L
lostfaith
Guest
Original poster
This thread is simply a collection of my poems and short stories so that anyone who cares to can read them. Not that anyone would want to read my work.
This is the first part of a trilogy of short stories; the others aren't written yet, but I'll get to them at some point.
Twisted Memories is an unfinished Life is Strange fanfiction. Like the other parts of Requiem, I'll finish it someday.
That's all I'm putting up for now; more will come later as I scour my hard drive for stories and dig out my notebooks for poems.
This is the first part of a trilogy of short stories; the others aren't written yet, but I'll get to them at some point.
Requiem of Shadow I
Prologue:
A knock on the door.
In the long, empty stone hallways and chambers of Lerra Keep, a knock on the door echoed for a long ways. Down spacious corridors and through the currently-vacant dining halls, the sound drifted throughout the castle that housed the Order, gliding like a ghost into the rooms of novices, trainees, and senior members alike. A few of the younger initiates awoke with a start, their restless sleep disturbed by the sharp sound. The author of the knock himself was in fact startled by the sound's intensity in the quiet room. He was a tall, lanky man, with gentle brown eyes, a shaggy mop of blond hair, and the hint of a smirk on his face. His clothes were once brightly coloured, but were now travel-worn and faded into somber grays and browns. He waited patiently at the door of Grandmaster Veskel until finally the portal slid open with a faint creaking sound, beckoning him in although no one stood beyond who could have opened it.
The room was sparse, but not exactly bare. The furnishings were comfortable but not luxurious. An old man wearing a simple grey nightrobe sat on the edge of the bed. He had hair the colour of which matched his clothing perfectly, and a scruffy beard that seemed, to his visitor, to never stay shaven. His face was lined with wrinkles, and his eyes were weary, both with lack of sleep and with the weariness that the years give us all. Veskel stood and extended his hand to shake.
"Lukan. It's good to see you, as always, but it's not often you come calling at my door in the middle of the night."
Lukan smiled wryly. "You said I always had permission to call on you, no matter the time of day."
"Yes, with the unspoken assumption that you wouldn't, you old rascal." Veskel laughed. Then his expression turned serious. "What brings you to Lerra Keep at this hour, friend?"
"I found a gifted child."
"Wonderful news, but it could have waited until morning. Unless…"
"I encountered...difficulties. Not the usual resistance. The situation is critical, and...complicated."
"Tell me everything."
~--~
Chapter I:
Phoenix couldn't believe her ears. As the Grandmaster's messenger walked away, she stood dumbfounded for several seconds. She was only an initiate, not even seventeen years old, not even yet part of the Order militia, and Veskel had chosen her as part of his team. For what, she didn't know yet. The messenger had told her that she had been selected to accompany the Grandmaster, with several others, on a journey to Oxburn, a small settlement on the borders of Oderra that lacked walls and was closer to village than town. The reason, she had been informed, would be revealed to her when she had presented herself to Veskel for a more intimate briefing.
Phoenix wasn't particularly worried about her appearance, but she had been summoned by the Grandmaster himself, so she took the time to smooth her straight, orange-red hair and to harshly criticize the dark circles under her green eyes. There was nothing she could do about those. She left her knife behind in her room; only the militia carried weapons around the Keep, although it would have comforted her to have it anyway. She dressed in a clean set of the characteristic initiate's uniform, dark green woolen shirt and trousers, heavy fabric, and the black cloak that all members of the Order wore some variation of, giving them their nickname "Blackcloaks."
It was between breakfast and mid-day meal, so the dining hall was nearly empty as she arrived. Two other people sat, stiffly formal, at the head table. Veskel was nowhere to be seen; they would have to wait. Phoenix scanned their faces as she sat down across from them. One she recognized immediately. Kathryn, a veteran commander of the militia, who could generate short-range shockwaves like small explosions. She had starch-blond hair and hard gray eyes, and her countenance was stern. Her cloak was decorated with red lining, a sign of her rank. Phoenix's own cloak was lined with initiate green. The older woman gave her a curt nod. The other face took her a moment to place: Ward, only two years older than her, recently graduated from Initiate status and now serving his required four years in the militia. He was stocky, but military service (even if they almost never did more than patrols and drills) had toned his form, and his stockiness was one of athleticism and muscle rather than fat. He had neatly combed short brown hair and gentle brown eyes. His cloak had a gray lining. Phoenix didn't know exactly what he could do, but she had seen him around helping with the field that provided much of the Order's food. It was usually tended to by older members that had completed their militia service, so she guessed his talent must lie in some agriculturally useful area. Phoenix's own power was her only clue as to what the objective of the quest could be. If she was along, it could only be for her rather unique brand of telekinesis. She held out her arm in front of her, concentrating and feeling the flow of blood pulsing up through her veins and arteries. As she focused herself, she could feel the same sensation from the other two figures in the room. It was always interesting to see the differences between individuals. Kathryn had a much faster pulse than Ward, who was unusually slow. Phoenix resisted the urge to speed up his circulation. She could do it without hurting him, but he would notice and, if he knew anything about her, guess that it was her.
It was several moments before she realized that she had been standing there silently, gazing into nothing, only feeling the pulse and flow of blood. Kathryn and Ward were staring at her.
"Greetings." The young man said uncomfortably.
"Hail," Phoenix answered awkwardly. An amazing introduction.
Kathryn just huffed.
The initiate was saved then by Veskel's arrival. A wooden door on a side wall creaked open, and the Grandmaster of the Order stepped out. He did not look particularly impressive, at first glance. He was a gray-haired, tired old man. However, if one looked closely, one would notice that his cloak was entirely black, lacking any kind of lining, the uncontrasted colour representing the highest rank in the Order. One would notice his shoulders, un-stooped even in old age, and his muscles, as athletic as someone thirty years younger, and most of all his eyes, weary of the world but shining with wisdom. And it was an established fact that he was currently the most powerful known telekinetic. He walked toward them, nodding in acknowledgement of their presence, and sat down informally across from them at the small dining table.
"Thank you for coming, my friends."
"What exactly is going on, Grandmaster Veskel?" Kathryn asked. Veskel insisted that he not be referred to with any title greater than "sir" but Kathryn was a true soldier and always used formal modes of address.
"Lukan brought me word of a potentially very powerful child, last night." The old man answered.
"Good news," said Ward. "But not exactly requiring a team like this."
"There's a catch, has to be. Some complication." Phoenix put in.
"You are correct." Veskel confirmed. "Several of them, in fact. Firstly, the girl's parents, and the entire village, actually, are not exactly friendly to our kind. Their treatment of her is...not exactly humane."
A low growl escaped Ward's throat, not a sound Phoenix would have expected to hear from him.
"Secondly," The Grandmaster continued. "The settlement is convinced that the area is now populated by evil spirits, and blame the child for it."
"Church soldiers, then." Kathryn said. "They investigate any reports of spirits, and if they've verified her power, they'll find any reason to kill her or imprison her before we can get to her."
"Also correct." Veskel said. "Oxburn is swarming with them. There are even, according to Lukan, a few templars."
"If spiritbinders are there, they must be taking the reports seriously." Phoenix added. The Church of Solar was necessary knowledge in every initiate's education; the Order's greatest political enemy would do anything to topple it since the Schism, and the Order's members had to be aware of them and how to deal with them without aggravating an already delicate situation. The Church had a private army, but the templars were more dangerous. They were better trained and better equipped, and, according to rumor, had magical abilities to exorcise and control spirits from the other Planes. These rumors weren't verified, though, and Phoenix doubted whether such powers existed.
"So you see why I've selected those that I have." Veskel said.
"Yes, but…" Phoenix stared down at the veins in her wrist. "We're not going to kill anyone, are we? I mean, my powers…"
"Do not worry, my child," The old man told her gently. "You will not have to end any lives. I selected you for precisely the reason that I wish to be nonlethal. You've practiced using your abilities to induce unconsciousness, haven't you?"
"Yes, but...it's difficult. And it's dangerous. I can't hold it for very long without permanently damaging them."
"The field experience will be valuable. That is the other reason I selected you." He answered. "But if you do not feel capable, then you can refrain from any combat and simply be on hand as medic if we are injured. That is your greatest talent, after all, to hear your instructors tell it."
Phoenix flushed with pride. A compliment from the Grandmaster. "I can fight, sir. I won't let you down."
"Well." Kathryn said drily. "Now that we've taken care of the motivational speeches and sentimentality, let's talk plan of attack."
Chapter II:
Four years. That was how long it had been since Phoenix Blackburn, Initiate of the Order of the Black, had left the compound of Lerra Keep. This was the first time that she was out on an official objective; the last had only been accompanying several experienced members on a learning expedition to a large city in the Five Kingdoms. To say that she was nervous would be no overstatement, but the excitement of the experience coloured her nervousness as anticipation more than anxiety. Since Veskel's declaration that she wouldn't have to kill anyone, she felt at ease with the journey, confident that Church soldiers, even templars, would be no match for their party. Veskel or Kathryn alone could likely handle any threat they encountered. The trick, she was well aware, was accomplishing the mission without openly provoking the Solars. The situation in Oderra was already bad, but the Order did not wish for the Church to persecute the villagers for a talented child being born in their midst. That would bring nothing but further harm to the so called "mutants."
Besides her usual green tunic, trousers, and black cloak, Phoenix wore a traveling knapsack between her shoulders and a short, sharp steel blade at her waist. Like all initiates her age, she had training with swords, knives, bows, and spears. The Order taught that no matter what powers an individual had, they should be complemented with mundane weapons, as one could overtax themselves relying on powers completely. Even Veskel carried a broadsword strung across his back. Kathryn held a spear, and Ward, curiously, had a wooden quarterstaff. The party made no attempt to hide their armaments; it was permitted for members of the Order to carry weapons in Oderra, as the Third Kingdom attempted to remain strictly neutral in their business. Unfortunately, they held the same policy toward the Church, so the soldiers they encountered were also sure to be heavily armed. The mission had a strong possibility of bloodshed. Phoenix was there to make sure that blood was not shed. Her abilities meant that she could sense the presence of living creatures from far away and incapacitate or temporarily disable them at a distance. She was an excellent healer, by virtue of her power to force blood to clot and the extracurricular training in needle and salve she had received in the walls of Lerra Keep. It was time to finally put those skills to the test, and the initiate felt ready and willing; she would do anything to further this cause.
That feeling was gone after their first encounter. Phoenix spent the night retching.
It happened while they were still a day from Oxburn; Church soldiers, it turned out, were patrolling all the largest roads leading to the village. They barred the highway, standing behind a hastily made wooden barricade. They wore simple roughspun tunics beneath chainmail shirts and helmets with the Solar's sunburst symbol emblazoned on them, and carried blades and crossbows. One of them stood at attention as the party made their way down the road.
"Hold, in the name of the Holy Church!" She bellowed in a practiced tone of authority obviously meant to cow peasants and other common folk. "State your business!"
"Travelers." Veskel said mildly. "We journey to Atia, the legendary city of learning."
"With weapons in hand?"
"The roads are dangerous nowadays. Times are troubled. Even scholars such as we--"
That was when the Church soldier noticed the lining of their cloaks. Characteristic of the Order.
"Blackcloaks, are you? What right do you have to enter the borders of this holy kingdom!?"
"The same right as you." The Grandmaster replied with a dangerous edge to his calm voice. "Oderra has not been a theocracy for many years, and the Order of the Black bears the same freedoms that the Church of Solar does."
