In Dreams, Chapters One and Two
Here's two chapters of my novel. Please critique!
Chapter One: In Dreams
She dreamed of coloured lights, of bells, of sounds that no one could hear but her. She woke screaming, no sound coming from her open mouth, heart surging, lungs gasping, stiff in paralyzing fear. Her dreams were her life, her life, her dreams, and her reality was becoming more blurred and surreal by the day. Surrounded by death, she couldn't escape it, not even in her dreams. A world that had collapsed, long before her time, left her family torn apart, and love to be an object, not easily obtained. She fought the night, dreading the rise of the moon, full and white as it shone in the night sky, innocently, as if mocking her.
Kiva turned to William, having woken in the middle of the night. The bells were ringing again, pealing in her mind, counting out the time, it felt, until someone else's death. William slept, his sandy brown hair fallen in his face, breathing in and out gently with the rhythm of his slumber. His blue eyes were closed, and the eyelids fluttered as he dreamt, and Kiva could only imagine what his dreams contained. Her imagination told her that they were pleasant dreams, for not once had she seen William waken, paralyzed with fear and screaming. Maybe of his family, his young sister, Anneliese, and their mother. Maybe of his home in Caravel, the Shire-like rural land where Kiva had found him. She did not know.
They were adventurers, or so they told themselves. To others, they were little more than orphans and vagrants, looking for their own place in the world that had so rejected them. Kiva's heart led her where she needed to go, and she did what she had to. Earlier that day, she'd slain a deer, luring it into her arms with a spell and forcefully snapping its neck, unreactive at the sharp crack that resonated through the wood as she did so. She was used to violence, used to pain, death. William was less accustomed to such things, she'd found him on her journey not too long before the night she woke. He carried a small dagger, engraved with symbols of the Old Language, a beautiful artifact that he rarely used. He said, “It's for when it's truly needed.”, and he abhorred violence with all that he had. Yet, he ate the meat that Kiva retrieved, and did not complain when she slayed animals. They had yet to come across a true occasion to use the graceful blade, but Kiva was constantly vigilant and wary, and knew in her heart that the day would come when William's weapon would be needed.
Kiva herself was armed, as well. She carried an elegant bow, strung with rawhide and reinforced with the same. It was an extension of her soul, her burden to bear, and her strongest attribute, so she thought. Her arrows were her pride and joy, being handmade by others of her own elven species, and it was the last artifact she had taken from her home, before leaving. She slept with her bow next to her, the way a child might sleep with a stuffed creature, and an arrow beside. It was all she could do sometimes to not react to her dreams by bolting upright and lining up the arrow within the bow, ready to let it fly into the heart of her nightmarish predators.
They had been traveling for a total of two weeks, Kiva a bit longer than that, maybe three. She'd lost count. Days blurred from one to the next, each day nearly the same. Walk, hike, venture. Kill something for food, or starve. Sleep, dream, suffer. Repeat. The routine tired her, but something about it also comforted her. It contained just enough uncertainty, enough imbalance, to sculpt a life out of, she thought. William was still becoming acclimated to the nomadic life, and often complained about pain in his feet or missing his home. When he whined, as Kiva saw it, she tried her best not to get angry, frustrated at him. Not to scream at him that he had no concept of pain, none of loss, but she remembered that that would not be fair, or true. Of course he had a concept of loss. They all did.
It started with the War. The Countess of Illyria's daughter, Avila, was taken by a demon, known only as Malachi. From that day, Illyria was at odds, having launched an attack on the demon clan that resided in the mountains that bordered the land. Overpowered by the creatures, the humans were slaughtered, all in the name of something worthy, they thought. Families torn apart, women and children raped, abducted, and murdered, the country went to Hell, literally. Overtaken by demons, very few managed to escape, to survive. Kiva was one of them, and as she later found, so too was William. Her family was one of many destroyed, and part of Kiva's nightmares was seeing her mother's last moments, before being torn apart, viciously and literally, by two monsters, her blood raining onto the wooden floor in torrents.
