I hardly had the time to roll out of the way before the stinger plunged cleanly into the soil. Dirt and faevenom yielded like butter under its touch.
To say I was horrified was beyond true. Fear is shackles, fear is a knife in the gut slowly twisted, fear is a constant hammer on the head. Yet fear also evaporates like water under an early summer sun. When fear comes, I have to walk with confidence right past, because like ghosts of children's nightmares, fear is an illusion.
I'd learned that through the years I spent climbing from tree to tree, letting my open pores absorb the icy winds. Desperation is my fuel during these treacherous times. But through it all, I'd understood and turned this fear into my challenge and my demon to slay, for it will come until I do, unannounced and gnarly. So though it feels as though my bones have no more strength and my muscles are all out of power, I might still have the option to remain still, to be quiet enough to choose how to fight.
An angry hiss and loud clicks snapped me out of my thoughts and I dodged as the stinger jabbed again. Earlier on, I hadn't had the chance to fully examine the creature as well as its weaknesses and strengths but now...
Now, just paces away from where a hulking mass of copper-swirled obsidian armour stood, I shivered and plucked an arrow from my quiver. Watching.
Splatter. Hiss. Splatter. Hiss.
The greenish venom's dripping and sizzling burned away at the night's misty cloak, stifling my nose and throat like smoke. My fingers ached as I tugged a little more at the bowstring, eyes searching for the perfect spot to strike. The creature's pincers twitched anxiously and it scurried around, trying to find its prey—me.
It was a giant scorpion—bigger than any I would have ever dreamed of—and it was intelligent. But as it scuttled around again, like a final answer to a riddle, I came face to face with misty eyes that resembled the moon hanging above us.
It was blind.
That's why it was always twitching, always jumpy and moving around—all because it couldn't see and needed to rely on its other senses. This was why this was its weak point and one that I could use to my advantage.
Scouring the area for the perfect position for an ambush, I kept my footsteps light and dainty—just like how Aslan had taught me. Those memories had fluttered away like ashes in the wind long before I arrived in faerie lands but I kept clinging to them, some pathetic hope I longed to go back to.
One thought repeated over and over. I should've stayed. I should've stayed. I should've stayed.
What had I been thinking of back then to make a choice that rash? Sure I was helping the humans by giving them a fighting chance against the fae but what was I thinking to risk everything I had back then for this? Was I that desperate and hungry for a better life for my family? Or had I been selfish without even realising?
Alone and trapped in this bitter, broken clearing that housed a monster, I now knew the answer. It wasn't just my craving to regain my honour for my family that drove me this far, but rather the resentment and the thirst for revenge my ancestors had towards the fae. It wasn't just about me anymore, but rather the need to avenge my people's fallen heroes and soldiers.
A warm, tingling sensation pressed against my left breast and I loosed my grasp on my bow, drifting towards the strange warmth. Reaching into my jacket's inner pocket, I felt around before clutching the source of the heat.
The black milkweed lay on my palm, five silky petals fixed together to form this faevenom. Other than being a little scrunched up, it was otherwise undamaged. Surprise registered in me a few seconds later as I continued to stare at the strange weed. Japeth had never said anything about the black milkweed having the ability to emit heat, much less heat up so quickly and scaldingly. I didn't know if it was an ordinary happening. Didn't know if I had done something to cause it to react in such a way.
But I already had what I came here for.
All I needed now is a way to escape.
But I couldn't make a move as a sickening crack thundered in my ears, the air whooshing out of my lungs as my body was slammed against the ground—
A piercing wail sliced through the night.
Flinching and squirming, I couldn't do much as the beast pinned its stinger clean through my right arm.
Pain. Hot, sizzling pain ate away at my arm which only increased the nausea I was feeling caused by the acidic, charred smell of burning flesh.
In the span of a heartbeat, everything stopped. I became a living flame that burned everywhere I touched, became vulnerable like the black milkweed I still squeezed in my right hand.
The scorpion towered above me, staring at me with those cloudy eyes and with a screech, yanked its stinger out of skin and flesh and bone. Another scream tore past my lips but I didn't let myself stop—didn't allow myself a quick moment of peace before I dove between its legs and pulled myself onto my feet.
Frantic, heavy thumps had me quickly pocketing the black milkweed, careful to make sure none of the petals was ruined. Grabbing my dagger in one hand and my jacket in the other, I tore off a long strip, making quick work of bandaging the wound on my arm, eyes constantly flicking between the approaching beast and my wound.
A minute.
Thirty seconds.
Ten seconds.
