The Omen of Love

It was nearly dawn when Luis woke. Early morning dew clung to the weeds around him, forming a thin mist that lingered above the ground. He rolled over on his cot and stared up at the sky. Stars twinkled overhead. A splatter of white against black.

Gradually, the moon faded from his view as the sun rose against the distant mountains. He could just make out the pallid marble against the dawn. Its round figure interrupted by a missing chunk. Fractured long ago by the gods. So the story goes.

Closing his eyes, Luis said a prayer to Luna, the moon goddess. He was a faithful Willow, one of her traveling warriors instilled with the sole task of guarding the realm, protecting the innocent people within it.

He always said prayer when he first woke and a prayer before bed. Whenever he broke his fast, he offered a portion of his meal to Her as a sign of good faith. In return, She granted him strength and fortitude against the corrupted, against the darkness that plagued the world.

All proven Willows were imbued with rapid regeneration, great strength, hardened skin, and unfathomable speed. They weren’t invincible. A common misconception. But they were powerful, and they could reach a state of near invulnerability if they knew how to utilize their blessings.

As for becoming a Willow, there were two known means: the traditional method and the mentorship method.

The traditional method required a person to make a pact with Luna. To swear off all titles and lands, to forgo any grandiose sense of living. Anyone could make the pact, but if they broke their vows, then their bond with Luna was dissolved. They were cursed for the rest of their existence and lost Her blessings.

The mentorship method was similar, but instead of making direct promises, instead of offering a life-long sacrifice, a person simply needed to be recruited by a full-fledged Willow. They trained with their master for an extended period of time, often for a year or longer. Until the master deemed the apprentice worthy of the title of Willow. This was decided by the final trial. One last test that pushed the apprentice to their limits and forced them to employ everything they'd learned along the way. Not all apprentices succeeded, and their failure resulted in death.

When Luis opened his eyes, a gentle breeze soughed across the field. It carried the distinct scent of petrichor from a nearby stream as well as the sounds of laborious grunting. Luis propped himself onto his elbow and looked off into the distance where a silhouetted figure thrashed the tall grass.

She never quits, he thought. She doesn’t know how.

Luis pushed himself to his feet and stretched. He rolled his shoulder around in its socket, repeated with the other, and popped his spine. At twenty-two years of age, his body was a pincushion engulfed by sore muscles and withered scars. Burden with guilt and grief and a never-ending streak of pain.

That was the life of a Willow. They could all attest to this save for Luis’s master, Domonic Baskerville. If there were ever an elite amongst the clan of Willows, it was him.

He’d never been defeated in battle. Had no scars or welts or bruises to speak of. Of course, Domonic was also the type to claim he could breathe fire and return from the dead if he felt so inclined. He was the kind of man who encountered accomplishment without having to endlessly seeking it out. Without having to exert any effort whatsoever.

Softly, Luis chuckled to himself. His mentor was equal parts greatness and ego. None of the other Willows could tolerate him. Not that Willows were known for tolerating the company of others. They were a reclusive bunch of vagabonds that preferred solitude because loneliness was an easier beast to bear than the pain that accompanied companionship.

With his joints loose and muscles relaxed, Luis trotted across the field. When he reached the stream, he panned a handful of cold water onto his face. Goosebumps prickled across his skin, and the chill brought him back down to reality. It helped nullify the sweet dreams that had taken him in the night. Dreams, unfortunately, were only for Willows who were at rest. Who'd found peace at the end of their arduous existence. For the time being, his journey was not over. Not yet.

He continued along the stream until he reached the girl in the weeds. She was spry and slender, moving with the grace of the wind. Her hair was silky black, hanging down to her shoulders. That was, whenever she didn't have it tied into a knot at the back of her head.

Her name was Gavin Leah Harlem. She was a member of the clan known as Shadow Walkers. A group of assassins affiliated with no god or goddess. Loyal only to their own ambitions.

The common folk often looked down upon Shadow Walkers for their lack of allegiance. While they were once a sought after power, that time had long past. Now, there were very little left. At least, as far as the realm was concerned.

Most had been hunted. Never jailed, only executed. They were too dangerous to be kept alive. Too unpredictable. Some could be bought, some convinced, but there was never any guarantee about where they stood. Willows bowed to Luna, Kniphofia pledged themselves to Her brother Solaris (god of the sun), and Everlasting Blossoms were sworn to the essence of peace and balance. Shadow Walkers, though, were free entities. Unbound, unrestricted, unchained.

