Hey there, everyone! As you might have noticed already, this chapter is considerably shorter than the previous ones. The reason why I chose to reduce the length for this particular installment is because it's meant to act as an introduction for the next three episodes of this story. Nevertheless, you're about to witness significant plot development in regards to a rather crucial element of this tale. Keep in mind that as important as these new developments may be, it's still an introduction for what's to come as well as the breaking point for this third arc.
So, this is the beginning of a smaller arc inside the big arc, so to speak. It's the initial point of a chain reaction that will be composed by two more chapters and a conclusion right before the end of arc three – I think that even though each one of these events is part of a bigger flow of events, the only way to fully appreciate the pertinence of each one of the links in that chain is to explore them all separately.
Now, before I leave you all be, here have my replies for your last comments – cheers!
Looksforthelight: I'm happy to hear you enjoyed the chapters – Nathaniel had it comin', I remember, way back then when I wrote ch13 (Elegy), I actually considered the chance of a younger Erron murdering Nathaniel. (If I remember correctly, it was supposed to take place right after Nathaniel sleeps with Erron's mom) I think it was better this way. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing!
Westcoast Witchdoctor: Amanda Blade lived happily; she had finally managed to leave all of Bellville's bitterness and resentment behind. When she returned to her hometown, many years later, she found out that her father had been murdered… she sighed, and said a little prayer as a token of her appreciation. Whoever the killer was, she never knew. But deep down that man had freed her from her chains; the ghosts from her own past were now gone for good. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing!
RaeCamille: I will NOT write a chapter filled with all of Erron's midnight stories… I have my boundaries hahaha –thank you so much, dear!
Guest: thank you!
Hell-on-Training-Wheels: Thank you so much, Helly, your words mean the world to me! If someone was going to end Nathaniel, it just had to be Erron – call it revenge, karma, it just had to be him. Up until your review, I had never thought of Henry as Erron's free-of-charge therapist, but it makes a lot of sense, really. Thank you so much!
ErronFan: Never mind, dear – and thank you so much for reading and reviewing!
PinkRedRose2: Well, things are certainly about to change, especially after this chapter. Thanks, dear!
Arc III
Chapter XXVII
The Invisible Woman Walks Towards the Light
"But I didn't understand then. That I could hurt somebody so badly she would never recover. That a person can, just by living, damage another human being beyond repair."
— Haruki Murakami
[8 months and 3 weeks later]
"Are you bored, Zar?"
The gradual lack of activity was finally getting the best of her. At first, it had felt nice; finding some spare time after such difficult times. But now that the attack was nothing but a sad memory and the air wasn't as tense as it had been before, all activity in the Barristers' office had gone back to normal: a slow lethargy of bureaucrats and yellowish papers gathering dust and getting systematically forgotten one after the other.
Nothing had happened ever since the destruction of the Marketplace. Nothing at all.
No protests, no picketers to block the streets, no new bellicose pamphlets.
The attackers were still out there, that much was true. Yet the nearly mystical halo of silence that had engulfed them all had been enough to bury them under the treacherous winds of passive acceptance.
Sheltered in the obscure subterfuges of secrecy, the remaining and still unsatisfied fractions of Rebel-Seekers were still beating like an old, battered heart that refused to give up. But time had seemingly washed them all away with plans and strategies meant to calcine the whole city with the suffocating heat of exaggerated security.
Overprotection was the chosen alternative to stop the terrorizing waves of horror that had painted the streets red. And now that the Earthrealmers were gone and the raids had ceased, there wasn't much for Zarrabayeusse to do during her working hours.
She massaged her temples as a timid sigh escaped her lips – a mere sign of frustration, nothing more than that.
"You know," Yvo began, a half smile curling up his lips, "I hired you because I was in need of a good assistant, and you've gotten really good at your job. But as boring as these days might feel for us, you need to understand something: if this office is quiet, that's actually good news."
The woman smiled in return, her features warming up slowly.
"I know – we've come a long way and all those hard working hours, all that tension… it's not that I miss any of that craziness, don't get me wrong, it's just..." she paused, unable to find the words she was looking for.
"Complete stillness can be as exasperating as not getting a single second to catch your breath, I know, dear," the barrister helped her. He stood up and picked the last tower of files that was still resting on his unusually clean desk.
