Brier CH I

Brier was born on a full moon. Silver shafts of moonlight pierced through the blackness of the night to reveal a patch of dirt with a row of withered flowers around the front porch of a run-down, seedy cabin. As Brier unleashed a frenzy of sobbing and kicking feet in the musty cabin, the world held its breath. A solemn, expectant silence settled over the cabin and over the squealing girl-child, one which would follow her everywhere she went for fifteen years. It would inexplicably shatter some fifteen or so years later, underneath the watchful eye of some other full moon, but for now we leave with the proud mother and her new-born child sharing their first moments together.

Fifteen Years Later:

"Watch where you're walkin', girl!" The shrill voice of the man in the carriage shouted out at her. Brier bit her lip, throwing herself out of the way of the carriage, narrowly avoiding the shower of mud. The man that had called to her shot her a vicious glare before moving onward through the busy streets of the village. It would not have been the first time that a passing carriage had showered her with the cold, stinging mud. Brier heaved a sigh, fixing strands of disheveled brown hair before resuming her slow, hesitant pace.

Somewhere in the distance a bird trilled, adding it's own sweet lullaby to the chatter of humans. The smells of horse dung and flowers were inextricably intertwined, assailing the nostrils with a horrible, but somehow comforting aroma. Comforting because of it's familiarity.

For a second, with a cool breeze caressing Brier's dirty cheeks, she could somehow fancy life as an idle, laidback affair. But then, she would turn back and see the cabin squatted on the outskirts of the village, its two tiny windows boring into the back of her skull like sad, sorrowful eyes, and the stench of sickness would again settle into Brier's clothes. It was the kind of stench that no amount of water could get rid of.

"Go fer a walk, Brier," her mother had whispered, her voice cracking with the effort. "I kin take care of myself."

"You sure?" Brier had replied, but it had fallen on deaf ears. Her mother, her frail body quivering with pain, pallid and sweating, had already closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep. Brier was relieved to see that for once her mother wasn't tossing about in the throes of some nightmare, so she had slipped out of the house as quietly as she could.

Usually, the excitement of being about in the village would have soothed Brier's unease. But somehow, an air of desolation had fallen on the village. Mothers scolded their children sourly, slapping them so hard that Brier could feel the sting on her own cheek. The dogs that ran loose through the village, emaciated, flea-ridden pests, snarled at Brier, or else stared at her cautiously from behind the corners of the house when usually they could have been enticed from just a look from Brier to come hurrying up to lick her heels.

Then, Brier became aware of the hunched over figure in the small dark space between two hovels; a pile of rags recognizable only as human because of the penetrating, black eyes. They stared up at Brier hypnotically, communicating to Brier a sense of sorrow that knew no bounds. Brier was unaware that her feet had carried her closer towards him until she realized how remarkably near those piercing eyes were.

"Hello," he greeted. He was a wizened old man, hunched over partly by age and partly by some unbearable, invisible burden. His face was skinny, his nose ending in a hook, and his wrinkled face was mostly shrouded in the hood of his long black cloak. A gnarled hand rested on a cane, and another one hung at his side.

Brier nodded, unsure of what to say.

"Are you Brier?" He questioned, his voice startlingly clear. His gaze, too, was sharp, unlike the dull gaze Brier saw in the eyes of most elders. When she didn't answer, he repeated his question. "Are you Brier?"

"How...how do you know my name?" Brier asked.

But the old man just smiled knowingly, his black eyes focused intently on Brier's green ones. There was something sad about his eyes.

"I'm sorry," the man said mournfully, "but it'll be a full moon tonight. I don't like full moons...

"Sorry for what?" Brier asked, meeting his gaze uncomfortably. "And how do you know my name?"

The man just shook his head. "Please be careful, Brier. Please?" Then he looked away from Brier, his dark eyes staring at something far off in the distance, just beyond the blue horizon. "The seasons come and go," he whispered. "And we are helpless to resist its pull; it draws us and weaves us into the spell-binding circle. Fate is a cruel, cruel master with all the strings firmly in Her hands. The most we can do to defy is try not to dance as fast as Fate would have us." His words were tinged with a bitter sorrow Brier couldn't comprehend. She didn't understand what he was saying, but somehow the dark mood that hung over him spread to engulf her as he once more turned his head to look at her.

"You should check on your mother, Brier," the man told her, sinking into silence.

Brier looked around her shoulder at the cabin. The wind whispered in her ear, and as it brushed past her it stirred up a cloud of dust that shimmered in the sunlight. For a second, she was unable to look away. Though it was still as sunny as it had been before she had met him, it seemed somehow darker, like just beyond the sun were the tendrils of blackness sweeping out of her, devoid of stars, devoid of hope. The unbearable silence had broken, to be replaced with a bone-shattering, numbing cry. It was the kind of cry that can only arise from a soul in distress beyond human belief, but distress that cannot be expressed in any other way but in a scream. A familiar cry, one that twisted up Brier's heart.

Like there were demons on Brier's heels, she began running, her heart pounding loud in her ears. She knew what she would she find, knew it as surely as she knew that the sun would sink. And indeed, the sun was already sinking, and fingers of darkness were beginning to rise up. Now, the cry that Brier had heard a second ago was on her lips.

"The seasons come and go," the old man repeated, his words heard only by himself and the wind. "And we are helpless to resist it's pull; it draws us and weaves us into the spell-binding circle. Fate is a cruel, cruel master with all the strings firmly in Her hands; the most we can do to defy is try not to dance as fast as Fate would have us."