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Had any of Vix or his friends been sensible enough to check properly, they would have known that Kamilé was not dead-yet.

She jerked awake from unspeakable nightmares and visions no eleven-year-old should ever have even imagined, finding that she had been screaming and crying upon waking. She couldn't make herself stop; her mind continued the hellish dreams of its own masochistic accord, unhindered by her exhausted, fading consciousness, showing her endless images of war, death, pain, hatred, greed, merciless downpours of evil. Finally, as a spiteful end to its reign, the nightmares disappeared with one last torment-she was the cause. Whatever she had done or failed to do, she was a murderer.

She screamed and thrashed, as if combating the visions, forcing them away, and pushed herself out of the cover of the bush; the pain that stabbed up her leg, through her head and arms and heart, dragged her back into awareness of her surroundings.

She found herself lost, lonely, and cold, in tremendous pain from the wounds hatred and anger had inflicted upon her. Not a single stretch of her skin was free of bruises, blood, burns, or all three at once; her mind, too, was damaged beyond repair, unable to call up a single happy thought that was not marred by the elves' vengeance for her, by what she herself had done.

It was storming-the drops stung every wound on her body; when one was inflamed, the rest were quick to ache and burn as well. She shivered under the battery of droplets, unable to move to defend herself; she started to cry, wishing she knew where she was, why, and what she could do to make the pain stop.

For a long, long time she lay there, helpless, even her thoughts fading into the agonized abyss, reaching up to swallow her. She saw no point at all in moving, in making a sound-what would it do?

Her mind drifted.

There was no place left to go. Everywhere with his memory hidden inside had been taken away from her. They had changed everything, or driven her away-her "house," the square, school, Kocha itself, and now their tree, the willow under which Everan had lied to her, promising her that they'd be together forever. What was left to her now, save to curl up here until the end?

It was just as she had feared, as she had known from the very beginning; her memories were fading. No matter how she clung to the blurred images and jarring sounds of life as of merely a few weeks ago, they were slipping away. She could barely remember anything about him, or anything at all-her clearest memory was of the shock and pain he had felt, the fear marring his features as he disappeared.

She could not let that happen. No matter what, she wanted to be left with one memory; it did not have to be happy or perfectly clear, but it had to be there. No one would begrudge her that much, would they? Hadn't they had enough?

And she wondered; when she was gone, would that be good enough for them-the wraiths, the demons, the bringers of pain and blood, the smeared features and harsh voices of the ones whom she had hurt? Would it all stop, or would they turn on somebody new, somebody who didn't deserve it?

It was in the nature of mortals to blame someone, anyone else for their problems, have something to rip apart and assure the problem solved, whether it be heaven, earth, or another mortal; everything with the free will to do so tore down anything blameworthy, anything with the slightest potential to cause harm.

No one had ever told her, nor showed her this precisely, in a way she could understand; but somehow, she knew that was how people thought, and hoped desperately that just this once, one time in a million, it would not be so.

The dreams of so long ago, dreams of warmth, safety, somebody to love her and hug her, were not gone, but given up; hoping for these things would be foolish to the point of insanity. But the end of hatred, the return of peace-was that too much to ask?

And a memory…just one memory to fill the abyss of darkness and pain….

Her face felt like it was lit aflame, though the rest of her was icy; she turned it upward, and though the raindrops stung the cuts and battered the bruises, they felt nice as they washed the sticky tearstains from her cheeks. She stared upward at the stormy sky-was the mist really falling? And was it all because of her?

Stormy gusts and curtains of rain bullied the trees viciously, shoving them this way and that, trying to rip them from the ground. /I'm sorry,/ she murmured to them, knowing how they felt. You didn't do anything…I wish I was strong enough to save you…./

The strength of her sobs overwhelmed her, and for a long time she gazed unseeingly upward and added her own raindrops to the ground, increasingly working herself into breathless hysterics as the pain and loneliness tormented her.

"E…ver…an…" she moaned to the heavens, sobs splintering her plea into pieces. "E…veran…Ever…an…."

And then she fell silent, bringing into focus the anomaly that had only now caught her attention. It stood there solidly, beckoning her with its lightly swaying branches, as if content that nothing could ever harm it, not storm, not draught, not even fire….

The Great Tree.

The Great Tree had watched over her from birth; she remembered going outside and stepping immediately into shade, cool, comforting sort of darkness in the summer; in the winter, its branches, which somehow never shed its enormous leaves, kept the snow off of her head. In rain it stood fast, offering a patch of protection that was half a mile across; it was everyone's guardian, a protector through whatever life could throw at its elves. Like a deity, but closer; like a parent, but further away; too big to see all at once, too big to wrap her arms around it, but in its own right, just big enough.

Playing under the shade…sitting on the roots, watching the kids play their games…watching Pilori marry…seeing everything there was to see from its topmost branches…reclining under its protection….

/Everan glancing nervously at the ground-Everan leading her towards the library at its base-Everan telling her its stories-Everan playing with her between its roots-Everan beside her, like it was always meant to be…/.

To her, the Great Tree was a deity-the only deity, solely responsible for its elves in the forest; it had made a mistake, its branches had destroyed the city, its fire had spread across its lesser subjects, the other trees…but now it wanted to redeem itself. It was healed, it was healthy-it was beckoning to her.

The Tree forgave her when no one else had. It offered safety, warmth-memories.

It took her a while to stop crying enough to realize; she had to go closer, go to it, stand at its base and accept its gift. No one could take that away from her; the Great Tree belonged to every elf, and every elf to it, whether female or male, infant or elder, victim or murderer.

She tried to push herself up, but received only further pain for her efforts; her exhausted limbs refused to move. She tried again and again until she was breathless, sobbing with agony, but only after many attempts did she find that her right side could move slightly. She focused on that half first; the tips of the fingers, each tiny, bloody digit, the thumb, the wrist, the elbow, the shoulder, and slowly moving downwards until everything could at least twitch. Hours might have passed as she continued her impromptu version of muscular therapy; she was so absorbed that time had no meaning to her. She had to move everything; she had to make herself walk, she had to get to the Great Tree….

The sun tinged the edges of the sky by the time she could move her arm properly, though the storm had yet to end. She carefully twisted herself until she could see her left side up close-what was wrong with it? Her arm was flat and limp, and her leg was bleeding underneath her pants, which were ripped and bloody; they would trip her, they had to go away. She pushed herself harder and harder until her hands were on the legs of her ragged pants, shredded to ribbons by her fall, and pulled, and both tore below the knee and fell to the ground. A cut was still oozing blood on her left leg, but it didn't hurt so much. It was nothing compared to the icy, jagged slices across the inside of her chest.

Exhausted by her efforts, she fell back and immediately fell asleep.

