Spring fishing

Rowan’s hands cupped my face, “Your not going to leave me to do this on my own, are you?”

The gesture was heartbreaking.

Grabbing her hands into mine, I couldn’t help but respond with the harsh truth, “I have done it alone long before you’ve arrived, if anything happens to me I fully believe in you.”

‐————————————

Java’s feet kicked in the creek as she thought back on that night, the water still touched by the chilly remnants of the winter. The sharp bite of cold felt good on her skin, a reminder of how strong she is even in the recent darkest of days.

How strong everyone has been becoming.

The turn of the season only bringing redemption and favor.

“So, Java. This one wyrd touched?” Ormhildr held up a fresh caught salmon for her to look over. He was a funny old man, always insisted she minded herself and care over Ura and Jorg as a priority. But recently shes felt compelled to visit her neglected ward.

Yes he could take care of himself, but as her eyes looked over the fish they drifted, now focusing only on his marred hand. His thumb and first finger all that was left.

“Looks fresh and healthy to me.” She gave him a nod, then looked back over the rippling water and nature that was blooming with the colors of Spring.

The fish was flopped into the basket between them and he recasted his line, “It’s not yer fault, y’know that.”

She always shy’d away from this subject. In truth it was her fault, she was the one who held the knife. She who was ordered to remove a finger for each time she had refused to cast for Marzana, three times to learn this lesson. Yet here he was always comforting her and calmly reassuring her like a grandfather would.

“There’s a Rogalian noble house at Runehiem. You should see the shade of purple they wear.”

“Royal color, eh?” He let out a low husky laugh, he was never bothered by the changes in subjects. They’ve had the conversation often but the wounds have long been healed and forgiven.

“They brought vampires with them…”

All Ormhildr ever wanted was a good story when she was around so for the next hour she gave him a dramatic re-telling of the vampire in the monestary, the mind controll, the battles. The entire time she spoke his eyes were closed and a small smile on his face as if he was watching the entire scene play out in his mind.

“They’re okay now” she had just finished the part of the story where she had acted against them during the battle against the vampires, “well maybe not Damian, but hey I’ve given the nobles an abundance of gifts as an apology. I think they thought I was going to give myself up to Marzana or something.”

The fishing line tensed but he wasn’t acting on it, “Why would they think that?”

Turning towards him, his gaze hard set on her, a worn look of pain, misery, and worry written all over him.

“Because she’s back.”

The two stared at eachother, reading the small expressions on eachothers face, a silent conversation being held between the two.

Marzana was back, with horns, the usual dying of constant hunger for power, and now as of recently an ultimatum for Java.

“So the Vulgaris are a group of rogue mages,” Java broke the silence again shying away from the risk of a truth she couldn’t yet face, not infront of him.

Ormhildr’s brows furrowed but released quickly, his demeanor returning to his usual self. A new line casted for the next fish.

“They messed a friend up pretty bad, so I returned the favor. Of course that led to an invitation and right as we were getting ready to deal out magic justice, they opened their mouth and I became a fool. A quick witted and charming Gothic, can you even believe that?”

The laughter that came from him, warmed her and settled the nerves that were acting up and only encouraged her share her stories with him.

Spring is a time for redemption and favor.

Java’s secret teehees

Java sits at her desk giggling over her private journal, her feet swinging back and forth. A collection of secret stories, that at this moment, only Java has the pleasure of reading.

Perhaps you, the reader, would be delighted in the tales of her silly world.

“You Gave Me a Reason”

We are nearing the end of the winter, the peak of the coldest days. The rock hits the water with a silent splash back. The reflection of the moon shivers at the same time Reason does.

‘It’s so cold..’ their breath puffs with warm air as they wait for Ryhme to finish whatever it is they are doing with Matthias.

Hanz why did their mind keep going back to him? Was it because the connection to Ryhme was transferring to their own nerves? Was it because it was cold? Was it-

What was that? 

The reflection of the water shimmered for a brief moment.

“Reason.”

A shiver runs up their spine to the short direct response. What is he doing here?

