by Monica Doke
“You are beautiful,” Jax said into Melody's hair. She laughed into his chest.
“You are silly,” Melody replied. Jax pulled her back to look into her face.
“Only because you knock me out of my senses,” Jax replied seriously. “Before I met you, I was nothing. I wanted to die. The day I caught you was the first day of my life.” Melody stared up at him. Touched by his sincerity, her stomach twisted into knots. “I am so sorry about all of my lies. I wish I had just been honest from the beginning, but I was selfish and I did not want to lose my mother.”
“That was your father's game, Jax,” Melody replied. “He bribed you with her life from when you were very little. You knew nothing else. I am very pleased that meeting me has brought you out of that.”
“I am as well,” Jax said. “So was my mother. She died on her own terms,” Jax said. “She died in my arms and gave me my freedom. I will not waste that, I promise.” Jax's eyes widened when he remembered something.
“I met a Ninze!” Jax said suddenly. Melody laughed.
“You did? That is strange,” Melody replied. Jax led her to the bed so they could sit.
“I know, but she told me to take my power back,” Jax told Melody. “Her name was Cally.” Melody smiled.
“That is very interesting,” Melody told him. Jax smiled down at the Pramacretine. He leaned down to Melody and kissed her mouth. Melody returned his kiss gently. Jax pulled away blushing.
“I am sorry,” Jax said. “I take many liberties with my Pramacretine.” Melody shoved the Conjurer as she laughed. He leaned over and kissed her again.
The Tragedy
Genewen was in a flurry of motion as she cared for the Pacretine. She had asked Alastaf to take on the duties of the Pacretine until further notice. Alastaf did as asked but was very concerned about his father. Thane was primary in the care of his father. He had spent the morning searching for remedies in some of the texts. He still could not find the incantation the late Conjurer had used. Melody tried to describe it, but was sad to find she could not remember much.
Thane stepped into the room, his stomach tight and his knees hesitant. He finally reached his father’s side and knelt down beside him. The Healer placed his hand against Andover's forehead. He held his hand to Andover's mouth and held it there. There was breath but it was slight. The Healer checked his father's eyes but was disappointed to find that they were sightless and did not react to light. Thane's heart pounded from the dread of his father's illness. Thane placed one of his long fingered hands on the Pacretine’s temple as he attempted to bring back his consciousness. It took many long moments, as the young Healer had to probe through his father’s mind to find where his consciousness was hiding. Without comment, his brother and stepmother watched as Thane began to hum. There was a sudden thickness in the air as they felt the Ether Thane wrought permeate through Andover and then through the rest of the room. They knew he was trying to bring his father back. The memory of him walking through the palace toward them lit up in their minds. This was Ether, not reality. They knew because Thane had tried many times before.
To everyone's complete surprise, the Pacretine twitched and grunted to life. His eyes did not open as he groaned from pain. Thane watched as tears ran down Andover's face. The Pacretine whispered something inaudibly so Thane bent down to hear him. When the Healer heard his father repeat it, he replied loud enough for everyone to hear.
“She is here, she killed Ziodin,” Thane said. He looked at Alastaf who nodded and fled the room.
“He did not take her, Father. She took his life,” Thane repeated when Andover asked again. He was restless and in pain. In only a few moments, Melody ran back in with Alastaf. She stood beside Thane and took her father's hand.
“Father, it is Melody. I am here, I am fine,” Melody gasped breathlessly. “Please wake up for us!” Andover's eyes twitched open and directed straight at Melody. Thane nudged her.
“I told her she was your favorite,” Thane said to both of them. Andover did not speak again, only stared at Melody. She could see his pain in them and winced. Melody bent down and kissed his cheek, and then she whispered something in his ear. Andover's gray eyes watered and fell closed. Thane frowned. He had lost his consciousness again. The Agouran children stood frozen as they watched Andover's life quietly slip away from them. Melody sobbed and embraced Thane. The two stood there crying against each other. Alastaf bent over putting his hands on his knees when the sorrow struck him. Melody released Thane and went to Alastaf. She pulled him into her and let him cry on her. Thane held them both. Genewen wept beside them.
