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rainbowfic2014-09-21 06:25 pm
kay_brooke) wrote in rainbowfic2014-09-21 06:25 pm
Crane White #18, Mystic Beach Blue #8, Seafoam #19
Name: kay_brooke
Story: The Eighth Saimar
Colors: Crane White #18 (tell your daughters do not walk the streets alone tonight), Mystic Beach Blue #8 (here), Seafoam #19 (magic markers)
Styles/Supplies: Canvas
Word Count: 1,638
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply.
Summary: Grefflen is not the only monster walking the city streets.
Note: Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
Grefflen huddled against the chilly, sea-sprayed stone and prayed for nightfall to come. He was still vulnerable here, stashed away in a forgotten corner of a little used walkway to the sea, opening out onto a part of the bay that for some reason the fishermen didn't use anymore.
He didn't know or care why no boats were out there, nor why the walkway was abandoned. It gave him a little bit of shelter out of the way of prying eyes, even if the damp so close to the water made his fingers ache even in midday. It would be so much worse at night, but he didn't plan to stay.
He just had to keep out of sight during the day, where someone might recognize him even under the hooded cloak he had stolen from a clothesline in a grimier part of the city. Someone might realize who he was, the nobleman who had revealed himself a Jasmara. The wanted man who had escaped from his own family's guards with the help of an unexpected ally. The dangerous man who, he was sure, had already been sentenced to death in absentia. Now all they had to do was find him.
Grefflen's thoughts turned to Caris. He had not been fond of her, but she had helped him when he needed it most. She had somehow known was he was, and she had aided his escape. As if she didn't care that he was a monster.
Maybe he should have married. He thought he might have, if he had known she wouldn't run screaming when his true nature was revealed. He would have never been able to love her as other men loved their wives, but it would have been nice to have an ally, someone else to help keep his secret. He hoped her part in his escape hadn't been found out.
He gripped the cloak tighter around himself. No, there was no use in thinking what could have been. His reality was here and now, and he wouldn't dare put either his or her life in danger by trying to seek her out again.
The sun set slowly behind him, the creeping shadows from the cliff wall casting him deeper and deeper, light sparkling on the way until the sun fell beneath the rise of the city and everything was suddenly plunged into darkness. The moon that night was nothing more than a tiny sliver in the sky, and Grefflen gave thanks that the timing had worked out as well as he could have hoped, at least.
Once it was fully dark, he shifted carefully, rising on stiff knees and making sure his hood was pulled as low over his face as he could manage. There would be few people on the street now, fewer people to possibly recognize him, but the guards were always around. His only plan was to get out of the city and head into the wilderness to the west. He didn't know where he would go after that, but getting away from Untoreld and the ever-searching gazes of the guards would, he hoped, give him time to figure that out.
He climbed back up the walkway to street level, emerging around the corner of the entrance, where he nearly ran right into a woman.
No, not a woman. A girl, no more than twelve if Grefflen had to guess, her long dark hair combed straight and neatly fastened into a simple knot that fell down her back. Her dress was white, almost glaringly so in the wan light from the moon, and her eyes--
Grefflen gulped and took a step back. Her eyes seemed to glow with some internal light of their own, a flash of blue that, while Grefflen continued to stare, faded until he wondered if he had seen it at all.
Her eyes now dark pits in the gloom, the girl raised her finger toward him and pointed.
“Jasmar,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper. But it carried like a scream, echoing off the buildings around them, careening down the street, and Grefflen thought that the whole city must have heard it.
Almost immediately he heard footsteps, the heavy pounding boots of guardsmen, headed straight for him.
“Halt!” The first guard was already around the corner at the end of the street, a torch held aloft as he peered at Grefflen. “In the name of the Brey, halt!”
The girl was still pointing. “Jasmar,” she repeated, her voice louder but more normal. Now it sounded like just a little girl. An accusatory little girl, and Grefflen's heart leapt into his throat as more guards rounded the corner. The girl moved then, flattening herself against one of the buildings, and as if that was their cue, the guards made their move toward Grefflen.
For a moment his mind froze. He had been so intent on getting out of the city, of heading toward the forest gate as quickly as possible, that no other option presented itself to him. There was only forward. But forward was only a narrow street, completely blocked by an advancing wall of guardsmen, and they were nearly on top of him.
He thought about giving up. Let them take him; he was a monster, so how could he argue he ought to live?
But he stepped back, and his heel rang against the stone walkway.
Grefflen turned and fled down the walkway, skidding against the damp as he rounded the corner, going down and down, all the way to the bottom and the black sea. He nearly fell a few times, nearly slipped right over the low wall to be dashed on the rocks below, but he was more afraid of the guards behind him, so he didn't slow down. And the guards were following, but they thankfully seemed to be having as much trouble keeping their balance as he, as the sound of curses and chain mail crashing into stone floated past him.
