A/N: Warnings for language and violence in this chapter.
Chapter 25
Through a great rift in the sky itself, rain poured down in a torrential flood.
Bella's feet were blistered. Her hair was drenched. Her clothing stank with an animalistic musk, and her limbs, almost numb with cold, trembled in the foggy, soupy storm.
Rosalie walked ahead, her body blurred by the pelting rain. She led Bella along paths untravelled— over great, stony hills that ran for miles, and through steep, verdant valleys that felt more like cliffs than hills. Stormwater ran like streams from the sloped mountainside. It soaked her feet— her sandals, which had been submerged for nigh on two days, were beginning to fall apart, and just that morning she'd been forced to stop and retie them when the suede cord that held her left shoe in place had snapped right in two. They'd kept the broken piece— such things could be useful, according to Rosalie— but Bella's feet did not thank her. She tried to ignore the way the new knot dug into her ankle bone, but there was no hope for it— she was lucky to have shoes at all, and she could only pray they would last until her safe return to the capital.
For two long, tedious days, Bella had seen nothing but the jungle, the rain, and the back of Rosalie's lean, upright form. She had memorized her companion, had come to know her shape almost as closely as she knew her own. She had memorized the way her shoulders sloped, burdened by the weight of her child and the food. She knew the long, thin scar that ran the length of her right forearm— a relic from some untold story that Bella did not have the courage to pursue. She could recall, as easily as breathing, the many tints of her long, curly hair— the dull, brassy yellow when the sky was overcast, the light brown, muddy mess in rain, and the brilliant, faceted gold that shone like a beacon in the rare moments of sunshine, so dazzling that Bella, when she got too close, had to look away for fear of dizziness. She knew the way her feet moved, tip-toeing over rocks and grass with tentative, hedging steps, and the way her arms clutched protectively at her belly and her son— her two most precious, priceless blessings.
The child was watching her again, his eyes fixed ravenously on Bella's face. She was sure she looked a fright: her limp hair stuck to her face, her eyes were rimmed red from the tears that came whenever she brushed her blistered feet against a stone or branch, and she was cold— so blisteringly, haltingly cold— that she shook all over, her body one big, trembling mess.
But he stared at her fixedly, his big eyes taking in the sight of her as he had done for two days.
She wondered if he'd ever get used to her.
"We should stop," said Rosalie, coming to an abrupt halt not two feet away. Bella walked right into the back of her, snatching at her arm to keep her from falling forward, and mumbled a bleary, quiet apology.
"You're white as a sheet," said Rosalie worriedly. For her part, Rose looked well— her cheeks were pink, she did not shiver, and she seemed to possess an infinite energy which Bella could not match.
"I'm fine," said Bella at once, though the lie was easily sensed. Rosalie took careful inventory, glancing up and down Bella's pitiful, slumped form, before she reached out a hand and held it to her cheek.
"You're warm," she said worriedly.
"I'll be fine," Bella said again. "How much further?"
Rosalie did not answer, but pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, looking for all the world as if she would like to mother her, though she could not be much older than Bella herself.
Exasperated, Bella sighed.
"I'm just tired," she said, glancing carefully around. There was no sheltering cave here, not so far from the mountains proper, and their best hope lay in the shadow of a huge, towering tree with leaves like an awning, beneath which lay a scarce few feet of rainless turf.
"I know," said Rosalie gently, her tension melting away. "I know… we're all tired, and this infernal rain will be the death of us…"
She scowled up at the sky as if a warning glance could keep it in check, but as if it sensed her ire and laughed, the rain poured all the harder.
"Come on," Rosalie grunted. The rain, which fell in a veritable sheet now, was deafeningly loud. The evening twilight was obscured in its darkness. "Come on, Bella… we should rest."
They made their way in a slow, careful procession. Bella, having no desire to fall, placed her feet exactly where Rosalie did, following in her footsteps as they picked their way up the steep, stony hill to rest beneath the mossy, dripping tree, where they huddled, fireless and half-drowned, wringing their hair into the dirt.
Rosalie watched Bella with concern, handing her some hard biscuit and a thick fur once she'd settled Finn against the tree.
Bella, feeling weak and stupid, swallowed the food without complaint.
"Are you feeling sick?" asked Rosalie nervously, squeezing her hair a second time. Finn wiggled uncomfortably on his fur, eying Bella's food. "Does your head ache?"
"No," Bella said at once, though the throb in her temples belied the truth. "No… I don't know."
Rosalie stared at her, unspeaking.
"I'm…" Bella scowled at herself, taking a bit of water. "I'm just tired, is all. I'll be fine."
"You don't look fine," she said dubiously. "Are you alright to continue on, or would you rather rest here for the night? I'd planned to look for better shelter, but in this deluge, this might be as good as it gets."
The spot they'd chosen, while out of reach of the rain, did nothing to keep them warm, and Bella shook her head.
"It's cold," she said softly. Finn began to dig his fingernails in the dirt. "It's too cold for…"
"We'd manage," said Rosalie softly. "It's not so dangerous when we're three. When I was alone with Finn, trying to keep warm was a challenge, and your journey alone would have been a death sentence, but all three of us will be able to keep warm if we stay close together, and the furs are dry enough."
Bella grimaced.
"How far are we from the edge?" she asked. "Will we be out of the trees soon?"
"By nightfall, if we keep on as we have been," she said easily. "This piece of jungle isn't particularly large, and we've been moving north."
Bella nodded, though she knew very little about any of it.
