The Story of Neamhain: The Reflection Resisting Fate

 

"Why do we exist?"

 

It was the first question, the first desire. Countless reflections flowed through space and time into the red sea... and the goddess here was drowning in an endless agony.

 

Her heart became as tainted as the waters, in this sea that she considered her cradle. A tear ran down her cheek, and despite being alone, she could not hide her embarrassment at the display of emotion. She was supposed to be past such things, now. The recent encounter with her forgotten self had filled her with hatred and hostility, which only served to drive her into a deeper confusion.

 

"This is not me. Then who...?"

 

She was overcome and writhed in agony, almost collapsing into the churning waters. She could not hold back the urge to vomit. She forced herself to reject thoughts, memories, feelings... They were only getting the way of the task she was divinely ordained to perform. These were, in turn, quietly swallowed by the waves all around her.

 

The goddess finally stood tall, wiping her mouth on her sleeve and appearing far more composed. She raised a quizzical eyebrow, unsure of what she had been doing just moments before. Yet the details mattered not, for she had work to do.

 

Neamhain smiled, extending her metallic wings as she rose from the red waters and into the pitch-black skies.

 

Yet memories and morals cannot be so easily swept aside.

 

So it was that the Sea of Reflection echoed her sentiments, asking that discarded reflection of humanity...

 

"Why do we exist?"

 

It spoke to a humble memory from a more innocent time, another Neamhain before she was ever elevated to godhood. This version also did not know why she existed, so when asked, she flowed toward the coastline, as if in a dream.

 

To seek the answer to that question.

 



 

"Maybe... the goddess has abandoned us..."

 

"On the shore of Neimheadh, a young boy thought of his sister. It was supposed to be both of them, together, standing here. It was supposed to be fearful but exciting. Instead, all he had was regret and a tough task meant for two.

 

Steadying himself with a deep breath, he looked around as discreetly as he could. No one seemed to be around, but one could never be too careful here. Deciding that it was now or never, the boy reached down to remove something hidden in the sand: a rope, leading out into the sea. He began hauling it in as quickly as he could, eventually revealing a small, submerged boat. Cold moonlight appeared to be the only witness to this act, which was fortunate... If anyone else saw what he was up to, it would surely mean his death."

 

That was because this child was a Nemedian, the lowest caste in Neimheadh. Though serving the same god that all the Fomors did, he was practically treated as slave labor, and this night could be his only chance at ever escaping that life. Thoughts of his sister first slowed, then hastened his movements. Hiding in other, human lands was her idea, and it was now his only chance.

 

"He had finally hauled in enough of the skiff to set off when he suddenly froze. Against the darkness, an even darker figure rose from the waves and approached him.

 

He cursed under his breath, calling himself a fool for not being even more careful. He hadn't thought to check the very waters for someone spying on him. Escape was not an option; all of his worldly possessions were stowed in the boat, and at this point, they'd ferret him out eventually."

 

"W-who goes there?" he demanded, his attempt at sounding like a guard undercut by his age. He was shocked to see that the figure actually looked human, and what he had assumed was a monstrous shape was due to her stumbling over and bracing herself weakly against her lance. He could swear he had seen wings behind her, but maybe it had just been a trick of the moonlight.

 

The woman wobbled and answered him slowly, her voice breaking before collapsing to the white sands.

 

"N-Neamhain..."

 

He stared down at the unconscious woman with no little apprehension. First, he had questioned his eyes, but now he couldn't believe his ears. To name your child—or style yourself—after a goddess of Neimheadh was the height of blasphemy. Still, at least he wasn't the one in trouble; she didn't look like one of the local guards, and they wouldn't be in the habit of sacrilege, anyway.

 

She was still breathing, but that wouldn't last for long if she was caught. The boy thought about launching his boat right then and there... but his sister wouldn't have ever forgiven him if she had still been around.

 

Cursing again, he scuttled his boat and his plans, at least for now. He then half-lifted and half-dragged the stranger across the sandy beach.

