Chapter 15
Fight and Flight
The only thing that had remained constant were the whispers in her ears and the overwhelming quietness in the room that allowed her to hear them.
Another one killed...
Was he your father?
Another one killed...
Another one...
Norah looked towards the sun blazing from beyond the balcony; the amber glow fuzzy as if she saw it from under the surface of choppy water. She shook her head, trying to remove herself from her daze; she was exhausted.
Three dead. Three loved ones...
She hadn't moved since Rain and Erron Black had disappeared from the room. Even if she wanted to, there was no way to get out. The injury in her shoulder prevented her from being able to move the cabinet by herself, not to mention the pile of Tarkatan bodies that lay outside the door to further hinder her way out.
In all honesty, she had no desire to get up, nor look to her left; Bert lay dead in that direction. Her eyes remained on her lap as her body throbbed with pain, but it was nothing compared to the even deeper affliction within her. The hollowness, it seemed to be inside of everything: the room, Bert, in her. There was no escaping the silence despite the small voices speaking in mantras in the back of her mind.
Another loved one killed. Three loved ones. One for certainty that truly cared for me.
Her head pounded with the intensity of fierce drums and as discontented as a mob's. Suddenly, there was an uproar from a different opinion— one that spoke more rationally.
You barely knew him. Why are you so upset?
It was muted instantly by the others.
It was because I barely knew him. What could have been, if there had been more time?
Although her eyes felt bone dry, at the thought she managed to shed one more tear down her cheek.
No tears, Norah. They don't change anything.
She could hear his voice in her head the day he told her that; the day he consoled her after she had discovered what Tama had done to her. Another tear in thought to another memory.
What everybody had done to her.
I am weak.
Bert had treated her with more respect and more affection than her father had ever showed. Yes, she knew her father had loved her but they both knew that the feeling was mutual between the two; that it was an obligation due to blood.
He had only loved one woman regardless of her faults even after her death and though he never voiced it, in his eyes, she could always tell that her father blamed her for her mother's death just as Norah did. There was never really any willing love between them; if that was even the proper word to describe their relationship.
The only time she had felt she had any paternal figure was with Bert. At first, she thought maybe that was the way he was with everyone. Her intuition kept telling her that hadn't been the case just with what she observed with Carver, Bao, and Abigail. Just like with her father, his eyes always seemed to convey to her that his thoughts regarding her went beyond just normal friendship; perhaps she reciprocated it and he knew it as well.
An opportunity stolen.
Norah hadn't acknowledged any of this until she mourned him; she had been selfishly wrapped in her own dilemmas to pay attention until now. There were small moments, little clues, that expressed that there had been a longing to feel wanted between them.
It was speechless, but she always knew he felt the same way despite her efforts to remain secluded. She knew Bert had cared for her and she hadn't realized how much until tonight.
He had stopped her from doing something she might regret; her father wouldn't have the nerve to even address it out of fear of an argument.
Bert had tended to her wound; her father would have left her to deal with it on her own or would have done it involuntarily.
Bert had shielded himself in front of her and pulled her away from harm when Rain attacked them. A bitter scoff escaped from her; her father had tried to reason before the first punch, then he had tried to flee out the back door.
It was ironic when she considered it further; that she ached for Bert more than she had her own father. She felt more like an orphan with a man that cared deeply in such a short time than with the man that had raised her all her life.
What could have been?
Norah let out a hiss; her shoulder flared with an abrupt razor pain and pulled her from her internal grieving.
She looked down at the torn skin with a scowl when she saw the dried blood caked on her chest and blouse, frozen on her clothes like a raging waterfall. Her whole shoulder continuously throbbed and stung as if an incredibly heavy stone lay pressed uncomfortably on it for days; it sparked when she moved it and every wave of pain ran down her chest and arm.
Her throat also hurt, and she could still feel where the Edenian's hands had crushed his hand-print on her skin. Her voice was hoarse when she had been crying and she suspected it would be for a while.
The knife she had stabbed him with lay just by her side, his blood-stained dark on the blade— confirming to her that she had stabbed another person— something she never thought herself capable of.
She hadn't even realized what she had been doing, all she saw was a blinding red volcanic fire that vanished until he had hit her on the chin and sent her to the floor. He had killed Bert and she wanted to kill him— it was just that simple. Norah didn't even know Black was even in the room, or that she had saved him in the process... she just wanted to kill the Edenian that killed her friend.
Despite the fear she felt by her actions, she felt numb to it. She had stabbed another person. No not a person— a monster— and it felt right; she felt nothing. It was justified and she felt remorseless about it. That fact alone, filled her with trepidation. Why did she feel nothing?
The twinge of pain seemed to help bring her out of her stupor and helped her to ponder more realistically.
Norah almost felt silly putting too much emphasis on Bert's feelings towards her. Maybe it was nothing but a fantasy that she desired for. Something that may never have even been there in the first place.
Her eyes glanced over at Bert and she felt insecurity spread. As she continued to lay her tired eyes on him, she felt a pang of guilt for even considering judging Bert. As if his friendship with her had been nothing more than another stranger in the street walking by.
No.
Bert had cared.
Norah wiped her face with her hand, sniffling as a hollow shudder tore through her.
What could have been... if he had never come into this room?
Her feet shuffled across the floor of Erron Black's room like a prisoner wearing shackles on her ankles, each step sluggish and unbalanced. Her right arm hung limply and painfully, her shoulder smoldering with pain with each movement. She grimaced each time, but eventually walked her way to Black's bed, took the white sheet and dragged the cloth behind her as she walked her way towards Bert.
Her lip trembled and she turned her head to look away as she came closer; his eyes looking up at her from an empty vessel. It was as if she was reliving the same memory but with a different father, she placed the sheet over Bert to cover his body; veiling him as best as she could with one side.
She dropped to her knees and fixed the edges, making sure he was properly covered. There was a fog in her eyes and she heard something hit the white sheet; she knew she was crying again.
No tears, Norah. They don't change anything.
She wiped them away as if he was speaking the advice to her just now. Just as she had done with her father the day he died in the tavern, Norah lay her hand on Bert's head and sighed when she felt the stiffness of his form through the sheet. She hadn't said anything in regards to her father; it had been a silent good-bye. Although the motions were similar, it was much different and it ached through every inch of her.
