What Lies Beneath

Elody was dead.

Well, no, that was not quite true. In fact, ''Elody'' had died several hundred years ago. She did not remember much of her early life, but she still maintained the basics. In her darkest nights she'd hung onto them desperately, wondering when she would lose them and herself.

Elody had been born near the borders of Khol-Hon, in a land which was not part of it then but would be during Vrasha'a agve. There she lived on a farm with her sisters and her father and mother. Her life was happy enough, though far from perfect. Her family were common and worked the fields. Beauty was not seen as much of an advantage in that life as opposed to an ability to carry heavy burdens or work long hours, and anyway, Elody was not overly beautiful. One could have called her pretty, perhaps. In the right life she might have been graceful but mostly she was too busy working to really pursue beauty as a noble lady might.

She grew to maturity in a small village, where everyone knew each other. At the age of eighteen, she began to entertain suitors for her hand in marriage and it was understood by all that she would soon marry and have children of her own as her family had done for generations.

And then she drowned.

It was a terrible and shocking thing, really. There was nothing particular sinister or dramatic about it. She was not assailed by bandits or murdered by a jilted lover. She had no deadly secret to take with her to her grave. She was simply out one day gathering firewood with her sisters in the great forest which bordered the village. She stopped by a deep pond, or perhaps a small lake. She could never put the exact location together later. At some point she went near the water's edge and tripped.

And that was all it took really. A slip of the foot, a fall against hard rocks, landing face down in the water. Elody drowned in a few inches. A rather embarrassing ****, she would later admit to Vrasha.

And that was where it ended.

Where it should have ended.

But it did not.

Because something about the place held Elody. Her soul left her body, but it did not travel beyond. The water embraced her, and nurtured her. Perhaps once it had been a holy site. Maybe one of Elody's distant ancestors had been a powerful witch, or she was descended from some ancient hero. Maybe she was simply lucky. The one soul out of countless thousands who was in the right place at the right time.

Her body was taken. A funeral was held. There was mourning and crying. Prayers for her soul. But they did not reach it. Those prayers were sent to the sky, to the gods. But Elody was in the forest. Sleeping. Growing. Alive but not alive. Existing but not aware.

Gradually, her soul began to incorporate the world around her. The plants and the animals, the flow of nature. The spirit of the forest itself became known to her and she to it. Gradually over a hundred years the two flowed together. Elody was the forest and the forest was Elody.

And then, a hundred years after her ****, Elody woke up for the first time.

Now, Elody woke up for the second time. And for the second time realised that she should never have woken up at all. She did not know where she was. It was dark, and she couldn't feel her body. The memory of the wizard's power burned through her, agonies untold as her soul was shredded into portions so small that she would never recover. Elody had known defeat. Bitter and total, she had been beaten beyond any hope of recovery. Her final thoughts had been despair and loss.

So why was she thinking now? How was it that there was enough of her left to think? Elody was still broken. Huge parts of her soul had splintered off and were missing. But something was piecing them back together even as she noticed. Gradually, she was becoming more complete. But what would have the power to do that?

She looked around again. She realised she was under the water of the lake and being drawn deeper and deeper. She had jumbled memories. Vrasha swimming, the power of the water overwhelming her. A **** shout with the last of her strength, nothingness. Oblivion had washed over.

And then something else. Light. Warm and gentle had washed over her. It had come from the centre of the lake and even as she looked down towards it, Vrasha saw the Heart of Gelmina pulsing with a soft inner light.

And as she watched it, it watched her.

And spoke.

This is not your grave, little spirit. This is my resting place. But if you insist, there is room for two.