Tatianna Betyrina's page

About Tatianna Betyrina

To think on things of darkness and spite would for any length of time would chill the mortal soul. What does that say of those who's soul is twinned? Are they predisposed to cruelty and anger? Something calls to me like a siren in my dreams. This thing, this entity, whispers of malice and despair, I hesitate to even think on what it could be, It is cruel and distant, alien yet so very familiar. Could it be my twinned spirit? I think not, shouldn't I recognize her, it? Mother likes to think that I remember very little of home, I have done nothing to dissuade that fragile illusion. I remember my cousin Anna waking up every night screaming. Eventually they just gave her an ampoule of an infusion of fleeting mercury to sleep. I have always heard these whispers, I know not if that is normal. If it is not then it begs the question, would that mean my mind is as wounded as Anna's?

I have asked Mother about it for years and her response is always the same; You will know in due time. Yet now she tells me to tend to the orchard and not to ask such question where I may be overheard. My Mother seems to think that I am an idiot,we have live here for many years now and I know what to say: No, we're not fey found. My Father is Ulfen, my Mother very old. We're from Icestair.

People are stupid, they think Mother is dragon blooded since in warm weather her breath clouds and her skin shines like diamond. I have yet to take on many of these aspects. The stupid townsfolk think I have inherited her arcane blood, how right they are. Since we have left the comfortable bosom of our homeland my strawberry blonde hair has waned into a pale gold a few scant shades from the colour of snow.

Father is healing here in this warm nation, the wounds in spirit and soul nearly gone. I know not what befell him to provoke out hasty departure, only that we were beyond Irrisens boarders before nightfall. Here, away from my Mothers Cold Sisters, Father has grown strong but during the winter months he grows distant. Lasting malignant psychological trauma?

Only seldom do I have two parents and only between fire and frost. During the summer Mother becomes morbid and rarely leaves her bed before nightfall. She refuses to leave the familiar and since the penguin couldn't leave the house for fear of discovery I can count on one hand the number of times she has left during summer.

Mind you when she does leave the house it causes nothing but conflict with the fools of this nation. There was that Farmer, his name escapes me at the moment, who'd insulted us when the orchard began to bare under our hands. He said that it was impossible for it to bare fruit, something about bad soil and that a circle of druids couldn't get it to bare. Mind you Im sure that is why he sold the land and house to us so readily. Lets put it this way, his crops withered and died. I believe she's been forced the spirits of the land away for many moons. He and his wife have become quite peeky

Taldan walls are thin. At night, when they think I've fallen asleep they argue about 'what is to come'. Even though they believe I slumber they speak in code and call nations and cities by names centuries old and gone. When Father is finally abed I can hear her speaking to her familiar, I have never known his name, in a tongue no man could understand let alone speak. At time she speaks in our mother tongue and another voice replies. It is always after these nights I find the only mirror in our house, a wedding gift from Grandmother, wrapped in a scrap of raw silk sitting on the table not in the sideboard Mother insists it be kept.

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The morning started like normal. Father woke me before dawn insisting that we pick a few more apples before going into town. The sun was cresting the hills when we'd finally gotten out to the orchard. As I picked apples Father went to that Farmer, the dolt with the brown hair you know the one. As per usual for the last few years he's loaned us his horses to pull the cart in exchange for two bushels of apples. The moon hung low and had yet to be burned away, ravens cawed.

The ride to town was quick but dreadfully mind numbing, Father nattered on constantly about the town wise woman we needed apples for some potion or poultice and that she'd pay double if she could pick over them before the market as a whole. I have never been to the wise woman, whenever I've been sick Mother has been able to burn away the disease, but once has the wise woman seen us ill. Mother had a terrible fever our first summer here. She tended to Mother but she learned our secret. Mother, burning with fever, dropped the temperature to a glacial degree and the penguin refused to be parted from her.

People stopped semi-frequently and Father chatted with them like they were long time friends. I ignored them as I was won to do, lost in the evocative people. I have never been one to deal with the locals, nor anyone really. What little interaction I have had with men and women was back home where we were feared but these foreigners I have spoken with very infrequently. I have never lain with a man, I was betrothed before our exodus and if I could I would return and take up that responsibility as it is my duty.

My attention was ripped away from the garishly dressed Taldans by cawing followed by the incessant chatter of my milk tongue. I glanced at my Father but found him nattering on in what passes for a common trade tongue among these barbarians. I followed the voice and it led me from the town and into the forest where it reveled itself to me. I knew at once when my eyes fell on the bird that it was my spirits twin. He led my deep into the forest to an ancient tree, its root system cavernous.

The wind blew and slowly three women began to appear. They stood around a cauldron talking in a language unfamiliar and acted as if I wasn't there. They where transparent, slowly tending the cauldrons brew they were becoming corporeal.

“You're late!” The young woman said to me, her auburn hair free and blowing.

“Calm yourself sister mine or else you'll drive her away and destroy that which is.” The other said from her perch on a stool, her pregnant belly keeping her from walking.

“You misunderstand time girl! She is here at exactly the right time, we are the ones who are late.” Crooned the old crone as she stirred the brew.

I have heard these voices all my life, they were three voices but one person. The crone dipped a crude stone bowl into the scarlet liquid and handed it to me. “Drink child and know.” She said and the brew that was left in the cauldron became lead. The would-be mother motioned me over to sit beside her on the grass. “Relax you know us, we have no reason to hurt you. Here wear this and remember.” She gave me a ring of carved wood etched with blooming flowers.

The mother and crone faded, disappearing along with the cauldron and stool. The maiden sat beside me with a vial of deep blue nearly black ink and an iron needle. “Bare this and learn.” As the needle pierced my skin I quickly lost consciousness.

I awoke in the morning, I didn't know it was a week later. When I woke the bowl was empty and my lips stained red, the ring was on my finger and my shoulder burned. The raven lead me home and told me what he could about the three women.

Which reminds me, I need to speak to that halfling, the one who sculpts.