Cloaked

by Taylor Hobbs

  “I can’t breathe,” he repeated. “We will move faster without all this on. Take yours off, too. We have an hour at best to locate Josephine and get out before the army regains control of the situation.”

  Charlotte helped Fawkes remove his armor before turning her attention to her own. “Will the rebels continue the attack?”

  “Three explosions are a message,” Fawkes said. “But I do not think this is the entirety of their attack. I think that this was only the beginning. However, I doubt they will do anything more tonight.”

  Though her mind whirled, Charlotte didn’t press Fawkes further. Once her heavy armor was off, Charlotte felt so light she could fly. “Which way to the far tower?” she asked, and handed him his cloak.

  “This way,” he said, and they melted into the shadows.

  ****

  The castle was surprisingly empty and quiet. Charlotte guessed that after the first explosion, all the nobility were ordered to remain in their rooms for safety. The lethal pair padded silently down dark hallways, only pausing whenever a harried guard ran by, using their training to remain invisible.

  Though the castle was freezing cold, Charlotte sweated with adrenaline and anticipation. Every fiber of her being was on high alert, waiting for a surprise attack or someone to raise the alarm. There were no further explosions in the village, so their window of opportunity shrank with each passing second.

  Charlotte stuck close to Fawkes, her lungs burning as they picked up the pace, weaving in and out of small alcoves, and sometimes doubling back if Fawkes felt they went the wrong way. The most important direction for them to move was up, and they took the servant’s stairs two at a time whenever they came across a promising passageway.

  Farther back into the castle was the older section, built centuries ago. It lacked the fanfare and grandeur of the great hall and throne room near the castle entrance, but the rear of the massive building held a classic allure. It gave no hint of the horrors that lay just a few floors underneath it. Prisoners were tortured and killed in the king’s dungeon, all while nobles and courtesans traversed the smooth stone passageways high above, unable to hear the screams.

  “We’re almost there,” Fawkes murmured to her, shaking Charlotte from her dark thoughts. Charlotte couldn’t see any indication that they had reached the tower that Josephine most likely resided in, but she trusted her mentor’s instincts. They were in a dead-end hallway, with intricate tapestries lining the walls. The light from a single torch at the far end illuminated their way.

  “Start looking for the door,” Fawkes ordered. After a moment’s hesitation, Charlotte realized what he meant and began lifting the dusty curtains of fabric. While silencing a sneeze, Charlotte suddenly knew exactly which tapestry the door was behind. She motioned for Fawkes to follow her until she reached a tapestry that looked almost brand new, and most importantly, free of dust. A tapestry that had to have been moved more than the others in the recent years.

  Fawkes pulled the fabric back to reveal a thick wooden door, completely smooth except for a keyhole. He knelt down and pulled a small pin from his belt, not unlike the one Charlotte had hidden in her hair the night everything started.

  Fawkes’ hands shook as he fumbled with the pin. His wife is just beyond this door, Charlotte thought, overcome with tenderness as she looked down at the legendary Cloaked Shadow, reduced to just a mortal man over a thing as simple as a locked door. She knelt down next to him and put her hands over his to steady them. They felt ice cold, but their trembling stopped at her touch. With renewed confidence, Fawkes jiggled the pin and the door opened with a creak.

  The dark, winding staircase in front of them was all that stood between Fawkes and his wife now. He took slow, methodical steps while Charlotte followed behind, not daring to touch him. This moment was his alone. Whatever awaited Fawkes at the top of the stairs would either set him free or destroy him, but there would be no moving forward until Fawkes had an answer.

  Charlotte was selfishly torn between wishing that the rumors had been about another seer and hoping that the room was empty. But for the sake of her mentor, she hoped he would find a truth he could live with at the top of the tower.

  A soft glow of light reached Charlotte’s eyes just as she thought the tower couldn’t possibly get any higher. Charlotte heard a gruff voice, “Yer Majesty? That you?”, then a deep groan as she watched Fawkes sink his dagger into yet another unsuspecting guard. She stood with her back pressed against the curved wall as Fawkes kicked the body down the stairs, but not before taking his keys. The body tumbled past her feet and into the darkness.

