Part Ten

by Phoebe Lee Mathius

"You,
who have shown me great
and severe troubles,
shall revive me again,
and bring me up again
from the depths of the
earth."
-Psalm 71:20

"C'mon! Here's our chance, Liv! Let's go!" Shyne cajoled whilst tugging at Liv's right arm.
"Shyne, don't be deaf to reason!" her friend pleaded.
"I most certainly am not deaf. And I'm not the one who should listen. You should!" Shyne hissed back indignantly, poking Liv's chest with her index finger.
Liv gasped. "Shyne! Wh-What's that behind you?"
"Oh, what is it NOW?" Shyne exclaimed in impatience and spun around.

Just yards away, stood a salivating Temptor. It began charging towards her, but Shyne was too stunned to react. Behind her she could hear Liv calling her name.

"Shyne...!"

The Temptor was almost atop her now. It raised its paw to swipe her.

"SHHHHYYYYNNNNNEEE!" Liv screamed.

******

She was here.

Yet, she was not.

Tyachar sat watching her. She was staring right at him. But she wasn't really...looking. It was like he wasn't there at all. Like she was staring right through him. Rising, he walked over to her and tapped her lightly on her shoulder.

"Shyne?"

She jumped. Her face was pale white and she was breathing hard.

"Is everything...alright?" Tyachar asked, crouching in front of her.

She still wasn't looking at him.

"Shyne?"

She slowly pointed at something behind him. His knuckles clenched. It could only mean one thing.

In one fluid motion, he grabbed his dagger and clicking its hilt, spun around to face his adversary. The dagger grew into his scimitar and he was ready.

He saw nothing at first. And then,

He did. Tyachar adjusted his focus to identify his opponent.

As realization entered his eyes, he suddenly lowered his weapon and keeled over laughing. Shyne was aghast in puzzlement.

"What's so funny?" questioned a voice from the shadows.

A girl's, thought Shyne. Sure enough, a girl emerged out of the thick darkness moments later. She had a hood on, which she pulled back slowly, revealing her long dark hair and the features on her face. In the light of the crackling fires, her countenance was most attractive, and her eyes, somewhat demure. When the girl caught Shyne gazing at her, she smirked. Flipping her hair, she looked at Tyachar and said, "Two-timing me, are you Ty?"

Something tugged at Shyne when she heard what the friendly stranger had said. She became flustered and looked away briefly to hide away her mixed emotions.

She didn't even understand why she reacted. Surely, she didn't care! She convinced herself. She couldn't possibly have been attracted to Tyachar in any way, she reasoned. Why, he was practically a stranger!

No chance of that happening anyway, Shyne went on thinking, he has a lover.

"I'd like you to meet Hedera," Tyachar laughingly announced, introducing his reluctant friend to the royal heir.

Somebody as responsible and as good looking as he, couldn't possibly stay single for long! Shyne smiled to herself. Especially when a girl like Hedera was around. A LADY like her couldn't stand a chance in the rough woods! she merrily chuckled to herself, whilst shaking her head in amusement.

"And WHAT, pray tell, is so humorous, missy?" Hedera snapped, her eyes narrowing.

"Oh!" Shyne broke away from her train of thought and fumbled for an answer. "Nothing concerning you, that is for certain." She smiled genuinely and curtsied.

"Careful, Era. She's...," Tyachar began.

"Shyne!" Shyne interjected. "That's right. I'm Shyne. And I am very pleased to meet you, Hedera."

Hedera softened. Turning to Tyachar, she said, "Do you have anything to eat? I am absolutely starving!"

"Is Era actually having a Bad hunting day?" Tyachar teased, handing Hedera a piece of roasted hare. "Oh, shut it! It's hard to hunt in the dark!" Era justified herself, glaring at him. Tyachar laughed. Shyne could've sworn Hedera had looked at her through the corner of her eye. She quickly straightened up and said, "I can hardly see in the dark myself."

A satisfied look on her face, Hedera continued hacking away at her meat.

Tyachar sobered and turned to Shyne. "But you saw Era in the shadows! That was pretty amazing for one who claims to be almost blind when in the dark," he said incredulously, looking intently at her. Shyne wasn't sure what to say and just held his gaze. Hedera rose instantly. "How ever more horrid can you ever be to me?" she exclaimed in anger. "I merely teased. I didn't DO ANYTHING!" Tyachar retorted, rising from his seat.

Silence.

"I'm heading to your Granny's." Hedera said quietly. "Be my guest!" Tyachar replied angrily. Shyne sat, gaping - upset at what Tyachar had just said. Hedera nodded curtly at Shyne, picked up her things and left.

