by Martha Woods
At last I managed to seize hold of the pouch, yanking it open, and pulling out the key to the handcuffs. I sneered triumphantly at Iammarth, jammed the key toward the lock around my wrist, but before I could twist it he pulled it back out again, yanking it from my hand.
“You bastard!” I shrieked, clambering to take back the key, but I knew that it was no use. In spite of my jerking around, and all my violent protestations, he managed to slip the key into the cuff around his wrist, twist it, and free himself.
I stumbled backward as the cuff was released from his grip. Desperate, I bolted immediately from the spot, trying to put as much space between him and myself as I possibly could. But of course, Iammarth simply transformed, gliding over me as I ran, then throwing his weight lightly into me– knocking me to the ground, and pinning me beneath his weight. He transformed back into his human form as he settled down onto me, and immediately grabbed my free arm. He slammed the cuff onto me, apprehending me at last, with both arms locked behind my back, and giving me a look of great, weary annoyance.
“I really didn't want to have to do that,” he said. “I liked you. Seriously. But you kinda forced my hand...”
“Traitor!” I spat at him as he lifted himself back up off of me. As many times as I'd considered leaving Mordeos, and the Dark Ones behind, and as much as a part of me had liked Iammarth, too, up until now, the fact of being his prisoner filled me with a desire to hurl insults at him, and “Traitor!” was about the best I could come up with at the moment.
“Yeah, yeah... I'm a traitor. Wicked evil me...” He pulled me along behind him like a dog on a leash, then stooped over to pick up my fallen medicine bag from the ground. He tied the broken string around my neck, and slipped the handcuff key inside it– tantalizingly close to me, yet forever out of reach with my arms locked behind my back, unable to grab at it. It was the only thing at that moment, I thought, that could make me hate him even more than I already did...
With no other weapon at my disposal, I decided to spit in his face– another bad habit, I realized I had been resorting to more and more often these days.
I watched the saliva roll slowly down along the side of his face, his expression of dull irritation at my having spat upon him very nearly funny enough for me to forget why I'd been angry at him in the first place.
“Very nice,” he said shortly. “Jesus effing Christ... Why couldn't you have just stayed in bed? Why the fuck did you have to go out and follow me? I didn't want to drag you into all of this!”
“Yeah, you wouldn't do that,” I said indignantly. “Just like you wouldn't put a bunch of innocent kids in harm's way for the sake of your plan to sabotage us...”
He rolled his eyes at this. “I thought you said you just got through hearing my entire conversation on the phone? The kids were never in any danger! It was my plan all along to make absolutely certain they were taken out of the way before any kind of attack was gotten underway! And besides, Mordeos is the one actually doing this shit! I don't see you attacking your hubby like this! Or maybe it's different with him. Because, you know, he's a real Dark One, and Dark Ones can do whatever the hell they want as long as it gets them what they want!”
“I'm not defending him!” I shouted, tears spilling over without my even having realized they were on the verge of doing so before now.
“No, of course not!” he said sardonically. “You just spend your days waiting on him hand and foot, doing whatever he asks you to. Getting down on your knees, and– “
Here, he stopped. He seemed to instantly regret what he'd said. Instantly recognized that this was too far. And suddenly I broke down sobbing, because I knew that it was true.
“God damn it,” he said, holding his head in his hands, his eyes clamped shut. “This fucks up everything, you know that right? What the hell am I supposed to do with you? I can't go back without you... I wouldn't go back without you, even if I could. But I can't take you back with me after that little fucking performance, either... I could take you back to the Protectors, but if we both disappear it would blow the whole operation. And if I let you go back on your own...”
“Why don't you just hand her over to me, then?”
In an instant, my heart seemed to freeze over inside my chest.
Iammarth remained where he stood for a moment, eyes fixed on me as they had been, as though wheels were turning rapidly inside his head, trying to formulate a plan of action. And then, very slowly, he turned toward what was now inevitable.
