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 Posted: Fri Sep 07, 2007 12:50 pm
Im 300!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
kik
[ ninja ]
[-poof-]
[gratz on three hundred posts kirbs!]
[-poofs away-]
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Posted: Fri Sep 07, 2007 2:16 pm
Ohhh no. I don't think so. You have to read it first.
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Posted: Fri Sep 07, 2007 3:42 pm
Fine I will. What would you have of me when I'm done though?
Im honestly at a loss for what you want kirbs...
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Posted: Fri Sep 07, 2007 8:58 pm
I want you to read it, appreciate it, and come up with some good, logical criticism. 3nodding
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Posted: Fri Sep 07, 2007 9:20 pm
KirbyVictorious I want you to read it, appreciate it, and come up with some good, logical criticism. 3nodding What are your perceptions of "appreciate" and "logical"?
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Posted: Sat Sep 08, 2007 6:06 pm
Nevermind. Just don't bother if you odn't want to. But if you do, no more asking me stupid questions that I already explained or something.
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Posted: Sat Sep 08, 2007 7:46 pm
Okay. finally done. First off--Rated R for gore and violent theme. I'd like to start this chapter with a quote, from Teenagers by My Chemical Romance. Teenagers scare the living sh*t out of me,
they could care less as long as someone'll bleed,
so tuck in your clothes
or strike a violent pose
and they might leave you alone
but not me. And so begins: Chapter Eighteen: Execution Vix had let his mother coax him into his own room, and he was laying obediently on the bed that he and Rhoen had once shared, but he wasn’t sleeping. Kamilé’s bloody, frightened, pleading face was painted onto his ceiling, his floor, his walls, and, when he closed his eyes, onto the backs of his eyelids. Why did he think of Luci every time? What did that girl have that reminded him so much of his sister? They looked nothing alike…they were completely different…. He tried for the hundredth time to call up his hatred for the girl that had killed half his family…but he couldn’t do it. Somehow, the image of her tiny face, her huge eyes, and the memory of her small, sob-torn voice gave him an entirely different emotion altogether. He knew what he should have been feeling, and what he was feeling now. Which was right? Which was fair? Suddenly he kept telling himself it’s not fair, it’s not fair, without even knowing what he meant…. Did the girl deserve his sympathy, or even his pity? Did she deserve his hatred? What if she was innocent? Or if not, what if she hadn’t meant to—or if she had, what if she was truly sorry? And even if she wasn’t…if she was only sorry for her brother…did she really deserve to die? She was four years older than Luci, but the same size, and probably much less mature. She was sick as well; surely being that close when the fire became out of control had just as much effect as the running and toil had on Luci. She had passed out…what if the girl had too, with greater consequences? What if every misfortune was essentially the same for both? And Luci had one parent and one brother left. As far as Vix knew, Kamilé had nothing. He had never thought about it, but the idea of growing up parentless—and having to take care of his younger sister, sick or not, as well—struck him as inconceivable. He couldn’t do it. They would both starve to death, or freeze in the winter. What if Kamilé was just as helpless as his sister? What would Luci do if she lost him, too? And if Mom had never been there? The burning questions seemed to pound holes into Vix’s skull; he couldn’t stay still. He couldn’t bear to sit here and think any longer. He kicked the blankets away and strode silently out of his room and into Luci’s. Her door was open. His mother was sleeping on the sofa, where she had a clear view of Luci’s bed—for all her insistence that Vix should sleep in his own room regardless of Rhoen’s absence, she refused to sleep in her own. Maybe it was different with a married couple; deeper, more personal. Luci was sleeping. She looked the same as yesterday. Her window was open slightly; the damp, balmy air was another effort of his mother’s to keep her warm. He didn’t bother reaching for his gloves. He hadn’t seen his sister since the Festival, a couple of days before she relapsed. The healers said that the fall had something to do with it. Vix supposed that would affect anyone with similar consequences. He pulled back the blankets one by one, four in all. Finally he peeled back the last one—Luci was icy cold, but she was sweating under the blankets. Her thick winter bedclothes clung to her frail, skinny legs and weakened arms. He could count her ribs in her sunken chest, above her swollen stomach. She obviously had not been able to eat in a while. Luci stirred, and her head turned to face him. She wasn’t quite awake yet, but she had already started shivering. He carefully replaced the covers and knelt by the bed, reaching up to stroke her hair. Her skin felt waxen to his touch. Luci made a small, stifled noise, and her heavy eyelids flickered. “Mama?” she murmured. “Shh, ‘Chi, it’s me.” “Saito…it’s all dark….” “That’s ‘cause your eyes are closed, silly.” They flickered halfway, then fell again. “No gloves,” she whispered. “Nah.” “But…you can’t touch…me…you’ll get sick….” “It’s okay, ‘Chi. I can touch you if you want me to. I can do whatever you want.” Luci’s eyes flickered open and stayed that way as she gave him a confused look. He smiled at her. “What do you want, Luci? Anything at all. Just tell me.” She thought about it, still blinking dazedly with bewilderment. “Don’t get sick,” she finally said, rather vaguely. “Okay,” he said cheerfully. He didn’t move his hand. “What else?” She thought again, a softer, more distant look fading her confusion. “I miss Kamilé,” she said quietly. “Do you want her to come see you?” “Uh-huh.” “When?” “I dunno. No. Right now.” He beamed at her, kissing her cheek. “I’ll invite her over for you, ‘Chi. She’ll come talk to you.” Luci stared at him, one of her first smiles in weeks lighting up her face. “Really?” she whispered, as if afraid to break the spell. “Really, saito? Really?” “I’ll get her,” he said confidently. He had said that many times before, but this time it meant something completely different. “She can come sit with you and talk to you all you want.” Luci looked as if her star day had come, and her stack of presents sat before her. They once had; they were sitting neatly in her closet. This gave him a thought. “Wait a second, ‘Chi.” He crossed over to the closet and sifted briefly through the clothes and small bag full of gifts until he found his own. He sat beside her and opened it so she could see. It was a flute cut out of pure-white wood, with silver-colored patterns and a glass seven-pointed star pendant dangling on a string from the mouthpiece. Her eyes grew as wide as the pendant twirling before them. “Oh, wow,” she breathed, outstretching her fingers to try and touch it. “Is that for me?” “Yep,” he said proudly, sliding it into her eager hands. “It’s a lucky charm. Just blow on it when the sun comes up, and play it once every hour, and when you count to seven Kamilé will be here.” “Cool!” she whispered, and put it to her mouth. He hastily nudged it away. “Wait until morning, ‘Chi. Mom’s sleeping.” “Okay,” she agreed, sliding her hands, flute enfolded between them, underneath her pillow. Vix took her hand and rubbed it with both of his. “But you have to do something for me, ‘Chi,” he told her slowly. “Or else the charm won’t work.” “What?” She leaned forward, watching with eager, hungry eyes. “What, saito?” “You have to tell Mom good morning, and that you love her. You have to sleep tonight, and you have to try and eat something. Can you do that?” She nodded, her wide, transfixed eyes never leaving his. “Good. If you do all of that the charm will work, and I’ll bring Kamilé to you.” Her smile grew wider; he had forgotten how cute it was, how it seemed to light up the room. Moonlight reflected on her tiny teeth. “I’ll do everything, saito—honest, I will!” “I know, ‘Chi,” he said, and gave her a hug. She was so surprised that she forgot to hug him back, and when he let go, she blinked in confusion. And then her smile was back. “And Kamilé will be over!” “And Kamilé will be over.” “And you’re not mad at her anymore?” He paused for a moment to consider. “No, ‘Chi…I guess not.” He rose to his feet, ruffling Luci’s hair. “I gotta go find Kamilé, Luci. Will you tell Mom where I went?” She nodded, bemused again. “But, saito, it’s dark….” He grinned at her. “It’s because you have your eyes closed,” he told her teasingly. “And they should be. Go to sleep, ‘Chi. Goodnight.” “Goodnight, saito.” “I love you, kid,” he told her quietly, tucking her hand underneath the covers. “Love you too,” she replied vaguely, already drifting off. He opened her window silently, and in a moment, he was gone. Everything is connected, Vix was beginning to realize. No life of any mortal soul existed without crossing into the life of another. Every person played a part, however unimportant. Before the fire, he had thought of many things as completely unrelated—light and dark, sky and ground, mountains and forest, the orphaned twin’s lives and his own. But nothing was. People thought his brother and father’s deaths were disconnected with each other, and with Luci’s relapse. The only connection they made was between their deaths and his anger, his mother’s depression. But there was a story behind everything in the world, and this was far from exception. Rhoen was the one that took care of Luci. He had always been her best friend growing up; Luci had been adventurous and gutsy, but still a little girlish, clinging to their mother when she was scared and crying when she was hurt; and Rhoen was the typical reckless, daredevil little boy, but had a soft side that led him to fight the other boys to let Luci play their games, and led him to follow their mother around and leap at every chance to help. Though two years apart, they grew up like twins. When Luci was five and Rhoen was seven, a friend of Luci’s in their class had come to school rather pale and sickly, and finally Marli felt her forehead and discovered her raging fever. Luci had walked her home, since she could barely stand by herself. The girl never came back to school. Two weeks later, a healer told her that she had caught the red plague; four months later she died, and her mother and elder sister followed her. The rest of the family, another sister and a father, left Kocha and never came back. That year was one of the worst for the epidemic—thirteen elves in Kocha alone fell to the disease. Luci was one of them. The rest of the family was scared to even go near her, knowing perfectly well how contagious the disease was. But Rhoen was too young to understand this—he sat by her side and read her stories, played games with her, and just sat there and held her hand for hours (begged by Mom and bullied by Vix to wear gloves) during the first wave of the plague. Most people never lived through that first few months, and if they did, they never made it very far afterwards. But Luci did. In a matter of weeks she was sitting up and eating well, her usual talkative, cheery self. She could have stood up, walked around maybe, but the healer forbade it—more a matter of quarantine than