Discordant Melody

A Kurda Smahlt Story

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Sixth

Crescendo

I Hate Today

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As good as this day started, it quickly turned sour. I woke up in the morning, looking forward to Kurda's investiture and the successful end of our plan drawing nearer.

However, by the time most of the day had gone by, I still had lots to look forward to. Namely my love's trial, for one thing, which would most certainly be followed by said man's brutal execution. Who wouldn't look forward to something like that?

By the time I got to the Hall of Princes, the trial was already underway, and the hall itself packed. I managed to squeeze myself into a pew right at the very back of the dome, where I stood up on top of a pew so that I could see over everyone's heads. My slight amount of movement must have caught Kurda's attention, because his eyes flickered towards me as he talked. A faint smile lit his dishevelled features, but as soon as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by a cold, collected countenance. He was a cold-hearted conspirator - his own words - when it came to business. So unlike the beautiful, warm, sensitive man I loved.

Under his façade, I knew he was terrified. I could see that faint light in his eyes, the way he fiddled with his hands – signs that he was troubled. I wanted to push passed everyone, to just run up to the platform in the centre of the dome and embrace him, and then just magically disappear in a puff of smoke with him, taking him away from all of this…

But I couldn't. I knew I couldn't.

Kurda fell silent, refusing to answer any more questions. The Princes then let anyone ask a question of the disgraced General, to persuade the Princes from their obvious decision. I opened my mouth, prepared to say something. But I felt Kurda's eyes burning into me, and I shut my mouth. Our eyes locked.

Don't, his eyes seemed to say. Biting my lip, I nodded.

Then came the judgement.

It was inevitable, really. I knew what to suspect, but either way, it still came as a shock to me, when those four words rang out across the dome.

"The Hall of Death."

My knees buckled, and those near me were forced to catch me as I fell. Quietly, I assured them that I was all right, steadying myself back onto my pew once more, then looked out to Kurda. He was looking up at the ceiling, a sad, withdrawn expression on his face. He had accepted his fate months, even years ago. I just had to realise that. But I couldn't. I couldn't.

The great grief that washed over me was tremendous, almost forcing me to my knees once more. But somehow I stood straight, my eyes dry, staring at my beautiful Prince. I couldn't cry. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't. Maybe I was empty of tears at the moment. I had probably wasted them all earlier in the day, crying over the needless deaths of my vampaneze friends and while I was with Kurda, down in the cells.

I watched as they stripped him of his white robes, revealing to the world his naked body, the very same body whose every inch I knew almost as well as my own. I watched as the Princes, one by one, spat onto the ground before him, then drew an ugly mark onto his chest with blood, the sign of a traitor. I watched as the guards dragged him down the steps and made their way towards the exit.

Silence reigned through the hallway as vampires parted like the Red Sea to let them through. Most of the vampires were stirred by the speech Kurda had given – stirred and ashamed. They were killing a man who had acted out of his love for them. But here they were – sending him to his execution. Though there were tears running down his cheeks, he made no attempt to struggle, to ask for forgiveness. They were making a martyr of him.

As he passed the first set of rows, I noticed a head shorter than the rest – Darren. He followed Kurda as he walked past, and I was surprised to see the boy was crying.

A cacophony of emotions ran through me – hatred and jealousy bearing down on them all. I clenched my fists as my side, trying to prevent myself from leaping across the space that separated us and ripping his head from his shoulders.

How dare he cry for Kurda?! How dare he?! It was his fault that Kurda was to die – so what right did he have to cry for him?!

I hated him. I hated him. Oh how I hated Darren.

As Kurda passed through the silent hall, naked, bruised, bloody and crying, small numbers of vampires separated themselves from the crowd and followed them, their heads bowed. These were the friends of Kurda – they were going to farewell him, to watch him as he was dropped onto the stakes.

I found myself following the small crowd slowly, hanging towards the back. From the other side of the hall, another procession was slowly making its way up to the dome – it was Puck's turn.

As he passed me, the dark-haired vampire grinned at me and winked, despite having a black eye and another bloody nose.

"It was nice knowing you, little elf," he whispered to me, his chains clinking as he gave me the death touch sign. I nodded, sending it back in reply.

"Even in death, may you be triumphant," I whispered as he walked by. As I watched, he squared his shoulders and wiped the smile of his face, head held high. He wanted to make everyone's last impression of himself a good one – for too long, he had been a jokester, a troublemaker. Might as well make them feel guilty about his death as well.

We walked and walked, every vampire passing us bowing their heads in shame or giving Kurda the death sign. With a start, I noticed that the Little Person – Harkat Mulds – had joined the group, walking along slowly next to me, his blue robes swaying gently. I didn't acknowledge his presence, but he knew I noticed. He looked up at me, putting a large, cold hand onto my arm in what I supposed was meant to be reassuring. Then he kept walking, his large green eyes set forward, towards the naked back of Kurda.

Soon, the small group was standing before the Halls of Death. Kurda and his guards had stopped in front of the doorway, though for no particular reason. Kurda was looking up at the doorway, seemingly frozen. For a second, I thought he was going to collapse, to turn around and break free. Even from here, I could see his shoulders shaking slightly.

Then he bowed his head, almost resolutely, and stepped into the hall.

Inside, he was taken to the side, and a man dressed in black – classic executioner's style – wrapped an equally black blindfold around his eyes. Then, he was taken to the cage that normally hung in the middle of the room, and laid down onto the bloodstained metal.