"Your kind have no freedom. You are subject to Solar!" The other Church soldiers had picked up their weapons now and took to their feet, standing ready behind their commander.
"The Order is an independent organization." Kathryn interjected. "You cannot detain us. You are not servants of Oderra's crown. You lack even the right to hold this highway as you do. Move or be moved."
Veskel shot her a quick, irritated look that only people familiar with him would be able to catch; the commander was obviously provoking them, and Phoenix knew he wanted to avoid a fight. The Church soldiers began to level crossbows and move around their barrier.
"You are a blight on the earth, servants of spirits, and now I cleanse your impurities." Their leader chanted. A direct quote from the Book of Solar, a battle cry. Peaceful negotiations were over.
Veskel swept his hand and a thin line of invisible force cut like a scythe across their back ranks, neatly unstringing their crossbows every one. Kathryn, not even bothering to draw her spear, sprinted forward and leapt over the barricade, generating a shockwave that sent visible ripples through the air beneath her feet. It propelled her upward, and she hit the ground rolling, coming up already swinging. Ward unslung his staff and stepped cautiously forward, concentrating.
The Church commander was faster than they expected. Blade in hand, she ducked past the Grandmaster as he disabled the bows, and rushed toward Phoenix, seemingly identifying her as the weakest one in the party, likely by virtue of her age.The initiate struggled to pull her sword from its sheath, a move so easy in training but so difficult now that fear and adrenaline pumped in equal measures through her veins. It came free in her hand just in time for her to desperately parry the woman's first strike, but she was only able to block, not deflect it, and the impact staggered her. As the soldier pulled her blade in for another swing, Phoenix thrust out with her free hand, feeling the rapid movement of blood through her opponent's veins. She attempted to cut off the flow to her brain, thus knocking her unconscious, but, startled and flustered, made a mistake. The commander screamed as a spray of red erupted from her shoulder, the initiate's miscalculation causing the blood to burst free as opposed to gently slowing to a stop. Dropping her sword, the woman fell to her knees, clutching her shoulder and staring at the crimson river now flowing down her arm. For several seconds, Phoenix could do nothing but stare at the stricken Church soldier, unable to move. She was unaware she had been holding her breath until Ward laid a hand on her arm.
"Phoenix." His voice broke her out of her reverie. She looked around quickly to discover that in the brief time it had taken her to battle the commander, the skirmish had ended. The other soldiers lay unconscious or groaning, nursing broken bones and bruised necks. They would live. The same could not be said of…
"Initiate," Kathryn said crisply. "You are the field medic of this party and we have a wounded combatant here. Do your job." Phoenix was trained for military service, and the command of a superior officer caused her to spring into action. Ignorant of the tears running down her cheeks, she knelt next to the groaning woman, drawing needle and thread from her pack. A flick of her wrist clotted the blood, forced it back down into the artery and raised an invisible barrier against its flowing free again. She proceeded to sew the wound shut, binding it tight with the thread. Her victim's every sob was like a slap to the face. When her work was done, she concentrated and dropped the woman's pulse, causing her to slip into unconsciousness. The commander slumped to the ground.
Veskel sent one of the defeated soldiers who was in better shape away with the wounded commander, ordering him to go to the nearest sizable town besides Oxburn and seek medical aid. The man, who had taken a blow to the head, mumbled a fearful agreement and left.
Afterwards, the Grandmaster approached Phoenix, who was still kneeling where she had treated the soldier, staring blankly into the red-stained dirt. Her stomach felt sick.
"You did well." He told her gently.
"I almost killed her." She answered guiltily.
"You didn't. She survived, and you learned from the field experience, something we cannot teach out of our books in Lerra Keep."
"I don't want to keep going." She almost sobbed.
"You have to." His tone was that of a father delivering unpleasant news to a beloved daughter. "We need you here. The abused child that we journey to rescue needs you. You can't leave now."
"You're--you're right." She croaked. She began to lean toward his open arms, to fall into the Grandmaster's comforting embrace, but it was at that moment that her lunch returned.
Chapter III:
Phoenix hadn't realized how bad the situation really was.
They reached Oxburn shortly before midnight, and in the dim glow of the moon, concealed by the brush of the forest yards from the town, it was easy to see the virtual battalion of Church soldiers swarming over the village. The formerly unwalled town now bore a seven-foot palisade fortification around its perimeter, the outsides patrolled by soldiers. The only gate was manned by six people. Phoenix extended her senses, searching for the pulse and flow of blood beyond the wall. Six by the gate. Ten more patrolling the wall. And then over a hundred within, in a village that was supposed to contain a population of less than seventy. Then the initiate stumbled on something she didn't expect, although perhaps she should have. A pool of blood, some of it clotted, surrounding a small person, identified by the network of veins and arteries running through their body. Someone was injured, and judging by how dry much of the blood was, had been for a while. Then Phoenix was aware of Ward's voice next to her.
"Phoenix, we need to make camp." He said quietly.
"No, we have to go in now. Someone is injured...I-I think it's the child."
"Are they in immediate danger?" His face was the picture of alarm.
"No, I don't think so, but…"
A new voice broke into the conversation; Kathryn. "Will they make it until morning?"
"Yeah...Yeah I believe so."
"Then they can wait until morning. We've been marching for hours, and we're all dead tired. We can't confront the Church soldiers in this state."
"But…" Phoenix objected, looking to Veskel for support. The Grandmaster shook his head. "She's right. We can't go in now unless it's an absolute emergency." Phoenix nodded reluctantly, accepting his authority.
They set up camp a ways deeper into the woods, several minutes walk from Oxburn, so that no patrol could accidentally discover them. Pitching the tents was easy; Veskel simply withdrew them from the bags and caused them to whirl about the air in a flurry of movement as the webs of poles and canvas pulled themselves together before being planted firmly in the dirt. The Grandmaster gathered brush wood using his power and used a miniscule telekinetic cut to generate friction, causing the pile to burst into a hearty blaze. The fire was risky, but they needed the warmth, this far north.
Veskel took first watch, and Ward after him. Phoenix slumbered through those quiet hours of the night, lulled by the gentle sounds of the fire popping and cracking as well as the trilling of birds. It was four bells past midnight when Ward woke her up for her watch. He had a knife in hand and was whittling some kind of carving into a short length of wood. Phoenix couldn't tell what it was yet, but it was impressively detailed. "You're quite good." She nodded toward his project, yawning. Ward smiled modestly. "I have a knack for plants and trees." He said. "Whittling keeps me calm."
After he went to sleep, Phoenix occupied herself stretching the limits of her awareness and attempting to reach out toward Oxburn and track the movements of the soldiers. She caught the faintest wisp of one Church guard's arterial network and kept herself alert by tracking him as he patrolled the side of the wall facing the party. Finally he circled around the side and she lost track of him.
The initiate hadn't realized how much she had been concentrating on the soldier's blood. As the sensation faded, she became aware of a faint rustling sound and an eerie noise that reminded her of the wind running across the battlements of Lerra Keep, back home. Phoenix stood up, her hand on the hilt of her sword. She extended her senses, and found...nothing. There were a few small animals around them, but nothing large enough to cause the disturbance she had heard. However, the moaning noise slowly grew louder, and she found her grip tightening on her blade until her knuckles turned white. The sound stopped, and she gradually relaxed her knuckles. The hemokinetic slowly sat back down, and after a few moments she found herself unwillingly nodding off. She fought to keep her head up, but she was slowly losing the battle…
Phoenix felt an indescribably cold feeling brush her shoulders, how she imagined death itself would feel passing over. She woke with a shriek, stumbling forward and tugging her sword out of its sheath. The others began to stir, but Kathryn was awake instantly, spear in hand. "What is it?"
"I…" Phoenix looked back where she had been sitting. Nothing was there. "I don't kno--" She cut off abruptly as she witnessed the silhouette of a human rise up behind her commander. "Kathryn, duck!" The older soldier did not question, but pulled her head low and rolled forward, propelling herself to her feet with a small shockwave. She narrowly avoided a dark object wielded by the intruder, swinging above her head. It seemed like a blade, but it did not glint at all in the dim moonlight.
Phoenix reached out with her power, looking for the life-giving fluid that flowed through their opponent's body, seeking to incapacitate them.
And found nothing.
She realized why she couldn't make out any details of its silhouetted form, and why its sword reflected no light, perhaps even the source of the sound she had heard earlier. Whatever this thing was, it was not living.
Ward and Veskel were on their feet now, assessing the dark figure. "Some kind of spirit…" The Grandmaster murmured as it glided backwards away from their bared weapons.
"Impossible," The initiate responded. "They haven't been able to enter our world since the Order destroyed their gateways."
"It is rare." Kathryn ceded. "But once in a blue moon we encounter one." The spirit was now stalking around in a circle, blade held out almost defensively. It opened its mouth, nothing but a darker black on black, and emitted the same eerie sound Phoenix had heard earlier. She opened her mouth to speak, ask how to kill it, but at that moment it blitzed toward her, becoming nothing but a shadowy blur. The initiate struck blindly with her sword, but as it turned out her attack was unnecessary. The shadow was suddenly wrapped in a weave of branches which had extended miraculously from the surrounding trees to form an oversized wicker cage. Phoenix looked at Ward. "That's what you do? Plants?" He nodded, his mouth a grim line, and made a hooking motion with his hand, causing the branches to tighten around the spirit. It shrieked, a terrible, unearthly sound. It began to writhe and thrash and wordlessly scream its pain, as if it were being beaten. There was something human in those cries. Something oddly weak, vulnerable. Like a scared child.
Veskel struck a flame on a torch and stepped forward, holding out the light to it. The shadow flinched and cried. In the orange glow, Phoenix could make out more detail in its outline. Although it was nothing but a silhouette, it appeared to be a lean man wearing an armoured breastplate. Its sword had been dropped and was nowhere to be seen. Meanwhile, Kathryn withdrew a small, mundane looking purple crystal, like an amethyst but darker and more glittery, from her bag. She held it out almost reverently toward the shadow. It took the initiate a moment, but she recognized it as a Planar Jewel, a mineral from the world spirits originated in. It should react in the presence of one, glow with a flickering light, but nothing happened. The realization came slowly.
"It's...not a spirit?" She said.
"No." Veskel responded simply.
"Then what is it?"
"The only other possibility is that it was created somehow by someone with powers like ours."
Phoenix gasped. She listened to the childlike cries the creature was making. Cries of pain. "The...the child…"
"Yes." Veskel's face was dark. "Release it, Ward."
"But--" Ward started to object.
"I said release it." The Grandmaster's voice was dangerously calm. Ward swept his hand and the branches retreated. The shadow bolted into the woods, out of sight.
"We have to go in." Phoenix pleaded. "We can't leave the child any longer."
"Yes." Veskel agreed. "The time for waiting is over."
Chapter IV:
The day was still young when they approached Oxburn under the cover of the trees. It was barely light, but with the element of surprise, that would work to their advantage. They hid at the edge of the brush, across from one of the side gates. "Phoenix," Veskel said, gesturing toward the four guards outside the wall. The initiate concentrated, reaching out with her mind and mentally touching the flow of their blood. She had never tried to disable so many before. She took a deep breath, centered herself, and slowly began to choke the group of Church soldiers. She simultaneously, gradually, restricted blood flow into their brain, using her control over the crimson liquid to contract their windpipes. They looked at each other in alarm, gasping for breath but unable to cry out. With a sweep of her hand, Phoenix closed the passages completely, and the guards, hands at their throats, tumbled to the ground, falling into unconsciousness. As they fell, she released them, and, one by one, dropped their pulse so that they wouldn't wake up for over an hour. Kathryn nodded at her approvingly. "Good work. Let's move in."
