I: Memories and Beginnings

Back when the world was young, in a simpler, kinder time without discrimination between race and sex, that’s where my story must begin. Some may think of this as fiction, a fancy of my imagination, others may find at least a spark of truth; it all depends on what you choose to believe. I, however, truly believe all of this was real, and that the world in which we live is not quite what we believe it to be. The sun rises and the sun sets, but its light fails to touch the light of truth, fails to open closed eyes or even reveal its secrets to even the most open of eyes. My eyes had been closed, but now they are open wide. All because of the tale I am about to unfold before you. The story of my life, starting all the way back to when the rivers ran swift, fresh, and new; the tides of the oceans and seas were still strong and clear; the peoples were kind, the animals strange and respected; a time where everything was new, everything needed to be discovered and was therefore safer because everything was different. Though people of today strive to drive out anything different, we embraced it. Because when everything was new, life was better.
*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*
But of course, I am getting off track. Let me tell you one last thing before we begin. You now know the time where we must start, but now I will tell you the place where it all began. In a meadow, surrounded by strong, young trees, on an eastern peninsula of what you now call Pangaea, lay my village; I grew up here, learned to walk here, at least the first time. But you’ll learn more about that later on.
Well, in my village, when I was about eighteen years of age, is when it began; I say “about” because no one is really sure how old I was, or how old anyone was. Age did not greatly matter then, all that mattered was your character or, as you say today, your maturity; if you were wicked, you were shunned, if you were kind and joyous, you were accepted whole-heartedly. Of course it’s plain to say that the young were still cared for and taught, but once you could fend for yourself, age became irrelevant. Peace was all I knew; a heavy mist of contentment was always like a shroud about the homes and hearts of all who were to dwell among us. We were a rather isolated and self-sufficient people, however none felt lonely. There were an equivalent number of men and women in the village, all making a perfect pair easily; except for me. I was an extra, the only imbalance; because of me the women out-weighed the men by one person. I had no perfect pair in the village, everyone but I seemed to have someone that belonged by their side; and yet I was happy and did not envy them. Though none had come to visit our small village since long before I was born, I knew someday someone would come, and that person might just bring news of a great world beyond those woods.
Behind the village lays a great plain, just before the forest begins again; as one side of the village is on the edge of water, the forest covers the rest of the area around it: north, south, and west. This plain was one of my favorite spots; here I would run and dance and sing, away from the eyes of the village folk. But today I did not run or dance, and my lips were sealed in anticipation; I stood near the western edge, farther from the village than I had ever dared before. Slowly, excitedly, I closed my eyes to listen; the breeze through the young spring leaves, the singing of the sparrows and mocking birds, the quiet padding of animals through the undergrowth. Taking a deep breath, taking in the fresh scent of flowers and life, I began to open my eyes to the sound of a louder, clumsier being trudging through the woods. My gaze immediately fell upon a man standing a few feet across from me, hair black and tousled, eyes a deep blue, dark as the sky just before nightfall; we stood staring at each other, a silence filled with a sense of peace and companionship settling between us.
And then we embraced, as though we had known each other and been friends our whole lives. When we separated, I was smiling and he seemed at ease in my presence. The people of the village welcomed him warmly and my family gave blessing to the idea of me providing shelter to him while he stayed. The buildings of the village were of stone, a blackish burnt stone; theses were only the oldest of structures, however, and none in the village could remember when or how they were made. These buildings were used for safe houses, storage rooms, gatherings and ceremonies, and one structure was used to house the leaders of the village and education. As our population grew and the knowledge of how to make these structures dwindled, they could no longer be used for housing. The common folk set up their own deer-skin tents or, if they had the proper skill and tools, small wooden huts. If you can imagine a more primitive version of your larger farmers markets today, only the tents closed off instead of open air, you should have a pretty good idea of what the village looked like.
Though I was no architect, my father had gifted me with a sturdy wooden house, slightly larger than the average hut; since I had taken care of myself since I was young, I lived separately from my family, and my father had built the house for me before I left. I loved my father very much. The inside of my house, at least when I brought the stranger in for the first time, was very open and clean; I almost always left the doorway uncovered during the day. Unlike the one room huts that were strewn across the village, my home held two rooms; on the far side, through a second doorway, lay my sleeping quarters. As soon as you enter my home there is an entertaining and living space; if I ever have guests I visit with them here.
But I had never had a long term guest. I sat the stranger down by the fire pit, silently gave him a bowl of the morning’s porridge, and went to my quarters to fetch the extra sleeping skins that I keep for the winter months. When I returned, the bowl was nearly empty and he sat with his gaze on my; I blushed a bit, but set the skins next to him and took a seat across from him. We sat in an awkward silence, staring across the fire at one another.
I cleared my throat softly and finally asked, “What are you called?”
“Medwin.”
He answered willingly and trustingly, and also shortly. We were suddenly plunged back into silence.
“What brings you to this place, Medwin?”
His expression became distant, dreamy. “A dream, a prophecy, and a quest.”
I blinked at him and bit back a giggle, saying through my smile, “Would you care to elaborate?”
He blinked and shook his head slightly, as if shaking off a trance. “I dreamed of you, of coming here. Where I come from, far from the forest and the water, the elders of my village are gifted with Sight from the gods. They prophesied that I would and must travel the land in search of you and they bestowed upon me a quest. My people believe in the connection of souls, in rebirth and the union of two into one through cosmic forces. The villagers of my home are evenly matched, each soul already paired. However, when I was born, the soul that the elders had prophesied was paired to mine passed on into the pool of souls once more. Her name I do not know; all that I was told before my quest was that she was older than me by two lunar years.”
His eyes widened again as he realized how long he had been speaking. “Forgive me; I am drifting from my main point. I am not one to be as long winded as this, you see.” Medwin cleared his throat softly and I gave him a reassuring smile, urging him to continue. The light of something dawning on his mind brightened his features. “Of course, where are my manners? Might I ask your name before I bore you with more details of my pre-journey masquerade?”
I chuckled slightly at his puppy-ish face, waving of his ridiculous remarks with the back of my hand. “How thoughtless of me! I am called Shiara, daughter of Riean and Lune. I am very pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Shiara…”
“Yes?”
His gaze flitted to my face and away quickly. “My apologies, I meant only to commit the name to memory. Shall I continue my tale?”
For reasons unknown to me, it was suddenly, blatantly clear that he was uncomfortable with such long speeches. He was no storyteller; he was a quiet, reserved, and faithful guide. I took pity on him in that split second and stood once more, glancing out of the open door. Though it had seemed merely minutes had passed by, the sky had become extremely dark.
“No,” I replied softly, “The sun has retired, as should we. You must be exhausted, please rest, we shall have plenty of time for talk when the day returns.”

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 07.02.2011

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Widmung:
To my two best friends, who never once doubted me :P Thanks guys