Her first petal hadn’t fallen yet. It was absurd to think about it. The first petal would choose to fall with either sinister drama or surreal insignificance.
She was dreading the thought with disbelief in her mind yet awaited it with sick curiosity. It was a little ironic; “curiosity killed the cat”. Her real name meant Silver Cat. No one had called her that for a long time.
Pens’ real name was PerrygOrien and her more frequently used name was Perigan, it was the only one that her father approved of. They were very different girls, both idolised each other.
Kathio was a fair haired girl with bright, cobalt blue eyes and curves in all the right places. She was witty and intelligent in the way of politics and was very able to fight. Men lost line of virtuous sight when she walked into a room, which amused her brother but not her father of course.
Perrygan was slim and tall with rich brown hair and emerald green eyes. She was intelligent in the way of literature and crafts and creativity. Her father was fond of her, she was talented in many ways, but often dismissed her as no important political woman. She proved him dreadfully wrong in that way.
“On what do you ponder?” The fog of thoughts in her mind was split open when she heard Pen talk.
“Nothing.” Kathio said a little too quickly. “I mean… I was just thinking about home.” There was a sour tone in her voice that she didn’t attempt to conceal.
“What? What about home?” Pen persisted.
“There’s more out here for us than where we were born. This wasteland is oppressive, but we can move and we can prove ourselves as you have done.” She explained. Peak crawled around on her lap. Peak was a gift from the desert people, given with the words “he will aid you, Silver Kat.” The white ball of fur was warm and comforting, even if he wasn’t a sign of home which was what other people would think she was looking for.
“But you love home, don’t you?”
“Of course I do!” Kathio objected. “However, I’ve inherited father’s pride. I need to prove him wrong… What?”
Pen was smiling and there was a hint of disbelief in her eyes, and something sparkled just above her lower eyelashes. Perhaps, it was a tear. “Kathio, people listen to you and follow you. You are clever in every word you say.” There were gaps in her words as if she believed them so much that they were hard to say and hard to explain.
“But…”
“Father never had faith in us but you’ve had faith in yourself and others have believed in you. You have been my idol since you were old enough to have your will and it has only developed since then, even if I am older than you.”
“P-Pen…” Kathio stuttered and looked at her squarely. Her blue eyes were narrow and there was a single bead of sweat on the left side of her face. She felt guilty and selfish when she considered how she’d been feeling. “I’m nothing to idolise, I was useless when you needed help the most. I couldn’t even be mature enough to realise that I needed your help… You’ve always been stronger than me.”
There was quiet between both of them. It was only broken when Thargon arrived.
“We are going to start moving again. We need to make sure every one knows what happens if we are captured.”
“Why would we be captured?” Kathio asked, clearing the hair from her eyes but less obviously wiping a tear and the sweat from her cheek.
“We will pass the tower, very closely. With such little time, we can not hope to avoid the base. You will both need to take fake names and have fake life stories that would keep you alive and would get you released. Whatever happens to us, you must make it home safely.”
Pen and Kathio looked up at Thargon. His expression was grim and serious. His face was darkened with dirt and stress. His shoulder length dark hair was tangled and some stuck to his neck with sweat.
“Pen, you are clerk of the river lands. The colour of your hair makes your blood seam purer than Kathios’. Kathio, you are to play the part of her servant and Atheilel has already decided she is to be the medic. We are all on a journey home and Pen is our guide. Understood?”
They both nodded and he stepped back, his features engulfed by shadows.
Kathio routed through her sack while Peak played with the strings. He’d obviously adopted some cat behaviour in his creation. That was probably why the desert women said “we have made him of you, Silver Cat.”
There were few things she could bare and thickets of dark, unknown plants were not among them. She tied back her hair and tugged her hood over it. She’d changed- a skirt would get in her way so she was wearing leggings and boots. Her falchion was sheathed at her hip and she could see the snakes glance at her with golden gazes as the torch light gaze over them when she moved.
Bent over her knees, she was busy tying the shin armour when she saw two feet enter her line of sight. She looked up with her blue eyes already fixed on the figure above.
She could not see who it was for a while but knew, by the wide shoulders, he was a man. He stood as but a silhouette, a dark shape full of shadow. He was as still as a standing stone and she could only stare up. No doubt, it was Thargon checking that she was being quick.
As she focused on him more, she felt a little more uneasy. Completely transfixed by him, she didn’t notice that sparks from the torch had spurted from the stick and fallen onto the reeds. They spread surprisingly quickly, as if purposefully. In the wider light there was gold down one side of his body and something else.
Across his chest, like a network of gold veins was embroidery. It must have been slightly metallic to have picked up more light than the rest of his shirt or perhaps set out a little. The pattern was that of an orb with great flames going in all directions. They were in exact proportion with each other. This was a crest.
“Oh my god! Fire!” Someone called and Kathio shuddered out of the hypnosis. She looked over to her side and the brilliant light was beautiful though only covered a foot square of ground.
She looked back and he was gone.
“You’re just lucky some one else spotted it.” Thargon wasn’t going to make a point of how negligent she’d been. He was quieter than usual. He’d barely mentioned it apart from to say that it was fortunate she wasn’t hurt. “A fire can spread quickly while no one is looking.”
“However, we are in a marsh.” Pen defended Kathio who remained silent.
Everyone was split up into groups of three and Thargon reasoned that Pen and Kathio needed to be under his custody to keep them safe. Kathio suspected it was for something else.
“How did you get distracted so easily, though?” Pen asked.
“I… I don’t know.” Kathio thought she sounded convincing enough. “Perhaps I was daydreaming. I don’t remember.”
“Wow. I wouldn’t have forgotten something like that.”
“Did he say anything to you?” Thargon asked, out of the blue when Pen was about to open her mouth to say something. Her jaw dropped but she stopped with a quizzical expression on her face.
“Wh-“
“No, he didn’t.” Kathio knew what he was talking about.
“Do you know who he was?”
“No. He said nothing and it was too dark.”
“Who are we talking about?” Pen burst in.
They didn’t answer, they only kept walking. It didn’t take long for her to give up. She lost interest in their peculiar silence and foreboding frowns.
Sunday, 12 October 2008
Chapter 5
There was almost sudden cold once they entered the shadows. They couldn’t see the world in colour; it was but grey, black and misty midnight blue. There was nothing that seamed to be alive but the strange plants that gathered at the bottom of the smooth slope, in the centre of the canyon. They were somewhat thin in density around the base of the tower, as if it had landed there from a great height and blown everything else away.
The lands looked burnt and hard. It was a wasteland as far as the cliff. People lived there? It was hard to imagine anyone building the tall tower that stood there. It was nearing the hours of light and a sun was starting to show it’s self at the top of the cliff, behind which it had been hiding. A while behind them, there was a little light and now they began to pick up pace. They wanted to be travelling much quicker while there was light, so the promise of it gave them hope and haste.
The ground was very uneven and they knew it was wet but this would be the first time, in the seaming thirteen hours they hadn’t stopped travelling, when they’d be able to see the ground. At the speed they were starting to move, which was not considerably faster but noticeably, it was as if they were running away from the light not waiting for it.
The pack on Kathio’s back was heavy. She was carrying the armour, breast plate but wearing the shin plates. She didn’t fancy tripping on something she couldn’t see and hurting her legs, she would rather hurt her torso than not be able walk properly.
Her green leggings and shirt didn’t keep out the cold, even if the smoky grey cloak sheltered her a little. She could see Thargon ahead, dimly. A few more soldiers were further on, but she could only see their silhouettes. Behind, she heard Atheilel walking a little more steadily than her but Pen sounded as if she was struggling. She wanted to help her, but she didn’t know how and the comfort of Atheilel seamed to keep her going enough.
They owed everything to Pen. She was the one who knew which direction was home, of course that was a help, but, more importantly, she knew how they should cross their first trial. No doubt would she be treated like the hero she was when she got home. Kathio had never seen so much strength in Pen before. She knew exactly what to do, it had seamed, and even Kathio hadn’t worked out what she’d done.
It was not long before sunlight reached her and then she was warm. A mist seamed to gather in strange swurls of puffs before it spread into wild thickness and they could barely see each other. It was remarkable. In the whole time they’d been walking, they’d been looking forward to the visibility of the day but all the sun brought was so much fog that the darkness was less mysterious and frightening.
Kathio almost thought to stop walking. Then she thought, if Thargon stopped, she would meet him somewhere so carrying on walking seamed safer.
Her legs had grown tired without her noticing at first but it took the first time she stumbled, only, to make her stop. Her legs gave way and her knees buckled. As she fell onto all fours, with her hands and knees soaked, her bag fell over the side of her back and onto some reeds. She looked at the ground below her. The water was murky and dark, but she could see the shape of her face and very few features.
When she lifted her head, all she could see were tiny white flowers.
She was weary and exhausted. Even her arms were beginning to lose the ability to carry her and she hadn’t been walking on her hands, of course. She tipped herself over and onto a clump of moss and reads, where the ground was harder and she could lie without getting wet or sinking. It was then that she let herself drift to sleep. It was then that her surroundings turned dark prematurely without her stopping it from happening.
Two arms came around her and she couldn’t feel the ground any more, only a pressure where her neck and knees were being supported. She didn’t open her eyes again; all she could see were the tiny white flowers and how they seamed so important.
There was a long dark, as she slept, and when she finally awoke she could see clearly in the dark. There was no mist. She couldn’t see her helper; his features were barely highlighted by the dim moonlight from so far above. He did not make a sound. She could feel the strap of her sack against her arm, where it came over his left shoulder.
