Tralla

AN: UPDATE ON COMMENTING: Those who have no access to Critic's Corner, please feel free to comment in this thread. Any in-depth critiquing would be good, and any comments at all would be welcome... Anyone with access to the CC, please post there - my rambling story is long enough without your (much appreciated!) comments in the same thread. =D Thanks all! Ten years later... It was a painful waking, but that was normal. Funny, she thought, tracing patterns idly along her gaunt, pale body. The purple and yellow splotches marring random parts of her pale canvas were ignored – they, too, were normal. I hurt more than I normally do. Another rough one last night. In their continuing dance, her fingers fluttered lightly over the aching spots, and the pain subsided, although the discolouring remained. Better. A slow, sensual stretch worked out the worst of the previous night's labours, so with a faint clinking of metal on metal she slipped from the large, somewhat dirty bed on which she'd slept. The metal cuffs permanently fixed about her wrists, ankles, and neck settled into their customary positions, but she didn't notice as she moved silently from the room. They'd been in place long enough for her to forget what it was like without them. Beyond the bedchamber was a long hallway with many doors. This early in the morning, it was silent; clients were sparse during the day, and didn't usually arrive until the city guard turned over in a few hours. She had a little time. Perhaps she might even manage to wrest some sustenance from Jerska today; the spiteful woman couldn't withhold from her forever. After all, she was a favourite, and needed her energy for the long, long nights. One end of the hallway led to the public den, where visitors came to relax before going off to the private rooms with their chosen companion. The other end led to the private den where the girls spent their time when they weren’t working or sleeping; it was to this room that she went. A handful of girls were already there, reclining on old low couches or lumpy, discoloured pillows around the edges of the room. This den wasn’t much cleaner than the room she’d just left, but then, no visitors would ever see this room, so it didn’t need to be clean, or even really comfortable. After all, slaves knew better than to complain about how they were kept or treated. Scanning the familiar faces, she couldn’t find a friendly one in the lot, which wasn’t surprising. Most of the girls envied her “favourite” status; if they saw more of her bruises than she cared to show, a few might be discouraged, but not all. Some girls craved status for the sake of status, whether any actual power came with it or not. Power envy, it seemed, was a trait not at all restricted to the High Mages of the country. Shrugging slightly, she made her way to last unoccupied corner of the room, hooking a pillow enroute to seat herself upon. The pillow smelled unpleasant, and the corner still worse, but both were preferable to the sour, silently sneering company of her fellow slaves. As in every other place she had been, regardless of whether or not she wanted to be there, she was not welcome. She had just seated herself – gingerly, since some parts did still hurt – when Mistress Meri sauntered in the rear door, the door to the kitchen. Meri paused just inside the entrance to survey her girls, who were hastily scrambling to their feet – not out of respect for her, but rather out of fear for what she might do if they were not quick enough in rising. Clothed in an obscenely tight slip of red silk that barely covered her still luscious middle-aged body, with heavily perfumed feathers and trinkets adorning every possible surface, Meri was the perfect picture of a whorehouse’s most pampered girl. Yet, Meri hadn’t worked a day on her back in years. As the most cruel, evil, grasping, vicious, black-hearted bitch to ever come through that particular section of the city, Meri’s untapped potential for causing unthinkable suffering had been quickly put to better use as headmistress of the slavegirls, a decision Lady Drisla had never regretted. Drisla’s Den had prospered under Meri’s capable motivational strategies, and cultivated such a reputation for quality service that the inevitable invitation had finally come, the invitation which triggered this surprise visit to the slaves’ filthy den that morning. “Hello, pets,” Meri purred, sauntering a few steps farther into the den. She paused and waited as the girls slinked forward, murmuring their timid welcomes with eyes dutifully turned down and posture correctly subservient. A few – the usual favourites, she noted – even dared to drop to their knees and kiss her feet, their lips brushing her skin even more lightly than the finest of her feathers – they knew better than to sully her fair skin with their filthy touch, favoured though they may be. Soon all the favourites