Chatterbox: Inkwell

I'm a teenager! Run for your lives peoples.......

Anyway. Yeah. It's my birthday. It's nice!!!!

So I will be posting a story on here. I started to write it yesterday and when I woke up I had so many wonderful ideas for it and I wrote for like an hour. It was awesome. :)

Here's the first part:

Ivelliche.

It
was a lovely name, Irys thought. Iv-ell-ih-chee. Born of dusky sunrays and
ice-tinged rain.

            In the days preceding Ivelliche’s
birth she had thought long and hard about a name. And finally, one morning
after a storm, she knew.

            It was the name of Irys’s
grandmother, a whimsical woman she had not known well. Family legend said that
one wild night she had thrown herself off the cliff, just after Ainter, Irys’s
uncle, was born. She had been lost to the meaning of it all, of her life. And
now, lost to the waves.

            Irys had hoped never to lose her Ivelliche. From the day of her
birth, the girl was sweet-faced and impulsive and kind, and the darling of her
mother’s heart.

            But one autumn morning.......

            Irys opened the cottage door,
breathing in the husky fall scent. A thin path trodden into the grass wandered
down the green hill to the valley; beyond that, the trees fanned out into
flame-edged tangerine and golden colors. On her left the mountains rose, and on
her right the cliffs slanted down into the roaring, sparkling sea.

            Ivelliche had always been an early
riser, and so Irys had not been surprised when she woke and did not see her in
the house. No doubt she was out here somewhere, with the wind playing with her
black swirls of hair and flowers in her hands, watching the birds.

            Irys trudged down to the well,
dipping the wood pail down into the sweet cool water, pulling it up with some
effort, trudging back up the path with the hem of her rough skirt swishing
against her ankles. She did not hear a sound anywhere save of bird, wind, and
sea, but she did not really expect to.

            She set the pail down on the table
in the cottage, then went around the other side. Ivelliche liked to lie in the
meadow there and watch the ground squirrels wake up and start looking for food.
But other than a few of these same squirrels it was still.

            Irys stared out at the forest on
this side, slightly puzzled. Ivelliche rarely went far beyond the treeline, and
she would surely be able to see her from here. She turned and looked down the
hill to the other forest, but it was too far away to tell.

            She smoothed back her wood-brown
curls, thinking. She was sure Ivelliche hadn’t gone very far; and once she got
hungry she always turned up. This had happened before. It was just that today
Tharsus, Irys’s husband, was away, and it made her nervous about things like
this.

            Tharsus was not Ivelliche’s father.
That had been Rygla, Irys’s husband of five years past; but he had caught the
serpent-sickness on a fishing expedition. Sea serpents had slithered under his
boat, threatening to capsize it, scaring away the fish. Fishermen knew not to
look into the beasts’ eyes. But one had risen its head up out of the water and
latched its teeth on the prow, and he had no choice but to catch its gaze as he
fought it from his boat. The next day, even though he knew better, even though
he shouldn’t have, he had gone out again. And the serpents had pulled him under
the waves.

            The first Ivelliche. Rygla. How many
more might the waves take from their family?

            About a half hour passed, and no
sign of Ivelliche. Irys, who had been making soup, stepped outside and looked
around at the meadows and the pale sky.

            Where could she be?......

            Irys, suddenly panicked, dashed
around behind the house and ran towards the forest, stumbling on the grass,
dull aches shooting through her calves, noticing the clouds of a coming storm.
When she stopped, breathing hard, at the forest’s edge she saw no one among the
shadows.

            She ran up back on to the hill and
over the path.

            “Ivelliche! Ivelliche!” The hawks
echoed her cry. There was no answer.

            Irys stared out at the empty valley
for a minute, then hurtled down the winding path that led to the beach. To
Reiver Cove, to Reiver Cove, surely she’ll be there.

            She landed at last on the “landing”
where she could see both the sea and the sheltered beach. Bare. Empty. Irys
felt as if it must not be true, but it was: Ivelliche was missing.

            Chills shot through her heart.
“Ivelliche!” she cried as the rain and the wind and the lightning began to war
in the sky above.

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