by Alex Aguilar
Robyn felt a knot in her throat. A vow of silence. And yet… Here you are…
“It took plenty of patience, no doubt… But it was the best thing to do. After all, we both know how dreadfully fidgety humans can get when they come across someone or something that doesn’t fit into their idealistic view of the world.”
“But you were human,” she argued. “You said so yourself, you were cursed. You belong with us!”
There was a brief pause. Even while he stood on her shoulder, Robyn could see Nyx glancing at her with his only eye. She even swore she saw a sparkle there.
“Thank you, Lady Robyn,” he said. “But I’m afraid it’s useless… Not everyone thinks the way you do. Curses scare people. And if I flew into Val Havyn and spoke even a single word, they would burn me in plain sight. They wouldn’t see me as Nyx, they would only see another freak.”
“Well I think you’re brilliant…”
Nyx chuckled under his breath. “You mustn’t flatter me so, Lady Robyn.”
Robyn couldn’t help but smile. “Why do you keep calling me Lady?”
“Pardon me,” he cleared his throat, though it sounded more like a squawk. “It’s a force of habit. I’m from Merrymont, you see… Chivalry and generosity is our way of life. Our word is our bond. When requested to serve another, should you accept, they are your Lord or Lady until…”
“…until the favor is granted,” Robyn finished with him. “Right, yes! Mum mentioned it many times in her stories.”
“Smart woman, your mother.”
“But surely Merrymont has higher standards, don’t they?” Robyn scoffed, more at herself than at Nyx. “I’m a farmgirl. I’m not royalty. And you’ve signed no contract. You’re fetching a girl that ran away, you said so yourself.”
“I’m granting a favor…”
“To Old Man Beckwit…?”
Nyx gave her a glance and allowed for a brief silence, before his beak opened again and he corrected her, “To a friend who saved my life.”
She said nothing else, feeling a sudden guilt for having pressured him for the better half of the last hour.
Nyx didn’t appear too bothered; then again it was hard to read a crow’s facial gestures. He had this way of speaking down to her, all the while paying her with respect, as anyone from Merrymont would do. She was not entirely sure of his opinion towards her, and quite honestly she didn’t care much, for she preferred some familiar company over none at all.
Suddenly, Robyn came to a halt…
Nyx would have fallen off her shoulder, had his claws not dug into the fur of her coat. He was about to hiss something at her until his eye moved and he saw what she had seen…
There in the distance, was a man standing in front of the Spindle River with his back to them. He’d finished urinating and was tying up his trousers when he suddenly turned and saw them.
Robyn felt the impulse to hide, but it came far too late.
The man grew a devious grin and placed a quick hand on the hilt of his curved blade. He was of average height and his trousers were made of dark red leather, his body decorated with copper rings and tattoos. He had no shirt on, presumably because he’d just bathed, and he threw on a vest that was too small to cover his hairy chest. He had the face of a miscreant and his long black hair was patchy and uneven due to the scars all over his scalp.
Then he chuckled, exposing his horrid yellow teeth, and his voice was just as dreadful as his appearance. “Well… praise the gods’ arses… what do we have ‘ere?”
Robyn fought back the shivers. She hadn’t seen that look in a man’s eye before and it was disturbing her.
“Focus, now… And breathe,” Nyx whispered calmly into her ear. “Are you afraid…?”
“Yes,” Robyn whispered back hesitantly.
“Good… Use it.”
The man in red walked closer, slowly and carefully, suddenly realizing the girl held a bow in her hand.
“Can you shoot him?” Nyx asked.
She considered it, but the only time she had ever shot at another human being, she had unintentionally taken a life. And somehow, at that moment, the dread would not allow her to reach for an arrow.
“I-I’m not sure,” she whispered.
The man kept his nasty grin and yelled “Cap’n!”
And then he inched slowly towards them, spitting on the earth and chuckling roguishly.
“You either shoot him, Lady Robyn… Or you run…”
Robyn chose the latter. She turned back to flee in the direction from which she came, but only managed a couple of paces before her face slammed against the chest of another man…
Out of instinct, Nyx flew away and lost himself into the trees nearby, away from the danger.
