Walking through Zena had been interesting for a few days, before the monotony of the tundra replaced the monotony of the mountains, and the equal monotony of the savannah. It was cold here, colder than anything Ikkio had ever experienced, and it was white in all directions. Ikkio was miserable in the cold, despite the warm cloak she had been given, but worse: she was bored.
Then, eventually, they had come to Zidel, and she had felt her spirits rise again. Her mother had family there, and they were interesting enough: Ikkio enjoyed the regard she received as Zuri's daughter and, thus, Zuri's father's granddaughter. Her mother was happy to be home, and her sister seemed happy too. Ikkio watched – with much jealousy – as Ikuri spent time with various cousins and admirers, and reacted by smiling false smiles and learning the art of politics in the city. It was an invigorating distraction from her sister's 'infidelity' and her mother's preoccupation, and – perhaps most of all – the issues between her parents that had driven them so far across Tendaji in the first place.
There was a power in politics that Ikkio appreciated. She could create or destroy with a smile or a word. But, in the end, she was a child of the Shifter tribe. Born for manipulation she might be, but she was a creature of the small scale, not the big picture, and soon the massive, intricate politics of Zidel wore her out. She grew tired of parties and arranged meetings and intelligent, savvy minds, and found herself longing for the simpler minds and more straightforward life of her Jahuar home. She longed for the warm wildness of the trees and the freedom of the air, something she could not find in the cold, stony stagnance of Zidel.
She began to wander the city, at first, she was accompanied by a guardian, and then – as she became better able to slip out of their notice – she moved through it's streets alone.
For a time, the city's neighborhoods and bazaars drew her in, the sheer concentration of people in one place as intriguing as it was petrifying to someone so used to the spread out settlements of Jahuar... settlements that were seeming further away by the day.
Her mother showed no signs of wanting to return home, and Ikkio was filled with a constant dread that she would not be able to return home. Her hints to that end seemed to fall away to nothing on her mother's ears and her sister seemed far too happy to stay - Too happy for Ikkio's liking.
She didn't care about her father or his feelings, but Jahuar was home. She wanted to be home. So, she found herself, in her bored explorations, drifting to the woodlands outside of the city on occasion, seeking some small degree of familiarity amidst the alien trees and crackling ice and snow.
It was on one such journey that she first saw the man. He lay in the snow, his blood staining it red beneath him. It was this that drew Ikkio to him – the splash of color amidst the grey and white wood. It was new, and it intrigued her to see it's color so prominent and striking, it's story so obviously interesting. She went over to investigate, noting the slow, haggard rise and fall of his chest.
He lived, but it was easy to see he had little strength left. His dark blue skin was paled from strain and loss of blood, and his eyes, half open, were rolled upward – he was too exhausted, even, to look at her, let alone focus.
Ikkio knelt beside him, bringing her hand to his lips. They were parched and clammy, but she could feel his breath lap gently against her skin. She smiled, running a hand along his cold arm.
“Oh...” she purred, “What I could do to you.” She looked behind her to ensure she wasn't followed – that she was, indeed, alone and could do what she pleased without interruption. She lay a hand on his breast, her magic softly glowing through her fingers as she carefully healed him. Some living color – though not much – returned to his face, and his breath eased to a more normal, regular rhythm.
“I shall let you live.” She purred, picking him up by the shoulders and dragging him away, off the path. “We shall have fun, you and I.” Well, maybe just her.
She set him down in a comfortable-looking spot and began to construct a shelter out of fallen leaves and branches. “You will be my secret patient,” she declared, “and I will hide you from the wind and the beasts and the people...” she looked down at him, at his handsome, if thinned, frame, “And in return, you entertain me and give me practice...” She crouched in the rough-built yurt, “It's a fair trade, isn't it...?” she trailed off, looking around, “I'll need things... yes. Potions...” she grinned. Potions - potions to help, to hurt, to build up and to break. “Yes, you will be good practice. I will test out everything I know on you.” she found his pack and pulled out a blanket, wrapping him carefully in it. “Rope too. So that you can't get away from me... yes.” her eyes glittered, predatory and fierce. “You won't get away.”
She laughed, tucking him in. “I shall be back later, my precious patient. Not too long, though... Don't you fret.”
The man, of course, was in no condition to fret... not that Ikkio cared.
