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 Posted: Tue Jul 14, 2015 3:50 pm
] ◕* Rising Tide *◕
| ||||| |Meta, 119 Words--- Idiots.
That was all Yitzah thought of her own people. Stupid idiots. They were focusing on Sauti and, worse, arguing when the worst threat of them all still lurked in the deep jungle, where none dared to tread. If they weren't going to pay attention to the bugmen, then they deserved to get eaten by the bugmen. Yitzah didn't care about them.
She rode, grumpily, on Xarthin, heading South to Oba and some semblance of sanity. Oh, she'd have a lot to say to those two big brothers... many choice words, none of them kind.
Have fun at her festival, would she? Oh she'd show them fun. She would show them what that meant.
There had been one voice of intelligence. That Anya girl at least was sane. Yitzah felt pretty sorry for her, almost sorry enough to go back and definitely sorry enough to stop Xarthin and think about it...
Well, she could at least make sure she wasn't going to get eaten by bugmen, right? That would be fine. Yitzah turned the Janarim back and trod back towards the village, keeping an eye out for Anya as she went...
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Posted: Sat Mar 19, 2016 10:51 am
◕* Remembering the Past *◕
| ||||| |Versatile Prompt, 771 Words--- Yitzah had come to her conclusions long ago about war and strife. Her mind had been forever set and made by her sister's brutal death. They had died right before her eyes, and there was only one creature she could lame. There was only one foe worthy of her rage.
The bug monsters.
It was they, and no other, who had called forth flame and lightning and other magics to hurt and maim the people she loved. Their screams had gone on too long, their flesh had sizzled, and what she had seen that day in the jungle still haunted her nightmares. All other foes and beasts paled in comparison to the bug men, and there was no room in her hard little heart for more than that one, all-encompassing grudge. Everything else was just not worth it.
That was why she thought that war was stupid. Why, she often complained (whether people were listening to her or not,) did people – did Sisters, even – fight each other? Sure, anger in the moment sparked duels, and some people just needed to beat others and get beat up sometimes, but to come together in a big, bloody clash? To fight and die? For what? Why?
The true dangers were elsewhere, and to fight so vigorously over anything else was stupid - Stupid and, moreover, wasteful. How many resources had been eaten up by war? How many able bodied people had died? Stupid.
Yitzah was convinced that the bug monsters were behind it all. Yitzah would never forget the infernal hatred that gleamed in the oculars that they used for eyes, the cruel intelligence that had tormented her sisters until their screams were no more. They were smart, cunning, evil monsters and war was clearly a part of their scheme to turn people against each other. That way, when their nefarious plots came to fruition, it would be easy to conquer and kill everyone left standing. Or something along those lines. Yitzah didn't pretend to understand the monsters.
At the very least, Yitzah was pretty sure that the Extremist rebellion was their doing. Why else would Sisters attack other Sisters, if not pushed into it by the whispers of an outside force? Who cared if there were hybrids? Or if someone loved an earthling? It was not any of Yitzah's business and as long as they stayed out of her way, she could not care less. That the others were reacting in such an impractical way proved that they had been tricked.
People, Yitzah was finding, were stupid that way. They lost sight of the real threats, the real concerns, and got caught up on race and gender and old grudges. The Obans had killed her mother and eldest sister (probably), and yet she did not think of the fire tribe as anything other than more earthlings to deal with. The tribe had not killed them, a few individuals had. The war had. Whether that war, too, was a plot of the bug monsters, Yitzah did not know. But she did not hold the Obans accountable for the deaths of her mother and sister. She had better things to do. They had better things to do. Life moved on.
She did not hate the Extremists either. They were just stupid and hurtful and wrong, blinded by their hate to what really mattered. If that was what they decided to do, fine. If they were satisfied with their new, gross, swampy home, then fine. That was on them. That was what the bug people wanted. Yitzah did not care.
Yitzah never wanted to fight in a war. War implied that there were groups of people fighting each other. Yitzah hunted the bug men, and until someone else recognized the threat that they posed, she would likely be hunting them alone.
War that may be, yes, but that was a very personal 'war'. It was nothing like the wars she had heard about, nothing at all. Yitzah was determined not to fight in any other war unless it furthered her ends – her bug-men killing ends.
Or, of course, if someone she cared about was in danger. She would fight for the black brothers and for Anya, her few friends in the world. Otherwise, why bother? Yitzah did not care. She was on her own side in this, and was happy to be so.
Her goals were clear. Her path was set. If war happened again, then she would ignore if if she could. And if she could not? Well... she supposed she would have to fight, then.
But she would not like it.
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Posted: Mon Jun 06, 2016 6:21 am
◕* At Large *◕
| ||||| |Yitzah, Damissian, 230 Words--- When Yitzah woke up, rehydrated and restored, she burned all over. It wasn't just from the sun's mark on her skin.
