As she listened with her whole being, in awe of her wonderful child, so brave and full of curiosity, the Lady was at last able to let go of the ache her grief had brought her. For now she saw that by venturing forth alone, the Blue Child had grown wise, as all children must grow. She returned to the Lady more than simply a mother’s daughter; she was a person all her own.