Surprisingly, out of all the companions Luis had ever traveled with—Christoph Wardez the Boy King, Oleander Lupis the Lycanthrope, Kishi Houthe the Everlasting Blossom—Gavin was the one he trusted most. The only companion he had to beg to join his cause.

To gain her support in his crusade against the Twelve Omens, he had to drag her away from a war between two large settlements in the north: Storm Ridge and Wind Burrow. A war that was started by a faux rebellion in an attempt to mask a coup. A war that had stolen away any semblance of family she ever had.

While he felt a pang of guilt for stealing her away, for refusing her the vengeance she so desperately sought, it was a necessary action. If anyone could help him defeat the Omens, it was her.

Gavin lifted her sword and decapitated the weeds with one swift swing. A maneuver he could barely comprehend due to her speed and agility.

She drifted to a new patch of tall grass and crouched, preparing to attack again. The weapon she carried was a sword with a curved, slender blade and a long hilt. A gift from Kishi the Everlasting Blossom. A weapon that once belonged to his wife before she her untimely death.

On her hip were two more blades similar in appearance but much smaller in size. One about the length of a short-sword, the other about the length of a dagger.

“How long have you been at it?” Luis asked, suspecting she hadn't stopped training since last night.

Gavin looked at him with those wild eyes. Wide and unflinching. The kind that saw everything, analyzed every last detail.

Beads of sweat rolled down her face and she heaved with every breath as if it might be her last. “Not long enough.”

“If you keep pushing yourself—”

“Then I’ll get better.”

He scoffed. “Aye, possibly. You’ll be the most adept corpse in the grave. You’re good enough, Gavin. Take a break.”

“Not yet." She poised for her attack. "I can be better.”

Her stare was sharp as steel. Glacial in a clinical way. She narrowed her sights on a nearby patch of untouched daisies. They were headless in the blink of an eye.

Still not fast enough, he knew. He could see the disappointment in her expression, the exasperation clouding her mind.

She stifled a cry of irritation and prepared for an assault on all the flowers around them.

"How’s your leg?” he asked.

“Fine.” She hacked at another patch of daisies and weeds. “I can barely feel it anymore.”

"I’m surprised you can feel anything at all. You’ve pushed yourself—”

“I’ll get stronger.”

“I’m not saying you won’t.”

“Then why do you keep treating me like a child?" she remarked. "You’re acting like I’ve reached my peak and anything else I do is a waste of time.”

It was at times like this Luis thought of his master. Domonic was perhaps the most careless man Luis had ever known. He entered combat with a smile on his face and slew his enemies as if cutting cheese. He met every confrontation with a glib retort delivered by a sharp tongue. Some claimed Domonic’s true skills were not in fighting, but rather, sarcasm. Luis never agreed with this proclamation, but he couldn’t find it in himself to disagree either.

But beneath that smug façade was unyielding determination. A resolve that would not concede no matter what. A resolve not so different from hers.

Domonic was the best Willow, the best swordsman, the best in every sense of the word. Yet, he never stopped practicing. He constantly pushed himself above and beyond, past the point of expertise into a realm unexplored by any other. She was just like him. In more ways than one.

"Enough," he said. “Sheathe your sword for a moment. Let me take a look at your wound."

Gavin glared as if she might skewer him. Thankfully, she put away her blade and raised the left leg of her pants. Her clothing was lightweight and flexible. A black, silk garb sewn from threads as soft as air. Around her torso, she wore plated armor that allowed her to maneuver with ease while offering a great deal of protection.

Luis knelt to inspect her wound. A week ago, they'd been in the north, fighting in that meaningless war. They'd infiltrated an enemy settlement under the veil of night, and while he was in the midst of battle against two patrolmen, she had been ambushed by a drunkard with a knife.

Before that unfortunate incident, he’d watched Gavin cut down fifteen men twice her size as if it were nothing. One mistake, that’s all it took.

Like Domonic, she had little in the way of scars or bruises before that blasted drunk. Alas, the wound was already healing. A minor scrape with minimal repercussions. At least, physically speaking.

She unraveled her pant leg. “I’m not some delicate peach, Luis.”

“I never said you were.”

“Then stop treating me like one.”

A grin crossed his lips, which only seemed to exacerbate her frustration. “I’ve never questioned your skill or capability. I’d be a damn fool to even consider questioning your determination…”

He could practically hear Domonic preparing some tongue-in-cheek quip that would slip like a knife beneath Luis’s skin. The man was deadly with his words, whether Luis wanted to admit it or not. But Domonic wasn’t here, and not everyone was as perfect as his former master. Not everyone could carry the weight, shoulder the pain, and move onward as if they were unaffected. Not everyone was perfect.

