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She was pretty, at least she would have been if her hair was not dark and matted with long term unwashing, and her face was not full of streaked dirt. A tired, sad young woman, that's what she was. As for a name, yes, she had one once, but that was long ago--back when her blue eyes showed spark and fire, and a pretty auburn haired woman cuddled the red haired child. Long, long ago. Now she was just known as Trespasser.
Trespasser wiped greasy hair off of her forehead with her left hand and looked around warily. Night had just fallen in Light's Pride, and that was the most dangerous time for her. Senses alert, muscles taut, she waited to be discovered. She clung to the shadows, listening, knowing that they would not help her. They never did.
As she heard the first band of men coming down the dirt road, Trespasser ducked in between two buildings. Her crusty hands pressed against the cold stone. Through the light cast by door lamps, she saw a party of six men go by, talking and laughing. She tried to be as quiet as she could, hardly daring to breathe, hoping that they could not hear the beating of her heart.
The men continued on, not noticing the eyes staring out at them from the darkness. Relief rippled through Trespasser, just a flicker before the wariness claimed her again. Every part of her wanted to stay in the cover of the shadows to hide there until morning when the taunts and slaps and stones would begin again. Anything was better than the terrors that came with the night. But she could not. Hunger gnawed at her belly, driving her towards the garbage troughs in front of the few inns that the small town boasted.
Furtively, Trespasser crept out into the lantern light. The street was empty. Quickly she ran in the direction the men had passed ten or fifteen minutes earlier, hunger drawing her onward.
Not far from where she had been hiding stood a building with a peeling, painted sign. It swung on the chill night wind, and if a passer-by cared to peer at the faded letters, he or she might be able to make out the words 'The Pig's Wings'. Noise of singing and reveling made its way into the street and to the approaching woman's ears. Inwardly, she shied away from the noise and the people, but still she kept approaching the building.
The garbage trough in front of the building was about half full with broken glass, half eaten food, and other Pig's Wings' cast offs. Trespasser reached it and eagerly looked over the side. A smile almost touched her grimy face as one skinny hand snaked forward.
The hand stopped just short of what it was reaching for as the door of The Pig's Wings banged open. Three drunken men tumbled out, their harsh voices grating in Trespasser's ears. The woman froze like a frightened rabbit and stared at the men.
"Look who decided to join the party," one of the men said, pointing at the terrified Trespasser.
Vicious grins jumped onto the faces of his friends, and the three of them slowly walked towards Trespasser. Able to move at last, the young woman turned and fled, bolting for the shadows once more.
"Don't let her get away!"
Trespasser looked back only once and saw the men beginning to gain on her even though they were drunk. She tried to gain more speed so she could lose them in among the buildings. Their noisy feet told her how close they were, and the sweat running over her body was not solely caused by exertion. Quickly, she turned a corner. Suddenly, there was a sharp pain in her head, and then darkness embraced her.
She woke surrounded by whiteness. At first, Trespasser thought she was dead, as she slowly opened her eyes. Stunned, she searched her brain, frantically trying to remember what killed her. Nothing came to mind. There was a faded memory of being chased down streets and between buildings, but that could have been any night. In her mind, all the days and nights of her life seemed to blur together. They were all alike, all terror-filled.
That was when Trespasser realized that the whiteness was a room. Walls surrounded her. In fear, she clutched something soft between her hands. Trespasser realized she was laying down. Looking down, her startled eyes noticed that not only was she lying down, there was also a blanket over her. She was comfortable. For once, she was not sleeping on cold, hard ground.
Trespasser sat up, scanning the room cautiously, seeing that it was large and well furnished. There was also a mirror on the wall. Her scan passed over it and stopped. Startled, it quickly returned to the mirror.
What she saw in the mirror filled the young woman with disbelief. There she saw an attractive young woman with long, wavy red hair and sunburnt but clean skin. Blue eyes watched other blue eyes widen in shock.
Trespasser threw off the white blanket that covered her and swung her legs down over the side of the bed. Bare feet buried themselves in thick carpet which caressed their tops, though their soles felt nothing. Trespasser got to her feet, looking skittishly at the door. Doing this several times, she made her way across the room and to the mirror.
Once there, the young woman gazed once more at the alien face staring at her. It could have been anyone--a wife, a healer, a queen even! Yet, here it was, with her, a nothing, the unwanted, living behind it. Timidly, Trespasser raised her arm, the loose white fabric (where did that come from?) falling away to reveal pale skin with the slight red tinge of a sunburn like the one that darkened the face in the mirror. Gently, thin fingers touched the lean face in the glass. The mirror was cold to the touch, but Trespasser didn't notice.
