The Fall


Chapter 4: The House Behind the Trees


"Look," Tyko murmured, hands out to hold the brown-and-red shape as it crawled and flipped around his arms, leathery wings unfurling whenever it lost its balance. "Look at her!" He smiled, almost laughing.

The Flame-flight coiled her flexible body into a sitting position near Ty's elbow, tail curling around his forearm. She looked like a reptilian dog, minus the rounded, blocky snout of hers. Tiny, serrated teeth stuck out from where her beak closed, but Moth couldn't help but feel she was too small to be threatening.

Her greenish eyes locked into Ty's, and his smile melted.

Moth grinned. "You can hear her mind, can't you?"

Ty could only nod. In a bright flash of brown and blue, the Flame-flight suddenly burst from his arm, shooting straight for the zenith of the sky. They both craned their necks to watch her, ignoring the chill that traced down their backs when for a brief moment, all they saw was blue.

She spread her webbed wings, drifting in fast circles around the sun like a halo, whipping her tail from side to side and letting out grated, warbling cries.

"Hawk," Ty muttered.

"What?"

"I'm naming her Hawk."

Moth kept her eyes up. She could almost make herself believe, when the glare of the sun was strong enough to dull and mask the edges of her silhouette, that she really was a hawk.

Moth glanced back to earth, gazing at the Sky-horse standing a few lengths away, long neck stretched to the sun. She wondered if there could be a name to suit his regal grace—and nothing came to mind.

Thunder rolled from the horizons. A storm was brewing in the roiling mass of gray and white clouds gathered there, creeping ever closer to where the sun rested oblivious in their sky.

Hawk began to fall. She tucked her wings in, snout pointed down, a red and brown arrow about to strike the earth's heart. Ty let out a breath of surprise and confusion, almost calling out wait! right before she made impact. But she didn't make impact.

She merely vanished, folding in on herself, and in her place a gleaming black orb thumped gently onto the ground.

"The stones," Moth muttered, once again glancing at her Sky-horse and wondering what his stone would look like; feel like. Ty darted forwards to pick it up, kneeling with it in the hard-packed earth. With slow, careful motions he traced its sharper edges, protruding from an otherwise round shape. "Is that… black glass?" she asked uncertainly, kneeling next to Ty on the ground.

He held it towards the light. It gleamed with a purple sheen, the thin edges and points almost translucent. "It's volcanic glass," he said quietly. "Obsidian."

"Obsidian," Moth repeated, narrowing her eyes at it. She reached out tentatively, running a finger over its smooth side. It was warm, like there was something burning softly on the inside. "How do you know that?"

She looked Ty straight in the face. And he flinched.

Tyko was a runaway. Why or from where, she wasn't sure—he'd said it was just another village, kind of far away but not really. She imagined someplace in the jungles, near Ribular's other coast, but he'd never given many details. He'd made her promise not to question it, but that was near impossible. She knew there was nothing volcanic about Ribular, though; definitely no obsidian anywhere.

Ty gave a small laugh. "How would you not know? Seriously—don't you have any record halls in this village? Somewhere you can read things and learn."

"Shh!" And then she slapped her hand over his mouth—the palace soldiers were coming into view, from the clusters of trees where they'd vanished to distribute the tournament creatures. She couldn't have Ty saying suspicious things while they were in sight of him. He cast them a sideways glance, peeling her hand from his face and gripping her wrist.

"Yeah, let's go." He stood, dragging her next to him. She kept her eyes on the Sky-horse, glaring with a slanted blue gaze at the soldiers, as Ty led her away. Towards home.


"So. The doom convoy gone yet?" Cain asked irritably, emerging from the shadow-casted stairway leading below ground. His eyes hardened with distrust when they found Ty.

"No," Moth muttered. She leaned against the wall by the small, square window, staring out as the soldiers loaded and unloaded heavy equipment; fed their horses, with eyes so wracked with fear they looked dead and ghostly. A few soldiers—three—followed the councilman Moth had talked to earlier to his cabin, where they'd stay till it was time.

In two days.

