K
Kitti
Guest
Having looked over the entries for July, I'm excited to see how the vote goes! There were many wonderful entries and I thank everyone who submitted a piece for working hard and sending in excellent submissions for us to read! Without people writing, this would be a dull contest indeed!
Remember that until the winners have been announced, the entries must remain anonymous. It's super exciting to have people commenting on your work and hard not to reply to any questions or criticism but there will be time for that after the winners are chosen. Keep the rules of voting and reviewing in mind and enjoy this month's MISC entries!
The theme for July was:
Write a story based upon one of the following quotes:
The prizes for winning are as follows:
The Community Pick winners will be selected by the votes cast in this thread. If entries in the Community vote tie for first place, all of those entries will be rewarded with the prizes. Once the voting period is over and the Community Winner has been determined, this thread will also be used to announce the recipient of the Managers' Pick prize.
Now let's get to the fun part, the entries!
Remember that until the winners have been announced, the entries must remain anonymous. It's super exciting to have people commenting on your work and hard not to reply to any questions or criticism but there will be time for that after the winners are chosen. Keep the rules of voting and reviewing in mind and enjoy this month's MISC entries!
The theme for July was:
Family
Write a story based upon one of the following quotes:
- "It runs in the family"
- "Familiarity breeds contempt"
- "The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb."
The prizes for winning are as follows:
MISC MANAGERS' PICK
One month of free Donator status complete with perks, a special victory ribbon under your avatar for a month, a spot in the MISC Hall of Fame thread to immortalize your win.
MISC COMMUNITY PICK
A special victory ribbon underneath your avatar for a month and a spot in the MISC Hall of Fame thread to immortalize your win.
One month of free Donator status complete with perks, a special victory ribbon under your avatar for a month, a spot in the MISC Hall of Fame thread to immortalize your win.
MISC COMMUNITY PICK
A special victory ribbon underneath your avatar for a month and a spot in the MISC Hall of Fame thread to immortalize your win.
The Community Pick winners will be selected by the votes cast in this thread. If entries in the Community vote tie for first place, all of those entries will be rewarded with the prizes. Once the voting period is over and the Community Winner has been determined, this thread will also be used to announce the recipient of the Managers' Pick prize.
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Please make sure to read over the rules for voting and giving feedback before jumping on in.
Keep in mind that entries may contain graphic material. Only entries containing explicit sexual content will be marked NSFW. -
- All entries will be posted anonymously. Voters will need to make a selection based on the quality of the piece, not the name attached to it.
- There will be two winners for each month of MISC: the Community Pick that receives the most votes, and a Manager Pick that will be decided in secret by the MISC managers. Each will receive separate but similar prizes for their accomplishment. On the rare occasion that there is a physical or monetary prize for the month, it will be awarded along with the Manager's Pick to avoid any temptation to pull shenanigans with the votes.
- In the case of a tie in the public vote, each winner will receive the Community Pick prize package.
- People who have entered the contest can vote, but they can't vote for their own entry or it'll be disqualified. Show some love to your fellow writers or don't vote, whatever feels right to you. Votes will be public knowledge so we can keep track of this.
- You aren't allowed to tell anyone which entry is yours until AFTER the voting period is over. Doing anything to solicit votes is not allowed and will get you disqualified, and perhaps even banned from MISC altogether. Telling your friends "hey, I entered MISC this month, go read the entries and vote" is fine; telling people "go vote for #4, that's my entry" is not okay.
- Voters are highly encouraged to read through every entry before voting. We know we can't enforce this, but try to give everyone a chance before picking your favorite.
- The entry with the most votes at the end of the voting period will be declared the Community Pick for that month. However, if the community makes the same selection as the managers, then the second highest vote recipient will be named Community Pick; we don't intend to make the vote seem like it's playing second fiddle to our pick, it's just how it has to work so prize distribution makes sense when there are gift certificates or similar to be won, sorry! The winning entry will win fabulous prizes (fabulousness not guaranteed) and will win a permanent spot in the MISC Hall of Fame thread for all eternity (or until Iwaku explodes).
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- Voters are highly encouraged to post in the voting thread to explain their choice. Full reviews or critiques of the entries are very welcome, but please keep any criticism constructive and civil. Telling someone that their spelling errors and odd word choice made it hard to read is fine, but telling them that they write like shit is not okay.
- Number/letter grades are also highly discouraged as they tend to be arbitrary and to vary widely in interpretation. This applies to any form of comparative grading. It is better to list strengths and weaknesses from the rubric for each entry based on its individual merit rather than assigning a grade.
- If you would like, you may use the same rubric that the managers will be using, provided below. It's entirely optional; don't feel obliged.
MISC MANAGER'S RUBRIC
TECHNIQUE
- Are there spelling/grammar errors or typos? Many, or just a few? How did it affect your ability to read and follow along with the story?
- Is sentence structure and word choice varied? Does the writer show a good grasp of vocabulary and punctuation usage?
- Are there any odd word choices or places where you stumble? Is everything clear and easy to understand?
STYLE
- Do you get a sense of the narrative voice when reading along? Is it consistent throughout the narrative?
- Do the punctuation and sentence structure show a sophistication of style? Does it seem like deliberate choices were made to create a certain flow?
- Is there use of vivid, engrossing description? Can you easily picture scenes in your head?
- Does the story captivate your interest? Do you find yourself skimming?
CHARACTERIZATION
- Do characters have distinct, believable voices of their own? Is the dialogue natural or does it feel forced?
- Do characters show complexity and depth of emotion? Do you get a sense of who they are and what motivates them?
- Do the characters seem appropriate for the setting?
- Do the decisions made or conclusions reached by characters within the scope of the story make sense? Do we learn more about them through their actions?
- Are the characters likable or interesting? Do you have any strong emotion toward them?
CREATIVITY
- Are the plot and/or setting fresh and original? Do they show imagination?
- Are there any new twists on old ideas or common elements? Has the writer surprised you?
- Are there any subplots or underlying themes that you can identify?
- Has the writer used symbolism, metaphor, allegory, or subtext?
COHESIVENESS
- Does the story adhere to the prompt? How closely? Is there any way you feel it deviates from the spirit?
- Do the ideas involved seem fully developed?
- Is there a plot? Do you get a sense of advancement in the story? Do characters learn or accomplish anything?
- Does the story make sense as a whole and flow seamlessly from beginning to end? Is there anything that feels like it doesn't fit or is unnecessary?
- Is the ending satisfying? Does it feel like a complete story?
Now let's get to the fun part, the entries!
Trystan frowned at the odd collection of liqueurs he was inspecting. His local liquor store advertised it as brand new and totally worth a try...
Except, maybe, that the theme was some sort of...-He didn't even know why- anime theme? Curiosity drove him far enough to actually inspect them, but he wasn't going to buy some freaky anime shit. He just wanted a good drink.
A lot of times, it felt like everyone was taking things too seriously. Or rather, they think everything's too complicated.
Trystan was a simple guy. He wanted to drink an alcoholic beverage that tasted good. It's hard to do that if you're screwing around with the labelling or the branding and not worry about minor details like the actual taste. Sure, public exposure is important, but the legitimate fucking product made them come back.
A lot of times, it felt like nobody understood that.
A small click rang across the store. Some sort of muttering about bags...
Was that a gun?
The tall man with shaggy brown hair turned around and looked at the cashier and found that some group of wannabe robbers were holding the man up with .22 revolvers. The cashier gave the standard issue "Please don't kill me, I have a family!" Routine to the robbers as he filled a shopping bag with money.
Trystan had to hold back a sigh. Those robber idiots didn't even hold their guns properly. They were tilting it to the sides like some ganger wannabes. They had their middle fingers on the triggers and their index fingers on the fucking cyllinders. It's amazing that they didn't drive on the wrong side of the road. It would've done wonders for the gene pool.
Sadly, they chose the wrong time. He didn't want this store to close shop due to people blabbing like itty bitty exagerating parrots. Then, he'd have to walk twenty minutes to get to the closest booze store. He couldn't blur to it, because Ashley always kicked up a fuss when someone swore they saw the Flash.
Trystan casually walked towards the robbers, clearing his throat loud enough for all three to turn and point their little peashooters at him threatening.
"Get down! Down on the ground!" One screamed, pointing to the floor. It was obvious the imbecile was the leader, because the goons behind him started nodding their heads like bobbleheaded monkeys.
Do as chief say! He got gun! He scary!
The thought made Trystan laugh right in the man's face. It was accidental, but he wasn't going to regret it.
"You laughing at me? Bitch, I'll kill you! You wanna die, asshole?"
"It wasn't on my things to do today, no." Trystan stated dryly, sighing as he already felt done with this dumbass.
Deep breath. In. Out.
"Listen. Rob the gas station two blocks from here. The cashier there is an assho-"
"Bitch I have a gun and I'm telling you to get DOWN!"
Trystan groaned. The man's screaming gave him a headache. Nonetheless, he tried to be civil: "Listen. Could I j-"
Bang.
Trystan's head jerked back from the impact as the piece of lead flattened itself against his skin. He sighed as he picked the hot piece of slag off his forehead and just raised an eyebrow at the dumbstruck group.
"I have to say. Good sh-"
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU, YOU CRAZY FUCKING BATSH-"
Trystan blurred in front of him and slammed his jaw with a right hook. Trystan's fist had enough force to send the entire jaw flying to the man's left. The leader monkey sank down to his knees, out like a light and his tongue lolling out. Trystan promptly kicked him in the face so hard, his skull caved in and he smashed into the cashier's counter.
He let out a tired sigh as the three remaining people just stared in awe and terror. They couldn't properly process it, it happened too fast for them to even grasp the concept of their friend dying so savagely. Blood poured out of his jaw and flattened face as his heart seemed to not have noticed that the man itself was dead.
The one to Trystan's left tried to run, so Trystan grabbed him by the arm and flung him into the other guy. The two rolled around in pain, apparently something broke, and Trystan promptly crushed their skulls with a few stomps of his leather shoes.
"Please! Please I have a family! Don't kill me pl-"
"Shut up."
The cashier whimpered behind the counter as Trystan walked to the closest bottle of liqueur he could find.
The writing said it was some sort of... Marshmallow thing? Why not.
He held up the pink bottle with neon blue writing on it as he asked, "Can I keep this?"
The cashier gave a furious nod. He was crying and trembling, but he seemed at least coherent enough to respond.
"Thanks."
He walked out the door, sighing slightly in irritation.
The police was going to make a fuss about this. The press was going to have a feeding frenzy. Thankfully they didn't have his DNA on the usual databases, but Ashley was going to visit him for sure. Rant about some nonsense about laying low like he actually wanted to kill those stupid bastards. She'd probably try and relocate him again, but honestly he didn't see the point about it. Whoever was "Out There" looking for him, would most likely already know where he was. The world's gone too small, thanks to the techno-hooha.
He missed the civil war, where he could just vanish and nobody gave two shits about him anywhere else. Nobody could record him and cause a massive uproar of terror because something they didn't understand was in their midst. It got so bad that his family had to hook up with the Feds.
At least he had a free drink.
He opened the bottle quick enough, taking a deep swig. The sweet flavour hiding the burn and the almost-sharp taste of the alcohol slid smoothly down his gullet. He gave a small smile.
At least he had a free, good drink.
* * *
"What the hell were you thinking!?" Ashley screamed, her fiery red hair twirling in that ponytail of hers. The girl was a whole foot smaller than Trystan. It was something he loved to point out by petting her when she's not as angry at him, but this time was different. She's rather furious at the man for his "Selfish, reckless stunts that give me a fucking headache!"
She's been screaming at the bored faced man for about... an hour? What was the time...
A quick glance at his smartphone proved that she was shouting for about -yup- an hour.
"Fucking listen to me!" Ashley screamed, swatting his phone out of his hand. The thing flew across his little apartment and managed to hop straight out of his open window.
He sighed. He just got that phone, and now it's met a six-floor descent to death.
Ashley flinched at the gesture, fear in her eyes as she looked at him. She sometimes remembered that he could kill her with an angry swat. With routine stuff she forgets, but every now and then if she did something she was sure would piss the man off, she remembered.
As bad as it was , she was actually pretty hot looking with such a hidden terror for him. It made him feel in control, which was his kink. He's a simple guy like that.
"Sorry..."
"You guys just gave me the phone." Trystan stated dully with a sad sigh.
"Yeah. Sorry." Ashley repeated, though she looked incredibly more at ease. The big, scary monster wasn't angry, so she could live until she did something rash like that again. Then she could figure it out again. And again. Until the thought finally sinks in that he wasn't a guy that sweats over the little things.
Trystan waved her off "Your loss. I didn't even pay for the damn thing."
She scoffed, shaking her head as the last bits of fear left her. "This is still a nightmare to clean up, Trystan. I wish you'd just play along and live in some bunker somewhere."
"Well, I tried that. It's rather boring."
"Yeah. The organisations we keep you from are very glad about that one."
Trystan gave a shrug "Exactly how are these supposed criminal elements even going to turn me? Just keep me here. The cops will do a search and everyone will be scared shitless, but that wouldn't change whether I go or stay."
"Trystan, it's too dange-"
"It would be, if I was human. I'm not, though. I'm also not in the mood to move to fucking Nowheresville again. I'm staying."
"Trystan, you can't jus-"
"What are you going to do? Seriously, what do you people even have that can hurt me enough to worry?! Just let me have my peace!" He exclaimed, stepping forward as he got worked up.
The effect was immdediate. That toxicly attractive fear came back in her eyes, and she took a step back "Okay okay... I'll tell them you're being incooperative."
Trystan sighed, feeling his frustration ebb away at the sight of her fear, "Yeah. You do that."
He didn't like scaring her. Well, his heart didn't. She's just doing her job, after all. No sense in getting angry at the messenger, even if she knows what messages they'll send in the future will be, as well.
She slowly backed away, but he didn't want her to leave with her just being scared like that. He cleared his throat audibly "You want some coffee?"
Ashley blinked, so Trystan kept pushing
"You know? The stuff that makes you warm and tastes bitterly good? Especially if you add enough sugar to cancel the bitter?"
Ashley laughed, a melodic little noise, and nodded "I know what coffee is, Trystan."
"You want some?"
"Yeah, why not?"
"Good. Milk? Sugar?" the young man asked, his lips quirking just so slightly upwards at the edges of his mouth.
* * *
Trystan examined the liqueurs in his unclosed liquor store. They didn't have any more of that good marshmallow stuff. He'd just have to settle for some Kahlua.
The cashier, a new girl with a warm face, smiled at him as he gave her his government backed credit card to pay for the thing. She tried to give a friendly conversation, but it became clear that Trystan was only there for the booze.
Walking home, the man's phone buzzed in his back jean pocket. Raising an eyebrow, he fished the thing out and found that Ashley was calling him.
What did she want? It's not like he went on some sort of killing frenzy. Regardless, he answered the phone, "Hey Ash, how's it going?"
"She's alive, and for that, you should be grateful"
Trystan stopped in his tracks, blinking in surprise at the male voice. Besides not being Ashley, he had quite a french tone to his words. He knew enough English to not fuck up the words, though.
"Who is this?" Trystan asked, the serious tone surprising him as he started walking very quickly to his home.
"Someone from an organisation that knows about you, Mister Trystan. We have a simple job for you, and in return, you'll get your friend back."
Trystan thought of denying her importance, but they might call his bluff and actually hurt her for it. Trystan didn't want her to get hurt because of him, that's just stupid.
"What's the job?" He started carefully, walking back home as if nothing had happened and some Frenchy wasn't threatening his handler's life in return for something that's probably going to be ridiculous and needlessly tedious.
"Simple, really. You're going to kill a few very rich men for my organisation. No questions. No insubordination, or the girl dies."
"Kill her, and I'll tear you apart, muscle by muscle, and feed them to you until you pass out."
The line went quiet for a moment before the man hissed "You don't even know where I am!"
"Yeah, and this is the eighteenhundreds. I'm not watched 24/7. My phone isn't tapped, and I have a cult of worshippers I sneak off to when satelites are kind enough to not spy on me. And there's definitely not a thing like call tracing."
"What?"
"I'm watched by the feds, you dumb, fucking bitch."
Another small moment, and then some very intriguing French words came out of the man's mouth, no doubt curses before he hung up.
Trystan counted to four and his phone rang. He didn't bother to check the ID as he started, "Where are they?"
"Listen it's too ris-"
"Tell me where they are or I'm going go to the nearest skyscraper and I'm going to rip the steel support beams off with my [/i]bare hands[/i]."
"Gawdammit, Trystan!" the General shouted.
Trystan didn't reply. He just waited until the man decided to give him the coordinates.
"She's downtown. I'll text you the address."
"Good. Bye."
Trystan hung up, walking towards downtown until his phone beeped with an address in the form of a shiny, new text message.
More likely than not, they're going to move. Which only meant that Trystan had to move faster.
He ran a bit in place, then leapt in the air.
The moment he hit the ground, he became a blur.
Through and past and over and under: Trystan ran with the speed of a jet engine and the control of...
He couldn't think of something that had a lot of control and sounded cool. A lawnmower?
Trystan ran with the speed of a jet engine and the control of a fucking lawnmower
Perfectly awesome if he said it in his own head. After all, it wasn't like someone was actually going to read his thoughts or something. That'd be fucking weird.
Five minutes of running led to some building that seemed have no outward signs of advertisement, but was some sort of office thing regardless.. He found the getaway car they were organising already prepped and ready to go in the side alley, it's engine growling in the early moonlight.
Trystan casually went up to the driver and looked the man in the eyes with his own brown orbs "Guess who I am-mmmmmm."
Trystan didn't even bother to be surprised as a gun's barrel was shoved in his mouth. Trystan only sighed through his nose and bit down into the thing. The unpleasant taste of metal filled his mouth as he spat out the cold-cut barrel. Trystan heaved a tired sigh at the dumbstruck driver as recognition dawned on him as to who he had just almost shot.
"You guessing right yet?"
A furious nod.
"They still in there?"
Another nod. Trystan caught the scent of ammonia trapped in piss.
"Good. Drive away."
Another, far more relieved nod. The man was crying from joy and relief as he started the car and got the fuck out of there.
"Hey! What the fuck, man!" Someone behind Trystan screamed, holding his hands up in exclaimed confusion as the van skidded off. Trystan smiled to himself as the man asked, "And who the fuck are you"
Trystan turned around and gave the man a bored look.
Recognition poured in the man's face. Then terror. "Ohhhhh shit."
Trystan only nodded "You gonna give me a problem?"
The man shook his head furiously, stepping out of the narrow alley's doorway to give Trystan space to walk through. "No... No Sir."
Trystan gave a nod "Swell. Now go away and don't bother me again."
He nodded furiously, making his ponytail jerk back and forth like some toddler was playing with a piece of rope. Then was off, running away and probably thanking God or Allah or his luck or something.
With a quiet sigh, Trystan stepped into the doorway.
They had a nice little setup, he'd give them that. Four rooms with one being set up with some fancy schmancy tech shit. One with a bit of an armoury. One with what looked like sleeping quarters and...
There we go. The holding cell.
He found Ashley sprawled on the floor, out like a light, with a lot of bruises and cuts. Her delicate little face a swollen mess of cuts and black-and-blue. There was a small pool of dried blood just under her, and her fingers were all bent wrong.
They probably tortured her for information.
BANGBANGBANG
Trystan felt his form jerk back from a three round burst of an assault rifle. The rounds went through his shirt and flattened themselves rather uselessly against his skin.
Turning to the shooter, he found none other than his favourite Frenchy holding the gun and trigger with trembling hands as he spouted a whole litany of French sounding words. His eyes were desperate. Sweat poured from his forehead before the man's face erupted with a devious Eureka.
As he moved to point the gun at Ashley, Trystan was already between them, bending the hot barrel sideways with a small tilt of his head. The Frenchy tried to run, but found Trystan's hand, clamping in that finely groomed hair of his, stopping him.
"I'm a simple man." Trystan started, flinging the crying Frenchy backwards into the wall. Trystan knelt down and grabbed his foot.
"I just like some sleep, a good booze and a decent meal. I'm also a caffeine addict, come to think of it." Trystan stated bordly, pressing his foot in the Frenchy's shin and twisting his foot the wrong way. The Frenchy screamed and screamed until his voice cracked and went very girly, but Trystan continued without much delay.
"I'm also a predator, mind you. I've got that itch in me to hurt people. I like it when people are scared of me. I take a certain sadistic pleasure from it." Trystan stated, grabbing the man's other leg and forcing the bones to bend until it fractured. Little bony spikes jutted out from the middle of the man's shins.
"My dad was like it too. Guess it runs in the family or something. He was lucky, though. He actually managed to find a girl that liked him. A Frenchy just like yourself, or rather a Holy Roman. She was quite the masochist. She got off on being scared shitless of him. Can you believe that?"
The only replied was incoherent, manic screaming. It made Trystan smile.
"I can, because she was my mom. She gave birth to me, which made her ovaries shrivel up like a dead cactus. The female body can only handle one birth of my kind. She barely survived my birth as is, so it's a good thing that she didn't have any eggs left after that. What with the two of them shagging like rabbits until both of them died together."
Trystan shrugged, then jabbed his hand into the man's side, ripping out one of his ribs and impaling the crying Frenchy's shoulder with it.
"Can you believe that?" He asked the incoherent, sobbing, pissing piece of shit before he went on without a care in the world "We still die of old age. We die even quicker if we have a mate. But, I guess that's to stop us from overpopulating the world. Even with one child per generation, and one generation being so long, it'd stack up quickly enough."
Trystan got up to his full length, then stomped into the other shoulder. He felt the bones crack underneath his sneaker's sole, and felt a headache start to rise from his skull from the sheer volume of girly screams from the previously confident Frenchy.
"You're not even listening to me, so why do I bother?" He sighed visibly, then promptly lifted his foot and introduced it to the man's face. Again and again and again. He only stopped when he realised that he was just stomping on the gooey, bony remenants of someone's head.
His sneakers were ruined now, but at least it wasn't his favourite pair.
A small groan erupted from the prone form of Ashley, and Trystan blurred towards her, taking her gently in his arms and carrying her bridal style as he walked out at normal speed.
Not a lot of people enjoyed blurring away to safety. The sudden acceleration tends to kill them.
He smiled to her as one of her eyes managed to open with the swelling, but the other failed, "Morning, Ash. Had a bit of a rough night, huh?"
She made some sort of groan or whimper, he couldn't tell which, before her eyes slowly closed again as she lost consciousness.
"Ya. Figures, you'd like to sleep this one off." He stated a bit more to himself than her.
"Don't worry. You'll be back to drinking coffee with me in no time."
* * *
Trystan took a long sip of his coffee, smiling slightly at the bandaged up Ashley sitting beside him. She recovered enough to use a bit of her one hand, shakily holing her coffee cup and making a mess everywhere on the cheap wooden table. Trystan didn't mind, though. He never sweated over the little things like that.
"How does it taste?"
"It tastes like shit, Trystan."
"Ahh, so the doctor was wrong? You did suffer brain damage."
"Fuck off, you~" she laughed, showing no more fear in those delicate, damaged eyes.
Trystan chuckled to himself, letting the hot coffee in his hand spill on his jeans. He gave a small sigh of disappointment as he realised that his jeans were going to be sticky, later on. Nothing to worry his little head over, however.
He took a sip, making a face of disgust "We really need better coffee. This one was a miss."
"Ya think?"
"I'll go get some more, you just stay here and be pretty, okay?"
"Not too hard for me, with my pretty face and all that"
Trystan frowned, his lips bunching together. Was that a bitter comment, or was it a sarcastic one? That's what's been bothering him. He couldn't quite get a bead on whatever that woman was feeling, no matter what he tried. He supposed it's got something to do with her work history for the Feds, but he honestly didn't know one way or the other.
He sighed, shaking his head as he gambled on the bitter meaning "I meant that, you know."
"I know, but you don't look at the mirror every day. You don't see yourself like this."
So she was bitter? It's a good thing he was right.
"I would've kissed you if it weren't for pesky things like pain."
"I can't turn it off, or be invincible like you."
"I'm not invincible. I'm just very hard to kill."
She scoffed, shaking her head. "Go get us some more coffee."
"Yes Ma'am."
* * *
The new place they sent Trystan was very, very cold.
Stupidly cold.
He clung to his own body as he dressed like an Inuit going out to hunt a polar bear or some shit. He trudged along the snow covered sidewalk as saw the mist from his breath slowly and exit his sight. It was... strangely satisfying. Even now, almost a month after they had moved here, he still enjoyed breathing out air and pretend he was a steam engine.
Such a simple little thing.
He stepped into the warm, airconditioned store, sighing from the change in temperature. He went to grab a new sort of coffee, a bit fancier than the last one but hopefully not too bitter, and turned to find something that made him sigh.
Someone was robbing the cashier. With a .45 calibre revolver. The man had at least a ski mask on and had a duffel bag to put the money in.
He let out a visible groan of frustration, slowly closing his eyes.
This, of course, let the man spot him and point the thing at him "Get down! Down on the ground!"
"Fuck off." Trystan stated bitterly, "You have no idea how badly I want to get out of this situation"
"Then Get Down!" the man started again, wagging that revolver around like a toddler wags his dick.
A deep sigh came from Trystan. He gave the robber a disappointed look before blurring the gun out of the man's hand.
In one quick instant, he held the gun of the robber in his own hand, leaving the dumbstruck cashier and robber to just gawk at him. Then he proceeded to spook them by bending the gun barrel like some cartoon character
Trystan nodded with approval as he started to speak, "Okay, so you're going to fuck off," he pointed to the robber "And you're going to not call the cops." he pointed to the cashier.
Both parties nodded furiously. Trystan gave a nod of satisfaction himself, before pointing at the robber "And you. If I ever see you robbing a place again, I'm going to rip your jaw off and jam it into your eyesockets. You understand?"
The robber gave a furious nod
"Good. Believe it or not, I don't actually want to do that. My girlfriend would kill me."
The two tilted their heads in confusion at his words, so Trystan bent the gun's barrel the other way to make them focus on him as a predator, rather than a weirdly powerful guy who's afraid of his girlfriend.
"This never happened, okay?"
Furious nodding.
"And if I do hear you guys blabbed, I'm going to rip your throat out," he began, pointing to the robber "and stuff it down yours." He finished, pointing to the cashier.
The two swallowed visibly.
"Do I make myself clear?"
More nodding, furious and accented with agreements and "Oh Yeah"s.
Trystan gave a nod, then picked up a bottle of liqueur. Inspecting the label proved that it was some sort of strawberry thing. He held it out to the cashier "Can I keep this? You know as payment for stopping the robber?"
Another nod. Why do people lose their voice when they're scared?
"Thanks."
He promptly walked out, undoing the cap and taking a long draw of the surprisingly sweet stuff, even for a liqueur.
Still: Good drink. Better, considering it's free.
Better not tell Ashley about any of this...
Except, maybe, that the theme was some sort of...-He didn't even know why- anime theme? Curiosity drove him far enough to actually inspect them, but he wasn't going to buy some freaky anime shit. He just wanted a good drink.
A lot of times, it felt like everyone was taking things too seriously. Or rather, they think everything's too complicated.
Trystan was a simple guy. He wanted to drink an alcoholic beverage that tasted good. It's hard to do that if you're screwing around with the labelling or the branding and not worry about minor details like the actual taste. Sure, public exposure is important, but the legitimate fucking product made them come back.
A lot of times, it felt like nobody understood that.
A small click rang across the store. Some sort of muttering about bags...
Was that a gun?
The tall man with shaggy brown hair turned around and looked at the cashier and found that some group of wannabe robbers were holding the man up with .22 revolvers. The cashier gave the standard issue "Please don't kill me, I have a family!" Routine to the robbers as he filled a shopping bag with money.
Trystan had to hold back a sigh. Those robber idiots didn't even hold their guns properly. They were tilting it to the sides like some ganger wannabes. They had their middle fingers on the triggers and their index fingers on the fucking cyllinders. It's amazing that they didn't drive on the wrong side of the road. It would've done wonders for the gene pool.
Sadly, they chose the wrong time. He didn't want this store to close shop due to people blabbing like itty bitty exagerating parrots. Then, he'd have to walk twenty minutes to get to the closest booze store. He couldn't blur to it, because Ashley always kicked up a fuss when someone swore they saw the Flash.
Trystan casually walked towards the robbers, clearing his throat loud enough for all three to turn and point their little peashooters at him threatening.
"Get down! Down on the ground!" One screamed, pointing to the floor. It was obvious the imbecile was the leader, because the goons behind him started nodding their heads like bobbleheaded monkeys.
Do as chief say! He got gun! He scary!
The thought made Trystan laugh right in the man's face. It was accidental, but he wasn't going to regret it.
"You laughing at me? Bitch, I'll kill you! You wanna die, asshole?"
"It wasn't on my things to do today, no." Trystan stated dryly, sighing as he already felt done with this dumbass.
Deep breath. In. Out.
"Listen. Rob the gas station two blocks from here. The cashier there is an assho-"
"Bitch I have a gun and I'm telling you to get DOWN!"
Trystan groaned. The man's screaming gave him a headache. Nonetheless, he tried to be civil: "Listen. Could I j-"
Bang.
Trystan's head jerked back from the impact as the piece of lead flattened itself against his skin. He sighed as he picked the hot piece of slag off his forehead and just raised an eyebrow at the dumbstruck group.
"I have to say. Good sh-"
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU, YOU CRAZY FUCKING BATSH-"
Trystan blurred in front of him and slammed his jaw with a right hook. Trystan's fist had enough force to send the entire jaw flying to the man's left. The leader monkey sank down to his knees, out like a light and his tongue lolling out. Trystan promptly kicked him in the face so hard, his skull caved in and he smashed into the cashier's counter.
He let out a tired sigh as the three remaining people just stared in awe and terror. They couldn't properly process it, it happened too fast for them to even grasp the concept of their friend dying so savagely. Blood poured out of his jaw and flattened face as his heart seemed to not have noticed that the man itself was dead.
The one to Trystan's left tried to run, so Trystan grabbed him by the arm and flung him into the other guy. The two rolled around in pain, apparently something broke, and Trystan promptly crushed their skulls with a few stomps of his leather shoes.
"Please! Please I have a family! Don't kill me pl-"
"Shut up."
The cashier whimpered behind the counter as Trystan walked to the closest bottle of liqueur he could find.
The writing said it was some sort of... Marshmallow thing? Why not.
He held up the pink bottle with neon blue writing on it as he asked, "Can I keep this?"
The cashier gave a furious nod. He was crying and trembling, but he seemed at least coherent enough to respond.
"Thanks."
He walked out the door, sighing slightly in irritation.
The police was going to make a fuss about this. The press was going to have a feeding frenzy. Thankfully they didn't have his DNA on the usual databases, but Ashley was going to visit him for sure. Rant about some nonsense about laying low like he actually wanted to kill those stupid bastards. She'd probably try and relocate him again, but honestly he didn't see the point about it. Whoever was "Out There" looking for him, would most likely already know where he was. The world's gone too small, thanks to the techno-hooha.
He missed the civil war, where he could just vanish and nobody gave two shits about him anywhere else. Nobody could record him and cause a massive uproar of terror because something they didn't understand was in their midst. It got so bad that his family had to hook up with the Feds.
At least he had a free drink.
He opened the bottle quick enough, taking a deep swig. The sweet flavour hiding the burn and the almost-sharp taste of the alcohol slid smoothly down his gullet. He gave a small smile.
At least he had a free, good drink.
* * *
"What the hell were you thinking!?" Ashley screamed, her fiery red hair twirling in that ponytail of hers. The girl was a whole foot smaller than Trystan. It was something he loved to point out by petting her when she's not as angry at him, but this time was different. She's rather furious at the man for his "Selfish, reckless stunts that give me a fucking headache!"
She's been screaming at the bored faced man for about... an hour? What was the time...
A quick glance at his smartphone proved that she was shouting for about -yup- an hour.
"Fucking listen to me!" Ashley screamed, swatting his phone out of his hand. The thing flew across his little apartment and managed to hop straight out of his open window.
He sighed. He just got that phone, and now it's met a six-floor descent to death.
Ashley flinched at the gesture, fear in her eyes as she looked at him. She sometimes remembered that he could kill her with an angry swat. With routine stuff she forgets, but every now and then if she did something she was sure would piss the man off, she remembered.
As bad as it was , she was actually pretty hot looking with such a hidden terror for him. It made him feel in control, which was his kink. He's a simple guy like that.
"Sorry..."
"You guys just gave me the phone." Trystan stated dully with a sad sigh.
"Yeah. Sorry." Ashley repeated, though she looked incredibly more at ease. The big, scary monster wasn't angry, so she could live until she did something rash like that again. Then she could figure it out again. And again. Until the thought finally sinks in that he wasn't a guy that sweats over the little things.
Trystan waved her off "Your loss. I didn't even pay for the damn thing."
She scoffed, shaking her head as the last bits of fear left her. "This is still a nightmare to clean up, Trystan. I wish you'd just play along and live in some bunker somewhere."
"Well, I tried that. It's rather boring."
"Yeah. The organisations we keep you from are very glad about that one."
Trystan gave a shrug "Exactly how are these supposed criminal elements even going to turn me? Just keep me here. The cops will do a search and everyone will be scared shitless, but that wouldn't change whether I go or stay."
"Trystan, it's too dange-"
"It would be, if I was human. I'm not, though. I'm also not in the mood to move to fucking Nowheresville again. I'm staying."
"Trystan, you can't jus-"
"What are you going to do? Seriously, what do you people even have that can hurt me enough to worry?! Just let me have my peace!" He exclaimed, stepping forward as he got worked up.
The effect was immdediate. That toxicly attractive fear came back in her eyes, and she took a step back "Okay okay... I'll tell them you're being incooperative."
Trystan sighed, feeling his frustration ebb away at the sight of her fear, "Yeah. You do that."
He didn't like scaring her. Well, his heart didn't. She's just doing her job, after all. No sense in getting angry at the messenger, even if she knows what messages they'll send in the future will be, as well.
She slowly backed away, but he didn't want her to leave with her just being scared like that. He cleared his throat audibly "You want some coffee?"
Ashley blinked, so Trystan kept pushing
"You know? The stuff that makes you warm and tastes bitterly good? Especially if you add enough sugar to cancel the bitter?"
Ashley laughed, a melodic little noise, and nodded "I know what coffee is, Trystan."
"You want some?"
"Yeah, why not?"
"Good. Milk? Sugar?" the young man asked, his lips quirking just so slightly upwards at the edges of his mouth.
* * *
Trystan examined the liqueurs in his unclosed liquor store. They didn't have any more of that good marshmallow stuff. He'd just have to settle for some Kahlua.
The cashier, a new girl with a warm face, smiled at him as he gave her his government backed credit card to pay for the thing. She tried to give a friendly conversation, but it became clear that Trystan was only there for the booze.
Walking home, the man's phone buzzed in his back jean pocket. Raising an eyebrow, he fished the thing out and found that Ashley was calling him.
What did she want? It's not like he went on some sort of killing frenzy. Regardless, he answered the phone, "Hey Ash, how's it going?"
"She's alive, and for that, you should be grateful"
Trystan stopped in his tracks, blinking in surprise at the male voice. Besides not being Ashley, he had quite a french tone to his words. He knew enough English to not fuck up the words, though.
"Who is this?" Trystan asked, the serious tone surprising him as he started walking very quickly to his home.