The door, close by the mirror, clicked as someone entered. Trespasser whirled, looking for a place to run. The face in the mirror was forgotten as the woman, her heart beating wildly, ran for the window.
"Where are you going?" asked a voice. It was soft and held no threat. Trespasser turned, her back pressed against the window she could not open. Her frightened eyes took in the form of a frail old woman carrying a tray. Trespasser's nose twitched as she smelled good food smells coming from the tray.
"It's all right, child. I won't hurt you," the old woman spoke again, "'Twas I who cleaned and dressed you. If I was going to harm you, I would have done it before now."
Trespasser continued to regard her warily.
"Come, sit at this table. I brought you something to eat."
The young woman opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Furrowing her brow, she took a deep breath to try again. It had been a long time since she had spoken.
"Who...are...you?"
She smiled. "No one you need to be worrying about. My name's Myra. Come. Sit."
The old woman placed her tray on the table on the other side of the room. Cautiously, Trespasser inched towards her, watching her closely. Myra, realizing that the younger woman was as skittish as a wild rabbit, stood still.
When she was close enough, Trespasser snatched a piece of bread from the plate. She wolfed it down, watching Myra the while. The woman smiled slightly at the younger woman, continuing to remain still.
Quickly, Trespasser gulped down everything edible on the tray. When she was finished, she looked at the old woman as if to say: "What's next?"
Myra moved to the single closet in the room and took out a thin, white dress. "Put this on. I will be waiting for you outside the door."
Trespasser watched Myra leave, then turned her eyes to the dress the old woman had draped over a chair. Not knowing what else to do, she pulled the dress she was wearing up over her head and left it on the plush carpet. Then she picked up the dress on the chair. It was soft, Trespasser had never felt anything quite so soft. For several seconds, she just held it, almost not daring to put on something so nice.
A knock on the door quickly made Trespasser pull the thing over her head, as she heard Myra say, "Are you ready?"
"Yes," Trespasser replied, tugging the material over her skinny frame.
Once more, Myra opened the door. "Follow me."
Still at a loss for anything else to do, Trespasser obeyed Myra. She stepped out into a long hallway. It had pictures on the wall of young men and women, smiling faces regarding her warmly. Again, there was carpet under her feet. It was a deep wine color and as sinky as the carpet in her room had been. For the first time in as long as she could remember, curiosity flickered inside of Trespasser.
The two women passed about four doorways before the old woman stopped. She firmly knocked on the door they were standing in front of. A masculine voice told them to come in.
Myra opened the door, Trespasser cowering behind her. They entered into a huge study, with books lining the walls. There was a big desk at the back of the room with a man behind it. He was a young man, probably in his mid to late twenties. Long blond hair curled to his shoulders and cold green eyes looked out of his handsome and intense face. He looked up as the women entered, and his eyes automatically went to Trespasser. He searched her face intently, as if looking for something.
"Here she is, sir," Myra told him.
"Good. You may leave."
The old woman left the room, Trespasser gazing after her. Even after she was gone, the young woman stared at the door. What was she supposed to do now? Was this just another cruel joke?
The man cleared his throat and stood. Trespasser's gaze turned to him, and he smiled. The young woman had seen enough hostile smiles to be more afraid of them than she was a frown. Her insides quivered.
"Hello, Zyl," he said.
Trespasser just continued to look at him, confused.
The man came around the desk and leaned on the front. "I have been waiting a long time to meet you. As long as I can remember. You see, I need you and you need me. I am Sreda."
Still, Trespasser stared. The man who called himself Sreda stood up straight and walked up to her. Softly, he touched her face with the tips of the fingers on his right hand. Gently, he stroked her cheek. Trespasser trembled.
"You have no idea who you are, do you?"
Slowly, his hand slid from Trespasser's cheek and down her neck towards her collarbone, which was exposed. Just underneath it, there was a birthmark. It was about the size of the tip of her baby finger, teardrop shaped, and a slight silver in color. Sreda stopped just short of that birthmark, noting how the woman under his fingers was tensed in fear. His eyes studied the mark for a moment as if in fascination. Then, his fingers continued down and caressed it.
A tingling started at the birthmark and made its way through Trespasser. It filled her, feeling strange but pleasurable. Trespasser gasped and the man smiled.
"You are Zyl," he said.
The tingling brought something else with it, though Trespasser couldn't tell what it was. It was as if something had been added to her, or as if someone had awaken a piece of her that had been asleep. What had he done to her?
