Welcome to Gaia! ::

I loooooove Everan. Don't you? <3

Thanks, Reese. ^^ Very helpful. I don't know much about snow.

There's a very logical explanation for that, which you may or may not understand when I explain in the next chapter.

Kamile was speaking the same language as the new person at the end. Everan was thinking in Ametrisan. But when he made his thoughts vaguer, and stopped thinking in words, then she could understand him (telepathy transcends all languages); also, the telepathy scared her, and her mind was extremely fragile, so she couldn't manage telepathy until then.

Any other questions? What about "Marli," or the "places," or Everan being alive at all?!?!

Why thank you. And it will.

Also, MD brought up a good point: where has tyrranen been going between fights?

To be answered. I plan to put it at the end of ch. 23

“Kayle…hey….”
No response.
“Kayle? Kayle…hellooooo…?”
Marli waved a hand in front of his unresponsive face. He blinked, turning his frozen gaze slowly to her. His mouth was slightly open, but nothing came out.
“Too much?” she queried, unsure whether to laugh or, perhaps, be a little disappointed.
He blinked again, saying nothing; and in all honesty seemed incapable of doing so. She sighed.
“Come on….”
She grabbed his arm and pulled him up, taking his hand and prodding until he stumbled forward. She led him back through the woods, patiently silent under the sullen sky.
Halfway back to the library, his numb lips managed words.
“S-so…it’s….”
She waited.
“…it’s all…true…?”
“Yeah,” she told him quietly. The thought of Sirtema ate away at her stomach, homesickness rising in her throat. Though Ametris was identical, it had none of Sirtema’s passion, Sirtema’s beauty—the beauty of a country won fairly by sweat, strain, and blood. There was nothing more magical to her than knowing that everywhere she stood had been fought and died for so she could stand there in peace. And knowing she herself would one day fight for it, too…when she turned fourteen and joined the rebel army…but no more….
Kayle blinked yet again, bewildered and dazed. “B-but….”
“Just try not to worry about it, Kayle. You don’t really need to know.”
It saddened her to think that he could not believe in her world—and if he did, he would never appreciate its rough glamour; in his mind it would just be a copy of Ametris with more violent people.
But at least now, she was not the only one. A sort of pensive hope glowed inside her, warming a small sphere around her heart. First the basics…Ametris’s origin…then fill in the gaps with history, culture, art and music and books from seven thousand years ago…the chosen…the fireside tales of Ametris and how very wrong they were…the language…. Until he understood why she loved it, why she missed it. And then she’d have someone to talk to at last….
“Kayle….”
He shook himself slightly, glancing apprehensively at her as if to say, What now?! She noted the slightly desperate look, hidden beneath his frozen expression, that she recognized completely—the look that people had when they saw a chosen, when they found out Ametris really did exist…or when they heard that the queen’s army was marching at that moment to take them out. A look of shock, disbelief, and barely-contained hysterics.
“Kayle, you can’t tell anybody.”
Silence.
“I mean it. What would they think? You’re crazy, I’m crazy…then who knows what they’ll try to shut us up with…no, you can’t tell anyone. Carn and I are the only ones who know….”
Still, nothing. But she waited, and after a few minutes he mouthed something, swallowed, tried again, shut his mouth, opened it, and then mumbled, “I won’t.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
“No, swear—blood oath at the very least. Have you got something sharp?”
“That a S-…Sirtema thing?” he said vaguely, looking a little sick.
“Kayle…gods, you’re such a peachfluff….”
“Gods?”
“Ai, Zhiensiahäa lita….”
“Huh?”
“Just come on….”
She led him in slightly frustrated silence to his library door, wrenched it open, and shoved him in, highly offended by the revolted look on his face when he’d said her country’s name. “Deisana hateyo,” she snarled angrily, but then turned back and abruptly changed her mind.
Kayle mouthed something, decided to say something else, couldn’t manage it, and continued gaping helplessly like a landed fish. Marli was too annoyed to laugh.
“Turi,” she said firmly, pulling him away. “Maybe two.”
“But,” he mumbled, “I don’t like—”
“Everyone likes turi. It all depends on how much you drink.”
He protested faintly, but when the liquor was found and shoved into his hand, (Marli was abhorred that even the vast stores of the library had only three very dusty bottles), he choked it down at once. Marli poured some for herself, finding that the years had made the burning drink taste sharper and stronger. Since her star ceremony on her seventh birthday, when she was first given a taste, as tradition held, she’d grown enormously fond of it; it was bitter, but the more she drank, the better it tasted. One was supposed to add sugar root or perhaps melted chocolate, but such delicacies had yet to be made widespread in Ametris.
“I can’t believe the strongest thing you guys ever made was turi,” Marli commented. “Gods. In Sirtema you’ve at least got choices, here it’s only ale, wine, and this…this stuff must be ancient, like, before the war even….”
Kayle ignored her, busy draining his glass; once he had, he took a deep, shuddering breath and slammed it down. “Two worlds?!”
“Uh-huh,” said Marli calmly.
“What the hell, Marli?” He spoke as if she had insulted him somehow. “This is the craziest thing you’ve come up with yet—!”
“Come up with?!” Marli yelped, pushing her own glass aside. “Why in Karayani’s blessed name would I come up with something like that? That’s my home, Kayle, I—”
“Karani.”
“What?”
“Who is that?”
“Who is…that’s Karayani, you stupid Ametrisan! A goddess, the goddess, gods above—”
“Now there’s goddesses?”
“We have just as many gods as you do, the same ones even, only we actually name them…ai….”
“Marli, you can’t be serious—”
“You think I’m lying?!” she screamed, touching the hilt of her dagger and trembling with rage. He was just a bit too inebriated to sense the danger.
“There can’t be two worlds! There’s only Ametris—”
“Idiot! Think, use your godsdamned head—where do the chosen go for their journey? Where did I come from, even? And how did the Thousand Years’ War end—?”
“Yeah, how did it end? How could making another world end a war that huge?”
“I—” Marli paused to think about it. “Gods, that is confusing. Didn’t I explain that?”
“Maybe. I dunno.”
“Well, um…see….” She paused.
“Should I wait while you make something up?” Kayle said acidly. Marli scowled.
“Shut up, Kayle, I’m not entirely an expert in quantum physics, but seriously, what do you know?”
“I know what’s possible and what’s not.”
“Ai, who taught you about what’s possible?” she snapped. “You know what, forget it, you can ask another Sirteman about how the world are connected and all that, I quit.”
She threw herself up and stalked away, punishing the floor with her feet. What did that idiot know about anything? He was Ametrisan, all they knew how to do was die…. How dare he—”
“Marli.” Kayle caught her arm.
“Get your hand off of me,” Marli growled, “before I break it off.”
“I’m sorry, Marli.” He sounded sincere. “I just don’t understand….”
“Damn right you don’t, and you won’t either, stupid Ametrisan—”
“Right, I won’t understand. But I want to.” He turned her gently around, meeting her eyes with an earnest gaze. “Please, Marli.”
“What?”
His answer surprised her.
“Tell me more.”
She paused, wondering what was wrong with him—was this the turi speaking? But the more she considered his request, the more she found herself searching through the knowledge in her head, finding the right words to explain….
“Sit,” she said in her brusque teacher voice. He sat, and so did she. “All right. Sirtema. How did I get here?” she asked herself. “I remember a lot of white….” She had known this; she cursed at the time spent away from Sirtema, dulling her wits and memory. “That was…oh. That was the time/space continuum.”
“Don’t you mean space/ti—”
“No, shut up, you have it backwards. All right. Now, imagine your glass is Ametris, and mine is Sirtema.” She refilled his glass with turi, setting the two side-by-side. “There they are, just sitting there, waiting for the freaking apocalypse. But how does one get from one to another?”
“How?”
“Well, you can’t, unless they’re connected. And they are.” She prodded the two glasses until their sides touched. “A lot of fiction writers in Ametris saw this connection as a ‘bridge’, including my mother, but it really isn’t—there’s no physical way to get here. You have to travel through space and time. The theory is that the connection is a lot wider than one would think.”
She took the two glasses and set one on either side of the table, with two feet of space between them. “The table is the connection now—the time/space continuum. So it’s really, really big, right? Intimidating. That’s because there are an infinite amount of possibilities in seven thousand years of history. Ametris’s is shorter—” she traced lines from Kayle’s glass to far beyond hers at a wide angle, calling to mind a funnel-like image—“so it’s easier to go from Sirtema to Ametris…but you can see that if you want to go to Sirtema, when you start out from Ametris there’s a million little paths you can follow.”
She traced lines on the table from “Ametris” to “Sirtema”, then far beyond her glass, demonstrating how easy it was to go off course. “So to get to Sirtema, you have to know where you’re going, when you’re going, and you have to have a means to get there—usually magic. I knew where I was going—the same place I was in—and I wanted to go to the present, and I had a lot of magic…so here I am. I just transcended from one state of matter to the next—my entire being changed from positive to negative. Yes?”
Kayle nodded mutely, forehead furrowed in concentration and confusion.
“I can’t really describe what the time/space continuum was like—you really can’t—but it was all white…like there was nothing there…but it was black in a lot of places, too. Still, it’s not a physical thing. You don’t walk to Ametris. Theoretically I never moved; like I said, I changed state. You have to charge every particle of your being with magic all at once and send yourself back three thousand years in time, cross that little nexus point where the worlds collided, and then make your way back to the time you want. It’s really hard; I almost died doing it…and if there’s one thing you don’t want to do, it’s get lost in the void, alive or dead. Your body may show up in either country ten millennia later, or in the past, or in the middle of the ocean….” She shuddered. “Very dangerous. The only reason I could do it was because of my chosen blood.”
“How do chosen do it?”
“Ah, see—we don’t know. The chosen don’t either, but it really depends on who you ask. Some of them got there by dying—I know, it sounds awful to you, but they get a second chance; their body stays here in a comatose state while they obtain a new one in Sirtema, save the world, then come back and inhabit the old. It completely defies every law of physics we’ve got…but they’re chosen. And they don’t have to die either—if there’s a lot of magic present, or some kind of high-power explosion, the power automatically transfers to the chosen and takes him or her back to their place of origin—Sirtema, where Haenir was born; and you have to remember that in essence, every single chosen is Haenir. They usually land up at exactly the right time they need to be, which isn’t always the present—we get people’s sons and daughters before them, sometimes generations ahead. It seems confusing, but look at it this way….”
She drew a line straight from Kayle’s glass to hers, then moved her finger back, only over another inch, and drew another line, this one leading into the “past,” and returned her finger, moved it over another inch, and drew a line into the “future.”
“Chosen usually appear very close to the present, with a difference of only thirty years or so—you can’t mess with the future that much or the world will fold in on itself and collapse.
“Anyway, chosen are supposedly guided by the gods to get the right time and place, and when they come, they’re suddenly complete experts on time/space travel, which helps them get back—we learn so much from our chosen that we’d be stupider than you guys if they didn’t exist.” Kayle scowled; she smiled. “You’d be surprised how much we know about Ametris—there’re magi in Sirtema who spend their whole lives waiting for a chosen just to talk to them and ask them questions about their home. Some people are obsessed with it; but really, most Sirtemans just think of Ametris as a fireside tale…and when the chosen comes, it’s like an ambassador from Lacausta coming to visit or something. But no red-blooded Sirteman would ever take up arms against a chosen; it’s like defying a god. Chosen can rip people apart like parchment.”
Kayle nodded, awed and frightened. “How?”
“Because they’re chosen. They’re blessed with more magic, more strength, more talent…it makes it easier for them to help us. We’ve become dependent on them, really. Some people cause trouble just to bring a chosen back. But there are times when we really—really—need them…like now.”
“What’s going on now?” Kayle inquired. She sighed.
“I don’t really know. I’m two years behind…gods,” she whispered, “Raena would be nineteen in a few months….”
“Would be?” Kayle asked her softly. Marli looked away.
“They’re probably all dead…we were Inachi. Allies of chosen; enemies of evil. Whoever was taking care of Raena would die too…oyäe…I was hoping they’d never get her….” She swiftly hid her face so he wouldn’t see her crying. Some inexorable force urged her to push her secrets out and spread them across the air, hoping that someone would take her burden from her. “Wh-when I turned f-f-fourteen…we w-w-were going to run away…and f-find the rebel army…we trained so hard so they’d t-t-take us…we were sick of hiding…if they found us in the army we could fight, and if we lost we’d just b-b-be hanged, not tortured to insanity and…and left to rot in some cell…b-but…but I….”
She couldn’t speak around the lump in her throat; she flung her arms over her head and sobbed uncontrollably, hot tears splashing onto her lap.
Kayle was at her side in an instant, pulling her gently to him; she buried her face in his shoulder and allowed her body to go limp in his comforting embrace. He softly rubbed her back, speaking quietly in her ear.
“Don’t cry, Marli, it’s not all that bad…they might not have gotten her….”
Marli objected with an inaudible, muffled reply.
“No…she was waiting for you to turn fourteen, right? But then she didn’t have to wait anymore…the army would take her…she’ll be fine. She’s a good fighter, right?”
Marli sniffed. “Almost as good as me…b-but Kayle….” She stared at him with tortured eyes. “Th-they’d send…hundreds of s-s-s-soldiers after h-her…thousands….” She started sobbing again; Kayle hugged her helplessly, lost for words. Marli’s fragile sobs leaked onto the fabric of his shirt along with her tears. “She’s d-dead…or in s-s-some cell…it’s all my f-f-fault…I sh-should’ve been there….”
“It’ll be okay, Marli…everything’ll be fine….”
She cried for what felt to her like eons, and even then she had yet to run out of tears; she was just too tired to keep on. She dozed against Kayle’s shoulder as he absently continued to rub her back.
“You asleep, Marli?” he said quietly. She shook her head. He gave her a swift hug before letting her go, smiling down at her. “Then tell me more about Sirtema.”
Marli sat beside him, allowing his arm to fall across her shoulder. “Well….”

