Chapter X
. Coming to Grips .
- Seventh Age, year 718
Breathe….
A deep, long pull in, sucking back the precious air and letting his lungs soak up their bounty, then a short and controlled push from the chest, locking muscles in place. A moment later there was a solid thump as arrow buried itself deep into the flesh of a rotting stump, quite a distance from his positon.
Aviin shook his fist in celebration at hitting the target, again. He’d been standing out there all morning practically, brushing up on his marksman’s skills. It was something he felt like he lacked in, as there never really was much chance to use it in the past. They were swordsman, that is, the soldiers of the Empire. They fought with dignity and honor, not like the beasts of the world.
Tromping over to retrieve his ammunition, he thought back to that day in the desert, fighting back the urge to return to that fateful scene. It clouded at the edge of his mind, but he was able to resist.
Yes…honor, and dignity.
That’s what it was all for.
So he kept on practicing, feeling another piece of the frustration and the anger leave his body with each arrow and each hit. Almost therapeutic, in a way of speaking.
Sometimes he did miss, though.
Holding as steady as he could, Aviin peered down the length of the arrow shaft, watching the trajectory of his shot even before it was released…and then the silence was broken abruptly, causing him to start and sending the arrow whizzing off far past his target.
“You shoot funny….”
Her comment had disrupted his intense concentration.
“Farshta!” Aviin yelled, biting back the word as it came out. “What are you doing?”
Savill just laughed and covered her mouth in a futile attempt to keep from making a scene, but the comical nature of it all pulled her in another direction. “You should have seen your face….”
“Yah, well…thanks for losing my arrow for me. Really appreciated.”
“Oh, you’ll get over it eventually.”
But would he?
“Just…what are you doing?” He sighed, pushing the pent up breath from his lungs and calming his emotions. This wasn’t exactly the way that he wanted to work their relationship anyways, that is, yelling at her.
Even if it was for being stupid.
“You shoot like a tree.” She commented in answer, placing hands on her hips and cocking head to the side. Lips pursed, as if to tell him that she was greatly amused. As if he needed any other clues.
Aviin shook his head, rubbing at his temples and doing his best to keep his thoughts from growing too loud. She had this way of being able to hear every time he was thinking about her, whether it be positive or not.
Either way, she always had some choice words for him.
“A tree doesn’t shoot bows, Savill, so…what are you talking about?”
“Sure it does.” Some more of her illogical antics, probably just to annoy him. “And when it does, it just stands there and shakes it’s little arms. If the wind blows too hard, it’s likely to snap off.”
“Well, my arms aren’t going to break if the wind picks up. Did you come up with that yourself?”
“No, actually, that was my uncle who taught me.”
“And I still don’t have any clue what you’re talking about.”
Now it was her turn to breathe out hard and be annoyed. For what, he couldn’t say. Maybe she was actually expecting him to solve her riddles?
“Look, when you shoot a bow, you’re supposed to be fluid and controlled. I know they teach you big strong men in the army to tough it out and stand there for an age, waiting for the perfect moment to release, but that’s just a dumb way of doing it.”
“Oh, and I suppose you know how to? I’ve been practicing since I was a child. I think I can manage.”
“And I’ve been living on my own since I was a child. I’ve hunted these woods for years, and I’ve never missed a shot….”
He was silent, but only because he didn’t believe those words. Trying to think of what route to take next, he eventually succumbed to the desire to throw it back in her face. “Fine, you think that you’re so much better than me? Well prove it.” Aviin shoved the bow at her, shaking it in the air and waiting for her response. Like a bird, she snatched it away from him.
Saying nothing, she flicked an arrow from his quiver,
Pointing off a ways, to dead and rotted tree that stood up like a finger, he said, “Hit that.”
Shrugging and turning to face her target, she stood still for a few moments, eyeing the shot. Then, drawing the bow with her arm twisted backwards and the fingers grabbing from the inside of the string, she pulled up in one smooth motion, a second or two only, and sent the arrow whistling through the sun filled air.
There was a solid thudding as it impacted, sinking deep into the decaying flesh of wood.
Turning back to look at him now, there was only that placid smile that she wore so well, little dimples at the corners.
It made him so mad. Not because she’d hit the target, but because she was already smirking and mocking, before he even took his turn.
And then there was the fact that her shooting form was so strange. He’d never seen anyone do it like that, that is, draw like she had. Everyone he’d ever seen always used the same method, and here she was, doing things backwards.
That, perhaps, was the most infuriating thing. Who was she to tell him he was doing it all wrong, when she couldn’t even be normal about it?
Then he sighed in his head. She had hit the target, after all. Handing the bow back, Savill stepped aside and held a hand out, welcoming him to the shooting line and offering him a chance to hold his own. To keep up that honor and dignity that we were talking about. He knew, as we both do, that if he missed this, then he lost. And if that happened….
Breathing heavy now, he lined up the shot, preparing his mind and his body, letting them feel into one another’s motions. The bow felt heavy in his arms, and as he drew back, locking the elbow and placing a knuckle right at the corner of his mouth, he struggled to bring the target into focus.
There was the distance.
And the breeze to take into account.
His arms shook, becoming weak and the difficulty of holding the bow at full draw began to take control.
Fear crept in.
He realized that she was right.
Like a tree in the wind, he wavered.
Finally not able to take it anymore, he released the tension and gasped, coming too his senses and breathing in for perhaps the first time in a minute or two. A few beads of sweat dripped from his nose, having run the length of his forehead.
