Written as an off thought short story based on the world and character settings I had in mind for some time. Written around 2008.
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Jealousy
Above the remnants of a city long destroyed in war in ancient past, branches of lightnings crawled an angry sky. White forks of violet on deathly red.
In the broken streets the shadows of a man running stretched across the arched pillared walls to every rumble of the world.
* * *
“Vekyrl!” the younger Dorighan welcomes the man of weary features with the same enthusiasm he has in memories.
“Blue.”
The young Dorighan has hair of blue dyed to match her eyes, but that is not where she gained her nickname from, and the young woman will be quick to give whoever thinks so a swift kick to the stomach. Saxophone is her instrument of choice and jazz her favourite.
The man gingerly accepts the young woman’s embrace. He wants to show more affection, to return the cheer of his friend. But he can not. Too much still he remembers.
Heading inside, Renntiz the Dorighan boy, not so much a boy now but a man too, looks up from plating the cookies. “Vekyrl, is that how you’re called now?” Renn laughed.
“It sounds cooler than Dazfor,” replies the weary answer. Dazfor was a past, and it is the past the man hates above himself.
“That I can drink to.” Each of the cups on the table is filled. Even after this long each still stays the same preference. Milk tea for the boy, juice for the girl and mocha for the guy. Only it is now the young man, the young woman, and… well, the man hasn’t yet found a term for himself.
How long has it been since the three of them got together like this? Three, five years? Well, it used to be four. And to think of it, there never was a time when it was just the three of them. Never once since it became three.
Things kind of fell apart after that day.
* * *
Red, black. Blood. It can’t be blood. Rain. Only too much, and too thick. And too warm.
He held the petite softness in his arms. Stunned, betrayed. Watching the light fades in those eyes which once ensnared his soul while the breaking lights flashed brighter and the darkness darker.
Too many questions, too many whys. Too many wishes for all to be a dream and too few hopes.
“Fenivyia,” white mist whispers escaped trembling lips.
* * *
Laughs, jokes. Catching up on times they’ve missed apart. Lynthi’s cookies are still the most scrumptious in the realms. The young woman’s blue eyes watches with glad while the man wolfs down one after the other.
“Can’t believe you haven’t been arrested for making something this addictive,” the man mumbles in between the break before the plate is refilled with more cookies.
The young woman widens in smile at the compliment. “I don’t make them much these days,” she says. “No one appreciates them the way you do.”
A sideway glance draws in Renn’s attention. “Hey, I like them, Lyn. I said they’re good enough to put all the patisseries out of business.”
“You did,” the young woman says, and the trace of sadness and trouble betrays a sweet smile. “But that’s not why you said it.”
The afternoon is passing slowly and pleasantly for the old friends. Yet despite their efforts and appearance, a distance remains between the three of them. Hindered by barriers of unspoken words hidden by each.
* * *
Why was he here, how did he come to be holding her. He held her, yet she was slipping away. She had been slipping away before then, but only away from him. It frustrated him, but never grieved him. Not now. How did he come to be so powerless, so helpless.
What was he expecting when he ran out with his sword? Revenge, yes, justice, perhaps. Betrayal, never.
He found nothing, only distraught and the crushing guilt.
Dropping his head, the sore sight of the hideous scar on the back of his wrist taunted him. Half a year ago it was forcedly engraved upon his skin, a token reminder of what was forced into the flesh and blood beneath.
* * *
“How are your symptoms lately?” the young woman asks. She knows she shouldn’t, but a desire to know is too great. And a desire to show how much she cares, however cold the wall such effort will meet.
“Better, better than better.” The man stretches out on the sofa. He had pulled over a cushion and now hugs it against his slightly bulging stomach. A wristband covers his right hand from view. If he is to remove it, a scar will be barely visible. “Sometimes it can still get very cold, and my mind gets filled with all sorts of twisted thoughts.” With light-hearted spirit he let out a few short laughs that chills the sunny air of the room with dark undertones, and makes a beckoning motion at the young woman.
“Not funny,” Renn warns after a glance comforted him his sister has not turned pale.
“It’s okay, brother,” the young woman is unconcerned, even delighted, by the man’s actions. “The fact that he can joke about it is a very good sign.”
Indeed, for the longest time since he was captured by the enemy and had the curse placed upon him under their wicked experiment he could not face himself. Could not admit to those amplified dark thoughts of his own.
“Life changes a person,” the man explains, perhaps more to himself than the siblings. “With experiences I come to know myself better, and where there was the cold void, I now fill it with all the goods I’ve found. Over the years I come to relearn the sound of laughter, the feel of the sea breeze, and the warmth of the sun.”
“And the tenderness of a girl’s lips,” the young woman giggles. Anxious. She feels much concern for the matter. Worried, fear, conflicted, even dream?