Raena was a frustrating person, in Everan’s opinion—and he was usually right.
She was very cheerful and bubbly with an infectious optimism, but scatterbrained and completely unobservant. She was like Kamilé—sweet and kind but completely mindless. Everan could see where the brains in the family had gone—anyone could see that he wanted her to explain where they were going and how long it would take and what the hell was going on, but Raena ignored his silent questions and kept chattering happily on about the most useless things. Like her best friend Nara, whom they were going to visit now, and how lovely the snow was and how much they’d absolutely love Sirtema. And every time Everan prodded her and mimed a question with his hands, she stared at him like she’d never seen anything like him before and, instead of answering, start telling him yet again how great it was that they had a chosen now—two chosen, even!
Finally, that evening, Raena mentioned that they would arrive in Varan the day after tomorrow. She lamented Kamilé’s slow pace but as she then remarked upon how adorable she was even with all the scars, Everan assumed that they were forgiven. He himself was feeling very uncharitable and annoyed; Raena was one of those people that he’d like to punch in the face and inform them that no one cared about what they had to say. He hoped all the other elves weren’t like her.
Kamilé said nothing while awake, and very little in her sleep. She refused food and physical contact from Raena—who apparently couldn’t resist hugging her at least twice a day—and kept her eyes to the ground. To Everan it seemed as if she was lamenting something, mourning…but what?—and yet wanted desperately not to, feeding off of any distraction to take her mind away from her grief. Everan did all he could for her—he wrapped her up so she’d be warm, helped her along the way, and held her hand when she wanted him to, but nothing really helped. She walked longer distances now, with smaller pauses in between, but they still had to stop long before Raena wanted them to because she’d start to cry from exhaustion.
On last evening, they trekked along the riverbank, Raena absently humming the same tune that they’d discovered her by. Everan wanted to know how she and Marli both knew it, but sensed it was some emotional family thing; and since Raena wouldn’t answer anyway, he didn’t ask. He was lost in thought, hardly paying attention to the trail, thinking about magic. How did people use it? Where did it come from? How much could one person do? How many people could do it?
Kamilé had taken her hand back to keep it warm beneath the cloak she was wrapped in, so he had had no warning when she started slipping behind. His mind was still stuck halfway in its roundabout thoughts when he heard the wail of distress turn into a wail of pain. He whirled around; Kamilé clapped her hands to her temple and started to cry. The sound grated on his ears, so he swiftly ran to her side and pulled her hands away. She had, apparently, started running to catch up to him, but then hit her head in a place that already had a burn on it; it bled slightly, and was bruising.
She clung to him and stained his shirt further with tears and a little orange-tinted blood, more frightened than hurt; he realized that she had been scared that he would leave her. He hugged her for a minute while Raena bustled about, making a mess out of things; then he released her, holding her hand tightly, and watched as Raena inspected the wound.
“Oh, easy,” she then happily affirmed. “Too easy.” She took her finger and extended it to Kamilé’s forehead; Kamilé whimpered and tried to back away, but Raena was too fast and poked her sharply right in the center of the wound.
Everan was aghast, and Kamilé’s cry of pain incensed him—but before he could do or say anything, he looked and noticed that both the burn and bruise were gone. Kamilé shivered as she locked her arms around his waist, hiding her face from Raena, more frightened than ever. Everan himself was intrigued, but Raena paid no attention when he asked her how it was done, so he fell into frustrated speechlessness and led Kamilé gently on.
She lagged behind, but not a lot; he pulled her forward, barely noting her little stumbles and clumsiness. Not that she wasn’t always clumsy, but usually it was because the ground threw up some unexpected obstacle or just got in her way…now it seemed as if she didn’t know what her own feet were doing, and though she tried she couldn’t make her gait become as smooth and automatic as Everan’s. Occasionally she made a soft noise, but he did not recognize it as anything more than filler for the silence and let her go.
He was thinking about magic when Kamilé’s hand slipped out of his; he had walked ten feet or so before he noticed her absence. He swiveled, starting; Kamilé collapsed to her knees and then fell further downward, facedown in the snow. He hurried to her side and pulled her up, turning her over and resting her across his arms; her eyes were half-open and sightless.
Kamilé? Kamilé! KAMILÉ! Answer me! What’s wrong—?
“What happened?” Raena asked urgently, kneeling beside them. Her hand went first to Kamilé’s mouth, checking for breath, then to her forehead.
“Poor little thing,” she moaned, pushing Kamilé’s hair gently from her face. Everan touched her forehead and felt it burning. “Why did she faint? Do you know?”
Faint? Kamilé had never fainted before. Even when she broke her arm in two or three places, or cut her leg to the bone, or didn’t eat for two weeks, she still never passed out. The weakness surprised him—it wasn’t like her.
“This isn’t an ideal camp,” Raena fretted. “We’d better move her…here, I’ll get the stuff, you get her and follow me.”
Without allowing time for argument, she snatched her pack and wove through the trees, beckoning him to come. He stared after her—get Kamilé? How? He wasn’t strong enough to carry her…but obviously, since he was a chosen, she had assumed that he could lift his own weight—dead weight at that—right off the ground…frustrated, he wrapped Kamilé up in the cloak, slid his arms underneath her shoulders and waist, and heaved. Nothing happened at first, but after a minute of strain he managed to lift her a few inches, then a little more….
Before he dropped her to the ground and joined her there himself, Raena came bounding up and swept her out of his arms. “Come on!” she chided him. “You’re a chosen, surely you can lift this little thing over your head by now….”
She paused, noting the death glare he gave her, then abruptly turned and walked away. “We’re going to have to train you hard,” she commented wryly from a safe distance. Everan followed, seething. Kamilé made faint sounds along the way, half-consciously objecting to Raena’s presence; the older girl cradled her gently and talked to her like she was a tiny infant, even taking her hand and enveloping it in her own. Everan could tell Kamilé didn’t like it, and wished he was stronger.
Raena set Kamilé carefully down on a bed of frigid undergrowth in a small clearing and began to build a fire. Everan immediately sat beside Kamilé, tucking her firmly under the cloak and blanket. Her lips moved throughout, but she struggled for breath and few words came out in one piece, even fewer making any sense. As he drew back, she let out a small, gasping sob and moaned, “Everan…ta kachi…where…?”
He suddenly realized that this entire time she had been speaking in Raena’s language, but he only now understood—perhaps with Raena, he had sought to comprehend, whereas with Kamilé he had simply dismissed it as fevered babbling. Now her restless murmurs made more sense, but the words were disconnected and did not seem to relate to each other to him. He made sure she received plenty of the fire’s warmth before slipping his pack underneath her head and rummaging for some food for her in Raena’s pack. Raena jumped as she remembered supper and immediately began to reheat their soup from the previous night, telling him as she did, among other things, that they’d be a little later to Varan than she’d hoped, but they couldn’t tire Kamilé out….
He took the flask of wine, poured some into the wooden screw-on cap—which he had some trouble with, as Ametris had few of these—and slipped it between Kamilé’s lips. She coughed and feebly objected to it, but he knew it would do her some good.
“What made her faint like that?” Raena wondered as she prodded the fire with a long stick. Everan made a helpless gesture without turning. “Oh, come on! Surely no one just faints for no reason…does she do that often? Is she sick? Or was it her head…? But that should have healed completely….”
Everan bit his lip; he really didn’t know what was wrong with her. What if he messed up, bringing her here? Was this his fault?
“You have to know,” Raena insisted. “Did she hit her head again? Was she acting strangely?”
He shrugged, trying to wave her off like a stubborn fly. It had the opposite effect.
“What?! How can you not know? Weren’t you even paying attention to her? It’s obvious that she’s sick—”
He turned and fixed her with such a burning glare that she flinched and dropped her bowl. She picked it up again, avoiding his eyes and murmuring a swift, respectful apology for her rudeness. He felt like screaming at her. What do you want me to do?! I don’t know what’s wrong with her! You’re the magi, you tell me! I’m eleven years old, you can’t expect me to be super-strong or psychic—you can’t expect me to do any of this!
He hadn’t wanted this…he hadn’t wanted to be a chosen, or an orphan, or homeless, or attacked, or travel here or make Kamilé sick…furious, he tossed a half-burned stick into the forest and, ignoring Raena’s cries about forest fires and lack of dry wood and his own empty stomach, he opened a fold of Kamilé’s blanket and stuck himself inside. The staccato rhythm of her short breaths filled his ears as he put his arm around her and lay close to keep her warm.
I’m sorry, he told her, but she was already asleep. Sighing, he settled himself and closed his eyes, wishing he could do the same—but the long-abandoned mystique of sleep abandoned him.
Raena shook him cautiously awake in the morning, as politely as possible, wary of another outburst of temper. Once he was roused, she skittered away, warming some more soup for breakfast since he and Kamilé hadn’t eaten last night. Guiltily, he remembered Kamilé, and carefully attempted feeding her again, but she coughed most of it up. He wiped her mouth, drank his own breakfast, and then spent his efforts trying to rouse her; she had turned onto her side, facing him in the night, and was resisting him, which proved that she was only sleeping in. Raena objected—nicely—that it would be best to leave her alone, they had time…but Everan knew that the sooner Kamilé got to a town—and towns meant food, shelter, and a healer—the sooner she’d be healed, to the fullest extent that this kind of thing could heal. He bit his lip with worry as he half-coaxed, half-bullied her to her feet, wrapped her tightly up again, and led her on, despite Raena’s protestations. They stopped often that day, letting her rest, but Raena predicted optimistically that they’d arrive by nightfall if they kept it up.
The day was slow to pass, but it did eventually. The off-white sky had turned a pale fiery shade when Raena finally stopped them. There was nothing significant here, just more trees and the river, but she saw something they didn’t.
“Okay, you two,” she said softly, “The path to Varan’s right here. Don’t make any sudden moves, don’t show your faces, and whatever you do, don’t do anything chosen-like. At all. I don’t want anyone knowing about you before Nara; she’ll know what to do.”
Who was this Nara person to be so important? Raena had mentioned that they were good friends, but never that either of them had much influence. Everan wished she’d explain things a little more; nothing made sense anywhere in this place.
“Careful now,” she warned, and led them gingerly onto the path.
Twilight approached, the air temperature dropped, and still she led them on, over a mile further into the forest. Kamilé sensed the tension and seemed scared by it; she clung to Everan and whimpered softly, and on occasion murmured something aloud; but when this happened again, and no one answered her, she tugged on his sleeve and said it again—something slurred and incoherent with fatigue—and Raena hissed, “Shut up!” sharply enough to bring tears to Kamilé’s eyes. Everan hugged her before she started to cry, glaring at Raena, but she was oblivious. The old, boisterous Raena was gone, replaced by a new version, careful and edgy and constantly waiting for trouble.
Everan could neither see nor hear anything, but watched anyway, wary of trouble and ready for the danger in which Kamilé could soon be in.
A slight shift of branches caught his ears and held them, stiffening him. Raena kept moving, putting on a casual appearance; he did the same, wondering what heathen country he had brought them into.
Another shift, and a small sprinkle of snow drifted to the ground.
Another, and a strange taut sound that he didn’t recognize.
Then a voice.
“Ahanté! Ta kana tureya?”
Halt! Who passes? Everan understood slowly, unused to the harsh male voice.
“Raena Inachi, courier to Queen Irinari,” Raena replied, raising her hands in the air. “I bear a message for sata Nara.”
A dark shape leapt from high in the trees and landed neatly on the ground—a strong yet graceful elfin man who looked strange to them, slightly exotic, with a nocked bow in his hands. He pointed it away from them, but was still wary.
“Who do you bring?”
Everan obediently averted his face, pretending to be shy and afraid.
“Two orphans,” Raena lied smoothly. “I found them in the forest; they’re lost and starving. I was hoping to bring them to your orphanage?”
“We don’t have one here,” the man informed her. “The nearest one is in the human border city, or Mariysse maybe. But they’re welcome, as are you, sayama.”
“Thank you very much,” Raena said gratefully, and he stood aside to let her pass, eyeing the twins with interest. He offered guidance that Raena politely refused, ushering them along on their way. Everan hurried to remove them from his eyeshot.
“Phew,” Raena sighed, smiling in relief. “Sorry. They change guards like, every day…different one every time, and they don’t know me as well as they could considering how often I visit….”
Everan nodded, relieved as well. He’d never seen a bow and arrow before…or any weapon bigger than his knife, for that matter. The sight of it had made him feel cold and defenseless, an odd, unfamiliar sensation to him.
Raena led them up what Everan supposed was a trail leading into the city—it was wide enough for five people, but still rough, undefined. It branched off ahead, and Raena led them to the right for a few minutes, then took a left, leading them east again. She stopped halfway down the trail, looked around, and then aimed for a thick tree—Everan noted the ancientness of this forest; all the trees were as wide around as he was tall. Raena halted before the tree and, strangely, tapped on its bark, waiting expectantly for something to happen.
Everan took a closer look at the tree—an oak, thousands of years old, perhaps, with strange bark…it seemed to be the wrong shape in the dark, and sometimes a piece of bark faced this way, sometimes that, like an optical illusion…something shifted then returned to its place, almost unseen even by his sharp eyes…and then, incredibly, he heard noises—footsteps, coming closer from inside the tree.
The footsteps hesitated.
“Nara! It’s me! Open up, it’s about to snow, and you wouldn’t believe who I brought along, come on!”
Something metallic slid across on the other side, and a small, hand-sized section of bark protruded, then turned sharply. A door. It opened outward, and Everan realized in that brief second that this was a house, extending far beyond what the eye thought it saw, rather like those in Kocha but much more sophisticated, much more camouflaged….
A sleepy-eyed woman, not very much older than Raena, stood on the other side of the bark door, holding a strange lantern—made of thin, colored metal with a light that was neither oil nor wax and did not flicker—wearing strange clothes, and giving them a very strange look. She had sleek ebony hair that was cropped short and cut in an odd way he’d never seen before; it curled slightly and was almost the same texture as Kamilé’s. Below her shorn side-fringe were two eyes that, though dulled by fatigue, were nonetheless shrewd and wise, an unusual shade of hazel-green. She, too, appeared exotic and wild and lithe, like an all-new animal bred to be smaller yet stronger, faster, better…yet somehow she looked familiar.
Her full lips opened in surprise as she saw them. Her eyes traveled from Raena to Everan, then to Kamilé, then to Kamilé’s forehead, then back across Everan and to Raena again.
“Wha…?” she said in an oddly melodic voice, lilting and low for a woman.
“Hey Nara,” Raena crowed, grinning. “Guess what I found?”

