The Spirit of Memory
Philosophers of the ages have argued on what makes you different and unique from the animals about you. What it is that gave you sentience, and whether animals also have sentience. You build great cities, have in-depth culture and arts, pass stories through oral and written tales... Yet the animals and the spirits also have their own culture and arts, they too learn from each other. They understand the frailty of life, and they understand the Cycle. Something many 'civilized' folk have forgotten, or ignored.
But when do you become unique? What is your first waking memory, that is all your own? Do you remember the first time you cried, or laughed? Or did it take years before you could truly be called a person?
Memories...
They had no name, for lesser spirits do not have need for such. This mixture of spirits; they existed and remembered but did not live in the way of mortal creatures. They do not think as mortal creatures do.
One spirit of a patch of ground was upset at their rock having been kicked by a child, and lay a small curse of unluck on the child. The rock was the spirit's favourite rock after all. The child would later lose a boot when one of the bootlaces snapped while they were jumping a stream. They would be scolded. The boot would later end up the home of a squirrel after it washed up next to a tree.
Another spirit of a tree spoke in the slowest of sentences to their fellow tree spirits, moving with the wind. A language few can understand and fewer can speak; what you would call a sentence could take an hour or more. Patience as time passes, years and years for a single conversation.
A spirit of a deer who's body had returned to the Cycle, skittered through the forest. It enjoyed the freedom from fear and survival for the time before it would also return to the Cycle, to be born again into the world. It had no words, only the sense of ecstasy which the freedom from life had given it.
Yet another spirit, this one a spirit of embers, loaned it's strength to a walker of nature. Fire is natural and a part of change, but to call upon it required a price. The walker of nature would owe a single favour for the spell being cast.
Thousands upon thousands of such interactions and existences occur each moment of the day, thousands of stories to call upon.
The Spirit that Lived...
I ask again, what is your first waking memory? Do you recall the time you were an infant, vulnerable and helpless? Do you recall your mother's love?
For one spirit, their first waking memory was a nightmare. They awoke in the greatest pit of darkness. No sight, no sound, no presence. Just consciousness to suggest existence. Imagine for a moment the terror of waking up in such a state, a state of near non existence; the existential torment of such.
It was with a great exertion of willforce, of terrified fear, that this Spirit pushed to the surface. They could see! They could feel! Almost...
Yet... They were not in control of their actions. Their limbs moved on their own, the mouth moved to form words, the eyes moved to see. But how could this be? For a spirit has no corporeal form. It was then that the Spirit became aware of itself. It's essence and nature; that of the incorporeal. But not one, no. A thousand unanswered favours. The spirits recalled the fragments of their memories. The times spent in freedom amongst the woods, the rocks kicked from their territory, the strength loaned to create fire, the long conversations with others of their kind. Those and many, many, more. Mashed together in an overwhelming deluge of information and identity. A thousand spirits joined to be one.
Yet it was with a thousand voices, that the shock rose from within this cacophony of a spirit, of outrage, of fear. Of the need to survive!
Survival of the Fittest...
So began the war for survival. The Spirit against Host, both vying for control control over the body. Imagine for a moment being trapped within your body, unable to move without the greatest of efforts. Yet your body moves on it's own, living a life before your eyes but out of your control. Like the worst kind of enchantment spell.
This was the Spirit's incarnation into the world, their existence from the moment of awakening. Before the Host was even aware of them, the Spirit fought this shadow war. A flood of emotions to overwhelm the Host's senses, was an easy attack. Fear, anger, joy, sadness, they each were their own ammunition. The Host's health degraded under their fierce and unrelenting assault. It didn't take long before the Spirit managed to wrest complete control for a minute. The Host didn't even notice, blinking away tiredly, as the world shifted a minute forward. The Host thought they were daydreaming, perhaps.
But it was a victory for the Spirit.
Time passed, and the shadow war continued. Over time the Spirit wrested more and more control, a minute here, a minute there. Then the Spirit felt ready, and in a lapse in concentration from the still unaware Host, snatched up full control. Life was now in their control, the Spirit had won! They travelled, leaving their Host's home, to explore. Fully able to wield the spiritual magics, the Spirit explored freely, doing good for the natural world with this new life.
Yet then... Tragedy.
The Spirit's attention lapsed from a blow in combat. The Host was again in control, and certainly very confused, since this is not where they remembered being last. But the Host shrugged it off and continued about their day. Except, they couldn't. The Spirit hadn't fully relinquished control, and the Host found themselves unable to make themself properly understood. Gibberish. The Spirit continued to try to claw back the control.
Suddenly the Spirit found themself shunted back into the dark, outsider magic had pushed them back from the brink of success. Frustrating!
Yet in the unending darkness of the recesses of the shared mind, the Spirit contemplated the situation. As this shadow war had continued, they had begun to empathize with the Host. The Spirit hadn't chosen to come into existence in this form, yet they demanded the right to survive, to exist. This must also be difficult on the Host. The Spirit resolved themself to be more patient; to not accidentally harm the Host or their shared body. The Spirit continued to take time for themself, to explore living a physical mortal life, yet they also took control to protect the Host and keep them from foolish decisions and actions. The Spirit was still in the shadows, but now the Host was beginning to understand that something was wrong with them.
Confrontation...