Her silent face said all that was needed. Head hanging down and swaying from side to side, Aviin dropped to a rock and rubbed through his hair as he sat.
Savill nearly laughed at the situation, but bit her tongue.
There was some pity in her heart, even for him. She felt the need to say something, anything to patch the moment back into repair, but for once, her mind could conjure up no such thing.
Finally, he looked up. “You shoot great.” Was all that came out. A final release into surrender, giving her the complete victory.
He was tired of fighting.
“As do you…just, you sometimes get nervous.”
“No, no, it has nothing to do with that.”
“I’m not following you….”
Rising to his feet, Aviin look at her, squinting against the sun. “I think I made a mistake by insisting that I come along with you and Duraan. It was a childish decision, I just didn’t really have any other choice. But I realize now that it wasn’t the right thing to do. I should have left a long time ago.”
Shocking, to hear those words usher from his lips. They stunned her into a silent stutter.
“Thank you, for not pushing me out completely.” He bit at the corner of his lips, wanting to say something more, but finally nodding,
only to turn and walk off towards the camp to retrieve his things.
Savill was still rooted to that spot.
“You alright?”
There seemed to be no strength in her to answer Duraan’s question. All she could muster was to press out a weak, and inaudible “wait.” For a moment, she was angry. It bubbled to her chest and down through her arms, pooling at the clenching of her fists.
But she was not directing it at him.
“Savill, you’re making me worried. How about you explain what’s going on?”
“Duraan, he’s leaving.”
“What?”
And she was watching him go.
“Well, what happened?” He asked sharply, letting tension build quickly between their minds. “What did you say?”
Her form faded and wavered in the light, flickering in and out of what we knew to be visible. She saw Rorith, then, and watched as his roots receded from the soil of the realms, withdrawing into his trunk and sacrificing that life giving source of all that was his power.
Heard his heavy crackling sigh.
“Wait! Aviin!” Wasting no time, Savill threw her arms and pounded her feet as she drove through the sagebrush and the tall grass.
. Dark Days Past .
Black on white.
Painted into the night like a great mural and laid out for her to see, but she couldn’t make sense of the picture as it was constantly changing, flashing by, tall and thin shapes dancing before her eyes.
With each split between the trees, she swore that a figure was there, but each time it proved to be nothing but empty darkness.
“Come on my dear.” Her uncle urged, squeezing her hand a bit tighter and doing his best to rush her over the hazardous ground, but not wanting to press her too hard. To be caught was one thing, but to be chased down while injured was something different altogether. It was her young mind that worried him the most, though. She was still too young to understand these things, but her maturity was enough to take full consequence for his actions.
There simply wasn’t the time.
“Would it be better if I carried you?” His voice sounded weak, which was so very strange to her. Uncle was usually very strong, and composed. In fact, she’d never actually seen him worried or frightened.
Until now.
“I can run, Pabba.”
He smiled down at her. “Sure you can. You’ll have to be fast, though. And brave, because I won’t be able to hold your hand.”
Swallowing hard, she drew those tiny fists into hard knots. Resolute and determined. “I can do it.” Was her reply.
Yes, she would have to.
He couldn’t say exactly what it was that was tracking them, as he’d never actually found out, but he did know and recognize it.
This wasn’t the first time.
He mentally chastised himself for being so stupid as to be caught out here like this, defenseless and with few places to run to. It was a juvenile thing to do, fueled by a good desire to teach the girl, of course, but stupid nonetheless. And he was going to have to pay the consequences.
Noises, frightening noises rang through the forest, first seeming to be on the right, then bouncing over to the left. Like the chattering of a flock of birds.
She could see their red eyes, flickering in and out between the tall trees, flashing hard against the brightness of the whitened bark, and the shadow.
Red.
Just like her hair. Moonlight streaming down pierced through the covering of foliage occasionally, spilling onto the ground and setting blaze to her crown.
At one point the noise came right up to them, nearly breaking from the trees and right onto their path. Her uncle slowed their pace, pushing her behind him and drawing a thin blade from his side.
“What is it?” The girl cried, now distraught. She knew she needed to be brave, but all of her fears began to overcome her, something that didn’t go unnoticed by her guardian. He quickly pulled her to a place in a small clearing where the moon smiled down on them, offering it’s heaven-sent protection and bathing them in a soft glow.
He removed a small object from a pouch, rolling the contours of the opaque stone in his hand.
“Po, do you remember what I taught you at the Festival of the Moons?”
She thought back, wondering if she did. Mind racing, unable to calm. But as he placed a hand on either side of her face, caressing cheek with his finger, she nodded.
“Good. You always remember that the darkness is only a shadow of the light. It will always be there, but it can never win. When the sun comes out, it must leave.”
“Yes, Pabba.”
He looked down at the lump of rock, pursing his lips and struggling to fight back everything that was his life as it made every attempt to spill out onto the ground. There was so much at stake, though, and he was forced to retreat back into that shell of pretended security.
“All good things are of the light.”
His finger twirled at a strand of stray hair, pushing it back into place and brushing her cheek.
“Pabba loves you, remember that, of all things.”
“Yes, Pabba. I know, Pabba.” But did she? How could she, being a child that was so young? What did they know of such things?
Of love?
Throwing herself at him, she clung to his neck, little arms wrapped tightly around his frame. He laughed, but pried her off and gently, but firmly set her on her own two feet.
