So once again I find myself apologizing for the extreme lateness. Blame my classes. Anyway, I hope this chapter was a good one. Some parts seemed awkward and stiff, nothing I could do could flesh them out.
Please comment on Richard's behavior. I would like some feedback before continuing. In this fantasy universe I have created (think of it as a cross between Pirates of the Carribean and Avatar, The Last Airbender.) I want Richard to be aloof and rather ignorant of the cultural differences of people outside Europe, where Gotham is situated.
Because of his sheltered life...he finds Raven to be a very uncultured and despicable woman. He (naturally) hates the way she dresses and finds her to be very immodest and shameless. Her actions also baffle and confuse him, which makes him unsure of how to act around her. Please tell me if I am going about this in the right way.
I apologize ahead of time for the odd first scene you will encounter. :D
Chapter 4
Disclaimer: Look in Chapter 1
Crickets chirped loudly in the shrouded darkening forest. The leaves blew with a steady but ominous gait.
He listened to the rustling, his eyes half lidded as if he was in a trance. The steady clopping of the horse's hooves seemed to dance to a tune...it was an orchestra, this wilderness.
The chirping crickets filled the woodwind section, while the gentle and graceful leaves replaced the strings. Yes, and the hooves of the horses commanded the brass and percussion. It was a beautiful sound. Everything complimented each other...they were perfect together.
The man continued on, refusing to let his horse canter across the empty cobbled streets. If the horse moved any faster, the orchestra would fall to pieces. Patience...just a little more patience, and the music will come to an end. The steady hands of the young traveler guided his steed around the corner, a regretful sigh escaping his lips as they neared the light of the small in by the pier.
He had ridden for days, without stopping. His reason? Raven was in trouble and he didn't want to waste any time. His horse, unfortunately, wasn't of the same sentiment. Dark blue eyes, stared intently as he led the horse into a stall and began the arduous task of cooling the horse down.
He worked deftly and swiftly, his mind on several different things...the strange raven being one of them. Somewhere down this long stretch to the pier-side inn, he noticed his left shoulder began to feel light and somehow not complete. Perhaps the bird simply grew tired of being in one spot. He really couldn't blame the creature.
His task complete, the young man flexed his shoulders tiredly and then walked down the path to secure a room for the night, and to collect his thoughts. There had been no plan in his mind the night he set out with the strange bird.
He simply just...left. Was this what one called 'blind faith'? The ability to simply trust and believe, to pour your entire being, your whole existence into one simple thing? The ability to lose thought, reason and will? Was that faith? Or was it helplessness? Slade was sure that he didn't want any of it. And yet here he was, staring in front of a strange fireplace, in an unfamiliar city, simply waiting for divine intervention to come.
Divine intervention rarely came when you wanted it to. So why was he doing this? Why did he insist of staying here, why was he waiting for a sign? Had he really become so weak? How could he save Raven when he couldn't even think properly?
The blazing fire roared back at him, it's dancing sprites, casting ghoulish figures across the walls. Slade listened quietly, filling his ears with the angry and vengeful sound. What anger! What wrath!
Slade closed his eyes, letting the whooshing of the fire and the singeing heat fill his senses. His mind drifted, and he began to recall memories of his past. In his mind, the snow coated streets of his icy home-town wafted up to greeted him, and with it, the biting winter chill. The frozen icy streets, the white, snow covered meadows and the towering, frosty spires that rose into the never-ending bleak sky.
Such white! Such blandness...is it any wonder that it's people were so unsatisfied? Is it any wonder that the frigid Lastonian knew nothing of kindness, of love and charity? How could they, when the providential sun had pronounced its final judgement so far back in time?
The long endless winters and the short fleeting summers. He remembered it well...remembered how the frost of the streets turned to muddy slush, and the icy meadows displayed their scant greenery. For a few days, the light warmed the people's hearts, and thawed the hearts of stone. Alas, how cruel is the sun to those that are unworthy! Those summers were short-lived, and as it had for centuries, the sun departed, casting it's chilling displeasure on them once more.