“But you’re pushing yourself too hard," he added. "You haven’t peaked. You will get better, but not like this. You need to focus—”

“I am focused.”

“On the wrong things,” he returned. “You’re so consumed with this notion of advancement that you’re blinded to the process. You won’t hop from one achievement to the next as if they’re lily pads. There are roads, Gavin. Trials, and tribulations in between every victory. You will need to fail to succeed. You can’t just be the best. It takes time and effort.”

“I’m not an idiot, Luis! Why do you think I’m training? That’s how you get stronger. That’s the road to success. Time, effort, and practice. That’s all there is.”

“You’re forgetting about rest and relaxation. About strategy and introspection. About the struggle along the way," he said. "What about observation? What about—”

“I don’t have the time for that,” she said through gritted teeth like a hissing feline.

“You have plenty of time,” he countered. “You just don’t have the patience.”

She reached for the hilt of her weapon. If it were anyone else, Luis would’ve drawn his sword and had the edge of his blade at their throat before they could even attack. His instincts were already in motion, telling him to seize her by the wrist and twist it aside to create an opening.

If Domonic had taught him anything in their time together, it was temperance. Control. When to listen to your instincts, and when to ignore them. When to take an opportunity, and when to yield.

“You can lash out if you want,” Luis offered, “but I wouldn’t recommend it.”

Slowly, Gavin released the hilt and steadied her breathing. Her lips pursed, refusing to comment in spite of the desire that flashed in her eyes. The glimmer of vitriol dancing within those silvery irises like flames upon a fire. In the end, she resisted her anger and retreated back to camp.

Luis followed a few paces behind her, wondering whether Domonic would’ve continued to poke the bear. In all likelihood, he would’ve poked the bear even if it had him between its teeth.

While Gavin rested beside their dead fire, a pile of charred wood and ash, Luis packed their camp and saddled the horse they'd been gifted by Everette Harkin after they helped overthrow Wind Burrow in the name of Storm Ridge. It was a lame thing with no sense of discipline.

Before this untamed beast, he'd had a fine mare by the name of Ronnie. One of the few things he'd inherited from Domonic. Perhaps the only inheritance remaining from his former master, other than a burden of prophecies and quests. Of course, Domonic would say that the knowledge and wisdom he'd bestowed upon his apprentice were perhaps the greatest inheritance Luis could ever hope to obtain. If you were to ignore the gift of Domonic’s presence, that is.

“You should bathe before we head out,” he suggested. “I can get a fire going and cook something for us.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You weren’t hungry last night either.”

“I’m a Shadow Walker, Luis. I don’t need much to survive. I know how to ration my necessities.”

He kicked aside the charred wood and scooped out handfuls of ash before replacing them with fresh logs. Removing a piece of flint from his pocket, he struck it with the edge of his dagger. A spark leapt from the stone and into the bramble. He breathed a fire to life and watched as it overtook the logs.

A growl rumbled low in Gavin's throat. “I already told you—”

“Enough!” He exhaled. “Please. No more arguing. I’m going to make food regardless of whether you want it or not. If you change your mind, you’re more than welcome to partake. Until then, go wash up. It might be our last chance for a little while.”

She unhooked her sword belt, dropped it on the ground, and stalked off toward the stream. In the meantime, Luis retrieved a cast iron pan and set it upon the flames. Then, he unpackaged a parcel of salted venison strips and laid them inside. The meat hissed and seared. He flipped it over, and while the other side cooked, he cracked open a pair of eggs and poured them in too. The shells went directly into the fire below.

"She’s only two years younger, but she has so much to prove.” Luis glanced up at the horse. There was a blank expression on its face. “Right…”

The steed was a generous gift from the new lord of Storm Ridge, but he missed Ronnie. She had the most beautiful mane. A midnight black coat a small diamond patch of white on her snout.

Ronnie would’ve understood his plight. Would've nestled beside him and nuzzled his shoulder.

Before Gavin, she was his truest companion. The only one he’d taken with him wherever he went. Loyal to the end.

If not for her, he would’ve been impaled by a volley of arrows and crossbow bolts whilst riding to meet Gavin in Storm Ridge. Damn shame to lose her, but that was life. Exchange one companion for another. A system of costs and rewards.

A few minutes later, Gavin returned, sullen as ever. She sat beside the fire with a gloomy expression on her face. If only he could tell her the truth. Tell her the things Domonic had told him before his death. Maybe she wouldn’t be so somber. Then again, if he told her those things, she would’ve been racked with even more guilt and grief.

