The Warlord

Chapter 48: Evelaen

I stare down at my hands. They are tanned, dirt-stained, and thick with callouses. I do not know why they are tanned, dirt-stained, and thick with callouses. I reach up and touch my face, caressing my own cheek. I feel my own warm skin beneath my fingertips, and yet I do not know who I am. My body is alive, my heart is pulsing, and yet my mind is blank. Who am I? The thought echoes in my head for the seven thousandth time. Something stirs next to me, and my hand instinctively goes to my sword hilt. Then I remember that it is the woman that I captured. The woman I was supposed to... kill. 

Even now, as I sit before a blazing fire, a tiny whisper comes from the back of my head, urging me to slay the woman by my side. Cut her throat. Suffocate her. Make her choke on her own blood. I turn away from the fire and stare out into the darkness, forcing on quieting the tiny whisper. It fades, and once more, my mind is blank.

The woman groans, her arms reaching for something, her fingers wildly clawing the air. "Mother," she gasps. "Sister, don't leave me..."

The urge to kill floods back into my veins, and I grip the hilt of my sword, clenching it until my knuckles turn white. My arm writhes, wanting to whip out the blade and be done with it. But I hold firm, gritting my teeth and keeping my hand in place. The moment passes, my blood stops humming, and the woman falls back into fitful sleep. Slowly, I remove my hand and reach into my pouch to pull out my last sleeping pill. It glints in the firelight; a forbidden, cursed ruby that I turn between my fingers.

Making my way towards the woman, who lies on a bed of torn cloaks, I kneel before her with the pill and a flask of water in hand. Give her the pill. Help her swallow it. Instead I study her face in the firelight. She has a delicate, porcelain face that is framed by waves of black hair. With her eyes closed, her lips slightly parted, and her steady breathing, she resembles an ethereal goddess. Who is she? The second thought that has bounced through my head six hundred and ninety-eight thousand times echoes once again. 

This woman is the reason the fog that once obscured my mind broke and dissolved. I saw her face smiling up at me, in that blue-domed palace, and suddenly I could feel again. As she fell backwards, I raced towards her and scooped her up. The wound in her neck was gushing out blood, and as I fled the palace, I felt my will manifest and take form. The hole closed, leaving a bloody wound instead. I covered her face with my cloak and dashed away from that city, traveling all the way to the outskirts of whatever kingdom I am in.

The woman groans again, and suddenly, her arm whips out towards me. She slaps the pill out of my hand, and I watch helplessly as it sails through the air before landing in the fire. Before I can plunge my hands into the flames, the woman wakes. She sits up with a start and immediately throws my cloak on top of me. I wrestle the dusty piece of fabric off my head, only to find that she has grabbed a piece of firewood. Her pale face, once so soft and peaceful, is now wrinkled with fear.

"Stay away from me!" She hisses, brandishing the firewood as if it were a club. I can tell from her stance that she does not know what she is doing. "You imposter!" Her voice swells for a moment and then breaks. It takes me a moment to realize that tears, stark and shining in the light, pool at the rims of her eyes. 

"Why... are you... crying?" My voice comes out gravelly and hoarse, and my throat tingles with rawness. The urge to seize the firewood from her hands and smash her into the ground makes my hands itch, but I ignore it. I need answers from this woman. Who am I? Who is she?

"You are not the warlord! My warlord! My Evelaen!" Her fingers are digging into the wood with a desperate ferocity. Her arms tremble as she stares at me, and I can read something in her face: a fragility that is threatening to fall apart right before me.

Evelaen... The name means nothing to me. It sinks into a blurry, thick mass of nothingness within my head. Who is Evelaen? Who is she? Who am I? There are too many questions, too many words spinning round and round in the blank little space that is my mind. "I am not... Evelaen." Even the name sounds foreign on my tongue.

"Where is she, then? Where is Evelaen?"

"Who is... Evelaen?"

She starts to cry again, glistening tears falling over her cheeks. I meet her dark, obsidian eyes, and the gears click together. I am Evelaen. I am the warlord. And this woman standing in front of me... My mind lights up with a fire tall enough to rival Heaven's height. I see windy beaches and war-torn battlefields and, most poignant of all, her expression of grief as she looks down at me from her metal throne. "Calliope?" I whisper, reaching out a tentative hand. She drops the firewood and grabs my fingers, crushing them in a tight grip.

"Is it really you? Evelaen?" Her voice cracks and breaks as she pulls me towards her. I bury my face in her tangled hair as she clings to me, both of us on the verge of sobbing. "What happened to you?" She asks. "Where did you go?"

"I... I can't remember." I raise a hand to my temple, brow furrowing. "There was... a witch. And a prince... and a familiar." We were trapped in some sort of hellish realm, where the rocks were red and the smoke was thick with blood. There were two unholy beings, one with silent and dark wings, the other...

A jarring pain splits my head in two, and I stumble backwards, crying out loud. Do not resist. That is what he said, what his soft mutterings did to my mind, lulling me into the perfect mold of a soldier. Do not resist. I take deep breaths as my head swims in darkness, slowly reaching a hand out and resting it on the side of the cave. In the corner of my eye, I spy Calliope stepping towards me. The familiar, murderous rage burns again, and I shove myself against the harsh rock. "Calliope, don't come near me!" I groan, my stomach turning over and over as those three cursed words echo in my head. Do not resist.

I drop to the ground and retch, pushing out nothing but stale air and spit. I must not have eaten while I was under his control, searching for Calliope. Once I stop heaving, the voice is gone, and the air is crisper, clearer, better. I take another breath and stand, turning to face Calliope. "He was the one that did it. The mad king, the one who is neither God nor demon," I say, though I know she has no idea what I am talking about.

"Evelaen, what is going on?"

"Cease your quest for the Forgotten Prisoner. They will be of no use."

"Evelaen–"

"Please, Calliope. Trust me." This time, it is my turn to grasp her fingers. I still see a flicker of doubt in her eyes, but she nods her head.

"Tell me what I must do."

I turn my head towards the mouth of the cave. The stars are bright and brilliant on this night; it is surely a sign from the world. "We must make for Serestine. The familiar and the prince will meet us there, with the witchling in tow. And then, we will make contact with Heaven."

Calliope remains silent as I pack up our belongings. I shoulder our pack, and then, together, we leave the cave, heading towards Serestine.