From the Ashes

Some wounds heal better than others.

Over these last five months, it’s become painfully obvious that the physical injuries heal much faster than the ones inflicted on our souls.

Ember’s hands healed, at an excruciatingly slow pace, but healed nonetheless. The lingering reminder of her struggle being a thick scar on both hands, extending from the crease of her wrists down her thumbs. Though wide and swollen, the scars did little to affect her soft appearance. I cannot say the same for myself.

The wound on my chest had healed as well, it would have healed much faster if I hadn’t been so against bed rest. Wound is a light word for it, in hindsight. The stab wound, deep and effective, had temporarily killed me. Samara, the local healer Ember had paid big sums to seal our wounds, scolded me every evening after I’d torn my stitches open time and time again.

Unfortunately the injuries that didn’t heal in these five months were the ones that are blind to the eye. Ember never touched her sword again, the one that had not been a piece of metal but an extension of her own self, but had instead left it lying next to the pool of my blood. I wish I could say that it made me sad, but it didn’t. The idea of having the sword that took my life near me was unsettling, and I’d be relieved to never see it again.

Always the optimist, my best friend found a silver lining to our new offensive lifestyle. Ember liked that nobody knew she was a Defender, liked that she was able to slip under the radar unnoticed now when she did her job. She enjoyed going to taverns, putting on a pretty poker face, and taking everyone for their worth with a game of cards.

But with the world in this state, Ember was still who she was. A Defender, a protector, important. She still glows with natural grace, sweet smiles, and a warm demeanor. After the second month of healing I stopped looking into mirrors. I hadn’t seen a natural grace or warm demeanor. I’d looked half dead, with bruised eyes and sunken cheeks. My eyes no longer glowed with infinite power, my skin ashen, my hair matted.

Astra, Star-girl, girl of sun and stars–she was dead.

Nova got what she wanted, I was nothing. A laceration to my pride and soul so deep I’m not sure even the best healers could fix it. Everything that made me, me, had been stripped away like a fool’s mask. Without it, without the power I’d been gifted, I was a foreigner in my own skin. Not being able to exist anywhere.

In the Terra Realm I would never be able to live, not knowing what I did about the world, about the Somnium Realm and the Umbra Realm. The Umbra Realm was too dangerous, every creature there living under Blair’s rule, with my murderer as her right hand. My home, the place I belonged, the Somnium Realm…I chose to reside there if only to stay close to the memory of what once was. Maybe that alone is what made the injuries to my soul so brutal, knowing that Nova rules the castle I once lived in, with my fiance as her lover, and my found family as her friends.

But the idea of leaving my home was terrifying, more invasive than watching it slowly crumble to a place of destruction. Selfish, maybe, that I stayed and watched it burn.

Five months, twenty one weeks, one hundred and fifty two days. That’s how long life had been under Nova’s rule.

Ember told me the story of what happened after my death so many times that I could quote every scream, every racing thought, every slight eyebrow raise. Still, for the life of me, I cannot understand why Beckett made the deal. Blinded by pain, guilt, agony–sure.

My life wasn’t worth it, but he deemed it so. The life of one, small, measly person–for the safety of everyone else. Beckett had been foolish in his bargain, and if I ever saw him again I would tell him as such.

At least I would, if he knew who I was.

Whatever magick Nova had inflicted on the Realms had wiped me from the memory of everyone I held dear, nobody knew who I was or the sacrifices I’d made to save them. Her power had taken Beckett from me, my love not knowing I’m even a living breathing person, not knowing that I dream of him every night and wake up crying.

The Somnium Realm had turned for the worst in these five months, the bright and lively place I called home now a dull waste of mass destruction. Shadow Creatures roamed this Realm now, frequenting taverns and feeding on unsuspecting commoners.

Ember found herself busy after gambling most nights, following home drunken shifters who had pushed too far with the waitress, or after a vamp who stalked their unsuspecting prey. I was her eyes, night after night. It became routine for us, to choose a tavern–one of the many on the streets of the Forest Villages–and wait. Ember would gamble, win enough money for food and rent, and I would sit in the back with a drink in my hand; eyes on the whole room.

I’d wait, see a target, and whisper it to her later on in the evening. The next morning she’d return to our small run down cottage, blood splattered on her clothing, with a new story of murder to tell me. The taverns are never a fun place to be, they’re much too loud, and full of drunk idiots who think no means yes.