"I'm going to take these to the archives now, dear. I'll be back in a minute," the old man informed her as he reached for the door.
"Yvo, hold on," Zarrabayeusse said as she stood up as well and walked towards the man. "I've been thinking – since we got nothing to do now anyway, maybe we can revisit Erron's case, see if there's something we can do to help him."
Yvo sighed as his short arms rested the files back on his desk.
"Trust me, dear – everything that could be done to help him, I already did. Sometimes I think I did more than enough for that man."
The woman agreed in complete silence as she nodded, yet the urgency seemed powerful enough to compel her to do more: more than enough was simply not enough for her anymore.
It had been almost two years since Erron's incarceration and time had become a crucial factor in her lonely crusade. Of course, she understood that her husband's fate had been attenuated by Yvo's clever strategies yet the fuss that the corrupted enforcer had caused when he became a prisoner had periled little by little – the attacks had done its part but now the fragile peace encompassing the city seemed as menacing as a black void gravitating towards them. Erron's imprisonment was not newsworthy anymore.
A part of her was worried about the outcome of popular oblivion. They didn't talk about him anymore; even the tasteless jokes and chants ridiculing the ex-Earthrealmer had ceased to exist.
"You know there's an option for parole, dear – if he behaves, in little more than three years he can be a free man again," Yvo tried to reassure her, sensing her discontent.
Zarrabayeusse shook her head – three more years seemed like an unbearable eternity.
"Three more years, Zar. They'll be gone in the blink of an eye, you'll see." Yvo patted her shoulder: he could understand her desperation. She had learned the secret nooks and crannies of the law; she had even learned every single legal short cut used by the barristers but there was nothing left to do to help Black: and the fact that he was still alive was the biggest proof of that.
"I don't know if he has three years," the woman let out softly. "He's been forgotten."
"Maybe that's a good thing," Yvo acknowledged. "People weren't happy when the Kahn decided to kill M'horel and spare your husband's life. Maybe their oblivion is not such a bad thing."
The image of Henry invaded her thoughts: that corpse was the embodiment of the true consequences of being left behind.
"Maybe you should go visit him," Zarrabayeusse suggested. "See him with your own eyes – understand what I'm talking about."
The barrister narrowed his eyes as he sat back down. He stretched one of his arms and cupped Zar's hands with his.
"What's troubling you, dear?"
Where to begin?
"He's all alone, Yvo," she said, "Worse than that: there's a dead body down there, he even gave it a name: Henry. He talks to him, tells him things…"
"Wait – there's a dead body occupying one of the cells?" Yvo interrupted her. "No wonder you are worried, dear. Thanks for letting me know, I'll make sure it is removed immediately."
"No, that's not…" she paused, realizing that the whole Henry situation had gotten out of hand. "There's more: if I myself don't get him his dinner every night he doesn't eat at all; the guards are not feeding him. His personal hygiene is far from acceptable…"
"Hygiene is very important to us, especially when it concerns the wellbeing of a man who used to be an official employee of the Palace – your husband gets his weekly showers in the communal bath, dear," the barrister interrupted her again.
"Yes…" Zarrabayeusse retorted, raising a suspicious eyebrow. "I kind of assumed that's where his weekly set of new bruises is coming from."
"Zar, your husband's in prison. Prisons are not luxurious, prisons are not opulent," Yvo explained, trying to talk some sense into the worried wife.
"Even in prison he's still a citizen – he still has rights," the woman demanded.
"I'll tell you what, dear," the barrister began as he reached for the bottom drawer of his desk, "since you weren't there during the hearing, I'll give you your husband's file – read it thoroughly: it contains a copy of your marriage certificate, the transcription of every single word that was said during that day inside the Throne Room, my personal notes, words from different witnesses and the final verdicts." He produced a brown folder and handed it to her. "You'll see that there's nothing else for us to do."
The man stood up again. "I'm having a meeting with the Emperor tomorrow morning – I'll let him know about Erron's complete state of isolation, this dead body you just informed me about and his lack of sustenance. I'm not making any promises, dear, but I'll try my best."
Zarrabayeusse whispered her gratitude as the Palace Barrister finally abandoned the office.