"Gosh, I'm so sorry. I have no idea what's eating her. She's really a nicer person around us." Tyachar scrambled for reasons to save them from the growing awkwardness.

"What's wrong with you? Go after her!"

"What? But she was the one who came bustling in unannounced! And she was the one getting all upset over something that didn't matter!" he replied, confused.

"You daft oaf! Who cares? You are courting her, are you not? She has the right to be angry with you! Now, please go get her!"

He was frowning and didn't utter a word fo the longest of moments. The longest Shyne could remember. She hadn't seen him so vexed and was quite afraid.

Tyachar noticed this and softened.

"Please." Shyne pleaded.

He shook his head in amusement. "You women," he said, smiling quietly before disappearing into the shadows.

Shyne stood smiling at the place where Tyachar was before he left. He's not so bad a guy after all.

Part Nine

by Phoebe Lee Mathius

"He calms the storm,
So that its waves are still.
Then they are glad because they are quiet;
So He guides them to their desired haven."
-Psalm 107:29-30

He sipped his drink out of a tin cup and watched her nibble at a bit of meat.

He had had a very good day of hunting. There were wild hares in the open fields, and he had shot five. He started a second fire (the first had his best pot nestled comfortably in it, brewing tea); prepared the meat and finally roasted it over a, by then, stoked up fire. Much stronger than the first.

Shyne had stirred a number of times in her disgruntled sleep, eyelids shooting up each time. Tyachar would then position his hand on her head, placing a gentle pressure over her eyes and she would return to the interim-comatose.

He watched both fires lick thirstily at the bottom of his pot and at the roasting meat. His eyes trailed back to the pot of tea, his head shaking in amusement. How did she -? He shook his head, not being able to picture her combing the floors of the forest for wild berries and flowers. He was impressed at her strength. He had thought all royalty were....well, sissies. A bunch of nail-biting, rabbity effeminates. How wrong he had been, he thought, switching his attentions to the fires.

The tea was ready, and he had taken it off the fire. When the waters settled, he saw the deep red brew and realized that his throat was parched.

The tea felt good down his throat.

Two hours later found him drinking his third cup of tea...with Shyne. He had wanted her to be the first to sink her teeth into the roasted meat and hence, had waited patiently for her to awaken. She was appreciative of this gesture and had commented that his roast had been one of the most delicious dish she had ever tasted. He saw her smile and he was thrilled.

"It's the sauce. Really. My grandmother taught me how to put that together," he explained.

She chuckled and said, "You learnt well. Teach me sometime."

"Oh, that I will. We'll have to take turns with these culinary activities. Can't be cooking all the time now, can I?"

Both laughed and continued their witty, small banters. Eventually, both fell silent.

"Shyne...?"
"Yeah?"
"Why are you out here?"

She was silent. Her lips had begun parting to speak but she pursed them shut again. Tears began welling in her eyes. Blinking them back, she quietly said,

"I... I don't know."

"He turns rivers into a wilderness,
And the watersprings into dry ground;
A fruitful land into barrenness,
For the wickedness of those who dwell in it."
- Psalm 107:33-34

Part Eight

Her Broken Wings (Part Eight)
by Phoebe Lee Mathius

“For You have armed me with strength for the battle;
You have subdued under me
those who rose up against me.
You have also given me the necks of my enemies,
So that I destroyed those who hated me.”
Psalm 18:39-40


The water was cold…

…and dirty with the black blood of a Temptor.

Soon, the scimitar gleamed in the light of dawn. Holding it by its hilt, he wiped it dry. After it was sheathed, it folded into a dagger again. He smiled at the convenience, as he replaced his weapon in his belt.

He looked into the sky. It was still very dark.

She stirred.

He froze, not knowing what to expect.

****

Her vision was a swirling warp of colors, but for just a second. Eyelids, shooting up, she leapt up suddenly - her ears attentive to any foreign sound.

However, she had forgotten the harrowing night her body had endured the previous night. Too weak, she fell to the ground.

“Whoa there, filly.” He emerged from the shadows, hands raised and chuckling. She looked up, fear gripping her heart. “It’s quite alright. I’m the guy who saved you, remember?” he tried to assure her. She didn’t budge.

He squatted by her and held out his hand. “I’m Tyachar. Call me Ty.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “Lady Shyne.” She responded curtly, and reached out to shake his hand. But she couldn’t. Her back was in putrid condition, and everything ached. She slumped to the ground, writhing in pain.

He watched her, a grim expression on his face. It would’ve been easier if she were dead, he thought. “Let me see, Milady,” he said to her quietly, “I want to help.”

