Ash Fallen

by Blake Channels

  Finally, Ash held a private meeting with Stryker. “I need to be with Rosalie until she wakes up,” he explained. “I know it probably means I’m failing as a leader, and for that I’m sorry. Declare a week of mourning. Give the people time to bury and grieve for their dead.”

  Stryker nodded. He knew it was pointless to argue.

  “And one more thing,” Ash said, turning back to Stryker. “Somebody send for Talon. Rosalie will want to see him when she wakes up.”

  Three days passed and Rosalie still hadn’t regained consciousness. Each morning Ash ordered krisha tea brought up to the room and placed on the table beside the bed. He hoped the aroma of the tea would entice her to wake up. On the morning of the fourth day, as the tea was being set on the table, Rosalie stirred.

  When her eyes fluttered opened, she was met with waves of nausea and discomfort. A terrible pain radiated from her stomach – a combination of sharp hunger and an aching, throbbing sensation she’d never felt before. But when her eyes adjusted to the room, and Ash came into focus, her physical ailments were nothing compared to the blow of seeing his unkempt appearance. It was evident he hadn’t slept or shaved in days.

  “What happened to you?” she whispered. Her throat was dry and her lips felt cracked.

  Ash squeezed her hand and leaned in close. “Roe, you’re awake.”

  “And you’re a mess,” she observed.

  He smiled, despite himself. He wanted to lecture her on going into battle when he’d forbade it. He wanted to remind her that her blatant disregard for her own safety led them to this moment. But mostly he wanted to hold her and never let go.

  “Did we win?” she asked. She couldn’t recall anything past the moment she’d stabbed Lord Zebadiah. Pain racked her body and she tensed, squeezing her eyes shut to block out the hurt.

  “We did now,” he said. He kissed her and squeezed her hand, ignoring the pain that shot up his wrist. “Can I get you anything?”

  She opened her eyes again and gave him a stern look. “Yes,” she said, her voice firm. “You can shower and shave. You can pull yourself together and go address your people. They need you now more than ever.” Stryker’s words echoed in Ash’s head and he wondered how much Rosalie overheard while she slept.

  He looked down at her, not wanting to leave her side.

  “I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “Now go.”

  Ash slowly withdrew from her side. He grabbed a quick shower, then shaved. When he emerged from the bathroom, he felt like a new man. He put on fresh clothes before studying himself in the mirror. There were dark circles under his eyes, and it was evident he’d lost a couple pounds, but overall, he looked presentable. He kissed Rosalie once more before she ordered him out. She was feisty for someone who’d been on death’s door just a short time ago.

  Stryker was relieved to see his friend. “You’re looking … better than expected,” he observed.

  Ash smiled for the first time in days. “Rosalie’s awake.”

  “Thank the gods.”

  “Yeah, she gave me a tongue lashing for the way I’ve been moping about,” he admitted.

  “Thatta girl. Now what do you say you and I go address the people and attempt to restore some semblance of order to this place?” He slapped his old friend on the back as they made their way to the main courtyard.

  “Round up the people,” Ash barked to his men. “We have some announcements.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  With Ash away, Rosalie rose from the bed. She didn’t want him to see her in her disheveled condition anymore. She found it difficult to sit up, but she wanted nothing more than a long, hot shower. Nausea nearly knocked her back when she stood to her feet and she realized she’d need to ask for help.

  She crept to the door and asked the guard on the other side of the door if he could find Othelia.

  “I’d be happy to,” he said. “And may I say, we’re so happy that you’re awake. What you did was very brave. There are many of us who will forever be in your debt.”

  Rosalie blushed. Not bad for a huntress, she thought.

  Othelia was over the moons at seeing her friend again. She helped her shower, taking special care of the area Rosalie had been shot, but amazed how quickly the gunshot wound was healing. It looked more like a recent scar than a fresh injury.

  “I have been so worried about you,” Othelia admitted. “But Ash wouldn’t let anyone see you. He holed up here…”

  Rosalie smiled at her friend. “I’m sorry I worried everyone.”

  “Worried doesn’t begin to describe what we all felt,” her friend confided. “Poor Marx. He’s been beside himself since it happened.”

  A twinge of guilt pulsed through her. “I worried about that. It really was my idea. Marx didn’t talk me into it. He only presented the facts.”

  Othelia snorted. “Try telling that to Ash. Actually, try telling that to Marx.”

  “I’d like to speak with him.”

  “Ash is preparing to address the Druins.”

  “No, not Ash. There will be plenty of time for that later. I meant Marx.”

  When Marx entered the room, his head was bowed. He looked humbled and drained. To Rosalie’s surprise, he’d visibly aged.

  “Marx,” she said brightly. She was dressed in a white, flowing gown Othelia had found in the closet. Cheeks pink with color, and auburn hair curled loosely down her back and around her shoulders, she looked fresh and elegant. Marx sighed with relief at her appearance.

  “Rosalie, I’m so sorry that I talked you into…”

  “Stop,” she told him. “Don’t let your guilty conscience skew the facts. It was my choice. And I’m fine, really.”

  He embraced her, then stepped back to study her. “You certainly look much better than you did a few days ago.”

