Author's Note: Because I feel obligated to share a little bit of the book I keep mentioning. There are supposed to be indents, but the formatting on Blogger kept glitching up, so I decided to just not indent anything. Enjoy!
O N E
This is not my story to tell.
But neither is it a story I deserve.
Because my hands are tainted with the blood of those
that should not have died, because my heart only contains memories of those I
once loved. And even if I stand in the light, I am not good. I am not a hero.
Yet in this world, how
could I possibly be one? In a world created by lies and vengeance, secrets that
people keep “for the greater good”, how could anybody be one? This world is not
good. There are no heroes.
This is a world where
lives are traded like coins, where last words spoken are not ones of love,
where one person’s legacy threw cities into flame--where black is white and
good is bad and where thrones are lined with chains and prisons are filled with
keys. Only words tell of countries built by peace and virtue. But that is not
here. At least, not before.
Now you ask me, what world is like this?
And I say, what world isn’t?
◙
◙ ◙ ◙ ◙ ◙ ◙
A L V A R A
The evening air drifted
with the faint scent of holiday candles. It was a clear night with an effulgent
eye of the moon hanging like a theatre prop against a lonely ink sky. A fresh
breeze tickled the trees. Below the hills, a snow-showered village was painted
in light. It was the New Year, and even in this troubled time, families were
celebrating.
Alvara stumbled across
the cobblestone streets, lamps glimmering in her presence. Her breath made
tired clouds that melted away into the darkness. In one hand she held tight a
tattered cloak, closed against the billowing wind. In the other floated a small
sphere of bright light.
How far had she
traveled? Before the Incident, she had never ventured beyond the stream
bordering her forest home. It was strange to think that after just a year her
feet had taken her more than halfway up the continent--trudging through silent
ghost towns and skirting militia forts. Alvara still faintly remembered her
surprised reaction when she first saw snow, and now that was pretty much all
she saw.
But that didn’t matter.
She had to find it. She had to find him.
Her sore footsteps led
her to a building with a sunken roof--WELBURY INN: Breakfast, Bar and Hotel. It
was in better shape than the ramshackled places she had stayed in on her
journey north. Warm bread smell blew over her when the door opened, and she
walked in, extinguishing her glowing orb.
"What kinda lonely
soul pays ol’ Thorn a visit this time of year? Surely this is the worst time to
be off on a journey," a rough voice rumbled from behind a counter. Embers
of a fireplace crackled in a corner, the only other witness in the empty room.
"Just traveling
by," she said, keeping it brisk. "Are there any rooms open?"
The owner of the voice
turned around, revealing a portly man around the age of sixty. He had a large,
frazzled beard that could’ve made up for his bald head and then some. The
barman eyed her for a moment before saying, "How many nights?"
“One. I'm heading out
tomorrow. Do you take money--"
"Ten copper.”
Surprised, she fumbled
to draw out the coins. Most of Mageia had resorted to bartering now; money was
near worthless.
The barman stuffed the
coins into his pockets with a grunt. "Up the stairs, second floor, third
room from the end on the right. Breakfast's at six.” He wiped his palms with a
towel, conjured up some fire in his hands to relight the fireplace, and then
slid the key across the countertop.
Alvara thanked him and
ascended the stairs to find her room. It wasn't anything royal, occupied by a
pathetic bed, a small night desk, and a washbasin, but it was still
better than nothing. Most towns these days didn’t even have an inn; it was
strange that this one was still intact. Her bag slid off her shoulder, and she
collapsed on the mattress. All she hoped for now was a dreamless sleep.
◙
◙ ◙ ◙ ◙ ◙ ◙
T E E T E R
Frost clung to leaves
like bitter dew. The ground crunched with every step. Teeter shifted her bag up
her shoulder, a makeshift backpack sewn out of a potato sack, and exhaled a
white cloud into the air. She took a moment to watch it disappear before
continuing. This is how it’s like to be Seth, she thought with a flicker
of triumph. Poor Edan must be panicking, finding both his little brother and
sister gone now. But he shan’t fear. I am different from Seth! Seth
toiled in delinquency, but Teeter was out for justice.
The
guy had been morphing into a Seeker ever since their mom’s death orphaned them,
talking poop like “I’m gonna find the Orb of Tides!” and doing nothing to help
his siblings. He kept poofing, coming back, poofing, coming back, until finally
he seemed gone for good. For “the Orb of Tides,” Teeter bet. Even Edan, in all
his protectiveness, cursed Seth’s name and declared no one ever find him. But
Teeter would bring Seth back, oh yes. No matter how much Edan opposed.
She
just had to run off, the way Seth did. Her destination? Thorn, the village
where they had grown up. Then the Incident hit, and they moved into the woods,
but that was a story Teeter would rather not think about. What mattered was
that it was the closest town, and that she was almost there.