the danger of overexertion. If they hadn’t known better, Vix and his parents might have thought that she would be well again. But they did know better—no one survived the red plague. Luci declined steadily, month by month, fortnight by fortnight, week by week. Soon she lost the energy to sit up; after that, she lost the will to eat. Only Rhoen could get her to eat, a little at a time, and she became dependent on him, refusing to take medicine or do anything but sleep if he wasn’t right beside her. He sat by her by day and slept on the floor by night, taking her outside with him occasionally but mostly staying shut in her room, giving up his schoolwork, his friends and his freedom. Whether he knew or not that it was only temporary, Vix never knew—and even if it was, he couldn’t help admiring his brother, four years younger but much more brave and honorable. Vix grew ashamed of himself, wishing he was courageous enough to help his little sister with such total sacrifice. The day of the Festival, they had taken Luci along. Rhoen had begged for weeks, refusing to go if she didn’t—in a desperate effort to give him some fresh air after being cooped up for so long, their parents finally gave in. Luci came wrapped in a thick blanket and winter clothes, wearing her red scarf…but she came nonetheless. And she had the time of her life, trying a taste of all the food, watching the multiracial crowds go by, laughing with Rhoen as they sat on the sunny grass and had their own private party. Vix had left to find his own friends, who joined some merpeople and a few humans of their age and had fun. Had nothing else happened, he would have remembered it as the first time he tried wine, the first time he had climbed onto the roof of a house, the first time he could remember attending the Festival at all without parental supervision and an infant Luci in tow. But then the Great Tree caught on fire, and everybody ran. It had taken them far too long to find Rhoen and Luci, and when they did nearly everyone was gone, and the fire was spreading—to make matters worse, Luci immediately fell behind. Their father had scooped up Rhoen and run with him, but no one knew quite what to do with Luci—they couldn’t touch her, but they couldn’t leave her behind. She had realized this, even as she was struggling to keep up, and had stopped completely, starting to cry. Vix never asked her, but he felt somehow that she had known in her heart that they didn’t want her badly enough to save her, and had given up trying. Their mother had never been particularly decisive, but this time no one had had to decide anything—their father immediately handed her Rhoen and told them all to run while he went back for Luci. Rhoen had struggled from his mother’s grasp and followed, refusing to leave without his sister. His mother had frozen in fear, hearing the fire coming closer; Vix had pulled her along after them, refusing to let them scatter. He later regretted that very much—it had been too overwhelming for his poor mother to watch. The fire had caught up with them. It surrounded half the clearing, and Luci was screaming and sobbing, cowering underneath her blanket as the fire crept ever closer. Their father had just grabbed her and was looking for a way out when a branch fell from high in the trees and crushed him like a dry leaf. Luci had flown into the air and landed heavily, and had not gotten up again. Rhoen dived for her, slipping slightly in the blood, more branches falling around them—he had snatched her up and dragged her back to his mother and older brother, his eyes wide with fear but refusing to acknowledge it. Vix had grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him along as they kept running, trying to escape the fire. Rhoen was slow, though Luci was close to insubstantial, and though he had done his best he could barely keep up. He refused Vix’s offers to carry Luci for him and jogged resolutely on— Until the trees, splintering from top to trunk with the heat, started to fall. Rhoen had seen it coming and had thrust Luci away from him as the flaming towers fell. Vix realized it next and bowled into his mother, knocking them both out of the way. A branch had fallen across his back and burned him, but he had barely felt it. The crashes stopped, and a small, muffled scream echoed in the air long after it abruptly cut off. Then the rain started. It evaporated at first in the massive heat, but then the fire slowly started dying. Vix and his mother stood up and looked around. A wall of solid wood separated them from the fire—and separated Vix from his brother and sister. His mother let out an echoing scream to match her daughter’s and had fallen to the ground. Vix’s legs were shaking, but he felt nothing but adrenaline as of yet, and fear, the kind of fear that makes you stronger, makes every sense sharper. He strained his ears as he caught a sound through his mother’s sobbing and the deluge of gray rain—a tiny voice, echoing the same word over and over again…. Through a Vix-sized gap in the log wall he saw what looked like a small passageway, a way through the mound of pine that wound and twisted and widened and narrowed erratically. He used his pocket knife to hack through and found Luci and Rhoen. The scene still haunted his nightmares. Rhoen was lying facedown on the ground, the back of his head a hollowed, bloody mess, with gray matter dripping from his shattered skull. The rest of him was crushed beneath a heavy pine, nothing more than a twisted mess of bones, muscle, and blood. Luci was kneeling next to him, shaking his shoulder and screaming, “Rhoen! Rhoen! RHOEN!” again and again, her entire body splattered with blood. Vix did not know how he managed to pull her gently away, or how he could cover his brother’s body so steadily with his sister’s blanket, or how he had never caught the disease as he held Luci in his lap, keeping her away from Rhoen when she struggled and fought, and letting her cry on him when she stopped. He still did not know how he found enough air in that tiny, stifled space to shout at the top of his lungs when he heard the voices calling his name, after hours and hours, nor how he managed to get Luci even halfway out of there without passing out, hurting her, or letting a passing branch strangle her with her red scarf. The one who rescued them threw blankets over them before he could get a clear view; but the owners of the voices drew back at once when they saw the red scarf. Vix managed to convince them that it was blood, but they used gloves anyway the entire time they were healing her. Then she went straight back home, into her bed, and stubbornly refused food, water, and medicine. The water pouch connected to her wrist served a double purpose—it gave her water now, as well as its original purpose, thinning her blood so it would flow more easily. They never found his father. He and Luci were the only ones that ever found Rhoen. He couldn’t sleep for days, kept awake by haunting images of his father’s blood, his brother’s corpse, fire and falling trees. He had never once imagined that anyone would do that to him on purpose. But then he saw Kamilé for the first time, and he saw red all over again. Kamilé had a story too. Whatever it was, it was not the simple act of lighting a match and watching them die like flies. Something had happened. If he thought about it, he guessed that perhaps the same thing that happened to Luci happened to her. Maybe she, too, had watched her brother die…. Luci dealt with it with her silent depression, like his mother; he tried not to deal with it at all. Kamilé’s helplessness, Kamilé’s odd behavior—maybe that was how she handled the pain…or rather, let the pain handle her. Thinking about it this way, he suddenly felt extremely lucky. His mother was perfectly fine. His sister was sick, dying slowly, but she was still alive. He had plenty of time to say goodbye. There was even an infinitesimal chance that he wouldn’t have to. If everyone had died, he didn’t know what he’d do. He didn’t know if Kamilé was innocent or guilty, and why or why not. He didn’t know what she deserved—life or death, sympathy or hatred—and he didn’t know how in the name of the gods he was going to ask her…but his ignorance hardly mattered now. He had to find her and bring her back to his house. Luci could make it if she had someone like Rhoen. Kamilé had the same effect on her—she would eat willingly, chatter, take her medicine, and anything else they needed of her, if she only believed that Kamilé was coming soon. If she helped his sister even a little, he would forgive her everything. Even if she had somehow purposely pushed over the trees that had killed his brother and father, even if she had stabbed them outright. He would swallow his pride at once if it meant that he would not lose the rest of his family as well—two were gone, and he couldn’t bear it if any more followed. Kamilé ran, stopped, looked around, called as loudly and frantically aloud as she could, and then kept running. Every time she felt even a flicker of another presence, she would skid to a halt, often falling over as the carpet of wet leaves and pine needles slid under her feet—but it was never him, just a squirrel or a bird or a tree. Neither time nor direction ever registered in her mind…the boy had told her she didn’t have a home, but surely she did…she remembered something…. Everan knew where their home was. He could tell her. But he wouldn’t answer. Rain fell heavily onto the leaves above, making a monotonous beat in the background, but there was little thunder and no lightning at all. The canopy of leaves, a solid ceiling of green, protected her, but even so, a few raindrops escaped and splattered onto her head. She barely noticed. She had never thought about it before…home…the word seemed unfamiliar…she could remember, vaguely, saying it when she was little, whining to Pilori when she was very tired…. “I wanna go home”…. But then Everan had told her…what had he told her? She knew she could remember, she never forgot anything Everan said to her…. Home. Home, home, home. What was it? It was…the word felt like…home was like a warm blanket, like the Great Tree, like just an ordinary tree, even, with wide, sturdy branches. Home was warm, and soft, and not too bright…just bright enough…home was familiar and strange all at the same time. She never thought she needed one before. She thought the forest was her home; it protected her from the rain and the heat and the cold, and its presence was extremely comforting at the best of times—nothing could change it, nothing could take it away. But it didn’t feel like that anymore. Something had changed it. But she couldn’t remember what…. She skidded to a halt again, tripped, stood on her knees and called as loudly as she could. “EVERAAAAN!” She called again, and again, but there was no answer. Her voice was hoarse and fading fast, and she was tired. She wanted to go home. Her entire body ached and throbbed, and it was getting harder to keep running…. She wanted to lay down and sleep for a long, long time, but she had to find Everan…she had so much to tell him…. She stopped and called again, but this time her voice barely came out. She called with her mind, but it was hard. Very hard. It was one thing to think, but to think outward…had it always been this difficult? It felt like something was pounding on her forehead…and it barely even did anything, it was as though her thoughts were being swallowed uselessly into a vortex…. What was the point of having a home? Was it somewhere that