He stared into the fire as the light glanced off his face. The stone room was cold, the only warmth emanating from the fireplace which he stood before, but even flames licking the brick felt frigid. Frozen.
Robin pressed closer to the fire, trying to feel the heat he knew should be there. How often had he been warned by his mother not to feed the flames too high? How often had he ignored the warnings and singed his hands?
He knew his attempt would be in vain. He had not felt the warmth of fire or the burn of hot steel for many moons now.
The light, too, seemed drained from the fire, and the shadows it cast seemed deeper, darker against the white plaster walls. He was lucky the dimness did not impede his ability to see in the dark. If anything, it seemed heightened.
It was the same all across the valley. From the smallest flicker of a candle to the roaring of the bonfires on Midsummer's eve, it was as if each flame was borne from the haze of shadow, more ink than fire.
That was just a few of the many things which plagued him as of late, and certainly not the most troubling.
He had snapped at Maria, and for what? He could not think of any real reason, just a rush of feeling. A wave of loathing and fury when he saw her, walking with Caleb. His vision clouded dark at the edges, his heartbeat loud in his ears until he could barely hear the cruel words spewing from his mouth. Only when he saw her face freeze in surprise and close off, did he really hear the words himself.
These years past, he often felt the haze of distance or the spike of wrath. But it was slow, like the onset of dusk. There was no one moment that stood out from the rest, only the gradual decline into these unknown depths. The thoughts passed in and out of his mind, a beast rearing its head, heedless of his mood or better nature.
He knew that his father had noticed. The Merryweather's too had seen a bout of his 'madness,' as his father termed it. An irritated or empty glance. The sarcasm which evolved into dark humor, then again to words aimed to cut. An enraged snarl ripping from his throat. All followed by apologetic bewilderment and shame. Robin began cutting himself off from the rest of the people of the valley, for the good of everyone involved.
Robin thought it had abated, when she came. When he laid eyes on her the first time in years, something settled and calmed in a way he hadn't felt since before her departure. It had been pushing on the periphery of his consciousness for so long. And when she was so close, just a breath away from him, so bright and lovely and open - he couldn't.
He didn't understand. Nothing made any sense. All he knew he was out of control, every attempt he took to fight the rage, the cold, the emptiness, ended in unquestionable defeat.
All Robin knew was that it was dangerous, and it was getting worse.
XXX
I stood outside the small cabin on the farthest field, heaving in breath as the muscles of my arms strained against their heavy load. The cart settled on the dirt road was nearly full, filled with leathers and heavy white fabrics. One more load ought to do it, I thought.
No sooner, did Caleb push through the entry from the cabin, arms full with another load of materials.
"Good work, miss," he said, brushing his hands off on the sides of his jerkin. "I certainly was not counting on you to assist in the manual labor."
"I would certainly not let you handle all the work alone," I replied. He laughed loudly at that.
"Was that not why I was brought along?" He asked with an easy smile.
"I suppose, but I cannot think of how I might have been more useful," I admitted. "Even if it was not much, we finished our preparations that much faster. I think it unwise to waste time when the situation is so fraught."
"Indeed, my lady. Wise words. We really have no way to know when our enemy will strike, nor with what force."
Silence followed as we packed the last scraps onto the cart and started the long road back to the fort. The lull became increasingly thick with each passing moment. Thoughts of war, death and consequences filled my head. Would we be prepared in time? Was victory against such a force possible? Even if it was, what would it cost? Each notion was more vile and frightening than the last, and all depended on me and my actions.
"When this is all over, you ought to consider the life of a guard," Caleb said, breaking the quiet. "You've clearly the strength for it." His shoulders were tense, but his voice was teasing, clearly trying to lighten the sour mood.
"Perhaps it is my secret calling," I laughed. It caught a bit in my throat.
"All evidence supports it."
"And one night is plenty of evidence, for such a drastic change." I jested back at him. "You ought to consider the merits of needlepoint. You'd make a fine tailor. Or perhaps a seamstress."