When
her boots finally touched the cobblestone path, she dropped her bag in
surprise.
There
was a time when Thorn hummed, as such small a town couldn't create much bustle,
but even then the painted rooftops glowed green like the forest it was named
after, and windows were kept open through the night because the air was just
that nice. Though, for all Teeter knew, the present Thorn had every other door
locked shut. The streets littered with radical fliers as termites wasted away
at the rotting wooden walls.
But,
no; the town had changed. A sweet tang mingled with the air, and she felt
something warmer than the snow beneath her feet. At a corner, a man was playing
the fiddle as a crowd clapped along, and just on the next street a gang of kids
was playing kickball with a stuffed bag. Sparklers replaced the lanterns, and
laughter replaced the cries.
Peaceful
times were rare, and celebration was a treat few could truly enjoy. But here
the townspeople were, making cheer for New Year’s Eve outside of their
weathered homes.
Teeter
felt her chest bloat. This was what she wanted: for her family to rejoice like
that again.
She
turned her back on the villagers and headed to the inn she knew so well. The
door was pushed open, and a sweet, cozy smell filled her nose with warmth. A
man with a frazzled beard greeted her with clouted tankards from behind a bar.
"Welcome," he started, then nearly dropped his mug. "By Regia,
if it isn’t Teeter! Whatcha doin’, showing up after all these years? Aren’t ya
nearly twelve now? Your family doin’ well?”
"Mr.
Welbury--” His bear arms suffocated her tiny self and she continued in a
squeak. "We’re okay. You?"
"Quite
busy, actually," he said, “A strange maiden was here just a bit ago.
Before her, there was a southern girl--y’know, the ones with blue hair."
"You've
got another one," Teeter said, shaking her arms free from the hug. “Just
me, for the night. I’m running an errand, don’t ask." She tossed over a
dozen clattering coins.
“Whatever
ya say.” He pocketed them, passing her a copper object. “Your key. Up the
second floor, third room from the end. Ya remember the schedule?"
“Thanks,
and yep.” Teeter turned to clamber up the stairs, tossing a “good night” behind
her.
She
reached the hallway, expecting the same familiarity she found with the first
floor. And most of it was--the patterned rug, the dark wooden walls--but something
off the corner of her vision wasn’t.
Teeter
whipped her head around. A shadow flitted across the wall, shrouding her eyes.
She didn’t even have time to scream; she scrambled down the hall, slammed her
key into a door and jiggled it. “Open, stupid door, open!” It wouldn’t.
Heart
pounding, the girl booted the door with a swift kick.
◙ ◙ ◙ ◙ ◙ ◙ ◙
A L V A R A
Thwunk,
thwunk, thwunk.
Alvara
shot out of the covers. Her door rattled; somebody was beating it, preceding
each blow with a muted growl.
Why
did I choose such a cheery village? She tiptoed to her bow and nocked an arrow,
gritting. The happy ones are the suspicious ones!
She
poised herself to kick. One foot struck the door, swinging the entire thing
from its hinges. The panel smacked the floor, and Alvara leaped atop the wood,
bow in hand, arrow pointed. Out squeaked a timid yelp.
Alvara
lowered her bow; it was just a little girl. She stared up with horrified lime
eyes, cheeks pale under a dapple of freckles. When she shook, a crop of brown pigtails
shivered with her. “I--uh--you--what are you doing here?”
Alvara's
mouth twitched. “What’s a kid like you doing?”
“I
saw a ghost--or something like it that was black and shadowy, and I dunno how
but it was right there! Right there, you see?”
“No,
and I thought I was about to be ambushed by someone in the middle of the
night.”
“Fine.
Sorry. But I really saw something!”
“What
in the name of Regia’s charmer is goin’ on?” The stairs creaked as the barman
stormed towards them. “It sounds like horns babbling up here!” Then his eyes
caught the door and he stopped himself. A dark smile shadowed his face.
“Teeter...have ya forgotten in time to respect my precious property and my
precious customers?” He swung an arm around Alvara’s shoulders.
“It
wasn’t me!” The girl, Teeter, pointed. “It’s that--that Copperlocks!”
“Copperlocks?”
The man turned to his “precious” customer. Alvara stared down at her copper
hair, feeling heat come to her cheeks at the sudden nickname. For a moment, the
barman was silent. Then he said, “Oh, dearest apologies, precious customer!
That door wasn’t the freshest of the batch--” he turned to the small girl to
hiss, “--don’t blame my precious customers!” and then, turning back to
Alvara with a smile, “Please don't take it personally; that girl can't control
herself.”
