AshesAndBlood

by Katie Zaber

  “We looked for you. It’s been a long time,” one of them says. “Years wasted, so much time spent chasing a legend, a myth. Finally, here you are, right in front of me. So close. Glad I wasn’t wasting my time, my resources, and our… sanity.”

  Ten feet away, one of the four floating giants sheds the shadows. Or the shadows melt away from him—it’s hard to tell. His hood covers part of his face down to his eyes. Wrapped around his mouth and nose is a black scarf. The whites of his eyes are the only part of his body I can see. He looks like a giant floating ninja. “You sure she’s the one?”

  The one who spoke about me being a myth responds, “Yes, it’s her. Can you feel her—”

  A bomb of light detonates five feet in front of me.

  I fly backward through the air, blinded by a brilliant white light. It sears into my eyes and I can’t see anything except white as the pain resonates throughout my skull. My body slams into a wall, knocking the breath out of me and cracking my right shoulder and ribs—they absorb most of the impact. Intense pain shoots from my head to my hip. I struggle to breathe. My right side feels crushed. Every breath is agony. A rib might have punctured my lung.

  A second later, the white diminishes to complete utter darkness. It’s as if all the light was sucked from my sight, leaving my vision a dark void.

  I grasp for anything to regain my balance. I can’t lie down. I have to move. Somehow, there’s still strength in me, even if my eyes and lungs won’t work. My feet wobble as I attempt to stand, braced by the wall I hit. The pain is unreal. I’ve experienced nothing like this before. All I want is not to move—but that’s not an option.

  “Megan!” Dana yells.

  No.

  She can’t be here. They will kill her. I have to lead the hooded floaters in the other direction. Run away from the barn house toward the woods where the nunda can tear them apart. I scream in her direction as loud as I can—but it comes out an airy sigh.

  ***

  “No, Dana!”

  Alert and ready to swing, I flail my arms at anyone and everyone around me. Strong, familiar tree trunk arms stop me, guiding me gently back into a bed. Fuzzy warm blankets have me tucked in tight.

  “You’re safe. You’re home. Everyone’s safe. Lie down, calm down. Don’t move. How do you feel?” Kevin asks, gently letting go of my arms.

  I can’t open my eyes. Frantic, my hands grasp for them, but I find bandages. What happened to my eyes? I tear at the bandages, afraid my vision is gone forever. I must open my eyes. I can’t lose my sight. To stumble around this world blind is a death sentence. I will need a nurse twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week—a burden on everyone. I should have died in the street and ended it.

  I hear multiple footsteps dash up the stairs and run across the room as Kevin holds down my arms and hands. Someone puts pressure on my right arm, allowing Kevin to shift his body so he only has to hold down my left.

  “Stop. You’re going to hurt yourself. Let me help.” It is Dana’s voice.

  Her hands carefully unwind the bandages. I can feel a bruise from my shoulder down to my thigh. It doesn’t hurt so bad to breathe shallow breaths. It no longer feels as if someone crushed the right half of my chest.

  “What happened?” a gruff voice asks.

  Why is Brynjar here? I remember the walk home from Blue’s, but I don’t really remember anything after the light bomb, except hearing Dana’s voice. I ask, “How many people did they hurt, kill?”

  “Nobody. Everyone is safe. What happened? Who attacked you?” Sarah’s voice wavers between fury and rage. She can’t comfort, she doesn’t know how.

  So the Fae left everyone else unscathed. Did they throw the ball of light? On the other hand, did someone else throw the light bomb? Did it hurt them as much as me, causing them to flee the scene before my friends arrived?

  “Give her a minute. She’s just waking. She hasn’t even opened her eyes!” Dana’s done removing the bandages and her hand takes mine, giving me a loving squeeze. “Take your time. Relax. You don’t have to open your eyes yet if you don’t want to. You don’t have to talk if you’re not ready.”

  What does she think happened? “How am I here?”

  “We heard you scream. I found you outside the house. How do your eyes feel?” Dana’s gentle hand touches my face. Her fingers glide around my eyes, delicately touching the dark puffy pillows below them, then circling around my eyebrows.

