Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Here goes chapter 6. This one might be slow posting because the scenes need some serious work.
On the first two scenes: originally they were switched, but for time's sake, I reversed their order. So, is the first scene too soon after the speaking stones scene in chapter 5?
Chapter 6: Cold
Creiha sat across from Markus, examining the silver grass at her feet with bleary eyes; her golden hair hung about her face and snaked around her neck with the gentle breeze wafting through the speaking stone garden. She barely heard Markus’s voice as he talked on about some spontaneous subject. Evening’s shadows crept over the garden and soon a chill had descended over the clearing where they sat. Creiha shivered and stared down at her hands. Guilt overwhelmed her numb mind and tightened her chest so it was hard to breathe; only when Markus laid a gentle hand on her knee did Creiha look up.
“Creiha, are you all right?” Markus asked, his mouth drawn with concern when he squeezed her knee. “You’re so silent.”
“I feel rotten,” Creiha admitted in a voice that sounded more like a croak; she met Markus’s gaze reluctantly and bit her lower lip.
Markus only smiled and withdrew his hand. “Then you need sleep tonight. I suppose we will have to stay in Kilandin for the night with how much time we have lost.” He handed Creiha some water, and she held it in her trembling hands, sipping the waterskin timidly. Markus glanced up at the sky and stood slowly. “It’s been almost an hour now. We can’t afford anymore time. You had better find Strick.”
Creiha gagged and choked on her water, doubling over and spitting a mouthful out. “What?” she wheezed and rubbed her aching throat. Markus stared at her in surprise. Breathing deeply, Creiha whispered, “You want me to find him? I’m the one who–”
“I know.” Markus smiled blithely and took the water skin from Creiha. “And that is why it is your job.” He winked at her and stuffed the water skin into the rest of his things.
“But–”
“You don’t need to be so afraid, Creiha,” Markus told her with a chuckle. “Surely you have traveled alone through a forest before.”
Creiha gulped.
Markus eyed her with a strange curiosity and then shrugged. “I’ll be waiting here. The sooner you get back, the sooner you sleep in Kilandin. Go on!” He sank onto one of the speaking stones and stared at Creiha until finally she turned her back on Markus and walked on shaky legs toward the forest.
As gifted as Creiha was at navigating her way through a forest, she picked her way slowly through the fallen logs and leaves, grimacing when a spider web plastered itself to her hand. Her own fear strangling her, Creiha was short of breath and sweating as she searched.
Stomping out of a clawing thicket that lacerated the bottoms of her pants, Creiha stumbled into a clearing and felt an unnatural breeze to her left. Relieved, Creiha wiped her hair out of her face and followed the wind down a small path and toward a smaller clearing where the silver hue of grass had faded. Sure enough Strick stood at the center of the clearing, hands inside his cloak and head lowered; the wind feathered his black hair and the faded blue cloak about his shoulders twisted and turned at the faint coil of air around him. Creiha rushed forward and was about to speak when a branch swung out from a tree and smacked her in the face.
Creiha shrieked and held her bruised face, a few tears escaping her eyes as she bit back a cry. “I hate forests,” she choked out and stood rigidly in place, fighting tears. She heard steps when Strick approached her.
“I’m sorry,” Strick said without a trace of the sarcasm Creiha was accustomed to. Creiha peeled her hands away from her face to stare up at him; he was standing near her now, looking very nervous as he met her eyes.
Swallowing hard, Creiha managed a weak smile. “Markus sent me to find you,” she whispered hoarsely, and lowered her head as crimson shame climbed into her face. A brief silence passed between them, and Creiha could only hear the chirping of birds overhead. Finally, she said, “About what I said–”
“It doesn’t matter,” Strick interrupted her in a faint voice. “It– it’s fine.” He paused for a moment and then spoke. “I suppose you want to know what happened back there.”
Timidly, Creiha nodded and allowed herself to be led toward the center of the clearing; she held one hand to her aching face and looked up at Strick while her heart raced uncontrollably.
