Only Madness

I feel the cool metal slide between my ribs and gasp. Pain explodes throughout me, pain I’ve felt before, but it is somehow different this time. Worse knowing that he was the one to put it there. My knees knock into the floor, a gasp releasing from me and a whimper from somewhere else. My hands go to the weapon in my chest, gripping it as hard as I can while it leeches strength from my limbs. I know not to pull it out, but it feels so wrong, an incorrect outcome, a falsity. My hands are too slick from the blood now freely seeping from my wound. At the sight, I can tell without a doubt that nothing can save me, not even any power I have. I glance up at the silhouette that delivered the blow before keeling over in front of him as if submitting to his betrayal. I feel my muscles relax as I realize that I am finished, I can leave. When I discern frantic hands turning me over and laying my body gently on my back, I feel disconnected from the action as if watching from above. 

I see the silhouette of the man who had become my only friend grasping at the hem of my uniform mumbling incoherent apologies. “I’m sorry, I had to, you must understand–” With what little strength I have left, I reach my bloody hand to his neck, pulling down gently so his ear is next to my lips, his tears mixing with my breath as I speak. 

“You have no heart.” he jerks away and begins to tug at his shirt, perhaps to stanch the flow of blood, but it is too late. I wheeze, and the last thing I feel is his hands pressing, pushing, crushing, as the whispers lead me to death, to the end, to madness.

BEFORE:

My blade glides through the air in an arc of purple light, the magic imbued in it glittering. I pay it no mind. I only focus on my form, which was supposedly “below average” as of my last training session. I grunt through the ache in my arms and my back, using the drive that the words provide to move faster, swing harder. 

I lost my last training battle. 

I won’t lose my next.

I’m lost in the movements, the flex and release of my muscles as I move. I spin, my blade clearing straight through the center of the trunk of a tree, but I don't stop. 

As it falls, I slice upward, the arc of my swing halving the tree yet again. The ease of the motion is like a knife through butter. I quickly maneuver around the tree as it continues its descent and finally crashes to the ground. 

At the sound, I am broken out of my haze, released from the clutches of my adrenaline. My shoulders slump and I allow my guard to relax. 

“Well, shit.” I spin to face the voice, my sword raising again to meet the man who spoke. His clothing is that of a soldier of my rank, his skin light brown with tight curls closely cut to his scalp. “No way, get that outta my face.” He says, his hands flying up in surrender. “I saw what you just did with that, and I do not want it pointed at me.” When I don’t move, he rolls his eyes. “Please”. I blink and bring my sword to his chest rather than his throat, which I saw as a nice compromise. The man in front of me, however, sighs. 

“Listen, I’m not asking for trouble,” he says. “Honest. I just wanted to say, what you just did—” he gestures at the tree, the area where I was training. “That was amazing.” 

I’m taken off guard by the compliment, so much so that I drop my sword arm. After a moment, I gathered myself. 

“What is your name?” My voice is steel, more of a command than a question. 

“Rowan. And yours?” I don’t answer. 

“What rank are you?” 

“Trainee.”

“Interesting. Never seen you before.” 

“I’m new.” 

“I haven’t heard about any new recruits.” 

“We got here about an hour ago.” He turns up his palms. “Honestly, it would be nice if you could not mention this to anyone back at the camp. I’m not really supposed to be here.” 

I look at him critically. “We’ll see.” Oddly, I believe every word he’s said. Never trusting easily has always been something of a virtue in my eyes, but this man—Rowan—he seems trustworthy. 

“Do I get to know your name now?” he asks, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. I consider him. 

“Mel,” I say. A grin grows, showing imperfect teeth, which somehow make the smile all the more charming. 

“I like it,” 

“I– thank you.” I feel overwhelmed. I don't remember ever receiving this many compliments back-to-back, perhaps in my entire life. I feel something stir in my stomach.  

“Come.” I say, briskly walking back to the tree. “Help me carry this back to camp.” I divide the tree into firewood, splitting the load between me and Rowan. 

“That half is yours.” I point and pick up my own pile, turning to face him. He bends down, gracefully lifting the firewood and holding it lightly. 

“Is this how you act with everyone after you first meet them?” he asks, a note of humor coloring the question. 

“Yes.” His laugh startles me into my own secret smile. 

On the walk back to camp, I learn more about the man I’ve met. He tells me anything I ask, his answers almost robotic in their coherence. I answer most of his returning questions, although I find any description of my life suddenly tedious in the face of R0wan’s. He, however, appears to have a never-ending fascination in my experiences. I begin to hope, most likely foolishly, that I have made a friend. 

