Chapter 12
"Do you have a knife, then?" Odale asked. The Thing bared it's teeth in what Odale thought was supposed to be a smile.
"I was only waiting for you to ask," it answered.
It handed her a knife. Odale grabbed it by the grip, gazed at it. The knife was far too rusty, she thought and pulled her finger over the surface of the blade. She looked at it again and it looked as new. "Where do I cut?" she asked.
"The palm," the Thing said.
"But-"
"Such are the rules," the Thing interrupted her. Odale sighed and slit the skin of her left palm. The Thing grabbed the knife and did the same to it's own hand. "So, you do want to Exchange blood with me?"
"Yes," Odale said. "I just slit-"
The Thing grabbed her hand. Odale groaned. It wasn't very pleasant. "Hold for seven seconds," the Thing said. Odale took a deep breath, counted. After the seven seconds had went, it let go of her hand.
Odale looked at her hand. The bleeding had stopped, but where her wound had been there was a dark slit. She grimaced, wondered what she would tell Marcia if she asked. "Now, where's Little?" she asked.
"In that room over there," the Thing answered. "She's protected now, too."
"You'll have to take care of her for now," Odale said. "I need to leave. That Darke Domaine... I have to tell somebody about it."
"I expected no less," the Thing said.
Odale walked out.
Did it want her to warn Marcia, as she walked away. Why would it be necessary to just say that? Odale frowned. Where would she go?
It was so darke outside... almost as if... Odale suddenly realize that she was freezing, which shouldn't be possible. She looked around. How stupid am I, she asked herself.
The Darke Domaine wasn't isolated in a little hole somewhere. It was already everywhere.
She didn't know where to go. Odale brushed her hair over her shoulder and looked around. She couldn't sit down. It was about all that she knew about Darke Domaines, and it was that she couldn't sit down, because then she would doze of into a coma-like state.
Odale rubbed her hands together, she was already feeling cold in her fingertips. The cut on her palm stung and she felt overall miserable. She cursed herself for not having noticed anything about what had happened before, and that she hadn't been fast enough. But she promised herself that if she found whoever had done it, she would end him or her without a doubt.
"You do realize that you're telling me that I'm supposed to think that Merrin Meredith did this?" Zamir said to Marcia. "Alone?"
"Not necessarily alone," Marcia replied. "I don't believe that he would be able to do something like this on his own."
"So... you think that Odale did it?" Zamir asked.
"No!" Marcia answered, "No, no, definitely not!"
Zamir didn't know if he agreed. Odale's relationship with Merrin had always seemed weird to him, since she'd never liked him before. He had to have something new and different. Zamir thought of how Merrin had threatened him, a bit over a year ago. "You don't think that I have anything to do with it?"
He guessed that it was a possible thought. Zamir guessed that he had somewhat of a doubtful past. "No," Marcia replied. "Or... do you think that Odale helped him?"
"I... don't know," Zamir said. "You live with her."
"She has been out a lot," Marcia replied, "But I don't think that she has been... planning anything extreme."
Zamir sighed. "I guess you'd know more," he said. But he wasn't convinced.
"Let me look at you," Cashmére said. "I still don't believe you... but you still look the part."
Lorea turned around. Cashmére went up to her and put her indexfinger under Lorea's chin. The younger woman was a head taller than Cashmére. Her eyes, Cashmére thought, looked just like her daughter's eyes had done. They looked like Joseph's eyes had done.
Her hair was darke blonde and hung a hand below her shoulders. Cashmére bit her lips. She couldn't see any flaws. "What do you remember?" she asked Lorea.
"Nothing," Lorea said. "Absolutely, definitely nothing."
Cashmére shook her head. "Nothing?" she asked. "My daughter was four when... when she disappeared and died. When you're four you tend to remember some things."
"I know," Lorea answered. "I know, but I don't. But I swear... I know it's true."
"If I believed you," Cashmére said, "Would I be disappointed?"
"I hope not," Lorea said. "I just know what my uncle has told me, but I know it's true."
"And who's your uncle?" Cashmére asked her.
"Rodrian," Lorea answered.
"Oh," Cashmére said. She had never met one of them, as far as she knew, and couldn't keep them apart. "You've done your research."
Lorea looked puzzled. "My research?" she asked. "What research?"
"Look, I don't know what you want, but my daughter is dead. I can't take this," Cashmére answered, "I'm so sorry..."
"But I am Lorea!" Lorea protested. "You must believe me."
Cashmére sighed. "I'll give you a chance," she said. Lorea laughed and hurled herself at Cashmére , who flinched in surprise. She patted Lorea on the back gently. "You need to watch my back," she said. "I'm a bit fragile."
Lorea smiled. "I'm sorry," she said, "Er..."
"Call me whatever you wish," Cashmére replied.
Of all the rebel headquarters, the mountain one was Rodrian's personal favorite. It was laid far north in the country, so far that it laid in what long ago had been called the Northern Snowplains.
It was, according to Rodrian, the most beautiful and the most well-protected. It was carved in the hard, grey stone of the mountain and strictly resembled the Lone Cliff in the Southern Desserts. Not to mention that whoever had carved it, and it was not the rebels, had put much care into it. There were statues and carvings depicting figures, which no one could understand whatever they meant. But they appeared enchanting to Rodrian, and they were a nice contrast to what the rebels headquarters usually looked like. "It is pretty," he heard Runa whisper.
Rodrian looked at her. "I completely agree," he said.
"The statues..." Runa continued, "What are they?"
"Nobody knows," he replied. They were at the bottom of a large stone staircase, and despite being Snowplainian Rodrian could feel the biting cold. "How are you, Runa?"
"Okay," Runa said. "I'm okay."
Rodrian sighed. "By the way," Runa begun, "Do you know how L-"
"Hush," Rodrian growled. "Don't speak of her."
He walked her up the stairs. "I have made sure to find you a room," he said. "I'll guide you there, but then I have a meeting to attend."
"Are you not staying in this room with me?" Runa asked.
"No," Rodrian answered. "I'm sorry."