“Where’s Rhy-”

He cut them off before the obvious question was asked “Do you really mean to ask that?”

His eyes shifted to look over the cold form that was Reason. The night did well to hide the warmth in their cheeks, was this it? Was Hanz here to discipline them for all their jests? Their eyes followed him as he moved. His hand moving in the familiar signs of discipline.

“Reason. A question was asked, were you joking about being my student?” Reason watched as he stepped closer. Stumbling stuttering to response
‘I-uh-”
shuffling back from his presence they felt the slip below their feet before they could think about what was happening.

[You see some hastily scribbled notes regarding Part 3 –  a fall in the river and Hanz jumping in to grab Reason….Calling them foolish- looking for cuts.. but in a firm ‘i’m just making sure your okay’ way and casting a warm spell teehee]

“Reasoning with the Flame”

“REVEAL YOURSELF YOU COWARD!” Rhymes voice carried throughout the circle.

The others had just left, it was too risky this time. They got Java real bad, but wounds heal, right?

There was no time to falter, the sniper was out there. Watching. And Rhyme could feel it deep in the pit of their chest. Their mouth opened to yell out again, their fists shaking at their side.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Ryhme was right!

The dirt beside their foot exploded into dust, a warning shot. Rhyme flinched but remained standing, Hanz has prepared them for this.

“Yes, prove you can fight me!”

“Why would I do that? Hmm?”
The wind carried this voice, an unfair advantage. If Ryhme could just get sight on them.

[Gotta cook this story more, slow burn? Rivalry? Teasing? What more do we know about the mysterious dangerous sniper]

             “A Shot Through the Heart”

They were all going down.  How easy the people of Runheim fell. They are weak

A cackle tore out of him. His shield raised and a blade that was still dripping with blood, Alaric readied for her.

An arrow nicks his ear as it whistles past. Who dare shot at him? Who dare-

His reflexes too slow as a form barrels into him, the arrow was a distraction.

Wind knocked from him, he struggled to fight back. They clearly were skilled and knew exactly what they were doing,
“Fight it.” A Rogalian accent spoke down on him, an order against the order of blood lust from his mistress.

“I-I cant!” He resists, “I won’t!”
Alaric twisted his arm and attempted to use the leverage underneath to toss Sir Jack, and his shield, to the side. It’d have been a small price to pay. Had it worked.

A sharp bolt attached to a crossbow pricked his clothed chest.

“Fight. It.” The vampire hunter kept eye contact with Alaric as he warned him. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

His body burned and felt as if he was boiling, his blood lust too strong, For Her.

His body barely twitched and a sharp burning pain tore through his chest.

Sir Jack kept his gaze fixed upon Alaric, a deep gaze that never faltered even after shooting him. A shiver crawled up his spine as he looked away.
What was he doing? He was pinned. Was he really looking for ways out of this position? Or was it because he couldn’t stand to be under his sight?

——-‐————————-(part 2)
How long have I been here? 
His mind wavered in and out, pain surging throughout his body slowly anchoring him back into reality.

Days? Hours? 

A groan escaped from his lips. The memories gradually aligning themselves. He remembered the fight, the chaos, the struggle.

“You back with us, Alaric?”
Jack 

He struggled to move, hands bound. Oh right. He’d been fight his restraints since arriving here with Jack.

 “Listen son, I-”

Alaric interrupted him, “Did what you had to. I get it.”

He cringed from the discomfort of speaking. His voice was as harsh as how it felt. Jack approached and stood before him. His looming figure still proving a threat as if Alaric was still not under control of himself.

Am I in control? 

He flinched back as Jack reached towards him, his body remembered what he was choosing to bury deep down.
 “Woah,” Jack laid a hand on top of his, a gesture to settle him down as if he were some kind of feral scared animal,
“You’re okay. I’m letting you out.”

