Anya Kalos
New Member
The air was cool and still. The sides of the tent, usually rippling with the mountain breeze, lay eerily flat today. Anya could hear each footfall in the encampment, hear muttered conversations, the occasional snort or grunt of the animals. It was the most peaceful things had been in a long time. Anya smiled, enjoying the near silence, and added a few more brush strokes to the canvas before her.
The painting refused to come together, despite her best efforts. Somehow the blues and greens seemed primitive next to the vibrant orbs of her dreams; the visions refused to translate into a two dimensional picture. How could she possibly capture the glittering lights and fantastical skies with mere paint? How could she describe the terrifying, dizzying possibilities of the worlds outside the world itself?
Carefully, she set the paints down and turned her back on the picture. Each time her eyes closed she could see the dreams, as clear as daylight before her. Even the wisest men in the village were at a loss as to what they could possibly mean. Her uncle frequently reassured her that they were mere visions, brought on by too many sweet cakes before bed. They both knew otherwise but it was easier to pretend, for now.
Outside, a shriek shattered the serenity. Anya watched, alarmed, as the shadows of the tribesmen flowed past, convening on some far off spot. The mutter became agitated, anguished: what had happened? Anya longed to leave the tent but she couldn't, she had to keep away from the trouble in case her gifts were needed. She crossed the tent and stood by the flap, hidden from sight, listening keenly. After an agonising few minutes the voices grew louder as they approached the camp again. Anya tilted her head to listen. A body had been found - Miriam.
Her heart felt like it had stopped beating in her chest.
Miriam, her cousin, her confidant, barely seventeen and the sweetest girl in the village. Anya felt tears coursing down her cheeks and wiped them away roughly. She could afford no emotion for she knew that any minute now, the bell would ring; entrance would be demanded, and the Arbiter would reveal who had wronged such a sweet and gentle heart. She reached for the blindfold that lay beside her bed and gently tied it over her eyes. Her gloved hands dropped to her lap as the silver bell inside her tent began to ring.
"Who seeks the truth?" she asked, her voice as clear as the bell itself. If it wavered slightly, no one would comment on it.
"A great wrong has been done, Arbiter. The truth is hidden from us." Unusually, it wasn't one voice that spoke; a chorus answered her ritual question. She could almost feel the weight of bodies at the entrance to her tent, could sense the entire village waiting for her insight. That heartened her, for the guilty party would not come so willingly to her tent.
"The truth cannot hide from me," she answered softly. "Enter, and I will reveal it to you."
Her tent quickly filled up; she could feel them standing around her, not daring to touch her but keen to be as close as possible. The air blew across her face and she guessed that the tent flap was open, allowing those outside to hear what had to be said. Nothing further was said. Orlaf had spent some time devising a suitably mystic sounding ceremony to help encourage people to listen to her but today, no words were needed: nobody could speak. Anya herself wondered how she would find the words to tell them who had turned against them. At last she felt something soft touch her fingers. It felt like a ribbon; Miriam's ribbon. Anya removed her glove, took a deep breath to steady herself, and clasped the silken strands.
The painting refused to come together, despite her best efforts. Somehow the blues and greens seemed primitive next to the vibrant orbs of her dreams; the visions refused to translate into a two dimensional picture. How could she possibly capture the glittering lights and fantastical skies with mere paint? How could she describe the terrifying, dizzying possibilities of the worlds outside the world itself?
Carefully, she set the paints down and turned her back on the picture. Each time her eyes closed she could see the dreams, as clear as daylight before her. Even the wisest men in the village were at a loss as to what they could possibly mean. Her uncle frequently reassured her that they were mere visions, brought on by too many sweet cakes before bed. They both knew otherwise but it was easier to pretend, for now.
Outside, a shriek shattered the serenity. Anya watched, alarmed, as the shadows of the tribesmen flowed past, convening on some far off spot. The mutter became agitated, anguished: what had happened? Anya longed to leave the tent but she couldn't, she had to keep away from the trouble in case her gifts were needed. She crossed the tent and stood by the flap, hidden from sight, listening keenly. After an agonising few minutes the voices grew louder as they approached the camp again. Anya tilted her head to listen. A body had been found - Miriam.
Her heart felt like it had stopped beating in her chest.
Miriam, her cousin, her confidant, barely seventeen and the sweetest girl in the village. Anya felt tears coursing down her cheeks and wiped them away roughly. She could afford no emotion for she knew that any minute now, the bell would ring; entrance would be demanded, and the Arbiter would reveal who had wronged such a sweet and gentle heart. She reached for the blindfold that lay beside her bed and gently tied it over her eyes. Her gloved hands dropped to her lap as the silver bell inside her tent began to ring.
"Who seeks the truth?" she asked, her voice as clear as the bell itself. If it wavered slightly, no one would comment on it.
"A great wrong has been done, Arbiter. The truth is hidden from us." Unusually, it wasn't one voice that spoke; a chorus answered her ritual question. She could almost feel the weight of bodies at the entrance to her tent, could sense the entire village waiting for her insight. That heartened her, for the guilty party would not come so willingly to her tent.
"The truth cannot hide from me," she answered softly. "Enter, and I will reveal it to you."
Her tent quickly filled up; she could feel them standing around her, not daring to touch her but keen to be as close as possible. The air blew across her face and she guessed that the tent flap was open, allowing those outside to hear what had to be said. Nothing further was said. Orlaf had spent some time devising a suitably mystic sounding ceremony to help encourage people to listen to her but today, no words were needed: nobody could speak. Anya herself wondered how she would find the words to tell them who had turned against them. At last she felt something soft touch her fingers. It felt like a ribbon; Miriam's ribbon. Anya removed her glove, took a deep breath to steady herself, and clasped the silken strands.