Because He Is All Alone
Title: Because He Is All Alone
Main Story: Cryptomancy
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Pistachio 1: Meeting; Cranberry 1: The Fool
Word Count: 993
Rating: G. Nothing untoward, just a slightly creepy chick.
Summary: Chaill meets the mistress of the Rookery and stammers a lot.
Notes: This immediately follows This post on my personal journal, but that is mostly just transition stuff. It's not majorly necessary to understand what's going on.
“So you are the orphan of Heart’s-Desire,” said the woman, who I assumed to be Lady Bloodrose. She smiled when she spoke to me, but it did nothing to set my heart at ease. There was something almost wolfish in her smile, and an eerily predatory glow in her golden eyes. She licked her lips, and leaned forward in her throne. “What is your name, child?”
“He is called Chaill,” Aiver interrupted before I had a chance to answer. I nodded in response.
“Chaill,” Lady Bloodrose repeated, tasting the word. “Clever, not to use your true name.” Her hollow smile told me that no matter what she said, she was not pleased with being given a facsimile. I almost stated that I did not know my own name, but Aiver cast me a sideways look that I read immediately as a command to remain silent.
“I suppose you are wondering why I brought you here,” she continued, tapping her fingernail against the arm of the throne again. I heard Octavian draw a breath. “Yes, that is why you found my river,” she said, still smiling. “But you were trying to find me. I just sped it up a bit. Clever, though, forcing Raitha to chase you like that. I don’t imagine it will work again.”
“Was that,” I stammered. “Was Raitha its name?”
Lady Bloodrose’s laugh was musical, lilting. “Of course it isn’t, no more than Chaill is yours or Aiver is that’s.” She gestured, and Aiver’s face darkened. “But it is something to call her, and you didn’t even have that much before.
“I brought you here,” she continued, “because I wanted to see the orphan with my own two eyes.”
“I’m not an orphan,” I retorted, pointlessly.
“Oh?” said the Lady. She leaned back in her throne for the first time since we had arrived. “Perhaps my intelligence is incorrect? Are your parents not dead?” She asked this as though she were asking the weather, or the time of day. Matter-of-fact, businesslike.
“I…never knew my mother,” I stammered, only partially answering her question.
The Lady laughed again. “Thorne, bring in the bug,” she said, only turning partially to look at the guard who stood beside her throne. He obeyed instantly. I considered, turning and running, but Lady Bloodrose’s guards still outnumbered us almost three to one. When he left, Lady Bloodrose did not speak, but stared at me with an odd, amused smile playing at the edges of her mouth. A few moments passed in painful silence, until a movement at the door caused us all to turn our heads.
Thorne in his red armor followed a girl with waist length hair the color of dead grass. She was slight, smaller even than myself, and frail-looking. Her eyes were covered with a rough strip of stained linen, but what I could see of her face was pleasant enough: an innocuous button nose over a small, nervous mouth. “Come here, bug,” said Lady Bloodrose, and the girl’s lips twitched in response. Although her eyes were covered, she moved purposefully. She knew exactly where she was headed.
She stopped at the foot of the throne, and fell to her knees like some kind of tiny female monk. She clasped her hands before her, knotted them against her stomach. “Milady,” she whispered, though she could as well have shouted. We had all grown silent at her arrival. For my part, I was holding my breath, though I cannot say why.
Lady Bloodrose smiled again, and a giggle threatened to burst from her lips. Unlike the rest of us, she was perfectly comfortable, even entertained at the silence. “Hello, bug,” she chirped, sliding to the edge of her seat once more. “Can you tell me where the orphan is now?”
She hesitated. I heard her draw a breath, and release it in a quick shudder. “Is…is this a trick?” she asked in a tiny voice.
“Not at all, my dear,” replied Lady Bloodrose, exaggerated sympathy dripping from every word like poison. “I want you to tell me-and you must be very sure about this-where is the orphan now?”
The silence in the room crushed me almost as much as the word. Orphan. Was I an orphan? The logical part of my brain said yes, accepted the fact, and categorized and filed it away. The rest of me railed. My father was not, could not be, dead. Hadn’t he himself said that the Lord meant him to live forever? He had to be alive. Someone had to take care of Avialle.
“Can you point him out to me?” asked the red-haired Lady from her throne. “With your finger, just point him out?”
The girl rose slowly, her dingy gown sweeping the floor, unfolding from beneath her like a blooming flower. It was more of a sack than a proper dress, but she moved so slowly that her clothing seemed to take on a grace of its own. She was not pretty, at least not particularly, but I was hypnotized by her movement.
She turned, and moved with a deliberation I would not have believed possible. She closed the distance between she and I quickly, and stepped into the narrow space between Octavian and me. Her hand rose, trembling slightly, and stopped leveled at my chest. As one tiny finger rasped against the fabric of my dressing gown, I became very conscious of my own breath; perhaps because her breath had become audible to me, sighing gently in the back of her throat, and transferring her warmth into the air around me. She did not speak.
“Are you quite certain?” asked Lady Bloodrose, her voice ringing emptily against the stone walls.
“Yes,” said the girl.
“And what makes you say he is an orphan?”
She bit her lip, not lowering her accusing finger. “Because he is all alone,” her voice was light. I half expected her to add, like me, but that was all she said.
