Island of Adnia: Origins

CHAPTER V – SIDE B: THE HAUNTED SWAMP (4)

CHAPTER V – SIDE B: THE HAUNTED SWAMP (4)      

And between the dark passages upon the road of solitude, side to the resolution of a parallel uproar, the gods met again at the end of their roads. Their paths crossed, and coincided in the same demise. They looked at each other, as their eyes spoke for themselves. They both knew their journey shall follow as thick blood.

 In front of them, a round wooden door prone suspicious; a mysterious gateway, that longed for the depth of the swamp; treasured to a special place.

"Why do I always have to move forward with you?!" exclaims Amisret.

"Silence, rebel," answers Arac, “we are about to enter the hidden native; the garden of mysteries.”

The god of plasma opened the small door, and their dimensions immediately inversed. They entered a vast, colorful place. Marvelous, and natural; the mysticism within a small world under earth and mud; a heaven of wonders, elated in the heart of the great caverns. A family of unique flowers and unusual animals. Lords of their own nature. A delirious breeze drifted faintly over their faces, introducing the green of the spacious meadow. Worthy for the sight of royalty; with glistening waterfalls falling over the shoulders of four sculptures of forgotten gods from the past. Caged, but unbothered. And upon the humble horizon, small hills around floral mounds were painted like beatific designs, ecstatic of a bright garden.

“What is this?” Asks Amsiret.

"It's the home of wonders, the lost fable.” answers Arac. “The empire of mysteries, walking along beauty. However, do not be fooled, by beauty and its appearances: this is the home of the witch of Clarendēn, where her name can only be thought. The place where view will be your greatest betrayal, and sight, your greatest discord.”

The brothers walked slowly across the bright lawn; through the magical singing of dozens of colored birds. As the light was rejoicing among the vision of the gods; finding peace, and warmth air once again. They were crossing a land of purple corn, and rose leaves.

In the distance, among descending mounds, the melodious singing of a sweet female voice could be heard. A woman par excellence. A set of harmonious symphonies, supposing itself among the main pillars of affection. Displaying her tones in the echoes of the waterfall; as she proclaims the appreciation for what it was; of what it’ll be That for which we fight and ponder; as what we yearn for, since the moment our eyes dare to generate an impulse, as a push towards vicissitude. Expanding the sovereignty of the quintessential; the calling to the truth. The purest memory of the soul, slowly drifting like summer dinners, over the dry and hungry throats of the gods, upon the great diachronic of romance, and love.

They decided to approach the waterfalls, crossing through the soaring fields; as it closed in foliage of small trees descending towards the fall of the precious waters, covered by the hundreds of leaves creating a blissful grove.

The brothers were naturally drawn to the allegory songs of Nelva, whom had just finished bathing in the waters of the depths. The woman covered herself between the branches and the leaves, where she put on her clothes, gently.

“What we should do now?” asks Arac.

"Just don't look," exclaims Amsiret, “let her come closer. She knows we are here.”

“How do you know that?”

“Do not look!”

The woman's shape was projected through the giant leaves; a silhouette of perfection, showing the beautiful formation of her body. And suddenly, the resounding of the soft voice is heard again. Although, this time, it did not sing the melodies of a symphony; nor a pleasant welcome.

“Is this the right way to appreciate the temperance of all your dreams?” says Nelva. “Is it appropriate to present yourself in this way, onto the doer of your wildest desires?”

Amsiret drops immediately to one knee; bows her head, and slaps his brother to follow him.

"Oh, lovely queen of the eastern swamps," exclaims Amsiret. “Forgive our daring. It was our mistake, for wanting to rush what it takes.”

"You´re invasive beings," the woman replies. “These lands seem desolate, but they are not; you should know this by now. What happened? I expected more from Elgoneth's favorites.”

"It won't happen again." responds the god of air.

"Get up," the woman replies, " the company of a man haven’t reach to me in centuries, and now it has come doubled! Stare your chances, as the owner of these lands shows her pride.”

The woman crossed the huge leaves, passing one after the other. Raving its beauty between the lost gaze of the chosen ones, on the lines of her whimsical projection; discovering herself, between the silhouettes and the shadows. Wrapped in a dress of spring leaves; and around her neck, a golden illumination attracted the attention of the brothers. A delicate necklace; shone with a singular light, an impetuous power. And upon the center of the beautiful garment, a yellowish diamond sparkled; owning the space and its surroundings.

