Starborn

Ivory Hugo could not fall asleep.

It wasn’t because of the angry gusts of wind, which pounded against the weak cottage walls and sent eerie, whistling screams through the rattling window pane.

It wasn’t because of the freezing air that seeped through the child’s thread-bare blanket and clung to her icy, pale skin, making her tremble the same way she did when she was nervous.

No, it was because of those sharp, grating whispers next door. Those voices cut through the silence so crisply that it brought tears to Ivory’s weary eyes. Tears of exhaustion, tears of betrayal.

Ivory had spent her last seven nights like this, ear pressed against the damp wooden walls, knees curled into her chest and nails digging into the skin of her shins to keep herself awake. The girl had listened to every not-so-hushed whisper that had left her parents’ mouths, catching and storing so much information that her mind, which was sharp and quick even for a girl of nine, was left feeling exhausted and strained. The mental toll the past week had wreaked on the girl was beginning to show on her face. When she last looked in the mirror, bags had begun to form beneath her bug-like eyes, making them larger and more strange than usual. The skin around her nails was red and sore, there was really not a lot to do with these sleepless nights besides listening to her parents schemes, endlessly question what she had done to deserve this, and pick her cuticles raw. Oh, and also scheme her own schemes.

And tonight was the night. And her parents were not the only ones who had formed a plan. Whilst she had the chance, whilst her parents were still preparing in the bedroom next door and spewing their traitorous words carelessly, Ivory jumped from her bed. She hit the ground silently and nimbly folded onto the floor to reach beneath her bed. She pulled the leather bag from where she had stashed it on the far wall. It was full of nearly her entire wardrobe, she had been slowly filling it over the past five days, as to not make her mother suspect anything. Quickly, with cold but steady hands, she pulled out an assortment of clothes, pieces she had carefully considered to ensure she was warm enough to make it to the shoreline from this far inland. By asking the right, careful questions over the last week, Ivory had gleaned that on foot, the journey to the beach would take four days and nights. It was safest to keep to the forest in the days, when the wind was the worst, and best to find someplace high up at night to keep safe from the wildlife which prowled beneath the moonlight. The trip would be hard. The storms here were angry and unforgiving, and the temperatures at this time of year were even more so.

As quiet as she could, Ivory pulled on fleece-lined trousers, a little big for her because her mother liked to sew things that would last at least a few years. She held her breathe and she zipped them up, squeezed her eyes shut as she clicked the button closed.

Then, she pulled three pairs of woolen socks on, which covered her entire shin and knees, and served as good filling for the shoes, which were also too large for Ivory, since they were hand me downs from her mother. She laced the tall things tightly, pulling with all her might as she tied two neat bows. Then, came two knitted jumpers, thick as old milk and warm as fire. Ivory had owned these ones for years, and they still felt brand new. the pink wool was still as soft as it was the day Ivory had unwrapped them as her seventh birthday gift. she had swam in the clothes at seven, but now they fitted her perfectly, hugging her well enough to really keep her warm, but not so much that she could not move freely without bursting a seem.

A scarf came next, wrapped tightly around Ivory’s neck to cover her entire face besides her eyes. Already she was sweating, but she knew once she got outside, that sweat would turn swiftly to ice.

Then two pairs of gloves, if Ivory was terrified of one thing out there, it was losing a finger to frostbite. And finally the coat she had stolen from the back of her mothers wardrobe. She was flushed in the face by the end of the ordeal, but that would not long be the case, not when she got outside. The girl swung the bag, full of blankets and more clothes, over her shoulder and cast a mournful look around her room. Family photos and funny drawings littered the walls. Homemade pottery of her fathers, and tiny wood animals of her mothers filled every shelf, cluttering the space in the coziest of ways. Ivory chewed on the charm of her necklace, as she often did without even realizing. She spat the little bejeweled constellation out and before she could stop herself, was on her tip toes and grabbing that tiny fish her mother had carved. The koy fish was old, the wood stained and rubbed smooth by Ivory’s hands over nine years. She shoved it in her pocket, angry with herself for being sentimental, but also being unable to do nothing to prevent it. This was her home.

Ivory had been born on the wind continent, had never known anything else for the nine years of her solitude life. The girl knew her parents had tried to make the place as hospitable and friendly for her as possible; her father had built their house from scratch, had fortified ever corner, every beam, so that they could withstand the aggressive conditions of the island. He had even built a swing set in front of the cottage and a tree house in the dense, surrounding forests. There was no doubt, he had built their home with an unending amount of love.

