Uncertain Future

Lara felt something hot touched her face. She winced and caught the thing with her hands. It felt rough and crumpled easily, leaving a stinging hot sensation on her fingers. She opened her eyes.

A giant tree, as big around as a small town square and at least 200 feet tall, was burning fiercely. Lara saw huge columns of roaring fire enveloped the tree. At the top, the tree disappeared into one enormous cloud of high-rising black smoke. Lara sat under a birch tree about fifty yards away from the fire and could feel the heat emanating from that blazing inferno. Ashes from the fire, which were carried up by the heat, fell like gray snow around her. Despite the intensity of the fire, it thankfully couldn't spread. The tree stood alone on a small island in the middle of a lake, therefore, any pieces of burning wood or ash would fall into the water. There's no strong wind either.

Lara looked at the lake. There's a moss-covered stone bridge raised slightly above water and served as the only path from the outside to the island. The stone bridge ended as a short footpath began, leading to a burning circular structure that was built into the tree, with roots as wide as a human waist that acted as support columns. Lara could see the charred remains of a door lying on the ground with red veins of flame crisscrossed on it. So this tree was what's left of Melisza's lair.

This was a beautiful place. Lovely, even. Seeing it burned like this could put any nature-loving poet into a melancholic mood. But that poet didn't know anything about Melisza and her nefarious activities at this hidden sanctuary. It is probably best that this place burned down, together with the horrific memories inside of it.

She looked down at her hand. The thing that singed her earlier turned out to be a half-burned leaf. But Lara noticed something else on her wrist. Something...red?

Blood!

She examined her body frantically. The right side of her white dress was doused with patches of drying blood. Lara scrambled to the nearby water bank and looked at her reflection. Her right cheek was covered in blood too. But she didn't feel any pain, nor did she find any wounds on her body. She quickly washed herself. Then she remembered about Tarok.

Where is he? Lara surveyed around her. He wasn't here. Lara shut her eyes to concentrate. He definitely got out of the fire, because she did too. She remembered being carried outside of the circular room, her body pressed tightly against his. The blood on her dress must have come from his stab wound, and judging from how red her dress was, he's in grave danger.

Returning to the spot where she woke up, Lara searched for clues as to where he might have gone. There were big visible hooves prints twice the size of her own feet leading away from where she stood. Her heart clenched when she saw droplets of blood accompanying each hoof print.

With no hesitation, Lara set out to find Tarok. She ran along the blood-spotted track, careful not to lose sight of it. The forest floor was unkind to her feet, and she tripped several times over tree roots and rocks, yet Lara ventured on. She didn't have much time left. Even though the sun was still above her head, it's well in to the afternoon now and soon the last vestige of the day would die. Then all around her would be darkness, and she would be alone in it. Shaking her head to expel the terrifying thought, Lara bit her teeth, forced back the habitual tear and refocused on her mission, scanning the ground to stay on track.

Be brave, Lara. Be brave

After an hour, her search ended when she stumbled, almost face first, into a small, circular glade. Tarok was sitting on the opposite side a few feet from her, his back against an oak tree. The situation seemed dire: his shuttered eyelids twitched irregularly, his head drooped to one side, his chest rose and fell slowly with each laborious breath, droplets of sweat dotted his wrinkled forehead.

Lara breathed calmly to think of what to do. The blood on his chest made her feel nauseous, she'd never liked the sight of it. But right now, that where she must focus her attention, because the wound needed to be cleaned before putrefaction set in. Unfortunately, there wasn't anything she could use to clean him. She had literally nothing except the clothes on her.

Of course, her clothes. Lara bent and tore at the hem of her ankle-length dress. The flimsy material easily gave way and Lara quickly had a bunch of cloth in her hand. She walked on tip toe towards him slowly to not startle Tarok, a precaution she didn't really need as the grass muted her footsteps.

Lara stopped in front of him. She saw the grimace on his contorted face. She withheld her breath when she saw how much pain he suffered. The knife was lodged up to the handle in Tarok's upper pectoral muscle. It seemed the stab missed his vital organs, otherwise he wouldn't be able to get this far. Thankfully, the blood had clotted around the knife, which stopped the bleeding. With proper bandages, Tarok can be saved. She knelt and reached for his forehead to wipe the sweat on it.

