#The village in the burial grounds was *always* under a time limit. It was a matter of when and how it would be destroyed.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Your beats make me sick

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[ethelindawrites]

October 2

Fictober, Prompt 2 - "You have no proof."

Original fiction.

Warnings: magical battle of sorts, non-graphic description of someone being dead.

The man clutched the scroll to his chest and looked at me as if I had just insulted all of his ancestors.

“Of course I won’t hand it over to you! It is mine, and acquired only at great trouble and cost!”

“And you didn’t stop to think about why that might be the case?” I asked him, keeping my voice even and my face calm. He had no idea what he was holding, and it was going to cause trouble for more than just him if I couldn’t stop him from using it.

“Obviously, because it confers a great boon to the user,” he huffed, as if this was obvious.

“It was stolen,” I said, losing a little bit of my temper, “out of one of the most secure magical facilities in all the known lands. I know that you know this, because that is why the thieves you hired to steal it charged you so much, and why you had so much trouble finding anyone to even attempt the theft in the first place. Has it not occurred to you that it was under such heavy guard because it doesn’t do what it claims to do, rather than because it does?”

A brief – very brief – flicker of doubt crossed his face, but then it settled into a scowl again.

“You have no proof,” he spat at me, “no proof at all of those rumors! Have you ever even seen it yourself?”

I had not, of course, looked at the scroll myself. Its rolled-up exterior was all anyone I knew had ever seen.

“No one,” I said slowly and meaningfully, “who has ever looked at that scroll is around to tell us what exactly happened to them.”

“And when I gain the promised powers,” he sneered, “I certainly won’t be remaining in these petty little principalities either. Are there not vast cosmos to explore? Lands beyond even the Empire? Why should I or anyone else who has gained such magical control be contented to stay where we were trapped before?”

In that instant, I knew there as no way I was going to be able to convince him to hand the scroll over. It would almost have been better if past attempts to use it had left behind an immediate devastation, because at least then the connection and disappearance of the user would have been obvious.

Unfortunately, the harm was not so obvious. It was something creeping, insidious, a spreading blight that our known magics could slow but not completely cease or reverse, as the people of this very area had come to know all too well.

That was why it had taken so long to identify this scroll and its use as the likely cause, and it was only the previous Emperor who had ordered it found and destroyed.

Someone – we still did not know who – had convinced both the Emperor and the senior Magic Council that the potential backlash from the scroll’s destruction was too dangerous to attempt, and so it had been locked away.

Locked away…but not destroyed.

This man was not responsible for that decision, but he was certainly the latest in a line of pawns being used by whoever had been responsible for it. Unfortunately, there were always men who thought that they could get something for nothing, and who were unwilling to work to earn their way, preferring to leech off of others in one way or another.

I tried one more time, just in case. “It is proven beyond doubt that blight has spread in every place where this scroll has been used, and no other possible cause has been found. There is a price for everything, and it is clear that this price for using this scroll is everything the user has to give and more. For your own sake, if nothing else, I implore you not to use it!”

He scoffed. “It is all rumor, begun by powerful men who wish to keep power limited to themselves. You have no proof.”

I took one quick breath, then another.

“Very well,” I told him. “In that case, since you have admitted to the theft of this scroll, then I will take the steps authorized by the Council.”

And, I had already decided, one that had definitely not been authorized by them. I thought of the nearby villages, and hoped desperately that they had listened to me.

“You really think you can arrest me?”

“Yes,” I told him, “and it’s the one way you might make it out of this alive, so I’d recommend coming quietly.” I pulled out a talisman and activated it, conjuring a pair of magical restraints for his wrists. “Set the scroll down, and let me bind you, and I’ll send you out of here.”

I would, too, if he stopped now.

But his hands were already untangling the cord holding the scroll closed. “So that you can use the scroll yourself? You must be mad to think I’ll give it up now! All I have to do is open this scroll and then I’ll be—”

I snapped out a scroll of my own with one hand, flicking another two talismans across the room. One latched onto the scroll, yanking it out of his grasp just before he could start to unroll the paper, while the other hit him with solid force to slam him back against the wall. Grabbing the other end of my scroll with my now-free hand, I spoke the activating word as the stolen scroll hovered briefly between us. There wasn’t much time before he’d grab it back and he wouldn’t hesitate again—

Deep purple lines of magic burst from my scroll, binding the other in a sphere that filled with the hottest fire magic could conjure, pulled from the heart of a volcano.

Instantly, I could tell that something about the other scroll was fighting back, and fed more magic into my spellwork, keeping the conjured fire burning at full strength. Slowly, the resistance lessened, and I squinted at it through the containing sphere and the flames. One end of the other scroll seemed to be burning now, and that was enough, the fire would take care of the rest, and I could burn myself out permanently if I wasn’t careful, using such intense magic was always a risk…

I stopped myself from drawing my active stream of magic back just in time.

Only the barest hint of other, gibbering voices underneath the coaxing whisper in my mind had alerted me that something was wrong.

Doing the opposite of what that whisper said seemed like the best possible thing I could do, so I reached deep and poured absolutely every drop of magic in my body into my scroll.

It hurt, and I could trace the damage being done to the magical veins as the pain spread and branched along them.

But the fire kept burning, and burning, and burning, and now the only voice the other scroll could conjure was a gibbering, shrieking thing as it finally began to heat, and then singe, and then blaze.

Still pouring my rapidly dwindling magic out, I gasped for air against the pain, and didn’t stop.

At the moment when the last of the scroll vanished into ash, power exploded outward and slammed into the containing sphere.

A scream wrenched itself from my throat as I tried and failed to hold the spell against it, and the backlash threw me back into the wooden wall of the house that crumbled under the power almost before I made contact with it. With that barrier gone, the next thing for me to slam into was a rock that I did not remember being anywhere near the house itself, and black engulfed my mind.

Rain woke me, an unknown amount of time later.

Rain, in this place that had not seen rain for nearly two years.

There was almost nothing left when I finally managed to stagger to my feet and hobble over to where the house had been. The man who had stolen the scroll lay where he had fallen, and his staring eyes and the stillness of his body told me that he was dead. I could not summon even distant pity for him right now, given that this was undoubtedly a kinder fate than he would have found through the scroll. But he had given me the chance I needed, so I would make sure that he received a proper burial at some point.

Some of the stone foundations and part of the chimney were all that remained of the house itself. All the wood and thatch, and even the trees for a wide distance around were gone, fallen into a gray, dead-looking dust now turning to mud beneath the rain.

Concerned, I let myself slump to my knees, and pleadingly summoned a spark of violet from my battered body. But the dust felt inert, magic-less, and the ground beneath it felt different too. It was hard to describe what the blighted areas felt like, but it wasn’t like this.

And there was the rain.

I knelt there for a long time and didn’t examine too closely how much of the wetness on my face was rain and how much was tears.

There would be consequences, I knew. I could tell already that I probably wasn’t going to fully recover from this, if at all, and there was still the question of whether there really had been someone out there trying to keep the scroll intact. Given how insidiously it had protected itself, I wasn’t so sure about that anymore, but it would still have to be investigated.

There would be time, now. The scroll was gone.

So I let myself weep, and then I pulled myself to my feet again, and began the long, slow, painful walk to the now-distant edge of the forest. I let the returning villagers catch and carry me when they found me, unable to go another step.

And for the first time in a very long time, I let myself hope.

[thevividgreenmoss]

Let’s get back to the question of organization. What is the difference between the Shia theocracy that you have described and a communist movement that you would support? Is the form of these movements identical in both of those cases even though they are marked by very different political content?

I don’t know what one means by form, because form can’t be distinguished from the social relations within which it is embedded. It can’t be a disembodied form. The particular brand of Iranian Shiaism had a ready-made hierarchy of a religious nature. For example, every mosque and every imam has employees who draw their salaries from the establishment. It is a hierarchy of belief and faith and all of that. Communists have no such advantage. Communists actually have to build their bases and it is in the process of building them that they gain allegiances and legitimacy among the masses.

It is a matter of practical work, not only one of setting up organizations. Organizations don’t function unless they deliver something to people. Trade unions are just one form of this dynamic. It was always the “social work” of the communists that gave them grounding amongst the masses. Communists have always done what the social movements say that they do: sanitation and sewers, women’s organizations, solving the problems of the people at the base. That was not something discovered by the so called “new” social movements. That is what communists always did. That is what Gandhi did. Any movement that takes strong root among the masses rises on this basis.

When Pakistan came into being and this migrant proletariat came from the north, there were no trade unions in Karachi. One great fear the workers had was that they would die and be buried away from home. The first communist organization that arose in Karachi was a “coffins and burial committee.” This was the first communist organization. So it is out of these kinds of activities that you build your legitimacy. In any country that is what you have to do. Now, you have to have forms that are rooted in the realities of your lives. So a Canadian is not much concerned about where he will die and be buried. The issues will be different, but we have to do similar work.

That is the kind of thing that most social movements are doing. I entirely support them because it’s a very familiar kind of work. Where I part company with most of them is in their very narrow ideology of micro-politics, where one assumes that you will progress from these activities to yearly congresses and social forums where some coordination might happen and somehow society will change. That exclusive emphasis on micro-politics is populism of the highest order, and I don’t find it very convincing.

[...]

Fundamentally, social democracy was committed to the idea that the transformation of capitalism could come about through a series of step by step reforms achieved by building a welfare state. Building and deepening the welfare state was seen as the project of social democracy. And that project reached its limits with the crisis of Keynesianism. Indian Marxism is under no illusion that it will ever be able to even build a proper welfare state. That’s one difference.

In this respect, once it broke with Marxism during the early 1950s (at the latest), I do not see social democracy as ever having been an anti-capitalist force. Indian parliamentary communism actually thinks of itself as an anti-capitalist force. Again, the question of reform cannot be looked at abstractly. You work for reforms if you win elections in a certain state, as they keep doing in West Bengal. But the illusion is never put forward that this is how we will build socialism. That illusion is not there.

What they are saying is that, since you have elected us, we will do for you the best we can. So what they do in practice in that situation is not very different from social democratic reform in a largely peasant society. The difference is that it is not seen as the fundamental building block. They are clear about the fact that you can’t build socialism in a province of a state, and that you have to build mass revolutionary organizations. It is revolutionary in the sense that parliamentary work is seen as only one kind of work, and you’re constantly organizing for completely extra-parliamentary confrontations with the state.

It is a matter of building the mass movements out of which will come, on the one hand, beneficial effects on parliamentary politics and the kind of elections the masses go through, but on the other hand it is actually about building organs of popular political power at the base. More broadly, it is a question of building what Sam Gindin and Leo Panitch have called, very vaguely, “capabilities.” For example, you have a women’s movement that addresses all kinds of things, from electricity to power to housing and it is not simply subordinated to the electoral machine. So there is a very different conception in India from that in Europe.

Returning to your question about periodization and forms of organization: the fact of the matter is that, in their organizing efforts within the working class in the United States, Communists’ words have fallen on deaf ears, with the exception of the 1930s when they did become a fairly prominent political force. The reasons for that are diverse, but it is not a matter of periodization, of Fordism and so on.

Something that does need to be said, however, is that there has been a shift in the very composition of classes that requires a shift in our understanding of organization. Classical Marxism was based on the notion that the majority of the population would become proletarianized and at the heart of that process would be the great industrial working class. If you use the term “proletarian” or “working class” to connote the very precise relationship between wage labour and capital, then yes the great majority, certainly in the advanced capitalist countries, has become working class in that sense. But the weight of the industrial working class is, if anything, on the decline with automation, etc. So the great bulk of the working class in the advanced capitalist countries is not the industrial proletariat. In fact, at no point did the industrial working class come to constitute much more than 30% of the population. It was never a majority.

What does constitute a majority is the category of wage work, and varieties of wage work have proliferated – in the service sector in general, but even within the service sector the varieties of wage work have proliferated. This has consequences for forms of organization. There are negative consequences for traditional forms of working class organization but it is also true that, as I keep saying, the number and variety of potentially revolutionary agents has multiplied. Indigenous people are now demanding their rights in the Americas, and are entering the political field in a way that they never did in the past. That is a question that must be correctly addressed by the left on a very large scale. Otherwise, we are doomed to repeat the past. For example, part of the failure of the Communist Party in the USA was based on not correctly addressing the race question in the days of CLR James.

Throughout the world, women have entered into the political field within the last 30 years in a way that they never did before. Consequently, our understanding of women as autonomous agents itself has had to change. Women have always done the majority of the productive and not just the reproductive work. The hardest work in peasant societies is done by women, which was something we never took into account when we thought of the peasantry. We thought of the male peasant who goes out to work in the fields. Our understanding of the proletariat has changed and needs to change.

Issues of that kind are tangentially connected with periods of capitalism. However, if we look at the question of periodization in the context of the two great economies in terms of demographic weight, India and China are in the midst of a period of massive proletarianization on a scale unknown in the history of humankind. Precisely at the moment when there is a kind of “post-modernization” of work in the United States, there is an immense proletarianization going on. So, if there are periods, they are clearly not synchronic. In India, something like 78 percent of the population is still in the villages. They no longer do subsistence farming and the great bulk of them are joining the rural proletariat and the lumpenproletariat. Mike Davis’ brilliant book Planet of Slums documents what is happening with global urbanization. Today, entire patterns of social life cannot be understood in the same way that we once thought of cities, for example.

The Anti-Imperialism of Our Times: An Interview with Aijaz Ahmad

[inmyownlittlecorner5]

Moonlight Chapter 16: Dragobete

 A fanfic Novel by la-topolina

Rated for Mature Audiences

Warnings: Language, Violence, Sexual Content

Chapter 16/26

Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter 15+

Chapter Seventeen+ >>

----------------------------

Note:

Throughout the story, text set in {braces} is being spoken in Romanian.

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Miranda threw her head back, laughing as she and the other dancers began to stumble while they circled the waning fire. They had long since worn a line of compacted snow around it, and the heat of their constant movement was all that kept the path from freezing to ice. It was a frigid night, but the fire, the music, and the palinka were working together to keep everyone unaware of it. As she gazed up into the sky, she could see Orion shining brightly in the heavens, a familiar face far from home.

Ensconced in a pavilion was a quartet of musicians who, benefiting from their own fire and the shelter of the battered wooden walls, were urging the night along. Their music was wild and haunting, strange to Miranda’s ears. But, though she did not yet completely recognize the melodies, the sound of it evoked a familiar sort of nostalgia that the music her family made always did. The impromptu Sunday evening party also reminded her of home and she was a willing and eager participant. This weekly custom had charmed her immediately and, as it was her fourth such experience of it, she knew the steps to the usual dances well enough that she no longer felt awkward.

The group ground to a halt, dropping hands as the musicians finished the current song. Some of the dancers huddled closer to the fire, and some broke away in twos and threes, chattering merrily. Miranda wandered over to the pavilion, its dragonhead carvings casting dancing shadows in the dying firelight. 

“{Are your fingers frozen yet Domnul Cojoc?}” she asked the fiddler politely.

“{Not quite, Doamnă Rose. I think we have one more in us,}” Domnul Cojoc replied with a grin. 

He tucked his fiddle under his chin and began scratching out the Irish tune Miranda had been singing for him since her first such party in Săpânța. She returned his grin and looked around for her host’s daughter, Catalina, as she headed back towards the fire. The younger woman met Miranda, as though by appointment, and the two stood facing each other for a moment before both breaking into an Irish step. If there was one thing Miranda had learned about Catalina in the short time she’d know her, it was that Catalina intended to be the best at everything she attempted. After she had taught Miranda the steps to the usual Sunday dances, she, like the musicians of the village, had demanded that Miranda teach her something in return. Miranda had obliged with what she could remember of the Irish dancing that her nieces and nephews enjoyed, and Catalina had proved to be a quick learner. The two women circled the fire now, feet flying, and Miranda laughed merrily at the way they looked. Catalina’s face was flushed and her short black hair was bouncing wildly as they grasped hands and started whirling in place. By the end of the dance, Catalina’s sharp laugh had joined Miranda’s bell-like one, and they spun until the song ended. It took them a moment before they could come to a halt themselves, panting for breath and holding onto each other for support.

“{I’d say it’s a draw this time,}” Miranda said as she caught her breath. “{Although I don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep up with you. I’m so much older after all.}”

“{Five years isn’t that much older,}” Catalina objected. “{But come in now. The others will feel that they have to stay as long as you are here, out of respect.}”

“{I will if your father will tell us another one of those wild stories.}”

“{You are like a child wanting to hear fairy stories! But he likes to tell them and I am sure he will oblige you.}”

Miranda waved to Domnul Cojoc and the rest of the musicians before following Catalina to the edge of the square where Catalina’s father Nicolae stood with the other men who considered themselves too old or important to dance. 

“{You learn quickly, Doamnă Miranda}” Nicolae observed. He had his dark cloak wrapped around his whip-thin body, but his hood was thrown back and Miranda could clearly see the enigmatic smile on his shrewd, chiseled face. He had perhaps never been handsome, but anyone who spoke with him quickly became aware that he was clever—and not a man to be trifled with.