Her muscles were sore when she awakened, just as the bloody tinges of sunset were drifting out of the heavens, but they felt better; everything moved, even the left leg twitched slightly. It didn't matter. She could move now.

To her it felt like only minutes had passed; it was still dark, still storming, and she was still desperately clinging to her final hope-the promise of her memory.

She dragged herself up on all fours, immediately falling over. Undaunted, she tried again, and again. She managed to balance a little, but then made the mistake of attempting forward motion; she fell, her limbs crumpled beneath her, and she had to bite down hard on her lip to keep from crying out.

But she had to keep going.

It took her hours to move even a few feet, but once she managed to stand, clutching at anything solid to aid her, she continued to push herself with the newfound impetus, refusing to give up. She tried not to fall-it hurt terribly, so much that she wanted to give up and let the blackness overwhelm her, and it was hard to rise again. Her path was not straight, nor was it easy to follow, but follow it she did.

It was a half-mile to the Great Tree, which would have normally taken Kamilé less than ten minutes to walk-but as she was, half-paralyzed, half-conscious, and weak, it took her all night. Long before the sun rose, she fell and couldn't get up again, finally breaking down and sobbing with the pain, whimpering for Everan to make it end…but eventually, she got back up. Something inside her told her that she could scream and cry and fall all she wanted to-she couldn't give up now.

It was a little past sunup that she reached it-a gap between two roots that felt familiar to her. It took all her strength to continue on, get closer to the base of the tree, touch it and feel its warmth.

She never made it. Halfway across the clearing created by the roots, she collapsed. This time, nothing could force her up again-the driving force, the will to live, to keep moving, was gone.

No, no…this wasn't right at all….

A branch the size of a separate tree lay abandoned mere feet away from her, its outline jagged and cruel in the lightning; the ground felt bloodstained, though nothing showed visibly, and the very air told her of pain, blood, death. Someone had been hurt here…their life crushed out of them…but their life had ended long before that, everything snatched away from them in a flash of lightning and fire…and now the tiny someone was no more than a skeleton, a rotting corpse.

She succumbed to sobs, the pain and grief searing across her like greedy flames.
It had lied to her…this was not a sanctuary, it was a graveyard…everything had lied to her, gone away, disappeared….

She stared out past the root, where the ground turned to stone that gave rise to precise, symmetrical lumps. A light flickered on in a window…someone was up early…maybe making food for their family, maybe heating water to heal wounds, to make a loved one that was hurt something soothing to drink, maybe sitting by the fire and crying as they longed for their parent, brother, sister, child, snatched away…a fire had hurt her, but the rest of the world had tamed it-it meant warmth. Safety. Love.

She stretched out her hand as if to reach out and take the fire in her palm, warm the ice inside of her.

"Let me in…" she rasped. "Please let me in…."

Her hand fell, still reaching out in vain for a last chance at happiness, at love, at life, a chance that she would never get.




A while afterwards, when the sun and moon had each had a turn in the sky, a tall, dark figure, its footsteps lost in the pounding of the rain, made its way through the streets of Kocha; seeing a small, crumpled figure up ahead, and recognizing it as a little girl-one particular little girl-the shadow stepped to her side, watched her tiny chest rise and fall for a moment, contemplating her…and then, with no more difficulty than a child with its doll, picked her up and carried her away.


Here is where we stand:

We love: Kamile, Everan, Marli, Vix, Luci, Kayle, Saeta, and any Elders or schoolkids you want.

We are still deciding on: Dirstei, Asta, Carn, Srai, Arkai ('cause he's kinda scary,) and anyone you like.

We hate: Tyrranen, someone you have yet to be introduced to (be glad), and whomever makes you happy to hate.

Hokay. STOP LOVING THE AMETRISANS! It'll only make it harder when they all DIE. twisted

The Ila dancer is the Ilanardan version of the Pied Piper. Remember that story? ONly this one's a girl, beautiful, and she dances.

Long-winded, much? xd

With all the interruptions from my sisters, that took an hour to read.

I do like it. heart

It answered (mostly) one question I'd been thinking of. In chapter (1?) Marli said she knew who the Chosen was, yet in all the conversations with Srai about the Chosen, it was as though neither of them had a clue.

Fo' rizzle. domokun

Is there anyone else who believes Kamile is innocent?

Will Asta and Dirstei tell anyone that Kamile's dead?

How long will Srai keep control?

Do the little kids really forgive and "forget"?

How many licks does it truely take to get to the center of a lollipop?


Oh, and to answer your question, the conversation between Kayle and Marli. And Carn and Srai's talk showed he knows too. (I'm saying it all indirectly for people who haven't figured it out yet.)

Lollipop, sucker, whatever works.

Nah, I'll wait for you to reveal it.

And Chapter Twenty is here.

Now, when I say book one, I mean like, part one. in fact, I shall change that.

We are halfway done.

Go me!

OKay. I swear.

This is either a baby chapter, or it reads really fast. *shrug* Chock-full of info with italics that annoy me so much, I'm not even gonna bother with 'em. Sorry.

Without further ado, the pure brilliance that is

Chapter Twenty: Honesty.

