Curse - - Human Version SP (Draft #1)
Nov 25, 2016 2:29:40 GMT -5
☾ Cʀᴇsᴄᴇɴᴛ ☽, mintedstar/fur, and 3 more like this
Post by » ѕнαdσω ⚔️ on Nov 25, 2016 2:29:40 GMT -5
Hey guys, it's me again with another sneak peek of my project. Humanizing Curse so far has been super fun, but it has required much more thought and planning than the fan-fiction did. This is all of my own original work with no other ideas from any other stories. (Sure I admit I named Itzala's horse after Rowan Whitethorn from Maas's A Throne of Glass series, but I wanted that name for Ethuran anyways so shhhh. x'D )
This scene is directly from chapter 3 where Shadowkit and Eaglekit go exploring where they shouldn't be. Veteran readers will know just how important this chapter is for the entire story, so I found it only fitting to show you all the humanized version. Plus, who doesn't want to see a young Ethuran and Itzala dueling it out for supremacy?
Here are a few reminders for those of you who want to keep up with the changes:
Shadowface = Itzala Blackmore (super pale skin, black hair, and in this chapter she has golden brown eyes)
Eaglefrost = Ethuran Oakbane (naturally tan skin, dark brown or golden brown hair depending on the season, and icy blue eyes)
Stormkit(Stormshadow) = Sauron Blackmore (don't need his appearance now)
* Cursed grow at a slightly faster rate than humans *
* The Pledging Ceremony is where clan members aged at least seven years pledge themselves to a clan and begin training *
Next Scene/Chapter 3
“Eth! Eth, come out!”
Dappled sunlight fell on a large mossy boulder nestled in the roots of an evergreen pine. Standing atop of it was Itzala, her thick raven colored hair pinned up into a messy bun at the nape of her neck. She was wearing a plain worn dress with long sleeves and a skirt that fell past her knees. Even at barely seven years, she was already showing signs of feminine beauty in her hips and legs, but unlike other girls her age, she detested such promises of womanhood.
“Eth!” She called again, cupping her pale hands around her mouth, her call echoing throughout the pinewood.
Suddenly, a wide, sun-kissed hand wrapped around her ankle and pulled her leg out from under her.
She yelped in alarm, watching as the pine branches went skyward as she fell, not onto rocky ground, but into a pair of sturdy arms.
She didn’t have to look up into his laughing blue eyes to know that the boy who held her was her best friend: Ethuran Oakbane.
“Eth!” Itzala squealed, flicking him hard on his broad nose, “where did you go? I was shouting for you for hours!”
Eth laughed, a gentle breeze playing with his golden brown hair. “You were only shouting for half an hour,” he teased, carefully setting her down on the forest floor, “and what’s the fun in playing hide and seek if you get so frustrated every time you can’t find me after five minutes?”
Itzala huffed and crossed her arms, her face turning sour. “You don’t play fair.”
Eth laughed again, hugging his midsection as the peals of laughter rolled through him. He wore a simple sandy colored tunic with a brown leather belt around his waist. Attached in a holster was a small hunting knife bestowed on him by his father, Hadren Oakbane, for his pledging ceremony that was to be today.
The pledging ceremony, Itzala thought to herself, finally it is here!
While Ethuran was laughing, Itzala managed to snag his hunting knife from his belt, and with a squeal of excitement, turned and ran from her friend who was already chasing after her, his laughter now turned to protests.
“Come on, Itzala! That’s not fair!”
Itzala simply laughed as she leapt and dodged under branches and boulders alike, flying through the trees as if she had been born with a mountain cat’s legs instead of human ones.
A cry of pain had Itzala halting. She spun around, and then cupped her hands over her mouth to prevent herself from bursting out in frantic laughter.
Ethuran had tripped over a log. His legs were raised up high on the fallen pine while his chin and thus his head were propped up on a moss covered hill. His tunic was soaked around his belly from the pool of water that had formed in the depression, and best of all, his face was bright red.
“Eth! What did you do you big moose?” Itzala teased, skipping back to where he struggled to get himself up. She lent him a hand, snaking her hand under his armpit and hauling him up so he could sit on the log.
Ethuran blushed maddeningly hard, scratching his chin with his right hand, his other going to his lower legs to check for injuries. “I’m not a moose,” he mumbled just loud enough for Itzala to pick up.
Itzala smiled wickedly. “You are a moose! You have long, clumsy, awkward legs and arms. And then your feet and hands are big, just like a moose’s hooves! And then those big, dopey eyes-”
“Quit it, Itzi!” Ethuran cried, using his nickname for Itzala, his face so full of embarrassment that it became even harder for her to keep in her wild laughter. She gave Ethuran back his knife, her lips pressed tightly together.
It was very true that Ethuran was tall and clumsy. He hadn’t grown into his new height yet, so his limbs appeared thin while his hands and feet were large and more befitting of a boy a few years his senior. He was only seven like Itzala, but like her, he turned out to be an early bloomer.
Itzala decided then to end the teasing, despite how fun it was for her. She leaned in close, checking for herself if there were any injuries, but after double checking that he was unscathed, she quickly embraced him, hugging him tightly around his shoulders.
“You are my moose,” she proclaimed, pulling back and giving him a knowing smile.
Eth’s expression was calmed by the time he pulled away from her embrace, but a slight trace of the heated blood underneath his tanned skin still remained in his cheeks.
“Come with me,” Itzala suddenly said, taking his hand and helping him up, “let’s go to the overlook today. You said we could when we became pledged.”
