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The Poet and the Alchemyst
Das war vielleicht die schönste und krasseste Feen-Kombination, die ich bisher aus dem Orakel gezogen habe. Abgesehen von den 6x Luathas, natürlich  Ta'Om the Poet, Nelys the Alchemyst und The Singer of Chalice. Alle richtig herum. Writing and Poetry, Inner Transformation and Irrevocable Change and Hope and Miracles. Sehr schön... und gerade, als ich es aufschreibe, fällt mir auf, dass die beiden wichtigsten Hexencharaktere in der Bernsteinflamme eine Alchemistin und so etwas ähnliches wie eine Bardin sind. Und eigentlich wollte ich nur schnell aufräumen, als mir die Karten in die Hände fielen. Aber mein Zeitmanagement hängt momentan eh in einer Hängematte auf Bali. Dass ich es geschafft habe, die Dips und den (superleckeren) Nachtisch für heute Abend fertig zu machen, grenzt schon an ein Wunder. Gut. Feenkarten, Kaffee, Aufräumen, und weiter geht's in der Hexenküche...   
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Ein bisschen Grusel zum Geburtstag
Letzte Nacht, ungefähr um halb zwei, habe ich nochmal ein paar Feenkarten gezogen. Und wer war wieder dabei? Luathas the Wild. Zum ungefähr sechsten Mal in den letzten drei Wochen. Ich würde sagen, der Gute ist hartnäckig und gibt sehr eindeutige Zeichen! Luathas steht für Feuer und Kreativität. Angesichts der Tatsache, dass wir in zwei Wochen wieder tanzen, dass das Semester so gut wie rum ist und der Frühling (hoffentlich) vor der Tür steht, würde ich sagen... Feuer frei! 
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This was scary. And pretty self-explanatory. Oh my.
I have closed my eyes only for a moment, but when I open them, I find myself sitting in the old lady’s parlour once more – the small dragon dozing beside the fire place, the raven in front of me, the strange big taw in my hands. Cool glass, golden flames and a feeling of strange detachment and devotion. What does one do with such a thing?, the raven and I wonder simultaneously. The raven cocks her head and jumps a bit closer. She does what I do not dare and examines the taw. Sure, she is an eager fellow – a bit too eager. As her beak clacks against the glass, it breaks. Only the class breaks. As the shards fall onto the carpet, the flames remain in my hands, a small fire of a strange shape. What it is, I cannot say – all I can clearly recognize are its wings. It is warm and soft and lovely and it scares me to death. I stretch my arms to keep it away from my torso, but I cannot release it or throw it from me, because it radiates an unfamiliar attraction. Free at last, it sighs, its voice deep and full of melody. Who are you? Or what? I thought you had guessed it already?, it says. Gems made out of trees and dragon fire, the raven has guessed, and you said it was similar. So, what are these gems you were talking about? Essences, I answer and feel numb. Essences, indeed, says the flame. That does not quite describe it, but it is close to what I am. I cannot keep it in my hands and I ask it to retreat. The flame thing settles down beside the raven while I shiver. Why are you scared?, asks the raven. You weren’t afraid of the glass thing either! I don’t know. And if I close your eyes?, she suggests. If I close your eyes, so you don’t have to see, will you at least try to feel? It takes a good deal of persuasion – and the spirits know, the raven and the flame thing are masters of this art! – until I agree. The raven hops on my shoulders, until her claws find a spot to hold on to, spreads her gorgeous wings and gently closes them over my eyes. Now I am blinded; there’s only the glimmer of her bluish black feathers. Don’t think, she says. Don’t think, don’t look. Just wait and feel and give in to it. Don’t think. For a while, nothing happens. With the raven so close, my heart eventually starts beating in a steady rhythm again. Suddenly, my palms are all warm. It is not a proper touch, rather a breeze, so soft it is barely there, but oh so warm and pleasant. Even though I cannot see, I know that the flame is sitting in front of me, touching me with both her wings. Now you can bear it?, it asks. Now that you don’t see me? Yes. Good. That is good. You know that this is not my proper place, though? Outside of you? I flinch. Yes, I know. I am not angry, it mumbles, but tell me – why on earth did you put me into a glass ball and buried me in frozen soil? Oh dear… I still cannot remember having done that. But I remember the flame, and I remember the fear it caused me. A fear of such power, I had to get rid