Clarion Call

Clarion Call, pt 2

Deirdre watched him burn. When there was nothing left but ash the black flames returned to her hands and sank back into her skin. She shuddered as she felt the taint of the man that the flames had claimed, could taste the wickedness on the back of her tongue like a thick, sour aftertaste that would not go away. The flames sank back into the core of her being, carrying with it the memory and the stain of the dead man with it. Alexei.

Deirdre saw the currents of air eddying about her, stirring the leaves into a dance of intricate swirls and turns, the ashes scattered and swirled in a vision of black and white with sharp grey interruptions, a pattern she had never seen before but felt as though she should have known it. She stood back, closing her eyes and tried to retain the feeling she'd had while she hunted that man down. It had been so easy: she could see the stain he had left on everything he had touched during his mad dash through the forest. She could taste his fear on the air, an intoxicating fragrance that she could not help but follow. The forest could feel her passing down its paths and the trees themselves moved aside to clear her route. It felt as though the wood itself recognized the evil that had been done and sought to even the balance by assisting her. They had held her prey until she could move in to kill. Deirdre had been filled with a sense of utter righteousness, a feeling that had allowed her to block out the fact that once this was over, once whatever it was that had taken control of her was gone, she would be alone. Deirdre smoothed the dirt and leaves off her dress, fingers lingering in the soft folds of the blue dress. It was her favorite, the one she saved for the rare and special occasions when her family traveled away from the small village they lived in. When she had put it on that morning it had been with the anticipation of an exciting day. They had not been to the town of Birch in months, and though there had been visitors for her father, the day-to-day of village life was not rich in variety.

Her father was a blacksmith, the only one in the region, and so even though his workshop was small, he never wanted much in business. His shop was a little ways behind their home, pressed up against the edge of the forest. The sounds of hammer against anvil were as familiar and as dear to Deirdre as the beating of her own heart, and she helped her father as much as he would allow. Conrie would have much preferred that it was her brother Cavan with him in the shop, but her twin had no interest in following his father's footsteps. Conrie had informed Cavan that during this trip to town that he was to speak with a horse-trader about an apprenticeship; Cavan's blue eyes had sparkled with the possibility of leaving the place he had always known, with a longing to be away and make his own path through the world. His curly black hair had quickly become tousled as they journeyed toward Birch because he kept running his fingers through it in his impatience. His tall frame had slouched uncomfortably in the rear of the wagon where he sat next to his sister, his strong hands fiddling with the fringed edge of one of the blankets their mother was taking to sell at the market. He was a mirror image of his father except for the blue eyes which seemed to be Suzanne's sole contribution to her son's anatomy. She used to sigh that if it were not for Cavan's eyes and the fact that Deirdre was his twin, no one would ever believe she gave birth to them. Suzanne was a beautiful woman: she was a petite woman with auburn hair that curled down to her waist and was dwarfed by her husband and children, Deirdre being at least a head taller than her mother. She was light and quick, always smiling and laughing, the counterpoint to Conrie. It was not that her husband was unhappy, he was just a quiet man who went about his work with dedication, his dark brown eyes observing everything in the world about him.

Deirdre tried to jerk her thoughts away from the too painful subject of her family, but once her mind realized that they were gone, it would not let go. She saw them in perfect clarity as they were that morning, vibrant and alive; her brother's crackling excitement; the sadness that tinged her parent's eyes when they looked at each other with the knowledge that their family would be together for only a little while longer. Deirdre had felt outside of it all, watching them as they rode together in the wagon to Birch, but her parents were too engaged in each other and Cavan was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice her much. She had sat there quietly, enjoying the escape from the usual routine until the men had attacked them. Deirdre shuddered as she remembered how the two had stood in the road, smiling and waving for her father to stop. They had told her father that one of their horse had thrown its shoe, and of course her father had gotten down to help them. The attack had been quick and brutal.

The things they had done to her family, her poor mother on the dirt bleeding: the images kept flashing before Deirdre's eyes and her breathing started to hitch and come faster. The power that now lay inside her caught onto the escaping air and breathed into the trees around her. They shook and groaned under the pressure of her will, their protestations punctuating her painful gasps. Leaves fluttered to the ground around her as she remembered the moment the power had come to her. That man- that animal- she had executed had been holding onto her arm, keeping her from helping or running, making her watch as the other one carved into Suzanne's chest with his knife. Deirdre remembered looking into the man's dead, empty eyes, seeing the single spark of life that came with each slice of his blade. She saw the evil that had replaced his soul and recognized it for what it was. That was when the offer came: a voice whispered to her that vengeance and justice could be hers, all she had to do was say yes-accept the gift and burden she was being offered--and the men would surely pay. She could feel the weight of what was being promised pressing down on her, beating her skin with possibilities. All this happened in the space of a moment, and she accepted with a scream. The power, the fire, had shrieked through her, slipping inside and expanding to fill every inch of her being from the center of her chest to the tips of her fingers and toes, thrilling her with its cold potential.

But she had been too late. She had broken free of the man and stepped forward to save her mother, but Suzanne was gone, and all that remained of her was the broken, doll-like body that man had made of her.

Deirdre could not breathe through the power that was now thick in the air around her, it pressed against her skin like frantic hands trying to calm her. It was eager to be free, to be out in the world and not locked up inside of her where it had no strength; but if she went, it would go with her and so it attempted a retreat back into her skin but Deirdre refused it entry. She did not want to live, not with the memories and pictures that she now carried in her mind. The power pressed at her more frantically, a whisper in her mind pleading to stop, to let it come back in so that she could breathe. But with her vengeance wrought, what more was there to live for? Black dots danced in front of her eyes, and her body protested the denial of the key element of air. Her fists tightened to the point that her knuckles popped and cracked under the pressure. She fell to her knees, then to her side, willingly going into the darkness that came up to swallow her.