Hello, lovelies! Look at this! It's been less than two months since the last update! :D
Now, just a quick note before you continue reading. This chapter and the next both address the fifth episode of the second season, titled Ali-Rashid and the Thieves. If you recall the end of that episode, what happens between Sinbad and Shirez is heavily implied in the dialogue, with her mentioning what an "exhilarating tour" of the ship he gave her... You can go back and watch it if you want, or not. Anyway, I am just filling in the blanks here, attempting to bring some sense to Sinbad's actions. Nothing too explicit, but you've been warned. And again, I want to assure you that Maeve and Sinbad will get their happy ending, but their emotional journey to get there will be a long one. In the meantime, I just love digging through their complex and fragile relationship. :)
As always, enjoy!
Maevelynn
xoxox
Chapter 25 – Poisoned Water
"This is going to hurt," Leisa warned behind her, one Sleyan hovering above her left shoulder and crackling with terrible magic.
Maeve braced herself, knowing the process was necessary to heal the damage in her joint, and took the wooden stick Lobelia handed to her.
"Just do it," she told the Radakeel resolutely as she placed the stick between her teeth, ready to bite down as hard as she could while she endured the touch of the gruesome weapon.
There's always pain before healing, the ruthless woman had grimly explained to her. The greater the damage, the greater the pain, but you'll feel better after I'm done.
Leisa's explanation and warning had done little to reassure her, but her shoulder was in such a bad shape that she had no choice. After examining her, Lobelia had diagnosed a broken shoulder blade, a dislocated collarbone and a bunch of torn muscles, and the old healer had immediately sought the Radakeel's help to repair the damage.
The mere thought of having the frightening weapon anywhere near her flesh again made Maeve's skin crawl, her mind brewing with anguish and dread. But it was the only way.
She felt Leisa move behind her, steady and meticulous, with one hand securely holding her good shoulder to keep her in place as she worked, while Maeve held her breath with nerve-racking apprehension.
When the tip of the Sleyan pressed against the flesh of her bare shoulder blade, her teeth immediately clamped down on the stick and all the air was sucked out of her lungs, like someone had just punched her straight in the gut.
The pain spread into her skin like a thousand needles, ripping through her arm like a storm of fire and shattering her bones like glass. The alien agony was devastating and she violently shook like a leaf, her eyes watering and her knuckles turning white in her lap as she clutched her wounded arm. With every second the feeling got worse and worse, slithering up to the base of her skull, into her scalp, into her mind, like rain leaking through a roof and flooding everything inside.
When her vision doubled, she shut her eyes and bit on the stick harder, a whimper escaping her lips despite her best attempt to endure the process silently, too proud to allow anyone to hear her as the hellish weapon ripped her apart. Her breathing soon became erratic and she trembled all over, sweat beading on her forehead as she clenched her jaw through the blinding pain, suppressing the urge to scream. If she did, the entire convoy would hear her, and she stubbornly refused to let that happen. Just a few more seconds…
Nausea gripped her, like a fist squeezing her entrails, and right when she thought she would black out for good, her senses dangerously blurring, the Sleyan's touch finally left her skin.
She gasped, panting for air as if she was surfacing from water with a phantom limb, shaking and seeing double and falling to her knees in front of the campfire, utterly unable to remain seated on the small log, as if all the strength in her body had momentarily been sucked away.
She removed the stick from her mouth and breathed hard, waiting for the nausea and the vertigo to subside while her thoughts slowly tumbled back into place. And then she realized the pain was gone at last. The excruciating sensation in her shoulder had vanished, along with the sharp ache of her original wound, now only throbbing with a pleasant heat, warm and comforting while Lobelia gently helped her to sit back on the log again.
"She's all yours," Leisa signalled to old woman, trading place with the healer at her back while Maeve wiped the sweat from her brow with a trembling hand.
The Radakeel took a seat before her across the campfire, sheathing her formidable weapon on her belt while Lobelia prodded and moved her shoulder delicately, checking the joint and alignment of the collarbone and inspecting for residual damage.
"Good job on mending the bones and the torn tissues," the old woman said in appreciation of Leisa's work before facing Maeve in the firelight and intently meeting her gaze. "Now, this is still a serious shoulder sprain with a very nasty bruise, and you'll still experience some pain and discomfort every now and then, but this should help for the first few days."
The gentle healer, her white hair slicked back in a low ponytail and glowing orange from the light of the flames, reached for her satchel to retrieve a triangular strip of linen cloth, which she proceeded to carefully wrap around Maeve's neck and wounded arm to form a sling.
"Thank you, Lobelia," Maeve said, offering her gratitude to the old woman as she finished tying the knot over her good shoulder and gently helped her fix her blue shirt back in place along with her leather jacket.
"You're very welcome, my dear," Lobelia smiled, her small eyes wrinkling with warm kindness in the dark woods. "Go easy on that shoulder for a couple of days."
"I'll try," she answered with a thankful nod, then watched as the white-haired woman gathered her bag and headed to the next campfire several feet away out of sight, where Robin and the men were eating while awaiting the healer's visit to check on their cuts and bruises.
Maeve took a few moments to gather her dented composure, her heart still trashing in her chest from the painful ordeal of the Sleyan, with the weapon's insidious effect still pulsing in her mind like a lingering fog. She let herself soak in the warmth of the flames for a few minutes, and when she felt like she had retrieved enough of her self-control and wouldn't faint the second she stood up, she carefully rose to her feet to follow after the healer and join the others.
But Leisa's hand unexpectedly gripped her wrist, stopping her dead in her tracks before she could walk away.
Surprised, Maeve glanced down at the Radakeel sitting by the fire, the warrior woman quickly releasing her while her dark gaze remained anchored on the flames, with her lips drawn tight in an impenetrable expression.
"I want to apologize," she spoke heavily, her voice ringing clear in the night. "I shouldn't have threatened you, and I shouldn't have doubted you."
The Radakeel looked up to her then, honest and serious, and Maeve could only stare wordlessly in return, caught off guard by such a candid apology about what had happened earlier that day, back when they had heatedly argued about whether or not to rescue Robin, and she could only wonder what would have happened if Mark had not interfered to rein in Leisa's temper.