"Someone from an organisation that knows about you, Mister Trystan. We have a simple job for you, and in return, you'll get your friend back."
Trystan thought of denying her importance, but they might call his bluff and actually hurt her for it. Trystan didn't want her to get hurt because of him, that's just stupid.
"What's the job?" He started carefully, walking back home as if nothing had happened and some Frenchy wasn't threatening his handler's life in return for something that's probably going to be ridiculous and needlessly tedious.
"Simple, really. You're going to kill a few very rich men for my organisation. No questions. No insubordination, or the girl dies."
"Kill her, and I'll tear you apart, muscle by muscle, and feed them to you until you pass out."
The line went quiet for a moment before the man hissed "You don't even know where I am!"
"Yeah, and this is the eighteenhundreds. I'm not watched 24/7. My phone isn't tapped, and I have a cult of worshippers I sneak off to when satelites are kind enough to not spy on me. And there's definitely not a thing like call tracing."
"What?"
"I'm watched by the feds, you dumb, fucking bitch."
Another small moment, and then some very intriguing French words came out of the man's mouth, no doubt curses before he hung up.
Trystan counted to four and his phone rang. He didn't bother to check the ID as he started, "Where are they?"
"Listen it's too ris-"
"Tell me where they are or I'm going go to the nearest skyscraper and I'm going to rip the steel support beams off with my [/i]bare hands[/i]."
"Gawdammit, Trystan!" the General shouted.
Trystan didn't reply. He just waited until the man decided to give him the coordinates.
"She's downtown. I'll text you the address."
"Good. Bye."
Trystan hung up, walking towards downtown until his phone beeped with an address in the form of a shiny, new text message.
More likely than not, they're going to move. Which only meant that Trystan had to move faster.
He ran a bit in place, then leapt in the air.
The moment he hit the ground, he became a blur.
Through and past and over and under: Trystan ran with the speed of a jet engine and the control of...
He couldn't think of something that had a lot of control and sounded cool. A lawnmower?
Trystan ran with the speed of a jet engine and the control of a fucking lawnmower
Perfectly awesome if he said it in his own head. After all, it wasn't like someone was actually going to read his thoughts or something. That'd be fucking weird.
Five minutes of running led to some building that seemed have no outward signs of advertisement, but was some sort of office thing regardless.. He found the getaway car they were organising already prepped and ready to go in the side alley, it's engine growling in the early moonlight.
Trystan casually went up to the driver and looked the man in the eyes with his own brown orbs "Guess who I am-mmmmmm."
Trystan didn't even bother to be surprised as a gun's barrel was shoved in his mouth. Trystan only sighed through his nose and bit down into the thing. The unpleasant taste of metal filled his mouth as he spat out the cold-cut barrel. Trystan heaved a tired sigh at the dumbstruck driver as recognition dawned on him as to who he had just almost shot.
"You guessing right yet?"
A furious nod.
"They still in there?"
Another nod. Trystan caught the scent of ammonia trapped in piss.
"Good. Drive away."
Another, far more relieved nod. The man was crying from joy and relief as he started the car and got the fuck out of there.
"Hey! What the fuck, man!" Someone behind Trystan screamed, holding his hands up in exclaimed confusion as the van skidded off. Trystan smiled to himself as the man asked, "And who the fuck are you"
Trystan turned around and gave the man a bored look.
Recognition poured in the man's face. Then terror. "Ohhhhh shit."
Trystan only nodded "You gonna give me a problem?"
The man shook his head furiously, stepping out of the narrow alley's doorway to give Trystan space to walk through. "No... No Sir."
Trystan gave a nod "Swell. Now go away and don't bother me again."
He nodded furiously, making his ponytail jerk back and forth like some toddler was playing with a piece of rope. Then was off, running away and probably thanking God or Allah or his luck or something.
With a quiet sigh, Trystan stepped into the doorway.
They had a nice little setup, he'd give them that. Four rooms with one being set up with some fancy schmancy tech shit. One with a bit of an armoury. One with what looked like sleeping quarters and...
There we go. The holding cell.
He found Ashley sprawled on the floor, out like a light, with a lot of bruises and cuts. Her delicate little face a swollen mess of cuts and black-and-blue. There was a small pool of dried blood just under her, and her fingers were all bent wrong.
They probably tortured her for information.
BANGBANGBANG
Trystan felt his form jerk back from a three round burst of an assault rifle. The rounds went through his shirt and flattened themselves rather uselessly against his skin.
Turning to the shooter, he found none other than his favourite Frenchy holding the gun and trigger with trembling hands as he spouted a whole litany of French sounding words. His eyes were desperate. Sweat poured from his forehead before the man's face erupted with a devious Eureka.
As he moved to point the gun at Ashley, Trystan was already between them, bending the hot barrel sideways with a small tilt of his head. The Frenchy tried to run, but found Trystan's hand, clamping in that finely groomed hair of his, stopping him.
"I'm a simple man." Trystan started, flinging the crying Frenchy backwards into the wall. Trystan knelt down and grabbed his foot.
"I just like some sleep, a good booze and a decent meal. I'm also a caffeine addict, come to think of it." Trystan stated bordly, pressing his foot in the Frenchy's shin and twisting his foot the wrong way. The Frenchy screamed and screamed until his voice cracked and went very girly, but Trystan continued without much delay.
"I'm also a predator, mind you. I've got that itch in me to hurt people. I like it when people are scared of me. I take a certain sadistic pleasure from it." Trystan stated, grabbing the man's other leg and forcing the bones to bend until it fractured. Little bony spikes jutted out from the middle of the man's shins.
"My dad was like it too. Guess it runs in the family or something. He was lucky, though. He actually managed to find a girl that liked him. A Frenchy just like yourself, or rather a Holy Roman. She was quite the masochist. She got off on being scared shitless of him. Can you believe that?"
The only replied was incoherent, manic screaming. It made Trystan smile.
"I can, because she was my mom. She gave birth to me, which made her ovaries shrivel up like a dead cactus. The female body can only handle one birth of my kind. She barely survived my birth as is, so it's a good thing that she didn't have any eggs left after that. What with the two of them shagging like rabbits until both of them died together."
Trystan shrugged, then jabbed his hand into the man's side, ripping out one of his ribs and impaling the crying Frenchy's shoulder with it.
"Can you believe that?" He asked the incoherent, sobbing, pissing piece of shit before he went on without a care in the world "We still die of old age. We die even quicker if we have a mate. But, I guess that's to stop us from overpopulating the world. Even with one child per generation, and one generation being so long, it'd stack up quickly enough."
Trystan got up to his full length, then stomped into the other shoulder. He felt the bones crack underneath his sneaker's sole, and felt a headache start to rise from his skull from the sheer volume of girly screams from the previously confident Frenchy.
"You're not even listening to me, so why do I bother?" He sighed visibly, then promptly lifted his foot and introduced it to the man's face. Again and again and again. He only stopped when he realised that he was just stomping on the gooey, bony remenants of someone's head.
His sneakers were ruined now, but at least it wasn't his favourite pair.
A small groan erupted from the prone form of Ashley, and Trystan blurred towards her, taking her gently in his arms and carrying her bridal style as he walked out at normal speed.
Not a lot of people enjoyed blurring away to safety. The sudden acceleration tends to kill them.
He smiled to her as one of her eyes managed to open with the swelling, but the other failed, "Morning, Ash. Had a bit of a rough night, huh?"
She made some sort of groan or whimper, he couldn't tell which, before her eyes slowly closed again as she lost consciousness.
"Ya. Figures, you'd like to sleep this one off." He stated a bit more to himself than her.
"Don't worry. You'll be back to drinking coffee with me in no time."
* * *
Trystan took a long sip of his coffee, smiling slightly at the bandaged up Ashley sitting beside him. She recovered enough to use a bit of her one hand, shakily holing her coffee cup and making a mess everywhere on the cheap wooden table. Trystan didn't mind, though. He never sweated over the little things like that.
"How does it taste?"
"It tastes like shit, Trystan."
"Ahh, so the doctor was wrong? You did suffer brain damage."
"Fuck off, you~" she laughed, showing no more fear in those delicate, damaged eyes.
Trystan chuckled to himself, letting the hot coffee in his hand spill on his jeans. He gave a small sigh of disappointment as he realised that his jeans were going to be sticky, later on. Nothing to worry his little head over, however.
He took a sip, making a face of disgust "We really need better coffee. This one was a miss."
"Ya think?"
"I'll go get some more, you just stay here and be pretty, okay?"
"Not too hard for me, with my pretty face and all that"
Trystan frowned, his lips bunching together. Was that a bitter comment, or was it a sarcastic one? That's what's been bothering him. He couldn't quite get a bead on whatever that woman was feeling, no matter what he tried. He supposed it's got something to do with her work history for the Feds, but he honestly didn't know one way or the other.
He sighed, shaking his head as he gambled on the bitter meaning "I meant that, you know."
"I know, but you don't look at the mirror every day. You don't see yourself like this."
So she was bitter? It's a good thing he was right.
"I would've kissed you if it weren't for pesky things like pain."
"I can't turn it off, or be invincible like you."
"I'm not invincible. I'm just very hard to kill."
She scoffed, shaking her head. "Go get us some more coffee."
"Yes Ma'am."
* * *
The new place they sent Trystan was very, very cold.
Stupidly cold.
He clung to his own body as he dressed like an Inuit going out to hunt a polar bear or some shit. He trudged along the snow covered sidewalk as saw the mist from his breath slowly and exit his sight. It was... strangely satisfying. Even now, almost a month after they had moved here, he still enjoyed breathing out air and pretend he was a steam engine.
Such a simple little thing.
He stepped into the warm, airconditioned store, sighing from the change in temperature. He went to grab a new sort of coffee, a bit fancier than the last one but hopefully not too bitter, and turned to find something that made him sigh.
Someone was robbing the cashier. With a .45 calibre revolver. The man had at least a ski mask on and had a duffel bag to put the money in.
He let out a visible groan of frustration, slowly closing his eyes.
This, of course, let the man spot him and point the thing at him "Get down! Down on the ground!"
"Fuck off." Trystan stated bitterly, "You have no idea how badly I want to get out of this situation"
"Then Get Down!" the man started again, wagging that revolver around like a toddler wags his dick.
A deep sigh came from Trystan. He gave the robber a disappointed look before blurring the gun out of the man's hand.
In one quick instant, he held the gun of the robber in his own hand, leaving the dumbstruck cashier and robber to just gawk at him. Then he proceeded to spook them by bending the gun barrel like some cartoon character
Trystan nodded with approval as he started to speak, "Okay, so you're going to fuck off," he pointed to the robber "And you're going to not call the cops." he pointed to the cashier.
Both parties nodded furiously. Trystan gave a nod of satisfaction himself, before pointing at the robber "And you. If I ever see you robbing a place again, I'm going to rip your jaw off and jam it into your eyesockets. You understand?"
The robber gave a furious nod
"Good. Believe it or not, I don't actually want to do that. My girlfriend would kill me."
The two tilted their heads in confusion at his words, so Trystan bent the gun's barrel the other way to make them focus on him as a predator, rather than a weirdly powerful guy who's afraid of his girlfriend.
"This never happened, okay?"
Furious nodding.
"And if I do hear you guys blabbed, I'm going to rip your throat out," he began, pointing to the robber "and stuff it down yours." He finished, pointing to the cashier.
The two swallowed visibly.
"Do I make myself clear?"
More nodding, furious and accented with agreements and "Oh Yeah"s.
Trystan gave a nod, then picked up a bottle of liqueur. Inspecting the label proved that it was some sort of strawberry thing. He held it out to the cashier "Can I keep this? You know as payment for stopping the robber?"
Another nod. Why do people lose their voice when they're scared?
"Thanks."
He promptly walked out, undoing the cap and taking a long draw of the surprisingly sweet stuff, even for a liqueur.
Still: Good drink. Better, considering it's free.
Better not tell Ashley about any of this...
Dextrous fingers untied the strings holding the back of the dress together with such speed and gentleness that the little girl barely noticed until the fabric slid from her shoulders. She stepped out of the pile of clothes at her feet, and the attendant behind her promptly gathered them up.
Tan skin left bare, Maria shivered.
Chilling stone blocks formed the floor and walls around her, uniformly matte and pale. A small blue shard of translucent gemstone was embedded into the ceiling by the entrance, keeping the chamber well lit but dragging long shadows from the three persons standing within.
Across from the entrance was another passageway, little more than a jagged tear in the wall, leading into darkness. And beside the tear stood her mother, the Empres, beckoning the little girl towards it.
Maria moved forwards obediently, young and uncertain eyes met by aged ones, brimming with pride. Once she stood at the edge of the dark passageway, level with the Empress, her mother learned over to mutter, "Ariana's already inside; she's waiting for you."
With those words, most of the little girl's pent-up nerves were calmed, and she sighed in relief. After a brief smile of thanks directed at her mother and a gentle nudge from the same, she stepped into the darkness.
Instead of the smooth stones of the chamber, this passage was hewn from rough rockóthe sharp edges cut at her feet, but not so much as to break the skin. Another shiver of trepidation struck her, but she pushed onwards; unable to see as the tunnel twisted slowly downwards, she relied on the tingling of the hairs on her bare skin to guide her.
It was not long before a glimpse of pink light appeared ahead, and the little girl found herself rushing forward.
A large pool of what appeared to be pink, luminescent water awaited her. She knew it to be heavily diluted magemeltóin the words of an alchemist, "liquid energy"óand that in less diluted forms, it would sap the lifeforce from her body. Even this pool, which she knew to be more water than magemelt, was deadly to adults of lesser bloodlines.
For a child of royalty, it would prove a perfect initiation. As her inherent resistance to the substance's more deadly properties developed through continual exposure, she would be permitted into purer pools, each buried deep beneath the royal palace.
As she drew closer, she saw a dark figure standing within the pool.
The figure grinned, the light of the magemelt reflecting off her clean, white teeth. "Princess," she uttered with great formality and grace, a tone unbefitting her playful expression.
Maria returned the grin. "Sister," she mumbled dutifully as she dipped a toe in, before grimacing and drawing back. "It's cold."
Ariana pouted. "It's fine. Come on in, the warmth will come."
Obediently, the little girl slipped into the pool. Beneath the surface, the slope was steep; her feet stumbled, and she drifted into her sister's arms. Where on Ariana the magemelt reached only her navel, were Maria standing upright the surface would surely trace just under her breastóbut as she was, gripping Ariana around the waist as her legs dangled out behind her, only her head and shoulders were left dry.
The magemelt felt heavy against her skin, pressing in as if to crush her bonesóor perhaps just her lungs, which already fought to draw breath.
"I feel lightheaded," Maria muttered weakly.
Ariana lifted a hand from the water to stroke her sister's head. "Don't you worry, I too was overwhelmed at first. It takes time for the body to remember the gift of our kinóto learn to control the energy and draw from it, instead of the reverse." She tilted her sister's head to look up at her. "And now? I can bather for hours in the third pool and feel better, not worse, for it."
"You're stronger than me."
"No, not stronger, older. In time, you'll catch up, andó" At this, Ariana winked. "ómaybe even surpass me, some day."
Maria mumbled something unintelligble, followed by an unenthusiastic "doubt it" as her eyes lazed shut.
Ariana let her doze off, turning her over and supporting her sister's upper body over the surface to make it easier for her to breath. Maintaining this position for a few minutes, her own thoughts began to wander. As their mother's first and only legitimate daughter, Maria had been raised from birth to take the throne. Unlike Ariana herself, who had been taught mostly diplomacy and war, even at her tender age Maria was familiar with taxes, economics, and internal politics.
Occasionally, Ariana found herself envying her sister's status. As the bastard daughter, born to their mother in her teens as the result of an ultimately unsuccessful elopement, she had not been afforded any inheritance of her ownóonly the reassurance of her sister that she would be well-treated as a trusted advisor at her side, in exchange only for unyielding loyalty and a half share of any candy she happened to acquire.
Not a bad deal, as far as she was concerned.
--
Ariana's eyes jolted open.
She had not realized that she, too, had dozed off in the pool, the little girl floating lazily in her arms. Silently chastising herself for her carelessness, she looked down upon her sister.
Instead of the usual sienna, Maria's skin was pale, nearly cream in complexion. Ariana shook her sister lightly; no response. She shook her vigorously; still no response. She leaned in close, placing her ear on her sister's breast. Though she could still feel the rise and fall of her chest, her breaths were laboured; her pulse, faint; and her heartbeat, off-tempo.
--
Maria remembered little of that day. She did not remember the kind words of reassurance proferred by her sister. Neither did she remember her warm embrace, for long ago had it been replaced by a cold distance. Least of all did she remember her sister's voice, shrill with desperation, as she dragged the younger girl out of the pool that was slowly killing her.
She did, however, remember the weight of royalty, her birthright, crushing her in its grasp just as it slipped from hers.
It was immediately apparent that despite her heritage, Maria did not share the royal family's exceptional tolerance for magemelt. It took two weeks for her to awaken from her condition, and another month for her strength to return enough for her to walk freely.
Her capacity for withstanding and extracting power from the magemelt, predictably, never improved.
A council was formed of respected imperial officers to debate the consequences of this discovery. It was decided that Maria would be too vulnerable to assassination, rebellions, or coups. To maintain the strength of the empireólargely dependent on the strength of its ruleróshe was deemed unfit to rule.
And so it was that Ariana, the bastard daughter, took her place on the throne.
Today, she would take the first of many strides towards reclaiming her birthright.
Maria rapped loudly on a cracked, wooden door, nestled deep in the mass of wooden and crumbling-concrete structures that, stacked haphazardly on top of each other, formed the bulk of the commons.
Despite its appearance, the door swing open silentlyórevealing a well-kept landing adorned in foreign silks and pottery. The young woman marched confidently inside, brushing past the thin man holding the door as if unaware of his presence.
Sculptor, for that is what he was oft called, did not seem to mind, promptly closing the door behind her and bolting it, before skittering along after her.
--
A needle punctured the skin of her wrist, and with it, fire tore through her veins. Steam poured out of the mechanical contraption not-so-delicately etching runes across her flesh in violet magemelt.
Fern·nóor Inker, as he was sometimes calledówas seemingly oblivious to the woman's moans of pain through the rag she bit profusely.
"Would it kill you to be gentler?" Painter, who went by no other name, spoke in a voice strained with worry.
"The faster this seal is inked, the faster I can ink the next."
"We are not pressed for timeóthe schedule is entirely our own to control." He frowned. "And you're treating her as a butcher might a flank of meat."
Inker paused his work to glance over at his patient's face, lifting the thick goggles covering his eyes. Having held her breath up to this point, Maria took the opportunity to release a greatóif painedósigh of relief. "She doesn't seem to mind," Inker remarked, and dug the needle back in, goggles slapped back down.
Maria sucked in another gulp of air.
"If you gotta whine about it, just step out the room," squeaked Sculptor. He was seated at a small lamp-lit desk, jabbing at a slab of clay with a scalpel intermittently between taking notes and dousing it in copious amounts of oil. "We fetch you when she ready."
Painter did not deign the man with a response, seating himself by Maria's head. As he rested a hand on her shoulder, her eyes flickered open, searching for his and winking once found.
Painter smiled. "Fine, then. I'll shut up."
--
Ariana took to her role quickly and with grace. Even for those of the royal bloodline, she had proven particularly tolerant of magemelt, and passed on to pools purer than any used in the past three generations.
The essence of the magemelt had affected not only her bodyóstrong, fast, and with enough endurance to last a week without sleep in a pinchóit had also affected her emotions and her mind. Gone was the tender, affectionate sister that had done all in her power to help her sister pursue her passions. Gone was the daughter, resistant to her mother's lectures as she was forced to abandon her former studies and learn from scratch the trappings of a ruler.
Gone was the young woman, full of passion and dreamsóin her place sat a new Empress, regal and just, but above all unsympathetic to the plights of the individuals that made up her empire.
And so it was that when that when the court gates crashed open at the hands of a massive, bare-chested man and three smaller, black-robed figures slipped in from behind him, she did not greet her sister warmly.
"Court is in session, Maria. If you and your playmates wish to have my attention, seek it at another time."
Undaunted, Maria strode forwards, leaving her companions behind and pushing aside the court followers standing in her way. Despite her reduced status, no guard dared to step in her way unbidden, lest they be faced with the wrath of either sister. "Sixteen years this day past I was born, the heir to the throne. I have come for my coronation."
"The crown belongs only to she who is strong enough to rule."
"Perhaps," Maria muttered, barely audible, before raising her voice in a prideful cry. "Then I have come to prove my strength!"
At that, she tore off the black robes she wore. Clad in only pants and a stretch of white fabric wrapped tightly across her breasts, two features previously unseen by the Empress caught her attention. First, beneath her richly tan skin, the formerly soft flesh of a young girl was replaced with taut, lean muscles of a powerful woman. Second, glowing lines of deep violet ink stretched across her arms, neck, and shouldersóand if she was not mistaken, slithering down her back to her covered legs, only to become visible again at her bare feet. One each hand she wore an iron knuckle-duster, thick but short blades jutting forth from the tips.
"And why should I bother fighting you, little sister."
Maria grinned, a cruel and yet vulnerable expression. "Because you know you'll win."
The faintest hint of a smile graced the Empress's lips, and she pushed herself off the throne, drawing a thin steel rapier from a sheath at her side. "You should have picked better weapons," she stated, teasing and cold, as she strode down the steps to stand face-to-face with her sister.
The younger woman shrugged, and with that, the duel began.
Maria lunged in with a jab, and though the Empress had no difficulty bringing her pommel-guard up to block it, she was suprised to find that the strength behind the jab was matched to her own, leading her to stumble momentarilyóbut only momentarily, as she used her momentum to slide to her sister's unprotected right flank, slicing the tip of her blade across her cheek.
Maria stumbled past, spinning back to face and wiping away some of the blood with her shoulder.
Her sister twirled her sword in a loop and then held it suddenly still, flicking some of the same blood onto the stone at her feet. "You've grown."
The two clash again, and again, Maria ever on the offense but always the one to suffer the cuts of her sister's blade. Despite her bursts of speed and strength, the reach afforded to the Empress by her rapier gave her a clear advantageóand where Maria was now panting with exertion, the only sign of tiring on her sister's end was a single bead of sweat trickling down her forehead.
Maria charged in low, feinting a jab at her sister's stomach but aiming another at her shinóbut she was side-stepped entirely by the Empress's wide gait, and a thick counter-slash across her flank sent her crashing to the ground.
Painter cried out to her, moving to rush to her aid, but he was held back by Sculptor's massive clay-enhanced hand. Fern·n patted him on the shoulder. "She knows what she's doing. Shut up."
"You cannot change your inheritance, Maria." The Empress did not even bother to face her fallen sister as she spoke, until she heard the clinking of heavy metal falling upon the stone floor. Turning, she saw Maria pushing herself back to her feet, one arm gripping her slashed side and her two knuckle-dusters abandoned.
The Empress tossed her rapier aside. "Though I do respect your determination."
Maria stumbled towards her, stopped a few steps away, and then to the surprise of all watching, fell to one knee and bowed her head.
The Empress laughed, a chilling sounds, and strode towards her sister, arms out-stretched. "It seems I spoke too soon. Come, let us be rid of this nonseó"
The Empress and the room both fell completely silent as Maria burst from her kneeling position, rose up to her sister, and hugged her tightly, the blood from her side staining the as-of-yet unmarked dress of the Empress. The silence remained for but ten secondsóperhaps even lessóbefore the palms of Maria's hands, planted one the back of her sister's head and one on the small of her back, exploded in blue light.
The Empress tensed, all muscles taut and unable to react as the seals sapped the power afforded to her by long exposure to magemelt from her body. It was not the Empress who then slid to the floor, grasping Maria's legs for support, but Ariana, soft and warm and with tears in her eyes.
Maria patted her head comfortingly before turning to speak to the crowd. "I have proven my strength, and therefore my right to bear the crown of this empire, as was once my birthright. Kneel, for your Empress has returned for her throne!"
All but three kneeled before herótheir task complete for now, Inker, Sculptor, and Painter slunk away, awaiting their summoning once the new government was to be formed.
Maria slid down to match the height of her sister, and lifted her chin with a finger to look back at her. "As I solidify my standing, I cannot have your shadow bearing down on me." She raised her voice from the previous whisper so that all could hear. "As such, you are hereby banished to the new world for a period of a year." While she did not make mention of it, she had not enacted this decree for the sake of stability alone.
She hoped that perhaps, by limiting her sister's access to the magemelt, Ariana might someday return with strength of her own will, and not rely on the energies that had forcibly removed her humanity for so long.
Ariana spoke only two words feebly, then, that would be held close to Maria's heart for the whole year to come.
"Forgive me."
--
Epilogue: [spoili]
A man kneeled at the Empress's feet, holding a stack of parchment notes.
She motioned for him to speak.
"A shipment from the New World has arrived, liege." A slight smirk touched his lips, and he pushed his glasses up the stem of his nose importantly. "If I'm not mistaken, the first of its kind."
"And?" Maria demanded impatiently, perhaps even a bit excitedly. "What's in it?"
"Four-score quarts of gold, two barrels of what appears to be a powdered strain of magestone native to the region, and five barrels of cacao, among other, valueless goods."
"What the hell is cacao?"
"I am told it is a nut, to be ground, roasted, and used in the manufacture of candy."[/spoili]
Tan skin left bare, Maria shivered.
Chilling stone blocks formed the floor and walls around her, uniformly matte and pale. A small blue shard of translucent gemstone was embedded into the ceiling by the entrance, keeping the chamber well lit but dragging long shadows from the three persons standing within.
Across from the entrance was another passageway, little more than a jagged tear in the wall, leading into darkness. And beside the tear stood her mother, the Empres, beckoning the little girl towards it.
Maria moved forwards obediently, young and uncertain eyes met by aged ones, brimming with pride. Once she stood at the edge of the dark passageway, level with the Empress, her mother learned over to mutter, "Ariana's already inside; she's waiting for you."
With those words, most of the little girl's pent-up nerves were calmed, and she sighed in relief. After a brief smile of thanks directed at her mother and a gentle nudge from the same, she stepped into the darkness.
Instead of the smooth stones of the chamber, this passage was hewn from rough rockóthe sharp edges cut at her feet, but not so much as to break the skin. Another shiver of trepidation struck her, but she pushed onwards; unable to see as the tunnel twisted slowly downwards, she relied on the tingling of the hairs on her bare skin to guide her.
It was not long before a glimpse of pink light appeared ahead, and the little girl found herself rushing forward.
A large pool of what appeared to be pink, luminescent water awaited her. She knew it to be heavily diluted magemeltóin the words of an alchemist, "liquid energy"óand that in less diluted forms, it would sap the lifeforce from her body. Even this pool, which she knew to be more water than magemelt, was deadly to adults of lesser bloodlines.
For a child of royalty, it would prove a perfect initiation. As her inherent resistance to the substance's more deadly properties developed through continual exposure, she would be permitted into purer pools, each buried deep beneath the royal palace.
As she drew closer, she saw a dark figure standing within the pool.
The figure grinned, the light of the magemelt reflecting off her clean, white teeth. "Princess," she uttered with great formality and grace, a tone unbefitting her playful expression.
Maria returned the grin. "Sister," she mumbled dutifully as she dipped a toe in, before grimacing and drawing back. "It's cold."
Ariana pouted. "It's fine. Come on in, the warmth will come."
Obediently, the little girl slipped into the pool. Beneath the surface, the slope was steep; her feet stumbled, and she drifted into her sister's arms. Where on Ariana the magemelt reached only her navel, were Maria standing upright the surface would surely trace just under her breastóbut as she was, gripping Ariana around the waist as her legs dangled out behind her, only her head and shoulders were left dry.
The magemelt felt heavy against her skin, pressing in as if to crush her bonesóor perhaps just her lungs, which already fought to draw breath.
"I feel lightheaded," Maria muttered weakly.
Ariana lifted a hand from the water to stroke her sister's head. "Don't you worry, I too was overwhelmed at first. It takes time for the body to remember the gift of our kinóto learn to control the energy and draw from it, instead of the reverse." She tilted her sister's head to look up at her. "And now? I can bather for hours in the third pool and feel better, not worse, for it."
"You're stronger than me."
"No, not stronger, older. In time, you'll catch up, andó" At this, Ariana winked. "ómaybe even surpass me, some day."
Maria mumbled something unintelligble, followed by an unenthusiastic "doubt it" as her eyes lazed shut.
Ariana let her doze off, turning her over and supporting her sister's upper body over the surface to make it easier for her to breath. Maintaining this position for a few minutes, her own thoughts began to wander. As their mother's first and only legitimate daughter, Maria had been raised from birth to take the throne. Unlike Ariana herself, who had been taught mostly diplomacy and war, even at her tender age Maria was familiar with taxes, economics, and internal politics.
Occasionally, Ariana found herself envying her sister's status. As the bastard daughter, born to their mother in her teens as the result of an ultimately unsuccessful elopement, she had not been afforded any inheritance of her ownóonly the reassurance of her sister that she would be well-treated as a trusted advisor at her side, in exchange only for unyielding loyalty and a half share of any candy she happened to acquire.
Not a bad deal, as far as she was concerned.
--
Ariana's eyes jolted open.
She had not realized that she, too, had dozed off in the pool, the little girl floating lazily in her arms. Silently chastising herself for her carelessness, she looked down upon her sister.
Instead of the usual sienna, Maria's skin was pale, nearly cream in complexion. Ariana shook her sister lightly; no response. She shook her vigorously; still no response. She leaned in close, placing her ear on her sister's breast. Though she could still feel the rise and fall of her chest, her breaths were laboured; her pulse, faint; and her heartbeat, off-tempo.
--
Maria remembered little of that day. She did not remember the kind words of reassurance proferred by her sister. Neither did she remember her warm embrace, for long ago had it been replaced by a cold distance. Least of all did she remember her sister's voice, shrill with desperation, as she dragged the younger girl out of the pool that was slowly killing her.
She did, however, remember the weight of royalty, her birthright, crushing her in its grasp just as it slipped from hers.
It was immediately apparent that despite her heritage, Maria did not share the royal family's exceptional tolerance for magemelt. It took two weeks for her to awaken from her condition, and another month for her strength to return enough for her to walk freely.
Her capacity for withstanding and extracting power from the magemelt, predictably, never improved.
A council was formed of respected imperial officers to debate the consequences of this discovery. It was decided that Maria would be too vulnerable to assassination, rebellions, or coups. To maintain the strength of the empireólargely dependent on the strength of its ruleróshe was deemed unfit to rule.
And so it was that Ariana, the bastard daughter, took her place on the throne.
Today, she would take the first of many strides towards reclaiming her birthright.
Maria rapped loudly on a cracked, wooden door, nestled deep in the mass of wooden and crumbling-concrete structures that, stacked haphazardly on top of each other, formed the bulk of the commons.
Despite its appearance, the door swing open silentlyórevealing a well-kept landing adorned in foreign silks and pottery. The young woman marched confidently inside, brushing past the thin man holding the door as if unaware of his presence.
Sculptor, for that is what he was oft called, did not seem to mind, promptly closing the door behind her and bolting it, before skittering along after her.
--
A needle punctured the skin of her wrist, and with it, fire tore through her veins. Steam poured out of the mechanical contraption not-so-delicately etching runes across her flesh in violet magemelt.
Fern·nóor Inker, as he was sometimes calledówas seemingly oblivious to the woman's moans of pain through the rag she bit profusely.
"Would it kill you to be gentler?" Painter, who went by no other name, spoke in a voice strained with worry.
"The faster this seal is inked, the faster I can ink the next."
"We are not pressed for timeóthe schedule is entirely our own to control." He frowned. "And you're treating her as a butcher might a flank of meat."
Inker paused his work to glance over at his patient's face, lifting the thick goggles covering his eyes. Having held her breath up to this point, Maria took the opportunity to release a greatóif painedósigh of relief. "She doesn't seem to mind," Inker remarked, and dug the needle back in, goggles slapped back down.
Maria sucked in another gulp of air.
"If you gotta whine about it, just step out the room," squeaked Sculptor. He was seated at a small lamp-lit desk, jabbing at a slab of clay with a scalpel intermittently between taking notes and dousing it in copious amounts of oil. "We fetch you when she ready."
Painter did not deign the man with a response, seating himself by Maria's head. As he rested a hand on her shoulder, her eyes flickered open, searching for his and winking once found.
Painter smiled. "Fine, then. I'll shut up."
--
Ariana took to her role quickly and with grace. Even for those of the royal bloodline, she had proven particularly tolerant of magemelt, and passed on to pools purer than any used in the past three generations.
The essence of the magemelt had affected not only her bodyóstrong, fast, and with enough endurance to last a week without sleep in a pinchóit had also affected her emotions and her mind. Gone was the tender, affectionate sister that had done all in her power to help her sister pursue her passions. Gone was the daughter, resistant to her mother's lectures as she was forced to abandon her former studies and learn from scratch the trappings of a ruler.
Gone was the young woman, full of passion and dreamsóin her place sat a new Empress, regal and just, but above all unsympathetic to the plights of the individuals that made up her empire.
And so it was that when that when the court gates crashed open at the hands of a massive, bare-chested man and three smaller, black-robed figures slipped in from behind him, she did not greet her sister warmly.
"Court is in session, Maria. If you and your playmates wish to have my attention, seek it at another time."
Undaunted, Maria strode forwards, leaving her companions behind and pushing aside the court followers standing in her way. Despite her reduced status, no guard dared to step in her way unbidden, lest they be faced with the wrath of either sister. "Sixteen years this day past I was born, the heir to the throne. I have come for my coronation."
"The crown belongs only to she who is strong enough to rule."
"Perhaps," Maria muttered, barely audible, before raising her voice in a prideful cry. "Then I have come to prove my strength!"
At that, she tore off the black robes she wore. Clad in only pants and a stretch of white fabric wrapped tightly across her breasts, two features previously unseen by the Empress caught her attention. First, beneath her richly tan skin, the formerly soft flesh of a young girl was replaced with taut, lean muscles of a powerful woman. Second, glowing lines of deep violet ink stretched across her arms, neck, and shouldersóand if she was not mistaken, slithering down her back to her covered legs, only to become visible again at her bare feet. One each hand she wore an iron knuckle-duster, thick but short blades jutting forth from the tips.
"And why should I bother fighting you, little sister."
Maria grinned, a cruel and yet vulnerable expression. "Because you know you'll win."
The faintest hint of a smile graced the Empress's lips, and she pushed herself off the throne, drawing a thin steel rapier from a sheath at her side. "You should have picked better weapons," she stated, teasing and cold, as she strode down the steps to stand face-to-face with her sister.
The younger woman shrugged, and with that, the duel began.
Maria lunged in with a jab, and though the Empress had no difficulty bringing her pommel-guard up to block it, she was suprised to find that the strength behind the jab was matched to her own, leading her to stumble momentarilyóbut only momentarily, as she used her momentum to slide to her sister's unprotected right flank, slicing the tip of her blade across her cheek.
Maria stumbled past, spinning back to face and wiping away some of the blood with her shoulder.
Her sister twirled her sword in a loop and then held it suddenly still, flicking some of the same blood onto the stone at her feet. "You've grown."
The two clash again, and again, Maria ever on the offense but always the one to suffer the cuts of her sister's blade. Despite her bursts of speed and strength, the reach afforded to the Empress by her rapier gave her a clear advantageóand where Maria was now panting with exertion, the only sign of tiring on her sister's end was a single bead of sweat trickling down her forehead.