“Po, you’re going to have to be strong now, you here. Do you remember which way is south?”
She looked up, then nodded. “Yes, when the sun comes up I just walk with it behind me.”
“Aye, that’s a good girl.” His tired and worn hands brought her close again, lips touching on the top of her head, and those bright eyes of hers were locked into his, refusing to move as they glistened in the pale light of the waning moon. “Never leave the light.” Was the last thing he said before picking the odd stone up again. A few soundless words pressed to his lips, then the girl gasped as a flame seemed to ignite in the midst of the crystal, growing gradually, but with intensity.
Having been placed on the ground, it continued to build, soon enveloping them in a sphere of fluorescent mist, hazing out the dark world that surrounded them.
That crown of flames blazed like wildfire.
His hand quivered, touching her one last time, then he moved through the illuminated wall and into the black before anything could be said.
“And that, was the last time I saw him….”
The whispered tale floating off into the distant plain where it had once taken place, many years before. It was now only a figment of what remained of those childhood years, and though the vision was vivid, and palpable, it was surrounded by only an empty wake.
She couldn’t remember much else.
Aviin sat quietly, thinking of something but not voicing his thoughts. She couldn’t tap into them anymore, at least, not as easily as before.
Not without being detected by his senses. Savill marveled at his new found ability to control the energy of his mind, something that had taken her years to master, and here he was, only a fledgling in the world of such magical things, already as skilled as any. There were other things lacking, though.
Savill studied the contours of his face, at last not ashamed to look at him, but only because he was so entrenched in whatever had captivated his thoughts. So young, and so ignorant of all things. Soft lines revealed in an obvious way that he had lived a rather quiet and simple life, one not marked by much pain or distress. There was a single scar, though, faint and fleeting as it dropped from the edge of his jaw to run a short length down his neck. Like a single strand, hardly visible, but telling at least one tale.
Odd, for a soldier.
Perhaps he was better than the rest?
He seemed to understand the art of war, the strategy of that game of blood they all loved to play so much. And yet, something about it all didn’t quite add up, the equation coming out with a
few left over bits.
“I take it you cared for him quite a bit? Your uncle, I mean.”
“Well, yes, as much as any young girl could. He practically raised me.”
“Because of your hair?”
Suddenly she seemed angry, probably at his questions. Were they too many? Or was it the wrong question?
“You know, I’m a little tired of hearing about my hair. The whole world seems to revolve around my hair. Hair this and hair that.” She stood up and looked down at him, fist clenched, muscles on the neck bulging a bit. It wasn’t exactly directed at him, only, it had to go somewhere. “The next time I hear someone talk about my hair….”
Laughing, in a sort of frightened way, Aviin waved at hand at her and attempted to coax her down from her bout of emotional rage. “Savill, please, just sit down. I won’t mention your…hair again.”
Still fuming, she did drop to the floor again, muttering something about men and garps.
He would keep his promise to her, but it wouldn’t leave his mind.
In fact, it never had.
You’ll remember those times, when something, some bit of information, or a moment in time.
A face.
A dream.
Or perhaps it was as simple as a sound or smell, simply will not leave you. Sticking around like that friend that you never wanted, sometimes quiet and dormant in the recesses of your life, and others resurfacing to fill your view and command your very being.
It wasn’t so much that he couldn’t stop thinking about her, as it was a simple matter to block out the images and thoughts and focus on more important matters.
But his mind wouldn’t do the same for him.
In the dark hours of the night, when sleep finally drug his eyelids shut, forcing him into that world that had nearly become his own reality. There, in that place, she always came to talk with him. He still had not answered the question of why? Unfortunately, Savill didn’t know either, at least, that’s what she had insisted was the truth.
His dreams had been different as of late, though.
“Why did you tell me that story?” He asked of a sudden, the thought popping from the air.
She looked at him, lips pulled into a thin line, and answered, “I’m not actually sure….”
. Into the Shadows We Go .
“Ahh, it’s you, again.”
He was standing there in the open, refusing to move. This time his mind wasn’t shaking in a trepid fear, but he still was not as whole as he otherwise could have been.
“Why do you keep summoning me like this?”
“But, I thought it was you who called me?”
I grinned, because it was such an amusing scene to watch his features twist into a bout of thought, mulling through a thousand attempts at resolving these issues. To be honest, it was neither of our faults. Blame it on the Fates, or the gods, whatever you like.
It seemed that time itself desired us to meet. Why? Who could say. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that I had been watching him for some time, but then, I did the same for so many other souls. Ahh, it’s so good to have so many friends, you see. Then you’ll never find yourself left out alone, abandoned by the world.
There will always be something to meddle in.
“You seem to be the one with all the answers.” He began, that tone masking his voice, pretending to be authoritative and strong. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on here.”
“Perhaps I offer a better question for you to ask?” Walking around him in a slow circle, I had to give it to the boy. His head and ears certainly followed me, but that body remained as rigid as a tree, rooted into the shadowed floor and refusing to budge. He certainly wasn’t as weak as his spirit belied. “It is not so much why we are here that is of concern, but rather, when, and where.”
Sensing confusion, I proffered another clue. “If this were the Hall of Kings, and you were sitting in that white thrown that you mortals seem to crave so much, would we be asking these questions?”
Actually, that wasn’t the most perfect of examples. If I saw my own face walking amidst the clouds and associating with those spirits that had passed on, and lived good lives, I might rouse a few questions of my own.