were clustered about her, as close as they could be without actually touching her body; all except Kay, who, although she always knelt respectfully in the rear of the pack, never approached her person. Meri could never understand why the girl was a favourite – she was a walking skeleton, by the Gods! Yet, despite her plain features, disgusting hair, and scrawny, visibly abused body, the men never ceased to throng to the girl. There was something… otherworldly about the girl, they said. They couldn’t explain the attraction, and Meri could not see it, which irritated her beyond all reason. So it had been for the full ten years the girl had been here. Eventually, even her attraction would have to fade, and Meri would take incredible delight in crushing the wretch beneath her pointed heel when that day finally arrived. “Enough, pets,” she commanded briskly, when she tired of their simpering attention. “I come with news, and we have little time to waste. The High Mage Phallonomar, great be his wisdom and long his Gifted life, has decided to hold a party tonight for several visiting Mages from other citilands. Of course, entertainment of all varieties is being provided to his privileged guests, including the physical delights for which Lady Drisla has become so well-known. Pets, tonight, the best of you will be visiting the Blue Palace!” Exclamations of delight and excitement erupted from the girls huddled around Meri, but Kay, still kneeling in the back, felt a icy wave of fear wash over her, raising goosebumps along her arms and down her neck. The Blue Palace? High Mages? Sweet Jahkaeva, she’d managed to avoid them almost completely for ten whole years… Why, now, after so long, was she being thrust in the midst of an entire pack of them? Images flashed past her mind’s eye too quickly for true recollection – flashing, frightening images of nights long past, when children were screaming, running, disappearing, never to be seen again… A single tear rolled down one impassive cheek, but even Meri failed to notice amid the very vocal enthusiasm of all the other girls. Gods, when will it end? ~ ~ ~ The rest of the day was consumed with preparation for the ten girls, including Kay, chosen to go to the Palace. Their numbers would be augmented by other slaves from other brothels, but Drisla’s, naturally, must look the best, because they were the best. They were bathed in scented water, powdered and painted with the best of the cosmetics, and clothed in the best of the freshly washed costumes, which were reserved only for such special occasions. Their heavy iron collars and cuffs were replaced with shiny copper or silver versions, depending on their rankings among the slaves; Kay received a silver set, one of three. Hair was combed, perfumed, and arranged in elaborate coiffures, except in Kay’s case – her hair was so remarkably tangled from years of neglect that, after several ruthlessly painful hours of combing failed, they finally decided that they would cut it short and pin a heavily beaded and feathered headdress over what was left. “Teach you to let yourself get so disgusting,” one of the older girls sneered, not bothering to conceal her glee as she sheared off another of Kay’s heavily matted chunks of hair. Kay didn’t react, even when the girl wrenched her hair nastily for that lack of response. Throughout the entire ordeal, she sat passively in her chair, gazing straight ahead with her usual perfectly detached expression upon her face. That mask had been perfected by years of unabated suffering, and no stupid, vicious whore could come even close to cracking it, let alone actually earn a reaction from the extraordinary Kay. When clipped to within a couple inches of her scalp, Kay’s hair actually became somewhat manageable – they managed to wash it, partially comb it, and insert what must have been over one hundred pins fastening the gaudy headdress to her head. When she stood for her final adjustments, she looked precisely as she was expected to – a prized whore, in a costume that neither hid nor revealed, but rather augmented what was there. At least they had the brains to powder the bruises, she thought idly, examining herself with apparent disinterest in the full-length dirty mirror before her. They may like to beat us, but they’d prefer to pretend we didn’t show the marks of it the next day. As if she had been waiting just outside the door to the preparation room – she may have, knowing her – Meri stalked into the room and snarled, “Haven’t you lazy pigs finished yet? We’re going to be late if you drag your useless hides any slower!” Sweeping Kay with a critical glance, she nodded in grudging acceptance – never approval – grabbed her upper arm far tighter than necessary and dragged her bodily from the room. Kay scurried to keep up, the bruises on that arm far too fresh in that pitiless grip. Together they hustled down the empty main