It had been at night that Kiva slipped away, rushing, hushed, through the woods of Evenleigh, the town she'd spent her entire life living in. Without a goodbye to the friends she left behind, the last ones alive, anyway, she stole away into the darkness, traveling under cover of the night sky. When it was safe, when she was out of Evenleigh, she rested, breathing heavily, and anxiously glancing around, praying that she would stay hidden, despite the apparent safety she had found herself within the boundaries of.
It was about a week later that she met William, finding him wandering, as she was, into a tavern late one night. She was nursing a cup of tea, sitting alone in the corner, when a boy with sandy hair and sparkling blue eyes walked in, a forlorn look gracing his delicate, almost feminine, features. He walked over to her, as she was the only one in the tavern, and set his coffee down beside her own cup. She'd looked at him, and nodded, seeing the sorrow in his eyes. He sat down, introducing himself as William Callahan, of Caravel, the town in which the tavern was located.
The two began to travel the next day, exchanging services of horse care and dishwashing for a grubby room in the back of the tavern. Packs on their backs, they walked down the road by day, camped in the woods at night. William quickly agreed to Kiva's plans, and set himself to the same mission.
Their mission was to venture to the heart of the land of Illyria, the capitol; Illyria City. In the city, Kiva knew, was the secret of the War, the hidden Avila. Kiva sought revenge for her family, for her mother, and knew that Malachi was responsible for their deaths. Kiva was not keen on killing Malachi, she knew his powers far outshone her own, but it seemed to her that logically, the demons who'd raided Evenleigh, who'd killed her mother, would have returned to the City once done ransacking and looting. She would have her revenge.
“Why are you awake?” She said, turning to William, whose light eyes had fluttered open moments before.
“Couldn't sleep.”
“Why are you awake?” William asked, chiding her.
“Couldn't sleep.” Kiva blinked.
Her dreams were her secret, like so many other things in her life. William had enough to know, enough to bear. Her nighttime horrors were one abhorrent thing she wished to keep from his consciousness. He was young, pure, innocent, something Kiva had not known for some time now. Younger than Kiva, William was still baby-faced, and held that childlike posture of a boy about to become a man. He was fourteen years, the age when most would be celebrating their Incoming, but he would not have such a ceremony.
For men, the Incoming consisted of the first hunt, a trip to the woods to retrieve the evening's feast. The kill, usually a deer, was then roasted over a fire, juices dripping, sizzling fat, into the hot flame. In Illyria, the boy, now turned young man, would then select his plot of land, and begin farming his own gardens and crops, preparing for the days not long after when he would live on his own, with his wife.
Girls received a different Incoming. Kiva's had taken place not long after her first blood, when she was younger than William, at thirteen. The girl, the subject of the ceremony, was generally anointed with oils, lavender and rosemary, and dressed in a new gown, then sent to a small tent, with incense smoke and meditation for two days, at the end of which, she would be returned to her mother, to learn the ways of women. Kiva, on the other hand, had been taken, with her twin brother, on the hunt. Letting her arrow fly, she struck a stag deer through the heart, shocking the men that had so doubted her. Her father had applauded her, and slung the heavy creature across his own broad shoulders, arrow still standing sentry from the chest of the beast.
Kiva's twin, Rahim, was a shy boy, not bold in any way. He'd followed Kiva from the womb, trailing behind thirteen minutes after. This was the way he'd lived his life, always giving his sister the lead, though he was strong in his own right. He could run as fast as the wind, and Kiva wondered where he was; he'd run from the house that night, a mark of cowardice, she'd once thought, but now, running herself, she understood the need to save oneself. Would she have abandoned her family that night? She did not know, but now she'd changed. The new girl she'd become, though she could hardly be called a girl, would do anything to save her life. She was desperate, she was strong, she was a survivor. Rahim had left the home, and not long after, so had Kiva, but not before losing everything.
William, too, was a survivor, in his own way. He was not particularly brave, nor physically strong, but he held the mark of someone who'd seen life, and not the cheery end of it. He'd lost his mother and sister, though not in the same way that Kiva had. They did not last long enough for the demons to find them; they succumbed to the Illness that overcame Caravel, an illness strong enough to chase away the demons, for they found no one unafflicted, no “fun” in the small village. William, somehow, had beaten the Illness, surviving like so few in the village had. The Illness pervaded the body, corrupted the mind. In the end, William's mother could not recognize either him, or his dying sister. The same went for the latter. A terrible death, under terrible circumstances, in a terrible time.