A wary look clouded Ethuran’s expression. “Technically were not pledged yet, so we shouldn’t-”
“Why not?” Itzala demanded, dropping his hand and crossing her arms.
Ethuran narrowed his icy gaze. “It’s dangerous up there. Only clan warriors could make that climb.”
Itzala un-crossed her arms and wagged her finger at his face. “No, that’s not what we found out, remember? There was a hidden trail behind the rocks that led safely up to the top.”
Ethuran sighed, his shoulders sagging. “Itzala…”
“I’ll go if you won’t.”
“No you will not.”
“Yes, I will.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Itzala’s liquid golden gaze scrunched into annoyance as she heaved a breath, looking like she wanted to explode on her friend.
“You can’t stop me. I am the chieftain’s daughter after all,” she said finally, resting her hand on her hip.
Ethuran sighed, scratching his head again. “Which is even more reason why we shouldn’t go…”
“Why?” Itzala snapped, “It’s not like my father cares about me anyways.”
Ethuran’s icy gaze softened. “You know that’s not true, Itzi.”
She sniffed, crossing her arms, her hands gripping her upper arms tightly. She wanted nothing to do with the Blackmore chieftain. He was indifferent to her existence. She heard that when she and her sister Brezia were born he didn’t even come to see them.
She wished she could be like her older siblings. Her father doted on them like prized horses.
“You’ve seen how he treats me and Brezia, Eth,” she said with a cold bitterness to her tone, “we don’t matter to him.”
Ethuran laid a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder. Itzala knew he would do anything to remove the angry expression on her face, which is why he, above everyone else, mattered so much to her. She would never treat him like her father treated her. She knew loyalty and friendship when she saw it.
“Can we just go?” Itzala protested, shrugging off her friend’s hand. She turned, heading through the thick coverage of the forest and out toward the northern trail that led up to the overlook.
Ethuran let his hand fall next to his side, and he watched Itzala walk away from him for a few moments before following, as if he was contemplating how much risk they were taking to make her happy again.
Not long after Itzala decided for the both of them to go to the overlook, they were both standing at the start of the snaking path that led up to the cliff on the mountainside. The path was steep with rocks protruding from the side of the wall and underneath the path itself. Some parts of the climb would have to be done by leaping from one boulder to another, or by climbing on hands and feet. Ethuran’s eyes narrowed at the prospect, but looking at Itzala’s determined and stubborn expression, he knew there was no way they were turning back now.
So they began the climb, taking their time, boulder by boulder. More times than not, it was Ethuran helping Itzala up onto the next step of the path despite her arguments that she could make it herself.
The protests and bickering soon faded as they climbed higher. With each new elevation, the air became colder, and small flakes of snow began to fall around them. It was the first of the day. Snow usually blanketed most of the valley at this point during the year, but with the unusually warmer temperatures, the snow had mostly been collecting on the mountainside in between the groves and large ravines.
Itzala and Ethuran quickly turned their climb into a kind of game. With every boulder or small cliff they conquered, they would share with each other a secret.
“You remember the day that Sauron bullied me into a duel and I lost?” Ethuran asked.
Itzala gigged at the memory, remembering her older brother pushing around Ethuran after he had tried to pull a prank on her while she was practicing archery. Sauron was a whole seven years older than her and Ethuran, so the duel was more of a one sided fight where Sauron threw the punches and Ethuran was the punching bag who wouldn’t go down.
“Of course, how could I forget my dear brother defending his sister’s pride?” She replied, taking Ethuran’s hand as he offered it to help her up onto a fallen rock.
He laughed, pulling her with him as he sat down on the rock, getting his breath. “Haha, well do you remember the next morning when Sauron woke up wearing women’s undergarments? That was…me,” he said sheepishly, scratching his head, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
Itzala burst out laughing, tears springing up in her eyes. She almost went rolling off the side, but Ethuran caught her as he too began laughing with her.
“How did you manage to do that?” Itzala got out between wiping her eyes.
He shrugged, his brown hair shifting in the cold wind. “Sorry, but that’s classified,” he teased, flicking her nose with his finger.
She rubbed her nose in response and shook her head. “You better not pull something like that on me.”
“No promises!” Ethuran sang, standing and walking up to the next obstacle: a steep incline with little hand holds. Once he was up a few feet, he planted himself and stretched out his hand for hers. “Your turn.”
Itzala thought for a moment while she grabbed her friend’s hand and was hauled up the slope, her feet slipping and sliding on the loose pebbles. She really didn’t have any secrets that she hadn’t told Ethuran. She made it her goal to never lie to him, let alone keep him in the dark about things in her life.
Then, it struck her.
“I visited my father last night,” she blurted.
Ethuran’s eyebrows vanished into his hair line. “Really?”
Itzala’s cheek’s reddened. “Well…obviously it didn’t go well…but that’s not the secret.”
Ethuran’s confused expression had Itzala hesitating. This secret was new, something she really didn’t know how to tell him. It was weird, strange, and unbelievable.
Ethuran pulled them onto a ledge with large rock layers that switched between dark grey and light grey colors. The layers themselves were warped from intense geologic stress. The valley itself used to be very active with earthquakes hundreds of years ago, but now the mountains were just slowly eroding away, never again to awaken.
“On the way to my father’s tent…I passed by the elder’s where I overheard Nigrin and Fallower talking,” she said.
Ethuran now looked bored. “OK…so you overhead your grandmother and my old geezer talking. What’s so secretive about that?”
