bleeding prophecies.— [sycamore/eyvindr]

[Deleted]

S Y C A M O R E    F O R R E S T E R

I was nervous, even if I tried not to show it.

I was pouring the two of us tea, I didn't know if Eyvindr wanted any but it felt rude not to offer. Today was a bad day. Not because anything went wrong, it was a bad day for my vision. I had good days and bad days. Today even looking at too much light hurt my eyes. So as I poured the tea, I did it with my eyes closed. It was easy enough to do. I just washed my hands then stuck my index finger in the glass. When my finger got burnt it was at the top. I didn't mind the pain, I've felt worse.

Despite popular belief, I wasn't weak. If I was weak I wouldn't be here. I've killed and fought, just like the rest of us. Vierra didn't want to hear that though. As far as she was concerned I was nothing more than a sacrifice. I don't think Eyvindr minded me as much. After all, he agreed to do this. To look into my past for me. All I told him was I wanted to know about my past. But there's more. I wanted to know who my parents were. Why they didn't raise me. I still love the rest of my family, but most all the other Forrester's know who their parents are and get to be raised by them. Why wasn't I?

I asked to do the reading at my place. I felt safer here, especially after he warned me we'd need to use my own blood. After being called a sacrifice in lieu of my name by Vierra for 17 years I've learned to be cautious. It helped my nerves a bit because if he does try anything I have the layout of this room memorised and can fight easier. Plus, little did he know, I had a knife in my back pocket.

"Tea? And if I may ask, can I spill my own blood or do you have to be the one to cut me?"

I'd prefer to do it myself for obvious reasons, but my curiosity was a bit too strong. Regardless of who had to do it, I was going to go through with it at this point. I knew it didn't matter who my parents were, I still loved my family the same. But I wanted to be able to question them. Figure out why I never knew they were my real parents. Did they think having a kid like me would be too much? I doubt they knew I had vision problems when I was that young. Maybe my hair and my eyes gave it away though. Or maybe they were planning for a communal style of raising their child regardless.

I didn't have any idea who my parents were. No one looked a lot like me, pigmentation aside. I could see little comparisons here and there, but nothing concrete. I hoped Eyvinder could shed some sort of light. And then what? What would I do next? Confront them? Ask them why they never told me? Shout and scream? Cry? Or would I just pretend I never found out and go back to being alone? I don't know which scenario was worse.

[ 541 words ]

[lucius branwen / 10 — fox]

E Y V I N D R

► ► ►

my mother dresses me in a blue robe reminiscent of a sky after the sun sets, threads softer and sweeter than clouds. she smooths out the creases from my shoulders, tucks a strand of hair behind my ears, and hands me a satchel made of lambskin.

"my vin," mother touches my cheek. "trust the sight given to you."

our eyes meet.

a trail of moths follows the heat of our bodies with their silk, printed wings. they land in her hair, crawl in and out of the crevices of her skull.

Sindri pulls gently on his strap of leather looped on my wrist, eyes following a bird in the branches. his tail slaps softly against the earth.

i look away from her gaze full of wings.

"i trust Sindri."

at Sycamore's home, he barks twice, and the boy comes burning like a hazy moon. Sindri hums beneath my palm. from my pocket, i give him a dried scrap of lamb. his cold nose nudges my hand, licking my fingers for it, the heat of his breath warming me. he calms, softens at my touch.

"good boy."

inside, Sycamore busies himself with a kettle, steam curling like weeds towards the sun, blooming in a puff of warm vapour. moths rest on the window sill. i pull the robe from my shoulders, fabric now brushed with snow.

he turns to me, holding my gaze, both shrinking and ablaze all at once. "tea? and if i may ask, can i spill my own blood or do you have to be the one to cut me?"

mother told me the past had been born in me, like every living thing, wrought with the blood of the generations before them. and there was the future stretched before us, in the steps of every man of the earth, crafted by the gods. "but a seer," she said, painting a drop of poppy on my lips before handing me the water from the well, "knows the way like one knows how to breathe."

i think i feel no certainty when i repeat her words.

"there is a path to everything. blood must be spilt with purpose. you may make the cut, but i will tell you how."

i drink the tea he sets down, breaking from his eyes. it tastes of hyssop. Sindri lies at my feet.

"draw a glass bowl of water and place it before you."

from the satchel, i set the table – my father's knife, a candle, a box of matches. the candle lights with a gentle flare; i burn a stick of mugwort in it, fragile in my fingers as herbs become ash, room filling with the scent of earth after rain.

now, a breath and –

"ansuz, laguz, uruz."

and the blade meets the flame.

in a whisper, the hum of the winter hills quieting,

"knife of the north,
blessed by the wayfinder,
cut the nettle of the mind,
consecrate the blood we have shed."

my father's knife is warm in my hands like a little breathing being, gold and moving in candlelight. the shadows of cornflower blue laugh, howl, playing coyotes tumbling on the walls around us. i turn to Sycamore, turn the bone hilt of the knife to him. "cut your palm. do not fear its bite. untether your pain. the knife knows the taste of a weakling."

[Deleted]

S Y C A M O R E    F O R R E S T E R

I watched Eyvindr close - as close as I could at least. I trusted him because he was family, but that didn't mean much. At any moment he could decide I'd be a good sacrifice and lash out. I looked for smaller movements, ones that could suddenly become violent at a moments notice. But I doubted he was going to try anything here at my home. I had a slight advantage here - I didn't need to see well or at all to know where everything was located here.

He pulled a stick of something and burnt it. I couldn't see well enough to know what it was, until the moment it hit the flames. Then I could instantly smell it. Mugwort. It could supposedly protect against evil. Maybe it would keep Vierra away if so. I loved her because she was family, but she wasn't a good person. Eyvindr was a good person as far as I knew though. He hadn't tried to stab me yet at least.

"ansuz, laguz, uruz."

These were Elder Futhark - runes. They each had multiple meanings. Ansuz meant a deity, God, or estuary. Laguz meant waterfall, ocean, lake, or some other body of water. And uruz was just an ox. Though I had a feeling that to him, they all meant so much more. They meant something far above me, something I could never comprehend. But I didn't need to comprehend it. He just needed to be able to tell me what the Gods say, interpret the hidden meanings of the world to show me where I come from.

After what sounded like a small prayer he gave me further instructions. I felt a relief I would be able to do it myself. He was going to help me, this wasn't an elaborate trick to sacrifice me for the Gods. I gently took the knife by the bone, careful not to accidentally cut myself. I had done it previously with sacrifices and I always had something bad happen to me soon after. I needed to be more careful when it came to rituals and my blood.

I wouldn't disappoint the blade, I was not weak, as much as Vierra wanted to believe that I was. Without hesitation, I cut my palm from one side to the other in a single movement. The red dripping from my hand distracted me from the pain. Even if I couldn't see it clearly, I knew exactly what it was. Despite the scent of mugwort filling the room, I could still smell the metallic scent of my own blood in the background.

"It's done, Eyvindr."

[ 431 words ]