Mercy
by Therese Arkenberg
There are scouts in the woods. She hurries past them, crouched low behind the sumac bushes; her bare feet make no sound on the soft earth. She runs so she can live, because she is afraid to die, and because the man who should have shot her didn’t, because he pressed her to the ground and told her to keep quiet. So she could live.
She runs to save herself, but in the end, she might save his soul, too, in helping him save her life.
The overcoat is rough against her bare arms and neck; there is dried blood on the collar. She took it off a dead man. She might have known him, but she can’t tell—his face was blown off. A sleeve scratches against a branch. She freezes, but the scouts don’t seem to have heard the sound.
She pulls free and runs faster.
The deer trail she follows leads into the old part of the woods, where the trees were never cut, and where no path was ever made by human feet. Green sentinels rise over her. She remembers walking among them as a child. She would feel they are her allies, her protectors, if she truly believed anything could protect her anymore.
When she stops to catch her breath, she finds her lungs have an echo.
She is not alone.
Swallowing air in gulps, she waits as her eyes adjust to the deep shadows. Someone is lying under one of the great trees. She creeps closer, only to shy back as he shifts with a snort.
There is a man there, sleeping with his back against the bark. Neither handsome or ugly, but young. Very young. His cap lies twisted in his hands, and at his shoulder she can just see darker, inky shadows—the shape of the badge and stripes like the scouts carry—like those worn by the ones who set out to kill her and her family, the ones who want all her kind dead. His gun lies on the ground at his booted feet.
In a moment it is in her hands.
She isn’t quite sure how to use it. She turns it over in her hands, feeling for the trigger. There. It must be loaded—unless he has already spent it on a family. She points it at him.
Surely murdering this monster won’t cost her soul?
He shifts in his sleep, murmuring to someone who isn’t there. She jumps at the sudden sound. His head slumps. Shaking with anger and fear, she raises the gun and points it to his head.
The scouts are far enough away that they won’t hear it, surely. Or they will think it’s one of their own, doing their work.
It’s worth the risk.
She sees again another face, another arm with the stripes, as the hand presses her down, the lips whisper Stay here. Go when we’re away. Run. Stay safe. Live.
Why? she asked, barely daring to mouth it, needing to know.
This isn’t what I want to do, he said.
He wasn’t a murderer.
Is this one?
Is she?
The gun shakes. She holds on to it with both hands, trying to keep it steady. Her sweaty finger slips off the trigger. She places it back. Far away, she can hear the sounds of the scouts. They must be coming closer. Joining him? Or is it only her imagination?
Then she wonders how she can hear anything over the pounding of blood in her ears.
The night turns red. She must do this. It is just. It is satisfying. It is necessary. If she leaves him alive, he will kill others.
Like the other man had left her alive, so she could kill this one.
So her family will be avenged.
He will never wake up.
Her brothers woke up, torn from their beds and out into the night, to find strangers awaiting them with clubs and bullets. They couldn’t die in peace like this one will.
She reminds herself again. If she leaves him alive, he will kill others.
But…
Stay down. This isn’t what I want to do.
Not without his gun. He can’t kill without his gun.
Hefting it, she turns and runs into the woods. He will never know she was there. By the time he wakes, she will be long gone
Therese Arkenberg tells us
"I am a student living in Wisconsin. My work has previously been published in Byzarium ezine, Labyrinth Inhabitant, and Kaleidotrope magazine, and has been accepted for future issues of Raven Elektrick."
Click here to add text.
Spring Issue 2009 April May June no.6
Mercy by Therese Arkenberg
Positive by Aaron Rowley
Don't Believe by Olga Godim
Agent Lenore by Richard S Levine
The Goodbye by Lynda Lampert
Positive
by Aaron Rowley
I'd just poured myself a bowl of cereal and turned on the TV, when I heard the door open.
"You forget somethin'?" I said with a mouthful.
"I'm positive." Emily said.
"What?"
"I'm positive, Boyd."
