Chapter 6: Unlikely Rescue

A horn plays its dulled tune, echoing about the walls like a siren's call.

With it, I hear voices, shouts, and howls.

I'm wounded, losing energy as my adrenaline rush fades away. I shiver all over, dirt crusted and blood-soaked hands clutch my bruised arms. I need to run; I need to hide. I can hear the voices drawing closer, a rush of rumbling footsteps and clattering armor.

Swords draw, curses hiss; the light of torches light up the hallway leading into my prison. They will storm in, seen what I've done, and kill me on the spot. I can feel it, I know it. I'm going to die, my drive to spare myself lost in my swirling mind.

I want to move, but I can't.

I shiver, but I'm not cold.

I'm terrified, but not of the approaching danger.

I'm terrified of myself.

My wide eyes stare at the dead soldier, at the corpse with a gleaming blade protruding out like eldritch beacon. That man, he was just breathing. He was just moving, just speaking, just recently animate and full of life. To see someone I knew, for better or for worse, fall into an eternal slumber, is something I can't comprehend. The knowledge they will never wake again, never laugh again, never dream, or wish, or love.

Death is something I only ever see in movies, hear about on the news. If I looked in on what I've done, I'd see it scroll past on the bottom of a weather broadcast or uploaded on a website. "Teen murders his violent captor.", it would read. The comments would say it's what he deserved, say the teenager is awesome. They would congratulate me, curse my captor, and ultimately forget about me. The world would move on, and what I've done would only live on in a select few.

I would be one to agree, I would say the captor deserved it.

I want to scream, to curl up and simply stop existing.

I'm a murderer, I've killed someone. I almost wish he would start breathing, wish that his chest would rise and fall. I want that, I need it. I need to know I'm not a monster, know that this blood on my hands isn't because of me. I can hear the voices, looking in on my sin like its entertainment. He deserved it. He was an idiot. You're brave. You're the hero. It's like they're mocking me, they think my own thoughts and feelings are irrelevant. I'm the victim of my own crime, but nobody else would see it that way.

The footsteps draw closer, I see dirt get kicked down the stone steps in the hallway. Shadows loom over those steps, creeping into my cell like demons. The shadows wash over the soldier's corpse, claiming him in the darkness. They draw toward me; I shuffle away because I fear what will happen when they reach my feet. I'm a killer, a murderer, a monster, a demon. I don't deserve to live, and I'm about to get what's coming to me. I cover my eyes, cowering away from the approaching shadows. I'm done, I'm ready. I'll let them kill me.

So, I wait.

And wait.

… And wait…

And… wait?

The voices retreat. Or more accurately, they pass by. With them, the shadows simply disappear, followed by more shadows, flickering in and out in front of me. I sit dumbstruck, as the soldiers all run toward something unseen, with their wolves and their torches accompanying them. I even hear what I think to be the man in the armor's voice shout. Though it's muffled by the distance, he sounds mad about something.

In the midst of this, I feel something; a presence that I've scarcely noticed before. It falls upon me, as if it entered in and joined me in this cell. With it comes that familiar voice, it's tone urgent.

Run! Now!

Without thinking, I'm up on my feet, running in a drunken manner toward the entrance. I pass by the corpse; it takes all my willpower not to look down. I stumbled up mossy steps, nearly losing my footing and knocking my head against the stone walls.

A bitter chill nips at me when I escape my cell, wind rips away any warmth I had.

I'm nearly stopped in place when I see that massive tree again. It glows in the night, like a golden beacon dominating the sky. From it, gleaming leaves fall like sparse snow, giving everything a fairytale-like hue.

It makes what happened to me in my prison feel like nothing more than a bad dream. But shouts and the noise of roaring flames pulls my eyes away, and puts me back into the nightmare I'm in.

I reside in what looks to be the ruins of a village, nothing left standing but cobbled stone weathered by time and rainfall. At the northern end of the village, a large wagon covered in ornamental carvings rests dormant near a massive gateway. The village itself was built close to that gateway, as if it were a merchant town near the entrance of a great kingdom, to leech cash off any travelers passing through. Whoever the residents of this place were, they're long gone now.

A large path cuts through the village, overrun by weeds and reaching grass. I stand at the edge of that path, and when I look right, I see what all the commotion was.

A similar ornamental wagon rests at the south end of the village, parked just outside of the path.

It's on fire.

Flames reach high toward the heavens; everything is illuminated in hell's hue. Dark shapes run back and forth around the blaze, working to get anything flammable away from it. Wolves growl in the shadows, and the man in armor stands the closest to me, shouting orders at his frantic men. A large white wolf stands next to him, staring at the blaze with no teeth borne.

It merely watches.

One of its ears twitch, and it turns to look my way.

Run! The voice yells, almost as if it were in my ear. Toward the gate!

I'm stumbling away by the time the white wolf spots me, limping on my left leg, and clutching a region where it feels like multiple ribs have broken. The white wolf lets out a deep growl, the other wolves all snap their heads toward me without a second of hesitation.

The man in armor takes notice, and his face contorts into a furious grin when his fierce eyes land on me, as if he enjoys what comes next.

"Kill the Tarnished!" He snarls.

I can barely walk upright, let alone run. I'm tripping every other step, each jarring shift in weight sending shocks of pain through my entire body. I nearly bite through my tongue as I scream internally, trekking onward with sweat dripping down my paled face.

