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"The Orb. Round Two." by Elena Fe

Dear Commander,

It's late and I'm too tired to write this but I don't know what else to do. It happens every night now; This need to talk to you. This empty desire to lay my head on your shoulder and rest. Just to sleep for awhile. Maybe even dream a little without every dark imagining turning into a heated nightmare.

Even though it is years since the Orb last glowed, I still feel the emptiness left by its dimness. And I sit and pour out my feelings on endless pieces of paper in this worthless journal. And then I tear out the latest diatribe and burn it before grinding the ashes into dust and blowing them to the wind. All the while, wishing I could just as easily purge the pain hidden amongst the words.

Pitiful, isn't it? That a figment of my imagination has stirred such longings that my emotions recoil at the slightest touch of another's arm. A fantasy that causes me to flinch and pull away as if I've been burned. It takes all my strength not to visibly resituate myself away from the maleness of the company. But such was the pull of our intimacy that I cannot any longer consider any such liaisons with another.

Sad, isn't it: A sickening declaration of my unbearable state?

For that least little while when I had your company, I was happy. For the first time in my life, I was content. Oh admittedly, they were moments stolen out of reality and time. But when those hunters found me in that cave by the light of your Orb, I was so sure they were yours. Your people come to rescue me.

I guess you can only imagine my humiliation when I discovered they'd only been investigating the strange screams of the banshee. There I was, babbling about my beloved Commander and asking how long until I could see you and where we were going and if your injuries had healed and were you still under attack? They were very patient. They were kind. My physical wounds healed.

It was they who brought me to this moon. In my delirium, they learned of my past, my skills, my abilities and now I am a respected member of their tribe. Their council keeps me as administrator, advisor and negotiator. I have a roof over my head and food in my belly but I am kept apart. I am respected and dressed in fine ornaments but not loved. Always alone, I am consulted and then they withdraw. I am expected to be aloof and to keep myself away from all. They bow and curtsey and pay homage but their eyes avert when I attempt conversation, their children dragged away if I smile in their direction. Oh, is this news to you, my love? Didn't you know that women keep their young from those who are barren? Apparently, we are some sort of monsters readying ourselves to reach out and snatch the love of their young ones away.

How my heart aches when my eyes fall upon your Orb, sitting there silent and cold. I stroke the empty pillow beside me at night and sometimes, even go so far as to place the solid mass beside me, as if willing it to glow and give me comfort again.

Where are you? Why are you silent?

I tried to find you. Do you not believe me? Have I offended in some way I can only imagine?

How I have searched! Day after endless day, scouring the crew manifests of every ship that appeared in Rael's space but to no avail. No news or reports came to give me comfort. No messages after that day: The day the Enforcer was scattered to the ends of the Universe.

I shudder at the memory. There are nights when all I hear in my dreams is that empty wailing wasteland of its soul. And it shall return. Even now I can feel its power building and I am afraid. The tribe believes it can protect me like some prize cow or chosen sacrifice but they have no concept of its power. No way of conceiving its reality.

All I have to protect me, my love, is the memory of your strength and your voice.

For a goodly time, I forced myself to stop thinking of you. How could I mourn a daydream? The enforced silence of my limbo was my greatest comfort and saved me from explanations. I concentrated on re-building a life for myself here amongst these people. But always, unbidden, at the least guarded moments, I would remember your touch and the sigh of your voice calling, "Tala".

Then my mind would create those images: Yet again: In painful, infinite, intimate detail. Remembering the imagined feel of your body curled around mine as my back wriggled into your torso, feeling your maleness and strength. Relaxing into the knowledge that there was one who loved me. One to protect me and I could stop fighting. Stop struggling. There was no need to defend myself any longer because there was hope of a champion. Even if it was merely a future hope and forlorn at that.

But then I would open my eyes and look around and there would be the lifeless globe, glaring back its ineptitude. It's sullen silent reality dousing hope and destroying any sense of the future.

I tried reaching out to you, even endeavoring to discover your whereabouts with written messages. Directed my thoughts and limited resources to passing freighters and rebel encampments but hatred passes for common currency in these frightening times. Even those who claimed knowledge were loath to share it. It seems that fear rules all when their own ascendancy is at stake. My purse would have to be bottomless and my heartbreak less to take it further.

