Homecoming last night was actually sort of fun. It was a lot better than my school's dance last year, anyway. (this may be because at least the guests had to sign this form that said that if they came to the dance in any state too different from 'teenagers psyced for a dance' mode then they would be kicked out. But probably not.)
Anyway, pictures will be up on facebook sometime in the future. And I wore the heels, by the way. And my feet died.
Other news: on Friday at A block I made a bet with my friend J that if I could help get our friend C to go to Fall Formal this year, J would have to go to TWO school dances. Well, Genius and I were able to convince C to go to fall formal (I think the selling point was that if C got bored, she could hang out with us outside the gym), and so J has to go to two dances. And she's not happy, by the sounds of it. The funny part is that C told me that she was going about 20 or 30 minutes after I made the bet with J.
So.... yeah.
YAY!
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Saturday, October 16, 2010
record and shoes
Well, I just typed up some stuff for the Nikita story, and so I won't be needing suggestions for another 2-3 weeks. Hopefully. See, I wrote some stuff in my journal, and that, along with some edits I did along the way, turned out to be 2674 words. It included the first real death scene I've ever written. It was kind of depressing. Go figure. I hadn't written the character long enough to be super depressed about it, but it was a significant death that explains some stuff, so I'm still depressed about it. Does that make sense? I'm rambling, I know.
Anyway, in other news, I'm going to a friend's homecoming tonight. It's not at my school, although I'm wearing the same dress for both homecoming and fall formal. I AM, however, bringing my converses to the Friendly Gather Point (her house) just in case there's the off-chance that I won't get thrown out for wearing low tops (or hi tops, haven't decided yet) to homecoming.
You know, two years ago I wouldn't be worrying about what shoes I would be wearing to a dance. I wouldn't even be thinking about what shoes I was going to wear. But then again, two years ago I wouldn't have been considering wearing converses of any kind to any sort of formal dance, so I wouldn't have been thinking about it. I was also worrying enough about whether I was going to trip over my dress, which happened to be floor-ish length and strapless with just a ribbed sort of top to keep it up.
Yes, I did step on it.
No, nothing horridly drastic happened. It was just a small step.
ANYWAY, this year I finally got some of that double-stick tape stuff intended for helping strapless dresses stay up. Also, this year my (strapless again) dress goes to about my knees, so there's no chance of me stepping on the bottom unless I'm getting into it. And unless the tape gives out and I suddenly lose an alarming amount of weight in my hips in the same instant.
So... yeah!
bye for now. :D
p.s. photos on facebook tomorrow/ whenever I feel like posting them.
Anyway, in other news, I'm going to a friend's homecoming tonight. It's not at my school, although I'm wearing the same dress for both homecoming and fall formal. I AM, however, bringing my converses to the Friendly Gather Point (her house) just in case there's the off-chance that I won't get thrown out for wearing low tops (or hi tops, haven't decided yet) to homecoming.
You know, two years ago I wouldn't be worrying about what shoes I would be wearing to a dance. I wouldn't even be thinking about what shoes I was going to wear. But then again, two years ago I wouldn't have been considering wearing converses of any kind to any sort of formal dance, so I wouldn't have been thinking about it. I was also worrying enough about whether I was going to trip over my dress, which happened to be floor-ish length and strapless with just a ribbed sort of top to keep it up.
Yes, I did step on it.
No, nothing horridly drastic happened. It was just a small step.
ANYWAY, this year I finally got some of that double-stick tape stuff intended for helping strapless dresses stay up. Also, this year my (strapless again) dress goes to about my knees, so there's no chance of me stepping on the bottom unless I'm getting into it. And unless the tape gives out and I suddenly lose an alarming amount of weight in my hips in the same instant.
So... yeah!
bye for now. :D
p.s. photos on facebook tomorrow/ whenever I feel like posting them.
Friday, October 15, 2010
I have returned!
Hello! I know that I haven't posted since forever ago, but whatever. I should probably be going to bed soon, because I have to "wake up" at 7 tomorrow (that's when my alarm is going to go off, anyway. There's no guarantee that I'll be awake at 7, or that I'll be out of bed in the ensuing half hour) because of the Great Day of Service with my church. Don't get me wrong, I'm super psyched about Great Day of Service. I'm super NOT psyched about how I have to wake up - actually, physically drag myself out of bed - by 7:05, which is worse than a school day. My alarm goes off at 7 on school days, but I never actually get out of bed until 7:15 at the earliest (unless the light went out at like 9:30 the night before).
Anyway, that is going to be piled on top of having to do a lot of homework tomorrow and going to my another school's homecoming with two of my friends. I'm totally pscyed about homecoming. I'm not psyched that I'll be doing a lot of homework between the hours of 1 and 6 pm.
Well, I guess I should stop ranting about going to bed and actually make my way there.
P.S. This week is the final installment of what I have of the Nikita story. This means that after Tuesday, I will be taking any suggestions for it. I am open to any suggestions... :D
Anyway, that is going to be piled on top of having to do a lot of homework tomorrow and going to my another school's homecoming with two of my friends. I'm totally pscyed about homecoming. I'm not psyched that I'll be doing a lot of homework between the hours of 1 and 6 pm.
Well, I guess I should stop ranting about going to bed and actually make my way there.
P.S. This week is the final installment of what I have of the Nikita story. This means that after Tuesday, I will be taking any suggestions for it. I am open to any suggestions... :D
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
NaNoWriMo news!!!!!
So, in lieu of picking something up for NaNoWriMo, as the rules clearly dictate (next year I'm going to break the rules), I've finally figured out what I'm going to write for the month of November.
And yes, it can count as a romance novel, because one motivation for at least two parties is romantic inclination, and there wouldn't be this novel-that-will-soon-be-written if there wasn't a romantic motivation for at least one of them.
It's also (kinda) based on Paper Mario for Nintendo 64. Yes, I still play N64, even though it came out when I was about six.
And yes, I've already beaten Paper Mario. And I'm trying to beat it again, because it's been a few years since I last played. Except now it's distracting from the rest of the (nonexistent) work that I have to do. So I'm going on a self-imposed Nintendo ban.
But that's beside the point.
The point is I just got a sudden craving for boiled peanuts.
Where did that come from?
Anyway, the real point's that Paper Mario inspired my NaNoWriMo Novel (attempt). Now I just have to write it.
Poop.
And yes, it can count as a romance novel, because one motivation for at least two parties is romantic inclination, and there wouldn't be this novel-that-will-soon-be-written if there wasn't a romantic motivation for at least one of them.
It's also (kinda) based on Paper Mario for Nintendo 64. Yes, I still play N64, even though it came out when I was about six.
And yes, I've already beaten Paper Mario. And I'm trying to beat it again, because it's been a few years since I last played. Except now it's distracting from the rest of the (nonexistent) work that I have to do. So I'm going on a self-imposed Nintendo ban.
But that's beside the point.
The point is I just got a sudden craving for boiled peanuts.
Where did that come from?
Anyway, the real point's that Paper Mario inspired my NaNoWriMo Novel (attempt). Now I just have to write it.
Poop.
Nikita part whatever this is...
The trees then did something that sounded like very leafy laughter.
“This is true,” the Oak said.
“Can you tell me where he lives?” I asked.
“It is a short walk straight ahead for you,” the Ash told me, “His cabin is in a clearing that is impossible to miss.”
“All right,” I said.
I started into the forest, although my legs were finally starting to feel tired and my feet were beginning to hurt. I had barely slept in a day and a half, I realized. My eyes itched with tiredness and from squinting in the noonday sun.
“One last thing,” the Poplar rumbled. “The trees are all connected. We will hear of what occurs with you, no matter who you speak to, be it a two-leg, a four-leg, or a tree. We will know of it. Should you need us, speak to the trees, and we will hear you.”
“May the breeze be always at your back,” the Ash added.
“And may the spirits stay with you, Nikita Hyatha,” the Oak finished. “Go in peace, Listener of the Forest.”
“Thank you for everything,” I said. The title of ‘Listener of the Forest’ sounded rather intimidating.
With that, I stepped across the border between the wheat fields and the deep power of the Silvercourt Forest. Instantly, my weariness vanished. The energy of the wood was staggering; it flowed through everything in almost visible waves. It was not exactly magic, but it was a powerful, living force. It was all at once the energy of a thousand living things and the energy of the air itself, of newborn beings and the oldest trees in the forest, all intertwined and bound together like some massive net that allowed enormous freedom. The energy itself was something beautiful almost, but something that was also very intimidating and would demand respect.
The forest itself, beyond the sturdy outer perimeter, was actually quite open-looking and young. Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the trees, and I finally felt that I was on an adventure.
My energy renewed, I continued on straight ahead, like the trees had suggested. There was a path of sorts that led in roughly a straight line in the direction I wanted to go, but the trail was somewhat overgrown and was covered in easily snapped twigs. I felt like it was unwise to be making such a ruckus in a new environment, but nothing stirred.
I reached Sparraben’s cabin about fifteen minutes after entering the wood. Although the energy of the forest still kept the trees looking sturdy but young, I couldn’t help noticing that they were growing closer together, limiting the amount of light that filtered through the canopy.
In Sparraben’s clearing, the occasional stream of light still shot through the top level of leaves, but for the most part, everything was somewhat dark and tinted green.
The cabin itself was nothing special. It was a simple structure made of wood with a few chairs in front and a chimney in the back. The door, as I approached it, looked sturdy and intimidating and very, very solid. The same panic that had visited me before entering the woods washed over me again. This time, however, I was surrounded by the energy I knew well, though I had never met it, and that was what pushed me forward, though I was still terrified.
Taking a few deep breaths, I knocked on the door, sure that the occupant would hear the pounding of my heart better than the knock of my fist on the wood. There was a few second’s pause, then a voice sounded from inside.
“WHAT?” It demanded in a gruff, angry tone. There was the sound of feet pounding against a dirt floor, then an angry-looking man about a head and a half taller than I was opened the door. “What do you want?” He spat, in a tone that implied that he wouldn’t comply with whatever I asked of him.
“I’m… I’m…” I stuttered, terrified by the anger in his eyes and in his tone. “I... uh… I’m looking for- for Sparraben of Li-Lianland in the name of Shyasha Rinkari, the scarred princess of the Three Cities of Illindara.”