Alaric slowly drew in a breath and slowly regained his posture, as a Gothic Tower would. He was back in control. With bounds removed he slowly rubbed his swollen wrists and flexed his fingers. He’d been fighting too long. It’s a wonder his body didn’t break under Jack’s pressure.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Alaric paused at the comment, “You said-”

Jack interrupted him this time, “Out of the restraints. Alaric. You don’t think after all that you’ve done I’m letting you go. No, her claws are still deep within you. We have more work to do.”

When will you learn?

‘You have some explaining to do’

‘Yup, this one is under the control of a vampire, stronger than the others. Must have been there recently’

‘Somebody come get Java! Help us!’

‘Java, please. Dont.’

STOP!

Java curled into a fetal postion in her bed, she covered her ears with her palms and squeezed her eyes closed. It wasnt supposed to be like this. She was just trying to help them.

Her heart ached, “Why does this keep happening to me” she let out a quiet sob.
***

“You are my favorite, Java. Do you know why?”

She remained silent. Marzana continued to stalk around her, monologueing while tossing and playing with a knife. She knew better than to speak, better than to make eye contact, better than to risk angering the one who kept her leashed.

“.. you are just so obedient.”

Marzana stood infront of Java, the cold tip of the blade pressed under her chin encouraging her to look up from the ground.

“Now,” Marzana flipped the knife around and offered Java the handle, “show me just how obedient you are.”

***

The blood trickled from her hand into the bowl. The amount no more than the usual cuts she’d make for the Grand Tree or to the land when the folkwise demanded it.

She wrapped her hand and they escorted her from the room into a private study. It was for the best she didn’t see the Lady consume her blood.

Sygrun and her had talked in depth the importance of this research against Alu. The cost of a little bit of blood meant nothing when the reward was to protect her people. Her home.

***

“Java-” Reason clutched their stomach and began to throw up foul rot. She watched for a moment before tense heat washed over her again. Another command from the Lady.

Now, where did Sygrun go?

She giggled and danced around the chaos. Upon seeing her fellow guild mate her hands moved swiftly on their own. A new trick she had just picked up to combat the Vulgaris. ‘Arcane Burn’

The betrayal in her eyes pierced Java in the chest. Wait, she was hurting them. Clawing for her discipline she tried to stop herself. Her blood boiled, her body again moving on command.

Forced to be obedient.

***

3 days had gone by and she couldn’t get out of bed. She couldn’t face them, she could only hope they’d forget.

“I’m so tired.”

We listen and we dont judge

“Java YOU’RE my weakness”

‘Can I believe that?

Marzana really said that.

Didn’t she also say she’d get Runeheim back for me? Do I even dare believe that?’

Java leans back and pulls her pen from the journal page along with her overbearing thoughts. Only to shake her head, “put it on paper Java, c’mon, work it out”

‘She’s for sure taunting me! But if she’s serious though, could it be that easy going back? I think… No, She’s mocking me again, this is her game. Maybe if..’ Her pen slips through the page as she scribbles with a groan of frustration.

‘her men are all gone now.. she might mean it this time. Its just her now…’

The reality of loneliness pains her heart as she remembers Phil. Alone. It wasn’t even that long ago that they all had passed. What a cruel feeling.

‘who would I be without Dr. Hiemir or Tora. Am I really all she has left? The years we shared, I wasn’t perfect either. Runeheim gave me a second chance and she hasn’t even hurt me the last times we’ve been together again,’

Another pause, this time reflecting on Father Lapis and the twisted claims that choosing to accept the help with magic was a sin for the soul, they were sick and dying. He’s wrong for that.

‘Marzana made me stronger. She always liked my magic, she even said she missed me. Maybe its my turn to make her better, just like the town did for me. She’s different and changed. Even the fae agreed. She’s weak now, it was our dea-’ the pen drops from her hand.

“Wait! Wait wait wait” panic rises as she stops her journaling, tearing off the pin from her tunic and staring into it, “I meant physically. She’s physically weak around me, right? That was the deal! Right? I know you two can hear me. You know what i meant!”

Laying her head down on the table she knows exactly what they meant with that deal now.

‘Maybe I can fix all this. Maybe I can fix her’

How do you write a will?

