I enjoyed writing this, I'm not sure you'll enjoy reading it? HAHA. I think I may have written too much. Anyway, say hello to Hysteria's world!
PS. This is by-far the least cryptic chapter I've written. I think.
On the day that you were born the angels got together
and decided to create a dream come true
So they sprinkled moon dust in your hair
of gold and starlight in your eyes of blueClose to YouThe Carpenters
The lazy forest that slept started to slowly breathe and be filled with, and stripped of life- the leaves were starting to fall, in the midst of dead trees crawling with moss and decay. The lady of the forest sighed. She watched this realm grow and fall, and now she watches it slowly crumbling. She sighs for her son who refuses to acknowledge his weakness. She cries for the other son that has been reduced to ignorance. Yet, she smiles for the one son that mocked Fate, her own mother, and denied her. "The Mayfairs are cursed," she whispered weakly and sent for rain to pass to the other realm, to the world where mortals walked and hated each other, for their greed and lust for power and worldly desires, "And I am doubtlessly to blame." She sent for the rain, because a new soul will be joining her. And she was just being Hysteria. She was just fulfilling her duties. Being a mother was not, supposedly. She gathered herself and got the dreaded hood of the infamous cloak over her head. Schedules needed to be kept. And she was behind schedule. "Teodor," she muttered, and vanished. "Teodor." Her voiced echoed slightly throughout the forest. Soon, the trees and the rain will come together for a celebration.
In the midst of the dying and grief-stricken trees stood trees, striving, and springing to life- these trees that used to be mortal souls. "The rain drop told me," one swayed its arms of branches, as if to feel the wind, and continued, "A new one will be joining us today." "Ah, yes. News like that come and go," the other chuckled. "Were you a man, or a woman?" The first one gambled, initiating a courtship of curiosity. "Ah, I- I-" the other struggled, trailed off, and finally answered, "I'm not sure I remember." "Do you know how long you've been here?" "Do you? There is no concept of time here," the stammering tree replied, sure of itself. "You must be very bored," the first tree said and added, "I bet you were some philosopher in your mortal life." "I'm too old to remember." And the conversation reached its end. The stammerer thought to itself, "Nor is there a day or night. Only darkness." It looked up and wondered when the stars started to fill the sky and adorn it with beautiful specks. "When, indeed." The two trees looked at the sleeping Emmanuelle and joined her in her slumber. But there were other trees, and they had their own curiosities to sate.
"Why do you think she keeps that thing with her?" One tree whispered to another. A different, nameless, but old tree replied, "She fancies them. I've watched her looking at it all day. She likes it, its sound, and the thrill of its supposed-irreversible feature." "That's true. She's lived longer than us." "What makes you think that?" "Well, she was already here when I came." "That's true. But have you considered that she's just as old as us?" "Why, now, would you think that?" "Oh, now you're asking the questions." "Oh, just answer me, friend." "I don't know. She looks so curious, like a child. And she's very arrogant. I think. I sometimes hear her talking to herself, complaining about a young girl." "You're talking about her new assignment." "Assignment?" "You are new here, indeed," the old tree replied, "That explains why you still remember so much from your mortal life. And why you can be rash in judging her." "Oh, but I don't judge, friend." "Well, I'm talking about a girl, a mortal girl. She talks to her everyday." "What? I never had anyone talking to me when I was alive." "Well, this girl is special. She's a Hawke." "Hawk? A bird?" "Oh no, that's Hawke, with an 'e,' I tell you. Sometimes, when she forgets, she talks to her in open channels." "What are you talking about, friend? I am greatly confused." "Emmanuelle, she-" "Wait, she has a name?" "Oh, of course!" The old tree would have clapped its hands together, had it hands to use. "How come we don't?" "Ah, it's just for formality and all those things. The Lady of the Forest named her. Hysteria." "Hysteria? Is that even a name?" "I suggest you don't continue with that attitude, my friend. Hysteria is the keeper. She's the reason we're here." "I blame her, then! For robbing me of my life!" "Oh, but to do that is never an option. She has her own worries. She's one who's truly lived the longest, I think." "Why can't we all, then?" "Do you wish to destroy the balance of the world? Do you know how lonely the keeper is? How she longs to live and die like mortals do?" Silence haunted them for a brief moment.