  Killing the guard sharpened Fawkes’ focus. Murder brought the Cloaked Shadow into control, and nothing could stand in his way. The mission was all that mattered. This time, when he put the key in the lock, his hands did not shake. Charlotte stood back as he opened the door and walked in to meet his fate.

  Chapter Fifteen

  As she watched the man she loved step past the threshold, Charlotte remained frozen in place. After all of the planning, the training, the what-if, she was back to feeling like a helpless young girl. She had done all she could, and she could follow Fawkes no further. He had made his choice, and against all odds, they had reached Josephine. The tiny hope she had been holding onto—that the room would be empty, or it was the wrong woman—faded the longer she waited in the stairwell.

  The absolute quiet, however, started to unnerve her. Something’s wrong, she thought, and she forced her feet to move. Following Fawkes was a compulsion she couldn’t shake, as much as she wanted to be able to gracefully let him go. Charlotte stumbled through the doorway and almost crashed into Fawkes, who remained transfixed at the sight of a woman staring out of a narrow window.

  The woman wore a white sleep shirt, her black hair tinged with blue from the moonlight. It tumbled freely down to her knees in a wavy curtain. She hadn’t turned around at Fawkes’ arrival, and it appeared Charlotte’s presence didn’t bother her in the slightest either.

  Charlotte risked a glance at Fawkes, whose eyes were filled with tears. She watched his throat work up and down as he swallowed the words he was unable to speak. So it’s really her, Charlotte thought. There was a certain peace in the realization. There could be no back and forth with her and Fawkes anymore, and in a way, she was relieved. She wanted to bury the possibility so deep it could no longer torment her. But before she could, Charlotte needed to help him one more time.

  Charlotte grabbed Fawkes’ hand and gently tugged him forward. The tears that had pooled in his eyes finally fell, streaming down his cheeks as he let the woman from his present lead him back in time to greet the woman from his past.

  Fawkes looked at Josephine like she was a ghost, and he seemed afraid to touch her. Charlotte gave his hand a reassuring squeeze while her own tears ran down her face. Then she released him and stepped back.

  The dreamy reunion between husband and wife turned into a nightmare the second Fawkes touched Josephine’s shoulder. Charlotte watched as the contact ripped a destructive path through the waif-like woman, transforming her into a shrieking banshee.

  Hair and fists flying, Josephine turned and attacked Fawkes like a rabid animal. She clawed at him with long fingernails, landing bloody scratches on his skin as he tried to restrain her without hurting her.

  “Josie! Josie! It’s me. It’s Fawkes. You’re okay. I’m here,” he yelled above the screams. Her battering refused to slow, so Charlotte stepped in and grabbed Josephine’s arms from behind and pinned them to her sides.

  Blood oozed from a particularly nasty scratch on Fawkes’ cheek, but he gave it no notice as he looked upon Josephine in agony and wonder. “What did they do to you?” he murmured, reaching out to stroke her face. He pulled his fingers back just in time, as Josephine’s teeth gnashed too close for comfort.

  Josephine struggled against Charlotte’s hold but wore herself out quickly. Her body sagged and her head fell forward against her chest. “Do to me, do to me! What does anyth
ing do to one? Chitter-chatter, pitter-patter. Like underground birds in winter. Cold. Cold. So cold,” Josephine ranted. Dropping too fast for a surprised Charlotte to catch her, Josephine sat down on the bare floor. She hugged herself, mumbling, and refused to look at either Fawkes or Charlotte.

  Fawkes lowered himself to his haunches in front of Josephine. Charlotte followed his lead and did the same. “I’m not going to hurt you, Josie,” Fawkes said. “Not even going to touch you. I just want to see you.” He choked back a sob. “You are here. And alive.”

  His tears must have reached something deep inside of Josephine, because her ranting and rocking suddenly stopped. She looked straight at him and cocked her head, as if the sound was familiar. Her hair fell to the side, revealing an empty eye socket that Charlotte hadn’t noticed before. The gaping hole was a dark shadow in an otherwise pretty face. It seemed bottomless, reflecting the depths of her hopelessness inside. It held horrors and secrets neither one of them could begin to comprehend.