The top of the Great Tree floated almost a mile above the ground, towering over the rest of the forest; it would be very difficult, nigh impossible, for any common mortal to follow her here, or even see her. She was no more than a black speck to them, as they were to her, as she shivered slightly in the thin, frigid air. The moon had risen to its throne above the sweeping mists, stars twinkling like silver beads sewn into the fabric of the night sky.
Tyrranen would not have made it here without the dark powers she had been cursed with. The black magic filled her with invigorating warmth as she sat cross-legged on the branch, the size of a normal tree’s but treacherously slick and swayed violently by the slightest of winds. She was more wraith than human now; the insanity lit her eyes aglow and bared her teeth in a feral grin.
She watched the stars with amused contempt. “Look well,” she said in her own language—it spilled from the depths of her soulless heart and shot upwards through the black air. “For peace like this will not be seen again when I start.”
It seemed as if the stars were crying out to her; she mocked their pleas with a harsh laugh, taunting heaven. “The chosen are gone now—my goal here has been fulfilled…. But while I am here, I just might humor myself with raising hell.” She felt a silent scream, powerless despair, radiate from the brightest star, and laughed at the helplessness and agony she had created with just those few simple words.
“It will be like nothing you have ever seen before,” she promised with a cruel laugh. “Your worlds will be torn apart, shattered into a million pieces…and your chosen will be mine.” She grinned at the scream of horror, faint in her ears, more mental than auditory but still very real indeed. “Help them all you wish, but you will never see them again once I get my hands on them—I will make them curse all that is holy and wish they’d never been born—no, that the worlds had never been created at all, for when you created evil, you created me.”
More cries now, more voices. They seemed familiar to her—the blackness inside of her knew them only too well. The insane laughter tore out of her throat.
“No one can stop me.”
And by the screams of anger and despair, pleading for mercy and cursing evil’s name, she felt stronger, omnipotent with her newfound power—she felt indeed that no one could stop her.
A glance into the future showed that she was absolutely right.
The stars mourned the destruction of the souls and cried for the return of innocence to their precious worlds.

~~~~~

LIEKOMG TYRRANEN'S GONNA KILL EVERYONE!!!!

Only like two people know what she's talking about. 4laugh

What now? ninja

I've got a lovely start on ch. 24, so no worries--patience everyone.

