Obsidian Remembers

I swung from the hilt of his sword.

My iron prison, a heart-shaped locket, began to shake.

It began to glow, a radiant gold flooding the man’s eyes.

Click. The locket fell open, the glow dying down to embers. Being newly freed from my prison, I rejoiced gleefully. The mortals stared at each-other, neither of the humans could hear me falling. Someone would. Eventually, I – a sphere of glistening obsidian – hit the ground, falling upon a bed of ashes that bore ruins of a people long dead. Those bone-dry skeletons of a dead kingdom were numerous here. Each smouldering grain pressed into me, poking and prodding at my shining skin. Around, small symbols from that time were etched into the pebbles themselves – perhaps some sort of magic now gone from this world. Why should I know? My knowledge was from after all that.

There were two of them, giants towering into the grey sky, bending into it, like great hammer-beams. The man reached down slowly, hands blackened by ash. He grasped me gently between his thumb and forefinger, bringing me up to his face. Next to him, a woman with hair of messy blonde spoke up. “Why did you say that?” she asked, voice shaking. She didn’t look at the man as she spoke, instead staring hungrily at me. Her eyes were glass too. I saw myself in them. She wanted me. She wanted to –

“Carra, what are you talking about?” the man said, and the woman, difficult though it was, tore herself away from me to focus on the man. Their eyes would be back for me soon. I felt something hit me gently, from the sky. “Those words, the poem or whatever it was. You said something.”

“Gods Carra, does that matter? We’ve got it! We finally have it!” said the man with a raggedness that seemed to shock the woman into silence. The thing hit me again – a droplet. Slowly, they increased, pattering across the ruins. From behind the man’s grasp, I saw the rain begin to pour. A piece of shredded, cobalt-blue fabric on the ground grew dark as it drank up the water as hungrily as the humans wanted me. Through jagged stone and blackened brick, a thick haze washed over the area, coating everything in a slick wetness. The ground itself seethed as rain hit ash.

Together, the humans looked at each-other knowingly. “C’mon,” the woman said, bending down to pick up her sack, “Let’s get out of –”

Oh, it was beautiful to hear when it started! Angelic singing fell from the skies above, transcending all voices borne of mortal means. It flowed like melted adamant, yet was itself as adamant as the earth. It flexed delicately, stroking gently the fabric of the air. It thundered like the breath of a volcano, bursting into life and energy. It shook the bones, pierced the rain, and flowed gloriously over my obsidian skin.

The humans, petty as they were, went white, both looking utterly terrified. They whipped from their pockets, pieces of worn and dirty cloth, plugging their ears. But I saw it for what it was. My saviour had come. Clutching me tightly in his palm, I heard the man sheathe the sword, the heart-locket gently clinking against it’s hilt.

And I heard it again, that beautiful singing, calling out to me. It resonated across the ashen glade. It crystallised in the rain itself. Come home, it said, come home. I shouted silently again, I’m here. The humans seemed to be too busy with their anxious packing to notice the siren appear. It’s serenade built into a crescendo as it descended from the hazy rain-clouds. The humans, eventually hearing it, turned. Upon beholding one of my master’s servants, they panicked. I was dropped.

For a moment, a wonderful moment, I felt the air rush around me, curling into eddies, spinning, swirling. I saw the siren. Their body and head was that of a beautiful woman, delicate and ornate, glowing like oil on canvas. The siren’s legs were eager claws, and they bore great golden wings that were totally still even in flight. Behind the siren, light beamed through a break in the clouds, and those eyes, those angelic eyes, caught my trajectory through the air. But so did the human. Darkness returned as I was swallowed again by the man’s filthy hand.

I’m not sure what happened in the moment’s following. Inside the cavernous palm of the man, I bounced about, rolling and rocking with his movements. It seemed to me that they, quite pointlessly, running away from my saviour—the siren. No matter, I thought, I have already waited this long, what is a little more? “We’ll loose it in there!” the woman shouted, and though I could not see, I assume the man agreed, for he did not raise any objections.

When eventually I saw daylight again, it was deep within the ruins themselves. Now the humans were crouched beside a tower. It had been snapped in half, sundered, so that most of it lay on the ground behind. The base still stood, and the humans cowered under it like ants by a tree. Rolling around in the man’s palm, I saw them staring at me. Me. I. The object of their desire. Desire. I. Me. I am desire.

Apparently that is a thing that lacks here. When I was caged I heard them talking about how it was gone. Grey skies had consumed the world, and the Dark Coast was colourless, heartless. Human spirit, like fog, deformed and diffused, were pulled across the land and doused so that no fire burned there. All were husks now. Except me of course.