*

The next thing she knew was warmth and comfort, the muted crackle of a fire draping its warming fingers over her to brush away the cold and the dark. She opened her eyes and saw two other pairs, one blue and one brown, staring at her.
“Are you okay, sweetie?” Marli whispered to her, voice saturated with relief.
“Everan,” Kamilé murmured, wincing in pain and hiding her head beneath the blankets.
“More tea, I think,” Carn murmured, rising.
“Is that your remedy for everything?”
“Different teas do different things, of course.”
“Tea’s terrible…nothing like some fine elfin wine for saya Kamilé to fight away the damp and the cold….”
“I am not feeding my…granddaughter…anything that could hurt her, Marli.”
She laughed. “Sounds like you haven’t said that in a while.”
“Most people are unaware that I even have a granddaughter. I prefer to let them remain ignorant.”
“Idiot.”
“Yes, I can be.”
“Does Srai know?”
“What?”
“That you have a granddaughter.”
“Oh yes. She’s always know about my extraordinary little grandchildren.”
“But that still isn’t enough for her?!”
“She informed me herself that my famous name wouldn’t be any help whatsoever to Kamilé. She was being just—though admittedly she did want to disown herself from my family after that.”
“Calling her Naäuté when she knew,” Marli said disgustedly. “That’s just spiteful. But wouldn’t some of the elves that were here when she was born know about it?”
“They knew Sera was pregnant, and they were happy for her…but then Ryistin left her—”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. And no one wanted anything to do with the scandal after that, so they minded their own business…and when they heard Sera died, they assumed the baby did as well.”
“But wait a minute, he left her?”
“Yes, Marli.”
“The son of a demon left a chosen, it’s a whole family of idiots—”
“Marli. Please. Ryistin was a good husband to her.”
“She was pregnant!”
“Sera was absolutely sure that it was something he couldn’t control, so that’s what I will believe as well.”
“Is he dead?”
“Who knows?”
Silence fell; the clattering of metal against china preceded someone pushing a warm cup into Kamilé’s hands. Surprised, she grasped it for dear life, whimpering as a wave of pain crossed her heart.
“Here, sweetie, drink up. Poor thing,” Marli added, turning away from Kamilé. “Now she has a family, but such a sad one….”
“I wish I could give her a happy beginning,” Carn sighed. “Or a happy ending, but I cannot. Still…it’s my fault her life’s been so hard…I won’t let it happen again.”
“I should think not.”
Kamilé drained her cup again—the tea was mixed with cool water and did not burn her—and let the china cup fall out of her limp fingers. It bounced off the armchair she was curled in and cracked on the red-gold carpet.
As Carn and Marli stared at her, she doubled over and covered her head with her blanket, clutching her stomach…the tea made her feel terrible…pain shot in bolts of fire from her chest, which remained under ice….
“Poor Kamilé,” Marli murmured, coming over to hug her. “You’re still so sick….”
Kamilé thought to struggle out of Marli’s embrace, but wasn’t strong enough; she burst into tears and let Marli cradle her in her arms.
“Everan,” she moaned. “Where is he?”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Marli told her, stroking her hair. “He’s not here….”
“Where is he?” she repeated. “Where is he? I need him….”
“I know….” Marli sounded close to tears herself. “You two were so close…you do need him, he’s your twin brother—”
“Everan was not her brother,” Carn snapped suddenly.
Marli stiffened. “Not now, Carn!” she growled.
“He was too!” Kamilé screamed, the words hurting her. “He was he was, he was!”
“She needs to know the truth, Marli,” Carn told her sharply. “The entire truth.”
“Not that part, not now! How much do you think she can take?”
“Let go!” Kamilé cried, struggling against Marli; fury overwhelmed her like a red haze over her eyes. “Let me go!”
“She must understand everything!”
“It’s too much!”
“She can’t be a child forever! She needs to grow up!”
“Not now!”
“Don’t you talk about him like that!” Kamilé shouted at Carn, traitor tears blinding her. “Don’t you even—you—you shut up, you—!”
Before she even knew he had risen to his feet, she found that Elder Carn had grabbed her flailing wrist and was inches away from her face.
“You need to know,” he told her simply; he released her and drew back slightly, kneeling at the foot of the armchair. Kamilé curled up, shying away from him.
“Your father…two months before you were born, he left. He said nothing about why, or if he would return, and I never saw him again. I think he was afraid of being a father, or losing Sera, I don’t know. Your mother believed that he didn’t want to leave, didn’t have a choice, but she missed him…she tried not to show it, but the night you were born his name was the only one she called. I don’t know what happened to him, but I doubt he’ll ever return.
“You were born here, in this house, eleven years ago….”

