roseleaf320
Creative!
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“No claw nor ink nor streambed stone--”
“Our lives are writ in root and bone.”
The elder’s voice clipped each syllable with practiced efficiency as he began the chant, his wrinkled face betraying not the hope and fear that Marrow knew flicked within him like gnats. Marrow savored each sound as xe echoed xyr reply; the dance of xyr lips, the sharpness of each stop. Xe bent xyr head to the elder, cupping xyr deer-skull mask gently in xyr hands to bare xyr face. Elder Braum’s trembling fingers shuddered across xyr forehead. The dirt he smeared was cool against Marrow’s skin, still holding onto the evening’s rain. Xyr pale eyes flicked along the well-trodden dirt of xyr village entrance, its edges laced with Ulvenne’s thin, pointed roots. Their texture against Marrow’s feet always comforted, grounded. Grief flickered in the depths of xyr mind, the first droplets that heralded a flood Marrow must hold back. Xe would miss them more than xe could express.
There is still time to choose another. Ulvenne’s words ran deep through Marrow as xyr mind gave language to the god’s meaning, although he spoke with no voice. Many in our clan are capable. It does not have to be you.
Marrow shook xyr head once, just enough movement to feel the featherlight tickle of xyr hair against xyr neck. You know that is not true. The Favoured did not have to think in words for the god to understand, but for xem it was better to focus on language, the sound and shape of it in xyr head. Only I know you fully, completely. Only I would find the answers we seek. As Marrow turned from the elder, xe filled xyr head with images of the beasts. Their jowls, dripping with drool, unhinged a breath too far. Their claws, a seed-pit too long, digging into roots and stone as easily as dirt. Their rupturing howl, the deep tone that echoed beneath it like a quake, like Ulvenne. The god of Forest’s Roots knew, like the rest of the town, that the beasts they had begun sighting at night were no normal werewolves. It only took the hunters a single shot to know-- and a second to confirm-- the magick of Ulvenne could not fell these creatures. Not yet.
Marrow turned from the elder, xyr eyes locked on the last glimpses of sun. “I will be back as soon as I can. Hold fast. Ulvenne will protect us both.” Marrow spit the sour taste from xyr mouth, xyr saliva mixing with the last droplets of rain to feed Ulvenne’s roots.
The further you get from me, the less I can do so.
I know. Marrow answered shortly, xyr hand brushing over the jagged root across xyr liver. The god was bound to the forest; once xe left his domain, Marrow would have only the power and pieces of the god Ulvenne had left within Marrow’s own body. It will be enough. Xe bit xyr lip, a twinge of fear bleeding through xem before the sharp taste of xyr own blood grounded xem once more. You are always enough.
The god seemed pleased with this answer, and spoke no further. Marrow let xemself fall into the soft comfort of the wet roots under xyr feet, the ripple of the bark as xe traced xyr heartroot back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
The child of bone decided xe quite liked oranges.
That’s what the woman at the stand referred to them, at least, when Marrow asked. Perhaps she saw xyr foreign coin and decided to make a joke out of xem. Marrow didn’t particularly mind either way. Xe chewed happily, tracing the thick, reptile-leather skin with xyr tongue as xe spun the other half around in xyr palm. Bren was busy, and bright, which Marrow found both pleasing and insufferably annoying, as a headache had developed soon after xe arrived and had not deemed sleep sufficient for its removal. Though waking up this early in the morn was certainly not helping the Favoured. No werewolves in Bren meant the city slept peacefully during the night, which some of his clan might deem an envious privilege, but which Marrow found unnerving. Xyr dark cloak was meant for the moon’s glow, not the sun’s glare.
Please be safe today, kessan.
All of Marrow’s attention snapped to xyr god. Xe could not help the tangle of simmering emotion that arose at his words and trickled through their connection. He was nigh indistinguishable this far from Ulve.
If you mourn, kessan, then turn back. There are other sources to grant me power.
No. Marrow clamped the trickle shut, layering the tangle over with hope and love: memories of xyr hand tracing over forest roots, murmuring soft prayers, resting xyr forehead against the rough bark. I can do this. I must.
Marrow felt a gentle touch in return, tracing down xyr spine, prickling xyr nerves across the root that sprouted there. Xyr own touch in Ulvenne’s memories. Xe bit down hard on the scale-skin of orange between xyr teeth.
Just come back safe. I cannot lose you.
Xe bit down harder and caught xyr cheek. The sharp tartness of the orange could not mask the taste of dirt and bark within xyr blood.
Marrow afforded only a glance at the massive Arena complex, feeling bile rise quickly to xyr throat if xe focused for longer. Xe turned xyr attention instead to the paper before xem, its soft yellow certainly from a kind of tree, though not one of Ulvenne’s. The man in charge of the paper had fingers too large for his nails, and an accent that lilted like swallows in flight. He pushed a quill and inkwell towards Marrow, pointing roughly to an empty box. Marrow was meant to sign.
No claw nor ink…
Instead of laying quill to paper, Marrow slipped it quickly between xyr lips.The ink was slick on xyr tongue, a bitter tang similar to the liquid xyr clan used to shine their metals. Xe slid the quill out quickly, rubbing it against xyr lips to ensure it was cleaned before spitting the ink onto the grass. Xe tipped xyr head as the man opened and closed his mouth, wearing an expression mixed with surprise and disgust. This was simply the easiest way to clean it.