~~~~~

Sidenotes:

 Turi: A strong alcoholic drink made from certain roots and plants. Ametrisans rarely use it save for medicinal purposes or certain exceptional occasions.
 Sata: A respectful term for a female with noticeable, yet not indomitable, authority; one to whom the speaker answers to, but answers to someone else as well.

Which SAD do you mean?

Sagittal Abdominal Diameter,
Schizoaffective disorder
Seasonal affective disorder
Sexual arousal disorder--hope not O.o
Social anxiety disorder

I wiki'd it.

Everan just has issues, period.

Wow...unexpected.

Why do you say that? He loves winter.

.........But he loves dark, too.

You have a point--light does make him kind of crabby.

Still, why would you say he has SAD? I don't see it. Bipolar disorder, yes....but that isn't the point.

I must echo the "Aww." whee

'Kay. Chapter 25. Make sure to read the excerpt above before you read this.

This one's rather sad.

Chapter Twenty-Five: Revelations

Kamilé lay awake for a long time, drifting in and out, unsure who, what, and where she was. The confusion filled her mind with exhaustion as she struggled to remember…. She stopped. It was okay…she could just lay here and take her time…it was so warm and comfortable, and a small rush of cool air dried the fevered stickiness on her forehead…it was heaven, if anything was.
She was so comfortable and warm—freed from pain for the first time she could recall in this dark age of her life; it had felt like eternity to her—that she turned over, burrowed beneath the blankets, and drifted off again—but before she did, she felt a soft, gentle hand rub her shoulder in a very familiar way, though whose hand it was she had difficulty recalling.
She blinked and was awake again; above her, someone was speaking.
“You’re both feeling better then?”
There was no reply, or at least not one audible to her ears.
“That’s good.” A sigh of relief. “Here, I want you to drink this….”
Before Kamilé could comprehend the message and expect to be given something, the voice spoke again.
“What was wrong with her?”
It took Kamilé a minute to realize that the voice meant her.
“Hmm.” A soft rustle as something crept slowly toward Kamilé under the blankets; she was too tired to resist, and merely held very still as the slender, callused hand felt her forehead. “Her fever’s gone—that’s good.”
A moment more of silent conversation.
“What?”
Silence.
“Oh…hmm. I don’t know if Sokína would like anyone messing with her books…but as long as you put everything back in its proper place, and don’t mess anything up, I doubt she’d mind letting you read her collection. She’s very proud of them,” the voice added proudly. The bed beside her shifted, and soft footsteps touched the ground and traveled a short distance away. “She loves to read, but these are the ones she picked specially for her room; she’s very particular with these.”
A short pause, then heavier footsteps receded; but a sharp tap on some piece of woodwork made them stop.
“What…? Oh, that? Those two are Kína’s journals. She likes to write in them, you know. Don’t touch them, please.”
Silence.
“Wha—? Oh, it’s empty…I guess she hasn’t gotten to that one yet. What about it?”
Another silence.
“Oh…oh, of course you can keep it! That’s fine. Whatever you like, Chosen.”
Chosen?
“Oh…and a quill? Sure, sure, no problem. I’ll bring it right away. Are you hungry…? I see. Just let me know and I’ll make you some breakfast, whatever you like. I’m so glad you’re feeling better, Chosen,” the voice added gratefully, and was gone.
Soft footsteps sounded in the near-silence once more, then a small shift in the bed beside her, a tiny noise like the turning of a page, and then nothing more.
Kamilé drifted off again, remaining asleep when the voice’s owner returned, presumably with a quill and a pot of ink, and when the soft scratch of the metal point against the parchment filled the quiet room. A crackling of fire followed her into her dreams, but so soft and light that she thought nothing of it.
And then, halfway through a vague, comfortable dream, her mind asked her a question.
Where’s Everan?
In her sleep, she felt cold sweat slide in beads from her forehead as icy blood pumped from her frantic heart.
Everan? her mind called. She thought she felt an answer, dim and vague, like someone half-awake saying her name from many echoing corridors away…. She kicked and struggled to awaken herself, but became ensnarled in soft, tangled ropes and her own unconsciousness. She cried out in despair, sobbing for Everan again and again, feeling panic race through her as she remembered red eyes, purple light, his frightened face as he disappeared.
The echoing, far-away voice called her name again, and she heard a faint, It’s okay…I’m here…you’re safe…. The voice was broken and strained, but there. It was very familiar to her, like the memory of a long-ago dream.
A band of warmth encircled her chest. Her blood began to warm again. But her mind could not settle until she found him.
More warmth. A calming, soothing presence. She began to relax, slightly.
Silence, but for two sets of breaths, one harsh, one smooth. Lulled by the inexorable steadiness of the breathing that was not hers, she took a moment to take deep breaths, calm herself down just a little. To her it seemed like a few seconds, but hours passed without her awareness, though even in that time her panic refused to disappear.
At last, summoning her energy, she forced herself awake with a small gasp.
She blinked and found herself sitting upright among a sea of blankets and pillows. Her mouth tasted very strange, and it felt like early morning.
“Everan?” her mind and her mouth called, in a small, frightened voice. “Everan….”
She looked frantically around, her eyes still slightly unfocused, searching but not finding him…where was he?
And then the most wonderful sound in the world reached her mental ears.
Mmm?
The owner of his voice stirred from the other side of a mountain of blankets. Kamilé tore it aside and, panting, let the sight of him fill her eyes.
It was him, it was definitely him. He was sleeping like he always did—one thin blanket covered him from the shoulders down, with his arms folded under a pillow and his head resting between them. She saw his face between strands of damp black hair, the same face she’d known all her life, the face she’d almost—almost—forgotten.
He stirred again, and his eyes opened. Clear silver without a trace of sleepiness. He knew exactly where he was and what was going on, as usual.
He smiled. Hi, Kamilé. The thought was soft and slightly unclear, and she realized that she’d forgotten how to use telepathy, but this new thought pushed away the old walls that stopped her.
Everan! she cried, reaching desperately for him and hugging him with all her might. He hugged her back, letting her share his pillow and blanket as, sobbing uncontrollably, she clung to him as hard as she could, trying to repair the connection between them and make him part of her again.
Everan…Everan, where did you go…?
It’s okay, Kamilé, I’m right here….
Where…why did you…?
I’m not going anywhere…don’t cry….
I missed you….
I missed you too….
Don’t leave me….
I won’t.
She curled up against him and cried uncontrollably until her energy gave out; Everan pet her hair and didn’t let her go, comforting her until she fell asleep.
Her dreams were filled with soft bubbles of light floating in a dark, ethereal sea of mist and mystery. She drifted without a care; darkness was on the horizon, but for now, she had a sphere of silver light in her hands, and was complete.

