thisbluespirit (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thisbluespirit) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
rainbowfic2024-10-22 08:57 pm
thisbluespirit) wrote in rainbowfic2024-10-22 08:57 pm
Light Black #3; Dark Scarlet #11 [Starfall]
Name: standing in the red, red rain
Story: Starfall
Colors: Light Black #3 (Trail); Dark Scarlet #11 (A man of my company)
Supplies and Styles: Chiaroscuro + canvas + seedbeads + Graffiti - October Challenge (Fictober Prompt #12 "did you hear that?") + Resin (also forlyricaltitles square "lyric with 'red' 'green' or 'blue.'" - Red Rain by The White Stripes) + Life Drawing
Word Count: 1835
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Death/dead bodies, brief mentions of animal harm.
Notes: Pre-Starfall era (prob. c.160 years pre-Starfall), in what is now the borders of East and West Korphil and the Northlands. (Starfall is said to have happened in three main landings across time (via the Paths): Meni and Atta are from the second fall, heading towards a place inhabited by people from the first fall.)
Summary: Meni follows a trail to a dead end.
Meni rubbed a hand across their face to wipe away the sweat. They sat heavily on the nearest suitable rock, their legs aching with the unaccustomed effort. This trip seemed to be all uphill.
"Again?" Atta said, backtracking to find them. By this point, he had finally given up trying to push Meni on. He settled for a sigh, and dumped his backpack on the short grass, pacing about while Meni rested their throbbing feet.
Meni pulled a face. "Go on without me, then."
Atta rolled his eyes. He leant against the trunk of a lone nearby tree, a stunted and twisted thing. The two of them had travelled far enough that they had reached parts of the country where there were stretches of barren land. They were gradually emerging out of one such, and Meni was thankful. Meni had not enjoyed the slow-going trek through portions of the Great Forest before that, but nothing was more unnerving than these savage rocky places that had no small mercies for the unwilling traveller—no pools, rivers or vegetation, or even flatter, worn rocks like this one, that could be sat on—only the narrow path grudgingly ground down through it by previous generations of travellers.
This kind of thing was the problem with Meni's talents. They could track just about anyone or anything. Meni had never been able to explain how it worked, even to themself, but they saw signs everywhere once they started chasing down a particular subject. Every stray leaf, bent blade of grass or overturned stone shouted the way. Meni never had to work much at anything else: people came and begged them to find what they'd lost—people, animals and objects—and rewarded them in whatever way they could manage. The problem was that too many people tended to stray too far into the worst and wildest places in the lands.
Meni breathed hard through their nose. This hunt was proving to be the worst yet. Atta was searching for the closest of his yearmates who had journeyed up this way in the previous year—the whole party she had gone with had vanished. Meni and Atta had already had to make their way together through some of the deepest and most tangled parts of the Great Forest—painfully slow going and full of deep silences and then worrying rustling noises that made Meni jump. Now the two of them had emerged into upland country that was easier going for the most part, save at its steepest, but every so often stretches of the barren lands intruded into it like grasping dead fingers.
Atta himself was not too bad—Meni had gone on treks like this with plenty of people who had tried to bully or threaten them into going faster, or to keep trying on the occasions when something just would not be found, and Atta didn't do that. But Atta travelled through the difficult landscape as if he was strolling down a paved street in a southern town; Meni trotting after him, never quite able to keep up. Worse was the fact that, though Meni could see the trail ahead for his lost yearmate, they also had a feeling like worms in their gut, that they wouldn't find anything good at the end.
Atta had told them, when he first arrived in Meni's village, that it had been a full year since the party had left his home. He had been tall and rangy, skin a deep brown, and radiating quiet confidence, despite his already dusty and road-worn state. He had been respectful enough to call Meni star-blessed when he asked for their help. None of that meant this would end well.
"Perhaps you could wait here," Atta said, standing over Meni. "We're nearly there now, aren't we?" He lifted his head and listened. There was a disconcerting quiet—few things lived this near to the barren lands. The sharp wind that had cut at Meni's cheeks and stolen their breath earlier had died down. No birds called or took flight with a sharp sound of wings. Nothing chittered or scratched about in the earth, out of sight.
Meni swallowed. "I think so. But I'm coming. I don't want to be left alone."
"All right," said Atta. His brows twisted. "How are you not more used to this kind of thing by now?"
"I just don't seem to be made that way." Meni pulled out their water bottle and took a sip. "How do you know where we're heading suddenly?"
Atta said nothing for a long moment. Then he sat beside Meni on the smoothed down surface of the stones. "Maybe it's only wild travellers' tales, but over that rise ahead, back into the greenlands—I think I've heard of it. I always thought they were only stories to keep children from straying too far. But I spoke to someone once—swore they'd seen it for themselves. Said they'd never go near the place again. Oudalanse, they called it."
