Ghost Towns

Thirteen

It was perhaps an hour out of Goldcrest that Rye realized the true magnitude of what she had escaped. The first thing she and Jax noticed was the smell. For a while, all they had been breathing was smoke. Dense, stale, old smoke that rose from the still smouldering parts of the underbrush. They had come eventually to a stream, wide enough that the fire hadn't been able to cross it, and simply stared. For what felt like hours, Rye and Jax stood on the bank and stared at the blackened husks of tree trunk on the other side.

And when they picked their way between those burned trees, disturbed ash fluttered around their feet like fresh snow.

They were silent now, both stewing in their own thoughts. Rye worried about her parents. Her cat, her neighbours. And occasionally, when she couldn't stop herself from thinking it any longer, she worried that Jax would turn around and leave once she set foot in Goldcrest's streets, never to be seen by her again. He and his stubborn, strange, unknowable self had apparently grown on her, though Rye would probably jump headfirst into the next stream rather than admit it.

If Jax felt even remotely similarly, he didn't say anything. But Rye could've sworn he was looking at her funny sometimes, only to glance away when she caught him.

Though the forest itself was unrecognizable now, Rye began to feel that the paths they took were familiar. They were nearing home. Would her mother cry to see her?

When the first wooden buildings peeked through the trees, Rye's relief reached its peak.

She turned back to Jax, half a smile already formed on her face, only to freeze in her tracks.

His eyes were more silver than they were grey, but not in the way that made them look angry. It was that look of softness that made his expression all the more heartbreaking, a reflection of the tragedy that stains ancient paintings.

"You're not turning back, are you?" Rye whispered, already feeling the thickness of tears rising in her throat.

"Rye," he said, stepping towards her, "I can't come further,"

"Why not? I could show you the town," she pleaded.

The look in his eyes grew impossibly brighter, "I can't, Rye," he whispered, gently moving a wayward curls away from her face. She swatted his hand away. He didn't get to evade his feelings - whatever they were - for all the days they were together, only to show a glimpse of affection as he said goodbye.

"Why not?" She asked again, sight blurred but voice firm.

He said nothing, but seemingly understood her message and stepped slightly back, dejected.

"Tell me!" It was more of a demand now, fuelled by sheer desperation for answers. It would haunt her all her life, she knew, if they parted like they were simply strangers come together by coincidence.

He pressed his lips right together. She held her ground.

A gentle breeze blew through the forest, pinning ash to both their clothes.

At last, he relented, and Rye was so relieved to hear him sigh that she didn't even feel victorious for it.

"I cannot enter Goldcrest, Rye," he sighed yet again, "they don't allow me in."

"Why?" That was stupid reasoning if Rye had ever heard it. Honestly, it was more like an excuse.

She did not wait for an answer. Instead, she grabbed him by the wrist and began marching, dragging him along behind her.

"It's a town, Jax. Anyone is allowed in,"

All the same, Rye adjusted her route so that they were still in the forest, walking around the tiny town instead of through.