“Sometimes between… certain people there is something called Threailas, a sort of thought connection. I–I don’t know how to explain it to you, but it is very dangerous, and I was–” Strick faltered uneasily and breathed deeply before continuing. “I was hoping you would not be one of those... certain people.”
“I don’t understand,” Creiha told him in a tiny voice.
“Creiha, all you need to know is that this is very dangerous, and you have to stay out of my head, all right? If you try, you will only meet a wall, but please, do not try. It only endangers us both.” A subtle desperation lingered behind his calm voice, and Creiha was surprised by how concerned he looked.
“I don’t even know how to try,” Creiha whispered.
“All the better. Still, if you do, you will only meet a wall. It is possible to break that wall, but you should not.”
Creiha licked her dry lips and nodded slowly. “Then why are you telling me it is possible to break?”
Strick hesitated for a moment and then said, “We may encounter trouble in Hiarnim.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye and then looked away.
“And what about the speaking stones?” Creiha asked, her voice mounting with more confidence as the stinging where the branch had struck began to fade.
Strick smirked dryly and said, “Do not worry about them.”
A shudder racing through her body, Creiha glanced down at the ground. “I am never going to trust a rock again. Speaking rocks – I never imagined such a thing.” Creiha sighed and then remembered Markus; she looked up quickly and said, “Markus said we would travel to Kilandin for the night. We should probably find him.”
Strick nodded absently and his eyes were faraway when he asked, “Creiha, do you remember a life outside of Sray-Valom?”
Startled by his question, Creiha blinked a few times and answered, “No, I don’t think so. Sometimes I do have strange memories of an unfamiliar man holding me and my mother crying, but I do not remember anyplace outside of Sray-Valom.” When Strick did not respond, Creiha knotted her hands together and whispered, “Strick, who is Senzieda?”
It was Strick’s turn to be surprised. “Senzieda?”
“Yes, who was Senzieda? I keep hearing her name, but I don’t know who she is. I want to know.” Creiha pursed her lips and awaited an answer with anticipation; for a moment or so, Strick did not speak. He just stared into the forest, lost in thought. Creiha watched him, still wondering at the calm and security that hung around him like an unbidden aura.
“Senzieda rescued Arillo after Alieskuh died and also rescued Markus. For a long time, she was a guardian to all of us – Markus, Gietan, Arillo and I, that is. If not for her, we all would have passed away years ago,” Strick explained, slowly, carefully, his words handpicked and crafted to ward off all emotion.
“Where is she now?” Creiha piped up.
“She’s dead,” Strick said reluctantly. “We were all captured by King Hedjlon three years ago, and she might have survived if not the cold.”
“The cold killed her?” Creiha wondered aloud and listened attentively as Strick continued.
“Yes, the cold killed her. The cold kills all things. Arillo and I were lucky to escape alive; she died saving us. She was a leader – always taking the harder path that others might have it easier.” Strick concluded the subject abruptly and quickly added, “You are right. We should find Markus before he does something stupid.” He turned to Creiha, and she could see the regret distorting his expression and twisting the cold, shadowy ice which was his face every which way.
“Wait, Strick,” Creiha interjected anxiously, laying a hand on his arm as he made to leave the clearing. He halted and faced her hesitantly. “I’m sorry about what I said; you are nothing like the speaking stones. I–I was terribly wrong.” She lowered her head shamefully and tucked a lock of golden hair behind her ear.
To Creiha’s surprise, Strick only smiled at her with a strange sort of sympathy. “Thank you,” he said faintly, and when Creiha returned his smile, he led her out of the clearing where they met Markus and set off for Kilandin.
“Well, that was awfully fast,” Markus remarked to Creiha along the road.
Creiha smirked at him. “We were afraid you would do something stupid.”
“Hey!”
~
Notes: I rewrote this entire scene, so it might be a little rough right now. Impressions of Strick and Creiha would be marvelous. Also, am I telling too much?
~
Lusien hated the dark; since her earliest memories, she had feared the darkness that lingered every night and enshrouded the city with a disquieting tranquil pall. As a child, she could only sleep when the moon cast its light through her window and upon her face; moonless nights had been sleepless nights. For memories always lingered in the darkness.