“{I’ve had a good teacher,}” Miranda replied, taking the glass he offered her. She sipped the burning, plummy liquor and enjoyed the warmth that spread through her body as it hit her stomach.

“{I learn quickly too, father,}” Catalina said. Her tone was friendly, but it was tempered by the fierce expression that her pale, almost waif-like face usually wore.

“{You do,}” Miranda agreed. “{My sister-in-law would be impressed and would try to make you join her dance troupe and compete.}”

The wind picked up and, now that she was no longer near the fire or dancing, the cold began to creep into Miranda’s body. She pulled her hood over her head and her cloak around her as she followed Nicolae and Catalina up the snow covered street to their cottage. Although it was one of the major port-key entrances to Romania, Săpânța was a small village, and in many ways it reminded Miranda of her home in America. There were the modest houses scattered in a spiraling circle around the square, as well as the limited choices for shopping, entertainment, and company. However, whatever the place lacked in variety, it made up for in the quality of what was available. And the way that wizards and No-Majs existed side by side as an open secret was an incredibly welcome change from the atmosphere of wariness and suspicion in England. MACUSA upheld the Statute of Secrecy, but in the little hamlet of Edgewood, Kansas, everyone knew what Miranda was, even if no one would have mentioned it out loud in public, or to a stranger.

Miranda ran her hand along the rail fence that lined the road, knocking snow off of its weather beaten planks. It had been an uneventful month since she had left England. She had decided it was best to begin ‘searching’ for a black dog animagus right away rather than seeking out Charlie Weasley. She hadn’t been sure about Malfoy’s state of mind and, should he have decided to set someone on her tail, she wanted to appear to be doing what he expected her to do. 

Within a week of her fruitless search, she had been approached by Catalina Dragnea and invited to dinner. Miranda had been impressed by the small, intense young woman and by her father, Nicolae. Nicolae served as the Boyar of the wizarding community in Maramures, and Miranda quickly realized that the invitation was as much about security as it was about hospitality. The Dragneas were proud, but friendly and, Miranda was a frequent guest in their home. Her most recent meeting with Fudge and Malfoy had also been cordial, and she felt bold enough that she intended to drop in on young Mr. Weasley at the Dragon Sanctuary within the next week or so.

The Dragneas’ charming, bright blue cottage was a very welcome sight by the time the chilled group reached it. It sat regally at the top of the hill furthest away from the square, standing guard over the village in spite of its small size. They came through the door stamping snow from their boots before stooping to remove them and line them up neatly under the row of flower-shaped hooks on the wall. Miranda hung up her cloak and nodded to the icon of the Virgin nestled in the corner before settling into a cozy, if threadbare, armchair next to Nicolae in front of the fire. The first few nights she had visited with the Dragneas she had attempted to help with the work of serving and, if only Nicolae and Catalina were home, they would indulge her. She had learned, however, that if there were other guests in the house, she was expected to sit and be waited upon with them. There were three other wizards gathered tonight; Andrei Naghi and his young wife Silvia, and Vasile Ursu, the venerable Solomnar of the region. 

“{Miranda wants to hear another story, father,}” Catalina said as she set a platter of fresh cheese, bread, and more palinka on the table before the company, her sharp eyes glinting with amusement.

“{Does she?}” Nicolae asked, looking similarly amused. “{Well, we must humor our guests. But only if you give us one in return, Doamnă Miranda.}”

“{It would be my pleasure,}” Miranda replied honestly. 

Nicolae waited until the food and drink had been passed around and the cigarettes had been lit. He had a flare for drama, and knew how to wait just long enough that his audience was leaning in to hear him, but not so long that they would become restless.

“{I think I should tell you the tale of the three miners,}” he began. He took a drag off his cigarette and the smoke spiraled out of his mouth when he exhaled. “{Once there were three miners who went to the funeral of their friend. After the funeral and the burial, their friend’s solicitor gave the three miners a letter from the deceased. It told of a treasure buried in the mine, a treasure rich enough to keep all of the miners free and easy for the rest of their lives. Grateful for this good fortune, the three miners went home for their picks and shovels, and began their search immediately. There were three tunnels in the mine that their friend had dug, so each of the miners chose one. 

“The first miner had been searching for only an hour when he felt a chill come over him. He looked up and, to his surprise, he saw a black cat crouching on a rock above him. Something about the cat filled him with a thrill of horror, although he tried to tell himself it was simply a stray, lost in the mine. He started to scare it away when the animal spoke to him. ‘I know where the treasure is,’ the fiend hissed, ‘but you must give me the head of one of your fellows in order to reach it.’ The miner was horrified and, when he could not force the beast to flee, he tried to ignore it. But the cat kept hissing its demand, and slowly doubts crept into the miner’s mind. Finally, he could take it no longer, and he went back to the place where the tunnels joined. 

“He found one of his fellows there and that man had also been visited by the mysterious cat. It did not take long before the two men went into the third tunnel and murdered the final miner, decapitating him with their shovels. The murderers separated, returning to their own tunnels to search. But the demon cat continued to prey on their minds, and the two men met again. The first miner overpowered the second, and he again performed the morbid deed with his shovel. He went down for a final time into his tunnel, and for a final time he met the cat. He stared into the cat’s yellow eyes until he could see nothing more, until he knew nothing more.}” Nicolae paused and sipped his palinka.

“{And then?}” Miranda prompted. “{Don’t stop there!}”

Nicolae’s teeth flashed in the firelight as he smiled wolfishly at Miranda. “{In the morning, when the rest of the miners of the village came to work, they found the bodies of the two murdered men. But their heads—and the third miner—were never seen again. Not in this world, in any case.}”

“{And no one ever found the treasure or the cat, I assume.}”

“{The treasure—no. But the cat still lives.}”

Silvia Naghi shivered and murmured, “{I’ve never liked that story, not since I was a little girl.}”

“{That’s because you’re afraid of your own shadow,}” her husband Andrei teased.

“{I think it’s thrilling,}” Miranda said, smiling at Nicolae as he handed her a cigarette and lit it with a snap of his fingers.

“{Now it is your turn,}” Nicolae ordered. “{Tell us more about that wild Irishman, Finn MacCool.}”

“{Hmm, I’ve already told you about how Finn MacCool became the wisest man in Ireland—that is before St. Patrick and Christianity and other such more civilized things of course. Well, one night, Finn MacCool sat at the High King’s table at Tara, with all the other great men of of the land. And they were feasting and drinking and making poems until late into the night. But it was Samhain night, of course, and the High King knew that, before the end of it, he really should send out some stout warrior to do battle with Aillen mac Midna, who was on his way to destroy them all. You see, some wrong or other had been dealt Aillen, and so once a year, on Samhain, he was allowed out of the realm of the Shi to do his best to make an end to Tara. As the feast waned, the High King asked of his brave men who would go out to defend them, and their courage froze in them to a man. Except for Finn—who knew all there was to know after eating the Salmon of Knowledge—but also lived in happy ignorance of the awesome terror that was Aillen.

“And so Finn MacCool went out alone and unafraid into the darkness of the worst night of the year. He settled himself outside the walls of Tara, waiting for his enemy. But a friend came first. Fiacuil had felt himself man enough to come to Finn and warn him of the danger. For Finn had no plan except the young man who thinks he is immortal’s plan of attacking Aillen. Fiacuil told Finn of Aillen’s magical music that would put him to sleep and of how Aillen would burn him to death with his fiery breath at leisure afterwards. And he gave Finn Aillen’s own spear, brought out of fairyland by Finn’s father. At the proper time, all Finn had to do was unwrap the point of the spear and the horrible stench caused by the spear’s corrupt nature would keep him awake—for no man could sleep through such a thing.

“Armed now and ready, Finn MacCool watched in the deep darkness until the bewitching music of fairy met his ear. It was music to make a man walk into Hell, but Finn did as he’d been told and distracted his senses with the foul smell of murder from the tip of Aillen’s spear. The music failing, Aillen blew a jet of flame at Finn, who caught it with his cape and sent it down into the earth, creating a ridge and a glen that stands to this day. And now Aillen knew fear as his spells had failed. And he knew that he was not in his own world and that Finn MacCool’s world would favor Finn MacCool and not Aillen. So Aillen tried to do the wise thing, which was to run away, but Finn’s aim was true and his throw faster than thought. And so Aillen died by his own spear, plunged into his back.

“Of course, when Finn MacCool did not die, the High King took the ruling of the Fianna away from Goll mac Morna and gave it to Finn MacCool. And Goll mac Morna, who could do anything with more grace than a man should possess, gave his hand to Finn MacCool and pledged to obey him. And there were no two greater friends in all of Ireland than Finn and Goll. But this did not stop Goll from killing Finn’s brother, when the time came. And it did not stop Finn from killing Goll, when the time came. And all of that did not stop Goll from waging war on Hell itself to free the Fianna when the new Christian God sent them there. For this is a world of both good turns and bad turns and we all must live with that.}”

Vasile Ursu laughed quietly, his wizened face crinkling into thousands of wrinkles as he smiled. “{I think that Finn MacCool would have made good friends here,}” he commented.

“{I would rather know Goll,}” Andrei objected. “{He sounds like the greater of the two.}”

“{I don’t see how Goll could have been such great friends with the man who defeated him,}” Catalina remarked. She had finally allowed herself to join the circle around the fire. “{And I don’t see how he could have been bothered to free a man from Hell who had killed him in the first place.}”

“{Maybe Goll was the crazy one, and not Finn MacCool,}” Silvia laughed, tossing her pretty brown hair. 

Catalina frowned. “{Or perhaps it’s just a silly fairytale, like the story about the cat, and doesn’t mean anything.}”

“{What do you say, Doamnă Miranda?}” Nicolae asked, eyeing her intently.

Miranda smoked for a while, considering. “{I think that when you meet your match, you cannot help but appreciate him, even if he is also your enemy.}”

*****

The usually unflappable Charlie Weasley was getting nervous. He paced the length of the locker room, trying to release some of the extra energy before he went out to tend to the juvenile dragons. They could tell when he was agitated, and he hated to make them more skittish than their youth already inclined them to be. Unfortunately, the fact that he had every reason to be nervous did nothing to help him achieve his goal. It was a week before the celebration of Dragobete and Miranda Rose had yet to make her appearance. Albus had made it clear that the American witch was in the middle of some other mission and that Charlie was to wait for her to initiate contact for her own safety. While Charlie accepted Albus’s warning, Albus was not the one who would have to face Ileana Lupul empty handed if Miss Rose didn’t show. Albus wasn’t the one who would have to watch every thing that he’d worked for since the Order had re-formed slip through his fingers.

He glanced at the hourglass on the shelf above the tagging equipment and sighed. Nervous or no, it was lunchtime for the dragons and he never liked to keep them waiting. He hung his graphorn-hide gloves from his belt, pulled on his cloak, and flicked his wand at the buckets of raw goat meat. The buckets floated up behind him just as Magda, the Sanctuary’s stern secretary caught up with him.

“There’s a Miss Rose to see you Mr. Weasley,” she said in her clipped, accented English. “She said it was urgent, but I should ask her to make an appointment, yes?”

“No, send her down, Magda,” Charlie answered quickly, his voice dripping with relief. 

“Are you sure? The little ones don’t like to be kept waiting.”

“I’m sure. I’ll bet that Miss Rose would like to see them anyway.”

Magda pursed her lips in disapproval at the disruption to routine but did not argue, and Charlie resumed his pacing while he waited, unaware that the feed buckets were obediently following him as he did. 

About ten minutes later a young woman with silver hair and easy grace came into the locker room. She gave Charlie a winning smile as she stuck out her hand to him. He grasped it and noted that her shake was as confident as the rest of her countenance. 

“Charlie Weasley, I presume,” she said. “I’m Miranda Rose. I’m sorry that I’m so late, I know you’ve been waiting for me. I couldn’t be sure of getting safely away before now.”

Charlie found himself returning her smile, although her apparent youth made him question Albus’s decision to send her. “That’s fine, Miss Rose, you’re here now. I was thinking you could join me out by the lake. I can fill you in while I feed the juvenile longhorns. It’s their lunchtime and they get cranky if they aren’t fed on time.”

“Don’t we all? And yes, I’d love to.”

It took a few more minutes for Charlie to find her a pair of gloves, but soon enough they were outdoors. Almost immediately, he felt his shoulders relax as he inhaled the cold mountain air. No matter what was happening in the rest of the world, the Sanctuary always seemed to be just that; a safe place untouched by violence and care. Today the sun beat down brightly, an early promise of spring, and the majestic peaks of the Carpathian Mountains jutted up into the sky, surrounding them and protecting them like sentinels. 

“Good Lord, Mr. Weasley, this is stunning,” Miranda breathed next to him, her eyes wide with delight.

“Mr. Weasley is my father, Miss Rose. Call me Charlie,” he replied, pleased with her reaction.

“And Miranda will do for me.”

“Miranda it is.” They started down a rocky path, its steep progress kept clear of snow by charmed rocks. He noted approvingly that she had little trouble keeping up with him and decided he could start in on the business at hand. “How much did Albus tell you about the situation here?”

“Just that you were in need of a witch who could handle herself around wizards and beasts.”

“So basically nothing.” He frowned a little, although he couldn’t say that he was surprised. “Well, the long and the short of it is that most of the wizarding community in Romania is willing to back the Order, but there’s a very vocal minority that wants to join Voldemort instead.” He hated how he still flinched when he said that name, especially when he saw that Miranda didn’t seem affected by it at all.

“Really?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “I would have thought that the relationship between wizards and No-Majs was friendly here. Everyone seems to know that we exist.”

“They do, and things are usually pretty comfortable. But there are regions of the country where the Communist rule of the Ceausescu regime was crueler than others. Any region that resisted the Ceausescus at all was punished and in those places there were many times when the muggle community turned against the wizarding community, which caused a lot of harm to both. Most of the trouble comes from those regions—they want to make sure that such a thing can never happen again.”

“But don’t they realize that the Dark Lord isn’t exactly a force to be contained?”

Charlie started at Miranda’s use of the term ‘Dark Lord,’ but as they had reached the lake he decided to let it pass. “They think they can contain one man more easily than they can control all of the muggles here. Now, I’m going to have to ask you to be quiet and still for a few minutes. The longhorns will be able to smell you and, since you’re new, they won’t want to come out at first.”

She nodded and fell silent as she followed Charlie to the edge of the lake. He squatted down and she followed suit, moving nothing but her eyes, which darted about drinking in the landscape. The ice covered lake could be circled in about twenty minutes on foot, and it ran into the base of a rough line of rocks. There were plenty of outcroppings and indentations in the rocks just the right size to hide youthful dragons, and Charlie watched these patiently, his practiced eyes searching out the ones that he knew were his charges favorites. He flicked his wand and the feed buckets set themselves silently on the ground next to them. As he pulled on his gloves, he tapped Miranda on the shoulder, and pointed out across the lake. 

He felt her shoulder twitch, but she managed to keep quiet as she saw the shy, brown and yellow mottled head of a young longhorn poking out of a gap in the rocks. The dragon seemed to sniff the air, trying to decide if Charlie’s familiarity was enough to offset Miranda’s strangeness. Its red, unblinking eyes studied the humans critically and, after several long minutes, it crept out onto the ice, stretching its gangly legs and shaking its lean, muscular body. Charlie took this as a sign of acceptance, and flicked his wand, sending a chunk of the meat skidding across the ice to the dragon. Shyness forgotten, it pounced on the treat, swallowing it whole. The smell of the blood brought three more young ones out of the rock face, and soon Charlie was hard pressed to keep up with the demands of the hungry babies. 

“If you move slowly, you can put on your gloves and help,” he said, his voice pitched just above a whisper.

Miranda did as she was told and, with her assistance, the dragons’ appetites were soon sated and the buckets mostly empty. When the food was gone, the dragons began rolling and sliding across the ice, tumbling over each other like a pack of enormous puppies. 

“It should be safe to talk now, if you keep it down,” Charlie said. 

“They’re amazing,” Miranda murmured. 

“They are. I’m lucky to be here.”

“So, what do you need me to do, duel the leader of the opposition?”

“Not exactly. Next week is the Dragobete festival. It’s sort of like Valentine’s Day. Ileana Lupul, the leader of all the wizards in Romania will be visiting her home in Săpânța to hear grievances and settle disputes. I’m supposed to bring you as a sort of champion for the Order, and the opposition will present their own champion. Then you’ll have to undertake the challenges that she has in mind and whichever side’s champion wins the day will decide which side Romania backs in the coming war.”

“What do you think she wants to happen?”

“It’s hard to say. I think she acknowledges that Voldemort is a threat, but I think her top priority is keeping her people together. The years under the Ceausecus nearly ripped the wizarding community apart, and she’ll do anything to heal it.

“I see.” Miranda watched with interest as Charlie dipped his gloved hands into one of the buckets, smearing them with goat blood.

“Sometimes one of the dragons will be brave enough to come over for a taste,” he explained as he extended his hands towards the still frolicking dragons. “You can give it a go if you want.”