  “Like someone popped them. I’m scared to open them. What time is it? How long have I been out?”

  “About four hours. It isn’t dawn yet,” Kevin says.

  “Megan, why did you run away from me?” Dana asks.

  I give Dana’s hand a squeeze. My best friend, who is closer to me than my sister is, almost died because she came to my aid. I wouldn’t have been able to save her, and it would have killed me to find out they hurt her or, worse, she died coming to my rescue.

  “When I heard your voice, I was so scared they would kill you. They seemed to want me, not you, or anyone else. I thought everything would end if they took me. No more pain, no more attacks—”

  “Stop. Get that shit out of your head.” Dana punches my left arm. Thankfully, she’s not on my right side. “We fight together. Always have, always will. You hear me! No matter how bitchy you get.” Her voice is shaky like she’s crying.

  “What do you remember?” Brynjar asks. I can sense his presence. He looms over Dana’s shoulder.

  “Four tall men hid in the shadows. I never saw their faces. They taunted me and said they’ve searched for me and waited. They must have me confused with someone. I think they were Fae.”

  Everyone sucks in a breath.

  “How?” Brynjar asks.

  “They floated.” Chills run down my spine. The assholes called me a myth, a legend. I’m not telling anyone about that. I’m disturbed by the whole experience. I don’t want them to think I’m insane.

  “Hmm. Blow out the candles. Open your eyes, slowly.” Brynjar doesn’t ask. It’s a demand.

  After they extinguish the candles, I gradually open my eyes. Everything and everyone is a fuzzy blur. I can’t make out anything, only blobs. The colors are wrong. It looks like what I’d see on an acid trip. All the colors seep together, making tie-dye blob shapes. I can’t tell what’s around me. I can almost tell human shapes stand around the bed. Over the tie-dye blob people, colorful lightning streaks across the room. All the colors aren’t normal. Bright neon shades, intense colors that make me feel ill. Part of me knows it isn’t real, but the other part sees them. An electric neon blue light hits a human blob and all that runs through my head is that we are under attack.

  “No!” I scream.

  Kevin holds down my right side. Another pair of strong arms pushes down my left while Dana reapplies the bandages. Once she is finished, both sets of arms let go. She gingerly strokes my left arm, trying to calm me. Kevin’s rough hands grasp my right, reassuring me all is okay.

  “See anything?” Brynjar asks. His voice sounds softer, more concerned.

  “Am I on an acid trip? Everything is a tie-dye blur. All the colors aren’t right, they bleed into each other with flashes of lightning. It looks like we are under attack. I don’t know what I’m seeing. My stomach—I’m nauseous.” It’s hard not to cry and throw up at the same time. The pain intensifies on my whole right side. My ribs hurt the most, besides my eyes. I’ve never had eye pain. I’ve experienced migraines, but I’ve never had eye pain. It feels like they’re popped or deflated.

  “Stay in the dark. Let your eyes and body heal. A week in bed. Nothing is broken, only bruised.”

  “Where are you going?” Kevin demands.

  “To think.” Heavy footsteps walk away from the bed and down the stairs.

  “We’ll be downstairs. Call if you need anything.” Kevin gives my hand a squeeze before he follows Brynjar.

  Two other hands pat my feet; must be Xander and Tristan. More footsteps leave the room to piece together what happ
ened during the last two days.

  Ciara cracks her knuckles. It’s the only hint she’s in the room. She sounds far away, by the door perhaps. “Are you hungry or thirsty?”

  “Ciara, I’m so sorry. I was a bitch. I wanted to come home and apologize, make you breakfast.”

  “Megan”—her feet rush across the room—“if you died, and that was the last thing I said…” she cries.

  I hear someone clear their throat, I’m guessing Sarah. “That guy you’re seeing should have walked you home. He should have never let you leave so late. If I ever meet him, I swear—”

  “Sarah, I left him passed out. He didn’t know I left. It’s not his fault.”

  She stifles a cry. She wants to fight. She’s a born fighter, so comforting people doesn’t come naturally to her. I can’t blame her. It isn’t my expertise either. It makes me feel awkward when I try to comfort someone. The words come out wrong and I get tongue-tied.