Each harrowing breath brought the beast a few steps closer, a few seconds closer to the beckoning caress of twilight.
With a final firm tug, I tensed my muscles and retreated away slowly. Exhaustion and a dull throbbing wore down my limbs and I winced at my sluggish, anguished movements. The paralysis from before had sapped most of my strength and now I was nothing more than an easy prey delivered on a silver platter.
My eyes flicked back towards the scorpion and I observed as its pincers twitched again, legs scuttling around to try and track me down. Taking this as my opportunity, I crept through rows and rows of black milkweed, praying to the forgotten gods that the symphony of grunts and rustling wouldn't arouse suspicion from the creature.
Whatever gods I was praying to hadn't been doing a particularly great job.
There was a snap as the scorpion turned its head in my direction and it shrieked, legs clacking as it scuttled towards me. Under the canvas of stars and trapped in this clearing, it was like a game of hide and seek. I crept along the edges while the beast busied itself with searching the other side of the field.
It was the cat and I was the mouse. And the cat was hungry.
Something told me that it would be near impossible to escape without at least injuring the beast. It was too quick, too strong, and infinite times better compared to the useless state I'm in.
Still, it didn't prevent me from trying.
Hiding behind a bunch of tightly woven bushes, I took my aim. Letting the scorpion approach me before had allowed me to notice that there was a soft part of flesh left exposed between two overlapping pieces of its armour. If I could pierce that vulnerability then perhaps...perhaps...
I ran my hand through my hair, trying to shrug off the uncertain thoughts swimming in my head. I needed to focus. There wasn't time to linger around any longer.
A light breeze rippled my crude bandages and I sucked in a tight breath, chest constricting as I checked my aim. One shot. That was all I had. One shot for a chance to escape.
A bow had been my steady partner all these years, safe at my side. The arrows it launches fly straight and true, mostly right on target. I would feel less at ease walking in the heart of hazards without it. I guess some things become part of you over time.
I can only hope it wouldn't fail me this time.
I heard the snap and thunk, even as I sifted through the world, watching with unseeing eyes. I watched as the arrow bounced off harmlessly against the scorpion's shell and it turned slowly, mercilessly, as if it were enraged.
My body took longer than my mind to catch up.
It charged.
And I ran.
But I didn't run away. No, I barrelled towards it, pouring all the strength I could muster into my legs, faster and faster—
But something hard and unmoving slammed into my chest and I was thrown through the thick screen of mist.
I heard the crack before the pain came and could only glimpse through my blurry daze at my dislocated right shoulder. My feet and legs had long since given out, and I crumpled back into the wall of a hedge behind me.
There was no feeling as I lay there, listening to the clacking and screeching as the beast came closer. No feeling other than a strange, cold sort of numbness that had me latching on onto one last desperate attempt at victory. I clung onto the oily smear of my people's desperation, pinpointing my being, my focus onto the core of it. A beacon of corruption and filth yet the only chance of having true freedom.
The scorpion shrieked again and I shuddered. Too loud. Everything was too loud—too noisy.
A dull throbbing had been building up in my ears and my tense muscles loosened—easing themselves into surrendering.
But I couldn't.
At least not yet.
Not yet.
My mind fought my body and my body fought my mind. I could only watch helplessly as the monster neared—very well a guardian of death that came to claim its prize—its meal.
The stillness in my heart frightened me; there should've been turbulence. There should've been pain crashing down like a million daggers and despair rushing through me like sucking mud. There should've been hate and fear and rage. But instead, there was the quiet calmness of a land after surviving a strong storm.
I had been so close. So close to bringing something capable of helping my people find justice for the crimes the fae had committed. I could have left after this. I could have left Elanor and go back wherever I had been before here; find Aslan, see and protect what was left of my family. I would find some other village, far, far away from Asteria and restart my life back into human culture. Find a secluded cottage, paint all day, I could lock all the memories of Asteria and fae in a corner of my mind and never let it out again.
But the heartbeat of Asteria was like thunder underneath my feet, and I've started to grow accustomed to Elanor. I could see myself spending my afternoons riding under branches fluttered with birds with Phoebus and dipping in silvery lakes, could see myself joking with Kallistê in the gardens and training with Oberon and Nolan under the morning's sun. I could see myself fit in with them even though I stood out like a thorn in a sea of roses. The cold air on my shoulders accompanied with the shadows of the night had suddenly turned into a mother's caress, and the darkness creeping at the edge of my eyes a warm, thick blanket.
