NaNoWriMo 2007: Chapter 3

Mike stood facing the massive headstone, tracing with his fingertips the elegant letters engraved on it. They were worn, almost gone. At the top, out of his reach, was carved what he assumed to be a family name. Two lines followed:

                                                             NASRIN
                                             To a wild rose, give your love;
                                            From sharpened brier, withdraw.

After that, the majority of the words were unreadable. Presumably they were the names of deceased family members and the dates that defined their lives. Occasionally, letters were legible, but weather had beaten the engravings until they were nearly flat again. Only through immense study in broad daylight would he be able to discern them.

But for now, all Mike could do was wait. He rested his back on the headstone, feeling its chill even through his thick jacket, which he unconsciously pulled tighter around him—always careful to keep his candle away from the ebony fabric. Catching his best attempt at warmth on fire would be less than desirable. And so he settled into his position, staring earnestly at the dark line of trees; he could barely see where their clearing ended and the forest began. Mike only hoped Trinity would glimpse his flickering flame from wherever she was.



Trinity stumbled again, tripping over a root. It was too late. Too dark. There were no stars tonight, no moon. There was only a brutal wind whipping through her bones, yanking at her hair. She continued on dumbly, moving as fast as she could despite the stumbling and collisions with her environment. She couldn’t see where she was going, and she no longer cared. Her voice was cracking, she had been singing for so long, so anxiously, so desperately. Tenseness in her throat had long since begotten horrible pain, but she didn’t care about that, either. Even if she was practically choking on fear, she would maintain the noise level as a distraction from the darkness. After all, the forest was still as silent as a sleek, graceful cat preparing to pounce on its victim, unsuspecting; the least she could do was verbally cover its approach.

Somewhat sardonically, Trinity perfected a mental comparison that made her chuckle in part because of its sheer stupidity. The rest of her motivation was humorless; the analogy made her feel weak, unimportant, moronic. Helpless. A pansy, for lack of a better word. But as much as she wanted to remedy her weakness, she couldn’t help what her mind came up with.

She had to admit, the darkness tonight really was like an impenetrable wall of text. Such walls were not actually meant to be read, but once read, there was no turning back. Trinity supposed that, had she ignored the completeness of night from the beginning, it would not affect her so now. But regret was useless now. The fact of the matter was that she needed to deal with the problem—like the way she dealt with impenetrable walls of text. She, unlike most other forum-goers on the Internets, could actually handle these walls. A mass of words? Piece of cake—no matter how solid, no matter how thorough, more often than not Trinity could pierce it. Impenetrable walls were not so impenetrable to one such as her, which was part of what made the entire analogy so horribly depressing. Why could she perforate structured words with ease, yet could not impale her fear?

The young woman fought back tears, refusing to cry not because she didn’t want to, but because she did not want to give in and surrender her dignity on top of her courage. She had to be brave, for no one but herself.

Something cold and hard caught her ankle; she fell, face prevented from reaching the leaf-smothered dirt by a sudden extension of her palms. Hunched over where she struck ground, she breathed heavily, coughing. Her face burned, but the rest of her body was shivering; the extreme coolness of a November night was taking its toll. Trinity clenched her fists, clutching leaves and damp earth, and pushed herself up onto her knees. She dropped the contents of her hands back onto nature’s carpet, snapped her head up fiercely. She would not give in. She would find solitude, even if it killed her.

Trinity closed her strained eyes, forcing herself back onto trembling but mostly stable legs. After reaching some sort of composure, she raced on, eyes straining in the complete darkness. Instinct told her to keep moving; she would find something, if she could only hope.

She drew her gaze away from the darkness before her, long enough to glance at the sky—for what little good it did, black as the rest of the scene—and called out, “Hey, God, what’s up? I hope you’re doing fine, because I’m really not. I am frightened out of my wits. A little help would be nice.” A short pause, and then, quietly, she said, “I don’t want to break.”

And suddenly there Hope was, shining brightly in the night. Its light pierced the darkness, a frail little flame riding high, wavering, surrounded by the enemy. It persevered, steadied itself again, and was stationary for a moment; then another biting gust attacked, throwing it off-kilter. All this she could see with total clarity, and she giggled, suddenly elated. Fear was still rampant, but the presence of the light was beginning to drive it away.

“Thanks, man. I knew I liked you.”

Trinity’s speed increased further, or perchance it merely felt faster, as she eagerly trained her eyes on the unblemished flame she could see so clearly through the trees. Finally, she emerged from her cage, rushing into a clearing with an air of defiance and triumph, only to see a face aglow in the light of Hope, slowly melting crimson wax.

