written by: Fantom Fox for Aethyn

Nighttime. The waning moon was low on the horizon, late in its cycle. The night was growing old, but the feeling of dawn seemed so far off.

Inside his workshop, surrounded by the most fragile and sun-sensitive plants, Vanye sat at a bench, leaning heavily on the table. His elbows on the table holding up his head in his palms, he was deep in thought. He had not been out this night, not for worship or any other reason. Since sunset, he had been hidden away in this place, and no one had sought him out. Vanye might even had hid if they did. It was nice to be forgotten sometimes.

Slowly, his head slipped down until his arms folded and he laid his face encircled in them. Tonight was getting bad. He did not know what caused him to be like this. Everyday in total dedication, Vanye pushed back these thoughts. But recently, it was not enough to completely immerse himself in the Temple life he loved so well.

He had told the Ahnte of his sister, something he had never told anyone at the Temple. Ever since coming to Aethyn, Vanye had never talked about the outside world other than the origins of the plants. Especially, he had never talked about his past. It was something that was behind him, but at the same time, he was reminded every single day why he was here.

It was all so different then. The Vanye that had grown up in that valley was not the person the Temple knew and loved. They would be surprised to see....

~~~eleven years earlier~~~

“Vanye!”

The staff swished through the constant breeze, knocking down an unseen attacker. A flash of blue then soared the other direction, stopping an invisible dagger thrown by an enemy. Nearly as quick as the imperceptible assailant, the staff came down in a blur to maybe crack a bone.

“Vanye! Get in here, boy!”

Concentration broken, one end of the staff hit the ground with a solid clunk. The auburn-haired boy holding it set annoyed pale green eyes in the direction of the door leading to the window-less kitchen. He shook his head angrily but started walking in that direction slowly.

“And leave that dumb stick outside!”

He flinched but did indeed drop the staff. It hit the ground with a resounding smack, a sound he knew his mother hated. Vanye flinched again. He knew he was going to get it now. Dragging his feet, head walked slowly through the door, head bowed, ready to be scolded.

A giggle caused his head to shoot back up, eyes alert. Sitting at the small table was a beautiful blond girl, excuse me, young woman. A weight slid into Vanye’s chest. She was his mother’s sister’s youngest daughter, his cousin. Also, distressingly enough, she was also his betrothed. Nearly five years older than him, Melde had grown up as one of the most beautiful in the village. The same could be said of Vanye, and their sister-parents were very excited, eager for the boy to mature enough for the ceremony. The children’s coupling had been planned nearly since Vanye’s birth.

Vanye could not repress a scowl at the sight of the girl, who giggled more at the look. In return, hidden from her aunt, she returned a haughty smile. Vanye looked away and toed the floor, growing furious now at the presence of the girl. He knew better than to ask what she was doing here. His mother would send him into the dry well again. Surrounded by darkness and stale heat, it was a place he hated most of all. So Vanye kept his mouth shut, raising his eyes to his mother who was turned away peeling vegetables.

His mother looked a little cross and was taking it out on the potato in her hand. Her voice was rough and snappish, intent on taking her frustration out on her son now that she did not have to yell for him. “How many times have I told you to leave that stupid stick alone? Especially when you should be in here with Melde.” The knife nearly nicked her finger as she sliced off a potato eye. “You must have done something wrong to the garden again, boy. These potatoes are full of eyes and knots, not smooth like the ones Melde brought over.”

This caused the scowl to grow on his face, turning an angry look to the blond. She knew how much Vanye prided his own garden and took every opportunity to rub that pride in the dirt. Vanye cleared his throat, a dry sound, and offered quietly, “I think they should taste better this way, even if their outsides aren’t perfect.”

This earned him a very angry glance from his mother and another bright smile from the girl. Vanye sighed and stared at the ground.

“Vanye, go out and look for your sister. I haven’t seen Estel since right after breakfast. You two are usually inseparable.” There was a quiet tone to his mother’s voice that hadn’t been there before. “Tell her that dinner will be ready soon, quicker if she shows back up to help.”

Vanye nodded.

“And, Melde,” also as an afterthought, “go fetch some water so I can boil these.”

The blond looked incredulous and about to protest, but Vanye’s mother just waved them both off. End of discussion. The girl stood and stormed out after Vanye

