Young Writers Society

Chapter 4

Silence. Eerie, deafening, heart-wrenching silence. That was all that could be heard in the Merryweather home that night. I lay inside my quilt, which could hardly keep the tension from reaching me. I pictured myself in the side room, talking to Icarus’s sleeping form. How foolish I was, too have thought that I was safe.

Just as I was about to be pulled under and into the safety of my own mind, I heard the distinct sound of our creaky door being pushed open. Straightaway I was standing up, ready for whatever was coming for me, for my family.

Or so I thought.

My feet carried me into the hall as if they were acting on their own. I heard voices behind the door to the front room. I stopped dead in my tracks. No sound could be detected besides those two deep voices. Not one sound from upstairs reached my ears. My father must have slept through the scraping noise that our door always made when being opened. Typical.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door before my cowardice could take over my mind. A pair of brown eyes and another of pure blue welcomed me into the room.

“Um...” Icarus faltered. “It seems we weren't as quite as we thought...”

The tall young man standing next to him smirked roguishly. “No, I guess not.”

I stood there all the while, studying the two men in my home. They didn't seem to be criminals, but weren't all the best felons actors as well?

“You're Kiara, right?” our current guest asked.

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. “Yes,” I whispered.

“S'what I thought. Your sister talks a lot about you...” I resisted the urge to smile. I wasn't going to let down my guard. Who knew who these men could be?

“So,” the other, taller man mused, “this is what the famous Merryweather home looks like. It's much... humbler than I would have pictured.”

The two companions bantered back and forth while I stood in the doorway, unsure of what to do. After a short while the man, who I had found out to be named Griffin, left the same way he had arrived; straight through our front door. Icarus leaned on the doorframe leading to the side room since he couldn't put much weight on his leg. I stood half in the hallway and half in the front room. Neither of us spoke.

“So,” Icarus began. “We were that loud, were we?”

I nodded.

“Hm... Well, I doubt Griffin'll come back any time soon. He did what he came to do."

I bit my lip. I wanted to know exactly what he was talking about. No sugar coating, no paraphrasing, everything.

“Wh-what did he come do?” I blurted. I couldn't tell if Icarus had noticed the pained expression on my face or not.

Icarus’s grey eyes sized me up for a few seconds. Eventually he decided that I was trustworthy enough, I suppose. He shrugged in a nonchalant way before telling me what I wanted to know.

“He told me not to leave.”

That being said, Icarus limped back to the side room. Fidgeting nervously, I argued with myself on what to do. Do I go back to my room, or do I follow him?

I choose the later.

“Why can't you leave?” I interrogated while crossing the room. Icarus seemed slightly off guard when he realized that I wasn't going to let it go.

“Well.” He winced while easing himself onto the couch. “What my good friend meant was that that bastard, Talbott, sent a search team out for us.”

My eyes widened. A search team?

Icarus noticed my stunned expression. “Kiara, chill. Would I have come here if I knew that someone might be able to find me?”

“From what I can tell, you can't exactly chose where you collapse.” Again, I scolded myself for letting my mouth take control and not my mind.

However, Icarus didn't seem to be offended or even caught off guard by my remark. “Fair enough. Would it help if I said that I was aiming in the right direction, then?”

I smiled, rolled me eyes, and then fled the room. The stranger living down the hall from me may have been a smart ass, but he was a convincing one.







A few days later I found myself sitting on the couch next to Icarus. Joy was on the floor, playing with some of her makeshift toys that my dad had carved out of wood. Sounds of my mother preparing dinner floated in through the open doorway. Sunlight streamed in through the holes in our blinds.

It was a peaceful day.

Icarus suddenly shifted on the couch. I snapped my eyes in his direction to see what he was doing. I had grown more comfortable around him, but I still hadn't let my guard down.

Icarus was pulling something out of his jacket pocket. Something I had seen when he was tossing and turning in his sleep. The book.

“So,” I casually started. “You can read?”
Icarus shrugged. “Only when it's allowed. As far as your old man knows, I'm as ignorant as a snail.” A snail?

I nodded in understanding. “Joy, why don't you go check if mom needs help in the kitchen?” My little sister scuttled away.

Icarus raised an eyebrow. “She's quite the story teller. I wouldn't be surprised if she already heard something you said and is planning on telling the entire village.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “Makes sense.”

“How'd you get it?”

Icarus pointed to his book. “This?” He hesitated. “Kiara, where I come from, books aren't exactly... illegal.”

