Crossroads: The Chains We Own

The metallic melody that followed her was as annoying as it was musical. No amount of cloth dampened the sound so Odella had stoped trying to hide it. The result had received mixed reviews. The stares bothered her less than the averted eyes, at least they were honest, but the looks of pity were the worst. She did not feel pitiful, she felt strong.

Odella bared her arms proudly, hiked her skirts often, and opened her neckline as wide as she could. She wasn’t exposed, she was on display. Dripping with inherent danger, like some legendary battle axe, and like all splendid weapons Odella’s chains evoked fear and admiration in equal measure. She knew the finely wrought rings intimately; their weight, the way they warmed against her, the depressions in her body where they rested. Over half a million individually carved pieces of her soul.

Odella’s story was one that seemed to start in the middle. For while she was sure that she had not been born to the chains remembering life outside them had become impossible. What remained was tactile only; the odor of sticky sweat that had covered her body, the emptiness in the pit of her stomach, the sound of blood rushing in her ears, pain indescribable, and the peaceful feeling of clarity. It made Odella’s hands shake when she focused on the moment too hard. It was a singularity, a bridge burned, a path chosen. How could she describe a thing no one else had done? Could there ever be enough detail to describe what it felt like to make every truth written on your heart corporeal so you could wrap yourself up in them?

Truth, a notoriously hard pill to swallow was even harder on the ears. So she let the mythology grow up around her like weeds. Honestly it made her laugh, in spite of herself, to hear what people said of Odella the storm crow. Her eyes, black as night, could steal a person’s voice and freeze them in place. Her appearance, which shifted like sand, was that of either a beggar crone or beautiful harpy. Her chains were a magical enchantment that halted time. The nonsense kept the merely curiously away, afraid she might curse them with knowledge. It lent her space and freedoms, but not peace. The truths that were whispered always caused the greater harm. Truth was what pulled at her, like North pulling on a compass needle, and more than not forced her hand.

But Odella had learned that handing people truth was a bit like granting wishes, as fickle as wavering candlelight and just as easily blown away. So when her second sight kicked in she tried to stay passive letting the asker find the answers and make the choices. Her eyes could only freeze the cowardly. The sight was not prophetic, but the patterns were real, and the choices concrete.

Some might call it fate, but those were the small thoughts of the uninformed. It was choice. Odella has chosen to pull out that which bound her, decided to wear those emotional ties as physical chains. As unsettling as it is true even our smallest choices define us, and this had been no small choice. It was Odella’s choosing that determined who she became. It is the samE for everyone. The path of life holds any number of surprises and adventures lost to those too busy looking ahead to watch their step. The true journey lies in the now. Whether or not people are honest with themselves, each person lives at the precipice making decisions which lead ever closer to what comes next and forever closing the way to what might have been. It is here that Odella shines, these small additive moments where only her eyes can reflect the light of choice, at the Crossroads.

*** I ***

You called to me in the dark, no more than shadow in the twilight, but still your need pulled at me. Your voice was filled with naive hope and half formed questions. I could even taste the salt of your rising tears. Still I almost turned away. You did not have to become my problem I told myself, and I almost listened.

***

From the shadows Odella watched the girl child. She looked frustrated not scared, more pacing than panic. The words the girl muttered to herself were only clear when she unknowingly faced Odella. Still Odella felt herself being pulled in.

“Truth can be a weighty thing, daughter… Were you daring me mother? Because… if I felt lost before I must be beyond hope now!”

The girl stoped just out of reach searching the darkness for answers, meeting Odella’s level stare without foreknowledge or flinching.

*Where are you trying to go?*

The girl startled so badly she almost fell. “I, I, I’m…I’m trying to reach the crossroads.” Even knowing someone was there the girl still seemed to have trouble separating Odella from the shadows.

*You do not know the way.*

The girl stepped closer cutting the distance between them in half. “No, no I don’t. See I was told that we all walk the crossroads, but it turns out that I understand that less now than I did standing in my rooms three days ago.”

The silence stretched till the girl broke.

“Goodness it’s dark down here.”

