by Ryan Wieser
We had this made for you, for your initiation.
The last words he had spoken to her.
Her stomach twisted with ghost pains, her skin still quick to remember the feeling of the blade deep inside her. She sheathed the weapon and placed it back on the ground. She had come to the Hollow nearly every day since she had been well enough to walk. Training was when she was most comfortable, wherever she was, whoever she was supposed to be, whomever she was with—she felt at ease with a weapon in hand.
“He designed it for you, you know.”
She smiled at Trax’s voice. He approached the ledge of the Hollow and sat beside her, letting his long legs swing over the lip of the edge. She watched as he picked up the weapon, admiring the hilt, pulling it loose from its sheath to regard the blade.
She watched him turn the blade over. “I’m not surprised.”
He sheathed the weapon again, laying it between them. “There are not many who can claim to fight with the weapon that nearly took their life.”
She shrugged. “I’ve never fought with it.”
He looked her over with glowing yellow eyes. “Shall we remedy that?”
She contemplated the offer, her eyes darting over the Hollow below—the fire, the burning oil, the ropes and sand…She had last been down there with him. Could she re-enter, with the blade he made her, and claim back a space they had shared for so long? She felt like an intruder, as though this were something she had lost in their dissolved relationship, that this place was something he got to keep.
She touched her hand to her stomach. “It’s still too soon.”
“Baruk,” Trax spoke, nodding at her with understanding.
She regarded his glowing eyes carefully; he knew she was lying. He was too reverent to say as much, though. He knew better than most how she felt. He had been with her, her aide-de-camp, her closest companion as she executed the greatest infiltration and deepest betrayal imaginable. He, like many of his kin, had always been loyal to Falco, but that did not diminish the relationships he had built with his brethren in Falco’s absence. He too had betrayed those he cared so deeply for.
Trax stood slowly, brushing the dust away from his trousers. “It feels as though we trespass on their land—”
“Trax.”
He raised a hand to ward off her defensiveness. “I don’t need to enter your mind to know it. I feel it, too. It is important to remember that it is not we who trespass on Hydo’s ground, but they who trespassed for so many years on Falco’s.”
His words resonated within her. As she had known, he felt her difficulties too, as they were his own. She nodded to her friend slowly, silently. Her guilt had torn her sight away from the truth, from the reality of their situation. She had done an unspeakable thing to Kohl O’Hanlon, but it did not change how she felt for Falco, or why she had done it. She now needed to know more than ever that it hadn’t changed how Falco felt for her.
She leapt to her feet. “Trax, could you go watch Jeco for me?”
He smiled at her knowingly. “Of course.”
* * * *
Jessop threw the door to the Assembly Council room open. Falco was leaning over a table, Urdo Rendo and Teck Fay flanking him, deep in conversation. His gaze tore up to her. “Jessop, Trax came for Jeco if you—”
“Leave us,” she barked, crossing the room swiftly. Without hesitation, the older Hunter and the mage left them. They had seen what she was capable of; they did not falter at her command.
“We were actually talk—”
She stopped right before him, ignoring his crossed arms and frustrated stare. “Well, we need to talk.”
He took a deep breath. “Alright. What is it?”
She studied his beautiful face, his pale gray eyes and perfect lips, his dark brow and short hair. The scar that Kohl O’Hanlon had carved down one side of his face. “I am in love with you, Falco. I always have been and always will be. Everything I did, I did for you, for Jeco, for us. I may have slept with Kohl for our plan to work, but that is not what bonded him and me.”
She could see how what she said upset him. His lip tightened at her words, but he forced himself to stay silent and listen to her.
“I watched him breathe at night and he realigned everything he believed in so that I could be a part of his life. While in the end he chose his brothers, for a while it seemed like he might have chosen me. Like I mattered more than everything he had ever been taught. Through all of these things, we were bonded. But did it make me fall in love with him? Never. Not for one moment. Not for a single second. You cannot shatter someone’s heart so mercilessly unless it is done for the one you truly love. What I did to him, I did for you. What matters now isn’t whether I want him dead or alive, but whether you can see past the bond we forged at your behest.”
His face softened but he said nothing. She rested her hands on his chest and still he did not move.
“I only want you. I know it will take time for me to live with what I did to Kohl, but that means nothing for us. But if you don’t want me too—”
Her voice cracked at the thought. If Falco couldn’t see past what had happened between her and Kohl, then so much of what she had done was for naught. If she had reclaimed a throne for a lord who could no longer love her, for a son who did not recognize her any longer, then…
He had his arms around her so suddenly it trapped her breath. His mouth found hers with ease and hunger, his fingers working over her tunic, grabbing her, propping her up on the table. With equal craving, she grabbed at him. She kissed him deeply, pulled him closer to her, felt the heat of his chest against her breast.
“Of course I want you. I’m so sorry,” he whispered into her hair as she kissed his neck.
She raised her arms for him to pull her tunic free. “As am I.”
* * * *
Jessop pulled her vest tight around her muscular frame. The leather ran smoothly over her tunic. The dark breeches tucked around her legs well. She traced her fingers over the Hunter’s sigil on her breast—Falco’s sigil. She would eventually don different attire. She wouldn’t always dress as a Hunter, but for the time being, it felt surprisingly good to once again wear the leather. She leaned over and pulled on her black boots.
