but men plan and the gods laugh
#1
[html]
Even a casual observer could easily see that the winter had been hard on Festivity. She had always been slender of frame and lightly built, but the layer of flesh between skin and bone had evaporated at an alarming rate. Each individual rib could be seen and counted; her shoulder blades and hip bones stuck out at prominent angles. The shine that belongs to healthy creatures was missing in her coat. The copper and ebony were dull and dusty, the white faded to a dank cream. More alarming than any of these, Festivity’s deep brown eyes, once bright and full of life, were flat and hollow.



Festivity was not a fool. She had known that spending the winter in a cold climate would be difficult. And, to her credit, the lupine had prepared for the cold season remarkably well: a stockpile of food and fuel, thick clothing, an inside location to whittle long winter nights away. It should have been a simple matter of curling up with a plethora of books and wait for sunny spring days. But men plan and the gods laugh, and life has no guarantees. Around midwinter, a deep and rattling cough lodged itself in her chest, set up camp, and refused to leave.



The virus sapped her strength, stripped the excess flesh from her limbs and was also responsible for the loss of color in her coat. Still, through the long illness Festivity had remained upbeat. She was aptly named after all, and her spirit was strong and bright. It was not until Valrian also took sick that she became concerned, and when he died in her arms a few weeks later that the light in her eyes went out. The African hybrid buried her lifelong friend in the frozen earth and gave him the sendoff of a king. Her grief went beyond words.



Unable to comprehend suicide, Festivity spent the rest of the winter begging the heavens for a swift end. But as the days lengthened and the world slowly warmed, the cough began to fade. Her trial-by-fire immune system somehow overcame the invading virus, leaving behind a shell that was emaciated and heartbroken. On the rare warm days, she would wander trails blindly, instinctively building back muscles that had atrophied all winter. At her library-side residence, her belongings were sorted and packed. She simply couldn’t bear to remain in a place where there were still echoes and ghosts of much-beloved white wings. Once she was confident that the worst weather of the season had passed, she’d depart.



But men plan and the gods laugh, and life has no guarantees. Festivity waited a few days too many, and the past she’d spent the last two years running from came roaring back to greet her.



Her past arrived at her door one morning as a company of four brutes, led – oddly enough – by her younger brother. Southhawk took after his father in appearance, being dusky tan in coloration with coarse features and long limbs. When she’d left, her brother had taken after his mother’s personality, and was mild natured with a kind soul. Just as Valrian’s death had taken the light of her eyes, it was clear that some event had taken the heart out of his. If the hard look on his face hadn’t sent her legs wobbling, the company he kept would have. The remaining trio were her father’s henchmen, a nightmarish triplet that “took care” of things. One carried a bow, one a spear, the other a sword. Between the three, there was no foe they could not handle. The bowman already has an arrow notched, scanning the trees; undoubtedly looking for a white-winged rescue that would never come.



Festivity was a storyteller, and therefore also a capable actress. Perhaps if she could pretend nothing was wrong, this would turn out just to be a misunderstanding. Denial does have a place, after all. Although he was taller and more muscular now, Festivity threw her arms around her brother’s shoulders, just as she had when they were younger. Her words were simple so that there would be no need to guard them.



“Hello brother.”



He dislodged himself from the embrace, neatly grabbing her hand in the process.



“Sister dear. You look terrible.” The words that once would have been spoken with concern now dripped with sarcasm and unspoken malice. She chose to ignore the comment, but at this point, Festivity attempted to withdraw her hand. Southhawk’s grip redoubled, and for the first time she was well and truly afraid. She abandoned the act, and spoke plainly.



“Why are you here?”



“Father sent me. He has need of you with the caravan.”



“Need of me? Bullshit. Father washed his hands of me, long ago.”



“Perhaps. But he spent good coin on your training and now expects a return on the investment.”



Raze has always been a distant father. But he had been a father and had expressed some measure of genuine concern for his offspring. Of course, her mother’s death had changed that – Festivity had just not stuck around to see just how severely the family had been affected. She heard her father’s words from her brother’s mouth, and knew the caravan life she knew was changed forever. There would be no return, not for any of them.



“No. I don’t want to go back.”



“What you want is immaterial.” His voice grew hard and hollow, and Southhawk was suddenly speaking to his own ghosts. “What we all want is immaterial. There is only what is and what will be, and he dictates both. So whether will you or nill you, you will come with us.”



Festivity began to struggle in earnest now, tugging against her sibling’s vice like grip. In health, freeing herself would have been difficult. Now it was nigh on impossible. Southhawk, for his part, merely looked bored. The one with the spear stepped forward and swung the hilt at the base of her skull. Festivity dropped immediately, falling like a child into her brother’s arms. The swordsman picked up her pack and the bowman led the way to the water where a boat was moored against the coming tide. An hour later, they were on the high seas with a stiff wind bearing them swiftly eastward.



But men plan and the gods laugh, and life has no guarantees. The boat, it turned out, would never reach its chosen shore.
[/html]


Forum Jump: