Iridescence - Chapter 2

The world makes several revolutions

Around its star, while winters bring more snow.

In time, the reflective crystals shine light

Upon the craft, feeding it energy.

Slowly, the ship makes a recovery.

The ship transitions into liquid form:

Malleable, fluid, and moveable.

The puddle splits into three lesser ones,

Each tinged with a spectral hue of its own.

First cyan, then magenta, then yellow.

The three puddles reform into cocoons,

Where they spend another season waiting

For the moment they will emerge, complete.

Another layer of snow covers them.

At winter’s height, they start to break open.

From the largest, huge claws tear through the shell.

A stout, four-legged beast, neither pig nor dog,

Nose of a bat and feet as human hands,

Sticks its head through the opening it made.

It pulls its stocky body through the hole.

Like the ship’s original appearance,

The creature’s surface is iridescent;

Blue, pink, and yellow light bounces off it.

Though for this beast, cyan is dominant.

It begins to peer around with four eyes.

Its gaze moves from the nearest cocoons here

To the partly-cloudy skies above them,

Blue peeking through the cover, out of reach.

It is unable to see past the walls

Of the impact crater surrounding them.

It watches as the other two emerge.

A similar, pinkish being is next,

This one longer, with a thinner body.

It takes its time, unlike the first being,

Taking care to avoid breaking the husk.

Finally out, it stretches those long limbs,

Shaking off the recently-fallen snow

From its rose-toned bristled back and neck manes.

It too takes stock of the land around it,

Disappointment filling its first few thoughts.

The blue creature locked eyes on the red one,

Understanding somehow shared between them.

Patiently, they waited for the smallest

Of the voyagers to escape the shell.

This one appeared in the worst condition.

The cocoon formed a single crack, then ten,

Followed by countless of tiny fissures

Littering its surface, until at last,

They fell away with the wind, flaking off.

A small yellow-tinged beast stands in its place.

All together now, they count their numbers.

Three stand where there should be tens of thousands.

The small one hangs its head down, shivering,

Though from realization, not the cold.

The other two also bow their heads low.

Mourning interrupted by survival,

The three beasts are driven to journey far.

This crater, white with snow and ice, useless

For creatures that subsist off of color.

Cyan leads the pack in scaling the walls.

They reach the top with no difficulty

Despite spending those eons in stasis.

Pausing to take a look at the landscape,

Any hope there might have been of a home

On this planet for them had been squandered.

Blinding, white surroundings spanned far and wide,

Broken only by the sparse, barren woods,

Thin black trunks sticking up out of the snow.

Here, there is no color for them to eat.

This world might just be this way everywhere.

The small one grows somber; the others join.

Perhaps their destiny was to slowly,

Hopelessly, dwindle into nothingness:

Punishment for their kinds’ star-feasting ways.

Headstrong, the cyan bids them to move on.

The cyan one’s hope has quickly faded

Just as it had done for the two others,

Though it believed a distraction welcome.

It proposed a migration for the three:

A journey in search of their sustenance

Along with hope that this world had color.

As they travel, memories are restored.

Their names are the first things to come to mind:

Cerule for the cyan beast, the largest,

Rozengard for the long, magenta one,

And Kitrina, the meek yellow creature.

Other memories begin to flow back.

Friends, family, colleagues, all those missing,

Having long since faded to nothingness,

A fate that reminds them of the dangers

This world may yet hold, though its star brings hope.

Sunlight shines down upon the travelers,

Bouncing around off of the snow and ice,

And refracting through the water crystals.

White light splits into a spectral array

Made up of all of the rainbow’s colors.

These do not go unnoticed by the beasts,

Who, as well as recalling their food needs,

Remember the old name of their species.

Boyani, referring to their own kind,

An empire a whole universe away.

It is hard to think of anything else,

With the surrounding lands devoid of hues.

So far into their thoughts they had fallen,

That they hardly noticed the setting sun.

It was Kitrina who pointed it out.

The light was scattering across the sky,

Light polarizing until red remained.

Illuminated on a distance plain

Sat a curious arrangement of rocks.

The three decided to investigate.

At this point the sky’s intensity peaked.

Though their kind preferred direct contact when

It came to drawing color from objects,

A shade this intense could not be ignored

By the starved trio of pale wanderers.

Angling their bodies toward the sunset,

The beasts closed their eyes and opened their mouths,

As if the light were a physical thing.

In terms of sustenance, this would do, now,

As they felt energy return to them.

Before long, night fell, covering the land

With its navy cloak of stars and the moon.

The three moved on to a rock arrangement,

And as they neared, those large boulders lit up.

Each had a square opening on their sides.

Windows. From these, yellow rays of light shone,

Dancing lightly on the snow-covered ground.

These were dwellings, and within their flat walls

Moved figures, casting shadows on the snow.

The smaller buildings, unlit, seemed barren.

The three boyani cautiously approached,

The wavering lights catch their many eyes.

They draw near; the village remains silent.

A crash from inside a house startles them,

Cerule, the cyan, grunting in surprise.

The three scurry as quickly as they can

Behind a small shed, away from the lights.

A few moments pass by in dead silence,

Yet no one comes out to investigate.

Their attention turns to the shed itself.

Rozengard keeps watch while the strongest one,

Cerule, scratches at the door, fruitlessly.

More force is needed; he hurls his body

At the door with all his might, breaking it.

Kitrina, worried, looks around in fear.

Inside is a pile of reddish, round fruits,

Sitting atop a yellow stack of straw.

Both the fruits and hay are foreign to them,

But the color, now that was familiar.

Cerule and Kitrina begin to feed.

Rozengard takes their place when they are done,

And by the end of the Boyani’s feast,

The apples and straw became a steel-grey,

Any shred of color torn right from them.

These hues are poor, but better than sunlight.

Satisfied for now, they retreat away

Into deeper woods beyond the village.

The moon illuminates their path somewhat,

Though is not as welcome as the sun’s rays,

Monochromatic moonlight weak and faint.

When the village’s light is no longer

Visible, they stop to rest til daybreak.

They bury themselves deep in the snowdrifts

Between the rough, dark trunks of leafless trees.

Somehow, the white snow brings comfort, safety.

It sparks memories of the pale white ship

That held them for eons on its journey.

The crew had not had enough energy

To experience fear or dread back then,

Only a sense of calm serenity.

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