Of Winds And Quakes

44. The Fall and 45. The Fire

Year of the Roses
Floral Season
Village of Bynin
Altsas

Mavli

I HAVEN'T SLEPT in almost two weeks. Each time I close my eyes, I see him. Not the taskmaster, I've killed the bloody bastard in my dreams. But Cirok. It hurts and it's painful that I'll never get to see him again. I can't believe that our love was not given a chance to blossom.

That night of our escape keeps swirling in my mind, tumbling over my thoughts. If only I had known that I would lose him I would have held on to him tighter, kiss him deeper. I won't have let him sit beside me on the horse. And when he fell I left him, I left him just like how that coward Cerric did.

The ring gleams on my finger. I swear I feel it warm up each time Cirok is on my mind which is often than not. Most times, I feel so disgusted with myself that I urge to chop the finger off and with it the ring.

Sitting at a corner in the room I was generously given, my mind drifts off to that night.

The mare keeps trotting forward and I wonder how she knows the way. Probably she doesn't and is just following her instincts.

My fingers tangle into her mane of coarse hair and I let the tears fall. Cirok. No amount of apology will ever make what I've done justified. I'm evil, I'm a betrayer, a backstabber. Cirok came back for me but I left him to the taskmaster. Who knows if he is even alive?

The mare runs into a shallow stream and her hooves splash water which slaps me across the face. Should I drop it in? I am suddenly overly aware of the onyx ring on my finger. I should fling it so my mind will be at peace, so he won't haunt my dreams.

No. I need to have a piece of him with me even if I comes as my own personal ghost haunting me every second.

I don't know how long we keep galloping through the forest with claw like branches scratching at me and lashing me as we go. The air tastes salty or maybe it's the sweat that runs over me and dampens my skin. My heartbeat keeps to time with the thundering of the mare's hooves.

I don't know if I'll survive this night. I'm not sure if I'll see beyond this full moon. I don't know if tomorrow will come. And I don't care, I don't even feel sorry for myself. I've lost my family and my fiancé but I don't feel sorry for myself. I don't feel anything. I'm numb.

The trees become sparse and I think I can see the silhouettes of huts in a distance. My breath hitches. I have hope, I might just make it.

But the world teeters and my sight dims and I lose balance and I fall. And I hit the ground and inside me, tiny shards of me disperse with the collision.

The hand that touches my cheek is soft. It gently skims over my stinging skin and pushes my damp hair from my forehead. The voice that accompanies it is soft and mellifluous, I think it belongs to a female but I can't be sure. My heart is throbbing like it got split by an axe and I can't seem to find my voice. I try to connect to my arms and legs somehow, command them to push me up give me a sign that I'm still alive. The voice and hand can be my afterlife for all I know.

The voice gasps. "She's waking up!" The voice is Alysia's. I'm incredibly sure of it.

Groggily, I blink my gritty eyelids open and I'm met with blurry colours all swirling together. But I can make out a face, a soft female face.

Alysia.

I cannot contain the excitement inside me, groping like a blind, I cup the face in my hands. "Alysia, it's really you. I'm so happy to see you again."