ONE- Flames of the Past
My attention lies solely on the scarlet flames that dance before me. The fire emits a warm glow, accompanied by a blanket of heat that envelops the surrounding atmosphere. I despise the mini inferno with my entire being, but I accept the warmth it provides against the evening chill.
My extremities are gradually becoming more limber as the warmth of the fire floods throughout my chilled figure. As soon as I can make the trek, I’m going. Away. And never looking back at this corrupted excuse for a town.
My eyes drift up and catch his icy gaze. The man’s fingers tightly encase the leather-wrapped handle of a dagger. As he twists it, beams of light from the blaze scatter in every direction. A smile of the sorts crosses his features and I break my eyes away, returning my focus to the fire.
I almost feel bad for the man, but then I acknowledge the essence of murder he carries. When he stands, his body sways and leans in an unnatural way. The demeanor in which he moves is slow, and lacks a steady rhythm. It would be impossible for him to ever sneak up on any creature with a full set of senses. Arms and legs the size of tree trunks sprout from his enormous torso. His belly pours over a worn, leather belt and colossal feet send vibrations rippling across the earth’s surface with each step. The man seems to have a medium complexion, but it could very well be the layer of filth that coats his battered skin. Scars litter his body, but my attention falls on the blemish that stretches from his jaw to the peak of his brow. A makeshift patch covers his left eye, while his right reflects a stone-cold blue.
The man was given one task — to keep an eye on me —yet here he is, traipsing away as though aged ropes were the perfect method of entrapment. I hear the clang of metal pots as the man fidgets with his limited inventory of items. I extend my wrists over the flames, biting the inside of my cheek to contain the scream that threatens to escape me. There’s no way to avoid burning my skin, but after pondering the most efficient method of escape, this was by far my best option.
I glance down at the rope that seems to be dissolving in the flames. Tiny, glowing embers catch in the light breeze and drift away. The muscles in my arms remain tense as the rope digs into my wrists. I work to release the rope’s stance of restraint, and upon achieving my goal the rope shreds apart. A small shower of harmless sparks catch flight as the remainder of the woven fabric feeds the flames at my feet.
The man whips around, a grumble escaping the deep of his throat. Something goes flying in my direction, barely veering to the right of my face. The item lodges in a tree and instinct tells me it was the dagger he was flashing around earlier. I don’t waste time checking. I spin on my toes, making a break for the horse bound to an old post only a few yards away.
I fling my left foot into the stirrup and heave myself into the saddle. The man towered at least a foot above my own height, and now I am the one paying for my lack of height. I clasp the horn of the saddle with my left hand so tightly that my knuckles are white, reins grasped firm in my right hand. I dig the heels of my boots into the gelding’s ribs and he breaks into a lope, crashing through the timber.
As the distance between myself and the fire grows further, visibility becomes scarce. Shadows and trees seem to be entrapped in the same melting pot, the lack of light twisting them into one vague image. Branches crash into my frame, as well as the horse’s, threatening what little balance I hold onto. I sync my hips with the horse as its rhythmic gallop carries us away from the man and fire.
As time passes and miles are covered, the number of trees declines. The thick brush and foliage we once traveled through has slimmed into a smoother terrain. Eventually we reach the tree line and discover ourselves located in a secluded valley. A sea of grasses flows in the warm, evening breeze. A blanket of silver moonlight ripples across the meadow, giving an essence of comfort and safety to the place.
I plant my left leg in a stirrup and swing my opposing leg over the saddle. My feet reach the compact soil with a thud, the impact sending a wave of pain up my sore legs. My knees are weak after multiple hours in the saddle, and I feel as though I could collapse with the first few steps.
I skim my eyes, heavy with exhaustion, over the gelding. A white lather pools on his hide, contrasting greatly with his bay coat. His breaths are heavy, and pink nostrils flare each time he exhales. A rope is secured to the back of the saddle with thin, leather straps, and I contemplate what to make of its use. For the horse’s sake, I unfasten the rope and create a makeshift halter.
My gaze catches an oak that reaches into the starry sky, it’s branches darting every which direction from its trunk. I lead the animal in its direction, wrapping the lead around a low-hanging branch. I tie the bay loose enough that it may lay down if it wishes, and remove the saddle from its back. The tack finds a home in the shadow of the oak and I settle momentarily in the grass.
The gelding has cooled out some. His breaths are becoming more shallow, and the lather is slowly disappearing. His haunches stand relaxed as a rear leg flexes, a sandy toned hoof resting on the earth’s surface. Ebony in color, a thick mane and tail falls in rich waves. Dark eyes fade in and out of the world as his eyelids flutter then slowly close. Serenity falls over the beast as his mind tunes out of the world.
