All standard Disclaimers apply
Chapter 3
A Perfect Danger
"No viper so little, but hath its venom"
~Thomas Fuller
My reverie was broken suddenly by harshness outside my chamber door. Guards had been posted outside in the hall since my imprisonment, the length of which I was unaware at the time. Since being sequestered I had fallen into a stupor of remembrance which only sleep had penetrated. I never noticed then the changing of the guards but knew that the event was reoccurring outside the door at irregular intervals. One of the guards chatted quietly to himself during his occupation of my door. I spent a few hours listening to his ramblings when I had first arrived, as it helped to pass the time. Gentle booted footsteps and the rustle of fabric I took to be the scratchy fiber of Isle uniforms singled the change of the guard. During the first days in the room I had come to know and depend upon these changes; anything to keep me away from looking at the lack of amendment to the room itself.
After a time the room's preserved state of old had become a sphere from which I did not venture. I took myself away from the door where I had spent the days lying and waiting for the soft sound of the guards rambling or the arrival of the relieving officer, and took to the bed where I began the journey, in which, gentle reader, you are my soul companion. My head lay on the pillow, still as white as a funeral lily, just as I had left it those many turns ago, and thought on past things. Things that were; dead and gone things or things altered now by the passage of time and frozen events danced before my mind and I sought to grasp them. My mind was a swarm of the old and the moved-on-from, so much like the battlefields veterans wander away from and scorn. But it is not like the long forgotten blood dried into powder there. Its is as fresh in my mind as the hot flow from a mortal wound and thrice as painful; when I remember that, but for you, I am alone here. All had passed away and forgotten these barren hills where I buried my dead and from whence I made myself.
But how ridiculous, I am get away from myself, my apologies dear reader. It is not for me to dwell on sad and unchangeable things. What effect can they give to you that would be useful in my tale? No, I dally too long in childish pastures and vats of self-pity. In recollection, I had just recounted the last potent memory of my mother and the only pin pointed occasion of decision where it concerned my darling little sister. Prior to that time I had either scorned her or remained indifferent. Truly, I do not remember much of myself from such a young age, few people do. But I do remember the moment my father's malice and my mother's resignation made clear to me the path I must undertake for the protection of Aria. Not that I loved her then, but for purpose's sake, I undertook the task.
I was amidst the recalling of this sudden contract with myself, when a rough stirring outside the door to my apartments liberated me from my engagement within. My head was immediately up from the pillow and I gazed with quickness at the door, anticipating some entry. Initial thoughts predicted another meal that I would scarcely eat being brought to me. As a special prisoner I was well fed and my health looked after, but I only picked at the food enough to sustain a sharp mind for remembering. I usually heard the brattle of plates on the tray long before they reached the other side of the door and made to hide my conscious state with appearance of sleep. Interaction with whoever brought the tray was not something I would engage in, and during those brief visitations I never even caught a glimpse of the servant who brought the meals.
This moment was different and I knew it was not the tray being brought. A voice out in the hall gruffly commanded the standing guard off, and it clearly would brook no refusal. Even though I was hazy with the reverie of unknown hours, I was still able to foresee the voice's master and was able to thrust myself into a sitting position on the bed just before Gabriel opened the door.
He sauntered into the chamber with no ceremony and closed the door to the hall beyond, twisting the lock with exaggerated slowness. He wore his red coattails and black breech pants, establishing himself as aristocratically outstanding to the room. The black eye patch loomed over the lost eye. The other eye compensated for the missing one by doubling its malice when it finally gazed at me. For a time he did nothing else but gaze, I admittedly was slightly cowed by the black demeanor. Experience had long ago taught not to provoke a raging son of Jareth Khushrenada. I swallowed my useless pride and looked away from him, accepting a small defeat. Satisfied at his equally small victory, Gabriel crossed the room to the where my untouched plate lay; its contents not even picked at this time. Some grapes sat beside a plate of medium roast beef and some change of side dishes. Gabriel plucked up a grape and tossed it into his mouth. He settled himself down at the sitting room table and propped up his high booted feet on the cheery wood. It was a gesture of relaxed domination. He knew he would get no more than a noting glance from me but it was obviously enough for him. Chewing the grape, he regarded me intently, with no good reflection on what he saw, I am sorry to say. If he waited for me to speak he did not show it. Surely he would have known that Aria could garner no words from my lips. I doubt he thought he could do better, but experience has also taught me that Khushrenadas were eternally surprising.
