Escape

"Master Huros, wake up," spoke a gentle voice, a gentle prod accompanying it.

The sweetest of voices, Jeuni observed, turning over. Keeping his eyes closed, he smiled blissfully. So sweet. Sweet like the voice that sang about the South. His eyes snapped open and he sat up, pushing the sheets aside. There she was, by the open door, standing next to an old friend of the juggler's.

"Gyurot?" asked Jeuni, blinking repeatedly. His head hurt and his body ached all over. "Is this another dream?"

"Hah! You're awake, Jeuni," said the man in the doorway.

"Where am I?" Looking around, it wasn't hard to tell that he wasn't in his shack. First, he was in a real bed; second, the room's decor was so extravagant that there was no way he was even anywhere close to his neighborhood. Floral murals covered the walls. An oil lamp—a luxury in his town—sat upon a gilded night stand.

"A place called the Golden Swan, Master Huros," piped the girl.

Jeuni glanced questioningly at his friend. The Golden Swan, Gyurot's place of work, was the fancier of the town's two inns, and also served as a brothel. Content with the three pillars of his lifestyle—having fun on stage, earning cash easy, and drinking to excess—Jeuni had rarely visited the establishment.

"The room's on your manager, Jeuni," responded Gyurot. "I sent him a message when this girl turned up with your half-dead body in tow, and he said he would take care of any expenses, so you can rest all you want."

"Rest?" asked Jeuni. The throbbing in his temples redoubled. "Why rouse me, then?"

"Kihara here thought you should have some food and drink," replied Gyurot. "She told me you hadn't eaten in more than two days, and that you collapsed during some weird masochistic hike in the forest, dehydrated and starving."

"Kihara?" the juggler asked. "That's your name?"

"Yes," chirped the girl. Though her mouth showed a smile, her eyes still held the desperation and sorrow that Jeuni recalled seeing in them before. "So, would Master Huros like a little breakfast?"

"That might be a good idea," said the juggler.

"Wait here, I'll be right back with it." So declaring, Kihara turned and dashed from the room, her slim feet falling softly on the scarlet carpeting.

"Sweet girl," Gyurot observed. "You did a good job, Jeuni!" The juggler's friend cracked a smile.

Nonplussed by Gyurot's comment, Jeuni took a moment to size up his friend. Brown hair, brown eyes, brown skin. The norm for this part of Byhr. I look the same. Yet after two days of nightmares featuring the golden-eyed giant and two brief encounters with pale-skinned, blue-haired Kihara, the mundane appearance of Gyurot seemed almost exotic.

"Jeuni?"

"Oh. A good job of what?"

"With that girl. She's completely infatuated with you, man." Gyurot chuckled. "I wish someone like her would drag me to a place like this."

"Stuff it, Gyurot," Jeuni growled, remembering exactly why he hadn't seen his friend in a long time. The bad jokes were often too much. He would have reprimanded his friend further were it not for Kihara's eyes. He didn't want to joke and laugh with Gyurot; he wanted to answer the crimson question of those eyes. What does it mean? The sorrow, the desolation. She's asking me for something, but I can't figure it out...

"What's wrong, Jeuni?" the man asked, stepping closer to the juggler's bed. "You really seem out of sorts."

"Go to hell, man-whore," Jeuni muttered.

"That's harsh," laughed Gyurot. "You know I'm only a janitor here!"

"Go to hell."

"Yeesh. That's how you talk to someone who had a part in saving your life? You know, Jeuni, you really were half-dead when she brought you here. Though admittedly I haven't been watching the whole time; maybe she worked some magic on you or something."

"Damn it, Gyurot, shut the hell up. She can't be more than thirteen or fourteen."

"Hasn't stopped you before," prodded the janitor.

"The hell? You say that like I've been in this position before. Listen, Gyurot, I know you work here and that you clean up after all kinds of unspeakable things—" Gyurot smiled and opened his mouth as though about to challenge just how unspeakable those things were "—and that it's probably affected your mind an awful lot, but please try to be normal for once? Consider things. She's weird."

"Don't lecture me about careers," Gyurot warned. "I remember a time when you weren't renowned for your alcoholism. Drinking isn't exactly a living, Jeuni." Jeuni didn't respond. After a moment's pause, Gyurot's smile disappeared and he furrowed his brow. "But yeah, she's weird, alright. Kihara? I don't know what region that name is from, but it's sure not anywhere near here. My best guess is the west, maybe Ryn, but the way her hair moves is really weird, and—"

"Her eyes," muttered Jeuni, shivering as he thought of them. Before Gyurot could respond, Kihara came back in through the open door, a tray full of food in her hands.

"Breakfast!" she exclaimed cheerfully.

Gyurot excused himself without a word, brandishing a mop to indicate that he had work to get to. Jeuni almost didn't notice his friend leaving as his gaze was absorbed by the girl's red pupils. Kihara stepped over to the juggler's bedside and placed the tray on his lap, keeping her eyes locked on his.

"Eat," she cooed, and it was more than just a suggestion. Jeuni began eating, tearing into the roll and sausage. He didn't taste a thing as he consumed the meal, but his previously empty stomach filled until he was content.

Jeuni reached for the pitcher of water on the tray and poured the cool liquid down his throat. It was oddly refreshing, oddly crisp, he thought, and then he realized he hadn't had pure water to drink in ages—months, if not a year or two. All he drank these days was alcohol. Alcohol! Suddenly, the thought came to him to go over to the tavern, to drink himself into oblivion with cheap Western gin, and that thought seemed rather nice. Especially with Kihara's eyes boring into his so intensely. He at once needed to talk to her, to find out what she wanted, to figure out why her song had called him from his shack—and to run away, to put as much distance between himself and those eyes as he could.

