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Chapter 79

Three things happen simultaneously, and so quickly I'm not sure if I'm not dreaming.
I hear frenzied footsteps to my back, enraged voices, and long shadows stretch down the path on either side of me, thrown into relief against the storm by the flickering, yellow light of torches.
Without looking behind me, I watch as the mob skids to a halt, watching helplessly as the last few drops of substance drip from the wine-skin to fall through the air, mixing with the rain, directly into the open wound across Coal's chest.
At the same time, I gasp when an icy grip on my arm distract me from my guilt. Within the space of a heartbeat, it transforms from tentative, to firm, from pressurizing, to agonizing. I cry out in involuntary pain as Coal grips my arm tighter and tighter, exposed canine claws digging through pale flesh and crimson blood welling up around his taut fingers.
Panicked, my wide eyes dart to his face, eyes scrunched shut as if trying to block out the pain, face paler than normal, a white mask against the mop of damp black hair that's plastered to his forehead by the rain. Jaw squared by clenched teeth, his free hand clenched in a deadly fist, every visible muscle and vein in his body bulging and taut from trying to suppress the agonizing pain which I can only imagine, his entire form a perfect picture of extreme physical anguish.
"Coal!" I shout, for loss of anything else to do, the name torn from my throat by the whipping wind and rain, eyes half closed against the storm. I grab the hand that's clenched firmly around my forearm, and I believe it will never let go. His skin is freezing to the touch, like ice or stone, like he's been frozen for so long in a state reminiscent of death that his body is still stuck in that timeless stage of sleep.
The seconds fly, or perhaps drag, by, in such a remarkable, eternal manner that they all but don't exist whatsoever. I forget about the angry mob waiting, watching, mere feet away from me. I forget about the battle with the Beast's atop this cursed mountain, about the cruel reign of the Rulers, about the cruel history of this post-apocalyptic place. I forget about the set of accursed laws which has bound us survivors since the end of the world, the Order, that which condemns us Impurities to exile and death.
I forget about Stone.
All I can remember is me and Coal. Coal and me. I feel like I've known him for years- scratch that. All my life. His face is seared permanently into my memory, a burning image that will be there forever.
Stone is a creation of Coal's. I see that now, and almost laugh at my idiocy. Stone is Coal. There is no one or the other, because Stone never existed. It is, always has been, Coal.
My eyes are tearing up, and I hate it, but the rain masks my tears. Seconds are hours, days, years, and the blink of an eye is a lifetime. Coal's hand clenches tighter still, the pain in my forearm now a numb sensation, though his eyes won't open, and I'm terrified that he'll die from the stress, that the pain is simply too much to humanly comprehend, and his heart will just give out.
Scenes and places, voices, people, faces, they all flash past my eyes, flickering memories all playing out in the short, tragic story of me and him.
Waking up with my leg bandaged on that first day, him sitting there with that crooked smile on his face, eyes as deep as an endless well, the first time I saw him. About to be eaten by a great horned Beast, I open my eyes to watch a furious Coal single-handedly rip the animal away from me. Then, later, how he acted at Pine's, sitting outside by the rusted well, talking, innocent conversation. Well, innocent as I then thought.
The visions blur over the attack by the Servants of the Order, like I've purposefully driven any memories of that horrible event from my mind. Rescuing Bow and Clay, carrying them up the mountain in a snowstorm, watching them die practically in our arms. I can smell the stench of the funeral pyre, a great burning beacon of defiance for all to see.
Then, recently, standing with Coal in the rain on the mountain, wrapped in his strong arms, my tears blending with the rain around us that protects us, isolates us in a personal little bubble, concealing us from the world. The scarf, the paint, the 68 and the crown on his neck. The anguish, the rush of emotion, the distrust. Then, losing my love all over again when the great animal atop the peak rakes it's vicious claws all over him. Coal's blood on my hands, on the ground, in his hair and shirt and all over everywhere, watching his life bleed away.
I can't- won't let him die.