This place could become my home if I let it; if I accepted the beauty, however cruel, that it possessed. If I left I would become a hunted enemy of the fae and forget the whispers of the enchanted creatures and the language of magic. If I stayed, there was a chance my humanity would slip away and so would my roots—my ancestry and core. It was such a thin line: happiness and comfort, spirit and family.
But someone like me...I don't have a choice, do I?
It wasn't long before my body outwon my mind.
My head had turned heavy and dull—darkness abruptly cutting off my vision now and then. I was drowning in an ocean—sinking like a stone towards the depths of what might await me below.
Maybe it was because I was dizzy and hallucinating but I'd imagined a whizzing noise before a spear sank deep into the sensitive flesh on the beast's neck—its shaft long enough to equal my legs. I watched through bleary eyes as a dark figure dashed across the field with a fae's speed and I flinched as they approached me cautiously. Something was comforting and familiar about the mysterious figure's pair of hands as they lifted me carefully to a sitting position, my head propped against their shoulder.
I tried to catch a glance at who this saviour might be but their face was shadowed, like a dark curtain to hide their face from me. I was cautious—perhaps a little curious but I didn't complain as warm hands—the same hands which had fed me the healing brew before—tilted my head up gently to trickle some of that brew down my throat again.
I coughed and sputtered, blood flying out of my mouth, splattering those calloused, long fingers. But whoever they might be didn't seem to mind it, instead, treating me with even more caution and heartbreaking gentleness.
The darkness consuming my vision eased and I could feel skin stitching back together—little pieces of a jigsaw being fixed. The paralysis in parts of my limbs dwindled and blood rushed to my cheeks, my face. The magic of the brew was already working itself.
Yet exhaustion had already settled deep in my bones and no amount of magic or herbs could heal that instantly.
A light swaying motion followed by the warmth of a broad chest had me wiggling deeper against it unconsciously. I didn't know what I was thinking of allowing a stranger to carry me this way but there was something different—something so nostalgic that had me melting in their arms.
The faint smell of sandalwood tickled my nostrils and I glanced up to see a mop of chestnut hair poorly hidden under a black hood.
Chestnut hair.
There was only one person I knew who had chestnut hair like that but...impossible. With that speed and strength and accuracy...
My eyes widened in realisation and I blinked away the dew collected on my eyelashes only to see chestnut hair.
But it's impossible.
No, it can't be him. He's safe on the other side of the border and doesn't know about my whereabouts. It would be a wild guess to think it was him.
Uncertainty was a game I was constantly stuck in. Always going around and around in circles, never able to break free from its loop. Especially during these times, it had become my best friend, my constant troubling lingering in my shadow.
All these thoughts, these guesses had me reaching towards my inner pocket to reassure myself that everything was going to be alright. Yet as I grasped at the emptiness in the pocket, feeling for the familiar silkiness of the black milkweed's petals...
I pulled my hand out and air slipped past my fingers.
Panic seized my chest and I stiffened and froze. I gasped for breath and my chest capsized, my throat constricting in pain. I can't see, hear, or smell anything. I'm like a husk of a body.
No...I've come too far—risked too much just to get here and not reach my goal. It can't end like this...it can't...it can't...
I won't allow it.
I wasn't sure how long I pleaded and begged and screamed at them to take me back. To take me back to what I've come here for.
No responses came.
I scratched, slapped and tore and their arms and chest but again, it was as if talking to a stone wall. They did not move, did not respond, did not do anything other than carry me silently to what I believe is out of this labyrinth and no matter how much I tried, how much I grovelled and taunted, it was all to no avail.
When I realised there was nothing much I had left to do and that I had failed, did I realise how stupid I had been? Not only did I just lose a chance of regaining a place back with my people but I've betrayed Phoebus and the faeries too. I was an outcast—a ragdoll thrown away—a useless girl nobody wanted.
I realised that this entire mission had been a reminder. I reminder about who I was, who I am.
And I'd so blindly chased after a hope I could not reach.
The understanding thawed my icy heart, the fire in my gut soothed by a tendril of the dark.
Tears came before the aching in my chest began.
Some forever part of me had fractured and broken in such a way that it could never be regained. It was as though you've just lost part of your soul. I was a hollow, whirling being inside and the dullness ached like no physical wound could produce.
Like the vulnerable being I had become, I curled up tighter in my saviour's arms and sobbed. There were no more screams of terror. No more bloodshed and destruction caused by me.
I was tired. So tired of chasing for something I couldn't have.
And even as I knew I was being selfish, I held myself and cried until the dark swoops in and I'm gone.