Jennie Johnson
Break the Dawn
Lately the sky has been nothing but gray. Thunderstorms always come my way. If only you were near to me, My only source of empathy. No one else understands Why on my face, a smile never lands. You are the way that I get through The night to walk upon the morning dew. So really, you can’t miss me half as much as I miss you. Break the Dawn By: Jennie Johnson Lately the sky has been nothing but gray. Thunderstorms always come my way. If only you were near to me, My only source of empathy. No one else understands Why on my face, a smile never lands. You are the way that I get through The night to walk upon the morning dew. So really, you can’t miss me half as much as I miss you.
Though the Thunder Rolls
Part 1 The thundering streaks of light in the sky were my worst enemy at that moment. I was well hidden among the trees, but the lightning could easily disclose my position to Untan, which was the last thing I wanted. I was not going to be found. Ice-cold rain was coming down in torrents, pelting my face with such force that it felt like whips. I knew, because someone had used a whip on me before. I shivered, the memory too close for comfort. I had to get away, now. If Untan didn’t find me, then pneumonia would. Tentatively, I crept forward and peeked around the bush I was hiding behind. Far off in the distance, a little gold speck of a lantern betrayed my uncle’s location. I darted forward, my fear making my stomach feel like it had been inverted rapidly for too long. Slinking along the forest floor, I could almost hear my uncle roar, “Damn it, Alia, get back here!” His voice in my head made me run faster. He was a beer-bellied, forty-year old. Since there was no way he could outrun me, I didn’t care if he spotted me anymore. I was not going back. The soft, musical lapping of water woke me. At first, I couldn’t remember anything; not who I was, where I was, or what had happened before I fell asleep. Then, I felt it: the dull aching of my muscles. Groaning, I raised my head to take in my surroundings. I was lying on my stomach on a cliff overlooking a vast, blue sea. I gapped at the beauty of the scenery around me: the endless, indigo water, the clear baby-blue sky, the dark russet bluffs, and the forest green hills beyond, blanketed in the trees of a familiar forest. I groaned again as I laid my head back down. Last night, along with everything else I wanted to forget, had returned to my memory all too vividly at the sight of Shikim Forest. I was a long way from home, but not far enough. Untan would be able to find me within the month, or even sooner if he used the hounds. My grumbling stomach reminded me that while I was running away, I had forgotten to feed myself. Reluctantly, I stood up and immediately regretted it. My head spun, and my knees buckled underneath me. Squatting down with my eyes closed, I took a few deep breaths, steadying myself by resting my hands on the rough cliff surface. After slowly opening my eyes, I gradually eased myself into a standing position. I could only walk slowly at first, as my legs were still stiff, but after a while, my stride returned to its normal, swift pace. I had learned to walk quickly around my uncle; his long legs gave him an advantage, but he didn’t know what mercy was. At five feet and three inches tall, I had to practically run to keep up with him, but that was better than the alternative: a beating for slowing him down. Before my mother had died, she had taught me well of the plants native to Shikim Forest. As such, it did not take me very long to find a simple, yet filling breakfast. I didn’t dare stay in the forest, though. As soon as I had picked the fruit, I sprinted back to the sea shore, my vision of safety. Upon reaching the beach, I plopped down cross-legged on the sand. The warm sun beat down on my head, bringing a thin band of sweat to my forehead. Closing my eyes, I envisioned a golden field long ago, where the sun shone brightly down on me and my mother. The haunting memory brought unwelcome tears to my eyes. Angrily, I snapped open my eyes, dashed the moisture away with the back of my hand, and took a large bite of one of the fruits I had picked. Munching contentedly, I leaned back on one arm and gazed at the sea. Onto the golden shore the waves crashed, almost as if they were bowing to me. The intense blue of the water seemed to beckon to me. I examined my dirty arms and my mud-caked rags Untan referred to as my clothes. Grabbing a lock of my hair, I held it up for inspection. It was gnarled, and the dirt took all former gleam out of it. It’s decided; I am going to take a bath right now, I thought cheerily as I bounced up, spraying loose sand behind me as I ran to the ocean. In the back of my head, I knew I should be trying to get farther away from home and that I should be coming up with a plan or an alias. But the water was so tempting. I could feel the cool liquid wash over my body before my feet had even reached the first wave. The arctic water made me shiver, but it was a delicious shiver. After frolicking in the waves for a while, I began to wash myself. I scrubbed as hard as I could; I even tore a piece of my “dress” off to use as a wash rag. I combed my hair as best I could with my fingers, relishing the feel of clean water swishing freely over my scalp. Becoming more accustomed to the water, I became more daring, venturing further out to sea, until I could barely touch the bottom with my toes. The fear that clenched my stomach as I awkwardly paddled farther away from shore exhilarated me more than anything else. There was something beautiful and mysterious about the weightlessness I felt as I floated through the water. Nothing was holding me up but air, or so it felt. And yet, my lack of control over my own body