Sensing there was more weighting on the woman's mind, Maeve carefully sat back down across the crackling fire, regarding the Radakeel closely before condoning some of her fervent protectiveness.
"You did what you thought was right," she conceded wearily. "For my own safety and the safety of your people."
Leisa studied her in return, black eyes riveted on her and shining with keen intelligence, measuring and assessing, picking apart all the quiet issues that swirled in the air between them like someone picks apart the intricate gear of a clock to see what makes it tick.
"They are your people, too," she pointed out, with both caution and emphasis.
But Maeve bit her tongue and looked away with a shake of her head. "That's what you believe."
The campfire at their feet hissed and popped, punctuating the tension that was slowly coalescing between them like a thick shadow, until Leisa sliced into the stretching silence once more.
"I don't trust you," she declared, brutally honest in the stillness of the night. "Not yet. You have a good heart, but it's the only thing you use. You need to start using this." The Radakeel lifted a hand to tap a finger to her dark temple, indicating what she meant.
Maeve scoffed at that. "And here I thought you were apologizing…"
But Leisa continued to stare at her pointedly, her next words serious and admonishing. "A queen cannot run off on the battlefield to save the life of a single man."
"Good thing I'm not your queen then," Maeve replied coldly, fixing the other woman like a hawk.
"You're right, you're not," Leisa stated, once again brusquely honest. "Right now, you're nothing but the Fire Maiden."
"I'm not-"
"But Fire Maidens are born. Queens are made." Leisa regarded her squarely, ghostly expectations shifting on her stern face. "And you're still a very long way from becoming ours."
Maeve held the woman's sharp gaze and leaned forward on her seat. "I don't want to become your queen."
"What is it that you want exactly?" the Radakeel demanded bluntly, her features stony and unreadable.
Maeve sighed and looked away in rising frustration, the fingers of her good hand raking through her hair as her thoughts suddenly raced in every direction like a clouded storm.
The prophecy of the Fire Maiden…the war brewing on the horizon…Dim-Dim's friend whom he had sent her to protect…the crew a thousand miles away, clueless about where she truly was…
She wanted to return to them. She wanted to get the hell out of the Blind Mountains and see sunlight again. She wanted to escape from Kalladrell as fast as she could, to break free from the shackles of the prophecy that were coiling around her soul like iron bonds. She wanted to go back to the way things were before the wicked storm had hit, sailing with the Nomad crew from one adventure to the next, and haunting down Rumina to free her brother.
Yet she also wanted to honor the promise she had made to Dim-Dim, to protect his prophet friend…
There were a dozen different answers to Leisa's question, but Maeve chose to address the one that seemed to matter the most to the warrior woman.
"I want to help Kalladrell," she admitted, as truthful as she could be. "I can fight, I can use magic, but there's only so much I can do."
When she met the Radakeel's eyes across the flames, the expression on the other woman's face seemed to soften into a strange mix of determination and sadness. "You have no idea just how powerful your magic truly is..."
Maeve frowned in puzzlement, but before she could open her mouth to reply, Leisa was already speaking again, this time with a trace of confidence lacing through her voice. "You just need to be trained properly. The wizards of the Central Council in Erindale are amongst the most powerful in the world. They'll make a fine warrior queen out of you." She stood up then, her grim stoicism returning. "If you let them," she added purposely, then quickly tilted her head towards their companion's campfire a few yards across the foul trees. "Come. We should eat."
But before she could walk away Maeve caught the woman's wrist to stop her, quickly releasing her as the Radakeel looked down to her in surprise.
Maeve licked her lips uneasily, casting about for the right words to say. "I shouldn't have shouted at you," she began tentatively, presenting the same apology Leisa had candidly offered to her a few minutes ago. "And I shouldn't have blamed you for what happened to Robin."
The Radakeel regarded her intently for a long moment, the flames crackling loudly at their feet, until a flicker of silent gratitude shone in the depth of her dark gaze and she nodded in acceptance at last, extending her hand down in a wordless truce.
Maeve took it and rose to her feet, sharing one last loaded look with the Radakeel before they both made their way to their comrades' campfire, just in time to hear the end of Coop's animated tale.
"…and then the whole pit blew up in flames! I swear, it was like a bloody dragon breathed fire down there!"
"I can't believe I missed that," Simon grumbled in disappointment as he picked at a few dried beans on his plate.
"I already told you," Maeve corrected the roguish man as she and Leisa joined them around the firelight. "That wasn't magic, it was science."
Leisa took a seat between Leo and Mark while Maeve sat down between Simon and Coop, with Robin settled across the flames with his wounded ankle propped up in Ally's lap as she and Lobelia tended to him attentively.
"Right, and remind us again how you knew the salfur would ignite?" Coop quirked an inquisitive eyebrow at her.
"Sulfur," Maeve corrected him again, her mind briefly flicking to the high seas and the Nomad. "I sailed with a very brilliant scientist, and he would often ramble on and on about his work and his inventions. I guess I was paying attention after all."
"Well, if you won't take credit for the explosion, can you at least take it for the shield that saved our lives down there?" Robin spoke for the first time, a veil of concern falling over his blue eyes as he noticed the sling around her wounded shoulder. "Without your magic we would have been roasted alive."
"Aye, that's true!" Leo agreed, a joyful smile lighting his young face as he stretched out from his seat to hand her a plate filled with dried beans, a chunk of bread and grilled carrots.
Maeve took it with her good hand, balancing the small feast awkwardly on her knees as her stomach churned with hunger.
The trek from the blasted quarry back to the convoy had been a gruesome experience that had taken them many long hours, thanks to the considerable wounds she and Robin were sporting from the ordeal.
Pulling them out of the pit had proven to be impossible and Mark had eventually decided to jump down to aid them, without much success either, until Leo had cleverly proposed they fashioned themselves a ramp made out of Borgs' and Skinwalkers' carcasses, piling them up in a corner of the pit until they could reach the upper ledge.
