Chapter Twelve: "Let Me Go"
The dream had come again.
The same disjointed dream that had appeared to him every night, since the moment Ella had been taken from him... he could hear the singing voices... could see bits and pieces of color... then bright lights... and smiling faces.
Dancing... a play.
He was just starting to see the wavering images... they were clearing up... and the muffled sound of the music was starting to make sense.
However, before it could happen... before he could finally see the dream, just like always, a scream of terror broke through the muffled voices, clear as a bell. He heard the unmistakable sound of gunfire.
More screams broke through, each sounding different.
Then, as it always did... the small dream world abruptly imploded, twisting into a gnarled blood stain that crumpled towards him in an unbelievably rapid manner. Concrete covered in blood closing in on him from every direction.
Then... nothing.
There was only darkness left behind.
The inside of his heart... beating slower and slower... red... all over his hands, and...
"No..." Xaphile spat, forcibly dragging his brain out of the nightmare and bolting upright. "No more..."
His long hair was plastered to his skin and he was breathing heavily, muscles quivering.
I hate this, he silently muttered, rubbing his face. Fucking nightmares...
After blinking the spots in his vision away, he realized that his ears were ringing. Xaphile slowly rubbed his aching head, trying to figure out where he was, but his brain felt strangely fuzzy... almost as though his thoughts had been muffled with a blanket of cotton or elastic tape.
Nothing seemed to make much sense to him.
This wasn't his bedroom...
Or a cage...
It took a moment for it to come back, but once it did, he glanced down at the wrinkled blue robes he'd been given and a surge of depression washed over him. He buried his face in his hands, fighting back an extremely powerful urge to start crying.
Only one thought came to him as he sat there, quivering all over.
I want to leave.
Before he could stop himself, he slid out of bed and walked over to the door, gently opening it and peering out into the hall.
Everything was dark, but after a moment his vision cleared up in a fairly startling manner, as if someone had thrown a blue-tinted light switch and illuminated everything. The light in the hall almost seemed to have adjusted itself, which was one of the strangest things he'd ever seen.
He didn't know what time it was, but it was obviously night outside since all of the windows he passed in the hall were pitch black. Feeling a little disoriented, he made his way towards the only source of light he could see, which was coming from the kitchen.
Upon entering the room, he spotted Amelia sitting in a rocking chair in front of a fireplace with an open book in her lap, head tilted back. She was breathing deeply and evenly, long-lashed eyes closed, and for a long moment he merely looked at her beautiful face.
She obviously didn't have a clue just how simple her life was.
In fact, nobody around him knew how easy they had it, and sometimes he really wished he didn't know, too.
Feeling a little guilty for running out on her after everything she'd done, he made his way over and with a solemn expression he took off the robe she'd given him, carefully folding it up and setting it on the ground beside the chair.
"You really are too nice," he muttered, carefully kneeling down and folding the corner of the page she'd been on before shutting it and setting it on the mantle. "I'm grateful to you... I am, but... I can't... deal with this place anymore. I'm sorry."
Rising, he rubbed his eyes and made his way towards the front door.
A gentle breeze swept his hair around when he left her home and moved out onto the jagged cobblestone streets. The air was windy and humid, and high above, storm clouds seemed to have obscured the stars; he blinked when a flash of lightning lit up the sky, followed by a slow, distant rumble. He eyed the sky for a second, then began to walk.
The streets were silent, and it was probably later than he'd realized since every single window was dark, but he made his way around the corner and through the marketplace, walking past the cage he'd been locked in with his eyes locked on the wooden wall surrounding the town.
His tail flicked behind him as he followed it, figuring it would eventually take him to the exit regardless of where he went. He passed many old stone houses along his path, feeling as if he'd somehow gone back in time to Old England, when Jack the Ripper still roamed London's streets.
His winding path took him through alleys and across old crumbling roads, but eventually, he made it to what looked like the exit. It was a huge wooden drawbridge that had been raised high, and directly in front of it, the same group of guards who'd repeatedly brutalized him were clustered together in front of an enormous metal gate big enough for two semi trucks to drive through at the same time.
The guards were having a hushed conversation about something he couldn't hear.
His heart sank.
He figured it would be smarter if he looked for another way out, so he carefully turned to get the fuck out of dodge, but just as he was about to bolt, he heard one of them say Ella's name. He paused, blinking, when he heard her name spoken yet again and curiosity got the better of him.
Swallowing hard, he slid close to the wall of a nearby building and slinked towards them in the shadows, and once he was able to hear them properly, he squatted in the dark and listened carefully.