One of Mordeos' men stood there. Evrun, a powerful warrior. His eyes glowing red. His teeth bared– furious, but twisted into a malevolent grin.
I should have felt relief up on seeing him. And yet, as hard as I'd been protesting against my captor in the moments leading up to now, I realized that I didn't want anything bad to happen to him– and the fact that Evrun now stood here before us, was proof enough that it already had.
Iammarth didn't say anything, and Evrun sneered more nastily at him still.
“Come on now,” he followed up, in those vicious tones of his. “You didn't really think we would let you wander around unsupervised, did you? You really didn't think Mordeos was foolish enough to trust you that completely? And my, my, were his fears well founded... Sneaking off in the middle of the night... Making phone calls to– well, I can only surmise... And perhaps worst of all, taking what is not yours. But really, what more might one expect from a Protector? From someone who defends the exploitation of the human race– a race that knows only how to take, and to take, and to take what is not theirs...”
Still Iammarth stood motionless, for what seemed an endless moment. I could see his face, lit up by the early morning sun. His eyes, darting back and forth, calculating– as though trying to decide whether, even now, there might still be some diplomatic solution to the situation in which he now found himself.
But of course, there was none.
And then, at last, with no other recourse, he sprang into action.
He leapt forward from me, the force of his transformation forcing my hair to blow back, my eyes wide as I watched him make his ascent. I noticed with astonishment that his solid black dragon body was flaking, his dark scales crackling away, blowing off on the breeze, giving way to a hide of solid, gleaming gold underneath...
Evrun, not missing a beat, rushed forward into the clearing, roaring before he'd even transformed, and then his body dissolving, disappearing into that of a dragon, as pitch black as the night through which I had just traversed.
The beasts opened their jaws wide, impossibly wide it seemed. A familiar green bubbled up from the depths of Evrun's throat, and I noticed that, rather than emerald, the light from Iammarth's throat was now as vibrant and golden as the scales that now covered him, patches of black exoskeleton still chipping away from his skin and floating off on the breeze.
At once two twin pillars of flame burst forth from the bellies of the monsters, distorting the air, the light from the twin attacks so blinding it made my eyes water. The flames collided in midair with a terrible force, creating a massive shockwave, so strong it knocked me clean off of my feet. I shrieked, fell backward, hit the ground with a force that very nearly knocked the wind out of me.
I promptly sat back up again, eyes wide as I watched the two of them fighting. Knowing Evrun as I did, I expected to see him taking the lead, quickly overpowering Iammarth as he struggled simply to keep up. To the contrary, the two of them seemed remarkably well matched, twisting through the air in a corkscrew motion, getting higher and higher– Iammarth, perhaps, even a little bit more powerful than his adversary, pushing Evrun's flame back toward him at times, the Dark One's red eyes widening at the heretofore unconsidered possibility of being overpowered.
I shuddered, surprised and horrified at the sudden realization that I didn't know which of the two of them I honestly hoped would win– and even more horrified at the certainty I knew exactly who it was I wanted to win...
The lapping flames ceased, and Evrun dove at Ia
mmarth, displaying his jagged, hungry teeth as he flew in his direction. Iammarth let him get dangerously close, feigning confusion. But then, as Evrun threw his face forward to attack, Iammarth dodged him effortlessly, threw his own jaws forward like a bird pecking the ground for a worm. His teeth sank into the Dark One's neck, and Evrun shrieked, a mix of fury and of pure indignation.
The retaliation was instant. Evrun's spiked tail careened into Iammarth's gut. His claws dug furiously through the golden scales. Blood began to flow from either dragon's body, their serpentine figures entwining, twisting into such a tight not it seemed they might never again be separated.
I couldn't watch this.
I couldn't just lay there, helplessly, and let this take place.
A jolt of motivation surged through me– to what ends, I wasn't yet sure.
But I needed to free myself. Needed to get out of these handcuffs at all cost, liberate myself, and only then–
Then, do whatever the hell I was going to do...