of it. It knows. The flame leans towards me, I feel, and I back away. The warm, forceful presence is not scary in itself – on the contrary, it is big and warm and smells like safety-, but for whatever reason, it scares the hell out of me. I want it and yet it repulses me. Come, says the raven. I know what you afraid of: You fear that the flames will destroy something when it returns home. Right? I nod. The question is-, the raven sticks her beak into the air, -would it do any harm if this part vanished? Ah, come! Share my body for a while. See yourself through my eyes when the flame comes home. See if anything bad happens. If not, you can explore it. If yes, we can ask the flame to come out again and you can safely return. What do you say? It is a leap of faith. As the raven flies onto the next best book shelf, I am with her. Feel the steady drumbeat of her heart. See through her eyes. See my body crouching on the carpet, hand in hand with the flame thing. The flame bends forward once more, and I cringe inside the raven's chest. No, she shouts and her spirit grabs mine and holds me back. You have to stay here now, or it will not work! The flame strokes my body’s arms with her fire wings. It seems to lean in for a kiss, but instead it slips inside my body’s mouth. The body doesn’t twitch – how could it, when the spirit that fears the fire sits within a raven! It is a strange thing to behold. I can see the flame even though it has slipped inside the body. I can see its golden fire trails on the arms and hands, skin and heart and hair and ears. It is everywhere. A stream of golden fire threads that wraps itself around the limbs of my body. Are you scared?, the raven asks. No. Very good. Now, what about a trip into that body? I don’t know. What will we find there? You can only know if you go and have a look. She flies back on the shoulders of the body. Go on, try, she says, softly pushing my spirit. If it is too scary, you can come back to me. Reluctantly, I leave her body and creep back into my own. I cannot use my eyes. The lids are too heavy, and I am too busy cooping with what my spirit sees. What used to be dark and shady is ablaze now. A warm, gentle fire, a stream, a gleaming river of red and gold. The shades are still there, but they are but threads in a woven cloth that is full of light now. It looks lovely, but I am frozen. Fear has grabbed me once more with her her cold fingers; not even my spirit dares to move. Heart races and all I want is to get out of here. It’s alright, I hear the raven’s voice. It’s alright, you need some time to adjust. Try to remain a bit longer. Her claws dig into my shoulder, her head rubs against my hair. I focus on the light. It looks really lovely. Not scary at all. As I slowly open my eyes, I can barely see. The stream of golden liquid fire is everywhere, but slowly, the veil fades and I can see the room more clearly. But the world looks different! As if the light of the flame thing had settled within my eyes, the world seems incredibly warm and vivid. The fear decreases slowly. My hands and arms are enwrought with the stream, as is everything I see. This body doesn’t feel like mine, I whisper, but it doesn’t feel bad. Only strange. Unfamiliar. What about the parts that you feared to lose to the flame?, the raven asks. I am not sure. They did not disappear, I suppose, but they were covered… no, rather molten by the fire. They just gave in to the stream. Oh, what bliss! Now I cannot only see the flame, but I feel it, too. For a moment, all the fear is gone, and I feel calm and right as I have never ever felt before. As if a door was pushed open, as if a spark had set a night sky on fire. What energy, what joy, unfamiliar and familiar at the same time. In this moment, the old lady enters the room. She curiously looks at me – what happened that she seems so fragile now? – and comes closer. For a couple of heartbeats – long, blissful heartbeats – I feel the stream rushing. And one more breath – and one more – and with the blink of an eye, the fire is gone. The shades are back, I feel smaller than ever, the world darkens again, although it is only afternoon. What happened?, the raven and I ask – she sounds bewildered, my voice is sad. Where is the flame? The shards on the carpet are gone. The old lady cuddles up to the dragon’s belly. I can only guess, she says, but I suppose the flame, just like you, needs time to adjust. I guess it hides somewhere in the tree. That’s where she usually goes when she’s scared. |
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