The executioner stepped back, and the door of the cage swung shut ominously. As I stood to the side of the hall, on the opposite side of the pit, I could see that Kurda had his jaw set firmly, and that he was no longer crying. He was prepared. He was ready. He had settled down, and was giving everyone what they wanted – his death.

But I was not prepared for it.

My whole body was shaking, and I dimly felt a dizzying sensation, like I was going to faint any second. But I didn't. I willed myself to stand straight, to watch, to never take my eyes from my beloved at his moment of death. Once again, I didn't notice as Harkat stood beside me.

The executioner was saying something, but I couldn't hear him. It was as if a veil had fallen over me, me and Kurda, and the only things I could hear were my own breathing – and his.

Then the cage was slowly swung to the side, the chains that held it creaking under its pressure. Kurda flinched slightly, then settled himself back down again. My own heart was hammering in its confining cavity – how must his heart have been, as the cage hung in the air? Never knowing when it would drop, never knowing when the stakes would come. It was torture. The ultimate torture.

The executioner had his hand on a lever that worked the pulley system of the cage. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed him hesitate. Then, using both hands, he pushed heavily onto the lever.

The cage fell heavily, a loud whooshing of air. Then, with a sickly slurping sound that could only be associated with flesh being torn by sharp objects, the cage landed.

Kurda's pain-filled scream tore through the silence, a horrible, terrible, heart-wrenching thing. The room winced at the sound, almost as if they could feel his pain with him.

I was shaking, small whimpers escaping from my throat.

The executioner, muscles bulging, pulled the lever up, and as chains creaked once more, the cage was lifted. Kurda was still alive, still breathing, his face torn in pain, his body, his beautiful, beautiful body, slashed and bloodied.

The lever was dropped.

The cage fell once more.

Kurda's scream was even worse than the one before. I cried out with him, collapsing – only for Harkat to catch me. As I sobbed against him, my eyes never leaving the chain of the cage as it slowly rattled up again, he wrapped an arm around me that, in a strange way, felt vaguely familiar.

Again, the cage went up.

Again, the cage fell.

For the last time, Kurda screamed – and then he fell silent.

The cage was slowly dragged up, and in it lay him. His blood dripped in heavy torrents, falling onto the pit below him. His body was almost unrecognizable, it was so ripped up and torn by the stakes. As I saw it, I knew that he was dead.

And I died with him.

He was dead. Kurda was dead. My love, my beautiful beloved, was dead, dead, dead, and I had done nothing, could do nothing –

He was dead.

As I slipped from Harkat's arms onto the floor, my eyes never leaving the mangled wreck that lay in the cage, I vaguely felt the others in the room give the sign of death and leave in a tense, depressed silence. I cried, oh how I cried, my eyes running, my nose running, my mouth opened in a silent wail. But I couldn't tear my eyes away from him.

Beside me, Harkat knelt down, putting his large hand onto my back in way of reassurance. I made no attempt to knock it off, nor did I acknowledge it.

"I'm… sorry…" I heard him say softly through his mask. And then he was gone, leaving me alone in the hall with the executioner, a few of the pale-faced Guardians, and Kurda's body.

I don't know how long I sat there, crying my heart out for my loss, for my kind's loss, while the Guardians worked away busily to prepare for the next two stages of Kurda's execution – dismemberment and cremation.

Eventually, however, I became silent, wrapping my arms around my legs and watching as they pulled his body out of the cage. I watched as his body almost fell apart, it was so shredded. I shuddered, and then the only thing I could hear was –

A pain-filled scream. A horrible, horrible, ugly sound that ripped through my heart and my very soul. It was a scream that would stay with me forever.

And with the scream, a face came into view. It wasn't the familiar face of my blonde-haired, blue-eyed love – it was dark-haired, young and childish, the blue-green eyes filled with tears.

Darren.

My fists clenched.

I hated Darren.

I hated Darren.

If I could have killed him then, I would have, but he wasn't there.

I. Hated. Darren. Shan

That day was the most horrible day of my life.

My lover was gone.

And I had died with him.

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A.N Oops! I missed a day! Hehehehe! I'm sorry! X.x I was playing Sims 2 all night… ehehehehe….

Scarlet Black: Hi! Thankyou! Mwuahahaha! Yeah, Emotion Sickness is my favourite Silverchair song too. XD It's sho cool! And I like 'Lady of the Flowers' better. I think. Ehehehe.

S-A: XD I try to update everyday. Ehehehe. Only because I'm on a roll with this one. Oh well. One more chapter and it's done. And who cares if you do something stupid? Stupid is good. It brings colour to the world. XD. PEACE OUT DUUUUUUDE!

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Next Chapter:

Conclusion

Cadence

Novocain For the Soul

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As I stood in the crowd, my fists clenched. There he was. Taking Kurda's place. Where he should have been killed, dishonoured, as Kurda was, he was rewarded for killing the man that I loved.

My hate for the boy – the boy prince, now – was greater than it had ever been before. From my spot between cheering, whooping vampires, I glared up at him, my deadened green eyes like two beacons of pure hatred.

Darren was looking around the dome, his face alight with wonder. And then his eyes rested on mine. The wonder disappeared as our eyes locked. Something in his eyes changed, an emotion I couldn't quite comprehend.

Then it clicked. Triumph roared within me.

He knew. He knew my hatred for him.

And he was afraid.

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