Mirrored Worlds
by Lavender-Lace
Prologue
The black, blue, and deep violet void swirled in a threatening, continous motion, as if daring whoever stood before it to delve into its endless depths. The mountain side on which it had appeared crumbled and shook from its sheer magnitude. Grey rock slid down its side in masses, once monumental, but soon to fall into the hands of an earthbound black hole.
It was intimidating, if not alarming to any entity that dared approach it. The area around it was almost completely bare of life; plants refused to grow near it, and animals fled in terror when it appeared. Only resiliant mosses remained, clinging to surfaces nearby in desperation.
Spotted by local villagers of the Makai for years, this foreign portal was observed with curiousity and distrust from afar. No one knew exactly where it had come from, or even what it was there for. Despite this, the vilagers soon became accustomed to the new formation. Mothers told their children that if they got too close or wandered too far they would be sucked inside, and a terrible monster within would eat them. Every time bad weather loomed in the sky or crops and hunting yielded little, the 'damn hole' or 'black thing' was to blame. And so life continued.
Until... a stranger arrived in the early hours of morning, intent on finding that very portal.
A few men and women were preparing for their morning hunt when they spotted him. His stature was by no means imposing, but there was a furious, demanding air about him that made him seem ten feet tall. He wore black, steel-toed boots that made a resounding clack as he approached them, confident and ambitious. A hood covered most of his head, except his face, which was small and heart- shaped, and pale. The rest of him was hidden underneath some sort of cloak, black as his boots. A long, thin object was slung over his shouder, wrapped in dark coloured fabrics that uncannily resembled a sword. His large garnet eyes bored into their inquisitive stares. He was only a young man.
"I have travelled a great distance to reach this village," he informed the surprised group shortly. "I need food and water." His voice was quiet, but venomous, a silent cobra leering at its prey. He smelled of gritty dirt, charred flesh, and blood. The traveller's very presence sprung them into action. There were hushed whispers, then there was scrambling, as a couldron was filled with fresh water and hung above a newly lit fire. In it, the village's occupants boiled nutrient-rich roots, vegetables, and bones for the broth. A blanket made of thick furs was brought over for him to sit on. He was fortunate; the Makai farmers he had met had higher moral standards than most. This he was counting on. His objective lay just beyond his reach. Now he only needed some food and rest, and then he could continue on.
By now the smell of the soup had roused sleeping farmers from their beds, and they came trudging toward them, curious as well as wary. Traveller's Soup brought a distinctive smell, and often a hefty lot of trouble with it. Children stopped running and playing to stare wide- eyed and open- mouthed, gaps where past baby teeth had fallen out intenting their gums. He glared at them, and they quickly turned away, resuming previous activities.
A tall, bearded man handed him a clay mug filled with cool, refreshing water. "Here," he offered, presenting it to the the hostile newcomer. There was no thank you, just a hand that shot out from under the tattered, hooded cloak, and a grunt. The traveller drank all of the water in one breath beofre he sat down heavily on the furs. He then tossed the mug back to the dumbfounded man, who was put off by his rudeness, but thankful that he remained intact in front of a killer.
By now a cirlce of villagers had gathered, settling around the giant pot in the centre on similar fur blankets, and reed mats. Most were silent, but a few muttered and chuckled uneasily as he stared straight ahead, brows furrowed as if in deep thought. He stared through them.
But such was the custom to gather and hear that tales of a traveller, to share the soup. It had been done that way for generations.
Expectant looks went from one being to another, none of them wanting to be the one to ask a question and initiate conversation. The fire flickered, casting more shadows as the sun rose higher in the sky. Light swayed on the visitor's face, eerily fluid. At last the soup was done, and an oversized bowl filled with it was handed to the unexpected guest, who quickly seized this too. He ate quickly, neatly, and almost ceremoniously, despite being half-starved. Being watched while eating made him nervous. The others sipped tentatively at their broth, eyes glancing up ever so often.
''What's he here for?'
''We'll all be killed!'
