"Eat." Someone shouted as a tray was slid under the door. Narim prodded the unidentifiable dish wishing now he'd taken up the old man's offer for food. Any moment he knew he'd be taken from his cell. To raise the blade, he mused, what will it take? In the few days since his arrival to this place he seemed to lose the carefree indifference of a child and replaced it with careful reasoning. He was beginning to truly understand what it meant to be a Tarik. Thinking back to the beetle and the hawk, he knew he could not bring himself to kill another person. Would he then die here knowing Mallora waited for his return. Or did she?
He'd felt the emptiness of Mallora's absence in his mind since he left with Ixta so many days ago. Perhaps she'd succumbed to her wanderlust and abandoned him afterall. The doubt in his mind grew and festered. Perhaps, he thought, no one will miss me after I'm gone save the old man. Clinging to that thread of doubt made him feel strangely at ease about the upcoming trial.
Narim ached for a bath and fresh clothes, something to warm his chilled bones. Perhaps once he'd gone to the house of the Great Mother he could be in comfort again. The longer he waited, the better the idea of his passing became to him.
"Boy, hey boy" he heard someone call from down the hall. "Thank you."
He pressed his face to the grate on the door.
"For what?" he called back as he stood on his toes.
"The food. I know I'll die here, but at least I can live and hope for rescue a little longer now."
He ascertained the speaker was the girl he'd told the old man to give the dried meat to.
"I'm sorry."
"Whatever for, boy?"
"I have prolonged your escape. Surely death is kinder than starvation here."
"Do you really think so? After death, there's no hope of being able to live. There's no honor in accepting an easy death."
he searched his mind for a response but found none. Before he could come up with one two heavily armored men approached his cell and pulled him down the corridor. He caught a brief glimpse of a pair of startling green eyes peering at him from a cell grate as he passed by.
"This shouldn't take long, she'll slaughter this tiny thing." one of the men said to the other as they pushed him into a large brightly lit hall. All around were strange people with leathery wings in brightly colored robes. Their black eyes followed him as he was led to a figure seated behind a long table.
"You will be tested for your worth in aiding us in battle. If you fail, may the Great Mother bless you with death on this date. If you succeed you will begin proper training upon first new light. Now proceed sword side." Before the man could explain that sword side was right, Narim did as he was told. On the floor lay three weapons, a rusted longsword, a warped bow and a poleaxe with a broken handle. He could not choose. None of these weapons were familiar to him and he didn't know how to use any of them. He remembered the dining knife that lay at the man's table and turned to him.
"May I be permitted to use your dining knife?" He asked. The man behind the table began laughing loudly, a laugh so infectious the onlookers too joined him.
"What an insolent boy. He surely must desire a swift death." A woman cried out.
"The knife is acceptable, young foolish one."
Dining knife in hand, Narim returned to the center of the hall awaiting further instructions. Tucked in a corner he met Sidgal Tun's gaze, gleaning the old man's sorrow from the expression he wore. A wild commotion broke from an opposite corner of the room.
"Don't you know who I am, I am your commanding officer's daughter!" A girl struggled against her captives as she was dragged to Narim. It took only one look for Narim to recognize who this girl was.
Ixta! he thought woefully. I can't harm Ixta! The girl was a fountainhead of strong emotions, anger, hatred, desperation. In reflex, Narim's face reflected her emotions in a snarl. Ixta was released and shown the three weapons as Narim had been. Many times she attempted to turn and run but to no avail. She had to choose.
She chose the poleaxe, weilding it clumsily as she stood before Narim. She hadn't recognized her unwilling challenger until this moment. Her face, already contorted with rage, dropped.
"I demand a new challenger, this isn't even fair!" she shouted, bringing a new volley of laughter from the spectators.
" On this day in the 452nd Winter of Alagany, these two will battle. The victor will be permitted to train until he or she is deemed ready for battle. A great honor awaits those who fight for their nation. The other, should the battle not end in sure death, will receive the mark of the parasite. No further sustenance and be henceforth sent to starvation. May the Great Mother be with you both. Car'ta Dure e ya emblitt."
"Emblitt Ta!" the crowd cried.
Narim extended his hand to Ixta. Hesitantly she clasped his forearm.
"I feel no ill towards you, Ixta. I know there was a reason why you brought me here."
"You should. Win or lose, you are damned to this place." She broke away and held her poleaxe high over her head. Narim felt exposed to her emotional state. Adrenaline charged fear lit through her, infecting his calm state with aggression. Like a puppet on a string, he watched his own arm raise, brandishing the dinner knife in wait for her move.
