Harken

Chapter 9

The water swayed with ripples and bubbles, perfume fumes clouding in the air and masking life in a smell of sickly sweet rose. Nekrah cast aside the silken robe and submerged his body in the iridescent mauve water. He sighed. He'd been thinking a lot lately, mostly about Harken, what the boy would do outside the palace walls and who he might encounter on his self imposed quest. Nekrah picked up a silver handed loofah from the side of the white porcelain bath, lathering it up and scrubbing his body, still in thought. The angel boy reminded him of someone; of him. His youth may have been short-lived and left him with mental and physical scars but he had had a different heart then and that had led him to yearn for this utopia he had failed to create. He tried to play God, dictate rules he made for his own benefit, treat subjects like pawns on a chessboard. It would never have filled the gaping void within him, being in charge for so long right until his death. Shame. He probably never would heal his beating heart, squirming inside him like a contortionist. Squeezing the life out of him slowly; he was simply waiting patiently for an ending he was scared to face. Nekrah gave in: with a scowl on his lips, he rummaged for it. When he finally found it, he stabbed the ketamine syringe into his bicep and let out a grunt of pain through gritted teeth. One day, he might give it up. But right now, the euphoria it would bring was worth more than the chilling numbness and anxiety to come later on. He needed it.
******
The knife was rusted at the hilt, the handle rattled so. She breathed her final breath, said "now it's time to go". Raised towards her neck and pulled with all her might, cutting sharply forward in the dead of night. Her blood bled like a dying fortress, the melancholy burning of her portrait. All her petty evils never were forgave, sorrow drowns all while stood by Jainko's grave.
******
Harken stared at the rotting wooden sign, it's flimsy paper notice flapping in the wind. Psychic Jainko dead by suicide it read, printed in bold formal letters. He didn't know how to feel. It had only been a few minutes since they had managed to outrun the rebellions, the kick of adrenaline dissipating like morning mist. Alexiares was behind him, talking about how he wondered why she did it, how she did it and all that but it had faded to a dull throbbing infecting the back of Harken's head. He may no longer suffer from mind-invading head-splitting nightmares anymore but his stubborn coolness had taken another victim: a woman forced to use her magic for evil. Maybe she was evil herself, so much he wouldn't have to hate himself for this unexpected outcome? But it was a possibly or a probably with no definitely in sight. "Look Harken, don't blame yourself." Alex murmured, "people were saying she was mad anyway. It might have been her, not you." Alex was ringing his hands nervously. "Alex, you're trying to be positive. Stop. She's dead. I helped. There's nothing else to say and nothing else to do. We'll carry on."
And with that Harken walked away, uniform steps relaying no hint at the inside feelings of the mechanic angel's aching soul.
******
Nekrah watched his hands bleed out in the marble sink, glanced upwards to the droplets of blood hurrying through the cracks of the mirror. He hadn't thought about guilt for a long time, tried to bury what he had in luxury and make belief titles he concocted. But Jainko was dead now. He killed her, pushed her off a precipice hidden deep inside her mind. He had seen the body. A ghastly slash across her neck revealing the bones in her neck, a drenched knife resting passively in her hand like a friendly cat. Her light grey hair hanging limp on her shoulders and tinged pink at the ends. It reminded him of someone who he knew once, and lost in the senseless soup of his mind. It was more like he had pushed them so far down she had become part of his forgotten memories and not where they should be in the spotlight of his youth. No. He might have to face his fears yet. Nekrah only noticed the mirrors reflection when it was too late: he turned to reach out to it. But the invisible Harken was only sunlight.