She returned some hours later bearing what she needed. Pleased that he still lived, she noted that he was still unconcious from his injuries and exposure. Ikkio couldn't have that – that was no fun. She bound the man's foot to a nearby tree with the rope, first – just to be sure he wouldn't get away – and then, she began. It was difficult to wake someone like this, with only magic, but that was why she was doing this in the first place – practice – and she was sure she would become better at it as time went on.
She didn't care about consequences – if the man died, he died. If he was damged, he was damaged. This time, though, she did succeed, bringing forth his mind to wakefulness. He convulsed, choking and sputtering at the air, before opening his eyes. They strained in the light, blinking. “Who...?” he began, “Are you...” he swallowed mucus that had built up in his throat. “Are you Bergchi?”
Ikkio chuckled. “In a manner of speaking.” she purred, “Let us say... that I am her stand in.”
The man stared at her, as best he could manage. He was still weak, Ikkio could see, but he was alive and aware. “Your skin... it is black.”
Ikkio looked down at her day-shifted flesh. “So it is.” she said, amused.
“You are not... are not of the ice tribe...” he said, but it was too much for him. He leaned back against the soft leaf litter, gasping with the exertion of having sat up.
“I am... partially of the ice tribe.” admitted Ikkio, “What does it matter to you?”
“You are... not my kind...” he heaved, staring listlessly up into the shelter she had built, “I do not... I do not know if it matters... yet...”
“Hmm!” Ikkio was amused by his arrogance, even so close to death: and he was close. One little push from Ikkio, and the light would leave his eyes, and he really would go to Bergchi then. Maybe later, she thought. For now, and for a time yet, we play. “Well,” she said, “It shouldn't matter, because either way I am your savior.”
“Savior.” he said, as if uncertain of its taste, “Where am I...?”
“The forest. I made it safe for you...” Ikkio mixed her potion, diluting it carefully with snow, “Here, drink this.” she lifted his head gently and poured the potion into his mouth. He swallowed weakly, trustingly. He relaxed, his obvious pain and discomfort easing.
“Thank you...” he whispered, resting once more. She could feel his heartbeat strengthen and his body warm as it's efforts to heal its injury were sped.
“Your welcome.” She smiled, pleased at her potion's success.
~~~
Ikkio visited her patient often: he was her main source of amusement. He trusted her now, speaking to her of his past to an extent, but only to an extent. Ikkio guessed him a bandit, from his dress and his weapons, but she didn't care what he was. What mattered is that he was becoming healthier, and might soon be well enough to leave.
But, of course, Ikkio could not let that happen: she did not want to be bereft of her source of amusement and, further more, she had more things to try on him. She was definitely not done playing with him yet.
She enjoyed his reliance on her, and how he needed her for even simple things like eating or using the bathroom. The power she had over him was better than any drug her vibrant homeland could produce, and she needed it to remain. She would not give it up without a fight.
Today, she changed tact as she sat by him, stroking his thick hair as he looked at her, appreciation in his eyes. It had grown from a small spark to something more, something she liked.
“I was able to go as far as the tree, today.” he said, smiling at her.
“Good, good... Very good.” said Ikkio, as her potion simmered on a makeshift fire.
“I will soon be able to go beyond the rope.” he said.
“Oh?” She kept smiling, watching to see his reaction.
“You shall have to extend it, if you wish to keep track of me.”
“Oh, yes.” she purred, “I wouldn't want you, with your newfound strength, to wander off and become lost... not after all the effort I've gone thought to save you.”
“Mmm... no.” he touched her hand with his. “You said... you were from the jungles to the West, right?”
“Yes.” she said, rising to spoon out her potion into a dose cup. It cooled quickly in Zena's frozen air, and he drank it trustingly, without question.
He smiled at her. “Maybe... I should join you there. There is no place for me, here.”
“Maybe you should.” she said, smiling.
~~~
She dosed him with that potion the next day, and the next, and he became suddenly weaker. His skin reddened and then began to burst forth with boils that made him scream in pain.
“An infection!” she said, “It must have hidden away in your wound, waiting for us to let our guard down...”
But behind her concerned face, she was laughing with glee, for her poison and plan had worked. The man would remain under her power, and it would only end when – and how – she decided.
