DISCLAIMER : I'm beginning to wonder, if I actually claimed that I owned CoM, would anyone believe me or care? Would sirens start sounding if I lambasted Tamora Pierce and proclaimed myself the creator of CoM? Would the Gestapo break into my house in the dark of night, drag me from my bed and set fire to all my personal belongings and effects? I think I just scared myself…
You guys…I updated. It's a long chapter…WITH FLUFF!!!!!!!!! Seriously, I am as giddy as a school girl right now. I think this may be one of the better chappies I've written in a while. You guys are in for such a treat!!!! *fiendish giggles*
Oh yeah, and PLEASE REVIEW! Reviews are my drug of choice…and they encourage me to write more.
Without further adieu,
East of the Alter, Ch. VI
"There's no knowing if you come in front.
And there's no knowing if you come behind.
There's no knowing where you are at all.
All I know is you are in my mind."
- Estonian Folk Song
Turbulent, bittersweet emotions swept through Tris as the last of the venomous words had left Briar's mouth. To call what transpired within her in those next few moments "emotions" is not entirely accurate nor is it doing justice to what Trisana actually felt. She had had emotions before; happy, sad, angry, calm, and was quite familiar with how they each felt in turn, this point being spoken to prove that she did indeed have an extensive background on what to classify emotions on.
The feelings that Briar's comment elicited from her had no precedent, and can only be truly appreciated by those who have had near death experiences, where their final destinations were to be the Dark Lands.
It was as if Tris could feel her lifeblood suddenly stop flowing in her veins, and she ceased to be living or dead, just some hollowed out empty shell (with the perfect acoustics to echo his statement back and forth in) that is waiting for the subtle fate of the wind to determine her next movements. She felt her face trying to contort in pain, but only meticulous timing prevented that from happening.
Be calm, Tris, calm down. He has to do this. It's for the best, after all, you should be doing the same thing. Another softer, more timid voice piped up, bringing into light what Tris would rather not contemplate. But you're just doing it as an act. He…he really means it. He really hates you. She could feel hot salt misting up her hard, uncaring eyes.
She stood as abruptly as Briar had a moment before, unable to bear sitting at the table any longer, unwilling to let any of them see that her hardened exterior had a chink in it.
"Exactly," Tris countered, letting her voice resonate loudly with a steely, dangerous edge to it, but far sharper than any knife Gorse kept in his kitchens, "you will all be better once you've fished this-" she paused to give her next word more effect, "parasite out of your system. This hideously cruel, ill-tempered, disgustingly ugly mean-spirited parasite that is sick and tired of living under false pretenses."
Her voice was becoming more frenzied as she spit out each word with pure malevolence, but on the inside she was worried. She couldn't tell how much of this she was just making up and how much of it was true. Just keep going, she urged herself. You must hurt them to save them…or am I just hurting them because they've hurt me?
"What pretenses?" Briar asked in a dangerously low voice, as all the others still sat around the table, too shocked to comment.
"What pretenses? This putrid Parasite is sick of pretending that she enjoys being stuck in this run-down version of the Dark Lands. Pretending that her flesh doesn't crawl at the thought of being the object of some petty boy's" her eyes settled dangerously on Briar's, "silly crush. Pretending she doesn't notice the sideways smirks and knowing glances you all give each other whenever I stroll by, as if you have any right to superiority over me. Tired of pretending as if I enjoy any of all of you all's company, no, tired of pretending as if I can tolerate even being in the same room with any of you. Gods, the mere sight of you people is enough to churn my stomach five times over.
"I can't stand being this house's novelty fat girl - after all, if one of the 'all powerful quartet' wasn't flawed in some way, why, we just don't know what we to do, would do? Who would we blame all of out troubles and misdeeds on?"
She spun quickly on her heels, her uncaring eyes focusing on Sandry. Specks of lightening began flickering in them with more frequency.
"Surely not the little lost princess, with such a pure heart and loving disposition that any real talent and brains she once might have possessed have now been glossed over with the clichés of the weaker sex. She's so pristine and perfect, and shall make a wonderful trophy for some rich, boorish man fifty years her senior."
