Dark Flower Ch. 11 (previously The Flower Ch. 5)

[Mikayla]

The Flower, Part 5: The Second Thorn

***

The time after the goddess appeared was a heady, restless one for Sheyreiza. Endless possibilities seemed to open up before her. There was a goddess who loved the Ilthyiiri, absolutely loved them. That goddess had struggled on their behalf for millennia. Many more were dedicated to her cause than Sheyreiza had suspected. There was a chance that some Ilythiiri, maybe even Sheyreiza, might walk in Arvandor some day. There was a chance that Sheyreiza might be a part of something that was not evil. Not that Sheyreiza thought of herself as evil when she had been a faithful priestess of Lolth, but now, in the light of Eilistraee’s moon, Sheyreiza began to see the dark web Lolth had woven since the fall from Arvandor. Idea after idea, realization after realization, epiphany after epiphany washed through Sheyreiza’s head. Never in all her years had her mind been so active, so alive, so overwhelmed with new information, concepts and choices.

Sheyreiza did not rest for days. She walked the woods while the others entered reverie or slept. She took the faerie trods to whatever destinations they would take her. She saw the dragon’s tower, though there was no dragon home. She saw the frost giant’s ruins, though the frost giant was long since dead. She walked amidst the pines in the pure white snow of Lonelywood. She walked along the shores of the lake, through the cottages of the village and time and time again through the circle where she had come face to face with the Dark Maiden.

Her body knew no rest because her mind knew no rest. Ideas came over her in waves and she would work through them like a swimmer fighting to reach the sea from the beach. Sometimes she would let the waves take her back to where she started, then she would start out again. She worked through and rode each wave until done with it. Just when she thought she might rest, another wave of ideas would crash upon the shores of her mind and send her swimming in the sea of thought again.

The first night and day she spent in elation. Eilistraee’s love was so obvious, so pure, and so strong. The existence of the Dark Maiden’s love meant so many things to Sheyreiza, but mostly it meant an escape from the two things which Sheyreiza most wanted to flee from: the cold of her former life and her inevitable death and damnation in the service of Lolth. As much as Sheyreiza desired to serve Lolth and believed that Lolth was the true mother of all Ilythiir, so too did Sheyreiza loath the possibility that she might end up a horrible, disfigured monster in service to the Queen of Spiders. Eilistraee’s love promised an escape from that. To worship Eilistraee did not mean immortality, but surely Eilistraee did not turn her faithful priestesses into hideous monsters.

Sheyreiza was fully aware that Lolth did not either. Not always, perhaps not even frequently or not at all. On the other hand, Sheyreiza’s fear was so strong it defied all reason. No matter how much Sheyreiza believed Lolth the supreme goddess, and she did, death in the service of Lolth was horrifying enough to send Sheyreiza into heresy.

Sheyreiza’s elation and hope was not too last.

By the dawn of the second day Sheyreiza had begun to focus on the knowledge she had gained when Eilistraee had opened up her soul for those few brief seconds. Sheyreiza knew she was missing something obvious, something she should see and would have seen but for the excitement of the situation, the newness of the woods, and her lack of rest. She pondered the missing puzzle piece again and again, running through all that she remembered of what Eilistraee had shown her.

Eilistraee had answered all the questions Sheyreiza put to her. When Sheyreiza asked where had Eilistraee been, Eilistraee showed Sheyreiza where she had been. When Sheyreiza asked what Eilistraee had done, Eilistraee showed Sheyreiza what she had done. And Eilistraee had shown Sheyreiza the price of her efforts. Sheyreiza knew the pain and suffereing Eilistraee and her followers had endured in the name of saving the Ilythiiri; what they had suffered in the name of love.

Still, there was something in all this that Sheyreiza knew she was missing, something she should see. Perhaps not a question she asked, but some question she should have asked. What was it? What nagged at her so?

She thought about the events that led up to the moment she had confronted the goddess; about Inthara’s begging and Eilistraee’s forgiveness. She thought about Eilistraee breaking the Despana House Wizard’s bond over Inthara. A beautiful, merciful and powerful gift. But why not given sooner?

Sheyreiza’s eyes widened as she re-enacted what she went through at that moment. Yes, why not sooner?

Eilistraee has shown Sheyreiza where the Dark Maiden had been, what she had done, but, did that answer why Inthara’s binding was only being broken now? Did that answer why Inthara was ever subjected to it in the first place? Why did the Dark Maiden allow this to happen? Why didn’t the Dark Maiden stop it before it went that far?

The answer was a simple as it was obvious.

