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LJ Idol Minor+ - Prompt 2
Nov. 7th, 2021 09:41 pm(Prompt 2 - "Roopkund")
The Glass Heart
“I think she is old enough to hear that story.”
The young girl’s uncle sighed heavily, shaking his head slowly in response to his wife’s words. It came across as disagreement mixed with disbelief. His niece had grown so much in the last year, both in size and maturity. Perhaps she was ready. He paused in consideration, then began.
“What do you want from me, child?”
“A story of our family, Unca.”
“Why do you want this?”
“Because she needs to know, dear,” came his wife’s voice again.
“I need to hear it from her,” he responded out of the corner of his mouth, never taking his eyes of his young niece. If he was to continue the family ritual, he would do it right. “For what reason should I tell you this story?”
“For the family.”
“Yes. Always, for the family.”
“And I will repay it by…”
“Wait.” He stopped his niece mid-sentence, leaving her with her mouth open, her eyes questioning him as he broke the ritual. “Wait until the story is done, and then tell me how you will repay this particular boon.”
His niece closed her mouth, nodded, and placed the mug on the table before him.
He picked up his tea, took a long, slow sip, and closed his eyes.
---
“This story begins and ends with change.”
When the glass cliff broke, it changed the world. The family lost their leader, but gained a protector. Lost a mother and a daughter, but gained a future.
Wajid saw the crack, even before he heard it. As he stared up from the valley floor, his stomach fell along with the glass outcropping that was once the highest point above. He stood there, transfixed, until he saw something more: a human form atop the falling glass. Then he broke into a run.
After only a few paces, the sound of the massive shard of glass hitting the desert floor reverberated across the valley, causing Wajid to stumble. Still, he raced forward, knowing that it was useless, not knowing what else to do. He could not reverse gravity. He could not save the cliff. And he could not save the life of his falling leader. Yet on he ran, logic be damned.
(“Language, dear.”
“If she is mature enough for this story, she can handle a little damn language.”)
Even though it took several additional minutes for Wajid to reach where the cliff had fallen, the sand was still thick in the air. Half-blinded, he nearly fell into the crater that had been created by the impact. The combination of tremendous weight and significant height that defined the force striking the arid dessert had caused it to act like a sinkhole. The result was more like a small canyon.
Without heed to his own safety, Wajid stumbled down the steep slope, knowing that no one could have survived that fall, yet hoping against reality that somehow the winds would provide another miracle. And perhaps they did, but it was not the miracle that he was hoping for. For at the bottom he found a massive section of unbroken glass, about 50 yards across, in the shape of a gigantic heart. Its top was smooth and solid, except where it surrounded Marijke’s body, which lay shattered and lifeless, embedded in the glass. Yet somehow, even in death, she looked content, maybe even fulfilled. Her eyes were closed and her mouth smiled slightly, with no tension showing on her face.
The juxtaposition of destruction and serenity caused Wajid’s own heart to break, and as he leaned down to touch his former leader, he collapsed into unconsciousness.
The next morning, while heavy rains began to flood the area, a rescue mission was sent in to look for survivors. They found Wajid laying at Marijke’s side, the water just starting to mix with Marijke’s blood and forming a corona around them. While nothing could be done for the former leader, they found that Wajid was still breathing, though unresponsive. Taking turns, the group pulled him along the glass and up the side of the crater on a makeshift sled. There they set up a lean-to to protect him from the worsening storm, and settled in to pray. The downpour forced them to leave Marijke where she was, her body broken and her spirit departed, at the center of the glass heart.
For the next three days and nights, the storm pounded the valley and Wajid remained in his near death state. His rescuers took turns giving him food and drink, washing and caring for him. Finally, on the fourth morning, the storm broke, and as the sun rose up to reflect off the water covering the glass heart below, bathing the area in reflected light, Wajid stirred awake. When his rescuers relayed what had happened, he began to cry a mixture of joy and sadness, much like life. His family had saved him, but they had lost their leader. The glass cliff they had held holy was gone, but now a glass heart lay before them, shimmering underwater. There would always be gain and loss. There would always be change.
---
“You can’t just stop there, dear.”
“Of course I can. It works. Starts with change, ends with change. Story complete.” He looked at his niece, and at the sight of her frowning face, his smile faded. He turned to his wife, but her look held no shelter for him.
“Damn.”
---
After he recovered, Wajid climbed down into the crater every day to sit by the glass heart, speaking to it and to Marijke’s memory. Though the waters over the glass heart receded, no one dared to pass him to attempt to bring back Marijke’s body. Even the local carrion seemed to think such actions were forbidden. Over time, her clothes and skin fell apart and blew away, leaving only her bones, which appeared to have become one with the glass.