She dipped her hands into the bucket and held them out, palm down as well. “What’s the challenge going to be?”

“I don’t know all of the details, and I’m sorry about that. Doamnă Lupul has been a little vague. I do know that it has to do with rescuing a group of children.”

“Children?”

“The Ceausecus decided to punish the wizards in the disobedient regions by sending their children away to Russia for schooling against their parents’ will. Once you’ve been here long enough, you’ll understand how much of an insult that was. The Romanians wouldn’t accept that lying down, and so they made a deal and sent the children to be trained and guarded by the Iele instead.

“I don’t think I know what those are.”

“They’re like Veelas, only worse.”

“Let me guess: the Iele don’t want to give the children back.”

“You got it. They want to keep the kids in order to feed on their youth.”

“That’s disgusting.”

Two of the longhorns had broken away from the group and were cautiously picking their way over the ice, holding tails the way human children would hold hands to cross the street. Charlie and Miranda stopped talking for a moment, patiently waiting in silence, although excitement buzzed through Charlie. No matter how many times this happened, he doubted he would loose the thrill of connecting with these marvelous creatures. He glanced at Miranda out of the corner of his eye, noting the wondering look on her face. The smaller of the two longhorns broke away from its partner and came to a halt in front of Miranda, studying her boldly. Then it nuzzled her glove-covered hand, its purple tongue darting out to lap up the goat blood, and Miranda let out a quiet laugh when the dragon started purring deep in its throat. 

The larger dragon came to Charlie, as though not wanting to be left out, and he rewarded the pair of them by letting them clean out the rest of the buckets. When both dragons were fully occupied and purring, he said quietly, “It has to be female champions because any male that even looks at a Iele falls under her spell.”

“Lucky me.”

“I think there will be three challenges in addition to the actual rescue and, if you succeed, Romania will back us against Voldemort.”

“I take it that the competition between the champions is to appease both sides?”

“You’re quick. I can see why Albus likes you.”

“Well, I can’t say that was anything like what I expected, but I’m here and I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all I can ask. Do you need any help getting to Săpânța?”

“No, I’m actually staying there.”

“Really? Have you met Nicolae Dragnea yet?”

“Yes, he’s been very friendly. Why do you ask?” The dragons had finished with the insides of the buckets and had started to knock them across the ice like a pair of quaffles.

Charlie sighed. “He’s the leader of the opposition. I take it you know his daughter?”

“I do. Doamnă Catalina is lovely.”

The dragons had returned to the rest of their group, and the racket of the bucket game echoed off the rocks.

“Her brother is one of the kids in question. She’s the other champion.”

******

“{Aren’t you going to pick snowdrops, Doamnă Catalina?}” Miranda asked playfully. They were working together, hunched over the venerable wooden table in the Dragnea’s cottage, carefully funneling the last of the melted snow into bottles. There were rows and rows of the mis-matched glassware lining every available surface, and Miranda was reminded of all the hot August days she and her brothers spent canning tomatoes and peaches with their mother. The snow that she and Catalina were saving today was for use in potion making, and Catalina had offered her a share of the bounty in exchange for help with the tedious work. Miranda wondered if the snow would be any different than the usual dew or rain water that she had been taught to use, but she was sure that Severus would be interested to experiment, and so she readily agreed to help.

Catalina made a face. “{Bah. That sort of thing is for fools and lovers. Besides, by the time we are finished with this, I will have to go to Silvia’s to help with the food.}”

“{Will I meet you at the dance in the square tonight?}”

“{Perhaps. It depends on what happens when father and I meet with Doamnă Lupul today.}” 

There was a hungry gleam in Catalina’s eyes as she said this and Miranda felt a pang of guilt about the meeting to come. She had not mentioned anything about her connection to Charlie or the Order, and she expected that the Dragneas were not going to be happy when it came to light. 

“{I hope that it goes well,}” Miranda said honestly.

“{It will,}” was Catalina’s confident reply.

*****

Later that afternoon much of the village was crowded into the narrow church in the Merry Cemetery for Vespers. Miranda had gone inside long enough to confirm Charlie’s presence, but she had found the crush of bodies more than she wanted to endure at the moment and had decided to wait outside until the service ended. Usually she found the place charming, but a nervous excitement was thrumming through her body and she needed to move. She paced amid the bright blue crosses that marked the graves in the cemetery, adjusting her cloak every few seconds and practicing her Romanian as she attempted to read the inscriptions on the markers. 

“Woe is me, I sleep poorly, Saulic Ion is my name…something…cut off my head and buried me like that, may he be damned,” she muttered to herself as she haltingly translated one of the more morbid illustrations. She wondered briefly what her own cross would one day say, but her musings were interrupted as the first group of worshipers streamed out of the church. 

Miranda made her way to the bottom of the stone steps leading up to the base of the spire, wanting to be close enough to catch Charlie when he came out. Although he had been near the front of the church when she had seen him inside, he had managed to escape with this first line of people, and his face, tense as it looked, was a welcome sight to her. 

“Are you ready?” he asked shortly.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she answered easily.

He nodded once. “Let me do the talking.”

“It’s your show.”

They did not have to wait long before Nicolae and Catalina came into view, flanking a woman wrapped in black. By the way Charlie immediately straightened, Miranda assumed that this was Doamnă Lupul. The older woman paused at the top of the stairs, her eyes scanning the cemetery. She gave Charlie a curt nod when she saw him, and then her eyes continued to Miranda. There were times when Miranda felt that Severus’s dark gaze could see through her, but it was nothing like the eyes that pierced her now. Doamnă Lupul’s eyes swallowed her, and she knew in her gut that even her mental wall would do her no good against this woman. She forced herself to keep still and to maintain her relaxed stance, but her mouth was dry and the palms of her hands sweaty with the effort. God forbid she ever found herself at odds with Ileana Lupul.

Doamnă Lupul abruptly dropped Miranda’s gaze and glanced at Nicolae before descending the stairs. She moved with the grace of a wolf and the speed of young woman at the height of her powers, although to Miranda’s understanding Doamnă Lupul was much older than she appeared. 

“{You have done as you were asked, Domnul Weasley?}” Doamnă Lupul asked without preamble. Her voice sounded like velvet over steel and it hummed with power.

“{I have, Doamnă,}” Charlie answered, his tone calmer than Miranda had expected it to be.

“{I take it this is the Order’s champion?}” Once again Miranda felt Doamnă Lupul’s piercing eyes on her and, while the older woman studied her as one would a horse that one was thinking of buying, she was ready for it and it did not startle her as it had the first time.

“{Yes. This is Miranda Rose.}”

“{Very well. Bring her to Vasile’s tomorrow afternoon.}”

Charlie bowed his assent and Miranda followed suit. This seemed to be the end of the interview, but then Doamnă Lupul cocked her head towards Nicolae and asked brusquely, “{You have an objection, Nicú?}”

Miranda had never heard even Nicolae’s closest friend Vasile Ursu use a diminutive when speaking to him, and she wondered how the proud man felt about it now. The nickname had no hint of affection in it; indeed it carried the air of a mother scolding a naughty child.

“{I mean no disrespect, Doamnă Ileana, as I am confident in Domnul Weasley’s ability to select a capable witch.}” Nicolae’s eyes darted briefly to Miranda, and she knew she was not imagining the veiled contempt in them, although it was nothing compared to the look of betrayal on Catalina’s face. He glanced away and continued, “{However, I do question Doamnă Rose’s right to take on such a challenge. Catalina’s own brother is one of the children that the Iele are holding. I do not see how it is acceptable for this woman, so young, and a stranger, to take on such a task.}”

Doamnă Lupul’s nostrils flared briefly in irritation. “{I had thought it enough to stipulate that a woman be chosen for this purpose—both to resist the magic of the Iele and because she would feel an affinity for the children more easily than a man. I also wished her to be chosen by the Order so that it might prove itself to us. Would it satisfy you if Domnul Weasley’s champion were a mother as well?}”

Nicolae bowed his head in assent, but not before Miranda saw his mouth curl into a triumphant smirk. “{It would, of course. A mother would understand the delicacy of the situation.}”

Charlie stepped forward suddenly, his face clearly betraying his anger. “{With all due respect, I have followed every one of your requests faithfully. It is unfair to add yet another condition at this late moment. There is simply no time to find anyone else.}”

Miranda put her hand on Charlie’s arm, shaking her head at his questioning look.

“{I believe that Doamnă Rose has something to say,}” Doamnă Lupul observed.

“{I do. I simply wanted to say that we do not need to argue, as there is no problem here,}” Miranda swallowed hard, and forced herself to continue. “{I am a mother.}”

--------------------------------------

Notes:

Doamnă=Ms Domnul=Mr

The story of the three miners is a Romanian folk tale and the story of Finn MacCool comes from Irish folklore.

The Ceausecus were in power from 1967 until 1989, when they were executed on Christmas Day by firing squad. They lived lavishly while much of the population of Romania suffered oppression, poverty, and chronic food shortages.

The Merry Cemetery is the handiwork of Stan Ion Patras (1908–1977), who made a living carving fences and grave markers. He started to paint the crosses in order to protect them from the weather, eventually adding geometric flower designs as well as depictions of the deceased and inscriptions.

---------------------------------

Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Fifteen+

Chapter Seventeen+ >>

[utsus]

I'm in love with your writing! Do you still take prompts? Would you write sasuke being jealous with naruhina or naruto being wary of sasuke/sasuhina? Thank you and looking forward to read more of your art

(AO3)

Excerpt: “A lifetime of repressing his emotions under the weight of anentire ocean of untouched apathy, and with a single look from her, his controlfractured. Ripples moved through him.”

Uchiha Sasuke appreciated silence.

Whether this inclination was borne of his naturaldisposition or a lifetime of far too much chaos, it didn’t really matter. Itwas what is was, and Sasuke didn’t question it. He cultivated it, encouragedit, embodied it. Silence and stillness went hand-in-hand, and Sasuke was finewith that, too.

He became an untouchable lake upon whose surface nothingcould impact, a force of nature outside the realm of tangible understanding.The tattered leftovers of his soul stormed lowly under the surface, capturedwithin his frigid control, not even a single ripple marring the surface of hisstill waters. For years, he basked in the stillness. The silence, only everinterrupted by the low peals of thunder inside of him, and the icy depths ofhis repressed feelings.

He moved through life as a shadow, the village hidden in theleaves chattering around him incessantly, a never-ending stream of attentionhe’d never wanted. Even so many years after returning, still he caught his namein strangers’ mouths, their eyes trailing over him, equal parts suspicious andcurious. He paid them no mind. He did his duty and went on missions, both aloneand with the fractured remains of Team 7, and he returned to a home as empty ashe was.

He moved over the threshold of his home wordlessly, hisevery step silent, and slid the door shut behind him. The sun was alreadyinching towards the center of the sky, so bright he squinted. Hand tucked inhis pocket, Sasuke moved through the desolate compound he refused to leaveabandoned, and never moved his eyes from the central path leading out into therest of the village. Dark eyes steady, eyelids heavy, he slid the gate closedbehind him. There was no one around this part of the village, ever, and thatwasn’t surprising. The Uchiha compound was a ghost town, a burial ground, andmany believed it haunted. It was widely avoided. Sasuke was fine with that,too.

He valued his privacy, after all.

Not that he was doing anything that required privacy.Frowning, Sasuke tried not to think about the boredom he refused to admit tofeeling. Boredom was safe. Boredom was fine.

When he made it into the more populated areas of Konoha,people moved around him like he was magnetized. He barely noticed the wideberth everyone gave him anymore, trailing along at his own pace, hand stillstuffed in his pocket. It was only when he reached his destination—a rundownlittle shack that sold rare scrolls and weapons of surprisingly finequality—that he felt the tension in his facial muscles. He purposely relaxedhis scowl, eyebrows and lips freeing from strain. He pushed aside the strips ofmaterial hanging from the front entrance, bowing slightly when the owner calledout a greeting.

He moved towards the back corner of the shop, ignoring theway two patrons immediately left the establishment the moment they saw himenter. A few others merely cast curious looks his way as he moved past, and alesser number paid him no mind at all. He ducked under a barrage of shurikenhanging by thin strands of thread from the ceiling, glistening in the sunlightbeaming through the entrance. They were unusual in design, and Sasuke thoughtoffhandedly of the girl from his year who did her hair in little buns, and woredangling earrings.

Sasuke moved around a display of explosive scrolls—sealedwith personalized chakra locks—and stopped in his tracks. There was someone inhis corner.

He had yet to see anyone other than himself perusing thisparticular section of the shop, and he’d been here countless times. Outside ofsimple curiosity, there were a limited number of people in the village whocould actually make use of their optical chakra pathways. In fact, there were onlythree kinds of people who could make use of these texts: One lived in acompound much like his own, and certainly the Hyuuga had shelves upon shelvesof personalized tomes specific to their family bloodline limit. They would havenext to no need to visit any other library, especially one as trifling andnameless as this.

Another was he who wielded the Rinnegan. Which was Sasuke.And the last was he who wielded the Sharingan. Which was also Sasuke.

So why, then, was there a woman standing on tiptoe in thiscorner Sasuke had come to think of as his own? His eyes trailed up from herflexed calves, over the long fall of dark hair grazing her tailbone, and up toher outstretched hand, pale and delicate and desperately reaching for a tomeoverhead. Sasuke was not unobservant; he knew her.

Hyuuga Hinata—Hyuuga royalty. Heiress of her clan. Strongestliving Byakugan user.

Naruto’s girlfriend.

His chest felt tight, rigid; something that ached likelonging rippled outwards. Sasuke’s fist clenched, then released. Hinata’sfingertips weren’t even grazing the edge of the tome she longed for, and shehad no more height to add, having already moved to the tips of her toes. Herpulling motion stretched her jacket across her shoulders, dragging the materialup enough to offer a glimpse of skin just as smooth and pale as that of herexposed wrists. He could hear her saying something under her breath, though thewords were lost to him.

He wanted to turn around, walk back out of the shop; moveaway, head back towards his compound, the training grounds, the forest,anywhere but here. Far away, and quickly, and quietly, silently, so she wouldn’t know, wouldn’t realize—he fought withhimself over the cowardice of the feeling, refused to admit even to himself thatwhat he wanted to do was flee, likeprey, but instead found himself stationary, fixed and unmoving. His heartseemed the only part of him that moved, and oh,how it moved.

Still like prey,he thought, as she seemed to realize she had an audience and turned to glanceat him over her shoulder. Caught in herweb.

But it wasn’t fair to think her a predator when she had donenothing but exist, had never done anything so offensive or threatening but exist, right there in front of him—soclose he could reach out and trail his knuckles under the curtain of her hair,except that he couldn’t, because she wasn’t his; she had never been his and he’dalways thought himself untouchable but this, this inability to reach for her becauseof an invisible boundary was the unbearable truth of the term he hid beneath—

“Uchiha-san?”

Boundaries. Eventhe way she called to him added distance, until even the image of his hand inher hair faded away, too unbelievable to even exist in his mind. He could feelthe edges of his expression shifting, frustration at himself sharpening everyangle in his face. His eyes must have been pits of darkened flame, turbulentand sparking, and yet Hinata turned to him completely, unafraid and unguarded.This should have bothered him. It didbother him, only, not enough. Not nearly enough. Conflict arose within him, afamiliar warring feeling under his skin. Perhaps if he were someone else, withfar more freedom to feel, she would’ve been able to see the impact she had onhim.

But he had had a lifetime of practice in this. Locked insidehis heart with everything else he repressed, among the softness of prizedintimacy, the quiet whisper of secrets, and the memory of his mother’s smile,there was this: interest.

It was because of this interest, and the way that it piercedholes in his iron control, that he wanted her to be afraid. He wanted her toadd barrier after barrier between them, layers and labyrinths of defenses. Hewanted her to push him away, to use his surname and only look at him after he’dbeen the one to look first. He wanted her to protect herself against him.

Because for her, for some inexplicable reason he couldn’teven fathom, he felt.

A lifetime of repressing his emotions under the weight of anentire ocean of untouched apathy, and with a single look from her, his controlfractured. Ripples moved through him.

Blood on his hands, fractured friendships, distrust andincessant gossiping chatter about his life and the secrets strangers had noright to and the questioning almost apologetic expressions on Naruto’s andSakura’s faces whenever they looked at him—none of it stirred him. He was asfrigid and depthless as they thought him to be, still water with stormsunderneath. They could not touch him. At best they could feel the lightninginside of him. But they could not touch him.

But Hinata—

The first time he felt it, the jarring impact of someonebreaking through his emotional defenses, she had a bleeding child in her arms.She didn’t notice him at the time, not even when he moved to her side, not evenwhen it was his fingers that applied pressure to the wound in that child’sside. He remembered her hands, steady even while her voice shook. The maternalstrength in her eyes as she clutched that child close and shielded his frailbody with her own when an explosion nearby sent shrapnel spiking into her shoulders.Sasuke could still feel the impact against his own, and along the outer ridgeof his arm where he’d tried to shield her, too.

