Ash Fallen

by Blake Channels

  “Misery’s sting,” Kipser shrieked, conjuring up his Inflictor powers as he thrust out his free hand in anger. All but one of Zebadiah’s guards screamed out in agony. The remaining guard and the evil lord smirked in response, unphased.

  “That last guard’s a Blocker,” Rosalie explained, shouting over the screams of distress.

  The Blocker closed his eyes in concentration, and before long the screaming ceased.

  Kipser thrust out his hand again. His enemies didn’t react. His brow furrowed in concentration and confusion.

  “He’s blocking for all of them now,” Rosalie said. “We’re going to have to fight the old-fashioned way.” She gripped the knife in her hand and rushed forward, Gluge and Kipser close behind her.

  The trio put up a noble fight, and managed to pick off a few of the guards, but it was a losing battle. Their only saving grace was that Zebadiah wanted them alive. They soon found themselves cornered; weapons of their enemies trained at their throats.

  “Return them to their cells,” Zebadiah ordered. “But keep them separated. We don’t want to risk…”

  “Wait,” Rosalie interrupted. “I’ll join you.”

  Lord Zebadiah held up his hand, signaling his guards to hold back. “Join me?”

  “Yes, but only if you let my friends go.”

  Zebadiah made a sound that resembled a laugh, but it sent shivers down her spine. “You think pretty highly of yourself, don’t you? Why would I give up two mutants to keep one?”

  She squared her shoulders and folded her arms in front of her chest. “Siranya said it herself, how rare I am – having three powers. Think of what you could accomplish if you had full access to them.” She spoke the words with confidence, but bile rose up in her throat at the thought of being part of his collection.

  “And I’m just supposed to trust that you’ll join me without argument?” As the evil lord spoke, he continued to circle her and her comrades, moving in closer each time.

  “I guess that’s a risk you’re going to have to take.”

  “Or,” he said wickedly, “I can imprison all three of you now and then I don’t have to sacrifice anything.”

  “Oh, but you would be sacrificing,” Rosalie told him. She lowered her voice, forcing Zebadiah to move in closer. The guards stepped back, lowering their weapons and giving their leader room. “I’m offering to join you. Meaning I would freely offer my powers to your great army. You could still use some of my blood for experiments if you’d like, but my powers would also be at your disposal.”

  Intrigued by the prospect of adding Rosalie to his collection, Zebadiah now stood merely inches from her face. He licked his lips in anticipation, his acrid breath coming out in short, excited bursts. Rosalie lifted her left hand and placed it on his shoulder. She spoke a soft chant, letting him feel the warmth of her powers. His eyes closed with pleasure – and that’s when she seized her opportunity. With her right hand she retrieved the knife and plunged it into his abdomen.

  Zebadiah’s eyes went wide with horror and he let out a sickening groan. Rosalie used more force, pushing the knife in deeper. She shuddered at the sound of the knife penetrating his organs. Lord Zebadiah stumbled backwards in surprise.

  Too stunned to move, Rosalie sucked in her breath and kept her gaze fixated on him. She’d killed and skinned countless animals with her knife. But she’d never stabbed a person before. It felt different; the way the blade sunk through the flesh. The feel of warm, thick blood on her hands.

  The evil lord cursed and spit, spewing blood from his wretched mouth. He pawed at the knife, to no avail, as his eyes darted around the room for someone to help him – but help didn’t come. Rosalie watched in horror and relief as the light drained out of his eyes. With one final, terrifying groan, he fell to the floor, dead, her knife buried in his belly.

  At seeing their leader fall, the guards fled in terror, but not before one got off a clean shot. The bullet caught Gluge in the temple, killing him instantly. Rosalie was about to rush to his side when she heard a loud, high-pitched shriek, followed by a gunshot. She looked up to see Siranya in the far corner of the room holding something in her right hand. Then a second shot rang out, and Siranya fell. Her headdress crashed to the floor beside her.

