Emerald Fate; Chapter One

- violence warning -

Chapter One

Amidst the tall verdant veil I opened my eyes for the very first time. My eyes, green and naive. My eyes, witnessing the beauty of this world. I felt so safe under the arms of the millenia-old trees all around, and these different but as comforting arms of my father.

I recall a loving glow in his eyes, and the distant noises coming from his mouth made me laugh. He looked down to me, his eyes his face his… whole attention, on me. Behind him, the waving branches, interwoven, dancing and hinting at the blue majesty behind, of the pure immaculate sky.

Yet tainting this beauty, was a faint muffling, a distance between my mind and the sounds of the world; it seems I was born with a mild hearing condition. If I listened closely, I could barely hear the elusive songs of the birds, invisible, and the flowing of the river, irrigated into our vast fields of crops, near our home. Years later, a simple word would alter the fate of the empire, for better or worse.

The very first word I ever heard was a powerful word indeed, Alehandr.

Wide-eyed I looked around, for I wondered who casted such a spell as to steal my father’s attention so easily from me. It was a silhouette, onlooking us, dark and menacing, for the sun was setting behind him, in this golden hour. The man held a tool, taller even than him, with a frightening blade, curved and sharp, a scythe. Staring at that figure a great coldness overpowered me, the sun vanishing behind him. I could see then clearly the man, shouting violently ''Alehandr!'' from over there, his face distorted, repulsive, dirty.

At that moment I discovered fear and hatred. And death also. So alarmed of that stranger over there I got up from my father’s arms and looked for something, anything, to ward away such monster. For Father was mine! There! A small, circular knife, used for picking fruits and mushrooms. I took it and threw it at the intruder, eyes closed, and back in my father’s arms, where I tried to hold onto my tears, my sobs. I felt my father’s arms freeze, his breathing halt. I opened my eyes, looking up to his, no longer warm and comforting but cold, calculated and focused. At the edge of my hearing I noticed a gurggle and a thump, the vibration of the ground frightening me in a strange way.

I looked up from my father’s arms, to the monster, laying against the wall, grasping his neck, failing to stop this red from flowing out. His eyes, impossible to decipher. Dread, confusion, surprise. My father’s arms grabbed me and put me down, in the cold and slightly wet grass. Never did he stop looking at that man, as if enthralled, exhilarated. I recall how he approached the dying man, as if fascinated, observing Truth itself, his arms slightly raised as if expecting the man to fight back.

Yet the dying man simply bled to death, his hands trying desperatly to stop the bleeding. He was gurggling nonsense, hoping to share to us his final words, his words rendered void by the blood in his windpipe, these words I couldn’t even hear anyway! I don’t know why but that thought made me erupt in laughters, to the surprise of the dying man and my father, that turned to me, this tiny little girl, laughing with a full heart, madly laughing, his blood preventing her from not hearing, the blood she caused, and through my laughters and tears, my cramps of the body and my struggle to breathe, I catched a glimpse of the scythe. The tool, on the ground, its terribly sharp edge decorated by this thick blood, and bits of skin and flesh. Instantly my insane laughter subdued, to a serious silence. The shine of the metal, in the twilight of dusk. The red glow, illuminating my odd sense of victory, of power. I have vanquished this monster, intruder, spellcaster, daring to take away my father. Proud, so proud of myself I awaited for my his arms. Onlooking him, crouching down, masterfully putting the dead man on his back. Doing so shifted the weight of the dead man, the once feebly hindered flow of blood now leaving the body in droves. I looked at it with curious eyes, this trail of red. My father entered our home. I followed and heard him go to the basement, his footsteps so heavy and loud that even I could hear clearly.

The basement was a forbidden place, I knew that. The stairs would go down in a circular fashion, made of crude stone, cold to the touch, leading to this unknown, secret place only my father could go. Yet I couldn’t help myself and took a few steps down. Staring at the wall, on its surface the wavering shadows cast by some light. The massive silhouette of my father, and this strange lump on top, the dead monster.

‘’Alehandr…’’

I said out loud, to my surprise, not even conscious of it. And on the wall, the shadow of my father froze again. Distant, distant words, a deep voice, and seeing how I didn’t react, the words were repeated, terribly, thunderous;

‘’Go Away!’’

