At first, there was a sound.
Not strident--rough and imposing--but soft and smooth. Mellow and rhythmic. Much of its presence was concealed, barely having any physical presence, let alone any weight. The lips from which these sounds sprouted trembled and vibrated as they gave life.
At first, it was nothing more than an Om! An om resonating from the deepest pits of bellies, exiting decorously from mouths.
Voices reverberated from the temple walls.
Decrepit; marred by age and weather, by human negligence and laggard. Grey and old, the bricks lined up, on top of each other and beside one another. They held up the otherwise crumbling temple no one else seemed to heed. The sullen, sorry sight of a temple had been marred by man's own doing and by the laws of nature. Anything that comes to be will soon be found by its fate--whether today or tomorrow, the folly fool is too soon reminded of its end.
Alone, it stood, reminiscing. Bathing in sunlight, or bruting storms, though, through the passage of time they had merged into one.
From the ceiling, banal and colorless, a gaping hole ushered in the light pitter-patter of the falling droplets. Puddles had formed long ago on the surface of the temple floor. Moving and merging and growing the puddles were free to roam, no one was coming to rain on their parade.
Hand in hand, the pitter-patter and the matra frolicked in the absence of man.
Alone, away from avarice, from the sins of man--the spirits were free to dance. In the rain, under the sun, what's the difference?
The shadow of the sun has no mercy.
Of course, the play reached the ears of a dormant Samara. Trapped in the land of darkness for the dreamless, Samara was found.
Little by little, Samara's conscience began to take shape again. The ball she had curled herself into the night prior was unraveling.
Her eyes moved under her eyelids.
A blood-red light chased the dark abyss away.
The light was warm.
Peeling back her eyelids, her grey pupils displayed their beauty to the world once more.
They didn't outright crack open--rather, it was a slow process. The world, hazy and full of pain, took its time sinking into her mind. The sharp light that dominated her vision had served its purpose, its warmth was now hot-- painfully hot. She swayed her head left and right hoping to escape it.
Her head felt heavier than she remembered.
Somewhere above the smoke, through the haziness, she could hear voices.
"Ah! She's awake," a familiar voice said. A soothing, silky voice. "See?"
"Keya," a raspy voice followed after. Still, under the hypnosis of fatigue, Samara couldn't say whether the voice was familiar. "Goodness, girl, you know you can't use that sort of language around me. I've made it abundantly clear that I can't see a godforsaken thing-- if you haven't noticed, I'm blind. Ha-a. Okay, let's have a looks-y."
In the moments that followed, the half of Samara that had remained dormant was pulled out of its sleep. Literally yanked out like potatoes on harvest day.
Cold, slithery things began to crawl over her faces, brushing her skin with their rough bodies. The tips of the creepy crawlies made their way into every nook and cranny they could slither into. Her mouth, her nostrils, her ears--they started to poke at her eyes, too. Her skin crawled as her nerves began to cry in despair.
"WA-A-AH!" Samara's listless mind jumped back to reality. "Wha-Wha-Wha-what! Getaway!"
Able to see once more, she wasn't ready for what was to come. Under a stream of light peering from a crack in the wall was just about the ugliest thing she had ever had the displeasure of laying her eyes on.
An ogre?
A goblin?
Whatever it was, Samara had no recollection of such an inscrutable figure anywhere in her brain.
A new species?
To begin with, for a clearer picture, it was short--incredibly short. Maybe standing three feet, and that's a hard maybe. It was rather gaunt-looking despite the layers of fat disfiguring its body, truly the face of a damned witch. Whatever held up the massive ball of blubber must've been sturdy as steel beams, but logic be damned because they were nothing more than two twigs--trembling and ready to cave.
Just what was happening? What was this comical humanoid thing?
A long thin nose protruded from its sagging face. Under that were thin lips that stretched from one crooked ear to the other. It wasn't clear to Samara whether it was smiling or serious, and she didn't know which answer she preferred.
A buildup of mucus loitered around the edges of its inauspicious gawking eyes. More perturbing yet, they never seemed to shut.
Strings of hair--not beautiful, elegant locks but silly strings sprouted from its head in a manner that said why bother. Its hair was there, but it didn't want to be. Perhaps halfway through life it had a stroke and lost its shape--the hair, that is... But, perhaps, it can be applied all around.
Draped in unappealing clothes, it remained roosted, leering.
