by Emma Hamm
Fire danced upon the woman’s arms. Lydia gasped as a great billow of it exploded toward her, only to pass through her body as though she were not there.
Heart hammering, she followed the mob as they dragged the other woman away. Lydia’s feet glided over the earth but never touched the twigs which crunched underneath their feet. She winced when they pulled too hard at the Amazon’s skin and gasped when they ripped her clothing.
She was fighting, but Lydia had expected her to fight. This woman was a fierce adversary. Growls and shouts echoed as the Amazon ripped her arms away from them. She was so strong.
Lydia hesitated for only a moment to brush her hand over the charcoal handprint burned into a tree. Fingers dancing over the much larger mark, she sighed. There was a certain sadness to a future such as this.
Even if the woman didn’t die, she would forever live with these scars. Her own people had tried to kill her. Her own people wanted to see her die.
The other woman screamed. Lydia’s gaze snapped up, and she ran to the sound. They couldn’t be killing her already. Surely they wouldn’t be so quick? She couldn’t die. Lydia couldn’t lose this one, she was too important.
She skidded to a halt in front of a river and watched with horror. They dunked the Amazon into the raging water. Their clawed hands held her under the great current until steam rose from the churning waves.
Long strands of red hair coiled around their fists as the Amazon’s body floated to the surface.
Tears streaked down Lydia’s face. “Why?” she choked out. “Why would you make me see this?”
The bodies stopped moving. Time paused, then rewound as the Amazon’s body returned to the man’s hands who were now moving in reverse. Lydia jerked backward until she was staring at an angry mob gesturing with a torch at the Amazon who stared defiantly back at them.
Time then halted once more.
She blinked a few times, shook her head to get her bearings, and tried to piece the puzzle together. Exhaustion made such thoughts difficult. She wasn’t certain how she was supposed to make sense of a rewind when the creature in her head refused to speak.
There was a certain pattern to it. Lydia raised her hand and concentrated. If she thought about it enough, she could start time moving at a normal speed again. Every time she moved the scene forward, it would pull her back to this exact moment in time.
Lydia spent hours playing the scene forward and back. She analyzed every face until she was certain she could pick them out of a crowd. She knew the nuances of anger, sadness, and hopelessness upon the Amazon’s face.
None of these details were helpful. She had even spent quite a few minutes exploring the surrounding forest as though it might hold some kind of answer in its shadows. It did not.
Placing her hands firmly on her hips, she sighed loudly. “Alright fine. I tried to play your game. I tried to understand what you want me to know. I can’t figure it out.”
Soft hands played with her hair. White strands lifted into the air and curled on their own before she felt hands upon her own. They lifted, using her body to point a finger at the crowd.
Something was in her head. Not a person. Not a separate creature, but something she could only describe as ‘other’. It jumbled her memories until it sparked the tiniest imagination.
What if someone else was in that crowd?
The more she blinked, the more she began to see another figure standing where there had not been one before. Unassuming and dark, it lingered in the shadows behind the other.
“You want me to add someone else to this story?” she asked.
A bloom of happiness burst inside her skull. So powerful and so overwhelming, Lydia listed to the side before she caught herself. Apparently, she had made something very proud.
“Okay,” Lydia nodded. “Okay, I think I get it.”
Concentrating, she imagined another person until the form was nearly as solid as the others. It didn’t have a face, but she supposed that it didn’t really need one. Any person would done. All they had to do was say something which would change the fabric of time.
Lydia walked toward the figure and whispered words in its ear. She tried many phrases ranging from “We shouldn’t do this” to “Let her run off” but none seemed to work. No matter what she had the figure say, the ending remained the same.
The crowd did not want to be deterred from its purpose. It wanted to kill this Amazon and Lydia simply could not let them do that. Her gut screeched and her heart ached every time she watched the Amazon die. It became an obsession to save this woman, not just because the world needed her, but because Lydia couldn’t watch her die again.
“One more nudge?” She requested quietly. “Sorry. I’m pretty bad at this, but I’m trying.”
A calming heat brushed through her veins before words began to appear in her mind. She glided over to the figure she had made and whispered the suggested words in its ear.
“Let’s not kill it. Let’s lock it up.”
The faceless figure said the words loud and clear. They rang so pure through the forest that the others paused.
Like a doll, it repeated her words in a male’s voice. “Let’s stick it in a prison no one could get out of, so we might use her later.”
“A prison?” The leader of the mob turned toward her. “There’s no prison like that around here.”
“There’s the World Tree,” Lydia didn’t know how she knew that tidbit of information. It was just there for her to pluck off a branch. Like all the other threads of the future around her. “Just in case.”
This time, everything played out differently. Although they dragged the Amazon through the forest, and she left the same scorched handprint, they dragged her to a tree instead. It was so large, she could hardly fathom its existence.
The Amazon struggled. She fought with the strength of five men, but they were more than five. They tucked her limbs into the roots and didn’t listen to her pleas for mercy. Only Lydia heard them and felt the sting of guilt.