"You are not eating." He stated plainly as if I might respond. Again he took up a grape and devoured it soundly. I only looked at the plate in distain. My hunger had not risen from his arrival but had instead plummeted to near nausea. A spiteful smile showed his understanding. He nodded and acquiesced the terms of our communication.
"I can see your mind well enough. Do not attempt to play the mystery with me. I'll not be frustrated into leaving because you will not open your pretty little mouth. You, my Lady, are stuck with me until I am content." A cool smugness pervaded his speech. I kept my eyes downcast and moved to sit at the edge of the bed, when I had gained it, my hands folded in my lap and I trained my gaze back to him, awaiting his demands.
"You are required to eat."
Again I looked at the plate, my position unchanged. Gabriel took up the bunch of grapes and turned them in his palm. "I could make you eat, you know." He glanced up at me for the answer in my eyes. My chin rose at that, he might lay rough hands on me but I would resist, and Aria would not permit any misuse of me, not for what she had in store.
Gabriel laughed, reducing me to a foolish little girl with his belittling chuckle. He chewed yet another grape and scarcely swallowed for the laughter. "You don't think I can do it, eh? You think I will just prowl about you like a threatening wolf that growls but never lunges? You think I can't spring on you and shove these grapes down your throat? Perhaps it would get you to talk a little if I did, or at the least scream." His tone was provoking, but for all its insult I could not manage resentment with my eyes. I had no need for his escalated anger and so I allowed him his satisfaction once again by lowering my eyes to the floor.
This seemed to infuriate him more than spare him. Gabriel's feet came off the table and slammed hard on the carpeted floor. The grapes were cast aside over his shoulder where they dispersed into a hundred different journeys across the floor. I watched one or two reach the window on the far side of the room, momentarily indifferent to the rage that was now out of his seat and crossing the quarters to where I sat on the bed. Gabriel grabbed my wrist and jerked me to my feet, eliciting a short gasp from my finally parted lips. The force of his wrenching sent a shot of pain up my arm. I looked up into his one clouded blue eye and remembered that I had loved this man. No, that I still loved him in a thousand different ways that were now part of that abandoned battlefield in my head. There was no place for my affection in the present; it would serve neither of us. Despite that, it still influenced my behavior towards him. But no more of that, too much of such thought would extract Anne and my time was not yet up.
"Have you nothing to say to me, Anne? Not a thing? I can understand why you would not speak to the others, I know your pride. But to me, there should at least be something." When his appeal triggered no difference in my demeanor, he came closer so that I might have a closer perspective of his wrath.
"You see this?" he gestured to the absent eye. "This is your doing. It hurts still, badly, and if you do not wish to have an intimate understanding of that pain, I suggest you cease plaguing my patience with your damned silence." Gabriel released my wrist, almost throwing them up in disgust and left me standing there. He positioned himself on the end of the bed, adjacent to my former seat. My spirit sunk like a sword in marsh at his words. He did not understand things at all. This great ire of his was for Anne and he saw no difference in me, understood no change. The notion pitted in my stomach that he could be so blind to it. I must have thought about that disappointment for a while, for his manner softened a bit, not that I trusted it. I bit my lip as his hand caught my wrist again, willing me to sit beside him. Immediately I sensed his game, he was ever true to his nature. Turning slightly, I cast my eyes on him and saw where the devil hammocked in the curve of his smile. What Khushrenadas could not achieve by force they took by seduction. Being who I was I must have been thought the epitome of susceptibility.
That was more insulting then anything, I yanked my wrist away from his arresting fingers and found myself comfort leaning against the western wall, facing him. Gabriel must have found this challenging but made no move to pursue me there. Instead he let a rough hand smooth over the wrinkles caused from my seat on the bed comforter. I was moved to stare into the blackness of the eye patch, for the remaining eye vexed me.
