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Neopia's Fill in the Blank News Source | 4th day of Celebrating, Yr 22
The Neopian Times Week 116 > Continuing Series > Deathwoven: Part Two

Deathwoven: Part Two

by catlady87

Whisp glared at the small, smiling creature before her with distaste. "This is what I'm supposed to be taking care of?" she demanded, harsh vocals cold with indifference.

     "Who," snapped back the king's messenger. This business was brought before the king, and when he approved of Whisp and her fighting abilities, she was directed immediately to the King's daughter.

     A small thing she was, a snow-white Aisha, barely coming up to Whisp's midriff. While Whisp was perhaps 18, she was only 8 -- and Whisp had a severe dislike of young children. However, despite her thoughts that she would be conceited, it seemed as if it wasn't true -- for the Aisha was smiling as if her heart was singing. Whisp hated it. There was just something about the creature, perhaps the substance she was woven with -- like Whisp. She was just different.

     "Hello!" she exclaimed brightly. The king's messenger, at this apparent exclamation of approval, promptly left. "My name is Raishre, what's yours?" Her voice was bright and filled with innocence -- having never have seen the true world. Or perhaps she had and continued to regard it with hope and pride.

     "Whisp," said the other flatly.

     "Oh wow…" she said, gasping at the sword by Whisp's side, reaching out a white paw to touch its hilt. "It's beautiful…"

     Whisp moved away quickly so she couldn't. "Yes, it's a nice sword," she said scathingly. "Haven't you any of the sort here?"

     "I'm not allowed near the weapons room," she said quietly, voice dulled to a mere whisper as if she were not allowed to speak of it either.

     "Oh?" said Whisp, allowing only a tendril of curiosity into her voice. "And why not? Shouldn't royalty of your stature be allowed anywhere?"

     Raishre drew back and smiled with amusement as if Whisp was being deliberately ridiculous. "Of course not, Whi.. Whisp. Very little of the castle I am allowed in, and I have never been outside."

     Whisp, at this outrageous claim, promptly gasped and choked slightly. "Never been outside? What… why?!"

     "Dad says that it might be too dangerous." Her little face broke into a scowl as one ear stalk twitched in annoyance.

     Whisp, who had no reply to this, merely fell silent. Walking slowly to the window, she gazed out upon the land. It looked so peaceful from here… what might Raishre have been making up about the outside world? Perhaps Whisp would set her straight. Lights flared in the tents and buildings, marketplaces and streets. Though it looked peaceful, it was not -- death and darkness and betrayal lurked in the shadows and hearts of every person.

     Whisp remembered her mother briefly, and her memories dimmed in a burst of fury. She clenched her fists and gritted her teeth, trying not to break the window in her fit of rage. Her mother was not dead, though Whisp saw her very rarely. A rich, pampered, arrogant jerk she was… and always disapproving of Whisp. Whisp had separated herself from her when she was perhaps a year older than Raishre to become a mercenary. She wouldn't put it past her mother to betray her.

     Startled suddenly by a sudden movement, she was astonished as Raishre wrapped two little arms around Whisp's muscled waist, barely coming to the other side. "We're going to be the best of friends!" she said excitedly, then promptly led Whisp to her room.

     The room was spacious, a table and desk, couch, decorated bed… it was the most royal accommodations Whisp had ever seen, let alone for herself. However, she was never one to turn down an advantage, and so offered a small smile to Raishre. The smile looked more as a predator would grin to prey, so unused to smiling from friendliness was Whisp, but Raishre was certain of the intent. She grinned broadly in return and left. Whisp did the only thing now she could -- sleep.

     Whisp's entity was in a blank, dark, dead room. There was nothing to be seen except the pure black -- pure death. It was physically cold, but Whisp loved it -- she exalted in how the icy feel penetrated her exterior and chilled her very soul. As if she and the cold were one. She could never feel that with heat.

     However, this moment of timeless time was shattered as someone approached her from the front, making his way to her quickly. He was a sandy colored Draik, almost as tall as her and slender. She could not see his eyes, they were somehow shielded by something Whisp could not define. Before she knew it, he spoke.

     "Whisp… you must turn down this job immediately."

     Though she had been thinking the same, of sorts, she was startled. "Why?"

     He hesitated, as if the conversation had turned down a path he was not ready to take. "Because… because you are not made the same as the princess. You are the Deathwoven. Woven from death and canvassed from darkness. Everybody on Neopia is made the same -- born from both dark and light, their souls are woven from a mixture of these. You are different. Your very soul is made only from death and darkness -- most of your kind die in childbirth. You are the only one who has survived this long."

     Whisp was stunned. So this was the reason she was similar to a jigsaw puzzle piece that didn't fit -- as she knew so well. However, her reaction, of course, was to pull a mask of cold indifference over the blind astonishment.

     "And why should I stay away from the princess? No one else has been affected by this strange attribute of mine."

     "Because," he replied, voice slow and dreamy yet equally urgent. "Because she is also made of a different substance. She is woven completely, purely of light and goodness. This is why she views the world with such innocent naivety. She has no death or darkness in her tapestry of life.

