The Frozen Moon

chapter FOURTEEN: EVENING ESCAPE



The night was lightly overcast, and the moon was high in the sky. It shone brightly, casting its light onto the scene, bathing it in the pale silver. It seemed to own the sky tonight, bending its iridescent light off of the thin clouds around it into an eerie halo. This night held one of the rare occasions when the luminous circle around the moon captured the spectrum in its entirety, a ring of color. At the center of the silver courtyard, there was a small reflection pool, hemmed with large stone benches that appeared to be much older than she. Vividly green moss covered the gently sloping banks of the pond, whispering stories of disuse, dappled here and there with small wildflowers. The moon’s image in the pool reminded her of the Moon Faeries’ eternal ice, and the moonbeams trapped inside. She filled her lungs with the cold air as if these were the last breaths she would ever take. She heard footsteps behind her; they were trying to remain silent. She sensed the boy the second he was in the courtyard. Nonetheless, he still moved noiselessly across the lawn, coming nearer with each second. The dark figure took a seat next to her on the smooth stone bench, not speaking. Her lack of surprise or acknowledgement must have told him that she had sensed his arrival.

“Are you okay?” asked Cal. “I saw you leave alone, and I just wasn’t sure what happened.” Nameh didn’t answer him, she was relishing one last moment of silence with the Night. He continued a bit nervously through the silence. “Are you crying?” he asked timidly. She nearly laughed at how unprepared to deal with the situation he would have been if she were. Aloud, she did give a small laugh, turning to face him.

“That’s sweet,” she began with little emotion, “but I don’t really cry.” She reached up and pulled the three silver pins out of her hair, releasing the strands from their unhappy bondage. It fell in waves around her face, not the usual straight, because of the way it had been held for so long. The shelter of it was comforting, her face no longer completely exposed. She turned to face him; he appeared so innocent and fragile. His parents must have been Markbearers, and sheltered him from battle, she thought. She couldn’t remember a time when she felt that way, safe and secure, that there would always be someone to protect her. There had never been anyone but herself to keep her from death’s clawing grip. She was mildly surprised to see genuine concern reflecting in his dark eyes; perhaps he was one of those people who cared too much too quickly.

“You don’t cry ever?” he asked interrogatively, raising an eyebrow.

“Not in at least two years. Not since I decided it was stupid; it accomplishes nothing and exposes weakness.” She thrust her shoulders back slightly in a display of assuredness; these were words that she truly believed. Aside from that, why cry when there’s no one to dry your tears?

“That’s cool, I guess.”

“I probably seem dreadfully callous to you, don’t I?” she asked with a smile.

“Not callous, just like…you were forced to grow up.” He paused thoughtfully. “But I don’t think you’re as serious as you seem.”

“Oh?”

“No, I don’t think you are.” The corners of his lips were turned up as they usually were, and his eyes wide as if in wonder at the world.

“So maybe I’m not as mature as I may come off. In fact, I’m quite immature under all the battle gear I’m usually wearing. Sometimes I still like to laugh until it hurts, and play with fire, and push all of the buttons on elevators. There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” He laughed at the sidelong look she gave him with her list. Lingering traces of their laughs rang through the comfortable silence that now hung in the air. “So what do you like to do?” she asked easily.

“Listen to music, hang out with my friends, go on my computer…” he trailed off, thinking.

“Do you play any sports?”

“No, I’m not exactly an athletic kind of guy.” She laughed appreciatively.

“I wouldn’t call myself athletic either.” In his responses, she found conformation to his sheltered life. It didn’t seem as though he got out often. She paused, weighing her next question in her mind; for once, actually considering how it may affect or offend the other. “So, do you fight a lot? Battle, I mean.” He didn’t pause, and didn’t seem uncomfortable with the question, he answered by simply stating a fact.

“No, I’ve trained just about every day since I was eight, but I’ve never really been allowed to battle anything.” She could see the disapproval in his expression at this, he was clearly eager to experience what a real fight was like. It made her wonder if he would still feel this way after he had.

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” she said with a sigh. As if in response to the conversation, a shrill scream pierced the night air and hung there for a long moment, followed by a silence.

