Chapter One: Cesium

Eliac awoke quickly, with a jostled start, as a carriage stopped near her home. A bleary eye opened, revealing a sight Eliac had seen a thousand times. Her charmingly quaint home, adorned with nothing but the faint scent of remedies for the public. With books, pots, plants, and tea bags scattered among the furniture. A knock, simple and powerful, echoed up the stairwell. Eliac remembered the carriage that had awoken her and decided to get dressed and answer the door.

Throwing on a simple black hunting frock and tying a white sash around her slender waist, she ran down the stairs. Eliac was the oddest child in all of Cesium, and she was blasted proud of that fact. She had long hair that was bleached like paper after too much light, long curls of it that went untamable to her shoulders. Her skin was pale, unnaturally so, yet she had a faint blush that made her look like a china doll.

Her eyes were a strangely placid violet, a violet empty of emotion. Empty of all accepting the mists that floated about within them, showing wisdom and power in a disturbing considering her age-- thirteen. She ran down the stairs, and her hand elegantly flew to the hand of the door. Not wanting to open it to strangers, she put her pointed ear to the door.

"Don't speak, Niendel. You know the rumors; they say this one has the gift. You do not want to annoy or provoke this one.. Even if she IS a girl." A deep voice said, an impressive looming voice Eliac had heard many times before.

"But father, I..." A thin, whining voice replied.

Eliac grimaced in disgust, (Peter and Niendel! What a morning, She thought) but hid the expression on her face and threw open the door in an expression of welcome. She nodded her head in respect, and remained silent. She had the feeling Peter would express himself soon enough. Peter was the mayor of Cesium, but he concentrated more on his personal welfare then that of his charges' well being.

Time and time again, Eliac's family, the Parisians, had demanded that they (Peter and Niendel's family, the Marquis) would pay more attention... their warnings were often ignored. This made the Mayor's family very unpopular with the people of Cesium-- there were rumors of a stirring rebellion. Eliac's mother was the apothecary of Cesium, while her father was the proud and erect Lore Master. They were both gone, both had disappeared as they so often did. Eliac was left as the assistant Apothecary until their return.

"By the sea and stars, Eliac, I wasn't expecting..." He glanced at her with the familiar flash of fear in his eyes, Peter was a bloody coward at times. "You. Are your parents home, little one?"

Eliac's purple eyes glowered at him, as though she had little time for him. She glared at him with the eyes of an adult, and Niendel shivered down his spine. The glare turned to Niendel, and Niendel took a step backward. He allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief when the eyes focused on his father, Peter, once more. The three of them stood near the gardens in front of Eliac's small home, on the fine staircase with the iron rail. A path spread from the house to the road, where a fine carriage stood waiting for its occupants.

The carriage Niendel had been inside a hundred times with his father, never stopping to consider the wealth it took to build it. "Well?" Peter insisted, Niendel saw his eye flinch. He suspected Eliac must have too, for an odd half smile crept up her face.

"My parents are not here, Peter. Hello, Niendel. I would guide you to them, but I fear that they are far beyond our reach... even with your wealth, Peter, there's little can be done unless you'd prefer to leave your business to me. I assure you I am just as skilled as my Mother is in such remedies." Eliac's voice was uncomfortably musical, dark music that rang out on all the wrong syllables but still sounded beautiful. Like the rest of her: a different type of beautiful, a strange exotic beauty no one knew precisely how to handle.

"Humph. It’s Peter. You'll have to do. I ordered this yesterday, though..." He cast a cautious glance about the street before gazing towards the stairs, avoiding Eliac's eyes,” You know the one." His voice was strangely hushed, a husky whisper. Eliac's half smile shrunk and disappeared.

Her face expressionless, she replied, "Ah. That order. Hemlock root battered Daphne. Poison." She did not hush her voice at all; in fact she nearly shouted the words.

In the vacant street, it hardly mattered, but Peter flushed with anger. His hand gripped her wrist, hissing, "Watch it!" Eliac pulled her wrist back, and her hand went into the sash attached at her side.

