As they ran out of the portal, The Captain turned around in surprise, but his quick reactions were what had kept him alive as long as he had been. "After them!" He shrieked, his voice tight with shock.
The children kept running though, ignoring their adversaries who charged after them like a pack of undead lions. "Keep moving!" Métimafoa exclaimed, still holding the two girl's hands.
But Nolgaion failed to keep moving, letting go of Métimafoa's hand, and ran to her father's side, trying to pick him up, as The Bandit Captain grabbed hold of her arm, and tried to drag her away. Métimafoa had turned immediately and sought to go after her, but his sister had his hand in an iron grip, and virtually dragged him toward the woodline. "Let me go to her!" he cried, his voice all but declaring his despair.
Orónëminya dragged him along, not oblivious to Nolgaion's plight, but so intently focused on getting Métimafoa to safety that death could not have stopped her from achieving her goal. He pulled against her, and just as he was slipping free, she threw her brother ahead of her, saying: "Go! She has chosen her fate, not ours! Do not die with her; live for her! That is how you can honour her memory!"
"She lives still, and you would have me abandon her; to being nothing but a memory? I refuse your request!" He spun to run back toward the Bird Lover, but Orónëminya tackled him into the woods, and quickly cast, "á lá lennaldë!" Métimafoa felt a heavy force lay upon him, and he was suddenly unable to move toward Nolgaion.
"How dare you!" He whispered, futility in his heart, as he knew that he could not break her spell with just his will. "You know--"
She interrupted him with a shushing sound and whispered "I dare to save your life. Now be silent, we have to hide."
. . .
They watched for hours as the men dug a pit, layering the bottom with a unit and a half long spikes. Two of the guards had ropes tied to Nolgaion, binding her hands and neck. She stood on the edge of the pit, looking disconnected from her surroundings. Her eyes were closed, and if not for the surrounding circumstance, Métimafoa would have thought her entirely at peace. The unconscious form of her father lay no more than five units away, tied to a post.
The only thing that prevented Métimafoa from running out to save her, was the spell Orónëminya had cast on him, and the iron grip of his sister on his left wrist, which he had drawn as far out as she would let him. "Métimafoa, we have to go, now!" She urged emphatically but quietly, as not to be overheard by the bandits in the clearing.
But Métimafoa did not hear her, his eyes focused on Nolgaion, who stood on the hastily built wooden platform near the edge of the pit. He turned to his sister and begged her to let him go. "We have to save her! She will die otherwise, and I would not have her meet such an end. Certainly not for our sake!"
Orónëminya shushed him and glanced around to ensure that he had not drawn the attention of the bandits. "You have grown in age, Métimafoa, but your wisdom remains naive. How do you expect the two of us, an enchantress, and a fencer, to take out five well-armed, more experienced criminals, who have a friend of ours as leverage? This is a fight we cannot win; it is time to cut our losses and retreat. We can avenge her loss later."
Métimafoa went to reply; his voice tense with outrage, but he was cut off by another voice from the platform. he turned slowly, as Nolgaion's captor began to speak. "Children, come out, come out, wherever you are!" The human male scanned the wood line, looking for any sign of the children, but they made no verbal response. "Perhaps we can come to an arrangement. Your lives, for the life of the LeShay girl?"
Nolgaion was silent no longer. "He's lying, mellonnyar! Do not--" Her comments were interrupted by a backhand from Beugor; the force of which knocked her to the ground.
"You mark my honour, fair maiden." He explained sardonically. "My word is my bond." He paused as if gazing upon her for the first time. "Tell me, LeShay," he spat out the last word venomously, like a poisonous fox spirit, "What are you called?"
"I am called many things by those closest to me; 'Orönénya, Mellonnya, dearest one,' but you may address me by my birth name: Nolgaion Pilindil." She replied, blood dripping out of the corner of her mouth.
"Interesting. Wise One, you are called, but to address the man who holds your life in his hands with such disrespect seems rather unwise. Perhaps your name is not so apt as many might assume."
"My wisdom comes in the form of not having respect for those who have not earned it." With that final remark, Nolgaion said no more, and instead returned to her meditation.
But the two siblings could not hear any of the conversations after the backhanded strike, so Beugor's next reply came as quite that surprise to them. "You have ten minutes to surrender, or your little friend here dies!" He kicked her in the back, and she only barely stopped herself from falling into the spike pit. "And to show you the sincerity of my threat:" He raised a hand, and a crossbow bolt struck the awakening LeShay male in the throat. He gurgled on it, as the river of fiery red-orange blood poured out of his throat. He died then, but still, Nolgaion said nothing; she just took a small breath, and a single tear slipped down her cheek.
It didn't take ten minutes, because, in his rage at Beugor's treatment of his friend and the killing of Mallori, Métimafoa broke free from his sister's grip, and her power was not great enough to contain him, so he broke through the tree line. Although Orónëminya was hot on his heels, Nolgaion reacted more quickly. In a matter of three seconds, she wielded her pinkish-purple magic sword, and thrust it into one of her guards' abdomens. Beugor ran toward her and grabbed onto her, but she used his forward momentum to flip them both over the edge.