Hinata had not even hesitated, despite a cry of pain. Shedidn’t look at Sasuke, either, only used his hand to aid her as she pulled fromthe dregs of her chakra to heal a nameless, dying child in her arms. Heremembered the sudden rigidity in his chest, the palpable heaviness of a hearthe’d desperately tried to forget he had. He remembered the way it awakenedwithin him, and how the smell of singed flesh tore into him, proof of thetrails of blood that arose from the lines in her palms; an incredibly late anddaunting sign of chakra exhaustion. She never wavered, even as her chakrafaltered, breaking and sputtering. She never looked at him, but he remembered.

She became the jade that broke the surface.

He still felt it. Years later, the war behind them, thatchild breathing somewhere in the world because of her, and her heart someoneelse’s to hold. Her heart belonging to his best friend. 

It was unfathomable. He had never had a claim to her, notonce, not even when he was the child prodigy the entire village fawned over. Notwhen all her peers idolized him, put him on a pedestal he could only comecrashing down from. Not when he returned to the village a man that made otherstake notice, no longer boyish and misguided, but sharp-edged and confident.

No, he thought shakily, fighting to rein in his emotionseven more strictly. For Hinata, there had only ever been Naruto.

Sasuke took a step towards her, unable to do anything but bepulled into her orbit. Still, his expression hardened. He held his shoulders soharshly they strained, but he moved beyond her, ignoring her call. He reachedup and grasped the tome with ease, tearing it form the shelf. He could feel hereyes on him, and when he turned back to her he found uncomfortable solace inthe gentleness in her eyes. That he wanted that tenderness so much made it thatmuch more uncomfortable to see. He shoved the book towards her, fingertipsalready leaving the hard cover before she’d completely grasped it against herchest.

He was unbearably rude, his mother would be ashamed of hisbehavior, but the alternative was worse. He wanted to pull her in close, tosmile against her neck, laughing at her. He could imagine an alternativereality where he reached around her, hoisting her onto his shoulder, supportingher with his hand on her waist, lifting her to the tome. She wouldn’t have tostrain for it. She might even laugh, and how he longed to hear it. Naruto madeher laugh so easily, it wasn’t like he’d never heard it. He’d just never heardit because of him.

Sasuke flash-stepped out of the shop and didn’t stop movinguntil the front door of his home snapped shut behind him. His back pressed upagainst the wooden paneling, and he slammed the back of his head against it forgood measure. Get ahold of yourself,he berated, gritting his teeth. He closed his eyes and brought his hand to thehilt of kusanagi. The threads under his fingertips were a familiar sensation,bringing him back to the battlefield, where he could lose himself in memoriesof chaos he had control over. He understood himself well enough to know that itwasn’t psychologically or emotionally soundto find solace in the memory of taking lives.

But ever since his brother had murdered their family, theirentire clan, Sasuke had never really held himself to the same sane standard aseveryone else.

There were some things that a person just couldn’t come backfrom.

Sasuke pressed his head back against the door, gritted histeeth, and breathed through the memory of his own killing until his heartslowed, and slowed, and slowed.

He wondered if memories could ever be enough to get it tojust…stop.

Stop.

✧

“Wanna fight?” Naruto asked him cheekily, playfully bumpingagainst Sasuke’s shoulder. They were heading away from the Hokage tower afterreporting in, freshly returned from a joint mission. It had been months sincethe encounter in the weapon shack.

Sasuke ignored Naruto, tucking his hand in his pocket.Sakura had left them at the tower, insisting that she had business with someofficial who’d apparently skipped his rehabilitation session. Sasuke did notenvy him.

“What, really?” Naruto laughed, an added skip to his stepbeside Sasuke’s languid pace. “Since when do you not wanna spar?”

Sasuke cast him a snide look. “We’ve been back withinvillage limits for less than an hour.”

“Exactly!”

Sasuke shook his head. “Idiot.”

“Well, if you don’t wanna fight, what’re you gonna do?”

Sasuke said nothing, and Naruto sighed.

“Do you even have any hobbies, bastard?”

Sasuke paused to think about that for a moment, and when hecame up blank, he cast another scathing glance in Naruto’s direction. “Shutup,” he said, instead.

“You need to get a hobby. Or a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend. Apartner. A significant—”

“Shut up,” Sasukegritted out, jaw clenching.

“What? Blame Sakura-chan. Ever since she and Ino starteddating she really grilled me on the whole open-mindedthing. You can’t just assume,y’know?”

Sasuke didn’t mind that Naruto had completely missed thepoint and thought him irritated because he’d used gender-neutral terms ratherthan mentioning a significant otherin the first place. It was a subject Sasuke wanted nothing to do with. Narutoand Sakura had both grilled him enough times to understand that Sasuke was, asthey called it, picky. Selective,Sakura would say with diplomacy, trying to help him out a bit.

He hated discussing it, and they both knew it. If either ofthem ever learned the true reason why,he and Naruto would undoubtedly both lose their remaining arms. Glancing overat his closest friend, who had begun rambling, he wondered not for the firsttime how he would react if Sasuke was honest.

“I have nothing to go on, because you have hermittendencies, and love being difficult,”Naruto was saying, talking with his hand as they moved through the streets ofKonohas. Sasuke watched idly as people recognized them both, turning their eyesquickly from Sasuke to beam at Naruto. He interrupted himself several times toreturn greetings to passerby, meanwhile Sasuke kept his eyes forward andignored everyone like usual. He felt no inclination for false pretenses.

“So I’m really just floundering here, trying to come up withthings, but it’s not easy, y’know. Sakura-chan likes Ino, who’s loud andblond…”

Naruto’s rambling paused, and Sasuke could feel his gazemoving over him. He turned to find Naruto squinting up at him, suspicious.Sasuke could only dread what he was thinking, as he ran a hand through his ownblonde hair. Unashamed, Naruto didn’t even hesitate to ask:

“You into loud blondes?”

Sasuke’s lip curled, and Naruto immediately waved his hand,placating.

“Alright, alright. Definitely no loud blondes. Or blondes atall. Redheads? Dark hair? No hair?”

Sasuke wanted to punch him in the throat. He wanted him tostop asking. Subtle as he was, hepicked up his pace until Naruto had to jog a little to catch up. His pocketedhand fisted, and Sasuke refused to acknowledge a word Naruto said.

“Okay, maybe I’ll just go off of my own experiences…”

Sasuke almost cut him off just to snap at him, wondering howin Naruto’s mind he figured his own experiences would have any relation toSasuke’s personal tastes. Sometimes he could understand Naruto impeccably, andother times, he was completely flummoxed by his lack of logic.

But then he realized that in this particular case, Naruto’sdating experiences were actually directly and perfectly related to Sasuke’staste in significant others. He could feel the tension of a headache buildingbehind his temples.

“When did I realize I loved Hinata,” Naruto musedabsentmindedly, tapping his chin. Sasuke’s stomach dropped. “Well, I alwaysknew she was beautiful. Dark hair is best, after all. Don’t tell Sakura-chan Isaid that.”

For the briefest of moments, Sasuke closed his eyes. Theimage of his knuckles sliding under the curtain of Hinata’s hair flickered inhis mind, and his eyes snapped open to disperse it. He unconsciously shiftedaside to allow an elderly man to move seamlessly past him down the street, andturned to gaze at the hand reaching for Naruto’s arm a moment before it madecontact.

“Excuse me,” the man interrupted, bowing slightly. He wasall eyes for Naruto, pulling him aside to ask a few questions that Naruto immediatelyfocused in on. Sasuke kept walking. He took several paces ahead before he heardthe scuffing of feet on dirt, and turned to see an elderly woman a few stepsdown the nearest alley. Her trembling hands were reaching for her shoes, one ofwhich had slipped off of her heel, but she couldn’t quite reach from the angleshe had. Sasuke blinked at her, wondering where her caretaker was. Surely shewasn’t traveling through the streets alone if she couldn’t even manage to stayin her own shoes.

After several blank moments and no help arriving, Sasuketurned away from his path and approached her slowly. He was too quiet for herto notice him approaching, and when he was close enough that the edges of hisninsandals came into her view she gasped. Her eyes leapt up to him and fearfilled her blinking eyes, the weathered skin around them creasing as she shiedaway.

Sasuke pretended not to notice that she recognized him, andthat she was terrified. He could hear the chatter of Naruto and the man behindhim, still deep in discussion. He thought he heard a softer voice join them,but paid them no more attention as he crouched down, his right knee hitting thedirt, and reached for the heel of her shoe. The old woman’s hand came out in aflash, surprisingly quick for her age and stature, and attempted to bat hishand away. He allowed the contact, his wrist batted away, but he only broughtit back again and managed to secure her shoe completely on her foot before shecould prepare a second strike. Her ankles were so delicate he could havereached the fingers of his hand all the way around them.

He worried for a moment that the impact of her smack mayhave injured her—if her ankles were this frail, her wrists were probably evenmore so. However, when he studied her hands, he found them healthy, if stilltrembling slightly.

While he studied her hand and wrist for injury, she watchedin some semblance of awe as the Uchiha clan survivor knelt before her, slippingher dirty, sock-covered foot back into her slipper with his remaining hand.When it became clear he just wanted to help her, though he remained silent andicy all the while, she began to relax before his eyes. There was still aguardedness to her; she didn’t trust him completely, even as he lifted out hishand to gently grasp her wrist. He helped her to rise along with him, ignoringthe puff of dirt on his knee, the rocks still sticking into the fabric. Hesteadied the woman in front of him and then pulled away without a word, hischin dipping good-naturedly. Then he turned from her and headed out of thealley, with only a last trace of care concerning her well-being beforeforgetting about her entirely.

When he came out from the alley, Naruto and the man wereboth looking over some manuscript the man was holding. From Sasuke’s angle, itlooked like diagnostics of some sort. A weapon? No, that wasn’t right. Regardlessof what it was, why this man would bring it to Naruto, of all people, Sasukehad no idea. Before he could even begin to guess what the diagnostics were for,the hairs on the nape of his neck stood on end, and he subconsciously glancedoverhead. He caught a flash of lavender, the trailing scent of something likevanilla and something sweet like fruit, and watched Naruto turn instantly togreet Hyuuga Hinata.

Naruto breathed her name in welcome, and she moved towardshim distractedly, dipping in to gently kiss his cheek as she turned over hisshoulder to look at Sasuke. His heart pounded, and he looked away. Narutomurmured something for her ears only, checking in with her, and Sasuke saw fromthe corner of his eyes how she nodded and soothed, reaching out to playfullytrail her fingers through the longer hair by Naruto’s ears. Naruto laughed, andturned from her to rejoin the conversation with the stranger and hismanuscript.

Sasuke could hear Naruto asking, “So as far as prostheticsgo, these are influenced by chakra? How?”

Sasuke stopped listening. He knew Naruto had been lookingfor a prosthetic replacement for the arm Sasuke had ripped off. Sasuke wasn’tin the market for replacements. He was fine with just the one, and besides, itwas a sort of penance, after all. He still had so much to atone for.

With Naruto distracted, Sasuke offered Hinata a single nodin greeting, the reminder of how rude he had been to her the last time they’dseen one another pushing him to be better-mannered. He thought of his mother,her scolding voice still pristine in his memory, and added a quiet, “Hello.”

His eyes moved away from her, but not before registering thesurprise that rose over her expression, lifting her brows. She smiled so softlyit hurt to look at her, and Sasuke made to take his leave, continuing on thepath he’d deviated from for that old lady.

Before he could take a single step, however, Hinata’s voicepinned him down.

“Uchiha-san,” she said, “It’s nice to see you again.”

Sasuke stood frozen for a moment, awkward in a rare bout ofuncertainty, before turning back to her with hardened eyes. He didn’t mean toscowl at her, though she didn’t seem to mind. There was something jovial to thegleam in her eyes, the curl in the corner of her lips. If he didn’t know anybetter, he would’ve guessed her amused. At him? For what?

He didn’t respond, and that didn’t seem to bother hereither. In fact, she took a step closer to him and butterflies threatened totake flight inside his gut. Was it really nice to see him again? Even after hewas so unquestioningly rude to her the last time? Did it really even matter?

He stretched his fingers, an idle gesture. Hinata moveduntil she was within reach, lowering her voice as she glanced over his shoulderwith a kind smile. The old lady from before moved past them with a polite nodof her head, of which Hinata returned with a bow Sasuke thought too deepconsidering her status and the circumstances. When the elder moved on, notsaying a word to him nor casting him a single glance, Sasuke felt an unknowntension fade from his nape, stringing his shoulders too tightly, like a bow.

Hinata turned to him with those soft, striking eyes, and itwas a different kind of tension that strung through him anew. She said, “Thatwas kind of you, you know.”

Sasuke stared at her lips for a moment before forcinghimself to look away, not acknowledging the statement at all. He felt heatbuilding in the shells of his ears. He had thought no one around when he helpedthat old lady; never would he have imagined that someone had been watching hisrandom act of kindness, and that that someone would turn out to be Hinata.

“Foolish,” he said at last, lifting his arm as if to cross itover his chest only to remember that he no longer could. He let his hand fallawkwardly back to his side. “She shouldn’t be traveling alone in hercondition.”

“Perhaps,” Hinata agreed, not without consideration. “Buteven the elderly deserve their agency.”

Sasuke shook his head, irritated with her impartiality, butnot truly invested enough in caring about that old woman’s health to discuss it.He looked back to Hinata and could see that she thought otherwise—no one everlooked at him with such kindness. He could tell with just a look that shethought him a better person than he was, with better intentions than he trulyhad. She caught him helping an old lady, and now she thought him kind. It wasmisplaced optimism, a fool’s hope he wanted to squander. He wasn’t what she thoughthim to be.

What he actually was, was this: a hardened criminal, a willfultraitor, a proven murderer, one of the most dangerous and lethal shinobi in theentire village system. People looked at him with mixed parts disdain andsuspicion, at times curiosity, occasionally envy or admiration, but there wasalways distrust. A curled lip here, a glare there. Sasuke had even had peoplespit at him before, calling him traitor to his face. And they had a right to.He’d given them that the moment he abandoned them and their safety for his owngain. He didn’t deny them their wrath; he knew what it was to have otherstrying to cage you, suppress you, control you. He wouldn’t. 

But that didn’t make him good.Hinata looked at him like he had a right to the second chance he’d been unethicallygifted; like he was still someone whocould be saved. Like he was someone who deserved to be saved.

Did she forget who it was that tore the arm off her beloved?

Sasuke’s lip curled, and he turned away from her and tookthose retreating steps at last. He couldn’t stand to look at her anymore, withhope so brazen in her eyes as she traced over his features. She had the wrongimpression of him, and though somewhere deep in his heart he wanted to be thatperson she saw, anger made him turn away, back to the shadows of who heactually was.

Maybe in another life, in another time, where she was hisand he was hers, maybe he was a better person because of her.

“Oi! Where’re you going, bastard?”

But reality always came crashing back into his life, oneloud blustering word at a time. Against his better judgment, Sasuke turned overhis shoulder to cast Naruto a snide glance and regretted it instantly. With hisarm slung over Hinata’s shoulders, Naruto was rushing towards Sasuke, intent oncatching up.  Sasuke didn’t even considerrunning; he’d already lost too much face in front of Hinata as it was.

When they sidled up alongside him, Sasuke’s eyes leapt tothe heat under Hinata’s cheeks, the color a side effect of the arm over hershoulders, he was sure. He swallowed, and looked away.

“That man has incredible designs, Sasuke. You should reallygive him a chance.”

This, too, was a discussion they’d had several times before.Naruto thought him ridiculous for refusing to commission a prosthetic arm. Heknew vaguely that Sasuke refused any prosthesis because of what he liked tocall, “some lame form of an apology,” but even knowing that he still continuedto push.

“He has different types that he offers—one of them is a claw. Can you believe it?”

Sasuke sighed, and between them Hinata laughed under herbreath. Before Naruto even turned to her, she said, “It’s your choice,Naruto-kun…but I would prefer something other than the claw, if I get a say.”

Naruto deflated instantly, but he laughed. “How cool wouldthat be though?”

“Idiot,” Sasuke muttered, and Naruto turned on him in aninstant. “Hey!”

The three of them continued to walk together, with Hinatamoving between them, holding onto Naruto’s hand over her shoulder. Sasukestared straight ahead as Naruto continued to discuss prosthesis options, highlightingwhat types seemed coolest, before seeming to remember something important.

“Speaking of types,” he prefaced, and Sasuke felt dread curlinside of him. He deliberately did not look at Hinata, staring even harder infront of him. Several people walking past blinked at him, startled by the crosslooks he cast their way. He even heard someone passing by ask their companion, “Man,who kicked his puppy?”

Immature as it was, Sasuke’s frown deepened. He was a catperson.

Naruto chattered on ceaselessly, stoking the fire of Sasuke’sirritation. “Don’t think I‘ve forgotten what we were talking about before! I’mgoing to get to the bottom of this, believe it. You will tell me what type of person you want to kiss!”

Sasuke’s temper overturned, spilling out in frigid blasts.

His voice was cold enough to burn, sheets of rapidlythinning ice Naruto so carelessly treaded upon. “And what business is it ofyours what kind of person I want to kiss, idiot?”