"I am sorry..." Norah whispered in a choked voice. "This was my fault... "
Norah could hear voices and movement outside, coming from beyond the balcony. Lifting her hand, as if peeling it from the surface of a cold stone, she picked herself up and shambled over to the balcony. Her foot hit something hard on the way over and caught her attention.
Her eyes immediately narrowed at the sight of Erron Black's revolver that had connected with her foot and boiled with rage at the thought of Black...
Something awful clogged her nose and she coughed uncomfortably at the smell of it, stealing her thoughts away from the mercenary thankfully. Norah walked to the end of the balcony and glanced over the railing.
Below were a various ensemble of slaves, servants and guards piling bodies on wagons and carting them off. Just like the people placing the bodies on the carts, there were different types, but the majority of the corpses were Tarkatan.
A large plume of black smoke lifted from beyond the courtyards; in the same direction the cart was going towards.
They were burning the bodies. Norah could see other columns of smoke darting from behind the parapets in the courtyards and the dwindling gray ones behind the curtain wall of the palace.
The atmosphere of the city and palace felt bitter and angry; resentful of the needless destruction done.
Her thoughts drifted towards the self-proclaimed Edenian Prince. He must have led the attack to capture the throne of Outworld; knowing his reputation and seeing his nepotism firsthand, it made sense.
Her breath caught in her throat at her sudden avowal. Almost as if she could feel his hand wrapped around her throat again, crushing the air from it, she came to the frightening affirmation that he had been in the palace before all of this—and she had run into him.
She had known something was wrong about the guard she had stumbled into and it wasn't until he was in the room did she realize what it was. Had she recognized him sooner, Norah could have alerted someone and stopped all this. Even prevented the attack and Bert's death.
It was an irrational thought, but she should have told someone—anyone— about the guard that didn't seem to fit in the palace. The pillars of smoke seemed to mock her ignorance, adding more weight on her already burdened conscious. More rebuke sat in the pit of her stomach like a vile pool of acid and she felt utterly sick and repulsed with her stupidity.
She halted her pernicious thoughts at one glaring fault. Norah couldn't have been the only one he had run into, but it was still not enough to convince her that perhaps she could have raised awareness.
More guilt, more unsound speculation that felt like venom she couldn't suck out. There were so many things that could have stopped Bert's death that involved her actions.
If she had told someone about the strange guard, Bert would still be alive, and no assault would have happened.
If she hadn't come into this room, Bert wouldn't have followed.
It was fate that she unknowingly and unwillingly played a part in, no matter how many times she tried to remind herself it wasn't her fault. The weak voice that convinced her of her innocence died rather quickly.
The blame was upon her.
An airless and foreboding sensation choked her, overwhelming her as she looked at the horizon beyond the protective walls of Z'unkahrah. The baker heard another voice, this time so loud that it felt as if someone was shouting it in her ear.
Run!
The feeling was angry but full of terror and she recalled feeling the same way after the attack in the tavern. There was an urgency to get away— as far as she could.
Norah walked over to the door quickly, grabbed the handle and tried to push. Agony greeted her with every effort to get through the door with no reward; the door wouldn't budge.
The injured cup-bearer continued, her pain turning to anger and anger turning into desperation. Erron Black's room became suffocating, as if it was filling in with sand that would swallow the life from her. She pounded on the door hard with her good hand and let out a frustrated cry. Her head hunched forward and rested against the wood as she breathed heavily; each inhale and exhale doing little to taper how much she wanted to leave.
It wasn't just the room either, but ever since she had entered it, Norah wanted nothing to do with the environment she was in— more so than ever.
It never sat well with her being forced into servitude; the feeling always felt like a scab that festered the more time passed. Things had grown tolerable due to the people she was around, but her opinion had abruptly changed ever since she placed a gun to Erron Black's head.
You are weak. You let them take your freedom.
Her hand balled into a tight fist; so tight that it was quivering against the surface of the door as she trembled with rage.
"I-I am not a slave," she told herself, the voice rough and strangled as it entered her ears.
You are weak.
The pain she felt was hardly a contender for the frenzied hellfire that grew in her chest as angry tears began to sting her bruised face.
No tears Norah. They don't solve anything.
You are weak.
Tears do not solve anything, and they do not grant you your freedom.
Her hand went to the doorknob once again and she pulled. Nothing. She continued to pull with no result. The more she tried, the more her efforts grew with indignation. The wound in her shoulder stung excruciatingly, but she bit it back.
Erron Black humiliated you...
Tama stole your freedom...
And you let them...
You are weak.
She released her hand from the door with one last violent tug. More anxious thoughts entered her, swarming angrily in her head like insects biting and mauling at a piece of old fruit.
Norah's eyes landed on the discarded revolver laying on the floor behind her and then towards the ghostly shape on the floor.
"He knows. I talked to him."
Bert's words sent a shiver of fretful horror through her. Erron Black knew she put a gun to his head. She let out a bitter, breathy laugh.
It was over.
He would kill her for sure this time.
Contract or no contract with Tama.
Another frustrated tear ran down, and she snatched it off of her face quickly; as if embarrassed by it. Norah stared at the golden metallic revolver, eyeing it once again as if it could once again serve as a reprieve.
No. I will not be another nameless victim of his cruelty. I will not give him the pleasure to see me beg for my life. My last moments will not be weak ones.
"Tears do not solve anything," she whispered to herself, providing her with reluctant reassurance. Norah walked over and retrieved the gun from the floor and waited for Erron Black to return to his room. Words circled around in her head, forming a small plan on what her next course of action would be.
Gun. She would need his gun to get past him and to force Tama to hand over her contract.
Run. The guards or Erron Black will come after you. Get out of the city. Get past the Kuatan Jungle... Sun Do is on the other side.
Cut. Remove all this and start anew in Sun Do. Lành has waited long enough.
"I will see you soon. I promise, Lành. I will not let you wait any longer."
Tears would not help her get past the mercenary that destroyed her life. Tears would not convince Tama to hand over her contract. Tears would not set her free. Bert was right— tears did not solve anything...