"This strip of trees runs north to south," explained Rosalie. "Once we turn east, we'll find our way out easily enough."
"So why are we…?"
"We need to come out somewhere with people," said Rosalie quickly. "If we come out in open fields, we'll be at great risk."
"Risk?"
Rosalie tutted, frowning at her.
"There are dangers in these trees, as you well know," she said softly. "Dangers of all sorts. But those dangers become infinitely more threatening if we are travelling through open fields."
Bella shivered, her shoulders hunched.
"Will we clear the trees tonight?" she asked softly. "Before nightfall?"
"We'll reach the edge, I'm almost certain," Rosalie said again. Finn, who had begun to tug insistently on his mother's trousers, was soothed with a biscuit of his own. "But I think we'd be foolish to take on the fields tonight."
Bella, dismayed, shook her head.
"Why?" she asked. "The faster we get out, the better…"
"It's unfamiliar territory," said Rosalie. "For both of us. You've no experience in these lands, and I've got only a mental map to guide us."
"That map's guided us this far," Bella said, leaning back against the trunk. "I'm sure it would get us where we need to be."
"I've been travelling through the jungle my whole life," said Rosalie gently. "From a very young age, we're taught how to navigate..."
"Why?" Bella asked. Rosalie's eyes snapped to hers, surveying her with that sudden, harsh coldness that sometimes overtook her, but when she saw nothing there but honest curiosity, she relented.
"You're really not familiar with the ways of this Island, are you?" she asked. On any other tongue, this would have hurt Bella, but Rosalie spoke with such awe and disbelief that she knew it was not meant as an insult. Bella said nothing in return, simply offering a quiet, uncomfortable shrug, bringing the biscuit back to her lips.
"Navigation is essential, where I'm from," explained Rosalie. Bella did not miss the way she avoided the word West, as if even here, in this jungle with Bella as her company, the word was rude and crass. "We must know how to navigate, in case we ever need to…"
When she paused, blushing lightly, Bella raised an eyebrow.
"To… attack," she said, her voice soft and awkward. "They want us all to know how to move through the jungle, in case we need to arm ourselves against the East."
Bella put the biscuit down on her lap, a sudden discomfort filling her belly. She had heard this before— had heard how cannily the Westerners navigated the wilds near the mountain pass— but to hear it so calmly and surely from the mouth of one who had actually lived there made Bella nervous. She knew Rosalie was not the enemy— not like those who had attacked the mourning party at Terosankta— but nevertheless, Bella wondered just how much violence Rosalie had seen during her time there.
Rosalie did not miss her sudden awkwardness, and huffed an harsh, angry breath.
"The point is," she snapped, "I know how to work my way through the jungle. I know how to read the trees, and I know how to find the cardinal directions."
Bella nodded.
"I'm not so skilled in open terrain," she continued. "I'll be able to find East— that is easy enough— but I couldn't tell you where the easiest passage is, or where there might be a friendly farmer who would let us pass through his lands unmolested."
"Many of the people who came to the service were farmers…"
The farmers were some of Bella's biggest supporters, and though she hated being called Goddess, she was not above using it to her advantage, if it would help her get back home.
Rosalie closed her eyes, her lips pursed.
"I'm sure they love you," grumbled Rosalie, sounding suddenly tired. "I'm sure they'd be honoured to welcome you into their homes, if they think you're divine."
Rosalie, to Bella's relief, had scoffed just as readily at this claim as Bella had, which had only made Bella like her all the more.
"They'd take us in," said Bella. "They might even lend us horses, if they had any to spare. I'm sure I could promise reimbursement, though I can't be sure…"
"With what?" Rosalie asked doubtfully. "What do you have to offer in return for horses? Have you any idea what a horse might cost?"
"Plenty, I'm sure," laughed Bella, "but I've got plenty to offer. I've been overwhelmed with gifts since the moment I woke in that tower room."
Rosalie shook her head.
"All the apples in the world couldn't buy us horses," she said sadly. "And have no doubt— I'm positive they'd take you in for free, if they knew who you were, even if you could give them absolutely nothing in return. But my son and I?"
Bella frowned at her.
"We'd be about as welcome as rats," she finished.
Finn had eaten his biscuit and was squishing water between his fingers from the lazily dripping leaves overhead. Rosalie caught up his hands to stop him, and the child pouted at her, his lip trembling.
"We're… enemies," she said softly. As she said it, she ran her hand gently over her child's hair, and Bella felt a pang of guilt. She had never considered how easily the people of Marolando had welcomed her into their land, into their homes and hearts. Bella was as strange to them as Rosalie was— arguably more so— but on the whole, the people had taken to her. They were not suspicious, or hostile, or angry with her lack of knowledge. Instead, they'd welcomed her. They'd taught her the language, treated her to their customs and traditions, and had done everything in their power to make her safe, and happy, and comfortable.
They'd tried to give her a home, though she'd fought viciously for what she'd left behind, and as she watched Rosalie tending her little son, she felt as wretched as a thief.
How could Bella have refused that which Rosalie had risked life and limb to have? Bella had been so eager to snub kindness— to throw away the generosity and selflessness of the Maronese people, who had given it freely. She had not been forced to flee. She had not been forced to run. She did not have a child with welts on his legs from his father's belt, or an unborn baby from a cruel and violent husband.
She had only love, and gentleness, and generosity, and in that moment, she would have given it all away to Rosalie and her child, if only she could get them out of this infernal jungle.
