Poison

Sol spun on her heel, facing the man who had spoken to her. His short trimmed hair and beard did not hide his age, with rivers of wrinkles tinting his playful expression. Soft gray eyes set deep in a face that shows the age of over fifty years, and she flashed back again, briefly to a time when he handed her a novel that told a story of an adventurer who survived the worst of beasts, only to die later of heartbreak. She knotted her fingers through her hair, unsure of him.

“I haven't seen you for five months, since Fraser brought you here for the last time,” the man continued, ignoring her discomfort. “Well, the last time before your mission.”

Sol opened her mouth and closed it again.

He continued again, “I heard that you succeeded, but even you don't know where the orb is. Fraser had been here not too long ago...he didn't return with you, had he? He won't mention you. Always the mysterious man, and a troubled one. However, he seemed happier around you.”

Fraser.

Dark eyes, dark hair, hardened body.

“I know what kind of man you are, Fraser. A broken one. You're shattered. You won't let yourself care or love because the last time you did, she was taken from you. Your mother was taken and killed, your father died before that, and the only person you had left was Angelina. Then she was slaughtered. That won't happen to me, Fraser, I promise.”

“You can't promise that. We're sending you to do the duty of a Protector, this is not your job!”

Fraser.

“Wait,” Sol said, holding her hand up, stopping his words. Her eyes narrowed. “Where did Fraser go?”

The man blinked at her. “He said something about going to the City of the Lost, Tregan.”

“Thank you,” she said, grasping his hand between hers. “Thank you.”

She bolted away afterwards, flinging the door open. She paused at the door, swinging around again.

“Uh, can you tell me your name?” she asked, sheepishly.

“Brower,” he said. “You don't remember me?”

“I didn't remember Fraser's name either until you mentioned it. Thanks again!”

She disappeared, and Brower blinked rubbing his beard. “I don't understand.”


Fraser sipped his beer, his eyes half-mast. The hot air settled in the bar, the red sunlight leaking through the cracks in the ceiling. A few women wove back and forth between the men with low shirts and high skirts, flirting and winking, hoping for a few coins for a meal. Maybe a beer. Fraser kept his eyes low, and tugged his gloves up further. The tattoo on his hand would give him away to his prey, and God forbid that would happen. He'd been chasing this bastard all over the world, ending up in this God-forsaken country. Dragging his fingers through his hair, he played with the moisture that dripped off of the frosty glass. It was an appealing look, considering the hot t-shirt that clung to him.

His prey hadn't shown up yet. He'd be here today, or tomorrow, or the next day. He would wait. Keep waiting.

The little shit wouldn't see what was coming.


“Where are you going?”

Sol twisted in surprise, her hand half into a pack. Seriously, she stared at Raven, turning back away to finish packing.

“You haven't even slept yet.”

Sol ignored the girl's protest, grabbing a belt and using it to secure her jeans around her hips. Her loose shirt hung over the belt, buttoned up to the last button that hung open. Snagging her jacket, she tugged it over her aching bones, where dust seemed to forever settle. She had to use the light scarf again to cover her face, because she still lacked a heavy enough material. She swung the pack over her back after studying a map for a few quiet minutes. Raven just stood there, staring at her with wide eyes, the colors of gray and blue.

“Where are you going?”

“You know that man that knew me? I'm going after him. I have an idea where he is. This is my chance to find out who I was.”

“You're going alone?”

“Rose doesn't want anything to do with me now anyway. She's playing mama bear. I was part of the family until I brought killers to your home. Now, I'm no longer one of you.” Sol tucked a knife into her boot. “Tell Jazz I'm sorry, Oz good luck...and tell Reed to behave for me, will you?”

“I'm not letting you go alone,” Raven argued, blocking the door. “You can't.”

“I have to. I have to do this.”

“I understand that. I'm just coming with you.”

Sol gave Raven a look. “You can't.”

“Try and stop me.”

Sol contemplated Raven for a few moments before rolling her eyes. “Come with me if you'd like. I don't understand why'd you leave them though.”

“I can always return.”

“This might be with the Protectors.”

“Eh, Protectors, not a real threat,” Raven said, grinning widely.

Sol gave her a blank stare. “This isn't a joke.”

“I know. I also know where to get bikes and heavy fabric.”

Frowning, Sol sighed, giving in. “Fine. Now where?”

“Jazz has connections.”


“What? No!”

“Come on Jazz,” Raven said, laying her hand on his arm. “Talk to him.”

“Where are you going again?”

“Tregan.”

Jazz fumed. “Those bikes will be stolen before you even make it into town.”

“Not if you come along.”

“You're not very good at sweet talking.”

Sol didn't know whether to curse Jazz or laugh at him. “Come on, Jazz-hands—,”

“By God, don't call me that,” he said, waving his hands in front of himself. He stopped staring at the two of them. “Are you two seriously going to do this?”

“Yes,” they both replied.

He groaned, pulling his hand over his face. “Fine, fine. I'll get you your bikes...on one condition.”


Oz leaned against the wall, watching Rose walk past him. “They left, didn't they?”

“Jazz, Sol, and Raven have gone to get bikes from an old friend in Orwen, the town two miles from here. Then they're going to go to Tregan. What for, I don't know, but thank God she's gone.” Rose stormed past him, scowling at ground as she stopped by them. “Was I too harsh, Oz?”

Oz slid his wise green eyes to her. “Sol doesn't know her past, Rose. How could she know if the rebels or the Protectors were after her?”

“But I need to keep everyone safe, and they've gone with her.”

“Because she's family.”

“Shit,” Rose said, closing her eyes.