was terrifying. It was only after it was too late that I realized what I had done. I couldn’t swim. I had gone so far out that I could not touch the bottom no matter how far I stretched my legs. And best of all, the current was taking me right towards the base of the bluffs, where sharp, jagged rocks poked out of the water, eager to sink a passing ship. Or kill one, unwise girl who couldn’t swim. The last thing I remember before blacking out was the disgusting twist in my stomach, the sickening side-effect of raw terror. Only one thought echoed through my mind: Is dying really so terrible, even if I’m only eighteen? The fire crackled brightly, casting eerie shadows on the jagged cave walls. A groan echoed throughout the cavern. Wow, great acoustics, I thought, thinking about how odd it was that the groan seemed so close, almost like it was coming from me. Then, it hit me. The groan was coming from me. Slowly, the groaning subsided as my brain became more aware of my body. Suddenly, I had fingers and toes. Within a few moments of remembering all its attachments, my body remembered how to move said attachments. “Are you alright?” The soft, melodic voice startled me. My body froze, save for my eyes which roamed the cavern, trying to find the source of the voice. “Oh, don’t be afraid! I won’t hurt you,” the unfamiliar voice reassured me hastily. “Where… I mean, who are you?” I asked, unsuccessfully trying to keep my voice from trembling. I didn’t know where I was, and a stranger that I couldn’t see was talking to me. By this time, my body was starting to panic. I waited for an answer but none came. “Who are you? And where am I? What happened?” I threw out the questions rapidly, hoping the voice would be willing to answer at least one of them. “You hit your head on a rock. I saw the whole thing so I brought you here to bandage you up. You were all alone, so I didn’t know if you had a home.” “Where is ‘here’?” I asked, ignoring the implied question about my home. “Here is my home. It’s really not that bad once you get used to it. I suppose to a hu - I mean, you, it’s rather odd to live in a cave, but after a while you will really come to enjoy it.” The voice sounded hopeful, which confused me all the more. There was an awkward silence. “I’m… Miram,” the voice finally told me. She said the name as if it was hard to remember how it was pronounced. I tried to sit up so I could see her and maybe introduce myself, but the second I propped myself up on my elbows, my head spun with an aching force. Moaning, I collapsed back on the ground. Miram gasped from somewhere in the cave. In a matter of seconds, I felt cool hands smooth my hair back. “It’s alright. You’ll be alright,” Miram chanted in a sing-song voice. “Just sleep now. Just sleep.” I was able to gradually force the food into my mouth. I nearly vomited as my taste buds registered the revolting taste. Why Miram thought making me sick with disgusting foods was helpful, I’ll never know. Holding back the tears in my eyes, an unwelcome result of the awful food, I looked up at Miram with a shaky grin. “It’s good?” she asked eagerly. I nodded, guilt gnawing at the edges of my heart. I knew it was wrong to lie, so why was I doing it? Because Miram scared me. The all-too-true answer made me shudder. Don’t get me wrong, Miram was very kind. After all, she had saved my life. But, she was odd. It seemed like she never left me alone, which I didn’t mind too much. I hated being alone. However, it was kind of odd that whenever I woke, she was there, hovering over me and shoving strange food down my throat. She had bathed me in my sleep (she must have sensed that I would never have allowed that had I been conscious) and gave me a clean dress. But what bothered me the most was that she was always staring questions at me, but never really asking them. She may have had hundreds of questions about me, but I didn’t have any questions for her. I knew, the second I heard her name, who, or more precisely what, she was. Miram, legendry Mistress of the Sea, was keeping me captive in her cave. Why, I didn’t know. Nevertheless, I did know that she was anything but human. As Miram drifted gracefully to the mouth of the cave to get more water, I examined her carefully. She was tall, six feet at least, but still her head was far from the cave ceiling. Her death-white skin was smooth and clammy looking, as if a layer of moisture always coated her skin. Her curly white hair reached her waist in wide ringlets, almost like ribbons of smoke. Besides her thin, gray dress, nothing on her contained color save her watery blue eyes. For all her dullness, Miram was still probably the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. I thought of my own looks, my pale grey eyes, dark chocolate-colored hair, and sickly thin waist. I closed my eyes, as if to shut them against the ugliness of what I had been taught was me. “Alia, are you feeling ill again?” Miram asked me, her voice colored with worry. Shaking my head, I opened my eyes and feigned a smile. Miram regarded me suspiciously from under her long eyelashes. “Do you need some more soup?” “No, that’s alright,” I tried not to decline too hastily, lest she become even more suspicious. “I think I’ll just go for a walk,” I decided aloud as I started to rise to my feet. “No!” Miram cried, and faster than lightning strikes, she was at my side, practically pushing me down. “Miram!” I raised my voice slightly in agitation and pushed back, trying to stay on my feet. In the struggle, Miram accidentally took a step back closer to the fire. With a yelp, she dropped her hands from off my shoulders and bolted across the cave. Pressing her back against the wall farthest from the fire, she stared in horror at me. “You… must… not leave… the cave,” she managed to