  “Well, I hope so, I’m wearing this fabulous new dress after all,” she teased, performing a half twirl.

  Marx broke down, burying his head in his hands. “I couldn’t see it. I don’t know why. I couldn’t tell if you’d make it. Shyde, Roe, I couldn’t be sure, and I sent you into battle anyways.”

  “I knew the risk,” she interrupted. “Now I don’t want to hear any more about it.”

  “I’m not sure Ash is ready to let it go,” Marx grumbled, looking miserable. His old friend hadn’t spoken to him since it happened. Guilt and loneliness had plagued him since her injury.

  Rosalie smiled kindly. “He worries too much. I’ll talk to him,” she offered. “Now I brought you here to talk about something else.”

  Marx perked up. “What’s that?” he asked, wiping his eyes with the back of his hands.

  She’d made up that last part of course. She hadn’t had any reasons for calling on him other than to make sure he was handling things okay. “I need your visions to tell me what outfit will catch Ash’s eye,” she offered lamely.

  Ash was deep into his speech when Rosalie sauntered up beside him and took him by his bandaged hand. She could feel the injury he tried to downplay and she made a mental note to heal his hand while he slept. She knew he wouldn’t accept an offer to heal it if she asked him; he was too worried about her own health.

  At her presence, the people below cheered. Over the past several days, rumors of how she’d brought down Lord Zebadiah and turned the momentum of the battle had spread through the Liberation Alliance like wildfire. Much of the stories were exaggerated, but all the same the soldiers had a newfound respect and admiration for the attractive, auburn-haired young woman who stood before them.

  It wasn’t only the Liberation Alliance who took notice of her presence and were thankful for her contributions. Most of Druin lived in fear of their recently departed leader and were beyond relieved to have been liberated from him. Those loyal to Lord Zebadiah were imprisoned in the very cells that once housed the variants. A fair deal in most people’s eyes.

  Ash looked down at Rosalie and smiled. While he waited for the cheering to subside, he bent down and kissed her cheek, fue
ling the excitement rather than calming it.

  Once the crowd quieted down, Ash continued with his address. “We will not abandon this fine city. We will restore it to the great place it was before Lord Zebadiah forcefully took it over. With your help, we will make it grander and more prosperous than it ever was.” There was an eruption of applause, followed by a polite silence as the people waited for more.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Ash had grand plans for restoring Castle Druin, and other than the imprisoned resistors, no one was exempt from the hard labor his plans entailed. While others harvested the crops planted in the early spring, Rosalie found her purpose planting rows of cool season crops to be harvested the following spring. Onions, garlic, peas – even blueberries. It pleased her to be able to use, and pass on, her planting skills. Though she’d never be as skilled as her parents, she felt confident applying all she’d learned would produce a good crop. She’d hoped Othelia could join her, but Othelia’s culinary and horsemanship talents meant she was often needed elsewhere.

  While she was examining the neat, cultivated rows of seedlings, an elderly woman approached her and extended her feeble hand towards her. When one of the sentries stepped in to try and stop the woman, Rosalie waved him off.

  “It’s okay.” It was important to Rosalie that she forge a strong bond with the people of Druin. She smiled at the woman and shook her hand. “It’s wonderful to meet you. What can I do for you?”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed, and she tightened her grip on Rosalie’s hand. “You can go away and leave us alone,” she hissed.

  Rosalie wasn’t sure if it was her imagination, but it looked like the woman’s eyes turned black. Her hand burned at the woman’s touch. She yanked it away and clutched it to her chest. A sentry stepped in and seized the woman by the shoulders.

  “Be gentle with her,” Rosalie called out.

  “You killed my master,” the woman hissed through her teeth. “Damanius won’t be gentle with you.”

  Rosalie’s eyes grew wide with fear. Damanius was the god of dark magic. Not many believed in him. Most preferred to only believe in the “noble” gods – the ones who could help meet people’s needs. But she believed in Damanius. She’d felt his presence the moment she’d met Lord Zebadiah. Her encounter with the woman left her dizzy and chilled.

  “Are you okay?” one of the sentries asked.

  “Yes, of course.” She smiled, trying to shake off the feeling. “She just surprised me, that’s all.”

  “We’re still finding pockets of resistance,” the sentry explained. He placed a firm hand on her shoulder. “But most people don’t feel like she does.”

  “I know.” She forced a smile. She removed her gardening gloves and put them in her apron pocket. “I’m suddenly feeling a bit worn out. I think I’ll go lie down for a bit.”

  Rosalie’s dreams were dark and vivid. In one she was standing in front of a cliff. Lord Zebadiah stood before her. Only he wasn’t standing on land. He was floating far above the sea. His long, black robes billowed around him and his eyes burned blood red. “You can’t escape me,” he hissed.

  When she woke up screaming, Ash cradled her in his arms, but she didn’t find comfort there. Nothing felt as it should. Something was wrong. She just didn’t quite know what it was.

  As she laid in bed, fighting for sleep, she felt physically drained. She also felt numb – like the happiness had been sucked out of her. She stared over at Ash sleeping beside her. Not even seeing him brightened her mood. She curled up in a ball and clutched the emerald stone around her neck. She muttered a small prayer to as many of the gods as she could recall. By the time she fell back asleep, the pillow was damp with her tears.