Peak was sitting on his shoulder, close to his neck. He was sheltered in tresses of blond hair. She felt more assured in seeing Peak safe.
She stayed still, wondering with her arms crossed over her chest and her cloak wrapped over her abdomen to stop it from draping down. A strange notion ran through her head. It felt like when she was a child and her father and brother used to carry her. She fit in his arms better than she’d ever fit in theirs. The strange feeling made her feel less comfortable in her mind and she pushed it out quickly.
It was not long before her eyes closed again and she completely forgot what she’d been thinking until…
She was again on the ground. Her face was turned to the side and when she awoke she was gazing at the shape of her own hand in the dark. A small white creature was curled in front of her neck, under her chin. Peak was awake as soon as she was. He hurried onto her shoulder and entangled himself with her hair.
She was sure it hadn’t been a dream because the clump of harder soil was now thicker and there were fewer reeds around her- she must have been moved. She wasn’t cold now. She wasn’t wet. This was strange. Her sack was the other side of her, and in the position she was lying it was almost behind her.
“Kathio!” She heard a call… or so many that she couldn’t distinguish between them. “Kathio!” They were growing distant and near. They were spreading out. In grey and green, she couldn’t imagine herself distinguishable against the marsh ground so she tried to get up.
“Ka-…” One voice was quite near. She pushed herself into a sit and stared down in front of her- unable to lift her own head much. She rubbed her eyes and looked. “There she is! We’ve found her!”
Her back didn’t hurt as much and nor did her legs, she had a strange feeling that she owed someone something great but she had no idea who.
Suddenly, Ateilel was standing close to her and hoisting her up under the arms from behind. When she was standing, all she could do was turn and hold Atheilel as close as she could as if clinging to life. Peak ran from one shoulder to the other excitedly.
“Come on, Silver-Cat, you’re the only person who’d panic that much. I mean, you didn’t even wake up until we found you.” Atheilel had mischief in her blue-green eyes.
It was the first time Kathio had heard her name said like that in a long time. She was quite surprised that anybody remembered it. “Act-…” She barely knew how to correct Atheilel there. ‘I did actually wake up twice’ was fine but there was the complication of ‘but someone else was there’. She closed her mouth and drew up her dropped jaw.
They’d found a large area of harder ground and decided to rest. There was a fire, the light made the black reeds and moss glow golden, and everyone was gathered in a crescent moon around the flames. They didn’t see anything particularly strange about her fainting on the long journey, even if Atheilel thought it was amusing.
Kathio felt a little annoyed at this, but more confused with herself. If she was angry with Atheilel she could have said a spiteful and unfair comment but she wasn’t. In this journey, they were all even.
“Are we stopped because I fainted?” She asked, feeling as if she was an inconvenience where she’d felt strong before.
“No; we’re all weary, Kathio. It’s not just you.” Thargon put in. “Don’t feel so embarrassed, it’s not just you. Pen is also…” No one needed to mention how Pen was. She was injured before… She was very brave to have come this far, but something drove her like nothing else to move on. It was as if, if she didn’t keep going, she would miss some kind of deadline.
Pen lay on the ground, the other side of the fire. She hadn’t realised, before, how much she admired Pen. Pen’s dark hair was a veil over her face, hiding away her wild green eyes. Pen was always the imaginative one; she was full of her own arts while Kathio was full of wit. Pen wore a grey dress that spread out wider than her own span and rough boots.
What had led them here? Kathio imagined what Morgan would say. It would go something like:
“The bravest of them all, Pen, also had weaknesses. There is not a person in the world who can do everything but Pen was one who did great things with what she could do. Her battle had ended and now it was the journey home that was going to prove perilous. On the way, they met people of unimaginable kinds. The first were the desert women, who gave great gifts and told them of their own powers and fortunes.” Kathio didn’t think of mentioning Peak specifically, as he didn’t play a vital role in this story. Then Kathio stopped thinking about that story and thought of her own, if Morgan told that it would be very different.
“Kathio was given the gifts of beauty and virtue but would never be granted the chance to use them. She would never be able to have the man she truly loved because she was the one who was supposed to bring wealth and power to the family…” That’s how he’d begin and then into the story she would realise that it didn’t matter and that she was insignificant as they travelled so far and yet they didn’t even reach the edges of the world. “So far from home, she could think of her family and wish that all her wishes could never have been wished.” But then she remembered the other part of the story that she couldn’t afford to leave out. This part would charm the children in some strange way that she used to be charmed. They’d fancy that she’d find a wealthy man who could make her father happy and she’d fall in love with him and “live with wild adventure until her very last days”.
This interesting part was what she learnt on the journey to where they’d come from. “It was a seer that told her about her curse. Her father had paid the seer to make a special flower. Kathio was, when she was not even yet born, foreseen to be a powerful and influential girl, if she lived, but would loose her life at a very young age and her father wanted all of his children to live.
“This flower would save her life; this flower would protect and preserve her until she was ready to die of old age. There was a condition. This flower would start to loose its’ petals when the mistresses of fate saw it necessary and once all five of the petals had fallen she would die.
“The seer told Kathio that she had little time until the first petal would fall. It was only on the journey back on her adventure that the first would fall. She told her that the flower would perish and the spell would be broken if her ‘virtue’, or ‘honour’, was lost, because that is what kept the Mistresses of Fate on her trail. The act that would free her from the spell could only be performed with the man she truly loved or another petal would fall and she would be much closer to the curse having its’ complete control.”
Kathio was quite impressed at this telling of the tale, even though she was sure that Morgan would find some way of making it much more elegant and he might use the words “the curse could only be broken by ‘marriage’ to her true love.”
This line of thought continued through what was supposed to be a night but it seamed like two nights and Peak was asleep and still so the thought could be thought without disruption.
The lands looked burnt and hard. It was a wasteland as far as the cliff. People lived there? It was hard to imagine anyone building the tall tower that stood there. It was nearing the hours of light and a sun was starting to show it’s self at the top of the cliff, behind which it had been hiding. A while behind them, there was a little light and now they began to pick up pace. They wanted to be travelling much quicker while there was light, so the promise of it gave them hope and haste.
The ground was very uneven and they knew it was wet but this would be the first time, in the seaming thirteen hours they hadn’t stopped travelling, when they’d be able to see the ground. At the speed they were starting to move, which was not considerably faster but noticeably, it was as if they were running away from the light not waiting for it.
The pack on Kathio’s back was heavy. She was carrying the armour, breast plate but wearing the shin plates. She didn’t fancy tripping on something she couldn’t see and hurting her legs, she would rather hurt her torso than not be able walk properly.
Her green leggings and shirt didn’t keep out the cold, even if the smoky grey cloak sheltered her a little. She could see Thargon ahead, dimly. A few more soldiers were further on, but she could only see their silhouettes. Behind, she heard Atheilel walking a little more steadily than her but Pen sounded as if she was struggling. She wanted to help her, but she didn’t know how and the comfort of Atheilel seamed to keep her going enough.
They owed everything to Pen. She was the one who knew which direction was home, of course that was a help, but, more importantly, she knew how they should cross their first trial. No doubt would she be treated like the hero she was when she got home. Kathio had never seen so much strength in Pen before. She knew exactly what to do, it had seamed, and even Kathio hadn’t worked out what she’d done.
It was not long before sunlight reached her and then she was warm. A mist seamed to gather in strange swurls of puffs before it spread into wild thickness and they could barely see each other. It was remarkable. In the whole time they’d been walking, they’d been looking forward to the visibility of the day but all the sun brought was so much fog that the darkness was less mysterious and frightening.
Kathio almost thought to stop walking. Then she thought, if Thargon stopped, she would meet him somewhere so carrying on walking seamed safer.
Her legs had grown tired without her noticing at first but it took the first time she stumbled, only, to make her stop. Her legs gave way and her knees buckled. As she fell onto all fours, with her hands and knees soaked, her bag fell over the side of her back and onto some reeds. She looked at the ground below her. The water was murky and dark, but she could see the shape of her face and very few features.
When she lifted her head, all she could see were tiny white flowers.
She was weary and exhausted. Even her arms were beginning to lose the ability to carry her and she hadn’t been walking on her hands, of course. She tipped herself over and onto a clump of moss and reads, where the ground was harder and she could lie without getting wet or sinking. It was then that she let herself drift to sleep. It was then that her surroundings turned dark prematurely without her stopping it from happening.
Two arms came around her and she couldn’t feel the ground any more, only a pressure where her neck and knees were being supported. She didn’t open her eyes again; all she could see were the tiny white flowers and how they seamed so important.
There was a long dark, as she slept, and when she finally awoke she could see clearly in the dark. There was no mist. She couldn’t see her helper; his features were barely highlighted by the dim moonlight from so far above. He did not make a sound. She could feel the strap of her sack against her arm, where it came over his left shoulder.
Peak was sitting on his shoulder, close to his neck. He was sheltered in tresses of blond hair. She felt more assured in seeing Peak safe.
She stayed still, wondering with her arms crossed over her chest and her cloak wrapped over her abdomen to stop it from draping down. A strange notion ran through her head. It felt like when she was a child and her father and brother used to carry her. She fit in his arms better than she’d ever fit in theirs. The strange feeling made her feel less comfortable in her mind and she pushed it out quickly.
It was not long before her eyes closed again and she completely forgot what she’d been thinking until…
She was again on the ground. Her face was turned to the side and when she awoke she was gazing at the shape of her own hand in the dark. A small white creature was curled in front of her neck, under her chin. Peak was awake as soon as she was. He hurried onto her shoulder and entangled himself with her hair.
