Chapter 3

Cain squinted into the harsh morning light as it crested the horizon and he dipped his head lower to block the oncoming wind. He had stopped on the other side of the Great Gilikin Forest to let his horse drink and plot his remaining course.

He chewed thoughtfully on some sap he cut from a nearby tree while examining the map. He would stay east of Emerald city, crossing into Munchkin territory, skirting the Blue Forest, and continuing south to the Great Waterfells that fed the Lakes of Finaqua. He figured with a fresh horse every two days, the journey would take less than two weeks, putting him arriving the day before the solstice. Folding his map back up, he mounted his horse and continued onward, eager to keep moving in this frigid weather.

He bedded down that night at an inn after exchanging his horse. Tossing his duster across his cot, he headed toward the wash room, pausing at the mirror. He'd let his beard grow in at the northern isle for protection, but the further south he traveled, the more of a nuisance it became. He shaved it off, still surprised to see the youthful appearance underneath.

The suit...

The magic inside that metal prison was more insidious than it first appeared. It slowed all processes to allow him to survive conditions that should have killed him in days. As a result, his body had only aged an annual, while his mind had been brutally awake the entire time, needing less sleep in his forced stasis. He closed his eyes against the memories that place invoked... the suffocating stale air... the heat of the sun baking it day after day... frozen nights endlessly shivering, unable to move enough to even wrap his arms around himself for warmth... all the while his family screams played incessantly in the background.

A bitter taste settled in the back of his throat as the emptiness swept over him and he braced his hands on the side of the sink. He should have kept the beard, he mused, it was easier to pretend to be someone else with it on. Finally, he looked up at his own reflection, resolute in his decision. His travels would take him right past it. He knew it was time to lay old ghosts to rest.

Having finished washing up, he stalked back to the main room, taking off his vest, and reaching for his rucksack of fresh clothes. DG's folded sketch fell from the inner pocket and fluttered to the floor in the wake of his movements. He stared at it for a moment before picking it back up and sitting down on the edge of the cot.

I should burn it. It would be the gentlemanly thing to do, he told himself.

Then why do you still have it?

She meant nothing by it. It means nothing.

Liar. Do you think Glitch and Raw have similar pictures?

Cain's gut twisted uncomfortably at the thought and he sighed heavily in frustration. This was not the first argument he'd had with himself regarding the rebellious princess. DG and Adora were nothing alike beyond their kindness. Though by no means a push over, his wife had been quiet and practical, always considering every option before making a decision. DG was...not. Her tendency to barrel head on into situations never failed to send him into a near frantic search, usually just to find her sitting at the end of all the mischief with the situation handled and not much for him to do. How could he be drawn to such disparate women?

He thought of the last time he saw DG, his index finger running along the edge of the still folded portrait. She had been sketching down by one of the lakes, resting on a rocky outcrop, her back against a tree. The occasional breeze caused the filtered sunlight to reflect off her black hair as it fluttered free of her haphazard pony tail. He made his footsteps heavy to warn her of his approach and she had smiled sadly at him, knowing he was coming to say goodbye.

Feeling a little disappointed in himself, Cain unfolded the paper and stared down at it once again, letting his mind wander. He imagined stepping up behind her, pressing a kiss to the bared skin at the base of her neck and wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her flush against his chest. His other hand slipped into the folds of her robe, finding purchase on warm smooth skin. DG spun in his arms, and kissed the hallow of his throat, murmuring his name as her hands started to work on his shirt buttons.

The real Cain folded the paper back up and ground the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to will the images out of his head. But all it did was bring the cuff links to his face, enveloping him in the gentle hum he had associated with DG. He suddenly felt like he was falling off a cliff, unable to halt his descent, and yanked the cuff links from his wrists. He stood and paced the room to give himself some distance. Everything he kept locked up tight within him over the past year seemed to be tumbling loose and he felt unhinged... what had this simple picture done to him?

He tossed his vest over the items before heading down to the tavern. A few hours later he returned, his head empty, and his sleep blessedly dreamless.

Over a week later, Cain rode up to his old home and tied up his horse before walking the perimeter. He allowed his memories of his life here to wash over him. He recalled when he and his father built the cabin, each plank and nail driven in by their hands. He remembered the first time he and Adora made love on their wedding night, her golden hair shinning in the firelight...the occasional lazy morning where they'd hide away from the morning sun under the covers. The love he felt watching her abdomen grow and the wonder of the first time he felt his son kick against his palm. He thought of the the greatest and most terrifying day of his life when Jeb was born, his screams blending with Adora's as he came forth into the world.

His walk took him past the old stump where he used to cut their firewood. This was where he was the day the royal crier flew past, announcing the death of the youngest princess. The shock had made him miss his mark and he nearly drove the axe into his own shin.

Later, unable to avoid it any longer, he allowed his mind to play his most painful memory one last time. He remembered watching his family suffer, the rage of his inability to save them. The ominous groan of the tin suit slamming shut still echoed heavily in his mind as he remembered how he yelled for them, unable to see through the blood in his eyes. The years of utter solitude... and then, as if a dream, the clumsy steps of a person swinging a half dead stick, followed by blue eyes, disturbed and concerned peering through murky glass...and finally, his first breath of fresh air in nearly ten annuals.

To hell with it.

He strode with a vengeance toward the suit, ripping it from the vines and overgrowth that moored it to the ground. He dragged it to the end of the pier, kicking it over into the old dingy he used to take Jeb fishing long ago. Jumping into the boat, he pried open the suit, filled it with every rock he could find, and sealed it shut again. He found an old oil can and axe sitting in the shed and returned, pouring half the contents of the can the boat. His attention then turned toward the house, clearing out room after room until all the furniture was gathered in the common area. He tried to not notice some of the pieces as he broke them apart.

Adora's hope chest...Jeb's crib...their bed...

Theses things are not my memories.

He piled the tattered remains of the drapes with them. After one fortifying breath, he struck a match. As his former home burned behind him, he walked to the pier, set the dingy aflame, and gave it a mighty shove toward the center of the lake. He backed away as the inferno of the home raged, keeping his eyes on the boat to ensure it sank far out in the deep. He left in the morning when there was nothing but wind stirring the ash.