“Once upon a time there were twelve of them..”

“Just tell us how they died.” the comment was sharp. Such a serious tone coming from a younger adult.

A deep sigh came from Java as she paused the barest beginning of the story she was retelling. The tale of the Grey Wolves.

Jorg’s impatient attitude hadn’t faltered since they’d arrived to Runehiem, or even now as they stayed in Hrafnakastali.

“Twelve? But I only count five.” Java stopped watching Jorg trample around the graveyard and looked down at the little girl in her lap. Ura’s eyes had briefly met Java’s but she returned to facing forward, allowing Java to resume braiding her hair.

“Yes,” Java continued, “Here there is only five, but they started as twelve-” she continued her story, dropping the original flourish she had started off with.

How did they die.

Their mangled corpses laid across the ground. Twisted pained looks of the dead stared up at her from the ground, no glory or honor here.

The howling of a completed hunt echoing through the now silent town sent a shiver down her spine. The scent of wyrd disease finally fading as it’s final effects had drifted off.

She rubbed at her eyes with the palm of her dirtied hands. “‘We’ is a cowards’ lie. It was always my fault” this future memory now haunts her mind, its as if the existence of these words was always meant to be a part of her story.

Growing chaotic music began to play as a large fire crackled. The new servants of the clan had been herded and now sat at the center of camp along with the rest of the prisoners.There she wondered which of the new thralls would survive the next week. Definitely not the shivering child that now sat beside her.

Throughout the night the celebration had worsened in spirit, it had only taken an hour before Java had begun to shield the child’s view. If you can imagine how hard as an adult it is to see your loved ones face being worn by the Hallowsong, you could only imagine how permanently scarring it would be for a child.

“Ura, do you remember the fae realm?”

Jorg was gone now, but Ura had stayed to place weedlike flowers onto the fresh graves with Java.

“I dunno… a little?”

“Good, now if anything happens to me, you must go there for safety, okay? Just remember the name Evander. Tora or Dr. Hiemir can help you find them.”

Java looked down at Gisla’s letter in her hand, her heart heavy in her chest. How is this conversation any better?

Did she always have Horns?

“Duck…” Relix

“…Duck…” Narez

“..Goose!” Relit

A childhood game. Stolen by the lost souls of cruel madmen.

How else would one describe it when only the sickening sounds of cackling hyenas had surrounded them.

The Hallowsong had failed their last raid and with that the games of punishment ensued.

In her childhood Java was never chosen, a flaw of her early Culler nature. No one wanted to pick the rotten one. A mirror of this current reality. The reality that they wouldn’t pick her today. Oh, no. Having a Culler, forced or not, on your side was the golden goose Marzana craved to keep ‘safe’.

The unlucky ’geese’ had been selected and thus the punishments were dealt.

4 poor thralls, now currently made to endure the twisted game of public lashings. A threat to the mass for failing them. It wasn’t even their fault.

The wolves stood there licking their lips as us sheep were forced to watch. The only solace from such a show is the blur of tears that bubbled up and would take over one’s vision. A treat Java couldn’t indulge in.

No, Java stood as close as a favored servant could to Marzana, forced just like the rest. Watching them. Whispering for them. Her chest full of their pain.

She should be up there.

Mamuri – fortify.

Each crack of the whips she casted as quietly and quickly as she could. Her spirit wilting with each blow. Growing slow with a lack of discipline. Forced to become stupid as her mind fogged and throbbed the ease their wounds.

Worum – desensitize.

She wasn’t fast enough and Marzana knew this. It was just out of the corner of Java’s eyes that she could see Marzana’s attention was fully on herself. A large hungry grin, fed by the deepest pain of Java’s sorrow. Her punishment for failing.

Sicun- endure.

The chill of anacrusis shivered through her veins. The familiar sensation of something wet and red trickling down her top lip.

The world had eventually silenced as Java melted into the ground. Her thoughts liquid and dense, the punishment was completed but she couldn’t recall how much longer it had been. The only reality drawing her back in as Marzana roughly grabbed her by the face forcing Java to stare into her fierce gaze.