The whole palace heard the news and reacted similarly to the children. There were sobs and cries sounding all over the premises. Melody curled up in her bed to weep alone for the rest of the afternoon.
Thane, Alastaf and Melody sensed a beginning deep in their bodies and wanted nothing more than to hide away from it. Thane needed to confide his inner feelings with someone, so he stopped his brother gently. Alastaf looked at his brother miserably.
“Al, I need to talk to you,” the Healer whispered. Alastaf looked at his brother and nodded. They sat in a small library alone.
“What are we going to do?” Thane asked. He felt tears spill over his cheeks. He could not stop them. “I am so lost without him.”
“As do I, little brother,” Alastaf agreed. He did not cry but he was clearly hurting.
“When... when we lose Melody,” Thane choked. Alastaf stopped him.
“You cannot bring yourself there, yet,” Alastaf told Thane. “I know you are hurting now because Father and Mother are gone. I hurt along with you. However, if you begin to worry about every person that you love dying, you will be a sad man for the rest of your long life. We all die. You know this, of all people. You are a Healer. Brother,” Alastaf said squeezing his brother’s elbow reassuringly. “Focus now on grieving our Father, focus on those of us who survive him. We have a lot of work to do and there is much more pain ahead of us. I know this is hard, but I am here for you always.” Alastaf finished. Thane hugged Alastaf sadly and the two separated and went on with their necessary tasks.
…
Melody sat in the foyer, her eyes red and inflamed from many hours of harsh tears and dubious thoughts of all the things she could not change. Her father was gone, forever. A fact, which rocked her entire being. It was so large of a concept that the Pramacretine could not grasp it. She only thought, over and over – what has happened? Her mind expelled the thought of his death as often as it occurred.
Ziodin had suggested that she was to be Macretine. She knew her father had to die for this to happen, along with Genewen and her two half-brothers. She felt her stomach rot within her at the very thought of her entire family falling because of a war that was supposed to have long since ended. She hated to see it quietly carried on through a being many knew existed and of which few knew the true nature.
Melody found the full realization of her enemy’s prowess had hardly struck her before. Even though the texts had clearly stated the threat that she was and the danger she would bring to the vulnerable nation of Agoura. Melody began morbidly imagining every person she ever loved, or would ever love dying in a gruesome war against an evil they could not match. She knew she could not let Rovingae take her life, or her blood. She knew she had to find some way to keep the Blood Witch away from her entirely.
The young Pramacretine straightened herself out and stood carefully. She had been sitting outside in the hall for a long time, waiting for something but not knowing what. She had finally decided to walk a while and perhaps, she thought wryly, swing a sword around a little with the best Swordsman in Agouran history.
She smiled as she thought of the training she insisted she go through with Thane, though the Swordsman did not wish to instruct a child so young. Unlike the Horseman, the Swordsman had no problem teaching women. He stated plainly that women were perfectly adept for sword fighting. He knew well that his fame came from fighting beside Serend
ipity in the War of Fae. He had proudly been her Second in Command.
Melody thought of all of the history she had read in the library and wondered how it would affect her new purpose in life. She had read all of the texts merely because she loved the knowledge and because she thought many were wonderfully inspiring stories. She had never before thought she could use all of the knowledge of the history to her advantage.
A slam at the Palace entrance pulled the blue-eyed youth urgently from her meditations. Footsteps at the Palace entrance caused Melody to ready her weapon. Melody advanced, her feet moving expertly and silently to the large heavily guarded door. She noticed the guards had been standing cautiously behind a tall heavyset man. His round cheeks gave him an air of amicability and his short frame seemed oddly unimposing despite his fiery entrance. Although the Pramacretine was standing with her bow ready, she found she could not utter a single threat. The man smiled warmly.
“Aye, the spitting image of me late sister!” The man cried happily, as he approached her. Melody lowered her bow slowly. The day broke with much distrust and she found it weighed heavily on her heart. She placed her arrow back in the quiver and slung the bow over her back. She smiled, but she did not invite him closer to her.