*Not for me. Not anymore… I’ll take you to the nearest surface break. It isn’t wise to wonder.*

“I’m sorry did you say…”

Odella brushed past the girl on her way towards the next tunnel. *We should go.* Leaving the girl little choice but to follow her and her off melody.

Before long a soft glow appeared in front of them making a silhouette of Odella as she led the way. The girl took a deep breath as she crossed into the room. It was almost too bright in the room after the tunnels with the blue-white light falling from the ceiling and silver flashes glinting on the walls.

For a split second Odella appeared to be covered in silver flames which licked up her arms and legs as the light danced across her chains. She loved the sensation of being sunlit, the warmth of it, but the moment was lost as the girl screamed. Odella turned quickly making direct eye contact with the child.

“Odella.”

The hushed word was almost a curse. Both froze while truth teetered at the edge of the light, waiting for an invitation. Odella fought the urge to walk away.

The girl had screwed up her face trying to remember something.

*Who asks…*

“I have so many questions…. no, I’m… a, a, a… it’s a quest.” The girl looked pleased with herself, like a child holding an interesting bug. But the first choice had already been made, and Odella was stuck.

*True answers, freely given, are hard to find.* Quickly Odella sliced the girl’s hand and tasted her blood.

*You are not ready.*

“But I have to know.”

Odella considered the girl for a long moment before she replied.

*Then choose.*

*** II ***

Now you see daughter there are no small stories of Odella. Hers is a half story. There is no mention of Her as a mischievous child or sullen young lady, Odella’s story starts with Her already fully formed. With the decisions already made, which made her Odella. Every link of Her chain already forged…

***

The girl had paused, the confusion on her face almost comical. “They look almost decorative are they light then?” She wouldn’t quite meet Odella’s piercing gaze.

Decorative. The word felt vulgar to Odella, an ugly swear that burned her ears. She wanted to rage at this girl child to make her sorry for the sadness in her voice, but it wouldn’t rid her of the child. The pact was made and the path forward. The girl was playing for time and Odella knew it.

*No they are not light. No burden is trivial.*

The girl went slack-mouthed as if struck and turned an unflattering shade of red. Odella tried to hide her her glee at the girl’s discomfort, but she was sure the effort made her eyes gleam.

*Are you decorative then?*

“Am I what?”

*Useless. Are you a useless decorative thing that doesn’t understand what or whom you are bound to? Do you exist only to be looked at or played with? Have you marked yourself in some way for another? Are you your own person?*

Odella paused allowing the girl purchase in the conversation if she wanted it. The girl’s eyes swam in unshed tears.

“I am no slave… I wear no chains.”

*You are more slave now than I could ever be. Not even if I added a thousand more links to my chain would I be bound as tightly as you. Why would a chain have to be heavy to to be a burden girl? No, you do not wear chains like mine, but never think you do not carry them.*

That statement echoed slightly as the girl ran blindly from the room towards the path to the left needing nothing so much as to escape the place where such bloody truths had been spilled.

And so we begin Odella thought to herself as she followed the girl back into the darkness.

*** III ***

The answers people seek are rarely what they find. You see we are all too often sure we know what we want to bother asking any real questions. Hard questions always cost something to answer daughter, which is why most people don’t really want to know.

***

Cool air tossed the girl’s hair as she stepped from the gaping mouth of the cave. Odella, a step behind the girl, paused appreciating the twilight after the darkness of the cave. The girl hesitated for only a moment before starting off towards the town, but Odella soaked in the sight. Candlelight burned a flickering red against the night appearing both intimidating and inviting. Candles burned in store fronts, on corners, and even in the trees creating an ambience that was hard to resist not that many tried.

Everywhere there were people going about their business, as if it was nearing noon not midnight, but in such a hushed manor that Odella could hear the bee’s wax scorching on the fresh wicks as they passed. Odella watched the girl try to engage with the travelers on the street, and while few took notice of the child none would meet Odella’s gaze. The shop keeps and venders more than made up for it though with leering eyes filled with anger. Odella wasn’t sure that the girl had actually focused on anything she was seeing till she stopped in front of a window. The glass alternated between being filled with opaque smoke and being clear enough to look through. So with her fingers resting upon the glass the child waited for the pane to empty and as it did she caught a glimpse of the patrons. The girl jumped back as if electrified and turned angrily towards Odella.