“Looks like I may be about to find out,” he said with a grave tone that might have been humorous had it not been for the situation.

The still night was torn from reality as if it were only a fragile canvas stretched across a wooden frame. An eruption of humanity seeped like blood from a wound out of the warehouse. Looks of terror across girls’ faces burned themselves into her mind, being whisked away by shaken boys with thin facades of well-being. Bodies fell across the threshold, clotting and scabbing over the cut. Despite her mind’s image, no actual blood, she noted. Her Shask began to burn as it had not since the faerie war. It spiraled up her ankle and sent adrenaline pumping through her veins. Magic was near, more than before. Before her cognition had processed risk, her body was rushing toward the commotion, her mark burning with the release of strength and adrenaline. As she reached the door, she noticed that Cal was close on her heels. She wanted to turn, tell him he should wait here, protect the sense of innocence he still had about him. He wouldn’t have had it, she realized, and there was no way to know whether outside would be safer or not. Her magic was not at its height; she hadn’t taken from any creatures she had killed in far too long. When she and Mira had killed the blackdragon, she hadn’t known Max was a Markbearer and did not want to draw from it then. Even at the faerie war, she had thought it would have been disrespectful. The music still played inside, and the shadows that flickered across the walls were now much more menacing. There were still many figures inside, though many had fled; likely new Guardians who had snuck out and the freshly marked. The gleam of swords and clash of metal created a confusing scene; but her senses soon confirmed her predetermined notion: an attack. All around them, Markbearers, shifted werewolves, and guardians tangled in battle with vampires and pixies. The inhuman malice playing across the attackers’ faces disgusted her, as it usually did. That’s what separated the good from the evil, she thought, regardless of race: remorse. As a vampire consumed by dark magic draws the life from an innocent victim, watching their soul drain from their eyes, it feels nothing. Animalistic creatures were those she battled; the utterly inhuman. Her thoughts wandered, as they often did, to Daniel. When he had heard her say how she had tried to keep him away, had he felt anything? Remorse, regret, sorrow, surprise, love, even hatred? Even hatred would be better than indifference.

These thoughts shot through her mind in a split second, her senses dragging her back to the warehouse. She put a hand on his shoulder, something she would only ever do to Mira. Normally, she expected people to be able to take care of themselves, but she felt responsible for him due to a reason unbeknownst to even her. He reacted to her touch, snapping out of visions of terror and chaos, no doubt. He drew himself up, shrugging off uncertainties; he was brave, she thought, for someone new to the fight.





Max had spent much of the day, as Nameh had, carefully avoiding eye contact with the other. He wasn’t uncomfortable, but none of the others knew anything about last night, and he didn’t want to be the one to betray the secret. They had waited for the girls in the lobby, with Gwenn already with them. Nameh and Mira had descended the stairs from the rooms on the upper level, and his breath caught in his throat as it had the previous night. He was completely taken aback at how Nameh had looked, in stark contrast with her usual t-shirt and ripped jeans or battle gear, from what he had normally seen. Her hair was elegantly swept up, revealing her bare shoulders and neck, normally hidden by its length. She wore a black dress that fell just above her knees and was drawn up at the hem, dotted with small sparkling beads, and lined across the low neckline with delicate black lace. Her dark eyes were streaked with black and silver, and perhaps most striking of all, a white-silver pendant hung delicately about her neck. The curves and angles of it spoke to him, almost as strongly as the one around his own neck at the same moment, and he could almost feel the tugging of chain at the back of his neck as the two marks longed to draw together.

For a moment, he didn’t realize she was looking at him. She and Mira had reached the group, and now stood among them, ready to depart. His heart skipped again as he strangled the feeling into submission. He had spent a restless night convincing himself that the foreign feeling was unwelcome. He wouldn’t-couldn’t let his heart take control again, it was something so completely uncharacteristic of him. Maybe he had felt something, but it didn’t matter, he didn’t deserve something like that, someone like her. Each time he felt his desire to succumb to his heart, he remembered the darkness deep inside his soul that he knew all too well to open to another.

