Again, peering into the crystal sphere, she had seen the mists. First, a pure white fog, then slowly shifting into crimson... like blood.
Startling awake, she looked around the wagon. Thankfully, her gasp had not woken her sisters. Taking a deep breath, she slipped from her bed, careful not to step on Nina and slipping around a bolt of violet silk to the door. Quietly, she opened door and stepped into the night.
As she stepped barefooted onto the soft ground, she covered her mouth to avoid a scream. The mists swirled around her, wrapping her in a cloudy blanket so thick, she could not see her hand in front of her face. Though she feared the icy silence that surrounded the camp, she was curious. What had those strange visions meant? Determined to disprove their validity, she moved around the circle of wagons, hand extended to avoid a collision, though by now she knew the placement of the wagons as well as the mahdi, her father.
Her pace was slow, her ears perked to pick up the slightest sound. Even from within the wagons, all was peaceful. How she longed to hear even the sound of snoring. Just in front of Nico's wagon, she considered knocking - a thought that was interrupted by an unseen log and a tumble to the ground. As she began to stand, muttering about men who left their things lying around the camp to trip over, she heard the faintest whimpering. Her hand searched the ground and connected with the source of the sound - a warm form, furry and... she jerked her hand away, knowing the sticking substance on her hand was blood. With a scream she rose and pounded on Nico's door.
A young, bleary-eyed man opened the door, and looked around to discover who had disturbed his sleep. When his eyes met hers, then finally noticed the rolling mists, his eyes widened a bit and allowed the door to swing open further to allow her to enter, "Jacey, what's going on?"
She stumbled into the wagon, hearing confused voices mumbling from Nico's parent's side of the wagon. Turning to Nico, she grabbed the sleeve of his linen shirt, "Nico, something has happened." Normally the lazy smile he gave her, and the intensity of his sea-green eyes would have made her stomach do flips... yet now the terror building within in her prevented that affect.
Nico shook his head lightly, then looked up to his parents as they lifted back the curtain. Even at the surprise of finding a young woman in their wagon this time of night - and the mahdi's daughter no less! - they offered warm smiles, "Greetings, Jacenne... what brings you to visit?" the elder man asked.
"It had better be important, young lady," Cora, Nico's mother, added with a scowl. Had Jacenne visited during the day, Cora Summerschild would have greeted her with smiles and cookies to 'fatten her up'. She had always fancied to have Jacenne as her daughter-in-law. But it was known camp-wide that to wake up the Wisdom before she was ready was asking for a talking down.
Jacenne's eyes darted between each of them, all looking at her expectantly, "It's Babo..." Nico had begun busying himself with lighting more candles, met with a disapproving tsk from his mother as she realized she would not be going back to sleep. As the wagon filled with flickering light, Doren, the father, gasped in horror, "Light, child! What is that on your hands? Is that...." His gruff voice trailed off, afraid to say the word that usually identified violence.
Nico was out the door and surrounded by the mist before Jacenne could explain. His parents were already jumping out of bed, seeming on the verge of panic.
"Go tell your father, girl!" Doren said firmly, "There is more to this than one bleeding dog. The others would have raised an alarm!"
Realization hit her full force as she spun quickly to the door and stepped back out into the chill fog. Nico was on the ground holding Babo; she could hear him sobbing quietly. The mastiff had been his since he was a boy. Behind her the Cora and Doren were rushing about, talking in high-pitched voices that revealed their terror. She began to run, hoping to meet no obstacles in the path to her father's wagon. She pounded on each wagon her outstretched hand came in contact with; praying the sound would wake the inhabitants. No alarm. No barking. Her eyes swept around, unseeing. No fires. The fires had been extinguished!
Finally she came to her father's door, and she reached for the handle. Before her fingers could wrap around it, a hand, smelling of ale, leather and blood, clamped over her mouth and a firm arm wrapped around her waist. She was dragged backward, still facing her parent's wagon door as the fog began to lift... then it was just gone. She resisted the urge to struggle against her captor, tears running down her face. The leaf does not struggle...
Light! The visions were right. The dreams were right! The man continued to drag her into the shadow of a nearby tree, his hand holding her head against his chest, her eyes returned to the cheerfully painted door of the mahdi's wagon. Horrified screams filled her ears, the thunder of horse's hooves and the triumphant cry of what seemed to be an army of men. She could not turn her head to see her wagon, to see if her sisters had wakened, if they had escaped. The brutal hands forced her eyes to the so far unassaulted wagon.
The roar of flames and the cracking of burning wood soon mingled with the death cries and screams of the People as they attempted to flee the brutal men. She heard familiar names called in alarm and in mourning as the camp was ravaged, the wagons looted and burned. The visions were right, and they were leaving no survivors. More tears poured over her cheeks. Her father's words repeated in her head, The leaf lives its appointed time and does not struggle. It does not struggle. How she wanted to struggle, to run to her family's aid, to carry each of them to safety if she had to.
'I don't want to fight, father!' she screamed inwardly, 'I just want to save you!' Her eyes closed, hoping to shut out the sounds as well, but they haunted her and surrounded her as surely as the mists. She thought of her father and mother, how they loved each other still, her gentle sisters whom she had helped care for - coltish Nina who was just discovering boys, Gwenyth always wreathed in smiles, children always surrounding her, and little Kimi, ever quiet and watchful, so seldom did she speak that the words she said were always listened to and cherished. Kimi, who was still a baby. She thought of her brothers, Kyth who had a wife and new child of his own, and Lamn who had his eyes on gentle Shalla. Were any of them alive? Had they escaped?
"Now, girlie," the gruff voice behind her said in her ear, making her skin crawl, "Ye'll be tellin' us where yer song is."