Eilistraee could not have done it earlier. She did not have the power. Sheyreiza knew she had suddenly stumbled upon the missing piece, the thing that had been nagging her.

For 10,000 years Eilistraee had been struggling ceasely, motivated by love, to save the Ilythiiri from her mother Lolth and Eilistraee was not strong enough to do it. While Eilistraee struggled to bring the Ilythiiri back to the surface and the Seldarine sought to destroy them, Lolth led her people to carve out the most wide reaching, advanced, dominant civilization Faerun had ever known, and they did it all in the dark facing monsters most of those on the surface only knew in nightmares. Despite all of the Dark Maiden’s bravery, all her good intentions, all her love and all her allies, Lolth was stronger. Lolth was stronger than them all.

This realization hit Sheyreiza stronger than any wave of idea and emotion had yet. What did it mean? What was her purpose?

Like most drow, Sheyreiza believed in Lolth as the Dark Weaver, the one who spun the web of fate for each and every Ilythiiri. Each drow had a purpose, even if an insignificant one, and that purpose was contained in their fate’s web. What then was hers?

Nothing less than the destruction of Lonelywood. It was as clear as the cloudless blue sky above her. Everything came together: Sheyreiza’s first meeting of a Yochlol gave birth to her fear of death in Lolth’s service; that fear, combined with her mother’s vampirism, led Sheyreiza to become a heretic; her heresy made her an exile; in exile, she found Lolth again and in so doing, made the enemies that would drive her to the surface and into the arms of Jain’n; Jain’n was meant to save her, to take her home and try and domesticate her, like some wild predator a warrior seeks for a pet and her former heresy would make her open to a new goddess. It was all so clear now. Sheyreiza was meant to destroy this place.

A stab of pain shot through her heart and the thought of Jain’n dying, of being without him, of never being bathed by him again or never feeling his kisses. Jain’n loved her, or so it seemed. Was it real? Yes. Did she love him back? Yes. Therein was Lolth’s special touch. To accomplish her purpose Sheyreiza would have to hurt herself as much as she hurt others.

Sheyreiza looked around the woods. Jain’n offered Sheryeiza warmth and love. Eilistraee offered Sheyreiza salvation. Lonelywood offered Sheyreiza a home. All three of those things were what Sheyreiza wanted and all three were things she could not have imagined obtaining. Indeed, she did not even understand them or believe them real until now.

That was the choice. That was the meaning of it. The true meaning.

Sheyreiza had been born into darkness, into the evil of Lolth’s society. She did not choose it, she fell into it. Now, Lolth had seen to it that Shey had everything Lolth’s society did not offer, everything someone oppressed by the evil of Lolth might want, everything unavailable to Sheyreiza the Yathrin d’Lolth. All Sheyreiza had to do was do nothing and she would enjoy a happy life and a happy after-life. She could be, she would be, good.

But what of the other choice? What of the choice which so clearly lay before her? What of choosing Lolth now? To choose Lolth’s evil having now been exposed to the alternative, nay, given the alternative as a present, freely and without reservation, what then would it mean to actually choose the Way of Lolth?

Who would make such a choice? Who would trade love for hate, trust for suspicion, community for loneliness, salvation for damnation? Only someone as insane and evil and depraved as Lolth herself. And that was the point of all of this.

Suddenly, the wave of this particular idea reached its high-water mark and Sheyreiza knew that if she stained the snows of Lonelywood red with the blood of the elves who had welcomed her, she would be favored by Lolth as few in history had; she could be, she would be a matron; she would respected, feared, obeyed; and she would be damned, almost certainly to a fate as bad or worse than her worst fears for such was the ironic, twisted sense of fate that Lolth possessed. Knowing that made the decision to choose Lolth, to choose utter damnation, all the more darkly sweet.

Sheyreiza pictured her betrayal, her vengeance, and herself. She could see in her mind's eye, Lonelywood burning bright against the dark night sky, Eilistraee's moon helpless above. Shey would stand there, amidst the carnage, the wreckage, the broken hearts and broken bodies and there raise her blooded sword to the moon above and curse the one who would love her, call out to her to witness the destruction of her followers. Sheyreiza would be the very avatar of Lolth herself. That was her purpose.

The chance Sheyreiza had been given was nothing less than the chance to make one of the most evil, senseless, destructive choices any mortal could ever make. And Sheyreiza was not one to shy away from greatness. With that in mind, Sheyreiza set herself to plotting out just exactly how this would happen. It would take a long time and near infinite patience. But it would happen.