“What about Sparraben?” the man demanded.
“I – my grandpa sent me,” I stammered. “He- he said Sparraben could help – help me with my – what I have to do.” The anger his glance showed that he was about to boil over. I wondered if I had interrupted something important that he’d been doing. Like sleeping. Or something. I was fairly certain that this was the same Sparraben that Grampa had talked about – he had the same scar under his right eye, which was brown, while the other one was cobalt blue.
“Who’s your grandpa, then?” Sparraben demanded.
“His name was Faug Hyatha,” I told him anxiously, “and he lived in Anana before he went on the Crystal Quest.” Something in Sparraben’s gaze flickered for a moment, but his stance was still aggressive and the flicker of emotion was gone in an instant.
“Look, I came out here to get away from all that, not to have MORE adventures,” he grunted, “so clear off.” He turned around and began to shut the door.
Although I knew it was terribly rude, I stuck my foot into the gap between the frame and the door before it shut. The reaction caused an immense, painful reaction in all of the toes on my left foot.
“Please, I need your help,” I begged, clutching my foot. “Please. I wouldn’t have come if it weren’t absolutely necessary. Would you please listen?”
Sparraben turned around and regarded me for a moment, and I saw again the flicker of emotion in his eyes. I now was able to recognize it as something that resembled either pity or hope. Although he seemed to be a shrewd man, the look in Sparraben’s glanced made it seem that he believed the tears welling up in my eyes were due to desperation rather than an instinctive reaction to the growing pain in my foot.
“All right then, girl,” Sparraben finally conceded. “What do you have to say?”
“Well… first, I wanted to say that Grampa told me stories about you and Shyasha Rinkari, and I think you’re amazing,” I started. I’d learned from attempts to force Jack to do stuff that starting out with flattery always worked best.
“Girl, I’m not going to waste time listening to you rant about how much you love me,” Sparraben snapped. “It only works to make weaklings listen.”
I guess that option didn’t work. I silently cursed Jack for being one of three people I actually talked to. “All right,” I said slowly, “I know you’re the best. Grampa always said it. He also said on his deathbed that I had to find you and get you to help me bring Shyasha Rinkari back from the dead and to convince King Telsiel that a war is about to happen because the Dark Lord, Sonru, is bringing down the forest to raise up an army, and you’re the only one who can help because you’re the best Ranger out there.”
“He told you all of this on his deathbed?”
“This is true,” the Oak said.
“Can you tell me where he lives?” I asked.
“It is a short walk straight ahead for you,” the Ash told me, “His cabin is in a clearing that is impossible to miss.”
“All right,” I said.
I started into the forest, although my legs were finally starting to feel tired and my feet were beginning to hurt. I had barely slept in a day and a half, I realized. My eyes itched with tiredness and from squinting in the noonday sun.
“One last thing,” the Poplar rumbled. “The trees are all connected. We will hear of what occurs with you, no matter who you speak to, be it a two-leg, a four-leg, or a tree. We will know of it. Should you need us, speak to the trees, and we will hear you.”
“May the breeze be always at your back,” the Ash added.
“And may the spirits stay with you, Nikita Hyatha,” the Oak finished. “Go in peace, Listener of the Forest.”
“Thank you for everything,” I said. The title of ‘Listener of the Forest’ sounded rather intimidating.
With that, I stepped across the border between the wheat fields and the deep power of the Silvercourt Forest. Instantly, my weariness vanished. The energy of the wood was staggering; it flowed through everything in almost visible waves. It was not exactly magic, but it was a powerful, living force. It was all at once the energy of a thousand living things and the energy of the air itself, of newborn beings and the oldest trees in the forest, all intertwined and bound together like some massive net that allowed enormous freedom. The energy itself was something beautiful almost, but something that was also very intimidating and would demand respect.
The forest itself, beyond the sturdy outer perimeter, was actually quite open-looking and young. Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the trees, and I finally felt that I was on an adventure.
My energy renewed, I continued on straight ahead, like the trees had suggested. There was a path of sorts that led in roughly a straight line in the direction I wanted to go, but the trail was somewhat overgrown and was covered in easily snapped twigs. I felt like it was unwise to be making such a ruckus in a new environment, but nothing stirred.
I reached Sparraben’s cabin about fifteen minutes after entering the wood. Although the energy of the forest still kept the trees looking sturdy but young, I couldn’t help noticing that they were growing closer together, limiting the amount of light that filtered through the canopy.
In Sparraben’s clearing, the occasional stream of light still shot through the top level of leaves, but for the most part, everything was somewhat dark and tinted green.
The cabin itself was nothing special. It was a simple structure made of wood with a few chairs in front and a chimney in the back. The door, as I approached it, looked sturdy and intimidating and very, very solid. The same panic that had visited me before entering the woods washed over me again. This time, however, I was surrounded by the energy I knew well, though I had never met it, and that was what pushed me forward, though I was still terrified.
Taking a few deep breaths, I knocked on the door, sure that the occupant would hear the pounding of my heart better than the knock of my fist on the wood. There was a few second’s pause, then a voice sounded from inside.
“WHAT?” It demanded in a gruff, angry tone. There was the sound of feet pounding against a dirt floor, then an angry-looking man about a head and a half taller than I was opened the door. “What do you want?” He spat, in a tone that implied that he wouldn’t comply with whatever I asked of him.
“I’m… I’m…” I stuttered, terrified by the anger in his eyes and in his tone. “I... uh… I’m looking for- for Sparraben of Li-Lianland in the name of Shyasha Rinkari, the scarred princess of the Three Cities of Illindara.”
“What about Sparraben?” the man demanded.
“I – my grandpa sent me,” I stammered. “He- he said Sparraben could help – help me with my – what I have to do.” The anger his glance showed that he was about to boil over. I wondered if I had interrupted something important that he’d been doing. Like sleeping. Or something. I was fairly certain that this was the same Sparraben that Grampa had talked about – he had the same scar under his right eye, which was brown, while the other one was cobalt blue.
“Who’s your grandpa, then?” Sparraben demanded.
“His name was Faug Hyatha,” I told him anxiously, “and he lived in Anana before he went on the Crystal Quest.” Something in Sparraben’s gaze flickered for a moment, but his stance was still aggressive and the flicker of emotion was gone in an instant.
“Look, I came out here to get away from all that, not to have MORE adventures,” he grunted, “so clear off.” He turned around and began to shut the door.
Although I knew it was terribly rude, I stuck my foot into the gap between the frame and the door before it shut. The reaction caused an immense, painful reaction in all of the toes on my left foot.
“Please, I need your help,” I begged, clutching my foot. “Please. I wouldn’t have come if it weren’t absolutely necessary. Would you please listen?”
Sparraben turned around and regarded me for a moment, and I saw again the flicker of emotion in his eyes. I now was able to recognize it as something that resembled either pity or hope. Although he seemed to be a shrewd man, the look in Sparraben’s glanced made it seem that he believed the tears welling up in my eyes were due to desperation rather than an instinctive reaction to the growing pain in my foot.
“All right then, girl,” Sparraben finally conceded. “What do you have to say?”
“Well… first, I wanted to say that Grampa told me stories about you and Shyasha Rinkari, and I think you’re amazing,” I started. I’d learned from attempts to force Jack to do stuff that starting out with flattery always worked best.
“Girl, I’m not going to waste time listening to you rant about how much you love me,” Sparraben snapped. “It only works to make weaklings listen.”
I guess that option didn’t work. I silently cursed Jack for being one of three people I actually talked to. “All right,” I said slowly, “I know you’re the best. Grampa always said it. He also said on his deathbed that I had to find you and get you to help me bring Shyasha Rinkari back from the dead and to convince King Telsiel that a war is about to happen because the Dark Lord, Sonru, is bringing down the forest to raise up an army, and you’re the only one who can help because you’re the best Ranger out there.”
“He told you all of this on his deathbed?”
Friday, October 8, 2010
GO DRAMA GO!
Well, today I saw "All the Great Books (abridged)" with one of my good friends (alias Peanut Butter). When we arrived at my school (which is where the show is), we saw two of my other good friends (whose aliases are Genius and Jillibean).
If you've ever seen anything by the Reduced Shakespeare Company, this is basically in the same vein - it was, after all, written by the people at the Reduced Shakespeare Company. What made it funnier was that I knew all of the three actors in it. It was HILARIOUS! I think Genius's laugh contributed a LOT to the humor. If you've never heard his laugh, I suggest you meet him and bring some funny jokes. His laugh sounds (in the best way possible), like a mad scientist inhaled helium before doing his Evil Manic Laugh. It's perhaps the best laugh I have ever heard anyone do. AND it's his natural laugh, which is even funnier - if he inhaled helium before doing it, he would sound like... I don't know, really. Even FUNNIER, most likely. Like a character on MarioKart or something - Mario, Wario or Luigi, maybe. Or maybe Yoshi. I'm not sure - I don't remember Yoshi's laugh off the top of my head.
Anyway, I suggest you go see it. Tomorrow's the last night!!!
If you've ever seen anything by the Reduced Shakespeare Company, this is basically in the same vein - it was, after all, written by the people at the Reduced Shakespeare Company. What made it funnier was that I knew all of the three actors in it. It was HILARIOUS! I think Genius's laugh contributed a LOT to the humor. If you've never heard his laugh, I suggest you meet him and bring some funny jokes. His laugh sounds (in the best way possible), like a mad scientist inhaled helium before doing his Evil Manic Laugh. It's perhaps the best laugh I have ever heard anyone do. AND it's his natural laugh, which is even funnier - if he inhaled helium before doing it, he would sound like... I don't know, really. Even FUNNIER, most likely. Like a character on MarioKart or something - Mario, Wario or Luigi, maybe. Or maybe Yoshi. I'm not sure - I don't remember Yoshi's laugh off the top of my head.
Anyway, I suggest you go see it. Tomorrow's the last night!!!
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
NOOO!!!!!!!!!
Well, I was just looking up the NaNoWriMo rules just now.....
you can't pick up old stuff. Apparently that's against the rules because you're too attached to the characters to write in the screwiest way possible, which is the point of NaNoWriMo.