Once outside, they walked alongside each other as they crossed the yard. The blue staff still laid where it was dropped. Melde kicked it as she walked by.

Vanye scowled. “Hey!”

In a quick movement, the girl turned and slapped him... hard. She was fuming. “It’s all your fault you know! Your mother has a hard enough time, and you never give her any help or any support. You can’t even grow a decent potato.”

Vanye grinned, despite the reddening cheek. “You just don’t want to fetch water.”

The boy ducked and ran before she could hit him again, disappearing into the thick green that grew all around their village. Plants tall, high over his head, quickly concealed him, pressing in from all sides. It was no so much a forest. The plants here were all softer, less woody, more pure green. Whenever he as here, Vanye’s eyes shone like new leaves in the noon sun. (He knew that his potatoes were perfect.) Among the plants, he felt more at home than in the small dwelling he shared with his mother and sister. His father had long passed away, fourteen years at the turn of the season, and his elder brother hadn’t been seen for almost that long. The brother had been disgraced somehow and was forced to leave the valley, but Vanye had been so young he did not even remember his face, let alone the reasons why he left. No one ever talked about it, so Vanye had sense enough not to ask.

This place, this village created many, many years ago by a nomadic tribe, was hidden deep in a valley between sharp mountains on all sides, rolling hills covered in green marking the edges of safety. A constant breeze filled the valley, sometimes gusting strong enough to lift a grown man off his feet. It wasn’t so much isolated as it was merely hidden. They never had many travelers from the outside world, unless someone came specifically to see the vegetation, medicine men and scholars and the like.

As Vanye came closer to a certain concealed clearing that only he and his sister knew about, he began to hear voices. No, not voices. Cries?

He slowed down, taking more careful steps. He knew every plant in this place, so he knew just where to step to not make a sound. Slowly, silently, Vanye made his way closer to the clearing. The sun was setting over the mountains, casting great shadows through the tall foliage onto the soft moss of the ground. He found a break in green to peer into the last of the sun-drenched clearing. His eyes went wide, and he was planted to the spot.

In their society, every child learned early about sex. There was no secret about the relations between a man and a woman that a boy or girl did not know by the time they were aged seven years. But knowing and seeing and participating were entirely different matters. Vanye could not take his eyes off what he saw there in the clearing.

There was a man, maybe thirty years old, black hair down his back in a thick braid, arms tight and muscular... completely naked on top of a mewling girl. Vanye could see his and her clothes scattered about on the moss. He had never seen sex before, only heard about it. Something inside him wanted to stay and watch, to see how it was than a man and a woman came together, to smell the scents and feel the heat.... But something pulled him out of this thought.... He recognized a sash laying on the ground. It was the same color blue as his staff, Estel’s favorite color. Vanye slid over until he could see who it was the man was with. He could not repress a gasp when he recognized identical auburn hair spread messily over the moss. A breeze through the leaves took away the sound of the gasp.

The man’s eyes lazily, half-lidded, scanned the line of green around them, watchful even in the throws of passion. His breath was heavy and ragged. Estel cried out in pleasure under him. Vanye could not tear his eyes away. An anger and a fear like he had never know welled up inside of him. He leaned forward absently... and a small stick snapped.

There was no warning. That one small sound brought the man’s full attention, eyes seeing the intruder. In a blur of motion that Vanye couldn’t follow, something shot from the man’s fingertips and seared through Vanye’s shoulder. The pain was more than he had ever experienced, and immediately his vision began to cloud. He heard a scream and knew it was his sister.... The world went black.

Vanye’s mother was fussing over him, bandaging the wound on his arm. For the hundredth time, she asked how he managed to get such a deep cut in such a place.

“I told you, mother. I slipped and ran into a sharp branch. You know, those shrubs with the thorns?”

Of course, she didn’t believe him. Nor did she really have any reason to. No plant has ever hurt her son, indeed they had always seemed to help him. Both children told her the plants could speak and feel and had loyalties to those who were good to them. As a good mother, forgetting her anger from earlier, she fussed over her son, mourning his injury.

She raised her head and spoke to Vanye, “It is a good thing a priest came upon you. Did you thank him?”