But this place was not made for a child, it wasn’t made for anyone, and Ivory had often wondered why her parents had chosen here of all places to raise her.

Well, now she knew. They had been hiding. From a man, a man who had finally found them. Obviously, the pair had not had a choice on Ivory when they had run from August Hayes before, her mother had been pregnant. But, this time… Ivory bit back a curse when she heard her parents step out their room. She threw her bag back beneath the bed and shoved herself beneath the covers of her bed, holding her breath all the while.

It was like torture, staying still and keeping her breathing steady, even as she felt her parents’ lingering eyes, heard her mothers deep breathing as a small sound of sorrow escaped her throat. Ivory clenched her fists beneath the blankets as annoyance- rage filled her.

She was sad? Ivory was heartbroken. These were the only two people she had ever known, they were her friends, her protectors, her family. They were everything to her. But, she supposed they did not feel the same way about her. It had broken Ivory at first, when she had first discovered their plan, but now it only made her angry. And Ivory knew that she needed that anger if she was going to survive. Because, as soon as they left, she was as good as dead. A storm was coming, in the shape of a man eager to settle a debt, and Ivory was his price.

Rayne and Wyatt Hugo didn’t stay long to watch their dead girl walking of a daughter, good. The sounds of creaky steps, the sound of the front door swinging open, changed something in Ivory. Even as part of her heart left with her parents, stolen away in the rough winds, a new part of her soul was made, a part that made room for her resentment and allowed it to thrive.

Although she didn’t feel like it, she rolled out of her horizontal position curled on the mattress and crawled across the bed to gain access to the view from the shaking window.

Her parents looked like ants, tiny, blurry ants, Ivory wiped her eyes when she realized they were spilling over with tears and making her vision fuzzy. She wanted to see them leave, she didn’t know why. She just had to see them go, perhaps to assure herself that this was not jut some terrible dream, some massive narcoleptic hallucination.

They held each other close in the violent winds, the long grass whipped around their legs and Ivory’s mother’s rosy hair spilled from its braid in a feathery mess of coppery blonde. The fierceness with which they held each other had Ivory gritting her teeth in jealousy and sadness, why could they not have protected her with the same loyal ferocity? She was their child, their blood, and yet they were leaving here like an offering. Ivory felt like nothing more than a lamb awaiting the slaughter, she knew she was being left here to buy her parents time to escape, and yet she could not make her body move. She could not make even a single movement to run or hide from her impending doom, all she could do was stare out the window and bite back her trembling sobs. She would not cry for them, at least, she would try not to.

The pair was wading through the grass, it lapped at their legs like shallow, mossy waves that intended to sweep them from their feet. Ivory imagined them disappearing beneath the whipping dark green blades forever, never to be seen again. She wondered how she would react, if she would react. Would she race from the house to follow them? Or would she sit on this bed forever, at this window, numb until she starved and withered into a skeleton? She knew that she had to move, it would probably take her double the time to make it across the meadow, and Ivory’s parents were her travel guides, even if they did not know it. But, as soon as she gave her parents that final glance, she saw something else.

There was a man in the treeline, who Ivory was sure had not been there before. He seemed to spawn from the darkness, a shadow incarnate.

Ivory gasped quietly, her nose pressed against the window, her breathes misting the glass as she hungered for a closer look at this phantom.

His skin was nearly silver against the obsidian backdrop of the forest, his sleet gray hair blended in with the dull, wintry leaves on the trees. Ivory saw him before he saw her, she was able to drink in the details of him and finally put a face to the name August Hayes. Honestly, she had expected him to look scarier. Perhaps she had thought he would be as tall as the trees that surrounded him, or that he would be riddled with battle scars and decorated with shining, gallant weaponry. But he was just a man. Ivory had seen, survived, storms more terrifying than him. He was sort of elegant, pleasing to look at, in a way that had Ivory instantly, strangely intrigued by him. Her gaze must have held something, because August lifted his eyes, and suddenly, they were pinned to Ivory’s as if there was a taught string locking them in this eye contact. Ivory blinked, and August smiled, painting his features into a picture of feline malice.

Her parents did not notice him, not before he was out of the canopies, sleek as shadow, quick as light with a curved blade in hand. She had never seen a real knife before, not one like that. She had thought it would scare her to see a weapon so large and menacing, but Ivory became transfixed by the glinting thing as August rose it high above his head in a great arc. The silver caught in the moonlight and sent beams dancing across the waving blades of grass in neat, sharp rays. Ivory didn’t completely compute when the smoothness of those silver beams was broken with splatters of blood, or when her mothers splitting scream managed to break through the roaring of the wind and the window of Ivory’s bedroom. All she could think was that August must be very strong to be able to handle a weapon like that so smoothly, especially with his small frame.