Which means I have to come up with a new premise for a ROMANCE NOVEL.
I can write romantic scenes.
I can't do 50,000 words of them.
GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!
you can't pick up old stuff. Apparently that's against the rules because you're too attached to the characters to write in the screwiest way possible, which is the point of NaNoWriMo.
Which means I have to come up with a new premise for a ROMANCE NOVEL.
I can write romantic scenes.
I can't do 50,000 words of them.
GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!
GAAH!!!
Well, as usually happens in the fall/ whenever I get 5000-ish words done of a story, I now have writer's block. BUT this time it's in TWO tangents. Great. One's for the Nikita story - I have no idea where I'm going, and I have no idea why. Anyway, you have two more (okay, one and a half more) segments to read before you catch up to where I am on the saved document, so there's no chance that people could help for another two weeks.
The second writer's block I actually have time (as in a month) to think about before I have to start working on it, but I want to think about it ahead of time so I can be not brain-dead when I try to go and finish it up for NaNoWriMo. It's the story that I put in the last post. SO please everybody read it, and then comment on THIS POST (or on Facebook, if you're friends with me on Facebook) to tell me your suggestions. And hopefully I'll be able to kick down my annoying writer's block using my awesome fictional ninja skills. HOORAY!! (by the way, I cannot actually use my potential ninja skills to break cement blocks. I wish I could, but I can't.)
The second writer's block I actually have time (as in a month) to think about before I have to start working on it, but I want to think about it ahead of time so I can be not brain-dead when I try to go and finish it up for NaNoWriMo. It's the story that I put in the last post. SO please everybody read it, and then comment on THIS POST (or on Facebook, if you're friends with me on Facebook) to tell me your suggestions. And hopefully I'll be able to kick down my annoying writer's block using my awesome fictional ninja skills. HOORAY!! (by the way, I cannot actually use my potential ninja skills to break cement blocks. I wish I could, but I can't.)
Monday, October 4, 2010
Cassidy+Damian
Well, I don't have a bit of the Nikita story for you today. This is due to the fact that I don't have to turn in the usual stuff this week (long story), and I don't want to get super confuzzled about when the updates go up/ when stuff gets counted and stuff. So that's the reasoning for that. More to come next week!
HOWEVER, a lot of my friends have been asking me whether I've worked on a story that I was working on over the summer and showed a lot of them. And I know I told you (if you're reading this) that I wasn't going to post it until November, but since a lot of you have asked about it, and I've e-mailed it out to a couple of people once I typed some up, but not everyone has seen the typed version (stuff sometimes happens in the translation from paper to computer). So here is the Cassidy and Damian story that a lot of people that I met over the summer have read.
Memo to creative writing teacher: This isn't for my 100 points!
So here it is. :D
It was very hard to like Prince Damian of Erianland when I was entirely predisposed not to. The thing is, at age five, I already knew I would have to marry him. My father, the king of Choracert, which was right next to Erianland, had told me so. I wasn’t happy about it.
At age five, we girls sometimes do hope to marry. But I was worried that I would have to right away, and when I was assured that I wouldn’t have to for many years, I was determined to find something else wrong with the matter. I always enjoyed my freedom, and I didn’t like the fact that my father was insisting that he and I go to a faraway land (my mother being deceased in childbirth, the gods rest her soul) to meet my fair prince every single summer. When I was finally talked into going, I was still inclined to hate the place.
Damian was an only child of a single mother. When we finally rode into the palace on June 1st (I was still cursing the place in my head, but remembering the little etiquette I knew and not saying any of it aloud), I thought it was a rather dismal place, although the sun was shining and the place was lively. My eyes found each crack in the stone walls, saw all the ivy crawling untamed in the inner courtyard, and noticed every fault of each face turned my way.
Damian himself was far from my mental picture of my ideal ‘fair prince’. He was a arrogant sort of figure, with dark hair the color of the deepest layer of dirt (the kind the worms liked), brown eyes in a shade that reminded me of a pile of sick I’d seen one time (the person’s sick was brown, for some reason), freckles under his eyes and across his nose (which turned up slightly at the end), and an expression that was full of a resentment that matched my own. I could tell that our only common quality for many years would be our mutual dislike.
The next thing I knew, I’d been lifted off my pony and forced to curtsy, first to Queen Lilia and then to Prince Damian. I hated the part I knew was coming: when his disgusting, sweaty hand took mine and his scratchy lips pressed for a moment against my knuckles.
That action sealed the contract: we were bound to hate each other every year from the beginning of June until the end of August, revenge consisting of pranks and attempted avoidance and all-around hatred. The first crime was that kiss. I was able to stomp on Damian’s foot as we entered the castle. The next day, Damian tripped down the main staircase. After that, I slipped on a wet floor, but caught myself easily.
When I was six, Damian’s tree house was covered in pink and yellow smiley faces and peace signs (it had been a dark forest green before), and my possessions were scattered around my room later that day. When I was seven, Damian’s horse went rampant and it took hours to get him under control. Damian couldn’t think of any sort of revenge for that.
On and on it went, each trying to outdo the other. Private wrestling matches were held. I won a fair few. Races on horseback (with me in trousers and riding astride) were won by me also. Archery, sports, pranks, tricks, bruises, cuts, pain, humiliation, defeat, revenge, and victory all could be used to describe my summers (on my side, that is). Although I was a princess, I refused to act like one. Fights were won by using resources and facing your enemies straight on, not cowering in the corner like a sissy. I wore men’s clothes constantly to remind Damian that although I was a girl, I was not to be treated as a fragile creature (and also to remind my ladies-in-waiting of that).
I must make clear that the private war that was executed between Damian and me was strictly for crimes that the other had committed; it had nothing to do with either of our parents. In fact, I was sure for a long time that neither my father nor Queen Lilia knew of the secret conflict between their children. In fact, I’m glad that Queen Lilia didn’t know of the rivalry, nor did she seem to take it personally if she did: when I was thirteen, I began my monthly bleeding, and if it hadn’t been for her, I would have been humiliated beyond belief for my panic at finding blood on my underpants. The secret war continued for many long years. When we were ten, Damian pulled his cousin Martin into the deal. Martin was a boy from the town who wasn’t exactly smart, but at least caused the numbers to shift greatly in Damian’s favor. I was still able to take on two boys in a battle of wits and strength, and came out the stronger of it. My favorite remark to Damian and Martin was, “Take THAT!” I also said it to them as often as possible, though Martin seemed to always take particular offense to it whenever I did. He seemed to think I was cheating somehow, when, I think, he just couldn’t accept that I was smarter than him and Damian both, and that he, Martin, was just the one who did the dirty work. I was glad when he finally left our midst to run a fief down south.
When I was seventeen, it all changed.
The war had become less physical and more of a battle of wits. I hadn’t dared not to wear pants constantly, just in case. I did care about clothes, but I cared in the sense of “oh, my shirt is ripped. I’m going to fix it tonight,” instead of just letting it be. I did not like wearing what most girls called “flattering clothes” – corsets, bodices, high shoes. I called them ‘elements of torture.’
Although I’d started puberty at the age of thirteen, Damian didn’t start growing until fourteen. If I’d met him for the first time at age fifteen, I might have thought him mildly attractive; but, having grown up with him trying to humiliate me every summer, I still saw him as a brat who had often tripped me on the stairs. At sixteen, the war was waning, but I still rode astride a horse and wore pants more than skirts (though I did grow my copper-colored hair to my waist and braided it every day, something I considered practical but girly). Although Damian was learning some manners, I still believed it to be a false pretense when he was speaking in this polite manner to me.
At age seventeen, I was forced to ride in a carriage in a dress, corset, AND high shoes all the way to Erianland. It was tedious, but I spent the time going over my new pranks in my head and relishing the thought of the look on Damian’s face when he found out that his rival could seduce him… and then hurt him. I greatly enjoyed that idea, and strongly considered using it, until I remembered that I never really understood how one seduces people. It probably had something to do with my ungainly height – I had stopped growing when I was fifteen, and that left me at five foot eight (which was three inches taller than the next girl, who seemed to be on the arm of a different boy each week).
Damian and I had been forced, ever since the age of fourteen, to share a few minutes of civil conversation with nobody else around before the Secret War recommenced. It was a difficult time for both of us, because we didn’t want to sound weak or awkward, but we also didn’t want to give anyone the wrong impression (rather, the correct impression, but also the impression that nobody would approve of), should they come in and find us giving each other mutinous looks and shooting insults.
This summer began no differently. I was shoved unceremoniously through one door by my father. I was usually able to catch myself fairly easily, to make it look like I had simply forgotten that there was a slight bump in the threshold as a doorstop. Today, however, I was in a floor length dress that my father had, on no uncertain terms, threatened to murder me if I messed it up. I was also wearing shoes that were three inches taller than I was used to. The shoes, too, had to be returned at the end of the summer in pristine condition over pain of death and eternal mutilation. Between the dress and the shoes, pretending to forget the doorstop that day was not as easy as it normally was. I stumbled upon entrance, as usual, and stepped forward to catch my balance. My foot caught in the skirt of the dress (which was very large, by the way), and I stumbled almost to the floor, my back somehow turning downward. I would have hit the floor had it not been that I had also nearly run into someone during my unsuccessful entrance, and it was that someone who caught me at about their waist level.
This all happened in a matter of moments, and it took a few more seconds to remember why I was being held several feet above the ground and how it was that I had gotten there. When everything was put back into place in my head, I looked up at the person who’d caught me, intending to arise from their grasp in as graceful a manner as I could manage, thank them civilly, and continue on my merry way. Well, that ended up not working.
First of all, I was unable to rise from the person’s grasp because they’d already set me on my feet. I couldn’t thank them civilly because this person turned out to be Damian, and it was against our unspoken creed for either of us to thank the other for anything in a civil manner unless in the company of our elders. I was also incapable of continuing on my merry way – my merry way had just turned rather dour at the sight of Damian and my way wasn’t taking me anywhere, since I had reached my destination. Things being as they were, I inclined my head and curtsied formally.
“Nice entrance,” Damian said, smirking.
“You didn’t have to catch me,” I retorted, glaring.
“And let a lady fall?” he said amicably. He couldn’t be serious! He’d have been delighted to let me fall. “Of course I had to.”
