A bit of my story (I'm switching computers, so I'll be storing most of my little stories here on gaia for a bit)
Prologue
Dawn. The morning was bright and clear. Golden light tumbled over the tidy streets like spilled paint. But the wind was bitter, and chill; running noses could be seen from every street corner, in every shop. Thick-furred cats teased stray hounds whom refused to come out from their shelters; bird song was a thing of the past, as were flowered gardens.
Familiar scents- the warm, milky smell of bread, no doubt left-over from yesterday- wafted teasingly from the downstairs level and up to my room, the room that I shared with my cousin, Liza. Liza was dressing, and as I sat up I saw the bottom of her thick petticoat slide neatly down her left thigh and tumble down to hang below her knees. Her bodice lay on her freshly-made bed, as well as a pretty blue work shift, right next to a clean apron.
“Get dressed! Or I’ll open the window.” She smiled, her smoothing face looking increasingly mature every day. She had dimples, large bowls that were her constant companions. And her lips were chapped and cracked. Her blonde hair, however, was neatly combed and tied in a tight bun. Eleven, she was, and she was my best friend. Well, the closest thing to a friend I’d ever hope to have, anyway.
“Danica!”
“Huh?”
“For heaven’s sake! Dad said to get up!”
“But its cold.”
“I will open the window.” She grinned widely, and absently smoothed at a lonely little ruffle on her bed.
Cold air hit me with savage force as I slid clumsily out of bed, sending goose pimples and shakes up and down my back. I clutched myself savagely. “Yeesh, it is cold!”
“I know.” She said, a bit sullenly. “And it’s only, what, the fifteenth of autumn?”
“H-hand me my shift, will you?” I motioned towards the bureau behind her. “And a petticoat?”
“White, or brown petticoat? White? Okay, and what color dress? Oh, this yellow one would look wonderful on you, and you want to look presentable: Dad said it’s your turn to work the counter.”
“What?” I froze. “But why!”
“Whiney whiney whiney! You sound like a child!” She folded her arms with counterfeit disapproval, and shook her head.
“But it was supposed to be my turn to cook! I-.”
“Girls!”-I swear to you the door trembled-“Lazy oafs better get your asses down! The boys have been up for an hour already!”
“Bards will sing of their heroism, as long as the sun shines!” I brought my hand up to my chest, and lifted my chin. Liza tittered once. The door swung open. Her hands shot up to her mouth.
“And you, wench better watch your tongue!”
I glared at the man in the door-way, a squat, piggish man with so many chins you couldn’t tell one from the other, and beady green eyes half-swallowed in puffy, pale skin. Likewise, he glowered at me, his lips pulled back in a snarl. His pudgy finger was aimed right at me.
“I’m not dressed.”
“Really, I couldn’t tell.”
“Then maybe you should open your eyes.”
There was a flash, and pain erupted in my cheek. He rubbed the back of his hand on his shirt and pivoted smoothly on his heal. We could practically feel his descent down the stairs, each tremor each of his massive, bulgy feet made. Thud-thud .Thud-thud. Coward.
Liza giggled, nervously, shrugged, and tossed me my clothes. There wasn’t another word spoken as I dressed; Liza just sat and twiddled her thumbs while my heart thudded out beats so hard and angry I thought I would scream. I grabbed my comb –a fine piece of work, it was made by my father before, well, who-knows-what happened to him- and gave it an experimental tug through my hair.
“So, should we do laundry today?” I forced casualness, more for Liza’s sake than my own.
She did seem slightly relieved. “No. It’s too cold. I figured we’d do them tomorrow.”
“I’ll have to be a beggar, and borrow some of your clothing, then. Tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
“Good.” I threw the comb onto my bed table. It bounced off and skidded under my bed.
Under my breath: “I find it unbearable. I haven’t been in the kitchens in three days! Much more of this and I’m going to forget how to cook!”
She replied, in the same level of voice, “Well, Father says you have to do it. He says you’re the only one pretty –“ she said this with slight contempt-“enough to attract customers. I guess it would make sense, though. And you never have been the best when it comes to cooking-”
“Oh is that so?” And what is it that makes me so insufficient in the kitchens?”
“Oh, I didn’t mean-“
“No no of course you didn’t-“
“Well, you lit the rolls on fire that one time-“
“Oh you had to bring that-“
“-and that one time when mister, uh, the critic-man came-“
“-now that was a-!”
“-and you forgot to put the cream in the pastry-“
“-that’s because-“
“-and his rage was incomprehensible, terrible! Ju-“
“-he was just an arrogant, egotistical pig-“
“-and we lost business-“
“Alright! Fine! Drop it!” My hands were balled into tight fists, rigid by my side as we entered the kitchen.
“Danica! My, if you were a log, you’d be flaming! And what’s wrong with your face?” My cousin Jemmi was by the fire, a cup of coffee in hand. His light hair blazed red in the firelight.
“Father hit her again.”
He shook his head, sipped his coffee. A door slammed as Herschal came in from the back, bundled and red nosed.
“Cold?” Jemmi looked up, and snickered. Good-naturedly, of course.
“Again. No frost, though, not surprising. Layna was out. Gave me a wink. Sure warmed me up!”
“Didja wink right back? Eeeehhh?” Liza nudged him with her elbow, grinning.
“Of course. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Oh-hoh! but you’re my older brother. I make it my business.”
“Is that so? Well the only business you’re going to have to worry about is your butt in the cold.”
“Was that a threat?”
“Indeed it was.”
“Yeah, but should you lock her out, you’d have me to answer to, Sir Herchal!” I stepped forward, and planted my feet directly in front of him, craning my neck upwards as far as it would reach…but dammit he was just so tall!
“I’d like to see that.” He grinned, dark eyebrows cocked.
“What a shame. You wouldn’t get to see much, I’m afraid; I’d knock you out first.”
Jemmi let out a laugh that echoed thickly inside his coffee cup. “Now I’d like to see that!”
“And so would I, but customers are going to start arriving. Danica. Go set up out front.”
The morning was slow, the customers sluggish and indecisive. By noon, the air began to warm, slightly, and business gradually accelerated to a dull roar.
All day I heard nothing but complaints. “This coffee’s cold!” “This bread tastes odd.” “What lousy service today! That Danica’s slower than a horse with a gimp leg!” “There’s a hair in my bun!” And, of course, almost all tipped lightly, thinking only of their heavy purses, and keeping them that way.
But I guess it wasn’t all horrible. I met many sociable out-of-towners, who were all ready with a handshake and a smile. I received a meager amount of compliments, but take it from me: those tiny candle lights can be quite a comfort in a dark cave.
When the day came to an eventual conclusion, Liza and I went up to our room. We spent an hour or so talking before she dropped peaceably off into the exclusive confines of sleep. That night, I was stricken with restlessness, and I laid in my bed, staring out the window, thinking.
The customer's faces; the smell of coffee. It all seemed so...faded. Not that I had to worry; it would all begin again on the morrow. But that got me thinking about people.
