Part 1 and 2 crossover - 'Death' of Ruth

Documents the end of part 1 and the start of part 2. Parts missing once more. Authors notes included.

The door of my cell slid open with the dull crash of metal on metal. It was utterly dark save for the selfish gleam of moonlight through the window. Someone had slid into my cell. I straightened up, not knowing what might happen. A quick quiet execution, a savage beating, I did not know.  A white face appeared at the bars, fair and strong.

            “Shh be quiet,” Vayla whispered “get up.” I stood shaking to my feet not daring to be hopeful. She carefully unlocked my door then pulling me close by the collar of my shirt hissed into my ear.

            “I need you to do as I say, whatever indication I give you, follow it. Understand?” I looked into her face, seeing nothing; her eyes were dark and expressionless.  Yet I nodded without hesitation, as even in the darkest of times I could not help but leap upon the possibility of adventure. She grabbed my upper arm roughly and holding up a large dagger pulled me from the cell. The hallway was lit by large metal torches and guarded by half a dozen wardens. She forced me roughly, brutally through the corridor, pressing the dagger hard into my back. I had to walk fast to escape its sharp blade. I heard her breath as we walked, it was nervous, moving it and out in quick unsteady breaths. I would have thought her terrified. Of what? I could not guess. The wardens looked up with curiosity but did not question her. I was terrified and my terror seemed to convince them. We wound down further corridors some empty some not till we reached the prison gate. Vayla drew the dagger away from my back and pulled me through. It was unguarded.

            “Why is there no one here?” I asked her, my voice wracked with urgency.  

            “The less you know the better. Move!” she answered pushing me forward into the surrounding woods. I looked up; the trees were tall and thin, with violently stretched branches, bare and cold. The winter was unwelcome in this forest. We ran far and fast through the trees and all the time she retained an iron grip on my arm and a policy of absolute silence. When we stopped I felt as though it had been miles.

            “Vayla! Stop!” I shouted pulled her hand sharply away from me. The area to which she had clung was bruised and sore. Suddenly she raised her dagger and held it over me.

            “Back! Move back! Do it now!” she shouted thrusting the dagger at me. I looked into her eyes and saw an utter terror, something had disturbed her, disturbed her core.

            “Birch trust.” She said.

            “W-what.” But before I had pause to think she threw a tiny blade, the size of arrow head and like a talented executioner put it straight into my heart. Abruptly I fell into the dark.

 

Change narrative here. Use third person. THIS BOOK IS TOLD BY RUTH. Use Michael’s viewpoint. Don’t give away plot just give an impression of where Sylvia and him are in their story. Use new character’s Birch trust characters, new references. (tension etc.)

 

I awoke in darkness and pain. There was a sting in my chest so great that it constricted each breath. Delirious it took me a few moments to connect the fact that my arm was alive with agony because something’s jaw was locked around it. It had almost certainly reached the bone. I forced my eyes to adjust and saw a great dog, no, a wolf snapping greedily at me, its bloody teeth sharp and its eyes locked to me, its prey.  It ripped at my arm like it might rip at a corpse an abandoned carcass. Raising myself up, in white hot pain I kicked out and landed the blow on the creatures jaw. Then with my right arm I scrabbled around for my knife, which in my panic I forgot was gone. The wolf, newly ferocious launched itself at me, knocking all the strength I had gathered out of my system, temporarily paralysing me. Its teeth gnashed at my throat but I kept it at bay with my bloody forearm, sacrificing that so I could reach back find a rock and send that crashing into the beast’s right temple. It flew back, whimpering, knocked flat. Blinded by panic I staggered from the clearing, feeling my strength fall away with each step. I staggered a mile this way, willing myself to survive, the wolf always in my mind, behind me, snapping at my heels. I pulled myself, sobbing, through a dense thicket, reached the end but collapsed defeated on the hard ground. It took me a full ten minutes to catch back my breath, but when I did my reason re-manifested itself. How was I alive? From the pain in my chest it was apparent that Reuben had not missed. I could feel the blade lodged in me but I dared not try and remove it till I knew the damage. I had been ready to die. I then turned my attention to my arm which in the night looked like an unidentifiable bloody tangle. Arn’s spirit told me that I needed to act and act fast, my miraculous escape would not hold out against infection or blood loss. I ripped a strand of material from my trousers and made a tourniquet for my arm, preventing anymore blood draining away. I would wait till dawn to deal with the blade. So I waited, I waited for the sun barely aware of just how miraculous my survival really was. It is moments such as these where we really begin to feel our nature. We identify as animals, beings of survival. Emotion and morality take second place next to reason. There is a strange carnal joy, a delight in being primal. Therefore, I did not understand how fortunate I was to have been greeted by a wolf and not a furnace or a morgue. Vayla had been dangerously over confident and she would pay dearly for it. Finally, the night departed. The deep blue light on the tree trunks had lightened and was gathering softly on the ground. I could see. Slowly I lifted myself up and very carefully with much trepidation raised my left arm. As I had feared, the wolf had done his job beautifully. The tourniquet was black with blood and my fingers were clearly broken. There was little I could do but wait for it to heal. Next I lifted my shirt, pulling away those parts that were stuck down with blood and looked down. Vayla had aimed well. I almost laughed at how perfect it was. Right over my heart, just about penetrating the surface was a tiny silver blade. My breathing quickened, I should have been dead. The mere fact of the blades placement disobeyed the laws of the earth. There had been nothing to prevent me dying except I suspected some of my magic.

