Young Writers Society

Leya and Isaac | Kitchen

"Leya, what's wrong with Papa Lein?" Isaac whispered.

Leya looked down at her little brother whose innocent eyes were a lot more perceptive than she had given him credit for. She shrugged and reached for the honey. "I don't know, but if it's important, he'll tell us. Here, have some more honey."

"Ooh, okay!" Isaac glowed as she squeezed some more honey onto his bread. "Kayla! Kayla, do you have any peanut butter--ow, Leya..." Isaac rubbed his arm and looked at his plate with shame.

"Just because they're nice doesn't mean they're rich," she hissed.

Kayla laughed lightly.

Isaac's sadness didn't last more than five seconds. As soon as Leya withdrew the honey bottle, Isaac took the biggest bite he could. Honey dripped from his cheeks, and he wiped his face with the back of his hand as he chewed. "Did you know that there's a lady down the road with goats?"

"No, I didn't know." Leya took a bite of her bread.

"I think it would be socool to see them one day. Do you think Papa Lein would take us there? I've seen a lot of animals," he told Kayla matter-of-factly, "but I have never actually seen a goat up close--"

Blake | Kitchen

He couldn't handle the constant babbling anymore.

As Isaac jabbered on and on about junk like goats and butter and teabags and whatever else the crazy kid could think of, Blake helped himself to two more slices of bread, squeezed huge globs of honey on each of them until the bread slices were swimming in it, then snuck away from the table with his plate.

"Blake, where are you going?"

The boy froze and rolled his eyes as Leya's voice rang behind him.

"You should really finish that in the kitchen," she said. "There's something going on, and we should stay out of their way--"

"I'm not getting in their way," Blake muttered, taking a bite of one of his honey-covered slices.

He left the kitchen, hearing Kayla's distant voice saying, "It's alright, Leya. I'm sure he'll keep to himself."

Junk, Blake thought. He wanted to know what the heck was going on. He hadn't seen this much action since the slave market. Things were finally getting interesting around here.

He heard commotion faintly from multiple directions. While he wanted to see what the talking was all about, there were too many witnesses that would catch him and shoo him out. Though if he could just catch one look at what was going on....

Another bite of honey sandwich convinced him he should probably stay out of trouble. Part of him wanted to eat another honey sandwich later in his life after these two on his plate had gone, and getting caught was not really the right way to go about achieving that goal.

He walked aimlessly in one of the directions. No one seemed to stop him, but no one really seemed to heed them any mind right now. Only Kayla, really.

Blake poked his head into the nearest room. He winced when the door creaked and shirked away, but no one seemed to make any move inside. He thought he heard some sniffling though, which made him rethink his plan.

Nah, he shuffled through the door anyway.

"My dear boy, shouldn't you be eating with the others?"

Blake jumped out of his skin with an exclamation of, "Junk!" Catching his breath, he turned around and found Lein staring right back at him with a rather weak smile. He was sitting down by himself, alone in this room.

Hm. They were more alike than he thought.

Blake froze for a moment before plopping himself on the floor, putting his plate on his lap and glaring at the old man for scaring him out of his wits. He didn't say anything.

"I see you like the honey," Lein managed to say, wiping his eyes with a handkerchief. "I'll have to remember that."

Blake took a bite, still not looking at Lein.

The old man started coughing. A lot.

Blake started, watching him warily with wide eyes. He had to give the old guy some credit: That cough was no joke.

It went on for a minute only before Papa Lein smiled weakly again. "Forgive me, I... must be catching a cold."

"Junk," he muttered and took a bite of his bread.

Lein's brow raised. "You don't believe me?"

Still chewing his food, Blake shrugged. "I know what a cold is. Yer talkin' to a slave, old man. 'S our job to know."

The old man smiled as usual, but this one seemed a little more genuine than the others. The two sat in silence again, this one lasting longer than it usually did, which actually concerned Blake -- just a little bit though. Lein was always good at breaking their silence.

They sat in more silence.

Blake dared to look up at Lein and noticed the old man staring again, deep in thought. Something seemed off.... Wait, no. He shouldn't be caring. In fact, he doesn't care! That's right! He had better things to do, like running away from slavery. Yeah, that was always his plan. That's the only thing he cared about.

That still didn't prevent him from leaving his plate of one honey-covered sliced bread in front of Lein's feet before dashing back into the hallway.