say through gasps. I stared at her, unable to move or comprehend her actions and her words. Finally, I managed to gather my wits enough to ask a question. “Why?” Miram, now almost fully recovered, tapped her foot impatiently. “Because. Do you want your uncle to find you?” I winced. “How do you know about that?” I mumbled the question, unable to look her full in the face. When she didn’t answer, I gathered up enough courage to steal a glance at her. Embarrassment almost put some color on her face, but not quite. “You…” she began uncomfortably. “You talk in your sleep. In the past three nights, I’ve been able to piece your life together… sort of. Your father died in a war before you were old enough to remember him. You lived with your mother in the country until you turned ten. She died of scarlet fever.” Here, Miram paused to look at me sympathetically. I squirmed under her gaze, anger rising in me. I hated pity, especially when it was directed at me. “You loved her very much. She taught you everything you know and hold dear.” I nodded slightly, but still didn’t look at Miram. Stupid sleep-talk, I muttered to myself. Sighing, I plopped down cross-legged next to the fire. “So what else did I tell you?” I asked casually while staring into the fire. A scuffling noise told me what my eyes couldn’t: that Miram had sat down, too, far away from me and the fire as usual. “You said that after your mother died, you neighbor sent you to your uncle because he was your only living relative. She told you he was a nice man, but he wasn’t. He abused you and used you to smuggle his drugs. He even used you to promote his goods by making you used goods.” As Miram talked, her voice became harder, less pleasant, and angrier. A slight smile traced my lips. Miram didn’t know my uncle, but she already hated him, just like I did. I stared into the dancing fire flames. I knew that if my mother heard me say I hated someone, even someone as vile as my uncle, she would be displeased with me. But how was I supposed to forgive a person who had taken so much from me? I was eighteen now, so I had been with my uncle for eight years. Eight years too many. It was time to leave, and I would never go back. “Yeah, that’s about it,” I said blandly when Miram ended her report. “No, that’s not it. Your whole life was not completely bleak. You did have one bright spot, one that I cannot understand you leaving behind.” Confused, I craned my neck to stare at her. “What bright spot?” “Oh.” Of course, I would have mentioned Shilrev. He was the one bright spot in my awful life. He was the one friend I had, the one who reminded me to always have faith; faith in the Tri-Head: the Ghost, the Creator, and the Teacher. Faith in a better future. Faith that one day, I would be free. Of course I would mention my life support of the last eight years. “Do you want to leave your friend?” Confusion wrinkled Miram’s perfect brow. I shook my head. “Then, why are you?” “I don’t exactly have a choice. I’m not spending another minute with my uncle, but Shilrev is too chicken to ditch his pig of a father, so I’m going alone,” I snapped, feeling the anger rising in me. Not because I was mad at Miram, but because I felt guilty for leaving my best friend behind. Indeed, he was my only friend. “Oh.” Miram was silent for a moment, her eyes staring at the ground but not seeing it. Suddenly, I became uncomfortably aware of the loneliness on her face. I hadn’t noticed it before, but all of a sudden, everything she did made sense. No wonder she didn’t want me to leave the cave; she was all alone, had been for who knows how long. I had become her pet, her friend, whether I wanted to or not. The thought made my stomach squirm. Despite all that, I couldn’t leave her. I wanted to get up and run far away from her. Her obsessive need for company seemed to thicken the air, suffocating me, but all I could do was sit and stare at her. I felt pity, the one emotion I despised more than anything else. As I watched pain writhing on the surface of Miram’s perfect face, I felt like I had broken every rule I had ever built for myself. I, the Alia who had no last name, who never talked, who was always too “sick” to go anywhere or talk to anyone, who had been abused by the only adult male she had ever known, was feeling sorry for another creature. Even in all my trials, I had had either my mother or Shilrev. Miram had no one. She was an outcast, an unnatural being. She was awesome and terrifying. And I, a mere mortal, was feeling pity for her. Miram must have sensed my scrutiny, for she looked up with a slightly hostile expression. Embarrassed that I had been caught staring, I looked away with a mumbled apology. We were silent for a moment, both unsure what to say or do. It’s not like there was anything to do. The cave was totally bare, and although I’m sure Miram would have loved to go for a swim, quite obviously water and I don’t mix. “My uncle will find me whether I stay here or not. I’m not that far from home, you know,” I finally broke the silence, but still could not bear to look at my savior’s desperate face. She wanted a friend, or even better, a pet, but I was not going to stay so close to my former “home”. I was also not about to be a prisoner for the rest of my life. Green forests had been my sanctuary for as long as I could remember, and the thought of staying in a colorless cave that opened up to endless grey sea was nauseating. “No, he won’t,” Miram promised fervently, excitement dancing in her pale eyes. “No one has ever found my cave. That’s why I’m a m-” She stopped short, terror dawning on her face. Quickly looking away, Miram returned to stony silence. “Why you’re a myth,” I finished the sentence for her. When Miram didn’t respond, I continued. “I know all the myths about