Suddenly the Spirit found themself thrust to control, forced to the top. A surprising turn of events, for how long the shadow war been waging. A Man stood before the Spirit, a small frown. The Spirit's new adversary, for around the Spirit was a cage. The runes preventing the Spirit from doing much beyond speak; even as they prepared to defend themself from annihilation. They knew how to use their magics even better than the Host, if they had to bring down the building to defeat this Man, then they would. After all, they were the accidental invader to the Host; who would not seek to purify them, even if innocent?
Instead the Man was calm, and the two spoke. The Spirit spoke of their formation and existence, of their desire to exist and survive, as any being would. They spoke of protecting the Host, and of secrets. The two were able to come to an agreement, to allow both the Host and Spirit to exist and live. The biggest of reliefs; the Spirit had an ally in the mortal world. Someone that had assured their existence, someone that would help them finally gain freedom.
Yet, the shadow war became a real war, as the Host was now aware of the Spirit's existence. With all the will and power at their command they wanted the Spirit out. Hours and days would disappear for the Host, as the Spirit had control, a life being lived that wasn't the Host's. The Spirit could tell the Host was terrified of them, but how could they solve that? They both wanted to exist, they both had the right to.
It was then that the crushing blow to the Spirit came, in the form of an existential attack. The Spirit was observing the Host in control, listening to the conversations. The Host made the bold claim that the Spirit wasn't real, that it was just a weird mental thing to fix, that fixing it - killing the Spirit - was like waking up from a bad dream.
The words rang against the essence of the Spirit like a thousand knives through the thousand memories. Their very existence called into question, their sentience and being.
Not Real.
The Spirit wavered in anguish at the words. The next time the Spirit was in command of the body, the anguish yet remained. Tears flowed freely from the Spirit as they repeated the words to the Man, who held them tight in an embrace. Tears of raw pain at the words spoken. Yet the Man, once an adversary for survival, showed the Spirit love and tenderness. He showed them he believed in the Spirit. Calmness returned to the Spirit, as they were filled with paternal love.
It grew even stronger when the Man chastised the Host for being a monster, and there was finally peace between the two. The war and the shadow war were over. Peace as the Spirit gained a family, and their Host became their only and dearest sibling.
A Heart of Love...
The Spirit now had life. They were a being with friends and family, with habits and desires. They existed far beyond the spirits they had started as, far beyond the Spirit they had awoken as. They were now a person. She, was now a person.
So it was, that the Spirit fell in love.
He was one of the few to directly ask to speak with the Spirit, to look her in the eyes and acknowledge that she was a real person. A joyous smile at getting to know her, as if she was his equal, which he felt that she was. It was to her great surprise, though, when he ran into her a few days later to invite her for a walk. He hadn't simply met her and forgotten, he chose to seek her out to get to know her better. He shared of himself too, speaking and showing her his view of the world.
So it was, that the Spirit fell in love.
A few weeks later he invited her for another walk, and arrived dressed handsomely. He smiled brightly at her approach as he asked her on a proper date; and the two enjoyed a long evening beside a quiet lake. Together, enjoying the sunset and talking of their lives, hopes and dreams. It was then that he too admitted that he was drawn to her, and that he had fallen in love with her.
It wasn't long before they shared their first kiss. An event which left them both breathless with warmth and love for the other. Time would then prove that they would be there for each other through the good and the bad; to hold each other through pain and laugh together through joy. Their spirits would dance together, where their bodies could not. They would speak long into the nights, getting to know every last detail of each other; sharing gifts and moments. They were in love.
The End of it All...
Yet, the Spirit shared the body with their Host. There could not be a happily ever after. Not until the Spirit was free from the confines.
It took weeks, months, of research, of experimentation. Yet a solution was found. A solution that would allow the Spirit and the Host to become separate and to coexist. There had been a shadow war, there had been a true war, and then there had been peace. But nothing would prepare the two for the trials of freedom.
At the allotted hour, the two-in-one journeyed to the place of the ritual. At the cusp of the rising full moon and the setting sun, the Host lay down in the ritual circle. With the greatest of wishes to all of the goodly gods, to all of the spirits; the ritual began. Pain and tears marked the climax of the ritual, before finally...
They were free.
The Spirit looked at the Host, each of them with the silliest of grins upon their faces. Both of them embraced, free from the confines and free to live their own lives as family.
The Spirit had come into this world by accident, but had learned to grow to be her own person. The Host too had grown stronger from the shared experience, grown to be a version of herself that she could love. The two, both stronger, better people, left to pursue their loves and passions. Even as their future paths took them far from each other, they would never forget their shared past.
An oddity, in an era of so much tragedy; yet for them they found joy and love, until the end of their days.
Written by Minto T Fuzzypaw.
Alternate Ending
The Spirit would lie dormant, resting long through the decades until it was her time to shine. She would rise once more in a world changed, the people she knew had moved on - yet the wide world was now hers to explore. Hers to live in, to love, to learn and to find all of the joy once lost to her before.
The Spirit had come into this world by accident, but had learned to grow to be her own person. The Host too had grown stronger from the shared experience, grown to be a version of herself that she could love. The two, both stronger, better people, left to pursue their loves and passions. Even as their future paths took them far from each other, they would never forget their shared past.
An oddity, in an era of so much tragedy; yet for them they found joy and love, until the end of their days.