Disclaimers: BeastMaster characters and concept are property of their creators. No copyright infringement intended. Original characters and story are property of the author.
Spoilers: First season through "The Burning Forest." Rating: PG.
Author's Note: This is what I get for listening to She-Daisy after watching "The Burning Forest" (which neither Deb nor I really liked, but had its occasional nice points [Baha-shishkebob about sums it up <g>]). Deb and I have long been joking about what songs would be sung by what characters to what characters, and "Little Good-Byes" occurred to me for 'Lady Red-Eyes' to the Ancient One. Well, scarce had the words left my Instant Message to Deb than Lady Red-Eyes started murmuring. And then suddenly the Ancient One started in too. (Translation: Argh!!) This story, however, is not as humorous as that song. In fact it's pretty near downright angst -- which serves the Ancient One right. ;-)
Note #2: Yes, I am changing the timeline for Sharak and the Sorceress' curse by the Ancient One: "a few hundred thousand years" seemed a bit much, especially for the rest of the BeastMaster world to have evolved so relatively little (this is what I get for paying attention re: evolution of the human race in my Geology class).
Note #3: The title comes from a line in Zora Neal Hurston's excellent novel Jonah's Gourd Vine, which reads: "[She] knew, as do other mortals, that half the joy of quitting any place is the loneliness we leave behind." I read that after writing this piece, and it seemed incredibly right for Lady Red-Eyes' motivations, and therefore the title.
The Loneliness We Leave Behind
© 2000, Grace Macy
For all that he decried the pitiful nature of human emotion, he had kept her chambers just as she had left them -- for nearly a hundred thousand years. The Ancient One wandered through those chambers now, trying to get a handle on his thoughts and impulses, still raging at his encounter with his old student. The intense satisfaction from Sharak's pain and the Sorceress' dismay upon waking had vanished all too quickly. Now all he had were memories . . . and the whispers of regrets.
There had been no note. No screaming. No fights. No tears. One day she was simply . . . gone. Lyren. He could think her adopted name, but he could not bring himself to say it aloud even now. Lyren of the blazing eyes and heartfelt laugh, of the deep silences and unwavering attention to his lessons. Lyren, who had outshone any student he had ever had -- even his most recent pupil. She had said that he had been as a father to her, but the truth he would never admit, even to himself . . . was that she had been as a daughter to him.
Perhaps that was why he had been so harsh with her, limited what he taught her: he had suspected that the moment she knew everything, she would no longer be his. And he could not abide that. So he had held back, kept secrets, betrayed promises . . . and lost her eternally as a result. Or at least, that was what anyone else would have said. But the Ancient One saw things differently. He knew the power of hatred was as strong as that of love: it bound two people, sometimes closer than any love could. Lyren would never be apart from him, because she hated him. She would never leave, because then she would have to abandon her pursuit of vengeance. She was his now, as surely as he was hers.
So then why was he here, in what had been her chambers? Why had he even kept it locked away in time? Out of some vague, distant hope that she might someday return? Why could he not bring himself to destory it with a wave of his hand, as he was perfectly able to do? A hundred thousand years of memories lived in these walls, hung like gossamer threads in this cloistered air. A hundred thousand millennia of second-guessing and regrets that would never be spoken aloud.
She had said nothing to him of her plans. Said nothing of her temptation by the Darkness. Said nothing of her anger or frustration at his constant non-answers and small deceits. Said nothing of her growing discontent at realizing he would never allow her powers to grow fully. Said nothing of the hurt and midnight tears. Or perhaps she had, and he had never listened.
Mockingly, words drifted to him from another realm: "You never listen when I talk, maybe you'll listen when I walk."
He had been attuned to this realm before, used it to taunt Lyren during their confrontation in Zad's tent, but now the place seemed to be getting its revenge by invading his reverie. The rest of the song followed, taunting him with its accuracy as he looked around the abandoned chambers.
Lyren had left little behind, for she had not needed much in the Burning Forest, but it had been enough to make it clear she was not going to return -- and that it was her own choice. Her mirror, still set carefully and precisely on the wall, not even given the honor of being broken in anger. Bottles of essence, magickal and common, scattered across the little bureau as she had discarded those she decided she would not need. And in the carefully crafted wash-basin, still catching the morning sun that drifted through a nearby window, a mass of dark hair that glistened like silk.
Her hair had once been longer than that of his current student. It was always falling in her eyes, but he had expressed some hint of pleasure at it and so she had kept the wild tangle. Until that day, when he had entered her chambers and found the long locks strewn in the basin, all an equal length -- again, not even the honor of a show of anger. Instead she had simply taken the long curls and severed them cleanly with a razor-sharp dagger. As if the act was nothing. As if that long curling braid had never meant anything at all, though he knew it had. As if it meant nothing now, as he knew it still must or she would not have bothered. But she had, and she had left the remnants of that once glorious mane where he would find it. It was the only show of contempt she had deigned to show him, and that -- as she had known well -- was what truly hurt.
Unbidden in the present, the Ancient One's hand stroked through the locks that had been shorn so long ago. He could have used them to cast enchantments, to call or weaken her, but he had never even tried. He wondered now if that had been part of what had pushed Lyren even further away, what he had so very effectively used to hurt her in turn: he never bothered to try to get her back.
And now we're facing off again. For better or worse, as they say. Neither of them could kill the other -- the Ancient One because he was a god, and Lyren because she had taken the Darkness into herself. It was a powerful thing, the Darkness, and it offered great power at a great price. She had paid it, fully and willingly: the Ancient One knew that from her power as well as from her transformation. Those burning red eyes and snake's tongue, but most significantly that one claw-like hand. Lyren had been an accomplished musician once, as well as a sorceress, and those hands had worked wonders on harp-strings and flutes. No more.
For everything there was a price. Lyren had paid it to gain her power, and the ability to strike back at the teacher who had betrayed her. And the Ancient One had paid it for his pride, his refusal to allow any student to surpass him.
The god of sorcerers looked around the sunlit chambers one more time, then turned and walked out again. Behind him, the rock of the entranceway closed in on itself, once more shutting Lyren's chambers away from the world, sealing in time and air and light. But never the memories. That was beyond the magick of any sorcerer . . . or any god. Goodbyes could never be amended, no matter how small, and loneliness had a life of its own.
--end--
Main BeastMaster Fanfic Index General Rating BeastMaster Index
Main Library Index Main FanFiction Index
Email the author!
[email protected]
If you see anything out of place or non-functioning, please let the Keeper of the Library know. Thank you and enjoy your stay!