Kiva turned over, putting her back to William and closing her eyes. Hearing a sound, she opened them again. Was it the crack of a stick in the woods? Could it be a demon? She shook where she lay. William felt her shaking and placed a hand, reassuringly, on her narrow back. Kiva wiggled away. She did not like to be touched. The shaking stopped when she did not hear the sound again, and slowly, she began to drift back into the far realm of sleep.
Kiva dreamt of blood, of fear, and of that night. It was not a dream out of the ordinary, for it had been weeks since she'd had a peaceful dream, even one vaguely resembling one of peace. It wouldn't be accurate to say that she'd become accustomed to the dreams, they still shook her and made her fear much greater, but she'd learned to expect to remember, whenever she closed her eyes and bowed her head to sleep. In her dream, she saw the demon above her, felt the pain. Saw her mother screaming, her brother running, another demon taking off after him. There were three in the small cottage, one holding her mother, one unspeakably harming her, and the other, who'd gone to pursue Rahim as he ran through the woods. She remembered, again and again, reliving the sequence of events that she could do nothing to prevent, nothing to stop, and her heart tore a little more with every second she slept.
The two were woken by the dawn, shining through holes in the roof of their tent. The tent was canvas, dirty, and patched in places. Still in need of more patches, it let in rain where the waxy coating had worn down, and where the fabric had worn into holes with age. It did not have a floor, they merely placed their sleeping mats, unrolled, on the bare ground, crawling under thin blankets that were light and easily carried. Kiva sat up, turning her back to William as she bound her chest. She was uncomfortable about her body, and for the duration of their journey, had bound her breasts tight to her ribs, making her torso appear flat and boylike. It wasn't that she had much to bind; Kiva was slight and slender, with faint curves and delicate shoulders. Her attempt to pass herself off as a boy seemed to be working, they merely thought she was younger than William. She had cut her hair short, chopping her braid from her head in one snip of the scissors she carried, and leaving the ends uneven and hastily done. Her face was not masculine, but it lacked the feminine grace that her mother's face had had. She resembled Rahim almost perfectly, and had it not been for her breasts and long hair, they could have passed as identical, back in Evenleigh. It was a lot easier to be a boychild than a girl in this world, at this time, and she knew this too well.
William turned away, giving Kiva her privacy as she slipped an extra tunic of her brother's she had found in their home before leaving over her head. It was a roughly hewn piece of clothing, with three buttons down the neck that she was careful to secure, in order to hide any traces of femininity. She wiggled under her blankets to pull on the breeches she'd taken from home over her legs and up to her hips. They fit her perfectly, despite having been her brother's who, if it was possible, was even smaller than she was. While she was turned away, William pulled on his own tunic and breeches, an outfit quite similar to Kiva's. As the typical peasant dress of Illyria, it suited them both well. Neither had ever been well-endowed, and now, more than ever, this was true.
Silently, Kiva exited the tent. It wasn't that she was in a mood, or that she was feeling sorry for herself. After a night of terror, she often did not know how to relate to William, for he would hopefully never see the things she did, even in his dreams. She went about the morning's business, collecting sticks from their pile and arranging them in a small triangular shape, almost resembling an old Fey dwelling. Striking her piece of flint against a rock, she waited patiently as the spark caught the leaves, sending them up into a rush of flame. The sticks caught eventually, and she sat for a moment, gazing into the orange fire crackling and whispering before her. Her eyes, it felt, glazed over as she watched the fire dance, listening to it sing to her.
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Chapter Two: Sensei
William slipped out of the tent, coming towards Kiva and kneeling beside her. He brushed his hair back from his face with his fingers, combing through the blonde locks as he did so, and turned to her.
“Breakfast?”
“Go find it.” She said snidely, turning away. She felt almost badly for treating her comrade this way, but something in her just said “be nasty today”. And so she was. Hurt, William skulked off, presumably to find food.
A half hour later, William returned with an armful of boughs, dumping them on the ground next to where Kiva still sat, gazing into the flame.
“Hello?”