“And what about the summers of the past?” I snapped. “Are you saying that it’s time I forgot you were rude and humiliated me at every opportunity?”
“No,” Damian said. “Although it would be nice if you did.”
“I’m not saying what either of us did was right, but this is out of character for you,” I told him. “One would expect that you just laugh as I tripped ungainly through the door.”
“What, you didn’t honestly think I was going to stay a puny little monster forever, did you?” Damian replied, laughing slightly.
“No. I thought you’d grow into a tall, annoying monster at some point.” Damian was now almost four inches taller than me now (with the shoes), and I wasn’t happy about it.
“Of course, I’d never expect you to wear a dress around here after the age of five, and here you are, looking like a right and proper lady.”
“Was that a compliment?” I demanded.
“You’ve heard of the concept of flattery, then?” Damian answered, smirking again.
“I have indeed,” I said. “But I never thought I’d hear it from you.”
“So are you surprised I’ve changed?”
“Naturally. I’m also beginning to wonder why you’ve suddenly decided to play nice.”
“I wasn’t intending to,” Damian said, “But then you entered, and chivalry intervened.”
“Because I’m wearing a dress.”
“And you tripped over it.”
“And you suddenly decided that it was high time you played Prince Charming?”
“Well, it seemed appropriate, as you seemed to be a distressing damsel.”
“I’m a self-rescuing princess, Damian,” I snapped.
“Whatever you say,” he muttered.
The situation was saved by the servant coming to tell us that each parent wanted to see the other’s child. At this point, we would normally look at each other, smile a bit, and walk to the door as dignified as we could manage without actually touching each other (aside from some toes being trod on and some shoulders being bumped to off-balance each other). This year, Damian bowed and offered me his arm. I gave him a look as I took it. Although he had begun to act more princely, Damian would always seem to me to be the irksome boy who tripped me whenever someone had just finished mopping the floors.
So began the summer of differentness. For one thing, there were a lot fewer pranks. For another, Damian actually was being nice to me. Martin had gone off to be the leader of a fief down south, so we didn’t see him very often. Instead, Damian began to help me with riding and archery instead of hinder me – teaching me how to ride bareback and how to shoot a double arrow from a longbow, things like that. Soon my suspicion decreased as we became friends for the first time.
Of course, there were the times when I did prank him for time’s sake, like the times when we went fishing and I pushed him into the water. Of course, the next time we went fishing, it would be me who got pushed into the water, but then I would ask him to ‘help a lady out of the water’ and then pull him in after me.
“You know, you are incredibly clumsy for a princess,” Damian said on a fishing day (it was my turn to fall into the water).
“Why, thanks,” I replied. “I try.”
As we went onto the banks to get our dry clothes (we were in such a habit of knocking each other into the water that a spare change of clothes was always on the packing list), Damian asked, “What would you do if I kissed you right now?”
“Shove you in the lake,” I said without hesitation.
Damian kept asking questions like that over the next few weeks, and I threatened him with being shot with multiple arrows, making my horse kick him off his horse, wearing my three-inch shoes and kicking him in the face with them, or tripping him on the stairs… again.
Eventually, though, I began to wonder why I was threatening him with pain if he kissed me. I began to pay a little more attention to him. He was really nice, after all, and nobody had ever really been willing to teach me how to shoot. I started noticing the little things – how he always inclined his head slightly whenever he was listening to me, as if he was actually thinking about what I was saying. He also kept good eye contact and, I noticed, his eyes were actually a rather pretty shade of chocolate-y brown. I started to wonder what it would be like to be kissed. I’d never really thought about it before.
One day, Damian was working with me again on archery. I was an impeccable shot now; I don’t know why I still practiced and why I still asked for his advice.
Damian stood a ways back as I strung two arrows.
“Now, hold that,” Damian said, circling around my back. I obeyed. I sensed his presence very close to mine. “Use your back muscles, Cassidy. Shoulder blades and the lower back.” The areas tensed automatically. “Good,” he murmured. “And bring this hand a little farther back…” he guided my right hand, which was holding the arrows, back a little farther past my jaw. “Perfect,” he said. “And release…”
I released the arrows. They hit the exact middle of the target. I lowered my bow, my shoulders and right-hand fingers aching from holding the longbow (which was almost as tall as me) during Damian’s drawn-out critique.
“Very good, Cassidy,” Damian murmured in my ear. I could feel the warmth coming off his body, but I didn’t turn. My free right hand was suddenly filled by Damian’s fingers. I instinctively moved away, intending to put my bow in the upright stand by the shooting line, but just as I reached it, my arm reached its full length, and Damian hadn’t let go of my hand. I put the bow in the stand and turned to look at Damian.
“What?” I asked. My voice was suddenly quiet.
“You’re beautiful when you shoot,” he whispered, his eyes locking on mine.
“Thank you,” I murmured, moving towards him again, my eyes not leaving his.
“What would you do,” Damian asked quietly, “If I kissed you right now?”
I hesitated for a moment. “Why don’t you try and find out?” I replied.
“No pain?”
“That’s debatable.”
Damian was still holding my hand. I could still vaguely feel the tension of the bowstring on the inner joints of my fingers, but that was in the way back of my brain.
I’d never been this close to anybody before.
His eyes were still on mine. His right hand was on my waist; my left was on his shoulder.
The fading sunset flickered off the side of his face.
He leaned down. My left hand was on the back of his neck. Damian’s hand had let go of mine. His entire arm was around my waist. My right hand was on his arm.
I could feel his breath on my face.
My brain closed down and went fuzzy.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I wasn’t sure about a lot of things. Would that kiss mean we’d HAVE to marry, just like it had meant we’d HAVE to hate each other when we were five?
Was it SUPPOSED to feel like that when you kissed someone?
There was no denying that I was now hopelessly in love with Damian. Just saying his name made some little firework go off in my head.
But I’d seen some of the girls in Choracert, who swooned every time they were looked at by a boy who was mildly attractive. Would I have to join their ranks, now that I knew exactly how they felt?
I tossed and turned for hours, sleep constantly evading me. It came into my grasp once, and dreamed I was at a princess detention center, being punished for the crime of falling in love. Everyone’s spirit was broken, even mine.
I woke up with a start. It was almost dawn. I decided I’d go for a walk, since I couldn’t rest. I changed into my day clothes – male ones – and slipped my little two-blade knife into my pocket. I tugged on my dad’s old plaid button-down shirt, but didn’t bother doing the buttons over my sleeveless undershirt – I was most likely the only one awake to see the indecency. I decided not to put on my shoes. Just as I walked out my bedroom door and turned to go downstairs, I felt a hand slip around my waist and another over my mouth. Another pair of rough, calloused hands tied something over my eyes in a strong knot. I began to fight the hands that held me, but as hard as I tried to stomp on the person’s feet, kick them in a sensitive area, or wriggle out of their grasp, they would not let go.
After several seconds of me writhing, kicking, and attempting to pry away their rough, strong hands, the second person knocked me over the head with something hard, and I guess I fell unconscious, because I don’t remember anything that happened for a while.
When I regained consciousness, my body awareness had completely changed. I was far closer to the ground – my head was about three feet above the soil now – and my butt seemed to extend back behind my head. As I rose to my feet, it felt like I was on my hands and knees, but my back end was unnaturally far away from my front. Looking behind me, I saw that I had a tail. My mouth seemed to have more teeth, and my head seemed smaller and my neck seemed longer. I also felt like I was covered with fur.
Once I’d got my bearings, I began looking around. I was on a beach of a fairly large lake. Across the water was an enormous castle with about a million turrets and watch towers silhouetted against the darkening sky. On my side of the lake, there were several paths that led into a wooded area that had clearings every few feet.
Since I was completely confused about my appearance, I walked over to the water, or at least I started to. The way my muscles were moving was weird, and that is why I halted – it was as if I were using all of my guts to walk, instead of just my hips. I was also walking on four legs instead of two, and claws that extended from my legs dug into the ground as I walked.
Shaking myself, I began to move forward again. I was about to look into the water when I heard a small, timid voice behind me.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” it said. I turned. Behind me, a mouse cowered atop a very large Labrador of some sort.
“Um… what?” I was amazed to find that my vocal cords were still functioning normally, or at least how I was used to them functioning.
“Don’t look into the water,” said the dog in a deep masculine voice that didn’t sound old, but it was definitely past puberty. “You’ll summon Morlessor if you do.”
“Who’s Morlessor?” I wondered.
“He’s the wizard,” the mouse squeaked in a high, female voice. “He’s the reason I’m a mouse and Jake’s a dog and you’re a big, scary, spotted cat.”
“I’m a what?”
“I’m not sure, honestly,” Jake said. “I’ve seen drawings and pictures of big cats, but none of what you are. The closest thing I could say is a leopard, but leopards don’t have shadow lines and they have splotches, not spots, and they don’t have rings on their tails. They’re also a bit bigger, I think, and they don’t have electric blue eyes.”
“Why am I a big, unidentified form of cat?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” the mouse squeaked. “Morlessor has his reasons, which I don’t want to find out.”
“Maya’s a mouse because she’s always nervous,” Jake explained. “And I’m a Labrador because I’m apparently really loyal and such.”
“But why are we here?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Maya said. “Morlessor wanted me for my father’s land. He’s lord of a duchy, you see. At first he held a ransom, but then he decided that since I’m old enough to get married, he’d do that instead and inherit the land legally. But I’ve always said no because I really don’t want someone like that being a lord over anything.” She looked terrified that she had actually insulted someone.
“I tried to save her,” Jake added. “I was on my way to becoming a knight when she went missing. We were best friends growing up, and I was always really protective of her because she’s so shy that she used to get picked on. But Morlessor knew I was coming and now we’re both incapable of leaving the castle grounds after dark. It’s part of the curse.”
“What are the standards of the curse, exactly?”
“We’re animals during the daylight hours, but when the moon clears this horizon, we become human no matter where we are,” Jake explained. “We can go anywhere as animals, but if we’re off the grounds after moonrise, we’ll become human, but we won’t be able to speak, move, or see.”