The sound of chattering teeth roused the young man from his musings. Ah, twas his own jaws that clacked horridly; the man let out a bitter laugh. Would he continue to be haunted by this biting cold forever?
It is said that the inhabitants of the frozen North descended from the sun goddess. Then why were they neglected so? Why did the sun so mistreat their descendants? Why did the unforgiving sun cast its neglectful rays upon the country, as if in retaliation for a past grievance?
Ah, the proud country of Lastonia, and it's haughty, heartless citizens! What magic could chill the icy heart of a Lastonian? Let the sun rain down curses upon them, let its people suffer in the never-ending chill of the North. Let the sun turn away from its worshipers, and let them beg for mercy!
Yes, Slade must suffer. Twas fate...his unchanging fate as a Lastonian. And so he sat, huddling close to the raging fire, but unable to feel its warmth. Ah, how the mighty are fallen!
The crew would be approaching land soon and many of them would go their separate ways. Captain Richard didn't want to tie the men down with his arduous mission to send Arella back to Gotham. So he gave them a choice.
As soon as they docked the ship on the shores of Armenia, those who wanted to leave could do so...he had no need for the ship anymore. He told himself this as he settled down in his bunk for the night, sipping rum and pouring over countless maps. The Armenian forests were rumored to be impassable...and the trails were known only to the inhabitants of the small peninsula.
This wasn't going to stop him from achieving his goal...this was what Arella was for. Very few were graced with the knowledge that the people of Azarath and the people of Armenia were in fact, of one ethnicity. The languages and cultures were practically identical with only slight differences in religious practices. While those on Azarath prayed and made obeisance to the goddess Azar, the inhabitants of Armenia worshiped the sun goddess Amaterasu.
These differences did not stop the two countries from being on the friendliest of terms however. By having Arella, the high priestess, in their 'care' the people should be more than willing to aiding them.
Richard took another swig of rum and grimaced at the odd aftertaste. What he wouldn't give for a glass of Charlot champagne. The smooth, rich, savory taste was ten times better than the crude and bitter taste of poorly made rum. Richard supposed that the taste for rum was an acquired one, something that perhaps was picked up after years at sea, rather than on a whim in a tavern. A bottle of whiskey would probably taste better than this...and Richard hated whiskey.
A sigh escaped the man's lips as he turned over the map and began writing notes on the sides. For reasons unknown, he began to worry...and while he always worried about the safety and well being of his crew, to his astonishment, Arella was at the top of that list.
But for what reason? Was it because he had confined her to the brig, a place where he knew he couldn't see her... a place where he knew his crew wouldn't be tempted by her lewd dressing and shameless behavior? Wasn't it for the best that she remain down there? Garfield was feeding her and keeping company. He had also set Peterson to guard the place at all times. He trusted Peterson...he wouldn't do anything to her.
At least down in the brig...he wouldn't be tempted by her body anymore. Then he could concentrate...and run the ship properly. He wouldn't feel guilty about anything anymore...and when he finally was reunited with Korianna, there would be no regrets and second thoughts.
The candles flickered softly as the boat rocked back and forth. For some, the swaying of the boat was a nauseating and arduous thing to bear. To Richard, it was yet another reminder of the man whose life was so cruelly taken away. Why did Bruce have to die? Why did Arella kill him? What was Bruce hiding that caused the woman to sneak into the house in the dead of night...and ruthlessly murder him in that room?
Yes, he could still remember. He clearly remembered he strange scuffle from the other room, the way his bare feet sounded as the padded down the empty, dark hallway. The moon was full that night, casting eerie shadows against the corridors. Small pockets of light streamed through the old stained glass windows painting the carpets in a glistening red color.
Or so he thought.
He remembered how heavy that door was, and the frightening shadows that lurked inside. Richard could never forget that woman's eyes... those sorrowful bluish eyes.
Yes, bluish.
Not the strange amethyst color that the woman now possessed. But everything else was the same...the pale chiseled features, the slender petite body and the strange symbols ornately carved in Arella's jewelry. Richard couldn't forget the symbols on that glistening obsidian knife. Nor could he forget the strange sight of that burning red 'S.'