I furrowed my brow. “Don't you live in Labyrinth?”

“Of course. I just... don't live the same way that you and your family live. Or even the entire town.”

“You live in Theseus?”

Icarus nodded. “On the outskirts of town. Griffin and I grew up together.”

“What did he mean when he said our house was.... 'humbler' than he would have thought?”

Icarus smiled a little. “You really have no idea what your family does, do you?”

“I just found out this week...”

Again, my companion wasn't in the least bit surprised. “Your family's known throughout the country, Kiara. Most of the rich and the police don't know, of course. We don't actually speak about it. But what most do know is that your family has helped those in need for at least three generations. I was as surprised as Griffin when I realized that this was one of the Merryweather homes.”

“But,” I faltered, “wouldn't it bring more attention to us if our home was cleaner, or nicer, or... whatever you want to say about it?”

Icarus nodded. “But it would probably take you off the radar, too. Most people who have money get it directly from out lovely president, Mr. Talbott. They wouldn't want to take him down if they were getting money from him.”

“Wouldn't people not suspect a house that's hardly big enough for three people, though?” I argued.

“Good point. But a lot of people can be crammed into these buildings. I've seen it done before. I was even in one, once.” Inside I was dying to know what he was talking about. But, once again, I just wanted to keep him talking.

“We haven't managed to fit more than five.”

“Well, you clearly haven't tried hard enough.”

I smiled and shook my head.

“Is that it?” he continued. “No more twenty questions?”

I bit my lip and looked at him nervously. I was nowhere near done with asking questions, but they could wait. “Yes?”

Icarus chuckled under his breath. I knew that I was probably boring him with my questions, but everything about him was so new and different from anyone I had ever known. Soon enough Icarus was lost in his book, and I felt a pang of envy in my gut.

Later that night Corwin and Leisa came over for dinner. Apparently my father had already explained about Icarus, because they weren't in the least surprised to find him sitting on our couch. Icarus didn't complain at all about our inferior dinner of vegetable soup. As we sat around the table, I imagined what kind of food Icarus must have ate when he was at his home in Theseus. Even the idea of a grand meal left me wanting more.

The entire time Leisa and Corwin looked like they were itching to say something, but they didn't know how to say it. Finally, about twenty minutes before they usually left, Corwin spilled the beans.

“Leisa's pregnant!” My entire family congratulated them, loudly, if I may add. My mother was more than proud of the fact that she was soon to be a grandmother. My father was lecturing Corwin on how to be a good father, and Joy was hugging Leisa. I sat on the couch and couldn't help but smile at the news.

“Bye, Cory.” I embraced my brother as they were about to leave. My brother kissed my cheek before pulling away.

Icarus remained on the couch, watching us as we bid farewell to our family. Once they had left, my father carried Joy upstairs, for she had fallen asleep in one of the chairs surrounding the table. My mother kissed my forehead before following suit.

“Kiara?” I heard a voice say. I whipped my head around to around to see Icarus sitting up and staring at me.

“Yeah?”

“Goodnight.”

I smiled shyly. “Night.”





As I walked through the busy market place, various smells and sights filled my senses. The bakery's mouthwatering aroma drifted passed me as I made my way over to the fruit stands. Bananas, oranges, lemons, and limes were all imported. We were only able to afford one of each fruit a year. They were too expensive.

Apples, on the other hand, were home grown. Most of the villagers in Deadalus worked in the local orchard. My father, however, was an exception to this generalization; he worked as the local black smith. Occasionally, during the fall, I would try my hand at picking the ripe fruit. By the end of October I was more than disgusted with the sickly sweet smell.

While I was surveying a fresh, ripe apple, I sensed that someone was watching me. I looked up to find one Mr. Apollo Dilaurie staring at me with an expression that I didn't feel comfortable with.

“Well, well, well,” he mused, crossing his arms over his chest. “If it isn't Miss Kiara Merryweather.”

“Apollo,” I greeted.

The boy's eyes roamed over my form, and I suppressed a chill that ran down my spine. Apollo smirked and moved closer. Ignoring him, I turned my attention back to the fruit in my hand. A bruise had formed on its left side, so I threw it back into the pile and scooped up another.

“I haven't seen you here for a while,” he carried on. Apollo's father owned one of the vegetable stands, so he was here rather often to help him.

