yael

Use those delightful little brains the Goddess said (in a rather patronizing tone, and Yael almost scoffed at such advice, but managed to hold her tongue, knowing that such a display would not be well received. She followed Ispoia’s lead as the Seer and official go-between, deciding to keep only the positive parts of the Goddess’s advice in mind. Logic. No emotions.

The next morning, she is resolved to do something that could only be described as using her brain. Taking a running leap off the cliffs, Yael’s wings unfurl in the mid-morning sun, sending a dazzling flash of gold across the rim, as she dives down to the ocean and then pumps her great big, feathered appendages and climbs into the sky again, wheeling around and heading towards the other side of Helovia. Her experience of the battle at the Marsh was limited to herding the children out of the line of danger, and the motherly mare hadn’t stuck around to see what happened afterwards. Rumors and talks about Nyx’s death clued her in, but until now, the golden Sage hadn’t any reason to return to the swampy scene of the crime.

Even now, she initially finds the area distasteful, full of unpleasant smells of peat and moss, decaying vegetation and stagnant pools of water. The flies aren’t terribly thick today, but they are still a nuisance. She lands with several large flaps of her black-tipped wings, doing her best to find a less-squishy, bug-free piece of earth. It isn’t very successful, and immediately she finds her silver-white tail sets to work snapping, whip-like, at the bugs. The altar is easy to find. From here, she can just make out some glowy shapes. Everything else seems… normal, to be completely honest. Her face scrunches up into a thoughtful frown as she tucks her wings in close to her lean frame and begins to walk in concentric circles, examining the ground and the area around the altar until - before Yael knows it - she is fairly close to the black obelisk.

Strained, but still energetic eyes glance over at the altar and then away - then immediately back again.

Holy shit, that’s a SHIN, her mind screams, recognizing one of the symbols. Another step to the left reveals the other letters, forming a a word she uses almost every day.

Shalom, it says.

“Shalom,” she whispers in return, her tongue curling around the word in the very manner of the symbols. Hello. Goodbye. Peace. Yael’s heart seems to beat ten times faster as she pauses, frozen in place as the language of her birth washes over her. “Adonai?” She says now, raising her gaze to the top of the altar, the other phrases forgotten for now.

lyanna

yael

What does that mean?

That very question has plagued her ever since the day her kin were burned alive in front of a God who did nothing to save his devotees. Time and time again she’s asked herself what this or that event means - is it all fruitless, all one big jumble of randomness they may spend their lives trying to make sense of, when the truth is that there is no rhyme or reason to it? How can that which she has not seen for forty years be here in front of her, in this place of death and confusion?

Yael’s mind reaches back to the stories she’s heard about the Rift Gods and how one by one, they were slain by Helovians. How their worlds were annexed and brought here by the Sun, Earth, Moon, and Spark. And now Kaos says the Rift Gods are a part of him - or he is here on their behalf - and yet he sends his message via an ancient language. How does it all tie together? Is her G-d this God? Is this part of a larger deception? Time seems to stand still whilst the gilded woman stares at the lowest set of letters - her gaze lost somewhere in the mists of distant memories. Seeing and yet unseeing, she registers Isopia and Lyanna’s questions with flicks of her long ears, but there is a lifetime of silence before she answers in a distant voice.

“Adonai ees vone of ze vords for God een my language,” she says without looking back at the Seer. Yael isn’t surprised Isopia followed her, and when Lyanna makes her presence known, the petite mare doesn’t bat an eye. If anything, it seems entirely natural to have the two there, although she does briefly wonder if anyone else will show up - undoubtedly some will be curious to see three Edgers all headed in the same direction, but then again, ignorance is also sweet, sweet bliss. They cannot see it yet, but a look of awe has slowly made its way across Yael’s face; awe and longing and all the sorrow she’s forced herself to keep locked away for fear of being overwhelmed by it.

You see, this has to be some sort of miracle - there was no way they could have known Yael would find herself on Xelovia’s shores. Or - could Kaos have? Could Kaos have been the one who brought her here? Weaver said she walked here, but she could swear the stars in this sky are different than the stars at home. And then to be, to her best knowledge, the only one who can read these letters? Is this what she is here to do? Her head bobs up and down in an affirmative to Lyanna’s inquiry as Yael’s eye once again drink in the lines and dots, even daring to brush her lips against the lowest etching before taking a step back to report what she knows.

“Zis xere says shalom,” she begins, gesturing to the lowest set of letters. “Eet ees used in several vays - as a greeting and farevell, but also, eet means peace.” Eyes flick between the two mares, to see if they understand. “A greeting amongst friends.” That much is ingrained in her culture. She could simply say boker tov if she wanted to say good morning, but shalom personally suits Yael better. She takes a couple of steps to the left, looking at the longer line of letters. “Ka’os yikhsod...” her voice trails off after a moment, hoping she’s got the right words. “Kaos vill save.” she finally pronounces, after going back and forth between several words - after all, it has been several decades since she’s seen the letters written. Finally, her neck arches to see the upper letters. Oh, that one’s easier. “Koakh,” she says, though her tone changes a bit, harsh in the sound she creates in the back of her throat.

