by Lucy Smoke
No! You’ve pushed too far! The inky man’s voice registers a second before the boy dives for the gun.
“Shit.” My blade slices across the old man’s throat as I duck and jump forward, slamming my head into his belly. His gun rises and a shot goes off, the sound a loud ricocheting boom over the quiet nature setting.
I hear a strangled gasp from the father as I land, half over him, half on the ground. Skinny hands wrap around my biceps and yank me back and the piglet struggles to roll to his feet. Twisting my arms to break the Spider’s grip, I slam my elbow up into his face.
He lets out a strangled cry before clutching his nose as blood begins to pour.
“You little bitch!” he screams. He raises his arm and aims his pistol in my direction.
My thoughts are sprinting a mile a second, panic crowding in. His gun is still up, aiming at me and when I move forward a scream pierces my thoughts. I look around. Spider is still on the ground, moaning and clutching his face. Their father is sprawled out, his neck slit from one side to the other, blood slipping to the ground beneath him. I realize it’s the piglet as the gun drops from his hand and he screams in pain. Blood slides over his fingers, as something long and wooden sticks out from between his knuckles. A sharp jagged and obviously hand sharpened rock is strapped to the long wood piece and dirty duck feathers wilt from the opposite end of it.
“Nerys!” I turn to the outraged cry. Titus stands at the top of the hill, pointing downward with an awkward looking scrap bow in one hand. His chest rises and falls in a quick rhythm that I can see from here. “Get the fucking gun!”
I spring into action and bat his uninjured hand out of the way as we both reach for it. I stomp on his foot and bring the butt of the gun down on the back of his head before I back away.
Titus is running down the hill at full speed, hands now freed. When he draws near, he grabs me and hauls me close, inspecting my skin. There are a few bruises on my knuckles and one on my elbow, but other than that I’m perfectly fine. Once he’s reassured himself, he points for me to grab my clothes and dagger. He takes the gun from my hand, standing watch over the men on the ground until I return, dressed with the cloak around my shoulders.
“Go,” Titus snaps, still pointing the gun at the piglet and Spider as we back away. Once we’re at the top of the hill, he tucks the gun into his waistband and we sprint back to the barn.
“Where did you get the bow and arrow?” I ask as we reach the front doors.
He stops and bends over with his hands on his knees. “I made it,” he pants before standing to his full height. “Now tell me,” he starts out calm before his face morphs and the facade drops. “What the hell were you doing?!”
“What’s going on?” The barn doors open and Coen and Holden step out.
“Nerys almost got herself shot and killed,” Titus fumes.
“What?!” They shout at the same time. Two sets of eyes zero in on me, examining for injury.
“I’m fine,” I assure them.
“What happened?” Coen steps forward and discretely moves so that he is between Titus and I.
I huff, crossing my arms. “Three guys showed up as I was getting ready to leave the river–”
“What were you doing at the river?”
“She and I were there to clean off,” Holden answers. Coen whirls to him.
“And you didn’t think to stay and make sure she was safe?!”
“I was giving her some privacy,” he defends. “And I ran into Titus on the way back and sent him her way just in case. I was only gone maybe fifteen minutes.”
“It’s not his fault,” I snap, drawing Coen’s attention again. “Besides, it was fine. I had it under control.”
“They had a gun,” Titus says. I groan as Coen loses it.
“They had a fucking gun?!” He looks incredulous. “Were they soldiers?” Titus shakes his head as he pulls it out and shows them.
“Highwaymen,” he answers. Coen’s shoulders lower a bit, but his whole body is still rigid as he glares at the offending piece of metal before turning back to me. “You are not going anywhere without one of us with you at all times, do you understand?”
“That’s ridiculous, I could have handled it,” I argue.
“You could’ve been hurt,” Titus says. “I agree with Coen. You can’t go anywhere without us with you.”
“And you’ll need more self-defense training,” Coen adds.
“I’ll take more training,” I say reasonably. “But, you are not my bodyguards.”
