This is a chapter rife with subtext about Rose. Enjoy!
The young woman crouched in her concave shelter, rocking back and forth and crooning to herself. It was a song her mother had sung to she and her brothers when they had been younger. The words flowed into each other fluidly, like the motions of a swiftly flowing river; the tune was as soothing and protective as if it were weaving a wall about her. In a sense, the song was doing just that, but it was in a more abstract manner than a literal one. The activity was a meditative exercise she had learned as a defense against the extreme climate of the mountains. She was steeling her body to bolster its defenses against the howling wind, biting cold, and dry air. It was a way of exerting the powers of the mind over the more easily defined powers of the body. It also enabled a person to condition himself or herself to control emotions and whims with finesse and skill.
The elements of the Guardians were not something to be reckoned with lightly. The Guardians was the name her people had given to the behemoth masses of rock that rose out of the ground to such incredible heights. Some of the peaks stretched so high up into the heavens, no one in living memory had ever laid eyes upon them. Rumors and legends were tossed around about what manner of beings might dwell upon those elusive places, if anything could survive up there at all.
Her eyes slid open after a while, the irises barely discernible due to being nearly the same inky color of her pupils. They were the eyes of a hardened soldier, though the youth of her body might have contradicted such a notion. The last few months had added layers of age onto her otherwise youthful demeanor. She had been transformed from a light-hearted girl to a careworn woman in such a short transition of time. Events outside her control had nearly brought her to her knees from the onslaught of grief, shock, and rage. Anguish and misery were becoming so normal to her world that she was finding it harder and harder to remember a time when such emotions had been distant and remote.
This was why she was here, shivering from the remorseless cold of the Guardians' weather. This mission was a last-ditch effort to rejuvenate her battered people. It was crazy, it was probably doomed to failure, it was more than likely hopeless—these were all things her friends had told her in their own efforts to dissuade her from going. Her brother had begged on his knees for up to an hour. He had pleaded for her to let go of this ill-fated task and stay with them. But the words would haunt her every waking dream. They would attach themselves to the whispers on the wind. They would rise and fall in the shadows of darkness.
"Grisel…our only hope…you must…go to Kyrria. In Kyrria dwells our only hope. Find it and bring it back."
A pearly tear formed at the corner of her eye and slipped down the almond-colored skin of her cheek. Those words had been spoken aloud only once, and even then they had been difficult to understand, but every syllable had been engraved into her mind. She could not forget them even had she wanted to. She drew in a deep, shuddering breath as grief seeped through her crumbling resolve. Here, in the rocky confines of the Guardians, she finally felt safe enough to vent her cumbersome load of misery.
"Navan," she cried softly, the name causing her throat to constrict with grief.
Navan had been her betrothed, her soul mate, her lover, her confidante, and her best friend. All those things he had been to her, but he had been something more to their people. He had been born with a rare and dangerous gift: the gift of foresight. The royal archives had few records of true Seers, but from childhood Navan had been confirmed as a bona fide carrier of the Sight. His parents had received the news with mixed emotions. They were wealthy merchants and had much to offer their son in their own right, but to serve their emperor as a Seer went beyond their dreams. However, it was common knowledge what a burden the gift of foresight could be. To see visions of the future could be a boon, but they could also be a curse, liable to drive a person mad just by carrying such knowledge. There were times when Navan could prevent something terrible from happening by use of his visions. Grisel ought to know, for her life had been spared three times because of her lover's gift.
The darker half of the "gift" lay in the fact that there were times when the gods of fate had made their decision and were not to be defied. Navan had always been of a far more peaceful personality than Grisel. He was extremely sensitive to the needs of others, and was loathe to cause another pain. How he fell in love with a soldier, Grisel would never understand. Her life was built upon the choices of kill or be killed, be the predator or be the prey. Navan had made it his own personal vow to never take another life, no matter how evil and depraved such a life could be. He refused the all but mandatory military training every young person was to participate in once he or she reached the age of twelve. Grisel had been trained earlier than that once she had shown aptitude at a young age. She could not escape her destiny of being a warrior, but Navan was adamant he not be subjected to learning the practice he scorned. Because of his gift, the emperor had allowed the boy to forego his training.