She was sure it hadn’t been a dream because the clump of harder soil was now thicker and there were fewer reeds around her- she must have been moved. She wasn’t cold now. She wasn’t wet. This was strange. Her sack was the other side of her, and in the position she was lying it was almost behind her.
“Kathio!” She heard a call… or so many that she couldn’t distinguish between them. “Kathio!” They were growing distant and near. They were spreading out. In grey and green, she couldn’t imagine herself distinguishable against the marsh ground so she tried to get up.
“Ka-…” One voice was quite near. She pushed herself into a sit and stared down in front of her- unable to lift her own head much. She rubbed her eyes and looked. “There she is! We’ve found her!”
Her back didn’t hurt as much and nor did her legs, she had a strange feeling that she owed someone something great but she had no idea who.
Suddenly, Ateilel was standing close to her and hoisting her up under the arms from behind. When she was standing, all she could do was turn and hold Atheilel as close as she could as if clinging to life. Peak ran from one shoulder to the other excitedly.
“Come on, Silver-Cat, you’re the only person who’d panic that much. I mean, you didn’t even wake up until we found you.” Atheilel had mischief in her blue-green eyes.
It was the first time Kathio had heard her name said like that in a long time. She was quite surprised that anybody remembered it. “Act-…” She barely knew how to correct Atheilel there. ‘I did actually wake up twice’ was fine but there was the complication of ‘but someone else was there’. She closed her mouth and drew up her dropped jaw.
They’d found a large area of harder ground and decided to rest. There was a fire, the light made the black reeds and moss glow golden, and everyone was gathered in a crescent moon around the flames. They didn’t see anything particularly strange about her fainting on the long journey, even if Atheilel thought it was amusing.
Kathio felt a little annoyed at this, but more confused with herself. If she was angry with Atheilel she could have said a spiteful and unfair comment but she wasn’t. In this journey, they were all even.
“Are we stopped because I fainted?” She asked, feeling as if she was an inconvenience where she’d felt strong before.
“No; we’re all weary, Kathio. It’s not just you.” Thargon put in. “Don’t feel so embarrassed, it’s not just you. Pen is also…” No one needed to mention how Pen was. She was injured before… She was very brave to have come this far, but something drove her like nothing else to move on. It was as if, if she didn’t keep going, she would miss some kind of deadline.
Pen lay on the ground, the other side of the fire. She hadn’t realised, before, how much she admired Pen. Pen’s dark hair was a veil over her face, hiding away her wild green eyes. Pen was always the imaginative one; she was full of her own arts while Kathio was full of wit. Pen wore a grey dress that spread out wider than her own span and rough boots.
What had led them here? Kathio imagined what Morgan would say. It would go something like:
“The bravest of them all, Pen, also had weaknesses. There is not a person in the world who can do everything but Pen was one who did great things with what she could do. Her battle had ended and now it was the journey home that was going to prove perilous. On the way, they met people of unimaginable kinds. The first were the desert women, who gave great gifts and told them of their own powers and fortunes.” Kathio didn’t think of mentioning Peak specifically, as he didn’t play a vital role in this story. Then Kathio stopped thinking about that story and thought of her own, if Morgan told that it would be very different.
“Kathio was given the gifts of beauty and virtue but would never be granted the chance to use them. She would never be able to have the man she truly loved because she was the one who was supposed to bring wealth and power to the family…” That’s how he’d begin and then into the story she would realise that it didn’t matter and that she was insignificant as they travelled so far and yet they didn’t even reach the edges of the world. “So far from home, she could think of her family and wish that all her wishes could never have been wished.” But then she remembered the other part of the story that she couldn’t afford to leave out. This part would charm the children in some strange way that she used to be charmed. They’d fancy that she’d find a wealthy man who could make her father happy and she’d fall in love with him and “live with wild adventure until her very last days”.
This interesting part was what she learnt on the journey to where they’d come from. “It was a seer that told her about her curse. Her father had paid the seer to make a special flower. Kathio was, when she was not even yet born, foreseen to be a powerful and influential girl, if she lived, but would loose her life at a very young age and her father wanted all of his children to live.
“This flower would save her life; this flower would protect and preserve her until she was ready to die of old age. There was a condition. This flower would start to loose its’ petals when the mistresses of fate saw it necessary and once all five of the petals had fallen she would die.
“The seer told Kathio that she had little time until the first petal would fall. It was only on the journey back on her adventure that the first would fall. She told her that the flower would perish and the spell would be broken if her ‘virtue’, or ‘honour’, was lost, because that is what kept the Mistresses of Fate on her trail. The act that would free her from the spell could only be performed with the man she truly loved or another petal would fall and she would be much closer to the curse having its’ complete control.”
Kathio was quite impressed at this telling of the tale, even though she was sure that Morgan would find some way of making it much more elegant and he might use the words “the curse could only be broken by ‘marriage’ to her true love.”
This line of thought continued through what was supposed to be a night but it seamed like two nights and Peak was asleep and still so the thought could be thought without disruption.
Chapter 3
Months before:
Pen leant forward over the veranda wall, her elbows resting on the smooth top and her clenched fists under her chin. Her green eyes surveyed that which surrounded her. Beyond the three foot wall was just the vast green lands of her home. The river-lands were woven into by silver lace, tinted with silver light near the ends. The sun was low in the magenta sky, and falling slowly into the black pool of the horizon. Some clouds hung near the edges, making a hem of violet and lilac, smoked with indigo.
By day, there were farm carts and horses along the cobbled paths and there were hundreds of people who walked to the gates. Often, there was a whisperer who sped through the entrance to the main hall. All news was of Kalondu, lately. There was no peace for them any more, not since she was eight years old.
There was quiet now, wide and infinite over the region. A few birds darted from the rare trees as far as she could see. Beyond the land below the castle were forests and the sea. These were the fertile lands belonging to the most rich of kings whose’ adversaries were few and, usually, frightened. There was a breeze, a light drifting of air that picked up her bark brown hair and the pleats of her white dress. The long sleeves were thin and fitting and the design made great use of what little cleavage she had.
Her delicate features were settled and still and her eyes were distant in thought, as she gazed into the distance. A mauve moon lay in place of the sun and showed as a dim crescent. Her lids fell, her eyes closed.
“Pen…” His voice echoed a little in her mind. It was a quiet whisper, soft and remote. “You can hear me, can’t you?”
“I can, but every part of me wishes I couldn’t.” When she opened her eyes, what had been white silk was now red satin over her body. She could see the patterns of auburn and scarlet as if they were in sheer opposition yet the colours lay so near. A long shawl lay over her shoulders and, as she moved slightly, the colours glided up and down- gold sunlight on the deep red.
“There’s nothing wrong with being able to see me. It’s your choice, you choose to be here when you like.” He was behind her and before her was no landscape of green and grey but a sun setting and a sea. She was staring down a cliff, a vertical fall below her. The rocks were the colour of primroses, the colour of the sky playing surreally with the tones of the earth face. The waves were midnight blue and black with highlights of rose in peaks here and there, the pattern constantly rocking rhythmically.
She couldn’t tell whether this was how he saw her, in this dress, or whether it was how she fancied seeing herself. There was always something unreal about it and it was strange how, whenever she wanted to turn and see who talked to her, she would wake up and be in the same room she’d been dreaming in.
“You’re a demon, of course there’s something wrong with seeing you. If I told a seer he’d say I was cursed.”
“I’m not-… I’m your daemon, your guardian. Don’t be afraid of me.” He sounded frustrated at this, but kept being patient. “I’m also a person and I will meet you one day.”
She could hear him coming closer but was very conscious that there was a cliff in front of her, so there was no where to go, and if she turned around everything would be gone so she stayed completely still.
“How can I believe in you if I can never see your face? How could I ever meet you if every time I tried to look at you I woke up to discover that you can not possibly exist?” She asked.
“You can not see me because you don’t believe in me.” He explained. To her, this was a paradox and something she’d heard too often in a tale. You can only ever see what you know has to exist; only those who still believe may see magical things. However such was not true in the tale of Bran and Rhiannon. “Wait a while… here… for me. This place is real, and you really are here.”
At this, she half scoffed. It was not possible and she knew she couldn’t be there. She must be sleeping and it was night, why wake herself up? The flashes of scarlet danced across the crimson in the satin of the skirt as the wind pulsed at it. The sensation of it licking her ankles was real, because there was also a breeze in the real world. She could feel it because it was there. This didn’t prove this place was real.
Her senses gradually opened. There was warm on her cheeks and the ground was soft. The air was thick yet light. She could hear her own breath, that of him and no birds or leaves. She could hear the waves and the flapping of her own skirt.
“How can I make you believe that this place is real?”
“Prove to me I’m not dreaming because, no matter what my senses tell me now, I still don’t believe that I’m not.” She said confidently that he was wrong.
“How can I do that? Only you have the will to believe.”
She was silent. She did neither challenge nor support him. She didn’t suggest a thing and there was silence. Her dark hair drifted over her light skin. Streaks of bark brown crossed her green eyes by the influence of the wind. She wasn’t waiting nor ready, she was just there and maybe there was a thought deeper than thought that had brought around this dream or maybe-…
She felt him behind her. She almost shuddered with the shock and her eyes widened. His hand drifted up her arm to her shoulder and then to her cheek. He caressed her skin and she didn’t need to see his hands. She turned immediately and didn’t see the inside of her chamber but rocks, grey leaf shapes standing in the ground, and in front of them was him.