"That's not very nice of you," the creature spoke in a slow raspy voice. It stood with its hands hovering over where Samara's face once rested as if tracing her afterimage. Its fingers still wiggled and massaged the air space under them.
Samara gasped and held her breath. Could this creature read minds too? Had it heard all the unpleasant things raging in her mind?
"I believe it's proper etiquette to introduce yourself to strangers before you scream at them. Sheesh. Kids have no respect nowadays." It finished saying.
And with that, Samara let her breath escape in a heavy sigh, but the fright had left her gasping for more.
That's when it hit her. The stench. The bitter yet sour taste of 'I don't want to know' hit her nostrils like a bolder--a massive bolder. She was at a cross whether to breathe or not to breathe. The pungent miasma of sweat, grit, and god knows what else permeated throughout the room. Every breath felt like a stink bomb exploding inside her nasal cavities.
She could taste it!
A shock of lightning bolted from the tips of her toes and ran up all the way up to the tippy-top of her longest hair strand. Pins and needles assailed every nerve wiring her body.
Samara was at a loss, completely and utterly at the mercy of her enslaver. Never before had she been hit by such an appalling amalgamation of touch, smell, sight, and taste. A batch of puke came knocking at the door of her esophagus. Any more and she would have to dig her fist into her throat and punch it down. Thankfully, she managed to swallow it.
Even that tasted better than the polluted air eddying her.
"Er," Keya, the lady from before was there too, sitting on a chair beside Samara's bed. "Madame Sophie--she's frightened."
"Huh? Oi-oi, quell yourself, young lady. You're in no peril here, you may respite your qualms." Madame Sophie said without fully understanding the situation.
Unmoved by her words Samara remained vigilant and alert. All her bells and whistles were ringing, all her pistons were at their limits. She was ready to pounce at a moment's notice.
"Samara rest easy. You're safe here, with us."
The same smiling face from the night before met Samara's frightened countenance. Ripened and dried with age, Keya's smile still retained its vigor--it humble vigor. Her voice--was there anything more soothing?
"That's right, behave yourself." Madame Sophie's deft fingers moved in grotesque ways--she even shot Samara a sly smirk.
"I--what's going on?" Samara's voice restored its tone. No longer did she speak broken words--stuttering like a damaged engine.
As she rubbed Samara's arm with her hand, Keya said softly, "settle down--they'll hear. We'll explain everything."
"Yes. Hush your tone, or do you want to be taken?" Madame Sophie turned her back and made way towards the long desk lined against the wall, in front of Samara's bed.
The room was incredibly small and bleak. The light that had lit Samara's face was, in fact, the room's only source of light. There was a small fire on the table, though its luminescence and vigor failed to prove much. Then again, the purpose of the fire wasn't for light but to heat up the vile suspended over it.
The vile, Samara pinpointed, was most likely the source of the putrid stench.
More interesting yet, Madame Sophie was not bothered by the lack of light. Then again, she had stated previously that she was blind. But that only added more interest because she seemed to maneuver her way through the small room with ease.
"They?"
"Aye. They." Madame Sophie said frivolously, without a care in the world. "Beasts--out for your blood, doncha know? You've made quite the name for yourself."
Unknowing of how veracious Madame Sophie's words were, Samara's worry heightened.
Her ambiguous words gave life to a smoldering memory in Samara's head. A beast--a beast like none other, silhouetted by scorching flames, stood in front of her. Its numinous presence was as bewitching as it was appalling.
But only for a second. A blip. Nothing more than a droplet of water in the ocean. Rather; nothing more than a spark in the flames.
Flustered, Samara's face toted a newfound discomfort.
"They're guards," Keya said, dismissing Madame Sophie's tales of beasts. "The town guards have been running rampant since this morning. It's much past midday, but much like rain, they haven't let up."
Soft chuckles reached Samara's ears. Madame Sophie was having a swell time teasing her.
"Haha. They can be persistent when they want to be. It'd do you good not to get caught by their sleazy hands, nothing good can come of it." Madame Sophie finished her chuckle. "Keya, entrusting your word to someone you just met--what a childish thing to do. You should've given her up when you had the chance. Your words will be gauged by the gods."
"I realize... Zeljko and I realize that a promise like that is hard to keep, but..." Keya's voice was gradually silenced. "Seeing her so pitiful... We had to do something."
"Infantilism doesn't suit you, Keya."