Embarrassed but not defeated, the young tree asked the old tree, "You said something about open channels." "I am not entirely sure about this, but because I've lived longer, very long, I came up with theories-" "Oh, great," the young one cried in disbelief. "Do you wish to listen or not?" "My ears are yours." "But we don't have ears." The two trees laughed, "As I was saying, I think Emmanuelle is a guardian. And that Hysteria is her mistress. Hysteria is, well, she's what us mortals, or so we used to be, call death. I don't think she likes it, being called that. I wouldn't. In a way I think she's life, too. But that's subject to debate. And I think that, Emmanuelle isn't the only one. We can't be sure, can we? We're rooted here since we woke up to this place. But Emmanuelle, she's never left this place." "You were the first tree?" "Oh, no. Do you see those two trees over there? Where the wind moves and sways them. Heavens, how come we never get shuffled by the wind?" The young tree ignored his comment, and asked, "So, they were the first trees?" "Yes, I don't know which one came first, though."
"Lovers." Emmanuelle muttered in her sleep.
"Did you hear that!" The young tree exclaimed. "She's always like that," the old one replied. "I think she was telling us they were lovers! Tragic. They could have died together! Was it an accident?" "So, even if you've passed and became a tree, you have not lost your angst and, most definitely your careless mouth." "Can't blame me, I died young." "How?" "That's what I think is weird. I don't know. I just get the feeling. I don't remember my name either." "Names are not important here, young one." "It's important to them," the young tree commented. "We don't know about that." "Let's not forget we're still talking about Emmanuelle and her channels," the young one reminded the old tree. "Of course. To put it simply, when you see her like that- sleeping- it means her channels are closed. She, well, she's somewhere else. Somewhere not here." "And when the channels are open?" "She's awake chatting away the whole afternoon, if you get what I mean." "Yes, the joke is very, say, encouraging."
The two trees stayed still, not because they were simply sedentary, but because the waited for the wind to cross to their side. But the young tree broke the silence and asked, "And this Hawke?" The old tree answered, "Now, that, my friend, is a mystery. Except that sometimes Emmanuelle calls her Karela Hale." "Fancy name." "It means bitter gourd." "Really?" "No. I was joking, is that what you wanted me to say?" "Humor me, old man. Humor me." "Except that we're trees, young man." The young tree heard the old one yawn. "Are you sleeping? Why are you sleeping?" The young tree worried. It doesn't know how long it'd been here, rooted, but it never felt sleepy. Yawn never visited it.
The young tree worried. It didn't know that it was its old friend's time to go back as a mortal. This tree will shrivel as the soul passes and crosses over, and shall be filled again when the time comes. The young tree will soon learn about that, but never carry such knowledge to its mortal life. It will die and refill the shriveled tree and give it life. And forget about its mortal life once again, but in that moment, know that it will walk among mortals, and forget again. "Good night, old man," the young tree said softly, "Good night, old friend."
In the mortal world, it was but a brief moment.
There was silence in Emmanuelle's Grove, and she slept deeply. She will miss those chattering trees. She smiled in her sleep. The old tree was right- Emmanuelle was older than any of the trees in her grove, but she was not as old as Hysteria, nor was she as old as the forest. She slept because her kind needed sleep, the same way mortals needed sleep and food and shelter, and all the luxury they can get their hands on. But Emmanuelle only needed sleep. Sleep fed her every need.
"Emmanuelle," the voice was shrill and cold, almost ghostly. "Wake up, Emmanuelle," the voice filled the forest, waking the soil and upturning rocks and stones with her gentle command. "Emmanuelle, child," the voice of the forest kept calling, but Emmanuelle resisted. She was deep in her sleep, communing with a mortal. Emmanuelle couldn't hear her mistress, Hysteria, calling her. So, Hysteria spread decay in her grove, slowly commanding the apple trees that she loves so much to shed their green to orange. "Mistress, how you can be so cruel," Emmanuelle said, not asked, as she rose and stretched her arms.
She was asleep, but she could hear. She wanted to fancy for a moment that she didn't, that her body dies the moment she sleeps, so she grows deaf and blind to everything around her. "What did you need, Mistress?" It was the same voice, the voice from the mirror that fled in fear in her Mistress' devastation. It was the same voice that whispered ancient secrets to Raziel Hawke. It was the same voice that Azrael heard in his dream. It was a
very familiar voice.
Emmanuelle rose, let her bare feet touch the cold soil. "The trees are dead and struggling. But the soil. The soil is so wonderfully alive!" She liked that everything that lived in this realm- plants, animals- spilled over and spread throughout the mortal world. "Even souls." "Yes, child, even souls." Hysteria replied, calling her out from the mirror.