Lightning cracked outside, rain pattered against the glass; a summer storm threw itself against the house with all of summer’s passion, summer’s temper; the sky had not foreshadowed rain this afternoon, and nor would it the next. Summer storms, like summer itself, passed quickly in flashes of heat and bursts of rain, in swirls of heated anger and passion and respite.
The crest of a Head Elder adorned his mantelpiece; the Heart of Ametris, set in a crystal frame and resting upon silver hooks. It was dwarven made, sturdy; everything else rattled when the thunder struck.
The sounds of toil and urgency had long faded from his daughter’s room, as had cries for her absent husband, but the midwife had yet to call him back as she had promised. He knew instinctively that something was wrong…his Sera was sick….
He paced back and forth across his sitting room, muttering anxiously to himself. A crescent moon flickered bravely between blackened clouds from time to time, but its struggle brought him no hope for his own. He glanced again at the family tree on his wall, where it had always been, wondering if he would be adding a new name tomorrow…or adding one to the list of dead and gone….
The door opened, startling him, and the midwife slid into the room. She waited until she was closer to give him a reassuring smile; even her hair, long, blonde, and tied back out of her way, was limp with exhaustion. She was only a girl, seventeen, Sera’s junior by a mere two years.
“Good evening, Elder,” she said pleasantly, bowing; he hadn’t seen her for quite some time, and she had been in a hurry.
“Yes, yes,” he agreed hastily. “Is Sera all right? How is she?”
“Oh, Sera’s okay.” The girl waved an airy hand in reassurance, smiling at him. Human blood added an interesting lilt to her voice. “She’s just very very tired, a little sickly, you know, but that’s what always happens. Still, all that time an’ work for such a little baby….”
“The baby?” Carn leapt eagerly back into the conversation. “Yes, how is her baby? What is it?”
The girl smiled. “’S a little girl,” she sighed, “looks just like her mom. Such a sweet little thing, but hasn’t said a word since she appeared, or opened her eyes….”
“But she’ll be okay? She’s alive?”
“Oh, yeah. They’re both just fine….”
But the girl glanced anxiously back at the door, and Carn’s heart jumped nervously.
“Can I see Sera?”
“Oh, no, not yet, she needs her rest. I’ll ask her if she’s well enough in a minute…saiyön….”
She threw a pointed glance at the door again.
“I understand. I’ll wait out here.”
“Ah, thank you, saiyön,” she sighed, obviously unwilling to upset the Head Elder. “I’ll be back in a mi—”
A muffled sound, a baby’s crying, reached their ears. The girl murmured something under her breath and hurried back into the bedroom without another word.
Carn resisted the urge to try and help, regardless of his healing expertise; this was an area of which he knew nothing. He resumed pacing.
The bird in the corner—it would be a sin to give him a name—chirruped loudly.
“Hush,” he told him sternly.
It chirped again, louder and higher.
“Quiet, you pest of a bird—OW!”
Carn marched over to give the bird more seed, but as he opened the door he attacked his hand and was off. Carn swore and turned just in time to see him fly beneath the crack in the door.
“Cursed little—”
He grabbed his cloak and followed him into the storm without question; that kind of bird could not be found anywhere in Ametris, he was a very rare bird that Sera had brought back for him. He must find him….
The bird hovered in the pounding rain feet ahead, his feathers pathetically bedraggled but still strong, a flash of color in the darkened landscape. As Carn gave chase, he flittered ahead, waving his tail as if he wanted to be captured. Or followed….
“I have no time for games tonight,” Carn growled at the bird, running forward. The bird danced out of his reach, leading him onward. Three streets down, he turned the corner and disappeared.
Carn skidded to a halt on this new street, which crossed from the square into the depths of the forest. Something caught his eye, illuminated in the shadow of a house by a lightning flash, a small grey lump.
He approached it cautiously, hoping dearly that it was not a dead animal, just a piece of trash.
At first that’s what it appeared to be: just an old, ragged blanket, thrown into the shadows by some careless elf. It was smaller than a loaf of bread, but wider, and somewhat lumpy, like something was hidden inside….
Forgetting for a moment the pouring rain, the missing bird, or where he should have been instead of here, he picked it up.
“Good gods,” he whispered, his eyes widening, as he pulled back the folds.
A little, naked thing lay in the folds, tiny and half-drowned, wisps of ebony fuzz adhered to its head. A baby elf, a little boy, hours old, that someone had abandoned in the street. The poor little thing had a tiny, thin nose, mud all over his body, and a scar that looked years old, shaped like a crescent moon, on his forehead.
Had it not been for the scar, the same as his daughter’s, Carn would have immediately picked the first door and knocked, searching until he found the baby’s family. But he didn’t even look around to see if his parents could be standing before him. The scar—the mark—gave him a feeling of possession, like this baby here was Sera’s child; and he did the only thing he really could do.
The grey blanket was dropped and kicked aside as Carn wrapped his cloak around the tiny thing. “Come on,” he told him, though he wasn’t sure if he could hear; to be honest, Carn wasn’t even sure if the baby was still alive, save its small warmth. “Time to go.”
He took great care to shield the baby from the rain as he walked, though when he arrived home the poor thing had nevertheless begun to shiver. Carn did not even spare a glance for the escaped bird, sitting innocently in his cage like nothing had happened. He walked slowly across the room to Sera’s door, keeping an eye trained on the sleeping infant.
The midwife girl burst out of the room just as he approached the door.
“Oh, there you are, she wants to see y—what in the world is that? Is that a…?”
He did not answer, still afraid to wake the baby; just as carefully, he let himself into the room.
Sera was sitting up, leaning heavily against the pillows, wan and pale but smiling with an infant in her arms. She radiated happiness; the moment she saw him she started to babble over her child’s murmured cries.
“Hi, Dad! Oh, just look at her, isn’t she adorable? I named her—oh, sweetie, don’t cry,” she added in a soothing voice, stroking her daughter’s damp black hair. “It’s okay, Kamilé, don’t be scared—Kamilé, Dad! After your mother, ‘cause she’s such a sweet little thing, isn’t she…oh,” she added, surprised, as Carn wordlessly offered her the little bundle. “What’s that, Dad?”
He uncovered the baby’s head, kneeling beside her to show her.
Her eyes widened, and her breath left her in a shuddering gasp; she shifted Kamilé, who still whimpered pitifully, to one arm and reached out to touch the baby boy with her other.
At her touch, the eyes slid open; a clear, brilliant shade of silver.
“Oh my deities,” Sera whispered. “How in the world…?”
The baby’s eyes moved from his own hands to the baby girl in Sera’s arms. Baby Kamilé stared right back, her eyes the exact shade as his.
“She stopped crying,” she murmured. “Dad, where on earth did you find him?”
“Someone left him in the street,” Carn replied, and Sera made a horrified face. “Sera….”
But he didn’t even need to ask; Sera scooped the baby boy up without another word and wrapped him in the blanket with Kamilé. The two infants stared at each other; Kamilé gave forth a tiny baby laugh.
“Poor little thing,” Sera sighed, tucking the blankets around the boy’s tiny body. “Look…I can’t tell them apart….” She laughed delightedly, wiping mud from his face. “Everan,” she decided, kissing his nose. “That’s who he’ll be. Everan.”
“What does that mean, S—Sera!?”
“I’m…fine…” she gasped, clutching at her heart; Kamilé and Everan rolled out of her grasp and onto the bed, becoming ensnarled in the blanket. Sera coughed, the force of it making her sway and fall back onto the pillows; her breath left her in a sigh, and her eyes pressed shut.
“Sera? Sera!”
“What’s wrong with her?” the midwife squeaked, rushing forward to help.
“I don’t know—SERA!” He slapped her hard, willing her to wake up, feeling her breaths slipping away. He breathed into her mouth and pushed hard against her chest, breathing for her, doing it again and again, so desperate to save his only child that he could hardly draw breath. All the time, he felt her heart beating frantically against her chest, then slowing down….
All the same, it took quite a while for her to finally die; her heart gave up and was still, and she fell back limply against the pillows, the warmth already fading from her skin.
He stared at her for an age, his mind spinning dizzily out of the realms of coherent thought, and then suddenly jumped and looked frantically around for the babies, but they had disappeared.
He ran to the door and forced it open, throwing himself into the room. Kamilé and Everan were wrapped in warm baby clothes, safe and dry, sleeping on a blanket by the fire and watched by the midwife girl, who looked anxiously up at him.
“Is she—?”
He shook his head, slumping into an armchair. “No. She’s gone.”
Silence.
“I’m so sorry, saiyön,” she whispered. “If there’s anything I can do….”
He rubbed his eyes and thought for a long time.
“What’s your name again?” he finally asked her.
“Pilori, saiyön,” she replied with another quick bow.
“Pilori…. Someone will need to take care of her children…do you know anyone…?”
“Well, saiyön,” Pilori murmured, blushing, “I always wanted kids of my own….”
“Good, then,” Carn muttered. “You take them. I can’t.”
“Ah…of course I will, saiyön….”
“But you must understand, it won’t be easy…there’s so much you need to know first…but don’t worry, it’ll all make sense in the end….”

