Sofiel couldn’t help but let a little laugh escape her lips. “But first, you will need to rest. A stressed mind will only hinder the task before us. Besides, I must tend to the wounded tree-sprites. The pig-runs’ fires have spread into parts of the Sacred Forest. Many were injured in the process of putting them out.” Sofiel smiled one last time before heading off. “If all goes as planned, by tomorrow morning you should be back home in your own bed, on your own world. Your nightmare will have ended and our world but a distant memory.”
***
Ashes fell from the dim sky, sprinkling down like bitter snow, blanketing black skeleton huts and grimacing corpses. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Gray eyes took in the gray world. Burning lungs took in the toxic air. Muted ears took in nothing but an infant’s faint cry.
Michelle rummaged through the burned wood—scavenging for food. For anything that would quiet her baby brother, Matthew. It had been two days since they had last eaten, two days since the monster came and took her world from her tiny helpless hands. She lifted a wooden beam and found another body. Blackened. Eyes hollowed out. Teeth glaring through shriveled lips. She couldn’t tell if it was her mother or not.
Michelle covered the face with a pile of leaves—as she did with the others. She couldn’t stand looking at their faces. Yet it was impossible for her to look away. A silly thing, the human mind, so trained and focused on recognizing faces in everyplace and in everything. Michelle saw faces in the clouds, the mud, the stars, and even fire... but those faces never seemed friendly no matter how much they smiled. Better to be done with them. Out of sight and out of mind. Yes. She was out of her mind. She was sure of it once she heard the voices leaking up from the corpses, heard the whispers from lost souls looking for someone to listen. As they always do. She covered her ears. The whispers grew louder, gaining more voices. They had come to take her and Matthew. The whispers, the hungry ghosts. Come to devour their flesh and drink their fill of their souls.
She placed Matthew down with care and chose a heavy rock. One heavy enough to do the job. She wouldn’t let them take Matthew. Better he died here, clean and quick with his soul intact, alongside his mother and father. Better than a slow death by starvation. Michelle was too young to produce milk and he still fussed over solid food. So, she raised the rock over her head and took aim and—
She stopped herself mid-strike.
Ahead, in the distance, men on horseback.
“So, God saw fit to spare one at least,” said the Priest, signing the Holy Trinity.
“Are you sure?” asked a soldier with an expensive tunic and polished armor that contrasted with his hideous, brutish face. The face of a true barbarian, contorting with disgust when he peered down at Michelle from atop his steed, peered into her gray eyes. “She’s broken.”
“Broken?” asked the Priest. “What do you mean—broken?”
“I’ve seen those eyes before. Mostly on soldiers who’ve seen too much time on the frontlines. Men who’ve been exposed to too much horror.”
“Is that so?” The Priest rode up to Michelle, gawking at her with a mild curiosity as if she was an exotic beast from a foreign land.
Michelle scooped Matthew into her arms, wrapping him in his baby cloth and clutching him tightly against her chest.
The Priest reached down and plucked her chin up and examined her face. “She’s unusually pretty. A rare beauty.” He wiped the soot from her cheeks. “A rose of ash. Perhaps we should take her to the King, Marcus.”
“A little young—don’t you think, Father?” Marcus signaled to the other soldiers on horseback to move on. He galloped over to the Priest and Michelle. “She can’t be more than seven. Unless—of course—Solomon is into that kind of fetish.”
“You would be wise to watch your tongue,” the Priest snapped back. “Solomon has killed for far less, and men in higher positions of power than you, Captain. And I will not lie to cover up your sins. Not anymore, at least.”
Marcus rolled his eyes. “No sense of humor.”
“Besides, she may be young—and yes, I’ll admit it’s a long shot—but he’s turned down all the rest and we’re running out of time. A king needs a queen and an heir.”
Michelle watched the hideous captain with numb gray eyes.
He spat in response.
“Without either, the kingdom will not weather the storm.”
“Then it’s settled,” said Marcus, pushing past the Priest and dismounting. He stalked toward Michelle with a twisted grin. “Come here you little brat—you’re coming with us.”
