Chapter Two
A Promise Kept
She was too old.
Her body was as strong as when she was born, her muscles hard, her heart and respiratory system at full capacity. And the Purpose still had the desire to kill.
But she was so tired.
Energy levels were high, she had eaten and drank, and even after three days she was still more than capable of further conflict.
She was wounded, both wounds deep.
Her blood vessels shrank around the wounds, preventing excessive blood loss. Nerve endings were desensitised allowing free movement despite the arrow still in her chest. She could get up at anytime, she could still fight.
She just wanted to lay there and die.
Your thoughts are incorrect! You are flawed! Mutated!
I am tired.
You still live! Get up! Fight! Kill them!
Have I not killed enough?
Never! This one is alone! He only has a knife! Take it from him! Plunge it in his chest! Kill him! Stand up and fight! Kill them all! Kill as many as you can before they kill you!
I don’t want to! I don’t care! I want to die! I am tired! I am tired of all of it! I am tired of the Purpose!
Then die! You are flawed! Your integrity smashed! You deserve to die! You are of no use to the Purpose! Incorrect! Mutated! Disgusting! Die! Die! Die!
The familiar intense pain sprang up in her head. It was as if her skull was shrinking in size and crushing her brain. It was actually very close to what was happening. The turmoil in her mind caused enzymes to be released that made the membrane that lined her skull become taut, causing it to contract. It was a pain like no other. It was a pain that broke the mind and left the victim a catatonic wreck, easy victim for man or beast. It was a pain she could not outlast. It always won. Then the man had spoken and the pain eased. But the confusion and anger remained.
He cannot initiate a bond! He attacked you!
He did not. He was the only one who has remained passive.
He holds a weapon!
It is not for me.
He faces no risk!
He said they would kill us both.
If he leaves he will not return!
You do not believe that or you would still be hurting me.
The pain went completely. The blade bit the grass and her eyes closed and her body finally relaxed from the conflict in her mind. She was so tired she even slept.
Rolf L’Epine didn’t celebrate for long. From the moment they had ridden away from the forest, he had made up his mind what he was going to do, and he had already begun to plan.
These people were not who he thought they were. The Hunt was not a tradition to be celebrated; it was an abomination, an excuse to commit evil on those who could not reply. Yes, the woman was armed; she had fought back, and had even killed Sir Edwin. But she had not sought the conflict. She had been the one who had been searched for, and chased.
The Hunt had lasted three days. During that time they had chased her from her den in the mountains, across the valleys and fields of Halafalon, to the darkness of the forest. Only when her horse had fallen to an arrow was she finally overtaken. She had done her best to flee, to escape. No, there was no honour in the Hunt, only bestiality, rape and murder. The murder of women. Rolf wanted no part of it, and he wanted no part of a society that condoned it.
As soon as he could get away, Rolf returned to his quarters in the Royal Palace in Ellerkan and packed all his belongings. He took only the things that were most important. Then he went to the kitchens and took food and wine. After that he went to the surgeon’s quarters and stole bandages and ointments. He took his horse and left in the middle of the night, the sound of the cheering and carousing from the Great Hall still ringing in his ears as he left through the great gates.
All the way back to the forest he was filled with foreboding. What if she had already died? What if he couldn’t even find the place where he had left her? Then another thought had occurred to him. What if she attacked him? She could be forgiven for doing so.
As it was, he found the place easily enough. The first thing he came across was her fallen horse. From there on it was easy. But when he finally got to the place where she lay, it was to find her gone. He got off his horse and led it to the spot where the grass was all trampled down. He knelt down and felt the dried blood and picked up a piece of torn clothing. He looked around at the trees and the shadows. Even in the early evening it had been dark, but now he could see no further than the next tree.
Where had she gone? Had wolves dragged her off? He looked down at the grass again. No, wolves would have left more of a mess. She had left on her own, and she had taken what was left of her clothes. Then he noticed more blood. Yes, there was some more further on, a trail on the grass. Rolf followed it, pulling on the reins of his horse, which obediently followed after him.