you could sleep every night? But sleeping in the same place all the time would be boring…. Maybe it was something to come back to. A sort of center of a circle—you could go as far as you liked, but you always had to return. But that was boring too…how could you have any adventures if you were constantly tied down somewhere? Maybe it was like the “home” in Hide…somewhere that no one could hurt you…. She slowed and stopped, thinking about that. Somewhere no one could hurt you. She couldn’t remember a place like that. She remembered a lot of places where people did hurt her…but nowhere in her memory was there a place that she could stand, something she could touch, and feel protected, unafraid…. She saw something up ahead, a shimmer of silver, and her head fell to one side as she tried to think of what it was. Everan? she called dizzily, as the effort made her head spin. No answer. She approached the silver light carefully, creeping forward until she stood on the edge of a familiar clearing. The rain poured down in thick waves, like sheets of solid water, buffeted by the wind as it funneled through the trees in the forest. But though the storm cloud blocked all light overhead, the moon had broken through a place above, and slightly to the left—still hidden by the mist, it cast its dancing silver light with a flaming intensity, lighting afire the entire blanket of mist surrounding Ametris. The light lit up the rain as it swirled and blew about, creating an effect like a silver sandstorm; her mouth, open in amazement at the beauty, immediately received a mouthful of water. She coughed slightly and swallowed it—it almost tasted like the silver magic that comprised it. An oak tree leaned out over the clearing, casting a solid black shadow as a backdrop for the beautiful scene, and beyond it, the schoolhouse sat stolidly through the storm, in shadow, but the edges silver-lit in a sort of sturdy, comforting way. If Kamilé had been asked at that moment to explain how it made her feel, she couldn’t have done it; she would have stared blankly at the schoolhouse for a long time, her thoughts smeared in a hazy muddle. Fear at the memories that held fear, but then there were some that held warmth, comfort, familiarity. She knew what and who was in there, and she wasn’t afraid. Nothing bad ever happened to her at night…that was when all the bad people who wanted to hurt her were gone, sleeping in their beds at home…. Why did she keep coming back here? What was it about this place that kept her going round in circles, always returning? Maybe it was…her…? She walked slowly around the cloud of rain and light; she would hate to disturb the dance. The door opened easily, and she let herself in. Silver light flooded into the darkness through the door and windows, and the entire place seemed surreal, too pale and sharp around the edges to be natural. She had slept here before; she kept coming back. It was a safe place at night. Could it possibly be her home? A soft noise made her start and look around; a small shape shifted in the shadows. She tiptoed toward it, peering curiously; it was hard to feel any danger now. It was the cat. She was laying on her side in a dark corner, her swollen underside heaving with the effort it took to breathe. Her eyes were closed, not in the lazy way, but in the sickly, exhausted way. Her paws flexed restlessly in and out, and she made a soft, pained mewing sound. Kamilé knew something was wrong, but didn’t understand what; she reached her hand out to pet her softly, but she twitched as she touched her head and meowed pitifully. Alarmed, she drew her hand back—what was wrong with the cat? Why was it laying here, and not playing with her? Something in the cat’s stomach convulsed, and, curious, Kamilé placed her hand on it. The cat meowed more loudly, more edgily, but Kamilé ignored her, concentrating…she had felt something moving…. A sharp hiss startled her, and she screamed as she pulled back her bleeding hand. “OWW!” she wailed as the pain intensified. “Ow, stop, that hurts—!” “Mmm?” a sleepy voice said suddenly, and she turned; Marli stood in the doorway of the closet, blinking sleepily as she ran her fingers through her hair. “What’s going on?” she asked thickly, stumbling towards them. “Kamilé? Kamilé! What are you doing here?” Considerably more awake now, she glanced from Kamilé and her bleeding hand to the cat, who mewed weakly again. Her eyes widened in realization, and she hastily sat down, nudging Kamilé aside for more room. “Stupid cat! What are you thinking, it’s way too early—Kamilé? Kamilé!” Kamilé stared at the cat, her hand throbbing, unable to believe that it had betrayed her like that…it had never hurt her, it had protected her…and now…. Unable to bear it, she stood up and ran away, slamming the door behind her. Marli’s calling voice cut off. The cold shower of rain stopped her, and she realized where she was; standing amidst the cloud of silver. The moon was still out, the rain still pouring, but somehow, from the inside, it didn’t seem so wonderful…the magic didn’t work with her in its midst…. Choking on tears, she ran across the courtyard into the welcoming shadows, curled up into a miserable ball, and sobbed until she ran out of tears. She had just remembered what Everan had told her, so long ago…. It was nighttime; the moon had yet to rise over the mist. The forest was dark and forbidding, and the stream looked like liquid shadow. Five-year-old Kamilé clung to five-year-old Everan, so frightened that she felt like crying. Pilori held onto her sleeve as they walked, looking desperately around for the path. “We can’t have gone this far,” she murmured yet again. “It has to be around here somewhere….” It was spring, and the winter snows had melted away; they were running out of food, so Pilori had taken them with her to go hunt for berries and wild fruit. Everan had both of their little baskets dangling off his arm, both of them about halfway full. Pilori’s fared little better—it wasn’t enough food to get them through two days. Knowing this, she had put enormous trust into her elfin blood and led them off the path, venturing deeper into the forest. But she was far too human to navigate properly without paying much more attention than she had…and now they were far from home, following a stream that might not even lead to the river at all, hopelessly lost. “I wanna go home,” Kamilé whined again; why wouldn’t anyone listen to her? Didn’t Pilori care? “Pilori…Pilori, I wanna go h—” “I know, sweetie,” Pilori snapped impatiently. “You’ve only said it twenty times before, just stay quiet a minute so I can think….” Kamilé really did burst into tears, hurt by the sharp rebuttal. Pilori sighed in frustration and continued to search. Don’t cry, Everan begged her, please, Kamilé…it’s okay…. I wanna go home, she moaned, burying her nose in his shirt. ‘M tired…and cold…. I know, I know, he insisted; he understood her fear much better than Pilori did, and was much more patient. He gave her a quick hug, letting her cling to him even more tightly than before. Look, see that star up there? He pointed; she nodded. That’s Zildja. That’s the tip of the needle of the Compass, Kamilé. If we keep following it, we’ll be home. R-really? she asked him, eyes wide. He nodded. “Maybe it’s this way,” Pilori chose that moment to say, turning to the east. Kamilé whimpered; Everan sighed and pushed Pilori softly forward. When she stared at him, he pointed to Zildja and looked at her meaningfully. She blinked,—even humans knew about the North Star—shrugged, and kept walking north. I wanna go home, Kamilé pleaded. Everan…why can’t we go home? He stared up at the stars as he thought about it, and then looked around at the forest surrounding them. We already are home, he finally said, a happy note in his voice that only appeared in the moonlight. I’m with you and you’re with me. Pilori’s just looking for her house, that’s her home. But not ours. We made it home okay, don’t worry. She thought about it, comforted by the fact, and slowly, her fear melted away. She hugged Everan tightly, and he tolerated it, making a face that she ignored. In a few minutes they found the path again, and then Zildja led them back to Pilori’s house, and never again did Kamilé feel lost or afraid with Everan beside her. Home was safety, an absence of things that upset and hurt you. Home was freedom, a place where you could be yourself. Home was sanctuary, a place you could always return to, or never leave, even, if you didn’t like the world you were living in. Everan was Kamilé’s home. He had never left her side; with him she felt safe, free, happy. He protected her and kept her warm, and content, and even alive, with his mere presence. He wasn’t four walls and a roof, but nothing could ever be more peaceful and comforting than he was. And now he was gone. She really didn’t have a home. And she didn’t have a mother, or a father…or a cat…or a brother…or anybody. There was nothing left. Marli seemed extraordinarily tired as she greeted her students the next morning, but she was smiling as she draped her head and arms across her desk. “My cat gave birth last night,” she announced. “Six. Isn’t it great?” Cries and shouts of congratulations rang from all corners of the room. Only a very few did nothing, a small group of boys sitting against the back wall. No one took any notice of them. “You can look at them,” she said, gesturing to the little towel nest in the corner in which the exhausted cat had arranged the tiny kittens. “But no touching. And be very quiet.” Instantly the girls jumped up and crowded around the mother cat and the tiny little fluffs of damp fur, cooing and preaching their adorableness to the world. A few curious boys joined them, but most stayed far, far away from the pure girlishness of kittens and baby-making combined. The girls barraged Marli with questions as she rested her cheek on her book and tried to sleep. “What’re their names?” “How should I know? Ask her.” “Who’s the daddy?” “The boys look like him, I dunno. Dark with stripes I think. I’ve never seen him.” “Where’d they come from, Professor?” “I’ll tell you when you’re older.” “Why is she all skinny now?” “Ask your mom.” “Why’re they wet?” “They’ve had a bath.” “Can I give them another bath please please please?” “No.” “When were they born?” “Way too late. Hey, can’t you guys let me get some sleep? You can do whatever you want…just…be quiet, and stay inside, the grass is still wet from last night.” The kids shrugged and spread out, playing an old Ametrisan game involving colored stones, acorns, and sticks, chatting, and sleeping on the soft rush mat. Marli buried her head in her arms and left them at it. What had she been planning to teach today? Something unimportant probably, like algebra or…or history. Gods, she hated history. The first three thousand years were okay, but then it got complicated, and then it was just lies…if only she could tell them stories…the truth, but in a fashion that would make it seem like fiction…but they’d never understand…. The thoughts led her to dreams of home, and she fell asleep imagining her small family together, the last time she’d seen them so, standing in the doorway and waving their father goodbye as he marched off to war. Like a short, interim dream in the midst of another, she vaguely recalled Kayle coming in and waking her up, perhaps an hour later, and telling her that he had talked to people about it, and they said when the Tree had caught fire they might have seen a little boy, hidden deeply in the shadows. One