Truth Negative

I was not unhappy, but perhaps I should have been. He wants a child. Once, I would have wanted that too, but so many things have changed and that is simply no longer something I long for, and when the physician confirmed that I was not, I could feel August slipping further away. Once, he said, he would have never been wrong about such a thing. Its not him. It’s me. It’s always been me.

Had I been with child, there would have been a paternity test. If the child had not been his, he would have ridded us of it, that he had promised and Kings help me, I don’t know if I could have complied. Yes, I was relieved that no choice need be made.

I am trying to understand what he is going through They pain he must be feeling, and even the loneliness, though I have tried to be there for him. The fact is, no once can understand. I certainly can’t, and as much as I do not want it to, I feel the wedge widening, the gulf between us expanding, and the bridge beneath us collapsing. He told me to go back to AR, that surely I could find a caravan which would accept me. No doubt, I could have, had that been the path I wanted to follow. It was not.

I am determined to follow him, to help him, to be there for him, even in those times he does not need me. Times which are becoming more frequent.

Sardar Faire

The Sardar Faire. A meeting of people converging at the great mountains. A gathering that many look forward to every year. For some, it is a place where stories can be traded, as well as goods, where men can attest to their bravery in the arena, where women can mingle and matches can be made. Everyone must go, at least once, to pay homage to those of our creation. Families look forward to it with benign excitement, but I see it as a Carnival of Dread.

Faires and I have never gotten along well. The last time I was at one, my child was taken from me and I left to contemplate my misery as nothing more than a shell of a woman. Now, I was going back. Perhaps this one would be better. I always say that.

We stopped in Point Alfred, and that is where Silas parted ways with us. I had grown to like him, to trust him, to look up to him, and I was sorry to see him go, but he too had a family and was desperate to see them. I would miss him.

August bought us a wagon and two bosks. It should have only taken us three days, but on the third day one of the wheels got stuck and we were forced to stop. By evening, a heavy layer of snow had fallen and travel was quite impossible. I didn’t mind. I was not unhappy that we would be late.

I had made stew. Simple, hot, filling and bland, but he didn’t complain. August seldom complains about my cooking skills, or lack there of. His mind was elsewhere, and before he even took the first bite, I was to know exactly where. "Are you.. pregnant."

There is not always a lot of conversation between us, but neither was there often an uncomfortable silence. This, however, was not one of those times. There was a possibility. I was trying to mentally calculate when I had had slave wine. So much had taken place in the last several months that I had not given it much thought.

He stepped towards me, his hands fisting the heavy brocade of winter robe, unfastening the hooks that held the edges together with deft authority, then sliding the material over my shoulders, revealing the shift beneath. He leaned in and nipped at my lip, then drew back, leaving just a breath of space between us, before he pressed me against the edge of the table, tilting my chin upwards, forcing me to drink from the vial. I knew immediately what it was. Breeding wine. If I wasn’t, it was his intention that I soon would be.

Sex is never a delicate matter between us. It does not hold vibrations of romanticism. It is base, bestial and purely instinct. He took me not unlike the mating of animals, with the rawness of need, unhinged by lust, and I did not want to be parted from him. Not by way of flesh, or company, and while nights were filled with wild abandon, my days were filled with lessons.

August cares for me, I have no doubt of that. He is presumptuous, possessive, protective, but I’m not sure I can acquaint those emotions with love. It’s much more base and animalistic than that. I think what he feels for me is primal, perhaps more than just an urge to sate a need, but how much more I do not know.

When he spoke again, I froze. I could feel the blood in my veins turning to ice and my flesh go clammy. Had I taken slave wine before Tukuli. I had not. How long before that? I wasn’t sure. Before we reached the mamba camp, certainly, but not since, and although there would be no repercussions for me because of him, but if our time.. together had produced offspring, he would dispose of it. I shuddered. And if I was ever unfaithful to him, he would dispose of .. me.

With My Dying Breath

I feel as if I am still dreaming, I suppose from the holdover of not getting enough sleep. Visions, fragmented, promised pictures that flash rapidly before my eyes, dreams indulged by darkness, that often border on nightmares. Women prance about with their silken scarves in an imitation’s dance of brightly colored butterflies just outside my window, and I find that I am envious of such freedoms for the first time in my life. The grieving churns and swells within, as surely as the life that so recently filled me with the ever elusive emotion of hope, of healing. Not even all the good I have done could make up for the only mistake I have made with him.