Caleb chuckled at that. His hand went to his chin, pretending to ponder the suggestion. "I suppose I could use a well fitting suit."
"You suppose correctly," I said lightly, making a show of examining his garments with critical eye.
"Your tongue is sharp, miss. Not fond of the leathers?"
My thoughts immediately jumped to Robin, fixating on his wardrobe and the way he wore it with such confidence and presence. I hoped that the dusk falling covered the blush that sprang up on my cheeks.
"Not my favorite look, no," I bluffed. "Far too rustic, for my tastes." I pulled ahead to leave Caleb trailing behind me.
By the time we reached the castle, night had fully consumed the valley. The rest of our journey was blessedly free of further discussion on the merits of leather. Instead, we staved off the worry that beset us with good-natured jokes at each other's expense. Caleb bore each jab with grace, if not dignity.
The attendants we met at the gates quickly gathered the supplies we had retrieved. With directions of where to store them, they happily took the cart off our hands. Caleb said his goodbyes at the gate as well, leaving me to walk to my temporary lodging by myself.
I filled the evening with scraps of parchment, a stick of charcoal clutched in my aching hands. The day's work was unlike anything I had ever experienced, but I refused to let it interfere. Instead, I wrote down everything I knew of the Booke, Nature, and Lord Death. Each detail was carefully penned, but the theories and thoughts about the facts were another matter entirely. My personal notes sprawled across the pages with looping arrows to document possible connections and further leads.
The notes would hardly be useful to any other soul, let alone decipherable, but the practice calmed my mind. Emptying my thoughts onto paper always had been therapeutic for me. Who knows, there was always the possibility they might afford me some extra clue I was searching for.
The exertion of the day ended up beating me in the end. Suddenly, the piles of notes on my desk seemed as good a pillow as any. I felt my eyes drift shut, pulled closed by the heavy force of exhaustion.
XXX
The cold clawed at my throat. I could feel the condensation of my breath as it left my lungs.
But I could not see it. I could not see anything, except the infinite night sky above me and the outline of trees, black against the horizon.
There was no source of light, save the stars in the moonless sky, but the smell of midnight lake and damp, cold soil. The ground beneath me was firm with hard-packed earth and the chill of frost. The grass crunched underfoot. But wait, I wasn't moving. A sense of dread overcame me. Where were the footsteps coming from?
"Hello?" I called into the darkness, but no response came. Instead, the sound of footfalls continued at a steady pace. I searched the treeline for something, anything that would tell me what was happening, where I was, but I could make nothing out against the dark of the forest.
"Who's there?" I called again. Again, no answer.
The footsteps continued. I was frozen in place. The longer I listened, I realized the sound was changing, but never in volume or speed. No, the sound was moving, ever so slowly.
I was being circled, like prey.
My unease began to melt into panic. My heart leapt in my throat as a stab of icy fear pierced my body. My hands frantically went to the pockets of my dress to see if I could find a sewing needle, a letter opener, something, anything, to defend myself.
My desperate palms found nothing but fabric. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. How did this happen? With nothing but my hands, I clenched my fists to prepare to fight in a meager show of strength. My situation was dire, but I refused to cower and surrender.
Just then, the caw of a raven sounded, deafening to my ears. I startled, falling to my knees, fear peaking once again. The shadow of a large black bird darted overhead, barely visible against the night sky. My eyes followed it as far as I could, but the shape was swallowed into the black void.
I struggled back to my feet and hopelessly to steady my breathing. My gaze remained fixed in the direction from which the raven had come, my fists raised.
In that moment, I realized; the footsteps had stopped. Nothing was left but my own breath grating in my ears and the deafening silence.
And then, in my ear, a deep voice rumbled.
"Hello, little girl.
A/N:I'm not quite dead! Wow, it's been a minute. Is anyone still here? I might actually be around to update regularly. Hell has frozen over. As I continue this story, I will probably rewrite the beginning chapters, so be aware of that!