The door to her father's wagon swung open then, and the man's hand held back her scream of terror as her mother was led out by her hair and her father with a knife in his ribs. A knife! Seeing his daughter held captive, that knife was the only thing that kept the mahdi from dropping to his knees. Her mother let out a shrill scream that was merely laughed at by the man who held her upright, suspended from her auburn hair.
A man stepped into her line of vision, a man that could not belong to this band of smelly ruffians. Yet the cruel smile that appeared on his cleanly shaven handsome face took away all hope of rescue. He slowly approached Jacenne and her captor, walking lightly as if the sounds around him were music. Brushing back a lock of his golden hair he looked Jacenne over, his eyes undressing her in a way she had never seen before.
"Bram, let the lady go," he said smoothly, accentuating 'lady' in a manner that insinuated he thought otherwise. She was shoved away and she fell, unable to look around the large man in front of her, she stared up at him in his blue velvet coat, finely embroidered and lacking any indication that he'd seen any violence this night. His boots shone mirror-like, and she could see her horrified expression in them.
Amused, the handsome man, whom she assumed must be their leader, crouched down and lifted her chin with his gloved fingers, "Now, my sweet, you will tell us where your treasure is, or I shall let you live with the knowledge that you killed your family, your friends... women... children." His voice was lazy; speaking as if he were speaking idly to a young lady met in the park.
"Our treasure?" she managed to stammer after a moment, almost unable to speak listening to the sound of her father's protests and her mother's screams. "We are simple folk. We have no - "
Her words were cut off by a resounding slap. None had ever laid hand on her before. Her hand raised to her cheek in surprise and the velvet-clad man rose, lifting her up by her hair, "Do you think me a fool, girl?" he screamed in her face, his voice rising to a near-girlish pitch.
She could smell burning flesh, burning wood. the smoke burning her eyes. The screams and the laughter - though not a laughter she had ever heard round their fires - deafened her. The man forced her around him to look again at her father's wagon.. and she did not have time to turn her head, nor close her eyes before the lackey's dagger was planted between her father's ribs.
The harsh scream filled her ears - hers or her mothers? - and she would have collapsed had she been able. She was roughly brought around to face him again, his face twisted in hatred.. his eyes holding the wildness of the insane. "The Song, girl! Where do you keep the Song?!"
She gaped at him in disbelief, "We have not found -" she was thrown to the ground with a vicious growl before he yelled to his men.
"Search the wagons, then burn them, leave no survivors but this one." he gestured idly at Jacenne, and stalked away despite her cries of protest. She crawled to her parents, both lying in a pool of blood. Her mother's eyes, unfocused and staring. Already dead. Oh Light, mother!
The leaf falls to the ground to nourish other leaves. Her eyes moved to her father, his breathing shallow but he was still alive. Moving to him, she placed part of her skirt over the wound. His eyes met hers, though the desire to rest threatened to close them.
"Jace... run from here..." his eyes so like hers, large and warm brown, the lids closing heavily.
"Da, no." she whispered, shutting out the sounds and smells, "we will go get Nina and Gwyneth..."
The man shook his head, and said firmly, "I am your mahdi, hear me...it is time to go..." he choked and began coughing, and Jacenne watched with fear. Her father was dying. Her mother was dead. So many others, dead. The men had ridden away, leaving behind them such horrific destruction, that Jacenne could not lift her eyes to face the reality of it.
"Father, we will go..." she said, trying futilely to lift him.
His eyes became serious and he raised one hand to his chest. No father, no time for this! Her mind protested.
Softly, though strongly as if with some reserve of strength, he spoke to his daughter, for all he knew, the last of his People, "You came in Peace, my daughter. Now depart in Peace. The Way of the Leaf is Peace."
Tears fell and she considered protesting again, forcing him to come with her to safety. The leaf falls at its appointed time. The words came from her, though her throat was tight from fear, pain and the thick cloud of smoke filling her lungs, "Peace be on you always, mahdi. and on all of the People. I will find the song or another will find the song." she hesitated. The song. They had all died for it. Yet it was their life, their purpose, and she would allow him to die with that hope in his heart. "The song will be sung, this year or in a year to come. As it once was, so shall it be again. World without end."
Her father nodded, fractionally. Those eyes, becoming glazed as his strength dwindled filled with pride, as he spoke again, a mere whisper with his last breath, his last strength reserved for that which he held most dear, "World without end.... World and time without end."
The mahdi's eyes closed and Jacenne took his hand. The only sounds now were the roaring of flames and the cracking and popping of burning wagons. After a moment, the labored rising and falling of her father's chest stilled and she lowered her head and cried.
Minutes or hours passed before she could make herself rise, her skin feeling tender as if she'd spent too much time in the sun. Around her were scattered the bodies of her family. Aunts, uncles, cousins, brothers and sisters... those who had her blood and those who had been adopted through mutual love. The gentle mastiffs, brutally slain to avoid the raising of the alarm, lay like rag dolls about the wagons which still burned. She stood within the circle of fire, too stunned to scream. too tired to shed more tears. The wagon she shared with her sisters burned, the flames licking at the cheerful paint, devouring the lovingly made curtains... And she knew she was alone.
Her once white skirt was blackened from the fires, splotched with her father's blood. The visions had been right. What had Masha said? She tried to clear her mind of the memory of the screams. What had her words been about the visions? 'There be no changing them, Jacey girl. And sometimes ye be better off not speakin' of what ye can't change' She shook her head. Perhaps someday those words would bring some degree of comfort.
There was a town not far from here; she'd gone there often with her mother to trade for sugar and fabrics. Gathering her ruined skirt she began to walk, repeating in her mind the Way of the Leaf. Light willing, some would have escaped. Stumbling in the darkness, she left the burning remains of her old life behind her.
