Completed Summoning the Desert Heat

[Gwin]

Winter 16, 514 AV
Alements


Gwin shrugged back a blond lock and sighed. The notes on the page before her were looking more and more like hieroglyphs, some secret language, although she’d already studied them for over a bell. She’d filled less than two paragraphs before hitting a wall. Since then she’d only twirled the ink stick between her fingers and drank more tea.

When the waitress set down the second pot of tea, the Akvatari only nodded absentmindedly. After another glance at the parchment, she gave up and poured. The intense scent of green tea leaves wafted up and warmed the tip of her nose. Carefully, she drank and promptly burned her tongue. So the tea didn’t agree with her… it told her to focus.

Instead she pushed away the cup and looked around the bar. As always, Alements was a pretty place, fragrant herbs decorating the walls and sweetening the air, exquisite dark wood and pale stone at the bar accented by mysterious reflections of Syna’s light. Gwin didn’t know how it was created, that unique kind of charm Alements had, but she guessed only the proprietor really did. Briefly she recalled the tanned horse man with the tattoos and elegant speech. He knew so much.

If Gwin knew that much, she certainly would’ve finished her song half a bell ago. With another sigh, she regarded the other patrons, chatting and laughing, rumbling blue basses laced with sweet lilts of Konti and other women. Closing her eyes, she listened for a moment. After a season, it was still an unfamiliar sound, laughter and cheerful talk.

And then she took a step beyond the present, willed a jump into a different time and place. Softly she began to hum, eyes still closed, reclining in her armchair. The tips of her green fins brushed the cold polished floor, but she didn’t notice. Instead she hummed a peaceful tune, one of the few melodies she’d learned from others. The Benshira… evoking their music almost brought desert sand and hot winds with it. The Akvatari was hardly affected by wintery cold, but that little melody nevertheless filled her with pleasant warmth.

Slowly it began to change, including lovely and high notes that sounded distinctly female. The shepherd, hero of the well-known ballad, had met with his beloved and they were strolling together between the sheep. For the time being, they were content, but soon the wolves would come and make the shepherd’s blood flow…

[Hirem]

It was a quiet evening, by all accounts.

Hirem had managed to finish his shift at the Rat Hole this afternoon without great incident, finding that the tavern was quite passive in the early winter morning. His walk through the city had been uneventful, his mind reserved and fixated upon issues that, while perplexing him, did not give him great cause for alarm. All around, the city, usually bursting with life, had seemed to withdraw into itself, the shops closing up early, the homes shutting up for the evening. A stillness had taken over the wintry Riverfall, a stillness that had crept into the Benshira's soul and given him some measure of peace. Breathing in the chill winds, Hirem could close his eyes and exhale the burdens of his life, leaving him considerably lightened. The disquiet that had raged throughout the spring and summer was gone, replaced with... the echo, perhaps, of something long lost. He was not unhappy, by any means, but neither was he entirely satisfied. Something halfway between a scar and a ghost was living inside of his skin, allowing him to live in comfort, but with the nagging sensation that something was amiss.

This discontentment did not give Hirem a reason to stray from his course. After returning to his room to change his clothes briefly and wash off the grime of the Rat Hole, the Benshira left the Kulkukan tavern and head up to the second tier of Riverfall, bound for the most welcoming home he had discovered in the city: Alements. The walk was short but brisk, and by the time he reached the front door of the tavern, his shoulders were quaking from the chill. Yet he was warmed considerably by the familiar music of the tavern that greeted him as he approached, the soft din of friends speaking and dinners being shared in welcome company. The Benshira was able to close his eyes and smile, drinking in the pleasant atmosphere that radiated from Alements, being whisked away to far off place where the sands blowed freely in the wind and the shepherds...

Where the shepherds...

