Lyrianne of the Song, Part 4

The pitter patter of the rain against the Chromatic Palms kept Lyrianne on edge, inspiring frantic glances at imagined footsteps. She couldn't believe she was doing this, but here she was, sneaking her way into the House of Flowers long after waking hours. She pulled her brightly patterned cloak tighter against herself, inwardly cursing the Rol'nara love of colors. She lightly crept from shadow to shadow, pausing briefly to survey her surroundings before continuing onward. Just a few more steps and she'd be there, at the temple door, ready to slip inside into the cold darkness of the temple.   The door opened towards her, suddenly, startling her careful advance and sending her flailing into a puddle. "There you are!" The kindly caretaker cheerfully poked his head into the night. "We were just talking about you!" He spotted her predicament and his grin faltered. "Oh dear. Are you alright?"   Lyrianne breathed carefully to bright her pounding heart under control as he helped her to her feet. "Sorry, sorry," she muttered hurrily, wringing the muddy rainwater from her clothes as best she could. She felt her cheeks flush and said a silent thanks to the goddesses that Dracoling faces were a difficult read for most Humans.   But apparently not the caretaker. "No need to be embarrassed." His grin had returned to full strength as he ushered her inside. "Come, come. Let me get you dried off. Now I know why she insisted on a fire in such a warm evening."   Lyrianne was drawn to the flames, silently approaching as she admired their dancing light against the shrines to the three Goddesses. She had always found fire comforting, its cheerful blazing reminding her of family breakfasts spent in comraderie in the kitchen, and cold nights curled up next to the flames. The caretaker followed her gaze, his eyes turning wistful.   "My wife used to say that fire sings its own song, silent to all but those who hear its calling. That's why it's always dancing." He carefully plucked another log, laying it gingerly on the fire. The fire altered its dance, leaning away from the new addition before tentatively lapping at the log to incorporate its fuel into the dance. The pair stared silently at the fire before the caretaker turned to tap Lyrianne's chest lightly. "It's in here, you know. The song. You can't hear it with your ears."   "You haven't asked me why I'm here." Lyrianne found her muscles still tense from the catetaker's discovery of her stealth outside, the initial shock replaced with apprehension as to how and why the he had known of her approach.   "Oh, please. Secrets? In the House of Flowers?" The caretaker motioned around the temple, amused, and for the first time Lyrianne noticed the two prophets seated at the fire, a wizened canid gentlemen with graying spotted fur and the human woman the caretaker had introduced as his wife. They smiled politely in Lyrianne's direction, a distracted smile that may or may not have been directed at her. Lyrianne waved tentatively, but received no response from the prophets. She turned her attention back to the caretaker, her head cocked to the side quizzically. He answered her unspoken question with another. "The real question is: Do you know why you are here?"   "I'm just here to visit my mother."   "And wake her up in the middle of the night?" The caretaker took her hand and kindly guided her to one of the cushioned chairs reserved for the prophets. He brushed away her half-hearted protests. "You are here to seek the insight of the Three Songs, to learn your place in the Song of Life. The Goddesses won't begrudge you a comfortable chair. Especially one no one is using." He smiled at her, kindly motioning towards the proffered seat. "Sit. Talk."   Lyrianne sighed her acceptance before gingerly sitting on the edge of the chair, holding her hands out towards the warming flames.   "Her cloak," the canid prophet reminded, nodding his doglike snout in Lyrianne's direction. "There's lots to do, don't want her catching cold."   The caretaker gracefully scooped up a blanket warming by the fire, offering the bundle in exchange for her soaked travel cloak. She gratefully accepted the trade, pulling her knees towards her chest and wrapping herself in the warm, toasted folds of the thick blanket as the caretaker neatly arranged her colorful travel cloak to dry by the flames.   "Then why am I here?" she found herself asking, surveying the prophets curiously. She remembered mumbling constantly to herself on the stealthy trek to the temple about seeing Mama, apologizing for causing her dementia, and begging her to return to her original self. Now that she was here, though, she conceded that the caretaker was correct in his assessment that she would not wish to wake her mother for a conversation that could easily wait until tomorrow... So why was she here?   "Think, child. What is so urgent you would sneak into the very temple in the middle of the night?" The caretaker's wife, or at least, the prophet who used to be his wife, directed a sad smile deep into her very soul. She found herself gasping unconsciously at the gaze.   "I... Well..." She whithered under the piercing gaze of the woman, her deep brown eyes peeling away at Lyrianne's defensiveness and resistance, sapping away her resistances, boring straight to the truth. Lyrianne closed her eyes and focused on her breathing in an effort to regain her composure before returning the prophet's gaze again. "I want to know that it's not my fault!" she cried at last, her composure melting against the words, before collapsing into sobs.   The caretaker placed his hand lightly on her shoulder, patting her gently as she sobbed. She could feel the awkward stares of the prophets, watching her tears hit the blanket envoloping her before being absorbed into its fibers.   