Well, here's the second chapter. Sorry the beginning was so long on
the last, but I kinda needed that to show what she went through. I
dunno.this is just a linking chapter-it explains briefly about her home and
how she got with the pirates-but I'll have more to the story next time I
post. Which will be after I get MORE REVIEWS!!! Oh and thanks to Lady Chips
and Kate, who were my FIRST REVIEWERS! YAY! Yes, I plan to get the Circle
gang in quite soon; they'll probably play a big part in this.
Disclaimer: I own nothing (so far) except Aphneal; the rest belongs to the person I envy most: Tamora Pierce! Oh, and maybe Chordia, Ziznar, and the Laenpa, too, but you never know, somebody else might already.But now people can't sue me, and I'm glad, because I finally have some MOO-lah * does psychotic little victory dance * and I don't wanna give it away to no-BODY!
The first thing Aphneal felt several mornings later was warm sunlight hitting her straight in the eyes. She lay there a moment, eyes closed, soaking up the sun's rays, as she had once in her home of Chordia, a village on the coast of the southern-most Stepping Stone Island, Ziznar. She could almost smell the saltiness of the sea, the unique odor of the fishermen's morning catch, the aroma of sweet tarmi* bread baking on her mother's hearth. Aphneal could almost hear waves slapping against the rocky shore, and her mother singing in her beautiful soprano voice. In fact, if she tried hard enough, she might just be able to see the gulls soaring high above the whitewashed one-room houses, squawking with the pleasure of another perfect day.
No. That was too long ago. She could only imagine about her home, not see it. After all, it had been four long years since the pirates who had attacked her island and rounded her and some others up as slaves for their ships.
Aphneal breathed heavily-for any other person it would have been called a sigh-and opened her eyes slowly, squinting in the sun.
The first thing she noticed was a white ceiling, crisscrossed with wood rafters. The next was more distinct-and more startling. A man was leaning over her, long silver hair falling over one shoulder, dark eyes wrinkled with concern. Aphneal jumped a little, and squeaked. The man smiled crookedly, and stood up straight.
He had on a linen overcoat of dusky gray, bronze threads bordering the sleeves and collar; a full sleeved white shirt, and black breeches, complete with dark blue sash. His face easily told that he was at least middle aged, but his dark brown eyes, almost black, made him look younger. His long black hair streaked with silver was loose, and it came down almost to his waist. A leather pouch on a string was tied to his sash, next to a dagger. Everything about him cried out "wealthy!" He smiled down at Aphneal. "You are awake at last. I thought Dedicate Moonstream's enlivenment powder would work. You were almost awake anyways. I could tell." He patted the pouch with one hand.
Aphneal just stared at him a moment, trying to remember where she was and what had happened. Her head felt as if it was weighed down, and she felt something wrapped tightly around it.
"The pirates' defeat, my dear," the man said, as if reading her thoughts. "You survived-just. You were unconscious when the Duke's navy found you, and have been asleep for three days. We were starting to worry."
The girl opened her mouth to say something, but no sound came out.
"You're at Winding Circle Temple, in Summersea, Emelan. In the infirmary. I imagine that what you've been through has been enough to make anyone disorientated for awhile."
Aphneal finally found her voice after one more swallow. "Who-who are you?" Her words came out hoarse and cracked, like she had been singing for much too long.
The man bowed. "Pardon me, for not introducing myself before. I am Niklaren Goldeye-Niko to my friends. And you?"
"Aphneal Harashmir."
Niko raised an eyebrow. "Harashmir? I could be mistaken, but doesn't only the Laenpa people use the suffix 'mir'? Of the Stepping Stone Islands?"
Aphneal tried to smile, but it hurt too much. Instead she replied, "Yes. I was born in Chordia, on Ziznar."
"Then how did you get in a pirate's galley?"
Aphneal stared at the strange man in above her, and only then realized that she was laying on an infirmary bed. "I worked for them," she said slowly. "Since I was young. They had come to Chordia when I was seven, and captured several dozen people for their slaves." She shuddered, remembering. "I was one of them."
Expecting to see pity in his eyes, she saw only sorrow. "I'm sorry," Niko offered.
She started to wave a hand at him, then grimaced, and lowered it. Looking at it, she saw it had two dark bruises on it, one on the skin just below her elbow and one on her higher forearm. "It's okay," she muttered. "It was four years at least with them. I got used to it." She yawned and her eyes fluttered, on the verge of sleep.
"Well," Niko said suddenly, all sadness disappearing. "I shouldn't have kept you up so long. You're recovering. I'm going to let you sleep-we can talk later." He patted her hand and started for a door in the far end of the room. Halfway there, he turned back at her. "You were separated from the other patients," he informed her. "You were the youngest, and we didn't want you to be, er, disturbed by them. I hope you enjoy your own room. Goodbye for now, Aphneal Harashmir." He strode out the door, leaving the girl to shrug and turn onto her side, giving in to sleep.