She'd fainted. She'd been carried into the temple. By a man. She was ashamed and embarrassed by all three of those things, in that order of importance. And, no matter how nicely she asked, no one would tell her the fate of the turtle-like beastie.
She resigned herself to not knowing it's eventual fate, and endured – grudgingly – the acidic remarks on her intelligence. How foolish was she to go out into the sun without sunbalm? How stupid could she be?
Excuses didn't matter to the hard-edged priest. The idea of a forest was foreign to him, as foreign and strange as her yellow skin and antennae. Said priest was also not allowing her out of the temple without purchasing sunbalm – his hard work was not going to waste, Alkidike or no.
He also wanted her to work for him, which she rejected off hand – why should she work for an earthling? What, even, was work? She was a hunter, she had to hunt. She didn't understand, and so she bought her sunbalm and left as soon as she was well and able, to the anger and annoyance and grudging acceptance of the priest.
She didn't care. Her journey had to continue, and that was that.
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Posted: Sat Jan 14, 2017 7:59 pm
◕* Fickle Storms *◕
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PPL, 562 Words
Solo: Yitzah and Maxim
Waves crashed at Yitzah's back, biting the sand with white-foam fangs as she evaded their hungry mouths. She dragged her net behind her, the ropes coating themselves with wet, grey sand until – in a moment of risky stopping – she reeled the net and it's contents in. She rolled it up like a cloth until she could put it on her back.
“Ugh!” she exclaimed at the feeling of slimy sand, but she knew she'd just have to deal with it. She also knew she couldn't stand there for long. As if to illustrate her point, a wave crashed down on her, soaking her completely. Her skin shivered in the blast of wrathful wind that followed. She spat an Alkidike curse at the ocean and moved forward along the marshy beach, narrowly missing the next wave, and the next.
Finally, mucky beach sand turned to actual earthy muck and she stepped onto more (relatively) solid ground. The palmy trees lashed in the wind as the stormclouds whorled above them. Their speed was impossibly fast, as if someone up there in the sky was stirring the clouds into batter. Her feet sank into the bubbling soil as she headed towards a silhouette of a house in the pounding rain. She'd knock on the door and, if someone was inside, they might let her in. If someone wasn't inside, she could probably let herself in. The doors here weren't very sturdy, and she had Alkidike strength on her side. Either way, it was refuge; shelter from this horrible rain.
Thunder cracked the sky and Yitzah flinched at the sound and the bright flash of lightning. The bent plants around her howled supplication to the sky as she grit her teeth and fought to move forward. Just a few more feet, and then she would be there. She reached for the door, stretching her arm to it's full length. She could almost reach the handle and the shelter within!
And then all the rain stopped. Just stopped. All the wind, all the thunder, and all the rain – stopped. It was as if someone up there, that celestial weather-chef, had decided to turn off the storm like a tap. Yitzah looked up as the clouds stopped spinning above her. They were now, instead, dissipating into wisps of swirling mist and, finally, nothing.
Within moments, nothing but a clear blue sky was above her, and only bright warm golden sunlight streamed down on her. Yitzah stared, dripping and wet, at the cloudless sky as birds and lizards and other Matorian fauna began to sing their jubilant after-storm song.
From right next to her, she heard the creak of a door. It startled her and she jumped, ready to punch something with her free hand if she had to.
“Hi!” said a cheerful, dry young Matorian, “What are you doing out there?”
Yitzah glowered at him, fully aware that she was soaking wet. Her clothes were limp and saturated with water, clinging to her like a second skin. Her hair dripped and – with their dreadlocks and the humidity of Matori – would likely never dry. Her back was covered in dripping gray sand, and her feet were filthy and scraped. Meanwhile, the Matorian was clean and cheerful.
It was humiliating.
“Nothing.” she snarled, turning around on a muddy heel and walking away.
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Posted: Sat Jan 14, 2017 8:06 pm
◕* Taking Hints *◕
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Yitzah and Maxim, 916 Words
--- “Wait up!”
Yitzah ignored the pitter patter of feet behind her and kept walking back towards the beach. There, she could at least wash off the sand and rinse her fish off before bringing it into the settlement to sell (or make her meal, whichever came first).
“Hey!”
She continued to ignore the voice, but it was very hard to do. As her feet sank into the debris-strewn sand, she fought the urge to turn around and snap at them. She had just enough restraint for that. Just.
“Hey! Green lady!”
She ignored them – him, the Matorian was a male, that much she was certain of - and glared out over the ocean. It was filthy, full of debris and sediment. Maybe she shouldn't try to wash off here, after all.
“Hey!”
The Matorian grabbed her arm and she spun around, eyes wide with anger as she swung out with an open hand.
SLAP!
