Shattered (2018)

ONE | CROW

It hadn’t been in Crow’s evening plans to break into Azariah’s home, for many rational reasons, such as it was a). a crime and b). very likely to result in a fiery death. And yet, here they were—himself, his boyfriend Darren, and their best friend Esmeralda—all standing in the foyer of the goddess’s looming palace.

The carriage driver had only been willing to take them so far, denying even the small sum of gold and silver coins that Crow offered him to do so. “The place is haunted,” he insisted in a rough voice, blowing a puff of cigar smoke from the corner of his mouth as he waved them from the carriage. “Don’t wanna spook the horses, then we’d all be stuck here. Herherher.”

“It is not haunted,” Crow had argued, jingling the bag of money. The driver’s eyes followed its movement, greedily. “It is just the goddess’s place. Common lore.”

“Yah, well. Our Immortal Ladyship don’t take too kindly to the lower classes. I ain’t taking yous any farther than this. My apologies, young lord,” he added as he remembered who he was talking to. “But, ah… I’ll wait on the other side of the trees for yous. It’ll cost you that there pretty bunch of money though.”

With a defeated sigh, Crow had thrown the sack of coins into the man’s lap and crossed his arms. “Fine. But if you do not keep to your promise I will have my father throw you in the dungeons. Or worse.”

With a low dip of his head and the crack of his reins, the driver disappeared back up the dirt road and into the pooling dark of the Ravena Forest, leaving the three of them standing alone in the middle of almost nowhere, with a half-assed plan and absolutely no backup.

“Well,” Darren had announced cheerily. “That was an absolute waste of money. Did anyone think to bring a lantern?”

“No,” Esmeralda said, keeping her hand on Darren’s arm so she wouldn’t lose them in the dark. Her cane thumped against the ground in grim finality. “No, we didn’t.”

Fortunately, by the combined light of Crow’s meager magic flame and the torches blazing outside the palace, they made it without anything more than a few scrapes and bruises.

They stood in the grand entrance foyer, surrounded by flickering braziers, narcissistic statues of the goddess herself, and detailed paintings depicting her many heroic deeds.

It was sickening, really. After weeks and weeks of shadowy plotting and scheming between his father and the goddess, Crow decided enough was enough. A few pieces of incriminating evidence would surely knock their plan to overthrow the king and take over the country apart. Unfortunately, that decision had been heavily influenced by wine and a lack a sleep, and he cursed his friends for not talking him out of it sooner.

“Idiots,” he muttered. “Absolute un isilimas. Neh!”

“What was that?” Darren asked, appearing at his side.

“Nothing. Shut up.” His gaze traveled around the room, stopping on the curving staircase that spiraled up and up. According to every book, legend, and priest he’d consulted, the stairs led to a massive turret topped with a stained glass oculus, where the goddess kept her most valuable… things. That was their destination. And, seeing how there seemed to be a startling lack of guards in the place, Crow figured it couldn’t be that hard…

“So, should we head up then?” Darren asked after a few tense moments of silence. “I mean, if we wait here any longer someone will realize we’re here.”

“The goddess isn’t even here though,” Esmeralda offered. She had wandered a few feet away from them and was running her freckled hand along the smooth base of one of the beautiful marble statues. “She’s at the festival. Her guards, too, it seems. Everyone is. That’s the only reason we’re even here right now. This is insane.”

“Yes, I know.” Crow frowned. “But we cannot simply wish the evidence to us. And without it, we cannot help the king stay on his throne and continue his reforms.” It was a simple yet logical plan. Azariah never missed the Festival of the Goddess, and he couldn’t exactly fault her for it. It was one of the only times she appeared before the people of Ashenia. If there was a holiday celebrating him and only him, he would damn well drop everything to attend, evil plans of domination included. “Up we go then.”

He looped his arm through Esmeralda’s and mounted the stairs. Darren brought up the rear, his clunky farmer’s boots thudding against the stone of the steps as they went up and up and up, passing by tall rectangular windows and a flickering brazier at even intervals along the way. It was quiet, eerily so, but still Crow forged onward and upwards. They’d made it this far—against his sober and therefore much better judgement—but turning around just wasn’t an option. All they had to do was some quick snooping, find damning evidence against Azariah, and get the hell out and back to the festivities before anyone noticed they were gone. Easy.