“What?” She snapped.
“I found some berries. That's about it.” Slim pickings were to be had in this particular wood.
“Great. Good.” Kiva said, pulling out her pack. Inside were several strips of dried venison, left over from the deer she'd killed days before. William set about rummaging in his own pack for the small wooden plates they carried. Placing berries on one, he gingerly handed it to Kiva, hoping she wouldn't be cruel again. She took it, thanking him, and in turn, passing over some meat. They ate this way, in silence, scarfing down what little food they had beside the small fire Kiva had built. William decided, taking the last bite of venison on his plate and polishing off the small wild strawberries he'd found, to break the silence.
“When do we head out?” All about practicality, he knew asking Kiva a question about their journey would result in an answer.
“Soon, maybe a half-hour? Sound good?” She asked, her tone softer than it had been.
“That works.” He replied, brushing crumbs from his plate, what few there were, and packing it back in his bag. Rising, he straightened his breeches and slipped back into the tent, rolling up his sleeping mat and securing it with ropes. In minutes, Kiva did the same, silently attaching the roll to her backpack and hefting it onto her shoulders. The tent, they folded carefully and placed in William's pack, using the poles as walking sticks. Kiva considered for a moment, dropping her pack. She turned to William, whose back was turned to her, and whapped him across the back with her stave. He turned around, face hurt.
“First lesson.” She said. “Never turn your back on an opponent.”
She raised her staff again, crossing it with his.
“En garde.” Kiva said, to the sound of the wooden sticks hitting each other. William looked confused.
“You have got to learn to stand up for yourself, she said. “What happens when we're attacked?”
“If we're attacked.” He muttered.
“No. Not if. When.” She replied firmly. “You know of the War, you know of the demons, you know of more than you should, as do I. We're targets, easily done away with. Do you want to change that or not?”
“Yes.” He said, meekly.
“Good. Then raise your goddamn staff and fight me!” She harshly cried, as the sticks raised in an arc and swung through the air, producing a graceful swishing sound. They smacked together, making a cracking noise that echoed through the forest, and Kiva brought her stave down, smacking William in the side. He groaned.
“Don't groan! Fight!” She cried, grunting with effort as she brought her staff down upon him once more. After the third assault, she smiled as she heard the sound of cracking wood, the sticks crossing in midair. William had blocked her.
“Finally! Keep going!” She darted around through the clearing, jabbing and poking at William, who quickly improved upon blocking her. A stab to his groin made him cry out and at last, he hit her back. She winced as he caught her in the ribs. A good shot.
“Here endeth the lesson.” She said, breathing hard. “Well done, boy. Well done.”
William collapsed onto a stump, clutching himself in pain.
“Did you have to do that?” He complained.
“Imagine if this had been metal. Sharp, shining, metal.” She said, gesturing with her stave.
“I don't think I want to.” He grunted.
“You're going to have to. And you're going to have to start learning dagger work, as well. No more using that thing for paring apples, William. It has a purpose. It longs to be driven into flesh, to taste blood. And believe me, it will.”
“We're not all vicious, you know.” William retorted, hurt.
“Well, grow up and get vicious.” She snarled. Her mood no longer foul, she was now more defencive than offencive. She felt the need to make the point that she had not been born vicious. Circumstances had turned her into the creature she was. That was how she saw herself. As a creature. Little more than an animal, doing what it had to, to survive. She knew William did not feel the same way, and for that, she thanked the Gods. He was too young to lose his innocence, but she knew that somehow, she would contribute to such a loss. She kept telling herself that it was necessary. To survive, the boy needed to be pushed, coaxed. He needed to age faster than he was, but it tore her inside. She longed for her own innocence, longed to be a child once more. No longer young at 17, she felt as if she'd seen the world, seen too much, and was ready to simply slip away, fade into nothingness.
William stood, wincing. She'd really smacked him hard, she thought. He strapped his pack to himself and turned to her.
“Are we ready, Sensei?” He asked, invoking the Old Language's term for “teacher”.
She smiled, her first of the morning.
“We're ready.” She saddled her pack and walked towards him, her stride even and proud. She was not broken. She was not defeated. She was Kiva, the Huntress of the Aradec Clan, she was Elven, and she would carry on.
