besides, on some of my other stories, someone wanted violence. so here is a little bit. there will be more in the end. hellows
~~~~~~~~~~`
They ran until they had no more breath; ducking behind the warehouse, they managed to choke back the dust their hasty arrival had disrupted. Ara grasped the hilt of her small knife painfully tight, for her heart was pounding so loudly in her ears that she was afraid it might dislodge the silver from her hand.
She sighed, ribs constricting, blinking back the tears that threatened to pour from her very soul.
"Ara!" her mother's voice echoed in her ears. "If you're quick," the very young woman teased, "we may be able to catch a glimpse of your father in the banquet before we must wash dishes." Wiping her hands on her apron, the woman held out her hand to the seven year old.
Smiling brightly, Ara had followed Mama through the doorway and behind an ornately embroidered curtain. "See the man sitting there?" she whispered. "Next to the ruling Priest-Lord, his half-brother, the one in the beaded robe? He's the one next to the priest, that's your father. He's a Lord, which is why you have a real name, Aralien, rather than the servant's. The honorific 'n' is an obvious mark." Tweaking the girl's nose, the mother smiled to herself.
Ara said her name to herself, over in her head. "Why is he up there?"
"Because he is the brother, or at least half of his blood is, of the Lord!" Mama emphasized.
"Why is he my...father?" The words set strangely in Ara's mouth; she had never known about her birth father until today. Examining the man with a curious look, her green eyes took in his light brown hair, carefully groomed beard, and immaculate clothing. As she recognized the cruel set of his eyebrows, the clenched, hateful jaw, she also asked, "Why does he look unhappy?"
Mama's face fell a little. "Because he's not the ruler." Ara's little brow furrowed, but the woman would explain no more. "We must return to our duties."
"Ara," her mother began. "Did I tell you about the time while I was still carrying you in my belly?"
"No, Mama." Ara clung to her mother's hand, hoping for a good tale.
"I went to see a fortune teller, and the gipcy lady laid her bejeweled hand on my belly, and she told me you were to be a warrior maiden."
Ara's eyes grew large and round. "Really?" If that were true, she told herself, then it was good that she snuck off to watch the young boys practice swordplay. "A warrior maid? A real one?"
Her mother nodded, smiling at the small child. "She was a wizened old woman, her hand more like a dried leaf than a palm. But she looked me in the eye, and told me a strange prophesy...would you like to hear it?" Ara nodded. "She told me that the Shadow Warrior and the Golden would rise against a dark evil."
And they tripped back to the kitchens, swinging hands and trotting softly on the grass, when a great roar came from the banquet hall. Two figures darted from the hall, but Mama dragged her back into the shadows as hardened mercenaries stampeded around the corner of the building. "Be quiet, Ara," she warned, but the bushes were small and the woman's shoulders and back stood clear out of the hedge.
A large hand dragged Mama out of the leafy sanctionary, it's chainmailed owner chuckling deeply. "Lirs," he grinned, showing his maliciously gleaming teeth. "It's been a while since I have seen you last." And the man raised his head out of the shadows to reveal himself as the man on the dais, the brother of the ruling Lord. He ran bloody fingers over his stained tunic, the dark red-black patches soaked through to his skin.
"Perisen." Mama's one word cut a scathing patch through the air, filled with cries of servants and guests alike.
"Oh, Lirs," he gloated. "It's all fixed now. They'll all be dead, maids, guards, nobles, sons, daughters, brothers...half-brothers..." He paused. "Well, Lirs, they were supposed to kill you too, but..." His hands snaked around Mama's waist. "But, you were too good to be a kitchen drudge, my beauty...be my woman, my Lady. A mother to my heirs."
A bloodcurdling cry came from the kitchen, and the crimson life-bearing liquid spattered across the lighted window. The maid's body slammed against the window, her eyes wide and the light dimming slowly from the frightened orbs. Her face, bloodied on one side of the head, slid slowly down the glass, leaving its gory trail.
"Cera?" Mama whispered. Her green eyes wide, she stared from the window to Perisen. "I...I..." He grasped her wrists so tightly that a small gasp came from her mouth.
"What do you say, Lirs?"
Another body flew at the window, that of the small girl that Ara sometimes played with during her free time. The child wailed as her head hit the stone sill, and the shadow of a mercenary raised it's sword. A strangled gasp accompanied its decent, and the unholy sound of a knife through flesh. "No!" Mama shrieked, tearing at Perisen's hands with clawed fingers. "You...murderer!"