Hirem stopped. Where the shepherds meet with their beloved between the herds, his kisses soft as a lamb, her eyes bright as Syna herself. There was actual music greeting him from inside the tavern, and what's more... it was music that he recognized! Though no Shiber was accompanying the tune, the melody that was flowing under the door was distinctly Benshira, and whispered the siren song of Yahebah to him. He was struck as keenly as if he had been pierced by a blade, stopping abruptly in the street and letting his mouth hang ajar. There had been Benshira music played before in the Alements, but something about this tune affected him in some queer fashion. Hanging his head, Hirem kept his eyes shut tight and let the unspoken words of the song grow in his heart and spread throughout his veins, blossoming in every corner of his body... and eventually spilling free of his lips. "And see how gold / the sky grows / as blood turns cold / a feast for crows." He sang these words with little power, letting his weak voice get snatched away by the wintry breeze - yet he cared not, and sang because the tune demanded Shiber.

Finally growing strong enough to enter the tavern, the Benshira approached the door, swung it open, and immediately began to search for the singer of this bewitching tune. It did not take long to find the singer, and Hirem gawked at the sight. An Akvatari! He realized in dull surprise, staring with awe at the strange creature that had summoned this familiar tune. The word, Akvatari, had only ever been used once before to his ears, used to describe the strangest of beasts that had entered the Rat Hole one day and then just as swiftly left it. They were incredibly strange to look at, and Hirem had honestly been convinced that it was just some prank played upon him, or some bit of illusory magic... yet here was another example of their kind, with hair of blond and wings of green. Advancing as if in a daze, Hirem approached the woman's armchair, unable to comprehend his rudeness by coming so brazenly and staring at her all the while. Finally, as she neared the end of her tune, the Benshira's voice cracked and wavered until he was joining her in the song, adding his Shiber to her wordless verse. His voice was ill-suited for singing, but he sang nevertheless, ending the song with her on a quiet note.

Once the spell was over, Hirem blinked and realized what he had done. Embarrassed, he took a step back and nodded awkwardly at the Akvatari. "Falim," he finally said, unsure of what to say. "My apologies for intrusion, but your song... it reminded me of a different time. My name is Hirem, and I am pleased to meet you." Figuring that, at this point, he may as well engage the woman he had ogled in conversation, the Benshira shuffled his feet. "So... you have been to Yahebah before?"

[Gwin]

As they were strolling among the sheep, nearing the edge of the herd, another voice joined the song and added a new layer to it. Like an onion, they were two different aspects circling the same core, the same story. When tragedy ensued, Gwin claimed the role of the shepherd’s beloved, a wordless wail, while he rose to overtones of rage. He was fighting the wolves with nothing but a staff and his wits while his sweet lady was watching every move and agonizing over every drop of blood.

Eventually the battle was lost and the lover bent over her hero in the final climax while his voice slowly faded. Eventually she folded hers over his limp body, closing her mouth not long after his. The shepherd had given his all to his love, but they weren’t meant to be happy after all.

The end came, but this time the satisfaction didn’t. The message hidden in so beautiful a ballad didn’t sit well with the Akvatari. Frowning, she tried to identify that feeling. Lack of something, but what?

Then the shepherd’s voice returned. Blinking, Gwin recognized the familiar language, willed herself out of musical fragments and thoughts. He was apologizing… for what? And offering his name. With a thick sigh, Gwin pushed back a few stray locks and groped for words. “I’m Gwin. Don’t worry, you didn’t intrude. I was just stuck in my work and music helps clear the mind… But yes, I visited Yahebah once. The residents were really nice and they taught me some of their music. Did I forget anything about the song?” She took a deep breath, feeling one last echo of sand and dry heat. Her fingers were idly stroking the parchment in front of her.

It was only then that turquoise eyes took in the bulky man, dark visage with bright eyes, broad shoulders, rippling muscles. He seemed out of place, although his built reminded her of the Akalak quite a bit. Yet those eyes and especially his voice could never betray Gwin. Music knew no lies. He’d spoken a different language too. “You know the song, right? I don’t understand your language, but I’d love to be able to sing it. Would you teach me the words?”

Biting her lip, she lowered her head. Contrary to her nature, she’d missed the right moment. Too straightforward. Since last season, some of her earlier precision had been lost. She still couldn’t decide if worry was appropriate.