We drop off the firewood and say our farewells, my rare smiles becoming increasingly more frequent. 

“Do you think we could meet up again?” I ask without thinking. We are based in the same camp; I would see him here either way. Despite this, he agrees to meet again at ten tomorrow by the tree line. It is past curfew, but I respond, “Perfect.” without hesitation. 

However, no matter how hard I look, I never catch a glance of him the next day, and he never appears at the tree line to meet me. My earlier ecstasy at finally having someone in my life to speak to dies as I realize that I will not see him again, that our meeting obviously had more of an impact on me than it did on Rowan. 

Our training about ten days after my last venture into the woods includes a lesson in hunting and gathering. Since I and my peers are training to join only the most elite military in the space of the entire empire, we were adequately warned beforehand that we would meet many near-death experiences in our training. Today, however, no one will be in danger. That is, assuming everyone knows which berries are poisonous and which are not. 

Our class of twelve is standing in front of the entrance of the woods, preparing to be released and begin our trek to find food. As I begin to steel myself for the possibilities to occur, my mind slips to the memory of the last time I was in these woods. His name glides through me; Rowan. I shake his memory from my mind for the third time so far today. You only met him once, I remind myself. It doesn't matter that he was the only person in months to be kind to you, he clearly did not mean it. When our instructor strides to the front of our line of sight, I am finally able to shake him from me.

“Hello trainees,” she says, her expression enhancing the severity of her tone. “Today, you shall gather a meal sufficient for you and another upon the chance that you are unable to return to camp. You will get an hour to do so, and the person with the worst results by the end will be punished by means of laundry duty for the rest of the week, so be efficient, but remember what you have been taught about edible plants as well as the dangers of magical versus non magical meats. Your hour will begin at the sound of the horn. Good luck.” 

As she exits our path, I notice my peers glancing around at one another, collectively shuffling away from where I stand. I am used to this behavior, but it hurts nonetheless. While I am still collecting myself, the horn blares. I am the last one to run into the woods, but no matter. My confidence in the nature of berries and animals shall make up for any lost time. 

The first bushel of fruits that I come across are no help, the hue of purple a known sign of a poisonous variety. The next few I come across yield the same result. When I finally find an edible sort, I pick as many as would fit in my satchel. 

I believe that my luck has arrived when I hear a large crunch and a snap of teeth from behind. My hand flies to the sword strapped to my waist, anticipation burning through me. As I turn, I hear the snarls increase in volume. Finally catching sight of the animal, I let out a curse. 

In front of me stands a large wild bull, his fur the color of bark and his horns bent into sharp curls. An aura of purple light emits from his body, and his beady eyes shine with the same color; the color that marks a being of magic. 

Those animals of magical nature are not to be consumed, as even a touch of their meat to one’s lips would drain their life-force immediately. They are a great danger aside from that, and this one is looking at me as though I am their next target. I consider abandoning the fight I know is to come, but the bull would no doubt catch me in my effort to escape. That leaves only one option. 

Slowly, I unsheathe my sword, knowing that if I move too suddenly, the animal will attack. I am proven right when the blade screeches, setting off the beast who charges with vigor. I quickly dive out of his way, narrowly avoiding being trampled by his large hooves. The bull snorts in indignation, turning to face me faster than I would have imagined possible. I try to recover quickly enough, but the animal is much faster than I and has already leveled, beginning its race toward me. I may not be able to eat the bull’s meat, but it surely will have no qualms consuming mine. 

I brace for impact when I feel something surge from myself, an energy that I have never felt before– something terrifying. A scream tears from my throat when the pain registers and I lay there, prepared for the impact of the terrifying creature, but nothing is forthcoming. When I look over my shoulder, I nearly scream again.

In place of the wild bull lay a carcass, unrecognizable in its gore. Blood seeps into the grass where it lays, the fur once emitting the hue of magic now dull. I scramble back in terror when a hand grips my shoulder. I scream then, jumping to my feet and swinging in the direction of the touch. I connect, whoever I hit letting out a cry, more startled than pained. 

“Dammit,” he curses. “I was trying to help!” I stare in shock at someone I never imagined I would meet again: Rowan. 

“Sorry!” I exclaim, a bit delayed due to my shock. “I’m sorry, did I hurt you badly?” 

“Nah,” he grits his teeth a bit as he holds his jaw, but still manages to smile. “I’ve thought of you a lot since we met.” he says this with a fondness, one similar to the one I feel toward him– no, felt. 

“Oh, yes? I never would have guessed.” Indifference weaves itself effortlessly into my voice, and he notices without fault. 