Tonight was one of those nights, shut in a dank cell, only the waning torches on the prison corridor flickering upon the wall. Gietan was snoring, but that was not surprising. Ristev’s labored breathing alarmed Lusien and she sat beside the suffering child, watching him with bleary eyes in worry that each breath may be his last. She closed her eyes and laid her head against the cell wall, wishing away the fear.
“Why do I even bother?” Lusien murmured to herself and hugged her knees close, running one hand through her brown hair. Men were monsters, but Ristev was only a child. The good souls died; the evil souls prospered; and the Svarë gobbled up what remains of humanity were left in their forsaken land. Lusien was proud of her exile.
“Miss Lusien,” Ristev’s weak voice sliced through Lusien’s hazy thoughts, and she opened her eyes in surprise to see Ristev was staring at her. “Lusien–” Ristev moaned. Lusien crawled over to the child.
“How are you feeling?” she whispered.
Ristev smiled weakly, “B-better,” he chattered, shivering at a nonexistent chill and whimpering. His forehead was lathered with sweat, his skin clammy and pale. “H-how are y-you feeling?”
“Are you cold?” Lusien asked worriedly, and rested one hand on the boy’s warm forehead.
“Yes, very cold,” Ristev whispered, a shudder wracking his little body. “Is Lusien cold?”
Lusien again ignored his question and asked, “Is there anything I can do, Ristev?” Lusien scanned the cell for some blanket to cover Ristev with, but found none. She chewed her lower lip in frustration.
“You should take off your cloak,” Ristev said with a cough, his little body convulsing weakly. He looked up at her with glassy eyes.
Startled, Lusien uttered a hoarse protest and drew her trembling hand away from Ristev’s forehead. “I–It’s going to be all right, Ristev. You just need to rest.” Her fingers burning when they touched the stiff folds of her cloak, Lusien looked away, abashed, and stared at the cold walls of the cell.
“Your life is not yet over like mine.” Ristev closed his eyes, and his speech cleared of its childish slur.
“Stop being so pessimistic,” Lusien said and cringed at the hypocrisy of her statement.
“You aren’t afraid of prison. Most people would be. You are afraid of the dark, but not of death–”
“Stop it!” Lusien snapped, facing the boy with wildly angry eyes; she dug her fingers into the hard stones of the prison floor and glared at Ristev. “You should be resting.”
“The light is always afraid of the dark. It’s afraid the dark will swallow it up,” Ristev said.
“Yes, well, that is not why I fear the dark. They call me a black ghost, and they are correct,” she said with a defeated sigh and glanced up at the ceiling, her violet eyes glowing beneath the hood still hanging around her face.
“You’re not a black ghost, Lusien,” Ristev told her, “and you don’t need to hide.”
Lusien cast him an irritated glare, “Yes, I do, Ristev.” She didn’t want to be angry at him, but when he spoke that way–
“Go with Gietan, Lusien. You need his protection; the king’s wife will see that Hiarnim will burn again, and, if you let her, she will rend your heart in two.” Ristev did not sound like a child anymore.
Lusien grimaced. “I don’t need anyone’s protection,” she informed him coldly. “And if the king’s wife rent my heart in two, it would not be so terrible a loss!” Lusien eyed Ristev with an unspoken challenge when she said, “If a person was wise, he would keep his distance.”
The queer light which had kindled in Ristev’s eyes dissipated, and the boy drew a deep, wheezing breath, drifting off into sleep. He shivered again.
Lusien watched him sleep for a few minutes, regret threading through her veins; her eyes traveled toward the wall where there were five names written there in charcoal, one of them in blood. The curving letters of the names were only shadows in the inky darkness that already encompassed this cell, but the red tint of the one name written in blood made Lusien shudder. One of the charcoal names was Gietan, and Lusien glanced over at the man to see he was lying at the other side of the cell, sleeping. She smirked. I will never following Gietan or his band of fools. I would rather die here. Test me, fate, and you will find that my will prevails.
~
Notes: comments?