When Kamilé awoke again she found herself warm and safe, buried beneath the comforting weight of soft, heavy blankets. Her mind flitted in and out of dreams that were forgotten the moment they passed by. She mused to herself as she lay there, too comfortable to move…she felt like one in a dream, and it did indeed feel as if all the darkness and pain had been just that, a dream…she absently checked her right hand, the fingertips securely in her mouth: no burn, no scar.
Perhaps it had been a dream. She had bad dreams occasionally, didn’t she? Maybe none so long, or so awfully horribly terrifying, but sometimes…perhaps she’d just fallen asleep during the festival, and it was still their birthday….
She snuggled deeper under the covers. She was very hungry, and would have welcomed gladly some half-ripe fruit or stale or stolen bread…but more than anything she wanted to stay here in the warm little cave she had made…just for a little while….
Her stomach growled, and as she put her hand against it her elbow brushed something. It was very solid and a little uncomfortable; she poked it to make it move, and to her surprise, it poked her back in the very spot that she was most ticklish. She squeaked and twitched, and poked it back, and when it got her again she sat up and thrust the blankets from her in an attempt to fight back properly.
Everan had already given up on the fight and was settled neatly on the bed again, book in one hand, quill in the other. She blinked at him; it was the most ordinary sight in the world, but it confused her, as she’d just woken from such a long and very real dream in which he was gone….
She suddenly felt very inclined to hug him, and did, her heart bursting with affection. Everan! she cried. You’re back, you’re okay—
Get off, he complained, struggling to release his captured arms. She refused to let go, giggling deliriously as she buried her face in the soft bit of sweater that covered his shoulder.
Everan, Everan, you’re okay, aren’t you okay? I was looking everywhere…it was all dark and scary and…and you weren’t there….
He sighed and relented, rubbing her back lightly—nothing caught; the scars were gone. I’m sorry…look, I’m here now, see? You’re all right….
She saw that it was true—everything was all right now…it really had been just a terrible dream…to her bewilderment, she felt tears sting at her eyes and let them fall, not sad enough to cry but too happy to not cry. Everan let out a long, weary breath.
Hey…Kamé, don’t cry….
Everan zhieyha eäyo where the hell have you been I MISSED you you were gone and and and everything was all blackanred butbutbut now you’re back and I missed you soooomuuuuch and where did you go, huh, Everan?
It’s okay, Kamé…I missed you too, but I’m here now….
Here now…here…. Overwhelmed, she started to laugh hysterically through her tears and reached her hands up to grab Everan and plant a sticky, teary kiss on his cheek. He gagged and pulled away, grimacing in disgust.
Ew, Kamilé! That’s disgusting, don’t DO that!
She let her laughing fade into hiccups and stared adoringly up at him, absently hugging his neck. You’re not gone anymore, she murmured. You’re okay….
She drew back at this thought—he was okay! What the hell! Weeks, months, years of hurt could not just be ignored—
Suddenly furious, she pulled her fist back and slammed it hard into his stomach. His breath left him in a gasp, and he bent over with a pained expression, trying to regain his breath while she ranted at him.
You were gone! she screamed at him, her little hands curled into tight fists. You went away for ever and ever and I thought…I thought you were…and now you’re here and you were alive and okay the whole time and you didn’t tell me and WHERE THE HELL WERE YOU?! She punched him in the shoulder this time, so hard that his entire torso smacked into the wall.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry! he said quickly. Look, I didn’t mean to go, I didn’t WANT to, SHE made me and I tried to get back to you as soon as I could…I really did, Kamilé…I’m sorry….
Apologies from him were so rare—and so rarely sincere—that her anger abated; she couldn’t stay mad at him forever, so why bother? She hugged him again, asking forgiveness for the punches; he ruffled her hair absently, unbending himself and ruefully rubbing his stomach.
Didn’t have to punch me.
But I MISSED you, she said, and half-giggled again. Where’d you go?
He hesitated. It’s a long story, Kamilé…. Can I tell you later?
Awww, Everan…promise you will?
Oh, I will. Tonight. Like a bedtime story.
‘Re you gonna read it outta some book? she asked sadly, a little disappointed.
No…well, maybe out of MY book. He smiled, pleased with himself, as he held up the book and quill together. Kamilé took it and peered at it with interest.
Ooh, woooow…you writed a whole lot, Everan!
Mm-hmm…well, it’s not so much, I’m not finished yet.
What is it? She turned a page and found a detailed diagram there, but she couldn’t have said what it was if her life depended on it.
Well, the girl here…she used one like this as a journal…you know, you write down what happens to you every day…and I thought it was a good idea. ‘Cause a lot’s going on lately, Kamilé, he told her seriously. I wanted to write it all down…everything that’s happened to us so far, so we’ll never forget.
Oh, so it’s a diary? she said absently as she turned another page; even she knew what that was. Diaries were something girls whispered in corners about, something Everan might read to her, a diary of a famous woman like that poet he was so fond of, Terria Fonté….hers was very nice.
Everan flushed with anger as he snapped, NO, it’s a journal, Kamilé! Diaries are for girls where they write all that stupid mushy stuff!
Deities, what’re you gettin’ so mad for Everan? she replied mildly. Lots of nice people have diaries, like that writer-girl.
Diaries are for girls. And they published Terria Fonté’s diary because that’s where she wrote all her best stuff…they shouldn’t have though. Because diaries have stuff in ‘em that no one’s supposed to see, but this book doesn’t, it’s just fact is all. He was torn between defending himself and his favorite writer, and therefore flustered; Kamilé saw this and found it hilarious. She giggled, poking him as she flipped another page.
You’re such a girl, Everan.
I am not!
She laughed and turned the next page, finding Everan’s small, neat handwriting comforting and wonderful…but the next page had none on it at all.
Why’s it empty, Everan?
I haven’t finished yet.
Why not?
I just got it yesterday, Kamilé….
Oh. Her mock-weary sigh turned into a yawn as she shoved the book back at Everan. What did it say in there?
Well…. He folded his legs and opened the book, tapping the quill against his cheek. When Kamilé saw it and looked around, finding the lack of an inkpot conspicuous, he smiled and explained, Isn’t it cool? They have such advanced technology here, see, like this thing—you pour ink into it and it stays in there until you need it. I like it, it’s much cleaner…. So, the book, he added, seeing that she did not care in the least. I don’t know what the date is, so I left that blank…and then I wrote who I am, who you are, and where we are.
Can you read it to me, Everan? she asked him, peering at his handwriting with curious eyes.
His expression immediately became guarded. Tonight, Kamé, he promised.
Feeling that the battle was lost, she relented, resting her head on his shoulder as he read over what he had written. Will you read me something else? she said. She wanted nothing better than to hear him talk right now.
Don’t you want breakfast, though? he replied.
Oh! Yes! She had forgotten her hunger, but once reminded she felt the painful ache in all its strength. Everan unfolded himself and slid neatly off the bed, pulling her along.
C’mon then.
But she could not move—she was distracted. Her clothes, the room, the feel of the air…everything was strange.
Everan…?
What’s wrong? he asked sympathetically. What he meant was, Which bothers you the most?
U-umm…. She tugged wordlessly at the soft white dress she wore. Beneath it were pants, and beneath those, socks; and beneath that, cold, hard, wood floor.
The little girl that lives here…that dress’s hers, Everan explained. It’s gotta be warm, it’s really cold outside—
Why?
Because it’s winter, Kamilé.
No…it’s summer….
Not here, Kamé, he said gently. But don’t worry, he added, sensing her confusion. It doesn’t matter; we’re warm and safe here.
Where are we? She looked around and saw colorful clothes, soft blankets, the inside of a huge tree, light, and toys, ceramic figurines dotted here and there (two flowers and a little fox cub, hidden in various places). None of it was familiar to her.
We’re in a house in Varan—that’s this village. The leader, Nara, she’s letting us stay for awhile. She has a daughter that I haven’t seen yet and a really nice big house and she’s filthy rich, I bet she bleeds silver. He made a face—he hated rich people with a burning, violent enmity that only worsened every year, but it appeared that Nara had done so much for them that he did not want to offend her. Kamilé knew how rare it was, and marveled, wondering where exactly she was. She amused herself with daydreams about castles made just for lonely orphans, in which benevolent grownups hugged and kissed you and fed you and kept you warm and everyone got a nice soft bed all their own.
With that scene still dancing before her eyes as it faded, she said, Wow. But why’s she letting us stay?
Oh, she doesn’t mind, she’s really nice. And she thinks we’re cute, he added with a sour face.
Kamilé found nothing unusual about this. And she made us breakfast?
Oh yeah, she’s an amazing cook—Kamilé, she makes warm food and bread and everything, and none of it’s burnt!
He expected her to be excited, and she was; she hopped around, eyes shining. Really? And we get to eat it!