“Or picture this…being in Dromarg’s Prison…what then? Surely you would not question why?”
“I get your meaning. But maybe I really should be asking, who?
“Who what?”
He looked straight at me, finally breaking through that barrier of a pretended being and delving into the corners of his own reality, drawing from his own desire. “Who you are?”
Now there, my dear Reader, is one answer that I simply could not give. It was meant for one soul, and one soul only, and that time had not arrived. So I stalled.
“I should ask the same question, then.”
“No, you already know who I am. I don’t understand how, but…” I could hear him recalling our previous conversations. “you know.”
Yes, he was beating me at my own game.
“You don’t seem too bright for an educated man like yourself.”
“And you’re young for a man who claims to have lived so long, and have seen so much….”
But this was where he went wrong. I didn’t tell, because I wanted to let him have a victory or two. War was never entertaining when you won at every battle and crushed your enemy. There was no honor or glory in that.
“Indeed. So here we are, arriving at an impasse. One of us has to give.”
“Give what?”
“In, of course.”
He sighed angrily, spitting the air from between his teeth and growing irritated with all of my games. So I decided to take matters into my own hand, stepping right up to him. He was taller than me by just a bit, so looking up wasn’t exactly the most profitable of positions. Rising from the ground to put ourselves on an equal field, I drew quite close to his face, putting my lips right next to his ear.
“It looks like I win.”
. North .
- Seventh Age, year 718
Rushing noise, pounding at the ear, roused him from his restless, but controlling sleep.
All around the world was dark, just like the place he had come from. There were small tendrils of his dreams, if they could be called that, floating before him in the air, but try as he might they vanished away as quickly as he could reach for them. Soon, it would all be gone, and there would remain only the knowledge that something had happened.
Nothing further.
She was there, staring down at him, the fire’s light glowing against her cheek.
Everything else was cloaked in the dark of night.
“Aviin, get up now!” Her voice hissing like a serpent, and breaking him from the stupor.
“Wait, what?”
“Get up and help me put out the fire!” She ordered, not wasting any time in tossing handfuls of dirt onto the flames. He followed suite.
“Why, what’s wrong?”
“There’s several men watching our camp right now.” Duraan informed.
“Where are you?”
“Doesn’t matter, just find a safer place to hide. They’re not friendly.”
“Great, this is just great.” Aviin mumbled as he attempted to collect his things in the darkness. “Any idea who they are?”
“Yes, they’re Imperials.”
He could sense Savill staring at him, even though the only visible thing was a slight shape against the backdrop of the forest. This was going to be a nightmare, with the moon covered over in clouds.
“How did…this is bad, this is really bad.”
“Yes, so let’s move a little more quickly.” Savill pushed him through the brush, apparently knowing where they were headed. He could hardly make out the contours of the ground now, tripping over a rock or exposed root.
“Farshta! I think they’re following me.”
“You? And you’re the one with red hair then, I suppose?” She argued spitefully, mostly just fru
strated that they had found themselves in this position, and that she’d been caught sleeping. Duraan had been on watch, but still.
“I thought we weren’t talking about your hair anymore…?”
“Just, shut up and run.”
And run they would, but the forest created a difficult barrier as snarling branches and tendrils of the forest fauna seemed to claw out at them, ripping at clothes and skin alike. The sound of pursuit could be heard around them as the soldiers searched desperately for their prey, hacking through the underbrush and yelling to one another.
“They’re going to cut us off!” Aviin yelled, hoping that Savill could hear him. It was a tactic that he would have used, and though not every imperial soldier was brilliant, most would understand basic strategy like this.
Savill suddenly jerked him to the side, nearly knocking his head against an outstretched tree limb.
“Hey! What are you trying to do? Kill me?”
“Yah, now be quiet.” Savill sarcastically commented, reminding him that he didn’t need to speak aloud, tugging on his tunic in suggestion to kneel down. For a moment, he couldn’t see anything, but after a second or two his eyes saw the stark line that marked the end of the trees as they broke open into a large clearing. He could see one shape moving swiftly through the tall grass. Had they gone out there, they would have been exposed, at least to the eyes of their pursuers, and possibly to something more deadly.
“Thanks, I guess.”
“It looks like they’re going around.” And indeed, she was right as two other figures, one rather tall compared to the other, emerged into the clear, conversing with one another for only a bit, and then charging back off into the forest, headed in the opposite direction from their current location.
“Are you two alright?” Came Duraan’s concerned presence, checking in. Savill answered and talked to him for a moment, not entirely masked from Aviin’s mind, but he was focused on something at that time.
He breathed heavy. “I can’t believe they tracked me all the way out here.” Came a remark as he rubbed the sweat from his face.
“You? What makes you so sure that they want to find you, and not me?”
“Did you see that big one?” He asked, swallowing hard to eliminate the block that comes with stressful situations. He heard, rather than saw her nod, so he went on, “I recognize him. He’s one of my father’s soldiers, a second general. I just can’t believe that my father actually sent someone after me….”
“Yah? Maybe he wants you to come home?”
Turning to glance at her in the dark, Aviin shook his head in all sincerity. “No, definitely not after what happened back at the outpost.”
“Hey….”
“What?”
“I was joking.”
Still confused, he sat there in silence for a moment, then awkwardly attempted to brush it off with a slight, but forced laughing. “Ha, I get it now.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much, though. We’ll lose them over the mountains.”
“What mountains? You mean the Foothills?”