corridor, through the private den, through the subdued back kitchen, and out the back door to the waiting coach. It was a finer ride than Kay had ever been in, but her Mistress gave her no time to catch more than a hurried glance of the exterior before thrusting her inside and cramming herself inside just behind. The carriage started immediately, and they quickly discovered that although it may look impressive in the dark, the ride was far from smooth – Lady Drisla, it seemed, only devoted so much quality to mere slaves. The ride smoothed somewhat when they reached the wealthier districts of the city, where, of course, the Blue Palace was the sited. They also moved at a much slower pace, constantly having to give way to the much more powerful of the city, on their way by higher quality carriage to the High Mage’s event. Perhaps a block from the Palace proper, the driver swerved onto a side street, circling around the massive compound as per the Lady’s instructions to deposit them at the much less visible rear entrance, which was reserved for the common servants and slaves coming to and from the High Mage’s compound. When they had all descended from the carriage, the driver wasted no time in pulling away, pausing only to tip his hat respectfully to Meri before disappearing into the night. Meri, her girls following obediently just behind her, strode confidently up to the scribe seated to the side of the servant’s entrance and presented the invitation Lady Drisla had given her for admission to the Palace. With a cursory glance at the small slip of parchment embossed with the High Mage’s distinct royal blue seal, the scribe gave a haughty sniff, made a notation on the scroll spread across the writing table before him, and waved for them to enter. Bowing politely, Meri did so, and the girls followed, eyes fixed on their toes, as they had always been trained. It would not do, after all, to embarrass Mistress Meri at so important an event as this. The repercussions would be unimaginably severe. Just inside the entrance, a young servant was waiting to guide them to the girl’s quarters for the night. Through a maze of corridors, stairs, and seemingly identical chambers they were hustled at an almost indecent pace, until finally the way opened suddenly into what could only be a makeshift brothel. The room, like most of the rooms in the Palace, was walled in a very dark blue glossy stone, with black stone tile floors and a ceiling so high above their heads that it was enveloped completely in shadow. Small niches set high along all the walls contained orbs of soft white-yellow light that flickered and surged just enough to send slightly unnerving shadows and light patterns skittering across the walls. Niches set down at floor level let into private chambers for more private activities, while the main chamber was strewn with a sea of lighter blue and silver pillows for lounging slaves or clients who wished a more public setting. Other slaves already occupied many of the pillows, in the full variety of ages, genders, and, surprisingly, races; dark-skinned coastal barbarians and sharp-featured yellow-toned slaves from the far west joined the more customary paler skinned varieties usually found in such a central city. Such exotic slaves were very prized; Lady Drisla’s collection was undoubtedly the most skilled of the white-skinned creatures here, though, and that was enough. Meri led them to one of the few unoccupied areas left, along the left-hand wall. The girls seated themselves on pillows that may have looked luxurious, but were actually a little too thin for proper comfort, and listened attentively to their Mistress’ instructions. “All the guests here tonight are very important people,” Meri began in her most fear-inspiring tone. “If they desire the services of slaves like you, they will enter this room and merely pick the whore they fancy. The services tonight are courtesy of the High Mage Phallonomar, so you will be expected merely to provide any service they require – no money will pass through your grubby little paws. They have full liberty to do whatever they please with you, and you will provide your services with full cooperation and to the utmost of your abilities. Lady Drisla’s hard-earned reputation lies with you girls tonight, and I expect you to outperform even the most outlandish of the rumours. I don’t think I need to illustrate the consequences of failure.” Her dire glare, as she fixed each terrified girl’s gaze with her own, conveyed those consequences more eloquently than words ever could. “You will stay here the full night, as the revelry is fully expected to last into the late hours of the morning. I will come to collect you when it is time to go. You will not leave this set of rooms until then.” Waiting to make sure they understood everything she had told them, Meri nodded once and left the room. Then the waiting began.