Marrow reached under xyr dark cloak into a pocket on xyr waist. Xyr hand met mostly empty leather, save for the cool, smooth touch of a berry against xyr pointer finger. The last Dusk-holly berry. Unfortunate; Marrow was hoping to have it as a treat, but this would have to do. Xe held the berry out and punctured it, bright red juice oozing out onto the quill’s tip. The man finally found his words, incredulous. “Hey, what in the Lords are you doing?”
There was no need to respond. With a quick flick, the Favoured signed xyr name on the paper, the scarlet juice bleeding out in fine lines. Marrow of Ulve.
Xyr cloak billowed as xe turned and stepped towards the arena complex. Xe felt Ulvenne’s presence still, in the back of xyr mind, god and mortal both holding their breath.
Our lives are writ in root and bone.
The god’s Favoured let out a shallow exhale as Bren’s sunlight quickly disappeared. The air around xem thickened, reminding Marrow of the forest’s still, full belly just before a storm. Dampness crept through xyr cloth shoes, and xe smiled at its chill, the way it felt as if xyr feet were pressed even closer to the ground. Soft, dim light danced above like a moon’s sliver through clouds, and Marrow lowered xyr hood from xyr head to get a better glimpse, letting pale blues and greens reflect across xyr bared face. Xe had left xyr deer skull mask in xyr room at the inn. A promise to return; and an offering if I do not, xe had told xyr god. The lights were like large fireflies, in a way, or willow-wisps, but somehow more beautiful. Marrow let them lead xem through the darkness, two fingers on the left wall, feeling a trickling current kiss xyr fingertips.
The Favoured felt xyr roots tighten upon xem as xe grew further and further from open air. A flash of hurried footsteps echoed in Marrow’s ears; a sour, seeping wetness xe recognized as blood wormed into xyr spineroot. Ulvenne was anxious, or as close to it as a god could be, and it was bleeding through. After almost two decades, it seemed the god had as little control as Marrow did on the information that passed between them. Marrow focused as strongly as xe could, trying to push xyr determination through the link that weakened with each step. Thoughts of Ulvenne’s strong roots rising to smash through leagues of werewolves, the weapons carved of his wood cutting through hardened flanks with ease.
The god did not have enough hold to reply.
The Favoured’s soundless steps drew to a halt as xe faced a waterfall, utterly silent despite its current. Crumbled rocks arched under xyr feet. The threshold. Marrow could only hope the god had sensed what xe wanted him to. Past this, Ulvenne would sense nothing.
The water parted. The Favoured hesitated.
“I love you,” xe whispered aloud. One of the few things xe weren’t sure xe’d ever put to language. The words were too silly; the god knew already in ways so much more meaningful. But… xe meant it. No matter anything else; xe meant it.
Tendrils of something sour wrapped through xyr chest, and xe leapt across the threshold before Ulvenne could catch it.
Feet slid across smooth granite; Marrow’s mind and body emptied.
Xe tried to catch xyr bearings, to draw xyr focus to the harsh salt that stung at xyr nose, or the chaotic white walls that might be bone. But xe clutched xyr heartroot and stumbled, breath fleeing from xyr lungs. For a moment, xe could not tell whether Ulvenne had left or Marrow had. It was as if xyr soul had been hollowed from xyr chest in a massive scoop, leaving a fleshy husk behind. The undercurrent of feeling, the constant exchange between god and mortal that ran quietly beneath every living moment, was deafening in its silence. Marrow knew Ulvenne could not reach xem here— had been counting on it— but xe did not think that would feel like becoming… half of xemself. Less.
Water swept xem from the stone, and Marrow let it, xyr eyes already bunched shut from the loss. It soaked xyr thick clothes and tickled at the crossbow that lurked, firmly latched, under xyr cloak. Xe drew xyr focus to the water, its touch that danced across every inch of the Favoured’s skin, ran across the ripples in xyr roots, pulled at the hair on xyr skin.
By the time the water left xem— placed xem gently back onto dark stone ground— Marrow could breathe again. Deeper than xe had in many moons.
Four dark, calm waterfalls began to flow eerily quiet around xem, identical, as if a silver mirror stood at the center of the arena. Marrow pulled xyr hood back over xyr head, obscuring all but the sharp dusk-pink of xyr eyes. The arena was dim, lit unnaturally in white by the same wisps that had guided xem here, but they provided little compared to sunlight. Good. Just another hunt. Almost.
The child of bone reached behind xem and pulled xyr crossbow from xyr back, the magic of xyr cloak letting the weapon flow through it with ease. Marrow instinctively clamped down xyr thoughts as a sour tide whispered at xyr mind. The curve of Ulvenne’s roots was present in every inch of the crossbow, its lovingly carved wood always flexing slightly, as if it still breathed with xyr god.
But xyr god could not see xem here. Not even through the bow. They released the clamp; just a little. The tangle gnawed ever so slightly at xyr stomach. As the priests of the arena chanted their prayer, Marrow named the tangle, gave thought to it, and it felt like a gust of frigid air after months of burning.
Guilt. Xe was guilty. Because xe had lied.
“I am Marrow of the forest of Ulve,” xe whispered, to only the gods of this place. “I come because I need you to kill a god.”
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