They almost made it.

They had reached the top of the curving staircase. It was nearly pitch black there, the braziers along the wall cold and empty of flame. The sight didn’t quite settle well with Crow, and a feeling of unease began to creep along his spine. He stopped outside the door to the tower and tried the handle. It turned easily, the door creaking open before him. His heart soared. “It is open! Look, we—”

Light flared out of the room. Crow stumbled back with a yelp, his arm coming up to shield his face. Out of the glare came the one person they’d been hoping to avoid, followed by three fierce guards brandishing long, silver knives at their hips. Behind him, Darren growled. Esmeralda gasped and raised her cane defensively.

Azariah strutted out between her guards, her heeled shoes click-clacking along the hard marble floors until she came to a stop right in front of Crow with a toss of her long ebony hair. She was, to his immediate embarrassment, a good two (and a half) inches taller than him. He took a step back, his arms wind-milling.

The goddess laughed, a sound as cold as the stone and marble around them. She was dressed for the festival; a long flowing dress of deep burgundy and a silver shawl draped across her pale shoulders. “Well, well. I had a hunch you’d try to sneak in here. Your father, bless his heart, alluded me to the fact that you had been rather… worked up as of late, pacing about the house and stealing documents from his office. And so you came here, on the first night of my festival, no less! How rude of you. I expect better behavior from my people. I should blast you to pieces.” Her hand glowed.

Crow stiffened. “How about you just… do not?”

Azariah laughed again. “Oh, you’re so humorous sometimes! It’s just a shame that you’re a dirty Undesirable.” Her laughing cut off abruptly. “Guards, get him out of my sight please. I’d like to play with these two alone.” She motioned towards Darren and Esmeralda as if they were nothing more than kittens. The guards swarmed forward. One already had his dagger out.

“Wait a moment!” Crow protested, waving his hands. The guards didn’t wait. They didn’t so much as hesitate. The burliest reached him first—a man with rippling muscles and a stupid pencil mustache—and wrapped his whole meaty hand around Crow’s upper arm, jerking him forwards.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Esme dart forward, her cane held like a weapon as she swung blindly at what she couldn’t see. Instinctively, Crow ducked. The cane whistled past overhead and collided with the guard’s face with a sickening crunch that could only be his handsome nose (Crow couldn’t help but notice its lovely shape). The man howled, stumbling backwards.

Darren whooped. “Yeah, nice hit Esme!”

The triumph didn’t last long though. A second guard (this one remarkably less attractive than the first) rushed forward, jumping over his broken-nosed companion, and grabbed Esmeralda by the shoulders. Before Crow could react, he had swung her around and bashed her head against the wall. His friend dropped to the floor like a discarded ragdoll. Her cane rolled out of her hand, clattering away down the steps. He could still hear it even after it had disappeared from sight.

Off to his left, the goddess released a deep sigh. “I swear. I feel like I’m running a madhouse sometimes.”

“Well—” Darren began.

Crow shot him a look. “Darren, beloved. Shut up.”

Darren’s mouth snapped shut, though he looked anything less than pleased to be cut off. Azariah swept her hand over Crow and the stairs.

“Now now, there’s no need to squabble, wretched children. Perhaps you should go retrieve your friend’s cane. Poor girl can’t help but walk into a wall without it, hmm?” She tossed her hair back over her shoulders, then stepped forward and grabbed Crow under the arm. Her nails were like thorns in his skin. “I’d hate to see any of you suffer on the night of my festival. Even if you’re trying to thwart my plans. Honest.”

With a bittersweet smile, she shoved him down the stairs.

─∞─

Crow screamed nearly the whole way down. By the twentieth bruise, he had lost count of the stairs, and in which direction was up. He rolled, thumped, and flipped his way down the stairs, finally coming to a stop at the bottom where his body slammed into the wall. He felt something in his chest crack, and pain shot through his whole body. A strangled scream, somewhere between a yelp and a gasp, escaped him.

