| Faith's Flame The stench of rotting flesh broke her meditation. She knew what it signified; her services were needed. Ladarie unloaded her cleverly-built collapsible shovel. When she was a novice at the beginning of her training, she imagined praying and singing hymns being her main duties as a priestess. Not once were the words "shovel", "dirt" and "grave" mentioned, beyond metaphoric sense. The sun had reached its zenith, the bloated flies that loitered around the decaying corpses interrupted their repast to suck the sweat from her brow. Covered in grime from her task, Ladarie surveyed her handiwork; a massive hole excavated in the forest floor. Now for the fun part, she ironically reflected, heaving bodies laboriously into the mass grave. Obviously a human caravan beset by orcish raiders. Ladarie knew that the brutish humanoids laired within this forest; she was in dangerous territory. This was the reason why any human survivors of the mayhem would have fled the area, if there had been any survivors. No time to bury the dead. Of course the orcs, who could have buried their slain tribesmen, did not bother to do so. The crudity of such creatures! So it was up to Ladarie to keep disease at bay and to conduct last rites over the fallen, whether they were human or orc. She could take the arrogant stance of some elves that the concerns of such "lesser races" were beneath her. But Ladarie had seen some of the savagery and wickedness of her so-called "noble race", she knew that any of the land's peoples were capable of great good or great evil. As Ladarie neared completion of the interring, she discovered a strange tableau. A man, surrounded by orc bodies and broken weapons, lay still finally in death, frenzied look engraved into his face. His last weapon seemed to be a spoke from a cartwheel, torn free with hideous strength. He had taken so many mortal wounds (as Ladarie judged with an unfortunately experienced eye) and ignored them for longer than humanly possible. Ladarie wondered briefly what had driven an ordinary man berserk. Then she found the second body, a woman of a similar age. Her features plain, but there was some quality within her that her other half had treasured so much; to sacrifice his life so tortuously for her. The dead woman's face was wistful, an impossible hope painted in those unblinking eyes. Turning the twisted body over onto her back, Ladarie jumped back sharply, the corpse had wailed! Having battled the undead many times, Ladarie readied herself for combat. As the cries continued, she realized her mistake. Looking carefully, she now knew what the couple had truly been fighting for. The baby was dirty, tired and very lucky to be alive. Immediately seeing the child's hunger, Ladarie brought out a little pouch of milk to feed the child, while examining the infant further. The dark red splotches on the baby's fair skin were not a good sign, but no problem for Ladarie. She laid her hands upon the infant and let the healing warmth flow through her into the ill orphan. The child remained weak, but she would recover her strength within a day or two. After she had moved the parents to the pile, Ladarie retired to a nearby brook to bathe the baby clean. She took stock of the situation. She could not leave this little darling girl behind to die! But where could she find her a home? Families in these troubled times could barely feed their own children, let alone another's. Ladarie's temple, due to their generous ways, could not afford to raise the child either. In days of yore, the temple had an orphanage which had raised many children to become fine members of the community, who would have otherwise died or turned to crime. She could raise the child herself, but it would interfere with her priestly duties. Ladarie would need to step down from her position of diocese cleric. She would wonder about the future later. What mattered now was that the human girl survived. Cuddling the child close, warding off the night's chill with her body heat, Ladarie slept uncomfortably, mind awhirl with problems. The next day Ladarie had rituals to perform, sprinkling holy water over the pile of bodies while chanting last rites that all might pass on to their eternal fates. The baby girl watched her work, wrapped snugly in her bedroll. Ladarie then filled in the mass grave, packing the earth tightly over the remains. By the time she was finally finished, it was dusk, and the child was hungry once again. Ladarie had used up her meagre milk on the baby, and civilization was too far off to beg or buy any. She would have to use other measures. Briefly intoning a prayer of protection over the infant she changed from her heavier garments to a simple cotton shift. Wandering out into a nearby thicket, she meditated on her connection with the land, her place within the natural order. Drawing upon her elven heritage she abandoned her rationality and became one with her animalistic self. A wolf crossed her path, looked at Ladarie curiously, wondering what sort of animal she was: predator or prey. A cold glare from Ladarie made up the wolf's mind and he loped off. She calmly approached a deer and her yearling nearby. Without using words, just concentrating on her empathy with the wild, Ladarie told the deer of her need - that a young one would die without the deer's aid. The deer acquiesced to Ladarie's desperation and did not shy away from her. Still nervous of startling her benefactor, Ladarie bent down and milked the deer carefully. A while later the deer moved away slightly - the animal needed the remainder of the milk for her own child. Ladarie nodded silently; genuflecting towards the mother and child she said a prayer of protection over them. Pity the poor hunter that tried to take down these generous children of the forest! Ladarie hurried back to the hungry girl, anxious to feed her the still-warm milk. But someone had returned before her. A band of orcs were sniffing around her makeshift campsite, soon enough they would find the baby. After having slaughtered her parents Ladarie could imagine their response to the child. But what could she do? She was unarmed, clothed only in a bit of cloth, exhausted from her holy