"Why don't you tell me about him?" he said softly, coaxingly. I furrowed my brow to communicate confusion. Gabriel shifted to become more comfortable.
"The boy, my son. That's what the president said was it not? Not sure I believe it. Why should I believe it? You aren't right in the head after all, you can say anything you want and there is no reason to believe a word of it. I really don't see why Aria fusses with you. Were it I, your neck would have been snapped some time ago. But such is not the case I'm afraid. So tell me of him, Anne. Tell me about my boy and why he is so like me. Convince me that he is mine and that you did not fall right from my arms into Zechs' bed. Perhaps a sound physical description would be appropriate. When I saw him he was screaming so that I did not make out much of his face. Does he have my eyes and your mouth? Your hair and my eyebrows? Will he lie about everything including his own name and family when he is a man? Will he lack honor and sincerity and pray on the unsuspecting who are foolish enough to fall into his web?"
I said nothing of course, but just let him know that there were no lies in the planes of my expression. But in truth, I had not thought about Alexander at all, or of Mariemaia, or Relena. They had been brought along with me, hadn't they? Yet I could not focus on them. Indeed, focusing on Gabriel was then difficult, my mind wanted to pull back so badly and I was having trouble focusing on why I was standing at the wall. My head wanted the pillow and the reflection of my dark battlefield was already looming at the corner of my mind. Gabriel was talking again I think, scorning me anew. But I couldn't hear it, it must not have been important for the echoes in my ears were swelling ever louder, drowning out my vengeful guard. I perceived my eyes opening and closing sluggishly, and my head swayed and bumped along the wooden panels of the western wall. It sloped from one side to the other, and a shadow that must have been Gabriel fell over me, but if he had moved I did not hear it. Did I even see it? The wall felt like a mountain ridge against my skull; mythical Appalachians that I dreamed of as a girl. It began to hurt to roughen my cranium against the ridged wall of mountains, but I didn't stop, though I yearned for the lily pillow still. All that which has a moment ago been so coherent and normal was a morning mist fading in the heat of the day. Struggling against it never occurred to me. I preferred the hiding depths this trance provided; Gabriel could not pursue me there. Then I knew it must be his shadow darkening my form. Even as the next memory came alive in my eyes I knew it was him, for I was on the bed again, my head against the desired pillow. I lay there with my eyes open, seeing nothing of this world. Inside, that deserted battlefield bled to life and became inhabited once more.
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Advancing snow slowed the procession and attendants buttoned their collars against the cold invasion of their clothes. It wasn't the pleasant festival white fall of Christmas days, but an offensive tirade of Mother Nature declaring her bleary mood on that day. Leecy's mind was in harmony with it and she even added to the amassed forces by providing tears that froze on her cheeks. The harsh wind came from the north east and bore down on everyone by the bluffs and white cliffs. The sea crashed nearby and the cemetery gate rapped against its hinge; making a wild melody for the beleaguered.
She had cried several days ago when Mrs. Collins explained the idea of death. Leecy was angry that no one had given her any prior explanation before that date and waited until the hardest example of it arose to teach her of passing on. Her mind flooded with the usual questions: Why, why now, why didn't anyone do anything, why did she let herself be killed? All the many outraged questions that plow through the brain of a mother rendered motherless by circumstance. So she had cried them out of her head. It was not a conscious choice; nature has seemingly taken over and expelled the burning matter right out of her tiny head. But the facts remained there even after the instinctive custodial work had finished. Her mother was dead.
Now she stood at the grave site and watched the gilded coffin, laden with flowers, be lowered into the frozen earth. Aria stood beside her and trembled from the cold. They both wore the black uniforms of their family with a heavy overcoat. Leecy held her sister's hand, hoping that she wouldn't begin crying. On the journey to the bluff-side cemetery, Leecy had wiped away the sudden tears that again arose before her father could catch sight of it. He had forbidden crying at the funeral; claiming it as the ultimate disrespect to his wife. Any breech of this rule would result in severe punishment. So Leecy stifled her tears and buried any inclination to cry as best she could. Aria, being so young, was in less control. Leecy squeezed her hand tightly whenever she felt her sister's trembling becoming too noticeable.