She was too weak to do much as Marzana’s other hand reached up and a thumb swiping at the trickle of blood coming from her eye.

“Wouldn’t it be fun if we put you up there next?” her voice harsh, as she mocked Java.

“Would you scream like them…” Java watched as Marzana brought her thumb to her own lips smearing Java’s blood across them, “..or would you sing for me? Hmm? Cause you sure don’t cry like them, do you now?”

How does one even answer a monster like that? So Java didn’t.

“Disappoint me again Java.”

Java’s Journal#2

‘I’m sorry, I tried looking for them. I just had some important mage things to do.’

Java laid back, flattening the tall grass beneath her. Her brow thick with sweat as she took a break from harvesting vegetables. Her thoughts jumped back to what was said to her at the end of the last market, ruminating over his words.

‘I’m sorry, I tried looking for them…’ she leaned her head to one side stretching the tense muscles in her neck all while taking rhythmic deep breaths, ‘… I just had some important mage things to do.’ Only after a couple more deep breaths into the stretch did she lean her head to the other side and repeat this attempt at easing her overworked shoulders.

He was a silly man. A silly new mage. Just a silly academic who thinks their personal works are more important than keeping the balance of Folkwisdom. Before he had been initiated he had learned to be woodwise as she is. But now? Her stomach lets out a painful grumble.

‘I just had some important mage things to do.’

It should be an honor to know as much as he knows. To be learned and chosen in the way he was. Had she had the same chances, her life would be different. likely for the better. He was lucky, privileged even.

Java suddenly sat up and shook her head, wishing away her thoughts, “No. That’s not fair.” Rising up she plucks her half filled bag from the ground and resumes harvesting food for the town. She is not a judge, it is not fair for her to judge him at all. Even if it wasn’t fair for him to leave her and the other woodwise to search for all the binding moss. Even if it wasn’t fair that he got to further his studies and met with a powerful Earthmage.

A sudden ache of pain in Java’s shoulder hit her, her thoughts again disrupted as she immediately let go of the bag.Taking a long moment to look about the field, she lightly kneaded her tender shoulder as she looked about.

“Am I a bad mage?” the words fell from her mouth with ease, leaving with the breeze that waved around her. Winter was going to creep in sooner than previous years she could feel it. Again her stomach rumbled.

“And what if I am a bad mage?” Java knelt on the ground and began to rip clumps of weeds out of the ground. It’d be easier to poison the earth, no weeds to pull if everything diseased out and died. Just as it’d be easier if more people choose to fast themselves and fool Vecatra, but not everyone is good at being Folkwise. So what did it matter to not be a ‘good’ mage?

It did matter though. That’s why it bothered her.

“You know what?” Java continued her conversation with herself, her stomach a constant reminder to the knowledge she holds and wields for the community as this year’s Speaker, “I think it’s best if I take time for myself, they will not starve.”

A celebration with The Disinherited sounded like a fun distraction anyways. Perhaps in the next upcoming season’s she will prove herself to be a good mage.

Java’s Journal #1

‘They could understand.’

Java watches The Tempest as he recoils. She hurriedly continues, “I mean, like with my backpack. I wished disease on it and they may bring that back with them and risk others getting ill.” His posture eases with some understanding but the thumping in her chest does not.

‘Am I mistaken?’

“Move!” Java stumbles forward out of the holding ‘room’, her bound hands shooting up to shield her eyes from the blinding radiance of the distant winter sun. How long has it been this time?

“I said MOVE!”, from behind her she could feel the pain of the fallen victim. The harshness of the cold ground was intolerable to their naked feet but they had to bear it. The consequences of punishment is why no one dared to look back at the fallen brethren. It wouldn’t change the outcome here and knowing why they are howling with such joy is sickening.

Unfortunately it was distractions like this she needed to keep herself alive. With a calm deep inhale she steeled herself, during her drawn out exhale a wave of ecstasy washed over herself as she casted. ‘Ease.’ The frigid bite of the cold now felt more bearable.