“The Red Light District!”

Distress emanated from the girl in waves. A quick right to left head jerk confirmed Odella’s suspicion, if they didn’t move quick they would be alone on the street. Without a second to consider how the girl would react Odella grabbed her by her accusatory finger and pulled her into the very building whose window had been such an affront to the girl’s delicate sensibilities. The child blanched as the door slammed shut and the pounding music reverberated up from the floor boards.

*You sit and keep quite.*

Odella’s tone brooked no argument so the girl sat quickly and focused her attention on the polished black lacquered table top. As a man dressed only in leather straps with sly eyes and a half smile walked by Odella leaned forward and whispered into his ear.

“What…” 

*I told you to keep you mouth shut.*

The statement wasn’t shouted, but the scold in the words was there all the same.

*We are looking for your answers, are we not? You have chosen at every fork in the road, have you not? So we would only be here if we needed to be, right?*

Odella had asked questions but expected no answers as such she had never once paused. The girl had again struck a raw nerve. Honestly Odella didn’t see the issue. The room they were in at the surface was like any other tavern except the men and women who moved between the tables where dressed in ways that meant even Odella would not draw a second glance. While the dark lent privacy to the booths the tables were filled with flickering candles which threw the patrons in eerie relief. Even the ghastly sight of patrons didn’t stop the woman, clad only in shear scarves and tiny bells, as she walked past blowing kisses to anyone who looked her way. Odella could feel herself relaxing into the comfort of anonymity, but the girl who sat across from her was so unyielding it looked as if she might crack. Odella caught herself feeling pity for the child and immediately banished the thought.

The girl had not noticed the woman’s air kisses or Odella’s assessing stare. It was center stage that held the girl’s, and most everyone’s, attention. There a blindfolded woman was tethered to a hoop suspended from the ceiling, with her head hanging down and her body absolutely still. Before the girl could invent any questions a man appeared stage left, his appearance effectively ended all sounds but beating hearts and panting breaths. The man dressed all in crimson approached the bound woman whose head now tilted up and strained toward the man. He ran his finger down her jaw line cupping her chin in the palm of his left hand. She quivered at his touch drawn up taunt against her restraints. The man made quite a show of tracing every inch of the woman’s exposed skin till she vibrated with anticipation. Then in a swift measured motion the man in crimson struck the blindfolded woman.

The girl’s hands moved, of their own accord, to her mouth in an attempt to contain her fear for the tethered woman, but she never looked away. As the blindfolded woman moaned with pleasure the girl’s eyes widened not closed.

The man with sly eyes motioned to Odella. Discretely she moved to follow him once again leaving the girl little choice but to follow as well.

*I hope you learned something.*

The child’s only response was open mouthed silence.

*** IV ***

I can feel your questions simmering just below the surface, tearing at you. Your definition of self so fragile under the onslaught of whys. What deeply secret part of you will be sacrificed upon the alter of knowledge. You will lose yourself before you know yourself, if nothing else, you can be sure of that.

***

The three of them passed within inches of the stage, so close that the fiery passion in the crimson man’s eyes was visible, as they exited a back door. Odella again whispered in the sly eyed man’s ear and for a second he held her arm like a drowning man holds a life line. The man’s sincerity and gratitude warmed Odella to her core. Such that she felt raw and exposed as he left, open to the brutal daggers in the girl’s hard stare. Odella settled herself into a waiting posture.

The girl abruptly turned on her heal obviously unsure of where she was going.

*Where to?*

“Away! Anywhere that’s away from here.”

*Back rarely leads where you think it will.*

The girl child stopped moving her feet but every other part of her seemed to shake as if momentum was necessary in that moment regardless of direction. “I need to undo what the filthy place has done.” The girl’s words were loud and angry but Odella could see the tears in her eyes.