Run. Help. But help who?
I couldn't think about that now. That was irrelevant, so long as these cuffs still remained pressed tightly around my wrists.
I struggled on the ground. Teeth clenched. The dew-soaked grass dripping on my skin as I pulled my body across its surface, trying, however stupidly, to bring my arms enough just enough along my spine to grab for the bag with the key strung around my neck.
It didn't take long for me to give this up as a lost cause.
Instead, I made my way over to a nearby fallen branch, and pressed a splinter of wood into the drawstring opening, trying to work it apart as the sounds of the ensuing battle raged in my ears. To my astonishment, I felt the jerk of the string, the loosening of the bag, the shifting of the contents...
I lifted my back upward, and let the contents of the bag spill out onto the moist grass– the viles of Earthdragon potions, CLING, CLING, CLING, CLING, followed by a sharp, high pitched, TING!
I froze for a moment, elated. Then I turned over in the grass, heart thundering, eyes wide at the sight of the key lying there in the grass, accessible to me at long last.
I flipped myself back over, so that my arms were behind my back once again, fumbling in the grass– and there, at last, I felt my fingers close in around it.
A surge of triumph rushed through my chest, and I leapt up onto my feet, already struggling to push the key into my lock, my liberation now seeming close at hand.
But that liberation never came.
Oblivious to the battle that had ensued during the moments of my distraction, I had no idea what had led to the flinging of Evrun's motionless, defeated body through the air, a feeble roar issuing from his lips as he slammed into the tree line, knocking several of them down as he plummeted. His body shrank midfall, shifting back into his human form, and was unclear whether he still remained alive or dead. Before I could find out, I saw Iammarth turning toward me, wasting no time whatsoever after his opponent's fall, but eager to get the hell out of here as fast as possible, before more Dark Ones showed up.
Equal parts relieved, pissed, and trepidatious, I braced myself, preparing to be lifted off the ground, gripping the little golden key desperately in my fist, though thinking that it didn't really matter anymore.
There was a rough jerk, my body being pulled up into the air in Iammarth's great golden talons. My bare human feet parted with the soft grass below, and I was made utterly weightless, lifted up toward the heavens, leaving behind the world, and everything I knew in my wake.
I thought I saw Evrun stirring on the ground, just before Iammarth made his ascent above the thick cover of clouds, and all was obscured from view.
I closed my eyes. Temples blaring. Teeth clenched.
Here I was again, my life being turned upside down. Everything being taken from me, without my consent or consideration. Taken as it had been so many times before in my life, by men who simply took what they wanted, and didn't seem to spare a thought for what I wanted, what I needed, what was best for me.
Only them.
At least time, I thought, and it actually calmed me down a little bit, I felt safe in my captor's embrace. I felt that I could trust him, even if I wasn't entirely sure whether I trusted myself...
Iammarth
Keya wasn't talking to me. Not that I could blame her for that. But it did make for some long, awkward periods of silence as we made our way through the forest, heading back in the direction from which I had come just a few short weeks ago– though it may as well have been a lifetime ago, the way I felt right now.
Keya walked ahead of me, sometimes looking back to scowl at me– although, at the very least her expression had seemed to begin softening as the journey progressed. I twiddled the key to the handcuffs between my fingers, which I had gotten from her upon landing a couple of days back. Dark One or not, this girl was nothing if not resourceful...
I still didn't know what to do with her. Right now I made as though I planned to take her to the Ynder and the Protectors, to let them decide her fate, but honestly I really didn't want to do that. Though she had tried to attack and imprison me, I had to admit I still harbored some semblance of feeling for the girl. By now, any illusion I'd had that the two of us might shack up and start a family any time soon had been shattered, but it still made me burn with guilt to consider the possibility of anything bad happening to her because of me.
“I'm sorry about all of this,” I said, after an extended period of silence that had started to become unbearable. “Tricking you, and everything...”
