1

  In tales of old, whispers weave,

  Of Alyster, custodian, fate's reprieve.

  Yet as shadows crept and doubts unfurled,

  To Mournridge Den, hearts whirled.

  Where the first Mother's blood was spilled,

  In battles fierce, destiny willed.

  From Alyster's grasp, seekers fled,

  To the valley of sin, where hope tread.

  The world seemed half dead as ravens cried in the distance. The Valley was never lonelier. Thin layers of snow were covering the graves and it made them look almost comfortable, like a bed.

  I kept my distance as I watched the Wraith bury my mothers’ body. I wanted my father to be here, I wanted him to look down at his deceased wifes’ corpse and mourn. And yet, he was not here.

  I imagined it was his body that was buried. A body that still breathed, how I would have laughed as I covered him with dirt and watched him as he quivered like a trapped rat.

  The burial was done, my mother was simply tossed in a pit, she didn’t even get a coffin. She died as a stray dog and was buried like one. There was only the stone that made the whole thing look more like a grave and not a pit. Although I couldn’t read what it said, I assumed it was her name, Roisin Gray.

  He didn’t face me as he spoke.

  ?Are you going to keep standing there?” He then turned around, his smile was faint, the winter breeze brushing it off his face as he closed the distance between us.

  ?How do you know her?” The words caught him by surprise.

  ?My mother used to be good friends with her.”

  ?And why weren’t they friends anymore?” I knew the answer, yet I selfishly wanted to hear it from his lips. Just how much did he know?

  ?I don’t know. Only that one day she stopped visiting.”

  In the cold, his face was as pale as ever and even more ghostly. He looked like nothing more than a corpse, like he belonged to the cemetery. Did my mother ask you to protect me? The question was stuck on the tip of my tongue, my mouth was a mortuary of words that would never see the light of day. His eyes were still fixed on mine, he looked beautiful, his gaze soft.

  ?I chose you because I wanted to.” He said finally.

  ?You didn’t get to choose me,” I spat, looking at my mothers’ grave. ?A stray dog you would so lovingly take care of.”

  ?Stray dogs don’t get to be chosen.” He whispered, yet it was loud enough for me to hear it.

  I wondered if my father knew I was here, if he even thought about coming to pray for her soul. He was drinking by himself in the kitchen when I left, didn’t even bother to ask where I was going, I suppose he knew. Yet a part of me hoped that he was watching from a corner somewhere, just as I did. Too much of a coward to face reality, to be there for his own wife’s burial.

  “Red Bird?” He shook my arm gently, as if he could shatter me. Maybe he already had.

  “What?” I looked up to face him but didn’t pull away from his grip. His face was frozen and ineffable, yet I could see his eyes beam. He slowly let go of my arm, yet I could feel his fingers on me still.

  ?I’m freezing, let’s get out of here.” He said.

  I glanced back at my mothers’ grave, I should have stayed and prayed for her soul. Or mine. Instead I nodded and followed him out of the cemetery.

  It was a silent walk, he suggested we go to the nearest inn. The Wraith looked well, taller now, his clothes were sitting perfectly on his body. I stared at him during the entire walk, if he noticed, he didn’t say a word about it.

  We sat at the table that was the furthest from the others, a huge glass window right next to it. It was snowing harder now, you could not see the road. I studied my drink, although the colours looked like paint, I was left disappointed. They were not the sunset. The thought of forgetting that shade frightened me more than anything.

  As voices chatted loudly in the background, the light shining right in my eyes, all I could feel was the Wraiths’ gaze upon me. All I wanted was to quietly disappear, to be physically erased.

  ?It is the end of the week.” He said.

  We only met on weekends, I wasn’t allowed outside the house during other days. Sometimes I wondered if he was also not allowed to leave like me.

  Nevertheless, the Wraith was always there on weekends so I could never substantiate my belief.

  I kept stirring my drink as if his words didn't reach my ears. The Wraiths’ hand was piercing cold as he rested it on mine.

  ?Burials are usually held at the end of the week.” I replied, as if I didn’t catch the meaning behind his remark. I looked up to meet his eyes. He pulled back his hand but his eyes never left mine, I felt them analyzing me.

  ?How did you know I’d be there?” He replied instead.

  ?Your family paid for the gravestone,” I stopped, ?Why?”

  For a moment he looked trapped, as if for the first time, he was left without a return. I watched him in silence. ?Who told you that?” He managed, by that time I had already finished what was left of my beverage.

  ?My father. Why did you pay for it?”

  ?I told you, our mothers were very good friends.”

  I swallowed the emptiness within me. ?Did you know my mother well?”

