by Kyle Prue
“A common side effect of having your shoulder dislocated is the inability to breath correctly. It will pass.”
Without warning the Marksman coughed violently onto Neil’s face. Neil would have been disgusted if he weren’t so frightened. The Marksman then released Neil and continued his coughing spasm. He took a step back as it worsened. Neil didn’t try and run. He just stared. The Marksman glared back, as usual not making full eye contact. “It seems I’ve run out of time, Vapros,” he wheezed. “I’ll be back for my bounty. You can be sure.”
He straightened his back and calmly escaped deeper into the woods. Neil fell to the ground and tried not to sob into the frosted forest floor. He could hardly breathe; he couldn’t move his arms and his pride had been shattered. Neil couldn’t tell which was worse, his injuries or the idea that he couldn’t protect his friends. The Marksman was told not to kill him. Under different circumstances Neil would have been dead. Then where would Rhys be? Alone. He’d be the last hope for the Vapros family. That started the tears.
Neil sat with his face buried in the grass until he heard the Wolf calling his name. He called out in pain until the old General found his broken body. “Neil…”
“No lectures,” Neil whispered as he tried to wipe his tears away on the grass.
The Wolf stared at him. “Neil…I…” He couldn’t finish his thought for some reason.
“My shoulders are dis-something,” Neil said. “Please tell me they won’t stay like this forever.”
The Wolf grabbed Neil’s right arm and placed his foot on his back. “So?” Neil asked. “That kind of hurts. Do you just hold my arm there and then eventually it--“
The Wolf popped Neil’s arm back into its socket. He screamed and the Wolf sighed. “Did no one tell you about dislocated shoulders when you were training to be an assassin?”
Neil flexed his hand and realized his right arm was working again. “No, they taught us to kill people. Not how to give people shoulder discomfort.”
The Wolf snapped the other arm back into place and Neil howled in pain again. The tears were back too. “That might be the loudest I’ve ever heard a man scream,” the Wolf said. “Are we experiencing shoulder discomfort?”
Neil rolled over to face the Wolf and felt the sweet rush of air into his lungs. After a few deep breaths, he felt well enough to talk without pain. “I wish I could tell you that the other guy looks worse but…” Neil’s words died in his throat.
The Wolf also had tears on his face. Neil had never seen a man that old cry before. “What?” Neil started.
Then he remembered how the Marksman had fired his gun into the Golden Mug. Neil reached his feet at near Celerius speed. “Who?”
The Wolf looked like he wanted to speak but his mouth wasn’t obeying him. Neil was down the hill and through the door of the Golden Mug before he even realized he was running. His eyes landed on Darius first. He was slumped up against the wall with a knife sticking out of his side. Rhys was crouched in front of him providing the necessary medical attention. He would live.
Then Neil’s eyes shifted across the room. She was propped up against the bar. Neil felt his heart stop. She was standing somehow, as if she were a drunken patron who was holding onto the bar for support. The blood seeping from the back of her head pointed to another conclusion entirely. Josephine had worked at her bar, slept at her bar, and harbored fugitives at her bar. She’d died there too. Everyone else was already gathered, but Neil hardly noticed them. He collapsed numbly to his knees. For the second time in his life he experienced one of the worst feelings of all: being without a mother.
Chapter Twenty-Four
THE GOLDEN MUG
NEIL VAPROS
The day of Josephine’s funeral also brought the first snowfall of the year. Snowflakes drifted over the mourners gathered around the makeshift grave behind the Golden Mug. The fugitives had built the coffin and dug the grave with their own hands. Every light in the Golden Mug was out, and when Neil looked at it, he couldn’t help but feel they’d gotten it killed as well.