definitely had. Kamilé was innocent. Somehow she felt that she already knew it. And then she drifted off to sleep again. She never noticed when a few children slowly leaked outside as the morning wore on, and then the rest followed all at once; all she knew was the silence-shattering scream that awoke her, loud, familiar, and terrified, as the worst thing she could have ever imagined happened right under her nose. Kamilé heard something that woke her up, something loud and startling, but when her eyes fell open she couldn’t remember what it was—and then it came again, a barrage of sharp clacks; a crossfire of pebbles, stones, acorns, sticks, and shells, all painted bright colors. She rolled over as one struck her cheek, tired and weary, refusing to acknowledge the undercurrent of fear that was rising ever faster as the clacking went on. A voice far away whispered, “Ready…and…go!” Something sharp and hard collided with her head, and she cried out in pain and immediately clapped a hand to the spot, feeling an inflamed lump; a cry of triumph followed another sharp stone as it struck her hard in almost the same spot, and then another and another, and more followed, some missing but the others thudding into her back, her shoulders, her arms, as she scrambled to protect herself, and finally she backed out of her shelter and turned to run— She slammed into two boys a little older than her, but much taller, who immediately grabbed her and spun her around. A score of children, some old, some young, stood in a line that curved around her, cutting off any escape. Such strong hatred poured and flamed from every single one of their eyes that she felt burned by it, and she tried frantically to pull away, to escape. The boys held an arm each, cruelly tight, and the pain forced her into stillness. One stood closer than the rest, three feet in front of her. As she stared at him with wide, frightened eyes, unable to move—both boys stamped heavily on her feet, pinning them to the ground, and one gripped a handful of hair—he stepped forward and slapped her hard across the face. “Murderer,” he spat. The word hurt worse than his hand; she couldn’t breathe, suffocated by their animosity. And again, she felt absolutely sure that they meant to kill her; and again, she had no desire to fight…but she was afraid…and somehow, she felt that it was worth any kind of death if they would just stop glaring at her…not forgive her for whatever she had done, but stop hating her…their loathing was like white-hot knives stabbing into her chest…. “How’d you like to see your worthless brother again, weed?” Dirstei snarled, and for one moment, Kamilé looked up at him, ignoring the slurs, relieved that he had one single ounce of mercy in his heart for her. “Bet he could introduce you to your parents, tell you why they ditched you….” She stared at him, unable to believe it…despite everything, she adored him at that moment, thankful that it was worth the hope at all…they didn’t hate her so much that they would be so cruel to her…. He saw the pleading hope in her expression, like a person pleading to a killer for mercy, and believing they had found it. He smirked mockingly and punched her hard in the mouth. “Too bad…but if I had it my way, I’d send them all to hell with you.” It was clear that he truly enjoyed the way her face fell and her betrayed eyes filled with tears. She stared at him as if she had never seen anyone so brutally, needlessly cruel. He did not need to make her lip bleed to accent the pain he inflicted. He grabbed the curls that framed her face and jerked her neck back, bringing his face closer until they were eye to eye, an inch apart. “If I had it my way,” he told her softly, his every syllable filled with venom, “I’d burn you and crush you like you did everyone else, ‘til there was nothing left but ashes and your filthy blood. But you can do your burning in hell, where you belong—this works just as well.” “Just kill her already, Dirst,” said one of her captors, roughly jerking at her hair. Dirstei stood up, turned, and walked back to the crowd. He raised his hand—the two boys threw her away from them, pushing her facedown onto the ground, and then got out of the way. Kamilé looked up at them with watery eyes, realizing too late that each of them held two heavy stones in their hands, and more were scattered in small piles on the ground before them. Dirstei’s eyes bored into hers as he said quietly, though everyone could hear: “For our families…and our homes…and for our forest.” Hands tensed, and Kamilé’s eyes widened, her brain now making the connection between his words, their hate, and what they were holding…what they were going to do…. “Kill her.” Marli heard the screaming continue on, and accompanying shouts and screams in twenty different voices, but there was nothing she could do to stop it; she sprinted to the door and jerked on the handle, but it refused to budge. She turned the lock every which way, pounding in case the catch was stuck, but it had nothing to do with the catch or the lock; the handle wouldn’t turn. Someone was holding it. She gave up and skidded to the window, looking out; all she could see were the backs of her students, moving somehow, and they were shouting and yelling; something flew at her, and as she ducked the sound of shattering glass matched the downpour of it onto her back—she heard someone say, “Oops! I didn’t mean to,” and another say, “Oh, great, you broke it…forget it, just throw….” And then Marli saw a stone fly high above the heads of the crowd, and heard another scream, and an enraged cry of “MURDERER! BURN IN HELL!” and another of “Twenty shards to anyone that hits that thing on her forehead!”—she pulled even harder at the door now, but it refused to budge…. And then an outburst of loud screams and pounding on the door throbbed in her ears, and she pulled even harder as she heard the cries of, “Professor! PROFESSOR! LET US IN, PLEASE, HURRY! PROFESSOR MARLI!” but the door remained immobile…. And a scream of “GET AWAY FROM ME!” rent the air…and then there was dead, echoing silence. Glass poking through her shirt and crunching underneath her boots, she sprinted to the other door and pushed hard. This one gave, but with difficulty; when she flung it open she found Shima standing there, her hands over her mouth, wide-eyed with fear. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she sobbed, “they told me to, I didn’t know….” Marli ignored her, running for the clearing, and she followed—the professor skidded to a halt as the scene burned itself into her memory forever. The schoolchildren crowded against the back door, hugging the wall, fear in their wide eyes as all of them stared at Kamilé. She stood in the very center of the clearing, swaying and stumbling on her feet, covered in bruises and blood; a drop of crimson rolled down her hand and dripped off the tip of the gleaming dagger she held in both fists, and the insane gleam in her eyes, the strong pulse of desperate anger and fear, told them that she would do it. “Get away from me…” she whispered again, her voice broken and rasping from the heavy bruise on her throat. The entire picture, like the work of a delirious, depraved, and completely sadistic artist, depicted in burned shades of black, red, white, and dull green, froze…and then Kamilé’s hand shivered and dropped, the dagger sticking into the ground, and she followed it, crumpling on the ground like a shattered glass doll, and fell absolutely, deathly still.
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Posted: Sat Sep 08, 2007 7:48 pm
A stone instantly clipped Kamilé above her ear, and her senses dulled, her eyesight fading; she felt three more hit her shoulder, arm, and forehead, and threw her right arm above her head in a vain effort to protect herself—shouting echoed in the clearing, insults and curses and jeers, and cries of pain from her own strengthened the noise. It was chaos, pain and noise and darkness crowding in on her and smothering her, and her thoughts were a smear of screams of pain, some that left her and some that never did, and a pleading, begging, that never stopped, that no one ever heard….
It was fire, it was torture, it was pain…it was hell.
She was blinded; she thought she could see, a vague blur of high grass, trees, and elf-shaped demons gathering before her…but then something grey flew at her face, and she flung her hand up; the stone smacked into her hand instead of her face, but with such force that it knocked the back of her hand into her eye regardless, and she was blinded again. She clutched the stone in her hand and flung it back, but she was sure she had missed, and five more flew in to take its place. She heard them coming and tried to catch them before they hit her, but her left arm refused to move; and then a stone smashed into her stomach and knocked the breath out of her, and her head fell back onto the grass.
Still the hailstorm did not stop; she stumbled to her feet, trying desperately to run away, but a stone hit her spine halfway up her back and the waves of pain made her collapse again. She screamed as loudly as she could, but no one listened; even when she curled up on the ground and shielded her face with her arm, clinging desperately to consciousness, the hail of stone continued relentlessly on.
In the eternity between the first stone and the last, Kamilé’s mind raced—thoughts swirled, rose, submerged like leaves in a whirlwind. Her body curled up and screamed with each blow, but her mind, though frenzied, felt silent and detached. It was as if she was trapped underwater; everything seemed slower, vaguer, and deathly still. She knew she was dying, and she knew it would hurt and take a very long time in her drifting, frozen state; but whether she liked it or not, there was nothing she could do. She couldn’t find the way out, remember which way was up, which way was down, and which way was escape, and by the time she found the surface it would be too late anyway.
She knew it was inevitable.
But she didn’t know why.
Why were they doing this? What had she done? She couldn’t remember hurting anybody, ever, save the times she had tried to get away, but that couldn’t be it…. That boy, Vix…he hated her so much…but what had she done to him? She had been nice to his sister…she hadn’t fought back against him…she remembered him yelling something at her, but she couldn’t recall what…no…fire. Something about a fire…and family, and…and Everan….
For a blissful moment she remembered; if she died she would be with Everan. It was worth it, she decided, but still, it hurt…he would never allow anything to hurt this much, if he was here…and she imagined that he was, imagined that he appeared out of nowhere and got in front of her, protecting her, and they threw a stone at him too but he caught it and, in a movement too fast to follow, threw it back, and the boy that had slapped her fell to the ground, the echo of the crack of stone against skull still echoing…and her attackers would be afraid, and scream, and beg for forgiveness, and Everan would take her hand and lead her away, and she’d be all right…just like he had done, what felt like ages ago, when she had been crying and he had led her away to clean her off…and take care of her, and give her something, and then he had taken it from her, but then a shadow fell on him and…and he….
And their anger stabbed at her now, echoing through her heart, and she felt their pain…they were going to kill her, but she still didn’t know why…it had something to do with fire, family, and Everan….