Maria charged in low, feinting a jab at her sister's stomach but aiming another at her shinóbut she was side-stepped entirely by the Empress's wide gait, and a thick counter-slash across her flank sent her crashing to the ground.
Painter cried out to her, moving to rush to her aid, but he was held back by Sculptor's massive clay-enhanced hand. Fern·n patted him on the shoulder. "She knows what she's doing. Shut up."
"You cannot change your inheritance, Maria." The Empress did not even bother to face her fallen sister as she spoke, until she heard the clinking of heavy metal falling upon the stone floor. Turning, she saw Maria pushing herself back to her feet, one arm gripping her slashed side and her two knuckle-dusters abandoned.
The Empress tossed her rapier aside. "Though I do respect your determination."
Maria stumbled towards her, stopped a few steps away, and then to the surprise of all watching, fell to one knee and bowed her head.
The Empress laughed, a chilling sounds, and strode towards her sister, arms out-stretched. "It seems I spoke too soon. Come, let us be rid of this nonseó"
The Empress and the room both fell completely silent as Maria burst from her kneeling position, rose up to her sister, and hugged her tightly, the blood from her side staining the as-of-yet unmarked dress of the Empress. The silence remained for but ten secondsóperhaps even lessóbefore the palms of Maria's hands, planted one the back of her sister's head and one on the small of her back, exploded in blue light.
The Empress tensed, all muscles taut and unable to react as the seals sapped the power afforded to her by long exposure to magemelt from her body. It was not the Empress who then slid to the floor, grasping Maria's legs for support, but Ariana, soft and warm and with tears in her eyes.
Maria patted her head comfortingly before turning to speak to the crowd. "I have proven my strength, and therefore my right to bear the crown of this empire, as was once my birthright. Kneel, for your Empress has returned for her throne!"
All but three kneeled before herótheir task complete for now, Inker, Sculptor, and Painter slunk away, awaiting their summoning once the new government was to be formed.
Maria slid down to match the height of her sister, and lifted her chin with a finger to look back at her. "As I solidify my standing, I cannot have your shadow bearing down on me." She raised her voice from the previous whisper so that all could hear. "As such, you are hereby banished to the new world for a period of a year." While she did not make mention of it, she had not enacted this decree for the sake of stability alone.
She hoped that perhaps, by limiting her sister's access to the magemelt, Ariana might someday return with strength of her own will, and not rely on the energies that had forcibly removed her humanity for so long.
Ariana spoke only two words feebly, then, that would be held close to Maria's heart for the whole year to come.
"Forgive me."
--
Epilogue: [spoili]
A man kneeled at the Empress's feet, holding a stack of parchment notes.
She motioned for him to speak.
"A shipment from the New World has arrived, liege." A slight smirk touched his lips, and he pushed his glasses up the stem of his nose importantly. "If I'm not mistaken, the first of its kind."
"And?" Maria demanded impatiently, perhaps even a bit excitedly. "What's in it?"
"Four-score quarts of gold, two barrels of what appears to be a powdered strain of magestone native to the region, and five barrels of cacao, among other, valueless goods."
"What the hell is cacao?"
"I am told it is a nut, to be ground, roasted, and used in the manufacture of candy."[/spoili]
Kaehl lifted a hand, feeling the wetness on his face. His eyes looked at the red on his fingers and then to the ground, staring in horror at the man slumped on the ground, bleeding out from having his throat sliced open. His hands shook, eyes wide as they slowly looked up at the man who had just murdered the person closest to him.
"That's the price he had to pay for your insolence, little brother." The man before him was dressed in fancy armour, a dripping red sword in his hand and a satisfied grin on his face.
"You… you killed… you killed him!" The words came out harshly as if it was painful to have them leave his mouth. "I- I was the one! Not him! And you just-"
"Killed him, yes, you already said that little brother-"
"Don't call me that!" he snarled, hand grabbing the sword at his waist. "He was more a brother to me than you ever were! And you killed him!" Eyes stinging with tears, he pulled his sword from its sheath, pointing it at the man who simply sighed and shook his head.
"Men, it seems my little brother is having a temper tantrum. Teach him a lesson and throw him out of the camp for the night." A laugh filled the air. "A night of freezing in the desert cold will teach him."
"Damn you!" It was all he managed to say before a fist slammed into his face.
"Don't be shy to use your blades, men. Sometimes we all need a few points and tips to help us learn. But don't kill him… death is too good for a person like him. And of course, Father would be displeased."
It was a mercy when Kaehl was finally knocked unconscious.
*
All he could feel was pain. It wasn't stinging or sudden, just a continuous throbbing feeling that made him want to throw up and curl up into a ball… which he couldn't. Any attempt to move his body increased the pain, causing more than whimpers to leave his mouth.
"Shh… stay still."
He didn't need to hear those words to follow them through. His body was already punishing him for attempting to move. He let himself relax as much as he could, and soon enough his breaths came more steadily than they had before. His eyes were still closed but he could hear and smell at least. If he strained hard enough, he could hear the sound of something flapping in the wind in the distance, whilst near him was the sound of something pressing, no, grinding against something else. His nose twitched as he tried to identify the scent. It was strong yet not in an unpleasant way. Leaves perhaps?
His curiosity led him to open his eyes, and he found himself looking up at… he wasn't quite sure. It was dark, the only source of light coming from somewhere he would have to lift his head to see. He didn't want to endure any more pain, at least not right away. The one thing that was obvious was that he was alive, so that was good. He opened his mouth to ask where he was, but he didn't get a chance.
"I was hoping you'd stay asleep a little while longer." The voice seemed closer now; there was a shuffling sound and then footsteps as someone came near. Instinctively he cringed, fearful.
"Don't hurt me…" His voice was raspy from lack of use.
"I wouldn't have saved you if I was going to hurt you." The area seemed to brighten as a candle came into view along with the one holding it. It was then set on the ground next to where he lay. His eyes moved from the flickering flame to the woman who had been holding the source of light.
"Who are you?"
"The one who saved you, but I'm guessing it's my name you want." She leaned a little closer so that he could see her properly. She was unfamiliar, that much he knew. Even in this little light he could tell her skin was darker than his, as were her eyes and hair. There was her accent as well; even though he could understand what she was saying, the way she said words sounded different, though not unpleasant. She didn't seem dangerous, which gave him a little relief. "I'm Rayna. Who are you?"
"I'm-" He wanted to continue but stopped himself. He knew who he was and he knew where he came from. What if this woman returned him to the people he had escaped from? "It's not… important." He shifted his eyes so that he was looking at the candlelight once more.
For her part, the woman did nothing more than shrug and shake her head. "Very well, it's your choice… I'll call you Serwil then."
"What's that?"
Her mouth twitched, eyes crinkling. "It's not important," was the reply, voice a little teasing though it returned to normal when she continued to speak. "You were a wreck when I found you; you'd be dead if I hadn't dragged you in here. Bleeding has stopped and you actually seem better even if you feel like you're dying." She reached back for something; when her hand returned the now named Serwil could see a bowl in her hand.
"What's-"
"A salve," was the reply. "I've been using it on your wounds for the last two days-"
"I've been here two days?"
Rayna nodded patiently. "Yes, so you really don't have to worry about me sending you off on your own. No one passes through here much." There was a half-smile on her face. "It's why I stay here. Now hush, I need to put this on your wounds before it dries out and loses its potency."
It was hard for him to relax, at least until he felt the salve being applied to the wound on his cheekbone. There was a bit of a sting but it was quickly replaced by a cooling feeling instead. It was the touch that surprised Serwil, however. He couldn't remember being treated so carefully before. It made him feel both happy and stupid.
"Have you done this before?" Now that his voice was no longer too raspy, he felt the need to talk, to communicate, to figure out where he was and whether he was truly safe. "You seem quite good at it… the pain seems to be leaving me."
"For the moment it is." Rayna paused in her ministrations, looking at Serwil as she spoke. "Later I will give you a pain numbing tea."
"So you have done this before," he concluded, noting she had not replied that part.
"It wouldn't make sense if I hadn't," she answered, a small chuckle escaping her as she looked away.
Serwil remained quiet after that, his gaze leaving Rayna to look back up. Now that his eyes were getting used to the darkness, the entire area seemed brighter. He could finally tell he was not in any sort of house or even a tent for that matter. The ceiling was quite high and craggy, and now that he actually paid attention, he could feel the ground beneath him was cold and as hard as a rock.
"Where are we?" he asked, breaking the silence when he could no longer feel any new salve being applied on him. It was bothersome, not being able to sit up and actually see who he was talking to. He felt vulnerable- no, he was vulnerable, and he didn't like it.
He waited for an answer but didn't receive one. Instead, Rayna stood up, rubbing the remaining salve off her hand before brushing at her clothes. It was hard for Serwil to tell what she was wearing in the dark, but he had a feeling that it was probably nothing like the women where he came from. He opened his mouth to speak again, stopping when she walked away. Well, maybe he should have expected that-
The area was suddenly brighter as if someone had removed a curtain from his eyes. As it was, a curtain had been moved to the side, one that allowed light in what he could now tell was a cave. So that was the swishing sound I had heard earlier…
"I live by myself where no one will bother me." Rayna's voice could be heard from the distance. Serwil took in a breath, pressing his hands against the ground and pushing himself so that he was a little elevated. Grunting in pain, he forced his body back so that he now reclined against the hard and uncomfortable cave wall. The effort had him breathing heavily, gasping in fact. He could finally see himself properly however, so it was worth the pain.
It made sense that he had so many cuts and bruises on his body as well as broken and bruised ribs, he suspected. As if those bootlickers would have had any mercy. Seeing the many bandages wrapped around his chest, arms and legs… he could only imagine what his face looked like.
He looked toward the cave entrance, where he saw Rayna was watching him. "You looked worse when I found you," she offered.
Serwil didn't feel much better hearing that. "It will take days before I get better."
"It will," she agreed, letting the curtain fall back down, where she secured it close with what Serwil supposed were hooks. "But judging by the way you didn't even tell me your name, you're running from people. Maybe it's better for you to stay hidden until you're not as weak as a kitten."
"You're not much for comforting a person, are you?"
"Not really," Rayna replied, a smile on her face. "Coddling leaves a person weak, and you don't seem like someone who's used to that."
*
It took a good while before all of Serwil's wounds healed, and nearly a month before he could stand and walk properly. During this time he tried to make himself a little useful, though it was difficult at first. The truth was that despite being good at a great many things like swordplay and archery, he wasn't very good at simpler things like peeling and dicing vegetables.
"I didn't fix you up only to have you bleed to death while peeling a carrot." The look on Rayna's face had been one of exasperation that day, and she had promptly sent him away to sort out different piles of herbs.
He had simply brushed it off at that time, though much to Rayna's amusement, he had kept away from the vegetables since then.
It was like she had fallen into a rhythm of sorts. She hadn't expected him to be here so long. From what she had grown up with, men were too stubborn for their own good. Most simply wished to be patched up and sent on their way, unless they received some sort of incentive to stay. Serwil was different. He seemed lost in his thoughts most of the time, and when he did talk or answer any of her questions, it was always vaguely. She didn't know where he was from nor did she know which tribe he belonged to. One thing she did suspect was that he had been born in wealth. His way of speech was much too proper to be of the common folk.
"I'm going out," she told him one morning. It was still relatively early, but this was the best time to go out and find food.
"I'll come with you," Serwil answered groggily, still half asleep.
"And fall over because you aren't awake yet? You can come tomorrow."
She left without waiting for him to say anything more. Her heart was beating faster than usual, and she winced when she realized she had been biting on the inside of her lip. Why hadn't she let him come as well? It was almost as if she was afraid… afraid that he would leave as soon as he stepped outside. Who would wish to stay in a small stuffy cave anyway when there was a whole world to explore?
Why hasn't he left yet? No, don't think of that! Her hands clenched and she shook her head. She was being stupid now. So what if he was the first decent man she had met in ages? So what if he was kind and amusing and made no insinuations in her direction? He couldn't stay, he wouldn't stay. He didn't belong here or to her. He probably had a house somewhere, a family, a wife…
Rayna swore out loud, eyes clenching shut. "You're stupid," she told herself, hearing the bitterness in her own voice. She had to stop thinking like this and get on with what she was doing. She breathed in and out; her eyes snapped open, ready to focus.
Her cave was located in a craggy mountain range that looked over a savannah on one side and a desert on the other. It was quite normal for caravans to pass by the mountain range as they headed toward the savannah in search of somewhere to stay the night. There was a village there, further than the eyes could see, something of a caravan serai for those weary and in need of rest.
A haven to most people, it was where Rayna had been exiled from. Her eyes narrowed in the direction before she looked away, focusing instead on the passage between the mountain range and the desert. It wasn't a very honourable thing to do, but she was used to scavenging and picking up things that passing travellers may have dropped during the night. It made no sense to leave them behind, only to be wasted. At least that's how she looked at it and justified it for herself.
"Hey- hey there!" Her head jerked in the direction of the voice. Coming toward her was somebody. From the distance it was hard to tell how the person looked, especially since their face was covered, probably due to the cold desert night though it would help in the blistering day sun as well.
"I need some help, water…" Rayna's hand slipped to her waist, just a little away from her trousers' pocket, where she always kept a knife.
"Who are you?" she asked tersely. "Show yourself… please." The nicety was an afterthought.
"Oh… of course." The person pulled down the cowl they were wearing as well as the scarf covering their face, revealing a rather fair man with brown hair and light coloured eyes. "I don't mean to disturb you, ma'am, I just want some water. I'll leave you in peace and carry on…" His voice trailed as he wiped at his brow.
It was a moment before Rayna nodded. "Fine, stay there, I'll bring something for you." She started backward, keeping an eye on the man... and bumped into someone behind her. Startled, she turned around to see Serwil.
"What're you doing out here?" She was both relieved and annoyed at the same time.
"I felt like it…" He wasn't looking at her, rather at the man behind her. Rayna looked back; her eyes narrowed when she saw the man had a knife in his hand.
"So this is where you've been hiding," he said, a grin on his face as he started forward. "Did you think you'd just be left off the hook? You're wanted, and there's a pretty price I will get for bringing you back."
"Rayna, go back in." The look on Serwil's face was something she hadn't seen in all the days she had taken care of him.
"Who is he?" She looked back at the man, her hand reaching into her pocket for her knife. "Hey, you! If you want water and food, I'll give it to you. We don't want trouble."
"Rayna, I don't-"
"Give it to me?" The man's grin widened. "There's no giving. I'll be taking your food, your water, and that man there. Move aside, woman, otherwise you're going to end up dead."
"Just leave us alone-" Rayna had thought the man was simply bluffing, that he wouldn't actually go through with what he had said. The sudden sharp pain in her belly told her she had thought wrong. She stumbled back against Serwil, eyes looking down at the knife sticking out of her. Already her tunic was being stained with the red of her blood.
"No!" Serwil's voice was echoing in her mind as she fell, only to be grabbed and helped down instead. "You bastard!"
"My… pocket…" she gasped. Her hand was still holding on to her knife. She pulled it out and not a moment later she felt it leave her grasp.
"You didn't have to hurt her," she heard Serwil say, his voice shaking. "You're going to regret this. Now die." There was the sound of someone breaking into a run. Was it Serwil? No, she didn't think so... A whimper left her as she reached for the knife she had been stabbed with. Please don't let me die… Her hand clenched the handle and she pulled upward, a yell escaping her as she yanked it out and let it fall to her side, her now free hand pressing against the escaping blood.
"Rayna?" There was the sound of footsteps nearing her. She blinked as she saw the familiar albeit blurry face. "Oh no, oh no… no, this can't be happening again!" She felt herself being lifted off the ground. "I need to take care of this… Tell me what to do, Rayna!"
"Wrap… wrap it up," she managed. "Then… beyond the trees… there's a village… they have a healer. Take… take me there…"
It was the last place she had ever wanted to see again, but she couldn't die now. Not when everything was going well for once!
*
"S-Serwil?" He turned instantly, looking down at Rayna. She looked disorientated, as if she had no idea where she was.
"Rayna, you're awake." He smiled at her, the relief clear in his voice. It had been two days since she had opened her eyes. His own stung with unshed tears but he let them be, feeling the clenched feeling in his stomach slowly relaxing. "How are you feeling?"
"Tired," was her reply. "Where… where are we? What… the man..."
"We're in a village near the mountain. You told me about it before you passed out…" Serwil reached over, gently touching her hair. "They let me come in, gave us a tent where the healer could come see you. As for the man… he's not going to bother us anymore. I made sure of it."
He watched her for any sort of reaction, but it seemed she was still too out of it, her eyes closing once more. He was glad, truth be told. The village chief had not been happy, ready to turn them away. It was only due to the actual healer that they were allowed to stay until she recovered; the old man had refused to send anyone on the brink of death away.
"You all should be ashamed of yourselves," he had growled. It seemed most of them did feel a little awkward after that, and the chief had grudgingly given Serwil permission to stay in a tent at the edge of the village. When he'd asked the old healer why the chief hadn't wanted them here, he had received a rather vague answer about strangers disrupting the balance of the village. It seemed to him that it was something else, however.
There was a shuffling sound outside the tent, followed by a cough. Serwil stood up and walked over to the the flap covering the opening, pulling it back to see the old healer.
"How's she doing?" he grunted as he stepped in, limping over to the pallet on which Rayna lay.
"She was awake just before you came. She opened her eyes and spoke… she seems tired."
"Only natural," was the reply. The old man ignored Serwil thereafter, tending to Rayna. The former hovered about behind the two, though one annoyed look sent him to the other end of the tent where he sat down staring at his hands. All sorts of thoughts were clouding his mind, including the fact that he didn't know the healer's name.
It seemed like an eternity when he finally looked up, hearing the sound of protesting joints cracking as the healer got to his feet. "How is she? And uh… may I know your name?"
"She's getting there," the healer replied. He smirked slightly at the second question. "Only just thought of asking, huh? Name's Youmas, but most just call me 'old man' or 'Dada'." He shrugged his shoulders as he looked back at Rayna. "She called me the same too."
That statement only incited the curiosity in Serwil; he couldn't keep himself from commenting. "So, you all do know her."
"Aye, we do." Youmas looked around before grumbling about the lack of chairs in the tent. He then sat back down, grunting in pain as he leaned heavily on his hands so that he didn't fall. "Ahh, there we go." Sighing, he stretched out his legs, rubbing at the knobbly knees under his trousers.
"I'd offer you a better place to sit but…" Serwil shrugged his shoulders, looking a little concerned for the older man.
"No matter," Youmas replied, shaking his head. "I'll be having a word with that idiot Zaini, treating guests this way."
"We have you to thank for letting us stay." Serwil sat up straight, resting his hands on his knees as he looked directly at the healer. "I thought she was going to die."
"She would've if I hadn't step in." The old man didn't seem to shy away from telling the truth. "But I wasn't going to let that happen to her." His eyes narrowed as he shook his head. "She was one of us not too long ago. Her father… well, he was an old friend of mine. Did me lots of favours before he passed. The least I can to honour him is save his girl's life."
Serwil hadn't expected Youmas to give him such details, but now that he had there was no stopping his questions. "She used to live here? Why did she leave?" He looked to the now closed tent. "From what I've seen, it seems nice enough here."
"It was for a time, until Rayna married Zaini's son." The old man's forehead wrinkled. "Zaini is a good man, a leader… a chief we love and rely on. His son was another matter. Sometimes the fruit of a tree looks sweet but is actually bitter. Of course, no one believed he hurt her... nor did I until she came to me one day, half beaten." His hands shook, jaw clenching as his teeth gritted against each other. "By this time her father had already passed away. Her mother… well no one quite knew who she was. Her father had simply arrived with her one day, saying she was his daughter. Poor lass had no one anymore. Marriage should have given her a family, a haven. Instead, it was the opposite."
Serwil's gaze had turned away from Youmas to Rayna and then to the ground. He felt angry that such a thing had happened to his savior. "She saved me," he blurted out. "I could have died out there, in the desert. I don't know how, but she managed to get me to her… to where she stays."
Youmas raised an eyebrow when Serwil refrained from mentioning where Rayna lived, but he seemed to let it go. "Seems she fixed you up good," he commented, letting out a breath. "I taught her some of my work. I didn't know how to stop her husband from beating her… the least I could do was help her deal with the pain." His jaw clenched once more, head shaking tersely. "I should have done something… should have told Zaini…"
"Where's he now?" Serwil asked, looking at the old man. "Her husband, I mean?"
"Dead," Youmas replied, sighing loudly.
"Oh."
"She killed him," he added in an offhanded manner, smiling bitterly. "It was bound to happen. It was either him or her, and she chose herself. Just like anyone else would've." Once more he shook his head, seeming saddened by the whole situation. "Chief couldn't take it. Who could blame him? It was his son. Family's family, after all."
"No… I don't believe that." Serwil looked at Youmas, eyes dark with feeling. "Good is good and wrong is wrong, no matter who does it. It doesn't matter whether you share the same blood, whether you're a father or a brother." His eyes lowered to the ground, glassy as they brimmed with tears that threatened to shed.
"What would you know of that?" The old man didn't sound like he doubted Serwil, rather it was an honest question.
Serwil simply shook his head. "It's… it's not something I like to talk about."
"Fair enough." Youmas gave the younger man a sympathetic look before struggling to get back up on his feet.
"Here, let me help you-"
The older man waved off the offered help. "It'd be harder for me and you if I took your help," he muttered, chuckling a little. "Well, I'll be back tomorrow morning. If anything happens, send for me."
As he watched the old man limp away from the tent, Serwil couldn't help but feel a little enlightened. He wasn't sure if Rayna would have wanted him to know about her past, but at least now he had a little understanding of why she lived such a secluded life.
He did feel guilty that she didn't know anything about him. What had happened to him was neither more nor less traumatic than what had happened to her. Sighing softly, he moved closer to where she lay, taking her hand in his after he sat down.
Just watching her breathe was a constant boon to him. She was alive, perhaps not well, but she was alive. He had seen one person he had deeply cared for die before his very eyes. The thought that he could have witnessed another such person leave him in a similar way had brought on such a rage upon him that he hadn't spared any thought, simply grabbing her knife and slaughtering the man.
"I'm glad you're still here with us, Rayna." His voice was barely a whisper as he stared down at her hand in his. "That you're still here with me. Seeing that happen… I still feel this anger, this fear in me." He squeezed her hand a little. "The thought that I might not have been able to save you, that you would die too…" His head slumped, the tears he had held back for over a month finally knowing no bound.
"I watched him, Rayna… I watched him kill my best friend, a man who was more a brother to me than my own. And I couldn't do anything…" His spare hand reached up to cover his streaming eyes. "It's a cruel world… one that punishes the good and spares the evil beings to continue spreading their filth."
He felt a slight pressure on his hand and quieted, though he didn't uncover his eyes to look at Rayna, feeling too overwhelmed.
"Why… did your… why did he do that?"
It was a good moment before Serwil finally spoke, lowering his hand from his eyes to look at Rayna. "It was my fault." His voice was low and flat, eyes closing once more as he reached for any strength within him. She deserved to know after bringing him back to life and nearly dying due to him.
"My father… he is the king and I am his second son. My brother was given this country to rule over in his stead while he stays at the castle. My brother…" He hesitated, eyes looking to the ground. "He is not a nice person, Rayna. He has destroyed villages as if it's a simple game to him. People… they're not people, they're his playthings. I don't know how this happened to him. People can't simply be evil… I know that much. Perhaps it was the pressure of ruling, or perhaps he had no guidance.
"My word counted as nothing to him. He calls me little brother, but I know he doesn't truly believe that. I'm only his half brother. Father remarried when his first wife passed away, and so I was born." He let out a sigh. "I suppose any young boy would hate to see his mother replaced…" His fists clenched. "It was fine as children, but as we grew older, wiser, I could feel it, the resentment, the hatred towards my mother, towards me. When he called me little brother, there was no familial feeling there… only derision"
He stopped, shaking his head, a sad smile on his lips. "For the longest time I wanted to be close to him, like how I would see other siblings playing with one another. Even as a grown man there was something inside me craving for that sort of closeness. I never thought I would get it until I met my friend. His family had returned to the our city after a long time, having served my father elsewhere." His hand tightened around Rayna's. "I'm sorry, you're here injured and hurting, and I'm just talking about silly childish-"
"It's not silly, Serwil." The look in Rayna's eyes was one of understanding, and perhaps something more. "There is nothing else I can do right now. Besides, I want to know."
He nodded. "It's only right that you do," he said softly. "My friend's name was Ren. He wasn't a very big or strong man, but he was fast and good with a bow. We would go hunting together quite often. He was a good man, friendly, a little too carefree perhaps… but I loved it. I loved him. My entire life was filled with stiff people and a brother who hated me. Ren was…" He smiled, taking a breath. "He was like the brother I never had. I often told him that, that I wished I had met him before I had.
" 'Everything happens for a reason', that's what he'd reply." Serwil's free hand dug against his knee. "I don't know that anymore. There had been no reason to kill him… none except that it was the one thing that would tear my heart apart…"
"You don't have to continue," Rayna murmured. She knew very well how painful memories felt.
It was tempting to simply stop, but he knew very well that if he did then he wouldn't be able to finish later on. "When my father sent my brother Kerwin to rule over this country, I was sent with him. Ren was among the soldiers that accompanied my brother. I don't know what my father was thinking, but Kerwin wasn't the kind of man who should lead. He showed no mercy, inciting fear in the towns and villages. Ransacking, burning…" His eyes narrowed, forehead wrinkling as he frowned. "It was painful to watch and yet… I didn't do anything.
"One day though, I couldn't stop myself, Rayna. He… There was an orphanage not two days walk from here, on the other side of the mountain." His eyes darkened, reliving that dreadful memory.
*
Children of all ages, young men and women, and the elderly couple who took care of the orphanage, all were on their knees before Kerwin. It was clear from the looks on their faces that they had heard of what he had done to others who had displeased him. Fear was not a pretty thing to see, but who could really blame them?
"Y-Your Highness-" The old master was cut off immediately by Prince Kerwin.
"I was told you haven't paid your taxes yet." He smiled down at the old man, looking quite the handsome man. If one wasn't acquainted with him, they wouldn't have believed he was the tyrant others claimed he was. "You know it's your duty to pay your dues. We grant you security, keeping away the bandits and looters of the desert tribes."
"Your Highness," started one of the younger men. "We need more time, please. We can barely feed the young here-" He was cut off as well, but it was by Kerwin's sword, lashing out like a snake and slicing his throat open.
Screams erupted as the young man fell to his knees, clutching at his throat in vain, bright red blood spurting out of the gaping wound and dripping down his hands onto the dusty ground.
"Silence!" Kerwin's order was immediately complied with, some of the younger children and even older ones clasping their hands over their mouths to keep from making a sound. "Excuses… oh dear me. What am I going to do when the future is filled with excuse makers?"
He turned around, a hand to his chin, making a show of contemplating. "Little brother! What do you think I should do with these people?"
Kaehl had been sincerely praying his brother would not ask for his opinion. No good ever came from that. His brother wouldn't listen to him; this was just an opportunity to show how useless he was. Staying silent would do no good either. There was never a good path to take when Kerwin was involved.
"I…" Kaehl looked at the kneeling people, eyes lingering over the silently crying children. "Give them a week, my Prince. I'm sure they will pay you then."
Kerwin chuckled. "You ask for mercy, little brother? I should have known. Well then… mercy it is." He tapped at his chin, contemplating some more, and then nodded. "Captain."
"Yes, Your Highness?" An armoured man stepped forward.
"We must show mercy to these people. Kill them quickly. I want no screaming, we mustn't scare the horses."
"What?!" Kaehl looked to Kerwin in disbelief.
Meanwhile, the old man stood up, horror clear on his face. "Your Highness, please!"
"Begging is not pleasant to see." He turned around just as the captain and his men headed to the people of the orphanage, who in turn tried to run.
"Kerwin, please! This is madness!"
"No," the prince replied, eyes narrowed as he turned to look at the younger prince. "This is justice. They cannot pay, they speak out of turn, and they expect mercy? They are simply an example I am setting for everyone else."
"What?" Kaehl spat out. "An example that you're a cruel, tyrant of a man?"
"Careful, little brother. I don't like the tone you're taking with me-"
Kaehl's fist hit him square in the jaw, causing him to stumble backward.
"You dare hit me?" Kerwin straightened himself, rubbing his face gingerly before speaking. "Men! Grab him!" He smiled coldly. "And bring Ren here as well. I think it's time my little brother learns a lesson."
*
Tears were streaming from Rayna's eyes, watching the man she had come to care about in so much pain. "I'm so sorry, Serwil… I mean, Kaehl-"
"No." He shook his head. "I'm not Kaehl. Not anymore. That name belonged to another man, one who was a prince, the son of a king, the brother of a prince. I'm neither. I reject the thought of being related to that beast of a man, or to a king who would cast a blind eye to his son's misdeeds."
He let go of Rayna's hand, only to reach over and gently wipe the tears from her cheeks. "I'm Serwil, and perhaps I have been Serwil longer than I realized." His hand moved away from her cheek, only to rest on her hair. "It's terrible, the way I've come to find myself here. There are many regrets I have, many sorrows… but I know now that there's one bright light before me. You."
"Serwil…" Rayna looked surprised and a little embarrassed.
"It's the truth," he replied, leaning close to her. "You saved my life, you kept me in your home. You had no reason to but you did. For this, I'll always be in your debt. I'll always-"
"Serwil." She had to say it before she lost courage. "I… I think I love you."
He smiled, resting his forehead lightly against hers. "I know… and I think I love you too."
*
As always, the sands of times neither hasten nor delay for anyone. It wasn't long before Rayna could stand once more and move about. She still had to recover though, and Youmas did not wish for her to leave no matter how many times Serwil reassured the old man that he would inform him if anything happened. It seemed as if the healer wished to redeem himself for not having stood up for his friend's daughter when she had needed him all those days ago.
Rayna wasn't one to hold a grudge, having known full well that the old man had always wished well for her. "It isn't his fault," she had confided to Serwil a fortnight after in being in the village. "I just wish he would understand I'd much rather not be here."
He, on the other hand, was glad she was somewhere much more comfortable than the cave, where a healer was right at hand. He kept this to himself, however, knowing full well that Rayna would probably sulk from hearing that. Serwil knew why she didn't want to stay here, but it was no longer the past, and as much as memories were hurtful, they would not kill her like a septic wound might.
Perhaps the person who was most dissatisfied with the arrangement was the chief. Unfortunately, neither Serwil nor Rayna had any warning as to what was about to happen.
*
"Wake up. Wake up!"
Serwil's eyes shot open and he immediately sat up. He had gone to sleep not more than an hour at most, but even if he had been in deep sleep, that voice would have awoken him. The amount of hate he felt scared him.
Prince Kerwin was standing at the tent entrance, smiling at him. To any stranger, the two looked nearly identical with their long golden hair, green eyes, and fair skin. To Rayna, now awake and on her feet, the difference between the two couldn't be more pronounced. The prince's smile was false, his eyes cold.
"Kaehl, my little brother!" Kerwin stepped forward, his arms spread out as if he wished to embrace his brother. Serwil scrambled to his feet, eyes jerking around the room as he tried to find something weapon worthy. "Imagine my surprise when I was told you were mere days from my camp! Do you know how long I have been searching for you?"
"How did you find me?" Serwil's voice was harsh, not sharing any false pleasantries with the man he hated.
Kerwin laughed, eyes roaming around the tent before resting on Rayna. "The chief of this tribe is an honourable man," he mentioned, smile widening. "It seems he is rather upset with a certain girl's return to his village. It didn't take long for him to realize who you were." He looked pointedly at Serwil. "Did you think I was just going to forget about you? That man you killed wasn't the only one I sent out to search for you. Luckily for me, Chief Zaini informed one of my men that someone of your description was here. I thought it was worth investigating personally."
Serwil was silent, though there was a twitch in his jaw. It was hard to stay still and not simply race forward and attempt to kill the man standing before him, but he couldn't, not with Rayna there.
The sound of angry yelling could be heard from outside. "It seems some old fool is not happy." Kerwin smirked, his eyes moving from Rayna to linger on Serwil. "Let's see what I can do to give him peace, hm?"
It was as if a cold hand had touched his spine. "Kerwin, no, don't hurt-"
The prince chuckled. Then, he reached out and grabbed Rayna's arm. "You will come with me, girl. And you too, Serwil." Without waiting for an answer, he turned around and marched out of the tent, pulling Rayna behind him.
"No! No, don't hurt her!" In his frantic state Servil rushed forward, stumbling over Rayna's pallet and falling to his knees. He didn't wait, immediately getting back to his feet and rushing out of the tent. By then Kerwin had already moved to the side, still holding on tightly to Rayna's arm. She seemed to be trying to pull herself out of his grasp, though not quite succeeding.
Before them were a few soldiers holding Youmas, the old man's eyes blazing in anger. "Zaini, you fool!" The chief of the tribe wasn't there, however. "Not once, but twice you betray your own!"
"Now, now, old man." Kerwin he looked down at the healer. "That's no way to talk about your leader. I take offence on his behalf."
"Then you're as much a fool as he is!" Youmas glared defiantly at the prince.
"No Youmas, don't-" Serwil's warning was too late, however. One of the soldiers holding the old man had already pulled out a knife; it took only Kerwin's nod for the knife to slice at the old man's face, leaving open a raw cut.
Rayna screamed, her free hand reaching for the old man. "Dada! No! Don't kill him!"
"Now, now, don't play with an old man." Kerwin smiled at Rayna. "Worry not, my dear, I'm not a cruel man." He snatched the knife from the soldier with his free hand.
"Rayna" Youmas sputtered, "shade, shade of the-" He was unable to continue whatever he was saying as Kerwin kicked him right in the stomach.
"Kerwin!" Serwil was shocked at the amount of anger in his voice when he yelled his brother's name. His wet eyes jerked from the prince to Rayna, now on the ground, weeping as she tried to crawl over to the fallen healer. "You will pay!"
The words only just left his mouth when he felt his arms being grabbed from behind by not one but two pairs of hands. He tried to yank himself away, resulting in nothing more than being kicked in the back of his legs, whereafter he fell to his knees.
"Little brother, it pains me that I must punish you again so soon after reuniting." Despite his words, there was a smile on his face. "Well, it has been a long day and night has already fallen. I believe I require a little food and rest…" His smile widened. "And perhaps a girl. Yes, this one here should do very well. Come along, girl!"
"No, not Rayna, please-"
"Take him away," Kerwin ordered. "And for goodness' sake, tie him up this time."
It was no use. Fight as he might, Serwil wasn't strong enough to fight the two men holding him along with the rest of Kerwin's soldiers. "Rayna…" His voice broke as he watched the prince yank her arm, forcing him after her as he walked to tent specially raised for him.
"Up!" He was forcibly brought up to his feet and then pushed forward. There wasn't really any reason to push him. He was visibly defeated and had no fight left in him…
"Serwil!" The whisper broke him out of his extended state of stupor. He had been tied outside the village to a tree, close enough to see the lanterns flickering but too far to take any comfort from their light.
He looked up, eyes narrowed as they focused on the person talking to him. No, I'm just dreaming this…
"Focus, Serwil, focus!" Even in a whisper, the sharp voice was familiar.
"Rayna?" Mouth agape, his eyes were now wide as he stared at her. "You're… he let you-"
"He's dead," she muttered, pulling a knife from her pocket. Without another word, she started slicing at his ropes.