Robyn was all alone again. She looked up at the man’s face, a wide grin, mischief written all over his hazel eyes. He had dark brown skin and long dreadlocks, about six or seven of them decorated with beads and trinkets.
“Easy, girl,” he said, with a tone that was by no means friendly. “What are you doing out here all by yourself?” Robyn noticed that his clothes were made of similar red leather as the other man’s, only this one had on a long red coat that looked far too refined for his demeanor.
She glanced back; the other man was just a few paces away.
Not only was she alone now, but she was also surrounded.
“Look at wha’ I found us, Cap’n Malekai, sir,” the first man breathed into her.
“Stop slobbering, Borrys,” replied the captain.
“She’s a beauty, ain’t she?”
“She’s a child.”
“Ahh, she’s old enough,” Borrys snickered.
Malekai, the darker man in the red coat, used a single finger with a sharpened nail to raise Robyn’s chin upward. The girl said nothing. She could hardly bear to look back at that haunting gaze of his, like a hungry animal on the prowl.
Shit, she kept thinking to herself. Shit, shit, shit. You’re a bloody idiot. Why didn’t you shoot?
As brave as she was, Robyn had known nothing other than the comfort and security of her mother’s farm. But home was a great distance away now. And that had never terrified her more than it did at that very moment, even when coming face to face with the tree nymphs.
“Who are you, girl?” Malekai asked.
Robyn still said nothing, instead tried to swallow her fear.
“You a mute, then?” the other man asked, seizing Robyn by the arms. She tried desperately to fight back with her fists as he snatched her bow away. It was clear to Robyn that Malekai was of higher authority than the first man, presumably named Borrys. But it was also quite evident that the power he held was corrupting the man, consuming him, poisoning his mind. The disconcerting look on his face was like that of a thrilled child playing with a knife he was forbidden to touch.
“She looks nervy, this one,” Malekai said. “She’ll make a fine pet.”
Borrys eased his grip on the girl, yet his expression wasn’t as warm as Malekai had expected.
“But… I saw ‘er first, cap’n,” he said somewhat timidly.
Malekai glared at him. “She’ll go straight to my tent. And no one touches her, you hear?”
Borrys scowled, but in a way that seemed more threatening than gloomy, as if the man was unused to paying Malekai such respect.
Meanwhile, Robyn felt the nerves in her chest turn into rage.
A fine pet…? A fine pet?! To hells with you, you sickening bastard…
“Tie her up,” Malekai said, and Borrys obeyed grimly, forcing her wrists together.
“Get your hands off me!” Robyn tried to resist.
“Oh now you’re a talker, are ya?!” Borrys growled.
“The more you resist, the more pain you’ll cause yourself, my pet,” Malekai grinned.
Call me pet one more time, she wished she could say…
She glared at him. She was afraid of him, she couldn’t deny.
Use it, Robyn… Use. It.
With as much force as she could muster, she kicked. And then Borrys screamed and let her hand slip, fell to his knees, held his groin as he shivered with pain. Then Robyn looked up at Malekai, at those hazel eyes that had intimidated her but now disgusted her, and she found the courage to spit on them.
The captain was far quicker than she anticipated. He growled, wiped his face with one hand and swung at her with the other. She yelped from the sting of the slap, so rough that she stumbled backwards.
She paced away, kept her gaze firm, reached down to pick up her bow.
Malekai wiped his hand on his inner coat and stepped forward, his eyes far hungrier and enraged.
She reached for an arrow… Whatever dread she felt before was gone, replaced by a will to survive.
Then, however, someone tugged at her bow from the other end. Borrys was back on his feet, and with one strong pull he seized the bow again. She had nothing left but her mother’s kitchen knife. She pulled it out and backed away from the two men, taking careless steps along the rocky grass near the river.
Malekai drew his blade, a sharp curved thing that was five times the size of her knife.
“So nervy, you are,” he said. “I quite like it.”