She would work him back to health and then tear him down again, practicing until even he could see the truth behind the pretty face and the sweet smile... But he could do nothing – nothing at all – as she tortured, abused, and then repaired his body. He was, after all, far from help or home.
“I hate you.” he whispered once, as she administered cooling cream to rashes that had sprung up all over him. “I love you...” he had whispered again, as she gave him a draught to help him sleep against the needlelike pains in his sides. “Why...” he whispered, choking through blackened mucus as he drank the potions she gave him, though he no longer trusted them.
“Because.” she answered, her smile sweet and innocent, “I can.”
Posted: Sat Nov 29, 2014 8:13 pm
✠ Sister Mine✠ Solo, 1261 Words
He was gone.
Ikkio stared at the cut portion of rope, unbelieving. It had been two months since she had brought the man here, and in no time had she been so careless as to leave a weapon or cutting device of any sort. She needed him for the company and the power he gave her, and so she had been careful. An escape was unthinkable.
And yet, he was gone, his rope destroyed, his hut empty, her potions and poisons and items strewn, spilling their colorful, oozing contents into the ground.
He had been too weak to move on his own when she'd left him the day before. Thus, she realized, he'd had help. She searched around her for marks of his movement, anything that could lead her back to her toy.
She found them – drag marks and staggering steps. Someone had helped him. Someone had carried him.
Someone had stolen him.
She made a feral growl in her throat, and Zumurundi looked up at her warily. “Track them.” she commanded, pointing to the trail. Zumurundi, who had watched his mistress for many years and understood the depths of her cruelty, obeyed.
She followed his bright green shape (obscured as it was with attached coats) through the forest and into the ice flats of the tundra, her fists clenched with rage in their knit gloves.
Who dared to escape with her toy? He was hers, not anybody else's, and she had worked so hard to maintain him. She didn't know what she would do when she found them, but she knew it would not be pretty. She would have to punish them – both of them - for wronging her. The how would depend.
Snow stung her exposed face as the wind picked up, and she groaned in frustration. A snowstorm – lovely, just what she needed. She had hated the sandstorms of the Tale, and the snowstorms of Zena were that much worse and wet. It would, she knew, be prudent to retreat to the forest and leave the mystery and insult of who had stolen her patient for later, but Ikkio wasn't feeling prudent.
Zumurundi bounded ahead leaving clawed footprints in the snow, and Ikkio could see – in the slowly whitening haze of distance – the silhouettes of two people, one carrying the other.
“Hey!” she shouted, breaking into a run as the wind murmured in her ears, “Stop!”
She heard the man moan, and she knew it was him: her patient. His moans were familiar to her through the time she had 'treated' him. But as she got closer, and the other person turned around, she slowed, stunned, in the thickening drifts of the snow.
“Ikuri?!” she exclaimed, her anger hollowed by the surprise, “Ikuri, what are you doing?”
“I'm saving him, Ikkio.” said her sister, her grey eyes looking at Ikkio as if she, Ikuri, was the one betrayed. “You were doing terrible things to him, and I am saving him.”
“He's not yours to save.” said Ikkio, stopping a few feet away to confront her sister, “He's mine.”
“You can't own people, Ikkio.” said Ikuri, shaking her head. Tears crystallized on her cheeks, along the deep blue crystals that Ikuri had inherited from their mother's ice blood. “You just can't.”
“I can, too. I saved him, and he owes me his life.” Ikkio crossed her arms, frustrated with her twin, “So, I own him. He's mine.”
“You're wrong, Ikkio...” said Ikuri. Her eyes were sad as she looked at Ikkio, an emotion that confused the lavender-haired girl, “So much about you is wrong... You've always been broken and twisted... But we can fix you, we can save you, you just... you just can't keep doing these things.” she turned away. The whiteness of the snowstorm began to whirl about them, obscuring all but the shadow of nearby Zidel and the rift beyond.
“Theres nothing wrong with me.” insisted Ikkio, puzzled and hurt, “Why would you say that.”
“Because there is. You've always been mean, Ikkio. But this...” Ikuri started walking again, “This has gone too far.”