"It will be," Ty said quietly. "But they'll leave some of their men behind. So Eri has to—"

"Yeah, yeah. Got it." In the corner, Eri was slumped on an old chair. His limp legs stuck straight out into open space, arms crossed over his chest, unkempt copper hair hiding his face. "So, Ty, what makes you worthy of taking my place in the tournament, huh?"

Ty looked up, startled. He stared blankly in Eri's direction, something like horror on his face.

"I'll give you a reason," Cain suddenly growled, surging from the stairwell, finger pointed like a knife to Eri's heart. His green eyes were stricken with anger; in the dark, Moth could see it. Feel it. "He didn't try to die."

Dead silence. And now Ty was staring at her.

Eri's eyes took on that malicious, angry sheen—so they weren't jade, they were red. He opened his mouth to speak, but Moth cut him off.

"I'm going," she rasped through a dry throat. Panic was gripping her insides with hot claws.

"Where?" Ty managed to ask.

Moth ignored him, nearly sprinting for the door and slamming it shut behind her, pushing off in an attempt to start running.

Her foot caught on something and she catapulted into the earth, breath ripped away.

Cursing to herself, she gathered her limbs and peered over her shoulder to find what she'd tripped over—a rock. A white, pockmarked rock. It hadn't been there before.

She sat up, reaching for the curious stone to pick it up. The moment she touched it, bolts of cold energy raced up her arm like violent shivers, as if brought on by the gales of a storm.

"It's you, isn't it?" Moth whispered, eyes traveling across the empty and flattened grassy spaces where the yellow horse had been. Now only the metallic scent of thunder and lightning lingered, the ghostly tainted air where the creature had stood, neck stretched upwards, contiguous with the sky.

She wrapped her hands around it, fought off the trembles gripping her bones.

Pushing herself to her feet, Moth shoved the stone in one of the cheaply-woven pockets inside her vest, hiding it from the outside world. She didn't know why—it had to do with the strange surge of protectiveness she felt for it; no, him. And she could feel the emotion bottled and cast back at her, like the beast felt the same way.

Moth started to run again. She ran to leave their tiny stone cottage behind, her brothers locked inside it. To ignore the seed of guilt that'd sprouted when she realized she'd left Ty alone, caught in the middle of an argument he didn't need to be a part of, surrounded by her brothers that shared none of her reasons for trusting him.

She crossed the clearing, a streak of red, giving the village leader's home a wide berth, pretending she couldn't feel the stare of someone from within peering out at her, following her, never leaving her.

She entered the forest, the very same forest she'd traipsed through at night, where she'd slept and had the dream about the dark man spinning the Sky-horse from rocky bones and bursts of light, giving it a heart and mind woven from stone and Darkforce.

The man—who wore the face of someone long-dead, draped in robes of concentrated shadow.

The forest—where she ran from the beast, borne of her dream.

She didn't know where the line had been, that night - between fantasy and reality.

She walked fast down the wide winding dirt path, branching off in other directions to lead to houses hidden away behind masks of leaves and wood. There was one she was looking for, a short, small one, ensconced in the shadow that sieved from the dark places of the forest. The door was made of rotting wood, stout with a small piece chipped off at the top. A small bird could fly through it.

Moth rapped her knuckles against the palest, driest part of the door. She stepped back, shoving her hands in her threadbare pockets, waiting for it to open.

Soon enough, she could feel a presence on the other side of the door. And then she could hear it as it struggled and swore, trying to wedge the door from its stubborn frame. It jerked open, swinging inside, and a worn and tired face stuck out, stripped of its youthful beauty and sagging with the weight of empty words and broken promises.

"Moth," she rasped, a sad smile breaking the sadder frown.

"Hello, Mother," Moth whispered back.

The woman's smile became a grin, and she ripped the door open a little wider, letting the muted candlelight from inside seep from the widening crack. "Come in, kid. It's good to see you."