  Josephine’s intact eye twitched back and forth between the two faces in front of her. A long scar ran though the eyelid, from her eyebrow to her cheekbone. Charlotte wondered if Josephine had done it to herself. Did she try to claw her own eyes out?

  The small room surrounding them held very little. There were no utensils, sharp objects, or anywhere with which to hang a rope. A bare mattress lay on the floor. The only allowances Josephine had been given were books. A modest stack of books lay in the corner, with a fine layer of dust over them. How many times had she read them before her sanity left her? Charlotte doubted they had been touched in quite some time, and now stood as a sad reminder of who Josephine used to be. What a mind she had, and now that brilliance had been undone by torturous years.

  “That’s it,” Fawkes murmured, entranced as recognition flashed across Josephine’s face.

  “Fawkes?” she whispered, mouth agape. She reached out a hesitant hand and cupped his cheek before her hand trailed down his scar in wonder. Charlotte could barely watch the tender moment exchanged between them, but she couldn’t look away. Josephine had them all under her spell.

  Now that Josephine seemed to understand that they weren’t hallucinations, her sanity steadily gained the upper hand. “You’re here. You’re alive. I’ve called for you, night after night. You finally heard me. I knew you weren’t dead, no matter what they told me. I knew you would come to free me.”

  “Our home—the fire. I thought you died. When I found out you were alive, nothing could keep me from you. I had to come and save you.”

  Josephine shook her head. “My dearest Fawkes, my sweet husband. You are here to free me. Not to save me. I cannot be saved, not after what I have done.”

  Confusion rendered Fawkes silent as he tried to discern what Josephine was telling him. Charlotte, though she hated to intrude on their moment, grasped her true meaning instantly. “No one has done something so horrible that they cannot be redeemed,” Charlotte assured Josie. “They forced you to use your gifts, right?”

  Josephine nodded, tears filling her single, dark-brown eye. Fawkes grabbed her hand, and this time, Josie did not pull away. He leaned toward her in earnest. “It was their fault. The people who took you, who forced you. Whatever you had to do, it was not your fault.”

  “I see them all,” Josephine said, retreating back into herself. She focused on something outside of reality. “Every one of them that I condemned. Every person who died because of what I did not have the strength to keep secret. Their suffering, and their screams. People sentenced to death because of what I saw them committing in the future, actions that had not come to pass. And they didn’t understand as they went to their graves. Names, names, names! All have run together in my head. They will not give me a moment’s peace. Their numbers have grown so I cannot hold them off. They will consume me.”

  “No!” Fawkes shouted, vehement. Josephine flinched at his outburst. “We will get you out of here,” he promised. “We have to move quickly.”

  “It’s too late,” Josephine said calmly. “But it is for the best. It is what I want.”

  “It is not too late. Come,” Fawkes ordered, gathering her up in his arms. Josephine relaxed in her husband’s arms, and gazed at his face, as if memorizing it. Her face glowed with love for him as she allowed herself this embrace, as if it was the only thing she had been waiting for.

  “They are coming up the tower,” she told Fawkes. “There are too many soldiers. They have come for me. But I will no longer give them what they demand. Fate forced me to wait, and now I see why. My greatest wish came true, to see you one last time. Now I am fulfilled. But I must pay retribution, the souls demand it. I only wish I could have been stronger for you, my sweet husband.”

  Fawkes shook her roughly. “Josie, you are not making sense. You have been the one to suffer, and King Otan will pay retribution, I swear to you. Now that I have you, we can restore you to health. Together.”

  Josie looked at him with proud resignation. “That was never your true purpose for coming here. I’ve just had another vision. It is for me to tell you that they will do it again, murdering hundreds for their cause. It is your purpose to know it, and to stop it. You must stop the senseless violence and protect the innocent. This is my last gift to you. You’ve pulled me out of the darkness long enough for me to do what I must. To be of sound mind as I take my final journey. This has been your last gift to me.”

  “Fawkes…” Charlotte said, fear gripping her as she started to put the pieces together, of Josephine’s possible intent.

