I S R A
“It is good to have an end to journey toward;
but it is the journey that matters, in the end.”The dark burnished mare took a few moments to gather and organize her thoughts before continuing with her prayer. Even though she was certain that they lead full and hectic lives, time would have little meaning in the clockless world of the Immortals. They’d forgive her; she was only an imperfect earth-bound creature after all.
A gentle breeze slid over the plateau in rough curls, wind-fingers tousling the oil-black tresses along the slope of her neck, prompting her to look up. A vague sensation of awe enveloped Isra; a shadow of what she would have felt had she been whole. The emptiness within her chest pressed on her mind, quickly deflating every moment of buoyancy. Her eyes – the color of jade glass filled with coffee beans and held up to the sun – follow the aromatic twigs as they rose radiant and tumbled slowly in the air.
A foreign exclamation of surprise leaves her rose-petal soft lips, seeming to cause the twigs to dissolve into mist. Her eyes become owlish for an instant but she relaxed when she saw figures start to emerge from the peculiarly colored fog. Thankful she didn’t break or disrupt anything by her outburst.
In Isra’s experience, it is a rare occurrence for Gods to answer in the flesh. It was something only the Great Mother had ever done. All the other shrines and holy places Isra had paid homage to during her travels; she would pray but nothing as astonishing as this would happen. She would keep faith and perhaps days, weeks, or even months later the answers would come in a variety of other ways. The choice of the two Gods to appear and speak to her now was no less humbling then her first contact with a divine.
The first to become wholly corporal was a female whose color reminded Isra of the purple twilight still hiding down in the valleys. With a mane and tail glistening like silver-spun cobwebs and luminous metallic eyes, it is not such a farfetched guess to assume that this was the Goddess of the Moon. The later was thicker, solid like a large oak tree, and pigmented with the same earthy tones. She picked him to be the God of the Earth. Her gaze slides to the lonely twig that still remained upon the third altar. She is not angry or disappointed by the Sun’s absence, only counts herself lucky for the arrival of two. A newcomer to Helovia, she did not know of His anger though she may begin to guess when this hot streak of weather did not end in a day or two.
The Great Mother usually chose to appear as a different animal to her followers. Isra thought it fitting that these Gods had a feature of each of the species she had seen on her journey through Helovia to the Veins. “Thank you”, she said in answer to the Goddess’ welcome. When the Worldly God asked her for her purpose here, her gaze dropped to her hooves. “I’m afraid I’m a shallow seeker” she started. Indeed, Isra was not here to request healing for the ailing or food for the hungry but something selfish.
“Upon entering the Threshold I lost an important part of me. My Diadh-anam, my spirit-spark. It guides us on our intended path and connects us to our Great Mother. It’s been there since birth, I don’t know how to exist without it,” she tried to convey the importance of this piece of her soul that was missing. “My magic too has been stripped. Had they been asked for, I’d have given them freely and gladly but my diadh-anam…” she tried giving the Gods some perspective. Then she was only left with: “Why? ... I’ve only done what has been asked of me. Perhaps it is only blocked by the magic of Helovia?”
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