Dead and Dying (part 2)

I closed my eyes, waiting for the fatal moment. My one thought was "Clare's going to kill me."

The sound of steel meeting steel filled my ears. My eyes still closed, I heard more swordfighting, then the gasp of a dying man. It was only when I heard the thump that I dared to look.

There stood Cori, sword in hand, blood on the blade, Rumo (dead, might I add) at his boots. He gave a small smile. "Are you tired of almost being murdered at every step of the trail?" He offered me his hand. I took it gladly.

"Duh."

The other men had vanished, swallowed up by the night. It began to rain, a cold drizzle that soaked through our clothes and chilled us to the bone. Cori and I hurried away from the sputtering campfire and ran into the first tent we saw; mine, to be exact. There, we shivered and tried to figure out what to do next.

"Caiti, I-" Cori began.

"Wait. Do you hear a rustling sound?"

Rrriiiippp...

There was a wooshing sound, and something metallic shot through a hole in the tent fabric. In that instant, I knew that dart was filled with something poisonous, and it was aimed towards... well, guess.

Yep.

Me.

But it never hit me. Cori lunged, and I heard a sickening thwup as it became buried in his arm. He grabbed the barrel and pulled it out, but the deed was done. Cori fell onto his side, gasping for breath.

Ok, so I panicked. I started yelling for help, trying to help Cori in any way I could.

The only thought going through my head?

Cori. Can't. Die.

People rushed in and moved him. I just sat there, unable to move, unable to think, as they took him to the medical tent.

***

The next morning found me pacing in front of the tent, waiting for them to let me in. Broyel had told me the night before that the dart had contained an unidentified venom, and Cori was fighting it ferociously.

Was that good?

I'd figure out soon.

One of the soldiers came out, looked at me sympathetically, and said "You can come in now."

I barged in there and stopped dead.

Cori was lying on a table, a big white bandage around his forearm. He looked pale, but when I came closer, he gave me a painful smile.

"Oh. My. Gosh. Are you... okay?"

"I'll survive. I think."

My eyes felt hot and prickly. "Don't say that. You'll be fine."

"I certainly hope so."

Silence.

"Why did you do that?" I burst out. "Why'd you take that for me?"

He looked at me strangely. "I do what I have to. Not that I always like what I do, but I do it still."

"Um..."

"Why do you think?"

So there you have it. I'm not sure what's going through my head, and I don't want to know yet. I just know that he'll live, because he has to.

Dead and Dying (part 1)

The craziest thing happened today.

There have been rumors flying around camp for weeks now- rumors that we have a spy, someone with a direct link to Xiivu.

The Redmatt (the big kahunas of our group of rebels) finally stood up and announced it. "The rumors are true. There is a spy in our midst. However, he shall be treated with mercy. He will be considered an official prisoner of war- no longer a comrade, no longer a soldier, but part of us still. Turn yourself in and we shall not harm you."

These guys talk like that all the time. If you walked around camp, you'd feel like you were in merry old England with weird accents and good-looking guys sharpening swords or bench-pressing everywhere. Come to think of it, pretty much everybody talks Middle Ages here.

But anyway.

Afterwards, I sat myself down in a group of about sixteen men who had been in the employ of the Redmatt for as long as anyone could remember. They were gathered around a small fire, roasting strips of venison on sticks. I plunked down on a log and started talking-

"Can you guys believe it? A real spy. This is, by far, the most ridiculous thing I've heard all week."

One guy (he called himself Rumo) spoke up. "Everything changes, princess."

"But we trust everyone here! Each man has taken an oath, they've sworn to serve Leslan!"

(I really should've shut up right then)

"It is amazing what someone will do when offered their wildest dreams."

Note- when a grown man gets a funny look on his face, run the other way.

Rumo stood up and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. A casual, ordinary movement. But pair that with the fact that the rest of the group was doing the same thing...

"What would you have done when you were offered anything you ever desired? Hmm? He told us the truth. We all know that this war is pointless. Your precious little rebelion is like a bug under his boot. You shall be crushed. But we are wise- Xiivu will protect us!"

