Colors of the End Masterlist (under revision)
Benjamin, Isobele and Jeremiah are all soldiers in a war they don't even know the reason for. Each of them have a power that makes them useful to the Empire of Oculi. They are part of an elite squad run by Zachary, who has raised them all as his children. These kids want a normal life and they'll do anything to get it. Is it possible? To escape and build a separate life for themselves away from the war?
Rainbringer Masterlist (discontinued)
A Rose Admist Thorns Masterlist
Henrietta Belaqua, Miguel Cordova, Solomon Lightfeather, and Xavier Reede are all interconnected in ways that none of them want. Henrietta thought she could escape Xavier, Miguel knows that he can't escape him, and Solomon is waiting for the perfect moment. How long can they all last before Xavier breaks them all down?
Sunny's Personal Horror November 2024 Challenge
Horror drabbles 300 hundred words or less. Fun little challenge thing I made for myself.
CW: Past abusive relationship, blink and you miss it mention of alcoholism and drug abuse, historical racism / talks of actual events, a lot of heavy emotions and feelings.
Im really not sure what to warn about this so let me know if I've missed anything.
Word Count: 6.3k
A/N: Once again, everyone say thank to Ev for beta reading for me. Things are getting REALLY close to the end and the next chapter is going to be interesting. Hope your ready for a lot of angst for this one though :) enjoy
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The sky was blue, a clear soft blue that shimmered under the oppressive heat of the sun. The hum of the cicadas only furthered the heavy feeling in the air. She hated the sound of cicadas; the insects hum was a sound that she could feel in her bones. Still, they were music and lately she’d been trying to get back into the habit of listening to the music of nature.
Nature had its own way of making music. The way the wind whispers through the trees, birds singing, the cicadas. All of that, everything was music. She had forgotten how to listen in all of her years with Xavier. In the weeks they had been in Window Rock she was attempting to relearn. She used to be good at it. sit outside with her father and they would name all the sounds together. Then they’d pull out their instruments and play along with the sound of nature. Learning to listen again was hard. All the sounds felt heavy with the weight of her memories.
As time passed, Henrietta learned that if she focused on one sound at a time it was easier. It was always the cicadas that were the heaviest. The vibrations in her chest when she focused on them was the hardest part, it made it hard to breathe. It reminded her of her time with Xavier. The oppressive, hot, hatred that existed within him had seeped into her bones. The vibrations of his swirling moods had made those bones ache too. The sound of it all made her feel sick and she tuned it out. Instead she focused on the cooling breeze through the trees. It half smelled like rain and she wondered about the monsoons that were supposed to happen during this portion of the summer. The sky was still blue though and she doubted she’d be lucky enough for the celebrations tonight to be canceled due to rain.
Henrietta decided to stop listening as she stood up from the porch chair. As she did, Isabella came out from inside. Isabella was a friend from Red Rock when she escaped the first time. She had bright blonde hair, nearly lemon colored with dark blue eyes. She was taller than Henrietta and stuck out like a sore thumb in this quiet little town. Isabella was probably the only white lady for miles.
“Henrietta?” she asked, “You alright?”
“I’m fine,” Henrietta lied, the cicadas still burning in her ears. “Just.. trying to listen.”
“Right.” A pause.
Henrietta felt awkward so she tried to make conversation, “You sleep okay, Isabella?”
“Just fine! I made lunch for us. Yazzie is supposed to be over soon to help us with the laundry and bring some new clothes.”
Henrietta frowned, “She made us some? Thought you told her not to.”
“I did.”
Henrietta sighed and rubbed her hand on her dress. Yazzie was an older Navajo woman who was actually Solomon’s younger cousin. She was a short and sour-faced woman who had a lot to say about everything. Yazzie was one of the most interesting people she’d ever met. She was a seamstress and made half of the town's clothing. She had also been employed by some of the officers during the relocation to make and repair their clothes. When they made it back, she had refused to repair even a sock for them.
Sometimes it was strange to hear about the way their people had suffered at the hands of the government. How strange it was how both of their people had suffered. There was no one who was more than the other, they were just people who suffered. Henrietta had found that the universal language was not suffering, but the result of it. The universal language was grief. The loss of people, the loss of culture, there was the feeling of grief over a life unlived. In some distant, far off world, perhaps there was a world where everyone could be together. Maybe there was a world where everyone could be together without the leagues of suffering it took to get there. It wasn’t in this world though, and these people had suffered.
Solomon’s people were still rebuilding after something called The Long Walk. They had been removed from their home and walked to New Mexico territory on a reservation. They had fought heavily to come back here to their homeland. They had succeeded but the walks to and from the reservation had brought death and suffering. A good portion of Solomon’s family hadn’t survived it, including his mother. He knew that she was dead, but hearing it, seeing that she was truly and fully gone. It was different.
Solomon had cried for days when they arrived and found out.
Henrietta’s heart had broken for him.
Yazzie had held him in her arms for hours and all Henrietta and Miguel could do was watch helplessly as Solomon grieved. It had been weeks now since the initial shock and things had calmed. Solomon had carried himself with a unique sense of melancholy since.
Henrietta couldn’t blame him.
Henrietta would have never been able to recover had she not been able to go home to see her father when he passed. Xavier had tried to stop her but that was the one thing she hadn’t backed down on. Even when she had returned from burying her father, and Xavier started his physical assaults on her, repented nothing. Henrietta wouldn’t change a thing about saying goodbye. She would have never forgiven herself. Her father had told her her heart had gone cold and she originally thought that his last words as a dying man had never made sense. However when she returned to Xavier, she had realized that he was right. His words had woken her up, opened her eyes and suddenly she was able to see Xavier for the monster that he was.
“You’re thinking about him aren’t you?” asked Isabella.
Henrietta blinked, then turned to Isabella. “I can’t help but feel like he’s still here. Right next to me.”
Henrietta could feel his hate, his need for revenge. It was scattered in the wind, but with the breeze, it was as if it was full force in front of them. He was looking for her and she knew it. The first time she had escaped she had ignored that feeling and let herself get comfortable in her freedom. She would not make the same mistake. Three people had died due to her carelessness. Henrietta wouldn’t let that happen again.
“We destroyed everything. I think if he was looking he’d probably not even have the supplies to do so,” said Isabella.
“You don’t know him,” Henrietta countered. “He’s charming, he’s powerful. If he doesn’t talk his way into gaining supplies he’ll just take it by force. That’s just who he is.”
“Well the people here say they’ll protect you,” Isabella tried to reassure.
“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. People died last time,” Henrietta said, voice cracking.
Isabella’s expression shifted at the memory and Henrietta couldn’t bring herself to feel bad about it.
“You never told us where you were from. We didn’t know we had to protect you.”
“I shouldn’t have to be protected.”
“That’s not your fault. Red Rock wasn’t your fault either.”
“Right.”
Isabella sighed, she wiped the sweat off her brow. “Can you come inside and drink some water? It’s too hot out to be out here like this.”
Unable to think of anything to argue, Henrietta walked into the house. It was a small wooden thing with two bedrooms and a kitchen connected to a living space. They headed into the kitchen and Henrietta poured herself a glass of water from the clay pot. The pot itself was beautiful and she found herself tracing over the painted geometric shapes. Yazzie had gifted it to them on the third day they lived in the house.
After Henrietta took a long drink of water, Isabella seemed satisfied and left her alone. There was pang of guilt for treating Isabella so harshly but Henrietta wasn’t in the mood today. Lately, her shifting moods had been happening more often. One day she’d feel almost good. She could almost forget what had happened, then the next day her energy would be sapped out of her by the smallest and most horrid of things.
She took a moment to look outside the window, trying to ground herself. This place was beautiful. Window Rock was based underneath a giant arch of red sandstone that made a perfect circle. On the maps this place was called White Rock but the people here called it Window Rock or Tségháhoodzáni. It was really a perfect fit because it really did look like a window to the sky. Or maybe a window from the sky to them.
There was a knock at the door and Henrietta went to answer it. Yazzie was there with a woven basket in one hand and a cloth sack against her back. She was short with her salt and pepper hair pulled back into a bun. Her face was a story of lines and wrinkles.
“Before you start that sentence, yes I did. You are going to accept them because I made them for you. It’s rude not to accept a gift. Now let me in.”
Henrietta pursed her lips and bit back a retort. She took a step back to let Yazzie inside.
Yazzie flashed her a sweet smile. “See? It’s not that hard is it?”
