With a throaty cry, Zara ran back the way she had come, almost getting lost among the gray smoke emitting in dark, ashy bursts from the back of the stage. The curtains were in flames, along with the instruments that had been abandoned. The beautiful set pieces and backdrops were in ruins, and the silent audience continued to bathe in their own blood.
Zara dared not look back to where Jiyara was. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she pressed the cloth around her face so tightly she could barely breathe. It was enough to make her head spin. She wanted this night to be over, and she wanted to forget about it. Was there an enchantment of some kind to bar every sense of guilt and ugliness within her? Revan once warned her about these things during a lesson. He’d warned her that there would be times where her mistakes may cost a life, or many lives. There would come a time where she would be forced to commit unthinkable acts to innocent and sinful alike. There would be times where she would feel like drowning in her own grief. This was the life of a mage, in this time, in this world.
She had listened, and she had believed him, and she had feared his message. But the reality of such a thing happening had still been so far. How fast the time had come. More than one time, in actuality.
Dark moments of weakness up on a mountain, summoning a quake, the burning of a boy, a dancing curse—she’d been through a mass destruction of her own doing, one that had caused death, imprisonment, and rejection of innocent people to this day.
But that was the fate of a mage in this society. Revan will continue to drill this in her head when she would inevitably break down in front of him later. These people didn’t matter. The bigger picture—as he loved to allude to—was what mattered. Mages mattered. Their power mattered. Their strength mattered, especially their strength together. Zara’s only goal was to get stronger in every aspect.
He had granted her desire to kill the scum tonight. Though Revan still believed her morality was skewed and that even the numbered performers Rubi had been planning to sell were of no real importance, he had still let her indulge in her witch-hood. Even aided her in it. Anyone caught in the crossfire shouldn’t matter. But Zara couldn’t think that way, still. She was a bit weak in that regard. She still cared about innocents who hadn’t hurt or had the intention of hurting anyone. Human children, to her, were the most innocent of all.
Was there a way to change this? Zara was not asking for much. She did not wish to reverse her actions of the entire night. Just a way to turn back the clock a little…a way to save at least one innocent soul.
Muni’s prone figure had become visible to her again. A familiar cloaked figure stood over the body, like it was waiting for something.
Zara gasped. It was that woman again! The one that had appeared to her in the middle of the show. She had an incredibly strong aura…stronger than Revan’s. This made Zara nervous. What was she doing here again? Was the smoke making her hallucinate? Was she really going mad?
The hazel-eyed woman smiled kindly, but it did not ease Zara’s heart. She stopped in her tracks, staring shamelessly at the woman, once again in awe of her dignified and uncanny appearance. The woman gave Muni’s barely-breathing form an undisturbed glance. Then, she spoke in a silky, almost calming voice.
“Would you like to save her? Or the child?”
Zara’s eyes grew wide, baffled. “Huh?”
The woman chuckled. “You can save one or the the other, if you so wish. I simply hope to test your ability. So I am offering you this choice. This one—” She nodded down to Muni. “—or the child you left back there.”
“I-I don’t understand what you mean,” Zara mumbled beneath her cloth, her eyes watering. “I can save one? Only one? How? Why not both?”
“It can only be one, dear. One life exchanged for the other. The consequence of saving both is…” Her mouth pursed. “…rather dire.”
Zara’s mind raced. Saving Muni might be possible. Her trampled figure looked pretty bad, but she was breathing a bit and she might not have hit her head hard enough for the injury to be fatal. But saving Jiyara at this point was definitely impossible.
The woman’s maroon lips curled. “Let me show you the possibilities, dear. Give me your hand.”
At first Zara did not budge. It was almost like time was slowing…
She quickly realized that her surroundings—the leaves rustling in the trees, the misty smoke floating through the air, the soft wind blowing around the ground’s debris—were, in fact, moving at an unnaturally slow pace.
“What’s going on?” Zara whispered, staring at the woman’s offered palm.
The woman—Dayana—nodded reassuringly. Or at least, it was supposed to be reassuring.
“It’s alright, dear,” she said, beckoning with a slight twitch of a finger.
Zara moved forward. She reached for the hand, sluggish and apprehensive.
A jolt of energy surged through her body, and two sets of fuzzy images dashed in front of her eyes:
The first was of Muni, with Jiyara not too far behind, leading a young actor in the right direction of escape before the stampede of others came rushing out.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
“Wait!” Zara felt herself calling. It was like a dream where every sound and movement felt too heavy.
Looking around, Jiya stepped toward the direction of Zara’s voice. Unfortunately, she’d put herself directly in harm’s way. The panicking crowd of actors overtook her and she fell underneath their feet.
Muni jumped out of the way on time, screaming helplessly as the young girl was steadily stomped on. Zara couldn’t get her voice out anymore. Muni had lived. Her job here was apparently done.
Livid, Zara tried to shout, but it was fruitless. The vision suddenly transported her in front of Jiyara. The girl wept in her arms. Up ahead, a lifeless body was flaming. The smell of burning flesh stung her nose, and Zara took the young girl away. There was nothing she could do for Muni anymore, but the least she could do was lead the child to safety…
An oddly strong gust of wind struck Zara out of the trance. She blinked as Dayana let her hand go with a wistful smirk.
“It’s just as well. Our time has run short, much like the fate of those poor girls. But we will have another opportunity like this, someday.”
Zara shook her head, bewildered. “Wait, what are you—!”
“Once again, do tell Revan I said hello, my dear.”
