Mara
Mara continued searching for something, although she didn't know exactly what. Timbre had given her something of value, in addition to the herbs Morag had given her. It was a small blue jewel, nothing more, but it flashed red when danger - or any foe - was near. She strung it on the leather cord around her neck and pulled her hair through the loop. And as she did so, the tiny gem flashed.
She peered into the distance all around, and finally spotted one of the flat card guards, a club across a grey, charred field. It was headed towards her, slowly, but purposefully. She needed to find something to defend herself with. Her eyes fell on an old knife, half-buried in the dirt. It was hardly the weapon she would have chosen; matter of fact she would have loved a long-range bazooka or something so she'd never have to get close to it, but it would have to do. She bent down and picked it up, hiding it behind her back.
The soldier reached her, and Mara got her first good look at him, discovering him to be a five. A large, bulbous nose was set in the middle of his fat, puglike face, and tiny beady eyes leered down at her from under boorishly thick brows. His stance was alert, but very clumsy. His voice was strange, his speech uneducated.
"Whut in th'hell yo' doin' hyar? This hyar is a restricked area!" She found his garbled speech rather hard to make out.
"I'm walking, sir," she replied. "I was not aware of any restrictions that have been placed on this vicinity as of late."
He scratched his head for a moment, not quite sure of what to make of her. That sentence was a little long; and a bit wordy, he thought, but there was no way he was going to ask her what she meant by that.
"As ah said befo'e, this hyar is a restricked area," he said instead. "Yern't supposed t'be hyar."
"Was there a barrier? I don't believe that I remember passing one," she lied. The two lizards were probably meant to be this so-called barrier.
He roughly prodded her with his spear, and she moved back, somewhat out of reach. "Whut in hell's thet behind yer back?" he asked sharply.
"Nothing."
He made to grab her, but she twisted away, setting him off-balance. The knife flashed in the dim light, and he saw. He glared up at her, menace in his eyes. "Yo''re her. Yo''re Faif," he growled, and lunged.
The blade of the knife flashed as she brought it up to catch him roughly in the throat. Blood spilled out of his throat in scarlet rivulets, contrasting starkly with his black and white body. He made a raspy, gurgling sound and collapsed. She stared at his body for a long time, shocked at what she'd just done. She had just taken a life. She looked away, wanting to leave, but something in the back of her brain stayed, and relished it. Defeating one foe was one less foe on your path to the Queen, it told her firmly. She shook her head, hoping that more killing wouldn't be necessary.
She stared at the knife in her hand. Blood, red blood stained the handle. Red blood like hers. Blood that wouldn't ever run in his veins again. It was on her hand, too. She would have to clean it off. Numbed, almost mechanically, she checked his pockets for anything that would help her. She found money and a rag, which she used to wipe off the blade, and she doused her hand in water from a small canteen. Finally, she turned on her heel and left, heading purposely towards Dementia. She had more to do there.
She stood at the entrance to a mine. From what Timbre had told her before their conversation had come to identification and Alice, the mine led to people who could help her get to "Del the Father," or so he was called. Del the son had told her that his father was in the mine. So now here she was. She had told the glass people to lay out the glass that he had needed and then had asked several people for directions. Several, because those that actually knew the location did not want to say. She had finally forced it out of a woman, though it had taken a good ten minutes of repeatedly asking, nagging, and following her around. Then she had the maze of streets and rubble to contend with. Ironically, her rescuer was a guard with a group of prisoners, rebels, by the looks of them.
She had followed them as far as she dared, and stopped at a ramshackle fruit stall to ask around about Del the elder.
"He were taken prisoner 'bout a year ago for plottin' ta kill the Queen. 'e would 'ave been put ta deaff, see, but the Queen 'ad just conquered the Woods, and were darn tootin' 'appy. So 'e got ta work in the mines instead of die," the shopkeeper said, laying out bruised apples with great care.
