Hello! Here's a WIP I've spent the last few days on! A treat for your continued patronage!

A Treatise on the Heliotropic Anatomy:

Herein lies the branch: Sarmatia, places untouched by the watching eyes and inking hands of Hesiod and Herodetus. Places, times where the world did shift and flow like the good Dniester.

Herein lies The Now. A Now before the fall, when the titans did rule under the stone sickle of time, still wet from the bleeding sky.

Said mother earth to time: “My child this wheel shall turn. As your father was overthrown by your hand, so shall you be overthrown by the hands of your child.”

Time was struck with terrible indecision, hesitant to inflict the same iron hand of his father upon his children.

And so fearful time had his young sealed in their high vaults, to await the terrible judgment of their father.

Herein lies the colors. The twin rain-bows, messengers of the gods, they that water the clouds with their ewers. One with wings of radiant gold, the other of shining iridescence.

And from her high and window’d cage the hearth did gaze in wanting.

It was here she turned her yearning heart to the gods of swift and coursing wings.

And here upon her window-seat did the color spy the lonely hearth.

Said the color to the fire as whisper: “Hail, godling flame. Prithee forgive this one trespass upon thy high and holy window, for I bring a humble gift from my travels to the great sea.”

And the color gave a gift of a fine and whirling shell in which all the voices of the sea could be heard, and the flame did treasure it so.

Said the color to the fire as whisper: “Hail, godling flame. Prithee forgive this second trespass upon thy high and holy window, for I bring a humble gift from my travels to the quiet deep.”

And the color gave a gift of amaranthine crystal in which all manner of dreams were caught suspended, and the flame did treasure it so.

Said the color to the fire as whisper: “Hail, godling flame. Prithee forgive this third trespass upon thy high and holy window, for I bring a humble gift from my travels to the wild untamed.”

And the color gave a gift of chaste-wood in which its flowers would always bloom, and the flame did treasure it so.

Said the hearth to the color: “Hail, dear ewer, dear heliotrope. Thy beautiful wings are heavy and sodden. Would you rest with me a while, and warm them by my fire?”

Said the color blushing to the flame: “You humble me dear hearth. I fear there is no gift in my power to give that could repay such kindness.”

And here the hearth did laugh and take the color by her hand of heliotrope.

“Come, dear color, may your price be your company. Tell me of your travels. Tell me of the strange and far-off places unseen from this high window.”

It was as such they spent so many nights, Hearth-warm hand in iridescent hand.

But time, in his fear and consternation, did look upon his children with dread.

And on a night of distant lightning did the color alight on the high window of her dear hearth, but found her chambers cold.

And full of fear-borne swiftness did the color fly. And so she cast herself before the throne of time, to plead for the release of her dearest hearth.

Said time to the color: “War has come little color. Pledge to me your service, for I’ve need of your swift wings. Serve me well in the coming struggle, and in victory I shall disgorge your flame.”

And so the color became the titan-herald, but that victory never came.

And so in defeat the color was seized and bound in heavy chains, to be brought before the lightning-court as trial for her treachery.

Bellowed the lightning in judgement: “For treachery against the gods, your sentence is thus: To be stripped of wings and cast to tartarus, come dawn.”

Yet the color cared not. For there among the lightning-court was her dearest hearth.

Yet even as the hands of lightning did strip her wings of heliotrope, the color made no cry, for she knew her dearest hearth was safe.

And as the veil of lady night did fall upon the lightning-court, the gods all did return to their chambers, all but the gentle hearth.

Said color to the fire: “Dearest hearth, dearest home, flame of my heart. Come with me.”

Said the fire to the color: “Dearest light, dearest song, wings of my heart, I cannot. Bound am I to  this godly hearth. But know that I am here my dearest color. I will be with you. Take my flame and hold it close, so close that its warmth may be with you always, so that I may be with you always.”

It was here in the empty waiting hall that color and flame did intertwine. It was here that ashen-hearth hands passed warm and soft upon blood-of-many-colors. It was here that the tongues of flame did soothe wounds of color. It was here that strange ichor did blend.

It was there upon the embers of the holy hearth-flame, in his iron cradle of fat wax and ash that the child of color and flame was born.