I think the vast majority of people in the world (including me) are close-minded, to a lesser or greater (usually greater) degree. There's just this natural part of most people that really wants to believe that they're right. I'll admit I'm worse than many - being that close-minded unbeliever, you know - but I find the trick is to realize it, deal with it, and turn the chisel on your own little wall, rather than trying to barge face-first through anyone else's. All you get trying that is a bloody nose and a big headache. As for the mass generalization that atheists are the most close-minded of all, I don't really think that's true. I don't think any one group could be targeted, and I think it's a dangerous misconception to label that group is atheists. I've heard a lot of talk in my life about how atheists are just people who are too proud, headstrong, close-minded, or just plain stupid to see the Greater Truth of the world. Some atheists are as bad as any other religious zealot - blind to every belief but their own, and very quick to slander. But some people are atheist simply because they've examined other faiths and found them lacking, have trouble deciding for themselves just what to believe, or looked in their heart and found that they really just didn't believe in the whole higher power bit. Does that make then close-minded, because they've decided not to tamely follow someone else's belief system because that's what someone told them was right? No more than it makes a Christian close-minded for believing in God and Jesus Christ, or a Muslim for revering Allah. I think following your personal beliefs, especially despite the opposition you might face, makes you brave, not close-minded. It's once a person starts ignoring even the possibility of some merit in those other belief systems that they become close-minded. That could happen to anyone.