With a lack for better ideas, the three of them had wearily set to work, with Leisa joining in to help while Coop and Leo stood guard above them, and the disturbing process had been excruciatingly long, especially when they started losing what little daylight the Blind Mountains provided. Mark and Leisa had done most of the work, while Robin limped with significant pain and she proved to be mostly useless even with her good arm still intact, the irradiating ache from her left shoulder ailing even the most trivial of her movements, not that any of them would allow her to contribute anyway, scolding her protectively every time she tried to lift anything.
It had been well into the night when they had finally dragged themselves back to the convoy, battered and exhausted, much to everyone's relief to see them all safe and sound and in one piece, even if barely.
And then it had all been a blur of people tending to them, fetching Lobelia to treat their wounds, with Robin stubbornly insisting that Maeve be the first to be healed while food was prepared for them all.
"How long before we reach the Kawasseas' swamp?" Leisa asked grumpily before biting down on a chunk of bread.
"About five days I would say," Robin replied, creases of worry lining his tired features.
"Looks like we might reverse the odds this time around," Coop observed with a smug smile curving his lips. "Two thirds of the convoy are still alive and we've made it more than halfway through the mountains already."
"Let's not get our hopes up," Robin warned him cautiously. "The odds can change anytime in these woods. We can't let our guards down."
He winced sharply then, his leg jerking as Ally and Lobelia prodded and moved his swollen ankle by the firelight.
"I'm afraid you'll need the touch of the Sleyan as well, General," the old healer indicated. "It's not just a sprained ankle. There's some broken bones in there as well, and you've been walking on it for the past few hours which made it worse."
"Wonderful," Robin grumbled under his breath, lowering his plate to the ground before reluctantly standing up with a grunt of pain. "Let's get this over with then."
Maeve felt her heart swell with helplessness at the sight of him retreating with a limp in the darkness with Lobelia and Leisa, wishing she could somehow spare him the terrible touch of the Sleyan, even if she knew they would not hear him scream. Something told her it was not the first time he would experience the grisly treatment, but still, the idea of the painful weapon coming anywhere near him filled her with a strange sense of protectiveness.
"Does it hurt?" a little voice pulled her out of her thoughts and her gaze landed on Sam who had appeared beside her, the young blond boy poking at the sling around her arm with curiosity.
"Just a little," Maeve smiled at him and poked his nose in return.
"Will you come play with us after supper?" he asked sweetly, his innocence clashing with the sinister woods surrounding them all.
"Sam, she needs to rest tonight," his mother Ally cautioned him gently, casting Maeve an apologizing look.
But Maeve merely smiled at the young woman and turned to the little boy with a wink. "We'll play tomorrow."
That seemed to satisfy him, and after Ally picked up a sleeping Rose that had been curled up in a blanket by the flames, Sam grabbed his mother's hand and the family headed back to their campfire, somewhere in the convoy where David was probably waiting for them.
"Alright, not that I don't like your company, but I haven't washed in ages," Coop declared, prying off his leather plastron and leather jacket before gathering a few clean rags. "There's a small brook a few yards away, and since I have no intention of bathing with Kawasseas, I'm not about to let this opportunity go to waste."
"That's the best idea you've had since we began this trek," Leo jested, pealing off his leather armor to join his friend.
"I couldn't agree more," Mark declared with his gruff voice as he discarded his gear as well.
"Care to join us?" Coop asked her mischievously, a flirty twinkle sparkling in his dark eyes.
"No, thanks. I wouldn't want to lose my appetite," she teased him back with a smirk of her own, before chewing on a spoonful of beans.
A string of heartfelt laughter was her response as he, Leo and Mark faded away into the shadows of the deadly woods, desperate for clean water and the prospect of finally scrubbing some of the mud and blood from their clothes and skin.
When they were gone, the flames danced and popped softly in front of her and Simon, the soldier's pale skin contrasting with the opaque darkness of the forest behind him.
"How's your wound?" she asked him, tilting her chin towards his flank, where his ripped blue shirt was barely concealing the white linen bandages that were wrapped around his ribcage.
He smiled in kind, his pale blue eyes warming in the firelight. "I'm fine. Lobelia stitched me up in no time. You and Robin had it worse from what I can see."
Maeve absent-mindedly touched the sling wrapped around her shoulder, the joint relatively painless for the time being, but still, she could sense that her entire arm would be unpleasantly sore for quite a few days after tonight.
"I'm just glad to still have an arm," she replied somberly, knowing fairly well how other soldiers had lost limbs and suffered much more severe wounds than she had since the dangerous trek through the mountains had begun.
"Aye," Simon agreed sadly, his gaze surveying the sinister trees that surrounded them.
They both fell silent then, a shroud of gloom settling over their heads like a heavy cloak as their respective thoughts seemed to race ahead to the days to come, to the Kawasseas' swamp they had yet to cross. Another game of survival to play in the Blind Mountains, with the remaining players in the convoy all brutally exhausted, and all of them wounded in some way or another, easy preys to be claimed by death in the dark of night.
The thought of facing another massacre chilled her to the bones, her blood abruptly filling with anguish and guilt as her mind reverted back to the argument she'd had with Robin that very morning, about how co-dependant they all were when it came to protecting one another.
"I suppose I owe him an apology," she mused out loud before she could stop herself, her eyes staring blankly at the darkness of the tortuous trees where Robin had disappeared.
"About what?" Simon asked, knowing at once who she was referring to.
Maeve pushed at the dried beans on her plate with her spoon. "If I had listened to him this morning…" she began sheepishly, thoughts swirling in her head. "If I'd travelled at the front of the convoy as usual, then perhaps none of this would have happened."
The blond captain looked at her curiously in the darkness, almost in amusement. "Or," he corrected. "Everything would have happened exactly the same."
He smiled at her, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Six Borgs attacking all at once, hell, things could have been a lot worse. Nothing can break through their hides. Blades, arrows, Leisa's Sleyans, your magic…" His voice trailed a little as he pondered on the matter. "The only difference I can think of is that Robin would have used his bell a lot sooner if you'd been there, to make sure you were safe."