"Most blokes would 'ave preferred deaff over the mines, right, but 'e's waitin'." Another woman interjected.
"Yeah, for Faiff," the shopkeeper agreed solemnly.
"So he was willing to prolong his torture for the possibility of rescue?" Mara asked.
"Pretty much," the woman said. "Alffough 'e never quite said why ter any bloke 'ere."
"Maybe it was because he feels that he still has a part to play, for when she comes," she said quietly. The women nodded. "What do you think about it?"
"I fink that if Faiff is comin', right, she needs ta get 'er arse movin'," the shopkeeper said.
"I don't right believe that she will," the woman said uncomfortably. "I mean, last I 'eard she were a paffetic wreck."
She had the pendant in her hand again. She knew because she was staring at it, as she had earlier that day, but she didn't really see it. It seemed so long ago. Before her innocence was totally lost and she had killed. Looking at it one more time, she put it in the front pocket of her dress and pulled out the blade. It had strange symbols carved onto the gleaming blade; runes of a sort that she did not understand.
She only stopped looking when a guard pushed her roughly aside, shouting at the populace to make way for a caravan. It was huge, drawn by slaves, it seemed. They grunted and strained and cried for mercy, and the sweat streaming down would have made them slip on the ropes that bound them to the caravan, at least if the ropes hadn't been clamped to their bodies. Inside was a woman whose face Mara could not see. Yet the face turned to her and she felt a shock of pain, like electricity, running through her veins, centring in her heart. She fell and watched from her place on the ground.
It took her a moment to notice that she was the only one on the street. Everyone else had scurried away or was hiding in fear. The guards were laughing at them. She felt her anger rise at such blatant displays of contempt, and saw a guard shove a child into the way of the wheels, watching her get crushed for sport. At this Faith stood and stared boldly at the caravan, hatred in her face, and ignored the guards' surprised and outraged gasps. She felt cruel amusement radiating from the caravan, and a bolt of black light surged out, pummelling the old woman's fruit stand. The old woman's blood sprayed out at the wall behind her, and Mara heard a young woman screaming for her mother.
Her eyes closed in self-loathing and fury at her ignorance; that damned thing that had got the woman killed. She glanced at the fruit stall once, unable to even see, or get near because of all the guards that still swarmed, and turned into the unwelcome darkness of Dementia and the mines.
Mara reached the village in short order and immediately was acutely aware of the emptiness of the place as she wandered around. There was another home, belonging to another mayor, but he stepped out, and upon seeing her gasped and ducked back inside. A little confused, she stared after him, but shrugged and continued. The halls were dimly lit with lanterns strung every twenty something feet, casting a dim yellow light on the red wood, and she trailed her right hand lightly on the wall to keep some idea of where she was going. There were several twists and turns, and several pools of acid underneath the boardwalks, and she had to move carefully to avoid them. At one point, she thought she saw Cat's leering grin in a dark corner, but it was gone so suddenly that she really couldn't be sure. Nevertheless, she heard his voice. "With a weapon you must be ever vigilant of enemies. Take only what you need and be not bothered with mere trivialities. Keep a sharp lookout and you may survive." She turned aro und, half expecting to see him, half not. She was half disappointed when she didn't and turned back to her path.
Then she came to a small lake with a single steam vent in the centre. She paused to think. It was then that Cat appeared fully. "An old philosopher here once believed that all things, regardless of wings, could fly. He was wrong and nose-dived to his death. With these, however, you can prove his theory true." He grinned at her again and vanished, until only his smile remained. It winked out seconds later and she stamped her foot in frustration, until she finally turned to it and took off at a running leap.
The steam caught her dress and floated her across effortlessly. Her landing was a little less graceful though, and she stumbled before finally landing on her already bruised derriere. A loud curse surged to her lips, but she clamped a hand over her mouth, and stood up. She kept her hand where it was, mostly because she was convinced that she would break out in cursing again as her limbs ached in protest against any movement she made.
