A Daughter's Love

Chapter Six.

Eight Years later.                                                                                                

Neptune.

The hooded figure moved across the rooftops as if flying, effortlessly leaping from one building to the next, booted feet barely skimming over the tiles. The skirt that flared out behind the silhouette gave away their gender. It was a young woman, dressed in a brown leather corset, a black jacket with its hood pulled up to conceal her face while her lower half was clad in black leggings that only reached mid-thigh length. A belt was fastened around her waist which connected to her red skirt which was longer in the back than it was in the front. Brown leather boots stretched up to above her knees and her hands were covered in fingerless brown gloved that matched them. Her dirty blond curls were cut short, falling to just below her shoulders and pealing out of her hood while her mismatched eyes peered straight ahead at the various shapes of the rooftops, chimneys and platforms that waited her. The woman’s name was Malia May Campbell but there in the dead of night, dressed as she was, she preferred to go by the nickname of ‘Nyx’ bestowed upon her due to her thieving, stealthy ways. I stood perched on a building far enough away to clearly see without interfering or being noticed by her keen senses. In the eight years since Evangeline’s death, I had refused to meet with her children, instead having chosen to simply watch as they grew and matured, becoming stronger. At first, I had assumed that Evangeline was too confident in her children’s abilities to dethrone Amun however after having studied them for as long as I had, it was clear what she’d meant. Malia came to a sudden stop on one of the rooftops, her movements as swift as a cat yet as elegant as a princess. A figure stood across from her as if having expected her to select that line of escape “Well now, would ye look at what I found” the man boasted, stepping from the shadows and into the light of the moon. He was clearly a pirate, one dressed in tattered clothing with teeth of plated silver and gold, dreadlocked hair decorated in feathers, chains and beads. His black flesh made him hard to see against the darkness of the night which played to his advantage but it was the brown hat perched on top of his head that gave him away. He was the first mate of Captain Curtis Thatcher who maned the Damned Dame which was stationed in the Port of Vannes at that time “I believe that doesn’t belong to ye” the man declared, motioning to the pouch that hung from her belt which cluttered with coins whenever she would move. Malia stayed perfectly calm, assessing her surroundings along with her opponent to take in any bit of information her gaze could give her. If she was smart she would notice the way one of his brown eyes were lighter than the other or how his right hand twitched nervously. He was blind in his left eye and most likely right handed “Now be a good little girl and hand it over” he instructed but Malia ignored him and gave a wide grin that caught him off guard, her shoulders straight and her eyes filled with a familiar rush, the kind of rush she had grown addicted to over the years. Adrenaline coursed through her veins when she reached for the daggers on her belt, pulling them from their sheaths and testing the feel of them in her hands. They had become a part of her as much as her hand and foot were a part of her body so were they. Merely extensions of her own limbs “Vous le voulez alors venez le chercher” the French words rolled from her tongue so effortlessly, so seductively even though they held a challenge, a dare for the pirate to accept. She had implied that if he desired the coins that he should try and take them from her but he didn’t know that. As a pirate he was uneducated and thus hadn’t understood a single word. He could only guess what she had meant from the way she expertly twirled her silver daggers that she’d stolen years before from a merchant who had passed through Vannes. They had remained with her ever since that day “I’ll hack ye fingers off for nicking those coins, wench. I give ye me word” the smile never once left her face, not even when he threatened her, instead her grin just widened in response, eyes twinkling with excitement when her lips parted to speak “J’aimerais te voir essayer connard” there it was, the threat that she would deliver only once, a last warning for her opponent to turn and run while he still had the chance. She never made the first move, never initiated a fight despite loving the high it brought her. The pirate pulled a knife from his boot and held it up in her direction, the blade glistening in the light of the moon. He had words on the tip of his tongue, insults he wanted to spat in her direction but he knew that whatever she would retort would only be foreign to his ears so instead he advanced. Malia turned serious, her eyes growing cold and her body rigged, stiff as she anticipated his attack. The jab was aimed at her head but she pulled her head to the side and managed to dodge it without stepping away. A gaze as sharp as a sword glared up at him before she knelt in a split second and tore her dagger along the calve of his right leg. He cried out in pain but the sound to her was as familiar as that of her own voice. She swiftly