“I don't understand what you mean.” said Ikkio, “What is wrong... is it that I was practicing on him? What's so wrong about that? He owes me his life, and what better way to use that then to learn how to save others?” her voice was smooth, but Ikkio couldn't figure out what her own objective was. Was she trying to convince her sister to her intelligent way of thinking? Was she trying to get her toy back? Ikkio didn't know. That it was her sister doing this confused things. She couldn't do anything particularly vengeful to Ikuri – she didn't want to hurt her. Ikuri was the one thing that had remained constant her entire life. To harm her courted a terrifying chaos that Ikkio didn't want. But, then, what else did she do about this? What else could she do?
“What you were doing, the way you were doing it, it was wrong.” said Ikuri, firmly, “You put this man through hell, and now I'm taking him home.” She looked back. “You can't stop me, Ikkio.” and then began to plod forward, against the wind, “We'll talk later.”
“I can stop you.” said Ikkio, angry. Before she even knew what she was doing, she rushed forward, shoving Ikuri hard. Her sister staggered and fell to what Ikkio thought was the snow... and then kept falling. The whiteness lifted, briefly, to reveal a hazy ravine, and Ikkio watched as her sister stumbled and fell into it, her heart stilling in frightened surprise as her sister fell beyond her sight.
A pang of confusion and regret struck her, and she peered over the edge at the airborne snow and the infinite whiteness beyond. “Ikuri?” she called into the wind, her voice echoing dully against the ice walls, “Ikuri!”
No answer. Ikkio felt a sense of confused dread and uncertainty: there had never been an Ikkio without an Ikuri... but now, was there? She had only meant to push her away and take the man back... not this.
“You...” gasped the man, where he had fallen, “You are a...” he choked out the words, “You are a twisted b***h...”
Ikkio turned her bright yellow eyes on him, looking him over for a moment. “I think...” she said coldly, finally, “I'm done with you.”
Anger – at her sister's betrayal - and fear – at her loss - and pure cruel vindictiveness drove her hands around his neck as she crushed the life out of his throat. He was weakened, barely able to attempt to fend her off, and he soon failed, laying limp and dead in the snow.
Ikkio took a moment to look down at his tortured face, before standing and, with a grunt of effort, dragged him over to the ravine and shoved him over the edge.
As he slipped over and into the white infinity, Ikkio turned towards Zidel. What she wanted to do was search the ravine for Ikuri, to see if she was alive or dead and settle the hopeful ambiguity in her heart. But, no. Ikkio would have to move fast to the shelter of the city, before the storm became any worse... which meant that she had to come up with a good, believable, tragic story to tell her mother.
With only a single glance at the ravine, she headed for the city, Zumurundi following loyally behind her.
In the time she had been there, Ikkio had learned to appreciate the drab flatness of Zena. It was cold, and it's deadly beauty echoed in her heart. She had been able to get away with so much here, her deeds unnoticed and unpunished by her mother.
But without Ikuri, it became progressively duller and she soon found herself longing for home. Zuri, of course, would not let her (now) only daughter out of her sight, but Ikkio had ways around that.
She built up to her departure slowly, carefully. First, she charmed a group of young men and women about to set off for Jahuar and the war. Then, she gathered supplies quietly, squirreling them away in a safe place where she could retrieve them. And then, on the day the group was to leave, she cast a sleeping spell on her mother, so that the woman wouldn't wake up until she was long gone.
The trip back, itself, was easier than the trip to. The group moved fast, yes, but when Ikkio became tired of their pace, she simply rode Zumurundi, who managed well enough. The terrors of the cold Sauti mountains and the endless openness of the Tale became tolerable with a group of big, strong people around her, and nights were far less boring with more company than just her mother and sister.
When the time came to finally part ways, though, she was not sad to see them go. They had outlived their usefulness, and it was time for them to go on to the war and die. Or not. She did not care.
Besides, she was in her homeland now: The screams and constant din of the jungle sounded all around her, welcoming her with an enveloping, humid warmth. The well-used path was laid out before her, and she followed it, people passing by her in the opposite direction, heading for Neued and the battle soon to come.
She was surprised, though, when she saw her father coming that way as well. He was more than surprised to see his daughter return, joy running through his features and, quickly, fading to a mere shadow when he saw that neither Zuri nor Ikuri were with her.
That her father was going to war – her foolish, sweet, cowardly father – was definitely interesting, and so Ikkio turned from the path to Ast, following him instead. She explained why Zuri and Ikuri were not there, and she could see his guard drop. He was vulnerable in that moment, and so she began to set her hooks into him, lies and half truths that he had been resistant to for so long.