His words floated in the air between them like the embers of the flames, echoing with common sense and soothing her misplaced culpability like a balm.
"I suppose you're right," she returned his warm smile in the firelight, thankful for his reassuring countenance.
"Besides," he added quietly. "Nobody died today. That's short of a miracle."
She silently agreed, realizing the truth behind his words once more. People had suffered various wounds yet again, as was customary in these cursed woods, from cuts and bruises to broken ribs and concussions, but their lives had been spared.
They had lost ninety-eight souls to the monsters of the Blind Mountains since the trek had begun, ninety-eight brave souls, and as she watched the flames of the campfire flicker and swirl before her in the dead of night like dancing spirits, a spark of protectiveness and determination suddenly ignited in her bones, and she swore to herself that no more lives would be lost. There were two hundred and two of them left, thus two hundred and two would walk out of the Blind Mountains alive. She would make sure of it.
"So…" Simon began, attempting to lift their respective gloomy moods with something merrier. "Before this interlude…you were about to tell me how you met Poseidon."
She blinked for a second, the dots in her head failing to connect until her mind finally rewound to their last conversation and a laugh escaped her lips. "Right…" Her voice trailed a little at the distant memory and she took a moment to gather her weary thoughts, chewing down a spoonful of beans before telling him the long-awaited tale. "We crossed path with him on the high seas, after unknowingly rescuing treasure hunters who had harpooned one of his sirens."
She shivered in the cold then, realizing that all those things had merely happened about four months ago, although it felt like a lifetime had passed since then, her life completely turned upside down by a single storm, uprooting her from everything and everyone she had come to care for.
"I hope they were punished accordingly," Simon commented, quickly bringing her focus back to the tale.
"Aye," she nodded distractedly. "The ocean God made sure they got what they deserved."
Simon seemed satisfied with that ending, but then he tossed her a long side glance of appraisal, his pale blue eyes narrowing in puzzlement. "Remind me again just what kind of ship you sailed on exactly?"
A winded laugh escaped her again, a carousel of adventures whirling in her head as she longingly remembered her time on the Nomad. "A ship that always got into more trouble than it bargained for," she mused with a sad smile, looking to the flickering flames that danced at their feet.
"Trouble, huh?" Robin echoed from the shadows, startling them both as his imposing stature limped towards them with a tortuous branch fashioned into a crutch under one arm. "Are you sure you didn't sail on a pirate ship?"
Maeve rolled her eyes at his tease. "Hardly."
He took his previous seat across the campfire, his ankle heavily bandaged and hiding the nasty bruise and swollenness from before. He looked profoundly exhausted, both physically and mentally, as if he could sleep for an entire week if given the chance, but Maeve knew the General in him would not allow him to rest until they were all out of this nightmare.
The sight of him battered and bruised in the firelight silently crushed her, his ashen features a testimony from the Sleyan that had just been used on him.
"Are you alright?" she asked softly before she could stop herself, unable to conceal the vivid worry from her voice.
"Aye," he murmured with reassurance, trying to dispel her concern with a small smile that did not reach his tired blue eyes.
Leisa and Lobelia returned to the campfire as well, the old healer sporting the gentle scolding look of a mother as she wriggled a finger between the both of them. "Now, you two stay out of trouble for a while, will you? No more running off into the woods to chase after monsters," she admonished them firmly, as if expecting them to behave from now on.
"We'll try," Robin smiled kindly at her, and even though the old healer looked anything but convinced, she officially left their little group for the night to catch up on some well-deserved sleep.
When Leisa sat back down in front of the dancing flames, her red braids cascading down her shoulder like a river of lava, a dark cloud of tension suddenly seemed to settle on them as Robin grew somber.
"She's right," he observed gravely, haunted blue eyes locking with hers across the flames once more.
Maeve instantly knew where he was headed but before she could speak, he cut across her softly.
"You need to promise me…" his voice trailed slightly, hesitant and gentle. "If something like this happens again…you need to promise me you'll stay with the convoy."
Maeve shook her head in protest. "You can't ask me that."
"Please," he insisted. "Your life is too valuable-"
"Says a prophecy I don't believe in."
"Yet." Simon's voice unexpectedly cut in. "You don't believe in it, yet."
She tossed the blond captain an annoyed look, ready to glare at him quietly but instead she caught the tiny spark of hope that flashed on his pale features while the three of them all stared at her openly with immeasurable expectations shifting behind their eyes.
Everyone had successfully avoided the issue of the prophecy during the day, burying it like some ancient treasure to be dug up sometime later when needed, but now she could sense it was slowly weaving its way back to the surface and it filled her blood with desperation, the impostor syndrome clawing at her lungs as she closed her eyes briefly, an invisible crown floating above her head like an impending weight that would soon crush her.
"I'm not the person you want me to be. I'm not a queen," she stated firmly, and before they could object again and attempt to convince her otherwise, she discarded her plate of unfinished food, grabbed some clean linen rags and stood up. "I'm going to wash up," she declared, then quickly added when she saw Leisa move, "and I don't need a bodyguard."
The Radakeel deflated, although not without throwing her a dark scolding glare of disapproval in return.
But Maeve was already disappearing in the shadows, weaving her way through rotten trees and twisted brambles, putting as much space between herself and the campfire as she could, all the while following after the glow of distant torches, landmarks placed by soldiers to indicate the location of the small brook, like some miraculous oasis of life in the middle of a scorching desert.
As she neared the stream, she heard the chattering of a few men and women indulging in the rare source of fresh water, but she made a point of straying further away from them, seeking refuge in the silent darkness of the trees, until she was sure she would be out of sight behind a set of big stony boulders twice her height.
She needed to be alone.
To think. To breathe. To ease the burden that weighed on her chest ever since Leo had recited the bloody prophecy the night before, his words staining her flesh as good as ink and trapping her in an invisible curse she could not seem to escape from.
When she reached the small brook at last, the faint trickle of water filled her ears, the sound strangely comforting as the shadows of the wicked trees all around her seemed to shield her like a dark cloak, hiding her from the whole world so she could brood in peace.