Through the ringing in his ears he heard laughter. Forcing his eyes open, he saw that the guards had followed his mad descent down the staircase, even the one with the busted nose. They stood over him, each wearing a delighted grin painted with bloodlust.

“That must’ve hurt,” mocked the burliest.

“Poor boy,” crooned the other, the unattractive brute that had hurt Esme. “Let us help you. Our Immortal Ladyship insists.”

There was the soft shushing sound of a dagger being drawn from its sheath. Crow scooted backwards only to find himself already pressed up against the wall. His eyes darted around the room frantically, from the guards to the staircase, but his ribs throbbed and the pain was extending to his head. It hurt too much to think straight.

“Your heckling pains me much more,” he wheezed. “Cuts me like a knife. You should work on your threats.”

“Hmph. How about I let you try the real deal then.” The brute leaned over him, running the cold edge of his blade along Crow’s throat, just enough to draw pin-pricks of blood welling to the surface in a neat line. He didn’t dare to breath for fear that any movement might cause the blade to bite deeper into his skin. Instead—foolishly, he realized later—he raised his fist and threw a punch.

It landed heavily on the man’s gut. Not where he’d been aiming for, but that was fine. The guard doubled over, and again Crow lashed out with his fist, throwing in a kick or two to his knees. The guard’s dagger dropped, clattering to the stone floor between them. Crow lunged for it.

“No!” The guard with the busted nose shoved past his scrabbling, cursing comrades, bringing his knee up to meet with Crow’s chin. Crow rolled to the side, his cracked ribs screaming in pain, and brought himself to his knees. The guard charged at him, fists swinging.

Holding the knife before him in two hands, Crow jabbed out at the fast approaching guard, meaning to give him a tiny poke of dissuasion. A scar to brag to his friends about.

The knife jerked wildly in his grip. Blood, hot and wet, splashed against his skin. The guard froze, his mouth gaping and flapping like a fish out of water. He stared at Crow, then down at the knife in his hands. It was buried to the hilt in his gut. Blood already soaked the material of his shirt, blossoming outwards like a deadly rose.

Crow gasped and fell back, pulling the knife out with his movement. The guard stumbled forward, took one step, two steps—then he pitched forward, hitting the floor with a thump. Looking at the man’s unmoving body and knowing what he had done to make it so, Crow’s throat constricted. His stomach churned. The remaining two guards, the unattractive one and his scrawny-necked friend, stared down at him.

“You bastard, you killed him.” The pencil-necked guard spat on him. He drew out his own knife and stepped forward, twisting his fist into the material of his shirt. Crow tugged and yanked, his boots sliding along the smooth marble floor in search of some purchase, but to no avail. His feet went out from under him and he fell, landing awkwardly on his right elbow.

He raised his head as the man leaned over him, his countenance murderous. “Let me go, please. I beg of you. I did not mean to kill him.”

“Silence. You can plead to your sins in hell.”

“No.” Crow breathed, his legs trembling despite the voice in his head telling him to stop being a frightened maiden.

He swung the dagger up.

 

 

 

TWO | DARREN

Azariah walked slow circles around him, a dark smile causing her red, red lips to curl. Under other circumstances (say, if the goddess weren’t holding them all hostage with the threat of death) Darren would’ve thought this action to be quite attractive. Instead he found himself disgusted. All his life he’d heard about the goddess, his parents being the devoted nuts they were. But this was out of the realm of what he had ever thought possible from the deity. No amount of preaching from his mother had prepared him for this. Where were the sacred testaments preparing them for the day their god snapped and tried to kill everyone? That would’ve been infinitely more helpful than some old books telling them who they could and couldn’t sleep with.

The goddess reached out with a slender hand and cupped her fingers against his face, her nails digging into his skin. “It is my magic, my blood, that made you what you are. All of you.” She squinted towards where Esmeralda was slumped, unconscious against one of the goddess’s many statues after one of the guards had dumped her there. “Even that one.”