Majority of the customers were locals, and majority of those were unsociable ingrates; boils on the butt of society. And an even bigger problem for the bakery, most were poor patrons, or poor tippers. And that's more than an understatement, I assure you.
I guess crude and rude behaviors such as these had somewhere in the past become acceptable; prostitution was no longer frowned upon, and neither was irresponsibility, or gossip. Where in time had that lag, that period of acceptance began?
I suppose I shouldn't really complain. At least not about my personal experiences. I mean sure, they're unpleasant, but, well, what can you do? But anyways, everyone dwelled upon looks. If you were attractive, you were treated that much better than the rest of the social order, which brings me to another subject:
You see, almost everyone I met said I had a nice profile: graceful hips; good teeth; thick hair; clear skin; decent swell. Many a man came to call, and all left disappointed, but of their own accord; for it was true, never once have I deliberately sent away a caller.
Most of the women here in the proud county of Orcthern usually took the damsel-in-distress approach when dealing with men, Liza included. Always giggling and prancing about like wine-drunk horses, or crying when a nail had an unfortunate chip. Ladies here sip their tea, slather their paints, gossip, and answer to lonely men seeking warm beds for a night. I mean, of course they had their duties: cooking, cleaning; minding the children. But that was after being trapped in the sticky, tangled, unrelenting web of marriage, or after producing a litter of b*****d children. Whichever came first. When the bill had been added, the numbers totaled and rounded, let’s face it: the innocent, lovely little blushing Orcthern women were nothing but promiscuous little sluts, whiney and arrogant. And no, of course I don’t mean all the women, but most. And that was the reason so many men left me: I would not share a bed with any of them.
After years of seeing young women produce bastards -and of course, bastards were looked down upon in our community, as they were in most communities. But if more than one out of every three men are bastards in this city, where is the logic in that?-, after all the years of immorality, I had developed my own set of principles. I made a promise to myself: Never and under any circumstances will I take a man into my bed before marriage. It seems simple enough, but you don’t know how hard it’s been to keep that oath. And I’d been tempted, many many times, oh how countless the times were! But I had always refused. Why? I had never felt that spark of interest, never heard that blinding-red calling, that warm feeling commonly associated with one’s lover.
Lover…
Love.
I had found that beautiful little word in a book, long ago, and had clung to it like a dying man to a life raft.
Love, a word made almost obsolete by the licentious people of Orcthern, my fellow people of Orcthern.
And wasn’t the act of sharing a bed a symbol of love? Why on earth would a woman sleep with a man she didn’t love? It made as much sense to me as a house with no doors or windows.
But, of course, refusal of intercourse was not the only reason men left me. Most, when finally they did leave, called me harsh words. One even went so far as to call me a man. He had said to me, “If you act like a boy, shouldn’t you be one?”
I wasn’t manly - if I was supposedly so beautiful then obviously burly was something I was not. But my problem- no, the problem others had with me- was me.
Ever since I was little, I had loved tree climbing; fishing; warm, unfiltered sunlight. Back when Liza and I were young, back when we were allowed to play in the sun all day and didn’t have to bother with chores or boys, we used to go up into the vast woods behind our house. We would play in the tall Oaks, the lovely Elms; catch bugs in the rich black soil; fish for trout in the plentiful river that ran through our territory; play with bandit raccoons and tiny rabbits. We would return home, covered from head to toe in mud, sweat, and, on more than one occasion, blood, tired and grinning from ear-to-ear.
But when Liza turned six she refused to go with me, saying it was “ill-proper” and “not lady-like” and “you should grow up so boys would like you better;you’re ten Danica you shouldn’t be out there acting like a boy you should be acting your age for heaven’s sake you’re a young lady even I know that’s no way for a young lady to act what’s wrong with you, Danica?” (Some friend, huh?) And that was when my uncle asserted himself in the arrogant way he always seems to do, and tightened my leash, pulling me back from the free world and into the harsh one of business.
But if you asked my uncle about my tree-climbing days, he would deny everything, saying I had been brought up properly, but had always been a tad “disturbed in the head”. And this used to bother me, it really did. But after a while I just didn’t care anymore. I knew his lies and resentment towards me would not in any way hinder my chance at a normal future (of course, Orcthern never did have much of a reputation for outsiders, so whatever hope I had had of a normal life was diminished years ago, when I moved here. But, a girl can’t stop wishful thinking, can she?), or a chance at a decent husband. A single man, mind you, not ten or twenty. Nuh-uh. No b*****d children for me, thank you.
Moving on. But, the people of Orthern had always baffled me to a highest degree; I had never really come to understand their ways at all, even though I had lived here since I was a young child. My Uncle had always called me a bad egg (among other things), but I could never understand why. Why was I the bad egg? Because I wouldn’t entertain a man? Because of my refusal to live life only by my looks, like all the other sluts in the oh-so-grand city of Orcthern?
Call it a hunch, or perhaps self-delusion, but somehow I had always thought of Orcthern as a temporary place, a snack to tide me over before dinner. Surely fate wouldn’t be so cruel as to place me in this immoral, unsocial little town? You know, Orcthern hadn’t had anyone from another county in over ten years? Ten years! It seemed even the rest of the world wanted nothing to do with this lot of inbreeds. (And I for one don’t blame them.)
But because I had lived here and only here for most of my life, I hadn’t even a notion what the other countries must look like. To me, the thought of other countries was beyond imaginings, as alien as the thought of what exactly lurked below in the endless depth of the sea. I knew others existed, but that was the extent of my knowledge. And the only reason I knew of their existence was because of the sea ports ,where we received daily shipments of beef, venison, mutton; various vegetables; wine; glass; tin and iron ore; fabric and other common paraphernalia. Those all had to come from somewhere, right? (And with a lack of visitors and income, I had often wondered how this town had afforded so many luxuries. Doesn’t that seem a tad-bit suspicious to you? But then again, what did I care?)
I rolled over, perplexed and slightly disturbed, and shivered. But behind my lids, finally, was sleep. I think it might have been beckoning.
I went about the next day, speaking frequently to my cousins and going about my set duties with forced contentment, smiling at every customer, dutifully taking orders and filling drinks, going to bed with the sun, rising with the sun, et cetera-et cetera..
This habitual routine went on for another month. The days turned longer, and ostentatiously colder. It was the forty-fifth of autumn, and I awoke to a penetrable sheet of frozen water-droplets that turned instantly back to water as they connected with the window. It was going to be wet today.
“Danica! Danica!” Liza’s voice right then was definitely what I would call a ‘rude awakening’. “ The Pretchard boys and their father are coming to re-shingle our roof today! Oh, isn’t that Edward dreamy?”
“Isn’t he a little old for you, Liza?”
“I was talking about for you! He’s fifteen, you know…” She raised her eyebrows suggestively.
