Fae I

From beneath the broad brimmed hat, green eyes scanned the cloudless salmon colored sky and while hands clinched. It could be done, a simple step forward and no looking back. It always haunted his mind; it would be much easier this way. Silent and bitter he did not cry, no that part was over, now it was just warring within that kept him from making the step. His ears pricked at the sounds of footsteps coming up from the trail behind him, the dense carpet of leaves disturbed by an unsteady gait.

“Your kin are looking for you; I thought that I might find you here.” The voice was short and huffing as the climb was a tedious one. The speaker was a small thin man who wore a simple brown hooded robe. He paused and stood silent waiting for Fae’s response.

Fae turned and looked at the thin man and grimaced while rubbing his stubble that peppered his chin. “So they sent you, the sickest, weakest and craziest old bastard they could fish up. I really appreciate their concern, but for the most part they can go to hell.”

“Fae!” the old man grasped the corners of the youth’s black leather coat, “Don’t speak of your kin in such a way. It will bring evil! They are your brothers!”

A sarcastic smirk came across his lips as Fae brushed away the elders hands, “I will go because you have came Daugh, they must have know that much. But the whole lot is worthless to me now. So let us make our trip down to Marrow so that I can be sport for them.”

The trip down the forested Marrow Mountain was a hazardous one and the old man took Fae’s elbow and was led down the crooked trail to the swampy basin where the Keep of Marrow was settled. They walked passed the crumbling outer walls of the forgotten construction, night had fallen and a slow rain had begun to wet the cobblestone of the courtyard. They come to the meeting house, built on the foundation of the old keep that had long fallen. Fae removed his hat and slumped down into an old wooden chair and glanced out at the gathering.

It was Fae’s kin, the brothers and their wives, children and a meager band of trusted servants. They where drinking, eating and making merry all which disgusted Fae. Old Daugh walked to announce Fae’s arrival to his brothers.

Balran was the oldest and keeper of the land, inherited when Fae’s father had passed. He was an impressive man with white hair and wore deep blue dress of a fine noble. He approached Fae and sat down beside him, placing a firm hand on his younger’s knee.

He looked to his young brother with mild amusement that hid well any concerns. It was a brilliant mask, one that most of them had learned to develop as it was custom. “Well ‘heavy’ I see that you have been out on a stroll. We looked for you at your quarters and wondered where you had departed to.”

Fae had the knife look as he responded with a mutter, “So what is it that I am needed for? You surely didn’t want me because I was simply missed.” Balran just shook his head slightly, “What makes you think we are unconcerned for your welfare? You always think so negatively. But I do need you to do something for our clan and you are the only one that could possibly accomplish it.”

Green eyes winced as they glanced at the white haired brother, “What is it? You know that I am incapable of anything useful. You have all seen my endeavors turn to shit. So what is so important that I must perform? Why can’t you have the others to do it? It is such a vile thing that you leave it to your pet failure? Your token lunatic?”

The older brother laughed slightly, “You know you’re the only one who sees that. The reason you were chose were because of your talents. Your brothers are men of war and you are a man of peace. They know how to wield axe, sword and lead others, but you have the gift of diplomacy and can read and write. That is what I need now, for the greater good of this clan.”

Fae was interested but very suspicious of what was being said. What could be so urgent that they had to use something as trivial as writing? “What is needed then? Let me know so that I can go out and get devoured or murdered…”

Bilran smiled, and placed his hand on his brother’s shoulders,” I knew that you could be counted. You are to travel east and deliver the family records and request to the minister of Chaill. From him you will gain further instruction. You are also to take the circlet and present it to him.” Fae watched as his brother handed him a thin mahogany box that was inscribed with runes and inlaid with an assortment of strange locks.

“So what is in the box that is worth my life?” Fae spoke with a hiss. His brother opened to reveal a small circlet of white jade. “So how long have we had this? The keep is sinking into the rot and we have treasure? What makes you think I won’t just take this trinket and vanish?” Fae crossed his arms as he looked on the intricate carvings of the strange bangle.

Bilran closed the box and handed it to his younger, “I know you…” Bilran said nothing more knowing that Fae would leave at first light. He knew his younger’s circumstances and could recognize the bitterness. He could only hope that it would pass.

Fae passed the others without words or looks, he disliked his clan strongly and to be isolated from them was a blessing and a curse. He did not have to deal with their ways, but he was very lonely and this made him see things with dark pessimism. Yes he would give into duty, but he wouldn’t have to be pleasant about it. Daugh caught up with him and escorted him to the remnants of a tower that was built into the decaying walls of Marrow keep. This small worn space was where Fae had chosen to dwell; it was basic without luxury and undecorated.

