"Are we going to just leave without warning any of the others in the city? They could all be killed!" Farihah exclaimed, her bundled-up emotions finally wearing through her relatively thin restraint.
The voice of the young man that had saved her life brought her back to reality. She suddenly felt embarassed for nearly giving in to her fears. Maybe this wasn't exactly what she had expected, but it certainly was no worse-case scenario. This plan, uncertain as it was, was indeed the best plan they had.
She felt her throat tighten. Anxiety, apprehension, and eagerness all combined together, forcing her into action. She followed Aidan outside into the alleyway in time to hear him speak to the group.
"We should stay to the narrow back alleys, we will have more cover, then."
She nodded, not wanting to speak. She felt out-of-place enough as it was.
I cannot believe this. How can these people so carelessly brandish their lives? This rebellion is not what I expected. It's simply a rabble with a cause but without a plan. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps we are not yet ready to overcome this evil...
Farihah stood, still fixed to her position, watching the men climb through the window. She knew soon she would have to make a decision and that decision would likely shape her life.
"This is all a little fast for me," cut in Farihah. "Comrades? Hidden passageways? Attack plans?"
She looked around.
"I am as eager as any to fight for my freedom and the freedom of this land, but I barely know any of you. I almost died only minutes ago. I... I need a moment."
She had learned to mask her emotions in this way from her human parents. Before she came under their care she had always been encouraged to say what she meant and speak it proudly. Now she understood that this was not always an effective method for dealing with humans. They took things too personally. Got insulted too easily. What she wanted to say was far less polite.
I don't know you. How can I trust you? Any of you?
Farihah felt the eyes of the group come to rest upon her. She did not like it. The situation was unfamiliar, uncomfortable, unsafe. She did not want to tell these strangers who she was or where she came from. The last time she had done that... Still, she felt that it would only be worse if she said nothing.
"Farihah," she spoke quietly. "I come from many places."
Farihah stared at the body of her slain attacker. He lay on the rocky ground, blood pouring from his gaping mouth. The sight was both revolting and relieving. His death meant her life. So was the way of the world.
"I..." stammered the new man who had appeared, apparently to protect her. She sensed his inner confict, recognized it as her own.
Before she could speak, there was yet another howl of pain - this time from a man running across the road towards them. They all stared on in horror as a rain of arrows pinned him to the ground. Farihah's eyes shot to the old man too see if he would survive it. Either he was incredibly lucky or her magic was stronger than she perceived, for the arrows did not seem to pierce him - though several fell quite near him.
She noticed a fourth individual crouched in the doorway across the road and she wondered what had force had led so many to converge on that one spot at that one time.
Her gaze finally returned to the man that stood before her, his blade still in-hand. Blood spattered his arm and his chest, dripped from the curved steel delicately to the earth.
"Thank you," she managed. "I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for you...?"
Before Farihah had a chance to steady herself, the sound of wood splintering and the crack of hinges shocked her back to attention. A man lay in a pile of broken wood, the remnants of a door by the sound of it. He looked up at her and the two of them locked eyes. She could see by his weary expression that he had no more fight left in him - at least for the moment. He did not have the look of a noble and, at any rate he posed no threat. She took a step forward, hoping to help him up.
At that moment, a soldier stepped through the empty doorway, weapon held high. Without thinking, she raised her hands and, with her last ounce of will, shouted at the top of her lungs.
"Alani basreyacera!"
The sword came down, stopped midway through the air as if an invisible shield had blocked its path. The soldier turned to glare at her and let out a bellow of anger at his thwarted attack. He forgot the old man, charging at his newfound quarry, sword rising once more over his head. She backed away, unsure of what to do, unable to concentrate on her spells; defenseless.
As Farihah moved through the empty streets, waves of dust and smoke passed over her, choking the air and making her eyes water. There was debris everywhere, flying through the air on the breeze or mingled on the ground with the corpses. Her eyes could not help but follow the rivulets of blood that lined the streets, pooling where some blockage stopped their slow descent to the sewers. She had not seen death like this in a long time... Massacre.
"You there! Which side are you on?!"
The voice surprised her and, though she had been preparing herself for conflict this whole time, this sudden intrusion of reality into her thoughts was like a knife in the dark.
"I..." she stammered. "I am here to aid in freeing this land from tyranny. And you?"
"I am here for that as well," came the response. It did not sound genuine. The voice was tense, evasive. Her mind pictured a predatory cat, waiting to pounce on its prey.
"Come from the shadows, let me see you."
The figure stepped forward, reluctantly by the slight hesitation she noted. It was clear that he was agitated.
"Take me to our meeting place. I have gotten lost in the city. I do not know the way."