Teeter
groaned. “That's not the point, Mr. Welbury! There was something here.”
“What
do ya mean, a ghost?”
Alvara
crossed her arms. “She thinks she saw a ghost and tried breaking in my door on
accident.”
“Is
that so, Precious Copperlocks? Well, I assure ya this place isn’t haunted, and
neither did anyone ghastly book a room tonight.”
“Thank
you, that’s good to know. So, about the door...”
“Wait,”
Teeter said, “You don't believe me either, Mister?” Alvara glanced at Mr.
Welbury in expectation.
He
rubbed his forehead. “Look, how about this? I’ll give Precious Copperlocks a
change of rooms for now, and you two can settle the door issue tomorrow over
breakfast. Teeter,” he shook his head, “go to bed now. Me and you’ll have a
chat about this ghost thing later, okay?”
“But...”
Teeter clenched her teeth. “Okay, fine. Tomorrow! You will--you both
will--believe me.” With a muffled humph, the girl drove her key into her proper
door and shut it taut. Once silence settled the hallway again, Mr. Welbury
turned back to Alvara.
“I
apologize for her behavior. She’s the daughter of an ol’ friend of mine, and
I’m afraid she’s quite callow.” He paused. “Your name is not Copperlocks, is
it?”
She
watched his face as she answered, “No, it's Alvara.”
Mr.
Welbury appeared amused, though Alvara wasn’t sure why. He chuckled and said,
“Then here's your key, Precious Alvara,” he said, pointing to her room, “and
make sure to be there tomorrow morning.”
Alvara
turned to get her rucksack. “If it’s about the door, I can pay for it right
now.”
“Ah,
but it really isn't about the door, is it?” He gave her a long look. What? She
froze, and her teeth sank into her lip.
“I’m
sorry, but I need to go to bed.” She grabbed the rucksack and strided past him.
“You
think about what ya wanna say tomorrow. Six o’clock, be there!”
She
shut the door.
When
the quiet showed that the man had left, Alvara slid down to a crouch, pressing
both hands to her temples. He can’t know anything just because he sounds
like it. Just like how that girl--Teeter--couldn’t have seen a ghost just
because she thinks it. They’re mad. She pulled herself up. This cheery
village is full of mad people!
By
the time Alvara reached the bed, she had decided that she’d attend the
breakfast meeting. She’d clarify everything, fix the door, and leave them no
need to remember her. Such happenings were
the ones she had to watch out for; they were the little things that crumbled
the big goal in the long run. The reason for all her wandering, the reason for
all her secrecy...
Shaking the thought from
her head, Alvara snaked a hand into the pocket of her bag and drew out a small,
golden pendant. A colorful butterfly charm was twisted in its own tangles,
facets reflecting burnished sunset under the candlelight--her dead mother’s. Dead
because she was stupid enough to leave the forest right after the Incident.
It was exactly what it
was called: an occurrence, a happenstance, and what the destroyed government
once labeled “an accident”. Nobody believed that now.
But it wasn’t politics
people were interested in. It was what caused the Incident in the first
place--a set of five powerful weapons, created by a secret team of elemental
masters. Rumored to be able to level mountains and split seas, all they did was
backfire, kill their makers, then disappear.
Someone had stolen them.
At least, that was what everyone said. The public had factionalized about the
fate of the “Great Weapons” by that time, and their disappearance tore
the deteriorating government apart. Civil wars raged. Cities were destroyed.
Nobles fled their mansions and most turned up dead months later. Nobody ever
did find the Weapons to quell the chaos.
Those were the words her
father had spoken. It had felt like some distant dream back then, an absurd
dystopian novel fetched for a low price at a nearby market. Then her mother
died, and reality set in.
Alvara flipped over on
the bed, heart stiff. Everyone died one day; it just happened to be her
mother’s time. Such grief was a weakness.
She sighed. How long had
it been since the Incident? A year? Maybe more? She never bothered to
remember the date, and she didn’t care. What she did remember was the note, so
perfectly arranged with that beautiful bow she now carried. “Find the Orb,”
it had said. The Orb of Tides--the Great Weapon that ruled the oceans. She
hadn’t seen a trace of her father since then.
Don’t think about it.
You’ve already wasted too much time doing that. Alvara squeezed her eyes shut. Just sleep.
And it worked.
She dozed off in the
glow of the candlelight, copper hair splayed across her face.
Then the light blew out.
Do not use, reproduce, or edit without express permission from the authors.
We
bought a gigantic batch to take home. Walking down the busy streets, getting on
the bus—all I could think of was that beautiful plastic bag of goodies just
waiting for me. Come dinner, and I was digging in already, shoving
chopsticks-fuls into my mouth but taking the time to chew and savor the taste. 
