Even the demon soldiers parted as Malice passed, for they regarded him as a general and acted with that strange paradox that is the etiquette of war.
Magus’ soul was gone, and he lay lifeless, his cheeks still flushed with blood that would cease to flow; his body still warm with forever frozen heat. It was a surreal thing- something that could not be understood, nor explained. It was as if he had simply stopped; fallen in a moment of fury.
Malice entered the coldness of the castle, his shadow stretched out long before him on the marble ground. He was silent and still, blood flowing from his hair like tears from his eyes, running down his cheeks and dripping onto Magus’ un-flinching and lifeless visage. As the guards closed the heavy door behind him, Malice collapsed to his knees, the bravery, the pride gone.
He never let his comrade’s body touch the floor.
In the solitude of the castle, he hunched over, pulling the bloody form close to him and letting go of all his tears. They were not tears only for Magus, but for everything; for the war, for the countless soldiers who now lay in un-tended graves, and for the misery that had become his life. How in all this time had this come to him? How had a simple task taken him so far from his home- a home he would probably never see again? And how was it that now he kneeled upon a doomed territory, with the shell of a man who once breathed and spoke with life.
Over and over he wept, his tears and blood spilling upon the floor ceaselessly. This was
his time. This was his time to finally let out what his heart had so long yearned to do- to pull away from bravery, from valour, from all that was the glory of war; to cry for peace and cry for home, to cry for the ceaseless hatred. Somewhere, somehow, he had lost himself; he had slipped away- become no longer human.
With shaky, muddy fingers, he wiped the blood from his friend’s cheek, watching the strange idleness with rage and hope.
“Wake up…” Malice cried among uneven breaths “Wake up!”
He shook him fiercely and once more collapsed into tears. The silence of the hall gave way to sobs, and for a while he said nothing.
“Dammit! Why would you do this? Why would you leave like this?” he cried after a moment, pressing his forehead against the lifeless man’s chin. But the figure was still and silent, its pale lips shut in an eternal lock and unwilling to grant Malice the comfort of sound.
“I don’t understand…” Malice said aloud “All of it…all of your life resulted in this? All of that to one mistake! And now…”
He leaned forward, and his lonely dagger slid from its sheath, landing in a smear of blood. Malice watched it tensely, his eyes and palms aching with rage and sorrow.
Slowly, and with wavering breath, he outstretched his shaky finger and ran it along the blunt side of his dagger.
“What friendly blood lies on my blade…” he muttered, a strange and forced smile coming to his face, his teeth parted and unable to close “Of all the ways…of all the ways he had to die…it had to be
my knife!” His voice met an uneven crescendo, escalating until it resonated through the hollow halls.
The echo dissipated and fell, evaporating into nothingness and leaving him alone. He listened, motionless, before looking down once more, a solemnity having come over him.
“It is my fault, my friend…” he muttered “Your blood is on my hands… my knife… Death! Everything is mine.
But that won’t be all. Of course it won’t be all! There
will be more death. More to add to my soul’s debt. For I know of fate. I know of how it chooses men and drives them to eternal sorrow!
Well that may happen…but the blood will no longer be yours…it will no longer be
any human! I have been too careless and now I see the error of my ways! Kani…” he scowled, the name a whip to his already scarred soul “It will be
his blood that runs upon my hands. If any blood it shall be his! I am done! I am done with this! Let me die and let my bones forever rest amid the waves, to lie in a pitiful grave! But let me just this one pleasure! Let me live to see my dagger in his heart!”
*
The fog parted, clear and white like steamy ice. For a while, the world still blurred in a haze of light and wood, but slowly it crept back to its proper place, falling, as dust does, into the jade puzzle. Things were right again, but not entirely whole, and even as Titania lay on the ground, she knew that something was wrong.
In the time that she had lain there (an hour? Two? A day?), the mud had soaked into her clothes and the cold into her bones so that it choked her veins and froze her from the inside out. She shivered, pulling herself up with slippery difficulty.
Slowly, she looked to where her own blood stained the ground, and once more drew her hand up to her forehead, faltering as her own hands stung and whipped at her wound; burning at her simplest touch. For all the power in the world, she had never been able to heal herself, though she did not know why. Magic was a mysterious thing, always tumbling beyond the reach of human understanding, shying away like a frightened and mischievous dove.
Quick as a wave, the silence lifted and her ears filled with the sound of a hard pattering. In wonderment, she looked around her, watching as a shower of white pebbles fell from the sky. Unsure, he held out her hand to catch some and marveled as they melted in her palm. What strange phenomenon was this? She shook her head as the novelty wore off, and the falling increased. Whatever it was, it was pulling the demons back temporarily, allowing the last few humans to regroup and return to the sanctuary of their castle.
Unrelentingly, the ice fell from the sky, bouncing off of the gray stone castle. From the corner of her eye, she caught a glint of gold, but as she turned to look, it vanished and she believed it to only be a misinterpretation.
The humans slowly ran inside the various entrances of the palace, their muddy feet staining the once-pristine floor. Titania followed, but something pulled her. Some force compelled her to walk a little further and enter through the western doors.
The guardsmen had abandoned their posts, and so she entered on her own accord, pushing open the heavy object and stopping in the tear of shock as the panels gave way and the light spilt rectangular upon the floor. The blood, the dagger, the body…
Her breath snaking through the frosty air, she watched as the familiar head turned to stare at her, tears and blood upon his wordless face. In his eyes, she saw blame, and sorrow; rage and guilt. But for all that it hurt her, she fell at cold at the sight of the body, unable to shed a single tear. In silence, she stared back at him with an unreadable face, frozen in place by the sight of his pain. The moment of ghostly stillness passed, and she moved forward, unsurely, her shoes becoming stained in the blood which covered the ground. She said nothing to Malice, and yet as she kneeled beside him, he knew to allow Magus’ head to fall upon her lap.
“Rest now…” she muttered, asking no questions of his passing “Your spirit is free now, may it never return to this place of suffering again.”
She turned to Malice but he was silent, turning away from her with shame. Slowly, she took his wrist, and guided his fingers over Magus’ eyelids, allowing the warrior a last solemn rite and muttering a few blessed words.
From behind closed eyes, he stared up at them, a man forever gone and silenced. All greed, all desire, had flown from him in his last moments and now he was free to be part of the eternal. He was free to escape the lashing fire and be lifted above the violent world.