She was silent. He was lying. He was not a revolutionary but a noble. She was not some stupid peasant. She was not ignorant to the ways of the world - not anymore. She could see by the tattered robe he clung to and the expensive shoes on his feet that he was a desperate man of wealth, trying to escape the dark demise that he had brought upon himself.
"Well, come on. What are you waiting for?"
"Nobody commands me," she said simply.
The man looked as if he would speak, then he abruptly stopped. He stared at her. She stared at him. She could feel the tension in the air. It was a taught wire on which they both stood, each of them with knives in hand. Who would be the first to cut?
He lunged forward, his hands slipping from his robes and clutching for purchase on her arm. His grip was soft, weak. His hands were smooth and she slipped away from him easily.
"You're going to show me out, girl!" he shouted.
"Aferre azre-" she began. He cut her off with a snarl.
"What is that, magic? Like that's going to work."
He leapt at her again, used his weight to push her to the ground. He raised a fist to strike her.
"Aferre azretade'cera!"
As his fist came down, he went flying up into the air and away from her, his back slamming against the dark wall behind-which he had been hiding before. He groaned as he slid down the wall to the ground, landing with a soft thud.
"What.. what did you do?" he moaned.
She backed away, pushing herself over the rough ground away from her attacker.
"Aferre," she began again. Even in the darkness she could sense his eyes widen, the newfound terror. "Azretavaru."
Her body and mind worked in unison to channel her will and the power of the ancient Gods together, ripples of force working on the wall before her. There was a low rumble and a snap of crumbling mortar. The man looked up in terror as the wall above him came crumbling down upon him.
"Noo!" he cried.
And then it was done. Farihah stood there, her breath heavy and ragged. Her face was a mixture of grief and anger, unable to determine which she ought to feel.
Now I have killed a man, she thought, and what has it changed?
She stood in an empty doorway, the hinges broken off and the wooden frame splintered. The door itself lay on the floor within and, beyond that, were strewn the bodies of the house's inhabitants. They had not been wealthy nobles. They were but the poor servants of rich masters. Now they were dead, having laid down their lives in service to their vile masters.
"This is not what I envisioned. Revolution against tyrany. Vengeance for those who suffered. Not the slaughtering of innocents which first sparked me to join in this mutiny. Now I wonder if my choices were the right ones."
She turned around.
"Was I wrong to come here?"
The man that stood before her shook his head.
"No, Fariha. You made the right choice. These people, innocent as they were, supported the evils of greater men. It was their decision to lay down their lives instead of their arms as so many others, more sensible, have done."
"Yaret, you always were insightful," she said, her lips curling into a slight smile at the nostalgia of her adopted family.
Yaret had been the youngest boy in the family that had found her and had saved her life. They had grown up together, learned together, and she had always felt as if they truly were brother and sister.
"Go home. Tell mama and papa it has begun and that they should try to stay away from the cities as much as possible. You remember the way?"
He looked incredulous.
"Of course you do. Go then. I will continue on through the village and meet up with the force on the other side. Goodbye, brother."
She kissed his forehead and he took off down the street back in the direction they had come. She watched as he ran off then, when she finally could not see him any longer, continued down the street the other way, in search of life.
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The voice of the young man that had saved her life brought her back to reality. She suddenly felt embarassed for nearly giving in to her fears. Maybe this wasn't exactly what she had expected, but it certainly was no worse-case scenario. This plan, uncertain as it was, was indeed the best plan they had.
She felt her throat tighten. Anxiety, apprehension, and eagerness all combined together, forcing her into action. She followed Aidan outside into the alleyway in time to hear him speak to the group.
"We should stay to the narrow back alleys, we will have more cover, then."
She nodded, not wanting to speak. She felt out-of-place enough as it was.
Farihah stood, still fixed to her position, watching the men climb through the window. She knew soon she would have to make a decision and that decision would likely shape her life.
This is not what I wanted.
She looked around.
"I am as eager as any to fight for my freedom and the freedom of this land, but I barely know any of you. I almost died only minutes ago. I... I need a moment."
She had learned to mask her emotions in this way from her human parents. Before she came under their care she had always been encouraged to say what she meant and speak it proudly. Now she understood that this was not always an effective method for dealing with humans. They took things too personally. Got insulted too easily. What she wanted to say was far less polite.
I don't know you. How can I trust you? Any of you?
"Farihah," she spoke quietly. "I come from many places."
"I..." stammered the new man who had appeared, apparently to protect her. She sensed his inner confict, recognized it as her own.
Before she could speak, there was yet another howl of pain - this time from a man running across the road towards them. They all stared on in horror as a rain of arrows pinned him to the ground. Farihah's eyes shot to the old man too see if he would survive it. Either he was incredibly lucky or her magic was stronger than she perceived, for the arrows did not seem to pierce him - though several fell quite near him.