The sea rose up, dark and terrifying, and Grefflen, who had learned to swim as a child but had always had a distaste for it, skipped the boating ramp entirely and flung himself from the walkway, plunging into the slimy, briny water that lapped against the stones. The cloak began to drag him down immediately, so he shrugged it off, leaving it floating in the water behind him as he felt his way toward where the side of the walkway met the water, pressing himself against it and edging slowly away from the boating ramp. Surely the guards wouldn't follow him, not with armor on, and by the time they got it off he hoped to be far enough away to avoid them. Thankfully he was in a narrow part of the bay, and the water here was calm, the waves merely ripples lapping against the stones. It wouldn't do to be crushed against them when he was so close to escaping.
The guards reached the edge of the walkway, and their voices tumbled over each other, casting out over the bay.
“Where is he?”
“Damn fool jumped into the water!”
“The ripples, there!”
Grefflen froze as something zipped into the water beside him. The guards were shooting arrows. Blind, because he was sure they couldn't see him against the wall, but if one got lucky...
More arrows followed, and Grefflen slid along the wall as fast as he dared, trying to get out of range before an arrow hit him or one of the guards spotted him. The voices faded but the arrows kept coming, and he heard boots on the walkway above. They knew which was he was moving, he realized, even if they couldn't see him, and they were following him, climbing back up the walkway, still shooting straight down into the water.
Then he heard splashing. One of the guards getting into the water, coming after him?
His heart pounding with fear, he took a deep breath and dived, moving far enough beneath the surface that he hoped he wouldn't leave any telling ripples before he shoved himself away from the wall and out into the bay. The salt stung his eyes and he couldn't see in the black water, anyway, so he closed them and hoped the next thing he felt wasn't the sting of an arrow.
He swam for as long as he could hold his breath, and when his chest felt like it was about to burst, he surfaced as quietly as he could, trying not to splash or gasp for breath too loudly.
He hadn't gone far, he saw with dismay, but then, a glimmer of hope: perhaps it didn't matter. From his vantage point he could take in the whole scene, and it looked like the guards still believed he was against the wall. Three of them were stalking back and forth along the walkway, shooting into the water. One was still standing on the boating ramp, peering into the shadows along the wall. A fifth was standing knee-deep on the submerged part of the boating ramp, leaning over to fish Grefflen's abandoned cloak out of the water with his sword.
And up above, at the top of the walkway, a distant white blur. The girl.
Looking right at him, he knew, even if the dark and distance were too much for him to make out any features. He half-expected her to whisper in that terrible voice again, to lead the guards directly to him.
Who was she? What was she?
There was no time to ponder his questions. Grefflen dived again, pushing farther out into the bay. He still had no idea where he was going; all he knew was that he had to get away from her.
kay_brookeStory: The Eighth Saimar
Colors: Crane White #18 (tell your daughters do not walk the streets alone tonight), Mystic Beach Blue #8 (here), Seafoam #19 (magic markers)
Styles/Supplies: Canvas
Word Count: 1,638
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply.
Summary: Grefflen is not the only monster walking the city streets.
Note: Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
Grefflen huddled against the chilly, sea-sprayed stone and prayed for nightfall to come. He was still vulnerable here, stashed away in a forgotten corner of a little used walkway to the sea, opening out onto a part of the bay that for some reason the fishermen didn't use anymore.
He didn't know or care why no boats were out there, nor why the walkway was abandoned. It gave him a little bit of shelter out of the way of prying eyes, even if the damp so close to the water made his fingers ache even in midday. It would be so much worse at night, but he didn't plan to stay.
He just had to keep out of sight during the day, where someone might recognize him even under the hooded cloak he had stolen from a clothesline in a grimier part of the city. Someone might realize who he was, the nobleman who had revealed himself a Jasmara. The wanted man who had escaped from his own family's guards with the help of an unexpected ally. The dangerous man who, he was sure, had already been sentenced to death in absentia. Now all they had to do was find him.
Grefflen's thoughts turned to Caris. He had not been fond of her, but she had helped him when he needed it most. She had somehow known was he was, and she had aided his escape. As if she didn't care that he was a monster.
Maybe he should have married. He thought he might have, if he had known she wouldn't run screaming when his true nature was revealed. He would have never been able to love her as other men loved their wives, but it would have been nice to have an ally, someone else to help keep his secret. He hoped her part in his escape hadn't been found out.
He gripped the cloak tighter around himself. No, there was no use in thinking what could have been. His reality was here and now, and he wouldn't dare put either his or her life in danger by trying to seek her out again.
The sun set slowly behind him, the creeping shadows from the cliff wall casting him deeper and deeper, light sparkling on the way until the sun fell beneath the rise of the city and everything was suddenly plunged into darkness. The moon that night was nothing more than a tiny sliver in the sky, and Grefflen gave thanks that the timing had worked out as well as he could have hoped, at least.
Once it was fully dark, he shifted carefully, rising on stiff knees and making sure his hood was pulled as low over his face as he could manage. There would be few people on the street now, fewer people to possibly recognize him, but the guards were always around. His only plan was to get out of the city and head into the wilderness to the west. He didn't know where he would go after that, but getting away from Untoreld and the ever-searching gazes of the guards would, he hoped, give him time to figure that out.