  He smiled, ever so slightly. ?No, I barely remember her.”

  A laugh came out of my throat.

  ?Believe me, I would tell you more, but we both know she didn’t leave the house more than you did.” He laid back on his chair. ?Why’s that?” He continued, the ghost of a smirk resting on his lips.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  ?Why weren’t your parents at the funeral?” I returned. He grinned and I felt his teeth pierce through my skin, ripping the flesh apart.

  ?I will tell you, if you tell me why your father wasn’t there.” I nodded, almost too fast.

  ?He was a coward.” I said, nearly too loud.

  ?Mine died when I was five.” Was his reply, his face blank.

  ?Your mother?” I bit my tongue.

  He smiled. ?I believe she could not stand seeing her only friend dead.”

  ?I suppose you’re right,” What a coward, I thought, just like my father. ?Tell me more about your father.” I pleaded.

  The Wraith was unnervingly handsome but with a sordid way of words that hinted depravity. ?My father was a gentle man, amongst all the things I ever hated, he was my favorite one to hate.” He carried on.

  ?Why?”

  He looked at me for a while, when he spoke, it was the most sincere tone I’ve ever heard from him. ?Because he was full of hope and I loathed it, hope is a lie. No wonder it didn't manage to get out of Pandora's box.” I couldn’t find an answer to that, maybe he was right.

  ?Did my father force you to befriend me? Or better, did he use you to report anything I told you to him?”

  He was calmer than he should have been as he answered. ?No,” He said. ?I’ve never met him.”

  We sat in silence for a while. The Wraith broke it first.

  ?Do you think we would have grown up together?” He smiled when he was given no answer, at times like this, an answer would have been meaningless. By the time we left, the sun had set for about an hour. The mountain pass had its gates closed.

  As he opened the door for me, I noticed he had also outgrown me. I’ve always been taller, now, I barely reached his shoulder.

  We parted ways silently, neither of us expecting to ever cross paths again.

  ?~ [?] ~?

  It was a cold night, but as I was returning to the place I once called home, I could not feel a thing. I was not aware of the reason of my return until I saw him, still in the kitchen, surrounded by mugs of beer. He was laughing, his teeth perfectly in place. The scenery would have almost looked jovial if not for my mother tossed in a pit.

  ?My daughter! Did you bury the bitch?” He snorted.

  I wanted to flee, never see him again. But I did not. I could not.

  The first punch knocked him off, he was laying on the floor, giggling. I should have stopped, but I wasn’t going to, not until I collected all his pretty teeth and made myself a pretty necklace out of them. Blood started splattering around like a water fountain, I stepped back.

  He had only two teeth left and he was unconscious, my knuckles blunt and putrescent. My fists were numb and my fingers possibly broken, I had only stopped because I needed them to punch him. I used my good hand and pulled both teeth out.

  He was dead. I covered my ears with my bloody hands and dropped to my knees, crying hysterically. Then I started laughing, happy like a child who got their first dog.

  The room was whirling and shrilling as I craddled my fathers’ body. I had killed a man and I felt nothing. The blood on my lips tasted like religion, like the way one sins. It was all nonsense, I would have pulled my heart out if it weren't caged by my ribs. Break them then. Are you afraid? Echoed my fathers’ voice. Break, break, break. I blacked out after the tenth punch to the heart.

  I was unconscious for a long time, and as I woke up I thought about the house from my dream. The Wraith was reading under a birch tree and I was there, high up on a branch, singing. Except I was a bird, a beautiful red bird. I was myself. So I did the only thing I could have done at the moment. I waited for my Wraith. I knew he would come.

  Sitting on my doorstep, blood was dripping down my clothes and onto the cement. The smell in the air was soft and pleasant. He came.

  ?How are you?” His voice made me want to rip myself apart, give everything I had to him. My Wraith. He sat down next to me.

  ?I killed him. My father.”

  He didn’t speak, from time to time he would look at me, eyes wide open, as if I would vanish if he blinked. ?The body, where is it?” Were the only words he said to me that night.

  It was a tranquil night, we buried the body in the Valley of Sins. The home of throatcutters and the lost. That night, a part of me was buried too.

  3 years later

  The shrills were getting even louder, the blood covered my ears, yet I thought it has never been quieter. Somewhere, to my left, a woman was smashing someone's face with her bare fists.

  She was called Keloid due to the scar on her left cheekbone. Most men called her Kel. The backstory of the scar is unknown to everyone but to me and her. I had given it to her long before she had joined Mournridge Den. Keloid would laugh at the most dangerous times and talk more than a merchant. Her light hair covered her face as she bent to pull out the butterfly knife from a little boy's chest.