Emerging from the treeline, they approached the gate. It was locked, but Veskel held out his hand and the padlock holding it shut, surrounded by invisible force, contracted and was crushed, falling to the ground with a dull thud as the bar that held it up snapped in two. With another sweep of his power, the Grandmaster pushed the door inward.
They skulked through the village, staying along the edges, Phoenix in the lead. She reached out with her power, feeling the presence of guards and guiding the group away from them, even plunging isolated squads into unconsciousness where necessary. All the while, she kept the small figure, the abused child, at the edge of her focus, slowly making her way in its direction. She tried not to think about what they would find when they arrived. With her power the initiate could feel the fresh, red blood flowing out from the beaten body of the child, sense the contusions where they were bruised, feel the flow where they were cut and their heartbeat slowly forced it out of them to run down onto the floor. And she felt the two other figures in the room. The child's parents, presumably. If they could be called that. What kind of parent beat and cut their child for being born different? Phoenix sometimes questioned the Order's ultimate right to take powered children from their families, but this experience was quickly shaking her doubts away. The initiate could not remember her own home, before Lerra Keep. Had her parents been like this? Had they hated her because she could feel the flow and ebb of another's blood as well as her own? Did they think her a monster? Or did they weep for her when the Order came to take her away? They never visited her, she knew that. Lerra Keep was isolated, yes, but the Order allowed, even encouraged, families to visit its members. Life was hard for their kind, and the support of parents and siblings could be a great boon. But Phoenix had never known what that was like. The Order was her family. A normal life was not her destiny.
Finally, they reached the small house, honestly little more than a hut, that was their objective. Four Templars, Church spiritbinders, stood outside its door. They wore gleaming plate armour emblazoned with Solar's sunburst and carried polished swords. However, they were leaning against the wall and yawning, their blades sheathed at their sides or cradled in idle arms. For all the mighty reputation of the Templars, they slumped to the ground the same as any other man when Phoenix turned her power against them. The first, the second, the third...and then something went wrong. As she reached out to the last one, wide-eyed at the fall of his companions, her concentration, already taxed by overuse of her abilities, faltered, and failed to lower his pulse far enough to induce unconsciousness. It only took her an instant to right herself and mentally drop him to the floor, but in that moment he released a terrified scream that echoed throughout the quiet night, reverberating through the entire village.
"I-I'm sorry…" The initiate choked. "I wasn't fast enough…"
"No time to worry about it now." Kathryn said grimly. She stepped out of their hiding place in the shadows and held out her hand. With a boom like thunder, the door to the child's abode shattered inward, blasted off its hinges and fragmented into several large pieces. With the precision of a well-trained team, the members of the Order swept into the single room of the hut.
The scene would haunt Phoenix's nightmares. Her eyes instantly fixed on the small, pale, bone-thin and clearly starving girl chained to the edge of a simple bed. Her form was slumped, her eyes closed, and her blond hair was matted and filthy. She wore only a tattered, roughspun tunic, and blood stained her skin and the floor around her. Her entire body seemed to be one giant purple bruise, dotted with gashes and cuts, some already showing signs of infection, the sickly colour of gangrene spidering out across her veins. Now that the initiate was here, right next to her, she could feel how weak the flow of the girl's blood was, could feel the foreign materials of the blood poisoning spreading throughout her body. The hemorrhages beneath her skin. Although starved and already petite, the child was older than Phoenix had expected. Perhaps three years younger than her. The hemokinetic had expected a kid, six or seven years old, not someone almost her own age. With a sinking feeling she realized how easily, in different circumstances, this could have been her.
The parents yelled and surged forward toward the group, angry expletives already spilling from their lips, but Ward's hand snaked out, and the planks of the wall, remembering they used to be trees, wrenched themselves free and darted out, ensnaring the two figures and restraining them. Almost as an afterthought, the planks closed over their mouths, silencing the screams and yells formerly emitted.
"We need to move quickly." Veskel said. "The Church soldiers will be here any second." He raised his hand, and the chains binding the girl's hands snapped, their ends clinking to the ground. He began to lift her with his power, but Phoenix stopped him with a sharp "No!" It felt alien to her, rebuking the Grandmaster. "You can't move her now." She said. "Her spine is injured, you could hurt her further." The initiate had felt it when she first examined the girl with her power; the small blood vessels that ran down her spinal cord were bent and twisted in ways they shouldn't be, and Phoenix had learned how to use the position of arteries and veins to identify larger injuries. She didn't know the extent of the child's spinal damage, but she knew it would be dangerous to move her.
Veskel hesitated, then nodded. "You're the expert. We'll keep them out while you work." He drew his sword and stood at the door, surrounding the threshold with a shimmering field of force. Even as he did so, the initiate heard the sound of booted feet, the sound of Church soldiers advancing on them. She didn't have the time or energy to reach out and learn how many there were, and it didn't really matter anyway. She knelt by the girl, laying a hand on her shoulder. She opened her mind to the depth of the child's injuries. Her awareness was flooded with the pain the girl felt, the bruises and the hemorrhages, the cuts and gashes and scrapes. Starting small, Phoenix began to push the blood back down from the contusions, pen it back into arteries and veins, creating walls of clotted fluid to hold it in place until it could heal naturally. She gathered it back up from the sites of internal bleeding, returning it to the places it belonged. She caused the external wounds to scab over--for scabs, after all, were naught but coagulated blood--and, drawing her needle and thread, sewed the worst gashes closed. Finally, she steeled herself for the final challenge. The girl's spine.
Behind her, she was dimly aware of the sounds of fighting. Cracking and screaming as the Grandmaster laid about him with his telekinesis, the blunt sound of unconscious bodies hitting the ground as Kathryn whirled through the Church soldiers' midst like a devil, punching and kicking and causing shockwaves that blasted them off their feet, the almost chilling sound of breaking wood and slithering vines as Ward's power forced the plants to serve him, animating it to ensnare and bludgeon their enemies. She could not see it, but she knew now why he carried a wooden quarterstaff: As plant matter, he could manipulate it as anything else, changing its shape or even telekinetically controlling it through the air, extending it and wrapping it around foes. But none of that mattered in that moment as Phoenix stared down at the wounded girl, trying to figure out how to save her. She could clot the blood in her spine and use it to force it back into a regular position, but that could hurt her further, not to mention it would cut off the flow down her back. She couldn't use the child's blood to save her, but her own blood...
Then she knew what she had to do.
Centering herself, Phoenix felt the pulse and flow of her own blood, felt the rivers of it make their way through her veins. She focused on the blood in her arms.
And she ripped it free. A fine red mist rose out of her pores, forming back into liquid blood, hovering in the air. Woozy from its loss, the initiate reached into the very molecular structure of the life-giving fluid, saw the atoms that held it together. And she changed it, on a fundamental level, breaking and reforming those bonds until the liquid floating in the air was not liquid at all, but a solid, flexible material held together and made unbreakable by her power. She guided it onto the wounded girl's back, melding and fitting it to the child's form until she had created a perfect splint that followed the spinal cord upward, holding the girl in an upright position all the way to the neck, keeping her from damaging her back further. Phoenix spread it thinner, losing no durability but creating a platform. She lifted the child up on a stretcher made of crimson steel, walked confidently if somewhat unsteadily toward the door, her work done.
Church soldiers, regular guards and Templars alike, lay groaning or unconscious on the ground around the quickly ending battle. Only a handful still fought the Order. One of them clutched at his windpipe as Veskel hooked his hand out, crushing breath out of the man with his power until his victim fell to the ground, bruised but alive. Another one screamed, struggling in vain against the appendages of oak that bound him fast, Ward's quarterstaff planted in the dirt in front of him, its material splintered out into arms that restrained. Ward himself was dueling a Templar unarmed, causing the grass to wrap around the woman's feet and launching shards of branches at her until he finally rolled behind his stunned opponent and dropped her with a powerful strike to the neck with his bare fist. Kathryn fought three soldiers at once, her spear in hand, whirling around, tripping them and beating them with the blunt end. Every time someone managed to duck under her weapon and step in range, she released a shockwave that bowled them backwards and sent them sprawling in the dirt.
In seconds, the last soldiers fell, and it was over.
Ward ran to Phoenix, staff in hand, and stared at the floating girl. "Is...is that…"
"I can change the physical properties of blood. That splint is stronger than steel."
"How long have you been able to…"
"About five minutes."
Veskel looked at the young initiate, his eyes shining with pride. "Well done. Let's return to Lerra."
They made their way through the village, ignoring the cowering peasants, and exited the front gate, ready to hit the road and be back to their home.
They came face to face with almost a full hundred Church soldiers. A full platoon. Standing at their head was the woman Phoenix had wounded in their first skirmish. She now wore the gleaming armour of a Templar.
"Halt! By decree of Solar, you are under divine arrest, for attempting to harbour a demon-possessed child."
Veskel drew his sword, his fingers twitching. Ward held out his arms, preparing to call the trees to his aid. Kathryn set her feet in a fighting stance. But before any of them could act, the girl woke up. She raised her head, staring at the army before them. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
And then all hell broke loose.
Dozens of shadowy creatures, murky reflections of their foes, appeared out of nowhere, called forth by the child's power. As one, they shrieked, a keening noise that made Phoenix's skin crawl. They set about the Church soldiers, their dark forms seemingly immune to weapons, their own black blades cutting through armour like it was made of paper. In less than ten seconds, the Church was routed by the shadows in its midst. They turned to flee, and the dark soldiers faded as they disappeared into the tree line.
But one Templar stayed.
Their commander ran forward, a lone shadow on her heels, past the stunned Order, who raised hands and weapons to stop her but would be ultimately too slow. She raised her sword over the girl, who stared at her with wide eyes for an instant that seemed an eternity.
And then the woman's heart exploded.
Phoenix, arm outstretched, hand forming a claw, gazed in rapt dismay as the Templar fell backward, dropping her weapon, killed instantly as all of the blood pulsing through her heart tore its way free, ripping through cardiac muscle, membranes, and ultimately skin to form a gaping hole in her chest, leaking a sea of crimson. The initiate could not take her eyes off of her first kill, enthralled by the gory scene. Her gaze fell on the mute child she had just murdered someone to save, and then she collapsed to the ground.
Epilogue:
Veskel sat silently in the drab, bare, but comfortable room where the rescued girl lay. The Order's medics, people of various powers that aided in their ability to heal, had worked for hours on the child, finishing the work Phoenix had started, setting her spine back to its correct position. It would still take time to heal, but she was in no danger, anymore. Now she lay, sleeping comfortably with a serene expression on her young, gentle face. The Grandmaster waited for her to wake up, thinking back on that final battle outside Oxburn, how the girl had single-handedly routed the Church soldiers by turning their own shadows against them. Veskel remembered the shade that had attacked them in the forest outside the village, the tortured sounds it had made. He believed that, although not in full control of her power, the girl still summoned it instinctively when in danger. He theorized that that night when the creature appeared was one of the times when her parents, or perhaps church soldiers, were beating her. In self-defense she had raised the shadow, but without training or practice, she had no control over it, and it had fled into the woods, reflecting her pain and sorrow in those keening cries. She would have to be treated carefully, with great gentleness and sensitivity, to help her recover from what she had gone through and set her on the path of the Order.