Because he refused to physically harm another person, he suffered terribly when he did not foresee something (his visions were not linear nor predictable) or when he was unable to prevent a certain vision from coming to pass. Grisel remembered the times when she had held him in her arms, softly singing sweet songs of love and peace to soothe away his guilt. She and Navan had been so completely different from one another, that no one would have guessed he would have one day proposed marriage to her in front of an entire court of people. She was an outspoken, lethally trained soldier with no special gifts save for her own fortitude, strength, and keen eyes. He was a reticent pacifist with foresight who usually cloistered himself away in the library.
The memory of his beautiful blue eyes sweeping up from a book to meet her own onyx orbs caused a massive flood of tears. She clenched her hands tightly. Her sharp nails bit into her soft palms, but she didn't care. The slight pains of her fingernails pricking her skin were nothing compared to the pain enveloping her heart. She literally felt pain every time her heart beat, every time she drew breath, every time she exhaled. All those typical processes meant that she was alive when Navan would no longer perform such mechanical, mundane things again. Her soul felt suspended over some gaping abyss, teetering over the decision of whether or not it should join its mate or live on without it. She had found no cure for these wretched feelings ever since that night her lover died in her arms.
Navan was waiting for her in her room, quietly sitting on her bed with an unreadable expression upon his face. His pale cheeks were flushed; his blue eyes were fever bright. She should have known right from the start that something was very wrong. Even her instincts, which had been nurtured from the earliest years of childhood to seek out danger, had caught onto it. But she had not heeded them. She had been so exhausted from the daily violence and horrors she was forced to endure, all she had wanted to do was curl up in his arms and sleep. Things had not always been so chaotic in her land, but, of course, things have a habit of changing…and sometimes not for the better. Unfortunately, that night, no rest was to be had.
He politely asked for her to sit down beside him. His tone of voice scared her even more than his strange, glowing appearance. His tone sounded strangely resolute, but with a subtle undertone of sadness and fear. She had hesitantly obliged his wish, her brow furrowed in perturbed puzzlement.
"Grisel," he began, his voice heavy with sorrow, "I fear this is the last night you and I will ever have together, my love."
Fear clutched her heart. Had her death been foreseen once again? Was this fourth time, instead of the third, to be the charm? She took his hand into her own, lacing his fingers with her fingers. Their skin colors were so deeply contrasting, with his so close to white and hers the color of dark brown almonds.
"Navan, what do you mean? Have you had a vision of me…" she trailed off, not particularly sure she wanted to know if she was fated to die or not.
"No," he asserted. "It is not you. It is I."
She froze at those words. She could not decide which was worse, hearing of her own death (which she had heard three times before) or hearing him predict his own for the first time. She was a soldier. Death was an aspect that wholly encompassed her career, especially in wartime. She had been prepared to accept her end for quite some time, or so she believed. Either way, she really had no choice. She and Navan both implicitly understood her position in life and how precarious it was. That being so, they treasured each moment together, knowing full well any mission Grisel was sent on could be her last.
His death was something she had not prepared herself for. He lived a relatively sheltered and secure life within the palace. Of course, their situation was drastically different now than it had been only a scant few months ago, but his position was still far more secure than her own. Had she made a terrible error in judgment? Was Navan's life in more danger than she had suspected?
"You? Navan, did you foresee your own death? How? By whose hand?" She spouted off question after question. She had no intention of standing by and letting her lover die if she could stop it.
He had taken her hand and held it up to his chest. She swallowed hard as she felt the thumping of his heart. It took a few moments for her to realize there was something wrong with the rhythm of his heart. It was beating unusually fast, and, had she been a healer, she would have sensed the irregularities in the rhythm. As it were, she could only sense the speed with which his heart was beating. She knew, with her limited medical knowledge, that it was unnaturally fast…too fast. Dread surged through her.
"Navan," she said slowly and harshly, not taking her eyes off her hand lying against his chest. "What have you done?"
He met her eyes. His serene sapphire gaze frightened her more than if his gaze had held fear or anxiety. She shook her head slowly, mouthing soundless words of denial. Her hand began to shake violently, but he held it steady. She felt like she should move, run for a healer or somebody who would be more useful than she. But she felt anchored to the spot, like her entire body weighed as much as a giant block of marble.
"I did what I had to," he firmly answered. His voice sounded less substantial now, like it was losing strength. "It was the only way, Grisel."