The Matorian sprawled on the ground, clutching his throbbing cheek, blinking at her in stunned surprise. Yitzah glared at him, holding herself back from hurting him further. “What?!” she demanded, baring her teeth at him, “What do you want?!”
The Matorian stared at her for a moment before smiling weakly. “I just wanted to know where you were from!”
How he could smile with a big red mark on his face, Yitzah didn't understand. She took a deep breath. “Jauhar.” She muttered before stomping away. She'd have to do whatever she did with her fish dirty – she wasn't trusting the murky, stormwashed tidewater.
She retraced the footsteps she'd made in the sand, grumbling inaudibly to herself about the horrors of sand and dirt and muck. She was cold and damp and the sun was so bright – today, she could tell, was going to be a bad day. There was no rescuing it.
Still... She did like Matori in general. It was pleasant, and people here were generally better than her Sisters. They were careful, for one thing. And they were smart. If she thought about it, she figured it could have been the slavery thing that had made them canny. Then again, they couldn't have become something good if they weren't already something good.
In general, she liked them.
She hoped she could get a good price for her fish at the market, or at least some spices or – ooo – or some starchy fruits! Just because the day was un-salvageably bad didn't mean she couldn't try to make it a little better with food, right? Her stomach echoed with emptiness, and she licked her lips at the thought of a fruit and fish curry... or one of those grilled spiced lizard sticks that they sometimes sold in the market.
“Hey!”
Yitzah stopped, her face crinkling into a mask of exasperated distaste.
“Hey, green lady!”
She turned around to see the Matorian boy behind her, still following her. Still, too, with the red mark of her hand on his face. “I'm not green.” she informed him, “I'm yellow. And I'm an Alkidike.” she ground her teeth, the pressure comforting and familiar. “What do you want?”
“Jauhar is really far away, right?” he asked, his slit-pupiled eyes bright and curious.
“Yeah?” It was, but what did that have to do with anything? Yitzah had no idea.
“So why are you here?”
Yitzah raised an eyebrow and thought about his question for a moment. Yes – why was she here? She'd left Jauhar to train and get better so that she could hunt the bugmen, but what was she actually doing? She wasn't sure, but she was happy to be there. How, though, could she explain that?
...Actually, though, she had a better answer for the boy. “None of your stinking business.” she snapped at him, “Go away.”
“Nope!” he said, laughing. As if she was joking. “I want you to tell me all about Jauhar and the Tale and the desert and the mountains and all the places you've been to between there and here and...” Infuriated, Yitzah walked away. “Wait! No, please wait!”
“No.” she said, stalking forward.
“Please?” he pleaded, running alongside her for a moment.
“No.” she said, her temper rapidly fouling once more, “Go away.” The terrain under her feet transformed subtly from mud to packed road, and she straightened up in relief. It was nice, she thought, to have solid ground beneath her feet. Now, she thought, if only this idiot would go away. Then it would almost make up for being wet and miserable.
“I'm not going away!” he said, sounding offended, “I don't want to. I want to talk to you and hear about your travels and...”
“I told you to go away!” Yitzah spun around quickly and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him up. “So either go away, or I'll make you go away!” She wasn't strong enough to lift him to her height, but she did manage to stretch him out a little. She hoped it was enough of an impression to get her point across. “Got it?!” She put him down, taking his silence for a yes, and walked into the settlement. She paused, just before she entered, and looked back to where she had left him. He was still there, watching her with sad, pleading eyes. Yitzah faltered. Had she hurt his feelings?
And then she turned away, frowning resolutely.
Who cares?!
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Posted: Sat Jan 14, 2017 8:16 pm
◕* Mapping the Shifting Sands *◕
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Yitzah and Maxim, 1293 Words
---
A good meal went a long way to soothing a bruised ego and an enflamed temper. Yitzah knew that firsthand.
Her catch of the day hadn't been worth that much, but it had bought her a tasty meal of Matorian fish curry, and that had been enough for her. That was how she'd been living in Matori – Day to day, fishing and hunting, buying and selling. Surviving.
When she'd first come there, she'd been horrible at all of those. Her prey used to elude her all the time. It was embarrassing for a girl who called herself a huntress, to lose prey like that, and she'd been frustrated and angry at the world, and hungry to boot. But she'd gotten used to the environment and the beasts of this land. And now? She had the hang of it, just about. Obviously, she needed to be better before she went back home, but she was proud of how far she'd come. She'd made the right decision to leave home, that day at the festival when those idiot Sisters had decided to go to war.
She savored the piece of fish curry in her mouth, tasting the bright spicy heat of it. After she finished this, Next on her list of things to buy would be a waterproof bag and a change of clothes. If she traded some of her saved things, she could probably get a tunic that would serve until her clothes were no longer damp and chilly. She thought she might have just enough in her pack to trade for something worthwhile that would fit her.