I even tried to stop this endless parody of paper therapy but every night, the yearning and words flow again and I set flame to text to ashes. I hid my pain as my own private torture and have born it in silence. It gives birth only to that which harms me but spares those around me. I guard it like those mother's watch their young. It is mine and nobody else can touch it.

Oh, why did this have to happen?

Today of all days, when I had finally resolved to have done with this fantastical nonsense, there was those strangers with their questions and inexplicable knowledge. I felt no sense of force or threat from them and yet they look at me with such strange intensity! And why were they desiring to know so much about me? When it only seemed to add to knowledge they already seemed to have acquired? From where? I speak not of these matters!

The tribe's elders are much discontented tonight and have resolved that all such beings must explain themselves or be turned away. They protect their investment.

For the tiniest time this evening I entertained the hope these strangers might be from you. They might be your people. I even suspected that I caught the faintest tinge of color to this lifeless chunk of hardened sand I now hold before me but it remains cold and heartless, as before.

I took a beating on your behalf. Did you know that? Once, I was allowed to accompany the hunters on a trip to Delrisia. I felt no Enforcer and wandered at will amongst the travelers and vagabonds at the market. I saw some uniforms like those I spied the day I waited for you. It took much courage and concealment from the people but I found a way of getting to those who seemed what I expected of you. I sat beside them as they ate and offered them fresh fruit. They took it eagerly enough but when I started asking questions, they moved to the other end of the table. I had only one chance so I followed and asked again if they knew you or of you.

They threw me to the ground and beat me until I bled and could move no more: A public spectacle. An amusement: Entertainment. One of the hunters found me and pulling me away, took me to their encampment where they forbade me to see or speak with anyone. And I have obeyed them.

But who are these visitors that came today? And why do they ask of me? Is it you who seeks me out? How can I be sure of not receiving another beating? They wear no uniforms. Their inner thoughts reveal only the desires and emotions of common thespians. But there was something hidden about their movements and I find myself confused between a desire to flee and another to pull them aside and make confidences I would never usually entertain.

There were others. Another time. Emissaries came asking for my hand in marriage but the elders turned them away, saying I was not interested. I wept when I heard. They had not told me. Would not tell me whom it was who enquired. What if it was you? I would have run to you, if I had known. I would have escaped somehow. I still know the mind tricks of my youthful training. You have spoiled me for all others and I will not entertain anyone except you. But if it was you. Oh, if only it was you!

But what point is there in escaping where there is none to run to?

It is all too much. I can feel the Enforcer's power developing and re-emerging and I should be preparing my defenses against it, not hoping against all reason that the Orb will glow again. Oh, how I need you, my love. How I long to hold you in my arms and to give and receive comfort such as neither of us has ever known except in the wakefulness of God's angelic reality and the peace of our Orb. Our own world. The hope of which gives me the will to survive.

Tonight, I will not burn this missive. I will hide it alongside my heart and collect my thoughts. If there was only some way to know. Even if you came to me, would I know you? Would my heart somehow whisper in my ear who you are?

How would I know, outside of the protection of our sphere, whether you were friend or foe? Is there some means I can devise to discover you?

I know, my love.

I will whisper it into the Orb. I will draw it close to my lips and whisper my desire and love into it sweet and low. Maybe you will hear it in your dreams and if you still live, maybe it will convince you to come to me. Again. Will convince you to try again. Without the need for intermediaries or liars between us.

We will trick them. Openly: With honesty. They'll not expect that.

To my keepers, you will bring a white feather. They hold it dear to their hearts. Like a peace child, the white feather will reassure them of your good intentions. You must bring gifts and salutations. I am sure you can charm their good opinion from them. Offer them their heart's desire. Negotiate. They will recognize your innate goodness, as I do.

To me, you will bring that which you know to be the flower of my heart. One single. Or perhaps two, wrapped around with a white ribbon. And on each and every anniversary of that day, you again will bring me another sample of their beauty. As a symbol of our as yet unacknowledged love.

And if you have forgotten which it is then ask the Orb. Then maybe it will glow again and I will see it and will love you and come to you as I promised. So long ago now.

That's all I ask. A feather and a flower and hope.

Precious man. If only reality could grow from fantasy, I would be content. She who has known no love would dedicate all to the one who gives it.

If only I could wrap my heart in this useless paper and somehow thread it through the glass before me.

For tonight. It must lay here. In my hand. And in the hope that the morning will give me some better use for these thoughts than as heat to create ash.

As every night, my love and my heart remain yours. My Commander.

Tala.