SOL (ON HOLD)

CHAPTER 35

Ele's plea hung in the air as he turned to face us fully.

I stumbled back, bile rising and my throat constricting, because Ele was covered in blood, a knife in one hand, and a baby in the other.

"I don't know what's happening," he breathed, tears now streaming down his face as he stumbled to his knees.

Odelyn face was white as a sheet but devoid of any discernible emotion as she stared at the child. And then she turned blue.

"I can't-" she spluttered "-I can't breathe." Fyn was by her side in a second and she began to cough violently, water pouring from her mouth with each hacking cough.

"I can't-" she gasped, before retching horrifically, seaweed and seashells flying out in the torrent of water.

A bloodcurdling scream shook the forest as I saw Makeda double over, a knife sticking out of her stomach. She pulled it out, panting heavily, her arm shaking as she plunged it into her flesh again. The next scream was mine.

I spun to Ciel, my heart beating rapidly as my head spun. He was coughing violently, blood running from his ears and nose.

He has the plague, I realized as he lifted a bloody hand to wipe his nose, read streaks painting his face. But his eye looked fine. My gaze darted to his eyepatch and I lunged at him.

"Sol, what are you doing?" he said, his voice hoarse as he fended me off.

"You're sick," I said desperately, as I frantically reached for his eyepatch, "you're sick, I know it. Your eyes are red, I just need to-"

"Sol, stop," he shouted, before another round of coughs racked his body.

"No, you're sick. You're sick, I need to-" I pleaded, stopping dead in my tracks as I ripped the eyepatch off.

A brutal mess of crisscrossed scars stared back at me, as Ciel's one good eye filled with tears. Each wound was too straight, too perfect to be accidental.

"Oh," I breathed, tears welling in my own eyes as he yanked the eyepatch down, pushing away from me.

But instead of apologizing or attempting to comfort him, I said, "I don't know how you're hiding it. I know your eyes are stained."

He looked at me like I was a stranger, before he fell to his knees clutching his chest as blood and spittle flew. I knelt beside him, muttering "I know your eyes are stained. I know-"

This time it was an arm on my shoulder that stopped me. Makeda stood behind me, Crow on her shoulder, her clothes soaked in blood.

"Forgotten Forest... not real... we need to go," she panted, yanking me out of the clearing.

I protested weakly as Crow flew at me forcing me into the trees and Vernon dragged Ciel, his shirt bunched up in the wolf's jaws.

As I stumbled out of the clearing I felt like I had just been doused in freezing cold water. I could see Ciel, splayed on the ground, whole and unharmed. And definitely not sick.

His eyepatch, I thought, feeling bile rise in my throat. Stars no. I pulled it off, I- I-

Tears welled in my eyes as I remembered the tangle of scars and the pained look in his brown eye.

Vernon squeezed through the trees again, Aester draped over him and Ele's shirt in his jaws  as Makeda pulled Odelyn and Pelias, and Crow squawked Fyn and Syrion out of the clearing.

"What was that?" Pelias panted, his eyes glassy as he lay on the ground.

"The Forgotten Forest," I replied, hugging my knees into my chest.

"But it- it-" he began, futilely.

"It didn't show us our fears? No, I think it showed us each other's fears. Or memories, I don't know," Ele said, quietly. "Somebody cut a baby out a womb," he continued on, staring at the grass.

"Someone drowned. Repeatedly," Odelyn said, hand still on her throat.

"Someone stabbed somebody, multiple times," Makeda interjected.

We settled into an uneasy silence.

"I think what makes it worse is not knowing whether it's a fear or memory," Ciel said, raking his hand through his hair, eye still fixed firmly on the earth. He had said what I knew we were all thinking.

I pressed my forehead into my knees. Memories or fears aside, I had seen the look in his eye when I yanked off his eyepatch. Betrayal? Anger? Insecurity?

I don't know, but I know it cut like a knife. A very sharp, very real knife.