Chapter One: In Dreams
She dreamed of coloured lights, of bells, of sounds that no one could hear but her. She woke screaming, no sound coming from her open mouth, heart surging, lungs gasping, stiff in paralyzing fear. Her dreams were her life, her life, her dreams, and her reality was becoming more blurred and surreal by the day. Surrounded by death, she couldn't escape it, not even in her dreams. A world that had collapsed, long before her time, left her family torn apart, and love to be an object, not easily obtained. She fought the night, dreading the rise of the moon, full and white as it shone in the night sky, innocently, as if mocking her.
Kiva turned to William, having woken in the middle of the night. The bells were ringing again, pealing in her mind, counting out the time, it felt, until someone else's death. William slept, his sandy brown hair fallen in his face, breathing in and out gently with the rhythm of his slumber. His blue eyes were closed, and the eyelids fluttered as he dreamt, and Kiva could only imagine what his dreams contained. Her imagination told her that they were pleasant dreams, for not once had she seen William waken, paralyzed with fear and screaming. Maybe of his family, his young sister, Anneliese, and their mother. Maybe of his home in Caravel, the Shire-like rural land where Kiva had found him. She did not know.
They were adventurers, or so they told themselves. To others, they were little more than orphans and vagrants, looking for their own place in the world that had so rejected them. Kiva's heart led her where she needed to go, and she did what she had to. Earlier that day, she'd slain a deer, luring it into her arms with a spell and forcefully snapping its neck, unreactive at the sharp crack that resonated through the wood as she did so. She was used to violence, used to pain, death. William was less accustomed to such things, she'd found him on her journey not too long before the night she woke. He carried a small dagger, engraved with symbols of the Old Language, a beautiful artifact that he rarely used. He said, “It's for when it's truly needed.”, and he abhorred violence with all that he had. Yet, he ate the meat that Kiva retrieved, and did not complain when she slayed animals. They had yet to come across a true occasion to use the graceful blade, but Kiva was constantly vigilant and wary, and knew in her heart that the day would come when William's weapon would be needed.
Kiva herself was armed, as well. She carried an elegant bow, strung with rawhide and reinforced with the same. It was an extension of her soul, her burden to bear, and her strongest attribute, so she thought. Her arrows were her pride and joy, being handmade by others of her own elven species, and it was the last artifact she had taken from her home, before leaving. She slept with her bow next to her, the way a child might sleep with a stuffed creature, and an arrow beside. It was all she could do sometimes to not react to her dreams by bolting upright and lining up the arrow within the bow, ready to let it fly into the heart of her nightmarish predators.
They had been traveling for a total of two weeks, Kiva a bit longer than that, maybe three. She'd lost count. Days blurred from one to the next, each day nearly the same. Walk, hike, venture. Kill something for food, or starve. Sleep, dream, suffer. Repeat. The routine tired her, but something about it also comforted her. It contained just enough uncertainty, enough imbalance, to sculpt a life out of, she thought. William was still becoming acclimated to the nomadic life, and often complained about pain in his feet or missing his home. When he whined, as Kiva saw it, she tried her best not to get angry, frustrated at him. Not to scream at him that he had no concept of pain, none of loss, but she remembered that that would not be fair, or true. Of course he had a concept of loss. They all did.
It started with the War. The Countess of Illyria's daughter, Avila, was taken by a demon, known only as Malachi. From that day, Illyria was at odds, having launched an attack on the demon clan that resided in the mountains that bordered the land. Overpowered by the creatures, the humans were slaughtered, all in the name of something worthy, they thought. Families torn apart, women and children raped, abducted, and murdered, the country went to Hell, literally. Overtaken by demons, very few managed to escape, to survive. Kiva was one of them, and as she later found, so too was William. Her family was one of many destroyed, and part of Kiva's nightmares was seeing her mother's last moments, before being torn apart, viciously and literally, by two monsters, her blood raining onto the wooden floor in torrents.
