He that is born to be hanged shall never be drowned.
~Anonymous
I wander in the darkness of my fevered mind for a long time, it seems. Delirious dreams of monsters with burning, ever-changing eyes haunt me, and, over and over, I try to escape, only to turn into a mouse and feel a cat’s claws sink into my back. I see faces that I feel I should remember, but don’t, and walk down the hallways of desolate palaces. A demon turns to face me, its features hidden by the depths of its hood. “You are one of us,” it rasps, and draws back its hood to reveal my own face staring back at me. I stand alone in a meadow, flowers in my arms and hair, and a village burns to the ground before me, but I stand, icily calm, and watch, laughing. I run from nameless horrors from the Abyss itself, and fall into the dark, bottomless pits of my troubled brain. But at last, one day, I awaken.
The light beckons softly from far away, and soft voices, blurred at first, grow clearer as I drift toward that soft, warm light.
“...is she?”
“...foreign...not Elvish...”
“...blood loss....fevers...”
My eyes blink open, and I cough weakly, shivering. An obscure face bends over me and speaks, but the words make little sense. I cough a few more times and listen harder.
“...your name, girl?”
“Rois,” I whisper, my voice raw and hoarse. I’m overtaken by another fit of coughing that sends fire stabbing through my lungs. Gentle hands hold a cup to my lips, and a soft voice bids me to drink. I manage to choke down most of the bitter mixture before the coughing starts again.
The person continues, “So, Rois, what were you doing wandering the country barefoot and in rags during the winter?”
“Demons,” I mutter. “Running from the demons.”
I hear a sharp intake of breath. “No one escapes from demons,” comes the sharp reply.
“I ain’t no one,” I mumble, the desire for sleep taking over me. “There’s a first time for everything, too.”
“How true,” I hear the person say softly as I slip back into the comforting darkness.
The nightmares pursue me again, and this time, when I awaken, it’s with a scream, and I find myself sitting up in bed. I sink back into the soft pillows and shudder with fear. Footsteps can be heard coming down the hall, and a moment later, the door opens. A young Elven woman with dark hair looks in, a worried frown on her face.
“What happened?” she asks, her soft voice slightly accented and full of concern.
I shake my head. “Dreams,” I reply, my voice barely a whisper. “Just dreams.”
She enters completely and stands beside my bed, feeling my forehead with one cool hand. “You are still feverish,” she murmers. “No wonder. How is your back?”
A dull, slightly throbbing ache reminds me of my time with the demons. I shrug, a slight, listless movement. “It’s fine, I guess.”
She tilts her head and regards me with brilliant emerald eyes. “You do not sound so certain of that,” she observes.
I glance away and shrug again. “I’m alive. What else matters?”
“Another day or two and you would not be making that statement.” Her face is solemn, yet curious. “Why would demons want a child like you?”
I immediately stiffen, although the motion only reminds me further of the pain on my back. “Why do you want to know?” I snap, fear adding a sharp edge to my voice.
She shrugs, her expression unfathomable. “Mere curiosity. Why did you come here?”
I shrug again. “I...er...know someone here. Or I think I do, if he’s still alive. This just seemed like the only place to go.”
She nods slowly. “I see,” she murmers. “What was this person’s name?”
I hesitate, but she seems trustworthy enough. “Ethlenden,” I mutter.
One eyebrow raises curiously. “Ethlenden?” she says, clearly a bit surprised. “He has been here for over a month. You must be that child he was so set on finding.”
My eyes widen in shock and hope. “He’s here?” I start to sit up, then wince in pain. The Elf reaches over and helps me back down.
“You should not do that,” she scolds gently. “Yes, he is here, and I shall have a message sent to him. He will be happy to know you are safe.”
“I want to see him,” I insist, in my usual obstinant way.
The Elf shakes her head, her calm demeanor unruffled. “He will be summoned, but has many responsibilities, as you should know. He will come when he is able.”
“Fine,” I grumble. She nods serenely, and rises gracefully from her seat.
“He will be here soon,” she promises, then leaves.
“Not soon enough,” I whisper, as she shuts the door. Once I’m sure she’s gone, I get out of bed, gritting my teeth and muttering curses at the lingering pain. “Just as well he won’t be here,” I tell myself. “I didn’t want to say goodbye, anyway.” But a little piece of my soul whispers, You know you’ll miss him, and what he gave to you.
Clean clothes have been placed on a table, and I try them on. A bit big, but that’s the way I prefer it. Taking the pillowcase, I fill it with the extra set of clothing, bandages, and some bottles that I assume are healing salves. There’s not enough time to read the lables. Parchment, and inkwell, and a quill are on a side table; I shake off the feeling that they have anticipated my every action and scribble a brief note to Ethlenden, apologizing for leaving so soon, and assuring him that I’ll be fine, and the demons won’t ever catch me again. After signing it, I place it on the bed, then slip out of the room.
Evading all the healers and other people scurrying about is quite tricky, but the skills I learned on the streets are still with me. At long last, I am on the city streets, and on my way out.
Not everything goes as planned, however. I reach the city gates safely, and, with a regretful sigh and a last look back at this beautiful city, I turn to leave. And run straight into Ethlenden.
“Rois,” he murmers, and his tone sounds disappointed, reproving, yet not at all surprised. “You should not be leaving yet.”
“I have to, Ethlenden,” I reply, shrugging helplessly. “I just have to.”
“Why?” is his only question.
I look down at my feet. “I don’t know,” I reply, slowly, reluctantly. “I just do.”
“You’re not yet healed, Rois,” he reminds me. “You almost died out there. You cannot leave just yet. At least a few more days, child, please.” I risk a glance up at his face. The expression that greets my eyes is sorrowful, concerned, and almost changes my mind. But no, I cannot turn back now. “I have to go,” I respond simply. “It’s just a feeling, Ehtlenden, but if I don’t leave now, I’ll regret it.” I glance past him, wistfully, at the city gates. “Very well,” he says softly. “I’ll miss you, child.” He clasps my shoulder briefly, then presses a small bag of coins into my hand. “Fare well, Rois Melinor.” And with those parting words, he vanishes amongst the people in the street.
No tears, I tell myself as I move toward the gates. No tears. You’ll survive. And, with that thought, I blend into the trickle of people leaving the city. Yet another parting, I think. Another ending, another goodbye. Will it ever cease?
Life is hard, isn’t it?