“So, you see,” Carn finished, “Everan was from another family, Kamilé, not yours…you still are twins, but not brother and sister…do you understand?”
Kamilé stared at him for all of ten seconds before she exploded.
“LIAR!” she screamed; Marli had to hold her back before she tore him to pieces. “Liar liar liar! Everan’s my brother and there’s nothing you can do about it so you just shut up you stupid—freaking—I hate liars, I HATE YOU TAKE IT BACK!”
“Kamilé, calm down,” Marli hissed at her, ducking a flailing limb. “It’s…it’s just….”
Kamilé struggled, screaming wordlessly; but then she stopped, collapsing into Marli’s arms and bursting into tears.
“She’s right,” Carn said heavily. “If I had had the chance to meet his parents I would have gave them much more than a piece of my mind. It was the saddest thing I ever saw…it looked like he was just thrown aside, he could’ve been killed….”
“And he was only a few hours old?” Marli looked faintly ill.
“Not even that. He was the same age as Kamilé, so…just under two hours.”
“That’s just sick.”
“Yes…there might have been an explanation, though, but I can’t think of anything that justifies it.”
“Poor kid….” Marli rubbed Kamilé’s back comfortingly. “It’s okay, Kamilé… Everan found a mother, he wasn’t all alone…he had you….”
Kamilé wailed something unintelligible.
“What?”
She turned her tearstained face up and met Marli’s eyes, lip trembling. “It was me, I killed her, all my fault—”
“Who? Sera?” Carn shook his head. “Nonsense.”
“It was it was,” Kamilé sobbed. “’Cause I made her tired, ‘s why her room’s so sad, she died ‘cause of me ‘s all my fault….”
She buried her face again, her muffled moans fading away. Carn set his jaw in a stern, angry line.
“Listen to me, Kamilé. Your mother knew perfectly well that she might die, and if she didn’t want to take the risk she wouldn’t have had you in the first place, do you understand me? She loved you, she gave her life for you of her own accord and you are in no way responsible!”
Kamilé did not reply, shivering violently from the cold. Marli wrapped her in a blanket; Carn gestured for her to pick her up.
“Come here, Kamilé…I want to show you something.”
Marli set her down on the soft carpet beneath the tapestry; she folded her legs and clutched the blanket to herself as she stared at it.
“This is my family tree, Kamilé. Do you see yourself on it?”
“Can’t read,” she murmured, reaching out to touch the fabric with her fingertips.
“There you are,” Marli told her, pointing. “And there’s Everan…Sera, Ryistin, Carn, Merina—your wife?” she asked Carn. He nodded. “And his mother, Kamilé the first…wow, you have a lot of family…Elder Srai over here…ew…your sister, Carn?”
“Faryn.”
“Mm-hmm…and look, Kilio and Tara.”
Kamilé traced their names with a finger. “They’re…they’re my…?”
“They’re your family,” Carn assured her. “My grandparents.”
Her lip began to tremble again. “B-but they’re the chosen….”
Carn smiled gently at her, pointing to her name. “Do you see the crescent moon, Kamilé?”
She nodded.
“Now, Marli must’ve taught you…?”
“I did,” Marli assured him. “Kamilé, remember? I gave your group that worksheet…you knew the answer. What makes chosen different from everyone else?”
Kamilé answered automatically, as if someone was speaking for her.
“They’re ma—”
She started, and her hand flew of its own accord to her forehead; she stared at Elder Carn, her eyes widening.
“They’re marked,” Marli completed.
Kamilé stared at them both, back and forth, and then slowly shook her head. She kept shaking her head even as Marli nodded at her, frowning a little; Kamilé shook her head faster, squeezing her eyes shut, adding a frantic, “Mm-mm, mm-mm,” and clamping her hands over her ears, but she still heard Elder Carn when he somberly delivered the edict:
“Kamilé, you are, and Everan was, a twin chosen.”

Kamilé’s mind threw her back to a far happier time.
They were eight, not yet introduced to school, troubles, or any aspect of the adult view of life; carefree and having the time of their lives.
They had gone further than they had ever gone before, to the bluffs; here the land cut off sharply and fell away, sliding gradually downhill from there for a few leagues before it was drowned by the ocean. Trees grew haphazardly wherever they might; shale and pebbles coated the bottom of a dried-up creek and were scattered along rises, making the going treacherous. Kamilé was having the time of her life; Everan was trying not to trip and fall.
She had found a fallen tree stretching across the creek bed, which was both deep and wide, with mud and profuse plant life across the bottom. Everan was safely on solid ground, reading on a rock, as she tried and failed, again and again, to cross the impassible gorge.
She set her lip and scrambled up the side of the creek, which was almost as difficult as crossing it; there was an easier way downstream, but she wasn’t having that. When she had struggled onto dry, flat ground, she huffed for a minute, and then jumped to her feet.
Maybe you shouldn’t try again, Everan suggested. You’ll just fall.
Shut up, she muttered, distracted, concentrating her entire existence on her footsteps. The tree was rather thin, but sturdy, she thought, and if she put one foot in front of the other she could balance. Balancing was not the problem…as she crossed the halfway point the problem reemerged. The tree split into pieces here, three, one burying into the creek bed but the other two branching away from each other and rested on the other side, some twenty feet apart. The right side was straighter, shorter, but thinner, and she kept slipping off; it did not help that branches reached up to ensnarl her from time to time. The left side rose high in the air, entangled in another tree, then came sharply down.
She took the right side, setting one foot carefully in front of the other. Sidestepping a branch here, sliding carefully across a cracking spot there, she inched slowly across, coming within feet of her goal.
Something cracked; she ignored it, continuing on. She slid her foot forward, testing—
Her feet slipped to the side, and she grazed her leg painfully on a broken stub before she grabbed at the branch, dangling three times her height in the air, and then slipped and fell into the mud for what felt like the hundredth time.
Told you, Everan pointed out impassively, after checking to see that she wasn’t hurt.
Ow, she murmured, patting mud on her cut to seal it and climbing determinedly back onto the branch to try again. Everan watched her this time with interest as she took the same path, careful not to slip, curling her bare feet around the branch….
CRACK!
The branch snapped, and with a shriek, she fell to the ground. Her head throbbed; when she pulled it up and brushed mud out of her eyes, she found Everan kneeling cautiously at the edge of the creek.
You okay?
Fine, she grumbled, annoyed with herself. But now I’ll never get across….
What was the point of crossing it? he inquired, curiously twitching his nose at her. You could just get up over there…what d’you need over there?
Nothin’, really, she admitted. Just wanted to prove I could….
Well, it didn’t work, Everan pointed out truthfully, disappearing again behind his book. Kamilé thought it was a very mean thing to say; her eyes filled with tears that she couldn’t wipe away because of all the mud.
Hey, Everan demanded, hearing the disturbance, you sure you aren’t hurt?
You’re mean, she sniffed, tossing a dirt clod at him which he neatly dodged. Go away.
I’m just telling the truth, he pointed out. If you wanted my help you should’ve asked for it.
You could’ve helped and you didn’t? she squeaked indignantly.
I can still help, he corrected, you shouldn’t give up so easily.
What d’I do? she asked him, accepting his help onto the creek’s bank.
Look, it’s good that you didn’t give up and everything, but you’re going about it the wrong way. You thought taking the straight path was easiest, but if you really looked at it you’d see it isn’t. The other one looks harder, but it’ll take your weight and it’s really much better. You’re making it too hard on yourself, you’ve gotta try the other one now.
But how d’I cross that one? she wondered, peering at it with her head to one side.
You just dodge the branches and swing yourself around the thorny parts. Honestly, Kamilé, this one’s really much easier.
Mm…okay….
She inched gingerly onto the tree yet again, this time taking the left path. She followed it steeply uphill, ignoring thorns and missing pieces, and found that it really was much stronger; the branch looped around another tree, entangling itself, but she grabbed it and swung herself to a clearer spot to grab onto. She followed its almost vertical descent carefully, and finally—
I did it! she said gleefully.
Nice, Everan told her, smiling at her as if it was solely her doing. She jumped into the creek, scrambled back out, and hugged him, smearing him with mud.
Thanks, Everan, you’re the bestest ever—
Ew, he muttered, wrinkling his nose. Gross. Let’s go find some water….
They followed their noses to a smaller creek, but with more water in it, and washed the mud and dried blood from their bodies. Then they sprawled onto the pebbled shore and relaxed in the heat of the autumn sun.
Hey, Everan?
Hmm.
If I was big and tall…or stronger…or like a chosen or something cool, could I’ve done it all by myself?
Nah, he replied thoughtfully. It wouldn’t make much of a difference what you were, Kamilé.
So even if I was real big and strong? she confirmed, unable to keep the sadness from her voice.
Everan gave her an appraising look.
It’s not that. It doesn’t really matter if you’re special or not, Kamilé—special like, being bigger and stronger, and having everybody like you. I knew how to do it, but you were the one that actually did—it wouldn’t matter if you were bigger, you still would have tried again, and that helps more, being brave.
I’m brave? She frowned at him.
Yeah. ‘Course.
But still, Everan…don’t you wanna be someone else sometimes? Someone who doesn’t NEED all this stuff? Like grown-ups, and food, and stuff.
Mm…. He thought about it. Well, not that I wouldn’t LIKE being a deity or something, but I like everything just the way it is. Don’t you?
Well, yeah, but…I’m hungry, she mumbled. Chosen don’t get hungry…or they can find food real fast….
Chosen have different problems, Everan told her. Everyone does, but they all turn out to be equal, you shouldn’t want to be somebody else. And don’t ever wish you could be a chosen, Kamilé.
Why not?
A lot of reasons, he replied vaguely. But it’s not really all it’s made out to be….
She was too impatient with hunger to decipher this; he found her food, and their adventures went on. But he had never explained what he meant, and he never would.