Darren tossed his head back, ignoring the pinching pain as the goddess’s fingernails peeled away a thin layer of his skin. “I’d argue that my parents had more to do with my creation than you. With those newfangled genetics and all? Sorry, but I don’t put much stock in godly intervention when it comes to the formation of mine or anybody else’s private parts. I’m sure even an old lonely hag like you has heard of sex, right? Now, when a man and a woman love each other very, very much, they—”

Darren wasn’t even sure what hit him. But the next thing he knew, he was on the other side of the room, laying crumpled at the base of the wall with a sharp, burning pain along his right side. He gasped, finding little air in his lungs. His hand traveled to his side, coming away slick with his own blood. His vision blurred as his eyes began to water. “What the hell?” he croaked. “I was just giving you a little biology lesson.”

“You are a disgrace,” the goddess growled, her hands alight with yet more magic. “How dare you spout nonsense at me while trying to keep me from my greatest achievement yet! You will not be leaving this room alive, of that I can assure you!”

In response Darren coughed, feeling warm, metallic-y blood dribble past his lips. His whole right side felt like it was on fire, incapacitating his body. His arms shook when he tried to pull himself upright. Azariah stepped closer, a manic gleam dancing in her eyes like fire.

“And what about me?” A voice interrupted. A familiar voice, calling out from beneath the high archway leading into the room. Darren raised his head, blinking. And there he was, standing behind the goddess with a bloodied dagger elegantly poised in his hand, the tip gleaming in Azariah’s direction. He tilted his chin up. “I suppose you will want to kill me as well, hm?”

Crow.

His somber party jacket was torn in several places, his face a canvas of blood and deep scrapes, his left eye blackened and swollen. But he was alive, and at that moment that was all Darren really cared about. He wanted to kiss him.

“You!” The goddess whirled around, her expression one of utter disgust that Darren could feel in his bones. The magic in her palms seared brighter. Angrier. “How… How did you make it up here?”

Crow’s lips curled into an unpleasant smile. “You have a great many stairs in your palace, my lady. But unfortunately throwing me down them isn’t going to kill me.”

Azariah hissed. “You lying undesirable! My guards should have taken care of you.”

Darren caught the hitch in the High Lord’s son’s voice as he spoke next, and he realized that, through whatever shields and mental walls Crow had in place, he was at his end, too, hanging by a single thread of courage. However much composure he’d managed to scrape together before bursting in here… it wasn’t going to last.

“They tried,” Crow whispered. “But I killed them.”

“Oh?” The goddess strode forward then, clearing the distance between them in the blink of an eye. Crow flinched, and Darren saw him take an involuntary step backwards. Azariah’s hand shot out and gripped his throat. “You poor, foolish rich boy. I bet you’ve never killed anyone before, hmm?” She laughed, a loud and jangling sound. Unnatural. Crow didn’t answer, just gave a tiny, strained gasp and tried to wrench himself free of the goddess’s grip.

Fueled by a sudden urgency, Darren forced himself into a painful sitting position. “Leave him alone you bitch,” he spat, a mixture of white hot anger and blood. His voice carried across the open room effortlessly, filling it. “I’m about to toss your ass down the goddamn stairs and see how long it takes you to crawl back up here.”

With a hand pressed to his injured side, he used the wall for support, struggling to stand. If (if) he was going to get mutilated by a crazed goddess high off her rocker, he wanted to at least be standing.

“Be silent! I’m tired of listening to your nonsense.” Still holding onto Crow, the goddess whipped around towards him. Her free hand shot out, aglow with a magic so intense Darren’s skin prickled painfully from halfway across the room. A tight pressure built in his ears. Her palm seemed to glow brighter the longer he stared… or was that just his vision going wonky from the pain? He bent double with a groan as his ears popped. He could feel something wet trickling from them. Probably more blood.

“Darren!” Crow’s voice sounded far away. So far. And echoey, like he was yelling through a tunnel. “Watch out! Darren!” His scream was high. Urgent.