Josephine’s tombstone boasted one messily written sentence: She was a mother to all who needed one. The Wolf stood next to it, the others in a collective heap before the grave. Neil would have been cold on any other day, but the tears that slid down his face were warm, boiled from within by anger. “I don’t know if Josephine would have objected to me speaking at her funeral, but I spoke at her son’s,” the Wolf began. “I have also spoken at too many other funerals in my time, but never have I known what to say so definitely as I do now. She was not a vengeful person. I am told she was forgiving. I hope she will forgive my need to express our sorrow at her passing. We make decisions in our lives about who we wish to be. Sure, the moments we experience change us, but we get to choose how. Life pushes us to crossroads and then we decide which path to walk down. When life takes people that we love from us, we are faced with the greatest challenge of all: do we realize that the world is unforgiving? Do we abandon those closest to us in fear of having them ripped away? Do we pursue our own selfish desires? Those are understandable options, and Josephine could have walked that path, judgment free, given what she lost. There is another path, though, and it is the one that she decided to walk. When she realized the cruel nature of the world she didn’t close herself off from others. She welcomed them in because the world has been, and is, cruel. She watched over all of you purely out of kindness and love. She ignored the danger to her own life to protect you.” The Wolf paused and laced his fingers together. “We are also now brought to that same crossroads.”
His eyes settled on Neil who looked away out of awkwardness. The Wolf was imposing and regal, despite his ruffled appearance. Even though he represented a life that Neil didn’t want, Neil felt the need to impress him. Or to be strong. Surely a man who had seen half a century of combat didn’t want to see tears on the face of a sentimental boy. “We are faced with her same decision, which path do we walk? You’ve been asked before and you will be asked again. Make a choice and choose who you will be for the rest of your life. Will you close yourself off from a cruel world because it will hurt you again? Or will you choose to be there for others because the world will hurt them? Either way Josephine made a choice. She made an admirable one that not all of us are strong enough to make. She was an exceptional woman, and I know she is together with her son and will remain with us all.”
It was a shame that none of the fugitives had offered to speak for Josephine, but the guilt strangled them. Neil had also never even been to a funeral. Even though his family had suffered endless casualties, they chose never to dwell. It made them seem weak. He was willing to bet that Darius and Lilly had never held funerals either. Neil didn’t even know where he’d begin to honor Josephine’s memory. He was used to stringing together long streams of sentimental dialogue, but today he knew it wouldn’t be enough. Neil was a socialite, and Josephine deserved something more. She deserved what the Wolf had given her, a speech that honored her memory and at the same time steered them forward. Josephine would have wanted them to move forward. Despite the loss of her son, she’d still saved all of their lives. She hadn’t crawled into a ball and died from sorrow. She’d lived well.
They paid their respects one by one and eventually dispersed. Rebecca pulled on Neil’s arm gently and led him away from the group. He followed until she was just out of earshot. “I’m going to Misty Hollow,” she said with shaky breath. “There’s nothing left for me here.”
Neil’s guilt grew stronger now, gripping him by the throat. “I’m so sorry. We brought this into your house.”
Rebecca shook her head. “No. Josephine knew what she was doing. She knew the risks. Don’t let this consume you.”
Neil was having trouble with that. “You can’t reopen the Inn?”
Rebecca repositioned herself to face the Golden Mug which loomed in the distance. “Not alone,” she decided. “And it doesn’t seem like you’ll be sticking around much longer. Misty Hollow was libera
ted recently. I’ll try and go work in a bar there.”
“Maybe I could stay,” Neil mused. “Working at the Golden Mug doesn’t sound so bad.”
Rebecca patted the side of his face and he blushed. For a brief moment he wondered what that would look like to Bianca who was a few yards away. “You’re special, Neil,” she said. “You’re being called to battle. To a higher purpose. I’d answer a call like that, if I could.” She hugged him. “But the revolution, Volteria, it’s not calling my name. It’s calling yours.”
They parted and she trudged down the hill to the Golden Mug, presumably to pack her things. “Wait…” Neil said. “So that’s it? The Golden Mug closes? Forever?” He wanted something, anything, solid to remain of Josephine.
“Not forever,” Rebecca said. “I’ll reopen it one day when the war is over. I’ll fix it up good as new, and maybe take in some wayward souls of my own. I owe her that much.”