 

"Ugh," he groaned. "Lady, you're heavy!"

 

He had to stop several times to catch his breath, but he eventually got them both to his sea cave. He dragged the woman inside and laid his coat over her until he could get a fire going.

 

"I can't believe I'm doing this..."

 

He sat down next to her, and his exhaustion quickly overtook him.

 



 

The woman eventually woke up, gasping, as if struggling for air. She felt like she'd been drowning in her dream. As she took in her unfamiliar surroundings, however, her confusion was quickly replaced wariness.

 

She found eyes peering at her from the darkness. She started to reach for her weapon before realizing that this was the boy that she had briefly seen on the shore. What she could make of his expression was unreadable, but he felt as tense as a cornered wolf.

 

"You awake?" he asked her bluntly.

 

"M-maybe? I feel like... I've been dreaming for so long." She shook her head, trying to clear the cobwebs, before realizing that she was having trouble remembering much at all. "And who are you?"

 

"I'm Neit."

 

That wasn't enough of an answer to her inquiry, but the last thing she wanted to do was pester a child. Whatever situation she had found herself in, it was her own burden to arise from.

 

...How did she get here, anyway?

 

The beach. When and how had she fallen into the sea? Each time she tried to grasp a memory, it was as water slipping through her fingers, a wave returning to the Sea of Reflection. Perhaps she had hit her head. Yes, that was it. She must have been in a battle, or perhaps a storm.

 

For now, she could only nod slowly in response.

 

"I've you to thank then, Neit. I am called Neamhain."

 

The child had a strange expression on his face. A cornered wolf who suddenly found his captor distasteful.

 

"You're human," he offered, as much a statement as a question. "Well, you don't have to worry. We're in my hideout. There are a lot of small caves on the Neimheadh coast, but this one's the best."

 

"...Neimheadh." She attempted the unfamiliar name, praying to suppress a sudden fear that sprung unbidden to her mind. It wasn't merely that she didn't recognize it. The name itself felt so distant and lonely that it didn't even feel real to her.

 

"I... see. I'm not quite sure where... The last thing I remember, I was back in Orkha," she admitted. "Glorious Orkha. I wasn't out on a crusade, was I? Hmm..." Neit simply looked at her strangely.

 

"Never heard of that place."

 

"What?" she smiled. "Everyone's heard of Orkha. It's the greatest civilization that has ever been built. Oh, I know. Surely, you've heard of the Holy Knights? We're the ones that use Holy Lances, such as this. Our legend has spread far and wide," she grinned, falling short of the humility that she sought.

 

"Nope," Neit shook his head emphatically. "I've never heard of any of those."

 

Neamhain furrowed her brow. She must have found herself in a truly backwater place if they didn't raise their children with such basic concepts, or respect for the divinity. Perhaps she had traveled here to proselytize to them? Volunteering as a missionary could make sense, at least. Attempts to remember anything continued to elude her.

 

Neit's voice was finally able to rouse her from her reverie.

 

"I'd try to take it easy. You're in safe hands, I promise. Morrighan is the only god that humans worship, anyway, and I'm sure she'll protect you, too."

 

Morrighan? What blasphemy was this? The syllables felt strange to Neamhain; that was definitely no goddess that she had ever heard of. Why, her own god would—

 

The woman suddenly found it very hard to breathe. She was a Holy Knight, yet could not remember anything about the deity she served. Their domain, their name, even their gender... Other than the title "Savior" ringing through her thoughts, no other trace remained. Neamhain could not fathom how such a travesty could come to pass. She could still feel the divine magics within her, so she at least took comfort in the knowledge that her god had not forgotten her. It was still enough for a deep shame to encompass her.

 

She suddenly felt very alone.

 

Unaware of all this, Neit tossed some more driftwood into the campfire and pulled a small, blackened lump from the flames. Neamhain caught a savory scent and realized just how hungry she was.

 

"Here, have a potato. Hey, be careful! Don't burn yourself."

