Young Writers Society

It took Zain all of a second to memorize each angle of the bodies lying prostrate on the snow. After his horse had stepped over the blood and continued in its trek, the image remained in the front of his mind.

It wasn’t the gore or the violence the deaths revealed that clung to him. It was the improbability of it all. While Larabos was known for having strong warriors, they were never much in comparison to Styrka. For a single man—in a new and dangerous environment—to take down three Styrkish warriors alone…

That was not mentioning the carefully displayed bodies and the clues beyond that. None of the others bothered to look beyond the horrors of blood, but if they had, they would’ve seen other foot-prints leading up the mountain. They would’ve seen the careful slit on the Larabosi warrior’s throat, not at all typical for the jagged gashes of battle.

Zain knew how to pose bodies. He had done so time and time again by the request of his clients. He knew how to make a death look natural, and he knew how to make it appear as the cause of another man. By doing so, he also knew when a body had been posed.

There was no doubt in Zain’s mind that the Larabosi and Styrkish warriors had been posed. Their bodies were laid upon relatively untouched snow but for a few sets of foot-prints. Their weapons had been tucked into their palms, the grips awkward and unnatural. And beyond the fatal cuts on each warrior, there were no other wounds.

Zain glanced at Kai just before him, his eyes landing on the Sword of Styrka swaying at his hip. While the weapon was plain and unadorned, it had to have high worth for both Larabos and Arlan to be after it. The blade did emit an aura of power, but it didn’t seem worth the risk of retrieving it. Not only was the journey dangerous, but the possibility of being named an enemy of Styrka was inviting Death. Although, Zain knew firsthand the extent some would go for the power of magic. While Arlan opposed magic in any form, labeling it a crime, the prospect of having such power at one’s disposal was an offer too great to dismiss.

Zain’s scar twinged at the thought, the poorly healed tissue along his face aching with phantom memory. His scar was a physical sign of the greed of man—especially in the sense of magic. He could not look at his reflection without being reminded of it.

While he didn’t crave the power of magic like many men did, Zain knew he was not free of the clutches of greed. His presence among the other prophesied was only an indicator to that. He had long since accepted his enslavement to greed, and while he desired freedom, nothing could be acquired freely.

The Ghost behind him was a step towards that freedom. A leap towards that freedom.

The image of her dangling from the cliff by her fingertips came to mind. Terror had been carved in every curve of her features, widening her eyes and furrowing her brows. The blood on her hands had stained the stone and ice beneath her skin, vivid among the grey. It had been a relief to see her there. A relief if only because the pain the Ghost’s sister felt upon the woman’s death would not be any fault of his. He could claim credit for the death, but escape the act itself. It was rare such an opportunity arose.

Yet, the opportunity had been disrupted by both Kai at his side and Shadya whimpering at his back. Before he could feel the full wash of relief as the Ghost fell to her death, he found his hand around her wrist, helping her escape Death rather than meet Him.

He would not allow the next moment to pass so easily. Regardless of possessing any personal belongings to indicate her death, he could display his assassination in other ways. He had done so before, using public witnesses and even personalized knowledge of his victims to affirm the death was by his hand. The former would be the simpler of the two. All he needed was to prove the death was intentional, by his hand, and have the word of it spread to Arlan. From there, Master Rune could collect his blood money, and Zain would retrieve his portion upon his return.

Of course, any plan could sound simple at the stage of conception. Zain was accomplished in assassinating the most well defended of men, but in the case of the Ghost, it wasn’t her defenses that restricted him, but her lack of seclusion. Once he got her alone, his job would be easy.

…

Hours later, the sun was setting, and they had yet to find a cave to settle in for the night. Fortunately, vegetation was already beginning to return to the terrain as they descended, allowing them meager shelter beneath sparse pines. They resigned to setting up camp within a copse of trees, swiftly unpacking and unsaddling their horses, and lighting a fire in a steady routine that had become habitual.

After laying out his bedroll and settling upon it, Zain watched the others, assessing. Kai shuffled through the pack of food, portioning out a bit for everyone. Rieka sharpened her axe in her lap, attempting to hide any grimaces of pain at the swift movements. The Ghost and her sister sat beside one another, preparing their bedroll. Ren had already collapsed to the ground, wincing as he adjusted the layers of cloth on his feet, and the prince stood beside him, his eyes glancing over each person: assessing just like Zain was.

Zain wasn’t sure what the prince could possibly be considering as he scanned each person, his hands steady at his sides. At his position in their group, he was declared to lead them, yet his leadership had been lacking since the beginning. It was a wonder the young man had been born under the title of ‘prince’. Regardless of any sense of anxiety one felt, Zain would assume such a status would require certain qualities. Qualities Prince Ambrose seemed to lack.