“Eth!” Itzala scolded, “Why do you have to be so crude?”
Ethuran grinned, but didn’t reply, waiting for his friend to continue.
Itzala took in a deep breath, then spoke. “They were having a conversation about Nigrin’s mother, my great grandmother,” she explained, “I think her name was Folar? Faolan? Yeah, Faolan.”
“That means “little wolf” doesn’t it? Was your great grandmother tiny but ferocious?” Ethuran teased.
Itzala rolled her brown eyes. “You’re not funny.”
Ethuran chuckled.
“Anyways,” Itzala continued, “they were talking about her life…and it was awful.” Itzala involuntarily shivered, wrapping her arms
around herself. “Her whole family died one after the other, and all of her children died besides Nigrin, not to mention her bonded also died…”
She hesitated, the last part of her sentence stuck in her throat.
“Itzala?” Ethuran prompted, hesitantly reaching out to her.
Itzala snatched his hand in her own, not bothering to scold him for making her seem weak.
“She…she killed herself,” she stammered, her golden brown eyes wide as she stared down at the path they had climbed so far, the wind and snow whipping through her black hair, though she shivered against it for a whole other reason.
Ethuran’s jaw went slack, but he quickly pulled it together, squeezing her small, pale hand in his. “I’m sorry you had to hear that, Itzi. That’s really horrible.”
Itzala shrugged her shoulders, her free hand clenching around the material of her plain dress. “It’s alright, but what really got to me, and what was really bizarre, was that according to your grandfather, Faolan went crazy during the last year of her life. Apparently she kept raving on about some curse that had plagued her and her family, and that it was the reason for all of her painful tragedies,” she said, feeling a strange pounding in her head. She remembered her head feeling the same way when she had heard the story from the two elders the night before.
“That’s creepy,” Ethuran said, his eyes tight.
“No kidding,” Itzala agreed, shivering again.
Ethuran pulled on his friends hand and tucked her under his arm, grinning bravely. “I’d never let that happen to you, Itzala. I promise.”
Itzala smiled up at Ethuran, the pounding in her head and the wariness in her bones fading away. “Thank you, Eth,” she murmured.
Then the two friends pulled apart and continued the last leg of the journey to the top of the ledge. It was Itzala this time who was impatiently pulling Ethuran up the last boulder, her eyes lighting up with excitement as she saw the rays of the sun pouring over the flat rock behind her.
“Come on, Eth! We’re here!” She cried, getting him up onto his feet and then turning to sprint to the edge of the overlook.
“Be careful, Itzala!” He called, walking slowly after her.
She laughed, a small sound of awe escaping her as she gazed down into the valley, down into her home.
The valley stretched out for miles in every direction. Opposite of where Itzala stood on the ledge, a faint mountain range loomed shrouded in mist and fog. The tallest mountain on that side was called the Sister Mountain, the sibling of the Great Mountain that rose up behind her. Beneath the Sister Mountain was where the Maris Clan made their camp.
To her left the mountain range came toward the mountain range on her side and formed a narrow “v” shape that she could barely see from her vantage point. There the pinewood grew thicker, barely letting in light. That was where the clan of the pines lived.
In the middle of the valley was the Lonely Lake where, around its shores, the un-pledged had their marketplace, trading posts, and homes. They were like the clan’s subjects, and also their buffers. The clans hesitated to fight each other when they were in between them. The un-pledged were like another clan, one that could not be harmed.
And then, at the end of the valley to the west, the mountain ranges drew further apart and eventually vanished. Between them was the largest expanse of grass Itzala had ever seen. It was like another Lonely Lake, only ten times as large. It kept going on and on into the horizon, the grass swaying like waves under the bright sun. Out there, with no cover, was where the clan of the tundra lived.
“Wow…,” she murmured appreciatively, soaking in the warmth and the smell of pines and snow.
This was the home of the Clans of the Valley. It was her home. Her beautiful, never-ending home.
“Eth, we should-”
She turned around, or at least tried to. She suddenly found she was stuck in place, as if she had become the rock beneath her feet.
“Eh? What is this?” Itzala mused to herself, trying to lift her legs. She looked down at her feet which were wrapped in her leather boots with fur lining, a must have for any person wanting to walk around in the snow during winter.
She bent down, brushing away the crunchy, broken up rock, dead vines, and snow that covered the surface beneath her feet.
What she found was something she had never seen before.
“Eth!”
At Itzala’s call, Ethuran came running over.
“What is it?” He asked, crouching down beside her.
The answer came in what Itzala had uncovered. It was a large, circular carving in the stone with strange patterns and symbols scribbled across it. In the middle was a tadpole looking symbol that curled around itself. It appeared a bit darker than the other carvings, as if it had been painted or stained that way. This was where Itzala’s feet were planted.
“I can’t move from this spot,” she told her friend, showing how she couldn’t lift her feet off the ground, no matter how hard she tugged.
Ethuran narrowed his icy blue eyes. “Stop playing games with me, Itzi. We need to head back for the pledging ceremony.”
Itzala growled under her breath. “Does it look like I’m playing a game?” She protested.
Ethuran flinched, then rolled his eyes. He stood back up and then wrapped his arms around her waist, and then pulled.
And pulled.
And pulled.
“What in the realms?” Ethuran exclaimed, pulling harder than before, making Itzala yelp in pain.
“Ow, don’t rip my body from my legs!” She shouted, holding onto Ethuran’s shoulders.
Ethuran sighed in frustration. “How did you get stuck like this?”