*Why? What did Candlelight do to you child? No harm befell you. No one bothered you. You are as you came.*

“No! That’s a lie. What I saw, what felt… What I feel. It’s, it’s… it’s shameful.” The girl blushed to the roots of her hair as she cried and hugged herself.

*What do you feel?* The girl looked up startled. *Not shame, you are holding that like a shield it’s not the real feeling.*

“Stupid. I feel like a stupid little girl who knows nothing… Like what I called innocence was actually naivety. Like my questions are small and insignificant. I’ll never feel the way she looked and I… I want want to know what that was.”

Odella loosened her posture. *It’s not shameful to want that child. Candlelight offers knowledge; knowledge of ones self, of ones desires, and of ones boundaries, but without control it’s useless.* The girl looked only slightly less confused. *Choose. Will you go forward or back?*

The girl tilted her head back and closed her eyes. She looked even younger than Odella suspected she was as she stood hoping for a cosmic sign in the dark. Slowly she faced Odella again, eyes still tightly closed. “I’m too far in to turn back now.”

*Then Appetence is that way.* The girl only partially opened her eyes to see where Odella was pointing.

*** V ***

What would you give to know yourself fully and without regret? Would you be willing to challenge yourself at every turn? Would you be willing to come face to face with your decisions? Could you take knowing that every choice was yours to make, even the choices you gave away?

***

The path to Appetence was made of faded red stones and sparsely lined with nearly spent candles. Once again Odella followed the girl as she hurried toward her new destination, casting only occasional glances backwards to check if Odella was in fact still there. As they moved along the winding path it seemed as if the air filled with the sent of myrrh and grew heavy with humidity.

By the time the pair reached Appetence the girl was breathing heavily though parted lips. The building was a surreal combination of mirrored glass and dense vegetation. The door way stood open covered only by moonflower vines and climbing roses. The girl took one long look back towards Candlelight and the cave before crossing the threshold.

The perfumed air was intoxicating and not more than three steps in the girl started swaying. “I wanna, enjoy myself.” She said to no one in particular as she reached out to steady herself against the wall. “I wanna feel joy so vast I’m not sure I could contain it.”

Odella could sense the Watcher’s eyes tracking their progress. *Careful what you wish for child. There are those who come to Candlelight for knowledge but lose themselves to desire.*

A flash of red silk drew the girl’s attention so she only spoke over her shoulder. “I want to know what the woman knew.”

Odella did her best not to sigh. Youth was a weapon that could topple mountains or dismantle dogma if properly wielded, but in untrained hands the damage was almost always greater. Odella finally caught up to the girl as she entered the solarium. The steamy glass obscured each reflection into long rippling approximations of real life. She wasn’t sure how the girl could not feel the Watchers but she seemed blissfully oblivious as she made her way to the the deep pool dead center of the room.

Odella wondered what the girl would see in the inky depths of that dark mirror. She had looked once herself, a lifetime ago, and what she had seen had rattled her very bones. The girl grasped the side of the stone pool so fiercely her knuckles went white. The girl went very still and leaned in so close to the water Odella thought she might jump in, but what had appeared to be shadows detached themselves from the wall and moved to the girl to intervene.

~What do you hear?~ A Watcher asked as it laid a hand upon the girl’s back.

*Girl.*

Tears fell freely as she stared into the pool. “I am simple.”

~How does it feel?~ Another asked again laying its hand upon the girl taking the fleshy part of her arm in a firm grasp.

The girls breathing was ragged and irregular. “I… am… on fire.” The girl leaned in even further straining towards something Odella could not make out.

~Tell me your secretes?~ The third asked as it laid hands upon the girl’s head.

*Your choice.*

~What do you see child?~ The Watchers released the girl and she neatly fell into the pool. Their eyes shone like silver as they waited.

The girl walked away from the pool without a backwards glance. “So many broken things.”

*** To be continued ***

The ghost of Christmas not yet come to pass

I was very nearly up. The clock had already struck one and was headed toward two. The waiting, an unbearable countdown to death.

I watched from my unique vantage point with 20:20 vision. It was awful. All the worst parts of humanity coming together becoming a beautiful disaster.