Exhaustion leaking from her limbs, she sat down heavily on a rock at the edge of the water and rubbed at her forehead wearily, trying to quiet the gathering storm of thoughts brewing in her mind.
She forced herself to breathe steadily, easing the coiling tension in her nerves as the wheels in her brain jumped from Dim-Dim to the prophecy, to the upcoming war between Kalladrell and the Blood Raiders, to the Djin Lord and the Belrok, and then back to the bloody prophecy again…
A price for a gift, a life for a sin…
The last verse echoed in her head, sending a dreadful chill down her spine as the words stirred anguish and dread in her bones. What did that even mean?
It felt like death was staring right at her, waiting for her at the end of the road like a thief…
But she quickly banished the thought, reminding herself that she did not believe in the prophecy.
She was not the Fire Maiden. She was not a queen.
She sat straighter on the boulder and willed her mind to the present moment, bending down to pull her boots off her blistered feet and let them sink in the shallow water of the brook. The icy touch stole her breath away for a moment but she welcomed the sensation, her poor sore ankles basking in the pleasant feeling.
What she wouldn't give for a warm bath right now…
She was covered in mud, blood and grime from head to toe, and sporting more scratches and bruises than she could count.
But at least she was still alive.
With her good hand, she slowly removed her leather jacket and carefully pried off the sling Lobelia had wrapped around her wounded arm, allowing her to unbuckle her corset and loosen her blue shirt beneath. She moved her left shoulder with caution, limiting its motion as best as she could not to trigger any spark of pain.
If only the brook had been deeper, she would have gladly immersed herself completely to the root of her hair, even despite the icy coldness of the water. Anything to feel clean again…
But a real bath would unfortunately have to wait, and so instead she dipped a clean linen rag in the freezing stream and proceeded to scrub the dirt from her flesh anywhere she could reach, and as much as her wounded shoulder would permit.
It felt formidably refreshing, washing grime from her skin, caked mud and dried blood that was surely not just her own, and a part of her wondered if she would ever be able to remove the stain of the Blind Mountains from her body completely. The terrible monsters that dwelled in the darkness would certainly leave a lasting imprint on her mind for the rest of her life.
When she was done scrubbing her body as best as she could, she lowered herself to her knees carefully and splashed water over her face and hair, washing any filth she could see in her wavering reflection on the surface of the stream.
It was hard to see clearly in the darkness, but she could easily tell her face was pale and bruised in numerous places, cuts and scratches painted on her cheeks like war wounds, and she suspected that a claw mark from a Skinwalker from the first night the monsters had attacked them would leave a permanent scar on her left cheekbone, a souvenir from these deadly woods. She also looked alarmingly tired, with dark circles digging ridges under her eyes along with the other creases of exhaustion that now marred her features.
She looked like a mess. Like some wild animal exiled into hostile territory, playing a dangerous game of survival with precarious odds. So far she was still alive, but who knew what tomorrow would bring…
Straightening up by the brook, she began to wash the linen rags she had used, attempting to ring the mud and blood from the fabric, until her eyes fell on the red bandana wrapped around her wrist, a pang of longing knocking at her heart.
Slowly, she unwrapped it from around her skin, sadly rubbing her thumb over the dirt and blood that coated the delicate material, and then dipped it in the icy water of the brook to clean it as best as she could. She couldn't quite explain why, but having the precious token stained like this felt like a sacrilege, a sacred memory damaged by darkness and death, and she simply could not allow the Blind Mountains to leave its mark on it.
When the linen was clean enough, the red color lively staring back at her, she felt her veins flood with longing like a coursing river, her chest swelling with memories of the Nomad, the crew, her brother, a thousand miles away…
And yet…
Her eyes flicked to the brook, her heart skipping a painful beat as she realized she was looking straight at a conductive surface, her breath hitching in her lungs at what it meant.
They were right there, at the tip of her fingers. All she had to do was summon the required magic and she would see them.
She missed them so much…
Prophecy or not, right then, like a flame spurting to life, she decided that as soon as she reached the village of Denwood she would contact them. Dim-Dim had told her she would know when the time was right; that would be it.
If she survived the gruesome trek through the deadly Blind Mountains, she would contact the crew, and together they would figure out a way to help Kalladrell fight their war. She would be damned if she did that alone without them. Two months apart was more than enough.
She would send letters to Tyross, the Door to the East as Simon had called it, so that her message could be delivered to eastern ports like Basra and Bagdad. The Nomad was bound to dock to those major cities at some point, and letters addressed to the famous Captain Sinbad would surely find him with the speed of sound. And if letters failed to work, then she would contact them by magic. She had managed to bridge the gap between worlds to reach Dim-Dim almost a year ago, surely she could do it again to reach the Nomad.
Just a few more weeks and she would see them again at last.
Suddenly, that simple ebauche of a plan seemed to shed a bright light on the suffocating darkness of her poor little world, hope filling her blood with a comforting warmth while the crushing weight in her chest seemed to fade.
Burning with a new determination, she sat straighter on her knees by the brook and watched the shifting waters in front of her.
Just a glimpse…
She extended her palm over its surface, closing her eyes to focus her thoughts on the place she had come to call home and the people she missed so dearly, and she let the magic flow.
When she opened her eyes again, blurry images blended and collided, distorted and fragmented until slowly they coalesced together to form a clear picture, with sound slowly following through.
"How dare you break in here?" A deep strong voice rang out of the stream and the face of a black-skinned man, stern and ruthless, appeared in the water.
"I came to ask a favor," Sinbad replied, his face composed and calm while Doubar stood stiff by his side.
Maeve swallowed hard, her breath catching in her throat when she saw him, taking in the state of his scruffy hair and growing stubbles as he faced his interlocutor. He was wearing his new white shirt, the short sleeves exposing the fine lines of the muscles in his arms, and to her flaring annoyance, he was still wearing those damned leather trousers.
"You were told to leave this island," the black man continued with simmering anger. "Now you break in here unannounced and you seek favor?"