Itzala shrugged, her own frustration showing in her golden irises. “I don’t know! I was just standing here and-ugh!”
Suddenly, she dropped onto her knees, the pounding returning to her head. This time, it felt like her skull was going to be split open.
“Itzala!” Ethuran cried in alarm, dropping down beside her. He tried to pry her away from the strange circle, but now it seemed a stronger gravity was holding her in place.
“Eth, what’s happening?” She screamed, now feeling afraid. It was then that her eyesight began to give out and a black ink filled in her vision.
The last thing she saw through her brown eyes was Ethuran, holding her and assuring her that he would get her out of here.
She wished he could.
Death started crawling up Itzala’s legs.
There was no other way to describe the bitter, deadly cold that was racing up her shaking legs, into her gut, and up to her skull.
It seemed like every bone in her body was turning to ice, making her feel fragile and vulnerable.
Total darkness fell over her gaze as the world she knew melted away into the black abyss, the only sound being Ethuran’s shout of alarm, but even that was fading, echoing in the never-ending blackness.
She couldn’t see anything, nor smell anything. She couldn’t even tell what was up and what was down, for it felt like she was floating in a thick black lake, yet she could breathe, and the air was dry.
Then, a faint glow began to shed some light into this nightmarish dream, but the light still couldn’t penetrate the darkness surrounding Itzala.
It got brighter, and the light was yellow. It was a bright yellow, a happy yellow. It reminded Itzala of the warm sunlight that would penetrate through the trees back home.
Home…where is home? She thought.
The yellow light then became a large pair of eyes, glowing so brightly that Itzala could now make out who the eyes belonged to.
They belonged to a woman.
The woman came walking toward her, her footsteps sending ripples through the black floor as if she was walking on water instead of solid ground. She was tall and slender with a wiry, muscled build. She wore a long pale dress that pooled around her bare feet. The dress opened up at her chest, exposing the inner sides of her breasts while a long silver chain hung from her neck which plunged into the folds of the dress. Hanging off of her shoulders was a grey wool shawl which dragged on the liquid floor behind her, and around her waist a leather belt with a simple copper dagger hung lopsidedly. It didn’t seem she carried weapons very often.
The woman’s unnaturally bright yellow eyes glowed and illuminated the space around and between them. It turned the woman’s long, wavy white hair into an almost honey blonde. Itzala couldn’t move in awe of this woman’s otherworldly appearance and her ensnaring gaze.
The woman paused once she was an arm’s length away from Itzala who had to tilt her chin up slightly to meet the person’s stare.
She didn’t seem particularly warm or gentle despite her graceful appearance. She felt cold, calculating, and the way her eyes narrowed at the girl before her seemed to give Itzala the sense that she was under scrutiny. A lamb being examined to see if she was worth the eventual slaughter.
Then, the woman outstretched her pale, ghostly hand, and that was when Itzala noticed that the woman’s skin was…shifting. Her form was blinking in and out, her skin becoming translucent and then solid over and over again.
She’s not of the living realm…
“Deep as the winter’s glade, clear as the spring’s spades…”
Itzala shivered as the woman began to speak. Her voice sounded hoarse and faint, as if she hadn’t used it in a very long time. And as she spoke, the temperature in the air around them seemed to rise.
“Out of darkness comes light, only to be purged by blood’s might.”
Suddenly, smoke began coming off of the floor, and the black lake underneath their feet that felt like cool stone started to boil.
“Beware the mask that hides death’s master, for on the day that life gives, life shall be taken away…”
Itzala gasped in alarm as the smoke became hotter, scorching her skin, and tiny sparks began flinging themselves from the water’s surface in a deadly, electric dance.
“Only to leave behind a green eyed soul in its wake…”
Then, the sparks erupted into brilliant green flame that ate up the water, turning it into a cloud of steam that hid the woman from view.
“No! Don’t go!” Itzala cried, trying her best to shield herself from the bizarre, roaring green fire surrounding her. “Help me!”
A strong wind then barreled through the darkness, sweeping away the smoke and revealing the woman once more. Now she was standing far away, her form even more unstable than it was before. She appeared like a piece of fog struggling on a hook for freedom. But what gave Itzala pause, and what made the very blood in her veins freeze, was the woman’s eyes.
Her eyes were a smoldering evergreen color that reflected the very flames that corralled Itzala in the abyss. It felt like it was the woman who controlled the flames, even though her expression was filled with a cold finality and-if Itzala looked very deep-pity.
“Help yourself,” the woman hissed, turning and vanishing into the blackness.
Then, the green flames raced in, eagerly engulfing Itzala. She felt the flames cook her skin from the inside out, turning her nails to liquid and her blood to ash. She screamed as she was burned alive in the never-ending darkness.
Then she awoke, her eyes snapping open as she found herself on the overlook again.
“Itzala!” Ethuran cried, leaning down to hug her, then yelping as a loud sizzling sound echoed in Itzala’s ears.
She had burned him.
“Itzi, you’re burning up!”
Itzala breathed haggardly, quickly sitting up and then regretting it as she felt the fire come back to devour her.
She screamed and stood on unstable feet, brushing her hands frantically over her skin as if to put the fire out, even though no green flames were visible on her.
Ethuran reached out for her, but Itzala slapped his hand away, her brown eyes wild. “No! Stay away, I don’t want you to-”
She screamed again as a new pain crashed its way into her skull. Her eyes felt like they were melting in their sockets. Steam came pouring out of her eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, and she stumbled backward a few steps, coming dangerously close to the ledge.