duties. How could she save the child from her fate? She couldn't take on a group of such strong, burly creatures like this at the best of times. Looking quickly Ladarie noticed at least two carmine-dyed heads in their ranks; their savage priests, the power of darkness alive in their veins. A blue haired chief towered above his lesser servants. A thought crossed her mind: no one would blame her if she backed out now. People would speak of her practicality and wisdom, if she tried to help the child they would both die. The baby was doomed. But how could she sit idly by and watch this true innocent die? The regret that Ladarie would feel every day, whenever she looked at someone's young one, She would remember the child she had abandoned. Could Ladarie live the rest of her long life feeling that guilt, knowing her faith, her belied in what she felt had been tested and it had been found wanting? Could Ladarie exist any longer, knowing her faith was false? Ladarie straightened up, resolved. Far better to die nobly with her faith than have a long and empty life without it. She strode in from the fire's shadows. Proud, strong, resigned to certain death. Ladarie immediately picked up the little girl from her hiding place and addressed the (rather puzzled) marauders. "Go now. This is my place." Ladarie spoke clearly and forcefully. The orcs looked bewildered for a moment, then erupted into guttural laughter. One small orc almost choked, laughing so hard, falling back coughing weakly. She acted fierce, but she was bluffing, she had no way of defending herself. And the orcs knew how very vulnerable she was. The blue haired orc chief looked at her appreciatively, licking his lips. Whether he wished to shatter her virtue or feast upon her sweet, tender flesh Ladarie didn't know, either indignity would be horrendous. The orc priests muttered to their leader in their uncouth tongue, gesturing to the baby with calculating looks on their rough-hewn features. Whatever Ladarie's dark fate, the child's looked grimmer still. Holding the blissfully ignorant child protectively (imitating her mother's final pose) Ladarie shut her eyes, uttering a final prayer as the orcs surrounded them and advanced inexorably. "Most Holy, I will die as I have lived. I did what I felt was right. So be it." She waited for the first blow to land, already flinching with imagined pain. A comfortable warmth suffused her shivering body. Was this strange sensation Death approaching? She opened her eyes gradually, half-expecting to see the gates of Paradise But around Ladarie was a fiery glow. The orcs stared stupidly at her incandescence, fascinated, weapons hanging limply in their hands. Remembering their foul designs upon her and the child, Ladarie was blessed with a righteous rage. She felt it running through her veins, faith's flame infusing her with sacred power. "You who sought to prey upon the weak and defenceless: YOU HAVE BEEN JUDGED! And you have been found GUILTY. Get you off the pure flesh of this world, may your souls be cleansed by the flames of purification!" Ladarie released the building heat within her in one titanic flood, rippling radius of inferno blasting out, incinerating the surprised orcs in their tracks. Blackened bodies slowly fell where they once stood, consumed by the ever-expanding conflagration. The orcs were panicked, fleeing in all directions from this blazing avenger's circle of death. Screaming frenzied commands at his warband, the orc chief tried to cancel some of the confusion in his ranks. With a curt gesture he ordered his priests to do something about this supernatural menace. The priests looked at their leader, then each other, and finally at the glowing Ladarie. They darted off quickly, knowing that they were overmatched. Knowing that all was lost, that such a disgrace had destroyed his status within the clan, the orc chieftain fell upon his own sword, soon scorched to ash by the spreading flames. Drained once again of energy, but still coruscating with power, Ladarie felt relief. A wash of emotion now released brought tears falling from her eyes, splashing on the beautiful child's forehead. The baby smiled beatifically at Ladarie, fresh eyes changed to shining gold, a mark of her salvation. They were safe, joined closer than blood through their shared divine experience. Ladarie knew, whether she left the order or not, her faith would remain with her forever. She had done what she felt was right. --------- ---------- ----------- In one part of the land you hear stories about a wandering elven priestess dispensing healing to those who need her help. Not so unusual in itself, but with her is a delightful human girl-child with golden hair and eyes brightly gleaming in the sunlight. The priestess is obviously not the child's mother, but you'd never guess it by the love they show for each other. Makes the ties of blood seem no stronger than wisps of smoke. Copyright (c) 2000, Cailean Darkwater. You may freely distribute this work to anyone as long as it remains intact. You may make formatting changes (such as global font changes and the like), transfer between platforms, print it out, put it on a website or even translate this work as long as it remains intact, with these messages at the bottom, and that the author, Cailean Darkwater, is acknowledged. You may not charge for this work in any way, whatever the trade may be. There, as you might have noticed earlier, is no charge for this work. But if you enjoyed it, please consider sending it to 3 other people you think might enjoy it. And well, maybe they, after reading this message, might like to send it to 3 people they think would enjoy it. No, this is not a chain letter. I don't think sending this on, or not sending it on, will bring you bad or good luck for "passing it on" or failing to. If anything, even if you did not like this story, and you choose not to send it on, thanks for at least giving it a try and taking the time to read it. I wish everyone good luck, irrespective. How does it help me if you have bad luck? :) Make your life get a little better every day. Blessed be! Cailean Darkwater, [email protected], [email protected] http://goodreading.ipfox.com/darkwater/ |