“We change back at dawn, regardless of where we are,” Maya continued. “If we’ve stayed on the grounds through the night, we’ll retain a human part of our brains, like now. But if we’ve strayed and become frozen, we’ll be completely animal when we turn back. I’ll be completely mouse, Jake will only have the instincts of a dog, and your mind will be completely that of a big, ferocious-looking cat-type thing.”
“How does one break the curse, exactly?” I asked next.
“I have no idea,” they said as one.
“Yes, well, I do know the way to break this little spell,” said a voice behind me that sounded oddly familiar. “But I feel it necessary for the captives to see the true forms of their companions, don’t you?”
I looked east, where the moon was rising over a corner of the lake. Maya immediately leapt off of Jake’s back as bright light surrounded each of us. I could feel my back end coming forward, my front end going up, and my limbs changing size and proportion and shape as I turned back into a human. I was slightly dizzy when it was all over.
When I regained my senses, I realized that I was barefoot and my dad’s shirt was missing, leaving my shoulders practically bare. My knife was still in my pocket, however, and my belt was still on (for which I was EXTREMELY grateful).
I turned to face Morlessor, and when I did, I received a slight shock.
“MARTIN?!?”
“The name is Morlessor, darling,” he replied, an irritated note in his voice. Since when did Martin talk like he was better than he actually was, and since when did he ever have the nerve to call a girl darling? It was true that he’d lost a lot of weight, started practicing magic, and donned all-black attire; complete with cape and cool-looking hat, but Martin was still Martin – Damian’s dimwitted sidekick, klutz of the century, and irritation extraordinaire. The fact that he fancied himself to be a charmingly evil wizard was pathetic. I didn’t like him as a pudgy, irritating, good-for-nothing nuisance, but I don’t think putting him in a position of authority was going to do any good for anybody.
“Martin, what have you done to yourself?” I asked.
“Oh, you’ve noticed?” he said easily. “I was hoping you would.”
“Just because I’ve noticed doesn’t mean I like it,” I pointed out. “And the more important question is, why have you got Maya and Jake AND me here all at the same time?”
“Well, funny you should ask,” Martin replied. “The lovely Maya is with us because her father can’t pay her ransom, and she still refuses to marry me, which is our alternative to the payment. Our good friend Jacob is in attendance because of the crazy little thing called love that drives us all mad, and Maya has got him going bonkers. Since I couldn’t have him publicizing the fact that I’m not actually running a fief down here, I’ve had to curse him, too.
“You, however, are a different case. Unlike Maya, you are bait – something to lure another something here in order to be caught, not just to be exchanged for money or days or time like our friends here.”
“Damian,” I said.
“Precisely.”
“Why?”
“Because he has something that I want, darling,” Martin replied.
“The kingdom?”
“The kingdom,” he agreed. “And, as we are cousins and I am the oldest living relative on his father’s side, once precious Damian is out of the way, Erianland will be MINE!”
“You’re raving,” I announced.
“That’s a matter of opinion, darling,” he answered.
“No, Martin, it is a gosh-darn fact,” I snapped. “And stop calling me ‘darling.’ It’s getting on my nerves. You also haven’t told us how to get out of this curse yet, either.”
“I’m not telling,” Martin said tenaciously. I had a sudden flashback to Martin, Age Eleven, after a horse race: after seeing that I’d won by a long shot, he simply reined in his horse halfway to the finish line and said I’d cheated, simply because he was a bad rider and I was lighter than he was.
“Martin, if you don’t tell I swear I’ll…”
“The love of another will end your stay, and a monster you both must slay, although they may not stay for long, the bonds of love must still be strong,” he recited.
“So why haven’t Jake and Maya been freed yet?” I demanded.
“It’s supposed to be friend love, not romantic love,” he told me unenthusiastically. “And, regrettably, those two have the wrong kind.”
“Right,” I muttered.
“That’s not the only solution,” Martin said. “The alternative solution would be if Maya married me and her land would therefore be mine, or if you married me and your land would therefore be mine, and either Jake or our beloved Damian’s hearts would be broken and they would be desperate. Of course, your situation would be more ideal, because when you have a heartbroken prince; it’s a lot easier to take over a country.”
“Well, I’m not going to marry you,” I said stubbornly.
“Well, if you don’t, then you’re stuck here,” Martin snapped.
“Well, fine then,” I shot back. “I can get out without your worthless breath down my neck, thank you very much.”
“I’m sure you will, just as you cheated your way through every summer when we were young,” Martin sneered. “Which reminds me – your animal is a cheetah, because you are the biggest cheater I have ever had the misfortune to meet.”
“And you make the worst puns that I have ever had the misfortune to come across,” I retorted. “You’re nothing but an angry little man, aren’t you?” Come to think of it, he was rather short – I towered over him by almost a head and a half.
“An angry little man with power!” he cried.
I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Martin…” I slapped him hard across the face. “Now, get out of here.”
“Oh, it’s payback time,” he cackled under his breath.
I think this is the longest post I've done in quite a while... wow...
Anyway, PLEASE COMMENT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!!!!!!
HOWEVER, a lot of my friends have been asking me whether I've worked on a story that I was working on over the summer and showed a lot of them. And I know I told you (if you're reading this) that I wasn't going to post it until November, but since a lot of you have asked about it, and I've e-mailed it out to a couple of people once I typed some up, but not everyone has seen the typed version (stuff sometimes happens in the translation from paper to computer). So here is the Cassidy and Damian story that a lot of people that I met over the summer have read.
Memo to creative writing teacher: This isn't for my 100 points!
So here it is. :D
It was very hard to like Prince Damian of Erianland when I was entirely predisposed not to. The thing is, at age five, I already knew I would have to marry him. My father, the king of Choracert, which was right next to Erianland, had told me so. I wasn’t happy about it.
At age five, we girls sometimes do hope to marry. But I was worried that I would have to right away, and when I was assured that I wouldn’t have to for many years, I was determined to find something else wrong with the matter. I always enjoyed my freedom, and I didn’t like the fact that my father was insisting that he and I go to a faraway land (my mother being deceased in childbirth, the gods rest her soul) to meet my fair prince every single summer. When I was finally talked into going, I was still inclined to hate the place.
Damian was an only child of a single mother. When we finally rode into the palace on June 1st (I was still cursing the place in my head, but remembering the little etiquette I knew and not saying any of it aloud), I thought it was a rather dismal place, although the sun was shining and the place was lively. My eyes found each crack in the stone walls, saw all the ivy crawling untamed in the inner courtyard, and noticed every fault of each face turned my way.
Damian himself was far from my mental picture of my ideal ‘fair prince’. He was a arrogant sort of figure, with dark hair the color of the deepest layer of dirt (the kind the worms liked), brown eyes in a shade that reminded me of a pile of sick I’d seen one time (the person’s sick was brown, for some reason), freckles under his eyes and across his nose (which turned up slightly at the end), and an expression that was full of a resentment that matched my own. I could tell that our only common quality for many years would be our mutual dislike.
The next thing I knew, I’d been lifted off my pony and forced to curtsy, first to Queen Lilia and then to Prince Damian. I hated the part I knew was coming: when his disgusting, sweaty hand took mine and his scratchy lips pressed for a moment against my knuckles.
That action sealed the contract: we were bound to hate each other every year from the beginning of June until the end of August, revenge consisting of pranks and attempted avoidance and all-around hatred. The first crime was that kiss. I was able to stomp on Damian’s foot as we entered the castle. The next day, Damian tripped down the main staircase. After that, I slipped on a wet floor, but caught myself easily.
When I was six, Damian’s tree house was covered in pink and yellow smiley faces and peace signs (it had been a dark forest green before), and my possessions were scattered around my room later that day. When I was seven, Damian’s horse went rampant and it took hours to get him under control. Damian couldn’t think of any sort of revenge for that.
On and on it went, each trying to outdo the other. Private wrestling matches were held. I won a fair few. Races on horseback (with me in trousers and riding astride) were won by me also. Archery, sports, pranks, tricks, bruises, cuts, pain, humiliation, defeat, revenge, and victory all could be used to describe my summers (on my side, that is). Although I was a princess, I refused to act like one. Fights were won by using resources and facing your enemies straight on, not cowering in the corner like a sissy. I wore men’s clothes constantly to remind Damian that although I was a girl, I was not to be treated as a fragile creature (and also to remind my ladies-in-waiting of that).
I must make clear that the private war that was executed between Damian and me was strictly for crimes that the other had committed; it had nothing to do with either of our parents. In fact, I was sure for a long time that neither my father nor Queen Lilia knew of the secret conflict between their children. In fact, I’m glad that Queen Lilia didn’t know of the rivalry, nor did she seem to take it personally if she did: when I was thirteen, I began my monthly bleeding, and if it hadn’t been for her, I would have been humiliated beyond belief for my panic at finding blood on my underpants. The secret war continued for many long years. When we were ten, Damian pulled his cousin Martin into the deal. Martin was a boy from the town who wasn’t exactly smart, but at least caused the numbers to shift greatly in Damian’s favor. I was still able to take on two boys in a battle of wits and strength, and came out the stronger of it. My favorite remark to Damian and Martin was, “Take THAT!” I also said it to them as often as possible, though Martin seemed to always take particular offense to it whenever I did. He seemed to think I was cheating somehow, when, I think, he just couldn’t accept that I was smarter than him and Damian both, and that he, Martin, was just the one who did the dirty work. I was glad when he finally left our midst to run a fief down south.
When I was seventeen, it all changed.
The war had become less physical and more of a battle of wits. I hadn’t dared not to wear pants constantly, just in case. I did care about clothes, but I cared in the sense of “oh, my shirt is ripped. I’m going to fix it tonight,” instead of just letting it be. I did not like wearing what most girls called “flattering clothes” – corsets, bodices, high shoes. I called them ‘elements of torture.’
Although I’d started puberty at the age of thirteen, Damian didn’t start growing until fourteen. If I’d met him for the first time at age fifteen, I might have thought him mildly attractive; but, having grown up with him trying to humiliate me every summer, I still saw him as a brat who had often tripped me on the stairs. At sixteen, the war was waning, but I still rode astride a horse and wore pants more than skirts (though I did grow my copper-colored hair to my waist and braided it every day, something I considered practical but girly). Although Damian was learning some manners, I still believed it to be a false pretense when he was speaking in this polite manner to me.