“Itzala! Stop, you’re going to-”
Itzala was not coherent or even able to comprehend a much worse fate than the one she was in as she felt her right foot go off the edge of the overlook.
Ethuran-ignoring Itzala’s previous plea to not touch her-reached out and grasped her by the arm. Immediately he was burned by hot steam from her skin, but he held on regardless, gritting his teeth through the pain.
At this point Itzala was screaming like a wild animal, even sobbing between panicked gasps as she tried to put out the imaginary fire and stop her eyes from melting.
Then, she yanked away from Ethuran’s grasp, his hands now bright red and covered with blisters.
He could not stop her as she went plummeting off the Cliffside, falling tens of feet below as Ethuran watched in horror.
“Itzala!”
“Eth! Eth, come out!”
Dappled sunlight fell on a large mossy boulder nestled in the roots of an evergreen pine. Standing atop of it was Itzala, her thick raven colored hair pinned up into a messy bun at the nape of her neck. She was wearing a plain worn dress with long sleeves and a skirt that fell past her knees. Even at barely seven years, she was already showing signs of feminine beauty in her hips and legs, but unlike other girls her age, she detested such promises of womanhood.
“Eth!” She called again, cupping her pale hands around her mouth, her call echoing throughout the pinewood.
Suddenly, a wide, sun-kissed hand wrapped around her ankle and pulled her leg out from under her.
She yelped in alarm, watching as the pine branches went skyward as she fell, not onto rocky ground, but into a pair of sturdy arms.
She didn’t have to look up into his laughing blue eyes to know that the boy who held her was her best friend: Ethuran Oakbane.
“Eth!” Itzala squealed, flicking him hard on his broad nose, “where did you go? I was shouting for you for hours!”
Eth laughed, a gentle breeze playing with his golden brown hair. “You were only shouting for half an hour,” he teased, carefully setting her down on the forest floor, “and what’s the fun in playing hide and seek if you get so frustrated every time you can’t find me after five minutes?”
Itzala huffed and crossed her arms, her face turning sour. “You don’t play fair.”
Eth laughed again, hugging his midsection as the peals of laughter rolled through him. He wore a simple sandy colored tunic with a brown leather belt around his waist. Attached in a holster was a small hunting knife bestowed on him by his father, Hadren Oakbane, for his pledging ceremony that was to be today.
The pledging ceremony, Itzala thought to herself, finally it is here!
While Ethuran was laughing, Itzala managed to snag his hunting knife from his belt, and with a squeal of excitement, turned and ran from her friend who was already chasing after her, his laughter now turned to protests.
“Come on, Itzala! That’s not fair!”
Itzala simply laughed as she leapt and dodged under branches and boulders alike, flying through the trees as if she had been born with a mountain cat’s legs instead of human ones.
A cry of pain had Itzala halting. She spun around, and then cupped her hands over her mouth to prevent herself from bursting out in frantic laughter.
Ethuran had tripped over a log. His legs were raised up high on the fallen pine while his chin and thus his head were propped up on a moss covered hill. His tunic was soaked around his belly from the pool of water that had formed in the depression, and best of all, his face was bright red.
“Eth! What did you do you big moose?” Itzala teased, skipping back to where he struggled to get himself up. She lent him a hand, snaking her hand under his armpit and hauling him up so he could sit on the log.
Ethuran blushed maddeningly hard, scratching his chin with his right hand, his other going to his lower legs to check for injuries. “I’m not a moose,” he mumbled just loud enough for Itzala to pick up.
Itzala smiled wickedly. “You are a moose! You have long, clumsy, awkward legs and arms. And then your feet and hands are big, just like a moose’s hooves! And then those big, dopey eyes-”
“Quit it, Itzi!” Ethuran cried, using his nickname for Itzala, his face so full of embarrassment that it became even harder for her to keep in her wild laughter. She gave Ethuran back his knife, her lips pressed tightly together.
It was very true that Ethuran was tall and clumsy. He hadn’t grown into his new height yet, so his limbs appeared thin while his hands and feet were large and more befitting of a boy a few years his senior. He was only seven like Itzala, but like her, he turned out to be an early bloomer.
Itzala decided then to end the teasing, despite how fun it was for her. She leaned in close, checking for herself if there were any injuries, but after double checking that he was unscathed, she quickly embraced him, hugging him tightly around his shoulders.
“You are my moose,” she proclaimed, pulling back and giving him a knowing smile.
Eth’s expression was calmed by the time he pulled away from her embrace, but a slight trace of the heated blood underneath his tanned skin still remained in his cheeks.
“Come with me,” Itzala suddenly said, taking his hand and helping him up, “let’s go to the overlook today. You said we could when we became pledged.”
A wary look clouded Ethuran’s expression. “Technically were not pledged yet, so we shouldn’t-”
“Why not?” Itzala demanded, dropping his hand and crossing her arms.
Ethuran narrowed his icy gaze. “It’s dangerous up there. Only clan warriors could make that climb.”
Itzala un-crossed her arms and wagged her finger at his face. “No, that’s not what we found out, remember? There was a hidden trail behind the rocks that led safely up to the top.”
Ethuran sighed, his shoulders sagging. “Itzala…”
“I’ll go if you won’t.”
“No you will not.”
“Yes, I will.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Itzala’s liquid golden gaze scrunched into annoyance as she heaved a breath, looking like she wanted to explode on her friend.
“You can’t stop me. I am the chieftain’s daughter after all,” she said finally, resting her hand on her hip.