His iris of violet was set in lilac and his pupil was a thick line, like a cats’. His aquamarine skin was tinted where she didn’t block the last of the red sunlight. He wore a black jacket to his waste with green lining. He was about a head taller than her and staring at her from under jet black hair, curving down his forehead.
Inside his iris was deep, deep purple and she could see streaks of darker colours within the soft colour. She couldn’t believe what she was looking at. Perhaps the fact that it was unbelievable that made her believe that it was real.
“Who are you?” She asked when she was finally able to speak.
“It’s not important.” He tilted his head at her, and the strands of black hair swayed to the lower side of his forehead with the movement. “Now that you believe, what is important is what I can do for you.”
He was incredible. She’d never seen anything like him; his dark, almost blue, skin was something she’d never imagined before. He half smiled at her and a dimple pressed into one of his cheeks.
He reached out to touch her cheek again, but half way there he reconsidered and his face became very serious as his hand fell by his side again. “I need to show you something, but you must not question a thing… If I don’t show you, I’m afraid that the events that would lead you to me might never happen.”
“What kind of thing do you need to show me?” This was one of many questions that swirled in her head. This was the most relevant, but the one that took up the most room in her mind was ‘Is this real?’ It couldn’t possibly be, could it? This place couldn’t be real, because she shouldn’t be able to blink and be in a different place. This person couldn’t possibly exist.
“The future.” He said, plainly.
“If you show me the future, wouldn’t that change what is going to happen?” She frowned.
“Do you believe in fate, Pen?” He asked, out of the blue.
She considered it for a while, staring at him but focussing on the question. “I think I do… but I don’t believe in the stories that they tell us… “
“Fate is not the journey, but the destination whatever path you choose takes you to. Fate means that you will always arrive at the same place.”
“But then… how could it be that we’d never meet, even if it’s a possibility.”
“Your part almost ends at one event, but we meet afterwards. After that event, it is your choice. Unlike many, Pen, you exist outside of fate and you can make your own… You’re different, Pen…”
She didn’t say a word. She didn’t believe this part of what he was saying, it couldn’t be true because it didn’t make sense and he must have been leaving something out.
“We’ve run out of time.” He said hastily. “I will wait until the next time we meet… Keep dreaming and we shall meet again.”
He flashed his dark hand almost an inch away from her eyes and she instinctively blinked and in that short millisecond she was on the balcony. Her forehead rested in the nook of her bent elbow. Her other arm was dangling over the edge wall. She lifted herself up and the white silk moved across her body as she twisted around.
She felt absurd that she’d believed it. Could any such place or any such person be real? Some dreams feel like they’re real, even if- looking back- it seams that one should have judged reality a bit better. In a dream, you could believe that you could fly, swim under water without breathing and walk through flames… but this dream had no such content…
“Pen?” Atheilel was standing in the doorway. Her dark hair was draped over her fair shoulders in long curls. “Your father needs to speak with you.”
Pen leant forward over the veranda wall, her elbows resting on the smooth top and her clenched fists under her chin. Her green eyes surveyed that which surrounded her. Beyond the three foot wall was just the vast green lands of her home. The river-lands were woven into by silver lace, tinted with silver light near the ends. The sun was low in the magenta sky, and falling slowly into the black pool of the horizon. Some clouds hung near the edges, making a hem of violet and lilac, smoked with indigo.
By day, there were farm carts and horses along the cobbled paths and there were hundreds of people who walked to the gates. Often, there was a whisperer who sped through the entrance to the main hall. All news was of Kalondu, lately. There was no peace for them any more, not since she was eight years old.
There was quiet now, wide and infinite over the region. A few birds darted from the rare trees as far as she could see. Beyond the land below the castle were forests and the sea. These were the fertile lands belonging to the most rich of kings whose’ adversaries were few and, usually, frightened. There was a breeze, a light drifting of air that picked up her bark brown hair and the pleats of her white dress. The long sleeves were thin and fitting and the design made great use of what little cleavage she had.
Her delicate features were settled and still and her eyes were distant in thought, as she gazed into the distance. A mauve moon lay in place of the sun and showed as a dim crescent. Her lids fell, her eyes closed.
“Pen…” His voice echoed a little in her mind. It was a quiet whisper, soft and remote. “You can hear me, can’t you?”
“I can, but every part of me wishes I couldn’t.” When she opened her eyes, what had been white silk was now red satin over her body. She could see the patterns of auburn and scarlet as if they were in sheer opposition yet the colours lay so near. A long shawl lay over her shoulders and, as she moved slightly, the colours glided up and down- gold sunlight on the deep red.
“There’s nothing wrong with being able to see me. It’s your choice, you choose to be here when you like.” He was behind her and before her was no landscape of green and grey but a sun setting and a sea. She was staring down a cliff, a vertical fall below her. The rocks were the colour of primroses, the colour of the sky playing surreally with the tones of the earth face. The waves were midnight blue and black with highlights of rose in peaks here and there, the pattern constantly rocking rhythmically.
She couldn’t tell whether this was how he saw her, in this dress, or whether it was how she fancied seeing herself. There was always something unreal about it and it was strange how, whenever she wanted to turn and see who talked to her, she would wake up and be in the same room she’d been dreaming in.
“You’re a demon, of course there’s something wrong with seeing you. If I told a seer he’d say I was cursed.”
“I’m not-… I’m your daemon, your guardian. Don’t be afraid of me.” He sounded frustrated at this, but kept being patient. “I’m also a person and I will meet you one day.”
She could hear him coming closer but was very conscious that there was a cliff in front of her, so there was no where to go, and if she turned around everything would be gone so she stayed completely still.
“How can I believe in you if I can never see your face? How could I ever meet you if every time I tried to look at you I woke up to discover that you can not possibly exist?” She asked.
“You can not see me because you don’t believe in me.” He explained. To her, this was a paradox and something she’d heard too often in a tale. You can only ever see what you know has to exist; only those who still believe may see magical things. However such was not true in the tale of Bran and Rhiannon. “Wait a while… here… for me. This place is real, and you really are here.”
At this, she half scoffed. It was not possible and she knew she couldn’t be there. She must be sleeping and it was night, why wake herself up? The flashes of scarlet danced across the crimson in the satin of the skirt as the wind pulsed at it. The sensation of it licking her ankles was real, because there was also a breeze in the real world. She could feel it because it was there. This didn’t prove this place was real.
Her senses gradually opened. There was warm on her cheeks and the ground was soft. The air was thick yet light. She could hear her own breath, that of him and no birds or leaves. She could hear the waves and the flapping of her own skirt.
“How can I make you believe that this place is real?”
“Prove to me I’m not dreaming because, no matter what my senses tell me now, I still don’t believe that I’m not.” She said confidently that he was wrong.
“How can I do that? Only you have the will to believe.”
She was silent. She did neither challenge nor support him. She didn’t suggest a thing and there was silence. Her dark hair drifted over her light skin. Streaks of bark brown crossed her green eyes by the influence of the wind. She wasn’t waiting nor ready, she was just there and maybe there was a thought deeper than thought that had brought around this dream or maybe-…
She felt him behind her. She almost shuddered with the shock and her eyes widened. His hand drifted up her arm to her shoulder and then to her cheek. He caressed her skin and she didn’t need to see his hands. She turned immediately and didn’t see the inside of her chamber but rocks, grey leaf shapes standing in the ground, and in front of them was him.
His iris of violet was set in lilac and his pupil was a thick line, like a cats’. His aquamarine skin was tinted where she didn’t block the last of the red sunlight. He wore a black jacket to his waste with green lining. He was about a head taller than her and staring at her from under jet black hair, curving down his forehead.
Inside his iris was deep, deep purple and she could see streaks of darker colours within the soft colour. She couldn’t believe what she was looking at. Perhaps the fact that it was unbelievable that made her believe that it was real.
“Who are you?” She asked when she was finally able to speak.
“It’s not important.” He tilted his head at her, and the strands of black hair swayed to the lower side of his forehead with the movement. “Now that you believe, what is important is what I can do for you.”
He was incredible. She’d never seen anything like him; his dark, almost blue, skin was something she’d never imagined before. He half smiled at her and a dimple pressed into one of his cheeks.
He reached out to touch her cheek again, but half way there he reconsidered and his face became very serious as his hand fell by his side again. “I need to show you something, but you must not question a thing… If I don’t show you, I’m afraid that the events that would lead you to me might never happen.”
“What kind of thing do you need to show me?” This was one of many questions that swirled in her head. This was the most relevant, but the one that took up the most room in her mind was ‘Is this real?’ It couldn’t possibly be, could it? This place couldn’t be real, because she shouldn’t be able to blink and be in a different place. This person couldn’t possibly exist.
“The future.” He said, plainly.
“If you show me the future, wouldn’t that change what is going to happen?” She frowned.
“Do you believe in fate, Pen?” He asked, out of the blue.
She considered it for a while, staring at him but focussing on the question. “I think I do… but I don’t believe in the stories that they tell us… “
“Fate is not the journey, but the destination whatever path you choose takes you to. Fate means that you will always arrive at the same place.”
“But then… how could it be that we’d never meet, even if it’s a possibility.”
“Your part almost ends at one event, but we meet afterwards. After that event, it is your choice. Unlike many, Pen, you exist outside of fate and you can make your own… You’re different, Pen…”
She didn’t say a word. She didn’t believe this part of what he was saying, it couldn’t be true because it didn’t make sense and he must have been leaving something out.
“We’ve run out of time.” He said hastily. “I will wait until the next time we meet… Keep dreaming and we shall meet again.”
