Vicious Bonds

Chapter 1: Marilyn

Who would’ve thought that becoming a great warrior not only involved rigorous amounts of training but also slicing your father’s head and watching it splatter to the ground? I would be lying if I said I did not predict the gruesome details of it but I still remember my 9-year-old heart whispering to the voices in my head “Your father would never make you do that. He knows that you love him too much.” But my father’s heart did not receive the message. If only someone told that silver-haired kid that the difference between foolishness and honour is like the one between love and hate, a fine line. Perhaps she would not have grown up to bear the onus of a million swords flecked with his blood on her narrow shoulders. Becoming a warrior has been my prominent passion ever since. Wouldn’t his death be futile if I didn’t do everything I could to become a great warrior? I followed his words into every battle ring I marched into: “A true warrior can only be deemed victorious once they’ve drained every trace of life the enemy possesses.” For a girl who lost everything, those words etched itself into her soul and became a part of her without consent. They became the string that gently tied itself to her neck, haunting her every act, becoming the apparition that defined her hazy body.

The little boy that made her forget her inexpiable deeds with his ceaseless talks about things out of reach in the deadly little world that we lived in, the solitary setting filled with the Devil’s children, was no stranger to the gruesome. No amount of blather about grenades and protons would change the fact that Triste was a land of magic and darkness. Science could never ensconce itself in this wretched place. Yet, little Noah, my best friend, would gabble on for hours about his terrifying fascination with rifles and rainbows. I thought I’d never see his raven hair and wolf grey eyes filled with wonder, ever again after the War. Mistress Time, as she so cleverly has myriad times, proved me wrong. 11 years later. But Noah’s once curious eyes were now frigid and desolate. It was not just the Mistress’ cruel, seductive touch that had done this. Timothy Asra’s vile mind had recast Noah’s intrigued soul into a well of all the festering blood Timothy made him collect, the blood of both the innocent and the vicious. But who am I to judge a fellow demon?

The first time I saw Timothy still haunts me with an unabating pain. His flaming red hair quivered about his wicked eyes as he held a smiling babe in his arms. The infant looked up at him with hopeful eyes and entrusted her enchanting giggle with him. Without a glimmer of hesitation, Timothy plunged a sword into the babe’s heart. That one scene was enough to make me covet his ultimate doom and possibly be a part of it. I couldn’t do anything that day to bring back that innocent life but I vowed to myself that I’d do everything in my power to stop this desperado from imposing his skewed justice on the world.

Timothy had his minions assemble in a grimy shack, deep amidst the oak forest. Noah would wander into that filthy edifice, like an aimless apparition following its fellow shadows. The old Noah was gone. The boy I loved and dreamt would be mine one day was deep in the Earth with all the bodies that this stranger with wolf grey eyes buried. The only moments I was lucky enough to catch flickers of his younger self was when he talked to his new best friend, Elijah. I am not bitter about that at all. Elijah’s stupid face and unfortunate hair don’t bother me. But his ostentatious poetry and maddening ramblings about existence and injustice seemed to captivate Noah’s attention.

One morning, when Elijah and Noah were on their romantic morning walk along the shore of River Calme, I stood near Miss Rosanna’s apple orchard awaiting their arrival. That wait was just an excuse to steal the finest apples in the country and blend their piquant taste into delectable concoctions. Apart from chopping people’s heads off, I quite enjoyed baking desserts. Despite all my failed attempts at rekindling my friendship with Noah, I still hadn’t given up hope. Perhaps, it was ludicrous of me to think that someone who had immersed himself into the world’s most pernicious sins would emerge out of those gelid waters to draw in his past. But I was proud of the things I made which for once weren’t smeared with blood. They were the jagged joys in my scarlet belt of yore. I wanted to share them with Noah, try to remind him of the time we stole ice cream from the school corner and hid behind the musty barn to devour it, just the two of us. But of course, Elijah had to ruin it, like everything else. He would clench on to the faint whiff of my delightful baking and come floating into my hovel from his next-door shack with childlike wonder scrawled onto his face. He’d take one look at the nosh that I’d poured all my love into and gobble it up when I wasn’t looking; like a boy who had wandered around without a single bite all year. So, trying to relight my friendship with Noah using pie and candy was futile. But that didn’t stop me from looting all the apples from Miss Rosanna’s orchard. Just as I picked up the last apple and put it in my shoddy basket, Timothy walked into the orchard.

“Where’s Noah?” he asked, his eyes probing the green beauty of the orchard.

“Now, why would I tell you that?” I asked, trying to catch his electric blue eyes gushing about without direction.