"But… how?"
*
She had known there was nothing Serwil could do, not in this situation. Not only that, she couldn't guarantee that Youmas would be spared if she did anything but follow the prince's orders. She couldn't bear the thought of the old man being hurt even worse, killed on her account.
Especially after he had given her the solution.
Rayna knew what Kerwin wanted. Killing her would give Serwil pain, but eventually it would fade. Keeping her and using her like a common slave girl would cause a never ending anger and pain, an ongoing lesson to continuously rub in his little brother's face.
The tent was comfortably furnished for the prince, including a lush bed with cushions along with food and wine set on a table to the side. "Go now," he ordered his soldiers, giving them a wink. "Have your try at the local foods and wine. Women too."
Rayna stiffened at his words, and this was noticed by Kerwin. "Only those who aren't paired, mind you." He grinned at her. "No one shall call me a separator of man and wife. And you, my dear, I know are not wed. You killed your husband, didn't you?"
She nodded. "So I was told." Kerwin chuckled as he finally let her go, reclining on the bed. "I know you won't run. You look like a smart girl, and smart girls know what happens to those they love when they displease me." He winked at her before nodding to the table. "Bring me something to drink, girl. We are going to have a long night. Might as well start it with something sweet, at least at the beginning."
"Yes sir," Rayna replied, her voice shaking slightly. She walked to the table, her back facing Kerwin as she took hold of a pitcher of wine, carefully pouring it into a goblet.
As she did, she recalled Youmas' words. Thank you, Dada. Shade of the night was a deadly poison she had learned of when she still lived in the village. It had been a last attempt to help her when she feared her life was in danger due to her husband. She had never used it, her husband having succumbed to a knife instead. All those months it remained in her pocket, safely tucked away in the form of a round pill.
Her one hand reached into her pocket, while the other hand picked up some dates from a tray. As she dropped the pill in the wine, she set the dates in a bowl.
"Per-perhaps Your Highness would like to eat something first?" Rayna turned and walked back to Kerwin, holding both the goblet and the bowl of dates. The pill dissolved quickly, but a little extra time to make sure wouldn't hurt.
Kerwin raised an eyebrow before reaching out and taking a date. "Yes, lovely, quite fresh. I hate the desert, but I must admit these are quite delightful. As is the date wine made here." He looked pointedly at the wine, nodding his head. Taking this as her cue, Rayna held the cup out for him to take, lowering her head in a semblance of respect. It was hard not to watch as the prince took a long sip of the wine.
"Mmm, delicious, a little extra spicy I believe." His grin had a leery air. "Much like the desert girls, I hear." Saying that, he grabbed Rayna by the arm, yanking her over to him. His hands roamed over her, taking several liberties as his lips pressed against her neck.
Rayna cringed inwardly, eyes shutting in disgust. Not… long…
It felt like hours later though it was not more than a couple of minutes before she heard him begin to cough. His hands remained on her even after he removed his mouth from her, trying to catch his breath.
"More wine?" she asked, turning in his lap, a soft smile on her face.
Kerwin nodded, reaching a hand out for the goblet, but another coughing fit kept him from being able to take hold of his drink.
"Oh dear…" The smile lingered on Rayna's lips. Her mind was working fast, however. The last thing she needed was someone coming in to check on the prince. She grabbed a cushion from behind him and brought it down on his face. He was already choking; she was simply expediting the inevitable.
*
"I killed him." Rayna finally cut the ropes tying Serwil to the tree. "It doesn't matter. Nothing matters except that we leave here. No one knows what has happened yet, and they won't know for a while. His men are off drinking and whoring. Come morning and they will know what I've done."
Serwil stood up shakily. "You shouldn't have had to bear the burden, Rayna. I'm sorry. I failed you twice-"
Rayna placed her hands on either side of his face, eyes dark as they bore into his. "That is all the past, Serwil. Right now… we must leave." She paused a moment before leaning close, pressing her lips against his in a brief but heartfelt kiss. "I love you Serwil, and the last thing I want is for you to hurt again."
"I should be the one saying that to you."
"It doesn't matter who says what to whom," Rayna replied, smiling at him. "The feeling will always be mutual. It only matters that we're alive and together."
"Youmas…"
Rayna's lips trembled a little. "He… he'll understand. It's better like this, Serwil. They can't blame him or hurt him for our escape. Come now… please." She took hold of his hand, leading him away from the trees to the village stables, where both the soldiers' horses as well as the villagers steeds were housed.
"Kerwin won't be missing his horse," Serwil muttered. He instantly recognized his brother's prized horse, a strong black mare who was docile enough to take the brunt of his whip. "Up you go, Rayna." He couldn't help but look over his shoulder more than once, scared that the stable-hand may come, even though it was late enough at night that anyone without nefarious plans would be asleep.
It wasn't long before he too was on the horse, his arms around Rayna as he held the reins. It had been a while since he rode a horse, but a lifetime's practice wasn't shed due to a two-month forced hiatus. He slowly rode the horse to the mountain range, stopping just outside the entrance of Rayna's cave.
"I wonder if things would have been different if I had simply stayed inside." He shook his head, letting out a soft breath.
"Your brother would have found us eventually," Rayna replied, looking back at him.
"Not my brother." Serwil pressed his forehead against her hair. "Never my brother. I have no family except you."
Rayna was quiet as she laid her hand over his, squeezing gently. "That is more than fine by me, Serwil," she finally murmured. Lifting his hand, she pressed her lips against it.
"Let's go, my love."
"That's the price he had to pay for your insolence, little brother." The man before him was dressed in fancy armour, a dripping red sword in his hand and a satisfied grin on his face.
"You… you killed… you killed him!" The words came out harshly as if it was painful to have them leave his mouth. "I- I was the one! Not him! And you just-"
"Killed him, yes, you already said that little brother-"
"Don't call me that!" he snarled, hand grabbing the sword at his waist. "He was more a brother to me than you ever were! And you killed him!" Eyes stinging with tears, he pulled his sword from its sheath, pointing it at the man who simply sighed and shook his head.
"Men, it seems my little brother is having a temper tantrum. Teach him a lesson and throw him out of the camp for the night." A laugh filled the air. "A night of freezing in the desert cold will teach him."
"Damn you!" It was all he managed to say before a fist slammed into his face.
"Don't be shy to use your blades, men. Sometimes we all need a few points and tips to help us learn. But don't kill him… death is too good for a person like him. And of course, Father would be displeased."
It was a mercy when Kaehl was finally knocked unconscious.
*
All he could feel was pain. It wasn't stinging or sudden, just a continuous throbbing feeling that made him want to throw up and curl up into a ball… which he couldn't. Any attempt to move his body increased the pain, causing more than whimpers to leave his mouth.
"Shh… stay still."
He didn't need to hear those words to follow them through. His body was already punishing him for attempting to move. He let himself relax as much as he could, and soon enough his breaths came more steadily than they had before. His eyes were still closed but he could hear and smell at least. If he strained hard enough, he could hear the sound of something flapping in the wind in the distance, whilst near him was the sound of something pressing, no, grinding against something else. His nose twitched as he tried to identify the scent. It was strong yet not in an unpleasant way. Leaves perhaps?
His curiosity led him to open his eyes, and he found himself looking up at… he wasn't quite sure. It was dark, the only source of light coming from somewhere he would have to lift his head to see. He didn't want to endure any more pain, at least not right away. The one thing that was obvious was that he was alive, so that was good. He opened his mouth to ask where he was, but he didn't get a chance.
"I was hoping you'd stay asleep a little while longer." The voice seemed closer now; there was a shuffling sound and then footsteps as someone came near. Instinctively he cringed, fearful.
"Don't hurt me…" His voice was raspy from lack of use.
"I wouldn't have saved you if I was going to hurt you." The area seemed to brighten as a candle came into view along with the one holding it. It was then set on the ground next to where he lay. His eyes moved from the flickering flame to the woman who had been holding the source of light.
"Who are you?"
"The one who saved you, but I'm guessing it's my name you want." She leaned a little closer so that he could see her properly. She was unfamiliar, that much he knew. Even in this little light he could tell her skin was darker than his, as were her eyes and hair. There was her accent as well; even though he could understand what she was saying, the way she said words sounded different, though not unpleasant. She didn't seem dangerous, which gave him a little relief. "I'm Rayna. Who are you?"
"I'm-" He wanted to continue but stopped himself. He knew who he was and he knew where he came from. What if this woman returned him to the people he had escaped from? "It's not… important." He shifted his eyes so that he was looking at the candlelight once more.
For her part, the woman did nothing more than shrug and shake her head. "Very well, it's your choice… I'll call you Serwil then."
"What's that?"
Her mouth twitched, eyes crinkling. "It's not important," was the reply, voice a little teasing though it returned to normal when she continued to speak. "You were a wreck when I found you; you'd be dead if I hadn't dragged you in here. Bleeding has stopped and you actually seem better even if you feel like you're dying." She reached back for something; when her hand returned the now named Serwil could see a bowl in her hand.
"What's-"
"A salve," was the reply. "I've been using it on your wounds for the last two days-"
"I've been here two days?"
Rayna nodded patiently. "Yes, so you really don't have to worry about me sending you off on your own. No one passes through here much." There was a half-smile on her face. "It's why I stay here. Now hush, I need to put this on your wounds before it dries out and loses its potency."
It was hard for him to relax, at least until he felt the salve being applied to the wound on his cheekbone. There was a bit of a sting but it was quickly replaced by a cooling feeling instead. It was the touch that surprised Serwil, however. He couldn't remember being treated so carefully before. It made him feel both happy and stupid.
"Have you done this before?" Now that his voice was no longer too raspy, he felt the need to talk, to communicate, to figure out where he was and whether he was truly safe. "You seem quite good at it… the pain seems to be leaving me."
"For the moment it is." Rayna paused in her ministrations, looking at Serwil as she spoke. "Later I will give you a pain numbing tea."
"So you have done this before," he concluded, noting she had not replied that part.
"It wouldn't make sense if I hadn't," she answered, a small chuckle escaping her as she looked away.
Serwil remained quiet after that, his gaze leaving Rayna to look back up. Now that his eyes were getting used to the darkness, the entire area seemed brighter. He could finally tell he was not in any sort of house or even a tent for that matter. The ceiling was quite high and craggy, and now that he actually paid attention, he could feel the ground beneath him was cold and as hard as a rock.
"Where are we?" he asked, breaking the silence when he could no longer feel any new salve being applied on him. It was bothersome, not being able to sit up and actually see who he was talking to. He felt vulnerable- no, he was vulnerable, and he didn't like it.
He waited for an answer but didn't receive one. Instead, Rayna stood up, rubbing the remaining salve off her hand before brushing at her clothes. It was hard for Serwil to tell what she was wearing in the dark, but he had a feeling that it was probably nothing like the women where he came from. He opened his mouth to speak again, stopping when she walked away. Well, maybe he should have expected that-
The area was suddenly brighter as if someone had removed a curtain from his eyes. As it was, a curtain had been moved to the side, one that allowed light in what he could now tell was a cave. So that was the swishing sound I had heard earlier…
"I live by myself where no one will bother me." Rayna's voice could be heard from the distance. Serwil took in a breath, pressing his hands against the ground and pushing himself so that he was a little elevated. Grunting in pain, he forced his body back so that he now reclined against the hard and uncomfortable cave wall. The effort had him breathing heavily, gasping in fact. He could finally see himself properly however, so it was worth the pain.
It made sense that he had so many cuts and bruises on his body as well as broken and bruised ribs, he suspected. As if those bootlickers would have had any mercy. Seeing the many bandages wrapped around his chest, arms and legs… he could only imagine what his face looked like.
He looked toward the cave entrance, where he saw Rayna was watching him. "You looked worse when I found you," she offered.
Serwil didn't feel much better hearing that. "It will take days before I get better."
"It will," she agreed, letting the curtain fall back down, where she secured it close with what Serwil supposed were hooks. "But judging by the way you didn't even tell me your name, you're running from people. Maybe it's better for you to stay hidden until you're not as weak as a kitten."
"You're not much for comforting a person, are you?"
"Not really," Rayna replied, a smile on her face. "Coddling leaves a person weak, and you don't seem like someone who's used to that."
*
It took a good while before all of Serwil's wounds healed, and nearly a month before he could stand and walk properly. During this time he tried to make himself a little useful, though it was difficult at first. The truth was that despite being good at a great many things like swordplay and archery, he wasn't very good at simpler things like peeling and dicing vegetables.
"I didn't fix you up only to have you bleed to death while peeling a carrot." The look on Rayna's face had been one of exasperation that day, and she had promptly sent him away to sort out different piles of herbs.
He had simply brushed it off at that time, though much to Rayna's amusement, he had kept away from the vegetables since then.
It was like she had fallen into a rhythm of sorts. She hadn't expected him to be here so long. From what she had grown up with, men were too stubborn for their own good. Most simply wished to be patched up and sent on their way, unless they received some sort of incentive to stay. Serwil was different. He seemed lost in his thoughts most of the time, and when he did talk or answer any of her questions, it was always vaguely. She didn't know where he was from nor did she know which tribe he belonged to. One thing she did suspect was that he had been born in wealth. His way of speech was much too proper to be of the common folk.
"I'm going out," she told him one morning. It was still relatively early, but this was the best time to go out and find food.
"I'll come with you," Serwil answered groggily, still half asleep.
"And fall over because you aren't awake yet? You can come tomorrow."
She left without waiting for him to say anything more. Her heart was beating faster than usual, and she winced when she realized she had been biting on the inside of her lip. Why hadn't she let him come as well? It was almost as if she was afraid… afraid that he would leave as soon as he stepped outside. Who would wish to stay in a small stuffy cave anyway when there was a whole world to explore?
Why hasn't he left yet? No, don't think of that! Her hands clenched and she shook her head. She was being stupid now. So what if he was the first decent man she had met in ages? So what if he was kind and amusing and made no insinuations in her direction? He couldn't stay, he wouldn't stay. He didn't belong here or to her. He probably had a house somewhere, a family, a wife…
Rayna swore out loud, eyes clenching shut. "You're stupid," she told herself, hearing the bitterness in her own voice. She had to stop thinking like this and get on with what she was doing. She breathed in and out; her eyes snapped open, ready to focus.
Her cave was located in a craggy mountain range that looked over a savannah on one side and a desert on the other. It was quite normal for caravans to pass by the mountain range as they headed toward the savannah in search of somewhere to stay the night. There was a village there, further than the eyes could see, something of a caravan serai for those weary and in need of rest.
A haven to most people, it was where Rayna had been exiled from. Her eyes narrowed in the direction before she looked away, focusing instead on the passage between the mountain range and the desert. It wasn't a very honourable thing to do, but she was used to scavenging and picking up things that passing travellers may have dropped during the night. It made no sense to leave them behind, only to be wasted. At least that's how she looked at it and justified it for herself.
"Hey- hey there!" Her head jerked in the direction of the voice. Coming toward her was somebody. From the distance it was hard to tell how the person looked, especially since their face was covered, probably due to the cold desert night though it would help in the blistering day sun as well.
"I need some help, water…" Rayna's hand slipped to her waist, just a little away from her trousers' pocket, where she always kept a knife.
"Who are you?" she asked tersely. "Show yourself… please." The nicety was an afterthought.
"Oh… of course." The person pulled down the cowl they were wearing as well as the scarf covering their face, revealing a rather fair man with brown hair and light coloured eyes. "I don't mean to disturb you, ma'am, I just want some water. I'll leave you in peace and carry on…" His voice trailed as he wiped at his brow.
It was a moment before Rayna nodded. "Fine, stay there, I'll bring something for you." She started backward, keeping an eye on the man... and bumped into someone behind her. Startled, she turned around to see Serwil.
"What're you doing out here?" She was both relieved and annoyed at the same time.
"I felt like it…" He wasn't looking at her, rather at the man behind her. Rayna looked back; her eyes narrowed when she saw the man had a knife in his hand.
"So this is where you've been hiding," he said, a grin on his face as he started forward. "Did you think you'd just be left off the hook? You're wanted, and there's a pretty price I will get for bringing you back."
"Rayna, go back in." The look on Serwil's face was something she hadn't seen in all the days she had taken care of him.
"Who is he?" She looked back at the man, her hand reaching into her pocket for her knife. "Hey, you! If you want water and food, I'll give it to you. We don't want trouble."
"Rayna, I don't-"
"Give it to me?" The man's grin widened. "There's no giving. I'll be taking your food, your water, and that man there. Move aside, woman, otherwise you're going to end up dead."
"Just leave us alone-" Rayna had thought the man was simply bluffing, that he wouldn't actually go through with what he had said. The sudden sharp pain in her belly told her she had thought wrong. She stumbled back against Serwil, eyes looking down at the knife sticking out of her. Already her tunic was being stained with the red of her blood.
"No!" Serwil's voice was echoing in her mind as she fell, only to be grabbed and helped down instead. "You bastard!"
"My… pocket…" she gasped. Her hand was still holding on to her knife. She pulled it out and not a moment later she felt it leave her grasp.
"You didn't have to hurt her," she heard Serwil say, his voice shaking. "You're going to regret this. Now die." There was the sound of someone breaking into a run. Was it Serwil? No, she didn't think so... A whimper left her as she reached for the knife she had been stabbed with. Please don't let me die… Her hand clenched the handle and she pulled upward, a yell escaping her as she yanked it out and let it fall to her side, her now free hand pressing against the escaping blood.
"Rayna?" There was the sound of footsteps nearing her. She blinked as she saw the familiar albeit blurry face. "Oh no, oh no… no, this can't be happening again!" She felt herself being lifted off the ground. "I need to take care of this… Tell me what to do, Rayna!"
"Wrap… wrap it up," she managed. "Then… beyond the trees… there's a village… they have a healer. Take… take me there…"
It was the last place she had ever wanted to see again, but she couldn't die now. Not when everything was going well for once!
*
"S-Serwil?" He turned instantly, looking down at Rayna. She looked disorientated, as if she had no idea where she was.
"Rayna, you're awake." He smiled at her, the relief clear in his voice. It had been two days since she had opened her eyes. His own stung with unshed tears but he let them be, feeling the clenched feeling in his stomach slowly relaxing. "How are you feeling?"
"Tired," was her reply. "Where… where are we? What… the man..."
"We're in a village near the mountain. You told me about it before you passed out…" Serwil reached over, gently touching her hair. "They let me come in, gave us a tent where the healer could come see you. As for the man… he's not going to bother us anymore. I made sure of it."
He watched her for any sort of reaction, but it seemed she was still too out of it, her eyes closing once more. He was glad, truth be told. The village chief had not been happy, ready to turn them away. It was only due to the actual healer that they were allowed to stay until she recovered; the old man had refused to send anyone on the brink of death away.
"You all should be ashamed of yourselves," he had growled. It seemed most of them did feel a little awkward after that, and the chief had grudgingly given Serwil permission to stay in a tent at the edge of the village. When he'd asked the old healer why the chief hadn't wanted them here, he had received a rather vague answer about strangers disrupting the balance of the village. It seemed to him that it was something else, however.
There was a shuffling sound outside the tent, followed by a cough. Serwil stood up and walked over to the the flap covering the opening, pulling it back to see the old healer.
"How's she doing?" he grunted as he stepped in, limping over to the pallet on which Rayna lay.
"She was awake just before you came. She opened her eyes and spoke… she seems tired."
"Only natural," was the reply. The old man ignored Serwil thereafter, tending to Rayna. The former hovered about behind the two, though one annoyed look sent him to the other end of the tent where he sat down staring at his hands. All sorts of thoughts were clouding his mind, including the fact that he didn't know the healer's name.
It seemed like an eternity when he finally looked up, hearing the sound of protesting joints cracking as the healer got to his feet. "How is she? And uh… may I know your name?"
"She's getting there," the healer replied. He smirked slightly at the second question. "Only just thought of asking, huh? Name's Youmas, but most just call me 'old man' or 'Dada'." He shrugged his shoulders as he looked back at Rayna. "She called me the same too."
That statement only incited the curiosity in Serwil; he couldn't keep himself from commenting. "So, you all do know her."
"Aye, we do." Youmas looked around before grumbling about the lack of chairs in the tent. He then sat back down, grunting in pain as he leaned heavily on his hands so that he didn't fall. "Ahh, there we go." Sighing, he stretched out his legs, rubbing at the knobbly knees under his trousers.
"I'd offer you a better place to sit but…" Serwil shrugged his shoulders, looking a little concerned for the older man.
"No matter," Youmas replied, shaking his head. "I'll be having a word with that idiot Zaini, treating guests this way."
"We have you to thank for letting us stay." Serwil sat up straight, resting his hands on his knees as he looked directly at the healer. "I thought she was going to die."
"She would've if I hadn't step in." The old man didn't seem to shy away from telling the truth. "But I wasn't going to let that happen to her." His eyes narrowed as he shook his head. "She was one of us not too long ago. Her father… well, he was an old friend of mine. Did me lots of favours before he passed. The least I can to honour him is save his girl's life."
Serwil hadn't expected Youmas to give him such details, but now that he had there was no stopping his questions. "She used to live here? Why did she leave?" He looked to the now closed tent. "From what I've seen, it seems nice enough here."
"It was for a time, until Rayna married Zaini's son." The old man's forehead wrinkled. "Zaini is a good man, a leader… a chief we love and rely on. His son was another matter. Sometimes the fruit of a tree looks sweet but is actually bitter. Of course, no one believed he hurt her... nor did I until she came to me one day, half beaten." His hands shook, jaw clenching as his teeth gritted against each other. "By this time her father had already passed away. Her mother… well no one quite knew who she was. Her father had simply arrived with her one day, saying she was his daughter. Poor lass had no one anymore. Marriage should have given her a family, a haven. Instead, it was the opposite."
Serwil's gaze had turned away from Youmas to Rayna and then to the ground. He felt angry that such a thing had happened to his savior. "She saved me," he blurted out. "I could have died out there, in the desert. I don't know how, but she managed to get me to her… to where she stays."
Youmas raised an eyebrow when Serwil refrained from mentioning where Rayna lived, but he seemed to let it go. "Seems she fixed you up good," he commented, letting out a breath. "I taught her some of my work. I didn't know how to stop her husband from beating her… the least I could do was help her deal with the pain." His jaw clenched once more, head shaking tersely. "I should have done something… should have told Zaini…"
"Where's he now?" Serwil asked, looking at the old man. "Her husband, I mean?"
"Dead," Youmas replied, sighing loudly.
"Oh."
"She killed him," he added in an offhanded manner, smiling bitterly. "It was bound to happen. It was either him or her, and she chose herself. Just like anyone else would've." Once more he shook his head, seeming saddened by the whole situation. "Chief couldn't take it. Who could blame him? It was his son. Family's family, after all."
"No… I don't believe that." Serwil looked at Youmas, eyes dark with feeling. "Good is good and wrong is wrong, no matter who does it. It doesn't matter whether you share the same blood, whether you're a father or a brother." His eyes lowered to the ground, glassy as they brimmed with tears that threatened to shed.
"What would you know of that?" The old man didn't sound like he doubted Serwil, rather it was an honest question.
Serwil simply shook his head. "It's… it's not something I like to talk about."
"Fair enough." Youmas gave the younger man a sympathetic look before struggling to get back up on his feet.
"Here, let me help you-"
The older man waved off the offered help. "It'd be harder for me and you if I took your help," he muttered, chuckling a little. "Well, I'll be back tomorrow morning. If anything happens, send for me."
As he watched the old man limp away from the tent, Serwil couldn't help but feel a little enlightened. He wasn't sure if Rayna would have wanted him to know about her past, but at least now he had a little understanding of why she lived such a secluded life.
He did feel guilty that she didn't know anything about him. What had happened to him was neither more nor less traumatic than what had happened to her. Sighing softly, he moved closer to where she lay, taking her hand in his after he sat down.
Just watching her breathe was a constant boon to him. She was alive, perhaps not well, but she was alive. He had seen one person he had deeply cared for die before his very eyes. The thought that he could have witnessed another such person leave him in a similar way had brought on such a rage upon him that he hadn't spared any thought, simply grabbing her knife and slaughtering the man.
"I'm glad you're still here with us, Rayna." His voice was barely a whisper as he stared down at her hand in his. "That you're still here with me. Seeing that happen… I still feel this anger, this fear in me." He squeezed her hand a little. "The thought that I might not have been able to save you, that you would die too…" His head slumped, the tears he had held back for over a month finally knowing no bound.
"I watched him, Rayna… I watched him kill my best friend, a man who was more a brother to me than my own. And I couldn't do anything…" His spare hand reached up to cover his streaming eyes. "It's a cruel world… one that punishes the good and spares the evil beings to continue spreading their filth."
He felt a slight pressure on his hand and quieted, though he didn't uncover his eyes to look at Rayna, feeling too overwhelmed.
"Why… did your… why did he do that?"
It was a good moment before Serwil finally spoke, lowering his hand from his eyes to look at Rayna. "It was my fault." His voice was low and flat, eyes closing once more as he reached for any strength within him. She deserved to know after bringing him back to life and nearly dying due to him.
"My father… he is the king and I am his second son. My brother was given this country to rule over in his stead while he stays at the castle. My brother…" He hesitated, eyes looking to the ground. "He is not a nice person, Rayna. He has destroyed villages as if it's a simple game to him. People… they're not people, they're his playthings. I don't know how this happened to him. People can't simply be evil… I know that much. Perhaps it was the pressure of ruling, or perhaps he had no guidance.
"My word counted as nothing to him. He calls me little brother, but I know he doesn't truly believe that. I'm only his half brother. Father remarried when his first wife passed away, and so I was born." He let out a sigh. "I suppose any young boy would hate to see his mother replaced…" His fists clenched. "It was fine as children, but as we grew older, wiser, I could feel it, the resentment, the hatred towards my mother, towards me. When he called me little brother, there was no familial feeling there… only derision"
He stopped, shaking his head, a sad smile on his lips. "For the longest time I wanted to be close to him, like how I would see other siblings playing with one another. Even as a grown man there was something inside me craving for that sort of closeness. I never thought I would get it until I met my friend. His family had returned to the our city after a long time, having served my father elsewhere." His hand tightened around Rayna's. "I'm sorry, you're here injured and hurting, and I'm just talking about silly childish-"
"It's not silly, Serwil." The look in Rayna's eyes was one of understanding, and perhaps something more. "There is nothing else I can do right now. Besides, I want to know."
He nodded. "It's only right that you do," he said softly. "My friend's name was Ren. He wasn't a very big or strong man, but he was fast and good with a bow. We would go hunting together quite often. He was a good man, friendly, a little too carefree perhaps… but I loved it. I loved him. My entire life was filled with stiff people and a brother who hated me. Ren was…" He smiled, taking a breath. "He was like the brother I never had. I often told him that, that I wished I had met him before I had.
" 'Everything happens for a reason', that's what he'd reply." Serwil's free hand dug against his knee. "I don't know that anymore. There had been no reason to kill him… none except that it was the one thing that would tear my heart apart…"
"You don't have to continue," Rayna murmured. She knew very well how painful memories felt.
It was tempting to simply stop, but he knew very well that if he did then he wouldn't be able to finish later on. "When my father sent my brother Kerwin to rule over this country, I was sent with him. Ren was among the soldiers that accompanied my brother. I don't know what my father was thinking, but Kerwin wasn't the kind of man who should lead. He showed no mercy, inciting fear in the towns and villages. Ransacking, burning…" His eyes narrowed, forehead wrinkling as he frowned. "It was painful to watch and yet… I didn't do anything.
"One day though, I couldn't stop myself, Rayna. He… There was an orphanage not two days walk from here, on the other side of the mountain." His eyes darkened, reliving that dreadful memory.
*
Children of all ages, young men and women, and the elderly couple who took care of the orphanage, all were on their knees before Kerwin. It was clear from the looks on their faces that they had heard of what he had done to others who had displeased him. Fear was not a pretty thing to see, but who could really blame them?
"Y-Your Highness-" The old master was cut off immediately by Prince Kerwin.
"I was told you haven't paid your taxes yet." He smiled down at the old man, looking quite the handsome man. If one wasn't acquainted with him, they wouldn't have believed he was the tyrant others claimed he was. "You know it's your duty to pay your dues. We grant you security, keeping away the bandits and looters of the desert tribes."
"Your Highness," started one of the younger men. "We need more time, please. We can barely feed the young here-" He was cut off as well, but it was by Kerwin's sword, lashing out like a snake and slicing his throat open.
Screams erupted as the young man fell to his knees, clutching at his throat in vain, bright red blood spurting out of the gaping wound and dripping down his hands onto the dusty ground.
"Silence!" Kerwin's order was immediately complied with, some of the younger children and even older ones clasping their hands over their mouths to keep from making a sound. "Excuses… oh dear me. What am I going to do when the future is filled with excuse makers?"
He turned around, a hand to his chin, making a show of contemplating. "Little brother! What do you think I should do with these people?"
Kaehl had been sincerely praying his brother would not ask for his opinion. No good ever came from that. His brother wouldn't listen to him; this was just an opportunity to show how useless he was. Staying silent would do no good either. There was never a good path to take when Kerwin was involved.
"I…" Kaehl looked at the kneeling people, eyes lingering over the silently crying children. "Give them a week, my Prince. I'm sure they will pay you then."
Kerwin chuckled. "You ask for mercy, little brother? I should have known. Well then… mercy it is." He tapped at his chin, contemplating some more, and then nodded. "Captain."
"Yes, Your Highness?" An armoured man stepped forward.
"We must show mercy to these people. Kill them quickly. I want no screaming, we mustn't scare the horses."
"What?!" Kaehl looked to Kerwin in disbelief.
Meanwhile, the old man stood up, horror clear on his face. "Your Highness, please!"
"Begging is not pleasant to see." He turned around just as the captain and his men headed to the people of the orphanage, who in turn tried to run.
"Kerwin, please! This is madness!"
"No," the prince replied, eyes narrowed as he turned to look at the younger prince. "This is justice. They cannot pay, they speak out of turn, and they expect mercy? They are simply an example I am setting for everyone else."
"What?" Kaehl spat out. "An example that you're a cruel, tyrant of a man?"
"Careful, little brother. I don't like the tone you're taking with me-"
Kaehl's fist hit him square in the jaw, causing him to stumble backward.
"You dare hit me?" Kerwin straightened himself, rubbing his face gingerly before speaking. "Men! Grab him!" He smiled coldly. "And bring Ren here as well. I think it's time my little brother learns a lesson."
*
Tears were streaming from Rayna's eyes, watching the man she had come to care about in so much pain. "I'm so sorry, Serwil… I mean, Kaehl-"
"No." He shook his head. "I'm not Kaehl. Not anymore. That name belonged to another man, one who was a prince, the son of a king, the brother of a prince. I'm neither. I reject the thought of being related to that beast of a man, or to a king who would cast a blind eye to his son's misdeeds."
He let go of Rayna's hand, only to reach over and gently wipe the tears from her cheeks. "I'm Serwil, and perhaps I have been Serwil longer than I realized." His hand moved away from her cheek, only to rest on her hair. "It's terrible, the way I've come to find myself here. There are many regrets I have, many sorrows… but I know now that there's one bright light before me. You."
"Serwil…" Rayna looked surprised and a little embarrassed.
"It's the truth," he replied, leaning close to her. "You saved my life, you kept me in your home. You had no reason to but you did. For this, I'll always be in your debt. I'll always-"
"Serwil." She had to say it before she lost courage. "I… I think I love you."
He smiled, resting his forehead lightly against hers. "I know… and I think I love you too."
*
As always, the sands of times neither hasten nor delay for anyone. It wasn't long before Rayna could stand once more and move about. She still had to recover though, and Youmas did not wish for her to leave no matter how many times Serwil reassured the old man that he would inform him if anything happened. It seemed as if the healer wished to redeem himself for not having stood up for his friend's daughter when she had needed him all those days ago.
Rayna wasn't one to hold a grudge, having known full well that the old man had always wished well for her. "It isn't his fault," she had confided to Serwil a fortnight after in being in the village. "I just wish he would understand I'd much rather not be here."
He, on the other hand, was glad she was somewhere much more comfortable than the cave, where a healer was right at hand. He kept this to himself, however, knowing full well that Rayna would probably sulk from hearing that. Serwil knew why she didn't want to stay here, but it was no longer the past, and as much as memories were hurtful, they would not kill her like a septic wound might.
Perhaps the person who was most dissatisfied with the arrangement was the chief. Unfortunately, neither Serwil nor Rayna had any warning as to what was about to happen.
*
"Wake up. Wake up!"
Serwil's eyes shot open and he immediately sat up. He had gone to sleep not more than an hour at most, but even if he had been in deep sleep, that voice would have awoken him. The amount of hate he felt scared him.
Prince Kerwin was standing at the tent entrance, smiling at him. To any stranger, the two looked nearly identical with their long golden hair, green eyes, and fair skin. To Rayna, now awake and on her feet, the difference between the two couldn't be more pronounced. The prince's smile was false, his eyes cold.
"Kaehl, my little brother!" Kerwin stepped forward, his arms spread out as if he wished to embrace his brother. Serwil scrambled to his feet, eyes jerking around the room as he tried to find something weapon worthy. "Imagine my surprise when I was told you were mere days from my camp! Do you know how long I have been searching for you?"
"How did you find me?" Serwil's voice was harsh, not sharing any false pleasantries with the man he hated.
Kerwin laughed, eyes roaming around the tent before resting on Rayna. "The chief of this tribe is an honourable man," he mentioned, smile widening. "It seems he is rather upset with a certain girl's return to his village. It didn't take long for him to realize who you were." He looked pointedly at Serwil. "Did you think I was just going to forget about you? That man you killed wasn't the only one I sent out to search for you. Luckily for me, Chief Zaini informed one of my men that someone of your description was here. I thought it was worth investigating personally."
Serwil was silent, though there was a twitch in his jaw. It was hard to stay still and not simply race forward and attempt to kill the man standing before him, but he couldn't, not with Rayna there.
The sound of angry yelling could be heard from outside. "It seems some old fool is not happy." Kerwin smirked, his eyes moving from Rayna to linger on Serwil. "Let's see what I can do to give him peace, hm?"
It was as if a cold hand had touched his spine. "Kerwin, no, don't hurt-"
The prince chuckled. Then, he reached out and grabbed Rayna's arm. "You will come with me, girl. And you too, Serwil." Without waiting for an answer, he turned around and marched out of the tent, pulling Rayna behind him.
"No! No, don't hurt her!" In his frantic state Servil rushed forward, stumbling over Rayna's pallet and falling to his knees. He didn't wait, immediately getting back to his feet and rushing out of the tent. By then Kerwin had already moved to the side, still holding on tightly to Rayna's arm. She seemed to be trying to pull herself out of his grasp, though not quite succeeding.
Before them were a few soldiers holding Youmas, the old man's eyes blazing in anger. "Zaini, you fool!" The chief of the tribe wasn't there, however. "Not once, but twice you betray your own!"
"Now, now, old man." Kerwin he looked down at the healer. "That's no way to talk about your leader. I take offence on his behalf."
"Then you're as much a fool as he is!" Youmas glared defiantly at the prince.
"No Youmas, don't-" Serwil's warning was too late, however. One of the soldiers holding the old man had already pulled out a knife; it took only Kerwin's nod for the knife to slice at the old man's face, leaving open a raw cut.
Rayna screamed, her free hand reaching for the old man. "Dada! No! Don't kill him!"
