A ~ Kill and Tell

Valion gazed up at the painting in awe, his silver irises widening
to take in the full splendour of the piece. It depicted Arathnee at its
height; no trace of the vision even hinted at the continent's current,
sorry state. Here the humans had not plunged the continent into war -
the masterpiece was of a time before the humans had come from across
the ocean and begun corrupting the beautiful realm from within. His
eyes flickered over noble and elegant Gesprin, their golden skin and
silver hair highlighted in minute detail - Valion would bet much of his
wealth that this painting was as close to reality as art could come.
But still, his gaze did not stay on these images for long; if he wished
to see a Gespri he need only look in the mirror. He was instead drawn
to the flora and fauna depicted on the canvas. Here were creatures and
plants now near extinct, else once noble and proud but now tamed as the
humans' lapdogs. Such visions evoked memories of long ago times, though
he had not experienced them himself. They were racial memories held
inside the heart of every Gespri, deeper and more profound than any
experiences of his own.

He examined the Chorlin, a prince among birds, its tail-feathers and
beak all the colours of the rainbow and then some, its dark eyes
staring at him accusingly - look what has come of Arathnee. Why do you
not stop it, so the beauty might return to our world? Valion had no
answer to that. Though they had tried to drive away the humans, the
Gesprin weren't warriors at heart. They simply didn't have the capacity
to act in the terrible, vicious, cruel ways that were so natural to the
human mentality. The Gespri sighed, and quickly looked away from the
bird. At once his focus was drawn to something else - in the bottom
right-hand corner of the painting, hidden away behind a bush as though
the painter had wanted to include it for completeness but had at the
same time wished that this were not so, was a small flower. Its stem
was a putrid green, and its petals a deathly pallor. Valion had never
seen one of these before, but he knew instantly what the thing was. A
Death's Kiss flower looked horrific, and they reputedly smelled like
the inside of a centuries old tomb. To see such a flower was a bad
omen, and evoked images of one's own death. Traditionally, such a
ghastly bloom was given to your victim one week before you intended to
have them assassinated. A long-dead Prince had outlawed this practice,
much to the relief of the Gesprin populace at the time - if they were
to die, they preferred not to know about it before the event. Strangely
enough, mused Valion, he never saw fit to make laws against
assassination itself, which the plant was only a symbol of.

'A wonderful piece of art, is it not, Valion?'

Valion turned to face the speaker. Gratifo was another Gespri of the
Prince's court, and a highly respected authority on the history of
Arathnee.

'Indeed it is, Gratifo. Thankyou for allowing me to view your art
collection. I am deeply in your debt.'

'Oh no,' Replied the elder, his eyes sparkling in amusement. 'It has
been my pleasure to allow you access. You appreciate art; more than can
be said most of the buffoons who make up this court.' He extended a
hand, slightly wrinkled looking hand - Valion was reminded of his own
status as an elder - to point out one of the Gespri in the painting.
'Camrillo, you know.'

Valion's eyes widened in surprise. He had not guessed that any of the
figures in the painting had been anyone important. Camrillo had been
the first Gespri Prince; the one to unite all the scattered, warring
tribes and eliminate the Gartin, an aggressive race that had also
called Arathnee home at that time. Valion blushed, the colour of his
golden skin deepening, and berated himself for not being able to
recognise such an important historical figure.

'It is quite all right, Valion. This image is nothing like how Camrillo
is depicted in the history books. I believe it to be far more accurate,
however. It is humbling, is it not, that we are - or were, 'til
recently - such a great civilisation, yet most of us know so little of
our heritage?'

Valion nodded mutely. It certainly was. His eyes flickered over the
painting once more and came to rest on the Chorlin depicted
there.

Don't you worry anymore, honoured prince of birds, he thought, I shall
do what I can to undo the wrongs that have been committed. Nevermore
shall we forget who we are, and what it means to be a Gespri. His mind
resolved, he turned to Gratifo with an expression of determination worn
on his face.

'We must see to it that the peoples are properly educated again,
Gratifo. With the understanding of our heritage will come the
realisation of why we must fight - just as our ancestors fought before.
Maybe then we can pull a victory from the shambles this war has become.
The human invaders won't know what has hit them!

Gratifo stroked his silver beard and chuckled darkly, his eyes
twinkling.

'Perhaps you are right Valion, perhaps you are right. But first - you
did say you were indebted to me, did you not?'

'I did. You wish a favour of me, Gratifo?' Replied Valion
earnestly.

'Indeed. There is a gift over there for you, in that box.' The elder
gestured to an unadorned, red wooden box that sat underneath the high
glass window, bathed in the light of Marlu. In the wedge of light in
the otherwise slightly gloomy chamber the dust on the box's lid could
be plainly seen. As Valion took a step towards it, Gratifo held out a
hand to restrain him. 'My favour is that you not open it 'til I have
left the chamber.'

Valion frowned, wondering at the odd request. Finally he chalked the
uneasy feeling he felt in the pit of his stomach up as irrational and
ignored it.

'If it pleases you, Gratifo, I will wait.

The other smiled, his white teeth flashing in the light.

'Excellent. In that case, I bid you farwell, Valion. I shall see you -
oh, say, the same time next week?'

Watching him go, the younger Gespri once again felt the oppressive
feeling of unease settle on his stomach. Shrugging it off, he walked
across the room, blinking furiously as Marlu's rays fell on his eyes.
After his eyes had adapted to the light, he knelt by the box and
flipped the catch, pulling up the lid and looking inside.

As the stench hit him like a fist to the gut, the feeling he had
ignored turned to a lead weight inside him. Eyes wide with horror, he
stumbled back from the container, falling onto his backside, gagging.
He retched violently for several minutes, unable to take any other
action than allowing the terror that filled him to at least partially
be removed violently alongside the remains of previous meals.

When he had calmed, lying in a pool of his own vomit, winded and dazed,
he finally managed to force himself into motion, kneeling on trembling
legs and peering once again into the box.

There, lying on a mould-ridden velvet cushion, was the shrivelled and
withered remains of a Death's Kiss.

Valion's reaction was only slightly less violent than the last
time.