Norah looked around the room, trying to find a place she could hide to get past him. She would have to be smart about this if she was truly adamant about what she wanted to do. She found her answer, and with an uncertain exhale that minutely calmed her nerves, she walked over to where she would wait for him with the revolver in her hand.
"I am sorry to do this, but please understand. I cannot be here. Forgive me Bert, for this."
I will be weak no more.
"Just what in the hell did you do to that girl?"
Dammit, Bert. You've been dead a day and your still givin' me a headache.
Erron flopped another Tarkatan body on top of the cart and patted the wooden side, signaling the slave pulling the cart. Black let out a slight cough from the exertion of it but continued to assist.
He was drained from the nights events as if he was rendered with the cholera again, minus the vomiting. His head pounded and his eyes dropped with exhaustion.
Once he was done, he would sleep for a day at least— if he wasn't needed of course.
Ermac and Reptile stalked around the courtyards, looking for any prisoners or Tarkatans that might be lurking about. A guttural scream signaled to Erron that they found one of the two. He turned his head over his shoulder to see the Zatteran with his claws dug deep inside the stomach of one of the escaped prisoners. With a jerk, Reptile flung him off and stepped over him as the prisoner bled on the stone ground.
To say that Kotal Kahn was angry about the ruckus the prisoners made was an understatement. If there were any found, they would be executed.
It was a simple way to make sure the prisoners saw the executioner's blade— even if it was days in advance— as well to punish them for their intolerable crimes during the battle. Tanya, from what he heard, wasn't awake yet, but no doubt would be facing some sort of interrogation. Rain was still missing and that bothered Erron more.
He killed Bert.
If it was Rain and not Tanya in the cell at the moment, Black was certain he would have given his knee-cap a bullet.
Erron sighed.
He'll get his.
Black caught movement out the corner of his eye. A prisoner, hoping to get past him undetected made a run for the exit of the courtyard. The gunslinger reached for his gun and found his hand inside an empty holster. He grumbled, reached for the other revolver, lifted it out and shot the prisoner in the back of the head.
The prisoner's head exploded as his body crumpled forward, coating the wall with a crimson splatter and staining the stone ground. Black placed his pistol with a twirl back in his holster and turned to see Ermac and Reptile looking at him briefly before going about their business.
The cowboy looked down at the empty holster and tried to place where he had left it last. Usually, he was able to account for his firearms better than that; any other day he would have known to reach for the only gun he had on him.
Despite his stubbornness, he knew exactly what was pulling his thoughts elsewhere and what it was that was bothering him.
Erron began walking in the direction of where his balcony was, remembering that he had left his rifle there after Rain had tossed it over the ledge.
He couldn't place what he felt. However, as much as he hated to admit it, he was mainly remorseful after what Bert had told him.
For the first couple of minutes after Bert had dragged him into the washroom, allowing Erron to puke, the ex-prisoner had given him quite the reprimanding speech, equal to the one given to the cup-bearer earlier. If he had known that it would be the last time they would speak with each other, perhaps Black would have paid a little more attention. There were a couple of things that did grab the gunslinger, though.
Firstly, it was when Bert had told him what he had walked in on.
"... I walked in that room and she had a gun ready to go aimed at your head. I know that girl— that is not her. So, I want to know just what in the hell you did to that girl to make her come seconds from blowing your head off!"
Of course, when Erron had heard what she had done, he wanted to storm out that door, in poor condition or not, and plug her right between the eyes. Nobody puts one of his guns on him. Black remembered trying to stand so he could do it, before Bert gave him a solid jab to the face that sent him right back on his ass. Black rubbed his chin at the thought of it. Bert had a stronger punch than he would have expected from him.
"You're going to shut up and pay attention, kid."
"I ain't your kid, old man."
Erron always hated when Bert called him that—even back in Earthrealm, when he sprung him from the piece of shit prison, Bert had always called him, kid.
He knew why of course...
Don't think about him. He's dead. No use in bringin' up what's buried.
Bert hadn't cared that he hated it. Even if he knew, he doubted Bert would have stopped.
"No, but you used to be somebody's or do you even remember what it feels like to be somebody's kid?""
Black had to admit, Bert had stumped him with that question. He had pushed it aside. It was a stupid question, but the next one—that had gotten him fired up.
"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?" Erron's tone had been annoyed and sharp; which had probably helped indicate to Bert that he was irritated the moment he heard it.
"I mean to be human. Are you anymore?"
It should have been a simple one to answer. Yes, he was human if you wanted to narrow it down by what species he was. However, he knew that was not what Bert was asking and it left the words dead in his mouth; perhaps because he was too offended to think of a good enough comeback. Even still he had no answer as he continued to walk. Even hours after the altercation, there was still nothing he could say in response that wouldn't sound like a lie.
"What were you gettin' at, old man?"
"From one prisoner to another, I know what losing hope looks like in a man's eyes. I used to stare at my reflection in the metal toilet of my cell, like some sort of ritual, so I wouldn't ever forget the look. So I would remember what I did to deserve it. I got a second chance, but I know the look of a hopeless man when I see it and you can't hide it from me no matter how much you put up a mean front, Erron."
Hope? What the hell was he talking about? Erron hadn't lost that, Bert had grown solemn, preaching to him like a dour minister would about Revelations.
"Maybe you can't even see it anymore because you have done so well blocking it out. I suppose all that time under your belt has helped make it easier to cope with what you lost."
"I ain't lost nothin'..."
Black scowled again. Blowing air out of his nostrils as his stride quickened towards the courtyard. He could still picture that sad, pitying smile Bert had given him when he asked: "Then why are you getting so upset, kid?"
"I ain't your goddamn kid and what does it have to do with her pointin' a gun at my head! She's been nothin' but a pain in my ass since day one and I'm not letting her get away with almost killin' me!"
"Actually, you are going to let her get away with it," Erron didn't like the calm, authoritative tone he used; like a father talking down to a son.
"Is that right?"
Bert wasn't swayed by the challenging and threatening tone of his voice; he still looked at him liked an impudent child. It still got under his skin the more he thought of it.