Suddenly Rabbit appeared. "Please, Faith, don't dawdle!! We are very late, ohhh VERY late indeed!" With that, he turned and jumped into his rabbit hole. She followed close as she could until finding that she would have to be less than a foot, at the tallest.
Cat appeared. "Rabbit is a good guide- he knows Wonderland like the back of his paw. Alas, you're too big for his small hole. You shall have to grow minute yourself."
She groaned and continued on her way, following the path until she came to a narrow boardwalk that formed three ramps up, and she walked up, her behind and feet protesting every move she made. She hesitated when she got to the top- all was quiet, almost too quiet. She looked up a little, and saw a home that belonged to the new mayor of the town, cloistered safely between a two-story building and a "Magical Mushroom Shoppe". She walked up to it and knocked softly.
The door opened a crack, and an old dwarf's face appeared on the other side. "Excuse me," she said quietly, "but I was wondering - where are the mines from here?"
He peered at her curiously and made a rude gesture with his hand. She gasped in fury and he withdrew, but nevertheless pointed down to a small entrance way down. She nodded in curt thanks and made another rude gesture behind her back, before the old dwarf could shut his door. This time it was his turn to gasp in anger and he pulled his door shut.
At that moment, she heard loud footsteps coming down the way he had just pointed, and she saw a club guard running toward her, his club-shaped spear held at a clumsy excuse for ready. She smirked. This one was more inept than the first. At least he had known how to hold a spear.
He brought his down, and she sidestepped it, backing up when he swung in her direction. For a few minutes all she did was evade his spear, until he was exhausted. Then she killed him.
She barely had time to think when another guard hurried out, swearing liberally. A strong throw of the knife was all it took to kill him, and she strolled over, checking pockets. Once more, money, a rag, and a letter. With the other guard was a bottle of liquor and a rag that had never been used. She smiled at this and tucked the two items into her sleeve, and walked down to the passageway.
Mara continued searching for something, although she didn't know exactly what. Timbre had given her something of value, in addition to the herbs Morag had given her. It was a small blue jewel, nothing more, but it flashed red when danger - or any foe - was near. She strung it on the leather cord around her neck and pulled her hair through the loop. And as she did so, the tiny gem flashed.
She peered into the distance all around, and finally spotted one of the flat card guards, a club across a grey, charred field. It was headed towards her, slowly, but purposefully. She needed to find something to defend herself with. Her eyes fell on an old knife, half-buried in the dirt. It was hardly the weapon she would have chosen; matter of fact she would have loved a long-range bazooka or something so she'd never have to get close to it, but it would have to do. She bent down and picked it up, hiding it behind her back.
The soldier reached her, and Mara got her first good look at him, discovering him to be a five. A large, bulbous nose was set in the middle of his fat, puglike face, and tiny beady eyes leered down at her from under boorishly thick brows. His stance was alert, but very clumsy. His voice was strange, his speech uneducated.
"Whut in th'hell yo' doin' hyar? This hyar is a restricked area!" She found his garbled speech rather hard to make out.
"I'm walking, sir," she replied. "I was not aware of any restrictions that have been placed on this vicinity as of late."
He scratched his head for a moment, not quite sure of what to make of her. That sentence was a little long; and a bit wordy, he thought, but there was no way he was going to ask her what she meant by that.
"As ah said befo'e, this hyar is a restricked area," he said instead. "Yern't supposed t'be hyar."
"Was there a barrier? I don't believe that I remember passing one," she lied. The two lizards were probably meant to be this so-called barrier.
He roughly prodded her with his spear, and she moved back, somewhat out of reach. "Whut in hell's thet behind yer back?" he asked sharply.
"Nothing."
He made to grab her, but she twisted away, setting him off-balance. The knife flashed in the dim light, and he saw. He glared up at her, menace in his eyes. "Yo''re her. Yo''re Faif," he growled, and lunged.