As the master of ceremonies droned on about life and duty, the wind grew sharper for an instant and half the flowers on the casket flew up. They swirled and flew apart in the air above, petals pulled apart by the wind and sucked by a vacuum over the cliff's edge. It was a spectacle they watched in strained fascination. The vacuum sucked at their hair and clothes in a beckoning way. Leecy was tempted to follow, but Aria still clung to her hand. She glanced back at her father briefly but he did not seem to have noticed the minor phenomenon, or the coffin in the ground. His mind was likely on other things.
A strange calm no saturated the area, and Leecy felt as thought it was no longer snowing so hard, nor did she feel the need to cry. She felt as though she never need cry again and silently, amidst the vacuum of the bluff and the reigning snow, she promised her mother that she never would again; bearing the need for it with her.
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Merrick Delizabane did not spare less than a week for his daughter's mourning. Four days after her Victoria's funeral, Bram Wickfield, Merrick's chief attendant, appeared in Analicia's bedroom. It was early morning and she was up, folded into the wide window casement, reading a small children's novel. Bram said nothing when he crossed the room, removed the book from her hand, and replaced it with his own. Leecy also did not say anything but held onto his hand without question as he led her barefoot into the hallway. They ventured down the corridor that was still from the early hour. Leecy hesitated and looked to the door of Aria's bed chamber, expecting Bram to fetch her as well. Bram pulled on her arm gently and she fell back into step beside him, the padding of her little feet penetrating the stillness of the wing.
They walked a long time through areas of the house Leecy had never been permitted to go into. Bram's hand was warm and reassuring, so she was not afraid. Her father must be summoning her she thought and hoped that her bare feet would not offend him. But confusion erupted in her when she was led out of the house into a terminal that led to the adjacent military complex; a place in which she was forbidden to tread. The complex was white and sterile looking like a hospital. Its high ceilings hung long florescent lamps that cast a sickly light on everything. Leecy noted the color of her skin under that light, and determined to avoid such harsh hues whenever she could. She would keep all the soft light for herself and shut out the nasty unpleasant illumination.
They moved into a bunker, and her feet became cold. The floor was frigid linoleum that sucked in the cold but shunned the heat. Leecy's feet licked its square tiles as they journeyed deeper inside the compound. At last they stopped at a door that was no different from any other they had passed along the way. Bram released Leecy's hand and she began to feel afraid with out the clutching security. He knelt down next to her and gave a small look of support.
"Go inside Analicia, and do exactly as you are told. Do not speak until you are questioned and say no more than is needed when you do. Do you understand?" he asked. She nodded her compliance and the door was opened. Stepping inside with a small hesitation, Leecy found the room mostly dark and colder still. There was padding on the ground but the cold permeated from the walls. A small cot with only a single white pillow and blanket was set on one side of the large room. The rest of it was colored in dark blue matting and mirrors on the opposite wall, like a dojo. A single florescent spotlight lamp illuminated the very center of the matting, under which knelt a small Asian man. He was robed in a black kimono and looked fairly old. Though he was sitting, it appeared to Analicia that he was not much taller than she was at five years of age. An expressionless face hung on him that might have indicated seriousness of patience, perhaps both.
"Sit" he commanded in a high voice. One hand jutted out from his voluminous sleeve and designated the spot on the mat directly in front of him. Not knowing whether he desired her closer or further away from him she chose a safe mid point and sat. Then immediately observing that he knelt on his knees, she repositioned herself and mimicked his position.
"Observance is well. To do so is to have advantage."
She blinked, unsure of what to do, but remembering Bram's warning not to speak until questioned; she remained quiet and gazed back at him. With their eyes locked, the two sat there for almost forty-five minutes. Leecy's feet began to ache from the weight of her body but her companion did not move and so she did not move either. She nearly jumped when his voice suddenly rang out.
