dancing in a ballroom, and next, a charging swordsman on a field. Both bore the distinct golden eyes of the Weathervanes. The memory ball flowed from scene to scene as each ancestor gain powers many long after their eighteenth birthdays had passed from the age that lined their faces.
She saw a woman in a stolla , a long flowing dress which tied at the nape of nerck, playing with a child near the sea. The woman suddenly crumpled to her knees with her hands splayed in the sand. Her eyes glowed with a yellow as bright as the sun for a few moments, and Ciardis knew that, just like the others, she had transitioned into her powers.
When the next scene appeared, Ciardis walked over to the wall, trying to touch the moving image that looked so real, though it was flat. It’s not the same as Sarah’s multi-dimensional projections, she thought, but it is beautiful.
As she touched the wall it rippled with light, bending away from her finger like small waves in a lake after you skip a rock. She heard another sound coming from the orb behind her and turned quickly to investigate, but before she completed the movement, she was hit with a wave of light and sound so all-encompassing that she fainted.
As she lay on the floor, she dreamed. She dreamed of every ancestor who’d accessed the WeatherVane memeball, and knew their thoughts, their exploits, their dreams, and their histories. When she’d gone through each ancestor’s transition memories, her mind went blank. She drifted in a black aether, nothing before her or around her until she started falling.
When she woke, she felt dirt under her finger tips and a breeze wafting through the air. She opened her eyes, and there stood the woman she’d seen on the beach who’d been playing with the child. Her ancestor. Then Ciardis noticed where she was—or, rather, where she was not.
She was no longer in the room she’d been in earlier. The landscape was flat, dark, and foreboding. It stretched on for miles in either direction with no trees or buildings in sight, just gently waving grass. Even my clothes are different, she realized in shock. She hesitantly touched the loose stolla of the clans, which had replaced the formal day gown she had been wearing.
The woman laughed gently as Ciardis’s cautious eyes turned back to her. “You should not fear me, daughter,” she said. “I am your many times great-grandmother, Artis.”
Ciardis trembled, but said, “My…my name is Ciardis.”
The other woman’s laughter bubbled up again. “Which means ‘Daughter of Artis’ in the Old Tongue! How appropriate!” She clapped her hands, delighted.
Smiling widely, Ciardis curtsied. She hadn’t known that. “Where are we, then, Lady Artis?”
Artis raised her arm to indicate the vast plains. “We are in a memory—a memory of my early life, before I joined the clan of my husband and changed all that I knew. But more importantly, we are in your mind. You have opened the ancestral memeball.”
Ciardis licked her lips. “I have. I have been taken in by the Companion’s Guild. My Patron Hunt is in two weeks, and I have yet to access my powers.”
Artis nodded. “It is the way of our women. Although, it is not always our path to be a lord’s bound companion,” she continued with a teasing smile, “I was— am —Warrior Leader for my clan, as well as acConsort.”
Ciardis raised her chin, determined not to be cowed. “That may be so, milady, and I hope to achieve such a rank one day. But I grew up poor and orphaned, often without food, and with little privacy.”
Artis sighed. “Yes, your childhood was unfortunate…and it is your decision to move forward. But we have little time left. You have viewed the transition memories of your ancestors, yes?”
“Indeed I have,” replied Ciardis, meeting her eyes.
“Good,” Artis replied. “Now, realize that they are but memories—no more, no less. But some of the visions might come in handy in the future.” She extended both her
She saw a woman in a stolla , a long flowing dress which tied at the nape of nerck, playing with a child near the sea. The woman suddenly crumpled to her knees with her hands splayed in the sand. Her eyes glowed with a yellow as bright as the sun for a few moments, and Ciardis knew that, just like the others, she had transitioned into her powers.
When the next scene appeared, Ciardis walked over to the wall, trying to touch the moving image that looked so real, though it was flat. It’s not the same as Sarah’s multi-dimensional projections, she thought, but it is beautiful.
As she touched the wall it rippled with light, bending away from her finger like small waves in a lake after you skip a rock. She heard another sound coming from the orb behind her and turned quickly to investigate, but before she completed the movement, she was hit with a wave of light and sound so all-encompassing that she fainted.
As she lay on the floor, she dreamed. She dreamed of every ancestor who’d accessed the WeatherVane memeball, and knew their thoughts, their exploits, their dreams, and their histories. When she’d gone through each ancestor’s transition memories, her mind went blank. She drifted in a black aether, nothing before her or around her until she started falling.
When she woke, she felt dirt under her finger tips and a breeze wafting through the air. She opened her eyes, and there stood the woman she’d seen on the beach who’d been playing with the child. Her ancestor. Then Ciardis noticed where she was—or, rather, where she was not.
She was no longer in the room she’d been in earlier. The landscape was flat, dark, and foreboding. It stretched on for miles in either direction with no trees or buildings in sight, just gently waving grass. Even my clothes are different, she realized in shock. She hesitantly touched the loose stolla of the clans, which had replaced the formal day gown she had been wearing.
The woman laughed gently as Ciardis’s cautious eyes turned back to her. “You should not fear me, daughter,” she said. “I am your many times great-grandmother, Artis.”
Ciardis trembled, but said, “My…my name is Ciardis.”
The other woman’s laughter bubbled up again. “Which means ‘Daughter of Artis’ in the Old Tongue! How appropriate!” She clapped her hands, delighted.
Smiling widely, Ciardis curtsied. She hadn’t known that. “Where are we, then, Lady Artis?”
Artis raised her arm to indicate the vast plains. “We are in a memory—a memory of my early life, before I joined the clan of my husband and changed all that I knew. But more importantly, we are in your mind. You have opened the ancestral memeball.”
Ciardis licked her lips. “I have. I have been taken in by the Companion’s Guild. My Patron Hunt is in two weeks, and I have yet to access my powers.”
Artis nodded. “It is the way of our women. Although, it is not always our path to be a lord’s bound companion,” she continued with a teasing smile, “I was— am —Warrior Leader for my clan, as well as acConsort.”
Ciardis raised her chin, determined not to be cowed. “That may be so, milady, and I hope to achieve such a rank one day. But I grew up poor and orphaned, often without food, and with little privacy.”
Artis sighed. “Yes, your childhood was unfortunate…and it is your decision to move forward. But we have little time left. You have viewed the transition memories of your ancestors, yes?”
“Indeed I have,” replied Ciardis, meeting her eyes.
“Good,” Artis replied. “Now, realize that they are but memories—no more, no less. But some of the visions might come in handy in the future.” She extended both her
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