"I just don't think it was a good idea, Captain," one of the men grumbled. "Our Lady must be mad! Making such a display and then trying to kill herself, what a fool we have for a ruler!"
"Fool indeed," another man agreed. "If the beast really is a surviving Fae, isn't that even more of a reason to kill the creature?! After what we did to it, we could all count our blessings if we escape with our lives!"
"Lady Ellameira's word is final," a helmeted male wearing full plated knight-ish armor instead of the typical chain-link stuff grunted, disdainfully tying something down to a wooden peg near the edge of the drawbridge. "She's no fool, men. The Countess may be young, but she's already a fearsome warrior, and she's got a damn good head on her shoulders despite her age."
"Cap'n Angelo, she's not even a woman yet," one of the guards muttered, "and if you haven't forgotten, ten years ago... she was the one who--"
Before he could finish, Angelo whirled around and punched him so hard in the mouth that he fell over. Xaphile tensed when he glared through the helm, grey-green eyes hot.
"For a grown man to attempt condemning a five-year-old little girl for simply loving the world and all its creatures... you're despicable, Vex," the captain sneered, gently waving his wrist and disdainfully looking away. "Don't speak ill of her. No matter what your thoughts are, she's still Lord Byron's only daughter, and you will show her the respect she is due."
"But no matter how you look at it, its true!" the fallen guard snarled, angrily getting back up and rubbing his jaw. "How do you know she isn't doing it again?!"
"You're a fickle man, Vex," Angelo growled, going back to the rope. "What makes you think Ella would make that mistake twice? I've met grown men with only a speck of the courage that little girl has inside her. Put faith in her choice... if she set the creature free, she had a reason."
"But Captain, after what we did to it, will things truly be okay?!" another guard spluttered. "If it doesn't forgive us, the forest... everything! He'll make it all perish!"
"Don't be a fool," Angelo grunted back, narrowing his eyes with a disgusted expression. "There's a great possibility that these forests have bloomed so beautifully only because he lived within them."
All of the guards stared.
"What are you saying?" one of them inquired, scratching at his rugged beard. "Primordial sprites haven't been seen in these parts for nigh upon a hundred years. I reckoned they were all supposedly dead and gone."
Angelo paused, then finished tying the rope he'd been working on and stood up.
"Are you daft?" he ground out, folding his metal-plated arms. "Have you oafs truly forgotten who represents each branch of power within our country?"
"Of course not!" Vex snapped, clenching his fists.
"Then what are they?" Angelo demanded, making every single one of them pause. "Tell me."
"The High King in the capital," one of the guards hesitantly said, "the Grand Duke of the north... the Countess of the South... and the Queens of the Eastern Skies."
Xaphile watched as Angelo paused, but when nobody said anything, he sighed.
"So, you all have indeed forgotten," Angelo muttered, giving a firm nod. "If you try to recall the old stories, you'll remember that the sky queens of Calcoon are the true rulers of this land!"
"Hogwash!" a younger guard sneered. "That's all they are, Cap'n! Stories!
"Hold your tongue!" Angelo barked, shaking his head. "Those aren't stories, those are facts!"
"Then why aren't these things in history books?!" Vex asked. "Why aren't we teaching them to our children? Why does nobody know of such things or remember if it is true?"
"Because there are no history books left!" Angelo barked. "They were destroyed! Do you know nothing of our history?! Of why we are here, now, living in this part of the kingdom?!"
"Wait," the first guard whispered, straightening up. "Does this have anything to do with any mass book burnings from around eighty years ago? I remember my grandfather telling stories about that when I was a child... is that why?"
"Indeed," Angelo grimly informed him. "By the king's decree, all scholarly tomes and scriptures about Primordial Fae were destroyed back in our forefathers' earliest days. It would seem that many don't know what they look like, or even their significance."
"Significance?"
"Aye. It is the Primordial faeries that give each region's ruler their political power. The only reason Duke McCarthy and King Votrin have so much sway over us is because there are primordial faeries tied to their regions. They would be nothing more than figureheads without the backing of the fae... figureheads just like us, with no power, no backing, no sway."
Xaphile's ears twitched when he heard that.
"But Captain," Vex reluctantly growled, "that can't be so. Access to the Eastern lands has very nearly been cut off from the rest of the country. Commoners are not allowed there by the King's decree, and there has been absolutely no word from anyone within in over a hundred years!"
"Aye," another guard grunted, "and if the primordial faeries are truly so powerful, why hasn't anyone seen proof of their presence?! I've seen satyrs and centaurs and every manner of pixie, nymph, and harpy in these woods, but not once have I ever seen a primordial faery! It's fishy if you ask me!"