Finally the caretaker's wife broke the awkward silence. "Please forgive us." She glared at the canid prophet before turning back to Lyrianne. "My sister and I are not as in tune with mortal emotions as Patheia. We... We tend to forget how upsetting change can be."   "Seriously?" The canid's fur stood on end now, lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl, his full attention directed at the shriveled woman sitting next to him. "I'll have you know, Xira, it is only change that inspires innovation and strength amongst the mortals! Permanence breeds complacency! Change brings growth!"   "Mortals need stability, Kambiara, to encourage them to build societies and spread their roots." Xira's human prophet-vessel sneered back at her canid counterpart. "How can they grow without roots?"   "Ladies, ladies, please." The caretaker stepped between the pair of bickering Goddesses, holding up his arms. "Repeating this same argument, yet again, will not assist with our current conversation." He motioned towards Lyrianne, her fingers desperately clutching the blanket as she watched the Goddesses bicker.   She looked towards the caretaker, tears streaming down her cheeks. She felt very small and unimportant against their argument, a mere mortal whose mother had been caught in some power play between a pair of Goddesses, a plaything in some sort of quest beyond her comprehension. "I don't undersand," she sobbed. "They don't even agree! How can I trust the Goddesses with my mother if they don't even know what they're doing?"   The caretaker perched carefully on the edge of the firepit, the dancing flames outlining his silouette as he leaned towards her. "This is something very few understand, but I will attempt to explain it to you, dear Lyrica." He glared sternly at the two Goddesses' vessels, bidding them to maintain their silence, before returning his attention to Lyrianne. "The Three Songs is..." He paused for a moment as he fumbled for the word. "Bigger? Than just the lives of mortals." The caretaker paused briefly to gage her understanding before hurridly continuing as Lyrianne began to choke up. "It's not from lack of caring! We, they, do care. There's just... More at stake than one life, or dozens of lives. There's a bigger picture, a bigger balance, than our faithful petitioners from the Festival of Flowers, or the families of the prophets, or even the full singing faithful of the Three Songs."   Lyrianne choked back the onslaught of tears threatening to overflow. She could feel the Goddesses' unspoken requests to her in their silent, pleading looks, although they honored the caretaker's request for silence. She did her meditative breathing again, closing her eyes, pulling her breath inward, concentrating on the ebb and flow of air and magic with each breath. Finally, she opened her eyes, their dark blue hues spilling over with questions in place of their former tears. "Where do I fit in this? And why mother?"   "Sweet Lyrianne." It was Kambiara's prophet-vessel speaking now, her bony fingers pointing towards the dancing flames. "Dear Child. We do not choose where the flames may go, we only encourage their dance."   "And the flames of dementia have chosen your sweet, devout mother, and pointed our way to you." Goddess Xira completed her sister's thought, the spotted tail of her canid prophet-vessel wagging at the sentiments. "And in you, we see the rebirth of what was meant to be, and the rebalance of the order of things."   Lyrianne's head was swimming with the words of the Goddesses. Her? Save the world? She couldn't even save her mother. And the Goddesses' hadn't even picked her in the first place!   The caretaker seemed to read her mind. "The Three Songs is about balance between change and permanence, and mortals' place of strength within this balance." He carefully reached into the firepit, removing a thin branch. one end consumed by flames. He held it out to her and she watched, transfixed, as the flames lapped at the air. "This fire is part of the larger fire. It came from the original flames, and it can spread their light to others, to unite more fires into burning harmony with the original." Lyrianne watched as the caretaker blew at the fire, the gentle flow of air inspiring the flames to dance and flare at greater intensity. "A little adversity can inspire the flame to grow brighter, while too much..." The caretaker deftly wrapped his fist around the flame, causing Lyrianne to wince in sympathy, but he quickly opened the fist again to reveal his palm, unblemished by the now-extinguised fire. "Too much will cause the flame to die. And yet..." With a quick movement the caretaker dipped the end of the stick into the heart of the flames and removed it again, revealing the renewed flame dancing atop the stick again. "It only takes a moment in the heat of the light to rekindle what was once dead." He turned to Lyrianne, his face serious, his words grave. "The Goddesses wish you to be that heat, to rekindle the flames that once were, to spread the fire of the Three Songs."   Lyrianne blinked in confusion. "Me? But I --"   "Shhhhh. I know it's been a long day." The caretaker stood from the edge of the firepit and walked towards the prophets, their eyes now closed, chests rising and falling in the slow dance of sleep. "You have many questions, but first you must rest. Tomorrow is a new day, and all will be revealed."   Lyrianne tried to protest but the words wouldn't come. She watched through heavy eyelids as the caretaker began his efforts to escort the sleeping prophets to their rooms until finally, her mind swimming with the weight of emotions and struggling to interpret her place within the Goddesses' revelations, she could no longer resist the call of sleep.