At age seventeen, I was forced to ride in a carriage in a dress, corset, AND high shoes all the way to Erianland. It was tedious, but I spent the time going over my new pranks in my head and relishing the thought of the look on Damian’s face when he found out that his rival could seduce him… and then hurt him. I greatly enjoyed that idea, and strongly considered using it, until I remembered that I never really understood how one seduces people. It probably had something to do with my ungainly height – I had stopped growing when I was fifteen, and that left me at five foot eight (which was three inches taller than the next girl, who seemed to be on the arm of a different boy each week).
Damian and I had been forced, ever since the age of fourteen, to share a few minutes of civil conversation with nobody else around before the Secret War recommenced. It was a difficult time for both of us, because we didn’t want to sound weak or awkward, but we also didn’t want to give anyone the wrong impression (rather, the correct impression, but also the impression that nobody would approve of), should they come in and find us giving each other mutinous looks and shooting insults.
This summer began no differently. I was shoved unceremoniously through one door by my father. I was usually able to catch myself fairly easily, to make it look like I had simply forgotten that there was a slight bump in the threshold as a doorstop. Today, however, I was in a floor length dress that my father had, on no uncertain terms, threatened to murder me if I messed it up. I was also wearing shoes that were three inches taller than I was used to. The shoes, too, had to be returned at the end of the summer in pristine condition over pain of death and eternal mutilation. Between the dress and the shoes, pretending to forget the doorstop that day was not as easy as it normally was. I stumbled upon entrance, as usual, and stepped forward to catch my balance. My foot caught in the skirt of the dress (which was very large, by the way), and I stumbled almost to the floor, my back somehow turning downward. I would have hit the floor had it not been that I had also nearly run into someone during my unsuccessful entrance, and it was that someone who caught me at about their waist level.
This all happened in a matter of moments, and it took a few more seconds to remember why I was being held several feet above the ground and how it was that I had gotten there. When everything was put back into place in my head, I looked up at the person who’d caught me, intending to arise from their grasp in as graceful a manner as I could manage, thank them civilly, and continue on my merry way. Well, that ended up not working.
First of all, I was unable to rise from the person’s grasp because they’d already set me on my feet. I couldn’t thank them civilly because this person turned out to be Damian, and it was against our unspoken creed for either of us to thank the other for anything in a civil manner unless in the company of our elders. I was also incapable of continuing on my merry way – my merry way had just turned rather dour at the sight of Damian and my way wasn’t taking me anywhere, since I had reached my destination. Things being as they were, I inclined my head and curtsied formally.
“Nice entrance,” Damian said, smirking.
“You didn’t have to catch me,” I retorted, glaring.
“And let a lady fall?” he said amicably. He couldn’t be serious! He’d have been delighted to let me fall. “Of course I had to.”
“And what about the summers of the past?” I snapped. “Are you saying that it’s time I forgot you were rude and humiliated me at every opportunity?”
“No,” Damian said. “Although it would be nice if you did.”
“I’m not saying what either of us did was right, but this is out of character for you,” I told him. “One would expect that you just laugh as I tripped ungainly through the door.”
“What, you didn’t honestly think I was going to stay a puny little monster forever, did you?” Damian replied, laughing slightly.
“No. I thought you’d grow into a tall, annoying monster at some point.” Damian was now almost four inches taller than me now (with the shoes), and I wasn’t happy about it.
“Of course, I’d never expect you to wear a dress around here after the age of five, and here you are, looking like a right and proper lady.”
“Was that a compliment?” I demanded.
“You’ve heard of the concept of flattery, then?” Damian answered, smirking again.
“I have indeed,” I said. “But I never thought I’d hear it from you.”
“So are you surprised I’ve changed?”
“Naturally. I’m also beginning to wonder why you’ve suddenly decided to play nice.”
“I wasn’t intending to,” Damian said, “But then you entered, and chivalry intervened.”
“Because I’m wearing a dress.”
“And you tripped over it.”
“And you suddenly decided that it was high time you played Prince Charming?”
“Well, it seemed appropriate, as you seemed to be a distressing damsel.”
“I’m a self-rescuing princess, Damian,” I snapped.
“Whatever you say,” he muttered.
The situation was saved by the servant coming to tell us that each parent wanted to see the other’s child. At this point, we would normally look at each other, smile a bit, and walk to the door as dignified as we could manage without actually touching each other (aside from some toes being trod on and some shoulders being bumped to off-balance each other). This year, Damian bowed and offered me his arm. I gave him a look as I took it. Although he had begun to act more princely, Damian would always seem to me to be the irksome boy who tripped me whenever someone had just finished mopping the floors.
So began the summer of differentness. For one thing, there were a lot fewer pranks. For another, Damian actually was being nice to me. Martin had gone off to be the leader of a fief down south, so we didn’t see him very often. Instead, Damian began to help me with riding and archery instead of hinder me – teaching me how to ride bareback and how to shoot a double arrow from a longbow, things like that. Soon my suspicion decreased as we became friends for the first time.
Of course, there were the times when I did prank him for time’s sake, like the times when we went fishing and I pushed him into the water. Of course, the next time we went fishing, it would be me who got pushed into the water, but then I would ask him to ‘help a lady out of the water’ and then pull him in after me.
“You know, you are incredibly clumsy for a princess,” Damian said on a fishing day (it was my turn to fall into the water).
“Why, thanks,” I replied. “I try.”
As we went onto the banks to get our dry clothes (we were in such a habit of knocking each other into the water that a spare change of clothes was always on the packing list), Damian asked, “What would you do if I kissed you right now?”
“Shove you in the lake,” I said without hesitation.
Damian kept asking questions like that over the next few weeks, and I threatened him with being shot with multiple arrows, making my horse kick him off his horse, wearing my three-inch shoes and kicking him in the face with them, or tripping him on the stairs… again.
Eventually, though, I began to wonder why I was threatening him with pain if he kissed me. I began to pay a little more attention to him. He was really nice, after all, and nobody had ever really been willing to teach me how to shoot. I started noticing the little things – how he always inclined his head slightly whenever he was listening to me, as if he was actually thinking about what I was saying. He also kept good eye contact and, I noticed, his eyes were actually a rather pretty shade of chocolate-y brown. I started to wonder what it would be like to be kissed. I’d never really thought about it before.
One day, Damian was working with me again on archery. I was an impeccable shot now; I don’t know why I still practiced and why I still asked for his advice.
Damian stood a ways back as I strung two arrows.
“Now, hold that,” Damian said, circling around my back. I obeyed. I sensed his presence very close to mine. “Use your back muscles, Cassidy. Shoulder blades and the lower back.” The areas tensed automatically. “Good,” he murmured. “And bring this hand a little farther back…” he guided my right hand, which was holding the arrows, back a little farther past my jaw. “Perfect,” he said. “And release…”
I released the arrows. They hit the exact middle of the target. I lowered my bow, my shoulders and right-hand fingers aching from holding the longbow (which was almost as tall as me) during Damian’s drawn-out critique.
“Very good, Cassidy,” Damian murmured in my ear. I could feel the warmth coming off his body, but I didn’t turn. My free right hand was suddenly filled by Damian’s fingers. I instinctively moved away, intending to put my bow in the upright stand by the shooting line, but just as I reached it, my arm reached its full length, and Damian hadn’t let go of my hand. I put the bow in the stand and turned to look at Damian.
“What?” I asked. My voice was suddenly quiet.
“You’re beautiful when you shoot,” he whispered, his eyes locking on mine.
“Thank you,” I murmured, moving towards him again, my eyes not leaving his.
“What would you do,” Damian asked quietly, “If I kissed you right now?”
I hesitated for a moment. “Why don’t you try and find out?” I replied.
“No pain?”
“That’s debatable.”
Damian was still holding my hand. I could still vaguely feel the tension of the bowstring on the inner joints of my fingers, but that was in the way back of my brain.
I’d never been this close to anybody before.
His eyes were still on mine. His right hand was on my waist; my left was on his shoulder.
The fading sunset flickered off the side of his face.
He leaned down. My left hand was on the back of his neck. Damian’s hand had let go of mine. His entire arm was around my waist. My right hand was on his arm.
I could feel his breath on my face.
My brain closed down and went fuzzy.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I wasn’t sure about a lot of things. Would that kiss mean we’d HAVE to marry, just like it had meant we’d HAVE to hate each other when we were five?
Was it SUPPOSED to feel like that when you kissed someone?
There was no denying that I was now hopelessly in love with Damian. Just saying his name made some little firework go off in my head.
But I’d seen some of the girls in Choracert, who swooned every time they were looked at by a boy who was mildly attractive. Would I have to join their ranks, now that I knew exactly how they felt?
I tossed and turned for hours, sleep constantly evading me. It came into my grasp once, and dreamed I was at a princess detention center, being punished for the crime of falling in love. Everyone’s spirit was broken, even mine.
I woke up with a start. It was almost dawn. I decided I’d go for a walk, since I couldn’t rest. I changed into my day clothes – male ones – and slipped my little two-blade knife into my pocket. I tugged on my dad’s old plaid button-down shirt, but didn’t bother doing the buttons over my sleeveless undershirt – I was most likely the only one awake to see the indecency. I decided not to put on my shoes. Just as I walked out my bedroom door and turned to go downstairs, I felt a hand slip around my waist and another over my mouth. Another pair of rough, calloused hands tied something over my eyes in a strong knot. I began to fight the hands that held me, but as hard as I tried to stomp on the person’s feet, kick them in a sensitive area, or wriggle out of their grasp, they would not let go.
After several seconds of me writhing, kicking, and attempting to pry away their rough, strong hands, the second person knocked me over the head with something hard, and I guess I fell unconscious, because I don’t remember anything that happened for a while.
When I regained consciousness, my body awareness had completely changed. I was far closer to the ground – my head was about three feet above the soil now – and my butt seemed to extend back behind my head. As I rose to my feet, it felt like I was on my hands and knees, but my back end was unnaturally far away from my front. Looking behind me, I saw that I had a tail. My mouth seemed to have more teeth, and my head seemed smaller and my neck seemed longer. I also felt like I was covered with fur.
