by Blake Rivers
She walked forward, winding through the crowd. She smiled, passing the dancers, the men with their guitars. She passed through the throngs of beautiful and happy people who laughed, danced, and sang. She picked up the tune, her lips mumbling the muffled lines of a song, Celtic maybe?
Dangerous wasn’t there, but that was okay this time. She didn’t need her for this. She could do this. She felt the power building inside her gut, lethal, poisonous, like a sickness in her belly, and now was the place and the time to release it fully. She felt it rising to the surface.
Ami closed in on the bride who was in the arms of her husband. Yes, take a tissue, a glass of bubbly, and oh what a pretty dress, have I mentioned? Such a perfect day for it too, so lucky. So sorry about your big day, I don’t know you and I wish I did. You look so beautiful, but now you’ll be hurt. So sorry about your dress and how those that are gathered will miss you. So sorry, that I’m not sorry at all.
Ami pushed her way through the crowd, forceful yet invisible in her black dress and boots. She entered the guarding circle of family and friends.
She felt the disaster of it, somewhere deep inside, felt her tragic Hero sigh as everything was lost again—but she was hungry, hungry for the colour to fade and to spill into her, for it to bleed from the canvas of contentment and enter her.
She looked into the eyes of the girl, no older than herself, whose life was about to end.
Ami pushed the power.
Something broke in the girl, and something broke inside Ami forever.
The bride fell to her knees, staring past her into oblivion.
Ami turned and left, disappearing into the crowd.
As she reached the cliff’s edge, the first scream broke out, and Ami shivered. This was her moment, when she could close her eyes and soak in the tragic loss. More screams, more cries. The music stopped forever. The sun scorched her face and the salty ocean spray kissed it cold, as all good intentions, all efforts of superficial beauty ended as they were to begin. With the artist, with the princess. With Ami.
Her brown eyes glazed to green as she watched a gull soar high above and dip down into the ocean. Without a look behind at the chaos left, Ami dived toward the horizon between two worlds. A flash of green haze bloomed for a moment, and was then gone.
Chapter Twelve
The morning started in the far east across the travelled hills, a white haze of hope that trickled down the slopes and touched the valley with its cold-morning fingers. It had opened like a timid flower, holding nothing more precious than its initial bloom, the sky an overexposed grey—ever an autumn—a bare and senseless change from the night. Hero had sat by the side of the track watching it arrive, musing on how different it looked compared to home, how close to the land and sheltered, a hostage of the hills. Even the air was different, with a fragrant and relentless wind that sought to chill and expose, though it did little in its selfish passing to mute the sickly iron taste of death. The smell of blood was ripe, though the girl had shifted the bodies into shadow long before the morning had taken hold.
He still couldn’t look behind him, though he knew he’d eventually have to. Just not yet. He would first allow Raven to mourn. The girl had been with him and had done what Hero himself could not do, comforting him in the way that only the most tender of people could do. She sat by Hero’s side now, passing him a goblet, pressing it against his folded arms.
“Here, you need this,” she said. Hero glanced at her. Her eyes were a soft blue and her hair was long, blonde and mussed across her shoulders. She smiled, a small smile on gentle lips. “Please.”
Hero took the goblet and without a word drank from it. Only water, but good.
“Thank you,” he said, “but I cannot thank you fully, without a name to call you.”
“My name is Florence,” she said as she took the goblet from him and held up a package she’d had against her chest. “Eat this. It isn’t much, just something I found in the tavern.”
Hero took it and peeled back the cloth. Inside was a slice of cake, carefully preserved, though a little stale. It was edible, and Hero was hungry. “Thank you again, Florence,” he said before taking a bite. It was fruity and good.
“Raven has had some, though I don’t think he’s eaten it. There is plenty of water. I collected it from the stream earlier, more than enough for the journey.”
