))A small dark green book on the table at the inn has the words "Keep out" scrawled across the front cover, and inside has a page covered in a similarly childish scribble.
I saw Kamik carrying around his red book and writing in it, and I thought I should do the same thing, because there are some things I want to make sure I don't forget lately, and they're all swirling around in my brain and buzzing so loud I can barely think of anything anymore.
I have so much I need to remember and I'm not really sure where to start. I guess the best place would be when I left home to come to Gobaith.
It was three years to the day after my mom died. Like on the prevous two anniversaries, Daddy was really angry; but then, that wasn't different from a normal day anyway. He yelled and swore at me the minute I woke up. "Don't think you're going to spend the day moping about it, brat," he roared at me, before the sun had even risen at the horizon, "You're going to work today like any other day, and I don't want to hear so much as a snivel out of you -- or else". I knew all to well what the 'or else' was and I was keen to avoid it, so I dressed quickly and went outside to begin work in the garden. There were a lot of onions to pick, and weeds to pull, the kind that spring up overnight and leave nasty scratches on your hands when you try to pull them out. By midday, I was tired and hot and thirsty, and my hands were aching. I glanced up at the sun and then rose to get a drink of water from our well. It was cold and sweet, I remember that, remember the sensation of the cool water filling my mouth and then falling smoothly down my throat. It was then that I made the mistake.
I went inside to look for a piece of bread or cheese for lunch, hungry after my long morning outside. Daddy was standing just inside the doorway, as though waiting for me. He had a large, half-empty glass bottle in one hand, and a small, sharp knife in the other. His breath reeked of the drink. Before I could so much as squeak out an apology and scurry back outside, his hand and lashed out and gripped my neck firmly. I knew better than to struggle; the best thing was just to wait it out, not to make him angrier. Always before, when Mommy had been alive, she had tried to make him stop, but he had usually rounded on her too. Only my brother, Anither, had ever been able to make him keep his fists to himself, but Anither had been gone a long time, and he hardly ever came vack to visit. He was much older than me, maybe even fifteen years. But Anither was not there now, and neither was Mommy. It was just me and Daddy, and I knew what was coming.
"Lazy brat," Daddy hissed, his grip around my throat tightening fast, "Why aren't you working? Hm?" His voice rose in anger, until it was so loud I thought wildly that Anither must somehow hear it as far away as he was, and come save me. I guess it must have been another of my wild fantasies thogh, the ones I always got from "reading those rubbish books" as Daddy called it, because he never came. No one did. I stood stock-still, afraid to move and provoke Daddy's anger more, while his fist tightened about my neck the whole time. The knife was still clenched between two fingers, and only my eyes moved to look at it warily. Daddy stared hard at me, his eyes filled with loathing and his face very red with anger and drink. "Well?" he demanded dangerously "Answer me, brat!" it was a trap, and I knew it, for Daddy had always taught me silence. Children should not speak in front of their elders, I had been taught that as long as I can remember. Besides, I couldn't have spoken if I'd wanted to; his hand aroud my throat had gotten alarmingly tight. A combination of that and the heat made my eyes swim and my legs falter. Before I could regain myself, there was a tinkling of broken glass and a sloshing of liquid as the bottle Daddy held fell to the floor and a hard fist met with my cheek. "One of these days," Daddy growled, hitting me again, his hand still tight around my neck, "I'll teach you manners, you filthy brat."
I don't want to relive again what happened, but it was the worst time, ever. Daddy had hit me often before, and I was almost used to it, but nothing could compare with this time. In the end, when he made off to buy more whiskey to replace what he dropped (he had said that was my fault too, and had surely beaten the cost out of me), I awoke on the kitchen floor, my eeys foggy and my head feeling dim. I knew right away it must be bad; I had only passed out twice before, once on the night Mommy died and once when Anither had left home. I struggled to sit up, my head pounding, and grew alarmed at what I saw just in the first glance. I was sitting in a puddle of murky red that was not the drink. Looking down, I could tell already that one, maybe two of my ribs were broken, and angry finger-sized welts running up both arms told me that he had had to hold me in place. It took me over an hour, but I fially managed to get up and make it to the looking-glass that had been Mommy's. I nearly fell over in shock at what I saw. I didn't even look like me anymore. My face was swollen and purple, and I had a long cut running across my cheek. Where I could see my neck, it too was purple, and there were finger-sized welts there as well. With a feeling of dread, I stripped my bloodied clothes off in front of the looking-glass and gaped. My ribs were definitely broken, three of them jutted out at odd angles. My stomach, legs, everything, were mottled purple and blue and red over the old yelows and browns and greens. My neck was puffy and red and a long cut ran down the left side of it. It was still bleeding, but that wasn't the source of the blood, I knew it. With dread, I turned around and turned my head as far over my shoulder as my stiff neck would allow. There. That was it. Angry welts and bruises covered my back as well, and a deep gash traced its way along my spine, just to the right of it. It was deep, and it was oozing blood as well as a nasty greenish-yellow substance. I decided I didn't want to know what that meant. As I stood there, barely able to keep upright and staring atmy broken and miscolored body in the mirror, I knew it had gone too far. Another day like this and I would be dead. Silently and as quickly as I could, I dressed in fresh clothes and gathered what few possessions I had, stole some copper from the jar Daddy kept on his dresser, and fled the house before he came back.
I made my way to the harbor and waited until the boat was about to set off, then I snuck as quickly and quietly as my injuries would allow to the cargo hold. There I sat between stacks of precariously balanced boxes and crates, holding my breath and hoping no one would come to check down here and throw me away into the sea. I survived by nibbling on crackers I had brought with me, and I found a barrel of drinkable water on board. I do not know how long the journey was, for there were no windows where I was. What seemed like ages later, the boat finally docked again, and I placed some copper on top of the nearest box, as payment for my journey. I snuck off the ship and began walking, taking care to ensure my injuries were hidden. I may have walked a bit stiffly, I don't remember. At any rate, I found some plants on the ground that I remembered Anither using on my bruises before. I crushed one and hastily pressed it to my face, hoping that the marks would be hidden before I ran into anyone. If I showed up bruised, people would be sure to ask where I had come from, and I did not want to be sent back. Eventually, I ran into a friendly-looking elfess, or elfy lady as I had always called them. I felt inexplicably shy; I had never actually spoken to anyone besides Anither and my parents. I took a few deep breaths, and then remembered the heroine of a book I had read multiple times and loved. The heroine's name was Rhiannon, just like me, and she was a brave warrior. I decided I would be just like that Rhiannon. I was tired of being scared. So, mustering my courage, I walked up to the elfess and asked her where I was. It turned out I was on an island called Gobaith, right near a city called, I think, Trolls Barn. I didn't care for the city name; Gobaith struck me to the heart. It was the very island Anither had last mentioned living on. After a fairly short conversation wit the elf, who had a very long name I can't spell, but called herself De'am for short, I ran into a dwarf, whom I bought some armor from. If I was going to be Rhiannon the warrior, I needed to be well-equipped. I couldn't afford the dwarf's prices for weaponry, though, so I went without for then.
It was soon after that that I met Aokan, but I'm tired and I'll write about that later, and how I was reunited with my brother Anither.