His eyes were no longer so calm. They were pleading with her for understanding. Panic was beginning to leach out her immobility, enabling her to wrench her hand away and leap to her feet. Her dark eyes were wild with fear and desperation.
"What did you do?" she choked out.
"Going for a healer will not help. This poison has no cure, and there is no time left to draw it from my veins. It's a slow-acting draught. It takes about fourteen hours, so I took it this morning to give me enough time to set my affairs in order. I only have about fifteen minutes left. I knew you could stop me if I was to use a weapon…and I needed to talk to you before I died. And I…" his voice faltered for a moment before finding itself again. "I don't want to die alone." This was the first time he allowed the fear he had been shielding from her to show.
Her jaw dropped and she had to grasp the bedpost to steady herself. Her head whirled around wildly as she struggled to comprehend all her betrothed was saying. Suddenly it was she who was having trouble breathing, she whose heart rate was beginning to race, she who was starting to sweat. There was a deafening sound of roaring in her ears that made it incredibly difficult for her to set her thoughts straight. She closed her eyes for a few seconds, feeling tears burn the backs of her eyelids. When she opened them she was able to let out one word.
"Why?"
"Grisel, please sit down," he asked. He gently latched onto her arm and tugged her down to sit beside him again. He grasped each cheek to force her to look at him. Tears were leaking through her eyes, which she had shut tightly again in a vain attempt to stem the tide. "Look at me, love."
It took all of her strength to open her eyes and face him with the knowledge she now had. Her body trembled from withheld sobs. She had already suffered so much loss, so much pain, and so much grief. Why was he only adding to her quota? Why had he taken it upon himself to take his own life? In the midst of these silent questions, she had raised a hand to cover one of his lying on her cheek.
"Grisel, I did not foresee this. I don't know if this is the way my death was fated or if I am somehow cheating fate by taking it into my own hands in this manner. Usually when I cheat fate, it involved avoiding death, not welcoming it. And believe me, I don't welcome this. If there were any other way, I would have taken it, but, unfortunately, we're dealing with a narrow time frame here. This was the only path I could take to ensure yours and the empire's safety. You know that I love you more than anything, and this is why I'm doing this," he explained softly.
"Only way? What are you talking about, Navan?" she asked, her voice cracking.
His expression became hard and venomous, a stark contrast from before. "That bitch who dares to think she is the rightful successor to the emperor…that vile, wretched sorceress who besmirches the practice of magic with her abominations will use me against you…against the people. This is my final act of defiance, and an ironclad insurance that my gift will not be used to harm you or our people."
Grisel drew in a deep breath and grappled with a response. "How…how would she use you against us? What makes you think she's—?"
"She's already been trying to exert her influence, and she's been growing impatient…dropping hints here and there about what she'll do to me if I don't submit. I'm not as strong as you, Grisel. I haven't been trained to withstand torture and I haven't the stamina for it. I know she will eventually wring something out of me, if not physically, then magically…and I could not bear it if someone were to be hurt…if you were to be hurt because of it. As long as I am alive, you and the empire are in greater danger because of it. The things I could come to know through foresight could spell the end of her bloody reign, and she knows it. And with the vision I had four nights ago, now I know I cannot waste anymore time." Navan was beginning to weaken, but there was still a degree of strength to his voice. The strength of his passion for freedom and inherent decency was affording him the reserves of strength he needed to tap into.
Grisel tried to focus on one thing at a time. She knew her lover was dying right in front of her, though the poison he took was a rather merciful one, as the only ills it caused its victims—besides death—were a mild fever and a fast, irregular heartbeat. It was a perfect disguise, as someone would merely think himself ill in the normal manner. Death was peaceful and relatively painless, the victim usually fell into a deep sleep and eventually slipped away. However, if she wanted his death to mean anything, she would have to push away Grisel the lover, and let Grisel the loyal servant of the empire take command.
"Vision? What vision?" she asked, struggling to keep her voice calm. Before she got an answer, however, Navan lurched forward, his strength finally failing out.
"Navan!" she cried in anguish, the soldier in her once again being pushed aside. She caught him before he hit the floor and pulled him into her arms. She moaned in anguish, rocking back and forth. "Stay with me, Navan. You…you can't leave me here alone. I've lost my father, my mother, my brother, one of my best friends, now you're being taken from me."