Sandry's mouth flew open in hurt, but she had no time for protestations, because Tris's fury had moved on. Tris's words dripped with sarcasm and venom, but her inner voice was scared and worn, as if it were on the verge of tears. She put up a mental wall to block it, to make sure it did not leak through, and prayed that no one would try to reach her magickally, fearing that her resolve would break down and she would burst out into tears.
"And of course not our token Trader, who's such a special find in these parts. Hard to come by a good black girl this time of year, they're all down south with the slavers. Good thing we got one, though, can show her off in an exhibit, maybe make a farthing or two."
Rage flashed in Daja's eyes as a scowl of hatred crossed her face.
With each word Tris spoke, her past wrongs were revisited, past torments remembered, and her anger grew and became real, and even her physical stature seemed to loom above everyone. At last Tris turned, full circle, to face Briar, who stood head on to meet whatever she might have to say. She threw her hands up in disgust, and her eyes seemed to be back into their solid lightening phase.
"And no, we cannot lay blame on our pretty boy 'diamond in the rough' weed mage. We have to be nice to him, because he" she carefully enunciated her words, "Is Street Trash, and will never be anything more. We have to overlook his idiocy, bad manners, rudeness, and edges that are as rough as those belonging to an ass…why? Because his whore of a mother had a little too much fun and then a brat to pack, and died a penniless and worthless tramp, leaving her illegitimate burden on us!"
Briar let out a strangled yell. Tris had struck a deep running nerve in him, and his instincts were brought forth: he attacked. He lunged forward with animalistic rage, not sure of what exactly he was doing, only knowing that he must attack. There was an enormous sound of a thunderclap and a bright flash of orange light. It cleared as instantly as it had come, but Briar was now lying on his back on the floor with Tris towering over him. Her hair, hair that Briar had once affectionately reckoned something akin to a fiery phoenix had changed. A huge ball of flames, roughly the same size and shape of Tris's hair, licked her scalp and danced around her head, creating a sinister dance. Her hollow, piercing lightening eyes stared down at him. They seemed to be…lacking something. He inched back, propping himself on his elbows, his eyes locked with her emptiness.
Her voice was now like that of rising flood water, creeping upon you covertly and quietly but bringing dangers with it.
"And so you used me-used me-as the Circle's scapegoat. The revolting girl covered in layers of ugliness and fat, with a heart that's shriveled and black, if she had one in the first place. This nasty creature with no heart, who is an orphan not because her parents died, but because she was deemed to obscene to belong to a family. A twisted, mutilated creature that deserved no love. A freak among freaks. I do not belong here. I never did. I am only here because I am not seen as human, first by my family, and now by every one of you. I am an easy out for problems, the necessary blemish on an otherwise perfect face. So yes, your lives and my excuse for one will be all the much better once I am cut out of them."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Her words hung in the air much like how the stench of blood hangs over the ground where a particularly gory and unnecessary battle took place. She could feel the weight of them, the overtones of her malediction, settling in the room. Her harsh words settled onto her skin, leaving it clammy and damp.
Something that Tris had once read in a book came to her at that moment. It had been the memoirs of a Zoroastrian philosopher. "The words one speaks never truly die; they simply seek out new paths to be heard on." That passage had confused her when she had read it at the tender age of seven, but now, standing amidst the havoc that her voice had created, she understood.
The curses she had spouted floated around her, searching for the permanent lodgings that only wounded hearts can provide…and finding those in abundance.
She slowly turned on her wooden heel once more, to give her breakfasting companions a final survey. She was met with looks of fury, hurt, and puzzlement, and she couldn't help but conjure up the picture of how a beaten dog looks-for surely, there were strong resemblance between the scene before her and the distant memories of her cousin's dog, Flockear, after a few swift kicks.
Sandry stared up at Tris, hot tears forming in her eyes as she looked upon the fiery statue that had stolen her friend away from her. "T-Tris…" she managed to choke out before a sob managed to squirm its way out of her heart and escape out he throat.
She ran from the table, knocking her chair back as she did so, and headed for the door.
A cringe traveled through Tris's body as she impassively watched Sandry flee, listening to her racking sobs as she ran past the garden and into the woodsy field.