"You're not," said Bella at once, her stomach roiling unpleasantly. "You're not the enemy, Rosalie…"
"They'll not be so understanding, I think," she said. She spoke with no inflection, as if this pronouncement were a commonplace, acceptable thing, though Bella knew that those words must hurt her.
"They'll see the truth, once they get to know you," said Bella. "They took to me easily enough. I've not spoken to one unkind soul, save perhaps that surly councillor of Edward's."
Rosalie's head snapped up at once.
"You are very familiar," she said slowly, "to use his given name."
It was Bella's turn to blush.
"He's been very good to me," she admitted. "I think I confuse him."
"Is that so?" Rosalie raised an eyebrow. "Confused, indeed…"
"I'm sure I do," she said quickly. "I'm not familiar with your customs, and I do not always know how to treat him. Where I'm from, we don't have kings and castles, and the whole idea is very strange to me."
"It must be refreshing for one such as him to be treated like a regular person," said Rosalie. "If I were him, I don't think I could bear it— the bowing, the fussing, the My Lord-ing and Your Grace-ing…"
Bella chuckled.
"Perhaps you could, perhaps not," she sighed. "But it's no matter."
Rosalie took a long, deep pull from her water pouch.
"He is a fair man," said Bella earnestly. "A good, fair, thoughtful man. He will take your claim seriously, and I don't doubt that he will rule in your favour."
Rosalie, suddenly dark and serious, shrugged her shoulders.
"He might," she agreed, "but that's no guarantee that his people will. That his farmers will. That his merchants, and healers, and fishers will…"
Bella closed her eyes. She knew all too much about the court of public opinion, and though she longed to give Rosalie some peace of mind, she knew too little about the climate in the Maronese capital to offer judgment. In truth, Bella knew almost nothing at all, and as she sighed, leaning her head against the wood, she thought that if she ever made it back, she would take the time to get to know the people of the city.
"We will rest here a while," said Rosalie finally, intruding on Bella's sudden sleepiness. "It will do us no good to have you collapse of exhaustion before we reach our goal, and this is as good a place as any to stop. We'll not be easily seen from any distance, and in this rain, it would be a miracle if anyone spotted us at all."
Bella, nodding softly to herself, sat up straight.
"You go on," said Rosalie at once. "You go on and sleep. I'll take first watch."
She drew the blade from her waistband again— that long, sharp, crude weapon that made Bella so nervous, and sat it in the dirt at her feet, well within reach should it be needed. Bella, taking her cue, lowered herself down onto the sodden ground, resting her head on the depleted bag of furs.
"Wake me if you need anything," said Bella gently. "And don't keep watch for too long… you need rest, too."
"I'll wake you when I'm tired," promised Rosalie, "and not a second before."
Bella hid her grin.
"Go on," said Rosalie again. "Rest. We've got a long walk ahead of us tomorrow. I'd like to clear the treeline by daybreak, so we'll be up before cockcrow again…"
"When we get to the Capital," grumbled Bella disconsolately, "I'm going to sleep until noon."
Rosalie laughed at her.
"Go to sleep," she said. "Close your eyes and rest. It won't be long before we're off again, and you'll regret it if you don't."
Bella, nodding obediently, cuddled further down into her small pile of furs. Staring out into the grey wall of rain, Bella watched her for an extended moment before her eyes grew too heavy and she lay, floating in the delicious space between waking and sleep, as the world grew soft around her.
The warmth of a little body, pressed luxuriously to her front, was the last thing she felt before she fell completely and deeply asleep.
A hand on her mouth, firm to the point of pain, was Bella's midnight siren and her eyes snapped open, blinking uselessly in the black, impermeable darkness. She squirmed and mumbled around the palm, which tightened reflexively around her.
"Shhh!" hissed Rosalie. Bella stilled, feeling her companion's breath on her cheek. Rosalie's face was next to hers, sandwiching the sleeping child between them, and though Bella could see absolutely nothing, she felt the tension in Rose's hand. Rosalie hissed almost inaudibly as Bella fell still, her breaths coming in heavy pants, and though she could not tell why she'd been woken so, Bella's stomach clenched with worry.
"Shh…" Rosalie spoke even softer this time. "Don't wake Finn."
The child, curled inexplicably against Bella's front, snuggled in closer, his warm, little head on Bella's arm.
Bella said nothing, trying to see into the dark.
The night was as black as coal. Above them, where trees must have swayed, Bella saw nothing but an infinite chasm of night. The clouds obscured the sky— there were no stars to light their way, and no moon to guide their path. Rain pattered down like little fairy feet on the earthen ground. She could smell the damp— that musky scent of rotting leaves churned by new rivers of water, of wet, stinking animal fur, and of her own filth, pungent and foul, combining to make her eyes water.
"Shh…" Rosalie released her mouth. "Shhh…"
She obeyed, as silent and still as the grave. The darkness was so complete that Bella, blinking furiously, could hardly tell whether her eyes were open or shut.
They sat, so unnaturally still and silent for such a long, tense moment, that Bella almost opened her mouth to speak.
But before she could, Finn turned over.
"Mama?"
"Shhh!" Bella heard the clap of Rosalie's hand on his mouth, the resounding squeal of shock and surprise that came from the boy echoing through the trees. He began to wiggle furiously against them, his feet scrabbling at the dirt and Bella's legs, and with a sudden chill that took all the breath from her, Bella heard a noise in the distance.
Snapping twigs. Hissing leaves. A quickening gait, growing closer, and closer…
And then, a light. One lone, flickering, fiery light about fifty feet away, brandishing wildly through the hellish night.
