moon and crow with sky colors

I have been sitting at this library table since seven this morning. Stretching, I should take a break and have a cup of tea. Translations all day engages the brain on all levels. In a few hours I am going home to Eitilt, my husband, where we shall engage bodies and souls.   My husband. Those words make me smile. Getting married in Copenhagen over a long weekend was the best idea, ever.

The Gate is heavy with refugees. I never thought I would be someplace where there would be refugees. Working there makes lots of impossible thoughts, possible. There is something about seeing a washer woman of souls mopping the floor and ringing out the mop that gives you pause.

And it was very good for my studies. All kinds of new pathways opened up and I consider everything in a new light.

Eitilt is anxious for the next part of his life as well.  Fatherhood, husband…he actually uses the terms.

There is this look on his face when he says, “Bee Bee, your humanness is rubbing off on me.” At that moment, I know what our son is going to look like because that is a little boy expression of discovery on his face when he smiles at me.

Eitilt uses expressions that at times I find truly express the human. He was talking to someone at the bar and I heard him mutter, “He will not be able to unfuck himself from that,” and I felt shivers go down my spine. Someone was going to die, one of Rowan’s many fuck-ups, as they are now referred too.

His newest expression is nanny-nanny-boo-boo. He heard me saying it the other night when one of the shades said it was holding all of my underwear hostage unless I took him to class with me so he could see the library at Trinity. I went to my undies drawer, held some up and hence the phrase that I said to him. The shade blushed red, twittered something about seeing a mouse, shrieked, and disappeared. Yes, I want Eitilt and his child. This living in the shadows and in two different beds sucks the big one.

One more time at this translation:

With myself upon my back

We followed through with the attack

I felt the power of my wings,

We extinguished fire, and air, and dreams.

Here aloft I feel the power

As we soar in victory to our bower.

“The Moon of Corvus Minor is written by a daughter of Ó hÍcidhe,” Bee Bee noted in her log. “Interesting, a descendent of a healer. And why is her name not mentioned? That is just odd to be noted as such when there is clearly room for her name.”

She checked the translation that had been done in the early 1910’s of this piece.  Sir Jeffery Jones Maker at the turn of the century had been the world renown linguist and was known as the final authority on The Moon of Corvus Minor.  One hundred plus years later he still was. No one challenged him. Well that was about to change.

He explained the terminology of two in simple terms.   The Royal We.

In the 1970’s with the appearance of many “I am wonderful” books to hit the stands, thanks to Freud, the twosomes in these poems was translated to my id and my ego. Still the Royal We.

Keeping that in mind, she donned her gloves and mask and touched the scroll.

Hours passed. She was in the throes of translating a great battle. All seemed lost when the crows began gathering before the final slaughter, then the next verse caused her to stop, blink, push back from the table and rub her eyes. With a deep breath, she removed her mask. This was going to be one of those times.   Well yes, some of the old poems, they were spelled and they broke her heart.

The words on the page, changed. She could hear the sounds of battle. Smell the blood. With audible words, the poem gave her the original written verse and then the translation. She could see and feel the tragic heroine, the author, as her tears and sorrow filled the page. It flooded her as she breathed through the words that floated straight through her in complete sentences.

With myself upon my back

We followed through with the attack

I felt the power of my wings,

We extinguished fire, and air, and dreams.

Here aloft I feel the power

As we soar in victory to our bower.

 

We are complete, the victory moon ours

Then the final moment, the coward is no longer lame

The poisoned tiller acts and within hours,

My heart is dead, place my shell upon the flame.

 It took her a while to collect, herself. This was not the first time that she had been actively engaged in seeing and hearing what the writer experienced. There was another poem called, Into the Sun and another piece called Walking on Stars. She had cried so hard at the end of both she had honestly thought about quitting school and going back home. Both were written in the same style as The Moon of Corvus Minor. We and I were used throughout by women who had lost their lover. Each author had signed her piece. Into the Sun was written by the Daughter of Cook and Walking on Stars by the Daughter of Weaver.

“Huh,” she righted herself and pulled her notebook to her then wrote down her notations while they were still fresh. “Sir and Freud can go suck it. What the hell do they know?