And then what? Yitzah didn't know. It was hard being on her own, with no one to teach her or count on. However, it was the way she was, and she knew she had to toughen up. She'd get to those other things once she got there. It wasn't as though she hadn't always been on her own, anyway...
“Hey!”
Yitzah froze at the sound, the piece of delectable fish in her mouth turning, slowly, to something approximating tar. She kept her eyes closed, trying to pretend that no one was there.
“Hey!”
It was no use. Closed eyes didn't make him go away. She opened her eyes to find the Matorian boy from before grinning at her.
“Hey there, Ms. Yellow lady.”
Oh how nice, she thought, he remembered. “Didn't I tell you to go away?!” she snarled at him.
“Yep! You did!” he said, smiling happily.
“Didn't I tell you I'd make you leave if you didn't?”
“Yep! You did!”
Yitzah clenched her fists, “Did you somehow miss my meaning, fishy? Or do you want me to beat you silly?”
“I'm not a fish.” said the boy, making – ironically – a very aquatic-looking pouting face. “And I don't want you to beat me up.”
“Yeah, well, I'm not Ms. Yellow lady.” she said huffily, “And if you don't want me to beat you up, the you should go away...” she half stood, muscles tensed, “Shoo! Scram!”
“No, wait!” he held up his hands in surrender. “I wanted to apologize! For before! I came on too strong and I was too insistent! Everyone says that'll get me in trouble but Mommy says that it's a good trait to have these days and sometimes I get carried away and...” he trailed off, looking at her with those big, heart-rending eyes. “I mean, you're the first Alkidike I've ever seen, and you've been places, and I want to make maps so that's really interesting and...” Incredulous, Yitzah watched as he bit his lip. “What I mean to say is that I'm sorry and could we start over again?”
She stared at him for a few more seconds, trying not to look into the pleading orange pools of his eyes. Eventually, though, she relented. She slumped in her chair, muscles relaxing as she resigned herself to not beating the snot out of this idiot. It would be, she decided, like hurting a baby radaku and that was just not done. She couldn't hit that face. “Fine. Whatever.” she muttered, not looking at him.
“Oh, great!” he said, laughing joyfully. “Hi!” he said, thrusting his hand out at her. She stared at it distastefully. “I'm Maxim!”
“Yitzah.” she said, ignoring his hand, “So you want to make maps? Is that actually a thing? Making maps?”
“Mmhmm! Yes! Cartography! That's what I'm going to be when I grow up! I'm going to draw maps so that no one ever gets lost!” he said cheerily, “Well, I mean, people will still get lost.” he admitted sheepishly, “But! My maps will help them!”
“... Huh.” Funny. She'd never thought about someone actually making the maps she'd used from time to time. They were so complicated and were of such a big area – they seemed to appear, fully formed, in shops. How could an earthling hope to make something like that? But then again, apparently they did. Which was why there were maps. Obviously.
“What about you?” he asked, “I heard all Alkidikes were warriors. But that's silly! People need other things too... but is it true?”
Yitzah shrugged. “I guess so. I'm a huntress.”
“Ooo!” Maxim pressed his hands to his face, just beneath his fins. “Really! What do you hunt?”
“... prey?” Yitzah didn't know why he seemed to find that so exciting.
“Wow! That's so neat! I could never do that.”
She looked up and down his body, vaguely assessing. “Course not.” she said, shrugging, “You're too wimpy.”
“Hey!” he admonished, scolding her like a child, “That wasn't nice! I thought we were starting over!”
“Whatever.” she said, staring at her fish curry. It still gleamed an inviting saffron yellow, but her appetite was lost. Annoyance, it seemed, was quite filling. But food was important, and should not be wasted... hmm... She forced herself to lift something to her mouth.
“Say,” he said, as she resolved to at least take a few more bites, “Are you going to be around here for long?”
“I guess.”
“Well! You should stay with us! Mommy would be glad to have you, I bet! You could tell us stories and help me make maps and take me hunting and...” he took a deep breath and let it out, “Wait, do you have a place to stay?”
“What does it matter to you?” she asked suspiciously. The answer was actually no, she didn't have a place to stay. A room at an inn was of the purchases she was putting off to the future. In fact, she hadn't gotten a room in some time but it wasn't so bad sleeping outside so long as you had a roof and a thing to lie on.
“Because I like you!” he said, smiling sweetly at her. Yitzah wasn't sure what to make of that, and she really wanted to ask why. But why questions were complicated and her head was already hurting a little.
“Fine. Sure. Why not.” she muttered, stuffing yellow-stained rice into her mouth. It would be better than staying outside, she supposed, and she'd have a nice fire to dry her clothes by. And if she couldn't tolerate him and had to give him a beatdown, she'd have at least had that first.
“Yay!” he said, nearly moving to hug her, but restraining himself. Yitzah sighed inwardly in thanks. “I'm so excited!”