Métimafoa stopped in his tracks, and stood in horror, shaking his head as though in disbelief. "Dead? No! She can't be dead!" He ran toward the pit but was knocked down as a large bird composed of the same energy as Nolgaion's sword flew out of the spike trap and soared into the sky. It hovered there for a moment before exploding in a wave of sonic energy.
Métimafoa was thrown back, as were the two guards, but Orónëminya caught hold of a tree and did not fall. Because of this, she was able to catch up to her brother and grab his shoulder as he stood up, just in time for an arrow to pierce her arm all the way to the bone.
She grunted from the force of the impact but the adrenaline in her system blinded her to the pain. Without bothering to remove the arrow she ordered him "Run! We have to go now!"
Another arrow whooshed by her ear, as Métimafoa pulled away. "I have to see her!"
"No!" Orónëminya shouted, grabbing hold of him again. "She is dead, you fool! Do not let her death be in vain! Flee, and avenge her another day!" She pushed him toward the woods, and with a glance back toward the location of the bird, she followed him.
. . .
And so they ran. They ran for miles, running as the sun fell and rose again in all of its luminescent glory; until they could run no more. Orónëminya had removed the arrow from her arm and bound it in hempen cloth, but she had passed out twice, presumably from blood loss.
After the second time, Métimafoa refused to go on. "We have to stop; you are in no state for travel." Helping her to her feet, his eyes darted around the foreign landscape, trying to find a recognisable landmark from which he could divine his location, but he found nothing. "Where are we?"
"I have not the foggiest idea," Orónëminya stated, swaying on her feet. "Let's just go a little bit farther, and see what we can find. It cannot be that much further." More quietly, so that Métimafoa could not hear her, she said. "I can not go much further."
"Wait here," Métimafoa ordered, "I am going to scout out the area. If anything goes wrong; shout out my name, and I will be by your side." Then he headed north, to see what he could find.
Orónëminya lay down on the ground, which seemed a sweet relief after miles of journeying. "Please return, Métimafoa, when you find something. Now I am tired, and I must rest." But no one heard her, as he had already walked away, and she quickly slipped off into sleep, returning once more, to the realm of dreams.
. . .
Métimafoa reached a clearing, a short time later, with a single, large tree in the middle of it. He looked around the clearing and saw nothing, but he felt as though something was beckoning him to the tree. Sprinting toward it, he noticed a purplish glow emanating from within the branches of the tree, and, being drawn toward it, he climbed upward. On the branch sat a cardinal, but it was glowing bright purple for some reason. "What the..." His voice trailed off as his curiosity got the best of him, and he inched closer to the cardinal.
He nearly fell out of the tree when it spoke to him. "Métimafoa..." The voice it used was soft and quiet, and the glow grew brighter, to the point of where it was blinding, and Métimafoa had to avert his eyes.
The glow died down, and to his surprise, Nolgaion Pilindil sat on the branch next to him, smiling in a melancholic fashion. "Hello, Métimafoa." She waited for him to respond, but he said nothing, so she continued "You look surprised to see me. Did you not hear me calling out to you?"
"Eh-ah-er-"Métimafoa stuttered, before taking a deep breath, and stating: "You are dead."
"Yes. So kind of you to notice." she teased. "Do you know why I am here?"
"To say goodbye?"
"No! To say, 'until next time.' The permanence of 'goodbye' is something I dislike because we will see each other again, albeit in the next life."
"I will wait for you, Nolgaion." Métimafoa proclaimed stoically, but she simply smiled.
"No, you will not." She responded, tilting her head to the side. "Or, at least, you had better not. You must be determined for many more years. That being said; when we meet again in The Halls of Mandos, or, as we LeShay call him, Reyafmurorë, I will seek you out. And when I find you, we shall be together for eternity."
She paused for a moment, in consideration. "I died so that you and your sister could live. Do not let my sacrifice be in vain. I died for you, so I need you to live for me." The emphasis placed on the word "need" made clear that he did not have a real choice.
"I will miss you, Nolgaion."
"For now, but not forever..." The ending of the word "forever" faded with her, as she disappeared like fog fading in the morning light. Métimafoa sat there in silence watching the last of her essence sprinkle out on the grass below, followed by a single tear.
The tear belonged to Métimafoa, and in it there was pain, but there was also joy. In it there was mourning, but there was also hope. Death is a strange thing because it causes the least harm to those who suffer it. No matter what you believe, the pains of life end after death and all that remains are the memories and dreams in the minds of your friends and family. It is onto them, that the pain, the sorrow, the suffering, and the shame is cast, and it is unto them, that the true harm is done.
It was in this moment, in this time of heartbreak, that Métimafoa knew every one of those feelings. He felt the pain of her loss, as though the world had robbed him of his very soul, but he felt joy, in knowing that her father was with her. He mourned her loss, along with the knowledge that he would not see her for a very long time, but he had hope, hope through his faith that he would, one day, see her again.