I shrugged indifferently and placed the apple in the basket that was hanging from my arm. I walked closer to the woman who owned the stand so I could pay. Apollo followed. Glancing at him sideways, I gave him the stink eye, hoping that he would notice that I didn't want him to follow.

“No need to be cold, Kiara,” he scolded.

I scoffed and continued towards the woman in the ratty sweatshirt. I gave the woman two dollars and moved towards the vegetables. As we moved closer, I noticed that Mr. Dilaurie was staring at Apollo with a disapproving expression. Apollo was rambling on about something unimportant and was utterly oblivious to his father's glaring.

“Um,” I cut him off, “I think your father wants you...”

“Oh!” He spun around. “Well would you look at that!” Apollo turned back to me and smiled. Before running off he ran his hand down my arm. “Bye, Kiara.”

I left the market as fast as I could.

“He did what now?” Chance asked, unbelieving. After I had dropped the groceries at my house, I made up some lame excuse and went out to find Chance. I knew that it really wasn't a big deal what Apollo had done, but the look on Chance's face made up for it. It was almost laughable how furious he was.

“He followed me around the market like a lost puppy. I swear, that boy needs to find a hobby.”

“He's already found one!”

“And what is that?”

“Stalking you!”

This was the third time Apollo had given me trouble while at the market. This was the second time he had slid his hand down my arm before walking away, and every time I thought about it made me shiver. I didn't want that boy anywhere near me.

“He's a creep,” Chance went on.

“I know.”

“I don't want you anywhere near him.”

“Well I don't exactly want him putting his hands all over me, dear,” I argued.

“He did what now?” Chance repeated.

I rolled my eyes. “It was just my arm. He did it last time, too.”

Chance seethed. “What?”

“It's nothing, Chance.”

Chance glared at me. If anything was true in this world, it was that Chance Alberik had enough stubbornness and rebellion in him to fuel a peaceful country into revolt. I knew at that moment that Chance wasn't going to let the subject go, let alone let me go to the market once without him following in tow.

“Harvest starts soon.” I changed the subject.

Chance gritted his teeth. “Are you working this year?”

I shook my head. “Chances are, my parents will need me at home. It's supposed to be a cold winter this year. Joy will need someone to keep her company.” I was lying through my teeth. I didn't want to work this year because I wanted to talk to the strange man living on our couch. If I signed up to work in the orchards, I would leave before the sun came up and wouldn't get back home until after dark. I would be exhausted.

By the way that Chance was narrowing his eyes; I could tell that he didn't believe a thing I had said. However, he let it go and went along with my fib.

“I'm working this year,” he informed while kicking a rock away from his feet. “Destin's getting really skinny lately.” Destin is Chance's little brother. “I don't think the bakery's doin' too well. We've had to cut back on food for the past two months.”

I smiled sympathetically at him. “I'm sure it'll be fine.”

Chance shrugged and we dropped that topic entirely.



Later that night, I crept into the side room while Icarus slept. His book was sitting on the table and it was open with a thin strip of paper wedged between two of the pages. I tiptoed my way over to the table and lowered myself down beside it. The symbols on the page all seemed alien to me. My mother had taught me some of the alphabet when I was little, but as soon as books and schooling were outlawed, it was no longer needed.

I flipped the page, careful not to make too much noise. The edges of the pages were yellowed with age and the binding was about to split at the seems. I lightly ran my fingers down the page and felt the grainy feel of the paper.

“I could teach you to read, you know,” a voice said from behind me.

I spun around in fright. I had no idea that Icarus was awake, or that I was making enough noise to wake someone up. Icarus was smiling at me.

“I-I.. I'm sorry...”

“For what?” He chuckled.

“Waking you up... Looking at your book...”

Icarus smirked. “Well, as for waking me up, I have to agree that that's unforgivable; but as for the book... Well, if you can't tell already, it's not exactly in mint condition.”

I grinned and looked back at the book. “Why are you carrying around a book that's about to fall apart...?”

“Well,” he explained, reaching for the object. “Books aren't printed anymore, so only the really old ones are the one's that haven't been burnt or locked up. My father pulled a few strings a couple years back and was able to scavenger up a few novels. This.” He held up the book. “This is one of the only ones in our library that I haven't finished yet.”

I stared curiously at its red cover. “What is it called?”

“The Count Of Monte Cristo.”

I stared at the book greedily. Books had become something of a rumor to me; something that I didn't actually believe existed. Now that I had seen one in real life, there was no stopping me from trying to learn how to decipher them, to uncover and store away their secrets. Unlike Chance's way of going about things, this was my own way of revolting against Talbott. This was me standing up against my oppressor.

