Candlelight (Part 3)

by Rebecca Clearwater

Katheneria

The rain hit my back hard, cutting into my rough shoulders slightly. I knew it was time to go inside and yet I had a problem. I loved rain but this rain was going to cause me hardship.

I couldn't see for more than three feet around me it was raining so far. This meant that I had to trust my gut and go in the direction that was home. But what if I was wrong?

If I was wrong any of three things could happen. If I went one way I would hit the dreaded forest and surely be eaten by a mysterious beast of the savanna. The other way would present an opposing village where I would surely be held hostage. And lastly the vast ocean where I could only perish, not live.

I rushed in the direction I hoped was home. My bare feet slipped in the mud slightly. It was slippery and I couldn't find a grip. I fell, hard.

My knees scraped against a hidden rock and began to bleed.

That killed me. It made me realize how lost I was. I sat there in my mud puddle and hugged my knees crying. I wished I was home with my mother and sister. But no, I was alone.

Then in the distance I saw a light. It glowed dimly, a beacon in the rain.

I stood up and began to run towards it.

When I got there I was confronted by a white man. He was holding the oil lamp that had led my way. Not my way home but my way to danger.

But maybe it wouldn't be so bad. He was different than my people. I was different than my people. We were both in the same boat. Maybe this was for the best.

Candlelight (Part 2)

By Charlotte Lewis

Illaria

“And so Mr. Delent I believe that you would be making a great mistake in commissioning your portrait from Angelico considering that he did such a horrific job at painting Alfred. I mean by gods the man’s nose was the size of……”


My father droned on to Mr. Delent, and I sat listening quietly. Poised gracefully unmoving, so as not to mess my perfectly curled hair. Seen but not heard. It took a surprising amount of effort to suppress the overwhelming urge to scream and run out of the room.

I shifted slightly in an attempt to quiet my rebellious thoughts. My mother who was sitting on the other side of Papa saw my subtle movement and shot me a warning look that meant "don’t mess this up. "

It was a needless glance. I knew the importance of my father’s dinners. Or at least I knew how important they were to him and Mother had no reason to think otherwise. I always did what I was told, I was good in my lessons, and I never complained. Well, I never complained to her or Papa.

I opened my senses to the room and realized that the servants were coming with the food. They had such a timid way about them almost as if they were apologizing for their presence. Strange perhaps, but that was how father trained them. I hated it.

I smiled at the girl who served my food, but the only response I got from her was a bewildered look that came into her eyes right before she hurried away.

Mother, who never missed a thing, gave me a reproving look which I understood as; don’t interact with them. They’re beneath us.


I sighed silently to myself and glanced down at my food. It gave off pleasant aromas and the heat emanating from it was comforting. I could feel hunger gnawing at me but my corset was cutting into my ribcage quite painfully and it rather put me off eating.

So I sat there,

The hours dragging by with the same old conversations on the same five topics politics, art, education, horses, and property. Always the same conversations, no matter who the guest, no matter what the occasion.

To say the least, I was board out of my mind.

I wondered what Mother thought of it. But then again she hasn't been to as many dinners as I have. I was acutely aware of the fact that my father likes to show me off. To him I am rather like a trophy or an award. However it had never been the same with my mother. I've always thought that odd but after fifteen years, I have just come to accept it and not ask questions.

Four hours in and I was sure I would lose control and begin to scream. Thankfully my Baby Brother Emile came to my rescue by starting to cry loudly.

I looked to my mother. Receiving the nod of consent I took him and walked, as swiftly as could be socially, out of the room.

Upon my exit I handed Emile to the first Nanny I saw and began to Run. I ran through the halls, decked with the bland portraits of my ancestors. I felt as if the walls were closing in on me. I needed to get out. I couldn't’t breathe ‘course that might’ve been the corset.

I ran faster and faster, ignoring the odd looks from the butlers and maids. Finally I made it out the doors and into the grounds. But I didn’t stop there. I kept running through the gardens until I reached the rose garden. I pushed past prickly thorns and tightly woven stems pulling impatiently as they caught my dress. With one last tug I made it to the center where upon I collapsed in a heap.

I was surrounded by roses on all sides. Red, pink, yellow. I lay back staring at the stars, happy to be outside on a perfect summer’s night.

I lay there happy. Hours must’ve passed by but it felt like moments.


“Illaria!” I heard a voice call out. Recognizing it I smiled


“Over here!”


