(Archives are on the website, if you want to read the offerings of past weeks)
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Eyes of Jade
(c) 2008 by Maura Anderson, all rights reserved
Gearóid’s eyes flew open as his body convulsed, sucking in a panicked breath. The blue sky directly above him seemed painfully bright in contrast to the dense border of tree branches at the edge of his vision. He panted, disoriented and strangely out of breath. Where was he? What was going on?
He sat up abruptly and nearly fell back again when dizziness made his head swim. Heart racing with the possibility of danger, Gearóid struggled to gain control of his body. Eyes closed again, he took a few more deep breaths of air that was strangely devoid of the copper scent of the blood spilled during the battle before his dizziness subsided. The only sounds he heard were chirping birds and a few deep-voiced frogs.
He cracked his eyes open again, slowly. Thankfully the world seemed much more stable than just a few moments ago. He looked around in amazement. The clearing, surrounded by thick, old trees, had a lush layer of fallen leaves and needles on the ground. Ferns grew in abundance, mixed with other plants he didn’t recognize. Despite the light breeze that intermittently brushed over his skin, the air felt heavy with the smells of damp earth and musty, decomposing vegetation.
His bare skin.
On his feet in a leap, he was only more puzzled. His body seemed somehow heavier, alien, almost as if it were not his body at all. The difference made him unsteady for a moment, a rare occurrence since he’d begun his warrior training.
A glance down proved he was indeed naked and, though the body he saw was similar to his in shape and size, it was not what it should be. Metallic copper glimmered where his pale Sidhe skin had once been. His nipples were a dark bronze color and what little body hair he’d had was now gone as if it never existed.
In disbelief, he ran a hand over his abdomen. He could feel his fingers sliding over his skin but his belly and chest were smoother than he remembered and the scars left from the many battles he’d survived were gone as if they’d never been. Even his hand was smooth, the calluses from years of weapons practice had disappeared.
Battle? The memories flooded back in a rush. The horror of seeing Ailin fall. The vain attempt to save his best friend. Then the pain of the Milesian lance piercing through his back and emerging from his chest. He remembered dropping slowly to the ground, the sounds of battle and clashing weapons dimming as his spirit faded from the world.
Maybe this was merely a dream, a momentary awareness in the Cauldron of Rebirth? Even a foreshadowing of a possible future? He’d never heard of such a thing but he was a warrior, not a priest.
Gearóid turned, examining every part of the clearing he found himself in. No danger was apparent but it nothing was at all familiar to him. The trees, the bushes, even the small animal he glimpsed were nothing he’d seen before. It certainly wasn’t the battleground he’d died on.
The chilly breeze kicked up again and a dark shadow appeared at the edge of his vision. He jerked away and spun unsteadily, only to find he’d been startled by his own hair. Now a shiny onyx black instead of its previous pale blonde, it was still so long as to brush his ass when unbound – as it now was. His one vanity, as Ailin was always quick to point out.
His hands flew to his face and traced the features there. The scar down one cheek from his brash challenge to one of his trainers was gone. Like his body, the skin of his face seemed a bit smoother but his features were familiar at least. His ears were still gracefully pointed but the left one was now pierced through the lobe with what felt to be a metal ring. Something dangled from it but he couldn’t tell what, only that it felt long and tapered.
The sudden sound of wings beating directly overhead gave him scant warning before a large raven landed gracefully on a thick tree stump before him. The ebon bird stared steadily at him for a moment, head cocked slightly to one side. Just as he began to worry about the intelligence he saw behind the bird’s black eyes, it shimmered and grew until another form emerged.
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