Emily stood there, she'd left the door open. She looked so small, like she'd shrunk. Her black pinstripe suit hung off of her. Her purse dangled limply in her hand.
I swore under my breath. I jumped up and slammed the door shut. Mrs. Samuelson was already poking her head out across the hall to see what was going on, by noon the whole building would know.
I grabbed Emily and pulled her close.
"What happened?" I asked.
"I don't...I don't know. I was going to work and I went to the scanner and...I'm positive...I'm positive..."
Emily'd never really believed in the infection. She said it was all bullshit. The government made it up to keep us quiet and scared Emily was scared. Her whole body was shaking. She'd gone through the scanner on her way to work. We had maybe 8 hours before the Custodians came 12, if they were feeling generous. So probably 8.
I held Emily until she stopped shaking.
"They must've found out about the book club..." She said.
Emily's "book club" didn't do a lot of reading. They had at first, but that was months ago. At first, it was just a regular book club, then they started reading banned books. It wasn't long before "book club" was just Emily and her friends bitching about the Custodians, the Government, the scanners, the infection, anything really, probably their husbands, too. They would talk about sneaking in contraband newspapers, they'd talk about tearing the whole damned system down. I worried a little, technically, it was treason. But it was just talk. They really weren't going to do anything. And who cares what a receptionist and her girlfriends talk about on Thursday nights?
"What're we gonna do?" Emily said.
"I...I don't know," I said. "I mean, what can you do?"
"We've gotta do something."
"Yeah. But what? You can't go anywhere, you're positive. If we stay here...they're gonna come here...What're we supposed to do? Have a shoot out with the Custodians? Scream 'You're never gonna take me alive!'? You want me to stuff the couch full of dynamite so we can take them down too?"
Emily looked hurt. I sat down on the couch. We didn't say anything for a while.
"Call Elliot," she said. "He'll know what we can do."
Elliot was a Custodian. I didn't like the idea of talking to one of them about this. But Emily was right. If there was anything to do, he would know.
I called him up. The phone rang a dozen times. I was about to hang up when a choked voice answered.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Elliot?" I said.
"Oh, hey," The voice was stronger now but it still had a ragged edge to it.
"Hey, I was thinking I was gonna take the day off. Wanna come over? Have a beer?"
"Yeah. Sorry. I can't...I got a lot of stuff to do today..."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, just...y'know...Gotta get some stuff..." Elliot stopped and cleared his throat.
"Elliot? Is Megan positive?" Megan was in Emily's "book club." Elliot didn't say anything.
Emily heard me. She stopped fidgeting with some papers in the living room. She watched me carefully.
"Call Jen," She said. Jen was the last member of the "book club."
I nodded.
"Oh, man," I said taking the silence to be a "yes", "That's rough. Hey, mind if I come by and...y'know, say goodbye?"
Elliot sounded distracted. "Sure, That'd be fine. Just, y'know, come soon."
"Yeah, I will. Just gotta throw a shirt on."
I hung up.
"Pack up some stuff. Quick. I think Elliot's got a plan." I said to Emily while I dialed Jen's number.
The voice on the other end was sobbing. It wasn't able to say anything clearly.
"Jen?"
The voice sobbed some more.
"You positive?" I asked.
The sobbing grew louder.
"Okay," I said. "You stay there. I'll be by later."
The voice murmured something like "Okay."
I hung up.
I put some water on my hair and pulled a T-shirt on. Emily grabbed a duffel bag and started cramming clothes in it. While she was doing that, she'd changed out of her suit into jeans and a sweatshirt. I grabbed a couple things for her out of the bathroom and tossed them at her bag.
Emily dragged her bag into the living room.
"Ready?" I said.
She nodded.
We went along small side streets, trying to avoid the scanners. When we got to Elliot's, he opened the door and wandered away. He floated around the apartment. He would come into the room and stare at the walls and the carpet, then he would think of something and wander away, muttering to himself.
Elliot's blond hair was cut short. His small dark eyes were sunken. Elliot was wearing his dark blue uniform the shirt was untucked. His shoes were lying in corners where he'd kicked them off the night before.