Swaddled was he in bandages, in the cloth that did soothe the wounds of his mother color. Named was he, and his name was passed between his mothers’ lips. A beautiful and secret thing.

Said the color to the fire: “Soon will come your brother bright in his chariot. Dearest flame I fear our time grows short. Take our child and keep him safe. Dearest hearth I will find you. There is no pit so deep your flame cannot warm me..”

Said the fire to the color: “Dearest color he will be safe. I will be here. I will be with you.”

It was here that color was cast below. Below the earth and sea. Below the deep and dark to the pit where the gods did cast all things of which they were afraid.

For three days and three nights did the flame weep tears of soft oil.

And those tears did fall to the earth upon the river valleys of Sarmatia. Deep in its warrens did the tears of holy oil seep, and where the oil did settle sprang a copse of chaste-trees, their trunks tall and leaves thick.

Said the flame to the moon: “Dear sister. Dear wanderer. Dear prodigal daughter. It is I that tends to the flame that feeds you am I not?”

Said the moon to the fire: “Of course dear sister. Never is game cooked sweeter than over your flame.”

Said the fire to the moon: “I beg thee this single trespass. Take this child and secret him within the chaste-grove below. Let him live well among the nymphs and naiads.”

And the moon said: “It shall be done.”

And so the wick was held close within the silver quiver and on a moon-beam descended to the holy chaste-grove.

There in the sacred chaste-grove the boughs grew thick. So thick the jealous sky would never find what was hidden below.

For below the sacred chaste-grove, in a cavern dim and cool, the chaste-roots did grow to form a cradle. There the child of color and flame was placed. There the child of color and flame did sleep.

It was here the child of color and flame did grow. It was here he ran and played and dreamed of his mother flame who did whisper her love to him.

Said the flame to the wick: “Dearest wick. Dearest wax. Mother is here. Rest my little candle, and know that you are loved.”

Said the wick to the flame: “Mother I wish to see you.”

And the flame said: “You need only build a hearth.”

And so a hearth was built. And from the hearth flame did the mother step to hold her child close.

Said the wick to the flame: “Where is my father?”

And the flame said: “You are special indeed my little candle, for you are of two mothers. I am the first, the home and hearth. The other is the morning dew, the iridescent light, she who watered the clouds with her ewer.”

And the wick said: “Is she beautiful like you?”

And the flame said: “She puts the stars to shame.”

And the wick said: “Does she love me like you?”

And the flame said: “More than you could ever know.”

And the wick said: “Where has she gone? I wish to meet her.”

And the flame said: “She was taken from me, cast deep below. But do not fear little candle, here the chaste-roots grow deep, and the rivers flow deeper still. When you are grown and strong, you may ford these rivers to find your mother color..”

And here the wick did grow.

Wade did he to where the chaste-roots grow, to the mouth of rivers deep. Down tangled branch and bough did he descend, guided by the whispered words of his mother flame.

There he reached the interstice and gazed upon the styx dark and broad.

Whispered the flame through the deep chaste-roots: “Little candle I can guide you no further. But know this: I am ever so proud of you little wick. Return to me as swift as you can.”

There the wick did wander the darkened shores, searching for a way to cross.

There came a shape from the dark.

The prow of a ship, followed close by its pale captain.

Said the ferryman to the wick: “Who trods upon my shore? You, ichor-scented thing. You are unknown to me.”

Said the wick to the ferryman: “I am the yearning vigil, the funerary light, the wax-wick, the tallow-fat, the candle’s dear flame. I am all that waits in wanting.”

Said the ferryman to the wick: “Such titles are unknown to me, but your scent lies not. Hail, strange candle. What be your business on my darkened shores?”

Said the wick to the ferryman: “A proposition. Payment, for services rendered. I beg passage for my dear mother of iridescence.”

Said the ferryman: “You ask for a price beyond payment. Such a thing is beyond me. These dark waters are but twilight to the mire of erebus, even my furnace-bright eyes cannot navigate its waters.”

Said the wick to the ferryman: “Hold, honored ferryman, for I offer payment beyond price.”

And with this the wick did draw a blade of bronze and sever his little fingers from his hands, and with a breath did they catch fire, casting a light unlike any that these shores had seen.

