ara is so stubborn, yet so quiet!
~~~~~~~
Neither of them turned their eyes towards the north gate, where the Priest-Lord's blood yet stained the ground, mixed with the shining green beads ripped from his cloak. Since no one dared -or wished- to collect the shimmering glass ornaments, they lay glittering in the sun and sand.
They crept out of their warehouse only to steal food to eat. For the first year they managed to feed themselves with purloined food, grabbed while both storekeepers and red-belted mercenaries were looking in the other direction.
However, Cullen forced Ara to tie up her long black hair underneath a hat. "Little Sister," he told her. "It's safer for you this way." But he wouldn't explain, so she simply shrugged and pinned the locks safely away. He himself wore a cap until his hair grew out longer, with the brim low over his eyes.
But slowly by slowly, the pair snuck out of their solitary sanctuary and began to move through the city. And so that was why both Cullen and Ara were in the marketplace when Perisen declared the new laws of the city.
His booming voice soared over the milling crowd. "There shall be no mishaps in my fair City!" he emphasized. "Those who wish to cause trouble shall be promptly executed, and riots quickly quelled." Following him were scores of mercenaries, each armed with a long sword and fierce faces. As expected, there were no complaints.
"Why doesn't King Baenathen do something?!" Ara whispered. Cullen bit his lip.
"The empire is thousands of miles wide, and spans two continents. And the war in the south, it's still going on strongly. He won't have time for several years, or even perhaps his entire reign..."
Ara didn't know what the southern war was all about, but she nodded. "I see," she said, though she did not really understand, because Cullen looked so limp with frustration and anger that she shut her mouth quickly.
"Let's go back," she told him, tugging at his arm. But for several weeks, Ara, curled up like a small cat in the straw, heard the boy tossing and turning with his own thoughts; her maturity could only brush upon his anguish, though she was very perceptive for her seven years. And she felt his pain, despite her inability to soothe his sorrow.
~~~~~~~~~
When he was thirteen, Cullen acquired a job as a woodcutter, rising early in the mornings and returning late at night. "It's a start, Little Sister," he admitted, though his workpapers cost an outrageous price, even though he was a beginner in his craft. In fact, it had taken the small handful of coins they had acquired.
"Isn't it dangerous?" she asked, staring at the bloody blisters on his hands that appeared after the first day. "It isn't fitting for a Lord..."
He grimaced. "Which I'm not, anymore." So Ara sighed and improvised a salve, though perhaps not medically competant, it went on silky smooth and soothed the aching in his hands. "Thanks, though."
"Can I come?"
"No!" he exclaimed. "Ara, it isn't a good place for you. It's hard work, and it's much safer for you to stay here, out of danger. The soldiers are everywhere!" Besides, he told himself, it was embarrassing how inept he was at simple skills.
And it was excruciating work. The axe, whose rough, splintery handle bit into his skin, chafed against his palms and against the new blisters. The jarring force of the blade cutting into the tough wood made his shoulders ache in their joints, despite the sword practices he had taken as a child.
"Don't sweat it," another boy had told him, obviously adapted to the work already. "You'll get used of it soon."
"Really."
"Believe me." He smiled, a strange one underneath a slightly crooked nose, broken in a fight or a fall. "I'm Zak. Welcome to the ol' hell pit."
"Cullen," he replied, before inwardly slapping himself up the head. Could he have not used his real name?"
"Great to meet you." Wiping the sweat off his forehead, Zak let out a large whiff of air. "What you doing here?"
"Oh, trying to earn a bit of money," he said, hoping he sounded casual.
Zak looked sympathetic, strange in a young boy whose face was already marked by fighting. "Was your father killed this week, too?"
"Too?"
"Didn't you know? Ol' Perisen went through all the homes of those near the castle, looking for two kids, or something. Killed all the men, evicted the women, or at least those who weren't killed by the soldiers. Brutal, man." Zak's knuckes were white as he gripped his axe. "It took my da and my older brother. Me'n my younger brother barely escaped, but we did."