Hero swallowed hard and looked back at her. She was refilling the goblet from a water skin beside her. “It seems I have much to thank you for, Florence.” He took the goblet again, but this time drank slower, savouring the coolness in this throat. “You helped us last night, you put yourself in danger to help us three strangers. Why?”
“Do people not help each other in the great land of Legacy?” she jested, though her eyes remained fixed on Hero’s.
“Sometimes,” he said, “and sometimes they attack each other, and sometimes they kill each other. But you chose to endanger yourself—”
“To help Guards of Legacy, yes,” she said, “those in need. I was close by, I could hear them making their hasty plans. I say hasty as they needed little forethought. Rogues attack any who travel at night, friend or foe. For some reason…I knew I should help.”
“A good Samaritan.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head, “no, not usually. I just knew you’d need my help.” She looked away distracted, and then took the goblet from him to refill.
Hero lifted his hand to stop her.
“Thank you, I’ve had plenty. And thank you for your help, no matter what the reason. You were impressive.”
Florence turned to Hero and smiled, but her eyes betrayed her concern and flickered behind him. Raven’s sobs were subdued but painful, and Hero closed his ears to them.
“If only it were under better circumstances that we should talk,” she said. “I am sorry for the loss of your kinsman. He was courageous in battle.”
“Yes, he was. I should have listened to him. I should not have brought us here at night.” He looked back to the east, the sun now higher and warmer, the wind bringing in clouds from the south, from the sea; already there were dark bellies to them, bruises that threatened rain.
“You will take Kane back to Legacy then? You are headed back home?”
“Yes, after Raven has—when we are ready to leave, we shall head back home with him.”
“The Captain of the Guard away from the city, travelling back in the dead of night,” she gave him a sideways glance, “you must have been on an important mission…” Hero looked away from her, listening for others, for men or horses, anything to distract him from the sound of Raven’s muffled sobs behind him. “I do not profess to know your business,” Florence ventured, “but I know that there must’ve been a good reason for your risking ambush, and in turn, a good reason why I felt inclined to wait outside a tavern, expecting one.”
Hero looked up and into her blue eyes again. This time it was Florence who looked away.
“What do you mean, expecting?” he asked.
“Like I said before, I just…knew.” She swallowed hard, and then poured herself a goblet of water. “I left my home with my sword—something I do not make a habit of doing in the dead of night—and covered it in oil, knowing I would need to set it aflame.” She spoke slowly, deliberately, her eyes on the goblet that she sipped from. “I just knew. Like I knew that for the past year I would need to practice with a sword, to be able to defeat any adversary. I would go out to the taverns and tempt the men, only so that I may fight them off later. I gained a scrupulous reputation,” she smiled at this, “not as a tease, you understand, but as a fighter. No man will go near me.”
Hero smiled a little, but the smile faded as he thought on her words. I just knew.
“Yes,” he said after some time, “we were on an important mission. One that has gone terribly wrong. One that has cost us Kane, though I blame my own judgement alone for that—for all of it, really—as we have lost more than a good man and brother, we have lost our hope.”
Hero looked out of the valley and across the hills, then back westward to the city of Legacy, hidden behind the mountains of Edorus. Florence waited patiently, and when Hero next turned to her, he told her the whole tale. By the time he’d finished, much time had passed and those people of the valley who’d risen from slumber went about their business, giving their small party a wide birth—and the blood soaked ground an even wider one. Horses were ridden far off the track, carts rumbled by in the long grasses, hitting rocks and jolting their riders.
Florence had been an attentive listener and at some point Raven had joined them, though he looked only at the ground and said nothing. He’d taken the water offered by Florence, returning the goblet with a nod.
Finally she spoke, her words carefully chosen.
“It all makes sense,” she said, and catching the look Hero gave her, she held up her hand. “Let me finish, please.”
Hero looked over at Raven, but he hadn’t moved. Their horses were tied against an apple tree behind and Hero could hear them chomping at the lower branches for the fruit.