Time faded away from her. The blinding bright strands of the Future burned as they pulled her away and thrust her mind back into her body.
It was like sinking into cement. Her limbs felt heavy, her head ached, her mouth dry. But more than that, she felt accomplished.
For the first time since being kidnapped, since being turned into something other than human, Lydia had a purpose. She had justification that she was alive and should be alive. The future was at her fingertips.
Oracles could look into the future. Seers could as well. But there was no species alive who could change the future.
Her eyes blinked open through sheer will power. She wanted to be awake to enjoy her triumph.
The lights were on.
She struggled to turn her head, but she found him. Somehow, Lydia could always feel the weight of Pitch’s gaze.
He sat in the corner. Shadows blanketed his figure until he nearly disappeared into their great fog-like billows. His elbows rested against the arms of the chair and his fingers steepled before him. Mouth pressed against his pointer fingers, his eyes locked upon hers.
Lydia licked her lips. “I know Kung Fu.”
One of his eyebrows arched.
“It’s a reference to an old movie,” she advised.
“I regrettably have never had the pleasure.”
“I think I figured out how to see the future. And change it.”
“Bravo.”
Though it was a struggle, Lydia wrinkled her brow. “You don’t sound impressed.”
“Should I be?”
There was a dangerous edge to his tone. He had always been a sharp blade, but now Lydia wondered just how sharp he was.
If he wanted to frighten someone, he would do so with pleasure. There was a tension sitting on his shoulders which reeked of violence. His lips peeled back from his teeth to flash a snarl he did not try to contain. All while speaking words laced with poison.
“Are you angry at me?” she asked him.
“That’s why I’m asking.” She was begging as she laid upon her bed completely at his mercy. Her body did not respond to her silent cries to move.
“Can you lift your arm?”
He knew she couldn’t. Lydia could see it in the way his brow twitched when he asked. She attempted, but her arm did not move.
“Your finger?”
Again she tried, but to no avail.
“Perhaps you could try to do anything other than lay there?”
Now he was being intentionally cruel. She swallowed hard but couldn't shake her head to tell him no. Her lips moved, but her body did not want to listen.
“No,” Lydia whispered. “No, I can’t do any of that.”
He sighed. The evil expression which marred his usually haunting face disappeared as he passed a hand over it. The tension drained from his limbs until he slumped against the chair.
And she thought she was tired.
“What is it?” she asked him. “Why are you so angry?”
“Do you know how long you have been lying there like that?”
“No.”
“Four days.”
She blinked a few times in confusion. “I’ve been asleep for four days?”
“You’ve been so close to death! When you go into trances like that, your body slips into a coma. Your mind leaves your human body. Do you have any idea what that does?”
It made her a vegetable, Lydia thought. Nothing more than an empty shell.
“Is that why I’m so weak?”
“You’re weak because the only thing I could get into your system was an IV, and it took three days to get even that.”
Her eyes flicked down. Lo-and-behold, there was a needle in her arm. A long tube connected it to a humming machine. He had not only taken care of her, again, but he had kept her alive.
“All this, just to keep a memory alive?” The murmur slipped from her tongue before she could think about it.
The pained expression which passed across his features made her heart clench. Now it was she who was being unnecessarily cruel. Lydia had already heard him say time and time again that he knew his past lover was dead. He was taking care of her because he wanted to, not because of Sil.
Kidnappers didn’t do that.
“Not to keep a memory alive,” he murmured. “Although I will admit I do not understand it any more than you.”
She met his dark gaze and wondered what would become of them. They were a strange pair. She was losing all of her color, turning white as snow and fading into Time itself. He was growing darker every time she looked at him. The shadows curled around him until he inhaled them.
Memory burned through her mind until she winced.
“There’s a woman,” the words burst from her lips, “she will need our help.”
He arched his brow again. “A woman?”
“A red woman. Made of fire and brimstone and smelling like ashes. There will be a mob that wants to kill her and I need someone to turn their minds away from it. She needs to go away and be awakened in two hundred years.”
“The World Tree then?”
Lydia gasped. “Yes. How did you-?”
“There are few who know about the World Tree. Only myself and my head assassin know of it.”
“Leo.”
Pitch nodded. “Leo.”
“So I’m… remembering things she knew?”
He seemed at a loss for words until he stammered, “I do not know.”
“Will you help?”
“If you bid it, then it shall be done.”
He turned to leave, but words tangled upon her tongue. His hand hovered over the doorknob.
She rushed to get out, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Did I-” she licked her lips. “Did I change? More?”
Pitch turned to place his back against the door and raised a foot to thump against the solid wood. His arms crossed firmly over his chest as he looked her up and down.
“Yes.”
At least he didn’t pull any punches. She frowned and tried to move, only to remember that her body felt like it was stuck in cement. “How much of a difference?”
“A great deal.”
Lydia winced. “Is it ugly?”