“They have a point, Nerys,” Holden says. “You could’ve been in a lot of trouble.”
“I was taking care of it!” I snap. “I don’t need you three watching every little move I make. I was fine. I still am fine. I will be fine. I’m not some poor little girl that you need to take care of. I know how to take care of myself!”
“Well maybe if you thought for once instead of–” Coen starts.
“Oh no,” I snap, pointing my finger at Coen and jabbing it into his chest. “You do not blame this on me.”
“I’m not blaming anything on you,” he says with hands raised in surrender. “I just mean that maybe you could think before you act. You only got away because Titus was there.”
“I did think!” My face is on fire now, my rage boiling up. “I-” I stop, freezing as a sudden realization comes spiraling into my mind. “Gods…” My voice is barely a whisper as what I’ve done slams into my soul. “I-I think I killed one of them.”
“You what?” Holden and Coen’s shocked faces are all I see. Titus is behind them and he’s silent as he watches on.
“The older one. I think I killed him.”
“Nerys, are you sure?”
“I–” Was I? I had sliced his neck, but he was still bleeding when we left. Does that mean he was still alive? It hadn’t been very deep. “I don’t know. Maybe,” I stutter out.
Holden looks to Titus, “Should we go back and check?”
“You’re right,” I say. They were. The only reason I was able to get away was because of Titus. If it weren’t for him, I would have been shot. Coen’s gray eyes capture mine and he nods to them.
“Go check.” They are gone in the next heartbeat and I’m left standing outside the ramshackle old barn with him, alone.
“Nerys…” I pull my hand away from his chest and stomp into the barn. “Nerys,” he says again.
“What?”
“You could have really been hurt.”
“I know.” I wonder what Titus and Holden will find. A body? A part of me worried that’s exactly what they would find. But, another part of me… I look at Coen. “I’m not sorry,” I say. “They were going to hurt me.”
“I know, sweetheart.” He comes up behind me, big palms resting on my shoulders, making me feel small, making me feel protected. I hate that I like it.
“Why am I not sorry?”
“You were just defending yourself.” He touches my hair and I know that that’s the crux of it. He wants me to remain innocent, untouched by the violence of the world. Well, I was born and raised in King Matric’s kingdom. I know about violence. Especially from King Matric himself when the inky man’s previous host had been executed for simply existing. I know violence and no amount of wishing on his part is going to erase that.
When Holden and Titus return, they shake their heads at Coen and he lets loose a relieved sigh. I don’t know why, but it feels like for guys we just met a few nights ago there’s already an air of established understanding between us. It doesn’t feel bad, just the opposite. It feels like we’ve already known each other for much longer.
Instead of leaving for Ragnarok immediately like we agreed, we decide to spend another night in the barn. The guys skin the rabbits that Titus and Coen had hunted and roll the spoils back into the meat bags to keep them fresh for the road. I take Holden’s spot up in the loft and ignore them for the rest of the night, keeping my now dried cloak around me and my dagger close.
Chapter
3: Ragnarok
There are hundreds, if not thousands, of people waiting to get through the gates of Ragnarok. My feet ache, my legs sore from so much walking, but even I can’t help mustering up at least a little bit of excitement. People arrive in wagons, on horseback, on foot, some even have motor vehicles. Those people are let in first. I’ve never seen such a large crowd. It’s like the entirety of Matric’s City in one place, but with more people.
We pass through the gates without much fanfare. Officers stride around in starched dark clothing, directing the foot traffic as best they can. Everything is shiny. My eyes bounce around, trying to take it all in. I hear Coen’s intake of breath and someone else’s, but I don’t know if it’s Titus or Holden. Maybe Coen and the guys were right. The city is fast paced and filled with people and none of them care to stop or look at us.
The safety of the crowd and anonymity lulls me. Like a small bug drawn to flame, I feel drawn to the various baubles and glittering stones imbedded in surfaces surrounding us, building walls, tables set up on the sidewalks, even pierced through the skin of a few strange creatures passing by.