"I prepared it an hour ago." The bottle was green, and in pretty French script someone had written, 'Poison.' Hastily, Peter extended his hand, but Eliac clasped hers firmly around the bottle. "However, if I hear of any suspicious deaths of your political candidates, you may find some of my truth serum slips into your mead the next time Officer Adam knocks 'pon your door. Are we clear?" Her hand opened gently, the bottle sat ready for Peter to take it. Yet Peter made no attempt to take the bottle from her, his eyes flashed.

"Are you..."He took a step towards her, "Even remotely suggesting that’s why I had this made?" Niendel, who had been mostly silent, realized what Eliac was saying. Raising his hand, Niendel raised his hand and brought it across Eliac's face. Eliac blinked, seeming unflustered and placid as ever. A patch of red settled across her face, and she calmly snatched back the bottle from Peter, turned around, and walked insider her house.

Slamming the door behind her, the sound of the key turning in the lock meant Eliac had no intentions of allowing redemption. Peter and Niendel's faces were bewildered, standing outside in all their finery they hadn't been able to 'deal' with a young girl. Niendel had long blonde hair, which he kept in a tight ponytail that made his icy blue eyes bulge from his head. His skin was tan, his face perfect. Perfect, like every aspect of his life, in contrast to his frozen heart.

Niendel was slightly chubby, too. Niendel and his father got into their carriage, neither of them realizing they'd been robbed. The boy who had robbed Niendel was spectacularly thin. He was clad in a tattered brown trench coat, with horribly clashing blue pants with patches to match clash. He was skeletal, with brown skin that was dark as a vat of chocolate. His eyes were blue, and clashed against his skin like his pants to his coat.
A Little author humor. That way, if someone is ever stupid enough to publish this, you can look at this part and go ''Hey! That wasn't in the rough draft!" So, kudos.
Jack walked down another nameless side alley, and walked up to random houses and relived them of enough money to buy himself a decent lunch. A pastry, filled with cream and topped with frosting. He sat on the street curb, in front of the bookshop Mr. Capybaras owned. Mr. Capybaras was the odd thing, his daughter even stranger. In fact, his daughter was strangely colored and...

"Cabbage Girl!" Elba sighed. She wished that someone would let her forget her green skin, it really wasn't her fault at all and she was sick and tired of people blaming her for it. She glanced around the bookshop she'd been working in for so long. There were only six shelves, because few people knew how to read in this day and age. There was basically the bible, and that configured printing press that some guy in Germany had invented.

Another person brought up the call for assistance, but Elba wondered why they couldn't navigate six shelves. Helping the customers, she watched as Jack bit into his pastry and stuffed the remainder of it into his mouth. She glanced at the large window in which several dusty volumes that wouldn't attract even a professor sat. She saw her reflection, the plain reflection she'd always borne. Elba had hair that was raven black, like Jack's, her eyes a gently shining hazel. She was unusually tall, as well as attractively thin.

She could, in fact, be quite beautiful if it weren't for her green skin. It wasn't even an ugly green, yet people insisted on making fun and shunning that which was different from them... That which they feared. Elba was thirteen years old, along with three common children, the nameless street child Jack who no one liked but Elba snuck food to every once and awhile, and Niendel. Stupid, pathetic Niendel who no one liked-- Elba's family always sided with the Parisians' family.

Tearing away from herself, she glanced where Jack had been, but Jack wasn't there anymore. In his place, standing proud and tall; was William. William was sixteen, a burly young youth with a sharp mind and a gentle heart. Elba moved slowly towards the door, her black frock billowing behind her. Closing the door behind her, she looked at William a moment.

Then she said, "Hello, William."

"Hello, Elba." He said kindly, not frowning down on the green girl the way other people did. William was a handsome, dark skinned boy, son of Morn the baker. He was tall, muscular, and had a smile that could knock out any girl. Today he sported a fine white shirt with sleeves far too big for him with brown suspenders. He had slicked his hair back and washed his face, which was unusual for him. He held a banquet of fresh spring roses.

"What brings you to this part of Cesium?" Elba asked with caution, she already knew.

"Courtin'." The reply was simple, and Elba knew he didn't mean to stir up excitement in her the way he had. She was just old enough...

"Do I know her, William?" Elba's heart thundered like wildfire in her chest.