“Careful Yazzie, I can still kick you out.”
Yazzie laughed, Henrietta smiled and she shut the door behind them. Isabella came out from the hallway and grinned at them.
“Yazzie!” she greeted and wrapped her up in a hug. “How are you?”
“Oh! I’m well, sweetheart. Help me put these on the table.”
“Yes ma’am,” Isabella said and began to help Yazzie set up the table. Soon enough there were two dresses laid out and the soap and laundry supplies were on one of the chairs.
“I want you both to try these on. Then we’ll wash together.”
Henrietta rolled her eyes but took the dress that was shorter and went to try it on in the room, leaving Isabella and Yazzie behind. She had an issue with people seeing her without something to cover up her scars. Slowly, she peeled off her current dress and slipped out of her undergarments to take a look. Scars lined up all along her body. A story that could never be erased. Her hand went to the X brand on her chest and her fingers traced the bubbled skin there. That was never going to go away. Never. She felt as if none of it was ever going away. She turned her head back to look at her back through the mirror. Her back was filled with scars as well. Her back was really what made her self-conscious. She could almost tolerate the brand but her back was a patch work of different colors and raised skin. Being dragged through Red Rock had done some real damage to her.
Sometimes when Henrietta moved a certain way some of the skin on her back would pull or twinge and it would light up with a short burst of pain. Even if her back brushed against something accidentally it would cause her back to hurt. Sharp, pricking sensations. Nerve and tissue damage, Solomon had said. Pain that lasted forever. She was completely and wholly changed by Xavier. Physically, mentally, emotionally. All of what used to be her was a patchwork of mismatched sizes and colors. Henreitta had been told to try and move forward but she didn’t know how to do that yet. She was stuck. She couldn’t escape him or the things she’d done. The hardest part about that fact was the fact that she felt as if she failed her father.
Don’t let him make you cold.
Now her blood was ice.
Henrietta missed her father. It didn’t matter how old someone was, losing a parent wasn’t ever easy. Solomon had told her stories about his mother and at the grand age of sixty-three he sobbed at his mother being gone. Everyone wants to be loved and no one is ever prepared when they lose the people they love. It’s not something you can prepare for. She still longed for her fathers voice, singing to her and her brothers. She wanted her mother to do her hair again. As far as she knew, her mother was still alive.
But could Henrietta face her? Could she look her mother in the eye and tell her everything?
There was a knock at the door and Henrietta grunted in response.
“You alright in there? Do you need my help?”
Henrietta thought for a moment and exhaled. “You can come in.”
Yazzie quietly opened the door, stepped inside and then gently closed the door behind her. She looked over Henrietta with a soft expression. She didn’t blink at any of her scars. Effortlessly she took the dress off the bed and motioned for Henrietta to step toward her.
“Thank you,” Henrietta said, “It’s beautiful.”
“No need to thank me.” Yazzie helped her put it on. “I enjoy making dresses. It's been too long since I’ve made dresses for outsiders I like.”
“You like us?” Henrietta teased.
“Only sometimes,” Yazzie laughed and winked at her. “Take a look in the mirror and tell me what you think?”
Henrietta turned around and smiled at her reflection. The dress was a light brown color and had red trimming with long sleeves. There was also a white belt that went around her waist. The whole thing was beautifully crafted. The best part was that everything was covered. All of her scars and ugliness.
“Did Solomon tell you?”
“About?”
“The scars. What happened before...”
“Not directly. I saw the brand on your chest. Solomon only hinted at the story of what happened to your back.”
Henrietta’s stomach felt like a pit and her throat felt tight. There was a weight in the room, one she could only minimally place. The new dress was beautiful. Yet she could only think about the way Xavier would probably hate this dress. He’d hate it because it covered every inch of her and it wasn’t something he’d perfectly tailored to his likings. He’d tell her to take it off. But Henrietta didn’t want to take this off. She wanted to stop thinking about him, but the concept of closure was less than fruitful.
Realizing she’d been quiet for too long Henrietta forced herself to speak. “I feel like something bad is going to happen.”
“Go on.”
“He’s going to come after me. I know he is. He’s probably looking right now.”
Yazzie nodded sincerely. “Solomon says the same.”
“You don’t seem worried,” Henrietta said through her teeth. She didn’t mean for it to sound so angry, so she softened her voice. “You should be more worried.”
“I believe you and Solomon worry enough for the whole town.”
“This isn’t a game. It’s not a joke, I don’t know why everyone is treating this like it doesn’t matter.”
Yazzie stared at her for a moment and started “I never–”
Henrietta interrupted her. “He killed three people last time I ran and that was when I didn’t burn down his life's work. We burned down his family ranch. He’ll kill everyone here to get back at me and he’ll never stop looking.”
Yazzie waited for her to be finished, expression neutral. Henrietta suddenly felt embarrassed at her outburst and she put her face in her hands. Finally, she started to cry. Henrietta wasn’t a crier, she hated crying. It gave her a headache and it was exhausting. She rarely ever cried, so the fact that she was crying right now meant that she had let things get pent up for too long. She used to play music when she felt like this but now she could hardly look at a violin without wanting to vomit. Again, Henrietta was stuck.
Hands were on her shoulders, gentle and grounding as she was guided to sit on the bed. Vaguely she wondered if patience and understanding were genetic. Solomon and Yazzie were similar in that way. All of the patience and understanding in the world, none of which she deserved. Yazzie waited for Henerietta to calm down. When she did, Henrietta took her hands and wiped them with a small handkerchief, then she slowly wiped at Henrietta's face with it.
“It’s okay to be frustrated,” Yazzie said gently. “What you went through. No one should have to go through that. I know you’re right, I believe that he’s coming for you. For all of you.”
“Then why–” Henrietta started to ask, desperation creeping into her voice.
Yazzie shushed her, “You seem to still believe that you’re alone in this. That somehow it’s all on you. It’s not.”
“I’m sorry.”
Henrietta seemed to be sorry a lot these days. Usually she was so sure of herself. It was a great defense against the types of things she had to endure. It was easy to not care, but lately it was like all of those feelings had been swirling inside and had nowhere to go.
“You don’t have to be sorry. The world hasn’t been kind to you Henrietta. No one has really proved otherwise either. One day, you’ll believe that you deserve some real kindness,” Yazzie gently held Henrietta’s hand and rubbed her thumb over her knuckles, “You’re just not there yet.”
“I don’t think I ever will be.”
“You will. You will.”
Yazzie sounded so sure. The older woman truly believed that Henrietta would get to that point. Henrietta couldn’t picture it for herself, but she assumed that most people felt that way. You never imagine yourself living a good life until you’re already there.
“Okay,” Henrietta relented.
Yazzie gently patted her hand and smiled, “Would you like a moment to collect yourself?”
Henrietta nodded and Yazzie stood up, leaving her alone for a moment. She wiped at her face with Yazzie’s handkerchief and took a few deep breaths. Slowly, she came back to herself, feeling better now that the tears had finally escaped her. Just to be sure, she took a few more breaths as she stood up and took her old dress and other laundry from the basket out to the kitchen. There was still laundry to do before the celebrations tonight. There was always still work to do.
Yazzie and Isabella were mindlessly chatting as she came up to them in the kitchen. Isabella’s laundry had also made it to the kitchen. She caught the tail end of their conversation.
“-rain?”
“What about rain?” asked Henrietta as she happened to look outside the window. The clouds that had been far away were now looming closer than before. The breeze was taking the storm to them.
“Oh, well it looks like it’ll rain. Yazzie says that if it does, it’s good luck.”
“It's more than that really,” Yazzie commented. “Rain at this time of year usually means that there are new beginnings afoot. New beginnings and hope.”
She looked at Henrietta and Henrietta managed a tight lipped smile.
“I think it’ll probably skip over us entirely.”
“Come on Hen, be a little optimistic?” Isabella sighed.
Henrietta hummed and shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Optimisim is for dogs under the table during dinner,” Yazzie said seriously.
Yazzie and Isabella exchanged glances, then looked at Henrietta, then looked at each other again. It was only a second before laughter filled the kitchen. The heavy feeling in her chest lifted somewhat as she laughed. She didn’t even know what was so funny, all she knew was that this whole thing felt ridiculous. The warmth from the laughter filled her up and for a moment, things were okay.
It was moments like this she was glad she was not alone in this. There were very few remedies for suffering, but laughter was certainly one of them. It didn’t feel so allconsuming anymore. The laughter died down and the weight on her chest lifted slightly.
