THE ELEMENTAL CHRONICLE

TWO |

TWO | 

As the sun began to rise, I stopped crying.

Standing up on numb legs, my fingers leaving hers. A numbness fell over me as I moved out of the hut, my bare feet slapping so hard against the ground I could hear my flesh tearing from the stone and yet I could barely feel it.

Outside the sky was clear, the sun shining. Birds chirped from the trees and around me the village continued on, as if Mama hadn't died. Children laughed and screamed, men and women moving down the shit-stained road. It left a bitter lump in my throat. All these people so ignorant to my own suffering. Mama was dead and yet the world still turned.

Life went on, I reminded myself, and I needed to as well.

It was a bitter thought, and yet I was much too poor to mourn. With Mama gone now, I had to make money and I had to figure out a way to survive in this village. Even ill to death, Mama would bake and sell what pies she could. Sometimes, she'd even get free fruits in return for pies. That meant nothing to me now.

I picked up the shovel that leaned against the outside of the hut, for a moment I paused. A single tear dripping down my face, and then I got to work. Only now pity looks was the only attention I received. No one wanted to touch a sick dead body, no one wanted to get near the hut of a sick woman. It could cause the next plague.

No one helped me dig the whole and I certainly received no help burying my mother.

But that was simply life.

A week went by and life went on.

I cleaned the hut out the best I could, taking breaks between walking back and forth to the river, filling up my bucket then emptying it out into the hut. I scrubbed the floors, I burned her clothing in the outside fire then her bed. Anything I could think of to keep away whatever sickness she had. Then it was done, the hut clear as if no one ever lived in it—certainly not a family of four. All that clung to the house was memories of father before he passed. Of Fionn and Mama and myself playing, living and laughing together.

It disgusted me.

My first action as a true orphan was climbing that stupid tree, a cloth bag slung to my back as I shimmied up the tree. I needed money to survive, and honey went for a high price. My body moved up the tree skillfully, I had been climbing all my life, this was an easy climb. It took a little over an hour to reach the top as I moved with steady caution, a few smaller branches giving out gently under my bare feet.

The bees were louder now, honey dripping down the bark. My mouth watered and I held back from licking up the golden sap right then and there. I reminded myself this honey wasn't for me, I had to trade this. My hands shook as I reached for the first comb, a flash of fear filling me.

"Ouch!" I hissed, yanking my hand back as a stinger speared my flesh.

They smelled my fear and that angered me.

Hot white anger boiled through my veins and I silently willed all the bees to back off, willing them to find a different damn home. Carefully, I pulled my bag off my back and tried again, ignoring my fear. I needed this honey. Luck seemed to pity me as well because I didn't get stung again, all the pieces of comb I took free of bees. It was like they heard my thoughts and obeyed but that was impossible.

Then I climbed down. A few sticks piercing my soles as I did.

"Ciara!"

I turned, Holt running over. He was my age and ironically, the baker's son. The baker hated Mama, she always stole away his customers for her juicy pies rather than his dry bread. The baker's son was just as greedy and just as fat as his father. His eyes eyed the bag full of honeycomb and I could hear him smacking his lips together. My grasp tightened on the bag and I carefully shield it behind my back.

"I'm sorry about your mother's passing," he said, sounding not sorry at all, "Uh, you got the honey it seems. Have you a taste yet? I reckon it's sweeter than father's sugar."

"I'm going to trade it for some money. Maybe get out of this village."

He nodded, as if considering my words but we both knew I wasn't going anywhere. No one ever left this village; it was a death sentence. Fionn flashed in my mind and I sighed. Except for him maybe. The royals coming to scoop him up like an abandoned infant. It angered me, he left and never looked back. He even stopped sending us money, leaving us to die here.

"H-How much are you looking to get from it?" Holt asked, distracting my thoughts.

I narrowed my eyes, "More than you can afford."

Then I continued walking down the road, on my way to the apothecary. The old woman always paid a good price for the herbs and moss I brought from the forest; she'd give me a fair deal for this honey. Holt however, wasn't giving up, quick on my heels.

"Come on Cia," he begged, "We are friends, aren't we?"

Friends? I scoffed at the thought. We were not friends when he fed a loaf to the birds because it was burnt instead of giving it to me. I begged him on my knees for that bread and he refused, saying it wasn't his to give away. As if his father cared about burnt bread.

Holt was a greedy coward, and I was not his bloody friend.

"Go away," I snapped at him.

He frowned, his grubby hand darting out to grab my arm. I dropped the bag, before shoving him firmly, wrenching myself from his grip. I sent him the hottest glare my green eyes could muster and said nothing. He was pushy and annoying but also very harmless. However, if he tried to grab me again, I would kick him so hard he'd never hope to have children.

Mama would be disappointed, she wanted me to be a perfect lady but I was no lady.

He let out a small inhale, my head looking up. Holt was standing there like a starved fish, his jaw opening and closing like it had nothing better to do. His eyes were wide, his face pale as he stared at something behind me. I turned, standing on the road a man dressed in golden royal clothing upon a white stead. I gasped softly, backing up until I stood beside Holt, both of us and very quickly the rest of the village just staring at this royal.

How did he ride so quiet?

"Good evening," he chuckled slowly, doing a small wave, "My name is Bram. I am looking for a Ciara Roisin and her mother?"

Holt immediately pointed at me, "T-That's her."

I sent the stupid coward a dirty look.

"Oh good," the royal guard, Bram breathed, running a hand through his messy black locks, his blue eyes sparkling with relief, "It's so nice to find you so easily, where is your mother? Let us talk in private."

I swallowed the lump in my throat, "M-My mother passed away a week ago."

"A week?" he whispered sorrowful, "I'm so sorry to hear that."

No words left my lips, I just stared at him. He seemed to sense my blatant but polite hostility before sliding off his horse and taking it's golden reins into one hand. My back stiffened as he approached, walking calmly and with his head high. Around us a crowd began to form.

I noted the kindness in his eyes but wrote it off as a trap. He was here to tell me Fionn was dead too, to give me fake condolences on behalf of his king and a stupid royal flag. My fingers tightened around my cloth bag that was now leaking through my fingers, the sticky golden liquid dripping down my flesh.

"May we speak in private somewhere?" he asked softly.

My head shook in refusal, "We will speak here."

"Very Well," he replied, "Well, my name is Bram Yarrow. I am the eldest prince of King Yarrow and I have been sent to collect you, and escort you to the royal city."

Whispers erupted around us, and Holt let out a whiny gasp, dropping down into a dramatic bow. I didn't move, my legs seeming to be routed in the ground, as if at any moment the earth would swallow me up.

But, I got no luxury.