Sixteen swords were drawn, and Rumo charged with a yell scarier than a roaring lion. I drew my own weapon (a double-blade; pure steel with a jutting piece called a sword-catch and a bronze dagger sticking out the other end of the hilt) and parried his strike.

It was madness. Sword after glinting sword swung toward my neck. I dodged, parried, thrusted and was slowly backed against a tree. There was no way that I could take them all on. Finally, my sword was knocked out of my hand, and Rumo stood above me, sword ready to cleave my head from my shoulders...

Cori

I figured that if I was going to describe what happened (what's still happening), I might as well get started with the people involved.

<- That is Cori. Not really him, since I'm pretty sure he wouldn't fit in a leather journal, but the concept remains. Cole drew this for me. It's a pretty acurate depiction. Looking at Cole, you wouldn't think that he'd be artistic. But he's the only one who's good with a paintbrush in our group. He sketches all the time. He's really good. But, back to the original subject- Cori.

When I first saw him, he had arrived at the boarding school with his "brother", Ray. New kids. Easy targets for some of the mean kids. But these guys weren't to be messed with. When Mike (big, burly guy who's got bullying down to an art) walked up with the intent of slow and painful death, Ray pinned him onto the dust in a flash. They got left alone after that.

I heard the next bit of news from my sister, Clare, who's a dancer. Cori had joined one of her classes. And, although he claimed to have no previous lessons, he was breakdancing in no time. Clare told me this- "It was incredible. Simply incredible. I've never seen anyone dance that well. He was better than Kyle, and Kyle's been dancing since he was six!" This guy was strange, I knew.

When I finally looked at his face closely, I realized--- well, it's kind of hard to describe. He had these positively gorgeous gray eyes, and a winning smile. Perfect tan. Sandy, golden-brown hair. A pale scar across the left side of his jaw. This guy was good-looking. No doubt. He even talked cute- "Hello, Caitlyn, am I right? My name is Cori. I am most pleased to meet you." He had this accent that I couldn't place; like his words were formed slightly different. He had a sweet personality too. Strong, mostly silent, but passionate at the same time. Amazing.

I realize now that I was crushing on him. Hard. Who wouldn't? He had a bunch of girls following him around the campus! But he

Ul-thra attack.

***

I'm back, but I think I'll be stopping for now. Too tired to write. Almost too tired to sleep.

Almost.

I'm still here.

Seriously?

I can't even wake up from this nightmare?

I've been pinching myself all day. Now my entire left arm is blotchy red. Probably not a good sign. But I couldn't help myself. I need to wake up.

I have a cross-country meet tomorrow.

And running from gorilla-ape-zombie-things isn't the same as running for competitive fun. More like "RUN-OR-THAT-FREAKY-THING-THAT-LOOKS-LIKE-A-MOLDY-HAM-SANDWICH-WILL-EAT-YOUR-SOUL!!!"

Not as fun as it sounds. Trust me.

Writing on parchment with a quill is no picnic either. Almost as bad as running from the above-mentioned whatchamacallit's... Ul-thra, or something like that.

Almost.

Clare would say that I'm murdering trees by leaving all this space between phrases. That's even more important to her now. But it's just how I write. It helps me to seperate my thoughts into different "bins". Jimmy says it's just my inner need to be overly-dramatic writing. Maybe he's right.

Maybe.

But I think I have the right to be overly-dramatic right now.

Being transported into a completely different world does that to you.

What happened to me?

I don't understand any of this.

One minute, I'm living a normal(ish) life at an OK boarding school.

The next, I'm in some place with elves and stars and things that even J.K. Rowling or C.S. Lewis or J.R.R. Tolkien or any of the people who thought up those Greek myths couldn't imagine.

It's scary.

And I'm never scared.

I just pummel people who are freaky.

I can't do that with this situation.

I guess I should start from the beginning.

But I'll do it in the morning.

Maybe if I sleep, I can wake up and be back on Earth.

Maybe.

Really, I don't care if I actually end up in PixieLand.

Anywhere but here.

Anywhere but Leslan.