“You really think it’ll rain?” Henrietta asked.
“Maybe, we have been praying for rain for a while now. Maybe the gods will answer today.”
“I think that they will,” Isabella stated confidently.
At least one of them was an optimist. Henrietta had never been one for that way of thinking. She was never known for her sunny disposition when it came to important situations. The only way to go about anything was cautious realism. Nothing can disappoint a person if they’ve already mapped out all of the ways things could go wrong. She wasn’t pessimistic either, she was equally open to all of the good ways things could go. Henrietta could admit that it was easier to think of ways something could go wrong than the ways it could go right. It took real creativity to imagine a good ending. Creativity was directly aligned with energy and she didn’t have the energy that was associated with coming up with a good ending.
Maybe creativity did not align with energy at all but with the mental state of things. Henrietta’s mental state wasn’t in the best of places. She was still stuck in that house, in that ranch. She hadn’t yet left it, she was planning to, but something always dragged her back. It was him, his energy, curling around her. She didn’t know how to get rid of it.
Henrietta just wanted it all to be over.
She wanted to be free.
Why didn’t she feel free?
A hand on her shoulder brought her out of her thoughts and she turned to look at Yazzie. Her expression was the softest she’d ever seen and Henrietta wondered how long they had been standing here.
“Why don’t you go to Solomon’s?”
“Why?” Henrietta asked, defensive.
Yazzie frowned, “You’re not here right now. You should let us do this.”
“I am right here!” Henrietta shook off Yazzie’s hand and stepped away. She really hated when people told her what to do, or how she was feeling. How could they possibly know when she didn’t really know herself?
“You’re here physically but your head and your heart are someplace else.”
That stopped Henrietta in her tracks and she forced herself to take a deep breath. Yazzie was right, Henrietta wasn’t in it. Laundry wasn’t exactly in her list of things to think about. She hadn’t even realized that they had moved outside.
“I–” she started and then sighed. “I... I tried to...”
“You’re alright Henrietta. We’ll do the laundry. You go to Solomon’s; he said he has a gift for you.”
Henrietta paused and bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from saying something petulant about gifts. Instead she just nodded and looked at Isabella, who was watching the interaction in silence. She assumed that Isabella got the hint that Henrietta would snap at her if she got in her way too much. Guilt ate at her again and she tried to give Isabella a smile.
“I’ll see you both tonight.”
Isabella smiled in return, “See you tonight.”
Yazzie gently patted Henrietta’s arm and took the rest of the laundry in her hands. “Go on now, leave us.”
Henrietta didn’t want to be told twice by Yazzie and took the opportunity to leave out the back gate.
The road to Solomon’s house wasn’t very long. It took less than ten minutes to get there, but every step felt heavy. The sun was an oppressive monster that made her skin want to melt. By the time she got there she was sweaty and feeling stupid.
Before she raised her hand to knock on the door and it opened. Solomon had opened it before she even made contact.
“Henrietta.” He didn’t look very surprised, instead he looked tired. He looked back over his shoulder and then back at her. Then he stepped aside to let her in.
“Solomon, you okay?” Henrietta asked as she walked in.
“Yes. It...” He paused as he closed the door behind him. “It’s been a long week.”
“What happened?”
Solomon seemed reluctant to say, which usually meant that he was talking about Miguel.
“Solomon?” Henrietta tried, as he led her to the kitchen.
“It’s fine Henrietta. Are you alright?” he asked as he poured her some water from a vase similar to the one in her home.
Henrietta took the water and sipped at it, drumming her fingers against the cup.
“I’ve certainly had better days, the air feels heavy today.” She didn’t bother trying to explain what she meant, for Solomon already knew. That was just how they were. It was easier to talk with him than with anyone else. He was the only one here that would understand, anyway. She was sure that he, too, could feel Xavier’s burning hatred getting closer by the day.
“You seem worried, in the way that you worry about Miguel. Henrietta tried to choose her next words carefully. “Is he alright?”
The older man licked his lips and poured himself a cup of water too. He sighed after a while and shook his head. “He’s having a hard time… adjusting.”
Henrietta couldn’t hold in her distaste any longer, “He stole from you again?”
“Henrietta,” Solomon warned.
“Solomon,” Henrietta countered. “You can’t keep letting him do this.”
“I know, I know. I don’t want to hear it, Henrietta,” Solomon said tiredly.
As much as she wanted to argue, she dropped it. She didn’t need to make the air heavier today with her dislike for Miguel. Really, she should be more gentle with him but she couldn’t force herself. Their reactions to their similar experience were too different. Miguel seemed intent on making life as hard as he could for everyone. He drank and stole Solomon’s drugs on occasion. She felt that there were better coping mechanisms than the ones he chose. Miguel seemed to disagree and Solomon seemed inclined on letting him do whatever he pleased. Clearly, his fight with Xavier had been the one and only time he’d grown a backbone.
Henrietta knew she shouldn’t be so angry with him, that boy was like a son to Solomon. But she had tried to be gentle and Miguel had met her with nothing but anger. There was no use in trying too hard with the boy if she didn’t even like him all that much. Her gentleness only extended so far.
“I’m sorry,” she said, filling in the silence.
“You’re alright.”
“Yazzie said you had something for me.”
Solomon seemed to perk up a bit as he placed his water on the counter. “Yes, I’ll go get it. Stay right here.”
As he walked away, the air seemed to clear. She was holding back with him and she was sure he knew it. There was something about this place, this town that felt strange. It felt as if she were wearing strange skin. Nothing made sense here and it wasn’t a cultural difference. She was used to being the only black person in a place. Besides, there was a shared suffering among these people and it made sense that they existed in a separate symphony together. No, it wasn’t that. There was something about this place that she was choking on. Maybe it wasn’t the place at all, but her own memories. Still, this town, for all its little beauties, was suffocating. It was beautiful and it was quiet. She loved it and she wanted to escape.
Solomon came back into the room with…
Her mouth fell open at the sight of the violin. Not just any violin but her violin, the one her father had made as a wedding gift. Henrietta stood up and nearly ran to Solomon. He held it out for her to take and she grabbed the neck of the violin and the bow with gentle hands. Her heart swelled as she took it back to the table to put down the bow and cradle the violin itself in both hands.
“How did you get this? I thought it burned with everything else?” she asked, trying not to choke on her own emotions.
“I gave it to Joseph before everything. It was sitting in the attic and I knew we’d leave it behind if I didn’t take it. I lied to Xavier about needing more supplies. I convinced him to let me go alone and I took it.”
“Solomon...” Henrietta sniffled, not even realizing there were tears on her cheeks. She gently ran her hands over the wood. Her fingers found the engraving of her father’s initials on the back. She traced over them for a minute or so. “Thank you.”
“I knew it was important to you. I didn’t want you to leave it behind if you didn’t want to.”
“I don’t even know what to say,” she murmured as she looked up at him.
His expression was soft. He made his way to take a seat at the kitchen table. Solomon was someone who knew exactly what she needed whenever she needed it. Suddenly, she knew the feeling that was choking her from the inside out.
She was homesick. Henrietta wanted her family, her brothers and her mother. She wanted to visit her father’s grave.
Home. She wanted to go home.
Slowly she sat down across from Solomon and stared at him. Her fingers still tracing over the initials on the violin.'
“Solomon,” Henrietta started, her throat feeling tight. “Solomon, I want to go home.”
His expression shifted into a sad smile. “You should go.”
“What?”
“You should go, Henrietta. Go home.”
Henrietta felt tears coming to her eyes again and she put down the violin on the table. She wiped at the tears falling freely now.
“But... What about you?” she asked.
“I’ll be fine. I will miss you but I will be fine,” Solomon assured, taking one of her hands in his. “You don’t belong here.”
Henrietta forced a laugh. “Thanks a lot.”
“You know that’s not what I meant. I mean you’re not happy here.”
“I want to be,” she tried to argue.
Solomon rubbed his thumb over her hand and his smile turned into a frown.
“You would be happier at home,” Solomon said softly.
“I don’t even know if they’re still there, Solomon.”
That was always a chance wasn’t it? That her mother was dead? That everything she wanted to come home to was dead and gone. Solomon was stronger than her when it came to that. Solomon had to have known that his family was gone and he still tried to come home anyway. There was barely anything left for him here. But at least he was home.
“I know. It’s scary and your heart may break. Your heart may never be the same. But there’s always the chance it could be different. Your story doesn’t have to end like mine. Do you think she’s still there? Still alive? Do you feel it in your heart?”