Once I’d got my bearings, I began looking around. I was on a beach of a fairly large lake. Across the water was an enormous castle with about a million turrets and watch towers silhouetted against the darkening sky. On my side of the lake, there were several paths that led into a wooded area that had clearings every few feet.
Since I was completely confused about my appearance, I walked over to the water, or at least I started to. The way my muscles were moving was weird, and that is why I halted – it was as if I were using all of my guts to walk, instead of just my hips. I was also walking on four legs instead of two, and claws that extended from my legs dug into the ground as I walked.
Shaking myself, I began to move forward again. I was about to look into the water when I heard a small, timid voice behind me.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” it said. I turned. Behind me, a mouse cowered atop a very large Labrador of some sort.
“Um… what?” I was amazed to find that my vocal cords were still functioning normally, or at least how I was used to them functioning.
“Don’t look into the water,” said the dog in a deep masculine voice that didn’t sound old, but it was definitely past puberty. “You’ll summon Morlessor if you do.”
“Who’s Morlessor?” I wondered.
“He’s the wizard,” the mouse squeaked in a high, female voice. “He’s the reason I’m a mouse and Jake’s a dog and you’re a big, scary, spotted cat.”
“I’m a what?”
“I’m not sure, honestly,” Jake said. “I’ve seen drawings and pictures of big cats, but none of what you are. The closest thing I could say is a leopard, but leopards don’t have shadow lines and they have splotches, not spots, and they don’t have rings on their tails. They’re also a bit bigger, I think, and they don’t have electric blue eyes.”
“Why am I a big, unidentified form of cat?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” the mouse squeaked. “Morlessor has his reasons, which I don’t want to find out.”
“Maya’s a mouse because she’s always nervous,” Jake explained. “And I’m a Labrador because I’m apparently really loyal and such.”
“But why are we here?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Maya said. “Morlessor wanted me for my father’s land. He’s lord of a duchy, you see. At first he held a ransom, but then he decided that since I’m old enough to get married, he’d do that instead and inherit the land legally. But I’ve always said no because I really don’t want someone like that being a lord over anything.” She looked terrified that she had actually insulted someone.
“I tried to save her,” Jake added. “I was on my way to becoming a knight when she went missing. We were best friends growing up, and I was always really protective of her because she’s so shy that she used to get picked on. But Morlessor knew I was coming and now we’re both incapable of leaving the castle grounds after dark. It’s part of the curse.”
“What are the standards of the curse, exactly?”
“We’re animals during the daylight hours, but when the moon clears this horizon, we become human no matter where we are,” Jake explained. “We can go anywhere as animals, but if we’re off the grounds after moonrise, we’ll become human, but we won’t be able to speak, move, or see.”
“We change back at dawn, regardless of where we are,” Maya continued. “If we’ve stayed on the grounds through the night, we’ll retain a human part of our brains, like now. But if we’ve strayed and become frozen, we’ll be completely animal when we turn back. I’ll be completely mouse, Jake will only have the instincts of a dog, and your mind will be completely that of a big, ferocious-looking cat-type thing.”
“How does one break the curse, exactly?” I asked next.
“I have no idea,” they said as one.
“Yes, well, I do know the way to break this little spell,” said a voice behind me that sounded oddly familiar. “But I feel it necessary for the captives to see the true forms of their companions, don’t you?”
I looked east, where the moon was rising over a corner of the lake. Maya immediately leapt off of Jake’s back as bright light surrounded each of us. I could feel my back end coming forward, my front end going up, and my limbs changing size and proportion and shape as I turned back into a human. I was slightly dizzy when it was all over.
When I regained my senses, I realized that I was barefoot and my dad’s shirt was missing, leaving my shoulders practically bare. My knife was still in my pocket, however, and my belt was still on (for which I was EXTREMELY grateful).
I turned to face Morlessor, and when I did, I received a slight shock.
“MARTIN?!?”
“The name is Morlessor, darling,” he replied, an irritated note in his voice. Since when did Martin talk like he was better than he actually was, and since when did he ever have the nerve to call a girl darling? It was true that he’d lost a lot of weight, started practicing magic, and donned all-black attire; complete with cape and cool-looking hat, but Martin was still Martin – Damian’s dimwitted sidekick, klutz of the century, and irritation extraordinaire. The fact that he fancied himself to be a charmingly evil wizard was pathetic. I didn’t like him as a pudgy, irritating, good-for-nothing nuisance, but I don’t think putting him in a position of authority was going to do any good for anybody.
“Martin, what have you done to yourself?” I asked.
“Oh, you’ve noticed?” he said easily. “I was hoping you would.”
“Just because I’ve noticed doesn’t mean I like it,” I pointed out. “And the more important question is, why have you got Maya and Jake AND me here all at the same time?”
“Well, funny you should ask,” Martin replied. “The lovely Maya is with us because her father can’t pay her ransom, and she still refuses to marry me, which is our alternative to the payment. Our good friend Jacob is in attendance because of the crazy little thing called love that drives us all mad, and Maya has got him going bonkers. Since I couldn’t have him publicizing the fact that I’m not actually running a fief down here, I’ve had to curse him, too.
“You, however, are a different case. Unlike Maya, you are bait – something to lure another something here in order to be caught, not just to be exchanged for money or days or time like our friends here.”
“Damian,” I said.
“Precisely.”
“Why?”
“Because he has something that I want, darling,” Martin replied.
“The kingdom?”
“The kingdom,” he agreed. “And, as we are cousins and I am the oldest living relative on his father’s side, once precious Damian is out of the way, Erianland will be MINE!”
“You’re raving,” I announced.
“That’s a matter of opinion, darling,” he answered.
“No, Martin, it is a gosh-darn fact,” I snapped. “And stop calling me ‘darling.’ It’s getting on my nerves. You also haven’t told us how to get out of this curse yet, either.”
“I’m not telling,” Martin said tenaciously. I had a sudden flashback to Martin, Age Eleven, after a horse race: after seeing that I’d won by a long shot, he simply reined in his horse halfway to the finish line and said I’d cheated, simply because he was a bad rider and I was lighter than he was.
“Martin, if you don’t tell I swear I’ll…”
“The love of another will end your stay, and a monster you both must slay, although they may not stay for long, the bonds of love must still be strong,” he recited.
“So why haven’t Jake and Maya been freed yet?” I demanded.
“It’s supposed to be friend love, not romantic love,” he told me unenthusiastically. “And, regrettably, those two have the wrong kind.”
“Right,” I muttered.
“That’s not the only solution,” Martin said. “The alternative solution would be if Maya married me and her land would therefore be mine, or if you married me and your land would therefore be mine, and either Jake or our beloved Damian’s hearts would be broken and they would be desperate. Of course, your situation would be more ideal, because when you have a heartbroken prince; it’s a lot easier to take over a country.”
“Well, I’m not going to marry you,” I said stubbornly.
“Well, if you don’t, then you’re stuck here,” Martin snapped.
“Well, fine then,” I shot back. “I can get out without your worthless breath down my neck, thank you very much.”
“I’m sure you will, just as you cheated your way through every summer when we were young,” Martin sneered. “Which reminds me – your animal is a cheetah, because you are the biggest cheater I have ever had the misfortune to meet.”
“And you make the worst puns that I have ever had the misfortune to come across,” I retorted. “You’re nothing but an angry little man, aren’t you?” Come to think of it, he was rather short – I towered over him by almost a head and a half.
“An angry little man with power!” he cried.
I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Martin…” I slapped him hard across the face. “Now, get out of here.”
“Oh, it’s payback time,” he cackled under his breath.
I think this is the longest post I've done in quite a while... wow...
Anyway, PLEASE COMMENT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!!!!!!
Friday, October 1, 2010
helloz!
Yes, I know. I haven't posted in FOREVER. Because I've had homework. And also homework. And did I mention I've had homework, some of which I should be doing now? Some of it's nice. Like creative writing. YAY CREATIVE WRITING! But some of it isn't fun, like having to re-read a lot of stuff (aka all the photocopied-from-the-textbook packets we have been given since school started. Which is a lot.) for an AP test and a separately graded essay, both of which will take place on Monday. And some precalc homework - a pre-test and some problems in the book, also to prepare for a test. So far, all the tests I've had/ will have to do have been on either a Monday or a Wednesday. WEIRDNESS! Mind you, counting the ones next week, that would only be three tests. And a couple of precalc quizzes. And stuff. So... yeah. What's new with you, world?
Also, I have my GOLD AWARD PROJECT tomorrow! AAAHHH! Potential Item of Significance: I had my first one-on-one meeting with my Gold Award Mentor on February 2nd. Tomorrow is October 2nd. Eight Months to the day since I started working on it. Weirdness? That has yet to be seen.
Also, I have my GOLD AWARD PROJECT tomorrow! AAAHHH! Potential Item of Significance: I had my first one-on-one meeting with my Gold Award Mentor on February 2nd. Tomorrow is October 2nd. Eight Months to the day since I started working on it. Weirdness? That has yet to be seen.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Nikita Part Three: I CAN TALK TO TREES?
Chapter 2
I felt stupid that I hadn’t anticipated the potential dangers of the Silvercourt Forest. Something in my head – the part that had grown up knowing the way of life on a farm where the only danger was the heat and the birds – had not made the connection that a forest of trees was far different from a forest of wheat, barley, corn, and beans, and that a forest of trees would actually be capable of growing tall enough and spaced out enough to hide things aside from me. The coward bit of my head wanted to turn back NOW, go home NOW, and make some lame excuse to Mum about having gone into town with a few coins to try and get some new seeds or something. I had actually turned around and had begun working on the seed story some more, and had exited the shade of the trees, when I heard a whisper.
It wasn’t a very loud whisper by any means; in fact, I wouldn’t have noticed it if a small shiver of energy hadn’t sped through the ground beneath my feet. It wasn’t as if the earth were about to split in two beneath my feet; in fact, it felt like the same sort of shiver of energy I felt when new seeds germinated – a tense, expectant sort of “HI! HERE I AM!” type of energy.
The whisper, I knew intuitively, had come from the trees. It had said, softly but firmly, “Stop.”
I halted. Nothing like this had every happened before, especially not with any wheat, barley, corn, or bean plants.