The Humans looked at me achingly, I could see strings attached to their hearts, many of them, that radiated out in all directions. Each pulled and tugged, dragging the humans in some direction or another. A fools errand, each one.

Some were thin and wispy, like threads on a spiders web. Hope, like cold dew in winter, seemed to cling to these threads, but they would break eventually. They always did. There was a larger, more substantial thread that attached the two humans together. Curious. But the largest threads of all were where the humans were attached to me, and they pulled at me hard.

“Shit. Shit. We’re dead. We’re –”

“Shhh!” The man said, interrupting the woman, “Carra, it’s still out there!” Carra went pale and fell into a whisper.

“What do we do? We’ll be taken to the Radiant Queen!” The woman, Carra, said.

There was a moment of silence while the two thought. They both stared at me, stared in me.

However as always happens, the music came back. Clearly they heard it, but not enough for it to take effect. But that was not the most annoying thing.

For millennia, I have been the object of everyone’s desire. Passion has folded unto me, and sacrificed all it’s rights to possess me. Never before has anyone been foolish enough to displace me for another. Yet, the ease at which this man and woman tore their eyes away from me and to each-other was horrible. I still sat gently in the man’s hand, cupped like a babe, or a ruby, or an idea. But the way that they looked at each-other infuriated me. Enraged me. They should want me. I am their passion. I am their love. I screamed again, a fretful, pained scream, that let the siren know where I was, though in truth it was not out of fear of my safety. The ruins towered over me like shadows hid their bodies. Blocking the light. Hiding the sky. I felt ruined.

Suddenly, the man snapped his head backwards, looking beyond the walls. At least they no longer looked at each-other. I felt the wrinkles on his hand convulse. I was passed, given over to the woman, let go. The last thing I saw before her fingers caged me in darkness was the man grabbing the ancient sword, the heart-shaped locket still gently swinging.

The world began to shake. I bounced around inside the woman’s palm. The stink of her blood stung my obsidian skin. Crisp air displaced by warm flesh. The sounds of the man, distant. But we all heard them still.

“Over here you radiant bitch!” the man shouted. Even in the darkness I could feel the string tugging at the woman as she heard his voice. I felt her hand grip me tighter as the man’s last words bounced across the rotting stone of that once-great city. I could almost hear the heart-beating of my protectors wings, even in the darkness.

“Where did you get that sword!?” my protector hissed violently, offended that a heretic should carry such a holy relic.

“Why do you care?” the man shouted. It all grew quieter and quieter.

“You’re right.” said the siren. We ran. “I don’t care.” We rocked around a corner.

The man shouted in the distance.

The siren laughed hysterically.

The woman slipped. The woman fell.

There was a great jolt as we hit the ground, I hit all walls of the woman’s hand, bouncing in a fleshy prison. For a brief moment, free fall swept me away, and I remembered how it felt to be in the sky again. However, all things must end, and we hit the ground hard.

As if by some divine miracle, or some great providence, my prison opened. It was not a large opening, not one of any substance. But it was enough to take leave. I burst into the open air, bathing in the grey dullness of the sky. In a fit of joy I shouted silently, knowing the attention it would attract. Dirty puddles lay scattered across the hallway of ruins, and I landed happily in one, knowing the woman wouldn’t find me in time.

From under the water, through the swirling mud, the distorted vision of that woman thrashing about in panicked chaos brought me great joy. She splashed desperately through each puddle, turned over every pebble, and searched every canyon in the stunted stone walls.

And then she stared at me. The woman and I locked vision, and for the last time I saw myself reflected in her eyes. They were sad eyes. Regretful. But above all else, there was a passion, a burning coal of desire to see this through. I realised, then, that neither the man nor woman needed me. Not really. I am just plumage to be plucked. I am just a standard to be flown. A symbol.

Before she got anywhere close to moving for me however, the siren landed. They were more graceful than any bird in the sky. In one hand, they held a golden spear, deftly swinging it through the air as if it were their own arm. The woman broke with me again, looking towards the siren. She glared, clearly disgusted at my protector, or their actions in rescuing me. “Why do this to us?!” she demanded, “Why –” the siren cast their spear through the woman. The mortal fell into the water. She landed face-first. Her golden hair was dirty.

All around, gentle feathers grasped me again. I breathed in the acidic wanting from the siren. They brought me up to their face, transforming into a butterfly-grin. Tears rolled into their eyes, glory washing over them, my beauty tugging at their many, many threads. The siren raised their wings in victory. They brought me close to their heart, unable to let the strings pull any-more. “You’re safe now.” they whispered tenderly, “You’re safe with us.” I remembered the way the mortals had looked at each-other. I still wasn’t satisfied.