"Don't be a fool," Angelo grunted. "It would seem you lot are ignorant of the truth, so let me set you straight: the faeries of the east, the Capital Central, and the northlands are still very much alive and breathing. If they weren't, Calcoon's forests would have withered long ago, and everything north of the Nimikan Border would have met the same fate."
"So what?!" Vex snapped. "What does any of this have to do with that creature Ella found? It obviously isn't from the east or the north! It's from here, the South! And we don't even know if it is a faerie! Have you forgotten that the beast has those big, ugly horns?! It most certainly is no Satyr, so I say we butcher it before it murders somebody in cold blood!"
"Silence," Angelo coldly commanded. "Hold your tongue and deny your thirst for the fae's blood. If Lady Ella is correct, that thing is so powerful it could probably destroy this whole village with nothing but a sweep of its hand, and we have already committed a crime worthy of death."
His tone made Xaphile's scalp prickle and a chilling silence followed his words.
"Impossible," someone whispered. "Captain, hark, can it really be so powerful?!"
Angelo finally took his helmet off and shook his dark blonde hair free.
"Lady Ella and even my brother Octavius all seem to think the creature we tortured is the last primordial sprite of the Nimikan Forests," he grimly explained. "If this is truly the case... it means up until this point, that beast is the only reason our lands haven't turned to dust."
A distant peal of thunder split the air, giving his words an ominous undertone.
"You aren't saying..."
"I am," Angelo confirmed, meeting his gaze head on. "That creature has been keeping all of the forests in the south alive by himself. That's why you cannot kill him. If he is truly the last, he is the only thing that stands between us and destruction."
When gasps filled the air all around, Xaphile felt bile rising up his throat because if what he'd just heard was the truth... killing himself a second time would...
I have to get out of here, he realized, heart beginning to pound. I can't hear anymore of this.
His anxiety spiked so badly that he stood up and began to back away from the guards, but before he could slip out of sight he bumped into someone.
"Eh?" a familiar voice snorted, making him whirl around; he winced when he found himself staring into a familiar set of jade green eyes. "What are you--?!"
"Shh!" Xaphile hissed, clutching Gus's arm and fearfully looking over his shoulder. "Be quiet!"
Once he was sure the guards hadn't heard them, he hurried past the blonde man, keeping very close to the wall. His tail flicked in agitation as he stalked through the streets, but once they'd gotten far enough away from the guards for him to feel comfortable, he turned around only to see Gus staring at him from a careful distance with an intense frown on his face.
"What are you doing prowling around at night?" he gruffly demanded. "You only just got released. The last thing you need to be doing is raising any unnecessary suspicions."
Xaphile merely sighed.
"I want to leave," he said softly, lowering his eyes to the ground; a cold wind swept through his long hair as he spoke. "I want to get as far away from here as I can."
Gus scowled and stalked forward, gripping his arms so tightly that it actually hurt. Xaphile's eyes widened when he was forcibly shoved against the brick wall, but instead of struggling, he merely stared at the blonde.
"The forests are dying because of you," the man growled. "I paid my debt by helping you get your freedom back, but that doesn't mean I'm going to let you destroy the lives of thousands because of your own personal issues."
"I still want to leave," Xaphile blankly retorted. "Let go of me."
"No... I won't let you run away," Gus hissed, leaning close to his face. "If you do, I'll put an arrow in your back. I swear it. The moment you try and leave this town... I'll... I'll kill you."
"Good," Xaphile snorted, giving him a smile that wasn't all there. "That's what I want."
Gus's face went white and he immediately closed his eyes, nostrils flaring as he fought back his temper. Xaphile blinked when he finally opened them again, because with his lips pressed together, the man abruptly clutched his throat with both hands and started squeezing.
"Do you really want to die that badly?" he growled, clenching harder.
"Please," Xaphile wheezed, dark hair falling across his eyes as he was strangled. "Just break it."
Gus's face twitched and his grip slackened before he pulled away completely, fingers quivering just above his neck. The man looked more than a little disturbed by the response, but that was probably natural for anyone with half a lick of common sense.
"You... you can't be serious!" he spluttered. "What about your responsibilities?!"
Xaphile instantly lifted his eyes, momentarily gritting his sharp teeth in fury, but a strange blue haze fell across his vision, making it hard to see right. Gus backed off a step when he shook his head, refusing to break eye contact despite how badly he wanted to storm off all of a sudden.
"Fuck responsibility," he whispered, clenching his fists. "I have no ties to this place. It can rot off the face of the planet for all I care."
