Whoops! Day late. I might or might not have been playing the incredibly awesome Final Fantasy 6 and lost track of time. You'll never know. Could have been ninjas, too.
So now onto the next segment of Silver and Gold! Hope you like it. ^.^
Chapter 1, Pt. 1 & 2: Vines; Coffins
JS Harlow
The thorn vines were taller this year.
Three years ago they had only reached the top decorative iron curl in the trellised cemetery gate. Five years ago they had only reached halfway. Ten years ago they had barely sprung back out from frozen northern dirt. Twelve years ago, well… Reah's hands clenched, rubbing fingers on faded scars. The white blossoms on her back whispered, remembering her of fire. A man’s loud drunken voice echoed in her head.
It had been twelve years since Reah had seen her mother’s face. It had been too long for her to remember it. She had tried every day to call it into mind but some time before the start of her first memories, she had lost the image. All that was left of the barmaid Lili, now, was a small stone marker, a pile of dirt, and Reah's final faded memory: of violet eyes.
Reah shifted on her bare brown feet, easing the muscles in her legs. She had been leaning against the low blonde wood fence surrounding her home: a convocation of brick and glass which the nation of Gehenna knew as the Orphanage of the Sisters of the Frozen Blood. She had been staring east past the blond wood fence. From the top of the west hill where the orphanage sat and devoured Fulkton Gardens' sunsets every evening she could pick out the exact location of her mother's grave. It was early in the morning still and a rare clear day. Reah had been gazing over the village for a good twenty minutes, now, planning. She knew that Elvene's sycophants were under the tree by the entrance to the Orphan's Quarters behind her. Were they waiting for her to make her way inside?
She didn't want to think about them. She should be thinking about her mother, instead, today. All that Reah could remember of the woman buried beneath the orchard hill was the image of her violet eyes.
When those eyes were clearest in her mind they were always opened wide. Reah could only think that they must be staring outwards at the world as their owner died. That man’s voice echoed in her mind again and, snarling, Reah turned her back on the hill and the cemetery that lay on and surrounded it. Her mother's eyes had been looking out at the Lord of Fulkton Gardens. Reah was certain of it. She had no memories, but she still had dreams.
No one would listen. No one would ever listen and the lord of Fulkton gardens was walking free from murder.
"Your mommy set the inn on fire. Daddy won't say it but you should just die."
No one had listened to Reah's words. They had refused to listen and all memories of the girl's mother had failed. The Hoary Stag had been built, new, at Lord Fulke's expense. The woman's last name had been forgotten with her death and her daughter could no longer claim it. Now, even Reah had forgotten everything but her mother's eyes, and the words she had repeated to every passerby again and again since her early childhood.
Lord Fulke clothed her. He housed her, as if she were just another nameless orphan. He pardoned her for speaking out against him.
There was pain in her palms. Reah looked down at them. Oh. She had drawn blood with her nails. But she had trimmed them yesterday.
Why do I still let myself do this?
Reah's mother had been soft. That was the best thought that Reah could manage. Her mother had been a soft woman. And now she was dead. And Reah was alone.
She was the girl with the ugly brown skin: the freak and the orphan: the child with no last name. She left no room in herself for softness. Not for anyone but the dead. She was the type to move forward, and lords' mercy on those who got in her way.
Reah started. She was standing and doing nothing. She had to stop; she had to do something. She hated attention.
Two stories of laid bricks loomed above her as she started walking. There were no windows and just a single door on the side of the orphanage facing Fulkton Gardens and its cemetery. Many of the Sisters of the Order of the Frozen Blood disliked both the living and the dead.
I have to go pick Mother's flowers, now, Reah thought.
Her mother was dead. She had loved black fall lilies, though. Reah could bring the lilies to her mother today, after Sunday church, if she could get to the woods to pick them before church was called to session. The flowers had just started blooming. They would be at their prettiest, today.
All Reah had to do was make it to her room: past the six tall, pale orphan children with the too disinterested looking green and blue eyes gathered together under the tree by the door she was approaching.
It was still cold in Fulkton Gardens this early in the spring. Fulkton Gardens was one of the northernmost townships in Northern Gehenna. It was nearest of all to the barbarian wastes. Warmth was loathe to visit here, this far above Gehenna's Cold Line. As Reah passed into the shadow beyond the white stone archway of the convent's entrance door she felt pride in the fact that, despite the footsteps on the grass behind her, she did not shiver.
***
"Have you heard this one, yet? I heard they cut her legs off to make her fit in her coffin."
Damn you.
"Oh? That's nice. So what do we do with her?"
They had Reah in a corner. She'd let them do it. King take her, she didn't have time for this. She spoke out.
"Why are you doing this, Jocelin?"
"Hey! It wasn't her who spoke. You should have some manners and answer me, girl."
"Shut up, Lawrance."
There. She had Jocelin talking.