Daugh watched as Fae rambled and began to pack needed things into a traveling bag; a volumous thing with a strap to wield across the shoulder and back. “You will look after the place while I am gone wont you old man?” Fae mumbled as he placed the objects to be given to the minister into the bag. “I doubt that I will return, so I will simply leave it all to you. You have been somewhat of a friend and a pretty good teacher scribe. But the messenger’s travels always end in death, if not eaten or poisoned by animals, murdered by robbers, struck dead by fever or cursed by weather, the noble usually kills him for upsetting him with bad news. I always hope for the best…like getting sickness from a painted woman.”

Daugh chuckled at Fae’s enthusiasm “well just watch yourself and maybe you’ll be alright and do be wise enough to stay away from painted women. If you know the fruit is rotten why bite into it?”

Fae perked a brow, “Well old man that means a lot from someone who can’t bite fruit due to a lack of teeth and it is hard to persuade someone who is starving not to eat. But don’t worry about that too much. I don’t have a taste for anything that turns my lip inside out.”

The darkness was deep as Daugh left Fae to his preparations. With a grudge Fae fell back onto straw and hide pile that he called a bed. He glanced up into space with darker things racing to and fro, wishing he would have just taken one step.

How painful it was to him laying in silence and hearing nothing but the beating of the whispering heart. The head heavy on the pillow and the eyes closed all that is there is the scraping of the dead and evil being dragged to the forefront of ones thoughts. He turned angrily trying to snuff it all out but he could not fight them, the demons that taunted moments of twilight.

When the passage into slumber came, he was unaware of it, perception would say that he had not moved, that he remained where he lie.
But they came, both of them and Fae despised both spirits with equal zeal. They whispered his name, showed his failures and anxieties making commentary and giving council. The one in the green mist was feminine and the other a red vapor was most hateful and male. Their form was truly unknown as they swirled about him at times seeming to war against each other. At any route, Fae wished they would leave him in peace. It was so obvious to the sleeper that they were bidding for his sanity as well as his soul.

They began their course once again, the taunting and justification. The red vapor moved like a heat wave around him mocking, “You fucking idiot, why do you continue with this? We have discussed the remedy. We both know you’re a coward, but Fae is it so that you can not muster the courage to stop the game? It is so simple, it doesn’t have to be painful and you know this. Just a small deed and all deeds of the past will fade away. What does it matter? Do you think they will mourn for you? They hardly have time to speak to you unless it is something that concerns them…you are merely a footnote, a single noun in a page…nothing more, you are a word and words are replaced by others.”

The green mist whirled and churned as it spoke softly, “Ease is never guaranteed, do you think that you’re the only one who feels pain Fae? Can you comprehend that things have seasons? You will never know spring without winter…your heart, your life, these things aren’t just random…open your eyes. Patience Fae, love and happiness will return if you have the strength to bear the weights…believe and before you know it, someone will come and help you lift the burden.

The red vapor shimmered and growled like a mad animal, “Fae…do you take stock in this sewage that is being said? Love? What the fuck! You know what love is? It is a polite description of fornication. When have you seen love? Perhaps your mother showed you love…but she is dead and so for you love is dead. Evaluate every companion you have ever had. You see a common link? They lie with pleasant words to manipulate you and when the words are not so pleasant they use it like venom to poison your soul…You can not trust a single one. Love is like a tasty cake, lovely to look at and sweet in the mouth but after a while it becomes hard, stale and needs to be tossed out.”

Fae twisted in his blanket felt like he was being bound and struggled. These dream entities where holding him down and he grunted,” Go the fuck away, both of you…no ones words mean shit to me, least of all yours.” With that he awoke on the dirt floor of the tower soaked in sweat. He looked up to the sky, watercolor violet home of the gods and gritted his teeth. He stood brushing himself reaching for traveling bag and an old iron spear. He could barely fight the emotion of the battle, slinging bag over shoulder he took a deep breath and let out a tearless stifled sob. It would have been a better thing to die in ones sleep. Before the stirring of the villages or the biddings of farewell, Fae was on the eastern path.

Kuia II

Kuia came from the Isles of Wyvern, islands that lay far to the south, across a vast ocean of mist in a land that had become ravaged by war. The Phaellyon Empire, a great nation had come from the south, claimed the land set out to conquer her people. The small cities of the island were ruled by hereditary lords who had strong warriors and fearless armies; however, there was no unification as strong rivalries existed between these cities. When the empire came, the cities of the Isles of Wyvern began to fall one by one. Yet Kuia’s parents made the task for the conquerors that much more difficult.