Richard was later told that the knife bore the mark of an ancient sect. One that worshiped something called Scath. Whatever this Scath was...only Arella knew the secret. She alone could explain why Bruce was targeted and killed. She alone must stand trial for his murder.
The candle flickered and sputtered out.
Richard cursed under his breath. Candles were becoming a nuisance to him. Too easy to go out and too hard to find. No one knew the hassle Richard went through to secure enough candles for this journey. The supply was running low but by some stroke of luck, the Armenian shore was only a few days away. He could wash his hands of the whole thing by then.
Yes, he would bid farewell to the crew and travel with Victor and Garfield...those two he knew wouldn't leave him. Garfield really didn't have anyplace to go...and as for Victor, seeing as they both lived in Gotham, traveling together would be the best option.
A tired yawn escaped Richard's clenched mouth and he would have retired for the night, had he not heard the sound of running feet outside his room. Who would be dashing around this time of the night? The skies were clear and the seas calm...
Richard frowned as that someone began to pound at his door frantically. Should he ignore it? No, it could be serious. But why so late at night? The captain swung the door open and balked in surprise as a flurry of purple and white dashed across the room and into the dark corner.
"A-Arella, why are you not in the brig?" Richard questioned, sounding as if he was speaking to a disobedient child. He continued to glare, listening to the sound of her heavy breathing and wondering why her cheeks seemed so red and rosy...or was that blood?
Richard pursed his lips and roughly dragged her out of the dark corner. Lighting the candle once again, the captain stared sullenly taking note of the woman's dust covered hair and bloody gash on her right cheek. "What happened to you?"
The woman said nothing and continued to stare blankly at the half open door her arms securely wrapped around herself. Was she trying to anger him further? How dare she come into his quarters in the middle of the night and ignore him! Richard's eyebrows furrowed in anger as he pulled her from the floor and pinned her against the wall. "Answer me, damn it!"
In the faint candle light, Richard could see the tattered torn shirt that Garfield had given her and the darkening bruises around her neck and shoulder. Fingers stretched forward without consent, gently examining the gash on her cheek. "Who did this?" Who indeed. Wasn't Peterson supposed to be guarding the brig? How could he let this happen?
The woman stared down at her blood stained hands and replied in a strangely tiny voice. "Peterson was drunk. He wouldn't leave me alone...now my best knife is ruined."
It was only then that Richard saw the blood on her hands. Quickly he released the priestess and stepped back, turning towards the door and peering out. Sure enough there was Peterson, sprawled outside the door with a dull table knife embedded in his shoulder. He was alive...but no doubt unconscious from the blood loss and alcohol.
How much had he drank? The man really reeked! The captain said nothing as he bandaged the man and left him outside the door. It wasn't a serious wound...though it probably would hurt like hell for a while. But wasn't that what alcohol was for, to relieve the pain?
Sighing heavily, Richard turned back to Arella, who was now staring fervently into the small piece of glass he used to shave with. Really, she comes into this place in the dead of night and now rummages through his things? Did this woman have no manners?
"I never gave you permission to touch anything." Richard snatched the glass from the woman's hands. "Why are you even here? Peterson's no longer awake, so there's nothing to fear."
Amethyst eyes flickered with a strange light. "That place scares me...Peterson scares me. I don't want to stay there anymore. Let me stay with Victor."
A snort. "Why should I comply with such a request. Are you not a prisoner? Since when does the prisoner make demands?"
Her face spread into a wicked grin. In the dying candle light, Richard could see the glint of a knife and his ice blue eyes widened in shock. Surely she wouldn't kill herself...it would an absurd way to die, wouldn't it?
"My life is in my hands. Give me what I want or my secrets die with me." Violet eyes glittered with seriousness and the shiny knife continued it's path across her slender pale neck.
Was she really willing to die? Just because he wouldn't give in? What kind of resolve was this? "Why? Why are you so willing to die?" Confusion was plain in his voice.