“I imagine you might think so.”
She wanted to rage at that answer. She wanted to cry until she threw up and then likely cry even more.
Her eyes blinked away tears. “Do you?”
Lydia wasn’t certain why his opinion mattered so much. She didn’t need someone to tell her she was pretty, rare even when she was just a human. Now with horns growing out of her head and an additional frailty to her body, she couldn’t find herself passable.
But she wanted to know his opinion. She wanted to know what he thought of this new form with a fierceness that startled her. The fabric of her soul needed to hear what he thought.
When Pitch spoke, it was with a gentle quality she had not heard before. “No, I do not find you ugly.”
“Do I look like her?”
“Sil?” He raised a questioning eyebrow before shaking his head. “No. No she was a tall thing. Larger than life and more goddess than physical form. You are very much a child of this dimension.”
“Oh.” Lydia tried not to dwell on how disappointed she sounded. “I suppose that’s fitting, considering that I live in this dimension and she did not.”
“Why do you want to speak about her so much?”
“It seems natural to want to know who’s magic I am using.”
“You bring her up far more often than one who wants to understand magic.”
He was more perceptive than she gave him credit for. Lydia wanted to curse at herself. How had she forgotten? He saw into her mind as though she were made of clear glass.
A slow sigh parted her lips. It would be far too easy to lean on him. She wanted to tell him all her secret worries and all her fears. But that would let him in and he was a kidnapper. How could she come to trust a man like him?
Still, the worries slipped past her tongue. “I guess it’s a defense. Every time it seems like the conversation slides to me, I deflect.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I don’t really want you to know all that much about me.”
“Curious,” he muttered as his fingers twisted in the air. A cigar appeared between his pointer finger and thumb although he did not light it. “Why wouldn’t you want me to get to know you?”
“It seems dangerous, considering your relationship with Sil and -”
“And you’re doing it again,” Pitch interrupted.
Her mouth gaped open for a second before she slammed it shut. “No, you’re right. I should have caught that one.”
“Why don’t we start with something simple?”
She wanted to nod, but her body refused to do so.
“Most people would panic if they woke up and couldn’t move their body. You, however, are doing remarkably well. Why is that?”
“Oh,” she blinked. “I’ve spent a lot of my life in hospitals and with healers. I’ve never been paralyzed like this before, but I know how to stay calm when I’m sick.”
Pitch seemed incapable of speaking. His jaw dropped open for a second before shadows made his eyes turn dark. A muscle jumped on his jaw, catching her eye.
A small spark burned in the air near his hand and he raised the cigar to his mouth. Red colored smoke poured from his nose as he exhaled.
“Why?”
“Why what?” she asked.
“Why were you in the hospital?”
“My body isn’t my biggest fan. It’s allergic to almost everything, and it took a while for us to figure it out. I’ve almost died a few times because I ate things I shouldn’t. Peanut butter, shellfish, soy, milk, egg products, I could keep going on the food list. And then there’s pet dander, grass, pollen, really anything outside.”
Both his eyebrows raised. “But yo
u were at my bar.”
“I don’t see how that has anything to do with it.”
“If you’re allergic to that many things, you were most certain allergic to something in my establishment.”
“I was used to having those kinds of allergies. Living in a bubble wasn’t an option.”
“Was?”
“I should have guessed you would catch that,” Lydia grimaced. “I may have attempted to eat a large amount of peanut butter and shellfish right before you came back.”
Shadows poured from his sleeves. They coiled out from underneath the legs of his pants and stretched out of the collar of his shirt, jagged edged and sharper than any she had seen before.
“You what?” he growled.
“It didn’t work,” she rushed out. “Obviously. I’m still here. I didn’t know you were coming back and didn’t know what I had gotten myself into. You could have been a serial killer and I would not wait for you get back and crazy murder me. But something changed, I don’t know what, I’m assuming Sil. I didn’t die. I didn’t even have a twinge of a rash.”
“But you attempted it.”
“Well, yes. I wasn’t about to let you kill me!”
Lydia didn’t see him move. One moment he was leaning against the door, and the next, he was looming above her.
Pitch was darkness. Shadows traced the harsh cut lines of his cheekbones and trailed down his shoulders like long locks of hair. Anger made his expression fierce. He was so close she could smell the distinct scent of cedar and fir she now associated with him.
Great gusts of breath stirred the hair at her temples while every inhalation brought his overheated chest against her immobile one. And yet, she did not feel fear. Lydia knew she didn’t have to fear him. Though he was fierce and overwhelming, he was not dangerous. Not to her.
“You will not do that again,” his voice was guttural and ragged.
“I have no plans to do so.”
“What changed?”
“I don’t have an answer to that.”
They stared into each other’s eyes. His were dark as the night and hers pale as the moon. Lydia hovered in a world of darkness and he was the only thing holding her aloft.
His gaze shifted. His eyes lingered upon the puffed curve of her lower lip.