Chapter Thirteen: Drowning from the Inside.

A Chapter by RedRozeNinja13

Choices make a person. Experiences make a person. But what becomes of a person when they know not how to make their own choices? Because that is how I was raised- to do as I was taught, there was never a choice that had to be made. I just always….knew. I knew what was expected of me and what I had to do- I never had to make a choice. And my experiences? They are lacking, in way of the foundation of my youth. I see these visions of bloody lace, of that nameless dead woman, of that man with no face- but they endure for only fractions of seconds, leaving a gap in the space of those first five or six years of my life, a time when most children would be shut up in their houses by protective parents, who would watch as they giggled and babbled and bounced all around. Those first years are when a person truly learns to be happy- and those years, or at least the memory of those years, has been stolen from me. I know not what has taken then, nor why or how. But I know that, should they return full force, they would break all that I am. And I am not positive if I welcome or reject that very thought.

I walk out into the darkness of early morning, pacing my breathing between grit teeth. How can he irritate me so? How can he make my cold blood boil like a pot upon a heated stove? Who is this young man, my charge (not mine his, mind you) to question what I stand for and what I have been taught? Should he have experienced the same dark tales as the Slayers of this realm- he would not be so quick to use his sharp tongue. We are not all dead inside, after all- we are the warriors of both worlds. We fight for both the demon plagued city in the world below, and the white haired woman who pushes an empty baby carriage down a cobbled street on the cloudsoil that we stand upon. I notice, as I think this, that a woman runs down the street shrieking as the clock tolls 3am. This is no odd thing, often those left behind, more often widowed mothers who have now lost their most precious children, will have such outbursts of insanity that can be instigated by the strangest things. Like the toll of the booming clock (The large tower-like structure is called ame de temps- or the soul of time. It is said that walking up those steps you will hear the voices of lost loved ones and elder souls, The old structure is rumored to have been around since the beginning of time, and is locked up tight to keep people out- nobody really knows how it keeps going after all these years without anybody to wind it up... But of course, this is just another pointless wives tale, that clock was probably built soon after the beginning of Lord Death’s reign, and there is likely nothing particularly paranormal about it.) We call them, those white haired ones who have witnessed such horrible things that it breaks their minds, we call them the Reliquit- or the ‘left behind’. You can go anywhere in Muortum, but wherever you go, you will always find a Reliquit. Most view them as a nuisance, just an annoying and loud problem that they shouldn’t have to deal with- but I don’t see them that way. I know that it could have just as easily been any of us, that the pain they are feeling will never go away, and that is what has driven them to such madness. Madness was the only thing left. And so, I feel rather sorry for the Reliquit.

I watch as the woman runs by, her wispy white hair trailing after her like smoke. She pays no mind to my existence as she rushes past, they hardly ever do. I imagine if I were forever stuck in such a painful moment of time, never able to escape such a painful past that trailed after me like a skirt caught aflame, that I would never be able to see much else either. As this thought hits it strikes me- maybe I am better off not knowing my past. What if it is so painful it rivals the tales of the reliquit? Worse yet- what if my mother or father,if they are alive, is a reliquit? What would I do if I could track them down and stand before them- only to have them gaze right through me, never acknowledging that their daughter is standing right before them? Never able to see the present- always stuck in the past….So is the tale of the reliquit.

The trees almost seem to mock me as they sway in the now warm breeze, ‘We have been here all along, we have lived long and will live much longer- you are just a withered petal in the wind beside us….’. And it is true, the trees of Muortum live very long indeed, because trying to cut them down often results in the darkened trees fighting back. Imagine the Whomping Willow from those books Vietellam citizens seem to enjoy- Harry Potter I believe they are titled. Now multiply that destructive power by ten. That is just about every tree in our realm, and that is why there has never been a true “lumber business” in Muortum. Lumber is expensive, seeing as people have to be hired to delve into Vietellam and cut down their not-going-to-bash-your-face-in trees, and cart them all the way back here. Most of the time taking several trips. I guess I never really felt inclined to mention the more lethal side of vegetation in Muortum because it has never truly been a problem for me- so long as you don’t bother them, the trees won’t bother you. It really doesn’t matter- I’m not in the lumber business, I’m in the guardian business.

Speaking of which, a bit of an instructional moment- occupations in Muortum are classified into a few categories, Service- like the few sparse hospitals, teachers, and the odd psychologist. Retail-which is then divided into other subcategories depending on what goods are being sold, such as witch concoctions, clothing, weaponry, or lumber, among a great many options and possibilities. Leadership- which a very low percentage of the population is employed in, seeing as Lord Death is the Ultimate Leader. But still, this category includes things like school teachers, district representatives, and for some reason, bankers are also put in this division. I suppose money is power, as some people say.