“It all makes sense that I knew to be there last night, to help you, that your stranger-guide-girl-person told you that you must go then, right then.”
“It makes sense that Kane was to die?” Raven whispered.
“No, no, of course not,” she said, “but I think we were meant to meet. See, I am not just a Commune Valley girl, and in fact, I’m not even from here. I don’t know where I’m from. I cannot remember further back than a year ago.”
Hero turned and said, “A year?”
“Yes. My first memory is of waking upon my back and looking up at the sky. My legs were in a shallow stream, and the rest of me lay upon marshy ground. I was naked and covered in stinking mud. I had no idea who I was, where I was, or how I’d gotten there.” She paused as a horseman wandered by, tipping his hat to them in greeting. She continued. “I was scared, as you can imagine. There can be nothing worse, surely, than knowing nothing about yourself or your whereabouts, and being totally on your own. I slaked my thirst with water from the stream and then looked all around. Green marshes as far as I could see in one direction, split many times by silver streams, such as I found myself in. In another direction was the sea—a glorious sight of clear waters that ran into the sky—and then around me in all other directions were hills and far off forests. I spent a long time looking across those hills. The day was bland and grey, the sun hidden behind thick grey clouds, but there on the crest of a distant hill I could see smoke rising; and so I lathered all but my face in the muddy sludge to cover my nakedness, and set off toward it.
“As I got closer and rose to the top of the hill in question, quite worn and exhausted, I saw a small farm that nestled within a dip. There were a few animals roaming between fences, and in the middle of all was a small stone house. The smoke I’d followed came from a tall chimney to one side of it. I headed down into the dip.
“When I knocked at the door, a man and his wife answered and immediately took me in. The woman washed me and dressed me roughly in her own clothes, and they fed me heartily. I explained to them that I’d lost my memory, and didn’t know who I was, and they suggested that I travel to Legacy. ‘It is a great city,’ the woman said, ‘so big and so fine, full of people. You’re bound to be from there. I bet they’ll take you into their fold.’ I thanked them for their many kindnesses, and they gave me a walking stick to lean on and leather boots to walk in. I will forever be indebted to them and have in fact since visited them, bringing them wares from the Commune. But at that time, they pointed me in the direction of Legacy, a three day walk.”
Florence paused and drank from the goblet.
“But you never reached Legacy?” Hero asked.
“No. I came first upon this valley, and I was welcomed into its fold. I could have gone on to Legacy, but there was always something stopping me. I’ve been here the whole year.”
“And your memory? Has it returned?”
Florence looked off into the valley, watching its people trundling their carts, hurrying past. “I remember nothing before that day. I know now that the lands I woke in were the Madorus Lands, and the lands I walked through were the Planrus Lands, but I have no memory of those names before that day—no memory of anything before that day.” She looked at Hero. “But something kept me here, and something sent me out last night. Something kept me fighting for a year. And now that same something urges me to go with you, back to Legacy.”
“No,” Hero said, shaking his head, “you cannot travel with us. Our mission has far too much danger, and—”
“And I’m a girl who helped you defeat a ruthless band of rogues last night.” Florence stood up and glared down at him.
“That is different, and I am thankful, but—”
“But what, Hero?” Raven said without looking up from the ground. “We have already lost the princess, lost our hope and soon our lands. We’ve lost Kane on a fool’s run into darkness. Can we not gain something out of all of this? A companion? A fighter? A friend?”
A silence grew between them even as the valley itself descended into hushed commotion. Trading stands, dark and eerie a few hours before were now piled with fruit and vegetables, wares of wood and cloth. Voices rose on the wind, laughter and quiet mutterings. Eyes strayed toward them and rumour grew of blood stained strangers. They’d soon have to leave.
The sky was turning black. Hero could smell the storm to come.
“My better judgement tells me no,” Hero said, finally standing to meet the girl’s gaze, “and my heart still aches for the loss of our princess, who was also our companion, the first of two companions I failed to protect. How can I ask another to risk themselves under my leadership?”
