The grass whispers around you as you run.
When you listen, it almost feels as if you can understand it, if only you try hard enough. Like thinking about a word or name that you had once forgotten and when trying to call it up again, forcing yourself not to think about it, but instead feel it.
Your old forests felt that way, but older and wiser.
As you run and listen, they seem to whisper of change.
The town looms closer in front of you. You wrinkle your nose at the smell and smoke drifting away from it. The grassland struggles to grow here, but as you draw closer the battle is lost and the ground gives way to dry earth. You frown, disliking the loose, sandy feel of dirt. You slip onto the road, stamping your feet nervously. The strange, hard black substance is here as well, unnatural against the soles of your shoes. You pass strange lopsided hives as you travel to the center, following your nose to the main market.
It's tinier than the one you saw last time, but the sheer mass of bodies surprises you again. After spending most of your time with only two other smelly, travel worn and injured trolls, the scent of new and exciting things permeate the air. It smells like adventure, it smells exotic.
It smells a little dangerous.
You shake your head, trying to see clearer and ignore the wall of smell. This time you're much better at dodging the jostling crowd of surly trolls, all uncomfortable of being so close to one another yet unable to do anything about it. Some instinct deep down, though, whispers that it is a natural feeling, of wanting to work together and to obey a single thought sent out from higher up. But closer to the surface, and much stronger, lies the mistrust and hatred born from thousands upon thousands of war-like and miserable years. And so trolls must be thrown together against their will for necessity, a peace order held in place to ensure safety. But the only reason it could have ever come to be is if somewhere, somehow, someone wanted it.
A troll stomps quite hard on your foot. You bite back a hiss and a yowl, hopping away. The stupid teal blood doesn't even bother to apologize. But neither do you demand an apology. A little instinctive niggling in the back of your mind hurriedly tells you to submit to the higher blooded troll. You follow it, biting your bottom lip and scurrying away.
You happen past a stall full of makeup paint and jewelry. You pause, searching for the right shade.
"Greetings," you say grandly. The troll with brown blood looks up meekly, dipping her head.
"And to you, magnificent olive one," she panders. You find yourself frowning again. The idea of someone trying to degrade themselves for your own sake is a little... Sickening. You may be stronger than this troll, sure, and have a longer life span, but you know stone cold that if it ever came to be a serious fight between the two of you, you would only win by exhausting out her psychic powers – whatever they were, though they probably have something to do with animals.
So you smile as politely as you can, shaking your head. "Please," you murmur. "You must not do it."
Her eyes flicker up to meet yours, a beautiful burnt umber color, and she blinks, the same color of kohl-liner as her symbol. She licks her umber lips, and then smiles tentatively.
"Are you a follower?" she whispers.
You shake your head, not understanding, and she looks instantly mortified. "Please, don't tell anyone," she pleads quietly, looking left to right.
"All is okay," you say, surprised. "Please – "
"And what seems to be the problem here?" A smooth voice cuts in. The rustblood in front of you stiffens, averting her eyes on her wares. You catch some of her nerves, turning around slowly, vascular system in your protein chute.
An enormously hulking figure stands behind you, almost blocking out the moonlight. Muscles ripple underneath his suit, and white tattoos cover his skin. You can't see his eyes, but with some animal instinct you know that they are surveying you with detached distaste, like one observes an insect. You swallow and drop your own, your body tense and ready to spring away.
Just your luck. Hardly even one orbit of the moons goes by before you are in trouble with the authorities.
"Is this merchant giving you some trouble, huntress?" the indigoblood inquires politely. You swing your head up, shaking it vigorously.
"Er," you stutter. "Just... I have trouble deciding what is good!" Mentally, you smack yourself, becoming acutely aware of your grammar defects. If he notices, the blueblood doesn't say anything. Instead, he surveys the wares on the tale, asking a few questions to the amazed bronzeblood.
"What do you want?" he directs this question at you. You stare for a few seconds, unable to comprehend, and then blurt out,
"Makeup. Jade."
"Jade?" he looks at you with more interest. "Are you running an errand for your superior?" after a dumb nod from you, he continues, just a tad of an approving tone leaking into his voice. "Isn't that nice to see. I must say, in this day and age it is quite a pleasure to meet someone willing to look to the social standards and serve their superiors."
You merely gape, unable to understand what he has just said.
