Rosalind: Book One

60- Vorpal

The gentle fall of ivory blanketed every sound coming from the lovers. In the cold, cruel forest, it was as though they were the only two left alive.

When Rosalind cried into Troy's neck, he hooked his finger under her chin and brought her face to him. "You have never...?" his words trailed off as the realization that this was her first time sunk in. Troy cupped her face. "You and he never...?"

Rosalind shook her head, her lashes touching for a sweet second. "You will not have breadcrumbs, Troy." She tightened her hold on him, the warmth in the cloak was a nest for two little birds who had been left too long in the cold.

When she bowed to his neck, Troy's breath hitched. "I have never either," he uttered, his hips moving over hers, "You are the only one I want and the only one I will ever want, until the sun shatters into the sea."

Rosalind felt him shudder and warmth came over her like nothing she had ever felt before. Everything inside her melted as he came. "Love is a peculiar thing, making one both master and slave." Rosalind kissed his cheek and pulled her dress down.

As Rosalind's warm cloak opened, a chill like one he had never felt touched Troy's cheek, right where she had kissed him. He secured the laces of his trousers then looked at the sky. "Dawn comes quicker than we care to admit. Will your family not worry if they wake up and you are not there?"

Rosalind chuckled dryly. "My brothers will tear Transylvania apart trying to find me and my dear father will lose his mind. He lost me once, I cannot do that to him again. Yes, I should go."

The pair walked side by side, their hands nearly touching. As they neared the edge of the Borgo, Troy reached a finger to hers and curled it around her pinkie. "I wish I could walk you home," he said unhappily.

"You cannot leave this place, can you?"

He shook his head mournfully. "Agnes and I are both bound here. We have invisible shackles around our ankles. We are damned to be my father's servant and whipping boy until forever ends."

His hold was fragile. Rosalind slipped her fingers up so they fully entwined with his. "Is there no hope?"

Troy thought a moment, then shrugged. "Perhaps one day we will be lucky enough. We may dream hard enough and the curse will be broken. We need an angel to save us, Rosalind, and if you have not yet noticed, there is nothing but monsters and trees here."

Rosalind pulled him close for a hug and sighed deeply, breathing him in. "I wish I could save you," she whispered knowing neither Troy nor Agnes deserved what had happened to them. In the splintered sections of her remind, she believed Caspian did not deserve his fate, either. Dawn played on the coattails of the night. Rosalind saw the shift of shades in the sky and pulled away from Troy. "Soon our home will come alive."

He nodded and gave her a faint smile. "Go, Rosalind. Grief has already befallen your family. Do not give them any more reason to worry."

For an instance, their lips touched. A parting good-bye.

Beyond the crooked trees of the Borgo, Rosalind's horse waited patiently, mounting it she headed back towards her house.

Through the more secluded areas of her hometown, Rosalind lead the stallion. She did not want to be seen so going through the poorer part of Transylvania was a wise choice. Soon the bakery nearby would be alive with scents but at the moment the only smell finding her nose was the stench of alcohol. The buildings stood close together, nearly blocking out the sky.

When Rosalind failed to see the old man stumbling like a newborn foal in front of her horse, it was the sound of him grunting as he fell which got her to pull the reins.

Laying in a pile of raggedy attire was a crumpled body. He lay skinny and frail among the muck of the street.

"What have I done," she hissed dismounting. Rosalind rushed to the elderly soul and helped him up. "Old man, are you alright?"

Ivar rose unsteadily on his feet. Without the aid of the young woman, he would have stayed on the ground until noon. "Have I been attacked?" he asked feebly.

"You walked in front of my horse and you fell." Rosalind's nose wrinkled at the stench of ale clinging onto him.

Ivar pointed to the old shawl still laying on the floor and Rosalind scooped it up. "Why do you have no coat in this weather?" she asked.

Bony hands wrapped the shawl back on his shoulders. Ivar nudged his feet back into his slippers and looked at her. "If the cold wants to claim me, let it." He had never worn anything but the shawl, not since his granny had died. It had been hers. It had weathered the shift from summer to winter and oceans of wine. He wanted to scurry away, to go home and sleep off his intoxication, but when he got a good look at Rosalind's face, he let out an almighty gasp and grabbed her arms. "It is you!" A gummy smile took place of the mournful look on his face. "My gran always said you would come back."

Unsettled by the Ivar's words, Rosalind tensed. "We have never met, old man."

Ivar began to chuckle, low at first. "You. The Van Voreen girl. The promised one." He let go of Rosalind and let out a whoop of delight. "You have come to save us from the beast."

Upon hearing his words, Rosalind froze. Her jaw tensed as she managed her words out. "What beast are you talking about?" she demanded.

A gnarled finger, as gnarled as the branches which had sheltered her and Troy, reached up and pointed towards Caspian's land. "The Borgo Beast, mi'lady." Ivar nodded. His granny's stories came to him, clear as if he had heard them but a day ago. "She will return my young Ivar. Her face fair. Her eyes green gems and her hair made out of midnight. She will come from sunlight and shadows, with two beating hearts, carrying the vorpal blade, the one that will end all the suffering and snow. An innocent child she is but darkness will come calling for her like a suitor looking for his bride. In her mind is madness. In her dreams premonitions and visions. When the good and evil inside her find a symbiosis, she will know it is time." Ivar closed his eyes momentarily. His granny's sketch lingered. Rosalind's face had been drawn on a wrinkled sheet. "It is you," Ivar pointed to her and began to dance. "Our salvation. I knew you would come for us."

Rosalind grabbed the reins on her horse and backed away from the dancing madman. "I am not who you think I am, old-timer. I am simply a woman. Flesh. Blood. Human. I cannot save anyone from this insanity you speak of."

Ivar stopped dancing and hoisted his falling shawl back over his shoulders. "You see things," he said in a loud whisper, "You have seen death. You have seen madness."

"You are the one who sees madness, old man!" Yet her dream came flooding to her, the ones she had before meeting Caspian, during and after. The dreams where she heard the lord's voice calling to her. She recalled the phantom woman, the one who spoke of violent truths. Rosalind's mind replayed her dark thoughts of Clairie dying and of Caspian's blood being spilled. And then she thought of everything in between. "I know not of what you speak of," she snapped and mounted her horse. There was a beast inside her ribcage where a heart used to be.

Tugging on the reins, she turned the animal away from Ivar. As Rosalind galloped away she heard him say, "Find the vorpal blade, mi'lady. You will know what it is when you see it for the blade had always been waiting for you."

His words followed Rosalind into her house. When she slipped back into her bedroom and hid under the covers, they replayed themselves like a haunting refrain until they became a violent buzz screaming in her ear.

Note: The Vorpal Blade is a nod to Alice The Madness, which I am a fan of.