All Desmond could do was sit here, sick with fear and despair. He was useless, a liability.
Because he was broken, in pieces.
Broken in more ways than one.
He had no hope that this trip, even if they succeeded, found the person they were looking for, would fix him. But he also wasn't willing to think about what he would do if he wasn't fixed.
If there was no solution, except of course what Abigail had proposed to him. Something he couldn't take.
So much about his identity and his place in life was tied up in being a warrior.
Who was Desmond Orosco if he couldn't fight? Sad as it was, he wasn't sure. And he didn't want to find out.
He wanted to go back to who he was. To go back to being able to protect the people he cared about. But I can't even walk without this stupid thing, he thought, squeezing the crutch tighter.
Once upon a time, he would fear breaking it by accident, if he got careless.
Now he knew he couldn't break it even if he put all of his meager strength behind the attempt....
Too weak. Too broken.
He could only lie here, sick with worry. If he got in the middle of the fight, he would simply die. Or worse, he would cause someone's death.
So this was for the best, as much as it bothered him.
But... was it really the only thing to do?
Driven by his unease, Desmond pushed the crutch out of the wagon. Then he climbed out himself, almost falling over in the attempt, he picked up the crutch.
The place was littered with blood, corpses and entrails.
A scene, though horrible, familiar to him. For he had been a warrior.
He had been born again in such a place, only a thousand times worse. In a way, he found it almost comforting. I mean, this was his element.
It had been.
It had been. It wasn't anymore.
The whining of the horses had stopped at some point, Desmond realized. It wasn't as if someone had suddenly killed them.
Some enemy closing in to kill him now that he was alone and vulnerable, just as Abigail had feared.
They had simply been left in a bad way after the accident and had ended up dying at some point, inevitably, since they hadn't received help.
Stumbling with his crappy little crutch, he approached the horses. To take a closer look at them. For some reason.
He got nothing out of it. Though he didn't expect anything either.
Desmond shook his head.
He thought vaguely that it was a pity. Animals knew nothing of the problems of human beings, of their conflicts. And they had died uselessly, miserably.
Just like the knights who were scattered all over the place. If he'd known that, he would have refused the bodyguards. Thinking of the trivial reason he hadn't, that refusing Charlotte's kindness would be a bit nasty, especially after the argument they'd had, Desmond felt sick.
So many lives, wasted for such a trivial reason.
They hadn't needed them in the first place.
Enemies they couldn't take care of would have torn the escort apart with no problem.
As had been proven, right here.
Unfortunately.
Desmond grimaced.
The royal knight escort had died as uselessly as the horses, the first and only time they had needed them.
But...
Actually, they could still be useful. They had been slaughtered. In other words, there was blood everywhere. Everywhere he looked.
Blood still fresh. It hadn't been that long since this had started, even if it felt like it.
Desmond licked his lips.
It wouldn't be a permanent fix, but he could drink it and get strong again. That was in the cards. He didn't mean drink it all, drink it until he swelled up, try his luck.
Just a little, really.
Just a little would do, and a few drops wouldn't do him any harm, would it? He'd drunk a lot more than a few drops straight from Abigail's neck and he was still sane.
And it's not like he was doing it for any reason.
He was justified, if it helped them. Abigail might not be able to do it alone. Or she might be too late, he was fast, much faster.
He used to be.
If he drank, he would get strong again. He could get to where that thing was and stop it. Save Amy and Christina's lives, which hung in the balance, or at least he felt they did.
He wasn't wrong, was he?
About any of it.
Wasn't he?
He licked his lips, again.
He was about to give in to temptation. He knew it, deep down. That, for better or worse, he would soon push himself into it.
But then, at the last moment, he heard noises in the bushes.
He didn't think of animals.
He thought Abigail's fears would come true, after all. But it was Abigail herself who came out of the brush. And she wasn't going alone, but with them.
Christina was leaning on the left side of Abigail's body.
On the right side, Abigail was carrying an unconscious Amy. She was just unconscious. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of blood, but she was only unconscious. Her breathing was noticeable.
Abigail and Desmond looked into each other's eyes.
Not for long. Because he looked away, embarrassed. She had to have realized what he'd been about to do.
And his embarrassment was answer enough. It was wrong, something he shouldn't do.
Deep down, he knew it.
Even though he was burning with desire. He just had to control himself.
But that was the important thing now. He had to focus on Christina and Amy. He approached the three of them, stumbling around with his crappy crutch.
"It's over? "That was the first thing that passed between his lips.
And he got the answer even before Abigail responded, shaking her head. The look on their faces was enough for him to know.
"This has only just begun," she added.
Yeah, sure.
This was the first time, but there would be a second.
