Forsaken
I’m a healer, Jaena thought as she grabbed a tiny bone needle and threaded a silk twine through a hole on the knobby end. I’m apprenticed to the Master Healer of the King’s court. She sliced the filthy linen pant leg, exposing a large gash. Dried blood crusted the outer edges of the wound. Dirt and grass made it hard to tell where it began or ended. Sights like this didn’t bother Jaena anymore; she had witnessed much worse than she cared to.
“Warm water and cleans rags, please!” I’m the daughter of a council member, blessed by the gods with healing hands. She took a deep breath, as a servant cleaned up his leg wound. I’m blessed with Tris. Jaena placed the tip of the needle into the furthest edge of the man’s gash and looped it through the other side. She pulled it tight, and he groaned. I can do this. Her hands moved expertly, crossing over then pulling tight, crossing over then pulling tight. A servant periodically wiped blood keeping the leg clean. With the last stitch, she made a loop and tied it off. Jaena gave the twine one last tug to make sure it was secured.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
She smiled and ran her hand through her short black hair.
“Jaena, help!”
Her hand went to the pendant hanging from her neck as the servants dragged in a man. A spear pierced his right eye and protruded out the back of his head. His hair was caked with dirt and dried blood. If the servants weren’t supporting his weight, he would have collapsed. His hands opened and closed as he softly whimpered.
This war is going to kill me.
Jaena’s hands didn’t move. Her lips betrayed the obvious thought in everyone’s head. “He is beyond saving. Put him over there with the others.” This was the worst part of her chosen path. She couldn’t save everyone. The guilt of that fact sometimes haunted her. Every time she crossed this dilemma she thought of the pendant. She could save them. She could save them all. With the help of her Tris.
No, the price is too great.
“Jaena!” Her name moved across the church, cutting through the moans and groans of the healing and dying. “You need to get back. We lost our front line and the enemy is moving in.” Roy’s voice was deep but had a particular upbeat timbre to it. “Jaena. You need to go. We are moving the woman and children out first. Follow me.”
Jaena felt her face flare up with indignation, but she pushed her feelings aside. “I’m not a child,” She whispered. They had this conversation before, but as before, she has learned to keep her temper from flaring. “I’m a healer, and you need me here.” As Roy approached, Jaena noticed the worry flicker in his brown eyes; the way he moved without his familiar nonchalant steps.
“Please,” he said, stopping right in front of her. “I want you to be safe.”
“I will be. There is no way we will be able to move all of the wounded out in time. I need to stay here with them.” He went to ruffle her hair, but she batted his hand away.
“Roy. I’m a healer, and I told you to stop that.”
His smile returned. “I know; you just get so angry.”
“I think you forget I’ve been in this army longer than you, Roy.”
Roy grabbed her hand. “I’m just worried. You know that.”
She smiled. She liked him he was a strong, handsome soldier and he was like a big brother to her, but his genuine concern and his protective nature was the thing that made her blush.
“I know, Roy.”
They parted with a tight hug. She gripped the pendant for a moment and went back to work. Jaena got lost in her duty. She put her mind, in full, to the task ahead of her. She cleaned and changed bandages. Gave water to the conscious and said prayers over the dying. As time passed the healthy gradually left and soon, she was the only one in the large stone church. When the second round of checkups and water was done, she sat down. She finally let her eyes wander around the room. It was the sanctuary of a large church. The wooden benches were cut up and used as firewood so the floor could hold the wounded. The windows were stained in a single shade of blue indicating this was a Church of the Sky.
“Open these doors!”
She didn’t respond.
They were easily smashed off their hinges and the room flooded with Varamore guards. Jeana stood in the middle of the chamber surrounded by her people, dead and dying.
“Miss, get on the floor.”
Jaena wasn’t scared. She was a healer and healers were not supposed to fight or get hurt, so she complied.
A boot was placed between her shoulders to keep her still, but she didn’t fidget.
“Clear,” another guard said.
She was pulled to her feet. The guard was tall, and his face was covered. “Did everyone retreat, Miss?” She nodded.
The guard swore. He shoved her back to the ground and stomped off.
Jaena didn’t move even though she could feel a warm stream of blood run down her arm.
“How are we supposed to do this? They are all wounded, and she’s a healer.” The guards’ voices echoed in the large chamber.
“The Duke said to leave no survivors.”
Jaena’s breath caught and the pain in her arm spiked. She held in a gasp. How could they do that? The ball in her throat grew, and she could feel the tears coming. Roy. No. She wasn’t going to cry. She could crawl to the back exit. There is a trap door in the floor behind the alter.