“Oh, Hero,” she said, shaking her head, her blue eyes piercing, “you have failed no one, don’t you see? Someone is helping you, this stranger-girl perhaps, or maybe something even bigger. Whatever it is, it’s pushing you in all the right directions. You were told you would lose Ami and you’d have to let her go, no? You have done. You were to ride here at night and you have found me. I have been sent to help you, I know I have, and besides… You aren’t asking me to risk anything, and I never said I would be under your leadership. So, I’m going with you to the big city on the mountain. If you don’t want me,” she drew her sword and pointed it at Hero, “you’ll have to kill me.”
Raven looked between Florence and Hero, and a sound came from him that Hero thought he’d never hear again. It was quiet to start with, but soon rolled out of him like thunder. He was laughing. Laughing so hard that he rolled backward on the grass, clutching his stomach.
“What? What’s so funny?” Hero said, a smile of his own playing on his lips. Florence had also begun to giggle, though her sword remained at Hero’s chest.
“It’s just, you two, I don’t know, I—” and he was off again, his sword clinking at his side as he rolled over.
Florence eventually lowered her sword and sheathed it as her giggles turned to laughter, high pitched and sweet. Soon after, Raven stood up and braced Hero’s shoulder, then Florence’s.
“Come now, Hero, let us ride home with a friend, and cheer ourselves along the way at least, for when we arrive, we have sombre duties to perform.”
Now was the time. Hero allowed himself a look behind. His eyes found the horses, side by side and tethered to the tree, and upon one’s back, a man-shaped shroud carefully placed and tied steady. The tears burst from the dry stone of his heart and from his eyes, parading down his cheeks hot and heavy. Raven embraced him and Florence embraced them both as Hero let the last few days flow out with his sorrow.
*
The sun had risen high in the sky, peeking between two black clouds. It created a perfect slice of hopeful light that fell upon the three. Florence had gathered much from the now deserted tavern, and having roped these supplies to their horses, they were ready for the last leg of their journey.
Hero had reluctantly agreed to allow
Florence to travel with them, though he was secretly glad for her company—and her sword. His thoughts strayed to Ami as she hopped upon the back of his horse, and he felt her hands around his waist. The ache in his chest still weighed heavy, now on two counts, as beside him was Raven, carrying his fallen brother at the rear, laying crossways so as to keep the balance; Kane, shrouded in stolen white bed sheets from the tavern.
“What are we waiting for?” Raven asked, his mourning aside for the moment, his face rugged and worn but alert.
Hero looked above as the heavy clouds parted for one last gleam of sunlight before closing to darkness. The path before them now lay in shadow, the cold wind biting his flesh.
“Nothing,” he said finally. “Let’s go. Florence? Hold on tight.”
Above, a lone bird circled them and then hovered, as if watching their departure. It rose and dropped on the wind, finally flapping its wings, heading back into the Commune Valley.
*
The sound of Adam’s laughter was lost in the wind as he watched the bride fall to the ground. It had been perfect, Ami had been perfect, and she had disappeared easily into the crowd as the commotion of the wedding party turned to chaos; many swarmed around the dead girl, coming too late to her aid.
Adam had watched it play out from the water’s edge, the sun high in his eyes. It had been amusing and thrilling to watch his creation destroy beauty and innocence, but now it was over, and he scanned the cliff for his angel of death, eventually finding her standing in the shadow of the old building.
And didn’t she look magnificent?
Adam tried to compare her to the ragged girl who he’d spied on horseback just out of the Planrus Forest, or even to the girl he’d almost snatched from her little abode in another layer. He simply couldn’t. The contrast was too stark, too complex. This Ami had undergone such a change.
It had begun when he’d invaded her mind and had delved deep into her thoughts. It’d been almost too easy to penetrate her. She’d been strong, but he’d been stronger.