There wouldn't be a third. He hoped. It's not like he could do anything about it anymore, after all. Even Abigail hadn't been able to take down that monster, so things weren't looking good.
But well, at least they were all alive.
At least? That was a lot.
"All the horses are dead," Christina pointed out, as if distracted. There was something peculiar in her tone.
"Yes. We'll have to walk. But first... "Abigail said. They approached the wagon, slumped on the side of the cart, Desmond kept pace with them. Then Abigail deposited the unconscious Amy in the back of the wagon, as carefully as she could. "First things first.
So she wanted to wait for her to recover? Well, it's not like it was a big wound.
She didn't need medical attention. He supposed that wasn't a bad idea.
Christina sat on the edge of the wagon, pushing the curtains out of the way. Then, of course, these returned to their original position.
She didn't like that, apparently.
With a surprising and misplaced rage, or at least it seemed to him, Christina tore off the curtains and threw them on the floor.
None of them said anything. They didn't know what to say.
Christina stroked Amy's face, ran a hand through her hair. This was going to sound weird, but Desmond missed the times when she was just as affectionate with him or more.
He meant physically, the times when she would suddenly hug him without a second thought and other things that would have led another guy to think that maybe she had feelings for him.
He was referring to physical contact specifically, but....
He also missed affection, in general. Their relationship wasn't at its best.
It hadn't been since that night.
Although these last two weeks, after the invasion, had served to bring them closer again.... It wasn't like it used to be.
Maybe it never would be.
Anyway.
"What happened?" Desmond asked.
"I can't tell you. By the time I got there, it was all over," Abigail confessed.
So it's not as if she hadn't been able to defeat that creature, but that she hadn't had a chance to fight it in the first place.
I see, he thought.
So he'd been wrong.
His terrible foreboding, which he had felt like a prediction. That he had been so convinced of.
Amy and Christina had managed perfectly well on their own.
Good.
Good, in more ways than one.
That thing wasn't as dangerous as he had believed assuming Abigail had arrived in time, fought it, but hadn't been able to kill it.
When the second encounter came, Abigail would perhaps squash it like a bug.
Perhaps?
There was no reason to doubt now.
"Listen, Desmond. I don't even know why we're alive," Christina said.
He tensed.
They were both fine, clearly, well, as fine as could be expected. There was nothing to worry about. But he couldn't help but do it anyway.
As if they were still in danger.
As if he was still lying in the back of the wagon, wondering if they would be all right, sick with fear and guilt, for a moment.
"What do you mean?"
"That thing threw Amy into a tree, knocking her unconscious. I thought it would kill me. It had me beat."
He could imagine it with frightening clarity. And he would imagine it many times, in the days and weeks to come. Especially at night.
"But instead he ran himself through with his own sword."
"Eh?"
He'd heard right, he was sure, but....
What the hell?
"And he screamed. It hurt, clearly, but he was also furious. Somehow, for some reason."
Rage.
If that was the case (and he had no reason to doubt Christina's magic, it had never failed) where was that rage directed?
He had no answers for that. He had nothing but questions.
Which didn't really matter.
It was an enemy, it was clear they had to get rid of it. That was all that mattered.
"He pulled out his sword like it was nothing and ran away," Christina continued.
It was certainly a strange thing to do, but he could think of a simple explanation. Not for him to have stuck the sword in. That didn't make sense at all.
It was an explanation for why he had run away in the first place.
"Well, maybe he sensed Abigail approaching."
In that case, his terrible premonition had not been far off the mark. And he had been right to insist, despite her protests and her attempts to reassure him.
He felt... a little happy about that.
He would never admit it out loud because it was too vile and low. But it was true. He was happy that he had been able to be of service, even in this sorry state.
Christina denied it quickly and with impenetrable logic, however.
"Impossible. She took too long to get there, after that. He would have had plenty of time to kill us if he'd wanted to. I don't understand anything."
Desmond shuddered.
Okay. So... just as she had said at the beginning, she didn't even know how they were still alive. And, whatever the explanation, the fate of both of them had been in the hands of that inhuman creature.
How could he not shudder?
Why, why, why? To his surprise, he came to some sort of conclusion.
"The simplest answer is usually the right one," he mused.
Abigail had taught him, among many other things, that people were not as complicated as he thought. That they were like animals, in a way, seeking to satisfy their needs.
"Maybe it's that he didn't want you dead in the first place. Maybe that thing is just... for example, after my neck."
The idea that this monster didn't want to kill two young girls who had done nothing wrong, or that it would simply prefer not to kill unnecessarily, might be a little strange.
But it was possible. And he, at least, saw no other explanation for it.
If he had wanted to, he would have killed them.
That was true, so instead of looking for a convoluted and implausible explanation, the best thing to do was to accept reality. He hadn't wanted to kill them, period.