Jakob kicked the stand down, pulling down his sun glasses to rub briefly at his eyes. Covering his eyes again before the sunlight can do more than momentarily blind him, he swung his leg off of the bike. Curling his fingers around his pack, he swung it upon his back. The bloodred sun set deep in the sun, the dust starting to settle for the night. The chill of the night loomed closer, on the faint breeze the cold started to sink into the land. Running his fingers through his hair to brush off the lingering dust from his ride, he pulled his jacket around him tighter.

“Hey, kid,” he said, nodding to the child who stood in an alleyway. “Want to gain a gold piece?”

The child eyed him quietly before nodding.

“Here's one now,” he said, handing the small blue eyed child a gold coin. “If you stay and watch the bike, I'll promise you you'll get a matching piece when I return.”

The kid nodded eagerly and situated himself next to the bike. Jakob turned away from the bike, content that at least for a little while, his bike wouldn't be stolen. In the city of Tragen, theft was common. As was murder. Jakob's eyes flashed up to a wall, where the infinity was painted across the wall. The signal of the Protectors. He eyed it, turning away form it. It was no longer his business what the rebels did. As far as he was concerned, he has disentangled himself with the bastards that called themselves the liberators. No, he would no longer help the rebels. However, he wouldn't stand for the behavior of the Protectors either. As far as he was concerned, they could slaughter each other over nothing at this point.

The Protectors were falling apart. It wasn't a secret, it was written across the worried faces of those who bore the mark. The mark of protection. Well, those protectors more often than not killed and raped and savaged towns. Jakob knew that there was no salvation for murderers. He also knew of justice.

Fraser.

Jakob cursed.

“Hey pretty lady, want don't you come give me a smooch?”

“Get lost, you fucking creeps.”

“Got a mouth on ya, don't cha princess?”

“Wanna die, bastard?”

Jakob found himself slowing, his eyes drawn to a group of four men and a woman in the middle of the street. The girl had long, blond hair that skirted with the breeze, the blood sun to her back, lighting her bright blue eyes. Not ice, like Jakob's, but the deep sea, where monsters lurked. She was crouched her eyes flitting back and forth between the weaving men. They were drunk. Slobbering beasts of men that needed simply to sober up. However, by the way they were talking, even when they were sober, they'd be cruel. Jakob stopped, staring at the girl surrounded by these men. What would she do?

Her fitted jacket revealed a slim form, with thin wrists. She was a little bony, from what he could tell, with high cheek bones that held those ocean deep eyes. They were lit with irritation and a quiet laughter at the foolish men about her. Two swords hung from her back, along with what seemed to be an assortment of weapons. A match hung from her pale pink lips, dark lashes brushing up against her eyebrows as she eyed the four men. The street became deserted, and a lost child was scooped up quickly by a worried mother. The chill really started to settle in now, and the lights from the inns and shops spilled onto the street, trying to light what the sun left behind. Her clothes were covered with dust, from her gray breeches down to what looked like her once brown flat-footed boots. She twisted that foot, both hands reaching behind her back where the two swords were sheathed.

“Well, boys, are we going to tango or not?” she asked, cocking her eyebrows.

The first weaving man darted towards her. She stepped to the left, her hands sliding the swords free from their cases, as she spun around. Her hair flew around her face, her eyes narrowed in concentration. He tried to ram her, but she twisted free of that attack, slashing in a downward arc. Blood splashed against the ground, and the man howled, grasping his bleeding arm in his hand. She fell back into position, taking a calming breath, closing her eyes for a brief moment before sliding them open again. Her eyes flashed to Jakob, and she arched one eyebrow in his direction.

The next man came towards her, and she ducked his first ill-attempt at a punch. Dodging his next attempt, an ill-aimed kick, she spun around on her heel, completely forgoing the blade and smashing the intricate metal and wooden handles of the swords into his back. He flew forward, landing on his face as she took another breath, bowing her head before sliding upwards again. Only one blade in her hand was tinted with blood, a dark red that blended with the sun behind her. Her silhouette was thin as she flicked the swords around her in her hands, as if she was playing a game.

“Why don't you put your pretty swords away, and we'll fight head on?” demanded one of the men.

The girl smiled and blinked her eyes in rapid succession. It didn't take a fool to recognize her mocking him as she said, “Why, a big, strong man like you, can't defeat a young skinny girl like me? But fine, I guess I'll put them away.”

She slid the swords back, reaching her fingers out, flicking two fingers out on each hand and beaconing the two men forward. Both came forward, far more sober than their former friends who both groaned upon the ground. The first man came forward, coming onto her left. He went to jab at her ribs, but she dodged by faking a left and taking a right. She grabbed his right wrist with her left hand, twisting his arm far up his back. His companion came after her when her back was turned, grabbing the ends of her hair and yanking her head back. She let out an indignant shriek, striking backwards with her heel, catching him on the knee. She yanked his friend's arm up further, before abruptly letting go and ripping herself free from the second man's grasp. She dodged his second grab.

“Fighting like a sissy girl, aren't we? Well, if we're playing dirty,” she said.

She lunged for him, grasping his shirt and yanking him forward. She drove her knee up, smashing him where the sun-don't-shine before letting him drop with a groan to the ground.

“Little shits,” she said, giving him a good kick as she rubbed the back of her head. “Learn how to tango before you pick a fight.” She gave Jakob an indignant snarl, moving towards him with a
slow gait and a tilt of her head. “What, looking for some more free entertainment, pretty boy?”

Jakob couldn't hide the smile that curled up on his face. “No, ma'am.”

She narrowed her eyes on him. “I'm not a ma'am. Don't say that, ever again.” She paused, before smiling back and holding her hand out. “My name is Kida.”