At first we hope too much. Later on, not enough.
~Joseph Roux
The guards take em away afterwards and fling me into the street, laughing. “Good hanging,” one says to the other. “Dramatic.” They go away, still laughing, and I lay in the street and sob. How can anyone be so cruel? How can life, the gods, the world be so callous and uncaring? I hate them all...I hate them...
It’s over an hour before Jerren finds me, accompanied by Lisla, the leader of the small band of thieves known simply as the Flame. Jerren hangs back as Lisla wordlessly helps me up, dries my tears with her sleeve, brushes the muck off my clothes, and gathers the few belongings flung into the street after me. She then rests a hand on my shoulder and steers me through the dark streets and shadowed alleys to their home and hideout. Jerren, in the quiet understanding and sympathy that small children share, takes my hand in his, as though he’s offering a lifeline to me as I drown in the whirlpool of my sorrows and fears. I cling to it, gratefully, desperately needing reassurance that I haven’t been completely forsaken.
Lisla leads us around to the back of a small, dingy, secondhand weapons shop in the Thartos District. Once inside, she lifts the corner of a rug and knocks three times on a section of the floor. She pauses, then five times, another pause, then another two. The floor lifts, being in actuality a well-hidden trap door. A fair-haired boy peers out and raises a questioning brow. Lisla leans down and says something, he darts a glance my way, then moves aside to let us in.
The room below is really quite spacious, the floor covered with an assortment of soft (albeit well-worn) rugs, heavy (and holed) hangings are draped on the walls, both to muffle sounds from this underground room as much as possible. There’s about fifteen people scattered around the room, sitting or sleeping in twos or threes on soft piles of old cushions and worn blankets. Lisla leads me over to an unoccupied pile and gently sits me down. She crouches beside me and removes the crimson scarf bound around her head.
“Rois,” she says softly, “I promised Cobe that, when his time came, that I would watch over you until you could take care of yourself.” She absently twists the soft crimson cloth in her hands as she searches for the words to say. “The best way I can think of to do that is to make you part of the Flame. But it’s your decision, Rois. Whatever you choose, remember I am here to watch out for you. Just as I promised Cobe I would.” The thought she leaves unspoken is There are just some promises we cannot break. Please...choose wisely...that I may keep mine...
Her blue eyes meet mine for a moment, and I can read the plea in them as surely as she can read the answer in mind. A hint of a smile touches her face, and she reaches up and binds the cloth round my head. “Welcome, Rois Melinor,” she says softly, then rises to her feet and turns away, moving toward her sleeping corner.
Even after everyone else has fallen asleep, hours later, I still lay awake, fingering Cobe’s ring and asking myself one question over and over again. Why? It’s so wrong, as is everything in this accursed city, in this forsaken world. I lean back against the wall, my legs propped up on a pillow, and stare at the ring in the dim light cast by the one remaining lamp. I’ve never looked at it closely before; the simple silver band, set with a single blue-green stone, smooth and unfaceted, untouched by the light of the lamp and seeming to burn with its own inner fire. It’s surrounded by a delicate filigree, a border sigil that is a symbol of eternity, and the gods...
The very thought of the gods disgusts me, and I shove the ring back into a pocket. Bitterness and sorrow make my hear ache anew with the pain of losing Cobe, and I try to blink back the tears that sting my eyes. In the silence of my mind, I scream with pain, and howl out curses at the Guardians, and the gods themselves. Why? I demand, with all the audacity and rage of a six year old child. It’s wrong! Don’t you understand that? Cobe was a good person! Damn you, why couldn’t you let him live! He didn’t deserve to die! My thoughts slowly come back to my own pain, and my fury grows once more. Why did you let this happen to me? I cry out in the silence of my mind. I want to know why! I’m not one of your gamepieces, to move wherever you choose! You will not control me, nor my fate! Stay out of my life! I hate you! Slowly at first, the tears come, and then in a rushing torrent of agonized sorrow. Silent sobs wrack my body, and I rest my arms on my knees and bury my head in my arms, letting my grief take over me. At long last, the tears cease their relentless flow, and I wipe the hem of my ragged sleeve across my face. I’m never going to love anyone again, I vow to myself. I’m never going to let anyone hurt me like this, never again...not ever...
It is the last promise I make to Cobe, and one I swear I will keep...forever.