As Métimafoaclimbed down from the tree, he whispered: "Fly free, piapilin, forever on the breaths of air that flow gently through the kingdom's walls. Fly free, free from the malicious harms and merciless treacheries that this accursed world would seek to cause you. Fly like the birds you loved; like the cardinal you loved to see twirling over the babbling brooks that flowed south from the Marellocoilë into the Bay of Nurhos; like the Bluejays, whose elegant, yet complex song echoed over the canopies of the trees, caring not who heard its liberating cry in the warm morning air. Fly like the robin, who loves nothing more than to return to those she loves at the end of the day. You are free, Nolgaion Pilindil, as free as I hope to one day be." With that, he turned away from the tree, and returned to his sister; to tell her what happened.
. . .
A month and a half later, Métimafoa nailed in the last board that symbolised the completion of their new home. It was a small cabin, but the size was not as important as having shelter was because Orónëminya had not yet recovered. As he started to climb down his makeshift ladder, Métimafoa saw a small black and green spider and held out his hand for it to climb onto. However, the gesture startled the small jumping spider, causing it to bite him, and, startled, he pulled back his hand, sucking the venom out of the bite. I hope it isn't poisonous. He immediately thought, before finishing his descent and looking at the surrounding area. But before an observer would have time to write a description of the area, he heard a voice from inside the cabin calling him, and knowing it was his sister, he immediately turned to attend.
"Métimafoa!" she called, her voice as strong as ever, but Métimafoa knew that when he went inside, he would know the truth of the matter. She had lost weight and the bags under her eyes spoke of sleepless nights. Inward he went, and seeing her, he was still shocked by it. She was apparently too drained today to use magic to hide her ailing, like on the other days, so her hair, once blacker than the night sky on a starless night, was in its true state, which was one of faded white and grey, with a few black streaks thrown in. Seeing him, she continued "Would you fetch some water for tea, from the river outside?"
He looked at her incredulous. "Orónëminya! You're supposed to be in bed! Recovering from that arrow, and the blood loss will take time, and you need to rest, Orónënya! Where did you get the tea anyway?" He managed to say, almost in a state disbelief that she had defied his order.
"'You are', Métimafoa," she corrected. "Do not butcher the common tongue as the races of men do." She paused and shrugged, before stating "I wanted tea, so I snuck out of the house and bought some loose leaves at the village. Will you go get the water now?"
"You went to the village!" He exclaimed, before dragging his hand down his face and saying: " Orónëminya, you are still weak from the arrow and the blood loss. You need to rest and recover your strength. I will make you tea, just go get in bed, all right?"
He took her hand in his, and went to lead her to her bedroom, but she pulled his hand up to eye level, looking at the two small holes on top of his swollen index finger. "What bit you?"
She started to pull out a small dagger, but Métimafoa didn't notice, instead, answering; "It was a small spider, that I tried to hold while I was on the roof, nailing in the last boards. hopefully, it's not poisonous."
Orónëminya started to correct his contraction, but Métimafoa interrupted her. "Poison! That's it... that's why you haven't been getting better."
He slumped against the wall and Orónëminya took that moment to prick his finger with the knife. As she squeezed the clear liquid and blood out of the bite, she asked, "What do you mean? I am getting better." But her voice wavered, and they both knew the lie in her words. She had been slowly deteriorating over the course of the last month, and she showed no signs of getting better.
"Lying is futile, Orónëminya; we both know that is not true." He paused, considering his next words carefully. "When did your illness start, Orónënya?"
"Shortly after we fled the LeShay camp. Why do you ask?"
"What was the last thing that happened, the last thing before we turned and ran?" He paused for yet another moment, but emphatically, as he was on a roll now. "In other words, how were you injured?"
"I was shot in the arm with the crossbow bolt, but I still do not..." She trailed off, her mildly addled mind finally catching up to her brother's. "You think the bolt was poisoned. " She took a deep breath and sat on the floor, but she looked thoughtful, more than upset. "It makes sense. But what would they have poisoned it with? It would have to be something that was easily accessible, with a long effect time."
"Based on where we were attacked, and the fact that none of them had horses, we would probably have been within their roaming territory. I wish Faramaureá were here; she would know it in a heartbeat" he said, considering their surroundings, but then shaking his head. They had travelled well over six leagues since the attack, and the changes to the terrain, even around the banks of the river, were so incredibly diverse that it barely resembled the same landmass. He sighed and changed the subject, but nay far did the subject stray from his mind. "I will go and gather your water from the stream, but please, please stop leaving the house. Losing you would be the end of me." Without another word, he grabbed the kettle and walked out of the door.
Orónëminya sat on the edge of the counter, holding the loose tea leaves in her hands, and one slipped from her fingers, falling to the floor. She set the rest aside and reached down to pick up the solitary leaf off of the ground. If we do not identify the poison quickly, you may have to deal with my loss, piaion. She looked out the window, which was really just a hole in the wall with a cross beam in its centre, at her brother, as she set the leave down amidst its fellows. If that day comes, do not let it destroy you. This family has lost too much, but it shall not lose you, Métimafoa. Else our Mother's sacrifice was in vain, and I would rather die than to know that she died for nothing. She looked at the bandage on her arm and a single tear slipped out. Maybe I still will.