SOMEBODY STOP ME. I keep getting ideas for more and more and more stories. It's bad, really bad.
This is a one-shot that, from initial idea to finish, took exactly one day. And roughly six hours of continuous typing. It was rather epic and it will probably kill my grades.
Disclaimer : Do not own. Unfortunately.
Godchild
Izumi blew the dust away from her face and shook her robes with agitation. Sand poured down from each and every bend of fabric, and in a fit of impatience she unknotted the rope that tied the cloth tight around her waist. A thick cloud rose up when she smacked it against her side and she coughed.
Dry little shudders seized her lungs and she doubled over wheezing. Her body shook, and then with a deep breath she leaned over to the window, where the broken glass pane offered an entry point for the sand coating the inside of the hut. Thrusting her fist out rapidly and shoving the pane upwards to open it, she pushed off the ground and gasped out into the clearer air outside. There were still clouds of dust disturbed by her opening the window, but it was better than inside.
She blinked into the glaring sun and reached over to draw another mark on useless shutters that barely clung to the wall.
Sixty two chalk lines glared back. Sixty two days just like this one. Sixty two days since rain last fell on the dying village of Elton.
Her left eye itched but she bit down the urge to scratch, knowing that her fingers would only drop more dust inside. She blinked rapidly, and tried to wet her lips with her tongue, but her mouth felt like cotton and wouldn't yield a drop. Another glance upward told her it might be midday, but she didn't dare look into the sun too long. At any point, she already knew that it was far past time to go. Dressing was mechanical, and eating skipped altogether.
Her fingers, thin and coated with a fine layer of dust, reached down to the bottom of the pile of rags that she slept on to pull out a few yellowed pieces of paper. A search through the only other piece of furniture, an antique desk with its wood grain worn down from constant use, came up with a quill and a bottle of evaporated black ink.
She gathered the supplies up into a bundle and walked out to the marketplace.
The town square was mostly deserted, as the inhabitants wasted away in their homes to try and hide away from the sun. Only a few venders were out, those who did not sell fresh produce or food or water. The priests and priestesses were out, too, offering weary condolences and desperate prayers to the gods. It was an endurance test against the weather, but very few were hopeful of winning.
Izumi had begun this dry season sitting side by side with her younger brother. Tomoki had still been cheerful and innocent then, bouncy with energy and optimistic that the rains would come soon and the customers return with them. He had joined her even on the hottest days, fending off pessimism and giving her hope that perhaps, the drought really would end and they would have their happy ending.
But day by day, nothing happened and they were left waiting. Who would buy words when there was no need for them?
As it was, things had been difficult since her father had left for the sea, drafted into the navy to fight in the civil war. In one fell swoop, the one constant in their lives had been taken away by the men in smart blue uniforms, fingering their weapons with clumsy inexperience.
I am not a fighter, he had said, showing the officials his stringy limbs and tired eyes. I am a writer of histories. Leave me in peace.
After that, the men had shot wildly around the house as a warning of sorts. They didn't say anything else. They didn't need to. She could still remember the hopeless gaze in her father's eyes, a sense of futility in the days following when he packed as little as he could to leave as much as possible behind for his children to use. A few bullets had landed in the room, some in the floor, but most in the walls and the single window. Izumi had never repaired the holes left behind. To erase them was to erase the memories of that day from her house altogether, and she would never survive if she did that.
And then barely five months after her father's departure, the same men reappeared, dressed in uniforms that weren't so bright and blue anymore, holding their guns with grim determination. They took Tomoki without a fight. And she could only watch, too exhausted from the task of keeping their household running to protest.
She wasn't the only villager to lose her family to the draft. But she was the only one who had been left completely alone. The last relatives that she had were the two taken by the army, only connected to her by a few tattered letters. These were all folded neatly and kept in a secure little chest left behind by her mother, hidden under the desk. The most recent one was dated two months ago, when she had picked it up at the mayor's office in the sprinkling rain.
There hadn't been a drop from the sky since then.
And the townspeople were tired of it.