He flashed his dark hand almost an inch away from her eyes and she instinctively blinked and in that short millisecond she was on the balcony. Her forehead rested in the nook of her bent elbow. Her other arm was dangling over the edge wall. She lifted herself up and the white silk moved across her body as she twisted around.
She felt absurd that she’d believed it. Could any such place or any such person be real? Some dreams feel like they’re real, even if- looking back- it seams that one should have judged reality a bit better. In a dream, you could believe that you could fly, swim under water without breathing and walk through flames… but this dream had no such content…
“Pen?” Atheilel was standing in the doorway. Her dark hair was draped over her fair shoulders in long curls. “Your father needs to speak with you.”
Thursday, 11 September 2008
Chapter 2 "Petals"
Kathio walked with Pen beside her. She’d long since begun to feel worried about the strange movement among the grass at every side of the beaten track and she wondered about who could have beaten the track in the first place. Far ahead was the tall tower and they seamed to walking in a straight path that would pass it. Thargon had told her the journey would take a week and the tower was a half way point.
Peak was right about the days of three hours each, but after that it was just night. The land was so wide and flat she could see all the way across the canyon and could finally appreciate how high the cliff had to be to block so much light on such a vast land. They were in the second day and had found exactly how light was taken for granted as it was nearly impossible to travel in the darkness, yet they did so. The darkness was not like the nights in the river lands- where the sky would turn black and there would be stars.
The land was dimly lit until true night fell and they knew it was time to sleep. During the days, she could see her footing but it was like it was day and the curtains were shut and the distance she had to walk to open them was not worth the effort. They could see the sky; it was blue but seamed somewhat dimmed by the invisibility of the sun.
When the light came, the flat lands before of her looked dark green and black, still. There was a thicket around the base of the tower, which was made of white stone. She hadn’t expected the tower to seam so light, even in the sun, as she’d expected something dark and grave. There was nothing more beautiful in the entire expanse of the planes, but she knew that the dark would come and the tower would be black again.
She remembered one of the nights when old Morgan came to tell a story of his ventures in the huge room where the fire was lit, the communal hall of the village. She remembered how he was sat at the level of all the children, on the floor, despite his age. She remembered his wrinkled face being half light and half shadow where he sat next to the fire, facing all of the children of the village.
She’d admired him, but never wanted to be like him though her father was going to teach her how to use all of the same skills such as sword play. Old Morgan would tell tales of the beautiful elfen people of Tir’Heulwen, with their flowing blond hair and blue eyes the colour of the sky in the spring- not the darker colour of the summer- or eyes the colour of thick ice. She fantasised about herself being a beautiful princess of those distant lands with hair past her waste, wearing a long white dress and walking through a tall forest with pointed ears, a delicate touch and soft mauve eyes.
That dream was flattened by her father. “Those are enemies of ours; don’t give the children ideas that those people are good people. The people of that Tir have a very different idea of what is right or wrong. They don’t punish their criminals, they exalt them!” He said as his frown deepened into the bridge of his nose.
“I see… you would rather me give the children nightmares tonight?” Old Morgan laughed.
There was an excited gasp among the children and giggles rang out among them.
“It seams they’ve already chosen, they wish for me to tell them a dark, dark tale of another race from afar… Shall I tell more of TirHeulwen, children?” He guided them for their answer with the tone of his voice.
They all shook their head glumly and protested. “No… can we hear a new story, Mr?” Pen insisted.
“You want to hear another story? Who wants to choose a place? You, Pen?” He looked at her and his influence over the children was the kind that adults couldn’t see anymore but he was telling them what he wanted them to say if they wanted to hear the most exciting stories.
Pen shook her head and looked back at the ground.
His eyes moved to Kathio, who was playing with the ends of her golden hair. When she realised she was being stared at she lifted her head and glared back with her cobalt eyes glinting in the torchlight. He seamed impressed by her defiance. “Would you like to choose a story, Thio?” He asked.
She nodded.
“Where would you like to hear about?” He looked at her more carefully, but this was one little girl he couldn’t control.
“Somewhere farther away than TirHeulwen… but not too far… Because we can’t go there if it is too far away…” She said childishly and he grinned at her innocence.
“You can go anywhere in the world if you know how to travel there… but TirHeulwen is very, very far away.”
“No it isn’t.” She said bravely.
“Oh?” He looked amused.
“I’ve seen it on a map; it’s right next door to us, to TirAvon.” She said. “That’s why we’re enemies, which is silly really because everyone in the village is friends with the people next door to them but we can’t be friends with the people who live in the country next to us.”
“I see.” He looked up at her father. “Your girls are intelligent young things, MazhOh. You should be proud of them, as you are of your son.”
“My daughters are a pain!” MazhOh laughed.
“As you wish… I shall tell you a dark tale of somewhere named TirIs… though TirIs is a vast land and I shall only tell a tale of a place named TirDu, but the people are the same.
“All across TirIs are the people of the Is, they are similar to the people of TirHeulwen. They have pointed ears and they are descendants of the elves, but they are known as serpent elves. These elves have skin the colour of the sky and hair, raven black, the colour of aged copper or blood red… but in these areas it is dark green-blue. Their skin is dark and their teeth are whiter than any other race’s teeth. They are strange creatures and keep themselves secret.
“There’s a tower in the middle of the land of TirDu, where she sun does not shine. It is made of black rocks and reaches for the sky it may never touch. In the tower live the people of TirDu. I’m lucky to ever have known them, for they kill all trespassers and despise all that don’t share their temperament and ideas of punishment…
“Their idea is that if you kill, you are killed. They believe that those who do not understand their religion should die and suffer the wrath of the Gods.”
“How are you alive, Mr Morgan?” Pen asked.
“That’s a good question, Miss Orien.” He gazed over the children again then glanced at Kathio’s father who looked reasonably disinterested. “I told them that I could be a spy for them!”
“Oooh!!!!” The children grew even more excited than before. “Mr Morgan! Mr Morgan!”
He laughed. “They let me in as I could tell them all about you children!”
There was little of a story in it, but it was a telling of a people that Kathio had grown to understand was just a way of getting her father off his tail. MazhOh always had a way of picking on Morgan’s stories and particularly hated the ones of romance and war, such as the one of the white warriors near Breet.
“Only tell the children true stories!” He’d objected.
“That’s as I intend to do.” Morgan reasoned where he sat.
MazhOh shook his. “There’s no love in war!”
“Do you not believe me?” Morgan looked surprised, yet roguish. “I tell them true stories of Breet… where I used to fight along side Captain Bran who’s’ real name is Prince Wyragrec.” He turned his attention back to the children. “Captain Bran once fought a battle that could not be won!”
“Oh nonsense!” Kathio’s father protested again, but resumed drinking his ale with no fuss and a grin on his face as he listened.
“Bran was the captain of a grand army indeed, and he was very loyal to the King KalonDu. He was a man that no other man could ever defy or deny any of his orders, with his grey eyes that could stare giants into pixies. He was brave and always protected his people.
“Captain Bran was fighting the white warriors, a race with no identifiable features, no mercy, no flaws, no names and no loss until the day they skirmished in a small town in the mountains of the unclaimed planes.
“Bran’s army had combined with those of Lord Emyr and Lord Sinsir to make an even bigger army. They were on the retreat and met a dead end in the village of Trefac’h. There was a lake as large as the entire river lands, and the cliff walls as high as the walls of the castle here.
“The night before the two sides met, Bran had a dream in which the four guardianesses of this realm told him of a fate. They showed him that there would be one who could show him his true way. They told him that his cousin was only on the thrown for a lie that had been told and that there would be one who could show him, and all of Breet, that the lie was but a lie. They told him that this one person could bring the rightful king to the thrown and that it was essential that Bran would protect this person for the protection of the kingdom of Breet.
“He said that KalonDu, his cousin, was rightfully king and there was no way that there could have been a lie. He told them that they should leave him be, he refused the mission they set to him to protect this one they refused to name.
“They showed him a vision, a woman dressed in white on a silk sheet of green leaves. Her hair flowed down her back, she was a woman of Breet with a thin nose and defined chin. Her hair was long, pale, pale blond and her eyes were the colour of the sky in spring. Her skin was delicate and white. Then, suddenly, the sheet was torn through by the sword of a white warrior.
“He stared angrily at the four guardionesses. He was furious that they should let the white warriors be so disrespectful and they replied with “but it is you who lets them be so, Bran.” The image faded and left Bran alone in the dark, before he awoke.
“That day, they were attacked. They believed that these fighters were going to kill them as their blows could not harm them, yet they wounded many of Bran’s men. However, in the skirmish, no man was killed but a white warrior was captured.
“The warriors all dressed exactly the same, unalike to the warriors of TirAvon who wear many different types of armours and many different cloaks and carry different weapons. They wore silver armour, silver masks, white cloaks with hoods and cloaks. Their masks revealed nothing of their race or heritage. These creatures were thin, tall beasts with a silent step. If one was standing behind you, you wouldn’t hear him until his stroke fell! Pao!”
The children jumped and gave little squeaks. They giggled for a while then resumed listening intently.
“Bran didn’t feel he wanted for his cousin to be removed from the thrown, he was loyal to him, so, very deep in his heart, he felt he wanted to let their prisoner escape. However, his loyalty to his king told him that this was the prisoner the king wanted to see. Bran could have killed the prisoner but he didn’t want to because of that deep, deep feeling that he needed to let this story run and let the woman with the eyes like the spring skies die as she would bring Breet to a different end, perhaps a bad end.