“No, you dummy, not that far. For goodness sake, that would take us another month. No,” Savill’s lips froze as thoughts and memories flooded back, and the anticipation of a reunion long since deserved continued to build. “not that far north.”
. To Transact with Men .
Such an interesting study it was to make, of them, that is.
Those two odd souls, so bound together by restraining ties, and yet always in a constant fight to pull apart.
In fact, it was quite comical, and often times I would find myself on the brink of tears as I laughed over their interactions. They were like so many others, only, it was different because they were on a different course than the rest of those mortals of which I associate myself.
These two found a broader influence into my own life.
And there was the cat as well, but he wasn’t of much interest to a being like myself, mostly because he wasn’t actually supposed to be in the picture at all.
The Fates, curse them, always meddling in another’s business. But alas, there’s little to be done or said about them.
For now, I simply enjoyed watching the show. In retrospect, they would have seemed an odd grouping, always hating each other, and yet, there were times when things took a different sort of turn, a different path along the trail of the stars. Like that time when I caught them talking, alone, about something other than hair or running from the Empire.
It wasn’t even about the color Red.
Or blood.
Two of my most favorite subjects.
They discussed about their immediate family, something of which I care little about, but it surely was intriguing to watch them spill their souls out to one another, confiding their deepest regrets and most safeguarded frustrations. You know, it is an odd thing that your kind does. To say that you love someone so much, and yet care about them so little.
Always backbiting and stabbing.
Always arguing over pettish things.
And I thought family meant more than just being related because you share the same line of heritage?
Other things were discussed at other times, all the way over that crown of rocks jutting up from the earth and surrounding the lower lying valleys in a protective cup. She’d been right about one thing at least, though; the Empire and it’s hired hands didn’t have any interest in crossing along behind them.
I did, though, because I knew there was more to the story than we’d viewed already, and I don’t mean that it hadn’t finished.
He invited me to come along, in those pettish dreams of his. More like nightmares in my own mind, but we were making progress, if slowly. He still didn’t quite seem to get it, though, because his mind hadn’t wrapped around the concept that it was not my doing, but his.
It didn’t help that all was forgotten until the next episode, when he would return and ask a thousand questions.
I work on a trading basis, though, and he had virtually nothing to offer, so I gave none back.
It’s just good business.
. Lord of Glades .
Light of Kardashed.
The Broken Arrow.
Son of the Evening Star.
There he stood, all majestic and beautiful, robed in his wooded skin and draped with a shimmering mirage of pearlescent leaves, drooping from lengthened arms and dangling before his face.
Lying on the floor before him was the tapestry of his life, a mixture of foliage springing up to kiss his feet, to bow before his face and worship him in all their honor.
This, is Rorith.
Don’t forget that name, because all who do fade from this world, for his roots stretch through the very fabric of the universe, wriggling their way into every life and every existence, stretching out a healing hand.
Fate, though dictated by those that dwelled in no realm at all, was still his to hold and rested upon those great branches, weighing down upon him.
Thus far, his strength was sufficient to hold.
Thus far.
If you stepped close, a brilliant humming would envelop you as his voice soothed the very nature of your being.
And you would also notice something very disturbing, creeping up from the floor below. There was, at the base of his roots and inching up the length of the trunk, and thin line, contrasted against the whitened backdrop of his form.
Black, and cruel.
Penetrating into his core.
Remember how I said that Rorith is in everything which exists, his presence making its mark upon every creature, every soul, whether or not they chose for it to be that way?
This dark string is also a part of that.
. Jokes on You .
- Seventh Age, year 718
“A man walks into a Nirean hostel, and asks to be put up in a room. He explains that he wants no bed, one mirror set on the ceiling, and the shutters and door to be locked from the outside.” Duraan trotted along a little faster, realizing th
at he kept falling behind every time he really got going with his supposedly humorous story. “Of course, the keeper of the inn prods him with questions, but to no avail. He offers twice as much as the room would cost, so without further issue, he gets given what he wants.
“Three days later he emerges, looking like a new man. When he pays for the last day at the counter, the inn keeper asks if his stay was comfortable. ‘No.” the man says much to the dismay of the keeper, who again tries to reaffirm that it was in fact a good stay. ‘Absolutely terrible.’ Is the reply. ‘Well was it too noisy?’ ‘No, nothing like that.’ ‘Then was it the damp? We’ve had some problems with mold on the walls before.’
“The man shakes his head. ‘No mold. Perfectly fine room, if you ask me.’ ‘Then what seems to be the problem?’ The inn keeper is really confused now, and frustrated as others are listening in to the conversation. The man turns and flips him another coin before saying, ‘No problem at all, just never want to go through that again. Three of the worst days of my life.’ Smiling, he exits the inn and goes his way, leaving the perplexed inn keeper to patch up his reputation.”
“This joke is going on forever….” Aviin complained lightly, regretting the comment instantly, but then standing behind it. So far nothing funny had happened, even Savill who always seemed to laugh at the things that her furry companion said, was listening with a straight face.
“Just, let me get there. Yeesh, you’d think I could tell a story without being interrupted a hundred times.”
“It’s been once.”
“True, but just let me finish. So, as I was saying, the inn keeper is distraught and doesn’t know what’s happened, but a moment later his wife comes running down the stairs, screaming about something in the room. When they go to check on it, they can hear scratching and scuffling from the inside, and a thick brown slime is oozing out from under the threshold.”
Then, silence.
