Chapter 1 - part one
Oh yessss, child. Is it time to test you already? Oh my, how time flies when you’ve a kingdom to rule. I had thought you wouldn’t be ready for this trial until you were 8 or 9 but I see, diluted elf-blood is miraculous serum indeed. Far be it for me to stop your - *smirk* - destiny. Hmm, let’s see now, how shall we proceed? Ahhhhh yesssss, your insipid little familiar. He’s quite accepting of his own fate, isn’t he? Rather like a trapped insect in a web, isn’t it? I wonder exactly when you’ll realize that the weakest is always the first to go. And, I wonder, how far you would go for friendship….
The acrid smell wafted up her nostrils to wake her up with a jolt. Scrunching her nose, Tristan looked around for the source. The search didn’t take long; someone, very likely Arite, had pee’ed a few feet from her.
Before her eyes adjusted to the slants of light streaming into the cell from the barred windows, Tiny had sidled up next to her with a small squeeze around the waist. “Hi!” he whispered.
Smiling, she gave him a little squeeze back and noted to herself that he was still dropping weight. Not good, he needs food. Hesitating a tad before she asked whether anything was going on, she sensed a strange stirring among the slaves and the slavers.
“Yeah!” he whispered back excitedly. “The schools are back. They’re getting the lists ready right now.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders drooped slightly as the news hit her. She glanced at Tiny hesitantly, then stared intently at the dance of the dust within the slants of light.
“I wonder if your name is on this year, Tristan.” Tiny was rocking back and forth with what could almost be described as glee.
Though she knew she was being led, her curiosity got the better of her. “Don’t you wonder if your name is… oh.” Her shoulders dropped further. Why was it that Tiny could perceive things better than she could at times? Of course, Tiny was on the list. One way or another, the slavers would be rid of what was definitely considered as a liability.
“Maybe I’m on this year. Last year, they said you were too small and I was too young. I think they’ll be happy to get rid of me too.” Her sigh was barely audible.
Letting her hand fall to the ground next to where they were sitting, she idly drew pictures in the dirt. Her other hand stroked the stone that was imbedded in the palm. “Tiny. If I am on the list, you gotta promise me.” She turned with sudden ferocity at him. “Promise me, Tiny! Stay behind me.”
He smiled gently at her, “What do you think I was counting on?” before breaking into a huge grin.
She punched him in the arm.
As the morning dragged on, she looked around the cell, wondering if she would miss living with slavers. After all, she knew little else and things could be worse outside those bars. Here, she had food, what little she could fight for and share with Tiny; and shelter, if one could call a moldy patch of old filthy hay that.
Her fingers stroked her palm where the triangular stone was imbedded. Why was it she’s never seen anyone else with stones imbedded in their bodies? How did she get this one? Every time she tried to remember, a fiery headache would ignite and fade away as her attempts evaporated. And how did she become a slave? Other slave kids all had sob stories, but she couldn’t remember hers.
She remembered little before her life here. Memories of soft arms, loving arms would occasionally wake her with a smile. Other memories would materialize, usually when she was rubbing the stone: memories of a song sung to her; of a tinkling laugh that tickled her ear; of a strange growly high-pitched voice that offered comfort yet seemed encumbered by melancholy; and of warmth - warmth that carried such… emotions! Crackly, fun, loving, needling, mutating, enveloping warmth.
She could never explain to Tiny that it was this warmth that carried her through the cold days and freezing nights, this warmth that repudiated her surroundings so she couldn’t suffocate. But Tiny never minded that he didn’t understand; all he seemed to care about was that Tristan was around for him to make laugh.
A crash at their cell door jabbed all the cellmates out of their reverie.
“Oy! You! You! You! ‘N You!” A finger stabbed at four kids, including Tiny and Tristan. “Oin’t youse the lucky bastiches. C’mon now! Don’ have all doi! Youse all…” his rumbling voice turned into an ugly falsetto, “are gonna put on a noiss show fer us all.” His resonant laugh faded into the distance even as the echo drifted back to them.
With a sinking heart, Tristan realized who one of the other chosen was. Arite! That bastich! The one who always went after Tiny’s portions - and got it half the time. Most of her black eyes came from him.
Passing him, she protected Tiny by being between them. A whispered taunt drifted through the darkness. “Only four schools. Only four winners.” Her blood chilled as his cackle followed.