We came very, very close to the 20th NDP seat. (BLARG!!!!) The Conservative won with 35% of the vote, the NDP with 33%. The Liberal didn't have a hope. Blarg, I say! *Fist shaking* Should've known. Only town I've ever been in that's more keen on pretending they're still 5-10k people than admitting they're now 100k+ and moving on with life... =D

eeeeeeeeevilllll... Took me about two dozen tries, but I finally got it.

congrats hun. =)

Happy Happy Falc! *huggie*

*flying hugtackle* *picks self up and dusts self off* Happy Happy. *runs off*

Pshaw, Vlad! There's plenty to write about you! I wrote three things, in fact!

I like it. It's quirky in a good way. To build on Yui's observation, which I agree with, you might want to try some similar words... ie, "walls" instead of barriers, and "reached" instead of achieved. They might not fit the meaning or rhythm you were going for, but just thought I'd throw them out... *thumbs up*

hehehehe that was awesome. superb. a masterpiece. yeah. congrats on the publishing, too.

Happy Happy Wyvvie! *hugs and slips him a glittery*

Happy Happy =)

YAY! *does the happy new tale spinner dance, which happens to be a jerkily jumpy-sway-y monstrosity the likes of which you've never seen and hope to never again*

EDIT by Katzaniel: The following was written as an application to the StoryWeaver Guild. Katz out. "When do we move, Ashani? It's been three days." "Tonight, Katya. Tell the men, tonight. They are keen for blood, aren't they?" "Foreigners are good sport. Not as good as the wild krazz mamei, far to the south, but still better than nothing." "Mm. The light will die soon. Tell them to be ready." "They are always ready." Nonetheless, Katya moved away to spread the word; they'd see good red blood tonight. The foreign creatures, so strangely pale and completely unprepared for the untamed, hostile expanse of the wasteland-desert of the Ahra'maen, still had not learned to move by night as the native creatures did. They laboured on by day, tugging their furry, noisy creatures forward step by step, sweating and stinking in their silver skins, and setting up camp when the light has died and the air has cooled. Foolish creatures, they set watcher who knew not what to look for, and slept too heavily under the illusion of safety. At least they had learned not to burn things. Or perhaps it was because, so far from the gaping wound of Fahrei Eerra that severed the Ahra'maen from the Lands Where Water Flowed, there really was nothing left to burn. The Water Lands. A story, a legend told by the Jouin clan-women, of a place where the sands were not sands at all, and green like the infant krazz's sinuous scales. A place where Fahrai Eerra bled his lifeblood up from the green sands, and the cool clear fluids never clotted. A place where the gods showered tears from the storm-darkened sky, grieving for the rape of the land by the pale-skinned monsters with flashing hides and sharp fangs that killed without poison. A place of death, but a place of great resources. The Water Lands. A myth. Until the monsters crossed the Wound of Fahrei Eerra and entered the Ahra'maen. Until Ashani y Avi-Nema, Daughter of the blood-clan Gidoun, had led her first sport-party across their path, and traced them to their ill-chosen and ill-defended core. They would kill these intruders, and bring their shining carcasses back to the tribes, as proof of flesh that the wealth was waiting across the Wound. At long last, the tribes would cross the Wound, trade blood for blood with Fahrei Eerra, and harvest the riches of the Water Lands. Gidoun would stand first among the tribes, and Ashani first among the Gidoun. The Jouin dreamsongs would remember down the bloodlines until the End, the wealth and water brought to the tribes of Ahra'maen by the Daughter. All that was left now was to take what had been offered. The light died. At a gesture, the white watcher fell, seeing nothing in breath or death. The pack closed in. And blood ran.