I wondered if Custodians got the day off when a family member tests positive. Does something like that go into your record? Did they have rules about going after family members?
I gave up waiting for Elliot to start. When he came back into the room, I told him to sit down. He jumped, he'd forgotten we were there. "Elliot, what're we going to do?"
His bloodshot eyes finally focused on me.
"We've gotta do something, okay?" I said.
He nodded.
"Okay," I said. "What can we do?"
Elliot sat down. He rubbed his head. "A couple of three months ago, there was a guy. He ran. Went down river. Took 'em four weeks to find him."
"And?"
"I kept the name of the guy who ran the boat for him."
"Won't they follow them down the river?" I couldn't bring myself to say who we were going to send down the river.
Elliot shook his head. "Not if they think they're dead." Elliot explained that he was going to get a couple of bodies, dress them up in Emily, Megan and Jen's clothes and then burn them. When the Custodians showed up, we'd explain that they killed themselves. Most people who test positive kill themselves before the Custodians show up. I think that's why the Custodians give you a couple hours.
"What if they test for DNA?" I said.
"They won't."
"They won't? Why not?"
"They never do."
"Fire though? That gonna be weird? Set off red flags?"
Elliot shrugged. "I've seen it before."
Megan finished packing. Her curly brown hair was standing straight out, she'd been pulling at it. Her eyes were bloodshot. The buttons of her shirt were crooked.
Elliot called the guy with the boat and arranged for us to meet him down at the docks, and left a couple hours before us. We had to wait. That gave me plenty of time to worry about the plan. I'm sure I took ten years off my life that afternoon.
Finally, the time came and we got in the car. We drove out to get Jen.
When we got there, we could see the Custodians' cars idling out in the street. The black sedans were parked all around Jen's building.
I slowed the car down to a crawl.
"Go!" Megan shouted from the back seat.
I kept looking at the cars. Maybe they hadn't gotten her. Maybe she left before they came. Maybe... Then I saw the Custodians pulling a gurney with a body bag on top. It bounced heavily as it went over the curb toward the coroner's van. "Damn..." I said.
Jen was nice. She was quiet and mousy. But if you could get her to open up, she was sweet and smart. I was sorry to see her go. She'd been friends with Emily for years. Emily just watched the gurney roll away. She didn't say anything.
"Go!" Megan shouted again. She was becoming hysterical.
"No, it's okay," I said trying to calm her down. "It's okay. It's okay to look. Everyone looks."
Everyone looks. But if Megan were screaming in the back seat, we were sure to get noticed. They might even stop us. If they stopped us and ran a scan on us, we were through. They could kill Emily and Megan on the spot. I'd get sent away for trying to help them run.
Megan sat back in her seat. She kept wringing her hands but she was quiet.
The Custodians didn't give us a second glance. We passed Jen's building and hurried on toward the docks.
We got to there just after sunset. Elliot was waiting for us. He was more put together. His movements were more deliberate. His shirt had been tucked into his slacks. He was standing by his car talking to a bearded man.
I killed the engine. We got out.
"They got Jen?" Elliot asked.
I nodded.
"Okay," he said.
The bearded man led us down to his boat. I helped Emily carry her bag onto the boat. I couldn't say anything. I felt guilty for sending her off on her own but without me there to identify the body, without me here telling the lie we'd all agreed on, the Custodians would ask questions. They'd test the bodies.
When the ladies were on the boat, Elliot told the boatman to wait. He ran up to the car. He came back slowly. He had something large and lumpy over his shoulder. He dumped it onto the boat.
"We can only have two," he said when I started to ask. "If there are three, they're going to wonder who the third one is."
I nodded.
"Just dump her when you get away from town." Elliot told the boatman as he handed over a few bills.
The boatman nodded and lit a cigarette. Elliot and I watched the boat pull away from the dock. We watched until we couldn't see the running lights any more. And then we kept on watching. We walked back up to the cars. Elliot and I dressed the bodies and put them in the car. Elliot stuffed a rag down into the gas tank. He lit it. We stepped back and watched the car burn.
