The Frozen Moon

chapter SIXTEEN: MOVING ON





When her thoughts began to clear, she could think only of Eve and Gwen; what had become of them? She felt something warm encircling her tightly, giving her the feeling of being a child pulled up onto her father’s lap. It was this that caused her to snap into reality, opening her eyes slowly only to snap them shut again once she realized that she had a splitting headache.

“Guys, I think she’s awake,” said a soft voice that sounded near. Hushed exchanges of words followed, then movement on all sides. Did she dare try to open her eyes again? The only action Nameh desired was to slip back into the darkened sleep she had prematurely emerged from. She decided to assess her damage first. She twitched her toes, then her ankles, legs, hips, spine-ouch. She moved her spine slightly again, and was greeted with a sharp pain up her back, and learned quickly not to do that again. She continued with her fingers, wrists, shoulders, neck-that was the second thing she wouldn’t move again. Her damage now assessed, she slowly opened her eyes again, and found a strange scene about her. She was still in the warehouse, she must not have blacked out for too long. She glanced up to see soft faces looking down on her, even in the dim light they looked framed with white; her eyes hadn’t yet adjusted. Seth’s harsh features now took a softer, more concerned light, as they all did. She realized that the warmth she had felt around her were arms, she was being carried by Seth, Cal, Max, and Talar. Though she had nearly died, she was still surprised how comfortable she felt in the arms of her friends. She thought it strange that four of them were needed to carry her, but then they were all fatigued beyond measure.

“Thanks for joining us,” Seth said in his low, raspy voice.

“Yeah, well I thought I’d grace you with my presence,” she mumbled. There was laughter nearby, and she realized that Wyd and Mira also followed. She was now growing more conscious of her own body, as though her mind was crawling slowly back into it. She hung in midair, cradled by four separate points; it was not exactly a comfortable situation.

“Yeah, guys? You can put me down now.” Her voice cracked slightly, sounding softer than usual. She missed the usual bite to it.

There was a grumbled response as she was placed lightly against the wall. She tried to hide a cringe at the pain that raced up her back and neck. More arms touched her shoulders, trying to help her get into a sitting position.

“Thanks, but I think I can sit up on my own.” Her voice held certainty that her mind didn’t; could she sit up on her own? The arms retreated, but she still felt the warmth of bodies near. Now she could feel more pain setting in as the detached feeling faded; her left shoulder had surely suffered damage, and she’d taken a hit-probably a fall-to a hip.

“Don’t take it personally,” she heard Mira’s voice say, “she’s not big on the whole help thing.” Nameh laughed in response to her friend’s truth, the laughter rattled in her chest, sounding sick and weak.

She hated weakness.

“You don’t sound well,” said Cal with a worried tone.

“I’m fine, it’s just my back and neck, I took a pretty hard fall. Just have to walk it off, I think.”

“Ha, walk it off.” Cal seemed genuinely amused at this thought. He cracked his fingers-yes, actually cracked his fingers, and placed their tips just inches from her neck. His eyes closed and she immediately felt warmth flow down her back and neck. It was as though she were in a hot shower and the water was trickling down her skin as well as beneath it. When the warmth subsided, all the pain she had felt was gone, but the fatigue was still there.

“So, a Healer,” she grinned, “impressive.” It truly was impressive, she hadn’t met a healer before, but Cal struck her as the type. She was beginning to think that all talents were determined by suitability to personality.

“Why don’t we get her back to The Corner.” Talar said as more of a statement than a question. She saw that he was now in human form, and looked ragged and tired. In fact, everyone looked this way: smeared makeup and blood, torn formal clothes, and drawn expressions.

“Wait,” she said. “Where’s Gwen and Eve?” The responsive looks on their faces were not comforting. The silence that followed added to the dreadful feeling in the pit of her stomach. As usual, Max was the first to form the words.

“We…weren’t fast enough.” He seemed as though he couldn’t say anything else, but that was all that needed to be said. The feeling that filled her was what she had come to expect; sorrow was nearly absent, anger and rage threatened to spill over her control. Her hands tightened into fists; she had promised herself that she would allow none of them to die. Images from the short amount of time she had known the girls flashed through her mind. Gwen in the deep blue dress she had worn, and Eve in the soft yellow. The girls hadn’t been as slight as she or Mira, they were somewhat sturdier, she recalled. The last image before her was that of Gwen’s eyes, the one thing she would never forget. Their ghost blue hue now held more truth in the description than it ever had, the pale irises were the fuzzy and distant views of a memory. The eyes seemed to plead with her, longing for the life that they could never again reclaim. She swore that she would die before any of them were taken, yet here she remained, broken yet thriving. The weight of her silent promise laid upon her chest, crushing each breath from her tired lungs, and smothering any condolence she should have taken from the lives of those gathered in around her.

The sorrow set in.

She felt the anger inside her pulling dangerously at the chains she had restrung, but she had no intentions of releasing it again. Nameh didn’t know how many more friends she could let slip in and out of her life in the blink of an eye before she snapped. She hadn’t even had the time to get to know them. Sometimes, it was the people she barely knew that caused her the most pain at death. So many had fallen around her, yet she, with all of her blood lust and spiteful intentions, still stood.

“Nameh, there’s nothing you could have done,” said a voice from around her. She didn’t know who the voice had come from, but it didn’t matter. The person was not what she was focused on, but the words.

“There’s always something you can do.” Her voice came shakily through gritted teeth, she wondered if the others could hear the heavy restraint in her voice. She heard Seth’s weak laugh, which surprised her.

