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by Jewel
Rated: ASR · Fiction · Mythology · #693613
An immortal's power of merging saves a child.
Note: Based on the prologue of a book I wrote


In the chill of a sudden wind and the mist of a darkening cloud, there was a small clear voice.

A woman under a large tree was giving birth to a child. Her screams pierced the air, but she was not the one that had called me. It was the child within her – the infant trying to be born. I could feel its’ pain and fear. It knew nothing, but, nevertheless, sensed that something must be made right in order for it to continue. Kneeling on the ground, I touched the woman’s belly and found the spirit of the child.

Images from his mind poured into mine in waves, one overlapping the next – emotions without context, feelings without substance. I felt his hurt. I could see the chord around his neck. He was choking, and I knew I had to act. I pushed my spirit into his and we were one.

We moved together dancing to the loud drumbeat of his mother’s heart in the warm waters of the small space. The sounds of mother’s body echoed around us as our body slowly turned, and the chord unraveled. Our feet faced upward, our head was poised against a small opening and the hurt was gone.

My job was done and I left my small companion to fight and push himself towards the light, returning to my deep meditative state. I do this to shut out the voices. To hear them all at once is more than I can bear, but I can never shut them all out. A voice always penetrates my shield, and I answer it’s call and do what I can.

Perhaps it is me that calls out to them, because my power, my curse, my blessing is what I am.
© Copyright 2003 Jewel (qjotp at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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