“If you were really sorry you could let me go,” she challenged, lifting up the handcuffs behind her back for emphasis. She seemed annoyed, but I thought I saw a trace of a teasing, flirtatious smile on her face– like she knew and acknowledged the impossibility of her request, and that was precisely why she'd made it.
“Sorry Kiwi, I can't do that.” I'd taken to calling her Kiwi instead of Keya, I guess mostly to get a rise out of her during her periods of extended silence. It had successfully annoyed her at first, but now she barely even flinched at the name, and I'd very nearly started thinking of it as a sweet little term of endearment for her. “You know what they say about love and war...”
Here, she turned her entire, beautiful body toward me, an uncommon occurrence to say the least, and arched a serious eyebrow at me.
“Is that what you think this is? Love?”
I couldn't help but smile at her defensiveness. I hadn't even been thinking about it when I'd said it, and yet it was the part she'd immediately centered her focus on.
“War,” I emphasized.
“Good,” she said, “because it's not...”
“I never said it was,” I intoned innocently, grinning. This was the closest we had yet to come to acknowledging the strange, intense surges of desire we so often felt whenever we were in each other's company, and which, even in spite of the circumstances, had continued to hang over the two of us like a steady fog over the course of our journey together through the forest.
Once more silence ensued. The hot afternoon sun shone down on us, sweat dripping along our bodies, the usual, requisite levels of desire we felt toward one another further amplified by the heat.
Gradually, a feeling of guilt began to wash over me. This shouldn't be happening. I should not have her out here, as my prisoner. Yes, it was war. Yes, under the circumstances, I couldn't see it as anything but absolutely necessary.
But it shouldn't be this way.
Life shouldn't be this way.
My life had always been this way, since the time I was a child. And god damn it, I was tired of it.
“I've always been good at faking,” I said at length, and she didn't bother looking back at first. “I would almost say it comes naturally to me. Except, well... None of this is natural, as far as I'm concerned. More like... Second nature. Something I've been doing so long, I don't even think about it. It's like breathing. It's easy to forget sometimes, what you actually are. The things you're
forced to do, because of the card’s life hands you... But no one's really forced to do anything, are they? It's all a choice...”
I didn't know where I was going with all of this. I felt the need to confess. My apology wasn't enough. She needed to know, to understand, exactly what it was I was apologizing for.
Keya, at last, stopped walking. She seemed to consider my words for a moment. And then she turned to me, looking at me with eyes I had not yet seemed, but that seemed more naturally hers, than any expression I had seen on that beautiful face until now.
“You were never really a Dark One, were you? I don't mean just now. Just this, trying to trick us into being captured. I mean... Before that. Before Ryl's fall, back then. You were never really one of us? Were you?”
Those eyes... Those eyes seemed to see straight through me. I sat in judgment beneath their heat, their intensity. Not cruel eyes, yet their effects were furious, unbearable. I was forced to look away, ashamed to be standing in their presence, raw and naked in the most fundamental of ways.
I shook my head slowly, sadly. But then I said, in contradiction of this gesture, “I mean... For all intents and purposes. The things I did. My sins, the crimes I committed in Ryl's name...”
“But deep down?” she pressed, as though angling for a certain answer.
I scoffed. “What the hell does that matter?” I looked angrily up at her, as though pissed off at her for trying to locate some hidden better nature in me, one which I myself had been seeking for so long. “It doesn't matter how you feel. What you believe, secretly. That isn't who you are. It's what you do. To answer what I think you're asking, no, I never wanted to be a Dark One. But that doesn't make me any less of one than Ryl himself. When I think about all the battles I fought in the name of something I knew was wrong. The lives I endangered. The good men, who actually stood for something, who actually lived what they believed...”
“And that's why you're doing this?” Keya asked, her eyes seeming to grow wider, sincerer as I spoke. Gleaming with emotion, and further and further nurturing the impulse in me to confess all that I had done. “To make up for what you did? To atone for your past?”