  “I’ll be fine. I just have to have more quiet nights at home.”

  “You should invite your mystery man here—make him walk alone in the dark.” Sarah’s mad at Blue because she has no one else to blame or punish. I hope for his sake that she doesn’t meet him.

  “You know how I feel about relationships. He started asking questions tonight. I want to fuck and have fun. Why does it have to get emotional?”

  “Stop trying to fight yourself. It is okay to let a guy in. He might even be the one. Maybe our true loves weren’t in our world. Maybe they are in this one,” Ciara says, making me want to throw up, and she knows it.

  I wonder if that’s keeping her together. If she’s convinced herself the reason we are here is to find our true loves, our knights in shining armor.

  On second thought, I will be sick.

  Chapter Eleven - Kevin

  “What do you know?” I ask.

  “Sit down. Drink,” Brynjar mumbles.

  “Fuck you. What is happening?” The last part was louder and with more gusto than intended.

  It made the whole den echo.

  Brynjar doesn’t move. He sits with his back toward me in silence. He stares into the fire, deep in thought, puffing on his pipe.

  No one else speaks as we sit by the fireplace. It crackles and pops, making the only noise. The flames cast ominous shadows on the walls from various objects in the den. I imagine what each shape is, a darker game compared to cloud watching, something—anything—to distract my mind. The monsters and demonic entities born from the shadows of the chairs and candelabras are in continuous motion as they jump from one surface to the next. They change every few seconds, depending on the fire’s height.

  I swear that out of the corner of my eye, I see one that is standing still. It doesn’t flicker or dance like the other shadows against the walls. It appears almost solid. Too tall to stand upright, its back is hunched. It tilts its head as if listening to our conversation, or lack of. Its long limbs and fingers look like a tree branch with a slender body. The eerie shadow in the corner of my eye makes me turn my head. I was certain something or someone was there, but I find nothing. There’s also nothing in the room capable of projecting such a shadow. I must be going nuts.

  Xander slides out from his chair and paces back and forth. His face is stern, deep in thought. He attempts to wear a path in the wood while he thinks. His hands are held at his side; they don’t swing as he walks. They hang stiff like clubs at his hips.

  Tristan plays with a knife. A sharp blade balances on his pointer finger, then he flicks his wrist fast enough to catch the knife by its flat hilt. He does this repeatedly. He never misses or cuts himself. Tristan’s the deadliest one of us all. I can beat both in a fistfight. I’m strong enough to wield any weapon and I’m twice the size of most men, but I can’t stop one of his daggers from penetrating my heart. I could try to redirect the knife or shield myself, but I would need to be faster than Tristan, and he’s practiced precise movements. He knows the exact time it takes to clasp the first knife and throw. He whips them out faster than I can follow. I’ve seen him throw six within five seconds.

  I’ve known him for years and I still don’t know how many daggers he keeps or why he became infatuated with maintaining a perfect edge on each one. Every night, he takes one blade out at a time, along with a whetstone, oil, and file. He examines, sharpens, and polishes each one before going to bed. Almost like saying your prayers before bed, that’s how dedicated he is to his knives. It’s his religion.

  We won’t get much sleep. We're all too worried, wondering if we are actually safe. Each of us is considering whether to leave town. Threatened by Fae two days ago, we thought we were about to die, either at their hands or our own. Tonight, we almost lost Megan. It seems someone is after her or us. Neither makes sense.

  Megan is alive. Blinded, but alive. Brynjar said it was temporary but if not, I’m not sure what to do. We might need to move to a city just to get proper care for her. Most people can’t read here, so I doubt there is Braille or any life for her in Capo. The bit of freedom she had left has been taken away.

  People who become debilitated from an accident or illness receive more respect, but townsfolk still regard them as second-class citizens. I’ve witnessed the people of Capo shun those born disabled. Cursed by the Gods, they proclaim. Parents leave deformed newborns in the woods for the nunda. They pretend their child didn’t exist and try for another. It’s an unspoken subject. No one says how horrific it is to leave their child for dead. No one cares about the disabled. They’re seen as a stigma, not an individual who needs love.