[Author's Notes] I'm liking Tiny more and more. He'll be around for a long time, but in my mind, he was always a supporting character. More like a 3rd stringer but this may have to change.
Well, this is all I could from here. I'm going to go home later and write for a few more hours and see if I can't get Chapter 1 done.
* * * * * * *
The acrid smell wafted up her nostrils to wake her up with a jolt. Scrunching her nose, Tristan looked around for the source. The search didn’t take long; someone, very likely Arite, had pee’ed a few feet from her.
Before her eyes adjusted to the slants of light streaming into the cell from the barred windows, Tiny had sidled up next to her with a small squeeze around the waist. “Hi!” he whispered.
Smiling, she gave him a little squeeze back and noted to herself that he was still dropping weight. Not good, he needs food. Hesitating a tad before she asked whether anything was going on, she sensed a strange stirring among the slaves and the slavers.
“Yeah!” he whispered back excitedly. “The schools are back. They’re getting the lists ready right now.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders drooped slightly as the news hit her. She glanced at Tiny hesitantly, then stared intently at the dance of the dust within the slants of light.
“I wonder if your name is on this year, Tristan.” Tiny was rocking back and forth with what could almost be described as glee.
Though she knew she was being led, her curiosity got the better of her. “Don’t you wonder if your name is… oh.” Her shoulders dropped further. Why was it that Tiny could perceive things better than she could at times? Of course, Tiny was on the list. One way or another, the slavers would be rid of what was definitely considered as a liability.
“Maybe I’m on this year. Last year, they said you were too small and I was too young. I think they’ll be happy to get rid of me too.” Her sigh was barely audible.
Letting her hand fall to the ground next to where they were sitting, she idly drew pictures in the dirt. Her other hand stroked the stone that was imbedded in the palm. “Tiny. If I am on the list, you gotta promise me.” She turned with sudden ferocity at him. “Promise me, Tiny! Stay behind me.”
He smiled gently at her, “What do you think I was counting on?” before breaking into a huge grin.
She punched him in the arm.
As the morning dragged on, she looked around the cell, wondering if she would miss living with slavers. After all, she knew little else and things could be worse outside those bars. Here, she had food, what little she could fight for and share with Tiny; and shelter, if one could call a moldy patch of old filthy hay that.
Her fingers stroked her palm where the triangular stone was imbedded. Why was it she’s never seen anyone else with stones imbedded in their bodies? How did she get this one? Every time she tried to remember, a fiery headache would ignite and fade away as her attempts evaporated. And how did she become a slave? Other slave kids all had sob stories, but she couldn’t remember hers.
She remembered little before her life here. Memories of soft arms, loving arms would occasionally wake her with a smile. Other memories would materialize, usually when she was rubbing the stone: memories of a song sung to her; of a tinkling laugh that tickled her ear; of a strange growly high-pitched voice that offered comfort yet seemed encumbered by melancholy; and of warmth - warmth that carried such… emotions! Crackly, fun, loving, needling, mutating, enveloping warmth.
She could never explain to Tiny that it was this warmth that carried her through the cold days and freezing nights, this warmth that repudiated her surroundings so she couldn’t suffocate. But Tiny never minded that he didn’t understand; all he seemed to care about was that Tristan was around for him to make laugh.
A crash at their cell door jabbed all the cellmates out of their reverie.
“Oy! You! You! You! ‘N You!” A finger stabbed at four kids, including Tiny and Tristan. “Oin’t youse the lucky bastiches. C’mon now! Don’ have all doi! Youse all…” his rumbling voice turned into an ugly falsetto, “are gonna put on a noiss show fer us all.” His resonant laugh faded into the distance even as the echo drifted back to them.
With a sinking heart, Tristan realized who one of the other chosen was. Arite! That bastich! The one who always went after Tiny’s portions - and got it half the time. Most of her black eyes came from him.
Passing him, she protected Tiny by being between them. A whispered taunt drifted through the darkness. “Only four schools. Only four winners.” Her blood chilled as his cackle followed.
[Author's Notes] I'm liking Tiny more and more. He'll be around for a long time, but in my mind, he was always a supporting character. More like a 3rd stringer but this may have to change.
Well, this is all I could from here. I'm going to go home later and write for a few more hours and see if I can't get Chapter 1 done.
posted by resigned idealist @ 11/01/2004 01:54:00 PM
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