  Rosalie heard a ringing in her ears as she shuffled in the direction that she’d heard the battle cries. She knew Ash would be there, in the room just beyond the corridor. She felt strange. Disoriented. Warm blood seeped down her clothes. She touched it with her hands; wondered how Zebadiah could have gotten so much on her. The blood pained her. Cursed blood, she reasoned through the fog in her head.

  Kipser came to her side. He was shouting something, though she couldn’t make it out through the ringing noise that echoed in her head. She noticed the gun in his hand – surmised he must have shot Siranya. But where did the first shot come from? It didn’t matter. She reached the end of the corridor and entered the great room; saw Ash standing next to Stryker. Both were unharmed. Everything was going to be okay.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Victory was certain now. Most of the Druin army had fled or surrendered, and the excited shouts from Ash’s soldiers, proclaiming Lord Zebadiah had been slain, echoed down the corridors. He thought to himself he’d need to find the man who killed the evil lord and reward him accordingly. He turned to high-five Stryker when he noticed his friend’s triumphant expression change to one of confusion and horror.

  “Ash?” Rosalie’s voice came out in a whisper behind him. He whirled around, surprised to see her. His eyes darted to hers, ready to reprimand her for disobeying his wishes – then his gaze traveled to her midsection. Her hands were pressed firmly to her belly and blood seeped out beneath them. Before he could reach her, she sank to the cold floor.

  When he knelt beside her, Rosalie’s lips were colorless. Blood soaked her clothing and pooled on the marble floor. She pointed to her pants pocket, desperate to get his attention. By the time he retrieved the piece of paper from her pocket, she’d slipped into a state of unconsciousness.

  “Rosalie. Baby, no,” he called out to her. “Stay with me.” Paper crushed in his grasp, he turned to Marx in anger. “This was your doing, wasn’t it? Dammit, I told you she wasn’t to be part of this battle.” He shook with rage and heartache.

  “And I tried to tell you that I believed our victory depended on it.”

  “You knew she might die.”

  “She knew the risks. She knew it, and she chose to come.”

  Ignoring him, Ash slipped his arms under Rosalie’s limp body and picked her up. He let the tears fall – for the first time since he could remember.

  “She’s the one who killed Zebadiah,” Kipser offered, still standing in the corridor.

  “You see. She saved us all,” Marx said, defending her choice. Defending his choice.

  “Yeah?” Ash challenged in disgust. “Now who’s going to save her?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  “Fetch a doctor,” Ash yelled over his shoulder at the closest soldier. He carried Rosalie to the nearest bedroom within the castle walls. Stryker filed in reverently behind him, along with two faithful soldiers. Marx remained in the hallway with Kipser. He was deeply invested in Rosalie’s recovery but knew Ash didn’t want to see him.

  Ash laid Rosalie gently on the bed and knelt beside her. He balled up a blanket and used it as a compress for her wound. When the doctor arrived, Rosalie hadn’t regained consciousness and both the makeshift compress and bedsheets were soaked with her blood. A hush fell over the room as the doctor leaned over her, examining her sleeping form. When he raised his head again, he shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, looking at Ash.

  “No.” The single word came out like a low moan from a wounded animal.

  “I can give her something to keep her comfortable until she passes.”

  “No. You’re wrong. Get out,” Ash bellowed. He shoved the doctor towards the door. “Find me the Druin detainee they call Dekler,” he ord
ered to the soldier nearest him. When the man hesitated, he shouted, “Now.”

  The man bolted for the door. The doctor wandered out after him.

  Stryker wanted to reprimand his friend – to tell him to calm down. “We’ll round up any resistors and assess the injured,” he said instead. When Ash didn’t respond, he looked at the remaining soldier and jerked his head in the direction of the door. The two men filed out.

  Ash kissed Rosalie’s forehead and pleaded for her to wake up. She stirred but didn’t open her eyes. He cursed himself for allowing Jrynton, the Gifter, to stay behind at the mansion. The man wasn’t a fighter, but his ability to help people amplify their powers would be an asset at this moment.

  A man entered the room and paused by the doorway. He stood tall with pride, despite being shackled. “You asked to see me?”

  “Are you Dekler?”

  “I am.” The man approached the bed.