"Gods...I'm so sorry, Zak."
"I know, man, terrible. Your family unscathed?"
Cullen could feel his eyes begin to fill, though he tried to keep them back. "My...father," he managed. "I have to take care of... of my little sister. My mother died many years back." And it was the truth, basically, he told himself. For some reason he didn't wish to lie to this Zak.
"I'm sorry," the other boy said, sincerely remorseful. "That's awful. Someone ought to do something about this Perisen person. It's not as if he were the real Lord, anyhow. Besides, there are those two kids yet." Cullen bit his tongue, but felt his heart sink a bit lower. Zak's eyebrows snapped together suddenly, but he quickly erased the look from his face.
"Let me introduce you to everyone," he told Cullen. "Hey! Guys, this is Cull," he said with an emphasis on that nickname, staring strongly Cullen.
Why did he say that? Cullen thought, but dismissed it. Perhaps everyone had a nickname there, maybe it was imperative. Strange, but he'd use it anyway.
~~~~~~~~~~`
Ara squirmed, sitting in the loft sadly. "Boring," she breathed. Three weeks, absolute silence, until Cullen came home. "Got to go somewhere. Or I will burst."
Climbing out of the high loft window and over the market, she snagged a loaf of bread deftly and returned it to the warehouse. It was silly, in fact. She was a bit more adept at pinching items than Cullen, who blushed and became obvious, though she did admire his honesty. Sometimes she wondered what kind of person she was.
The light was already dimming from the sky. "So soon?" she whispered, astonished.
And she saw Cullen walking up the path, tired with his head drooping nearly to the ground. He was so tired at night...she sighed ruefully. "Poor thing," she said to herself. But then she glimpsed the two mercenaries walking behind him, so softly the boy's ears could not hear them.
Grasping a brick, the girl threw herself off the roof and smashed one on the back of the head. He gasped and blacked out, collapsing underneath her. The other man turned around and saw his partner on the ground, giving Cullen the chance to turn and throw a sharp kick in his back. As he fell over his friend's body, Ara gave him a wallop with her brick.
"You should be more careful," she told the older boy, surprised to be scolding someone five years older than herself. She pushed with all her might, and rolled the two unconscious soldiers into a ditch.
He smiled wryly, goldenbrown eyes glinting in the dark. "I think so, too. Thanks, Little Sister." As they walked back into the warehouse, he stared down at her and said, "Oh! Before I forget...the story is that our father was killed during the massacre by the village, and our mother was dead many years ago. And you're my sister."
"Sure..." she said, mind elsewhere. "But Cullen, or should I say, Big Brother," she teased, "Can you teach me that kick? What was that? Where did you learn that?"
"Too many questions!" He held out his hands in supplication, but she continued to stare at him. "Oh, fine. Zak, my friend, taught me some hand-to-hand, so I wouldn't die the minute I stepped into the streets."
"Can you teach me?"
He sighed, but like any intelligent boy recognized the advantages of a girl learning protection skills before the threat was evident. "Fine." And so she learned the finer arts of fighting and tumbling, which eventually evolved into sharpened staffs, until the final day where she produced two sticks and asked him to teach her how to cross swords.
Cullen glared at the eight year old, who stood quietly and undemandingly in front of him. "Please?" she asked. "It's a hobby...my destiny," she joked, remembering what her mother had told her a year ago. The warrior maiden, the Shadow Warrior. Who was she kidding? As if that would come true...but still, she could hope a bit. "Please, Cullen? Pleasepleaseplease."
"All right, then." He sighed again. He would never be able to admit to himself what a comfort she was, teaching her all kinds of strange things that no girl he had ever met before would attempt. Something to keep him going, at least for now, until survival instinct kicked in. When he wanted to roll somewhere and simply die, he still couldn't leave her alone in the world, and so he would drag himself up and work. A small, paltry blessing, but yet a fortune in its own light.
