Disruption

Love. Passion. Sex.

Once upon a time I believed that each could survive singularly, that each held enough emotion within to satisfy the craving. There could be sex without passion or love without sex, but it is the combination of the three that brings to the surface the primordial rules that we live by.

It’s never been easy for me to turn my emotions outward, to allow people to touch my inner most thoughts or to allow rhapsodic responses to corporal liaisons. I’ve always kept pieces of myself inaccessible, locked away so deeply that even I have trouble retrieving them.

In the last several months I have learned things about me that I had always taken for granted I already knew. I enjoy simple and tranquil. I enjoy the security of knowing that when I wake up in the morning, he won’t be far away and though I may not see him, he’s close.

There has never been a harsh word between us, no unspoken anger or even a disagreement. That’s not to say I do not hold my own opinions, but thus far, our opinions have converged into a single acceptance.

He doesn’t love me with an explosive passion, but he does love me.

Differently.

I understand, because I love him differently too.

A Child’s Nightmare

Hundreds of scorpions moved out from behind the up cropping of rock, blocking my path to escape. I started to scream, to cry, to even.. beg for Aiden to return, but my call went unheard. Unanswered. Slowly, one by one, the glowing lights from above started to dim, loud noises causing a disconnect, so that I was left in the shadows of darkness, with no sound at all but my own voice and the constant clicking around me. With each passing moment I awaited the pain of stings, but it did not come. The birthing pains were soon constant, and my son was delivered, without the amulet, one of us, perhaps even both of us were doomed to death. I believed that. In the darkened coil of the cavern I could feel the life draining from me, whether from loss of blood, or the evil magic that surrounded me. I had little doubt that I was dying, and that with my death, life would indeed be given to my son. He would live, only, I knew he would not. Not left in the bowels of a cavern where his cries would go unheard. He would die a slow and agonizing death at either the stings of that which surrounded us, or starvation. So I had made the decision to.. end it for both of us.

I awoke weakened, but alive, very much to my dismay. But one life had been traded for another. My son had died in my steed. When I opened my eyes, the dim light from above had rekindled itself with ahns of silence and the clicking sound had completely disappeared. I struggled with his.. body and finally made it out into the light of day. Aiden had left me few supplies, but I was at least able to build a small pyre for my son.

I stumbled though the desert for what seemed an eternity. It was in actuality probably no more than a day, but a day had been long enough to leave me sunburned without the protection of hood and cloak. I don't know how he found me, nor did I actually care to be found, but we cannot always choose our futures. He bound me in binding fiber and led me through the desert towards the outskirts of the salt mines, where I was kept. I talked too much; often spouting would be prophecies of what was to come. The men became wary of me, one even going so far as to fit me with a special collar that had small injectable needles that fed a numbing agent into my neck, so I was rendered speechless. Then they lowered me into a dried up well, where I stayed for.. almost six moons. Once a hand they would remove me. They didn't want me dead, for I was to be sold.

This is what my daughter sees, dreams each night, a torment relived over and over. A nightmare that I have tried to put behind me for the last two years. How do I know? Because last night, I dreamt it with her.

Not too long ago I wrote that I was going to allow my guilt to catch up with me. Little did I realize then, it would come in the in the innocent wrappings of my daughter.

Males have always been born.. different in my family and have never lived past the age of one, and though I thought the pregnancy of my son would break that curse, I now understand that it would have not. I know that I was guided into the desert for a reason, and it was not to find a talisman that would save us both. He was never meant to be saved, because I was never meant to have a son.

Something Charm and I now both understand. The nightmare’s are over, I hope, for both of us.

Rence Warnings

“Remember we hear, we seek.. and you shall be found.. SAY NOTHING and live well.”

I had read it six times, and each time my breath became constricted and my heart leaped into my throat. It was a card, much like my own, only with blood staining its surface. A warning meant to silence me, a warning that made my blood run cold.

The sealed note had been left with the guard at the gate, and then the cook, until finally it was brought to me, the card dropping out and onto the floor in my haste to open it. There was no need for any physical confrontation because terror ripped through me as if it the malignant square of rence had been an assassin’s blade.

It was only when I heard the call of Charm that I quickly tucked both card and note back into the envelope, sticking it within the pages of my journal before closing it.

I could hear the cards whispering from across the room, alive with rebellious murmurs and discontent. They do not like to be threatened, or rather, have the one that tells their tale threatened. Even now, they lay in wait, pushing, planning, partaking of a knowledge that will hail a vast and dangerous disapproval.

I don’t know when.
I don’t know where.
I only know that they will take the opportunity to present their truths at a time most rewarding to their own agenda. It is that wisdom that frightens me the most.