“I’m your best friend! Of course it’s my business.” Naruto’swords were matter of fact, with no sign of weakness and no intent to back down.Sasuke almost growled, his throat wanting to rumble with his displeasure, butwhen he turned to glare at Naruto he had to look over Hinata’s head to do so,and the wintry storm inside of him subdued.

“And besides,” Naruto continued blithely, uncaring for thedanger he could so clearly read in Sasuke’s eyes, just this side of bleeding intoscarlet. “You deserve to have someone who you can take care of, and who’ll takecare of you—”

Sasuke stopped walking, and it was easy to convert the suddenache in his chest into the rising anger he’d been pushing down. He couldn’tlook at Hinata and hear Naruto telling him he deserved those kinds of things, knowinghow badly he wanted them despite a lifetime of telling himself he didn’tdeserve them, and knowing he wanted them with her when she had never been his, and never would be.

He stared hard at Naruto, and his voice was cutting.

“I changed my mind,” he said, reaching over Hinata’sshoulder to press two fingertips to the ball of Naruto’s closest shoulder. “Iwant to fight.”

And before he could gather the etiquette to apologize to Hinatain some way, he transported himself and Naruto into the deep green of afamiliar training field.

Uchiha fire had already laced his lips.

[mrneighbourlove]

Monsters: Ch 1. Where Monsters lie, Innocence Dies

Ralnor had been in his office all day. There was much work to be done. Though, occasionally, there was muffled whispering. Some of the staff thought that the second crown prince was talking to himself. Others wondered if his office was haunted by an old ghost. His spies, however, knew exactly what it was; the monster in the walls. A story floated around in the circle of Ralnor's spies, saying he sent a group to the old tunnels to find more information about a supposed creature sneaking around in the underground catacombs. When the scouts did not return, all that was found of them were dismembered body parts. Supposedly, the prince was the only one who could see or speak to this horrible fiend in the dark. Somehow, he managed to appeal to this monster's better nature... or maybe he was feeding it his enemies. Either way, the spies never dared to say a word against their master.

Miranda finally grew close enough to the spies to listen to stories they shared. A story of a monster in the walls, she didn’t think anything of it, until one day, on a return trip to the castle, she smelled something coming from a sewer grate. Investigating she came across a decayed corpse of someone wearing a Hylian emblem. What really creeped her out, was what she thought she heard a growl coming from deep in the darkened sewage tunnels. Running back to her boss, she did not have the experience yet to not speak her mind about the rumours. “My Prince. There’s something I wish to discuss with you.”

"... did I not ask you to knock before entering my office?" Ralnor did not even look up from his paperwork, continuing to write with his quill. The whispering disappeared as soon as the girl stepped foot in the room. He would have to remind Klinge yet again to discipline the kid. She had to learn there was a proper way to address a situation. "What is so urgent that you must interrupt my work, Miranda?"

“I’m sorry my lord.” Miranda gave a bow. She did her best to adjust to all of Ralnor’s rules. “I heard rumours about a monster under Hyrule. I didn’t think anything of it, but I discovered a corpse of a soldier coming from the sewage system. I think there’s a threat to the security of the people my lord. If the rumours are true, this has been going on for a while. The corpse I discovered had unique bite marks, nothing like any normal animal. I have reason to believe that this is either a very rabid creature, or something far more dangerous, like a real monster.”

"You really believe that story of a monster in the underground?" Ralnor chuckled at Miranda's words, brushing off her worries. He had to save face. No one could know about the creature in the catacombs. "Listen, if you're such a child to believe in fairy tales, then perhaps you'd be better suited to be a babysitter than a scout." The second prince glanced up from his paperwork, only once to look at Miranda. "A decomposed body may look like he has unknown bite marks due to the rats chewing on the flesh. I wouldn't be surprised if this supposed 'monster' of yours is perhaps a disposed exotic pet, like a crocodile."

"I-I'm not a child sir!" Her long ears drooped like a puppy who had been scolded. "Regardless of why or how it happened, there's a dead body of a soldier of this nation found in the sewers. I doubt he just got there for exploration’s sakes and eaten by some swamp dragon. We should investigate it further, to prevent anyone else from getting hurt!"

"My men know better than to wander around in the catacombs." Ralnor stated as he dripped wax onto a letter and then stamped it with his seal. "Whatever reason he was down there for, he obviously did not listen to me nor cared about the danger of the old traps. Those tunnels are as old as Hyrule itself and full of peril. The men know not to venture down there and I don't want you going in there either. That is final."

Miranda was about to say something, but stopped herself. Her ears continued to droop. “Yes sir...”

"Now, run along and remember to knock next time." Ralnor reminded the young girl. As she started to exit his office, he said, "And I better not hear of you in those tunnels. I want you alive and well."

“But you said nothing was down there.”

"There's nothing but traps, and I won't have you fall into one because of your insatiable curiosity."

“Ok.” Her ears shot back up and she hopped back to the Prince when she remembered her second objective for entering his office. She handed him a journal containing private dark thoughts of a tutor and bowed. “My last mission my lord. Turns out there was indeed a plot to blackmail your youngest sister.”

"I figured as much." Ralnor's hunches were almost always correct. "And you took care of the problem?"

“I don’t hurt people sir. Just ‘borrow’ all the evidence you need.”

"Very well. I'll see to it that the problem is fixed." Ralnor then instructed her. "Go train with Klinge."

“Yes sir. Thank you sir.” She bowed again and bounded off, not picking up any other presence near by.

Later on in the evening, the servants were avoiding Ralnor's office. Once more, all of the maids swore there was whispering. Perhaps his office really was haunted. After a long night finishing up work, the second prince strolled through the hallway with a book in his hand about ancient poisons.

Miranda couldn’t shake the feeling in her heart about something being terribly wrong. If Ralnor wouldn’t do anything about it, than perhaps Klinge would.

“Klinge! I have news to report!”

Klinge was in his office looking at the clock tic by. Every second going by another reminder of his life never able to end. The Dark Elf barely broke him out of his trance. “Yes Miranda?”

“I found a body in the sewers of Hyrule! I heard rumours of a monster in the underground of Hyrule, so I believe something is incredibly off about this.”

Klinge sighed softly. “So you believe any rumours about a monster now?”

“I know, I know. It’s exactly what Ralnor said, and he was incredibly shady about the subject. He didn’t care that a soldier of Hyrule was ripped apart! I know it was no crocodile.” The Dark Elf slammed her hand on the table. “I know about the rumours that come from Ralnor’s office. I also know there’s major hush-hush with the thieving society around a group that “shall not be named” in Hyrule! My gut is telling me there’s a great danger in Hyrule!”

Klinge pauses to consider it. He too had heard the rumours, but never found the evidence for it. It did make him curious though. And a body of one of his men had to be taken seriously. “Very well Miranda. At the least, we shall recover this body you found.”

Miranda’s eats shot up through her white hair in excitement at being taken seriously. “Thank you sir! I’ll take you there right away!”

Little did the two know that Ralnor had eyes and ears everywhere. There could be no trouble for the underground. What this world knew of monsters had to be limited. When Klinge and Miranda arrived to the body site, there was evidence of blood and decayed flesh... but no corpse.

Miranda was nearly distraught. “It was here!”

Klinge took note of the blood, and stain that dragged backwards into the tunnel. “I believe you.”

Picking up a piece of wood, he turned it in a makeshift torch and handed it to Miranda. “Follow me.”

He stepped into the sewer and started to investigate the blood trail.

The sewer went deep into the heart of Hyrule, yet connected to it was plenty of routes into the catacombs. It was a death maze without a map. Some of the tunnels had caved in over the years and others promised a grisly end with the remains of bones. It was an eerie feeling like the two of them were being watched. Not even rats dared to dwell in this place.

Miranda felt a chill run up her spine. This place felt old, but no longer empty. Klinge however felt nothing for this place. It was just another maze. “Interesting. Anything could be hiding in here.”

Miranda didn’t like the implication of that. Her mother always told her stories of boogeymen hiding in the dark to make her behave as a child. “But you think something is in here?”

“Catacombs this large are like a labyrinth. And labyrinths always hold something...”

Klinge walked to the walls, reading very old Hylian inscriptions.

The text on the concrete wall spoke of how the catacombs used to be a burial ground for the common wealth. The farmland was too precious to sacrifice as a graveyard, so the people were buried here to save space. It warned not to disturb the dead or trespass on their grounds. Promises of demise would greet those who did not respect the wishes of those who had already passed on into the next realm. As the two journeyed deeper into the catacombs, bones started to make up the walls....

The undead warrior glared at the signs. He knew no demise worse than the fate of his undying existence. The dead had no thoughts or messages to give. Miranda really do not like all the skulls that made up the walls. "Klinge. I don't like this place."

"If you see any Statlfos or Redead, stay close and remember your training."

"Klinge, what if we enter the Shadow Temple."

"That's near Kakariko Village. Nowhere near here."

"But-"

"Hush. Keep your ears and eyes open, and your mouth shut."

The Dark Elf did as she was told. Both continued down further and further.

The shadows moved without warning. Water dripped from the ceiling, causing a faint echo throughout the tunnels here and there. Though there were some unsettling signs. More corpses littered the tunnels like the one before, but different signs of death. One unfortunate soul was wrapped in what looked like spider webbing, drained of blood. Another had a hole the size of a melon in his chest, as if something huge had pierced him. Perhaps the grossest was a corpse that had been partly digested and then regurgitated. Bones were scattered across the floor in all directions.

It was too much for the Dark Elf, and she threw up. She could steal from men, make jokes at Bokoblins and criminals screaming for her death, and even swing a punch at some creep. That was fun. That was adventure. This was no adventure. This death all around her clashed against her more innocent viewpoint of the world. Klinge examined the bodies closely. “Take our your camera and capture the evidence. Now.”

Miranda took out her pictograph box and started to take pictures of the corpses. It only held black and white photos, but they were clear enough, the flash going off for each photo taken. Klinge could have sworn he’d seen signs of these attacks before. Did a Gohma spider lay the web? It was a monster big and terrible enough to do the kind of damage to the first two corpses, however, the third corpse didn’t fit its M.O.

The first flash from the camera revealed a tail, slinking back into darkness, fading as the light did. The second flash displayed a pair of red eyes observing from the shadows, narrowed and angry. The third flash sealed Miranda's fate as a figure emerged from the blackness too quick for the eye to see. Clawed hands snatched the elf, unseen to both Miranda and Klinge.

Miranda let out a scream as she was taken, dropping the camera. Her mind raced to her sick mother and how stupid she was for coming here.

Klinge wiped around, his mind racing at this sudden attack. “Miranda!”

Grabbing the torch he ran after her, frantic to find her. “Miranda! Hold on!!!”

As Klinge ran through the tunnels, it was like a rat trying to find its way out of an endless maze with no exit. A dark laugh echoed and taunted him from all directions. Miranda was still alive... for now. She was still screaming and perhaps now, crying too. When the commander ran into a connector, there was a small streams of light from lit torches hanging on the side of the walls. Five options of a path awaited him.... yet Miranda's dagger fell from above to the floor with a clatter, causing the undead to look upward.

A monster was hanging from the ceiling.

Those coils seemed to have no end from what little light the fire provided. The tiny elf was wrapped from neck to ankle with black scales, still moving along her skin. The expression on her face was one of shock and absolute terror. One hand emerged from the shadows and then another, placed expertly on the stones. Then the face of horror slowly crept from the darkness with a demented grin and flickering tongue. Indeed there was a monster beneath Hyrule.

"Come to slay old Bonegrinder?" The creature actually laughed, highly amused as a single claw traced over Miranda's cheek. "Or does he have two new playthings? He so does love to play, you see, chase and chase and chase until he gets them and they scream, so lovely, yes, the screams..."

Miranda’s tears would not stop falling from her face. Her mouth quivered in terror. “P-please. N-no.”

Klinge studied this thing that slivered from the darkness. It had the body of a serpent, and an upper body of a humanoid. It was indeed a monster. But so was Klinge, and the Undead would not be intimidated for the sake of Miranda.

He summoned his bow and arrow, taking aim. “Return. My apprentice. Now.”

"Oh, this your pet? Pity, pity." Bonegrinder's huge body moved freely about the columns holding up the ceiling. The monster did not even seem worried about a weapon. "Don't you know, you're supposed to keep pets on a leash? Otherwise, if it goes out into the wild, it just might get..." He flicked his tongue again, that mouth full of jagged teeth so close to Miranda's face. "Eaten."

“I am Klinge. Blade of the Gerudo. The Slayer. Identify yourself.”

Miranda gave a light scream. “No, no, no, no! Klinge, please help me. I-I want my mom.”

Klinge looked her in the eye, the first time in years he tapped his bow in worry. “Everything is going to be ok Miranda. You’ll see her soon.”

"Oooh, the undead one, the tool of the royals, the gloomy, ever depressed, hollow shell of a man who wishes nothing more than to depart from this realm... but can't." The monster chuckled darkly as Klinge kept the arrow raised and ready to fire. "Yes, yes, Bonegrinder knows all about you, he can feel your surprise. Let's see, what else does he know? Oh yes, he knows you fought with Zelda all those years ago, and... right..." His upper half twisted upside down, a lopsided callous grin on his face. "You let her kill your wife. No wonder you blame the queen, when you really should blame yourself." He shook a clawed finger at the commander. "And now, you're letting this little pet come in here? Where danger lurks around every corner? Tsk, you must not care at all what happens to her." The snake man's jaw unhinged, his mouth impossibly large. "Maybe she'll be a good snack, resting in Bonegrinder's belly until he tires of her."

Miranda screamed aloud, hollering at the top of her lungs for safety and her mother. Klinge felt his dark side rise within him. This abomination was old enough or clever enough to know about his life. Worse, it mocked him. It mocked every fibre that made Klinge what he was. The Undead warrior made a promise that he would destroy this thing. But first, he would save Miranda. This snake was close enough for Klinge’s magic to work. Hopefully she wouldn’t suffer.

In his wrath, he was completely silent. Raising a fist, he clenched it and pulled back, energy spears generating from behind the snake to pierce his tail and mouth. If the gods listened, he prayed they’d allowed him to catch Miranda safely.

The spears did indeed pierce the snake, causing him to drop Miranda. The elf was not totally unharmed, broken bones and bruises from Bonegrinder's coils squeezing her so tightly during the struggle. Though, the attack did not kill the monster. No, it merely made him... laugh? It was a maniacal laugh, one devoid of sanity. Slithering down from the ceiling, the fiend removed the spear from his mouth, a gaping hole there. Creepily, the skin started to patch itself back together, as if the wound had never been there in the first place.

"Oh, you stupid tool..." Bonegrinder's jaw locked back into place with a malicious smile. Those red eyes leered at him as his tail started to snuff out the torches. "You know that you cannot kill what is already... dead."

Klinge caught Miranda with one arm, the Dark Elf falling unconscious after being released. This thing was like him? Then let it see the light. He threw up a wall of dark fire at Bonegrinder. With great intensity, he ran off with Miranda back to the surface. He couldn’t fight with her here. So instead he would retreat.

Bonegrinder did not pursue the two intruders in the catacombs. No, the undead commander would report back to the second prince. There was no need for concern, everything would play in his favor. After all, the prince would not deny him. Ralnor was smart enough to know not to cross a monster. Licking the outside of his jaws, he murmured to himself, "Run, run, undead... run away back to your master."

Klinge promised he’d be back. Arriving at the castle, he dropped Miranda on Doctor Boveir’s operation table. “She needs a physical examination and mental care when she wakes up.”

"Good goddesses, Klinge, what happened to her?" Doctor Boveir took a look over the tiny elf's body and winced aloud. "She has multiple fractures. I'm going to call in a Dusa to help me... what happened?"

“Fix her.”

Doctor Boveir frowned and decided not to ask further questions. He first administered a light sedative to keep Miranda asleep, because she would be in a high level of discomfort after setting the bones. Once the on call Dusa arrived, the two set to work about healing the dark elf.

Klinge walked to his office. Miranda would be safe while with the doctors. Sitting at his desk he let his anger fester deep inside him. The silence made him more angry.

It was not long before Ralnor knocked on Klinge's office door. The second prince heard from his spies that the commander and the dark elf traveled down to the catacombs. He had strictly ordered for no one to be down there for any reason.

“Come in Prince.” Klinge didn’t even need to see who was behind the door to know who was coming.

Ralnor opened the door and then shut it behind him with an angry slam.

"I explicitly ordered that no one went into the catacombs, Klinge. That includes you."

“You think you have power over me?” Klinge squeezes his fists together as he held both elbows on his table. “Tell me. What was that thing I discovered.”

"I am your prince, the least I demand from you is respect! You have free reign on whatever you wish to do, who you want to kill, what you say to others, I don't stop you, but when I give an order, I have good reason for it to be followed!" Ralnor snapped harshly at the commander. "... what do you think you discovered?"

