[se] beauty and battle cries

Melita

they should have checked the ashes
of the women they burned alive

Melita took her time coming home.

Departing the Ark, supplies over her shoulder, and Fangorn in her wake, they didn’t take the port and its pathways directly to Aumakua. Instead, her bare feet tread lightly into the sand, and the trepidation began to pool in her stomach, inclining along the beach, beneath the sun and its radiant wares. Perhaps she could take her wiles and whims here, for the moment, because the last voyage ensured that not a single thought over matters she’d left behind had occurred.

And so the apprehension returned, and with it some of the frustration, the rage, of previous circumstances. What was she going to find back at the house? Disorder, disarray, some other brand of chaos the Flood had gotten up to in the past season? A child she didn’t know? Nate, disappeared or returned, and neither option good or grand? The fire lit, stoked, and kindled, and Fangorn grumbled something by her feet. “I know,” she murmured; perhaps by some way of understanding. “But I can’t right now.” Time – she needed time, an inclination, a sign that it was fine to go back.

Or to leave it all entirely behind.

And that too, melded a knot in her stomach.

So for now, the youth bided her hours, kicking at the sand until her toes recalled the feeling, and marauding her way along the sodden, dampened portions, where the tide rolled – only glancing upward to see someone further ahead.

because it takes a single wild ember
to bring a whole wildfire to life

Saartjie

looking back at it, i should have fallen apart
i can tell you the story of how i got these scars

With the rains finally gone, Saartjie had finally left the comfort of the house that she had come to call home since her unplanned entrance into Caido. Being cooped up inside had made her stir crazy, and even as exciting as it was to finally find her brother again after so long, she still needed some time alone. She still needed time to process everything. Her life had completely changed and been turned upside down. Her noble blood no longer meant anything at all, nor did her previous marriage. She had gained a niece and a new brother in law, had discovered that the world she was now in contained types of magic seemed ... fairytale like. She just needed time.

Still being so new to the area, there wasn't anyplace in particular that she wanted to go ... she just walked. Eventually she found herself following the sound of the sea and soon found herself at the port. She recognized it right away, having been the first place she'd arrived. There were small boats and large ships docked, and people running around unloading merchandise. It was too busy and too noisy and so Saartjie headed toward the beach and continued to walk. Soon the noise from the port faded altogether and was replaced by the calls of the gulls soaring overhead and the crash of waves on the beach.

Saartjie paused a moment and took her shoes off, sighing as she felt the cool, damp sand beneath her feet. It had been a long time -- since before Sunjata had left Korofi -- that she had been to the beach let alone felt the sand between her toes. The salty sea air whipped around her, blowing her hair about and she couldn't help but smile. It felt good to be alone and to not worry about someone finding her, disappointing anyone, angering her husband or her father, not have to worry about politics, or getting caught sending letters to members of the rebellion, or even the rebellion itself.

She reached up to tuck her hair behind her right ear and glanced down the beach. Even from a distance she could see the woman's red hair that seemed to contrast with everything around it. Saartjie turned toward the approaching girl and waited for her to get closer, remembering Sunjata saying that Gaal had a daughter here that was on one of the ships, and that she had the same red hair that he did. "Melita?" she asked once the woman was within earshot.

i was young and all alone
my heart turning to stone

Melita

they should have checked the ashes
of the women they burned alive

Not alone then; her name came on the light wind, on the hustle and bustle of the fading port, on the wings of the sea. Her head shot upwards, entirely impulsive and prone to predacious hinges, and her entire body stilled. Much like a feral nymph, waiting for something to happen, to occur, because her eyes flickered over this woman and she didn’t know her at all – couldn’t place, couldn’t assemble, couldn’t parse together the details that would’ve collected into a whole. She was dark hair and blue eyes and there should’ve been a spark of recognition from familial ties, but Melita didn’t catch them.