There were whispers, heavy behind closed doors, that the gods had abandoned them. Elton had once been prosperous as the only village in the southern mountains to receive enough rainfall to survive. It was a trading town, bustling and busy, that was suddenly crushed to nothing when the drought hit. Prayers and rituals were frantically done in the first few weeks, when the usual storms failed to hit on the spring equinox like they had every year for decades. Instead, there was a single day of rain, then…nothing.
Anger and fear, compounded by the loss of so many to the army's ranks, had risen to boiling levels, and those who had survived after the initial dry spell were inevitably those who refused to give up. And those who had refused to give up believed fervently that the gods were angry and something had to be done to appease them.
They ransacked the chief priest's house and pored over ancient texts in hopes of finding that something to be done. No one could read the language the documents were written in, however, and fear of those with the knowledge prevented them from seeking her help. Days of search came up with a single journal detailing a sacrificial ritual in pictorial format.
It was their last hope. And they needed a body.
Izumi was the only person in the village without her family. Izumi was the only person who would not be missed.
And she knew it.
So when a panicked crowd suddenly crashed into the town square, bringing along with it a motley group of priestesses of all levels, Izumi already understood why. She even recognized a few of the girls there as those that she had played with and tried to teach how to write before their parents had forbidden it, fearing that she would lead them astray. They were all people she had grown up with, if not necessarily as friends, then as long-time acquaintances.
They surrounded her, while her hands stilled in the middle of neatly tearing her few remaining sheets of paper into sections. They clamored, screamed, pulled at her hair and hands as she quickly pushed her quill and ink aside to prevent stains from getting on the precious parchment.
Behind them, the chief priest was chasing them, panting and calling out. He was a plump man, stomach extending a foot or so in front of him, making his run an awkward duck waddle. White hair mingled with a darker gray in his beard; there was very little on his head. A wheel of sacred chains extended from his chest outward, but his harsh gasps strained them against his flesh hard enough that some of strands hung to the side, links snapped. He was shouting and cursing as loudly as he could, but the crowd was jeering at him just as loudly, and the swarm of people on the sides wrapped around his flank. They forced him closer to the middle, and to her.
Their eyes met. Izumi's showed calm, sad indifference, his showed wild panic. The clamor faded and she realized that everything depended on him, the only one in the village who could authorize the ritual.
He opened his mouth.
"It's not necessary, is it," he pleaded with the others, eyes flashing around quickly and nervously. "She hasn't done anything wrong, we haven't done anything wrong, this is all based on theory, we don't know for sure-"
Violent protests rose up around them; terrified, the man retreated a step, only to bump into the villagers behind him. Whirling around fearfully, his eyes bulging out and sweat trickling a grimy trail down his face, his voice suddenly vanished against the tide of fury given off by the villagers. Within the mob, the priestesses clung to each other, the younger ones starting to cry. Hands hacked at the priest's sides, fists and curses flying through the air.
Vaguely she could hear him screaming, "All right! All right!"
Then she was hoisted up on her own table, carried to the edges of the square, and held there by dozens of hands. The others poured over the table, tearing it to pieces and throwing it into a heap under her feet. The ink was spilled over the wood pieces, and the paper lay forgotten on the ground. Somewhere along the way they had taken down the pole that advertised her business and made it into a ragged stake.
The splinters dug deep into her back when they shoved her against the makeshift pole and tied her arms and legs up. She winced, but didn't struggle, knowing it would only push them in further.
There were shouts and angry arguments, and she felt the heat burning red against her closed eyelids. Her limbs were weakened from hunger and thirst; the skin pressed close to her muscles and bones.
Whispered prayers rose, jubilant and hopeful.
Then they all left her there.
She kept her eyes closed until she heard the last footsteps fade away. She took a glance at the still unlit woodpile underneath, and a humorless smile flickered on her lips. They didn't need to add fire to burn her down. To either side of the village, the most treacherous peaks of the southern mountains still glimmered with frost, but in Elton's valley home, the heat was not so generous. The sun, in addition to the dry air, would eventually do the job of burning her just as well as a match. Fires often erupted in the middle of the day, unless the wood was treated with an oily coating or painted. For this very reason, venders always took down their wares when it came close to high noon. And usually the summer rains would take the edge off any danger the heat posed. Now that the water was completely absent, however, the houses were protected by a white tarp thrown over the roof. Unfortunately, the tarps would slide off after a while due to the slope, so every day they had to be readjusted for good cover.