Still lying on the ground, she moved. Slowly, not hearing the guard’s voices, entirely focused on her movement. Straight was the fastest way, so she went right over everything. She could make it. Jaena was about ten steps away from the altar.
“Hey!”
She froze.
What am I going to do? The pendant around her neck tingled. No, I can’t. She thought. The price. She always has a price. Always.
Her will to survive yelled louder than reason. With the guard approaching and Jaena still on the ground, she pulled out the pendant. One side was black and the other side white. On the black side etched in the metal was the phrase, the sweet release of death, and the white side had the words, the turmoil of life.
Her hand trembled.
With the black side up Jaena steadied her hand and opened her pendant. A small mirror reflected a smiling woman. She was ebon, from her eyes to the black pearl crown adorning her head.
“Save me,” Jaena whispered.
***
Vise
The door to his room creaked, and he shot out of bed. Silks and animal skins fell to the floor in a soft pile. “S-sorry sir,” the woman whispered, frozen in the doorway, she would not look at him. Instead, her eyes fixed on the uneven wood floor. “I was just getting your fire started.”
Vise stood there and stared at the young woman. She was wearing rough spun material dyed red and gold. Stray strands of her dark hair peeked out from her maid's cap. She was hiding her beauty. Under the cap, her face was flushed. Her skin was smooth and lovely. Why would she want to cover that up?
His brain was foggy. He wanted to move or talk, but his body parts were not reacting as they should. He could feel something all over his legs. Vise looked down expecting something to be crawling up them, but there was nothing. Just a feeling, tingling, it started at his toes and slowly crept up.
What is that? He thought.
Cold. His face lit up in triumph. His feet were cold.
“Sir?” She interrupted, her face turned as red as the morning horizon.
Vise looked up and tried to move his mouth. He tried to mirror her mouth, but it came out as a grunt. She pointed to a large cabinet. “Clothes.” She turned to the fire and knelt.
Vise stood there. He looked at his bedroom. Feeling like he saw it for the first time in twenty-one years, the hand carved headboard and walnut wardrobe. The longer he looked, the more he understood. The fog was slowly clearing as understanding came over him. With the sun coming up and cutting away the morning chill, he knew. The tingling sensation on his arm when he put it in the light was called warm. Hot and cold were connected, or connected in a way that made them nothing alike. He tried to think of the concept. He shook his head and moved on.
Something popped and crackled, Vise looked up to see that the woman who hid her skin had left. There was something bright in the wall close to the floor. He approached, the warm light kissed the cold away and enveloped him. What is this? He thought. It's hot and bright like the stuff coming from the out there. He reached out. Vise put his hand into the hearth, and the fire didn’t burn him.
“Gods, Vise! How much wine did you drink last night?” The door opened. A bearded, brown haired man strode into the room. Fear coursed through his body as he saw Vise stretching his hand close to the flame. “Stop!” Val grabbed his brother's hand and lightly shoved him back.
“Vise? Are you alright?” Val’s brown eyes were dark with concern. The brothers stood eye to eye, although Val was three years older than Vise.
When Vise didn’t answer, Val dropped Vise’s hand with a huff. “Fine. Let’s get you dressed. I can clearly see you’re in need of my help. Father is waiting for us to discuss the battle at our doorstep.”
Val helped his brother down the dimly lit hallway. They usually passed through at mighty speeds, without giving any thought to the generations that lined the walls. In their slow march, the brothers saw the giant tapestries of the Varamore family line. Each one portrayed former Dukes, Great, great, great grandfather Duke Vorthington Vallis Varamore’s eyes seemed to follow them with the flickering torch light.
“When we get to the hall, you better be able to stand on your own. Can you now?” Val stopped and let go of his brother. Vise staggered like a drunken fool and caught himself against the wall. “Cold,” he said. Val chuckled and grabbed Vise’s right shoulder guiding him along.
They approached the Great Hall. The family crest was painted on the oak and metal doors. The Viper was green. Depicted in mid-strike, it’s mouth wide open and bright red. The fangs, gilded Vs.
A horn shattered the silence.
Val stopped jerking Vise with him.
“It’s over.” Val said, his shoulders relaxing for a moment as if something heavy was plucked from them, “we won.”
They burst through the double doors, Duke Valant Varamore III was already standing at the head of the massive table, a smile lit up his usual stoic features. Their father looked more like Vise, black hair, and blue eyes. Anyone could tell they were related.
“My sons! Did you hear the horn? We won!” Valant exclaimed. “Sit down.”
The brothers sat. The massive mahogany table took up the whole room. Rectangular, with twenty-one chairs perched around it and their father at the head and them sitting at his right. The food was piled up in front of them. Quail eggs poached in spicy sauce, crispy bacon, baking powder biscuits, along with strawberries, blueberries, blackberries and raspberries picked from their gardens and fresh baked bread filled the space.