Instead she was on guard, a seething little ember pondering over the state of her weapons. Quiver over her shoulder. Staff on her belt. Other necessities, like daggers and such, had been put into her bag; one on her ankle for easier access. The pumpkin at her feet grumbled long and low, and she had half an inclination to join him. To be a threat, to be a menace –

But she had no reason other than that latent, instinctual blend of survival tactics and skills. So she breathed, lifting one hand to shield her gilded gaze from the sun, while she worked over what to do next. “Yes,” she uttered, the words echoing in caution, in brief hesitancy. The honeybee wouldn’t have stayed anonymous here, not for long, not with the way she manifested her actions upon Torchline. There’d be no use hiding or denying the title. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

because it takes a single wild ember
to bring a whole wildfire to life

Saartjie

looking back at it, i should have fallen apart
i can tell you the story of how i got these scars

It was little more than sheer luck and an educated guess that the petite woman walking along the beach toward her was Melita, but even before she answered Saartjie assumed she was correct in her guess. Growing up the way she had, Saar had learned to read body language and Melita's had given her away. Honestly, she couldn't blame the girl for being on guard and would be lying, herself, if she said she would react any differently. Her gaze fell to the gourd at Melita's feet and her brow furrowed. What a strange place Caido was turning out to be with equally strange creatures.

The sound of Melita's voice filled the silence that stretched between them, the sound of it laced with caution and uncertainty. A question followed shortly after and Saartjie shook her head in response. The motion, along with the wind, loosened a lock of hair and it blew across her face. "No." She answered as she tucked the hair behind her ear again. "You might know of me, but no. We've never met before." If Nate had known who she was from Sunjata it was only logical to guess that maybe the same could be said for Melita.

"I'm Saartjie --" Her last name was on the tip of her tongue, but she cut herself off and the short silence that followed felt awkward. "Sunjata told me about you." Her head tilted slightly as she studied the girl in front of her and she had to admit that Jata had been right. Shehad Gaal's red hair, but there was very little else, if anything at all, that reminded her of her late husband. Melita must have gotten the majority of her genes from her mother, and if that were the case the woman had to have been quite pretty.

"He mentioned your red hair and told me you were on one of the boats." She motioned to the boats in the distance, glancing at them before looking back at Melita and offering a small smile. "I wanted to meet you, but ... I didn't expect it to be so soon or like this." She had assumed that Sunjata would be the one doing the introduction, but there was nothing wrong with this.

i was young and all alone
my heart turning to stone

Melita

they should have checked the ashes
of the women they burned alive

Confusion laced and wove its way across her features – it’d been a rare occasion when the girl could hide her emotions. They were munitions as well as flaws, and they quirked here and there along her brows, along the narrowing of her gaze, along the intrepid and treacherous lines of her face. And it didn’t take much longer to erupt the vision of her stare into something more.

Saartjie; with all its uncanny resemblances, with all of its designations, with all of its heralds and possible misgivings. Sunjata’s sister. In some ways her aunt and stepmother, if all of the stories the Flood had told were true, and still hold weight. The woman who’d been bound to her father, with all the unfortunate circumstances that came with his association.

Which of course, in some way, meant Melita.

“Oh,” she paused, uncertain of what to say or do. Fangorn couldn’t offer much of a respite either, as lost as she was, and suddenly there was an inclination to run and run and run and not look back. To spiral away into the sand, barefoot and clinging to nuances and notions she understood.

Instead, the honeybee visibly shrunk: head bowed, gilded eyes staring upon granules of dunes and wondering when the blows would come. “You must hate me.” For her existence. For being a constant reminder of Gaal – even if he’d never wanted her in the first place.

because it takes a single wild ember
to bring a whole wildfire to life

Saartjie

looking back at it, i should have fallen apart
i can tell you the story of how i got these scars

Confusion made itself evident on the girl's face and Saartjie couldn't help but feel a pinprick of guilt. It was a bit overwhelming suddenly meeting someone who knew who you were when you didn't have the foggiest clue as to who they were. She wondered, briefly, if she should have just allowed Melita to pass by without a word and allow Sunjata to do the introduction. Of course as the realization of who she was hit Melita, Saartjie decided that yes, she should have waited. At least with Sunjata there he would be able to diffuse some of the tension and awkwardness that came with the introduction. After all, it wasn't every day that a girl met her estranged stepmother.

It was Saar's turn to look confused as Melita visbly shrunk and stared at the ground. She had the distinct feeling that the girl was trying to make herself as small as possible and hoping to just disappear completely. What was it that Melita had heard about her that would make her react in such a way? Was she expecting some violent reaction from Saar? Harsh words and accusations? Her brow furrowed as the questions flitted through her mind, but that confusion turned to surprise when Melita spoke again.

"You must hate me."

Oh. Oh. Saartjie knew all too well what it was like to be hateed simply because of who shared your bloodline. There were so many back in Korofi who had disliked and distrusted her because of who her father was and she knew how frustrating and disheartening that was. Though she was angry with Gaal and hated him with everything she had, she was not going to project that anger and hatred onto his daughter.

