Pomegranate Seeds ~ Editing in Progress

Chapter IV

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I’m not sure how good this one is, but I really enjoyed writing it so… Dedicated to J (lieutenantflo) for calling me mean. Hang on, that’s not a very good reason to dedicate something to someone. How about, dedicated to J because you can always rely on her for constructive criticism. I think this one’s a bit longer than the others, so enjoy.

I am woken by a weak shaft of dawn sunlight filtering through the branches. Beside me Garaeli begins to cry, the thin, reedy wail that generally signifies hunger. I glance down. The ground seems very far away, and it has been a long time since I was at such dizzying heights. Xander is bent over a pile of twigs and dry leaves, absorbed in the process of coaxing a flame out of the smoldering forestry. He is clearly busy, and my childish pride will not permit me to ask him for assistance.

Gathering me courage, I clasp Garaeli tightly to my chest and slide to the base of the tree. I feel a familiar rush of adrenalin course through my veins, in a flood of exertion I have not experienced for an age. I revel in the sensation. It appears my thrill-seeking days are present once more.

I make my way over to the goat, and having collected a substantial quantity of milk, return to feed Garaeli. That task over, I lay it down upon a bed of soft grass, and head for a nearby stream with the intention of refreshing and washing myself. I plunge my head into the freezing water and emerge moments later, laughing and tossing back my wet hair. I am ridiculously happy in my new surroundings, yet I cannot ignore the nagging sense of doubt. Why am I so happy? Is it wrong for me to be so joyous in my current predicament? My only answer is that I am overcome with the delight of returning to a similar way of life as in my careless days of youth. But I am no longer the supposed faerie child, who ran recklessly about with her equally immature brother, behaving in a manner inappropriate for any young lady. But if not that, then who am I? A rejected whore of Satan? A useless and corrupt adolescent, destined to a life of non-acceptance and poverty?

My dress is mainly dry now, but it is still heavy and uncomfortable, made from itchy wool. It makes me clumsy and awkward, so I fiddle with the chipped buttons and allow it to drop to my feet, stepping out in my simply made, once-white under-shift. The dew-ridden blades of grass snake up my bare legs, sending pleasurable shivers up my spine. Regardless of any objections, I am wholly and utterly happy.

I amble over to where Xander is still attempting to create a spark, without any success. I usher him out of the way, and take over. Muttering a few choice words beneath my breath, I focus all of my thoughts and energy on the failing fire. Instantly flames ignite, bathing our grinning faces in warmth. An old wise woman taught me witchcraft when I was about seven. There was not much too it; a little herblore, some voodoo magic and a few basic spells, curses and charms. I did it mainly for the title “Mistress of the Dark Arts”, which appealed to me more than any of the powers, but it has come to be surprisingly useful over the years.

“So,” I ask Xander, as we begin to roast a rather bedraggled rabbit over the flames, “Where are you taking me?”

He looks at me with green eyes identical to my own.

“Lilith, you are my sister and I would go to the fiery pits of hell,” I flinch at his thoughtless terminology. “With you.” He pauses. “If it was necessary. I have Fern and my own unborn child to think of.”

I nod. I was expecting this, and don’t begrudge him his decision. It was kind of him not to turn his back on me in the first place. Xander may rebel against the cultured ways of society, but bedding the Devil is over-stepping even his mark.

“My stronghold is not even a day’s walk from here.” He continues, “I have a friend waiting there, who believes he can help you. He is a well-educated and loyal man. Place your trust in him, and he will not betray you. I beseech you to go with him. He you and Garaeli’s best chance of survival.”