[Hirem]

The Akvatari did not seem to notice his approach and, indeed, was very distracted as he first spoke to her. Her eyes were fixated on a distant plane and the low sigh she gave before talking reminded him of a sigh given after waking from a sweet, sadly short dream. Though the wings and tail was alien to him, the creature's face was still distinctly human, and on that human expression he could spot the signs of enchantment. The same musical spell that had entrapped me also managed to bewitch her... curious. Was she using the music of my people to transport herself elsewhere, as I was? Have I intruded on something more personal than I first imagined? Regardless of why the Akvatari had been singing in the first place, Hirem was not going to regret speaking to her now; a burning curiosity had seized upon him, and he would not rest until it was sated. Taking a seat opposite the woman, the Benshira folded his arms and stared at her from across the table.

Her name is Gwin, he thought as she began to speak, nodding quietly and trying his best to avoid looking astonished at the build of the strange Akvatari. If I just stare into her eyes, I can ignore the wings and tail. Take one glance away, and it's easy to remember that I am not talking to another human. But Hirem sensed - despite what the Benshira commonly believed - that just because this woman wasn't human, didn't mean that she was dangerous. The Akvatari apparently have a reputation for being peaceful, he thought, assuming that what scant talk he had heard of them was true, and this woman's eyes are empty of malice. The eyes are the most direct path one can take to another's heart, and if her gaze is currently unguarded... then she is at more danger from me than I am from her.

Besides, even though her form was strange to him, the words that spilled out of her mouth were no more odd than any other snippets of Common Hirem heard on a daily basis. "I was just stuck in my work and music helps clear the mind…" Gwin said, and the Benshira glanced down at the parchment in front of her. A songwriter! He decided, smiling at the thought. I see that I am not speaking to just any pretty singer, but one that has focused their mind upon music itself. Among the Benshira, music was as common to the shepherd as his own flock, and so Hirem had been quite surprised to arrive in Riverfall to discover that the northerners had professions dedicated to songs and the creation of them. But he didn't need to explain this to Gwin, for clearly the Akvatari was familiar with life in Yahebah. "Did I forget anything about the song?” She asked, and Hirem quickly shook his head. "I did not hear all of it, but from what I could tell, you sang the ballad quite well. From the door, it was difficult to tell if there was a Benshira matron inside the tavern or not." That said, it had been a very long time since Hirem had spent any quality time at a Masha, too long for him to truly comprehend the difference. Gwin's song may have just been a poor imitation for all that he was aware, for even a fading shadow was enough to point him back in the direction of his home.

And then Gwin asked him a question that took him by surprise: "Would you teach me the words?"

Hirem's first instinct was to turn down the offer, for of course he was no authority on the subject. But it was not his way to refuse help when he had a chance of providing it, and it wasn't like Gwin was asking him to perform any serious task. Just a song, he reassured himself, trying to push the thought from his mind that it was a song from a culture that exiled him. "It has been a long time since I've sung the full ballad, but I - I shall do what I can," he exclaimed, nodding quietly and clasping his hands together. His bright eyes shut, trying to dispel the noisy tavern all around. In the darkness of his mind, Hirem attempted to conjure a fire, sparking brightly underneath the desert sky, casting a warm glow onto the tanned faces that gathered around it. Dancing feet paced about in the sand around the fire, coloured scarves whirling through the air like the winds of a storm. A low hum began, echoing from every voice, building with volume and accentuated with claps and stomps of the feet. Finally a hush conquered all, as a brave, smiling woman picked herself up and began to sing. Frowning, Hirem then opened his eyes and did his best to translate the words as they were repeated by the woman of his memories.

"Oh Eyktol sweet / and desert wide / with burning heat / and rippling seas!
Across the dunes / we bend our heads / and hum the tunes / of those before!
Come with us now / and share the fire / wipe clean your brow / and hear our song!
The song of love / and the song of despair / of Dimah the dove / and her shepherd fair!

The winding sea / of twisting sand / conquers all / in the Burning Land!
The shepherd young / guides his flock / and on his tongue / a budding love!
Love and care / for home and god / but none compare / to the girl Dimah.
Dimah the girl / for whom he lives / the desert pearl / the queen of queens!