“He felt guilt, for his responsibility was to serve the four guardianesses whether it was official or not. He knew that he would have to do their bidding so he would have to hold on to this prisoner until he knew what to do and he knew the guardianesses would show him what needed to be done.”
“Why didn’t he take off the mask?” Pen asked. To her, it was pure common sense and didn’t need thinking about to be done.
“It would be disrespectful and some had tried. Y’see, when the warrior awoke, he was tied to a post with three feet of chain for him to move around. He didn’t like that at all. He looked around at those who surrounded him and a man was about to reach for his mask when
“Wham! The man found himself on the floor and that’s when it started. They’d thought this warrior was unarmed, but all of a sudden he had a silver dagger and another. One for each hand! There were thir-“
“Quiet, Morgan.” Said a woman at the sides.
He craned his neck to see who it was. “Oh… Dwrgi.” A grin spread across his face and he could have been but twenty years old.
“These are children; they don’t need to hear that story.” She told him in a soft voice.
“Should I tell another? I am attempting to show them that love can happen during a war.”
“Don’t tell that story…”
“There is another I could tell… about a young man, a young poet, who found himself mixed up with the very same war.”
She laughed. “Learn this, young children. Love can happen anywhere but that doesn’t mean that you will find it everywhere you go and don’t assume that, because of the stories my good friend tells you, you will find love in exactly the same way. Not every man who saves your life will be your true love. Love can be rare, very rare. Some people may never find it.”
“Do you believe that?” Morgan looked at her and his command over the children forced them to look at her, also.
“I do believe it. But the story goes on… Leave out the parts that aren’t good for the ears of children.”
“You’re such a cynic, Dwrgi.”
This was the story Kathio knew had to be myth. She knew this story couldn’t possibly be true. It was of a power so great that there was no reckoning with it, a power that could only be unlocked by love and fate. She didn’t believe in fate. She believed everything was as simple as it was; she didn’t hate the idea of fate but she didn’t believe in it. Fate was for the stories that she so enjoyed listening to. She did not believe in ‘true love’; it seamed a bit overrated and she believed in politics and there was no room for someone to ‘fall in love’ and forget their duty. It could not fit in the real world.
The story was of a woman who hid her identity to stay alive long enough to avenge the deaths of her family. Fate brought to her the one man who would help her. The man was the rightful heir of a thrown and he did not know it. He was given, by fate, the person who could tell him the truth about the demise of his childhood friend and explain what really happened.
Remembering those stories reminded her of how much older Atheilel was than Pen and Kathio. Atheilel was helping in the village hall at the age of thirteen, while Kathio was five and Pen was seven years old. Thargon was fifteen, but he never attended those sessions. Kathio knew little of him.
Morgan told another tale of peoples, or mentioned them many time. These people were of a different kind, they weren’t bound by country of birth, colour of skin or eyes and hair, gift and graft or race but by their purpose.
“Even you, Kathio, might be touched by these ones some day. They are the mistresses of fate. They are the controllers of the world. They make your future by your own will and they write your wants and needs. They make the stories I tell and the stories I am going to tell.”
His eyes were fixed on her as if, out of the entire crowd of children, she was the one his words were aimed at. “They can’t tell me what to do. No one can.”
“Indeed.” He laughed again then sighed and looked over the children sitting before him. “Have I ever told you of the land of the hierarchies?...”
There were many stories that he told them, he taught them all about the world and the lessons he turned were the ones that Kathio, though reluctantly, learnt the best. However, Morgan never told anyone where he came from and the night Dwrgi breezed through was the only night they remembered that he’d come from the outside and people knew him from the outside.
Peak was right about the days of three hours each, but after that it was just night. The land was so wide and flat she could see all the way across the canyon and could finally appreciate how high the cliff had to be to block so much light on such a vast land. They were in the second day and had found exactly how light was taken for granted as it was nearly impossible to travel in the darkness, yet they did so. The darkness was not like the nights in the river lands- where the sky would turn black and there would be stars.
The land was dimly lit until true night fell and they knew it was time to sleep. During the days, she could see her footing but it was like it was day and the curtains were shut and the distance she had to walk to open them was not worth the effort. They could see the sky; it was blue but seamed somewhat dimmed by the invisibility of the sun.
When the light came, the flat lands before of her looked dark green and black, still. There was a thicket around the base of the tower, which was made of white stone. She hadn’t expected the tower to seam so light, even in the sun, as she’d expected something dark and grave. There was nothing more beautiful in the entire expanse of the planes, but she knew that the dark would come and the tower would be black again.
She remembered one of the nights when old Morgan came to tell a story of his ventures in the huge room where the fire was lit, the communal hall of the village. She remembered how he was sat at the level of all the children, on the floor, despite his age. She remembered his wrinkled face being half light and half shadow where he sat next to the fire, facing all of the children of the village.
She’d admired him, but never wanted to be like him though her father was going to teach her how to use all of the same skills such as sword play. Old Morgan would tell tales of the beautiful elfen people of Tir’Heulwen, with their flowing blond hair and blue eyes the colour of the sky in the spring- not the darker colour of the summer- or eyes the colour of thick ice. She fantasised about herself being a beautiful princess of those distant lands with hair past her waste, wearing a long white dress and walking through a tall forest with pointed ears, a delicate touch and soft mauve eyes.
That dream was flattened by her father. “Those are enemies of ours; don’t give the children ideas that those people are good people. The people of that Tir have a very different idea of what is right or wrong. They don’t punish their criminals, they exalt them!” He said as his frown deepened into the bridge of his nose.
“I see… you would rather me give the children nightmares tonight?” Old Morgan laughed.
There was an excited gasp among the children and giggles rang out among them.
“It seams they’ve already chosen, they wish for me to tell them a dark, dark tale of another race from afar… Shall I tell more of TirHeulwen, children?” He guided them for their answer with the tone of his voice.
They all shook their head glumly and protested. “No… can we hear a new story, Mr?” Pen insisted.
“You want to hear another story? Who wants to choose a place? You, Pen?” He looked at her and his influence over the children was the kind that adults couldn’t see anymore but he was telling them what he wanted them to say if they wanted to hear the most exciting stories.
Pen shook her head and looked back at the ground.
His eyes moved to Kathio, who was playing with the ends of her golden hair. When she realised she was being stared at she lifted her head and glared back with her cobalt eyes glinting in the torchlight. He seamed impressed by her defiance. “Would you like to choose a story, Thio?” He asked.
She nodded.
“Where would you like to hear about?” He looked at her more carefully, but this was one little girl he couldn’t control.
“Somewhere farther away than TirHeulwen… but not too far… Because we can’t go there if it is too far away…” She said childishly and he grinned at her innocence.
“You can go anywhere in the world if you know how to travel there… but TirHeulwen is very, very far away.”
“No it isn’t.” She said bravely.
“Oh?” He looked amused.
“I’ve seen it on a map; it’s right next door to us, to TirAvon.” She said. “That’s why we’re enemies, which is silly really because everyone in the village is friends with the people next door to them but we can’t be friends with the people who live in the country next to us.”
“I see.” He looked up at her father. “Your girls are intelligent young things, MazhOh. You should be proud of them, as you are of your son.”
“My daughters are a pain!” MazhOh laughed.
“As you wish… I shall tell you a dark tale of somewhere named TirIs… though TirIs is a vast land and I shall only tell a tale of a place named TirDu, but the people are the same.
“All across TirIs are the people of the Is, they are similar to the people of TirHeulwen. They have pointed ears and they are descendants of the elves, but they are known as serpent elves. These elves have skin the colour of the sky and hair, raven black, the colour of aged copper or blood red… but in these areas it is dark green-blue. Their skin is dark and their teeth are whiter than any other race’s teeth. They are strange creatures and keep themselves secret.
“There’s a tower in the middle of the land of TirDu, where she sun does not shine. It is made of black rocks and reaches for the sky it may never touch. In the tower live the people of TirDu. I’m lucky to ever have known them, for they kill all trespassers and despise all that don’t share their temperament and ideas of punishment…
“Their idea is that if you kill, you are killed. They believe that those who do not understand their religion should die and suffer the wrath of the Gods.”
“How are you alive, Mr Morgan?” Pen asked.
“That’s a good question, Miss Orien.” He gazed over the children again then glanced at Kathio’s father who looked reasonably disinterested. “I told them that I could be a spy for them!”
“Oooh!!!!” The children grew even more excited than before. “Mr Morgan! Mr Morgan!”
He laughed. “They let me in as I could tell them all about you children!”
There was little of a story in it, but it was a telling of a people that Kathio had grown to understand was just a way of getting her father off his tail. MazhOh always had a way of picking on Morgan’s stories and particularly hated the ones of romance and war, such as the one of the white warriors near Breet.
“Only tell the children true stories!” He’d objected.
“That’s as I intend to do.” Morgan reasoned where he sat.
MazhOh shook his. “There’s no love in war!”
“Do you not believe me?” Morgan looked surprised, yet roguish. “I tell them true stories of Breet… where I used to fight along side Captain Bran who’s’ real name is Prince Wyragrec.” He turned his attention back to the children. “Captain Bran once fought a battle that could not be won!”
“Oh nonsense!” Kathio’s father protested again, but resumed drinking his ale with no fuss and a grin on his face as he listened.
“Bran was the captain of a grand army indeed, and he was very loyal to the King KalonDu. He was a man that no other man could ever defy or deny any of his orders, with his grey eyes that could stare giants into pixies. He was brave and always protected his people.
“Captain Bran was fighting the white warriors, a race with no identifiable features, no mercy, no flaws, no names and no loss until the day they skirmished in a small town in the mountains of the unclaimed planes.