Alone with the files, the woman began to appreciate Yvo's clever allegations: his strategy had indeed helped Erron by counterpointing malice aforethought and self-defense. He had mitigated Black's punishment by villainizing the fallen Rebel-Seeker while also managing to support the Kahn's figure in the process – she understood then, that no matter how upset the emperor had gotten after hearing about Black's actions, he himself had chosen Erron – an Earthrealmer – to be one of his closest enforcers: Erron couldn't die; his death would have compromised Kotal's judgment, the citizens would have doubted his figure.
Yvo's plans had kept the gunslinger alive as an attempt to legitimize the Kahn's choice: had they chosen to kill the mercenary, the Khan would have been wrong in the first place, back when he decided to hire him. But by keeping Erron alive, they had balanced the scales in their own favor. The ex-Earthrealmer had lost his way, it had been his own fault, not the emperor's – they could still reform him; the formidable soldier that the Kahn had initially seen in him could still be retrieved from his own mistakes and corruption.
Her recollections from that day were vague and blurry – not only she had been attacked by M'horel the night before but they had even chosen to expose her weaknesses back then: her emotions had blinded her, desperation and sadness had made it nearly impossible for the woman to stay calm. Now, reading Yvo's recollected documents seemed like experiencing a freshly formed memory from a very distant time.
According to the notes, Erron wasn't eligible for trial – yet there had been a trial, nonetheless. Yvo's hand could still be seen through the paperwork: he had done a truly remarkable job. Kotal himself had played his part with the prestige of a professional: they had surprised him by uncovering the Rebel-Seekers syndicate, they had come clean about their operations and the very fact that they existed, even if up until that moment they had been forced to move and operate underground. Yet the ruler of Outworld had prevailed, legitimizing their existence by dismantling them publicly, a move that – now seen through the distance of time – seemed far from bold or even appropriate.
Those people had been looking for reassurance and, in return, they were neglected. Both brothers were gone, the entire initiative had been terminated and the man who had exposed them – Erron Black – was still alive.
The emperor had chosen him over his own people. A foreign, treacherous outlander that had stained their streets with such unscrupulous, cold-blooded ways. A mercenary; nothing but a lackluster gun for hire – they had lost, and that man had been victorious.
Zarrabayeusse sighed as she understood that what had begun like a crime had ended as yet another politically correct attempt to maintain the established order that Kotal's rule had imprinted all over the realm. Both men had suffered the consequences: one had died, and the other had been confined to complete isolation. Even if it was obvious now that Erron had gotten the upper-hand during and after the trial, his so-called victory now seemed empty and pointless.
She kept on reading anyway, even if a part of her had already been convinced that Yvo was right: he had done everything in his power to help her husband.
"Did you find anything?" The barrister asked her as he stepped inside the office but the woman shook her head in pensive silence. "You had to see it with your own eyes, dear."
"There are things that I don't understand – why did you choose to put Ferra in such a cruel position if you disregarded everything she said in the end? That was unnecessary," Zarrabayeusse concluded bitterly. "And the woman, the Earthrealmer; why hiding her?"
Even though she knew the woman had not died in the fire, she was certain that the only answer to her question was deeply related to the very notion of politics.
Yvo shrugged, as his lips offered her a soft grin.
"You know our history with Earthrealm is far from noble – over the years our Emperor has tried to build new bridges meant to replace the old ones – the ones that Shao Kahn and Mileena had chosen to burn down. Both Kano and the dead doctor seemed like threats back then – that's why the Kahn chose not to divulge information about them," the barrister moved closer to his desk and placed the receipts he was carrying from the archives. "Discretion about these individuals comes without saying, of course."
The woman nodded in silence.
"We've come a long way, my dear – like you yourself told me only moments ago. Let Kano be nothing but a ghost, and let that woman rest underneath the cross your husband crafted to honor her," Yvo sentenced as he took off his coat.
"What cross?"
"Oh, it stroked me as a surprise as well but then again, I know nothing about Earthrealm's funerary rituals," the man explained as he sat down. "After Pareedis killed the doctor – and your husband killed Pareedis, Erron buried the woman in the backyard of his cabin. I don't remember if he buried her after the fire or before the fire, but I guess that doesn't really matter anymore. During the hearing, your husband explained that he had placed a wooden cross over her grave; it's something they do in Earthrealm. I believe it's a religious thing."