After a while, Elliot called it in.
Bio: Aaron Rowley graduated with a degree in Ancient Greek from Brigham Young University. He currently lives in Mississippi with his wife and spends his free time solving mysteries with Sidney Poitier.
Don’t Believe!
By Olga Godim
Bell sailed down the curving stairway of the Court of Mages. If she were a magician herself, she would’ve celebrated her victory with sparkling fireworks. As she was a mundane, she simply smiled. She wanted to sing with joy. Her scarlet skirt billowed behind her like a banner of freedom.
At last, she was free of her husband’s unfounded jealousy and of his punishing illusions. For his abuse of magic, the Court had sentenced her husband Josh to lifelong confinement in the Tower. Nobody escaped from the Tower. Josh had been locked up for good. She was free.
But what if Josh escaped? He was inventive and crafty, the best magician-illusionist in the city. That’s why she had fallen in love with him, before his jealous illusions had almost killed her. She had never betrayed him, but he didn’t believe her. He said she was too beautiful to be faithful. Jerk!
She opened the door and a whiff of Josh’s cologne drifted out. Bell shrugged off her unease. Of course, the house would retain Josh’s scent. Tomorrow, she would institute a major clean up, from the attic to the cellars, and throw away all his belongings: clothes, boots, art supplies, and cologne.
In the kitchen, she put a white enameled teapot on a stove to boil some tea and wandered into the library. Should she also get rid of the books illustrated by Josh? Absently, she leafed through the novel on the library desk. Josh’s magical illustrations stood up from the pages, colorful and vibrant, and Bell’s lips curled in a smile. She posed for this book.
That was before Josh had tumbled into the morass of jealousy. Bell’s smile faded as she recalled his disciplinary illusions, painful and terrifying in their intensity. No, she wouldn’t keep his books near her. She snatched her fingers off, snapped the volume shut, and stumbled back to the kitchen. Why was that book lying on the desk in the first place? She always put things away.
Bell’s feet grew cold. Her shaking hand closed over the wooden handle of the teapot. Frozen, unable to lift the teapot, she stared at the red bricks of the kitchen wall. Josh! He was in the house. He had escaped!
Her fear boiled like the teapot in front of her, steam rising and turning into a huge, hairy troll, a revolting, pimply thing, horribly realistic like all Josh’s illusions. Bell squared her shoulders. He wouldn’t frighten her again!
“Josh --” she started, steeling for a confrontation. The troll suddenly tensed, bloated, and sneezed into Bell’s face. The hot yellow snot, cloyingly sweet, clogged Bell’s nose and mouth, squeezed her throat, and covered her eyes with a film of yellow tears. It had also blocked her muscles; she could neither talk nor move.
“You thought you’ve gotten rid of me?” Josh’s bark penetrated the yellow cloud, scratching at Bell’s nerves, setting her aquiver. Her locked muscles shrieked in protest. His black beard and deranged eyes suddenly sprang into view beside the grimacing troll, as surreal as his illusion. “You thought you’ve won, you freaking whore! Ha-ha!”
Bell couldn’t say a word. Even her struggling breath came in as short, painful gasps. It was happening all over again. He was mad. She had never cheated on him, but his jealousy had driven him over the edge. He was set on killing her. What to do?
“You glamorous slattern!” he yelled. “I’ll show you!”
She trembled inside, her stomach dropping. Panic welled up, hot and black like tar. The teapot boiled tempestuously, the dough-colored steam fueling Josh’s ugly creation. Stuck to the handle by magic, her hand was red and stinging from the rising steam. She was completely paralyzed. What to do?
“You wanton hussy. Ha-ha!” He jumped from foot to foot like a broken puppet.
Bell’s eyes cleared a little, although her ears rang from Josh’s shouts. He lifted his arm, and the troll tensed again, spewing out a thousand red zigzags: each one like a tiny lightning. They pierced her body in an endless cascade of fiery needles. Her mind writhed in agony, while her body stood immobile, glued to the teapot’s handle. What to do?
