Chapter 1: Silver Lake

Zaroda walked through the thin dead trees of the forest. The early morning mist was still settled over the dead grass. To anyone else, the scene may have looked erie; a six year old girl walking through a dead, misty forest, but Zaroda continued fearlessly. The sky above her was covered in clouds so thickly that if could have easily been close to evening or to a down pour of rain, but Zaroda wasn't worried about rain; the sky was always covered with dark clouds. Just like the forest was always dead, even in warm weather. Now, however, the weather wasn't so warm, In fact, there was a chill in the wind that nipped at her skin, but Zaroda was unbothered by this.

 

She was bored. Being a princess is not all of what it may seem to be. Her father was nearly always busy doing things that everyone tells her she's too young to understand. Her mother was either attending a party, planning a party, or helping father with whatever he was always doing. Everyone else was also busy and there was nobody there that was even close to her age and she wasn't allowed to go to the nearby village, as she was too young to do that too. Still, walking in the forest was better than practicing the sewing she knew her mother wanted her to be doing. Zaroda shrugged the thought aside. It's not like Mother would notice anyways.

 

Lifting up her skirts, she climbed a nearby tree. Something else her mother would strongly disapprove of, but wouldn't even notice. All she had to do was change her gown before dinner and mother would never suspect a thing because it was only proper for her to change her clothes before a meal with the family. Father probabily wouldn't notice if she didn't change her dress. Zaroda layed her body along one of the branches and gazed down at the lake below her. It looked like a pool of silver, rippling whenever the wind blew. As she watched, the water rippled faster, much faster than to be caused merely by the wind. Her brow furrowed and she descended from the tree, curious now as she stood at the edge of the lake, watching.

 

A black, hooded figure rose from the water and seemed to float to shore on the otherside of the lake. Zaroda wasn't scared by this, of course, she wasn't scared by many things. Though, she thought it strange that the figure's cloak appeared to be as dry as could be in spite of having just come from a lake of water. the fingure continued to move further away from her. Without thinking, she took off after it. As she ran, Zaroda thought she cold hear a voice in the wind whistling in her ears, but she didn't stop to think what the voice was saying. All that was on her mind was catching up to the figure.

 

Panting slightly, she stopped a few yards from the figure, hiding behind a tree and peaking around the trunk. The hem of the black cloak rested on the ground unmoving as the figure had come to a halt with its back to her. It was not strange to see somebody dressed only in black in Wyrda. Zaroda herself was wearing mostly black with a little bit of silver for the details. Actually, it was stranger to see people wear any colors that weren't black, grey or brown. Of course, there were clothes in red and purple and such, but the hues of these were very dark and dull. Wyrda was a very bleak place. All of Ackland was and the further one goes into Ackland, the bleaker it got. Eventually, if one were to go deep enough, they would find that there was no great source of fresh water. The Kingdom of Wyrda was along the western border of the river that acted as a borderline between Ackland and Syrandi. For that reason, the river's called the Border and Wyrda's main source of profit was shipping fresh water off to the rest of Ackland.

 

Breathing in deep, Zaroda stepped from behind the tree, slowly walking closer to the figure, but stopping a yard away. The figure turned to face her, but Zaroda could see nothing but blackness under the hood. Its cloak seemed to grow longer as the hem krept along the dead grass toward her feet, yet Zaroda stood still. The blackness under the hood seemed to be looking at her and, unflinching, she looked back up. The two of them stood there for the longest time. Neither said a word and never had silence sounded so loud to Zaroda's ears. Then, the figure spoke in a deep, quiet and mysterious voice that came from within the cowl.

 

"You are destined for great things, Ada," it said.

 

"My name isn't Ada," said Zaroda. Her voice sounded unnaturally loud compared to the figure's. The figure continued to speak as if Zaroda hadn't interrupted.

 

"Only use these treasures when the time is right."

 

As the figure spoke, the cloak shrunk back to its original length, leaving a plank of wood to rise from the ground. At the top of the Plank was engraved three letters: AdA. Zaroda remained stagnant infront of the plank of wood as the figur moved away from her, the hem of the black cloak dragging along the dead ground. Watching the figure disappear into the tree. She stared at the engraved letters from many long moments, debating if she should dig and see just what the mysterious figure left behind. In the end, she decided not to and turned away. She couldn't risk Mother finding out what she had been doing instead of practicing her sewing.

 

Possibilities of the treasures plagued her thoughts on the walk back to the castle. Wind blew, pushing strands of ther dark hair in front of her face as she past the lake and she stopped to stare at it, waiting to see if anything else would come from it. But the blowing wind faded and the ripples in the water disappeared, making the silvery water look as solid as the ground she was standing on. She turned away from the lake and made her way out of the forest and into the castle.