"What did you need, Mistress?" Emmanuelle wanted to eat, not because she was hungry, but because she sought the texture of food in her mouth. "You have become accustomed to mortal ways, child." "I'd call it a hobby." "Ah, is it?" But Emmanuelle knew that her mistress didn't need an answer. "How is Carver?" "Well, Mistress. Your child is well." "I take it you enjoy pestering him?" "I- if I'm not mistaken, the youngest Hawke is now a lady." "Like yourself?" There was no tone of mockery, Hysteria only wanted to know what Emmanuelle would say, knowing that they're similarly longing for a mortal life. "Yes, I suppose." "You're very tame, child. Yet you are tactless to my Carver. And no, I do not wish to scold you. What I'm saying is-" She trailed off, Emmanuelle knew what she was saying. Hysteria wants Emmanuelle to be as warm, and as less pretentious as she is to Carver. Hysteria has long known how Emmanuelle would stiffen in her presence. "The ceremony, it's coming soon. No? It's happening soon." "Do you wish to see your children, Mistress?" "No," she chuckled, but sadly, "You know I can't."
Emmanuelle waited for Hysteria to continue. "Do you think it wrong that I dispatch my loyal stewards to the mortal world?" "You mean-" "Yes, I mean Kiwi. Ah, such a name, that child chose such a name, and to even tell my Carver that
his family swore allegiance to me. That child makes me smile." Emmanuelle kept silent, and Hysteria continued, "And Matteo. Matteo!" Emmanuelle waited, but Hysteria only said, "Cai," Emmanuelle shivered. "No worries, child. But if you allow me, I wish to know why you left Azrael." "He no longer wished for my guidance." "Hence, your sarcasm and flimsiness with Carver? Don't be mistaken, I am not angry." "I don't know, Mistress. Forgive me. I turned my back against my identity as this, 'Cai,' because of my feelings." Emmanuelle really didn't know. She was so loving and nurturing to Azrael, but him banishing her broke her heart. "I was-" "You were-?" "Heartbroken, Mistress. Deeply heartbroken." "It's my fault, child. Forgive me." "No, Mistress. The mortals, it's their fault." "And here we are secretly hoping and wishing to be like them." The two smiled weakly. "I do not send my stewards to love my children, but they do, don't they? They do." "Yes, Mistress. But you love them all equally." "As you, child. As you."
Hysteria left, leaving Emmanuelle her orders. "You know what to do, child."
Emmanuelle picked a fruit, a flame fruit, the mortals calls it. "Warm and fuzzy." Fuzzy was a word she learned from Kathilla Hale, Carver's biological sister and daughter by fate. "Yo, Hawke." Emmanuelle crashed into Carver's sleep, waking him. It was funny to her how she kept insisting that Carver call himself 'she', and 'Karela' when to her and to his mother, he was a 'he.' "What do you want, weirdo?" Carver replied, annoyed. "When are you going to wake up? I'm lonely." "Your lack of company is not my concern. You're immaterial. Nobody can see you. And I'm awake. You woke me, in case you forgot." "True." "What? You actually admit it?" "That makes you happy, doesn't it- me losing to you in our arguments." "Not when you're not trying. Where's the fun in that?" "You sound like Gale." "Who's Gale, your lover?" "You mock me, Hawke. No. Hate to break it to you, babe, but Gale is your brother. Well sort of." "What nonsense are you up to now?" "You have indeed, weakened. You can't sense your family. You couldn't even sense your dear Poncho's return."
The two kept quiet, thought about what they should say next.
"I know no Gale." "I know. Because technically, Gale is, uh, not your brother, but your brother's other self." "What?" "Stop talking as if 'what' is the only word you know. Come on, you're some science freak." "Exactly. My vocabulary, in that sense, isn't the best 'round town. And Poncho?" "I know how much you love Poncho, your sassy cat, but he isn't what you should be worried about." "Who, then? My brother 'Gale,' eh?" "Maybe. But I think Azrael could be a more important concern? To address that is?" "You dare butt into my sleep to talk about Azrael? You're kidding me." "Well, he's here." "What, here? Where is this conversation going?" "Don't make me feed you. You're independent. You can read between the lines." "I'd rather that you be straightforward. You can be a freak sometimes, I don't know which of the things you say isn't a joke, or a joke."