Sorry to strain your brain love, but I have my script... Now I just have to sit down and WRITE the damn thing. =P *hug* If you want to tag team the project, that could be uber cool. I have plans to expand into a number of different CYOA's in the future, with different central chars... *evil grin and hand rub*

Happy Happy. =)

*Matteo is almost immediately flattened when a blurred ball of Tralla-ness flying hugtackles him* Welcome back. =)

LoL If I ever get published, you'll be the first to know. ... And to get signed copies. =P

Happy Birthday, guys!

Have a great one, guys. =)

AN: Two updates in a week? OH YEAH! It's a long one, folks... His skills must’ve been getting rusty. Afternoon was already creeping into the dusk of early evening before Javick noticed that they were being followed. They had decided to start moving along the rear alleys, a block or so away from main streets, since the evening exodus out of the city had already started and it would be dangerous going if they weren't very, very careful. Only a block away from main roads, the back alleys were still fairly straight, with few dead ends, and almost uninhabited. They made steady progress, and were already well on their way across the city to districts where the Falliks had little or no influence. But as they moved, Javick began to notice shadows, flitting on the corners of his vision, darting through places where shadows shouldn't be. They teased and tantalized at the edges of his sight, but he knew better than to turn and look - it was never a good idea to let watchers know you knew they were watching. Instead, as he walked, he began to scan ahead, searching for likely places for more watchers to appear, and possible hiding places for themselves, as well. They'd have to lose their shadows before they found someplace to bed down for the night, or they'd leave themselves open to trouble. Deciding finally to make his move, Javick grasped Kaolin's hand and darted down a side alley, running for the still-teeming crowds of the main street. If they could make it to the crowds, they could probably lose their shadows. Their followers must've had the same thought, because almost immediately three shadows detached themselves from the walls a short way ahead and blocked their path. Whirling, Javick retreated only a step or two before two more shadows blocked their path from behind. They were trapped. Readying his knife in the concealment of his ragged sleeve, Javick pressed Kaolin against the wall and blocked her with his body, trying to keep watch on both ends of the alley at once. Their followers approached slowly, sure of their advantage but still wary of what tricks might be up his sleeve. The entire maneuver had been executed in perfect silence, so it came as somewhat of a shock when a shrill girl's voice broke the silence from the trio blocking the main street. "Well, lookee here, m'boyos," she cried, her voice vibrant with glee. "What've we caught here? A couple rats from the guard? Snakes from Kilga's block? Or just plain ol' sheep for the mages?" I sure hope you're ready to work your miracles, Kao, Javick thought to himself anxiously. This was looking like it was going to be ugly. "We're just passing through," he barked back. "No guards. No gangs. Goin' to our job. No coin, either, if that's what you're after." "No gangs, he says!" she sneered. "Just passin' through, he says!" She laughed shrilly; she sounded like a small pig, rutting in the filth for the refuse of higher men. "Where's yer job, then, eh? Drisla's Den?" She laughed again, and the other four chuckled rudely. "The Home." They stopped laughing. "What're those bastards doing sending their whelps out this far?" she growled. "They don't got no hold here. They're over on the south side. Plenty o' slave work there. No reason to reach this far with their filthy fat fingers." "You sound like you don't like them much," Javick said softly. "Aye, who does? Filthy pigs. Ill bred sons of... Agh! Steal kids who ain' doin' no harm... Bastards." "Lost a couple urchins to the guards, hm?" "Y' got tha' right. Only one, though. They only got one of ours, before we moved on north, where they didn' have no reach. 'Til now. Why're they reachin' this far, boy?" "Who'd they get?" Javick pressed. "I knew... know almost everyone there. Maybe I know them, can tell you how they are." "It was a few years ago..." "Most stay their whole lives. Their name!" Silence. Everything was still for a long, long time. Javick waited, tensely, sure he knew who they'd lost... The accent stronger, the voice deeper, but maybe... "M' sis'. She led the pack, then. M' big sister, Zee." The disgusted words from so long ago drifted back to him, slowly. "... B'trayed by one o' my own. Bastard." Zee's pack was still around? "And the person who handed her to the guards?" Javicked questioned cautiously. The girl spat. "Dead." "She said he wouldn't last the month," he said, relaxing slightly. Her teeth flashed whitely in the shadows. "He didn't last the night." "We knew Zee. She was... she was great." Another sharp laugh. "She was a bitch. But by th' gods, she knew how t' lead. She knew how t' live. Her gettin' caught... was a bad day. Y' know her, then? How is she? Goin' nuts stuck in that hell, I bet." "She was okay, until the mages made their sweep. They took her. A couple nights ago." The girl gave a ragged gasp. "I'm sorry." She made a strangled whimpering sound, like a small animal dying. "Zee..." "She was our friend," Javick murmured. "We couldn't save her. I'm sorry." "No matter," the girl said bravely, although her shaky voice betrayed her. "She's been good as dead for years now." Stepping forward, she extended her grubby little hand. "I'm Jun. I lead th' pack, now." He took her hand briefly. "Javick." "Well now Javick, where're you really goin'? I know fer a fact the Home hasn't sent it's little