~
The stables clamored with guards donning their armor and calming their snorting horses; the late evening sun was high in the sky, and when Sophie marched into the stables, she was bombarded with the acrid stench of hay and horse manure. When they turned to face her, Sophie stalked past her men without a glance at any of them, her head held high in contrived confidence. Traez and Embel conversed quietly in the opening at the end of the stable.
“Are we ready?” Sophie demanded, striding up to them unreservedly and glancing between the two.
“Captain!” Embel shouted immediately, a huge grin spreading across his face. He leapt to his feet and bowed extravagantly.
“You know I hate it when you do that,” Sophie remarked, casting an irritated glare his direction. Embel lowered his hand with a lopsided smile.
“The Third Regiment is here, Captain Pierce as is the royal guard,” Traez informed her with a smile; he stood with his hands behind his back, his eyes following Sophie’s every move.
Sophie nodded. “Good.” She scanned the stable contentedly and smiled slightly. “Anything else I should know?”
Traez shook his head. “All is going as planned.”
“Well–” Embel shifted his weight nervously and stared at the floor. “I guess there is something else you should know.” He didn’t continue and instead cringed under Traez’s surprised gaze.
“Embel, what is it?” Sophie inquired, her eyes narrowing worriedly. “What do you need to tell me?”
“Well, King Hedjlon wanted to accompany us and meet his bride in Hiarnim.” Embel bit his lip and closed his eyes tightly as if awaiting a massive explosion.
“What?!” Sophie yelled, “He’s coming with us? He should stay here – where it’s safe! He can’t come with us!” she protested furiously.
“Captain Pierce, he is the king. We can’t stop him.” Embel stared at Sophie sympathetically, and slipped a single leather glove on and off his right hand uneasily.
“Sure we can! We can tie him to his throne and let his appointed jail keepers feed him all day; I can get some rope,” Sophie snapped and crossed her arms, sour anger churning in the pit of her stomach and burning her insides. “Surely we can convince him!” She exchanged glances with her comrades desperately. “Can’t we?”
“Sophie,” Traez trailed off in pleading with a grim mouth. “We can’t just tell him he can’t come.”
“But it’s dangerous!” Sophie repeated more loudly this time. She gripped her scabbard in frustration.
“That’s why I have such a talented captain of the guard, Captain Pierce,” King Hedjlon’s voice sounded, rich and smooth, behind Sophie. His smile was too pleasant, the look in his eyes frightening Sophie. “Surely you can protect me. Besides, you sounded displeased that I had not yet met my bride, so I intend to at Hiarnim.”
“Your majesty!” Sophie gasped in surprise and bowed deeply, feeling the blood rush toher face and closing her eyes tightly in hopes he had not heard her words.
“Rise, Captain Pierce,” King Hedjlon commanded and gesture for her to stand.. “Where is my horse?”
“Your majesty, your people need you here! You can’t just go riding off and leave all in the hands of your stewards. The roads are dangerous. What if something happened to you?” Sophie reasoned, forcing a thin smile and feigning concern.
“Captain Pierce, I am king, and my stewards are trustworthy. You would not dissuade me from seeing my wife, would you, Captain Pierce?” King Hedjlon frowned deeply upon Sophie, his eyes flashing irritably. He lifted his chin and glowered, a perturbing smirk edging across his features.
“What about the prisoners, your majesty? Would you leave your stewards to deal with them?” Sophie whispered in objection, suddenly at loss for words and uneasy under the king’s gaze.
“My jailors will deal with the prisoners.” King Hedjlon informed Sophie coldly and held out his signet ring in demonstration of his power; he glared at her with a hungry fire.
Sophie pursed her lips and lowered her head, pointing to the stall in the far corner. “Embel, ready King Hedjlon’s horse,” she ordered, afraid to meet the king’s eyes. Traez placed a hand on her shoulder when Embel quickly rushed to the horse’s stall but Sophie just sighed and pulled away. “Traez, we’re leaving in thirty minutes. Our men have had enough time to prepare.” King Hedjlon followed Embel to where his horse awaited him.
