Altennimer’s song faltered when he felt the sweet, cool raindrops fall upon his face. It had not rained naturally upon Astraea in many years, as her atmosphere grew hotter and drier with the immanent death of her star. He knew too well that Astraea had no rain left to give.
He watched with astonishment as two tiny green shoots sprang forth from the droplets in the parched dust at his feet. They grew quickly, their leaves unfolding to reveal deep violet and gold buds. He fell to his knees and gathered the precious seedlings before the heat withered them. It was over as quickly as it began; the bloated red star quickly burned away the frail wisp of cloud which had given him his priceless treasure.
He held the little plants in his shaking hands, watching with wonder as they continued to grow, their roots entwining around his fingers and feeding off the magic that protected him from the heat. He did not recognize their shape but he knew their significance. Astraea had heard his vow and had answered it with a promise of her own.
As evening fell on Astraea’s last day the Lemari stilled their bells and the Mithic ceased their singing. By nightfall not a sound could be heard upon her surface.
Altennimer closed his eyes and listened.
In the perfect silence he heard her begin to sing. Her song was of regret, of love and of the anguish that echoed in the hearts of all her people. It was played by the hot wind through the dry grasses and keened mournfully in the deep hollows of her valleys and canyons.
As he listened Altennimer remembered Astraea’s true voice. A voice as soft as her once-frequent showers and as powerful as her oceans. He knew that Astraea’s song could always be most clearly heard in her waters. He had never been able to dwell far from them for long. It was by her lakes that he first heard her disquiet when her star began to reach the end of its life. It was from her rivers he first listened to her pleas to save her people, when most Mithic still believed in the power of their magic to save her from her star’s fate. He worked ceaselessly to do as she bid, to solve her deepest mysteries and find the pathways that would, before dying Astra reappeared in the sky, see the Mithic and Lemari begin their new lives in the young and wild worlds of their exile and leave Astraea’s spirit free to be reborn.
Altennimer gazed down the dark valley that lay before him. He did not share the hunger of the Lemari to see new lands and impart Astraea’s wisdom to the primitive children of other worlds, but nor would he sever himself from the world the Mithic had chosen for their exile. His desire was to learn and to observe. He could not yet guess what power would lead him back to Astraea, but he knew it would not be found by forever looking behind him and forgetting to listen.
Astraea’s farewell song died in the valley. The last of her power spent in its making. In Altennimer’s hands the seedlings burst into exquisite flowers of deep violet shot with gold. In their petals he heard her voice as it had been long ago. As it would be when he found her again.
Altennimer turned away from the valley and headed quickly down the path where his people waited for him to open the portals. He was now anxious to be away, before the terrible silence settled too deeply upon the people of Astraea. Before the aching beauty of her last song ceased to buffer him from the emptiness and robbed him of his strength. He held the seedlings of her promise close to his heart. Despite his conviction, he knew he would need all the help she could still give him to complete his task.
Part Two: Altennimer
He watched with astonishment as two tiny green shoots sprang forth from the droplets in the parched dust at his feet. They grew quickly, their leaves unfolding to reveal deep violet and gold buds. He fell to his knees and gathered the precious seedlings before the heat withered them. It was over as quickly as it began; the bloated red star quickly burned away the frail wisp of cloud which had given him his priceless treasure.
He held the little plants in his shaking hands, watching with wonder as they continued to grow, their roots entwining around his fingers and feeding off the magic that protected him from the heat. He did not recognize their shape but he knew their significance. Astraea had heard his vow and had answered it with a promise of her own.
As evening fell on Astraea’s last day the Lemari stilled their bells and the Mithic ceased their singing. By nightfall not a sound could be heard upon her surface.
Altennimer closed his eyes and listened.
In the perfect silence he heard her begin to sing. Her song was of regret, of love and of the anguish that echoed in the hearts of all her people. It was played by the hot wind through the dry grasses and keened mournfully in the deep hollows of her valleys and canyons.
As he listened Altennimer remembered Astraea’s true voice. A voice as soft as her once-frequent showers and as powerful as her oceans. He knew that Astraea’s song could always be most clearly heard in her waters. He had never been able to dwell far from them for long. It was by her lakes that he first heard her disquiet when her star began to reach the end of its life. It was from her rivers he first listened to her pleas to save her people, when most Mithic still believed in the power of their magic to save her from her star’s fate. He worked ceaselessly to do as she bid, to solve her deepest mysteries and find the pathways that would, before dying Astra reappeared in the sky, see the Mithic and Lemari begin their new lives in the young and wild worlds of their exile and leave Astraea’s spirit free to be reborn.
Altennimer gazed down the dark valley that lay before him. He did not share the hunger of the Lemari to see new lands and impart Astraea’s wisdom to the primitive children of other worlds, but nor would he sever himself from the world the Mithic had chosen for their exile. His desire was to learn and to observe. He could not yet guess what power would lead him back to Astraea, but he knew it would not be found by forever looking behind him and forgetting to listen.
Astraea’s farewell song died in the valley. The last of her power spent in its making. In Altennimer’s hands the seedlings burst into exquisite flowers of deep violet shot with gold. In their petals he heard her voice as it had been long ago. As it would be when he found her again.
Altennimer turned away from the valley and headed quickly down the path where his people waited for him to open the portals. He was now anxious to be away, before the terrible silence settled too deeply upon the people of Astraea. Before the aching beauty of her last song ceased to buffer him from the emptiness and robbed him of his strength. He held the seedlings of her promise close to his heart. Despite his conviction, he knew he would need all the help she could still give him to complete his task.
**