Adapting was a requisite in life, a fact the prince seemed ignorant to, but Zain knew better than most. His eyes fell back on the Ghost. There was no doubt that she, too, understood the need to adapt. In truth, she might have matched Zain in his ability to do so, taking on the persona of ‘the Ghost’ in order to survive.

Not that any of that mattered. The world was full of people like him, each one breaking off a piece of their humanity until there was none left. What set him apart was that he had long since accepted the loss of humanity. Truthfully, he had resigned himself to the fact that humanity rarely existed at all.

The Ghost tucked Shadya’s hair behind her ear, smiling softly as the young girl burrowed beneath blankets. Regardless of any justification behind the Ghost’s actions—actions that resulted in her wanted death—he would carry through with his assigned task. He would carry through without guilt as he always did. Because he was among the few that had broken off the last of his humanity long ago.

“How long until we are out of the Kiertsk mountains?” Kai asked, settling onto his bedroll as he gnawed on a strip of dried meat.

“A few days, if we do not run into any complications,” the prince said, also easing to the ground.

Kai scrubbed a hand over his jaw, his shoulders tense. “We are almost out of supplies. We have less than half a skein of water left and only a little more food.”

Silence followed his words, laden with heavy tension. They were already lacking the daily nutrition their bodies required, so cutting down rations from where they already were could be detrimental. While Zain could cope with the loss of food, their horses’ were weak, their ribs protruding from their bellies.

“Hate to state the obvious here,” Ren said, “but, we are surrounded by snow. Snow is water. There’s one supply we can cross off our list.”

“You don’t eat snow, dumbass,” Rieka huffed.

“Why not?”

“You just don’t. It doesn’t hydrate you.” Rieka rolled her eyes and turned back to Kai. “We have enough supplies to last us. We just take less breaks. Wake up earlier.”

“Without the proper sustenance,” the prince said, his voice soft, “the horses will not be able to walk for so long without losing the last of their energy.”

“Great,” Ren muttered. “And another dead horse is just what we need.”

A weighted quiet settled upon them once more. Truthfully, Zain had yet to hold concern for escaping Styrka. While they were dangerously low on supplies, he had survived with less. In fact, other than the minute thinning of him and the others, there were few visually apparent signs of malnourishment.

“I could really use a warm slice of chocolate cake right now,” Ren mused, his eyes glazed in thought.

“No,” Rieka disagreed, her hand falling still over her axe blade. “Roasted fish and cabbage.”

“Cabbage?” Ren’s lip curled in disgust. “There is something seriously wrong with you.”

Rieka’s lips pursed and she gave him a look. “All you like to eat are sweets.”

Ren’s lip pulled up in a smirk. “I do like things sweet,” he agreed, turning to wink at the prince. The young man’s pale cheeks flushed red. “So, Your Highness,” Ren said, leaning closer to the prince. “What are you craving?” When the prince leaned back, his eyes darting to the trees as though someone were in the shadows, Ren chuckled. “Food. What food are you craving,” he clarified, causing Rieka to snort.

“I don’t think speaking of food will make our hunger lessen,” Kai said, one hand resting against his abdomen as though he could quell the ache there.

“It’s all about imagination,” Ren said. He lifted his hands as he explained. “If you can perfectly visualize the food you want to eat, then imagine that food filling your stomach, you can convince yourself that you are full.”

Rieka looked at Ren, her brows raised. “I don’t think that’s how that works.”

Ren waved a hand in dismissal. “Trust me, it is. I’ve been hungry enough to know.”

Zain assessed Ren. He had earlier labeled the thief as pretentious and overindulged. While living in Reindale’s slums wasn’t an easy feat, Ren seemed to have plenty of wealth at his disposal. If anything, he seemed less acclimated to destitute conditions than even the pampered prince.

Regardless of Ren’s experiences, Zain did not find his words true. In his own experiences, hunger, like Death, could not be fooled.

“Gods, don’t stare at me like I’ve killed someone,” Ren said, glancing between them all. “Have you forgotten I’m a thief in Reindale?”

“Like you’d let us forget,” Rieka muttered.

“The world is not kind to thieves and beggars,” the prince commented idly, his eyes turned to his clasped hands in his lap.

“Because you know so well,” Rieka muttered sardonically.

Kai stiffened, ready to defend his friend, but the prince merely looked up, meeting Rieka’s harsh gaze. “I may not have experienced the difficulties of the slums, but trust me when I tell you I have seen the numbers,” he said, his voice quiet and steady. “I have seen all the rates of which men, women, and children die from starvation, illness, and even by the hand of the king when they have convicted crimes just to support their families. So, no. I do not know firsthand the cruelty the world can show, but I know the extent to which it exists.”

