Young Writers Society

I've been working on this for just over a month, and the only people who have read it are my two friends who are kind of biased. I want some serious concrit, here. Please be as mean as you want! This is the first part of the first chapter. The whole first chapter is 3,893 words, and I don't know if it's too long to post at once. If you would like the rest, let me know.

*Note: The blank spaces are where I haven't come up with names for those places yet. Please tell me if you have any ideas!

There are three things that should be known about me:

1) My real name is Ilena, but Tanez is the name Papa gave me when he brought me to live with him because Ilena is not an Ayan name.

2) I am only half-Ayan. My mother died when I was three, and before she passed, she sent for Papa to come get me. Although he didn’t want a daughter, he loved Mother so much he was willing to take me because I was made from their love.

3) I hate living here. We Ayans are hidden in the mountains, in the woods, practicing a culture that is slowly disappearing. The Ayan customs are enforced far too strongly, and because I am the daughter of Chief Spinyl, I have to practice them ten times more than everyone else.

It is these three things which fuel my want to leave here. Even if only for a short time.

This is why I am eagerly running down to the riverbank where my older brother and three of the tribe guards are circled around a crashed boat. There must be something interesting taking place.

When I reach them, I find that there is a boy around my age lying on the ground looking completely dazed and confused. There is also a gash down the side of his head.

I remind myself to speak in our native language as I address my brother.

“Rhindra, voo ser eis?”

Brother, who is this?

He does not answer me, but continues to discuss quietly with the guards the fate of this boy.

“Ser yo monni?” I press.

Is he alright?

Brother kicks the boy, who blinks. He kicks him again, harder this time.

“Stron bon chesniit?” he demands.

Can you stand?

The boy frowns slightly and cocks his head to the side. Brother kicks him again and asks the same question.

“Nos!” I say, grabbing Brother’s arm. “Yo nor’om comchersni.”

Stop! He does not understand.

He once again ignores me.

“Eis beryum chorni ardva dowaa!” he announces.

This foreigner must leave here!

“Rhindra, yrmu!” I exclaim.

Brother, please!

As if noticing me for the first time, the boy looks and me, and his eyes widen as if he’s seen a goddess appear from the heavens.

“A….Angel?” he murmurs.

I smile and kneel down next to him.

“No,” I say softly, pleased to be speaking in his tongue. “I am just here to help you.”

I take note that he never takes his eyes off of me.

“No…” He shakes his head. “You must… be an Angel…”

He then falls unconscious. I am very aware of Brother and the others staring as I examine the gash on his head. It is rather deep, but he will live. That is, if someone takes care of it the right way.

“Please, Brother,” I say. “Let me at least nurse him back to health.”

I glance up at him. As he jerks his head in acceptance, I realize I have gotten myself into something exciting.

I am woken up from sleep by groans coming from the bed in the corner. I have been staying at the infirmary with the boy, who hasn’t woken up for two days.

Sleepily, I make my way across the room to his bed. I watch him as he slowly awakens. His eyes flutter open. Gorgeous, round, blue eyes. They look warily around the room before landing on me. I smile.

“Hi there, sleepyhead,” I say.

He simply stares at me. We stay this way for a while, and I glance over his features for the thirtieth time. Thick black hair is matted to his forehead, a result of the wet cloth I had given him earlier. He has a few boyish curves still lingering on his face, which I find endearing because he has to at least be as old as me.

Finally, he looks away from me at the ceiling.

“What is your name?” I ask gently.

“What’s yours?” he shoots back.

“Ilena,” I answer after hesitating.

He turns back to me.

“Lysander.”

I wonder if that’s his real name, because he answered much too quickly. Well, anyway, I can’t blame him if it’s not true. After all, he is in a strange place waking up to a strange girl.

“Where are we?”

I hesitate before answering, wondering what his reaction will be. Did he mean to come here? Is he going to harm us? Or is he bringing news of something that concerns us?

“This is the Ayan region of the (________) mountains. What are you doing here?”

He scrunches up his face in confusion before questioning, “Ayan?”

I nod.

He sighs in frustration and smacks a hand upon his forehead.

“I’m way off course,” he mutters.

“Off course? Where are you trying to go?”

Ignoring me, he throws off the covers.

“Wait, don’t get up too-“ I start to warn, but then he stands up.

“Ah!”

He grabs his head and closes his eyes.

“Dammit.”

I wince a bit at his language. In our culture, profanity is looked down upon.

But then Lysander is slipping on his shirt and shoes, mumbling to himself.

“Where are you going?” I ask again.

He turns to me. His shirt is not buttoned and I blush as I avert my eyes, even though I have seen his perfectly toned and tan chest already.

“Do you know how to get to the village of ________?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Come with me, and don’t tell anyone,” he orders.

As he walks away, I ponder over whether or not I should go with him. I do want to get away from this place, but am I willing to actually run away with a boy I don’t know?

I hear Lysander trip over something outside and curse.

Yes, this boy certainly needs me.

I cannot help but feel guilty as we steal one of father’s boats. The whole village is asleep, but I feel like we’re being watched. Maybe it’s just my conscience playing tricks on me.

Soon, we’re on the river and I have us heading towards _______, which is down the mountain.

For a while the only sound is the rushing water. Lysander lies in the back of the boat with an arm over his eyes. I would go see if he is awake, but think better of it. If he wanted to talk, he would. At least, I would think so. Only when the sun begins to peek above the horizon does he speak.

