In Search Of

Ringing in her ears. A sharp and high-pitched whine that seemed only to get worse. Through fluttering, slitted eyes, all she could see was grey. Like trying to peer through one of the sheer drapes she used to wind around herself (while they still hung from the window) and proclaim to be her new dress. Well, what she could see through one eye, anyway. The other refused to open, and she suspected it had something to do with the way she felt she was sucking on copper. Hands found her arms, her shoulders.

The world came into view again. Shouting in the distance, shouting around her. Sitting up without the assistance offered, Phaedra leaned to one side and spat blood into the snow, ground the heel of her palm against her eye until she cleared it of the dirt and blood that kept it tacked shut.

Reaching out to grasp the arm of her savior, she angled her head up to offer a smile, only to find the face wasn’t the one she expected. “I’m fine,” she assured hastily. “Go help someone else.” The world swam momentarily when she pushed herself to her feet and started turning her head wildly to look for —

“Crow!” There was no answer. “Crow!” Her search became more frantic. There were bodies in the snow, corpses of the people who’d trusted her and Crow to guide them through this fight and to find the dawn’s light on the other side. A whispered prayer under her breath hoped that if dawn could not find them here, that they would find the dawn, wherever they found themselves.

Again, she cried, “Crow!” She began turning over bodies like stones now, desperate and hopeful all at once. For each face she did not recognize as his was another chance he yet lived. Scraps of sensation started to knit itself together into a patchwork of memory.

So many had been laid out in the snow, barely clinging to life. Too many, in retrospect. It’d been a trap and they’d walked right into it. The enemy hit them swiftly and hard. They never saw it coming. She never saw it coming. She, who was meant to watch over the flock. While she raised the alarm, she had been powerless to stop the spell that exploded in front of them. The heat of it melted the snow and left the earth scorched.

Phaedra barely registered the cry at her back (Raven!) when she took off deeper into the woods, following signs of blood and footsteps barely visible.

Branches tore her hair from the knot atop her head, leaving it to flow free and wild as she dashed about. They left their kisses on her cheeks — long red lines that trickled blood. She didn’t care. “No.” Her voice was a whisper. “Please, no. I need him!” It began to gain strength and volume as the trail grew fainter and fainter. “Please!” she cried as she had to stop and double-back when she realized she’d taken a wrong turn. “I can’t do this without him!” Her voice cracked and tears began to spill hot against the chilled skin of her face, mingling with the blood.

When she realized she could no longer find a trail to follow, Phaedra fell to her knees and sobbed aloud, unafraid of who might hear now. Unafraid or perhaps unaware of the potential to be a beacon for foe and friend alike. She pressed her palms together, fingers pointed upward to the heavens, the knuckles of her thumbs resting against her lips, as though the nearness might amplify her prayer.

“He is my anchor. He is my rock.” The words came out in a quaver, quieter now than the gasps between rounds of tears. “He is my everything in this mortal life. Please, please, I cannot go through this again. I cannot lose another.” Gold eyes turned toward the sky. “I will still bring the light to this land, just as I promised you, but I can’t do this alone.”

Crow was better at this. The Raven was not one given to prayer. She left that to the cleric, the one with the connection to the gods that would allow him to work miracles, where she could only cause devastation. He, the weal and she, the woe.

But there was no divine guidance sent to her. No light to guide her back to him. No voice or apparition to assure her all would be well. Nothing to soothe her soul.

There was only the dark of a dusk eternal, and the cold.

Authors

• Phaedra Dawn