"Now, now, don't play with an old man." Kerwin smiled at Rayna. "Worry not, my dear, I'm not a cruel man." He snatched the knife from the soldier with his free hand.
"Rayna" Youmas sputtered, "shade, shade of the-" He was unable to continue whatever he was saying as Kerwin kicked him right in the stomach.
"Kerwin!" Serwil was shocked at the amount of anger in his voice when he yelled his brother's name. His wet eyes jerked from the prince to Rayna, now on the ground, weeping as she tried to crawl over to the fallen healer. "You will pay!"
The words only just left his mouth when he felt his arms being grabbed from behind by not one but two pairs of hands. He tried to yank himself away, resulting in nothing more than being kicked in the back of his legs, whereafter he fell to his knees.
"Little brother, it pains me that I must punish you again so soon after reuniting." Despite his words, there was a smile on his face. "Well, it has been a long day and night has already fallen. I believe I require a little food and rest…" His smile widened. "And perhaps a girl. Yes, this one here should do very well. Come along, girl!"
"No, not Rayna, please-"
"Take him away," Kerwin ordered. "And for goodness' sake, tie him up this time."
It was no use. Fight as he might, Serwil wasn't strong enough to fight the two men holding him along with the rest of Kerwin's soldiers. "Rayna…" His voice broke as he watched the prince yank her arm, forcing him after her as he walked to tent specially raised for him.
"Up!" He was forcibly brought up to his feet and then pushed forward. There wasn't really any reason to push him. He was visibly defeated and had no fight left in him…
"Serwil!" The whisper broke him out of his extended state of stupor. He had been tied outside the village to a tree, close enough to see the lanterns flickering but too far to take any comfort from their light.
He looked up, eyes narrowed as they focused on the person talking to him. No, I'm just dreaming this…
"Focus, Serwil, focus!" Even in a whisper, the sharp voice was familiar.
"Rayna?" Mouth agape, his eyes were now wide as he stared at her. "You're… he let you-"
"He's dead," she muttered, pulling a knife from her pocket. Without another word, she started slicing at his ropes.
"But… how?"
*
She had known there was nothing Serwil could do, not in this situation. Not only that, she couldn't guarantee that Youmas would be spared if she did anything but follow the prince's orders. She couldn't bear the thought of the old man being hurt even worse, killed on her account.
Especially after he had given her the solution.
Rayna knew what Kerwin wanted. Killing her would give Serwil pain, but eventually it would fade. Keeping her and using her like a common slave girl would cause a never ending anger and pain, an ongoing lesson to continuously rub in his little brother's face.
The tent was comfortably furnished for the prince, including a lush bed with cushions along with food and wine set on a table to the side. "Go now," he ordered his soldiers, giving them a wink. "Have your try at the local foods and wine. Women too."
Rayna stiffened at his words, and this was noticed by Kerwin. "Only those who aren't paired, mind you." He grinned at her. "No one shall call me a separator of man and wife. And you, my dear, I know are not wed. You killed your husband, didn't you?"
She nodded. "So I was told." Kerwin chuckled as he finally let her go, reclining on the bed. "I know you won't run. You look like a smart girl, and smart girls know what happens to those they love when they displease me." He winked at her before nodding to the table. "Bring me something to drink, girl. We are going to have a long night. Might as well start it with something sweet, at least at the beginning."
"Yes sir," Rayna replied, her voice shaking slightly. She walked to the table, her back facing Kerwin as she took hold of a pitcher of wine, carefully pouring it into a goblet.
As she did, she recalled Youmas' words. Thank you, Dada. Shade of the night was a deadly poison she had learned of when she still lived in the village. It had been a last attempt to help her when she feared her life was in danger due to her husband. She had never used it, her husband having succumbed to a knife instead. All those months it remained in her pocket, safely tucked away in the form of a round pill.
Her one hand reached into her pocket, while the other hand picked up some dates from a tray. As she dropped the pill in the wine, she set the dates in a bowl.
"Per-perhaps Your Highness would like to eat something first?" Rayna turned and walked back to Kerwin, holding both the goblet and the bowl of dates. The pill dissolved quickly, but a little extra time to make sure wouldn't hurt.
Kerwin raised an eyebrow before reaching out and taking a date. "Yes, lovely, quite fresh. I hate the desert, but I must admit these are quite delightful. As is the date wine made here." He looked pointedly at the wine, nodding his head. Taking this as her cue, Rayna held the cup out for him to take, lowering her head in a semblance of respect. It was hard not to watch as the prince took a long sip of the wine.
"Mmm, delicious, a little extra spicy I believe." His grin had a leery air. "Much like the desert girls, I hear." Saying that, he grabbed Rayna by the arm, yanking her over to him. His hands roamed over her, taking several liberties as his lips pressed against her neck.
Rayna cringed inwardly, eyes shutting in disgust. Not… long…
It felt like hours later though it was not more than a couple of minutes before she heard him begin to cough. His hands remained on her even after he removed his mouth from her, trying to catch his breath.
"More wine?" she asked, turning in his lap, a soft smile on her face.
Kerwin nodded, reaching a hand out for the goblet, but another coughing fit kept him from being able to take hold of his drink.
"Oh dear…" The smile lingered on Rayna's lips. Her mind was working fast, however. The last thing she needed was someone coming in to check on the prince. She grabbed a cushion from behind him and brought it down on his face. He was already choking; she was simply expediting the inevitable.
*
"I killed him." Rayna finally cut the ropes tying Serwil to the tree. "It doesn't matter. Nothing matters except that we leave here. No one knows what has happened yet, and they won't know for a while. His men are off drinking and whoring. Come morning and they will know what I've done."
Serwil stood up shakily. "You shouldn't have had to bear the burden, Rayna. I'm sorry. I failed you twice-"
Rayna placed her hands on either side of his face, eyes dark as they bore into his. "That is all the past, Serwil. Right now… we must leave." She paused a moment before leaning close, pressing her lips against his in a brief but heartfelt kiss. "I love you Serwil, and the last thing I want is for you to hurt again."
"I should be the one saying that to you."
"It doesn't matter who says what to whom," Rayna replied, smiling at him. "The feeling will always be mutual. It only matters that we're alive and together."
"Youmas…"
Rayna's lips trembled a little. "He… he'll understand. It's better like this, Serwil. They can't blame him or hurt him for our escape. Come now… please." She took hold of his hand, leading him away from the trees to the village stables, where both the soldiers' horses as well as the villagers steeds were housed.
"Kerwin won't be missing his horse," Serwil muttered. He instantly recognized his brother's prized horse, a strong black mare who was docile enough to take the brunt of his whip. "Up you go, Rayna." He couldn't help but look over his shoulder more than once, scared that the stable-hand may come, even though it was late enough at night that anyone without nefarious plans would be asleep.
It wasn't long before he too was on the horse, his arms around Rayna as he held the reins. It had been a while since he rode a horse, but a lifetime's practice wasn't shed due to a two-month forced hiatus. He slowly rode the horse to the mountain range, stopping just outside the entrance of Rayna's cave.
"I wonder if things would have been different if I had simply stayed inside." He shook his head, letting out a soft breath.
"Your brother would have found us eventually," Rayna replied, looking back at him.
"Not my brother." Serwil pressed his forehead against her hair. "Never my brother. I have no family except you."
Rayna was quiet as she laid her hand over his, squeezing gently. "That is more than fine by me, Serwil," she finally murmured. Lifting his hand, she pressed her lips against it.
"Let's go, my love."
The weight of Wulfric's gun hadn't changed, only the target, but, it felt like the girl's guardian angels must have been pulling his arms down in a desperate attempt to save her life. He couldn't keep the gun raised. Wulfric simply couldn't look at the innocent girl tied up in front of him the same way he could look at a swinging glass bottle or a poorly drawn target on an old pizza box.
As the muzzle of the gun fell further he could see her uniform. Black shoes, the souls worn out, dark slacks and a white collared shirt. A brass name tag read "Lily" in black letters. He hadn't realized he'd spoken the name in a soft whisper until he locked eyes with her. An hour ago she was probably blissfully unaware a world like his existed, or at least, that she would be mixed up in it in her last hours. Wulfric felt the palms of his hands go sweaty, his gun aimed now at her feet.
All eighteen years of Wulfric's life had been working up to this moment, his right of passage into the Volfstien pack. He might have been born into it and had the name but until he shed first blood, he couldn't be a full fledged member of the pack. Don't look them in the eyes he'd remembered one of his older brothers saying right after his first kill. Try to picture them like just another target he'd gone on to say. Wulfric couldn't do that now. Her name was Lily, she had a job, probably a family and friends who were worried about her.
"I knew you weren't ready runt!" Wulfric heard Merek bark, he was in charge of training the young pup and his litter-mates, under the direction of the alpha, Wulfric and Mereks father, Egon.
Wulfric tightened his grip on the Walther to the point his hand's shook, then relaxed just enough so they stopped. His heart raced. He couldn't screw this up. He did and he was dead. He failed and they killed him. He knew too much, a liability.
"Wulfric! Shoot her!" Merek's insistent voice faded into mute white noise as all Wulfric heard were the silent pleas of the girl's big green eyes. She couldn't be any older than he was. They were both young, and it wasn't too late yet. still feeling the weight pulling down on his arms and the pounding in his chest Wulfric made a resolved decision that would change everything.
Setting his jaw Wulfric let the girls guardian angels guide his sights to a new target, Merek. He'd taught the pup well. Wulfric barely had to aim, breathing automatically and releasing half a breath and squeezed the trigger. The blast of the gun rang in Wulfric's ears and broke the muted silence.
Merek screamed in agony as he dropped to the ground and yelled curses. Wulfric knew Merek was a reckless aim when he was angry and he certainly was now. Wulfric had to count on that.
The bullet grazed the pups right arm, he dodged to the left and grabbed the knife from his boot with his left hand, keeping the gun in his right just in case he needed it. No more bullets followed the first.
"I'll kill you runt! You hear me! You're dead!" Merek called, Wulfric could hear the pain in Merek's voice. Wulfric didn't answer, cutting Lily's bonds and focusing on the task at hand. He only had second's to save her life and his own. Lily pulled out her own gag, hands shaking and tears streaming down her face. Up close he could see the green of her eyes was rimmed with red, vampire. That didn't matter though. She had as much right to live as he did.
"Come on!" There wasn't any time to be gentle. Wulfric grabbed Lily's arm and pulled her to her feet. Glancing over his shoulder he saw Merek had dropped the gun and was desperately tying a cloth around his leg. Blood was gushing. Wulfric had grazed an artery, if Merek didn't treat it fast he'd bleed out in minutes.
Wulfric only hesitated a moment, long enough to remember that help was only minutes away for Merek if he called which also meant he only had minutes to get out of there.
–
Six Years Later
The police academy graduation was being held at night to accommodate the night officers, primarily the vampires and nocturnal shifters. That included the keeper of the officers Covenant. In a world so diverse as one where werewolves and vampires lived among humans, more than a mere signature was required. The Covenant was bound by blood. Only after signing could someone become a full fledged officer of the law, for life.
One by one names were being called up as the graduation went on, the police Captain, a human. He was shorter than anyone else on the stage but the way he confidently stood beside the keeper of the covenant and the other officials suggested he could rival any of them if it came to it.
"Johnson, Albert" A thin faced woman read out the next name. Wulfric stood and filed up like the others. His head held high and stern expression across his face. He was met on stage by a tall pale man, his face gaunt and the stench of stale blood clung to him so thick that it made Wulfric want to cringe, but he resisted and instead respectfully inclined his head to the vampire. The keeper of the covenant was the oldest vampire in the area and only really came out at all for the signing.
"Just need one more thing from you," The keeper said in a soft voice Wulfric could barely hear. The keeper held a long thin object that resembled a quill but without the feathers.
Taking a deep breath Wulfric accepted the quill and pressed the sharp tip to his finger and watched as thick blood filled the delicate hollow quill. It was like watching the temperature gauge rise in fast forward.
The thin blonde vampire stepped in front of him and opened the leather bound covenant, it was an ancient volume of signatures. Ever since the uniting of the nations the covenant had been in place to ensure that no species would abuse the power of law enforcement. No officer was above another, no matter species, all were equal, brothers in arms.
Carefully Wulfric touched the quill to the parchment and signed in his own blood. The name Albert Johnson changed itself to Wulfric Vulfstein and for a moment, Wulfric froze. He expected someone to say something but looking up from the page, nobody else was looking at it. Instead, applause, just the same as every other graduating student. Wulfric felt the tightness in his chest release.
The tingling sensation started in the tips of Wulfric's fingers as pride swelled through him, grasping the police captains hand and giving it a firm shake. He tried to keep his expression serious but he couldn't stop smiling. The captain smiled back "Welcome to the family Officer Johnson" the man said in a deep rumbling voice. The new name was still strange in Wulfric's ears but hearing the acceptance into the police force spread his smile into a grin and the tingle right into his chest. He'd worked hard for this day "Thank you, Sir."
Making his way across the stage, down the steps and back to his seat Wulfric settled back into his assigned seat, still with a smile across his face, he'd done it. An officer of the law, he'd vowed to protect and serve from that moment on until he died.
Wulfric barely heard the rest of the names or the speech. He stayed in his seat after the rest of the officers were getting up and talking and searching out their friends. The shock of it all was still settling in. Just six years ago he'd been standing in an abandoned apartment complex with a gun pointed at an innocent girl. He'd begged to be initiated, all his other litter-mates had been already, he'd thought he was ready until he was faced with the task.
"Hey Butt sniffer" The woman's voice brought Wulfric back from his thoughts.
"What?" Wulfric blinked and looked up. The woman was fairly tall, her mousy brown hair pulled in a loose bun. Her eyes were the most notable though, black, even the sclera was black. It would be disturbing except that she had a friendly smile and a relaxed posture.
"Werewolf right? Your eyes give you away" The female officer explained, pointing out Wulfrics own amber gold wolf eyes. It was easy to tell the supernatural from the beans by the eyes. The mix breeds were a little tougher though unless, like Wulfric, you had the nose for it.
"Yeah" Wulfric answered and nodded "And you..." he sniffed. He could tell on sight alone she wasn't a straw, they were not only notable by the stench of blood but the pale skin and red rimmed eyes. She also wasn't a howler like himself, the eyes and smell were all wrong which left shifters, but what kind of shifter. He sniffed again and smiled "Whiskers" he deduced. The combination of the black eyes, tantalizing scent of prey and a mixture of what he could only describe as sawdust and fruit, told him she was a rodent of some sort.
The woman laughed "Very good sniffer, Officer Samira Tahan" Samira introduced and offered a hand "Guess we're partners now" she added, looking at the paper in her other hand.
Wulfric stood and grasped her hand and smiled, shaking firmly.
–
Ten Years Later
Wulfric sank into the seat beside Sam and set the paper Starbucks coffee cup in front of her. After ten years her habits were about as second nature as any of his own.
"What's Gamen got for us?" Wulfric asked, running a hand over his tired face. It was always a rough morning after the full moon.
"You know you're allowed two days recoup, you should think about taking it, plenty of paperwork we need to catch up on and I know how much you love that" Sam said as she watched him, taking the coffee and swirling it in her hands before taking a small sip.
"That's not what I asked Whiskers" Wulfric answered with a small smile "Now hand it over" he held his hand out expectantly, his brows half raised.
Sam sighed and plopped the file in his hand. "Suspected pack of howlers causing a ruckus looking for new territory over on the east side, two officers responded to a shootout, a member of the Walker pack was hospitalized but the suspects weren't there when officers responded. No witnesses except the Walker pack member who hasn't woken up yet."
Wulfric paused and looked up at her"You sure you read it?" Wulfric asked, looking down at the file again and opening it more slowly "Gamen doesn't give us gang related cases" Wulfric frowned down at the page, sipping his coffee as he skimmed over the details.
"Yes, I read it carefully. I like that paperwork about as much as you do" Sam answered and smiled "Guess Captain Gamen thinks you're ready for it, it's been what, sixteen years or something? Right?" Sam asked, trying to be encouraging.
"Let's head over to the hospital and see about this victim howler, you can fill me in on the way" Wulfric hedged, there was little truth in the stories he'd had to tell. All they knew was that his family was killed by a gang back in Germany and Wulfric had fled to the United States. Wulfric turned over to the photo's, the conversation was over. He'd gone back to the case, studying the photo's while Sam stuck to the rest. He was visual and she was the more clever one, they made a good team that way.
"If there's only one witness to the attack why the suspicion of a new howler pack?" Wulfric asked.
"Multiple reports of a new howling pattern in the area" Sam answered. Each pack had a pattern of howls that distinguished one pack from another, it could be as subtle as the pitch. "I've already got Rogers pulling footage from surrounding traffic cams. I'm having him put together a sound track for you to listen to later on"
"You've been busy" Wulfric noted with a smile, she always was.
"I don't sleep much remember" Sam reminded him. She was a rat shifter, her sleeping scheduled varied so she worked during the night quite frequently. Mostly the paperwork and other office work so they could use more daylight hours to get the field work done.
Sam lead the way out and Wulfric followed with his eyes on the typical crime scene photo's, keeping Sam always in the corner of his eye so he didn't run into anything. The apartment was small and sparsely furnished. Boxes stacked in the small living room suggested the victim was still in the process of moving into the rundown place.
"What were the victim's injuries I don't see any photo's of that" Wulfric asked, stepping into the elevator beside Sam. He almost forgot to stop, Sam put a hand on his chest to remind him.
"Wasn't time for that Albert, we only take photos of the dead ones" Sam answered "And he's not dead yet" she reminded, amusement in the tone of her voice.
"Right yeah, so what were they?" Wulfric asked again, stepping out as the elevator door opened only to be dragged back in by Sam. Wulfric was a little more distracted than normal, except for after a full moon. It took him a day or two before he could bounce back. Werewolves were required to take a powerful sedative on the full moon and the drug often lingered in the system a couple of days.
Two other officers joined them. A couple of pale men, straws. They could work in the office during the daylight hours but not in the field. One benefit of being undead, they could work all the time if they wanted to and some did. Workaholics in Wulfric's hypocritical opinion.
"We don't have the full report yet but we do know he had at least three gunshot wounds, one to the shoulder, hip and one that grazed his head. Multiple lacerations and broken shoulder. Beyond that, I don't know yet. We'll have to get the report directly from the doctor. The case is too fresh to have everything" Sam explained.
-
Sam had picked up the patient file at the nurse's station on the way to the room. It was Wulfrics turn to lead while she looked over the file. Wulfric glanced at numbered signs and took a left, making sure Sam followed. Beyond finding the right hall he wouldn't have to look for the number, two guards would be posted outside the door.
Wulfric hated hospitals, they smelled of a bad mix of air fresheners, body odor, vomit and bleach with an overlay of fear which resembled the smell of tangy rotten fruit. Normally all the smells ran together in a mixing bowl of putrid muck but, as they entered the hall, fresh blood took precedence. In the ER that wouldn't have put him on alert but they were up on the second floor.
"Tahan" he frowned and put a hand on his gun holster, something was wrong. He only called her by her last name when it was something serious. Sam took the cue and stowed the file away.
"What is it?" she asked, watching him and looking to the guarded door. A couple of human guards stood there, one leaning casually against the door frame flipping through his phone, the other sitting in a chair half dozing.
"They stuck a couple of beans on duty that's what," Wulfric said, "They can't smell the blood" he hurried forward, flashed his badge and pushed open the door. The stench wafted over him in a wave like a blast of summer heat. He stared for a moment at the scene, no need to check for life. Even after ten years, seeing a dead body never got any easier.
The nineteen-year-old boy's lifeless hand was still reaching for the call button but it would never get there, cuffed to the arm of the bed. What was meant to protect had instead killed him.
The window blind panes clattered softly as a breeze came through the open window. Whoever had done this had come in through there.
Wulfric rushed to the window, drawing his weapon he used the toe of his boot to push the panes aside. The screen was torn open, looking down he could see where a skilled climber could have scaled the building. There was nobody there now which meant the suspect was probably fast or had come and gone awhile ago.
Wulfric looked back at the body, the blood still looked and smelled fresh, it hadn't darkened and gone sticky yet.
Sam stepped back out into the hall. "Gentlemen, you're guarding a dead body" she frowned at them.
The two humans sprang into action. Both of them coming into the room. One of them took out his radio and called it in. Sam stepped out to make a few calls of her own.
Why two beans had been put on duty was beyond Sam, it was uncommon for any two of the same species to be teamed together. It was better to pair up with someone who complimented where the other fell a little short. Vampires were the exception to the rule, the straws rarely worked well with anyone but their own kind due to their sensitivity to blood.
Pairing with someone with a heartbeat often resulted in their partner slowly becoming more and more appealing and thus distracting and sometimes lead to fatalities.
There was a delicate balance to the way the world had to work for everyone to get along and of course, an even more delicate structure for the law enforcement that protected it.
–
Back in the car Sam and Wulfric sat quietly, each of them looking over the details of the file together, their biggest lead was dead and the forensic team was doing their job. A six block perimeter had been set up and howler officers had been sent out on the prowl for the assailant. For now, their job was to put together the rest of the puzzle.
"This is the third fatal attack on the Walker pack this month," Wulfric thought aloud.
"Sounds like initiation" he went on, remembering the girl he'd been told to kill, only she'd been a straw, not another howler. "They must be going for two birds" Wulfric continued.
"I don't follow," Sam said, looking over at him.
"The attacks have all been close together, none of them clean like they don't know what they are doing right?" Wulfric pointed out. "In some old packs initiation includes making their first kill," he said and frowned. "Not all at once, the designated trainer of the pups takes each out on their own to do the job and if they can't do it they off the pup" Wulfric explained the cruelty of his old life.
"That's horrible," Sam said, staring at him in surprise. There was little known about the older wolf gang packs, the inside knowledge was both surprising and disturbing.
"My guess is they are using this litters initiation to off members of this other gang, we could be looking at upwards of four more killings this month and if this is an older pack they are going to let us know soon and things are going to get real ugly. We need to shut them down now" Wulfric said grimly, remembering what it had been like.
"Albert," Sam said slowly, using what she thought was his proper first time. There had been so many times he'd wanted to tell her the truth of who he was. "How do you know all this?" she asked.
"Research" Wulfric answered lamely
"Albert," Sam said with a frown, they both knew that wasn't true.
"Sam I left Germany behind me, I'd like to leave it at that" Wulfric answered and started the car, looking out the front window. He'd changed everything about himself except the lie that had gotten him there. Sam and his team could never know the truth.
"Alright," Sam said, putting her hands up in defeat, it wasn't the first time she'd tried to ask, but she respected him enough never to pry beyond what he was willing to share. "Where are we going?" she asked instead
"Crime scene, maybe I can pick up a scent" Wulfric answered.
–
The crime scene was an apartment in a beat up old complex on the east side. Without specific address and direction anywhere would look like a crime scene. Bullet holes in dumpsters, junk everywhere and homeless beggars shuffling around.
As the cop car pulled around a group of older teens scattered, probably selling drugs or some other unsavory something.
Wulfric pulled to a stop and opened the car door slowly, letting the stench of east side wash over him easy. The area reminded him too much of home. The tangy sweet of Marajana blending with cigarette smoke, pot and the spice of gunpowder. All of it had an overlay stench of garbage rot. Before he'd left home This was the type of neighborhood he knew and nothing else. Now he knew what life could really be like, clean and safe.
The two of them walked up the stairs to apartment 215, stale blood and vomit were the first smells that Wulfric noticed. Not anything remarkable at a crime scene. The smell of the now dead nineteen-year-old was all over the place, undoubtedly his apartment. The file probably said so but he hadn't read it too carefully.
Wulfric followed his nose to the crime scene itself, the kitchen. Old sticky blood was still spattered across the faded yellow linoleum floor and tile counter tops. The body had been removed but he could see where it had been, a spot on the floor where there was less blood. Wulfric could almost see the shape of the body on the floor and where the boy's hair had smeared in his own blood.
Wulfric pushed the scent of the boy behind, the blood and garbage too and looked for something out of place. He could smell other people had been there, older smells, probably family, the scents similar the boys. Maybe they had been helping him move in.
Wulfric moved around the kitchen and found a photograph, picking it up with his gloved hand he studied it. The victim stood there with a couple of other boys and some older folks, probably parents. He didn't envy the Captain who'd be informing them now that their son was killed under their watch at the hospital. While his own father wouldn't have cared it looked like this boys father would, he looked kind in that photo. Setting it down Wulfric continued his search for the scent.
There it was, a smell he hadn't smelled in over fifteen years but would never forget. "Merek?" he breathed the name, his eyes narrowed. There were two kinds of packs, ones that were all love devotion and play, and those that were all work and survival of the fittest. His had been the latter. Merek would have killed him that day sixteen years ago because, in his eyes, he wouldn't have what it took, a liability to survival, there was no love in his pack.
"What was that sniffer?" Sam asked from the living room
"I found a scent I think" Wulfric answered as he stood up from where he'd crouched in the hall, he looked over as Sam came back into the kitchen.
"Oh?" Sam asked
"Yes. Someone I knew in Germany" he frowned
"From the gang?" Sam pried just a little.
"Yes," Wulfric answered.
"He must have broken off from the family and come here to start his own" Wulfric explained. Merek had always said he would one day. Not on Wulfrics watch though, not in his town. There was only room for one Vulfstein here, whether or not anyone else knew it.
–
Back at the station Wulfric tapped on the door of the office labeled "Sleek and Paker"
"Come in" a female voice answered.
Wulfric pushed the door open and stepped in with Sam at his heels "You did a case undercover with the Walker pack two months ago yeah?" Wulfric asked the tall female, she shared the same amber eyes that pegged her as a werewolf. Her partner, Paker, was also a werewolf but was short and stocky. Their names suited their appearance well.
"Is it still intact?" Wulfric followed up
"Yeah sure. Why what's up?" Sleek asked, eyeing the file in Wulfric's hand.
"We're investigating a string of Walker killings' we think it's an old German gang pack trying to take over the east side. We need some Intel, our one lead was just murdered and we have reason to believe there will be more and soon" Wulfric explained
Sleek leaned back in her chair and ran a hand through her short cropped dark hair, glancing over at Paker.
"So happens we're about to go under again, can't wear a wire, we could use a rat as recon," Paker said and glanced over at Sam.
"Two birds? I like it" Wulfric said and looked at Sam "What do you say Whiskers?"
"Let's see what they got first Sniffer" Sam answered but smiled back, seemed a plan was coming together.
-
Two Weeks Later
Rogers was a small pale man who barely ever got involved in anything past the station computers. He was the IT guy at best, though Wulfric always thought he was underrated and right now, the only available tech agent.
"I've never done field work before," Rogers said uncertainly to the other four officers standing by.
"It's not really field work, you'll be sitting in the van making sure my camera's stay online, I can't work them with little rat fingers" Sam replied, they were would be mounted on her back but rotated around by Rogers from the safety of the van.
"Gamen has already approved the mission pending we have a tech guy, and you're it," Sleek said, once again holding the signature page out to him. Captain Gamen mostly allowed them to run their cases on their own but big missions like this needed approval. For the most part, everything ran smoothly, just as long as the paperwork got done.
Rogers looked between the four officers and sighed before he nodded "Alright fine" he agreed and grabbed the paper and signed.
"Great!" Sam grinned and tucked the paper away in the file "Come on we are about to go over all the details now"
The four of them moved with purpose down the hall, while Rogers tagging behind more reluctantly.
Wulfric found an empty conference room and pushed open the door. Sleek, Sam, Paker and Rogers coming in behind him. At times like these, it still surprised Wulfric that people from such different backgrounds could come together with little conflict between each other. At first, the thought of working along side straws and wolves of other packs was daunting but was second nature now.
"Alright, for the sake of Rogers here, I'll run over the basics of this again" Wulfric began as everyone found a seat.
"There have been four Walker killings on the east side in the last month, all sloppy with the same scent of this guy at the crime scene" Wulfric put up a sketch of Merek up on the board, he'd been to the sketch artist and had him drawn, but aged up sixteen years.
"His name is Merek Vulfstein, a prominent member of the old order Vulfstein pack in Germany. We believe that he's broken off from the main pack and is looking to take up the east side." Wulfric explained to his crew.
"In the old order when young pups are trained up and seen as ready to join the pack as full gang members they have to make their first kill. Their trainer takes them to do this, alone. If they don't make the kill they are killed themselves which gives them motive to finish the job" Wulfric explained "Merek in the past has trained young pups, we believe the recent chain of killings is Merek taking his newly trained pups out for their first kill and taking out the opposing gang at the same time, we could be looking at upwards of four more killings if we don't shut him down and that's only the beginning. Things will only get more ugly if he's successful in setting up an old order gang. Any questions?" He looked over the four faces looking back up at them.
"Good, then let's move on," Wulfric said after a silent pause.
"Sleek and Paker here were undercover with the Walker gang not two months ago but had to pull out when Gamen called it off. They can't go back in with wires and we can't let them if we're blind" Wulfric said and then glanced at Sam.
"This is where Tahan and Rogers will come in. Tahan will assume her shifter form and Rogers will mount a camera on her back which he will control remotely and together they will tail Sleek and Paker" Wulfric explained but paused as Rogers raised a thin pale hand.
"Uh, yes Rogers?" Wulfric raised a brow
"Where exactly is this happening and when? I wasn't clear on that" Rogers asked
"Oh, right, sorry, you weren't on the team for that bit" Wulfric apologized
"Sleek and Paker have been poking around already, nothing too deep, found out about a meet, possibly with our suspect, most the pack going to be there, a big deal apparently but fairly hush hush. We have three days" Wulfric answered
"So if it is Merek?" Rogers ventured
"We record all the evidence we can and take down as many as possible" Wulfric said "Shut down both gangs if we can, two birds" he smiled.
–
Three Days Later
Sam slipped off her gun belt and hung it on a hook in the van "This is just recon right? Not a bust? I'm not in danger of getting shot or kicked around? I don't like not having a gun" Doing these missions always made her a little nervous, she was more vulnerable.
"Yes but still be careful" Wulfric answered,
"Careful? I'm a rat remember? I do everything carefully" she smiled and pulled a contact case from her pocket. She popped one contact out then the other.
"Whatever you say whiskers," Wulfric said and smiled a little.
"Just keep your paws off my personal belongings got it, Sniffer?" Sam said before putting the case, her phone and other things in a bag and handing it off to him.
"No promises" Wulfric answered and grinned a little,
"I'll chew a hole in every package of food in your apartment" Sam warned, Wulfric laughed and watched as she got down on her hands and knees and began to shrink in size. Fur, that matched the color of her hair, spread down her arms and across the rest of her body. Her hands curled and fingers became pink and grew sharp claws.
As Sam shrank still further and her clothes became a pile on the van floor, she grew a tail and her ears became big and rounded. Her nose grew out and her teeth became long and sharp. Her form changed from full human to a small mousy brown rat with the same black eyes.
Wulfric stooped and held his hands down and allowed the little rat to climb out of the pile of clothes and into his palms. She squeaked up at him as he lifted her and carried her to the table and placed her in front of Rogers.
"Alright, let's get that camera mounted," Rogers said as he picked up the harness and strapped it on.
–
Wulfric sat in the van with Rogers watching the screen, the could see the tips of Sam's ears every now and again as they twitched at every slight sound. She kept her course though, listening to the tiny earbud especially designed for her rat ears and more sensitive hearing.
The images were clear and Rogers could rotate the camera remotely, the sound was good too.
"Okay keep on Sleek and Paker," Roger said as they watched, from the looks of it, she was up on the pipes of an old factory. Below they caught glimpses of the two agents among several other men and women, the pack was gathering. It was hard to make out anything that was being said over the click of Sam's claws on the copper tubing.
"Get down lower Sam we can't hear anything" Wulfric directed, not taking his eyes off the screen.
"Ahead there's a support beam, looks like you can get down that way by climbing down some old exposing wiring, just be careful" Rogers offered, knowing how bad a rats vision was. Sam squeaked that she heard.
Sam scampered across the tube to throw beam and easily found the wires and followed them down to a lower beam.
"okay right there," Rogers said, Sam came to a stop and hunkered down while Rogers worked the camera
From the angle, they could see the faces of not only the two undercover agents but several of the Walker pack.
"Start running facial recognition," Wulfric said to Rogers who quickly got the program running.
While they watched, a second camera came to life facing the other direction, this way, they could have eyes and ears everywhere. Now all they had to do was wait.
They didn't have to wait long before a group of three that they could see came in. The lead one Wulfric instantly knew as Merek. Sure he'd aged some but he was still his older brother, the same sneer, and glint of malice in his eyes. The other two were younger, probably new recruits by the young age.
"We have facial recognition," Rogers said as the system flashed an old, younger, image of Merek onto the screen beside the now older still image captured moments ago.
Voices came over the radio com system on Sam's harness. "Glad you could make it" It was Merek who spoke first. Wulfric would remember the sound anywhere, he still heard him in his nightmares.
"You gave little choice. Where's Memphis? You said he'd be here" a younger member of the Walker pack demanded. There were some scattered agreements to the demand, nobody really seemed to be in charge.
"He'll be joining us shortly" Merek assured them with a passive smile.
"We gave you east bay, what more do you want Merek?" the young Walker went on, taking charge.
"All of east side" Merek answered
"Then where do we go?" The Walker boy scoffed. "We can't give up everything!"
"Join us or find new territory," Merek said simply, smirking down at the Walker boy
"Are you crazy, we can't just up and join another pack!" it was Paker who stepped forward on behalf of 'his pack'
"And why not?" Merek sniffed, testing Pakers smell to the rest of the Walkers "you did didn't you?" he challenged
"That's different than a pack being absorbed into another" Paker retorted
"Is it though? Your numbers are dwindling" Merek said and snapped his fingers. With a wet thump, the head of an elderly man fell between the Walker pack and Merek.
Angry growls rumbled up from the Walkers, some of the younger boys being held back by the older ones who knew better than to rush into an attack.
"Make up your mind quickly boys, join us or" he snapped his fingers again and young werewolves emerged from their hiding places all over the old factory. "Join your dear Alpha Memphis here"
Wulfric cursed "Sam get out of there now!" he barked. Wulfric ground his teeth Sam, Sleek and Paker were all in danger because of him. He should have seen this coming.
Wulfric burst out of the van "Johnson wait you're my..." what ever else Rogers said was lost on Wulfric as he made for the building, his focus on getting to Sam. In ten years he'd never let her down and he wasn't about to begin now. She'd risked her neck for him more than once and she was counting on him now.
Rogers looked back at the camera's, he couldn't tell what was happening, Sam was on the move and for good reason. Gun fire had broken out and with it, chaos.
"Find a hiding spot and stay put Tahan" Rogers insisted "I need to be able to see what's going on"
Sam squeaked in response but didn't quit running, dodging around feet but not quick enough. She squealed as a foot hit and sent her flying, footage went out.
"Johnson I lost visual, Tahan's camera's been knocked out" Rogers reported.
Wulfric charged through an entry point where he dodged and rolled to the side to avoid the gunshot, seeing the barrel of the semi automatic rifle an instant before the weapon was fired. Wulfric's ears rang even with the sound canceling earbuds.