My daughter is gone, custody now in the hands of her father, a man who cannot even look at me without turning away.

I tried to burn the whispers, I tried to incinerate the madness, I tried to break the bond between myself and the faded squares of rence that have plagued me all of my life like some incurable, malignant disease, but even as the tattered edges caught to flame, I was compelled to dig them away from the orange glow of coals with my bare hands, remorse castrated by reasonable thought.

The clawing plight of tormented talons clutched at my head, incipient hysteria giving way as a wave of anguish broke through me, piercing the very gates of death, mournful wails echoing from the depths of a shattered soul.

“Shhh. You should have listened to us. We tried to warn you.”


Journal Entry: Maayan 5th day of En'Var (4) in the year 10,160 CA
I found her on the floor near the fireplace in her room at the inn, curled into a ball, whimpers half dissolved with weariness, her fingers singed and blistered by heat. I think she tried to burn them, the cards, but for reasons I may never know or understand, decided at the last ehn she’d changed her mind. She’s quiet now, though I wouldn’t say resting comfortably, instead staring out the window into a vast space of catatonic nothingness, her eyes drained of color, vacant and emotionless. I’ve applied salve and bandaged her hands, but already I can see the burns have started to heal.

Charm is coloring contentedly at her side and is unaffected by the state of her mother. They seem linked by a bond I cannot describe, with daughter answering aloud to questions or comments that her mother does not physically voice.

I have decided to take them both back to the island as soon as possible, the arrangements having already been made. Perhaps there she can find the will to heal.

The Birth

It had started in the early ahns of morning, a nagging cramp in the center of her back, but the pain had quickly begun to blossom outwards, and four ahns later Astraea was in the full throttle of labor. Lucian had been sent for before the rays of lar torvis had ever touched the edge of camp, as soon as she had realized that Mia was about to make her descent into a chaotic and unknown world.

Charm had awoken the moment that Astraea had first cried out in pain and frustration, bare feet tapping over the floor of Maayan's wagon, one hand lifted to the shoulder of her aunt in gentle nudge. "It's time."

The wind beyond the shuttered window of Astraea's room had ceased to blow, an eerie silence cocooning around the inn in a heavy pall, the air thick with panting whimpers, with tension and obscure fear.

Physician scrambled to ready cloths and instruments and with the first sign of crowning had demanded instructions be followed. "Push!" The top of head baby's head, a mass of damp darkness was forced forward, shoulders soon to follow, the healthy wail of a child heard almost instantly, ruddy arms and legs flailing in unsure distress at being expelled from the comforting warmth and safety of mother's womb.

The birth had been an easy one, all things considered, and once the smallest Simon's cord was cut and she was examined and swaddled, the child was handed over to her father so that he could count fingers and toes and be the first to bond with the daughter that he had wished for.

Heartbeat

I awoke with only one thing on my mind, making it through the day without impending sadness. I wasn’t entirely successful, but there was an undying bright moment that saw me through, listening to the heartbeat of my daughter.

It had become habit with each appointment of reading or whereabouts that I left such information at the desk of the inn, so that Lucian would always know in which direction I was headed. Perhaps it was the words Physician’s tent that set his feet in chosen path, he entering shortly after my reading with the woman in green.

Instead of compensation in coin I had opted for another form of payment, one that father and I would both benefit from. I had asked to hear the heartbeat of my unborn daughter, or rather, I had asked for us both to hear the heartbeat, quiet assurances that all was well, something I believe we both needed confirmation on.

The magical moment of hearing new life passed all too quickly, but we were both rewarded with the reassurance that the heartbeat was strong and healthy with no pending complications.

I love this child, as I have since the moment of realized conception. I want only the best for her, a perfect life filled with laughter and joy. She will not be like me, or Charm, or those that will follow the line of descendants doomed to see the fleeting images of what future holds.

And I am so thankful for that.

Lucky Me

I think they will forgive me, but I had no where else to turn. It’s not something I can talk to anyone about, and I felt as if I needed a clearer view. If I can only understand, that in itself promises freedom.