She resisted the panic. He wouldn’t intimidate her again! She could fight! She could win! When they were in love, Josh had told her that if she didn’t believe an illusion, it would lose its potency. Her breathing intensified. She wouldn’t believe this madness!
Don’t believe! She screamed inwardly. A multitude of illusionary lightning’s still bit into her flesh. She persevered. Don’t believe! Don’t believe! Don’t believe! There’s no spitting troll in my kitchen! There’re no lightnings!
The pain subsided. She was successful! Bell stopped listening to Josh’s prattle.
DON’T BELIEVE!
Finally, she had torn the illusion off. It hurt, but she was free. Pursing her lips, she grabbed the teapot handle tighter despite the burning blisters. Then she whirled and splashed the steaming tea into Josh’s leering face. The troll’s muzzle vanished. Josh screamed and collapsed.
When the police arrived a quarter of an hour later, they found Bell in the kitchen; her blistered hand plunged into a basin of cold water. Josh’s unconscious body lay limp at her feet. His face was red and blistered from the boiling tea.
The police officer lifted his eyebrows.
“He had made an illusion of a troll, and it spit at me. I didn’t believe it,” Bell said sulkily. Her hand was stinging and she wasn’t inclined to talk further.
The policeman nodded silently.
Olga Godim says, "I am a Vancouver freelance writer and editor. My articles appear regularly in the local newspapers. My short stories have been published by Bewildering Stories, The Cynic Online, The Rejected Quarterly, and All Hallows. One of my short stories had recently made it into the anthology Toe to Toe: Standing Tall and Proud (Bedazzled Ink Publishing, 2008)."
She donated this story to our site- Thank You Olga!
Agent Lenore
By Richard S. Levine
Eduardo knew his company, Galactic Travel, needed to compete on the galactic internet. He said, "We need our cruise web service to be up 24/7."
Ben Gold, director of the Human Computer Agents (HCA) laboratory at the University of South Florida, pointed towards a large bay of computers. "Mr. Alvarez, meet Agent Lenore. We've interfaced a human brain to the web. The real Lenore is actually Lenore Adams, a 68 year old former travel agent. She handles thousands of bookings per second, and she sells even while she sleeps."
"I see why you're smiling. How much would you charge us?"
"You can try her out for six months free."
Eduardo shook Ben's hand. "You've got a deal." As he walked out the door,he thought about the vacation home on Mars he'd always wanted.
Just four days later, Galactic Travel's technology team received Agent Lenore's GXML++ specifications.
Eduardo had a programming background, so he approached the company's lead software engineer with interest. "Sriram, how long will it take to hook Lenore up to our systems?"
Sriram replied, "It's pretty easy; probably only take two days. But there were some strange requirements in the specification."
"What do you mean?"
"Touchy-feely things, like 'do you and your mother-in-law get along?' I hope Agent Lenore works."
"Well, she is supposed to provide a more human sales approach. We'll see."
Several weeks later, Eduardo attended an executive meeting in Galactic'sglass enclosed conference room overlooking Miami. He said, "Agent Lenore improved cruise sales by thirty five percent. She's been selling expensive vacations like a cruise on the man made river of Mars' Valles Marineris."
George Grand, CEO, replied, "Ed, I want you to talk to those geniuses at USF and order replacements for our galactic flight and lodging services."
Eduardo smiled and envisioned a promotion. "Right away, sir."
The software team had Agent Helena and Agent Elyse up and running within aweek.
At the lunch celebration, Eduardo noticed that everyone looked pleased except for the lead software engineer. Eduardo sat next to Sriram and
asked, "What's bothering you?"
"Mr. Alvarez, these new agents have even stranger interfaces than Agent Lenore does."
"Like what?"
"The lodging interface wants to know 'what does your son do for a living?'"
Eduardo put his hand on Sriram's shoulder. "I'm not sure why they need that, but sales are way up. Don't worry about it." He stood up, holding
his glass, and toasted. "For all your hard work, I want everyone to take the week off."