Figures loomed beyond that light. There were two— Bella could just make out their inky forms against the cloud of ebony— and they moved with particular slowness, pausing every now and again to search. They walked slowly, their torch bending low over suspect patches of leaves and dirt, and they scanned with purpose, as if they were looking for something.
The child saw it too. Bella knew he did. She caught his wide, frightened eyes in a dim pass from the torch, and he reached up for his mother, his lip between his teeth…
And when Rosalie turned to take him, to soothe him into desperate, painful silence, Bella saw with horror how the shining torch caught the glint from her blade, and the figures stopped dead.
Bella's stomach dropped to her feet.
"...you see that?" came a low, gravelly voice. "You see that, boss?"
"I see it," said a higher voice. A much higher voice, that Bella recognized with a thrill of terror…
The men began to sprint.
"Go!" shouted Rosalie, her voice breaking as their safety fell away. Bella rose in a rush, scrambling away from the furs and the tree, and her blood ran cold at the sound of the hollering shouts behind her, angry and vicious.
"There she is!" bellowed the small man. "Get her, Bruno! Get her!"
"Go!" Rosalie screamed again. "Go, Bella! Run!"
Bella ran like she'd never run before.
The dancing light of the torch at her back made her dizzy. Shadows flickered and grew like spectres in the dark, only to fall into blackness again when she turned a corner or leaped ahead.
"Rose!" she shouted, her voice shrill and piercing. "Rosalie!"
"This way!" Bella heard Rosalie shout, and as she turned her head to the right, she caught a glint of that long, golden hair. Bella ran towards it, blind. Her blistered feet caught on vines and stones, and she felt the sores break open. Her chest burned with exertion as her heart hammered behind her ribs, so hard that she could feel her pulse in her cheeks. Her ears were awash with a deafening roar, her hands shaking like autumn leaves turned crisp and brown, but she forced herself on, putting as much distance between herself and those pounding, hammering feet at her back.
"Go!" Rosalie cried again, and Bella heard the telltale quaver of tears. Finn, beyond consolation, wailed in the dark. Bella followed the sound, the feeble light from the distant torch giving her just enough light to see, and before she knew it she'd crashed, head first, into Rosalie, knocking all three of them into the dirt.
She cried as she scrabbled, desperate to regain her footing. Rosalie grabbed her by the neck of her tunic and hauled her upright, her eyes flashing frantically in the dark.
"We need to lose them!" she whispered. The hiss pierced the night and the light grew brighter. "We must get away!"
"I see you, little doll!" cried the smaller man. Bella started violently at the sound and wheeled, staring blindly through the black trees. "I see you, little darling…"
"I've got a knife!" Rosalie bellowed angrily. "I've got a knife, you brute, and I'll strike you dead!"
Two sets of laughter— one from the direction of the light, the other to their left— made the child scream with terror.
"A pretty little bitch with her whining little pup!" chortled the small man, lurking unseen the bowels of the dark. Rosalie, stricken, took off at a run again, though her feet were slower now, uncertain. She looked frantically about them, glancing left and right with wild eyes, before she turned to Bella with an expression so fearful that Bella felt tears well up in her own eyes.
"Leave my son out of it!" she shouted, her voice carrying shrilly on the wind. "Leave my boy alone!"
She clutched the child reflexively to her breast.
The light grew nearer again, but Rosalie, squinting angrily towards the place from which the voice had rung, stayed just where she was.
Bella, unable to speak for fear, stayed close by her.
"Got her now, boss…" came the deeper voice— the larger man that had spoken so crassly when Bella had hidden in the undergrowth some days prior. Bella wheeled around at once, her eyes scanning that patch of light that glowed hazily from a hidden alcove, before that light went out altogether and they were left in that infernal darkness once more. Bella's eyes scanned uselessly for a glimpse of the towering, hulking man, but through she knew he must be near, she could make neither head nor tail of him.
He laughed at her from the trees, and Bella felt her limbs freeze stiff. She remembered the words he'd spoken— those uncivilized, angry missives Bella had stupidly assumed applied to her. She felt Rosalie shift at her back, her hand reaching down for the knife that would be worse than useless in the dark, and Bella heard the words in her head as if that foul, hateful man spoke them aloud again, their meaning now clear and chilling.
Intact.
Untouched.
Bitch.
Animal…
In a sudden flurry of movement, Bella saw the outline of the thin, craggy man emerge swiftly from the shadows on Rosalie's right side. Rose wheeled herself around, her arms wrapped so tightly around the boy that his cries were muffled by her shoulder, all thoughts of her knife abandoned.
"You've been naughty, little girl," drawled the man. He stalked at Rose like a tiger at a deer, his eyes leering and his teeth bared. He looked like an animal— like a wild, untamed, dangerous beast that might snap its teeth to kill— and Bella did not miss the way he glared at Finn, his eyes as cold as ice.
"Get away from us!" Rosalie said, her voice surprisingly firm through her fear. "Go back to the West, where you belong, and leave us be…"
Both men laughed at them again, and before Bella could so much as think of running, she saw the wiry, spindly form of the smaller man rush at Rosalie, his hands thrusting out to snatch the child away. Bella saw him fall— saw his little body strike the ground where he landed— before his mother became entangled in a bitter, savage fight, her blade drawn and clashing with her foe.
The child screeched an unholy noise— one that Bella had never heard before— as he struggled in the dirt. When the clouds cleared momentarily overhead, Bella caught a glimpse of him, staggering and limping, before he caught sight of Bella, and began toddling uncertainly towards her.
