“Tears of the Forsaken”

by

Rose Marie Wolf

Part One

He had been coming to the small riverside town for months. He came, bought a drink or two, and left. He never stayed longer than a night. Men noticed him in the tavern, always sitting in the dark, drinking from a flagon. None ever approached him. None knew his name. None knew why he came here.

If they did, they would’ve probably laughed.

He was in love with a young woman who didn’t even know of his existence. Each night he came it was the same. He would order his drink, find his seat, and watch her from the shadows. She always came here at night.

Like him, she had her own seat, a place near to the fire, and well lit. The chair she sat in seemed too large for her small, child-like form. She was thin, and undernourished. Dark lines shone around her constantly wide eyes, and her skin was peaked and pale. She would jump at the slightest noise. She was flighty. She had the look of one who lived in fear.

She was a whore, a child of the streets. Her frayed blue dress did little to cover the length of her legs. She was growing much too fast. She was a child, forced to become a woman so soon. He felt all her pain, all her anguish. He saw it in her face, in her movements…

He wanted to hold her and take her from the pain, but he couldn’t.

She was the most beautiful when she smiled. It was rare when she did that. Sometimes he wanted that smile to be for him. He knew it never could be.

She was too young, too beautiful to die. He had seen it before, over the centuries. There was too much life in her for it to end so soon. Her eyes, her bright green eyes were the windows to her soul, and he wanted her to look at him, so he could look into those eyes. Her hair was alive, like wildfire. The red locks curled around her delicate throat, and down her shoulders. He wanted to touch it, to see if it would really burn. He wanted to kiss the perfect throat, to sweep the hair aside…But he knew better. He could look, but not touch.

If he touched her, surely he would kill her, and he wouldn’t kill her. He kept her safe from him by remaining in the shadows, anonymous and unknown. As long as he stayed away from her, she would be safe.

He broke his eyes away from her just long enough to stare down at his flagon of drink. He had yet to touch it. Slowly, he lifted it to his mouth, and allowed his lips to touch the liquid. He could just taste it. He worked his throat, playing pretend, lest anyone were watching. He could not drink this, nor could he eat the bread, cheese and meat other patrons ordered.

It was not in the right of the dead to suffer the pleasures of the living. Hadn’t someone ages ago told him that? He had forgotten so much, even his own name. He called himself Damien, though it wasn’t the name his mother and father had bestowed upon him. He couldn’t remember that.

But the girl he watched. He knew her name. How many times had he whispered it in the waking dark, clinging to the memory of her?

Marie…

She haunted him, like a ghost. He found it ironic, considering he was the dead one.

Now his eyes lifted and he returned the flagon to the table. She had turned her head away from the fire. Shadows of darkness crept over her face. A man leaned over her chair, a lewd grin showing his dirty yellow teeth.

Damien tensed in his seat, hand creating a fist around the handle of his cup, but he kept his eyes on them.

She was unsure, and it showed on her face. She frowned. She was disgusted with the man. But he had money. Damien saw the coins in his hand. He knew what would happen tonight. And he didn’t like it.

The coins were held before her, like a dangling prize, and she watched them with her hungry eyes. She reached a hand to take hold of it, but he withdrew. His laughter carried across the tavern.

“Not until after, girl.” He sneered.

Uncertainty and fear crept over her again. She turned, looking around the tavern for someone to save her…but no one was there.

I’m here…He said silently. I’m here for you, my Marie.

And she stood, taking the arm of the repulsive man beside her. Together they walked. She said nothing, keeping her eyes lowered as he led her out the door.

Damien stood to his feet. He couldn’t get involved with her. He couldn’t save her. But he knew men like this one. Drunken slobs that beat their wives, who go out to find younger girls for their pleasure, and beat them too. He knew what would happen.

Marie’s profession required her to do things unbecoming of a young lady, and that, Damien could live with. He understood. He didn’t like it, but he understood. But someone hurting her…he couldn’t have it. Even if it risked discovery.

He left his payment upon the table, drew his cloak around him and slipped through the shadows and out the door. His eyes searched the streets and he spotted her red hair instantly. He followed.

Down a dark alley the man brought her, hidden away from the prying eyes of the public. Damien slipped down as well, and hid along the shadowed wall. He watched.

“Now get to it, girl.” He began to undo his trousers. Again, Marie looked uncertain and lost.

“But you said…”

“Never bloody mind what I said, now get to it!”

“It’s dark…”

Damien’s heart ached. Marie was trembling. The darkness of the alley was obscuring her vision, and she was scared. A rat ran down the alley and brushed across her skirts. She let out a scream of fright and surprise.

In an instant, the man’s filthy hand clasped over her mouth. Her green eyes bulged as she stared at him. Once more, Damien tensed, but he waited.

“Of course it’s dark. You think I want you by the light of day? Filthy, common whore.” His free hand fumbled, yanking up her skirts, tearing them.

She panicked when his hand touched her leg, and squeezed her inner thigh and she fought against him. Her screams were muffled by his hand.

“Hold still, whore!” He hissed. His body weight pressed her back against the stone wall behind her. She cried out. Tears glistened on her cheeks, and were wet in her eyes. Damien’s hand slipped around the hilt of his sword.