She noticed a fourth individual crouched in the doorway across the road and she wondered what had force had led so many to converge on that one spot at that one time.
Her gaze finally returned to the man that stood before her, his blade still in-hand. Blood spattered his arm and his chest, dripped from the curved steel delicately to the earth.
"Thank you," she managed. "I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for you...?"
At that moment, a soldier stepped through the empty doorway, weapon held high. Without thinking, she raised her hands and, with her last ounce of will, shouted at the top of her lungs.
"Alani basreyacera!"
The sword came down, stopped midway through the air as if an invisible shield had blocked its path. The soldier turned to glare at her and let out a bellow of anger at his thwarted attack. He forgot the old man, charging at his newfound quarry, sword rising once more over his head. She backed away, unsure of what to do, unable to concentrate on her spells; defenseless.
"You will die for that!"
"You there! Which side are you on?!"
The voice surprised her and, though she had been preparing herself for conflict this whole time, this sudden intrusion of reality into her thoughts was like a knife in the dark.
"I..." she stammered. "I am here to aid in freeing this land from tyranny. And you?"
"I am here for that as well," came the response. It did not sound genuine. The voice was tense, evasive. Her mind pictured a predatory cat, waiting to pounce on its prey.
"Come from the shadows, let me see you."
The figure stepped forward, reluctantly by the slight hesitation she noted. It was clear that he was agitated.
"Take me to our meeting place. I have gotten lost in the city. I do not know the way."
She was silent. He was lying. He was not a revolutionary but a noble. She was not some stupid peasant. She was not ignorant to the ways of the world - not anymore. She could see by the tattered robe he clung to and the expensive shoes on his feet that he was a desperate man of wealth, trying to escape the dark demise that he had brought upon himself.
"Well, come on. What are you waiting for?"
"Nobody commands me," she said simply.
The man looked as if he would speak, then he abruptly stopped. He stared at her. She stared at him. She could feel the tension in the air. It was a taught wire on which they both stood, each of them with knives in hand. Who would be the first to cut?
He lunged forward, his hands slipping from his robes and clutching for purchase on her arm. His grip was soft, weak. His hands were smooth and she slipped away from him easily.
"You're going to show me out, girl!" he shouted.
"Aferre azre-" she began. He cut her off with a snarl.
"What is that, magic? Like that's going to work."
He leapt at her again, used his weight to push her to the ground. He raised a fist to strike her.
"Aferre azretade'cera!"
As his fist came down, he went flying up into the air and away from her, his back slamming against the dark wall behind-which he had been hiding before. He groaned as he slid down the wall to the ground, landing with a soft thud.
"What.. what did you do?" he moaned.
She backed away, pushing herself over the rough ground away from her attacker.
"Aferre," she began again. Even in the darkness she could sense his eyes widen, the newfound terror. "Azretavaru."
Her body and mind worked in unison to channel her will and the power of the ancient Gods together, ripples of force working on the wall before her. There was a low rumble and a snap of crumbling mortar. The man looked up in terror as the wall above him came crumbling down upon him.
"Noo!" he cried.
And then it was done. Farihah stood there, her breath heavy and ragged. Her face was a mixture of grief and anger, unable to determine which she ought to feel.
Now I have killed a man, she thought, and what has it changed?
She stood in an empty doorway, the hinges broken off and the wooden frame splintered. The door itself lay on the floor within and, beyond that, were strewn the bodies of the house's inhabitants. They had not been wealthy nobles. They were but the poor servants of rich masters. Now they were dead, having laid down their lives in service to their vile masters.
"This is not what I envisioned. Revolution against tyrany. Vengeance for those who suffered. Not the slaughtering of innocents which first sparked me to join in this mutiny. Now I wonder if my choices were the right ones."
She turned around.
"Was I wrong to come here?"
The man that stood before her shook his head.
"No, Fariha. You made the right choice. These people, innocent as they were, supported the evils of greater men. It was their decision to lay down their lives instead of their arms as so many others, more sensible, have done."
"Yaret, you always were insightful," she said, her lips curling into a slight smile at the nostalgia of her adopted family.
Yaret had been the youngest boy in the family that had found her and had saved her life. They had grown up together, learned together, and she had always felt as if they truly were brother and sister.
"Go home. Tell mama and papa it has begun and that they should try to stay away from the cities as much as possible. You remember the way?"
He looked incredulous.
"Of course you do. Go then. I will continue on through the village and meet up with the force on the other side. Goodbye, brother."
She kissed his forehead and he took off down the street back in the direction they had come. She watched as he ran off then, when she finally could not see him any longer, continued down the street the other way, in search of life.