⋆˖☽ Chapter 4 ☾˖⋆
3361 Words
The boot laces felt stiff and rough against my skin as I yanked them tight.
"Finally," I whispered, my breath pluming like smoke in the brisk morning air. I stood, testing my weight. Pain shot up the limbs—a sharp, jagged spike, but it was manageable. I could handle this. Three days of healing had passed quicker than I’d thought.
I moved to the door, wrapping my fingers around the cool metal handle. It gave a muted creak as I turned it, but I froze before the latch clicked.
On the other side of the thin wall, the shop’s main entrance chimed. It wasn’t a welcoming sound; it was a toll.
I silently side-stepped, pressing my back flat against the wall, eyes wide. My heart hammered against my ribs, a chaotic rhythm that threatened to drown out the world. Is it Vow?
"Hello? How may I help?" Elisheva’s voice drifted from the shop floor, bright and professional.
Two sets of heavy footsteps followed, the vibrations traveling through the floorboards and up into the soles of my boots. They were drawing uncomfortably close to my hiding spot.
"Excuse me, how can I help you?" Elisheva pressed, her tone sharpening.
"Sorry," a voice echoed through the wood.
My hands curled into fists, nails digging into my palms until they threatened to break skin. Every muscle in my body locked into a rigid coil. Mirele.
"I was simply distracted by your fine weapons," she said. Her voice was unnervingly calm.
"Is there anything in particular you are looking for?"
"Well..." She dragged the word out, savoring it. The metallic ring of a dagger being lifted from its stand and the dull thud of it returning to the counter echoed through the wall. "I was looking for a friend. That I am worried about."
They were hollow. There was no concern in that tone, only the cold precision of a hunt.
The shop fell silent. Light footfalls drifted closer to the threshold where I stood. It was as if I could feel the heat of her presence radiating through the timber against my back. If she draws any closer… My eyes darted around the cramped room. Nothing. Anything useful was beyond the door.
"Can you tell us about your friend so that we may help you?" Sierus asked. His voice was steady, calm, yet laced with a carefully curated concern.
"Our friend has long white hair," a deep, gruff voice rumbled from beside Mirele.
"White hair." Elisheva repeated the words slowly, rolling them over her tongue as if tasting a foreign dish. Her fingernail tapped a slow, thoughtful rhythm against the wood of the counter. "That is a very unique color. I can't say I have seen anyone like that in a long time."
Mirele’s voice pitched up, tight and sharp. "When was the last time you saw a girl with white hair?"
"You never said your friend was a girl." Sierus’s tone was smooth, dripping with feigned ignorance. "I haven't seen a girl with white hair. I am sorry."
Just leave already, I pleaded silently, squeezing my eyes shut.
An agonizing silence stretched on, thick and suffocating. The only sound was the heavy thud of boots pacing against the floorboards, each step a hammer blow against my nerves.
"I thank you for your time," the gruff man finally grunted.
"Yes, thank you," Mirele followed, her politeness brittle. "If you see our friend, can you let us know? We are staying at the tavern in town."
"Certainly," Elisheva replied. "I truly hope you find her soon."
"Me as well." Pure irritation bled through her facade, sharp as a blade.
Finally, their footfalls began to recede. The front door groaned open, letting in a draft that seeped under my door, before slamming shut with finality.
The tension snapped. My knees went weak, turning to water, and my shoulders slumped against the wall, sliding down an inch.
Then, the handle to my door turned.
I side-stepped instantly, my body responding with a fluid, practiced grace. I was ready to fight, my weight balanced and my hands up, but as I pivoted, the tight binding around my chest tugged against my skin. It was a sharp, localized heat that made me pause just as the door swung open.
It was Elisheva. She was holding a wooden bowl, her expression grim. The lines around her mouth were deepened by stress, and the bowl trembled slightly in her grip.
"I brought something." She kept her tone low. "I thought it might be helpful."