"I should…go make sure Sandrilene is all right," Lark said quietly, keeping her head lowered and focusing on the ground as she gently stood, pushing her chair in with unsteady hands.
"I'll come along," chorused in the voices of Frostpine and Daja, although both said with different emotions behind it. Frostpine's voice was timid and reserved, but Daja's was brimmed with hatred and spite.
The three made their way out of the cottage, and Tris watched them from the corner of her flashing eyes as they made their way down the trodden path. Niko and Rosethorn still sat at the table, and Briar remained in his supine position.
"Someone help the whoreson up. I'm going out. I'll return in time for the separating." The terse words escaped from Tris's mouth as she clicked her heels and moved towards the door. She could feel her resolve weakening. I must get out of here, I must get out of here…I can't let them see me cry, I can't… She felt a cold dribble of something hit her ankle as she made her final step towards the door.
Looking down, she recognized what she had felt, and now felt a single tear move down her cheek, but she quickly hid it so no one could see it. Spit. It was spit on her ankle, loaded with so much venom that it seemed to burn her flesh.
Instead of trying to counter Tris's lambaste with diatribe of his own, Briar had done the one thing that he knew would hurt her the most. Briar had spat at her as she had walked past.
As Tris felt the salty tear slowly cascade down her round face, she was drawn back into her memories. Memories of living with family member after family member who, upon seeing her, would spit in her face, following the Merchant custom that dictated that whenever a faulty deal was made, when you obviously had been greatly tricked or cheated into getting the worst deal possible, such a horrible deal that it could bring shame upon your house, you should immediately spit on the object you had obligatorily gained. "Do not look a gift horse in the mouth/ but spat your rheum when the ass is lame," was the concise way of saying it. "Baptize the bastard with a mark that shows its uncleanness," as her Aunt Truselle had put it.
Tris had told Briar of her family's custom of doing this to her, of how, when she was small and living with her Uncle Balthazar, her tiny cousins Artur and Mikanda, along with a dozen of their friends, had cornered her in their family's orchard, only to spit on her and taunt her for hours, until finally a weeping Tris had fallen limp and fainted from exhaustion. He knew of all this, she had trusted him with all of this, and what had he done? He'd hurt her more than any of the cruel jestings of Artur and Mikanda ever could.
Must get out…almost there. She put her hand upon the door and pulled it open. She stood in the doorway, facing the familiar outdoor surroundings of Discipline when a voice stopped her.
"Trisana," Niko asked in a quiet, serious voice, "do you truly mean what you just said? Or did you say it because of…of your condition?"
Trisana knew Niko well, and was well acquainted with the different tactics he used to mask his voice. Her face crumpled upon hearing his voice now, for to her, it reeked with anguish.
She took a staggering gasp of air and felt her shoulders heave…her sobs were attempting to break free…she looked up at the sky, her Mother, her Sister, and asked for strength.
"I-" she paused to take a breath. Her voice had been shakier and betrayed her fragile state more than she had thought. She tried to regain herself, but found that it was hopeless. The strength of the sky had abandoned her, and left her for what she was-a scared, little girl. "I don't know, Niko," she whispered, her cries of pain slowly leaking through. She swallowed, but found her throat to be full of lumps. "I don't know…I don't know anything, anymore."
She ran. That is the only thing that she did know-run. Run, run for all that you have, for all that you have lost. Let the rhythm of your pounding feet against the earth be your funeral dirge. Let your gasping breathes be your confidants on your journey through pain. Run until there is nothing left of you, only wisps of wind that carry traces of your suffering, and whisper it to all who will listen.
And that is what she did.
Past the garden, through the woodsy earth, over the sweet-grass hills, ignoring the sharp pains coming from her aching lungs. Run away, run away, a voice in her head taunted her. Always on the move, Trisana. Never stopping.
She ran up a dirt clearing, a ways away from Discipline, that led to the old stone well where she had spent many hours sitting, admiring the sky from her high, isolated viewpoint. Her legs finally gave out, her feet tripping over one another while she furiously tried to continue pumping them. She fell into the dirt in a tangled mass of limbs, feeling the cool, soft brown skin of the earth envelope her face and her clothes. She clawed the dirt, grabbing masses of it within her hands only to fling them away, shrieking all the while.