She backed up, clinging to Matthew with all her strength.
“Mankind is truly disgusting,” remarked the Cloaked Man, observing from the hilltop like a spectating ghost.
Nineteen-year-old Michelle stepped in front of Marcus, blocking the path to her younger self, and unsheathed her sword.
“You’re wasting your time,” said the Cloaked Man.
Michelle ignored him, thrusting her blade into Marcus’ gut, twisting it for good measure.
Marcus just walked on, passing through Michelle the way ghosts slip through all things living.
The Cloaked Man’s red eyes flared up. “No amount of desire can erase what has been written in stone and blood.”
Michelle turned to watch the events unfold—powerless to change her younger self’s fate.
Marcus grabbed young Michelle by the scruff of her shirt. “Get your ass over here.”
Young Michelle ripped herself free—thrashing and lashing out at him—raking her nails across his face and drawing blood.
Marcus cupped his face in pain, four red lines now streaked down his face. “You little bitch!” He kicked her hard in the stomach and she keeled over.
A baby’s cry bellowed out.
The Priest gasped.
“What the hell are you hiding under that blanket?” Marcus lunged for the blanket in her arms.
Young Michelle curled over her baby brother, shielding him from Marcus’ grasp.
“Give it up.” His hand got within range of her mouth.
She bit down.
Marcus jerked his hand back—the pain shooting up his arm as he cradled his bloody thumb. “Wretched whore!” He grabbed her by the throat and pinned her to the ground, sitting on top of her and using his weight to his advantage.
She wiggled with all her might, shrieking a horrid cry.
“Shut your filthy mouth.” Marcus struck her across the face.
“Stop,” the Priest commanded him. “Not the face. She’s useless to us as damaged goods.”
Marcus pinned her arms. “Fine,” he said, quelling his rage with a few deep breaths. “But if he turns her down she’s mine.” His ugly face contorted into a grin, the kind of grin Michelle had seen in the fire once before. “Got it?”
“Fine,” said the Priest, sighing.
“Now what about the baby?” Marcus glanced at Matthew’s exposed cubby wailing face.
“Let her keep it. We can send it off to a wet nurse when we get back to the castle.”
Michelle watched with disbelieving pale gray eyes as the soldiers carried her younger self away. She bit her lower lip—drawing blood—trying to wake herself from this all too real nightmare from the past.
“So, this is what a world ruled by the cruel looks like,” said the Cloaked Man as he scooped up a pile of ash. “Infuriating, isn’t it?”
“Why are you showing me this?” Michelle asked, turning to face him. “Why did you bring me here? What purpose could this possibly serve?” She spread out her arms. “You think I have forgotten?” she screamed. “That I need you to refresh my memory... not a day goes by...” She did her best to fight back the swelling tears—to not show her enemy weakness. She failed bitterly. “All you’ve accomplished is meaningless suffering and pain.”
“There is no other kind,” he replied as he lifted the ashes to his skull mask and blew. The ashes took to the wind. “And I’m afraid I must give you much, much more before this night i
s through.”
The ashes swirled around them, stealing the color and drowning them in pure gray.
***
Sharon spent most of the day observing the tree-sprites going about their daily routines. Although their village was small it was also dense with multiple layers. Their simple tree huts spiraled up the huge trees till they were beyond sight. Sharon felt like an anthropologist, a guest in an alien world, invited into their community to witness their culture and way of life. The smaller tree-sprites, the children she guessed, played in the canopies. They chased insects, catching them and letting them go after they had their fun. They never killed anything. Even their homes were made of old fallen wood and trees. There were no visible signs of cut wood. Their homes resembled complex bird nests with gathered wood tied together with dried vines. They drank just water and tree sap and ate no food as far as she could tell. Though they spent an unusual amount of time sunning themselves.
Sharon rose from her moss bed and exited the guest hut Thorn had prepared for her. She took a stroll through the village, taking in the sights and sounds when she spotted Sofiel.