“I said hold still!” His hand moved too fast for anyone to see, and he brought it across her face. The slap echoed in the alley. Marie was stunned into silence, a five-fingered red imprint glowing on her tear streaked face. He continued his assault, hand probing beneath her skirt, holding her fast against the wall.

Damien unsheathed his sword in silence, and stalked toward the man, still hidden among the darkness. He revealed himself when he stepped from the night, and stood behind the man. He grabbed a handful of filthy hair, and jerked him away from the girl. The edge of his blade flew across his throat, spilling torrents of blood, and almost severing the head.

Blood splattered upon Marie, now free of the grip. She whimpered, back still pressed to the cold wall. Her skirt once more covered her nakedness, a jagged rip straight down the front. Her green eyes stared…

…right into Damien’s.

He released the man, and he fell to the dirty alley floor. He choked and clung, trying to hang onto life, but it was futile. Seconds later, he was dead. Blood continued to pour.

She was staring into his eyes. Empty and black, he knew they must scare her, but he could not turn away. Here was the opportunity he had long desired. She was his, she was watching him. She was looking at him!

Her pink lips were parted, and her cheek burned red. She trembled, visibly shaking. Her jade eyes remained locked upon him.

What must he look like to her? A fearsome monster, a beast of some sort? He looked human enough, with ash blonde hair, and strong, youthful features. It was the empty eyes that would give him away.

The sword in his hand dripped blood onto the ground, onto the body of the dead man below him. The smell of it was strong, fresh, and it renewed the beast within him. He could not stay for long now. He had not feed, and temptation was calling him with her eyes.

“Know this…” He said. His voice was harsh, ill-used. He had little cause to speak these days. Would it scare her as well? Her eyes never left him. “I have loved you. I have loved you from the first moment I saw you. I’ve been watching you; I’ve been following you…”

Her mouth moved, but there was no sound. Was that fear in her eyes? Confusion? Wonder?

He reached out a hand. He dared to do it. He was the closest he had ever been to her. He smelled the sweet perfume of her blood and sweat. It was tempting…

“I won’t hurt you. I’ve never thought of hurting you.”

She flinched slightly from his hand, but he did not withdraw. He felt the softness of her hair. It was like fire. It burned him.

“Please…” She whimpered. Tears fell fresh down her face. “Please let me go…”

“Marie…” He said softly, and his cold hand touched her hot cheek. He covered the redness with his palm. She gasped.

“You’re cold…”

“I know…”

“Please let me go…”

It hurt him to hear the words. His hand was trembling when he touched her. She was still alive. He had not killed her. Her pulse throbbed against his hand. He slipped it away, his fingertips trailing down her neck, following the pulsing of her racing heart.

“Don’t fear me…” Damien took one lock of her hair and gently brushed it away from her delicate throat.

“Please…” She was breathless. Her eyes could not look away from him.

“Don’t fear me…” He whispered, closing the distance between them. He looked down at her, forehead inches from hers. He could see the tears clinging to her lashes. “Don’t cry…”

“Don’t hurt me…”

“Never…”

Then Damien’s lips touched hers. She tensed against the coldness of them. Hers were soft, warm and wet. They tasted salty. His tongue probed at them, only tasting. She would not part her lips.

When he withdrew, her lower lip was trembling.

“What are you…?” She breathed.

His hand rested on the curve of her neck and shoulder. Her heart continued to race. He wanted to taste something more, but he would not. He could not. He closed his eyes. He could not look at her now.

“I am something not of this world…” he whispered. “They have many names for me…you will know me only as Damien.”

“Damien…” She repeated the name. Her breath was hot upon his face, and her words were soft. He sent a chill through him.

“You’ve never seen me before, and you will not see me again…”

Her blood-scent was strong. He was only inches away. He stroked her neck softly. She did not speak.

“I must go from you. I cannot stay…”

Reluctantly and slowly, he withdrew his hand. Her warmth lingered.

“Know that I would’ve given you the world in the form of death…”

“I don’t understand…” It hurt him when she spoke now. He heard the confusion in her voice.

“I know. It’s for the best. I don’t ask that you remember me. You never knew me.” He stepped away from her. The night was suddenly very cold. He did not look at her, but at the ground, and at his bloody sword. He cleaned the blade, replaced it. He heard her shuddering breath. “But take this.”

Now it was he that fumbled at the sheath of his sword. He removed the leather string, the silver pendant glimmering a moment in faint light. “Take it.”

She would not recognize the symbol, but he held it out to her. The pendant was of no value to him, but to her, it would mean one more meal, one more night to live. She would not take it at first, but a moment later, he felt her warm fingers enclose around it, and the leather slipped from his hands.

“What is it…?”

“It’s a gift…The only one I can give you. I want you to have it.”

He said no more, and turned. He returned to the shadows and disappeared among them. He risked looking at her again. She stared down at the pendant and smiled, faintly. She smiled, just for him. He thought his black heart would break.

Then Marie looked up, and found him gone. Her eyes once again turned fearful, and her hair whipped around her neck as she turned her head this way and that. She could no longer see him. She clutched the pendant to her chest.

Her footfalls echoed as she pushed herself from the wall and ran from the alley. He watched her until she faded into the crowds, and then closed his eyes, and cried the tears of the forsaken.