In The Shadows
It had been a battle gone terribly wrong, and winter’s reluctant loitering knew that as much as Artemis Mogue. He stood, feet solidly apart, hands clasped behind his back while his aqua gaze traveled over the gravestones as if he’d find the answers he needed in an epitaph.
Another lingering chill rattled the empty trees, and his pitch-black hair swirled chaotically around his face. He was a shadow in the shadows, but just this once would he step out into the land of the light. Artemis pulled back his hood.
Even he repelled the light. Whatever crisp luminescence January offered never really touched his sculpted profile, all angles and sharp finishes- pale as he was. His long silhouette seemed to strain towards him, even the shade under the trees appeared as if they needed him, needed to draw him into the darkness…
“I couldn’t even save her,” he murmured absently. “Not her, him, him, her, and hi-“ his voice caught unnaturally, and he paused politely, abruptly as if he gave his voice permission to take over his already severely controlled emotions, at least in this public.
A daring gust of wind ran gleefully through the graveyard, dashing away any traces of any glimmer in his eyes.
He couldn’t feel anymore sorrow, at least not yet. His heart, the very essence of what soul he had left- broken and labeled with a loud and clear “Handle With Care” sign- was numb with pain, and the grief that seemed to lap at him in a neverending tide.
Could he feel guilt? No, Artemis Mogue thought vaguely. But the burden of 6 souls, all on his bloodstained hands were there all the same and no matter how long he scrubbed at the memories caked in crimson all over his body, they were cleansing filth.
His own fist clenched, and he forced the tapered fingers back open, a palm stretched over the grave in front of him in an exposed reach. “Tris…”
The battle, it was all his doing, but not his fault. Not his fault that he bonded with those who he was going to fight later on and he knew, not his fault that everything was about power, the power in the shadows and who was going to come out alive, never his fault that he was all too late to save a friend almost closer than a sister.
He almost glared at the headstone as if the blame was on her. For going away.
How different he was now! And already 6 months had passed since that godawful battle but perhaps in time he would learn to rest and let rest. But he knew that time did not forgive, time did not forget. Neither would he.
So Artemis waited, waited for the tide to come rushing back to him in a headache of anguish again, like it did periodically in a guaranteed “remember this”…
When he appeared before Tris, Artemis’s eyes widened again, and his knees failed him, letting him drop to the floor. His eyes watered as they reverted back to aqua, and his lip trembled. “Tris…Oh,god,” he whispered, looking at her anguished face, the sword impaled through her abdomen, and the blood on the floor.
He forced himself up and staggered to her, cupping her face and looking into her eyes for a moment, then letting his eyes and hand slip to the sword. He covered his mouth and tears rolled down his cheeks as he stared at the sword. “Oh, god, Tris…Oh, god.” Tris had closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she saw Artemis kneeling on the floor beside her. A tear rolled down her bruised and bloody cheek.
“It hurts, Arty,” she whispered hoarsely. Slaylen hung back, his face down. Tears ran down his cheeks as well, and he looking down at his hands. They were stained with the blood of his lover. Pulses of pain shot through Tris’s body. She twisted on the sword, trying to pull it out, whimpering softly. Artemis sobbed softly, the flow of his tears intensifying.
“I can’t help you honey…I can’t. My healing powers…They don’t go that far. If…If I pull out the sword, you’ll die…” He looked over at Slaylen, then sniffled and guestured to Tris, meaning that he should spend his last moments with her. “Tell me when you’re ready,” he whispered.
Slaylen wiped away his tears, kneeling forward towards Tris. “I love you,” he whispered. “I’ll always love you, Trisana Bennett.” He knelt forward and brushed his lips against her cheek, then lightly on her lips. Tris reached out to Slaylen, letting her fingertips smooth his jaw line.
“Love you, Slaylen,” she whispered sadly. She turned towards Artemis, weakly kissing his tearstained cheek. “Love you, Arty.” Tris slowly closed her eyes, a small, peaceful smile on her lips. “Let me go, Arty…”
He nodded solemnly, then wiped his face and sniffled, standing close to her.
“Wrap your arms around me,” he murmured, then waited until she did so. When she was holding onto him, he took hold of the blade, wrapping a strong arm across her back. “I love you too, Trissie. Know that,” he whispered, then pulled the sword out quickly in a spray of blood across his shirt, and from how her body went limp he knew that she was gone, and he clutched her tightly, trembling.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you…”
Tears. Tar-colored tears, streaming down his cheeks like running mascara on a geisha’s face. The memory, the guilt for not being able to save her- all too strong. It was another slap to the cheek, the bitterness and the anguish and down Artemis Mogue went, his knees softly slapping the cold dirt. He closed his eyes- tried to stop the flow of black saline- didn’t think the memory would come back so vividly, her death…
Cold lips pressed against a black rose, brushed with his tears. He tossed the first over Tris’s grave.
One by one, each grave bringing back the rush of intensity to his head, a black rose was laid with too much remembrance for his own good.
“Arty!”
He turned, his forest green eyes- muddy as they were- changing to a clearer aqua. Liza was here, and she made everything bearable for him, his younger sister.
They embraced, and for a moment, it felt as if the events three months prior hadn't happened. If only he hadn't trembled at her touch. If only he hadn't clung to her so dearly.
] to Tris, meaning that he should spend his last moments with her. “Tell me when you’re ready,” he whispered.