“So you’re Ayan?”

I glance over at him, but he is still covering his face.

“Yes,” I answer.

“You don’t have much of an accent,” he observes.

“I practice a lot,” I say shortly. “So do you have any idea how you ended up in my village?”

If he notices that I’ve change the subject, he doesn’t show it.

“I got off course, I guess. Then I hit some boulders and… guess I crashed onto your banks.”

“Mm.” I fold my hands in my lap and sigh. “Why are you in the mountains anyway?”

“I’m looking for something.”

His voice startles me, right in my ear. I jump and turn to find him crouching behind me. He looks at me curiously for a moment and then looks straight ahead.

“Looking for what?”

He leans close to me. Too close. I can feel the heat coming off his body. I didn’t grow up around much affection, and feel strange having someone so near.

“A cure,” he says quietly.

His voice is deep and silky and I find myself reddening.

“A… a cure for-for what?” I stammer.

He sighs and leans back.

“Never mind. It doesn’t concern you.”

His tone suggests that the conversation is over. We ride in silence until he speaks up again.

“How much farther?”

“Shouldn’t be very long. Are you in a hurry?”

He pauses.

“I don’t know,” he answers finally.

Lysander is a strange boy indeed.

He sits next to me and spreads open his legs. His knee rests against my bare one. I immediately tense up. He notices this and chuckles.

“Have you been alone with a man before?” he asks.

“Well… my father and brother, but…”

I was raised to believe that men and women should not be alone together until married.

“Relax,” Lysander says. He places a hand on my thigh, a very warm, calloused, and strong hand. “How old are you?”

“Fifteen,” I answer automatically.

“…I see.”

“And you?”

“Eighteen.”

He removes the hand, taking with it the warmth, leaving that part of my thigh tingling and a bit chilly.

We soon reach _______. The sun is up, and so are the inhabitants.

Lysander pulls the boat up behind some trees. As we walk through the town, people stare at me. All the women wear long skirts and white shirts buttoned up to their necks. Compared to them with my shorts and small shirt, I seem like I’m wearing next to nothing.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

However, my question is soon answered when we arrive at a hut, seemingly out of place in this town of buildings with bricks. There are beads hanging in front of the doorway and smoke spills out. I reluctantly follow Lysander into the hut.

“Lessyl?” he calls out into the smoky abyss. “Lessyl, are you here?”

I feel claustrophobic, and don’t dare to move. Lysander frowns and calls the name again. I open my mouth to suggest that maybe they aren’t here, but then we hear something.

“Welcome, my dear. You have kept me waiting.”

The voice is gravelly and deep, but still somehow seems feminine. A short, plump woman dressed in colorful cloths approaches us, the smoke seeming to part as she walks. Lysander bows his head.

“My deepest apologies, Aunt,” he says. “It seems I was taken far off course.”

He sounds so formal now, I wonder what type of woman this is.

“It would appear so,” the woman, who I’m guessing is Lessyl, says, her white eyes scanning over me. I feel naked under her stare. “She is the cause of a detour?”

“Of course not.” Lysander coughs. “She is a guide.”

Lessyl nods with a smirk. Then her expression turns sad.

“Ah, but my dear nephew… you have come too late,” she says quietly.

I feel Lysander tense next to me.

“What do you mean?” His voice is sharp.

“I mean…” the woman sighs. “Your father… has already passed on. Your sister sent word this morning.”

The hut is silent. It takes a moment for the words to sink in. Lysander has lost his father. Just like that. Without warning, very abrupt. Questions are burning on my tongue, but I keep quiet.

“I am very sorry,” Lessyl says. “I loved him as if he were a brother.”

“I don’t need your sympathy,” Lysander growls.

I take a step back.

“Your sister says they will wait for your return for the funeral,” Lessyl continues as if he has said nothing.

“Tell her don’t bother.”

With that, he storms out of the hut. After a quick nod to the woman, I follow. I follow him until we’re in the middle of the busy street and he turns to me.

“Listen. You are going to point me in the direction to get down from the mountains. You will go home and not speak of this and neither of us will even remember that we met. Okay?” His blue eyes are intense from his rant.

I stand looking at him.

“But… you can’t…” I start. He can’t what? If he wants to leave, he can. I can’t stay with him just because of my selfish desires to escape from my life. The man had just lost his father. “Where will you go?”

He sighs.

“I don’t know.”

“Please, you can’t…” I begin again.

“I can’t what?”

He moves closer to me as he says this and I feel the blood rushing to my cheeks again.

“You can’t… you’ll need a guide to get down the mountain. There’s no path straight through,” I say hopelessly.

“I’m sure I can find my way,” he says.

He is far too close now. I know that from what I’ve learned that I should back away, but my feet won’t move. And I’m not sure if I want to move.

“Well,” he whispers, his breath fanning across my face. “Since we’ll never see each other again…”

His mouth is slowly inching towards mine and I’m worrying about what people at home would think if they knew I kissed a boy I had just met and I’m trying to convince myself that it won’t matter because they won’t know and his lips are almost upon mine… and then we hear horns.

I immediately gasp and jump back. The moment is ruined.

“What is that?” Lysander wonders.

“Oh, no,” I groan as the horns sound once more. “My father… has sent them to come find me.”