Because I am an idiot this is the THRID time I'm uploading this today…goodness. This sucks not having anything other then a dial up connection. Anyways, I've edited this story…AGAIN! Thank you to all my few loyal, loevely reviews who've helped me. I know, I'm a dork. I've edited this thing to death. Just…go and die somewhere if you odn't like it. And yes, it does take a few chapters for any of the cannon characters to turnup, I know. It's entirely necessary, as you'll soon find out. And I PROMISE that I'll continue working on part two…this is my last edit…I swear it…
A Knife in the Dark
Part 1
Mother hadn't woken up for two days. I sat on the dirt floor, playing with the doll I'd received for my second birthday three weeks previous. Malkemen sat at the table, his brilliant green eyes, so different from my cold gray ones, looking over at Mother. His fingers were fiddling with his dagger, the one he always wore, and used; and odd companion for a six-year-old. It was his fathers, whom he had never met, and the thing he'd used to pay my mother for 'services rendered'. It was all my brother had of him, and he treasured it.
The fire was dying low, and I shivered against the nipping cold. Malkemen put one of our dwindling supply of logs onto the fire. "Not many left," he stated, and went to sit back in his chair, rag covered feet barely touching the floor.
I was so cold my fingers were stiff as they unbraided my doll's hair that my brother had so lovingly done for me. She was my only toy, and I loved her with all my heart. Her name was Nima. My mother had made her from scraps of clothing and cloth. The dress itself was constructed of three types of miss-matched material, her small black eyes were different beads, and her hair was an unbraided piece of rope, but I did not see that. All I saw was Nima, my beloved.
I tucked her in my tiny arms and hobbled to the bed where mother was sleeping. She was often sick, but never sleeping for so long. I wished she'd get up and make it warm. Maybe I could get in bed with her, and then I'd be warm. I touched her face.
It was colder then my own burning hands. It was a deeper cold, a final cold; a cold that could not be relieved. I let out a stumbling cry. Why was she so cold? Mother was supposed to make it warm. Mother was supposed to make it better. Why wasn't she making it better? I began to cry.
Malkemen ran over and kneeled in front of me. "Kinya, Kinya, what's wrong?" I was too upset to answer, but started banging on her arm to get her to respond. He looked at her sunken cheeks, darkened eyes and patched lips. He rested his arm on her shoulder and shook her slightly. "Mother? Mother?" he cooed. She didn't move.
"Muter? Muter?" My voice was as high as the biting wind that rattled through the cloth windows. Still, she did not move.
Malkemen began to whimper himself. "Mother? Please get up, Mother!" He shook her harder.
As we stood there, a harsh knock vibrated through the room and the door smashed open. I moved into Malkemen, who put his arms around me protectively, and we both attempted to evaporate into the shadows. I hated them, always coming in with Mother at night from next door. They always acted so strange at night, sometimes as though they talked like me or couldn't see where they were going. When there were men over, Mother always made us stay behind the curtain to sleep. I hated being there, for it was so dark and small. I wanted to be with Mother, not all alone. But she'd get mad at me when I cried back there, so I didn't cry there anymore.
Three men from the pub next door shuffled in. They kept swaying like it was windy inside the house. First was the blacksmith, Raschk, who rarely came over and often glared and poked fun at our family, especially Malkemen. The second was a fisherman who was also a rare visitor, who's name I did not know. The third, however, I knew well, for this man in particular was over a lot. Talcum was his name, also a fisherman, and a big hairy fellow who was fond of his ale and had a rotten temper. He often saw us before we were under the curtain, and always picked me up and kissed me roughly, his scraggly bead rough against my innocent skin. I didn't like it, nor did I like him. He always smelled so strongly of fish and sweat that I'd want to start gagging. I could see their slime on his beard and the remnants of blood from the bait in his fingernails.
