Ecclesia

My sister tugged at the lace around my shoulders and my griping followed. "Lorri, please, I don't want to look like a tramp--" and I was careful not to add 'like the women around me' (italics).

Lorri stepped back, squinting under the rays of the Suns, and eyed me from the roots of my navy hair to the rivets at the end of my skirt. "I just want you to look like something desirable," she explained.

'Desire' (italics), I stared in emotionless aggravation from the top of the stands across the beaten fields beneath me, and on to the wood line, and contemplated on its definition. If being desirable meant I would have to reveal the crease in my chest, then I did not wish to be chosen by the victor of the tournament.

"Please," my voice faded. I strained my concentration into my sister's eyes. "Let me be. I'm only here to watch the men fight. None of them will choose me anyways, and I'm fine with that."

In defeat, my sister swiped the sweat from her brow. She circled, nearly falling, and she estimated the number of women who offered themselves to the victor.

I didn't take the time to look. "There's around four hundred women," I said.

"I'd guess three hundred," she responded shallowly.

"It doesn't matter, the odds are still low."

I wanted to be picked, to feel superior to every other woman in the village, when in truth any and every other woman towered over me with their 'gifts' (italics). Even if he picked me, they'd always have the upper hand--the god hand. Acceptance didn't come easy, but it came harshly enough and the burn scar under my stocking forced me to accept my giftlessness. A valuable and life changing lesson sat woven into the contorted flesh, and I was reminded of it every day I looked upon my naked body in the broken mirror.

Days like today came rarely when I'd leave the comfort of my home. I worked in the tool shop just a few miles down Diles Road, but that's as far as I ventured. My sister begged me to come to the tournament and offer myself to the victor, but seeing the men rip one another apart may have been the only true reason I sat in the stands.

I narrowed my eyes as the announcer rounded the corner, and stepped into the field. His short and round appearance escaped me because I'd remember him if I knew him elsewhere. My sister grabbed my hand. "Do you remember these?" Lorri placed the petals of a Bell Bush in my hand. "When Mother had her garden out back? She'd carry the petals in her dress pocket for luck, and she'd give me and you one."

I nodded. "Yes Lorri, thank you." I said shortly. "Go before they bring out the fighters."

Her brow loosened as she kept a quiet stare. She remembered mother better than I did and she did everything and anything she could to remind me of her. I let go of the petals as the bronze clashed against the white of my skirt. Lorri watched them fall.

My voice came very low. "These aren't from Mother's garden. Mother's garden died a long time ago."

She lashed. "Sometimes I feel you died with them."

My bottom lip fell between my teeth. The sting kept my mind from thinking back and remembering those moments of dislocated reality. Some explain a loved ones death as a hole--an empty void left behind, but for me that hole was ripped away like a limb, and I supposed it made sense considering my flesh came from theirs, only we were not connected through nerves, tendons, and muscle. The saliva near the tip of my tongue turned to copper, and I quickly swallowed the beads of blood. My chest swelled, and I straightened my back. Wind rolled my locks across my chest, and the announcer came to speak.

His voice came perfectly clear despite his distance, though his gifts were hardly worth recognizing compared to others. "Welcome all to the 27th Suns Festival tournament."

A body came and sat next to mine, probably too close, and in my peripheral vision she wore a skirt of a darker brown than my sisters with strange clear drops sown up the side. I rested my hands in my lap, and ignored her as the announcer continued.

"--every fifteen years, our Suns cross." He said.

The woman leaned across my shoulder. "Your hair will always give you away. I still can't tell if it's blue or black though."

"I'm sorry," I scooted, "do I know you?"

The announcer continued, "--we have seventeen brave men with us today." He proceeded to give the names of these men as they stepped around the stands in line formation. My attention kept to the stranger who leaned further into my personal space.

"I'm shocked that you don't remember me, but it's alright." her words were short and just a smudge above a whisper.

Blinded from her face, bangs sat thickly across her cheek, though the rasp of her voice brought up an alarming stir in my gut. The fear was so distant I could not find a place for her in my memories.

"Zaccery Splawn," hands clasped and echoed. "Sin Thorst, Dearmin Floyd," the announcer carried on.

I carefully explained to the young woman. "I believe you're mistaking me for someone else. I don't think I know you." Though somewhere I had met her, but I'd send her away before I allowed her to bring up the reason why my body filled with adrenaline and fear. Her demeanor created vile waves of nervousness that I refused to let down.