He followed the trail of blood through the trees. He was just passing another tree when he suddenly saw her. In fact it was his horse that saw her first. It snorted and raised its head. Rolf looked up, and there she was. She was sat with her back to a tree. She had replaced her torn leggings and had recovered her sword. Now she held it pointing towards him in obvious defence. She held it in her left hand, her right hand clutched at her side. The tattered remains of her tunic were draped over her shoulders. There was hardly anything left of it. She was stained in blood, dirt and sweat. But the point of her sword never wavered.
Rolf held out his hands in supplication. “It’s alright. I told you I would come back for you. But I haven’t come here to hurt you.”
She was uncompromising and fearless. “Come any closer and I will kill you!” she whispered hoarsely, spitting blood.
There was an accent to her voice, but it was one he couldn’t place. Rolf was equally stubborn. “Then kill me,” he said.
He stood up, took the water bottle from his well-packed saddle, and walked towards her. She raised her sword to strike at him. He ignored it and knelt down right in front of her. The blow never came, and instead she placed the edge of the sword to the side of his throat; he could feel it as he held the water bottle up to her lips. She didn’t drink, and they stayed like that, as if frozen in time, until she finally lowered her sword and drank from the bottle. She coughed and spluttered, and then she drank some more.
She finally put down her sword next to her and took the bottle in her hand and stared at him. “You are either very foolish, or you want more from me than those others took.”
Rolf was immediately angered. “I’m not like them!” he said in a raised voice. “I would never do anything like that to you, or to anyone! I told you, I came here to help you!” He stood up and went back to his horse, and began to pull things from his saddlebags. “Look!” he said. “I’ve brought bandages, ointments, food, and clothing! I want to help you, not hurt you!”
“I believe you,” she said weakly. “But while you speak of help, I bleed.”
Rolf’s indignation evaporated. He took the bandages and ointment and quickly knelt down beside her again. He washed the wound in her right side with water from the bottle and put on some of the ointment. Then he wrapped a bandage over the wound and around her midriff, pulling it tight. She kept silent while he worked, her breath coming in laboured rasps as she held her torn tunic out of the way.
Next came the arrow. Rolf slipped the tunic off her shoulder to reveal the broken arrow still embedded in her skin under her collar bone. It was strange how he was already almost used to seeing her exposed body. But there was no time to think of anything other than her injuries. With the arrow still in, the wound hadn’t bled as much as the one in her side, but the arrow was in deep, and the barbed head was too well lodged in her chest. She closed her eyes and made no sound as Rolf tried to pull it out, but it was no use.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t move it.”
“Then you must complete its passage,” she wheezed.
Rolf knew what she meant. The only way t
he arrow was going to come out was if he pushed it all the way through her and pulled it out of her back. He picked up a flat stone that lay on the grass nearby. He pointed upwards at the branches of the tree.
“Look up there.”
She raised her head and looked without hesitation, and Rolf slammed the flat stone against the end of the arrow. The arrowhead burst from her back in a red splatter, and she cried out for the first time. Rolf pulled her close, so that she was leaning into him, and then he pulled the broken arrow the rest of the way out. She held on to him as he went on to bathe the wounds in her chest and back, put on the ointment, and then carefully wrapped another bandage around her chest and shoulder.
When he was done, Rolf washed her face and neck with the water. Then he wrapped her with his own cloak.
“Now you must stand,” he told her. “I will put you on my horse and take you to my uncle’s house on the edge of the forest. It is long abandoned, but its roof is sound and there is plenty of wood for a fire. You will be safe there.”
She looked up at him with tired eyes. “You said you had food?”