Bella, almost sobbing with relief, reached out her arms to him. He was still unsure of her, Bella knew it well, but now, in the midst of their ambush, she was a friendly face, and one he'd gladly take over the hateful sneers of the men who pursued them.
He barely made it three steps when Bella felt something large and heavy hit her like a truck. The larger man had lunged at her from the bushes, the full force of him sending them both sprawling in the dirt, and she saw the child reel away before the clouds covered the moon again, and Bella's face was forced into the mud. She choked, struggling against his grip, before she screamed, her cry echoing through the jungle like a mad, tolling bell.
He hit her, as she knew he would. His fists hammered blindly at her back, which was soaked with sweat and rain, and when she freed an arm, he caught it up and jerked it roughly back behind her. His breath was foul— Bella could feel his hot, moist exhales on her cheek and neck, and when he laid his whole weight down on her, she felt crushed, her breath lost in a painful whoosh of air. His fingers yanked her hair, snapping her head back viciously, and she saw how he leered at her, his eyes bright with rage.
She heard Rosalie fighting. She heard the laughing taunts of the skinny man, and the sudden, fearful clash of steel on steel. She heard Rose yell out when a blow was landed, and the cries of "Mama!" as the child scrambled into the trees…
With a renewed fury, Bella fought the man at her back. Kicking, screaming, scratching, and biting, Bella unleashed the full force of her rage on him, feeling flesh rending beneath her fingernails, and blood drawn between her teeth. She wormed her way onto her back, coming face-to-face with the foul creature on top of her, and she spat, a great, globule of spittle hitting the man square in the face. Her fractured wrist, which she was sure she'd rebroken, was all but forgotten as she brought the heavy, swollen limb down on his back and head. She dug her fingernails into his hair, thrust her knees into his ribs, and struck her foot at the junction between his legs. He howled when she struck, bringing his hand down to slap her face, but when his knees buckled and his back arched, she was able to wiggle herself free of him. Kicking him again— her foot hit ribs, this time— Bella escaped into the night, adrenaline coursing like ecstasy through her veins.
"Bella!" She heard Rosalie cry, and she slowed at once. "Bella!"
Shaking, Bella halted, wheeling around towards the clearing. She could see no forms in the dark— no telltale fire from a torch, no heralding swish of a dark, woolen cloak. There were no silver glints from blades, no flashes of gold from Rose's long, lovely hair, and only darkness— hard as concrete and black as pitch.
When a little body, cold and wet, slammed into knees, Bella quailed and yelped, falling to her backside in the dirt. Her cry rang clear, and she heard a renewed scrabbling from the nearby clearing.
"Bella!" Rosalie's shout was desperate and frightened. "Bella!"
The child, trembling from head to toe, wrapped his legs around her waist like a monkey, his little fingernails digging into the bruised flesh of her shoulders and back. He wept openly, his filthy, tearstained face buried deep in Bella's collar, and she clutched him with a renewed vigour, peeling his head from her shoulder to see him properly.
"Finn!" she gasped. She could make him out roughly in the dark— his large, bright eyes reflecting the dim glow from the moon, which had reappeared once more. "Oh my God, sweetheart, are you alright?"
The child said nothing, trembling violently against her.
"Bella!"
"Are you alright, Finn?" Bella demanded anxiously. She ignored her own aches, which were beginning to bloom from muscles and bones. "Are you hurt?"
The child shook his head wildly, his hands reaching for her face.
"Mama?" He whispered the word in her ear.
Bella felt her tears spill over.
"Mama's alright," she lied. "Mama's fine, honey. Your mama's coming…"
The boy wept into her chest and Bella, feeling winded and sore, forced herself to stand.
"Bella!" Rosalie's voice rang out again, her voice high and terrified. "Bella!"
At the sound of her voice, the child writhed.
"Mama!" he screamed, his voice carrying through the trees. "Mama!"
"Go, Bella! RUN!"
And before Bella could make sense of anything at all, she heard the crashing, angry footsteps of a pursuer at her back. She held the child to her, crushed him to her breast, before she took off at a determined run. The child continued to shriek, his little body twisting violently in her arms as he cried for his mother, but Bella held him tight, trying to latch his legs around her waist.
"Hush, Finn!" she cried desperately. The child screamed unapologetically, beyond reason or consolation, and Bella could think of nothing better to say. He was jostled as they ran, his legs flopping uselessly against her.
"Mama!" he wailed again, and Bella heard the noise behind her grow louder. "Mama!"
She clapped her hand on his mouth to keep him quiet, but he bit down, hard, and Bella nearly dropped him as the sting ran down her wrist. She wrestled her hand from him with a sharp shake, and once he had let go, she felt the warm trickle of blood down her arm.
"MAMA!" The child writhed, hollering madly. "MAMA!"
"It's alright!" squealed Bella wildly. "It'll be alright!"
"MAMA!"
Birds flew up from the trees in an angry, tittering cloud…
… a cloud, Bella realized, that she could see.
"Sun, Finn!" she gasped with sudden, almost giddy delight. "Look, baby! Sun!"
