Final Hope

Dusk was settling upon the land as the final pink rays of daylight melted into the horizon. Stars winked into existence and a cooling breeze swept away the lingering remnants of the day’s heat. The rustling of leaves hid the slight noise made by two stealthy figures moving through the forest. A woman with raven hair cascading in waves down her back led the way. Her graceful stride suggested elven blood and she wore dark, fitted clothing to blend with the trees. A man followed, less gracefully, picking his footing cautiously. He wore similar clothing and carried a sword at the ready. The blade glinted menacingly in the starlight. There was no moon.

Suddenly the woman paused. She tilted her head from side to side, listening. She breathed in the fresh summer air, scented with flowers and grasses and something not quite right.

“Atreya? What is it?” asked the man softly, anxiously.

She whirled to face him, eyes wide. “This is it, Castin. They’ve found us. Our strength is about to be tested. Let’s keep moving.”

Castin fell into step behind her once more, straining his senses to catch any sound or smell that might alert him. He felt cold dread and terror. Atreya and he had come too far, lost too much, to be stopped now. She was the last hope for the people, and she must be protected at all costs. It was his duty, his destiny, to help her claim the throne which was rightfully hers and overthrow the corrupted King Coron, Atreya’s uncle. But Coron’s Riders had found them.

Castin froze at the thunder of distant hooves. Atreya turned slowly to face him, and he pulled her into a firm embrace, taking in every detail of her and this moment. She broke away and led him to a nearby clearing. “From here we will watch and wait,” she explained in rapid whispers. “They will have to go by foot through Fenwick Forest and if they are the fools I expect them to be they will have torches. Easy targets. I will take out as many as I can with my arrows, then you attack with your sword.” Atreya’s eyes softened as they searched his. “Castin, if I should fall, you must promise to go on and defeat my uncle. There will still be hope while one of us lives.”

Castin nodded and pressed his mouth to hers. “We will not fall,” he murmured fervently.

Atreya’s eyes, however, were now fixed on the eight torches bobbing toward them. Riders’ curses could be discerned as they stumbled through the woods. “Fools,” she hissed while fitting an arrow to her bow. Hidden behind a tree, she loosed her first shaft, striking down the leader as he stepped into the clearing. Two more fell before they had time to react, then Castin jumped in with his sword. The five remaining Riders surrounded him, but Atreya hurled a dagger at one and decapitated another from behind with her short sword. A third engaged her in a duel, leaving Castin to continue fighting the last two. He felt exhausted already and his sword weighed heavily on his arm. He received a deep gash on his right shoulder in a clumsy move. For a second he fumbled his weapon, but regained his footing to whirl and lunge, piercing one enemy in the leg. As he danced and parried, Casting spied Atreya plunge her blade into her opponent and kick him away as he sank to the ground. Castin smiled grimly, spotted a weakness in his wounded attacker’s strategy, and stabbed swiftly between the man’s ribs. There was no time to dwell on the life he had just ended as he spun to confront the Rider preparing to kill from behind. As Castin turned, the edge of his blade slit the man’s throat, and the last enemy collapsed. The battle was over.

Silence rang in Castin’s ears. He gripped his wounded shoulder and scanned the carnage. Atreya was crouched, murmuring prayers over the Riders she had taken. She stood and glanced at Castin sadly, then rolled her head back to behold the stars and smiled. Castin slumped wearily.

A sudden movement behind Atreya caught his attention and her serene trance became shocked pain as a blade sprouted from her abdomen. Agony crumpled her face and body as she dropped to the earth. A dark figure bent to retrieve its sword, then sprinted away, disappearing among the think leaves of Fenwick.

Castin was on his knees, hardly registering what he had just witnessed. His gaze was fixed on Atreya’s motionless form. Anguish, fury, helplessness flooded him, but he had no energy to chase the shadow who had done this. Instead he crawled toward Atreya. She was on her back, legs twisted to the side, hands clenching her flowing wound, face distorted in torment. Castin brushed hair off her sweaty forehead, ran his fingers over her cheeks. “Atreya, no. Hold on. You can make it through this. You’re going to be okay. You have to be okay.” He bent to press his forehead to hers and mumbled reassurances over and over.

Atreya opened her eyes and reached up a bloody hand to stroke his face. She smiled faintly through her agony. “It’s up to you now, Castin. You have to defeat my uncle.” He shook his head and moaned. “Listen to me,” she insisted. “You have to carry on.” Every word was a struggle and her breath was labored.

Castin hung his head, tears flowing. “I swear I will. Your uncle will die by my hands.”

Her eyelids drooped in gratitude. “Thank you.” He gathered her gently onto his lap, crimson blood soaked their clothing.

And then, as her body fell limp in his arms, mist crept around them. She gave one final upheaving sigh, and her soul slowly escaped from her parted lips. Castin cradled the tiny light in his hands with wonder, as one might hold a delicate crystal bird. He offered her soul to the heavens, and it rose to join the stars. “Be free,” he whispered. And he knew then that he was the last hope.