Gus's horrified face was illuminated by a flash of lightning that streaked through the sky.
"Don't say that," he whispered beneath the thunder. "Please."
"Why? You want to delude yourself into thinking I give a shit about the people here?" Xaphile coldly inquired, blankly tilting his head. "Because I don't. In fact, I've come to think of this place as being worse than hell."
"You would risk meeting death on that alone?" Gus cried, green eyes wide. "Do you have no self-awareness when it concerns your own life?!"
"Oh, I do... I just don't care," Xaphile callously informed him. "I have no problem dying if it means I can actually get away from this nightmare you call home, so if you want to shoot me in the back with an arrow, hit me with your best shot. After all, no matter what you decide to do, I'll get what I want in the end."
"And, what do you want?" Gus breathed. "Prithee, tell me."
The look Xaphile sent his way probably could have curdled the blood of a sociopathic serial killer: feeling equal parts crazed and agonized, he gave a weak little smile that mismatched the torturous emotional storm going on within his heart, and he was sure it showed.
"I want to die," he croaked. "I'm tired of suffering. So I'm going to stop suffering. End of story."
Before Gus could say anything else, Xaphile swept past him, long hair swirling in the rising wind. High above, lightning flashed violently with deafening crack and a raindrop hit his nose. He stomped around the corner of a nearby building and out of Gus's view, shaking his head and clenching his jaw in fury. He was angry... so unbearably angry... the fear, the anguish, the confusion, it was all becoming an awful pressure that was building up inside him.
When the rain really began to come down, he couldn't keep it locked away: he stopped still in the center of the street and his face twisted. Taking a deep breath, he tensed his muscles and arched his back, letting out a powerful scream of agony and rage.
The sound came out sounding more like a lion's roar and it echoed for what seemed like miles, further proof that he wasn't human like he used to be.
After he finished, he fell to his knees, slowly tilting his head back and staring at the pouring sky.
Unseeing, he let the rain wash across his face in icy sheets.
He simply couldn't take anymore.
He would have given anything just to be able to fly away like a bird... to escape from everything.
Slowly lifting his hand, he reached for the clouds, feeling brittle from the inside out, and he waited, waited for the ice to fuse his breaking heart together, to shield him, but nothing came.
There was nothing he could use as a shield from his own emotions now.
Ella was gone, and he had killed himself, so this was definitely his own personal hell, the one place where he'd be more miserable than the night she'd died in his arms.
A world where they'd never met.
His shoulders heaved as he fought the tears back, but he couldn't stop them... they came roaring out of his eyes and ran down his face with the rain. Clutching himself, he shrank down and wept, weakly, hoarsely, he cried his eyes out, shaking so hard with the force of his grief that all he could do was press his forehead against the ground and try to ride it out.
"Ella..." he choked. "Ella... Ella... Ella..."
But no matter how many times he called, she would never hear.
He had tried to tell himself it was enough just to see her shade alive and breathing... hell, he had even told her that, too... but in the end, it wasn't.
It was nowhere near enough.
He never wanted to see her again, he would have given up everything just to die right there, but just as he was thinking it... as if by some God-created act of defiance to his wishes, she appeared with a flash, running around the corner ahead of him wearing that familiar black cloak, breathing hard with two daggers already drawn.
She looked ready for trouble and her mouth was tight with tension when she skidded to a halt, puddles water spraying beneath her black boots, but after she saw him curled up in the rain, her tense posture faltered a little. Eyes narrowing, she glared at him, then sheathed her daggers.
"What are you doing?!" she barked. "Get up! Now!"
Her voice was what broke him completely.
The world went silent in his ears.
There was no more rainfall.
There was no more wind rushing through the trees.
There was no more anything.
In that small moment of time, there was no sound aside from his already busted heart breaking into a million pieces and tinkling down into darkness like bits of broken glass. Lifting his eyes, he stared at her in a way that made her freeze and said only three words.
"Let me go."
She scoffed, mouth falling open when he lifted his violently shaking hand and held it out to her, but that was really all he wanted, to be set free of this crushing weight that she had put into his being. If he had to die to get rid of it, that would be fine with him, as long as it was gone.
"Are you mad?!" she snapped, finally coming to her senses. "I've already let you go! Daft oaf!"
Closing his eyes and letting his hand fall limply to his side, Xaphile wordlessly stood up and turned around, meandering off in a random direction. He didn't know where he was going, nor did he care... at this point, he only wanted someone to make him disappear.
The world around him hazed off and he became enshrouded in his own head.
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