Storm

There was a snowstorm today, and I've been re-reading Sandman. My thanks to Neil Gaiman, forces of nature and popcorn, who inspired this little piece. It is, aptly, titled 'Storm'. It might have a few spelling errors and such, haven't proofread it yet. Probably won't, either.

I was sitting in the darkened common room, waiting for sleep to come. I could hear the gale howling outside, and my bones always ached on a storm. While sitting there I was mildly surprised to see Jenna, one of my sisters younglings, sneaking to the door. She was good at not being there, but I had years of practise on her. When she was at the door, pulling her cloak off the pegs, I called out from my corner.

"You might not want to go outside tonight, lass."

She startled at my voice, but collected herself quickly and turned around. "And why is that, uncle?" She couldn't see me, but she had recongnized me by voice or, perhaps, by smell. Her skills had always made me proud to be family.

"There's a storm out there, girl. And real storms have power. Power far beyond a human's grasp, far beyond anything we could aspire to. You don't want to be out on a storm like this, not without a good reason." I faded back into the world.

She set down her cape, and stalked to a long bench close to where I was sitting. "Uncle, I appreciate the concern. But this is not the old land. All the magic has long been worn out, and the storm is but snow and ice. Even the great beasts have stopped coming this far: every summer we prey them further and further west. The magic is gone, uncle, and the world is but what you see."

I leaned forward so that she could see my face in the dull light of the fire. "The magic is never gone, youngling." She scoffed at the term, but I let it slide. I was still over eight times her age. "Simply because the air doesn't sizzle around you and the gale doesn't carry you away on wings of rime and ice, you say the magic is gone? You have learned the lessons of old, girl, and can easily tell me who three hold the threads of mystery that even we don't pass without a second thought."

She frowned at this; I knew she had always hated the lessons, but she had learned them nevertheless. She was out for something else than recitation of old schoolings, but I could see she was interested in what I had to say. She chewed on her lower lip for a second, thinking, and answered. "There's her who takes us from this world, Death of all things, the kind lady with no name of her own. Eolus, the Master of Winds, who cares nothing for men as a blizzard doesn't care. And Morpheus, the King of Dreams, who holds sway over all that ever lay down to slumber."

I nodded my head to this. "Good. While it is true that magic doesn't dance in the fires like it used to, these three were thought to you and your siblings and cousins for a reason. Where is one always at the peak of ones power? Hmm?"

Her brow furrowed at this. I was sure no one had ever asked her this or taught it to her, but also equally sure she would figure the answer on her own. After a while, she looked at me and squinted, having reached a decicion. "At home, uncle. Where else would you be more powerful than your own realm?"

"Very good, Jenna. Indeed, it is from ones home that the power comes from. No why would this matter?"
"You mean the storm, uncle. But Eolus is as gone as the great beasts: even his priests and temples are all but gone from this land. It's only a storm out there."

I sighed at this. While sharp she was both stubborn and foolish. Much like me, a long time ago. "How many leagues can you run in a night, girl? Twenty? Now think if your passing was on the winds. How fast does a gale blow? Simply because Eolus has not been seen here for years does not mean he could not arrive with every storm. Who, of the three, is the most peaceful?"

"Death, uncle. She only comes for all of us once."

"No, child. For many of us, she comes many, many times. She is often hard to recognize, but she is far from the most peaceful. And she takes great pleasures in the dealings of the worlds. But she is not our subject tonight. The most peaceful of the three is her brother."

"King Morpheus?"

"Yes, lass. Morpheus only becons mortals in times of great need, and never visits without a reason. Of course, believing would be enough reason for him. He hardly ever leaves his domain, however, so to meet him you would have to go to him. If you are diligent, you might even enter his castle for a while or two. He's a benevolent host, when he remembers to be a host at all."

She was rocking back and forth, clearly restless. "What's he got to do with this, uncle? I'm not going back to bed because of your stories!"

"Yes, I thought you wouldn't. Listen, then, before you go. The dreams need you to believe in them to hold power over you, and Morpheus will never harm any who abide the rules of his domain. The storm, however, needs neither your belief nor acceptance. Eolus cares little for who gets caught in his gales and avalanches. It is never out of spite, but simply because of what he is. A storm is a storm, and needs nothing from you to blow through. It's magic will be there, wether you want it or not." I stood up to pat her on the shoulder. "Give my best to the young lad waiting out there. Run free and far, Jenna."

She looked up at me, only to see me fade again. "How did you know--" She looked at where I had been a second ago, then shrugged and walked to her cloak by the door. "Run free and far, uncle," she whispered into the room and slipped out.