“Bran’s army had combined with those of Lord Emyr and Lord Sinsir to make an even bigger army. They were on the retreat and met a dead end in the village of Trefac’h. There was a lake as large as the entire river lands, and the cliff walls as high as the walls of the castle here.
“The night before the two sides met, Bran had a dream in which the four guardianesses of this realm told him of a fate. They showed him that there would be one who could show him his true way. They told him that his cousin was only on the thrown for a lie that had been told and that there would be one who could show him, and all of Breet, that the lie was but a lie. They told him that this one person could bring the rightful king to the thrown and that it was essential that Bran would protect this person for the protection of the kingdom of Breet.
“He said that KalonDu, his cousin, was rightfully king and there was no way that there could have been a lie. He told them that they should leave him be, he refused the mission they set to him to protect this one they refused to name.
“They showed him a vision, a woman dressed in white on a silk sheet of green leaves. Her hair flowed down her back, she was a woman of Breet with a thin nose and defined chin. Her hair was long, pale, pale blond and her eyes were the colour of the sky in spring. Her skin was delicate and white. Then, suddenly, the sheet was torn through by the sword of a white warrior.
“He stared angrily at the four guardionesses. He was furious that they should let the white warriors be so disrespectful and they replied with “but it is you who lets them be so, Bran.” The image faded and left Bran alone in the dark, before he awoke.
“That day, they were attacked. They believed that these fighters were going to kill them as their blows could not harm them, yet they wounded many of Bran’s men. However, in the skirmish, no man was killed but a white warrior was captured.
“The warriors all dressed exactly the same, unalike to the warriors of TirAvon who wear many different types of armours and many different cloaks and carry different weapons. They wore silver armour, silver masks, white cloaks with hoods and cloaks. Their masks revealed nothing of their race or heritage. These creatures were thin, tall beasts with a silent step. If one was standing behind you, you wouldn’t hear him until his stroke fell! Pao!”
The children jumped and gave little squeaks. They giggled for a while then resumed listening intently.
“Bran didn’t feel he wanted for his cousin to be removed from the thrown, he was loyal to him, so, very deep in his heart, he felt he wanted to let their prisoner escape. However, his loyalty to his king told him that this was the prisoner the king wanted to see. Bran could have killed the prisoner but he didn’t want to because of that deep, deep feeling that he needed to let this story run and let the woman with the eyes like the spring skies die as she would bring Breet to a different end, perhaps a bad end.
“He felt guilt, for his responsibility was to serve the four guardianesses whether it was official or not. He knew that he would have to do their bidding so he would have to hold on to this prisoner until he knew what to do and he knew the guardianesses would show him what needed to be done.”
“Why didn’t he take off the mask?” Pen asked. To her, it was pure common sense and didn’t need thinking about to be done.
“It would be disrespectful and some had tried. Y’see, when the warrior awoke, he was tied to a post with three feet of chain for him to move around. He didn’t like that at all. He looked around at those who surrounded him and a man was about to reach for his mask when
“Wham! The man found himself on the floor and that’s when it started. They’d thought this warrior was unarmed, but all of a sudden he had a silver dagger and another. One for each hand! There were thir-“
“Quiet, Morgan.” Said a woman at the sides.
He craned his neck to see who it was. “Oh… Dwrgi.” A grin spread across his face and he could have been but twenty years old.
“These are children; they don’t need to hear that story.” She told him in a soft voice.
“Should I tell another? I am attempting to show them that love can happen during a war.”
“Don’t tell that story…”
“There is another I could tell… about a young man, a young poet, who found himself mixed up with the very same war.”
She laughed. “Learn this, young children. Love can happen anywhere but that doesn’t mean that you will find it everywhere you go and don’t assume that, because of the stories my good friend tells you, you will find love in exactly the same way. Not every man who saves your life will be your true love. Love can be rare, very rare. Some people may never find it.”
“Do you believe that?” Morgan looked at her and his command over the children forced them to look at her, also.
“I do believe it. But the story goes on… Leave out the parts that aren’t good for the ears of children.”
“You’re such a cynic, Dwrgi.”
This was the story Kathio knew had to be myth. She knew this story couldn’t possibly be true. It was of a power so great that there was no reckoning with it, a power that could only be unlocked by love and fate. She didn’t believe in fate. She believed everything was as simple as it was; she didn’t hate the idea of fate but she didn’t believe in it. Fate was for the stories that she so enjoyed listening to. She did not believe in ‘true love’; it seamed a bit overrated and she believed in politics and there was no room for someone to ‘fall in love’ and forget their duty. It could not fit in the real world.
The story was of a woman who hid her identity to stay alive long enough to avenge the deaths of her family. Fate brought to her the one man who would help her. The man was the rightful heir of a thrown and he did not know it. He was given, by fate, the person who could tell him the truth about the demise of his childhood friend and explain what really happened.
Remembering those stories reminded her of how much older Atheilel was than Pen and Kathio. Atheilel was helping in the village hall at the age of thirteen, while Kathio was five and Pen was seven years old. Thargon was fifteen, but he never attended those sessions. Kathio knew little of him.
Morgan told another tale of peoples, or mentioned them many time. These people were of a different kind, they weren’t bound by country of birth, colour of skin or eyes and hair, gift and graft or race but by their purpose.
“Even you, Kathio, might be touched by these ones some day. They are the mistresses of fate. They are the controllers of the world. They make your future by your own will and they write your wants and needs. They make the stories I tell and the stories I am going to tell.”
His eyes were fixed on her as if, out of the entire crowd of children, she was the one his words were aimed at. “They can’t tell me what to do. No one can.”
“Indeed.” He laughed again then sighed and looked over the children sitting before him. “Have I ever told you of the land of the hierarchies?...”
There were many stories that he told them, he taught them all about the world and the lessons he turned were the ones that Kathio, though reluctantly, learnt the best. However, Morgan never told anyone where he came from and the night Dwrgi breezed through was the only night they remembered that he’d come from the outside and people knew him from the outside.
Wednesday, 10 September 2008
Chapter 1 of "Petals"
Kathio remembered what the seer had told her and what the people of the rocks had said. There shall be a journey where the line will be tainted but your path home will still be as clear as ever though the soil will be crimsoned with blood… Take this. The package she’d been handed by the seer was still unwrapped in her sack. The mountain people gave her advice only, not a forecast. Keep that which is dear to you very close, all the time, even in promise that it would be returned. It’s what she did not say that will be of more importance. The truth always finds the liar who opposes it.
She stared over an expanse of marsh. There was only darkness in front of her. Tirdu was an expanse of unbroken shadow. She could see that there was a cliff where it ended so far ahead. It was like a long, thin streak of light at the horizon. She imagined the land was warm and dry, but green seamed to sparkle amongst the white. The horizon was jagged with the tops of tall buildings, one stood out in particular. The castle of Tirsàël was the ruling place of TirHeulwen.
Thargon and his troops were below her, preparing things and fare welling friends among the mountain people. They were inside the canyon of the four serpents where the serpent elves resided. There was light, but it did not shine on the land. In the centre of the vast domain was a huge tower of uneven, black rock. Half way up, the light started to shine on it and she could see that the walls were mostly made of thick glass. She did not step forth. The tower, silhouetted against the sky, looked like a long black cord hanging from the centre of the sun.
“There are three hours of light on these planes. Such short days they have…” Peak stood next to her with his bright cyan eyes set in his black skin. His light green-yellow dread locks hung down over his chest, they were tucked behind his ears. There seamed to be more feathers in each lock. He was holding something, and seamed to be pondering about something.
“Thank you for guiding us, my friend.” No one had made her feel more welcome in these distant lands than Peak had.
“No.” He grinned a demonstration of his pearly white teeth. “Thank you for gracing us with your presence… and especially for bringing Pen and Atheilel with you.”
“You know we are not here deliberately, don’t you?” She smiled and frowned at the same time when she turned to him.
“It’s fate that brought you here, not your own free will.” He spoke to the wind as he stared back over the dimness before him.
“We will be travelling home; I doubt I’ll ever meet you again.”
“You will… you will come back.” He said optimistically. His note changed. “More importantly, as you walk through those lands… you should be protected. It may look baron and deserted but that suits the beasts that live there… You should wear armour and arm yourself with something. Take this.”
He offered her a short sword with a curve at the end. The handle was silver with simple engravings of birds into it. In his hands, it was resting on top of a sheath attached to a loose belt. “It’s a falchion.”
“Why does everyone seek to give me gifts?” She cocked a brow at him. “I don’t wish to be given things by everybody. I’m a simple soul, just like everyone else.”
“No soul is simple, Miss Orien.” He corrected her. “You might understand that when these gifts that so many people give you become useful.”
“Thank you.” She said quietly when he pushed the object towards her and she was forced to take it. She reluctantly grasped the handle and cast her eyes over it slowly.
“No matter what, you must find your way home… no matter what lies for you on the path. You will make yourself their hope and ithout you they might not make it home.”
“You over estimate me, it is Pen who’ll be the hero. She has proven herself twice the fighter that I am even though our lessons showed more promise in me.
“She’s proven herself, aye, but it is your story that this one will become and you will lead yourself not just of her example but of your own.”
She nodded and he smiled as if he had something to hide.
“I have another thing… It’s to guarantee your safety; I didn’t think they’d arrive in time.”
“You mustn’t.” She told him. “Stop giving me gifts.” She half pleaded.
“Just one big gift, after all… It’s better that you make it home, as you.” He said and gestured towards two dark skinned men who carried a large case between them as they ambled up the path, seemingly effortlessly. “It’s to keep you safe.” He excused.