you, Miram, Mistress of the Sea. The Creator made you long ago. He gave you control over all the seas, but you were not satisfied. Like the angels, you would never be in His presence, or the Teacher’s, or the Ghost’s. The mortals He made would. And on top of that, the mortals were granted dominion over everything. In a rage, you turned the seas against the first mortals. But the Creator cut off your power and saved the humans. As punishment, you were denied another of your kind. Ashamed, you hid yourself from everything. You denounced your power over the sea and let nature take her course.” When I was finished, Miram slowly lifted her tear-stained face. She looked torn, defeated, and terribly sorry. “You have everything I have ever wanted,” she began pitifully. “You have many of your kind. You have a friend. And best of all, you have direct access to the Tri-Head. Do you have any idea what that feels like? To know that you shall be denied the greatest honor of all: to stand in the presence of the Teacher and hear Him say, ‘Welcome home.’” Miram, powerful Mistress of the Sea, broke down crying. I couldn’t believe it. This Governor of all the oceans was dying to be a weak, fragile human. Not knowing what else to do, I hesitantly crept up to her side and wrapped my arms around her quivering shoulders. With surprising ease, she turned her body to cry on my shoulder. I don’t know how long we sat like that. It was very awkward: two estranged beings, one sobbing pitifully, the other too soft to get away when she had the chance. On top of it all, I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen someone cry. I couldn’t even remember the last time I had touched, or been touched, in a kind way. Miram finally pulled away. Laughing slightly at I don’t know what, she wiped under her eyes with her fingertips. I faked a smile back, hoping that as she looked into my eyes she couldn’t see my true feelings. Yes, we had taken a step closer to friendship, but that had to stop. It would only make my leaving that much harder. It was a fragile bridge we had just crossed, and we would never cross it again. I had to make sure of that, for Miram’s sake and my own. I stayed in Miram’s cave for a week, and every day I resisted the urge to befriend the poor creature. Despite myself, I grew more strongly attached to her quirky ways. After that time when we openly exposed each other’s life stories, Miram was friendly and bold, unafraid to say anything that she felt necessary to say. She was very hospitable and willing to share anything she could with me, but she was self-centered in the fact that she refused to let me leave. She wanted me to stay. I couldn’t. It was funny: the entire time I was with Miram, I was constantly trying to figure her out, but I learned more about myself than her. She kept pointing things out to me, like how I was always daydreaming. She complimented me whenever she got the chance, but they were always sincere compliments. Like once, when I had refilled the water bucket and piled some drift wood near the fire to dry for kindling, she told me how nice it was to have such a reliable person around. When I really thought about it, that was one thing my mother had always praised me for, too. Miram also pointed out that I could be hot-tempered, and when I was angry, I was mean, spitting out nasty things that I had never meant to say. Once she had pointed that out, I got over my anger at her for being so blunt and decided I had better work on my temper. One cannot fix a problem one does not know one has. Miram had pointed the problem out, and now it was time for me to fix it. I gave up after twenty minutes. Realizing how pointless it was for me to try and fix such an old and destructive habit, I gave it to the Ghost, knowing He would guide me until the Teacher brought it to the Creator, who would then give me the strength to overcome it. At least, that’s how I thought the process worked. If I had a Xenagogy, I would look it up, but I had accidentally left my only copy of the holy book at my uncle’s. One morning, Miram left the cave to catch some fish. She had finally picked up on my dislike for her soups, so she was going to try making some “disgusting human food”. I was ripping my old dress into strips for a bandage as I had accidentally cut my foot open on a rock when I realized that I was alone for the first time in a week. At first, the thought terrified me. Then, it hit me: now was my chance to escape. Miram wouldn’t be back for another half hour at the earliest. I finished wrapping my foot as quickly as possible and bolted to the cave mouth. Leaning out slightly, I looked up to examine the cliff face. It shot straight up, but there were enough crevices for me to grab on to. Climbing it would be no problem. I had just placed my foot in a foot-hole and had grabbed onto a bump when I stopped, a sickening feeling tying my stomach in a knot. I could picture Miram coming into the cave, triumphantly carrying a string of fish, excited to share it with her only friend. But she would only find a dying fire and an empty cave. Gasping for breath, I leaned against the cave wall and slid down into a crouching position. How would I have felt if Shilrev had abandoned me? Or worse, my mother? “Oh, God, I can’t do this,” I prayed, the pain of my heart being torn in half bringing tears to my eyes. I knew what it was like to be betrayed by someone you loved. I had loved my uncle. I was sure he was going to be my savior after my mother died, but he wasn’t. He betrayed my trust and led me to ruin. If anyone knew what I was, if they found out that I was damaged goods, it would be all over for me. They had stoned girls like me before. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t my fault. They would throw stones again. After sitting silently in my agony for a few moments, I opened my eyes to stare out to sea, a dull numbness replacing all thoughts in my head. You could leave, but just for a while. You could come back, be gone only long enough to smell air apart from the sea, to see colors again, a voice in my head tempted me. It was true; I could leave as long as I was back before Miram was. Dashing the tears away from my cheeks with the back of my hand, I darted to the cave mouth again and began my climb. It didn’t take long to get to the top of the bluff, and the second I was standing on my feet, I sprinted towards the forest. The farther away from the sea I went, the less I could smell it and the fresher the air became. I thought of slowing down to better appreciate the clean air, but my legs wouldn’t let me. After being trapped in a cave for a week, they were eager to stretch themselves. A whoop of joy began to build in my throat, but I suppressed it, knowing that my uncle was still probably looking for me. Panting, I slowed down to a walk, meandering leisurely down a faint path. Shortly after I had stepped onto the path, it led me into a small clearing where there was nothing to hold back the brilliance of the sun. Grass as tall as my waist was dotted with wild flowers. Once again resisting the bubbling laughter building in my throat, I skipped into the clearing and began to twirl, relishing the warmth of the sunlight on my face and the soft dirt beneath my toes. I could picture the scene in my head: my waist-length hair rippling behind me, my slight figure casting a faint shadow on the lush grass around me, the thin black dress Miram gave me spinning out, the sun slowly starting its descent but still casting a golden light on the earth below. And suddenly, I was no longer eighteen, and I wasn’t in a random meadow. I wasn’t in a meadow at all. I was in a golden field of hay, dancing with my mother in the dying sunset. Her eager laughter filled my ears, loud at first. But as it faded along with my flashback, it shifted from joyful to mocking, as if it laughed at the hole that had been ripped out of me the day my mother died, leaving me dancing alone in the hay field, as if my mother had died with the sunset. Closing my eyes, I could see her frolicking into the setting sun, slowly being swallowed by the light. I could hear her laughter fading, and I could see the hay field slowly die and give way to thorns and caked-dry dirt. I could feel a cold wind lash through me, and I could see the moonless sky turn gray. Worst of all, I couldn’t breathe because of how humid the air was. Opening my eyes, I knew the vision had never happened, but sometimes, things that aren’t true are so true it hurts. It doesn’t matter if that is what actually happened, because the essence of it did happen. The only difference is that my vision was much more “romantic” than what actually happened. However, that did not me feel any better; it only made me feel sappy. Sighing, I left the meadow. At first, I forced myself to walk, convincing myself that I was being childish for being afraid. But after only a few paces back into the forest, I broke into a dead sprint, wishing to leave my memories behind me in the meadow with the dancing shadows. I gingerly stepped down to the floor of the cave from the cliff face. Turning, I stopped short and stared into Miram’s passive face. “Well?” Miram asked, her voice low and her face blank. No matter how well Miram hid her emotions on her face, her body was screaming anger: her arms were crossed, most of her weight was on one leg, and her head was tilted. I could almost feel the furious vibes coming off of her. In response, I started to get angry, too. After all, I wasn’t a pet. I had a right to leave when I wanted to, without permission. “Well what?” I asked, trying very hard to keep the edge out of my voice, but failing. “Well, what have you to say for yourself? Do you realize what you just did?” Now Miram held nothing back, and her angry words poured forth like a river breaking free of a dam. “By leaving here, you have put yourself and me in danger. Can your simple mortal mind comprehend that? If someone saw you, they could follow you here. Then, they would bring you back to your uncle and who knows what they might try to do to me! Don’t you ever think before you act?” “No one saw me, alright? Besides, you’re not my babysitter! I have the right to leave when I wish,” I retorted with much more force than necessary. I knew I was practically yelling, but I didn’t care. If Miram wanted to accuse and yell, then I could do it right back. “Fine, then go. Why do I bother trying to help you if you aren’t going to accept it?” Miram asked, her voice back to normal decibels. I stared heatedly at Miram, but couldn’t move. I didn’t want to leave. All I had wanted was a breath of fresh air, but my pride would not let me apologize. It told me I had nothing to apologize for; it was Miram who was in the wrong. Shrugging, I turned my back on Miram and left the cave. Even as I heard Miram start to cry when she thought I was out of earshot, I did not go back, no matter how badly I wanted to. I couldn’t go back. It was better like this, wasn’t it? Hadn’t I always said I couldn’t stay? It would have been nice to leave on better terms, but Miram probably wouldn’t have allowed that. This was the way it had to be. No, it’s not. Go back and apologize, a voice, what I suspected was my conscience, urged me. I can’t go back. Miram accused me of being irresponsible, when what I did was harmless, I argued back. The voice chimed again, Unlike flesh wounds, word wounds don’t heal themselves. And then the voice was silent. “Arg!” I groaned and slammed my forehead against my knees. Unable to decide whether or not to leave, I had sat down on a rock ledge. While