A wan, grey light grew in the east. A light so dull, it was almost invisible between the trees where she ran. A light that would have been absolutely untouchable had it not been for the great, sprawling field that lay just beyond the next copse…
The footsteps behind her grew louder. Bella sprinted, as fast as her leaden, burdened legs could carry her, towards the gap. She saw the stone before she felt it— a great, sharp, grey thing, poking up rebelliously through the sodden, muddy undergrowth, before it caught her toe with a piercing pain and she was falling, the child tumbling from her grip. The hard, filthy ground met her without mercy and she cried out, watching the boy slide through the mud, before she felt a hand on the back of her head, gripping her hair in a tight, painful hold. The figure hauled her to her feet, holding her so tightly that she cried out.
Rosalie emerged from the trees, panting and bloodied, just in time to see her son disappear into the great, swaying field, and for Bella to feel the bite of a blade at her throat.
A tempest rolled over the castle like a tide across the shore, and as it roiled and flashed its malice in the West, the search for the Missing Lady went on.
A fissure in the sky had opened like a raw, seeping wound, making rain pelt down in buckets from the clouds above. Day and night, the lightning flared and the thunder boomed, its echo cracking in the mountains far in the distance. The noise tumbled down the valley like a stone, crashing into the walls of the city where it sent the people running, scurrying like mice into their homes and shops, where they remained hidden and dry in the unrelenting deluge. Reports of swollen rivers and flooded plains reached the city with messengers from the north, passing quietly through the city gates during daytime hours. Fishermen told of scattered bounty, of fishing spots purged of their plunder and tide pools washed clean of their haul. It would not take long for the fish market to falter and the grain supply to dwindle, and Edward knew, with a great, foreboding worry, that this sudden storm would eat into their emergency stores, if it did not let up soon.
He was trapped in the castle. At Carlisle's insistence, Edward had done little more than roam the grounds before the rain had come, and though he had daily news from his soldiers in the field, there was precious little for them to report.
It had been a week since the episode at the holy lands. A week since they'd fought, and a week since they'd won. A week since the bloodshed, when families had lost sons, and a week since Bella had gone, disappearing into the jungle like a ghost, and there'd been neither sight nor sound of her ever since.
Seven days ago, he'd been preparing his search. Seven days ago, he'd thrown his Council into turmoil. Seven days ago, he'd been given his orders of confinement. Six days ago, the rains had started, and five days ago, his brother— the Crown Prince of the island— had set out on his eager search for the Lady, which had yielded no result.
On the parchment on his desk, the likes of which he received daily, was written a short, pointed missive from his brother. The hand, which grew shakier the longer Jasper remained out of the city, was hasty and rushed. The parchment was curled with moisture— he'd dried it by the fire before he'd been able to read it— and as he looked it over again and again, he felt the cold, hard stone in his heart settle in a little deeper.
Ed,
Nothing yet. Spoke to Western farmers, no sign of her. Reached the jungle today and sent ten men in to look. Will go in myself in the morning. No trail for Leah. Covered much ground this afternoon, will continue at daybreak tomorrow.
Best,
Jas
The parchment curled back into the tight, narrow scroll as Edward let it go. The other four, which told of interviews with farmers, petitions in the countryside, barnyard searches, and fruitless hound hunts, had told him more of the same.
Bella was gone, and there was not a soul in the world who knew where she was.
His aunt was a wreck. Hopeful and optimistic, Esme had been sure at the start of the week that she would be found safe— that the quiet search party of ten hardy soldiers that Edward had immediately dispatched to the Terosanktan Trail would find her hiding in the bushes, out of sight and hearing of enemy attackers. Surely she would see the standards, Esme had thought, and come out from her hiding place. Surely she would know that the King's men were safe. She would see the red and gold as a haven— trusted men to whom she could run in her time of need, men who would protect her and guide her back to safety where her people waited, frantic for her safe return. Surely their night of searching would turn her up, and when it had not, surely the second night would…
By the fourth night she was absolutely beside herself, unable to sleep, unable to eat, until Carlisle had stepped in with a calming draught, which had put her up in bed for an entire day and night.
Grimacing angrily at the parchment on the desk, Edward glanced up at his uncle, who occupied the seat near the fire and was not looking at his nephew. Carlisle had not returned to his cabin in the woods— not when his wife was ill, and the girl missing— and he stared now, transfixed and troubled, into the glowing, writhing embers at the core of the hearth.
"Have you read this?" asked Edward. His voice cracked with disuse and Carlisle, startled, blinked up at him as if woken from a daze. His hair was dishevelled, standing wildly on end, and when he ran his fingers through it in a nervous display, Edward knew why.
"No," he said, standing. "No, I haven't… any news?"
"All the same," said Edward tiredly. "Nothing new."
Carlisle took the parchment and scanned it quickly, his brow furrowing when he laid it down gently on the desk again, his shoulders deflated.
"The longer this goes on, the more troubled I grow," he said needlessly. "It worries me that not a thing has been seen."
Edward, saying nothing, nodded in silent agreement.
"The longer it takes," said Carlisle slowly, returning his attention to the fire, "the greater the chance that…"
"Don't," said Edward at once, feeling sick to his stomach. His arm flared with pain when the muscle flexed, and he bit back a hiss. "Don't say it, Carlisle."
His uncle grimaced.
"I'm sorry," he sighed tiredly. "Really, I am…"
"I will find her," said Edward firmly. "She won't be lost forever…"
Carlisle looked at him shrewdly.