These women interchanged I and We. And two shall become one,” she smiled and then looked back at the beginning of the text. “Of course the writer has no name. It is the same name as her dragon and she…and she is his wynd ryder. There is no mistaking that. Wynd ryder,” she tasted the word. Yes. The translation gave her the ability to feel the ascent into the heavens, felt the force of the G’s as they went into a downward zero dive. The flames poured from the dragon and burned everything in their path, but not her. Never her. Pausing, she took a breath. “And then he died. With his death she is no longer. So she just signs it as her mother’s daughter.” She felt the tears form. Pushing back from the table even further, sorrow once more overtook her. It would not do for her tears to stain the parchment. That would not do at all.

Walking out of the study room, she went over to the break table in the main area. She nodded at several and only gave them a look when they attempted to engage her in conversation while she fixed her tea.

Sitting in a darkened corner she thought about what she knew. “A dragon and his wynd ryder battled in this war. Just like in Walking on Stars and Into the Sun are about a dragon and his wynd ryder. Isn’t that odd. In the titles they all reference heavenly bodies. I wonder if that means something. Time to talk to Eitilt.”

Eitilt had moved two more shades into the towers to help protect their privacy. “Shades keeps the magics, away,” he smiled at her, “so I don’t have to do you out in the weeds. Of course all that moaning they do helps to drown yours out.” He was so proud of himself for figuring this out.  She let him have the moment. Of course, from time to time the shades wanted to peek in and offer advice.

Tonight she stayed until the pub closed. Then she would be staying after closing. She would clock out and leave but then she would be at the Lower SaltHill door and Eitilt would carry her upstairs, with her legs wrapped around his waist with his hands on her ass, both of them moaning and humping and wishing for more. Once they were on the bed, there was always more…

She had her backpack on. Eitilt grinned as he pulled her into the stairway for a kiss. “I have a thing for school girls,” his mouth was hungry. “Especially one in particular.”

“M-m-m,” was all she said as she pulled up her skirt and his hands were on her ass, pulling her up to him. With a soft grunt, he slipped inside of her. To hell with walking her upstairs. Both of their needs were so great, against the wall there on the stairs worked as well.

They were having a late supper. There was a wine bottle and dishes on the table. Her notes were out. The discussion had been on going.   “Humans embrace poetry, B.B. That there are references to the heavens helps you to embrace the concept of the flight of dragons.”

The look on her face was priceless. It said that he thought she had not considered this? Really? “I know,” he chuckled, “that is not news to you. But you have to understand, in the very early days, B.B.,” he sat back in his chair, “dragons ate humans. They were a primary food source. They would have never allowed humans to ride on their backs. Would you take your meal for a pleasure ride? Dearest, you will not even pick out a live lobster that is going to be your meal in twenty minutes. Are you sure about this translation you received from the manuscript?”

“Well, I was,” she frowned. “Until you smoked it to ash.”

Shrugging, he sipped his wine. “I did not mean, too,” he took her hand and kissed it. “But I have not ever heard a whisper about this. I just don’t know. Dragon riders…” he shook his head.

“Wynd ryders,” she corrected him.

“Yes,” he nodded, still smiling. He was humoring her. She knew. She wanted to kick him in the shins. Violence got you nowhere at times like this. Plus, with dragons, it might count as foreplay. Snickering, she smothered that deep throaty noise as he eyed her appreciatively. He was ready to be done with this and move it back into the bed. Too bad. His hard on was just going to have to keep time with her until she was finished. She knew what she knew. If war was coming Eitilt’s side was going to win. That meant her side as well.   It was time to use the brain. Invoke the smart.

“Okay, I understand about the meals. So humans would have to evolve and have something to offer besides being a food source,” she went back to looking at her notes. “Just like in nature, some type of symbiotic relationship developed.”

“Yes, I am the eater,” he grinned at her, “and you are the eat-ee. And you are yummy.”

She pinched his thigh. “Owww,” he rubbed his leg, laughing. “Yes, thank you I am listening now. Back on point…no need to be mean.”

“Good,” she eyed him. “Because she was his dragon rider, Eitilt, a wynd ryder. I got that message loud and clear. Wynd Ryder translates as Wynd Ryder in any language in any time frame you want to throw at it. Wynd Ryder,” she tried to pinch him again but he was too fast. “She and her dragon, they were one of mind, spirit and soul. And her grief when he died after that battle overwhelmed her. I felt that.   She wrote this poem and then died, herself, of a broken heart. I thought I was going to die from her grief when I finished it.”