Izumi hadn't done this for some time, and the hottest time of the day was fast approaching. If she stayed here, her house would probably disappear into a wall of flames.
Along with the last memories of her family.
It was this that finally motivated her to move. She was exhausted, lashes brushing her cheeks drowsily in the heat. Months of loneliness and work had worn her down, especially with very little profit to show for it. Add to this a burning thirst in her throat, and she was very near total collapse.
She clung on stubbornly anyway.
Casting her eyes upward, she winced at the glare from the sun. When she finally adjusted to the light, she saw that the top of the pole just above her hands was already cracked and could probably be broken if she put enough pressure on it.
Her feet planted stiffly to either side, Izumi jerked up to throw the rope over the crack. She hissed as a particularly nasty cut on her back dug in, but kept shoving until her hands lined up just above the break. Then she pulled forward. The pole gave way completely, and she fell with it.
Behind her, the friction from the twisting wood and scraping rope marked the beginnings of a flame. Her head snapped up at the faint popping sound of fire, and now she ignored the jagged wood digging into her elbows as her teeth pulled the knot loose and her hands came undone.
A glance back made her eyes go wide. The flames had spread around her legs, and the rope was on fire.
For the first time that day, fear completely broke through the haze in her mind and she pushed herself up on her hands and knees, crawling shakily off the timber. She tripped, her left wrist trying to find support on a piece of wood only to unbalance the structure and throw her forward. Her other wrist braced higher ground, dragging her legs along as the fire crawled after her. Her ankles twisted, hard, and the charred ends of the rope clung for a second, then broke into crumbling piles of ashes. Kicking the hot traces of burnt fiber off, her legs finally pushed her across the pile onto solid ground.
Safe.
For a moment, she lay in stunned disbelief. Her heart was pounding against her ribs, and her breaths came painfully through her dry throat and heaving lungs.
The wood was burning freely now. She watched it, her head rolling tiredly on the dusty ground. Several minutes crawled by and all she could see was the yellow-orange of the fire burning away. Then, the fire suddenly jumped, hissing and steaming. The cause for the change was flowing slowly down the heap, and when it reached her, she finally recognized the source.
Something she hadn't seen for nearly two months.
Water.
Izumi hadn't felt any raindrops hitting her. The importance of this only occurred to her after she saw, with glossed over eyes, the unmistakable figure of another person standing just two feet away. For a moment, panic rose inside, but she quelled it quickly. It was only one person, and considering that the villagers all regarded her as too dangerous and too intelligent to talk to unless it was necessary, the likelihood of the newcomer being part of the mob that tried to sacrifice her was slim.
And then there was the water.
That did not mean, however, that she let her guard down.
"Who are you?" She almost cringed at how hoarse and weak her voice was.
He, because she was sure it was a he, snorted. "So she can talk after all." For a moment she was bewildered at how much contempt was contained in his words.
Then she was just angry. "Obviously," she snapped back, glad to hear the sharpness actually carry through. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision. He had come closer but was still standing, looking straight down at her. The adrenaline rush from before was fading, and now she was all too aware of a sharp pain under the skin of her back, and the blood that crusted over her scraped elbows and knees. The stranger followed her gaze with his own eyes.
"I'm not carrying you." It was said so flatly and uncaringly that she bristled with insult.
"I don't need you to." Then she realized exactly what he had said, and added venomously, "And I wouldn't want to go anywhere with you anyway." Her body protested at the effort it took to maintain consciousness, and her throat still hurt too much to talk so freely. She gave in to a coughing fit. The movement in her chest pulled at the jagged cuts along her spine, and she tried to stay as still as possible to keep it from getting worse. As it was, she was lying on an injured back, on a very dirty surface. She didn't need the sand getting into her wounds.