Ethuran sighed, scratching his head again. “Which is even more reason why we shouldn’t go…”
“Why?” Itzala snapped, “It’s not like my father cares about me anyways.”
Ethuran’s icy gaze softened. “You know that’s not true, Itzi.”
She sniffed, crossing her arms, her hands gripping her upper arms tightly. She wanted nothing to do with the Blackmore chieftain. He was indifferent to her existence. She heard that when she and her sister Brezia were born he didn’t even come to see them.
She wished she could be like her older siblings. Her father doted on them like prized horses.
“You’ve seen how he treats me and Brezia, Eth,” she said with a cold bitterness to her tone, “we don’t matter to him.”
Ethuran laid a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder. Itzala knew he would do anything to remove the angry expression on her face, which is why he, above everyone else, mattered so much to her. She would never treat him like her father treated her. She knew loyalty and friendship when she saw it.
“Can we just go?” Itzala protested, shrugging off her friend’s hand. She turned, heading through the thick coverage of the forest and out toward the northern trail that led up to the overlook.
Ethuran let his hand fall next to his side, and he watched Itzala walk away from him for a few moments before following, as if he was contemplating how much risk they were taking to make her happy again.
. . .
Not long after Itzala decided for the both of them to go to the overlook, they were both standing at the start of the snaking path that led up to the cliff on the mountainside. The path was steep with rocks protruding from the side of the wall and underneath the path itself. Some parts of the climb would have to be done by leaping from one boulder to another, or by climbing on hands and feet. Ethuran’s eyes narrowed at the prospect, but looking at Itzala’s determined and stubborn expression, he knew there was no way they were turning back now.
So they began the climb, taking their time, boulder by boulder. More times than not, it was Ethuran helping Itzala up onto the next step of the path despite her arguments that she could make it herself.
The protests and bickering soon faded as they climbed higher. With each new elevation, the air became colder, and small flakes of snow began to fall around them. It was the first of the day. Snow usually blanketed most of the valley at this point during the year, but with the unusually warmer temperatures, the snow had mostly been collecting on the mountainside in between the groves and large ravines.
Itzala and Ethuran quickly turned their climb into a kind of game. With every boulder or small cliff they conquered, they would share with each other a secret.
“You remember the day that Sauron bullied me into a duel and I lost?” Ethuran asked.
Itzala gigged at the memory, remembering her older brother pushing around Ethuran after he had tried to pull a prank on her while she was practicing archery. Sauron was a whole seven years older than her and Ethuran, so the duel was more of a one sided fight where Sauron threw the punches and Ethuran was the punching bag who wouldn’t go down.
“Of course, how could I forget my dear brother defending his sister’s pride?” She replied, taking Ethuran’s hand as he offered it to help her up onto a fallen rock.
He laughed, pulling her with him as he sat down on the rock, getting his breath. “Haha, well do you remember the next morning when Sauron woke up wearing women’s undergarments? That was…me,” he said sheepishly, scratching his head, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
Itzala burst out laughing, tears springing up in her eyes. She almost went rolling off the side, but Ethuran caught her as he too began laughing with her.
“How did you manage to do that?” Itzala got out between wiping her eyes.
He shrugged, his brown hair shifting in the cold wind. “Sorry, but that’s classified,” he teased, flicking her nose with his finger.
She rubbed her nose in response and shook her head. “You better not pull something like that on me.”
“No promises!” Ethuran sang, standing and walking up to the next obstacle: a steep incline with little hand holds. Once he was up a few feet, he planted himself and stretched out his hand for hers. “Your turn.”
Itzala thought for a moment while she grabbed her friend’s hand and was hauled up the slope, her feet slipping and sliding on the loose pebbles. She really didn’t have any secrets that she hadn’t told Ethuran. She made it her goal to never lie to him, let alone keep him in the dark about things in her life.
Then, it struck her.
“I visited my father last night,” she blurted.
Ethuran’s eyebrows vanished into his hair line. “Really?”
Itzala’s cheek’s reddened. “Well…obviously it didn’t go well…but that’s not the secret.”
Ethuran’s confused expression had Itzala hesitating. This secret was new, something she really didn’t know how to tell him. It was weird, strange, and unbelievable.
Ethuran pulled them onto a ledge with large rock layers that switched between dark grey and light grey colors. The layers themselves were warped from intense geologic stress. The valley itself used to be very active with earthquakes hundreds of years ago, but now the mountains were just slowly eroding away, never again to awaken.
“On the way to my father’s tent…I passed by the elder’s where I overheard Nigrin and Fallower talking,” she said.
Ethuran now looked bored. “OK…so you overhead your grandmother and my old geezer talking. What’s so secretive about that?”
“Eth!” Itzala scolded, “Why do you have to be so crude?”
Ethuran grinned, but didn’t reply, waiting for his friend to continue.
Itzala took in a deep breath, then spoke. “They were having a conversation about Nigrin’s mother, my great grandmother,” she explained, “I think her name was Folar? Faolan? Yeah, Faolan.”
“That means “little wolf” doesn’t it? Was your great grandmother tiny but ferocious?” Ethuran teased.
Itzala rolled her brown eyes. “You’re not funny.”
Ethuran chuckled.
“Anyways,” Itzala continued, “they were talking about her life…and it was awful.” Itzala involuntarily shivered, wrapping her arms
around herself. “Her whole family died one after the other, and all of her children died besides Nigrin, not to mention her bonded also died…”
She hesitated, the last part of her sentence stuck in her throat.