Henrietta thought for a second and nodded. “I feel like she’s waiting for me.”
“Then you have to go home. Go home before it's too late. Hug your mother while you can.”
Sometimes, she forgot that Solomon too, at his old age, had a mother that he loved. Had a mother that he wanted to hug and now never could again. It was all different for him.
“What about you?” she found herself asking again.
Solomon kissed the back of her hand. “Don’t worry about me. I am where I belong. I am already home.”
“I feel like I’m letting you down,” Henrietta admitted.
“You aren’t.”
“I feel like I am anyways.”
Solomon sighed, “Then know, that I love you enough that it doesn’t matter.”
Her heart ached and she moved forward and threw her arms around him, wrapping around his shoulders. His hands came up and held her around her waist. She buried her face into the top of his shoulder and stayed there for a while. Henrietta wasn’t ready to let go, she just wasn't.
“I need you to do something for me,” he whispered.
“What is it?” Anything for you.
Solomon pulled away from the hug and cradled her face with one of his hands. He was warm, his skin was leathery and worn. It was the hand of her best friend.
“When you leave, when you’re ready. Don’t say goodbye?”
“What?” she asked, voice rising a bit. “What do you mean?”
Solomon hummed and once again, smiled at her kindly. “If you say goodbye, you won’t leave. You’ll stay and you can’t stay. So please, when you’re ready to leave, I want you to just go. Pack your things and leave.”
“But I want to say goodbye,” she cried.
“You are saying goodbye right now.”
“But Solomon–”
“Please, for the sake of this old man's heart, don’t say goodbye again. I don’t want our last conversation to be a goodbye. I want to remember you the way I know you. I want our last conversation to be about nothing.”
Henrietta wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that. What is a conversation about nothing?
“I’m not sure...”
“Please,” Solomon begged. “Please.”
Anything for you.
“Alright,” Henrietta relented. “Alright. I won’t say goodbye.” She grabbed the hand cradling her face and closed her eyes. “Any other demands?”
Solomon laughed, warm and melodious.
“Yes, actually.”
She opened her eyes and met his eyes, “What is it?”
Solomon’s eyes were so kind. They had seemed to get warmer the longer they spent in this place. What was she going to do without him? She hadn’t been without him in her life for almost ten years. What was she going to do?
“Play a song for me?”
Maybe she could live without him.
“Why?”
“It’ll make you feel better,” Solomon encouraged. “Please?”
Of course it was about her, why would Solomon ever ask for a song for himself? She stepped away from him and looked at the violin on the table. Slowly, she reached for it and took it into her hands. One hand grabbed the neck and positioned the violin in the crook of her collarbone. Her other hand grabbed the bow and she delicately held it in her hand.
“What would you like me to play?” she asked, stomach turning. The memories played a song in her head that she performed with Xavier. Her hand started to shake. “Solomon I don’t think I can–”
“Just play from your heart,” he answered finally. “Just start, the rest will come once you start.”
Her hand was shaking and it made a bad note when she pressed the bow against the string. Henrietta thought for a moment about what she wanted to play. Something easy, something simple. Her mother used to play her a song on the piano when she was small, a lullaby. Henrietta’s hand began to move on their own accord, slowly but surely. The notes sounded off at first, but it got easier. The lullaby morphed into something sad, the notes getting longer and longer.
Her heart burst open and she began to play in earnest. The rest of the world faded away, it was just Henrietta and the music. The violin was a part of her, the music was in her bones, in her blood. It vibrated like a cicada, it sang like a bird, it hummed like the wind in the trees. She was the music and the music was her. The music was everywhere. Outside and inside. It was all around, in every small noise and the length of every note. She was sad but she could feel the hope returning, she could feel herself accepting the world as it was.
The song itself was the goodbye.
When she opened her eyes, Solomon was crying. She continued to play, just for him. It was all for him. She was going to leave him behind again, but this time it wasn’t selfish. This time it wasn’t selfish, just sad. But sadness only lasts for so long, there will always be something brighter over the horizon, one just has to wait long enough to see it. The song was love, the song was friendship and it was an ending all wrapped in one. It was a sad, hopeful love that would transcend lifetimes.
This was her friend and she loved him. This was her friend and she had to leave him. It was a sad song, but as long as she kept playing, it wasn’t over yet. The goodbye stayed still. So she kept playing until her arms ached. She kept playing until Solomon stopped crying.
When she put down the violin, Solomon was smiling again.
The goodbye was over. Now there would just be conversations about nothing until she was ready to leave.
Henrietta could live with that.
“I think... We should go to the celebration tonight,” Solomon stated.
“I think so too.”
“Together?”
“Always.”
***
A celebration when someone is sad is like hearing the party from another room. That was what it felt like as they danced and drank. It was what it felt like as they all held each other in embraces and drunkenly sang kind words to each other over the bonfire. It held lots of memories and those memories would last for centuries. Stories passed down from parent to child, for generations. That was the true celebration. The passing down of traditions and love for those who had not yet come.
***
A celebration to one who was angry was like a chaotic memory of laughter at a person instead of with them. That was how Xavier felt watching them sing and dance. It felt like they were laughing at him. Waving their happiness and their togetherness in his face. A personal slight on his ego and his plans. He’d wait until they were all going home to attack.
The air smelled like rain and he knew there was a storm coming.
The storm was coming with him.
Please scream at me in the notes, I wanna know what you guys think.
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So Luis might go a little crazy when his life gets destroyed by Sir Archer and Prince Mariano doesn't even fight for him! Yall know the drill by now, Sir Archer is @that-one-thespian's
Mariano arched under Luis' whip, a strangled cry ripping from his throat. "You were better before, you know." He said, circling his former prince. "You've gotten soft."
"I'm sure you think so." Mariano said, his voice catching on an inhale. His back screamed, and beneath Luis' footsteps he heard his blood dripping to the floor. His pants were stained, his shirt had been torn open by the whip's vicious lashes. His bindings had even torn under the onslaught, falling to the floor and leaving him exposed.
Luis didn't even falter.
"I know so." He responded, shaking his head. "You're going to be a liability now without me to remind you of what you need to do. You're a prince, you don't get to be a person too."
Mariano grit his teeth as the whip bit into him again. Tears streamed freely down his face, a high, tight noise escaping. Words escaped him, stealing his retort.
Again, again, again. Mariano's head spun, and he didn't know if it was because of blood loss, anxiety, or something else. Every breath was ragged and hesitant--each one encouraged more blood to escape the lashes. His hair hung limp in his face, heavy with sweat and blood and water from their earlier basin session.
Luis was putting him through his paces.
He couldn't even try to escape. The warded cuffs around his wrists kept him locked in place, tethered to the ceiling as they were. He was helpless. They both knew this was a matter of mercy.
"Perhaps I should leave you here." Luis said, circling back around. He cupped Mariano's face, forcing him to look up at the man who'd been a source of safety and care his entire life. "Do you think you could survive without me here, long enough for your dear Sir Archer to find you?"
Mariano answered in the only way he felt would be appropriate. Before Luis could realize what he was doing, he turned his head and sank his teeth into a scarred thumb. Feeling his teeth settle into the groove of the joint, he bit down as hard as he could.
Luis yowled, trying to yank his thumb free and only succeeding in pulling a sickening crack from it. Mariano met his furious eyes, his own glare hardening. Luis reared his fist back, launching a vicious punch into his nephew's nose.
Stars exploded in Mariano's vision, darkness swallowing the room. It didn't swallow the pain, though, or the frenzied rage in his uncle's voice. Mariano was awake, and he fought just as viciously to hold onto that consciousness as he did to take Luis' thumb from him.
As Luis kept going, as Mariano bit down harder, and the taste of blood filled his mouth, the room spun. Mariano didn't yield, though. He knew he could survive Luis. Even if he was the weakest link, he could survive anything.
Another mil!au Mariano piece, bc he's just so normal about being sick to start with
TWs: Illness, fever, military whump
Prompt: Wheezing
Curled up in a blanket on his side, holed up in their camp with the others around him, Mariano wheezed in his sleep. It was soft, a thin sort of noise. Not an emergency by any means, but it was audible.
It could've been his posture. He was curled up with his nose buried into the warmth he'd trapped in his cocoon--it wasn't enough, given how he shivered now and then. His brows creased, just enough to be noticeable.
It could've been the dry air. The dust hadn't been bothering him, though. He'd long grown used to it--and he'd been hydrating. Everyone had been. This was strange.
