Another blast from the past
I can't exactly remember when it was that I wrote this. It may have been some time in first year, or grade 12...the date on the original AppleWorks file is May 2001, but that's just when I typed it into the computer, as it was originally written by hand on random looseleaf from my school clipboard. Although my earliest stories that could be classified as "fanfic" was Star Trek-based, I started reading Marion Zimmer Bradley's Darkover books in grade seven or so, and I wrote my first story that involved the Darkover universe in grade...10, I think. This one came at least a couple of years later than that, a couple of years after I'd first read Traitor's Sun and gotten hooked by Illona, a character so different from many of the other female characters in the Darkover series, and on the relationship between her and Domenic (Nico) Alton-Hastur. At some point I got bit by a rabid plot bunny involving them in the same Tower for training, with all that comes with the different moral code of Tower life, although I haven't managed to go very far with the whole arc that emerged fuzzily in my head. This snippet (okay, so maybe 1100 words is a bit more than a snippet) stands alone and fairly readable, though, and started when the beginning image popped out at grabbed me by the writing hand.
Flames. Heat. People screaming, the crackle and roar of fire everywhere. The smell of burning. People, known people, trapped in a fiery inferno, and she was helpless, powerless, unable to help them, to save them....
Pulse racing, sweat pouring from every pore, Illona awoke, wrenching herself violently out of bed as if trying to flee the nightmare. The jolt of cold felt even through the carpet as her feet touched the floor woke her fully, and she hastily drew her legs back under the covers. A pull and a twist, and the blankets were settled about her body once again. She started taking deep, slow breaths, feeling her heart begin to beat at a somewhat more normal rate. Her body was still tense, however, despite her efforts. She concentrated harder, willing her muscles to relax. Toes - unclench. Legs - stretch out, and muscles - relax. Shoulders - straighten. Hands - uncurl. Arms - relax. Eyes - close.
Flames.
Eyes snapping open, a convulsive shiver wracking her body.
“Why?” she moaned softly, “Why me?”
Then a familiar discrete presence in her mind, at once questioning and soothing.
Nico? she asked silently.
Affirmation, and a question. Was it the dream again? Not that I need ask, I could hear you from here. Wry humour in that.
She groaned. Really? I was broadcasting? She had thought she was over that....
Don’t worry, breda, you weren’t.... I don’t think anyone else picked it up, it’s just that I’m attuned to you.
Suddenly she realised something. If she had been asleep.... Nico, did I wake you up?
A mental chuckle. No, I was reading. Then a sense of gentle concern. Are you going to be all right?
A deep breath. I think so. Go back to your reading. A small laugh of her own. You and your books. Don’t read too late, hear?
Wry acknowledgement, and a vague wordless almost-promise. Good night, Illona.
Good night, Nico.
Contact severed, but leaving Illona in a much more bearable frame of mind. Drowsy now, with an image of her friend behind her eyelids instead of fire, and a sense of comfort rather than helpless terror. This time her eyes closed by themselves, and she soon fell back to sleep.
An internal wake-up call reluctantly developed in a life on the road roused Illona shortly before dawn. She opened her eyes, saw that it was still dark, and promptly closed them again. I don’t have to get up yet.... She drifted back to sleep.
Not much later, she woke again. This time, she did not go back to sleep, but rather lay in bed, savoring the warmth, even more so because she knew how cold it would be outside the insulated cocoon of blankets. Steeling herself, she heaved her body out of bed and staggered to the washstand. Gasping, she splashed her face with cold water from the basin. She was dressed in record time, but her clothes were so cold her teeth were chattering, so she jumped back in bed for a few minutes. When she finally felt warm enough to face the day, she got out of bed once again.
Slipping her feet into soft-soled indoor shoes, she padded out of her room and down to the lower floor of the Tower, where the dining area was located. Still somewhat bleary-eyed, she walked into the room. Not looking where she was going, she collided headlong with a brick wall. Or at least that was her first sleep-muddled impression, but when she looked up, blinking, she saw that she had actually walked right into Darien, one of the Tower mechanics. He smiled indulgently down at her.
“Not quite awake yet, are we?” he asked, laughter in his voice.
Illona glared up at him. “You,” she grumbled, “are far more cheerful, not to mention awake, than is in any way proper at this hour.”
