Nemorosis
patreon
The Bell Tolls for Me 78: Surrender
🕑 Added 2025-08-24 00:50:04 +0000 UTCThe Fëantaina en’Thalvassë—the surrendering of the soul—was a ritual near as important as persuading the Lómethar. For most people, this would be the final boundary before being granted the role of Thalvassë. But Isabella had the benefit of a certain individual standing by her side. She stood on a raised platform in the center of the city square. The turnout was astounding, in her mind—she had addressed fewer people when executing Cesare. They listened raptly, silently. For this ritual, Valerio was her Tirmo en’Fëa—a sponsor, essentially, who guided her through things.
“People of this land,” Isabella said, pausing a beat so that Roderick could translate for those who did not speak her tongue. “I have come to present what I can offer that I believe will shepherd all of us to greater heights.”
As Roderick repeated what she said, she could feel her heart beating in her chest. This ceremony was about ensuring that the Lómethar didn’t appoint their Thalvassë corruptly. She had received the confirmation of the leaders, yet the confirmation of the people was just as important. Her sponsor all but guaranteed her assent, she felt—but her words, poorly given, could dissuade them.
“The land that I come from has created many wonders.” Isabella gestured to Valerio. “My fiancé has helped bring you much of what we’ve built and learned over the centuries. All of you have employed it beyond my expectations. I see happy children running around the streets everywhere, I see people whole and happy, and I see a community that trusts one another,” she praised without restraint.
People looked up at her with the selfsame joy and optimism that she was describing.
“I have thought long and hard about what I might offer you. The simple truth of the matter is that most things I can provide, Valerio could provide just as easily. I could teach you magic…” she summoned forth her familiar. The gray parrot emerged from her hand, flying until it landed on her shoulder. “…yet there are others far more qualified to perform that role than I am. I could send you more craftsman and artisans, yet Valerio once again is equal in that with me.”
Isabella felt proud as people looked upon her familiar with wonder. She let that feeling buoy her as she prepared to continue.
“But what I am best equipped to offer is an avoidance of the pitfalls that plague our land.” Isabella placed her hands before her politely. “In the land that I come from, wars are commonplace. There are battles between men numbering in the tens of thousands. Graves big enough to accommodate this entire city are dug all too often… and then filled to the point of overflowing.”
As she spoke, the happy faces grew harder. When Roderick translated, the mood for all darkened, and the people looked at each other and shifted on their feet uneasily.
“There may be trust and solidarity between you today. You endured the difficult life that existed before the arrival of another pathway. But as new generations are born, as people forget the hardship which is binding all of you together today, as more and more wonders from my land come to this place, that may change. I speak with certainty when I say that, one day, as your cities expand across this land, their interests will clash. Differences will arise. Brother will kill brother, and graves the size of this city will be dug and filled. They will be filled with your children, your grandchildren, and your great-grandchildren.”
Isabella waited for Valerio, watching the darkening faces. She had given them the fire and brimstone—now, time to drag them away from it with promise of light.
“What I offer, then,” Isabella continued, brightening her tone, “is not something that will change your life. What I offer is to prevent the sicknesses of our land from polluting your people. I will ensure that you dig no graves, but plow new fields. I will help ensure that family does not fight family—merely argue, as families should. And I see the answer in your own people. I see it in the Lómethar. It is a testament to something your people already understand well.
“Great people like Valerio come and go,” Isabella said, taking his wrist. “The son may not equal the father, nor the daughter the mother. It is tempting to vest all authority under one. Yet when that one dies, who shall replace him? As your numbers grow, so too will your ideas on who is best suited diverge. These disagreements will be the wedge which splits you. And then, like my homeland, you shall be plunged into wars. The Lómethar must be preserved… but it cannot remain as it is,” Isabella posited.
People listened to Isabella closely. The silence was unfamiliar and unnerving, but she pressed on.
“I will provide reform,” Isabella said clearly. “I will reform so that disagreements will be always be settled as they currently are. No man or woman is above correction. If a leader fails, we must create methods that allow them to be replaced without bloodshed. If a path proves foolish, I will provide a route so that the people may turn back. We see more together than one pair of eyes ever could. Let me help you build a rule that outlives any one of us: a rule of self-correction, of open dialogue, of mutual trust. That is how our children will live free, long after we are gone.
“How long should a member of the Lómethar serve? Who checks their power, and the codes they draft, so that they do not hoard power for themselves? Who provides a coherent direction, so that the Lómethar does not spend every meeting bickering over with path is most fitting? Doubtless you have already heard of arguments. Who stops those, and ensures the progress of the people?” Isabella paused, letting themselves ask that question. “You have spent the past years learning how to use tools that harness iron, that craft buildings from stone, that turn hide to clothing. I will teach you how to create an tool that ensures the will of the Ithilian remains intact even as you expand across this proud land, as you build more cities. As you claim this continent, I will ensure you remain one people, and nation.”
