Chapter 15 - The Price of Murder

The words surprised Skyle so much that he almost dropped the knife. Skyle had imagined the man’s voice would sound feeble and tired, but instead it seemed filled with a calm confidence that would never waver under pressure.

The shock of being discovered barely registered before Skyle’s hand began to violently shake around the knife. The man’s tone was light, almost casual, yet his words etched themselves in Skyle’s mind like fire.

Once more the image of his mother appeared in Skyle’s mind, and this time it seemed to be her lips that were moving as he heard the same words.

“Skyle, you’re not a killer.”

With a hoarse cry, Skyle forced his eyes shut and struck down blindly with his knife. Whether he was roaring in protest or begging for forgiveness, perhaps not even the small boy knew. Skyle could only think of home, and surviving long enough to get there. His father would know what to do then.

As for his mother, she would forgive.

She had to.

Skyle’s desperate thrust downward was soon met by resistance, but this wasn’t the feeble resistance of cloth and skin. No, the tip of his knife didn’t touch any surface at all. Instead, his hands were seized by an iron grip and his blind attack died in its infancy.

Skyle’s arms trembled as he panicked and increased the pressure by exerting his arms as best as he could, gritting his teeth and howling wordlessly in desperation.

It was all in vain. It was as though his arms were locked in stone. Though he could feel his entire body shaking with his exertion, the knife’s tip didn’t so much as waver once.

“Younger than I’d thought,” came the calm voice once more, this time mere inches from his ear. “Ah, it only weighs the sins we bear even heavier still.”

The last part came out in a soft whisper, and though the voice was still firm, it finally sounded tired.

So very tired.

Skyle still winced, imagining that anytime now, he would receive a blow, some swift and brutal reprisal for his cowardly, despicable act. Instead, he was startled to feel the hand around his knife relaxing its grip, and the small weight of another hand settled softly, almost comfortingly on top of his shoulder. Unexpectedly, this casual gesture spread warmth into Skyle’s chest.

Cracking open his eyes, Skyle saw that the man was now facing him. Though the fire behind his back made it difficult to distinguish his features well, Skyle could still make out a pair of serene eyes resting upon him. They did not demand anything, seeking neither explanations nor offering accusations. Instead, they simply cast their calm regard upon Skyle, waiting without any demands nor expectations.

They instantly reminded Skyle of someone. The one person Skyle trusted and relied upon most in this world. The only person Skyle knew who was stronger than his own father.

His most well loved person.

“Mother..”

Indeed, they were eyes much like his mother’s.

Though it was a man, and an old man at that, this serene gaze resting softly upon Skyle’s face made him instantly recall that same imperturbable, ever comforting look in his mother’s eyes.

The old man nodded gently to Skyle, the hand on the boy’s shoulder squeezing lightly as though to give him strength and courage.

“Though I can’t redeem myself from a lifetime of sins, perhaps this one mercy is a gift from the gods to an old man with far too many regrets. I will not let you be one more added to that frightful tally, child.”

As he spoke, the placid light in the man’s eyes seemed to waver, then fracture slowly into countless shards, crumbling into a deluge that spoke of sorrow and regret.

Endless regret.

Skyle stood before the old man, his useless knife still gripped in his hand, though he seemed to have forgotten all about it. Instead, the boy stared at his unexpected captor turned savior.

The man’s lips stretched slowly into a smile. It stretched the man’s skin awkwardly, creating many new creases and faltering many times until finally it succeeded in its valiant task. It was an artless smile, one that almost smelled of rust and dust from lack of use. Still, when it finally did bloom it radiated honesty and warmth.

“Go on, child. I will not stop you. You must make for the Shrine of T-”

The faint rustling sound was almost imperceptible, barely distinguishable from the intermittent crackling noises of the fire. In truth, Skyle did not even notice it. However, it was all the warning the old man needed.

Perhaps it was old instincts, or maybe it was what the old man had wanted himself, deep down. His gods had delivered Skyle into his hands, and now they asked for one more sacrifice to atone for his sins.

In the end, the answer would never be found. Would it have mattered?

The old man seemed to explode into motion as he turned around, all graceful serenity one moment, a lightning fast blur of shadows and flesh the next. Skyle’s wide-eyed gaze couldn’t keep up with the sheer speed of the motion, but he belatedly followed the direction of the old man’s turn and gasped as he saw a dark silhouette rushing forward from the shadows, jumping directly across the fire with a flash of steel trailing sparks just above it.