  It drives me insane how selfish people act. How they rectify their actions because they say their Gods commanded it. No righteous God would command an innocent to death. They’re mindless murderers, consumed with self-preservation rather than aiding the weak and powerless. If anyone treats my cousin with any disrespect, Megan will be the last thing they see before going blind. I’ll make sure those ignorant, arrogant asses get what they deserve if they ever do anything to her.

  I don’t want to think about what I’d do if I ever catch her attackers. The person who threw the light bomb and the four Fae; I’d strangle them with my bare hands. Tighten my fingers around their throats and crush. My hands curl, my knuckles crack, and I want to break something, anything.

  “Don’t,” Brynjar says, making me jump out of my chair. “You’ll break your hands and be useless. Relax—your rage suffocates the room. Sit and think. Don’t waste energy you need.”

  “Who attacked us and Megan?” Xander asks.

  “Fae. Don’t know why.”

  “What about the light bomb?” Tristan asks.

  “I’m not certain who or what did that.”

  “What do you mean who or what? Wasn’t it Fae?” My mind is spinning.

  “Don’t know for sure,” Brynjar mumbles.

  “What else is there?” I ask, curious and afraid of what other people exist in this world. I’ve heard some crazy tales about magic, besides what I’ve learned about Fae. Is he hinting there are other beings just as powerful?

  Smoke circles float away toward the ceiling and Brynjar doesn’t say another word. He glares into the darkness, refusing eye contact.

  Tristan leaves the den first. He sheathes his knife and saunters off to bed. Xander follows. Neither speaks as they go upstairs.

  I wait for Brynjar to say anything, to offer advice, to yell, or order me to do something, but he says nothing. He stands, gives me a nod, and then limps for the kitchen door.

  “Where are you going?” I ask.

  “Talk to old friends,” Brynjar says as he walks down the porch steps.

  Brynjar doesn’t have friends. Miki Connor will have a drink with him or stop by, but he is the only person I have ever seen or heard carrying on a conversation with Brynjar who he might call a friend. He has never mentioned anyone else he would consider a friend. I can’t begin to guess who he went to talk to at dawn.

  Alone, I dread the climb upstairs. Dana’s up there and I�
��m positive once I say what’s on my mind, she will kick me out of the bedroom. The floor creaks under my heavy steps as I ascend the stairs. They always do. Tristan and the girls can go up and down without notice, but the instant my weight hits them, they creak like they had been here for decades. She knows I’m on the way up, Dana doesn’t fall asleep until I come to bed.

  She sits up, leaning against the headboard on our bed. She’s so beautiful. Golden strands of hair hang loose around her shoulders and her sea-glass eyes smile as I walk into the room. She’s wearing one of my old t-shirts and bikini underwear. They aren’t lacy or sexy, but she could wear a brown paper bag and be gorgeous.

  I almost fucked this up tonight. Fucking Lilly playing tricks with my head. How could I throw this away? I have a home, a possible future with an incredible woman. Something real. Lilly distracted me from reality. There could be nothing between us. Lilly had never wanted it. She never wanted me—not how Dana does.

  “How is she doing?” I ask.

  “She’s sleeping. What did Brynjar say?”

  “Nothing. He left to talk to friends.”

  She kneels on our bed. Her arms wait wide open for me to embrace her. It's dawn. Neither of us has slept. I’m exhausted, but I can’t go to her without telling her. I didn’t cheat, but I can’t shake the pang of guilt and remorse. Brynjar was right: omitting the truth to Lilly was just as bad as pretending Dana doesn’t exist.

  “I need to tell you something. Nothing happened, but I almost fucked up and I can’t promise I won’t.”

  “I fuck up things daily. We’re human. We’re allowed to make mistakes. You said you did nothing, so what’s the issue?”

  “At CS earlier, I had to ask Lilly for information on where Blue lives. She teased the hell out of me. It felt wrong, but I missed her. For years, she was the only one I talked to, vented to. Tonight, I had the chance to tell her about you, but I didn’t. I should have said something, but I couldn’t hurt her. I’m sorry.”