"I believe you're the only one in the village who has blue hair--naturally anyways, and who is also Human."

I twisted my waist and faced her directly. "How do you know I'm Human?"

The young woman's face still sat hidden by her bangs. Her lips contorted as she spoke. "There's only four Humans in the village, and one of them has blue hair. You're the only one in the village with blue hair." She whimsey and finished with a snide comment. "I don't enjoy repeating myself."

"I'm sorry, but I just don't know you," I told her again.

"It's quite alright. We can watch the tournament together anyways."

The announcer came to speak the final three names. "Patrix Ailla."

The women screamed, and leapt from their seats. Unfamiliarity surrounded the name, but it was no one that I cared to know regardless.

The woman beside me leaned in. "Patrix is my brother. My father has been training him for years, and he's quite good."

He followed in line with his chest held high. I snarled my nose at his arrogance, but it was no matter to dwell on. The women cheered in a frenzy, and even if he lost, it'd be no lose for him.

"Tiren Sonna."

Tiren followed. His audience clapped little for him, but he was the first man the woman beside me clapped for. I questioned her rise for this man for only a moment, but her next comments distracted me. "He is Gari's husband-to-be."

I rose a brow. "I don't know who you're talking about," I said with little enthusiasm.

She spoke quickly. "Gari a highly disturbed individual, and I'd love to see a rope around her neck." She straightened her back and stretched her arms above her crossed legs.

My eyes widened. I needed to move. "I'm feeling a bit cramped." I came to my feet. "I'm going to move over to the end--"

"There's no need," the woman placed her hand gently on my wrist. "Please stay and keep me company?"

My tongue swelled as her glassy completion came into view. "Dyllynn Ailla. You're the Village Leader's daughter."

She tilted her head. Her smug grin sickened me. "That I am."

The announcer lost his rhythm, and paused. The last man stood at the end of the stands and waited for the sound of his name to carry across his ears. "We have a Human competing in this years tournament."

Dyllynn reached for my wrist, and insisted I sit. "There's Kaze."

"Who is he?"

The audience fell into silence as he rounded the corner. Uncomfortable, I continued to stand and wait for him to make his way across the field. My plans were to leave, but it quickly changed as he looked among the audience.

Dyllynn held her hand high. She explained "He is my husband-to-be, and if he wins I'll be the victor's lady." This explained why no one cheered for him.

The wind picked and rolled across my chest. My breaths ceased once he froze in his tracks and turned. For a moment, I thought he looked at Dyllynn, but the seconds passed by awkwardly as he continued to stare and did not acknowledge Dyllynn's waving hand. The wind shifted directions, and my hair parted to the opposite side. He squinted and took a small step, but his gaze remained on me.

Fingers wrapped around my wrist. "Sit down." She jerked, and I sat. "You're distracting him."

My cheeks grew red in embarrassment.

The men stood displayed in a single line across the field with their hands folded behind their backs. I couldn't help to focus on the one near the end who's stare now focused blindly forward. The announcer stepped between them, and into our view.

"Men have lost limbs, their minds, and even died in this tournament." The announcer pointed near the bottom of the stands. Just below me sat a long table with five men and women nestled at its edge. "We are joined today by our judges who have created our rules and determined how our contestants should be penalized if they break the rules. There is but one rule: there will be no strikes to the neck or head. Our healers who are also three of our judges want a chance at saving your life. If you don't have a head," he turned around to face the gentleman, "then we will not be able to save your life. The penalty for striking the neck or above is absolute death performed in the same fashion in which you took the others life, and will be carried out by one of our judges. Are our judge's rules clear?"

"YES SIR." Their voices echoed across the land.

"Very well. You may be seated."

Reality sank into the pit of my stomach. I might very well watch one or more of these men kill one another, and while I'd love to see a good fight and display of power, maybe loosing limbs and heads was more than what I came for. I ignored Dyllynn who dwindled her fingers nervously and showed her no signs of nervousness, but I knew no one in the tournament personally so it might have been easier for me to control it. Her brother as well as fiancé both fought. My nerves would numb me and send me into shock if I knew one of my loved ones fought in such a tournament, and I couldn't bare to loose anyone else. It was no matter though as I observed the contestants take their seats on a bottom bench. Dyllynn would never be someone I'd sympathize for.