Xanthus | The Tunnels

Essy was asleep when I woke, and for a second, everything was perfect. Or at least as perfect as it ever could've been down here in the tunnels, though it didn't take me long to remember what the past few days had consisted of. The aching all over my body was what gave it away. I thought of the slave market, my beating, the pain that came with the medicine Leo put on my body, the people who were missing or dead, Rein, Maura, and the more I thought of that stuff, the more I felt sick.

What would happen to Maura? I wasn't completely aware of what was going on when I was moved off the cot, but even then I could tell that her leg wouldn't have lasted long. What about Rein? What had even happened to them? While my thoughts bounced back and forth, all I could feel was guilt. Cruel, painful, gut-wrenching guilt. As blunt as it sounded, it wasn't so much because of people being hurt, but the fact that while everyone else was out fighting and risking their lives for the rest of us, I was lying comfortably on a cot with Leo waiting hand and foot on me.

I didn't like that. I didn't like that at all.

While all my thoughts crashed into each other to create one massive wreck, I sat myself up. As I did so, I ignored the intense pain it created. I didn't care about that anymore. When I finally managed to sit up straight, I realised that I hadn't been as subtle as I'd wished and that Essy had woken up.

"Xanthy?" She sounded tired but when she realised I was fully conscious, she sat up quicker than I'd ever seen anyone sit up before. "Xanthy, are you okay? You were moving a lot earlier and I think you were having a nightmare, but I didn't know if I should've woken you up. I've tried my best to look after you and I told Papa Lein that too, and--"

"Was Papa Lein here earlier?"

My gods, I hadn't even thought about Leinad. How could I--no, how dare I forget about him? This would've be killing him. He would've been trying his best to hide it, but all of this, from unimportant injuries like mine to major ones like Maura, would've been absolutely destroying him. Leinad was the only adult I'd ever really cared for after he'd done so much for me, yet here I was only now even thinking about him.

"Yes, but... Well, he looked awfully sad, Xanthy," Essy whispered.

It was now I realised how drooped Essy's eyes were, and I knew it wasn't due to her being tired. I had no idea what had happened to her after I was captured for the slave market, or what she'd been through while I was in and out of consciousness. She wasn't stupid either: she knew that all of the people who hadn't come back to the tunnels would never come back. I certainly wasn't helping her right now either.

I looked back down at Essy and tried my best to portray the smooth voice she was used to hearing come out of my mouth. "You know what that means, don't you?" She shook her head. "Whenever you see Papa Lein next, you have to give him the biggest hug you can and tell him how much you love him a billion, jillion times, okay?"

Essy nodded and nudged up closer towards me. "Okay."

"You have to say the biggest thank you ever from me too, and even if Papa Lein tells you not to be so silly, you have to make sure he understands how important that thank you is. Promise me you'll do that?"

"I promise," she replied as I took her small hand into mine. "Why do you need to say thank you?"

"Don't worry." I kissed Essy's forehead. "He'll understand."

Leo | The Tunnels

Leo's blood froze when he heard to get ready for an amputation. The name refused to register. He looked around the room. "Somebody get the bed ready." His eyes finally landed on one of his assistants. "You. Get something to dull nerves. I don't want them to feel this."

His assistant just blinked at the sternness in his tone. Leo felt his teeth go on edge. "Go!"

The assistant jumped up, along with two more who'd overheard and knew Leo was now serious. They began preparing a bed, getting Leo's instruments. His normal ones.

"No, idiot," he snapped. "This is an amputation. I need my bigger knives."

They jumped and one went to fetch them.

"Put oilcloth on the bed— a bigger one. I want the whole bed covered. Is this the strongest you could find? Somebody, go get a bucket."

Leo barked out orders to make sure the room was ready by the time whoever needed help got down here. If an amputation was needed, then there wouldn't be any time for a misstep. And, from the looks of it, there would be plenty of missteps.

However, when a tall, very boyish girl with a destroyed calf was laid on the bed, he couldn't breath.

Maura.

All the gods above. It was Maura.

One of his assistants went to drug her, but she knocked him away. "What're ya— where's Leo?"

He knelt beside her bed to be closer to her. "Right here. Maura... Maura your leg needs to go."