She lied, of course, about her involvement in Ikuri's dissappearance, and in her method of escape from her mother. She lied about her reasons for escaping her mother, citing abuse, though Zuri had never laid a finger on her in malice, not even once.
She knew he didn't believe her, but he didn't have to: the thought that it might have been just had to be there, waiting, to become solid 'truth' when he decided to accept it. She knew her father would be difficult to convince – he always had - but manipulating him would be worth the effort.
And then there was Neued, and both were distracted with healing and preparations and a myriad of issues past and present, culminating in a mammoth battle. Ikkio had been sure they would win it: with all of these fierce warriors attacking the Obans, how could they not?
But they were crushed, and she found herself and her Radaku, separated from those that could protect her, fleeing from the town and into the jungle. Zumurundi, loyal, smart beast that he was, led her to the camp in the Tale. She arrived, shivering, wet, and hungry, and then she found her father and hugged him. It was, of course with false warmth that she hugged him, and with false fear that she cried. She was angry – angry at the Obans for not doing what they were supposed to, and angry at the alliance for being weak and stupid and losing. Perhaps, too, she was glad to have family in the confusion, but when she hugged him, it was the next step in the great game of manipulating him: she had to give him doubt that she was the liar child he knew she was. That doubt would grow, and would soften him up to her demands.
Demands that could wait for a while as she began to prepare to avenge her wrath on the Obans. There was only cruelty and violence on her mind as she prepared the ointments and ungents for the battle ahead. They would pay for their insolence with pain. And, Ikkio knew, she would not be bored.
Ikkio waited for her sister and dinner on the shelf that supported their home in the crotch of the tree. There was a tension in this place, as of late, that Ikkio did not like, but it was beyond her control. Which meant she liked it even less.
She stroked Zumurundi's loyal head and thought about her encounter in the jungle with the strange halfbreed boy. That encounter – otherworldly though it was – had the potential to be very interesting.
If she got back in time before his clearly addled mind forgot. She scowled at the jungle, angry at her mother for this inconvenience. She'd find a way to make her mother pay for it. Or not. Ikkio would have to see what the trip would bring.
She looked, grimly, towards where their supplies and packs were accumulating. She hoped it would be worth the trouble.
The settlements of Tendaji all knew how to take care of themselves during the winter. Zena and Sauti received their usual snow fall, for Zena it was nearly year round and didn't faze them much at all; Tale and Jauhar seemed to retain most of their heat, dropping to milder temperatures; Matori and Oba seemed to flux between mild during the day and a sharp chill in the evenings. But usually it was all under control.
Word had passed through the elders and oracles and mystics that this winter was going to be a hard winter. The air would be sharp with cold and snow would fall in all areas of the world, something that had never happened before in Jauhar.
It came as a shock when the temperatures began to drop rapidly through the night. Most had thought that it was just a joke. There couldn't possibly be enough cold air to send snow to Jauhar. It was absurd. But it happened, and most of Tendaji wasn't prepared.
In the morning everything was frosted over, those in Zena and most of Sauti were barely able to open their doors the snow had risen so high overnight, and those in warmer climates could see the sheet of frost on the ground and the plants around them.
If the winter was going to be a long one, they would have to salvage what they could and come up with a plan...
✠ Winter is Coming ✠ Versatile Prompt, 1113 Words
Winter... she hadn't felt its terrible bite since she had left Zena. For all her life, Jahuar had been free of it, immune to the dry cold that rested, eternally, in the tundra. But now, it seemed, it had followed her home. Frost crackled on the thick, waxy jungle leaves and coated mud and bark alike in a white, scaly coating. Ikkio layered on furs to hold back the chill, a valiant effort made easier by the Zenan coats she still had. She shivered. She wouldn't have to return there, it seemed: the cold had followed her, burrowing into her flesh and howling as if blizzard borne in the empty space that served as her heart.
She sat on the wood of the house her father had built, and looked aimlessly out into the sparkling, icy clearing.
It had been a year since her sister's death, and, with the arrival of winter – true winter – in this land of endless summer, she felt it far stronger than ever. The realization crashed down on her like the front of a storm, sudden and violent and terrible: Her sister, her twin, was really, truly gone. She had, before, entertained some vague hope that Ikuri had survived her fall, that she would return to Ikkio's side as the same idiot as before. But no - A year had passed, and Ikkio knew she would have to accept that her sister had passed away with it.
