Promise of Dusk (Endings #1)

Chapter 5

The dense foliage keeps the light away, for it stays dark longer than it should. Then the damp leaves and moss are cast in an emerald glow as the morning rays of sunlight shine through, trying to force their way into the cracks in the canopy. I trudge my way through, seeking trails worn by animals that will hopefully lead to some water source that will hopefully lead to the sea.

Comraich is surrounded by the forest of Wynedd, nestled in a glade, expanded by human hands. The dense trees served as a sturdy defense against armies until the raiders started showing up. After the Pretty King sat himself on the throne, parties from Ashvynd—our enemies from an age-old war—began terrorizing towns, lurking in the outskirts, stealing people from their homes. Supposedly, they operate independently from their monarch, the Dragon King. They act out of sheer hatred bred into them from a dispute spanning decades. Now, the forest provides no protection, only a place for the raiders to hide.

I aim to stay silent enough that I will see them before they see me .

I just want to reach a port town, find some job working in an apothecary until I make enough money, then run. Run as far as I can. Board a ship to another continent and figure it out from there. What other option is there besides flight or death?

So lost in the labyrinth of my mind, I almost walk straight into a camp, catching myself mid-step. The small clearing, maybe the size of my house, is occupied by a small group of people. The dawn is still trickling pink light down upon the sleeping forms and smoking embers from the dead fire in the center. I count them. One, two, three, four, five, and a small one nestled in between two large ones. A child?

The question is: friend or foe? It is not a question I’m willing to stay and find out.

I don’t dare breathe. Surely they’ve posted a watch? Would they dare to sleep completely unaware?

I wait for several minutes, shifting slowly to peer into the brush on the other side. Nothing. Are they really so confident? Without fear of the Crows, sleeping soundly.

I slip backwards, intending to give the camp a wide berth.

But they have food. They have food and cloaks.

In the midst of the massacre, my dress and cloak got singed by something, my dress eaten through, holes all about my bodice, allowing brisk air to easily pass through. I can probably last a few days without more food, but without proper gear? How long will it be until I come upon another village? The closest coastal town is several days away at this rate. Will I make it? Am I willing to stake my life on it?

I’m no better than a starved animal.

I take another glance around, hoping to see something that will give me an out. The forms are unmoving but for the even rise and fall of breaths .

A small, overly confident group is probably the best shot I have.

It takes every shred of courage in my body to step forward evenly, quietly. The chirping of birds covers some sounds, but not enough for comfort.

As I edge out of the treeline my whole body screams with awareness.

I am exposed.

I tiptoe beside two sleeping bodies, only their hair peeking out of their blankets.

That’s good; even if they are partially awake they hopefully won’t peek out unless they hear something.

I spot a black cloak tossed over a log across the fire from me. I also see the glint of a dagger embedded in the stump beside it. I’m not a fighter, but something is better than nothing.

As I make it to the center circle, beside the smoking embers, I snag some form of smoked meat laying upon the rock beside it and shove it in the damp pockets of my dress.

Someone’s breakfast—now my breakfast.

The smoke makes my eyes burn as I move into its path and lean over, grabbing the woollen cloak slowly. The weight of it is promising as I slowly lift it, trying not to let it drag on the ground. A pair of gloves flops onto the dirt.

I freeze.

I stay perfectly still, waiting for one of the bodies to spring up, catching me in the act.

But nothing.

I lean over and grab the gloves, another treat. Made of dark russet brown leather, they’ll keep my hands warm, even though they look much too large. Maybe I should have tried my hand at thievery sooner. I could have saved myself a lot of cold, uncomfortable nights.

I grasp the handle of the dagger, trying to work it out of the stump. The leather-bound handle feels soft from years of grip. I pull harder when it does not easily budge.

It suddenly frees itself, forcing me to take a step backward quickly to keep from falling. I step onto something that I immediately recognize as not-ground. Something with some give.

Another foot.

Firm hands roughly grip my arms, fitting perfectly along my bruises. I feel their warmth seep into my frozen bones and frantically swipe backwards with my new knife.

“That is my favorite knife, you know,” a low, gritty voice speaks directly behind my ear. I vaguely recognize it.

How did they get so close? They were right fucking behind me.

The swipe is met with nothing, so I stab again and kick back with my foot, hoping to catch a shin.

No such luck.

My arm is roughly twisted behind me and the dagger torn from my hand in one smooth move. My spirit falls to the mossy ground. I can almost see it.

“I was wondering how far you were going to let her go, Fionn,” comes a rich female voice from my left.

My feet are kicked out from underneath me and the breath leaves my lungs as my chest slams into the ground.