She goes to him / among the sheep / her basket's brim / with sweet orange!
He feels his heart / start and stop / they have lived apart / but now they are not!
But could they be / united in harmony / with her a dove / and him below, staring above?
Doubt plagues him / and his hand fails him / and his heart conquers him / and his eyes betray him!

But wait! / They cannot be / For wolves unseen / creep near!
And look! / the first lamb slain / its cry of pain / echoing far!
He stirs! / And grabs his staff / Dimah torn in half / oh how she weeps!
A bite! / More blood is spilt / pouring onto silt / oh how Dimah cries!
And stop! / The shepherd falls / and the wolves' calls / grow faint!

Trembling / Dimah joins him / tears falling freely / on the boy so grim.
Shuddering / his hand grazes / her cheek so pure / and her beauty he finally praises.
Dying / the shepherd grows faint / his soul flying / free of mortal constraint.
Quiet / Dimah holds him / the love of her life / finally grown dim.

And see how gold / the sky grows / as blood turns cold / a feast for crows.

And see how gold / the sky grows / as blood turns cold / a feast for crows."

When Hirem was finally finished translating, he took a deep breath and quietly nodded. "At least, that's how I believe it goes," he murmured, his voice seemingly numb in the aftermath of the quiet song. For the Benshira did not just recite it - as he repeated more and more of the words, his rusty, croaking voice shed its age and, for a brief chime, sang as if he were a younger, healthier man. He sang, not loudly, but earnestly, his voice trembling with the emotion of the piece and sharing in the tragedy that all Benshira knew of and rejoiced in. And when it was all over... Hirem looked to Gwin sadly and wondered what she thought of the full, translated ballad.

[Gwin]

Gwin gave a long exhale, clearly relieved at his compliment. With some of her precision lost, she couldn’t help but feel she was forgetting music too. It was an unsettling feeling, one that kept her at edge and compelled her to work on her music with more vigor than ever. These days, she was hardly doing anything else. Talking to a stranger felt refreshing, revisiting a culture she’d once explored even more so. Their ballads had stayed with her at least.

She smiled, a little delayed, but honest and full of gratitude. When they moved on to the lyrics, the smile faded and was instead replaced by an eager light in pale eyes which spoke of her love for learning, memorizing and reproducing. Of course, the rhythm and melody were her specialty, but the lyrics were as much part of a song as a steady beat. Even poetry was paced, after all. So when the Benshira agreed to try, she nodded and closed her eyes. For the first time, Gwin tried to memorize the words through conscious effort.

They weren’t only words though… Even before he slipped into song, there was melody in their sounds, the way he paused between lines, how they connected to form meaning. They melted on her tongue as Gwin mouthed them as his echo. Once again she experienced the hot and dry winds tormenting the land, rough cries of pain and horror, the bittersweet taste of blood and then tears.

It didn’t last long though. All that lingered was a sad smile on the Akvatari’s lips, sadness for the lovers mixed with delight at the Benshira’s unpolished voice. Just a few words burned away the rust and left it smooth as honey… the beauty of music. “Thank you,” she said after he’d finished.

Then she shook her head lightly, a ripple of golden locks, before clearing her throat. “Would you sing it again in your language?” Without hesitation, she reached down towards the inconspicuous black case resting towards the armchair. Upon opening it, a violin of pale wood was revealed to the light and taken out of its bed. She didn’t have to tune it… instead she merely raised it to her shoulder and connected the bow with the strings.

Like that, the song began again, only stronger and sadder with the lament of the violin. Once her companion started, Gwin would join with her own light voice, singing the words that he’d taught her. She wanted to learn the original sounds, but she also wanted to sing instead of merely reciting. Unsurprisingly, other patrons were taking notice, heads were raised.

[Hirem]

Hirem felt... strange.