With expert hands she wove her dark hair into a plait, letting it fall down her spine. She dampened her fingers in the bowl of water before her, patting down any errant strands. Finally, she reached for her blade. She did not stop to admire the hilt, she did not hesitate with a flash of Kohl’s face in her mind. She did not think of how he had designed this weapon for her and her body did not ache as it remembered being impaled. She simply grabbed it, a weapon—her weapon—and sheathed it at her hip.
“Mama.” Jeco’s small voice surprised her. She turned from her reflection and saw her son standing in the doorway, Falco behind him. He looked up to her with big gray eyes, and slowly, he smiled. His dark hair was messy and his face a pale blush—he had just woken.
Falco rested a hand on Jeco’s shoulder, his eyes beaming at Jessop. “You’re forgetting something.”
She arched her brow at him. “Oh?”
From behind his back he revealed her leather back holster, her two needlepoint daggers resting in their slender sheaths. She hadn’t seen her former weapons, let alone wielded them, since Aranthol. “Falco,” she whispered as she reached for them.
She swung the holster on with ease, until the hilt of each blade appeared just above her shoulders. She reached up and ran her fingertips over the hilts, and with expert ease, she freed the weapons, spiraling them over her shoulders, circling them about her fingers with skilled, memorized movements. The small weapons sung out as they sliced through the air. She spun them back and flicked them into their sheaths.
She stepped towards Falco, reaching for his hand. “Thank you.”
He nodded silently, and with his free hand he
traced the outline of the sigil on her chest. “You’re in uniform.”
She nodded. “I am your Hunter.”
He pulled her closer. “You are my everything.”
As Falco kissed her, Jeco wrapped his small arms around her leg, hugging her tightly.
CHAPTER 5
Aranthol
Ten years ago
Jessop ducked under his strike, lowered herself to the ground, and spun, one leg extended. She knocked him to the ground, but he rolled in a backwards somersault, returning to his feet, in sync with her. She squared off with him, fists high at the ready. She wore nothing more than a cured pelt vest and breeches, and across her exposed flesh she had bruises and cuts. He had gotten her side with his blade, and she felt the blood flowing quite freely over her hip.
He was not unmarked though. His lip bled profusely, his bare chest was swollen with bruising, and there was a cut over his muscular shoulder—a new scar amongst one million old ones. “We’ve been at this for three hours,” he remarked as they circled one another.
She smiled at his words, “Falco, we’ve been at this for three years.”
It was true. Aranthol, the Shadow City he had built for her, had been their home for three long years. Their city was grand—black buildings and stone streets, an eternal night sky filled with stars overhead. Falco had forged the city with the Kuroi people, building a dark fortress for her to live in with him. Their home was a grand palace, made entirely of onyx stone. It was dark and majestic. It had grown rapidly, drawing in many who fled the Daharian galactic authority—the Hunters of Infinity. It would have overflowed with newcomers if they had the choice, but citizenship was an exclusive right issued only by Falco.
Since leaving the Kuroi and residing permanently in Aranthol, they had trained for hours on end, every day. In the beginning, it had been easier, as it had just been the two of them. It hadn’t stayed that way for long. Aranthol was a thriving shadowy metropolis of Daharia’s most wanted. Which was not to say the inhabitants were entirely corrupt—they weren’t—but for the most part, they were wanted by the Hunters or ostracized from their communities for their oddities. Finding time to train had become increasingly difficult for Falco, as lording over a city such as Aranthol required constant vigilance. Falco was their leader, and he earned his mantle daily.
She had seen him challenged by every man, beast, and machine that had viewed Aranthol as something they might like to control, and he had never lost. He had never even come close to losing. He had always offered an alliance before death. Should the bested individual swear fealty, they could live under Falco’s rule. And in three years, his fair approach had worked hundreds upon hundreds of times. Jessop’s back was a reminder of the time it hadn’t.
“We have a council meeting to attend,” he sighed, lowering his blade. Jessop knew they were busy that afternoon. Newcomers who wished to reside in Aranthol would be presented to Falco and herself. No one could enter without a recommendation from a current resident. They believed the choice was up to Falco—they believed all of Aranthol was ruled by him alone, but that was not so. Jessop could decide whatever she pleased; Falco reminded her on a near daily basis that the city was his gift to her. She did not wish to rule, though. She wished only to be with him and work on their plan for the Hunters.
She sheathed her blade. “Must we?”
He smiled at her softly and approached her. He rested his hand against her side and healed her quickly. His powers had grown exponentially. In teaching her Sentio, he had gained a greater grasp on his gifts than either of them had thought possible. While Jessop had learned many of the wonders of telepathy and telekinesis, she could not heal. They still had never found another who could. Yet, as he smiled down at her, fixing her wound, his shoulder began to heal itself, forming a tight silver scar as his flesh mystically mended back together.