I slowly lowered my guard, the adrenaline receding into a steady, manageable hum. The movement didn't disable me; it just brought me back to reality. "Elisheva, the—"
"I know who they are, Alanah." She stepped into the room, kicking the door shut behind her. She looked at me with a weary, protective grief that stopped the breath in my throat.
Shame washed over me, a hot tide, and my gaze dropped to the floor.
"That does not matter now. Sit down, dear. We need to hurry. I made a coloring tincture."
"A tincture? For my hair?"
"Yes. I started brewing it yesterday, just in case. As long as you are alright with it? It will hide the color."
"Thank you, Elisheva. I would appreciate it."
"I am glad." A soft, genuine smile finally broke through her worry.
I sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed. She dipped her fingers into the black paste and began massaging it into my roots. My scalp prickled with a strange tingling sensation, cooling and heating all at once. My hair felt heavy, weighed down by the thick substance.
A pungent, earthy odor hit my nose—sulfur and musk—making me wince. "What is in this?"
"Sorry, dear. It is going to smell." She didn't stop scrubbing, her fingers working methodically. "It is a mixture of charcoal and Skulking fat."
"Oh," I murmured, staring at the dust motes dancing in the slat of light.
"Also, I must remind you: try not to get your hair wet. It will wash out."
"I will keep that in mind," I said. "How have things been? Having someone help you run the shop, I mean?"
"I have quite liked having someone else around." Her voice mellowed, warm with affection. "Sierus is a good child. He has a natural talent. I am getting older now... I never truly thought I would be able to pass my knowledge down."
Her hands worked down the length of my hair, snagging a knot. Pain sparked across my scalp. I dug my nails into the fabric of my pants, wincing, before slowly uncurling my fingers.
"How old are you, Elisheva?"
Her hands froze mid-motion. She craned her neck, bringing her face close to my shoulder, her eyes twinkling with mock severity. "Don't you know it is never polite to ask an old woman her age?"
"But you can't be that old."
She let out a low, rueful laugh that sounded like dry leaves rustling. "No, I am not. I will be forty-two soon. But you don't know what this life will give to you. It takes more than it gives."
She resumed the last of her work. "Now. Your hair is done."
I reached up, touching the strands. The texture was strange—greasy and dense—but the white was gone, replaced by a muddy, shadows-black hue. I looked like a part of the darkness now.
"I have a few more things for you." She was already moving toward the shop front.
I followed. From behind the counter, she produced a bow. Her fingers trembled slightly as they traced the dark, polished wood and the delicate carvings that ran along the limbs. Tears shimmered in her eyes.
"I have worked a long time on this bow. You know my specialty is usually daggers."
She slid it across the counter. Her hands, warm and roughened by years of forge and grindstone, wrapped around mine. I almost pulled away—but I let the motherly warmth sink in for just a moment.
"It's beautiful," I whispered.
"I am glad. It was made for you."
She pulled away, leaving my hands feeling suddenly cold. "I also have a new dagger, a quiver, and arrows."
"Elisheva, I can't take—"
"I will accept no trade." Her voice was firm, brooking no argument. "It is the least I can do."
I silenced my protest. I slid the quiver onto my back and took the bow, marveling at the balance of it. It is the finest bow I've ever held. "Thank you." I took the dagger last, sliding it into the sheath strapped to my thigh. It clicked into place perfectly.
"Hold on. One more thing." She disappeared into the back and returned with a strip of sheer, dark cloth. "Your eyes are beautiful, Alanah. But for now... please take no offense."
"I won't," I said, my voice hollow. "It's better to hide them."
"I am glad you aren't ashamed anymore. Caution is not shame."
I took the fabric. It was soft as silk, cool against my fingers. I tied it around my head, covering my eyes. The world darkened, filtered through the weave, but my vision remained sharp, the edges of the room merely softened.
"Now hurry," she said, ushering me toward the back exit. "Sierus is waiting with the wagon."
⭒☽ ◑ ☾⭒
Every step down the staircase brought me closer to the waiting wagon, and deeper into the town. I kept my chin tucked, navigating not by clear sight, but by the warping, shifting greys that constituted my vision. Shadows coiled at the edges of my perception.
