The Visitor

The Visitor

Narrative

[Flash forward one hundred years]

The Lazloi returned to the village today as she had promised, going to the cemetery where the remains of her mortal companions lay.

Her craft landed outside the stockade amongst the rocks and marshland near the river. Like the youthful face of the Lazloi, the craft wore the years well. Its upper surfaces shone in the light of a fine day, fading to a dusty brown where the rain and grime had stained its alien skin. The impervious blue metal looked as perfect and smooth as I remember it, awakening childhood memories of its cold glassy surface under my tiny fingers.

While the ship lay unattended, people came in from the fields and workshops to gape in awe, especially the youngsters who had not seen it before. Whispered words told of the power of the White Witches, for that is what the Lazloi are called in these superstitious times. Pregnant women, some close to term, were brought to touch the hull and await the personal contact of the Witch and her familiars.

I heard the doctor mutter condemnation under his breath, complaining that people would choose such mysticism over his aging stethoscope, books and fossil fueled scanner. I remember when we were still able to fly ourselves, but the knowledge to build and maintain technology lay in so few hands, and the will to try ebbed away so quickly. Perhaps too many people assumed that someone else would return the world to the way it was.

The villagers' interest was not entirely borne of superstition. Those blessed by the Witch bore stronger and healthier children, and of those, the boys who become healthy men were the candidates from whom she chose to share her bed.

For years it had been a mystery as to what became of those unions, because the White Witch closely guards her secrets. It was revealed in a chance moment some years ago when one of the familiars was distracted. A small boy and girl were seen blinking uncertainly from the doorway of the blue craft. Both had the gleaming white hair of the Witch, though the girl also had a shock of black hair down her forehead.

They laughed and pointed playfully at the villagers until a familiar ushered them back inside the ship and out of sight. In that moment, a look of pride and happiness crossed the Witches face. I asked how it was possible for an immortal such as her to bear children from mortal men.

Her happiness faded into dark weariness as she fixed me with her piercing eyes.

"At great cost," she said. "A price my kind never imagined."

That was some fifteen years ago. The children we saw must be adults by now.

-- Gerio Kynslee, chief elder of Celenea's Village, Northern Continent of Kandore

[Flash back one hundred years]

Description

An original model created in Hexagon 1.21 with SP3 figure with Xurge Cybersuit and Wildcat Hair.

Scene assembly and final rendering in Vue 6 Pro Studio. Post processed in Photoshop CS2

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Updated: 13 November 2008

© Mark Hirst, 2000 - 2016