I was arguing with myself, I had pulled my legs up to my chest. I had hurt Miram when all she had ever done was help me. I wanted to die. But then, I was used to that feeling. I had wanted to die when my mother died. It had been like the sun had burnt out. I had wanted to die when I found out that my uncle was abusive. It had been like adding salt to an open wound. I had wanted to die when he first let one of his customers take advantage of me. After that happened, I felt like every time someone looked at me, they could see that I was not pure. After that happened, I felt dirty, no matter how much I washed myself, and the sight of myself in a mirror sickened me. After that happened, I flinched whenever people came too close to me. After that happened, I wanted to fall asleep in a dark closet where no one would ever find me, and I never wanted to wake up. Worst of all, I never told anyone, fearful that they would shun me, even though it wasn’t my fault. I hadn’t even told Shilrev, because if he had abandoned me, I would not have been able to bear it, and I would have died of a broken heart. One can only break so much. The only thing that had gotten me this far was my faith. My mother had raised me to believe in the Tri-Head and to follow the Xenagogy. “The only way you can follow the Xenagogy is to know what it says, and the only way you can know what it says for certain is to read it for yourself,” my mother told me often. Since she firmly believed that, she made me read chapters from it each night, and then we would discuss what it meant. After she died, I turned my back on the Tri-Head for several years. My upbringing, however, refused to leave me. The peace I had felt as a child did not come back until I recommitted my life to my gods. I probably would have died if not for my faith. I was thirteen when I came back to them, and then, they blessed me with Shilrev as a friend. It was almost irony, though. Shilrev’s father was the first to take advantage of me, which was another reason I could never tell Shilrev about my shame. Shilrev had a father. Dezar was a pig, but still a father, which was something I never had. I didn’t want to take that from my friend. Maybe my logic was messed up, but that was the reason I said, or didn’t say, what I did. As I fought to regain control of my temper and pride, it began to storm out. Long lightning streaks flashed across the sky, blinding me with their white lights. Deep thunder boomed and shook the ground beneath me. Sheets of rain slashed down from thick, dark clouds, bringing with them a clean scent and stinging pain to my face. The sea tossed and rolled, as if in agony. At any moment I expected to see a sunken ship with skeletons falling out of it be up-heaved. Don’t ask me why, it just seemed like it should have happened. Instead, something else happened, but it was just as bad, if not, worse. I heard the hounds.
Part 2 He ran for a long time at top speed. The only reason he didn’t pause for a breather was that this was far too important. He had to report what he had seen as soon as possible. As he ran, he went over in his head what he was going to tell his father. “I saw her in the meadow. I’ll show you how to get there, and the hounds can take it from there. Yeah, she looked fine, maybe even more healthy than usual. Maybe living in the forest is good for her. Perhaps you can talk Untan into letting her stay there?” Shilrev knew Alia deserved to get in trouble for running away. Even he was a little irked when he found out about it. Sure, Untan wasn’t the friendliest guy around, but it’s not like he didn’t take her in when she was orphaned. He fed her and took really good care of her. She always blamed her sickness on him, but by running away she had taken it a step too far. He just hoped that Untan would show a little mercy. Alia had looked healthier in the meadow than any other time he had seen her. It didn’t make sense really, but then, he wasn’t a doctor or anything. He knew nothing of healing or herbs. Mayhap Alia did. Shilrev reached his home in record time, but he was so out of breath that he couldn’t speak for a while. Aggravated, Dezar, his father, stared down at him, waiting for an explanation of Shilrev’s excitement. “Well, what is it? Speak up, boy!” Dezar snapped, his glare condescending. Shilrev knew better than to wait for his own timing when his father spoke like that. Taking a deep breath, he began to spew out the story of how he was going for a walk and he had come across the meadow just before Alia showed up. Dezar’s facial expression went from furious to surprised to suspicious. “You lying to me, boy?” he asked angrily when Shilrev finished his briefing. “No, sir! I swear I saw her there!” Shilrev answered quickly, fright making his thoughts incoherent for a moment. Slowly, his father lowered his hand which he had been about to use to slap Shilrev. Dezar looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded grimly. “Good work, son. I best go tell Untan.” With that, Dezar turned and, absentmindedly stepping over piles of firewood, walked around the cottage. Shilrev watched him leave, wondering why his father looked so agitated. Wasn’t he glad that his best friend’s niece was okay? Sighing, Shilrev leaned against the wall and slid down into a crouching position. When he had seen Alia, all he had wanted to do was run out to her, but he was afraid that would just scare her off. Untan said that lately she hadn’t been herself. He thought maybe she suffered from a mental illness, but for some reason, Shilrev couldn’t see that. Yes, Alia vehemently accused her uncle of making her sick, though she refused to explain how, but she wasn’t crazy. When they didn’t talk of ugly things, like her mother or Untan, she was perfectly normal. When Alia did