stood, dancing around him until they were stood back to back, her head thrown back to gaze up at the winking stars overhead “Dammit! Bloody-f*****g-.” the pirate glared down at his leg, his body hunched over while Malia stood with her shoulders perfectly straight, chin held high and hands neatly clutched behind her, daggers still in her grasp. Spit trickled down the pirate’s jaw from his clenched teeth, a reaction to the sudden, stinging pain. My hands balled in the pockets of my coat at the realization of what she’d done. If she had wanted to end it there she only needed to aim for the tendon that connected his leg to his foot with her dagger to prevent him from following her while she escaped but she hadn’t, she’d deliberately missed as a way to continue toying with him. He spun to his left, right hand raised with knife in hand, wanting to jam it into her spinal cord, however nothing ever caught her off guard. She sheathed her daggers and turned, raising her right knee to connect it with his face, sending the knife cluttering to the floor when he staggered back a few steps, clutching at his face. His nose had been broken from the sickening crack and blood trickled from it into his mouth, staining his already yellow teeth a darker shade of yellow. Malia lowered her leg and stood with her hands on either side of her, free of any weapons, their palms positioned in the direction of the hunched man as if to ask ‘Is that the best you can do?’ I knew from having seen her fight as many times as I had that the fight had been won long before it started yet the pirate was clueless and reached for his knife, laughing and spitting blood to the side. She seemed almost bored when e advanced again, giving a loud battle cry that drowned out her sigh as she dodged, dancing around and moving from one side to the other, dodging stab after desperate, uncalculated stab like she was merely performing one of her mother’s ballet routines in the middle of a grand ballroom not trying to prevent someone from stabbing her. The pirate eventually grew out of breath and paused when she flung herself away, flipping to land on her palms only to push off the roof again and land a few feet away on the balls of her feet “How annoying” she uttered her complaint mainly to herself then reached for the daggers on her belt. I had never seen her satisfied, never completely submerged into a fight and it was as though the adrenaline always went to waste. She strived for that perfect fight, that determined, relentless, powerful opponent and the closest she had ever gotten was Ryker who always wound up on his back in the dirt with her looming over him “I’ll kill ye yet, doll face” the pirate insisted, a new found fire burning in his eyes which Malia ignored and began moving forward like a predator, each step slow, threatening and poised, like walking on a tight rope hundreds of feet above the ground “Oh, really?” she questioned, her French accent thick when she spoke, eyes rising from the floor of the roof to lock onto his, glaring and brilliant. She had an eye from each of her parents, Evangeline’s crystal blue and Caleb’s royal gold “Then do it” she taunted which had the pirate pausing. His heartbeat was uncontrollable, frantic with fear when he gazed upon her there in the moonlight as if just realizing what he was looking at. She was beautiful like a crimson rose but she was lined with thrones and when her lips would part a lion’s roar would tear its way free of her chest, majestic but powerful. The first mate swallowed hard and stood up taller, his hand raised, holding the knife as if ready to strike but she beat him to it. In the blink of an eye she was there, driving the blade of her dagger into his gut. The way his gaze widened with realization and fear was enough to cause her to laugh at the sight of his torment. She pulled back, giggling as the clutter of his knife rang in her ears, his clothes seeped in blood, trembling hands reaching to apply pressure to the area “W-What are ye?” he stammered, looking from his bloody hand to her with foggy eyes. Her grin fell when she knew he wasn’t going to fight back anymore. It was like a feline who had just realized the mouse she’d been toying with was dead, automatically growing disinterested. She sheathed her daggers and frowned, placing her foot on his knife to slide it across the rooftop toward where he had staggered to. It was her way of poking the already lifeless corpse with a stick, hoping to get some kind of reaction out of it “Take it” she instructed but the man only stared at the weapon with blood bubbling up from his lips. In her attempt to merely wound him she had managed to pierce both his stomach and a portion of his lungs from her upward thrust and she knew as much “Fight me!” she snapped, her teeth gritting and her gaze wild. She had Caleb’s aggression, his persistence and dominance which was clear in the way her voice echoed, her words came as snarls. The pirate stumbled back into the opposite wall, sliding down it, still clutching his torso where she’d stabbed him “Damn you!” she screamed, moving across the roof to grip the collar of his shirt with both hands, dragging him back onto his feet to meet his gaze. His hat had been discarded long ago during the fight, no longer able to hide his emotions as it previously had. She could see the plea in his eyes, the