 

She looked down at the strange thing she held. Brown and white were visible through the seared crust. She chanced a tentative bite.

 

The flavor was incredible. It was plain, but comforting. The foreign cuisine offered solace in its simplicity. Enjoying its humble taste brought about the first quiet moment the Holy Knight had experienced in... well, she wasn't quite sure how long.

 

"Potato, you say? Miraculous! I'd really like to take some back to Orkha with me," she said earnestly. "These are truly a blessing."

 

The boy only nodded gruffly and continued peeling potatoes. Neamhain ate several more, her appetite not sated until the fire burned low, casting long, dancing shadows along the cave wall.

 

She began describing her homeland to Neit, extoling the virtues of Orkha and the responsibilities of her religious order. Though standoffish at first, it wasn't long before the boy became enraptured by the tales.

 

"...but on a clear day, you can hear the church bells all the way past the gate, and there's this wonderful incense that's carried on the breeze."

 

"And everyone's actually happy there? Wow," he grinned. "A city like that sounds amazing."

 

"It's truly awe-inspiring." She was grateful that she still had these precious memories, at least. Who knows how far back this amnesia could have extended?

 

"Oh... Forgive me. Here I am, waxing poetic, and not even giving you a chance to speak."

 

"It’s okay. I liked it." Neit suddenly got up, smiling wryly. "I’ll be back... Someone ate all the potatoes."

 

"You're not going out now, surely?" she asked in surprise. "At this late hour?"

 

"I'm just going to dig up some more," Neit muttered.

 

"Then I'll go with you," she offered. "I want to see how potatoes grow underground, anyway."

 

The moment she attempted to stand, though, her legs gave out from beneath her and she collapsed into the soft sand of the cave. It seemed the spirit was willing, but the flesh was weak.

 

"Just wait here," Neit said as he left her. He attempted to sound far older and wiser than he was, but the worry was clear on his face.

 

So Neamhain remained alone in the cave, listening to the crackling choir of the dying fire. She tried to accept that her memories were gone, for now at least, and that her present circumstances were far from ideal. She knew that as soon as she was healthy enough, she would have to determine what the fastest route back to Orkha was.

 



 

 

Neit came with the dawn, carrying a burlap sack of potatoes. He also carried numerous scratches, a few of which would most certainly scar.

 

"Oh! Are potatoes this difficult to uproot?" The doubt was clear in Neamhain's voice, but Neit just shrugged it off with a grin.

 

"It was just a little darker out there than I realized, is all. It's no big deal."

 

"Neit," she said gently, "these bodies are a gift to us from the divine, and they would not want us to damage them unduly. They would prefer we do our tasks carefully rather than recklessly..."

 

Neit laughed loudly at that, though she wasn't sure why. The boy practically had an armored exterior.

 

Yet over the next few days, as Neamhain got to know him. he turned out to be a caring kid. He even stayed in the cave with her until she was able to move around on her own again.

 

While cooking some more potatoes, he appeared lost in thought.

 

"...I think the gods must not exist."

 

"Oh!" Neamhain exclaimed. "Neit, you mustn’t say such things! They're always looking out for us."

 

The boy only scoffed. "Then why would they do this with my life? It's like one trial after another. If there are gods out there, then maybe we'd all be better off without them." He cast his eyes down."

 

The Holy Knight wasn't sure what to say. Chastising a child seemed wrong, and it didn't strike her as being a successful tactic, either.

 

"...Neit, why don't you come to Orkha with me? The deity I... serve is far kinder than the ones here, I can promise you that."

 

"That's good for you, but there's no god looking out for me."

 

She had only known Neit a short time, but Neamhain had never seen the child distraught before. It affected her greatly.

 

He seemed to look up at her admiringly, despite his sorrow. She was making progress, at least. The knight caught a glimpse of his necklace, and gestured towards it, hoping to change the subject.

 

"It's my sister's. Um... it was."

 

"Was?"

 

"She's dead," was his only response. The lack of emotion seemed practiced.

 

"I'm so sorry..."