“Pray, good Sir, which I do hope that you are - what is it that you speak of?” Melody spoke, her hand twitching at the ready beside her knife. The man smiled again, stretching his lively face free of his wrinkles. His hair was gray and wildly confused and he wore a tattered red cloak with the hood drawn over his head. Not very tall, he stood maybe a hand higher than Melody.
“Aye, Lassie, I am yer mother’s brother. Me name is Nairel. I am so very pleased to meet ye!” His exclamation was so genuine and amusing Melody felt herself flush and a smile crept across her face.
“You are? My mother’s brother? Father has never mentioned my mother having any kin besides her own mother. If I had known you had existed I would have hoped to have met you long before now,” Melody replied.
“Do not fret, Lassie,” Nairel interrupted gently, his face passive. “Ye have met me once before, when ye were born. I stayed with Pandora all through the night of yer birth, until the moment she died. Then I took ye into my arms and carried ye all the way to yer bed. I had you for a few years, actually. Me travels and meditations have kept me astray, not yer father - nor any lack of interest,” Nairel explained. His accent curled her lips into a smile. “Ye see, I know exactly what ye are, an' I couldna' bring me-self to treat ye like yer not, which is wha' was to be done so no one knew who ye were. So, I kept away; for yer sake.” Nairel's face grew solemn as he spoke of Melody’s title and she felt her joy of meeting someone else who knew her mother dissipating with the knowledge of her future.
“If you do not mind,” Melody said, tears stinging her eyes. “Could we talk of something other than what I am required to be? I am in so much agony over my recent tragedies that I loathe reveling in future ones.” Melody bowed her head desolately, causing a look of surprise and pity to ravage the old Meta’s face. When Melody looked up at him, he pulled his face together and smiled graciously, pulling his feet in towards her. Nairel bent his arm out to the Pramacretine and she took it carefully. He led her down the hallway.
“Tell me about yerself, Lassie,” he said cheerfully. “I would like to know anythin' ye feel like tellin' me,” he smiled. Melody stared forward for a long while, her small face unreadable in the dim light of the hall. Nairel looked at the daughter of his late sister and saw that she actually did look remarkably like her mother and the resemblance caused him to miss his sister more than he had in a long time. He was glad to see her so grown and into such a beauty.
Melody directed her blue gaze behind her uncle and frowned. A small woman stood silently in the archway, holding all of Nairel’s bags. He followed her frowning gaze back to the woman. She was very short, with long white hair and dark emerald eyes. At Melody’s stare, the woman bowed her pretty head. The Pramacretine thought she might be old, but absolute youth shined on her face. She knew well how age was so hard to discern from certain races. Melody guessed she was Sararen, but was not sure because she did resemble the Cirety closely. The Serare were typically white haired, fair-skinned beings and they had very light colored eyes. This woman was not the height, nor build of the Serare. She was short with slender, strong legs. Her body curved majestically underneath a dress that seemed to be flowing from the woman’s beauty. Nairel coughed and Melody’s attention shot back to him.
“This is Derooka,” Nairel introduced the woman guiltily as he walked back to the doorway and forced the woman to set down the things. “I know it looks like she is me slave, but tha' is no' true. Ye have to understand somethin' about the upbringin' of the Cirety-”
“I knew it!” Melody interrupted gleefully. “Sorry.”
“They are raised to the service o' their men. Anythin' that they think, do, or say must be in favor of their chosen husbands. I met Derooka off Crystal Lake, as I was travelin' to see to the peace after the war, an' I just fell for the race. I stayed for years. There I found Derooka and married her. She claims to love me, but I still dinna’ know to this day. I poke and prod and pry but the woman willna' tell me anythin’ personal. She tells me only what she thinks a man should want to hear. I beg her to speak her mind an' to share all o' our life - the work, the baggage, the problems - but she just willna’ allow it!” Nairel stopped, exasperated. He frowned for a moment. “Ye know,” he said, hiding his face. “If she willna’ start listnen’ to me I may just let her go. She clearly doesna’ want to be me wife,” he finished in a whisper and took all of their bags stubbornly up the stairs where he met Isaac. He left his wife empty handed in the doorway. The Cirety woman frowned with tears in her eyes.