Confused, Aviin screwed his face up, before being surprised as Savill began chuckling and slapped her leg.
He was right, about her laughing about everything he said.
“I don’t get it, what’s funny about that? There’s nothing funny, because it doesn’t make sense.”
“Shows what you know.” Duraan retorted, sticking his tail up and tromping off ahead. Savill looked at him, the smile fading as she realized that he wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t understand.
“Wait, are you serious? The man was a changer, that’s why he said what he said, and wanted the doors locked.”
“Okay, but how does that change anything? And what does this slime have to do with it all?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me? Look, Changer’s have to molt their skin once every cycle of the moon, and when they do, that skin is a part of their life, so it still is alive.”
“And the slime?”
“What comes off with the skin. It’s a messy process.”
“Ahh, so, I get why it would be humorous now, I mean, if I was watching it all happen then I’d probably laugh.”
Not amused, Savill shook her head and rolled those green eyes of hers. “Yah, well, it’s not funny anymore. Let’s keep going, we’re almost there.” Aviin followed a few steps behind, head shaking and the muscles of his jaw working back and forth in frustration. It was all so maddening to him, especially how she treated his lack of experience in the world with contempt, as if it were his fault. Everything always ended up being his fault.
She was there suddenly, running into him, or rather, he into her. Stopped in her tracks and facing back in his direction, Aviin collided with her, nearly knocking their heads together.
“What in the world?”
She was stunned too, but laughed at the blunder.
“Aviin, what are you doing?”
“I’m trying to walk, okay? What are you doing?”
“No, I mean…” thoughtful about what to say next, she couldn’t help but smile once more before spitting it out, “I mean why are you feeling this way. Don’t think we can’t sense what’s going on. It’s louder than anything you could say.”
Of course, it wasn’t enough that they listened to his thoughts, now they had to censor his emotions as well.
“It’s nothing, let’s just keep walking.”
She raised a hand and pressed it against his chest, pushing him back a bit. “No, Aviin, every time you or I say that we end up arguing about it later. Just spit it out now and we’ll get it over with. I’d really like to see my family and friends again in a good mood.”
He was reluctant, but realized the brevity and logic to her words, so he gave in.
“Alright, you’ll probably think it stupid, but I hate that I can’t even get a simple joke.”
“This is about the joke?”
“No, of course not. It’s about my father and my childhood and all that he did to me. I claim to be an Adonai, but I don’t even know what that means. I can’t even laugh, because I don’t know enough about my own people to understand them.”
“Wow….”
A single word to represent a realization that began to dawn on Savill’s conscience, one that should have come a long time before, but was barred out by her own selfish nature.
Aviin pretended well, but everyone hits their wall eventually.
His was high and hard, and virtually impenetrable.
The blood of his soul dripped red as he fought back all of the intensity that was welling into his chest and forcing its way through his face. He wasn’t sure if he should swear or cry, but it was his duty to keep it all at bay.
“Aviin…I don’t….” She stepped closer, forcing him to look up at her. “Look, you need to stop beating yourself up for these things. Whatever your father did or didn’t do is no longer any of your concern. All of that’s behind you. Your past is behind you. By Yvres’ ear you’re worried so much about what once was, when you should be looking ahead to what will be.”
“I know, I get that, I just struggle sometimes.”
Savill smiled at him and carefully placed a hand on his shoulder. “Most people never even get to see their dream,” she said, “let alone live it. You’ve been given what every other person wants; a new life, a chance to start all over again, and now you get to make it what you want it to be.”
Nodding, in agreement, and desire to do just that, but it had already been so difficult to let things go, especially the things of the past.
“And Aviin…I know what I said before about you coming with us, and I…I want to withdraw that statement. There’s a lot of good people here, and they won’t turn you away, in fact, they’d welcome anyone that defected from the Empire, so….”
She couldn’t quite seem to spit the words out, so Duraan finished it for her.
“You can stay as long as you like, at least, until someone tells you that you have to leave or something like that.”
“Thanks, Duraan.”
“Anytime.”
“So what do you say?” She asked, giving him the opportunity to fulfill his dream. It was an offer that he simply couldn’t refuse.
Duraan interrupted, though, before he could answer. “Hey you two, I think we should go around to the eastern gate.”
“What, why?”
“Oh, I don’t know, might be better if you want to surprise them or something.”
Savill laughed. “I haven’t seen them for the better part of a year, and I’m not going to delay it any longer.” Giving Aviin a warm smile, she waved for him to follow along. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
“No, I really feel like we should go around….”
“Stop babbling, we’re going straight for the house.”
“Savill….”
She hiked up a small knole, nearly disappearing from his view, before stopping and standing straight like a rod of iron.
“The god’s save us all….”
That was the last thing she said for sometime.
. How the Color of Red Constrasts the Grey .
Ash has such a beautiful color, when it’s spread over the earth like a sadistic blanket of sin. So pale, and so perfect.
Just like her.
Of course, She was there still, although much of those duties had already been attended to. No, it was the lingering ones that She waited for. You could never tell when one would just suddenly drop from the light in their eyes and sink into the glorious sleep that never requires you to awake.
Ahh, such a wonderful gift, to be able to forget all things.
To be able to let go, of all feeling and all thought. Complete, and utter freedom. What I wouldn’t give for such an experience, just once, just a taste.
She was always beckoning to me, always taunting with those sparking eyes and slender fingers and rounded hips. She wore that mottled dress-trains dragging over the broken earth and marred stone-like a queen. And truth be told, She was more royal than the rest, for a queen rules over her subjects, does she not?
