The Rokkoh Adventures

Rokkoh and the Old Woman, Chapter 8

Through the dark void shines a light. A pinpoint at first, far into the eternity. With every step it grows, the pinpoint becoming a dot on a page, a fly, a child's fist. Once its illuminance is big enough, a woman stands in the center of it. A cat's eye, white and bright and hopeful. Her back is turned, baring her flesh and soul to the light. Her hair hangs long and golden, flowing like a rich waterfall over her pale shoulders and down to the small of her back. Short yet elegant, she basks in the glorious aura. There's a beautiful melody playing within that light; a river sings on a clear spring morning. Birds join with their own harmony. Paws and hooves supply the cadence.

She stares, unblinking, into the light. The corners of her mouth form a perfect, pleased smile. Dimples show in her cheeks. Something about her tugs on my heart, screaming of a familiarity that teases just beyond my grasp. She lives in a forgotten vale clouded by mists and decades. But I know this face, seen some epitaph accompanied by an artists' rendering perhaps. A handmaiden from the Tower in my first years there, maybe. Or someone from before those early days, a nun at a church or even the midwife who looked after me. I can't place it, but my soul knows her.

Her eyes shine brighter than the light. A pure blue hue, deep as the ocean and as pure as the cloudless sky. In those orbs is a recognition of her own. Her lips part, maintaining that at-peace grin, and whispers a name. It, too, breathes a knowingness into me. A boy's name of yesteryear, lost to time and stolen by usurpers. A hushed thing, whispered in the dark amongst storytellers, a secret thing. Sacred, almost. Formerly common on the tongues of the people, yet few remember it now. My own mouth may have said it long ago, even before the Tower. But I cannot form the necessary shapes now. I have no tongue for it. The woman, in her radiance and love, has silenced it.

"I'll see you soon, my child," she coos.

She and her golden crown blink out of sight. The light goes with an exhale, a match snuffed by the wind. Cold takes over in the darkness and its crushing weight drives me to my knees. An unseen hand forces a wad of cloth into my mouth; at least it's clean. That same hand wrenches my arms back and binds my wrists there with an unforgiving rope. It digs into my skin, eager to squeeze so tight like a hungry snake until the digits turn purple and the hands fall off. That snake's vicious twin finds my ankles.

Muffled voices fade into the black. While some speak free with words my foggy mind cannot decipher, another growls and curses through a gag. Despite the attempt to silence him, the tone and grit is undeniably Max. Nana, however, makes no noise. They have her, I know it. Bound like us, or worse. Fire ignites the strength within me as I fight against the ropes. They burrow into my flesh further as I struggle, but the burning pain is worth it if I can save Nana.

"Stop squirming!" bellows a man's voice. Pelle, without a doubt.

A thud hits the ground beside me, a quick grunt joining the sound. Something solid and round collides with my stomach, sending all of the air out of me. But that flame cannot be extinguished. Growling through the gag, my arms pull apart with all my might. Another blow cuts across my cheek and forces me to the grass. Rough hands set me upright, and heavy footsteps trail away.

"Calm down, boys," a woman chimes in, smooth and calm. Silke almost seems amused. "You'll only hurt yourselves. Hagen, Josah, you can remove their hoods now. And don't look away, Elysiah. Be a good girl and watch."

"Yes, Mama," the little girl obeys.

At the command, fabric slips up and off of my head. Max, kneeling beside me, sports a busted lip and a hatred in his eyes. He, too, dares to break the rope that binds him. Like with myself, though, they hold tight and strong. But perhaps, with enough strength and determination, they will loosen. They must.