“Of course, Captain Pierce.” Traez nodded with a grave smile and shouted Sophie’s orders; the sound of swords being sheathed rang throughout the stable and spooked a few of the horses.
Sophie looked out over the road they would be taking wistfully when she thought of the prisoner boy and Gietan still imprisoned and suffering. She hoped Gietan was right and that Markus and Strick would rescue Gietan before King Hedjlon returned from Hiarnim.
King Hedjlon upon his massive grey mare cleared the other guards aside and stared down at his men with proudly. Glaring at the king in disgust, Sophie sighed and mounted her own horse, leading her men onward without a word to King Hedjlon
The sun hung at its peak in the sky when the regiment set out, Sophie with Embel and Traez at her side leading the group and King Hedjlon guarded on all sides at the rear. Flowers rained from the sky as they passed through the gates of the castle and onto the long road towards Hiarnim. The road glistened in the sun, and Sophie glanced back at the castle which was gray and cold in comparison.
Sophie smiled when she heard the drawbridge of the castle close as the last lines of the regiment exited Hedjlon’s great castle. These were the exact stones her father had tread in his last stand for justice in Kalinth; her father’s blood had once stained this very ground when he was shot to death by the former King Hialdrin’s archers. What would you think seeing me now, riding upon these stones, high in the king’s favor? Would you be proud or ashamed? She wondered as she eyed the glittering stones at her horse’s hooves. Or do you even care?
~
Gietan rolled onto his back and moaned, shielding his eyes from a nonexistent light. His head ached dully, and his eyelids were heavy and dry over his watery eyes . The dungeons were silent save the occasional clinking of chains in the wind and the creaking of the walls. Disappointed to have once again awakened by the prison, Gietan muttered that Markus should have been here by now and sat up, rubbing his temples. “I feel awful,” he murmured, yawning widely. Half-expecting Lusien to make some sarcastic comment and begin another argument, Gietan was surprised when he gained no response. The cell floor was damp and frigid, causing Gietan to shiver in disgust. “Lusien, are you there?” Gietan asked the darkness, a lump of fear rising in his throat.
“Yes, I’m here.” A choked whisper echoed a few feet away and Gietan looked up quickly to see Lusien sitting a few feet away, her head lowered. She sounded broken, her voice trembling in sorrow and anger. “I’ve been here all along.”
Gietan stared at her. Lusien was sitting cross-legged beside a sleeping Ristev, her head lowered and hands clutching her head. Her shoulders shook slightly, and Gietan though he heard her sniffle. Raising one eyebrow, Gietan asked, “What is wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with me?!” Lusien whispered hoarsely, her voice quavering in fury. “What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you?!”
Gietan blinked in confusion. “Somebody’s mad,” he whistled and glanced around the cell for anything to occupy his trembling fingers; he picked a stone up off the ground and held it tightly, the chill from the stone threading its way through his hand and arm.
He froze when he thought he heard a choked sob from Lusien. He saw her shoulders tense as she curled closer into herself, only a dark ball against the shadows of the cell. “Wow!” Gietan exclaimed. “You’re crying?!”
“I’m not crying!” Lusien yelled at him in a shrill voice, burying her head in her knees; a sob escaped her throat and her shoulders convulsed with tears.
“Yes, you are.”
“I’m not crying, so leave me alone!” Lusien screamed, and her head jerked up rigidly; she glared at Gietan with blazing violet eyes that shimmered with tears.
“Whoa!” he chuckled and waved one hand in front of him. “Fine, you’re not crying! But what in the world is the matter with you?”
Lusien glared at him, trembling. “He’s dead,” she whispered hoarsely before looking away. “He’s dead.” She slipped her hands out of her black cloak and held them before her eyes, shoulders shaking. “He died.”
“What?!” Gietan exclaimed and rose abruptly, approaching the place where Ristev lay. “He– he is–” he gasped and then in a moment of panic, turned on Lusien and shouted, “You weren’t supposed to let him die! You were supposed to take care of him, you rotten Svarë.” He watched his hand reach out and strike Lusien across the face; the sound of the slap rang in Gietan’s ears, and he stumbled backwards in shock when he realized what he had done.