My eyes are pulled to the side, trying to see at least one of my killers before they finish me. A woman sits up in her blankets, a shadow peering at me with mild disinterest in her dark eyes. Her skin tone is so deep and dark it almost blends into her black clothing, the pink dawn glowing in her cheeks. Her hood is up, obscuring some of her face and hair. Her bored expression tells me she has known I was here this whole time. Embarrassment twines with my fear.

“I wanted to see what she would go for first. The cloak, or the dagger,” comes an unruffled voice from above me.

Someone rolls me over onto my back with a grip on the shoulder and my eyes clash with a gaze so honeyed I would know it anywhere. His face is twisted in a wrathful grimace as it was the last time I had seen it. His eyes ensnare me.

“Looks like the mouse came back to scavenge.” His voice is as cruel as his face.

“Don’t kill me.”

A chuckle—warm and languid as honey—comes from him. A sound I think I would like to hear if it were genuine.

“Why shouldn’t I?” His head quirks to the side and his eyebrows lower. He looks genuinely confused.

“Because I—I…”

“‘I—I—I… What?” He taunts me, quirking his head to the other side.

Nobody that beautiful should be this cruel.

I look around. All of them gaze coldly back at me, except one. The child I saw sleeping between her parents is peering at me curiously, fearlessly. Her almond eyes are hazel and wide, her lips slightly parted in wonder. She looks to be about twelve years of age.

Perhaps she is my saving grace. Would they kill me in front of her?

I look back at the man holding me down, his hand still on my shoulder.

“Where were you?” For some reason, my mind is focused on what it did not see. Where was he hiding?

His eyes finally lift from my face, head moving back to look up in the trees to my left, where a black cloak still hangs from a branch.

“How?” My mind is foggy—this is not what I should be focusing on—but how did he jump down from there without making noise? How did he get up there to begin with?

I stare at the stubble on his chin. His hair there is slightly darker than the curled golden locks on his head. His jaw is sharp.

“While you figure it out, I have a few questions to ask. Why are you attempting to steal from my camp? Did you decide to snag something for yourself while you drop off my order?” He chats to me like we are having a perfectly normal conversation. If it weren’t for the cruel twist of his face, I would think he was only mildly curious, like there’s no dagger in his other hand.

“Diana, she’s…” How can I say it? “I was running, they were going to kill me.” I widen my eyes imploringly, trying to strike a chord of empathy in this man. I didn’t have a choice . “I promise I would have just left; I wouldn’t have hurt anyone.”

He’s watching me struggle for words, boredom on his face.

“Diana—you. You’re a rebel. You all are. She tried to help you. The basket—They killed her for it.” My words make no sense, but I’m fighting for my life here. And I’ve never been particularly good at it.

“What?” The taunting tone melts away.

“She’s gone. Dead. They hanged her. In the square. On the stage.” Saying it feels like a blow to the face.

“So you ran like a coward. Didn’t think to help the old woman that gave you work?” His teeth grit a little at the end. His eyes are turning molten. I’ve never seen eyes so expressive. “Or did you rat on us?”

“No. No, I would never tell. I didn’t know. I swear I—” The air thins; I’m panicking. “My friend came and found me before I got into town. Warned me.” My head is shaking back and forth as I speak, eyes squeezing closed. “I would have tried… I wouldn’t have just left her! Not like that. I didn’t…” My words die out in my throat and my eyes slowly open as I run through what-ifs. What if I found out before? Would I have been brave enough to try and get her out? He continues on before I can produce the answer to that question.

“Are they looking for you, then?” A firm, but feminine voice asks from beside the girl. A woman with fair-hair and delicate features.

“I think so.” My voice is a whisper this time.

The fair woman and the male on the other side of the child begin to get up and pack their belongings at the answer, leaving the little girl still watching silently.

I can’t look at them, can’t watch as Fionn decides I’m not worth the hassle. It would be easier for them to kill me now, ensuring I don’t speak of their presence. Or to turn me in and earn some coin if they can. I stare at the cracks of light through the leaves above instead. The rare blue sky peeks at me. I try to feel the sunlight on my face one last time. Try to hear what the leaves whisper to one another.

“Where were you going? What was your plan?” His voice is stern, demanding my attention.

“I don’t know. Just to go… away before they figure out I’m gone. Before they…” My voice trails off again, damning myself.

“‘Before they’?” he persists, applying more pressure to my shoulder with his hand. I still stare at the leaves shifting with the breeze, waving their little green hands at me from above.

My chest is heaving, the air so evasive it never quite satiating my need for breath.

“I don’t know,” I gasp .

“Yes, you do.” His voice is firm.

My body begins to writhe, unable to stay still, black spots popping across my vision.

I give my head a tiny shake and look him in the eyes again. Try to make him believe me.

Why isn’t he dying too? How can he breathe?

He just keeps me pinned, like a leaf in the wind.

Something in those honeyed eyes look likes he’s reveling in my breathlessness.