Two red-hot coals burned in Leon’s eyes as his face contorted into a mask of fury and blood-lust. Soaring high above the fire, tongues of brilliant red flared under his feet as his fierce leap parted the flames’ scorching kiss. Both arms were held up above his head as they gripped his axe in a two-handed grip, and a soundless roar burst out from his lips as he brought down his weapon with all the power his desperate fury could muster.

Leon’s assault had taken both Skyle and the old man completely by surprise. Perhaps they had both been far too entranced in this sudden, casual meeting where they felt as though they’d met old friends, or perhaps new ones.

In a way, they were similar, these two. The old man had a lifetime of sins weighing down his back, and Skyle had yet another lifetime of dreams and ambitions dragging on his.

Whatever the reason, the old man had been effectively caught unprepared by Leon’s attack.

However, it was simply not enough.

In a moment of perfect, crystal clear serenity where time seemed to suddenly freeze and everything seemed to hang still and unmoving in the air, Skyle could see it all. He could see everything as it was going to happen, mere fractions of a second from now. It was an unavoidable, unstoppable chain of events that had already begun to take its relentless course the moment Leon had taken his very first step.

Leon stood frozen in the air, drops of saliva hanging perfectly still in front of his mouth as he gave voice to his rage and fear in one great, soundless roar. The axe he was bringing to bear would be a mighty swing, and it would have been enough to nearly bisect the old man, cleaving deeply into his shoulder, and all the way down to his lungs in a great killing blow.

However, the old man was still moving, even in this great vacuum where time lay still. Skyle’s horrified eyes could clearly see the man’s hand beginning to lift the unstrung bow he had been holding earlier. On both ends of the weapon, Skyle could see the gleam of sharp, deadly steel fashioned into a narrow, cutting edge. The man’s balance had already begun to shift forward, and as time flowed forward, Skyle knew beyond any shadow of doubt that this deadly warrior would take a short step forward and arc his chest down.

This simple, elegant maneuver would send Leon’s reckless, overbalanced slash soaring harmlessly over the man’s shoulder, but not before granting the lightest of caresses from the deadly tip of that razor sharp edge glimmering at the end of the bow the man held.

That soft kiss, granted with such easy grace, would spell certain doom for Leon. Perhaps he would not even notice it at first, landing heavily on his feet and turning around in a hasty rush with his axe raised up in a guard position, or knowing the foolish noble’s recklessly brave heart, he would be preparing yet another mighty two-handed slash.

It would all be for vain, for before Leon could take another step, he would be startled to see a spray of red arterial blood spraying into the air. The boy would be alarmed by sudden rush of liquid warmth sliding down his neck, wetting his chest. A stubborn hand would hold up the axe to mount a defense against an assault that would never come, while his other hand would reach with painful hesitation towards the great, gaping wound leaking life and spelling disaster.

The look in Leon’s eyes would be an extremely complex maelstrom of surging emotions, with shock, fear and despair all howling like rabid wolves towards the dying moon. In the end, however, it would be only fury that remained.

A red tide of relentless rage, of unwillingness to submit, to let this be the ignoble end to his tale, to his legend. It would swallow all these other lesser, fickle emotions in a storm of fire and blood.

In the end, however, the rage would also bleed away, then be carried down the stream of time until it slowly diluted, then finally dissolved in the great sea of oblivion.

“Leon!” Skyle cried out in his mind, echoing the other boy’s silent howl.

It was this fire scorching in Leon’s eyes, even now as he hung frozen up in the air, that also ignited the air pent up within Skyle’s own lungs. As he expelled this unbearable air that had been burning his heart, Skyle saw another shadow of motion approaching him.

It was a hand, one that had only moments earlier been resting upon his shoulder, offering warmth and comfort.

The old man, even as he was moving forward to avoid Leon’s attack, had the presence of mind and the nobility of soul to stretch out his other hand towards Skyle’s chest. It was an open-palmed push that would bodily shove the small boy backwards, and effectively out of danger in case Leon’s attack were to miss badly and threaten Skyle.

Such a move didn’t require much at all, and the man’s focus was still entirely upon Leon.

It was here, in this one beautiful, fleeting moment of trust and therefore vulnerability, that Skyle finally made his choice and sealed his destiny.

The man’s bushy eyebrows creased slightly as they drew together in an expression of puzzlement when he felt small, nimble fingers firmly grasp the arm he had stretched behind his back in order to protect the innocent boy. Half-turning his head, wise eyes that had seen far too much of the bitterness and betrayal that pervaded the world of mortals flickered with sudden, unexpected realization as they found the small boy’s hand grasping his forearm in a firm, forceful grip. His trained eyes automatically followed the boy’s arm to his center of gravity, his chest, then moved on towards the stream of motion that focused on the boy’s other hand, expertly reading the next move as though it were clearly written in words.

