NIGHT VOICES
A tale of Cyran and Tindómë
The night was black, the moonlight gilded the streets. Six men were chasing down a small woman through a twisted warren of back alleys the locals called the Maze. They were gaining on her. And it wasn’t credits they were after. Her cloak whipped in the stale winds until she hit a dead end and looked up to see no avenue of escape.
CYRAN – Greetings, fellow sinners.
There at the end of the alley stood a man garbed in violet.
CYRAN – Let her be.
The front four ran to the stranger, armed with nasty-looking knives. Two went further down into the alley after their prey.
CYRAN – Miss, I’m here to rescue…
The four soon-to-be corpses charged, and before Cyran Oghma could get to his sabers, he heard a familiar snap-hiss as red light gave the two felons a quick lesson in division. Two wholes suddenly became four halves.
CYRAN – …. you.
The four men were now running away from the petite woman. Cyran drew his sabers and stood in their way.
CYRAN – My turn.
The math lesson was over quickly. As they lay there, Cyran Oghma bowed deeply to the young woman approaching him.
TINDÓMË – Cyran Oghma?
CYRAN –Yes.
TINDÓMË – I hear her too.
And then she started to hum, a tune he heard in his dreams. A tune no one other than he and she knew. A song she sang him to sleep with.
Then the petite woman’s wings unfurled and she took to the air. Cyran made chase. Quickly using force leaps to get to the rooftops, he chased the bat-winged angel through the night. Rooftop to rooftop he leapt, then, realizing he was too old for these games, force-closed her wings together and sent her plummeting back to the ground. Cyran caught her before electromagnetism proved it was stronger than gravity. Cyran reminded himself to thank Taomoon for that bit of knowledge.
The tiny bat didn’t struggle as the ancient warrior poet put her down gently.
TINDÓMË – Why did you catch me?
CYRAN – Where did you hear that song?
TINDÓMË – On the wind. Her voice is beautiful. Who is she? The one whose stone you visit?
CYRAN – Yes.
TINDÓMË – She’s out there.
CYRAN – She can’t be.
TINDOME – How very little you know, I hear her. She says, “Just remember I love you, and you’ll always be mine.”
CYRAN – That is in the song, my little bat.
Cyran’s cynicism was returning.
TINDÓMË – She also says, “It is truly love, the sad rages, the constant thoughts. And yet it is not selfish. For your happiness I would give my own life gladly, even if you must never know, if it could be that sometimes where I was, no matter how far, I could hear your laughter born of my sacrifice. I fear nothing but your loss. Do you realize? Do you perceive this soul in a shadow? A soul to you, the candle that gives me warmth in the chilling darkness and light to see. Without you I am lost forever. This night, this glorious night, is too perfect. It only means for me to die now, with the sight of you trembling like a leaf through branches of jasmine. I love, greater than anyone, I hold the sun in my heart for you, my half soul. You illuminate me, those eyes a beacon to shore. You are my life and in those eyes, I surpass all things, in those eyes love itself could not love as much as I.”
Cyran had only told one person those words, an autumn night centuries ago. The night after a tear-stained page changed his life forever.
TINDÓMË – She wasn’t singing the song about you going to battle.
CYRAN – She was telling me goodbye.
TINDÓMË -You find her, old warrior, old poet. You save her. Just like you saved me.
And with that, outstretched wings flew into the heart of the night.
TINDÓMË – Give me a poem.
She said flying into the music of the night.
CYRAN – I already have the title. It’s called “ In praise of bats”.
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