Leave this place, mind of mine. Return to the Manacaru wood. Rejoin Mallora in a gentle stroll through the trees, he chanted to himself in an effort to distract his conscious mind from conducting her emotions. He remembered the way the sun dappled the leaves during harvest season, lighting dust motes as they floated by his nose.
Ixta swung the poleaxe hard, nearly turning herself around in the process. Narim, distracted by his thoughts, moved on instinct alone, leaping back from the blade. He thought of the time Mallora tried to follow one of the dust motes with her eyes crossing as it passed by. How they'd laughed so hard they fell to the soft forest floor. With each thrust of her weapon, Narim nimble leapt aside, making sure to keep his knife well away from her. She was getting better with the poleaxe. It was clear she'd been trained with weapons and combat before. Each moment that passed made it more difficult for Narim to avoid being struck.
He recalled the way Mother Linn sang as she gathered flowers in the clearing. She had always made beautiful arrangements of the many different things that blossomed there. The poleaxe dragged across his shoulder, laying the skin over in a ragged line to his collarbone. A brief sensation of fear passed through him, billowing out again over the spectators as they quieted in conducted fear.
Narim's mind floated away from the blood that trailed down his arm, dripping from the point of his dining knife. He recalled the first time he'd ever seen Mallora in her true equidan form, how he'd been so afraid of her then. She was massive, nearly three times his height with shimmering golden strands of hair spilling from her neck and tail. Her wings seemed so fragile as she spread them for him to inspect. Tiny veins pulse in transparent film stretched between long bony fingers. She folded them along her back and trotted around him to see just how elegant she truly was in this form.
"Mallora!" he cried out in the midst of the battle. He realized then that he'd pinned Ixta beneath him, holding the blade of the dining knife to her throat. Unable to hold back his emotions any longer, the room exploded in wails of yearning for a lost companion.
"You've defeated me, please jus' do it." Ixta pleaded, tears streaming down her face. Narim didn't immediately understand what she meant. "Please Narim. I know you owe me no favors, but please don't leave me to starvation."
"But..." Narim wept gently, hearing the mimicked sobbing of the spectators. "I can't. You're my friend."
"Well I'm not yours. You're a despicable child. I longed for the day when I could slay you!" Ixta spat at him. The wails from the crowd increased.
"You're still my friend and I love my friends." Narim whispered. He knew, then, he could not leave someone he loved to suffer. He raised the knife high with his injured arm.
"Narim, NO!" Sidgal called out from the crowd. The old man struggled through the weeping crowd but reached Narim too late. Narim drove the knife handle deep into Ixta's chest.
"What I said. I didn't mean it. You're my friend too, Narim, and I loved you." she rasped. As her heart stilled, the pain of her passing seared through every fiber of his being. He cried out in a voice so loud the stone walls of the hall shook. Lightning coursed through him, blinding him. The people around him broke out in chaos, screaming in pain. A man near the entrance drew his shortsword and ran himself through to escape the burning pain in his soul, adding to the panic.
"Narim!" Sidgal tore the boy away and held him close. "Turn away, lest more die." Narim couldn't release that feeling of her passing. Sobs wracked his body. He'd taken a life and felt the death right along with her. "Turn away now!" Sidgal screamed in his ear.
I have to close it out. Narim pleaded with the burning within him. In a desperate attempt, Sidgal repeated the name Narim cried out earlier. "Remember Mallora." Narim stilled. The crowd stilled.
"Mallora" Narim choked, dropping the knife from his blood soaked hand. Mallora, standing in the morning mist waiting for him to wake up so they could visit Mother Linn for the Solstice gathering. She was so excited she accidentally spilled the waste pot on the tunic she'd made for Narim to wear at the gathering. She had hurriedly made him another albeit badly misshapen and itchy. Nonetheless he loved it and felt proud each time he wore it. It expressed Mallora's love for him. There was no doubt Mallora loved him. She couldn't possibly abandon him, ever. She would be waiting for his return.
Narim woke from his detachment in a bath house bathed in moonlight. Two young women stood at his side, dressing the wound in his shoulder. He looked at them questioningly.
"I believe the shock has worn off." One woman said to the other. "He seems alert."
"Where am I?"
"You're a soldier in training at the Farsden Keep of Alagany. Welcome."
"Yes, welcome indeed." Sidgal spoke from some unknown direction. The way the bath house echoed it was difficult to ascertain exactly where he was.
"I have convinced the Noble Artagn that you are merely gifted with the healing arts. No one must know of your Tarik abilities.