~~~~~~~~~
Ara enjoyed these lessons, spending the pent up energy that kept her anxious during her long vigils at the window. And also, it gave her a strange bit of joy to see tension lines relax in Cullen's face, though the small spark of vengence still burned deeply in his eyes.
"It's odd," she told herself while she waited by the window, "that while he has a temper and an immoderate fury, and I am quiet and small and can fit in a corner, that we both seem to harbor some residual anger from 'that day.' "
"But we remember," she said thoughtfully, remembering the Priest-Lord, "And that is exactly what matters."
~~~~~~~~~`
The second winter was colder than the first, and burrowing together was the only way to stay alive. Poking at the fire, filled with bits of furniture and wood found on the streets or the garbage, provided a little warmth, but the hay and single blanket conserved the most heat.
Ara ventured out during this time, after bundling Cullen up in multiple layers to his job splitting wood. The walks not only made her feel warmer, but she was able to save their precious firewood by not burning it all day.
It was then, on one of her forays, that she trotted past an inn.
Walking faster, for sometimes drunk men stumbled out of the door with disregard for any small persons in front of their feet, shouts erupted from the doors. "Get out! Thief, no good boy!" And a small, dirty scamp darted out through the doors, throwing his mop at the window.
"Lady, you're a cow!" he shouted before dashing through the chilly trees.
Ara stood there, confused. Running up to the boy, she grabbed his collar, thanking her breeches for their flexibility. "What happened?"
"She fired me," the street rat grumbled. "Washed floors and such, not much of a pay but fun to bother them guests."
Releasing him with a grin, Ara ran back to the building. Shaking snow off her cheap cloak, she entered the building. "Excuse me?" she asked the plump woman serving food onto plates. "Would there perhaps be a job opening for a small...boy?"
The lady looked up, a smile brightening her round face. "Why, there would be!" she exclaimed. "I suppose you saw that rascal running away from me. Can you scrub? And wash dishes?"
Ara nodded, remembering the Priest-Lord's estate. "Yes, mum."
"Then you're hired. Be here from after breakfast, til' around four o'clock. I'm Isa."
"I'm Aral."
The woman smiled and looked the child over, patting her on the shoulder. "I know ye'r not a boy, child. But the job is still yours. After all, we women can do the job just fine, can we not?" She winked. "What's your real name?"
"Ara."
The lady smiled. "Well, for now I shall call you Aral, then."
Tossing a broom to Ara, she called over her elbow, "Make sure to clean under the tables, too!"
And so every day, hours before Cullen returned home, Ara trotted happily down the walk with a loaf of bread and a silver penny from the kind woman. With her wages and leftover food from Isa's generous pot, she was able to provide a hot meal for the tired fourteen year old. Besides, her money went into a hidden pouch underneath the straw of the loft, after the small amount for a child's simple workpaper was paid, still overly priced but manageable. It was a start, and the soft leather bag slowly filled with small silver or copper coins.
As they burrowed under the hay that night, the fire dimmed to warming coals, Cullen spread the blanket over the two of them. "Ara, be careful," he warned.
"Why?"
"Because!" His eyes flashed slighty in the dark. "Be especially careful when you steal. There's soldiers everywhere. I don't want you to leave other than for food. Hear me? And when we have enough money, no more stealing."
Protective, Ara told herself. "Only after we have enough money. But...you leave the loft."
"But..." he began, but she poked him in the arm and rolled over. He muttered, but settled into the hay next to her. Curling up like a small cat, Ara sighed as the softly scratchy hay adjusted to her body.
"Go to sleep, Cullen." Keeping her breathing slow and steady, she waited for him to fall asleep before she relaxed. Someday later, she would tell him about the job. But only when she was ready for his anger.
And so life went on, despite all hardships, terrors, and improbability.
~~~~~~~~~~