She was not human. She was a mass writhing in pain.
Only the feeling of the dirt beneath her nails, the wind hitting her back, her knees bruising as they smashed into the ground again and again, kept her tied down to reality. Her shrieks flew from the high outlook, reverberated off of the hills and woods below. Her shrieks were raw, and caused the fine hairs on the flesh of those miles around to rise without their knowing why. Somewhere down below here, Sandry, Lark, Frostpine and Daja heard her, and it remains a dispute to this day of whether it was the cry of a banshee or some mournful mother cat they heard that day. The thought that Tris, or that a human, could be making those noises was unfathomable.
And so that was how Tris remained, until finally her fatigued body could take no more shrieking and thrashing about.
Then she became still and silent.
The only thing that moved was the water on a constant journey as it steadily trickled down from her eyes. Her hair and eyes had gradually returned to their normal states, unbeknownst to Tris. She wasn't aware of anything, only the emptiness that had taken hold of her.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Briar got up and dusted his shirt off. His anger that he had been so sure of a moment ago was quickly, perhaps not dissipating, but diminishing. When Tris had answered Niko's question, Briar had heard the hitch in her voice, and all that it betrayed. As he looked up at her, he saw through her hard exterior and was allowed a glimpse at the ongoing battle within her.
She was a girl torn. Afraid. Unsure.
She was still Tris.
He straightened his shirt and looked to Niko and Rosethorn. Niko gently rubbed his temples as Rosethorn sat unmoving, her lips pursed so tightly that they had turned white. "Have I done what is best for her?" Niko asked, perhaps to himself since it was whispered so quietly. He looked up at Briar with eyes frantic and searching. "Have I? Have I turned her into…into this?"
He looked away, covering his face with his hands.
Briar was taken aback. He had never seen a sign of any emotion play across Niko, and now this man-Briar's savior-was on the verge of tears. If a man as strong as Niko was about to break down, what would Tris be going through right now? His resolve was made.
"I'm going out," he said, moving towards the door.
"Briar," Rosethorn's voice called out, halting him. Their eyes met, and an unspoken agreement passed between the two. "Go," Rosethorn softly commanded. "Go."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
He had searched for her for nearly forty minutes. Every place that he could recall her ever frequenting had been checked and rechecked. Mages out strolling had had clipped queries shouted to them as Briar ran past.
"Have you seen a young mage-a little short, chubby, with fiery hair?"
"Not today, not today."
He took pause and leaned against a tree, trying to catch his breath. He looked up, letting the warm sunlight that had filtered through the branches hit his face. Sky, give me strength, he asked silently, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply. Even the sky reminded him of her. How could he not associate Tris with the sky, or anything that came from it? If she died…if she died, how would he ever be able to live, when even the sky would be a testament to his loss?
"The sky…" he whispered to himself. She had probably gone someplace where she could be close to the sky. But where…he had already checked all of her usual places to be near the sky and meditate…all except… "The well."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Tris dragged herself to a sitting position, using the well as leverage. She couldn't remember if she had fallen asleep or had simply lain on the ground. Her entire body felt a tired weakness that she had never felt in her entire life, not even when she had tried to stop the waves from coming in. Her throat felt hoarse from her sobbing, her eyes and lips felt puffy, and she could feel the dried blood that coated her cracked and dirtied fingernails. She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders a bit.
"I was beginning to wonder when you were going to come to," a voice called out from behind her, coming closer to her.
Tris flinched slightly upon hearing it, but she did not answer him.
Briar stood and slowly made his way towards Tris. He had arrived upon her a few minutes ago, finding her in a disheveled state and sound asleep. He had knelt over her and checked to see if she was all right, and then quietly resigned himself to sitting at the base of a bush behind her, quietly observing her.
He now stood only a few feet behind her, a feeling of nervousness encroaching upon him. "Tris-" he began, but stopped. He was at a loss for words.
"G-go away, Briar."
Tris could feel him behind her, feel his eyes searing into the back of her head. She felt him shift his weight, and felt the dirt move as he took a seat on the left side of her. She leaned away from him, letting her right side rest against the well.
"Tris," he tried once more, placing a hand on her shoulder.