She nodded, trembling in agony. She would’ve given anything that very moment to tear that pain away from her. Anything.

****
He held his breath. She was reeking of the stench of rotten blood. He had tried unraveling the makeshift bandages she had used to wrap around her wound but it had hurt her too much. Nevertheless, Shyne had done a pretty good job as the bandages had prevented serious infection.

He had made her a bitter drink, some pounded root and leaves served in a coconut shell. It was a concoction his grandmother had taught him, an instant anesthetic. He needed to stitch her wound well, and for that Shyne would need to be unconscious.

And that she was.

He watched her for a bit. Shyne looked better somewhat, sleeping. Calm and almost smiling. The sun was now high in the sky. Her cheeks and forehead were plastered in smudges of dried blood and mud. He scooped some water from the river and he began cleaning her face, and her arms.

He smiled. She was beautiful.

He carefully turned her, that her back would face him. He tore her shirt away as it was filthy. Taking a deep breath, he began work on the holes in her back. He first removed the dried leaves and straps of cloth that she had used to wrap her wound with. It wasn’t a pretty sight. He cleaned her entire back, taking care to use a special mixture when he came to an open wound, as that would act as an antiseptic cream, to prevent further infection. He had considered cutting off a bit of skin from her thigh to help with the stitching, but then decided against it, as the wounds were already beginning to close. The stitches would help it heal quicker; avoid more blood loss and contagion.

Snip.

His penknife cut off the last bit of thread. It was over. He tied around her body, a layer of leaves he’d collected and bits of cloth torn from his sleeves. He pulled his only other shirt over her head and turned her over again.

He stood and stretched. His joints ached from cramps. He shook himself and drew out his dagger. This time he clicked the hilt twice. It began to elongate into a bow. He stringed it and tested its elasticity. He started a fire by Shyne to keep wild beasts away. Then, grabbing a few arrows, he headed into the nearby woods.

When he returned, he found Shyne still asleep. But there was something cooking over the fire. He saw stalks of flowers and wild berries about. He stepped closer to the pot and took a quick whiff.

He smiled. Tea.

Part Seven

Her Broken Wings (Part Seven)
by Phoebe Lee Mathius

"His mouth is full of cursing and deceit and oppression;
Under his tongue is trouble and iniquity.
He sits in the lurking places of the villages;
In the secret places he murders the innocent;
His eyes are secretly fixed on the helpless.
He lies in wait secretly, as a lion in his den;

So he crouches, he lies low,
That the helpless may fall by his strength."
Psalm 10:7-8, 10

"This is
my story...,
my life."

Her last thought -- as her body lay dead, after being flung against an old tree trunk. Temptors began crowding around her body, hissing madly, not unlike vultures.

“Lord, I’m sorry for running away,” she heaved.

As she did so, she heard a distant yell. The Temptor-buzzards being stunned at first, all began to scatter -- save one.

“Cowards! Why do you run?” Shyne’s replica screeched at the fleeing others.

Snarling, she picked Shyne up by her neck and swung round to face her challenger.

“It’sssss you!” she hissed, waving her limp victim in the air.

Shyne heard a chuckle. Squinting from where she was, she saw a blurred silhouette of a young man staring up at her.

“Help me,” she mouthed.

“Hang in there,” he said to her.

And that was the last she saw.

Turning to Shyne’s hideous identical, he asked as-a-matter-of-factly, “Who did you expect, Jour?”

The very second her name was mentioned, Jour’s countenance began to morph back into that of a demon.

Obviously angered by this, Jour screeched.

“Ssss I am not Jour, I am SSHHhhyne!”

“Stop kidding yourself, Jour.” He retorted, turning to the crumpled body in Jour’s grasp. “I guess that’s her name, then?”

“Ssss Not anymore-sss! Not after I’m through with her-sss,” Jour cackled. “Then I will be SHhhyne!”

“Gimme the girl, Jour, and you won’t get hurt. You want to live, don’t you?”

“Come and get her, fool!”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” the young man muttered. Drawing a tiny dagger from his belt, he pressed a trigger secreted on its hilt -- activating it. As he assumed his battle position, his dagger grew into a gleaming scimitar in his hand.

Jour reared her head and roared. “You will regret this day, o prince of fools!”

Scimitar and determination in hand, the young man lunged at the creature.

A battle ensued.

“In you, o Lord, I put my trust;
Let me never be put to shame.”
Psalm 71:1

Part Six

Her Broken Wings (Part Six)
by Phoebe Lee Mathius

She was holding her breath.