The announcer moved out of sight yet his voice came clearly to the drums in my ears. "Match one will be John Pacel who is a master of telekinesis versus Alle Grime who--" he paused, "who is also a telekinetic."

Dyllynn shifted and tightened her legs. "This could be a boring match," she said. "Or an interesting one. I predict it will end quickly though."

I peered at her from the corner of my eyes. "Why would it end quickly?"

"More questions...." she sneered and allowed a moment of silence to flutter by. "Just observe. You may have to pay close attention because you can't see the path of a telekinetic until it hits you."

The men stood back to back as the announcer counted down. A bell rang, and they swiftly turned to face one another. My surroundings glossed over as I focused on the two, but for minutes they only faced one another in a frozen stand-off. Then strings of dirt and clumps of grass began to rise from the ground. Spots rose like balls of antigravity and fell back to the earth. One charged into the other with his arms outwardly forced. The ground between them crumbled upward.

The bulge in the ground traveled and struck one of the men. His body twisted and tumbled through the air with the spinning debris before striking the ground. His opponent stepped towards his still body. The moment he twitched his arm to push himself up from the dirt, his opponent lifted his palm forwards the sky, and the body came from the ground, twisting, dangling, and rose twenty to thirty meters before plummeting.

He did not rise of the second blow.

The bell rang, and the healers who sat at the judges desk took to the fallen mans assistance.

The announcer came back. "It appears Alle Grime has taken victory."

The winner threw his arms into the sky and the crowd kept with excitement.

"They out on more of a show than I thought," Dyllynn yelled to me above the cheers and screams. "But it was over too quickly."

My heart thumped, and my breaths came longer and more drawn out in excitement. However the next five rounds were hardly as exciting. The next five victors hardly did anything at all--one of them wielded fire, and he simply burned his opponent from the shoulder down his torso and consuming most of his thigh. His wailing ended the match instantly, his screams horrifying the onlookers and forcing many of them to leave. I too contemplated on leaving especially once I saw the enjoyment in Dyllynn's expression, however, I ignored him to the best of my abilities, and continued to sit.

Just before they could settle down, they called the name that everyone loved. "Patrix Ailla," the announcer paused as Patrix walked onto the field. I sneered again though I was careful not to let his sister Dyllynn see me judge. She kept her back straight as the women threw their hats into the air and rocked the stands in a shuffling uproar. She was not pleased to see him.

The announcers voice came more loudly above the applauding onlookers. "Patrix Ailla, who is capable of manipulating glass, is facing Riley Stinceton, a mover."

They kept their backs turned, and waited for the announcers signal. "Three, two, one, zero." And the bell chimed.

The mover disappeared just before Patrix could turn. Patrix lifted his arm as shards of glass flew from his pockets and danced.

"If he doesn't loose then he will be injured by the end of this match," Dyllynn whispered. "Have you ever seen a mover before?" she asked.

"I don't believe I have."

Dyllynn smirked. "I believe that's the point."

Patrix tumbled back swiftly. The shards of glass followed him like a cloud of gnats as he rolled in the dirt. He came to his feet just as quickly as he had fallen, and he jerked his head in search of his opponent. The grass began to bend in elliptical circles around him, and just within seconds a pattern was noticeable.

Patrix swung his arms as the glass spun around him in the opposite direction of his opponents circles. Hands in the audience clasped against ears as a high whistling sounded from the moving shards. I was amazed by his talents. Patrick moved so fluently while the glass followed his every movement like water bowing to gravity. No wonder he wooed the women. His talk must have been just as smooth.


(To be continued)

Author's Note

This is an unfinished first chapter. I'm a little worried that it may be too long for an opening chapter. I'd say it's about half complete. Let me know if you get confused, or bored, or anything. Let me know exactly how you feel after reading this. I want you to be engrossed. If you're not obsessed with it this far in, then just be honest with and explain why.

Thanks for reading!

Reviews

[TL Boehm]

I don't think its too long for an opening chapter. It may be a little long for some of the readers here, but it depends onyour ultimate goal for it. Liked the dialogue and the descriptions throughout.

[Vicky Carter]

So glad to see these people back on a page. They are fascinating to read about. Keep it coming! I am looking forward to buying this book one day.