The girl didn’t see her fathers body hit the ground, didn’t even see the blade as it crested out of his back, her gaze was fastened on the flickering moonlight. She stared at it like a lifeline, refusing to look at her lifeless father, until the strange hypnotism August had put on her suddenly cleared.

Ivory loosed a breathe and jumped away from the window. She could not watch her mother die, and now, she had to find her own way to the shore. If she was going to make it, especially with August tailing her, then she had to leave. Now.

Tears spilled down her face freely now, Ivory could hardly stop them.

She fell to her knees with a careless crash and rummaged beneath the bed for her bag.

Then, a sound downstairs made her heart fall.

The front door crashed open, and booted footsteps echoed in the hall.

August Hayes hated the wind. Hated the way it scuffed his hair and chafed at his skin. He hated he howling sound of it in his ears, the desperation with which it yanked at his clothes and tried to push him off his feet. He had been away from home for a month now, pursuing this family. Hunting them. He missed the warm nights back on his island, the stillmornings and the calm evenings where he could enjoy his meals without worrying that they would be snatched from his fingers.

Rayne had lived here for nine years? He would never understand how she could stand it. When before she had been used to much calmer terrain, much more beautiful scenery.

Dead trees were everywhere, barren forests and frozen rivers.

The place was miserable, perhaps August did not entirely hate it.

He reached forward for the front door handle as soon as he was able, wrangled with the door as it was ripped at by the wind, and stepped quickly into the house.

‘Cozy.’ he muttered aloud, taking in the framed pictures of their little daughter that were hung on the walls. As he walked the dark halls of the cottage, August looked at these pictures of the girl. They ranged from images of her as a new born with a squishy face and little, balled fists. Then as a toddler, with a gappy grin and pink bangs too long for her small head. Then as the child August understood she was now, a startled laugh left him in a breathe as he saw the likeness she held to her mother.

Both had the pouty, expressive lips that were just a little too big for their faces, both had the wide, jewel-like eyes that seemed to always be open in awe or surprise.

He may have doubted that the dark-haired Wyatt Hugos was the girls father, but there was absolutely no question on whether Rayne was Ivory’s mother.

August heard no movement as he surveyed the little kitchen, with a sink still full of dishes from the previous dinner. There was utter silence as he rounded a corner into a skinny hallway, which had an even skinnier flight of stairs to the left of it. August might have actually recoiled, a scoff may have left his throat, when he saw the rickety stairs. He was actually quiet terrified to step upon it, from fear that it my end with him buried under a pile of rubble or impaled on a banister.

Cautiously, he took his first steps onto the dark wood stairs. Surprisingly, they didn’t buckle beneath his weight, there was not even a creak. August had to hand it to Wyatt, the man had made this house with care, August hadn’t failed to notice the thick beams in every corner, the extra layers to the frosty glass windows.

Laying one, delicate hand on the railing, August continued to climb, stopping short when he saw an open room directly in front of him.

He knew from the position of the window that this was the room he had seen the daughter in moments before. Cautiously, August stepped forward.

As quiet as a shadow, he crossed the threshold.

For a moment, there was only silence, August believed the small room to be empty. He surveyed the messy bed, the toys and trinkets lining each and every shelf. There was tatter and chaos and memories in this room. But no girl.

‘Come out, come out.’ August said in a low voice, tutting at the fact that this tiny child was sending him on yet another wild-goose chase. He was not particularly young any more, and was losing patience for this murderous life when all he longed for at this moment was his bed.

But then, there was a small noise, a sort of squeak.

Right before the bedroom door swung on it hinges and from behind it, came blasting a screaming girl. She held a wooden bat, which was obviously meant for family games, over her head as she screeched like a banshee and aimed wildly at August’s head.

The man hardly reacted, Ivory’s grip was weak and he swings even weaker. But, he could tell that she was truly trying, so he stepped back smoothly and drew his scythe, indulging the child’s fighting spirit. Ivory jumped onto the bed, still brandishing her weapon, which already sagged in her fatigued arms. Her face was tear-stained, and contorted strangely as she tried to mask her fear at the sight of August, the man who had just murdered her parents, holding the weapon that he had just used to do so.