“What?” I murmured, surprised at what had just happened.
“Stay,” the trees rustled. I think, to anyone else, it would have appeared that the trees were being affected by a wind that the fields did not experience. “We’ve never met anyone like you in a long time.”
“You can… talk?” I asked, turning around.
“We have always been able to speak,” an oak said. She sounded about my age. I don’t know how I knew she was an oak; I wasn’t even sure I was looking at the right tree, but I was pretty sure she was the one with the knot on her left side, my right, that kind of looked like a face. “But it has been a long time since we have met someone with the power to Listen.”
“How long has it been, exactly?” I wondered.
“We cannot say,” a nearby, deep-voiced poplar replied. “Time does not pass for us the same way that it does for you.”
“We can guarantee that it has been a very long time indeed since we have been able to converse with a two-leg,” the oak said.
“We had nearly given up hope,” an ash said in a fast, frontal accent. Now, I realized, the three trees with which I was communicating stood in a rough semi-circle in front of me. It was rather bizarre to thing that I had never actually seen a real tree and now I was talking to three of them.
“We have nearly met the fate of the Forgotten Glen,” the Oak murmured sadly.
“What happened at the Forgotten Glen?” I wondered.
“Nothing,” The poplar rumbled. “That is the sad thing.”
“None of the two-legs who could Listen went there for centuries,” the Oak murmured. “That’s why we began calling it the Forgotten Glen, you see, because eventually, no two-leg went there. It is in one of the oldest parts of the forest where the roots run deep, and where, as the rumors have it, the darkest creatures creep. But now the trees there are quiet, and they cannot speak to anyone, not even to murmur amongst themselves. They have gone into a sleep that it is close to impossible to wake up from. You cannot speak. You cannot move. You cannot grow. You just sit there, like some basic garden plant.”
“It is happening slowly, all over the forest,” the Ash admitted wearily. “Lately, however, patches of the forest have fallen silent even though a group of two-legs went by recently. The forest is not dying, just falling silent. That is the sadder thing to watch.”
“Who is doing this?” I wondered. It felt like my motives for finding Sparraben – I didn’t know why I felt so strongly about it, I was just sure that I had to act. “And why?”
“It is a dark wizard,” rumbled the Poplar, “Sonru.”
The name hit a bell in my head. “Sonru?” I repeated. “Wasn’t he killed at the end of the Crystal Wars?”
“The Crystal Wars are far from over,” murmured the Ash. “They’ve only just begun. That was the first battle. The next, I fear, may be coming soon.”
“Sonru was not killed at the end of the first encounter,” the Poplar explained, “just dissipated. He is gaining strength, bit by bit. He has already found a new body, and he is now drawing energy from the wood to fuel his new army. He must be stopped. The fate of the wood depends on it.”
This news was slightly shocking. I didn’t even know that trees could talk, and now they were telling me that something had to be done about some crazy wizard guy that I’d thought had died. Surely Grampa hadn’t expected this.
Or maybe he had!
“Grampa knew,” I said aloud, the little pieces finally coming together in my head. “He knew which is why he told me I had to go to meet – and then bring her – and that’s why I had to know! Because he knew I could talk to you! And… and…” Excitement was rushing through my body, suddenly invigorating me and restoring the energy I hadn’t known I’d lost.
“Do you think this child has lost it?” the Ash wondered to the other two. “She looks a bit young to be losing it, for a two-leg. But you never know.”
“No, I haven’t lost it,” I assured him giddily. “I’ve only just realized what’s been going on! What can you tell me about Sparraben of Lianland?”
“Sparraben of Lianland?” the Oak scoffed. “He resides near here. Although he cannot Listen as you can, he can understand what many humans cannot. But he’s long gone.”
“What do you mean, he’s long gone?” I demanded. “He hasn’t left?”
“No, he’s still here,” the Oak said. “But he’s not right in the head.”
“In fact, he hasn’t gone anywhere in about ten of your years,” The Poplar offered. “Only leaves his hut to go find food. Then sits inside yet again and broods. Hasn’t spoken to anybody in years, I believe. He was a rather nice chap a few years back, right until the end of the First Crystal War. Always went around with a respect for the forest. He used our shadows and whispered thanks whenever he killed something, things like that. Now he just sits in his cabin and shoots a bit of game, picks a few berries. Never bothers to go out and smell the sap, these days. Sad, really.”
“Well, where does he live? Maybe I can talk to him,” I suggested.
“I doubt it,” the Oak replied. “He won’t talk to anyone. We’ve tried.”
“Do you think that might have anything to do with the fact that he probably can’t understand what you’re saying?”
I felt stupid that I hadn’t anticipated the potential dangers of the Silvercourt Forest. Something in my head – the part that had grown up knowing the way of life on a farm where the only danger was the heat and the birds – had not made the connection that a forest of trees was far different from a forest of wheat, barley, corn, and beans, and that a forest of trees would actually be capable of growing tall enough and spaced out enough to hide things aside from me. The coward bit of my head wanted to turn back NOW, go home NOW, and make some lame excuse to Mum about having gone into town with a few coins to try and get some new seeds or something. I had actually turned around and had begun working on the seed story some more, and had exited the shade of the trees, when I heard a whisper.
It wasn’t a very loud whisper by any means; in fact, I wouldn’t have noticed it if a small shiver of energy hadn’t sped through the ground beneath my feet. It wasn’t as if the earth were about to split in two beneath my feet; in fact, it felt like the same sort of shiver of energy I felt when new seeds germinated – a tense, expectant sort of “HI! HERE I AM!” type of energy.
The whisper, I knew intuitively, had come from the trees. It had said, softly but firmly, “Stop.”
I halted. Nothing like this had every happened before, especially not with any wheat, barley, corn, or bean plants.
“What?” I murmured, surprised at what had just happened.
“Stay,” the trees rustled. I think, to anyone else, it would have appeared that the trees were being affected by a wind that the fields did not experience. “We’ve never met anyone like you in a long time.”
“You can… talk?” I asked, turning around.
“We have always been able to speak,” an oak said. She sounded about my age. I don’t know how I knew she was an oak; I wasn’t even sure I was looking at the right tree, but I was pretty sure she was the one with the knot on her left side, my right, that kind of looked like a face. “But it has been a long time since we have met someone with the power to Listen.”
“How long has it been, exactly?” I wondered.
“We cannot say,” a nearby, deep-voiced poplar replied. “Time does not pass for us the same way that it does for you.”
“We can guarantee that it has been a very long time indeed since we have been able to converse with a two-leg,” the oak said.
“We had nearly given up hope,” an ash said in a fast, frontal accent. Now, I realized, the three trees with which I was communicating stood in a rough semi-circle in front of me. It was rather bizarre to thing that I had never actually seen a real tree and now I was talking to three of them.
“We have nearly met the fate of the Forgotten Glen,” the Oak murmured sadly.
“What happened at the Forgotten Glen?” I wondered.
“Nothing,” The poplar rumbled. “That is the sad thing.”
“None of the two-legs who could Listen went there for centuries,” the Oak murmured. “That’s why we began calling it the Forgotten Glen, you see, because eventually, no two-leg went there. It is in one of the oldest parts of the forest where the roots run deep, and where, as the rumors have it, the darkest creatures creep. But now the trees there are quiet, and they cannot speak to anyone, not even to murmur amongst themselves. They have gone into a sleep that it is close to impossible to wake up from. You cannot speak. You cannot move. You cannot grow. You just sit there, like some basic garden plant.”
“It is happening slowly, all over the forest,” the Ash admitted wearily. “Lately, however, patches of the forest have fallen silent even though a group of two-legs went by recently. The forest is not dying, just falling silent. That is the sadder thing to watch.”
“Who is doing this?” I wondered. It felt like my motives for finding Sparraben – I didn’t know why I felt so strongly about it, I was just sure that I had to act. “And why?”
“It is a dark wizard,” rumbled the Poplar, “Sonru.”
The name hit a bell in my head. “Sonru?” I repeated. “Wasn’t he killed at the end of the Crystal Wars?”
“The Crystal Wars are far from over,” murmured the Ash. “They’ve only just begun. That was the first battle. The next, I fear, may be coming soon.”
“Sonru was not killed at the end of the first encounter,” the Poplar explained, “just dissipated. He is gaining strength, bit by bit. He has already found a new body, and he is now drawing energy from the wood to fuel his new army. He must be stopped. The fate of the wood depends on it.”
This news was slightly shocking. I didn’t even know that trees could talk, and now they were telling me that something had to be done about some crazy wizard guy that I’d thought had died. Surely Grampa hadn’t expected this.
Or maybe he had!
“Grampa knew,” I said aloud, the little pieces finally coming together in my head. “He knew which is why he told me I had to go to meet – and then bring her – and that’s why I had to know! Because he knew I could talk to you! And… and…” Excitement was rushing through my body, suddenly invigorating me and restoring the energy I hadn’t known I’d lost.
“Do you think this child has lost it?” the Ash wondered to the other two. “She looks a bit young to be losing it, for a two-leg. But you never know.”
“No, I haven’t lost it,” I assured him giddily. “I’ve only just realized what’s been going on! What can you tell me about Sparraben of Lianland?”
“Sparraben of Lianland?” the Oak scoffed. “He resides near here. Although he cannot Listen as you can, he can understand what many humans cannot. But he’s long gone.”
“What do you mean, he’s long gone?” I demanded. “He hasn’t left?”
“No, he’s still here,” the Oak said. “But he’s not right in the head.”
“In fact, he hasn’t gone anywhere in about ten of your years,” The Poplar offered. “Only leaves his hut to go find food. Then sits inside yet again and broods. Hasn’t spoken to anybody in years, I believe. He was a rather nice chap a few years back, right until the end of the First Crystal War. Always went around with a respect for the forest. He used our shadows and whispered thanks whenever he killed something, things like that. Now he just sits in his cabin and shoots a bit of game, picks a few berries. Never bothers to go out and smell the sap, these days. Sad, really.”
“Well, where does he live? Maybe I can talk to him,” I suggested.
“I doubt it,” the Oak replied. “He won’t talk to anyone. We’ve tried.”
“Do you think that might have anything to do with the fact that he probably can’t understand what you’re saying?”
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