It had been at night that Kiva slipped away, rushing, hushed, through the woods of Evenleigh, the town she'd spent her entire life living in. Without a goodbye to the friends she left behind, the last ones alive, anyway, she stole away into the darkness, traveling under cover of the night sky. When it was safe, when she was out of Evenleigh, she rested, breathing heavily, and anxiously glancing around, praying that she would stay hidden, despite the apparent safety she had found herself within the boundaries of.
It was about a week later that she met William, finding him wandering, as she was, into a tavern late one night. She was nursing a cup of tea, sitting alone in the corner, when a boy with sandy hair and sparkling blue eyes walked in, a forlorn look gracing his delicate, almost feminine, features. He walked over to her, as she was the only one in the tavern, and set his coffee down beside her own cup. She'd looked at him, and nodded, seeing the sorrow in his eyes. He sat down, introducing himself as William Callahan, of Caravel, the town in which the tavern was located.
The two began to travel the next day, exchanging services of horse care and dishwashing for a grubby room in the back of the tavern. Packs on their backs, they walked down the road by day, camped in the woods at night. William quickly agreed to Kiva's plans, and set himself to the same mission.
Their mission was to venture to the heart of the land of Illyria, the capitol; Illyria City. In the city, Kiva knew, was the secret of the War, the hidden Avila. Kiva sought revenge for her family, for her mother, and knew that Malachi was responsible for their deaths. Kiva was not keen on killing Malachi, she knew his powers far outshone her own, but it seemed to her that logically, the demons who'd raided Evenleigh, who'd killed her mother, would have returned to the City once done ransacking and looting. She would have her revenge.
“Why are you awake?” She said, turning to William, whose light eyes had fluttered open moments before.
“Couldn't sleep.”
“Why are you awake?” William asked, chiding her.
“Couldn't sleep.” Kiva blinked.
Her dreams were her secret, like so many other things in her life. William had enough to know, enough to bear. Her nighttime horrors were one abhorrent thing she wished to keep from his consciousness. He was young, pure, innocent, something Kiva had not known for some time now. Younger than Kiva, William was still baby-faced, and held that childlike posture of a boy about to become a man. He was fourteen years, the age when most would be celebrating their Incoming, but he would not have such a ceremony.
For men, the Incoming consisted of the first hunt, a trip to the woods to retrieve the evening's feast. The kill, usually a deer, was then roasted over a fire, juices dripping, sizzling fat, into the hot flame. In Illyria, the boy, now turned young man, would then select his plot of land, and begin farming his own gardens and crops, preparing for the days not long after when he would live on his own, with his wife.
Girls received a different Incoming. Kiva's had taken place not long after her first blood, when she was younger than William, at thirteen. The girl, the subject of the ceremony, was generally anointed with oils, lavender and rosemary, and dressed in a new gown, then sent to a small tent, with incense smoke and meditation for two days, at the end of which, she would be returned to her mother, to learn the ways of women. Kiva, on the other hand, had been taken, with her twin brother, on the hunt. Letting her arrow fly, she struck a stag deer through the heart, shocking the men that had so doubted her. Her father had applauded her, and slung the heavy creature across his own broad shoulders, arrow still standing sentry from the chest of the beast.
Kiva's twin, Rahim, was a shy boy, not bold in any way. He'd followed Kiva from the womb, trailing behind thirteen minutes after. This was the way he'd lived his life, always giving his sister the lead, though he was strong in his own right. He could run as fast as the wind, and Kiva wondered where he was; he'd run from the house that night, a mark of cowardice, she'd once thought, but now, running herself, she understood the need to save oneself. Would she have abandoned her family that night? She did not know, but now she'd changed. The new girl she'd become, though she could hardly be called a girl, would do anything to save her life. She was desperate, she was strong, she was a survivor. Rahim had left the home, and not long after, so had Kiva, but not before losing everything.
William, too, was a survivor, in his own way. He was not particularly brave, nor physically strong, but he held the mark of someone who'd seen life, and not the cheery end of it. He'd lost his mother and sister, though not in the same way that Kiva had. They did not last long enough for the demons to find them; they succumbed to the Illness that overcame Caravel, an illness strong enough to chase away the demons, for they found no one unafflicted, no “fun” in the small village. William, somehow, had beaten the Illness, surviving like so few in the village had. The Illness pervaded the body, corrupted the mind. In the end, William's mother could not recognize either him, or his dying sister. The same went for the latter. A terrible death, under terrible circumstances, in a terrible time.
