by K M McGuire
She wept.
Blossum! came a voice, neither male, female, nor child, but somehow all of them, as if the voice of many were tethered to the wind.
She felt the vial drop from her fingers and plunk into the stream. She cursed herself, frantically thrusting her hand into the water, trying to grab the bottle, glinting between a rock and a root. A chill prickled the hair on her arms.
Come, my child! the voice breathed again, speaking as if it were in her head.
She turned her attention upstream, where she noticed a bright purple object. She glanced back into the water, searching again for her vial, but all she saw were rocks shifting in the streambed, as if the vial was never there. Her decision was begrudgingly made, and she cursed herself as she set her sights on the violet mass.
She found her way to the purple anomaly, awestruck by the massive flower trapped on a patch of land surrounded by a small pond of water. The flower reached its bloom up to a fearful height, bearing its presence down on Blossum.
Hello, child, the voice spoke, and she realized it was the plant swaying in front of her.
She could not contain the shiver running up her spine, feeling there was something special about it, unable to form words on her tongue. She looked over the colors that bled down from its petals. The heavy leaves that sprouted out from under it curled and swayed next to her, and it suddenly wiggled, fearful of its ability to move by its own volition. The ground made a discontented grumble, and the great petals splayed open, curling at the tips, revealing the fiery color inside, hypnotizing her with its strange beauty. The bud shifted at its fulcrum, pushing its dark, thick stem up towards the sky, as the center of inflorescence began to face her, where perhaps its eye was buried inside the bloom.
It swayed as it studied her, its mass she expected would soon devour her, and the deeper she investigated the black hole, the worse the feeling grew. A strange twisting took place deep in the cavity of the growth, a tangle of sounds slithered inside with a hypnotic drone that kept the fear far away from her.
I am pleased to see you, the queer choir of voices whispered, as if it had been expecting her since it sprouted from the earth. Dark sepia vines emerged from the depths of the flower, reaching out in all directions, blindly finding their way towards her. She dared not count them. They were like worms breaching the earth during the rain. Thicker ones jutted into the earth as a set of mouthlike appendages slid out to touch her.
“Wha-what are you?” she breathed, feeling her heart palpitate with perplexity. The vine stopped and waved slowly at her. Her eyes drifted towards the ones embedded in the earth, subtly pulsing like arteries.
I am your salvation! I am the one who has heard your voice, the plant proclaimed.
A tentacle stroked her chin. She twitched at the damp touch. A smell seemed to be wafting from its core. She grimaced at the reek of death mixed with scents of exhausted minerals.
“Y-you heard me in the woods?” she said, pushing slightly at the vine under her chin. She felt the other loosely around her waist.
Of course, it said, I have ears around all that protects me from unwanted visitors. I am not inclined to allow just any vagabond to interlope on my sacred grove.
“Then, why me?” Blossum inquired.
I have bided my time long enough, it said. I waited long for my children to find me.
“Children?”
Of course. The mother, Zagala, gave power to me to reincarnate the world from my spores. From my bloom came vegetation, and the fruit that it shares. It laid the incubation for the sentients to be conceived, and long have I waited for my children to return to me, for them to offer themselves back to me. It is coming to an age were life must be reformed, redirected towards the reinvention of purity.
The flower straightened, flipping its green leaves against the earth, as if to prop itself up and look at her better.
Blossum stared deep into the void she thought to be its mouth. “So I am to stay with you as a-an offering?”
Not quite, it chimed. I crave my beings, but I am cursed to my station, as I am sure you are aware.
“Well, you move more than any flower I’ve seen,” Blossum mumbled.
I AM NO FLOWER! it howled, as the choir of voices crushed her mind. I AM THE GIVER OF LIFE! THE SEED OF EXISTENCE. I AM THE ZEMILIA!
She cowered from the voice. “I’m sorry! Please-ju-just-forgive me great one!” She fell to the ground, lowering her head in fear.
A wave of calm brushed through her hair. She nearly jumped from the touch of the vine sweeping against her.