Something cool touched her lips, and it flowed into her mouth. She swallowed reflexively, and for the first time in weeks, it didn't hurt to breathe. When her eyes reopened, she saw that he had knelt down and pressed a bottle of sorts to her mouth.
Her fingers reached up to tip the canteen further, and he pulled back instead. Her hands closed around air.
"Too much will make you sick. I don't want you throwing up on me."
Izumi had never felt so angry with anyone in her life. He acted as though it was troublesome to even stand in her presence. "You didn't have to even give me any, you know," she spat at him. "You could've just gone off. I don't need you here."
He scoffed. "Right, and you didn't want any of the water. At all."
"What on earth is your problem?" she cried. "Who are you? What are you doing? Why…mmmf…" He clamped his hand over her mouth, growling angrily.
"Quiet, do you want the others to come running back?" While she glared at him viciously, she couldn't deny the truth of his warning. Her lips tightened and she stopped struggling against his grip. At the same time, the man in front of her took the canteen from where it had fallen on the ground and handed it to her.
She looked back confusedly.
He sighed in exasperation. "Go clean your wounds. Or do you need me to help you with that, too?"
Her pride stung, but Izumi felt too grateful at the moment to insult him back. Her fingers snatched up the canteen, laid it on her lap, and then tried to push herself into a sitting position. She tested her wrists with the weight, and when she was satisfied with how they felt, she spread out her arms and used them to curl up. Her spine screamed with pain when she felt the splinters twisting into her back, and she gave a faint cry. Vision hazy, she tried to get the water bottle, but her fingers missed it by a few inches and she had to quickly snatch her hand back to regain her balance. A hand came from her left to take the canteen from her, a second went around her shoulders, and she heard a quiet hiss.
"Hold still." The dark human shape left her field of vision momentarily, then it came back and pressed something soft – cloth? – into her hands. "Wash your face. Can you see my fingers?"
There was a soft, peach blob of color waving in front of her. She shook her head and immediately regretted it as a feeling of vertigo seized her. She tried to reply verbally instead, but the stranger seemed to understand without it. He took the soft fabric and poured water on it, then pressed it gently against her eyes. She could feel his fingers rubbing small circles through it. Then the pressure released and she opened her eyes again.
The hazy glow around everything had vanished and it wasn't as hard to focus as before. She squinted a little, and suddenly the other's face was almost perfectly clear. While his hands worked at sponging off the blood from her knees and elbows, she looked over him thoughtfully. He looked close to her age, maybe a year older. His eyes were very dark, but in the lightest places the iris glinted blue. He had a thin, elegant nose, and his lips were pressed in a thin line. Long strands of black hair were tied back, but on his forehead there was a dark strip of cloth hiding his hairline. The color of his skin and hair told her he wasn't from any of the neighboring lands; pale skin was only possible in the cooler climates up north, and very few of the country's northern citizens had dark hair.
If it hadn't been for the coldness in his eyes and lips, she probably would have called him handsome.
But she was still stinging from his insults, and she didn't even know who he really was. It was difficult to admire him when she couldn't trust him. He suddenly stood and pushed her head down, which made her wince. She felt something lift up off her back as he bent her spine. His fingers brushed her long, tangled hair aside. She hadn't seen her back, but she could imagine, and from his sharp intake of breath, it wasn't pretty.
"What the hell did you do to yourself?" And now he was worried? Izumi wondered how long he had been watching her and if he had seen her struggling to get out. Or if he had been there all along and never even bothered to help her. And yet another problem took the opportunity to present itself: she had good senses, incredibly good. Before, she took pains to hide it considering how shaky her relationship was with the rest of the village, but mere pretence couldn't take away the ability to hear people whispering on the next corner over as clearly as if they were standing right next to her. It was just another part of everyday life, knowing things she didn't want to know.
But him, she never even felt him coming. One moment he wasn't there, and the next he was. The surprise was unfamiliar and unpleasant. Cold steel suddenly pressed against her flesh, and she jumped, breath hitching and back straightening again. The splinters on her back sunk inside of her skin and she bit her lip to keep from whimpering.