“No, I’m not,” she squeaked at once, still shaking her head. “He isn’t neither, no, no, no—”
“Kamilé—” Carn began, but she refused to remove her hands from her ears.
“No, no, no no nononono, I don’t wanna be a chosen, you can’t make me no no no—”
“Kamilé, stop,” he said sternly, frowning at her. “That’s no way to behave—”
“—no no no no no no no and Everan isn’t neither just a elf no no no no n—”
“Kamilé,” Marli hissed, covering her mouth with her hand. “Stop acting like a child and listen to us.”
“Being a chosen is nothing to be ashamed of,” Elder Carn said disapprovingly. “Your entire family has been chosen, it is an honor.”
“Wouldn’t go that far,” Marli muttered, letting Kamilé go with a warning glance. She immediately pulled the soft red blanket over her head and hid under it.
“I’m not!”
“You are.”
“LIAR!”
“Kamilé Sera Haenir,” Carn said sternly. “I assume that you inherited your mother’s talent of detecting lies, so you know perfectly well that I am telling you the truth.”
Kamilé said nothing, shivering underneath her shelter. “What?” she murmured eventually, numb with surprise.
He sighed. “I said—”
“Called me something,” she whispered, bewildered.
“She means the name,” Marli explained to Carn, sounding confused herself.
“That’s your name, Kamilé. It’s traditional for the child of an Ametrisan to bear the name of their mother or father after their own. Haenir is the family name.”
“Actually, we do it in my country too,” Marli muttered to herself.
“Haenir?” Kamilé mumbled, still trying to understand.
“Come out, sweetie,” Marli coaxed, “and we’ll explain.”
Slowly, like a frightened turtle emerging from its shell, Kamilé uncovered her head and sat up. She shook slightly as she clutched the blanket around her.
“You Ametrisans know absolutely nothing about Haenir,” Marli said condescendingly, brushing the air as if waving Carn aside. “I’ll explain. Kamilé, you remember the lesson we had about him?”
She shook her head, staring at the tapestry behind Marli’s head.
“Well, he wouldn’t be on this family tree, of course, it’s not long enough…he lived during the last sixteen years of the war. When he was born they thought it would never stop, but somehow—there’s a lot of speculation, but no one really knows precisely how—he did it. He was sixteen years old at the time. However he stopped the war, he did it all at once; and then a goddess—Karayani, the goddess of the forest, since he was an elf—appeared personally and spoke to him, bestowing the title of chosen upon him and giving him the Heart of S-…Ametris, sorry. It’s said that her holy glow turned his eyes bright silver…he looked just like you, black hair and silver eyes, down to the way your body’s built.
“He married and had two children, Marsol and Inachi. Marsol carried on the main line, the Haenir line, which you’re a part of; the Inachi line produces a chosen when the main line fails. Everyone in Marsol’s line looks like Haenir, like you; the Inachi line varies like any other bloodline. I’m actually an Inachi, we’re very very distant relatives, but our blood’s so strong that we’re like cousins.” Marli glanced at her to check for a delighted response, but Kamilé continued to stare at the tapestry. Marli shrugged and continued.
“The chosen are always born here, in Ametris. They can be any race, any gender, and they can have any sort of mark on them, in any place. There can even be twin chosen—you and Everan, and Kilio and Tara, are the only two pairs in history. From birth, chosen are something different; they’re stronger, faster, and they have clearly defined strengths and weaknesses. A chosen is born an expert at some type of weaponry, and a lot of other skills too, random things; they can be trained to become the best swordsman or archer or whatever in the entire world. That’s what they’re meant to be. If they do not excel at something, they can excel at it very quickly. They very in intelligence and skill, like any mortal, but they have incredible mind abilities in some form—like your telepathy, Everan’s genius. Chosen are the ultimate weapon, the very essence of mortalkind. Some even say that Marsol was Haenir and Karayani’s child, that chosen are demigods.
“Chosen are born, it usually runs in the family; and they’re reincarnated, which means,” she continued on to explain without prodding, “that the same soul is channeled through to a different body after death. Which means that you are essentially your mother, your great-grandmother, Kilio and Tara combined…and Haenir himself. They’re all—you’re all the same person. We’re sure of it because one of the earlier chosen told us herself; she said she knew everything that had happened in the lives of the past chosen, that she could feel their power in her limbs and could do things she’d never attempted before because they were experts. It’s a truly wonderful gift.
“As for twin chosen…I don’t know anything about them. Kilio and Tara were also telepathic, which is something rare, and they weren’t related either—they married and had a child—but aside from their weapons and fighting style there’s not much I can tell you…I’m sorry….”
Marli cocked her head to one side and stared at Kamilé, moving into her line of vision. “Kamilé? Do you understand?”
Kamilé took a deep, shuddering breath. “Idonwannabeachosen,” she murmured.
“Sweetie…your grandfather’s right, it’s not a bad thing…don’t you always play chosen?”
“Idonwannabeachosen.”
“But Kamilé—oh, dear,” Carn interrupted himself, giving the birdcage in the corner a resigned look. “Now what?”
For the little bird had let out a soft noise as he awoke, blinking a little and looking around. He stared at Kamilé for a very long ten seconds, and then burst through the open cage door and flew at her so suddenly that she shrieked and hid beneath her blankets again. The bird, confused, landed on top of her head and pecked lightly at her, palm-sized, colorful, and harmless.
“Awwww,” Marli cooed, reaching out to stroke his feathered head. He dodged out of the way, regarded her, and then allowed her to do as she pleased.
“This is a rather extraordinary bird,” Carn explained, as Kamilé shivered beneath her hiding place and the bird poked her in excited bewilderment. “It is extremely rare, because it refuses to be seen by any other than chosen. I do believe it’s Ametrisan—”
“No, it’s so old that it was just here in the first place,” Marli interrupted. “And aren’t you an adorable little bird? Aw.”
“Please, don’t encourage the little fellow.” Carn chuckled. “Sera found him, or rather he found her. I don’t know how they do it, but they can sense chosen…taste their scent, maybe…he saw that I was of chosen blood, and as you can see, he can sense yours as well. I was surprised how little chosen blood there actually has to be…he’s even rather fond of Srai, who’s a very distant relative.”
“That makes one of us,” Marli quipped. “Aw, look….”
The bird poked and prodded until he found a crack in the blankets, which he then entered; they heard Kamilé’s muffled scream, but then, after she’d writhed around a little and gotten herself sufficiently tangled, she emerged again, giggling, and let the little bird hop onto her finger. He let out a happy note and flew furiously around her head.
“I like him,” she said.
“He certainly likes you, as well.” Carn smiled at her. “See, Kamilé? That proves it, you’re a chosen.”
Her smile faded, and she hunched in the shelter of her blanket. “Idonwannabeachosen,” she mumbled again.
“Why not?” Marli asked her gently.
“I…I….” Kamilé burst into tears again, burying her face in her knees; the little bird, concerned, pecked gently at her ear, but got no response. “I’m not!” she insisted. “’m not, see?” She thrust out her arm, which seemed to have layers of injuries; scrapes and bruises on top of more bruises on top of burns. “They hate me! They all…I didn’t….” Her sobs made her incoherent again. “But nobody hates chosen….”
“Sweetie, they didn’t know what you are,” Marli assured her, removing the bird so she could stroke her hair. “If they would’ve known….”
Kamilé sniffed. “If I told them…they wouldn’t hate me?”
“No. You’re right, nobody hates chosen…not here, anyway. They’ve been waiting for you for a long time….”
“Want me to save ‘em,” she whispered, sobbing again. “I can’t, I can’t….”
“Of course you can’t, sweetie. It’s all right, we understand. That’s part of the reason a certain grandfather did not tell you when you were the proper age….”
She glared at Carn, who cleared his throat nervously.
“After what happened to Sera? Ridiculous. She isn’t ready….”
“Huh?” Kamilé looked up, fear in her widening eyes. “What about…M-Mama?” The word caught in her throat; it felt strange, alien, like it didn’t belong there. “What happened to Mama?”
Marli shook her head, stroking the bird absently; Carn sighed and averted his eyes.
“Chosen…go on a journey, when they’re ready, Kamilé,” he explained gently. “Sometime between seven and seventeen. Your mother went when she was sixteen. She thought she was ready, but….”
“She was hurt,” Marli offered, as if trying to spare them both. “Badly. She nearly died. It was very scary for the people who depended on her…she wasn’t able to help them.”
“And it changed her,” Carn added heavily. “She was never the same. Fool that I was, Kamilé…I made it law that no one should know who the chosen was until he or she was fourteen. No one, including you. I thought I was protecting you, but I was wrong…had you known…long ago…all of this might not have happened.”
“You also handed your grandchildren off to a total stranger,” Marli added in. “Let’s not forget anything, Carn. Honestly!”
He sighed. “Yes, I know. But who was I supposed to give them to? I could barely take care of myself after that….”
“Hmph. To Pilori! Seventeen-year-old Pilori. You’re an absolute idiot. Hmm, I wonder,” she added, “how she became a midwife? Interesting….”
“You will have to ask her.” He shrugged. “But Kamilé—”
Kamilé was staring at him, shivering violently, her mouth slightly open. She looked like she was going into shock.
“Hey, it’ll be all right—” Marli assured her, touching her shoulder; Kamilé started and stared at her too.
“Not a chosen,” she whispered again, shaking her head violently from side to side.
“Yes you are.” Marli frowned.
“Not a chosen.”
“Are too.”
“Mm-mm, mm-mm,” Kamilé denied, trailing her fingers over her left arm. “Chosen…ch-chosen are….”
“Immortal? Invincible? Omnipotent?” Marli snorted. “No, they really aren’t. Kamilé, you can be hurt and killed like any mortal, but you’re stronger, you can take more—look! Those wounds would have killed a normal person!”
“Your white magic helped, Marli.”
“Not a lot, though. It doesn’t work right here. No, Kamilé only survived because of the mark on her forehead.”
Kamilé slapped two fingers to the mark, tracing the crescent back and forth. “I’m not a chosen!” she sobbed again, starting to cry. “I’m not, I’m not, I don’t wanna—”
“I’m sorry, Kamilé,” Carn told her gently. “But you are.”
“It’s not that bad!” Marli assured her. “It’s really cool, Kamilé, don’t you want to go exploring, and get into fights all the time, and help people? And you’re special, you’re different than everybody else…I know you think that’s a bad thing, but see? Now they’ll be nice to you…they’ll respect you….”
Kamilé wasn’t listening. Her mind was elsewhere, in a dark street, illuminated only by flame high above and a flash of purple light.
“I’m not a chosen,” she whispered. “’Cause if…I was…I could’ve saved him….”
Tears blinded her, sobs choked her, and without thinking she did the only thing she could do; she leapt up, stumbled, caught herself, and ran away.
“Kamilé!” Marli shouted after her, leaping up as well; the door was locked and bolted and presented a huge problem for Kamilé, but she unlocked it and shoved it into their faces as, sobbing, she ran into the stormy night.
“Kamilé, wait!”
But she was already gone. And Marli and Carn knew perfectly well that no one could catch a chosen.