“Mikey,” whispered the girl, throat parched. Hardly was it within her capability to swallow, but she managed. And soon she was upon him, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, embracing him, unbothered by the flame dangerously near her flammable self.

Mike squeezed her tightly with his free hand, unsure what to do after seeing her face as she stormed frantically out of the forest, eyes wide and staring, darting to and fro like a rabbit’s. He had never before seen her lose it so completely.

Trinity stopped trembling quite so much, and she breathed deeply, inhaling the comforting scent of her best friend. “I’m okay now,” she mumbled into his chest, burrowing her face in his jacket; he was very warm, and she was very cold. Finally she pulled her face away and smiled broadly, if rather falsely. “So, what brings you to these woods this fine evening, kind sir?”

“Just passing through, Miss,” Mike responded without thought, pretending to tip his hat respectfully.

Trinity giggled. “Of course, nothing more than that, to be sure.” She paused, searching the area behind and around her savior. A question was on her lips; she hardly dared to ask, but Mike knew her well.

He checked over his shoulder, eyeing the headstone one last time before turning to walk back to the mansion. “I’m not certain where we are,” he admitted. “There’s a huge house over here, and it looks pretty sturdy, though old and disused. We’re commandeering it for the night.”

Trinity rushed to keep next to the only light source, staying always within its amber glow. “’Kay… So. What are we doing in the morning?”

“Embarking on a brand new quest, level thirty. We find our way home in broad daylight.”

“Ooh… Nice, nice. Experience points?”

“Eh, a lot. The amount varies depending on level and current abilities, and it’s partly random.”

“How unfortunate.” The falsely dramatic air that normally accompanied any conversation with Trinity was severely lacking on this austere night.



Justin squinted at the sudden dis- and reappearance of his own candle’s counterpart; he thought he saw a dark blob walking his way. Then he caught a hint of a multi-skirted outline and grinned. “STARRY!” The raucous cry pierced the night; he could no longer contain himself. In his hurry to meet the pair, Justin dropped his candle in the dewy grass, dousing its flame, but he quickly forgot the candlewick’s plight as his arms found Trinity and he clung to her.

“Are you okay?” Without waiting for an answer, he withdrew a step, grabbed her shoulders, and held her at arm’s length, scrutinizing. Her eyes still appeared swollen and wetter than usual, their color a vivid blue.

“I’m fine,” Trinity responded airily.

“You were crying.”

“Pardon me? I was not!”

“All right, almost crying, then.”

“I shall not deny that.”

Snipe wrapped her in another vicious hug before extricating himself wholly. His gaze darted over her entire body, taking note of the fresh rips in one of her skirts and the dirt smudged over the entire ensemble. He wanted to ask what had happened; however, her tone informed him that she didn’t care to talk about it. Perhaps at a later time, when she felt less like a coward, when she could look back on the experience and laugh, they would discuss it. Perhaps.

Mike coughed, raising his eyebrows. The moment of silence was obviously over and growing awkward. Justin shrugged, releasing some of the tension that had embedded itself in his shoulders.

“Inside we go, if you please,” was Mike’s strong suggestion. “We need to get some rest. All of us.” He stared meaningfully at Justin, who was notorious for staying up as late as possible and awaking at sunrise.

“Okay,” Trinity agreed cheerily.

Justin nodded, pivoting and taking lead. Mike hovered behind Trinity protectively, on guard the moment a frown embraced her expression, only to be disappointed and relieved at the culprit—Trinity’s foot had found the ivory candle Justin had abandoned.

“Snipey,” she began slowly, staring intently at the object that was now in her hand, “don’t you need a light to see?”

“Right… Forgot about that.” Justin carefully accepted the candlestick and flicked open his lighter. The action sent shadows dancing across the boards that supported the mansion’s porch, flickering through ornately carven wood pieces that framed the doors. Trinity glanced up at them before returning her gaze to its steady fixation on the back of Snipe’s head. Unconsciously, she stretched a hand up to stroke his mahogany locks, a gesture soothing to both parties involved.

Then they had crossed the porch and stepped beyond the threshold.

Snipe spared a glance at his female companion when she emitted a soft gasp, startled by the interior of the decrepit mansion. Her eyes were wide with wonder, face aglow and absorbing the experience—the chandelier way up high, the staircase that split to the upstairs halls, left and right, the carved wood, the once luxurious fabrics and rugs… If the edifice was a musty sort of beautiful in its old age, it must have been glorious in its youth.