“I tried!” Lusien cried and inched away from Gietan, pulling her black hood more closely around her face; she turned her head away and a few strangled sobs escaped her throat.
Holding his own hand tightly, horror was written across Gietan’s face when he crouched beside Ristev and stared into the boy’s pallid face. Ristev lay motionless on the dank stones beneath him, his cold, blue lips parted slightly and his arms stiff at his sides; the boy’s mouth was frozen in a slight pout. Gietan’s anger mounted within his constricted chest, he unfastened what remained of his over shirt and laid it over the four year old’s dead body with clammy hands. He could hear Lusien’s soft cries in the thick silence of the cell and turned to her, whispering, “Lusie–”
When Gietan reached out to touch her, Lusien recoiled and inched backwards, her entire body trembling with unbidden tears. “Leave me alone!” she shouted at him, her violet eyes flashing with rage. “I am not the reason he died,” she added in a dark, accusing voice.
“I did nothing to hurt the boy,” Gietan objected with sudden vehemence, his pallid face contorting into an ugly scowl.
“Yes, you did nothing! You did nothing to save him nor did your dear Sophie; there were so many promises and yet you laid in your corner and slept all night while he suffered,” Lusien retaliated and stumbled on weak legs to her feet. Gietan could see the faint glistening of tears beneath the shadows of her hood.
Gietan’s face darkened to a crimson color. “Sophie had nothing to do with this!” he shouted defensively, and stood as well to glare down at Lusien.
“And so you blame me instead!” Lusien yelled at him furiously and sent one fist flying towards his face; Gietan grabbed her wrist and jerked her closer to him, restraining her as she fought his grasp.
“I am not to blame for this!” he roared in her face; Lusien wept, her shoulders hunched together as she lowered her head to stare at the ground. “Look at me,” Gietan commanded and when she did not obey, he grabbed her chin and forced her, tearing off her hood with his other hand. Lusien froze in terror when Gietan stared down into her violet eyes and looked fully upon her face; cold tears trickled down Lusien’s face, and she closed her eyes tightly when Gietan touched the side of her face.
Luminous violet lines wove an intricate pattern on the right side of her face, the design senseless but inexplicably beautiful; Gietan was transfixed by the lines and how warm they were to the touch. “What in the–”
“Let go of me,” Lusien wept breathlessly, cringing at Gietan’s touch and squirming in his arms. “Please let go of me.”
Gietan wondered at how helpless, how vulnerable she was in his arms; he felt stronger than ever before and relished the sensation of completely control that washed over him. She was so beautiful, her face carved from marble and glittering pallidly in the darkness; Gietan could not look away. “Lusie–”
“Let go of me!” Lusien shrieked this time, thrashing desperately.
“Your face,” Gietan whispered, awestruck. “Look at me.”
Lusien cast him a scathing glare. “I hate you!” she screamed and then spit in his face, wrenching her body out of his grip and whimpering when Gietan threw her to the ground.
Blind fury surmounting his self-control, Gietan wiped the spittle out of his face and shouted, “You little vermin, I’ll–”
“I loathe you!”
“Oh yes, let’s play the vocabulary game. Go ahead! Throw another word at me!” Gietan taunted indignantly, his wounded pride cutting him from the inside out. “You and your dirty barbarians–” He raised his hand in gesture and faltered when Lusien cringed, expecting him to strike her. Gietan froze and stared down at her, fear torrenting through his heart when it occurred to him that she had struck this girl. For a moment, he could only hear his own breaths, and he felt very faint. Finally, he whispered, “Lusien–”
Lusien looked up at him, her eyes glazed with fear beneath the curtain of her brown hair.
“I–I’m sorry that I–” Gietan trailed off; his head fell into his hands and he whispered, “What have I done? I never meant to hurt you– I never–”
Her voice wavering fearfully, Lusien said, “You are kinder than most men to say so.” She reached behind her and pulled her hood back over her face before turning away.
Gietan looked down at the Ristev’s body, shrouded with his tattered over shirt, and closed his eyes tightly.
~
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