 

Inside the castle, nobody paid her much attention. She walked up several wide stone staircases and down a long hallway before reaching her room. The pieces of cloth, spools of thread and thin, silver needles were on her desk, exactly where she had left them. There was a thimble in the collection as well, but she didn't bother to put it on. Zaroda didn't care if she accidentally pricked her finger with a needle as long as she didn't fumble around clumsily with the thimble. It was another thing that her mother would disapprove of. Zaroda did a lot of things that her parents, especially her mother, wouldn't approve of, but it wasn't like either of them noticed long enough to scold her, if they noticed at all.

 

Actually, not sewing with a thimble has resulted in her not pricking her fingers as often as the typical six year old would. This was useful as Zaroda didn't have to worry about hiding red, sore and bloody fingertips from her mother at dinner. Grimacing, she sat at her desk and resumed her sewing, focusing on making the stitches even and tight, but not too tight. Zaroda hated sewing, but it would be considered improper for her to not know how to sew, being royalty. Personally, she couldn't care less about sewing, except for mending purposes, but Zaroda knew that her parents couldn't care less what she personaly thought, so she kept her opinions to herself.

 

Time passed slowly for Zaroda, as it always did when one is doing something they don't particularly enjoy. After what seemed to be forever, a servant came and brought Zaroda's lunch on a silver tray. She ate in solitary silence, chewing the food robotically, bored and comepletely exhausted with sewing. Done with her food and not even slightly motivated to return to her sewing, Zaroda left the castle again and headed towards the stables.

 

"Hey, Cald," she said, climbing onto the stool that she had dragged infront of the stall door. Caldar, her pony, looked at her with steady dark eyes that mirrored her own. Her father had gotten Caldar for her fifth birthday when he had decided that it was time for her to learn how to ride. In the beginning, Zaroda had been thrilled just to have something active to do without going behind her parents' backs. Over time, however, Caldar had become her only friend and companion. She had insisted on learning the tasks to care for Caldar so that she would be able to take care of him herself -- something else that appalled her mother. Zaroda had stopped being deterred by her mother's seemingly constant dispproval a while ago, though, and she kept her decision to care for Caldar herself and she felt that it strengthened their relationship considerably. She couldn't exactly say the same for her and her mother's relationship, however.

 

Zaroda didn't doubt that her mother would have been much happier if Zaroda was more like a porcelein doll who did what she was told when she was told to do it, all with a smile on her face. But the fact was that Zaroda wasn't and she had long ago given up trying to please her mother. Her father was a slightly different story, yet still similar. Zaroda wasn't stupid. She knew that sher father would much have rather her be a boy than a girl. But she was a girl, so she was little more than a mere pawn to be used to create or strengthen alliances. He, too, would probabily be happier if she was a perfect little porcelein doll, but was less concerned with it than Mother. Or perhaps he simply had more pressing issues on his mind than the development of his daughter.

 

Yes, it was a lonely life, but Caldar made it easier. She retrieved an apple from a nearby bucket and offered it to him. He munched on the fruit happily and she smiled. It used to bother her that she talked to an animal and even questioned her sanity for a little bit before she shook the feeling away. If anything, talked to Caldar was helping her keep her sanity, not loose it, though she knew that Mother would strongly disagree with the conclusion.

 

Not having anything new to vent about, Zaroda and Caldar communicate silently through looks and body gestures for the rest of the day. She groomed him and fed him his supper before having to return to the castle to change for her own supper. A new dress and a few brushes through her hair later, and she made her way to the dining hall. Mother and Father came in a few minutes later and sat down at the table that Zaroda personally thought was much too big for only three people, but, as usual, she kept her opinions to herself. The family exchanged pleasantries as their meal was layed before them. Too much food for three people if anyone were to ask Zaroda, but no one ever did. After pleasantries were exchanged, the meal was spent in silence except for the occasional small talk between her mother and father.

 

Dinner was usually spent this way. In spite of it being the only meal that the family share together they seemed to never have anything to talk about. It wasn't something that particularly bothered Zaroda, as she had nothing interesting to say and didn't do well with small talk. She simply focused on eating her food, took her leave, then returned to her bedroom where she would take a bath and go to sleep. This is what happened every night, unless Mother was having a party for whatever reason, and tonight was no exception.

 

By the time Zaroda's head hit the pillow, her eyes were closed and the figure and plank of wood was gone from her mind.

Author's Note

So ... what do you all think? It's just something that I started doing when I was having writer's block for Traitors. I did all of the typing at the library at my school (which is why it took me so long to post it) but I was able to read over it for any errors at home after dance class. If anyone sees any grammical or spelling errors (because it's very possible that I overlooked some) or have a suggestion or constructive critism or just want to tell me that you like it and will continue reading, feel free to do so.