Trinity was a writer, all right, or at least a lover of knowledge. She wanted to commit every detail of the place to memory; it was apparent in the way her posture corrected itself and her eyes wandered so serenely.

Having concluded that nothing was amiss, Justin refocused his eyes on the path he was improvising and stopped, realizing that he had found the living room. Couches upholstered in rich, textured fabrics rested in disarray across the space, thick rugs seemingly unperturbed at this upset as they lay peacefully beneath layers of ancient dust.

Mike stepped in front of him, intending to test the scarred, formerly elegant loveseat—since it alone remained upright. When he touched the torn-up cushions, dust shrouded the air, bringing with it a whirlwind of coughing. “Right,” Mike choked out, “I don’t think the furniture is in working order.” Immediately thereafter, he perceived a candelabrum leaning crookedly against a dilapidated coffee table which slouched to the floor on broken legs. The candelabrum was beautiful too, matching the style of everything else about the mansion; its base was elegant silver, carven into mysterious patterns, branching into delicate roses and fearsome thorns, interwoven with the occasional cross. Engraved on the bottom were the initials AN in formal script, as though the item had once been a gift. “Trinity, Snipe… Look what I’ve found!” Mike exclaimed, situating his discovery in the light of his candle.

“It’s so… gorgeous,” breathed Trinity, timidly reaching out a hand to stroke a tarnished thorn.

“And it’s the right size,” Snipe interjected, indicating the diameter of the candleholders. “It’s our lucky day!” He grinned wryly, taking the candelabrum into his hands and settling a missing piece into its appropriate hole. There was room for two more candles to find their home in it. Mike placed his candlestick in it as well, leaving the center slot empty, and discreetly hinted that Trinity should be the one to carry it. Snipe, having perceived this, turned to the girl, cordially bowing as he presented it to her. “My lady, ‘tis for thee the bell tolls.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“No.” He raised an eyebrow and shot her an inquisitive look.

She instantly responded, “You just quoted that one poem, or maybe it was prose; I don’t know… Something about ‘For whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.’ And earlier it talks about ‘No man is an island, entire of itself,’ or something. Crap it! I can’t remember…” Trinity sighed dramatically. “‘Meditation Number’… something… I think.” She squeezed her eyes shut, pounding her fist on her skull in a frustrated fashion. “Well, anyway… The bell that is tolling—it’s a church bell. It means somebody died.”

“Oh, well, I just knew that line from somewhere. Thought it sounded cool.” Snipe grinned sheepishly, wrapping an arm around Trinity’s taut shoulders and squeezing gently. “Don’t worry; I don’t plan on ringing a bell over your very dead body at your funeral.”

“Right. Please just spit on my grave. And Mike can dance.” She sent the latter a winning smile.

“I wouldn’t be happy if you had died,” Frag countered grimly, not giving in to her charm.

“Oh, but someone ought to celebrate. Otherwise the funeral proceedings will drag on and on, and get so boring. Death is an eventuality, after all, not a possibility. And all my guests will leave before it’s all said and done.” Trinity pretended to fret, fiddling with the stem of the candelabrum as though she wanted to wring her hands, and exhaled loudly. Then she shrugged. “Ah, well, so much for that. I suppose I shall die an average death. Maybe I’ll be an organ donor!”

“Yeah, because learning how to ride a motorcycle just to abandon your helmet and leathers is a great idea,” groaned Snipe, not without a hint of warning.

Trinity chuckled. “I will, don’t worry.” She grinned devilishly, and then the moment passed. The lone female scratched her foot across the floor where they stood, pursing her lips as she realized it was almost as dusty as the furniture had been. Regardless, she settled down on her bottom, crossed her legs, and placed the candelabrum about a foot in front of her ankles, watching ruby-colored wax drip silently down the side. Then she yawned widely, eyes watering, and removed her black plastic glasses to rub her tired blue orbs. The others followed suit, but only after Mike discreetly checked over his shoulder and scanned the dark room—not that he could see anything more than the splendor of their own tiny, candlelit orb.

“Bedtime,” Justin declared, stretching and yawning obnoxiously; he did enjoy capturing the spotlight. Then he caught Mike’s eye and a thought passed between them: concern for Trinity’s sanity. Trinity curled into a ball on her side, clutching her hands to her chest for lack of her stuffed bear to clasp in their stead. Immediately after she had shut her eyes, Justin adjusted his position so she could feel his slight touch and know he was there.

Appeased, Mike gently blew out the candles. He repositioned himself so that he almost cradled Trinity, and, to his satisfaction, she seemed to relax. Without even allowing time for his eyes to adjust, he welcomed the darkness and its cousin, Sleep.