We come from a dark abyss,
we end in a dark abyss,
and we call the luminous interval life.
~Nikos Kazantzakis
***
Ravenna's breath hitched when he mentioned it. Suddenly, her heart started drumming in anticipation and dread.
Faking an expression, "What was it about?" She tried to make her voice sound normal, however, it failed her.
Over the years, Alaric had nightmares of non-existent varmints known as Dark Mages hunting him. The type confining his existence in an abyss when his mind wandered into a world causing sleepless nights. Those were the ones that hunted him the most and hunted her too. But sometimes, he predicted the future.
There was one time he foresaw Lady Catherine Havard of Hollowshed attacked by a plague that killed her the next day. Another time when Lord Vermont of Threshwill was antagonized by his family at a small feast that transpired afterward. Even their neighbour, Miss Asherine Voldok, died of a burglary attack with a missing eyeball exactly how Alaric predicted it to be after the lady almost ran her down with her carriage and cursed their family. Also, Thomas Glibberson, a former magistrate, was perished of a rotten foot and chicken pox after consuming a pot of soup from Evelyn Morment, exactly as it was predicted.
There were many more incidents, and all happened according to how Alaric foretold. Regardless, his dreams represented bad omens and none of them were ever wrong.
"It was confusing," he looked in a daze, as if trying to remember a gray picture. "Everything was confusing…"
"Tell me exactly what you saw," It was the first time her brother ever foresaw anything incoherent, and it was enough proof that it was something bad.
"Fire," It was worse. "It was everywhere. But mostly ravens. And there was this lake, filled with black salt, steaming. Feathers and swords. I don't think it's anything," She did too. But the fact that there were flames, Ravenna refused to buy it.
"Was that all?" She asked. She wanted to know more. Something deep inside felt something worse.
He seemed to be hesitant. "Yes,"
Ravenna sighed. He wasn't telling the truth and she knew it. "Alaric, you know you can tell me anything," she persuaded, holding his gaze softly.
"I know," he answered. "That's all. I promise,"
Ravenna plastered a small smile. She could do with the knowledge of the day. "Alright," she relented. "Why don't you tell me what you did this time?"
She said, wishing to change the rigid atmosphere between them and hopefully, it worked. The pang in her chest still lingered but it was bearable.
"I learnt a trick," his voice was bright when he said. Then he rushed out, returning with his palm tightly closed.
"What's that?" she stared down at his hands. It was shut so tight she could barely glimpse a thing.
Holding it close to his chest, "It's a butterfly. I made one," his tiny voice revealed, as he stared down. But he didn't sound impressed.
Bending to his height level, Ravenna gushed, her laughter resonating in the garden like an angel. "Oh my… That's beautiful! See, I told you it's only a matter of time…" but her voice died down the moment he released the grip, revealing ashes.
Raising his head, "I killed it. I'm sorry, Ravenna. I tried but…"
"Shh," she coaxed him, bringing him into her arms. "It's fine. You did pretty well, even though it didn't survive," she said, rubbing his back, as her eyes wandered into the horizon.
"I'm sorry,"
"Don't," she cautioned softly. "You gave it life…" and took it away- it came to her, and she slammed it shut. "There's always a next time, right?"
When she asked, he nodded. "Why don't you go rest? It must be exhausting," Ravenna suggested, however, it felt like a persuasion to herself. Her body felt like slime, and it was only a matter of time before it gave up.
The moment at the castle urged her to retain his presence as much as possible. It wasn't only risky. It was deadly. There was this strange feeling of someone watching and it lingered in the air. Unconsciously, she scrutinized the environment with a weary gaze, silently hoping this feeling was wrong and was a result of her anxiety.
"I'm fine. I don't feel weak,"
Ravenna knew that yet she pushed her luck. "Maybe if you do, I might consider granting any wish on your coming birthday-"
And he dashed inside in enthusiasm, earning a fulfilled laughter behind until he was out of sight.
Taking a deep breath, her smile slowly faded, replaced with a breath of silent struggle. Feeling something rush up her throat, she threw her head to the side only to vomit blood.
Ravenna wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. The look on her face was enough to prove that this wasn't the first occurrence.
For the first time, her eyes darted around the garden, staring apprehensively yet hard at the familiar view, encircling the environment like an obsessed shield.
She took in a deep breath, at the sight of the flowers. They were dead.
***
"Cartwild, eh?"
Ravenna peeked at the man, a familiar recognition she sought whenever she made her escape away from Amberleigh with a sailorman through the sea. "Aye, sir."
And she replied, climbing aboard.
She wore a long thick robe that covered most of her body, leaving her face, another different façade for another different village.
Her small bag was kept beside her, when she sat comfortably on the ship, letting the old man push the cargo from the land into the sea.
Ravenna took a deep breath, watching the distance. It was another day. She had come a long way to pretend to be who she was, who she had been over time. Her blue eyes surveyed the water, the trees, and the birds, a usual routine she does to keep her mind stable.
Hannah.
"Rumors travel faster on the wind. I heard Lord Ravenswood was found dead a few days back. Cold as stone, no form of struggle or any counterattack in his bed chambers. Naked," He said after climbing upon the ship and grabbing the oars before he started rowing it.
"I heard so too," Ravenna replied casually. "Lord Ravenswood had his ways of handling politics. Maybe it got a bit rougher along the way. Politics and blood are intertwined,"
"Rougher or tougher?"
Ravenna didn't reply.
"Things like this are a common sight for all. Many. People being killed behind the walls in the shadows, their murderers masked with handiwork traced like an ink spilled on a parchment."
"Their murderers are crafty. They have gifts."
"Aye, talented. It wouldn't be death if there were no killer, would it?"
"That's why it's called death."
"That's why it is called death," he imitated her with a nod. "What do you think of the bad people, child?"
Ravenna's brows knitted at the sudden question. She stared into the eyes of the man in his late thirties, noticing his rough face and his bearded jaw. "I've had two people question me about things in between evil, all in a row. Now, you are going to give me some advice, Ser?"
"An honest opinion," he answered very casually, his eyes never leaving hers while he sailed the ship across the river.
"What's that?"
"What do you think of the bad people?"
Ravenna's gaze left his. She looked at the distance, watching them, in silence. In her thoughts. "They live longer."
"And how so?"
"Just a thought. You asked me about it,"
The man smiled and nodded. "So I did," he said. "But I doubt Lord Ravenswood was someone referred to as 'good', don't you think?"
"Fate-"
"You should use the word' gods, child. Do me that favor," he said, cutting her off. "Not a fly avoids death. Not a grasshopper avoids the snake. Not a sheep avoids plague. Not a lion avoids illness. Not any ordinary human avoids a game. One way or the other, it has to be played. One loses, one wins. That's why it's fun,"
She let the silence respond to his words. She processed it carefully because Alaric's dream still haunted her. "And if you're stuck? You don't find what fun of it is?"
"That's where life and death come in, child. That's where your card is being thrown upon." He looked at her.
"Ser-"
"Call me, Thorne. We are old friends and friends do call friends by their names. I lack the longer ones, if that's what you fear,"
"Thorne," she said and he gave a small nod. A question clouded her mind, though dreadful, though treacherous. What a Lady shouldn't ask, what anyone shouldn't know. But he had lived long enough to have a hint. "What do you know about the Dark Lords. The ones with… wings,"
Or perhaps, red eyes and a raven.
***