"Sleeping on the job!" Talcum bellowed. He leaned on Raschk, who in turned leaned on the first fisherman, until he fell down under the weight and causing all three to plunge on the floor. After taking longer then I would to get up, they saw us standing in front of the bed. "You-ou-ou-ou-ou," the farmer slurred, waving at a spot somewhere close to our location. I cried harder. I wished Mother would get up and make them go away, even though she always let them stay before.
All three stumbled over to where we were. Talcum waved his arms horizontally, brushing us aside forcefully. He squinted down at mother, as though he couldn't get her in focus. Suddenly he stood stock-still. "She's dead," he muttered, eyes rolling. "The fever! The fever is among us!" He swayed away from her, and then spotted us again. "Little brats must ave it, too!" He began backing away, propelling into the table and cursing.
Raschk and the fisherman were took a few moments to be alarmed by Talcum. "Got to get rid of you afor we're all infected!" the fisherman proclaimed. He picked up a chair and swung it at us. We both screamed, and Malkemen shielded from me from it, although it landed far to our right. I stood up and ran to Mother and grabbed hold of her freezing hands, crying and crying. I jumped up and down, furiously, jamming my legs forcefully into the ground, up, and down again, screaming for her to get up.
Raschk stumbled for the fireplace, and grabbed hold of one of the flaming logs, and flung it across the room toward us. It missed, and went sputtering into the bed which Malkemen and I shared. The moth eaten blankets began to smother instantly.
Malkemen dodged around all three men, grabbed two blankets and a loaf of bread, and headed towards Mother and I. He knelt beside me and whispered, "Kinya, we have to go."
I stood there, clutching my rag doll, close to Mother's bed. "Kinya!" His voice was urgent now. "We have to go, now." I was so scared, I couldn't move, couldn't leave Mother. I heard the pounds of the three men stumbling around, and felt the heat of the flames as they grew.
"Muter?" I asked, my voice as shaky as my hands.
"She'll be alright, but we have to go, or those men could do bad things to us. Mother will be all right. Trust me, Kinya." He began half pulling, half dragging me out the door. I struggled, screaming, but his advantage in size and age overpowered me, and before I knew it I was out in the biting cold. Why were we going out when we could stay inside? I wanted to be warm, with Mother, sitting inside with her hugging me.
"Going? Cold, cold, cold! Mahkemn! Mahkemn?" my tongue struggled around his name as it always did.
"Shhhhh." He murmured. "I don't know, I don't know." He was crying, too. He never cried, he always took care of me. He wasn't supposed to cry.
"You, know! Go, go, go! Muter, Muter!"
He placed the warmer of the two blankets around me, and placed the other around his shoulders. I was so distressed that I wouldn't hold on to it to keep it up, but instead tried to run back inside. I wanted MOTHER! The door banged open behind us to reveal Raschk squinting at us. "There they are!" he bellowed, and stumbled out on the frozen, barren ground.
Malkemen pulled on my arm again, grabbing the blanket I'd dropped and forcing it back on me. While he held it around my shoulders, he dragged me away. We ran as fast as my tiny legs could go, which was desperately slow, considering my size, age, lack of nutrition and half wanting to go in the opposite direction. If Raschk had not been at the door coming towards us, I would have resisted more, but his appearance frightened me to no end. Without looking back to see how close he was, Malkemen pulled me over to a door and knocked furiously.
"Here, we'll see if someone will take us in," he panted. "Oh, quick, quick." He murmured. Two elderly people lived there, but there was no light coming under the door from a fire and after several loud bangs at the door, no one came.
I had looked back to see our house. But I couldn't find it. I did, however see a big fire. It was larger then the huge bon fire I'd burned myself on at the summer festival. People from the pub and nearby houses around ours had come out to look at it. It was so large and pretty! I wanted to watch it, to go nearer so that I could be warm. Fire was warm! And it was cold outside.
Malkemen started crying. "That's our house, Kinya."