My journey thence forth was pitilessly solitary. Not one footstep, one whisper found me in that long winter. I used the advice of Arn in order to keep myself alive but it was company that I craved, more than food or shelter. There were days when I felt close to surrender, I could feel cold and hopelessness loom over me but somehow I pulled myself on. Sylvia and Michael and the dead ghost of Arn drove me forward. They had to be close. However, after a good few weeks it became clear that they were not. I moved for months and months, never seeing a soul. I started to doubt my own mind, perhaps I was entirely alone in this world, that in my absence the war had restarted and wiped every soul off the face of the earth. Everywhere I went had an eerie ring of familiarity; in the forest everything has a habit of looking the same. However, I knew I wasn’t retracing my steps, partly because I staggered after the coordinates on my arm and party because with every new mile new creatures came to terrorise me. Within a few months I had become an expert in trapping and skinning wolves and hares. My only companions. It would take me a year before I saw another human being. It came in the form of a young girl. She ran unaware across my path with the kind of abandoned joy I had forgotten. Autumn had begun and she danced through the russet leaves, kicking them up and sending them flying into the air. I shivered in my filthy furs. As the girl looked up I staggered back. The sight sent a shock, hard into my heart. Her hands were unburnt. She looked up at me and with an expression of complete terror, screamed. It brought my heart to its knees. A man shouted.

            “Lily!” I should have run, I should have found my senses and fled before he saw me. But I had lost my desire to hide, i was weary of running and I needed people. I welcomed my murder. The man appeared from behind the trees. He was tall, scruffy and a tired unshaven face. His daughter ran and threw her arms round his legs. With clean, unburnt hands he patted her little red head.

            “Are you alright?” he asked, looking up to me.

            “Fine..” I stammered in a voice that was lower than I remembered.

            “How long have you been in the forest?” he enquired taking a slow step towards me. I kept my hands rooted firmly behind my back.

            “I’m really not sure, how far is the syndicate, northern town.” 

            “Are you trying to go there?!” the man said with alarm taking a step further towards me. I jumped back defensively.

            “No, why?”

            “You won’t do it, by cart it’s a three week journey.” He stated.

            “I’ve...” I was close to tears, ready to fall to my knees and die “I’ve come from there.” For the first time all year I felt like a little girl again, out of my depths, scared and in need of help.

            “How?” the man implored in a low serious voice and expression of worry clouding over his face.

            “By foot,” I replied hesitantly. He man sighed and covered his face with his unburnt hands.

            “Oh dear, the things you people have to do.” My heart leapt with hope at his sympathy.  But then he spoke again.

            “You’re a runner.” I look a giant step back.

            “No no!”  he said extending his palm to stop me “ don’t be scared, you’re with friends, you’re not the first to pass this way.”

            “There are others!?” I exclaimed, moving towards him, my eyes bright and every inch of my being alive with hope.

            “You have friends?” he asked.

            “Sylvia, Michael” I said quickly, making their names clear. He nodded enthusiastically, smiling.

            “A girl called Rose,” he said rushing his words, sensing my urgency “she says she’d been travelling with a Sylvia and a Michael. They were following these strange coordinates. To the fallen city.” I hardly heard him after he said their names. Feeling my weight collapse under me I steadied myself on a tree trunk, breaking into a fit of sobbing. It refused to stop, I gasped desperately at the air but it failed to gather in my weak lungs. The man made his way towards me slowly then gently rested his hand on my shoulder.

            “It’s alright,” he said urging me forward “listen, come back to the cabin, we’ll look after you. Talk to Rose.” I nodded wordlessly.

            “They’re... they’re alive.” I gasped.

            “Yes,” he answered “come on.” I trampled over the bed of dry leaves after the man. His daughter had wandered ahead and not so far in the distance I saw a wooden cabin. Large and raised a little off the ground. It was plain but well constructed. I imagined it was the sort of place Arn would have deemed entirely unsafe but I walked on anyway. I saw to my delight that a fire was burning, its smoke billowing through the chimney. As I walked up the front steps and onto the threshold I felt a rush of familiarity. It felt like coming home. The inside of the cabin was furnished with furs from the forest but contained a few pieces of furniture taken from a nearby town such as rugs and the large leather covered chairs. It was simple and plain, everything I would I have dreamt of.  

            “Make yourself comfortable in front of the fire.” The man said stepping into another room. I walked forward. A mirror hung on the side of the wall. I caught my reflection. I jumped, no wonder the little girl had been afraid, I looked wild. My hair had grown very long and was matting at the roots. My skin was a deep muddy brown and my teeth were yellowing horribly.

            “Rose!”the man shouted in the distance “There someone here who wants to speak to you. About the Partholonians you were travelling with.” I heard uneven footsteps and into the room hobbled a girl, using two rough bamboo sticks to support herself. Her legs were twisted out at the knees and her balance was extremely fragile. I saw with relief however that her hands were burnt beyond recognition and like me, she was weather beaten and scarred. Her face itself was so rough and pained with stress that i could not at first gage her features. However, I eventually noted that she was moderately pretty, and a little younger than myself.

            “You’ve seen Sylvia and Michael?” I panted.