“I investigated the death of one of my men. I don’t allow my soldiers to be discarded like one of your spies Ralnor! I followed a trail to the catacombs. I found a monster by the name of Bonegrinder.” When he saw a visible reaction from Ralnor at that name, Klinge nearly exploded in anger, rising from his chair to walk around his desk and face Ralnor. “What do you know about it? Because you do know something about it. You are going to reveal what you know to me, now boy.”

"One of your men who defied my orders, defied your orders. No better than a traitor." Ralnor had grown cold and callous as he aged. It seemed like his best kept secret was now at risk of being known. Klinge and Miranda had traveled deep enough into the monster's territory to encounter him. "... thanks to you crossing into his domain, I fear now what I'll have to do to appease him." The second prince took a deep breath and tried to tame his ire. "Bonegrinder is an ancient monster from the lands of Omisha; an Anagari."

“My men? Are you speaking of a dead man, or Miranda? And what do you mean appease?”

"Whoever traveled down into those catacombs defied my orders, and thus is no longer my concern." Ralnor then snorted. "Miranda insisted on pursuing the evidence she found when I told her not to do so. She's next in line for insubordination. I'll deal with her later." The prince then explained to Klinge with a dry laugh. "Appease? Did you not see him, Klinge? Or did he move too fast for you do to so? That creature lurks in the underground catacombs and is the hidden head of crime. Anyone who displeases him is eaten. Thieves, black market items, drugs, prostitution, all of that? He rules." He frowned at the commander. "He's older than he looks too. Way older."

Klinge slapped Ralnor across the face. He was completely livid with his nephew. “Your actions disgust me Ralnor. You will not dare lay a hand on Miranda. That girl only did what she thought was the noble thing, and followed my orders to pursue it further. And now she has suffered enough for that. You have not only thrown away your honour by lying in bed with a monster, but a kingpin? What would your brother think? Your wife. Your father .... or your children.” Klinge clenched his fist, reeling in the fact he wanted to beat the life out of the prince. “You allow this thing to fester in Hyrule, to control you, to make you number 2. It seems that’s the place you feel suited to isn’t it. Now tell me, before I spill your secrets out to them all, why you allow that thing to ensnare you.”

Ralnor grunted when Klinge slapped him but stood his ground. This was nothing he had not suffered through before. The blow to the face caused his lip to bust and a trickle of blood to run down his chin.

"... because he can't be killed." Ralnor said lowly, a dark glare on his face. "And I won't risk the lives of my family for an idiot commander and dimwitted dark elf who don't realize exactly how dire this situation is." The prince would do whatever was necessary to ensure the safety of those he cared for, no matter what the price. "It's better to placate a monster than to risk it's ire. I learned that from you."

"Heheheheh..." A voice snickered from inside the walls. "Little prince, did you send this undead twig after Bonegrinder? Oh, he had fun watching the elf scream and the festered pile of flesh twitch from her cries. Won't you send more? You know old Bonegrinder so enjoys the... snacks... that dare to cross into his home."

If looks could kill, Klinge would already be in the next realm.

"... even if I say no, you're still angry." Ralnor spoke in a soft voice. "I gave orders to my men not to cross into the catacombs. You heard me doing so."

"Can't you keep your dogs on a leash? Better yet, why don't you just use dark magic to keep this tool in order?" Bonegrinder inquired, his voice coming from a different direction this time. "It would be easy, Bonegrinder could show you."

Klinge looked down at Ralnor, and the Prince felt an aura from him he never felt before. This wasn’t simple anger, or disappointment. This was something far more dark inside Klinge. “Get. Out.”

That warning could have been for either one of them.

"Hehehe, did old Bonegrinder touch a nerve, corpse?" The snake monster chuckled from inside the walls. "He will be watching you. Nothing you can hide from him."

Ralnor wiped the blood off his chin and turned on his heel. Exiting the office, the second prince walked to his bedroom to check on his wife. With a relieved sigh, he found Cass fast asleep with little Ukuri in her bassinet. It was late but sleep would not come to him, he knew this. Taking his sleeping daughter into his arms, Ralnor sat against a stack of pillows on the bed and silently kept watch.

Klinge went to the darkest reaches of his mind. This thing had festered itself too deeply in the lives of Ralnor and the family to be kept alive. It kept had insulted him too far to be allowed to live. And it claimed to be unkillable. Klinge decided that this was his final challenge. He would slay Bonegrinder. Or it would consume him. Klinge cracked his knuckles as he got to work writing out his plan. “Oh he may try.”

[alienatheart]

Reload Blast Ep 3 Reactionanalysis

Sorry this took so long, but this episode is complex and gives me feels, and I still don’t think I did it justice! Long post (these keep getting longer!) and spoilers!

Summary: The Ikkou is climbing up a sheer cliff when they’re beset by youkai assassins waiting at the top. They defeat them anyway, and are surprised that vultures immediately descend to eat the corpses, which scares off the surviving attackers. They meet Tenjin, the caretaker of the birds, who is a youkai unaffected by the minus wave. He explains that until recently the area practiced sky burial, hence the vulture’s eagerness, but they only eat dead flesh. He’s living alone and invites them in for tea, but they politely excuse themselves and move on to the nearby village. The townspeople are rather devout, so Hakkai goes into Business!Mode to arrange lodgings in exchange for Sanzo acting Priestly. They also learn people have been disappearing and the villagers suspect Tenjin is responsible, and end up agreeing to speak to him. Tenjin insists he’s innocent and doesn’t want to leave even if he’s under suspicion. He remains in order to preserve the cultural heritage and ritual practices for a day when peace returns. He’s also looking after an injured vulture he calls Tenba. Sanzo notes the similarity of names, and Tenjin flashes back to a particular sky burial ceremony for a relative… In the present, the healthy vultures fly away, prompting a discussion of where souls go after death. Goku states staying alive is more important than being concerned about death, but feels strange as he says it. Sanzo and Hakkai decide Tenjin can be left alone, and as they leave Gojyo finds a lost mitten on the ground.

Goku lies awake at night wondering about the feeling he had. Outside, a villager feeding her sheep is attacked by youkai, but the Ikkou catches them in the act, further ingratiating themselves with the townspeople. Tenjin’s name is cleared but the townsfolk are still nervous that he lives so close…Sanzo is too tired to deal with it. That morning, Goku leaves early to speak with Tenjin some more, and he finds a shed full of personal belongings. When Goku asks if they belong to Tenjin’s family, Tenjin gets evasive. Back in town the mitten Gojyo found is causing a stir. It belonged to a deceased child, and it was buried with them…Sanzo puts the pieces together and hurries to the cemetery with Hakkai, sending Gojyo after Goku, just in case. At the cemetery, they discover all of the bodies have been dug up. Meanwhile, Tenjin has drugged Goku’s tea which paralyzes him. Tenjin explains his wife died in childbirth and their son Tenba died of a heart condition. After watching his son’s sky burial (even though it was taboo for family to witness), he became determined to continue the tradition, even going as far as exhuming bodies for the vultures to eat. Just as he’s about to kill Goku to keep the secret, Gojyo arrives, cutting off Tenjin’s knife-wielding hand. Gojyo says Tenjin’s only using ceremony as an excuse and replacing his son with the vulture. From the floor, Goku says he thought about what Tenjin said, and he thinks if he lost his important people, they would still be with him always, in his heart. As he says it, he sees a glimpse of Konzen, Tenpou and Kenren…is Goku beginning to remember them?! The vulture Tenba spreads his wings, ready to fly away at last, to Tenjin’s protests. As Gojyo carries Goku back to the jeep, Goku apologizes for being tricked, and Gojyo tells him not to worry so much about death and focus on living. It devolves into their usual arguing, but Goku still wanted to talk about his feelings…Back on the hill, Tenjin dragged himself out to meet the vultures, offering his own body to continue the cycle, saying it won’t be long…

Wow, what an episode! I’m surprised they managed to fit so much plot in, and still keep a balance of light comedic moments before the emotionally heavy 2nd half. Especially towards the end, the scene switches and shifting character focus is almost identical to the manga, and the music and voices really add to the atmosphere. I think it was a fair adaptation, but it maybe missed some nuances that were implied in the manga. I’ll have a follow-up post on Tenjin’s tragedy later, because I want to focus on Goku here.

Something I thought about when I first read in the manga: this might be the first time ANYONE seriously discussed the concept of an afterlife with Goku. He’s seen death, and understands grief, but he’s determined to live in the moment and keep moving forward. The closest he’s come in manga canon is the conversation was in Reload volume 6, but that was about if he would want to be brought back, and Goku says he thinks he would be ok, he just has to make sure not to die... and then nearly gets killed. This time, he has more time to think, and decides that, of course, it’s important to focus on staying alive, but he seems to be on the cusp of a revelation… and that’s what I’m waiting to see! So much of Saiyuki seems to be leading up to this reveal, and I wonder how finding the truth about his past and his friends would affect Goku. Would it break his heart (and limiter?) or would he easily accept it, like he seems to roll with every other aspect of life? Would Goku knowing and remembering make Seiten Taisei easier to handle or more out of control? We’re still waiting to find out in the manga, but I love the anticipation!

[writing-with-rain]

Ethereal: Chapter 1

There were echoing voices trailing somewhere behind him as the guard pushed his way through the corridors. Voices seemed to grow louder than the thundering beat in his ears. His footing was slipping up more and he had to keep his concentration on it, least he falls now, but if he did that then he wouldn’t have the strength to get back up.

Left, right, left, right, left, right, don’t forget to breath.

It was seemingly a battle to keep upright and running. Dark walls and shadows played tricks on his eyes as his vision blurred and something red seemed to take the sight in his left eye. But he paid it no mind when the door he was looking for came into view. A small smile had forced its way onto his voice, a small thread of victory, even if he couldn’t win.

He didn’t even knock as he shoved his way into the dark room, slamming his back against the door to brace it and himself. Against the wall of the room, wide eyes looked at the guard before he lodged his sword into the doors handles to hold it. Questions flew around the room asking what was happening, where everyone was, but the wounded man brushed them off as he tore back the carpet on the floor. There, the door in the floor. Old, worn, unnoticeable to the untrained eye, a stone door made to look like the floor. Without a second thought, it was flung open and the guard had pushed the scared man inside, closing it and placing the carpet back over it as banging sounded from the door.

If the guard was going down tonight, he was taking those cultists with him. He ran his finger inside his palm, seeking out his pendent for comfort. It wasn’t there. Gone? Had he dropped it? He wasn’t wearing it, was he? No. What was on his hand again? Blood. Was it his or theirs? He wasn’t sure. Probably both. There it was again, the thundering sound echoing in his head. The door was being splintered by a blade. An axe, he thought. No way to be certain. But there it was again, and a dull thud rang in the back every time. Thump, thump, thump, thump. His heartbeat? He didn’t know. His last thought was of the pendent before he hit the ground and heard the door splintering more somewhere in the back of his mind.

Thud. A dull and heavy sound.

The only thing heard in the clearing is the sharp clinging of metal on metal and heavy breaths as the two women spar each other further, pushing past their limits. Finally, the younger one stops and drops her sword, letting it clatter to the ground as she wipes the beading sweat from her face with her shirt. The sun is hot and they only stand there for a few more minutes before the duo move under the shade of taller trees. “You’ve gotten better,” the older woman says as she looks down at the younger one. Her words are sincere, and they radiate power with her commanding frame, built and agile, eyes sharp and impressed.

“You’ve been away. I’ve been practicing with dad, showing up the others.”

“And they said I couldn’t teach my own daughter to fight as well as I do.”

“I think they stopped saying that after you beat Uncle Antok in wrestling for saying it.”

“Ah, good point–” Lady Shea rested her arm on her daughter’s head before she continued– “but, that’s all for today. Go visit your grandmother for now, before she sets her little demons on me.” The way in which her mother had said it made Ethereals stomach sit uneasily.

Before Ethereal could even ask her mom what she had done, the older woman was gone. With a reluctant sigh, she was turning on her heel and making her way back to the edges of the village, to the very edge resting against the wall of the woods, where her grandmother’s house lay. It wasn’t a long trek normally, but the young fighter’s legs were screaming at her from her training only a bit earlier. Her mother had, of course, beaten her once again, but at least she could say she was catching up to her teacher now. Snapped from her thoughts by the baying of a large dog, Ethereal found herself standing before the old wooden cabin of her grandmother. One of her favorite places to hide away, though now she wanted to turn tail and run from it, but a Shea Clans-member is not too quick to run, so she steeled her nerves and entered. Inside, in the very middle, the wooden floors had not been laid, but rather it was a ring of tightly packed dirt, a frame for the blazing fire lit in the very middle of it. And on the other side of the fire? Her grandmother. She seemed to be in trance of sorts and Ethereal took a step or two backwards when she realized. Before she could make it to the door however, her blood ran cold at the sound of a voice and she was stopped dead in her tracks: “Ethereal, my little Balsana.”

“I’m a dragon slayer, not a dragon speaker.” A quick argument, though both she and her grandmother knew she didn’t mean it fully.

“Slayer, speaker, both relate to dragons. Both relate to you. Don’t they?”

“Nona, am I going to have another headache by the end of this?”

“Can you keep up better than last time?”

There was no answer to her grandmother’s response, only a grin Ethereal had to fight down before she chuckled. Her grandmother only gave a warm laugh and tossed something over to her. “Ethereal, how have you been?”

“You mean since this morning?” She caught what her grandmother had tossed over to her as she spoke, turning it over in her hands a few times. Another gemstone. Another added piece to her growing collection. “I’m fine. Tired, but fine.”

“I figured as much. Your mother must have given you quite the challenge to see your improvement.”

“More than that. I finally had to drop my sword, I couldn’t see through the sweat anymore.”

There were no words in response from her grandmother, just a small amused humming as she picked at a small dish of food. Ethereal shifted where she sat, unsure of what she had been called here for so early in the afternoon. “Ethereal, there is a letter from the kingdom here. We’re waiting on your father to get back; your mother went to fetch him. When he is here we will read it. Have you had anymore warnings as of late?”

Ethereal shook her head as she tapped her growing nails against her leather boot. “No, not a word or sign. Just silence. Do you have a bad feeling of it?”

“…Yes, this time I do. I don’t think it’s a note from your brother.” Her gaze was soft and cast down, unable to make eye contact as she had earlier despite the fire in-between that began to grow smaller. There was silence between the two of them once more. Ethereal had never been close to her brother, not as much as she could have, but she had always thought one day she would see him walk back through the towns gates with his ridiculously contagious smile and they’d bicker and laugh like they used to. The pendent she had given him had been a good luck charm, but it seemed to have failed him in some regard. And the unsettling growl in her stomach, the pulsing she could feel in the back of her head, some part of her knew what that letter said before anyone even read it.

Her train of thought was broken when her parents stepped through the door way, her father still recovering from sickness and his form bent and weak, beside him stood her mother, full height and serious as always. They took their seats on the dirt ground next to Ethereal as her grandmother stood to read, but her hands were shaking and lips were pursed, just as Ethereals parents were. “Nona, I’ll read it.” She stood and took the letter gingerly from her grandmother, frame straight and serious as her brows knitted and she opened the letter, beginning to read what she had already figured out.

Renowned Shea clan,

We send our deepest regrets as we inform you of this news. Two weeks prior to the writing of this letter, the castle came under siege by a rising cult targeting the Prince. As you know, your son, Malik Shea, was his personal guard, and while he saved the life of Prince Vaseil, he gave his own in return. We had our top doctors watching over him, but he died from blood loss within the first 3 days. We had hoped to save him, but we were unable to.

However, because of the death of Malik, we are now in need of a new guard for the Prince. We ask that you send another in his place, when they arrive we will send his body back to your village. No sooner and no later. Currently his body is being kept in the Dryad caverns under the castle to slow the decaying process. The crystals slow the decay process greatly when mixed with the freezing air, we will send these crystals in his coffin with him to keep his body intact if we are to return it to you. Again, our deepest regrets for this, and we hope to make the next Shea member comfortable here so long as their job is done.

With deep regard,

King Colian Redia

There was silence after Ethereal finished reading. “They won’t send the body until we send another to their death.” Her father, Lord Shea, was the first to speak as he stated simply what the letter had boiled down to.

“They’d be fools to leave the restless spirit of a Shea clans-member in the caverns. But will we send another?” The question asked by Grandmother Shea loomed in the air around them. Lady Shea said nothing, and Ethereal read the letter over again with disgust. So, they were trying to hold this over the Shea clan? They knew of the sacred rite involved in burial, what it meant to the clan of dragon slayers. With a heart full of anger and sadness, Ethereal volunteered herself.

“We have already lost one child, we cannot lose another so fast.” Her mother stood and embraced her daughter as she spoke finally.

“You will not lose me. But someone has to go so we can get his body back. I have the best chance at surviving if I go. I have learned from you, just like Malik, but I learned more. I know more. I have my wits and my senses. Anyone here could tell you it’s harder to surprise me than anyone, even Malik failed to sneak up on me. Even you.” Ethereal was determine and set in her choice, her voice left no room to think otherwise. Even if she was forbidden, they all knew the unspoken truth that she would go regardless. Her grandmother was the first to speak up in defense of her decision. And after a while longer Lord and Lady Shea came to agree, so it was set that she would leave in two sunrises.