Zain silently appraised the prince. Perhaps it was this reason why the young man had yet to display the full level of the overindulgence with which he had been raised. Perhaps it was his title that had both coddled him with its luxuries and trained him of the state of the world beyond it.

Regardless, a list of numbers on paper could not fully encapsulate the extent of the world’s cruelty. In fact, Zain flourished under the ignorance of the wealthy. The umbrella of wealth and security that covered them also hid the sky. The prince believed he knew the world in its natural state, but he only received glimpses. It was a tried and true theory. The wealthy settled in the comfort that they understood the world only for Zain to surprise them when Death sent His orders.

“If you understand the injustice the poor are treated with, then why didn’t you do anything to change it?” Rieka asked, her brows raised.

“I do not have that power,” the prince responded, his voice soft.

“Bullshit. Reindale doesn’t support its impoverished, so they are left to die in the streets like rats. Meanwhile the wealthy sit in their fancy homes, wasting away their coin on wine and women.” With her last comment, Rieka swung a hand to indicate to the Ghost, who watched the conversation idly. The woman didn’t show any reaction to the spat insult. “And you have the balls to tell me you don’t have any power? You’re the prince!”

“Rieka—” Kai started.

The prince lifted a hand, silencing him. His spine straightened, and for the first time, he held himself with the presence his title demanded. “This is where my sole power lies. Within this journey. I know the wealth at my disposal is of an unfair amount. I know there are lives who would be saved by the smallest portion of it. Were I to do for them what I could, the smallest semblance of power I have would be taken away. This is how I help people. Here. Today, tomorrow, and the days after until our return. I am a prince, but the title is second to gods-blessed.”

Ren cleared his throat, his eyes upon the prince. “It’s wonderful to be reassured by your benevolent nature, Your Highness, but I’m a bit confused as to how this whole prophecy helps Arlan. Three artifacts owned by other countries… If the world isn’t kind to thieves, then how can you expect it to be kind to us and to Arlan?”

The others, Zain included, all blinked at Ren’s words. The thief had yet to display a stream of thought beyond his base desires, so Zain had believed he did not consider anything beyond its surface.

The prince seemed unsurprised by his question, meeting Ren’s eyes, his face expressionless. “There is power in hope. And in unity. By the off chance these objects do not hold the power to strengthen a nation as they are rumored to, the hope they will infuse among the people is more than I could ever give in a life-time as just a prince.”

“Hope for what?” Rieka scoffed. “You are taking what doesn’t belong to you and believe it will grant hope?”

“To Arlanians, these artifacts belong to them,” the prince said. Zain pondered his use of ‘them’ rather than ‘us’. Perhaps the prince was only submitting to this prophecy for his people, not because he believed in it. “By returning them,” the prince continued, “there is hope that Arlan will grow strong once more.”

“By returning them,” Kai corrected, glancing sideways to the prince. “We will be doing the gods’ work. There is hope in that.”

“There is hope in possessions,” Ren mused, ignoring Kai’s words. The young thief turned to the prince, his lip curling up in the corner in a genuine smile rather than a teasing one. “There is hope in symbols, regardless of how they were acquired.”

“That sword is a symbol of Styrka,” Rieka said, pointing harshly to the glowing blade at Kai’s side. The blue light lit up their otherwise dark clearing.

“And?” Ren said, leaning back on his palms. “I kept the first watch I stole for years. It was worthless and didn’t belong to me. It was still a symbol of the possibility of life.”

“And I think we can all agree that your actions are not ones to be followed,” Rieka mocked, giving him a look.

“The meaning of a symbol changes,” the Ghost said, her voice a smooth slice through the tension of the building argument. “You debate what belongs to whom and what means what, but there is no definitive answer. Styrka supports the belief that the sword was forged for them while Arlan believes Styrka has stolen it. Our task is not to decide which side is correct nor is it to contemplate the morality or impact of our actions. Our task is to do what our contracts enforce us to do and collect our money when it is said and done.”

Zain turned away from her. She spoke the words as though pulling them from his mind. She spoke the words he had been repeating to himself in regards to killing her. His task. That task also went beyond morality and impact. He could not consider such things without losing sight of who he was and why he was here.

“Is that what you tell yourself when you fuck men for money?” Rieka said, turning to give the Ghost a scathing look. “That none of it matters except for the few coins you get to pocket when you’re done?”

Something shifted from the corner of Zain’s eyes, and he turned to find Ren shoving himself to his feet, his face pinched with anger. Before the thief could do something truly foolish, the Ghost said, “I do not expect you to understand my actions, but if it is greed that you accuse me of, just remember that you signed the same contract I did.”

“Yes, I signed that contract. I signed it after two years of scraping by, trying to gain any semblance of respect I could in a society where women were less than dirt. Meanwhile, you just rolled to your back the minute things got hard. Worse, you took your sister with you.”