"Who's there, Sage?" boomed a much stronger voice, muffled by walls. Sage—her mother was named for her deep green eyes, the same ones she gave to Moth and her sons decades later. Moth was named for what the village called bloodbacks; little white moths with red furry backs and a population that oddly surged before wintertime. They seemed more attracted to starlight than lanterns or torches. Moth could almost remember the way she'd been told the story, staring into her Mother's eyes. Sage's face was a portal to Moth—she'd look at it and see her reflection, aged forty years. She saw her future self. She didn't always like what she saw, but that was it.

"Your only niece," she called back, laughter in her voice.

Moth stepped beyond the threshold, letting her mother lead her down a dark, narrow hall, following the light till they emerged in a small room with a wooden bench pushed against the far wall and a long table, its surface holding two wax candles, burning like warm eyes in the dark. Standing over the table with a cup in his large, sinewy hand was Moth's uncle, a tall, rough man. His dark hair burst from his head and his face in unkempt swathes, an explosion of black.

Another cup rested on the table, probably her mother's. Moth got the feeling they'd been talking about something; like she could sense anxious, weary words still hanging in the air. Her uncle raised his free hand in greeting, nodding to her as if accepting her presence. "So the doom convoy rolled through today, eh?"

Moth was halfway through a nod and her mother snapped, "Alister! Don't talk about it."

Before she'd registered what her hands were doing, Moth had reached into another pocket and pulled out the electrified stone, setting it down on the table for them all to see. "Sky-horse. I…received him today."

Sage shook her head, hand over her mouth as she stared at the porous, bleached-white rock.

"Sky-horse," Alister exclaimed, setting his cup down and leaning over the table, brow furrowed. "You've got yourself a tough bastard there, Moth." The excitement in his voice was a mask for the wariness she could hear, lingering beneath the surface.

"Yeah," she agreed, crossing her arms. "I think I'll make it far."

"Don't say that yet," Sage muttered gravely. "Sky-horses are powerful, but you've…yet to see the competition, yeah?"

Her words meant: don't win.

Moth already knew not to win. Every vessel child knew not to win, not that it mattered. Some poor, unlucky soul always came out on top.

You'd hear, she remembered someone old and long dead telling her, years ago, all the competitors talking up a genius strategy to fight hard and still lose, give everything and still be ejected from the tournament with all the rewards they could reap. Yet you'd watch 'em step into the ring and all that planning and strategy would fall right away and they'd fight with everything they had. Darkforce screwin' with 'em. Or maybe it's fear.

Fear was powerful. It'd compelled her to hide her broken brother; beg a lost boy she barely knew to help her, to save him.

If the guards or anyone outside their family discovered Eri crippled, their brothers would be dead. Her mother would be dead.

If the guards—or skies forbid, him—watched her fight and saw her falter, watched her beg for defeat with no words, everyone she loved would be ruined or killed.

There were the stories of rebel entrants, refusing to let their beasts fight in the tournament. And they'd vanish like ghosts by the next day—not dead. Somewhere else, somewhere worse.

What choice did she have but to give everything in battles she didn't want to win? What choice did anyone have?

"It's alright, Mother. I'll place sixth or something—they always reward the high-placing real nicely. And you and Alister can get a new house, somewhere better."

Sage's tight, worried eyes bored into her daughter. No.

An unexpected shudder made her skin convulse, made the air colder than ice. She shook her head. "I didn't come to talk about that. I just…needed to get away from my brothers."

Sage sighed, knuckles paling as her hands gripped the table edge. "It's Cain, isn't it? Picking on Eri."

Moth nodded. Alister tipped his head back, taking a long swig from his cup. The liquid's strong scent wafted to Moth's nose and she tensed, recoiling from its sour aroma. "Boy's been through a lot this past year. He's stressed—supporting his brothers and sister all by himself. Cut him a break."

Moth scowled. Sage looked down - and then Moth realized it was a half-nod of agreement. Something began to burn at the pit of her stomach. Why is it Cain you're concerned about?

"How's Eri holding up? He's still painting, right? Better not have quit - he actually had some talent."

Moth smiled a little, thinking of the little wanton specks and swathes of color decorating the corners of walls, the back of chairs, the edge of Eri's bed. Small fragments of rainbows seemed to follow him wherever he went, rubbing off his stained hands—or, they used to.