There was much more than just charred wood and blackened stones there, though, much more.
Red.
Fire, and embers still marked the village, even spreading to the forest beyond. They would have put them out, perhaps, if there had been someone to do it. A few straggling survivors were far too busy mourning over the dead to think of such things. Such a pity, to watch so much potential go to waste.
But at least it was entertaining.
. Where Chaos… .
- Seventh Age, year 718
“Savill…Savill, you should come with me.” Duraan coaxed, doing his best to soothe her mind with his caressing touch.
She stood there, frozen, though, not even able to breathe. How can one breathe in the wake of something so terrible?
A step or two behind, Aviin followed up the hill, only to become the same as her, literally rooted to the spot, and this is what he saw; nothing.
It was all gone.
Every last thing, from the ancient manors that had been built by the clan chiefs of old, to the humblest abode marking the edge of the fields. Stretching through the valley, Canthon was lost, and what was left to find could only slip through the fingers if you tried to collect it to piece things back together. Jutting from the earth, those black walls reached for the blue sky and the clouds, calling for aid, but none would come.
Not even from the Empire, which is perhaps why things were so bad.
“Yvre, Brey and Draal…what happened here?” Aviin’s mouth hardly moved as he spoke, his eyes blinking repeatedly in attempt to clarify that this was in fact the scene before them, and not just some vile nightmare they were having.
Words were helpless to describe what was occurring that day.
“Savill…just come with me and we’ll-.”
She uttered a single word, “how?” before bolting off down the hill, running madly and blindly, slapping at the brush that barred her way.
“Savill! Stop!” Aviin’s feet seemed so heavy as they stumbled in her tracks, doing his best to catch up but struggling beneath the weight of his pack. The world seemed to spin around him, a shifting mirage of so much smoke.
Homes had been ripped apart by some great force, the charred contents of their existence scattered a great distance from the structure. It had done a very thorough job, not sparing any energy in it’s attempt to raise this city to the ground.
He passed one house where the entire side wall had been blown clear across the street, bricks and shards of wood embedded into the opposite home’s exterior.
“What madness is this?” He inquired, to no one in particular.
Duraan answered, just as clueless as he was, “Not the slightest idea, but it’s gone, all of it. The entire town has been destroyed. Raised straight to the ground….”
How could he be so calm about it?
There was this form lying on the ground in front of him. Aviin sidestepped to avoid it, then made the mistake of looking down as he passed by.
Just a child’s face, so pale and perfect. Emotionless, but smiling nonetheless.
A thin rail, splintered on the end, protruding from its side.
Nothing wrong with that….
Things began to collapse as he stumbled on, viewing the carnage that seemed to pursue him, and he almost became lost amidst the wreckage. Remembering Savill, though, gave him at least enough direction to continue forward.
But she was not much better than he.
Kicking through the ashes and the rubble, screaming incoherently.
“No!”
The only words that he could understand.
Just uttered over and over again.
The quite form of a woman looked so beautiful there, clothed in soot and half buried beneath the fallen roof as Savill cradled her head. Tears, washing away the grime, left streaks across her face.
There were so many others, littered around them.
He came to console her, at least, to offer his presence as a bolster, hoping to provide strength. A hand, reaching out, but his strength hardly able to do as much as touch her hair.
“No….” She kept saying, like it was some magic word that could make everything better again.
“Savill-.”
She sprang from the ground, eyes ablaze and facial features contorting against the rage that had been building inside her. “Why did it have to be them!”
“I don’t know!” Aviin fired back, stunned and taken a bit off guard by her sudden assault. “It’s not like it’s my fault!” She didn’t hear his words, though. Still blinded by so much emotional stress, she began wildly stumbling around the building, or what was left of it, still crying out, ripping at the waste and desperately searching for something more.
She was calling out for her father, and brother and mother.
But no one was going to answer, at least, not anyone that she wanted to.
“Savill, I know this is hard, but you’re going to have to get control of yourself!” Duraan demanded, not very kind with his tone, but desperate to stop anything from escalating to the point of becoming a true problem for them. What was he thinking, though? How was she supposed to react in this situation?
How were any of them supposed to?
She shoved him off and threw up a hard wall, refusing to let him penetrate back in.
Stunned by her ferocity, Aviin watched, dumbfounded as her form began to move in what seemed to be an inhuman speed, flashing about, tossing beam and stone alike aside as if it were crafted with paper.
“Aviin, do something.” The cat’s voice entered his own mind, finally breaking the spell and putting him into sorts. “Do it now!”
He grabbed her by the arm, feeling the strength of a woman that belied her own frame.
It was all he could do to hold on as she ripped about, first one arm, then the other, but caught again as Duraan screamed in his mind, telling him of the utmost importance to bring things under control.
She still struggled, but less, the emotion of it all overcoming her and coming out in waves of harsh words, directed at him, but biting only into her own soul.
A few tense moments later, and she released into a violent sobbing, growing limp in his arms and forcing Aviin to drop to his knees, Savill lying heavy against his chest. Those were real tears that were shed onto the grey.
Real, not like the ones that you so masterfully cried when your mother banished you to your room for refusing some home chore.
Not like the ones that you mustered when that specific someone broke your heart and ran off with another.
Don’t ask me how I know, because one couldn’t say how or why. It just was, and there was something about it that forced me to stop for a moment, if only a short one, and contemplate the scene.
