Fire and the Flood - KitTy

Chapter Four - Ty

Ty stared up at the moon, bright and full above him, hanging in the sky like an enormous witchlight, illuminating the dead world around him. The air was crisp and cool, rushing through his lungs like a harsh whisper. He didn't know where he was; his vision kept going in and out of focus, making it hard to concentrate. A fog hung over the expanse of silvery dead grass that spread around him in all directions, hovering like a soft blanket, concealing what lay in the distance. The ground was dry and the dirt crumbly beneath his hands. Everything surrounding him was dead, brittle and cracked. He had the strangest feeling that he was in another world. A soft sound filled his ears, overwhelming his thoughts, like a chorus of ghostly murmurs.

He stood up from his crouching position, dirt falling from his hands, and moved forwards, not sure where he was going. He felt drawn to something in the distance, like a magnet, so strong that he couldn't fight it. Not that he would have wanted to. It intrigued him, the feeling going right through him, pulling his whole body forward. It wasn't like his tie with Livvy--no, this seemed more alive, like a force at work rather than a chain in the darkness.

The fog parted as Ty stumbled through the grass, clearing a path for him across the moonlit field. In the distance, a dark wall rose up in front of him, consuming his vision; it was all he could see. As he drew nearer, he saw that it wasn't a wall, but a forest, a tangling mass of dark, thorn-covered vines and trees the colour of ichor. A thick sap was oozing sluggishly from them, a deep red, sticky substance that sank down into the ground as it dripped off of branches and into the soil. It was wet, the ground, unlike it had been where Ty woke up, all parched and stale like a barren desert.

The trees stretching far up above him weren't of any species he knew: the bark was blackened, scorched, as if all the life was drained out of them. From the thin, smooth trunks protruded deadly-looking thorns, ending in a wicked point, capable of wounding anything that came too close. On the ends of the branches far above him, Ty could see clusters of small berries--at least, that was what he assumed. Given that the sap was like blood, he couldn't be sure what was growing on the ends of the branches. Few leaves clung desperately to them, and as Ty watched, the short breeze caught one in its clutches and snatched it away from the tree; it drifted down until it came to a rest at his feet. He picked it up, carefully handling the delicate webwork in his hands. It, like everything else, was dehydrated, to the point of translucency. It was spiked, the sharp edges cutting into the skin of Ty's hand as he turned it over to examine it. It shared the characteristics of a few trees that Ty knew of, none of which also sported thorns and berries.

The breeze blew again, whisking the leaf out of T'y's hand and into the open air. He watched as it flew away, twisting and turning viciously in the reddish-orange sky, the only bit of bright colour in the terrain. It tore apart easily in the strong currents, small bits escaping like pieces of torn paper, only to get swept up by another gust of wind.

Ty turned his attention back to the forest. He craned his neck, trying to see inside of it, but there was nothing but trees and vines, twisting tangles of thorns and roots. He looked away and back up at the sky. It was blood red, tinged slightly with orange here and there, and ashy clouds formed swirling patterns, dancing across like the flame in a candle. There was an occasional flash of something, like fiery forks of orange lightning, far away. As Ty stared, the patterns they formed grew clearer in his mind, his brain examining the subtle changes in shades, the illumination brought by the lightning playing images across the great canvas, like a movie at the theater. He memorized the repeating pattern it formed, imprinting it in his memory; when he closed his eyes, it was right there in front of him.

Things like this calmed Ty: Patterns that can be analyzed and researched. Yet he was also mesmerized by the complexity and the lack of logic or repetition in abstract things, like Julian's art. No matter how hard he tried, he could never find something for his brain to make sense of when he studied Julian's paintings other than emotions. He had never quite understood it, but he liked it. He liked the way that just a certain combination of colours and shapes could evoke feeling. And the one thing that always stood out in Julian's paintings was home. No matter what the image was, Ty always found a calm, grounding feeling in looking at a painting if it was made by Julian; it was like the canvas expressed Julian's soul, what he felt, and to Ty, that meant someone who cared about him, someone to protect him.