Confession and Confusion
She was in no mood to be pretty, or playful, or even proud. She wanted to be concealed and unseen. It was a futile attempt to hide herself from the images that stalked her mind. They were images of skeletal trees, endless thirsting desert, Festor’s mouth of trapped souls, and Syffox’s wizened, ancient body, and they all clamoured for her attention.
During her waking hours, they stood at the edge of her vision beckoning her to look their way. At night, they would stand bold in front of her dreams, forcing her to stare at them more deeply until she woke herself in anguish. She had decided to give up sleeping. As an immortal, sleep was only a pastime anyways. She did miss the rest it provided though, or at least, that it had once provided.
The fact that her valley was mostly empty wasn’t easing her mind either. It stood as a testament to the many tasks she never seemed to have time to complete. Did Festor have so many incomplete tasks? Did his followers? Had they left behind unaccomplished goals before they succumbed to his madness and tyranny? Would she succumb to madness and tyranny?
She clutched her hair and shook her head, trying to tear the thought from her mind. No! She was not like him! She would not be like him! She cast a wave of magic and life over her valley. With a sound like distant rainfall, sprigs of trees and saplings sprung from the ground. In a rejuvenating hiss, a carpet of green shoots spread out around her and rolled down her valley, blanketing the ground from mountainside to mountainside.
She continued to pour her power into the growth. With a rush of rustling leaves, she changed the saplings into poles of greenery and then to mature stands of trees that creaked and groaned to swishing limbs thrusting out of their trunks and forcing their way to the sky. The air about her valley filled with rumbling as a deep, lush canopy of leaves bloomed before her.
It wasn’t enough. Festor had once filled his world with trees. It needed more life, more beauty, more colour. In a cacophony of chirps and squawks, birds and butterflies rushed out of her in a fluttering torrent of brilliant feathers and wings. They spread out over the valley and settled into the treetops, their songs filling the air in praise of the Goddess who created them. But the valley was still not beautiful enough to block out the horrible memories.
It needed more. There must be more. She covered the forest floor with flowers. They emerged beneath the trees with vibrant petals of whites and yellows and blues, to the delight of the butterflies. But they couldn’t be seen through the thick canopy of leaves. She needed colour on top of the trees; it needed to be seen.
With a scraping crackle, she pulled all manner of vines from the ground that twisted and snaked around the tree trunks, winding their way upwards. They climbed over the limbs and pushed their way to the top, sending all the coloured birds into fluttering commotion. Once exposed to the warm sunlight, the vines blossomed to dapple the treetops in oranges, pinks, and purples. She looked out over the glorious vine-covered valley and breathed a sigh of relief.
But new images entered her mind. Images of Kundz came over her in a flood of guilt, images of a proud and mighty people drowning beneath a cowl of beautiful green, choking on purple blossoms. Their hands reaching out, pleading for the mercy that only she could give—that she refused to give.
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How many incomplete tasks did they leave behind? Was she right to destroy so many because of what they did to one man? Were her feelings for one person worth the loss of an entire city? She could obviously be provoked into tyranny. Was madness then only waiting to come?
With a defeated sigh, she hung her head and wiped away the new growth of her valley. It wasn’t what she wanted, and even if she could make a forest so beautiful, would she be allowed to keep it? The mighty trees and bright colours darkened and shrivelled. With the sound of falling sand, the grand forest turned to dust, restoring the valley to its previously sparse state.
An unsettling quiet filled her paradise that was only broken by awkward footsteps. A new pang of guilt hit her. The once-steady stride of her lover now scraped the ground with a limp right leg; yet another thing suffering because of her.
Syffox sat beside her with a groan and sigh, placing his arms around her. The wizened image of what he truly looked like grazed the corner of her eye, making her struggle not to flinch away at his touch. He leaned his head next to hers. “That was an impressive display.”
Vantaiga scowled. “It wasn’t meant to be a display or to be impressive.”
He squeezed her. “You know I love you more than anything.”
“Yeah, you’ve mentioned that before.”
Syffox dismissed her abrasiveness. “You’re not like him, so you won’t end up like him.”
“How do you know? We don’t know how he was before.”
“Well, for one, he wasn’t as beautiful as you.”
A smile broke Vantaiga’s face but then quickly vanished. “I’m not beautiful.”
“Oh, yes you are.” Syffox pushed her playfully to the ground. “You’re the most beautiful Goddess in the heavens.”
Vantaiga tried to push him away, but his body pressing against hers always melted her strength. She gave up and reached her arms around his neck. “I’m the only Goddess in the heavens.”
“There, you see. You can’t disagree with me on that.” He kissed her before she could protest.
Vantaiga let herself enjoy the moment, but images of his decayed body and the smell of his dead breath came back to her. She turned away and looked over her valley.
A pang of sadness crossed Syffox’s face. He pressed his cheek into hers and looked out with her. “We don’t know what he was like before. But we know what you are like. You built a fantastic realm in a desolate land. You raised a people that believe in beauty and peace in a world of death. And you stood up to all those who have tried to ruin you. Festor wasn’t always mad. They turned him mad. You need to ask your friends up there why.”
“I don’t like asking questions these days. They only lead to unwanted answers and more questions with even worse answers.”
“They still need to be asked.”
Vantaiga sighed. “I just hope we don’t have to go on a quest into the desert to ask them.”
Syffox rolled his eyes. “Ugh, I think I’ve had it with quests for a while.”
Vantaiga looked him in the eyes affectionately. “You know something I’ve learned from this?”
Syffox shook his head.
“My valley is way too easy to find. We need to think of a riddle to hide it.”
Syffox chuckled. “Well, so far your forest is more beautiful than your valley, so nobody stops by.”
Vantaiga groaned and pushed herself up. “More stuff to do.”
Syffox nudged her. “It’s not that important; your forest is what matters.” There was a long pause before he continued, “You need to talk to Hydar again. And no more hunting ghosts in the desert—real answers this time. We need to know why they destroyed Festor’s forest and what that means for our forest.”
Vantaiga rubbed her temples. “I’ll go talk to him again.” She looked out over the clouds in the mountains beyond her valley, contemplating what a visit to Hydar would entail. “And you? What will you do?”
Syffox’s gaze became lost in the distance. “I think I’ll visit Mackyntal. I’ve been thinking about the old Order since we dropped in on them. I’d like to take a rest for a while. I also have a job for him.”
Vantaiga peered out into the distance with him. “I’d like to take a rest for a while.”
An awkward silence built between them, the dark void in the back of Vantaiga’s mind was pulling her thoughts in a direction she didn’t like. She coaxed a smile. “I’m sure the fellows would love to see you again. It sounds like some fun for once.” She struggled to keep the jealousy from her voice. The last person she wanted to talk to when she was feeling down was Hydar.