Odd, That Entry . . . The Reflecting Pool

I can’t help wondering if I’m being purposely baited.  Oh, well.  I never said that I wouldn’t read it if Jason wrote anything.  I’m just not having any direct contact with him.  Yet, if he reads this, he’ll have my entry for his next story segment.

Night fell on the caravan and Zoe once again, found herself alone.  Canti had been taken away over a week ago, and no word came back to whether he would return.  Of course, Zoe never asked.  Never was there a fear in her heart so deep as the one that engulfed her at the thought of raising Guifford’s temper.  As days passed, she became more and more worried.  She would hear gossip of “that poor child with pneumonia,” and worry it was her only friend.

This was the longest they’d remained in one place and each night, Zoe went out to her reflecting pool and knelt down to pray.  She prayed to her mother, to Jesus, to God, and to her little star of hope.  Yet each morning, when she looked at the organ, the seat remained empty.  She hadn’t realized how much she looked forward to awakening by hearing Canti’s haunting melodies.  But now that they were gone . . .

Guifford focused on other people during Canti’s absence.  He ignored Zoe almost completely.  She didn’t have her partner, Guifford didn’t have Canti, so Zoe’s performance without the sounds Canti could emit from the organ was meaningless.  For this, Zoe was largely grateful.  Her heart was too heavy to dance, anyhow.

One night, as she sneaked out to pray at her pool of water again, she heard muffled yelling from Guifford’s tent.

“Talk, you little wretch, or I swear–!”

The threat was cut off by a sharp slap.  Zoe drew in her breath sharply, soundlessly.  She creeped over to the other side, where she could see two silhouetees, formed by a candle inside.  One was Guifford’s large round shape.  The other, small, thin,wiry.  Smaller than Zoe in height.

“I took you away, sent you to that doctor.  He assured me you would speak!  Do you think I spent all this for nothing?”

Zoe guessed Guifford was holding a paper with the amount he spent in front of Canti’s face.  Still, the boy made no sound, not even a whimper.  Zoe’s face contorted in anger.  If Canti truly wasn’t mute, he would have made some sound by now.  No one could remain so silent in the face of Guifford.  She wanted to run in and save him, but fear and reason held her where she was.  She knew she was not strong enough to overpower Guifford and would be follish to try.

Zoe heard sveral more muffled grumblings, and two more quick, sharp slaps.  Then the tent opened and Canti was literally thrown out.  He landed in the dirt some fifteen feet away, and Guifford closed the tent.  Moments later, the candle went out and all was dark and silent.  Zoe found she was shaking so hard she had to clench her teeth to keep them from chattering.

“C-c-c-canti,” she whispered.  He didn’t move.  Hadn’t moved from where he’d landed.  “Canti?” she murmured again, trying to control the shudders wracking her body.

After what seemed an eternity, he looked up and saw her.  Shadows were across his face so she couldn’t see his expression, but his eyes seemed to light up.  He tried to get to his feet, but collapsed when he put weight on his left ankle.  She ran to him and with her support, they walked away from Guifford’s tent and back to their place to sleep.  Zoe lit a candle and brought it close to him to get a look at his ankle.  She didn’t know what she could do for him after she saw it was swelling and had a red mark, almost like a burn across it, though.  She started to get up when Canti grabbed her arm.  She looked at him.  He pulled a piece of paper and pencil out of his drab clothing and wrote, don’t leave me.

She blinked, reading and rereading his message three or four times.  Her urge to go to her special spot was stronger now that she had seen a dose of Guifford’s temper.  She wanted to escape this daily torment and she wanted to bring Canti with her.

“I won’t,” she whispered to him.  “But your ankle . . . “

It’s nothing, he scribbled.

But it was, Zoe knew.  Perhaps intuitively, but all the same, she knew he would never walk normally again.  The idea to escape, to flee this traveling prison grew stronger, though she did not yet have the courage to voice it.

Do you want me to play? Canti wrote.

She did, but was afraid it would take away her resolve to leave this cursed place, so she shook her head.  Canti looked disappointed, but also like he was trying to figure out what was floating through her mind.  She caught the expression on his pale, gaunt face.  Before he could scribble anything, she screwed up her courage and, hardly believing that these words were leaving her lips, quickly murmured “Let’s escape.”

Well, there’s the entry.  If Jason reads this, here’s what I came up with.  I hope it does help to give something of a springboard for him to work with.  I must admit, I never thought I’d see a new entry in Harlequinn’s_Tear . . .