I wonder, the Zemilia said softly, how my creatures create such strife among themselves. It is disconcerting to me, to see what I created ravage over bifurcated views. I had not intended for such blood to spill across my earth. Yet, I am rather powerless in alleviating your distasteful practice. One race sees their religion justified in the slaughter, for the purpose of what? Destroying demons? It seems there are other intentions conspiring around the mysticism. A bit of an extreme for something that may not even be true, wouldn’t you think, my dear Blossum?
It waited on a response, though Blossum could not form one.
The Zemilia continued. And the other, set on a vendetta to irradiate instead of agreement over differences? Why, you all should know more. I have been contemplating a solution, one amicable to all sides, one to establish a strong faithfulness between the races, and so, as fate always brings the solution at the opportune time, you stumbled into my wood, and there, I sensed your heart. You see the way as I see, child. We are different only by limitations. I needed you lost, my dear. I needed your desperation to call out to me. I needed to see your ambition! I needed to be sure if you were worthy of my gifts!
She looked at the burning yellow, slowly pulsing with a blue wave through its veins. “Gifts?” Blossum asked uneasily, and she thought of Nosh. She wanted peace so that her family could live happily among the fields and thrive as they had always dreamed. She thought of the war pushing north, and the cost of more tragedy that was sure to come into the fields of her home.
Here, child, take this in good faith, the Zemilia said, as a small vial emerged from out of the mouth of the vine that was wrapped around her. The vine placed the vial in her hand. She turned it over, recognizing the thin band attached to the stopper, and the artistic cuts in the glass. The vial Estra had given her.
I would hate for you to lose such precious memories here. I would hope you see I have no ill-will towards you. I only wish for you to serve me. Allow me to breathe in you, give you powers which none has felt. Your beauty will be the height of imagination, and you will bend them towards peace. You will be my mouthpiece that echoes across the winds. By you, they will unite!
She silently stared at the vial shining in her hand. She could nearly see the war ending in the reflection of the water, the unity cheering as Tastins and humans came together. She saw Nosh finding her again, unafraid of what had grown between them. Estra’s face, caught in the light of red, screaming silently, drifted to the surface of her memories. She missed her so much. Remember your innocence, came her echoing voice, seeming to fade with her memory. She thought of Estra’s faith, wondering how misguided she was. How could she deny the offer?
Before she could think anymore, as if the Zemilia knew her last thought, the vines swirled within the caliginous maw of the flower, and a new vine emerged from inside the void. Delicate was the strange fruit attached to the vine. It was by far the most unique fruit she had seen in all her life. It took her focus as it came closer to her. It was semi-transparent and dark, and wavering veins jolted out from the dark mass of seeds buried inside. The stem penetrated the center of the fruit, its color so provocatively flushed with pinks that it seemed to blush against the dull brown vines holding it. It was shaped like a heart, and it had a lustrous glow singing inside it, as if it was made of amber.
It hung like a pendulum; back and forth it danced. Its shape was so pleasant, its color radiant. She felt her hands cup the edg
e of the fruit. It was warm. She wanted it placed against her heart.
Remember! An echo breathed to her, but it did not remind her of what. The fruit brushed up on her lips; it was meant to be. Against her teeth, the surface broke, exposing deep, bloody juice blooming from her bite. Down it went into her stomach, and the sensation tingled through to her blood.
In an instant, she felt her mind tapped by several invisible roots, planting firmly in her mind as her eyes flashed a blinding white. He hair burst into a molten red, her skin draining to a subtle pale, nearly void of hue. Light seeped from her pores, and she opened her mouth, touched by an immense wave of ecstasy. Her feet no longer touched the earth, and she felt strength beyond what she had imagined. The roots dug into her—more than she thought she could bear, but she maintained herself. Finally, the writhing of energy within her stopped. She looked at her form, realizing whatever had changed pleased her. In her mind, she could feel the Zemilia was pleased. It was, at first, strange to share her mind with it, but soon it was soothing to hear it breathe, to hear its thoughts meld with her own.