They had her trapped in a corner of the hallway breaking off in the direction of the quarters she shared with the girls among them. The group of them were trying to look as if Reah was with them. The Sisters had a habit of appearing without making noise on the halls' slate tiles.
Blythe was the youngest: thirteen. She had brown hair cut short and green eyes. She was born local, but she'd been in the orphanage since she was five. Her brown haired, green eyed father had murdered her mother and three younger sisters. It was said he'd wanted sons. He'd become a High Blood vampire's dinner and Blythe had gone to the orphanage. The girl wasn't usually a part of this group. She hadn't been with them last week. She was watching the hallway, now, perhaps concerned. A potential weakness?
Owen was probably fourteen. He was blonde. His blue eyes had a pale aspect to them. He had been found in a rubbish ditch outside a town in Southern Gehenna while still a toddler, pawing along the ground like a beast, searching for food scraps. He was poor-sighted and always squinting. Reah thought he was probably an imbecile. He had been chasing after Jocelin for years, now. He was as far away from the girl as he could be, as always, standing in the shadow of the wall to which Reah had pressed her back. Blythe was next to him. The two of them were a weak point in the circle surrounding her, but Reah didn't want to gamble on them.
Sarah and Locke. They were next to eachother again, whispering. Sarah was fourteen. She was taller than any of the other girls, blonde and blue eyed. She had been found outside the orphanage as an infant. From what Reah knew of her she was uninteresting, but wholly Jocelin's creature. There'd be no opening there.
Locke was the oldest of the group: almost sixteen. She should have been out of the orphanage by now. Reah didn't know why she had decided to stay instead of moving on. It didn't matter, anyways. Dark brown hair, much like Reah's own, and pale blue eyes. Short, though still taller than Reah. Another obstacle.
There was Lawrance. He was a wall. Huge. Blonde hair and green eyes. He wasn't much for talking but that didn't make him any better than the rest. He was a local boy, not an orphan. A farmer's son. Almost a man. If he wasn't here escape might have been an option for Reah. There was a reason he was here.
Jocelin.
"What is it?" Jocelin said. She wasn't very good at sounding sweet. "Don't you like our company, Reah?"
Jocelin had been at the Orphanage of the Sisters of the Frozen Blood for twelve years. She was nearing the orphanage's age of maturity, now. Reah didn't know her family history. It was well known in the halls that the sisters had decided to keep Jocelin's past to themselves.
"You know Elvene doesn't like you, Jocelin," Reah said.
That should get her angry.
Retreat was not an option. Reah would have to adopt a different tactic.
Jocelin took a step toward her, breaking the circle Reah was trapped in. Lawrance was the one she needed to worry about now. The boy was standing just behind Jocelin, within reach of the hole the girl's movement had made in their circle. No space for Reah to run. Worse, he was in arm's reach of Jocelin.
Just four more steps.
Right now, anyway.
"You mongrel little bitch," Jocelin said. Her voice was vitriol: good. "Why would I care about that?"
Reah took a single step forward. The space between herself and her tormentor was closing. If she could get her claws into the blue eyed girl she could get some retribution, and the group around her would be bound to make noise. A Sister would come. But first Jocelin had to take one step farther from the boy Lawrance.
"Because," Reah said. She took a step forward. Come on... "Everyone knows. You've been trying for a chance in Elvene's dresses since the day you met her."
"Take that back."
Jocelin was the palest girl Reah had ever known. She was red now, though. Good. She had a wide thin lipped smile like a hatchet wound to the face. It was always an empty smile. Unreadable. But those green eyes of hers were sparkling beneath the brown mop of her hair. She took a step forward.
Just within reach. Out, rather.
Another of the girls cut in. Locke, Reah thought. "We're not in the woods this time, Jocelin," she said. "That Corwin boy's got nothing to a sister. Back off."
"Take it back, girl."
Reah bared her teeth. "I won't."
"Take it back, Reah. Jocelin's not like that." Owen's voice. He was trying to defend Jocelin again. Trying to calm her down. What an idiot. Reah didn't take her eyes off of her target.
Jocelin turned a dozen shades darker red. She was always convinced that her friends were stupid and that they wouldn't catch on to things. She hated being wrong. She spun around.
"Shut up, Owen!"
Reah took her last step forward.
Good.
"I'll fit you in a coffin," she said.
She glanced up. Lawrance was staring directly into her with his idiot towhead green eyes. He wasn't a ward of the orphanage. He was a farmer's son who shouldn't be here. Why was he going through the trouble? Reah cleared her mind. She wouldn't have long once the boy started moving.
Jocelin started to turn back. Reah didn't bother to wait for a look at her target's face. She lunged forward, crying out, and her hands were around the girl's neck. She felt her nails dig into flesh. So odd. She had cut them yesterday. It didn't matter. She dug harder. She saw the farmer's son moving out of the top edge of her eyes.
