lost and found

The cold, distrustful stare of the country’s most admired man sent chills of remorse through her entire body and her heart wrenched with the silence that bled through the standing time. His eyes, usually brighter than the clearest of waters, had dimmed to an unforgiving glow amidst the dark shadow cast over his handsome face. His features contorted into a disgusted look, the same one that he usually reserved for the women that threw themselves at his feet. He was sharing her image with a whore.

Her emotions exploded into a whirl of hatred, spinning recklessly on its axis. Anything that resembled the kind, young, innocent character she had been portraying during her stay at the Castle vanished in a heartbeat. Her lips tucked themselves in a cruel smile and her face held sadistic, humourless amusement. The Prince took a step back, his empty eyes burning guilt into her own, yet she never shifted under his affixed glare.

As if he had been waiting for something he lingered for a few more moments before slowly turning around, his shoulder sweeping around as a signal of shame on her behalf. She laughed. It was an empty, malicious sound that echoed deafeningly throughout the large, circular room draped with curtains of a bed room. He stiffened, his chin held proudly as he stared to the side, still not completely turning himself out of her life.

Her laughter continued and she could feel the tingles of repugnance hovering in the air, emitted from his cold stature. He was disgusted with her

“Leave.” The word broke her. Spoken in a strangled tone, a quiet barely audible command altered her smile and the obnoxious laughter died away slowly. She studied his stance and saw his entire body shaking with practiced restraint. Was he trying to confine his urge to kill her, to rip apart her entire being? Or was it something else? To be quite honest, she didn’t have much of an intention to stick around to find out…

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The loud thunder of chairs and tables collapsing downstairs promptly awoke Silk as she left the majestic decorations of the Ferayr Castle and found herself staring into the pitch black of her bedroom. Spots danced in front of her tired eyes and she sat up abruptly, staring outside the glass window. The sun hadn’t even risen yet, what was she doing awake?

A long string of profane curses drifted noisily from below in the tavern, and she stumbled out of bed, recognising the crudeness of her companions. Her feet collided with the cold floor and she realised she still wore her daily items from the day before. She thought of changing out of her shirt, but a loud cry of anguish echoed through the hallways racing to her ears and she flew out of her room without another thought. As she descended the wooden stairs, three at a time, she saw the eerie shadows of figures bustling about the room, the candles attached to the walls flickering in the cool night.

“What’s going on?” She voiced, causing the shadows to freeze. Low gurgles of pain broke the silence and she moved forward quickly, worry building up in her mind. What had they been doing? “Who’s hurt?”

She felt a large hand cover her shoulder, halting her movements. She looked around to see the dark face of Mack, the bartender. His voice was responsible as he spoke to her, “Silk, I reckon y’should stick back ‘ere with me, alright?”

“No way, if someone’s hurt then it’s better if I get in there,” she reasoned, knowing that she was right. Amongst the clan she possibly had the best natural healing ability, which usually came useful during street fights. She started forward again, but Mack, still with his hand on her shoulder, gripped her firmly.

“Listen, Silk, it’s Chase,” he sighed, sounding exhausted. “He was attacked from behind, a knife in his back and a deep stab wound to his side. He’s been bleeding a hell of a lot, Silk; it ain’t a pretty sight. The Gods sure as hell aren’t lookin’ out for ‘im tonight.” She sucked in a chilled breath. Chase had gotten hurt? “Are you sure you can handle it?”

She nodded her head, feeling sick. Pushing past the throng of thieves, she smelt his blood before she saw him. They had propped him up on a table, and she saw the gleam of a knife still embedded into his shoulder. Her vision swayed slightly as she saw the rivers of blood collected in his shirt, dying it an unnatural crimson. Three of the thieves were holding him up. Chase remained unconscious, as they peeled away his shirt, exposing his stained skin and a few rusty attempts at patching his side wound.

Mirin, the youthful thief who had gone for help, stared at Silk, his face pale and sweaty. From his place beside Chase he seemed small against the burly arm that rested around his narrow shoulders. His pupils were dilated with panic at the situation and she saw a trickle of blood leak from his bruised nose. In a second she had rushed to his side where he had collapsed, another thief eagerly taking position by their leader.

Silk immediately turned to Zachary, who seemed unhurt and willing to help, and quickly ordered a bowl of boiled water and a clean rag. Zachary rushed in and out of the room, scalding himself with an accidental spill as the hot water swirled around in the basin.

Beckoning forward another thief she instructed him to try and keep Mirin conscious, cleaning away the drops of blood that had travelled from inside his swollen nose with the dry rag. Securing the safety of the young thief she turned to where Chase was, supported by his fellow comrades. Worry threatened to spill from her eyes but she held the tears at bay, knowing that the time was not suited for weakness; he wasn’t gone yet.

Swallowing her fears and any dizziness she had caught from the sight of the blood soaked man, she leapt forward, once again ordering around for the items she would need to attend Chase.