"Yes, ma'am," He said, tipping that annoying straw hat he'd always worn.

"Really? Who is she?" Oh, the excitement was too much for poor Elba. She swayed to prevent herself from fainting.

"Mademoiselle Circe," He said, his eyes a misty haze as though he weren't really there.

"Circe!" Gasped Elba, anger forming vividly where placid hope had been, "That pathetic young seductress who has vanity where brains should be? The servant of immortality, supposedly, where her heart should be she has a black hole! You can do better, William! Far better then Circe!" There was particular emphasis on the word 'Circe,' as though she pat it in great anger (though there was no sign of anger on her face.) This was because Elba, and the rest of the girls of Cesium, hated 'Pretty Circe'.

Circe, with her golden hair. Circe with her perfect manners and replies. Circe, with a smile of sparkling white teeth that revealed nothing. Circe, with her exotica love potions and perfumes. Circe, with her perfect face. Circe, the Villain child.

But it seemed William was determined to fail his heart. Elba knew only what meager tidbits she'd heard about Circe. That she was the big keeper's daughter. That every man of courting age paid her father a call, and that her father always refused because he was allegedly far too stern and power hungry. None of these facts sounded particularly attractive to William, so she decided to assume what she thought was the only logical explanation: He'd been be spelled, wrapped in a blanket of thrall by the seductive power of Circe Amur.

"Don't let her control you, William!" She screeched loudly, as though speaking to a man old enough to ask her to repeat herself. William's expression of puzzlement, rather then proving to Elba that his mind was bright and alert, only increased her fears. Deciding (as most thirteen year olds of the time would've) to fight magic with magic, Elba ran to the only person she knew who could do magic-- her neighbor, Odd Eliac.

However, she quickly lost her way. The town of Cesium may've been small, but to a thirteen-year-old it felt a hundred times larger. Jack looked up just in time to see her sprinting by him. Trusting his instincts what he had always done, and so he did what was normal for him. Without realizing it or thinking about it, he grabbed the thirteen-year-old's slender wrist.

"Let go of me, boy!" The green girl commanded him with a savage ferocity that surprised Jack.

He let go, bowing his head with an air of forced solemnity and muttering, "Ma'am."

Before taking a backward step and saying, "Why are you runnin' about this early in the mornin'?" Elba blinked like a confused owl before regaining her sophisticated demeanor.

"'Tis William, Morn's son," she responded haughtily, "he has been be spelled by Circe-- although I doubt you've heard of Circe," She said, eyeing Jack's ragged clothing. Jack glowered at the green-skinned girl, but said nothing.

When it became apparent he had finished speaking Jack said, "So where are you going?"

"To see Eliac, the apothecary’s daughter." Even Jack, lacking in all other social graces, knew who odd Eliac was.

"Ugh," He said, saying nothing more. He didn't wish to appear rude.

" 'Ugh'?" Said Elba, clicking her tongue in disapproval, "How unsophisticated! Hasn't your mother warned you against such disrespectful language?" Jack bowed his head in the silent shame his positition warranted.

"I aren’t got no mother, no father neither." Jack said, trying to be tough, "T' fever took 'em when I was just a lad." Elba's cabbage colored hand flew to her mouth.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," She said briskly, not seeming sorry at all.

Jack sighed, depressed, and mumbled, "Well, off you go then." So Elba ran, leaving behind a very confused Jack.

"Eliac!" As a voice floated into Eliac's pointed ear, she vaguely recalled it was Elba's. 'The book keeper's daughter?' She thought to herself, 'What is the bookkeeper's daughter doing HERE?' Realizing something must be wrong, she raced down the stairs and tore open the door.

"Elba." Elba was babbling at the speed of light and Eliac couldn't catch a word.

"Elba." A little louder this time, but still Elba paid no mind.

"ELBA!” This time Eliac lost patience and shouted, and finally Elba fell silent. "What's happened, Elba?"

"Its William!" She sobbed, appearing in total disarray, "Circe has be spelled him." A sharp intake of breath put Elba's mind at ease-- Eliac didn't only disapprove of Circe, she hated her. Eliac flew inside, wrapped in the safety of a navy cloak, and buckled her father's ancient navy commission sword onto her sash.