Veskel was broken from his reverie when she stirred, murmuring silently in her half-sleep and slowly opening her eyes, pushing herself with effort into a sitting position. He was astonished by how much better she looked, now. Her curly blond hair was brushed and cleaned, the blood on her body had been wiped away, and the bruises healed by Phoenix's power, and she had been dressed in a simple white robe instead of the filthy, torn scrap of cloth that had been her old tunic. Her eyes shone bright blue, and there was intelligence in that gaze, and also some inscrutable quality, as if this young girl was somehow wiser than all of them. She fixed that gaze now on Veskel, her eyes taking in every detail of the Grandmaster's appearance, her mouth half-open in a mute inquiry.
"My name is Grandmaster Veskel." He told her. "You're safe here. This is Lerra Keep, the stronghold of the Order of the Black. Do you know who we are?"
She shook her head silently, her golden curls swaying.
"We're a group that takes care of people like you, people who are different, stronger than normal. We teach them to use their power, give them a home that can accept them unconditionally. Do you think you could bear to stay with us?"
The girl nodded enthusiastically.
"I have given my name." He continued gently. "May I have the pleasure of knowing yours?"
She stared at him, seemingly uncomprehending. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then frowned, looking confused. She only looked at him, flustered. Then he knew.
"...Ah… I see. Don't worry, you'll find no judgement here. Our gifts require sacrifice, and we are all touched by it in different ways. Your own loss is of no consequence. Do you know your letters?"
She shook her head. That wasn't surprising; most villagers didn't, and he doubted her parents would have taught her if they could.
"...Did your family ever give you a name?"
She hesitated, then shook her head.
"Then, with your permission, I'd like to call you Requiem. Because I think if you could sing you would have a beautiful voice."
She smiled, her mute lips forming the word almost gingerly, as if it would evaporate if she wasn't careful, and she would be left nameless again.
Veskel leaned back, weary. "What happened to you is a great tragedy. To be betrayed by your own family. But we're your family now, and you don't need to be afraid anymore." He paused, considering. "Requiem… You are older than many of our initiates, but you are special. Powerful even for our kind." His gray eyes were troubled. "Power like that can destroy you, hurt everyone you care about. You have to promise me that you'll be careful with it. If you do, I have one last gift to give you."
She nodded gravely, her blue eyes sincere, and looked at him expectantly.
"Your home was taken from you by your own blood. Your family turned against you because of who you are. We are family now, but I wish to offer you something more. If you so desire it, I will serve as the father you never had. I will treat you as if you were my own daughter, and guide you through your new life. We'll face these challenges together."
A wide smile slowly spread across Requiem's face. Instead of nodding, she reached out and took the Grandmaster's hand with both of her own, and held it. Veskel hesitated, then pulled her in and hugged her.
Despite everything she had gone through, all she had lost, Requiem knew, held by the old man's warm, strong arms, that everything would be alright.
Prologue:
"The Order of The Black was founded by the Church of Solar in the year 1355 as a containment method for the increasingly common mutants, who displayed power beyond normal human capability. In the first 29 years of its existence, the Order was led by Church officials assigned to it by the High Priest. But during the Planar War, the Order unlawfully exiled its holy leaders and, against divine advisement, entered the war, revealing extensive military training beyond the knowledge of the Church and displaying mutant abilities long hidden from the lawful government of the Order. The heretics successfully routed the extraplanar forces and ended the war, but afterwards were excommunicated and separated from the Church. Their subsequent treaty with the Nations' Alliance marked the beginning of the Schism which ended Church-State cooperation in the Five Kingdoms. In modern times, the Order uses scouts deployed to them by the Alliance to search the world for children with mutations, taking them from their families for training in the now militant Order. It is widely accepted among the Church of Solar that the Order of the Black poses the greatest threat to the civilized world since the incursion of the spirits." -A Theological Treatise on the Order of the Black, published by the Church of Solar
A knock on the door.
In the long, empty stone hallways and chambers of Lerra Keep, a knock on the door echoed for a long ways. Down spacious corridors and through the currently-vacant dining halls, the sound drifted throughout the castle that housed the Order, gliding like a ghost into the rooms of novices, trainees, and senior members alike. A few of the younger initiates awoke with a start, their restless sleep disturbed by the sharp sound. The author of the knock himself was in fact startled by the sound's intensity in the quiet room. He was a tall, lanky man, with gentle brown eyes, a shaggy mop of blond hair, and the hint of a smirk on his face. His clothes were once brightly coloured, but were now travel-worn and faded into somber grays and browns. He waited patiently at the door of Grandmaster Veskel until finally the portal slid open with a faint creaking sound, beckoning him in although no one stood beyond who could have opened it.
The room was sparse, but not exactly bare. The furnishings were comfortable but not luxurious. An old man wearing a simple grey nightrobe sat on the edge of the bed. He had hair the colour of which matched his clothing perfectly, and a scruffy beard that seemed, to his visitor, to never stay shaven. His face was lined with wrinkles, and his eyes were weary, both with lack of sleep and with the weariness that the years give us all. Veskel stood and extended his hand to shake.
"Lukan. It's good to see you, as always, but it's not often you come calling at my door in the middle of the night."
Lukan smiled wryly. "You said I always had permission to call on you, no matter the time of day."
"Yes, with the unspoken assumption that you wouldn't, you old rascal." Veskel laughed. Then his expression turned serious. "What brings you to Lerra Keep at this hour, friend?"
"I found a gifted child."
"Wonderful news, but it could have waited until morning. Unless…"
"I encountered...difficulties. Not the usual resistance. The situation is critical, and...complicated."
"Tell me everything."
~--~
Chapter I:
Phoenix couldn't believe her ears. As the Grandmaster's messenger walked away, she stood dumbfounded for several seconds. She was only an initiate, not even seventeen years old, not even yet part of the Order militia, and Veskel had chosen her as part of his team. For what, she didn't know yet. The messenger had told her that she had been selected to accompany the Grandmaster, with several others, on a journey to Oxburn, a small settlement on the borders of Oderra that lacked walls and was closer to village than town. The reason, she had been informed, would be revealed to her when she had presented herself to Veskel for a more intimate briefing.
Phoenix wasn't particularly worried about her appearance, but she had been summoned by the Grandmaster himself, so she took the time to smooth her straight, orange-red hair and to harshly criticize the dark circles under her green eyes. There was nothing she could do about those. She left her knife behind in her room; only the militia carried weapons around the Keep, although it would have comforted her to have it anyway. She dressed in a clean set of the characteristic initiate's uniform, dark green woolen shirt and trousers, heavy fabric, and the black cloak that all members of the Order wore some variation of, giving them their nickname "Blackcloaks."
It was between breakfast and mid-day meal, so the dining hall was nearly empty as she arrived. Two other people sat, stiffly formal, at the head table. Veskel was nowhere to be seen; they would have to wait. Phoenix scanned their faces as she sat down across from them. One she recognized immediately. Kathryn, a veteran commander of the militia, who could generate short-range shockwaves like small explosions. She had starch-blond hair and hard gray eyes, and her countenance was stern. Her cloak was decorated with red lining, a sign of her rank. Phoenix's own cloak was lined with initiate green. The older woman gave her a curt nod. The other face took her a moment to place: Ward, only two years older than her, recently graduated from Initiate status and now serving his required four years in the militia. He was stocky, but military service (even if they almost never did more than patrols and drills) had toned his form, and his stockiness was one of athleticism and muscle rather than fat. He had neatly combed short brown hair and gentle brown eyes. His cloak had a gray lining. Phoenix didn't know exactly what he could do, but she had seen him around helping with the field that provided much of the Order's food. It was usually tended to by older members that had completed their militia service, so she guessed his talent must lie in some agriculturally useful area. Phoenix's own power was her only clue as to what the objective of the quest could be. If she was along, it could only be for her rather unique brand of telekinesis. She held out her arm in front of her, concentrating and feeling the flow of blood pulsing up through her veins and arteries. As she focused herself, she could feel the same sensation from the other two figures in the room. It was always interesting to see the differences between individuals. Kathryn had a much faster pulse than Ward, who was unusually slow. Phoenix resisted the urge to speed up his circulation. She could do it without hurting him, but he would notice and, if he knew anything about her, guess that it was her.
It was several moments before she realized that she had been standing there silently, gazing into nothing, only feeling the pulse and flow of blood. Kathryn and Ward were staring at her.
"Greetings." The young man said uncomfortably.
"Hail," Phoenix answered awkwardly. An amazing introduction.
Kathryn just huffed.
The initiate was saved then by Veskel's arrival. A wooden door on a side wall creaked open, and the Grandmaster of the Order stepped out. He did not look particularly impressive, at first glance. He was a gray-haired, tired old man. However, if one looked closely, one would notice that his cloak was entirely black, lacking any kind of lining, the uncontrasted colour representing the highest rank in the Order. One would notice his shoulders, un-stooped even in old age, and his muscles, as athletic as someone thirty years younger, and most of all his eyes, weary of the world but shining with wisdom. And it was an established fact that he was currently the most powerful known telekinetic. He walked toward them, nodding in acknowledgement of their presence, and sat down informally across from them at the small dining table.
"Thank you for coming, my friends."
"What exactly is going on, Grandmaster Veskel?" Kathryn asked. Veskel insisted that he not be referred to with any title greater than "sir" but Kathryn was a true soldier and always used formal modes of address.
"Lukan brought me word of a potentially very powerful child, last night." The old man answered.
"Good news," said Ward. "But not exactly requiring a team like this."
"There's a catch, has to be. Some complication." Phoenix put in.
"You are correct." Veskel confirmed. "Several of them, in fact. Firstly, the girl's parents, and the entire village, actually, are not exactly friendly to our kind. Their treatment of her is...not exactly humane."
A low growl escaped Ward's throat, not a sound Phoenix would have expected to hear from him.
"Secondly," The Grandmaster continued. "The settlement is convinced that the area is now populated by evil spirits, and blame the child for it."
"Church soldiers, then." Kathryn said. "They investigate any reports of spirits, and if they've verified her power, they'll find any reason to kill her or imprison her before we can get to her."
"Also correct." Veskel said. "Oxburn is swarming with them. There are even, according to Lukan, a few templars."
"If spiritbinders are there, they must be taking the reports seriously." Phoenix added. The Church of Solar was necessary knowledge in every initiate's education; the Order's greatest political enemy would do anything to topple it since the Schism, and the Order's members had to be aware of them and how to deal with them without aggravating an already delicate situation. The Church had a private army, but the templars were more dangerous. They were better trained and better equipped, and, according to rumor, had magical abilities to exorcise and control spirits from the other Planes. These rumors weren't verified, though, and Phoenix doubted whether such powers existed.
"So you see why I've selected those that I have." Veskel said.
"Yes, but…" Phoenix stared down at the veins in her wrist. "We're not going to kill anyone, are we? I mean, my powers…"
"Do not worry, my child," The old man told her gently. "You will not have to end any lives. I selected you for precisely the reason that I wish to be nonlethal. You've practiced using your abilities to induce unconsciousness, haven't you?"
"Yes, but...it's difficult. And it's dangerous. I can't hold it for very long without permanently damaging them."
"The field experience will be valuable. That is the other reason I selected you." He answered. "But if you do not feel capable, then you can refrain from any combat and simply be on hand as medic if we are injured. That is your greatest talent, after all, to hear your instructors tell it."
Phoenix flushed with pride. A compliment from the Grandmaster. "I can fight, sir. I won't let you down."