She vanished just as the man in question—in his giant hawk form—landed in front of her. Zara leaped back, horrified to see Emran being dropped from the animal’s freakishly huge talons. He rolled over in pain.
“You flew with him, like that?!” Zara shrieked, unable to think properly.
What had just happened?
Muni had stopped breathing. In the end, Zara hadn’t saved a soul.
Revan morphed back into himself, panting lightly. “Yes, and I’ve just about reached my limit with this creature. The bigger they are, they more energy they take. I ordered Saren to gather your bags and go to the carriage. The real danger back there has been dealt with. We should leave. Now.”
“Which way is out?” She couldn’t see through the haze properly.
“There’s an exit ahead of—” He regarded Muni’s body with a raised brow “—where she lies. It isn’t far. It goes through an alley, adjacent to the one you and Saren came through. Help me with him.”
Zara aided Revan in lifting Emran’s sluggish body up. “And how will the carriage find us?”
“I gave Saren instructions for the driver. They’ll be waiting on the street once we are out.”
“Wait, what about…” Zara looked at Muni, regretfully.
Revan’s face hardened. “What about it? Haven’t you had enough of the theatrics for one night? Get moving.”
So they took Emran and left Muni behind. Zara stomped down the misery in her heart. What did it matter? She hardly knew that woman, and she’d been kind of abrasive anyway.
But still. She probably didn’t deserve this.
Emran’s head lolled near Zara’s. Her heart skipped. His hair was so soft and ticklish. His skin warmed hers plenty.
“Mmm, I think I know you.” Emran groaned as she and Revan continued to drag him through the dingy alley. “I think I remember…”
“Shut up,” Revan said. “If you have the strength to talk, you should use some of it to move your own fucking legs.”
The jingling bells of Zara’s cheap anklets echoed as they trudged further into the alley. Zara was sure the soles of her scraped feet were riddled with blood. She was already sore, and the sharp pebbles and debris littered across the disgusting alley was making it worse. Morning would be hell. She could only hope for one of Revan’s special medicinal ointments to rapidly soothe the pain.
The alley wasn’t as winding and extensive as the one Saren and Zara had entered through. But the environment was all too familiar and Zara couldn’t help but remember the stalker: his eyes, so much like Rubi’s, the cold touch of his lips, his blood, his mangled foot.
Would she have done it differently? Had she taken it too far? Should she have spared him, or at least sent him away whole?
Dayana’s curling smile suddenly flew through her mind.
No. She wouldn’t change a thing.
They soon emerged into the quiet street. Saren was already in the carriage. She hastily opened the door for them. Wordlessly, they lugged Emran inside. It was going to be a tight fit. Revan forced Zara to sit with Saren. He gave signal to the driver and off the horses went. They turned a corner, and it wasn’t long before more carriages had crossed the street they’d just left.
The authorities, for sure. It was good that they had taken a detour early. They would have been stopped if the authorities had seen the carriage. In the eyes of the law, it would look too much like they were fleeing a crime scene.
Which would be true. But they wouldn’t be caught. Zara exhaled in exhaustion. It was over at last. They were headed—well, not home. But at least to the inn. Where they would be safe.
“Rubi’s still alive,” Saren suddenly announced.
Zara remained quiet.
“You’ve seen her?” Revan said.
“Yes. Delirious. Searching for her…workers. And a way out. She was in the thick of the smoke. But yes. Alive.”
“Alright then. I suppose…it is of no consequence.”
Saren smirked. “Yes. Not a consequence to you either.”
Revan matched her smile. Zara scoffed.
The carriage jerked. Emran was resting on the side, and he groaned when the motion caused his head to bump on the door.
Saren looked out the small window, relaxing. “What consequence would a whore-hustling hag really be to us anyway?”
Revan sighed. “Well, that madam in particular is quite a well-connected woman in this city.”
Zara straightened up. “She told you this?”
“Yes. She managed to steal some time alone with me while you two were busy rehearsing, after all. She certainly has strong eyes and ears, that one. Her brother, as I’m sure you know Zara, had grown quite an obsession with…the forbidden arts, and the like.”
Zara glanced at Emran, but it seemed like he was fast asleep.
“What are you saying?” she asked.
“She told me she finds it dangerous, and rather idiotic. But she still listens to the tales from him. The legends. She knows things. Now her brother is missing. A chunk of her business is destroyed. And she’s witnessed your dance very clearly tonight.”
Saren breathed out lowly, exasperated.
“That is one concern not to be brushed aside so easily. Though, your failure to kill her may not matter in the end,” Revan continued lightly. “She may be as delirious as Saren claims.”
Zara nodded. “Right. Maybe.”
“And remember, you do have her brother.”
“That I do.”
Saren frowned. “But what if she died after all? She was quite injured after she was thrown offstage. And with all the smoke she was heading into…”
Revan eyed the women with some mirth. “I suppose we will just have to wait patiently, and pray for Mother Anvi’s guidance, hm? What do you think Saren?”
Saren leaned back and stared out the small window without answering, visibly discomforted by his suggestion.
With a tired heart and throbbing feet, Zara wished to settle down in the inn. She swore she could sleep for a whole year. As soon as her eyes closed, the visions of tonight appeared, along with memories of Pria. Memories of her brothers. Memories of her mother. Memories of her friends. Memories of the witch doctor, on a dark foggy cliff, a boy on fire, then a girl on fire, soon to become nothing more than frozen pieces of broken flesh and hair.
She let her tears stream down, but she did not open her eyes just yet. The carriage would reach the inn soon. She’d be happy to sleep in peace for years, so as long as she didn’t dream.