What Lyra Dreamed:
I am in the markets of my childhood. Verna is with me, the rats are running up ahead. My hair in braids, my fingers quick, I have a bounty of fruit hidden in the coils on top of my head. More than is possible, but I push that thought away. I am focused on Verna’s back ahead of me. We are running the dark alleys of Delain. She is shifting, I am trying hard not to lose sight of her in the twilight blue that is the descending night.
Suddenly, there is a hazy line and in the torn fabric of time, translucent figures appear. They do not see me. We stand in front of the entrance to The Secret Order of the Dancing Blade. I can see them clearly, in light, in the descending gloom.
The first, a rogue. Stout and of steel with piercing eyes and strong hands. He is the Strength of All.
Next to him, a magnificent dragonborn. I know he is the silent type. And it is shown: he is the Knowledge of All.
Dropping from the rooftops with a smile, a laugh and a roll is a handsome Eladrin Ranger. He bows to the party, they laugh, and he is Jester to All.
Warmth courses through my veins as I lay eyes upon her, young and yet to be: Mother.
Another two are there, but not here, not yet in this when:
She is Beauty embodied, the strength of a battle cry, and Friend to All.
And finally, lastly – no man but a song on the wind, The Bard and Teller of All.
In this moment, beyond all things certain, as they shift in and out of time and pass through into the depths of The Order, I know without a doubt that this ka-tet, are all these things and one more: They are Saviors.
The door closes, they are gone, as rough hands grab me – a sandy fedora – faceless, demands that I return what I stole, it whispers down my neck. Verna appears, kicks hard, pulls me forward into the crowd. We are running for our lives, the sandy man is at our heels, overhead – his whispers are in our ears, crawling up our spines, flittering across our bodies.
We are running, running, running towards the sun. Circling the market place. I catch a gleamed reflection to my right, there is an orb, shattered in a case. It does not belong here. I must get it to safety. But where’s Verna? I look up; we have arrived at The Temple of the Fates. Verna is running, running, running circles around the temple, counter clock wise, into the sun. One, Two, Three times around… I wait for her to circle around, once more, to show her the broken orb.
There’s a faint catch in my heart, something has gone wrong, descending blue;
Blaring sounds of the square. Hopscotch, double Dutch, Verna’s voice, soft,
has replaced that of the whispers along my spine. Echoes, echoes, echoes of her footfalls, the child rhyme, lullabye she used to sing to the small ones in the alley ways to help them sleep rises on the wind:
See the TURTLE of enormous girth,
On his shell he holds the earth.
If you want to run and play, then
Come along, come along, come along the beam today.
See the TURTLE of enormous girth!
On his shell he holds the earth.
His thought is slow but always kind;
He holds us all within his mind. and
On his back all vows are made;
He sees the truth but mayn’t aid.
He loves the land and loves the sea.
And loves even a child like me.
I can feel myself descending, every pore of my body on waves, waves, waves of immense joy and devastating sorrow. I leap – into the blue;
I am falling, I am falling
falling,
falling,
falling,
Saviors?
THE TOWER.
And in this deep dark blue, with black on the horizon
I am…flying –
SiFT 