desperation and fear but it wasn’t what she wanted to see, it wasn’t the determination, the passion or thrill that brought her satisfaction “Pl-Please” he got out, blood splattering across her face when he choked the single word. Mercy, Malia. He asks for mercy. I thought when her nostrils flared and her lips trembled with rage as she reached for one of her daggers “Je te juge indigne” she spoke the words she would say to every opponent she would meet and leave for death to claim. Balor surely had his hands full with that girl running wild. The words meant ‘I judge you unworthy’ referring to their fight, to her superiority above them for having defeated them so easily without gaining a single scratch. It was to her benefit as it would mean less questions for her to answer in terms of Ryker or Malik but she preferred to feel the pain, to taste her own blood in her mouth, sweat dripping from her brow. The dagger slit across the man’s throat, splattering blood across the roof and onto her before the life drained from him completely and she let go, allowing him to slump down onto the floor of the roof, hunched over and lifeless, a pool of blood spreading out in every direction “Pathetic” she complained, sheathing her dagger to continue on her way. I breathed in the night air, deep and drawn out as I watched her go, curious as to how she would fare in a fight against a god. The way she killed without remorse, the way she looked into their eyes and felt nothing wasn’t how Evangeline would react nor Caleb. Even he would feel some type of guilt or self-loathing but Malia was a born warrior, created to fight, to assassinate and slaughter, laughing all the while like it brought her pleasure. She was dangerous but she was beautiful. So innocent looking yet so powerful and deadly at the same time. I stared at the ocean on the horizon, my mind traveling to Evangeline and how she would react to her daughter’s actions. It had been nearly a year since I had last seen her to find that she and Caleb had grown distant despite the fact that she constantly remained at his bedside. It was a physical connection that they began to lack not a mental or emotional one and her determination was the glue that held them together even after she had revealed to him that Malik was my son. The shock took years to resolve but after studying him for some time, it was clear in how he reacted, how he carried himself and spoke. There was no denying that he was my son from the way he continued to practice his abilities in secret while his sister continued to thieve in secret. I could feel the air tightening and knew, deep within myself that the time was near, that the war of the gods was fast approaching but there was no stopping it. The events leading up to it had already transpired almost a decade before “May the waters guide us”

Malia.

I snuck back in through the kitchen window, landing in a crouch on the floor with my hands on my knees and giving a long, exasperated sigh. It was then that the sound of a match being struck reached my ears and a candle was lit to reveal Ryker seated at the kitchen table with accusation in his stern hazel gaze. He was the only person who could ever manage to sneak up on me, most likely because I always lowered my guard in his presence “Ryker” I greeted, standing upright, pulling the hood of my coat back to reveal my blood stained face and piercing mismatched gaze. As a child the other children in Vannes used to run from me, used to scream and hide away from the monster. They called me things, horrible things like ‘Witch’ or ‘Devil’s spawn’ when they would see me on the streets. The bullying never stopped even as I grew older, instead the boys began to spit in my face, began to beat me and torment me until one day I had enough. I beat them half to death, all of them and Ryker had witnessed it. At the age of thirteen I had known that I wasn’t normal, that I could do things others couldn’t and Ryker carried this secret with him. He had cleaned me, had treated my wounds and comforted me when the images of their splattered blood and bashed faces would haunt my dreams “Where have you been?” he wasted no time in asking, not bothered by the sight of my bloody features. He had put me back together so many times before that he could draw a map of the scars littering my body purely from memory. I reached for the bag of coins that hung from my belt and tossed it toward him “I was out, collecting coins” I stated while he caught the bag with a jingle. He tested the weight of the bag in the palm of his hand and allowed it to thumb down onto the table in front of him. There was nearly fifty of those golden coins in that bag. I leaned back against the kitchen counter, my hands gripping the edges on either side of me, still able to smell the metallic blood of my latest kill “Stealing them, you mean” he corrected to which I rolled my eyes and looked to the side. Ryker never liked the idea of me stealing things or killing people. He never agreed with my methods but we needed the money. Malik and I barely made anything at our day jobs and since Ryker was still just an apprentice he didn’t receive any money, only experience and practice. It was why I stole, because the bakery and our jobs just wasn’t enough to get us by “It’s not stealing if they were stolen in the first place” I argued, wondering what time