Her eyes got wide. "No!" She kicked an assistant that made the mistake of getting too close. "You're not taking it!"

He pinned her shoulders before she had a chance to punch him. "It has to. You're still loosing too much blood."

Tears began streaming down her face, and from the marks on her cheeks she'd just stopped crying. She struggled, but she was already weak from the previous blood loss. "Rein first. You have to go to Rein first!"

"He can wait," Leo said, beginning to get a knot of dread in his stomach for what he could look like. "We need to tend you first."

Leo ignored her increasingly-hysteric protests and got his assistants to pin her down so he hands were free to open her mouth and tip the drugs down her throat. They went to work quickly enough for him to get leather straps around her body and her leg tied off as low as possible. As she struggled again he gave her more drugs, until she'd finally calmed to incoherent babbling.

She still cried out when he performed the procedure.

He closed the wound as his mind ran through possibilities for how to let her walk again. She still had her knee, which meant the joint could move— Lilisia and Leo, please watch over her. Let her live. Let her walk again. Inspire me on how to help her.

He paused for a moment when he finished, trying to calm his nerves. She was still murmuring through the pain and the drugs— Leo didn't have the heart to give her any more, after the fight she'd put up— and kept murmuring things about Rein.

Leo hadn't even seen him yet. He got up and swallowed, gathering his nerves again.

"I'm going, Maura. Rest."

He turned to look at his assistant, then glanced at Rein in the bed nearby. "Somebody had better been taking care of him."

Rein | Leo’s Ward

The waters were red with twilight, bathing young Rein in the amber swallows of nightfall. As he splashed in the shallow sprays, another boy called out to him, hurling a glob of earth at his face. Rein took the mud straight in his eyes and immediately ducked down, holding his face and trying to wipe his skin clean. As the soil began to burn, he cried.

The other boy sloshed over to him and pushed him, a crooked smirk hanging on his mouth. “Rein, you’re always crying!” He pushed little Rein back, knocking him into the water where the mud was washed away. “Don’t be such a kavit!”

”Something’s wrong, his breathing is too irregular--”

Rein wiped his eyes and sulked to the shore, where he sat, watching his cousin chasing ducks in the river. The waves rolled over his feet as his father came and sat beside him, placing an arm on Rein’s muddy shoulder. For a while, he sat there as the smoldering sun hung over the horizon, but then looked at his son. “I am inclined to ask why you never want to play with the other children,” he said, tapping a finger into the water, “but you are much different, I think. Your mind is just as old as I am, wrapped so tightly into your young body that your promise may one day explode!” Rein’s father flicked the water from his finger in a fan of droplets, spraying the sunbeams over the two of them. “Sometimes, I think, being different is quite a wonderful thing.”

”Will someone restrain her?! We’re losing hi--”

Rein was older; a young man just turning sixteen as he perched himself on the clay wall between the city and the slums, knees to his chest and a book of Pashan herbology by his side. Quietly, as he tapped a pebble on the sun-dried stone, he recited the herbs by medicinal value. Each hesitation would stop him mid-rhythm, bringing him back to the herb he knew the most by then.

”Sakola Vein--right now! Revive him!”

Rein murmured to himself as he crouched over his books in the empty library. “How do you plan to be a great scholar,” he asked himself, “if you cannot remember the royal lineage?” Exhausted, he clenched his fist, dropping his head to the pages in front of him with a groan, followed by precisely three breaths. It was when he lifted his head to return to his book that he saw his mother’s nurse standing beside him.

He slowly turned his head, looking up to study her face--coated in regret and foreboding sadness. Neither of them said a word.

”Y-Yes, Maura! The bleeding has stopped...no. No, he’s not breathing.”

Rein stood alone by the kiln, holding his mother’s cold hands. In his head, he imagined sage words his father would tell him to help him cope, but nothing but splashes of water remained. As he clenched her hand tighter, the Ash Tender arrived, placing a hand on his shoulder. “When death arrives by night, there is no greater rebirth than to have our legacy carried on.”

His breath caught in his throat as the Ash Tender raised the incline on his mother’s pallet, lowering her body into the fire. And as the overwhelming surge of pain overcame Rein, the heat of the flames left him lying alone, blurry-eyed as an old, soft voice hung over his head.

“Eidonias be praised,” the voice soothed, “Eidonias be praised.”