I feel as if I’ve swallowed a slow acting poison, the point of my demise looming ever closer, a demise that does not necessarily need to end in death. I find that even when I’m in the house, a place that I should feel safe, that I’m constantly looking over my shoulder, searching for something, someone, who waits in the shadows.

They are beckoning me to do something I do not wish to do. They are requiring that I .. choose.

The Telling

Progress is slow. She didn’t want to sleep with me the first night and I couldn’t bear to let her go. I wore her out with stories, one after another, until at last her eyes wearily closed and she fell into the depths of slumber.. only to awaken a few ahns later in the throes of a nightmare.

I held her and comforted her, and told her I loved her until she calmed, until I could hear her breathing evening out once again. She’s shy, painfully so and I have to think she feels as ostracized as I once did, alone in the world, despite the fact that I’m with her constantly. I can tell she misses her father, though she doesn’t ask about him. I wonder if it was something he said when he spoke to her, before he left, some secret they shared, a secret that I will never be a part of.

She refuses to allow me to remove the braids in her hair, or the pieces of shells embedded. I have agreed to let her keep them for as long as she wishes, such a small matter, considering the bigger picture. I have my work cut out for me.

She’s very articulate, when she speaks, which isn’t often, only when she has something to say. She likes to read and color, and even seemed interested when I told her that Julian liked to have tea parties. She asked me if he was her brother, now that the other was gone. The lump in my throat was so large, I almost couldn’t answer. This was something that needed explained, so I sat at the edge of the couch, pulled her onto my lap, and proceeded to tell her as much as I dared, not wanting her to feel confused.. or betrayed.

It’s always hard to settle into the midst of a new family, and once again, I felt it too soon to tell her about the baby. I will though, as soon as she feels more secure in her surroundings.

It had been a few days since I’d been able to meet up with my favorite Scribe, and things had happened, Charm not the least of them, that I needed to talk to him about. I immediately plunged into topics that I thought were priority, in said order. I felt him stiffen at the mention of Cain’s name, his mood not improving when I related to him what had happened with the assassin in the Square, and the one that seemed to think I had all the answers.

He would have allowed me to leave, had I wished it, even suggested that perhaps I should go back, to make things easier on Charm. For her to trust me again. I was silent. Not because I wanted to return to a life I had left in ashes, by my own doing, but because I felt he was able to let me go.. so easily, whether it was actually easy for him or not.

He doesn’t understand yet. Or perhaps he just can’t comprehend that I have no intention of leaving him. He doesn’t get that I smile when he does nothing more than simply walk into the room. That when he looks at me, my heart begins to flutter, and some of my timidness wanes. Maybe that’s my job, to make him believe. Or at the very least, to understand.

I told him a secret, something that I had considered.

Being a mother changes much.

The Unexpected

It’s a girl.

Not the one I carry within me, but the one I thought lost. Charm is home, surprisingly enough, at her father’s request.

She looked as if she’d just stepped from the sea, red curls riddled with braids; shells intertwined, and blue eyes, so like her fathers. When I went to hug her, she pulled away, stepping warily back to Cain’s side.

She doesn’t like chocolate.

She doesn’t remember me.

He’s also insisted that she wear black, the way of his people after a death. The death of our son. I suddenly felt the unadorned dark blue robes I was wearing not near somber enough and I turned away with a pang of guilt.

As if I had forgotten.

He knelt down and spoke to her, in the language of his homeland and soon enough she stepped in my direction, her face tearstained, unsure of my motives. “I love you.” He said.

But whether it was directed at me or Charm, I wasn’t sure.

She has nightmares often, awakening in the dark, her eyes transfixed in terror, her body frozen in fear. She has the curse, more so than me.

She’s seen what I’ve done.

I went to him to try and explain, things left unfinished between us, awkward emotions and inescapable regrets. He had tears in his eyes. He kissed me, so familiar. I backed away.

Our passion is poisonous.

He asked me if I loved the Scribe. He wouldn’t look at me. I could feel the pain. The loss. The mourning. I told him yes.

But I was not brave enough to tell him about the baby.

I have her until the first day of the cold season. I have till then to undo what I have done to her.

To undo what I have done to myself.

Presents

Every time I look at it, it makes me smile.

I’ve never been one for much ornamentation, no ribbons or bows or lace to help with the architecture of my clothing. No flash of jewelry or decorated pins for my hair. I’m not sure why. It looks perfectly appropriate on others but somehow, it just doesn’t seem to fit.. me.

But the gift Lucian gave to me today fits me perfectly. Not only is the color fascinating to gaze into, but it holds within in it a part of him and Julian. He called it a birth-stone, a stone that represents the month in which both he and Julian were born. It makes me curious to see what my birth-stone would be.