"Eliac?" Elba asked, "Eliac, what are you going to--"

"Keep up with me if you can!" She bellowed, racing towards the alley from which Elba had come. Elba ran after her, Niendel's carriage floating by in their wake.

Niendel and his father came from the gold encrusted carriage that had borne tem across town all day, both of them sniffling arrogantly at the small puddle that a servant hastily covered with his coat, which both of them walked over without a word. Both of them were sadly accustomed to the life of the Aristocracy, including thinking themselves above saying 'thank you.' They were near the Marquis Mansion, the mansion that was strangle similar to a small castle. Nothing in that 'house' was below ten pounds' worth.

This was because Peter (Niendel's father) enjoyed profusely exploiting Cesium’s well-to-do community. In fact, the servants whispered of a revolt, but chances were slim of it being successful. Today, however, things were not so quiet. A mail carrier, sprinting on long legs, charged towards Peter and Niendel. He reached them in less then a moment, but already peter was tapping his shiny loafers on the elegantly carved front path.

"Well?" Peter said, his every syllable shaking with importance. He did not give the messenger a chance to catch his breath.

"Artic," Panted the messenger, "Artix has decreed that the trainers and masters of craft shall come and have to stake to choose their apprentices. He says that they shall come to Cesium in--" he stopped for a brief and ragged breath--"Three days time."

"Very well then," Said Peter, who seemed bored with the messenger, "You are dismissed." The Messenger turned around and walked down the path, thinking about how it would be nice to take a rest before heading back to work, when two young women raced by him.
He had no way of knowing it was Eliac and Elba. Elba had a good deal of trouble keeping up with odd Eliac's heavy stride. In a few minutes, the rounded a corner and came to a homely cabin. A perfect singing voice floated dimly from the cabin with the soft accompmint of a harp.

Eliac marched straight up to the door and pounded it upon it as hard as she could. A pale golden ankh glimmered from around her neck, which for some odd reason made Elba realize why Eliac was so repulsed-- Eliac's magic was never used for her own personal gain. The butcher of pigs, Circe's father, answered the door.

"Yes?" He said in the chillingly cold voice, "What can I do for you?" He'd gone blind many years ago, he had a receding hairline and wore an apron stained with blood. But yet, Eliac was perfectly civil when she responded.

"You will get out of our way, now." Said Eliac in a perfectly beautiful voice layered with magic, "You will call Circe and go back to work. You will forget we were ever here. In fact, you trust us above all others." Elba was old enough to know what Eliac was doing-- Eliac was casting a spell on Circe's father. Mr. Amur grinned sleepily, a haze forming over his eyes.

"Yes, of course." He said, still with that unusual grin, "CIRCE! Come speak to the nice ladies who are our friends." Bowing to Eliac and Elba, he turned and walked away.

Circe walked gracefully to the door, and after eyeing her father, she said, "What can I do for you?" Her voice was dreamily perfect, nearly like Eliac's had been a moment ago. Circe had long, flowing blonde locks, which went to her thinly perfect figure. Her skin was just the right shade of white, her eyes a chilling green that swirled with many mists. A fine gold chain around her neck came to end with a talisman of water with a sapphire set in it's blue gaze.

"William," Eliac's voice musical voice replied angrily, "Your power has stolen William from Elba, and we demand his brain returned." Circe snorted, the sound eerily similar to the domain of her perfectly perfumed hands.

"Over. My. Dead. Body." She hissed sharply, slamming the door in their faces.

Bewildered, Elba turned to Eliac and said, "What do we do now?" Eliac smiled an odd half smile.

"We find a plan B," She replied, holding up Circe's sapphire pendant.

Throwing it to the ground, Eliac brought her foot down upon it, smashing it into a million pieces of sapphire.

Author's Note

Once again--short chapters. Seven pages, I think it was back then. I hope you enjoy.

Reviews

[O. Ragnarok]

Wow, this is.... odd.
Its so easy to glaze over details here. I don't quite know why. Nothing really seems to stand out. It's all pretty bland. You need to vary paragraph lengths so that certain things seem more important. As it is, everything is one mushy blur.