For whatever reason.
"It hadn't occurred to me. But it's possible," Christina admitted.
In that case, if the worst happened, he could give his life in exchange for theirs. It wasn't ideal... of course. But it was a possibility, and it would allow him to be useful. To fight, in a way.
Even a good"for"nothing like him could do something. Even if it was in exchange for his life.
What was he saying?
His life was Abigail's. It had been since the day he was reborn, that wonderful day. From the first moment, from the moment he beheld her smile, he had dedicated it all to her.
So he had no right to give his life to anyone, under any circumstances.
It wasn't his to give.
It was Abigail's, to do with as she pleased.
——
Her back hit the tree trunk. The force of the impact was enough to knock the air out of her lungs. She fell to the ground, but after that she hardly noticed.
Her head was spinning. She felt very light all of a sudden, as if she might faint at any moment.
Pass out.
She'd been lucky, actually, that she hadn't broken her damn neck.
She could feel the blood rushing.
Amy fought with all her might to keep her eyes open. The fight wasn't over, not by a long shot.
But that thing had written her off.
It had turned around and was now approaching Christina, lying on the ground, defeated. To kill her. Couldn't let her die. She couldn't.
Amy wasn't breathing well, she wouldn't be able to move either.
But she still had one last ace up her sleeve. The ace that Abigail, the witch, had blessed her with. She wasn't sure it would work, but she had to at least try.
It was the only thing she could do at this point.
"Stop it. Get out of here... Go away..."
She gave the creature orders with all the strength left inside her, with her strong will, focused on seeing her family safe.
But even that wasn't enough.
It wasn't heeding her at all, nor would it. It was simply approaching Christina slowly, now that it had her beaten.
Like... playing with its food.
Something like that.
And Amy was getting closer to leaving with every passing second. No matter how much will she put into it, she couldn't stop the weakness from taking over her body, blurring her vision, shutting her down.
She wasn't sure if she was dying or losing consciousness.
She didn't care.
She couldn't stand it if one or the other happened to her. Not as long as Christina was still in danger. She had to do something. She was the only one who could help her.
The only one.
Even if it only bought her some time, a measly second.
Even that would be worth it.
So she tried. Repeatedly, she mustered her willpower. Repeatedly, she gave it the same command.
The creature was approaching Christina slowly, taking its time.
Speaking of time, it seemed to stretch to infinity. Every second a small eternity.
Amy tried, tried, tried.
But then that thing finally reached Christina and stomped her in the chest hard, brutally. As if she had felt the blow herself, her consciousness finally shut down.
Her last thought was that it was cold comfort not to have to watch her die in front of her eyes.
And that if she was dead, not having been able to save her, it would be better to die here.
Better than having to live to know for sure and endure it.
But she didn't die.
Her eyes opened again. All at once, coming out of the very real nightmare, because it had indeed happened, with the panic still fresh in her mind. And in her heart, her soul.
She had passed out convinced that Christina would be killed without her being able to do anything about it.
A terrible conviction.
That's why she couldn't contain herself when he saw her above her, still alive. Soon her vision was blurred by tears.
Amy threw herself upon her, hugging her tightly. As if to check if she was real. And boy, was she real. She was warm, soft... and she smelled blood. Or was that smell coming from herself? She couldn't tell.
"I'm sorry I worried you," Christina said, hugging her back.
Amy smiled.
"Don't be silly."
At last they broke apart. It seemed like the blink of an eye, but they had probably been hugging for quite a while. Of course she wasn't just happy for Christina.
She was glad to see that everyone was okay. Desmond, Abigail.
Abigail might be immortal, but that didn't mean nothing could happen to her. They had already 'lost' her once, and the resulting fallout had nearly broken the bond of their team.
"What happened?" Amy asked. "I thought, well... I thought it was all over."
For her and Christina, at least. She supposed Abigail had saved them, who else? But she wanted to hear the answer anyway.
As if to make her feel more... at ease.
Anyone would think she'd get used to life"threatening situations, considering that since she'd known the two she'd been going from one to the other, relentlessly.
And it was getting worse and worse, though she doubted they could beat fighting in the invasion of the capital.
But the reality was that one couldn't get used to something like that. The very idea was bullshit. Amy couldn't even say that at least she would no longer wake up at night, screaming, coming out of a nightmare that was actually a memory.
She would reminisce about that thing approaching Christina to execute her in front of her eyes for a long time.
Maybe the rest of her life.
Which, if she kept it up, could well be a very long one. She had been aware of the risks when she made the decision to become a soldier. But... She didn't want to die.
This had to end, one way or another.
"I thought so too," Christina said. But that thing ran. For no apparent reason.
