Zadar: Ch1. Pt1.- Catalyst

Aralyn stood with her back to the wind, watching as the light breeze lifted the leftover ash from the row of burned down homes. Piles of blackened, charred wood lay in heaps at her feet. Only the foundations of the homes remained. A sigh pillaged her lungs as her heart ached for the lost homes. Few lives had been lost, but now seven families were without a house or belongings. The others in the village were offering shelter until new homes could be built, but with winter right around the corner, building would not start until at least Spring.

She could hear someone walk up behind her just before small arms curled around one of her legs. Aralyn glanced down into the bright eyes of Paisley, one of the children that had suddenly become homeless. A smile crept across his cheeks and he raised him arms, opening and closing his little fists until Aralyn hoisted him into her arms. He burrowed into her chest and began to suck on his thumb.

“He doesn't understand what's happening,” a voice said quietly beside Aralyn. She turned to see the little boy's mother staring at the empty space that was once her home.

“It's good that he doesn't understand. It won't affect him as much,” Aralyn said as she stroked his cherry blond hair. He wiggled in her arms and she chuckled. He was so tiny compared to the other kids his age.

“I must thank you again for offering your home to us. I hope we won't be too much a bother,” Paisley's mother thanked Aralyn.

“I doubt you will be,” Aralyn said with a sad smile crossing over her sharp facial features.

“You don't sound too thrilled,” the older woman picked up on the note of doubt in Aralyn's voice.

Aralyn looked out across the burned homes. They seemed so insignificant compared to the child nestled into her arms. The forest loomed before them, the trees tall and unforgiving. They seemed to mock Aralyn for her bitterness around the entire situation.

“I could be more thrilled,” she admitted.

“Dear, we could all be a little more thrilled,” the woman placed her hand on Aralyn's shoulder, turning the younger girl to face her. “But don't think for one second that us moving in with you means that your life has to change. We aren't there to stop your daily routines, we're there to help with them.”

“I know, ma'am, it's just that it's a two room house, now with five people and a child living there? It's going to be crowded, it's going to be loud, and it's going to be different.”

“We'll make do. It's only for a year,” she said, taking Paisley from Aralyn's arms as she walked off down the somber looking dirt road.

Aralyn was left by herself as the breeze carried a hint of music past her ears. She headed between the still standing houses towards the square in the center of town. Instead of the regular market, today there was live music and traders visiting from some of the surrounding villages. It was the perfect event to take minds off of the fire.

Makeshift stalls displaying sweet candies and cloth filled the village square. Multicolored banners were draped over the front of each stall. Some of the banners hung with intricate, petite designs painted on them and some remained more humble. Music filled the square, causing her to tap her feet lightly upon the dry cobblestones. Children ran in circles among the crowd, laughing with imperishable glee. Despite their tattered clothing, their eyes shone brightly in the afternoon sun.

Aralyn stared intently at the crowd and the vendors that bustled inside the square. Her natural blush seemed to intensify as she gazed in wonder at all the traders around her. The vast majority of them had smooth, tan skin, the result of having spent years outside doing farm work. She noticed some that were pale-skinned and looked either sickly or old and frail. She lifted her hand and gazed at her own pale skin. She almost wished it was because she was sickly or old. Almost. Instead, it was because she wasn't quite human like everyone else in the square. Her ears were elongated and ended in sharp points. She had far better senses than that of a human and tenfold the energy and dexterity. Her eyes were a shocking bright purple. Granted, her being an elf did not change the fact that she lived here, among humans and as a human.

The late autumn air cooed against her eardrums and sent a playful shiver into her cheeks. A burly man walked past her with his beer belly poking through the bottom of his filthy shirt. As his stench wafted over Aralyn, she inconspicuously raised her sleeve to cover her nose. With a brilliant smile and her alluring violet eyes, Aralyn threaded through the crowd towards her favorite stall. As much as Aralyn loved her quiet little village, there was nothing like the thrill of exhilaration she felt from seeing so many people at once. Pushing through a gap in the crowd, Aralyn came out standing before the stall.