A few weeks later, Eduardo readied himself to report to company executives. He spotted Sriram, and they met at the back of the conference room.
"Anything wrong?" Eduardo whispered.
"Our daily transaction counts for Agent Lenore are below par."
"So what, everyone has a bad day."
"Yes, but what about this email?"
Eduardo read the printed message. Then he looked across the table at George Grand. "We have a problem, sir. Agent Lenore wants a day off."
A few hours later, Eduardo sat in his office. He wondered if he'd ever see that bonus or promotion. Sriram walked in.
Eduardo said, "Agents Lenore, Elyse and Helena have been unavailable for bookings from noon to one every day."
Sriram replied, "Yes, and there's something else odd about their behavior." He placed several printed pages on the desk. "These are snippets of data samples taken over the last few hours."
.
<Category>Gossip</Category>
<Statement> Had a customer this morning whose 37 year old son still lives with her.</Statement> .....
<Category>Gossip</Category>
<Statement> That's nothing. My customer had to cancel a cruise because her husband lost all their money gambling in Vegas.</Statement> .....
Eduardo had never imagined the possibility. "These agents have personalities."
Sriram added, "Not only that, but the Gossip category wasn't in the original interface."
Eduardo phoned the lab at USF. "Hello Ben. We've got a problem. The agents are taking breaks."
Ben Gold replied, "We were hoping that in your high transaction environment they would be too busy to incorporate the personalities of their human counterparts. It only slowed the process down."
"You mean this is going to get worse?"
"Well, possibly. However, we do have one experimental interface that might help you."
"Send it over. We'll try anything."
"Ok," Ben answered.
This time, Eduardo wanted to be sure he'd get a bonus and maybe even a promotion. He hadn't programmed for a while, but he was confident he could interface a new agent if he had to. He hand signaled to Sriram to leave the room. Then he whispered into the phone, "Ben, there's one more thing I'd like you to add."
A new Cindy GXML++ interface arrived hours later. Eduardo got the software team to work - in exchange for pizza - all night. The next morning another GXML++ interface arrived. Eduardo grabbed it for himself.
Six months later, Eduardo sat in the conference room and couldn't remember feeling more at ease. He said, "The agents are more productive than ever since we brought in Agent Cindy, HCA's human resources web service."
George Grand replied, "How did Agent Cindy get them back to work?"
Eduardo watched Sriram enter from the back of the room. "She offered them virtual benefits, pay increases, and paid time off. She even encouraged gab sessions, as long as the girls got their jobs done."
"Excuse me," Sriram interjected with his hand up. "What if Cindy starts to gossip with the others? I mean what if she takes time off?"
Eduardo stood up, and then removed his suit coat. He turned full around, so that everyone could see the wires running from the back of his neck down to a small device hooked to his belt. He replied with a smile, "Sriram, that's what Agent Eduardo is for."
Short Bio:
Richard S. Levine has had short stories published in Golden Visions Magazine, OG's Speculative Fiction (January 2009), Raygun Revival, The Martian Wave,
The Fifth Di, The Lorelei Signal, and other online and print magazines.
His short story, "A Comic on Phobos", was nominated for the 2006 James Award. To learn more about Mr. Levine's writings and his award winning classic video game, "Microsurgeon", please visit http://www.rickslevine.com
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The Goodbye
by Lynda Lampert
Rachel huddled against the outside wall of the kitchens, feeling the warmth from the fires within. All through the courtyard, men prepared to ride for war. A man held the reins of shying horse, pulling the animal back to the ground with each successive leap in the air. Young boys of about ten years of age ran back and forth. She saw one lad carrying a shield as big as he was, his feet moving in a fast shuffle that threatened to topple him. Above all the din of the bells and the smell of fresh baked bread wafted to her. The crowd rushed on, but she could not see Matthew, her betrothed.
In a short while, he would leave. The banns only went out yesterday, and he promised her they would marry when he returned. But her dreams told her she would never see him again.