She froze. The loudest scream she had ever given tore from her throat as she finally understood.
They thought she killed Everan.
Either her heart stopped beating, or she couldn’t hear it anymore; suddenly was all too loud and painful, the shouting, the stones thudding into her, the pain, the fear, and in the chaos she forgot how to breathe.
Everan…her best friend…no, she hadn’t killed him, she couldn’t have…no, she would never! No matter what he did, she would never hurt him… he…he was everything, he wasn’t supposed to die at all, why…how could…?
And suddenly she remembered, painfully clearly, that Everan had disappeared in a flash of purple light, without even time to cry out—and his face, surprised and pained, and his fear, and the feeling of being torn in half as he was ripped away….
But there was nothing else, just blackness.
Why couldn’t she remember? And…and had she….
“No, no, NO!” she was screaming, unknown to herself. “I didn’t, I didn’t, no, Everan, NO, NO!”
“LIAR!” someone shouted furiously, and a stone slammed into the ground beside her head so hard that it half-buried itself. “YOU KILLED THEM ALL AND YOU KNOW IT!”
The girl wasn’t lying…she would know…but that meant….
She screamed as loudly as she could, but her voice cut off as a stone zipped through a gap in her arm and struck her throat; her scream continued in silence, and then in hoarse, painful bursts, but she could barely hear herself.
I don’t wanna die, I don’t wanna die….
Glass shattered, something dug into her foot, and someone yelled, “MURDERER! BURN IN HELL!” but someone else was laughing cruelly, enjoying the way she writhed in pain, and then called to the crowd, ““Twenty shards to anyone that hits that thing on her forehead!”
Thing on her forehead? Wh—?
A stone struck her hard in the shoulder, and her right arm fell, leaving her face unprotected; she tried to hide it, but before she could another hit her hard on her cheek, and the same boy said, “You just missed, a little higher!” and she understood that they were aiming for her mark.
Her eyes shot open, and suddenly the children crowded before her appeared red, as if someone had already drenched them in blood for her.
Something was still digging into her godsdamned foot; as she pushed herself onto all fours, and then to her knees, swaying with the force of continued blows but never feeling any, she reached for the thing that had slipped into her boot who knew how long ago, and was now pressed painfully against her foot as a rock, trapped halfway down, pushed against it. She slowly rose to her feet, stumbling a little but catching herself, and her right arm shot up to deflect a stone, which bruised her fingers as they clutched the hilt of Everan’s dagger, removed from the place she had hid it in as their eleventh birthday dawned.
The stones stopped flying; screams rent the air, and pounding on the door of the schoolhouse, and she saw the reddened looks of fear on their faces, and she imagined them bleeding, falling, feeling her pain, and their faces would look just like Everan’s… she didn’t kill him, they did, and they would pay for him in blood….
They fell silent, stricken by fear, as she raised the knife and pointed it at their hearts, covered in blood and bruises, her eyes wide, frenzied, and crazed as she transfixed them with her scream, laced with pain, hatred, and grief.
“GET AWAY FROM ME!”
Marli stood, frozen, and stared at Kamilé’s tiny, broken figure. Nobody moved; it felt as if the world was holding its breath. A small, barely audible drip, drip, drip echoed as a shallow pool of blood collected on the grass beneath Kamilé.
The smallest girl, just barely over six, started to cry—the younger children stood off to the side, not really included, thinking it was all a game until it went horribly wrong.
The sound drove Marli’s legs to run to Kamilé, falling to her knees in the bloody grass beside her. She was covered in bruises and cuts, half-hidden by blood; a small vermillion trickle fell from between her lips, parted limply in surprise, and her eyes were wide open and staring. Marli could not tell if they were glazed over or not because of their misty silver, but this, coupled with no indication that she was breathing, led Marli’s heart to race as she felt for a pulse. There, barely, but fading.
“Somebody get the Elders,” she said, her voice barely a whisper; when no one heard her, she looked around, spotted Shima, standing alone, and said louder, “Shima! Go get help!”
Shima bolted down the path, her eyes still wide with terror, her speed increased greatly by fear.
Marli laid Kamilé gently onto her back, so her heart would not have to fight gravity to send blood through her, and turned her head to one side. Blood was still leaking steadily out of her mouth. Marli grabbed the knife—several elves gasped—and placed the blade a half-inch from Kamilé’s lips, keeping her fingers on the side of her neck. The blade fogged over for a moment, and then again, and again, and a small, faint pulse throbbed against her fingertips. Alive, then…but her eyes stared straight ahead, refusing to blink even when Marli waved her hand before them.
“Is she dead?” Dirstei asked bluntly. His tone kindled a flame somewhere inside her—his voice had been the one shouting jeers at Kamilé and inciting the crowd. She ignored him, wiping blood off of Kamilé’s face with the bottom of her shirt.
“Serves you right,” he added suddenly—everyone stared at him, too shocked to agree. Marli froze. “Protecting a murderer like that. She proved it, didn’t she? See, she had a knife.”
This was certainly a good point, Marli’s dark side told her dourly. But this was not the point; a darker insinuation lay behind his words.
“You…you were….” Her muted voice never reached them. She looked up, looking intently into the faces of her students, the ones she had known for years—Dirstei’s was defiant and cool, but the rest bore looks of shock and fear. They had meant to kill her, but none seemed to realize what exactly they had done; even Dirstei’s eyes were still wide. Her students were no murderers, but should Kamilé die that day, they would be, and they knew it now.
“She’s…just a…kid,” Marli said, choking slightly over each word. Her voice, still barely above a whisper, was audible throughout the little clearing. “She never…would have…hurt…anyone…. Y-you never…knew…her…she only…it…wasn’t….”
She could go no further; her emotions overwhelmed her, and she covered her face with her hands, choking on tearless sobs.
“How…could…you?” she gasped. “Why…would…any…one….”
No one said anything. There was nothing to say. Silence reigned for what felt like a very long time, until the pounding of feet announced Kayle’s presence as he ran up the path.
“Marli!” he shouted at once—and then he saw the rest of the scene and froze on the spot, eyes widening. She looked up at him; he regained control in a moment or two and dashed over to kneel down beside her.
“What happened?” he asked her urgently. “Is she dead?”
Marli glanced at Kamilé, and then to the watching students, and finally back to Kayle. Her head made a small motion from side to side.
“What happened?” he repeated, gripping her shoulders tightly, his eyes boring into hers. She turned her head to the side, staring at the ground, littered with stones. Kayle followed her gaze, narrowing his eyes, and then gasped as they shot to the kids, huddled against the wall.
“You’re kidding,” he said slowly, and the kids winced and drew closer together. “Marli, you have to be kidding me!”
She shook her head, eyes locked onto Kamilé, who had not moved since her arrival. Kayle took a deep breath, swallowing hard.
“This has gone too far,” he said in a low, strangled voice.
His words touched upon another well of emotion inside of Marli, and finally, the tears fell. She covered her face again, willing them to stop, but they would not. Kayle’s arm fell across her shoulder.
“It’ll be okay, Marli,” he told her quietly. “Everything will be fine.”
She allowed herself to believe the lie, wishing that there was some way, after all of this, that everything really could turn out all right. Every soul, whether eight or eighteen, stood or sat in frightened silence, all feeling the sadness and horror of what the children had done, none savoring their victory as they had planned…they huddled upon the bloodstained grass in the little clearing, waiting for the Elders to arrive.
Elders Carn, Medilii, Nheyii, and Roden stopped short when they saw the gory scene before them, but Elders Arkai, Sariynn, and Srai sped up and reached Kamilé together, Srai half a step ahead.
“What happened?” Srai said sharply. “Who killed her?”
“She isn’t dead,” Marli said faintly.
“What’s she doing, then?” Sariynn asked nervously.
“Shock.”
The Elders stood in silence, staring at Kamilé’s tiny, bloody form. Finally, the other four, Carn in the lead, stepped quietly over to their fellows. Carn laid a hand on Srai’s shoulder.
“Srai….”
Srai blinked, shook her head slightly, and then threw his arm off, her mouth setting into an angry line and her eyes cold and hard.
“What happened here?” she asked sharply.
No one answered. Marli just looked sorrowfully at Kamilé, and Kayle looked sorrowfully at her, and the children looked sorrowfully at each other. Srai made an impatient, angry sound, and then turned to Shima, who had trailed behind them, looking to be on the verge of panic.
“Shima, sweetheart,” she said softly, “come here.”
Shima stumbled over, her eyes wide, shaking with trepidation.
“Can you tell me what happened, please?” Srai’s tone was like honey over a fire; sweet, melting, but barely covering her fury.
Shima shook her head frantically, stammering an answer. “Didn’t do it, didn’t know, told me to stand watch and not let Professor come out so I did but I didn’t know, really—”
“I see,” Srai interrupted, her eyebrows meeting. Her eyes had fallen on something on the ground beside Kamilé; she swiftly stepped over and dislodged the dagger, the thin bloodstain still streaked across it. For a long moment she stared at it, her expression hard, and then she looked up, piercing the group of children, Marli, and Kayle with her sharp eyes. Dirstei and several of his friends winced under her scrutiny, as well as several who were significantly less guilty.
“Whose is this?” she asked quietly, her voice frighteningly smooth and cool. “Where did it come from?”
Everybody glanced at everybody else, and then looked down. Finally, a boy pointed a shaking finger at Kamilé. Srai glanced at her, her white fingers clenched on the dagger’s hilt.
“What happened?” she asked again.