I made my voice high and nasally, “Oooooh is he coming today?” I sat suddenly up, as if excited, and clapped my hands, a big foolish grin plastered onto my face. “My! is he dreamy! I am going to pee my pants! Simply melt all over the floor! Aaahhhhh!” I sank backwards into the bed, feigning a faint.
She rolled her eyes, and sat on the edge of my bed. “You’re hopeless, you know that?” She sighed, and lay back on her elbows. “And besides, if you don’t start looking for a husband, Dad is going to choose one for you, you know. And you could get almost any guy you want, you know that? Danica, are you listening to me?”
Well, in truth I wasn’t. I was far too busy tracing knot holes in the ceiling above me.
“Whatever! I don’t get why I bother trying.” She sat up quickly. “Get dressed, okay?”
“Yes, mother dearest.”
She sniffed demurely and left the room.
With imitation cheer I dressed and followed Liza down the aged stairs, which deposited me in the front, which was crowded with neat little covered tables and chairs. A long glass counter roosted, glittering by the front door. A scratchy, colorless welcome mat sat by the door, sullen and lonely. To the immediate left of the stairs was wall, and to the right was another door, which led to the rest of the house.
Liza had taken the left branch (I knew because she always went to the kitchen for a bite before anything else), and after a moment my stomach urged me to follow. Jemmi, and Herschal were already hard at work, dough all the way up to their elbows.
“Liza! Take those buns out of the heater, would you?” Jemmi called.
“Yes,” cried Herschal, “and the sweet rolls! Make a paste for those!”
“I’m coming! Can’t a girl get a bite to eat?” She sat next to the fireplace, a half-eaten bagel squished between her pudgy fingers.
“If you wanted to eat you should have gotten up earlier.” Herschal retorted.
“Shut it.”
“Now that’s not very lady-like.”
Liza stuck out a pasty white tongue, which at the moment was attractively plagued with globs of white, just as a man’s voice purred behind me. Her tongue was sucked instantly back inside her mouth.
“Here we are! Bright and early, as promised. Your father was down the street, stroking the bottom of a rather large woman, so he’ll be awhile. Would one of you care to show me to the roof?”
“It’s on top of the house, sir-“
Jemmi shot me an icy hold-your-tongue glance. “Well, glad you could finally make it!” Jemmi boomed. “I’d greet you, but...eh?“ he motioned towards his hands.
“No need, no need.”
“Danica, could you take Ariol –my apologies, Mister Pretchard- outside and show him where the roof damage is?”
“Of course.”
My stomach growled indignantly, but obediently I left the warmth of the kitchens, the grey Ariol-‘my apologies, ‘Mister Pretchard’’- following closely at my heels.
“So, how is this young lady doing, Danica?”
“Fine, sir.”
“You know, I’d always thought you and my Edward would go grandly together. Lovely, indeed. If you’re interested…”
Surprise surprise.
I said the first thing that came to mind: “I’ll have to talk to my Uncle about it.” It came out a bit more tersely than I would have liked it to, but maybe that was a good thing.
The crisp air was literally painful; puddles of liquid white vandalized the ground. “Are you sure it’s a good day to do this?”
“Well,” he replied in a calm tone, “It’s a perfect day. No wind. No hail.”
I felt my body go slightly numb, and it wasn’t entirely from the driving cold. “But it’s a very wet day out. What if someone slips-?”
“You sure do ask a lot of questions, you impolite little girl. But I can assure, we know what we’re doing.”
I bit my tongue. So what if he fell off a ladder? A tall ladder? And shattered a leg? Would that be such a bad thing? Danica! Tone it down, for your own sake, before you say something you’ll regret.
Ariol had taken the lead, and was whistling a merry tune, as if it were a fine spring day, rather than a dark, depressing one. And then we were around the house, his five boys coming into sight.
I felt a dead-weight in my stomach, like a solid piece of lead. And the metal was cold. Bitingly so.
“R-right up there. The shingles…”
“Cold, are we? Poor girl.” The tallest of his boys, Beau, smiled sympathetically. To me it looked like a smirk.
Instantly, Ariol was barking out orders, left and right. I caught a glimpse of Edward, his brown hair. I guess he wasn’t bad-looking; he had a decent face, and he was quite brawny. Good singing voice, too. He saw me, and grinned. It made me wonder just how much he knew about the whole situation. So to be on the safe side, I looked pointedly away. I saw his smile falter, and he returned to his work.
After awhile, I went back inside to open up shop. The whole town seemed melancholy and quiet. The steady flow of out-of-towners had almost completely ceased. No one wanted to travel in the cold.
The boys were really my only customers, the six of them. They finished work at about noon, and stayed late into the evening, drinking and laughing and eating, having a jolly-good time. I tried to be hospitable, but as the day wore thin so did my nerves; the fact that I was expected to be up at the crack of dawn worsened my mood, like milk left out in the heat ,slowly turning sour.
Edward was courteous and polite; but he didn’t speak much.
Almost every morning after that evening, I woke up to some sort of gift or trinket; just little things at first: a hat one day, a scarf another. But as the days progressed, so did the items’ individual worth; once, I received a necklace made of pure glass, and another time, a mahogany hair piece from far-off lands.
Though he sent gifts, I never really actually saw him. Not even when he gave me the wedding band.
He proposed through my Uncle, on a frosty day. The fifty-second of Autumn. We got our first freeze that day; the sky was gray and thick from morn ‘till dusk.
I’ll never forget Uncle’s triumphant smile as I descended the stairs that day as he held that tiny, paper-wrapped package in his hand. Of course I declined, my excuse being that I didn’t really know Edward very well. But Uncle saw right through my guise.
“You can’t stay here forever, you know. You’ll be a woman soon, and he’ll be the perfect husband for you.” And he had stood there, grinning, as if I had said something humorous. Maybe to him I had.
“But I don’t even know him! A couple of gifts they-they don’t mean, don’t mean anthing! Don’t mean anything!” I had yelled at him, furious, and blubbering like an idiot.
“A couple of gifts? Just a couple? Those were very expensive, rare items. And this ring, you haven’t even seen the jewel on that, my dear! Such a spoiled, wicked little thing! How did I raise such a beast?”
Oh! how I had glowered! “I will not marry him.” I remember it; my voice had practically oozed venom.
His face darkened, all humor gone. “You will marry him, on the first day of winter! You will be his, and I won’t have to put up with you anymore!”
I called him names I refuse to repeat, he struck me, and that was that. He wrote to Edward, informing him of ‘my’ agreement to his proposal. The date was set. Edward replied, mentioning once or twice how thrilled he was.
The days grew longer still, and colder, and each day that passed left a small stone in my gut, each one slightly heavier than the last. Just slightly. Like the weight of an ant. Word spread, and plans for the wedding were set in effect.