As soon as he sensed something touched his head, Tarok acted by reflex. In one swift movement he pulled Lara violently to his torso with his left hand, despite the injury on that side of his chest, and his right hand clutching tightly at the hand Lara used to clean him. Lara was immobilized with the grappling hold and let out an involuntary whimper into his hard chest while Tarok gasped at the teeth-gritting pain caused by his sudden movement. He looked at the intruder, the pain blurred his vision, but the familiar softness of the person he's holding combined with her scent informed him.

"Lara. What are you doing here?" he said. Tarok struggled to gather breaths to speak.

"My hand," Lara sobbed. Realizing he was overzealous with the grabbing, Tarok let her go. He watched in confusion as Lara kneaded her hand, still sniffling.

"Lara, what are you doing here?" He repeated the question.

"I want to help you. That wound need to be treated or you're in serious trouble. I was going to wipe your forehead, but you grabbed me," she explained to Tarok. He glanced at the bunch of white cloth in her hand.

"Help... me?" A dazed look appeared in his eyes, not just because of the pain. "I don't need your help."

"What do you mean you don't need help? You're bleeding. There's a knife in your chest, for Verea's sake. And no one's around here who can help you but me."

Tarok huffed impatiently. "Dying is fine for me. Just leave me be."

"What?" Lara muttered in a shaky voice. She pulled the cloth to her chest, her eyes transfixed at the dying minotaur. "I don't understand."

Tarok squeezed his eyelids shut and sighed before opening them again to look at Lara.

"You heard about my past when we were in that tree. Revenge. That's all I've ever wanted. Ever since I was old enough to understand...argh...what an abomination I am, I had wanted to kill the evil witch that did this to me. And now I have done that, I can die in peace. Now you know. Go, leave me alone."

Having said it, Tarok dropped his head back, closed his eyes, and prepared to take the ultimate sleep. For a proud warrior like him, this is as fine a dead as any. After all these years, the end had finally come. He welcomed it like a long-awaited friend who had been denied hospitality because of his occupation with vengeance. And with the conclusion of this lifelong mission, he could finally let go. Yet complete satisfaction he did not feel. There was something intangible nagged at him, something buried deep within some corner of his consciousness that had been lying dormant for so long.

"That...that's just absurd."

Tarok awoke from his torpor and stared at Lara. Did this girl just call the purpose of his life absurd?

"I just...I don't understand. All you ever wanted in life is revenge? That's no way to live."

Tarok's gaze narrowed. Lara's remark upset him. This had always been one of his oldest, deepest secret, and he had not shared it with another soul. Only in his last moment living did he loosen his straps and confessed with the only person who's with him. And this is the response?

She didn't understand.

Tarok couldn't remember the last time this had happened, but he was on the defensive. Tarok gritted his teeth as he sat up.

"Easy for you to judge. A girl like you couldn't imagine what I've been through, and my mother—" He stopped, frowning at the wound. He cursed himself for moving. "Well, why did you care anyway? Doesn't matter, any of this. Let me have my last moment in peace."

With that he slumped back against the tree and shut his eyes. If he ignored her, she would leave soon. He had expected that his life would end with something grander and nobler than a petty argument with this silly girl.

Tarok's mind was beginning to wander into the abstract unconsciousness when he felt a fluffy softness pressing into his uninjured chest. He opened his eyes again.

Lara had knelt and pressed her petite body into his, her hands clinched his shoulder. Even in this position, with him sitting down, her head was only on the same level as his shoulder. He saw she was shaking, but her downcast face was hidden beneath the silky black hair. Her hair smell so nice, it somehow reminded him of his childhood. He felt a strange impulse to brush her back, to caress this weeping girl, but he didn't. The reminder of his childhood surprised him so much, it stunned him.

"Please, master, don't give up. I beg you, please stay with me. Please, don't leave me alone in this forest. Pleasepleaseplease," Lara blubbered loudly. Her chest heaved with each sentence, her hands gripped Tarok's shoulder harder.

Her hysterical weeping shook Tarok. He hadn't seen Lara so dismayed before, not even when she was crying on the stone floor in his bedroom.

