The Icon Unbound

Chapter Three, Part A- Saiph

So, here is the most recent draft of this chapter. This chapter was very interesting to write because it is the first look we have of the village life now that the new Icon (formally known as Mirrah) has taken over. Eight years have passed. For the villagers, Icons are interchangeable. All Icons make the same sacrifice, are bound the same ways, live in the same place, and order the world in the same way. They do not personalize them. They do not even speak their old names. Ordinary folks follow the Protocols, and for them (the villagers) life continues with peace and prosperity. Sure, they were a little uncertain at first with having such a young person assume the role, but now life has gone on for eight unremarkable years. Let's read on to see how things are going to be shaken up! ---Elizabeth UPDATED 4/26/2017

Saiph buttoned his jacket all the way up to his neck and tightened his scarf. The ride into the village was quiet. Honor let Meissa play in the back and Soren didn't speak unless giving directions to the horses.

The miles seemed to crawl by.

Frustration ate away at his ability to keep still, to keep his face smooth. Acting naturally in front of his family had strained his nerves all winter. For the past few weeks, he'd felt something on the horizon, a worry that crouched over his shoulder; and it teased and nagged him and he could get no rest. At odd times of the night, he would sit up in a cold sweat, trying to remember a nightmare.

It must have something to do with his office. Ever since he had taken the oaths and become the Sentinel, what little peace he'd had, melted away.

Of course the physical changes were apparent. For his entire life, he'd been the mirror of his brother. Now his old clothes strained across new muscles, his old habits conflicted with new duties; and these instincts...well. Even now on the road with his family, on a beautiful spring day come too early, he felt his hand twitching to grasp his sword, and his eyes straining to decipher the shadows in the distant hills.

The cart rolled past a series of windmills, their great blades turning in the cold air. Waterwall was a valley surrounded by rivers, streams, and lakes. The water was kept at bay by a series of levies and windmills. Once the water was channeled out of the way, the rich black soil was capable of raising any crop. Fields were rested, re-flooded every seven years. Thanks to the Icon, farmers pulled in two crops a year. This year, they might harvest three because of this early start.

The windmills meant they were halfway back to town, and halfway closer to answers.

What is she thinking?

Saiph unclenched his hands and his knuckle popped. He couldn't be the only one nervous. It was more than just the weather, though the stars alone knew how much an early spring cost the Icon's heart. When he imagined it, a tiny organ from a ten-year old chest, shrinking away with each display of power, he felt a stab of pain in his own chest. Sometimes, he thought Rigel might understand, but his brother was too wrapped up in his pretty bride-to-be to concentrate on anything else. Even if Rigel knew, what could he or anyone do about it?

Taking a deep breath, he again tried to quiet his mind. Once he saw her, everything would be alright. She would explain these incessant worries so that he could sleep.

How had he ever taken something like good dreams for granted?

The horses, as if sensitive to his emotions, took their bits in their mouths and surged ahead. Soren picked up the reins with a frown, preparing to slow the animals down but Saiph shook his head.