Arac stood still, as he contemplates the incomprehensible elegance displaying upfront. Amsiret kept his head bowed, as the woman gradually approached them. She caresses the faces of both with her right hand, raising their inclined eyes; inviting them to a fascinating disclosure, for the divine momentum, had casually brought the three of them together.

“Tell me, future kings of this unfair island,” exclaims the woman, “why have you come to visit my dethroned heart?”

"We came to implore for a wish, Nelva," the God of Plasma replied. “We came before you, for we still believe in the beauty behind the myth. We still long for the preciousness, behind the misunderstood creature, behind the alluring legend, behind the finest breathe. It's the first time we've met, but not the first time our souls remember each other, isn't it?”

“You sure know well your instincts, God of Plasma” answers Nelva. “Passionate; intrinsic.”

"Is that an inconvenience, my lady?"

"Not at all," replies the hidden witch. “It's exactly how I imagined it.”

Arac grasped the precious entity's hand, and gave her a cold and delicate kiss, before the woman continued speaking.

"I accept your request," exclaims the witch, "but first you must know, I do not trust you; and the greater your desire, the greater will be its cost."

"To gain my trust," she continues, "I will ask you a simple question, which you can only answer with your heart. Then, your answers will tell me if your souls really deserve the intervention of my power, upon the intentions of your paths.”

    The woman finishes speaking, and slowly approaches Amsiret's face; keen, to enter in his consciousness.

“God of the Air,” exclaims the woman, “what’s the thing your heart desires the most, at this present moment?”

Words couldn´t come out from the prevailing god, whom, in the versatility of his mind, was dumbfounded by the cold gaze of the witch; for a brief moment, he regretted he’d gotten this far.

"I want to be the king of all these lands." exclaims Amsiret.

"Well," the witch replies. “Wonderful indeed, my king.”

   The woman quickly turns her gaze to Arac; he was on her left side. He looked restless, nervous. His knees were shaking, sweat ran below his face; he knew he couldn't lie to her.

"Now, what can the god of plasma answer me?" asks Nelva. “What does your heart wants the most, right now?”

Arac sighs deeply; close his eyes for a moment; breathe as comfortable as he could. He exhales the accumulated air, and opened his eyes again.

"I want you, my love" exclaims Arac.

The God of Plasma did not have to venture lips to the witch's, for she was already in his. And in an instant, the blowing of the spring winds ran gray; the unforeseen episode of love passed, between the curtains of the unknown.

The gaze of the God of the Airs said everything, and more than that. Perplexed, confused; astonished at the irrational acts of his brother. Bothered by his rare impulses; omens of terrible feelings arouse, unfolding in the surroundings; manifesting around. The atmosphere was eaten away by the sinister, the light was lost in the mists, and a wind of chaos and terror danced gradually over the garden.

And while the god of plasma kissed the mistress of the swamp, he ripped off the golden necklace from her; the witch fainted, falling backwards, at the presence of betrayal in her own land. She integrated into the lawn; between the roots of two nearby dry trees, and her shadow emerged reluctant. Covered in an eerie black mass; foreshadowing a macabre scream of hundred voices. A cloudy energy birth, from the infamous realm of misfortune.

Her spirit grew quickly into a giant creature; a monster asleep, awakening along fury. The brothers ran toward the entrance of the cavern, throughout the upside meadow; trying to get out of the cursed garden, which was now distorted in all its corners. The roar of the giant witch proclaimed the beginning of an inordinate hurricane, expanding its sentence with each of her colossal steps; among a delirious laughter, devouring the gleaming and the light. She levitates, and transforms his arms in two giant spectrums, in the forms of huge hands made of shadows and dust; finding her way to caught the brothers at any cost.

"Your stupidity never cease to amaze me!" exclaims Amsiret, in the middle of the run. “How can you fool Nelva like that?!”

"Don't speak that name aloud!" exclaims Amsiret. “You’ll make her even more enraged! This is not the woman of the waterfalls; this is Yelvira! The expelled witch from the fallen realm of darkness!”