Yes. He is slowly moving on isn’t he.
The man looks at the remaining cookies in the plate and gives a regrettable sigh. Sympathy that they will not be joining their already eaten brothers.
* * *
He had learned that the enemy, his most hated enemy, the enemy who had filled his veins with unholy blood, was going to meet with a spy later that night. Hatred, rage, despise, resentment. Dark emotions filled him, and the wicked wind urged him on.
At the steppes descending the courtyard he saw the enemy, there in all fair appearance, postcard confident grin that broke the heart of how many girls. Even he was deceived by that look, how he had had came to be captured.
And in the courtyard with the enemy was a woman cloaked in hooded coat soaked. The spy working for the enemy.
In the flash of lightning his sword glistened, bared from its sheath, as he leapt down like swooping bat.
* * *
“Vekyrl,” the young woman finally says after the conversation fell to a frightening silence. They have been preparing for the moment, each of them. Waiting for themselves to gather the courage to find words they have agonized over for years. “Can I call you Dazfor, just this once, please?”
The man breathes in those words slowly, his heart and mind painfully considering each. Finally, he decides. He is ready. “Yes.”
“Dazfor,” the young woman’s eyes brims with a clear liquid. “I knew she was meeting him to ask for a way to cure you, but I hid it from you. I even lied to you that he was meeting an agent. I… I don’t even know if I should say sorry here, if saying it will be making light of my crimes. I know you won’t ever forgive me, and… I hate myself even more for often thinking… even dreaming…” She looks at the man and bites her lips, and can say no more.
* * *
The rain had begun to pour. The enemy laid dead, a ruined body sprawled on the ruin floor. The sword had impaled him through the chest. But not before it had impaled the woman who had upon seeing him moved to shield the enemy with herself.
“Why…” he croaked the question. Against the knowledge that what he was doing was futile he desperately tried to stop the bleedings. “Why… Fenivyia…”
“Maple snow,” the woman corrected him with the nickname he had given her. The hood had fallen to reveal gold wavy hair that was turning rust from the ends. Her voice was weak and her strength fleeting. Her face was full of smile.
“But… why?” he sobbed.
* * *
Renn got out of his seat. He pats Lynthi gently on her head as he walks by on the way to the glass doors. “Well. Since we’re in confession mode here, I got some admitting to do too.” Renn keeps his gaze well clear of his sister and the man. “Dazfor, I was the one who sold you out to him, who told him where to find you. I’m the reason you were captured, and ruined.”
A yelp of shock and horror. The young woman turns and leans over the sofa’s back at her brother, first with hurt and disbelieve, then quick replaces with realization and reserved pity.
Though friends, her brother had always found it frustrating over where to put himself when around the man. Someone who didn’t know whether to feel depressed over his poorness or feel glad for his friend’s wealth. The man was popular, Renn not so much. The man inherited a fortune, Renn had to battle for his scholarship. The man was always better than Renn. And then the man gained something Renn knew he could not ever obtain.
The young woman shies away when her brother turns back to them, and hides her face in the comfort of the cushion.
It has been a long while since Renn called her sister.
* * *
“I’m sorry,” the words seemed so meaningless.
“Don’t be,” she breathed. “I love you.”
“I…” his mouth opened, and closed, and opened again. No words. “I…” he at last said in a voice drowned in remorse. “I wish I can say that. I wish I still have the right to say that. But… what I did…”
“It’s okay. I forgive you.” Her hand touched his cheek. Cold. It should be warm, her hands had always been warm to him. In the heat of summer or the freeze of snow, they had been warm. But it was cold, like her body, like his heart. “I would much like to hear it.”
“I… I love you,” the young man said. She might have forgiven him, but he would never forgive himself.
* * *
“I don’t blame any of you,” the man says. A cookie is thrown at Renn to get him back to the sofa, and a rare hug given to Lynthi which stirs her from her weeping. “Whatever you think you caused, it was not, and I forgive you. There is no one without sins here, and I, of us all, must bear the most of the burden of blame as I have done since that day.”
“But you didn’t do anything, it wasn’t your fault. It was an accident!” the siblings exclaims.
The man only smiles, and shakes his head sadly. It is a secret he will forever carry; he will not allow himself the comfort of being forgiven by others. Of the three in this room he hates himself above all others.
Of course, only the man knows what really happened that day, during those fateful few seconds on that stormy night.
Those who chased out after him saw in the darkness a cloaked person suddenly moving between the enemy and the sword, and saw it run them both through in a thrust too fast and too late to alter.
Except in those flashes of lightning he had long made out the woman’s face, and his skills was well enough to halt a sword at any moment.
As he did when he saw her move. For a fraction of a second. Then he continued the thrust.