"Talk to me Rogers where was she last" Wulfric demanded as he quickly got up and aimed at the first shooter, taking him out at the knee's before he could take another shot at him. He recognized the kid as a Walker. Most likely the kid was panicking and shooting anything that moved in close proximity
"South east end of the building" Rogers answered
"Paker and Sleek?"Wulfric asked as he dashed across the open floor and back behind an upturned table where he was offered cover for the moment, the two packs busy shooting at each other for the moment. If any of the Vulfsteins saw him they probably mistook him for one of them, his scent would match and he'd just taken down a Walker. He also wasn't wearing his normal gear as he wasn't going to be engaging, recon only.
"Don't know, lost visual on them but they are probably right in the thick of it" Rogers said
The Walker pack had been pushed to the east wall, getting slaughtered by the Vulfsteins. There were no exit points there, pinned down. Wulfric could buy them time. "Call for backup, I'm going to buy them some time if I can," Wulfric said
Slinging the gun behind him he climbed up the ladder leading to the metal walkways over the cement factory floor. The Wulfrics were converging on the Walkers. If he didn't act quickly Sleek and Paker's blood would be on his hands and the Vulfsteins would be in power.
The Walkers were outnumbered by the younger Vulfsteins lead by the experienced Merek.
Wulfric rested the rifle on the rail and took aim, breathing in, releasing half a breath, and stopped, his sights on the back of Mereks head. All he had to do was squeeze. He released the breath completely and lowered the gun.
As trained as Merek might be, the young boys he was leading were still just boys and not ready for a full on shoot out. They were wasting ammunition on the old factory more than the Walker pack. All the noise gave Wulfric the cover he needed to walk across the metal walkway over their heads unnoticed.
Wulfric grabbed a smoke bomb off his belt. Pausing right over them he leaned over the side but the pin never got pulled. The bomb fell away from his hand as rusted metal gave way beneath his feet
Wulfric flailed as he plummeted to the cement and landed hard on the floor, his rifle digging painfully into his ribs. A searing pain cracked across his side on impact, enough to black out his vision for what he thought was only seconds.
–
When Wulfric opened his eyes again the pain in his head and blurry eyes told him he'd not just broken his ribs but hit his head hard enough to black him out. More than that, the gunfire had stopped, he tried to move but his hands could not obey as a rough plastic zip tie kept them bound behind him.
" So the runts grown up" Merek spoke, Wulfric could only see the tips of his worn down work boots, the steel toes showing through. He tried to look up but the movement made his head swim.
"Sit him up" Merek ordered.
A couple of the boys lifted Wulfric by the arms and leaned him back against the wall of the factory. The movement made Wulfric want to vomit but he kept it in by closing his eyes focusing on the firm ground under his feet.
Wulfric managed to focus his eyes on Merek after a few moment's, the aged older brother was waiting for this. "There that's better isn't it brother?" he crouched more to Wulfrics level and held out a badge "This yours Officer uh" he turned it to himself "Johnson?" he raised a brow, laughed and dropped it at Wulfrics feet.
Wulfric stared at the badge for a moment then his glanced slowly around the room. The walkers who'd lasted the fight were tied up much like he was and laying on the floor. Sleek and Paker both were among them, though Paker was bleeding from a gunshot to his left shoulder and looked pale.
"Looking for your undercover cop friend?" Merek guessed "I figured that's why you'd risk exposing yourself"
Wulfric looked back up at Merek, not speaking. He felt something soft behind him, rubbing up against his hands. At first, he wanted to pull back but the tiny claws and the tail sliding across his fingers stopped him. Sam was there, she took hold of the zip tie in both tiny hands and started chewing at the tie. She was concealed between him and the wall.
Merek nodded to someone off at Wulfrics right, the next moment cold water was dumped over his head, the icy cold water trickling down his neck and helping wake him as it froze his spine.
"Good, that's better" Merek smiled and grabbed one of the Walkers. A young clean shaven man.
"This your partner?" Merek guessed, putting the gun to the man's head.
"Leave them alone!" Wulfric found his voice, Merek studied him.
"No it isn't" Merek decided and fired, sending a spray of blood over the floor and Wulfric's legs.
Merek dropped the dead body to the side, the tied up Walkers jerked and glared, some trying to curse him over their gagged and taped mouths.
"Why Merek? Dear dad didn't give the power over to you? Decided to start your own pack?" Wulfric challenged, distracting Merek from selecting someone else to kill.
"Dead dad is still kicking," Merek said, bitterness in his tone
"So what then? Impatient? You were always after the alpha position" Wulfric said, watching him. Sleek and Paker exchanged glances but otherwise didn't react to what was being said.
Merek laughed "Oh Wulfric" he crouched again to Wulfrics level "You might have grown into your paws but there's still a lot you don't understand brother" he smiled.
"My patience has been rewarded Wulfric, what I'm starting here is merely a new division of the Vulfstein empire," Merek said, spreading his arms and standing.
"Empire is a mighty big word for a bunch of rabble" Wulfric mused.
"Rabble? No, that's what this Walker gang is. Whence I've established the old order here and taught the gangs the way it's supposed to be, the Vulfstein empire will be realized by everyone and not just the wolf pack gangs" Merek explained and sighed.
"No Merek, what you're failing to see is what it is to be united," Wulfric said, feeling the zip tie snap.
"There is Power in unity, what you're trying to do is tear apart society and establish a kingdom where Vulfstiens rule in a dictatorship. You will never see that day Merek. Too many have fought too hard for what we have" Wulfric argued, trying to buy time for the backup he hoped Rogers had called for in time.
"What we have? It's a corrupt system, equality doesn't exist" Merek said and laughed shaking his head.
"There is no perfect system I agree but what we have works and has worked for generations" Wulfric continued to argue.
"Worked for who exactly?" Merek asked
"The people who actually try" Wulfric answered.
Merek laughed again "I'm not trying? That's all I'm doing! Join me Wulfric and I'll show you, you're my brother, I'll give you a second chance" Merek offered.
Wulfric laughed this time "No, walking out on the pack all those years ago was the best thing I ever did and I'd do it again Merek" Wulfric met Merek's matching amber eyes.
Merek pulled the slide back and pressed the gun to Wulfrics temple "You always were a spineless traitor"
Wulfric smiled "Maybe, but, at least I only have one regret"
Merek paused, frowning at Wulfric "And what's that?"
Wulfric didn't get a chance to answer as the bullet broke through an upper window of the factory and struck Merek in the shoulder, missing the intended kill shot. Still, he dropped the gun and stumbled back with a cry.
Officers burst in through every entry point a split second later. Several of the Vulfsteins were taken out before they had a chance to open fire while others got a few rounds off before they were down, disarmed, disabled or dead.
Wulfric spurred into action the second the police broke in, grabbing Merek's dropped gun he tackled Merek to the floor below the gunfire. "You're finished Merek," Wulfric said with the gun pressed against the back of his older brothers skull, keeping him pinned face down to the floor.
Sam scrambled away from the wall and ran up the back of Wulfric's leg and up on to Wulfrics shoulder, the red 'record' light blinking red. The camera might have gone out, but the sound hadn't. She'd caught everything.
–
Wulfric watched as Merek was loaded into the back of an ambulance, captain Gamen, Sleek, Paker, Rogers, and Sam walking over to where he sat being checked over by the EMT. He refused to be taken to the hospital despite the searing pain in his side. He could still breathe okay so he guessed it was only a bad bruise.
"Mr. Vulfstein" Captain Gamen said "That was some good work in there getting Merek to talk, we should have enough to keep him put away"
"Thank you, sir," Wulfric said, uncertain as he looked between his team. He'd lied to them, all of them.
"I just have one question for you," Gamen said, "What was your one regret?"
"That I had to lie to get where I am today" Wulfric answered
"Don't know what you mean Officer Vulfstein?" Sam said and tossed his badge to him, only, looking down at it. The name Johnson didn't stare back at him, but Vulfstein. How long had they known?
"Captain Gamen explained everything" Sam answered the unspoken question.
"The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb," Rogers said with a smile.
"What he means is, the name doesn't matter, you're our brother Wulfric" Sleek translated
"Yeah, you proved that again today, we'd be dead if you hadn't stalled Merek" Paker added "And we completed the mission"
Wulfric looked over his team, smiled and clipped the badge to his belt.
As the muzzle of the gun fell further he could see her uniform. Black shoes, the souls worn out, dark slacks and a white collared shirt. A brass name tag read "Lily" in black letters. He hadn't realized he'd spoken the name in a soft whisper until he locked eyes with her. An hour ago she was probably blissfully unaware a world like his existed, or at least, that she would be mixed up in it in her last hours. Wulfric felt the palms of his hands go sweaty, his gun aimed now at her feet.
All eighteen years of Wulfric's life had been working up to this moment, his right of passage into the Volfstien pack. He might have been born into it and had the name but until he shed first blood, he couldn't be a full fledged member of the pack. Don't look them in the eyes he'd remembered one of his older brothers saying right after his first kill. Try to picture them like just another target he'd gone on to say. Wulfric couldn't do that now. Her name was Lily, she had a job, probably a family and friends who were worried about her.
"I knew you weren't ready runt!" Wulfric heard Merek bark, he was in charge of training the young pup and his litter-mates, under the direction of the alpha, Wulfric and Mereks father, Egon.
Wulfric tightened his grip on the Walther to the point his hand's shook, then relaxed just enough so they stopped. His heart raced. He couldn't screw this up. He did and he was dead. He failed and they killed him. He knew too much, a liability.
"Wulfric! Shoot her!" Merek's insistent voice faded into mute white noise as all Wulfric heard were the silent pleas of the girl's big green eyes. She couldn't be any older than he was. They were both young, and it wasn't too late yet. still feeling the weight pulling down on his arms and the pounding in his chest Wulfric made a resolved decision that would change everything.
Setting his jaw Wulfric let the girls guardian angels guide his sights to a new target, Merek. He'd taught the pup well. Wulfric barely had to aim, breathing automatically and releasing half a breath and squeezed the trigger. The blast of the gun rang in Wulfric's ears and broke the muted silence.
Merek screamed in agony as he dropped to the ground and yelled curses. Wulfric knew Merek was a reckless aim when he was angry and he certainly was now. Wulfric had to count on that.
The bullet grazed the pups right arm, he dodged to the left and grabbed the knife from his boot with his left hand, keeping the gun in his right just in case he needed it. No more bullets followed the first.
"I'll kill you runt! You hear me! You're dead!" Merek called, Wulfric could hear the pain in Merek's voice. Wulfric didn't answer, cutting Lily's bonds and focusing on the task at hand. He only had second's to save her life and his own. Lily pulled out her own gag, hands shaking and tears streaming down her face. Up close he could see the green of her eyes was rimmed with red, vampire. That didn't matter though. She had as much right to live as he did.
"Come on!" There wasn't any time to be gentle. Wulfric grabbed Lily's arm and pulled her to her feet. Glancing over his shoulder he saw Merek had dropped the gun and was desperately tying a cloth around his leg. Blood was gushing. Wulfric had grazed an artery, if Merek didn't treat it fast he'd bleed out in minutes.
Wulfric only hesitated a moment, long enough to remember that help was only minutes away for Merek if he called which also meant he only had minutes to get out of there.
–
Six Years Later
The police academy graduation was being held at night to accommodate the night officers, primarily the vampires and nocturnal shifters. That included the keeper of the officers Covenant. In a world so diverse as one where werewolves and vampires lived among humans, more than a mere signature was required. The Covenant was bound by blood. Only after signing could someone become a full fledged officer of the law, for life.
One by one names were being called up as the graduation went on, the police Captain, a human. He was shorter than anyone else on the stage but the way he confidently stood beside the keeper of the covenant and the other officials suggested he could rival any of them if it came to it.
"Johnson, Albert" A thin faced woman read out the next name. Wulfric stood and filed up like the others. His head held high and stern expression across his face. He was met on stage by a tall pale man, his face gaunt and the stench of stale blood clung to him so thick that it made Wulfric want to cringe, but he resisted and instead respectfully inclined his head to the vampire. The keeper of the covenant was the oldest vampire in the area and only really came out at all for the signing.
"Just need one more thing from you," The keeper said in a soft voice Wulfric could barely hear. The keeper held a long thin object that resembled a quill but without the feathers.
Taking a deep breath Wulfric accepted the quill and pressed the sharp tip to his finger and watched as thick blood filled the delicate hollow quill. It was like watching the temperature gauge rise in fast forward.
The thin blonde vampire stepped in front of him and opened the leather bound covenant, it was an ancient volume of signatures. Ever since the uniting of the nations the covenant had been in place to ensure that no species would abuse the power of law enforcement. No officer was above another, no matter species, all were equal, brothers in arms.
Carefully Wulfric touched the quill to the parchment and signed in his own blood. The name Albert Johnson changed itself to Wulfric Vulfstein and for a moment, Wulfric froze. He expected someone to say something but looking up from the page, nobody else was looking at it. Instead, applause, just the same as every other graduating student. Wulfric felt the tightness in his chest release.
The tingling sensation started in the tips of Wulfric's fingers as pride swelled through him, grasping the police captains hand and giving it a firm shake. He tried to keep his expression serious but he couldn't stop smiling. The captain smiled back "Welcome to the family Officer Johnson" the man said in a deep rumbling voice. The new name was still strange in Wulfric's ears but hearing the acceptance into the police force spread his smile into a grin and the tingle right into his chest. He'd worked hard for this day "Thank you, Sir."
Making his way across the stage, down the steps and back to his seat Wulfric settled back into his assigned seat, still with a smile across his face, he'd done it. An officer of the law, he'd vowed to protect and serve from that moment on until he died.
Wulfric barely heard the rest of the names or the speech. He stayed in his seat after the rest of the officers were getting up and talking and searching out their friends. The shock of it all was still settling in. Just six years ago he'd been standing in an abandoned apartment complex with a gun pointed at an innocent girl. He'd begged to be initiated, all his other litter-mates had been already, he'd thought he was ready until he was faced with the task.
"Hey Butt sniffer" The woman's voice brought Wulfric back from his thoughts.
"What?" Wulfric blinked and looked up. The woman was fairly tall, her mousy brown hair pulled in a loose bun. Her eyes were the most notable though, black, even the sclera was black. It would be disturbing except that she had a friendly smile and a relaxed posture.
"Werewolf right? Your eyes give you away" The female officer explained, pointing out Wulfrics own amber gold wolf eyes. It was easy to tell the supernatural from the beans by the eyes. The mix breeds were a little tougher though unless, like Wulfric, you had the nose for it.
"Yeah" Wulfric answered and nodded "And you..." he sniffed. He could tell on sight alone she wasn't a straw, they were not only notable by the stench of blood but the pale skin and red rimmed eyes. She also wasn't a howler like himself, the eyes and smell were all wrong which left shifters, but what kind of shifter. He sniffed again and smiled "Whiskers" he deduced. The combination of the black eyes, tantalizing scent of prey and a mixture of what he could only describe as sawdust and fruit, told him she was a rodent of some sort.
The woman laughed "Very good sniffer, Officer Samira Tahan" Samira introduced and offered a hand "Guess we're partners now" she added, looking at the paper in her other hand.
Wulfric stood and grasped her hand and smiled, shaking firmly.
–
Ten Years Later
Wulfric sank into the seat beside Sam and set the paper Starbucks coffee cup in front of her. After ten years her habits were about as second nature as any of his own.
"What's Gamen got for us?" Wulfric asked, running a hand over his tired face. It was always a rough morning after the full moon.
"You know you're allowed two days recoup, you should think about taking it, plenty of paperwork we need to catch up on and I know how much you love that" Sam said as she watched him, taking the coffee and swirling it in her hands before taking a small sip.
"That's not what I asked Whiskers" Wulfric answered with a small smile "Now hand it over" he held his hand out expectantly, his brows half raised.
Sam sighed and plopped the file in his hand. "Suspected pack of howlers causing a ruckus looking for new territory over on the east side, two officers responded to a shootout, a member of the Walker pack was hospitalized but the suspects weren't there when officers responded. No witnesses except the Walker pack member who hasn't woken up yet."
Wulfric paused and looked up at her"You sure you read it?" Wulfric asked, looking down at the file again and opening it more slowly "Gamen doesn't give us gang related cases" Wulfric frowned down at the page, sipping his coffee as he skimmed over the details.
"Yes, I read it carefully. I like that paperwork about as much as you do" Sam answered and smiled "Guess Captain Gamen thinks you're ready for it, it's been what, sixteen years or something? Right?" Sam asked, trying to be encouraging.
"Let's head over to the hospital and see about this victim howler, you can fill me in on the way" Wulfric hedged, there was little truth in the stories he'd had to tell. All they knew was that his family was killed by a gang back in Germany and Wulfric had fled to the United States. Wulfric turned over to the photo's, the conversation was over. He'd gone back to the case, studying the photo's while Sam stuck to the rest. He was visual and she was the more clever one, they made a good team that way.
"If there's only one witness to the attack why the suspicion of a new howler pack?" Wulfric asked.
"Multiple reports of a new howling pattern in the area" Sam answered. Each pack had a pattern of howls that distinguished one pack from another, it could be as subtle as the pitch. "I've already got Rogers pulling footage from surrounding traffic cams. I'm having him put together a sound track for you to listen to later on"
"You've been busy" Wulfric noted with a smile, she always was.
"I don't sleep much remember" Sam reminded him. She was a rat shifter, her sleeping scheduled varied so she worked during the night quite frequently. Mostly the paperwork and other office work so they could use more daylight hours to get the field work done.
Sam lead the way out and Wulfric followed with his eyes on the typical crime scene photo's, keeping Sam always in the corner of his eye so he didn't run into anything. The apartment was small and sparsely furnished. Boxes stacked in the small living room suggested the victim was still in the process of moving into the rundown place.
"What were the victim's injuries I don't see any photo's of that" Wulfric asked, stepping into the elevator beside Sam. He almost forgot to stop, Sam put a hand on his chest to remind him.
"Wasn't time for that Albert, we only take photos of the dead ones" Sam answered "And he's not dead yet" she reminded, amusement in the tone of her voice.
"Right yeah, so what were they?" Wulfric asked again, stepping out as the elevator door opened only to be dragged back in by Sam. Wulfric was a little more distracted than normal, except for after a full moon. It took him a day or two before he could bounce back. Werewolves were required to take a powerful sedative on the full moon and the drug often lingered in the system a couple of days.
Two other officers joined them. A couple of pale men, straws. They could work in the office during the daylight hours but not in the field. One benefit of being undead, they could work all the time if they wanted to and some did. Workaholics in Wulfric's hypocritical opinion.
"We don't have the full report yet but we do know he had at least three gunshot wounds, one to the shoulder, hip and one that grazed his head. Multiple lacerations and broken shoulder. Beyond that, I don't know yet. We'll have to get the report directly from the doctor. The case is too fresh to have everything" Sam explained.
-
Sam had picked up the patient file at the nurse's station on the way to the room. It was Wulfrics turn to lead while she looked over the file. Wulfric glanced at numbered signs and took a left, making sure Sam followed. Beyond finding the right hall he wouldn't have to look for the number, two guards would be posted outside the door.
Wulfric hated hospitals, they smelled of a bad mix of air fresheners, body odor, vomit and bleach with an overlay of fear which resembled the smell of tangy rotten fruit. Normally all the smells ran together in a mixing bowl of putrid muck but, as they entered the hall, fresh blood took precedence. In the ER that wouldn't have put him on alert but they were up on the second floor.
"Tahan" he frowned and put a hand on his gun holster, something was wrong. He only called her by her last name when it was something serious. Sam took the cue and stowed the file away.
"What is it?" she asked, watching him and looking to the guarded door. A couple of human guards stood there, one leaning casually against the door frame flipping through his phone, the other sitting in a chair half dozing.
"They stuck a couple of beans on duty that's what," Wulfric said, "They can't smell the blood" he hurried forward, flashed his badge and pushed open the door. The stench wafted over him in a wave like a blast of summer heat. He stared for a moment at the scene, no need to check for life. Even after ten years, seeing a dead body never got any easier.
The nineteen-year-old boy's lifeless hand was still reaching for the call button but it would never get there, cuffed to the arm of the bed. What was meant to protect had instead killed him.
The window blind panes clattered softly as a breeze came through the open window. Whoever had done this had come in through there.
Wulfric rushed to the window, drawing his weapon he used the toe of his boot to push the panes aside. The screen was torn open, looking down he could see where a skilled climber could have scaled the building. There was nobody there now which meant the suspect was probably fast or had come and gone awhile ago.
Wulfric looked back at the body, the blood still looked and smelled fresh, it hadn't darkened and gone sticky yet.
Sam stepped back out into the hall. "Gentlemen, you're guarding a dead body" she frowned at them.
The two humans sprang into action. Both of them coming into the room. One of them took out his radio and called it in. Sam stepped out to make a few calls of her own.
Why two beans had been put on duty was beyond Sam, it was uncommon for any two of the same species to be teamed together. It was better to pair up with someone who complimented where the other fell a little short. Vampires were the exception to the rule, the straws rarely worked well with anyone but their own kind due to their sensitivity to blood.
Pairing with someone with a heartbeat often resulted in their partner slowly becoming more and more appealing and thus distracting and sometimes lead to fatalities.
There was a delicate balance to the way the world had to work for everyone to get along and of course, an even more delicate structure for the law enforcement that protected it.
–
Back in the car Sam and Wulfric sat quietly, each of them looking over the details of the file together, their biggest lead was dead and the forensic team was doing their job. A six block perimeter had been set up and howler officers had been sent out on the prowl for the assailant. For now, their job was to put together the rest of the puzzle.
"This is the third fatal attack on the Walker pack this month," Wulfric thought aloud.
"Sounds like initiation" he went on, remembering the girl he'd been told to kill, only she'd been a straw, not another howler. "They must be going for two birds" Wulfric continued.
"I don't follow," Sam said, looking over at him.
"The attacks have all been close together, none of them clean like they don't know what they are doing right?" Wulfric pointed out. "In some old packs initiation includes making their first kill," he said and frowned. "Not all at once, the designated trainer of the pups takes each out on their own to do the job and if they can't do it they off the pup" Wulfric explained the cruelty of his old life.
"That's horrible," Sam said, staring at him in surprise. There was little known about the older wolf gang packs, the inside knowledge was both surprising and disturbing.
"My guess is they are using this litters initiation to off members of this other gang, we could be looking at upwards of four more killings this month and if this is an older pack they are going to let us know soon and things are going to get real ugly. We need to shut them down now" Wulfric said grimly, remembering what it had been like.
"Albert," Sam said slowly, using what she thought was his proper first time. There had been so many times he'd wanted to tell her the truth of who he was. "How do you know all this?" she asked.
"Research" Wulfric answered lamely
"Albert," Sam said with a frown, they both knew that wasn't true.
"Sam I left Germany behind me, I'd like to leave it at that" Wulfric answered and started the car, looking out the front window. He'd changed everything about himself except the lie that had gotten him there. Sam and his team could never know the truth.
"Alright," Sam said, putting her hands up in defeat, it wasn't the first time she'd tried to ask, but she respected him enough never to pry beyond what he was willing to share. "Where are we going?" she asked instead
"Crime scene, maybe I can pick up a scent" Wulfric answered.
–
The crime scene was an apartment in a beat up old complex on the east side. Without specific address and direction anywhere would look like a crime scene. Bullet holes in dumpsters, junk everywhere and homeless beggars shuffling around.
As the cop car pulled around a group of older teens scattered, probably selling drugs or some other unsavory something.
Wulfric pulled to a stop and opened the car door slowly, letting the stench of east side wash over him easy. The area reminded him too much of home. The tangy sweet of Marajana blending with cigarette smoke, pot and the spice of gunpowder. All of it had an overlay stench of garbage rot. Before he'd left home This was the type of neighborhood he knew and nothing else. Now he knew what life could really be like, clean and safe.
The two of them walked up the stairs to apartment 215, stale blood and vomit were the first smells that Wulfric noticed. Not anything remarkable at a crime scene. The smell of the now dead nineteen-year-old was all over the place, undoubtedly his apartment. The file probably said so but he hadn't read it too carefully.
Wulfric followed his nose to the crime scene itself, the kitchen. Old sticky blood was still spattered across the faded yellow linoleum floor and tile counter tops. The body had been removed but he could see where it had been, a spot on the floor where there was less blood. Wulfric could almost see the shape of the body on the floor and where the boy's hair had smeared in his own blood.
Wulfric pushed the scent of the boy behind, the blood and garbage too and looked for something out of place. He could smell other people had been there, older smells, probably family, the scents similar the boys. Maybe they had been helping him move in.
Wulfric moved around the kitchen and found a photograph, picking it up with his gloved hand he studied it. The victim stood there with a couple of other boys and some older folks, probably parents. He didn't envy the Captain who'd be informing them now that their son was killed under their watch at the hospital. While his own father wouldn't have cared it looked like this boys father would, he looked kind in that photo. Setting it down Wulfric continued his search for the scent.
There it was, a smell he hadn't smelled in over fifteen years but would never forget. "Merek?" he breathed the name, his eyes narrowed. There were two kinds of packs, ones that were all love devotion and play, and those that were all work and survival of the fittest. His had been the latter. Merek would have killed him that day sixteen years ago because, in his eyes, he wouldn't have what it took, a liability to survival, there was no love in his pack.
"What was that sniffer?" Sam asked from the living room
"I found a scent I think" Wulfric answered as he stood up from where he'd crouched in the hall, he looked over as Sam came back into the kitchen.
"Oh?" Sam asked
"Yes. Someone I knew in Germany" he frowned
"From the gang?" Sam pried just a little.
"Yes," Wulfric answered.
"He must have broken off from the family and come here to start his own" Wulfric explained. Merek had always said he would one day. Not on Wulfrics watch though, not in his town. There was only room for one Vulfstein here, whether or not anyone else knew it.
–
Back at the station Wulfric tapped on the door of the office labeled "Sleek and Paker"
"Come in" a female voice answered.
Wulfric pushed the door open and stepped in with Sam at his heels "You did a case undercover with the Walker pack two months ago yeah?" Wulfric asked the tall female, she shared the same amber eyes that pegged her as a werewolf. Her partner, Paker, was also a werewolf but was short and stocky. Their names suited their appearance well.
"Is it still intact?" Wulfric followed up
"Yeah sure. Why what's up?" Sleek asked, eyeing the file in Wulfric's hand.
"We're investigating a string of Walker killings' we think it's an old German gang pack trying to take over the east side. We need some Intel, our one lead was just murdered and we have reason to believe there will be more and soon" Wulfric explained
Sleek leaned back in her chair and ran a hand through her short cropped dark hair, glancing over at Paker.
"So happens we're about to go under again, can't wear a wire, we could use a rat as recon," Paker said and glanced over at Sam.
"Two birds? I like it" Wulfric said and looked at Sam "What do you say Whiskers?"
"Let's see what they got first Sniffer" Sam answered but smiled back, seemed a plan was coming together.
-
Two Weeks Later
Rogers was a small pale man who barely ever got involved in anything past the station computers. He was the IT guy at best, though Wulfric always thought he was underrated and right now, the only available tech agent.
"I've never done field work before," Rogers said uncertainly to the other four officers standing by.
"It's not really field work, you'll be sitting in the van making sure my camera's stay online, I can't work them with little rat fingers" Sam replied, they were would be mounted on her back but rotated around by Rogers from the safety of the van.
"Gamen has already approved the mission pending we have a tech guy, and you're it," Sleek said, once again holding the signature page out to him. Captain Gamen mostly allowed them to run their cases on their own but big missions like this needed approval. For the most part, everything ran smoothly, just as long as the paperwork got done.
Rogers looked between the four officers and sighed before he nodded "Alright fine" he agreed and grabbed the paper and signed.
"Great!" Sam grinned and tucked the paper away in the file "Come on we are about to go over all the details now"
The four of them moved with purpose down the hall, while Rogers tagging behind more reluctantly.
Wulfric found an empty conference room and pushed open the door. Sleek, Sam, Paker and Rogers coming in behind him. At times like these, it still surprised Wulfric that people from such different backgrounds could come together with little conflict between each other. At first, the thought of working along side straws and wolves of other packs was daunting but was second nature now.
"Alright, for the sake of Rogers here, I'll run over the basics of this again" Wulfric began as everyone found a seat.
"There have been four Walker killings on the east side in the last month, all sloppy with the same scent of this guy at the crime scene" Wulfric put up a sketch of Merek up on the board, he'd been to the sketch artist and had him drawn, but aged up sixteen years.
"His name is Merek Vulfstein, a prominent member of the old order Vulfstein pack in Germany. We believe that he's broken off from the main pack and is looking to take up the east side." Wulfric explained to his crew.
"In the old order when young pups are trained up and seen as ready to join the pack as full gang members they have to make their first kill. Their trainer takes them to do this, alone. If they don't make the kill they are killed themselves which gives them motive to finish the job" Wulfric explained "Merek in the past has trained young pups, we believe the recent chain of killings is Merek taking his newly trained pups out for their first kill and taking out the opposing gang at the same time, we could be looking at upwards of four more killings if we don't shut him down and that's only the beginning. Things will only get more ugly if he's successful in setting up an old order gang. Any questions?" He looked over the four faces looking back up at them.
"Good, then let's move on," Wulfric said after a silent pause.
"Sleek and Paker here were undercover with the Walker gang not two months ago but had to pull out when Gamen called it off. They can't go back in with wires and we can't let them if we're blind" Wulfric said and then glanced at Sam.
"This is where Tahan and Rogers will come in. Tahan will assume her shifter form and Rogers will mount a camera on her back which he will control remotely and together they will tail Sleek and Paker" Wulfric explained but paused as Rogers raised a thin pale hand.
"Uh, yes Rogers?" Wulfric raised a brow
"Where exactly is this happening and when? I wasn't clear on that" Rogers asked
"Oh, right, sorry, you weren't on the team for that bit" Wulfric apologized
"Sleek and Paker have been poking around already, nothing too deep, found out about a meet, possibly with our suspect, most the pack going to be there, a big deal apparently but fairly hush hush. We have three days" Wulfric answered
"So if it is Merek?" Rogers ventured
"We record all the evidence we can and take down as many as possible" Wulfric said "Shut down both gangs if we can, two birds" he smiled.
–
Three Days Later
Sam slipped off her gun belt and hung it on a hook in the van "This is just recon right? Not a bust? I'm not in danger of getting shot or kicked around? I don't like not having a gun" Doing these missions always made her a little nervous, she was more vulnerable.
"Yes but still be careful" Wulfric answered,
"Careful? I'm a rat remember? I do everything carefully" she smiled and pulled a contact case from her pocket. She popped one contact out then the other.
"Whatever you say whiskers," Wulfric said and smiled a little.
"Just keep your paws off my personal belongings got it, Sniffer?" Sam said before putting the case, her phone and other things in a bag and handing it off to him.
"No promises" Wulfric answered and grinned a little,
"I'll chew a hole in every package of food in your apartment" Sam warned, Wulfric laughed and watched as she got down on her hands and knees and began to shrink in size. Fur, that matched the color of her hair, spread down her arms and across the rest of her body. Her hands curled and fingers became pink and grew sharp claws.
As Sam shrank still further and her clothes became a pile on the van floor, she grew a tail and her ears became big and rounded. Her nose grew out and her teeth became long and sharp. Her form changed from full human to a small mousy brown rat with the same black eyes.
Wulfric stooped and held his hands down and allowed the little rat to climb out of the pile of clothes and into his palms. She squeaked up at him as he lifted her and carried her to the table and placed her in front of Rogers.
"Alright, let's get that camera mounted," Rogers said as he picked up the harness and strapped it on.
–
Wulfric sat in the van with Rogers watching the screen, the could see the tips of Sam's ears every now and again as they twitched at every slight sound. She kept her course though, listening to the tiny earbud especially designed for her rat ears and more sensitive hearing.
The images were clear and Rogers could rotate the camera remotely, the sound was good too.
"Okay keep on Sleek and Paker," Roger said as they watched, from the looks of it, she was up on the pipes of an old factory. Below they caught glimpses of the two agents among several other men and women, the pack was gathering. It was hard to make out anything that was being said over the click of Sam's claws on the copper tubing.
"Get down lower Sam we can't hear anything" Wulfric directed, not taking his eyes off the screen.
"Ahead there's a support beam, looks like you can get down that way by climbing down some old exposing wiring, just be careful" Rogers offered, knowing how bad a rats vision was. Sam squeaked that she heard.
Sam scampered across the tube to throw beam and easily found the wires and followed them down to a lower beam.
"okay right there," Rogers said, Sam came to a stop and hunkered down while Rogers worked the camera
From the angle, they could see the faces of not only the two undercover agents but several of the Walker pack.
"Start running facial recognition," Wulfric said to Rogers who quickly got the program running.
While they watched, a second camera came to life facing the other direction, this way, they could have eyes and ears everywhere. Now all they had to do was wait.
They didn't have to wait long before a group of three that they could see came in. The lead one Wulfric instantly knew as Merek. Sure he'd aged some but he was still his older brother, the same sneer, and glint of malice in his eyes. The other two were younger, probably new recruits by the young age.
"We have facial recognition," Rogers said as the system flashed an old, younger, image of Merek onto the screen beside the now older still image captured moments ago.
Voices came over the radio com system on Sam's harness. "Glad you could make it" It was Merek who spoke first. Wulfric would remember the sound anywhere, he still heard him in his nightmares.
"You gave little choice. Where's Memphis? You said he'd be here" a younger member of the Walker pack demanded. There were some scattered agreements to the demand, nobody really seemed to be in charge.
"He'll be joining us shortly" Merek assured them with a passive smile.
"We gave you east bay, what more do you want Merek?" the young Walker went on, taking charge.
"All of east side" Merek answered
"Then where do we go?" The Walker boy scoffed. "We can't give up everything!"
"Join us or find new territory," Merek said simply, smirking down at the Walker boy
"Are you crazy, we can't just up and join another pack!" it was Paker who stepped forward on behalf of 'his pack'
"And why not?" Merek sniffed, testing Pakers smell to the rest of the Walkers "you did didn't you?" he challenged
"That's different than a pack being absorbed into another" Paker retorted
"Is it though? Your numbers are dwindling" Merek said and snapped his fingers. With a wet thump, the head of an elderly man fell between the Walker pack and Merek.
Angry growls rumbled up from the Walkers, some of the younger boys being held back by the older ones who knew better than to rush into an attack.
"Make up your mind quickly boys, join us or" he snapped his fingers again and young werewolves emerged from their hiding places all over the old factory. "Join your dear Alpha Memphis here"
Wulfric cursed "Sam get out of there now!" he barked. Wulfric ground his teeth Sam, Sleek and Paker were all in danger because of him. He should have seen this coming.
Wulfric burst out of the van "Johnson wait you're my..." what ever else Rogers said was lost on Wulfric as he made for the building, his focus on getting to Sam. In ten years he'd never let her down and he wasn't about to begin now. She'd risked her neck for him more than once and she was counting on him now.
Rogers looked back at the camera's, he couldn't tell what was happening, Sam was on the move and for good reason. Gun fire had broken out and with it, chaos.
"Find a hiding spot and stay put Tahan" Rogers insisted "I need to be able to see what's going on"
Sam squeaked in response but didn't quit running, dodging around feet but not quick enough. She squealed as a foot hit and sent her flying, footage went out.
"Johnson I lost visual, Tahan's camera's been knocked out" Rogers reported.
Wulfric charged through an entry point where he dodged and rolled to the side to avoid the gunshot, seeing the barrel of the semi automatic rifle an instant before the weapon was fired. Wulfric's ears rang even with the sound canceling earbuds.