“Can you... I mean, can I...”

“Can I teach you to read?” he finished the sentence for me. I nodded eagerly.

“Of course!” He beamed. Icarus flipped to the first page and showed it to me. “See anything familiar?”

I furrowed my brow in concentration. I hadn't seen actual letters since I could hardly reach the kitchen table. A few looked familiar, but I had no idea what they could mean.

“That one.” I indicated to one of the small markings.

“That would be the letter A.” For about two hours we sat there, Icarus showing me each letter and what sound they made while I sat on the floor, absorbing every word he said like a sponge. When Icarus began to yawn, I realized that morning was beginning to come on. Reluctantly, I stood up.

“Get some sleep,” I ordered.

Icarus nodded. “Alexander Dumas can wait till tomorrow.”



The next few nights I spent with Icarus. He would read to me, and I would ask about the words that I didn't understand. We would go over the alphabet once again, and he would find simple words for me to sort through. I soon found that Icarus was a very easy-going man. Whenever I couldn't figure out a sound, he would patiently wait and only completed the word when I asked.

The Count Of Monte Cristo had been broken into four volumes, from what I could gather from Icarus. Since he had started it recently, the first book, luckily, was what he had with him. Icarus’s voice was smooth and thin as he read aloud, explaining things about the time period when needed. When certain characters spoke, he would use a funny little accent that I had never heard.

“You've never heard a French accent?” he asked, astounded.

I shook my head with a smile. I had never even heard of France, a country that had remained with its original name for more years than most. England and Italy were mentioned also. Icarus had given me an extremely short, simple history lesson in the course of ten minutes.

Within a month of reading and reciting the alphabet every night I was able to read simple words aloud, but I found that my voice wasn't as smooth and polished as my companion's. I still struggled with the sh sound, and remembering when c was actually pronounced as an s. The foreign words always through me off, but Icarus was always there to rescue me. Sometimes he didn't even know how to correctly pronounce them, so guessing was involved more than I thought possible.

The next month, Icarus removed a small pad of paper from his other pocket and a small pen. I gulped nervously as I understood what was about to happen. I had been dreading this for the entire time, and yet I knew that there was no avoiding it. Writing.

“The next step in a proper education would be learning to form the letters yourself.” Icarus dropped the notebook on the table. It landed with a soft thud and echoed across the quiet house. The soft firelight encased the object with a soft glow, and I felt an odd sense of intimidation. The words and letters in the book were so elegantly formed- I knew that I could never make something so clean and legible.

Icarus motioned toward the empty pages. I shook my head stubbornly. I wasn't going to do it. Not yet.

“Kiara,” he ordered in a demanding tone, “you need to do this. You've already got reading under your belt. Writing's just as important.”

His clear grey eyes held mine and eventually I gave in. I knelt beside the table, and Icarus followed suit. His leg had healed rather nicely, and now he was able to float here and there without an issue. He still couldn't leave, of course. Griffin had returned to tell him just that. So, for as long as he needed, we would give him food and a roof over his head.

“What do you think we should start with?”

“A?” I guessed. Icarus nodded and placed the blue writing utensil in my hand. I held it awkwardly. A faint smile spread across Icarus’s face and he adjusted my fingers into the correct position for writing. His large hand covered mine and he gracefully formed a capital A. Creasing my brow, I tried on my own. The symbol was hardly recognizable with all it's squiggly sides and slanted lines.

Icarus smiled and nodded encouragingly. “Looks good.”

“You're lying,” I accused. “It's terrible.”

Icarus gave me a glance that told me to stop arguing. He snatched my hand one again and formed the letter B. I tried on my own. The routine continued until we reached Z, then we moved on to lowercase letters.

“You don't know how to spell your name, do you?” he asked. I shook my head.

He tapped the pen on the table for a few minutes without speaking. Sooner or later he pulled the paper towards him and scribbled a few letters on it. He thrust it back to me.

“What do you think?” My name was spelled out Keyaira. It sounded like my name, but I didn't like it.

Scrunching up my nose in disgust, I stole the pen from his hand and wrote Kiara in sloppy, uneven letters. Icarus nodded his head in approval. He grasped my hand once again and guided it to copy the letters in an elegant, fancy scrawl.

Icarus was about to say something, but the sound of my father's loud, clunky footsteps cut him off.