Those odd colored eyes stared at him fiercely. "Have you ever tasted bondage? Have you ever felt the cold biting chains of slavery? Or course not...if you had there would be no need for such a question. My answer is simple. You took my freedom...what else have I to live for? Give me what I want or let me die in peace!"
A stagnant pause permeated the room. Finally Richard spoke. "Fine, you can return to the deck...but staying with Victor is out of the question." The knife slowly lowered. In the dim candle light he watched as she tucked it back beneath the strips of cloth that wove intricately around her chest.
Her violet eyes flickered in relief and the man watched as she shakily sank to the floor, the last of her bravado dissipating. A pang of guilt resounded in Richard's chest. That helpless look just didn't suit her. She was supposed to be proud, haughty and arrogant. Arella wasn't supposed to look so...womanly.
Yes, it was such a horrible thing to say. But Richard had not met any woman who was as outspoken and as daring as she was. It confused and baffled him...to the point that he really didn't know how to act around her. Was he supposed to be the perfect gentleman...the one to hold her hand and keep her from danger?
Was he supposed to shower her with expensive gifts and clothes, to pamper and spoil the woman like he did with Korianna? Was he supposed to treat her like a fragile piece of glass? But Arella didn't want to be treated that way...she abhorred such things.
Even now...after all she had gone through, would she still let him clean her wounds? Would she let him comfort and spoil her, or would she push him away in the name of freedom and equality.
Richard summoned up the last of his courage and helped the woman to her feet, dried her tears and ushered her to his bunk before leaving the room, a bottle of rum in his hand. Maybe he'd sleep in the brig tonight. At least Peterson'll keep him company.
The air was hot, sticky and nauseating the morning Richard docked the ship on the quiet shores of Armenia. The pier was unusually quiet, and only the fishermen occupied the numerous piers as they returned with their catches of fish. Soon people would begin to flock and gather, looking to bargain and haggle. Armenia was known for it's seafood delicacies, one being their famous steamed squid.
Perhaps they would be able to get a taste of this famous squid, Garfield thought with interest while boxing up medical supplies for Victor. Seafood was something that the fourteen year old didn't really have a craving for...and he wondered if it would be as salty as the brine cod his mother used to stew for hours.
Maybe Miss Roth knew about the famous squid dish. Since Armenia was really close to Azarath...the tastes in food shouldn't be too different. From what he had seen in the slowly filling docks, the styles in dressing were almost identical.
The women wore the sheer bright colored robes and shawls, while the men dressed in the white tunics and turbans...of course jewelry abounded. There wasn't a single person without some kind of jewelry. It made Garfield wonder if Arella was sad about the loss of her jewelry as well...he didn't miss the sore and bleeding feet the day Captain Richard called her into his office.
Somehow... the captain had pried the small golden chains out from between her flesh. Miss Roth never complained of the pain either. Did those trinkets and bracelets mean anything to the priestess...perhaps they were symbols of her power and status? What if by taking them, Richard was making a grave mistake?
The young deck hand stood and stretched, noticing that the neatly folded priestly garments resting in the corner had disappeared. But when? Who could have gotten past his fool-proof defenses and taken the outfit?
Richard had forbidden her to wear the outfit on the ship after the week of gloomy rain. He mentioned something about 'see-through' and a 'distracted crew.' Wasn't that absurd? None of the deck hands paid any attention to Miss Roth anyway! But what did he know...seeing as he was the 'baby of the group.'
Garfield thought the whole thing was really weird. Didn't she wear that priestess outfit all the time in Azarath? How come no one found problems with it then? Why was Richard so bent on 'covering her up'? Was it really a horrible thing to flaunt a bare stomach and curves? Wasn't that the same as the Gotham City prostitutes? Perhaps Richard despised the clothes because of that resemblance?