get moody, Shilrev didn’t blame her. He understood that her life was hard; his was far from a rose garden as well. But his father only abused him when he was in a drunken rage, never when he was sober. A howling from near Untan’s place ripped through the valley. Shilrev was sure they could hear it in the village across the mountain. A shiver shot up his spine, but he didn’t know why. Something felt very wrong. He didn’t know what, but now he was unsure if telling his father where to find Alia was a good idea. “Shilrev, lad!” Untan called cheerily, walking swiftly up to Shilrev, who had stood up as a sign of respect. To Shilrev’s surprise, Untan hugged him and slapped him on the back. When Untan pulled away, his face was beaming. “Good job, lad. I’ll be glad to have her home,” he said sincerely. Again, Shilrev marveled at how drastically different Untan’s mannerisms were depending on his mood and who he was with. With Alia, he was always harsh or indifferent, but with Shilrev, he was always kind and thankful. Except when he was drunk, then he was the kind of guy that you would take the long way home to avoid. I guess I could see him being abusive… Shilrev quickly dislodged that thought from his head. Alia never said he abused her, she said he made her sick. But was there really a difference? He didn’t know, but he didn’t want to believe it. If it was true, he was making a huge mistake in leading them to Alia. “Okay, lad, show us where you saw her,” Untan ordered as he took a leash from Dezar. On the end of the leash a vicious hound was snarling, but smart enough to not bark or try to run. Not knowing what else to do, Shilrev nodded and started towards the forest. “Oh, Lord, please show me what do to. I really don’t know if I can trust my own father, let alone Untan. Please, help me do what is best for Alia,” he prayed silently in his head as he maneuvered his way through the dense underbrush. Shilrev stood back away from the mob of men, all regulars at the village tavern. They had been summoned by Untan and Dezar to help in the hunt for Alia. The memory of what they had said when they were first coming together made Shilrev so furious that he had to slip away from the group before he pummeled someone. They had said that Alia was a whore and they would “find that dumb bitch and teach her a lesson or two”. That was the tamest thing they said about her. He wouldn’t even allow himself to think of the other things they had said. He would have been appalled if they had said those things about anyone, but when they said it about Alia, his best friend, he could almost feel his blood boil. The men started to head out at Untan’s command. Shilrev had showed them the spot, and they would start from there. Reluctantly, Shilrev tagged along. He didn’t want to be there when they found Alia, because he probably wouldn’t be able to stop them from doing anything to her, but if he wasn’t there, then there was no chance for him to help her at all. He at least had to try. As they walked behind the hounds, Shilrev called himself every bad name he could think of. In just a short time span, everything was cleared up for him. Alia was never even close to out of her mind, and she was never a sickly child. Untan abused her, although to what degree Shilrev had no clue. Alia had every right to run away, and now, because of him, she would be drug back and beaten more. Sometimes, he was so stupid it disgusted him. But why didn’t she tell me? He asked himself the most irritating question of all for the hundredth time. The hounds led the men to the shore. It took them awhile to claw through the thick forest, but they made it. Then, one hound got a fresh scent, howled, and ran off. The other hounds followed, but the first hound that had discovered the scent stayed in the lead. That was how the hounds worked: as a team, but not everything was shared. First come, first serve. The first hound stopped short at the edge of a cliff and whined back at his owner. Untan ran up to the cliff and raised his torch above his head so he could see through the pouring rain. He turned around with a hard look on his face and addressed Dezar. “We’ll have to spread out. I won’t risk the hounds climbing down these cliffs; they’re too steep. Fan out!” He directed the last command to the men. They nodded grimly and set out. Shilrev was about to go, too, but Untan stopped him and directed him to stay with Untan and Dezar. They would go as a three-some, since they were the ones who “cared” about Alia the most. Shilrev was suspicious of Untan, but he couldn’t say no. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t figure out what Untan was up to. “We’ll go down here,” Untan directed and sat down so he could ease himself onto the cliff-face. “Untan, there’s nothing down there except rocks. There’s nowhere to search!” Dezar disagreed reasonably. Untan sneered at him. “I saw her disappear into a cave, idiot. Don’t treat me like a simpleton!” He snapped and continued to awkwardly ease down the rocks. Dezar, his mouth set in a hard, angry line, silently followed. Shilrev was last and carried the torch. Since Untan was fat and sort of old, it took a long time to get down. They had just stepped into the cave when they heard Alia’s voice. “Miram, I am so sorry, but I don’t know what to do!” “You can come home!” Untan snarled. Alia twirled, anger curling her lips into a sneer. “Over my dead body!” she hissed. Untan took a step forward, anger twisting his already-ugly face. “Step back.” The command was low and deadly. Surprise made Untan’s small, beady eyes stretch wide open. Then, they narrowed on the figure standing behind Alia. She was a beautiful creature, pale and tall, very delicate looking. But there was a power in her voice that frightened even Dezar, who was not half