Finally able to move, Trespasser backed away from him, scared of him and scared of herself. She wanted to bolt, but she had nowhere to go. Besides, the door was closed and probably locked. Instead, Trespasser backed up further and further until her back was firmly pressed against the door.
"You don't say much, do you?" Sreda commented, watching her.
Inside of her, something continued to grow. It flowed out from the birthmark, strengthening her, calming her. Slowly, the fear disappeared as she realized that whatever was happening to her, it was not bad. As the fear receded, the shivering that was a continual characteristic of Trespasser stopped. The young woman had never even noticed her own shivering because of its normalcy, but she immediately noticed its lack.
"Oh, well. It doesn't matter. Come with me." The man spoke as if he were unaware of the changes going on in her body. He did know, however. He was counting on them. Trespasser's ignorance of the relationship between Zyl and Sreda just happened to be an extra bonus that he hadn't counted on.
Trespasser remained with her back pressed against the door, cooly regarding Sreda. She was not afraid of him now, but she didn't trust him. He had a pleasant face and a nice smile, but there was something else, something underneath. Years of suspicion regarding other people could not be thrown off with her fear.
*I'm not nothing,* went through Trespasser's head, surprise along with it. She had believed the things that were said about her all of her life; there had never been anything to dispute it. Now, here she was in a large, strange house, bathed, dressed, and with a man she was sure needed something that only she could give him. Then there was the birthmark and the warm thrumming that even now filled her body.
Sreda walked towards her, and Trespasser said carefully, "What...What do you want?"
"I will not hurt you. You have my word."
"I...I don't believe you."
Sreda stopped in front of her, regarding her eye to eye. Gently, he reached for her hand. Trespasser let him close his fingers over hers. Reassuringly, he squeezed them. Then he turned, her hand still in his. He began walking, looking back at Trespasser. Reluctantly, she followed, holding tightly to his hand.
There was a door by the desk that Trespasser hadn't noticed. It blended in well with the walls, almost as if it were camouflaged on purpose. It was to this door that Sreda led her. Complacently, she followed, though ready to run if any danger threatened.
Turning the knob, Sreda opened the door, revealing a room with three windows. It was midmorning, Trespasser could see, and the sun was shining brightly and cheerily into the room. They were not on the ground floor because leaves kissed the glass of the windows with a soft, rustling sound.
The room itself was white, completely white--walls, floor, and ceiling. There was one piece of furniture in the very centre of the room. It was almost like a bed--a smooth, flat stone bed. The delicately carved stone was white as well, almost as if it were made of polished bone.
"What is this?" Trespasser whispered.
"This, my Zyl, is where you will sleep."
"Sleep?"
"Yes. Come."
Sreda led her through the room towards the pedestal. He let go of her hand and leaned against the stone. Trespasser wrinkled her brow as she ran her small hands over the smoothness of the rock. It seemed to call to her, and she felt the calling even more strongly as her fingers touched the carvings along the side. Something...there was something...if she could just remember. She knew this place, she was sure of it. She had to remember. Suddenly, it was very important for her to remember. Trespasser struggled in the mind that was just starting to awaken. Years of only thinking of survival had dulled her thoughts. *I am Zyl,* was the only thing that came to her almost immediately. It was the word that Sreda had called her. What did it mean? Was it her name? She could not remember.
Suddenly, Sreda put his hands on her waist. Fear came back to Trespasser. She was about to blindly attack when she realized that she was on the stone slab and Sreda's hands were retreating.
"Lie down," he instructed.
Trespasser hesitated, then obeyed. She settled onto the stone slab, moving slightly to get adjusted. She didn't look at Sreda, but stared at the ceiling instead.
"Are you comfortable?" he asked.
Trespasser curled her lip slightly. "I've slept in worse beds."
"Close your eyes."
Trespasser took a deep breath, then closed her eyes. She tensed, waiting for something to happen. She felt Sreda's hands on her face, gently caressing. Memories, painful and terror filled, came to her and she gasped. The man made a soothing noise, but still Trespasser began to tremble. She felt Sreda's pointer and index fingers on each hand softly brush over her eyelids. As he did so, he whispered a word that Trespasser couldn't catch.
With that word, Trespasser felt tired. Strength drained away quickly, and darkness called to her. Suddenly, all she wanted was to sleep. It was a soothing call, that call to darkness. Trespasser wanted to follow it, to simply sink into unconsciousness. It would be the first safe, untroubled sleep she had had since...
Something came alive in Trespasser's mind. It was a piece of remembered conversation.
*"A Zyl? You must be so proud. The circle goes on."