Daggers covered the counters and miniature throwing knives and hammers dominated a side table. There were black and silver blades, some with bone handles and others with pearl handles and there was everything in between. Longswords and shortswords with glinting silver blades hung from the ceiling, catching the afternoon sunlight and reflecting it onto passerby’s limbs. A mace sat against a back corner, with iron spikes jutting from its thick body. Aralyn's eyes grew wide as she caught sight of a bow in the back corner. She hurried to the opposite side of the tent and reached out to stroke it.

“You seem a tad young to be here, Miss,” a man said from inside the stall.

Aralyn jumped at the voice and pulled her hand away from the bow. Glancing up, she saw a short old man watching her. His hair was white and his beard fell to his knees. Smiling, he revealed a set of hideously yellow, crooked teeth. Clothed in simple gray trousers and a dark green shirt, he seemed too old to be traveling. Wrinkles plagued his cheeks and his hands appeared rough.

“What can I say, I just like blades,” Aralyn joked.

The old man chuckled and beckoned for Aralyn to go on with her admiring of the bow. Reaching out once again, she ran her index finger across the red tinted wood. It was unnaturally smooth, like nothing she had ever felt before. She wished with all her heart that her father could whittle one of these for her, for it would likely work much better than her current simple one. It had light etchings of tree branches carved into its two ends. The branches twisted around the shaft and ended at the handle. The handle itself was covered in thick leather string braided together. The quiver that sat to its side was hand painted with the image of a dragon entwined with a tree whose branches matched those on the bow. The arrows in the quiver were simple, with golden tinted feathers on their ends. She curled her hand around the bow and began to lift it off of its pedestal, then hesitated. Glancing at the old man, she raised her eyebrows.

“May I?” she asked permission.

“It would be my pleasure,” he smiled.

Eyes shining, Aralyn ran her thumb along the string. Strumming it, she placed her ear beside the string and listened to the deep ringing noise that emanated from it.

She strummed it again and was reminded of her father; when she used to sit her on his lap and he would strum the string on her bow as if it were a musical instrument. They would lean in close and listen, as he told her stories of his past. Stories full of adventures in the forest and encounters with dwarfs and faeries and sprites. He would tell her about the Nomadic elves, the few that he had met when they used to pass through the village. He had been a child when he saw his last Nomad. Aralyn had always loved his stories about the elves, because it was not just a story but her heritage as well. He didn't tell many stories nowadays, not since the accident where he had lost his left leg. She hadn't sat on his lap for years, and she doubted she ever would again. Now and again, on cold winter nights, her father would sit with Aralyn and her mother and tell them a new story. Always in front of a toasty fire, Aralyn would always wonder how his stories were never the same. She sometimes wondered whether or not they were actually true.

Taking the string in her fingers, she drew her elbow back past her ear. Turning quickly, she aimed her imaginary arrow at a wagon halfway across the square. Releasing the string, she pretended seeing the arrow pierce a bag of flour and cause it to fall and burst on the cobblestones. Aralyn turned back to the old man and placed the bow upon its pedestal. She stared at it for a moment, longing to have the money to buy such a genuine, quality weapon. She could use it for more than hunting for food. She could use it for protecting her family. And Paisley, now that it wouldn't be just her and her parents anymore. She couldn't bear the idea of being stuck in a house like that, with so many people at once. It wouldn't be about her and her parents, the focus would be on Paisley, since he would be the youngest and would need the most attention. He would also be the one to make the most noise.

“You have good taste,” a voice came from across the stall.

Aralyn looked up and found herself staring at a young man with dirty blond hair that spilled over his broad shoulders. Dark stubble covered his chin and his eyes, from what Aralyn could see, were a slight reddish brown. He held himself high and it appeared to her that he would be the cliched stubborn man that her Father was always warning her about. She raised her eyebrows at the sight of such a prideful and well-kept young man in such natural territory rather than in a city. Aralyn had never been to a city and the people in the village half doubted that there were any in the land at all.

“So do you,” she replied, referencing the longsword that sat on his palms. The grip was leather bound and the pommel had a sea stone set in it that was a light gray-blue. The stone had a smooth round surface and a single dark green splotch on it. The blade was silver and perhaps four feet long, with wide edges and a strange symbol engraved on it near the hilt.