Maeve concentrated to understand their conversation and what was at stake, but the words were suddenly dulled in her ears when her eyes fell on the woman kneeling before the black man. She was olive-skinned with a mane of thick dark hair, and her ample bosom was swelling out of the ridiculously revealing outfit of green silk that she was wearing.
When she smiled up at Sinbad, her eyes gleaming with invitation, Maeve felt sick to her stomach and the temperature in her blood rose at once with prickly possessiveness, even if Sinbad didn't seem to pick up on the woman's seductive gaze.
"Your loyalty can be commended, even if it is a bit fanatical." The conversation returned to her ears as the black man spoke again.
Sinbad's lips twitched as he tossed Doubar a glance over his shoulder. "I've been known to go...overboard for my crew."
His words momentarily cut through her like a blade, with memories of the dreadful storm flooding her mind like a wave, her name falling from his lips over the roaring tempest seconds before he had jumped after her.
Painful grief washed over her as she watched his handsome face, with a veil of darkness casting shadows in his eyes.
But then his face was gone, the images blurring before her, swirling around in the dark waters to reshape into another scene, in the sunny street of a busy city.
"I'm Shirez."
It was the woman again, naked hips swaying and a sly smile dancing on her lips as she stepped into the crew's circle and reached out to take Sinbad's hand. "I've heard about you and your...adventures."
Her voice was mellow and purring like a wicked siren, her fingers entwining with Sinbad's and playing with them, stroking and alluring, and it was all Maeve could do not to plunge her hand through the water of the brook to pry her poisoned touch away from him.
"Maybe some night we can talk about it," Sinbad replied almost smugly, although he didn't seem to fall for the woman's subtle game. Instead, he seemed tensed and worried by whatever was going on at the moment, but the circumstances were lost on Maeve.
She had no idea what was going on, but still, she felt the feral kiss of jealousy heat up her blood, like a beast wearing its ugly head to rip her apart in the darkness as she glowered at the water of the brook, watching as the scene quickly faded away from her sight as if scared away by her rising anger, until a new scene formed before her, this time portraying the Nomad's deck in the dead of night.
"Ouch," Bryn cursed, scolding her brother perched on her gloved arm. "Dermott, I know you're angry, but please remember that it's my hand holding the meat."
Maeve watched as her little brother flapped his wings in irritation, squawking loudly before discarding the meat and flying off to land on the beam above the tiller with puffed feathers, leaving a perturbed Bryn behind as she peeled off her glove and headed down to the galley.
The brunette was soon met with Doubar, Rongar and Firouz all seated at the table with palpable tension drifting between them like smoke, each man looking as disconcerted as the other, although Doubar seemed the most pissed off of the three, his bushy eyebrows drawn tight together in a dark frown.
"I can see Dermott is not the only one upset by what's going on," Bryn commented as she carefully approached the table.
"Maybe he's sick," Firouz said, staring numbly at the small candle before him. "Maybe he has a fever and-"
"He's not sick, Firouz," Doubar cut him off gruffly, his words slicing through the tension like a blade. "He's self-destructing."
Firouz wiped a weary hand over his face, looking thoroughly helpless while Rongar signed desperately. 'We have to do something.'
But Doubar merely grumbled again in response, and his voice was lost on Maeve as the galley melted away on the surface of the brook, and she was left staring at the shifting waters in rising confusion, trying to make sense of what she had just witnessed and why everyone had seemed so uncomfortable and tensed like coiled wires, their anger almost matching her own previous one.
She was almost tempted to stop watching now, before she caught something she might regret like the last times, knowing this particular kind of magic was unpredictable and dangerous, but the images were already blurring and bleeding before her again, shapes and colors tumbling into view to reveal the inside of a cabin on the Nomad, lit only by the feeble flame of a lonely lantern hanging by the door and casting everything in dim shadows.
The bulk of a bed occupied most of the middle of the cabin, but it was empty, the sheets neatly pulled up and undisturbed.
Maeve frowned. It wasn't his cabin. It was the guest cabin.
That was odd, but her mind had no more time to dwell on that detail because the images slurred and moved, the focus landing on the silhouettes that were huddled in the corner of the room.
When her eyes fell on them, it was like someone struck her across the face, driving the wind from her lungs and violently wrenching her heart out of her chest.
He was there, leaning back on the small writing desk behind him with his arms coiled around the waist of a woman, a woman with long dark hair cascading down her back and with her arms wrapped around his bare shoulders like thorny vines, ravaging his lips like a thief.
Shirez.
Maeve stared at the poisonous water of the brook, forgetting how to breathe while her eyes burned like embers, nearly blinding her.
She couldn't understand what she was seeing. It made no sense. It couldn't be him…It just couldn't be.
But it was.
And he was kissing Shirez like there was no tomorrow, like he was drowning in her touch with his hands desperately roving on her body to map all her curves in the darkness, their breathless moans echoing through the trickling stream and resonating in her ears like sinful bells.
She was frozen, the blood in her veins turning to ice and paralysing her from within as she watched the terrible scene unfold before her eyes, her chest burning with missing air. She couldn't breathe. This couldn't be happening…
She blinked in the darkness of the woods, shocked and frozen as she stared wide-eyed at the devastating display reflected in the water before her, watching him with another woman, his hands and his lips making her gasp and moan in the night. It was like falling overboard all over again, the hands of fate tossing her into the ocean like some exiled creature, cast off and punished for no reason. This couldn't be real…
But then Shirez pried herself away from him, purposefully slowly, her fingers reaching for the straps of her violet dress to pull them down her arms. The dress must have already been loosened because it easily fell from her body like a river of silk, pooling at her feet and leaving her completely bare and naked in front of him.
Maeve watched them in the shadows, unable to tear herself away, her soul fracturing into a thousand pieces somewhere deep inside her, rattling her bones like a mighty storm as her heart thundered in her chest. She should stop watching. She had no right to be watching. But she could not bring herself to look away.
She tried to see his face, his eyes, desperate to latch onto anything that would indicate that this wasn't real, that it wasn't him. She could barely see his expression in the thick darkness of the guest cabin, but the hard clench of his jaw and the shifting turmoil that shone in his hooded eyes nearly ripped her apart. He looked on the brink of shattering like glass, fragile and lost, a wounded spirit searching for salvation.