She walked as she thought just as she had done for the day and night prior and so it was she came upon Calia and Mariianna in the circle with the monster-stone where Sheyreiza had come face to face the goddess of purest heart who had shown Sheyreiza the door to purest evil. Marrianna was wincing, holding her belly heavy with child. Calia kneeled next to her, speaking softly to her but her face showing her obvious concern.

Sheyreiza simply stood and watched for a moment. How sweet it would be to take the hospitality these two might offer her and pay it back with murder.

Mariianna's voice stole Sheyreiza's sttention from her bloody day-dreams. “The child is coming.” Mariianna said.

Sheyreiza blinked. The two surface elves were both speaking excitedly. Mariianna was early, and her midwife, Rilralia, was not here. Anolesa was nearby, but none of the three had ever delivered a child before. Perfect Sheyreiza thought. I shall earn their trust.

Sheyreiza volunteered to deliver the child. She made herself sound reluctant, but she was not. She needed their trust to make this work and wanted it to make the betrayal even more sweet. Sheyreiza, who had given birth before and who had helped her sisters give birth, directed everything. They did not trust her completely, especially the expectant mother, but Sheyreiza expected that.

Jain’n joined them as did Inthara. One by one Sheyreiza put them all to work just as the Matron had put each sister to work when one of the Auvryndar girls was giving birth. The simplest task was 'fetching,' the person who had to fetch all those things that might be needed, like water, blankets and knife. Next came counting. That task she gave to Jain'n. The counter counted between the mothers pain spasms so that the midwife would know how close the mother was to delivering. Anolesa was given the job of healing. All worked well under Sheyreiza's command. The mistrust birthed by her race was overcome by trust born of her confidence and experience.

Several hours later, amidst the anguished crys of Marrianna, Sheyreiza pulled the new born babe from the mother. She smiled, and turned the baby over to check its sex. A boy. Something hit Sheyreiza's soul like a battering ram striking through a gate. Without thinking she looked into the eyes of the child and though different from the red eyes of her son, they were the same. They were the eyes of a child, a baby, an innocent who knew no savagery, no treachery, no evil. They were the eyes of every child just born, the eyes of Sheyreiza’s own son so many years ago. They were the eyes that haunted Sheyreiza since the day her own sister ripped her newborn son out of her womb and took him away.

Sheyreiza quickly wrapped the baby to the mother and had Jain’n cut the cord. Sheyreiza refused to look at the babies face again but she could not get the vision of his eyes, of her sons eyes, out of her head.

Why did sons have to be torn from their mothers? Why did children have to lose their innocence? Why did all these treacherous, evil things have to happen?

Because women like her had chosen to do that evil time and time again throughout the course of Ilythiiri history. Sheyreiza realized she was not the first drow priestess to face such a choice, for weal or woe. She realized the evil happened because her people let it happen. She realized her part in it and how she was on the verge of doing unto others which had been done to her and for what? So that yet another generation of elven tribes would hate each other.

Exhausted, physically, mentally and spiritually, Sheyreiza stood and walked away from the new mother and baby despite the pleas of Jain’n to come look at the child. Sheyreiza did not need to look: she carried the picture of another newborn boy in her minds eye and had for more than twenty years now. A wave of sorrow and grief crashed upon the shores of Sheyreiza’s heart and soul washing away all her plans to destroy Lonelywood like an ocean wave washing away a castle made of sand. As the wave receded from her soul’s shore, it left naught but smooth sand, ready shaped and molded by the next idea to come along. Once again, Sheyreiza found herself with great knowledge, but no purpose. What then was the point of all of this? What was at the center of her fate’s web?

Sheyreiza did not know yet.

[Laurelin]

Alright that's it.

I'm coming out of my shell, you've done it Mikayla.


I love your stories! And this one has to be the best that I've read.

You rock.

[Killthorne]

Damn it Mik...


*shakes his head*


You....you... you!!! *shakes his finger at her*

You should be writing books and not stopping!!! Don't give up on rejections!!! FIGHT!!! FIGHT!!!! *squints meanly, but in a teasing sort of way*


Great stuff!

~Killthorne~

[Zakharra]

..................this one nearly rendered me speechless, Mik. You are really invocing some powerful emotions. I can feel what Shey is going thru and it makes my heart hurt.

Keep up the writing, please.

[Vendrin]

Damn

[Mord]

Very impressive indeed, keep up the good work. *thumbs up*

[Blindhamsterman]

okay.. once again all I can say is how impressed I am, I enjoy reading about shey so much.. no infact I anticipate the next one, you think you could spend some time writing a shrot story about her, not just one of these? I love these so much but I want more! *looks embarassed then regains his composure* truely brilliant I actually enjoy reading these more than my proper books (im currently readung David Eddings)