He climbed back up the walkway to street level, emerging around the corner of the entrance, where he nearly ran right into a woman.
No, not a woman. A girl, no more than twelve if Grefflen had to guess, her long dark hair combed straight and neatly fastened into a simple knot that fell down her back. Her dress was white, almost glaringly so in the wan light from the moon, and her eyes--
Grefflen gulped and took a step back. Her eyes seemed to glow with some internal light of their own, a flash of blue that, while Grefflen continued to stare, faded until he wondered if he had seen it at all.
Her eyes now dark pits in the gloom, the girl raised her finger toward him and pointed.
“Jasmar,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper. But it carried like a scream, echoing off the buildings around them, careening down the street, and Grefflen thought that the whole city must have heard it.
Almost immediately he heard footsteps, the heavy pounding boots of guardsmen, headed straight for him.
“Halt!” The first guard was already around the corner at the end of the street, a torch held aloft as he peered at Grefflen. “In the name of the Brey, halt!”
The girl was still pointing. “Jasmar,” she repeated, her voice louder but more normal. Now it sounded like just a little girl. An accusatory little girl, and Grefflen's heart leapt into his throat as more guards rounded the corner. The girl moved then, flattening herself against one of the buildings, and as if that was their cue, the guards made their move toward Grefflen.
For a moment his mind froze. He had been so intent on getting out of the city, of heading toward the forest gate as quickly as possible, that no other option presented itself to him. There was only forward. But forward was only a narrow street, completely blocked by an advancing wall of guardsmen, and they were nearly on top of him.
He thought about giving up. Let them take him; he was a monster, so how could he argue he ought to live?
But he stepped back, and his heel rang against the stone walkway.
Grefflen turned and fled down the walkway, skidding against the damp as he rounded the corner, going down and down, all the way to the bottom and the black sea. He nearly fell a few times, nearly slipped right over the low wall to be dashed on the rocks below, but he was more afraid of the guards behind him, so he didn't slow down. And the guards were following, but they thankfully seemed to be having as much trouble keeping their balance as he, as the sound of curses and chain mail crashing into stone floated past him.
The sea rose up, dark and terrifying, and Grefflen, who had learned to swim as a child but had always had a distaste for it, skipped the boating ramp entirely and flung himself from the walkway, plunging into the slimy, briny water that lapped against the stones. The cloak began to drag him down immediately, so he shrugged it off, leaving it floating in the water behind him as he felt his way toward where the side of the walkway met the water, pressing himself against it and edging slowly away from the boating ramp. Surely the guards wouldn't follow him, not with armor on, and by the time they got it off he hoped to be far enough away to avoid them. Thankfully he was in a narrow part of the bay, and the water here was calm, the waves merely ripples lapping against the stones. It wouldn't do to be crushed against them when he was so close to escaping.
The guards reached the edge of the walkway, and their voices tumbled over each other, casting out over the bay.
“Where is he?”
“Damn fool jumped into the water!”
“The ripples, there!”
Grefflen froze as something zipped into the water beside him. The guards were shooting arrows. Blind, because he was sure they couldn't see him against the wall, but if one got lucky...
More arrows followed, and Grefflen slid along the wall as fast as he dared, trying to get out of range before an arrow hit him or one of the guards spotted him. The voices faded but the arrows kept coming, and he heard boots on the walkway above. They knew which was he was moving, he realized, even if they couldn't see him, and they were following him, climbing back up the walkway, still shooting straight down into the water.
Then he heard splashing. One of the guards getting into the water, coming after him?
His heart pounding with fear, he took a deep breath and dived, moving far enough beneath the surface that he hoped he wouldn't leave any telling ripples before he shoved himself away from the wall and out into the bay. The salt stung his eyes and he couldn't see in the black water, anyway, so he closed them and hoped the next thing he felt wasn't the sting of an arrow.
He swam for as long as he could hold his breath, and when his chest felt like it was about to burst, he surfaced as quietly as he could, trying not to splash or gasp for breath too loudly.
He hadn't gone far, he saw with dismay, but then, a glimmer of hope: perhaps it didn't matter. From his vantage point he could take in the whole scene, and it looked like the guards still believed he was against the wall. Three of them were stalking back and forth along the walkway, shooting into the water. One was still standing on the boating ramp, peering into the shadows along the wall. A fifth was standing knee-deep on the submerged part of the boating ramp, leaning over to fish Grefflen's abandoned cloak out of the water with his sword.
And up above, at the top of the walkway, a distant white blur. The girl.
Looking right at him, he knew, even if the dark and distance were too much for him to make out any features. He half-expected her to whisper in that terrible voice again, to lead the guards directly to him.
Who was she? What was she?
There was no time to ponder his questions. Grefflen dived again, pushing farther out into the bay. He still had no idea where he was going; all he knew was that he had to get away from her.
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