Rein suddenly caught his breath, tasting iron and scarred flesh, and reached out weakly for the voice.

Be Warned; Slight OOC-ness ahead! On Rian's part the most. Either way. ENJOY.

Liora | Darren’s Mansion / Lein’s Shop:

I followed the two men out of Darren’s house. The old man looked kind of sick, but I stayed quiet. I was so relieved to be out of that man’s reach. The man, Lou, I think his name was, seemed worried about the older man. Why should he be worried? The old man had brought us off Darren, as slaves. I frowning, following the pair in silence through the streets of Pash to a shop I’d never seen before.

The old man took me into the kitchen and sat me down, telling me to stay there. I obeyed, eyes flickering around wildly as the woman--someone called her Kayla--handed me food and told me to eat. I ate slowly, watching the other people in the room warily. The food tasted fine, but I certainly wasn’t used to it. Honey and proper bread--bread that wasn’t mouldy or rotting--and good, clean water that didn’t taste foul. I relaxed eating my bread and honey and half-hugging myself.

Louarn | Lein’s Shop:

Lou had to leave the room; the blood and the screaming, and the panicking was too much for him. He knew he hadn’t been seen to yet, but he had to leave. Wincing, he made his way out of the hospital area and down one of the many tunnels. The lamps were flickering, almost dying out, as he made his way back towards the ladder that led up into the shop.

Lein hadn’t sounded too good earlier, when they were leaving...that man’s mansion. If Lou didn’t know any better, he’d swear that Papa Lein was sick or something. As to how sick? He didn’t know. Not yet, anyway. And he wasn’t going to worry yet, but that didn’t mean he’d ignore Lein either. He would worry more later. For now, he should probably rest. Which is exactly what he did, leaning against the wall for a moment before sliding down it until he sat on the floor of the tunnel, one knee bent and an arm resting on it, hand hanging loosely in midair.

He spent a long while sitting there, head hanging, as he listened to the screaming and the frantic orders for various things. He even heard Leo saying something about someone not breathing, but tried to block it out. It didn’t really work. The screaming echoed in his ears long after it was cut off.

“Lou? Lou are you down here?” Lou raised his head, blinking tiredly. Had he fallen asleep? Probably. He wasn’t surprised; he had been falling more tired than usual lately. Lou sighed, tilting his head as he watched the figure pause at the other end of the tunnel, the lamp light flickering wildly for a moment. “Lou?”

He stood slowly, stiffly and leaned against the wall. “Who is it?”

“It’s Leo,” the person replied, coming closer. “What are you doing all the way back here?”

Lou just looked at him. He didn’t know what to say to that, or how to put what he was feeling into the words. So, he just looked at Leo for a long minute before sighing. “The noise,” he muttered. “Couldn’t handle it.” He never could--screaming, frantic orders, blood. The smell. He shook his head, trying to forget about it.

“Well, come on. I need to see to those wounds of yours.” Leo turned back and Lou wordlessly followed him back down the tunnel and into the hospital area.

Riaghán | His Father’s Room - Several Days Later:

Rian stared at the bloody mess that had been made of his father’s room. He eyed the smears of blood--at least, the ones that seemed to be letters. L. e. i. He frowned. What could that mean? He had laid his father to rest several days ago and was now inspecting the room he had fallen from. The smears of blood were a clue; he was sure of it. But what did they mean? He didn’t know yet, but he was definitely going to find out.

“Curse you, gods,” he muttered, crossing to the balcony and gently touching the screen. His father had fallen through the screen that day, and fell until he hit the garden gate below. Rian sighed, shaking his head and stepping away from it, back across the balcony and into the room again. The blood stood out, stark against the pale marble, along with the various marks in the stone. It looked untouched, and that was because it was untouched. He ordered it to be left as it is, so he could study it, try to figure out who had killed his father. Seeing this, as it was now, he was sure it was murder. No one messed up a room like this before falling so very far to the ground below.

“Your highness.”

Rian turned, startled by the voice. He relaxed slightly when he saw who it was. “Dante.” He turned away again, eyes tracing the letters painted in blood. L. e. i. They stared back at him, hauntingly. Again, he was sure his father mean to tell him something. “What do you want?”