They stopped in front of her and she didn’t move. The case was cracked open to reveal something that sparkled in the light. There was a breastplate, built for a small build man or a woman and a full helm with a mask that looked a threatening pattern of dark and shadow. They were built to look genderless and the metal appeared thick and heavy. There were engravings around the side that matched those on the hilt of the falchion.
“I don’t intend to fight.” She stated.
“You will find the choice will be made for you on this journey and I would rather think you were well protected on the way across the shade of the land.” He continued.
Before she knew it, the armour was being fitted and there were cuffs, gloves with only a patch on the back of the hand and shin guards to go with it. Her hair was tucked into the helm and she pushed her hood over the top so the mask looked even more sinister. Her cloak covered what the breast plate didn’t as it curved over her shoulder. She flexed her fingers and drew circles with her wrists to get used to the cuffs and gloves. The Shin guards were put into her sack as she was wearing, still, a dress.
“You don’t look like a warrior… yet.” He said mischievously and she shot him a look as if to say this blade will be red if you even mention another thing to add. He laughed in response. “There will be room on the way for you to learn what makes a warrior, but you’ll never need to be one.”
She sighed as she pulled her sleeves down to the cuffs to cover her bare arms. She removed the helm and started pushing it into her huge barrel of a bag.
There was barely any room left. She was forced to remove the cage. In the barred box was a small rodent with white fur. The trained mouse was a gift from the desert women. When she opened the trap door the small creature crawled out and up her arm.
“You seam to make him feel comfortable. How do you feel so easy with a mouse on your shoulder?”
“He’s a cheerful little thing who’s only out to have fun… I think I should name him… I’ll name him Peak, after someone else who is also cheerful and out to have fun.”
Peak smiled again. “You’d better be going; Thargon will be pining for you.”
“Good bye, my friend.” She bowed to him and he did the same back. She didn’t understand why he did that, for she was a stranger in his country where he was prince.
Kathio was the traveller who might never find her destination, she felt as she turned away from the place that had given her so much hospitality. She turned away from that place, where the people had been so kind yet they’d had no reason to be.
She barely remembered why she’d left home and how she’d arrived in this place, so far away. She’d been told so many times, by so many different peoples that it was fate that had brought her there and that every wound was a pain to be taught. She’d learnt many things, or so she felt. She didn’t know what it was she’d learnt, but she felt now as if she understood the world even though she was so far away from it.
Her footing was hard to find as she wandered down the small hill with her sack on her back. She was going to keep it close to her, no matter what. She was going to keep Peak, the mouse, close to her and her Pen and Atheilel close to her and she was going to keep herself close to Thargon’s fighters.
She knew the voyage home was going to be hard, and she knew it was going to hurt. She knew it was going to be impossible and every step making life unliveable. The thought of her being so far away from home after spending her life between the same walls was strange, but she didn’t feel it. She felt like she was doing what had to be done, what she was supposed to do.
Now, she was heading home after a journey that had taken her where she hadn’t been going to. She was going somewhere and she was hoping to the higher ones that she was going in the right direction now more than ever before.
Her heart sank as she felt the darkness slip over her and the light that only shone on the trees where Peak lived was gone. She felt cold and left behind by the sun.
She stared over an expanse of marsh. There was only darkness in front of her. Tirdu was an expanse of unbroken shadow. She could see that there was a cliff where it ended so far ahead. It was like a long, thin streak of light at the horizon. She imagined the land was warm and dry, but green seamed to sparkle amongst the white. The horizon was jagged with the tops of tall buildings, one stood out in particular. The castle of Tirsàël was the ruling place of TirHeulwen.
Thargon and his troops were below her, preparing things and fare welling friends among the mountain people. They were inside the canyon of the four serpents where the serpent elves resided. There was light, but it did not shine on the land. In the centre of the vast domain was a huge tower of uneven, black rock. Half way up, the light started to shine on it and she could see that the walls were mostly made of thick glass. She did not step forth. The tower, silhouetted against the sky, looked like a long black cord hanging from the centre of the sun.
“There are three hours of light on these planes. Such short days they have…” Peak stood next to her with his bright cyan eyes set in his black skin. His light green-yellow dread locks hung down over his chest, they were tucked behind his ears. There seamed to be more feathers in each lock. He was holding something, and seamed to be pondering about something.
“Thank you for guiding us, my friend.” No one had made her feel more welcome in these distant lands than Peak had.
“No.” He grinned a demonstration of his pearly white teeth. “Thank you for gracing us with your presence… and especially for bringing Pen and Atheilel with you.”
“You know we are not here deliberately, don’t you?” She smiled and frowned at the same time when she turned to him.
“It’s fate that brought you here, not your own free will.” He spoke to the wind as he stared back over the dimness before him.
“We will be travelling home; I doubt I’ll ever meet you again.”
“You will… you will come back.” He said optimistically. His note changed. “More importantly, as you walk through those lands… you should be protected. It may look baron and deserted but that suits the beasts that live there… You should wear armour and arm yourself with something. Take this.”
He offered her a short sword with a curve at the end. The handle was silver with simple engravings of birds into it. In his hands, it was resting on top of a sheath attached to a loose belt. “It’s a falchion.”
“Why does everyone seek to give me gifts?” She cocked a brow at him. “I don’t wish to be given things by everybody. I’m a simple soul, just like everyone else.”
“No soul is simple, Miss Orien.” He corrected her. “You might understand that when these gifts that so many people give you become useful.”
“Thank you.” She said quietly when he pushed the object towards her and she was forced to take it. She reluctantly grasped the handle and cast her eyes over it slowly.
“No matter what, you must find your way home… no matter what lies for you on the path. You will make yourself their hope and ithout you they might not make it home.”
“You over estimate me, it is Pen who’ll be the hero. She has proven herself twice the fighter that I am even though our lessons showed more promise in me.
“She’s proven herself, aye, but it is your story that this one will become and you will lead yourself not just of her example but of your own.”
She nodded and he smiled as if he had something to hide.
“I have another thing… It’s to guarantee your safety; I didn’t think they’d arrive in time.”
“You mustn’t.” She told him. “Stop giving me gifts.” She half pleaded.
“Just one big gift, after all… It’s better that you make it home, as you.” He said and gestured towards two dark skinned men who carried a large case between them as they ambled up the path, seemingly effortlessly. “It’s to keep you safe.” He excused.
They stopped in front of her and she didn’t move. The case was cracked open to reveal something that sparkled in the light. There was a breastplate, built for a small build man or a woman and a full helm with a mask that looked a threatening pattern of dark and shadow. They were built to look genderless and the metal appeared thick and heavy. There were engravings around the side that matched those on the hilt of the falchion.
“I don’t intend to fight.” She stated.
“You will find the choice will be made for you on this journey and I would rather think you were well protected on the way across the shade of the land.” He continued.
Before she knew it, the armour was being fitted and there were cuffs, gloves with only a patch on the back of the hand and shin guards to go with it. Her hair was tucked into the helm and she pushed her hood over the top so the mask looked even more sinister. Her cloak covered what the breast plate didn’t as it curved over her shoulder. She flexed her fingers and drew circles with her wrists to get used to the cuffs and gloves. The Shin guards were put into her sack as she was wearing, still, a dress.
“You don’t look like a warrior… yet.” He said mischievously and she shot him a look as if to say this blade will be red if you even mention another thing to add. He laughed in response. “There will be room on the way for you to learn what makes a warrior, but you’ll never need to be one.”
She sighed as she pulled her sleeves down to the cuffs to cover her bare arms. She removed the helm and started pushing it into her huge barrel of a bag.
There was barely any room left. She was forced to remove the cage. In the barred box was a small rodent with white fur. The trained mouse was a gift from the desert women. When she opened the trap door the small creature crawled out and up her arm.
“You seam to make him feel comfortable. How do you feel so easy with a mouse on your shoulder?”
“He’s a cheerful little thing who’s only out to have fun… I think I should name him… I’ll name him Peak, after someone else who is also cheerful and out to have fun.”
Peak smiled again. “You’d better be going; Thargon will be pining for you.”
“Good bye, my friend.” She bowed to him and he did the same back. She didn’t understand why he did that, for she was a stranger in his country where he was prince.
Kathio was the traveller who might never find her destination, she felt as she turned away from the place that had given her so much hospitality. She turned away from that place, where the people had been so kind yet they’d had no reason to be.
She barely remembered why she’d left home and how she’d arrived in this place, so far away. She’d been told so many times, by so many different peoples that it was fate that had brought her there and that every wound was a pain to be taught. She’d learnt many things, or so she felt. She didn’t know what it was she’d learnt, but she felt now as if she understood the world even though she was so far away from it.
Her footing was hard to find as she wandered down the small hill with her sack on her back. She was going to keep it close to her, no matter what. She was going to keep Peak, the mouse, close to her and her Pen and Atheilel close to her and she was going to keep herself close to Thargon’s fighters.
She knew the voyage home was going to be hard, and she knew it was going to hurt. She knew it was going to be impossible and every step making life unliveable. The thought of her being so far away from home after spending her life between the same walls was strange, but she didn’t feel it. She felt like she was doing what had to be done, what she was supposed to do.
Now, she was heading home after a journey that had taken her where she hadn’t been going to. She was going somewhere and she was hoping to the higher ones that she was going in the right direction now more than ever before.
Her heart sank as she felt the darkness slip over her and the light that only shone on the trees where Peak lived was gone. She felt cold and left behind by the sun.
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