Of course, he could have done that to cover his own tracks – to protect the woman, even to make sure no one would go looking for her. She reread the notes, trying to find a mention of said cross yet the words were vague: it was clear they weren't familiar with the true meaning behind such an idol.
Zarrabayeusse pondered in silence as the image of a precarious wooden cross set on her mind – she tried to hold on to her own benevolent theories; maybe the cross had been a mere decoy meant to fool them all.
But as much as she would have wanted her elucubrations to be true, she knew there was another option.
If the woman hadn't died in the fire, if Pareedis' body had been found in the Marketplace, if they had decapitated M'horel – who was buried under the cross?
The feeling was unsettling – he had looked her in the eyes and had assured her that the boy hadn't died in that cabin; he had told her that he was clueless about Aalem's current location. If her nephew's body was the one there, buried under the cross… she had not a single trace of doubt inside her mind: her love would not suffice, the feelings she had for him would not be enough to spare that man from all her anger.
"What is it, dear?" Yvo asked, noticing her eyes were slowly drifting away, her mind caught up in deep thought.
"Nothing, I…" She tried to keep a straight face but it was impossible: the doubt was already an appendix of her being, cohabiting with her demons inside that part of her that had always been a prisoner of her own lack of resolution. Unable to go on, the woman stood up and left the office, consternation now showing all over her visage: she couldn't stay there, wondering who was there under the cross, if there was someone buried there at all.
She had already spent way too much time seeking answers from her husband. If she wanted the truth, she would have to uncover it herself.
The place was unfamiliar and far from welcoming. The hostile weather, in perfect concordance with the eerie landscape, were factors deteriorating her trust – yet she had gotten so far in her personal quest for a resolution that turning back now seemed absolutely out of the question.
Many doubts and fears had accompanied her during her journey: ghosts of her own past. What if Aalem was the one buried under the cross? What would that say about her? That she had been a bad aunt, a scarce replacement for the boy's mother? That she had misplaced her trust by confiding in a heartless mercenary?
The prospect of not finding her nephew seemed equally devastating. Not only she would have doubted her own husband for nothing – the boy would still be gone, the ashes of that tender little kid that she still held dear inside her heart would surely vanish in time; she would be left wondering what could have happened to such a noble spirit, what could have been so wrong, so bad, to cause him to leave it all behind - his home, his mentor, his very essence.
The ruins, displayed before her emerald eyes for her to see first-hand the true consequences of terror, were enough for her to shiver. Her sweaty hands were stiff and numb; the tremor all over her skin could not be contained anymore: those ruins were a completed symbolism of the strained bond that had always connected her to the gunslinger.
That destroyed cabin had been the place her husband had chosen in order to protect another woman.
The wooden cross appeared rather easily as she ventured her feet across the charred shelves and scorched pieces of wood and metal – a few steps to the left, right after the black spot where the foundations met the rocky trail leading all the way up to the crystalline, cold stream cascading down the mountain top. She walked slowly to it, her flat shoes trying hard to keep a steady balance.
She examined it briefly as her hands caressed the weathered material. Blood, dirt and soil became the same thing, then, in the communion of her awaken determination and the desperation driving her hands. Frantically, her fingers began to dig through the dirt and the stones – the blinding, excruciating pain that should have restricted her was the very fuel motioning her digits.
The deteriorated bedsheet confirmed that something – someone – was indeed buried under that cross.
The crimson streams of blood pouring from underneath her fingernails soon polluted the cloth yet its stains got lost in a helpless shade of red slowly fading into brown; the sight of dried blood and oblivion, the sight of yesterday's violence.
She removed her hair from her face, the dirt contaminating her features.
It was time to finally uncover the truth.
Unable to hold back the tears any longer, Zarrabayeusse cursed under her breath as she closed her eyes: her fingers broke through the bedsheet virulently, the torment in her eyes compelling her irises to take a look: only dirty bones met her stupefied gaze – only bones and a golden ring. Dexitis' ring, the one L'ampaghna had passed onto their son only a few weeks after the blacksmith's physical disappearance.
Exhausted, and feeling as if her whole body was about to fade in the wind, the woman had finally found the truth.
Her nephew was never going to return.
Her nephew was dead.