The man so addressed merely chuckled as he sidled past her. Illona’s morning grumpiness was a byword in the Tower.
There was a large pot of porridge on the side table, bubbles rising occasionally from the heat of the small brazier underneath. Set close by was a small pot of honey, a stack of bowls and a pile of spoons. Illona made her way across the room, walking slowly lest she bump into something. Yawning, she rubbed here eyes with balled-up fists, and reached for a bowl.
The porridge had dried fruit in it, plumped up from the water and long boiling time. Propping her head on one hand, Illona began mechanically spooning the cereal into her mouth. She stopped with her spoon in midair. Something was missing! Jaco, she thought firmly, or I’ll never wake up. She yawned once again, and rose.
The jaco pot was on a separate, smaller brazier, with a jumble of mugs beside it. The girl poured herself a generous mug, and added a large dollop of honey as was her habit. She returned to the table, and sat down with a sigh, returning to her meal. She tried to concentrate on her food, hoping to block out images from her nightmare of the night before. Of course, she knew such an attempt was practically futile, but she nonetheless focussed on the business at hand, the texture and taste of the porridge, the sudden burst of flavour from the fruit, the sweetness of the added honey, the bitter chocolate of the the jaco. But she was still tired, and here eyes closed as her mind drifted away from the simple tasks of spooning and sipping.
Flames. Screaming. Burning.
Her eyes snapped open. Inwardly, she swore, cursing the gods.
Her feeling of despairing helplessness emerged in a strangled whisper, “What am I going to do?”
“Finish your breakfast?” came an amused voice.
Illona started. “Wha’?”
She looked up, and saw Domenic, looking as tired and sleep-rumpled as she felt. A light smile turned up her mouth, but did not really reach her eyes.
“’morning, Nico,” she greeted her friend.
Domenic did not reply immediately, but simply looked at her, concern evident in his eyes.
“Are you all right?” he asked quietly.
Reflexively, Illona opened her mouth to answer ‘yes’, but then closed it again, thinking. “I’m...managing,” she finally replied, watching Nico’s brow wrinkle in concern.
“I wish there was something I could do....”
“Don’t worry, Nico,” she reassured him, “I’ll be fine.”
But the cheerfulness in her voice sounded forced even to her own ears, and it was evident from her friend’s continued frown that he did not believe her assurances. He reached across the table, his fingers resting gently on hers in the feather-light touch of telepaths, but the thought he sent her way carried all the wordless comfort of a hug.
“Just remember that I’m here for you, breda,” he said softly. “Never forget that.”
She looked up at him, and her smile began to melt the despair in her eyes. She felt her throat begin to close up, and a familiar prickle behind her lids. Not trusting her voice, she replied silently, I know, Nico. And...I’m glad.
Flames. Heat. People screaming, the crackle and roar of fire everywhere. The smell of burning. People, known people, trapped in a fiery inferno, and she was helpless, powerless, unable to help them, to save them....
Pulse racing, sweat pouring from every pore, Illona awoke, wrenching herself violently out of bed as if trying to flee the nightmare. The jolt of cold felt even through the carpet as her feet touched the floor woke her fully, and she hastily drew her legs back under the covers. A pull and a twist, and the blankets were settled about her body once again. She started taking deep, slow breaths, feeling her heart begin to beat at a somewhat more normal rate. Her body was still tense, however, despite her efforts. She concentrated harder, willing her muscles to relax. Toes - unclench. Legs - stretch out, and muscles - relax. Shoulders - straighten. Hands - uncurl. Arms - relax. Eyes - close.
Flames.
Eyes snapping open, a convulsive shiver wracking her body.
“Why?” she moaned softly, “Why me?”
Then a familiar discrete presence in her mind, at once questioning and soothing.
Nico? she asked silently.
Affirmation, and a question. Was it the dream again? Not that I need ask, I could hear you from here. Wry humour in that.
She groaned. Really? I was broadcasting? She had thought she was over that....
Don’t worry, breda, you weren’t.... I don’t think anyone else picked it up, it’s just that I’m attuned to you.
Suddenly she realised something. If she had been asleep.... Nico, did I wake you up?
A mental chuckle. No, I was reading. Then a sense of gentle concern. Are you going to be all right?
A deep breath. I think so. Go back to your reading. A small laugh of her own. You and your books. Don’t read too late, hear?