Darren lifted his head just in time to see Crow jerk Azariah’s arm— the one that wasn’t holding him down— up and away from where it was trained on Darren. An enormous wave of magic burst from her palm a second later, traveling straight up into the air on the momentum of its own immense power. Crow and the goddess disappeared from Darren’s line of sight in the sheer burning brightness that suddenly filled the room. It quickly spread, taking away everything else into its glaring light. If he’d been more optimistic in the religion of their people, Darren would’ve thought the gates of the afterlife had been flung open before him.

Somewhere far above, the blast hit the ceiling, shattering the colorful stained glass depictions of the goddess’s self-written history. Glass shards and chunks of stone rained down around them. Darren rolled into a ball, throwing his arms over his head. Somewhere in the destruction he could hear the goddess screaming. Silently he prayed (though at this point, to whom or what he was praying to, he didn’t know. Good fortune?) that Crow and Esmeralda were doing the same. Shoving himself face first against the wall, he waited for bits of the oculus to stop pelting him.

When the destruction finally subsided, the room—once pristine, sparkling marble—was covered in scattered dust and busted stone, with large bits of broken glass and jagged edges peppering the spaces in between. The room was dark all of a sudden, the braziers having been blown out or shattered by the force of the goddess’s magic. Darren sat up slowly, letting his head fall back. Stars glittered in the night sky like faerie lights, so bright they broke through the covering of clouds. The glow of the twin moons brought with them a chill breeze. Darren breathed in deeply.

Somewhere in the dim light of the room he heard coughing. His head snapped back up and he tried to focus on the shapes around him, but it was hard to distinguish between rubble and bodies. He crawled forward, using a large piece of stone to pull himself to his feet.  “Crow!” he shouted, his voice hoarse. “Esme!”

Darren heard a weak cough and a “Here, I’m here,” from somewhere across the room. He lurched forward, ignoring the pain in his side, kicking and shoving aside chunks of stone as he combed the space around him. His blood boiled at the thought of his friends being injured, or worse. If push came to shove, there was no way he was going to let Azariah escape with her head, or any other important body parts. Like her arms and legs.

He found Esmeralda across the room. She hadn’t moved from the base of the statue, and was on her side, propped up on her elbow. Sensing him, she coughed and held out her hand.

“Darren! What… what happened? Why is the ceiling on the floor?” She coughed again. Darren gripped her hand firmly and helped her off the ground, his side screaming in protest at the extra weight. He bit down on his tongue and let Esmeralda lean against his shoulder.

He grunted. “And how do you know what the room looks like again, Ms. I’m Blind?”

“I heard it all come crashing down. It woke me up. It was like… the world was coming to an end.” She shuddered and pushed a mass of tangled blonde curls back from her face. Then, in a quiet voice, “Crow?” It was one word, but it held a dozen different questions.

Darren shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t see him…” He stopped in the middle of the room, his knees shaking from the effort of keeping himself and Esmeralda up. “He was standing here with Azariah. He grabbed her arm and made her magic shoot through the roof. It would’ve hit me otherwise.” He frowned at the debris-strewn floor, then threw his head back and shouted, his every emotion going into that one word. “CROW!”

A bit of glass, dangling precariously from the remains of the window after the blast, fell and shattered against the floor with a distant tinkling. And then silence. At his side, Esmeralda stiffened. Darren bounced his leg, his anxiety rising, and prepared to shout again. He realized that yelling wasn’t the most effective way to find someone who was possibly crushed to death or unconscious, but his whole body felt like it was on fire with pain and worry.

“Wait! I hear something.” Esmeralda shoved away from him and tripped through the dark. Without her cane she was more a hazard to herself, but Darren didn’t have time to stop her. Instead, he followed, limping through the debris. Esme had the best hearing out of them all, so he wasn’t about to doubt her.

They found Crow lying next to a huge piece of stone. He was curled in on himself, crying, all cool composure and stone masks gone, lost amongst the dust and ruin. Shattered. Replaced by silent crying. And it was quiet, so quiet at first that Darren could only hear him now that he was practically standing on top of him. Immediately he dropped to his knees and gathered him into his arms.