Yitzah forced down another chunk of delicious fish. She wasn't excited, but she was resigned to it. After all, it was clear that she wasn't getting rid of this boy any other way.
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Posted: Wed Jun 21, 2017 4:48 pm
◕* Nice People *◕
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Yitzah, 1020 Words
---
Rain pattered on the roof of Maxim's home, clattering on the awkward thatching and bark that kept the weather out. Yitzah had woken up fairly late that day, and the family was out. Not even Maxim was there, and Yitzah wasn't sure if not being bothered by the over-energetic Matori was a good thing or a bad thing.
She lay on the floor and stared at the ceiling, uncomfortable but inert. It was rainy and wet and hot, and she didn't want to move. She certainly didn't want to go outside. Who cared what she did? If she wanted to just lie there, what stopped her? Nothing. Nobody. She was free of all that nonsense, that 'do this' and 'do that' and 'be a warrior' and 'be a proper alkidike' and 'train this way'. None of that applied here.
The world was full of jerks like her sisters, who wanted to tell others what they could and couldn't do. She'd seen a lot of them over the years she'd been out of the jungle especially in Oba. No matter what race they were, they were all the same; stupid and irrational and irritating and mean, and Yitzah wanted to punch them all. Maxim was nice. He was also annoying, but Yitzah could at least appreciate that he wasn't a bad person.
"Guess I'll have to pay him and his ma back." she grumbled to herself, just to hear her voice. It was funny to hear - she went so long without speaking sometimes that her voice startled her. There just wasn't much to say. But that was true - she had to reciprocate. Just a little, even. A token favor. It wouldn't be right otherwise. She couldn't hunt or fish for them - they had that covered. It would be meaningless, a drop in an ocean, and really stupid. She groaned and reluctantly stood, unable to tolerate the floor for much longer. "So what'll I do...?" she mumbled, looking around her drooping antennae at the small, one-room hut.
The floors couldn't exactly be cleaned - it was a dirt floor with mats to step on, and if she tried to sweep it she would let in water and it would become mud. The walls were much the same - they were wood, and to clean them she'd have to rebuild them. Yitzah was not up for that.
The beds were long plant-filled cushions, but all but hers had already been put away. She hastily rolled her bed up and stowed it, but was left unfulfilled. It was not enough to put away her own things. So, what else?
She'd seen meat drying in another building, but that was well underway. The cook fire didn't need to go, and if she started it now it would just be a waste of fuel...
Wait.
Yitzah turned and dashed to the water jugs. They were cool clay, mostly empty.
“That's it!” She exclaimed to herself, “That's what I'm gonna do!” She was going to re-fill their water thingies. Everyone needed water, after all. She carried out the empty and mostly empty jugs into the damp heat of the outside, pondering the situation.
Seawater wouldn't do – it was salty and not good for drinking, and it wasn't raining enough to fill the jugs so the sky wouldn't give her what she needed. But the sound of running water that she heard nearby... that might. She went over to investigate.
In the jungle beyond the hut, there was a small stream. An old, half-rotted bucket stood vigil by it, modest and homely but serviceable. Yitzah grinned.
Powered by enthusiasm, she brought all of the water jugs, one by one, to the river and set to filling them up with the bucket. It was not that easy – the bucket did not fit well in her hands, leaked constantly, and was heavy besides, but she managed to fill them all. She put back the bucket and picked up one of the jugs.... or tried to.
They were heavy! They had been heavy before, being clay, but they were heavier with water in them. Yitzah could barely hold them up. “How do they do this?” she griped, as she attempted to carry it back with her. She managed to take the first one back, but by the time she reached the hut, she was utterly exhausted.
“How?” she exclaimed again, glaring at the water jug. Well, she couldn't just leave them there at the stream. She'd have to get them back. Somehow. She returned to the stream and picked up the other jug. She'd just have to bite her lip and deal with it.
Unfortunately that only got her so far – about halfway to the house, her arms gave out.
CRASH
The jug smashed onto the ground, water spilling out everywhere. Yitzah yelped, moving her feet out of the way as clay shards threatened to slice them open. She stared at the mess, then back to the river where one last clay jug waited, tauntingly. She didn't think she could go back for it.
She walked back to the hut and slumped down, moody and miserable and sore. What could she do? She didn't know how long she was there for, before:
“Hey! Yitzah!” she looked up to see Maxim, the annoying one, smiling down at her. “What's the matter?”
She decided to come clean. “I tried to refill the jugs...” she said, gesturing to the one she'd managed to bring back, “But I couldn't get them all back from the stream and I, um...” she looked away, “...Broke one.”
Maxim laughed. “Don't worry!” he said, offering her a hand, “Mom's been wanting to get a new one anyway – something with a nicer pattern!” Yitzah stared at his hand, confused. “Come on, lets bring the other one in.”