Kuia’s father and mother were of some importance to their city and the ones that surrounded it. Kuia’s father brought dread and fear, although it was not his intentions to do so, it reflected the nature of his destiny. Topaeto was a strict disciplinarian and judge and if that wasn’t enough to make him imposing, he also wore the mantle of the owl. He could foresee the coming of death, illness and disaster.

Like all people the Wyvern people had their superstitions and the owl was a feared creature, mystical and unknown, a teacher of shadow and guardian of death. To be blessed with his gift was looked upon as a bane as well as blessing. Topaeto was taken in his youth to the brotherhood of Mataku to improve in his arts. Isolated from the all the others he studied and grew strong with a handful of disciples on the dark mountain known as Tue Paupaque often called the corpse.

Kuia’s mother seemed to be an unlikely mate for the man. Mohewa was brilliant and vibrant and seen as an ambassador of good will. She was one of the few that wore bracelets of white jade. This represented her gifts as a healer and midwife. It was also said that she had the power to walk in dreams and alleviate fears. She was often recruited by the rulers of cities to solve problems with peoples in the land. She had unusual power and respect for a woman: a bringer of peace that spoke with the soft voice of comfort.

A season before the invasion of Phaellyon, Topaeto was taken to the land of shadow on the great night wing. He was hovered above a field littered with bodies and saw a great white cat devouring the bones. He knew what it meant and cried out for the cities to be warned of what was coming, to prepare and not take his words for naught. Mohewa was at his side pleading for setting aside of differences and to unite as one. But it could not be done until too late, for each lord thought that he was the one that should rule them all and only after much loss and bloodshed did the strongest lords concur to form council, by then it was too late. The invaders inhabited the fallen places, changing the names and enslaving the captured. Swiftly the people of the Wyvern were being pressed into the sea. Kuia was but a toddler and dwelling with her grandmother and her clan.

Those too old, young or weak sailed west with meager belongings and settled in the great western lands of Atheraes, changing their names and identities like so many other refugees from the islands. Clumps of destitute immigrants landed in various places on the western shore: Some where met with hostility, some with kindness, more with indifference. Grandmother’s was misfortune; they landed in the badlands known as Racca.

Kuia and her grand mother along with the rest of the band traveled the coastal badlands by foot for months, enduring sickness, assault and near starvation. A good turn smiled upon grandmother one day. When all hope was lost a gray cat called out from a deep crack in the ground. Grandmother being kindly went to retrieve the cat only to find foot prints that would have otherwise been missed. Some of the old hunters were able to follow them and it led them to the forgotten roads of Hearth.

The Atheraens of Hearth were led by a kindly old man and his council. After a long negotiation, bartering and more negotiation, the refugees that numbered thirty were allowed to dwell in Hearth. It was rumored that the old man was smitten with grandmother but others dismissed it as grandmother’s natural abilities to lead.

Hearth was a small fishing harbor on the great ocean, called by many of the refugees the Sea of Exodus. It was hard for Kuia as a child, living among the mixture of refugees and Imperials. Atheraes had long been established and at peace with Phaellyon, and although Phaellyon was at war with the Wyverns, Atheraes extended amnesty and considered the refugees as citizens.

Kuia was but a child, and as she aged the visions of her parents faded. When her grandmother thought that Kuia was mature enough, she explained that her parents were taken away and not put to death. One was taken to the heart of the Empire and the other far north to the land that is made of ice, also called hell and isolation.

The youthful Wyvern refugees were educated and cultured by those who were natural to Atheraes. The young Wyverns often put aside the old ways and began to call themselves Atheraenians. They began to mingle with the society and took on many of their ways. Kuia was no exception; she began to learn language and literature and was profoundly gifted. Grandmother however did not turn her back on the old ways and stressed it among the remnant clan the importance of retaining their identity. So in secret many of the children were instructed in the beliefs and traditions of the Isles: always behind closed door and away from the Atheraenians, to prevent fear and misunderstanding.

Kuia kept these thing taught to her in mind and respected them, but she like so many others could remember nothing of the Isles or the way it once was. She spoke and dressed as an Atheraenian, sung their songs, played their games and called their king her own. She smiled at grandmother’s old fashioned ways and found it a constant joy to use them to pick on her grandmother.

As a small girl Kuia had developed a reputation for being notoriously sly and making people eat their own words. People would say hello to Kuia but knew not to discuss many things with her, for if they lost one thread of their conversation to her, she would sew it into a blanket and cover them with their own embarrassment.

If a woman said a new born was “beautiful”, Kuia would dispute it, “No the thing is all wrinkled and ugly.” “It looks just like its father,” Another would chime but Kuia would add, “Well I see where it got its homely resemblance.” Needless to say Kuia’s best friend was the guiding cat who followed her constantly.

