“Did you hear what they just called you?” Ruth slowly walks towards her.

Barbara hardly recognizes her, she looks into the old woman’s eyes, behind the fine lines of her aged skin, through the cataracts, at those once fierce as fire blue eyes.

“The phoenix of the glass desert.” Ruth kackles loudly. “I still remember when you wanted to be known as the greatest swordmaster alive.” Her laughter booms against the walls.

“Another intruder. Identify yourself.” Demands an acolyte.

“It doesn’t matter who I am.” Ruth shakes her head. “We’re both here to find out if you can get rid of her immortality.” Her voice now echoing.

“The spirit of the phoenix is not meant for its host.” Says one acolyte.

“The spirit must be extracted, and given to a rightful host.” Says another.

“Can you do that, take it out of her?” Asks Ruth.

There’s a prolonged silence, only the wind brushing against the flowers is heard for what felt like minutes.

“No one better say anything about the flowers.” Ruth exhales, frustrated at waiting for an answer.

“Marigolds are known to attract spirits of death.” Asserts an acolyte.

“They’re called cempasúchil.” Interjects Barbara.

“They only slow down her healing, she eventually recovers anyway.” A disappointed tone in Ruth’s voice.

“You seem to be quite invested in ridding the spirit of the phoenix from its host. Perhaps we can-”

Before the acolyte can finish, Ruth draws her blade from her faux walking stick, elegantly spinning and twirling around the garden, as if in a single movement, a dance Barbara is all too familiar with. The sound of metal cutting through the air, muffled by the sound of flesh being sliced. In a matter of seconds, all seven acolytes lie dead.

“That’s enough from you.” Barbara wipes her sword in between her forearm and bicep.

“Damn it, Ruth!” Barbara grabs the hilt of her sword.

“You filthy reptile.” Ruth sheathes her sword. “Ever changing your skin. I heard you posed as a merchant to get into town.” She laughs, reaching into her coat for a cigarette.

“All you are is anger. You want me dead so much, but you can’t help but get in your own way.” Spits Barbara.

“Another dead end. You weren’t going to find anything of use here.” Ruth takes a puff of her cigarette, exhaling the smoke up into the air. “For me, at least. You, like always, get to live another day. That was rich of you, by the way, calling me the angry one.” Ruth looks down at her, holding the hilt of her sword.

“I’m as sick of this as you are, Ruth. I want this to end. You didn’t have to kill these people.”

“You know I did.” Ruth growls. “It says a lot about you standing up to the lives of these people.” She points her finger at Barbara, gritting her teeth.

“I want to die as much as you want me dead, Ruth.”

“Doubt it. I honestly doubt it.”

They stare each other out, lost in their eyes, longing for what was, and lamenting what was lost.

“Your master had the right idea.” Ruth finally breaks the silence. “Going out early.” She puffs smoke in Barbara’s direction. “Living by the sword should be a short life, not grant you immortality.”

“You’ve seen a few springs, yourself.”

“Maybe, but I’m not leaving this earth until I bury you in a shallow grave.”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“How do you plan on doing that?”

Ruth smiles. “I found a way.”

Barbara scoffs, her heart racing. “No way.”

Ruth’s laughter once again echoes against the walls. “I wouldn’t joke about something as important as this.”

“How?”

“An acolyte who actually knows what he’s doing. I found him.”

“Where?”

Ruth leers at Barbara, puffing the last cloud of smoke from her cigarette before flicking it away. “I’ll tell you, but first you gotta do me a favor.”

“Anything.” Breaths Barbara.

“Kill me in combat.” Ruth bends her knees, left foot forward, readying for a quickdraw.

“What good will that do?” Asks Barbara.

“I wrote his location in my chest. So aim for my head, or stomach.”

Barbara doesn’t know if this is a ruse or not. Behind cataracts riddled eyes, a fire blazed.

“I’m not going to try to kill you, Ruth.”

“You’re the one that said I’ve seen too many springs.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Ruth, keeping her eyes on Barbara, still in a quickdraw position, her heart steady, she speaks softly. “An out, for both of us.”