"You still haven't given me one good reason why she deserves to be treated the way that you have with her. Your claim that she is a pain in the ass is bullshit. I know her— she wouldn't be a pain to you if you didn't keep poking at her with a stick. She's also told me what you've done to her. All the things you said, how you refused to help her when she was in trouble..."
Erron sighed. Nobody was ever going to let him live that down, were they?
"And I definitely remember when you put a gun to her head."
Of course, there was that fond memory too.
"If I remember correctly, you were the one that made her deliver the whiskey. Norah told me she wanted nothing to do with it— even tried to back out of it, but you came after her! Why? There are plenty of places to get whiskey in Outworld— plenty of smugglers. Why, did you keep coming back to her?"
"She didn't deliver and we had a deal."
"Not from what she told me. The point is Black, you have no real excuse for hating her as much as you do— especially when you kept bothering her like some punk schoolyard bully. Right now, as much as I hate to admit it, I don't blame her for putting the gun to your head. I would have done the same thing to you. All I'm asking from you Black, is give me an explanation why you hate her enough to kill her and I won't have to think of one for you."
Black had to admit, he stayed silent after hearing that one. Then, Bert had to ask the one question to him that he had not expected to be asked and wished he hadn't; he certainly wouldn't have come to that assumption if the roles were reversed. Erron scoffed bitterly. He wouldn't have given Bert a lecture at all as a matter of fact; he would have minded his own business like he should have.
"Who is it that she reminds you of?"
Those 8 words were like hearing nails being pounded in his own pine box with him awake inside it. Even still, it bothered him as soon as Bert had spoken them.
He didn't know why, but it struck him like lightning in the sand; crystallizing jaggedly inside him and refusing to remove itself. The question ignited an irate flame and he couldn't grasp why it did. Out of all the lectures, from Bert and her, it was that one the hit him the hardest. Bert's mood had changed, and for a moment, it looked as if the question had been intended for Bert himself.
"She reminds me of my daughter, Rebecca."
Black didn't know he had a daughter— he had never asked or cared to know. Bert was a tool to him, and you didn't ask a shovel what its personal history was.
"I was so angry with Rebecca for the longest time. I kept writing these letters, asking her to forgive me for what I did. One day, she gives me a note telling me that she had no father. Norah looks so much like her and hell even acts so much like her. Same green eyes that are so sour when they look at you, but there is a good person underneath all the pain she had to endure because of what people have done."
"What's your point and get to it?"
Bert's eyes had narrowed hard at Erron's exasperated and bored sigh.
"My point is I think you hate her because she reminds you of someone. You might not even know it, but there was a reason you made a deal and a reason why you treat her like you want nothing to do with her. I know because I almost didn't like her too because of how much she looked like the daughter that tore out my heart."
"That girl ain't nothin' to me, but a problem I can't get rid of."
"Maybe she feels the same way about you and frankly, you're not giving her a reason to retain any self-control. Next time she has one of your guns... she might just pull the trigger."
Black rolled his eyes at Bert's words. Over his dead body would she get a hand on one of his guns again. He approached the courtyard and could see the ivory rifle laying underneath the balcony, waiting for its owner to retrieve it. He picked it up, and suddenly Bert's voice rang again in his head.
"Who is it that she reminds you of?"
He hated that damn question more than anything. Perhaps because he made it come off a taunt or a challenge that there was no way for Black to win at.
Or because there was no answer to that question that he wanted to admit.
However, Erron still couldn't help but feel there might be a sliver of truth to what Bert had observed and it remained stuck in him like a splinter he couldn't pry out.
For some reason, if he had to speculate, he kept arriving at the night his mother died. It wasn't just watching Rain try and strangle her to death— the same way his mother had met her fate. It was rooted all the way back to when he turned his back that day at her tavern. Erron had watched it as a kid, but he remembered his mother blocking the door, keeping him from harm as he cowered under the bed, and it earning her a backhand for her efforts.
Abraham had come in a little after that...
Black's hand tightened around the rifle as he carried it towards his room, his chest tightening at the memory of the man from long ago.
Don't think about him, Black. Leave it alone.
The answer made sense; the scene played about the same as it did when he was a boy, but it didn't mean that he suddenly felt a kinship with the cup-bearer. Like he told Bert, she didn't remind him of anyone and the fact that all the little scenarios played with familiarity of something that happened in his childhood more than 150 years ago were irrelevant.
It didn't take him long to reach his room and it was even quicker to find when he saw all the Tarkatan bodies piled up in the hallway. Erron stepped over the body of the prisoner that had attacked her earlier—the same one that he had shot.
He recalled when Rain had him in the water bubble, drowning him and almost succeeding at it. She had stabbed him— saved his life. It was ironic, perhaps it was just the unfortunate circumstance of being reluctant enemies on the same side, but no matter how much they hated each other, they had both saved each other. They were even.
He wondered if she was even still inside his room. He knew the answer, she was still in there, but he was hoping she was gone so he wouldn't have to deal with her. He wasn't in the mood.
He approached the door, the Tarkatans dead and cold as they blocked the door to his room. He looked inside the hole that had been broken by one of the brutes earlier. Last time he had watched her crying over Bert.
That bothered him as well...
Reminded him of his mother... same way Abraham had found him...
STOP IT!
He didn't see her inside but knew that she was in there, most likely under the bed or in the washroom and scared of what he might do to her. There was nothing disturbed in the room and he knew that she would never be able to get through the hole in the door. The only thing that was different was that Bert had a sheet over his body and he grimaced at that; it made him feel even more guilty.
One by one, he moved the Tarkatan bodies out of the way of the door, rolling them across the floor and placing them against the wall on the opposite side.
It made a bloody mess, coating the hallways ground in a layer of dried and fresh blood that would take forever to get out, not to mention all the bits of blown skull and chunks of flesh that would need to be picked up.
He checked through the hole one more time, an uneasiness settling in his gut as much as he hated to admit it. He couldn't understand why until he noticed that something was missing from the room.
The revolver that Rain had managed to knock loose from his hand was missing from the floor.
"Next time she has one of your guns... she might just pull the trigger."
He doubted she would, but the fact of how angry she was and she had previously tried to do it, caused him to mentally count how many bullets had been left in the revolver before Rain got it away from him.