And then you have what is often seen as the most vital category, one that makes up most of the jobs in this realm. And this category, should it not exist- would lead to the utter ruin of both worlds, like a crumbled pillar would lead to the untimely demise of a structure. This is what is referred to as the Guardian Circle, since it contains many responsibilities and many people. This category includes, of course, your Slayers and Hunters. Although called Slayers and Hunters- after our “terms of service” should you call them that, which are usually concluded around age 25, other jobs are opened up to us, seeing as our “jobs” have made us wiser as to the ways of the world. Jobs such as being a Mediator- one who solves the disputes of the people. The Mediator does not exact justice however, no. Often times that duty is given to Slayers in Training, as a way of practice. We could continue in our pursuit of warding off the evils the world has to offer- which is likely what I will choose, or we can become a district guard- one who watches for any trouble or odd stirrings within their province and either deals with them swiftly, or tells higher ups of them. We could become a Demonologist- which is a term we use loosely as one who studies the habits and forms of all dark ones and dispenses such knowledge to those “still serving” and to the Weaponry developers. There are also rumors of a “Black Hand”, or an order of five people, only five (one representing each finger of the hand), that secretly pull all of the strings within the Guardian Circle. But there has never been any evidence of such claims. There are more jobs within this circle- but in general, the Guardian Circle makes up most of the population because so many have been affected by the darkness. This may sound awfully repetitive- but so many of us have lived in it for so long that just having the option to fight against it, even if it is just a delusion, it makes us feel strong. As though we are doing real good for the world. As though we are proving to the darkness that it has not yet consumed us.

Admittedly- our numbers have been on the decline lately, but I don’t really consider that such a source of worry. Numbers have fluctuated often throughout the years, one can never truly predict the personalities that will arise in an era- we slayers bitterly refer to our generation as “The feeble generation” due to the high death toll of those still in training, and of those even outside of training serving their terms that have been felled, and the low numbers of those who wish to join the Guardian Circle in this age. Joining the Guardian Circle requires self sacrifice, A great deal of it to give away everything that could have been, to donate years of your life to protect the lives of others from dangers as best as you can, are we evil? In some ways, perhaps you could see it like that, but the truth of the matter is that one must take into their being the essence of what they look to defeat.

I mumble under my breath and crack my knuckles, slamming my fist against the cobble street with such force that it causes my knuckles to bleed, and the pain brings me back into reality- the reality that tells me that not everyone I speak to will understand what I have to believe, what I need to believe, to keep walking on. I hear that there’s this funny animal in Vietellam- a shark, they call it. That has to swim ever onward in order to survive. We are like sharks, I believe. If we look back- we will fall apart. We have to swim ever onward, believing that which we have always known, else we will never find a reason to keep going. The ocean, the darkness around us, will swallow us whole….

“Angry much?” A taunting voice chimes, I look over my shoulder, and a frizzy mass of red hair greets me. My heart aches dully and I press my lips together- I wonder if Megan can feel, or sense, that I dreamt about her last night.

“You could say that.”

“Sir Hot Face kick you out? Nah, that wouldn’t happen. You’d kick his a*s out.” She muses, that mischievous glint ever present in her green eyes.

“Megan…”

“I know that look- Don’t you give me that look-”

“Shut up.” I shoulder past her, my bag bumping against her hip, and she snatches at it.

“What’s this?”

“I was meaning to look at that away from prying eyes.” I say bleakly, I wasn’t in much of a mood for Megan’s prying at the moment, I wiped the blood from my knuckles on my hoodie.

“Can I help? Oh come on, you never let me help. It’s pretty mean of you to always leave me clueless.”

“I’ll let you help only if you promise to keep the talking to a minimum.” I groan, and Megan skips after me, all the way to the park- which is less of a park and more of an open area with less killer trees and an iron fence. We don’t have many children, and many of those that we do have are smart enough to know that “playing outside” isn’t such a great idea. So the “park” is more of a recreational space for those willing to risk it. Even now we can hear the screeching of hungry bats and lupines in the forest not two hundred yards away, but the creatures in that place tend to stay away from us, it’s as if they can smell death on the slayers and hunters. I wonder what death smells like, have I just grown used to it over the years…..

“You have that face again.” Megan comments as she helps pull items from the bag.

“What face?”

“Not your scary face- your moody face.”

“Is there a difference?”

“Well yeah, duh. Or I wouldn’t even be saying this.”

“Ok then, explain the faces to me. Before I just cut you off.”

“Well, your scary face is just….Scary. And your moody face is….Moody.”

“Scholars themselves could not even begin to rival the genius I have just heard.” I roll my eye again.

“Well- I guess nobody would really notice if they didn’t know you but….I dunno, Your moody face is sort of more scary to me than your scary face.”

“And why is that?”

“Because it makes me feel like I’m going to lose you.” She states plainly, and I look up at her.

“What are you talking about?”

“I don’t want to lose you, yah know. But when you have that face...It looks like you’re thinking of all these bad things. Bad things that….that make me wonder what’s going through your head- even though I already know what’s going through your head isn’t pretty. I guess that face just makes you think you’re doubting yourself….doubting all of this.”

“I’m doubting a lot of things right now-” but Megan cuts me off- She snatches up my hands, bloody knuckles and all, and she holds them to her chest like a teddy bear. Megan….Megan is probably one of the most emotional Slayers you’ll ever meet. Which makes sense, considering that hidden romance with Link I pretend not to know about, considering that people tend to like Megan because she isn’t afraid to show feelings, considering Megan has enough emotion, enough feelings, enough spirit, to counter my lack thereof.