Yep! Three times a day too…and with some in between if we want….
They both were silent, contemplating this epic generosity.
Wow, they said in unison, blinking at each other. Then a sort of childish happiness, joy and relief in their reunion and the excitement of adventure, took hold of them both—commonplace for Kamilé, but for Everan it was as rare and extreme as a sort of insanity. He took her hand and led her out of the room, telling her all about this strange house as he showed her the other rooms on this level.
They weren’t very exciting to her—being the empty rooms and bathtubs that they were—but what really stunned her was the size—each and every room was only slightly smaller than Pilori’s old house. Pilori’s house had one room, with a bed, two cupboards, a washbasin, a fireplace, a small pantry that doubled as a counter, and a single chair all crowded together inside. That had been the only real house Kamilé had ever seen from the inside, and she had assumed—incorrectly—that all of them were that small, if perhaps smaller. But never had she imagined anything like this.
She was so excited that she wanted to sing—but when she opened her mouth, the words came out wrong. Backwards.
Everan…?
I’ll explain later, Kamé, he told her. It’s a different language. Listen to one of the grown-ups talk for a minute, then you’ll understand.
But…that’s weird….
I know. Don’t worry about it, though. Everything’s fine.
And everything was fine…it really was, now…she took his hand tightly and questioned him no more, allowing him to lead her back into the little atrium and up the spiraling staircase. There was a painting on the wall that distracted her for a moment, but he pulled her past it without a glance. He stopped before the final curve, telling her to be quiet and listen.
She heard two voices talking back and forth in the language that had just come out of her own mouth. She felt lost and bewildered—could they understand her when she couldn’t even understand herself? But then Everan translated softly for her in unison with the words, and she listened to both at once, and then began, slowly, to understand.
“…love Mardiyênes, Nara, absolutely love it…there are so many magi there, and shops and stalls of everything you’d ever need, and the library’s huge, it has almost every elfin document the world can give….”
That’s Raena, Everan told her, she’s Marli’s sister, actually—they look just alike. Through the words she felt his longing at the thought of a giant library. She squeezed his hand, feeling very affectionate to him, and he squeezed gently back. Marli’s sister? How strange.
“I’d love to go there someday,” another woman’s low voice said—Nara, Everan informed her. “But not now, with so much going on….”
“Why do you want to be somewhere so obscure, Nara? The elfin army’s in Mardiyênes, there’s tons of people to train with and fight, you can communicate with the others better—”
“But it’s too loud, too big, too dirty, and Sokína loves it here,” Nara cut across her. “And they need me. They were so unorganized before.”
“Bring them with you! Nara, you’re missing out, really…there’s parties every night, and so many people to talk to, and the boys, Nara! So many to choose from. So what if one’s a jerk, you just shove him away and go find a new one…easy, you should try it.”
“Try what, manhunting?” Nara said dryly. “Raena, I’m perfectly happy the way I am.”
“You sure about that? Don’t you ever get lonely?”
“With you visiting every other week? Why should I?”
“Well, what about the time in between? What about at night?”
“Raena!” Nara exclaimed. “What do you do in your spare time?!”
“Actually I haven’t had a guy over in a while.” She sighed. “Stupid war.”
A war? Kamilé and Everan thought together, and glanced solemnly at each other.
There was silence after that, then footsteps.
I think it was a mistake to mention men and war together, Everan noted wisely.
“You okay, Nara?” Raena asked softly.
“Yeah. Fine.”
Kamilé, I think you’d better go out there now.
Huh?
Go talk to them. Actually, you need to thank Nara, she’s the nice one with the black hair and she’s helped us out a lot. Go ahead and thank both, if you feel like it.
Um, okay….
Everan pushed her gently toward the pool of firelight, and she perked herself up and tripped cheerfully into the light.
“Hi!” she said.
Both women turned to her and stared, then smiled.
“Good morning!” Raena said just as enthusiastically; she was blonde and fair and seemed very nice, and she really did look a lot like Marli.
“How’re you feeling?” Nara added—tall, graceful, quiet, yet kind; her personality radiated out from her. Kamilé smiled brightly at her and skipped over to hug her around the top of her legs.
“Everan s-…thank you,” she corrected herself as Everan scolded her from the doorway. “Thank you thank you very very much.”
“Oh, it’s no trouble,” Nara said, melting beneath Kamilé’s adorableness. “I’m just glad you’re feeling all right.”
“Course,” Kamilé beamed. And then on a second thought (from Everan, naturally), she bounced over to Raena and hugged her, too. “Thank you thank you too Raena!”
“No problem.” Raena hugged her tightly with one arm and ruffled her hair with the other. “You are so cute.”
Kamilé felt it would be redundant to agree. She wriggled out of Raena’s affectionate grip and skipped back over to Nara. “Can I have food now?” she asked politely.
Both women started to laugh.
“Aww,” said Raena.
“Of course you can, sweetheart,” Nara told her. “It’s almost ready, see?”
She pointed into what looked like a metal box, where Kamilé saw several odd pale, circular things slowly turning brown at the edges in the heat of a woodless fire.
“Ooh,” she said, and thought to Everan, What’d she call me?
Sweetheart. I told you she was nice.
That’s weird though….
It’s okay, she doesn’t mean anything by it. She just likes you, they think you’re adorable.
Duh. She cautiously poked the glass pane in the oven door. “What’re those?” she asked Nara, who was kneading bread dough on the countertop, her hands dusted with flour.
“It’s like thick, sweet bread,” she explained. “With bits of fruit in it. You’re supposed to pour syrup and butter onto it and serve them hot. I think you’ll like them.”
Kamilé was sure of that; her mouth was already watering. “Butter?” she inquired; zhieyha eäyo, this woman had butter? How rich was she?
“Of course. There’s a lot of whitesap plants around here—did you know that’s where milk comes from?” Kamilé shook her head, awed: she adored milk. “Well, it is. Normally you wring them out, but there are easier ways. The way our village works is, one person does a certain task for everyone, and every person does different things. We have two or three people that get milk for us, and another two people churn it to make butter, and everyone gets some. No one goes hungry here.”
She’s a good leader, sounds like, Everan commented. But the system would fall apart if just one person decided to be lazy, or became sick.
Huh. Kamilé ignored his genius viewpoints as usual and turned back to Nara. “What’s in the bread things again?”
“Some have strawberries, some have blackberries. A few are plain.”
“Everan doesn’t like sweet things,” Kamilé fretted, biting her lip. “What’s he gonna eat?”
“He doesn’t?” She glanced back at Everan, who stood impassively in the doorway. “I’m glad you told me that,” she said to Kamilé. “For now he can have one of the plain ones, without syrup. They’re not unbearably sweet.”
Thanks, Kamilé, Everan told her, and she grinned proudly at him. But don’t tell her all about us, okay?
Why not?
It’s none of her business. Just be cute.
‘Kay. That was too easy. Everan often told her to “be cute” and distract shopkeepers from their precious edible wares while he robbed them blind; it did not deviate much from her usual behavior and was as easy as breathing. “What’s that?” She pointed to the dough beneath Nara’s skillful hands.
“Bread dough, sweetie.”
Sweetie? “But it’s the wrong color.”
“How so?”
“It’s all…brownish.”
“It’s brown bread, honey.”
Honey? Everan, what’s wrong with her?
She’s just being nice. She has a kid, you know.
That’s how grownups talk to kids? She thought that was just Pilori, and maybe Marli, sort of, sometimes.
To their own kids, yeah. And if they like you.
Oh. “I didn’t know bread could be brown.”
“Of course. Brown bread is sweeter and thicker and much better for you, and if you cook it right it lasts for a very long time. Traveler’s bread is brown, and it has very little yeast, that’s why it keeps so well.”
“Oooh.” Didja get that, Everan?
‘Course. That might be useful later. Traveler’s bread?
“What’s that?”
“Traveler’s bread? It’s brown bread without any yeast, or not that much—the stuff that makes bread puffy and light—and it has bits of fruit or vegetables in it. Half a loaf is like a meal because it’s so thick.”
That WILL be useful, Everan commented.
“’S that tasty?” Kamilé asked, pointing again to the dough.
“It will be once I cook it.”
“Can I have some?”
“Sweetie, raw dough will make you sick.”
Kamilé was doubtful, but she did not argue; instead, she continued with polite conversation about the workings of bread—and anything else Kamilé found unfamiliar in the room, which was almost everything—carried cheerily on. Nara explained the basic workings of many things to Kamilé, making for her very simple and clear concepts like metalworking (to explain the oven and the various metal instruments Nara used now and again), how the house had been built (through magic, whatever that was, and gentle persuasion of an old, large tree; Nara made it sound as if she’d merely asked it to grow this way and that, and helped it with some power of her own), and the concept of magic itself, (explained as use of one’s own energy, which can be honed and straightened for one to summon at will). Everan ate it up, memorizing every detail in the event that it would be useful later.