'...must make sure the chlidren are...'
'Is there something wrong with...'
Although not a sound could be heard, the so-called silence was deafening. The farmer's thoughts tore through his skull in varied volumes and intensities, but one thing was for certain-- he was not welcome there. Despite their attempts to be civil, he still was a potential threat. Times like these caused him to loathe his ability to read other's thoughts, thoughts that he could never turn off or completely get rid of. They were just always present. A relatively recent development, it bothered him immensely. A surgery that had his unnatural third eye implanted, allowing control over lesser beings and clairvoyance was having side effects. This was a prime reason why he now preferred to be alone.
At times, however, he was able to block these mental conversations, but it took too much energy to do it constantly, so his dilema was there to stay. 'The sooner I leave, the better,' he mused, attempting to shut off the intruding thoughts of his hosts, but to not avail. He was getting agitated.
His restlessness did not go unnoticed. An unusually brave woman tried to break the tense atmosphere. "Where do you hail from? The valley?" She wrapped a long lock of braided blonde-grey hair around her finger, winding, unwinding.
She got no answer; the young man didn't even look up from his meal. 'Well, I tried. If he does not wish to speak, then so be it.' Her thought was less annoying and quieter than the other ones. He stopped eating, sighing a bit. He respected her. Not only because she was the first to speak; she was somehow different, more intellegent. More refined.
He only answered to those he respected, untalkative or not.
"North," was the simple answer. His eyes were still glued to his bowl of soup. He took another few bites of the roots and vegetables on his wooden spoon. He then slurped at the broth. It was a short answer, not rendering much, but it was a start. Visitors were few and far apart, but tales of their travels always fascinated the rural community.
"Where north? Near the towns in snow?"
"...yes." He looked up at her once, for about half a second, then glanced down again. He was scowling even more deeply now. Her thoughts were of distrust, suspicion. Some of the others were thinking the same thing, some different, but all their ideas all related to him. She wanted him to go, and rightfully so. The woman felt a grimace tug at her mouth. There used to be a very prominent band of thieves from that area. She had noticed that he jangled when he walked when he first arrived, jangled like he had valuable trinkets and coins. And the blood... This boy was a thief.
Others, wanting to be included, foolishly interjected:
"What's it like up there?"
"Yes, are there bears?"
"Bears? You idiot! Those are from the human world!"
"Well then snow bears!"
"What are you here for?"
"Is it true that you-"
The more they spoke, the more thoughts came, and more thoughts triggered more dialogue. It was complete pandemonium. The words from inside and outside of the farmers spiralled in an almost incessant sequence. It was too much for him to handle. His third eye wasn't supposed to read so many minds at once, let alone any at all! At first he thought it was a sort of spritual feedback, but now... What was going on? This wasn't one of the abilities the surgeon who implanted it said it would give him! Something was very, very wrong. Agony exploded behind his forehead, every cell seeming to rupture. In his mouth, he tasted blood. He could not tolerate it any more.
Standing quite suddenly, the visitor dropped his bowl, which shattered on the rocky earth. The noise died down as quickly as it had begun, interested eyes on his face as it contorted.
There were no shops in the mountains, so he couldn't use his stolen goods to buy food or other provisions. He could have killed every villager there out of spite for their ignorance, for not knowing. He could have stolen all the food he could carry, not thinking twice.
But, although he was a criminal, he was a grateful one. And this new wrinkle was grievous.
And so he ran. The group watched him go, a black blur in the late morning sun, with dismay but satisfaction. The woman that had first spoken to him watched stoically. He would be back, but not during the day. She knew what demons like him were like. Thankfully, the others did not forsee this. There were hushed voices and shrugs as he left.
With a rueful smile, the woman suggested, "We had might as well finish our soup."
This was followed by faint murmurs of agreement.
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Lavender-Lace: Okay, this is my first real fanfiction, so constructive rewiews will be appreciated. Don't be afraid to voice your opinion, but don't be too harsh! If anything doesn't make sense, let me know! Thanks!