 

The two lapsed into a long silence. There wasn't anything either could say that would make that situation better. When Neit eventually did speak, he struggled to find the right words.

 

"My sister wanted to... escape from Neimheadh. We thought we were so careful with our plan, too... for all the good it did. Damn this place."

 

It had never occurred to the Holy Knight before now that home might not be someplace that everyone always yearned to return to. The thought of it being a prison, or a form of hell, was quite beyond her own experience.

 

It broke her heart to behold. She decided that the boy must come with her to Orkha. She was sure that she was being entrusted with his safety, a mission sent by divine will.

 

"Whoa, not yet!" Neit said. "You still need to recover."

 

Days passed, with the woman slowly recovering and the boy keeping his vigil over her. Each night, Neit would leave to gather more potatoes, and each morning he came back with fresh wounds.

 

Until the morning that he didn't return.

 

Neamhain was instantly on guard. Something about Neit's story hadn't been adding up, but now she was genuinely worried for his safety. The boy going missing was enough to give strength to limbs that still asked for rest, and she was already out of the cave, lance in hand, before she had time to dwell on the possible consequences.

 

A cold wind began to rustle through the dense forest, quickening her steps. She might have been dealing with some memory problems, but she acutely remembered not caring for the cold. She also recalled protecting pilgrims and defending Orkha's borders, which taught her a few helpful tricks for tracking. She grimaced when the furtive footprints of a child were eventually met by something far more monstrous.

 

She finally came upon a rough-hewn fortification. There, a line of weary, sickly Nemedians carried heavy loads, while a goblin overseer shouted over the crack of his whip. These poor people looked human to Neamhain, and she could not imagine why they would be so willing to take this abuse.

 

She finally found Neit... just as the whip found his back, lashing streaks of red against the wall.

 

"Neit?!"

 

"In an instant Neamhain was at his side, her Holy Lance impaled through the overseer's chest. His scream was only met by her narrowed eyes.

 

When the other goblins nearby rushed to surround her, she ripped her lance sideways through the overseer as if he was made of tattered parchment. The Holy Knight looked down her nose at these villains, with a stature and dismissiveness that only the truly devout can bring to bear.

 

The Nemedians began to flee, but for now Neamhain was focused on protecting Neit.

 

She caught his gaze, but he seemed less than pleased.

 

"What are you doing here? It was safe in the cave," he managed weakly, as a mob of goblins rushed at them from all directions.

 

From a distance, one might only see flashes of dawn light in the early morning, dispelling the shadows of night. The truth was a far grimmer spectacle, as Neamhain ruthlessly skewered and slaughtered every goblin that dared approach them.

 

She'd slain heretics and zealots before, so she was well-accustomed to opponents with no seeming limit to their morale, but she couldn't imagine what drove these goblins to keep coming. They seemed to have a searing, fanatical hatred of her very humanity. What could cause such fervor? Neamhain held her own for a time, but she was not yet back to full strength, and the situation was grim.

 

Neit did the only thing he could. He prayed.

 

In answer, a burst of brilliant light shot out from behind Neamhain in the shape of glorious wings. They sheltered the boy, blocking the feeble forged weaponry of the goblins. The resplendent sight overwhelmed his senses.

 

The light emanating from Neamhain gathered into her Holy Lance, glowing with pristine purpose unsullied by mortal concerns. Neit could not be sure if the blessed weapon punctured a hole in the fabric of the very universe, or if Neamhain merely pointed at a spot in mid-air that her god then touched with a divine hand, but whatever the reason, an otherworldly portal suddenly tore reality asunder. From its unfathomable expanse flew forth a rain of magical Holy Lances towards the oncoming goblin horde.

 

By the time the holy light finally faded away, only Neamhain of Orkha and her young friend remained amidst a sea of goblin corpses.

 

"I hereby consecrate this ground in the name of the Savior." It took a moment for Neamhain to remember herself. She rushed over to Neit's side, lifting the helpless boy into her arms.