When Nara was distracted—which had been the entire point of the conversation—Kamilé stole a pinch of the gooey brown stuff. It tasted perfectly fine to her, if a little cold. She grew bolder and took another pinch, but Nara, who had bent down to get a pan, saw her in the act. Kamilé jumped and prepared to run—she had scars from stall owners chasing her with fists and knives—but Nara just smiled and tapped her hand away with her slender fingers.
The bread dough went into the pan, which slid neatly underneath the little breakfast cakes on its own metal rack. Kamilé noted again that the fire had no wood in it, but Everan vowed to explain later, so she left it alone.
“I think these are ready,” Nara commented, and grabbed a metal spatula so she could place the cakes onto a plate, one by one.
“Hey, wait!” Kamilé cried out the moment she saw the first one. “You can’t take them out! They’re not black yet!”
Nara froze, her hand halfway in the little oven, and stared at the tiny little girl with the panicked face and dirty hands, and started to laugh so hard that she dropped the cake onto the floor.
“Do you hear her, Raena?” she choked, doubled over with laughter.
Raena was laughing too, and gasped, “What’re they feeding these kids, Nara? ‘They’re not black yet’!”
Kamilé realized that they were laughing at her, and felt her lip start to tremble. “But…but they’re….” She couldn’t understand why it was so funny; her eyes started to burn with tears.
Everan decided then that enough was enough, and he elbowed Nara sharply on her thigh as he swept past, snatched the spatula, and finished the job of placing the cakes onto the plate. As he worked, he told Kamilé, Don’t cry, Kamé. They’re not being mean, they just don’t understand. I told you Nara was a good cook; nothing she makes turns black, that means it’s burnt. See?
Uh-huh, Kamilé murmured, blushing with shame.
They shouldn’t laugh, Everan growled, throwing a glare at the women. How’re you supposed to know?
The laughter was receding quickly, and Nara remembered herself and lifted the fallen cake from the ground. “Oops,” she said, brushing it off. “Guess this one’s mine….”
She trailed off—Everan was glaring at her, arms folded, the hot spatula clenched in his left hand.
“What?”
He tossed his head in Kamilé’s direction; at his request, she was carefully balancing the plate as she knelt to place it on the table. The blush still hadn’t faded from her cheeks.
“Oh….” Nara’s face fell, and she guiltily bit her lip. “I’m sorry, sweetie,” she said to Kamilé, who pointedly looked away. “We weren’t trying to hurt your feelings.”
“Sorry, kid,” Raena added.
Satisfied, Everan handed the spatula back to Nara and took Kamilé downstairs to wash her hands.
As Kamilé marveled at the warm water gushing from the wall and tried to remember how to wash one’s hands, and Everan studied the mirror, trying to reveal its mechanics, he asked her, What do you think of them?
I dunno, Kamilé replied. They seem nice, but they’re….
They’re certainly different, Everan agreed. Kamilé, you’ve gotta remember…. He hesitated. We’re not in Ametris anymore, you know.
She froze. We’re not?
No. We had to leave it because…because we weren’t safe there.
Kamilé remembered fire, red eyes, flying stones, black ash…and shuddered.
So I brought us here, Kamé. I know it’s kinda hard to understand, but I promise I’ll tell you all of it tonight, everything…. Just remember that they’re different from us. They’re not orphans, they have nice jobs and houses, and they don’t remember what it’s like to be eleven. You have to be patient with them, and try not to judge them because they don’t understand you.
Another gem of wisdom from Everan; Kamilé committed it to memory as best as she could. It made a lot of sense.
But where are we, Everan?
He deliberated, wondering whether the name of the place would give too much away; then he answered, it’s called Sirtema.
He was confident that she’d never bother to turn it backwards, and he was right.
They went back up the stairs—Everan avoiding the picture, Kamilé trying to get one last glimpse before he pulled her away—and sat at the table; Kamilé bounced with excitement as a plate, cutlery, a napkin, and a glass were set in front of her, her stomach growling in impatient complaint. When the table had been set, Nara and Raena sat across from them on identical floor cushions, the plate of cakes between them.
Kamilé wanted to dive for them, but Everan stopped her as both women bowed their heads and turned to the door, and Nara began to chant.
She couldn’t understand what the hell they were doing until Everan drew her attention to the figurine in its niche above the door—a multicolored carving of a radiant goddess seated on the root of what looked like the Great Tree. She was beautiful, with creamy nut-colored skin and dark, curly hair, dressed in simple (and extremely revealing, for Ametrisan standards) clothing in different shades of green and silver. The statue glowed from the light of its own tiny lantern, illuminating the details of the carving, the stitches in her clothes and every strand of her hair.
Kamilé didn’t understand much of Nara’s prayer, chanted as it was in a low, unfamiliar vernacular, but it contained much repetition of the holy letters combined with a very respectful tone. When she was done, both women bowed to the statue, and Raena began to serve, poking each cake with a big fork and stacking two before each person. Nara reached over to spread butter and syrup onto Kamilé’s cakes and pour milk from a stone container into her glass—Everan declined the favor and filled his glass with grape juice instead.
She was starving, and she dug in voraciously with less table manners than a ravenous wolf, but it seemed like the goddess’s wood-carved eyes followed her, and she became curious. Everan felt this and urged her gently to ask, turning his eyes away from the figurine, pinching small bites off of a cake and chewing each bite very carefully, for a very long time, as was his way.
So Kamilé asked around a mouthful of strawberries and bread: “Who’s that?” When met with looks of confusion, she pointed a sticky finger at the wooden goddess.
Nara seemed surprised at her ignorance. “That’s Karayani, of course!”
“Who?”
Raena looked up, and both of them blinked at her. Kamilé remembered Everan’s words and tried not to feel embarrassed; they didn’t know anything about the two of them, did they?
“Karayani is a goddess,” Raena said flatly, as if suspecting mockery. “The goddess. Don’t you know about the gods in Ametris?”
“No, but we have deities,” Kamilé explained, feeling very smart and proud of herself. “Lots and lots of them.”
“And Karayani isn’t one?”
Kamilé thought about it. “I dunno. None of them really have names. They’re just there.”
“Just there,” Raena muttered. “You should know by now, Kamilé, that Karayani is the reason you and your brother and I—all of Sirtema, even!—exist at all.”
“Why?”
“Didn’t I already tell—!”
Everan dropped his fork onto his plate with a loud clatter. All present jumped and looked at him, but he merely picked up his fork again, unabashed, and neatly inserted a bit of cake into his mouth, blinking mildly at them.
Can you change the subject, please, Kamilé?
Why?
I told you, they don’t understand us. Raena already explained about Karayani, and she thinks you’re being disrespectful.
But I’m not!
I know. Why don’t you ask Nara why she’s sitting on the Great Tree?
Kamilé asked, and Nara glanced adoringly at the figurine before answering. “Karayani is the elfin goddess, our mother, and one of the four elemental gods. She’s forest; the others are fire, water, and earth. She was the one that stopped the War.”
Wow….
Everan nodded, abandoning his own food to carefully watch her as she wolfed down her own. He corrected her softly in the method of holding a fork—after so long, she was unused to such etiquette—and then continued watching, a tiny frown creasing his forehead, until all her food was gone. When that was done she asked politely for more; but then Everan unexpectedly looked up and shook his head with a sharp, steady gaze. Nara drew back, confused, unwilling to disobey that look, and Kamilé knew she wouldn’t get any more food and wanted to cry.
But Everan, I’m still hungry!
No, Kamilé. You haven’t eaten for awhile, you’ll be sick if you eat so much.
But, but…but Everan!
You’re okay.
Pleaaaaaase?
No.
But I’m so hungry….
He made the mistake of glancing at her—she thought he was gripped by pity at her wide eyes and trembling lip, but what he really saw were the slight ridges of her protruding ribs. He sighed, then nodded his defeat. Nara was easily persuaded to offer Kamilé another serving, and Everan offered his other cake to her too, which she readily accepted. She also drained three glasses of milk, which she hadn’t had since she had learned to eat solid food as a baby, and a few rare times at special events. All present seemed pleased at her large appetite, Nara especially as she saw it as praise to her wonderful food—but when Nara opened her mouth to inquire about it, Everan gently flicked his glass and gave her a serious look, and the question died in her throat.
After breakfast Everan made Kamilé wash herself off again, as she was syrup-coated in the most impossible places. He also threatened her with a bath that night, and when she saw the great black maw of the bathtub she squeaked and attempted escape, which, naturally, ended in a soap-and-water fight and the inevitable cleanness that came with it. When the evidence was disposed of, Everan grabbed his bag and a pile of the little girl’s books, and they proceeded upstairs once more.