“You amaze me,” she smiled up at him. She reached up and slowly cupped his face with her hand, running her thumb over his scar, just below his eye. His hands coiled around her abdomen, pulling her closer to his warm body. She turned her face up to him, her heart beating wildly as she offered her lips to him.
He grazed her nose with his, and his bottom lip barely brushed over hers, before pulling away. “We can’t,” he spoke, but he did not let her go.
She ran her hands over his chest. “We both want this.”
“It’s too soon. Too soon after what happened to you.” It was what he said each time they got too close.
“It’s been nearly a year, Falco. I’m fine,” she insisted, pushing her body against his as if the heat she emanated for him could be enough to convince him.
She was fine—for the most part. If she closed her eyes, she could still see the white eyes of the mage. She could feel his eerily smooth hands grabbing her, his mind prying through hers, immobilizing her. She could feel the whip, sharp as a knife, cut the deep lashes into her back.
He had run his hand over her freshly marred back, painting the blood down her spine. “I can see why he covets you so,” he had whispered to her.
And she had known what he had intended—but Falco saved her. As she had known he would. He was all she had ever had faith in. She had never heard screams like those she heard from the mage.
He pulled away from her. “Do you think I don’t want you? Of course I do. I’m in love with you, I’ve been in love with you since we were children.”
“Then why won’t you kiss me? I understand if everything else is too much, too soon. I know what damage the mage did to the both of us—it is me he attacked—but it does not change how I feel for you.”
“Yes, it was you he attacked—to harm me. We’ve never even kissed and all of Aranthol knows you are my weakness, my love.”
She took a step closer to him. “What of it? You think if we give in to our feelings, if we were together in more than just words, it would somehow make you more vulnerable?”
“Yes!”
She crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at him.
He ran a hand through his dark hair and looked at her with wide eyes. “You’re already all I think about.”
If we give in, how could we possibly carry on with our mission? How could I ever function without touching you every second of every day? He pushed the thoughts into her mind.
She uncrossed her arms. “But we’re in love.” She said the words matter-of-factly, for they were fact.
He shook his head at her. “We need more time.”
She turned from him, knowing she needed to clean up before the council meeting. “You need more time, Falco. I know what I want.”
* * * *
Jessop and Falco had a standard for who was and wasn’t allowed to reside in Aranthol. While their first mission was always to provide a sanctuary for those sought after by the Hunters, they still needed a community that would be loyal. They wouldn’t align with any who hurt the vulnerable, though it was difficult to know for certain. Jessop looked the two raiders over slowly.
They ran an illegal transport service, moving goods unchecked across Daharia. They were both wanted by the Hunters for their trespasses. The taller of the two had only one eye, while his companion had half a face made up of metal. What sort of goods? She pushed the thought to Falco.
During these meetings, Falco sat on his throne, forged of galaxy rock and scrap metal. Jessop stood on his right-hand side, while Corin, Falco’s advisor, stood on the periphery of the makeshift platform.
Falco crossed his arms, readjusting in his seat. His hair was damp from bathing, and his black tunic stuck to his skin. “What goods do you move?”
Jessop looked up the walls of the grand room. Made entirely of onyx, the room was the entryway to their home. Five hundred men and women could fit in the space comfortably. The walls stretched some sixty feet high, and shone like black glass. Her favorite part of the chamber was that it bore no ceiling�
�she could view the perpetually black night, and all the glorious stars, whenever she pleased. If it rained, it rained on them; if there was resulting chaos, then there was chaos. She loved the home Falco had built her, the world they created, that they governed. If she wanted chaos, it was hers. They had possessed both vision and power from such young ages, and they were young still, unbridled and ambitious, building a world in their likeness.
She didn’t know how long he would keep her at arm’s length though. They had shared chambers since the incident. In the beginning, she thought it was just because she hadn’t wanted to sleep alone, but it didn’t take long for her to realize that Falco didn’t want her out of his sight.
Jessop didn’t quite know when things had begun to change for them. They had built Aranthol and lived there alone, as young friends, for the longest time. Dezane had visited them frequently, bringing updates on Hydo Jesuin and the Hunters of Infinity. It had been incredibly lonely, living with the scars of their shared past, leaning on only each other.
Jessop remembered sitting under the dark sky, staring up at the one building in Aranthol— their palatial home. Their dark castle. She had looked into the sky as the rain began to pour down on her and she had screamed. She screamed with her eyes tightly shut, her hands clutching her face, willing, with all her might, to take the image of her lifeless parents out of her mind. She screamed as she writhed in pain, seeing the fire and the blood. She beat the stones beneath her with angry fists. She pulled her hair and thrashed wildly against her living, ever present nightmares. She screamed until she couldn’t scream any longer. Until she collapsed against the wet stone. Until Falco scooped her up in his arms and carried her in from the rain.
In the beginning, everything had been overwhelming. It wasn’t just the two of them for long. Dezane began to send all those who sought a reprieve from the Hunters, and more and more arrived, each somehow more dangerous than the last. It wasn’t until Jessop realized that none were capable of besting Falco that she could ever relax. After three years, they still ruled, and wherever she went in her city, she went with an air of authority. She was feared in her own right, but Falco’s imposing nature is what truly kept them all at bay.