Barbara notices a hint of sadness behind those eyes. “Fine.” She mirrors Ruth’s stance, right foot forward, left shoulder leaned behind the right, her left hand on the scabbard of her cross hilt sword. For a moment, everything is still, even the wind waits in anticipation, no birds are heard singing, no insects, only the stench of death in the air.

Relaxing her shoulders, she lets go of the weight of her upper body, her legs ready to launch forward. “Thank you, Ruth.”

They both dash forward, drawing their blades from their sheaths, they collide with a loud clang that makes the flowers vibrate within the acoustic walls. They spin, with a loud snap, they break their respective sheaths, having held on to them for an additional strike, as they continue to spin, they continue to clash their blades against one another, their arm movement wide, and open, gathering as much force for each blow as possible. The walls shake with the loud strikes of metal, like torrential waves trapped in a container, the ringing sound getting louder and louder the more their blades collide.

Barbara and Ruth fall to their knees, covering their ears, both finding breathing to be a demanding task. Barbara’s body starts boiling, she can feel the fire within churning, pushing at the gates, wanting to break free. Barbara screams are lost in the overbearing ringing bouncing off the walls. She snaps. The fire within breaks free, manifesting itself as a continual stream of flames, pouring out of Barbara.

Ruth, still covering her ears, looks up as the fire spreads its wings, wanting to be free, yet contained by a barrier Ruth is unable to see. She lowers her gaze, at Barbara, not understanding what is going on, but ever clinging to the hope of finding an opportunity to finally kill Barbara.

Barbara buckles down, her hands over her ears, the immense heat floating above her using her for fuel as it frantically attempts to escape. Overcome with the onslaught to her senses, Barbara leans her head up to the sky, screaming loud, hoping to be heard, to have her pain acknowledged by the spirit of fire looking down at her. The loud ringing is replaced with the splatter of blood hitting the walls, Ruth had dashed forward, taking advantage of the opening to cut Barbara's throat.

“Please die.” A silent plea from Ruth. With the deafening blare now gone, her whisper amplifies.

Ruth stands above Barbara as she lies there, kneeling, mouth agape, unable to draw in any air. A single tear runs down Barbara’s cheek, as her attention shifts from her former friend, to the undying flames above.

Reaching deep within her to find the strength to speak, Barbara barely mutters. “Run.”

Ruth’s eyes widen, her head shooting up, she watches as the flames slowly make their way back down towards Barbara. Not wanting to see how this ends, Ruth turns back and makes a run for it, back the way she had tracked Barabara down, as she exits the wall of trees, a loud explosion, followed by a powerful aftershock, drops her to the floor.

A pillar of flames ascends the sky, its width expanding uncontrollably, Ruth gets back up and runs with all her might from the ensuing flames. No longer feeling the heat on her back, on top of a hill of rocks, Ruth turns back, observing the flames quell unnaturally fast. The pillar of fire disappeared, taking with it the local flora and fauna, leaving behind nothing but scorched earth.

Ruth slowly makes her way back, having been privy to this scale of destruction before, she can’t help but get the same tight, pulling sensation from her stomach, going beyond discomfort, hopelessness manifested itself unto her body. The only thing still standing are the four obsidian pillars, and the encircling walls at the center.

The closer she came to the walls, now scorched into an all light consuming black, the more her hopes of finally fulfilling the promise she had made long ago. She entered the acoustic trap, all she could see around her was black, and the many flakes of ash slowly falling from the sky. No sign of Barbara.

A single loud sob escapes from Ruth’s mouth, her eyes watering, she looks up at the sky. Her sense of achievement shattered as a pile of earth not far from where she stands shifts, and writhes. Getting a closer look, she finds a charred body squirm in the dirt. Ruth falls on her knees next to Barbara’s slowly regenerating body, the color of her skin coming back. Her blade still in her hand, Ruth stabs at the immortal’s chest, redundant wounds that would inevitably heal. The elderly, disillusioned, swordmaster gets to her feet, wanting to be gone from the scene, before the night, or the locals arrive.