“I try,” he answered, a smirk flitting across his face. He averted his eyes and spoke to the old man, who took the blade from his hands. Sitting down, the old man began to sharpen the sword on his small wheel. No matter how long Aralyn stared at the young man, she could not figure out how old he was. He looked like he was in his early twenties, yet he gave of an air of superiority and of a certain touch of ancientness.

“It's rude to stare, you know,” he said as a matter-of-fact, having paused the conversation he and the old man were having.

Aralyn apologized, cursing at herself for forgetting her manners.

“Forgive me. You just seem out of place in a village like this,” she stated her thoughts to the stranger.

“I'm just passing through,” he said softly.

“Well, I certainly hope we meet again,” Aralyn said politely as she departed from the stall, with one last longing look at the bow. She doubted that they would ever actually meet again. Half of her wished she had asked his name as she dodged through the crowd and away from the stall.

Aralyn slipped down a small alleyway to avoid the traffic of the people in the square. Her only companions were several dumpsters and a drunken man who had fallen asleep under a small awning. At the end of the alley, the sunlight lit up an abandoned street. She moved forward and made her way to the outskirts of the village, where her home was located.

It had two rectangular rooms, no porch, and a large garden in the backyard with an outhouse to one side. A white fence surrounded the house and garden. It had a small latched door that opened onto a crude stone pathway through the tall grass to the door. The wooden fence was stained from years of rain and snow. An old Autumn Harvest wreath hung on the door, withered and brown. Never once had it moved from its place on the door, not since her Father's accident.

Aralyn pushed open the thick wooden door and found the house smelling of stew. Her mother was at work in the kitchen skinning the rabbit Aralyn had hunted and killed that morning. Her hands are large and tough, and her voice was tougher still as she scolded Aralyn.

“You were supposed to be home more than an hour ago. Where were you?” she asked sternly, finishing with the skinning and tossing the animal pelt to one side of the short wooden table. She rose to her full height and placed one of her rabbit blood-covered hands on her hip as she waited for an answer.

“I'm sorry, I was in the square. I lost track of time,” Aralyn said as an excuse. Her mother hated it when she talked about weapons. She thought that weapons were a waste of time and that Aralyn needed to learn more useful skills such as sewing, skinning, and keeping a house clean.

Her mother shook her head. “I told you to be back by the jaguar's hour. You worry me, you know that? You're just a boatload of trouble and yet look at you. You're so grown-up.”

“Mother, please,” Aralyn moaned.

“I need some carrots for the stew, could you please grab some?” her Mother asked with a soft smile.

Aralyn nodded and headed back outside to the garden. It was a large square behind the house, pressed up against the tall grasses of the meadow. In it grew tomatoes, carrots, lettuce, the purple leafed lightfoot fruit and several various herbs. Bending her knees, Aralyn reached out and yanked three large carrots from their alcove in the moist soil. On her way back inside, she grabbed one of the small lightfoot berries and plopped it into her mouth. Her tongue exploded with its spicy sweetness that reminded her of licorice. Aralyn washed the vegetables before she sat at the table and began to chop the bright orange carrots. Her Mother was hard at work slicing the rabbit meat and throwing it into the large pot of stew.

“Where's father?” Aralyn asked.

After a moment of hesitation, her Mother answered. “He's with Grabeil.”

“More therapy?”

“Of course,” her mother said quietly, eyes downcast, “He says it's been hurting.”

“Mother, he's fine. Grabiel had said it healed well all those years ago, so this must be nothing more than a slight relapse. There's no way it can be infected. He hasn't had a cut in ages,” she tried to comfort her Mother.

Both of their hearts ached but Aralyn managed to muster a smile.

“Mother, it's going to be okay,” she said.

Her mother smiled back at her. “I know, baby.”

Aralyn's mother threw the mound of rabbit meat into the heating stew. As she stirred it, she watched the bubbles rise to the surface and burst.

“I know,” she repeated in a barely audible whisper.

A knock came at the door just as Aralyn finished with the carrots. She tossed them into the boiling stew as her mother opened the door and greeted Paisley and his mother and father. Aralyn stayed by the stew, stirring it ever so slowly. She hadn't accounted for how she would not feel any privacy for the next year. Even the thought of the other family walking through the door broke through her defenses and made Aralyn wish another family could have taken them in. The moment the thought crossed her head, she felt guilty and pulled herself together. She turned to face the new family and let a heartwarming smile cross her lips as her mother ushered them inside. Aralyn felt as if her safe haven, where she could say what she wanted to say and be who she wanted to be, was being taken over. She couldn't help but feel utterly helpless.