In the years that followed, our people flourished. The dry stale air that had surrounded us and strangled our crops was replaced by a gentle breeze and soft rains. Marijke’s death and Wajid’s survival at the hands of his fellow family members appeared to be the catalyst. In their honor, the family began a tradition of coming to the crater to pray at the changing of every season. It was a time to mourn, to rejoice, to come together, and to pray for the future. And when Wajid passed on, his body was left in the crater so that his bones could join those of his former leader. It was the family’s way of honoring him.
Things changed.
Our people began to spread across the continent, and tradition was necessarily reduced to a yearly pilgrimage. A celebration of what made us who we were. Later, as the terrain changed and became harder to traverse, the tradition reduced once more until it became a sacred pilgrimage reserved for significant occasions, such as when a young boy or girl became an adult, or for when an old man or woman was staring at the coming end of their life in this world.
Much later, when the heathen arrived, we shared with them our stories and we tried to teach them about our ways. In time, several of those who were not of our family began to join in the pilgrimages, drawn by the stories of the glass heart that holds the bones of the ancients.
And yet more change.
Over the years, even as the heathen forced us to find new lands, the number of pilgrims increased a thousand-fold. There were people visiting the heart on a daily basis. But many were not of the family, and they were not as respectful. Eventually they began to encroach on the glass itself, threatening its very survival. And so, claiming they were protecting us, but really just looking out for something they believed they owned, the new local government made a law. And then another. And now, no one can visit.
Today, the family is scattered and fading once again. Most have forgotten our ways. No one watches over us.
Yet Marijke’s Heart, the heart of glass, remains. Alone and untouched, it waits still for the next change.
---
“So, have you understood how to repay this boon I have granted you?”
His niece sat quietly, thinking. Finally, when her aunt and uncle had almost given up, she spoke.
“Yes, Unca.”
“And?”
“I will become an adult.”
---
“We carry in our hearts the true country
And that cannot be stolen
We follow in the steps of our ancestry
And that cannot be broken”
- Midnight Oil
---
This story links to a world previously seen in three other stories:
https://hangedkay.livejournal.com/3335.html - The Glass Cliff
https://hangedkay.livejournal.com/6053.html - I Can't Get Calm
https://hangedkay.livejournal.com/7768.html - Wind
The Glass Heart
“I think she is old enough to hear that story.”
The young girl’s uncle sighed heavily, shaking his head slowly in response to his wife’s words. It came across as disagreement mixed with disbelief. His niece had grown so much in the last year, both in size and maturity. Perhaps she was ready. He paused in consideration, then began.
“What do you want from me, child?”
“A story of our family, Unca.”
“Why do you want this?”
“Because she needs to know, dear,” came his wife’s voice again.
“I need to hear it from her,” he responded out of the corner of his mouth, never taking his eyes of his young niece. If he was to continue the family ritual, he would do it right. “For what reason should I tell you this story?”
“For the family.”
“Yes. Always, for the family.”
“And I will repay it by…”
“Wait.” He stopped his niece mid-sentence, leaving her with her mouth open, her eyes questioning him as he broke the ritual. “Wait until the story is done, and then tell me how you will repay this particular boon.”
His niece closed her mouth, nodded, and placed the mug on the table before him.
He picked up his tea, took a long, slow sip, and closed his eyes.
---
“This story begins and ends with change.”
When the glass cliff broke, it changed the world. The family lost their leader, but gained a protector. Lost a mother and a daughter, but gained a future.
Wajid saw the crack, even before he heard it. As he stared up from the valley floor, his stomach fell along with the glass outcropping that was once the highest point above. He stood there, transfixed, until he saw something more: a human form atop the falling glass. Then he broke into a run.
After only a few paces, the sound of the massive shard of glass hitting the desert floor reverberated across the valley, causing Wajid to stumble. Still, he raced forward, knowing that it was useless, not knowing what else to do. He could not reverse gravity. He could not save the cliff. And he could not save the life of his falling leader. Yet on he ran, logic be damned.
(“Language, dear.”
“If she is mature enough for this story, she can handle a little damn language.”)
Even though it took several additional minutes for Wajid to reach where the cliff had fallen, the sand was still thick in the air. Half-blinded, he nearly fell into the crater that had been created by the impact. The combination of tremendous weight and significant height that defined the force striking the arid dessert had caused it to act like a sinkhole. The result was more like a small canyon.