He looked at me. “Because your life depends on it?” With an eyebrow raised, his lips shot to the right, articulating a casual doubt.

“I could end you with a single stroke of my sword.” I furrowed my eyebrows, attempting a menacing glance. I don’t think it worked.

“I’m sorry but who are you? I’ve seen you around with Noah but you’re making all these monumental claims and vexing me like a jumpy frog and I’m just… intrigued,” he said, curiosity settling in his face.

“Well, allow me to introduce myself then. I’m Marilyn Sleia, a tortured soul with thousands of kills left in her sword out of which she wouldn’t mind using one on you this very instant.” I smirked. “And just so you know, all frogs are jumpy. You should get out more often.”

“Aren’t you just delightful with your little jokes and endless threats?” he said, sauntering about the orchard. “But your threats aren’t just threats, are they, Marilyn Sleia? I’ve heard of you.” He halted in his steps. His eyes pierced into mine. “Word has it that you are incapable of leaving a breath in your opponents. The greatest warrior in the country, they say.” He resumed his slow amble. “But they do make up inane titles to please people these days.”

“You’re inane. You…you moronic….” I ransacked my head to find something that would cut deep. I knew I was good at this. “…chicken.” Apparently, all good repartee had decided to pack up and leave my already scanty brain.

I looked down in shame.

“I’ll pretend that didn’t happen for 20 bucks,” he said, tilting his head slightly to look at me with a pursed smile.

“I’ll pretend that you didn’t kill a baby if you bring her back to life,” I shot back.

“You amuse me with your unpredictability, love. But I must add, I have no regrets. I’ve killed plenty of infants and they deserved it. They were born into wealth and riches. If I let them live, they’d annihilate all the progress we’ve made and torment us like their forefathers did,” he said, with an air of reason.

“What progress, Timothy? You’ve begrimed Triste with rotting bodies, hanging them on display in every corner. Do you think you’re any better than the Infernos?” I asked, incredulous that he was convinced that his intentions were pure.

“Ah, I know what you’re trying to do.” He placed his hands on his hips.

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” I asked.

“You’re terrified by the person you’ve become but discovering someone a tiny bit more atrocious makes you feel better about yourself.”

“Okay. You just met me. Tone it down with the psychoanalyzing. And you couldn’t be more wrong.” Oh, he was right but I didn’t want to satiate his ego. “You destroyed my best friend’s life,” I inched in closer, “and I will never, ever forgive you for that.”

“Don’t take it personally, love. Besides, Noah owes his life to me. Of course, your forgiveness means as much to me as that baby you saw me kill but your best friend is grateful to me. Perhaps you should feel the same way.”

I chuckled. “I didn’t know meddling with people’s minds could make you so delusional.”

He narrowed his eyes, a sudden rage subjugating him. “I don’t have time for this. Where’s Noah?”

At that moment, Noah walked into the orchard. “I’m here.” He sounded nonchalant but I caught the momentary flicker of fear in his frigid eyes. Timothy led him out of the orchard, his arms around Noah’s quivering shoulders.

Elijah hurried towards the horses, his head lowered, attempting to neglect Timothy’s existence. I marched up to him, my arms crossed. “Do you approve of this?”

“I mean, little Chestnut here is a bit more fragile than others so she does need all the sleep she can get,” he said, beckoning to a particularly drowsy horse. “She’s a tad bit depressed too. She is my horse after all. Not that she’s my property or anything. We’re best buddies is what I — ”

“Hey, hey,” I said, snapping my fingers. “You talk too much. Do you approve of Noah murdering people for Timothy’s pleasure? That’s what I meant.”

“Oh. I don’t really approve of murder at all but I’m just a futile raccoon. And futile raccoons can’t change the world, can they?” His feeble voice rose at the last syllable, genuinely dubious about the possibilities of a futile raccoon changing the world.

“Why does Noah like you? You really are pointless.” I mounted my horse and tightened the reins. “And stop eating my pies,” I hollered as the stallion trotted forward.

“I can’t. They’re too delicious,” he said with a melancholy tone interweaving itself into his mirthful smile. Noah hadn’t talked to me a lot since our reunion. He wasn’t the loquacious kind but he’d told me about Elijah. He’d told me that he was an absolute ray of sunshine, cutting through the darkest foliage. He’d also told me how he was afraid: afraid of being useless, afraid of standing up for himself, afraid of his fear slicing through his greatest ambitions. And I’d just called him pointless, looking straight at his orbs of moon. I expected a painful gash to open up in my heart but it didn’t. Instead, an overwhelming joy cascaded over my body. Maybe I wasn’t so different from Timothy after all. Maybe I was a cold-blooded monster just like him.

To be continued…