I'm past the wagon by the time the man in armor yells, and the white wolf takes it as an incentive. It bolts after me, clearing the distance in long strides. The others follow, a pack of gleaming eyes and bared teeth.

Five seconds, that's probably all I have. Five seconds before wicked fangs sink into my neck, and I'm mauled to death. I can hear the white wolf closing in, galloping of talons scratching stone.

Four seconds.

I can hear its breath, sense its incoming presence like hairs standing on the back of my neck. Why am I doing this? Why do I listen to a voice? Am I insane? I'm about to die, in a way many times worse than being stabbed or beheaded.

I'm about to be torn apart.

Go right!

I listen, not because I believe, but because I have no other option.

Three seconds.

I go right, nearly falling over when my hip collides with a bush. The white wolf jumps, clearing the last of the distance in one bound.

Two seconds.

I can't take it, I turn around. I want to see it happen, I want to know where I'll be bitten, how I'll die. I will not be torn apart with my face in the dirt.

One second.

Nearly my entire vision is encapsulated by a gaping maw, drawing open in slow motion.

My heart is a runaway train in my chest, muscles tensing up. I can't react fast enough, can do nothing except wait for this adrenaline rush to recede, and let myself get slaughtered. Close enough to see bumps on the tongue, close enough to see strands of saliva loosely connected between dagger-like teeth. Soon, very soon, that maw will clamp down. Might be my neck, might be my face. Wherever it is, it'll be the end of me.

Fall! The voice wails, I almost want to laugh.

Even now, my mind's grasping at straws, trying every trick it can in this last split second. Well, I'm going to fall anyway, might as well-

Something clamps around me, but it's not composed of teeth and spit. It's not sharp, it doesn't split my skin or tear my flesh. It's a soft embrace about my neck, one I can't see.

Is an angel holding me?

I'm Christian, I believe there's an afterlife. But I didn't think angels came down to earth anymore, I thought I wouldn't meet anyone until I got to heaven's gates. My thoughts are dashed away as golden light begins to envelop me, covering my body like I'm being lit aflame. The light reaches my face, just as the white wolf's maw snaps closed. Its teeth pass through me, like I was never there. I feel no pain, no sting. I feel warm.

Got you.

My view of the world is dashed away, and I'm yanked down at a speed faster than I've ever experienced.

"What-!"

I drain out of existence; my body of golden light being sucked away into the ground like I were made of a liquid. The white wolf lands awkwardly, being sent into a tumble. The rest of the wolves skid to a combined halt, sniffing the ground in confusion. The man in armor, the first human to arrive, grinds to a stop, his large spear in hand. He stares at where I disappeared, where nothing but a flicker of golden fire spouts from broken roots. I stopped existing, with nothing left but a Site of Grace where I once stood.

The man's grip on his spear tightens, he grinds his molars together. A Tarnished escaped him, in a way he had never seen before. What the hell happened? What happened to the soldier guarding him?

My sense of balance is sent spiraling out of control, as I'm pulled along in seemingly every direction. It feels like I'm in a waterslide, yet there's no solid surface anywhere. I only see gold, in jagged and liquid patterns, like I'm caught in a current. Particles that look like embers whip by, light swirling about in eccentric designs. I'm tugged left, dragged right. I go around what feels like a curve, before rising fast enough to make my stomach flip when it bottoms out. My wounds go numb, body shivers with an ancient power that fills every corner of my body with warmth. It's all happening so fast; I can't keep up.

The only anchor is something, or someone clinging onto my wrist, guiding me along this shining current.

Who?

With a sudden rise, I'm thrown back into the world.

I rapidly decelerate, as my body reassembles itself from conjoining particles. My bare feet land on soft grass, and that warmth leaves me.

I steady myself; it takes a few steps to stop completely.

I take huge breaths, my heart beating like a drum.

What… was that?

I look about cautiously, trying to figure out where I am now.

I'm… I know this place.

I'm back at the hill, the one that overlooked the forest. Where I first saw this world, where I met-

I whip about, naturally finding myself taking up one of the defensive stances I learned in karate. The masked man is nowhere to be seen. His camp he set up is gone too, no tracks or signs to give him away. It's like he never existed. It takes me a moment, but I realize nothing hurts. I check myself over, becoming so overwhelmed I can't think. My clothes are still ripped, but my back doesn't hurt, I don't have a cough. Skin back to that pale color I'm used to; no bruises or dirt, or stained blood.

I. I…

"How?" I utter.

I hear something behind me, and when I turn to look, I can't believe what I see.

"Thank Grace, I feared I was too late."

Particles leech out of a golden flame near the ground, coalescing into existence, and suddenly there's two on this hilltop.

A mistress with a drawn hood and peaceful gait walks toward me, illuminated by the golden flame between us.

"You are lucky to live, Roard is not a peaceful knight."

The girl removes her hood, exposing a one-eyed gaze that pierces my soul. My heart spikes in my chest, something about this is eerily familiar. I got the same feeling when I first saw the giant tree, when I met the Varre, and when I saw those soldiers' faces.

I've been here before.

Her voice soft, dialect like Old English. Caramel colored hair, eye the color of a dormant flame. The girl gives me a small smile, her left eye shut behind a strange tattoo.

"Greetings, I am Melina."

I know that name.

Melina leans in, just as the wind dies down to silence.

"I… offer you an accord."