Why bestow a family upon an orphan when said family was already dead? Might as well give a girl wilting flowers for all the good that would do.

No, the secret would remain with him. Locked away until he met his end. Better to remain blissfully ignorant.

He dished out three strips of venison and an egg to her before plating some for himself. She refused to acknowledge the food, but as seconds became minutes, her stomach began to growl and she could no longer resist. She shoveled down her breakfast, and once her plate was empty, she was back to training.

Luis smiled to himself and retrieved the dishes to wash them down at the stream. He dried them back at camp and replaced them in one of the saddlebags. Then, he slipped into his leather harness with three sheathed daggers on either side of his ribcage, clipping it in the middle. He threw on a black doublet of tanned leather, concealing the blades beneath. The coat was a gift from Gavin after she ruined his original during one of their sparring matches four years prior when they’d first met. Introduced by Domonic.

Back then, Gavin was no more than a stable girl for Everette Harkin’s royal father, Lord Jakib Harkin. She was but an orphan Lord Jakib pitied enough to welcome into his court. So he had been told. Knowing what he knew now, though, that story held far more than it once did.

“I’m thinkin’ we ride closer to town,” Luis said. “Follow the hills along the outer perimeter, keeping to a high vantage point.”

Gavin sheathed her blade and looked at him. It’d taken a morning of bickering and breakfast for her to return to her usual self. Not glacial, although many would see it that way, but placid. Undisturbed. Calm.

“You’re sure this is where the Omen is?” she asked.

He nodded. “This is where Lilah told me to find it.”

"Domonic's sister." She snickered. "Saw it in one of her dreams, did she?"

"Aye. Laugh all you want, but that's how I found the others."

Gavin seemed unconvinced. “Which one is it again?”

“Mendella of the Celestial Belfry, Omen of Love.”

“Celestial?”

“They say her bell can be heard across the cosmos.”

Again, Gavin laughed. “And the stars are soldiers of the sun.”

"That's what Kniphofia would have you believe."

"I believe only what I see, and I've never seen any of the stars fight."

You must not be looking close enough, he thought.

So far, he’d eliminated five of the Twelve Omens: Misture, Omen of Rebirth; Harvin the Split, Omen of Deceit; The Mad King Bruette, Omen of Royalty; Kartell the Scholar, Omen of Knowledge; and Lollander, Omen of Curses. Domonic had entrusted him with this quest long ago. Hunt down and vanquish the Twelve Omens. Once they've finally been defeat, eliminate Admoushroud, the source of all darkness and corruption in the world.

Easy enough when said aloud or written on paper, but in a little over three years, he’d only managed to destroy five of the Omens. They put up more of a fight than Domonic had prepared him for. Then again, Domonic had claimed he could never prepare anyone for such a task.

At least he’d had friends along the way to help him carry this burden. Especially the likes of someone like Christoph Wardez, who commanded an entire settlement, or Oleander the Lycanthrope. There wasn’t much that startled Luis, but lycanthropes were ravenous creatures standing as tall as two men. Somehow, he’d been lucky enough to come across one that wasn’t completely taken by corruption. Still teeming with a semblance of humanity even if he’d been transformed into a large wolf-like monster.

Gavin retrieved a spyglass from one of the saddlebags and extended it, turning the large eye toward a settlement in the distance. “I assume we’ll find the Omen in the bell tower at the center of the city.”

“That would be my assumption as well.”

She collapsed the spyglass, returned it to the saddlebag, and looked at him. “I’m ready.”

As intended, they rode upon the outskirts of town, following the rise and fall of the hillside. Luis took the reins, and Gavin was at his back. Meanwhile, her pet raven soared overhead, acting as their their lookout.

Alas, the settlement appeared empty. A cluster of stone houses with thatch roofs around the outside. Further inward were shops and apartments built adobe-style. Everything crammed together until they all shared at least one wall. Alleyways were sparse and narrow. At the center, where all roads met, was an illustrious tower. Stone-brick walls, stained glass windows, high arches, slated roofs with an assortment of spires. Atop the tower was a walled-off belfry.

“Were the other Omens like this?” she asked. “As desolate and barren, I mean.”

He shook his head. “Wherever an Omen goes, corruption is bound to follow. Stay on guard. Something’s not right.”

“Feels like we’re being followed.”

Luis smiled. So, she felt that too. “Feels like we’re being watched.”

With a flick of the reins, they turned and descended the hillside toward town.