Hey, Everan, when we get older, do you want to get married?
Why?
‘Cause that’s what grown-ups do when they want to live together. So?
Sure I will.
I NEED him—
“You, both of you, are nothing more than stupid, worthless—“
WEED! I’LL KILL YOU!
“I believe it would be better for the rest of the world…”
Everan….
“…if I put you out of your misery…”
Everan, where are you?
My what? My present?
No….
C’mon, tell me, Kamilé, I got you something really cool, I’ll tell you if you tell me….
“…don’t you think?”
You’re it!
I’m always evil….
Okay, we can both be chosen!
Don’t you remember…?
I don’t care. I wouldn’t trade theirs for ours for anything,
It’s our birthday, isn’t it?
Kamilé, don’t cry….
You’re the best big brother ever!
Please don’t cry…
How could I not love you? You’re my—
No we aren’t! We aren’t your anything!
I love you….
Don’t say that word. I hate it.
“Lying? Him, lying? Hah! Of course he was!”
We don’t need help. We’re fine on our own.
Immortal…invincible…omnipotent….
Chosen are marked.
Liar.
“He lied to you about everything!”
Just won’t die, will you?
You were gone, Everan…you weren’t there anymore.
What’s she gonna do, tell our PARENTS?
Thanks.
Anytime.
And…and…everyone was screaming….
What do you want me to do about it?
“Run away, right now, and I won’t have to kill you.”
I’m not, I’m not, I’m not….
Haenir was the first chosen…
EVERAN!
…stopped the war…?
Come back, come back….
Kamilé! NO!
NOOO! I don’t wanna die!
…no one you killed wanted to die either.
I wanna go home….
This won’t solve anything! STOP!
“Give it to me!”
Your mother gave her life for you….
…reincarnated….
Murderer.
“Good riddance.”
Someone help me….
Don’t! You’ll get sick….
Can anyone get a word of sense out of this girl?
I wouldn’t never…no, Everan, no….
“What is the point of your existence now?”
Kill her.
I’m so sorry….
What happened to you?
The deities won’t take her like THAT….
“You’re only a child, a stupid little girl….”
HelphelphelpIcan’t—
Maybe you shouldn’t try again. You’ll just fall.
If I told them…they wouldn’t hate me?
The chosen are always born here, in Ametris.
I’m not, I’m not….
Make me!
And it changed her. She was never the same.
…abandoned….
“I’m through with you.”
If I had it my way…
Poor little thing…
…I’d burn you and crush you…..
Your mom can’t make anything as good, can she?
…so sick….
‘Course, she can’t really make anything but the dirt she’s buried in.
Do you recognize her?
…’til there was nothing left but ashes….
I don’t wanna hurt anymore….
…and your filthy blood.
“Goodbye, little girl…”
…I’d send them all to hell with you.
Let me in…please let me in….
KAMILÉ!
Everan…no…