But, she did not balk, there was no point now. If she was going to die, she would die trying her very hardest not to. She launched herself off the bed, August barely had time to react before Ivory was around his shoulders, punching at his back and head like a bludgeon.

She hit and pulled and bit, doing everything in her power to bring August down, but all he was focused on was this girls enormous will to live. She had more hope for life than the two people in that meadow, she had seen nothing of the world but this terrible place and yet she was still determined to stay in it.

August decided to test something. He fell to floor, pretending to lose to Ivory’s attacks. As he expected, as soon as he was incapacitated, Ivory scrambled for her bag, and bolted down the stairs.

‘Very well.’ August said, rolling his tongue in his cheek, which was, surprisingly, bleeding. The tyke had some strength, not much, but some.

But then, he heard a crash, and a yelp. Despite himself, August was up in seconds and rushing down the stairs, feeling an urgency that he had never bothered with before.

And then, he finally got a real look at her.

Her hair was a mess, the contents of her bag were spilled on each and every step of those stairs. She panted quietly, and slowly looked up to the man who watched her. August schooled his features carefully, biting back his surprise at the color of Ivory’s eyes. The amber hue of them caught in the moonlight and, with the offset of the red rimmed skin around them, they glowed like hot coals.

And those eyes were full of fear.

The girl cradled her arm, looking between it and August with pure terror. August tilted his head, his scythe had been left in the room upstairs, and his hair was probably just as mused as Ivory’s was. For a moment, they were two lonely people staring at each other. Perhaps the only living souls on this island.

August crouched slowly down, so that he was eye level to Ivory. The girl blinked, retreating further into the corner when August leaned his face close to hers.

‘Do you want to live, Little girl?’ He asked in a hushed tone.

Quickly, ivory was nodding, little bangs bouncing with the movement.

August smiled softly at her, and began to pack her scattered things back into her bag.

Then, he carefully reached out to Ivory, and removed the scarf from her neck. The girl was like a deer in headlights, frozen with petrification. But her gaze also held something else: enormous amounts of curiosity. She watched each of August’s movements like a hawk, letting him do as he pleased simply because she was so intrigued by the prospect of another human besides her parents.

She was shaking less when August took her damaged arm into his hands, and slung it into the makeshift sling he had fashioned from her scarf.

‘Thank you.’ Ivory managed to squeak out, August only winked at her, and helped her onto unsteady feet. Ivory watched everything he did, as he slung her bag over his shoulder, straightened his messy silver hair, and then looked down at her, a serious expression overtaking his features.

‘I apologize in advance.’ he said quietly, Ivory barely had time to react before August pulled a white cloth from his back pocket and pressed it over her nose and mouth. She squirmed for about a second before the vapors were in her system and turning her sleepy. Directly into August’s arms she fell, unconscious in a matter of moments.

August stood, Ivory securely resting against him, her head on his shoulder, breathing tiny, reassuring breathes on his neck.

And so he walked, out of the house were his scythe still lay.

Across the meadow where the body of his last victim was still left.

He had began this hunt a murderer, and left it a father.

He had traded his weapons for a daughter.

August laughed softly at himself.

Who in the stars had he become?

Ivory awoke to the rocking of a boat, the salty smell of the sea and the sound of crashing waves. When she opened her eyes, she thought she was blind. Is this the afterlife? She wondered, eternal, silent blankness? All she could see through the slits was darkness, dark shapes moving against an even darker background. Panic began to envelope the girl, she couldn’t be dead. First of all, she had a splintering, pounding headache that spanned across her left temple and brow. Of course, she had never died before, but she had always assumed that in the afterlife she would not be plagued with such mortal problems as migraines. Ivory took a steadying breathe, it did nothing to calm her, she never had mastered the art of meditation, despite her mother’s attempts to teach her. She writhed under a thick fleece blanket that was suddenly making her feel claustrophobic, her skin grew hot and damp, making the blanket enveloping her feel infinitely more unbearable as it clung to her. Tears flowed hot and fast down Ivory’s cheeks as she struggled to rip the sticky, fluffy cloth off of her body. Her tears of frustration turned to tears of terror when hands gripped the girl’s erratically swinging arms. A sound of pure shock and terrible horror left Ivory’s mouth and she sprang back like a wind up toy. A soft chuckle sounded a few feet away from the trembling girl, who still could not see that far in front of herself. Her fear grew until her teeth were chattering with anxiety and sweat began to bead on her brow in tiny, irritating droplets.