The boy who had pointed, borderline teenage by the stretched, lanky look of him, was elbowed forward, and began to speak very fast to his boots. “Professor Marli said we couldn’t go out ‘cause it was wet but we went out anyway and she was out here and she had a knife and and we tried to get back in but Professor locked the doors—”
“WHAT?” Srai and Kayle yelped at once, Srai staring at Marli, Kayle glaring at the boy, who blushed. Marli barely noticed, her eyes trained on Kamilé’s face, lost so completely in thought that she never felt their eyes upon her.
“I dunno!” the boy said quickly. “They wouldn’t open and she screamed something at us and she would have killed us…but….”
He fell silent, flushing, his legs shaking nervously.
“Yes?” Srai prompted softly.
His eyes unwillingly found the scattered stones on the grass. “She was gonna kill us,” he offered lamely. “S-so….”
“I see.” Srai’s voice had fallen to barely above a whisper. “Thank you.”
The boy scrambled back into the crowd, hiding behind several others before he fell still.
Silence smothered the sounds of the forest—the wind in the trees, the animals calling and scurrying about, the tree’s smooth, intangible tang to the air. Every eye was locked—indirectly or otherwise—onto Elder Srai as she turned the dagger over and over in her hands, her hard, serious expression indicating a decision in the process of creation. Finally, she spoke.
“Professor. Explain, please.”
“Elder—” Kayle began, half-rising to his feet. Srai stared him down with a harsh, imperious glare.
“I’m quite sure Marli can explain herself.”
Marli shook herself out of her daze, closing her eyes and letting out a deep breath. After a long pause, she turned her face upwards to Elder Srai.
“Explain what? It seems pretty obvious.”
Srai’s jaw tightened, her eyes emanating cool ferocity. “Tell me all you know, please, Marli, if that’s at all possible.”
Marli sighed, folding her arms tightly underneath her ribs as she stared off into space. “Everything’s a little tricky…but today….”
She paused, seeming lost in thought again. “Go on,” Srai said smoothly.
She waited another moment to gather her thoughts, and then, in a flat monotone, began. “I was up late last night, so I gave the kids a break, as long as they stayed inside…but I fell asleep, and—”
“You fell asleep?” Srai repeated, half shocked, half disgusted.
Marli kept on as if there had been no interruption.
“—and when I woke up the kids were outside, shouting and screaming, it sounded like…like someone was being murdered…and I went for the door, but it wouldn’t open, as if someone was holding it shut…and a stone flew through the window and broke it, and I heard everything clearly….”
She shuddered, and said nothing more.
“Heard what?” Srai insisted.
“‘Murderer, burn in hell,’” she quoted softly. “‘Liar, you did it and you know it.’” She placed her palm on Kamilé’s forehead, sliding her hair away from the mark on her forehead. “‘Twenty shards,’” she whispered, “‘to anyone who hits that thing on her forehead.’”
Someone, it sounded like Elder Carn, let in a sharp breath.
“And when I got out,” she continued, “she was standing there, pointing that knife at them, and then….”
She gestured sadly to Kamilé, hugging herself as if, deep inside her chest, she carried a heavy burden, and should she let go the secret would spill out for all to see.
“Well,” Srai whispered, after a long, still silence, “this has obviously gone too far.”
Marli nodded without a word. Srai turned to her fellow Elders, her face serious but free of any other expression.
“What do you think?”
“One of them is lying,” Arkai noted.
“Quite obviously. But which?”
“Marli has proven herself trustworthy,” Roden said solemnly. “I doubt she would lie about something like this.”
Kayle nodded Marli’s thanks for her, as she was no longer paying attention.
“And even so,” he continued, “there are more holes in the children’s story than in Marli’s.”
“Such as?” Srai inquired.
“If another student was attacking them, why wouldn’t someone run and get our help? Why wait? And if Kamilé attacked first…well, I can’t see any reason for those stones to stop her, if she did not run away at once. She would have gotten much closer, at least.”
“That’s a good point,” Srai mused. “And the difficulty is…” she continued as she turned her penetrating stare onto the children, an odd expression on her face, almost like fear; “…that regardless, both are guilty….”
“But which was self-defense?” Sariynn agreed. “And which was not?”
“Precisely.” Srai closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her temples. “But how to tell? And what to do?” she murmured, even more softly. “They’re children….”
“Well,” Sariynn suggested, gesturing with a sickened expression to Kamilé, “why don’t we ask her?”
Srai glanced at Kamilé and winced. “I don’t think that’s possible. It may be too late….”
“It isn’t!” Carn said suddenly; his bottom lip was bloodred from where he had been biting it throughout. “Marli is right, it’s only shock….we’ll have to get her out of it anyway before it leads to severe damage….”
“Might be dangerous,” Srai murmured, almost as adept a healer as he was. “Difficult at best—”
“I’ll do it,” Marli interrupted softly. “I’ve seen this before.”
Srai nodded. “Carry on, then.”
Marli reached over and grasped Kamilé’s shoulders, lifting her until her head rested on her teacher’s shoulder. She kept two fingers on the side of Kamilé’s neck while her other hand patted Kamilé repeatedly on the cheek, hard enough to be painful but apparently not enough to fulfill its purpose. Making a guilty, pained face, Marli grasped Kamilé’s left arm, just below the shoulder, and squeezed hard; the pain made Kamilé start involuntarily, jerking her out of her frozen daze.
Her pulse accelerated underneath Marli’s fingers, to almost a continuous hum, and her inaudible breathing jolted to life with a shuddering gasp, followed by a succession of quick, panicked half-sobs. Kamilé blinked, and her eyes lost their nearly invisible film as they shot around wildly, looking everywhere. She flinched when they met the sun, but seemed unable to recognize that the beings surrounding her were mortals, or even that there was anyone at all; let alone know and fear whomever she wisely should.
“B-…but…I….” she murmured, her voice rough and choked. “I…no…Everan!” she moaned, so suddenly that it was almost disconcerting. “Everan! Everan! Everan! Everan…!”
She hid her face in the crook of her arm—it was the best she could do, with her left incapacitated—and started to cry, ragged sobs that laid her sadness, fear, and pain out for all to see; she fell dizzily forward, and Marli caught her and held her close.
“It’s okay,” she said quietly, waiting for her frantic heartbeat to recede. “Calm down, sweetie, you’re all right….”
Kamilé neither heard nor understood—but at least she never caught the lie.
Elder Srai did not wait for her to calm down. She knelt down until she was at Kamilé’s level, her brow creasing slightly in concentration but showing no other emotion besides grave, regal seriousness.
“Kamilé,” she said, a hint of forceful command in her tone. “Can you hear me?”
Marli shot her a look that she did not catch. Annoyed, Srai said again, “Kamilé!” in a much sharper tone, and reached for her arm to turn her around.
Marli quickly put her arm between them. “That’s her hurt arm,” she replied to Srai’s glare. “Don’t touch it.”
“It seemed to be fine when you did it,” Srai sapped back. Marli winced guiltily.
“Just to snap her out of it,” she muttered defensively. Srai ignored her.
“Kamilé! Answer me!”
When Kamilé still did not answer, merely attempting to burrow more deeply into Marli’s shirt, Marli, sighing, turned her gently around herself until she was sitting in her lap, and carefully detangled Kamilé’s hand from her shirt and held it at her side. Srai placed a finger under Kamilé’s chin and lifted her face until they were eye-to-eye.
Kamilé’s face was close to mutilated—blood still seeped from a gash on her forehead, coloring the left side of her face from forehead to chin, nose to cheek, a deep, dark vermillion. Her lips were blackened with dried blood as well, and her right eye showed the beginnings of a heavy bruise around it. But her silver eyes were an almost glaring brightness against her discolored skin, leaving no doubt that she was alive, awake, and aware enough of her surroundings to be scared out of her mind.
“Kamilé Naäuté,” Srai said softly, as blue eyes locked with silver. “Can you understand me?”
Kamilé did not reply with words—Marli refused to let her turn and bury her face again, but she did release her right arm and let her cover her face with her hand, her palm cupped protectively over her bloodied eye. She must have felt the blood; the relatively clean side of her face was all that showed now, her eye still locked with both of Srai’s in a manner much like mouse and snake.
“Obviously,” Srai answered herself. “Listen very carefully.” She spoke slowly and clearly, so none of them missed a word. “I want you to tell me exactly what happened here.”
Kamilé did not answer, shrinking unconsciously back against Marli. Srai’s eyes narrowed.
“Answer me!”
She whimpered, but did nothing more; frustrated, her anger finally resurfacing, Srai grabbed her wrist and jerked her arm away from her face. Kamilé screamed hoarsely, but Srai ignored her.
“Look at me!” she ordered, and a sudden silver flash between them made Kamilé scream again as Srai held up her dagger, inches before her eyes. “Where did you get this?!”
Kamilé flinched at her harsh tone, whimpering in fear as she struggled to get away.
“Stop it,” Marli said quietly, fixing Srai with a distantly disapproving look. “You’ll get more out of her if you stop scaring her.”
Srai gave her a scornful glance, but drew back slightly, the knife lowering an inch or two. “You will want to stand back, Marli,” she ordered. “I would guess that she can be dangerous.”
Marli snorted, but Srai snapped, “Now!” and she decided that it was best if she obeyed. She slid Kamilé gently out of her lap and onto the ground—Kamilé panicked and tried to cling to her, but she freed herself and walked over to stand next to Kayle, on the perimeter of what now seemed to be a large semi-circle, with Kamilé and Srai at its center.
Kamilé tried to back away, but couldn’t manage to keep her balance; she righted herself and wrapped her arm around her knees, hiding all but her fear-widened eyes. Srai was still obviously angry as she opened her mouth—
“Elders!” someone shouted from the path, and all turned to see a score or so of parents, distraught and harried, as they ran with screams and cries of relief towards their children. Elders Arkai, Roden, Nheyii, and Medilii quickly formed a line to intercept them, Elder Sariynn remaining behind to restrain Elder Carn, seemingly from doing something far too rash.