Main Story: Cryptomancy
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Pistachio 1: Meeting; Cranberry 1: The Fool
Word Count: 993
Rating: G. Nothing untoward, just a slightly creepy chick.
Summary: Chaill meets the mistress of the Rookery and stammers a lot.
Notes: This immediately follows This post on my personal journal, but that is mostly just transition stuff. It's not majorly necessary to understand what's going on.
“So you are the orphan of Heart’s-Desire,” said the woman, who I assumed to be Lady Bloodrose. She smiled when she spoke to me, but it did nothing to set my heart at ease. There was something almost wolfish in her smile, and an eerily predatory glow in her golden eyes. She licked her lips, and leaned forward in her throne. “What is your name, child?”
“He is called Chaill,” Aiver interrupted before I had a chance to answer. I nodded in response.
“Chaill,” Lady Bloodrose repeated, tasting the word. “Clever, not to use your true name.” Her hollow smile told me that no matter what she said, she was not pleased with being given a facsimile. I almost stated that I did not know my own name, but Aiver cast me a sideways look that I read immediately as a command to remain silent.
“I suppose you are wondering why I brought you here,” she continued, tapping her fingernail against the arm of the throne again. I heard Octavian draw a breath. “Yes, that is why you found my river,” she said, still smiling. “But you were trying to find me. I just sped it up a bit. Clever, though, forcing Raitha to chase you like that. I don’t imagine it will work again.”
“Was that,” I stammered. “Was Raitha its name?”
Lady Bloodrose’s laugh was musical, lilting. “Of course it isn’t, no more than Chaill is yours or Aiver is that’s.” She gestured, and Aiver’s face darkened. “But it is something to call her, and you didn’t even have that much before.
“I brought you here,” she continued, “because I wanted to see the orphan with my own two eyes.”
“I’m not an orphan,” I retorted, pointlessly.
“Oh?” said the Lady. She leaned back in her throne for the first time since we had arrived. “Perhaps my intelligence is incorrect? Are your parents not dead?” She asked this as though she were asking the weather, or the time of day. Matter-of-fact, businesslike.
“I…never knew my mother,” I stammered, only partially answering her question.
The Lady laughed again. “Thorne, bring in the bug,” she said, only turning partially to look at the guard who stood beside her throne. He obeyed instantly. I considered, turning and running, but Lady Bloodrose’s guards still outnumbered us almost three to one. When he left, Lady Bloodrose did not speak, but stared at me with an odd, amused smile playing at the edges of her mouth. A few moments passed in painful silence, until a movement at the door caused us all to turn our heads.
Thorne in his red armor followed a girl with waist length hair the color of dead grass. She was slight, smaller even than myself, and frail-looking. Her eyes were covered with a rough strip of stained linen, but what I could see of her face was pleasant enough: an innocuous button nose over a small, nervous mouth. “Come here, bug,” said Lady Bloodrose, and the girl’s lips twitched in response. Although her eyes were covered, she moved purposefully. She knew exactly where she was headed.
She stopped at the foot of the throne, and fell to her knees like some kind of tiny female monk. She clasped her hands before her, knotted them against her stomach. “Milady,” she whispered, though she could as well have shouted. We had all grown silent at her arrival. For my part, I was holding my breath, though I cannot say why.
Lady Bloodrose smiled again, and a giggle threatened to burst from her lips. Unlike the rest of us, she was perfectly comfortable, even entertained at the silence. “Hello, bug,” she chirped, sliding to the edge of her seat once more. “Can you tell me where the orphan is now?”
She hesitated. I heard her draw a breath, and release it in a quick shudder. “Is…is this a trick?” she asked in a tiny voice.
“Not at all, my dear,” replied Lady Bloodrose, exaggerated sympathy dripping from every word like poison. “I want you to tell me-and you must be very sure about this-where is the orphan now?”
The silence in the room crushed me almost as much as the word. Orphan. Was I an orphan? The logical part of my brain said yes, accepted the fact, and categorized and filed it away. The rest of me railed. My father was not, could not be, dead. Hadn’t he himself said that the Lord meant him to live forever? He had to be alive. Someone had to take care of Avialle.
“Can you point him out to me?” asked the red-haired Lady from her throne. “With your finger, just point him out?”
The girl rose slowly, her dingy gown sweeping the floor, unfolding from beneath her like a blooming flower. It was more of a sack than a proper dress, but she moved so slowly that her clothing seemed to take on a grace of its own. She was not pretty, at least not particularly, but I was hypnotized by her movement.
She turned, and moved with a deliberation I would not have believed possible. She closed the distance between she and I quickly, and stepped into the narrow space between Octavian and me. Her hand rose, trembling slightly, and stopped leveled at my chest. As one tiny finger rasped against the fabric of my dressing gown, I became very conscious of my own breath; perhaps because her breath had become audible to me, sighing gently in the back of her throat, and transferring her warmth into the air around me. She did not speak.
“Are you quite certain?” asked Lady Bloodrose, her voice ringing emptily against the stone walls.
“Yes,” said the girl.
“And what makes you say he is an orphan?”
She bit her lip, not lowering her accusing finger. “Because he is all alone,” her voice was light. I half expected her to add, like me, but that was all she said.