"I don't want people to know. If they knew I had one half of the Aindin, she'd never have a normal life."
"She'll never be normal anyway, once she discovers the power she holds..."*
The power she holds...The power she holds...*The Power I hold,* ran through Trespasser's mind.
Suddenly, she didn't want to sleep. She was frightened, more frightened than she had ever been before. The fear she felt of the townspeople of Light's Pride was not even comparable to the cold terror that gripped her now. It caused a slow, cold shiver to move from her pelvis up her backbone to her shoulders.
Trespasser resisted the sleep, now ugly, that sought to envelope her. Lying perfectly still, she fought with a mind that was slowly being reborn. Frantically, she struggled, pushing at the fog with all she had. As she pushed, the birthmark on her collarbone began to grow warm. Warmer and warmer it got, pulsing and throbbing as if it felt her struggles and was aiding her.
As quickly as it came, the fog trying to cloud her brain disappeared. Trespasser continued to lay still. The terror had not left with the urge to sleep. What was Sreda going to do to her?
She heard the man stirring as he moved from the head of the table to stand at her left side. Again, he said words in a language she did not understand, and he leaned forward. Trespasser sensed, though she did not know how, Sreda's hand reaching towards her. It stopped just above her collarbone and she could feel it there. It was almost as if he were touching her skin. Then, the hand began to lower.
Quickly, Trespasser sat up, batting his hand away. She slipped off the right side of the table and ran for the door. Sreda grabbed for her over the slab and missed, cursing.
"Come back here, you fool," he hissed.
He rounded the table, coming towards her. Trespasser tried to open the door, but it wouldn't open from that side. There were no knobs or handles, just a smooth white door. Sreda soon got to her. She felt his hand reaching for her with her new inner sense before she physically felt his hand on her shoulder. Roughly, he turned her around. There was anger in his eyes. He gave her a little shake.
"Why'd you do that? Get back on the table!"
"No. No. No."
Sreda shook her again, harder. Trespasser would not look at his face. She looked everywhere but. This seemed to make him angrier.
"You'll do what I say."
"No...I..don't...have...to. I won't."
Something was building up inside of Trespasser. It started small, originating somewhere near her collarbone. It might have been anger, but it didn't feel that way. At least Trespasser didn't think it did. She couldn't be sure because she couldn't remember ever being angry. The thing building up was almost like a balloon. It grew and grew, as the looming figure of Sreda put air into it. The rubber around the air was stretching thinner and thinner.
Then, Sreda lifted his hand as if to hit her. Trespasser made a wordless cry, and the balloon burst. As she cried out, the force--whatever it was--burst out of her, gushing like some river being set free. It hit Sreda as a physical force, flinging him from her as if he were a mosquito. He thunked as his body hit the stone table and flew over it to the floor. He groaned.
Slowly, the man got up. Rage made the features of his face frigid as he stared at the woman who dared to do this to him. He walked back around the table, stalking towards Trespasser. Somehow a knife had gotten into his hand.
"All I wanted was the power," he said, "I was willing to let you live and perform the long, drawn out Ceremony of Transfer. There are two ways to take on the powers of another--permanently--and I was willing to do the more complicated one, just to let you live. Since you are unwilling, I can just as easily kill you and drain your power as I drain your life. It does not matter. you're a nobody."
As Sreda slowly came towards her, limping slightly, a picture came into Trespasser's mind. It was a picture of fire. That's what Sreda reminded her of at this moment, fire--snapping and consuming. Burning. Closer and closer he came, and more and more real became the picture. It seemed to Trespasser that Sreda actually did become a flame. Flickering. Eventually, her eyes could not see his true form at all. That's when he cried out.
Trespasser shook her head, and the vision vanished. In its place stood Sreda, his face twisted in pain. His eyes were large, and his mouth was turned in a strange expression. he opened it to cry out again and a red flicker, like spit, touched his lip. Unlike spit, this glowed. Trespasser noticed that it wasn't only coming out of his mouth. His whole body was being consumed in a red glow. Slowly, like the picture in her mind, his body was being transposed by flames.
In seconds, Sreda's whole body was consumed by flames, knife and all. All there was to prove that he had been there was a patch of ash four feet from Trespasser. The woman stared at it, her eyes wide with shock. Hesitantly, she moved forward, towards the charred remains. Carefully, she knelt. Without realizing she was doing it, she reached out a hand and touched the ashes gently.
Words came to her lips. "But, Sreda, I am somebody. I am somebody. I am Zyl."
For the first time since her parents died, Zyl smiled.
The End