Cross the Line

As I sat there—the wind whipping through my long black hair—I observed the scene playing out before me. Kalai Itiq, the leading scientist of the largest Ira snack company, was staying late in the lab tonight. He seems to have just cracked some recipe he has been trying to perfect recently and his attention was completely taken over by it. I could see him hurriedly scribbling away at his personal journal from the tree branch where I had perched myself hours ago. What covering the tree was unable to provide for me, my airy clothing and stealth succeeded in picking up.

I quietly propped myself up just enough to hang into the ledge just above the window of a room near Kalai. I whipped out my blade and began sliding it through the slits in the window just enough to loosen the lock and eventually disable it. With my success, I propped the window open slightly and slipped through. I landed gently on my feet, and put my blade back inside its casing; No violence was needed for tonight’s mission.

The storage room floor was dirty and I reminded myself that I would have to wash my clothing as soon as I get home to prevent the dust and leftover crumbs from getting all over my other dirty clothes in the hamper; though I wash them after every mission anyways so this time would obviously be no different. There was no need for me to remind myself of something I was going to do anyways.

Great precautions are taken in places such as these to protect the secrets that lie within. However, room such as the bathrooms and old, hardly used storage rooms always seem to be overlooked. They see no need to spend obscene amounts of money of securing a room that holds no real or current value of importance.

Keeping my feet light, I move myself towards the room where Kalai’s journal lies. In his hurry to write, I noticed that he hadn’t bothered to arm the door. He may also have thought that there was no need since he was going to be in there and surely no one could possibly sneak into the building without being noticed; he wasn’t the only one staying late tonight. I snuck upon him, making sure to stay back behind him, out of his sight range within the room. I waited patiently for him to turn the page, staring on a fresh, blank one, and gave a silent signal to Mackai.

Mackai, my Raven, rammed himself through the window, beak first, and managed to break the glass just enough for him to sneak through and set off the glass break alarm. Shrieking sirens bellowed out through the security part of the PA system and I used Kalai’s momentary distraction to switch out his current notebook for a blank replica. I left out the way I came, making sure to close and relock the window behind me.

I felt comfort in knowing that when the guards check the security tapes—to prove or disprove Kalai’s claim of a bird incident—All that will be seen are empty rooms and hallways. My clothing was specially made for me, and my line of work. It cloaks me for a specific amount of time from the sight of technology, though they haven’t made any advancements in making someone completely invisible meaning shielding them from the sights of living things as well.

I swerved through the quiet streets—the night is always practically uninhabited by humans no matter where you are—avoiding the gazes of those few who choose to roam the night and the light that would magnify my presence in the enemy territory.

Once I was a mile or so away from the building, and there were no humans around that I could see, I ducked behind a great Oak to a bag I had hidden there previously in the day. Tossing my leather strapped dagger holster in my satchel, I shifted my wear to common clothes. My lightweight, grey armor was replaced with a wife beater, a blue T-shirt, and a pair of comfortable jeans. My hair, though it bothered me, was kept down for the same reason the rich, black extra layer of armor remained stationed on my left arm, stretching from my shoulder all the way down to the tips of my fingers; My Mark Of Relations.

The Mark Of Relations is a custom for members of the Iedas clan. When you are born, you are given a black mark that stretches from the fingertips on your dominant hand to your hairline on that same side. Every family has a certain pattern or shape or object weaved into their skin—their soul. A person’s Mark consists of patterns from their mother, their father, and their very own DNA—the thing that makes them real—to make a more complete and visible fingerprint. When other Iedas’ see your Marks, they can know exactly who you are, and who your relations are. Likewise, if an Ira sees your Marks, they know you are an Iedas.

The Sorcerer and his family have their own specific mark that is known to everyone—including those of Ira and the Middle World. Upon them is a crescent moon surrounded by seven stars—one for each of the clan’s basic morals: Strength, Honor, Trust, Secrecy, Unity, Equality, and Loyalty. The Sorcerer is the most important person within the Iedas community, more so than even the King and his court. He or she is able to foresee when something is to happen in the Ira clan or the Middle World that would affect the Iedas clan in a positive or negative way.

The Sorcerer is said to be all seeing and is even called upon by the King to take part in decisions of all kind. The only ones that know that the Sorcerer isn’t really able to see all is his immediate family. While we are sworn to honesty, my kind can be deceitful and are extremely clever. We know how to avoid being dishonest without relaying the truth. This is especially true for members of the Sorcerer’s family. Although he cannot know everything an is not as powerful as most think he is, there is still a terrifying power within him that makes you cringe and want bend to extreme lengths just to stay on his good side. Even his family can be afraid of him, though they dare not express that fear in any way.

I heard the caw of my trusted and beloved Mackai and smiled slightly up at his beautiful sight. Together, we trudged our way back to the desolate land of which the Iedas clan resides. It is literally as if our world is frozen in time. The land, which the Ira clan inhabits, is stuck forever in a middle ground between summer and autumn; the hot, sticky weather bordering on compliment with the never falling brown, yellow, and orange leaves. The Middle World—a the territory inhabited by everyone other than the Iras or the Iedas that lies between the two’s homes—is stuck forever in a luscious green state with flowers in full bloom and perfect weather all year round.

My home, the home of the Iedas, is cold. It’s always cold and snowy, sometimes even rainy. On rainy days where the snow melts away, you can see the bits of budding flowers that are trying to push their way through the ice that will eventually form around them. The only other spring buds and slight flowers that you can see around my home are on the almost bare trees that flow around us.

Making my way through the Borderlands—the passageway to and from any of the territories—I noticed a stranger walking the same path as I, only in the direction of the Ira clan. His bright red eyes broke through the light curtain of shaggy brown hair proudly. He seemed to be strutting down the dirt road in a bit of an arrogant way with a small, woolsack secured to his dagger sheath. This shirtless, tan beauty made no notice of me, for as soon as I made out the shade of a figure on my path I took a detour to walk hidden amongst the trees. There, I can observe my company without being observed—not that I think he would have paid much attention to me anyways; he seemed to be wrapped up in his own gloatful thoughts. He looked up to Mackai once when he cawed, but didn’t notice that my Raven had started to follow him. I guess I wasn’t the only one who was interested in this creature.

The Borderlands eventually died out and I was once again in my ever-chilled homeland. I stripped off my T-shirt and traded it for a long, black trench coat to keep in my warmth as I walked the abandoned streets back to my house. The house itself is very nice, large and white with expensive amenities, but to me it never really felt like he belonged there amongst my parents and their lavish ways. They have always expected so much out of me and I never seem to accomplish it. When I seem to get close, they always raise the bar and do their best to push me to my limits. One day, I swear I’m going to crack.

I climbed the fire escape back up to my third story room and let out a large breath when the heated hair hit my skin. I stripped myself down to my jeans to get comfortable, and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I never really enjoyed being nearly seven feet tall and lean, but it makes people expect less of me. Most people think that because I am skinny that I am weak and because I’m tall I’m clumsy, but it is the complete opposite in both respects. I tucked my hair behind my ear to get it out of my face, my melted brown eyes of deception morphing back into their sharp, icy blue of my true nature. I trail my Marks down my face with my eyes and grimace slightly at one of the many things I am unable to escape: a crescent moon surrounded by seven stars displayed boldly on my chest.