A Different Kind Of Ophalim

Of Important Note:

With the creation of Yaliba, the power gifted to us by the gods, comes the discovery of Passage--the departing of this life and into another. Not exactly death, but rather a moving on, a letting go. The Council and its Board of Directives has spent the past 10 years researching Passage and all that it entails. They have come to a conclusion as to what must be done about its discovery. Thus, it has led to the creation of the Ophalim , ferriers between this life and whatever is after it. They are our guides, our light, the guardians of this life and the next, and--if an individual so chooses--the ones to guide us into the brightness that shines beyond. 

21 Years Later

A woman walks out of a shop with an arm full of bread loaves. She looks both ways before crossing the road, and makes sure that her coattails don’t get caught in the mud and grime that covers the wet spring cobblestoned street. 

Arriving on the other side she hands the loaves to the couple, accepts her payment and continues on her way.

The woman is happy to do this deed as she’s done so many others before. She knows that people are oftentimes scared of her and the other Ophalim, which is absurd because if you saw the woman--short, bright eyes, a golden laugh--you would not find her scary. 

She blames it all on her too serious colleagues. 

The woman often thinks that it’s because they (herself included) represent something that is unable to be explained--even if you are not currently going to be ferried off into that unexplained.

So, she’s trying to change the way that the Ophalim are viewed, and if that means buying and carrying food for people, helping catch stray rabbits, or saving innocents from being toppled by wooden beams, then she is happy to do it.

In fact she expects it of the people in this part of the city. They say “Mistress!” with a smile and a face lit with surprise instead of “Mistress.” with a respectful nod and a face full of fear.

What she does not expect, however, is what happens next.

There is a tug on her tattooed fingers, and the swishing of her coat as someone steps up to her.

First instinct used to be to yank her hand away, now she only keeps her fingers incredibly still, still even more so as she turns down to look at who touched her.

A child.

“Mistress.” She whispers.

“Yes?” She raises a brow, studying the way the girl is slightly shaking, the wispy baby hairs blowing away from a face gaunt with hunger.

“I want to Pass.”

The woman can’t help it--she lets her fingers slip from the girl’s frigid ones.

“That is a serious request.” The woman crouches down beside the child, quick to hide her surprise and even quicker to smile. “But I’m sure I can hear out the reasoning behind it.”

The child almost frowns. Or perhaps her features are already so used to a downwards twist that they’ve forgotten what an upwards one is.

The woman’s have not. But it is getting harder to hold her smile, especially when her heart is starting to pound with concern for the girl. 

A child has never asked her to Pass before.

“What is your name?” She lets her smile fade a touch, when it is clear that the child will give her nothing as an answer.

“Blossom.”

“It is nice to meet you Blossom.” The woman inclines her head since she cannot curtsy in a crouch. “I had almost as pretty a name as that before I was an Ophalim. Now I am only Mistress. And you can call me that if you need something.” She stands, offering the child her hand. “Can we talk somewhere that is not the middle of the road?”

Blossom nods, and Mistress uses the opportunity to take the child’s hand and gently guide her off the cobblestones, and towards the forest adjacent to them, leaves dripping rainwater crystals onto the beds of emerald grass.

Some of them drip onto her hair and Blossom’s as Mistress steers them towards the fountain in the centre. Miraculously there is no sign of water on the benches, and Mistress and Blossom feel no damp as they sit on them. 

Small miracles like these are known to happen, and most people will miss them if they’re not paying attention.

Mistress is though, and she mouths a silent thank you to the water faeries peeking their blue and gold heads out of the blades of grass--no doubt knowing Blossom and Mistress would soon arrive.

“I am more than willing to help you through Passage,” She says, focusing on Blossom as the water faeries duck back under leaves or behind blades of grass. “But I am going to need more than a name to let that happen.”

Blossom presses her thin hands together, huddles deeper into her fraying pink overcoat.

Mistress feels a motherly urge to put her own coat on top of Blossom, which is ridiculous since she’s never been a mother, and has never felt those instincts used on her.

But perhaps that is exactly why she does it.

Digging through her coat pocket she retrieves her spare cloak, shakes it free of dust and its small size, then wraps it around Blossom’s spider-silk thin shoulders.

For a moment there is nothing but the steady drip of rainwater from a leaf onto the forest floor, and the fluttering of water faerie wings as they depart the forest to make it rain elsewhere.

“I don’t like it at home. They yell, and throw things. They don’t let me eat or sleep and I’m scared. I’m always scared.” Blossom’s voice is softer than the rose petals Mistress was absently trailing her fingers through.

