Awakening

Chapter 12

I was not someone who cried when I was sad, hurt, or even angry. I had been conditioned out of it as a child, for crying sometimes brought on things worse than the reason for tears in the first place. From my parents I'd be told to hush, and I'd usually receive a small pinch or a light smack to enforce it. Raphael however, liked to discover the source of my tears, and make it worse.

When I was five and Raphael was thirteen, there was a mouse living in the walls of our bedroom. Every morning before my father and brothers left for work he'd set a trap for the little mouse, and every morning I'd dismantle it. One morning my mother dragged me to the well to help carry an extra bucket of water for wash day, and I did not make it back in time to save the poor creature. I came home to find the wire trap closed horribly around its neck, and I set about giving it a burial in our tiny back yard. I planted a dandelion over it's grave and gave it a funeral with only my doll and I in attendance.

That night I cried in my sleep, and while Tom tried to console me, Raphael got angry at me for keeping him awake. Clever as he was he was, he put two and two together, quickly figuring out what upset me so. When I went upstairs after completing my chores the next day I found the little mouse on my pillow, completely disembodied. Tom helped me clean the mess, and all the while Raphael stood in the door way, his dark eyes gleaming.

So it was safe to say as I stood on the rocky shore line with pebbles digging into the soles of my feet and a sword pressed against my throat, I wasn't crying because I was sad. I wasn't crying because I was scared. I was crying out of pure frustration. For nearly a week I'd been traveling on my tired legs, I was beaten, I was bruised, I was worn out. I was no closer to saving my sisters, and I was no closer to figuring out what was wrong with my so-called magic. I felt myself aching for home, and there wasn't even a home for me to go to anymore.

"Who are you?" the masked figure in front of me asked, the voice surprisingly feminine. They were dressed in lightweight black fabric that was loosely wrapped around their body, with a blue sash across  their chest.  

"Are we really going to play this game? You know me," Dominic sighed.

"I have to check, it has been so long since you last visited. I could have forgotten your face," they said.

"It hasn't been that long!" he protested, seeming not to care that a blade was still pointed at my neck.

"It has been two years Dominic, two years," the voice softened, and now I was certain it was a woman.

Slowly she lowered her sword and reached up to remove her mask. Long, shiny black hair tumbled loose from it's hold, and I let out a small gasp. I'd never seen anyone who'd looked like her in all of Mageland before, and I couldn't keep myself from staring. She had warm brown skin, sharp angular features, and bright hazel eyes. When she went to speak, I noticed that she rolled her 'r' softly, like she'd had an accent long ago.

"You should really come by more often, if you don't, the Akist might start to get suspicious of your intentions. Also I think... I think she misses you," she said softly.

"I think you're the one who misses me," he retorted.

"Do not be foolish, I have no time for your antics anymore. Who is your friend?" she said, finally turning her hazel gaze to me.

Rubbing the tears from my eyes, I cut him off before he could answer, "I'm Adria, and I'm not his friend."

"I see. Neither am I, despite what he may try to tell you. I am Hetal, member of the Akist," she said, giving a slight bow.

"I need to speak to Zamir," Dominic cut in.

"Do you not want to-"

"No," Dominic cut Hetal off, giving me a side wards glance.