"Lara, calm down. Urgh. Look, the city is not too far away. It's only a day walking. Just go east, then—" he said, but Lara shook her head repeatedly. She didn't want to get out of here? No, that's not it.

"You don't want to be alone?" he asked.

Lara lifted her head. Her face was wet with tear, and the sight put a weight in his heart. Again, he was surprised at this new feeling. It made him almost missed the slight nod from Lara.

"Master, please let me take care of you. You can live. You can. Please don't give up. You told me to not give up earlier, don't you remember?"

Tarok observed the disheveled girl with sober eyes. It was late afternoon now and daylight would be gone in about less than a couple of hours. Then, darkness would reign.

Taking a deep breath, Tarok's mind raced to think of a plan.

Dying had to wait then.

"Alright Lara, here what I want you to do..."

--***--

Lara ran as fast as the sandals on her feet allowed without tripping over tree roots and rocks every ten steps. This part of the forest was even nastier than the span between Tarok's glade and the lake. Luckily, the arduous trek ended when the soothing sound of flowing water welcomed her. She saw a small ankle-deep stream and sat down on a fallen tree to catch her breath. Even though it only took her about half an hour to get here from the glade, the tough terrain drained her energy like a scorching hot day.

As she waded in the stream, Lara enjoyed the contrast between the refreshing coolness of the water and her burning feet. She repeated Tarok's instructions in her head, "Go east until you reach a small stream, very shallow, lined with gravel, you'll know it. Follow it until you see the dead bodies. That's where I and my men were ambushed, I was separated from them. Gather any supply you can find and bring it back here." When she had turned around and about to go, he gave one last command, "Be careful, Lara."

Lara looked above her head. The blue above her head had turned darker and blended naturally with the shade of old copper on the horizon. Even though the sun had touched the skyline, it was still bright enough to see. But not for long. Taking a begrudging sigh, Lara stepped out of the streambed into the bank and started running. Thanks Verea that the stream ran straight and the bank was lined with small pebbles, which made her journey much more pleasant.

After ten minutes or so she reached the ambush sites. Corpses of four horses strew about on both side of the stream, but their riders were nowhere to be seen. Until she looked up, then Lara almost screamed. Four human bodies hanged idly twenty feet above, there are fresh green vines wrapped several times around their bodies that seemed to have grown impossibly out of thick brown tree branches. This was definitely the work of Melisza. Their clothes were in rags due to slashes all over their chest and stomach, and there's one common sight across four bodies: bloodstains on the necklines of their shirt indicated how their lives ended. And the smell! Although the corpses looked like they're only a day old, the humidity accelerated the decomposition which made the bodies smell much worse than they should.

Holding her breath and clenching her teeth, Lara started searching. Finding anything on the men's corpses was out of the question, so she went over the horses. There was a flask hooked in one of the saddles, still full, and three soaked backpacks which contained nothing usable. However, luck favored Lara with the fourth one, as it contained bread, some pieces of dried meat, raisins, and grains. There was also dried herb and a role of bandage. This must have belonged to the man in charge of supplies of the group, may Verea blessed his heart. Putting the flask in the backpack, Lara left the macabre scene behind and ventured back.

The return trip was not as hard, she already knew how long it took to return and there should be enough time to reach Tarok before it turned dark. It was quiet here in this watery part of the woods, and the only sounds were the gentle burbling of the stream and occasional far-off chirping of unseen birds from all direction.

Lara remembered the first time she traveled to the woods. When she was ten, after the harvest season, the crop was particularly abundant that year. So was the offering to Verea. To celebrate this occasion, her foster mother took Lara out for a short trip. Her mother went to the hunter's lodge in the forest to buy some fox pelts, which was cheaper than in town, and some sausages as treat. Lara was so excited. She'd never been in the woods before, because her mother always told her to stay away from it or the evil little imps might kidnap her and fed her to the giant man-eating rats living underground. Unlike her teaching, her mother was quite colorful with the cautionary tales. The woods was an entirely new concept for Lara. She'd never seen this much tree before. And they were so tall. Merinth situated in the middle of a large plain, and the tallest thing she'd seen before was the two-story house of the chief of the merchant's guild, which required her to lift her head slightly to see its roof. In here though, there are trees whose tops were so high that she had to look up until the back of her head hurt. The short ones came in all kinds of shapes and their flowers bloomed with the gamut of vibrant colors that Lara didn't know what to call. So she made up some name, like "blurple" and "rellow".