Navan slowly opened his eyes. The golden hair upon his forehead was now drenched with sweat. His skin was very warm and clammy, but it was still the skin she had loved to caress and feel against her own. "I know, Grisel. I'm so sorry to do this to you after you've lost so much already…and she was my friend too. This is why I am asking you to do this. For her, for your father, for your mother, for your brother…and for me."
She could feel him slipping away. Each second that passed was one less second she had to hear his voice and gaze into his eyes. Every one of them was precious. "Do what? The vision, Navan! You have to tell me your vision!"
He sucked in a breath. It felt to Grisel like he was trying to suck in more strength as well. "No time for that…you must go to Kyrria."
Of all the things she had expected to come from his mouth, that had not even been anywhere near the vicinity of the list. She frowned in confusion, wondering if he was growing delirious in his final moments. She knew of Kyrria, but it was so far to the south that she only knew it was a kingdom that existed and nothing more. She was no cultural scholar who spent a lifetime learning about cultures she would probably never see with her own eyes. She was obviously capable of getting there by herself, as her father had been a renowned tracker and explorer who had taught his three children all he knew. And she knew how to use a map competently. That took care of the how, but it didn't take care of the why.
"Kyrria? Why must I go to Kyrria? I don't even speak the language! I know nothing about Kyrria…except that it exists," she exclaimed, fearing she had misunderstood.
His breathing became increasingly labored; he was fighting to remain conscious through the haze of lassitude that had gripped him. Grisel held him to her, whispering his name over and over and asking him what he wanted her to do. Her tears dripped onto his face to mingle with his sweat.
"Please," she begged. "Try to stay with me. Don't leave me here. I love you." Her words were futile and she knew it, but she could think of nothing else to say.
He smiled weakly. "Grisel…our only hope," each pause was punctuated by a gasp for air. Just speaking was sapping the strength from him. He could not hold out much longer. "You must go to Kyrria. Our only hope dwells in Kyrria. You must find it and bring it back…before it is too late."
He let out a whoosh of air before his eyes rolled back into his head and his body became limp in Grisel's arms. She let loose a keening wail. She shook him violently, crying out, "Hope? Tell me what you mean! Navan, wait! Wake up! Please…no!"
Navan was not dead yet, but never again would he awaken. Grisel would never hear her beloved's voice again save in her fondest dreams and memories. Oddly enough, her sobs and wails had frozen within her throat, as if she too had descended into an incurable coma along with her lover. As the rest of the night passed, she sat there with Navan dying in her arms, never uttering a word or looking up from his face.
She had lived, in the days proceeding, as a wraith; benumbed and withdrawn. Her friends and remaining brother were confounded and concerned, fearing she might attempt to take her life. True, had some peril been waiting in the shadows to take her, she would have been in no condition (emotionally) to fight it, but she did not intentionally seek out death. She had lost all sense of feeling for a while; a hypnotic daze had fallen upon her. It was as if her soul and body had not yet registered the shock of her recent loss.
After a while, Navan's dying wish had begun to coax Grisel out of her melancholic shell. She fixed upon his words like her lodestar, her guidance in this maze of grief and anguish she had found herself hopelessly lost in. She had not cried after his death, not once. She placed barriers between herself and the searing pains within, for there was much she had to do in order to make this journey. She separated herself from her emotions—severed all ties—for the time being, for the sake of her task, which had just reached monumental significance. Rumors had been flitting through the streets, rumors that had deeply tapped into her fellow countrymen's waning hope.
The rumors were saying not all bodies had been accounted for.
Grisel did not dare to let herself become transfixed by these words, or ponder on them too long, for she knew vain hope could be as devastating as no hope at all. However, she could not help but wonder what Navan had really been trying to say when he kept telling her hope existed in the faraway realm of Kyrria. Were the rumors and his own words of prescience mere coincidence? For rumors were just that—rumors. There was not a grain of evidence to be found that could back them up—unless she was willing to make connections between the rumors and her dead lover's words. But in Kyrria? The fact that this kingdom, so distant and already so alien to her, held the hope she and her people needed so badly was enough for her to dismiss the rumors. Consciously, she dismissed them. Her subconscious mind was not to be so easily thwarted, however. Like most of her compatriots, she subliminally clung to such a chance, as impossible as it might sound.
Perhaps vain hope really was better than no hope at all.