"Wait-Wait-Wait a minute. I still don't understand," Samara interrupted. Hearing their back and forth didn't quell her worry one bit.
It was Madame Sophie's turn to speak. "Curse your fate, child. Curse it real good and pray for a better next life. Or perhaps... Are you paying for your previous life's sins? I wouldn't put it past ya."
Without saying more, Madame Sophie walked up to Samara's bed and stood adjacent to Keya. "Give me your arm," She demanded. "I'm not one to beat around the bush, so I'll show you."
Unsure of what to do or who to trust, Samara was understandably hesitant.
"Give it," Madame Sophie persisted. She placed her hand so that her palms faced up towards the ceiling and moved it as if she were begging.
"It's okay, Samara," Keya agreed.
When her fingertips met the gnarled touch of Madame Sophie's palm her hand was snatched before she could react. With a yelp, Samara was pulled forward until her face was about a few centimeters from Madame Sophie's needle-like nose. Any closer and her head would have popped like a balloon. From that distance, Samara was bewitched by the pupil-less eyes staring back at her.
Without so much as a flinch, Madame Sophie grabbed Samara's sleeve and pulled it back, all the while not lifting her gaze.
It hadn't come to her attention, given the commotion, but, Samara's clothes had been changed. She was dressed in thin linen that was as colorless as the daunting eyes leering at her.
Under her sleeve, Samara was as bewildered as anyone to find an uncanny line running the circumference of her forearm. Dark, burnt. It wasn't marked like a tattoo nor was it the ink of a pen. The color wasn't monotone but shadowed; dark in some areas and light in others.
"I don't need to have eyes to feel the malevolent energy resonating from your arm. It stinks."
The skin where the mark was etched was charred and jagged, nearly lacerated. She ran her fingers along the mark, confirming that it was indeed burnt.
Or as Madame Sophie would say, she had been branded. Like cattle.
"What do you mean branded? What is this? Why do I have this?" Samara demanded answers.
"The only person that can answer that is you," Madame Sophie said, but her flippant diction had turned bile. "I need to know, what happened to you?"
Samara's silence was becoming an ill habit, one Madame Sophie couldn't stand. So, she tightened her hold.
"Ow! I-I," Samara couldn't find fitting words. "I don't-"
"I told you before, I'm not one to beat around the bush. I know you know." Madame Sophie persisted. "I don't know who you are--but you've come to us bearing fangs. You're probably too ignorant to realize your own mistake, but telling me what happened will do us good--all of us."
Hearing those unnerving words, Samara turned pallid.
Just what was this person saying? She didn't understand a thing.
Was she speaking in tongues? In riddles?
Unable to make out Madame Sophie's words, she turned to Keya, hoping to find answers with her. But all she found was Keya swaying her head from side to side.
No, Keya said without words, I cannot help you now.
As torpid and trapped as that made her feel, Samara felt no resentment towards Keya. It's important to note that she had no ill feelings towards Madame Sophie, either.
Sitting in that bed, she came to realize something. Despite the hostility she perceived, she was, in fact, being gifted hospitality. She was being gifted kindness.
In their own way--in their own nature, each gifted Samara with their kindness.
Much to her chagrin.
There was no reason to withhold her words. She knew she was trapped. She was beginning to see the situation in a clearer picture, rather, forced to see it, now that she was alone. No, not alone. She was being taken care of.
She acquiesced.
She had lost.
She cowed.
Samara's pertinacity caved without further resistance.
Her head dropped, and her arm turned to gelatin as it slid from Madame Sophie's grip. She sat on the bed, looking sullen and morose, mulling over what to betray.
They're kindness or her sworn promise.
She picked up her arm and rubbed the charred area. It'd didn't hurt. In fact, she could feel very little of anything-- but she believed it would help her decide.
That godforsaken night.
No that's not right.
If such a thing as demons exist, she thought, then a god must exist in turn. She believed this, she wanted to believe. What came to her in her memories was nothing short of a demon. Nothing short of the devil himself.
A dark, enigmatic figure shrouded in flames.
The skies were charcoal black, hopeless, and weary. They were weeping, the skies--it was raining that night.
Samara parted her tight-knit lips. Her pale expression lifted.
"Don't dither. That mark on your arm doesn't lie, but I need to hear it from you," Madame Sophie pressed.
