A Moonlit Walk and Bleeding Hearts

“To Gwendolyn and Olga,

I’m sorry – so, so sorry. I know I wasn’t supposed to be gone for so long, and that you’re probably worried sick about me. Don’t worry any more, I’m okay. Admittedly, I’m pretty shaken, but… Still, I’m safe.

Something happened to us on the way to Arenard. Something big. But it'd be best for me to tell you once I return and when the time is right.

I also heard the Weavers have been causing trouble lately. Is this true? I was hoping nothing would’ve come out from the riots, but I guess not… Please keep yourselves safe. Especially you, Gwen! Be responsible!

I’ll be back home as soon as I can. What I have to do next is find Jaswyn, and then hopefully, I’ll finally be closer to the truth – after all these years. Wish me luck.

Love and miss you both,

Isolde.

P.S. – Olga, I might look like a wreck when I get back, but it’s not Madigan’s fault. Please don’t resent him.”

She folded up the letter and slipped it into an envelope. The post was closed, so her message had to be placed into one of the several boxes, which Fliers would check in the morning for delivery requests. But remembering something, she retracted it.

“It is dangerous in the western route. Do NOT fly through there,” she briskly added under the location details on the envelope, her anxiety shown in the uneven letters, “I beg you. Please listen to this, for your own good.”

Isolde didn’t want to give away too much. She remembered the pit in her stomach when she found out just how doomed their world really was – beyond the fire. If she could spare others from that darkness, even just for a little while, then she’d do it.

“Are you ready to go now?” asked the innkeeper, who Isolde just called “Miss,” outside the post.

“Yes, sorry to keep you waiting. Are you sure there’s still Fliers willing to go to Showyth?”

“Certainly, certainly. Not all of us have been hit with the Weaver scare-bug,” she stepped back, gesturing Isolde to follow.

“Miss” closed up past sunset, and was very eager to bring Isolde home. She didn’t know why – they were strangers, and she never gave her a reason to help her. Was it just because she was… Nice? With everyone “on edge,” it seemed people like that didn’t exist anymore. But as they walked along the bridges, crickets chirping and fireflies shining, Isolde felt a well-needed wave of comfort.

“So, what brought you to Arenard?”

“I’m… Looking for something – or well, someones.”

“Hmm, all the way out here? They sure must be important!”

“Very, actually,” she tucked a curl behind her ear, “They’re, um, my parents. Five years ago, they disappeared.”

Miss’s eyes saddened, her bottom lip poking out in a sympathetic pout. “I see… That’s tragic. I assume Arenard was the last place they were seen then?”

“Yes – I hope. To be honest, I don’t know for sure, but it’s one of the only two clues I have.”

“Oh? What’s the other?”

“A woman named Jaswyn. I never met her myself, but apparently, my parents knew her well enough to visit her so often— Huh, Miss?”

Miss had stopped in her tracks. Silent, eerily still – and most of all, afraid. But of what? Before Isolde could ask what was wrong, her troubled face was neutral again, and she resumed walking as if nothing happened.

“Who took care of you, if you don’t mind sharing? Aunts, uncles, grandparents?”

The question was asked hastily, like she wanted to change the subject as quickly as possible. Isolde, despite being very confused, respected her unstated wishes.

“We – my little sister and I – didn’t have any other family. For a while, it was just the two of us,” she said, fighting back the opening wounds of the past. “Until we met her mentor, Elder Olga. Things weren’t too bad then.”

“Wow, Elder Olga? I’ve heard of her, she doesn’t choose her students lightly. Your sister must be really special.”

“Oh, yes, yes, she is!” Isolde laughed. “I couldn’t be more proud of her. When she grows up, I just know she’ll be— … ah, n-never mind.”

“I’m very sorry…”

Isolde wiped her eyes dry and whispered, “It’s my own fault for forgetting. I’m pretty dumb sometimes.”

“Just you watch, Issy. I’m going to be so strong, that I’ll weave for the both of us! You won’t miss out on a thing.”

Gwendolyn said while they were still children. It was another day of Isolde sobbing in a corner, grieving her inflicted weaving. If anything, she just thought her words were sweet, but didn’t take her conviction seriously – until Gwendolyn evolved into the prodigy she was.

Yet though she trained endlessly to acquire brilliance, she’d never be the master she was born to become.

“This is so humiliating…”

Miss rubbed her back soothingly and softly said, “There, there, now. There’s no shame in crying… I’ve shed a few tears myself.”

“If at least – she was able to live a better life, before such an early end… I tried to do everything I could for her, tried to raise her right, but…”

“But?”

Isolde sighed heavily. “Well, Gwen can be so… Tense. Like she’s mad at the world. I-If I was doing a good job, then she should be happy…”

“How old is your sister?”

“F-Four—” her throat tightened as she spoke through sobbing, “fourteen. Only fourteen!”

“Ah! Adolescents her age are like that a lot. Can be spoiled rotten and still act miserable – I was fourteen once, surprised my parents didn’t get rid of me!” she chuckled. “But, something tells me ‘Gwen’ knows you’re trying. Very hard, it seems.”

“Do you really believe that, Miss?”

She nodded. “I do.”

Isolde exhaled, steadily reigning in her tears. She was even weaker then, her feet dragging. Maybe Miss was right. Gwendolyn never expressed otherwise, rather the opposite… But the doubts still lingered.

“Thank you…” then quieter, she added, “You must be a mother. You have that – warmth. And you have me here spilling out my whole life story.”

“I am, heh… But – ah, my son isn’t here anymore. He passed some time ago.”

“O-Oh no, my condolences!”

Miss scratched her chin, the swirled ring on her finger glinting in the moonlight. “Though he took part of my soul with him, part of me is glad he isn’t here to face… All of this.”

“I can understand that,” she gulped and shuddered, “burning to death definitely won’t be fun… Oh gosh, I feel sick.”

“Just awful to think about, isn’t it—”

A high-pitched scream cut through the air. Isolde jumped, eyes big and frightened, but Miss appeared unphased.

“Poor fellow,” Miss said, “Must be another nightmare.”

“Huh..?”

“Most of those sent to investigate the wall have returned scarred, both physically and mentally. Can’t say I blame them.”

“Do they turn into angry alcoholics too?”

“Um, no?” she restrained a laugh from the sudden question. “Not that I know of?”

“Oh – I met a Flier like that, and he saw the wall. So, I thought, maybe…”

“Funny. I know a man like that as well.”

When they finally came to her home, a humble lodge-like dwelling built into a massive tree, they were startled to find the door unlocked and cracked open. Miss’s wings twitched, Isolde treaded on carefully. The door was swung, and instantly they were met with the pungent smell of liquor – bottles of the stuff littered the floor.

A grumble emerged from the shadows, then movement – a chair pushed back. Talons clicking were heard. A streak of red hair, and he showed, the very Flier of their conversation. Madigan.

“Jas… wyn,” he muttered dazedly.

“You’re who!?” Isolde exclaimed in shock, turning to Miss – or Jaswyn.

Madigan approached slowly. He ignored Isolde’s presence entirely, like she wasn’t even there – for all he could see was Jaswyn. He reached for her, his fingers entwining with her hair affectionately.

But then, characteristically… Madigan passed out. Because, of course he did.

“Help! He’s crushing me!” Isolde cried from under him.