I did today something I rarely do, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I shuffled the cards for at least an ahn, while I rationalized that what I was doing. The deck was cut and I stared at it while I toiled with my decision. Spurred on by fragments of hope, I quickly chose three cards, before I lost my nerve.

The Ten of Coins.
The loss of honor, difficult times and family misfortune. This was the card of my past, but could have very well been the card of my present. Loneliness. It brought to thought my son and I immediately felt a pang of pain, of undeniable regret and mourning. I could feel my fingers twitch and I pulled them from the surface of rence, but even then I could hear their whispers.

Tre Moons
How utterly appropriate that this would be the card of my present. Nightmares and phobia’s, emotional chaos. An error caused by an inability to see the consequences. Deception, illusion. Hidden forces. Despair. Mistakes.

The Star
Self doubt. Disappointment and frustration. A delayed hope. Bitterness. This the card of my future, but only if I continued on the path I currently walked.

I have been floating about like a wraith in some haunted, nightmarish carnival, moving from camp to camp, a reading done here, a reading done there, oblivious to the things that surround me. They’ve quieted now, the cards, as has Mia, not moving nearly as much as she had only a couple of days ago, which in my experience is usually a sign that it won’t be long until her arrival.

My sister has taken Charm, promising to keep her through the end of the fair, so that I can rest.. and think. Charm was quite happy with the prospect, Maay promising to show her a number of plants that grow in the glade not too far away. Her daughter, Eden, is beautiful, with dark hair and big blue eyes. Perhaps it runs in the family.

I was returning from one of the camps, coppers in hand from the two readings I had done, when I was approached by a man asking if I had a scarf and if I would like to exchange for a favor. I told him I did not, which should have been obvious by the swell of my belly, and started to move on, but he grabbed my arm and turned me to face him again. I immediately burst into tears and he released me, smiled, and pointed to the cards. I felt so foolish over my emotional outburst that I read him for free. I have to get a grip. I can’t do it again, reliving what I went through two years ago when I lost my son. I refuse, as long as I have breath, to lose this child as well.

I cannot repair the past or the damage done. I made a mistake, and though he may never trust me again, which is well within his right, I will not run away. I made a promise that I intend to keep, for as long as it is humanly possible, even though circumstances have now changed, my feelings have not.

I pray it’s not too late to change my future.

Disappearance

We made it to the fair, though I find myself in no mood to celebrate.

Therise is missing, with no sign as to what might have happened to her.

I am missing too, but in a much different way. He does not forgive me. He does not want me. I am no longer allowed to take care of Julian. Dangerous and unfit, I now wear the title of both. He is allowing me to stay at the House, which might be more than I could have expected, in a house where I really no longer belong, save for the blood ties of Mia.

Charm has shown interest in meeting her aunt, who I hope has come to the fair. Once we are both settled into the inn, I’m going in search of her, someone I can talk to.

The only one I can talk to.

Fragility

I had a son.

Once.
Fragile little creature, dependent on those around him. But the curse that haunts me made sure he would not survive.

Choices.
There is no darkness without light, there is no wrong without right.
And I was dying. Starvation, torture, it is not a pleasant way to go. Be quick, have mercy. Choose.

Wakefulness.
The nightmares do not leave. They stab, they mock and they cut my heart up into tiny ribbons, gnawing at me from the inside out.

Silence.
No screams, no cries, no sorrowful voices soft and low to comfort. Only the cold stark reality of what I have become.

Tainted.
For me there is no redemption no retribution, there is no deliverance. I am guilty. I am doomed to walk the world of the living, watching, listening, but never feeling.

Emptiness.
I have nothing but the vacant shell that surrounds me. I have lost my children, one of which still breathes, but I cannot take a daughter away from her father, when I have already taken away his son.

I have told him everything. Every detail, no lies, no embellishments and he did not turn me away. Instead, he offered to feed me, he offered to take me home. He told me I can begin again.

Home. I’ve missed him.