"Many others have been lost to the trees," he said softly, and Edward felt the words as keenly as a knife. "Many more able, and many more prepared…"
He saw her then, as he'd last seen her on the cliffs of Terosankta. Dressed in her black mourning gown— proper and serviceable for a Cleansing ceremony, but completely unsuited for sleeping rough in the jungle. Sandals on her feet— wooden-soled, thinly laced things that would last her ten minutes in the jungle's dampness. No hat to guard her from the sun, no cloak to keep her warm in the night. No food to keep her strong, and no weapon to defend her from men or beasts…
He shook his head to dispel the thought. It did him no good to imagine such things, and it only made him frustrated when he remembered that there was nothing in the world that he could do about it.
"Perhaps Leah will get lucky tomorrow," said Edward softly. Edward had ordered Jasper to take the dog with him— Edward's greatest hunting dog, who could sniff out a deer from five miles away. He'd sifted through the castle laundry himself to find Bella's nightdress, and had given it to Jasper in a waxed, waterproof bag to use as a guide for Leah's keen, sensitive nose.
"The rain will make it difficult," said Carlisle grimly. Edward scowled. "Scents will be disturbed in the currents…"
He caught Edward's glance and fell silent at once.
"She's in there somewhere," said Edward lowly, "and so there must be a trace somewhere. If anyone can find it, Leah can."
Carlisle, wise to Edward's upset, kept his thoughts to himself. With a herculean effort that not even Edward missed, Carlisle changed the subject.
"What news of the Council?" asked Carlisle. "Has the Western side elected a new representative?"
"Apparently so," said Edward cooly. Three afternoons prior, four days after his dismissal of Mihaelo, a crowd of fifteen merchants from the city's west end had descended upon the throne room, demanding an audience with the King. Edward, though his choice had been unyielding, had been forced to justify his decision to remove their man from his advisory Council, and it had not been without raised voices and angry demands.
It had not mattered to them that it was the King's prerogative to appoint Councillors at his whim and will. It had mattered not that Mihaelo, in all his hubris, had been disrespectful and demanding. It did not matter that Edward had given him chances, one after another, after another, but only that their man had been shamed, had been tossed from the castle like a common beggar, and the merchants of the West had sought to make their King accountable for such a wretched, high-handed order.
Rich and snobbish. Those were the words Edward's father had used more than once to express his distaste for those western merchants who had more wealth than they needed, and more greed than was proper. Tax evasion, coin smuggling, labour violations, blackmail… such had always been the dirty underbelly of the merchant class, though neither Edward nor his father before him had ever been able to catch them at it.
Edward, feeling foolish and impatient, had only just resisted the urge to dismiss them outright, and had entertained the barrage of outraged questions until they grew boorish and crude, and he'd been forced to put an end to it.
Lorenzo, as acting representative for the West until another could be appointed, had overseen the vote just two days prior, and to the abject outrage and anger of the merchants, it had been a man called Rohailo who'd been voted in. Edward had never met him, and did not recall the family name, but he'd received his new Councillor with as much grace and kindness as he could muster under the circumstances, which were less than ideal.
"It's a man from Market Street," said Edward. "Rohailo. His family are cobblers, and they are transplants to the West."
"Indeed?" Carlisle raised a sardonic brow. "I'm sure that pleased the peddlers…"
Edward stifled a grin, knowing very well that it would not do to chuckle at derogatory, if not fitting, nicknames for his most troublesome citydwellers.
"I think not," he said, chuckling. "But it pleases me, as he seems very willing and ready to serve."
"The Western side needs a good servant," said Carlisle seriously. "Corruption has held its reign too long, I think."
"Indeed," said Edward grimly. "So said my father, as well."
"Your father was a wise man," replied Carlisle. "Any advice he gave you, I'm sure is sound."
"He warned of dirty dealings among Mihaelo's people," returned Edward. "It's part of the reason, apart from his love for my mother, that made him refuse Mihaelo's sister."
"Which is a shame," sighed Carlisle, "because I've met Mihaelo's sister. She's a kind, honest woman. Did you know she married a carpenter?"
"Oh?" Edward's curiosity piqued. "A carpenter?"
"Yes," laughed Carlisle. A dark humour turned up the corners of his mouth, and he sat back in his chair with a huff. "A carpenter of low rank and very little means, which has been the bane of her family for nigh on twenty years. She had the chance at a King, and she settled for a tradesman. It infuriates them to no end."
Edward, impatient, scoffed angrily.
"What matters is her happiness," he said sourly. "She could have had all the Kings in the world, and it would not have made her happy if she was destined for another."
"A daughter's happiness is of little consequence to a great family like Mihaelo's," said Carlisle gently. "What matters is her connections. They are an old family, remember, and so abide by some very old and unfortunate customs."
Edward frowned at him.
"Mihaelo has said it more than once, though not to you, I expect… in their view, a son is a gift— a new man to continue on the family line. A daughter is naught but a drain— a pretty thing to be fed and clothed according to her station, until such a time when she can be married off to the highest bidder."
"Dowries have been outlawed for nearly twenty years," said Edward at once., "and I'd sooner see a goat with wings before I rescind that law."
Carlisle laughed at him.
"Outlawed, yes," he agreed, "but unpracticed? I think not."
Edward frowned at him.
"Merchants are driven by coin," said Carlisle easily. "Not all of them, I'm sure, but a good percentage."
Edward listened.
"You're mad if you think they'd turn down an opportunity to make a profit," he said finally. "A man who can find his son a good, obedient wife while also making himself a small fortune would be mad not to do it, according to them."
"You're not a merchant," said Edward softly, "and I'd doubt you'd know anything about such things."
"My father was paid handsomely for your aunt," said Carlisle easily. "Dowries were common when we were married, and your own mother's match made Esme even more valuable in the eyes of our fathers."