The young teenager shrugged his shoulders. It didn't really matter anymore. He would soon leave this ship, and get his hands on that famous squid. It was for that delicacy alone that Garfield refused breakfast. No longer would he have to deal with hardened biscuits, grits and teeth jarring jerky.
oOoOo
Raven heart fluttered in anticipation as her covered feet finally touched the cold damp sands of Armenia. This was not her birthplace, yet the land called to her. She could feel the energy flowing through her fingertips...never in her life had she felt so alive before. A peal of laughter escaped the priestess lips.
Like an eager, hyper child, Raven slipped free of Richard's iron grasp and began to twirl and dance, her feet elegantly kicking up clouds of dust. Faster and faster Raven twirled, ignoring the stares and looks of confusion. She didn't care. How could she?
After being trapped on that disgusting ship, with those vulgar and depraved men for almost a month who wouldn't find the vast openness of land to be intoxicating? This happiness shouldn't be bottled inside. She refused to hide these feelings any longer.
So she smiled, sang and laughed...and watched in satisfaction as the weather responded to her emotions. Her feet moved gracefully and the sand beneath her small feet danced in response. The wind rustled her hair and clothes, tousling her hair and ruffling the colored fringe that dangled from her top.
The wind smiled down on her...the sun cast it's gentle rays on her pale skin. Such happiness...such perfection!
"Miss Roth! Miss Roth!"
The energetic priestess turned and watched Garfield run up holding something in his hand. Raven tilted her head, purple eyes glittering with curiosity and mirth. What was he holding so tightly? She watched him nervously step up, hands cupped in reverence. At least, Raven thought it was reverence. Perhaps he was nervous? Of course the man didn't understand the implications of what he had just done.
Raven stared at him, her eyes impassive and expectant. She continued to stare, to look down at this young boy with a suppressed curiosity as he quietly and nervously clasped the chains onto her ankles. Her lithe, willowy body had finally stilled, like a butterfly who had perched for some nectar.
In the silent breeze, that ruffled both hair and clothing, Garfield's tangy scent wafted up her nose. He smelled of sunshine, of earth and herbs. This was not the scent she craved. Raven sighed inwardly. No, Raven wanted the smell of snow, the taste of winter and the feel of ice within her grasp.
The feel of cold metal sliding between her fingers jolted the priestess back into reality. This was Armenia...snow did not fall here. Ice was uncommon. And there was no word for winter in the language of her people.
"Miss Roth, if I may," the boy paused as if waiting for her to reach his dimension once more , "I made some shoes for you...what with your injury and all." Head bowed slightly, he thrust the shoes out before her, seemingly ready to receive disappointment. "I hope you'll accept them!"
"Garfield, you made these...for me?" Raven's eyes watered. In his hand were the most beautiful pair of moccasins she had ever seen. Where did he find the leather to make them? And were those really her pearl foot bracelets?
The ones that Richard had pried out of her skin in a rage? At the time, Raven was sure he would remove the ones on her hands and wrists...but it seemed that he wanted to remain inconspicuous. So when he noticed those in her feet...well, he decided it would be better for him to inflict pain without causing trouble.
The young teenager removed the small velvet shoes and slipped on the soft padded moccasins. Raven could not resist drawing the boy up and kissing him tenderly on the cheek. She smiled at the innocent flush that covered his face, and linking her arm through his the two began to skip once more.
He for joy, and her for a new friend.
OoOoOo
The country of Armenia was filled with many trees, thought the young deck hand as he followed his new friend down the shaded dust road. There was green everywhere, from the grassy banks of the roads to the tall towering spruces and strange looking palms and the beautiful flowers that lined the roads. Armenia was a beautiful country, filled with life and excitement.
And the food?
Divine! Garfield had never tasted anything like it. The fried squid had tasted beyond that of what he expected. He also tried the curried potatoes, a spicy broth with goat meat and managed to eat four mangoes.
The mangoes were hand picked by Arella, who had been so daring as to climb into the tallest mango tree and pluck several ripe, sweet mangoes, three of which she ate, rather childishly.
Richard had been amused at this behavior, and actually laughed heartily at the sight of the priestess with sticky mango juice smeared on her face and hands. It seemed that everyone was happy here. He wouldn't mind staying here for the rest of his life. With the warm temperate climate, the lush green, fertile lands and the exquisite, delectable food, paradise would be ensured.