“Listen, I’ve wanted to meet up again, truly,” he says, adamant in his claims. “But that night we agreed to meet up, I got caught on my way there.” I pause. How had I not considered this? 

“I see,” I say. “I apologize for jumping to conclusions.” 

He grins. “Apology accepted. So,” his gaze shifts to the remains of the bull. “I guess we should probably clean this mess up.” I come back to the task at hand with despair. 

“No, no, no,” My head falls into my hands. “I’m supposed to be completing the hunting and gathering challenge!” Rowan pulls my hands away from my face. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you,” Relief washes through me. 

“Oh, thank you! Wait, do you not have any prior commitments? I would hate for you to be punished for my sake.” He looks taken off guard, and a little… guilty?

“No, I promise I’ve got plenty of time. I only came because I heard you scream. I was about to help, but you didn’t really need it.” he laughs. “Have you ever done anything like that before? That shit was powerful.” 

I feel my cheeks color. “As a matter of fact, that was the first time it has… exploded. However, I have always had an affinity for magic.” 

“Interesting,” his eyes narrow slightly. “Shall we?” 

After a while, our conversation drifts back to the bull. “I’m not going to lie, for a second, I thought that bull might’ve had you.” 

“Well, I suppose I would have just gone on to madness then, wouldn’t I?”

“Madness?” 

“Oh, sorry,” I blush, knowing how strange I must sound. “It’s just something my mother used to say.” Rowan’s gaze doesn’t divert, and I realize he is waiting for an explanation. I sigh. “She was part of the military here when I was very young, and she would always be going off to lead some horrid mission. She was a general, you see. I would ask ‘When will I see you again?’ and she would always say, “Soon my dear. Only madness could take me from you.’ Eventually, she didn’t return, and my father told me that she wouldn’t be coming back. At the time, I assumed she had gone on to madness, whatever that was, as I didn't understand the concept of death. So, I suppose I’ve made a habit of calling death madness.” I glance at him and see he is looking at me intently. “I’m sorry, that sounded stupid.” 

“No,” He stops and turns to me. “I really like that. Madness.” I smile.

Despite Rowan’s assistance, I returned to camp past the hour, leaving me with laundry duty. “I suppose that means we won’t be meeting anytime soon,” Rowan says. 

“Not unless you decide to drop into the laundry room.” I grin, the more time I spend around him the easier I find they come. He winks, then leaves without another word. 

When I find myself washing clothes that evening, I think back to my conversations with Rowan. Will he come to see me? Almost as soon as I think that I hear a knocking on the door to the laundry shed. 

“Coming!” The eagerness to see my friend brightens my voice, but when I swing the door open, I see that he is not alone. 

“Move.” Rowan’s voice is hard, nothing like the playful cadence I have grown used to. 

“Rowan, what–” 

“I said,” a dagger slips into his hand. “Move.” I scramble back, half in shock, half terrified. I knock into the table and freeze, watching as five other men and women enter the small shed behind him, each with a weapon in hand and magic resistant armor upon them. 

“I don’t understand.” I feel tears well as I frantically look around. My hand finds the sword at my waist, and I begin to pull it out when Rowan comes forward. 

“Mel, don’t.” The hardness in his voice has gone, softened into his usual tone. “Don’t make this more difficult than it already is.” When his hand comes to my arm, I flinch back.

“What are you about to do?” My voice shakes. “I could just call for help and you would all be caught with weapons and–.”

“Someone shut her up,” One of the men surrounding me grunts. “Rowan, let's end this. Kill her.” 

“No,” Rowan’s voice is steel. “We have orders to just draw blood and that’s what we’re gonna do.” 

“The orders,” the man lifts his brow. “Were to bring as much blood back as we can, to grow the power we hold. I think that just killing her would be easier, don’t you?” 

“No,” I stare at Rowan. He came here to take my blood? To gain power?

“Ah,” one of the women surrounding us speaks. “Little boy got soft, hm? Don’t think your superiors would be very happy to hear that.” She sniffs. “If I had any say, someone so quickly softened should be cut.” 

Rowen’s eyes widen and flick to mine, then away just as fast. “That won’t be necessary.” The dagger slips back into his hand. 

“Please Rowan.” The tears cascade down. “Was nothing you said true? I thought you were my friend.” His chest rises and falls fast. 

“You were always too desperate for one,” His lips form a line. “I was too. But I came here to do a job, and I have to finish it. You’re too powerful to keep alive anyway. I saw that in the woods.”

“No.” I sob freely now. “Please.” Rowan’s movements are fast, too fast to react. 

I feel the cool metal slide between my ribs and gasp.