“You’re a poor thief and an even poorer liar.” His voice turns back into a snarl, mouth twisting. The forgotten dagger comes to rest at my throat. “Before they what ?”

My eyes return to the sky again, the black spots overtaking the hopeful blue. I feel the cold blade against the lump in my throat. He won’t believe me even if I say it.

“Before they find the house empty,” I lie.

I feel the blade start to draw blood; the trickle runs down the right side of my neck.

“Before they what ?” he tries, for what I know is the last time.

The girl won’t save me. I feel sorry for her, that she has to witness such a thing at such a young age.

“Before they find the bodies of the Crows,” I wheeze. “I was saying goodbye, but they came for me. I don’t know what happened I just panicked. Ki-killed them.” Tears are streaming into my ears. They blur the beautiful sky—I hate that. I hate this. I search for my icy indifference, but I can’t find it.

I just need to feel fresh morning air in my chest one last time.

“You expect me to believe that you, the girl who is skin and bones, bad thief, worse liar, killed those Crows? I wouldn’t believe you killed even one. ”

I could not blame him. I’m still not sure I believe it. I lack any other explanation; I lack the breath to defend myself further. So I just give up and shake my head, blinking rapidly to clear my eyes so I can see the clouds.

“I could go check,” the male that has now finished packing his bedroll asks.

I slowly rotate my head to look back at them, chest still violently heaving for air that won’t come. The girl is giving big eyes to the speaker, who looks gently down at her. He is… a giant. Broad as an ox. I can only assume they are father and daughter. Twin raven hair and sharp eyes. The fair woman’s delicate features are in the girl’s face too.

Air rushes into my lungs at last. The freshest, most clear breath to ever grace my chest. I close my eyes and revel in the feeling of crisp air filling me. I take huge, gasping breaths.

“A waste of time. If they are looking for her, we need to get going.” Fionn’s eyes still search my face for answers he will not find. I’ve told him the truth. No matter how unbelievable it is.

“Then are you going to kill her? Because you better get on with it,” the father of the girl challenges.

Fionn seems to have seen what he needed to see. He makes eye contact with his challenger.

“No.” Casual as can be.

I must be imagining things. My eyes jerk towards the family of three; then they race back to Fionn. My mind clears a little.

It must have been nerves controlling my breath. Though the thought feels wrong.

“What are we to do with her?” The father gestures at me.

“She might be of some use to us,” Fionn says, jerking his head to another figure near the fire, who has remained silent .

The man in the bedroll’s eyes are dull, framed by a forehead slick with sweat. His face is thin and angular, free of facial hair, but still clearly adult. His tired brown eyes stare back into mine.

“Surely, since I’m sparing your life you will help us with something?” Fionn talks to me like I’m dull.

I just nod, still unwilling to believe what I’m hearing.

“Great.” He gives me a sarcastic smile. “We have one in need of some medical attention with us.” He stands, pulling the knife away from my throat. It burns more in the cool blade’s absence.

He leaves me, still on the ground, trying to make sense of this turn of events.

Fionn continues his monologue. “Don’t bother trying to get out of it. We are better hunters than those parasites.” He spits the last word out, turning his back to me and packing his things. I suppose he knows my answer then.

A dark hand pulls me to my feet. The shadowed woman. I didn’t even hear her get up from her blankets. She releases me without any unnecessary roughness. I am left wobbling, but alive, miraculously.

I peer around at the others, taking stock of my captors. There is Fionn, in all of his arrogant, golden glory. He is possibly the leader of this little cadre. The family of three, seemingly benevolent, united. The sick one—angular, thin, with brown eyes and walnut-colored curls dripping with sweat. He still has not willed himself up from the ground; he looks to be trying to muster the strength. The lithe, dark one who is floating around camp already, quietly packing everything up, tossing stones over the embers of the fire, ignoring my observation. Another lingers near the edge of camp. His every feature is devoid of color. Hair as fair as snow, skin as pale as death. His eyes, obsidian in color, reflect a type of mania. He had remained silent throughout the entire interaction. He’s leaning against the tree now, eyes glued to me.

As my eyes meet his, I see a glint of warning in them. A warning to not make the mistake of getting comfortable here. Once I am of no more use to them, I’m dead. The message is received.

To earn their trust or to make an escape attempt? Weighing my sparse options, I choose the former. I do not know how to survive on my own, exposed to elements. This place is not for a lone female traveler. They have women with them, and a child. Perhaps I can find a crack to wriggle into.

I don’t know what to do or say, so I stand still, arms hugging myself as the group picks up the rest of their camp quickly and efficiently. I watch. There are no introductions, just cold distrust in the gazes that flicker my way. There’s no use warding them off with threats or ice, trying to make myself seem powerful. I’ve already shown my hand in that regard. Trustworthy and helpful is what I’m now trying to give off. I have to find a crack to grow in before they decide I’m not either of those things.