It was empty if he remembered correctly, but that didn't mean she couldn't have learned how to reload it if she had the opportunity. Erron wasn't entirely confident what he would walk into, but he knew he was heading into some sort of blowup— verbal or physical.
Knock it off, Black. Just disarm her.
He opened the door and entered, pushing the door with a couple of shoulder slams to knock the cabinet enough to allow him to squeeze through. Sliding in, he looked around the room for her. He looked down at Bert's covered body briefly before he used the lever to discard the remaining bullets inside, pocketed the rounds and tossed the rifle on the bed, before walking over to the washroom.
He pulled out his gun from his holster, just as a way to intimidate her into handing over his revolver; unfortunately he was still on the fence if he should kill her or not thanks to Bert.
He opened the washroom door quickly and looked around. A frown crept on his face when he saw it was empty. He was certain this was where she would hide. Erron looked at the next possible spot— under the bed. As he walked closer to the bed, underneath he could make out a shape that was blocked by the disturbed sheets.
"I know you're under there," Black growled. He cocked his revolver, loud enough for her to hear. "I think you and I need to have a discussion about puttin' my gun to my head."
There was silence and the shadow underneath the bed didn't move an inch. He narrowed his eyes in anger, each second ticking by and making him more impatient. After waiting a full minute, he let out an annoyed grumble in his chest and dropped to his hands and knees. His attention to the bed, he reached in and grabbed for her. He expected shrieking, fighting, and cursing, but instead he felt something cold and stiff.
His eyes widened in alarm and with speed, he pulled the sheet from the bed and saw Bert staring at him from under the bed.
He heard footsteps behind him and realized his mistake before he heard the gun cocked and the barrel pressed into the back of his head. Erron closed his eyes in complete discontent.
Under the sheet... Dammit, should have seen it.
"What do you want to talk about?" she questioned, her voice hoarse but deadpan. The gun pushed into his skull harshly. "About how it feels to have a gun in your head? It does not feel good, does it?"
His eyebrows shot up briefly at how low her voice was; she sounded deadly serious enough to kill—if there were any remaining bullets in the chamber like he believed to be. Still... that didn't mean she hadn't reloaded it with the bullets from his gun boxes in proximity.
She may have gotten the drop on him, not something that happened often— he blamed it on the exhaustion— but this would not end well for her.
"Get your hand off your gun," she ordered with an icy low tone.
He tilted his head and lifted his hand off his revolver, placing his palm flat on the ground right next to it. She hadn't asked him to kick it away like he would have done and took advantage of it.
"R-Raise your hands up... away from the gun."
Damn. He continued to play along and placed them as close to each ear without drawing suspicion. He could still whirl around, snatch it from her before she even knew what was going on, but he would give her one last chance to reconsider the stupid idea she was doing.
"You're in over your head if you think you'll still have one once this is over and I get my gun back," he warned.
"The only head you should be concerned about is yours," she returned malignantly.
"You ain't gonna shoot me. You didn't before and you're not gonna do it now. Get it outta my head and maybe I'll let you walk away," he challenged with a thorny tone.
She said nothing, but instead he felt the gun pushed even harder into the back of his head and it made his lip curl. He could hear her breathing raggedly— each breath more furious than the last.
Erron felt the end of the barrel begin to vibrate in his hair and against his skull. She was either nervous or angry by the way she was trembling the gun, and he would have guessed the former, but it was disregarded by what she told him next.
"Do you really believe it would be difficult to pull the trigger after everything you have done?" she scoffed indignantly. "Men—no—things like you are incapable of feeling anything like penance for your actions! You deserve this."
The genuine animosity of her words began to make him reconsider letting her continue, but she wasn't done and he knew she didn't have the gall to pull it.
"I did NOTHING to you and yet you came into my life and destroyed EVERYTHING!" every word trembled with hatred from her hoarse voice. "Do NOT presume to think I will not after what you did to me! You turned me into nothing when you brought me here! I have NOTHING because of you and not ONCE were you ever SORRY!"
He could hear her voice breaking with each heated declaration; she was completely hysterical and rattled— enough to be out of her already foolish mind.
"Your claim that she is a pain in the ass is bullshit. I know her— she wouldn't be a pain to you if you didn't keep poking at her with a stick. She's also told me what you've done to her. All the things you said, how you refused to help her when she was in trouble..."
Maybe that was all she wanted. Just to hear a damn apology to end all this; for him to cast his pride away once and admit to the faults he knew he was guilty of. There was no way to refute it. Black knew what he did was wrong and despite his deep-rooted stubbornness, if an apology was all that she wanted and was willing to nearly kill him for, then fine he'd give her one.
"Look, if you wanna hear me say it— then I'm sorry, alright. Now give me my goddamn gun."
The words left his lips with an insincere tone despite his efforts to cover them with forced remorse. There was a weighty and distressing silence in the room and he felt the gun press even harder into the back of his skull, enough to bruise.
"You are sorry...?" she whispered with a heated spat.
Erron frowned. It was a fake apology and she knew it was.
"Do you want to know what the problem with your apology is?" she questioned, her tone wavering with indescribable resentment.
He narrowed his eyes and looked over his shoulder slightly, his hands prepared to snatch the gun even though he knew she wouldn't pull the trigger. He could barely make her out of his peripheral. She looked absolutely maddening, dangerous and indescribably livid. He could feel the gun shaking, each tremor a pittance in showing how furious she was in her eyes. He had expected her to say something that 'his apology didn't sound genuine' or 'say it for real.' Instead, even he had to admit he shrunk at the words that came through her teeth.
"It is just not good enough!"
Click.
Black couldn't help but flinch.
She had pulled the trigger.
He heard a choked but startled gasp escape from her lips. "No."
Click.
Again?!
"NO!" An enraged and frustrated scream left her, blaring in his ears and making him cringe.
Black circled around and grabbed his revolver as he turned on his knees. He latched on to it by the barrel and pulled it out of her grasp. She let out a startled yelp when it left her hands and backed away slowly in horror as he holstered the empty gun and grabbed the other one from the floor.
Erron pointed it at her but didn't wrap a finger around the trigger, both of them just stood there equally as distempered and shocked.