The blade of the knife flashed as she brought it up to catch him roughly in the throat. Blood spilled out of his throat in scarlet rivulets, contrasting starkly with his black and white body. He made a raspy, gurgling sound and collapsed. She stared at his body for a long time, shocked at what she'd just done. She had just taken a life. She looked away, wanting to leave, but something in the back of her brain stayed, and relished it. Defeating one foe was one less foe on your path to the Queen, it told her firmly. She shook her head, hoping that more killing wouldn't be necessary.
She stared at the knife in her hand. Blood, red blood stained the handle. Red blood like hers. Blood that wouldn't ever run in his veins again. It was on her hand, too. She would have to clean it off. Numbed, almost mechanically, she checked his pockets for anything that would help her. She found money and a rag, which she used to wipe off the blade, and she doused her hand in water from a small canteen. Finally, she turned on her heel and left, heading purposely towards Dementia. She had more to do there.
She stood at the entrance to a mine. From what Timbre had told her before their conversation had come to identification and Alice, the mine led to people who could help her get to "Del the Father," or so he was called. Del the son had told her that his father was in the mine. So now here she was. She had told the glass people to lay out the glass that he had needed and then had asked several people for directions. Several, because those that actually knew the location did not want to say. She had finally forced it out of a woman, though it had taken a good ten minutes of repeatedly asking, nagging, and following her around. Then she had the maze of streets and rubble to contend with. Ironically, her rescuer was a guard with a group of prisoners, rebels, by the looks of them.
She had followed them as far as she dared, and stopped at a ramshackle fruit stall to ask around about Del the elder.
"He were taken prisoner 'bout a year ago for plottin' ta kill the Queen. 'e would 'ave been put ta deaff, see, but the Queen 'ad just conquered the Woods, and were darn tootin' 'appy. So 'e got ta work in the mines instead of die," the shopkeeper said, laying out bruised apples with great care.
"Most blokes would 'ave preferred deaff over the mines, right, but 'e's waitin'." Another woman interjected.
"Yeah, for Faiff," the shopkeeper agreed solemnly.
"So he was willing to prolong his torture for the possibility of rescue?" Mara asked.
"Pretty much," the woman said. "Alffough 'e never quite said why ter any bloke 'ere."
"Maybe it was because he feels that he still has a part to play, for when she comes," she said quietly. The women nodded. "What do you think about it?"
"I fink that if Faiff is comin', right, she needs ta get 'er arse movin'," the shopkeeper said.
"I don't right believe that she will," the woman said uncomfortably. "I mean, last I 'eard she were a paffetic wreck."
She had the pendant in her hand again. She knew because she was staring at it, as she had earlier that day, but she didn't really see it. It seemed so long ago. Before her innocence was totally lost and she had killed. Looking at it one more time, she put it in the front pocket of her dress and pulled out the blade. It had strange symbols carved onto the gleaming blade; runes of a sort that she did not understand.
She only stopped looking when a guard pushed her roughly aside, shouting at the populace to make way for a caravan. It was huge, drawn by slaves, it seemed. They grunted and strained and cried for mercy, and the sweat streaming down would have made them slip on the ropes that bound them to the caravan, at least if the ropes hadn't been clamped to their bodies. Inside was a woman whose face Mara could not see. Yet the face turned to her and she felt a shock of pain, like electricity, running through her veins, centring in her heart. She fell and watched from her place on the ground.
It took her a moment to notice that she was the only one on the street. Everyone else had scurried away or was hiding in fear. The guards were laughing at them. She felt her anger rise at such blatant displays of contempt, and saw a guard shove a child into the way of the wheels, watching her get crushed for sport. At this Faith stood and stared boldly at the caravan, hatred in her face, and ignored the guards' surprised and outraged gasps. She felt cruel amusement radiating from the caravan, and a bolt of black light surged out, pummelling the old woman's fruit stand. The old woman's blood sprayed out at the wall behind her, and Mara heard a young woman screaming for her mother.
