The sun set below the Maranaqua peaks, stretching out long shadows over the ruined village. Men withdrew indoors, reassembling broken shards of their existence. Knights cleared trash from the streets, their armor ringing as they labored alongside the villagers, mending roofs and supporting shattered walls.
Gabriel slumped against the stone parapet of the castle, his eyes afar as he observed the flash of torches in the distance. Neah came quietly, her soft footsteps a mere whisper on the shining marble. She was standing beside him, her arms crossed as the wind played with her dark, flowing locks.
"You look distressed," she observed, catching him with a sidelong glance. "Is it regarding the girl?"
Gabriel braced himself, his fists wrapped around the stone balustrade. "Her name is Margo. She. she was carried off by the flood. I don't know if she lives."
Neah's eyes slitted by a fraction. She had heard the name once before, in whispers at night in the castle. Margo. The girl who had somehow caught Gabriel's heart. Jealousy sparked within her, a blade of metal.
"Tell me about her," Neah demanded, the voice of challenge tingeing her tone. "Why is she so special?"
Gabriel paused, his gaze out across the horizon. "She's. different. Powerful. She's fought things other people would flee from without hesitation. She's stubborn and reckless, but." He paused, his eyes going cloudy, "She makes me feel alive."
Neah's jaw clenched, her heart thumping against her ribcage. She smiled weakly, her fingers digging into the palms of her hands. "She sounds. amazing."
Gabriel swung around to her, catching the glint of emotion in her eyes. He was going to speak, perhaps try to console her, when a shout sounded from the lower courtyard. Carl climbed up the stone steps, his armor clanking with every rushed step.
"Neah! Gabriel!" he cried, taking short, staccato breaths. "We have to talk. Now."
They found him halfway down the stairs, worry creased on their faces.
"What's wrong?" Gabriel asked, his forehead furrowing.
Carl drew a lungful of air into his lungs, his chest rising and falling. "It's my brother Owen. He drew something on his wall—a goblin. He said he saw it by our window."
Neah's eyes went wide, and Gabriel's heart fell. Goblins frightened him, visions of grotesque bodies with sharp teeth and bright eyes appearing in his mind.
"Are you certain?" Neah panted, her hand falling instinctively to the knife at her side.
Carl nodded, his own face white. "I arrived as quickly as I could. I ranged over the area with the knights, but. we didn't see anything."
Gabriel looked out at the horizon, which was darkening by the second. If goblins had reached this far, if they had slipped through the cracks of the Creation World, then there was more terrible on its way.
Neah moved forward a step, placing her hand on Carl's shielded shoulder. "We can't be too cautious. If the goblins are here, we can't let our guard down."
Carl took a deep breath, his gaze freezing. "I know. I'll tell the king. We have to be prepared."
Pausing to exit, Gabriel snagged his arm. "Thanks, Carl. For defending your brother. For defending us."
Carl could muster only a grimace before he took off back down the stairs, his footfalls ringing off the stone walls.
Neah smiled and let him go, a weight in her breast. She looked over at Gabriel, her mind still occupied with the name that now smarted like a thorn.
"Take care, Gabriel," she whispered, spinning on her heel and disappearing into the night of the castle.
Gabriel stood by himself, his mind divided between the disappeared girl of the flood and the danger that crept ever nearer to the walls of Maranaqua.
The flame of the fire danced in the dark obscurity of the Samana mountain encampment, the burning, acrid smoke drifting into the cold midnight air. Queen Hanna sat tall and imposing upon her stone throne, her black, inquiring eyes sweeping across the seated Samana officials, their green, battered faces scrunched in concentration, their gasps fleeing in low, harsh whispers as they conversed among themselves, their long, lean bodies writhing in the dark, dancing light.
"We can't remain here much longer," Hanna growled, her long, gaunt fingers drumming on the icy, jagged rock of her throne, her glinting, green eyes flashing to each of the officials in turn. "Our provisions are dwindling. Our warriors are weakening. We have to find ourselves a new location, a safe location."
The officials groaned, their white, stretched-out bodies writhing, their short, ragged gasps. One of them, a cadaverous tall figure with deep-set, sunken eyes and a knotted, elongated scar on his cheek, moved forward, his thin, bone-white fingers twisting together, his dark, empty-looking eyes flashing to Hanna's sharp, expressionless stare.
"Maranaqua," he breathed, his voice a reed-thin whisper, his breathing in jerky, gasping pants. "It is full of resources, its soil fertile, its streams running clear and deep. It is the ideal spot."
