Emergence of Malia Chapter 2
Silence, the wretched thing that comes between question and answer, that hangs in the air as you take your breath back that you had wasted upon the deceitful, the thing that makes all the difference, is right in front of you, but yet refuses to speak.
I look upon my kidnapper, my brother, the weapon of the destruction of my emotional sanity, who in turn, stares back at me with unforgiving and unapologetic eyes. He does not see any wrong-doing in his actions. It was his duty. It was his obligation. That is the way of the warrior; that is the way he Emerged.
That is what everyone expected of him, it was obvious he would Emerge as a warrior. They believe that of me too, it’s a family legacy, one I have not yet fulfilled.
It’s so difficult to go about my life as an Absent. That’s what I am, an Absent, one who has not Emerged into one’s role or destiny. It usually happens on your fifteenth birthday; I will be eighteen in four months. To Emerge is to find one’s self, to find your place in the web of fate, the blueprint of destiny! Yet I feel like a spare part kicked to the side, not useful in the grand scheme of the Weavers.
The Weavers are the prophets of Fate. They know what goes on in this strange world, for Fate herself grants them the power to do so. They alone with the exception of the almighty Fate can enact the power to change destiny. If you are lucky they will grant you an audience and glean the destiny that Fate has woven for you, though they rarely do. They are comparable to the Pope; the chances at obtaining permission for an audience with the Weavers are slim and sometimes rather impossible. Usually if they want to talk to you they will call, but they themselves must get permission from Fate.
I tried for an audience before I escaped this accursed realm of webs of fate and deception. There was no use in the long run, they have a list, and so few make it. I am one in a million other desperate souls. So I ran, I ran fast and long, and freer then I’d ever been before. All my life I had been caged in, so I fled to the world of the Ignorants, the ones who know nothing about Fate and her Weavers. That is where I met him, my other half, my life, my love, and know I’ve been torn away from him and dragged back to the suffocating bubble of the One World, the realm of my origin.
I stare at my brother with haunted eyes as I repeat my question, my voice is like sand paper grinding against my dry throat when I ask, I plead, “Why?”
“Because my dear sister, it is Fate herself who wove this. It is Fate herself who has granted the Weavers the authority to bring you back home.” He responded lightly but with assertive resolve.
“The Weavers?” I fell my eyes go wide in anticipation of the reason behind their request. Why me? What did I do, or more importantly, what will I do?
“It is not my place to say, though I too wish you to come back, I’ve missed you dear sister. Please don’t make me drag you, because I will.” He said it jokingly as if he had the right to joke with me after what he’d done, he has not realized the severity in his actions that have already shoved me into a stupor state, along with the denial pushing against reason.
“Brother I am afraid that I don’t want to go, and frankly... you can't make me.”