"My Lord, can you hear me? Help me..., please!"

"Lord, I cry out to you; make haste to me! Give ear to my voice when I cry out to you."
Psalm 141:1

She slowly lifted her head, trembling. Blinking her tears away, she tried to focus on the being that stood before her.

What she beheld then would haunt her for the rest of what was left of her years.

She saw...

...herself.

Herself, in the shape of a demon. Herself, in the shape of a carnivorous Temptor. Herself, in bloodshot eyes, foaming mouth, sharp claws and sagging skin.

"Who are you?" she screamed at the creature.

A witch-like cackle escaped the wrinkly lips of her monstrous twin.

"Why, I'm you," it hissed, eyes darting wildly here and there.

Shyne was horrified. She..She couldn't possibly be that! She was Lady Shyne, daughter of the Lordship! She was...

She wasn't sure who she was anymore.

She wasn't sure what to say.
She wasn't sure what to do.
She wasn't sure of anything.

"My Lord...."

All she remembered then was how alone she felt. It was a deep and strangling loneliness. She wept aloud:

"....My Lord, where are you?"

"Why do you stand afar off, O Lord?..."
Psalm10:1a

Part Five

Her Broken Wings (Part Five)
by Phoebe Lee Mathius

"You've got to walk that lonesome valley,
You've got to walk there by yourself;
And no one here can walk it for you,
You've got to walk it by yourself."

There it was again.

She cautiously peered around her. She could've sworn she heard something. But she had been hearing things all day, and each had turned out to be nothing at all.

She hobbled forward but stopped.

She heard it again.

"Who are you? Show yourself!"

Suddenly, a foul odour gripped her nostrils and a fierce wind blew all around her. The grass withered away into charred ashes as if a fiery inferno had burnt the entire area, save the small patch of moss that she was standing in.

It was then that she heard it.

A horrific shriek; as of a screeching banshee -- only much more terrifying. It grew louder and louder; hitting decibels in volumes unimaginable. Falling to her knees, she cupped her ears with her dirty hands. She was crying.

"No, Lord! No! Not again!"

And then, silence.

Like she had just been placed into a little vaccuum container.

Her ears were throbbing madly. They were sore and still reverberated tiny echoes of the shriek. She laid very still for a moment or two, listening. Nothing.

Very slowly, she looked up - hoping against hope that she'd see nothing. That she would wake up. That it would all just be a silly nightmare.

She was wrong.

"You've got to stand one day in judgement,
You've got to stand there by yourself;
And no one here can stand there for you,
You've got to stand there...

...by yourself."

Part Four

Her Broken Wings (Part Four)
by Phoebe Lee Mathius

"Hear me and answer me.
My thoughts trouble me and I am distraught."
Psalm 55:2

She woke up, startled.

The nightmare had seemed so real. Her heart was still ramming hard against her rib cage and she was sweating. Everything ached. Pulling herself up, she continued her strenuous journey. Where she was heading, she didn’t really care now. If she were to return to the palace only to be ridiculed as in her dream, she was better off dying in the forest, she had concluded.

She didn’t know what time it was, whether it was day; or whether it was night. All she saw… was darkness behind her, and darkness ahead of her.

She walked for what seemed like a long time. She had not eaten or drunk anything for days and she had lost a lot of blood as it is. Having nothing left in her reserve, her body gave way…. again. She fell on her hands and knees. Her world was spinning and she felt nauseous. However, there was nothing in her to vomit out.

"How much longer, My Lordship? How much longer before I die?"

"How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and every day have sorrow in my heart? How long will my enemy triumph over me?" Psalm 13:2

Sitting down, she cautiously turned to inspect the bloody gash on her back. She still couldn’t believe it.

Her wings. Were truly gone.

******

He saw the thing fall. All this while, he was observing it from afar. So that’s where the blood had come from! He thought. It looked a sorry sight, but he could not be sure if it was foe or friend. The Forest of Darkness was littered with Temptors and other evil Beings. It could be Anything.

But then again, Temptors don’t bleed red. They disgorge grit and spew out muck-like liquid when dying (he’d killed a few); so they can’t bleed red…

Or can they?

His train of thought was cut short, as the thing had begun moving again. He crept across the path and hid behind the closest tree to have a closer look. Why, it was merely a girl! He watched her tear off her sleeve to tie over her wound. She was trembling.

The wound was deep. “Temptors,” he snarled. He watched her tend to her wound quietly.

“She won’t survive,” he murmured.

******

“Sssshe wohon’t ssssurvive,” sniggered something else that was observing the dying heir. It was replied with many other hisses and sniggers of agreement.