“Let us bring our glory and peace to our people,” Blossum and the Zemilia spoke, and a smile pressed into her cheeks.
***
Memories now flashed violently across the streaks of white vapor, flaring the sudden bursts of images and emotions spanning over thousands of years. They washed and expanded, filling with rushing impressions of all that had happened when she vowed herself to the Zemilia.
The army of the Beyond shielded around the village, the children terrified and screaming as mother and youth began to flee. All that could be heard were shouts to fortify Volimijud, and urges to send the women and children there for their safety. The Tastin army marched in terrible procession, yelling, and with the victory now ensured, readied to devastate the humans. Blossum appeared in a prism of light, flashing bolts of light in all directions, expelling an arc of sparks around her. The masses covered their eyes in astonishment. With a great voice, she called out to the armies, erecting a massive wall of thorns in front of the Tastin army. She called to meet the generals where she forged a treaty in the name of the Zemilia, who, in its wisdom, gave power to her to end the violence. With several days of conversing, and terrifying examples of her powers, she convinced the Tastin’s to open their cities, and by choice and the promise of a better future, they made their pilgrimage south to be close to the Zemilia, who she convinced many was worthy of worship. But a small number remained, convinced this was blasphemy against the Great Beyond, and the high priest and his family stayed to keep watch over the Empty Throne.
The vision shifted and formed around her, and a man appeared. His hair was long and dark, having now faded to the grays of age. He wore a smile that was weak and downcast.
“Nosh,” Blossum said, holding his face in her hands. “I don’t understand. Look at all we’ve built in this peace!” She waved her hand across the city, harmonized with humans and Tastins, lights flickering through the woods. It had been years since the war, and Blossum was becoming aware of the age creeping at his face, wrinkles beginning to web at his eyes. She looked down at her hands. There was hardly a change since she had bonded with the Zemilia.
She heard the Zemilia whisper to her, He is uncommitted. His love was never real, but she forced the voice out of her head. They looked across the balcony of the Eternal Tree.
“Blossum,” he began, his eyes soaked with sorrow. “Your Highness, you do not age, but I am failing in vitality. I cannot have a bloodline if I stay with you! I have loved you faithfully, but I must find one who I may have children with. There is no worse curse than being without an heir!”
She felt her eyes ravaged with emotions, unwilling to accept his rejection of her love. “You gave me your word,” she whispered, feeling the rack of sobs ebbing in her voice. Now, anger took her eyes white. “You said our lives were one! To be eternally inseparable. That was your promise! What other could give you more than I!” Her voice now became frantic, and she felt herself fraying at the thought of losing him, “Shall I consult the Zemilia? Do you wish what I have?”
“No, my love,” Nosh said sadly, his eyes rushing with tears. His sorrow dripped with dark moisture against the wood of the balcony, pattering with heart-shattering smacks. “I do not want to join the curse. You may have eternity to live, but eternity promotes nothing if life cannot be given. I want children, Blossum! Do not think I wish this pain on you! It tortures me as much as it does you! But your grip is no longer the same as the sentients! How do you not see your separation? It has grown so far over these past decades!” He wiped his face, shaking his head miserably. “You made your commitment, but I cannot meet you there. I will not last your eternity, and though my eyes may never know what lover you take after me, I cannot fathom that lie while I still walk. You became the earth beneath my feet, Blossum! That air that blew the dandelion seed across the plains, but you cannot blow me further than where gravity will finally take me back to the earth. You cannot gain more from the flower when you cut it to decorate a vase. I am to wither and you to never wane, and if I have none after me, what then, but memories of me will mean a thing?”
He sighed and rubbed his face. “I’ve been having the dreams again, Blossum. The ones I told you about, the ones of peace. He is calling me. I don’t know who, or what it may be, but I have been lying to myself the more I stay here. There is slavery among the world, and to pretend we are free because we build visions of happiness only makes you less aware of the truth. You are the greatest slave, Blossum. I hate to know the wrath of that when you realize it, and I wish to no longer feel that way myself. Maybe one day you’ll find it, too.”