"Well." Kathryn said drily. "Now that we've taken care of the motivational speeches and sentimentality, let's talk plan of attack."
Chapter II:
Four years. That was how long it had been since Phoenix Blackburn, Initiate of the Order of the Black, had left the compound of Lerra Keep. This was the first time that she was out on an official objective; the last had only been accompanying several experienced members on a learning expedition to a large city in the Five Kingdoms. To say that she was nervous would be no overstatement, but the excitement of the experience coloured her nervousness as anticipation more than anxiety. Since Veskel's declaration that she wouldn't have to kill anyone, she felt at ease with the journey, confident that Church soldiers, even templars, would be no match for their party. Veskel or Kathryn alone could likely handle any threat they encountered. The trick, she was well aware, was accomplishing the mission without openly provoking the Solars. The situation in Oderra was already bad, but the Order did not wish for the Church to persecute the villagers for a talented child being born in their midst. That would bring nothing but further harm to the so called "mutants."
Besides her usual green tunic, trousers, and black cloak, Phoenix wore a traveling knapsack between her shoulders and a short, sharp steel blade at her waist. Like all initiates her age, she had training with swords, knives, bows, and spears. The Order taught that no matter what powers an individual had, they should be complemented with mundane weapons, as one could overtax themselves relying on powers completely. Even Veskel carried a broadsword strung across his back. Kathryn held a spear, and Ward, curiously, had a wooden quarterstaff. The party made no attempt to hide their armaments; it was permitted for members of the Order to carry weapons in Oderra, as the Third Kingdom attempted to remain strictly neutral in their business. Unfortunately, they held the same policy toward the Church, so the soldiers they encountered were also sure to be heavily armed. The mission had a strong possibility of bloodshed. Phoenix was there to make sure that blood was not shed. Her abilities meant that she could sense the presence of living creatures from far away and incapacitate or temporarily disable them at a distance. She was an excellent healer, by virtue of her power to force blood to clot and the extracurricular training in needle and salve she had received in the walls of Lerra Keep. It was time to finally put those skills to the test, and the initiate felt ready and willing; she would do anything to further this cause.
That feeling was gone after their first encounter. Phoenix spent the night retching.
It happened while they were still a day from Oxburn; Church soldiers, it turned out, were patrolling all the largest roads leading to the village. They barred the highway, standing behind a hastily made wooden barricade. They wore simple roughspun tunics beneath chainmail shirts and helmets with the Solar's sunburst symbol emblazoned on them, and carried blades and crossbows. One of them stood at attention as the party made their way down the road.
"Hold, in the name of the Holy Church!" She bellowed in a practiced tone of authority obviously meant to cow peasants and other common folk. "State your business!"
"Travelers." Veskel said mildly. "We journey to Atia, the legendary city of learning."
"With weapons in hand?"
"The roads are dangerous nowadays. Times are troubled. Even scholars such as we--"
That was when the Church soldier noticed the lining of their cloaks. Characteristic of the Order.
"Blackcloaks, are you? What right do you have to enter the borders of this holy kingdom!?"
"The same right as you." The Grandmaster replied with a dangerous edge to his calm voice. "Oderra has not been a theocracy for many years, and the Order of the Black bears the same freedoms that the Church of Solar does."
"Your kind have no freedom. You are subject to Solar!" The other Church soldiers had picked up their weapons now and took to their feet, standing ready behind their commander.
"The Order is an independent organization." Kathryn interjected. "You cannot detain us. You are not servants of Oderra's crown. You lack even the right to hold this highway as you do. Move or be moved."
Veskel shot her a quick, irritated look that only people familiar with him would be able to catch; the commander was obviously provoking them, and Phoenix knew he wanted to avoid a fight. The Church soldiers began to level crossbows and move around their barrier.
"You are a blight on the earth, servants of spirits, and now I cleanse your impurities." Their leader chanted. A direct quote from the Book of Solar, a battle cry. Peaceful negotiations were over.
Veskel swept his hand and a thin line of invisible force cut like a scythe across their back ranks, neatly unstringing their crossbows every one. Kathryn, not even bothering to draw her spear, sprinted forward and leapt over the barricade, generating a shockwave that sent visible ripples through the air beneath her feet. It propelled her upward, and she hit the ground rolling, coming up already swinging. Ward unslung his staff and stepped cautiously forward, concentrating.
The Church commander was faster than they expected. Blade in hand, she ducked past the Grandmaster as he disabled the bows, and rushed toward Phoenix, seemingly identifying her as the weakest one in the party, likely by virtue of her age.The initiate struggled to pull her sword from its sheath, a move so easy in training but so difficult now that fear and adrenaline pumped in equal measures through her veins. It came free in her hand just in time for her to desperately parry the woman's first strike, but she was only able to block, not deflect it, and the impact staggered her. As the soldier pulled her blade in for another swing, Phoenix thrust out with her free hand, feeling the rapid movement of blood through her opponent's veins. She attempted to cut off the flow to her brain, thus knocking her unconscious, but, startled and flustered, made a mistake. The commander screamed as a spray of red erupted from her shoulder, the initiate's miscalculation causing the blood to burst free as opposed to gently slowing to a stop. Dropping her sword, the woman fell to her knees, clutching her shoulder and staring at the crimson river now flowing down her arm. For several seconds, Phoenix could do nothing but stare at the stricken Church soldier, unable to move. She was unaware she had been holding her breath until Ward laid a hand on her arm.
"Phoenix." His voice broke her out of her reverie. She looked around quickly to discover that in the brief time it had taken her to battle the commander, the skirmish had ended. The other soldiers lay unconscious or groaning, nursing broken bones and bruised necks. They would live. The same could not be said of…
"Initiate," Kathryn said crisply. "You are the field medic of this party and we have a wounded combatant here. Do your job." Phoenix was trained for military service, and the command of a superior officer caused her to spring into action. Ignorant of the tears running down her cheeks, she knelt next to the groaning woman, drawing needle and thread from her pack. A flick of her wrist clotted the blood, forced it back down into the artery and raised an invisible barrier against its flowing free again. She proceeded to sew the wound shut, binding it tight with the thread. Her victim's every sob was like a slap to the face. When her work was done, she concentrated and dropped the woman's pulse, causing her to slip into unconsciousness. The commander slumped to the ground.
Veskel sent one of the defeated soldiers who was in better shape away with the wounded commander, ordering him to go to the nearest sizable town besides Oxburn and seek medical aid. The man, who had taken a blow to the head, mumbled a fearful agreement and left.
Afterwards, the Grandmaster approached Phoenix, who was still kneeling where she had treated the soldier, staring blankly into the red-stained dirt. Her stomach felt sick.
"You did well." He told her gently.
"I almost killed her." She answered guiltily.
"You didn't. She survived, and you learned from the field experience, something we cannot teach out of our books in Lerra Keep."
"I don't want to keep going." She almost sobbed.
"You have to." His tone was that of a father delivering unpleasant news to a beloved daughter. "We need you here. The abused child that we journey to rescue needs you. You can't leave now."
"You're--you're right." She croaked. She began to lean toward his open arms, to fall into the Grandmaster's comforting embrace, but it was at that moment that her lunch returned.
Chapter III:
Phoenix hadn't realized how bad the situation really was.
They reached Oxburn shortly before midnight, and in the dim glow of the moon, concealed by the brush of the forest yards from the town, it was easy to see the virtual battalion of Church soldiers swarming over the village. The formerly unwalled town now bore a seven-foot palisade fortification around its perimeter, the outsides patrolled by soldiers. The only gate was manned by six people. Phoenix extended her senses, searching for the pulse and flow of blood beyond the wall. Six by the gate. Ten more patrolling the wall. And then over a hundred within, in a village that was supposed to contain a population of less than seventy. Then the initiate stumbled on something she didn't expect, although perhaps she should have. A pool of blood, some of it clotted, surrounding a small person, identified by the network of veins and arteries running through their body. Someone was injured, and judging by how dry much of the blood was, had been for a while. Then Phoenix was aware of Ward's voice next to her.
"Phoenix, we need to make camp." He said quietly.
"No, we have to go in now. Someone is injured...I-I think it's the child."
"Are they in immediate danger?" His face was the picture of alarm.
"No, I don't think so, but…"
A new voice broke into the conversation; Kathryn. "Will they make it until morning?"
"Yeah...Yeah I believe so."
"Then they can wait until morning. We've been marching for hours, and we're all dead tired. We can't confront the Church soldiers in this state."
"But…" Phoenix objected, looking to Veskel for support. The Grandmaster shook his head. "She's right. We can't go in now unless it's an absolute emergency." Phoenix nodded reluctantly, accepting his authority.
They set up camp a ways deeper into the woods, several minutes walk from Oxburn, so that no patrol could accidentally discover them. Pitching the tents was easy; Veskel simply withdrew them from the bags and caused them to whirl about the air in a flurry of movement as the webs of poles and canvas pulled themselves together before being planted firmly in the dirt. The Grandmaster gathered brush wood using his power and used a miniscule telekinetic cut to generate friction, causing the pile to burst into a hearty blaze. The fire was risky, but they needed the warmth, this far north.
Veskel took first watch, and Ward after him. Phoenix slumbered through those quiet hours of the night, lulled by the gentle sounds of the fire popping and cracking as well as the trilling of birds. It was four bells past midnight when Ward woke her up for her watch. He had a knife in hand and was whittling some kind of carving into a short length of wood. Phoenix couldn't tell what it was yet, but it was impressively detailed. "You're quite good." She nodded toward his project, yawning. Ward smiled modestly. "I have a knack for plants and trees." He said. "Whittling keeps me calm."
After he went to sleep, Phoenix occupied herself stretching the limits of her awareness and attempting to reach out toward Oxburn and track the movements of the soldiers. She caught the faintest wisp of one Church guard's arterial network and kept herself alert by tracking him as he patrolled the side of the wall facing the party. Finally he circled around the side and she lost track of him.
The initiate hadn't realized how much she had been concentrating on the soldier's blood. As the sensation faded, she became aware of a faint rustling sound and an eerie noise that reminded her of the wind running across the battlements of Lerra Keep, back home. Phoenix stood up, her hand on the hilt of her sword. She extended her senses, and found...nothing. There were a few small animals around them, but nothing large enough to cause the disturbance she had heard. However, the moaning noise slowly grew louder, and she found her grip tightening on her blade until her knuckles turned white. The sound stopped, and she gradually relaxed her knuckles. The hemokinetic slowly sat back down, and after a few moments she found herself unwillingly nodding off. She fought to keep her head up, but she was slowly losing the battle…
Phoenix felt an indescribably cold feeling brush her shoulders, how she imagined death itself would feel passing over. She woke with a shriek, stumbling forward and tugging her sword out of its sheath. The others began to stir, but Kathryn was awake instantly, spear in hand. "What is it?"
"I…" Phoenix looked back where she had been sitting. Nothing was there. "I don't kno--" She cut off abruptly as she witnessed the silhouette of a human rise up behind her commander. "Kathryn, duck!" The older soldier did not question, but pulled her head low and rolled forward, propelling herself to her feet with a small shockwave. She narrowly avoided a dark object wielded by the intruder, swinging above her head. It seemed like a blade, but it did not glint at all in the dim moonlight.
Phoenix reached out with her power, looking for the life-giving fluid that flowed through their opponent's body, seeking to incapacitate them.
And found nothing.
She realized why she couldn't make out any details of its silhouetted form, and why its sword reflected no light, perhaps even the source of the sound she had heard earlier. Whatever this thing was, it was not living.