"Maybe we should go back," said Meni. "Piah—your yearmate. I've said all along—I don't think she's alive. I don't want us to wind up dead, too."
Atta rose. "Let's leave our things hidden here. Best not to be overladen if we need to run." He put his hand to the knife on his belt. "If this is where we've come to—you're no doubt right. Nothing good can have happened to her in this place."
Meni gulped, but they had to stay with Atta. They couldn't protect themself the way that he could. If Meni turned around and started homewards, it would take over a week and a half to get there, without much in the way of civilisation along the route. They didn't want to try doing that alone.
Besides, this was close to Piah, or where she had last been. Meni couldn't stop now. Whatever it was in them drove them on, as if they were a predator—their prey's scent in the air, the taste of their blood in their mouth. Even the dry dust of the path seemed to dance in the remaining breeze and form shapes to urge them onwards.
Meni's legs were still unsteady, but the path lay downwards, into the valley. Atta gripped their arm firmly, keeping them from running headlong down the steep incline. The thin stretch of the barren lands they had been passing across lost their hold here: the vegetation became thicker and at the end of their descent, they were back in the shelter of a small wood. The path ahead could not have been used much; it was covered in old leaves, and twisted roots crossed it. There was a faint smell of rotting flesh underneath the damp, earthy smell of forest. Meni shivered.
Worrying too much about what was ahead, Meni slipped and fell hard before they were barely a length or so into the grove. They groaned and then pushed themselves up into a kneeling position. The hairs on the back of their neck rose slowly. Their hands tingled. The object of their quest must be so near they were almost close enough to touch it. Meni peered forward. The earth had been disturbed, lying in heaps, its dark loam clear of the carpet of leaves.
Atta moved across, but if he had intended to help Meni to their feet, he forgot it, drawing his breath in sharply. He took two long steps forward, and then broke into a run, tearing through the nearest row of trees to a dark canopied clearing beyond.
Meni stood. They followed more slowly, unwilling, but unable to stop. They put their hand to the trunks of the trees to steady themself as they passed. There was a clear trail that anyone could have followed without needing someone like Meni. First, more heaps of earth, then one dead creature after another—birds first, then a fox, then people, tipped into a hole, on top of older bodies and bones. From what Meni could see of the clothing of the most recent—bright, incongruous reds, yellows, and greens, corners waving in the light breeze—they were all Forest-people, like Meni and Atta; no Firstlanders.
Atta stayed there, staring down, but Meni backed away, much as they had come, hanging onto trunks and branches to avoid tumbling down after the corpses. They only stopped when they had reached the edge of the trees, where they threw themselves down against the shelter of some rocks and curled up in the watery northern sunlight, shaking.
It was a few minutes more, before Atta joined them.
"She—she was there," Meni began, remembering their quest. They lifted their head; fine dark hair falling away from their face. "Piah."
Atta held up a hand. "I saw. Her belt. That knife of hers. I'd know it anywhere." His face shuttered in, and he leant in against the nearest tree with a shaky breath.
Meni swallowed. Atta must have—he must have looked. They shuddered.
"We must go," said Atta, before Meni could tell him to sit down or eat something first—whatever it was a person did when one uncovered the site of a massacre. Maybe there weren't any rules for that.
Meni nodded.
"This isn't a new site, and they haven't finished with it yet," added Atta, more quietly.
Meni jumped up.
Somewhere behind them in the trees, they heard a rustling, the faint snap of a twig, perhaps leaves crunching underfoot. Even Meni didn't argue about heading straight back up the hill and into the barren lands again. The only thing that mattered was to get away from this green place of death. The stench of it seemed to have followed them out.
"But why? Who did that?" Meni gasped as they hurried after Atta as fast as they could. Nobody did things like this, did they? None of the Peoples went round killing indiscriminately. There were too few of them and the land hated them more than enough without people joining in. There'd been trouble between individuals, or between settlements sometimes, and people who'd follow you into the wild and rob you, if you were very unlucky—even a war up north, people said—but nothing like this.
At the top of the ridge, Atta reached down to haul Meni up to join him on the path. He stared back beyond them. "Looks like those tales were right. The people of Oudalanse—they say our peoples are cursed. Us and everything we brought to the world with us, like those poor creatures. They kill any of us who come near them."
The wind had returned with a chilly edge. Meni craned their head round, hearing indistinct noises from somewhere behind them, but they could see nobody coming up the sharp slope towards them yet. The two of them were horribly exposed along the wide, bare ridge.
Atta leant in close. "Don't stand there—go!" he ordered, and shoved Meni onwards.
Meni ran.