Each tick of the clock etching deeper that which was writ in stone even now. As the present started slipping into history I stood at the ready.

The future waited on midnight, burning like the dawn as generous as the Scrooge. Still a part of me hoped this night’s work would not be in vain.

Then the clock tolled.

Original illustration by John Leech (1843).

I told you so

“You said one day one of us will resent the other… you were right.”

The words hit with a marksman’s skill. I waited for the honesty, but I waited in vain. An “I told you so” died on my tongue.

You just didn’t expect that it would be you.

Non-adult

I don’t feel 35.

I don’t live in my own house. I’m not married. I don’t have any kids. I’m none of the things my mother was at 35.

I still wear my nerdy T-shirts, and I like dying my hair vivid colors. I hold down a full time job with benefits. I pay taxes. I have bought and sold a house. I’m currently paying down my last credit card and a mountain of student loans… which feels adult as fuck.

I don’t think anyone could question my adult status, but some how I still feel like an imposter. Could I be called out for not succeeding at life because I haven’t met my mother’s milestones… but what if my mom hadn’t felt obligated to start a family at 22? Would she have gone to school? Would she have worn concert tees instead of sensible shoes, or splurged on decadent brunch?

Perhaps it’s not that I am in suspended animation, as is often said of millennials. Instead, maybe this deliberate stroll into adulthood makes sense. It could be that stretching the milestone out rather than compressing them into the first 5 years after high school is a good thing. I’m not ashamed to say I have learned from the journeys of my mother and grandmothers, which I will not call mistakes.

I’m not sure if it’s the lines around my eyes or the exhaustion in my bones that make me an adult now. I am, however, pretty sure it’s not the years. Experience and maturity seem better markers than the calendar. This is my life, I am making my choices without kowtowing to the conventions of past generations, and I’m perfectly happy to be a 35-year old non-adult.

How much longer?

I’m dying.

That’s the only explanation that makes sense. Hell, it’s the only thought my chaotic mind seems to be able to latch hold of. If I’m dying then the crushing defeat seems right. The helplessness. The desperate resignation. The hollowness just south of my heart and north of my navel.

Is it bad to want this, to smile through the tears in an attempt at grim humor? Will that smile remain once I finally give up, or slide away like so many other things I’ve lost? How long till nothing’s left?

How many drinks till none of this matters? Till the whiskey burn is all I feel. Finally warm where the nerves are shot and the dull ache throbs.

How much longer till I give in?

The spinning stops. The silence is everywhere. The cold seeps back in just as the color leeches out.

As seen on https://www.aubreymarcus.com/blogs/aubrey-marcus/depression

Seasons change, tides turn

As she walked purposefully toward the hill crest the leaves didn’t crunch underfoot, they whispered. Still their message was clear.

Respect the passage of time.

Diana didn’t need the reminder though. Everywhere she looked the delicate balance of life and death was being played out for all to see. Healthy feed corn on withered stalks. Vibrant colored trees dropping leaves like rainclouds. Even the air seemed to spin with wild abandon from sunlight warmed to bonfire perfumed icy breath.

She like the manic feel of Fall. The frenzy of soaking up every last dappled drop of light before night overtook day. The rush of completing each autumnal event on the list. Apple picking, check. Pumpkin carving, check. Cider mulling, double check. Each outdoor activity fighting off the not so secret fear of a pending winter. To Diana euphoria tempered with melancholia was the ideal mindset for this moody season.

From August through November she had watched the world change before her very eyes with each storm or frosty morning. Finally, perched at last upon her vantage point the whole of Diana’s small town was laid out before her. It was quaint, her town, filled with a bright history, like so many others, but it’s future was shadowy at best. For a moment it seemed to Diana that she could see both past and future in that panorama. For a second the frenzy gave way to clarity.

Seasons change, tides turn, and time marches on.

In the face of such certainty Diana felt easy for the first time in months. We are all in this together she thought, looking longingly over her shoulder jealously wanting to hold on to her moment of peace, during dark winter nights and balmy summer days… only time would tell which way the balance was falling.