There was a rustling amid the roses and a few muttered curses as thorns broke skin.


“They're looking for you.” Still smiling I looked up at my friend


“I know.”


“You should go back”


I sighed my smile fading


“I know.”


Siren looked down at me, his eyes sympathetic.


“Come on, I’ll walk you back” with another sigh I nodded and allowed him to help me up. With one more wistful look at the roses I followed him back in the direction of the house.

We walked the more secluded paths seeing as it would be improper if we were seen together alone. People would start to talk, and if word ever got out mother would have a fit ans forbid me to speak to him ever again.

We reached the back kitchen door. I paused before entering.


“Good Luck” he said.


“Huh thanks I’ll need it.”


I entered the door leaving my best friend of fifteen years behind me and then started to my chambers, stopping only to check in with my mother and receive a lengthy lecture about politeness.


Finally I made it to my chambers. Kicking off my shoes I flopped on my bed sighing resignedly


“You really shouldn’t run off like that”


I groaned


“Not now Oma please.”


“Fine, fine as you wish m’lady. Come, help me pick out a dress for you for tomorrow.”


“Ugh you pick it”


She sighed at my unconcealed disinterest.


“Alright then, red or Purple?” she asked


“Goodness” I said surprised. “Why so fancy?”


“Because, didn’t your mother tell you? Your father finally arranged a suitable marriage for you. You meet him tomorrow”

Candlelight (part 1)

by Marcella Haddad


Prologue


It seemed to Medu that all she had been doing lately was washing blood off her hands. She sighed. This woman had been a close friend, too.

Behind her lay the body, motionless in sheets drenched with red. Beside the bed where their mother lay were the triplets--tiny bodies barely hanging onto life.

Medu dried her hands, shaking. She was an old woman. Surely the gods would not make her see much more suffering in her lifetime--it was too cruel.

She turned around and went to the little basket, picking up the first child and cradling it in her arms. It stared up at her with wide, deep blue eyes.

"What a pretty thing," Medu murmured. She looked into the basket. "All of you." then she sighed.

"But it will be to different homes with the lot of ya," she said, bending down to place the child back in the basket before scooping the whole thing up into her arms. "This small village is no place for the daughters of the king's mistress." She looked regretfully back at the dead woman on the bed, before turning to walk out the door.

"Might get ideas of taking the throne," she muttered to herself. "Stir up trouble in this already troubled world."

Lomonalri


"Wait up!"

I laughed. "Never! It's a race, silly!"

I kept running down the bank and Trogen kept after me. I could hear him panting, and I put on a burst of speed, determined to beat him there.

"It's no fair! You're faster!"

"You should have thought about that before you bragged!" I sang. I turned around to say something else to him, but I ran right into something with a crash.

"Peasant," The man on the horse I had hit snarled as I rubbed my head. Ouch. "Which way to the castle?"

I stared up at the pudgy man with a raised eyebrow.

He sighed and reached into his purse, pulling out a silver coin. He tossed it to me.

"I don't want your coin!" I said, batting it out of the air. "Well, actually I do." I said, picking it up and putting in the pocket of my dress.

"Which way?!" The man seethed. He was old, probably some dusty dignitary from the north.

I made a square with my hands, looking through them and turning in a circle in the clearing, as if to observe all the forest around me. He tapped his fingers impatiently.

"Lo!" Trogen burst out of the trees, startling the horse. It whinnied and nearly bucked off its rider. I turned to him and made a shhing motion with my finger. Then I looked at the man again.

"I'm afraid, sir, due to serious malfunctioning and error on the part of my scientific instruments, I am unable to direct you to the correct path to the castle." I bowed low, sweeping my arm in front of me.

"Why-"

Laughter rang out from behind the man. I stood on my toes to see the new rider coming out of the trees.

He was a nobleman, all right-down to his shiny black boots and his shiny black horse and his shiny black hair. I stared at him, intrigued--he looked about my age.

"What a curious child," He said bemusedly, looking at me.

"What a rude man," I said, pointing to his companion on the horse.

He laughed again, and it sounded genuine. He looked at his friend.

"Have we not learned the proper respect for commoners, Jensing?"

"We have, milord." the man hung his head in 'shame'. I snorted.

The man in black looked at me again, still smiling. "Jensing," he said without moving his eyes. "Has my sister found a replacement for her last ladies maid?"

"No, sir, I don't believe so." Jensing replied, eyeing me with distaste.

He smiled wider. "I believe I have."