it was since Rebecca and Nolan were fast asleep along with Malik in what used to be the nursery but was dubbed the boys’ bedroom years ago only for me to inherit the room in the attic where my parents used to sleep. My heart ached at the thought of the but I forced it away, pretended to be strong and focused all of my attention onto Ryker “You can’t keep doing this, Lia” there it was, that dreaded nickname of his. I always had a weakness for it and he was the only one who ever called me by it and when he did it always felt like he was driving a knife into my heart, toying with my emotions until I would eventually give in to whatever it was he wanted “I won’t keep doing this” he added when I stayed silent, gazing down at the floor. He was trying to get me to stop, was using that nickname against me but not even the name ‘Lia’ could ever get me to consider stopping, not when it was the only thing keeping me alive “You will” I argued in a low tone, raising my eyes to look at him, to really look at him. He had his mother’s red hair that was kept long on top but cut short around the sides. He hater combing it so the strands stood in every direction, messy and unkempt. His chin and jaw was covered in a thin layer of red stubble, a contract to his pale skin and his hazel eyes always glistened like ambers. He was handsome, the type of handsome that drove the town’s girls mad but he never saw them, never noticed their longing, flirtatious gazes even when they would scrape together the courage to talk to him at his workplace. He was training to be a blacksmith, always having wanted to work with his hands, to forge weapons and armour, spending every day banging that hammer into heated steal. His hard work showed in the muscles he’d built that were evident there in the candle light since he never wore a shirt to bed like my brother did. Ryker was always the charming prince when we were little and I, I was the monster that the prince needed to slaughter in order to save the villagers or at least that was the game the children always insisted on playing “Because you love me” I added, watching as his muscles stiffened for a brief moment only to relax again. I was talking about brotherly love, about the love of friendship and nothing more which he quickly realized and gave a heavy sigh, running his fingers through his already messy hair “Sooner or later those pirates will find you” he informed, moving to get up from his seat and make his way around the table. I threw my head back, arms crossed over my chest as I closed my eyes “Not this again” I groaned in agony, wishing he would let it go and return to the kind, caring, loving Ryker that I knew instead of the boring, stern, fatherly Ryker that was a stranger to me. Any time that I would steal from someone remotely dangerous he would start to fear for me, would see the bad that can happen in any situation “You have to stop before you get hurt” he knew, he knew that I wasn’t as reckless, that I always kept my face hidden and any other time when someone would see my face, I would leave them dead. All anyone ever knew was that the thief was a girl and that was it, they never heard my English accent or saw my mismatched eyes and since I only ever worked in the dark, they could hardly even tell what colour my hair was or how dark or light my skin tone was. Ryker was just being paranoid “Malia-.” he tried to continue, reaching for me and grabbing hold of my upper arm. Ryker was the only person I’ve ever trusted, more so than even my brother so when I met his gaze and spoke my next words, I knew he would understand and let it go “I need this, Ryker. You know I do” stealing, fighting, getting hurt and throwing a punch were my way of coping with my parent’s deaths. It was how I would get rid of all that anger and frustration without taking it out on those closest to me. The day I beat those boys bloody five years ago was the day I realized that I was a monster who needed blood to survive, who fed off fear and agony like a demon would prey on the souls of the innocent. After a long pause Ryker nodded and moved his hand from my arm to my face, brushing my hair back to get a clear look of the blood splatter, making sure that there were no wounds “Let’s get you cleaned up” was all he said before pulling his fingers away from my cheek and heading upstairs, in the direction of the bathroom. I followed his trail of candle light since he’d taken it and stepped into the bathroom where a pile of my clothing had been placed for me to change into like there always was. Ryker was the one that had put them there. I stripped with his back to me, discarding the attire I had been wearing for a simple white cotton shirt and a pair of his shorts. I then sat down on the edge of the tub so that he could clean my face, my hands and hair if any blood got into it. He never said a word when he would clean me but I could always see the pain in his eyes that he was trying to hide, I could sense his hurt at seeing me like that yet I never truly acknowledged it. Ryker was good to me. He was always good to me. Like a brother to his sister or a best friend but it never once occurred to me that maybe, beneath all the comforting, the late nights spent waiting for me, the cuts he had to stitch or the blood he had to clean that maybe there was something more than just a storge type of love.