Of course, he felt emotional in the aftermath of the song. Who wouldn't? It was a beloved song of his people, one that he had heard a hundred times before at a hundred different campfires, and one that echoed in his mind just as keenly as the words of Yahal himself. To sing Dimah's Lament was to experience a Benshira Masha in the deepening evening hours, when the sun had long faded the sky and shadows on the horizon grew sinister. More than that, the song itself touched Hirem deeply, speaking to his past with tragedy and forcing him to reflect on those he had lost over the years. Thinking of the young shepherd and the abrupt end to his powerful romance made the man's soul keen. If only Lhex had been just... For years, this song had felt strangely personal when Hirem reflected on it, and while he wasn't able to solve that mystery, he still appreciated its significance to him. But singing the ballad now carried with it an additional burden - it was his connection to a past he was starting to resent. While he would and always remain undeniably Benshira, his history was starting to resemble a noose around his neck, more so every day. In order to truly start a new life in Riverfall, he had to amputate the infected limb that was his past, and if the price was the loss of a few dear songs, then he would gladly pay it. Yet singing the ballad had brought him joy, not pain. Rejoicing in the culture of his people had made him happy, not regretful.

What was the answer? Was he to remain Benshira? Was he to become Hirem and Hirem alone? Could he sever his past while still retaining his connection to Yahebah? And should he even bother? Would trying to act like a Benshira force him down the same roads, over and over again, chaining him to routine and preventing him from growing as a -

"Would you sing it again in your language?”

Hirem blinked. "What?"

And, just like that, there was music.

Beautiful music, played with some talent by the artist that sat opposite him. The strings of the black violin began a sad procession of notes that marched directly through Hirem's ear and ventured out the other, captivating him from the first. He was so entranced that he did not realize that Gwin was expecting him to sing, and by the time his first words were due, the Benshira was staring cluelessly at the musician. Finally, he understood the task ahead of him, and clumsily began to sing the first words a few notes too late. "Oh Eyktol sweet! And desert wide!" He was very much aware that his voice, caught off-guard as he was, sounded more like a bleating goat than a triumphant singer. His cheeks burning with embarrassment, Hirem glanced in either direction and realized that the patrons of the tavern were staring at him now. Like it or not, he was a part of Gwin's act. Oh gods be good, strike me down now. I would surrender my soul to unholy Rhysol to be free of this debacle. He wanted to sink into his chair and slip underneath the table, continuing to melt until he was nothing more than a puddle on the floor. But Gwin seemed to be counting on him, closing her eyes and preparing to sing the verses alongside him. And, of course, Dimah's Lament could not be sung with a female voice alone. A man needed to be accompanying her.

Well, hik.

"Come with us now, and share the fire!" Hirem continued, picking up in volume and trying to smooth out the nervousness of his voice. Wipe clean your brow, and hear our song!"" Realizing that he was still seated across from Gwin, the man awkwardly pushed himself to his feet and turned to face the tavern floor. Caelum will never let me forget this, Hirem thought, clenching his hands into fists at his side. At least they won't understand my Shiber. Taking a deep breath, figuring that he may as well pour his soul into this song if he had no skill to perform with finesse, the Benshira bowed his head. "The song of love, and the song of despair... of Dimah the dove, and her shepherd fair!" Glancing at the faces that stared at him, he noted that many were laughing or smiling... but others yet seemed intrigued, and were leaning in close to hear the foreign ballad. I shall sing for them, Hirem thought, straightening his back and delivering the next verse with more authority. His mind returned back to a happier, simpler time, and tried to recall every single singing lesson he had ever managed to pick up. And, slowly, as the song wore on, he began to build up more confidence and the song improved drastically as a result. What began as nervous stuttering developed into a low but smooth transition from note to note, like a bird taking wing for the first time. He leaned on Gwin's delivery when she added her voice to his for the third verse, but also made an effort to stand out on his own.

And by the time the last lines were being delivered, as his own baritone was slowly dying out and leaving her voice alone to carry the tune, Hirem felt gladdened. He felt gladdened because he had sung, not because he sung well. The end of the song saw a great relief rise in his chest, filling his head with a dizzy lightness. I did it, he kept thinking to himself in the silence that followed after their performance. I did it. It was no display of talent on his part, but something about the ballad - and the way his voice had moulded to deliver it - felt right. He was so struck by this emotion that he barely registered the strangeness of having done all this standing next to a strange winged woman with a tail. When Gwin was done with her violin, Hirem abruptly sat back down in his seat, breathing deeply. "That was... amazing. I understand why you might be drawn to this life."