Confused, she followed him back to the stream and together, they brought back the water jug to Max's waiting mother. He explained the broken jug, and the matori woman laughed and laughed.
“Come on, Ms. Alkidike!” she said, laughing, “Come have dinner for the favor you've done us!”
Confused... and oddly happy... Yitzah sat down to dinner and finally rested her arms.
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Posted: Wed Jun 21, 2017 4:54 pm
◕* Cartography *◕
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Yitzah, Class Solo, 1734 Words
---
Maxim ran ahead of her, her hand tightly held in his.
“Wait up!” Yitzah yelled at him, trying to yank her hand free. The water boy's hand was like a vice, though, or a very annoying vine. Somehow, despite her superior strength, she could not get free of his enthusiasm.
“Come on!” he called to her, his eyes fixed on a point far ahead, “Come on, Greenie!”
“Don't call me Greenie!” she snapped, “And no...” she dug in her feet, forcing him to dig two deep furrows in the sand, “I won't! Not until you tell me where we're going!”
He stopped and turned to her, beaming from edge to edge of his round blue face. “I told you! We're going exploring!”
“Yes!” she said, managing to get her hands free and crossing her arms, “But where?!”
“To find treasure!” he said happily.
Yitzah shook her head, her antennae swinging gently with the motion. “You're an idiot.” she said, “There's no treasure around here.”
“Yes there is! Look!” he took out a folded piece of vellum marked with ink and brandished it at her excitedly. “Look at this map! It's a map to treasure!”
It certainly was a map, of the coast apparently, and it had a big 'X' on it with the word 'Treasure' written on it in big block letters. “You're an idiot.” Yitzah repeated, snatching the map out of his hands and squinting at it. “This map is completely wrong!”
“Hey!”
She grabbed a charcoal piece from her pack, smudging her hands in the process, “That big x on the penninsula over there? Is that supposed to be the salt marsh?! That's stupid! That's not where it is!” She flattened it and began to scrawl on it with the charcoal, “Let me fix it!” She was no cartographer, but even she knew that the map was wrong.
“Stop it, Greenie!” the Matorian grabbed for his map, struggling with her as she tried to put the lines in the proper places, “Yitzah, come on!”
“But it's wrong!” she insisted, the charcoal wobbling in her hands, “See? Wrong.”
“Nooo!” the boy cried, finally letting go. He looked at the now smeared map. “Yitzah, you ruined it!”
Yitzah glared at him, and then at the map. There was nothing for it – she had to admit that it was now a horrible useless mess. She tossed it to the side. “It was wrong anyway.” She grabbed the Matorian's hand before he could grab for the map. “Lets go see how it really is.” she said, dragging him off.
Matori's topography changed quickly. Rocky terrain soon became sandy, shell-flecked beach. That beach gradually became silt, and that silt gradually became marshland.
“See?” she said, gesturing aggressively to the stiff, salt-flecked grassland, “See? If we went by your map, we'd have been walking for the whole day!” she shoved him out in front, releasing his wrist. He rubbed at the pale, bloodless mark she'd left in it, frowning at her unhappily. “I was right! Your map was wrong!”
“It wasn't that wrong...” he muttered, “You didn't need to wreck it...”
“It was wrong, and yes I did!” she said, “Wrong maps are bad.”
“It wasn't that wrong!” he said, “And it led to treasure, and now we won't be able to find that treasure, because you wrecked the map!”
Yitzah looked over the marsh and nodded, stiffly. “Lets go find it then! Ourselves!”
“Huh?”
“The map said it was here, so lets go and find it!”
“But...” Maxim protested, but Yitzah had already decided.
“Come on!” she said, grabbing his wrist again, “Get out your stupid pen and paper. We're going to make a real map and find the treasure! We're going to get it right!” And with that, she stomped into the salt marsh, Maxim trailing behind her.
The grasses were sharp, like little salt-edged swords, but her sandals crushed them easily. The mud was strangely firm, but dark and smelly and it soon coated her feet in coolness. They left a trail of broken grasses as a wake, the only sign of movement or direction as the marsh soon became all that there was – an endless carpet of green and brown, flat in all directions save where the shore cut it off abruptly into turquoise and blue. The grass there was not tall, and there was – Yitzah thought – little chance of being lost.
“You got a map yet?” she asked Maxim, surveying her surroundings.
“How can I?! I can't draw with your hand on my wrist!”
Yitzah let go, staring at the place between the marsh and the water. “Make a new one.” she demanded, “So that we can find the treasure.”
“It's not that simple...” he said, unhappily. His feet were unshod, and Yitzah could see small beads of red amidst the brown.
“It should be.” she said, ignoring it for now. He was fine. “This is the peninsula. The treasure is on the peninsula.” she peered over the marsh. “So if you make a map and we go to where the x would be on the new map, we'll find it...” She moved forward.