“Itzala?” Ethuran prompted, hesitantly reaching out to her.
Itzala snatched his hand in her own, not bothering to scold him for making her seem weak.
“She…she killed herself,” she stammered, her golden brown eyes wide as she stared down at the path they had climbed so far, the wind and snow whipping through her black hair, though she shivered against it for a whole other reason.
Ethuran’s jaw went slack, but he quickly pulled it together, squeezing her small, pale hand in his. “I’m sorry you had to hear that, Itzi. That’s really horrible.”
Itzala shrugged her shoulders, her free hand clenching around the material of her plain dress. “It’s alright, but what really got to me, and what was really bizarre, was that according to your grandfather, Faolan went crazy during the last year of her life. Apparently she kept raving on about some curse that had plagued her and her family, and that it was the reason for all of her painful tragedies,” she said, feeling a strange pounding in her head. She remembered her head feeling the same way when she had heard the story from the two elders the night before.
“That’s creepy,” Ethuran said, his eyes tight.
“No kidding,” Itzala agreed, shivering again.
Ethuran pulled on his friends hand and tucked her under his arm, grinning bravely. “I’d never let that happen to you, Itzala. I promise.”
Itzala smiled up at Ethuran, the pounding in her head and the wariness in her bones fading away. “Thank you, Eth,” she murmured.
Then the two friends pulled apart and continued the last leg of the journey to the top of the ledge. It was Itzala this time who was impatiently pulling Ethuran up the last boulder, her eyes lighting up with excitement as she saw the rays of the sun pouring over the flat rock behind her.
“Come on, Eth! We’re here!” She cried, getting him up onto his feet and then turning to sprint to the edge of the overlook.
“Be careful, Itzala!” He called, walking slowly after her.
She laughed, a small sound of awe escaping her as she gazed down into the valley, down into her home.
The valley stretched out for miles in every direction. Opposite of where Itzala stood on the ledge, a faint mountain range loomed shrouded in mist and fog. The tallest mountain on that side was called the Sister Mountain, the sibling of the Great Mountain that rose up behind her. Beneath the Sister Mountain was where the Maris Clan made their camp.
To her left the mountain range came toward the mountain range on her side and formed a narrow “v” shape that she could barely see from her vantage point. There the pinewood grew thicker, barely letting in light. That was where the clan of the pines lived.
In the middle of the valley was the Lonely Lake where, around its shores, the un-pledged had their marketplace, trading posts, and homes. They were like the clan’s subjects, and also their buffers. The clans hesitated to fight each other when they were in between them. The un-pledged were like another clan, one that could not be harmed.
And then, at the end of the valley to the west, the mountain ranges drew further apart and eventually vanished. Between them was the largest expanse of grass Itzala had ever seen. It was like another Lonely Lake, only ten times as large. It kept going on and on into the horizon, the grass swaying like waves under the bright sun. Out there, with no cover, was where the clan of the tundra lived.
“Wow…,” she murmured appreciatively, soaking in the warmth and the smell of pines and snow.
This was the home of the Clans of the Valley. It was her home. Her beautiful, never-ending home.
“Eth, we should-”
She turned around, or at least tried to. She suddenly found she was stuck in place, as if she had become the rock beneath her feet.
“Eh? What is this?” Itzala mused to herself, trying to lift her legs. She looked down at her feet which were wrapped in her leather boots with fur lining, a must have for any person wanting to walk around in the snow during winter.
She bent down, brushing away the crunchy, broken up rock, dead vines, and snow that covered the surface beneath her feet.
What she found was something she had never seen before.
“Eth!”
At Itzala’s call, Ethuran came running over.
“What is it?” He asked, crouching down beside her.
The answer came in what Itzala had uncovered. It was a large, circular carving in the stone with strange patterns and symbols scribbled across it. In the middle was a tadpole looking symbol that curled around itself. It appeared a bit darker than the other carvings, as if it had been painted or stained that way. This was where Itzala’s feet were planted.
“I can’t move from this spot,” she told her friend, showing how she couldn’t lift her feet off the ground, no matter how hard she tugged.
Ethuran narrowed his icy blue eyes. “Stop playing games with me, Itzi. We need to head back for the pledging ceremony.”
Itzala growled under her breath. “Does it look like I’m playing a game?” She protested.
Ethuran flinched, then rolled his eyes. He stood back up and then wrapped his arms around her waist, and then pulled.
And pulled.
And pulled.
“What in the realms?” Ethuran exclaimed, pulling harder than before, making Itzala yelp in pain.
“Ow, don’t rip my body from my legs!” She shouted, holding onto Ethuran’s shoulders.
Ethuran sighed in frustration. “How did you get stuck like this?”
Itzala shrugged, her own frustration showing in her golden irises. “I don’t know! I was just standing here and-ugh!”
Suddenly, she dropped onto her knees, the pounding returning to her head. This time, it felt like her skull was going to be split open.
“Itzala!” Ethuran cried in alarm, dropping down beside her. He tried to pry her away from the strange circle, but now it seemed a stronger gravity was holding her in place.
“Eth, what’s happening?” She screamed, now feeling afraid. It was then that her eyesight began to give out and a black ink filled in her vision.
The last thing she saw through her brown eyes was Ethuran, holding her and assuring her that he would get her out of here.
She wished he could.
. . .
Death started crawling up Itzala’s legs.
There was no other way to describe the bitter, deadly cold that was racing up her shaking legs, into her gut, and up to her skull.