He shot backwards to keep from cutting her. "Stay down!" he snarled, agitation rolling off in waves. He glared at her, then pulled up the loose blouse that covered her upper torso. The wood had pierced it and attached deep into her skin, and now the fabric made removing the splinters impossible. "I'm going to cut the back of this, so don't move an inch."
She did her best to follow his instructions. Now that she was reasonably comfortable with him, it wasn't so hard to ignore the harsh delivery or the lingering sense of derision. The blade slid carefully, precise and sharp. She felt the hot air hit her back, and the imprint of his fingers brushing over bare skin. She clutched at the front of the top to keep her body covered. The knife cut such a thin layer of skin that the slices itched rather than hurt. His other hand pulled the translucent film away and removed the wood pieces imbedded in her skin.
He hit a particularly bad cut and she winced. The fact that she had been lying on the wooden splinters had only made removal more problematic, because now there was no clear exit point.
And then there was the possibility of infection. She sighed into her hands. Were the problems ever going to end?
He finally stopped pulled and scraping at her skin, and opened up the water container to clean her wounds. It felt soft and cool against her back, so soothing that she barely noticed the sting when he ran the cloth over the entire back. Trickles of water slipped from there to wet the hem of her skirt. His hands lifted and she felt the breeze of his departure. Head hanging over her knees, she started to push off the ground again until she felt the fabric on her torso sliding off. She clutched at it frantically.
"Erm…" Her voice quivered somewhat in embarrassment. He half turned back.
"What?" He sounded exactly as he did at the very beginning of their meeting, icy and burdened with something unwanted. She grimaced and tried not to take offense, but after years of being paid distant and almost fearful respect, she could only ignore so much.
"You cut my blouse and I don't have another one." The embarrassment melted into anger, and she felt a stab of satisfaction to see him glance over at her then look down, a slight flush on his cheeks.
Without looking back at her, he pulled off his outer layer, a thick black cloak, and threw it in her general direction. "Put that on." Underneath, he wore a thin sleeveless shirt and low breeches, cuffed by heavy leather boots. A spiraling tattoo spanned both biceps.
She would have laughed at the awkwardness coloring his voice if she herself hadn't been so mortified. Wrapping the long fabric around her, she tore strips from her blouse to make a rope belt and keep it closed. She breathed a little huffily.
"It's really hot."
"Don't want it?" It was practically a dare, and she met his gaze evenly. A silent clash of wills, ended only by the sounds of shouting a little ways off.
Curious, she looked over at the source of the racket and tried to pinpoint what the cause was. In the distance, a deep purple plume of smoke had risen and darkened the sky above.
Something was burning.
At first, Izumi was confused as to why there would be so many people around a single fire. As far as she knew, the crowd had dissipated, gone back home to dream of possible rainfall now that the gods were supposedly appeased. Fires were considered a fairly personal problem, since there was such danger of it and everyone was aware of the preventatives. Pure practicality ruled now that the drought had completely destroyed all methods of actually combating an existing fire.
So why?
In the brief moments between ignorance and painful understanding, she realized that she was facing the same horizon she had been staring at only a few hours ago, at her window.
Now that she thought about it, it was only logical.
She no longer had a place in the village…
And neither did her family home.
But strangely, the only thing she could feel was a deep numbness and relief. It was as if a particularly painful arrow had been removed from her chest, leaving behind a vacant spot where new things could sprout. But the removal still hurt, a lingering curse on any new home she might find. She was crying, but there weren't any tears left in her body. Just emptiness.
She was so lost in her own thoughts that she completely forgot about the other person with her. But now he was reasserting his presence quite forcibly. "What the hell's going on?"
Whimsically, she offered, "Do you want to see?"
He looked at her oddly, then nodded. They walked together, passing dozens of small, clay-walled buildings, many of them patched with wooden planks where holes had been eroded in the bricks by the rain, although there hadn't been any of that for quite some time. Up ahead there was a crowd, and Izumi stiffened suddenly with the realization that no one else knew about her recent release from the town square. If she walked right into things, there was no telling what would happen.