Ward and Veskel were on their feet now, assessing the dark figure. "Some kind of spirit…" The Grandmaster murmured as it glided backwards away from their bared weapons.
"Impossible," The initiate responded. "They haven't been able to enter our world since the Order destroyed their gateways."
"It is rare." Kathryn ceded. "But once in a blue moon we encounter one." The spirit was now stalking around in a circle, blade held out almost defensively. It opened its mouth, nothing but a darker black on black, and emitted the same eerie sound Phoenix had heard earlier. She opened her mouth to speak, ask how to kill it, but at that moment it blitzed toward her, becoming nothing but a shadowy blur. The initiate struck blindly with her sword, but as it turned out her attack was unnecessary. The shadow was suddenly wrapped in a weave of branches which had extended miraculously from the surrounding trees to form an oversized wicker cage. Phoenix looked at Ward. "That's what you do? Plants?" He nodded, his mouth a grim line, and made a hooking motion with his hand, causing the branches to tighten around the spirit. It shrieked, a terrible, unearthly sound. It began to writhe and thrash and wordlessly scream its pain, as if it were being beaten. There was something human in those cries. Something oddly weak, vulnerable. Like a scared child.
Veskel struck a flame on a torch and stepped forward, holding out the light to it. The shadow flinched and cried. In the orange glow, Phoenix could make out more detail in its outline. Although it was nothing but a silhouette, it appeared to be a lean man wearing an armoured breastplate. Its sword had been dropped and was nowhere to be seen. Meanwhile, Kathryn withdrew a small, mundane looking purple crystal, like an amethyst but darker and more glittery, from her bag. She held it out almost reverently toward the shadow. It took the initiate a moment, but she recognized it as a Planar Jewel, a mineral from the world spirits originated in. It should react in the presence of one, glow with a flickering light, but nothing happened. The realization came slowly.
"It's...not a spirit?" She said.
"No." Veskel responded simply.
"Then what is it?"
"The only other possibility is that it was created somehow by someone with powers like ours."
Phoenix gasped. She listened to the childlike cries the creature was making. Cries of pain. "The...the child…"
"Yes." Veskel's face was dark. "Release it, Ward."
"But--" Ward started to object.
"I said release it." The Grandmaster's voice was dangerously calm. Ward swept his hand and the branches retreated. The shadow bolted into the woods, out of sight.
"We have to go in." Phoenix pleaded. "We can't leave the child any longer."
"Yes." Veskel agreed. "The time for waiting is over."
Chapter IV:
The day was still young when they approached Oxburn under the cover of the trees. It was barely light, but with the element of surprise, that would work to their advantage. They hid at the edge of the brush, across from one of the side gates. "Phoenix," Veskel said, gesturing toward the four guards outside the wall. The initiate concentrated, reaching out with her mind and mentally touching the flow of their blood. She had never tried to disable so many before. She took a deep breath, centered herself, and slowly began to choke the group of Church soldiers. She simultaneously, gradually, restricted blood flow into their brain, using her control over the crimson liquid to contract their windpipes. They looked at each other in alarm, gasping for breath but unable to cry out. With a sweep of her hand, Phoenix closed the passages completely, and the guards, hands at their throats, tumbled to the ground, falling into unconsciousness. As they fell, she released them, and, one by one, dropped their pulse so that they wouldn't wake up for over an hour. Kathryn nodded at her approvingly. "Good work. Let's move in."
Emerging from the treeline, they approached the gate. It was locked, but Veskel held out his hand and the padlock holding it shut, surrounded by invisible force, contracted and was crushed, falling to the ground with a dull thud as the bar that held it up snapped in two. With another sweep of his power, the Grandmaster pushed the door inward.
They skulked through the village, staying along the edges, Phoenix in the lead. She reached out with her power, feeling the presence of guards and guiding the group away from them, even plunging isolated squads into unconsciousness where necessary. All the while, she kept the small figure, the abused child, at the edge of her focus, slowly making her way in its direction. She tried not to think about what they would find when they arrived. With her power the initiate could feel the fresh, red blood flowing out from the beaten body of the child, sense the contusions where they were bruised, feel the flow where they were cut and their heartbeat slowly forced it out of them to run down onto the floor. And she felt the two other figures in the room. The child's parents, presumably. If they could be called that. What kind of parent beat and cut their child for being born different? Phoenix sometimes questioned the Order's ultimate right to take powered children from their families, but this experience was quickly shaking her doubts away. The initiate could not remember her own home, before Lerra Keep. Had her parents been like this? Had they hated her because she could feel the flow and ebb of another's blood as well as her own? Did they think her a monster? Or did they weep for her when the Order came to take her away? They never visited her, she knew that. Lerra Keep was isolated, yes, but the Order allowed, even encouraged, families to visit its members. Life was hard for their kind, and the support of parents and siblings could be a great boon. But Phoenix had never known what that was like. The Order was her family. A normal life was not her destiny.
Finally, they reached the small house, honestly little more than a hut, that was their objective. Four Templars, Church spiritbinders, stood outside its door. They wore gleaming plate armour emblazoned with Solar's sunburst and carried polished swords. However, they were leaning against the wall and yawning, their blades sheathed at their sides or cradled in idle arms. For all the mighty reputation of the Templars, they slumped to the ground the same as any other man when Phoenix turned her power against them. The first, the second, the third...and then something went wrong. As she reached out to the last one, wide-eyed at the fall of his companions, her concentration, already taxed by overuse of her abilities, faltered, and failed to lower his pulse far enough to induce unconsciousness. It only took her an instant to right herself and mentally drop him to the floor, but in that moment he released a terrified scream that echoed throughout the quiet night, reverberating through the entire village.
"I-I'm sorry…" The initiate choked. "I wasn't fast enough…"
"No time to worry about it now." Kathryn said grimly. She stepped out of their hiding place in the shadows and held out her hand. With a boom like thunder, the door to the child's abode shattered inward, blasted off its hinges and fragmented into several large pieces. With the precision of a well-trained team, the members of the Order swept into the single room of the hut.
The scene would haunt Phoenix's nightmares. Her eyes instantly fixed on the small, pale, bone-thin and clearly starving girl chained to the edge of a simple bed. Her form was slumped, her eyes closed, and her blond hair was matted and filthy. She wore only a tattered, roughspun tunic, and blood stained her skin and the floor around her. Her entire body seemed to be one giant purple bruise, dotted with gashes and cuts, some already showing signs of infection, the sickly colour of gangrene spidering out across her veins. Now that the initiate was here, right next to her, she could feel how weak the flow of the girl's blood was, could feel the foreign materials of the blood poisoning spreading throughout her body. The hemorrhages beneath her skin. Although starved and already petite, the child was older than Phoenix had expected. Perhaps three years younger than her. The hemokinetic had expected a kid, six or seven years old, not someone almost her own age. With a sinking feeling she realized how easily, in different circumstances, this could have been her.
The parents yelled and surged forward toward the group, angry expletives already spilling from their lips, but Ward's hand snaked out, and the planks of the wall, remembering they used to be trees, wrenched themselves free and darted out, ensnaring the two figures and restraining them. Almost as an afterthought, the planks closed over their mouths, silencing the screams and yells formerly emitted.
"We need to move quickly." Veskel said. "The Church soldiers will be here any second." He raised his hand, and the chains binding the girl's hands snapped, their ends clinking to the ground. He began to lift her with his power, but Phoenix stopped him with a sharp "No!" It felt alien to her, rebuking the Grandmaster. "You can't move her now." She said. "Her spine is injured, you could hurt her further." The initiate had felt it when she first examined the girl with her power; the small blood vessels that ran down her spinal cord were bent and twisted in ways they shouldn't be, and Phoenix had learned how to use the position of arteries and veins to identify larger injuries. She didn't know the extent of the child's spinal damage, but she knew it would be dangerous to move her.
Veskel hesitated, then nodded. "You're the expert. We'll keep them out while you work." He drew his sword and stood at the door, surrounding the threshold with a shimmering field of force. Even as he did so, the initiate heard the sound of booted feet, the sound of Church soldiers advancing on them. She didn't have the time or energy to reach out and learn how many there were, and it didn't really matter anyway. She knelt by the girl, laying a hand on her shoulder. She opened her mind to the depth of the child's injuries. Her awareness was flooded with the pain the girl felt, the bruises and the hemorrhages, the cuts and gashes and scrapes. Starting small, Phoenix began to push the blood back down from the contusions, pen it back into arteries and veins, creating walls of clotted fluid to hold it in place until it could heal naturally. She gathered it back up from the sites of internal bleeding, returning it to the places it belonged. She caused the external wounds to scab over--for scabs, after all, were naught but coagulated blood--and, drawing her needle and thread, sewed the worst gashes closed. Finally, she steeled herself for the final challenge. The girl's spine.
Behind her, she was dimly aware of the sounds of fighting. Cracking and screaming as the Grandmaster laid about him with his telekinesis, the blunt sound of unconscious bodies hitting the ground as Kathryn whirled through the Church soldiers' midst like a devil, punching and kicking and causing shockwaves that blasted them off their feet, the almost chilling sound of breaking wood and slithering vines as Ward's power forced the plants to serve him, animating it to ensnare and bludgeon their enemies. She could not see it, but she knew now why he carried a wooden quarterstaff: As plant matter, he could manipulate it as anything else, changing its shape or even telekinetically controlling it through the air, extending it and wrapping it around foes. But none of that mattered in that moment as Phoenix stared down at the wounded girl, trying to figure out how to save her. She could clot the blood in her spine and use it to force it back into a regular position, but that could hurt her further, not to mention it would cut off the flow down her back. She couldn't use the child's blood to save her, but her own blood...
Then she knew what she had to do.
Centering herself, Phoenix felt the pulse and flow of her own blood, felt the rivers of it make their way through her veins. She focused on the blood in her arms.
And she ripped it free. A fine red mist rose out of her pores, forming back into liquid blood, hovering in the air. Woozy from its loss, the initiate reached into the very molecular structure of the life-giving fluid, saw the atoms that held it together. And she changed it, on a fundamental level, breaking and reforming those bonds until the liquid floating in the air was not liquid at all, but a solid, flexible material held together and made unbreakable by her power. She guided it onto the wounded girl's back, melding and fitting it to the child's form until she had created a perfect splint that followed the spinal cord upward, holding the girl in an upright position all the way to the neck, keeping her from damaging her back further. Phoenix spread it thinner, losing no durability but creating a platform. She lifted the child up on a stretcher made of crimson steel, walked confidently if somewhat unsteadily toward the door, her work done.
Church soldiers, regular guards and Templars alike, lay groaning or unconscious on the ground around the quickly ending battle. Only a handful still fought the Order. One of them clutched at his windpipe as Veskel hooked his hand out, crushing breath out of the man with his power until his victim fell to the ground, bruised but alive. Another one screamed, struggling in vain against the appendages of oak that bound him fast, Ward's quarterstaff planted in the dirt in front of him, its material splintered out into arms that restrained. Ward himself was dueling a Templar unarmed, causing the grass to wrap around the woman's feet and launching shards of branches at her until he finally rolled behind his stunned opponent and dropped her with a powerful strike to the neck with his bare fist. Kathryn fought three soldiers at once, her spear in hand, whirling around, tripping them and beating them with the blunt end. Every time someone managed to duck under her weapon and step in range, she released a shockwave that bowled them backwards and sent them sprawling in the dirt.
