Her Kiss is a Gentle Way to Die
Ocarys wasn’t completely gone. It could never truly leave him. Because it was a reflection, a piece of his soul forged onto his skin to be summoned to protect him. A soul-weapon, a gift given to every single person born into the valley. Except the witches.
In a forgotten cellar basin of the broken palace, far away from the prince’s tower, Rook had taken shelter. In the grime, the darkness and the frost lining the room, he had found a corner and slept. With only two sources of warmth. The little fuzzy spirit, Nami, snuggled into the crook of his neck and the blanket wrapped tight around him. The thing that had once been a tapestry. It was an odd thing, this collection of soul fragments woven into cloth, because it changed. For the first few hours it had been a tapestry, but had slowly shifted into that of a cloak. A cloak, Rook now used as a blanket. Useful as it was, it was still a cloak that whispered to him. And he listened. In some kind of desperate attempt to listen for Ocarys, Rook cycled between dipping into nightmarish fits of frost-riddled sleep and having his face pressed into the blanket, a hundred whimpering voices crying for his help. It was here in this cellar basin, amongst the thin layer of ice covering the floor and his finger tips and sweat and tears staining his dark skin that Rook tasted the selflessness of insanity.
It felt as though these voices were…angry with him. But he hadn’t done a damn thing to these fragments, to these poor lost souls. It was the spirits of winter that had pulled them away from their bodies, creatures of malice and hatred who had left their humanity to freeze in the fucking wilds they called home. And the owls, the Scholars it seemed, were the same.
“Rookie…?” Nami squeaked. Rook felt his left eye twitch as he scooped the little creature into his palm to have him eye-level. Well, maybe not every single winter spirit. His throat was too dry to answer his friend. “We’ve gotta find Elaine. I know your real tired but…she’s out in the woods and she needs our help!” Nami exclaimed. At that, the Knight took in a deep breath and pulled away from the cloak. By sending Nami, Elaine had saved his life. And now it was her out there in the woods, out in danger and the true cold. And if I don’t move soon and we don’t get out of this dead, awful place, we’ll starve before we can get back.
Gritting his teeth, Rook got to his feet and swept the cloak around his shoulders. With a grateful squeak, Nami scuttled into his pocket. His sudden movement quietened the voices, if but for a moment. With bones that ached and muscles that moaned, Rook pushed up and out of the cellar and back out into the cold grasp of the outer palace ruins.
“Alright, little one. You gotta guide me out of here. The haze is so dense I can barely see let along navigate,” He said, giving Nami a soft poke.
With the spirits’ guidance, Rook trudged through the snow past the black, twisted trees and their roots that reached out for him with every step he took. As the howl of the wind through the woodland grew louder, Rook tried to look to the sky above. The white-grey ash stained on his cheeks seemed to burn for a moment as he strained to see any sign of the stars or sun. But there was nothing but a white haze. No. Maybe the night will be nothing but an endless darkness. As Nami guided him through the dead forest to where he had befriended Elaine, Rook mumbled to himself. He needed his face to feel not-so frozen and somewhat alive, even if it was only talking nonsense to himself. Nonsense that the white fox had told him, a piece of nonsense that had become his favourite.
“Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I – I keep with those who favour fire.
But if it had to die twice,
I think I know enough of loss
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.”
Maybe that was right. Maybe not. He just needed words to move his jaw and warm his heart. Soon enough, the crumbling wall of the palace courtyard came into view.
“The moat is full of thorns and dead things, the courtyard exit is the only way for a flesh-man like you to get out of the palace grounds. Be careful friend,” Nami advised before returning to cower in his pocket. This place won’t be abandoned. I can hear them, somewhat. Not life, but a cold echo. I can’t afford to get caught up in fighting…anything. I’m too weak. The cloaks whispers began to mutter harshly as he clambered over the wall and onto the snow piled up high against the other side. There on his perch, Rook looked to the broken sprawl of stairs and the open gates just beyond. And the creatures draped about the steps. What looked like three women, frozen and misshapen sat, talking amongst themselves. Glassy spikes of ice protruded from their skin, white snowflake patterns forged onto their arms and backs. They almost looked like pixies, if it wasn’t for their needle thin teeth and their sharp cackles. With a sharp-intake of breath, Rook kept low to the ground, moving the white cloak to hide himself in the snow. The three sisters of ice seemed bored, with the way they laid about, weaving snowflakes in the air. Stalking closer, the Knight strained to hear their conservation.
“I wonder if the prince can curl the wicked Hunters around his silver finger?” The shortest of the sisters wondered aloud. The tallest and most likely the oldest sister snorted at that. “Doubtful. They abide by their own rules. The moment the Court of Whispers befriends the Hunters is the moment the prince’s brother will wake,” She said with a sigh of contempt.
The silver crow and the prince were speaking of such things. But there’s another prince? This…further complicates things. Damn it. I just need to focus on getting out of this place.
