Underestimate Me

The flames licked the sky sending sparkles into the dark air. Josselyn idly watched as they floated up and dissolved, burning up at higher altitude. The sound of breathing surrounded her, the sisters fast asleep. Less than a yard away, Meredith rested. She was turned on her side, facing the warmth of the fire. Her head lay on an outstretched arm and her legs were curled up to her stomach. The blond hair was spread on the woodland floor and a few strands of grass tickled her cheek. Josselyn had taken upon herself to serve the first watch. She had foreseen a night of restless turning and insomnia, and chosen the easy road. She’d guard Rowen as well as other threats while her sisters slept. Evelyn would take the next shift. The women looked like angels. Sleeping softly, their breathing being a sweet lullaby. In spite of the angelical air that surrounded them, a watchful eye would discover a controversy as day and night. All her sisters were holding their weapons. Evelyn sleeping with the bow and arrows right next to her, her finger on the string as if her sleep would use it as an instrument. Meredith’s hand was on the shaft of her sword and only Emma had drifted in an unguarded sleep. Her sling was on her belt, but she did not touch it. She was perched against a big tree; her head leaned back against its trunk. Maa, I beg you to protect my little sister. Protect Rebecca, for I will protect this spitting image of her.

Across the fire Rowen was twitching and her eyes shot towards him at the movement. His sight was grim and even in night; his forehead was beaded with sweat. The halos around his eyes had darkened as his complexion looked like a prophecy of the pale mare. His body swayed in the heated air of the fire, through which she watched him. Shivers run down and up his body, countering the movement of heated air.

Think what you like Josselyn, for you always do

His words had lost the power they possessed when they caught him. His voice lacked the strength she had admired that day in the open field. Her body should be rejoicing his breakdown, though this vengeance was not sweet. A bitter taste rode her mouth and she could not get rid of it. Her dreams had been so easy. She would encounter him on the battlefield and her sword would slide through his ribcage as a knife would through butter. His eyes would be black, filled with a demonic glare that she saw fading as his blood left his chest. He would drop to his knees and look up to her. No pleading glare, no fear of death. Elrik's blood would leave his body, and as he fell to his back, only Rowen would be laying there. The filth of his blood would be cleansed and she could all but laugh. A delivery she had waited for, for so long.

The reality had been quite different. Although her mouth curled up at his pain in the beginning, seeing him shivering against the cooled ground did not bring her joy anymore.

I never sold you to any such thing.  The last thing I remember…

His words disturbed the silence of snoring. He was indeed persistent. Not once had he admitted to selling her out. Not once had the words of his betrayal left his lips. Feverish dreams were haunting him. His eyes twisting beneath his eyelids. What truths would he speak now that his cunning mind was haunted and the truth wanted to be set free? She wondered when she would hear the words. She wondered when his confession would follow his fever.

‘Yes I haunted you, as a scavenger following its prey. Yes I laid with you, once you were in my grip. And yes, after my pleasure I went for the kill.’ Those were the words she was expecting. That was the revelation she craved for. She could not kill him before that. Not because of the safety of her sisters, not because killing him now would be a merciful act. No. None of those reasons were true to her heart. This was a selfish act. She wanted to look him in the eye. She wanted him to own up to his deeds. Once he did, she’d destroy him.

Meredith’s tossing diverted her attention. The woman turned over her back and faced Josselyn. Two sleepy eyes opened.

“Hey,” Her voice was soft and now that no one was watching, her eyes did not freeze.

“Hey,” Josselyn returned. Her voice filled with familiarity. Meredith inched closer and laid her head down on her sister’s lap. The blond hairs covered Josselyn's legs and like a reflex her fingers crawled through the strands of gold. Meredith’s pale blue eyes found hers and all she wanted was to kiss away the worry she discovered in them.

“I really thought I lost you,” The words were spoken with a trembling voice and Meredith looked so different from the strong warrior woman she had been that afternoon. She felt the rapid breathing of her chest against her body and flashes of their nights together accompanied her,

“I’m still here,” Josselyn whispered as she stroked the blond hairs from Meredith’s face. He head bowed down and quietly she pushed her lips against her sister’s forehead.

“That rat sold us out and saved you at the same time.” Meredith snarled. “I wanted him dead before, but I wish him all the rings of inferno now.”

Josselyn sighted lightly. “Maa will do justice. She is not one to forget.” She looked up at the moon and added: “the length of our shadows is not determined by the position of the sun or moon, they are made by the horrors we inflicted. One save does not wipe away the other wrongings.” As she looked down at her sister, she noticed that Meredith had found the sweet nothingness of sleep again. The swordswoman so comfortable in her leader’s arms that she had forgotten about the things luring in the shadows.

Rowen was mumbling again. The words not as clear anymore. Not directed at anything or anyone. He had been screaming at someone who wasn’t there and Josselyn could only guess to whom his words were directed. His words were not as audible now. He was mumbling, a frown on the bridge of his nose, and his strong plated cheeks flushed. His eyes were closed and she could see how rapidly his eyes moved beneath his eyelids. The fire casted an orange glow on him, but he still looked pasty. Fever had wrapped its gruesome talons around him and was pinning him in this surreal world.

Josselyn knew. Josselyn knew he was treading unknown soil, for she had walked her own fever dreams. Her dreams had tortured her beyond memory and most of it was lost to her. Dwelling in her tortures she had spent what had been nights in a writhed sleep. Meredith told her the words she had screamed, the movements she had made while shivering and sweating out the infection.

All Josselyn could remember truly, was her waking up.

“Don’t you dare touching me!” she bellowed. She had found a little sharp knife on the table next to the bed. Now pushing it against his jugular artery, she finally had control. She could be the one doing the cutting. She would be the one that would be the torturer, not the tortured. The little room was filled with herbs and the scent confused her. Where was she? How did she get there? Most of all, who was this man? She noticed she wasn’t naked anymore. She was dressed in a wide shirt and some short breeches. When did she get clothes? Where was she? What happened? She looked up and took in the apearance of the man. He had a round face, with strong features. No real threat was written on his face, but Josselyn knew better. Half the man that had put their hands on her had once looked harmless to her. They had said their courtesies and kept up their image, but in that confinement they had done things that still made her stomach churn.

“I am trying my best to be polite, but don’t you dare moving that knife but an inch closer…” The man spoke. His voice was faintly familiar. Like she had heard it before, though she could not recall meeting him. All she had caught from the last days had been some blurry faces, hanging above her. Voices talking as she drifted back into blackness and was embraced by a world of terror. And the cold. She could remember the cold. Shaking on her back, sweat dripping down, but she had been so cold. So cold.

“What did you do to me?! Where am I?!” She wanted answers. As she had woken, the man had been standing at the window of the cottage. Looking out, waiting for someone. Waiting for someone to return, but Josselyn had caught him off guard in seconds.

“Glad to see you got your spunk back, little raven,” The man spoke again. His Adam's apple passed the knife as he spoke, the sharp edge cutting off some hair of his beard. Little raven… little raven. She tasted the words in her mouth but did not repeat them. She heard it before. Little raven. Had he called her that before? Was it her mind, still jumbled by fever?

Behind her a door swung open.

“Let him go, Josselyn.” The voice made her lose focus on the man before her and swing her head around. As she saw the blond hair illuminated by the light that flooded through the open door, it all came back to her. All of it.

“Joss…”  The mumble was soft, almost too faint to be carried by the wind, but it found her ears. She broke from her memory and focussed on Rowen. He had spoken her name. Not with anger, not with defeat, but with pain.

He was being tortured by her, his feverish demeanour told as much. She should be in high spirits.

She wasn’t.