It would have been a marvelous thing to attend, that wedding, if only I weren’t the bride; there would be dancing, games, a seven course meal, and unlimited drink, both juices and alcoholic beverages. A whole evening full of lights and decorations, and music. And almost the whole town was invited. (I truly don’t understand why my groom-to-be’s family worked as carpenters, or even worked at all; Edward’s uncle was a duke in some faraway land and was practically living on piles of dust-covered gold.)
A tiny, shriveled little woman, Moraine Du’Carr, came to start on my dress. It would have four layers, and solid white. The dress was all Uncle’s design. And I will have to say, he played ‘doting father’ very well; he was quite an actor when he wanted to be.
Well, I’m not sure how, but time has a way of slipping away from you, especially when you don’t want it to. The preparations were complete, and the big day arrived.
The morning went by in a blur.
And the afternoon.
And finally early-evening, when I finally caught up with my self. The snow had reached a slight lull, and it threatened to stop altogether. An almost electric excitement had enveloped the bustling town like a blanket.
I found myself sitting outside, of all places, waiting. Waiting for what? Who knows?
A rather bulky woman strode widely on the road, a feathered cap the only distraction from the rolls of fat that hung like tinsel from her thighs and hips, clearly visible through the silk dress she was wearing. Two children sat in the ice, rolling a shining blue ball back and forth. A tramp lounged against an office building across the street, sucking on a bottle of rum.
I hummed quietly to myself, but it wasn’t the cheerful humming of a girl on her wedding day, but rather the humming of a half-wit, of a deranged child. La-dee-da-dee-da.
I heard Liza call me from inside, and as I went to stand up, it hit me.
It was like a wave, powerful and impending, had slapped me. I fell backwards into the icy snow. A sudden pressure started in my chest, like something heavy sitting on me, and grew with harsh, tickling certainty down into my gut. And then a sharp, shuddering gasp gripped my body, battered it like violent sea winds batter golden sails and silver-winged birds. I felt my heart thud out an extra beat, and a gripping, paralyzing chill ran down my spine, tingly and cold like the groping fingers of demise; the horrid taste of copper masqueraded in my mouth.
La-dee-da-dee-da.
My eyes clouded and blurred; I swayed dangerously, hung precariously on the edge of some dark yawning chasm (How in the world…? I don’t remember any large cracks sporadically appearing in the ground…is that normal? La dee-da-dee-daaa!). There was a final, screeching tremble, and with a shuddering sigh the pressure was lifted. Sound resumed, and the giggling of children came back to me, as if a conductor in my brain waved his sticks to end a silent fermata and signal the beginning of another note. I found myself lying belly-down in the ice, as if I had tried to crawl my way to the house. Suddenly self-conscious (well, you would be too), I sat up, powder clinging to my stomach and face. I heaved with my arms, hung, suspended, face an inch or so above the ground, and dropped back down.
A hazy image rose up in my mind, so thin and airy it was like mist. The mist thickened into something palpable, a solid image of a pond trapped in motion. Violent ripples barked across the surface, back and forth. The image of the pond itself was smudged and unclear, like an extremely hazy dream.
The ice around me was instantly forgotten. Maybe ‘forgotten’ wasn’t the best way to describe it. It was more as if the snow had suddenly disappeared; one moment it was there, and the next, nada. The pond image grew in intensity, and the lines and details became more apparent, a great deal clearer. The ripples in the water eventually began to still, and I was gazing into crystal clearness. I saw my own haggard reflection, trapped in motion with the ripples. Light played upon the water in sharp relief. A voice, loud and erratic in volume slid forth from the depths of the water. The voice’s words rebounded again and again from within the pond, trapped and gargled.
But as time wore on, I noticed it was the same incantation; the voice was repeating whatever it was it was saying, over and over, overlapping at times and relaying at others in a sort of untidy rhythm. But I couldn’t make sense of it. Noise. Nothing but noise.
I leaned in closer; I could see my expression in the water, curious and frightened. And it was growing, larger and closer. Wetness on my nose. I pulled away from the pool to see it once again in motion, ripples sprouting out from the center and spreading languidly, lazily outwards.
The intensity of the voice changed suddenly within the pond. I was instantly crouched down by the water’s edge again, leaning down farther and farther. The water began to still once more. I could see my reflection, but this time it was different. It was distorted and hazy. And my hair was a different. Darker, and shorter. And my eyes. My eyes. They were different. Older, wiser. My face, it too was harder and aged. Not old, but not youthful, either. One foot in both worlds.
I felt wetness on my nose once more, cold. But I did not pull away, and this time there were no ripples. I was eye-to-eye with the woman. And she was staring at me intently, almost as if she were waiting a response to some casual question. There was a sudden shove from behind. I fell into the water.
Someday the day will come, a day when all routine would fall, and all order demolish; a great splitting of calamitous strength. The day is growing nearer, nearer, like the clouds of an approaching storm, you can see it now! Doom. Quicker, quicker it approaches…alas! It is here! But there’s more than doom, something lighter. A ray of light. A hole in the clouds for sunlight to stream. Fate is coming, coming to awaken. Pull your wits about you, fortify your senses! Learn from your environment! And above all else be vigilant! The storm is here!
The voice was clear, and full of authority. There really wasn’t a tone the voice used; the whole message was flat, but curiously full of exuberance and grace. It was anger and hatred, hope and love, humor and jealousy all in the same cup of tea. It was-
“Danica! Danica, are you okay?”
Reality snapped back into play with a clean, nearly-audible click, leaving me disorientated and horribly horribly cold. And wet. Soaking wet. And I was spluttering, as if I had been saved from drowning...
“Danica!” It was Liza, kneeling beside me in the snow, her sticky hand clinging to my arm. How long had she been there? Had I done something wrong? Was she-? “You were laying face-down in the snow, and you were convulsing. Are you ill?” She coughed. “Danica, are you okay?”
My mouth opened and closed, opened and closed, like a fish’s. I peered over my shoulder, at her, and then back at the street. The two children were staring, mouths unhinged, their ball rolling casually away from them. The feather-woman gaped, her large watery eyes frozen on me. Even the beggar was peering at me with disdain, his rum forgotten and spilling out on the cobbled road.
Me. Staring at me.
Great heavens, what happened?
“You were muttering something about rain, or clouds or something. Look, if it’s nothing important than come inside. You have to get ready.”
I managed a nod.
She left me with a shake of her head, the only movement in what seemed like a million miles. And as much as I wanted to move, to rise up out of the snow like Liza had done with such grace, such ease, I found I could not. Once again, all life was at a stand-still, as if waiting for some sign. But this time there were no false images of ponds and reflections, or voices to distract me; I was there, absorbing the embarrassment as a plant absorbs sunlight, waiting for the humiliation to come to a pitiable- and eventual- conclusion.
“Well, I never!” The woman snorted. That must have been the signal, because the children turned their muddled attentions back to their toy, only to come to the realization that their ball had escaped, and the beggar cursed and fussed over the spilled rum. And I, with a deep sigh that rolled all the way up from the soles of my feet heaved myself up and stumbled into the house.