Every signal in her body was racing out of control, every instinct was telling her to run, but where? Ivory knew she was on a boat, with a stranger, a stranger who she was almost certain had been the one to kill her parents. They had left her for him, why hadn’t he killed her? Ivory’s back knocked painfully against the edge of the boat when she drew herself into a sitting position, waves splashed her fingertips were they clenched onto the wooded ledge of the raft. She was cornered. Her heart thumped so loudly inside her chest that she was worried the person in front of her could hear it. Her arm then gave a terrible throb of pain and tears sprung to Ivory’s eyes. And then, she remembered those moments after her parents had been killed. She remembered flying down those stairs, remembered being cared for by the man she thought would be her end.

Her vision was beginning to adjust to the dim light, August slowly materialized in front of her and she squinted her eyes, desperate to feel even a shred less vulnerable. Broad, straight shoulders appeared first, clothed in a forest green cloak. Then, Ivory was able to make out a pale, silver neck, scarred in some places but the rest of the skin looked smooth as silk. Ivory wondered if it was her imagination that made it shimmer in the moonlight. Then, the face. Ivory knew the face, had studied it before her parents had been slaughtered. Had stared headlong into it before he had stole her consciousness and spirited her away on this tiny boat. The memory already felt distant, she wondered how long ago it had actually happened. August’s cheek bones were high and sharp, they reminded Ivory of her own features; her nearly hollow cheeks and sharp jaw. Her father had always remarked on the ways she looked like her mother, the deep-set, amber eyes and the long, straight waves of rosey-coloured hair. But right now, as Ivory observed the rugged, almost tired look on this man’s face, she felt she looked more like him than she had ever looked like her betraying mother. Aside from his intimidatingly hard nose and mouth, August’s eyes were soft and… Kind. Ivory almost gasped at the sight. His irises were the color of the bonfires she used to have with her parents on the nights when the wind was calmer. The color was deep and hypnotizing, Ivory found her heart rate slowing as those carnelian gems welcomed her gaze unflinchingly.

She could see clearly now as the new sun began to cast a light blue hue across the ocean, revealing an island, clustered with sandstone buildings and wooden bridges. It was surrounded by docked boats identical to the one Ivory was sitting in right now. The horizon stretched far and wide, wrapping the tiny boat in a circle of the newly-born morning. Ivory could not stop her jaw from dropping and her eyes from widening in nothing but awe. She had never seen the horizon before, her parents had always confined her to the center of the island, where the winds were at the calmest. It was beautiful, she had never seen the white sun cresting over the gray waves in its angelic rising, she hadn’t realized how much she was missing. If Ivory knew that a sight so breath-taking was available to her ever morning, she would have awoke before the crack of dawn and hauled herself to the edge of The Wind Continent just to gawk at it. Storms and tornadoes be damned. As she twisted in her seat, amazed by the way half of the world was still dark and the other half was bright white, Ivory felt passion and appreciation curling inside of her chest. Never again would she underestimate the beauty of the natural world, no, she vowed to herself that she would watch as many sunrises as she was able. Every morning until she died, rain or shine or snow or hail.

August had since turned to resume steering the boat, content that Ivory had calmed and was distracted by the beautiful skyline. He had to admit, this was an impressive sunrise, as if the world was celebrating something. Perhaps the beginning of Ivory’s new life. She had to admit, as she drew her eyes from the sky and to the island ahead, she could feel excitement uncurling in her chest. But still, she watched August, and began to feel guilty. He had killed her parents, and Ivory just got to gallivant off to this beautiful place and live her best life with a murderer? She watched August for a moment, he was turned away from her. Unpressed by his eyes, Ivory managed to build the courage to use her voice, it was hoarse and dry as she spoke, ‘Where are we?’ August scoffed lightly before turning to her with a bemused look on his face. The impish expression was so contradicting to the murders he had committed just hours ago that it gave Ivory pause.

‘No ‘who are you?’ or ‘where are my parents?’’ the man questioned with a wry tilt of his head, Ivory frowned, trying to stay calm even as her nerves skittered at his taunting.

‘I know who you are.’ she gritted out, annoyed that he would not simply tell her where he had taken her, ‘I know what you did.’ August briefly raised his brows at this, before dipping his chin in a nod. Peculiarly, Ivory’s stomach fluttered at his seemed approval, ‘Well then, Ivory.’ he said her name with odd familiarity and affection, she wanted to know how he even knew her name, perhaps he was a stalker as well as a murderer. ‘To answer your question,’ August extended a hand, which Ivory reluctantly took, before she was pulled onto her unsteady feet and given a better view of the ever-nearing island, ‘We are home.’