slave labour back out yet. I do still have my connections in the south district." "Away from the Home," he replied flatly. "Everyone important was taken in the sweep. We left during the cleanup after." "Clever boy. What'll you do?" "Get a job in the north districts. I've no stomach for gangs, Jun, so don't get any ideas." Another laugh. "Wouldn't dream of it. We're the perfect size as is. I wouldn' mind helpin' you, though. I know a place, near here, where it'll be safe to bed down fer the night. Nothin' special, but no fees, no questions. Interested?" "I guess we can check it out," he agreed, cautious again. "No harm in it." "I wouldn' b'tray m' sis' friends, Javick," Jun told him gravely. "I loved my sister. Now, let's get you some sheler b'fore night falls. Th' guards are a real pain after dark." ~ ~ ~ Jun and her boys - she never did bother introducing them, but they could have all been related, they looked o much alike - led them a few blocks to a small modest inn just off the main road, with a tiny stable wedged between itself and the building behind it. Pausing at the back door, which, judging from the smells, led into the kitchen, Jun raped out a somewhat complex rhythm on the wooden doorjamb. After a brief moment of waiting, the portal swung open and a plump, grease-spattered woman emerged, wiping her flour-coated hands on a flithy off-colour apron. "Wha' d' y' wan', Jun?" she grunted, looming over the tiny girl. "I'm busy with dinner, girl." "Mind if I bed a couple mates in the back stall, Gert?" she asked with a radiant smile. "They're small, and won't cause trouble. Jus' need a night away from th' guards b'fore passin' on." The woman grunted and waved them away, returning to her kitchen and closed the door abruptly. Jun nodded, satisfied, and led the way into the unlighted stable, taking them to the very last stall in the end, which contained mostly unsoiled bedding. There was an old horse blanket hung over the door, and although it was ragged and smelly, it would be warm. "Bed down in th' corner, there, and you'll sleep like th' richies," Jun told them, already turning to leave. "I won't be able t come back in h' mornin', likely. Take care o' yer girl, there, Javick. Good luck." "Same to you, Jun." They waited until they were sure Zee's old gang was gone, then took her advice and bedded done in one high-piled corner with the horseblanket drawn over them both. Although he tried to stay awake, the combort of their bedding and the absolute exhaustion of his body betrayed him, and he fall almost instantly asleep. ~ ~ ~ "JAVICK!!!" Rough hands were grabbing at him, hauling him up. He began to fight before he even opened his eyes, his sleep-mazed mind working on an instinctive level. Kicking, biting, thrashing, scratching frantically, Javick managed to elicit a few curses from the men pawing at him. Somewhere nearby a girl screamed in terror. His eyes snapped open. The stable was swarming with men. Someone had a lantern, and was holding it up high - Gret, the cook woman. Four men were struggling to subdue Kaolin, who kicked and thrashed more ferociously than any child he'd everseen. She shrieked his name again, and the men winced as the unbearably high sound pierced their ears. Three men were trying to get a hold on him, and two more were diving in to help. He saw and absorbed it all in a fraction of a second, but time slowed to a crawl when he spotted Jun, waiting in the shadows just beyond the light cast by Gret's lantern. Her mouth was twisted into a vicious smirk, and her dark eyes - Zee's eyes - glittered with triumph. "JUN!" he roared as the five men finally pinned him down. Kaolin was still fighting, but no miracles seemed to be happening this time. "How could you?" "Oh, quite easily," she purred, strolling into the light in the stall's enclosure. She paused only a couple feet from where Javick lay panting in the straw. Her lips quirked slightly when Kaolin gave a final defeated screech; the men had finally gotten a good hold on her, and weren't letting go. She crouched down and leaned close, placing her lips near his ear while her hands roamed his body with the featherlight touch of an experienced pickpocket. Although he never felt it lifted, Javick knew his knife, the slayer, was gone. "Ol' Garrett didn' b'tray m' sis' on his own," she murmured, for him alone to hear. "'Though he thought he could lead the pack better 'n me. Fixed that. Fixed her, too. She really was a bitch." Jun rose wiping her hands on her pants as if she'd touched something distasteful. "No weapons," she told the others, in a louder, firmer voice. "An' th' girlie's harmless." One of the men who was still struggling to hold Kaolin grunted sourly; his eye would be blue and swollen by morning. Gret, however, nodded, satisfied, and tossed ahandful of glittering gold coins to Jun. The girl caught them neatly, mid-air. "A pleasure, Gret," she said with a cocky flip of one hand. Turning, she leaped the wall dividing that stall from its neighbour and was gone. "You boys know what to do," Gret mumbled, already turning away. "I've heard Meri's looking fer a new girl. Some sods like 'em young. G'wan, now. You know what to do with the boy." "Javick!" Kaolin wailed as they began to drag her from the room. Her matted brown hair was a whirlwind around her thrashing head, and her brillant green eyes were wide with fear. "Help! JAVICK!" "Kaolin!" Javick heaved against his captors madly. This couldn't be happening. Not again. "Kao! I'm coming!" "I dun' thin' so," one of the men holding him growled. A terrific pain exploded across the back of his skull, and stars swam up instantly to obsure his vision. No! he screamed silently as his body went limp and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. This can't be happening! Kaolin! His felt his mind slipping away from his grasping fingers. I'm sorry... Darkness.