“You were practically dead, and dragging yourself across the floor.” She turned to see the smile flash across his face, and could not keep one from her own. Simply being in the presence of the group was easing the self-hatred that now twisted at her throat. The somber tone resumed, and there was a stifling silence. She felt sorrow and doubt, but she felt no tears come; she knew that there would be tears in the eyes of the others but that didn’t change anything. She hadn’t cried in so long, it felt as though her tear ducts were calloused over.

“Alright,” she said softly, her eyes in a glazed stare, focused on nothing, “let’s get out of here.” Her words struck dead against the floor, nearly as empty and devoid of feeling as the pit in her stomach.





The sickly yellow light gave Nameh’s skin an unbecoming look of jaundice. Her dark eye makeup was smeared down her face from sweat, where it mingled with the blood and silver glitter. Black, red, and silver, like some moonlit rose, she thought. Her thoughts scoffed at the concept, a moonlit rose? More like some black angel of death, wrapped in a shawl of silver and painted with the vibrant life of scarlet blood.

Her dress was only slightly tattered, perhaps she could mend it, but then again, she would probably never need it again. Images of death danced through her mind, tracing graceful pirouettes across the inside of her eyelids. The hot steam from the shower welcomed her more readily than an old friend, embracing her with its dewy fingers. She could feel the grime melting from her before she even touched the water. She went through her mental process as the crystalline needles struck her skin and burned at her wounds. She blocked out the memory, sealed it over with detachment as she always did. Reason ticked through her mind, once again giving her the reason for the loss. It’s for the greater good, she told herself, if you don’t get over this, what good are you going to be in battle? You hardly even knew them… She felt the stony silence of her heart, and eased back into comfort of sorts. Still, these deaths would haunt her for a time. She had never succeeded in making herself completely cut off from emotion as she sometimes wished she could be, but the blood of all those she had watched die accumulated over the years, seeming to dilute her sorrow as more and more filled her.

She could hear Mira pacing outside the door, restless from the experiences. Her heart ached for her friend, who hadn’t been forced to deal with as much loss as she had. At this point, Nameh knew the procedure, and that this was nothing she couldn’t cope with. She dried her hair, stepping out of the small shower; the bristled ends brushed against her back. Her oversized t-shirt and warm flannel shorts lay across the towel rack. She pulled them on; relishing the shallow level of warmth they brought her. If only they could do more than scratch at the surface of her bone-deep chill. She almost smiled at the irony of the angel paint splattered across her black t-shirt. Almost.

She moved the pure white towel from her hair to her face, where she wiped away the remnants of mascara that soap had failed to cleanse. She tossed the towel aside, now streaked black.

She emerged from the bathroom a new person, already the same Nameh as she had always been, or so it seemed from the outside. Inside, she knew that she never would be the same, that each death affects a person no matter how many they experience, but outside she was stoic. Mira’s hair hung in stretched curls from the weight of the water it was holding, fitting, she thought. If only there was something she could say, anything that might ease her pain, she thought, but she knew there was not. The only elixir for such an ailment is the sweet song of time, but even so, it is a long road. Instead, she gave her friend a meaningful look, making up for how words can often fail, for how language can come up short. All the words in the entire world could not express to Mira what she wanted to at that moment. Mira was clad similarly in shorts covered in maple leaves and a long-sleeve navy shirt. The shorts had come from their trip to Canada along with Deanna. The shirt was from their trip to Paris together; she was immediately catapulted through her memories to the scene on the window ledge when they had watched the city wake. She smiled in spite of herself as she recalled how this was her last memory at the thought of losing Mira.

Before rationality could get the best of her, she scooped her friend into an embrace, finishing off the wordless conversation like an emblazoned wax seal on the scroll. They stepped into the hallway of the dimly lit building and, as usual, saw no one in the long corridor. She rapped her knuckles against the thick wood of the door next to theirs, painted with the same faded red and gold. Talar opened the door to let them in, and locked it behind them. He was wearing a sweatshirt of seemingly random colors patched together. Big swoops of blue and red and green swam around each other, giving a pleasant effect. There were three beds in the room, but four figures sat on them now: Max, Wyd, Seth, and Cal. Talar took a seat next to Max, while she and Mira sat comfortably against the wall facing the beds. The others offered their seats, which of course annoyed Nameh to no end, and they promptly turned them down.

They talked for a few minutes, the somberness slowly melting away like some massive block of ice in the shade on an autumn day. Seth and Cal announced that with Gwen and Eve gone, they would join the group. They had planned to get another room close to the two already reserved. The conversation took a casual turn, talking about music or the weather, or something devoid of true meaning.

No one wanted to speak of what had happened that night, and what had been lost just as soon as it had been gained. Cleaned of blood and the clinging scum of death at last, no one was sure who fell asleep first. Everyone was splayed out on the floor, and all of the beds lay unoccupied. She knew her legs were up against someone, and her head up against someone else, though she didn’t know or care exactly who. The last thing Nameh remembered was an unfamiliar closeness with everyone in the small room; the warmth and comfort it brought sent her drifting into the complete and restful sleep of fatigue.

The feeling of family she had developed tugged at her receding consciousness; for the first time, she was tempted not to pursue the amulet. What if they just left, and fell off of the scene of battle, never to be found or sought after by the Guild again? Maybe they could have a chance at happiness all together, what none of them could find before. The idea that she didn’t deserve any of these things, which she normally clung so tightly to, slipped out of her mind with surprising ease. These thoughts filled her head as she drifted off to sleep. She tried to shrug off the intoxicating warmth that swelled within her, but her weary mind lacked the control.

This is why she hated love. Love made you weak.