Chapter 17- A soul and seed

The gods are cruel,

and we are their playthings.

~ Euripides.

***

 Memory lose its meaningful existence? ... outstretched in bold trance? Her arms? Who was this 'her'? And what does the words implies?

 It seemed she was missing something, something extremely important, some probability that would make itself known to her only with pondering and time. But this line of thinking made her head ache.

 The sound of shattered plate broke her off her thoughts and she made sure the door was shut properly. She turned and made her way upwards, emerging into a large, darkly paneled corridor. It was a dark hall.

 She walked along, taking the help of the illuminative lights, and not trying to conceal the sounds of her patchy shoes and hide beneath the shadow convinced she was in a memory.

 It was a library. Not deep archive of priceless and crumbling records, but looked like a daily reading room, with long oak tables and comfortable chairs. A dead fireplace, still warm beneath her feet, with a few shattered ambers still glowing among its charred logs and ashes. Medusa wondered if this part of the house existed. Her master was a servant who worked in the palace for the money in the past, earning a handful. Will someone who earns few pennies a day be able to build such exquisite library in such small house?

Medusa was left with her piling thoughts. Reaching the end of the corridor on the second floor, she turned down another door and spied light beneath a door. She approached it and turned the knob, letting herself into a small yet elegant study. She had thought the room was empty, but on closer look, there was someone seated on a chair with legs crossed over the other, and a newspaper covering his face.

 Judging from the shoe worn, she suspected it was a man. She watched him slowly drop the newspaper on his lap and grabbed the mug kept at his disposal. It was then Medusa saw his face clearly; the shadow on black cloak earlier!

 She could picture the familiar aura he carried along as it seemed to seep through the thick walls and curtains but why hadn't she known all along? And what was he doing here?

"It seems you have already made your decision," he placed the cup back on the saucer after taking a sip. Medusa scrutinized his movements very closely. He pulled his gloves, dropping it besides the mug. And it was then Medusa saw the thick vein gliding through his fingers, straight to his fingertips. Still, that hat hindered her from having a clear view of his face, just his perfectly crafted lips that didn't cease to stop the dark smirk.

 "Just that I hoped it wasn't this soon." He added, looking up at Medusa.

.

Medusa could swear his voice had that strings that tugged something loose within her. It was powerful enough to make her dizzy. He had not moved since she entered. He looked like he could see her standing still, wordless. It was impossible, right? Could he see her?

 As if to answer her intrusive thought, the sound of small footsteps caught her sensitive hearing, and she turned. Her master walked through her body, and out, approaching another chair nearby and sat.

 With a sullen expression, she poured out something from the jug into the empty cup before answering. "What is it that you wanted to tell me?" the gravel in her voice, that cold tone intrigued him and intrudes Medusa. Her black hair was heavy and worn in an old-fashioned bun on the back of her hair.

 "Easy there…" he chanted, appeased by the reaction he received. "I come in peace."

 "To disrupt my own peace?" she retorted in a responsive question. "It would be wise to say what you came for and leave." She took a sip from her cup, as though trying to swallow her rage and keep her control in check.

"Formality would do, that way, we could be more of allies and… friends."

"Is that why you called me?" her voice remained grave.

 He smiled for the nth time. "Did you know Ashley Bowman is dead?"

 She held his gaze for a moment and sipped her drink. Then she looked away. "Who told you?" she asked. "Does everyone know?"

 "Apparently not."

 "I knew he wouldn't come back," she said and pursed her mouth so that the heavy lines above her lips were refined. "Why?"

 "It looks like his salvation did not only fade with him but resided into another soul." He revealed and the lines in her forehead thickened.

 "Another soul?" she scoffed and rose slowly from her chair. Then she passed him a confused look. "You spout nonsense, Axar," she said. She looked at the door and was ready to move towards it when he spoke again.

 "You might find it hard to believe but a soul lingers around the dead, with his salvation that crawls around."

 "You and I know that salvation no longer exists and it is only a pure blood that can transmit a soul to another breed-" her voice died down at the realization hits her. "You are not serious!" her eyes widened.

 He stood with a smirk and it was then Medusa noted how tall and built he was at this time compared to before. "Yes, Medusa," he said. "A seed has been abandoned on dry land without water or sunlight. You must find that seed and plant, before another wields it."

 Medusa pondered on his words very carefully. Seed? Soul? Salvation? All these made no sense to her. Nothing did. It made her question for the nth time, what this memory was about?

.

"The last thing I would go about doing is walking on a farm to find a seed," she spoke with clear certainty. "I would have as many seeds brought to you, just to trade my freedom."

 Suddenly, a dry laugh escaped his lips as if he heard something amusing. His laughter reverberated around the room, and she flinched at the darkness that erupt his tune. Then he looked at her when his laugh died down, "There's only one seed, Medusa."

 The way he pronounced her name was with blackness of its own, and she stared at him. "I get the seed, and you gain your freedom. It's an option left to choose and decide. You know wiser than to be foolish." Then he walked back his chair and sat, taking hold of the cup and took one long sip.

 She stared at him, longer than she would have. But time was what she failed to control. "Why do I have to find this seed? You have your barbarians at your disposal."

 "You…" he stressed. "… are at my disposal too, Medusa. Don't you forget that." He said.

 "Why do you want this seed? Is there something you aren't telling me, Axar?" He smirked and she kept a straight face, noticing every bit of his expression.

 "You-" A sound of shattered glass interrupted her, and she turned, alert. She looked at him with a meaningful gaze, one which he seemed to acknowledge, as he kept sipping from his glass and she left.

 Medusa looked at the door she passed from, before looking at the man seated comfortably. Axar, she thought. That was his name.

 She noticed the tattoo drawn on the side of his neck when he craned it. It seemed to be going upwards and spread wholly. Without much thought, Medusa walked towards him.

 She was beginning to doubt herself but curiosity got the best out of her.

 He sat in silence and she walked, getting to stand face to face with the man. He seemed lost in his own thought as seconds turned into minutes and kept on ticking. Medusa lost track of time as she observed him closely. Where did she see this mark from?

 And a wild thought came to her. Dangerous yet of worth. She raised her hands, imploring them in his face, but he hadn't moved an inch or act like he saw her. She tried yet again, but the same result and she gave the conclusion that he couldn't see her.

 Slowly, Medusa reached out to pull the hat when all of a sudden; he raised his head and stared right into her.

 Scarlet eyes.

 A bright blinding light shone upon Medusa, causing her to block her eyes at the blindness and prevent herself from the impact. Then a loud sharp cry ripped through her surrounding, so loud that she used her hands to cover her ears. But it was impossible not to hear the sounds. Then came laughter, shout and cries of derision, guffaws and curses now. And silence reigned the next minute.

 She dropped her hands slowly and her eyes opened. She sought to draw light into them, but there was only darkness. A deep sense told her she wasn't alone. The whole place was utterly dark and quiet.

 Then the next thing she heard was a distant voice whispering something incoherently. Now she found her feet, she walked, following the voices. The longer she went, the more the pressure of the breeze moved in solace, as if urging her to go both onward and backwards.

 Medusa picked up the faint words and recalled where she heard them from. But only for she to get closer and the whispering stopped. What was that?

 And instant breeze whooped behind her and her head snapped to the back. She saw nothing but the darkness. She looked around, alerted. She fixed her sensitive hearing to places but got silence.

 When she turned her head back forward, "May the devil take you home, piece by piece!" and her eyes widened when a dagger was plunged right into her chest.

***