Horses and motor vehicles line the cobbled streets. A woman passes me and I notice an orange-scaled tail flicking out from beneath the bottom of her modest skirt. I don’t even glance back at the group, I’m too mesmerized by the surroundings. Musicians stretch around corners, battling each other for the prime territories and Coen nudges me away even as I try to stop and watch and listen. I’m on sensory overload.
Holden laughs at my enthusiasm.
Titus simply takes it all in with what I’m coming to expect as his quiet intensity.
I readjust my bag as a strand of hair pulls free from the gathered bun beneath my hood and blows in my face. I pay it no mind as I continue my sightseeing.
Grand, arching staircases lead from the sidewalks and streets into various buildings. Some I can tell are rich dwellings because of the painted gold creatures sitting on either side of their entrances. A few are stuck between some sort of expression that is a mixed yawn and roar. Others must be used for businesses and trading places because people are constantly packing themselves into those buildings in one door and spilling out of another.
“She’s like a puppy,” Holden comments as Coen once again pulls me close when a herd of people march past handing out flyers and flowers. A few are shoved into my arms. I tuck a flower into my hair and continue on. The smells are delicious, fresh citrus fruits are being sold on the sidewalks and flower shops are open for business. Even the stink of so many people crowded together can’t mask the other, more pleasant scents.
“Can you blame her?” Titus says
Holden gestures to Coen. “He’s managing to keep himself reined in.”
I drown them out as I glimpse something glimmering in the middle of the street. Between the two sides where one crowd is coming and the other is going, a small rivulet of water runs down the middle of the stone. I follow it for the longest time, the guys trailing behind me, chuckling at my wonder. Don’t they realize that this place is magical? There are so many colors and people. The differences are astounding, more than I’ve ever seen before. Going from a sea of white rows of houses and the same old people and the same old smells every day to this is an experience.
The little river eventually meets the mouth of a six-tiered fountain in the middle of a square set up much like a mini sized market. My eyes widen when I notice three other rivers breaking off around the circle. I start to follow those too, when an arm grabs me and yanks me back as a horse races past nearly colliding with where I would have been. I stare up at Coen and his grip relaxes.
“Maybe it’s time we pay your friend that visit,” he says to Holden. I blush when I realize all three guys are watching me with rapt attention and Holden nods in agreement. My shoulders tense and my mouth dries up. Their eyes follow me even as I walk close to them for the rest of the journey. Tingles shoot up my spine. Their continued curious glances have my pulse jumping. I try to distract myself with counting the stones under our feet and it works for a time. Coen chuckles and I stop mouthing each number to turn around and glare at him as my skin grows warmer. At least I’m not the only one enjoying myself.
Holden leads us to an enormous marble stone building. To my surprise, there are no golden creatures guarding the front entrance. The building itself resembles the home of a nobleman I once delivered letters to for the holy women who raised me. The shape and outline of the massively tall building is familiar, but once we reach the inside, it’s a different feeling. The nobleman’s house had been stiff and formal, leached of any color. The inside of this building is overflowing with color. Drapes hang from beams in the lobby, wrapped around the limestone pillars. The ceiling is made of glass that simply elevates the brightness of each individual drape and curtain. I can’t see the floors above though, there’s a mossy green covering that turns the glass into a mirror. We walk forward under our own reflections.
“What is this place?” I whisper, trying not to echo.
Holden chuckles, the sound musical and filled with amusement. “It’s kind of like a dormitory,” he answers. It’s not like any dorm I’ve seen. Not like the guard dorms in a rundown part of Matric’s palace because those dorms were small and damp and smelly. This dorm is massive, and I’m relieved to learn that Holden’s friend only lives in one part of it. Even if that part is much larger than the small cubes of space like the guards’ quarters were.