  “You don’t look well,” Ash told her in the morning. She was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing out her hair. Staring at her reflection, he could see her eyes had a hollowed look and her cheeks were colorless.

  She turned toward him and offered a wan smile. “Well, thank you.”

  He didn’t smile back. Instead he cocked his head to the side and studied her. “You were having quite the nightmare last night. Want to talk about?”

  She shook her head no.

  “Don’t shut me out, Roe.”

  “I’m not shutting you out,” she snapped. “I’m just …” She set the hairbrush down. Her tone softened. “I’m just dealing.” She closed the gap between them and gazed up at him. “I’m sorry. I’m not quite myself, but I’ll get there.”

  He nodded. Although he hated to see her this way, he would take her any way he could get her. He cradled her face in his hands and bent down to kiss her lips. “I’ve almost lost you twice,” he said, referring to the night she spent in the woods, and the day she was shot. “I’m not going to let either of us go through that again.”

  “You won’t lose me Ash,” she assured him. But inside she wondered if she was losing herself.

  In the days that passed, Rosalie’s mood did not improve. Despite her promise not to, she continued to drift further away. Physically, only a small scar remained as evidence of her near encounter with death. But her demeanor was markedly changed.

  “I think I might be losing her,” Ash confessed to Stryker. It had been weighing on him, how distant she’d been.

  “You’re just hitting a rough patch. My wife and I have been through a few.”

  “No, this is different. She isn’t the same around me. It’s like she doesn’t trust me, or she’s hiding something.”

  “What could it be?”

  “I’m not sure. But I can tell, something’s not right. And she’s having these nightmares where she wakes up screaming.”

  “What are they about?”

  “That’s just it. She won’t tell me.”

  Stryker scratched his chin, deep in thought. “Maybe she’s having dreams about the battle and is too embarrassed to tell you. Rosalie’s a strong person. I’m sure it’s hard for her to admit when she’s afraid of something.”

  Ash nodded but looked doubtful. “I want so bad to help her, but she won’t let me. I thought she knew she could come to me about anything.”

  “Give her time, Ash. She’ll come around. In the meantime, all you can do is be there for her.”

  “Speaking of your wife,” Ash said, changing the subject.

  Stryker chuckled. “I didn’t realize we were.”

  A ghost of a smile appeared on Ash’s lips. “Well, you mentioned the rough patch, and it got me thinking. When are you headed back home?”

  “I’m not sure. I know how much I’m needed here.”

  “You should go.”

  Stryker shot him a sideways look.

  Ash said, “Don’t get me wrong, we need you, we do. But your wife and child haven’t seen you in months. They’d want to know that you’re okay. Go home. Take Dillinger with you.” Then he grinned and slapped his friend on the back. “Go exaggerate what heroes you two were.”

  Stryker chuckled. “Well, I did pretty much single-handedly bring down this evil empire.”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  Ash arranged a big sendoff for Stryker, Dillinger, and the others wishing to return home to their families. There was music, dancing, and all of Druin was invited to attend. Rosalie was all smiles when she joined Ash at the event – even participated in a dance or two. But the moment Stryker and the others were gone, she became withdrawn and announced she was returning to her room to lie down. Ash hid his disappointment behind a strained smile and a flask of whiskey.

  Over the next several days, Rosalie spent most of her time outdoors, hoping the fresh air would snap her out of her funk. She continued to help in the fields but soon realized the joy of planting had faded. She wondered if the memory of what the elderly woman told her was affecting her more than she’d first realized.

  She tried assisting Othelia in the stables, expecting it to be like old times. But despite the hours the pair spent grooming the horses, she continued to feel numb. Othelia tried to car
ry the conversation with idle chitchat and gossip, but soon grew tired of Rosalie’s lack of response or enthusiasm.

  Before long, she stopped going to the stables. She stopped going outside altogether. She remained confined to her room and often didn’t bother to get out of bed.

  Dekler was called upon for his borrowing powers, but when he placed his hands on Rosalie, nothing happened. It was as if his powers were blocked by an impenetrable wall.

  “Thank you for trying,” Rosalie told him kindly. “And I never got a chance to thank you for saving my life.”

  “It was nothing,” Dekler said, embarrassed.

  “Nonsense. I know firsthand how much pain and energy it takes to heal someone.” She paused, blanketed by an abrupt and unexplainable sadness. There was so much more she wanted to say but could no longer find the energy. Her mouth turned downward in a frown and her eyes closed.

  Dekler squeezed her hand and concentrated hard. He felt no tingling sensation; no feeling at all. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more,” he whispered in her ear before slipping out of the room.

  As days stretched into weeks, Ash continued to try and give her space but his patience was reaching a tipping point.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  A month had passed since the Liberation Alliance freed the Druins. Although many of the liberated variants returned to their villages, several stayed behind out of newfound loyalty to Ash. Ash and his men worked tirelessly to restore order. Most of the people continued to be won over by the kindness and steadfastness his men portrayed. People were anxious for a leader they could trust; one who had their best interest at heart.