A Winter’s Wrath

Cold. I think I have never been as cold as I have been these past several hands. It is not only the weather that chills me to the bone, but something more. There are others, like me, huddled in a corner of this wagon, sharing what warmth they have. Or not so much like me. I am different, for no collar has yet been thrust around my throat. I am a captive, not yet a slave and even though my freedom is elusive, I still hold hope that such shall come.

We’ve made many stops along the way of a journey which for me, seems to have no end. Girls are bought and replaced with new, though I am never set out for auction. It is as if they can sense something different about me, as if I somehow frighten them, even before my ability is known. That and the fact that I did whisper small curses when first I was caught. Had I thought of that sooner, Charm might not have been taken away from me.

I think of my daughter constantly and I wonder if I will ever see her again. What new and wonderful things has she done since we’ve been separated? Too many, I’m sure, but who do I have to blame save myself?

No one.

The winter wind rips through the cracks of this covered wagon, and though I have been allowed to keep a single robe and my cloak, the items are quickly wearing thin from everyday use. Soon I shall have nothing but threads to protect me from the elements, the leers, and the groping hands that occasionally find a way through a rotten board.

I do not speak to either guards or slaves, silence the only thing that I am yet able to control, but I’m sure even that shall be taken from me soon, for I have heard the men talk. Soon I will be a vulgar attraction of destiny. Once again, I shall read for a copper, only this time, it is coin I can not keep.

I am cold and for the first time in my life, very afraid.

The Naked Truth

“Zarah sends her regards. She thought this a much more suitable punishment then putting an ost in your couch.” The last words I would hear before my nightmare began.

I had not left quick enough and soon I found that I was not the only one mulling over my future.

Within the security of my rented room I awoke at the sound of Charm’s cry, only to have a cloth doused with slave scent thrust over my mouth and nose. Darkness enfolded upon me quickly and the words I last heard had betrayed my hope of never being found.

Days have passed; I’m not quite sure how many, having lost count, so much of the last hand a blur. Though no collar has yet been thrust about my neck, I have no doubts of the direction my life is being driven in. I lay awake at night, wondering if my daughter misses me. Does she cry for me, or has she forgotten me by now. Does Gabriel wonder why I did not return with her? Or is he happy to be rid of his brother’s companion who he almost seduced. Does he even have an inkling of what his dear Zarah has done.. Or did he approve this tragedy.

How long do I have before the banded chain around my ankle mimics that which will soon embrace my throat?

An ost would have been more merciful. But then, mercy had never been Zarah's plan.

Decisions

The fair is over, but still I linger on, lost in a haze of uncertainty, not quite sure where I should go next. Though the majority of the fair goers have returned to their cities, a few have stayed behind, for whatever reasons. I have thought of returning to AR, but I am afraid of what awaits me there. For that matter, I am afraid of what awaits me here, for I have seen two men watching me, following me. So long as I stay, I feel safe, but now that the fair is over, I’m not so sure.

I think that if I return to AR, Charm will be taken from me, as Gabriel threatened, and yet I know I cannot run forever. I had thought of returning to Schendi, but that would probably be the first place they would look.

I had better decide soon.

Port Kar Camp

Reading after reading was divined and by the end of the day, I had collected several silvers to fill my pouch. Too, I have been invited to visit, something that I may take them up on.

I was even able to buy Charm a wonderful little rocking kaiila, which now, I can’t keep her off of. She misses Kain, often calling out daddy when she is asleep, and looking around for him when she is awake.

I miss him too.

A Winter Wonderland

Finally, I have made it to the fair. The first order of business was to have my name written down, a tense moment as the initiates looked at me, I returning their stare boldly. No, they did not wish me, a woman hand plucked to serve, regardless of my virgin status. Perhaps they, like me, see what is forbidden. I am not a woman coveted by many, merely a tool in their concept of reality.

Afterwards I explored, finding myself in the merchants tent ogling a wondrous jeweled dagger. Pity the woman didn’t know the price of it, not that I could probably afford it anyway and it was much to big, one to be carried at a man’s side, not a woman’s warm thigh. But still, I have promised to return to see what her and her man can to for me. I have learned to never assume, such things that are needed usually readily delivered.

Readings followed, a young man almost reeled in, but not quite, then a man that didn’t blink a lash at paying the price of three copper. Perhaps I am too cheap.. Food for thought.