Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
This is my shortest chapter, so I'll just post it all on here.
Chapter 2: A Ruined Courtyard
Swallowing the cold bile that had risen in her throat, Creiha drew a deep, desperate breath and blinked hot tears from her blurring eyes. Her stomach churned in protest, and her injured arm burned with sweat beneath its makeshift bandage. Clenching her teeth against the blinding pain, Creiha was glaring heatedly at the only person there to receive her wrath – Strick. Images and colors shifting before her eyes, and, her mind spinning uncontrollably, Creiha’s knees buckled beneath her more than once. Yet each time shaking arms would reach out and lift her to her feet.
“Strick, I can’t do this!” Creiha finally yelled and halted, doubling over as nausea brought tears to her eyes. “I can’t move on. We have to stop,” she muttered in a wavering voice, and, for a moment, she thought she saw Sray-Valom ebbing into the distance, her fingers questing out toward the vision.
“We cannot stop,” Strick said as urgently as his shaking voice would allow, grasping her wrist in an attempt to lead her onward.
“No!” Creiha snapped irritably and turned on Strick with a crimson face.
“Creiha!” Strick responded with an apprehensive frown. “We’ve already come this far. I won’t leave you here in the middle of the road!”
“I need to return home,” Creiha murmured, leaning away from Strick and beginning to turn around. “Let go of me! Leave me here – I don’t want to go one any further. I’ll find my way home!” Creiha pleaded, pushing away from Strick. When Strick stepped away to avoid her arms, Creiha cried out at another flash of pain that seared her arm and reached for Strick desperately. “Please, just show me the way home.”
There was a pause, and then Strick spoke in a soft, expressive voice. “Home is further than you think; it’s a shorter distance, an easier distance to keep moving. Home is always further than you think.” His words rung with a mysterious sincerity, and Creiha drew a tearful breath when he said, “Please, Creiha, it’s just a little further.”
Creiha’s world spun maniacally until she felt her knees buckle beneath, her surroundings melted into frigid shades of gray and black. Creiha felt herself being lifted and allowed her head to fall against something warm; a few scalding tears trickled down her cold cheeks as she drifted off into a fitful sleep. She dreamed of a ruined courtyard – she dreamed it was in flames.
~
It was early morning when Creiha awoke to the muddled sound of voices nearby and the wind beating lightly against walls around her. Frigid water from the coarse rag on her forehead tracked down her face and hair and dripped onto her neck. And, though her vision was still hazy, the heat of fever had drained from her cheeks. Voices nearby caught her attention.
“You should have left her in Sray-Valom. You know that it’s too dangerous,” A frustrated voice muttered a few feet away. Someone was pacing across old floorboards near where Creiha lay.
“I’ve already told you, Markus. If I hadn’t, the crowd would have killed her.” Strick’s voice followed, echoing with a strange note of defeat.
The man named Markus responded with a sigh. “We’re endangering her, Strick, and we’re endangering ourselves.”
“Yes,” Strick affirmed reluctantly, “I know.”
“Well, what are we going to do?” Markus groaned, and Creiha could sense his eyes resting upon her. “You know as well as I that she can’t remain with us.”
“We should send her back to Sray-Valom,” Strick suggested. Fear coursed through Creiha, and she longed to cry out, but her heavy lips would not move. A few more tears leaked from her closed eyes.
“But why did you bring her to me in the first place?” Markus inquired. “You could have left her at the Mirzintyre Sanctuary.” Markus’s voice lacked the severity he intended.
“Arillo,” Strick whispered gravely.
Markus halted in his pacing abruptly and whirled to face Strick. “What?!” he exclaimed hoarsely. “Arillo? What about Arillo?”
“Something has happened. I need to find her as soon as Creiha awakens,” Strick responded in an apprehensive voice. A brief pause followed and Creiha could hear a gentle breeze from the window above her rustling some loose papers nearby.
“Do you think she’s in trouble?” Markus whispered, his voice strangled by dread.
“More than likely.”
Creiha’s hearing failed her, and the rest of the conversation was a blur of frightened words and uneasy responses; colors waltzed before her eyes, and she dreamed of her sister, Criscialda chained to a collapsing gray wall and staring at her with furious emerald eyes. In her dream, Creiha longed to cry out, but she was too breathless with fear. When Creiha awoke next, it was to Markus’s surprisingly merry voice.
“Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!” Markus’s voice sliced through the haze of Creiha’s dreams, and Creiha moaned. Someone was fanning the air over her; it was soothing on her still sweating face. Creiha’s fingers brushed something soft beneath her and the familiar smell of old, dusty books overwhelmed her.
“Markus, it’s not helping!” Strick’s irritated voice sounded on the other side of her. The voice that belonged to Markus only grunted Strick’s advice away. The hands above Creiha did not stop waving.
“Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!” Markus continued to chant melodiously. Creiha’s entire body felt heavy with exhaustion; she didn’t attempt to move, not even when Markus’s hands gravitated closer to her face.
“Markus–” Strick pleaded.
Creiha opened her laden eyes slowly and reluctantly to stare at the ceiling and a face leaning over her. Her stomach heaved and for a moment, she thought she would vomit all over Markus, but she managed to draw a deep breath and swallow. She blinked away the hot tears that clouded her vision.
“See? She’s awake!” Markus shouted triumphantly and Creiha saw him cast Strick a wry grin. Creiha winced, her ears ringing with his voice; she groaned softly and bit her lower lip when another streak of pain raced through her arm.
“Creiha?” Strick ignored Markus, “Are you all right?” As he crouched beside her, Creiha’s heart raced unexpectedly and though she could scarcely see his face, she smiled anyway.