Narim looked questioningly at the two women at his side.
"These are my personal servants. Vex and Duhalia. Their life depends upon my ability to heal their illnesses. They'll not soon jeopardize their health to betray me."
"Truth is spoken." One of the women said sadly.
He'd felt the emptiness of Mallora's absence in his mind since he left with Ixta so many days ago. Perhaps she'd succumbed to her wanderlust and abandoned him afterall. The doubt in his mind grew and festered. Perhaps, he thought, no one will miss me after I'm gone save the old man. Clinging to that thread of doubt made him feel strangely at ease about the upcoming trial.
Narim ached for a bath and fresh clothes, something to warm his chilled bones. Perhaps once he'd gone to the house of the Great Mother he could be in comfort again. The longer he waited, the better the idea of his passing became to him.
"Boy, hey boy" he heard someone call from down the hall. "Thank you."
He pressed his face to the grate on the door.
"For what?" he called back as he stood on his toes.
"The food. I know I'll die here, but at least I can live and hope for rescue a little longer now."
He ascertained the speaker was the girl he'd told the old man to give the dried meat to.
"I'm sorry."
"Whatever for, boy?"
"I have prolonged your escape. Surely death is kinder than starvation here."
"Do you really think so? After death, there's no hope of being able to live. There's no honor in accepting an easy death."
he searched his mind for a response but found none. Before he could come up with one two heavily armored men approached his cell and pulled him down the corridor. He caught a brief glimpse of a pair of startling green eyes peering at him from a cell grate as he passed by.
"This shouldn't take long, she'll slaughter this tiny thing." one of the men said to the other as they pushed him into a large brightly lit hall. All around were strange people with leathery wings in brightly colored robes. Their black eyes followed him as he was led to a figure seated behind a long table.
"You will be tested for your worth in aiding us in battle. If you fail, may the Great Mother bless you with death on this date. If you succeed you will begin proper training upon first new light. Now proceed sword side." Before the man could explain that sword side was right, Narim did as he was told. On the floor lay three weapons, a rusted longsword, a warped bow and a poleaxe with a broken handle. He could not choose. None of these weapons were familiar to him and he didn't know how to use any of them. He remembered the dining knife that lay at the man's table and turned to him.
"May I be permitted to use your dining knife?" He asked. The man behind the table began laughing loudly, a laugh so infectious the onlookers too joined him.
"What an insolent boy. He surely must desire a swift death." A woman cried out.
"The knife is acceptable, young foolish one."
Dining knife in hand, Narim returned to the center of the hall awaiting further instructions. Tucked in a corner he met Sidgal Tun's gaze, gleaning the old man's sorrow from the expression he wore. A wild commotion broke from an opposite corner of the room.
"Don't you know who I am, I am your commanding officer's daughter!" A girl struggled against her captives as she was dragged to Narim. It took only one look for Narim to recognize who this girl was.
Ixta! he thought woefully. I can't harm Ixta! The girl was a fountainhead of strong emotions, anger, hatred, desperation. In reflex, Narim's face reflected her emotions in a snarl. Ixta was released and shown the three weapons as Narim had been. Many times she attempted to turn and run but to no avail. She had to choose.
She chose the poleaxe, weilding it clumsily as she stood before Narim. She hadn't recognized her unwilling challenger until this moment. Her face, already contorted with rage, dropped.
"I demand a new challenger, this isn't even fair!" she shouted, bringing a new volley of laughter from the spectators.
" On this day in the 452nd Winter of Alagany, these two will battle. The victor will be permitted to train until he or she is deemed ready for battle. A great honor awaits those who fight for their nation. The other, should the battle not end in sure death, will receive the mark of the parasite. No further sustenance and be henceforth sent to starvation. May the Great Mother be with you both. Car'ta Dure e ya emblitt."
"Emblitt Ta!" the crowd cried.
Narim extended his hand to Ixta. Hesitantly she clasped his forearm.
"I feel no ill towards you, Ixta. I know there was a reason why you brought me here."
"You should. Win or lose, you are damned to this place." She broke away and held her poleaxe high over her head. Narim felt exposed to her emotional state. Adrenaline charged fear lit through her, infecting his calm state with aggression. Like a puppet on a string, he watched his own arm raise, brandishing the dinner knife in wait for her move.
Leave this place, mind of mine. Return to the Manacaru wood. Rejoin Mallora in a gentle stroll through the trees, he chanted to himself in an effort to distract his conscious mind from conducting her emotions. He remembered the way the sun dappled the leaves during harvest season, lighting dust motes as they floated by his nose.