Around her everyone was in chaos. Wounded men were being attended to by the Healers of the clan, trying desperately to stop the blood flow that spewed from each injury. Mack, who was known for his squeamish qualities around blood, was busy collecting alcohol to numb the pain for the wounded. Silk saw him sneak a quick drink of ale, sculling it in one long gulp before shuffling off to assist the others.

The men cleared the way for her as she stepped behind Chase, kneeling on a chair to gain an even height to his back. Her stomach threatened to heave as she noticed the gleaming dagger protruding from his flesh, which Silk noticed with wide eyes, was beginning to turn an unearthly shade of black. As she crawled onto the table, closing the distance towards his wound, with every intention of banishing the object from Chase’s back, she examined the reaction he seemed to be having to the dagger. It was as if something was eating away at his skin, leaving the muscles underneath raw and exposed to the cold air. The smell of decay leapt to her senses and she gagged, cupping her nose in the crook of her elbow. She turned away from the pungent stench, struggling to keep the bitter taste of bile from releasing into her mouth.

From the cover of her arm she hastily swivelled her eyes to gaze at other members of the clan around her, confused and frightened at this strange new occurrence. She had never encountered such a reaction to a knife injury and was at a complete loss as to how to treat it.

“What happened?” The words escaped from her mouth as a mere whisper, muffled beneath the cotton of her shirt, yet her voice seemed to resonate loudly around the room capturing everyone’s attention. Silence greeted her question; any movement or sound stilled by the waves of rapt bemusement of whether they were obliged to answer her. The enquiring gaze of the thieves shifted to Mack, who on numerous occasions had shown control under the influence of Chase’s fondness for his close friend.

Silk couldn’t understand why nobody had answered her. Chase, a man who was their leader, whom they held so much respect for, was propped on a table, leaning against one of the wooden walls, his life leaking out of him in the crimson streams and yet nobody could raise their voice to help her? Anger swelled beneath her skin, pumping a terrifying rage into her mind. How dare they stand there ignoring the irrational situation they were in, deaf to her words? Couldn’t they understand that there was no need for seeking permission at a time of desperation?

“Tell me!” She ordered this time, her tone leaping to a commanding hold that seemed to strike a sense of despondency in each of the men’s chest. From behind the flock of thieves gathered to announcement, the aging bar keeper sighed a deep breath, and took a step forward. Silk’s cold green eyes flickered to his stance, pleading with a hidden shadow to tell her anything that would save her mentor’s life.

Mack’s dark, golden skin glowed in the dim light of the candles melting in the bronze candelabras attached to the walls. His eyes reflected a deep sense of knowledge that could never been seen from behind a bar, and the lines etched into his sagging face seemed to deepen. An internal battle, he knew he was losing against, played through his mind, weighing out the consequences if he were to divulge to her a secret that Chase had deliberately kept from her.

“Silk, you’ve got t’understand this; there are some things that I truly can’t tell you.” She stared at him in confusion, but grateful he had begun to talk. As she took a slight glance at Chase she knew there wasn’t a lot of time dedicated to his life. “The things that attacked us ain’t normal people. They’re the dawn of evil, Silk, they use dark magic.” Her eyebrows dipped, displaying her frown and she took away her arm from her face, momentarily forgetting the disgusting smell emanating from Chase’s rotting flesh. She wished Mack would quicken his words.

“I don’t care, Mack. Tell me what to do about Chase! He’s dying, Mack, you’ve got to tell me how to treat him. Can’t you see his blood, flowing in pools around him? What do I do?” She interrupted almost insane with grief. Silk could feel his life pulling away and Mack was here talking irrelevantly about some evil bastards? She’d deal with them later, anyway, after Chase was safe and lying in his cot. “Mack, I need you to tell me right now how to treat him.”

Mack looked crestfallen, like his heart was tugged into a thousand pieces. He opened his mouth, careful with his words. “I don’t know how t’treat him, Silk. That’s what I was going t’tell you. None of us have ever known anythin’ like this before. We’re at as much o’ a loss as you are.”

Her world shattered around her, and a cold numbness swept throughout her entire being. Frozen by this additional piece of information they had regretted to tell her earlier, she felt lost. How could she treat something that no one knew about? Her ability to heal wasn’t strong enough to ensure Chase would still be alive if she removed the dagger. She had no idea what she was dealing with and for the second in her life, from what she could remember, she felt ready to curl up in a dark corner and cry until no more tears could be shed.

“Silk, there’s nothin’ any of us can do.” Mack consoled, watching as the girl before him trembled under the strain she carried. Silk clenched her fists, a part of her so willing and desperate to accept this as the only option, if she could be rid of the terrible burden she felt weighing upon her shoulders. But it was a miniscule division of her consciousness.

She was going to save Chase, even if it meant she was to die trying. There wasn’t much harm in fighting for someone you loved.