Kiva turned over, putting her back to William and closing her eyes. Hearing a sound, she opened them again. Was it the crack of a stick in the woods? Could it be a demon? She shook where she lay. William felt her shaking and placed a hand, reassuringly, on her narrow back. Kiva wiggled away. She did not like to be touched. The shaking stopped when she did not hear the sound again, and slowly, she began to drift back into the far realm of sleep.
Kiva dreamt of blood, of fear, and of that night. It was not a dream out of the ordinary, for it had been weeks since she'd had a peaceful dream, even one vaguely resembling one of peace. It wouldn't be accurate to say that she'd become accustomed to the dreams, they still shook her and made her fear much greater, but she'd learned to expect to remember, whenever she closed her eyes and bowed her head to sleep. In her dream, she saw the demon above her, felt the pain. Saw her mother screaming, her brother running, another demon taking off after him. There were three in the small cottage, one holding her mother, one unspeakably harming her, and the other, who'd gone to pursue Rahim as he ran through the woods. She remembered, again and again, reliving the sequence of events that she could do nothing to prevent, nothing to stop, and her heart tore a little more with every second she slept.
The two were woken by the dawn, shining through holes in the roof of their tent. The tent was canvas, dirty, and patched in places. Still in need of more patches, it let in rain where the waxy coating had worn down, and where the fabric had worn into holes with age. It did not have a floor, they merely placed their sleeping mats, unrolled, on the bare ground, crawling under thin blankets that were light and easily carried. Kiva sat up, turning her back to William as she bound her chest. She was uncomfortable about her body, and for the duration of their journey, had bound her breasts tight to her ribs, making her torso appear flat and boylike. It wasn't that she had much to bind; Kiva was slight and slender, with faint curves and delicate shoulders. Her attempt to pass herself off as a boy seemed to be working, they merely thought she was younger than William. She had cut her hair short, chopping her braid from her head in one snip of the scissors she carried, and leaving the ends uneven and hastily done. Her face was not masculine, but it lacked the feminine grace that her mother's face had had. She resembled Rahim almost perfectly, and had it not been for her breasts and long hair, they could have passed as identical, back in Evenleigh. It was a lot easier to be a boychild than a girl in this world, at this time, and she knew this too well.
William turned away, giving Kiva her privacy as she slipped an extra tunic of her brother's she had found in their home before leaving over her head. It was a roughly hewn piece of clothing, with three buttons down the neck that she was careful to secure, in order to hide any traces of femininity. She wiggled under her blankets to pull on the breeches she'd taken from home over her legs and up to her hips. They fit her perfectly, despite having been her brother's who, if it was possible, was even smaller than she was. While she was turned away, William pulled on his own tunic and breeches, an outfit quite similar to Kiva's. As the typical peasant dress of Illyria, it suited them both well. Neither had ever been well-endowed, and now, more than ever, this was true.
Silently, Kiva exited the tent. It wasn't that she was in a mood, or that she was feeling sorry for herself. After a night of terror, she often did not know how to relate to William, for he would hopefully never see the things she did, even in his dreams. She went about the morning's business, collecting sticks from their pile and arranging them in a small triangular shape, almost resembling an old Fey dwelling. Striking her piece of flint against a rock, she waited patiently as the spark caught the leaves, sending them up into a rush of flame. The sticks caught eventually, and she sat for a moment, gazing into the orange fire crackling and whispering before her. Her eyes, it felt, glazed over as she watched the fire dance, listening to it sing to her.
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Chapter Two: Sensei
William slipped out of the tent, coming towards Kiva and kneeling beside her. He brushed his hair back from his face with his fingers, combing through the blonde locks as he did so, and turned to her.
“Breakfast?”
“Go find it.” She said snidely, turning away. She felt almost badly for treating her comrade this way, but something in her just said “be nasty today”. And so she was. Hurt, William skulked off, presumably to find food.
A half hour later, William returned with an armful of boughs, dumping them on the ground next to where Kiva still sat, gazing into the flame.
“Hello?”
“What?” She snapped.
