Of What is Red

Chapter 6: Is Foretold

Doubting I would be able to help without a weapon or any sort of training in violence, I watched from what I assumed would be a safe distance, staying put in the woods exactly where Rowan had left me.

Just about every able bodied adult and older child within hearing range sprung to the fight outside the unlucky tent.

“Gripper!" I heard one of the men cry.

I couldn't see it, but the positioning of the fighters told me they had it surrounded. The sways in their motions told me where it was among them, and where they had to step to avoid being hit. Their movements stopped being synchronized, and many looked about in anxious glances.

“Where did it go?" yelled another man.

“Lily," said a familiar voice behind me, yet it didn't sound like anyone I knew.

I blanched, the feeling fading from my body and mind. Somehow I felt its uncanny presence like a tickling ache down my spine and lower back.

No one out here could have known my name.

Unsure what else to do, I turned around slowly, not wishing to see it, but knowing I had to.

Its charcoal black eyes - not just the irises, but the whites, the skin, any hair - appeared hyper-realistic compared to the rest of its appearance, which floated as a wisp of imagination. It was a headache to behold, confusing my eyes so that I couldn't tell if it was meant to look like the Ivory Prince or my dad.

It grinned, reminding me more of my dad with his calculated expressions. “Lily," it said. “You don't trust anyone, do you, Lily? Poor girl."

It knew saying my real name would make me uncomfortable. I had unintentionally given it a reaction the first time.

“Who are you really?" I asked.

“Deflection!" it exclaimed, sounding like the prince. “The oldest tactic in the book, nicely done!" He crooned, “That doesn't work on me, Ivory Princess Lily. Be honest. What do you really want? Answers, or love?"

“Why are your eyes like that?" I demanded, hoping for any further hints on how this creature operated, even if it wouldn't tell me of its own accord. Maybe fighting it wasn't the only way to defeat it. If there was a way I could take care of this without drawing attention to myself, I needed to try. I couldn't let anyone hear the compromising truths it had on me.

Thankfully the Ivory Prince liked to gloat. He was the sort of villain who would reveal his whole plan to an enemy if he thought it wouldn't make a difference.

The creature's figure seemed more defined - average height with a barrel chest. My mind still mildly interpreted the idea of the Ivory Prince in there, but now it looked more like my dad. Dad was smarter than the Ivory Prince. He would commit to a lie until his death.

“Lily," it said disapprovingly, “you don't need to impress me. You'll never impress me." It closed its mouth and smiled again, its teeth now looking hyper-realistic despite being the same crumbly coal black as its eyes. “You're bright enough, but there are things at play here you will never understand, and you don't need to. Relax. Stop trying."

It should've been too absurd to take seriously, but it put a very real thought in my head. Of course the Ivory Court never valued my opinion. They swore they did, but they also insisted my beliefs all assumed a truth that simply wasn't so, and that they knew more because they were older and had access to more information.

My immediate reaction was always to assume they simply weren't listening to me, but it had been this way for so long that I would occasionally wonder if they really were right about most things. After all, they were right about the existence of this Other World.

The monster floated painstakingly closer, its hand outstretched. “Lily…"

I stood perfectly still, bracing myself for any possibility.

“Don't let it touch you!" yelled a teen girl with twin braids and a pickaxe in each hand, sprinting ahead of the crowd of fighters. All of them ran this way, Rowan amongst the nearest tier.

I darted backward and the monster swooped closer, its face inches from mine.

“Don't be unreasonable," it said. “I know I haven't done a lot for you, but you won't let me hold you? The one thing I can do, right at this very moment? Let me do the one thing I can control. Let me get this one thing right."

This landed hard. It had never been spoken, but I always knew this was the motivation behind Dad's hugs. It wasn't about what I wanted or needed, or loving me. It was about making him feel better for being a monster.

I knew it wasn't really him, but I didn't care - it felt too good to say it, to scream it at him. “I do NOT exist to make you feel better!"

Its lips turned that same black color and texture, more solid than it was a moment ago. The rest of its head followed.

A pickaxe slashed across its eyes and it crumbled into dust.

“Yes!" screamed the teen girl, raising both her pickaxes. She let one hook over her shoulder before raising a hand to me. “Awesome job making it solid!"

I slapped her hand, newly aware they did high fives here.

“Heck yeah!" She paced away, pumped. “Did you see that?" she asked the other fighters as they eased their run.

Sighs of relief sprinkled the crowd as they dispersed, some returning to their tents while most came together in cliques to share their experiences.

The girl turned back to me. “You're alright?"

“I'm… Yes."

