Saturday, January 30, 2010

post 1

Honey barked. Her creamy white fur bristled, a sharp contrast to it normal soft feel. At regular intervals Honey’s barking ceases and a low growl tore from her throat, breaking off into a high whine, then resume as a gruff bark. The taut muscles in her back leg bunched, and she sprang. Her leap carried her several feet, and she landed lightly, puffs of gritty sand dancing away from her paws. The snake hissed, its copper eyes glaring balefully at the dog. Honey gave a threatening growl. Then she stepped off the snake and watched it carefully.

Silver and bronze scales writhed, and the outline blurred. Within seconds the snake was replaced by a silver skinned woman clothed in a dusty shift, her copper eyes gleaming. Her breath came raggedly, as if she had been running for the past hour. “You’re a long way from where you should be, my four legged friend,” she told the dog, her breath catching on each word with a slight lisp. Honey stopped barking, but her short, triangle ears still pressed against her skull. Her wide brown eyes were hard. The woman held out her empty palms. “I mean no threat…” She raised her eyes to the sleeping form a little ways away. “…ah.” She met Honey’s eyes. “You would do well to warn your friend when she wakes. This is Witching territory…and not all of my kind would be as tolerant as I.” She smiled humorlessly at the stoic guardian, and turned on her heel. “Good night.” Again her form distorted, and the snake reformed, several feet above the dusty earth. Its long coils worked in the night breeze, and before it hit the ground, was borne upwards, over the scrubby bushes, and faded into the dark night.

Honey watched the witch go with vigilant eyes. She turned one tear-shaped eye to the bundle that was her owner, and padded over. She carefully nosed a slack hand. The form mumbled incoherently and sat up slowly. Mussed brown hair tumbled over her shoulders. Sad brown eyes blinked owlishly over a sharp nose and a wry mouth. A thin fingered hand reached up and brushed away some hair. “Barking at the moon again, Honey?” The girl stroked Honey’s head bemusedly and affectionately. Honey shook the hand away and yipped once, softly. The girl’s lazy smile faded and she frowned. “An intruder? Show me, please.”

Honey trotted back to where he had encountered the witch. The girl hurriedly gathered up her large quilt, stuffing it in the pack that she used as a pillow. She slung a strap over her shoulder and padded up to Honey. The tell tale slither marks and the signs of the scuffle were marked in the dirt.

The girl raised an eyebrow. “I can’t believe I slept through that,” her voice was awed. “A witch? You must have been barking your head off, Honey.”

Honey let out a breath that rushed through her teeth like a sigh. The girl looked down apologetically. “I know, I know, not the point” She shook her head. “I had no idea that we’d entered the Witching.” She squinted up at the fading stars, then pulled a crumpled map from the pocket of her tunic. In loose, sepia trousers and a matching shirt and tunic, she blended well with the surrounding scrubland.

Honey lay down, resting her head on her paws as she waited. The girl tapped her fingers on her thigh as she thought. She slowly turned to her right. “If we cut through the Witching, we can find the main road, then follow it to the crossroads, where we can rendezvous with the Armet.”

Honey snorted. The girl leveled her gaze at Honey. “Come on, it’s almost dawn. And everyone knows witches can’t bite in daylight.” Honey rose to her paws resignedly and walked alongside the girl.

The brittle bushes dragged along Honey’s fur and the girl’s pants. By the time the sun had cleared the horizon, the two had left the scrublands and joined with a small trail. The girl had picked Honey up and slung her in a piece of cloth, where she at a piece of dried meat and dozed against the girl’s chest.

The girl’s eyes flickered constantly. Her movements, though fluid and graceful, were wary, and ready. In the distance a copse of trees marked the end of the Witching and the beginning of the Arche’s main road. Her boots quickened their pace as she heard a whisper behind her. Her eyes darted behind her, and saw nothing. In the calm night, she had been lulled into feeling safe. But in stark sunlight, she was vulnerable, easily spotted. She forced herself to relax. Breathe, she told herself. She straightened her shoulders a little. She shouldn’t be fearful. Her family was famous for their bravery. She hoped that she, Cassia, could uphold that.

She passed the copse, the brief shade cooling her fears slightly. She stopped. The main road, normally busy with at least a few pedestrians and horsemen passing constantly, was silent. A cool bead of dread dripped down her stomach. They couldn’t have… She felt a prickle of relief as she heard the clops of a horse and the clatter of a cart.

Still, Cassia pressed back into the shadows of trees as it passed. She squinted at the cart, which was covered with a rusty brown cloth. A hand dangled under the edge of the covering. She sat down hard, her mind reeling with shock. She tried to convince herself that the cart was simply a burial cart from a healing camp, or something. But in her mind’s eye, the events of yesterday took on a morbid significance.

Her father, an influential merchant and soldier, and a good friend with many in the small country, was an outspoken critic of Counselor Tempest, one of the council of three that ruled Arche. At first, supported by popular opinion, the council members and her father had met several times, publicly and privately to resolve issues. But a week ago, Counselor Tempest had died, and his successor was his son, a younger, more volatile personality. He his stubborn tactics had overruled the other two council members.

Then yesterday: “Cassia,” her mother had said casually, as she watched her youngest daughter go through her morning stretches. “I need you to run an errand for me.”
Cassia had slowly eased into straight stance, listening to her mother’s instructions. “Your father wants to send word to several of his friends, to try to see if they can’t reason with the young Tempest.”

“So what can I do, mother?” Cassia had asked.

“Well, I have sent Thad and the others to [insert place names], so I thought that you could travel to Archet Town to send a message to the Armet.”

Cassia looked surprised that father wanted to contact one of the strongest militia groups in Arche. “The Armet? Is father so ready for war?”

Her mother smiled wearily. “We believe that it’s best to be prepared. We don’t yet know what young Tempest is capable of.” A shadow of worry crossed her face. “Will you be alright?”

Cassia straightened. She had never been granted a mission alone before, though she had traveled twice before with her older brother. “I will be, mother. I am almost sixteen.”

Her mother had hugged her fiercely. “I know, but you are still the youngest, and,” she hesitated and lowered her voice a little. “I’m afraid, sometimes that yoru father is aggravating the situation. I am afraid that Arche will return to how it was during the Great Wars.”

I shuddered. The Great Wars, which had happened the decade before my mother was born, had left the country in tatters. The Witches, fairies, elves, and dragons were even more decimated than humans. The council had been established to make sure nothing like that would ever happen again. Another war like that could not happen so soon…could it?

It was then that she began to be afraid. “Could I bring Honey?” He voice had come out higher than she had intended it to.

Her mother nodded, “Of course. Bring Honey. And keep her close.”

Cassia snapped herself back to the present. The dead in that cart could be anyone, she told herself. In any case, her mission was to inform the Armet. There, she could borrow a horse and find her family.

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