”Power, t’at means. Strengt. Force.” A quick circle around the obelisk again reveals nothing else, but when she takes a step back, more letters on top are evident.

“Ah, I can’t make out ze top vones…” Even squinting, the letters were unclear, and she wouldn't want to deliver a false translation.

yael

Isopia isn’t the only one who’s surprised. The past few minutes seem surreal – the actual shock to Yael’s system when she saw the letters of her childhood etched in stone is indescribable. Even now, she hasn’t fully digested it, her mind simply revels in the abjad script, the adorning niqqud and, and the way her mouth reflexively arches and curls. The wisps of tradition come wafting back, a chorus of familial voices reciting in unison, Modeh ani l’fanekha, melekh khai v’kayam… still sleep-filled and heavy-hoofed, Yael could easily mumble the morning prayer without being fully awake. But is it amazing? Perhaps. Yes, and no – to see a her past writ out here is no small miracle, but the translation itself is not as much.

With a pinched expression, Yael’s head bounces in agreement. It is odd. Her eyes dance over the words again, sure of peace and power and Kaos. They linger on the mark before the letters, the yod. But no… when it comes before a word, it means he/she/it will… she wracks her brain, thinking of the possible synonyms, until one that make sense, but is far more ominous, pops into her head. Her eyes go wide, and in an almost hushed voice, she offers another insight. “Ah… eet could also mean ‘spare.’ As een… xe vill not keel.” That translation would be far more in line with what they think of Kaos, but without any other clues as to what he is supposed to spare or save (Helovians? The world? The Rifters?), speculation will only drive them crazy. “… and from vhat?” she adds, knowing that there are a multitude of dangerous things haunting the world – including themselves.

To her delight, Isopia is kind enough to assist, and indeed, the cleaning does seem to brighten up the letters enough. Squinting in order to discern the vowel dots, Yael sounds them out for her two companions. “Yes, Isopeea, toda!… Lanetzakh… ah! Zat’s forever.” So now they have the whole of this piece of the puzzle: Kaos will save or spare, peace, power, and forever. The questions begin to roll in, and though not all of them are troubled, some of them are. “Vhat do you t’ink… can ve take zis as xis trute?”

The thing is that everyone lies. Everyone. It’s just a matter of how big or small, intentional or unintentional it is. Yael has a feeling both sides of the Gods are playing for keeps, so which one(s) are more trustworthy? What do Helovians have to lose from choosing the wrong side, besides their lives?  

lyanna

yael

Then they are four, and Yael greets Amaris with a smile, listening eagerly to her description of a previous encounter with the altar. It’s odd, isn’t it - black is usually the color of decay, or all things sinister. She would be hard pressed to try and eat any black clover, but Amaris says nothing about whether or not the clover appeared withered - in fact, she says she felt rejuvenated by its presence. How peculiar… and yet... ”Strengt… she says simply, in response. A small promise fulfilled, in a ‘normal’ way. Normal being, well, rather ordinary compared to some of the ways they encounter godly miracles. And while yes, she would very much like to see one of the altar’s tricks, she isn’t expecting what will soon happen. No, after staying fairly silent and engaging her listening skills, she all of a sudden has multiple questions about the Rift Gods. “Vhen ze Rifteeans came xere, deed zey say anyt’ing about t’eir gods?” Mentally, it is added to the checklist of stories to find.

Yael is just about to suggest that they take this discovery back to the Edge when a voice far more boomy and rich than any mortal’s interrupts their musings.

Her head whips around, quickly scanning the area around them and still finds them completely alone. There is only one point of focus to be found, and that is the stone obelisk who’s message now pulses with a teal light - much like the color of Lyanna’s wings. She seems to be unable to take her eyes off it, and even when the same voice calls her by name, it seems to be in some distant dream to another Yael, for she isn’t quite sure what to do without a physical manifestation to focus on. Her gaze darts around to the letters until she finally decides to take a few steps back in order to see the altar as a whole.

Nerves rattle somewhere deep inside her, a little voice casually whispering don’t fuck this up in front of three women who’s opinions she so deeply values. Her immediate thought is that he is a courteous God, and there is no reason why he should not be accorded the same respect. “Zat ees rarely a term I xear to describe me, but t’ank you for ze compleement… I xope I xaf done eet right. Eet xas been many years seence I last saw zis writeeng.” she takes a deep breath and takes a quick look behind her, as if to ask permission to continue. Yael is not the ranking member here, but as he/she/it seems to be engaging solely with her at the moment, maybe she should plow ahead? Gazing back at the rock and kind of ‘up’ (which isn’t very tall for the petite mare), she continues. “As you can eemagine, ve haf many kestyons, Kaos.”

She’s sure the continuous parade of Helovians past his altar has not gone unnoticed. Here, though, is a delegation of particularly logical and middle-line, moderate women, ready to see and listen with an open mind. This could be quite beneficial to both parties - why, it’s almost as if real diplomacy is about to be put to use!

It’s all very exciting. The gilded pegasus’s heart races while she falls back on old habits: muscle memory, strength, and grace.

lyanna