The next morning the clansmen were called together in the center and told of the news. Many were silent at hearing his death, but their eyes were the same glossy orbs trained on the ground in deep thought that Ethereal had worn before her parent’s arrival to the cabin the evening before. But at the word of Lady Shea that Ethereal was going to be protecting the prince in place of Malik, outrage rippled through the clan harshly. While she did appreciate their concern over her, and felt their rage, she stepped forward to speak up for her choice.

“My parents are not the ones who decided this, nor was my grandmother. I decided this. I have some of the best chances to protect him where Malik could not. I looked up to him, he was a great warrior and a greater man. His body needs to come home. He sacrificed himself for one of the members of the royal family, and if he did that, I know it was not just because it was his job. He must have seen Prince Vaseil as someone worth protecting, so I will carry that on and determined for myself what kind of man Malik Shea died to save. This is my choice, and I ride out first thing tomorrow morning for the kingdom. I ask that for today we honor Malik’s memory and hope that his body is returned safely so you can perform the rite and send his soul safely across the bridge of the dead. I will not allow him to remain as a lost soul there.”

The people she called family, the Shea clan, were silent as they looked at the young adult. She stood with the confidence she had always seen her mother wear, the resolute decision clear in how she spoke and stood. From somewhere among the faces of family a voice rose up, ”then we drink not only to the return of Mali’s body, but to the hope for your safe return as well!” Cheers of agreement erupted after that and a bit of tension seemed to leave Ethereals stance. People ushered each other to the opening in the village where tables were set out. In the houses surrounding, people rushed inside, starting up fires and preparing to cook. A sense of somber familiarity rushed through her at the sight. They had done this the day before Malik had left as well. Perhaps the most drastic difference is that he was not giving that infectious smile as he stood proudly with Ethereal in front of him giving him the dragon pendent for protection. That she would be riding out alone.

By the time night rolled around many of the town were drunk and belting obscene songs with siblings, laughing, cracking up. Ethereal drank lightly in light of her long trip, watching the people around here before she left for an unknown amount of time. Still something tugged at her in the back of her mind, and she found it easy to slip away under the cover of the night, right to where the coming of age ceremonies were held. She traced her fingers along the black ink engraved into her skin, each symbol unique in its own way, with none the exact same on one body or many. But, hidden among intricate designs was her story, her bonds, her bloodline. Malik would never receive his marks for Clan leader, and in her pocket sat the slip of paper with the design he had made. Now, to her dismay, Ethereal would take over, and if Malik could not have his leader design, then she would wear it proudly when the time came. She could hear people calling her name as they each went back to their homes, and reluctantly she turned back from the ceremony grounds, though she headed to her grandmothers with her parents to stay her final night.

Before the light could break the paling inky sky for good, Ethereal was already mounting her horse and supplies, tightening, checking, rechecking. She was riding out by herself after all. People had to stay behind and watch the village and help, or had to go on jobs from other towns. Small dragons, big dragons, in 3 days, one group of brothers was to set out to deal with a particularly nasty and large mountain wyvern. As Ethereal hoisted herself onto her horse she looked up and caught the eyes of her mother, a sobered smile on her pale lips. It was now that she realized just how weak her mother looked at times, how tired she was. Hair in grey streaks from stress of dragons and village matters, fights to win, treaties to make, and now with her only child riding off to the job her elder one had died doing. There was a sadness and guilt thrumming through Ethereals veins as she came to realize this, her small smile reflecting the thought.

“Ethereal, please… be careful with what you do there.”

“I may have been given a name that means fragile, but I promise you, nothing and no one will stop me from coming home alive eventually.” Her mother nodded in response before her daughter was ripping out of the stables and past the gates of the town, opened by those standing watch for everyone. They waved to her and she waved back before breaking for the hills and the path she knew lay beyond it to the kingdom. If she kept at a walking pace she would be there in a fortnight, but she kept up the run, the faster she was there the faster her brothers body was returned. The faster he could rest. With little rest and keeping at great speeds thanks to her beloved horse, she reached the kingdom in a week. She stopped outside in one of the small outskirt villages to let her stallion drink from the spring before she began walking and pulling him behind her. She talked to no one as she went, because she could still clearly see the imprint from when she had come with her parents and brother. She was alone save for her horse this time, and the thought of Malik’s body made her speed up until she finally came to the gates and was stopped by the guards. After a bit or arguing and practically shoving the kings letter into the face of one guard, she was escorted in, though she would not let them take her horse, even as the royal family came into view standing outside the doors.

The air was tense, and guards stood shoulder to shoulder as they watched her approach. Ethereal dropped the reigns, glaring at the stable hand who moved to take them before backing up at her sharp look, and then she bowed to the royal family. “You are part of the Shea clan?” A booming voice, deep and gruff, unkind and unknown; King Colain Redia.

She stood tall and proud, despite the stark difference in rank, she was one of the best around, a Shea, and no royal would make her feel less. “Yes, I am Ethereal Shea, daughter of Lady and Lord Shea, second child born unto them, only child left.” Even she was surprised with the strength in her voice, and even more so by the by the hidden strike in the last of her sentence. But she didn’t flinch, only took stallion’s reigns back in her hand and she looked the king in the eye.

“You’ll do I suppose, I had hope a man would be sent though.” The queen. Her voice was meek, even with the fragments of a strong façade she hid behind. Unlike her home, Ethereal would have to deal with the banter of men who claimed to be above women. The thought itself irked her but she held her tongue. To the side stood the prince. The royal child Malik had given his life to save. Ethereal wasn’t sure what to think of him yet.

Suddenly her attention was cut back to the King as she spoke, not failing to notice the surprised looks of the guards around her. “As you know, your Highness, not only is my brothers body to be returned, but my parents have sent a letter in both ink and voice that you return his horse as well. A horse has one rider all their life where we come from, and when their rider dies they live out their days in peace. She is to be returned along with Malik’s corpse, she is not to be ridden there, my family is expecting her back regardless. And I, as my brother did, will handle everything to do with my own stallion.”

The King looked offended in some way, perhaps because Ethereal was a female and had spoken out of turn, but none the less he nodded as he waved his hand to his men. “Do what you want, ignorant woman.” He snarled to himself as he turned his back to her. “But my son is to go with you. Do not let him out of your sight.” Ethereal said nothing as the prince stepped down beside her. They made eye contact for a second, a scowl on Prince Vaseil’s face as he did so. She paid no mind to it as she turned to follow the stable hand. A group of men were already setting up to take the corpse away, waiting for the body to be prepared and now for his horse as well.

When Ethereal arrived at the stable the horse kicked up, happier than she had been in over a month probably. Without a word or question, Ethereal slipped into the stall and latched a rope onto her bridal. “I’ve missed seeing you around too, Jester,” she cooed as she ran her hands through the horse’s mane. “I’m sure you miss Malik, but you’re going home now. Your job is done.” She led Jester from her stall, letting her rope drop as she herded her own horse into the recently cleaned stall. “Be good, Erebus. I’ll be back.” After she gave a reassuring pat to her own stallion, she led Jester back to where the men were waiting and handed her off to a young man. One of the older soldiers said he should be left in charge of it, but the aura he gave off made Ethereal sick, so she made it clear the young man she gave Jester to was to lead her back. He gave a promising smile and assured her he would, his aura was honest and kind, so she turned to the prince. “I would like to see Malik’s body before they move it.”

Her request made his demeanor change for a second, before it was back to a scowl and he all but huffed a low ‘follow me’ before he strode to the castle, Ethereal following behind. They wound through the castle quickly, passing servants and maids, butlers, fancy items and décor. She didn’t like it, it all seemed far too fake for her taste. But still, when they came to a large door with two guards standing on either side, she was intrigued. More so when with one flick of the prince’s wrist the two men stood aside, opened the door, and he went down the stairs, calling for her to follow quickly. She did so, and quickly took notice of a calming chill through the corridors.

This was it, Dryad cavern. In the center was a stone table with people bustling around it until they noticed the royal son standing before them. He ordered them out and stood aside for Ethereal to step closer to the body. Malik’s clothes were the same as he normally wore, and except for the rip on the side where skin was sewn back to skin, she almost thought he was sleeping. She placed her hand over where his heart should have still been beating, only to be met with stillness. Her own heart broke. “Malik… Brother.” But she was quick to realize the sting of silver chain around his neck was missing and her gaze sharpened.

”Where is it?” She asked, venom weaved into her words. “Where is his pendent? His protection pendent”

”This?” The princes voice caused her gaze to snap around to him, and there, in his hands, dangled the dragon necklace she had given to Malik as a parting gift. A wyvern coiled around and holding a sword with the blade made of a gemstone. She wasted no time in asking him why he had it.

“When he saved me it was already broken and he had it wrapped around his hand. He dropped it in with me, I guess by accident. He was really out of it.”

“I gave it to him before he left, as a parting gift and a protective charm.” Her stance was cold and probably threatening, but only for a moment, because soon after she was looking back at her brother’s body. Her lips were pursed together as her eyes became glassy, though she didn’t cry. There was a small air behind her before she felt the presence of the prince, he had grabbed her wrist and held it in front of himself as he placed the pendent into her palm.

“I was thinking of putting it in his pocket before he was taken back, but I think he would have given it to you. He talked about you a lot.” Ethereal gave no response, but she curled her grip around the necklace tightly as she lowered her head, expression twisted before she willed it to be neutral. “They’ll be coming to get him soon, we should leave him now. We can wait by the guard with his horse.”

The prince left after he spoke, clambering up the stairs with speed, and above it all Ethereal could hear him talking to the servants. She sucked in a breath when her own caught in her throat and looked at the face of her brother. “Your spirit will not have to linger here any longer, brother.” Her voice cracked when she said brother, the word almost unused by her, as sister had been for him, until they were both upset and alone. She rested her forehead against his for a moment before backing away, latching the necklace around her neck as she did so. “Goodbye, and good luck on your journey to peace.” She closed her eyes for a moment and the hairs on the back of her neck seemed to prick up, she swore she had felt her brother hugging her like he had before he left. The Shea clan had always been strong in their belief of souls and spirits, so it didn’t take much for her to believe when she opened her eyes that the figure just outside her vision was her brother. She wiped the stray tear that had spilt over when she felt his embrace, forced the cold expression back that kept breaking, and headed up the stairs to wait and see off his departure. To say goodbye to Jester as well.

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Exploring Makhtesh Ramon in Israel

Guide to Makhtesh Ramon:

Makhtesh Ramon is a large, 40 Km diameter crater in the Negev Desert in the southern part of Israel. So what’s the difference between a “Crater” and a “Makhtesh”?

Crater – A roughly circular depression in the ground usually caused by volcanic activity, impact, or explosion.

Makhtesh – A crater-like geological formation created by erosion.

  The word “Makhtesh” is the Hebrew word for a Mortar and Pestle. The geological landform was given this name because of its similarity to a grinding bowl.

There are only seven such craters in the world, five of them located in the Land of Israel and two in the Sinai Desert near the Egypt-Israel border. Of the five located in Israel, two are tiny near the summit of Mount Arif. The ones in the Sinia desert are also small.

That leaves us with the three main Makhteshim (craters) in Israel:

Makhtesh Hazera (also called the “Small” Makhtesh) is 7 km long, 5 km wide, and over 500 m deep.

Makhtesh Hatira (also called the “Big” Makhtesh) is 14 km long, 6 km wide, and about 400 m deep.

Makhtesh Ramon: The largest makhtesh in the world. Over 40 km long, 10 km wide, and about 400 m deep.

The term “Makhtesh” has been adopted internationally, and geological dictionaries use it when referring to the phenomena.

  How was the “Maktesh” created?

The area was made of a harder top layer of rocks that covered underneath them softer rocks. Over millions of years, erosion removed the softer layer under the harder rock, until it eventually collapsed under their own weight, creating the carter-like valley we see today. This radical collapse of land created a unique “Geological Museum”.

  Getting to Makhtesh Ramon

The crater is located nearby the small desert town of Mitspe Ramon (Population 5,000), about 2.5 hours drive from Tel-Aviv or Jerusalem. It is also served very well with public transport. However, exploring the crater without a car is limited, and therefore a hired car is highly recommended.

  Lodging in and around Makhtesh Ramon

There is a wide range of accommodation options in town (Mitspe Ramon). You can spoil yourself in one of the most luxurious hotels in the country, the Bereshit Hotel. Besides the luxury, you will get a fantastic view of the Makhtesh directly from your private balcony.  On the other side of the spectrum, several hostels offer dormitories and modest private rooms. Besides, you can find many options in between. If you want to be closer to nature, you can sleep in the Beerot Campground located in the heart of the crater (The only lodging option inside the crater). You can sleep there in your own tent, but also in modest shacks and cabins.

  Food & Dining

Mitspe Ramon is a sleepy small town. But it offers a decent selection of restaurants ranging from street food up to higher level. There are also a few pubs and a supermarket.

Tip – treat yourself with an authentic Bedouin dinner in the nearby village Arica. (Watch Video).

  What to see and do?

Ramon Visitors Center

Go here first, as it will give a good introduction and understanding of what you are going to explore!

On the edge of the crater’s cliff sits the visitors center, a mandatory station before a visit to the area. The center includes observation from a panoramic window, dynamic-interactive exhibit, and a 3D model of the Makhtesh. The 2nd half of the center is dedicated to the story of Ilan Ramon (The first Israeli astronaut). Ilan was one of the seven crew members of the Columbia Space Shuttle that disintegrated upon reentering the earth’s atmosphere On February 1, 2003. The fact the Ilan’s last name is Ramon, lead to the idea to place this small museum here. It is recommended to book ahead of time. Phone: +972-8-6216859

  Hiking

Makhtesh Ramon is a hiker’s paradise with a large selection of hiking trails at all levels. If you are looking for shorter hikes, there is a good selection in this Makhtesh Ramon Guide.  If you want a tougher hike, the classic is to climb to the summit of Mount Ardon. Alternatively, you can pick up a hiking map in the visitor’s center and plan your own walk. Free consultation on hiking trails is available in the Field School and Beerot Campground.

  Jeep Tours

If you are not up to a hike or if you don’t have lots of time, a Jeep tour in the Maktesh is highly recommended. Several excellent local guides are offering this service. Tours are usually offered for a full or half a day.

Advantages:

The Makhtesh is large, and The Jeep tour will allow you to visit many more places in a short time (Compared to hiking).

Many sites cannot be reached by a passenger car, but you can visit them with the Jeep.

You can combine the tour with one or two short hikes.

  Star Gazing

The nights in the Negev desert are dark and clear, with minimal light pollution. It makes them an excellent venue for Star Gazing. Several local guides offer this activity. They will take you to a dark area with a good telescope and lots of knowledge and stories.

  Adrenalin Activities

If you into any of these, Makhtesh Ramon is a perfect arena to do it. The natural setting is like a big LunaPark, and there are plenty of professional local vendors offering the activities:

ATV tours.

Rappelling.

Mountain Biking.

Horseback Riding.

Camel Tours.

Archery.

  Main Sights to visit with a passenger car:

Ancient Avdat

Avdat is a site of a ruined Nabataean town in the Negev Desert about 20 Kilometers north of Mitspe Ramon. It was the most important town along the ancient Incense Route after Petra. It was founded in the 3rd century BCE, and inhabited by Nabataeans, Romans, and Byzantines. Avdat was a seasonal camping ground for Nabataean caravans traveling along the ancient Gaza-Petra road during the 2nd and 3rd centuries BCE. Avdat was declared a World Heritage Site by UNESCO in 2005.

The impressive ruins are scattered on the flat summit of a steep hill, and include findings from 3 different eras:

Nabataean: warehouse, temple, a military camp.

Roman: burial caves, altar, watchtower.

Byzantian: Citadel, main street, houses, water supply systems, bathhouse.

Further reading: Wikipedia

  Ramon Colors road

In the old days, nature conservation was not common in Israel. A large quarry was operating inside the Makhtesh. A few years ago, Nature and Parks Authority rehabilitated the abandoned mining area and converted it into an open geological museum displaying a variety of colorful rocks and fascinating geological phenomena.

Main sites:

Colored sand and rocks from the Jurassic era

Old mining equipment.

Small winter lake at the site of the open mine.

  HaMinsara

The “Minsara” (Carpentry), is a small hill in the Ramon Crater, 5 minutes’ drive from Mitspe Ramon.  The hill is covered with sandstone columns featuring flat surfaces that look like wooden boards cut out in a carpentry shop. Most of them have 4-6 faces, some sticking out of the ground at a right angle while others scattered across the slope.

How was the ” Carpentry ” formed? Hot magma that penetrated from the depths of the earth melted the sandstone. The rock expanded, and after cooling down, it shrank and cracked, creating the rock prisms that are scattered here.

  Lot’s Cisterns

A group of 17 human-made waterholes, dug during King Solomon’s period (10th century BCE). Today, 3000 years later, they still get filled with water each winter. The sight of water in the desert is always delightful, and there is an easy 4 km circular trail that passes through the cisterns.