Vanye’s eyes met the man’s coldly. The man had carried him back home after nursing the wound carefully... removing the poison that his dart had caused to spread through the boy’s body... followed worriedly by Estel. The story they told everyone was that Vanye had found his sister but then slipped and hurt himself. The man, who said he used to practice medicine as a priest, came upon them and held the unfortunate siblings home. Vanye’s gaze was still dark, scowling at the man, his mind still fresh with the scene he stumbled upon. Ever since he had regained consciousness, the look on the boy’s face had never changed. He was suspicious and angry, and his mind swirled with a million different thoughts.

He was not paying attention to anything other than the man and only heard the end of what his mother had been saying, “--came at a good time, sir. My dearest children are about to age another year. Tomorrow actually. Vanye will be fifteen, and Estel will be fourteen. We would be honored if you would join us for the celebration tomorrow. We do not have much to offer you, but if you would stay...?”

Join us? Stay? Vanye almost turned to look incredulously at his mother at those words, an action that would have put a lot of strain on their lie. As intrigued by the man as he admittedly was, Vanye did not want the man staying with them, especially now that his sister was turning a marrying age.

The man smiled sweetly. “I would love to. Thank you very much for your hospitality.”

that night~

Vanye had been having the most awful time falling asleep. He had been awake most of the night already, plagued by this thought or the other. Finally, he stole out of the room, past his sleeping sister and mother, to sit in the doorway leading out of the kitchen. He plopped to the ground, kneeling, and began staring up at the waning moon above him. It was only a few days since the full moon, and the great circle had only a small sliver taken from it. Vanye began to lightly sing a song about Rana, the woman of the moon. His voice was clear and sweet, but he never sang for anyone but himself and the moon above. Its silver light and the lure of solitude was the only thing that ever inspired him to song.

A heavy hand clamped tightly over his mouth, and it was all Vanye could do not to scream. His eyes darted back and forth, but he was too startled to struggle. A heat pressed in behind him. All at once Vanye recognized the scent of the man whousedtobeapriest. His eyes widened. The man leaned in close, whispering something in his ear. Vanye would never remember just what was said, but he nodded, and his world began to grow fuzzy.

The next few hours were a blur of moss green, silver light, rough heat, and a feeling unlike anything Vanye had ever known, the pleasure and the pain. Yes, there was pain. He man filled him many times, in many ways the boy had never even thought of. Vanye’s whole body cried out at the overload of sensation. There was a bitter smell from a paste the man smeared on his chest and a sweet smell from a bottle of oil the man produced. The man liked to grab a handful of Vanye’s hair close to the scalp and tighten his fist. It scared the boy at first, but after a time, he grew to like the feel of it. It was dizzying, and Vanye did not want it to stop.

The next morning found Vanye very tired... and very sore. The celebration of the siblings’ births went well and continued until last light. Half of the village showed up. Everyone admitted that the potatoes were perfect, even Melde’s mother.

But Vanye did not have time to be proud about his vegetables, nor happy about the celebration, nor hardly anything else. His mind was racing, spinning with everything that had happened over the last two days. His sister laughed, his mother worried, his cousin scowled at him, his aunt bragged... all was how it had always been. Only Vanye felt different. The man kept a careful eye on the boy, making sure he did not say anything about what had happened between them. But the man needn’t worry. Vanye had grown unusually quiet, disappearing into the swirls of his own thoughts.

At nearly sunset, Vanye went up to the man. His voice was low and quiet and serious as he sought out the man’s dark eyes. “Tell me about when you were a priest....”

They spent several hours just talking. Whenever Vanye asked a question, which was frequently, he ended up blushing at the man’s response, referencing to something they had done the night before. Vanye asked often about the gardens at the Temple, imaging their beauty for himself. The man laughed heartily at the boy’s inquisitiveness, but warned him to be very careful. Apparently, he could see young Vanye’s train of thought.

By midnight, Vanye had made his decision. He made the announcement in front of his mother, sister, cousin and aunt with the former priest sitting on the other side of the room, listening quietly.

“I would like to pursue Aethyn.”