Her eyes closed in self-loathing and fury at her ignorance; that damned thing that had got the woman killed. She glanced at the fruit stall once, unable to even see, or get near because of all the guards that still swarmed, and turned into the unwelcome darkness of Dementia and the mines.
Mara reached the village in short order and immediately was acutely aware of the emptiness of the place as she wandered around. There was another home, belonging to another mayor, but he stepped out, and upon seeing her gasped and ducked back inside. A little confused, she stared after him, but shrugged and continued. The halls were dimly lit with lanterns strung every twenty something feet, casting a dim yellow light on the red wood, and she trailed her right hand lightly on the wall to keep some idea of where she was going. There were several twists and turns, and several pools of acid underneath the boardwalks, and she had to move carefully to avoid them. At one point, she thought she saw Cat's leering grin in a dark corner, but it was gone so suddenly that she really couldn't be sure. Nevertheless, she heard his voice. "With a weapon you must be ever vigilant of enemies. Take only what you need and be not bothered with mere trivialities. Keep a sharp lookout and you may survive." She turned aro und, half expecting to see him, half not. She was half disappointed when she didn't and turned back to her path.
Then she came to a small lake with a single steam vent in the centre. She paused to think. It was then that Cat appeared fully. "An old philosopher here once believed that all things, regardless of wings, could fly. He was wrong and nose-dived to his death. With these, however, you can prove his theory true." He grinned at her again and vanished, until only his smile remained. It winked out seconds later and she stamped her foot in frustration, until she finally turned to it and took off at a running leap.
The steam caught her dress and floated her across effortlessly. Her landing was a little less graceful though, and she stumbled before finally landing on her already bruised derriere. A loud curse surged to her lips, but she clamped a hand over her mouth, and stood up. She kept her hand where it was, mostly because she was convinced that she would break out in cursing again as her limbs ached in protest against any movement she made.
Suddenly Rabbit appeared. "Please, Faith, don't dawdle!! We are very late, ohhh VERY late indeed!" With that, he turned and jumped into his rabbit hole. She followed close as she could until finding that she would have to be less than a foot, at the tallest.
Cat appeared. "Rabbit is a good guide- he knows Wonderland like the back of his paw. Alas, you're too big for his small hole. You shall have to grow minute yourself."
She groaned and continued on her way, following the path until she came to a narrow boardwalk that formed three ramps up, and she walked up, her behind and feet protesting every move she made. She hesitated when she got to the top- all was quiet, almost too quiet. She looked up a little, and saw a home that belonged to the new mayor of the town, cloistered safely between a two-story building and a "Magical Mushroom Shoppe". She walked up to it and knocked softly.
The door opened a crack, and an old dwarf's face appeared on the other side. "Excuse me," she said quietly, "but I was wondering - where are the mines from here?"
He peered at her curiously and made a rude gesture with his hand. She gasped in fury and he withdrew, but nevertheless pointed down to a small entrance way down. She nodded in curt thanks and made another rude gesture behind her back, before the old dwarf could shut his door. This time it was his turn to gasp in anger and he pulled his door shut.
At that moment, she heard loud footsteps coming down the way he had just pointed, and she saw a club guard running toward her, his club-shaped spear held at a clumsy excuse for ready. She smirked. This one was more inept than the first. At least he had known how to hold a spear.
He brought his down, and she sidestepped it, backing up when he swung in her direction. For a few minutes all she did was evade his spear, until he was exhausted. Then she killed him.
She barely had time to think when another guard hurried out, swearing liberally. A strong throw of the knife was all it took to kill him, and she strolled over, checking pockets. Once more, money, a rag, and a letter. With the other guard was a bottle of liquor and a rag that had never been used. She smiled at this and tucked the two items into her sleeve, and walked down to the passageway.