"Talk to me Rogers where was she last" Wulfric demanded as he quickly got up and aimed at the first shooter, taking him out at the knee's before he could take another shot at him. He recognized the kid as a Walker. Most likely the kid was panicking and shooting anything that moved in close proximity
"South east end of the building" Rogers answered
"Paker and Sleek?"Wulfric asked as he dashed across the open floor and back behind an upturned table where he was offered cover for the moment, the two packs busy shooting at each other for the moment. If any of the Vulfsteins saw him they probably mistook him for one of them, his scent would match and he'd just taken down a Walker. He also wasn't wearing his normal gear as he wasn't going to be engaging, recon only.
"Don't know, lost visual on them but they are probably right in the thick of it" Rogers said
The Walker pack had been pushed to the east wall, getting slaughtered by the Vulfsteins. There were no exit points there, pinned down. Wulfric could buy them time. "Call for backup, I'm going to buy them some time if I can," Wulfric said
Slinging the gun behind him he climbed up the ladder leading to the metal walkways over the cement factory floor. The Wulfrics were converging on the Walkers. If he didn't act quickly Sleek and Paker's blood would be on his hands and the Vulfsteins would be in power.
The Walkers were outnumbered by the younger Vulfsteins lead by the experienced Merek.
Wulfric rested the rifle on the rail and took aim, breathing in, releasing half a breath, and stopped, his sights on the back of Mereks head. All he had to do was squeeze. He released the breath completely and lowered the gun.
As trained as Merek might be, the young boys he was leading were still just boys and not ready for a full on shoot out. They were wasting ammunition on the old factory more than the Walker pack. All the noise gave Wulfric the cover he needed to walk across the metal walkway over their heads unnoticed.
Wulfric grabbed a smoke bomb off his belt. Pausing right over them he leaned over the side but the pin never got pulled. The bomb fell away from his hand as rusted metal gave way beneath his feet
Wulfric flailed as he plummeted to the cement and landed hard on the floor, his rifle digging painfully into his ribs. A searing pain cracked across his side on impact, enough to black out his vision for what he thought was only seconds.
–
When Wulfric opened his eyes again the pain in his head and blurry eyes told him he'd not just broken his ribs but hit his head hard enough to black him out. More than that, the gunfire had stopped, he tried to move but his hands could not obey as a rough plastic zip tie kept them bound behind him.
" So the runts grown up" Merek spoke, Wulfric could only see the tips of his worn down work boots, the steel toes showing through. He tried to look up but the movement made his head swim.
"Sit him up" Merek ordered.
A couple of the boys lifted Wulfric by the arms and leaned him back against the wall of the factory. The movement made Wulfric want to vomit but he kept it in by closing his eyes focusing on the firm ground under his feet.
Wulfric managed to focus his eyes on Merek after a few moment's, the aged older brother was waiting for this. "There that's better isn't it brother?" he crouched more to Wulfrics level and held out a badge "This yours Officer uh" he turned it to himself "Johnson?" he raised a brow, laughed and dropped it at Wulfrics feet.
Wulfric stared at the badge for a moment then his glanced slowly around the room. The walkers who'd lasted the fight were tied up much like he was and laying on the floor. Sleek and Paker both were among them, though Paker was bleeding from a gunshot to his left shoulder and looked pale.
"Looking for your undercover cop friend?" Merek guessed "I figured that's why you'd risk exposing yourself"
Wulfric looked back up at Merek, not speaking. He felt something soft behind him, rubbing up against his hands. At first, he wanted to pull back but the tiny claws and the tail sliding across his fingers stopped him. Sam was there, she took hold of the zip tie in both tiny hands and started chewing at the tie. She was concealed between him and the wall.
Merek nodded to someone off at Wulfrics right, the next moment cold water was dumped over his head, the icy cold water trickling down his neck and helping wake him as it froze his spine.
"Good, that's better" Merek smiled and grabbed one of the Walkers. A young clean shaven man.
"This your partner?" Merek guessed, putting the gun to the man's head.
"Leave them alone!" Wulfric found his voice, Merek studied him.
"No it isn't" Merek decided and fired, sending a spray of blood over the floor and Wulfric's legs.
Merek dropped the dead body to the side, the tied up Walkers jerked and glared, some trying to curse him over their gagged and taped mouths.
"Why Merek? Dear dad didn't give the power over to you? Decided to start your own pack?" Wulfric challenged, distracting Merek from selecting someone else to kill.
"Dead dad is still kicking," Merek said, bitterness in his tone
"So what then? Impatient? You were always after the alpha position" Wulfric said, watching him. Sleek and Paker exchanged glances but otherwise didn't react to what was being said.
Merek laughed "Oh Wulfric" he crouched again to Wulfrics level "You might have grown into your paws but there's still a lot you don't understand brother" he smiled.
"My patience has been rewarded Wulfric, what I'm starting here is merely a new division of the Vulfstein empire," Merek said, spreading his arms and standing.
"Empire is a mighty big word for a bunch of rabble" Wulfric mused.
"Rabble? No, that's what this Walker gang is. Whence I've established the old order here and taught the gangs the way it's supposed to be, the Vulfstein empire will be realized by everyone and not just the wolf pack gangs" Merek explained and sighed.
"No Merek, what you're failing to see is what it is to be united," Wulfric said, feeling the zip tie snap.
"There is Power in unity, what you're trying to do is tear apart society and establish a kingdom where Vulfstiens rule in a dictatorship. You will never see that day Merek. Too many have fought too hard for what we have" Wulfric argued, trying to buy time for the backup he hoped Rogers had called for in time.
"What we have? It's a corrupt system, equality doesn't exist" Merek said and laughed shaking his head.
"There is no perfect system I agree but what we have works and has worked for generations" Wulfric continued to argue.
"Worked for who exactly?" Merek asked
"The people who actually try" Wulfric answered.
Merek laughed again "I'm not trying? That's all I'm doing! Join me Wulfric and I'll show you, you're my brother, I'll give you a second chance" Merek offered.
Wulfric laughed this time "No, walking out on the pack all those years ago was the best thing I ever did and I'd do it again Merek" Wulfric met Merek's matching amber eyes.
Merek pulled the slide back and pressed the gun to Wulfrics temple "You always were a spineless traitor"
Wulfric smiled "Maybe, but, at least I only have one regret"
Merek paused, frowning at Wulfric "And what's that?"
Wulfric didn't get a chance to answer as the bullet broke through an upper window of the factory and struck Merek in the shoulder, missing the intended kill shot. Still, he dropped the gun and stumbled back with a cry.
Officers burst in through every entry point a split second later. Several of the Vulfsteins were taken out before they had a chance to open fire while others got a few rounds off before they were down, disarmed, disabled or dead.
Wulfric spurred into action the second the police broke in, grabbing Merek's dropped gun he tackled Merek to the floor below the gunfire. "You're finished Merek," Wulfric said with the gun pressed against the back of his older brothers skull, keeping him pinned face down to the floor.
Sam scrambled away from the wall and ran up the back of Wulfric's leg and up on to Wulfrics shoulder, the red 'record' light blinking red. The camera might have gone out, but the sound hadn't. She'd caught everything.
–
Wulfric watched as Merek was loaded into the back of an ambulance, captain Gamen, Sleek, Paker, Rogers, and Sam walking over to where he sat being checked over by the EMT. He refused to be taken to the hospital despite the searing pain in his side. He could still breathe okay so he guessed it was only a bad bruise.
"Mr. Vulfstein" Captain Gamen said "That was some good work in there getting Merek to talk, we should have enough to keep him put away"
"Thank you, sir," Wulfric said, uncertain as he looked between his team. He'd lied to them, all of them.
"I just have one question for you," Gamen said, "What was your one regret?"
"That I had to lie to get where I am today" Wulfric answered
"Don't know what you mean Officer Vulfstein?" Sam said and tossed his badge to him, only, looking down at it. The name Johnson didn't stare back at him, but Vulfstein. How long had they known?
"Captain Gamen explained everything" Sam answered the unspoken question.
"The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb," Rogers said with a smile.
"What he means is, the name doesn't matter, you're our brother Wulfric" Sleek translated
"Yeah, you proved that again today, we'd be dead if you hadn't stalled Merek" Paker added "And we completed the mission"
Wulfric looked over his team, smiled and clipped the badge to his belt.
ENTRY #01
The rains came in the night, sending the earth above us all a-shaking and rattling the ceiling lights.
At dinner Pa says it's the wrath of God, thundering His displeasure down upon the heathens and unbelievers who have shirked the True Path for too long. Mama says Pa's too busy waxing poetic to think about what the flooding and devastation above means for us. Quarry's going to be plentiful and unaccounted for, at least for a time, but that could all easily change soon. The Feast draws nearer every day, and Mama says she's the only one who seems to be truly worried about it.
That's not true, I want to tell her: I worry plenty. I know how important it is that we are ready for the Feast before it's time comes due. What's more, I know how hard it is for Mama and Pa to get things organised since we lost Albert on the last Collection. Susanne might be the eldest of us remaining children, but her eyes make it hard for her to function up top: she's much better suited for life down here below. Jasper should be the one helping Pa now that he's the oldest male son, but even Mama doesn't love him enough to let him loose and unsupervised on the surface. "Too impulsive, that boy," she often says. She always did have a talent for understatements.
I might be the youngest, I gotta grant them that. But that doesn't mean I can't pull my weight, that I'm just the bookish one who likes to read and won't help when it's needed. I've been on this Earth fourteen winters now, and I've learned enough to know I'm ready to assist Pa in the COllection. Every year before now it's been "oh Dagny, you too little", "oh Dagny, you just ain't ready yet" (or Jasper cornering me and hissing "ain't no way Pa's taking you out for something like this, bitch" before giggling).
But maybe this time. Our family's getting smaller every year, as Pa often grumbles. All the families that keep to the True Path are. It's why the Feast is so important. Surely they'll recognise that? Now isn't the time to be prudish: the rain, the winds, they've created a perfect opportunity in the city above that we cannot afford to pass up on. Not if we're to be prepared in time.
I'll make my case to Mama and Pa after dinner tonight.
This could finally be my chance.
ENTRY #02
HE SAID YES HE SAID YES HE SAID YES OMG OMG :D :D
I CAN'T BELIEVE IT
I'M GOING TO THE CITY WITH HIM
OMG
ENTRY #03
Spent the night barely able to sleep so far, my head's been buzzing so much. I know Mama has her fears about me going up ("not any place for a woman of this family", she kept saying) but at least I convinced Pa with my argument. He was impressed: called me forthright. Pa doesn't do compliments too often, so it means all the more that he said it.
My stomach is still fluttering. Can't tell if it's pride or nerves.
Maybe both?
It's not all smiles and praises, of course. Jasper is furious, like an angry dog that's been kicked one too many times. Even after the mess he made last Collection, I think he had it in his head he was the one going up this time. Tried to corner me in the storage room, pin me up against the wall and choke me like he used to when I was just little.
That's Jasper's trouble: he still thinks of me as that small waifish girl he could push around.
I removed two of his fingers to remind him that isn't the case any longer. He screamed like a little crybaby, but they'll grow back within a couple hours. Just a warning shot, really.
Susanne was all smiles and praises, but neither of them ever reached those wide, black eyes of hers. We've never been that close (Albert was always my confidante) but all the same we've always understood one another. I could hear the jealousy in ever compliment she gave: all I can hope that it doesn't fester over into resentment. Already got one sibling out to get me, so I sure as Hell don't need another.
My gear's all ready to go (I've checked it three times now). Mama's laid me out new clothes, rugged and practical, for the Collection tomorrow. I still don't know what to expect, truth be told. We spend so much of our lives down here, I can barely even remember the last time I was up on the surface. Nevermind the city. We keep to ourselves, after all, as do all families who hold to the True Path. For all I know I should sleep, my mind won't stop racing with possibilities.
Tomorrow, I finally get to show my worth.
ENTRY #04
"You sure you ready for this?" was the first thing Pa asked me in the morning, right outside the old mine shaft that connects our home to the surface. I nodded, probably a little too enthusiastically, and he was grinning.
That's how my first Collection began.
Even with the sunglasses Mama had tucked into my new shirt, the light is still overwhelming. Dizzying, at points. The sky stretches above us endlessly, so vast and open I feel like I might be about to fall into it if I stare too long. The smells, the sights, even the noises all feel larger and more potent up here, from the greenery around us to the rattling grumble of the engine inside Pa's truck. I can see the damage and devastation that the hurricane and water have caused from the passenger seat where I write, even though the city is many miles off yet. Trees uprooted and flung about, reminding me of the way Jasper used to break my toys and then throw them aside like old garbage. Water-choked roads that force us to veer around or else abandon them entirely in favour of the sodden earth that lies to their sides. The few buildings we've passed look like they've had chunks torn from them by a raging animal.
I'm starting to think Pa's talk of God's wrath wasn't all that exaggerated.
It's hard to imagine who else could unleash this.
Within a few hours, we've started coming across the first sight of our Quarry: the city may be far off but they've spread far and wide. Huddled, damp shapes clinging together as they trudge down along the sides of the roads of else travelling along in their own vehicles. So many of them, enough that I rapidly lose count. More than I could ever have imagined witnessing, and we're not even at the outskirts yet. Just a few moments ago I was turning to Pa, observing that at this rate we don't even need to go into the city to finish the Collection.
He looked and me and grinned, said I catch on quick.
I get the impression it's gonna be a busy day.
Whole lot of Quarry to gather up, after all.
ENTRY #05
Perhaps committing this to paper will help me set my mind at rest. It may even lead me to the answers I seek.
Because right now? I'm at a loss.
The first Collection of the season has been completed. Five of our Quarry in total, stuffed into the back of the truck, bound with ropes and transported down into the holding cells we keep to the rear of our underground home. Pa is thrilled, spent the whole of dinner singing my praises (I could feel Jasper staring daggers into me the whole time). He says I'm a natural at this, that Albert must have taught me well. That at last he has a replacement for the assistant he lost.
I should be thrilled, I know. My chest should be swelling with pride.
Instead, it's tying itself in knots.
Sure, I've seen our Quarry before. Helped Mama prepare them and cook them in time for Feasts in the past, after Albert brought them back and Jasper harvested them. I always loved the feeling of involvement in those moments, the sense of being part of something greater than yourself: part of a long and powerful family tradition, stretching back generations for those who held to the True Path.
But it's different, seeing them up close.
They don't look like food.
They look like Mama. Like Susanne. Like my own reflection. For all I try to repress it, I cannot help but recognise the emotions playing out across their faces as we herded them into their cells. The confusion. The panic.
The fear.
Fear of us. Fear of me. The two I captured myself? They don't look much younger than me. Sure, their skin is darker. True, their nails aren't long or sharp enough and their eyes don't stretch as wide. The wound the eldest girl has on her shoulder (that I gave her) hasn't healed yet, and it's been hours already. But these are superficial differences, I can't help but think. When I look at them, I don't see food anymore: I see two kids not unlike myself.
But they won't look like that for long.
Pa always lets Jasper harvest the meat. Mama says it's what my brother excels at. Acidity released into the flesh during harvesting is what gives it the flavour our Feast demands, and nothing released those acids like fear. Like pain. The longer Jasper can make the harvesting last, the better.
And Mama isn't lying when she says he's good at what he does.
Used to be, this was the time I looked forward to most.
But now? I'm dreading every minute.
ENTRY #06
I shouldn't have done it. I knew nothing good would come of it, that it would only make the decision harder.
But in the end curiosity got the better of me, and I spoke to the two girls I caught.
The older one is called Kimberly. She was defensive at first: who can blame her? But eventually curiosity took hold of her too. The younger one is Lucette. She doesn't speak to me at all, just lurks in the back of her cell whilst clinging to Kimberly. They're sisters, apparently. Separated from their family when the hurricane struck. Travelling towards relatives when I cornered them in a collapsed shed. Kimberly has questions for me as well, naturally. Who we are, what we want.
When she asks what's going to happen to them, I do my best to dodge the question.
She seems tough, Kimberly. Resilient. Looking me in the eye the entire time I'm there, jaw squared. I can tell she's on guard around me, that she might even be scared, but as long as I'm the only source of answers she has she'll face me head on. Lucette remains silent the entire encounter, but the way she looks at me all throughout says enough.
I have never felt like a monster before now.
It's not a feeling I enjoy.
We couldn't talk for too long, not without being discovered by Pa (or worse, Jasper), but I promised I'd be back later with some water for them. Jasper always brags about he likes to dehydrate the meat before harvest, says it makes the skin pliable and easy to part. I can't think about such things now without picturing my brother looming over those two girls, that leering smile on his face as he sets to work on them with his knives.
Those girls that I dragged here.
So no, talking to them did little to alleviate the guilt boiling away in my gut. But it did put something else in there, too.
The beginnings of a plan.
ENTRY #07
What I'm considering right now? Part of me wonders if I should even be writing it down. It means going against everything I have known, against the very way in which I have known the world to work. I means betrayal. Of Jasper, sure, and I'll lose no sleep over that. But also of Susanne. Of Mama and Pa.
Of Albert, God rest his soul.
All in the name of our Quarry.
That's how I'd have seen such thoughts even just two days ago: losing sleep over something lesser than me and mine. Something barely worth considering, let alone fretting over the feelings of. I have to acknowledge that there are differences between my two captives and I. But when I think about it even further, it seems clearer still than these differences aren't enough to truly distinguish us.
They aren't just food.
My family can't see that. Won't see that. We are the Hosts, come the time of the Feast. Every family that keeps to the True Path will be coming to this underground sanctuary to celebrate their adherence to our ways, and we will be leading it all. Nothing I can say or do is going to change them wishing to follow through on all this.
But that doesn't mean I'm going to just sit idly by. Not when two people I'm responsible for thrusting into this situation have their lives on the line.
"Your mistakes are your own", Pa always used to say, back when times were happier and we were all still together, "so own them, or they'll do as much to you."
And though you may not have meant for it to apply in this situation, Pa?
I'm sorry, but I think it does.
ENTRY #08
The plan could work, because no-one (not even Jasper) is going to see it coming.
No, that's negative thinking Dagny.
The plan will work, because no-one (not even Jasper) is going to see it coming.
As Pa's newest hunting partner, I have access to the pens in the back of our home. The only other who has the keys is Pa, and when I put this scheme into practice I intend for him to be sleeping. With no-one else to interfere, I'll have free reign of our prison. The issue is getting Kimberly and Lucette to the mine shaft and our escape without being seen or heard.
Yet Jasper's nature may have ended up indirectly working in my favour. Used to be I needed plenty of spots to hide out in during those times when my brother was bored and in search of entertainment. The end result is that I know the side tunnels and crumbling passages that network our home like old friends. There are plenty of opportunities for me to get my prisoners to safety without being seen. From there, it's a simple case of getting Pa's car keys from the lockbox that I can still access. Then we're free and clear.
Part of me wants to stay behind, once it's done. Once I've fixed the mistake I've made. Atoned (at least in part) for what I did. Try to get through to them all, convince them of what I have come to realise. Part of me wants to go back for the other three that Pa captured as well, locked away in the deeper cells.
But the sane, logical part of me knows that I can't. The risk of being found out even when it's just Kimberly and Lucette are high enough: three more people would doom us all. And however much I try to tell myself otherwise, I know my family will not be willing to see my way of thinking. Not before it's too late. Not before we've further condemned ourselves.
If there is a God, and He is just, He has to understand what I'm trying to do here. That this isn't just a battle for my conscience, but a war for my soul. Ignorance may have protected me from the crimes my family has wrought before now, but as soon as I saw our "quarry" for what they truly were? I had a choice. I could bury my head in the sand and carry on as usual, or I could do something about it. My family are going to butcher those two girls that I brought to them. Skin them slowly. Consume their flesh. As far as they're concerned, it's just the natural order of things. As normal as the blood that runs through our lineage.
I will not sit idly and let this happen.
Kimberly looked completely thrown by what I was telling her when I brought her and Lucette water earlier. Like she'd been expecting anything else from me but that. All the same, she came round to the plan fast. Made improvements to it, even. We're only bringing supplies and weapons because she pointed it out: I was so caught up on escaping that I hadn't even considered what would happen if we succeeded.
Lucette just looked at me through the rusty metal bars as I was whispering, as her sister and I refined our scheme. It wasn't until I was about to leave that her small hand reached through to grip mine. Her wide eyes gazed up at mine, the fear from earlier gone. Replaced by a faint, desperate hope.
"Please hurry", was all she said.
It was enough.
This might be my last entry. Should this be the case please know (whoever you might be) that I tried.
That if nothing else, I tried to fix my mistake.
ENTRY #09
Jasper might be dead.
I don't know.
Oh fuck.
I'll start from the beginning.
It was all going brilliantly. Pa had taken himself off to bed for the night, everyone else was busy keeping to their evening routines. My bag was stuffed with requisitioned food and water from our supply room, as well as Pa's old revolver. Soon enough, Kimberly and Lucette were clear of the cells, following on behind me as we stole through the caves.
I thought we were going to get away without a hitch.
Stupid.
Stupid stupid stupid.
He was waiting for us right outside the mine shaft. I'd forgotten how fast he could move: a blur plunging towards me out of the dark, only his leering grin distinct in all the motion. Before I could react, before I could so much as breathe, he was on me. Momentum and weight blasting against me, sending us both struggling and writhing against the rocky walls. The surprise had given him the upper hand: within seconds he had me pinned. I could smell his breath, feel his knife pressing against my throat.
"Heard you whispering, bitch," he was hissing at me, digging the blade into my flesh hard enough to draw blood, "you wanna play with our food? You can die like it, too."
I'm alive to write these words only because Kimberly reacted faster than either Jasper and I could have anticipated. Most quarry we encounter are docile, cowed. She was anything but. Just as the blade was starting to dig, as my own brother was tensing his arm to carve open my neck, she was on him. He body slamming into his, knocking him staggering.
It was all the opportunity I needed.
As Jasper staggered about and swung his blade wildly I threw myself to the side and snapped my arms out, gripping him by the neck and hauling with all my might. He was off his feet and in the air, his own weight coupled with my force to power his arc as I body slammed him down into the stones and earth. Part of me thought that blow alone was enough.
The other part of me wasn't willing to take that chance.
I had his head gripped, hauling him up to send him plunging back down into the stone. Then again. And again. It wasn't until I felt something wet and sticky running through my fingers, felt something breaking apart in my hand, that I finally stopped. There was a small hand clutching at me, dark skin twisting to grip my own pale flesh, pulling me towards the mine shaft. To our escape.
I can still feel that sensation, even now as I write this. Of something once solid and familiar being reduced to mush.
Fuck.
FUCK.
I'm gonna throw up.
ENTRY #10
Pa? Mama?
You're maybe reading this. I hope to God you are: I left it where you would find it.
I don't expect you to understand my actions. Not just yet. Maybe not ever, after Jasper. I know you've only ever done what you thought was right by us. That you raised us according to family tradition, following the True Path.
But please listen.
That path is wrong.
Not just wrong. Evil, in the most Biblical sense of the word. The things you made me complicit in? They cannot be justified. They never could. What we have done, we have done to people like us. Whatever differences you see, they are not enough to justify such cruelty. Such savagery. I can't be part of it. Not anymore.
Kimberly and Lucette have invited me to come with them, to head back into the city. New Orleans, they tell me it's called. You never told me that. A city filled with people like you and I, and all you ever saw it as was a larder. There will be relief efforts, people helping those affected by the hurricane. Perhaps I can contribute. Perhaps this is another chance to make up for what I have been a part of. Perhaps not. All I know is that I can't go back to the way things were before.
It could be that you're planning to bring me back. Family is family, I know. But so long as you continue to cling to your "true path", I cannot be a part of that family.
I love you. I think I even forgive you.
But I can't forget what you've done.
Don't follow me.
Your daughter,
Dagny Bean
The rains came in the night, sending the earth above us all a-shaking and rattling the ceiling lights.
At dinner Pa says it's the wrath of God, thundering His displeasure down upon the heathens and unbelievers who have shirked the True Path for too long. Mama says Pa's too busy waxing poetic to think about what the flooding and devastation above means for us. Quarry's going to be plentiful and unaccounted for, at least for a time, but that could all easily change soon. The Feast draws nearer every day, and Mama says she's the only one who seems to be truly worried about it.
That's not true, I want to tell her: I worry plenty. I know how important it is that we are ready for the Feast before it's time comes due. What's more, I know how hard it is for Mama and Pa to get things organised since we lost Albert on the last Collection. Susanne might be the eldest of us remaining children, but her eyes make it hard for her to function up top: she's much better suited for life down here below. Jasper should be the one helping Pa now that he's the oldest male son, but even Mama doesn't love him enough to let him loose and unsupervised on the surface. "Too impulsive, that boy," she often says. She always did have a talent for understatements.
I might be the youngest, I gotta grant them that. But that doesn't mean I can't pull my weight, that I'm just the bookish one who likes to read and won't help when it's needed. I've been on this Earth fourteen winters now, and I've learned enough to know I'm ready to assist Pa in the COllection. Every year before now it's been "oh Dagny, you too little", "oh Dagny, you just ain't ready yet" (or Jasper cornering me and hissing "ain't no way Pa's taking you out for something like this, bitch" before giggling).
But maybe this time. Our family's getting smaller every year, as Pa often grumbles. All the families that keep to the True Path are. It's why the Feast is so important. Surely they'll recognise that? Now isn't the time to be prudish: the rain, the winds, they've created a perfect opportunity in the city above that we cannot afford to pass up on. Not if we're to be prepared in time.
I'll make my case to Mama and Pa after dinner tonight.
This could finally be my chance.
ENTRY #02
HE SAID YES HE SAID YES HE SAID YES OMG OMG :D :D
I CAN'T BELIEVE IT
I'M GOING TO THE CITY WITH HIM
OMG
ENTRY #03
Spent the night barely able to sleep so far, my head's been buzzing so much. I know Mama has her fears about me going up ("not any place for a woman of this family", she kept saying) but at least I convinced Pa with my argument. He was impressed: called me forthright. Pa doesn't do compliments too often, so it means all the more that he said it.
My stomach is still fluttering. Can't tell if it's pride or nerves.
Maybe both?
It's not all smiles and praises, of course. Jasper is furious, like an angry dog that's been kicked one too many times. Even after the mess he made last Collection, I think he had it in his head he was the one going up this time. Tried to corner me in the storage room, pin me up against the wall and choke me like he used to when I was just little.
That's Jasper's trouble: he still thinks of me as that small waifish girl he could push around.
I removed two of his fingers to remind him that isn't the case any longer. He screamed like a little crybaby, but they'll grow back within a couple hours. Just a warning shot, really.
Susanne was all smiles and praises, but neither of them ever reached those wide, black eyes of hers. We've never been that close (Albert was always my confidante) but all the same we've always understood one another. I could hear the jealousy in ever compliment she gave: all I can hope that it doesn't fester over into resentment. Already got one sibling out to get me, so I sure as Hell don't need another.
My gear's all ready to go (I've checked it three times now). Mama's laid me out new clothes, rugged and practical, for the Collection tomorrow. I still don't know what to expect, truth be told. We spend so much of our lives down here, I can barely even remember the last time I was up on the surface. Nevermind the city. We keep to ourselves, after all, as do all families who hold to the True Path. For all I know I should sleep, my mind won't stop racing with possibilities.
Tomorrow, I finally get to show my worth.
ENTRY #04
"You sure you ready for this?" was the first thing Pa asked me in the morning, right outside the old mine shaft that connects our home to the surface. I nodded, probably a little too enthusiastically, and he was grinning.
That's how my first Collection began.
Even with the sunglasses Mama had tucked into my new shirt, the light is still overwhelming. Dizzying, at points. The sky stretches above us endlessly, so vast and open I feel like I might be about to fall into it if I stare too long. The smells, the sights, even the noises all feel larger and more potent up here, from the greenery around us to the rattling grumble of the engine inside Pa's truck. I can see the damage and devastation that the hurricane and water have caused from the passenger seat where I write, even though the city is many miles off yet. Trees uprooted and flung about, reminding me of the way Jasper used to break my toys and then throw them aside like old garbage. Water-choked roads that force us to veer around or else abandon them entirely in favour of the sodden earth that lies to their sides. The few buildings we've passed look like they've had chunks torn from them by a raging animal.
I'm starting to think Pa's talk of God's wrath wasn't all that exaggerated.
It's hard to imagine who else could unleash this.
Within a few hours, we've started coming across the first sight of our Quarry: the city may be far off but they've spread far and wide. Huddled, damp shapes clinging together as they trudge down along the sides of the roads of else travelling along in their own vehicles. So many of them, enough that I rapidly lose count. More than I could ever have imagined witnessing, and we're not even at the outskirts yet. Just a few moments ago I was turning to Pa, observing that at this rate we don't even need to go into the city to finish the Collection.
He looked and me and grinned, said I catch on quick.
I get the impression it's gonna be a busy day.
Whole lot of Quarry to gather up, after all.
ENTRY #05
Perhaps committing this to paper will help me set my mind at rest. It may even lead me to the answers I seek.
Because right now? I'm at a loss.
The first Collection of the season has been completed. Five of our Quarry in total, stuffed into the back of the truck, bound with ropes and transported down into the holding cells we keep to the rear of our underground home. Pa is thrilled, spent the whole of dinner singing my praises (I could feel Jasper staring daggers into me the whole time). He says I'm a natural at this, that Albert must have taught me well. That at last he has a replacement for the assistant he lost.
I should be thrilled, I know. My chest should be swelling with pride.
Instead, it's tying itself in knots.
Sure, I've seen our Quarry before. Helped Mama prepare them and cook them in time for Feasts in the past, after Albert brought them back and Jasper harvested them. I always loved the feeling of involvement in those moments, the sense of being part of something greater than yourself: part of a long and powerful family tradition, stretching back generations for those who held to the True Path.
But it's different, seeing them up close.
They don't look like food.
They look like Mama. Like Susanne. Like my own reflection. For all I try to repress it, I cannot help but recognise the emotions playing out across their faces as we herded them into their cells. The confusion. The panic.
The fear.
Fear of us. Fear of me. The two I captured myself? They don't look much younger than me. Sure, their skin is darker. True, their nails aren't long or sharp enough and their eyes don't stretch as wide. The wound the eldest girl has on her shoulder (that I gave her) hasn't healed yet, and it's been hours already. But these are superficial differences, I can't help but think. When I look at them, I don't see food anymore: I see two kids not unlike myself.
But they won't look like that for long.
Pa always lets Jasper harvest the meat. Mama says it's what my brother excels at. Acidity released into the flesh during harvesting is what gives it the flavour our Feast demands, and nothing released those acids like fear. Like pain. The longer Jasper can make the harvesting last, the better.
And Mama isn't lying when she says he's good at what he does.
Used to be, this was the time I looked forward to most.
But now? I'm dreading every minute.
ENTRY #06
I shouldn't have done it. I knew nothing good would come of it, that it would only make the decision harder.
But in the end curiosity got the better of me, and I spoke to the two girls I caught.
The older one is called Kimberly. She was defensive at first: who can blame her? But eventually curiosity took hold of her too. The younger one is Lucette. She doesn't speak to me at all, just lurks in the back of her cell whilst clinging to Kimberly. They're sisters, apparently. Separated from their family when the hurricane struck. Travelling towards relatives when I cornered them in a collapsed shed. Kimberly has questions for me as well, naturally. Who we are, what we want.
When she asks what's going to happen to them, I do my best to dodge the question.
She seems tough, Kimberly. Resilient. Looking me in the eye the entire time I'm there, jaw squared. I can tell she's on guard around me, that she might even be scared, but as long as I'm the only source of answers she has she'll face me head on. Lucette remains silent the entire encounter, but the way she looks at me all throughout says enough.
I have never felt like a monster before now.
It's not a feeling I enjoy.
We couldn't talk for too long, not without being discovered by Pa (or worse, Jasper), but I promised I'd be back later with some water for them. Jasper always brags about he likes to dehydrate the meat before harvest, says it makes the skin pliable and easy to part. I can't think about such things now without picturing my brother looming over those two girls, that leering smile on his face as he sets to work on them with his knives.
Those girls that I dragged here.
So no, talking to them did little to alleviate the guilt boiling away in my gut. But it did put something else in there, too.
The beginnings of a plan.
ENTRY #07
What I'm considering right now? Part of me wonders if I should even be writing it down. It means going against everything I have known, against the very way in which I have known the world to work. I means betrayal. Of Jasper, sure, and I'll lose no sleep over that. But also of Susanne. Of Mama and Pa.
Of Albert, God rest his soul.
All in the name of our Quarry.
That's how I'd have seen such thoughts even just two days ago: losing sleep over something lesser than me and mine. Something barely worth considering, let alone fretting over the feelings of. I have to acknowledge that there are differences between my two captives and I. But when I think about it even further, it seems clearer still than these differences aren't enough to truly distinguish us.
They aren't just food.
My family can't see that. Won't see that. We are the Hosts, come the time of the Feast. Every family that keeps to the True Path will be coming to this underground sanctuary to celebrate their adherence to our ways, and we will be leading it all. Nothing I can say or do is going to change them wishing to follow through on all this.
But that doesn't mean I'm going to just sit idly by. Not when two people I'm responsible for thrusting into this situation have their lives on the line.
"Your mistakes are your own", Pa always used to say, back when times were happier and we were all still together, "so own them, or they'll do as much to you."
And though you may not have meant for it to apply in this situation, Pa?
I'm sorry, but I think it does.
ENTRY #08
The plan could work, because no-one (not even Jasper) is going to see it coming.
No, that's negative thinking Dagny.
The plan will work, because no-one (not even Jasper) is going to see it coming.
As Pa's newest hunting partner, I have access to the pens in the back of our home. The only other who has the keys is Pa, and when I put this scheme into practice I intend for him to be sleeping. With no-one else to interfere, I'll have free reign of our prison. The issue is getting Kimberly and Lucette to the mine shaft and our escape without being seen or heard.
Yet Jasper's nature may have ended up indirectly working in my favour. Used to be I needed plenty of spots to hide out in during those times when my brother was bored and in search of entertainment. The end result is that I know the side tunnels and crumbling passages that network our home like old friends. There are plenty of opportunities for me to get my prisoners to safety without being seen. From there, it's a simple case of getting Pa's car keys from the lockbox that I can still access. Then we're free and clear.
Part of me wants to stay behind, once it's done. Once I've fixed the mistake I've made. Atoned (at least in part) for what I did. Try to get through to them all, convince them of what I have come to realise. Part of me wants to go back for the other three that Pa captured as well, locked away in the deeper cells.
But the sane, logical part of me knows that I can't. The risk of being found out even when it's just Kimberly and Lucette are high enough: three more people would doom us all. And however much I try to tell myself otherwise, I know my family will not be willing to see my way of thinking. Not before it's too late. Not before we've further condemned ourselves.
If there is a God, and He is just, He has to understand what I'm trying to do here. That this isn't just a battle for my conscience, but a war for my soul. Ignorance may have protected me from the crimes my family has wrought before now, but as soon as I saw our "quarry" for what they truly were? I had a choice. I could bury my head in the sand and carry on as usual, or I could do something about it. My family are going to butcher those two girls that I brought to them. Skin them slowly. Consume their flesh. As far as they're concerned, it's just the natural order of things. As normal as the blood that runs through our lineage.
I will not sit idly and let this happen.