In seconds, the last soldiers fell, and it was over.
Ward ran to Phoenix, staff in hand, and stared at the floating girl. "Is...is that…"
"I can change the physical properties of blood. That splint is stronger than steel."
"How long have you been able to…"
"About five minutes."
Veskel looked at the young initiate, his eyes shining with pride. "Well done. Let's return to Lerra."
They made their way through the village, ignoring the cowering peasants, and exited the front gate, ready to hit the road and be back to their home.
They came face to face with almost a full hundred Church soldiers. A full platoon. Standing at their head was the woman Phoenix had wounded in their first skirmish. She now wore the gleaming armour of a Templar.
"Halt! By decree of Solar, you are under divine arrest, for attempting to harbour a demon-possessed child."
Veskel drew his sword, his fingers twitching. Ward held out his arms, preparing to call the trees to his aid. Kathryn set her feet in a fighting stance. But before any of them could act, the girl woke up. She raised her head, staring at the army before them. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
And then all hell broke loose.
Dozens of shadowy creatures, murky reflections of their foes, appeared out of nowhere, called forth by the child's power. As one, they shrieked, a keening noise that made Phoenix's skin crawl. They set about the Church soldiers, their dark forms seemingly immune to weapons, their own black blades cutting through armour like it was made of paper. In less than ten seconds, the Church was routed by the shadows in its midst. They turned to flee, and the dark soldiers faded as they disappeared into the tree line.
But one Templar stayed.
Their commander ran forward, a lone shadow on her heels, past the stunned Order, who raised hands and weapons to stop her but would be ultimately too slow. She raised her sword over the girl, who stared at her with wide eyes for an instant that seemed an eternity.
And then the woman's heart exploded.
Phoenix, arm outstretched, hand forming a claw, gazed in rapt dismay as the Templar fell backward, dropping her weapon, killed instantly as all of the blood pulsing through her heart tore its way free, ripping through cardiac muscle, membranes, and ultimately skin to form a gaping hole in her chest, leaking a sea of crimson. The initiate could not take her eyes off of her first kill, enthralled by the gory scene. Her gaze fell on the mute child she had just murdered someone to save, and then she collapsed to the ground.
Epilogue:
Veskel sat silently in the drab, bare, but comfortable room where the rescued girl lay. The Order's medics, people of various powers that aided in their ability to heal, had worked for hours on the child, finishing the work Phoenix had started, setting her spine back to its correct position. It would still take time to heal, but she was in no danger, anymore. Now she lay, sleeping comfortably with a serene expression on her young, gentle face. The Grandmaster waited for her to wake up, thinking back on that final battle outside Oxburn, how the girl had single-handedly routed the Church soldiers by turning their own shadows against them. Veskel remembered the shade that had attacked them in the forest outside the village, the tortured sounds it had made. He believed that, although not in full control of her power, the girl still summoned it instinctively when in danger. He theorized that that night when the creature appeared was one of the times when her parents, or perhaps church soldiers, were beating her. In self-defense she had raised the shadow, but without training or practice, she had no control over it, and it had fled into the woods, reflecting her pain and sorrow in those keening cries. She would have to be treated carefully, with great gentleness and sensitivity, to help her recover from what she had gone through and set her on the path of the Order.
Veskel was broken from his reverie when she stirred, murmuring silently in her half-sleep and slowly opening her eyes, pushing herself with effort into a sitting position. He was astonished by how much better she looked, now. Her curly blond hair was brushed and cleaned, the blood on her body had been wiped away, and the bruises healed by Phoenix's power, and she had been dressed in a simple white robe instead of the filthy, torn scrap of cloth that had been her old tunic. Her eyes shone bright blue, and there was intelligence in that gaze, and also some inscrutable quality, as if this young girl was somehow wiser than all of them. She fixed that gaze now on Veskel, her eyes taking in every detail of the Grandmaster's appearance, her mouth half-open in a mute inquiry.
"My name is Grandmaster Veskel." He told her. "You're safe here. This is Lerra Keep, the stronghold of the Order of the Black. Do you know who we are?"
She shook her head silently, her golden curls swaying.
"We're a group that takes care of people like you, people who are different, stronger than normal. We teach them to use their power, give them a home that can accept them unconditionally. Do you think you could bear to stay with us?"
The girl nodded enthusiastically.
"I have given my name." He continued gently. "May I have the pleasure of knowing yours?"
She stared at him, seemingly uncomprehending. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then frowned, looking confused. She only looked at him, flustered. Then he knew.
"...Ah… I see. Don't worry, you'll find no judgement here. Our gifts require sacrifice, and we are all touched by it in different ways. Your own loss is of no consequence. Do you know your letters?"
She shook her head. That wasn't surprising; most villagers didn't, and he doubted her parents would have taught her if they could.
"...Did your family ever give you a name?"
She hesitated, then shook her head.
"Then, with your permission, I'd like to call you Requiem. Because I think if you could sing you would have a beautiful voice."
She smiled, her mute lips forming the word almost gingerly, as if it would evaporate if she wasn't careful, and she would be left nameless again.
Veskel leaned back, weary. "What happened to you is a great tragedy. To be betrayed by your own family. But we're your family now, and you don't need to be afraid anymore." He paused, considering. "Requiem… You are older than many of our initiates, but you are special. Powerful even for our kind." His gray eyes were troubled. "Power like that can destroy you, hurt everyone you care about. You have to promise me that you'll be careful with it. If you do, I have one last gift to give you."
She nodded gravely, her blue eyes sincere, and looked at him expectantly.
"Your home was taken from you by your own blood. Your family turned against you because of who you are. We are family now, but I wish to offer you something more. If you so desire it, I will serve as the father you never had. I will treat you as if you were my own daughter, and guide you through your new life. We'll face these challenges together."
A wide smile slowly spread across Requiem's face. Instead of nodding, she reached out and took the Grandmaster's hand with both of her own, and held it. Veskel hesitated, then pulled her in and hugged her.
Despite everything she had gone through, all she had lost, Requiem knew, held by the old man's warm, strong arms, that everything would be alright.
Twisted Memories is an unfinished Life is Strange fanfiction. Like the other parts of Requiem, I'll finish it someday.
Chapter I: Nightmares
Chloe couldn't sleep. Sleep had been a rarity since they had come to Seattle, fear overcoming exhaustion. She only caught a few wisps of slumber here and there, and even those brief periods were peppered with fragments of memories, both real and imagined. Sometimes she saw Rachel die, wilting away while Jefferson and Nathan looked on impassively, the sadistic art teacher pursing his lips and shaking his head at his student's carelessness. Sometimes she saw Max, alone in the dark room, dazed and drugged and afraid. That image tore at her heart and filled her with shame. Most often, however, was her own death. Repeated over and over in detail, in myriad ways, her mind spinning horror stories out of things she could only imagine. Or perhaps they weren't fabrications of her head at all, and Chloe was actually seeing visions of each shattered timeline that Max had left behind? Chloe, lying bloody on the floor of the bathroom after being shot by Nathan. The train tracks, except no Max to save her this time. A car crash that left her begging for death. The looming shadow of Mr. Jefferson raising a gun as Chloe seemed to move in slow motion. Her worst vision, however, was by far her most common. In it, she stood at the hill by the lighthouse, the rain and wind clawing at her. She held the unconscious Max, blood seeping from the girl's nose. But in the dream, Max didn't wake up. In the dream, Chloe watched her friend fade away, just like she saw Rachel die in other nightmares during other nights. The tornado loomed on the horizon, roiling across the bay toward the town. Chloe stepped to the cliff, watching it. She knew there was only one way to stop it. Closing her eyes, she swayed, let herself be taken by the wind, and she began to fall…
Chloe's nightmare was torn to shreds as her fitful doze ended. Moonlight still shone through the window of the apartment building. The clock read 2:11 A.M. Max, laying across from Chloe in the bed, was scrunching her eyes shut tight, her face a fearful grimace. A whimper escaped the sleeping girl's throat. It had been that sound that had awakened her girlfriend. Chloe reached out, brushing Max's messy brown hair away from her ear. The former time traveler eased at her touch, her face softening a little. They lay there for several moments, the silence only broken by their breathing. Chloe scooted closer and put her arm around Max's neck. The only comfort they could find, nowadays, was each other.
" Chloe…" Max's words were barely more than a sleepy whisper, her eyes still closed.
"Yes, Max?" Her companion responded.
"I'm glad you're here. I'm glad you're alive."
"Me too, Max…" Those were the words that came out of Chloe's mouth as she pulled Max to her in an embrace. And they were true; she was glad to be here, glad to have finally escaped Arcadia Bay, glad, most of all, that she was with Max. But her thoughts posed a sharp retort to her own words. Was it worth it? The question she asked herself every day, that she didn't have the courage to ask Max. The question that she had no answer for. The decision she had left in the hands of the half-asleep girl, mind scarred by nightmares, who lay in her arms. That girl had decided that Chloe was worth it. Had promised never to abandon her, had kept that promise, had let the world burn rather than break it. Chloe couldn't even imagine what Max had seen in all of the timelines she had traversed. She had told her friend that she had been kidnapped, drugged, psychologically tortured. Had had to see William die a second time, because the price of his life had been too high. Another time that Max had decided that Chloe was worth it, was worth the sacrifices. One more time Max had cheated death for her. Max, Chloe knew, thought she was worth it.
Chloe wasn't so sure. She lay there, in the dark, watching the numbers on the clock change, holding Max as the precious, troubled girl's breathing became even again, signaling that she had drifted back out of wakefulness. Unlike Chloe, Max could sleep. Was so mentally drained by her journey, even weeks afterwards, that she had to sleep.
But that was no protection from the nightmares. There was no protection from the nightmares.
~
Chloe woke up first. As she always did. Or rather, decided to get up first, since she had been awake for hours, having only managed a couple disjointed hours of sleep. She kissed Max on the forehead and slid off of the bed. Automatically, she reached for the nightstand, where, in her old room in her old house, she always kept a joint for the morning. But that room didn't exist anymore, had been torn to shreds with her old life in the tornado. And Max had asked her not to smoke in her parents' apartment, where they had been boarding since they arrived in Seattle. If it had been anyone but Max, Chloe would probably have done it anyway. But she wouldn't deny Max anything, or even if she hadn't asked, wouldn't do something that could get Max in trouble with her parents. The poor couple had heard about the destruction of Arcadia Bay on the news, and had been grief-stricken before they found out that Chloe and Max had miraculously escaped all injury. Max, of course, had chalked it up to luck. They had decided to hang out at the lighthouse that night to be alone, and the storm had passed them by. Because how could they tell them what really happened? That the tornado itself had been caused by Max's messing with time, that they had survived it because of Max's apocalyptic visions of a possible future? That, if she had let Chloe die, it would never have happened? No, they couldn't tell the truth. They couldn't tell anyone the truth.
Still in her shorts and t-shirt, Chloe left the room, closing the door quietly behind her. If she wasn't going to smoke, she would take the next best thing: coffee. Max's parents were already gone off to respective workplaces; the clock above the sink read 9:23 A.M. As Chloe started up the coffee maker, she couldn't help from noticing (for the thousandth time), all of the pictures on the refrigerator, mostly of Max as a child--but many of them featuring Chloe too--back before Max's family moved to Seattle. They made her self-conscious. Things were so different back then. That was before her father's death, before everyone in her life had abandoned her. Before Max came back, and most of all before the storm that had changed their lives. Forcing those feelings back down, Chloe brewed her coffee and sat down at the small round table. It was time to stop living in the past. The good times were gone, and the regrets couldn't be undone. Not anymore. Max's power had ultimately destroyed Arcadia Bay; she had promised never to use it again. Chloe thought with a pang of all the tests she put Max through to prove her power, all the times she made Max play with time frivolously. Had she contributed to that tornado? Of course I did, She reminded herself. If Max hadn't saved me that day, none of that would have ever happened.