Isabella spoke honestly and truly. In these people, she saw the possibility of a different way of living. She had never seen a society like this one, where there were small differences in caste or class. All adults with a child had a say in their government. It wasn’t fully uncharted territory—her idea had partially been taken from the Interregnum Council and the Republic of Ambrose, but unlike those examples, there wasn’t a small cadre of elites deciding things among the Ithilian. Isabella had the potential to preserve their way of life, while giving it structure that could outlive them all.
She could become a monarch here, without a doubt. But Isabella would not be like her father, no matter how much it benefitted her.
When Valerio finished translating, she watched the crowd. A pregnant elven woman standing near the front raised her hand to her mouth, and bit her palm. Isabella watched uneasily as the woman kneeled, holding her hand out flat as blood pooled to form a small puddle contained in the hand. Soon enough, countless others around her began to perform the same act. She looked at Valerio uneasily, but he gave her a silent nod.
Arthur walked up on the platform, clearly concerned for her well-being. “Isabella… there’s a strange energy in the air.”
“Relax,” Valerio assured him. “This is the ritual.” He drew a knife, then cut his hand open. “Remember what I told you, Isabella, and all should be fine. You’re going to see some of why the Ithilian, and the elves in general, are as tightly bound as they are.”
When Isabella looked back out at the crowd, she saw that what had been pools of blood in the palm looked like handfuls of molten silver. The silver hue cleared to become crystalline water of great beauty. The elves each whispered a phrase into the water, and then blew it in her direction. It became a mist that shone with rainbow hues, and soon enough Isabella was consumed by a cloud of it.
“Valerio of the Isles,” whispered her fiancé into the pool in his hand, and then did the same as all the others.
The mist deliberately encircled Isabella. She was quite nervous for what came next. She exhaled, forcing all of the air out of her lungs. Then, she began to breathe deep. The mist surrounding her began to enter her lungs. When ordinarily her lungs would have filled entirely, this inhalation never ended. She kept breathing in and in and in. Her vision began to whiten, objects began to fade from view, and her body felt like it was disappearing. Still, she continued to breathe in.
Isabella started to hear things—names. She recognized a few. Roderick. Taryon. Valerio. With them came emotions, sentiments. Then, a flood, like warm water spreading through her veins bringing an intense feeling of togetherness that clicked into place the sheer oddness of their culture compared to those beyond it. After what felt like an eternity… her lungs could inhale no more, and she opened her eyes. She stood on the banks of a great lake of the purest crystalline water she’d ever seen. As for herself… she’d changed.
Isabella was liquid. She lifted her hands and studied them. She saw fish swimming within her body. Memories. Stories. Traumas. Triumphs. Emotions. They roamed her body in great swarms, sometimes intersecting. She watched them for a time, and then looked toward the lake. She saw herself and her figure reflected in its surface.
There were marks in her figure that she hadn’t been able to see before. One was familiar—a crest depicting a green woodpecker, placed over her heart. For a moment she was perplexed, but she quickly placed it: Arthur. This was the mark that Arthur had left on her soul. Right now, she was her soul. There was another oddity in her head. An hourglass floated there, suspended as sand drained from one section to another. The sand was made of gold. That must have been the representation of her power.
But there was a third mark that she couldn’t make sense of. Covering one eye was a grotesque black spider with eight purple eyes. She tried to grasp at it, but it shied from her grip, burrowing deeper into her eye. She pulled away her hand in alarm, looking at the spider. Was that the mark that the Archwizard had left? Or… was it something else entirely? She studied her form, committing all she saw to memory. She would have to ask Arthur about this.
When there was nothing more to remember, Isabella looked out to the Great Lake of the Ithilian. Valerio had told her about this. It was the representation of the tribe involved in the ritual. They were bound together closer than outsiders could comprehend. Now that she saw this place, and had gone through that experience, she could comprehend it much more.
Isabella did as Valerio instructed her. She began to walk toward the lake. She stood on the edge and prepared herself for what came next. She was afraid to enter. It felt as though her body would merge with the water and become nothing. But then… that was wrong. She wouldn’t become nothing. She would become the lake. Still, she feared too much to jump. She turned around, facing her back to the lake. Then, she fell backward.
Isabella’s back hit the water, and the bodies of water merged. Isabella felt the fish swimming within her escape, spreading throughout the confines of the lake to join with myriad others. Isabella’s soul became one of many in the great lake. She dissipated into nothingness.
<Previous Table of Contents Next>
Comments
WarStrider72
Until all become one
WarStrider72
Thanks for the chapter boss!