Kamilé couldn’t…
.
Did you start the fire?
“…and I pray you burn in hell.”

…take…

Everan, please come save me….

…anymore.

She collapsed in a strange forest, the rain battering the back of her head. Even nature seemed to lash out at her; the storm growled and flashed and beat her, the trees swayed threateningly above, the animals turned their backs on her, the darkness wrapped around her so tightly that she could not breathe.
She had never felt less like the chosen of her games: immortal, invincible, omnipotent. An elf with beautiful wings and twin swords that shone in the light. A demigod, a tall, powerful adult.
She was a small, broken child, defenseless and bleeding from a broken heart.
It didn’t hurt so much now….
She closed her eyes, sobbing, and gave up the fragments of her heart, lifted them up to the sky, her sacrifice. Bring him back, she wanted to say, and I’ll give you everything.
Everan could have been a chosen. Everan looked just like her mother. It was she who had been thrown in the street, abandoned, deprived of love and life and warmth from the start of her pathetic life. Everan was brave and strong and smart. He could have done it. He had been a chosen. Like her…no…she didn’t believe it. Chosen lived happy, full lives…chosen were loved by everyone…chosen never got hurt…chosen were not worthless.
If there was any worth left in her, any one reason why she should still be alive, she didn’t know where it was, and she didn’t want to find it. She wanted to disappear from the face of the world, not even leaving a body behind to become part of the earth. She wanted to remove herself from existence. Or wait until existence removed her itself.
She closed her eyes and let her mind drift…wishing herself away….
In her dream, she had not left the forest. She lay on her back and looked up at the sky as storms tore it apart. Liquid mist rained down on her; she could see it falling from the sky. When a piece caught the fire licking the edges of the trees, it burst into flame and withered away. The forest was burning, the sky was breaking…the world was ending.
People were screaming and running…pleading for someone to come save them…calling for the chosen…for her…and she was calling for a chosen too…but no one heard her. She didn’t even hear herself.
I should help them.
She couldn’t; she tugged on her arms and found that they were tied to the ground by flaming vines, her hands pierced by swords. Blood stained the ground, caught aflame; the blood inside her body heated until it was boiling with hatred and rage.
I should kill them.
But she couldn’t do that either.
Water rose inch by inch around her, the rain accumulating in one place…and then the waterfall reversed its gravity, reared up in the sky and slammed down on her, drowning her, and the world was underwater, but still aflame…the weight of the water pressed against her chest…. She looked up and saw that the water was clear, and through it, she saw the Great Tree…it was burning, suffering, screaming….
And though she screamed, though she pleaded, it hated her too….it broke off one of its crooked fingers and threw it at her, snapping her in half.
Her blood made the water run red. She was burning, drowning, dying.
What did I do to deserve this?
A wicked voice laughed at her, and a boot crunched her hand into the ground.
The pain was too much to bear…she felt herself screaming at the top of her lungs, but couldn’t hear….
Everan…come save me…please…forgive me…I’m sorry….
And then her torment faded into blackness, and her pain dissolved; she felt life slipping out of her grasp, and let it. Anything to get away from this…but all she had wanted was to see him again…surely…if she wished herself at his side…in a place with no pain, no death, no suffering…that couldn’t be so bad….
Something blinded her; she opened her eyes. The black had turned to white.
There was no branch, no forest, no dying world. There was only whiteness as far as the eye could see, blankness, nothing…and her…and someone else…a pair of boots that seemed familiar…but she didn’t look, fearing disappointment….
Kamilé.
The voice was not her own; nor was it aloud.
It’s okay. You’re safe now.
She believed him.
His hand, his warm, familiar hand, reached down and took her own; the other grasped her shoulder and helped her to her knees. He put a hand on each shoulder and studied her; she refused to look into his eyes, instead focusing on his worn pants, neatly patched and mended, his swinging bag, his belt, his best shirt, his warm, protecting arms and hands.
Here.
Apparently satisfied with her, he stood and offered her a hand—his left, his strongest.
She raised her left hand—without scars, perfectly smooth—and took his, letting him pull her up, finally meeting his eyes. The cool silver welcomed her; he was smiling.
I missed you.
Me too, she whispered. So much.
He smiled wider, and she had to smile in return; and then he half-raised his arms, letting her fall into him and hug him tightly, hugging her back.
She started to cry and laugh at the same time, burying her face into his shoulder, his warmth thawing out her heart. He rubbed her back comfortingly.
It’s okay now, Kamilé. I’m going to take you home.
The other half of her heart clicked into place, mending itself like the two halves had never been severed at all.
Everan took her hand and led her away, through the white abyss; she followed.