Rolf nodded, and hurried back to retrieve some cheese and bread from his saddlebags and a bottle of wine. “I have meat,” he said as he came back to sit next to her. “But it would be better if it were roasted over a fire. Here, eat this for now.” He slowly fed her the cheese and bread, and held up the bottle for her to drink again. She ate slowly, but drank quickly. Rolf could tell that she was getting weaker. When she had finished eating he packed everything back in his saddlebags and began to lift her up, anxious to get her on his horse. His urgency brought the first protests from her and she refused to get up.
“I hurt!” she moaned as he pulled at her. “My chest, my insides, they all burn with fire. And I hurt between my legs, and inside. Let me lie here.”
“No. It’s cold here. And it will get colder as the hours pass. You need a fire. You need to be warm. Get up. You can rest on the horse as we travel.”
He managed to get her on her feet. She was very shaky, and if he hadn’t been holding her up, she would have fallen down. But just as he got her to the side of his horse, she began to struggle.
“My sword!” she cried out. “Bring me my sword! I need my sword!”
Rolf glanced at the sword that still lay by the tree. “You can get another,” he said.
“No! I am an Androktone! A Destroyer! The sword is part of me! I need it!”
She began to struggle harder. Rolf quickly gave up. “Alright! I’ll get it for you. Hold on to the saddle.”
He left her leaning against his horse as he went to retrieve her sword. She looked on anxiously until he returned and held it out to her.
“Satisfied?”
She nodded and took the sword from him eagerly. She raised it above her head, placed the point of the sword at the nape of her neck, and pushed it in. For a moment the sword was above her head like a silver cross, and then it sank into her back. Rolf watched in awe as the sword seemed to flow down her spine, until the handle melted into the back of her head and neck, and it disappeared.
“Sorcery!” he exclaimed.
“No. Genetic mutation and molecular manipulation,” she replied. She saw his puzzled expression and added, “The sword is mine. It is as much a part of me as I am a part of it. Apart we are nothing, together we are everything. I would rather leave behind an arm than my sword.”
She stared into his eyes, searching for some indication of revulsion or distaste, anything. Instead all she saw was a continued lack of comprehension. She shook her head sadly. “You hunt and kill us, and yet you have forgotten why.”
“I’m sorry,” was all Rolf could think of to say.
“If you had not forgotten your own history, you would not be so sorry. Now, help me on this horse before my strength leaves me.”
He did as she asked, hardly conscious of the subtle change in their relationship. He climbed on his horse behind her. She sat side-saddle in front of him, it was the only way she could sit on the horse. She wrapped her left arm around his waist, and rested her head on his shoulder. He kept his right arm around her as he held on to the reins of his horse, urging it on at a trot.
They rode through the forest in silence. Rolf’s head was filled with ideas and emotions. He had rescued her as he had planned to do, but she was neither grateful, nor angry. Instead she seemed sad. But not for herself. Somehow he felt that she was sad for him, and for the Prince and his Knights who had attacked her. Why was that? And what part of their history had they forgotten? He glanced down at her. She seemed to be sleeping; he could hear her wheezing as she breathed. Did she remember more than him? And how had she done that trick with her sword?
Rolf carefully moved aside her long red hair and gently touched the back of her neck. There was no sign of the sword. He sighed and rearranged her hair. This was all a mystery to him. What had they forgotten? She was a Destroyer, but who or what were the Destroyers? Did he truly know? She had called herself an Androktone. It was a name that was unfamiliar. And whatever they were called, why did they live alone in the mountains and the hills? And why was killing them thought to be acceptable to people who were otherwise good?
All these thoughts ran wild in Rolf’s head. But he could find no answers, and soon, his head began to ache.
Fool!
He did what was required.
He knows nothing! His intentions are false!
His intentions are true and genuine.
He knows nothing! Strike him down! Steal his horse!
I am tired!
You feign weakness!
And your denial of the initiation of the bond is a sign of a flawed integrity!
Silence. She pressed on.
I am tired! Tired of killing! Tired of death! Tired of life! I will have this bond!
When he knows he may not want you!
Panic. Fear. Then final realisation.
He will want me.