"Of course not." She finally answered as she stepped toward the girl. Saartjie was cautious as she reached a hand out toward Melita, intending to tuck the girl's hair behind her ear and lift her chin so she was no longer staring at the ground. Of course if the girl pulled away Saar would withdraw to give her some space. "Gaal's sins are his own to bear." Or were his own to bear since he was no longer breathing. "Not yours."

i was young and all alone
my heart turning to stone

Melita

they should have checked the ashes
of the women they burned alive

She waited and waited for the hollowed-out judgement, for the scorn, for the malice, for the weight of her father’s sins to somehow extend to her. Maybe Saartjie could see every ounce of Gaal’s blood in her – the vile, the repugnant, the bastard who sired bastards. Maybe the tales were all true. Maybe she was the spitting image of the deplorable behemoth; who’d once stared upon his daughters and refused to call them his own. Maybe she was just as ashamed of the honeybee. The restless notions clung to her skin and flung around in her brain, a thousand, flickering embers, and she couldn’t find one to properly stoke, fan, and flame. Inside those walls, they were all brought to life, and every ember found their way to mark, to burn.

The words that came thereafter, not damning, not persecuting, not demeaning, floored her – kept her rooted and still, beyond her widened eyes. Her arms became straight and taut at her sides, her breathing finite, the world a whisper, a mile away, but still managing to thunder in her ears. She swallowed something down – surprise, maybe bile, shock, expecting everything to collapse across her heart, and instead there was only warmth.

Comfort. Stepping forward, a woman’s gentle hand lifting her chin, and suddenly Melita remembered her mother doing the very same to each of her girls, after they’d whirled around, after they’d fallen down, after they’d forgotten how to pick themselves up again. “Thank you,” she whispered, dumbstruck and dumbfounded, not even remotely feral or wild in that moment – but suddenly very much a youth who had lost many, many things, moments, and instances in her short life. “He didn’t want us,” she offered into the air – hushed, as if that said enough. “What happened to him? How did you get away?” After, after, after?

because it takes a single wild ember
to bring a whole wildfire to life

Saartjie

looking back at it, i should have fallen apart
i can tell you the story of how i got these scars

When she lifted Melita's head so the girl would look at her it was like looking into the eyes of a child. Saartjie could only imagine that Melita had been expecting the worst out of her -- yelling, screaming, shouting, name calling, blame ... everything she and Sunjata had been subjected to by the people their father had actively hunted, tortured, and killed. There was a vulnerability in the whispered thank you that pulled at Saar's heartstrings.

There was sadness, confusion, or perhaps it was both when Melita spoke again. Having to accept and admit that your father didn't want you was difficult, but it was something Saartjie, herself, had come to terms with with her own father. Most noble Korofi men only wanted children to carry on their family names and the ones that were the most heavily involved in political games only wanted children to use. Sunjata's purpose had been to be the perfect little soldier and her purpose was to be a bargaining chip. Marrying into another, wealthy, powerful family would result in more power for her father. Gaal was no different. He'd only wanted children out of her to use and that was the very reason she had denied him what he wanted most. Any children she had would be loved, not used in political games.

"He's the one that lost out on something precious." She finally said. Honestly, Melita wasn't missing much by not having Gaal in her life. It had likely saved her a lot of anger, frustration, and heartache to not have him there.

"What happened to him? How did you get away?"

Saartjie's hand fell to her side and she frowned as silence stretched between them. The questions, as simple as they seemed, held a lot of weight. How would the girl react at knowing that her father was dead? That she was the one that had killed him? The silence stretched on as she tried to decide what to say, but in the end it came out simply. "He's dead."

i was young and all alone
my heart turning to stone

Melita

they should have checked the ashes
of the women they burned alive

Breaths and beats taken, shuddering from her lungs, from her chest, one by one by one, minute and tragic in the way they were compelled to be diminished. Like something might break, shatter, if she trembled too hard, if she came apart at this undeserved gentleness, at these reserved efforts, at the way they world twisted and turned in ways she’d never expect. There was an argument resting behind her teeth, instant and incredulous, as Saarrtjie first proclaimed – because Melita wasn’t precious, wasn’t valuable, was like all the other vicious, untamed things that came out of the wild: meant to survive, meant to erupt, meant to march onward with hackles raised and howls roaring out of the earth. Her sister had been the sweet, beautiful one – meant to be a jewel, a piece of compassion no one would ever see again.