Without heed to his own safety, Wajid stumbled down the steep slope, knowing that no one could have survived that fall, yet hoping against reality that somehow the winds would provide another miracle. And perhaps they did, but it was not the miracle that he was hoping for. For at the bottom he found a massive section of unbroken glass, about 50 yards across, in the shape of a gigantic heart. Its top was smooth and solid, except where it surrounded Marijke’s body, which lay shattered and lifeless, embedded in the glass. Yet somehow, even in death, she looked content, maybe even fulfilled. Her eyes were closed and her mouth smiled slightly, with no tension showing on her face.
The juxtaposition of destruction and serenity caused Wajid’s own heart to break, and as he leaned down to touch his former leader, he collapsed into unconsciousness.
The next morning, while heavy rains began to flood the area, a rescue mission was sent in to look for survivors. They found Wajid laying at Marijke’s side, the water just starting to mix with Marijke’s blood and forming a corona around them. While nothing could be done for the former leader, they found that Wajid was still breathing, though unresponsive. Taking turns, the group pulled him along the glass and up the side of the crater on a makeshift sled. There they set up a lean-to to protect him from the worsening storm, and settled in to pray. The downpour forced them to leave Marijke where she was, her body broken and her spirit departed, at the center of the glass heart.
For the next three days and nights, the storm pounded the valley and Wajid remained in his near death state. His rescuers took turns giving him food and drink, washing and caring for him. Finally, on the fourth morning, the storm broke, and as the sun rose up to reflect off the water covering the glass heart below, bathing the area in reflected light, Wajid stirred awake. When his rescuers relayed what had happened, he began to cry a mixture of joy and sadness, much like life. His family had saved him, but they had lost their leader. The glass cliff they had held holy was gone, but now a glass heart lay before them, shimmering underwater. There would always be gain and loss. There would always be change.
---
“You can’t just stop there, dear.”
“Of course I can. It works. Starts with change, ends with change. Story complete.” He looked at his niece, and at the sight of her frowning face, his smile faded. He turned to his wife, but her look held no shelter for him.
“Damn.”
---
After he recovered, Wajid climbed down into the crater every day to sit by the glass heart, speaking to it and to Marijke’s memory. Though the waters over the glass heart receded, no one dared to pass him to attempt to bring back Marijke’s body. Even the local carrion seemed to think such actions were forbidden. Over time, her clothes and skin fell apart and blew away, leaving only her bones, which appeared to have become one with the glass.
In the years that followed, our people flourished. The dry stale air that had surrounded us and strangled our crops was replaced by a gentle breeze and soft rains. Marijke’s death and Wajid’s survival at the hands of his fellow family members appeared to be the catalyst. In their honor, the family began a tradition of coming to the crater to pray at the changing of every season. It was a time to mourn, to rejoice, to come together, and to pray for the future. And when Wajid passed on, his body was left in the crater so that his bones could join those of his former leader. It was the family’s way of honoring him.
Things changed.
Our people began to spread across the continent, and tradition was necessarily reduced to a yearly pilgrimage. A celebration of what made us who we were. Later, as the terrain changed and became harder to traverse, the tradition reduced once more until it became a sacred pilgrimage reserved for significant occasions, such as when a young boy or girl became an adult, or for when an old man or woman was staring at the coming end of their life in this world.
Much later, when the heathen arrived, we shared with them our stories and we tried to teach them about our ways. In time, several of those who were not of our family began to join in the pilgrimages, drawn by the stories of the glass heart that holds the bones of the ancients.
And yet more change.
Over the years, even as the heathen forced us to find new lands, the number of pilgrims increased a thousand-fold. There were people visiting the heart on a daily basis. But many were not of the family, and they were not as respectful. Eventually they began to encroach on the glass itself, threatening its very survival. And so, claiming they were protecting us, but really just looking out for something they believed they owned, the new local government made a law. And then another. And now, no one can visit.
Today, the family is scattered and fading once again. Most have forgotten our ways. No one watches over us.
Yet Marijke’s Heart, the heart of glass, remains. Alone and untouched, it waits still for the next change.
---
“So, have you understood how to repay this boon I have granted you?”
His niece sat quietly, thinking. Finally, when her aunt and uncle had almost given up, she spoke.
“Yes, Unca.”
“And?”
“I will become an adult.”
---
“We carry in our hearts the true country
And that cannot be stolen
We follow in the steps of our ancestry
And that cannot be broken”
- Midnight Oil
---
This story links to a world previously seen in three other stories:
https://hangedkay.livejournal.com/3335.html - The Glass Cliff
https://hangedkay.livejournal.com/6053.html - I Can't Get Calm
https://hangedkay.livejournal.com/7768.html - Wind