We take a set of stairs that look like frozen blocks of watered down paints, swirling with rainbow cracks, up to the third floor. Coen, I notice, is just as interested in observing our surroundings as I am, though he’s a bit more subtle at it. We stop in front of a plain white oak door and Holden knocks.
Him. The inky man’s smoke filled voice is overjoyed. His exuberance beats against my chest as the door opens and the relief sags into my bones.
Two giants fill the doorway. They are massive, taller than even Coen. That in of itself is a feat. Built like stone walls, their dark, almost black hair is buzzed short along the sides and left long on top. Square jaws and heavy green eyes, greener than the bottom of an algae filled pond, peer out from beneath a row of lashes matching the hair on their heads.
“What the—?” Holden begins.
“Holden!” one of the boys interrupts. He erupts forward enveloping Holden in an awkward, albeit warmth-filled, hug.
Him? I think. There are two of them.
“Luca! Back off!” One of the boys pulls the other away and I laugh at the expression on the one being yanked backwards. “Sorry,” the other explains. “He doesn’t usually meet new people. He’s excited.”
“Booker?” Holden stares openly in shock and I assume that this addition of an extra friend was not planned. “Who is this?”
“He’s my very difficult ward,” Booker, the one with what I assume is the other–Luca’s–shirt in his palm, says with a massive sigh. He punctuates his “very” with another yank backwards and Luca reaches out with both hands wanting another hug. “He’s my familiar.”
“You have a familiar?” How’d he know my name?” Holden’s confused face is priceless as if he’s unsure which boy he should help.
The one doing the pulling grunts. “My memories—he knows–ugh!—what I know–” He heaves once more, yanking the cute, cuddly giant back once more. “Let go! You can hug them when they’re inside.” He turns back to us with exasperation. “Please, won’t you come inside?”
Luca tops struggling and instead urges the four of us into the brightly lit hallway on the other side of the door. Once the door is closed behind us, Luca attacks me once more, his arms pulling me into a strong chest as one hand reaches up and pats my hair, loosening the bun. I’m a full head shorter than him. The top of my head grazes his shoulders.
“Pretty daimon,” he says. Booker, pauses, facing the opposite direction down the narrow hall, and slowly turns back to us.
“What did you say?” he demands.
&n
bsp; “She’s a pretty daimon.” Luca continues petting my hair as though I’m a small domesticated animal in need of cuddling.
Maybe the guys were right and I am more puppy than human because his warm body is actually quite comfortable, lulling and soothing me and making me sleepy. When I lean into his embrace, he grins and squeezes me again. I decide immediately that I like him. He’s way too sweet to not adore. The guys glance back and forth between us, Coen frowning deeply in confusion.
“Are you sure?” Booker asks. Luca doesn’t answer this time, he just nods his head once before resting his cheek against the top of mine. Booker sighs before glancing at Holden. “What have you gotten into this time?”
“Me?” Holden splays one hand over his chest. “I’m innocent.” I snort as Luca continues to pat my hair. I haven’t known him for long, but innocent is not a word I would use.
Holden follows Booker deeper into the apartment with Titus at his back. Coen is beside himself as he hovers over Luca and me. I laugh and push Luca away when after another squeeze to my sides, Coen looks ready to commit murder.
“Maybe we should introduce ourselves,” I say. “I’m Nerys.”
“I’m very happy to meet you,” Luca smiles. The inky man is quiet when I’m near him. There are no more announcements of “him” or the like. Despite that, it seems as though Luca already knows something about me.
Luca takes my bag and sets it aside before he leads Coen and me towards the others. Their voices grow louder, Holden and Booker’s especially as we draw nearer. The hallway opens up into what I can only describe as a luminescent greenhouse. The windows arch up to the ceilings–also glass–and I can just picture myself laying out on one of the white couches that break up the rows of plants that decorate the space while it rains and water pours along the outside. A shiver chases up my spine as the inky man pokes his head into my thoughts.
Homecoming feels the same as the spring rainfall, is all he says.
Great. I sigh. That makes total sense. Care to elaborate?