Now one of them snags on a thorny vine and Mistress pulls away sharply, blood pooling on the finger as brightly as the tears pooling in Blossom’s eyes.

“Do they lift a finger to you?” Mistress asks, her voice a cold mask of calm. “Have you any bruises or scratches or scars?”

“No. None.”

“A fleeting weight lifted from the mind.” Mistress mutters. “These people, where do they live?”

“No!” Blossom presses a pale hand against Mistress’ arm, fear etched into every pale line of her face and trembling body. “You can’t see them! I--I don’t ever want to go back.”

“Blossom.” Mistress’ voice is as soft and gentle as how she wishes her mother’s was. “I understand what it means to be scared. To live with someone that spoke with words of hate in place of words of love. Who you wish could have been better, kinder,” Mistress swallows. “More human.” She gently strokes the girls hair, glad that the child is looking anywhere but at her face. “But you do not have to throw yourself into whatever lies beyond just for a few hard moments. Strength means getting through them and coming out better for it.”

“Is that what you did?” Blossom looks up at Mistress, her eyes full of questions now that the tears have been shed.

“I--” For once in her life Mistress finds herself at a loss for words. “I was a different person once.” She amends. “A different girl with different ideals and a different future ahead of her. But sometimes our paths change. And I think that after tonight yours will too.”

The plan is already being carefully constructed in Mistress’ mind before the words have even left her lips.

Blossom has had a hard upbringing, that much is clear. Almost a bit like Mistress herself. But perhaps where Mistress was forced to become someone she never thought she would have to be, she can spare Blossom from that same fate.

Sometimes our time is up. And sometimes that means leaving this life and moving to the next one. But sometimes it also means choosing to stay here and do the best you can with what you have.

Yes, sometimes the end, the death-that-is-not-quite-death is the only option. But that end can come just as easily from the life you currently have, minus the risk.

Although, some might say the risk is worth it.

Either way, the choice is for Blossom and Blossom alone. But Mistress will do her part in presenting it to her.

“I’ve an idea.” Mistress says to the child, tracking a droplet of water plunging down from a leaf. It happens almost in slow motion for Mistress, the clear crystal dropping lower and lower still, leaving life on the leaf for one on the ground.

And ending and a new beginning.

“What is it?” Blossom tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“I will offer you a choice Blossom, and listen carefully because I rarely do for people wishing to Pass.” Mistress leans closer, with an almost conspiratorial air. 

“If you would like to Pass then I will lead you to the Passage itself and see you off. Or,” Mistress pauses. She’s always liked to add a bit of a dramatic flair to things. “You can stay with me and I will train you to be an Ophalim the same way I myself was trained. You will be leaving this life you know either way. Only the second option--and I have to tell you, the one I myself prefer--means you can say goodbye without the risk of ending up somewhere Past You may regret forever.”

Blossom stops twirling with her hair and instead stares into the fabric of Mistress’ cloak around her arms, as if she’s seeing it for the first time.

“Will I have to wear the same coat as you? And get all those weird tattoos?”

Mistress can’t help her chuckle. “I’m afraid so.”

The small laugh dies in Mistress’ throat as she studies the child’s face. This is a grand question for someone so young, and for a strangely heart stopping second Mistress worries for the child’s answer. 

Then the child’s face eases out of its frown, and Blossom turns to Mistress, eyes bright with something even stronger than despair--hope.

"I like the second option better, Mistress.”

“Oh thank the gods, that was the one I was leaning towards too.”

Blossom laughs and Mistress has never heard a sweeter sound. It’s like when the sun emerges from behind a cloud, spilling watery light, but light all the same, across your face.

And the sun might as well have been doing that very same thing now, for the warmth that Mistress feels blooming in her chest as she returns the child’s laugh is warmer than the sun across your face. 

“Come. I’ll have to show you the ropes.” Mistress stands, holding out her hand. “And you’ll have to see your new home. And room. And soon we’ll have to fill it with all your things, old and new.”

Blossom quickly wraps her fingers around Mistress’ and the two of them emerge from the forest with smiles on their faces that haven’t been as real and true in years too many.

To everyone else on the street a woman and a child have walked out of the forest holding hands, looking very much like a mother and daughter. 

But for the two people in question, the only thing that they look like are two people who have made a choice that will change them forever.

And behind them, behind all of them, is a great golden bridge. It glitters with light and life and a few bodies moving around on it--some stepping across to the white glow beyond, and some standing at the other end, watching them go.

Mistress and Blossom will not be there today.

Change is good. And while sometimes change may come from the departing of one life to the next--into whatever great unknown lies at the end of Passage, other times change can be found in the life that you already have.