Cain had stopped buying him the dyes and the bamboo canvases from the village shop, so Moth would bring him flat stones and bark pieces and flowers from the forest—till he told her to stop. He'd sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the brilliant mural roiling over the opposite wall, a chaotic mess of colors Moth knew she'd only find there, in his room. They didn't truly exist in the world, not till Eri had brought them to life.

It's okay, he'd whispered, not meeting her eyes when she tried to hand him a thin piece of slate and some red flowers. You don't have to do that anymore.

She kept at it, at first. But not anymore.

Her smile went away. "N…no. He, he's just…getting over artist's block is all. Or whatever he calls it. I'm sure he'll be back at it soon."

She needed him to be back at it soon. The rainbow pieces scattered about the house were fading.

"See that he does," her mother murmured, downing the last of the mystery liquid in the cup. "He needs to focus on something other than his…disabilities."

"Cain's not making it easy."

Sage's features tensed, her hand curling tighter around the empty cup. Alister was glaring at her as she spoke. "Cain... he needs some more time to accept what's happened. He and Eri were close, you remember. In the meantime, try and make sure he realizes what happened was an accident. Not Eri's fault."

Moth flinched, almost shrinking away from her mother.

Because she was wrong. It wasn't an accident—a truth only she and Cain knew.

She noticed Alister giving her a strange glance, face contorted like his drink had tasted funny. She shrugged off the look, recomposing herself, turning away.

"What about Abel? He still sick?"

I came for more than this, Moth realized, scowling at her mother's question. I didn't want to talk about my brothers. I didn't want this visit to be the same as the rest.

So why am I here?

"He's…recovering," she muttered absently. "Look, Mother, Uncle…" She trailed off. Both fixed her with intense gazes, and she resisted the urge to cower beneath the weight of their eyes. "If something happens to me in the next few months, what will you—"

"Stop." A harsh, rough-edged command. Sage fixed her daughter in an angry stare. "None of that."

Alister looked down, looked away.

"I refuse to think about mourning you when you're still here. I've done enough of that with Eri. Okay?"

Moth looked at her, through time into the face of a much older clone of herself. She realized the answer was unsatisfying—even though she didn't know what she wanted her mother to say. "Okay."

"Go home, Moth," Sage murmured, crossing her arms. "Eri can't stand up to Cain on his own. You were always the peacekeeper, you know?"

Moth shrugged, ignoring the prick of hurt in her stomach.

"Oh, don't give me that look. Your uncle and I have things to discuss, that's all." A sharp, pointed glare in Alister's direction.

Moth forced her face into a mask of calm as she backed away, nodding to her uncle and mother. She grabbed her stone off the table and put it away, hand still curled around it in her pocket as she stepped back outside into the gloomy trees.

She leaned against the rotting door—a pit gaping deep in her chest, an empty hole where the wind whistled through as it blew.

She waited.

And then the voices sounded—harsh. Angry. Both competing with the other. She listened to a small irritated squabble from behind the door crescendo into a maelstrom of curses, shrieks, violent words. Sharp like knives, twisting in her flesh, relishing at the blood that began to flow. Pressed against the door, she listened.

"How could you lie to her, like that? She's your daughter!"

"When the hell did I lie?"

"You lie when you let her believe you love her."

And then, Moth was running again.


This took awhile. Sorry for that.

Graceful Rage- For a sungari, I would give it a different suffix, not 'flight', to distinguish it. A coatlus could be a Sky-flight, though - basically my rule for this is that all names will be different. And that answers your other question. And yeah, I hadn't thought about it before, but I guess this is kind of like Hunger Games in a way. Thanks for sending in an OC, but I'd love it if you could give me a gender(sorry...haven't heard the name Sigurd before and I don't know if it's male or female) and a short outline of their personality so I can have a better idea of how to use this character. Anyway, thanks for reviewing!

If you have an OC idea, I'll be taking them for the next six chapters.

Review!

-Angel