The young man next to her seemed to realize this at the same time she did, but there was a certain confidence in the way he strolled toward the crowd anyway that made her follow without really thinking too hard about it. He pulled her up next to him again, impatiently, as they neared the front of the mob.
Even though she already knew what was happening, it was still sad to see the same window she had been recording days on vanish into smoke and ash. The letters that had been hidden in the chest were already long gone, and only the charred clay sides of the house remained.
Izumi turned around and froze. Everyone gathered there was deathly still, eyes firmly trained in her direction.
Then she whipped to her left side, where her companion was still looking over at the house. Her voice wouldn't call out, though, and when she grasped him around the shoulder to get his attention he only hissed, "Keep quiet."
Then he took her by the arm and led her out of the crowd.
No one even turned to look at them.
Thoroughly bewildered, she threw his hand off her elbow and dragged him into one of the many deserted alleyways. The sound of her bare feet and his boots echoed weakly on the roads that had been bustling main streets until the building of the town square. But even though they were now obsolete, the drought hit before the stones could be dismantled, leaving behind a vast network of empty pathways through the village. This meant they were perfect for avoiding other people.
Like Izumi was doing right now.
Like her companion was definitely not doing.
But they had gone there and back without a single person noticing, and that made her suspicions rise to unbearable levels.
"Who are you?"
"My name's not important."
"That wasn't my question!"
"But that's my answer."
"I don't have a right to know?"
"I don't have the right to tell you."
"Fine, what are you?"
"A person like you."
"Then explain what just happened!"
"What are you talking about?!"
The tension in the air was threatening, demanding, and escalating fast.
Their roles seemed strangely reversed; now Izumi had taken over the offensive and he was simply fending her off without barbing her back. They were treading on dangerous ground, particularly since he hadn't been forthcoming with information from the very start. While he may have been in no physical danger from an injured, emaciated young woman, the fact that he hadn't left yet told Izumi she was somehow significant, which meant she had some leverage against him.
Izumi just needed to find out what it was.
"Why did you help me?"
Finally, something cracked under his stony expression. He hesitated. "I…"
She waited. His eyes had closed, lips tightening with some kind of inner conflict.
Finally, he murmured, "I can't tell you that."
Desperate, upset, and confused, she countered, "Why not?"
Desperate, upset, and unnerved, he shot back, "Because I thought you would already know!" And then, after a second of silence, he suddenly took a few steps away from her. "I shouldn't have said that."
Completely frustrated, she crossed her arms and sulked. "And why not? You haven't even told me anything!"
Immediately, his face hardened, dark with contemplation. Black pupils contracted, leaving only a faint halo of midnight blue. A flicker of light glimmered on his palm as he suddenly fisted his right hand and pulled it back. His body was taut as a wire, and she couldn't even follow the path of his arm as it swung forth and smashed into her left cheek.
It went straight though her. Stunned, she watched through the part of her eyes that was not covered by the phantom limb. He pulled back and everything that had gone through reappeared, first his elbow, then the slender wrist, the lined white palm, and finally his calloused fingers.
She was still shaking afterwards.
He tapped her nose gently with his finger – as solid as the ground beneath her feet.
"Still want to know?" His voice was distant, and almost tired.
She started to speak, then stopped herself with wonder. While never exactly calm, she rarely pursued any line of questioning past the first few minutes of fascination. Curiosity usually left as fast as it arrived, leaving a satisfaction behind that had nothing to do with how much she actually found out.
But with the growing feeling that there were even more secrets hiding just under the surface, and not all about him, Izumi simply couldn't let it rest. Now the questions she had allowed to fester and die in the cool disapproval of everyone else revived with a new fervor. Outside of the village, she had never found an identity for herself. She had been satisfied before, but now she had no choice but to move on. And here was the perfect opportunity to both find out about the past and plan for the future.
A hand suddenly grabbed Izumi's shoulder and she jerked in surprise. Her companion twisted her around quickly, and she made a faint choked sound as she tried to keep her balance.