“And you shouldn’t doubt it!” She says very animatedly, “You should never doubt yourself! Or this life you live! Or any choice you make! And you want to know why?! I know you don’t want me to say why but I’ll tell you anyway- because you make me feel safe! Because you are the best Slayer I’ve met, even better than Miss Kay and Madame Rouge! You’re so cold inside- I know you are-” She squeezes my hands harder, so hard they start to hurt, but this hurt in my chest, this stone in my stomach is so much worse- I can’t even bring myself to speak.

“-And I don’t pretend to know why! I don’t pretend to know what it feels like to never know a life before this- to never know who I was or what family I had- Because I don’t! And I never will! But you know what?! Even though I know it hurts you every day, even though this is impeccably selfish of me- I’m glad it happened!” Bile rises in my throat hearing her say this.

“How can you say-”

“Because Aura! Because you’re my very best friend! And if that had never happened to you?! I never would have met you! Everybody can listen Aura- Everybody can say that they’ll protect you- That they’ll give their life for you- But it’s another thing to pull through on that promise! And you and me?! You and I do that every day, for complete strangers! I’m proud that we get to do that! I love being able to say that I’ve given purpose to my life, and I love that my best friend has the same purpose! You’ve saved me more times that I can count or remember- and It’s not always the saving-me-from-a-minotaur kind! You are the only one in this world that has taken the ultimate risk in this world- and that risk is to actually get to know a person! You know me Aura! You can’t deny that you do! You act so cold, and yet you were there to hold me when our backs bled, when I couldn’t stand up, when I couldn’t see a reason to keep walking! You were there when I cried! And you never judged me for it! And here I am- here I am admitting this to you- and you never cry! At first I thought it was brave- but now I can see, clear as the moon, that this is hurting you! And I want to tell you that you can cry! You can cry and lean on me, because I want to repay you! I want to repay you for all of the times you let me cry and never looked down on me for it! And those tears that you never shed?! On days like this I can see that they are drowning you! Drowning you from the inside! And I’m afraid...I’m afraid of losing you….It’s terrible of me to say….But that day that Christopher died?” She swallows, and my fingers twitch in her hands, we never talk of the day that her brother was murdered- It’s something that always hangs overhead silently, but is never put into words.

“That day he died….I would relive that day a million times. Because it’s because of that day that we met. You know that? Somehow, your past, and mine, they brought us together- no matter how terrible they were. Good things can happen from terrible ones, Aura...I want you to know that. And I don’t want you to drown on those tears inside….I don’t want to lose you…” Her lower lip trembles, and all intent of examining the evidence collected from the job is forgotten. At this moment, I want to strangle her, slap her, hold her, chastise her, laugh with her, and tell her how stupid she is- but I settled for only two of those.

I pull my hands free of hers and pull her into me, just as I used to when we were locked in dungeons nearly naked and whipped until our backs bled for something now insignificant, like laughing during instruction time. I ignore the pain in my shoulder as I hold her tightly, as tightly as she held my hands just a few moments ago. I realize how selfish I have been, how cruel of me it is to doubt myself, or even to worry that I am doubting myself. For when I wish for the past I do not recall- it is like wishing I had never met this person I now hold tightly. We have a unique relationship, as most Slayers do- I saw Miss Kay and Madame Rouge kiss several times as a greeting, but they were never intimate. Megan and I have seen each other at our definite worsts, beaten and bloody and shamed, and at our strongest, standing on our own two feet and feeling invincible- and I come to know that Megan, Megan and I, her with a family that turned her away out of bitter resentment, and mine that I can scarcely even recall, we are the only family that the other has. She is the sister that, without documentation, and without shared blood, has come to be mine. She is the one whom I never imagined I would have, and never dreamed I would deserve.

And here I hold her, as her form trembles, and I take a deep shaky breath of my own as she blubbers- ‘I don’t want to lose you...I don’t want to lose you...’. My face is half buried in her tangled hair, and it smells familiar; it smells like tiger lillies and amber, with a hint of ash and cinders, as though she had just started a fire in a fireplace. I smile to myself, as I realize that somehow, by some strange circumstance, I have taken on the role of the elder sister. Always there to protect, to comfort, and yet never breaking down myself.

“You stupid imbecile…”I tut, smoothing back her hair. “You couldn’t lose me if you wanted to…” In some manner I have betrayed myself, forming a bond like this- and I have no doubt it will hurt like hell when her threads are severed from mine. But this bond, this sisterly love, this friendship that has endured the strangest of things- this is the only family that I have. And how could I, how could someone as cold as I, bear to tear away something so precious, by my own choice, in a world where there is scarcely anything precious left to fight for? And so I force myself to swallow down the pain in my throat as I lie.

“You couldn’t lose me if you wanted to….” I repeat the lie, and it wounds me on the way out. Because I know- I know deep within me, that I would protect this bond as best as I could, but there was a creeping feeling within me, a feeling that I now know is all-too-true, that one of us would have to leave the other- before all was said and done.

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