My head ached.
I climbed up the stairs to my room.
My mind felt stretched, torn. It pulsated with a dull thump that was very nearly audible. I longed to climb into bed, to be left alone. But no suck luck; Liza was already laying each piece of the dress on her bed, humming to herself. She looked up when I walked in. She smiled. “Time to pack your bags! What would you like to bring? I’m sure you’ll get new clothes, but…” She shrugged. And though her lips were smiling, her eyes were wet. Under normal circumstances, I would have comforted her, but this day was one completely revolutionary to my accustomed way of life. So I stood in the doorway, motionless and silent.
…all routine would fall, and all order demolish…
I heard her draw in a deep, shuddering breath, one hand still on the fine white garment. “I remember when you came here. How little we both were. How frightened you were. And now you’re leaving me.” The corners of her mouth twitched; her smile became less natural. “And now you’re getting married…” a tear streaked down her cheek. Her hand shot up to her face, and wiped it away. “P-promise you’ll visit? Often?”
She was really crying now. I opened my arms to her, and she dove into my stony and wet embrace. Her tears were hot on my chilled neck.
Finally, it passed, and she backed out of my hold, her nose running and her face red. She let out a shuddering breath, and then forced a shaky smile. “Let’s get you dried and dressed, okay?”
I decided not to protest, and allowed her to peel my wet clothing from my body, wrap me in a blanket, and run a comb through my hair. I knew she chattered and giggled the whole time, but I don’t remember any details. Our last real conversation and I was too dazed to even bother listening.
The bottom layer of my gown was thin and slick; I wasn’t sure what material it was, but it breathed nicely. The second layer was thick, meant for bulk and shape. The third was heavy as well, and long; all the way past my feet. The outer layer was see-through, so the third layer was shown clearly, and had little white roses on the chest. And it was even longer; the train stretched out at least two feet behind me.
Liza was beaming. “Come look at yourself!”
She led me down to the bathroom, carrying my train and talking rapidly about babies and owning a dog.
“You’ll have three of them, no less, okay? One named after me. Unless you’re blessed with all sons, of course…” She let out a laugh as she opened the door, and I saw myself. I gaped.
I hated it. It didn’t look like me. It was like I was some expensive glass doll, just sitting in a corner, existing for admiration and nothing else. Look but don’t touch.
I looked like some princess in a fairy tale. Liza had even entwined my hair with russet and orange fall flowers.
Liza mistook my reaction. “Well, we’re not done yet. I still have to do your face paints.”
“That’s not me at all.” My voice came out weak and faraway.
“Well, it’s only for a little while. Just tonight.”
I shook my head, eyes glued to the girl in the mirror.
“Hold still. I have to finish.”
I was sitting in a chair in the main room when Liza came down the stairs, dressed in pale blue, hair done up in little braids similar to my own. She smiled an exasperated smile. In her hand was a little brown suitcase.
“Almost forgot this.” We had spent the last hour packing. I didn’t have many belongings, so it hadn’t taken long.
“Where are the boys?” She asked.
“Already there.” The wedding was taking place in Ri’sottar Square, towards the center of town in the party hall. They had left a short while ago.
We stood, staring at each other in silence for a moment. I saw Liza’s eyes beginning to fill when we heard the whinnying of horses outside. “They’re here!”
Outside in the cold was a carriage, closed, drawn by two brown horses. Liza helped me inside, and we were off.
I saw houses and buildings crawl by. We hit a bump, and I felt my suitcase fall against my leg. Voices outside. Liza grinning, talking. Everything seemed far way, trapped in a sort of limbo dream state.
I wasn’t ready.
Not when the carriage stopped. Not when the doors were thrust open. Not when I was pulled out of the carriage, out into the cold, in front of at least a hundred seated people. Not when I started down the aisle. And not when I stopped to stand at a man’s side, a man dressed in a black suit, who smiled bashfully at me.
The mayor married us, and the festivities began. Nothing but a whir of lights, sounds, and people, crying out “Edward and Danica Pretchard! Edward and Danica Pretchard!” There were so many toasts, so much laughter.
And suddenly, it was over. People began to leave, and a clean-up crew and a few people sober enough to be of any assistance set to work cleaning. And I was in a carriage with my new husband, on my way to a new home. And he was sorely intoxicated. I knew I was, too, in some faraway place in my mind.
I was dimly aware that I was frightened.
Edward wasn’t my husband. Not yet. Not until he had made me his. And I knew consummation was the next and final step. And I was frightened.
But my fears were soon quelled: Edward proved too drunk for sexual activity, and I was immensely grateful. He fell asleep still in his wedding suit.
I was standing just inside the door. A thin sleet had sprinkled down, adding another layer to the slippery cobblestone.
Surprisingly, I woke up feeling fine. No cold. No drippy nose. Not even a spot of drowsiness. No, I was awake and dry, and oddly, in high spirits, despite the fact that I was that day’s topic of conversation, and that I was married to a man I barely even knew.
Edward was ill with a drunken hangover, and remained abed.
I closed the door to my new house, and sighed.
I decided to explore. The house was seven-roomed, single story. Seven rooms including the spacious water closet. And to my disdain, the house was nearly empty. Everything but the kitchen, the water closet, our bedroom, and one little sitting room, occupied by two sad little couches and an empty bookshelf.
So I chose to settle down with one of my favorite books, The Cold Dawning, on one of the couches. Liza never understood why I revisited it so much, for it was about a boy who becomes orphaned, and grows up, becoming twisted and cruel. The book ends with his death, a violent one locked in battle with a man who turns out to be his father. It truly was a macabre tale, chock-full of irony. But the cleverness of the author’s sentences was truly amazing; his words were like poetry.
‘My dawn never came; alas it has abandoned me, left me ostracized and detested by those of my community, most of who possess little light themselves…”
I had always liked that excerpt. The basis of the whole little snippet was hypocrisy, something I loathed. Hypocrisy and ignorance. I turned the page.
Sometime around midday, my stomach started groaning; I went into the kitchen for something to eat. I settled for a hunk of cheese and a couple wrinkled red apples. I didn’t want anything else; it felt as if I were stealing, robbing someone else of food. I returned to my book.
Edward woke around evening, dull-eyed and dazed. The first thing he asked was: “Where am I? This isn’t my house.”
After a pot of coffee, he was up to normal. Or, at least, I assumed it was normal for him. Neither of us wanted to speak. I was too…confused. I don’t know what his excuse was.
“So…” He drummed his fingers on the simple wood table that resided in the –my? our?- kitchen. He cleared his throat. “I…you were reading. You like books?”
I nodded, eyes in my own coffee cup.
“The house? Is it nice?”
I nodded, and said, “Empty, though. Three rooms.”
“Yes, those are for our chih…” He coughed into his hand. “So…what books do you like?”
“Anything.”