Story: Starfall
Colors: Light Black #3 (Trail); Dark Scarlet #11 (A man of my company)
Supplies and Styles: Chiaroscuro + canvas + seedbeads + Graffiti - October Challenge (Fictober Prompt #12 "did you hear that?") + Resin (also for
lyricaltitles square "lyric with 'red' 'green' or 'blue.'" - Red Rain by The White Stripes) + Life DrawingWord Count: 1835
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Death/dead bodies, brief mentions of animal harm.
Notes: Pre-Starfall era (prob. c.160 years pre-Starfall), in what is now the borders of East and West Korphil and the Northlands. (Starfall is said to have happened in three main landings across time (via the Paths): Meni and Atta are from the second fall, heading towards a place inhabited by people from the first fall.)
Summary: Meni follows a trail to a dead end.
Meni rubbed a hand across their face to wipe away the sweat. They sat heavily on the nearest suitable rock, their legs aching with the unaccustomed effort. This trip seemed to be all uphill.
"Again?" Atta said, backtracking to find them. By this point, he had finally given up trying to push Meni on. He settled for a sigh, and dumped his backpack on the short grass, pacing about while Meni rested their throbbing feet.
Meni pulled a face. "Go on without me, then."
Atta rolled his eyes. He leant against the trunk of a lone nearby tree, a stunted and twisted thing. The two of them had travelled far enough that they had reached parts of the country where there were stretches of barren land. They were gradually emerging out of one such, and Meni was thankful. Meni had not enjoyed the slow-going trek through portions of the Great Forest before that, but nothing was more unnerving than these savage rocky places that had no small mercies for the unwilling traveller—no pools, rivers or vegetation, or even flatter, worn rocks like this one, that could be sat on—only the narrow path grudgingly ground down through it by previous generations of travellers.
This kind of thing was the problem with Meni's talents. They could track just about anyone or anything. Meni had never been able to explain how it worked, even to themself, but they saw signs everywhere once they started chasing down a particular subject. Every stray leaf, bent blade of grass or overturned stone shouted the way. Meni never had to work much at anything else: people came and begged them to find what they'd lost—people, animals and objects—and rewarded them in whatever way they could manage. The problem was that too many people tended to stray too far into the worst and wildest places in the lands.
Meni breathed hard through their nose. This hunt was proving to be the worst yet. Atta was searching for the closest of his yearmates who had journeyed up this way in the previous year—the whole party she had gone with had vanished. Meni and Atta had already had to make their way together through some of the deepest and most tangled parts of the Great Forest—painfully slow going and full of deep silences and then worrying rustling noises that made Meni jump. Now the two of them had emerged into upland country that was easier going for the most part, save at its steepest, but every so often stretches of the barren lands intruded into it like grasping dead fingers.
Atta himself was not too bad—Meni had gone on treks like this with plenty of people who had tried to bully or threaten them into going faster, or to keep trying on the occasions when something just would not be found, and Atta didn't do that. But Atta travelled through the difficult landscape as if he was strolling down a paved street in a southern town; Meni trotting after him, never quite able to keep up. Worse was the fact that, though Meni could see the trail ahead for his lost yearmate, they also had a feeling like worms in their gut, that they wouldn't find anything good at the end.
Atta had told them, when he first arrived in Meni's village, that it had been a full year since the party had left his home. He had been tall and rangy, skin a deep brown, and radiating quiet confidence, despite his already dusty and road-worn state. He had been respectful enough to call Meni star-blessed when he asked for their help. None of that meant this would end well.
"Perhaps you could wait here," Atta said, standing over Meni. "We're nearly there now, aren't we?" He lifted his head and listened. There was a disconcerting quiet—few things lived this near to the barren lands. The sharp wind that had cut at Meni's cheeks and stolen their breath earlier had died down. No birds called or took flight with a sharp sound of wings. Nothing chittered or scratched about in the earth, out of sight.
Meni swallowed. "I think so. But I'm coming. I don't want to be left alone."
"All right," said Atta. His brows twisted. "How are you not more used to this kind of thing by now?"
"I just don't seem to be made that way." Meni pulled out their water bottle and took a sip. "How do you know where we're heading suddenly?"
Atta said nothing for a long moment. Then he sat beside Meni on the smoothed down surface of the stones. "Maybe it's only wild travellers' tales, but over that rise ahead, back into the greenlands—I think I've heard of it. I always thought they were only stories to keep children from straying too far. But I spoke to someone once—swore they'd seen it for themselves. Said they'd never go near the place again. Oudalanse, they called it."
"Maybe we should go back," said Meni. "Piah—your yearmate. I've said all along—I don't think she's alive. I don't want us to wind up dead, too."
Atta rose. "Let's leave our things hidden here. Best not to be overladen if we need to run." He put his hand to the knife on his belt. "If this is where we've come to—you're no doubt right. Nothing good can have happened to her in this place."