It crushed her, like a spear cutting her open and stealing her breath. She wanted to scream, to plunge her hand through the water and wrench the woman away from him, to yell at him and-
But then he moved, swift and devastating, surging forward to clash his mouth against Shirez's and pin her against the far wall, the muscles in his back rippling as he faced away from her and she couldn't see his face anymore.
Maeve felt her eyes blur with tears, the images fragmenting in her vision like broken glass, but still she could see his hands roaming everywhere on the woman's skin like a self-destructing man, his lips disappearing in the crook of her neck while she gasped and moaned beneath him, pliant and willing, her fingers digging in the brazen skin of his back to pull him closer where she needed him, her hips rocking and grinding against him.
He looked like he was drowning, Shirez's hands moving to his belt as he shuddered against her, trembling in the dark while he braced his forearms on the wall before him, watching as the dark-haired woman fell to her knees and-
Maeve whipped her head around, her eyes tightly shutting as she violently pulled away from the brook, kicking at the peddles to retreat as far away as she could until her back hit a massive stone boulder, the shock of the impact reverberating down her left shoulder with a spike of pain that immediately stole her breath away.
She winced in agony, groaning and gripping her arm and biting her lips so no one could hear her whimper in the darkness as she bumped the back of her head against the boulder, trying to dispel the stinging pain in her shoulder, and to banish what she had just seen…
Her heart raced in her chest painfully, pounding against her ribcage like a trapped beast, the air in her lungs burning, suffocating her in the dark. She couldn't breathe.
Her vision was blurry with tears that would not fall.
This wasn't real. It couldn't be real.
The darkness of the Blind Mountains swallowed her whole, crushing her like a fly with poison seeping into the marrow of her bones while the cold kissed her flesh like a cruel lover.
Her mind reeled, barreling in every direction all at once until she felt dizzy, her thoughts flying everywhere like dust blown in the wind.
Memories slipping through her fingers like blood oozing from a gaping wound.
Every word they had ever exchanged, every secret look they had ever shared, every smile, every argument, every display of protectiveness and jealousy, every stolen touch and half-whispered promises…
Everything flashed in her mind with lightning speed, the bleeding canvas of a stolen life. The evening they had spent on the beach after the battle of Skull Mountain…their dance at the festival of Bakar…the night in her cabin before the storm had hit…
It was like a cruel nightmare on a loop, with disjointed memories and vanishing words searing her flesh like a hot poker over and over again, her heart cracking and breaking to pieces with every painful touch.
Had she been completely blind? Had she been so stupid and so foolish as to misread everything and believe that-
She shut her eyes again, swallowing hard against the formidable knot that had formed in her throat to choke her, trying to slow down her painful erratic breathing. When she blinked her eyes open again, she stared ahead into the crushing darkness of the Blind Mountains, unable to focus on anything, just staring blindly into space without seeing.
This couldn't be real…
This was not the man she knew. It couldn't be.
What was wrong with him? What had happened to him?
A black morass of questions collided inside her head like roaring, thundering clouds.
It had been two months…Two months more or less since the storm had whisked her away from his ship. And this is what he was doing?
She had been catapulted to a foreign land into the heart of poisonous mountains swarming with terrible monsters deadlier than anything she had ever faced before in her lifetime, while he had been assured that she was safe and sound with Master Dim-Dim, the old wizard directly promising him as such after the storm. All he had to do was wait for her to return…
Two months.
After everything they had gone through…
Two months during which she wondered if he had even once uttered her name out loud.
Two months during which she wondered if he had even cared at all that she was gone.
Two months…That's what she had been worth to him.
She felt a tear roll down her cheek then, allowing it to fall in the shadows of the haunted woods, shutting her eyes as she choked on a sob, drowning in a tidal wave of broken dreams.
But she gritted her teeth hard, refusing to cry, quickly willing her heart to steel itself like an impenetrable shield and convince herself that she did not care.
About him. About what he had done. About what they'd had…What they could've had if she had stayed…if the fucking storm had not ripped her away that night…if Dim-Dim hadn't interfered and sent her here to the edge of the world…
So many possibilities…lost forever in the raging waters of the ocean that had swallowed her on that terrible night.
The unfairness of it all made her blood boil with devastation, the cruel longing in her veins pulsing stronger with every beat of her heart, spreading its damage to every inch of her soul.
She was losing him.
He was slipping away, like a ghost fading into the night.
But she could not lose something she had never had.
Another tear rolled down her cheek, following in the wake of all the others that had silently streaked down her face in the darkness as she was reminded of a terrible truth.
He had never been hers.
She shivered, staring blankly in front of her like a haunted soul, the fire in her veins slowly dying out like a candle fading under a glass jar, while the cold nibbled at her fingers and soaked through her shirt.
She felt empty. She felt numb. Her eyes were blurry with tears but she bit down on the sobs that threatened to break free, pressing her lips together tightly, reminding herself that she didn't care.
And then slowly, a disgusting feeling of shame crept into her blood, something foul and black and miserable. Leaving her feeling utterly stupid. Bare and vulnerable. Exposed and exiled.
As if all this time she had been walking deeper and deeper into a trap, following him farther and farther into the unknown and trusting him blindly like a complete fool until it was too late and she was lost, effectively condemning herself like a moth catching fire on a flame.
She had been so stupid…so blind…
The walls she had built around herself over the years had always been so strong, unbreakable and impenetrable and capable of withstanding any storm, any failure, any betrayal…
But she had been a fool.
She had let him in.
And like a cursed trojan horse he had destroyed everything from the inside, smashing down her defenses from within, her carefully erected shields now crumbling down at her feet in the darkness of the Blind Mountains, like some poorly constructed sandcastle beaten down by ocean waves.
And now she was stranded, a defenseless soldier left alone on the battlefield. Exiled. Forgotten.