Really, nothing about what he was doing was normal. Mariano slept on his back. He folded his hands at his stomach. He breathed silently, not even a snore. Mariano didn't move, didn't mumble anything. He just laid down and imitated a statue until he woke up again.
This Mariano curled in even tighter at the distant call of some animal, pressing his face deeper into the crook of his elbow. He didn't fully wake up, though. With his forehead pressed to a bit of blanket bunched under his head, it was like he was trying to hide deeper inside his dreams. His breathing deepened further, then. His exhales sounded worse.
He wheezed and shivered harder as his temperature soared. It was fine, though. His lungs could crackle, his head could start to feel like it was filled with cotton, it didn't matter. They were almost at the end of their mission anyway, and he'd already finished his final night watch shift.
All Mariano had to do now was rest so that he could keep moving when it was time. He knew his duty. He would carry it out, even with a nasty, brewing flu.
Solomon is haunted. Mariano is impaled. Another Mil!AU with @sunshiline-writes's man Solomon!
TWs: impalement, gore, blood, medical whump but in the context that being impaled on rebar doesn't have a single nice thing about it, needles, drugging in a medical way
Prompt: Sedation
"We need to get a line going." Solomon's voice was steady as he gave orders to the other medics, washing over Mariano like a beloved childhood blanket. "We can put him under, he doesn't need to be awake for this."
Mariano's eyes couldn't leave the metal embedded in his chest, even as the needle pierced his arm. The wicked rebar stuck out of him, jumping in time with his heartbeat.
Mariano couldn't remember how it had happened.
"Mariano, look at me." Solomon's voice pulled Mariano's attention away from how his back was starting to feel wet. Dimly, Mariano felt Miguel place an IV in his elbow. "We need to get your heart rate down." He was preparing a syringe.
Mariano's head throbbed in time with the rebar's trembles. He couldn't breathe. It felt like he was dying.
He shouldn't have been able to see his heartbeat. "That...what does that mean?" Mariano's voice only trembled a little bit.
"It means I'm going to give you a sedative alongside a large dose of pact dampeners." Solomon replied. "It would be better if you slept through this, and it will slow your bleeding down so that we can treat you more safely."
Mariano swallowed. His vision had started to go blurry around the edges. His fingertips and lips were vibrating. His throat felt too dry to speak.
"Yes, sir." He whispered. Somehow, his fear didn't multiply like it usually would. The pact dampeners would feel awful, but he knew what those felt like. They were overwhelming and heavy, but they weren't the scrape of bone on ridged metal. They promised darkness, but that was better than what he was seeing.
Solomon would only do this if it was fully necessary.
Mariano watched the needle pierce the IV bag that had been set up. Solomon pressed the plunger down and fiddled with something. Suddenly, like he'd been kicked in the head, the room spun.
Fear tried to roll in, it tried to make the rebar tremble faster, but it was smothered under the cool rush. Tingling spilled through Mariano's body, and suddenly his eyelids weighed tons.
"Th...thank y..." Mariano's mouth stopped cooperating about when flowers bloomed in his brain, swallowing him up in an exhausted bliss. The last thing he felt before the pact dampeners wrapped around him and pulled him into sweet oblivion were two smooth fingers pressing to his throat.
When Mariano opened his eyes, he was the most comfortable he'd ever been. There was no pain, he was pleasantly dizzy, and the bed was soft underneath him. It felt like he'd never even been impaled. Well, except the bandages around his chest.
Those were a reminder that it had all been terribly real.
Belatedly, he realized that Solomon was there, too. He was looking at the monitors. "Doctor?" Mariano slurred, the syllables too loose on his tongue. "G'morning."
Solomon looked over, surprise on his face. "Ah--Mariano. It's good to see you awake. How are you feeling?"
"Ssso much better." Mariano felt himself smile too wide, not able to stop himself. "So, so much better, gonna...gonna be okay. Y'saved me. Thhhank you."
Mariano didn't understand the expression that flicked across Solomon's face, but he didn't dwell on it. The thought just couldn't catch on anything and it slipped away. Mariano didn't worry about that either.
"It was close, but you'll be okay." Solomon said, after a little more quiet. He fussed with the blanket draped over Mariano, smoothing it over after pulling it up further. "No trying to get up. You're going to be exhausted while you heal."
Mariano sighed, his eyes already feeling heavier and heavier. "Yessir." He said. His eyes fluttered closed as Solomon's hand brushed his hair further out of his face. "I can be...can be good 'n stay in bed."
Solomon was quiet again. For a moment, Mariano almost thought he'd already dozed off before he heard Solomon's voice and surfaced again. "Thank you. Sleep, now. We'll keep you safe."
Mariano found himself relaxing again, even with the lights fully brightened and the ambient noise of the hospital filtering in. Between the drugs, the surgery, and Solomon's touch, he couldn't even hope to fight it. He tried to mumble something, but it made even less sense than anything else he'd tried to say. Trailing off, Mariano slipped into sleep again.
He was in good hands. Solomon had him. If anyone could manage this miracle, it was their doctor.
Mariano's hands shook. That was normal. It was usually subtle, and if he focused they would still, but it didn't change the fact that it was just what they did.
Being the Kingslayer didn't stop a body from feeling the effects of stress, or aging, it turned out.
"Bastian?" Mariano asked, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Are you okay? You won't stop staring at me."
The hands in question were stirring the pot of vegetables and meat. "Yeah." Bastian said, reaching to pluck a chunk of venison from the broth of their breakfast.
Mariano smacked his hand away. He felt colder than usual, like he'd somehow managed to still be chilled from the night before. "It's not done yet."
"You're going to sleep in my bed tonight when we get to the inn." Bastian said, folding his hands on his lap. "It's getting colder."
"Oh, are we going to an inn, then?" Mariano asked, teasing. His grin hadn't changed, even through the years he'd known Mariano. "Is there going to be a terrible storm tonight?"
Bastian laughed, reaching to ruffle Mariano's hair. The greys had been growing in, even if he didn't look a day past his mid-twenties. Twenty years of being a human weapon probably just did that, though.
"Even if there isn't, you've been shaking more." Bastian said, his hand dropping down to cup Mariano's face. He leaned into it, as always, and Bastian felt love flare hot and immediate in his chest.
As always, it was returned by a sweet echo from Mariano. "I just do that, I think." Mariano said, still stirring. "We really don't have to spring for an inn."
"Yeah, but what kind of dragon am I if I don't spoil you sometimes?" He pulled Mariano in for a kiss to his forehead. "Plus, maybe I wanna sleep in a real bed and not have to worry about setting up camp."
"Alright, alright." Mariano relented, using his knife to check the tenderness of a pepper. "An inn it is, then. Will you fly us this time or are you too good to give me a ride?"
Bastian hummed, pretending to think about it. "This time, you can ride on my back. No promises about any other times, though. You have to earn those."
Yk I just gotta do it to Luis in the new military AU, so Medical Emergency TWO days in a row c: ROLL CALL GOES: Dag is my mysterious friend's, Jactana belongs to @whump-card, Solomon and Miguel are @sunshiline-writes', Sirius and Castor are @sleepyhead-whump's, and Archer and Fletcher are @that-one-thespian's!
TWs: cardiac emergency, mention of torture, electrocution, defibrillation, unwilling/unknowing scar reveal, worry from teammates, military setting but like in the mess hall, nudity/forced stripping in a medical emergency context, collapsing
Prompt: Collapse
It happened too quickly for anyone to react. One minute, Mariano was fine. He was speaking to Luis, readily involved in the conversation about fitting him for new casting gear. They were walking through the mess hall, on their way to see Dag. The man was a wizard with armor, and the conductivity of his pieces was unmatched. Anything from him was known to be a treat.
The others in his new squad had already gotten lunch and were sitting together--he had half a mind to just send Mariano to join them. It was good for Mariano to socialize more. He hadn't seen his youngest mage look so alive in so long.
The next moment, Mariano stumbled. With a hand pressed to his chest, he braced himself on a table before his knees buckled under him. Luis couldn't even properly catch him. His head bounced when he hit the floor.
"Cross!" Luis dropped to his knees, hands fluttering for just a moment. He took Mariano's pulse after another moment of hesitation. Weak, stumbling along like its owner had been.
They'd had an electrocution refresher not fifteen minutes before.