The morning was still young, and Kamilé made the most of it, spending her time vacillating between asking endless questions—some for Everan, some for her—exploring the house’s every corner, and generally making a pet out of herself. Nara and Raena adored her and thought that she was the cutest thing that she had ever seen, and she soon found that when certain people were genuinely interested in her welfare, it didn’t take too long to charm them and make them love her, and after that the world was hers. She presented her theory of world domination to Everan and expounded on it, telling him how she’d lock all the bad people in a dark wet cellar and then give food to all the hungry orphans, warm lovely Nara food too, and candy—he laughed shortly in his head and continued reading, seeming amused. Nonetheless, she utilized her newfound cuteness at every chance, and found herself successful.
Kamilé learned a lot about the house, magic, and Sirtema in general in those few hours. Nara had a daughter, who was apparently very sweet, and her name was Sokína and all the scarves and mittens and toys and things were hers. This house ran on magic—the taps in the bathroom, the oven and the fireplace, and the lanterns, everything was magical, or magic-based. Nara had no qualm in explaining every secret of her house’s construction, and Everan took careful notes of all she had to say.
All in all, Kamilé thought that Sirtema was very strange—the elves were practical and fair, yet infatuated with anything growing from the earth, all of the Sirtemans bowed to little statues of very important people, they hated government, the men ran around half-naked and the women, even down-to-earth mother Nara, wore outrageously inappropriate clothes in the dead of winter.
Kamilé rather admired them for it all.
The twins watched Nara make lunch, fascinated by her cooking prowess—she knew what to put in, how much, and for how long, and the results were always delicious. She started three hours before lunch by making more bread, thin and flat this time, and took a break for an hour or so; then began the rest. She mixed preserved vegetables, boiled potatoes, and spices together to produce a yellow-green mash which looked a little strange but tasted wonderful—she offered Kamilé a spoonful, which she shared with Everan, and both of them found it satisfactory. Kamilé made it a point to steal everything she could, and soon procured a deep affinity for brown sugar and potatoes. Nara also made dessert, which was a sort of cinnamon cake with brown stuff drizzled all over it; Kamilé couldn’t wait to eat.
And eat they did around midday; Nara sat them down and showed them how to wrap the vegetables in the bread and dip it in a spicy sauce, and after Kamilé tried and failed a few times to get it right, making quite a mess in the process, Everan took his fork and scooped everything up into a neat little food-bundle. Once she managed to get it into her mouth she found it very delicious indeed….
At least, until she found a carrot.
Kamilé’s vicious campaign against carrots went back as far as she could remember; even the ones that hadn’t been burnt were odd-colored, odd-tasting, and odd-textured; they were vegetables that were sweet like fruit and crunchy like nothing else, and she hated them with a passion. Not even Everan’s irrational (and completely ridiculous) hatred of sweets could compare to her animosity toward all things orange and sickly sweet.
Upon tasting the crunchy orange thing, she screamed and spat the mouthful onto her plate. She then proceeded to make such a fuss that Everan had to calm her down, almost shouting in his mind to make himself heard.
Shut up, Kamilé! It’s just a carrot—
Ewww! Ew ew ew CARROTS! Gross—
“Something wrong?” Nara inquired, once she had found her tongue. Kamilé whimpered the fearful edict of “Carro—!” before Everan muted her with a soft white napkin over her mouth. He silently wiped her off, then unwrapped her food-bundle, picked all the carrots out one by one, and set them on his own plate. That done, he wrapped her food up again and returned it. Her heart still beat unnaturally fast as she picked it up and took a careful bite, but Everan was, as always, thorough—no carrots remained.
She reached over and gave him a grateful hug, which he immediately shrugged out of. You’re my hero, she exclaimed, choked with gratitude.
He rolled his eyes and continued eating, and Kamilé was awed at his bravery as twice as many of the hated orange blots disappeared slowly into his mouth. Weak with relief, she renewed her attack on the wonderful food, polishing off two and another one-and-a-half glasses of milk and a slice of cake as well before she began to feel pleasantly stuffed. Everan was pleased at how much she had eaten, and when she curled up next to him as he read on the sofa he made a point to poke her distended stomach until she squirmed and poked him back.
Bet you’ve never had so much food, he smirked.
Bet you haven’t neither, she countered, until she realized he must have, because they’d been there for awhile, hadn’t they? Or…did she feed you a lot when I was sleeping?
He frowned slightly, refusing to meet her eyes. Not really…. I was sick too.
What? Why?
I dunno why. You tell me.
Was I sick?
Yes.
Why?
Why were you, Kamilé? You scared me…I thought you were really hurt….
Everan—her brother, Everan—had been scared? But he was never scared….
And he wasn’t her brother either….
An alien feeling crept up in her stomach, and she felt that she had eaten too much after all; the taste of salty bile rose in her throat, and she swallowed hard and curled up, resting her head on his leg. I dunno, she muttered, hating to lie.
Everan did not press the subject, but he could feel her discomfort and placed his hand reassuringly on her shoulder, rubbing it back and forth until, exhausted from her sickness and her full stomach and all that warm milk, she fell asleep.
Everan shook her awake for a small dinner of the food left over from lunch, of which she remembered eating only a very little; she recalled Everan miming something to Nara and Raena, and his words in her head: She’s just tired, is all. She’s all right.
She remembered a glass half full of cool water with chunks of melting snow still floating in it, shoved between her hands and guided into her mouth….
She remembered Everan’s gentle hands leading her carefully down the stairs and into the bathroom….
And then cool water splashed onto her face, and she found herself suddenly in front of the bathroom mirror, staring into the dripping face of some girl.
Who’s that? she wondered.
You, Everan said, wiping her face off with a towel. Sorry, Kamé, but I couldn’t let you fall asleep and drown when you were taking a bath….
As he spoke Kamilé had been making faces in the mirror, as she’d only ever seen her reflection in pools of murky water or burnished copper plates—did she really look like that? She wasn’t sure whether she liked her reflection or not, but she looked a lot like Everan, and that was nice…but not a lot like her mother at all….
But when Everan mentioned a bath, she jumped and screamed in terror.
What? A bath?!
Yup, he said calmly.
For me!
Sure. I’m taking one too, it’s okay.
But Everan, I don’t wanna bath!
You sure need one though, he commented wryly. We haven’t had one since the beginning of spring. C’mon, it’s not that bad, the water’ll be nice and warm….
Butbutbut I don’t wanna bath!
You’re getting one though.
You can’t make me! She poked her tongue out at him. Nyah!
He caught her before she could escape and plead for mercy with the grownups. You’re getting a bath.
She struggled and kicked and hit him with her fists, furious. Leave me ‘lone I don’t wanna bath let go let GO!
She broke free and made for the door, but Everan never moved. Locked, he said calmly.
She kicked the door with temper—she and locks had never gotten along—and started to cry, but not real crying, just enough wailing and sadness to fool Everan. But fooling him was never easy, and it hardly ever worked.
In, he scolded, pushing her firmly toward the bathtub.
Are you taking a bath too? she said hopefully.
Yes, but I can’t take one with you, Nara needs to scrub your hair ‘cause I can’t do it right, really, and she doesn’t like it when we take one together.
But Everan, she whined, that’ll hurt.
Not too much. She’ll be gentle with you, I’m sure.
But….
Want me to come back when she’s gone?
Yes, please, she whimpered.
I will, then, don’t worry. Now, take that thing off, I wanna see your back.
Why? she asked as she slid off the soft dress.
‘Cause the other day there were scars and things all over it, and Nara got rid of them but I still wanna see.
She tasted something sour in her mouth again as she remembered the scars…and Everan had seen them…what now? Biting her lip, she did as she was told; the cool air slid across her bare skin as she twitched her hair out of the way.
Everan slid a finger across her back, then, satisfied, started the water for her while she got rid of the rest of her clothes and was bullied sternly into the warm water. Everan cheered her up slightly by giving her some bubbles to play with, then left with the promise of returning to summon Nara. Kamilé absently scratched at the dirt on her skin, wondering if it would ever come off.

Sidenotes:

 Kamé: A play on words in the Ametrisan tongue. Kamé sounds like kare which is a term of affection meaning “love,” and also like milé, which means “little”. The name Kamilé itself can be translated as “little love.” Pilori picked up the habit of calling Kamilé Kamé or Kamékare, and Everan uses the terms often to tease her and later, a few years after they run away, as terms of affection.

 The holy letters: referring to the Ame-Sirteman symbols Zha, Zhe, Zhi. And Zho, which when used in a word indicate holiness and sanctity. Examples are Zildja, zichiha, and zhieyha, Sirteman words that were adapted without alteration into the Ametrisan language.