Emmanuelle sighed irritably. "Have you heard about 'The Wedding of the Decade?' you little-" "I heard the pizza guy talking about it, I'm a little too busy with my life, I don't have time for celebrities." "Dong. Dong. Dong. Heavens grant me a firecracker." "Nonsense." "If you'd listen, or even bothered to ask just a little, you'd know and probably gag at who's getting married to whom." "Please. Don't talk like one of those nut cases Hill watches on TV." "Yeah, I think your sister's pregnant. But that's not the issue." "What! What do you mean by pregnant! You dare?" "I dare, 'what?' exactly? You're not listening to me. Leave Hilly alone, she' an adult. We're discussing your lack of competence and prowess." "Excuse me?" "If you weren't so busy living like a mortal and utterly forgetting about getting at least half of your telepathy back, you'll know that Azrael's here." "That's not possible-" "Like I said, you're not listening! Have been for many years. Probably since half of your teen angst and raging hormones." "It's not even April." "I'm better than that. At least grant me a bit of your respect." "Hard to do. But, seriously?" "Seriously. Really. Do you want more superlatives? I have a bunch stashed in my chest." "Gross." "Wow, now I can't help but look down on you."
Emmanuelle got another fruit and watched the grandfather clock, "Hey, the time's stuck. What time is it there now?" Emmanuelle asked Carver casually. "A little past eight. We're talking?" "I can't believe you!" "Me neither," Carver shrugged. "Something's wrong." "Yep, you're officially crazy. There's no way Azrael's here." "He is. And he kept his name. I don't know why this woman Palmira didn't bother change their names. Maybe she's hoping to be found by The Order. Gale must hate her." "Palmira? And Gale, again?" Emmanuelle was busy getting worried over the clock. The time was stuck. The time
is stuck. Did Hysteria want to get rid of her mortal attachments, and penchant for worldly things? But this clock had been here for so long. She has no choice but to ask Hysteria later. She really loves this clock.
Emmanuelle sucked in her breath, "Okay, we'll go slow on this. Because apparently, Kiwi said nothing to you." "Kiwi?" "Stop asking like that, it's getting annoying." "Oh, I like where this is going. Pressure point. Mehehe." "Don't be childish." "So now, I'm childish. Hmm. Okay. Okay, I'll let you talk and get this over with." "Listen, chap. You get ready because in a few days, Azrael is getting married. And you do know what happens when the Hawke heir marries, no?" "He grows a beer belly and have kids? Or is that- have kids, then a beer belly?" Carver waited for the invisible weirdo to laugh, and when she didn't, he was forced to ask, "Ah, no?" "No, they already have kids. Palmira, this woman he's to marry, kept postponing it, the wedding I mean. Do you know why?" "Why are you talking to me like I'm in big trouble?" "Because you are." "I'm clueless. A little help?" "I need you to be in your brother's wedding." "Wha- why? And how do you plan to squeeze me into a private wedding?" "How do you know it's private?" "Ah, I guessed? And apparently, I'm good at it?" "It'd be very easy for me to, like, kill you right now." "Oh, you won't." "Not now, anyway. As I was saying-" "Woah, woah! Hold up, weirdo. When did I say I want to be part of this?" "This is your brother we're talking about?" "So what? We've lived apart. I don't see the point of a reunion. He thinks we're all dead." "No, he doesn't remember any of you at the moment." "Even better!" "Really?" "Yes! Really!" Emmanuelle only kept looking at the clock.
Emmanuelle cut off the channels. She had to talk some sense into Carver. And properly. The way they mess up each other's chances of making a proper conversation was upsetting her. She shouldn't have left Azrael. "Shame on you, you call yourself a steward." Emmanuelle bit her lip. "Cai, eh." Emmanuelle was playing with the idea of reconnecting with Azrael. But what would he say? He's a man of science now, wanting an explanation for everything. He might end up thinking he's schizophrenic.
Emmanuelle sat in front of the mirror and pondered. "Why not?" The young tree heard her say out loud. "Hello, there," Emmanuelle turned to it, but absently. She looked beyond, searching. "Ah, hello. Hello, Lady Emmanuelle." The young tree would have bowed. "Ha! Why are you so formal. I'm just a free-loader here." "Do you always talk to the trees, Lady Emmanuelle?" "No, this is the first time." "May I ask why, then?" "Just thought you needed someone to talk to." "How kind of you!" "Kind doesn't fit me, I think you know that." "As a wise ol' tree told me, "We don't know that.'" "Flatterer." "I'm quite pleased."