“Then we’ll get that bookshelf full for you. And…we’ll turn one of those rooms into a study. Desks and chairs, for paperwork and documents and such. The only room I really worked on was here,” He swept his hand around the room, “the kitchen. Because I knew you liked to cook.”
I knew I should say something, so I nodded and said, “You did a fine job.” I snuck a glimpse at his face just in time to see it light up.
“And I’m sorry about sleeping so long. That wasn’t right, especially on our first day. They’ve given me three days off from work, starting today. We need all the time we can get to get to know one-another.”
He waited for a response, and when there was none, he said: “About all those…gifts. There’s something you must know. My father, those were his idea, and he actually sent most of them. I’m sure they made you feel… a bit overwhelmed, I’m sure. And the wedding was monstrous, much too large. I wanted a quiet one, but Father would have none of it…” He let out a sigh. “I’m sorry, I’m really not sure what exactly it is I’m supposed to say.”
“Anything you want.” I’ll admit it; his little confession had made me feel slightly better about the whole thing, a bit more confident. Well, maybe not better, but definitely more willing to make an attempt at a…decent, if nothing else, marriage.
“Well…as long as we’re openly talking, you don’t…expect…expensive items…do you?”
The question took me slightly off-guard. “Well, I would definitely feel more comfortable if the things were not rich. I don’t want to live in a place where you can’t touch the couches.”
He seemed vastly relieved. “I was concerned. All those…gifts were my Father…he paid for them…I am not –we are not wealthy. Not poor, but…it would be difficult…to…to…”
“I understand.” I smiled slightly at him. “The only thing I ask is for literature. And if that proves impossible, I’ll survive, I assure you.”
He smiled again. “I’ll admit it, you had me worried. I thought you were…” He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. We’ll get to know each other, and it’ll all be wonderful.”
I nodded, and went back to my coffee cup.
We spent the remainder of that day acquiring information about the other, becoming gentle acquaintances. He was open, and plain, not displaying much sense of humor. I liked him. Not the way a…wife should feel about her new husband. More like the way two new colleagues might act towards one another. And I rather enjoyed it. But then it got dark.
His mood stayed the same, but mine shifted, and changed and became quiet melancholy, along with the darkness in the unfamiliar house. I missed Liza.
When I became sleepy, I asked him for a night gown, if there was one; I had forgotten mine back at ho – back at the bakery. But he said I wouldn’t need one. It had taken me a moment to realize what he’d meant.
And once again, I wasn’t ready.
“It must be done.” He insisted, practically pleading. “Afterwards we go back to the way we are now. But this…must be done.”
I protested.
“It will be quick. Then you can sleep-.”
“No.”
“Danica-“
“No I said!”
He sighed, gathering himself up. “Until it happens, this marriage won’t be considered finalized. That’s something we can’t…live with.”
“Why can’t it be later?” I pleaded.
He shook his head. “That’s just not the way things work. We missed last night. It must be tonight. I’ve asked nothing of you. Now I ask this.” He stretched out his arm, extended his hand to me. I wrapped my arms securely around my bosom.
My voice was choked. “This isn’t right. I-I’m fourteen…a child-.”
“You’re the better part of four and ten, which makes you a woman. Now come.”
I shook my head, like a child, rapidly from side to side. “No!”
His hand lowered. He took a step towards me. I sprang from the couch. My book toppled to the floor. He took another step forward. I took one step back.
He took one forward.
I took one back.
And my back grazed wall. I was out of room. And he was right in front of me. I trembled up at him, not sure what to do. Should I make a run? Should I fight? I was sure if it came to that I would win: I had always been a resourceful fighter, but I didn’t want it to have to come to that. I guess you can say I didn’t want to hurt him.
He took my head in his hands, and brought his lips down to mine.
Emotions erupted inside of me. Too many to identify. I wanted to crawl up into a ball, and never move again. Or run. Running was always good.
But there was a part, a tiny part, which wanted to kiss him back. To throw my arms around him and never let go.
He pulled away.
“I know this deal was made between your uncle and my father; it had nothing to do with us, our wants or feelings. But it is our job to do the best we can with this marriage, and that’s what I’m attempting now.”
I saw him, his pleading eyes. They were sincere. Innocent. It was almost enough to win me over.
He pulled away from me with a sigh. “Go to bed. We’ll wait. Just a little while, but maybe it’ll be enough. I’ll wait for you.” He left the room.
Shakily, I headed for the bedroom.
I found my night gown at the bottom of my bag.
The shattering of glass woke me from my uneasy slumber. Alarmed, I pulled my legs out of bed, intent on investigating, when suddenly came flying through the doorway a dark figure, shrouded in the bitter smell of wine. Edward tripped, and fell onto the bed, and the sheets became suddenly wet. The smell of grape wine was thick and bitter. I heard a curse.
“Duh-did I wake yous’?”
“Edward. You’re drunk.”
He slipped from the bed, but caught himself. All I could see was one long arm, grasping at the beddings, and a head, bobbing above the sheets. “Don’ you think I know that?” He pulled himself all the way onto the bed, into a sitting position. He coughed loudly, and abruptly hurled the wine bottle across the room. It shattered, staining red on the white walls. It looked truly eerie; the red stain did, frightening in the cold moonlight streaming in from the windows outside. So did Edward.
Slime dripped from his nose and down onto the bed. His eyes were bloodshot, and wide; they were on me, gleaming and bright.
“Edward. What’s wrong?” I was determined to fight my panic. But sometimes determination isn’t enough.
“What’s wrong! What’s wrong! I got stuck with you! Lanna was never mine. I loved her, with all my heart. Father said no. An’ I got landed with you! Won’t even share a bed with me!” He was shouting. His voice echoed emptily around the room. “Won’t even share a bed with me! Curse it all!” Clumsily, he brought his hand to his mouth, the fingers curved as if holding a bottle. I heard him curse. The hand fell back onto the bed. “’Tupid wench.”
The rational side of me tried to remain steadfast. He’s just drunk after all. But the emotional side was hurt. Sorely.
“Ah’ sorry. Danica. Didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Lemme make it up to you…” And he pulled himself fully up on the bed, and climbed towards me.
My throat was too tight for words. It grew tighter still as he shot on top of me. His mouth pressed against mine, not tender but angry and hard. I couldn’t breath.
I slapped at him, but he straddled me, and shoved my wrists firmly down to the bed. “Lemme make it up to you…” His lips returned to mine.
And then I felt it. Felt him. Against my stomach, through pants, at least, but it was enough to make me want to scream. I knew what was next. Had heard Jemmi’s stories about it, what that hard spot meant.
I pulled my face away from his suddenly, just slightly, just enough to make him slip. I and grabbed hold of his top lip in my teeth and bit down. I pulled. Salty blood filled my mouth. Heard him yell; felt him stumble backwards off me. My hands were suddenly free, and my fist connected with his nose. He was completely off of me, and in one quick motion I had slid out of bed and was speeding down the hall, my head pounding. I didn’t pause to grab a coat as I shot out the front door into the cool night air.