The tree-sprites gathered around Sofiel in a circle as she knelt over an injured tree-sprite laying on a pile of leaves, his arm blackened from fire. Sofiel placed her hands over the tree-sprite’s burnt arm. The glow of her crystal intensified. Blue light filled her hands, slowly flowing to the tips of her fingers, and formed into a blue circle of living light. The black chipped away, falling to the grass like dried mud, revealing vibrant new green skin underneath.
Much of the day was like this, Sofiel healing the sick and injured and Gabriel coming by to assist her every now and then. Sharon couldn’t help but notice that Gabriel was always by Sofiel’s side, aiding her as she played the role of doctor, teacher, and priest to the tree-sprites. His feelings for her were obvious, though she didn’t mirror his tenderness. As far as she could tell they weren’t a couple. Finally, when Gabriel was alone, Sharon came over to him.
“You love her, don’t you?” she asked.
Gabriel stopped preparing some herbs and glanced her way. He took his time to speak as if he did not know how to reply. “So, you noticed?” he asked finally.
“It was kind of obvious,” she said, leaning back against a tree. “That’s the real reason you stay here with her, isn’t it?”
He didn’t answer.
“You think her love can save you. Cleanse you.”
He averted his gaze, his expression one of pain. “Nothing can cleanse the sins I carry.”
“It’s like you have some kind of Beauty and the Beast complex. That’s why you haven’t reverted back to your human form, isn’t it? You and Khaba have complete mastery of your spiritual forms, but you both stay in your beast forms. Khaba uses his animal side for power and intimidation. But you... It’s some kind of punishment, am I right?”
He clenched his hands bitterly. “After what I’ve done, I don’t deserve to wear the face of a man.”
“You’re not a monster, Gabriel,” she said, placing her hand on his shoulder. “Hiding away in your wolf form won’t bring the dead back to life. Denying your own happiness won’t absolve you of anything. Open up to her. I’m sure she feels—”
“I’m afraid that would be impossible,” he said, cutting her short.
“What? Why?”
“Mirror Guardians are forbidden to love—to be with another in that way.”
“That’s insane.” So, Mirror Guardians are like nuns and priests—celibate—forbidden to love?
“Emotions cloud judgment, Sharon. I know better than anyone of that truth. Her path lies beyond this mortal flesh. I am still trapped... here. I would not have her sink to my level. Such selfishness would be far too cruel. No. This time the story will end differently.” Gabriel gently brushed aside Sharon’s hand, turned his back on her, and headed off. “This time she will stay among the stars and I will let the rose wither and die.”
***
Young Michelle stood beside half-a-dozen peasant girls in the hallway of King Solomon’s palace. They lined themselves in a row, shoulders parallel to one another, facing the King’s chamber doors. All of them older than her with pale white skin, slender figures, and dirt coated hands. These were farmer’s daughters, dishwashers, and handmaids. Not princesses and noblewomen suited and bred for royal matchmaking. And then there was her. The last resort of a mad dying tyrant—a soot coated child.
She glanced over to Marcus standing at the end of the hall, his face still scarred from when her nails left their mark like a lion’s paw swipe. The Priest was by his side, his fingers fidgeting restlessly with the golden cross that hung from his neck.
The doorknob turned. Everyone lost their breath. A man wearing a golden mask stepped out. King Solomon stepped into the hallway.
An overwhelming stench filled the air. A peculiar scent—as if freshly crushed jasmine petals were sprinkled over rotting flesh.
Solomon’s golden mask’s expression was as blank as a mannequin’s. Possessing a frail form, he walked with a limp, hunching over with one of his arms hidden behind his back in an attempt to conceal his hand’s uncontrollable trembling. His body was draped in a robe of woven pearls—not an inch of his skin exposed.
King Solomon went down the row of women shaking their hands, patting them on their shoulders, and joking with them. He put them at ease as well as any politician, quelling their anxieties and adding smiles to their faces.
Michelle was taken back by how charismatic he was, this slayer of women and children.