This was the hand that held the knife, and it plunged forward with resolute force. The move was imbued with a fierce determination that had been wholly absent in the earlier attack, when the man’s back had been turned to the child.

This was no longer a child now, for he had come of age.

He was now an enemy, striking for his heart and threatening his life.

The old man’s eyes erupted with a storm of emotions, surprise and fury and betrayal mostly, though with the ominous shadow of death hanging like a tragic pall over them all. Not his own, of course. The man was far too mighty a warrior, too seasoned an expert, to be struck down by such an honest, simple thrust. The arm Skyle held tensed in anticipated motion as rock-hard muscles and thick veins snaked all the way down to a hand that had now tightened into a fearsome fist.

Before the collected might of this one arm, Skyle’s puny fingers seemed to lose all strength and certainty, destined to lose before they even had a fighting chance.

Then, just as abruptly and unexpectedly, the fist relaxed. The mad emotions thundering in the old man’s eyes were all swept away, vanquished by a strange wind that if anything, would have smelled of yellow flowers and sweet tarts.

It was a gentle tyrant, this new emotion, one that would brook no contention, no hesitation at all. It spoke of weariness, of yearning, but most of all, it spoke of irredeemable regret. It was the waters of this new ocean that swiftly crashed against the sandy shore of the man’s crusty, crumbling heart, then slowly washed away all the spirit to fight. Or more aptly put, perhaps it was the will to kill.

With a small spray of crimson, Skyle’s knife bit into the old man’s side, just under the armpit. As he had previously imagined, there was little resistance as the cold tip punctured cloth, then parted skin to sink deeply into yielding flesh. The knife in Skyle’s hands didn’t waver at all as it sought for the man’s beating heart.

It found it, but in that last moment, Skyle looked into the man’s eyes and was surprised to see no anger, no unwillingness, but rather simple and elegant acceptance.

Then Leon’s blow struck, cleaving the man’s shoulder almost in half, sending a frightful shower of blood fountaining into the air. Through it all, the old man held his unwavering gaze on Skyle, only shuddering slightly as the grievous wound was inflicted. It was only after a long moment of silence, during which Leon released his grip on his axe and staggered back a couple steps with a confused look on his face, glancing back and forth from the old man to Skyle, that the man gave an overt acknowledgement of the fact that he had been struck, and grievously wounded at that, by a slight trembling of his legs.

The old man’s knees slowly started to give way, and Skyle wanted more than anything to close his eyes, to escape the terrible guilt he saw in the small, boyish face he saw reflected inside the old man’s placid eyes. A man’s life lay bleeding at his feet, and this time it had been no accident.

No, it had been coldly premeditated. There had been no panic this time. Instead, Skyle had known it was a choice between two lives, and have made his decision in full understanding of the consequences.

It had been the lesser of two evils.

It the only choice left in this new world Skyle had just stepped into, the world of adults.

The real world.

Skyle knew he could have made no other choice, but it hardly made him feel any better about it. Still, even though he wanted more than anything to escape the guilt, and close his eyes for a moment while the old man drew his last breaths, something told him that would perhaps be an even greater evil than his previous act.

At least he would accept the consequences of his own actions, and look into the eyes of the first man he had chosen to kill in cold blood.

The old man was first to break off eye contact. As his legs finally gave way under him completely and he collapsed towards the ground, his eyes briefly glanced to the side, where Leon stood with a bewildered expression on his face.

“Ah, another boy. And to think I almost-” The old man said softly, and tried to chuckle but only coughed up blood.

Then he returned his gaze to Skyle as the boy knelt in front of him in solemn silence.

“Thank you,” The old man said while nodding meaningfully to Skyle, and the boy still couldn’t find any words.

With a visible effort, the old man pushed the bow in his hands into Skyle’s numb fingers.

“Moon Shadow,” he panted raggedly, with a proud look in his eyes. “My final.. Masterpiece. May it.. Redeem.. Safeguard..”

The man coughed feebly once again, but visibly gathered himself in order to force a few more words.

“Go.. Shrine.. Of Tears..”

With this, the man seemed satisfied at last. As his eyes slowly drifted close and the last of the light within them faded away, a last whisper floated in the air between Skyle and the old man.

"Ah, the yellow flowers.. Missed th.."

Then the man was no more, and Skyle finally spoke, though it was too late to be heard.

“I’m sorry.”

Then the young boy suddenly become a man wept bitter tears, for such is the price of murder.

It is dear, this price.

Very dear indeed.

Especially that of murdered innocence.