When her mother had got everything she needed and was ready to leave, Lara was still hopscotching from one place to another, trying in vain to chase a squirrel. Seeing the enthusiastic child, the hunter suggested that they stay for lunch, since he had skinned a deer yesterday and had lots of extra meat. Seeing the reluctance on the old priestess's face, and possibly the hopefulness on Lara's, he explained further that his wife had died last year, and his only son was apprenticing for a fletcher in the city, so he missed the sound of children. Only when Lara had promised to play near the lodge did her mother agree to stay. So, for the whole morning Lara explored the woods while her mother relaxed on a bench by the porch. Lara kept her words and stayed near the house. Yet later she still got into trouble: she tried to climb a beech when she thought none of the adults were looking. Lara chuckled when she pictured the little version of herself climbing a tree while wearing a white sundress, then she frowned when she remembered the resulting scolding. Her mother ignored her "It wasn't very tall" and "I only reached for the lowest branch" excuses. Apparently, that was a very "unlady-like" thing to do, oh, and also

extremely

dangerous. As punishment, she had to endure two boring hours every night of the next fortnight sewing pelts to make winter coats.

Lara sighed. After her tenth birthday, things started to change. The scolding became more frequent as Lara's mother began to groom her for the life as a priestess of Verea. Her manners, clothes, and even how she talked were scrutinized; everything needed to be perfect to reflect her status as a future model lady. The mother gradually became the teacher. Lara didn't resent her mother, she knew preparing her to be the next priestess was the only thing her mother knew how. She just wished she was at least given a choice, even if it was a token one; being an orphan, Lara had no relatives nor acquaintances who could take her in, she wasn't educated in any skilled trades or crafts, she simply couldn't be anything but became one of Verea's faithful and served the community around her.

Years went by, the active, lively child in her was replaced by a demurer, more mature adult. She had not time to play or have friends, instead she was given lessons on the rituals and beliefs of the cult of Verea. Step by step she performed more and more rituals in place of her mother, who was getting weaker by the year. When she was 17, Lara had practically taken over all duties. One year later, her mother died. Lara was an inconsolable wretch; for three days after the funeral she couldn't stop crying. Harsh as her mother was, she was the only person who ever truly cared for Lara, even if it was in her own difficult way.

For the first time in her life, Lara was without guidance, and only the sense of duty, drilled into her by the late mother, kept her afloat upon the sea of sorrows and uncertainty. She performed the daily rituals, kept the temple clean, greeted the visiting faithful, officiated weddings and tendered blessings. To fill the giant aching hole in her life, Lara devoted her day to Verea; she needed guidance and a mother figure, so the merciful goddess of Love fulfilled the role naturally. Only with the comfort of Verea's embrace did she manage to sleep on her lonely bed at night. In the evening, after praying for the joy and happiness of everyone, she would sneak in a personal plea, that she wouldn't be alone anymore, that she would find a man who loved her soon.

Loneliness. That's what Lara had always dreaded. That's what made Lara cried her heart out when her mother died. And that's what made her wept hysterically by Tarok's side an hour earlier. The fear was great enough that she would have wanted anyone, even Tarok—her tormentor, to be with her in this dark and cold night.

Lara increased her pace.

--***--

When she returned, Tarok was asleep. Lara dropped the bundles of twigs and dried leaves on the ground before setting the backpack down. She needed a fire first. With two pieces of flint she picked up from the stream, Lara soon got a camp fire going, just in time for darkness to set in. She turned her attention to Tarok, who had woken up.

Lara grabbed the bundle of cloth left on the ground in front of Tarok and doused it with the flask.

"I'm going to clean you first, is it alright?" Lara asked. Tarok grunted his consent.

Lara approached him gingerly and knelt at his folded leg. She was closed enough to hear the rumbling inside of his chest. Tarok watched her closely as she reached for his face first. Cool wet fabric brushed gently against the ragged features of his face, wiping away the salt of dried sweat, the soot and grimes of the fire and, seemingly, the contortions of pain. When she reached down to his trunk-like neck, there was almost a serenity draped on his countenance.