At the foot of the stairs, a figure stood motionless in the gloom—a familiar silhouette.
"Sierus?"
No answer. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. I retreated a step, widening the gap between us as my hand drifted instinctively to the hilt of the dagger strapped to my thigh.
"Sorry," he breathed, the sudden sound cutting the tension like a blade. "It’s okay. It’s me. You just look... different."
Good, I thought, the spike of adrenaline in my chest beginning to dull. The disguise was working. We can't linger. "We don't have time for this, Sierus."
"You are right." His voice dropped to a conspiratorial hush. "We better be going before someone sees us."
His head swiveled, a blur of motion scanning the streets. My grip tightened on the darker shadow of my bow as I followed him. We just need to make it out of here. But seeing the world only as a landscape of shifting shadows did nothing to calm my nerves.
"Just be careful of the supplies." Sierus pulled back the heavy canvas of the wagon.
The wood groaned beneath my weight as I climbed up, enveloping me in air thick with the scent of damp wool, sawdust, and the metallic tang of fresh steel. I navigated by touch, my hand brushing over rough-hewn wood until I found a sturdy crate in the back. I sank onto it, tucking my legs in.
The wagon dipped heavily as Sierus climbed onto the driver's seat.
"We are off," he murmured. His voice cracked, a hairline fracture betraying his fear.
The wagon lurched. The ground rattled beneath the iron-rimmed wheels, quickly finding a constant, jarring rhythm that vibrated up through the floorboards.
"We are almost out of Stonehollow," he called back, his voice muffled by the thick canvas separating us.
The world jerked.
We ground to a halt. My boot skidded, digging into the floorboards as momentum threw me forward. I barely caught myself in a crouch, fingers splayed against the vibrating wood.
"Hello again."
The voice drifted in from outside—chillingly familiar.
My head shot up. I rose to my feet, backing away until my spine hit the rear of the wagon.
"Hello," Sierus replied. He forced a calm tone, but there was tightness in his throat. "Can I help you?"
The canvas rippled as the wind picked up, sending a draft of cold air over me. My heart began to hammer a dizzying, erratic beat against my ribs.
"I just noticed that you had someone with you." Mirele’s voice was light and lethal.
"Yes, I suppose—"
"The one with you looked a lot like my friend." She cut him off, the pleasantry vanishing, leaving her voice devoid of any emotion.
My eyes widened behind the cloth. I swung the bow off my shoulder, grabbed the quiver, and shoved them deep behind a stack of crates in the darkest corner. If she sees the bow—
"I do not know what you mean," Sierus said, finding a shred of courage. "I am sorry, I did not think to share with a stranger that I have a sister."
Footsteps crunched on the gravel, moving down the side of the wagon. I forced myself to sit back on the crate, every muscle pulled taut as a bowstring. Closing my eyes, relying entirely on sound.
"That is alright," Mirele said, her voice drifting closer to the rear. "I know you won't mind if I just take a look."
"I do mind, actually." The kindness in Sierus's voice vanished, replaced by something harder, protective. "My sister is blind. I prefer that you do not disturb her."
"We are terribly sorry," a man’s voice—the one with Mirele—cut through. "It's just that we miss our friend."
Quick, light footsteps rushed toward the back flap.
"Stop!" Sierus yelled.
It was too late. The cloth swung open.
I knew without looking that the figure standing there was Mirele. Even in my shadowed sight, her presence felt like a weight, a burning gaze boring through the gloom. The dull thud of her sheathed sword smacked against the wood of the wagon as she leaned in.
"He... hello?" I dropped my voice lower, allowing a tremble to bleed into the word. Keeping my eyes closed.
"Not trying to bother you," she said, her tone sharp, scanning the interior. "I just simply needed to check something."
A scoff rose in my throat, hot and sharp—but I choked it down.
"Can I... can I help you?" I stammered.
"By the moons," Mirele mumbled to herself, the wind snatching the words from her lips. "The hair isn't even the same."
An aggravated sigh hissed through her teeth. I closed my fist against my thigh until pain welled in my palm.