[Gwin]

He didn’t take her cue, but Gwin knew her music. She gave him more time by repeating the tact he’d missed. Fortunately he joined, a little late, a little rusty, but he sang and his voice warmed with every syllable. They had the guests’ attention now. When Gwin started weaving her voice into his, the music didn’t only connect the two singers, but the entire space they were filling with their song.

As Gwin looked up to meet the gazes of spectators, unusual for the Akvatari, she also noticed the color in his cheeks. A fleeting smile lit up her features before she closed the big circle by returning to the violin.

They undoubtedly had an audience, but the musician herself saw things differently than those who were offering their attention. While she had faith in her violin, Gwin’s voice was raw talent at best. Since she tended to focus on the violin, the dance of fingers between wood and strings, she hardly ever sang. Benshira music, however, almost always included song. So Gwin knew her song wasn’t the best, but throwing her voice out into the air still felt good. Liberating. She was part of everything.

Of course, she couldn’t pronounce his Shiber, so she sang the words he’d told her in Common. Their rhythm was a little off and her soprano wasn’t quite in tune with the Benshira’s baritone, but that subtle discord added depth to the ballad somehow.

By the last line, she had embraced the music completely. The sadness of loss and the melancholy of death was enough to make her forget all the little details that could be improved. Technique. Pacing. Understanding one another to work together seamlessly.

Eventually her bow stilled and the violin sank into her lap. Looking up, Gwin observed how the Benshira relaxed into his seat and met her gaze. She shook her head lightly, both to get rid of the echo and deny his assumption. “I’m not drawn to it. I never considered other paths. The music has found me early and won’t let me go anymore. Tell me, do you understand what I mean?”

Tilting her head, Gwin wondered. What had moved the Benshira to follow her music into the bar? What was he looking for… and what lay in his past? She took a sip of the tea which had grown cold.

[Hirem]

If someone had asked him before tonight to stand up and start singing in a crowded tavern, Hirem would have immediately declined. The idea was pure folly; he had no real skill singing, held disdain for public spectacles, and would have probably just made an ass out of himself. If someone asked him now to do the same, he still would have answered no, for his breathing was shallow, his nerves were disquiet, and he was pretty sure he was being joked about in the back corner of the tavern. Yet... though Hirem felt embarrassed about his own lack of skill with the art, there was an electricity within him that made his cheeks flush and his hands shake with excitement. Singing in public was scary, yes, but it was also exhilarating, making Hirem's heart flutter with nervous, intense energy. The fact that it had gone well - better than could ever be expected, really - helped to ease his fears that the Alements would forever remember him as "the singing, stumbling Benshira". Of course, the reason that it went well is because I had an artist like Gwin providing the foundation for the song. He was already finding that the wings and tail were easier to process now that he had gotten a chance to experience the woman's daring personality, and soon found that his eye no longer begged to stare at them. It was a small victory, but a victory.

"The music has found me early and won’t let me go anymore." Gwin said in response to his question. Hirem found it very easy to understand this sentiment, his head nodding as he reclined in his seat. Ah, but I know very well the stranglehold a greater power can exact upon your life. Once it has wrapped its claws around you, you are unable to escape... and nor do you wish to escape, lest you miss your chance to rise to greatness. For her, it was music, for me, glory, but the stories are very similar. Rather than answer her question directly, Hirem folded his arms and bowed his chin, the expression on his face puzzled as he considered what to say. There was something about this Akvatari - earnest and kind, understanding to a fault - that made him want to speak openly about his journey to this point, but his better judgement rejected that idea. This woman has summoned a piece of my past tonight and caused me to echo it with my own voice. Why should she deserve more of my history? And of course, it was impossible to discuss his understanding of her bewitchment without bringing up some painful parts of his life.