"What are you?" he questioned.
"A five year old girl." She answered uncertainly.
"What are you?" he repeated. Leecy thought longer on the answer, trying to decide what he wanted. She gave another general answer but again he repeated his question. Each time she tried to get more specific, but having no idea what he was looking for, the space of time between each answer became greater. When he had gone on asking her for a solid fifteen minutes she finally answered correctly.
"An eldest child."
He bowed his head and began to speak in a nasal voice.
"Delizabane samurai. Eldest Child samurai. Eldest Child born samurai and become samurai again after die. Samurai have duty. Duty never forgotten. You learn duty here. You no have name now. Eldest Child your name now. I call you Eldest Child, you obey. No speak, only listen. Only one kind of student, obedient. You no leave here unless summon. You stay here until learn duty and name meaning. You samurai now."
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I grew up there. Seven years of my life passed under the watchful eye of Master Hirumatsu. I learned his language, and his custom. I learned his patience and his serenity. I learned his violence and methods. By the five year mark I was the model of obedience. His commands were fulfilled without even conscious thought. The tasks that were so incredibly difficult at first became second nature. My master worked me hard; most of the day was spent in meditation and the accomplishment of tasks that seemed meaningless. I was taught the duty of the samurai from early morning to late afternoon everyday. At a certain time each day, my master left me and I was given food and a book to read. Then I climbed into my white cot and read the book, dry as it usually was. They were educational, teaching me history and basic science and mathematics. The mathematics gave me trouble. My master said that soon I would be released and tutors would explain what I did not understand. This excited me beyond measure, for the dojo was my world and the books my only entertainment. Solving their mysteries became my pursuits of pleasure, but often at night I would leave them be and think of my sister. My vow to protect her in my mother's stead was lost now that I was confined to the dojo. It lingered on as a stain to my honor. Shame was something I had learned from Hirumatsu as that which is to be avoided above all things. Shame destroyed samurai, and if I knew great shame in my life, I should end my life in honor to ensure I would be born samurai again. I kept secret the shame I already bore over Aria, not wanting to be commanded to escape it by killing myself.
That worry ceased when I was eight years old. Aria was brought to dojo herself to be taught. She did not stay long as I did, but was taken back into the complex each day. Our interaction was never much, for talking was not permitted in the dojo. In the three years I had been away from her she was already much changed. She was quiet and submissive as I had been the day of my arrival. Together we learned the art of swordsmanship and jujitsu. Hirumatsu did not even call her by a name as he did me. Aria had no distinction has a second child; she was backup in case of my death.
The time spent in the dojo forced me to begin thinking about what my role in the family would mean. I had been told all my life that I was the eldest, but it was never explained beyond that. Hope was what my mother had said I meant, but I did not understand that any better. My father never spoke to me of course, and for blessed months at a time I forgot he existed.
Hirumatsu taught us how to listen and hear things that most would not notice and what the sounds meant. He taught us the great value of silence, for speaking exposes the back to the knife. Where to find the advantage in battle as well as in situation became the same formula that was ground into our heads. In the end, we would emerge from the complex as the perfect danger; chalk full of honor and silence, enough to infuriate any foe.
But Aria only stayed for two years. One day she smiled at me before leaving the dojo and I did not see her again. My training continued while she dwelt somewhere else. I longed to know what had happened to her, but the rules regarding speech had not relaxed since the day I arrived at the dojo. For two more years I underwent training in the way of duty fulfillment. One morning I awoke to find blood on my sheets and thought I was dying. I attempted to hide it at first, thinking it shameful to have soiled the sheets so, but the bleeding did not stop and I felt slightly ill. Knowing that it was a worse shame to hide the truth, I left the sheets there for my master to see. When he arrived and noted them, he simply instructed me to stand and receive my fear.
I was afraid, thinking that I would be commanded to commit suicide for my shame. But Hirumatsu did not give me the sword that I would have to slit my throat with as Samurai women do. He instead gave me a tiny glass ball, so fragile that it seemed breathing on it would cause it to shatter.