"I think this would look good for any Jadeblood," he states suddenly, handing a tube to you. You startle, clasping it in your sweating palms. He surveys your face for a few moments.
"T-thank you," you murmur, glancing down.
"Oh, no no." he sighs. "I do not understand where such a habit of averting a higher blooded individual's eyes." He grabs your chin, lifting it up. Wincing, you meet his gaze. Behind the dark sheen of pristine dark glasses, intense, dark blue eyes observe yours. "Meeting eyes is a sign of being STRONG," he remarks. "It is also respectful."
You swallow, feeling uncomfortable. You can almost feel his strength humming beneath his hands, as graceful and tense as a wild beast. He could snap your neck at anytime he wants to, and the feeling is disturbing to you, this undefended position puts you on edge. You, who is so used to easily being the strongest in the wild, having the ease of feeling safe at all times.
You stand frozen while he seems to ponder something. He turns away for a moment, and then comes back. "Close your eyes," he demands, but politely. You instantly obey, your vascular system still racing. When something touches your lips, something smooth but sticky, you almost yowl in surprise. He continues to touch your face with various objects, so gently you could almost imagine him without the muscles. You hear a soft breath of laughter, and then you open your eyes.
You're looking into a mirror of yourself, and you can't help but gasp. Your face is much more defined, from your green lips to your kohl lined eyes. You look almost... Civilized. Your snagged flurry of hair is patted down a bit, looking wild.
"Uh," you manage. This really wasn't what you were expecting.
"No need to thank me," he tells you. He hands a few coins over to the seller, and then looks back to you. "It was a pleasure meeting one so well behaved as you. Live long." And he walks away.
You stare after the retreating figure, slack-jawed. The rustblood behind the counter also stares, her gaze sliding back to you.
"Nice tattoos," she remarks. You flush, shaking your head. But she beckons to you. "What is an Olive blood without traditional tattoos? Come into the back, and I'll see what I can find for you."
You stumble away, examining your wrists. The green ink almost glows in the light of the same colored moon, which has reached its zenith point in the sky, leaving the bubble gum pink moon to wander by itself. You feel some small elation in your stomach.
Is this what it feels like to be pretty? You wonder.
Then you stop. Who cares! You tell yourself, walking faster. It's not like anyone else will notice.
Your mind wanders to the Signless, his face creasing into a well worn smile... And then you need to bonk your head. No! It's not for him. He won't even notice.
You flush a little, trying to strain your thinkpan into another direction.
Almost immediately, a distraction arrives.
The crowd swells apart, parting like a river around a stone. You stop, unsure of what is happening. Murmurs swell and laughter erupts, shouts and boos and razzes. Sparks are flickering everywhere, and the grounds trembles as something is slammed into it. Finally, you somehow get shoved to the front of the opening and see two trolls fighting.
They're bleeding freely, gold and red blood splattering the ground. The one is a female, oddly clothed in a sort of flourescent green. The gall of wearing such a nobler blood than her own is enough to have most of the observers boo. But she takes no notice except to whip out two white needles, her eyes flaring with psychic power. One tendril reaches out and brushes your hand, and you snatch it back and suck at the burned skin. The other troll, a thick golden blood built like a tree, is holding his shoulder.
"What are you doing?" he yells. "There's a treaty here-!"
The redblood's expression doesn't change. She takes one needle fizzing with power and stabs it into his other arm, laconic as blood spurts into her face, dripping on her silken dress. When she drags the sputtering rod down, energy explodes everywhere, the wail of the other psychic blasting all of the crowd over onto one another. One troll on the other side of the circle was in a direct path of the injured goldenblood's eyesight and was incinerated within seconds, his skeleton outline briefly in the red and blue beam before disappearing.
There's a moment of silence, interrupted only by the wet sounds of the stabbed troll and his weak moans, and then screams begin. Everyone is scrambling to get away, shoving and pushing and even killing to be away first. You are pushed right next to the unnaturally silent female slaughtering the other psychic. Your heart is in your throat, and you gaze up at her face. Slowly, her face turns towards you, blood cracking and flaking off. It smells awful...
"Stop," you demand. Or try to. It comes out more as a frightened squeak.