I am envious of the equine, and how he can relax so suddenly. Although I am weighed down with a lack of energy, I find it will probably be another sleepless night. Yet, I give in to gravity and fatigue, curling up against the oak’s base. I watch various insects dart through the evening skies, a sheet of twinkling stars watching over the landscape. After some time, my eyelids fall closed and a layer of darkness overcomes my vision. I allow my lungs to flood with the sweet, night air as my mind calms for the first time in days.
But I knew it was too good to last.
Our fingers interlace and I refuse to lessen my grasp. The smoke grows thicker with each passing second, limiting my vision, choking out my eyes and lungs. My body is starved of oxygen and it fights, but my lungs are outmatched. Spots begin to cloud my vision, closing in like a dozen soldiers marching to battle, yet I haven’t a clue where they came from. I want them to go away, return to their origins, but they refuse to stop.
Don’t let go.
I won’t.
I shoot a glance up, locking my gaze with the woman I cling to. Her eyes are wide with fear and her features show more years than she truly has. Dark hair falls in sheets, framing her distressed face.
A cracking sound erupts from beneath us. The ground on which we stand falters briefly, then it gives way to whatever awaits below. A series of sparks and splinters of wood rain down amidst the inferno. A force pulls at my frame, threatening to drag me into the depths of the flames.
I lied.
My joints give way and I let go. I stare into the blazing hole where seconds ago she stood. My stomach sinks, instantly replaced with a dark void.
We were supposed to be safe.
Regret and loss claw at my insides, further increasing the pain. The little dots close in again and I try to shove them away. A cry escapes from deep within, “Mother!” My figure starts to rack with sobs as I reach towards the gaping hole in the floor. Then darkness encases me and my senses go numb.
Safe. I find that the word has a vast variety of definitions. For many it means being in a familiar place, free of any danger. I find this to be a lie. I don’t believe one can ever be safe. It is simply a trick of the mind, a way to keep you from anxiously awaiting every terror that lurks in the shadows.
TWO- A New Kind of Light
I startle awake, my senses alert, nerves buzzing with fear. Sweat rolls down my face in salty bullets and my figure trembles immensely. Nausea bubbles inside me and I fold over with the urge to vomit. Under normal circumstances I probably would have, but hunger gnaws at my insides only building on the feeling of uneasiness.
In the east, the sun threatens to break over the horizon. Brilliant shades of tangerine and pink entangle themselves with puffy clouds over a pale, azure base, working to create the perfect morning sky. The valley is brought to life with a chorus of birdsong, its surface adorned in a variety of eye-catching foliage. Flowers of violet, scarlet, and indigo reach for the nurturing sunlight. The grass is thick and plentiful, accompanied by a variety of saplings and trees that reflect many years of flourishing growth.
The gelding grazes just outside of the oak’s shadow, golden light rippling across his healthy coat. The equine’s bold muscles flex as he nibbles at the sweet buffalo grass that springs from beneath his hooves. His hide, a rich chocolate with ebony points, twitches as insects rest on his sides, urging the pests to go. His audits swivel and absorb the various melodies that float effortlessly on the breeze.
I place my palms on the earth and steady myself on my knees. The skin on my wrists screams at the pressure and a sound escapes my throat, resembling the cry of an injured animal. I twist my arms to look at my own hide, blistered and red. A range of flesh volcanoes erupt an unpleasant ooze on each of my forearms, stretching to the edge of my palms. My blood boils at an unhealthy temperature, urging my nerves to send messages of the attack surging through my injured body.
It’s only a matter of time before the man creates a small army and sends them turning over the land in search of me. I need a place to go, yet I know of none. Ignorant in the ability to heal, my wounds are determined to cause a great deal of pain.
I rise to my feet, momentarily feeling light-headed. It threatens to knock me back onto the earth, but I fight it and reach for the tree to steady myself. A searing pain shoves its way through my nerves at the contact, and my face contorts into a look of pained frustration. Blood rushes to my cheeks, giving them a deep, scarlet tint. At the rate things are going, I suddenly want to curl into a ball at the base of the tree and let time and nature take the reins of what should befall me. Instead, I grumble and make my way to the gelding. He flicks his head into the air and shys away from me briefly. His rosy muzzle extends in my direction before a powerful snort sends a shower of half-chewed grass and mucus coursing through the air. His audits flick forward with interest of what I could offer him, then he returns to the greens, tearing at the tender foliage with greedy bites.