“Please stay back,” Arkai said in his deep, imposing voice. “Your children are fine, but you cannot come any closer.”
The parents immediately opened their mouths to object, but there was no need; their children, every one, ran for them and threw themselves at their legs and into their arms, some crying, others babbling at high speed about how the strange girl with the scary eyes had tried to kill them. The elves saw Kamilé over the Elders’ shoulders, fury transforming every face, but Arkai dodged their reaction swiftly and surely.
“Elder Srai is trying to find out what happened,” he told them calmly. “Please stay calm. I assure you that any damage done will be repaid.”
“Nanya’s son is missing,” a woman cried, glancing nervously around as she clung to her daughter and son. “Where’s Vix? He’s not here!”
“We’re sorting everything out now,” Arkai assured her. “Please, stay away until we’re sure of what will happen.”
While he placated the crowd, the three Elders beside him spread out in a loose circle around Elder Srai, a simultaneous effort to cover all sides if Kamilé chose to run, and keep any elves a good distance away from her if she chose to attack. Slowly, in the natural way of mortals, the elves took their children and spread out, until all the gaps in the Elders’ circle were filled.
The fully-grown elves towered over Kamilé, and she kept very still, shaking with a fear that was almost tangible. Elder Srai returned her gaze to her, dropping the knife onto the ground between herself and Kamilé as if daring her to use it.
A little girl in the crowd, already crying, let out a pitiful whine and hid her face in a tearstained patch on her father’s leg. “Daddy,” she wailed, “Daddy, I’m scared…I wanna go home…keep her away from me….”
Her father rubbed her hair comfortingly, but his eyes turned hard and cold as they alighted on Kamilé. He put two and two together, and his voice was laced with fury as he called, “Elder Srai…did that girl attack my daughter?”
Whatever Srai might have said was lost in the mêlée as the elves around the circle started to shout; it grew to a crescendo, and one man, teeth gritted in pure rage, picked up a stone from the bloodstained grass and shouted curses as he drew his arm back. Kamilé screamed and drew back, looking frantically all around her as several others did the same.
“Stop,” Srai said in a loud, carrying voice, glaring at them all. They did stop—fractionally.
“If a single one of those stones hit anything but the ground,” she continued in the following silence, “I swear you will all regret it.”
The hands gripping the smooth rocks dropped a few inches, the elves’ faces angry but slightly subdued.
“Drop them,” Srai commanded, and one by one, they did. “You too,” she added sharply to Kamilé—her hand had been inching towards the knife, but now it froze. Throwing a quick glance up at Srai, Kamilé made to snatch the dagger—several elves gasped and cried out—but Srai grabbed her wrist.
“And just what are you doing?” she inquired coolly.
Kamilé struggled against her, eyes wide with fear as she moaned, “No…let go…I don’t wanna die….”
“Calm down and you won’t,” Srai snapped, releasing her; she reached automatically for the knife again, but Srai was faster, and before her fingers touched it she held it safely away.
“N-no,” Kamilé objected, her voice shaking but still slightly indignant. “Give it b-back….”
“Where did you get this?” Srai asked her calmly.
Seeing it was futile to try and reclaim the dagger, Kamilé drew back and curled her arm around her knees again. Her voice was as hoarse as ever, soft and muffled by her legs. “’S Everan’s,” she whispered, wincing as if the name hurt her.
“And where did Everan” —wince—“get it?”
“Always had it,” she replied, her whisper growing fainter as she hid her face in her knees. “’S always there, couldn’t ever touch it….”
“Why not?”
“He…he s-said I’d get hurt….”
“Why did you have it at all?”
“Um…c-cutting stuff…food, and clothes, and…and I dunno…I never….”
“And why in the world did you feel the need to bring it to school?”
“H-…huh?” Kamilé murmured, confused, still shaking violently.
“Why,” Srai said slowly, “did you bring the knife to school?”
“School?” Kamilé repeated numbly. Srai sighed in frustration and grabbed her arm—Kamilé made a mousey squeaking sound that went ignored. Srai showed her the cuts and bruises on her arm.
“Where did you get these?” she snarled through her teeth.
Kamilé’s eyes widened as she looked at her arm, then at the rest of her. “F-fire…” she whispered.
“I know about the fire!” Srai snapped, her grip tightening on Kamilé’s wrist. “The cuts, the blood, where did they come from, how did that happen?”
But Kamilé was not quite there anymore. She buried her head again, moaning to herself, “No, no…didn’t do it, I wouldn’t never…no, Everan...no….”
Srai dropped her hand with a look of disgust, addressing her fellow Elders. “Can anyone get a word of sense out of this girl?”
“I think she just explained everything,” Marli said quietly, her eyes and tone alike still slightly detached. “The fire. That’s why all of this happened.”
She gestured to the blood and stones surrounding her, closing her eyes as if warding off a terrible memory.
“Oh, really?” Srai said sarcastically. “Well, I couldn’t see why an arsonist would suddenly want to become a murderer as well…please, enlighten me, Marli.”
“It’s obvious,” she replied, her eyes still closed. “The kids have been tormenting her all week, beating her up for killing their parents…and their brothers and sisters… today they went for the kill. It’s obvious,” she said again, and fell silent.
Parents all around the circle glanced anxiously at their children, who managed differentiating looks of mingled fear, shame, and innocence.
“But why in Ametris….” Srai murmured to herself, anger forgotten for a moment.
“Stoning was common before the war,” Marli supplied.
Everyone that heard her froze. Suddenly it struck them all: stoning. Murder. Or rather, execution.
But by kids…?
Every parent gazed wide-eyed at their child, unable to believe that they could have been murderers. Their children gazed right back, giving them looks that said, Well, we had to! What else could we have done?
And slowly, that look sunk in.
“She deserved it,” someone’s mother snapped. Several parents nodded in agreement.
“Deserved it?” Kayle exploded, glaring at her. “She’s eleven years old!”
“She burned down our city—”
“—and killed all of our families—”
“—and destroyed everything!”
“Arsonist!” someone cried, and shouts of agreement rang in the clearing.
“She didn’t do anything!”
“Prove it!”
“I can!” Kayle shouted back, and pulled a folded scrap of parchment from his pocket. But Marli stayed his hand.
“Not now,” she told him quietly. “Wait.”
“But Marli—”
“They’re unreasonable. Don’t ruin it, Kayle, just wait for a minute.”
He looked as if he wanted to argue, but let it drop, fuming; the older elves muttered themselves into expectant silence as they watched Elder Srai, waiting for the ax to fall. Their children watched too, relieved as well as angry, the fire of their hatred relit.
“Kamilé,” Elder Srai said sharply, and Kamilé winced, confused and frightened by the mêlée of angry voices. “What happened today?”
Kamilé’s eyes roved around, glancing at her hand, her dagger, the blood on the ground, the stones, and then the children, each of them in turn until she found Dirstei—and then she hid her face and started to cry.
“What happened?” Srai repeated, her voice like the crack of a whip, and Kamilé flinched again.
“Leave her alone!” Marli called, suddenly breaking free of her apathy. “Can’t you see she’s scared? How would you like to relive something like that?”
“What she’s supposed to be reliving is what I need to know.”
“What more is there? They tried to kill her!”
“But what she did in return is equally important.”
“She ‘ttacked us!” a little boy parroted.
Marli glared at him. “Don’t give any of us that crap, if you don’t mind.”
He flushed and hid behind his mother.
“She didn’t hurt any of them, Srai!” Marli’s voice rang out, as hard and clear as her eyes; she had broken free of her daze at last, and she wasn’t happy. Kayle backed away a step, sensing the anger pulsing from her in burning waves. “There’s no blood or bruises on any of them!”
“I’ve got a bruise,” one boy offered, holding up his hand; a dark blue bruise indeed tore across his knuckles.
Marli scoffed. “From punching her so much, no doubt.”
The boy drew sheepishly back. Marli turned back to Srai.
“So she had a knife. If she hadn’t, they wouldn’t have stopped until she was dead, or they were. No one has been executed in this city for three thousand years—”
“Except the ones who died in the fire,” Srai objected, her quiet voice throbbing with fury.
“That does not fit the definition of an execution, Srai. It was an accident. And even if it hadn’t been, it was still just arson.”
“Very easy for you to say,” Srai noted, “as you’re not even a citizen, and you never lost anyone to that fire.”
Marli’s eyes flashed—this argument again! “Shut up!” she shouted, her temper flaring high. “You’ve never even seen a huge fire like that before, I have! This happens so much more in a place without your stupid peace blessing—and look where that’s got you! Depending on the gods and the chosen to help y—!”
“That’s enough,” Srai snapped, the word chosen obviously touching a nerve. “But you’re right…obviously, the gift of peace stopped working….”
Marli snorted. Srai ignored her.
“Kamilé Naäuté,” she said sternly, and Kamilé flinched and stared at her with wide eyes. “I want you to tell me what happened, now.”
Kamilé closed her eyes tightly and whimpered, shaking from head to foot, but she heard Srai’s impatient noise and finally opened her mouth. “I d-d-dunno,” she stammered, hiding her face again.
“Now,” Srai repeated. Kamilé shuddered, but her trembling voice echoed from beneath her arms almost at once.
“W-was…sleeping,” she whispered, pointing in the direction of the bush she had taken refuge under the night before. “And…a-and…really loud…and….”
Her whisper quieted, becoming almost inaudible, but everyone heard it all the same.