Before he could call for anyone, Jactana was up and running over. The Sergeant was followed by, well, the rest of her squad that was there. Archer, Fletcher, Sirius, Castor, even Miguel and Solomon. The last two were reassuring at least, as the doctor and medic who saw Mariano the most.
"Luis, what happened?" Solomon's voice was even, but Luis had known him long enough to catch the accusation that went unspoken. "Were you both in the training room?"
Mariano's eyes fluttered as Solomon's fingers pressed to the other side of his throat. "Luis...I feel weird." He slurred, and Luis knew Solomon felt the same lack of real rhythm in Mariano's veins.
"We were doing an electricity refresher, yes." Luis said.
Jactana sucked in a breath through her teeth, whatever she was going to say cut off by Solomon directing Sirius to get the defibrillator from the wall and telling Fletcher to call for an ambulance. Luis was almost grateful. He wasn't grateful for Mariano's instinctive response to collapsing, though--Archer's hands flew to Mariano's shoulders as he tried to sit up.
"Whoa, whoa, no, firecracker, you need to stay down." Archer's voice just barely trembled. He caught Mariano's hands next, as they drifted up. "Eyes on us, okay? We have you."
Sirius sprinted back, the canvas bag clutched in his hands as he dropped to the floor at Solomon's side. Miguel knelt between Archer and Solomon, accepting the emergency shears that Solomon handed him from the kit. Without more than a glance between them, he began cutting through Mariano's high-collared long sleeve shirt. His binder was cut through next, and then Jactana was barking at the others.
"Jackets off--don't just stand there and stare." She said, already pulling her own off. Her long, pointed ears were tilted back, tension clear in their posture. "Let's keep the paparazzi off him, yeah?"
Jolted into action, Castor, Sirius, and Fletcher shrugged out of their outermost shirts and jackets.
A quick curtain was created. Luis helped to sit Mariano up, as Miguel pressed the sticky pads to his back and chest. The whip scars were stark and clear against Mariano's skin, the burns made his arms ripple and smooth over in turn, vicious knife gashes had long since turned tough and deep. Not all of them were old. Luis knew everyone could see them. He hoped against hope that Jactana couldn't tell what they were as they eased Mariano back down.
Solomon frowned at the screen on the defibrillator. "Alright, hands off. I need to try to get him back on rhythm with a shock. This won't feel good, Mariano, but bear with it."
Luis watched as Archer took his hands away from Mariano, and then followed suit. He couldn't watch his youngest mage as electricity ripped through him and forced a strangled noise out. He looked over in time to see Mariano go slack though, his expression smoothing out eerily.
The little wobbles on the screen smoothed out into a line, and Luis felt Solomon tense even across from him. After too long for Luis' liking, it started spiking again. It was still uneven, still unsteady, but not as badly as before.
Mariano groaned, blinking hard and trying to reach for his own chest. Solomon's frown deepened as the machine began to charge. "We'll have to do it again."
"No, no, Marito--leave the pads alone." Luis said, resting a hand on his forehead. Archer took Mariano's hands again before Luis could think to do it.
"Almost there, firecracker." Archer's voice had lost some of its steadiness. His grip stayed firm. "Keep fighting for us."
Solomon spoke up again. "Hands off of him." His finger went to the button as Archer gently set Mariano's hands back down on the floor and Luis let go of him again.
Another shock pulled Mariano's spine into a painful looking arch, and the stillness that followed made Luis' stomach roll all over again. "Come on, Marito, come back to us." He whispered.
Mariano squeezed his eyes shut with a gasp and a groan, and then Archer's hands were holding his again. "Luis, A...Archer, I...what...? Wha's...wh'appened?" Dark eyes wandered from face to face, clearly not making any connections to the situation and what he was feeling.
When Luis looked to Solomon. The relief on his face made something in Luis' chest settle. "Your heart was having trouble, so I shocked you to get it back on rhythm." Solomon explained. "An ambulance is almost here."
Luis glanced to Jactana, hoping to share the good news. The glare she pierced him with felt like he should've been the one laid out on the mess hall floor. As Mariano mumbled out another question and Archer took off his jacket to cover him with, Luis couldn't bring himself to disagree.
"Can someone ride with him?" The question was out of Luis' mouth before he could even think to keep it to himself. "I have...I should fill out the paperwork.
The answers and objections all faded together as Luis stood, moving through the crowd and past the hurrying EMTs. He couldn't be there. Not this time, not again. It was selfish, and awful, but...he just couldn't. He would try to visit later, would try to dodge Jactana at the very least.
Luis ran away, it was all he could do. He couldn't visit that evening. He couldn't talk to his wife about what happened.
He fell asleep with the memory of Solomon and Jactana's heavy gazes on him and Mariano's choked noises winding into his dreams.
CW: Minor Character Death, Graphic Depictions of violence, reallllyyy fucked up way of thinking, Time period typical language and descriptions of people, guns, blood
Word Count: 3.9k
A/N: Everyone say thank you Ev for beta reading this chapter for me.
Also.. we are nearing the end friends.
Also also.. sorry for the long wait. Shit happened, I had surgery but we chilling now
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For a moment all he could hear was the roaring of the river. His hands were still dripping with blood. Jesse’s blood.
Fuck you.
And then he fell out of Xavier's grasp. Jesse was just in his arms, Jesse was just here.
Fuck you.
Abraham’s eyes alight with rage. God, they were so similar. Xavier never even realized it until now. Jesse and his father were so similar. The same hateful gaze and the same last words. Abraham and Jesse looked so similar, red hair, freckles. All except for the eyes. Jesse had the Reede eyes. Ximena’s eyes, his eyes. The kid was always meant to be his, it was that simple. Despite what his father claimed, Jesse was a Reede, through and through.
They had died the same way. Looking him in the eye and calmly accepting their deaths. Maybe Jesse was a McCellan after all. Changing his name didn’t change anything. None of it ever changed. Ximena still moved further away, she still died alone and in a bathtub. Jesse still would have preferred falling into his worst fear rather than face him.
Fucking coward.
It was the same face as Jesse fell down to the water, the same face as Abraham's head snapped back and his body followed. They melted into each other, becoming the same figure in front of him. Xavier’s hand was shaking. Why was his hand shaking?
The roaring of the water below was deafening and it was only getting louder. His head was pounding and his hands were covered in Jesse’s blood. It was dripping from his hands but the gun was clean. Finger was still on the trigger and Abraham's eyes were meeting his. Blue. So strikingly blue and there was no fear. Nothing but hatred and a sort of acceptance that made Xavier’s blood boil.
No one was supposed to accept death. That wasn’t the way it worked. Everyone was afraid of dying, of the concept of the afterlife. Xavier was half-way certain that he’d never die. He’d outrun it, or just shoot the damn Grim Reaper itself. His death would only come when he allowed it.
Xavier pulled the trigger and it was no longer Abraham in front of him but Ximena. Her face bloated and blue from the water, falling apart at the seams. Skin dripping from her bones. He never knew water could do that to a person. He never knew. His sister had died and it had taken him weeks to notice.
“Lo siento Ximena.. Por todo.”
She said nothing.
Nothing.
Ximena didn’t even smile, she stepped backwards off the cliff and the crushing sound of the river made his head feel like it was being squeezed.
It was all so loud.
***
The gun clicked as he woke up with a gasp. A man with yellow teeth, a black beard and grey eyes stared back at him with his hands up in surrender. Xavier’s brain was slow to clear the fog and it seemed like forever before he finally recognized where he was.
Bentley and the train. After Jesse, everyone left in his crew was exhausted. Even Xavier himself. Bentley was a smart man with an urge to please and had suggested taking a train to Flagstaff. Xavier didn’t have the energy to come up with something better. So they moved toward the nearest town, sold the horses and bought themselves a ticket straight to Flagstaff.
Xavier uncocked his gun and sat up.
“We there?”
“Yes sir,” Bentely said, looking relieved that he wasn’t dead, “Conductor said we’d be there soon. Thought I’d get ya up to prepare and pack.”
“Thank you Bentley. Go wake the others.”
Bentley nodded and stepped backwards out of Xavier's sleeping quarters, shutting the door behind him. They had sold all of the horses to get train tickets for everyone who was left. It was only a sorry group of them left. His men who used to stand at close to thirty strong were now a group of ten not including himself. The men who were his best were shot down by his nephew. Jesse was methodical with who he chose to shoot, taking out his main men first. Fucking kid was smarter than he ever gave him credit for. As they put on chase, slowly his men dropped off. Some of them simply didn’t want to be a part of it anymore.
