Keep Them Dry 3

yeppers...

Ella watched DelicAna prepare for the evening. She looked graceful in her soft blue robes, her long white hair like waves in the great ocean that Ella had only seen in paintings. Ana came to sit in the chair in front of Ella, handing her several combs and many hair pins. Ella’s fingers swept through Ana’s hair. The softness of it made Ella’s fingers tingle. She had the perfect idea for the delic’s hair for tonight. She twisted a small lock of the silvery strands around two of her fingers and pinned it up neatly on the top of Ana’s head. She repeated the step until she had gone all the way around DelicAna’s head and every hair was pinned.

 

Ana looked into the mirror, gasping, “Ella, dear heart, it looks like tear drops. It’s beautiful. I think it’s perfect for the ceremony tonight. And it will stay out of my face when I keep watch, as well. You are a clever girl.”

Ella was proud, yet uneasy. She didn’t want Ana to go out there tonight. And Ana refused to let Ella accompany her. On top of this, her thoughts were lingering on the strange man, Farren, that she had helped earlier. She had discovered him laying on the sand, passed out, perhaps from the heat, right next to the temple on her way back from gathering her things. She had hugged and kissed the twins, and cried a little when she said goodbye to Rosie.

“Now, love, we’ll see each other all the time. You’re just in the village, and lucky you are to be, don’t forget it. This is your dream, Ella, and I couldn’t be prouder,” she ended with a firm kiss on Ella’s forehead and sent her on her way. Ella had stopped her tears when she had walked far enough that the sound of Rosie’s singing was no longer following in the air behind her. She would see them all the time. She knew it.

 

She had been going up the steps of the temple when she had heard a grunt coming from the side of the building. It sounded like pain to Ella, and she had peeked around the corner carefully after setting her bags just behind the temple door. There he had lain, strewn gracelessly across the alley, a little blood trickling from the corner of his mouth and down the side of his face. She had recruited several of the water workers to carry him into one of the side bedrooms in Ana’s quarters and washed his dusty face with a cool cloth. He had come to several hours later and left several minutes after that.

“Ella, I want you to read this.” Ana said, snapping Ella out of her thoughts. She handed Ella a large book. It was filled with writings, the script changing every fifty pages or so. Ella recognized the book’s filling to be made from the pale yellow reeds that were grown in the temple’s garden. It seems they had been woven together with the tiniest of loops, and pressed flat, creating a perfect surface for writing. Ella was impressed by the beauty and simplicity of the parchment and held it to her nose, inhaling the sweet smell of the dried reeds and tangy scent of crushed purple timpy berries.

“It’s magnificent, Ana. But what is it?” Ella asked in wonder.

“It’s one of the Books of Delic. We have kept them since our village was born on to the hot desert sands. Each delic records their experiences, their spells and blessings, their theories for using water resourcefully and without waste. The one your holding is the very first, and there are five more to follow. You will need to read all of them, dear heart, and as soon as I have retired, you will need to begin your own recordings. Of course, writing on the reeds is slightly different than chipping away on a stone tablet. You’ll be able to see the improvements in script as each delic becomes more comfortable with the quill and berry ink. It’s rather humorous, actually. The Council of Elders have similar books, as well. You may read those if you like. It would do you good to know the complete history of our quaint little town. I warn you though, it’s quite boring for the most part. It’s been peaceful here since the beginning. It’s a blessing, eternal peace, don’t get me wrong. But it certainly does make for some dry reading,” Ana grinned and winked at Ella, who returned the grin with a small chuckle. Everything about Charstey was dry, to be sure. Apparently it’s history was no exception.

“Wish me well, Ella, I’m off to the ceremony, and then a little spy work.” Another wink from Ana’s calming eyes and then a look of sadness. She knelt beside Ella, sitting quietly in the chair, and took the book from her arms, placing it gently on the floor. She embraced Ella, hard and long, whispering into her hair.

“You will be great, Ella. You will shine brighter everyday. You are like the sun to me, you know. You’re a sun of water, burning and cool, all at the same time. You will watch over our people and keep them warm and wet. You are a kiss, a tear. You are the barest soul I have ever known. I love you, dear heart.” Ana rose then, and backed away slowly. She left Ella in the chair, full of fear and comfort. The dichotomy of emotions was too much for the girl. She grabbed the book and ran to the bed, burying herself and the words of delics past under the blankets, safe from what she knew would come. She would miss DelicAna more than anything she had ever missed before. She would crave her like a mug of water on a blistering day. She did not cry, though. There was no use. Her soul was dry.

