One Last Grave

Chapter 1

Laughter. 

It filled my ears as I fell to the ground and clutched my cheek that stung like fire. Getting slapped was an everyday affair now. My cheek had grown raw from it. I finally dared to look up at the laughter. They stared down at me as one clutched a small flask that both men were drinking out of. They were both string built, obviously soldiers by the armor they wore. Tears brimmed my eyes from the intensity of the sting. But I kept a straight face on, determined that they wouldn't see my weakness.

"Awww, look see you hurt the poor gal!" slurred the taller one as he gripped my arm and jerked me to a standing position.

"Naw! Look see?! She'll be 'right!" Slurred the one with the flask as he pushed me back towards the Stream.

He grinned and took another gulp from the flask as he stuttered back and pointed at my face.

"Now don't ya be here when we get back, lil bird!" he slurred out as he pushed me back into the stream. They both bursted into a chorus of laughter as they walked down the path to the village.

Instead of standing up, I lied back in th stream and let the coolness of the water rush onto my cheek, immediately cooling the sting. I closed my eyes and pictured my brother back at home again lecturing me to stay away from the river like he's told me time and time again. I sighed and pictured his disappointed mask he always wore.

A rustle in trees immediately made me stand and take out my fathers silver daggers under my cloak, preparing for any dangerous approacher. I averted my eyes the opposite direction and immediately saw a dark figure slide behind the tree.  But his hiding tactics were futile.

I smirked as I slowly starting walking in the opposite direction. When I heard the small intake of breathe behind me, I immediately spun around and slammed my hand into my stalkers chest, throwing him back a few steps. Just enough for me to move my foot behind his heel, grab the collar of his jacket and place one dagger up to his neck as he yelled out a surprised laugh.

"Now what are you going to do with those Fay Fay?" 

I immedietly dropped the daggers and wrapped my arms around my best friend Malko. His once dark brown hair was now a bleached blonde that covered his brown eyes.  He was wearing everyday clothes, but still had his jacket draped over his shoulder. Typical for him to try and look like a big shot.

He placed his hands over my cheeks and kissed the top of my head.

"I missed you so much, Fayel." he said with a smile. He used my old nickname for me when we were kids.  During our early training, I had failed to catch a single daemon when I first learning to use the daggers. It used to always annoy me, but now it brought tears to my eyes. I smiled back as I placed my hands over his. It had been nine months since I've seen Malko. Nine months since I watched my best friend head towards certain doom, but here he was before me.  He was summoned to work in the army as a engineer for the wing balloons, our most valuable weapon for getting Imagine's freedom back from President Kai, the ruler of Raia and Imagi's number one enemy.

At first, Imagine and the kingdom of Raia were peacful trade kingdoms. But ever since a royal sniper from Imaji murdered his brother and father when he was just thirteen, he has become a heartless, careless Lord. He took over the throne and used his power to bomb the small kingdoms of Imagi. He's killed anyone who tries to stop him. Even our great land's finest wizards and generals could not defeat him. During that time, our leader, President Grespil, surrendered reluctantly and was executed in front of the entire population of Imagi. Anyone who did not show would have their home burned. I can still remember the shouts, wailing, screaming of that day fourteen years ago. I was three. That was the day when the war started, and when my father was killed in action, or thats what my brother would tell me. Though he always changes the subject when I ask now. One day, I went up to him after dinner and asked him again.

"Krest? What ever happened to father?" I asked as I stacked the dishes.

"He was killed on the front-line defending our land and was shot.  He died a couple days later. As I've said before, it's nothing you should really be looking into Fay." He said with a fake smile that showed he was hiding something.

"This is how the war is going to be Fay." He said as he walked out of the house one day. "Learn to deal with it."

~•~

I walked down the path with Malko as he whistled a song that we would hear the elders singing around the fire.  After spending an hour learning about what he did in the wing balloons and telling him the regular gossip, we made our way back to the village. I started singing the words and he joined in. Soon we were arm in arm, blurting out the words, not caring who heard us.

"Well Fay Fay, will I see you to tonight for the Fire?"  He asked as he dropped me off in front of the Well that sat in the middle of our town.  The well was shut off since the war started, cutting off our water supply, so we've had to run to the creek everyday to bring water back.

"Definitely." I said with a salute and a bow, our secret move we made up when we were fourteen. He smiled, repeated the gesture and walked away laughing.

I walked into the hut and set the empty water bucket on the small wood table. A not-so-wasteful trip, I thought to myself. I walked into the small living room, and stopped when I saw my brother, Krest, lying on my father's old chair, the only peice of furniture we were allowed to keep. 

Krest was indeed the more handsome one out of the two of us. Unlike me with my too-long silver hair that was always pulled back to keep out of my face when practicing. And my pale skin made me seem corpse-like and plain. I was very tall compared to the other girls in my village, which made me stand out, and my skinny arms didn't help with my cause to be a soldier.My only likable quality were my light blue eyes that my brother said I got from my father. Plain is a understatement to me, even though my brother says I look as beautiful as our mother.

He also told me that the only thing left of my father were the two silver daggers.  He had told Krest to be strong, to not believe in destiny because we create our own fate.  I never figured out what he had meant, since he left for the war and never returned. It had been fourteen years and I've practiced using my father's daggers since my brother refused to touch them. Soon after my father left, Krest joined the church and decided to dedicate his life to studying history and the ancient laws from before the war, hoping that with it he could figure out a way to make peace from the war.

"I don't believe that fighting will end this war, nor will any silly magic that everyone's convinced will return." He has been studying at the church every night for the past eight years. He's twenty-five and during the day he's etiher writing or studying. Children stopped going to school when President Kai passed a law against it, leaving only a select few who would continue to teach their children regardless, my father included.  Regardless of all of that, my brother has followed every rule that has been passed by Raia. He refuses to cause any more trouble for our kingdom and for our small village. It has been fourteen years and more troubles seem to come everyday. I've begged my brother to tell me stories about my mother, which was always a more tender subject than our father. Krest told me she passed when I was just a baby, that she was sickly when she had me and died a couple days after my birth. I've never met my mother and I don't remember my father.  A tragic beginning for young Fayline.

I look and see my brother, sleeping against his desk, his eyes closed and his glasses crooked as he silently snored. He must've been busy in his studies. I walked over and gently took off glasses and placed it next to his head. Then I kissed the top of his head and walked towards our shared bedroom. I took off my leather jacket and set it on the wall nail hammered into the gray walls of the house. I nestled up onto my bed, consisting of a pile of blankets. Just for a few hours, I would rest until Malko came to get me for the Fire.  The event was mainly for retelling old stories and trying to forget about the war, and everyone was expected to come. 

But for a few hours, I would close my eyes and dream of a better place. Of an open field where there was no bloodshed, tanks, or swords. A field full of nothing grown.

A field of magic nothing.

A better place.