But the resistance burned away on the edges of her strands, eyes widening, rounding all over again, as the second statement fell into the air, as she was released to simply stand. No disbelief. No trembling. “Dead.” If she said it, did that make it more true? Did it stamp away at her mind, conjure images of how he’d fallen to shrapnel and bitterness? Did she relish the fact? Did she yearn and crave its exactness, or did she even know what to do with it? As it burrowed and slunk into her skin, as her gaze fell to the sand, as her toes curled deeper into its warm sentiments, keeping her grounded.

Another segment gone – even if he’d been useless, absent, and a waste of time.

It didn’t hollow her away; not like she’d imagined. Instead, it just seemed to settle there, in the pockets and vessels of her damaged, wrecked heart, where nefarious reaches had plucked in and withered her vengeful aspects into nettles and thorns. “How?”

because it takes a single wild ember
to bring a whole wildfire to life

Saartjie

looking back at it, i should have fallen apart
i can tell you the story of how i got these scars

Dead.

There was a finality to it, admitting that someone was dead whether you loved them or hated them. Saying it and hearing her, his daughter, repeat it was ... inescribable. Saartjie waited for some sign, hint, or clue as to what the girl was feeling, but aside from the slight widening of her eyes she didn't give away much. It left her to wonder if it was a blessing for Melita that her bastard father was gone or if she would be angered or saddened that now she would never get to know him -- even if he had made no effort to try and find her himself. Melita's gaze fell to the sand and Saartjie's concern grew.

Then the question came. A single, one word question that held such an enormous weight that it seemed to make the very air around them thicker, heavier, and harder to breathe. Every memory of that night were seared into her memory -- from the verbal to the physical aspects of it all. Her eyes closed as it all came flooding back and she swore that she could smell the stench of blood over the salty sea air and taste the metallic tang of it on her lips. She could still remember the way he gurgled as he struggled to breathe and how it slowed and turned into gasps before he finally fell silent.

When she opened her eyes again she looked at Melita, struggling to find a delicate way to say I did it. He died by my hand. I murdered your father. How would she react? Would Melita hate her for taking away any chance she might have had in the future to form some kind of bond with him? Would she be grateful because he was gone and would never search for her and he would never be able to use her?

"I did it." Saartjie finally admitted. "I did it to protect my brother. Gaal had already hurt him horribly once before and he was going to try and do it again." And she couldn't let him. She couldn't let him track Jata down just to torture him again. Seeing the life that Sunjata had created for himself in Caido, the little piece of happiness he had carved out for himself .... Saartjie was satisfied with what she had done. With Gaal gone there was one less person out there trying to hurt him and if that meant she had to carry Melita's hatred on her shoulders that was fine.

i was young and all alone
my heart turning to stone

Melita

they should have checked the ashes
of the women they burned alive

Melita had been immersed in death before. In ghosts, in wraiths, in phantoms. In loss. In losing nearly everything, no matter how far her arms reached and no matter how much she tried to shield. She could grit her teeth and bear the weight of her family on her shoulders, and it still hadn’t mattered.

But was this a deprivation? This demise of a father who’d never wanted his children? A cruel, ridiculous, egomaniacal man, incapable of bearing responsibility for his actions? A being made of nefarious properties, who plotted and schemed and bludgeoned simply because he could? To have never truly known him other than a face and a no sealed across his lips; the denial of her existence and blood ties to him, a searing memory that had once embodied the way she walked, the way she talked.

And maybe now she was proud, at the very least, that he’d never really been hers in the first place. Better to have lived without that barbaric beast, than to have been influenced and taken under his wing.

What Melita didn’t expect though was the answer – widening her eyes once more as Saartjie described the movements, the motions, protecting Sunjata, death, death, death, at her own hands. It took her a moment, to stretch out the feelings, the emotions, as they bound their way alongside, within, her very soul. A thousand things ran behind her teeth and over her tongue, until finally the statement sizzled until it couldn’t any longer. “Good for you.” If there were intonations of pride instilled in there, then so be it; it shown in the blaze of her shoulders, in the ignition of her gilded gaze. Her cranium didn’t travel downward, but merely glancing upwards, staring straight into her aunt’s eyes. “So what are you going to do now?” With your freedom?

because it takes a single wild ember
to bring a whole wildfire to life