  Ash took out a key from his shirt pocket and unshackled the man. “Save her,” he ordered.

  “I’m not a Healer.” The prisoner rubbed his wrists as he studied Rosalie’s condition.

  Ash looked at the man sharply. “But you’re a Borrower. You can take on anyone’s powers. She’s a Healer,” he said, jerking his thumb towards the bed where Rosalie lay unconscious.

  “By taking on people’s powers, I drain them. It’ll weaken her. I might do her more harm than good.”

  “She’s going to die if we don’t try something.”

  The man looked hesitant.

  “Please,” Ash spoke quietly. “Please, you have to save her.” His plea was desperate. His eyes glistened with tears and he didn’t bother to wipe them away. He didn’t care if he looked weak. Rosalie was both his strength and his weakness; he’d come to terms with that. What he couldn’t come to terms with was the idea of losing her. He knew he’d be wrecked without her.

  The man placed a firm hand on Ash’s shoulder. “I will try.”

  The Borrower crouched down and took Rosalie’s frail hand in his. He spoke a string of words Ash couldn’t comprehend, then placed both hands on her neck. He slid his hands down her body until they rested on her wounded abdomen. He felt an intense burn and knew the injury was critical.

  “She’s also a Soother,” Ash said, clenching his fists as he paced back and forth. “So, if there’s any way you can do this so she doesn’t feel pain.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Dekler said, not looking up. But he’d had some experience borrowing the power of a Healer. She was going to feel pain – and a lot of it.

  Dekler returned his attention to the beautiful woman stretched out before him. He had a feeling it wasn’t just his patient’s life that depended on his success. He worried about his own fate if he didn’t succeed. He’d seen the desperation in Ash’s eyes. He hummed and chanted every spell he could recall. His hands and arms burned, an almost intolerable pain, but he continued to work.

  Rosalie’s body arched and writhed beneath his touch. She screamed out in her sleep and it was all Dekler could do not to scream too.

  “You’re hurting her,” Ash yelled.

  “You need to get out of here and let me work.”

  Dekler howled in pain as the healing process began. He tried a soothing chant to alleviate some of Rosalie’s pain, but realized he needed to focus all his energies on channeling her healing powers. Rosalie’s lips parted and she shrieked again in agony.

  “Stop this,” Ash shouted.

  “Get out of here and let me do my job,” Dekler screamed back. “It’s you who might be killing her if you don’t let me concentrate.”

  Ash stared down in reluctance at Rosalie, then left the room, lost for what to do and feeling helpless.

  In the hallway, he remembered the piece of paper in his clenched fist. He unfolded it, dreading what he might find. He’d grown tired of notes that contained bad news.

  My darling Ash,

  I love you more than life itself. I hope you realize this and will come to forgive me in time. Please understand that just as you thought you had to protect me, I had to protect you and do what I thought was best for the cause. If you’re reading this, it means I didn’t make it, just as you and Marx feared. But I also hope it means that the battle was won – and victory is yours. You will go on to be a great leader. In time, your heart will mend, and you will find love again. You’re stronger than you know. You have my whole heart and I hope you know that you made me happier than I ever dreamed possible. My only regret is that I didn’t have more time with you.

  Always,

  Your Roe

  More gut-wrenching than the contents of the letter were the tearstains he saw sprinkled amongst her scrawled words. He caressed the letter with his fingertips. He knew it must have broken her heart to write it. He imagined the sorrow she felt, the devastation, and his tears joined hers on the page. It made sense now – how melancholy she’d seemed before he’d left for battle. He’d misinterpreted it as worry for him. Now he knew what she’d known – that it was she who might not return.

  He sunk to the floor and pulled his knees to his chest. He did his best, but he couldn’t block out the escalating screams coming from the room behind him. Sometimes they were Rosalie’s, sometimes Dekler’s – sometimes the high-pitched wails didn’t sound human. He punched the marble floor in disgust. Pain traveled through his veins like fire as it occurred to him that he may have broken his hand, but he welcomed the distraction. He focused on the pain and tried to block out the cries that penetrated the walls and echoed down the corridor.