Wry acknowledgement, and a vague wordless almost-promise. Good night, Illona.
Good night, Nico.
Contact severed, but leaving Illona in a much more bearable frame of mind. Drowsy now, with an image of her friend behind her eyelids instead of fire, and a sense of comfort rather than helpless terror. This time her eyes closed by themselves, and she soon fell back to sleep.
An internal wake-up call reluctantly developed in a life on the road roused Illona shortly before dawn. She opened her eyes, saw that it was still dark, and promptly closed them again. I don’t have to get up yet.... She drifted back to sleep.
Not much later, she woke again. This time, she did not go back to sleep, but rather lay in bed, savoring the warmth, even more so because she knew how cold it would be outside the insulated cocoon of blankets. Steeling herself, she heaved her body out of bed and staggered to the washstand. Gasping, she splashed her face with cold water from the basin. She was dressed in record time, but her clothes were so cold her teeth were chattering, so she jumped back in bed for a few minutes. When she finally felt warm enough to face the day, she got out of bed once again.
Slipping her feet into soft-soled indoor shoes, she padded out of her room and down to the lower floor of the Tower, where the dining area was located. Still somewhat bleary-eyed, she walked into the room. Not looking where she was going, she collided headlong with a brick wall. Or at least that was her first sleep-muddled impression, but when she looked up, blinking, she saw that she had actually walked right into Darien, one of the Tower mechanics. He smiled indulgently down at her.
“Not quite awake yet, are we?” he asked, laughter in his voice.
Illona glared up at him. “You,” she grumbled, “are far more cheerful, not to mention awake, than is in any way proper at this hour.”
The man so addressed merely chuckled as he sidled past her. Illona’s morning grumpiness was a byword in the Tower.
There was a large pot of porridge on the side table, bubbles rising occasionally from the heat of the small brazier underneath. Set close by was a small pot of honey, a stack of bowls and a pile of spoons. Illona made her way across the room, walking slowly lest she bump into something. Yawning, she rubbed here eyes with balled-up fists, and reached for a bowl.
The porridge had dried fruit in it, plumped up from the water and long boiling time. Propping her head on one hand, Illona began mechanically spooning the cereal into her mouth. She stopped with her spoon in midair. Something was missing! Jaco, she thought firmly, or I’ll never wake up. She yawned once again, and rose.
The jaco pot was on a separate, smaller brazier, with a jumble of mugs beside it. The girl poured herself a generous mug, and added a large dollop of honey as was her habit. She returned to the table, and sat down with a sigh, returning to her meal. She tried to concentrate on her food, hoping to block out images from her nightmare of the night before. Of course, she knew such an attempt was practically futile, but she nonetheless focussed on the business at hand, the texture and taste of the porridge, the sudden burst of flavour from the fruit, the sweetness of the added honey, the bitter chocolate of the the jaco. But she was still tired, and here eyes closed as her mind drifted away from the simple tasks of spooning and sipping.
Flames. Screaming. Burning.
Her eyes snapped open. Inwardly, she swore, cursing the gods.
Her feeling of despairing helplessness emerged in a strangled whisper, “What am I going to do?”
“Finish your breakfast?” came an amused voice.
Illona started. “Wha’?”
She looked up, and saw Domenic, looking as tired and sleep-rumpled as she felt. A light smile turned up her mouth, but did not really reach her eyes.
“’morning, Nico,” she greeted her friend.
Domenic did not reply immediately, but simply looked at her, concern evident in his eyes.
“Are you all right?” he asked quietly.
Reflexively, Illona opened her mouth to answer ‘yes’, but then closed it again, thinking. “I’m...managing,” she finally replied, watching Nico’s brow wrinkle in concern.
“I wish there was something I could do....”
“Don’t worry, Nico,” she reassured him, “I’ll be fine.”
But the cheerfulness in her voice sounded forced even to her own ears, and it was evident from her friend’s continued frown that he did not believe her assurances. He reached across the table, his fingers resting gently on hers in the feather-light touch of telepaths, but the thought he sent her way carried all the wordless comfort of a hug.
“Just remember that I’m here for you, breda,” he said softly. “Never forget that.”
She looked up at him, and her smile began to melt the despair in her eyes. She felt her throat begin to close up, and a familiar prickle behind her lids. Not trusting her voice, she replied silently, I know, Nico. And...I’m glad.