Her lips twitched, but no sound came out. She lifted a hand to rub some dirt off of her face, still not looking at him.
His hand left his side and caught her own, slowly turning her face to look at his. Her eyes were wide and watery, and looked lost. Her lips trembled slightly. "Oh Coppercurls," he sighed, gathering her into an embrace.
She fell against him and clung to him, letting soft sobs escape from her. Briar moved himself closer to her, cradling his best friend in his arms, running his fingers through her matted and tangled hair. "It's all right, Coppercurls, it'll be all right," he crooned softly to her, gently rocking her back and forth as she continued to cling to him. If the feeling of the dirt beneath her nails, the wind hitting her back, her knees bruising as they smashed into the ground again and again, had kept her tied down to reality before, it had now been replaced by Briar. The feeling of his arms encircling her. The scent that lingered on his clothes as Tris buried her face in his chest. The rhythmic stroking of his hands, on her hair, on her back. The sound of his voice, how it felt like the gentlest of caresses, taking on tones she never knew it could posses.
"We'll get through this, Coppercurls. We've been through worse." Tris let out a choked giggle and sniffed.
"Like what?" she asked, looking up at him.
His eyes met hers, and his hands moved to gently cradle her face. She met his gaze, letting all the uncertainty, fear, and passion that she saw in his eyes reflect back into hers. He softly lowered his head to hers, drawing her face nearer to his.
Their lips met, gingerly at first, delicately moving against the other. Briar could taste the fresh salt from her tears, and Tris could taste a slight trace of oregano. With each passing moment, their kiss grew in intensity. It soon became a journey of discovery for the two of them. Briar had had some experience with girls before, after all, he was a teenage boy, but he had never wanted to kiss someone so much. It was as if he was yearning for something, and all that he knew was that it lied somewhere within Tris.
He snaked one of his arms around her neck, letting the other move down and draw her middle closer to him. Tris's hands began moving around his back, as if searching for something. They found what they were looking for: one moved up to run through his hair as the other gently played with the back of his neck.
Briar's mouth worked against Tris, his tongue outlined the shape of her mouth. He could feel a shiver run through Tris's body at that, and she meekly opened her mouth for him. She then did something that caught Briar totally offguard-he felt a sweet sliver of her tongue hesitantly make its way into his mouth, making tortuously wonderful circles within his mouth. He groaned as his lips sought out as if to bruise hers, determined as he was to show her that her boldness was greatly appreciated.
After gods knows how long, Tris finally broke off the kiss when she felt a bittersweet agony return to her, felt her rush of tears coming back.
"Briar, Briar," she whispered, pulling back as Briar worked his way down her neck, only to suckle on a spot behind her earlobe. "Briar, we have to stop."
She reached down and pulled his face away from her. Her lips, which were once only red from crying, were now doubly red from being kissed. Torment played across her face. "We can't do this. If we're still attached to each other by the time I leave…"
"No, Coppercurls, no," Briar pleaded, finally letting the torrent of emotions that he had damned up over the past few days break free. "You can't go, I need you," his voice became hoarse and choked as his eyes began to wet. "I need you. I'll die without you, Coppercurls. You're my best friend, I'll-"
"Shh," Tris interjected while diminutive sobs came from Briar. She herself was gently sobbing also. She tried to smile.
"Be still, my little Thief Boy. I'll come back for you. You know I will."
"No, stay…please stay. I'll do anything, just don't leave me."
Tears flooded Tris's cheeks as Briar desperately tried to grab hold of her, as if by holding onto her now she would be unable to leave him. "I'll never leave you, Briar," she whispered, clutching him with equal fervor. "I will never leave you. I'll always be with you."
Briar looked up at her, memorizing the way she looked right then. Tear stained cheeks, smeared dirt, puffy lips. She was beautiful. Their lips met once more, but now both were much more desperate, their movements more passionate and frantic, both searching for something…something that would keep them together through the trials and tribulations to come.
"I love you, Thief Boy," Tris whispered as her hands slid his shirt up above his head, grazing his heated chest.
"I love you, too, Coppercurls."
Eeeeeee! Oh goodness…please REVIEW or drop me a line at magdalena134@hotmail.com .