  The chanting and screams grew to a crescendo. Ash closed his eyes and covered his ears with his hands, but the noise was deafening. And then. Silence.

  Ash couldn’t move. He felt glued in place; weighted down with grief and anguish. He knew she was dead. Tears streaked down his burly face as he tried to imagine his life from this point forward without Rosalie in it. He’d promised her he’d never let anyone hurt her. He’d unintentionally lied. He’d failed her.

  When he stood to his feet, Stryker started to approach him, but he waived him off. He would need to see Rosalie alone to say goodbye. When he turned towards the bedroom, Dekler came through the door, clutching his blood-soaked, scalded hands to his chest. He looked drained as he made eye contact with Ash.

  “Is she…?” Ash asked, fearing he already knew the answer.

  “She’s resting.”

  The words took a moment to process. “Resting? You mean she’s… she’s alive?” The hope he hadn’t dared to feel flooded through him.

  “She’s not out of the woods yet, but I think she’ll make it.”

  Ash let out a victory whoop. Despite his throbbing hand, he lifted Dekler off the ground and hugged him. Then he sat him back down, feeling awkward. “I really can’t thank you enough.”

  “She must be someone special,” he said, observing Ash’s tear-streaked face.

  “She’s everything to me,” he admitted, unashamed.

  While Rosalie remained unconscious, Dekler routinely performed healing rituals. During the first day Ash refused to leave her side, despite Stryker’s unsuccessful attempts to tear him away.

  By day two, Stryker refused to take no for an answer. “Look, we all care about Rosalie,” he admitted, “but we care about you too. And now that we’ve conquered Druin, the people need a new leader.”

  “You can be that leader,” Ash said. “You know Roe always thought you were first in command anyway. Maybe she knew you were a better fit.”

  “That’s donkey-shyde and you know it. They need you. Besides, I have a wife and child I’d like to get back home to. You need to pull it together, Ash.”

  Ash tried to ignore him, but Stryker jerked him up by the shirt collar. “Listen here, you nearly lost her, and it almost destroyed you. I get it. But there are others out there who did lose someone. You owe them your presence.”

  “I don’t owe anybody anything.”

  “That’s not true and you know it. Every one of y
our men would die for you. Two days ago, they proved that.” He let go of Ash’s shirt collar and took a step back, softening his tone. “The Liberation Alliance took some hits. And more than that, the people here at Castle Druin lost loved ones too. Everyone is doing the best they can to coexist, but it won’t work without someone to lead them. We need to project a united front. The people need a strong leader. They also need to know it’s okay to mourn. Now stop being so selfish and get out there and address everyone.”

  Dekler circled around the bed and stood in front of Ash, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “I’ll take good care of her,” he promised.

  Nodding, Ash turned to Stryker. “You’re right. I just need about five minutes.”

  When Ash emerged from the room, his injured hand was wrapped in a tight bandage, and he still looked pale and a bit disheveled, but he’d put on clean clothes and combed the hair out of his eyes.

  “You’re looking … well,” Stryker said.

  “Liar.” Despite his misery, Ash offered a feeble smile.

  “Okay, you look like death, now let’s get this over with.”

  Ash called an emergency meeting of the Liberation Alliance. He took inventory of his men. Casualties and injuries were few, but they weren’t without impact. Six dead. Fifteen injured. One of the prisoners rescued from Druin was a Mender and had been offering his services around the clock. A Healer would have been better, but unfortunately Rosalie was the only Healer around (or the only one willing to come forward – and Marx was in no condition to try and weed one out).

  After speaking with his men, Ash called a mandatory meeting in the auditorium to address the people of Castle Druin. When he took the stage, he did his best to speak calmly, but authoritatively. As he spoke, emotions ran high and varied amongst the crowd. Most were grateful to have someone to look to as a leader, but not everyone was pleased. Some blamed Ash for the recent loss of a loved one and made their sentiments known. Murmurings from the crowd indicated others feared how their lives might change under his rule. Ash did his best to alleviate their fears, but he knew their acceptance of him and his men wouldn’t happen overnight.