He finished shaking hands with the girl next to Michelle and his gaze finally fell to her.
She stared back with cold, empty gray eyes. He would not make her smile, no force in heaven or hell could ever hope to do as much.
Solomon stretched out his hand.
Michelle remained still.
A chorus of terrified whispered gasps rang out from the other girls. Even the Priest began to sweat.
An unbearable silence leaked out like poisonous gas as Solomon looked on curiously at the defiant little girl with gray eyes, tilting his head to look at her from a different angle. “What’s your name?” he asked.
Michelle remained silent.
One of the peasant girls started hyperventilating.
Solomon tilted his head to the other side. “Can you speak, my little princess?”
Michelle gave no answer.
“When we found her—your Grace—her village had been burned to the ground,” the Priest said in a rushed panic. “She and her baby brother were the sole survivors. Whatever happened there must have been too much for her small mind to bear. It may be a while before her voice—”
Solomon glanced his way, making the Priest skip a beat.
“—returns.” He did his best to smile, gritting his teeth.
“I see,” said Solomon, locking eyes with Michelle. “Those gray eyes… I can’t imagine the horrors they’ve seen. They’re quite lovely.” He placed his hand under her chin and lifted her face up to admire her beauty. “What’s this?” He turned her face to the side, revealing a bruised corner of her lip. He wiped a bit of blood away with a brush of his thumb. “Blood—fresh blood.” He turned to Marcus and examined his scarred face. “Did she fight back?”
Marcus let a small smirk creep up his face.
Solomon struck him hard across his cheek, staggering the brute a few steps back. “That’s my future queen and heir you just hit. Touch her again and I’ll castrate you.”
Marcus’ eyes widened.
“My Grace...” The priest was breathless.
“We are to be wed tonight,” he said. “Midnight. Make preparations immediately.”
“But-but-but,” stammered the Priest, “midnight is in three hours, hardly enough—”
Solomon stopped him with a look. “Did I stutter?”
The Priest shook his head. “No.”
“Then go and get them out of my sight.” Solomon gestured coldly to the other women. “I
want to be alone with my bride.”
“They say the eyes are windows to our souls,” said the Cloaked Man as his eyes burned red through the darkness of his hood. “Mirroring back our deepest desires and our worst sins.” He exited the shadows of the hallway and turned to Michelle.
She stood beside him in the hallway watching her younger self shepherded into King Solomon’s chambers.
“I wonder what you truly desire, Michelle Lionmane, Queen of Tuat, and what sin you are willing to carve into your soul to obtain it?”
“I am not one to be so easily manipulated,” replied Michelle, tightening her grip on the hilt of her sword. “What are you after? What do you hope to gain from all of this?”
“The inevitable,” replied the Cloaked Man. He waved his hand and the hallway dissolved away.
***
Ancient, long stalagmites dripped drops into small pools in the great cavern of the Sacred Forest. Ripples in the surrounding pond distorted Sharon’s reflection as she meditated within a blue painted circle on the cave floor. Sofiel sat across from her in another similar circle, her legs folded in the lotus position and her crystal shining brightly. Both circles lit up with glorious blue light.
“The circle is the most powerful symbol in our universe because it represents the soul,” said Sofiel. Her eyes were closed and her body still save for the slightest movements of her short rhythmic breaths. “Pure formless energy, all magic can trace its source back to the soul.”
The pond water around them changed shape and color, bubbling into the air like hundreds of lava lamps set free. The water swirled and circled them in the form of a whirlpool and swallowed them up.
Sharon opened her eyes and discovered she and Sofiel were floating through deep space. A colorful galaxy raged in the backdrop. Asteroids shot by. Stars burned bright. She stared back in amazement and awe of the universe before her.
“Ordin, of the Elder race, was the first among us to unlock the power of the soul and reach true enlightenment,” said Sofiel, opening her eyes. “He united The Four Pillars of Existence: the flesh, the mind, the spiritual body, and the soul.”
The Crow Behind the Mirror_Book One of the Mirror Wars Page 24