The Cabin's Edge

The end of her world was upon her, she stood at it's edge. With one single step she could bridge the gap between the life she had know for so long and the one she had left behind so many moons ago. Her cabin had given her strength, it had regrown bones, it had mended wounds, it had breathed life back into the shell of what she once was.

Kyla Orlouge glanced back at the womb of her second coming and breathed deeply six times.

One for the childhood she now remembered.

One for those who took it away.

One for the man who created her.

One for the man who destroyed her.

One for fate's wiling soldier.

One for the women she had now become.

The mystic pulled her eyes from the nearly collapsed shack she had called home for so long and took the final step into the open air.

For the first time in so long, she felt-----

Whispers. They were all around her. Twisting and turning as they tightened around her throat. Like Vines the harsh tiny echoes choked her. Blood filled her mouth and the taste of copper overtook all her other senses. She tried to cough it up, to stop the sure death that awaited, but her body would not obey.

Her limbs were frozen, her eyes would not open, all she could feel was the tight hold of the whispers and the pool of blood in her mouth. Panic. She wanted to scream. She wanted to thrash. She wanted to fight back!

The whispers held her in place. They tried to soothe her. They cradled her even as the blood spilled to her cheeks and stained her pale skin a deep blue.

"Sleep now. There is more to come. Sleep now." The voice was familiar, kind. She relented.

The mystic let the whispers overtake her. She was gone.

The people mourned. Her body was laid to rest. She would decompose, and her life would live on in the gardens that grew above. Azaleas, Sei had promised. She would live on in beauty.

Her possessions remained mostly untouched. Her weapons were returned to the armory. Her room was a sanctuary. All was in its place. All, except one item.

The glove had been searched for. Threats had been made for its return. Yet, no one came forward. It seemed a trivial thing, only she had harnessed its power, she alone could use it. And yet--

There was an unease in the mind of Sei Orlouge as he lay his daughter to rest, her arm bare for the first time in years.

I woke from my sleep to a rush of wind. The room was cold, bitter cold. I clutched my blanket tightly and took a deep breath. Something was wrong. I rolled off the bed silently and lit my bedside lamp. The flame flickered softly before filling the room with a dim light. It was still hours until dawn. Why had I wakened?

I crept to the window and glanced outside. The quite street outside the inn was empty, no one dared break the stillness that had settled. It had been a warm day, I had spent most of it training outside and sweat pooled at the base of my neck from the sun's rays.
Yet, the window fogged with each breath as though it were freezing. I touched the glass pane and my hand ached from the cold. I closed my eyes.

The whispers. They called. The voices of those long gone. They begged. They coaxed. They needed me.

When I opened my eyes, the room was warm once more. The fog was gone.

I smiled.

The sun rose as I mounted a borrowed horse from the stables. I left behind a few coins as a promise of return. The creature seemed to understand the rush and did not complain as I pulled it from its freshly filled hay trough.

Where was I going? I wasn't sure. The skyline lay before me, a promise made of gold and red.

I simply followed the whispers, I had no idea the grand adventure that lay before me.

The sun lay low as I reached the caverns. The ground seemed to just disappear about thirty paces forward. The wall of gray stone on the other side of the canyon was speckled with spaces of black. It seemed insane, but my eyes focused immediately on a low-lying entrance. It was indiscernible from the others, and yet it seemed to know I was coming. The moment I laid eyes on the walkway that would take me to the cavern, a soft glow seemed to overtake the dimming sky, lighting my path.

I tread carefully as I stepped onto the pathway on the cliff's edge. My feet struggled to find grip on the dusty stone. It was clear this area had been abandoned log ago. In another situation I would have closed my eyes and imagined what had once taken place here. As it were, I just didn’t want to fall into the massive canyon below. The whispers were quiet, they seemed satisfied with my progress. Each footstep seemed to echo through the stone, I was unsure if it was my imagination or the reality of such an empty space finally finding someone willing to occupy it. The pathway was narrow. I took each step with a purpose typically reserved for delicious meals or defensive maneuvers. My whole being was tied up in a mission given to me by what could honestly turn out to be an early sign of dementia. Yet, I couldn’t stop.

The path narrowed as I neared the doorway. I trailed both my hands against the rough stone of the wall as I side shuffled. The moment I reached the opening, the room seemed to come alive. The whispers returned ferociously. It was as though I was hearing the stories of a hundred people as they fought to be heard. They needed to be heard. Their voices swirled around me like a blizzard of human consciousness. This time I did close my eyes. I let them tell their tales, I caught a word here and there. It didn’t matter that I didn’t understand, that I didn’t act. The voices didn’t need me to be a vessel. They needed me to bear witness. I stood very still until the very last whisper faded into the darkness of the cavern.

I sat upon the dusty floor. I was tired. The day of travel had taken a lot out of me, and I hadn’t taken proper precautions when loading up for the journey. My water was running low and there was no food left. I didn’t feel hungry per se, I never did. Years of scraping by to survive had numbed any grumbling my stomach might have had. I just knew my energy level was compromised.
I could think of was rest. I willed myself to my feet against every argument my body could muster. I took a single step towards the door and the soft glow returned to the cavern. I could make out stains on the walls, perhaps once blood. I could see digs throughout the stone, evidence of a sword-fight long ago. I used the tips of my fingers to follow the scrapes, trying to piece together an image in my mind.

My fingers fit almost perfectly in a set of three carved scars. Without thought I touched my own scars on my right calf. Identical cuts. My eyes finally settled on the human remains in the corner and my stomach sank as I noticed the white glove covering the left arm.

How? I knew that glove. I knew the story. I knew what I was seeing and yet, it was impossible. The body was far too decayed to have been the beautiful brunette with the sky-blue eyes I’d seen just weeks ago.
But how did Kyla’s most prized possession end up in a cavern on a years-old corpse?

It was a cold night. The mystic’s fate lay before her. The cult of Blessed torture was more of a risk than anyone wanted to believe. Sei doubted her. He doubted her judgment. He believed her little more than a naïve child with illusions of grandeur. Her unlikely ally was her only hope, a once-hated enemy who now seemed to be the solution to all of life’s complications. Lye would direct her, she would end the Cult’s hold on her past, and she would move forward.

Or- she would never make it out of the Cult’s base. She would never again see the face of Sei or her sisters.

How did it come to this?

Kyla was ready to accept her fate, but first there was something she needed to do.

She entered the small cavern, seemingly untouched since her journey here years ago. Sophia’s remains were still huddled in the corner. Kyla closed her eyes and remembered the day she took her first life. Sophia had been brave, she had been stubborn, she had been everything Kyla used to be. If not for Sei’s impact, Sophie could have been Kyla. Her face would never leave the Mystic’s mind, and her glove, Sophia’s Mane, had never left her arm.

Now, going into battle with the Cult of Blessed Torture, the Mystic could not risk the powerful weapon in the hands of the lunatics. She would have to leave it behind. The glove was more powerful than anyone knew, it seemed a trinket of someone of wealth, but it held the secrets of warriors. Sophia’s Mane could contain the soul of anyone it touched. Every person whose skin had been pierced by the blade left a piece of themselves within. While it seemed impossible to return those people to life, the possibility made the glove dangerous in the wrong hands.

It would sit in the cave until the end of days, nothing more than a reminder to the world that once these people lived.

The girl smiled, her duty complete. Now, her final battle could begin.