Her eyebrows go up, her slanted eyes narrowing. And then she smiles, her red lips expanding to reveal the most feral and pained grin you have ever seen. She laughs, dislodging her needle with a horrid squelching sound. She pins up her long, curly hair with it, blood smearing on the fine strands. Then she grabs you and lifts you up by the throat. You kick at her, but to no avail. Her skin burns, sweet mountains does it hurt. You hear the pounding of feet on the pavement, and a familiar voice...
"Halt! Let her go!"
She turns to look at the approaching blue blood that you met early in the night. Her face crunches up in some unknown emotion as you struggle in her grip. Than she turns back to look at your face.
"Wish I could," she whispers. And then there's an intense pain and flash of light, and she's gone. You fall to the ground, next to the dead troll. His face isn't as grotesque as you thought it would be. It's still and the eyes are wide, but all of the wounds are hidden from your sight. Golden blood leaks out from one red eye, like a tear. Immediately you feel nauseous, so you roll over and dry heave before flopping on your back, staring to the sky.
You lay there for a few seconds. The steps lead up to you, and you open your eyes blearily to see the Indigo blood from before. You crease your eyebrows, puzzled. His face holds an entirely different look from earlier – not polite disdain, or detached interest, but awe and just a hint of respect.
"You really are something," he remarks finally, helping you up. You wince, rubbing your neck. You give an experimental shrug, trying to slip out of his giant supporting hands. But you almost fall over. "Why did you do that?"
"Someone need to," you reply, unsure of how to explain your dislike of needless fighting, of needless killing. In the forest, one took what one needed. Nothing more and nothing less. You limp beside him, heading towards the exit of the city. You need to get into the wild, away from this horrible place.
"But it's not your job, your place..."
You growl, irritated by the rule-loving idiot. You swing around and prod him in his chest, snarling, "Where are you when treaty broke? I see you not helping. Now troll is dead. Who else when not me?"
He pauses, his eyebrows knitted in perplexity. He looks surprised. Then he lowers his head, rubbing his temples. Sweat glitters on his forehead as he mumbles something.
"What?" you snap, not quite catching what he said.
"I am called Darkleer," he murmurs. His eyes meet yours, and he looks confused.
"Disciple..." you answer without meaning to. Slowly, like a cloud drifting across a moon, he smiles. But there's something a little painful in it.
You make your way to the edge of town, your feet dragging slowly on the road. As you pass the largest hive, probably someplace official, you glance up at the board, almost subconsciously. Holograms of wanted troll's faces flicker in the wan moonslight. But your thoughts aren't on them. The thought of the red - Demoness is the only word you can thing of – plagues your thoughts. Who is she? What was she doing here? How –
"Where is your hive located?" Darkleer asks. You almost groan. He hasn't left your side for a minute.
"I go alone-"
You stop. You take a few steps back. Darkleer stares at you in puzzlement. You look at the board again.
On the board is a huge hologram of the Signless.
You gape at it, and your heart plummets into your feet. A cold sweat breaks out over you. Darkleer wanders over, looking at you with concern before following your gaze.
"Ah!" he says. "The mutant."
"M-mutant?" you question, hoping that your fear doesn't leak into your voice. Darkleer nods wearily.
"Indeed. He has been hounding the Empress' rule for quite some time. In fact, I'm leading the hunt for his search right now – Oh dear, are you quite alright?"
You nod, shaking in your skin.
It was more serious than you thought. They were so close already.
"You don't know anything, do you?" Darkleer asks. You shake your head. He studies your face for a few moments, frowning, and then turns back to the hologram. "Well... If you do find anything out, follow these directions. You'll be well rewarded."
You study the writing. You can't understand a word. How are you supposed to protect the Signless if you aren't able to read things like this – or anything?
"I can't read it..." You admit.
Darkleer glances at you in surprise, and then looks thoughtful. "Would... Would you like me to teach you?" he hesitates at each word, and then spits it out in a hurry.
You can't help but hunch your shoulders, worry running through your veins like acid. On one hand, consorting with the head of the Signless' search is dangerous, probably too dangerous. You could accidentally let something slip... And then it's all over. On the other, you could pretend to feed false information while gaining his trust. He seems to approve of you already. And you would be learning to read.
You pause, musing some more, and then you smile shyly.
"Yes," you whisper.
A/N: Sorry it took so long. Hmm. I don't have anything to say, really. I have the next chapter written already. Just need to proof read it. This one actually sort of got away from me and stuff I was planning on happened. Gee.