Post by General Cheese on Feb 12, 2006 14:02:41 GMT -5
CHAPTER 4
Melancholy...
Melancholy...
The joy Linda expected did not come to her the following day. For it is impossible for one as cold and as dead as her to feel that certain emotion... or any emotion at all. Rather than the spending the evening with Daray and sharing supper, she lay in a wooden casket that seemed almost too small for the lass. As the bag-pipes shrilled noisily through the frigid air, and as people wept for the foreign girl that they barely knew, the village alchemist Daray and his brothers were nowhere to be seen. Of course, no one really expected the reclusive brothers to attend... They never attended. The only occasion they ever did choose to appear was their mother's wedding. And they did this with much reluctance.
There was a controversy circulating around the small Highland village that Daray had murdered Linda the night they had arranged to meet for supper. However, no cuts or bruises could be located on her being. So, as these mourning villagers sobbed for the one that they had hardly known, they wondered exactly how she had died. Some still blamed their alchemist despite the lack of evidence.
Daray watched from the window of his small cottage, his jaw locked in a grim frown. No tear had found its way in his bloodshot eyes; they had stopped coming the instant his mother was buried. Sighing, he shut the window and pulled the curtains over them. He glanced at his brothers who were wrestling for the last biscuit left over from breakfast. Daray shook his head and began to make his way upstairs. As soon as Bahalt heard the creaking of the first step, he detangled himself from his twin brother, who remained there bewilderedly, and walked towards he retreating elder brother.
"Daray... they're ootside cryin' fer Linda... wain't she yer friend? Why aren' ye oot there, Daray...? Please don' say yer goin' back oop to study," said the young Zafara in his usual soft voice. Daray remained standing on the first step, his fists noticabley clenched at his sides. Without turning to face his brother, Daray spoke in a hoarse voice.
"I 'ave noo friends, Bahaltair. Ye know that."
Bahalt collapsed to his knees as his older brother ascended the stairs and entered his room farthest down the small hall. He looked over his shoulder as his twin approached him rolling on his side. He peered imploringly into his kneeling twin's eyes and tilted his head.
Bahalt sighed, standing up and taking a shaky breath. "I don' think 'e's coomin' out fer a long, long time," he whispered to Clay. Clay bobbed his head a single time in agreement. Bahalt stared at Clay for a long time, and suddenly struck the side of his brother's head. He didn't make a sound.
"Clay... why don' ye talk anymore? Ye used t' talk a lot 'afore mum died..." he asked in a teary voice. Clay stared at the floor emptily, and he didn't respond. Bahalt growled and ran up the stairs into his own room, leaving Clay alone to sob in rhythm to the sobs of the villagers and the bagpipes that still pierced the air through and through.