Finally, taking a deep breath, the Benshira began to speak. "When I was much younger, I lived in Yahebah with my parents and studied at the Seat of the Sons, an academy in the city. The Seat of the Sons is meant to inform the young about where they might fit in our society, but I found that nothing appealed to me especially. Then one day, as if in a dream, I grew convinced that my god, Yahal, had summoned me for some unknown task. 'My purpose is in the desert,' I thought, abandoning my home and family. For the next three years I wandered, a young man alone in the world, convinced of my importance within the scheme of things. This, ah... well, it cost me dearly. And, you know, it wasn't a great thing that drove me out into the desert. My god did not assign me a grand quest and ask that I give up everything to fulfill it. He merely whispered, and I ran out to meet him, on faith alone. That faith is what bound me." He shook his head and leaned forward, placing his hands firmly onto his knees. "Know that I do not think that you are a fool. Indeed, you seem to have a much better head on your shoulders than I nine years ago. But take care that your music does not overwhelm your senses, and lead you to abandon that which makes you happy for some dream of enlightenment. Do not make the same mistake I did, and sacrifice everything for an ideal."

"But it is a beautiful thing, to lose oneself to music." Smiling, Hirem shied away from looking at her and glanced around the tavern. "When I heard you at the door, I felt... summoned, in the much same way Yahal once called me. It was if a ghost was calling to me, and I must do my best to answer it. Truth be told, ever since coming to this city, I have been searching for a purpose, much like I once searched for a purpose in Yahebah. A few vocations have been offered to me, but I - I am not sure. I feel lost, at times," he confessed, scratching at the back of his neck. "You must never feel lost," he then said to Gwin, his eyes soft, "with that violin in your hands. Your path must be neat and orderly, like notes on a music sheet."

[Gwin]

Gwin sipped more tea, ignoring its cold sting on her teeth, and listened to his words with interest. Her turquoise eyes never left him, didn’t stray and didn’t flicker. Perhaps he’d provide material for a different kind of ballad, one about faith and the light of hope that resists even the strongest desert wind. His tale of undying belief astonished and bewildered her, although her features betrayed those feelings.

When he claimed to understand her, she nodded. His honesty was appreciated. Coming from a man whose name she didn’t know, whom she’d never seen before, it was more than she could’ve hoped for. Still, they had shared music. That gave him permission to offer advice.

Pressing her lips together, she heard him out, although every fiber of her being protested at the notion of dangers in music. Music, her life elixir, the sole reason of her existence, the one thing which kept her in one piece, consoled and drove her, dangerous? What would she be without her violin, her voice and the melody in her head? She would stop being Gwinquietruos, daughter of Ledosioum, and become nothing. While she listened to the Benshira’s words, she could only dismiss their meaning.

When he finished, her grip around the violin tightened. “But music is the one thing that makes me happy. How could I think it dangerous? How could I stay away? I’d perish if I didn’t have it anymore.” Taking a deep breath, she stroked the strings. Calm down. The Benshira wasn’t like her and wouldn’t know what an Akvatari felt. They were more than their wings and furry tails, their inner workings separated them forever. Gwin had forgotten for some time, now the difference hit her in the face with brutal cruelty. Of course he wouldn’t understand.

Eventually she laughed, although the next moment she realized how displaced amusement was and stopped. “Forgive me… I didn’t mean to disrespect your views. You’re wrong though, I do feel lost. More often than you would expect. There is music wherever I go, but still… I’m looking for something that is but a dream, a mere idea. I’ve only seen it in my sleep once, but still I can’t stop chasing it.” When she looked up, her eyes were pleading him to understand, to agree that he felt the same.

Didn’t he? The Akvatari gasped for air. “It’s quite desperate sometimes. Still, we can’t just stop wanting. We can only walk forward on this path that was chosen for us.” A certain fatalistic glint in her voice was the reason why she couldn’t have any faith in the divine. Why no words were uttered regarding Yahal. She only shrugged.