Obviously, it was Ikuri's own fault that she was dead. She had deserved her fate - She had, after all, interfered with Ikkios plans, a thing that even she, fool as she was, should have known from experience not to do. Being the only stable thing in Ikkio's life had given Ikuri some leeway, certainly, and Ikkio had been willing to put in the effort to fix her stupidity. Ikuri had been a fool, but she had been an educate-able fool. Freeing Ikkio's patient was unforgivable, but Ikkio was gracious. Such a sin could be forgiven after a time, and after appropriate punishment, because it was Ikuri.
Ikkio had not meant to kill her sister, only to push her aside. Instead, the action had been final. Ikuri had fallen into an abyss in the icy tundra, and had not returned. Ikkio regretted that, but what could she have done? It was Ikuri's fault for interfering, and the blizzard's fault for making conditions unfavorable to a search.
And so, she had left Ikuri there, left her for dead. If she hadn't died in the fall then, she was certainly dead now from exposure and time.
Perhaps, then, it was her spirit bringing the winter here. Her father believed in spirits and claimed to have fought one, so the idea was not so far-fetched. But no – Ikkio could not imagine her sugar-sweet obnoxiously perfect little goody-two-shoes sister becoming a vengeful ghost. Or even a mildly harmful ghost. No, Ikuri would never hurt a soul, even as a soul herself.
That was all Ikkio had intended to do – hurt her, remind her of what she was capable of, of the torments she had inflicted on her sister in the not-so-distant past, before she had appreciated the value of her twin. And she had killed her. It had been beyond her control, a happenstance, a moment of surprise and – yes – horror, as a gulf had revealed itself behind her tumbling sister. A regrettable happening.
Ikkio bit her lip, lost in thought as a flake of what could have been snow drifted down to fade into the shimmering clearing, the faint colors of the bioluminescent fungus dying the pristine whiteness into something unreal and dreamlike.
Ikuri was her twin. They had always been together, even when Ikkio had wished her and her foolishness gone. But, when their parents had begun to fight, Ikkio had learned to appreciate her sister, that built-in and loyal ally that shared secrets and was game for late-night adventures. Ikuri had been malleable, stupid, and perfect in the eyes of all others. But most of all, they had been compliments to each other: there had been no Ikkio without Ikuri. There could be, Ikkio had realized, no Ikkio without Ikuri.
But, for a year now, there had only been Ikkio. She had thought that the pain of her sister's loss would subside in time - after all, she had easily replaced many friends, allies, or enemies. Usually, she thought nothing of it.
But Ikuri was more than some mere friend, ally, or enemy. She transcended all three of those categories and had been her own, useful entity. No one could replace her. No one could dare to try to fill the emptiness that Ikuri's passing had left inside of her. It was impossible, as impermeable as stone. Ikkio would always feel that loneliness, that regret, and in a moment of clarity brought on by the cold, she knew she would never ease it.
She let out a cry of frustration and threw a clay cup at a nearby tree, feeling a fleeting solace as it shattered into a hundred rough pieces. She stood, wiping her eyes, and was surprised to feel moisture there. Tears. Normally, Ikkio did not cry unbidden, her tears usually weapons of manipulation, but there they were, small and lingering at the corner of her eyes.
She shivered again, and moved to gather up the shards and hide them. That would be easy enough: she would simply tell her father that she had no idea where the cup was. It would not matter in the long run anyway. He would be busy with this strange weather, and he could afford to trade for a new cup. Moon and Sun, she could probably break the entire set of cups. They were drab and worthless, and frankly her father could afford better. She would be doing him a favor by breaking the lot.
Maybe she would even feel better... no, that was a lie. She would not.
She had been wrong before – her sister was indeed capable of hurting someone: Ikkio herself. It was Ikuri's spiritual doing, was it not, that Ikkio felt this way? That she could not shake the cold, wet, lethargic emptiness inside her?
Ikuri had hurt her with her passing, and Ikkio knew that things would never be as they had been before. She would always feel as though she had lost her other half, and she would never be whole again. She didn't even have the energy to feel angry about it. Only lethargic. Only... sad.
Being whole, she decided bitterly, turning away from her hidden shards, was terribly overrated.