Meni gulped, but they had to stay with Atta. They couldn't protect themself the way that he could. If Meni turned around and started homewards, it would take over a week and a half to get there, without much in the way of civilisation along the route. They didn't want to try doing that alone.
Besides, this was close to Piah, or where she had last been. Meni couldn't stop now. Whatever it was in them drove them on, as if they were a predator—their prey's scent in the air, the taste of their blood in their mouth. Even the dry dust of the path seemed to dance in the remaining breeze and form shapes to urge them onwards.
Meni's legs were still unsteady, but the path lay downwards, into the valley. Atta gripped their arm firmly, keeping them from running headlong down the steep incline. The thin stretch of the barren lands they had been passing across lost their hold here: the vegetation became thicker and at the end of their descent, they were back in the shelter of a small wood. The path ahead could not have been used much; it was covered in old leaves, and twisted roots crossed it. There was a faint smell of rotting flesh underneath the damp, earthy smell of forest. Meni shivered.
Worrying too much about what was ahead, Meni slipped and fell hard before they were barely a length or so into the grove. They groaned and then pushed themselves up into a kneeling position. The hairs on the back of their neck rose slowly. Their hands tingled. The object of their quest must be so near they were almost close enough to touch it. Meni peered forward. The earth had been disturbed, lying in heaps, its dark loam clear of the carpet of leaves.
Atta moved across, but if he had intended to help Meni to their feet, he forgot it, drawing his breath in sharply. He took two long steps forward, and then broke into a run, tearing through the nearest row of trees to a dark canopied clearing beyond.
Meni stood. They followed more slowly, unwilling, but unable to stop. They put their hand to the trunks of the trees to steady themself as they passed. There was a clear trail that anyone could have followed without needing someone like Meni. First, more heaps of earth, then one dead creature after another—birds first, then a fox, then people, tipped into a hole, on top of older bodies and bones. From what Meni could see of the clothing of the most recent—bright, incongruous reds, yellows, and greens, corners waving in the light breeze—they were all Forest-people, like Meni and Atta; no Firstlanders.
Atta stayed there, staring down, but Meni backed away, much as they had come, hanging onto trunks and branches to avoid tumbling down after the corpses. They only stopped when they had reached the edge of the trees, where they threw themselves down against the shelter of some rocks and curled up in the watery northern sunlight, shaking.
It was a few minutes more, before Atta joined them.
"She—she was there," Meni began, remembering their quest. They lifted their head; fine dark hair falling away from their face. "Piah."
Atta held up a hand. "I saw. Her belt. That knife of hers. I'd know it anywhere." His face shuttered in, and he leant in against the nearest tree with a shaky breath.
Meni swallowed. Atta must have—he must have looked. They shuddered.
"We must go," said Atta, before Meni could tell him to sit down or eat something first—whatever it was a person did when one uncovered the site of a massacre. Maybe there weren't any rules for that.
Meni nodded.
"This isn't a new site, and they haven't finished with it yet," added Atta, more quietly.
Meni jumped up.
Somewhere behind them in the trees, they heard a rustling, the faint snap of a twig, perhaps leaves crunching underfoot. Even Meni didn't argue about heading straight back up the hill and into the barren lands again. The only thing that mattered was to get away from this green place of death. The stench of it seemed to have followed them out.
"But why? Who did that?" Meni gasped as they hurried after Atta as fast as they could. Nobody did things like this, did they? None of the Peoples went round killing indiscriminately. There were too few of them and the land hated them more than enough without people joining in. There'd been trouble between individuals, or between settlements sometimes, and people who'd follow you into the wild and rob you, if you were very unlucky—even a war up north, people said—but nothing like this.
At the top of the ridge, Atta reached down to haul Meni up to join him on the path. He stared back beyond them. "Looks like those tales were right. The people of Oudalanse—they say our peoples are cursed. Us and everything we brought to the world with us, like those poor creatures. They kill any of us who come near them."
The wind had returned with a chilly edge. Meni craned their head round, hearing indistinct noises from somewhere behind them, but they could see nobody coming up the sharp slope towards them yet. The two of them were horribly exposed along the wide, bare ridge.
Atta leant in close. "Don't stand there—go!" he ordered, and shoved Meni onwards.
Meni ran.
no subject
no subject
no subject
I like this glimpse far back, no matter how terrible.
no subject
no subject
I love that!
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
1) "Behind her, the noise escalated."
2) https://i.pinimg.com/564x/97/38/36/973836d8e202e2a3712bd5db3aba8169.jpg
3) propaganda
4) build
5) "It's time we both said enough is enough/With everything that has gone wrong it's time we both moved on." - Victory, The Weekend
6) smell