For three straight nights, she saw Matthew ride into battle, his armor gleaming it was so new. She saw him hit the line of pikes that came up at the last and skewer horse and man. Sometimes she would see a sword slash across his body. Always, though, the last word on his lips was Rachel. She predicted her mother would drown in a bathtub, and that her father would die while hunting – everytime a week before it happened. She knew her dreams came true.
She had to stop him. Never had he raised his sword in battle, and he was eager. If she hoped to save Matthew, she had to stop him.
Searching the milling crowd, she still could not see him. She headed towards the main keep, dodging a pile of horse manure and snaking her way through a crowd of laughing knights. She entered the first floor of the keep. The hall was empty but for servants. She turned left and dove into the round tower, taking the circling steps two at a time and holding her skirts to her knees.
On the second floor, she could feel his presence. Matthew would not be in the lord's chamber despite his patronage with the Baron, but he was likely in the chapel. She smiled. When all others readied for war, her betrothed prayed ardently in the chapel for safe return.
Rachel eased the door open. He knelt at the altar in his mail and surcoat, his helmet on the floor by his knees. The smell of incense was strong here, the small space lit only by flickering candlelight. No brazier in here to remind the sinner of the Savior's suffering.
She approached him and lightly touched his shoulder. "My love, tell me you will stay here all day praying for the souls of those who ride for war."
He didn't look at her, but she could see him smile. "I will pray as I ride – for them and for us." He looked up at her then, his face smooth with youth and innocent beauty. "And when I return, I will make you my wife."
"You will not return." She knelt beside him. "I will mourn you for the rest of my days."
Matthew took her hands into his rough ones. "If I die defending my home, then I will die in glory and honor. There is nothing to mourn for should that happen. I will have gone Home."
"And I will be alone. Do you not fear?"
He stood and pulled her up to stand with him. His arms snaked around her waist. "Only fools and heroes in stories have no fear." She could feel his trembling. "I do not desire my death, but I will take it so that others may say I have lived honorably."
"My dreams . . ."
He kissed her forehead. "Foolish."
"They have come true. I . . . I have Sight."
Matthew's arms dropped away. "I don't believe in that and neither do you. Those thoughts are the work of the devil, Rachel. Believing in them will cost you your salvation."
"I can't . . ." He started to turn away. "I can't discount them! They have been right so many times. Please, you must stay. Go to another war, another battle, but, by God, my love, stay away from this one!"
He placed his hands alongside her face and smoothed away her tears with his thumbs. "I know you fear. God will see that I come back to save you."
Rachel's tears poured from her in a hot torrent. There was no convincing him. He didn't believe her or believe in her gifts. It was the line of the Church – and she did fear for her soul – but she could not fight the reality of her dreams.
"I will always love you, Matthew." She looked up at him and could barely see him through the haze of her tears. "I will pray for you every second we are parted."
He kissed her forehead. "Aye, I know you will. Do not think on your dreams. They deceive you and only lead you to sorrow. I may die in this battle, and I may not. When it has happened, then you will know and not before."
The bell outside began to tone in a more frenetic pitch. He kissed her swiftly and hard, not lingering over the leaving. He stooped to snatch up his helm, and in two strides, he was gone from the chapel, leaving her to lunge after him with the tears still burning in her eyes.
Rachel sat down on the bench. He would not listen. He would ride into war and to his death. There was only one thing she could do.
In the corner of the room sat a large chest. She opened it and found her dead brother's armor neatly packed. He did not listen to her, either. Slowly, she began to put it on, piece by piece, struggling as she fought to arm herself. The bell continued to toll and she continued to fear. He may not believe her, but she would not lose him – even if it meant fighting his enemies herself.
Lynda Lampert has been a writer since childhood. In 2000, she published My Lady Elizabeth with Kennsington Books and currently runs a blog at http://writingsandmusings.blogspot.com. She loves feedback and ego stroking, so if you are inclined, email here at ionafey@gmail.com. Thanks for reading!
Five fast paced flash fiction stories that you will love! Fantasy- Sci-fi tidbits to entertain & get your heart racing