I had something as well, something that was inadvertently for him. I had remembered that he had told me he changes for the better when he is around water, so I had a seamstress make a baby mobile of creatures from the sea. Probably silly on my part, but I thought if I did the nursery thus, it would create a calming effect, or at least be more esthetic to his senses.

He is a man who contains many mysteries, some of which I am privy to, tonight even more. I find myself often feeling defensive when I think he’s going to send me away. I don’t want to go. I want to be.. here. I’m not sure if he can understand why, or even if I can explain it properly.

But this time his secret could well fall into the hands of others. If they get too close, he’ll go underground.

I don’t think the House would like that.


Kurrost
I had thoughts of visiting the arena, but being it was so crowded the night previous, I decided, instead, to go to one of the parks. My mistake, since it seemed everyone else had visited the arena.

It was a pretty night, with the moons casting a silver blue light over the water. It’s like a picture I once saw for sale in the square, where the painter had caught the essence of surreal tranquility and trapped it, freezing it, for all the world to see. I wanted to step into the picture then, and here I was now, staring at it.

That is, until the hairs on my arms started to rise.

I’ve always had an odd sense of knowing when I was being watched. In fact, I’ve had this feeling several times in the last few days. Of course, when I turn, there is no one there and I chalk it up to the odd effects this pregnancy seems to be having on me.

But tonight it was different, there was a disturbance. It was in the air, heavy, forceful.. fretful, closer, as if I might be touched at any moment. I did something I normally do not do. I called out to it. And tonight, it answered back.

I accused him of following me that first night when we met on the street, after I’d read for the second assassin, and I had felt silly afterward. Now I wasn’t feeling as irrational. He was following me. But why. It was a question I put to him immediately.

He still talks in riddles, but he doesn’t seem quite as insane as before, as if he’s at last found answers, and the haze of his world is beginning to wane. He circled half way around me, cutting off my path to the gate. I was the Timegazer, he said, so I should know why.

Because he did not yet have all his answers, that I still held the key to some secret, something he needed to be whole again. I tried to explain to him that it wasn’t me, it was the cards. The signs of agitation were quick to arise, and he began to pull off his gloves, dropping them to the dirt between us, one bare hand reaching out to cup my face, while the other caressed over my cheekbone and down along my jaw. He was memorizing me, touching me as if.. all the answers were there, set within flesh. I flinched.

His hands dropped and he turned away, talking to himself. I now know the killer’s name.

Kurrost.

A Date with Death

Madness. It dictates every moment of our lives, no matter how big, or how small. It promises to be a protecting, comforting friend, when in reality, it devours us slowly, until nothing recognizable is left. I know, because I’ve touched it, tasted it, come face to face with the monster and ventured into his surreal domain, wanting to believe his whispering lies.

I met him, today, as promised, the first assassin who seems to have fault with reality. I felt more secure in the daylight, and for safety’s sake, I took two of the house guards with me, though in truth, I wasn’t sure if they would be able to stop him or not, should he display the odd tendencies I had seen the night before.

We sat on the ledge of the fountain and he chose his cards. The first chosen was The City of Dust, and when I had explained, I thought I heard a sob coming from deep inside him, one that sounded gut wrenching, but it just as quickly transformed into the most macabre, maddening laughter I have ever heard. I can quite honestly say that I trembled, having to draw my hand back from the card so he would not see. But something seemed to change in him afterwards, perhaps a sense of normalcy, before he bid me to continue.

The Warrior of Swords, The Scribe. There was a light of truth in silver eyes, beneath the mask, but his understanding seemed edged by confusion, as if I was not telling him everything. It happened in a matter of ihn, the snort and angry flare of nostrils, the hand that lurched out to grab me by the collar of my robes, pulling me forward, so that our faces were separated by only a couple of horts. He demanded to know what path it was that he should not stray from, what truth the Warrior was missing. He wanted to know the meaning of it all.

One of the guards had stepped forward, hand already on the hilt of his sword, but my hand urged him to stay back, to hold his place. Not only did I want no bloodshed, but there was something in the tone of his voice, a pleading to give him answers that he did not have.

I quickly explained as best I could, while moving my hand over his in an effort to get him to release me from his grasp. I saw it, the light, the realization in his eyes, the passion, all rolled into a gazing fury. I could feel his fingers loosening their hold on me, before his hand dropped altogether.

He rose and turned, moving beneath a white spring canopy of flowering branches arching over head, and stared upwards, once again lost in his own thoughts.

Needless to say I took this time to gather my cards and leave through another exit, though I will admit to looking back over my shoulder at him a time or two. He hadn’t moved, a statue still transfixed in his upward, bizarre gaze.