“B.B.,” he shook his head. “I do not doubt what you felt. But this is where I find fault with your…your translation. I would never allow anyone to ride on my back into battle. Let alone a human. Let alone a human that I loved, as obviously these two did. As I love you. I would not,” he stressed. “And there would be no discussion about this. Not ever would I take you into battle.”

“But what if I could offer you something no one else could,” she countered.

“Such as?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she shook her head, her curls going everywhere.   “How about if I could just make you more of what you already are?

Somehow he is able to steal his enemies fire and air and dreams. Can you do that now? No?” she squinted at him. “See,” she pointed her finger at him, “she did this for him. He sends them all plummeting to earth or they cannot lift off. The translation stands. Now we need to figure this out.

How would anyone steal your air?” she asked.

Good thing he had snacked on her earlier. He told his little head to behave himself at that remembering. The sex on the stairs tonight had been a bit nasty and then a whole lot nasty once they were upstairs on the bed. He wanted to look in that direction of such horizontal delight wistfully, but, she was not walking away from this unless he could prove to her that he was invested as well. Time to get his head there, so his little head could get there. “Well,” he became thoughtful. “Like other winged creatures, we have breast muscles for our wings.   It makes things easier if we have air currents for lift, thermals, though not necessary. Our muscles just have to work that much harder. If there were no thermals or if a dragon was moving at a fast enough speed, I guess they could overtake us and steal our air. Create a burble,” he was thinking that through.

“Like flying through the jet wash, like in Top Gun. You would go into a flat spin until you regained control,” she mused.

“But how would a human help to achieve this perfection?” he asked. “All dragons fly at about the same speed. One is not that much faster than the other. That a human…”

“Wynd Ryder,” she stressed, her eyes holding his.

“Well, yes, then, that a wynd ryder could somehow give you that type of advantage…” his voice trailed off as his eyes shifted to dragon.

There was an intenseness to him as watched her, was sizing her up. If not for a meal, then for something else. Good, he was paying attention.

There was something so old in his blood that liked something old in her blood…he remembered having that thought earlier. The calling was so ancient he could not track it back to the source. “You are not very big,” he said thoughtfully, “and you do sit low enough that you are protected by my neck. My wings shelter you from the sides and you sit low into the depression where my neck and body join, I don’t think you could be seen from the back while I am in flight.”

“Have your attention now, do I,” she grinned at him. “It has to be the evolution process. I think when dragons were actively feeding on humans, humans evolved to survive. Not all of them, of course…you have noticed I am not as hyper since I started being with you? At times, I can physically feel energy leaving me and going into you. At first, that only happened when we had sex. Now,” she shrugged. “You are like a safety valve. It just pushes out to you and you filter it down and give it back to me so I am not void. With this refined energy, I can actually sleep at night.”

Eitilt leaned in to her. “Really?”

“Yes, I noticed that right away. I…I did not know what to think about that. Sex I had in the past was so…so unfulfilling. It left me wanting something else. The last guy I was with. I guess we were serious,” she said looking thoughtful and then shook her head. “Wow,” her voice was low, “we tried all kinds of things and he bought just about every vibrator they make, trying to get me there.” Shrugging she flipped back through her notes and then looked at him.

“Then you…I just thought it was great sex so I saw no real need to mention it or even think about it,” she shrugged, “orgasms and all that and oh gawd…being purged of all my energy. But after reading this…it is more than that. Do you know what it is like to actually be able to rest? Body and mind? You take my raw energy and what you give back to me is peace,” she said softly. “I live in a different world,” she smiled wiping the tears from her eyes. “Have you noticed anything different?”

“I thought it was the excitement of maybe being a father,” he took her hand, gently caressing her bones. “Being your mate. But yes, I am faster. I don’t know how much because I have not stretched my legs in a while. I guess I could draw blades with Aed and see…” he sat back in his chair and grinned at her. “Jorja and I both agreed you were human…and I could sense nothing magical about you…but I always had the thought that you are also something more. I thought maybe it was because you and the necklace feed off of each other. And I think maybe you still do. Energy…” he looked at her, trying to see past something. “Energy that could be a turbo charger for a dragon. Make you more than any dragon without a ryder. Apparently a lot more if you could steal their air, fire, and dreams. Now that is an interesting thought. Time to talk to Aed and Lady Gael. And on a less pleasant note, also Father,” he said rolling his eyes. “When Father comes back around, and he will, it will be time to do some creative lying.”

“We could do some creative lying now,” she grinned at him. “Shift over to the bed and let me practice.”