There came a small idea in her head that she tried to shake away but that only grew louder the more she wished it would be gone. The voice became her being and her being, ever so slowly, accepted the voice and what it was saying. She could always leave. If it was too much for her to bear, she could always pack her things and leave, like she had always dreamt of doing. Aralyn's love for her village and her parents had always seemed greater than her wish to leave and explore the world, but now she wasn't so sure. Maybe this would be her catalyst, her push out the door and into the world she so yearned to know and understand.

Pulling on her knee-high boots, Aralyn stood, almost ready to go hunting for the day's meat. It was the main job that her father had passed to her after he lost his leg. She was the only one in the house able and willing to go hunting for food. Aralyn combed her hair before filling a small pail with water. Kneeling over the pail so she could see her hair, she attempted to give herself an intricate braid her mother had taught her long ago. Halfway down the crown of her head, she messed up and had to start over. She had hardly passed the top of her ears when she messed up again. Muffling to herself, she bared her teeth, but before she could try again, she heard her fathers voice.

“Come here. I'll do it for you,” he said from his cot, quietly so as to not wake his wife or Paisley and his parents.

Aralyn sighed and went to sit on the floor in front of him. He took her hair in his hands and combed through it with his fingers. Relaxing her tensed muscles, she leaned back against his bed frame. She could hear his heavy breathing.

“Did you sleep well?” Aralyn asked in a hushed tone.

“No nightmares, if that is what you're referring to,” he answered her, gently tugging on her hair as he began the intricate braid.

“That's good. Maybe Grabeil helped.”

“I doubt it. He only pretends to know as much as he does,” her father said, making Aralyn chuckle quietly.

“I met a young man yesterday at the market,” Aralyn said abruptly, suddenly recalling the young man and feeling as if she should tell her Father about him.

“Really?”

“Yes. He had a strange air about him, as if he was somehow older than he appeared. I felt as if he didn't belong.,” Aralyn wondered about him the more she thought about the encounter.

“Well, I'll keep my eye out for him. Maybe he isn't from around here. Maybe there actually is a world beyond the mountains,” he joked, sharing in everyone’s belief that the mountains were the end of the world. Aralyn hid her scoffing. She knew other countries were out there, she could feel them vibrating on the edge of her conscience. She wanted to find them and she wanted to prove the villagers wrong. Just the thought of exploring the world that she knew was beyond the mountains made her feel elated. To move through the forests and visit cities and to see people and make new friends; that was what Aralyn wanted. Not to spend the rest of her life here, no matter how much she loved this place and her parents.

Her father finished up with her braid and Aralyn thanked him. She started for the door before she felt her fathers hand around her wrist. It felt naturally soft and strong at the same time. Aralyn bent over and let him kiss her on the forehead.

“Stay safe,” he whispered as she slipped out the door.

As the door shut behind her, Aralyn took one step forward and yelped quietly, having run headfirst into a hard object hanging from the roof. She rubbed her head and blinked once, twice, three times before she fully realized what was hanging before her. A note fell to the ground and she lifted it, reading the small, slanted letters written on the thick parchment.

Someone with such great taste should be able to show it off.

Inching forward, Aralyn's mouth was gaping open from disbelief. She had a hundred of ideas as to why the bow and quiver of arrows from yesterday were hanging in front of her. Only one of the ideas seemed to make sense, but Aralyn was too hesitant to believe it true. Eyes wide, her eyes darted around to make sure she was alone before she dared to reach up and remove the bow and quiver from a nail on the roof. She marveled at the bow, then at the note, then at the bow again. After a moment, the idea that made sense made more sense than ever. The bow and arrows must have been given to her by the young man. She slung the quiver onto her back and placed her old bow against the side of the house. Wrapping her palm around it, she lifted it. With it in her hands, she did not feel as if it belonged to her. It was far more majestic than anything she had ever owned. Even so, a grin split her lips and she raced into the forest with the new bow.