The chains we own (Part 4-Chapter 1.3)

While the two walked through the tunnel, Llana had blindly ran to, Odella smiled softly thinking to herself that perhaps the girl truly might be ready for the first step.  As such Odella’s mood improved with each step.  So much so that softly under her breath she sang the anvil’s song.

Llana did not notice the changes in Odella as she was watching the walls with fascination.  No longer were the stony walls blank and dark now the glowed dotted with silvered light.  The further into the tunnel they walked the brighter the walls became and soon the dark was gone completely and a false twilight prevailed.  This was the only sight until they reached a bend in the tunnel where a tall man stood with a kind of stout strength exuding from him.  As the sounds of their approach reached the man’s ears he turned pickaxe in hand looking them up and down.  Without pretense he dropped the axe from his shoulder and walked up to Odella grinning ear to ear.  The closer he got the more of Llana’s field of vision he seemed to take up.  The large man stopped less than a foot in front of the two and said, “Be welcome ‘Dellia,” in a booming voice at odds with his wide smile.  However, as he took notice of Llana standing behind and to the side of Odella his smile dropped and out of the corner of his eye he took the girl’s measure, “Who’s this?”

Llana, however, did not have a chance to answer because Odella quickly wheeled the man away from her and held him in quiet conversation.  While Llana impatiently waited on the conversation’s end she warily eyed the walls wondering how it was that they seemed to create their own light.  To her they shone like beat tin except in one spot which sucked in any light that ventured in its direction.  She reached out for the dark spot wondering if it was empty; when she felt a liquid warmth rush up her arm.  Startled she stepped back and much to her amazement she held a stone that glowed blood-red at the center of what appeared to be a piece of amber.  She must have gasped in her surprise because the talk in the corner cut out abruptly as they both turned towards her.

“Bless the mist Beorn!  Why didn’t you tell me there was a blood stone in here, I would have come a different way,” Odella nearly shouted hurrying back to Llana.

“I didn’t know ‘Dellia honest.”

“How can you not know?”  She did not even look back over her shoulder as she responded.

“Haven’t been this way since last time you were here, we only took a yard all around.  No one mentioned anything.”  Beorn sounded hurt like a scolded child.

Suddenly the warmth in Llana’s hand started to prick red-hot burning her very soul it seemed.  Only Odella’s harsh words broke through the pain.  “Drop it Llana…now…let it go!”  With the last word Odella struck the girl’s wrist causing the stone to finally separate from young flesh.  When the girl looked up Odella’s top skirt was quickly being wrapped around the stone as the tunnel started to dim back to silver.  The last image girl understood before she sunk to the floor was the oddly shaped mark in her palm.

Beorn was quick enough to grab the child in her swoon and held her lightly as a rag doll turning this way and that.  “Dellia we must be going this is not a good way for you to be discovered, not with what you got under your cape.”  All she had time for was a nod of her head and they were off.

The dark tunnels flew by as they wound their way through scarcely used twists and turns that entered at last into a clearing in the middle of the forest.  “Wait,” Odella motioned to herself a twinkling spectacle with her uncovered chains, “it would be almost as bad to run into the village like this.”

Beorn’s laugh rumbled like summer thunder, “Good point ‘Dellia.  Not sure if you, the stone, or the stranger would cause the most stir, but it’s best not to test those waters.”

Odella agreed.  Setting her cloak on the ground and forcing herself not to let curiosity win out and look at the stone she took the leather jerkin out of Beorn’s hand.  It fit like a potato sack and smelled of wood smoke, but it would work, she wagered, if they kept to the treeline.  “So you think Jira will be happy to see me,” Odella asked with a cocked brow and a half smile.

His only response was more thunder.

The chains we own (Part 3-Chapter 1.2)

To Llana the endless dark seemed to have lasted for days though as they walked with little to no rest time had lost all meaning.  Llana had not been told but she was sure they walked the Crossroads themselves.  To her this place had been the stuff of legends, but some how with Odella as her guide it only made sense.  As her feet become accustom to walking on the path that Odella cut without the slightest thought Llana began to remember the stories her mother use to tell.  Though she had not heard them in years they came back to her and in the stony silence that surrounded her and kept her company.