“I found some berries. That's about it.” Slim pickings were to be had in this particular wood.
“Great. Good.” Kiva said, pulling out her pack. Inside were several strips of dried venison, left over from the deer she'd killed days before. William set about rummaging in his own pack for the small wooden plates they carried. Placing berries on one, he gingerly handed it to Kiva, hoping she wouldn't be cruel again. She took it, thanking him, and in turn, passing over some meat. They ate this way, in silence, scarfing down what little food they had beside the small fire Kiva had built. William decided, taking the last bite of venison on his plate and polishing off the small wild strawberries he'd found, to break the silence.
“When do we head out?” All about practicality, he knew asking Kiva a question about their journey would result in an answer.
“Soon, maybe a half-hour? Sound good?” She asked, her tone softer than it had been.
“That works.” He replied, brushing crumbs from his plate, what few there were, and packing it back in his bag. Rising, he straightened his breeches and slipped back into the tent, rolling up his sleeping mat and securing it with ropes. In minutes, Kiva did the same, silently attaching the roll to her backpack and hefting it onto her shoulders. The tent, they folded carefully and placed in William's pack, using the poles as walking sticks. Kiva considered for a moment, dropping her pack. She turned to William, whose back was turned to her, and whapped him across the back with her stave. He turned around, face hurt.
“First lesson.” She said. “Never turn your back on an opponent.”
She raised her staff again, crossing it with his.
“En garde.” Kiva said, to the sound of the wooden sticks hitting each other. William looked confused.
“You have got to learn to stand up for yourself, she said. “What happens when we're attacked?”
“If we're attacked.” He muttered.
“No. Not if. When.” She replied firmly. “You know of the War, you know of the demons, you know of more than you should, as do I. We're targets, easily done away with. Do you want to change that or not?”
“Yes.” He said, meekly.
“Good. Then raise your goddamn staff and fight me!” She harshly cried, as the sticks raised in an arc and swung through the air, producing a graceful swishing sound. They smacked together, making a cracking noise that echoed through the forest, and Kiva brought her stave down, smacking William in the side. He groaned.
“Don't groan! Fight!” She cried, grunting with effort as she brought her staff down upon him once more. After the third assault, she smiled as she heard the sound of cracking wood, the sticks crossing in midair. William had blocked her.
“Finally! Keep going!” She darted around through the clearing, jabbing and poking at William, who quickly improved upon blocking her. A stab to his groin made him cry out and at last, he hit her back. She winced as he caught her in the ribs. A good shot.
“Here endeth the lesson.” She said, breathing hard. “Well done, boy. Well done.”
William collapsed onto a stump, clutching himself in pain.
“Did you have to do that?” He complained.
“Imagine if this had been metal. Sharp, shining, metal.” She said, gesturing with her stave.
“I don't think I want to.” He grunted.
“You're going to have to. And you're going to have to start learning dagger work, as well. No more using that thing for paring apples, William. It has a purpose. It longs to be driven into flesh, to taste blood. And believe me, it will.”
“We're not all vicious, you know.” William retorted, hurt.
“Well, grow up and get vicious.” She snarled. Her mood no longer foul, she was now more defencive than offencive. She felt the need to make the point that she had not been born vicious. Circumstances had turned her into the creature she was. That was how she saw herself. As a creature. Little more than an animal, doing what it had to, to survive. She knew William did not feel the same way, and for that, she thanked the Gods. He was too young to lose his innocence, but she knew that somehow, she would contribute to such a loss. She kept telling herself that it was necessary. To survive, the boy needed to be pushed, coaxed. He needed to age faster than he was, but it tore her inside. She longed for her own innocence, longed to be a child once more. No longer young at 17, she felt as if she'd seen the world, seen too much, and was ready to simply slip away, fade into nothingness.
William stood, wincing. She'd really smacked him hard, she thought. He strapped his pack to himself and turned to her.
“Are we ready, Sensei?” He asked, invoking the Old Language's term for “teacher”.
She smiled, her first of the morning.
“We're ready.” She saddled her pack and walked towards him, her stride even and proud. She was not broken. She was not defeated. She was Kiva, the Huntress of the Aradec Clan, she was Elven, and she would carry on.