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Flavor of the Day 7/15/09 - Bestow
Story : Desert Flowers
Rating : G
Word Count : 598
Word of the Day : Bestow - to present as a gift or an honor; confer
Follows Energy Flux. A bit of a rehash of Crystal Rod but in the present arc
Narda swept down the temple steps, a flurry of silk and gauze, body still humming with the life it had acquired. She passed the rigid, expressionless Devri, whose only acknowledgement was a mechanical shoving of the spectacles up her pointed nose, and her shaking counterpart across the way, who clutched her fists at the air and sank her teeth into her lip. A sceptre in each tightly coiled hand, Narda crossed to the square in long, brisk strides, the hard packed dirt searing against bare soles.
The girls milled before her, a mass of little ribbon and gold decked bodies. Gaping at her, solemn and eager and frightened all at once, like so many wide-eyed calves off to slaughter. The temple guardian behind them, little more than a girl herself, passed from end to end of the line, hands weaving around heads, urging them back into place when they strayed. Eyes on Narda as one might watch a wolf circling her sheep, she forced a tight-lipped smile into place. Narda wondered if Devri had ever been in such a place, young and nervous, waiting for someone she’d never met to decide her fate. Somewhere in the dark reaches of time, lost to all memories but her own, she suspected she had.
Her own staff tucked to her breast, Narda let the other rest, loose and heavy in her hand. Her fingers throbbed, her palm itched, and she focused on the metal shaft, cold and smooth, rocking slowly against her flesh to distract her. Pacing the crowd’s length, she scanned one round, little face and another. Whatever Devri had said about knowing it when she saw them, one looked much like the next; painted, primped, and scared out of her mind. Not a sign, not a hint. No burst of exhilaration, of understanding, as she appraised each one in turn.
She reached the end and turned back the way she’d come, the jeweled head of the staff cutting a slow, glittering path through the air beside her. One set of eyes, those of the smallest, slid from her and to the rod. One pair of hands clenched; ruby lips pursed into a dainty heart-shaped pucker. The closest thing she’d seen to a sign. Narda caught one foot upon the other, took a stuttering step back towards the child.
She drew to a halt before her, met her dark eyes, and the girl flushed. The rest of the children crept aside. The guardian edged closer, jaw set, and swallowed hard. Narda raised the staff, brought the head, rings clinking and gems glittering, slowly, steadily, down before her, and waited.
The girl blinked, swallowed, and put a hand to the shaft. Her hand burned. The metal bit her with a burst of immense cold, and the heat fled her palm, racing into the staff. The child’s eyes widened, her painted lips fell into a perfect ring, and she looked from Narda to the staff and back.
Narda raised the staff as the girl’s hand slipped away. She met the guardian’s gaze and extended her arm past the child, the staff perpendicular to the ground, in offering. The woman’s hand curled round the staff beneath her own and she relinquished it to lay a hand over the girl’s shoulder.
“A journey ends and one begins,” said Narda. The proper words to the rite of passage, not the stammering apology that had accompanied her own.
Still, she squeezed the girl’s shoulder before she let go. Gauzy strands reeling in her wake, she slipped past, on to the second crowd gathered in the square.
Story : Desert Flowers
Rating : G
Word Count : 598
Word of the Day : Bestow - to present as a gift or an honor; confer
Follows Energy Flux. A bit of a rehash of Crystal Rod but in the present arc
Narda swept down the temple steps, a flurry of silk and gauze, body still humming with the life it had acquired. She passed the rigid, expressionless Devri, whose only acknowledgement was a mechanical shoving of the spectacles up her pointed nose, and her shaking counterpart across the way, who clutched her fists at the air and sank her teeth into her lip. A sceptre in each tightly coiled hand, Narda crossed to the square in long, brisk strides, the hard packed dirt searing against bare soles.
The girls milled before her, a mass of little ribbon and gold decked bodies. Gaping at her, solemn and eager and frightened all at once, like so many wide-eyed calves off to slaughter. The temple guardian behind them, little more than a girl herself, passed from end to end of the line, hands weaving around heads, urging them back into place when they strayed. Eyes on Narda as one might watch a wolf circling her sheep, she forced a tight-lipped smile into place. Narda wondered if Devri had ever been in such a place, young and nervous, waiting for someone she’d never met to decide her fate. Somewhere in the dark reaches of time, lost to all memories but her own, she suspected she had.
Her own staff tucked to her breast, Narda let the other rest, loose and heavy in her hand. Her fingers throbbed, her palm itched, and she focused on the metal shaft, cold and smooth, rocking slowly against her flesh to distract her. Pacing the crowd’s length, she scanned one round, little face and another. Whatever Devri had said about knowing it when she saw them, one looked much like the next; painted, primped, and scared out of her mind. Not a sign, not a hint. No burst of exhilaration, of understanding, as she appraised each one in turn.
She reached the end and turned back the way she’d come, the jeweled head of the staff cutting a slow, glittering path through the air beside her. One set of eyes, those of the smallest, slid from her and to the rod. One pair of hands clenched; ruby lips pursed into a dainty heart-shaped pucker. The closest thing she’d seen to a sign. Narda caught one foot upon the other, took a stuttering step back towards the child.
She drew to a halt before her, met her dark eyes, and the girl flushed. The rest of the children crept aside. The guardian edged closer, jaw set, and swallowed hard. Narda raised the staff, brought the head, rings clinking and gems glittering, slowly, steadily, down before her, and waited.
The girl blinked, swallowed, and put a hand to the shaft. Her hand burned. The metal bit her with a burst of immense cold, and the heat fled her palm, racing into the staff. The child’s eyes widened, her painted lips fell into a perfect ring, and she looked from Narda to the staff and back.
Narda raised the staff as the girl’s hand slipped away. She met the guardian’s gaze and extended her arm past the child, the staff perpendicular to the ground, in offering. The woman’s hand curled round the staff beneath her own and she relinquished it to lay a hand over the girl’s shoulder.
“A journey ends and one begins,” said Narda. The proper words to the rite of passage, not the stammering apology that had accompanied her own.
Still, she squeezed the girl’s shoulder before she let go. Gauzy strands reeling in her wake, she slipped past, on to the second crowd gathered in the square.