She panicked…
Suddenly, however, a manic squawk and the sound of leaves rustling nearby startled them. A black figure flew out of the trees and charged at full speed towards Malekai’s face. And the grinning captain was unable to react fast enough.
With his sharp beak, Nyx plunged into the captain’s left eye…
An agonizing scream, a splash of red blood, Malekai’s blade dropping to the ground… Robyn stood there in shock for a moment as Nyx flapped his wings viciously, trying to loosen his beak and pull it out of Malekai’s spewing socket. And then Robyn came back to her senses, snatched the man’s heavy blade from the dirt, and held it up the way she’d seen John do many times.
Malekai was shouting from the pain.
“Cap’n! Hold still!” Borrys grabbed the crow by the neck.
With one strong pull, Nyx’s beak slid loose. And Malekai dropped to his knees, squealing like a frantic hog, his hand pressed against the bloody hole where his left eye had just been.
Borrys had his arm out, holding the startled crow away from his own face.
“Let ‘im go!” Robyn said, aiming the blade at him with a glower.
Nyx tried to flap his way out, but the man’s grip was far too strong. He was trapped.
Borrys glanced back and forth, from the distressed look on the girl’s face to the angry squawking crow. And then his lips curved into a grin, remembering how the crow had been standing on her shoulder when he first laid eyes on her. He drew a dagger.
Robyn’s eyes widened. Nyx had given her a slim chance to escape and so easily, she’d lost it.
“Drop the blade,” he said, pressing the sharp tip against the ruffled feathers on Nyx’s chest.
“W-Wait! Stop!” she cried, her breathing starting to pick up.
The man’s grin was sickening. She wished she had her bow Spirit instead of Malekai’s blade.
“Drop… it…”
Her grimace faded, replaced by a tired frown.
She threw the weapon his way… And Borrys chuckled under his breath.
“Good girl,” he said.
And then, with a grunt, he jabbed the dagger into the crow’s chest.
“No!!”
Like a thundering whirlwind, Robyn Huxley’s cry echoed for a mile. She shut her eyes and allowed her lungs to roar until they gave in, and the knot in her throat seemed to only strengthen her howl. She trembled with a rage so unknown to her that she feared it. And Nyx’s cries faded and his wings stopped flapping, and Borrys threw his stiff body on the dirt.
“You bastards!” Robyn cried, landing punches on Borrys’s chest before he seized her by the wrists.
She spat on him. And when he restrained her and turned her the other way, she spat on Malekai.
Nyx was dead… His feathers were coated in red, now… And she sobbed for him, a lifelong acquaintance, the closest thing she had to a friend, the only memory of home, gone…
Still on his knees, the captain removed his hands from his face and turned to the girl, hissing frenzied breaths through his clenched teeth. The entire left side of his face and neck was drenched in red, and more blood was oozing from his hollow socket. It was a horrifying sight, and it only grew worse when the captain stood up and began unstrapping his dagger. He grabbed hold of Robyn’s neck and aimed the sharp tip of it right at her watery eye.
She couldn’t fight him off, her arms were locked in place, and Borrys was snickering behind her and some of his spit dribbled on her neck. When she tried to scream, he pressed his filthy callused hand over her mouth, shrinking her voice down to muffled gasps.
“An eye for an eye,” Malekai said.
And just when the tip of the dagger was a mere inch from her eyelid, something happened that caused the captain to pause in his tracks.
“Wyrmwood soldiers to the west!” a voice shouted.
The captain grunted and turned his attention away. Two men, wearing similar red leathers, scampered out of the trees. One of them couldn’t help but recoil when he caught sight of his captain’s face.
“How far?” Malekai asked, a pulsating intrigue in his tone, like a starving man stumbling across good hunting grounds.
“Couple o’ miles,” said the first man, trying his best to ignore the oozing blood. “They’re well-armed… But we outnumber them easy.”
Malekai appeared thoughtful, as if he’d forgotten about the pain. “Did you spot him…?” he asked.