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Farren watched the woman make her way towards the little well. He sat amongst the potted violets and hoped she would turn around before she reached him. He had been relieved at first, to see that it was not the girl, Ella, that was coming to investigate. His heart ached that anyone had come at all, although he should have been prepared for it. This woman emitted strength in every step she took. Her hair reflected the moon, hanging like rain clings to the petals of a flower, and suddenly, Farren’s pain became sharp. He was so tired, he thought. The day had been a symphony of pain, so different from the normal hum of his sorrow. He couldn’t control the sharp pain the way he could the dull ache. The ache was just him lacking something. The knife of pain in his gut was something rising. He couldn’t quell it with tea, sleep, or even physical pain.

He looked down at the small cuts on his arm, still scabbing over with rust colored bumps. Malice had caught him, sitting in his small roofless room, razor halfway into his tight flesh. Malice’s eyes had echoed hunger at the sight of the tiny droplets sliding down his slave’s wrist. The look changed from hunger to disgust quickly, though.

“How hopelessly pathetic, boy. What the hell do you think you are doing, anyways? Trying to rid the world of your depressing soul? Or are you just trying to keep yourself awake? Stupid humans. Give me the razor, now, and don’t ever think of doing anything so ridiculous again. You will go when I tell you to and you will stay gladly until that time.” Malice had taken the razor from Farren’s hand angrily, almost cutting himself in the process. He had waited a moment for Farren to respond, or perhaps explain himself, and when he remained silent, Malice spoke again.

“You think a little blood will clean off your soul, eh boy? You could bleed yourself dry and all you would be is dead. Not cleansed, not reborn, and certainly not forgiven. You are exactly what you think you are, Farren. You are a wretched being, a waste of air, and a creature consumed by your own hate. Did you know that apathy is a form of self-hate, boy? You’re filled with apathy, and it showed when you let that town of yours crumble in my fist. That’s you up and down. You aren’t any different from any other man, but you probably know that, don’t you? Humans are only good for one thing and that’s keeping me well fed. Forget about this little pity party and enjoy the delicious freedom of emotional detachment. You have no one to live for, so live for no one.” Malice raised his dark brows and clucked his tongue. “Get over to the well. I’m hungry and the stupid villagers are sending a woman to watch their precious water source. Like they could stop us, eh Farren? No one has ever stopped us.”

Farren rose from the bed and watched as a few drops of his blood became scarlet tears on the floor. He walked past Malice, not bothering to raise his head or address his master at all.

“And when you get back, boy, you had better start on the roof. I’m freezing my a*s off out here. Who would think such a hot place would get so cold at night?” Malice shouted after Farren.

Now he sat, surrounded by the calm smell of desert violets, wishing that someone had stopped them. He was a waste, because that someone could have been him. He was blind and dumb and there was nothing left in him to be proud of. The woman had stopped on a dune a little ways from the well. She had yet to see Farren and he was glad of it. She sat down and scooped some of the sand into her dark hands, letting it fall from one palm into the other, absentmindedly.

Farren’s thoughts turned to Mae. This woman was probably the same age as Mae would be now, wherever she was. Part of him wished that she was living happily, without care or strife, and part of him wanted to know that she suffered from longing for him. He wished that she grieved him, never loved again, never found another to replace him. He shoved the latter thoughts away, knowing that he hadn’t traded his life for hers so that she would live out her days in misery. Of course he wanted her to be joyful. Her face was not constructed for sadness. She was meant to shine.