Kimberly looked completely thrown by what I was telling her when I brought her and Lucette water earlier. Like she'd been expecting anything else from me but that. All the same, she came round to the plan fast. Made improvements to it, even. We're only bringing supplies and weapons because she pointed it out: I was so caught up on escaping that I hadn't even considered what would happen if we succeeded.
Lucette just looked at me through the rusty metal bars as I was whispering, as her sister and I refined our scheme. It wasn't until I was about to leave that her small hand reached through to grip mine. Her wide eyes gazed up at mine, the fear from earlier gone. Replaced by a faint, desperate hope.
"Please hurry", was all she said.
It was enough.
This might be my last entry. Should this be the case please know (whoever you might be) that I tried.
That if nothing else, I tried to fix my mistake.
ENTRY #09
Jasper might be dead.
I don't know.
Oh fuck.
I'll start from the beginning.
It was all going brilliantly. Pa had taken himself off to bed for the night, everyone else was busy keeping to their evening routines. My bag was stuffed with requisitioned food and water from our supply room, as well as Pa's old revolver. Soon enough, Kimberly and Lucette were clear of the cells, following on behind me as we stole through the caves.
I thought we were going to get away without a hitch.
Stupid.
Stupid stupid stupid.
He was waiting for us right outside the mine shaft. I'd forgotten how fast he could move: a blur plunging towards me out of the dark, only his leering grin distinct in all the motion. Before I could react, before I could so much as breathe, he was on me. Momentum and weight blasting against me, sending us both struggling and writhing against the rocky walls. The surprise had given him the upper hand: within seconds he had me pinned. I could smell his breath, feel his knife pressing against my throat.
"Heard you whispering, bitch," he was hissing at me, digging the blade into my flesh hard enough to draw blood, "you wanna play with our food? You can die like it, too."
I'm alive to write these words only because Kimberly reacted faster than either Jasper and I could have anticipated. Most quarry we encounter are docile, cowed. She was anything but. Just as the blade was starting to dig, as my own brother was tensing his arm to carve open my neck, she was on him. He body slamming into his, knocking him staggering.
It was all the opportunity I needed.
As Jasper staggered about and swung his blade wildly I threw myself to the side and snapped my arms out, gripping him by the neck and hauling with all my might. He was off his feet and in the air, his own weight coupled with my force to power his arc as I body slammed him down into the stones and earth. Part of me thought that blow alone was enough.
The other part of me wasn't willing to take that chance.
I had his head gripped, hauling him up to send him plunging back down into the stone. Then again. And again. It wasn't until I felt something wet and sticky running through my fingers, felt something breaking apart in my hand, that I finally stopped. There was a small hand clutching at me, dark skin twisting to grip my own pale flesh, pulling me towards the mine shaft. To our escape.
I can still feel that sensation, even now as I write this. Of something once solid and familiar being reduced to mush.
Fuck.
FUCK.
I'm gonna throw up.
ENTRY #10
Pa? Mama?
You're maybe reading this. I hope to God you are: I left it where you would find it.
I don't expect you to understand my actions. Not just yet. Maybe not ever, after Jasper. I know you've only ever done what you thought was right by us. That you raised us according to family tradition, following the True Path.
But please listen.
That path is wrong.
Not just wrong. Evil, in the most Biblical sense of the word. The things you made me complicit in? They cannot be justified. They never could. What we have done, we have done to people like us. Whatever differences you see, they are not enough to justify such cruelty. Such savagery. I can't be part of it. Not anymore.
Kimberly and Lucette have invited me to come with them, to head back into the city. New Orleans, they tell me it's called. You never told me that. A city filled with people like you and I, and all you ever saw it as was a larder. There will be relief efforts, people helping those affected by the hurricane. Perhaps I can contribute. Perhaps this is another chance to make up for what I have been a part of. Perhaps not. All I know is that I can't go back to the way things were before.
It could be that you're planning to bring me back. Family is family, I know. But so long as you continue to cling to your "true path", I cannot be a part of that family.
I love you. I think I even forgive you.
But I can't forget what you've done.
Don't follow me.
Your daughter,
Dagny Bean
Before him, the vast army of the rebellion lay waiting, as they had for three days now. As they would for only an hour longer. In the courtyard below, people rushed to and fro with bundles of arrows, rushing to prepare for their assault. And between the two, in the broken and burnt wastes separating the seigers and the besieged, were two figures. One kneeling and chained, and another standing tall, his axe glinting in the setting sun even from this distance.
Beneath his feet, the gates creaked shut as the rebel's messenger departed, pushing her horse to a gallop in her haste to move beyond the reach of arrows. Gabriel watched her flight dispassionately, scornful of how little faith she had in the honour of the defenders. As she passed the two lone figures, footsteps could be heard ascending the stairs to the wall, their tread so familiar to Gabriel that he did not need to turn to recognize his brother's arrival.
"Have they changed their demands?" Gabriel asked, eyes still tracking the diminishing shape of the messenger.
"No," Hawkin answered tautly. "Surrender the castle, and they will spare all save the king himself. Refuse, and they shall commence with the execution as the sun falls beneath the horizon, and the siege will begin anew."
"Did they bring the letter that I requested of them?"
"They did," Hawkin said, voice still tight. "Gabriel... it is unmistakably father's hand. Of that I have no doubt." Gabriel remained silent, and merely held out his palm. After a few seconds, Hawkin came forward and put a small scrap of parchment into the waiting hand before stepping back once more.
Glancing down, Gabriel read the brief message before conjuring a lick of flame to turn it to ash. "'Stay strong'," he mused. Hawkin was right. The handwriting was unmistakable. "As you wish, father." Looking back to his younger brother, he let steel and strength enter his voice. "Give the command: the gates are to be barred, the soldiers ready. Our days of respite are over."
"Are you mad?" Hawkin demanded. "The war is lost. Let us at least spare what deaths we still can."
Gabriel scowled. "We are the Crown's Own, lest you've forgotten. Our family has sworn to protect and obey for centuries. Our oaths bind us, and our duty commands us. The gate will be shut, and the walls held against all who would take them."
"You would choose pride over the lives of all those trapped within these walls? Over Father?" Hawkin cried, shock and passion in his voice. "Is there no love left in your breast for the man who raised you?"
Gabriel turned away, eyes drawn to the kneeling figure and the axe-wielding man standing beside him. It had been his father who taught him how to saddle a horse and woo a lover. His father who, after the death of Gabriel's mother, had shown him there was no shame in the tears of a warrior. Tonight, when Gabriel retired to his chambers, there would be many tears shed in honour of a great man.
And it had been his father who taught him the weight of an oath and the importance of loyalty. His father who, in the midst of mourning his wife, had saved the life of the man who sent her to her grave. Tomorrow, as Gabriel stood upon the ramparts once more, the defenders would see a straight-backed and stalwart figure.
"Of course I love Father," Gabriel answered steadily, albeit quietly. "And that is why I cannot yield."
"If we do not yield, then we shall all die. The horizon drowns beneath the hordes of our enemies; even if we gave a sword and bow to every man, woman, and child in this castle they would still have a dozen souls for every one of ours."
Gabriel sniffed dismissively. "Then each of us shall strike down two dozen of theirs, and come out the victorious because of it."
"A fool's hope," Hawkin said, disgusted.
"Perhaps, but even then, Raleigh will not fail us," Gabriel intoned coolly. "She will convince the other Houses to come to our aid, as promised. Until then, we must hold."
"What other Houses?" Hawkin scoffed. "Half the kingdom stands outside these walls with steel drawn, and the other half wallows in ashes."
"The Hanlins and Conways are both powerful Houses, as yet unwounded from this traitor's war."
"And what good are the Thousand Golden Sails of House Hanlin when the coast is a week's ride away? As for the Conways, they are craven to the core. They will not leave the Broken Spines until the war is done and a victor stands ready to receive their pledges of loyalty."
There was a cold and hard anger in Gabriel's eyes as he turned once more to face his younger brother. "Then perhaps you and the Conways have much to bond over." Disgust rose in Gabriel's throat as he looked down upon the man he thought he knew. A man so fearful of death and lacking of moral vigor as to turn his back on centuries of duty. To break the oaths sworn by each member of their family, for generations upon generations. How blind had Gabriel been, to not see the treacherous cowardice that lurked in his brother's heart.
***
The setting sun and rising campfires beyond the ramparts rendered Gabriel into naught but a shadow upon the wall, his eyes masked in darkness. But even then, Hawkin could recognize the stubbornness and hate that resided within. A frozen pride that would sooner sacrifice its own father than bend but a little. How blind had Hawkin been, to not realize the heartless arrogance that filled his brother's mind.
Resigning himself to what must be done, Hawkin unclasped his cloak and let it float to the ground. The embroidered silver heron, symbol of the Crown's Own, glinted in the heavy orange light of evening, taunting him. The plate armour beneath was a featureless matte white; lacking in ornament, it seemed to swallow more light than it reflected. His sword, when drawn, was made of more of the same. Godsbone; a metal one part bronze and ten parts magic. The swords made of it were sharp enough to part steel like leather; the armour impenetrable to all but the mightiest blows. The blade in his hand could buy a dukedom. The armour a small kingdom. Yet more signs of their family's bond to the crown.
But Hawkin hardened his heart; willed it to be as resilient as the plate he wore. For five years ago, the Crown's Own had numbered in the dozens, each and every one bloodkin to Hawkin. Now there were only four. He and Gabriel, their sister Raleigh, and their father. Who even now Hawkin knew was still chained and defeated outside the castle walls, executioner's axe sharpened and ready to fall. Within their family's veins, the power of the Crown's Own ran the most pure, the most mighty. Only by that virtue had they survived this long, as the king threw their lives away for the smallest of reprieves.
Before him, Gabriel too threw off his cloak and drew his blade, armed and armoured in an identical fashion to Hawkin. "Shall it come to this then?" Gabriel demanded, voice harsh. "Does your heart run so foul?"
"If you value your precious oath more than your own kin," Hawkin answered, struggling to keep his anger and grief from overtaking him, "Then yes, it must come to this."
"Let it be done," Gabriel said solemnly after a moment of silence.
"Let it be done," Hawkin answered in turn, and charged.
With the power in his blood, Hawkin crossed ten paces in a single heartbeat. Struck three times in a heartbeat more. But the same power coursed through Gabriel, and each blow was deflected with calculated precision. When the counterblow came, Hawkin had already leapt back, circling his brother, trying to get the light of the setting sun to work in his favor.
Gabriel merely raised his sword into a defensive stance once more, and waited. Snarling, Hawkin clenched his free hand, willing the wall beneath his feet to bend to his desire. Launching his hand forward, the stones around him tore free and flew towards his brother, Hawkin following close behind. With perfect form, Gabriel sidestepped what he could, and grunted as he was struck by what he couldn't. Yet still his sword found Hawkin's as he closed the distance, turning it aside. As Hawkin's momentum carried him forward, Gabriel's elbow came up to meet him, catching him under the chin.
Without pause, Hawkin let the blow spin him back around, dragging his sword behind so that it struck Gabriel across the chest. A mournful keening sound filled the air as the blade slid across plate. Harder than it was sharp, the godsbone plate held, but there was still force enough to send Gabriel stumbling back. Hawkin matched the distance, pace for pace, white sword cutting through smoke and fading light to meet Gabriel's once more.
Gabriel's form was perfect, his moves impossibly fast and his strength the superior of the two. But there were no surprises to his strikes, every move a technical decision. As rote and predictable as a dance. And so it was that even weaker, and slower, and less experienced, it was Hawkin's unpredictable strikes that dictated the pace. Hawkin's steps that pushed forward, and Hawkin's sword that slipped past his opponent's guard to draw a drop of blood here, and another there.
Efficient as Gabriel was, with one stroke he would block two of Hawkin's attacks, and with one step he'd force Hawkin to take three. But exhaustion was a foreign concept to the Crown's Own, and Hawkin did not waver. Summoning fire, he blinded his brother. Summoning water, he battered and bruised. Summoning air, he sent his foe's movements off course. Gabriel's retaliations were uninspired, anticipated. Beneath them the walls of the castle cracked and knuckled, and around them the defenders and rebels alike stared in awe.
Ducking under a desperate sweeping strike, Hawkin planted his feet before leaping forward, catching Gabriel in a crushing hug and carrying them both over the edge of the wall and down to the courtyard below. Letting go at the last second, he landed in a smooth roll and came to his feet before Gabriel had even managed to draw in a fresh lungful of air.
Wheezing from the fall, bleeding from a dozen minor wounds and half again as many major ones, Gabriel slowly rose once more, face determined even as he struggled to hold his blade level.
"You've lost," Hawkin shouted. Pleaded. "Drop your blade, and stand by as I open the gates. I do not wish to lose my brother in saving our father."
Grimacing, Gabriel straightened his back and threw back his shoulders. Even broken and bloody as he was, he was still the man who had inspired the dregs of the royal army to hold for two months walls that should have fallen in a day. An air of indomitable command radiated outwards from him, unmarred by the burns across his skin and the dents in his armour. "To sacrifice my father's life in the name of our king is a pain I can hardly bear," he declared. "Next to that, to surrender my own life is a pittance. Finish what you started, younger brother. Prove you are at least worth that much."
"So be it," Hawkin whispered, too quiet for any to hear but himself. Sword hanging at his side, he strode forward to where Gabriel waited. The fire and anger had burned away, leaving over the grief and resignation. Around them the city lay silent, the soldiers and citizens alike barely daring to even breath. The sky above was dark and red, the last edges of the sun lost beyond the walls, and made darker by the smoke that rose from where the castle still burned.
As he came within fives paces, Gabriel mustered the strength to raise his sword high. As he came within three, Gabriel swung down, the godsbone blade streaking towards Hawkin's head. But so weak was the blow that Hawkin knocked it aside with one bare hand before summoning what elemental power remained to him, letting it infuse his arm and sword with impossible brilliance, and rammed his own blade through his brother's chest, the armor splitting open from the force of the blow.
Gabriel gasped, blood flecking his lips. Prickling Hawkin's face, as they two came within inches of each other. Planting his hand against Gabriel's chest, just beneath the wound, Hawkin shoved, sending his dying brother soaring into the city gate beyond, splintering it near to pieces.
Tears mixed with ashes and blood as Hawkin pushed through what remained of the wreckage, forcing himself not to look at the corpse of his brother. With shaking hands he undid the straps of his armor and let it fall to the dirt, piece by piece, until he was clad only in torn and scorched cloth before the endless camps of the rebellion's army. "The castle is yours," he shouted, hoarse and impossibly loud. "Spare all save the king, as promised, and what defenders remain shall yield.
"May your victory bring peace, and end the bloodshed at long last."
Beneath his feet, the gates creaked shut as the rebel's messenger departed, pushing her horse to a gallop in her haste to move beyond the reach of arrows. Gabriel watched her flight dispassionately, scornful of how little faith she had in the honour of the defenders. As she passed the two lone figures, footsteps could be heard ascending the stairs to the wall, their tread so familiar to Gabriel that he did not need to turn to recognize his brother's arrival.
"Have they changed their demands?" Gabriel asked, eyes still tracking the diminishing shape of the messenger.
"No," Hawkin answered tautly. "Surrender the castle, and they will spare all save the king himself. Refuse, and they shall commence with the execution as the sun falls beneath the horizon, and the siege will begin anew."
"Did they bring the letter that I requested of them?"
"They did," Hawkin said, voice still tight. "Gabriel... it is unmistakably father's hand. Of that I have no doubt." Gabriel remained silent, and merely held out his palm. After a few seconds, Hawkin came forward and put a small scrap of parchment into the waiting hand before stepping back once more.
Glancing down, Gabriel read the brief message before conjuring a lick of flame to turn it to ash. "'Stay strong'," he mused. Hawkin was right. The handwriting was unmistakable. "As you wish, father." Looking back to his younger brother, he let steel and strength enter his voice. "Give the command: the gates are to be barred, the soldiers ready. Our days of respite are over."
"Are you mad?" Hawkin demanded. "The war is lost. Let us at least spare what deaths we still can."
Gabriel scowled. "We are the Crown's Own, lest you've forgotten. Our family has sworn to protect and obey for centuries. Our oaths bind us, and our duty commands us. The gate will be shut, and the walls held against all who would take them."
"You would choose pride over the lives of all those trapped within these walls? Over Father?" Hawkin cried, shock and passion in his voice. "Is there no love left in your breast for the man who raised you?"
Gabriel turned away, eyes drawn to the kneeling figure and the axe-wielding man standing beside him. It had been his father who taught him how to saddle a horse and woo a lover. His father who, after the death of Gabriel's mother, had shown him there was no shame in the tears of a warrior. Tonight, when Gabriel retired to his chambers, there would be many tears shed in honour of a great man.
And it had been his father who taught him the weight of an oath and the importance of loyalty. His father who, in the midst of mourning his wife, had saved the life of the man who sent her to her grave. Tomorrow, as Gabriel stood upon the ramparts once more, the defenders would see a straight-backed and stalwart figure.
"Of course I love Father," Gabriel answered steadily, albeit quietly. "And that is why I cannot yield."
"If we do not yield, then we shall all die. The horizon drowns beneath the hordes of our enemies; even if we gave a sword and bow to every man, woman, and child in this castle they would still have a dozen souls for every one of ours."
Gabriel sniffed dismissively. "Then each of us shall strike down two dozen of theirs, and come out the victorious because of it."
"A fool's hope," Hawkin said, disgusted.
"Perhaps, but even then, Raleigh will not fail us," Gabriel intoned coolly. "She will convince the other Houses to come to our aid, as promised. Until then, we must hold."
"What other Houses?" Hawkin scoffed. "Half the kingdom stands outside these walls with steel drawn, and the other half wallows in ashes."
"The Hanlins and Conways are both powerful Houses, as yet unwounded from this traitor's war."
"And what good are the Thousand Golden Sails of House Hanlin when the coast is a week's ride away? As for the Conways, they are craven to the core. They will not leave the Broken Spines until the war is done and a victor stands ready to receive their pledges of loyalty."
There was a cold and hard anger in Gabriel's eyes as he turned once more to face his younger brother. "Then perhaps you and the Conways have much to bond over." Disgust rose in Gabriel's throat as he looked down upon the man he thought he knew. A man so fearful of death and lacking of moral vigor as to turn his back on centuries of duty. To break the oaths sworn by each member of their family, for generations upon generations. How blind had Gabriel been, to not see the treacherous cowardice that lurked in his brother's heart.
***
The setting sun and rising campfires beyond the ramparts rendered Gabriel into naught but a shadow upon the wall, his eyes masked in darkness. But even then, Hawkin could recognize the stubbornness and hate that resided within. A frozen pride that would sooner sacrifice its own father than bend but a little. How blind had Hawkin been, to not realize the heartless arrogance that filled his brother's mind.
Resigning himself to what must be done, Hawkin unclasped his cloak and let it float to the ground. The embroidered silver heron, symbol of the Crown's Own, glinted in the heavy orange light of evening, taunting him. The plate armour beneath was a featureless matte white; lacking in ornament, it seemed to swallow more light than it reflected. His sword, when drawn, was made of more of the same. Godsbone; a metal one part bronze and ten parts magic. The swords made of it were sharp enough to part steel like leather; the armour impenetrable to all but the mightiest blows. The blade in his hand could buy a dukedom. The armour a small kingdom. Yet more signs of their family's bond to the crown.
But Hawkin hardened his heart; willed it to be as resilient as the plate he wore. For five years ago, the Crown's Own had numbered in the dozens, each and every one bloodkin to Hawkin. Now there were only four. He and Gabriel, their sister Raleigh, and their father. Who even now Hawkin knew was still chained and defeated outside the castle walls, executioner's axe sharpened and ready to fall. Within their family's veins, the power of the Crown's Own ran the most pure, the most mighty. Only by that virtue had they survived this long, as the king threw their lives away for the smallest of reprieves.
Before him, Gabriel too threw off his cloak and drew his blade, armed and armoured in an identical fashion to Hawkin. "Shall it come to this then?" Gabriel demanded, voice harsh. "Does your heart run so foul?"
"If you value your precious oath more than your own kin," Hawkin answered, struggling to keep his anger and grief from overtaking him, "Then yes, it must come to this."
"Let it be done," Gabriel said solemnly after a moment of silence.
"Let it be done," Hawkin answered in turn, and charged.
With the power in his blood, Hawkin crossed ten paces in a single heartbeat. Struck three times in a heartbeat more. But the same power coursed through Gabriel, and each blow was deflected with calculated precision. When the counterblow came, Hawkin had already leapt back, circling his brother, trying to get the light of the setting sun to work in his favor.
Gabriel merely raised his sword into a defensive stance once more, and waited. Snarling, Hawkin clenched his free hand, willing the wall beneath his feet to bend to his desire. Launching his hand forward, the stones around him tore free and flew towards his brother, Hawkin following close behind. With perfect form, Gabriel sidestepped what he could, and grunted as he was struck by what he couldn't. Yet still his sword found Hawkin's as he closed the distance, turning it aside. As Hawkin's momentum carried him forward, Gabriel's elbow came up to meet him, catching him under the chin.
Without pause, Hawkin let the blow spin him back around, dragging his sword behind so that it struck Gabriel across the chest. A mournful keening sound filled the air as the blade slid across plate. Harder than it was sharp, the godsbone plate held, but there was still force enough to send Gabriel stumbling back. Hawkin matched the distance, pace for pace, white sword cutting through smoke and fading light to meet Gabriel's once more.
Gabriel's form was perfect, his moves impossibly fast and his strength the superior of the two. But there were no surprises to his strikes, every move a technical decision. As rote and predictable as a dance. And so it was that even weaker, and slower, and less experienced, it was Hawkin's unpredictable strikes that dictated the pace. Hawkin's steps that pushed forward, and Hawkin's sword that slipped past his opponent's guard to draw a drop of blood here, and another there.
Efficient as Gabriel was, with one stroke he would block two of Hawkin's attacks, and with one step he'd force Hawkin to take three. But exhaustion was a foreign concept to the Crown's Own, and Hawkin did not waver. Summoning fire, he blinded his brother. Summoning water, he battered and bruised. Summoning air, he sent his foe's movements off course. Gabriel's retaliations were uninspired, anticipated. Beneath them the walls of the castle cracked and knuckled, and around them the defenders and rebels alike stared in awe.
Ducking under a desperate sweeping strike, Hawkin planted his feet before leaping forward, catching Gabriel in a crushing hug and carrying them both over the edge of the wall and down to the courtyard below. Letting go at the last second, he landed in a smooth roll and came to his feet before Gabriel had even managed to draw in a fresh lungful of air.
Wheezing from the fall, bleeding from a dozen minor wounds and half again as many major ones, Gabriel slowly rose once more, face determined even as he struggled to hold his blade level.
"You've lost," Hawkin shouted. Pleaded. "Drop your blade, and stand by as I open the gates. I do not wish to lose my brother in saving our father."
Grimacing, Gabriel straightened his back and threw back his shoulders. Even broken and bloody as he was, he was still the man who had inspired the dregs of the royal army to hold for two months walls that should have fallen in a day. An air of indomitable command radiated outwards from him, unmarred by the burns across his skin and the dents in his armour. "To sacrifice my father's life in the name of our king is a pain I can hardly bear," he declared. "Next to that, to surrender my own life is a pittance. Finish what you started, younger brother. Prove you are at least worth that much."
"So be it," Hawkin whispered, too quiet for any to hear but himself. Sword hanging at his side, he strode forward to where Gabriel waited. The fire and anger had burned away, leaving over the grief and resignation. Around them the city lay silent, the soldiers and citizens alike barely daring to even breath. The sky above was dark and red, the last edges of the sun lost beyond the walls, and made darker by the smoke that rose from where the castle still burned.
As he came within fives paces, Gabriel mustered the strength to raise his sword high. As he came within three, Gabriel swung down, the godsbone blade streaking towards Hawkin's head. But so weak was the blow that Hawkin knocked it aside with one bare hand before summoning what elemental power remained to him, letting it infuse his arm and sword with impossible brilliance, and rammed his own blade through his brother's chest, the armor splitting open from the force of the blow.
Gabriel gasped, blood flecking his lips. Prickling Hawkin's face, as they two came within inches of each other. Planting his hand against Gabriel's chest, just beneath the wound, Hawkin shoved, sending his dying brother soaring into the city gate beyond, splintering it near to pieces.
Tears mixed with ashes and blood as Hawkin pushed through what remained of the wreckage, forcing himself not to look at the corpse of his brother. With shaking hands he undid the straps of his armor and let it fall to the dirt, piece by piece, until he was clad only in torn and scorched cloth before the endless camps of the rebellion's army. "The castle is yours," he shouted, hoarse and impossibly loud. "Spare all save the king, as promised, and what defenders remain shall yield.
"May your victory bring peace, and end the bloodshed at long last."
Jonah Felton wasn't sure exactly how this had happened, because...he was definitely not an approachable person. His armored frame was tall, lithe, and intimidating, and his face was almost always hidden by his helmet. His boots shook the ground around him as he walked, and the sword strapped to his back was long and sharp. Criminals that saw him coming scattered. Children ran to their parents for protection, their faces peering out at him with distrust and fear. He was trained since birth to be a killer, and that's what he did to get his food. He liked to believe he didn't have a conscience, a fact that was completely untrue despite his insistence otherwise. So when he felt a small tap on his thigh, he was more than a little surprised.
The man glanced down, turning his head so his helmet's luminescent blue eyes bore down on a small girl. He was silent, too confused to say a word. She licked her lips nervously and stepped back, her hand still hovering in the air. After a moment, the girl ducked her head and rummaged in her pockets before producing from them a small plastic bag. Jonah's eyebrows furrowed for a moment as the redheaded child held it up to him. He could hear coins inside clinking against each other. She swallowed, huge green eyes darting from his helmeted face to the bag. Slowly, he reached out and took it, opening it to reveal a handful of coins, probably just enough to buy a small candy bar…if that.
"I….what's this?" he looked back to the girl, his quiet gravelly voice ringing with frustrated confusion.
The child blinked, brushing her long, tangled hair from her face with small, thin hands. "I wanted to hire you. It that enough?" her voice was hoarse and nervous and she shuffled her feet as if preparing to run.
Something was definitely wrong here. The mercenary crouched to get on her level and cocked his head to the side ever so slightly. "Depends. What do you want me to do?"
"I need you to get rid of someone," she said hesitantly.
Jonah let out a small breath. "Who?" he asked gruffly. He assumed it was one of her little friends that stole something from her- her age group never really understood the concept of death….at least not like he did.
Her next words were so quiet that if the mercenary hadn't been straining his ears to hear them, they would have been lost to the wind. "My dad." His eyes darted to her face, noticing for the first time the bruises and cuts that decorated it. Details began falling into place- her tattered, stained clothes, her bone-thin body, her huge, scared eyes that screamed for help even as she was silent. Jonah didn't say a word, his eyes narrowed under the helmet as he envisioned the kind of person that would drag out the suffering of a small child like her. Even he allowed his victims the basic decency of a clean death. As his angered silence dragged on, the girl's lip began to tremble and she ducked her head in shame. "It's not enough, is it?" she whispered.
Her words shook him from his stupor. Jonah stood up and rested his hand gently on her head, frowning deeply as she jumped at his touch. "What's your name?"
"Alyssa," she mumbled in reply, looking confused at his question.
"Well…" he handed her the bag back, watching as her eyes lost hope momentarily. "I'll be seeing you, okay?" She licked her blistered lips again and nodded hastily. "Go on home."
She hugged the bag close and nodded once more, her gestures speaking more than any words could.
The mercenary stood still as she ran away, waiting until she was nearly out of sight before finally moving to follow her. He claimed he didn't have a conscience, that his feelings and his guilt was nonexistent, but that was far from the truth. Jonah shook his head slightly as he realized this, but he didn't stop what he was doing.
He trailed her all the way to where she lived- a small, shabby house that looked like it was being held together by duct tape. The door was hanging lopsidedly on two hinges, and one window was clumsily boarded up. When Alyssa opened the door and entered, he caught a glimpse of the interior. Trash littered the ratty linoleum floor, and the paint on the walls was badly peeling and stained with who knew what.
Jonah crept down to the house and crouched under the boarded window to better spectate exactly what happened in this place. As the evening dragged on and the chemically-reddened sun dipped lazily below the horizon, he heard things he hadn't really wanted to hear directed at that child. Within two hours, he had counted a total of fifty profanities being thrown at her, twenty slurs against her intelligence, fifteen audible cries and whimpers, and six crashes and sounds of glass shattering. Finally, everything had quieted down and it seemed as if a rare moment of peace had settled over the house.
Taking his chance, Jonah snuck up the steps and eased his armored frame into the room, taking in the dimly-lit interior. Broken glass was scattered around the floor, and the choking stench of cigarette smoke clung to every available surface. He looked around, the blue glow from his helmet's eyes acting as flashlights to direct him.
He took in a breath and walked toward an open room, peeking inside. Alyssa was curled on the hard, peeling floor, a single, hole-filled blanket wrapped around her to keep her warm. His lips pursed in anger but he didn't enter her room, instead opting to continue down the hall to another open door. There was her father. His black, scraggly beard was practically down to his belly- which was hanging over his belt and barely contained by the shirt he wore. As he took in the actual bed the man was sleeping on, his nice clothes, and his obviously well-fed stature, anger burned in Jonah's heart. He felt his rage in full force, hotter than it ever was before.
And then he did something he had vowed he'd never do. After slinking back to Alyssa's room, he eased the door shut and stuffed a myriad of pillows under the crack between it and the floor, successfully soundproofing the room. Rage blinding him, he strode to her father's room and drew his sword…..and he made him suffer. He drove his sword into the man's body again and again, careful to avoid any of the fatal spots. His screams were music to his ears, full payback for causing the little girl so much pain. After an hour of this torture, he left the quietly whimpering man alone, letting him bleed out on the floor with pain racking his body. He wiped his sword on the bed and slid it back into his sheath, and left the room without so much as a glance in the man's direction.
Jonah stole quietly into Alyssa's room and gathered her thin body into his arms, watching in pity as she jolted awake at his touch. "It's me," he said quietly, allowing his helmet to fold down and reveal his head fully, auburn hair framing his face.
She frowned, leaning away from him slightly.
"I did the job."
Alyssa froze, staring at him in obvious shock. Her voice trembled as she finally spoke. "Really?"
He nodded. "You can't stay here alone."
She shook her head, eyes falling from his face.
"…..Want to come home with me?"
The man glanced down, turning his head so his helmet's luminescent blue eyes bore down on a small girl. He was silent, too confused to say a word. She licked her lips nervously and stepped back, her hand still hovering in the air. After a moment, the girl ducked her head and rummaged in her pockets before producing from them a small plastic bag. Jonah's eyebrows furrowed for a moment as the redheaded child held it up to him. He could hear coins inside clinking against each other. She swallowed, huge green eyes darting from his helmeted face to the bag. Slowly, he reached out and took it, opening it to reveal a handful of coins, probably just enough to buy a small candy bar…if that.
"I….what's this?" he looked back to the girl, his quiet gravelly voice ringing with frustrated confusion.
The child blinked, brushing her long, tangled hair from her face with small, thin hands. "I wanted to hire you. It that enough?" her voice was hoarse and nervous and she shuffled her feet as if preparing to run.
Something was definitely wrong here. The mercenary crouched to get on her level and cocked his head to the side ever so slightly. "Depends. What do you want me to do?"
"I need you to get rid of someone," she said hesitantly.
Jonah let out a small breath. "Who?" he asked gruffly. He assumed it was one of her little friends that stole something from her- her age group never really understood the concept of death….at least not like he did.
Her next words were so quiet that if the mercenary hadn't been straining his ears to hear them, they would have been lost to the wind. "My dad." His eyes darted to her face, noticing for the first time the bruises and cuts that decorated it. Details began falling into place- her tattered, stained clothes, her bone-thin body, her huge, scared eyes that screamed for help even as she was silent. Jonah didn't say a word, his eyes narrowed under the helmet as he envisioned the kind of person that would drag out the suffering of a small child like her. Even he allowed his victims the basic decency of a clean death. As his angered silence dragged on, the girl's lip began to tremble and she ducked her head in shame. "It's not enough, is it?" she whispered.
Her words shook him from his stupor. Jonah stood up and rested his hand gently on her head, frowning deeply as she jumped at his touch. "What's your name?"
"Alyssa," she mumbled in reply, looking confused at his question.
"Well…" he handed her the bag back, watching as her eyes lost hope momentarily. "I'll be seeing you, okay?" She licked her blistered lips again and nodded hastily. "Go on home."
She hugged the bag close and nodded once more, her gestures speaking more than any words could.
The mercenary stood still as she ran away, waiting until she was nearly out of sight before finally moving to follow her. He claimed he didn't have a conscience, that his feelings and his guilt was nonexistent, but that was far from the truth. Jonah shook his head slightly as he realized this, but he didn't stop what he was doing.
He trailed her all the way to where she lived- a small, shabby house that looked like it was being held together by duct tape. The door was hanging lopsidedly on two hinges, and one window was clumsily boarded up. When Alyssa opened the door and entered, he caught a glimpse of the interior. Trash littered the ratty linoleum floor, and the paint on the walls was badly peeling and stained with who knew what.
Jonah crept down to the house and crouched under the boarded window to better spectate exactly what happened in this place. As the evening dragged on and the chemically-reddened sun dipped lazily below the horizon, he heard things he hadn't really wanted to hear directed at that child. Within two hours, he had counted a total of fifty profanities being thrown at her, twenty slurs against her intelligence, fifteen audible cries and whimpers, and six crashes and sounds of glass shattering. Finally, everything had quieted down and it seemed as if a rare moment of peace had settled over the house.
Taking his chance, Jonah snuck up the steps and eased his armored frame into the room, taking in the dimly-lit interior. Broken glass was scattered around the floor, and the choking stench of cigarette smoke clung to every available surface. He looked around, the blue glow from his helmet's eyes acting as flashlights to direct him.
He took in a breath and walked toward an open room, peeking inside. Alyssa was curled on the hard, peeling floor, a single, hole-filled blanket wrapped around her to keep her warm. His lips pursed in anger but he didn't enter her room, instead opting to continue down the hall to another open door. There was her father. His black, scraggly beard was practically down to his belly- which was hanging over his belt and barely contained by the shirt he wore. As he took in the actual bed the man was sleeping on, his nice clothes, and his obviously well-fed stature, anger burned in Jonah's heart. He felt his rage in full force, hotter than it ever was before.
And then he did something he had vowed he'd never do. After slinking back to Alyssa's room, he eased the door shut and stuffed a myriad of pillows under the crack between it and the floor, successfully soundproofing the room. Rage blinding him, he strode to her father's room and drew his sword…..and he made him suffer. He drove his sword into the man's body again and again, careful to avoid any of the fatal spots. His screams were music to his ears, full payback for causing the little girl so much pain. After an hour of this torture, he left the quietly whimpering man alone, letting him bleed out on the floor with pain racking his body. He wiped his sword on the bed and slid it back into his sheath, and left the room without so much as a glance in the man's direction.
Jonah stole quietly into Alyssa's room and gathered her thin body into his arms, watching in pity as she jolted awake at his touch. "It's me," he said quietly, allowing his helmet to fold down and reveal his head fully, auburn hair framing his face.
She frowned, leaning away from him slightly.
"I did the job."
Alyssa froze, staring at him in obvious shock. Her voice trembled as she finally spoke. "Really?"
He nodded. "You can't stay here alone."
She shook her head, eyes falling from his face.
"…..Want to come home with me?"