"When storm come, you stand at cliff and hold glass. If it break, you must return, if not break, you are woman and leave." He left me alone then, and a nurse soon came to attend me. I saw very little of people in those seven years, so interacting with her was not easy. She was kind and explained how my body had now changed to accommodate a child. At first I was frightened beyond control, thinking this meant I would have to bear a child right away. But the nurse soothed my fears and told me what I would come to expect. She did however indicate that my father would know of it and that he may want to see me now that I was a woman. I explained in return that I was not a woman until the ball came back from the cliff intact. The nurse paid no mind to my nonsense.
"I think when you leave here the master will order you into Lady's training. You'll be taught how to walk and talk; how to address people correctly and all that is required of a Countess."
"Countess?"
"Oh yes My Lady, you are Countess of Mortaine and have been since your poor mother died. The title passes on to the eldest by our nation's law. We thought perhaps that the new Misses would claim it herself, but now that she is gone too you have retained it My Lady."
"New Misses, what is all this, please explain to me."
"Why you don't know Miss? Your father remarried some years ago. A lovely thing she was, but too frail like your mother. She had those two little angels and then became one herself less than a year hence."
"My father has had more children?"
"Why yes, two little dear twins. Mathius and Shireen. You finally have a brother and another sister to boot. I had no idea you were left in the dark about them. They are fine children, they are. Little Shireen looks just like you when you were just a babe. You take after your father, you do, and so do they. Its Miss Aria who took her mother's coloring, but she is a beauty too, and so graceful now. The Master has her learning the gun now. She is quite a shot I here. Won't that impress the lads on the continent? I suspect your father will want to take you there soon and have you meet all the young lords and generals. Plenty I am sure would roll in the dirt to be your husband."
I was astounded into my customary silence at this news. I never fathomed that such change would come; a step mother come and gone without ever even meeting her, two more siblings that would be already five years old, my own body now capable of conception and a brood of men waiting to marry me? It was too much to be borne and I could not endure dwelling on the outside world that I had become a stranger to. Yet soon I would have to rejoin that world. If the glass broke I would be forced to leave my silent sanctuary of patience and blue matting. That knowledge tore at me and I melted my mind to find a way to escape or delay it.
There was only one way, and it was the fool's way. Yet such was my torment over the future that awaited me that I risked it. When the first storm came, one balmy spring night, I was sent out to a low Cliff side where the waves crashed and eroded the land. There, holding the fragile glass ball in my hands, I knelt at the cliff's edge and waited. It was terrifying indeed. One hand held tightly onto the drenched grass while the other held aloft the glass ball. The vacuum of wind pushed at my back, willing me over the edge while the ends of black waves grabbed at me. I was drenched by rain and salty surf and the lightening frightened me. A nearby lighthouse regularly illuminated the great tumult of the sea below me, where the water crashed upon the rocks. If I let the storm push me I would find myself dead among those rocks and waves. But I let those fears wash through me and concentrated on the ball. It was so light in my hand, and I knew that if I kept my mind on it, it would emerge unscathed from this test and I would be a woman.
And so, I clenched my fist around it and crushed it hard into my palm. Blood immediately poured down my arm and was washed away by the storm. The glass buried under my skin and I felt the pain of the abrasion keenly; knowing immediately what a fool I was to try to prolong the inevitable.
I returned to the Dojo and produced my bloody hand. Hirumatsu looked at it carefully and then examined my eyes trying to read them. But he had taught me too well and I hid it all from him, or so I thought.
"You woman now." And he bowed to me formally.
I looked down at him, for I was now several inches taller than he. He looked back and said nothing. His look told me that he was no longer my master and that the dojo was no longer my home. I could not accept this and so, knowing the punishment I would receive for breaking the rule, I questioned him.
"Woman do what must do to survive. You think you can no live outside Dojo. You crush ball to stay. But you know you not change anything. Girl not realize this, woman does. You are woman now. You leave dojo." He bowed again and opened the door. I took one last look at the dojo and went back to the house.
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