She pulled the trigger. She had tried to kill him! He was a lucky son of a bitch that all his bullets had been spent on Rain, but unlike the gun she had used on him, this one was loaded with live rounds and they both knew it.
The cup-bearer looked completely aghast at him for a moment, understanding the levity of what she had done. She began to pant heavily with utter fright. He noticed a tear roll down her bruised face as her eyes closed tightly; as if mentally accepting her death sentence.
Erron looked at her terrible state with a sullen glower. She looked absolutely battered and defeated, but the intense, nasty look of hatred in her eyes that she flashed him with made her look almost inhuman.
It wasn't hard for him to come to the conclusion that she wasn't only haunted by the possibility he might kill her now, but more so that her plan did not succeed.
Just like with him, it was evident that the events of the night had taken a toll on her, and it wasn't just obvious by the mess she was: from the torn clothing, the stab wound that had finally dried on her, from her matted dirty hair and the bruises that were painted on her neck and face from Rain's hands.
This was supposed to be her last stand against him, and she could see how ashamed and outraged by her failure she was.
She calmed herself enough to tilt her chin up at him in defiance, although her breathing was apprehensive and unsteady. "I am not going to beg."
Right now, as much as I hate to admit it, I don't blame her for putting the gun to your head. I would have done the same thing to you. All I'm asking from you Black is give me an explanation why you hate her enough to kill her, so I won't have to think of one for you."
It was like deja vu all over again. He could kill her right now. Just a simple squeeze of the trigger and his problem would be solved. She even deserved it for the stunts she pulled: From her speech, refusing to give him water, for the three claw marks he had healing on his face, and from almost shooting him in the head with his own gun— twice.
Yet, just like the moment in her room, when he wanted nothing more than to get rid of her, because he had thought that she was the reason of all his aggravation, he still could not do it.
Instead and much like then, he still had no conviction against her like Bert had pointed out. He had provoked her. It was wrong then and it still was despite what she had done in one night.
Erron had brought it all upon his own head and she was just the enforcer of the repercussions he deserved. The gun started to feel heavy in his hand the more guilt settled within him, especially when he saw the outcome of his handiwork standing in front of him; understandably seething at him and waiting with gloomy anticipation for him to pull the trigger.
"Just what in the hell did you do to that girl?"
"I don't blame her for putting the gun to your head. I would have done the same thing to you."
"The point is Black you have no real excuse for hating her as much as you do."
"Do you see what you are?! Nothing but an arrogant, ungrateful, son of a whore!"
"...you came into my life and destroyed EVERYTHING... I have NOTHING because of you and not ONCE were you ever SORRY!"
Perhaps he was out of his damned mind, perhaps it was because of the expenditure of all his energy trying to rid himself of the cholera and the fight that had taken place in the palace. Or maybe, he was just done running around in circles with the guilt that had taken possession of him for the longest time.
"Human. Are you anymore?"
Bert's words had made him sound like some sort of irredeemable villain with no soul. It wasn't just Bert as well...
"Men— no— things like you are incapable of feeling anything like penance for your actions!"
This was what she viewed him as well? He couldn't help but ponder that this might be what everyone saw him as. There was no denying what Bert and the cup-bearer had assumed about him, might have a layer of truth to it.
The reflection made him feel even more sullen about his actions. He couldn't remember the last time he had ever felt this for his behavior. He had gone through Outworld learning never having to take account for anything because in the end, there was no one in Outworld whose opinion mattered. Just his and it was something that he was complacent with.
Never once had he considered how he had affected others.
Before him was the evidence of the mark he left.
Being held responsible for something a normal human being would never do unless for the sick enjoyment of it, made him feel disgusted with himself.
Erron was pulled from his thoughts when she marched briskly over to him, grabbed the gun in his hand and placed the barrel into her chest. His eyes lifted to hers and being even closer, he could see the sheer contempt for every transgression he had committed against her. Her green eyes were dark and ardently venomous.
"Do it. Prove to me what I always knew you were," she imposed with a vindictive tone.
"And what's that?" he asked, his voice low and despondent.
Her eyes darkened at him like a cruel demon. "Heartless."
It sounded like a simple dare but they both knew it wasn't—she was taunting him. A callous smirk pulled on her mouth and it told him all he needed to know, that she truly was calling his bluff. A spark of anger ignited at her words and the spiteful smile that dawned on her lips. Despite that he had the gun, they both knew who was in control.
"Human. Are you anymore?"
A hot scoff escaped Erron's mouth and he shoved the gun into her chest, using it to push her backwards— away from him.
A hand went over the area where he jabbed the gun into her chest as he lowered the revolver. At first, she looked at him with mild surprise, before the tough persona she was acting sponged every bit of how miserable and infuriated he was with himself that he could not do it. Why could he not do it?!
"You want a real apology from me?" he snapped suddenly with contempt. "The door's your apology. Go— before I change my mind."
A breathy laugh entered the room, bordering both on impish and disbelieving. "I can pull the trigger... but you cannot? How ironic. I will go through the door, but that does not mean I will accept your apology. I want you to always feel guilty for what you did."
"GET OUT!" he roared, his grip on the gun tightening.
She backed out of the room, flinching suddenly at his outburst. She shook her head at him, scoffing at his stony look with self-gratification and left with parting words that both befuddled and enraged him. "You never deserved Bert and I hope the next cup-bearer that you treat horribly has bullets in the gun that I did not."
Black snarled, his hand around the handle of his gun so hard his palm began to ache. She exited out the door hastily, leaving him fuming where he stood.
Erron wanted to chase after her, plant a bullet in the back of the head for her words and the triumphant defeat she thought she had accomplished, even though she did not get to blow his head off.
Instead, he holstered the gun and clenched his fists. Failing to come up with an explanation why once again, he could not pull the trigger.
It wasn't anywhere near what she deemed satisfactory. However, she was still content that she had left his room alive. Norah hadn't expected him to stay true to what Bert promised, especially since she had antagonized him.
Like Bert had told her, though, he had not retaliated like she had expected— even after she had bit at him to do so. Though it truly was an apology, more or less, as soon as she had heard it she felt nothing.