The other officer, his features contorted, his dark eyes contracted, his bony, spindly fingers clenched at his sides, nodded, breathing in short, broken gasps. "Simbaku is too near the foe," he snarled, his voice low and guttural, his limbs shaking, his eyes wide and moist with terror. "Maranaqua is our best chance."
Hanna's dark, pale lips smiled hard and cruel, her dark eyes calculating, her breathing measured, slow breaths. "Then it is settled," she rasped, her voice low, her fingers tightening around the cold, jagged stone of her throne. "We will take Maranaqua."
She stood, her dark, streaming locks blowing behind her like a cloud, her hard, green eyes flashing to Margo, her little, white body huddled in the black corner of the rocky room, her gasping breathing, short and rasping, her trembling limbs still weak from the long, brutal training hours, her mind a muddled, knotted mixture of fear and determination.
"Margo," Hanna replied, her voice low and harsh, her dark eyes closing, her breath a heat in the cold, smoky air. "You will travel to Maranaqua. You will scout out the country, estimate its strength, its defense. You are human. You can pass among them without notice."
Margo's breath was caught in her throat, her terrified, wide eyes scanning to Hanna's black, unyielding eyes, her small, shaking hands clasping the slender, pointed knife at her hip, her mind a knotted, twisted mess of confusion and terror.
"Me?" she breathed, her voice a slender, shaking whisper, her breathing in short, ragged gasps, her body shaking, her mind a twisted, knotted confusion of doubt and fear.
"Yes," Hanna growled, her throaty, harsh voice, the dark flashing eyes to Margo the picture of a slender, trembling reed the quaking, thin girl was, the long, knobby fingers on the icy, jagged edge of her throne. "You have learned to fight. You have learned to kill. Now you must learn to live.".
She stood up from her throne, dark loose hair streaming behind her, green pointed eyes looking into the dark recesses of the stone room, long thin limbs unfolding with slow, languid movement, breath caught in slow, even breaths. She took hold of a long, curved knife, its edge gleaming and sparkling in the cold, flickering firelight, her pale, dark lips drawing back into a harsh, wicked grin as she pushed it into Margo's tiny, trembling hands.
"Take it," she panted, her voice low, rough growl, her warm breath on the cold, smoky air. "You are going to need it."
Margo's hands locked firmly around the hilt, her mind reeling, her breathing in harsh, shallow gasps, her little, shaking hands closing about the cold, keen blade, her mind a knotted, twisted mesh of fear and resolve.
"Go," Hanna commanded, her voice hard, rough growl, her slanting dark eyes, her thin, long hands into small, shaking fists. "Do not come back until you have looked at Maranaqua. Do not come back until you have succeeded."
Margo turned, her thin, quivering limbs jerking involuntarily, her breathing in shallow, rapid gasps, her mind a confused, distorted mesh of fear and uncertainty. She stepped out into the chill, misty evening, her small white form fading into the night, her breathing in short, jerky gasps, her mind a confused, knotted mesh of fear and resolve.
She crept up to the small, battered vessel at the fringes of the black, foamy sea, her small, shaking hands grasping the splintered, rough wood, her gasps of air hard, shallow, her mind a twisted, crooked knot of determination and fear.
"Take this," a harsh, rasping voice cut out of the darkness, a bony, thin hand thrusting a small, battered map into her trembling fingers, the thin, yellowed parchment crackling against her skin. "Maranaqua is before you, just beyond the Holy Land and the House of Gabriel's Parents."
Margo held the map in a tight, unforgiving grip, her breath in ragged, raw gasps, her thoughts a twisted, knotted web of fear and determination. She moved aboard the boat, her small, white figure vanishing into the black, tempest-torn sea, her breathing in short, stabbing gasps, her thoughts a twisted, knotted web of fear and determination.
As the creaking, splintered boat groaned beneath her, freezing, salt-scrawled wind ripping through her hair, clothes, skin, she held onto the small, battered oil lamp at her side, her small, trembling hands fighting to free the thin, rusty catch, her gasps of air sharp, short, her mind a muddle, a snarl of terror and determination.
The slender, waltzing fire threw long, convoluted shadows on the splintered, rough planks of the boat, the cold, foaming ocean stretching out before her, dark and infinite, its waves pounding against the jagged, icy rocks, its depths whispering death, darkness, despair.
Margo clutched the knife at her side more tightly, her small, shaking hands wrapped around the cold, unyielding blade, her breathing in short, ragged gasps, her mind a muddled, twisted web of fear and resolve as the thin, battered craft was swallowed by the darkness, the cold, turbulent water closing over her tiny, white body, her breathing in short, spasmodic gasps, her mind a muddled, twisted web of fear and resolve.