But tell me; is it you who wield the magic,
Or the magic who wields you..?
The weather grew steadily warmer the next few days, spring proving it had come to stay. As the days grew warmer the seedling grew along with them, steadily gaining strength, the Tree's spirit whispering to the girl in her dreams.
Sylphiel absentmindedly opened the backdoor in the living room to let the fresh air inside. The air was cool and crisp, but not sharp and bitter as it had been just a few days ago. The sun was still hidden behind the roof, the air would be warmer once the shadows were chased away. In the morning light she suddenly spotted something in the garden outside and went to fetch her boots to go investigate closer.
Within the circle of green grass created as a side effect of the magic the copy had wielded to save her life a couple of days before, small flowers were blooming. Awakened early by the raw life-force that had streamed through the ground beneath them they had tentatively opened their pale yellow and blue petals to the new spring. She couldn't help but smiling then, faced with this proof that no matter how dark winter might seem, life went on.
Carefully plucking a few of the delicate flowers she went inside to bring out the vase in which her family had always put the first bouquet of flowers every summer. Never had she performed the little ceremony so early in spring before, but the time and reasons didn't really matter. She placed the vase on the table by one of the windows in the living room, her smile widening as the flowers tentatively turned their small faces towards the sunlight, spreading a faint sweet scent in the room.
She remained standing by the windows, her eyes seemingly looking at the slowly awakening garden outside, but her mind lost in thought.
The seedling, the small sprout of the Holy Tree, had grown even more these last few days, as if the sheer energy of the new spring revitalized it and gave it strength. Several of the roots, now thick as her fingers, had escaped the glass jar to venture out across the surface of her bureau. The plant was strong enough now. The air was warm enough. And last night she had once again seen the visions in her dreams; the Seed of Hope growing into the mighty tree, the Shadow of the Past looming behind her. Only now, understanding better the meaning of that vision, she wasn't frightened.
The time had come.
She was torn from her contemplation by the sound of footsteps against the floor behind her and the tiniest shadow of a smile flickered across her lips. The sound was most deliberate, a polite way to alert her to his presence. Having discovered the great discomfort his usual silent approach caused her, he had started giving her discreet forewarnings; the swish of a robe, the muffled sound of footsteps, a shadow falling across the floor. She turned to find him standing by the fireplace studying her with great interest, as if her actions had been the fascinating rites of an alien race. She wondered how long he had been watching her before revealing his presence. She automatically reached out and rearranged the flowers in the vase somewhat.
"We always put the first flowers of the year in this vase, on this table," she explained. He tilted his head and studied the simple vase and the blossoms it held.
"Is that a widespread tradition?"
She smiled and shook her head.
"No, not at all, just my family. It started with me always running into the garden to pick a bouquet of flowers for my mother first thing I did when we arrived here in the summers. After she died it just seemed natural to continue the little tradition, in her memory."
He nodded politely, but she got the impression her answer hadn't made any sense to him whatsoever. Then again, maybe not so strange, she thought. He had never had a mother, nor a childhood. Having grown rather used to him by now, those little reminders of what he was always seemed to take her by surprise.
He walked by her to look outside at the circle of grass with its small flowers. With the new spring's warmth the dead grass around it had begun to tentatively stretch and awaken, but the circle was still painfully distinct.
"Everything's growing," he noted. She nodded and followed his gaze to look outside.
"Perhaps it's time for Flagoon to grow as well..?"
She turned to give him a surprised look as he voiced the very same thought she had contemplated only a minute ago. He tore his eyes from the view and glanced down at her.
"What makes you think so?" she asked. He remained silent for a while, then reluctantly raised his left hand for her to look closer. Where the roots of the seedling had been woven around his fingers and wrist at his rebirth the skin was iridescent, like mother-of-pearl. Pale skin against pale skin, she hadn't noticed it before, but now the lace pattern was all but glowing.
"It itches," he muttered and rubbed the skin.
"I can still feel it, even if it's not as strong now that we're separated. Whether I like it or not I'm linked to that thing, and even more so after I channeled its power three nights ago."
She creased her brow as she considered that. It had never occurred to her he might be as close to the Tree as she was, but of course it made sense. If it was the power of Flagoon that had granted him life again, then he would be connected to the ancient spirit somehow. She nodded thoughtfully to herself.
"I had a vision in my dreams again, last night. The same one, about Flagoon growing again."
He nodded and went back to staring accusingly at the circle of lush grass.
"It wants to grow," he stated.
She stood still for a while, listening to the silence and relishing the scent of the flowers.
"Well then," she finally sighed.
"I guess then it had better be allowed to grow."
She looked at the seedling, its vines coiling around the glass jar as if impatient to get out of it, to feel real soil under the delicate roots.
"It's finally time, my friend..." she murmured and reached out to touch the plant. Like a living thing the vines and leaves moved slightly under her touch and she smiled.
"Patience. You have waited so long - surely you can wait yet a few more hours..?"
Careful not to harm the long tendrils she picked up the rather heavy, water-filled jar, pushed the door open with her foot, then descended the stairs. She entered the kitchen, dumping her burden on the kitchen table. She wouldn't be able to carry it all the way to Sairaag - she would have to resort to magic to keep the delicate roots humid. A simple concentrated mist spell should do the trick. Absentmindedly sending Zelgadis a grateful thought for teaching her some elementary shamanist spells she delivered the jar from the strayed roots and carefully but firmly put them back into the water.
He remained standing by the little table with the flowers, lost in thought.
So. Flagoon would grow again; but what consequences would that have? When the ancient tree was planted and growing again, would it still bother to keep him alive? Planting the seedling would mean closing not only one, but many circles, and he couldn't see his own place in it all. He was more troubled that he would care to admit; the time he had spent with Sylphiel had hinted at another kind of life than the one he had previously known, a life that held happiness as well as grief, light as well as darkness. He found himself very reluctant to give it up.
Then again, even if the spirit of the Holy Tree would be gracious enough to let him stay alive, there was no guarantee Sylphiel would want to have anything to do with him once her goal had been achieved. He sighed and pulled himself back to the present. No matter what, the situation was quite familiar. There was no way to see what the future held but to go there. All he really could do was to wait and see.
Shaking his head in annoyance he spotted the small flowers in their vase. A few of the stalks had slipped, making the bouquet askew and uneven. The asymmetry bothered him and he reached out to correct it. As his hand touched the flowers they gave a start under his fingers and exploded in full bloom, their colors brighter and more radiant than before. He quickly withdrew his hand.
How downright embarrassing... Reduced to a flower fairy now?
He frowned in disgust and demonstratively turned his back on the insulting little overjoyed plants, heading for the kitchen. No matter what would happen once Flagoon was growing again he intended to be there to see it.
The quotes are from Oshiro-sama's Letters to a Red Priest (in other words, I made 'em up) and can't be used without my permission. If you ask nicely and give me credit you'll most likely get my permission, but anyways...
Let's close yet another circle here, return to the beginning...
Once again I have to thank my wonderful fellow Swedish weirdo Jen for encouraging me every step of the way on this, and providing me with endless inspiration through our mature and civilized conversations...
Also, thanks a lot P-chan, for actually liking this thing despite the lack of Gourry in it, and for making me the insane person I am today. Kram!
And finally, we should all thank Syrena, for taking the time to beta read every part of this story even though she was often strapped for time, making it all readable...
OK, show's over. Nothing more to see here. Shoo, off with you!
19 | Story Index | Fanfiction