The marsh was mostly flat, but there were mangroves and 'islands' of other plants here and there. She counted on Maxim to follow, and she moved slowly to see more of the marsh and it's potential treasure spots. She stopped at a jutting stone to rest, frowning. She didn't see anything that looked treasure-y, and – she realized – she didn't know what treasure would look like.
“Yitzah, wait up!” Maxim said, catching up to her. “Look, lets just...” he stopped, thoughtful.
“What?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.
He looked at the roughly scribbled map, then at the rock, and then just to Yitzah's left. “Look!” he said, excitedly, “Look!”
Yitzah looked, antennae trembling with curiousity. There, a few yards away, was a stand of trees on, miraculously, dry ground. An island within an island. “Trees.” she said, “What about them?”
“So, on the map, there was this circle and there was this funny symbol, and there was the X that meant treasure!”
“Yeah?” Yitzah hadn't looked that closely at it before she'd tried to fix it.
“Well, that rock – that's the circle! The trees – that looks like the symbol!”
Yitzah looked – the rock did look circular. “So...”
“So the treasure! It's going to be right here!” Maxim said, pointing at the grove, “Right there!”
“Really?” Yitzah looked again at the trees. They didn't look that remarkable, but maybe... maybe they hid something that was. “Lets go, then!” she said.
They surged towards it, faces flushed and excited. “Look!” Maxim cried, “A flag!”
And there it was – a flag, ratty and tattered, posted right in the middle of the earth of the grove.
“That must be where the treasure is!” Yitzah said, “It must be under the flag!”
“I've got a shovel!” Maxim cried. They raced, neither quite winning, towards the island, their feet touching it's soft soil with equal force. “Lets dig it up!”
Yitzah nodded enthusiastically, “Yeah!” she said, as Maxim took out the shovel – a little thing that probably wouldn't get them very far, but who cared! Treasure! There was treasure here! He walked up to the sign as she caught her breath, and for a moment the ground looked strange, mottled, almost grid-like...
And there was a net in front of her, and a shape, squirming against tight cord. Net. Maxim. Yitzah stared, dumbfounded.
“Help!” cried Maxim, as he struggled in the net. “Heelp!”
Yitzah snapped back to reality, confusion reigning. “H-hang on!” she said, trying to pull the cord away from Maxim. It was too tight – it slid away from her fingers and burned with friction. She reached for the knife at her belt, fumbling along the various things she kept there: Pouches, string, a stray arrowhead. “Damn! I left my knife...” she didn't finish her sentence before she picked up the arrowhead and tried to use it against the ropes. “Damn!” they were too strong. The flint splintered under the pressure.
“Help...!” Maxim whimpered.
“I gotta... I think I gotta...” Yitzah backed up, noticing that there were several strange mounds in the ground. More net traps, her hunter knowledge provided for her. “I gotta go back and get my knife. Just... wait there!” she said, scrambling back to the marsh.
She picked her way across the grass. Somehow, the path they'd carved had been lost, and the light grew hazy as she searched for any sign of the way back. Directions dazzled her, the marsh confounded her. By the time she reached the beach, it was darkening. The sun set in a blaze of gold as she hurried back to the village where Maxim lived.
She searched for her hunting knife, finding it exactly where she left it – under some netting and new clothes. She grabbed a lantern and raced back, not thinking to ask for help (and why should she? She'd been on her own for so long...) as she tried to traverse the inky blackness of the marsh.
“Maxim?” she called, “Hello?” She hoped that he would hear, and that his voice would reach her. She moved through paths that seemed vaguely familiar, feeling the swords of the grass cut and sting her skin. Finally, there was the stone. There was the grove. She raced towards it, lamp upraised. “Max!” she called, “Max, I'm back, I have the knife...”
Only silence – and the absence of the hanging shadow she'd left – met her. “Max?” she called, entering the grove tentatively. She stopped short as she saw the strange dirt – the trap. Or, rather, a new trap. There were fresh footprints – earthling sized.
“Max?” she called, her voice faltering and falling silent. The cries of woodland creatures pierced the air as she slumped to the ground, at the margin between ground and swamp. She frowned at the churned black mud, frowning as hard as she could to keep the prickles of salt and water behind her eyes from resolving into tears.
Maxim was gone. Someone had taken him. He wasn't coming back.
----
Maxim's mother was crying, and Yitzah didn't know what to do about it. She stood there, staring, not quite comprehending, still, what she had told her.
Maxim was gone. Someone had taken him. He wasn't coming back.
"... I'm sorry." Yitzah managed. It seemed to be the thing to say. There wasn't much else.
"You've nothing to be sorry about." his mother said, reaching out to her. Yitzah suddenly found herself pulled into a hug, surrounded by the smell of skin oils and clay and salt. "Not your fault he got taken - you did what you could..."