I stood there for some time, just panting. Head pounding. There was no emotion. Just dullness.
But feeling soon returned. Betrayal came first, homesickness right behind. My tears were hot and numerous. Oh how I wanted Liza! Her and the room we had shared for as long as I could remember. My warm bed…
I mourned, for an hour or so at least. For my old life, and for this new frightening one I had been thrust so suddenly into. I grieved until my eyes ran dry.
As I felt myself begin to calm, I became aware of the brilliant lights above my head. Millions of them, shedding frosty white light onto the earth. And the moon! It was a thin sliver up in the sky, but it gave off so much light. Where did all that light come from? Maybe it had borrowed some from the stars.
No matter what will happen, Danica, the stars will stay the same. They are forever constant, unchanging. Their light will be forever mine.
A man emerged from the Inn across the street, capturing my attention, a giggly little lady wrapped suggestively around his arm.
“O-hoh! What a big strong man you are! A lovely time, indeed!” Her shrill voice oozed from berry-red lips that simpered out just below her pimply nose, and echoed loudly between the buildings, passed back and forth like ball in some sort of game.
Hearing them, I was brought suddenly back into cold reality. I was reminded of what had almost happened. Of how quickly my new life had burned.
“Well you sure do know your way around a pair of pants, I’ll tell you what!” He replied. She emitted another shrill little giggle, and hiccupped. They walked on down the street, oblivious to a young woman standing out in the middle of the road in nothing but a nightgown, ankle-deep in ice.
Their simple exchange of words had set something in motion. It was like waking up after a long night of sleep. A sort of revelation.
A part of me had known when I had fled from that bedroom that I would have to go back. I would have to go inside, or risk freezing. And the very idea of returning to the bakery was preposterous.
But there was an option. Just one. And it was almost as crazy as the notion of returning to the bakery. Almost. And I decided to take it.
So, I went back inside the house.
Edward was on the bed, snoring noisily. What of he wakes up? But I wasn’t afraid. Decision had brought strength, and courage to do what was necessary.
I tore through the large bureau until I found a pair of men’s pants. Thick, scratchy, and warm. I took one of his shirts, too. A long-sleeved one. What’s mine is yours, isn’t that right, dear husband?
From my own bag I took a pair of woolen socks. I was going for his shoes when I heard him shift on the bed. My consciousness asserted itself; I’m not sure why, but it did. I changed course, and grabbed my own shoes.
I changed in the living room, leaving my nightgown draped across the couch. And I left, just like that. I took with me no coin, no food. Only my coat and gloves. Nothing to hold me down.
The frigid air greeted me with eagerness as I left that night. Sometimes, lying, peering up at the heavens I would wonder what would have happened if I had stayed. How would my life have been different? Would it have been better, or worse if I had remained? What would the children have been like?
Sometimes, late at night, wrapped securely in warm arms, I like to think back on that night. About my options. My state of mind. All the factors involved.
But always, I find that I am glad I left. I’m sure the warm arms are, too.
Once outside, I followed the familiar streets. For several hours I walked down those roads. I walked past the tall and the rich buildings; past the low and dilapidated and decrepit. On I walked, until I came to that fringe of trees so proverbial and so welcome to me that I cried.
And when I was done I picked myself up off the ground and went straight past the bakery, where Liza slept in our room. And from there, I entered the sheltered green of those trees. And I went on; continuing on until my former home was out of sight, and all that was left was green and living.
It was dawn before I finally stopped to rest. I did so on a soft bed of pine needles, in the shelter of massive tree roots.
I awoke sometime around noon. And then I walked.
There was nothing to do, nothing but walk. Progress was all that was required. A larger distance between me and the city. That was all.
I was perfectly capable of self-preservation; I knew which berries to eat and which plants weren’t poisonous. And though they were stringy, I made the decision to set up rabbit traps along a little brook. The whole scheme was a success; my stomach grew tight on rabbit.
But I never stopped moving.
I would stop for a little, two days being the most at a time, to resupply myself. But then I would move again.
I walked great distances in the beginning, eating mile after mile, day after day. But I never really had a set destination; I went where my instincts told me to go. They wouldn’t lead me astray.
So I walked.
One day I came upon a river, whose flow was rough and vigorous with the melting of the snows. I set up my tiny camp by the water’s edge in the hopes of catching a few fish for supper: I had grown tired of rabbit and hungered for something else. Anything else. I spent the night there, and in the morning when I woke I was greeted by the sound of voices.
There were at least three; two men and a woman. Their camp was downstream from mine; my presence had not been noted yet, or so I assumed from the conversations I overheard from my perch in a near-by tree.
The woman’s name was Nella, and at least one of the men was her lover. She had a clear voice, and sounded no more than twenty-five.
One of the men was Drub, and the other was Far. Both were about the same age, I’d guess. And one, Drub, could swear beyond your wildest dreams. His tongue was so dirty I wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out to be black.
They stayed in that same relative location for a full day, and decided to camp there for the night. I took the opportunity to sneak back to my camp and check on my fish nets. And sometime that night I made the decision to follow after them.
I roused myself at dawn and found the three of them sleeping. I went back to my camp, where I gathered up the lines- it was still too cold for fish, I suppose.
During my time in the forest, I had fashioned a few essential items for myself, all crude but durable. From rabbit hide I had made a bag to fit on my back, and from animal hair had I made the nets and the strings on my bag. Also from rabbit fur I had erected a warm blanket, which, with its brown, earthy colors, had proved very handy when camouflage was called for. With wood I hade made a comb for my hair and several smooth knives.
All my possessions I packed into the bag, as well as a few extra rabbit furs and a pound or so of dried berries and nuts. And then there was nothing to do but wait.
Those people did not wake until long past sun high, and when they did, they did nothing but talk. And I became annoyed at their idleness. Surely these people had business to attend to?
But the day wore on, and the people made no move to go. They hardly even left camp! Not to hunt or to bathe. Only to relieve themselves. And as night wore on, and it was clear they were going to stay another night, I made myself comfortable in my tree and waited.
They awoke the next day at about the same time. And like the previous they did nothing but lounge around and talk. My boredom grew. Until nature called, of course, and I was frightened they would hear me leave my tree. But they were so incompetent and lazy they didn’t notice me, and soon I was back up in the tree. And so passed another day.
The next day was like the others; they made no move to leave or to find food; they seemed to have quite an abundance of it. And I’m not sure whether it was hunger that finally forced me out of my tree or boredom, but on that day I made the decision to show myself.
I didn’t want to hop down from the tree and show myself: that might raise alarm. So I climbed carefully from my spot and made a wide semi-circle around the camp, so I came in from the side opposite the river.
All three looked up upon my entrance.
“And who the hell are you?” Drub had a rough face, plagued with scars. I noticed that he had a slight hair-lip.
“I’m a traveler. Who might you be?”
All three exchanged glances. The woman got to her feet and peered guardedly at me. “Why should we tell you?”