  “Your cloak,” Josephine said, interrupting Charlotte and drawing Fawkes’ attention back to her. “You’ve worn it well. The fabric tells many stories, some good and some bad. But a different redemption is in your future, and we must diverge.” Fawkes’ wife ran her hands over the dark material, and he shuddered under her touch. “I sewed it to keep you safe, to keep you hidden from prying eyes. I wove my magic and my love for you into it. It held you when I could not.” Her fingers paused at his chest, just above his heart. Josephine’s gaze darted from her husband’s face to Charlotte’s, and she gave her a soft smile.

  “Take care of him,” she whispered to Charlotte. Josephine shuddered, blinking as she tried to refocus. “My hold in this reality is slipping,” she said, addressing both of them. “I don’t have much longer before my mind disappears again.”

  “I’ll bring you back to yourself as many times as it takes. Nothing will ever hurt you again,” Fawkes vowed.

  “Do not weep for me; rejoice that I will be free. Promise me.” Josephine’s hands dropped to Fawkes’ waist, drawing him in even closer in their embrace. “You have already mourned me once. Do not do it again. We have been given the gift of closure and goodbyes. The time for sadness has passed.”

  “Josie, I do not understand what you are talking about, my love. If this is the madness speaking, we will find a way to cure it.” He cradled the back of her head in his hand, as if reassuring himself that even though her mind might disappear again, the woman he loved would still be in there somewhere.

  Josephine broke the embrace and stepped back, and alarm bells starting ringing in Charlotte’s head, while Fawkes looked hurt and confused at Josephine’s sudden withdrawal. Charlotte saw the silver flash of the dagger, pulled from Fawkes’ belt, a moment before Fawkes did. She cried out a warning. “No!”

  Both Charlotte and Fawkes lurched toward Josephine, whose gaze was locked on Fawkes with a contented smile on her face. An instant after the dagger was raised, too quickly for them to stop her, Josephine plunged it into her own heart. A small sigh escaped the seer’s lips as she tumbled to the floor.

  Fawkes embraced Josephine an instant before she hit the stones, blood pooling beneath them, soaking his cloak. With the exception of the hilt protruding from her chest, it looked for all the world like his wife was merely asleep. The haggard pain that defined Josephine’s face had vanished. The girl that Fawkes had married so long ago gracefully took over Josephine�
�s body as it was freed in death, pushing away the remnants of a mad and tortured woman.

  “Josie. Wake up, Josie,” Fawkes sobbed. “I just got you back. I cannot lose you again! Why, why, why would you do this?”

  Charlotte wanted to offer words of comfort, but no sound emerged from her open mouth. She had tried to stop it. Why hadn’t she knocked the dagger from Josephine’s hand? Why hadn’t she been quick enough? The warning signs were there. Charlotte had known that something bad was going to happen and had tried to warn Fawkes. A million alternative scenarios flooded her brain as she watched her mentor cradle his dead wife. If only she had been better, stronger, faster.

  Regret hit her like a punch to the stomach. Instead of helping the man she loved, she had only succeeded in bringing him unimaginable pain. It’s all my fault, she thought. She had told Fawkes his wife was still alive, helped bring him here, and then stood idly by while Josephine killed herself. And now there was nothing Charlotte could ever do to make it right, and she would never forgive herself.

  She couldn’t move away from the tragedy in front of her. Fawkes seemed to have forgotten Charlotte was there as he stroked his dead wife’s face. His tears slowed, and a numbness overtook his features. Both Fawkes and the Cloaked Shadow were nowhere to be found, and Charlotte didn’t recognize the man with the thousand yard stare.

  A muffled shout from the stairwell snapped her back to herself. Listening hard, she could hear the heavy steps of multiple men climbing the tower. Josephine was right—the guards were coming for the seer, and had no doubt stumbled upon Fawkes’ unfortunate victim at the bottom of the stairs.

  Separating herself from her panic, she analyzed the facts of their situation. Save for Fawkes’ dagger, and a small knife hidden in her boot, they had no other weapons to speak of. The rest were in a pile of discarded chain mail on the other side of the castle. She could determine no other way in or out of the tower but down the stairs. They were cornered. She had no idea how many soldiers were on their way up here, but knew that she and Fawkes were already outnumbered. With the Cloaked Shadow in play, they could possibly stand a chance, but one look at Fawkes told her that his alter ego was long gone. He wouldn’t even put up a fight if a sword was pointed at him. In fact, she suspected he would welcome it.