I went home, changed my clothing and washed my face, trying to reclaim some semblance of order. Julian was tucked in after two stories and several glasses of water, from which he only took sips, but nonetheless insisting on new glasses for each request. When he finally fell asleep, with Nonny left in charge, I headed for the arena.

I dislike crowds. I don’t like being touched by strangers and I certainly don’t like being pushed and pulled in a tidal wave of people. Just when I had finally made it to an empty seat near the steps, I noticed that Lucian was behind me, higher in the bleachers, speaking with Mare. Once again I fought the crazy wave of bodies, till at last I was able to take the seat at his side.

With the congratulations of Zeb, who had appeared sometime during the chaos, it was apparent that Mare was confused, so, I urged her closer, so I could be heard over the roaring din of the crowd, and explained that I was pregnant. I think I should have allowed her to stay.. confused, for it was obvious that she was hurt, which had not been my intention.

Moving forward, I’ve decided to keep the news of my pregnancy to myself.

Assassins X 2

I have never feared an assassin, because I am not afraid of death. However, that isn’t to say they do not pull my nervousness to the surface, where it crawls over my flesh like an oil slick. Today there were two in the square, the first one that I had noticed was wearing a mask, but not paying me much heed. The second, however, had a dagger painted on his forehead, and he was headed straight for me.

I thought that perhaps the dream had brought him to me, the promise of a son whose words had slayed me as if it were an assassin’s blade.

I had the cards out for inspection, as I often do days before repair takes place, but once I saw the man was moving quickly and with purpose in my direction, all thought was lost, save the glass my hand hit, my slow motioned focus moving from painted dagger, to the shards that had hit the brick, spraying water on the hem of my robes. Funny the things we notice when death is so close.

He slid into the chair across from me, a man I had seen on an occasion or two, and I knew immediately what it was he wished from me. The cards were laid out and he chose, The Kur, The World, The Ace of Wands. Each was explained in turn, I whispering, curious eyes upon us.

When the reading was over, he grabbed my wrist, and for a moment I thought that yes, I was indeed breathing my last breath, but the pull was only extended to near the edge of the table where he still claimed a seat. Perhaps he thought that I would not accept the coin, one that was tainted with the scent of blood and death, but he was wrong. He pressed the open palm of my hand over the coin that lay on the table, I thinking that our meeting was at its end. However, with the claiming of the coin came a warning, or perhaps even a threat, that if ever the cards should reveal information of his caste, that I would find myself on the tip of an assassin’s blade. I nodded mutely, but it was not a nod in terms of acceptance, merely a nod of understanding. The cards do not follow the rules of men, no matter what is at stake. Not even for me.

I could not pull my gaze away from his, transfixed, as if I was seeing myself through his eyes. It wasn’t until he released my wrist that I was able to break the stare between us, released from the solitary dark pool I often fall into with readings, and once again aware of my surroundings.

I think for a time I was numbed, unable to feel anything and more drained then I usually feel after a reading, so I sat there, quietly, until a curious woman named Virginia caught my attention with her questions. She too, was prompted to draw a card. The Ten of Wands, Lord of Oppression.

The second assassin had made himself known, by taking a seat at the opposite end of the café’s covered porch, and after some time of idle chit chat with Nash and Billy, Virginia and Mare, chatter in which I’ve never been very good at, I took my leave, wanting to stop by the bakery and pick up cookies and cake for my favorite Scribes.

By the time I had started home, a basket on my arm filled with baked goods, the lamps had been lit and the streets were quickly deserting of bodies, save for one, the first assassin from the square, the one with the mask. He made no sound on his approach, a silent wraith with gloved fingers dragging along the side of the building, fingers that were dropped away when I thought he was past me, but it was only to circle around me, as a sleen does the prey he is about to devour.

Suddenly he was standing in front of me, staring down at me, silver colored eyes little more than gray pinpricks of light, seen through the mask. When his hand lifted, I did not pull back, but the touch that followed was not one that had been expected. The glove was pulled from his hand and he touched my cheek, I think, to see if I was real or merely a figment of his imagination. Intrigued that I did not pull back, and satisfied that I was indeed flesh and blood, his hand dropped away and his glove was replaced. I could already feel my blood leaving my hands, which were still tightly corded around the handle of the basket I carried. Somewhere amidst the fray of first words, perhaps mine, I had offered him a cookie, but he was more interested in what he had witnessed in the Square, his only answer being, ‘Read me.’

I was battling with an inner urgency to return to the house, someplace safe and without threat, and so it was I asked if I could meet him, preferably in daylight, in the gardens. He agreed and I could feel my fingers relaxing on baskets hold.

We parted ways and just when I thought I was safe, the house in view; I heard the words, the undeniable phrase that turned my blood to ice. ‘I will seek you, I will find you, I will see you..’