"No, you can't help me." Her voice shifted, dismissing me entirely as if I were nothing more than cargo.
Her boots turned on the gravel. "Let's go. That fool in there is not who we are looking for."
I took a shaky breath, the air whistling silently in my nose. Did she really believe it?
The cloth ripped open again.
I drew my dagger instantly, the metal singing softly against leather. The world narrowed to the opening.
"It's me," Sierus whispered quickly, his voice hitching.
I released the white-knuckle grip on the dagger, letting out a breath that felt like it had been held for hours. "Will they follow us?"
"No. I do not believe so."
My muscles finally unlocked. Sheathing the blade with a click. Sierus’s shadow shifted back and forth, hesitating, as if he had more to say but couldn't find the words.
"We better keep moving." His voice sounded resigned, drained of adrenaline.
He let the flap fall, the deeper shadows swallowing the wagon once more. I sat back down as the wheels began to turn. My fingers brushed against the quiver, retrieving it and sliding the strap back over my shoulder. As I picked up the bow, my fingertips traced the intricate carvings, seeking comfort in the weapon.
That was too close. Only a little longer and they would be out of danger from me. The farther away I was, the better for everyone.
The road beneath us roughened, turning from packed dirt to stone and mud. The wagon's motion became jagged, rocking violently. Gripping my bow tighter, the cool metal fittings seeped their chill into my skin.
"Are you doing okay?" Sierus called out, his worry evident even through the canvas and the rattling wheels.
"Fine, Sierus. Do not worry about me. Are you—?"
"Just fine." He cut me off sharply.
Clearly not.
Hours blurred into a grey haze. The constant rhythm rattling beneath the wagon became a trance, though the silence between us remained heavy, filled with things we couldn't say. As we neared the coast, the wind grew stronger, whistling through the gaps in the canvas. The air itself began to change—no longer carrying the heavy scent of rich earth and forest, but the sharp, crisp drift of salt and ozone.
The wind howled, shaking the wagon frame. A roar ripped through the air.
It vibrated in the marrow of my bones. A command more than a noise.
"Sierus! Stop!"
The wagon hadn't even fully halted before I was moving. The magnetic pull was overwhelming, dragging me toward the water like a hooked fish. My boots hit the mud, the cold coastal rain drenching me in seconds.
Sierus jumped down, water dripping from his hair, reaching out to steady me. "Alanah, wait—"
I stepped out of his reach, my feet shifting toward the treeline on their own accord.
"I am leaving," I breathed, the words tumbling out before I had even made the conscious choice.
"I can bring you further."
"No." I shook my head, rainwater flinging from my hood. "This is where our paths separate, Sierus."
"I know." He offered one last, wistful smile—a shadow of regret. "Goodbye, Alanah."
"Goodbye and thank you again," I replied.
I turned, breaking into a jog instantly as the pull to follow the roar grew overwhelming.
"Be safe!" he shouted against the wind.
I ignored him, ignored the rain, my eyes locked on the sky. High above, stark against the heavy gray clouds, a massive shape blocked out the weak light—a tear of absolute darkness in the fabric of the world. The forest opened up to the vast, churning expanse of the ocean.
I skidded to a halt at the tree line, watching the beast disappear into the cloud bank, its tail a whip of obsidian against the storm.
"I will be there soon," I mumbled to the empty air.
My gaze drifted down the coastline, searching, and then froze.
A warship was docked in the bay, bobbing on the rough swell. Men were scrambling over the deck, loading crates, but the shifting greys of my vision made it impossible to be sure. I needed to see.
I clawed the heavy cloth away from my face, blinking as the world snapped into sharp, terrifying focus.
It wasn't the activity that made my breath catch in my throat. It was the flag, snapping violently in the gale.
A dragon skull with a sword driven through it.
The Ashen Vow.
My hand twisted around the grip of my bow, knuckles turning white. It was dangerous. It was madness. But as I looked at that flag, I saw only one thing.
My way back to Luminethra.
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- Writer