It seemed like every bone in her body was turning to ice, making her feel fragile and vulnerable.
Total darkness fell over her gaze as the world she knew melted away into the black abyss, the only sound being Ethuran’s shout of alarm, but even that was fading, echoing in the never-ending blackness.
She couldn’t see anything, nor smell anything. She couldn’t even tell what was up and what was down, for it felt like she was floating in a thick black lake, yet she could breathe, and the air was dry.
Then, a faint glow began to shed some light into this nightmarish dream, but the light still couldn’t penetrate the darkness surrounding Itzala.
It got brighter, and the light was yellow. It was a bright yellow, a happy yellow. It reminded Itzala of the warm sunlight that would penetrate through the trees back home.
Home…where is home? She thought.
The yellow light then became a large pair of eyes, glowing so brightly that Itzala could now make out who the eyes belonged to.
They belonged to a woman.
The woman came walking toward her, her footsteps sending ripples through the black floor as if she was walking on water instead of solid ground. She was tall and slender with a wiry, muscled build. She wore a long pale dress that pooled around her bare feet. The dress opened up at her chest, exposing the inner sides of her breasts while a long silver chain hung from her neck which plunged into the folds of the dress. Hanging off of her shoulders was a grey wool shawl which dragged on the liquid floor behind her, and around her waist a leather belt with a simple copper dagger hung lopsidedly. It didn’t seem she carried weapons very often.
The woman’s unnaturally bright yellow eyes glowed and illuminated the space around and between them. It turned the woman’s long, wavy white hair into an almost honey blonde. Itzala couldn’t move in awe of this woman’s otherworldly appearance and her ensnaring gaze.
The woman paused once she was an arm’s length away from Itzala who had to tilt her chin up slightly to meet the person’s stare.
She didn’t seem particularly warm or gentle despite her graceful appearance. She felt cold, calculating, and the way her eyes narrowed at the girl before her seemed to give Itzala the sense that she was under scrutiny. A lamb being examined to see if she was worth the eventual slaughter.
Then, the woman outstretched her pale, ghostly hand, and that was when Itzala noticed that the woman’s skin was…shifting. Her form was blinking in and out, her skin becoming translucent and then solid over and over again.
She’s not of the living realm…
“Deep as the winter’s glade, clear as the spring’s spades…”
Itzala shivered as the woman began to speak. Her voice sounded hoarse and faint, as if she hadn’t used it in a very long time. And as she spoke, the temperature in the air around them seemed to rise.
“Out of darkness comes light, only to be purged by blood’s might.”
Suddenly, smoke began coming off of the floor, and the black lake underneath their feet that felt like cool stone started to boil.
“Beware the mask that hides death’s master, for on the day that life gives, life shall be taken away…”
Itzala gasped in alarm as the smoke became hotter, scorching her skin, and tiny sparks began flinging themselves from the water’s surface in a deadly, electric dance.
“Only to leave behind a green eyed soul in its wake…”
Then, the sparks erupted into brilliant green flame that ate up the water, turning it into a cloud of steam that hid the woman from view.
“No! Don’t go!” Itzala cried, trying her best to shield herself from the bizarre, roaring green fire surrounding her. “Help me!”
A strong wind then barreled through the darkness, sweeping away the smoke and revealing the woman once more. Now she was standing far away, her form even more unstable than it was before. She appeared like a piece of fog struggling on a hook for freedom. But what gave Itzala pause, and what made the very blood in her veins freeze, was the woman’s eyes.
Her eyes were a smoldering evergreen color that reflected the very flames that corralled Itzala in the abyss. It felt like it was the woman who controlled the flames, even though her expression was filled with a cold finality and-if Itzala looked very deep-pity.
“Help yourself,” the woman hissed, turning and vanishing into the blackness.
Then, the green flames raced in, eagerly engulfing Itzala. She felt the flames cook her skin from the inside out, turning her nails to liquid and her blood to ash. She screamed as she was burned alive in the never-ending darkness.
Then she awoke, her eyes snapping open as she found herself on the overlook again.
“Itzala!” Ethuran cried, leaning down to hug her, then yelping as a loud sizzling sound echoed in Itzala’s ears.
She had burned him.
“Itzi, you’re burning up!”
Itzala breathed haggardly, quickly sitting up and then regretting it as she felt the fire come back to devour her.
She screamed and stood on unstable feet, brushing her hands frantically over her skin as if to put the fire out, even though no green flames were visible on her.
Ethuran reached out for her, but Itzala slapped his hand away, her brown eyes wild. “No! Stay away, I don’t want you to-”
She screamed again as a new pain crashed its way into her skull. Her eyes felt like they were melting in their sockets. Steam came pouring out of her eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, and she stumbled backward a few steps, coming dangerously close to the ledge.
“Itzala! Stop, you’re going to-”
Itzala was not coherent or even able to comprehend a much worse fate than the one she was in as she felt her right foot go off the edge of the overlook.
Ethuran-ignoring Itzala’s previous plea to not touch her-reached out and grasped her by the arm. Immediately he was burned by hot steam from her skin, but he held on regardless, gritting his teeth through the pain.
At this point Itzala was screaming like a wild animal, even sobbing between panicked gasps as she tried to put out the imaginary fire and stop her eyes from melting.
Then, she yanked away from Ethuran’s grasp, his hands now bright red and covered with blisters.
He could not stop her as she went plummeting off the Cliffside, falling tens of feet below as Ethuran watched in horror.
“Itzala!”
. . .