His men snickered and nodded. “The Garroway bastard? Oh he’s there, all right…”
Malekai’s face lit up with ecstasy all of a sudden. He’d had a rocky start as a captain, and now fate had dropped an old enemy right on his lap. Wyrmwood soldiers were scarce as of late, and they weren’t exactly known to be the most skilled swordsmen in Gravenstone. A single raid could buy his company more time before their next contract. And he’d have the pleasure of killing the famous Sir Percyval Garroway along the way.
He loosened his grip on Robyn’s neck, and the girl could once again breathe with ease.
He took one last look at her, his eye radiating under the morning light while the empty hole on his left side was dark and hollow and redder than his uniform.
“Head back to the camp, Borrys… and throw the littl’ bitch in my tent,” he said. And then he walked off into the trees, ignoring the pain stabbing at his face, his men following his footsteps. Borrys headed in the opposite direction, dragging the weeping girl along.
She didn’t know where she was headed next.
She knew only that whatever she faced ahead, she’d have to face it alone again. That comforting feeling that Nyx had given her had now vanished, nothing more than a temporary escape.
Beware the Woodlands, they told her. Danger lurks in every corner…
But she’d been blindsided by hope. And Nyx had paid the price for it.
She glanced back one last time, but saw only a black shadow on the dirt blurred by a wall of tears.
Focus, Robyn, she said to herself, fighting through the pain in her gut. Now is not the time to mourn…
Meanwhile, Nyx’s black feathers moved with the frosty morning breeze, left behind to rot away into the earth. Borrys had stabbed him near his now static heart, close enough to take his life away.
250 years, he’d said… That’s how long he lived with the curse…
So tragic it was, to be killed by a mercenary from the Rogue Brotherhood.
Not even a knight, or a squire at the very least. Just a rogue mercenary.
These were his final thoughts, as Nyx gave in to the darkness that began to consume him.
And just when Robyn and her captor were out of glance, he let go…
His life as a crow was over. He allowed for the curse to take him away.
A trail of mist began to rise i
nto the air, grey like the smoke radiating from a piece of redwood when dropped into the fire, except it was coming from the exposed wound on the Nyx’s chest… The grey smoke slowly darkened into a black cloud and then a spark appeared out of thin air, and the stiff crow was engulfed in flames.
In a matter of seconds, every bone and feather shriveled down, twisting and turning until it became nothing but a pile of ash… His entire body had vanished into the heat of the fire and then the flames died along with it. And the being known as Nyx was no longer human nor crow, but merely another mound of dust in the thick brown earth.
* * *
The halls of King Rowan’s palace were cold and silent, so much so that every footstep would echo throughout the corridors. On this particularly bright day, these footsteps were those of a Lady, clean and elegantly dressed, as she made her way towards the king’s personal chambers. Next to her walked a timid handmaiden, whose tattered shoes were so soft that she could walk through the halls unnoticed.
The corridors were bright and well lit; the tall glass windows allowed for the sun’s light to enhance the rich colors all around. The high ceilings were an elegant red as were the marble tiles on the floors. The walls were made of blue velvet, rich and smooth, fit for royalty, and every frame on the doors and windows was painted a radiant gold. Lady Brunylda Clark, who was born into nobility, had lived in Roquefort’s citadel in her adolescence, a structure made of brick that was large and graceful in its own way but not nearly as extravagant as Val Havyn’s royal palace.
Sometimes, the Lady wondered how something so sophisticated and refined was built by men.
And the answer, of course, was that it wasn’t…
As they walked, the Lady’s expression was as rigid as it ever was, but her eyes showed a hint of concern. She was holding a piece of parchment in her humid hands. The Roquefort wax seal had been broken and the parchment was stained with nervous handwriting in black ink, muddled and smudged. She stopped at the ivory-colored doors marked with King Rowan’s crest, the golden silhouette of a bear’s head inside a blue shield bordered with red and two longswords crossing one another just underneath it.
“How long has it been?” Lady Brunylda asked the handmaiden.
“Three days, m’lady,” said Brie.