 

"Neamhain, you were amazing! Y-you're... her, right? The goddess?"

 

She choked up, at a loss for what to say. This latest round of torture was particularly brutal, and it was clear these were the last words the poor boy was ever going to hear, so she wanted to give him comfort... but she was merely an instrument of her savior. Any name she might share with this false idol was just a coincidence. Besides, if she really was one of the divine, she'd be able to save him. It felt like the heavens had a different plan in mind.

 

"Neit, I..."

 

The boy shuddered in her arms as he gasped for breath, wracked with pain. He still attempted to smile.

 

"I stole... the potatoes," he managed through ragged breaths. "You c-can't stay here... Not even you. Fly away... Maybe to the human l-lands. This place c-can't be saved... Orkha s-sounded nice. Is it paradise? Is t-that what you call it? Wish I c-could have seen it..."

 

With the last of his strength, he pressed a shaking hand into hers. His sister's necklace felt as cold as the child's body now did.

 

"Neit! Stay with me, Neit!"

 

Neamhain's scream echoed along the coastline, every cave a choir, every wave a cruel reflection.

 



 

When she could finally push through her grief, the Holy Knight left on her longest journey yet. She set off for her home, Orkha, with only her lance and Neit's necklace. It was some small way to bring him on the journey, and getting the necklace blessed by her savior could ensure that he wouldn't suffer in the afterlife.

 

The entire journey soon proved to be bound by suffering, but she took each painful moment as a lesson given to her by the divine. It took several seasons for her penitent steps to find purchase in the soil of human lands. There, she was met with another sort of test.

 

"I beg your pardon, miss, but as a well-traveled cartographer I think I'd know if a land named Orkha existed."

 

Neamhain felt the frown lines of her scowl chisel further into her countenance with every inquiry. It wasn't merely these lands that were unfamiliar to her. Everything from the fashion to the agricultural level was different. She even bore witness to their strange firearms that belched smoke, killing invisibly from great distances like some demonic presence.

 

A terrible sinking feeling grew within her, as if she was drowning in a deep sea with no hope of reaching the surface... and everywhere she turned were people mentioning that false deity "Morrighan," or even this other "Neamhain." It seemed a terribly cruel joke to a devout Holy Knight that could no longer remember her own savior. Sometimes she would clench on to Neit's necklace so tightly that she bled.

 

She also learned of a desperate war between humanity and the Fomors. Danger and adversity were everywhere.

 

She was not used to relying on others, but her sacred order never had any need of gold. They required little, and what was needed was provided. She'd never carried a belt pouch before, yet now it seemed that everything catered to coin. The only reliable way she found to keep moving forward was to take on mercenary work, and she prayed to her unknown savior that each day she would end up where she was needed.

 

"I won't fail, Neit. I will find Orkha. I will get stronger. I'm just... oh! So hungry!"

 

The wandering knight came upon a small town in the countryside. She sat down heavily outside of an inn, exhaustion and hunger taking their toll. She patted around in vain for coins she knew weren't there.

 

Her fond memories of the potatoes that Neit had first cooked for her took root, and it was a long moment before she realized the aroma was real, and coming from nearby. The innkeeper, an older gentleman, was standing before her with a basket of baked potatoes.

 

"Well you look like you've had a long journey," he said kindly, holding out one to her. Neamhain took the potato with both hands, reverently. She still could not remember her savior, but they were still providing for her.

 

"Looks like you've seen your share of trouble, but a place like this has more than it can handle. Someone like you could make a big difference, and put some coin in your purse, besides." He watched her with soft concern as he cleaned his worn glasses. "The Crimson Blades mercenary company always looks after us, and they're located just next door."

 

"The Crimson Blades? Hmm, I see..."

She had finished her potato more quickly than she'd realized, but it did wonders for her fatigue. She trudged to the office and knocked on its door. The divine were leading her somewhere once again. Whatever that path, Neamhain was ready to move forward along it. She would serve where she was needed, and when the time was right, she would be guided back to glorious Orkha and her savior.