“Father?” Val said as he piled food on a plate in front of him. “Vise isn’t feeling well this morning.” Val cast a sideways look at Vise who was just staring at his plate. Val reached over and piled Vise’s plate with food.
“Eat,” he said.
Vise just stared. His brain was slow at processing, but he was learning. Little by little he remembered how to act and be. His hand reached for the silver fork and stabbed the spicy egg. He lifted the food to his mouth. Vise stopped just as the food was in front of his face.
“Hot,” he said.
Val smiled, his mouth full of food. “He must have had way too much wine last night.”
“Well, we can’t blame him. It was-”
The double doors burst open. A guard in the familiar red and gold uniform saluted and asked, “My Lord, what should we do with the survivors?”
Their father’s eyes darkened, “I thought I told you. I don’t want one of those Frekjian scum alive on my soil. Leave no survivors.”
The guard's face paled. “Sir, there are healers among them. Surely they would be more useful alive than dead.”
“They murdered my wife.” His voice dropped to a low growl and he enunciated each word with his fist. “I. Will. Have. No. Survivors.”
Vise looked up from his food, his mouth half open. He squirmed and his brow furrowed. “Cold?”
��SYE
Him
You made me believe I was beautiful,
Like I was actually worth something.
You built me a wall confidence,
That I've never had before.
For a brief moment I was happy,
A rare second of delight.
Like I was in a dream
But then you woke me up.
I was just a puppet on a string,
A pawn in your chess game.
You took a sledgehammer to my wall
And tore me all apart.
You told me I would never be loved.
And I believed you.
My biggest regret was you.
A Naked City
The night began when the glass broke against the wall beside my head. I watched the light fade out of the window, heard the birds go quiet with the rise of the evening breeze, heard the room go dead and heard the soft drip-drip-drip of booze on the carpet. I didn't say a word, didn't have to, just walked out the door. My city is a bustle by day and a slag heap by night; when the moon comes out so do the drifters, the faces lit by the angry red tips of the cigarettes, the stalking coyotes that skulk back from the headlights but are unafraid of the dark. The moon stripped people down to cheekbones and collarbones and ribs and ankles and knuckles and sinew, shaving off the tenderness of day, and I pulled my jacket tight across my chest to keep myself from looking so desolate. The car keys in my pocket were cannonballs, noisy and hampering, and I handed them to the man with the vape pen in exchange for his pocketknife. I sat down and sawed through the high heels I'd worn to impress God knows whom, left the black spikes glittering on the pavement and kept walking. The rest of the shoes I handed over to the rats in the alley for safekeeping. Three women sitting in the intersection of two scrappy fences offered me a smoke; I kissed the joint until I had no lipstick left, then smoked it to a stub and offered up my checkbook for them to roll another. There was a long expanse of empty street ahead; I left my clothes in the street and approached the wall with a bare blade, naked and exposed to the world in that abrasive light, and I chiseled my initials into the fence like an epitaph. The moon hardened my translucent skin like clay, and I pressed my forehead into the wood so hard that the letters left imprints in my forehead. I listened to the night city say, over and over, you are no longer made of glass.
Two Faces
Two faces strain in different directions
conflicting emotions tearing apart
drowning slowly in a sinking boat
constantly battling for spotlight
one person, two personalities.
THE GOOD
Your eyes are soft from affection and desire.
I’m caught between your pages as
you melt resistant walls with your love
in flaming fire and crimson blood
as I try to hold open your door
with waxen key to unlock the goodness,
layered like paint in old beloved house.
THE BAD
Your closed windows of hate slam shut,
casting shadows over musty sheets,
hatred welling in your slitted eyes.
Reflecting heartbreak over my dawn,
your eyes strike like ice in glacier ponds
a beating drumbeat infiltrating my skull
bilingual body lost in hopeless translation,
confusing power of love with hatred.
DILEMMA
Where do I go to get the whole person?
Can I fuse your gasping lungs together
to allow struggling cycle of love and hate
to breathe together in one affinity?
Paralyzed Without Your Hello
I'll be paralyzed without your hello
You are like my morning coffee
I need to sip you slowly
What will i do without your words?
They make my day move
You provide me with a deserving smile
Your presence is my foundation
My foundation is created by you
If you leave, i'll be paralyzed
My bones will be rigid
I'll drift like trash
Landing in unwanted places
But, you make my face light up
Without matches i feel the flame
Scared from the unknown
My smile might be faked!
K.j.a. (c) 2016