Rumours

A gentle warmth beckoned Ivy slowly back to the world of the living. Her eyes flickered slowly open and feeling crept hesitantly back into her limbs, as if it knew what awaited her there. Ivy felt beneath her and found herself lying on her back on a stack of folded blankets to cushion her from the stone floor. A merry crackling from a fire reached her ears, then the sound of steady breathing beyond it. The person drew a sharp intake of breath as Ivy directed her sightless gaze toward the sound. A strong colored haze greeted her. It occurred to her half-asleep brain that she did not know this person. She had met everyone in the Village, and only two people had hazes, and this color was not her father's or Lucius's.

Lucius. . .

It all came rushing back. With a groan that she had not meant to utter, she turned her eyes back up and let her stinging eyes stream. She screamed her grief to the sky, the person with the color forgotten completely as her mind again numbed itself to everything but her loss. "Why?!" she shrieked. "You left me alone! I hate you!" As her screams subsided to sobs, she spoke his name over and over, as though by doing so, he would suddenly appear and it would all have been a terrible, terrible dream. Finally, she whispered, "I loved you. You left. How coud you do that to me?"

"You are awake?"

Ivy gasped in surprise. She was jolted violently back to her present situation by the rasping voice of the color-person. He, for it was a man by the sound of his voice, had a strange accent. After the initial shock had worn off, Ivy attempted to reply, but found her voice had fled due to her screams. She coughed and found herself in another bout of sobs.

"I am sorry," the man said with sincerity. He pressed what felt like a flask into her hand. "Drink. It will help."

Hoping it would soothe her raw, parched throat, Ivy gulped the liquid. It felt like cool water, yet had a sweetness to it. Like berries, she thought. Somewhere in the back of her mind, it occured to her that the drink may have been poisoned, but she was hardly in any mood to care. If she died, she'd be with her beloved Lucius. Her eyes filled with tears again. "Oh, Lucius. . . Lucius," she rasped, her voice partway recovered, "Why did you leave me?" She gave a sob that sounded more like a cough, then her eyes fixed the color-person in a piercing glare. "Why did you save me? I didn't want to be."

The man seemed taken aback. "I--I. . . am sorry," he stammered and trailed off in a manner that only made Ivy more miserable. He started to say more, but she cut him off with a furious, "Quiet!" that stung her throat. She then rose quickly to her feet, but her legs would not hold her and she sat down hard on the blankets. The whole situation was absolutely infuriating. She couldn't walk, it hurt to speak, and she dared not think, lest her thoughts turn to wistful dreams that would be crushed cruelly the second she returned to reality. She hugged herself, determined not to cry again, and rocked back and forth, expressing her anger, sorrow and pain in inarticulate grunts.

The man walked over and sat beside her. He took her hand in his, but she jerked it away quickly. "Don't touch me," she whispered, so quietly and hoarsely, she wasn't sure he had heard. His hands were rough and callused, like Lucius's, only more so. Her eyes burned more furiously than before, and she couldn't hold the tears in. Why did the world have to be so cruel, reminding her constantly of what she could no longer have? She took another drink from the flask she still held, and her sobs slowed. When she felt confident she could speak, she turned to the man. "Who are you?"

The man looked away and said quietly, "My name is Arrik." He waited for her reply, but none came. "You are?"

"Ivy," she breathed. "What do you want?"

The man, Arrik, was silent for a long time, thinking. Finally he said, "I want to know who Lucius is." A pause. "He was dear to you?"

Ivy made a sound between a cough and a groan. Why? She sobbed tearlessly for a minute, then composed herself. "Lucius," her voice trembled as she spoke, "is dead."

There. She had said it. She had acknowledged it. She had accepted it. It hurt. She surrendered to the hopelessness of it. With depressing finality, it was over. She leaned against Arrik and breathed out. Her chest ached. Her throat hurt. She felt empty, spent; cold and dead inside.

"No."

He had said it so quickly and with such certainty, Ivy at first thought she had imagined it. "What?" she asked.

"He is not dead."

"Yes, he is. My father--" she paused, "He said." Had he? Was there even a slight possibility that she had not heard everything? Don't be silly, Ivy! she scolded herself. He's gone. He's not coming back. Ever.

"You do not smell of death. Sickness, not death."

Ivy felt as though her innards had been yanked out. What--? She fell to the ground, trying to distance herself from Arrik. When his color moved closer, she cringed and scrabbled away. "Stay away from me!" she shrieked. Then, in a horrified whisper, she asked, "What are you?"

"Ivy. . ." Arrik came over to where she lay and took her hand, and this time, she did not resist. "Please do not scream." He lifted her hand, quivering with adrenaline, to his face.

With a sickening jolt as she felt his wolfish features, Ivy drew a breath to scream.

***

"There did exist rumours of creatures in the woods."

A/N: Ah, so this Arrik is not quite what he seems. . .