Said the wick to the ferryman: “I offer my guiding candle-light. One, for your lantern, so the flame of my mother hearth may be a comfort to your honored work. One, for the prow of your great ship, so the light of my mother color may guide your travels.”

Said the ferryman to the wick: “You honor me, strange wick. I shall accept your errand of love. But know this. The eyes of the underworld are many. Your mother must be freed in secret, in pieces. Thirteen voyages will I require, and for each a coin of finest electrum.”

Said the wick to the ferryman: “It shall be done.”

Thirteen coins paid for the thirteen holy organs of heliotrope. They were as thus:

The Eye Beholding / the Eye Closed

“One coin paid for the eyes of many colors. One side to perceive the world as it is, to understand what lays before you. One side to see the world beyond, to dream, to see the hidden things.”

The Heart in Vigor / The Heart at Rest

“One coin paid for the heart of heliotrope. One side for the heart in vigor, to spur the body by its instinct, by its carnal drive. One side for the heart at rest, to recover, to breathe, to allow the mother color to heal and grow.”

The Teeth Borne / The Tongue Speaking

One coin paid for the mouth of heliotrope. One side for the teeth borne, to seize the world as beasts do, with persistence, intention, with brute force. One side for the tongue speaking, to shape the world as poets do, to convince, to seduce, to enchant with words.”

The Lungs Inhaling / The Lungs Exhaling

“One coin paid for the lungs of helotrope. One side inhale, to fill the spirit with new experience, to try new things, make new mistakes, to learn. One to exhale, to draw on experience, to create, to use what one has learned firsthand.”

The Stomach Engorged / The Stomach Fallow

“One coin paid for the stomach of heliotrope. One side to indulge, to eat well, to laugh loud and full. One side to fast, to temper the will, to give in charity to those who have not.”

The Cage Whole / The Cage Broken

“One coin paid for the ribs of heliotrope. One side to hold strong, to protect the vulnerable things. One side to break the chains of the world, to free the tender things in need of freeing.”

The Nerves in Fervor / The Nerves Soothed

“One coin paid for the nerves of heliotrope. One side to hold lightning, to spur the body to attention, to stay at the helm when the sea is most rocky.. One side to soothe the storms, to calm the fearful, to comfort the weary. ”

The Vein / The Artery

“One coin paid for the blood of heliotrope. One side to love, the other to be loved in turn.”

The Skin / The Wound

“One coin paid for the flesh of heliotrope. One side to touch greatly, to feel, to experience the beauty of the world. One side to touch soft, to soothe, to tend to pain, to be tender. ”

The Spine Solid / The Spine Bent

“One coin paid for the spine of heliotrope. One side to stand in bravery, one side to bow in acceptance.”

The Hand Open / The Hand Closed

“One coin paid for the hands of heliotrope. One side to let go, one side to hold fast.”

The Hair / The Nail

“One coin paid for the death of heliotrope. One side to sharpen, to take rending action to the world. One side to braid, to bide time in patient contemplation.”

The Mind / The Spirit

“One coin paid for the mind of heliotrope. One side to know the world, to discern and understand it. One side to sense the world, to feel and love it.”

Wrapped in cloth and chaste-tree leaves the wick did carry each piece of the color divided.

And so against the tide of rivers deep he climbed the chaste-roots, holy organs of his mother color bound to his back, each wrapped in cloth and chaste-leaves.

It was there, in Sarmatia deep, beneath the boughs of the wick’s own chaste-root cradle, that the holy table and theater of stone were carved.

It was there that stone was shaped and cut. It was there the cloth and chaste-leaves laid. It was there that by hearthlight the wick did take a thread of wool and needle of bone to quilt his holy mother.

And when the final stitch was done, the hearth did step from the flame and embrace her child.

Said the flame to the wick: “My dearest little candle, my child of wax and ash, my light-in-the-dark. No song could sing my pride. My words fail me. But know this my dearest wick, I love you.”

And so the flame did place a tender ashen hand upon the brow of color.

And so in her godhood did the color wake. Slow, as if from deep and pleasant sleep.

Said the color to the hearth as whisper: “My hearth, you came for me.”

And the hearth said: “I am here.”

END