And suddenly a spark of anger simmered in her blood, a brewing storm of despair and fury that urged her to scream into the night, to hack and punch at every dead tree around her until all the pain inside her heart bled out through her hands. She nearly acted upon it, wanting nothing more than to tear the world asunder right then and there like some wrathful goddess, but the exhaustion in her limbs kept her rooted down on the ground in a sad broken mess, ripped open by a betrayal she never knew would hurt this much.
She had only been worth two months to the man she thought had cared about her…
A man she thought-
Voices drifted to her ears, nearly startling her out of her skin as she froze like a deer, tensing where she sat against the massive stone boulder and wondering how long she had been gone.
Had Leisa sent out a search party for her?
Hurriedly, she brushed the tears from her face with angry fingers. She had to move. She had to go back. She had to return to the others. The trek wasn't over.
She had to steel herself again, gather the sticks and stones of her crumbled walls and patch them back up into small ramparts.
She had to get a grip on herself.
With trembling hands she pulled herself up, clutching her wounded shoulder, the joint stiff and aching with a dull pounding pain.
They couldn't find her like this. So vulnerable and so weak.
Light-headed, she clenched her jaw and dragged her bare feet back to the edge of the brook, the trickling water empty and dark, and she sat back down on the rock to hurriedly put her discarded gear back on. Her hands shook as she pulled on her boots and struggled to buckle her corset back in place, as if she couldn't properly focus on any simple task, her fingers numb and cold and clumsy, with her mind sinking into a fog with flashes of what she had seen. Breathless moans in the dark, feverish kisses on bare flesh, his hooded blue eyes haunted and lost...
She kicked herself mentally, stubbornly slipping her jacket back on and then carefully securing her wounded arm back into its sling, wincing and cursing under her breath as pain spread in her shoulder like sharp needles. She gritted her teeth and waited for the ache to subside, then she knelt down by the brook and splashed cold water on her face, hoping it would wash away the terrifying numbness she felt inside like a gaping black void, and to conceal any trace of turmoil from her weary features.
She had to focus. She had to be strong. The trek wasn't over. She had to stay alive.
She rose to her feet again, dizzy and shivering as she began to pace in the dark, running a trembling hand through her hair while she fought to retrieve the scraps of her fragile composure. Closing her eyes briefly, she tossed her head back and inhaled deeply, trying to slow down her hammering heart before watching the canopy of dead leaves above her, their crooked branches all twisted and coiled so tightly they looked like the bars of a suffocating cage.
She had to focus. If she allowed anything to distract her in these foul woods, it could mean the difference between life and death. She had to be strong. She couldn't let him seep into the cracks of her mind. She had to bury him, somewhere deep where he couldn't crawl back out. Not until she was out of the Blind Mountains.
But every time she closed her eyes, she could see his hands roving on that woman's body...
She growled under her breath, black fury igniting in her blood as fire simmered in her veins, blending with the crippling feeling of heartbreak inside her chest. Her fingers tingled with magic, and she had to suppress the urge to burn down every single tree she could see all around her, to grind everything to dust until the world was nothing but ashes at her feet.
She had to focus. She had to keep going. She had a quest to fulfil. People to protect.
Bracing herself in the darkness to face the others again, although her hands were still trembling, she was ready to leave at last when her eyes landed on a strip of red linen tucked between the pebbles by the stream.
She sucked in a breath at the sight of it, her chest painfully spasming as if a blade had slipped between her ribs, a token from another life now tarnished with what he had done.
She was half a mind to leave it there in the darkness of the wicked trees and let the mud and the rot consume it with time, but instead a miserable flame of self-destruction sparked in her bones and she bent down to retrieve it, stuffing it inside one of the pockets of her trousers somewhere she would not see it, trying to convince herself that she did not care.
Then she marched off numbly into the night, weaving her way through the slimy vegetation of the Blind Mountains until she found her way back to the convoy and the campfire of her companions, Coop's voice ringing in the night playfully.
She had hoped to head straight to sleep, but when she finally emerged from the crooked trees Leo happily insisted that she joined them, oblivious to the current upheaval in her heart and offering her pieces of dried fruits which made her stomach churn with nausea. She declined politely but still sat with them around the flames reluctantly, blankly listening as they all listed what they missed the most since the bloody trek in the deadly forest had begun, various food items being the most popular answers.
She forced herself to smile at the lively conversation but inside she felt eviscerated, trampled and gutted, as if her heart was spilling everywhere inside her ribcage in thousands of tiny shards, cutting her open and bleeding her dry.
"What about you, Maeve?" Coop addressed her good-heartedly. "What's the first thing you'll eat when we reach Denwood?"
Startled, she blinked at the tanned-man, her foggy brain struggling to register what the question was all about as six pairs of eyes fell on her. She cleared her throat, the inside of the guest cabin flashing in her mind like a terrible blight. The harlot's hands mapping his body with hunger, her painted lips drinking from his mouth and claiming his soul for the night, making him shudder and gasp in the shadows…
"A good pint of whisky."
Laugher rang around the campfire, with Mark nearly chocking on his bite of dried apple. "A pint?! Wikken Hells, woman, what kind of whisky do you drink?"
She looked down to pick at her nails, hiding the turmoil in her eyes. "Well, when we get out of here, I don't think a simple glass will be enough to forget this nightmare."
Her companions sobered up a bit at her answer, but Coop was quick to disperse the gloom with the mention of a popular strawberry pie that was baked in Denwood in the summer, and Maeve blacked out for the rest of this tale, retreating into the shadows of her mind where her darkest demons dwelled.
She was grateful that no one seemed to notice the quiet tempest that was wreaking havoc on her very soul, until she met Robin's gaze across the flames.
He was watching her. Blue eyes shining so intensely it felt like they were tearing right through her shield and reading her like an open book.
She held his heavy gaze for as long as she could, entranced by the raw concern she saw burning in there, but soon she could bear its weight no longer and looked away into the shadows of the trees, heartbroken and grieving, the flames of the campfire crackling loudly as she cursed Sinbad's name into the night.
"I think I've seen this film before
And I didn't like the ending
You're not my homeland anymore
So what am I defending now?
You were my town
Now I'm in exile seeing you out
I think I've seen this film before"
Exile – Taylor Swift