Ixta swung the poleaxe hard, nearly turning herself around in the process. Narim, distracted by his thoughts, moved on instinct alone, leaping back from the blade. He thought of the time Mallora tried to follow one of the dust motes with her eyes crossing as it passed by. How they'd laughed so hard they fell to the soft forest floor. With each thrust of her weapon, Narim nimble leapt aside, making sure to keep his knife well away from her. She was getting better with the poleaxe. It was clear she'd been trained with weapons and combat before. Each moment that passed made it more difficult for Narim to avoid being struck.
He recalled the way Mother Linn sang as she gathered flowers in the clearing. She had always made beautiful arrangements of the many different things that blossomed there. The poleaxe dragged across his shoulder, laying the skin over in a ragged line to his collarbone. A brief sensation of fear passed through him, billowing out again over the spectators as they quieted in conducted fear.
Narim's mind floated away from the blood that trailed down his arm, dripping from the point of his dining knife. He recalled the first time he'd ever seen Mallora in her true equidan form, how he'd been so afraid of her then. She was massive, nearly three times his height with shimmering golden strands of hair spilling from her neck and tail. Her wings seemed so fragile as she spread them for him to inspect. Tiny veins pulse in transparent film stretched between long bony fingers. She folded them along her back and trotted around him to see just how elegant she truly was in this form.
"Mallora!" he cried out in the midst of the battle. He realized then that he'd pinned Ixta beneath him, holding the blade of the dining knife to her throat. Unable to hold back his emotions any longer, the room exploded in wails of yearning for a lost companion.
"You've defeated me, please jus' do it." Ixta pleaded, tears streaming down her face. Narim didn't immediately understand what she meant. "Please Narim. I know you owe me no favors, but please don't leave me to starvation."
"But..." Narim wept gently, hearing the mimicked sobbing of the spectators. "I can't. You're my friend."
"Well I'm not yours. You're a despicable child. I longed for the day when I could slay you!" Ixta spat at him. The wails from the crowd increased.
"You're still my friend and I love my friends." Narim whispered. He knew, then, he could not leave someone he loved to suffer. He raised the knife high with his injured arm.
"Narim, NO!" Sidgal called out from the crowd. The old man struggled through the weeping crowd but reached Narim too late. Narim drove the knife handle deep into Ixta's chest.
"What I said. I didn't mean it. You're my friend too, Narim, and I loved you." she rasped. As her heart stilled, the pain of her passing seared through every fiber of his being. He cried out in a voice so loud the stone walls of the hall shook. Lightning coursed through him, blinding him. The people around him broke out in chaos, screaming in pain. A man near the entrance drew his shortsword and ran himself through to escape the burning pain in his soul, adding to the panic.
"Narim!" Sidgal tore the boy away and held him close. "Turn away, lest more die." Narim couldn't release that feeling of her passing. Sobs wracked his body. He'd taken a life and felt the death right along with her. "Turn away now!" Sidgal screamed in his ear.
I have to close it out. Narim pleaded with the burning within him. In a desperate attempt, Sidgal repeated the name Narim cried out earlier. "Remember Mallora." Narim stilled. The crowd stilled.
"Mallora" Narim choked, dropping the knife from his blood soaked hand. Mallora, standing in the morning mist waiting for him to wake up so they could visit Mother Linn for the Solstice gathering. She was so excited she accidentally spilled the waste pot on the tunic she'd made for Narim to wear at the gathering. She had hurriedly made him another albeit badly misshapen and itchy. Nonetheless he loved it and felt proud each time he wore it. It expressed Mallora's love for him. There was no doubt Mallora loved him. She couldn't possibly abandon him, ever. She would be waiting for his return.
Narim woke from his detachment in a bath house bathed in moonlight. Two young women stood at his side, dressing the wound in his shoulder. He looked at them questioningly.
"I believe the shock has worn off." One woman said to the other. "He seems alert."
"Where am I?"
"You're a soldier in training at the Farsden Keep of Alagany. Welcome."
"Yes, welcome indeed." Sidgal spoke from some unknown direction. The way the bath house echoed it was difficult to ascertain exactly where he was.
"I have convinced the Noble Artagn that you are merely gifted with the healing arts. No one must know of your Tarik abilities.
Narim looked questioningly at the two women at his side.
"These are my personal servants. Vex and Duhalia. Their life depends upon my ability to heal their illnesses. They'll not soon jeopardize their health to betray me."
"Truth is spoken." One of the women said sadly.