Silence. He turned back to the guard, frowning. He’d matured a little in the last few days, after the apparent grief he’d showed the people. Of course, it was mostly fake. Yes, he was sad that his father was gone, but he had never truly cared for the man. His father had called him a great many names; filthy, dirty, sick, disgusting, imperfect. Rian no longer cared. So what if he liked men just as much as women? So what if he cared for others--occasionally, that is. So what if he wasn’t exactly what his father made him to be. He was still going to be the Emperor, wasn’t he? And then he’d show them...show everyone what he was.

“Well?” he demanded, eyeing the guard standing just inside the doorway. Dante was shooting disgusted looks at the room. “Dante. You are wasting my time. Leave if you have nothing to say.” He put his back to the guard, moving back to the balcony and the slash in the screen. He touched it again, lifting the edge and imagining that it was him who had pushed his father over the edge.

“I think you murdered your father.”

Rian froze, hand shaking. What had he just said? That Rian had murdered his father? The soon-to-be Emperor slowly faced the guard, gaze narrowed. “And what makes you think that?” he asked, tilting his head to one side. “I was in the garden below; everyone knows this by now. So why don’t you believe it?”

Dante eyed him warily, hands clenched by his sides. Rian raised an eyebrow, noting that his guards were not in the room. After an Emperor is killed, it pays to guard the Heir closely. “You hated him, didn’t you?” Dante snapped, one hand inching towards his sword. Rian said nothing. “I know you did. You hated him. It’s obvious, the way you don’t grieve anymore, though it’s been less than a week. Did you hate him that much, you highness, that you killed him just to get rid of him?”

Rian stared at Dante for a long moment. And then he burst out laughing. Dante’s face went red with anger--restrained anger, mind you. Rian shook his head, moving across the floor slowly. Dante seemed to flinch slightly as Rian drew closer. “How are you so certain of this, Dante?” he asked, cupping the guard’s check, smirking. “How do you know I hated him so much?”

Dante slapped the hand away. It made Rian scowl. “Because I watched you,” he muttered, glaring at the prince. Rian sighed and stepped away, turning back to the blood on the marble. “Because I saw the look on your face... You liked the fact that he was dead. You liked it, because it meant power.”

Rian froze again. Power? he thought, gaze flickering over those three letters again. L. e. i. Did he really want power? Did he like it? Rian shook his head, moving over to the wall where the “e” was smeared across it in his father’s blood. He traced it slowly, frowning. “How can you be so sure that I want power, Dante?” he asked, glancing back at the other man. “How can you be so sure of what is in my heart?”

Dante answered him with silence yet again and Rian moved to the “i” painted on the balcony railing. He traced that this time before moving to the “L” on the floor. He knelt beside it, touched it gently before looking up at Dante. The guard looked disgusted, as if to say “why are you touching your father’s dried blood? It’s disgusting.” Rian smiled. And Dante glared at him, again.

“I don’t care, Riaghán. I know you did it. If not personally, then you paid someone else to.” Dante stood stiffly in front of the door, glaring at Rian, who still knelt by the “L” drawn in blood on the floor. “I don’t care. Whatever it takes; I’m going to prove you did it, and make sure you never take the throne.”

Suddenly, Rian understood. He frowned, rising. “You know something I don’t, Dante?”

Dante froze, his glare melting into a startled look. Rian smirked. The guard did know something he didn’t. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think you do, Dante,” Rian said, advancing on the guard. “And you’re going to tell me, or I will inform the Council of Advisors that you are claiming to be the one to have ordered my father’s death.” Rian’s smirk widened as he traced a finger down the guard’s cheek. The man flinched. “You wouldn’t want that, would you?” He studied the man for a moment before chuckling and stepping back. “Of course, you’ll be free to take your false accusation to the Council. I’m not going to stop you.” He smiled and moved to step past him, whispering to him as he did so. “Really, it will only put the coronation on hold for a few months, at most. Completely pointless, if I do say so myself.”

And with that, he swept out of the room, leaving the guard to stare at the blood on the marble in his father’s room. He found that he might just know what his father was trying to tell him with those three letters; L. e. i. He smirked as he wandered down the hall.

Leinard Marsuvis. What was the old man planning now? Rian didn’t care; he just knew the man had to die. Hopefully before he took the throne. And that could not come soon enough--even with Dante’s little accusation. He would be Emperor, gods be damned. And damn those who would try to stop it from happening, too.