Tears soaked into her clothes and hair, and panic washed over her. She'd escaped her tears. She'd run here, to Matori, to learn to fight the nightmares of the jungle. She couldn't cry - she was too old to cry - but she wanted to cry, like the woman holding her. Awkwardly, she wrapped her arms around the matorian and patted her back.
"This wasn't supposed to happen anymore." the woman said, her voice low and full of pain, "Slavery is over. The kidnappings were to... to stop..." she released Yitzah, wiping her eyes. "But I guess it's always more complicated than that. There'll always be those that think we're only good for work..." Yitzah caught a glimpse of the woman's eyes - they were hard and full of fire, like yellow gemstones. "It's not right."
Yitzah shook her head. No. It wasn't right. "Are people going to look for him?" she asked.
"Yes... yes. I need to talk to the elder. Maybe he can..." She sobbed again, the agony of losing her son breaking through her momentarily stony features. "Why did it have to be my boy...!" she said, turning away.
"I'll help." said Yitzah, "I'll help find max."
The woman looked back, her face uncomfortably full of gratitude. "That's good of you, but you're not really involved. You don't have to." She pulled herself together. "You don't have to do anything."
Yitzah followed her out of the door, trailing behind her as the woman sought aid for her son. She disagreed. She'd been training to hunt the bugmen for her whole life, ever since that fateful day when they'd burned her sisters away forever. But to defeat monsters of nightmare, maybe she had to first defeat monsters of earthling origin. The idea of people like that existing, hiding behind harmless faces, stealing away other people, doing horrible things... that was something she couldn't sit back and let just happen.
She would find Maxim. She would defeat the monsters that took him. And then the bugmen wouldn't be able to stop her when she came for them.
And no one could tell her otherwise.
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Posted: Tue Aug 15, 2017 8:52 am
◕* Don't Burn Away *◕
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Yitzah, 329 Words
---
Bugmen.
Chittering. Creaking. Laughing. The smell of sizzling flesh filled Yitzahs nose, and burning wood, and steam.
“Ms Alkidike?” An Oban in armor said, politely.
Yitzah stared, dully, at the wooden desk before her. Long ago, it had been cut from a tree in Jauhar. Now it was here, in Oba, a piece of home so far from home…
“I believe that the polite term is 'Blade’... That's one of their ranks.” another Oban, another guard. Yitzah wasn’t paying attention. Maybe the desk knew the bugmen. Those monsters. Maybe her mother's mother's had lingered beneath its shadow.
/Who knew that home could be so close./ And yet so far. It was always there in her dreams.
“Really? Hmm!” The guardsman thought for a moment.
The smell of smoke, the sound of screams... Hands, reaching…
”Help! Help us!”
”Run… run!”
”Datty! Dammi! No!”
Don't leave me. Don't burn away...
“Blade? Ms… Yitzah, was it?”
Yitzah moved sluggishly, feeling as if she was muffled beneath blankets. Her limbs felt heavy, her tongue heavier. “Hmm?” She asked, looking up.
“You said you knew something about the creature that appeared…”
“Considering your actions, you know quite a bit.” The other said, not without sympathy. “Will you tell us what you know?”
Yes. That's right. She was here to… talk about the monsters. The Obans wanted her to give them something to work with. To talk.
Well, she would try, she supposed, feeling like her tongue was a dead fish, flopping uselessly in her mouth.
But she made it form words, and she told them /some/thing. Or other.
She would barely remember it later, the questions, the guards, all of it overshadowed by the mobster-made-real, the future-made-now, the bug monster and the rip it made in the air as it stole away a person from the midst of the crowd... It was a new nightmare now, to add to her exhausted dreams, and Yitzah was not going to get any true sleep for days…
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Posted: Tue Aug 15, 2017 9:00 am
◕* Chapter 9:
Grave Expectations *◕
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The inn was musty smelling and sandy, like everything was in Oba. Yitzah curled herself loosely into a despondent ball, staring into the darkness in exhausted despair. Dim red light from the hung lanterns filtered in through the shared room’s window, and the breathing and snores of other guests made her very aware of her own breathing.
Slow. Measured. Deep. There. She was alive, and more there than she had been for hours. Her heartbeat had slowed to normal, in time with her breathing. Her thoughts had slowed too, no longer frantic and disorganized. She breathed, in and out.
It was dark, and she was afraid to sleep, the fear now beneath the surface of her mind... and ready to pounce when she let her guard down. She knew it. She hugged herself and shivered, staring into a dark corner as if the bugmen would simply appear out of nowhere to kill her... to kill everyone... to set everything on fire... again...
No. She needed to not... think about that. She needed to sleep. She was so tired, but she couldn't close her eyes. Not yet.
What would she do? What could she do? She didn't know – she didn't know. She just wanted to make it all stop. She shivered there, in Oba's heat, in the midst of a room full of people, and felt horribly alone...
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