Summoned by her thoughts--or perhaps awakened by the shrill beeping of the coffeemaker--Max walked yawning into the kitchen-dining room. There were dark circles under her eyes, as always, and she moved with the exhaustion of one who has slept but not slept well. She sat down next to Chloe and put her head in her hands. Her lover put an arm around her, but didn't say anything. They sat still for a long moment, until finally Max looked up. She clung to Chloe, drinking in her presence, as always.
"I saw Kate, again." She said in a tattered voice. "On the roof, in her hospital gown, with the tornado behind her. 'What kind of cruel joke is this, Max? You save me from the roof so you can kill me with your storm?' Then she turned around and jumped. I've seen her die too many times...But I don't know which of them are my own memories and which of them are just dreams. My head's all twisted around."
"It'll get better, Max." Chloe hoped it was true. How could they live the rest of their lives like this, running from the shadows of the past? "You should get something to help you sleep."
"So should you. Have you even managed eight hours this whole week?"
Chloe was silent. They both knew the answer. Instead, she gave a frail laugh. "Don't worry about me. I was already too messed up for it to get any worse."
Max smiled slightly. "That makes two of us."
This feels wrong, Max thought. To spend a morning in a kitchen and not at Two Whales. She couldn't say that, of course. Two Whales meant Joyce, and thinking about her brought to the forefront Max's perpetual feelings of guilt and shame. She couldn't even imagine what it was like for Chloe, Joyce's own daughter. It was hard to live in the here and now, with the spectres of their loved ones hanging over them like an accusatory court. Every memory from Arcadia Bay was laced with pain, now, good times and bad. Worst of all was the fact that Max's memories were from all different timelines. When she remembered something, she had to stop and think Did I undo that? Did that really happen? And even the things that she had erased haunted her. All the times she had watched Chloe die, Kate jump, and even Frank get shot. And looming in the darkness behind those memories was Mark Jefferson and the dark room. The night that Chloe had been shot and Max had been kidnapped. Drugged, bound, dragged across the room in an agony of half-consciousness while he took twisted photos. The remembrance that the only thought in her addled mind then had been Chloe, that image of blood mixing with dirt and water in the rain. Through that hell, that nightmare that she had wished away, that had been the only thing that had kept her going, the knowledge that it was still possible to go back and save her best friend--more than her best friend. On the hill when it was all ending, Max had been driven by that same thought. Nothing else mattered. Chloe was her world, her choice.
And now Arcadia Bay was dead.
Tears leaking from her eyes again, Max suddenly clung closer to the surprisingly gentle girl next to her, who knew what she was thinking, who knew her better than anyone.
Was it worth it?
Chloe couldn't sleep. Sleep had been a rarity since they had come to Seattle, fear overcoming exhaustion. She only caught a few wisps of slumber here and there, and even those brief periods were peppered with fragments of memories, both real and imagined. Sometimes she saw Rachel die, wilting away while Jefferson and Nathan looked on impassively, the sadistic art teacher pursing his lips and shaking his head at his student's carelessness. Sometimes she saw Max, alone in the dark room, dazed and drugged and afraid. That image tore at her heart and filled her with shame. Most often, however, was her own death. Repeated over and over in detail, in myriad ways, her mind spinning horror stories out of things she could only imagine. Or perhaps they weren't fabrications of her head at all, and Chloe was actually seeing visions of each shattered timeline that Max had left behind? Chloe, lying bloody on the floor of the bathroom after being shot by Nathan. The train tracks, except no Max to save her this time. A car crash that left her begging for death. The looming shadow of Mr. Jefferson raising a gun as Chloe seemed to move in slow motion. Her worst vision, however, was by far her most common. In it, she stood at the hill by the lighthouse, the rain and wind clawing at her. She held the unconscious Max, blood seeping from the girl's nose. But in the dream, Max didn't wake up. In the dream, Chloe watched her friend fade away, just like she saw Rachel die in other nightmares during other nights. The tornado loomed on the horizon, roiling across the bay toward the town. Chloe stepped to the cliff, watching it. She knew there was only one way to stop it. Closing her eyes, she swayed, let herself be taken by the wind, and she began to fall…
Chloe's nightmare was torn to shreds as her fitful doze ended. Moonlight still shone through the window of the apartment building. The clock read 2:11 A.M. Max, laying across from Chloe in the bed, was scrunching her eyes shut tight, her face a fearful grimace. A whimper escaped the sleeping girl's throat. It had been that sound that had awakened her girlfriend. Chloe reached out, brushing Max's messy brown hair away from her ear. The former time traveler eased at her touch, her face softening a little. They lay there for several moments, the silence only broken by their breathing. Chloe scooted closer and put her arm around Max's neck. The only comfort they could find, nowadays, was each other.
" Chloe…" Max's words were barely more than a sleepy whisper, her eyes still closed.
"Yes, Max?" Her companion responded.
"I'm glad you're here. I'm glad you're alive."
"Me too, Max…" Those were the words that came out of Chloe's mouth as she pulled Max to her in an embrace. And they were true; she was glad to be here, glad to have finally escaped Arcadia Bay, glad, most of all, that she was with Max. But her thoughts posed a sharp retort to her own words. Was it worth it? The question she asked herself every day, that she didn't have the courage to ask Max. The question that she had no answer for. The decision she had left in the hands of the half-asleep girl, mind scarred by nightmares, who lay in her arms. That girl had decided that Chloe was worth it. Had promised never to abandon her, had kept that promise, had let the world burn rather than break it. Chloe couldn't even imagine what Max had seen in all of the timelines she had traversed. She had told her friend that she had been kidnapped, drugged, psychologically tortured. Had had to see William die a second time, because the price of his life had been too high. Another time that Max had decided that Chloe was worth it, was worth the sacrifices. One more time Max had cheated death for her. Max, Chloe knew, thought she was worth it.
Chloe wasn't so sure. She lay there, in the dark, watching the numbers on the clock change, holding Max as the precious, troubled girl's breathing became even again, signaling that she had drifted back out of wakefulness. Unlike Chloe, Max could sleep. Was so mentally drained by her journey, even weeks afterwards, that she had to sleep.
But that was no protection from the nightmares. There was no protection from the nightmares.
~
Chloe woke up first. As she always did. Or rather, decided to get up first, since she had been awake for hours, having only managed a couple disjointed hours of sleep. She kissed Max on the forehead and slid off of the bed. Automatically, she reached for the nightstand, where, in her old room in her old house, she always kept a joint for the morning. But that room didn't exist anymore, had been torn to shreds with her old life in the tornado. And Max had asked her not to smoke in her parents' apartment, where they had been boarding since they arrived in Seattle. If it had been anyone but Max, Chloe would probably have done it anyway. But she wouldn't deny Max anything, or even if she hadn't asked, wouldn't do something that could get Max in trouble with her parents. The poor couple had heard about the destruction of Arcadia Bay on the news, and had been grief-stricken before they found out that Chloe and Max had miraculously escaped all injury. Max, of course, had chalked it up to luck. They had decided to hang out at the lighthouse that night to be alone, and the storm had passed them by. Because how could they tell them what really happened? That the tornado itself had been caused by Max's messing with time, that they had survived it because of Max's apocalyptic visions of a possible future? That, if she had let Chloe die, it would never have happened? No, they couldn't tell the truth. They couldn't tell anyone the truth.
Still in her shorts and t-shirt, Chloe left the room, closing the door quietly behind her. If she wasn't going to smoke, she would take the next best thing: coffee. Max's parents were already gone off to respective workplaces; the clock above the sink read 9:23 A.M. As Chloe started up the coffee maker, she couldn't help from noticing (for the thousandth time), all of the pictures on the refrigerator, mostly of Max as a child--but many of them featuring Chloe too--back before Max's family moved to Seattle. They made her self-conscious. Things were so different back then. That was before her father's death, before everyone in her life had abandoned her. Before Max came back, and most of all before the storm that had changed their lives. Forcing those feelings back down, Chloe brewed her coffee and sat down at the small round table. It was time to stop living in the past. The good times were gone, and the regrets couldn't be undone. Not anymore. Max's power had ultimately destroyed Arcadia Bay; she had promised never to use it again. Chloe thought with a pang of all the tests she put Max through to prove her power, all the times she made Max play with time frivolously. Had she contributed to that tornado? Of course I did, She reminded herself. If Max hadn't saved me that day, none of that would have ever happened.
Summoned by her thoughts--or perhaps awakened by the shrill beeping of the coffeemaker--Max walked yawning into the kitchen-dining room. There were dark circles under her eyes, as always, and she moved with the exhaustion of one who has slept but not slept well. She sat down next to Chloe and put her head in her hands. Her lover put an arm around her, but didn't say anything. They sat still for a long moment, until finally Max looked up. She clung to Chloe, drinking in her presence, as always.
"I saw Kate, again." She said in a tattered voice. "On the roof, in her hospital gown, with the tornado behind her. 'What kind of cruel joke is this, Max? You save me from the roof so you can kill me with your storm?' Then she turned around and jumped. I've seen her die too many times...But I don't know which of them are my own memories and which of them are just dreams. My head's all twisted around."
"It'll get better, Max." Chloe hoped it was true. How could they live the rest of their lives like this, running from the shadows of the past? "You should get something to help you sleep."
"So should you. Have you even managed eight hours this whole week?"
Chloe was silent. They both knew the answer. Instead, she gave a frail laugh. "Don't worry about me. I was already too messed up for it to get any worse."
Max smiled slightly. "That makes two of us."
This feels wrong, Max thought. To spend a morning in a kitchen and not at Two Whales. She couldn't say that, of course. Two Whales meant Joyce, and thinking about her brought to the forefront Max's perpetual feelings of guilt and shame. She couldn't even imagine what it was like for Chloe, Joyce's own daughter. It was hard to live in the here and now, with the spectres of their loved ones hanging over them like an accusatory court. Every memory from Arcadia Bay was laced with pain, now, good times and bad. Worst of all was the fact that Max's memories were from all different timelines. When she remembered something, she had to stop and think Did I undo that? Did that really happen? And even the things that she had erased haunted her. All the times she had watched Chloe die, Kate jump, and even Frank get shot. And looming in the darkness behind those memories was Mark Jefferson and the dark room. The night that Chloe had been shot and Max had been kidnapped. Drugged, bound, dragged across the room in an agony of half-consciousness while he took twisted photos. The remembrance that the only thought in her addled mind then had been Chloe, that image of blood mixing with dirt and water in the rain. Through that hell, that nightmare that she had wished away, that had been the only thing that had kept her going, the knowledge that it was still possible to go back and save her best friend--more than her best friend. On the hill when it was all ending, Max had been driven by that same thought. Nothing else mattered. Chloe was her world, her choice.
And now Arcadia Bay was dead.
Tears leaking from her eyes again, Max suddenly clung closer to the surprisingly gentle girl next to her, who knew what she was thinking, who knew her better than anyone.
Was it worth it?
That's all I'm putting up for now; more will come later as I scour my hard drive for stories and dig out my notebooks for poems.