  Sculpture Park

The Sculpture Park is located on the edge of Ramon Crater near the entrance to Mitzpe Ramon. Scattered over a large area are sculptures built of huge rocks. Some are musical sculptures, including metal swings filled with gravel, which make noise while swinging, a “Gong” complex with large bells, and a wind chime device. The park merges beautifully with the desert scenery from the edge of the crater’s cliff.

  The Spice Quarter

In recent years, the sleepy desert town Mitspe Ramon, started to attract artists and other spiritual characters from the busy cities of central Israel. The small industrial area in the north of the city converted into what is called today the “Spice Quarter”. The area became a place of artists, creators, artisans, and dreamers. It is a pleasant place to ramble and have a drink or a bite.

  Sunset and Sunrise

The Sunrise or Sunset over Makhtesh Ramon is breathtaking. Both sky and earth are painted in magical reddish shades. Recommended spots are the lookout balcony near the visitor center or the Sculpture Park. If you feel more energetic, take a walk on the scenic trail that starts at the visitor’s center and goes west following the crater’s edge. The path is about 3 kilometers long, flat, and easy to follow. It ends at the Camel Mountain lookout on the outskirts of Mitzpe Ramon.

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Expert: South Korea — As an occupied country, the successive governments of South Korea — occupied since 1950 with between 326,000 US soldiers (during the Korean War) and 28,500 US soldiers (today) and the war that divided the peninsula and the people of Korea — has seen massive human rights violations, repression and state terrorism, and has also perpetrated atrocities in other countries.  This is a so-called “member of the international community.”  Will the real war criminals please stand up? South Korea — Seoul, 10 May 1990: Student pro-democracy and anti-US imperialism demonstrations rocked Seoul for two days on 9 May and 10 May 1990. (Keith Harmon Snow) The Central Intelligence Agency under Allen Dulles launched covert operations in South Korea by 1950 — utilizing South Korean police and other secret agents to serve the imperial “pro-democracy” agenda. The ever touted claim that North Korea launched a very clear war of aggression by crossing the 38th parallel — an arbitrary line of demarcation between Soviet Russian and US/allied forces after WW-2 — and invading South Korea is not born out by the facts that existed on the ground in the Korean peninsula in June of 1950.  Not only are there credible reports of death squads crossing into the northern territory and committing atrocities, but the diplomatic record shows a pattern of belligerence and war-mongering that has become de rigeur for the United States all over the world since then. Massive post-WW-2 repression and murder (extrajudicial summary executions) by South Korean troops, with US military oversight, occurred against their own people in the south, including such horrible massacres as occurred on Je Ju island 1948-1949 and were white-washed by the western propaganda and intelligence apparatus (see the documentary film “The Ghosts of Je Ju“).  The somewhat more well-known “Koch’ang incident” in February 1951 involved some 600 men and women, young and old, that were reportedly herded into a narrow valley in south Korea and mowed down with machine guns by a South Korean army unit on the loosely applied claim that they were “suspected of aiding guerrillas” — these being Korean people who resisted the overt terrorism that the Korean people (north and south) were subjected to by the southern forces and US troops. South Korea – May 1990:  A map posted in the northern zone just south of the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ) showing the DMZ and major dams contstructed on both sides of the illegal border.  (Keith Harmon Snow) “The Governor of Je Ju at the time admitted that the repression of the Island’s 300,000 residents led to the murder of as many as 60,000 Islanders,” wrote S. Brian Wilson, “with another 40,000 desperately fleeing in boats to Japan. Thus, one-third of its residents were either murdered or fled during the “extermination” campaign. Nearly 40,000 homes were destroyed and 270 of 400 villages were leveled.” US troops fired on crowds, conducted mass arrests, combed the hills for suspects, and organized posses of Korean rightists, constabulary and police for mass raids (reported at the time by correspondent Mark Gwyn for the Chicago Sun: see in William Blum Killing Hope). South Korea – May 1990: A partially camouflaged military encampment in the northern region of South Korea a few miles south of the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ) that separates the Korean people at the 38th parallel (Keith Harmon Snow) Said one British scholar Jon Halliday at the time: “After all, if civilians could be mowed down in the South on “suspicion” (italics on the original) of aiding (not even “being” {italics on original}) guerrillas — what about the North, where millions could reasonably be assumed to be Communists, or political militants?” (See: Killing Hope p. 51). The US military carpet bombing and use of napalm against the northern Koreans during the Korean War was murderous and unprecedented (though rivaled by the bombing of Dresden) and set the stage for similar repeat operations in Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia in the 1960’s and early 1970’s.  Entire villages were wiped off the map and the Korean peninsula.  Some 3 million Koreans north of the 38th parallel were killed, with 1 million Korean people killed in the south and over 1 million Chinese deaths. South Korea – Seoul, 10 May 1990: Student pro-democracy and anti-US imperialism demonstrations rocked Seoul for two days on 9 May and 10 May 1990.  (Keith Harmon Snow) Note that the *United Nations* were involved in the war: UN troops were commanded by general Douglas McArthur and committed egregious atrocities all over the place — and these atrocities were always blamed on the “North” Korean forces — a particularly poignant tactic (blaming the victims) ever exercised by the pro democracy forces of the New World Order in the process of exercising our military freedoms and exorcising anyone deemed to be undemocratic (meaning: opposed to predatory capitalism, the IMF and the World Bank, multinational corporate destruction, and the feeding, housing, clothing, educating and taking care of the people). Under then US-installed puppet dictator Syngman Rhee the allied (US/UN/south Korean) troops confiscated massive tracts of land and other “spoils of war” (confiscated property of the former brutal Japanese occupiers) and doled them out, for example, to ultra-right wing former sympathizers and collaborators with the former Japanese occupation, the most wealthy, and other conservative elements. This further set the stage for widespread resentment amongst the Korean population — whose ancestors saw and who did not forget the first massacres in Korea at the hands of invading US forces in 1871. South Korea – May 1990: A military jeep carries soldiers along a remote road in the northern region of South Korea a few miles south of the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ) that separates the Korean people at the 38th parallel. (Keith Harmon Snow) The arbitrary and illegal line of demarcation drawn at the 38th parallel became the de facto border separating the Korean people due to US/UN/NATO/South Korean military aggression and refusal to compromise with the northern power structure (the northerners  made many overtures and granted many concessions toward reunification). Subsequent to the war, the Republic of Korea military under its US tutelage did not limit the atrocities against innocent civilians to the domestic arena.  Some 300,000 South Korean troops joined the NATO war in Indochina, and committed serious atrocities there: at least several major massacres are well documented. Examples include: Bình Hòa massacre Binh Tai massacre Hà My massacre Phong Nhị and Phong Nhất massacre — all being located in South Vietnam and all being massacres of hundreds of unarmed non-combatant children, pregnant women, and the elderly.  The South Korean troops committed brutal atrocities — such as cutting the breasts off women and bayonetting pregnant women in the bellies and bulldozing shallow graves for summary burials to cover up the evidence.  Some of the villages and people so targeted were known to be very sympathetic and supportive of the US military, but after these atrocities many survivors joined the Viet Kong. South Korea – May 1990:  The northern region of South Korea a few miles south of the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ) that separates the Korean people at the 28th parallel (Keith Harmon Snow) There is no doubt the South Korean forces were trained in brutal “counter-insurgency” techniques now well-documented to include the most horrible crimes that people have ever committed against people — all under the watchful eyes and logistical coordination of the United States and our intelligence apparatus (e.g. the Phoenix Program  — a campaign of absolute terror and egregious crimes against humanity and war crimes conducted in Indochina during the US wars there). For example: at Binh Hoa village (December 1966) in South Vietnam the South Korean “Blue Dragon Brigade” slaughtered over 400 mostly children, women and elderly; ROK troops then burned the village to the ground and slaughtered the people’s buffaloes. South Korea – May 1990: Camouflaged cement structures ready to be deployed as barricades on the roads in northern South Korea, a few miles south of the DMZ that separates the Korean people at the 38th parallel. (Keith Harmon Snow) Over the past 60 years the people of South Korea have been subject to egregious curtailment of freedoms under certain “National Security” directives (laws) including: the (repeated) jailing of thousands of “dissidents” who have, in one form or another, protested imperialist US involvement and occupation in South Korea; people who have organized against US imperialism; students and other civilians that have maintained contacts with people in North Korea; civil society groups and individuals that have contacted foreign organizations seeking help against repression; the censoring and destruction of truth in education and educational materials. South Korea – Seoul, 10 May 1990: Some 40,000 riot police were deployed on 9 May and 10 May to crush demonstrations involving over 100,000 people.  (Keith Harmon Snow) There have been suspicious deaths of student activists, and attempts to get outside help to demand proper investigations of such deaths have led to further repression of the petitioners (seeking help). On 9 May 1990, some 100,000 Koreans marched and demonstrated against the then latest US/UK/EU-backed dictatorship of president Roh Tae-Woo (1988-1993); over 40,000 South Korean storm troopers (riot police) were mobilized and over 1900 people detained.  Some of the perceived organizers were jailed for several years.  Torture has been selectively used on political prisoners, but was routinely deployed against certain segments of the population during particular periods since the 1950’s, such as the run-up to the 1988 Seoul Olympics, where thousands of “vagrants” were rounded up off the streets, most of them small children, and were sent to a “welfare facility” called “Brothers Home,” where they were subject to several years of brutality and/or including fatal beatings and routine rape — all this under orders of the then-president Park Chung-hee (father of President Park Geun-hye who was recently impeached in December 2016) and whose successor, President Chun Doo-hwan, suppressed any investigation into the atrocities. South Korean labor unions and struggles have in the past been infiltrated and co-opted by gangs of thugs hired by / for multinational corporations like Daewoo, Samsung and Hyundai.  The bribery, influence peddling, hired thuggery, and other forms of corruption by the “chaelbol” — giant family run multinational conglomerates — rival those of the Japanese Sogo Shosha (trading houses) and the Japanese mafia (Yakuza) and their western corporate criminal counterparts (CIA/FBI/NSA/DIA/USAID and the 1 percent) — where anything and everything can be bought and sold with reckless abandon and near zero accountability and the corruption and criminals are shielded by the judiciary. South Korea – Seoul, 10 May 1990: Some 40,000 riot police were deployed on 9 May and 10 May to crush demonstrations involving over 100,000 people (Keith Harmon Snow) The corporate Goon Squads have often used various forms of torture, including beatings and kidnappings, and the thuggery by corporate gangs has in many cases been supported by state security and police — who have furthered the extrajudicial punishments and torture against labor organizers and employees of the large corporations targeted, for example, for exercising their freedom of expression.  Public and private school teachers have also suffered retaliation and repression for their involvement in activities that the “state” deemed a threat to “national security” — such as labor and pro-democracy organizing. South Korean people lived under more than 30 years of military dictatorship from 1960s-1993 but given the corruption and absence of freedoms the situation under “democratically elected” presidents has not been particularly encouraging, to say to least, for the average South Korean — repressive laws instituted under military dictatorship continued to serve a repressive state security apparatus, including arbitrary arrests and detentions — and so “democracy” has been an absolute farce. South Korea – Seoul, 10 May 1990: Riot police searched shop to shop door to door hunting down demonstrators and arresting some 1900 people.  (Keith Harmon Snow) As S. Brian Wilson discusses, the current inhabitants of Je Ju Island have been opposed to the construction of a deep water port that would serve US/ROK military objectives enabling guided missile equipped AEGIS class destroyers access to port facilities at the village of Gangjeong. The ROK’s CIA-like Korean National Intelligence Service has spied on and raided citizens and organizations that are opposed to the deep water port that would be built by the criminal Samsung Corporation.  Samsung has a history of more than 50 years of environmental pollution, trade union repression, corruption, tax flight and tax evasion. South Korea – One photo of just one of the many Je Ju Island massacres that occurred in South Korea and were committed by US-backed South Korean forces in 1948 and 1949. (Photo credit unknown) South Korean civilians have also been persecuted from the 1950s to the present day, including arrests, kidnappings, beatings and torture, for advocating reunification with North Korea.  Millions of Koreans were separated from family members by the illegal US-enforced bifurcation of the Koreas before and after the Korean War (1950-1953) and, as we can imagine, reunification is blocked by powerful political interests whose motivations (power, control, private profit) do not serve the greater common interest of the Korean people (north and south) or the rest of us.  Further, South Korean militarization has benefited US, UK, Canadian, EU and Israeli corporations — further wagging the dog of war and serving the powerful interests that will never move toward a peaceful equitable reunification serving the interests the people (north and south). South Korea is effectively run by an organized crime syndicate with deep ties to the United States power structure (see, for example, the notes on The Cohen Group below).  Beyond a repressive security apparatus and pro-imperialist international foreign policy, South Korea suffers very high and increasing rates of suicides, alcoholism, sexual and domestic violence. South Korean corporations have also run roughshod over the environment domestically and abroad and slavery conditions have historically prevailed for their labor forces while sweatshop conditions still do. South Korea – Seoul, 10 May 1990: Riot police occupied all major subway stations and train stations in the search for demonstrators. (Keith Harmon Snow) While the South Korean government has offered an “aggressive” public face to the issue of “calling for reunification”, this is mere lip service as they have simultaneously increased military spending, maintained a compulsory draft (with severe penalties for any conscientious objector), and moved to the front of the line as a leading arms exporter.  In recent years South Korea has purchased scores of billions of dollars worth of warplanes, anti-missile systems and other weapons (of mass destruction), and the ROK has annual defense budgets of over $30 Billion. Meanwhile, South Korea and its western allies (including Japan) have escalated aggressive military posturing and rhetoric targeting North Korea, including deployments of troops and weaponry (e.g. battleships) in “joint military exercises” within striking distance of North Korea. The escalation of tensions and probability of war — on the Korean peninsula — are due to the duplicitous and sociopathic criminal hegemony and aggression by the United States *government* and its closest allies and their *leaders*. South Korea – Seoul 10 May 1990: Riot police search shops and restaurants for demonstartors. (Keith Harmon Snow) South Korea sealed its biggest-ever — until then — arms purchase in September 2015 with a U.S. $7.04 billion deal for 40 Lockheed Martin F-35 fighter jets.  South Korea has also been stocking up on spy satellites and drones — courtesy of US weapons manufacturers like Northrup Grumman.  South Korea also sports a large number of Apache Attack helicopters, and it has more than “capable” air force and navy. Who benefits from all this war making? Who are the directors of Lockheed Martin? Northrup Grumman? Don’t miss that retired US Air Force General and former director of the profoundly secretive National Reconnaissance Office on Lockheed’s board.  The NRO plans, builds and operates North America’s spy satellites, and they specialize in intelligence-gathering and information warfare — and the NRO coordinates the analysis of aerial surveillance and satellite imagery from several intelligence and military agencies, including the Defense Investigative Agency (DIA) and the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA). Oh, and don’t miss that retired US Admiral and Commander of the US Strategic Command, also on Lockheed’s board, who is also a director of the highly dishonest and destructive Institute for Nuclear Power (INPO). Oh, and don’t miss the Lockheed directors that are also directors of The Cohen Group — founded and run by former U.S. Secretary of War (1997-2001) and bona fide war criminal William S. Cohen.  According to his own The Cohen Group web site: “Under his leadership, the US military conducted the largest air warfare campaign since World War II, in Serbia and Kosovo, and conducted other military operations on every continent” — including the U.S. proxy wars in Congo and Sudan — and “The Cohen Group principals have decades of experience working with The Republic of Korea (ROK) government and military and with ROK industry.” I bet they do! Now, let’s talk about North Korea. Imagine, a country like North Korea, which, in fact, there is no other country like, that does not have the stellar record of committing massive war crimes that the United States, Britain, Canada, Germany, Japan or Israel do, and that had the audacity to develop a missile (capability) of their own…to defend themselves against the world’s leading military aggressor(s), one(s) with long and unpretty records of massacres, tortures, double-dealing and back-stabbing, amounting to a lot more than just massive and gross war crimes, crimes against humanity and mass murder in one country after the next. Will the real war criminals please stand up?  If you are reading the New York Times, you are contributing to your own mental illness. South Korea – May 1990: Scores of military vehicles (background) at a military base in the north of South Korea a few miles south of the DMZ that separates the Korean people at the 38th parallel. (Keith Harmon Snow) P.S. I have also provided some (amateur) photos of the South Korea’s northern zone — where I was able to use my mountain bicycle to gain access to the area just south of the DMZ.  At the time (May 1990) it was highly militarized and I used my camera judiciously, though I always suspected that the ROK patrols that saw me assumed I was US military and gave me a certain carte blanche to bike freely.  The landscape there, it seems to me, was highly “manicured” devoid of almost all wildness. Other than the soldiers and police, the only people I saw were universally lower class farmers — warm, kind and friendly. I imagine that this northern region has been substantially more militarized since 1990, but really I have no idea. South Korea – May 1990: Camouflaged cement structures ready to deployed as barricades on the roads in northern South Korea, a few miles south of the DMZ that separates the Korean people at the 38th parallel. (Keith Harmon Snow) http://clubof.info/