“Well,” I swallowed, “I have been alone for many long nights; I would like to travel with you.”
The woman exchanged a glance with Drub. He got to his feet.
“How old are you, and what is your land of origin?”
“I’m ten and five; I fled from my home for reasons my own.”
“And tell me, girl. Why should we let you travel with us?”
“Because I have nowhere to go.”
“And what possessions do you have?”
“A few I have fashioned for myself. A few knives, nets, and a blanket.”
“…petty ownings-“
“I think she’s lying.” The one called Far said.
“I assure you sir; I am telling you the truth.”
“And just how can we be sure?”
“Look through my bag!”
Far’s face was smooth, clean and thoughtful. His eyes were dark. “You are cooperative, but I think our group is sufficient enough. You lack the skill.”
“Oh? And what skill would that be?”
“Well, can you track for days on end without food? Or sleep? Without detection?”
I smiled broadly. “I have been tracking you for the past three days, sir. I have been taking refuge in that tree over there, behind you. The large one. Your names are Nella, Drub, and you are Far. And I haven’t eaten since you arrived at this spot three days ago.”
I regretted it all instantly. All three were on their feet instantaneously, eyes furious and cold.
“A spy!” Nella hissed. “How dare you stalk us! Like wild animals!”
“I feared hostility-.”
“She must be punished.” Drub snarled.
That was all I needed to hear. I stood my ground, looking at each pair of eyes in turn, and then I took off into the woods. I heard muddled shouts, and then the underbrush crunched and splintered behind me.
I took a left, through a small section of trees. My goal was to double back, to confuse them. Or to separate them and face each one individually. I another left, and from there, an immediate right. I could hear them, calling to one another.
I rounded a corner, and to my utmost surprise came face-to-face with Drub. He was clearly just as shaken as I was, but I recovered first, and lashed out with my fist. Right in the Adam’s apple. He sat down with a grunt, both hands on his neck. I leapt past him, accidentally catching him in the face with the toe of my boot. I didn’t pause to reflect; I could hear the others coming.
But my stamina was draining; I had to take to a tree or face getting caught out in the open.
“Damn!” The voice was my own; the trees around were all too high for climbing. I could hear crashing behind me. Lay a false trail!
Without a second thought, I ripped my pack off my bag and flung it as far as I could in a some-what opposite direction. I didn’t wait to see if my trick proved successful or not.
I had completely lost my sense of direction; I was now running blind. Three days without substantial food had left me weakened: if I was going to fight, I would have to rest. And that was when I saw the tree.
It was tall, and seemed sturdy enough. And it was climbable; I scurried up as fast as a squirrel, and listened to their pursuit.
Up in the tree, my foot went suddenly numb; I shifted my weight to accommodate, and to my dismay heard the popping of wood.
Cr-cr-cr-cr
I froze and held my breath.
The high voice of Nella: “…lost her!”
“…couldn’t have gone far!”
“…her belongings.”
Cr-cr-cr-crrrrrr…
No no no please no please don’t do this please-
Cr-cr-cr…
There was a period of silence. I let out a sigh.
CRACK!
I heard myself scream. I’m sure the others did, too. The next thing I knew I was on the forest ground, dazed and tasting blood. Gotta move! Get up! GET UP!
I forced my limbs into action, and stumbled to my feet just as a large figure came roaring through the underbrush. “Found her found her! Nell-uh!”
I saw her emerge, right behind Far. And all I could manage was a sort of staggering run. At least, until my foot struck the rock. I fell face-down into the dirt.
I rolled, some-what sluggishly away from the rock, and away from my pursuers. And then I saw a third figure leap from the shadows. I was no match for all three. Not even on a day on which I hadn’t fallen out of a tree. I closed my eyes.
I heard a gurgled cry, and Nella yelled something unintelligible. I dared a peek.
The third person, a dark, cloaked figure, was actually fighting Far, and he was winning. I saw Nella, hanging behind, biting her lip, a dagger in hand.
Far got a lucky punch in; the dark figure staggered backwards. Nella seized the opportunity. And so did I.
I leapt to my feet, clumsily, and launched myself at Nella. We tumbled to the ground, I on top. Her dagger went flying. She let out a howl and struck at me. Her fist connected with my cheek, and I jabbed her in the face with my elbow. I pushed myself to my feet, but she caught my leg and pulled me back down. I swung back and felt my fist connect to her nose. I struck again and caught her in the throat. I saw her eyes water. Her hands shot up to her neck, much like Drub’s had; she let out a squeak. She coughed.
I got to my feet just in time to see Far fall to the ground. He lay still.
The third person turned to me. “Behind you!”
The pain was sudden. I looked down in time to see the knife protruding from my belly, before it began its short and destructive path, a quick slice up my front. And then it disappeared behind me.
My shirt stained crimson; I fell to my knees. I heard the boy cry out, and the shrill chirp of a cricket that seemed so incomprehensible and out of place.
The world took on a sort of dizzying effect, similar to opening your eyes underwater. The simple sounds of wind and leaves; the boy yelling; all became muted. I retched.
“Behind you!”
The boy saw her fall.
She dropped to her knees, face blank, arms limp at her side. He could smell the blood all the way across the clearing.
But he couldn’t let himself be distracted. If he did, then the whole pack could be in jeopardy. And with Allais’s pups coming…well, he wouldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t fail.
The male he had engaged went down easily enough, and the female lay, bleeding and choking, just a few feet away from the other girl. Two down, one to go.
The other human’s scent was easy to find, for it was strong and smelled of fear, and the girl’s blood.
The boy found him swaying slightly in the breeze; his body hovering a short distance above the ground. His neck was purple, where the rope he hung by had bruised his skin, his eyes wide and glassy.
The boy turned and went back to the clearing, where the girl had ceased movement, and was laying face-down on the ground, blood was-…but the girl was not important. Only the other group member.
She was slumped against a tree. She was alive, but her eyes were closed. He grabbed the front of her shirt and yanked her to a standing position- her eyes fluttered open. She let out a hiss.
“You. What connections have you with the Brotherhood?”
She grinned, her teeth stained red. “None at all.”
He slammed her against the tree. “What connections do you have with the Brotherhood!”
She licked her teeth, and stared him in the eye, but made no effort to answer.
He glared.
“Why should I tell you anything? You’ll only kill me afterwards.”
“Tell me, and I’ll spare your life.”
“Now how many times have I heard that one before? But tell me this, little wolf. Let’s say I do have a connection with this spoken ‘Brotherhood’ of yours. If you let me go, don’t you think I would run to them, and report everything I’ve said to you?”
“That would be true. But if you’ve no connection at all with the Brotherhood, then how did you know that I was a wolf?”
He eyes widened. Her mouth opened, and closed, like a fish out of water. “It was just uh- an-”
“Good. Now that that’s out of the way, tell me: what errand were you running for them
Luna Kanamari Community Member 
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