Slow and yet as fast as he could, Rook stalked through the dead brush and ducked behind what was once the stables. The draw bridge leading out into the forest seemed to be frozen in place, thankfully. Nami was right. There was a deep, hungry darkness waiting in the moat below. Something he did not want to dare tread onto.
Taking in deep breaths, he made a low dash over the bridge and into the deep snow. He just needed to reach the tree-line –
He was but three footsteps from the forest when an arrow forged from the heart of winter pierced his ankle. Ripping through his flesh, the arrow exited and immediately melted into the snow amongst his blood. Rook let out a howl of pain, half-crumpling to the ground. The three sisters cackled as he tried to crawl away. Tried. With a snap that broke the cold silence of the courtyard, a whip lashed out and curled its way around his other leg and without mercy, dragged him back across the moat and into the courtyard to writhe in agony before the three sisters. One eldest held a bow of white ice, the youngest a whip and a third wielded two daggers. Each gazed upon him with a look of morbid curiosity. Strained tears of pain welled in his eyes as Rook struggled away and to his one good leg. They were waiting. Waiting for their prey to give them a fight. A ghost of a wolf looking to a wounded mouse for fun.
But I am no mouse. Amongst blood and snow a sudden fire struck his heart. In his hand, a glaive formed, seeming to pour from the cloak itself, white threads interweaving to take the shape of the silver axe-like blade and intricate handle. But this…was not his soul weapon, why would it respond to his call? Was it because of the cloak? This tapestry of souls, responding to his need for it had no other master. Rook bared his teeth despite his crippled ankle and gave the glaive a mighty swing, fierce enough that the sisters even stepped back. They saw nothing but a wounded, starved animal. And that gave him the advantage. Letting his wounded leg drag behind him, Rook pushed forward and swung downwards, catching the one bearing the whip. The silver blade sawed through her left arm and abdomen as she tried to flee backwards. You could not kill a spirit. But you could very well harm it, if it bore a physical form. And these spirits may not have blood and hearts, but they had a form that he could very well hurt. As his own blood poured into the snow, Rook begged himself to keep fighting. With a furious hiss the eldest readied her bow for another shot. Something he would not survive or evade at this range. In reply to his begging, to his pure and utter need to survive, Rook felt the glaive unravel itself back into the cloak.
And in its place, a familiar shield found its place upon his arm. As the arrow of winters heart was loosed, Rook instinctively raised Ocarys and deflected its kiss of death. The three spirits stood, frozen in place. I doubt they’ve ever seen a human summon two different soul-weapons before. But they serve the prince. They all do. So they must know of his collection.
“Don’t move, a fucking muscle. This cloak obeys me. I can tell it to tear itself apart, and your master will lose every damn piece of souls in this thing,” Rook shouted, his throat course as his thundering heart. Blood from his lacerated ankle continued to bleed out. His only good leg began to shake. This wasn’t going to work. He was losing too much blood too fast and they would never let him go. They would never –
Let us –
Let us help you –
Please Rook let us in –
We just want to help –
The cloaks voices began to murmur desperately, each claiming they wanted to help him. And how could you possibly help me?
Let us become part of you. Two pieces of a soul can save you, wind its way over your ankle and heal the wound where your very life is pouring from. We can heal you and give you the very strength you need to escape this fight. If you accept.
Rook gripped Ocarys tighter. He was going to die. He could not run, he could not fight. He could only die. But these ruptured souls offered another choice. With a gentle sigh, he leant back on his good heel and stood upright. He had far too much to do before he died. He was the leader of the Knights and protector of Valyrdonn.
“I have miles to go before I sleep, I have too many promises to keep.” Rook whispered to himself with a voice about to break and the hundreds of voices clutching to his heart and mind. They felt the acceptance in his heart and felt it bleed from each word he spoke. Within a moment, it felt as though a giant hand wrapped around his insides, his very soul. It was the grip of the cloak. A breath of something Rook could not describe as life rushed through him, his ankle closing up as if a cold hand had closed around the wound.
Despite his desperate grip on the shield, Ocarys began to fold away as the souls tightened their hold on his.452Please respect copyright.PENANAUsv04XAXG2
“No, no, no!” Rook cried, grasping at the empty air on his wrist. Still watching in morbid horror at whatever kind of human was before them, the eldest sister raised her bow again. In the place of what had once looked dead, a cold fire had been ignited in her eyes as she drew back. Do something! Rook cried to the voices, staggering backwards. In a flurry of lines, an angled wall of the same design of Ocarys between him and the sisters formed.
Run, Rook –
Run, run, run –
We gave you this life do not let it pour from you again –
Without looking back, Rook twisted around and crashed through the snow as the sound of the sisters bashing against the white metal echoed behind him. Back over the dead moat and finally into twisted heart of the woods, Rook ran and ran with a thousand whispers swirling at his back.
One visit, louder than the rest spoke the most clearly, a voice of nonsense amongst the chaos Rook swam.452Please respect copyright.PENANAulI6nwqx8J
“The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.”
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