“I’m fine,” she croaked.
“Why, hello, Creiha! I am Markus Sranglion. We were beginning to worry about you! Well, I worried for both of you, actually. You see, when Strick came–” Markus’s olive eyes were twinkling with excitement as he spoke, and his voice was astoundingly welcoming.
“Markus!” Strick cut his friend off in warning, a flash of fear crossing his cold blue eyes.
“Sorry. Anyways, we are very happy to see you’re all right!” Markus was still grinning.
Creiha stared up at him gratefully and managed a weak smile before her eyes clouded as the pain in her arm heightened. Markus isn’t much a monk she thought, as Markus and Strick’s voices were lost to the heavy fog of her exhaustion. Creiha closed her eyes and allowed sleep to once again envelop her.
~
Strick stared into the fireplace with shining eyes, head lowered and arms crossed as the flames that roared in the fireplace danced over his features. It had been hours since Creiha had awakened and Markus was already asleep.
Strick closed his eyes. Markus was right. “Why didn’t you just send her back to Sray-Valom?” Strick asked himself softly, sighing and eyeing the graceful fire before him with distaste.
“Strick?” Creiha’s voice jerked Strick from his thoughts, and Strick whirled around in surprise to see Creiha standing across the room, haggard in the darkness. Her bright green eyes had faded, but still a slight smile lingered upon her face which was twisted with pain.
“Creiha, you shouldn’t be standing,” he informed her, irked by the sincerity his calm voice lacked.
“How long have I been here?” Creiha groaned, closing her eyes and running one shaking hand through her hair. She almost stumbled with another step.
“Two days, but you needed the rest,” Strick assured her, reaching out and steadying her reluctantly. “Markus can take you back to Sray-Valom tomorrow if–”
“No, don’t take me back!” Creiha protested abruptly, terror crossing her expression, “Don’t take me back. I want to stay here! You can’t take me back.” Creiha stared at Strick with pleading eyes, and Strick cringed inwardly at the blatant fascination he saw there.
“All right,” Strick relented, forcing a slight nod and a frown. Torn between anticipation and a sickening dread, Strick allowed neither to reach his expression. He had the inkling Creiha was more than just a girl who had chanced upon a pitiful scene in Sray-Valom. Many distraught faces had looked upon the scene and briskly walked away – only Creiha had dared to oppose what she saw - even if it had been foolish. She contradicted everything Strick had ever assumed about those around him.
Creiha nodded and glanced at the fire, “I see you haven’t developed paranoia of fire,” she observed, her voice dry and weathered. The fire played upon the dark green in her eyes.
Strick’s heart sank within him, but he managed a half-hearted smile. “Not yet at least.” He knew there were much worse things than fire intended for him.
Creiha lowered her eyes, and Strick could see a blush creep into her face. “I dreamed of my sister, Criscialda, last night. Do-do you think Criscialda is all right?” she asked in a faint, troubled voice.
Strick glanced down at her in surprise. “Criscialda?”
“Yes, Criscialda, my older sister,” Creiha said and looked away uneasily, a hint of despair edging into her expression and settling in the fatigued hollows of her cheeks.
Strick suppressed the emotions that raged behind his eyes, and nodded weakly. “I-uh… I assume she’s all right,” he responded.
Creiha paused for a moment and turned to Strick, staring at him intently. “You’re not Svarë,” she stated with a frown, her face suddenly taking on a disturbing intensity.
“No, I’m not,” Strick affirmed softly.
“But the people in Sray-Valom thought you were!” Creiha continued, her tone growing sharp and accusing.
“No, they knew,” Strick responded, avoiding Creiha’s stare and glancing towards the dark window.
“Then why did they tell the crowds you were?”
Strick shrugged, eluding the question with silence. Because they wanted someone to die. Creiha eyed Strick uneasily for a moment before sighing, her wide eyes wandering towards the scabbard of Strick’s sword.
“You should rest,” Strick said uncomfortably, noticing how she stared. Her dark green eyes perceived enough to make him uneasy.
“What are those?” she asked curiously, pointing to the little string of blue beads hanging from Strick’s scabbard, her eyes shining with childish fascination. Strick cringed inwardly at her question. “What are those? Those beads?” Creiha asked once more, her eyes meeting Strick’s reluctantly.
Strick glared at her, “Nothing!” he said in a soft but icy voice. When Creiha frowned, he regretted his harshness and said in a milder tone, “It’s not important.” Something in Creiha’s eyes struck him as unusual – almost familiar.
Creiha eyed Strick fixedly, examining his words and expression with perturbing interest. “Why were they going to burn you at Sray-Valom?” she asked with surprising authority.
Strick dared to meet her gaze with equal intensity. “It does not matter. Now, you need to rest before you fall again,” he said in a quiet but commanding voice.
“You expect me to trust you and yet you won’t tell me anything?” Creiha demanded, anger flashing across her eyes.
“I never said I expected you to trust me.”
Finally, Creiha stalked away to the room Markus had made for her with arms crossed, and Strick sighed in relief. Hesitating a moment to be sure Creiha would not emerge from her room again, Strick scrawled a brief note to Markus, gathered his cloak and, casting one last glance in the direction Creiha had gone, slipped out the front door into the darkness. Please don’t die, Arillo, wait just a little longer.
~
Notes: Impressions on Strick, Markus and Creiha (and Arillo if you feel daring.) are always welcomed. I still feel bare on description, silly me. What do you all think? Lastly, I feel like with Strick I use similar dialogue tags each time. Almost every thing he says is very quiet and highly controlled, and I feel that by the end, I ran out of ways to depict that. Crits and comments greatly welcomed.
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