Sobbing died to a whimpering, died to a silent weeping, her chest dropping heavy, then bursting back up after a second or two, only to repeat the same labored process. He spoke a few words, but there was no recognition behind those glazed eyes. He wondered what she was thinking, but it was a childish desire to know that drove him
. Why would one have any inclination to take part in such a pitiful display of human weakness? No, it certainly wasn’t for me.
And so I left them, the two, sitting there on the devastated earth, and it was shedding no tears for their plight.
Perhaps it didn’t care?
Perhaps you don’t either….
One thing is for certain, though; her aunt was dead. That much we can all surmise. Her soul had already been taken with the rest, and let me tell you, our Sister Death had a hefty load to bear that day.
Becoming, of one so strong.
Thankfully they had not come across any others of her family.
Duraan shuddered to think what might have happened.
I couldn’t stop watching.
. And Shade Meet .
- Seventh Age, year 718
Aviin awoke slowly, his conscious not caring if he was alive or dead, and it seemed to transfer over to his waking mind as well.
The world around him hadn’t changed much, only, it was quite a bit darker out now, with the sun tipping itself behind the mountains crest and singing a cruel tune as it went. The first thing he noticed was that his back hurt profusely, pounding a stinging pain along each vertebrae, the kind that comes from sitting far too long.
The other thing, was that Savill was not there any longer.
“Savill?” He cried, jumping to his feet and looking around. Literally nothing was in sight, though, because there wasn’t really anything to see. “Savill!”
Farshta! What do I do now? “Duraan! Duraan, talk to me!”
“Calm down, what’s the problem?”
“It’s Savill. I guess I fell asleep, and now she-.”
Laughter, always aggravating. Something the cat was an adept at. “No, she’s fine. She’s right here, with the others.”
“What others?” Everyone’s dead.
“No, the survivors you garp. Did you think that not a single person escaped? Just…get over here.”
Mumbling about something stupid, Aviin crawled through the rubble and left the tattered home, marching down the street before asking, “And exactly where am I going?”
“See that clump of trees off to the west?”
I can’t really see anything…. Of course they were there, so he ran at a quick trot, following his companions’ broken, but true directions which eventually led him to a marred, but still standing structure. Built of large stones hatched one on top of the other, it was an impenetrable fortress. Small, from the looks of it, but whatever had attacked them didn’t seem to have been capable of destroying this one last relic.
Men were there, only two, and they were old.
“Aye! What are you doing?” One demanded to know, brandishing a curved sword. The other advanced on him, holding a short pike and making as if to scare him off.
“Hold on, I’m a friend.”
“Yah, of who?” The man’s face was marred by a shallow burn that stretched from his ear to his chin on one side. Grotesque, and a perfect telling of what they had been through. At least he had survived, though Aviin wasn’t so sure that was a privilege any longer.
“Savill, and that…cat friend of hers too. They’re here, right?”
“And how do you know them two, if I might ask?”
“Look, I’ve been travelling with them for weeks now. Would you just let me in?”
The other man spoke this time, “What says you aren’t a spy? Maybe siding with the enemy?”
Frustrated and wanting only to see her, to make sure that she was still okay, Aviin attempted to brush past them. “I don’t have time for this. I don’t even know who your enemy is….”
The two men grabbed him by the arm, holding him in their wizened grasps, like claws.
Like birds.
Refusing to loosen their tight pinch.
“You seem alright, but just too be sure….” He quickly slung a rope around both hands, flipping it into a knot and cinching it tight. Aviin cried out as they bite sharply into his flesh, not much of a wound, but it still stung. They marched him in through the doors, grunting to a large woman who stood as guard.
There were many there, all of them women and children.
Where are all the men?
“They died fighting, something which you should understand well enough.”
Duraan’s remark sank in slowly.
Yes, he understood…. Right?
Finally they came in through a low set door after descending a level, emerging into a dimply light alcove which had most likely served as storage. Space was an issue, and the bed that sat in the back of the room had the legs broken off of it, to keep the one lying in it from whacking their head on the short ceiling.
She was there, still and quiet.
“Savill!” Aviin yelled, then was quickly silenced by one of the men.
“Shh, do you want to wake her?”
Duraan was also there, standing at the foot of the bed. He turned to look at them, then those eyes shot up in surprise at seeing Aviin’s condition.
“What do you think you’re doing!” He cried aloud, those little white teeth poking through the grey of his fur. “Take that off of him.”
“Now she’s really going to wake up….”
“Just take that rope off, before I come over there and give you a tattoo.”
Grumbling, they tugged at the knot, eventually fiddling with it enough until it slipped from his wrists, letting him rub the pain out. Aviin’s eyes were fixed on his friend’s face, but mostly his mouth.
“Duraan…” He realized what he was doing. “You can speak? But, I thought it was just a sort of…connection of our thoughts, that’s all. You can really speak, out loud?”
“Yes, you fool, of course I can. Did you think I survived this long in a world full of greedy haphazard men that are always looking for some new fun to invent just by running around and throwing thoughts at people?”
“Well, no…but still….”
His attention turned to her, and the other person lying on the bed next to her. She had her arms wrapped around the smaller figure, holding him close, as if to keep him from slipping away.
“Who is that?”
Ultimate irony coming into play as Duraan slipped back into his usually habit of communicating. But then, it was so much easier, and didn’t make any noise. “He’s her brother.”