Pulling himself out of the water, Rianās arms and legs ached with exhaustion. The strength it had taken to leap from the window and into the river below, was gone. He felt heavy and wet, and his boots sank into the muddy shore as the weight of his soaked clothes, his guardās armor, and the sword at his side weighed him further down.
Looking back over his shoulder, the outline of The Castle of the Crystal hung dark on the horizon. He was lucky the current had carried him this far. Already, The General had likely sent guards to scour grounds for the traitor, the murderer.
Rian shuddered at the word. The image of Mira as the life drained from her flashed through his mind, as did the skeksisā faces as they consumed her essence.
He reached for the vial strapped to his belt. It was still there, glowing faintly. At least he had this. With this there was hope - hope of being believed, of spreading the truth, of saving someone. Even if it was too late for Mira. Even if it was too late for Gurjin still inside the castle walls.
Rian turned away, facing the edge of the Dark Wood. The trees rose up, tall and sturdy, making him look smaller and more disheveled as he stood beneath them. It was a long way to Stone-in-the-Wood, but he had nowhere else to go now.
As he walked through the forest, his clothes still heavy and damp and clinging to his skin, Rian tried to clear his mind of everything but the next step forward - each one carrying him closer to his clan and his Maudra.
But he could not stop his thoughts racing. Scenes of that morning played in his mind. If only he had been here not there, done this not that. If only something had been different, Mira might still be alive.
But Rian had seen The Scientistās machine, the skeksisā hunger for essence, and the deep purple color of the crystalā¦
So, he walked on as the suns set and rose again, casting pale leafy shadows down onto the ground below.
His clothes were dry now, but they had molded to his body. The fabric of his tunic and pants was rough and cold. His cloak was crumpled and smelled of damp. Even the belt at his waist hung lower.
Suddenly, there were voices down the path. Pitched and frustrated, but still gelfling voices. And as Rian heard them, he felt his mind clear just a little with the joy of not being alone.
So he stepped forward to help them, lifting a wagon, fitting a wheel, even as their tone turned suspicious and biting. Ā
Because they knew his name. Already, the skeksisā lies had spread and they spoke them with such confidence that Rian felt his stomach roil.
And as quickly as the comfort at their presence had come, it was gone - stinging of accusation and rejection. Disappearing quickly back into the forest, the sound of his own voice trailed apologies behind him.
Pushing deeper and deeper into the woods, Rianās chest and throat grew tighter. It was a heavy aching feeling. But this time the water in his clothes was no longer responsible.
Finally, his exhaustion caught up with him and he stumbled forward, falling to his knees and breathing hard. Soft dirt pressed against his palms and he clenched his hands into fists, watching the soil squeeze out between his fingers.
Then his fatigue turned to fervor, and Rian scraped at the ground - digging hard and fast until his eyes watered, his skin stung, and his nails had grown black.
As the fervor faded, he sat and looked at what he had done, hands limp against his thighs. There was a hole, not very big, but there all the same. Taking a deep breath, his gaze steadied and he stood.
Reaching for the belt at his hip, Rian loosed his sword and cut into the dirt, making the hole deeper and deeper. He did it dispassionately, the last of his energy left somewhere long behind him - somewhere that felt distant and made him wonder what had carried him this far.
But as he dug the vial bounced against his hip with each scoop of black soil.
At last, the hole was square and deep.
Rianās forehead glimmered in the low light with a fine sheen of sweat. Propping the sword against a tree, he started to tug at buckles and clasps.
Hands shaking, but back straight, he stripped. He removed his armor and the insignias of The Castle.
And one by one he tossed each item into the hole.
Left only in plainclothes he threw his sword down last. Standing there, he shivered without the added layers. He had worn that armor, the crest of The Castle guard, for years. He had seen his father wear them for years before that.
But Rian knelt and covered the pile over with dirt until it blended in again with the forest floor.
He was no murderer, and he would not wear the marks of those that were.
So fastening the vial tighter to his side, Rian stood and walked deeper into the forest. Each step bringing him closer to Stone-in-the-Wood.
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