Dark Origins

“What witchcraft is this?” The barbarian closest to me yells as the mountains wail with injustice.

Tears blur my vision, but I can see the gold armor moving, shining in the moonlight as it moves in sync, step by step.

It takes them seconds to reach the bottom. They’re all beautiful, tall, they’re gods among men.

One of them looks to me then to the man who just took everything I had from me; he walks up to him, slits his throat with his sword, then bends down and very gently lifts my chin with his fingertips.

He’s warm, he’s cold, he’s everything I’ve ever needed.

His fragrance is unlike anything I’ve ever smelled in my entire life.

“Are you well?” he asks. His voice is deep, and yet it caresses my face, calming my tears, my heart, making me feel less like I want to jump in the fire after my son even though I know it would be in vain.

I can barely get the words out, so I nod my head then say, “I lost my child.”

“I know, dear one, I know.” He hangs his head, his jaw clenches. “What is your name?”

“Nephal,” I whisper, and then I keep the secret in because I swore to my cousin Helena I would.

He stares straight into my blue eyes, his own swirl with confusion and then despair. “Downfall,” he says. “It means downfall.”

“Yes.”

“Mine. Ours. My downfall.” He closes his eyes and then looks behind me at one of the large rocks that guards our village.

He looks down at his hands then touches his lips.

“And your name?” I ask, standing.

Somehow, I know it before he speaks it, but I wait anyway. He is the man she spoke of. I don’t know how I know, but it fills my soul.

He looks over at me, both hope and despair in his eyes as he says. “Sariel.”

“I call your name often,” I admit.

Now his eyes burn as the fighting ends around us. He takes two steps toward me, then three, when he stops in front of me. He lifts his hand then drops it, instead touching his forehead to mine. “Oh, I know.”

“So why have you never come?” I ask. My voice trembles more than it should as I stare up at him; I feel like I’m begging—maybe I am.

“Because, little one, you are my downfall.” He scoops me up into his arms and carries me away, along with the sadness of losing my child, of losing everything, and the bitterness that this is the second child taken from me because of the barbarians entering our lands.

I’ve never had time to grieve.

Never had time for myself.

I’ve always said it’s the way of life we have been given despite the broken pieces of my heart that refuse to mend.

He carries me though.

He carries me as if he knows my pain and suffering and wants to share that burden. The minute he brings me to my tent, I burst into uncontrollable sobs, and I scream his name until my voice goes hoarse.

He holds me still, armor and all.

And when I’m finished cursing him, shouting, grieving—he tilts my chin toward him, and he kisses every tear on my face. He’s painfully slow, and with each kiss, I feel parts of my heart mending as if he’s the only one who’s able to do it.

My eyes flutter closed as his final kiss lands on my lips, sealing my fate and his right along with it.

“My Sariel,” I breathe across his lips.

“My Nephal,” he responds.

He tastes like my future and all the things I’ve been waiting to have while his name was whispered from my lips.

He pulls away.

His hair is jet black, his eyes a clear blue, nearly white, and suddenly they flame orange only to go back to the green blue as he stares me down, his hands move to my shoulders.

I lick my lips, enjoying the lingering taste of his mouth on mine. I could stay with him like this forever.

He presses a hand to my chest. “I can’t heal physical pain, but I can at least heal your heart.”

“With yours?” I ask.

He smiles. “Possibly.”

“How?”

“Magic?” He offers with a smile that has me wanting to climb across him and press myself against his armor. “At least to you.”

His hand goes to my chest, it feels warm, and then he starts to sing, a song I don’t recognize but could have sworn I’ve heard before. His voice is low, hypnotic.

“Stars of the sky,” he sings. “Stars of my brothers, my sisters.” An icy tear slides down his cheek then falls against me. “Sing her healing, burn down on this creation, watch over the souls that have left as if they are your own. Sing their song, hear their cry, as they rest in peace, they sleep, they do not die.”

Warmth fills my chest until a slow burn spreads from the middle out, down my arms and legs.