I didn't really understand him. That wasn't a house, that was a big fire. I simply continued to observe through my tears. I saw one of our three intruders following the rest of the villagers and watching dumbly as our house burned down, as though he had not been the cause of it before and was shaken to the core by the sight. It took me a moment to position the other two. One was lying flat on his back, sleeping like a baby. The other, I realized with horrification, was stumbling towards us, his fist raised above his head. Because of the fire, no one paid the slightest amount of attention to him. However, a full grown man, drunk or no, was more then two measly children could handle, and we ran off to the back side of the houses were the fire didn't illuminate our appearances.
We sulked over to the closest house, one that held seven children. "They should help us," he breathed. There where noises coming from inside, that of several excited children and an older voice attempting to shush them.
Malkemen knocked tentatively on the door. I stood there, half behind him, half looking curiously at the closed door. There was a soft scramble inside, an excited scream of "I wanna get it!" and the calm voice of a mother saying, "Alright, Rama. Watched her, please, Finrel."
The door opened to reveal the small and excited face of a girl somewhere between five and six. "Mama! Mama! It's the other children! The ones you won't let us play with! The ones who's house is on fire! Come in, come in, we can all sleep together in my bed, and play with Pigel's blocks and have lots of fun!" She was squealing with excitement, and I began to also.
The mother, however, was quite a different story. As soon as she saw us she had patted the boys head she was putting to bed and was standing over her child in the doorway. "Away with you! We have no place for you. Get away! You are children of sin, and you will not condemn this house. Away!" The door was slammed in our faces.
We continued on, but not a single other household even opened it's doors. I was too frozen even to chatter. "Mahkemn?" I cried weekly. "Home?"
"I know, I know," he murmured, ever trying to calm me. "We have to find shelter, but no house will open for us. We can't go home, Kinya. Home burned down. Try to think of warm thoughts. Think of the beach, in the summer, and climbing on the warm cliffs, and the cave-" He suddenly cut off. He had distracted me for a moment, and suddenly I was crashed back to reality after my five-second-bliss. "I have an idea, Kinya, but it'll take a while to get there. It's all we may have, though. Are you ready for a long walk, Kinya?"
"Walk, home!" I shrugged.
"Yes, and no. A place to sleep."
"Home."
"For now. Come on." He said, and began to lead the way towards the ocean.
An hour, many rests, tears, falls, and complaints later, we reached the shore where we'd so often played. We'd found a cave here that summer, and on our trips to the sea spent our time exploring it. Mother always took us down here, away from the dock and the men and the fish. We'd never gone to the dock once, but we could still see it's flag and larger boats where they were tied, and once I'd had the pleasure of seeing one come back in from sea. Our swimming cove was quiet, small, and alone. Now, it seemed, we were going there again. Malkemen slowly and deliberately began to instruct me to climb the cliffs to the cave, and under his care I only slipped once.
The cave was smaller then our cabin, but much taller, so that I couldn't throw a rock high enough to hit the ceiling. The whole place glittered softly with crystals of frozen water. It was still cold, but there was no one to bother us, and we were out of the wind. We snuggled as best as we could against the unforgiving stones, the two blankets around the both of us as a desperate attempt to hold in some of out body heat, while my arms clutched Nima. My shivering had come back and now would not stop, and the tears that had finally ceased upon reaching the cave had started again. My brother brushed my temple softly and began to sing the words to a tune he must have made up himself, for no one had ever sung to us.
The stars may twinkle in the sky
And the moon will always shine bright
But my heart will always be free
Cause you are my sunshine.
Sunshine, sunshine
Don't darken your luminous heart
For if you do, I'll loose all with you
Cause you are my sunshine.
The next day, Malkemen and I walked all the way back to the town. I was excited; we were going home, going to see Mother! But Mother wasn't there, and neither was our house, just a lot off black stuff on the ground. I asked Malkemen over and over where Mother was, where home was. All he ever said was they were gone. I didn't understand that. Mother had always been there, and so was home. I cried for a while, for many, many days. But soon I discovered what that meant. It meant no Mother, and Home was a cave. It meant Malkemen, and it meant cold. I learned what they were when I had nothing else.