     "And why should my darkness affect her light?" Whisp questioned skeptically.

     At this, the stranger paused, as if unsure. "I am not positive, but you must believe me when I say disaster will come of it. I-"

     She cut him off. "Yeah yeah, disaster… the prophecies say… blah blah blah," she fairly snapped. "Prophecies aren't always true, you know -- and your prediction of me being Deathwoven and her Lifewoven is pure guesswork, either that or you think I'm more gullible than I am. How would you know such things, anyway? Leave me now."

     She turned away, pulling her dream up into wakefulness.

     Whisp woke suddenly, gasping, and immediately had no idea where she was. Then she remembered -- guarding Raishre. Sighing with exhaustion as she got up, only to tumble to the ground, Whisp grumpily pulled Darkenbringer on and trod out of the room. It was perhaps 5 in the morning, darkness still reining over the land, yet the smallest bit of orange appearing on the horizon.

     She wasn't sure where she was going, but eventually entered another room, which was half open. What she saw made her feel an emotion that she never had before -- sympathy.

     Raishre was sitting on the floor, crying silently. Her bed was untouched, it looked as if the entire night she had been wallowing in her own misery. Whisp kneeled close to her, and she barely looked surprised.

     "What's up?" Whisp voiced gruffly.

     "Oh…" she said in a shuddering sob. "It's just that I'm so lonely, all the time. My father never pays attention to me, you apparently hate me…" she dissolved in another bout of wordless tears.

     "Don't you have friends?" Whisp asked, allowing her voice to soften slightly.

     "Never have I had a friend, they all assume I'm some stuck up little snob. Plus… the night always makes me kind of depressed." She hiccupped.

     The Krawk felt slightly guilty that she had been prey to the same prejudice, but said lightly. "Look -- I don't hate you, okay? I just…" she felt herself wanting to open up to the eager child as she never had before. The feeling was both unnerving and pleasing. "Its how I react to new people. I always act cold and indifferent so as to protect myself for bad temperament or betrayal."

     The Aisha looked astonished. "But surely you get better results, as a mercenary, being nice to people?"

     "Hardly. What people want for a mercenary is to have a cold attitude -- the colder, the more they assume I am tough enough to do my job."

     "Oh," she said in a small voice, pulling herself together to consider this prospect.

     "If…" Whisp ventured. "If you wanted to perhaps… go outside, I would be able to take you."

     Raishre laughed in amusement. "I would honestly love to, but I can't -- my father would never permit it."

     "Do you always do everything your father tells you to?" Whisp exclaimed in mock indigence. "I have my ways… we could cover you up and no one would be able to tell -- trust me."

     "I'm not sure…"

     "I am. Lets go." And with that, they snuck around the palace to get a robe for Raishre. Raishre eventually caught the art of sneaking into the rooms without a noise, barely a spirit. Whisp coached her that morning, and when they were ready, climbed out the window, Raishre fairly clinging to Whisp. Whisp was used to such escapes however, and did so with ease.

     When they arrived at the ground, the white Aisha donned the thick black cloak so that nothing was visible except her beautiful, sky-blue eyes. It was odd, as they moved co-ordinately, though Raishre barely came up to Whisp's waist. The air still had the icy quality of night, as after the sun goes down in the desert the air turns dark and cold. However, mint-new orange light struck the streets, fighting desperately with the shadows. The shadows were failing. People bustled through the marketplace and streets as if there were no tomorrow.

     The tall Krawkess led the small Aisha through the streets, dodging nimbly among the strangers -- strangers who paid no more thought to them than an Angelpuss pays to a passing insect.

     "This is the real world," Whisp informed Raishre quietly. Raishre was silent, for she loved every second of this new freedom -- ecstatic in the independence.

     Whisp entered the tavern that was so familiar to her that it was an ingrained behavior, Raishre at her heels.

     "Say hi to the princess, Renah," she finally said with a smirk, slipping onto the worn leather stool as she always did. Pulling Raishre onto the stool beside her, she grinned lightly.

     "You can't bring the king's daughter here," he hissed furiously, grabbing the counter as if for support. "What, are you insane!?"

     "No she's not," Raishre voiced indignantly, pulling her hood down just a mite. "Is this a friend, Whisp?"

     "Yep!" She replied proudly, gazing upon Raishre as if she were her own sister. They had instantly bonded -- this morning had yielded to Whisp that Raishre had a lot more spunk to her than her initial view spoke of.

     Against all odds, Renah laughed. "I would never have put it past you, Whisp. You always were crazy. The usual?"

     "Make it two," replied Whisp. She was feeling light-headed with joy, ecstatic with the thought of a new friend -- so close they were practically sisters. She daydreamed for a moment of all she would teach Raishre, and was only broken by the chink of glass on worn wood. She sipped the chava with relish.

     "Here, Raishre," she informed, sliding the other glass to her right. "This is dark chava with ice. Now, you can't tell any… Raishre?" Whisp turned with alarm only to find the stool empty. Raishre was gone.

To be continued...

Previous Episodes

Deathwoven: Part One

Deathwoven: Part Three

Deathwoven: Part Four

Deathwoven: Part Five

Deathwoven: Part Six


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