Edward shook his head, disgusted.
"My father abolished dowries because of my mother," he said at once. "My father's father would have asked for a fortune for my father's bride. Father didn't believe in such nonsense. He married my mother for her spirit, not her chattel."
Carlisle smiled indulgently at him, shrugging his shoulders in defeat.
"Your father took no dowry," said Carlisle simply, "but that does not mean that no one else did."
Edward sighed.
"My father was eccentric," said Carlisle, "but he was not immune to greed."
"Aunt Esme is worth more than whatever your father got for her."
"Every cent of that dowry is her own," said Carlisle at once. "Every penny my father didn't spend, every jewel in that coffer, belongs to her."
"You're a good man," said Edward simply. "A good man with a kind heart…"
Carlisle brushed him off, shaking his head.
"But it's folly to think that everyone shares that view," he said softly. "A merchant man with all sons sees marriage as a fortune in the making. You would be wise to remember that, when you're dealing with those folk. They'd pay very handsomely to put one of their daughters on your mother's throne."
"Nothing in my future spells marriage for them," said Edward at once. "I'd not marry any Mihaelo's daughters, even if he offered me a king's ransom."
Carlisle grinned at him.
"No, I don't think you would," he said quietly. "I think your heart is better set on something much higher than a merchant's daughter. Not to mention the corruption you'd invite if you did take one of them to bed…"
"I'd not risk it," said Edward at once, grimacing at the thought. "I'd not risk anyone corrupting my throne with such greed or petty crime. Especially not for a woman I don't love."
"Love is a strange thing," mused Carlisle quietly. His eyes were closed now, and Edward would have thought him asleep had his lips not moved. "It can strike us at the most inopportune times."
Edward frowned.
"I wouldn't know," he replied. "I've never had it."
"Indeed." Carlisle's eye peered at him speculatively. "So you might think."
"What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded, surprised. "'So I might think'?"
He grinned, shrugging dispassionately.
"Like I said… I think your sights are set on higher things."
"What are you on about?"
His Uncle, with a sudden, maddening sparkle that made Edward suspicious, brushed him off with a wave of his hand. A silent battle of wills ensued— one that Edward knew he was destined to lose— but he fought nonetheless, staring Carlisle down with as much fervour as he could muster.
"Nothing," said his Uncle after a long pause. "I mean nothing by it. You're simply tired, is all…"
"I'm not tired," retorted Edward boorishly, but his Uncle had gone quiet. "I'm… worried."
"Worried," sighed Carlisle tiredly. "Aren't we all?"
Edward kept his mouth shut.
Worried was not the word.
Worried was what he felt before a speech. Worried was how he felt when his soldiers, training in the field, were knocked into the dirt from a stupid, defensible mistake. Worried was breaking his mother's favourite vase, or sneaking in after dark, or waiting, silent and still, for the weight of a crown on his head after the oil had anointed him King of the Realm.
Worried was for the commonplace. Worried was for safety.
It was not worry for Bella that made him so wild. It was not worry that kept him up at night, wondering where on earth she could be. It was not worry that made him sick, that turned his dreams to ashy nightmares, that made his meals cold and his slumber fickle, that drove him mad with foul daydreams and terrible imaginings of her, dead or dying, alone, and cold, and frightened…
It was fear. Cold, hard, righteous fear, tempered only by the gnawing guilt that ate away at his innards like a sickness.
For if she was not found, he thought, he might never have the chance to tell her how much she was missed. He might never be able to say how he longed to hear her voice, to feel the soft touch of her fingers against his. If she was never found again, he would never have the chance to tell her how happy she had made him, how deeply he felt for her, the only person in the whole, wide world who treated him as a man first, a King second.
If he never saw her again, he would never get a chance to tell her how sorry he was for losing her, and how hard he'd fight to keep his promise, if she'd only give him the chance.
The letter, coming at daybreak on the eighth day of the search, arrived with a frantic knock on his chamber door.
"My Lord!" The voice belonged to Roberto, the young pageboy Edward had hired from a family of masons on the city's East end. As the youngest child of twelve, it was a high honour for him to serve the King, and he did his job as well as any boy of ten might be expected.
"My Lord!" cried Roberto again. "My Lord, a letter!"
His little fist rapped anxiously on the door. Edward, rolling over onto his injured arm with a hiss, sat up quickly and squinted in the dark, heaving himself out of bed.
Roberto knocked again, but Edward swung the great, wooden thing open before he could call out. The child scrambled into a low bow— something that was a constant source of amusement for Edward— and held out his hand, upon which rested a tightly curled, damp parchment.
"Where is this from?" demanded Edward at once, taking it up in his hands. "Who brought it?"
"A man," panted Roberto. For the first time, Edward noticed his wet hair and bright eyes. The child, too, would have been newly woken, roused from sleep to bring his King this missive…
"A man in your standards," said the boy. "A soldier, I think, though he did not give his name…"
Edward unfurled it at once. A single line of text glared up at him like a hot, simmering coal, and Edward felt the heat of it sear him to his very core.
E,
We've found a body by the jungle's edge.
J.
A body. A body. A body in the jungle…
His heart fell to the very soles of his feet.
"Saddle my horse, Roberto." Carlisle be damned… "Wake Marco at once."
"Yes, Sire…"
"And alert the guard. I am going to meet my brother."
A/N: Please don't shoot me. If you do, the cliffhanger is destined to remain forever a mystery.
As always, let me know what you think! I love hearing from each and every one of you!