Crow turned towards him, burying his head against his chest, his shoulders shaking now as his sobs were ripped from him, rough and ugly. Nothing was ever prim and proper when it came to Crow’s emotions. It was one of the few things about him that was real, that hadn’t been shaved down and smoothed to perfection by his father’s standards.

Silent, Esme’s hands fluttered to her mouth as she knelt on the other side of her friend. Darren ran his hand through Crow’s hair, making soft shushing sounds through his lips as the tears began to come hard and fast.

“I am a terrible person,” he sobbed, slapping his fists weakly against Darren’s chest, over and over again until it actually started to hurt. Darren took hold of his wrists and tugged them away, gently.

“You’re not, Crow. You’re not.” Crow dropped his fists and slumped against him fully. There were pale rivulets streaking down his dust coated cheeks, and Darren brushed away his tears with a flick of his thumb. “Calm down, love.”

Crow gasped for air, so worked up now that his cheeks were flushed. “But I—I killed—”

“They would’ve killed you,” Darren insisted, squeezing his arm. “You did what you had to. We’re not going to try and tell you otherwise.”

Esmeralda’s nod was so fierce that dust and bits of stone went flying from her hair. “Yes. Crow, you have to underst—”

“I am a monster!” he shouted into Darren’s shirt, breaking off the end of Esme’s words. His voice echoed, bouncing along the walls and ringing in Darren’s ears. Then he laughed, a hysterical squeak. “No better than my father. Being a murderer runs in the family I guess.”

With a sigh, Darren rose to his feet, pulling Crow upright with him, and looped an arm around his waist. Esme reached out and took Crow’s other side, so that they were all leaning against one another to stay upright. Her face was awash in concern, but still she said nothing. Whatever hurt she saw in Crow’s aura must’ve been enough to keep her from asking questions.

Realizing he had to be the rational one now, Darren took a page out of his boyfriend’s book and tilted his mouth towards Crow’s ear. He whispered, “We can talk about this later, I promise. But we need to get out of here before Azariah comes back.”

Silent, Crow raised his hand and wiped at his eyes, wincing as his fingers brushed over his newly acquired shiner. As one they began to move through the rubble towards the arched doorway. Somewhere along the line the doors had been blown off their hinges, so it was very little trouble to traverse the room, pass through the doorway, and begin limping their way down the curving staircase.

The palace was once again eerily silent. No lights burned in the sconces along the walls. At the foot of the stairs lay the three guards—all dead. Yet their vacant, filmy eyes still seemed to burn with murderous intent. Crow pinched his own eyes shut and turned his head away as they passed the bodies. Darren steered them along, not stopping until they had evacuated the palace and were well on their way up the dirt road.

None of them spoke during the two-mile leg back. Esme’s cane dragged behind her like a child’s toy. Darren’s side throbbed, dried with crusted blood and sweat, but still he ploughed ahead, ignoring the pain. Twice Crow’s legs gave out beneath him, and he fell, almost dragging Darren and Esmeralda down with him. After the second time he refused to get up, vowing that he’d lay there until a passing carriage ran him over. Darren carried him piggy-back style the remainder of the journey.

The carriage and its driver were awaiting them at the tree line, as originally promised. The driver’s eyes bugged out of his head as he saw them approaching. Darren supposed they didn’t look nearly as snazzy as they had arriving.

“By the goddess!” he exclaimed. His cigar fell from his mouth. “You bunch are a sight for sore eyes. I thought I heard an explosion from—”

“Shut up,” Darren growled. He wrenched open the door of the carriage and began helping his friends inside. “Get the horses ready. We’re going back to town.”

“Yah, yah. I hear you.” Grumbling, he waved a dismissive hand at them and disappeared around the snorting horses. Darren crawled into the carriage and pulled the door shut. A minute later they lurched forward, bouncing their way along the road. He sank back into the padded upholstery with a deep groan.

A few minutes into the ride, Esmeralda dozed off, slumped against her side of the carriage. Crow leaned towards Darren, rested his chin upon his shoulder. He said nothing, and Darren didn’t much mind. He found Crow’s hand on the seat between them and laced his fingers through his. He squeezed them gently.

Crow squeezed back.