I search for the tack, and find it tucked under the oak. I heave the saddle into the air, resting it against my hip for transport. The bridle hangs freely from the horn, and the sound of leather rubbing together interrupts the valley’s natural choir. The collection of small efforts proves tedious work for my drained figure, and my knees nearly give under the saddle’s weight.
It takes much longer than I would have wished for to reach the bay. His dark eyes lock on me in a mischievous manner. I approach his left side and attempt to swing the saddle onto his back. The gelding swings his hindquarters away and dodges the saddle as it drags me down to the compact soil. I crumple to the ground, creating a tangle of leather and flesh. He eyes me yet again, his dark orbs reflecting a stance of victory against my efforts.
“Fine!” I lock eyes with the beast, my spirit crushed. Frustration feeds a dull flame somewhere in my mind, forcing a pool of unfiltered words in the equine’s direction. “Ignorant beast! Who needs a horse anyway?”
“Horse? How... insulting. After all I did for you, this is the thanks I receive? It is never, ‘Thank you, Cuinn.’ Your kind is an ungrateful species. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to finish my meal. It is much easier to fill your stomach as a horse.”
I’m going insane!
“Indeed you are,” the creature paused to nip at the greenery once again, now struggling to speak through a mouthful of sweet foliage. “Yes, I can read your thoughts. No, I am not a talking horse. No, you are not actually going insane... well, let me rephrase that,” Cuinn tugged at the grass again, splitting its connection with the fertile soil, “You are not imaging the likes of myself... insanity on the other hand, I do believe you are quite crazed and irrational.”
“If you aren’t a horse, then what, may I ask, exactly are you?” I sorted through my memories, quizzing myself on what I was facing. My stomach dropped at the thought that the horse — being — could be dangerous. After brief consideration I reasoned with myself.
If he desired to bring harm to me, that most likely would have happened by now. As to what sort of demon I am speaking with, I haven’t a clue.
“I do believe the word you ponder is shapeshifter. I am not a talking horse, nor a demon. As for a desire to harm you, I have none.” Cuinn skimmed his pink tongue over his muzzle before continuing, “I would like to think of our friendly situation as... how do you humans put it... even. I owe you not, as for you me. That piece of leather you seem to be set on strapping to my back is cursed. I have no power when that thing is attached to me.” He paused and eyed me yet again with an inquisitive look on his features, assuring that he had my wholehearted attention.
“The ogre of a man we escaped had a witch place a spell on the tack. All happened shortly after I revealed my abilities in an attempt to escape. Unfortunately, no luck prevailed me. I was seized, and made his slave. I spent weeks trying to escape, but after some time I found that freedom may never reach me again. That’s when you came along, a spiteful, little being. You gave me a hope of the sorts.
“I do believe you are the first to have escaped his slimy grasp before the glow of the next horizon. Although, it is quite impressive that you can evade such magic.”
Puzzled, I stood motionless.
Magic?
A look of concern crossed my features. I fidgeted with a piece of stray thread that sprouted from a tear at the base of my sleeve. The fabric was singed, its edges the color of coal. The remainder of the textile appeared as though it had been soaked in murky water and hung out to dry before another layer of filth was caked on to its surface. I probably resembled a hog more than a girl.
“What magic?” My words hung in the air, a stale silence clinging to the passing seconds.
“Are you oblivious to the world?” he spoke with a blend of shock and arrogance, a laugh of the sorts pouring from his lips, awaiting the next poor response I would provide. His final comment made my mind boil with rage. Again, I was being shaped into one consisting solely of pure ignorance. I had endured the loss of my mother, the only being who truly cared about what my future would hold. I split from the grasp of an old slave trader and now this... donkey questioned me in such a manner?
“If you would explain yourself, instead of making me as some fool, it would be greatly appreciated,” my words lashed at Cuinn, accompanied by a piercing glare. Face an expression of fury, arms twisted across my chest, every ounce of my being wanted to strap the saddle to his back in an attempt to show that I was done playing games with a talking horse.
His dark orbs gave a light roll before he began, “I thought it was quite noticeable that the man reeks of dark magic. You see, slave trader is not quite his true profession. Before we escaped, the man was fidgeting with his collection of spirits and souls, the source from which he derives his power. You, dear, would have been of great value. Not everyone is born with such natural strength.
“You radiate light. Not the kind that pours from the sun, but a spiritual light. It is impossible for dark magic to contain you. Therefore, the spell which Hadeon casted did nothing. If the man, Hadeon, were to take your soul, it could reverse his actions, and remove the consequences of dark magic. Don’t think he won’t pursue you yet again.”
“Now, little lantern, why don’t we get you some help,” Cuinn trailed off, satisfying himself with a final mouthful of grass.
Afternoon Showers, Sleet Possible