Their meaning, echoing in my mind and our home alike. Of pure instinct I ran up the few stairs I had foolishly descended. I tripped and hit my chin on the very top stair, biting off the very tip of my tongue, the pain unlike anything I had ever felt. Panic surged through me and I ran outside. To my horror my mouth was filled with this thick, metallic liquid, my tongue swollen and painful. With both hands I panicked and tried to gather as much of my own blood, looking down at the blood of the other. My hands overflew. My blood, from my tongue my mouth my hands, dripping down, mixing with the blood of the dead man, to my disgust. The man I had killed so easily. I laid eyes on the scythe once more, panic making me suffocate on the blood, the damn scythe convinced me I was about to die like the monster, I spat out all this blood, I walked to our field, under the same green veil I love so much.

Yet now their arms were suffocating, fatal. I felt myself dying, so deluded I was, panicked and confused, of the darkening skies and the cold embracing all.

I thought, why am I dying if I killed death?

I held on to that thought, swallowed my own blood. I breathed in and out, realizing slowly I wasn't going to die just because I was bleeding. I got up, dizzy, my eyes pulled toward the light of our home, where my father was sitting. In his hand, the circular blade I threw at the man. Seeing my father’s eyes, hued in despair, utterly hollow, I shouted ''Papa!'' but he didn’t react. I leaped and ran toward him, shouting ''Papa!'' once again, to no avail. I stared at him and the blade reaching for his forearm and out of desperation used the spell of the dead man;

''Alehandr!''

At that my father froze once again, regaining himself, he threw the blade down, fell to his knees and embraced me. I let myself fall in his arms. His arms, around me, so strongly that I couldn’t breathe, yet I felt so safe once again. His arms, tightly woven around me, so strong. The feeling of my blood mingled with the surprising feeling of his tears, falling on my nape.

For once I could hear clearly, perhaps due to the pressure on my head, for he was holding onto me dearly. I could hear, his saccaded breathing, his distant, distant words, uttered only to himself, in secret, assuming I couldn’t hear them, unaware I could hear them exceptionally.

‘’Don’t leave me alone. I don’t want to die. Don’t leave me Taketah, don’t leave me…’’

Hearing such vulnerable words from my strong father, I froze and tried to push him away, free myself, yet he continued mumbling to himself, the relief overppowering him.

‘’You can’t die on me, I promised her we would change this cursed world, one way or another…’’

And after these words, almost like a soothing prayer or another all-powerful spell my father cleared his throat and let go of me, drying his eyes. I could simply look up to him, my father, this ''Alehandr'', this newfound stranger, this powerful yet sobbing and shaking man. Looking up I saw his eyes, no longer glowing but rather hardened with resolve. He hugged me once more and curiously enough, congratulated me, for having taken the very first step toward freedom. The first step toward revolution, toward the fall of the Olmec empire, ruling over them and the other farmers of the region.

I didn’t understand what he meant, but I was happy.

''Thank you, Taketah.'' Father said, his arms around me once more.

Tired and weak I let myself drift to sleep, dreams enthralling me in abstract visions. I saw myself as this red ball, surrounded by layers and layers of the world; first, my father, and then the blood yes, and the green of the field and the trees, and after that the dark distant hue of the blue of the sky, and beyond all that I saw the gnawing, gaping mouth of the Olmec Empire. Crude construct of bronze, coal, smoke and blood, of black stones and purple drapes. As the mouth closed in on everything below, on me and father below, I noticed cracks and fissures, and just like the dark silhouette with the scythe, I hatefuly and naively attacked it, causing this terrible mouth to crumble away suddenly, freeing all that was below, freeing the forest and the field and me, but curiously neither my father nor the blood.

I awoke from my strange dream, to my father putting me to sleep in my bed. He kissed me on the forehead and told me to forget about the blood, or better, to put it away for a time. Which I did. He walked away, and stood in the doorframe, his figure tall and strong. I no longer saw my father, I saw Alehandr, and dreamed of our fight against the Olmec Empire.