Separate Souls | #1 Tainted Series

Chapter Six

"As little as she wanted to accept it, he was right. She couldn't do this alone."

Makaria Reed:

Being different terrified Makaria Reed. She had prepared herself to kill him that one time, and she was entirely convinced she would, but she began seeing things. She didn't know what to call it, but she'd always been able to. Images blurred together, showing her bits and pieces of random occurrences. Most of them made no sense to her, so she would always ignore them, but a couple of weeks ago, they started getting worse and worse.

The sword had been about to hit him when a vision interrupted.

In the middle of a circular room, a woman with long blonde hair knelt on the stone floor, her sobs echoing as she tossed a book aside. Odd diagrams and mysterious writing covered the book's worn-down pages, the edges showing signs of previous exposure to fire. The woman's trembling hands pulled a child closer to her. The small boy shared the woman's fair hair color, but his eyes shone red. He had black fire marks cursing from his back to his neck, he was Tainted. Every person with an animal spirit had black marks etched somewhere in their skin.

"I'm so sorry, Ryder. This is all my fault. I—I did this to you," she whispered, swaying back and forth.

Makaria knew the child was a younger version of the man, the features were far too similar, but she hoped she was wrong. Had she seen into the man's past? She didn't want anything to do with these visions. They weren't normal, and she didn't need anything else on her plate, but she'd asked him, and she was right, and it must've been his past and—

"Where are we going, Amelia?" Ryder asked.

Amelia? Makaria rolled her eyes. She didn't need a remainder of what a terrible idea it'd been for her to help him. She wanted to forget about his existence, but as ruthless as she wished she was, she simply wasn't.

"I said, no talkin'."

"Alright. I can shut up, but I'd like to know my savior's name," he said, but Makaria paid no attention to the rest of his words, her wound panged and itched and ached. In fact, her entire body ached, and truth of the matter was, she was both physically and emotionally drained. Looking at her shoulder, she noticed the amount of blood trailing down her arm had increased. Her vision blurred as she stumbled a bit. It hit her all at once: blood loss, hunger, and desperation. Her breathing slowed, and her entire body shook, threatening to drop whenever.

"Give m'your cloak," she said to him, uncertain whether she interrupted mid-sentence or if he'd already finished speaking. Quite frankly, she didn't care. He stared at her for a moment, Makaria could almost see the thoughts circling his head, before his hands slowly slipped it off and his glossy gaze turned to her.

"As I was saying... Patricia? I'd like my Ocarina back. It isn't useful to you," he said, pausing on each word as he handed her his cloak, slowly, his grip tightening slightly before finally letting go.

I'd 'ave no trouble cuttin' this into little pieces, Makaria thought. She hated it and everything it stood for. The two white flags etched on the back, in the form of an 'x' symbolized "peace and prosperity", at least that's what the Risen thought they'd have without Fallen.

She crouched, ignoring his words and taking out her most prized dagger, she never went anywhere without it.

"You should probably dress that wound again," Ryder said.

"What d'you think I'm doin'?" She began cutting into the cloth, but her arm ached, and she found it hard to pin it down. The more pressure she used, the harder it became—and it throbbed and strung, and she kept trying—and she thought of how she lost Kale, how the True Spirits evacuated, how she didn't know their current location, how she didn't know where Ethel, James, Samuel, and David were, along with the rest of her comrades. Their faces appeared in her mind, and she thought of how she'd lost them, and she couldn't cut the cloak, and she was on her own again and—

No, I've been alone all my life, Makaria thought. She repeated this again and again, until she noticed Ryder's extended hand.

"You're too hurt to do it on your own, Cleo."

Makaria thought back to his previous transformation, his black hair, crimson eyes, and sickly white skin. The person he'd been, or the person he still was? She refused to move. It wasn't safe for her to give him a weapon, but it hadn't been safe for her to let him accompany her either.

"Look, I-" he ran his fingers through his hair. "I know you don't trust me. But, it's either that, or bleed to death... and one option is better than the other." He gave her a bright, sincere grin.

As little as she wanted to accept it, he was right. She couldn't do this alone.

After giving him the dagger, he swiftly cut through the cloth, the fabric tore and ripped. While he did so, Makaria searched through the knapsack she'd stolen from him and applied the medicine. It sent a raw chill through her every time it touched her wound, like applying ice to warm skin for far too long. She winced.

"I can do it, if you'd like," Ryder said.

"It's fine."

"No, really, I can. It's no problem. I tended to my friends' wounds all the time."

"It's fine."

"Alright."

Makaria could feel his gaze on her and their eyes locked as she looked up. She realized, with an awful start, his handsomeness. His sharp jaw and playful smirk made him much more attractive than she'd ever wish him to be. He seemed to be about her age, though a few years older. She compared him to James, the only boy she'd ever talked to around her own age, and recognized how unprepared she was to talk to people her own age, especially men.

His fingers touched her skin as he used the medicine on her, far gentler than she'd been herself. Her breath caught in her throat and she looked anywhere but him. 'E didn't care, she thought, I'd do the same.

Makaria scolded herself for her straying thoughts. She wondered about this thief in front of her, his demonized spirit animal, and his other transformation. Was she doing right? Should she truly have helped this man? Why was she unable to kill him? His people took her family.

The medicine kicked in and a numbing sensation seeped into her wound, instantly calming her.

What had she seen? How was she able to fight this man and win? Nothin' makes sense, she thought regrettably, but she did know one thing.

"It's not'ur fault, y'know?" she said, "The turnin'..."

Suddenly, Ryder tightened the knot, the harsh dry cloth rubbed against her open skin, and her wound being pressed together as if the two ends could meet and instinctively connect.

"Here," he said as he handed her the dagger. "You're all set."

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Hello, if you've read this far, thank you for sticking around! Everything will fall into place soon, but before that can happen, a few more puzzle pieces must come into play. If there is something you don't like about my writing, anything that sounds off or weird, don't hesitate to comment. Every piece of criticism helps me become a better writer!