Like the gentleman across the room from me, thinking nobody noticed how he reached under the skirt of the waitress again. But I noticed, and I marked his face in memory. Tomorrow morning he’d be the next person I’d hear about, how he sobbed as Ember threatened him–and how in the end he wasn’t so big and bad after all.

Ember laughed loudly, pulling all the golden marks closer to her already large pile. I sighed, if she keeps winning like that they won’t let us come back here–the unruly wolves around the table ego’s would be too hurt.

She laughed to the ceiling, her pile of sleek dark hair falling back over the chair with her joy, a sweet blush creeping on her pale cheeks. The thrill, she told me, is in watching their faces when they realize they lost to a woman.

I know the drill, if I look in one place for too long then people get suspicious of me. So I dropped my gaze, pulling it back to the mug of…something…in my hands and pretended to sip it. The smell burned my nose and eyes, so I pretended to swallow and put the dirty cup back down.

Across the room the bastard slapped the rear of the waitress and laughed, my glare was burning from where I sat, and if I still had my sun energy he would be ash by now. But I don’t, so instead I wait as Ember gathers the coins–batting her eyelashes at the enraged men, and ready myself to meet her in the restroom.

The room was duly lit by lanterns along the four walls, the ceiling was low enough that the wolves had to hunch slightly to fit, if there was any music I couldn’t hear it over the loud conversations and obnoxious laughter. My nose crinkled when my bare forearms stuck to the sticky wooden table, and I told myself I’d take a bath tonight while Ember was out.

Right on cue Ember stood and made her way to the barkeep, a pretty young brunette with pointed ears sticking out from under her mass of curls. Ember would pay what she owed for my drink and whatever food she pretended to eat, and then we’d meet in the restroom. So I stood and made my way across the tavern to the small crowded bathroom, and picked at my nails while I waited.

“Who?” Ember asked immediately as she entered, the restroom being so tight that our shoulders touched as we spoke.

“The wolf in the red coat, blonde hair. Assaulted the waitress a few times.” My voice was monotone, dry, unfeeling. It was as though I was eighteen again, unable to feel. Only now it’s from walls around my heart I’d built, and not a magick suppressor.

Ember grinned, dropped the red satchel full of gold into my hands, and retied my cloak. Apparently it had come loose.

“You’re such a busy body.” I grumbled, she didn’t say anything as I fastened the satchel to my pants, and pulled my hood over my head.

“And you’re such a downer.” Ember said back, the tone missing the lightness to make it a joke. My eyes hardened, the comment a lashing to my being.

“Not everyone can be an optimist.” Was my response, my tone rude, even though her optimism was her best quality. Ember dropped her hands by her sides, the purple sleeves of her tunic falling down to her slender wrists.

“At least I try to live a life everyday, Astra.” Ember snapped, her eyebrows pulled down in hurt. I sighed, rolling my eyes even though I’m sure she couldn’t see them from under the hood.

“You call this living? Gambling and killing?” I hissed, my voice raising an octave. “It’s illegal to kill Shadow Creatures Em! What are you going to do if we get caught? Arrested?” Ember shrugged nonchalantly, as though Nova’s castle wasn’t literally where people like her went to die. Most Defenders had been slaughtered already for protecting the people, Ember had so far gone unnoticed–or maybe Nova turned a blind eye because she knew this lifestyle was hell for me.

“Then I go into her castle, no biggie.”

“No biggie?” I repeated, like I hadn’t heard her right. Clearly she wasn’t thinking straight.

“Yeah. I hope she does arrest me, because then I could look her in the eye and slit her throat.” Ember’s voice took on that venomous sneer that she used on Shadow Creatures and I shivered, her eyes were fire as they stared back at me.

“I don’t wanna lose you too, Em.” I said finally, instead of continuing the argument. “You’re all I have.” Damned my voice if it didn’t crack.

Ember jumped into my arms, squeezing me tightly. “I miss them too.” Our found family. All gone, forgotten us. If they’re alive we don’t know. Nova’s castle is a fortress of soldiers and deadly creatures, one that nobody dared break into. If she had chosen to keep Theo, Juniper, Arden, Phoebe, or anyone from the other courts alive–we’re unsure.

The unknown is somehow scarier than them being dead.

“I’ll see you at home,” Ember told me earnestly with one last squeeze before slipping from the bathroom into the night. She had lost her love too, she knew this anguish.

I weathered the pain that stabbed through me, at the thought of Beckett tucking hair behind my ear, and I forced myself to not cry until I got home.