“He thinks I have ears that cannot hear him when he talks that way,” she said, her voice reminded Melody of the songs of birds; though it quavered with the tears she was holding in. Her accent with Melody’s natural language made the C'ghalie Pramacretine smile. Yet, she found herself completely lost for words, so she put an arm around the woman. “I love him really…” Derooka whispered, the tears flooding out rapidly. “I ca not help but do things for him - I do not want him leave me alone. He will not love me if I make him unhappy,” Derooka said. Melody smiled ruefully to herself, but kept her face somber for the pretty woman’s sake.
“You are making him unhappy now, Derooka. I do not know either of you at all, but do you not understand what he says when he requests you to speak your mind?” Melody asked gently.
“Of course I do, he wants that I should talk to him. I do that, I swear! I tell him all of how lovely he is and how much happiness I have from him. I tell him from our home when the squirrels visit because they are his favorite. I wish him luck on good days ride and I do everything a wife is for doing,” Melody frowned deeply. The servitude ran deeper than she thought with the Cirety.
“No, that is not what he is asking for. Of course, he wants all of those things. Just as you would, would you not?” Melody asked, directing the woman up the stairs. She nodded hesitantly. “You are allowed to want things, Derooka. You should think of things that may offend him. He wishes it! You are entitled to leaving the house when he is not home and of giving him your thoughts, you think in your head. He does not wish to treat you as if all of your relatives treated you. He loves you and he will not leave you. He is trying to treat you like an equal and you have to allow him to take care of you sometimes for him to do that. What are you good at, Derooka?” Melody asked. Derooka looked at Melody sideways and then bent her head in thought.
“I find oils and colored berries to make pictures of the birds and trees on sheets. Many times I lost my last day meal for ruining Mama’s sheets and for not focusing on reading,” Derooka replied. The young Pramacretine frowned and shook her head.
“You love to paint, Derooka. Ask your husband if he would mind if you were to start painting. If he tells you yes, and then take it to heart that he wants you to be who you a
re in your soul,” Melody said. A look of understanding suddenly crossed the woman’s pretty face, her eyes widened with apprehension.
“You mean, he will allow me to paint and dance and sing and walk around naked?” Derooka asked, smiling broadly. Melody blushed and turned her head away laughing.
“I - I am sure he would not mind allowing you to do any of those things. Just maybe some of them will remain only between the two of you,” Melody said. The Cirety smiled happily and skipped into the room outside of which sat her bags. Melody guessed that Isaac showed Nairel to a free guest room.
By the time the Pramacretine returned to her own quarters the afternoon was dying into evening and she was very, very tired. Despite this, instead of her usual ascent to her room, Melody went into the study. In the small room of books, which the little Pramacretine barricaded with a high backed chair, the lights were as dim as her mood. Melody sat beneath the portrait of Genewen and Andover. She held her breath for a long moment, listening to the loud thump of her broken heartbeat resonate through her whole body. She stared at her fingertips, wishing on them for a different life. She found herself dizzy from the lack of air and emptied her lungs with a small cry. The cry dissipated, replaced by a torrent of sobs. Finally, the small girl was weeping steadily, the salty liquid filled her palms and saturated the hair that hung in her face. She sucked in as much air between sobs to cry on desperately.
For a long while she sat allowing her emotion to completely take over her body, the overwhelming grief, the stress, the horrible thoughts and actions of people, the evil, the mortality, the righteousness, the longing and the fear all poured out of her in the tears that rained down on her dress. The tears, which changed the light blue dress to dark blue, lifted the clouds from Melody’s heart. She found that with every frantic sob she felt more and more emptied of the horrors. The hysterical acceptance of her fate drove away the dread and ate away at her. She did not care what it was, it made her lighter and after all, of the increasingly heavy days she had endured it was a staggering relief. Soon the flood of tears had dried and she was lying on her side in the study, her face swollen and pale.