She smiled at the thought, then turned away. Neil stared at the snowflakes drifting over the grass by his feet. “She’s right, you know,” the Wolf said. He was still using his funeral voice. It was delicate, as if everyone around him was fragile and ready to crack at the slightest use of force. “You’re special, Neil.”
Neil looked up at the Wolf but didn’t respond. He kicked his foot through the swirling snow.
“You see him, don’t you?” the Wolf asked. “You’ve spoken to him.”
Neil’s eyes widened. Somehow he knew exactly what the Wolf was talking about. “They’re just dreams,” he whispered.
The Wolf chuckled. “You’ve spoken to the Man with the Golden Light, Neil. It doesn’t matter if it’s a dream. You should listen to what he’s telling you.”
“Have you seen him too?” Neil asked.
The Wolf looked off at nothing and smiled. “Once when I was very young, I saw him. Like your encounter, it was in a dream. He was completely transfixing and spoke with millions of voices, like the legends say.”
Neil tensed. The Wolf could be lying to him. That’s how everyone described the Man with the Golden Light. But something in his voice sounded pure and hopeful, like the voice of a man who had gazed into the face of a god. The Wolf continued. “We spoke about the path that the families were on. We really have strayed.”
“He didn’t seem as judgmental when we spoke,” Neil murmured.
The Wolf examined Neil closely and it made him uncomfortable. “Do you have any tattoos?” the Wolf asked.
Neil had answered this question too many times. “No. I’ve never assassinated anyone.”
“In your experience, what is the purpose of the Vapros tattooing ceremony? What is the purpose of the tattoos in general?”
This was clearly a loaded question, but Neil didn’t care. He just wished that the Wolf could teach without playing word games. “They’re trophies,” Neil said. “It’s how someone shows off their resume in our family.”
The Wolf patted him on the shoulder. “There it is,” he said tiredly as he sat in the cold grass. “We’ve strayed so far. We continue straying even now.”
Neil grunted as he sat down as well. “I figure that was the wrong answer?”
“No, actually it’s exactly what I wanted to hear. It wasn’t always like that. They weren’t always trophies. At least, not according to a few books that predate your father’s lessons.”
Neil wanted to leap to his father’s defense, but he held back. Maybe it would be nice to hear what his ancestors had in mind for the tattoos before any needle touched his skin. “So…?” Neil asked impatiently.
The Wolf had a roundabout way of teaching things. He always waited for someone to finish his or her thoughts before he continued. It was as if he wanted to give the gears in their heads room to spin. “They used to be a terrible burden. It used to be that a Vapros would tattoo himself for every life he took, not in arrogance, but in remembrance. The ink on your skin was supposed to signify that you carried a terrible weight on your conscience and those with more tattoos were meant to be given sympathy for the crimes they’d committed against their own souls.”
Without hesitation Neil thought of his sister Jennifer and how she killed the only boy she ever loved: Edward Celerius. After doing so, their father had tattooed a skeletal hand clutching a heart on her chest. The Wolf was wrong about one thing. Not everyone had strayed. Jennifer’s tattoo was a burden on her soul, not a trophy. He couldn’t speak for the other tattoos, as Jennifer had many, but that one certainly must have killed her to see in the mirror everyday. She must have felt like the hand inked onto her chest gripped her heart, unrelentingly. “I understand that,” Neil said. “Luckily, I don’t have any tattoos yet. No burdens on my soul.”
“I disagree,” the Wolf said finitely. “I believe that you’re burdened with a great purpose.”
Neil watched as a snowflake desperately tried to cling to a leaf on a nearby flower, but was forced into the sky by the wind. “How am I burdened with purpose?” Neil asked.
“You want a normal life,” the Wolf said. “I understand that. You want to have a family. You want to be at peace. You want to know that people are in your life for good and that they won’t be ripped away.”
“That’s exactly right,” Neil said.
The Wolf plucked a flower from the ground and studied it. Neil was prepared for an inspirational speech, but the Wolf didn’t stand, or turn to face him. He didn’t raise his voice or make it swell like music. He sat there examining his flower. “What happened to Josephine, and what happened to you,” he pointed to Neil’s injury with the flower. “It’s happening every day. All over this nation. Children are left fatherless and motherless by the hour in Volteria. Running from this fight, despite how much you want it, is no guarantee of safety. You could die in your new home, along with Bianca. Your little Lightborn children could go just as quickly. You won’t ever be safe. Not truly.”
Neil wanted to protest the idea that the Wolf had assumed Bianca would be his partner for life. Bianca had bigger dreams and aspirations to fulfill. The Wolf, once again, was waiting for the gears in Neil’s head to stop turning. When they did, he continued. “The Man with the Golden Light once told me that one Lightborn was going to change everything. He told me that the revolution was a just cause, but without one Lightborn it would be completely without meaning or true victory. He said that his life would bring about our new nation.”
“What’s the new nation?”
“I’m not entirely sure. I like to think it’s Volteria. It’s a nation controlled by the common people and protected by Lightborns. I know we’ve strayed. I know we’ve made mistakes. But there are more good Lightborns than bad ones, and we don’t deserve to be driven into extinction. I like to hope that with the help of that Lightborn we can restore our purpose as guardians, and the people can finally be liberated.”
Neil was quiet for a moment. He didn’t know what the Wolf was suggesting. “You think I’m that Lightborn?” he asked.
The Wolf released the flower and it rolled down the hill, spurred in its leaps and bounds by the breeze. “I asked if I’d know him when I saw him. The Man with the Golden Light, as deities do, left me with a cryptic message.”
The Wolf stood and pointed down to the Golden Mug. Darius, a spec against the landscape, lumbered toward the open threshold. “I’d like to make sure he doesn’t do anything he regrets. It’s no longer safe here. We can speak on the way to Shipwreck Bay.”
“What’s at Shipwreck Bay?”
“The heart of our little rag-tag army.”
Before the Wolf could get too far away, Neil cried out to him. “Okay, I give up! What did the Man with the Golden Light say? Is it me?”
“I honestly couldn’t tell you,” the Wolf said. It sounded like he meant it. “He told me that the Lightborn would be like a phoenix. Reborn in fire. Forged in fire.” He pointed at Neil’s hands. “People tell me you changed quite a bit once fire entered your life.”
Neil shook his head. “I don’t know if I believe
you.”
“Trust me, I don’t believe it either,” the Wolf said. “It’s just something to think about. I’m not trying to sell you. I’m saying this and only this: you were given this extraordinary power, maybe it forged you, and maybe it didn’t. Maybe it’s a curse to you because it means you can never live a completely normal life. You have always had the ability to help more people, to liberate more people. You’re a Lightborn. You were born with a purpose and you can run from it if you want. If safety and peace is what you’re after, the only way past this is through it. You want to make a better world for yourself? You want to make a world where people won’t be ripped away? Then use that fire inside of you to forge it. That’s your burden. That’s your purpose.”
The Wolf didn’t wait to see the change come across Neil’s face. He went down the hill in pursuit of Darius, one more broken child to inspire. Neil leaned back for a moment and inhaled deeply, as if he could suck in the north wind and extinguish the fire inside of him. But he knew that he couldn’t. He raised his hand and a small flame burst to life within it. He watched and saw his own spirit reflected back. He’d have peace, he’d have a normal life, and he’d one day be with those he loved. Until then, he was burdened, like Jennifer, and like every Lightborn had been before, with grief and purpose. One day the fire inside would dim into an ember, but not yet. There was a nation to shape and it would be forged. Until the day when he could be at peace, the flames would roar inside him, ceaselessly and ever growing.
Chapter Twenty-Five
THE GOLDEN MUG
DARIUS TAURLUM
Darius pushed his way through the non-existent door of the Golden Mug and made a beeline for the bar. He jumped over it seamlessly and crouched down to raid its cupboards. When he stood up with a bottle of gin, the Wolf was standing there almost as if he were a paying customer. “Are you sure about that?” he asked.