So the man, seething with frustration, clasped Mama's neck in his hands and smoothly cracked her fragile spine. Letting the body drop to the ground, he stared at it for a moment before shaking his head ruefully. "Now, where is that dratted child of hers..." Walking away, the man drew his sword and joined his soldiers in their killing.
Ara ran.
Her small legs, frail and thin for her age because of the hardships of a servant, took her nearly to the edge of the estate before an arm grabbed her out of the air and into an old shed. Before she could scream, a hand swiftly covered her mouth. "Don't scream," he warned.
As she turned around, her eyes met the kind brown ones of the Priest-Lord, his beaded robe awry from his quick flight from the doomed banquet. "Ara, is it?" She nodded, catching her breath.
"Child," the man began, his gentle voice quiet and regretful. "I am destined to die already, for my brother will not rest until he has my life. But you will escape, and live, and remember..."
"I am just a servant, my Lord," she said shrilly, but the man shook his head decisively.
"It is no matter." The man smiled, and Ara, against her will, felt his kindness permeate through her anguished heart. It warmed the air around her, and even the air outside, heavy with blood and fear, seemed to press lighter on her small frame.
His son rose next to his father, a young boy of twelve, who had taught Ara how to skip small pebbles across the pond. "Father..."
"No, my son. You must go, too. Together, perhaps all will be well." Turning back to Ara, he patted her head. "Child, do not fear. Cullen will take good care of you, you know that right?" She nodded, remembering the afternoons she had snuck away to hear the boy, to watch the forbidden art of swordsmanship that she so longed to master. The Lord shoved a small dagger into her hand, and her tiny fingers closed unwillingly on the jeweled hilt.
"My son, one thing." Pulling a gold band from his left fourth finger, he handed it to the boy before pulling a long chain out of his robe. Touching the hanging ring, he sighed. "This was your mother's wedding band, and this is mine. The small emerald and sapphire ring was your baby sister's, though she never wore it before she died, only a few hours after birth, along with her mother. Cullen was only two," he told Ara, whose eyes were wide, "so he never knew her." And finally pulling the heavy gold signet ring off his first finger, he added it to the long chain. "To remember who you are," he said, hands shaking slightly as he placed the gold strand around Cullen's neck, tucking the bright metal into his plain brown tunic.
Cullen himself looked like he was falling apart. "Now, before it is too late." Sketching a blessing over his forehead, the Lord hugged his son before pushing the lad out the door, Ara with him. "Go!"
So the two ran, not halting before they reached a safe sanctuary, where they crouched fearfully now.
The tears spilt down her cheeks. Wiping them off with her grubby fist, she breathed deep until her chest rested still, with no tightening. As long as she did not think of her poor Mama, sprawled on the ground, her head tilted at a strange angle. She felt as if she had died with her mother, as if it was her on the ground with still breath.
"Ara," the boy whispered. "Are you all right?"
"Yes," she whispered back, but the unbearable heat behind her eyes overflowed again and she cried, for the first time she could remember. He patted her black hair until her sniffling abated and her hands finally dropped the small blade.
Staring up at the ceiling, into the deep loft of the abandoned building, he sighed. "We can live here, for now," Cullen said, "Or father would not have directed us to this place. It's warm, at least during this warm season, and safe enough. Little Sister, we shall be all right."
So clambering up to the straw-filled loft, the younglings collapsed and slept heavily from fatigue and stress. And when the morning came, the bright light filled the small cut window and cast its gentle beams over their closed eyes.
"Still all right?" he asked, sun shining into his light brown hair, slightly curly at the ends. His words were like a reassurance, that both of them, though not good companions or even close in age, were together at least, probably the only two left from the entire household. Even at her young age, Ara knew this to be true in her heart, and did not need to be told this fact.
And, peering out the tiny window into the ends of the city, they could see the Priest-Lord, yet in his beaded robe, being led out into the city square by his half-brother Perisen; the scarlet mark of death-to-come was scrawled on his forehead with the traditional paint of the city. Damned to his fate at the block.
Cullen slumped against the wall and cried, golden brown eyes overflowing with the tears he could not keep back. And it was Ara's turn to comfort, as he had consoled her the night before as she wept.
~~~~~~~~~
if this was in any way confusing, tell me and ill try fix it. review? please? adn the title sucks. well...bye...