There was no fulfillment in it. The first cheap apology he had told her, she had been completely honest when she had told him she felt it was not good enough.
Still, it was the same. Wickedly, she preferred leaving him remorseful than apologetic— although both did little to ease her chagrin. Just as she had promised him, there would never be forgiveness for what he had done no matter how many times he spoke the words, or how much he honestly conveyed it.
Although, she would not stay long enough for him to do either. He was not dead, but his anger was an acceptable enough achievement for her to depart with. Still, Norah was far from done.
There was still one more aggressor she would have to overcome to be granted freedom from the palace. The same someone that had played the biggest contributing part in ruining her life. There was a confidence after her encounter with Black, but there was also concern scratching at the back of her mind. Erron Black may have been the more dangerous of the two, but Tama's ruthlessness was not something that Norah could avoid overlooking.
It would certainly be the most irritating of the two dragons— just because she was passed all patience.
When Norah turned the corner, walking in the hallway of where Tama's room was, she frowned deeply when she saw the woman had not died in the attack on the palace as she would have hoped.
Instead, she was observing the guards take the body of a dead servant girl down the hallway just outside her bedroom door. The knife was tucked in the back of her dress, covered as best as Norah could by the fabric of the cloth belt she wore. Norah doubted she would need to pull it; she was only reserving it for when she got out of the palace, but it was reassuring to have it on her nonetheless.
Tama noticed her coming towards her and saw the older Outworld woman's eyebrows raise up in alarm before bridging in disappointment.
"Well you have made a mess of yourself," Tama commented, a frown on her face as she took in her appearance. Tama's eyes landed on the wound on her shoulder. "You were attacked, I see."
Norah gave her a befuddled look in response to how irate she was to see the wound in her shoulder.
Tama shook her head with dissatisfaction. "Stupid of you. That will leave an ugly scar."
Norah gave a chafe scoff at her words. "Stupid?" Her green eyes narrowed with scalding hatred at her. "The only thing I think was stupid, was signing that contract."
"Stupidity that you shall have to live with then," the older woman monotoned, but still gave a cynical smile.
Norah wanted nothing more than to reach into the back of her dress, grab the knife and slice the woman's condescending smile off her face with the blade. Her employer looked down at her unimpressed, her head tilting to the side as she observed her as nothing but a mouse.
"No matter," Tama sighed with annoyance. "I shall have yet another uniform made for you. I shall make sure that your wound heals properly. Hopefully, it heals."
Norah took a step towards her, earning a startled look briefly from Tama. "Do not trouble yourself, you repulsive witch."
Tama's eyes narrowed and she took her own step towards the girl, showering her in her taller and more dominant shadow. "My… aren't we bitter and feisty."
Norah didn't shrink under the woman this time and returned her cool look with a sharp one of her own. "I am not bitter..."
Tama's lips flickered with anger at the words. Norah approached her, both of them close enough to feel the heat from each other. Norah seethed the words through her teeth.
"I am mad as Hell. I am done with you. I want my contract."
Tama's hand shot out, grasping over her wound enough to elicit a cry of pain from Norah. The baker hissed through the agonizing pain as the woman dug her thumb over her flesh, yet another way for Tama to try and control her. Norah couldn't help but feel her body hunch forward, naturally trying to get away from her hand.
Tama lifted her chin with a pompous disposition before a disgusted look crossed her face when Norah's blood started to bleed on her hand. "Run along back to your dough, little girl, before I send you crawling back."
Norah felt a spark of rage at her words and used her opposite hand to reach into the back of her dress and pull the knife.
Tama let out a shriek when Norah sliced the top of the woman's wrist. The older woman pulled her hand to her chest, covering the cut that Norah could already tell was seeping through the cracks of her enclosed fingers. She released her hand, looking at the shallow but long cut that went from the top of her wrist and 3 inches down her arm.
Tama looked at the Earthrealm girl with wrathful bewilderment as Norah held the knife out in front of her.
"I want the contract you forced me to sign," Norah demanded, her green eyes blazing at the woman.
"I could kill you for this, you filthy little Earthrealmer!" Tama declared, holding up her injured arm, already running in an angry ruby river down her arm.
Norah's lip curled up into a sneer, her eyes narrowed in suspicion at her. "All you would accomplish is setting yourself back. I do not know what it is you actually want from me, but you will never get it."
Tama dropped her arm, the woman's anger bristling at Norah's words. "I will. You are a slave. A weak, little Earthrealm slave. It suits you, just as I knew it always would. Run back to your bread, servant girl, before I get a guard to make you."
Before Norah could say another word, the woman turned her back on her. The cup-bearer stormed behind the woman and flew open the door that Tama tried to close on her.
Tama spun on her heels, an apathetic annoyance on her face. Norah, tired and wounded but mostly impassioned with ire, grabbed for the woman with a scream, managing to grab her by the front of her shirt with her good hand, the knife placed horizontally against the balled up material of her shirt.
"The only place I am running to is away from you, you bitch!"
Tama was only taken aback for a moment before her face contorted into one of scathing fierceness; it was only minuscule in comparison to Norah's look of fervid hatred towards the woman. Her employer tried to reach for her shoulder again, but this time Norah anticipated it. With a vehement scream she impaled the blade into Tama's forearm, just below where the elbow connected.
A scream of pain escaped loudly from Tama's lips, distracting her enough for Norah to knock Tama into the hallway; using all the remaining strength she had.
Fortunately, the older woman was only focused on the blade that protruded in her arm. It was not a deep stab and the blade teetered to the side, almost falling away from her flesh. Tama grabbed the knife and pulled it with a wail before she set her eyes on Norah, who was already at Tama's door.
Norah slammed and locked it before Tama had a chance to get up. The baker slid the large wooden bolt across the length of the door with her good hand and let out a sigh of relief, the affliction in her shoulder burning even more from the scuffle. Norah took a moment against the door, her eyes tight with agony as her shoulder burst into extreme drilling pain. She let out a small whimper, waiting for it to pass.
The cup-bearer could hear Tama on the other side of the door, banging on it and demanding that she open the door immediately. She ignored her at the door and the affliction in her shoulder, remembering why she came here in the first place. Norah set to work, walking over towards the woman's desk, and searched through any document she could find.