*tarmi.Since Aphneal is a part of this culture I made up, Laenpa, of course they have their own language. So tarmi bread is supposed to be a bread sweetened with sugar. Got it?
And you see that little blue button down there? Click it and review!!!
Disclaimer: I own nothing (so far) except Aphneal; the rest belongs to the person I envy most: Tamora Pierce! Oh, and maybe Chordia, Ziznar, and the Laenpa, too, but you never know, somebody else might already.But now people can't sue me, and I'm glad, because I finally have some MOO-lah * does psychotic little victory dance * and I don't wanna give it away to no-BODY!
The first thing Aphneal felt several mornings later was warm sunlight hitting her straight in the eyes. She lay there a moment, eyes closed, soaking up the sun's rays, as she had once in her home of Chordia, a village on the coast of the southern-most Stepping Stone Island, Ziznar. She could almost smell the saltiness of the sea, the unique odor of the fishermen's morning catch, the aroma of sweet tarmi* bread baking on her mother's hearth. Aphneal could almost hear waves slapping against the rocky shore, and her mother singing in her beautiful soprano voice. In fact, if she tried hard enough, she might just be able to see the gulls soaring high above the whitewashed one-room houses, squawking with the pleasure of another perfect day.
No. That was too long ago. She could only imagine about her home, not see it. After all, it had been four long years since the pirates who had attacked her island and rounded her and some others up as slaves for their ships.
Aphneal breathed heavily-for any other person it would have been called a sigh-and opened her eyes slowly, squinting in the sun.
The first thing she noticed was a white ceiling, crisscrossed with wood rafters. The next was more distinct-and more startling. A man was leaning over her, long silver hair falling over one shoulder, dark eyes wrinkled with concern. Aphneal jumped a little, and squeaked. The man smiled crookedly, and stood up straight.
He had on a linen overcoat of dusky gray, bronze threads bordering the sleeves and collar; a full sleeved white shirt, and black breeches, complete with dark blue sash. His face easily told that he was at least middle aged, but his dark brown eyes, almost black, made him look younger. His long black hair streaked with silver was loose, and it came down almost to his waist. A leather pouch on a string was tied to his sash, next to a dagger. Everything about him cried out "wealthy!" He smiled down at Aphneal. "You are awake at last. I thought Dedicate Moonstream's enlivenment powder would work. You were almost awake anyways. I could tell." He patted the pouch with one hand.
Aphneal just stared at him a moment, trying to remember where she was and what had happened. Her head felt as if it was weighed down, and she felt something wrapped tightly around it.
"The pirates' defeat, my dear," the man said, as if reading her thoughts. "You survived-just. You were unconscious when the Duke's navy found you, and have been asleep for three days. We were starting to worry."
The girl opened her mouth to say something, but no sound came out.
"You're at Winding Circle Temple, in Summersea, Emelan. In the infirmary. I imagine that what you've been through has been enough to make anyone disorientated for awhile."
Aphneal finally found her voice after one more swallow. "Who-who are you?" Her words came out hoarse and cracked, like she had been singing for much too long.
The man bowed. "Pardon me, for not introducing myself before. I am Niklaren Goldeye-Niko to my friends. And you?"
"Aphneal Harashmir."
Niko raised an eyebrow. "Harashmir? I could be mistaken, but doesn't only the Laenpa people use the suffix 'mir'? Of the Stepping Stone Islands?"
Aphneal tried to smile, but it hurt too much. Instead she replied, "Yes. I was born in Chordia, on Ziznar."
"Then how did you get in a pirate's galley?"
Aphneal stared at the strange man in above her, and only then realized that she was laying on an infirmary bed. "I worked for them," she said slowly. "Since I was young. They had come to Chordia when I was seven, and captured several dozen people for their slaves." She shuddered, remembering. "I was one of them."
Expecting to see pity in his eyes, she saw only sorrow. "I'm sorry," Niko offered.
She started to wave a hand at him, then grimaced, and lowered it. Looking at it, she saw it had two dark bruises on it, one on the skin just below her elbow and one on her higher forearm. "It's okay," she muttered. "It was four years at least with them. I got used to it." She yawned and her eyes fluttered, on the verge of sleep.
"Well," Niko said suddenly, all sadness disappearing. "I shouldn't have kept you up so long. You're recovering. I'm going to let you sleep-we can talk later." He patted her hand and started for a door in the far end of the room. Halfway there, he turned back at her. "You were separated from the other patients," he informed her. "You were the youngest, and we didn't want you to be, er, disturbed by them. I hope you enjoy your own room. Goodbye for now, Aphneal Harashmir." He strode out the door, leaving the girl to shrug and turn onto her side, giving in to sleep.
*tarmi.Since Aphneal is a part of this culture I made up, Laenpa, of course they have their own language. So tarmi bread is supposed to be a bread sweetened with sugar. Got it?
And you see that little blue button down there? Click it and review!!!