Kuia matured and began to become slightly more diplomatic, but a lot of times her mouth opened before her mind pulled on the reigns. Kuia was taken to wonder lust and spent days exploring the badlands that surrounded the village. She met her mate exploring the lands, a rouge from another town, a handsome devil that was also clever.

They had courtship and for a couple of years all seemed right to her, they had children and built a dwelling in Haven until his nature could no longer be suppressed. One day after discovering that he had affections for another it all ended horribly and he left her alone and returned to his own town. Kuia was devastated and began down a path that she had never traveled.

Kuia I

Kuia awoke to a cold mist that rose from the ground forming ghosts outside her window. She stared out thinking that it was perfect conditions for the purgatory she was now in. Sleep, it came very little and very troubled. Had she slept an hour? Had she slept the night? She could not know as time and life had now seemed to be encapsulated and surreal. It was to her if she was watching things unfold from outside of her body and her mind.

Stretching ever so slightly as the cat named Tom Gray circled and lay down beside her hip. She was hesitant to move, listening to the soft purring of the old companion that had lived in her grandmothers home for what had seemed forever. Kuia would not move and she would not budge. She was tired, tired of everything. Her thoughts had become dark and cloudy, cold like the coming of a storm but now she was in the eye of it all. Feelings coming in torrents and then devoid from anything.

Kuia lay there meditating on sorrow, she was feeling the death of her spirit with only Tom witnessing. Whispering to herself as she buried her face into the pillow, “You think you find the one you can spend the rest of your life with. The one that sets your world right will be there for you in every way. You find one you give your heart, body and soul to, to be the father of your two sons.”

Kuia paused to look up at Tom who stared at her with yellow-eyed sympathy. Her shaking hand lightly stroking through the cats bluish gray fur, “ You set up house together, start to learn each others' quirks and habits, learn to get along, help each other balance. Yes we argue every so often but not anything that can't be fixed through compromise. I so thought that he was the one, the one who would be with me til the day I died.”

The woman’s fist pushed deep into the pillow as she sat up and let her feet hit the weathered wooden floor, “Yeah Right! It was all just a fairy tale. Love, companionship, it is all fancy ideals given by the old and written in poems. Why is it that they neglect to tell you about heartache, pain and hurt? They never give eloquent words to describe what you thought was foundation turning into mud. It was never in the poems, never in the happy tales of man and woman. Why has it turned that the arms that used to hold me has become the tail of a scorpion? Tom to be like you and not feel this: I will refuse to feel this.”

Kuia sat silent as Tom ran through the opening of the chamber door. Palms on her knees she couldn’t seem to lift her head. She wanted to lie back down, to rest, perhaps with totality if it could be wished. But the kind woman in front of her would not allow it. Kuia’s eyes raised a little glancing passed thick dark strands. Kuia truly loved the woman but with the breaking of her heart someone other than Kuia seemed to dwell behind the deep brown eyes.

Kuia made her way passed her grandmother without greeting: such pleasantries where false and anything false should not be uttered. Gazing emotionless at her sons that whispered and shied their eyes away from her, she said nothing and went to prepare the meal that was expected duty. Toms head tilted as he watched the woman walk toward the table his eyes quite focused on something that could not be there. Slowly and methodically the small hand guided the blade through the long yellow vegetables. Her eyes devoid as if staring off through some unknown window, the sounds of the children and grandmother far away in the distance like the rushing of falls.

Kuia what is life for? Yes it is dependency, created to serve without thought of your own needs, without feeling the need for compassion. Haven’t you discovered that your heart no longer matters, so what are you? You’re simply an object, a tool, a thing that does what it is programmed to do. You eat, you sleep, you wake, you give a courtesy smile and you keep your mouth shut and your heart locked. This is where you will find peace.

You realize your place as an object and nothing more and it feels so safe. An object feels nothing and to feel nothing in itself is the greatest pleasure. Don’t cry, don’t smile, don’t laugh, and don’t think. Just do! Routine it is all routine Kuia, think about it and you will see. You are just biology. You piss and shit and bleed: you’re nothing beyond that. So give up ideals, dreams, faith, and hope. If you give up on it all, then you will not know the pain anymore.

Grandmother’s hand stroked Kuia’s shoulder as a trickle of blood from Kuia’s finger dripped into a small iron pot staining the slices of squash that were to be used to make the meal. Kuia yanked herself away and took the bowl to a wooden bucket of water to clean and restart. Grandmother pursued, her eyes creased with worry and concern. But when Kuia’s eyes met grandmothers they were not as they once where, the playful and mischievous wonder was gone. Now they burned with anger, don’t touch me! don't hug me ...don't tell me you love me ... touches are false, words are lies!