The wind touched the young tree's branches, it grew delighted and started to dance slightly, swaying. "What do you think, Mr Tree?" "Of what, my lady?" "How I should get rid of my arrogance," she smiled, and the shamed tree bowed, "You heard, even in your sleep." "Yes, I hear things. Even when I don't want to. But rest assured, I don't dislike you for it, what you said, I mean." "I'm truly sorry, Lady Emmanuelle!" "Meh, it's fine. Didn't I say? So, what do you think?" "I think, that, one should be nice even to the most rude person. It makes them feel bad." The young tree felt. It knew that feeling well. "True. I suppose I can try that. I used to be really nice, you know. Well, not so long ago, it was." "Yes. You can be kind without being necessarily nice. Which one do you want to be?" "I wish to be neither. I wish to be- ah, would you mind if I go back to sleep?" "I would feel very lonely, but I suppose I have no say in what the Lady wishes to do." "And when you do?" "I wish to talk to you more." "Ha. Frank. Silence must tire you." "Oh, yes. Lady Emmanuelle, why does your face look like that? I mean no offense. I think you look beautiful. I just-" "No, no. It's fine. These, these are marks of age. Of power. I think my body can no longer contain it." "Then, Hysteria, ah, the Mistress, she can help you?" "She can. But I don't wish to abandon this body. I lived in, and with this body for so long."
The two hummed to the wind. "Morn never shed its glory in the forest, does it?" "No, it doesn't." "Ah, forgive me, Mr Tree. But sleep is calling me. I hope you understand why I do this, and why I have to." "It's alright, Lady Emmanuelle." "Hmm, Emmanuelle is fine. Or Cai, for that matter." She winked at the young tree and went back to bed.
"Weirdo." "Hmm?" "Where have you ran off to? I've been talking to you and you haven't said anything." "Stuff happened." "Stuff?" "Didn't I tell you before? I'm as real as you are." "Uhuh. We're back to arguing?" "No. I'm just saying. And I remember saying that I'm going to sue. I hope you remember that." "With subpoena in hand?" "Got that right." "Well, good luck with that. I dare you to come up my door." "But listen. Azrael really is in Sunlit Tides." "I know that now." "By what means?" "Kiwi." "He told you? I'm quite surprised." "I'm suddenly confused by your familiarity with my husband." "Kiwi's all yours, Hawke. I could care less. I'm just being a nice girl trying to reunite a family." "But didn't you say that Azrael remembers nobody now?" "Yup. You listened. I'm glad." "Then what use are we?" "Well. Just go to the wedding." "Go? Barge into? Walk like a boss?" "Just grab a chair in there. I have my ways." "Really? How real are you, again?" Using the words of this child's mother, Emmanuelle replied, "As you."
"Hey," "What now, Hawke?" "Tell me about my brother's children." "Ah, twins. Anathema and Abaddon." "After Dad?" "Yeah, but it's Palmira's idea. He has no inkling, that his father's name is Abaddon. She messed up his memories." "What!" "To protect him." "Watcher, geez. Why is this happening?" "I can't answer that. I'm here on orders." "You're part of this?" "I'm not sure myself." "Then how can I trust you?" "I can't trust myself. Haha." "Then, is Abaddon like dad?" "Without magic in his blood?" "Yes." "Yes." "That means-?" "It's what it means." "And Anathema?" "She's a lovely girl. Palmira is actually tucking her angels in their sleep. Or something to that effect. She's worried. She's anxious." "Wedding jitters?" "It's not as simple as that." "Do you know more that Kiwi hasn't told me?" "I'm not sure. We should arrange for a meeting, no?" "Oh, please. This, again?" "I'm serious. And I think you should know about little Gabriel."
While Emmanuelle and Carver were at each others' throats, Palmira walked to see Anathema. She didn't want to touch her, but she loved her. Anathema inherited what she shouldn't. Everything she and Aveline worked hard for are now threatened by her own daughter. "Love. Anathema, dear." Palmira realized late, she can't go through with the wedding, but it was too late now. She didn't want to break Azrael's heart again. Anathema was their daughter. And she was a bane.
"Well," Emmanuelle rose. "Let's do this. I have a plan!" Emmanuelle sat smug. Patient.
Do agree that it's not as cryptic. Even if only silently. HAHA.