A headache formed after several minutes of rummaging, none of the papers were contracts; every parchment she found was worthless. Norah felt desperate despair take a hold of her. Where is it?! Norah slid the forms off the desk with a shove, casting them to the floor as she continued to explore Tama's desk.
Hearing the papers flutter softly to the ground drew her attention and it was only then she noticed how quiet it was. Tama was not at the door anymore.
Norah felt her chest constrict with terror. Tama was getting a guard no doubt. Norah had the suspicion that Tama wouldn't kill her, but she did not want to linger to see what her punishment would involve.
Run!
Norah began making her way towards the door, rounding the table and using her uninjured hand to guide her along. Accidentally, she knocked over the trinkets that littered the woman's desk and brushed one off in particular. The box that sat on her desk clattered to the ground and forced the lid to spring open. Norah noticed the content in the box out of the corner of her eye and it was enough to halt her instantly.
By her foot was something Norah didn't recognize at first. It was small, oval, gray, withered and shrunken by time. Norah couldn't take her eyes off it, trying her hardest to figure out what it was. Gingerly, she reached down and picked it up.
It was leathery and dry in her hands. She kept coming to the conjecture that it was flesh and she did not know why. Unexpectedly, it made her think of Ferra and Torr because of her theory, mainly about the gift that was given to her by the symbiotic duo.
The eyes that were in the bag. It reminded her of it. "It Ferra/Torr favorite!"
A sickening realization suddenly flooded her and instantly she dropped it from her hands with a shocked gasp.
Abigail... By the Elder Gods... what was this woman she signed a contract with?
There was a brash set of knocking at the door. "Open!"
Norah's face fell when she heard the man's voice— it couldn't be anything else but a guard. Despite it, she knew all that she would have to do was get past him.
Run!
Contract or no contract. She was too close to give up.
Norah grabbed a blue and white decorative vase, the closest one nearby. She held it by the rim, her shoulder aching in pain by the weight of the heavy jar that was causing her to lean slightly to one side.
Just one hit... just one hit was all she would need.
"Open this door girl!"
Norah reached for the handle, preparing herself and praying to whatever deity that was listening, to take pity on her and allow her to escape this hell; the same putrid and unbearable hell that she should have never been a guest of in the first place.
She slid the door open, but before she could lift the vase to strike it against the guard's head, the door exploded open and knocked her on her back. A groan escaped her, her eyes shut in agony and heard the vase clang with a violent shatter against the stone ground.
Before she had a chance to open her eyes, a foot planted on her chest. Her eyes flew open and above her was a guard that stood over her, behind him, Tama glowering like a menacing but triumphant devil. The guard grabbed her by the shoulders, and she thrashed as he pulled her to her feet. Her shoulder tore open and she let out a howl. His hands were unkind as they encircled around her, holding her still against him with each hand on her biceps and her back to his chest.
Norah hung her head, the small efforts to get free pitiful. Anguish filled her and her devotion to escape crumpled within her like pillars of an ancient city.
She would not be free.
At least for now...
Tama came forward, her disposition stoic but her amber eyes cloudy with ridicule and disdain. Her eyes cast towards the floor briefly, looking upon the shattered vase that lay in pieces.
"That was my favorite vase," she stated with a matter of fact tone.
Norah's face twisted with a scowl, trying one last time to wiggle herself out of the guard's hands. She grimaced with pain at her movements before she heard Tama come towards her and grab onto her face.
The woman's nails dug brutally into her skin, so hard she could feel her nails cut through the layer of skin of her cheeks. Tama forced her to look at her, a side-lifted smile on her face that was completely elated at Norah's failure.
"Do not mistake my need for you as softness," Tama warned her with ominous and haughty tone. "There are many ways I can break you."
Norah glared at the woman before she spat at her. Tama flinched in repulsion before she glowered, released Norah and slapped her sharply across the face with her palm, before she wiped the saliva from her face.
Norah smiled, even though her face stung. "You never will."
"Take her to a cell until I feel like letting her eat," Tama snarled. The guard gave a curt nod and led Norah out the door, Norah unwillingly walking with him as he forced her out.
As soon as Norah left Tama's room, she allowed a tear to finally flow down her face. Complete dread rolling in her like a desolate fog. She had been so close, and all the risks proved to be unfruitful in the end.
As he led her lower down to the dungeon, both of them passing by corpses of Tarkatans, prisoners, and servants that hadn't been collected yet, Norah secretly felt paralyzing fear about what future consequences her actions would bring to her once Tama released her from the dungeon cell she was going to live in.
The fear filled her with a fierce determination, however. This was just one chance. There would be other chances; she just had to come up with a new plan. This was an unfortunate setback, but that was all that it was.
She would be free.
No matter what she would have to do.
No matter whoever she had to harm to do it.
She would get to Sun Do.
Norah and the guard finally arrived at a cell door. The dungeon was tremendously stuffy and humid and she could feel sweat already pouring on her skin just from the short time it took him to unlock the door and push her in. Her home was made of bumpy stone and wood, the only window and light she was granted was the iron bars on the wooden door. It was dark and musty and smelled rancid like sewage.
The imprisoned cup-bearer walked over to the farthest corner she could navigate in the dark, the light from the torches outside the cell the only substitute of sunlight she would be granted for a while.
Sliding down the wall, the stones in her back uneven and jarring, she sat on her bottom.
"I am sorry Lành," she whispered to herself. The words cheerless and regretful. "I tried. Just a little longer to wait. I promise."
Unbeknownst to her, the only other person that occupied a dungeon cell woke to the distorted and heartbroken words of a woman in a cell across from her. Her knee was in agonizing pain— as well as every inch of her olive skin. The iron cuffs on her, enchanted, hindered her from removing them with her flames.
An ironic smirk curved on her face until she heard the whimpering in the cell across from her. She rolled her eyes in disgust. She hoped she wouldn't be crying this entire time. Otherwise, this would be the cruelest torture that she would have to endure in comparison to what she was anticipating. It didn't last long thankfully and she wondered who it was in the cell across from her she could pass the boredom with until Kotal Kahn came for her.
"How sweet," Tanya mused to herself. "They gave me a friend."