He touched her back, and ran a finger down her spine. It didn't hurt at all.
At this point, she wasn't even surprised by her own rate of healing. Determination and faith could only go so far, and it was difficult to imagine an average teenaged girl surviving more than two months without a drop to drink. Like everything else that went wrong or right with her life, she had learned not to question it. If she didn't acknowledge the differences, the villagers wouldn't know, and it was better for everyone to stay that way.
"You said I'm like you."
He murmured faintly in the affirmative.
"And you said I would already know why."
A pause, then he sighed. "Knew I shouldn't have said anything."
She laughed, a faint note of miserable enlightenment tainting the sound. "It's a bit late for regrets."
"Same goes for you." He turned her back around and eyed her meaningfully.
"That's true." After only the silence replied back, she knelt down and rubbed her elbows gently. The soreness had completely disappeared, and she didn't have to look under the fabric to know that the wounds were gone. The cloth hung heavily on her shoulders, and only the makeshift girdle kept the ends from dragging in the dust.
Izumi felt the weight of another person shudder against the wall, and settle right next to her.
"What am I going to do now?" she asked, half to herself, half to him.
"What do you want to do?"
She glared at him. Unhelpful, irritating man! "Stay here." After a moment of wistful nostalgia, she added, "Wait for my family."
He reached over and grasped her chin, then guided it back toward the exit. From their vantage point, they could still see the column of smoke from her house. There were faint strands of music filtering through, and she recognized the cheery folk song that was always played at the biggest celebrations of the year. And there was another sound that made her feel sick to her stomach.
Laughter.
"Are you sure?"
"No," she admitted. Then she looked at him. "What about you? Where are you going?"
His shoulders lifted in a half shrug. "North. I never meant to go this far south to begin with."
"Why were you here, then?"
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "I had a feeling."
She didn't reply. Faintly, a breeze shuddered through the air. She suddenly pressed her palms together and rolled her fingers inside. With a flick of her wrist, her hands opened and pressed flat against her chapped lips, then her forehead, then her heart.
It was a familiar gesture of blessing, normally done while holding another person's hands. The villagers used it mainly for long journeys to ask for a traveler's safe passage through the treacherous terrain. But there was no one to say goodbye to her, so she put her palms against the other wall instead.
She blew gently against the dust. The blast of air formed, swiveled, and lifted up in a small spiral.
They both watched it dance until he quietly asked, "Can you do anything else?"
Izumi's eyes lowered, dull and uncertain. "I don't know." She glanced to the side.
He sat with one arm extended out, resting on a propped up knee. His other arm reached over, and snapped at the little dust cloud. A vibrant string of light suddenly pulsed through, rippled and twisted by her wind. He leaned back to inspect his handiwork.
Finally, she asked, "Are there any forts up north?"
He didn't turn. "The closest one is two miles away, in Fairton. There's a naval base to the east too. I can't remember the rest, but there should also be some soldiers stationed at the Capital."
"Okay."
"…Why?"
"My brother and father. They're both in the army right now."
"Draft?"
"Yeah."
"I see."
"So you do."
The people in the distance were cheering and toasting. For a while, the two people hidden behind the abandoned walls listened to the chatter with the distant look of outsiders, excluded from the festivities and not particularly upset about it, either. The sun was lowering down the horizon, lighting up the sky in vivid purple and orange streaks.
"It's Kouji, by the way."
"…Izumi."
He stood up, rearranging his clothing with the cool precision of someone who already knew his destination and couldn't be bothered to change it. "The mountain pass is pretty hard. You should be prepared." His words were punctuated by a sharp jerk of his head in the general direction of the peaks. The canteen hung loosely at his hip. Dust particles puffed off in lazy clouds.
She gave him a tentative, wry grin. "Should I go back home and pack?"
His lips twitched slightly. "No. You already have everything you need." He reached out a hand and pulled her up.
Please review! I need feedback. Lots.
I going to try to close this particular world back up, but who knows. I have the strangest feeling that these two have much more to say.