[Hirem]

”But music is the one thing that makes me happy,” Gwin protested to him as he offered his warning, obviously distraught at the thought of being separated from her one true passion. ”I’d perish if I didn’t have it anymore,” she said, and for a brief moment, Hirem wondered if that was actually a characteristic of the Akvatari. Do they die if not allowed to pursue their dreams? One moment their heart is beating and all is well in the world, the next their pulse runs cold and they drop to the ground like stones? He immediately dismissed the idea as foolishness, and instead came to appreciate the deep, intense care Gwin had fostered for her craft. I do believe her when it comes to the cost music’s absence will wreak upon her… artists require more than food and drink for nourishment. His mind flickered back to a rumour he had once heard in Ahnatep, about a painter commissioned to portray Pressorah Bashti on her canvas. The painter tried a hundred times to create the image and still could not get it quite to her liking, even after Bashti herself offered to pay for several of the copies. Even after the Pressorah abandoned the project, the painter never let the challenge go, and eventually lost her business after refusing to take up other clients. She ended up starving on the streets with a canvas laid on her lap, a slave to her own ambitions. That is the sort of danger Gwin can fall prey to, he thought, if she does not temper her enthusiasm for music… as well as her pride.

Then, surprisingly, the Akvatari laughed at him, taking Hirem aback. ”I didn’t mean to disrespect your views,” the woman explained, ”You’re wrong though. I do feel lost.” As she spoke more of her ‘dream’, her elusive purpose that she had sensed only in a dream, the Benshira murmured ”Ahhh,” and nodded his head. She is tormented, he realized with a start, wondering why he had not sensed it earlier, plagued by a vision that will not make itself apparent. Glancing down at the parchment Gwin had laid down on the table, he wondered just how many of these unfinished sheets lay behind in the Akvatari’s wake. How many stillborn songs have died on her lips, sacrificed in the name of achieving perfection? And would she not just be happier accepting anything other than total satisfaction, if only to put the matter to rest? No, he answered back, for Gwin would never be happy until the thing that was once only a dream was firmly within her grasp. That was something that he understood intimately. How many leagues did I put behind me in my search for Yahal? How many times might I have just stopped, and found peace in the arms of my kinsmen? But I did not care for what was easy… I wanted to chase what was impossible. In his mind’s eye, he saw Gwin caught in the same trap that had ensnared him, the sandy jaws of the desert snapping shut around her, swallowing her in its belly.

As if to shake away the dream, Hirem reached out and placed his large hand gently on her arm. ”I understand.” His eyes fixed themselves on hers, and in his gaze, Gwin would find the look of a dreamer hurt time and time again by failure. ”I understand,” he said again, quietly. ”You have been given the gift of inspiration, and, like a prophecy coming true, you can see the seeds of your destiny one day flowering into a garden. I know what that looks like. I have seen it myself.” His grip tightened just slightly before he let go, the expression on his face remorseful. ”It is not my place to take you away from that which makes you happy. There’s enough suffering in this world, that you should not also be stripped of your music. All I can ask is that you be aware of its dangers. Your music has power over others - as you’ve seen tonight with myself - and it also has power over you. Take care that you remain the master, and not it. Art is a partnership between the soul and the intangible. You should never feel that you are in not in control over your own actions.”

”A wise woman once told me that instead of asking the question, ‘What do I owe to the gods’, I should ask myself, ‘What needs doing?’” Clasping his hands together, the Benshira sighed. ”Yes, there is a path ahead of you that needs to be walked. But that path is not so narrow as you might think, and how you walk that path is entirely in your control. You are the architect of your own journey, not the music, not the gods, nor anything else.” Words offered to comfort him now flowed from his mouth, as he tried to teach the Akvatari of his perspective. All around, the atmosphere of the Alements had grown quieter, softer, more intimate. Shadows blossomed n the far corners of the room, and the night was slowly darkening. ”You have given me the gift of my past, Gwin - offered to me a memory of a happier time, lived by a happier me. What I can offer is the same: the lessons of my past. I have walked the road that you walked, lived as a dreamchaser when other, easier roads were available to me. Had I reached that vision I sought, perhaps I might be telling you something different… but that doesn’t matter now. Beware your passions, Gwin, for they burn brighter than any mortal soul can withstand.”