the coward Untan was. Quickly gathering his wits, Untan spat in her direction. “And who are you?” “That is not important. What is important is that you are trespassing. Get out,” the woman replied in a hostile voice. “Not until I have my niece back!” Untan argued, turning purple in his rage. “Untan, I think you should listen to her,” Dezar said warily. “Why the hell would I do that?” Untan shouted, enraged. “Because that is no ordinary woman. That’s Miram, Mistress of the Sea.” Stunned, Untan gapped at Dezar and then slowly turned to Miram. She glared defiantly at him. “Leave,” she ordered pointedly. Untan began to turn, but instead snatched the torch out of Shilrev’s hand while Dezar sprang forward and grabbed Alia. Miram was about to fight back, but Untan waved the torch in front of her. Shrieking, she leapt back. Shilrev wanted to do something, but he couldn’t move. For some reason, nothing that was happening made sense. He watched it, but was not part of it. It had no meaning for him. He watched as his father pulled the screaming Alia away from Miram. He saw Untan start a huge fire and use it to block the cave. It would eventually die out from lack of fuel, so why did he bother? Then, Shilrev saw why. There, right before his eyes, Miram’s figure began to waver and become less solid. “Saints alive, she’s evaporating.” The statement hung dead in the air. Shilrev turned his head to stare at his father, who was wrestling with the screaming Alia. “No! Let go of me! Miram! No!” Alia cried, tears pouring down her wretched face. “Stop squirming, damn it! The less you struggle, the quicker this will be,” Dezar snarled. Horror registered on Alia’s face as she realized what he intended to do to, or shall we say with, her. Shilrev stared, the horror too real for him to comprehend. Had his father done this before? “She’s a whore!” The men shouting these words came back to his memory. Alia was used goods. The realization hit him like a slap across the face. When Untan brought her into town and she didn’t leave until the next morning, that was what was happening to her. Untan sold her. Shilrev felt even sicker when he realized that he had known all along, but had refused to admit it. Now, his father would use her again. Shilrev was about to run to Alia, but something stopped him. Prioritize! Save Miram first or she’ll die. That’ll give me time to think of how to stop Dezar, Shilrev told himself. Without thinking, he ripped a strip of his shirt off, drenched it in water from the sea, and held it over his mouth. Then, he darted across the cave. The cave was scorching hot, and he was sure the flames would swallow him up, but he managed to get past the fire barrier to the smoke-filled portion of the cave. Miram was not there. Instead, where she had been standing was a tear-shaped piece of blue sea-glass. The stories he had heard of Miram came back him. He remembered what one story said about her inability to stand heat. That story also gave the solution to Shilrev’s current problem. Stooping, Shilrev wrapped it in the wet cloth and sprinted back to the sea. There, he threw the bundle into the sea. Untan’s enraged scream made him cringe. He turned around to see Untan barreling towards him. He stayed, completely calm, where he was until the last second. Then, he stepped lightly to the side, and Untan, the clumsy fool, ran right into the sea. With Untan out of the way, Shilrev turned his attention to the last fight: between Dezar and Alia. Shilrev refused to even think of Dezar as his father anymore. What Shilrev saw when he looked at that far end of the cave made him so furious that he no longer had any coherent thoughts; he just acted. Before he knew it, he was across the cave, ripping Dezar off the crying Alia. “Let go of me! How dare you treat your father this way?” Dezar raged. Shilrev ignored the protesting Dezar and stooped to pick up Alia. What happened next was so fast, that it would always be a blur in Shilrev’s memories. Dezar attacked Shilrev from behind. Without thinking, Shilrev got involved in a fist fight. Dezar was much burlier than the lean Shilrev, but Shilrev had the advantages of being younger, working from sun-up to sun-down and thus being stronger, and no beer-belly. Alia watched in horror as the two tall men faced off. One second Shilrev was on the ground being choked by his father and the next, Dezar was no longer in the cave. He had followed Untan into the ocean. Slowly, Shilrev turned around to face Alia. A streak of lightning highlighted his white-blonde hair. With the light of the dying fire, she could clearly make out the contours of his beloved face: his strong chin, his straight nose, and his deep blue eyes. Realizing that she had been holding her breath, she let it out, but instead of coming out normal, it came out as a sob that racked her body and made her lean over and cough. In an instant, Shilrev was at her side, wrapping his arms around her quivering shoulders. At first, she cringed away from him. Realizing what she must be feeling, Shilrev dropped his arms and took a step back. Alia shook her head mournfully and stepped towards him and into his ready embrace. He wrapped his arms tightly around her and rested his chin on the top of her head while she pressed her cheek against his chest. They stood like that for a moment, holding each other up as the storm raged around them. It was what they had been doing since the day they became friends. Alia refused to think of what was going to happen after they left the cave. It didn’t matter. And as she hugged her best friend close, she tried to blink the tears away. In the brief moment that her eyes were open, she saw from under Shilrev’s arm a wave in the shape of a hand waving good-bye to her.
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