Post 11

Atropos kneeled along the path, tracing something in the dust with his finger.

“Hoof prints.” He said, keeping his voice low. “They were headed toward Trictia.” He looked off into the distance, where the crossroads led to the river, and then the next country.

“What do you think-” Atropos brought a finger to his lips and crept along the ground, following the trail. He looked up at a hill that the path followed and leapt to his feet, gracefully covering the distance before Cassia could begin to follow him.

“They were ambushed.” The Elf’s voice barely hid the fury underneath. Cassia looked over the hill.

Around them, bodies lay dead, broken, shot, bleeding. Arrows stuck out of corpses like an extra limb. Masses of bodies were stacked up in a bonfire that was still lightly smoking. The bodies were charred, filling the observers’ nostrils with vomit-inducing smoke. Honey came to life in Cassia’s arms, squirming and howling her pain at the fallen victims.

Cassia swallowed, feeling tears in her eyes.

“Ambushed.” Atropos repeated. “No one could defeat the Armet if they were ready.”

“Who would do this?” Cassia asked, anger finally registering with her.

“The same people who tried to arrest your father.” Atropos said, turning to face her, his gray eyes blazing.

“Tempest.” Cassia whispered, clenching her fists. “He’ll pay.”

“Yes.” Atropos turned and headed down the hill. “He will pay.” Honey barked as Cassia began to turn and follow the Elf. He froze, at whatever she barked, and turned to make eye contact with the dog. She growled, as if confirming what she had said. Atropos rushed to Cassia’s side, taking her arm in his firm grip.

“We’ve got to get out of here.” He hissed, pulling her along.

“What?”

“Before it gets our scent!” Atropos was pulling her by the wrist now, racing down the path and back toward the open expanse of road that they had met the gypsy on. Cassia tried to turn back to look but their speed was too much for her. She was panting, the hot air turning her lungs to dust. The smell of the smoke had still not left her mind.

“Who knows when they started this?” Atropos muttered to himself as they ran. “What else do they have on their side? Spirits? Mermaids?”

“What’s following us?” Cassia managed to pant as they ran. Nothing was in sight in front of them, they were so far from Millea. And if whatever was following them was strong enough, even the city wouldn’t save them.

Smoke billowed up behind them, rushing forward to complete a shape. The old wagon reformed, blocking their path. The crazy woman peered out at them, just as she had left them.

“I told you.” She said, her voice much more serious. “You were too late.”

“That doesn’t matter now!” Atropos said, trying to make his way around the cart.

The gypsy held out her hand and he froze, unable to move. Honey didn’t growl or howl, she nearly whimpered, as if asking for help.

“Indeed, it doesn’t matter.” The gypsy waved her other hand, and the back door to the wagon opened. “You need shelter, a way back to Laddinley.”

“Can we trust you?”

“Ask the mutt.” Honey gave a little yip, somewhat angry. “Oh, don’t pretend. You know I speak the truth.” The dog gave a gruff bark, which Atropos sighed at. He turned to look behind them. Cassia followed his gaze.

In the sun, following their trail, was a man, bent over the path as if he needed to be that close to see it. Then it raised its head and gave a great howl. Cassia gasped.

“We accept your offer.” Atropos said, pulling a stunned Cassia into the wagon.

“It…it can’t be.” She whispered. “They’re a dead race…Something from stories!”

“Your politicians are the storytellers.” The gypsy said as the entered the cool room. She waved her hand and the front window closed. The wagon wheels creaked as they began to move of their own accord. Honey barked as the woman passed them, making her way to a swinging hammock in the corner. The gypsy reached forward her gnarled hand to pet the dog on the head and smiled gently at her. “I’m not as young as I used to be, my friend.”

The wagon was only four walls, a cabinet on one side, the hammock next to it. One wall was the window, and the last was bare. Atropos and Cassia sat against it, anticipating the long ride.

“He got our scent.” Atropos said, glaring at the floor. “We’re safe in here, but he’ll find us again.”

“Until you put an end to him, or until he puts an end to you.” The gypsy’s voice was matter-of-fact as she lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling, rocking back and forth with the moving of the cart.

“You can be assured that I will.” The Elf said, staring at the window that separated them from the harsh sun. Then he turned to the gypsy. “Why are you helping us? You were on the opposite side during the Great Wars.”

“Most were.” She replied, closing her swollen eyes. “Your kind was too.”

“But you actually were.” He said, his voice unyielding. The woman didn’t move, but her voice filled the cabin.

“I fought oppression, and lies, and all the things that come to be. If you had been there, you would have too. The war is starting again, the same war, fighting the same things. I’m on the same side. It’s the point of views that have changed.”

Atropos turned to look at the ground again.

Cassia, recovering from her shock, found her voice again. “What’s going to happen now?”

“No one will be pleased with the fall of the Armet.” Atropos said, gritting his teeth. “All noble warriors know that they did not die under normal war. Those who respect true fighting will follow your father.”

“No.” The travelers looked to the gypsy, whose eyes had gone blank, transfixed on the future. “The Master Graystone will not fight again. Nor will the Brotherhood be disbanded. The flocks will come. The city will fall. Doom will come to one and all.” She blinked and gave a little laugh, an echo of the one before. “And I thought I saw things clearly.”

“My dad won’t fight?” Cassia repeated, taking a breath to steady herself. “Will he die?”

“Everyone dies, we only worry about when or where.” She said this almost as a rhyme, rocking back and forth.

“And some of us don’t worry.” Atropos muttered, his voice seemingly coming from no where in the darkness.

The gypsy bolted up, her wrinkled face coming alive as her eyes went blank.

“You were almost killed. Your father didn’t want you. Your mother couldn’t keep you. Left alone. All alone. The Brotherhood came, they took you in. Saved your life, your soul, your skin. Gave you a life. You can’t repay. You follow your honor. You’re scarred, it can’t be undone. You can only win, just as you’ve always won. Love was never something you’d treasure, seeing as you’ve lost it, you know forever. Fight Atropos, you’re not done yet. Give them something they’ll never forget.”

She collapsed back on the hammock, deep asleep.

Cassia turned to Atropos, looking for some explanation.

“Gypsies.” He muttered, taking off his bow and quiver.

“Marantha.” The woman jolted awake, before entering sleep again. Atropos’ mouth was open, his eyes wide.

“What?”

“I…I was going to ask what her name was…” The Elf took a shaky breath, leaning back against the wall.

“She’s powerful.” Cassia said, shrugging and letting Honey loose. The dog ran around, sniffing everything, as if reminiscing in old times. Then she snuggled next to Cassia’s leg and fell asleep. “She’s tired.” The girl said, petting the dog’s fluffy head.

“She’s old. Older than that one.” Atropos said, nodding at the sleeping Marantha.
“How do you know?”

“She told me.” He seemed to want the conversation left at that, but the girl couldn’t help prying.

“Is that all?”

“For now.”

“What was it she was saying about you?” Cassia looked back at the sleeping figure, not wanting to disturb her.

“Things I already knew.” Cassia sighed, slumping against the wall.

“Elves.”

“Humans.” Atropos countered. But when Cassia looked up at him, he was smiling.