He turned from her. Blossum was unable to fight her emotions, slaughtered by his words. “Where will you go?” she asked quietly.
“Away from here, so you will not need to see my reflections and stir your sorrow,” he said, his lips trembling. “I will find my way to Jud, or perhaps across the sea to the Eastern Lands. All that is certain is I must leave Septium. The world must change, and so shall I.”
The memory swirled with her anguish as Nosh vanished down the stairs, the sky darkened, and she screamed to the heavens, her pain and torment felt by the sky. Her anger was now faced towards the Zemilia, when the flush of colors blended black, then faded white, colors bleeding slowly back in, where she found herself before the Zemilia, the sanctuary now built around it, but a mass of people stood below her, the Zemilia scrutinizing her.
Child, the Zemilia whispered, bulb tilting towards her. Why do you refuse to serve me? Have I treated you ill?
Blossum fought against the roots prying in her mind. She had been teaching herself to resist the Zemilia ever since Nosh left. She stared at it with embittered eyes. “You took much from me,” she said silently. The memories of Nosh dripped with her tears. She was reflecting over the last…how many years had it been? She thought it was fifty, but the faces across the crowd were so unfamiliar. She couldn’t even recognize her siblings’ children. No, they were their children. It seemed time, for those who lived eternally, moved in the opposite direction.
It was your offering for peace, the Zemilia responded. I gave you all that you could want. The greatness of power, the conquest of peace! Yet, here we stand, you, disobedient to my supremacy! You have failed your obligations. You refuse my council. I fear you will not learn! Banishment, perhaps, will do you well.
Blossum scowled at the beastly plant, biting back her retorts. Everything she despised now was looming in its maw. How often she had given herself as a sacrifice to the being. How willing her brother was to be offered, and she did not refuse it his life. She had been enshrouded in its mist of lies.
But, the Zemilia continued, shaking its bulb, that may not be enough.
The Zemilia shook and blew a plume of spores at her face. They burned her skin and scorched off her clothes, though the burning left no mark on her skin, and the pollen settled around her, where strands of orange hairs spawned from out of
them, connecting together, and then crystallized into a sphere around her. She beat her fist against the orb, unable to break the shell, no longer able to touch anything other than the smooth surface of the bell around her.
The Zemilia chuckled. Now, your curse is fulfilled! You will live out your eternity snared by your failing commitment, and all the world will see your shame! You no longer have a voice among my sages. This is the shackle of your banishment!
Now, a man dressed in exotic robes, smiled curtly at her. “Your reign seems to be over, witch. Now the sages will become the true and only mouthpiece of Zagala!” The sage turned to the crowd, raising his staff, and the cube set in it shimmered with a venomous color. “Look upon the curse! She has failed our city and our great savior, the Zemilia! She alone has prevented the advance of the grove, with which we swore to grow across the world! Now, she will make her leave, no longer welcome among us! And to all who wish to follow her, you will take the march with her and accept the banishment as your curse as well!”
The memory swirled with a pounding scream, shaking the vision white, the shame casting the memory to shreds, and whether or not it was in the vision, no one could be entirely sure. The colors bled into the image of Blossum with her arms crossed inside her bubble, staring around a dingy shack, where three decrepit women sat around a massive cube, which was taller than Blossum. The cube was black, and the center had a section broken out of it, shaped like a square, almost large enough to walk into. Lazy wooden stairs curled around the sides of the cube, leading up to the three bickering women who were raised on a platform that seemed too weak to hold them up even with magic. The contents inside the cube spun with fire and stormy mist, as the three ancient and timeless women argued at what appeared inside the black shape they stared into.
“Do you trust them, Urelle?” Blossum said, giving her commander a firm gaze. He placed his hand against his scruffy beard, contemplating.