Now, he scanned the party again, but couldn’t find her this time. She had left the group a moment ago, but didn’t seem to be anywhere within his sight. Through his thoughts, a shrill scream shattered his uneasy peace of mind. Chaos erupted and shadows crept from every corner, closing in on the dancers and mingling laughter. Max immediately drew his sword which had been resting on its hilt under a secrecy spell. More screams filled the air, as though to accompany the lone first cry, and all hell broke loose to the sound of crashing bass.



She slipped the circlet off her arm, and watched it unfurl into the slender and powerful sword, similar to a katana. He did the same with his ring, creating a sword slightly shorter and broader than hers. From the moment she entered the room, time had slowed to a crawling pace, though it must have been only seconds that had passed. Before she had her wits completely about her again, a vampire was upon them, white fangs poised for attack. To her surprise, it was Cal who struck first, his sword slicing into the creature’s throat. Red blood poured through the gouge, human blood, not its own. The creature’s dark hair and eyes blended into the background scene, but its pale skin nearly shone. The blow knocked the creature back, stumbling, but it quickly regained balance. Its throat had been slit, but this of course, was not a deadly strike to a vampire. It brandished no weapon, for it had no need of one; the dark magic coursing through its veins gave it uncharacteristic strength and resilience. Claws came down across her shoulder, razor sharp and unexpected.

Claws, she thought, that’s new. Dark magic: one, Nameh: zero. The cuts seemed to rip a hole in her contained rage, now escaping as quickly as air from a torn balloon. Her sword could barely be seen as it flicked swiftly to cross the expanse of empty space between her hand and the creature’s non-beating heart. The agony across the creature’s twisted face was short-lived; it dropped to the ground dead. She knew there was little time, but fell to the ground next to it, sucking the life force from it, as it had done through pointed fangs too many times before. The creature was nearly gone, and she looked up at Cal, who only shook his head at her silent offer. His magic must be well replenished. She drew herself up, relishing the magical high that filled her mind. Her senses buzzed to new heights as shadowy figures became clearer and she could even smell each creature’s distinct scent in the room. Remembering the extra daggers strapped to her thighs, she unsheathed one and handed it to Cal.

“When attending a vampire party, one should always carry a silver or gold weapon.” Her white teeth flashed him reassurance.

“Duly noted.”

She gave him another smile, and motioned for him to follow. They ran toward the front of the hall, where a DJ had earlier been, and the battle was thicker. They sliced at pixies, the same yellow and lifeless, pale creatures from the faerie war, left and right. They were much easier to kill than the vampires, who must be stabbed through the heart, and on whom wounds had little effect.

She heard a sizzling behind her, and turned to see that Cal had stabbed a nearby bloodsucker with the dagger, and had just missed the heart. He had been close enough, though, for the silver of the blade to burn through its chest. The closer the metal was to the heart, the more deadly. The cavity opened, flesh melting and bubbling away until the creature was no more than the echo of a scream. The image that came to her mind was that of a candle melting and burning itself out in a flash of hot fury. She caught his eye for just long enough to give him an approving and impressed smile. They plunged back into battle, not willing to risk the chance that someone was dying waiting for their help. She brought her sword down across a pixie woman’s chest, penetrating the leather armor it wore, sending the creature writhing to the ground. It had landed a dagger across her side a moment earlier, which now pulsed with blood. Several cuts covered her body, dripping life onto the cold stone floor. With each new wound, she knew she became a more and more irresistible target for the tens of vampires around her. The scent of blood alone could cause their animalistic instincts to take over, and they were known to swarm like hellish piranhas. She cut down another pixie and parted the chest of another vampire before she sensed the shadow moving over her.

Her sword struck out blindly, making contact, but not slowing its advance; the creature had too much momentum. Teeth sank into her neck, hitting her like a freight train and knocking her to the ground with a thud. Her head rushed with frantic thoughts, but her body refused to respond. Each pointed tooth was tipped with sedative poison which she could already feel seeping into her. She felt the ties her life held on her body being ripped away one by one, like delicate threads, and she felt…good?