Kai’s hand shot out to grab Ren’s forearm when the thief began to step towards Rieka once more. Ren peered down at Kai, and Kai shook his head in warning. What the thief was so bothered by, Zain didn’t know. He hadn’t been aware Ren held an inkling of care for the Ghost.

Zain turned his attention back to the Ghost, assessing her next move. This fight was not like Ren and Rieka’s bickering, nor was it like Kai and Rieka’s. Those arguments were volatile tempers and unrestrained emotions. This was fire against ice. No, ice wasn’t even what the Ghost represented. She represented air. Impossible to catch and even more impossible to defeat.

The Ghost watched Rieka with an unaffected stare. With her sister asleep beside her, she didn’t need to restrain herself for Shadya’s sake. Instead, her features were more at ease than they ever had been, her eyes calm and all signs of tension vanishing from her skin.

“And that is where you are wrong. You believe my actions were ones done out of ease. You think it is easy to spread my legs for men that I despise. You think it is easy to let them bruise me, touch me, and violate me. You think it is easy to do it all with a smile, giving them the person they wish me to be. You think it is easy to do it day after day, enslaved to my job.

“You see, Rieka, you and I are nothing alike. Not because of my actions, but because everything I did—all the heinous and dirty acts I subjected myself to—I never did for myself. Perhaps you are better than me as you so surely believe, but I did what I did for her.” The Ghost placed a gentle hand on her sleeping sister’s shoulder. “And I would do so again for a hundred life-times if it guaranteed her safety. Despise me with all your heart’s desire, but do not, for one second, believe I would ever allow anything to happen to my sister.”

The Ghost’s eyes turned to settle upon Zain before returning to Rieka. The glance was brief—less than a second—yet it struck Zain’s core. That single look held all the power, will, and fervor the Ghost never displayed, carrying with it just how far she would go to protect Shadya. Or rather, the total lack of limits she set when it came to her sister. It was a challenge—a challenge to Zain. One that stated how much she knew in regards to his goals and how she refused to give Death His dues.

That look was one he remembered from years past. A look he had tried his best to forget.

“How am I supposed to believe that,” Rieka spat, “when you brought your sister here? You say you’re protecting her, yet you let her stand and watch as a dragon attempted to kill us all.”

The Ghost’s expression cracked then. Beneath the unaffected countenance showed her guilt. Her brows lowered just slightly, her muscles twitching as she fought to conceal the emotion they betrayed. Her lips tightened, a few creases appearing on her golden brown skin. It was so subtle, Zain doubted many of the others noticed.

“You’re right,” she said, her voice stronger than before. It was something akin to Rieka’s voice—using faux strength to mask the vulnerability. “I have brought her here because I thought it would be safer than Reindale. Maybe I was wrong. I have no true power to protect her. I have no ability or strength with a blade and definitely no knowledge in this kind of survival. I am nothing, here or in Reindale. But that doesn’t mean I won’t try. I am all Shadya has, so I’ll be damned if I screw it up any more than I already have.”

Zain couldn’t help the glimmer of confusion at her shift in mood. While each word she spoke made sense, wholly defended by her concealed guilt, it was nothing like the glance she had given him. It was the opposite, actually. This woman was one who was weak and desperate for her sister’s safety. The woman that had glanced at him moments before was one that would burn the world to ashes before Shadya was hurt.

Rieka glanced from the Ghost to Shadya’s sleeping form before saying, “If all she’s got is you, I feel bad for the girl.” With one last eye roll, Rieka turned away, laying back on her bedroll. “Whatever. I’m going to sleep.”

With Rieka’s back to her, the Ghost leaned down to caress Shadya’s frizzy curls that escaped from her braid. The guilt remained on her features, blended with love and fear. Zain puzzled over it, waiting for what he assumed to be a mask to fall. It didn’t.

Instead, the woman laid beside her sister, slipping under their shared blankets. The others all settled down to sleep as well, shooting concerned glances amongst themselves.

Zain stayed awake, opting to take first watch. As he sat there under the stars, his breaths puffing out in the cold air, he watched the Ghost. Her breaths evened with sleep, her body relaxing, yet a voice whispered in his mind that she was still watching. Observing.

Perhaps she wasn’t the Ghost. Perhaps he was after the wrong woman this whole time, given the false window to her room within the brothel. Perhaps she was genuine, each glimmer of weakness and guilt a display of truth.

Or perhaps she was the Ghost, in which case, she was more dangerous than Zain had ever imagined. In the span of one argument, she managed to convince Rieka and no doubt the others that she couldn’t protect her sister, meanwhile gaining their sympathy and desire to do what she lacked. In one argument, she gained the protection of two warriors, a prince, and a thief for her sister should Zain end her life.

In one argument, she made Zain question if he could kill her.