If she could see him now, stalking human prey for his master, cutting himself to relieve an overbearing amount of pain, she would cry in disappointment. She would think him weak and a betrayer of his own soul. And she would be right. Farren thought of ways to avoid capturing the woman on the sand, with the moon hair, and could not generate a plausible excuse for Malice. He would have to take her, to satisfy Malice’s hunger. Once he had eaten, Malice could go one full cycle of the moon without eating again. If he went any longer, his body would shrivel and die. The thought of Malice wrinkled, helpless and almost dead gave Farren a pleasure that he was very uncomfortable with. He had thought before of feigning inability to catch a victim for his master, causing Malice to go beyond the mark of starvation. He had failed his first and only attempt, and hung upside down in the basement of their house at the time for two days. Malice did his own hunting for several weeks after that, and gave Farren no money or food. Try to starve Malice and Malice will succeed in starving you. Farren had almost been grateful at the certain death sentence, but was nursed back to life by Malice, who fed him broth and sweet juices until he regained his strength.

“You thought I would let you die, didn’t you, boy? Well, wouldn’t that be convenient for you? Sorry, Farren, but you’re stuck in my service until I’m tired of you. But don’t think you can go getting clever ideas, either. You will be punished for your cheekiness. Punished almost to the point of death, but never quite able to reach it. Sweet relief is just out of your reach. Yes indeedy, Petey.” Malice laughed down at Farren, who had been laying in Malice’s own bed.

Farren had never again disobeyed or attempted heroism. It was bad enough to be killed, but far worse to survive the pain of an almost-death. He had longed for death then and many times after. Malice would never let him have it. Farren stood up slowly, not sure how to go about approaching the woman. He knew she was the current delic, chosen because of wisdom and passion. He had been chosen as leader of his town for exactly those reasons. Turns out those things left him in the face of adversity. He wondered if they would leave this woman. He doubted it.

He hurried over to her, anxious and guilt ridden. He could not understand the sudden and re-occurring guiltiness. He had spent nearly sixteen years numb to everything, and now, out of nowhere, his conscience was bleating at him like a sheep lost from the flock.

“Excuse me, ma’am, but your friend Ella helped me today. I had fainted in the alley next to the temple, and she was kind enough to shelter me until I awoke. My friend and I have a gift for her, if you wouldn’t mind passing it along to her.” Farren smiled his best smile and cringed in his heart.

“Ah, yes, the man in the alley. I checked up on you briefly this afternoon.” She glanced quickly at the cuts on his arm. “How did you know who I was though?” Ana asked thoughtfully.

“Ella told me all about you, ma’am. She mentioned your lovely hair, and when I saw you walking along, I knew it must be you whom she spoke of immediately. You wouldn’t mind terribly coming along with me to retrieve her gift, would you?” Farren asked, trying to sound innocent and humble.

Ana regarded the man sadly. She knew the “gift” was waiting for her, not Ella. She knew that she would go with this shell of a man and meet the horror that resided in the topless box. She wondered if there would be pain, but dismissed the thought, realizing there was no need to wonder, as she would find out soon enough. The man reached his hand out to her and she took it, allowing him to help her up from the sand.

“You are not what you are choosing to be, you know.” Ana said, almost in a whisper.

“Excuse me, miss?” Farren asked, pretending not to have heard her words.

 

“You are hiding in the shadows. You should step out into the sun for awhile, if you haven’t gone dark to the core. Now, let’s go address this present of yours. I’m ready now.” Ana nodded as she spoke. She would never be more ready. She had dreamt of this time for a long time. It had finally come to greet her. She was not afraid and she was not sad. She would fulfill her purpose and she was glad that she had one. Before entering the house, she took one last look at the moon and knew Tinali was waiting for her now. She whispered a prayer of peace and stepped across the threshold. The man did not follow her into the house and she saw a great pain in his eyes before he turned and walked away. The last thing she heard was a gentle sobbing. She was sure it was him.

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Ella twisted in her sleep. Images of hatred and destruction splintered the darkness behind her closed eyes.

“You will die.”

 

Ella finally woke, screaming and sobbing, “Keep….them. Keep…them….dry

The girl, trapped in dreams, willed herself to open her eyes. She had done it before, recognizing herself to be asleep and forcing herself to wake up and escape one of the horrible nightmares. Ella pictured her own face, round and dark; eyes closed serenely, and willed them to open. The mental image of herself warped and spiraled. She watched as an unseen hand guided a threaded needle and sewed her lips shut, ebony thread stained purple with her blood. The needle moved to her eyes and pierced through her eyelids and back out again just above her cheek bones. Her eyes, once bright and golden, became two black Xs.