“To all children, I believe, mist is a magical thing which can hold any number of surprises or adventures, but this quality of mist is often lost on adults who are too busy trying to look past the mist to look beneath it.  Because beneath the mist lies the tangled weavers web that is the Crossroads.  Whether or not we are honest with ourselves we are, each of us, upon those crooked roads making decisions which lead us ever closer to what comes next and forever closing the way to what might have been.  Yes Llana, even our smallest choices define us and determine who it is that we are to become.”

Her dream-like state wavered in and out as the surroundings changed in subtle shifts.  However, Llana refused to give up on the story rippling through her mind at the moment, as it seemed to be of particular importance, but the sharp clang of metal shattered her revere.  It was at this moment that the subtle changes fully hit her.  The ground was different, the dark was different, and even the air seemed altered.  “Where are we?”

“Right where we are supposed to be.”  Odella turned sharply to face Llana causing her to stumble at the abrupt stop.  She gestured grandly suggesting that Llana should fully take in her new environment which included a Y in the path they had been following through the dark.  The two arms of the path were  illuminated by nothing more than the few errant rays of light falling from the air shafts.  Neither bend in the path looked particularly menacing nor inviting if she was being perfectly honest.  “Which way would you go,” Odella asked a faint smile upon her lips.

Llana started to answer then bit her tongue trying to restrain the tartness she was sure Odella would hear in her response.  “What kind of trick it this?  You’re supposed to answer questions not ask them?”

“No, I tell truths, but if you insist.  You asked me about my chains what do you wish to know?”

“Why do you wear them?” Llana immediately locked her eyes on the ground mentally berating herself.

“Because they are mine,” Odella responded calmly, “but tell me, why do you wear yours?”

“I’ve told you I have none.  You are the only person I have ever seen wear chains.”  The disgust Llana felt at the idea of being chained leaked out into her words causing Odella to study the girl intently with anger in her eyes. 

“Truly?  What of Namari?  Does she no longer bear chains?”

“How absurd would that be?  My mother would never lower herself to wear chains like some…some…slave.  She has more grace and dignity in her titles alone than you could ever hope to have,” Llana practically spit at the other woman.

“Tell me what dignity was there in birthing you?”

Llana’s mouth fell open in a silent O of confusion, but Odella continued without taking notice.  “Yes, you are one of Namari’s chains, and the titles you spoke of does she not have to strap herself into those chains of gold and silk to prove her worthiness, and what of her man?  Does she still not suffer the ring he gave her?”  Here Odella paused holding Llana captive in her piercing gaze.  “Oh yes, Namari does have grace and dignity, but her chains are only hidden from the unobservant.  She is as much as slave as I.”

The questions whirled around in the girl’s head chasing each other to dead ends.  Yes her mother still wore her coronet and her father’s ring…”but she does not wear chains,” Llana whispered to herself.

“No.  Namari does not wear chains like mine, but never think she does not carry them.”

That statement echoed through Llana’s very core as she blindly started towards the path to the left needing nothing so much as to escape the place where such bloody truths had been spilled.

The chains we own (Part 2-Chapter 1.1)

“Goodness its dark in here.”

“Not to me, not anymore.”

She knew there was no point in explaining that her eyes were big enough, that they saw more, so she let the silence drag.  The walk was very short, but as her companion was far behind she went slowly.  She listened as the girl inhaled as if to begin quite the conservation only to stop as if she was no longer sure how to make the words come out right.  Finally, the girl found her voice.

“I did not mean to offend you,”  the girl began wondering what could seem human and still be able to see clearly down here no matter how long they had lived in this way, “it’s well I just…let’s start over?  I’m Llana of Tralia, and…”  When there was no immediate response Llana feared that she had lost the other girl who had been almost completely silent on their descent.

“Odella.”