He said it with such seriousness that no one would deny him. Vanye had obviously made up his mind and would not be talked out of it. Much discussion followed. Melde’s mother was not happy, but would not deny her nephew anything he clearly wanted with a terrible passion. Melde didn’t say anything. She just stared at her hands in silence. Estel smiled at him and gave him only encouragement. His mother had the most interesting thing to say on the matter. She told him the reason that his elder brother left the village and never returned for shame. He had also wanted to become a priest at Aethyn, leaving one night with barely a note to say where he had gone. He was sixteen. No one knew the circumstances of it, but the brother did not get accepted to stay at Aethyn. Word returned to his family quickly after the decision had been made. There was no reason stated why, just that he could not stay at the Temple. The boy never returned home.

Vanye could only stare. His brother had tried and failed... why? And what happened that he could not return home? There was a lump in Vanye’s throat, but he had made up his mind. The next morning he and the man would leave.

That night again, Vanye could not sleep. But he had a long journey ahead of him, so he stayed in bed and tried in vain to sleep. He jumped at a light touch on his back, somehow fearing it was the man again. He was too tired and too anxious for any of that again tonight.

It was Estel.

She curled up next to him, wrapping her arms around him, thanking him for always taking such good care of her. Vanye could feel tears in his eyes as he hugged her close. He wished he could take her with him, but no girls of her age were allowed. She said she understood, her own voice close to tears.

They made a promise that night. Both would let their hair grow and never cut it. If Vanye was ever allowed out of the Temple again (the man had mentioned something about a Journey), they would meet as soon as possible, no matter what their situations were. Vanye would cut his hair then and give it to her, a symbol of their unity. They were like twins, feeling each other like they felt their plants. They both fell into a deep sleep, clutching each other, both worried they would never see the other again.

When morning came, the man told Vanye to dress for travel (for the road was long and hard) and to take only what he needed. Vanye dug up a small plant from his garden, young enough that it barely showed one leaf above the surface of the soil, and placed it in a bowl his sister made. This was all he took with him. The plants along the path would help them, Vanye promised.

And with that, they set off.

After a week’s worth of traveling, the man finally stopped and pointed along a path.

“I can go no farther, for I have no intentions to return to that place.” At Vanye’s distraught look, he continued. “That is why I always told you that I ‘used to be’ a priest. I did not mean to deceive you.”

Vanye said he understood, tears threatening hi eyes again, and asked directions for the rest of the way. The man smiled sadly and placed one hand on Vanye’s head, tussling his hair a little.

“I knew your brother. We were apprentices at the same time.” Vanye stared at him disbelieving. “That’s how I knew where you were, -who- you were.... Life is so different at Aethyn. Before you continue, be sure that you know this. You told me your heart called to go there. The gods pushed you to that call. But there is no shame in turning back now.” Vanye shook his head. “Okay then.... Be stronger than your brother. Travel well. Make the gardens of Aethyn more beautiful than They have seen in many seasons past.”

They parted.

While he was still an apprentice, Vanye received word that the man had died. There was little time to mourn his passing. It was a matter Vanye kept very secret, so he did nothing to draw attention to the feelings in his heart.

~~~now~~~

Vanye raised his head. He must have fallen asleep here. Surely Elder Caidon would be angry at him for being outside not for worship, and surely more for sleeping out here. He cursed softly, something he had not done since he was young in his own village, then immediately offered a prayer of apology. There were just too many unusual feelings going through him right now. His prayers grew in sincerity and in true supplication, in true sadness. Vanye knew his place was here, but more and more often his mind wandered back to the valley where he grew up.

It was doubtful that anyone would seek him out in his chambers this night anyway, so he would spent the rest of the night well into the morning in this place. Perhaps he could sneak back to his furs in the daytime, but such a thing would surely arouse suspicion. Vanye was truly at the point of not caring what anyone else thought.

He rose from the bench and walked over to the grape vine that grew along side the workshop. Stroking the leaves softly, caressing them, he began to sing softly in the tongue of the valley.

A breeze blew, bringing in all the scents from the garden. Vanye’s hair was still loosed around him, moving heavily in the wind. A single tear rolled down his cheek. Tomorrow, the light would take away all these feelings... but for now....