Of all the possibilities she'd considered, not many, she admitted, that definitely hadn't been one of them. She didn't know what to think.
She'd say it was some kind of joke except that she knew Christina wouldn't joke about something like that.
Well, neither Christina nor any sane person. Incidentally.
"I see. Well, I don't see, but... Whatever. The point is, we're all fine."
Amy grimaced.
She looked around, checking again that no, not everyone was fine. Not everyone had been equally lucky. Ten people hadn't made it.
And she had spoken as if no one had died today.
It wasn't as if she'd swept that fact under the rug, but that she genuinely hadn't remembered. Which made her feel worse, not better.
It was great that she hadn't lost anyone important to her, but there were also the lives that had been lost today in an attempt to protect them, though she certainly preferred this outcome a thousand times over.
And she would never feel guilty about it. For, as she had told Desmond, one had to have priorities.
She had her priorities straight.
"Not all of them, but..." Amy continued, or tried to continue.
"Don't be nervous. We know what you mean," Desmond replied with a sweet smile, characteristic of the boy. As if to say 'some things don't change'.
Amy smiled simply to see him smile, without realizing it.
"Yes."
"Well. Gonna have to walk," Amy said, at last.
No escort, no wagon, and no horses. They had lost everything on what was arguably the starting line of the real mission. Well, everything but the budget, a good bag of gold coins.
And each other.
So, they set off.
——
They had to go to the nearest town on foot.
Fortunately, this town wasn't very far away, relatively speaking. That is, they had been walking for hours, no exaggeration. But at least they reached the village before nightfall. Not much earlier, but earlier.
That was enough. The roads became more dangerous at night.
They bought transport. Another wagon, another pair of horses.
No escort to accompany them. Too many people had died already, and they didn't need them. Anything they couldn't handle, an escort wouldn't fix.
It had been a bad idea from the start. If only he could go back...
But no one could go back, of course. No one. It was too late for his regret now. That he felt bad would do nothing for the families and loved ones they had left behind.
They didn't leave immediately.
It was worth staying until tomorrow and asking about the target, the miraculous Theo. So they bought a room at the only motel in town.
A single room, no more rooms were needed.
It wasn't worth the risk of being separated in an unfamiliar place, and for what? He and the girls were used to sleeping in the same room, and they weren't excited kids, they could make it work without someone's modesty getting hurt. They had been doing it for months.
Only one room, but two beds, side by side.
Luckily no one would have to sleep on the floor. They divided the beds as follows, of course. Abigail and he in one, Christina and Amy in the other.
All good, all normal.
Splitting up hadn't been worth it from the beginning, but even less so after their fateful encounter with that thing.
It was possible that it had followed them.
That, in fact, it was nearby now. Watching them. Waiting for its moment.
They bid each other goodnight, but Desmond had a feeling he wouldn't be the only one staying up all night, or close to it.
Sighing, he lay down on the bed next to Abigail.
She was with her eyes closed. Not asleep yet, but on her way. He didn't even close his eyes. For the moment he fixed them on the ceiling as if the patterns in the wood were the coded answers to all his fears and doubts.
Theo, the man who had put an end to a sickness that had wreaked havoc throughout the kingdom of Albion.
A legendary man, who had lived and disappeared in the shadows.
The one who could supposedly fix him. Remove the effects of the poison that coursed through his veins.
First thing in the morning, they would go out to ask about him. From the wagon, not only the money bag had been saved, but a couple of pictures of the guy and personal data, to make their job easier. As far as possible.
With those things, they would go from town to town. From city to city.
Blindly asking questions, simply hoping to be lucky enough to pick up the trail of a man who had disappeared so many years ago.
Leaving his fate in the hands of luck... it disgusted him. To say the least.
But he had no choice.
That was the only plan. Crazy. But maybe it would work.
Maybe it would.
Maybe.
Without even realizing it, and not letting his head stop spinning, Desmond fell asleep as he stared at the motel ceiling.
He dreamed of the ocean.
An ocean tinged with red.
Blood as far as the eye could see, all the way to the horizon.
Desmond was floating on the waters. The water was stained. The blood, so red it hurt the eyes in the blazing sunlight, was brushing his neck.
The level of the 'water' was too much. Between that and the splashing, it was almost getting into his mouth.
He was almost drowning in it.
Almost was the key word. He managed to stay afloat every time, albeit barely. Just drifting along. From nowhere to nowhere.
Safe.
But he could feel the taste of blood filling his whole mouth.
And the smell of it permeating the air, every inch of his clothes and his body. He felt like throwing up.
But he was fine. That much blood... not a drop of it was his.
Or at least too little for it to matter. What were a few drops in an ocean, after all?
He was fine and still floating. From nothing to nothing.
Seeing more, more and more blood. No matter where the current took him.