She smiled, then ran to her friends.

My gaze stuck on Rowan as soon as he caught my eye. He stood uphill a couple of yards away, slowly shaking his head as he neared. “It likes secrets," he said, as if driving home a prior argument. He sheathed his sword with the satisfying sound of sliding metal.

“Everyone has secrets," I snapped. “Or do you tell everyone every awful thing every awful person ever told you to make you feel - awful?" I couldn't think of a new word fast enough.

He glanced from me to the pile of dust that was once the Gripper. His voice softened. “Forgive me, I didn't consider - "

“You didn't." I stormed the direction of the skoolie. Of course a king would like a nice, polite girl he could control, but it was better to be upset and unreasonable than to be the doormat every adult in my life had groomed me to be. If I shyly gave Rowan every opportunity to see me frantically search for a believable lie every time he asked me anything about myself, it would be obvious that was what I was doing.

I had to put a wall there, or a series of barriers which would stop him from even 'thinking' of asking about my past. If I couldn't guard my secrets 'and' get him to trust me enough to bring me to the Crimson Kingdom, I would never see my sister or my friends again.

My eyes were hot as tears streamed down my face. My arms shook.

I wasn't crazy. I always knew I wasn't crazy - I always knew I was right to feel wronged at every little thing Dad and the Ivory Court would say to make me feel unimportant, or stupid, even while they showered me with compliments about how bright I was and the importance of the role I would play for them. It was all just to make me the perfect tool, competent enough to carry out the task, but self-critical enough to never deviate from instruction.

I sobbed, closing my mouth to silence it into a shaky sniffle. I would bring the Ivory Kingdom here so I could reunite with the people I cared about, but I would 'never' subjugate myself to Dad or the Court again.

“Scarlet," Rowan said after jogging to my side. He was away long enough to imply he had considered leaving me be, but had decided against it. “I feel awful. The timing was - awful, I'm so sorry."

I sobbed again, despite myself. I walked faster.

He kept pace. “Making the Gripper solid always means a chord was struck. It's a very brave thing, to do it for the community."

New tears welled and my cry shifted to sound sadder - more pathetic. I was so tired of being brave for the community.

“I said the wrong thing," he noted, swearing under his breath.

I broke, distracted so that I couldn't walk anymore. It didn't matter where I did this. It wasn't as if I could shut myself away and pretend I wasn't crying - it was too late for that. I hugged myself, holding my sides as I tried to make the sobs hurt less without being too loud about it.

“I'm so sorry," Rowan said softly. “I'll… I'll leave you to it, if you wish. The bed in the bus is yours. I'll make mine on the roof later."

I couldn't respond but panic struck me the moment he stepped away.

“Wait," I wheezed.

He waited. I chanced a look at his face and saw his eyes were round and glossy with genuine pain for my pain.

“You really care, don't you?" I asked.

He glanced away and let his hands languidly rise and fall to his sides. “It's a curse," he replied, as if it was a common line he was tired of saying.

I raised my arm toward him. He got the hint to step closer.

“I'm sorry," I said. “For snapping."

“It's already forgotten."

I kept my arm out, so he kept stepping closer.

“Would you… like a hug?" he asked.

I nodded, my mouth stretching back into an ugly-sob. I let it happen. Dad did say the Crimson King had a thing for damsels in distress, and nothing quite screamed "save me" like letting him hold me while I cried.

The action would serve a dual purpose. I did genuinely need a hug.

Without another word, Rowan pulled me tight against him so that my face was flush with his chest. My head and my whole back felt supported. I felt cradled.

“You're an - amazing - hugger," I stated, so shocked that my voice forgot it was crying.

“Thank you," he murmured.

A quick moment later, it was like the good feeling made the bad feeling feel worse, and I was crying again, full-force, gripping the material of his shirt and cloak. He pulled me in tighter.

“I hate where I came from," I explained, letting the emotion of the situation work in my favor. “I didn't think I'd be reminded so soon - so strongly - “

“You don't have to tell me," he promised, taking back his previous questions in leu of what he was witnessing.

That was the exact thing I needed him to say. Now, to drive it home, I divulged just a little bit more - just enough to imply my past was too horrible for any decent human to pry into. “They made me do things - They convinced me it was normal!" I didn't intend for it to sound like what it sounded like, but I wouldn't explain away the obvious story for him to believe in.

“Shh," he whispered. I could hear the strain on his voice. He sounded shaken all over again. “Rather, continue if you wish, but you don't have to."

I felt dangerously devious at how easily I deceived him. I felt fully committed. No one could have known I was actively manipulating him.