Quiet journey. - Salvation Lost : Sins of Salvation

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TOPIC: Quiet journey.

GuidingLight

Soul Healer

Posts: 4

Date: Dec 1, 2008

Quiet journey.	Permalink Closed

The candlelight flickered softly, creating shadows against the walls. The movements of the flame could have been seen as eerie, a forboding. The shaman who sat before them, however, saw comfort in them. And as her ears could pick up the low, rolling sound of thunder from an approaching storm, they illicited memories from her childhood, memories of the stories passed on to her by her mother, and her mother's mother. They came with great armies, carrying swords, filled with evil intent. Her mother's words echoed as ghostly whispers from the past, dragging her deeper into the memories she needed to find now. Closing her eyes, Temperance fell into that familiar, quiet lull as the warmth of the fire brought back the images of the stormy night. It had been during one of their summers in Ireland, the thunder and lightning whipping with fury across the green isle. She had been only five, and though the night was unremarkable in every other way, in many ways, it held the key to the future for the woman who now sat, cross legged, within her own circle of protection. But the king had been alerted to the betrayal of his most beloved advisor and had sent horses far across the lands, summoning his own armies to war. And as the would-be pretender to the throne approached, the king stood there, willing to fight to the last for his people. Her mother, realizing Temperance had slipped away into sleep, had pulled the blankets over her and tucked her in. And Temperance had been safe and sound, blissfully unaware of what lay in wait in the darkness. Unaware that, though in a different time and a different place, she would be given the power to stand against evil, much like the king of the legends had. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * As she slipped farther into the recesses of her mind, she could feel her limbs relaxing, muscles heavy but calm. And though the candles flickering glow seemed that much farther away, Temperance was sure they still beat strong and true, as they always did. The crystal she wore around her neck seemed to beat with its own energy, pure and light. She recalled more memories to the surface, but these were far less clear than the one she almost always used to sink into that almost meditative state. These weren't meant to be hypnotic, only to brace her for what she was about to do. With a slow exhale that seemed to span a thousand years, Temperance willed her soul free. It was not an easy task .. it never was. The detachment of oneself went against all natural instinct. She had been doing it for years, but it never got easier, never tore at her less. This was why the memories helped her, to keep her grounded and within the right frame of mind. She was in the middle of a memory taking place along the cool waters of the shores of Sorrento. Southern Italy held some of the most breathtaking landscapes and seascapes known to man, and it was in this particular memory, this dreamlike recollection, that her astral self found its way free, free from the confinements of her body. There were times when she would allow herself a moment to adjust, but not tonight. Giving herself over to her mind, the eyes of that spiritual traveller opened to reveal the expanse of Vatican City and outlying Rome before her. Standing on top of St. Peter's basilica, russet colored locks were shaken against her shoulders as golden eyes flashed brilliantly under the light of the moon. Even in her state, she recognized she was not really standing on top of St. Peter's Basilica, or even on the same plane as it was actually located. This was just a starting point, one for her to listen from. And she did. The murmurings were low, soft .. almost indiscernible as her ears reached out to the spirit plane. It was quieter than usual tonight, and that, in itself, was disquieting. And then, like the rustling of leaves in a gentle breeze, the sounds picked up. She had to concentrate on them, pull the sounds from the rest of the silence while maintaining control of her soul. She knew all too well what could happen if she remained in this state for too long a period of time. The rustlings weren't as helpful as she would have liked. But her astral self could see the blurred images walking before her. Refugees. From where, she had no idea. Groups, though. Groups, coming into her city from some place far away. Their motives and intentions remained as unclear as their depictions, visions that quickly faded like sand blowing away in the wind. And though it had been painstaking, separating her soul from her physical self, it snapped back much more quickly, as though someone was yanking it back into her body. The jolt of it had her eyes shooting open, the physical breath knocked out of her as she returned to the present. The space around her was dark, with the flames from the candles all but having burned out. Instinctively, her hand reached up, fingering the crystal at her neck, as she took several deep breaths. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Once she became reoriented with her surroundings, she pushed herself up from her seated position and leaned down, to pick up the used candles. Quietly, her lips prayed the words that allowed the magic of her circle to break again, leaving her within her darkened living room. Breathing a sigh of relief, she noted that nothing had been touched. Nothing was out of place. This time, at least, she could blame her own ineptitude with the spiritual plane on being yanked so aggresively back into her body. It was a spot of frustration for her, but no matter how disappointing it got, she knew she could not afford to let go of her gifts, lest she might really need them. And as she placed the candles back where she kept all of her 'tools of the trade,' so to speak, she had the uneasy feeling that that time could come sooner than she was prepared. Once everything had been put away, she crawled onto her bed, but didn't bother to slide underneath the covers. Instead, she curled up some, and grabbed her sketch pad. She was no artist, not like Picasso or Monet. But she could sketch well enough. And she sketched what she could recall of the images. Without having any idea of what they really meant, if anything, she gave up after several faceless figures had been drawn. Tomorrow, she thought. Tomorrow she would figure out what the experience had meant. Maybe it meant nothing. Maybe it was just another vision of the new Primogen of the city arriving. Maybe it was more, maybe it was less. But one way or another, she would find out. __________________

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