Samara began. "Last night... Before midnight. It was raining, wasn't it? Violently. I was with a group, near the Cyan peninsula-"
"So," Madame Sophie interrupted. "You're from the town of Cyan then."
Samara tensed up. She had given herself away without realizing it! And so easily, too!
Might as well write a book and sell it to the world!
No, she was the book, and she was being read easily.
"Haha! It's not like there are many noticeable towns deep in the mountains. Cyan...Hm. Then if my old weary brain can make an assumption, you're birthplace is Ethyra, isn't it? Judging from your frail nature, you're a city girl, alright."
Just who was this person? Samara pondered. How did she know so much? She hadn't even mentioned Ethyra, yet... How?
Samara was seeing this person in a new light with every surprise. Any more and she'd be seeing rainbows.
"Continue," Madame Sophie insisted. "Keep in mind, you can't fool this old hag, so choose your words well."
Then, something came to mind in the form of an epiphany. "I came with another girl. Where is she? She's dressed in strange clothes, and looks awfully suspicious--have you seen her?"
"So she's important to you, is she? Heck-of-a way to describe a friend, I must say. Don't worry, we're taking care of her. She was a little worse for wear, so we took her to someone that can treat her wounds. Let it be known, your bill is snowballing. I wonder if a frail girl, such as yourself, can cover it."
"Err."
"My, you're so easy to mess with! Hahaha!" Madame Sophie's cackle bordered hysteria.
"Madame Sophie," Keya stepped in, having had enough of her antics. "Please settle down, the guards will hear you."
"Eh? Oh, right. Please don't scold me Keya. I understand we're in quite the predicament, but I'm not deaf. Anyways, where were we?" Madame Sophie dug into her ear without care for her guests. "Right. The Cyan peninsula."
"She isn't my friend," Samara was straightforward. "She was a client. No--she's still a client."
"A client," Keya expressed her confusion.
"Right, a client... Um, have you heard of the Maoli Village? They're a renowned group of people, so I'm sure-"
"God's handmaids," Madame Sophie said without mulling. "A nomadic tribe. I've heard of some people having a run-in with them. Quite hostile--at least from the anecdotes."
"Yes, well, our client...That mysterious girl is a priestess from the village. My group was instructed to escort her and two other priestesses to... To-"
"To your town, Cyan." Keya finished her sentence.
"Well, yes. My town... Cyan."
"Not so hard, is it? I'm not inclined to believe that you carry important information. Don't get me wrong, it's not because you're you, rather... It's hard to see," Madame Sophie giggled at her own stupid joke. "You're body isn't quite there yet. It's still very much as tender and small as a young girl. I doubt you have the experience required to handle sensitive information. Important, top-secret, hush-hush sort of things."
"Eh!"
A silent gust brushed passed them. Staring at Madame Sophie's face, Samara couldn't help but find herself perplexed by her words. It wasn't so much that her wishes weren't being taken seriously, but-
Just what was this person spouting? A girl? A child?
Wait! Samara convinced herself, she was just commenting on her youthfulness, nothing more. Right? Right.
As much as she wished to correct Madame Sophie's description of her, she couldn't. Madame Sophie was very much on the right. But that didn't make it right to say those things, right?
"R-Right," Keya finally broke the silence. "May I inquire, what does she have to do with your mishap?"
Pulling in the bedsheets closer to her face, as to cover her body, Samara answered, "we were attacked. Somewhere along our travels, as we returned home."
"Aye. Well, that's as obvious as a red apple being red and sweet. I want to know what happened to you," Madame Sophie reprised. "Let me put it another way. What burned your cadet uniform? What demon branded you?"
"My coat!?"
"Aye. Nothing more than soot now."
"I'm deeply sorry," Keya's apology softened her voice. "I tried my best to mend it, but it disintegrated when I pinched it with my needle."
Samara's banal expression turned sour. Not one of anger but of disappointment. With her mouth pried open, she couldn't do anything but sulk and pout like the child Madame Sophie said she was.
"You're diverging from the question, you a sneaky rascal. Keya tried her best, so leave it at that. Continue."
She was being pressed. There was no escape. Trying to slither away from the topic seemed futile. The gatekeeper, Madame Sophie, certainly proved to be a formidable person, Samara was beginning to realize.
"Putting it into words--that's something... Difficult to do," Samara said dismissively.