  She touched the boy's face and then slapped it a few times as if she was trying to wake him up. She staggered back.

  ?He's dead.” I said, my eyes darting in the distance. Some part of me stopped me from looking, I ought to believe it was guilt, yet I did not feel guilty. There was silence until Keloid repeated my words.

  ?He's dead, he's dead, he's dead.” Kel lost her stance, nearly falling over a man's body. ?Why is he here? We were sent to kill three men. Three adult men. Why is there a boy here?”

  ?We are in a house. Why do you think he is here? Look at this man,” I pointed at the corpse at her feet. A man of the Crimson Base. I thought if he was the one I would have called years ago if my mother hadn’t stopped me. ?Don't they look alike?”

  Kel didn't move an inch but her upper lip started twitching. She gripped the dagger tied to her leg. ?The little boy. How old do you think he is?”

  ?No more than five,” I straightened my back and tried to focus on the surroundings. Three dead men and a kid. ?Burn the kid. I will take the bodies to the den, Mother said she wants to break them to pieces and send them to their Father.” The word came out mockingly. Everyone at Mournridge Den knew the Crimson Base was filled with filthy men who swore oaths based on lies. They never protected you, that was an assassins job.

  ?Did I kill him? Are you sure? I'd never touch a child, I promised after the incident with my brother, I... I promised.”

  ?Your knife, you pulled it out of his chest seconds ago. You don't think I killed him, do you?”

  She started muttering words incoherently. ?Please don’t take me away from him. He’s my son.” She managed to say, at last. The word son left her mouth and it sounded like a curse.

  Keloids lips parted as she sliced her own throat open, the blood spranging out like a water fountain. None touched her clothes, a still white attire after a kill meant you were one of us. An assassin who prayed to the Valley of Sins.

  It was already nightfall by the time I reached Mournridge Den. I was in no need of a torch as I had already memorised the path. The entrance is conceleaded by the illusion of a sheer cliff face, camouflaged with shadowy alcoves and rocky outcroppings. In order to enter, a prayer to the Valley of Sins and an offering of your own blood are necessary. Long live the Valley of Sins I whispered as I sliced my palm open and let the blood drop to the ground. The scar that splayed across my palm was thick but it still reeked of youth. Some say the thicker the scar the thicker the faith.

  The illusion faded and I found myself inside. Mournridge Den was in the inside of a mountain. There was no light except for the one given by torches. Paths lead to different cavelike rooms, right ahead was the Cove of Sin where the first Mother had spilled her blood and swore to protect those who remained loyal to the Valley.

  The blood was already stiff on my face as I walked to Mothers’ room. Scabs that looked like erupted volcanos hugged my nails. I could not remember whose blood was whose. I thought if it would have been polite to bring Keloids’ body home. A waterfall was masking the entrance to Mother’s chamber. She was waiting for me, sitting at her mahogany desk strewn with maps, scrolls and parchments detailing the den's myriad operations and contacts. She spoke first, not bothering to raise her eyes from the maps she was charting.

  "Her body is buried in the Valley of Sins if you wish to pray for her.”

  "Who found her?" Although I was trying not to show it, my face was undoubtly pale, she had caught me off guard.

  ?I sent Spider Lily. I see now why you insisted on taking Keloid on the mission.” She attempted a smile but it was only sardonic.

  ?How could you send her? Her suit is yet stained.”

  ?I'd rather have you tell me why your sister is dead.”

  ?It was her doing, Mother. I only helped a little.”

  ?And what consists this help of yours? Words of encouragement? A scar, maybe?”

  ?She told you about it.” I responded, after a moment of consideration.

  ?There was no need to, I will always recognize my child's doing.”

  ?She had a child too, with a deceiver not to forget. It was a distraction that I needed to get rid of.” I pulled out the butterfly knife from my pocket and cleaned it with the hem of my scarf.

  ?I was told there was a little boy's corpse at her feet.”

  ?Also her doing. After all, I'm sure you know she didn't mean to smash her brother's head on the wall back then.” That’s when she looked up at me.

  ?You killed the boy. With that,” She pointed at the knife in my hands. ?Spider Lily also mentioned the stab wound.”

  I hid the knife back in my pocket and stepped back. I gave her a faint smile.

  ?A crossbow would have worked so much faster.”

  ?Why didn't you kill her yourself?” Mother stood up.

  ?And not give her the choice to live? How cruel.”

  ?Remember your loyalty, Red Bird.”

  ?I am loyal to the Valley, not the man.”