‘This isn’t right.’

“MEN!” Java gathered with the others and kept her head down as the one leading this pact went into his monologue about the upcoming assault they are planning. A speech that created unsettling cheers and stomping from the clan throughout its entirety.

It was around the time her comfort and ability to stand the cold began to diminish when things were coming to a close, “Now onto you lot, what to do hmm?”.
No amount of cold could compare to the shivers of death. Especially in the hands of these monsters.

‘I made the right choice’

The late night air barely nips at Java as she breathes in the smell of Summer. The town of Runeheim is still, yet she still fidgets with the wrapping on her arm, “We all have our own demons.”

Pruning Winter

The shudders of the house shake, a whistling wind passing by. She blinks her eyes as it quiets down again. A cold storm is due this time of year.

She closes her eyes, listening to the howls of the wind.

=============

Wake up.

=============

Her eyes open. The light peaks through the windows, “Florence, it’s time to get up.” Her mother stands over her, speaking calmly, “You must get ready or they will leave without you again.”
Florence looks over to the other two in the room; her father still shaking off the last bits of sleepiness while her brother paces about the room gathering the supplies for the morning hunt. She sits up and begins to get ready herself.

=============

Florence rubs her eyes as she walks down the trail, a light dusting of snow spreads over the ground. She collects what is needed from the earth and then makes her way home.

The table is set up with vials and bowls, stems separated from their leaves, and powder spilt in miscellaneous places. Florence sets the new herbs on the table, it won’t be long till the town begins to stir this morning. She reaches up to tie her hair back and pauses- her fingers catch in a knot. Moving towards the mirror she grabs a brush and evaluates the tangles of her hair.

=============

“Florence.”

Her mother speaks her name as she slowly combs Florence’s mane, “Oh Florence.” The young girl holds onto her skirt, feeling the comb struggle and pull on her hair. Her mother puts the comb down, “I’m sorry love.” scissors replace the comb and Florence sniffles as she closes her eyes.

=============

Florence stares into the mirror, a smile across her face as she sets the scissors down. Her hand traces her shoulders, up the neck and finally towards her shortened hair. “Oh Florence” she whispers.

Budded Truth

-I should tell him.-

Stepping outside she snuggly wraps the scarf around her, feeling the brisk air of early autumn nipping at the town. She inhales and begins walking down the street- opening two jars, one empty and one full of rose petals. Grabbing a few petals she then places them into her mouth.

-Should I tell him?-

She chews the petals slowly and nods at those nearby. After passing Florence then holds up the empty jar and allows the tinted liquid to leave her mouth, swallowing the rest of the flower. As she continues her journey she would replace the petals and repeat the process, filling the jar with the rosey color. It is around this time of year she finds herself with less to do. The season of growth fading.

-I should tell him.-

Florence stops at the doors of a church and swallows the last bit of petals. She takes hold of the handle and walks inside. The room is warm and silent- few people are seated or kneeling in prayer. She quietly takes a seat on one of the empty pews and closes her eyes-mimicking those around her.

“Excuse me.”

Florence stirs from her thoughts as a hand is placed on her shoulder, a priest stands before her. His tone is hushed as to not disrupt the prayers of others.

“Are you alright?”

He gestures a finger towards the corner of his mouth tracing down his chin. She lets out a quiet, “Oh” and scrubs her chin with her scarf.

“Yes,” she whispers back at him, “a little bit of dye.” she points to the jar of liquid in her basket for him to see her truth. His gaze follows and he briefly nods, releasing her shoulder.

-Tell him.-

“Wait.” her voice is less of a whisper as the priest had already begun to move away. He halts and returns, “Yes?”

“Confessions are private?”

His eyes close as he bobs his head.

“I, uh, would like to make a confession.”

She stands from the pew and follows the priest towards the back room. Her hands clasped together- clutching hard at the handles of her basket. Knowing whatever she says will only alleviate some of her stresses but will never help her wicked guilt.