As much as it angered Xavier it was too much energy to try and make them stay. Besides, he had nothing to offer them anymore. Nothing to force them to stay either. The men who had stayed, also had nowhere else to go. At least they had that in common.
All he had was his anger.
Anger was the only thing that grounded him. Watching his home burn, watching everything he had worked toward go up in flames and bullets was one thing. Places could be rebuilt, it was easy to do that. It was watching Jesse point that gun at him in the barn. It was Solomon fighting him, clawing at the chance for his boy to live. He should have never let Solomon and the mutt get so close. Xavier should have had a degree of separation between them. He should have known. It was the fact that Solomon had begged for the kid rather than himself when asked for last words. It was watching Henrietta disappear in the wagon without ever looking back.
She never looked back. Why didn’t she look back?
Why didn’t she look back?
Did he not give everything to her? Provide for her and love her? Was it not enough? Why was nothing he did ever enough?
Xavier wanted them all dead. Every single one of them. He’d find them if it was the last thing he ever did and he would slaughter them all. Solomon would die first, with Henrietta and Miguel watching. Maybe he’d make them watch as he took a turn with each of them before killing Miguel. Then, and only then, could Henrietta die, too.
He had wanted to give her everything. Money, power, children. Xavier had wanted everything for her. She could have wanted for nothing but she let herself be blinded by Solomon Lightfeathers’ stupid fucking mortality. A religious man who was a fool like any other, even if he was good at pretending otherwise. They were all cowards, stuck in their tiny world, thinking of only simple things. Never the bigger picture. No one ever saw the bigger picture.
If a person had to commit horrible atrocities to gain respect, money, power, would they?
Why wouldn’t they?
Why shouldn’t they?
The bigger picture looked like this:
An empire like the ones his father spoke about. A ruler of a world all their own. No one to stop him, no one to defy him. Rich and powerful enough to have a doctor to save his sister's life. Comfortable enough to have children without anyone staring at them. Powerful enough that no one would question the color of their skin. No one would question them, no one would hurt them because they would be protected under his name.
Didn’t anyone understand that was the bigger picture? The world he was trying to make for his future children, for his nephew and his sister?
He thought that Henrietta understood, Solomon too. They didn’t understand. They didn’t understand that sometimes, you have to make yourself into a monster for people to respect you. Sometimes that's just what it takes. A cold heart was the only one that was worth having in the end. His father was right. God, Xavier hated that he was right.
Xavier took a deep breath, letting the deep anger in his bones settle before he packed his bag and swung it over his shoulder. It wasn’t much: food and clothes and ammo. His pistol stayed in his holster on his hip at all times but there was a knife in the bag as well. He looked out of the window at the array of trees that blurred as the train moved. Slowly, details became evident as the train slowed down. He’d never been this far north before, the pines were an interesting feature to see, the density too. Arizona he’d always known to be barren, but here in Flagstaff the green was almost breathtaking.
The train slowed to a complete stop and there was an itch under his skin as he and his men made their way out of the train car. Even the air felt different, cooler but thinner. The smell of pine and juniper filled his senses and he found himself thinking of Solomon. Solomon had mentioned this place a few times when talking about his childhood. He’d always been secretive, but every once and while he could be persuaded to share something of his past.
Maybe Xavier could burn this place to the ground, too.
He’d burn everything that Solomon touched.
Henrietta had changed when she met Solomon, living in the same house with the man. He’d at first thought it nice that they had become friends. Xavier wasn’t home all of the time, he had things to do. Cattle to take care of and sell, business deals with powerful people. It was good that they had each other's company. Or at least he’d thought so. He was half convinced that they had somehow fallen in love with each other. They spent too much time together, they were too comfortable with each other to be anything else.
That’s why they had to die. Adultery was the worst betrayal of them all. There was no going back from that. There was no going back from any of it.
“Sir? Where would you like to go?” asked Bentley who stood next to him.
“Let's go to the Saloon. We can get a few drinks and see if we can get information from the people there,” he responded.
“Alrigh’ then,” Bentely said. There were some murmurs of agreement behind him.
The town itself was a quaint little thing, a logging town with a small population. If they did go through here, the people would have noticed. There were a few buildings fully built and some in construction. The building next to the Saloon looked as if it was half being rebuilt. The air smelled like smoke and pine. People and wagons full of supplies were talking idly in the street. The world continued to move, even if his had been destroyed.
Inside, the Saloon was the opposite of quiet. There was a band playing in the background, drunken men singing and laughing amongst themselves. Some men in the corner were playing a card game, with a pile of money in the middle of the table. Whoever won that game would be making good money off it. His men immediately dispersed and he went to the bar for a drink.
“What’ll you have?” asked the bartender, sounding tired.
“Whiskey straight,” Xavier ordered and before he was even sitting down the drink was there in front of him. Good service. Shame.
“Jus’ passin’ through? Or stayin’ a while?”
“Passin’ through,” he took a sip of his whiskey, “ Lookin’ for some people actually.”
The bartender frowned at him. The spectacles on his face were round and they made him look older. “You ain’t no bounty hunter are you? We’re a small town, we don’ want no trouble here.”
Xavier laughed and raised his hands in surrender, “Hey now, no trouble here. I’m guessin’ they were passin’ through, too. Negro woman, Indian man, Mexican kid, maybe some others, odd bunch.”
“What’d they do?”
“You ask a lotta questions,” Xavier said, a hint of annoyance in his voice.
The bartender shrugged and left Xavier alone to take some orders for his men. Slowly he sipped at his whiskey and looked over at the band. They were taking a break it seemed. A piano, a horn, a banjo and… a violin.
When he first met Henrietta she was playing her violin in front of a crowd in a bar not unlike this one. She was beautiful, young and it was like the violin was a part of her body. He loved her from the moment he saw her. Maybe he still loved her. That’s what made it so much harder to do this. Henrietta was the love of his life, his wife, his everything. She belonged to him and she had tried to escape him twice now.
There was no going back from that. There was no going back. Henrietta had ruined every chance she had with him for a happy life.
The band started to play again and the music was grating to his ears. His hand on his glass tightened and he downed the rest of the drink.
“Would you like another?” asked the bartender.
“Sure,” Xavier said, pushing the glass toward the man, “Your band is very good.”
The man laughed as he poured Xavier’s drink, “Oh there’s no need to lie now, everyon’ knows they’re shit.”
Xavier smiled as he took back his drink, looking out at the crowd. The card game was still going strong, and his men were spread out. Some talking to people, others watching, all of them drinking. They were all tired but Xavier needed this. It was all he had left.
It was all he had left.
“Well, I was tryna be nice,” he said with a shake of his head. “But if you say so.”
“So what’s your name stranger?”
“Xavier,” he raised a brow at the bartender, “Yours?”
“Jenson.”
“Nice to meet ya, Jenson,” Xavier said, lifting his glass toward him. “Anyone I mentioned earlier jog your memory?”
Jenson shrugged and sighed, “Lotta people come through here. When were they here last?”
Xavier thought a moment before answering, “Couple weeks or so?”
The man started to clean a few glasses that were on the bar. “No, I don’t think so. I don’ recall.”
Figures. Xavier sighed and looked around at the bar again. There had to be someone here who saw them.
Or someone was lying.
From the nervous way the man seemed to be cleaning the glasses and glancing out at the crowd, Xavier was beginning to assume it was the latter. Why did people always try to make things so difficult? He couldn’t have one thing go easy. Jesse...
Jesse made everything more difficult. So did Miguel. So did fucking everybody.
Everything was so difficult.
Xavier followed Jenson’s eyeline to the men at the poker table. This should be fun. He drank the rest of his drink and followed up with money from his pocket. Slowly he made his way to the poker table, leaning against one of the beams of the Saloon. There were four men there. Each of them was engrossed in the game.
“How much is in the pot?”
“‘Bout a hundred or so,” said one of the men. He wore a brown hat and his vest had fringes.
“Tight game,” Xavier commented.
“I’ll fold,” said one of the men.
“Yeah, I fold,” said the other.
The two left stared at each other and spread their cards out on the table. The whole table erupted and one of the men laughed as he started to stuff the money into his pockets.
“Good game boys, you sure did put up a fight. But I won now, fair and square.”
Oh.
That voice was familiar. Xavier took a harder look at the man. Dirty blonde hair, grey eyes, black shirt, brown vest, brown pants, leather chaps. The man put on his hat, a light brown color and Xavier lit up with recognition. This man was there that night when Henrietta and the others escaped.