D'OH! >.< Oh maaaan... I liked that title, too... *sigh*

~ ~ ~ “Where are we, Javick?” Kaolin whispered timidly, eyes wide as she watched the tumult of the early morning crowd. “The city, Kaolin. Just the city. Everyone comes out to buy things now. It’ll calm down in an hour or two.” Javick stopped suddenly and pressed them both against the wall of the nearest storefront as a huge farmer’s wagon lumbered by, piled high with fresh produce and drawn by a pair of braying oxen. The farmer cursed and shouted and whipped them mercilessly, but the crowd could only part so quickly, and eventually the farmer turned his whip on the crowds instead. Screams arose from those unfortunate enough to be within range, and everyone milled about in greater confusion, but the farmer advanced no faster. They stayed pressed tightly against that wall until he was well down the street. “We have to get to across the city, Kao,” he explained as they started walking again. “The Falliks don’t have the guards paid off there. We won’t be turned back over to the orphanage. We’ll find a job, maybe at another stable or something. We’ll be okay. We just need to get across town.” Kaolin nodded, and with her hand still tucked tightly in his own, followed mutely as they wove their way slowly through the press of people. As the sun rose higher and the street warmed, the rank stench of countless unwashed bodies strengthened, but no one paid any mind; they were used to the smell, and the children from the Home were certainly no cleaner. They blended right in. Their progress was slow but steady, and by midmorning they were far enough away from the Home that they could turn their attention towards finding food. Remembering the farmer from earlier that morning, Javick thought their best chance might be to scoop something as one of the carts crept by; glancing about, he cursed when he realized that there were no more carts on the roads anymore. All of the farmers would be set up and selling their goods by now. They’d have to find some food from an established vendor, then. After another hour or so of aimless wandering, he finally managed to find a small market, hidden away in a tiny square where several back alleys converged between the looming, decrepit old warehouses of a long-abandoned storage district. The farmers had somehow managed to get their wagons down those cramped little alleys and parked them in a ring all about the square, and proceeded to hawk their less-than-perfect goods to the hordes of filthy peasants who thronged to them. The sun barely penetrated here, but warmed the air enough to the stench of unwashed bodies to ripen and permeate the air like cheap perfumes would in the wealthier districts. Javick ignored it; as per usual, Kaolin made no sound at all. They stopped in the shadows of an alley just before it fed into the square and waited, scanning the teeming crowds for a likely prospect. Spotting one, he turned to tell Kaolin to wait in the alley, but she wasn’t there. “Kaolin?” he hissed, looking around frantically. “Kaolin!” Turning back to the square, he saw her – she was weaving her way gracefully through the crowd, making straight for one of the surlier-looking vendors near the alley they had been waiting in. Diving into the throng, dodging and pushing, Javick tried frantically to reach her, to grab her, but she was better at weaving through the throng that he was, and reached the vendor in mere moments. Marching right up to him, she tugged on his sleeve gently. Glowering, he turned to face her, but his expression smoothed almost instantly when he laid eyes on her upturned face. Javick saw her lips move, but it was impossible to hear what she said over the din of the shoppers. To his astonishment, the vendor nodded, smiled, and handed her a long loaf of dark bread and a large apple right from his own cart. Patting her own the head, he turned to renew his selling, his scowl returning almost instantly. Oddly enough, nobody else seemed to notice the exchange at all. Clutching her gifts, Kaolin wove her way back to where Javick stood, staring, dumbfounded. “Come on, Javick,” she murmured, leading the way back to the alley. As soon as they were back in the cover of shadows, her shoulders slumped, and she sagged to the ground, utterly spent. Javick took the food from her gently, broke the bread down the middle, and handed her half. “How did you do that, Kao?” he asked between mouthfuls. Kaolin was silent for a long time, staring at the lump of bread in her hands. “I don’t know,” she whispered finally. “She just told me I could.” “Who? Who told you?” Kaolin turned her face away and closed her eyes. Her voice, when she finally answered, was so faint he could barely hear. “I don’t know.” Realizing he wouldn’t be getting any answers from her at that point, Javick let it drop. Finishing up the last of his bread, he waited until Kaolin had finished as well before hoisting her to her feet and heading off again. They passed the apple between them as they walked, and it was better than anything they had tasted in years. ~ ~ ~ His skills must’ve been getting rusty. Afternoon was already creeping into the dusk of early evening before Javick noticed that they were being followed.

Have a great one. =)

Yeah, I think you got it, Sorc. =) Everytime I read one of your poems, I love it. You've definitely got it. I especially enjoyed the rhythm in this one. It flowed so beautifully... Kind of reminded me of Lady of Shalott in the first stanza, both in rhythm and in subject. =D I think my favourite line was: "Amid the silence, nothing rests." That's just cool. Congrats on being able to write again, and wb.