"Ha-a-a!" Madame Sophie made sure to make her sigh apparent. Tossing her head back, facing the ceiling, she let the weight of her head hang. "I'm sure it is. Your voice doesn't sound confident, but I'll put that down to your awkward nature. But... Believe me when I say this: I'm here to help you. There's no need to tell you, you can see for yourself, but, luck was on your side. You're still breathing. Make sure to give thanks in your prayers tonight. We often ask for things but we forget to give thanks.
Understand this, I'm not the enemy."
Samara couldn't help but let Madame Sophie's words sink into her.
It hadn't crossed her mind, but, this person, Madame Sophie as they called her, was surprisingly religious. It's not uncommon to hear things like thanking our god, especially from those bordering life and death. However, she had also spoken about rebirth and past lives. She wanted to ask, but, surely she'd be accused of changing the subject.
More importantly, she hadn't been given a reason to believe that she was in danger. Madame Sophie said she wasn't the enemy. Although Samara had no recollection of what happened in the time she was dormant, she was more than just fine. At least for now.
She was more than just breathing.
She inhaled a batch of air and trapped it, allowing it to take the full volume of her lungs. Samara spoke again, letting her words escape by themselves.
With a white mind, the memories played back.
No--that's night right. She let go of her grip. She stopped resisting them.
"A Dark figure. Faceless. Arrayed in ebony armor plates from head to toe. Twisted horns protruding from its head. Likewise, like a sheep, its legs were inverted; bending inward instead of outward. Cupped in its hands was a long spear, glittering like none I've ever seen."
Sulking, Samara gave her account.
"As soon as we saw it, we were set alight. It was as if its glare was enough to combust the very air around us. Screaming, yelling, running... Nothing helped. The only thing that soothed our burning bodies was a nearby river. The rain didn't help much. Throwing ourselves into the pool of water, it was the only thing we could do."
"Wha-What was it?" Keya asked, being more intrigued than frightened.
Parting her lips once more, Samara's words drifted softly, "I... Don't know. I had never seen anything like it. Once the river's current carried us downstream, the fear of the demon was washed away, along with most of my memory. The only other thing I remember from that instant was the sense of drowning.
I wanted to cough, but as I went to inhale, water trespassed my cavities. My lungs were drowned and my stomach was full of water. My fear had been swept, but only to be replaced by desperation."
"You didn't get another look at it, I presume." Madame Sophie looked certain rather than baffled by Samara's story. "You still haven't explained how you got here. A journey to the Cyan peninsula is no cakewalk. If we were to assume the perfect conditions, weather, and what have you, it'd take three days to get there. Walking that is."
"I'd really like it if you didn't tease me like this," Samara said, at last taking a stand for herself.
"What do you mean," Madame Sophie's comical timbre returned.
"You're manner of doing things..." Samara took a moment to think over her words. "You know very well how I got here. Covering a three days journey in an hour. I don't know what I was thinking. Was I even thinking?"
"Such bouts are rare, but not impossible. Your adrenaline must have kept you going, pushing you past your physical and mental limits. If only I could show the state your body was in when I received you. Forget the gods, you should worship me instead! Haha!"
"Wait," Keya stepped in. "Now I think I'm the one that doesn't understand."
Keya's words seemed to have clogged Madame Sophie's throat--her cackling stopped then and there. Madame Sophie turned her head ever so slightly until she was facing Keya.
Samara couldn't help but ask herself, was this person, Madame Sophie, really blind?
Keya starred back, looking antsy and uncertain. Her face expressed the questions racing across her. Unknowing whether she hit a nerve, or perhaps a sensitive topic, she went to excuse herself but was stopped short.
"What?" Madame Sophie said abruptly. "Keya, you mean to tell me you helped this twerp without even knowing?"
"Kn-Know what?" Keya's voice trembled.
"Ask her for yourself."
Confused and dazed, Keya moved her head towards Samara, who was as bewildered as her. She looked about her; her long auburn hair, her large grey, the dotting freckles shyly running across the bridge of her small nose. There wasn't anything out of the ordinary.
"Go on, tell 'er yourself. She did save your life after, it's the least she deserves," Madame Sophie persisted, though now it looked as if she were talking to the wall.
Clutching the hem of the bedsheets, Samara stared at Keya worryingly. Her words didn't come out as she wanted them to, they were mostly just clicks and sounds. But after a bit of trying, they came out. Torpid, quite, as if she were speaking to ghosts.
"I'm," Samara began. "I'm, a... sorceress."