Page 2 of Ruby & Onyx

An ear-piercing scream echoes through the forest, shaking the trees from root to leaf. The barrier zaps like a mighty bolt of lightning, emitting a burst so brilliant that it burns my eyes. I fall to the ground, shielding my face beneath the cloak. And when the light fades and I look up, all that is left of the stranger is a pile of ash smoking atop the ground. My heart is beating so fast that the rush of blood floods my ears, drowning out the cruel hum of the unforgiving barrier.

A life reduced to ash before my eyes.

Even the birds lose their song in reverence for the fallen man.

Chapter 2

Islam shut the door of my cottage and lean my whole weight against it as if the ghost of the man might burst through at any minute. My heart is beating violently, drumming in my ears and blurring my vision. What did I just witness?

Why would he rush across the border after I warned him of the consequences? Was he out of his mind? He willingly ran toward the barrier like it was nothing! Did starvation drive him into madness?

The image of smoking ash and the ring of earth scorched like a battle scar seared into my mind. No matter how hard I close my eyes, there’s no escape from it. It’s there, repeating itself again and again – our conversation, his charging forward, the sound of his scream. It’s all there, haunting me.

The room’s taunting quiet offers no comfort. I grab the bottle of whiskey on the dining table and swig straight from the bottle. Though the fiery liquid burns as it slides down my throat, it fails to distract from the chaos swirling in my mind. I take another much longer swig and squeeze my eyes shut, begging the whiskey to erase the memory.

Tales of men crossing the barrier, no matter how bone-chilling they may be, still pale in comparison to the reality of watching a man reduced to dust. His life ended so quickly. A chill curves down the length of my spine, and I force down another gulp.

By gods, why did he do it? His face changed so suddenly, and the air between us shifted. Could I have done something to prevent him from crossing? Did I fail him?

Oh, for the love of those above, I’m going to be sick.

Three knocks land on the old wooden door, and I nearly jump out of my skin. It couldn’t be that man, could it? No, I saw him disintegrate in front of me. But what if another came after him? What if he blames me for what happened to his friend? I move in silence to grab a mallet from the cupboard, praying that the intruder might leave me alone, but the cupboard emits a loud creak as I open it.

I halt, forgoing the mallet lest I give myself away.

Still, stay very still.

Venturing out to the border is never a good idea. If my nightmares hadn’t been so unforgiving, then I might never have seen such horror.

But my nightmares never show me mercy. They sink their claws deep into my mind, refusing to grant a single night of reprieve. Sometimes they come in vivid detail, other times they are merely flashes in the pan. And sometimes, gods forbid, they cause so much distress that I can’t remember them at all. My mind wipes the slate clean, leaving only a racing pulse and sweat pooling around me. It terrifies me to think about the possibilities of what could be so horrifying that my own mind shields me from it. Last night had an even greater intensity than normal. It left me in a crippling panic with nothing to do but run.

The only guarantee when it comes to my nightmares is that when I wake, the burning red eyes will find me.

As a child, I thought that the red eyes were monsters uncaged from my dreams, following me into my waking life. As I grew older but no wiser, I imagined them to be more like sentries who guarded me from evil. But that theory becomes less and less credible as time goes on. The supposed sentries cannot, or do not, come to my rescue. They sit. They watch. They lurk. But they do not help. If they were capable of protecting me, wouldn’t they try to pull me out of my nightmares to save me from the pain?

No, they are only floating orbs of light carved into the shape of a serpent’s eyes. That menacing black slit at the center sees everything but helps nothing. Rescues require bodies, hands, and consciousness, all of which these eyes seem to lack. They are nothing more than a menacing presence.

And, besides, the moment that I acknowledge them, they always disappear.

Three more knocks sound at the door, and I nearly leap out of my skin trying to grab the mallet, until I’m squeezing it with a white-knuckle grip.

“Radya, I can hear you in there!” A voice, that unmistakably belongs to Tana, sets my mind at ease. She might be a bother on most days, but now I’m somewhat relieved to see her.

The second I open the door, she bursts inside, buzzing past me like a gnat. The relief that I felt in hearing her voice fades just as quickly as it came.

I am not in the mood to deal with Tana Tovian.

It’s not her fault that I push her away. She comes from a good place, albeit that place is probably akin to pity, but I prefer to be alone. I find peace in solitude and comfort in the quiet. Sometimes she brings me gifts – chocolate, bread, or even ale – and that’s always nice. Hell, I could use it. But not today, it seems. She appears to be standing empty-handed.

“Radya! Have you heard the news?”

News? What kind of news could she possibly have that’s worth a trip to the edge of the village? Her cottage must be two miles from here – a route thickened by trees and thorns. The distance is my defense, my safeguard. It keeps me from conversations just like this. Nothing remarkable happens here, and I’d rather not listen to useless fodder.

Unless she wants to warn me about a creature on the loose? Sometimes animals ravage our gardens, stealing any sustenance they can scrounge up. Like the concos. They lurk on the edge of the forest, unaffected by the barrier, and then rip up our vegetables, forcing us to start afresh. Their pillaging can lead to starvation if they’re not stopped soon enough. But I deal with them on my own, so, surely, she must have something else in mind.

If anything, I’m the one with a story to tell.

“I haven’t heard anything of interest,” I tell her, though the man’s death rattle still echoes in my ears.

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