Too bad happiness never lasts.
Garfield realized this as he followed the soft steady footsteps of Arella in the dust. She had been skipping, yet her steps seemed engraved within the sand. The grass that she had danced over, seemed bowed in reverence and the leaves seemed to sway in obeisance. The gentle rays of the sun seemed to swathe around her, bathing and soaking her with love.
As she skipped and twirled, Garfield couldn't help but feel jealous at the favor the sun cast on this priestess. She was frolicking in the light, while he was left to follow in the shadows. How could the sun shine so brightly through the trees for one person, but hide itself at another? What powers did this small woman possess, to cause the sun to cast a blind eye to all?
The young deck hand looked up and realized with a jolt that Arella had disappeared. Where could she have gone? What would Richard do to him when he finds out that she's gone? The teenager's feet sloughed through the grass, following the moccasin prints through the trees and and shruberey. In his ears the distant sound of rushing water loomed closer.
The gentle sloshing of the water against the rocks filled his ears, and the weird scent of lemongrass entered his nostrils. The green eyes of the teenager peered through the trees, curiosity overwhelming his mind. Why did Arella go this way? He saw her clothes, lying neatly atop a boulder, away from the rich dark earth and the cold, ice-blue water. The woman's jewelry was there as well, glinting in the sun atop her silk lavender clothes. But the priestess, was gone.
Green eyes slowly moved towards the small bubbling brook and fixated themselves there, waiting for any sign of the woman. He probably shouldn't be doing this...but the burning intensity of his curiosity needed to be satiated. In the quiet serenity of the forest, Garfield waited; the sound of the gentle breeze, the far-away chirping of birds and the cajoling brook, his only companions.
And then he saw her.
Garfield watched with stunned eyes as the priestess rose quickly to the surface, breaking the gentle stride of the small creek. He continued to stare, captivated by the cascade of water that sloped gently down her petite back. The water seemed to have no end as it slid down her pale back and rejoined the brook once more.
He saw her lift her hands rapidly; the young teenager fell back in fright, astonished as the water quickly leaped up, spiraling into the cloudless sky before returning in a gentle downpour. Could this woman command the waters too?
Garfield bit his lip, watching as the woman slowly pulled herself up against a rock that jutted out from the icy brook. The gentle sun seemed to follow the woman as it's rays now kissed the rock's surface where the woman now resided. Garfield's cheeks burned with a strange embarrassment.
Arella was beautiful...so beautiful. It seemed like this realization hit him with a sense of shame. He shouldn't be here, watching her like a voyeur...silently lusting after her body. Yet, he simply couldn't turn away...he couldn't avert his eyes.
He couldn't burn the image from his mind, the beautiful priestess sprawled atop the rock like a water nymph. The pale, wet, glistening skin, the dark, long ,water-soaked hair and the gentle sloping of her bosom. The way she tilted her neck, exposing her small, slender throat, and the sight of her flawless legs. The gentle fingers that quietly played with her soaked hair and the round curving of her buttocks.
Garfield licked his lips unconsciously, watching as she shifted, giving him a view of her back. A pale color washed over him and his hands trembeled with a frightful realization. Burned into her innocent pale skin was that mark.
The mark of Scath.
Has anyone ever tasted goat meat? Tell me in a review!
Lastonia, I don't believe such a country exists in real life. Look up the anime Glass Mask, if you want to know more about that country.
Armenia, however is a real country and it's located in Eastern Europe. The Armenia in my story, will be more of a tropical peninsula, probably similar to Florida or Puerto Rico.
I have decided that Raven needs some powers of her own...even if their not the ones you see on the Teen titans show. Has anyone noticed how the weather seems to reflect her mood? Would that be a really cool ability to explore?
And lastly, should Trigon make an appearance? In my mind, Trigon is to Raven as Slade is to Robin. They are like Oreos and milk, peanut butter and jelly...that sort of thing. What do you think?
Please review!
~heartless16