“Hurt,” she breathed. “It hurt…and it…wouldn’t stop….”
A sob choked her final words, and she started to cry.
“And then?” Srai prompted, frowning. Kamilé shook her head. “Then what?” she repeated sharply.
Marli made an angry noise and opened her mouth to say something, but Kayle covered her mouth with his hand. “Unreasonable,” he quoted back at her as she glared at him. “Just wait for a minute.”
Kamilé’s sobs intensified, but she managed to gasp, “I c-c-can’t…can’t remem…ber….”
“Yes you can!” Srai said impatiently, her fingers curling into fists.
“Can’t remember,” Kamilé said again.
“You can!”
“I c-c-can’t…remember,” Kamilé moaned, crying harder. “Can’t remember, c-can’t remember, can’t remember…!”
She broke down, sobbing with despair, obviously frightened by the hole in her memory. Srai made an impatient sound in her throat, but gave up on that in particular. She grabbed Kamilé’s good shoulder hard, ignoring her wail of pain, and stared straight into her wide, fearful eyes.
“Has anyone ever told you of the deities’ gift, orphan?” she said coolly; Kamilé winced at her given label, and Marli struggled harder against Kayle’s grasp.
“Can’t r-r-remember,” Kamilé repeated miserably.
“When the war ended, the deities gave us the first chosen, the Heart of Ametris, and the gift of peace,” Srai informed her. Her fingers turned white with the intensity of her grip, and Kamilé’s face twisted in pain. “Do you know what happened to any of those?”
“N-n-n-n-no,” Kamilé stammered, screwing her eyes shut.
“The Heart of Ametris,” Srai continued, growing louder with every word, “is said to be the key to the gift of peace, which—”
“Stop!” Kamilé cried as Srai’s long nails dug into her skin. “Please, it hurts—”
“—which protects us all from anything evil touching our country,” Srai went on relentlessly. Kayle winced, and both Marli and Elder Carn struggled hard against their captors. “Have you noticed all the clouds and the rain lately, orphan? It’s condensation from the mists. They’re fading away, falling, breaking, because you used our Heart for evil and cursed us all. You’ve damned every one of us, girl—or at least those you haven’t killed.”
“Stop, stop!” Kamilé screamed, tears creating tiny, bloody streams down her cheek.
“And why? From some petty grudge, some teasing from your classmates? Or as revenge for our rightful anger from your stealing, your breaking the rules—but you’ve gone too far, Kamilé,” she snarled. “You’ve lost one—we’ve lost twelve! And we will keep losing more because of you—all the injuries that we can’t cure, diseases from the ash we’ve never seen before. I will not allow you to be a threat to our children as well!”
“Everan!” Kamilé pleaded at the top of her voice. “Everan! EVERAN! HELP, PLEASE!”
“STOP IT!” Marli cried, finally breaking free of Kayle’s grasp—his hands had gone limp from shock, revulsion, and fear.
Breathing heavily, her eyes aflame with anger, Srai rose to her feet, taking Kamilé with her. Her legs collapsed at once, shaking too hard to support her.
“Get up,” Srai hissed.
Kamilé stumbled backwards until she found her feet, immediately backing away from the wall of glaring elves until she was back in the center, searching frantically for a way out, an escape.
“This has gone too far,” Srai said quietly, her entire body quivering and tensing with rage.
“Srai—” Elder Carn said suddenly, his voice pleading.
“Hush,” Sariynn told him severely. “What the Head Elder says goes—”
“Srai, you can’t,” he implored nonetheless, “please don’t—”
“Sariynn is right,” Srai cut across him smoothly. “What I say goes.”
She turned to Kamilé, towering over her, and Kamilé cowered in her shadow, half-raising her arm to protect herself. They stared at each other, a final meeting of pale silver and electric blue until the day the moon rose with the sun.
When Srai spoke at last, her voice was quiet, but it carried so much power and finality that no matter what her words would be, the meaning would be the same.
“Kamilé Naäuté,” she said, “I hereby banish you from the city of Kocha.”
The reaction was as subdued as a breeze over the ocean: waves of agreement and relief seemed to wash over the elves, their cold anger fading into resigned finality, glad of the end; Marli, Kayle, and Elder Carn stared silently at Elder Srai in utter horror, waves of shock crashing over them again and again; the schoolchildren so satisfied and relieved that it seemed to radiate like ripples in a still pond; Elder Srai, through it all, standing in the center of it, everything circumscribing about her commanding words.
And Kamilé, the tiny leaf in the ocean, washed and pushed about endlessly by fear, by shock, by heartbreak, so intense that she felt like she was drowning.
Banished…the thought processed slowly through the chaotic storm in her mind…she would have to leave Kocha forever.
Somehow, even through all the torment she had suffered through in this tiny city, she found the idea terrifying, earth-shattering, a hand snatching the ground from beneath her feet—she couldn’t leave. It was not that she had been born here, that she had lived here all her life and never once strayed too far from its core, that she had always been able to look up and see the Great Tree from wherever she had ever been. Kocha had never been her home—the forest always had.
But in the forest every tree looked the same, every tiny pool and pond was no different from any other, and no matter how far she went nothing would stand out to her until she reached the river, the ocean, or whatever lay north. Here, everything was clear-cut, different, memorable. And here was where her memories of Everan were buried—in the schoolhouse, by the well, on the roots of the Great Tree, in the library, down the streets, on the edge of the waterfall….
If she left, she would have nothing left of him but vague, ever-fading memories and the nightmares of him, disappearing in a swirl of purple-black light, that would haunt her forever. She would only remember him by his death, never by his life…she would even forget what he looked like, his smile, his laugh, his voice inside her mind….
“N-n-n-no,” she whispered, tears spilling out of her eyes and sliding to the bloodied ground.
“You must stay three leagues away from the Great Tree, wherever you choose to go,” Elder Srai informed her coldly. “If you return, we will kill you.”
Kamilé stared frantically all around her, searching for something, anything that could save her; all she saw were stones on the ground, within easy reach of these people who hated her and wanted her dead; and the small gap Elder Arkai had opened in the circle. What choice did she have?
I don’t wanna die, she whispered to herself, but it held so much more meaning than it would to anyone else; meaning that urged her to stay rather than leave forever.
Death lay out there. If she left, she would die; if she stayed, she would die faster, and more painfully. And yet the slow agony of life without Everan could hardly be worth it….
Fifty pairs of eyes glared at her, boring into her skin with their intense hatred. She saw again the face of the boy who had slapped her—who had, she realized, meant to kill her all along, and had finished it all—and saw faces that had launched stones at her, faces that had cheered and jeered, faces that had stood silently by and did nothing, and one face who had stared, horrified—the face of Shima, who had, regardless, contributed to her living death.
She remembered Vix, who had hated her; Luci, who had liked her; Marli, who had protected her; Srai, who had banished her.
But it was Everan, his fading, blurring face, that was in her mind as she turned and ran into the forest, leaving Kocha a murderer, arsonist, and foremost, a tiny, lonely eleven-year-old girl, her sole mistake being born as a strange-looking orphan.
Thunder pealed deafeningly as her footsteps faded away, and the rain swept in to chase away the elves and wash away the blood.
I regret nothing.
Sorry, no italics. Or footnote-things. The computer pissed me off.
The first little square is by Compass, which is a constellation.
And then there's Naaute, which means nobody--often given to nameless orphans, but it can be considered offensive.
It suddenly occurs to me that there are more people in my school than there are in the elfin capital. Which elaborates upon how few people there are in Ametris, how reclusive and small-town the elves are, and most of all, how tiny my school is. X.x
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Posted: Sun Sep 09, 2007 4:11 pm
Now I'm gonna have to cry. crying
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Posted: Sun Sep 09, 2007 6:32 pm
KirbyVictorious Nevermind. Just don't bother if you odn't want to. But if you do, no more asking me stupid questions that I already explained or something. you got it...erm just a thought: what if I cant recall the answer to my question?
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Posted: Sun Sep 09, 2007 6:49 pm
NovaKing KirbyVictorious Nevermind. Just don't bother if you odn't want to. But if you do, no more asking me stupid questions that I already explained or something. you got it...erm just a thought: what if I cant recall the answer to my question? Ask and I'll point out where it is. But try not to forget? Reese-san...did you read it?
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Posted: Sun Sep 09, 2007 7:13 pm
KirbyVictorious NovaKing KirbyVictorious Nevermind. Just don't bother if you odn't want to. But if you do, no more asking me stupid questions that I already explained or something. you got it...erm just a thought: what if I cant recall the answer to my question? Ask and I'll point out where it is. But try not to forget? Reese-san...did you read it? Now that you've finished, doesn't that mean that this now goes in completed works?
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Posted: Sun Sep 09, 2007 7:14 pm
gratz on finishing, by the way. It must feel great to have it all typed up.
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Posted: Mon Sep 10, 2007 3:09 pm
Nova: She finished the chapter, not the book. The book isn't even close to finished.
Kirby: Yes, I read it. It was depressing. It was just what I needed at that moment. I was feeling very down, and then I read your chapter, and it was gruesome, and I felt better. I can't wait to see what happens with Vix and Luci. *Luffles little Luci*
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Posted: Mon Sep 10, 2007 3:46 pm
Not quite a lot. We hear about them in the next chapter a little, then they disappear until the end of Lacausta. I think I'll just give you the sidenote on what happens, because they really aren't important in the long run.
I was going for depressing. Glad it, erm, depressed you further?
I'm already working on ch 19. ^^ But I may have to start over, if I decide it sucks.
I think the book in general is almost halfway done. *shrug* I've got time. Of course, if I don't get it published in time for college admissions then I'm a hopeless screw-up for ever...or something.
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