The Charred Village (Vale)

This is the delightful night that Vale had last night after rowing with Eothan, talking briefly with Jayse, and then running off to calm her temper.

Kaden Caan is Ledgic's father, by the way. He's been dead a few years.

==

'The Charred Village'

Duskwood was the last place that Valerias Caan wanted to be. Unfortunately, the forest was where she belonged, a simple fact of which she had reminded herself last night. Its clawing brambles and twisted canopy, the reek of rot and the stench of death: these were as much a part of her blood as was the name and history of her family.

The ruins of the village rose before her as she pushed her way through the tangled undergrowth and stood on one side of a sluggish stream. It was long past midnight, and she could hear the ghosts whispering to each other. She sat down in the ashes.

In the weeks since everything had burned, rain and wind had battered the remnants, had ground the ash into the packed, black soil on which the village had been made and had stood for generations. She belonged here. Kaden, Iriden, Vanith, Sylvia... she could feel the laughter of all the Caans, living and dead, echoing down the shadowed passages of her mind, their breath stirring the hair at the nape of her neck.

'Get up.'

Vale didn't open her eyes; she knew that voice better than she knew her own. 'Get th' feck up yersel'. Oh righ', y'can't, yer dead.'

A fist thudded into her jaw and her head whipped back against the charred beam against which she was leaning. She drew in a breath, opening her eyes and lifting a hand to the corner of her mouth.

'Ye 'it 'ard fer a rottin' piece o' shite.'

Kaden Caan was exactly as she remembered: the heavy build, the face heavily marked by years of hardship accepted and of cruelty inflicted, the thin and dangerous mouth set in an uncompromising frown. He leaned forward without replying, grabbing a fistful of hair and dragging her to her feet.

'Ouch, feck!' Vale reeled off a string of curses and slammed a fist into her uncle's gut, but it didn't seem to phase him. He shoved her backward and she crouched, her eyes watering slightly. 'I saw ye dead once,' she whispered; 'Leave me 'lone.'

Kaden folded his arms with a derisive laugh. 'Yer a snivellin' tart, Vale. All th' years ye lived in this village, learnin' wha' ye were. An' now ye spend yer time whorin' in th' city an' yer all cut up o'er a man?'

'I ain' cut up.' Vale narrowed her eyes, circling the pile of weathered ash and beams that had once been part of a dwelling. She wasn't cut up; she was angry. She had cracked Eothan in the face last night because she had been angry with his idiocy, his stubbornness, with the ridiculousness of the situation.

'An' ye can't tell me shite, yer jes as bad as th' rest of 'em. Vanith an' 'is lackeys... Iriden. It's yer feckin' fault Iriden were what 'e were. An' Led. Everythin' ye did t' Led.' Her voice rose raggedly. 'What 'appened t' this village, it's yer fault!'

Kaden laughed again, cracking his knuckles. And Vale remembered the horror in which she had held him as a child: the strongest Caan, the leader of the clan; she remembered the knot of fear that used to tighten around her ribs.

'Yer no better 'n us, Vale. Yer gonna hurt everythin' ye touch. Already done it t' Eothan, gonna do th' same t' yer kid when ye 'ave it. S'wha' a Caan is.'

Vale screeched and launched herself around the blackened rubble at her uncle, not bothering with the luxury of words. She reached for her spellblade, but it wasn't there; she had left it at Eothan's...

Kaden's fists collided with her face and her torso, but this time Vale was ready; the pain whipped through her with the force of a hurricane but her hands were already upraised, and into the leaping wall of flame she poured everything she had – insult, memory, curse and feeling – for a few moments, the whole world was fuel to her enveloping fire.


Vale awoke shivering in the grey light of dawn, her clothes damp with a heavy coating of dew. A haze clouded her head, as if she had drunk of poppy juice the night before, and the acidic smells of rot and char suddenly flooded her nostrils. And rolling over onto her stomach beside a pile of rubble, she was sick.

Boosting atm! Will read once I have the moment.

Simply put: Awesome. ;_;

It was good. You can do a lot better, Aniane .

One word

Moar

I'm really glad it was interesting!

And Rael, ah, I can't seem to stop writing about Vale, so I don't think that should be a problem >>