Finally, something was going his way.
He watched the man finish his drink, stand up, and begin to walk out of the Saloon. A smart man, this one. One that knew when to walk away. Perhaps that was why he was here and not with the others. He knew when he’d won a battle and knew that there was no winning as long as he was with them, so he walked away. Xavier followed him, and as he walked out, Bentley and a few others walked out behind him.
The night was young and Xavier had a mission. The man rounded a corner and Xavier stopped in his tracks.
“He’s onto us. Bentley, take someone around the back. We’re gonna trap him.”
Bentley nodded and took one of the boys and disappeared behind the house. The other stayed with Xavier. Both of them had their hands on their guns. His heart pounded with excitement as he stepped into the alley where the man stood, pistol already pointed at him, glinting in the moonlight.
“Why’re you followin’ me?” asked the man, expression serious. “You want the money I won? You were there, weren’t ya? In the bar? I ain’t giving you the money, I won it, it’s mine.”
Xavier laughed, one hand up in surrender, the other still on his pistol, “I don’t want your money, sir. I just wanna ask you a few questions.”
The man frowned but didn’t lower the pistol, “Ask’em then.”
“You know what happened to the Reede ranch down south?”
He was slow to answer, “Heard it burned down a few weeks ago. What is this?”
“It did burn down,” Xavier nodded, smiling to himself. “What’s your name, sir?”
“Ronald.” he answered, then continued, “What the fuck do you want?”
“Well, you see,” Xavier said, stepping closer to Ronald, “that was my home that you all burned down.”
Ronald lifted his chin and squinted at Xavier. Xavier smiled and took his free hand to lift his hat off his head. The fear in the other man’s eyes was delicious as he took a few steps back. For every step back the man took, Xavier took a step forward.
“Now, now, don’t try to run. Don’t try and shoot me. Neither of those things will work for you.”
“I could kill you right now,” Ronald said, fear lining every word.
“Eh, you won’t.”
“Why not?”
A gun pressed against Ronald's back from behind as laughter flooded the alleyway from Bentely and the others. The man went rigid and his breathing quickened. He really thought that he could escape this. Escape him. Xavier had already let him go once, he wasn’t about to let that happen again. Never again. No one else would escape him, they had burned his home, killed his men, everyone who was a part of it would suffer. Ronald dropped his gun and Bentley was quick to pick it up.
“That’s why,” Xavier said, taking the final steps toward Ronald. He pulled out his pistol from its holster and traced Ronald’s jaw with the barrel of the gun. “Now, we’re gonna ask a few questions Ronald, and you’re gonna answer them.”
Ronald’s jaw trembled and his eyes were wide. Xavier could practically smell his fear.
“I don’t know where they went! I don’t know.”
Tsk, tsk, tsk, Xavier clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Now, I know you’re lying.”
The man was practically trembling now like a rabbit. That’s what he was, a rabbit caught in a snare. He wondered how he’d respond. Would he chew off his own leg? Try to run and get himself hurt more? Or would he freeze? It was always interesting to see people when they were afraid. Everyone reacted differently and Xavier liked to play with it. See what type of fear people reacted too and if fear could be conditioned. Some people were easier to mold than others. He had severely underestimated people in his life and he’d finally learned his lesson. It only took losing everything he owned to realize it.
There was no more room for trying to mold people.
He grabbed Ronald's hair and twisted it to pull his head back.
“I’m only gonna ask one more time, Ronnie-boy. Where did they go?”
The fear made Ronald’s eyes into black holes and he trembled like a child.
“Fuck you.”
Xavier was going to stop pretending like he knew the way people worked. He was sure that this man would give in easily. Was he close to them? Was it loyalty that made people so stupid? If that were true then Henrietta would have stayed by his side. So what was it then? The things that brought people together, what was it?
Xavier’s expression went blank and he pulled on Ronald’s hair harder before he let go and punched the man in the gut. He sputtered and coughed, trying to curl in on himself. Bentley had grabbed his arms and pulled them behind his back, practically holding the man up. Xavier punched Ronald again and he groaned pathetically.
“Throw him,” Xavier commanded and Bentley let him go. Ronald fell to the ground curling in on himself, hands around his stomach. “Teach him a lesson, see if it sticks.”
Bentley and the two others behind him grinned as they landed kicks all over the man on the ground. Xavier stood back and watched, waiting. It wasn’t until he saw blood dribble down Ronald’s chin that he held up his hand for them to stop. Immediately they stepped back away from him and Xavier stepped closer. He used his boot to flip the man onto his back. Ronald groaned lowly when Xavier crouched down.
“Where did they go?” He asked one more time.
Ronald’s eyes fluttered open and he coughed blood, more dribbling down his chin.
“Hurry up and answer now, before you die.”
Ronald’s eyes were full of fear. The real kind where they know that everything ends here. There is no way out. Ronald was going to die here in the dirt. He’d die under Xavier’s boot.
“White Rock..” he gasped out.
“On the reservation?”
“Well they did move ‘em out there righ’?” asked Bentley, frowning. “Some twenty years ago?”
“That’s far,” said one of the other men.
“Yeah, real far.”
“That’s also through Apache Territory...” Bentely said, a hint of fear in his voice.
“Shut up. All of you just shut up,” Xavier snapped, returning his attention to Ronald. “You sure they’re up that way?”
Ronald choked on blood and spit it out while he turned on his side, “ M’ sure. Sol asked roun’. Tryna find family. Ain’t none here. They all got moved to White Rock. I swear. I swear alrigh’? Leave me alone, fuck off.”
Xavier hummed, still crouching over him. He pulled his pistol out of his holster and pressed it against Ronald’s temple. “Last words friend?”
“I hope they kill ya.”
Xavier laughed, “I’m certain they’ll try.”
He pulled the trigger. Blood splatter on his face, on the ground, everywhere. Flashes of faces in the past appeared in front of him. His father, Abraham, Ximena… Jesse. Some of them were fresh, others were older. They all had the same expression of pain and disappointment.
I repent nothing.
Something Henrietta would say when she thought he couldn’t hear. When she thought he was asleep or under her breath in passing. Looking back, it was the one thing they agreed on.
“Bentley, get everyone, we’re leaving immediately.”
“How are we going to get there? We sold all our horses.”
“They have some here. Just fucking take them. Anyone tries to stop you? Shoot them.”
All three men exchanged glances as people began to search for the source of the gunshot.
“Sir.. these people aren’t–” Bentely started as Xavier patted down Ronald’s corpse for the poker money. Once he had it, he stuffed it in his pockets.
“I don’t care. Fucking burn this town to ground if you have to. Take the horses, take whatever you can. We’re heading to White Rock.”
___
Please scream at me in the notes, I wanna know what you guys think.
This is also important because until 1951, Indigenous kids were not allowed to dance at pow wows. It was illegal for them to participate. This is not only heartwarming, but an act of defiance against the ongoing oppression and genocide sanctioned by the Canadian government.
what's your favorite way to travel? Is there a mode of travel you haven't done that you want to experience?
I love road trips in a car! Usually I just get to listen to music and vibe. Or talk to people about random shit.
Apparently I’ve ridden a train before when I was like 10 but I don’t remember that for shit. So I’d like to try and ride a train! It would be cool I think.
Perhaps he should have worn gloves. It was typical, he knew, when doing this kind of work. A barrier to protect oneself from the elements, keep toiling hands clean. But somehow he couldn’t bring himself to. He needed to feel the earth in his hands, the fragile stems and leaves beneath his fingertips, the sweat on his brown and the sun on his neck.
How long had it been since his hands were dirty of his own volition? Since they were caked in soil, and not blood or other horrible things? How long since he had anything new to feel?
Far, far too long. He needed this. Needed to reach down into the soil, like a plant taking root, and know that there was still life to cultivate.
Falling into the rhythm of it was easy. Clear the soil, transfer the young plant from its pot to the earth, smooth over the soil again. Carefully make a place, gently guide the plant to its new home, combine the old with the new to foster its growth. It was meditative, peaceful, yet required focus so he didn’t use too much force and harm the tiny lives he was trying to usher into fullness.
One day, these little plants would flourish, bear fruit and new seeds and shade. But for now, they were fragile and delicate and needed help to survive. Cultivating them would take time, patience, care. But Elze’ith could do that. He knew how to be gentle and disciplined. And part of him needed this, he thought, needed to be able to get his hands dirty and dedicate himself to something and see beauty thrive as a result.