It was then that the two reached their destination.  A hole through the high rock ceiling allowed an orange-red orb to shine through the hall.  Llana blinked fiercely in the sudden glow as the room started to appear out of the shadows.  It was comfortable without being overly lavish even with the many fine things the room held.  Perhaps the most outstanding piece was the mirror, which encompassed more than half of the stone wall that held it.  In the mirror Llana caught her reflection.  A girl of normal height and build with hair that fell to her shoulders in thick strands of sun gilded brown.  However it was not her mussed appearance or her wide amber eyes that caught her attention, it was the girl standing behind her.  The girl, if you could call her a girl, was not just named Odella. She was Odella.

Llana inhaled sharply and spun on her heel as if Odella might disappear.  “This is not where you are from.”  Llana hoped that she had not given too much away, but she had to know for sure.

“No, but sometimes I come here, and you ought to be glad I do or you would still be very lost.  Now enough.”  Odella smiled as the girl was caught confused and unsure, but she had seen the recognition in the girl’s eyes.  It had been a long while since anyone on this side had cared to notice, and Odella stood at the edge of truth.  “You must now continue on your way, and I mine,” the woman said tersely gesturing towards the dimly lit path to her her right, “you have my best wishes.”  And with those words Odella turned to leave.

Llana however stood rooted to the ground, she had never before received such a dismissal.  Had been so sure it was a sign.  Then without giving it the thought it deserved she replied, “ I am so sorry to impede you on your way, and thank you very much, but I am not leaving.  Not without answers.”  These last words dripped with a disdain that was not lost on Odella.

“I would get real comfortable then because answers don’t often make it this far,” Odella offered over her shoulder taking the downward slanting path to the left.

Out of the quite sounds came a small and rather uncertain voice from the top of the path, “Where are your chains?”

If Odella hadn’t been dragging her feet she would have been too far away to hear the girl, but as it was the words hit her square between her shoulders connecting her Llana.  It was too late to walk away now Odella finally admitted to herself as she walked back to the room with the mirror.  The girl stood facing the path to the right shoulders slumped.

“I am wearing them,” she held out her right arm in such away that the sleeve fell back exposing her wrist and a flash of pale metal in the light, “and where child are yours,” she answered.

“I am no child…and I have no chains,” Llana looked confused as she turned to once again face Odella and sounded offended as she barely suppressed a scoff.

“I thought you sought truth girl?” As her words hung in the space between the two Odella sat down. Llana, however, showed no interest in sitting calmly and discussing what she considered utter nonsense.  Though she stared unabashed at the wrist and neck bands that she could see spark in the low light.

“They make no noise…are they light then,” Llana asked hopefully suddenly meeting Odella’s piercing gaze.

While she knew that the girl could not help but be curious this was a conversation she wanted no part in, and as her anger got the better of Odella struck back with a question of her own. “Why would the chains have to be heavy to be heard or better yet light to go unnoticed?”

Llana sat suddenly open-mouthed so much sting had been in the words she felt as if she had been struck.  Dumbfounded she lowered her eyes to her lap. “I…”

Odella cut her off before she could even begin. “Rest. We start tonight and believe me you are not ready.”

The chains we own (Part 1-Opening)

I can hear my mother’s voice, in the quite moments if I listen hard enough, but the stories she used to tell me always ring in my ears.   The story which I never could shake was Her’s…Odella’s. 

“There are no small stories about her as a fussy baby or an argumentative child,” my mother explained, “she just is.  Her story is one that starts in the middle nearly fully formed.  Odella, the hauntingly striking young woman with black eyes and chains upon her brow, neck, arms, and legs all reaching back towards the midline of her body.  “Come, and know your truth,” she dares those who call to her, “I charge nothing for the answering.”  Still she warns, “A price must be paid for while they are freely given true answers are not easily found.”  Her quiet presence seems to unnerve even the bravest of men should they not live in truth.  For that more than anything defines her.  Odella the truth teller, the storm crow, the pot stirrer.”

“Truly that is all that is known, of Odella” I remember asking full of disbelief, “surely there must be more?  Many must have questions which require answers.”

“Only those who have journeyed with her know more, Llana,” my mother replied plainly, “and I think you’ll find very few people are ever very truthful with themselves about their desire for answers.  For the truth can be a weighty thing, daughter.”

For better or worse these words have stuck to me, driving me in my pursuit of honesty, daring me to ask questions…