Don't look at me, he mouthed. Don't look at me!

Jeuni couldn't take Kihara's gaze any longer. He shut his eyes and leapt from the bed, knocking the tray and its remaining contents over. Water, butter, bread crumbs, and a few scraps of sausage skin fell to the floor. Kihara's immediate response was to kneel down and begin cleaning the mess. Jeuni, taking advantage of the distraction, grabbed his boots from the foot of the bed, slipped them on, and ran from the room as best he could with his somewhat stiff legs and pounding headache.

The juggler limped out of the Golden Swan, making a note to himself to never return, hoping to avoid Gyurot and his rotten humor. The man really was unpleasant. But despite this complaint, Jeuni was grateful to his manager for covering the inn expenses, and to his old friend for watching out for him. He liked to think he would do the same. In fact, he liked to think anything, because any thought to keep his mind off Kihara's eyes—

Any thought to keep his mind off what Kihara's eyes held—

Jeuni shook his head furiously as he made for the tavern. The juggler noticed that though he had just eaten 'breakfast,' it was dark out. It was nighttime (and damn freezing!), past the usual time of his juggling act. This would be the third day of his absence; he would need to apologize to anyone he saw at the tavern. The reason for his truancy, previously pushed from his mind by Kihara, came back to him; he remembered lying on his cot in a fevered sleep, waking every so often only to see the armor of the man he had killed. With this in mind, and the conscious thought that he needed to forget Kihara's eyes, he doubled his speed, breaking into the tavern like a madman and seating himself at the bar with little elegance.

"Welcome to—oh, Master Huros!—er, not yourself today," the bartender observed wryly, looking back down at the glass he was cleaning.

"No," answered Jeuni, "which is why I'm gonna return to normal now."

"Alcohol panacea?" the bartender chuckled, dropping his rag and pouring a glass full of the juggler's hated Western gin. "Your manager seemed pretty upset when he heard the news, you know. He's probably going to come down on you hard for missing work."

"Probably," agreed Jeuni before downing the glass and belching. "Damn good stuff."

"Thought you hated it?" asked the bartender as he prepared a second glass. He didn't need to be asked for one; it was obvious that Jeuni intended to drink until he couldn't drink anymore.

"Haven't had a drink in days. I don't think I can afford hate. Alcohol is alcohol!" With this, he smiled, much to the chagrin of the bartender, who noted that the juggler was not becoming more like himself. Where were the curses, the complaints, the overblown jokes, he wondered. Jeuni was not himself, not himself at all.

"Is she the cause?" the bartender wondered aloud, more to himself than anyone, alerting Jeuni to the presence of the blue-haired girl. She stood just inside the tavern, leaning back against the door frame and looking calm as ever, even though Jeuni figured she must have had to run like hell to catch up to him. Or maybe she used some kind of magic. She sure didn't look like she'd just been running.

Seeing that she had been noticed, she straightened herself and took a step toward the bar, opening her mouth to address the juggler.

Jeuni was vaguely aware of the edge of the counter digging into his lower back as the toes of his boots pushed desperately against the slick tavern floor. The bartender was saying something he could not make out. Kihara's lips were moving but if they were forming words, Jeuni did not know in what language. Her hair was blowing wildly, and he could feel the wind that stirred it. Her eyes were the only stationary thing in the scene, reflecting the still sorrow and despair that so frightened the juggler. Suddenly the pain in the juggler's back became acute and he realized that, in shrinking away from the blue-haired girl, he was concurrently doing a fair job of pushing his back toward its breaking point.

Deciding that he needed an alternative route away from Kihara, he bounded forward and past the girl in a flash, his back aching as he ran. He hadn't left the tavern far behind by the time he started hobbling, the new pain in his back added to his various aches making it impossible to move quickly. Jeuni wasn't worried about meeting his manager or balancing his tab. All he could think about was how terrifying those red eyes were, for in the tavern they held something he hadn't seen in them before: the promise of his death.

The juggler needed peace from those eyes, time alone, time with just himself.

But when Jeuni entered his shack, what he found was not peace. He found the empty suit of blue plate-mail, a color that reminded him of Kihara's light hair. The splotches of blood marring the armor brought his thoughts back to the girl's eyes. He turned back to the door so as to not be facing the armor only to see that girl with her indomitable smile and terrifying red eyes standing just outside his shack. He had forgotten to close the door upon entering, and now it was too late. He was too frightened to move closer to the girl, too frightened to reach out and slam the door shut.

Kihara, still smiling, first put one foot over the threshold, then the other. Her arms dangled by her sides, hidden in the sleeves of her oversized white coat. The wind that affected nothing else still hung around her hair, blowing it this way and that as she entered Jeuni's tiny home. His one-room shack was so small that just by standing inside it at the same time, their bodies were almost touching. The juggler couldn't back away any farther; his heel was against the giant's armor, which in turn rested against the wall. His shack was simply too small; he had nowhere to run.

There was no escape, he realized as he peered into Kihara's eyes. They were all he could see, giant pools into which to dive. Her smile, a faint blur at the bottom of his field of vision, was an invitation to enter. Jeuni's thought: Does she not blink?

"Finally," Kihara murmured, "we can talk now."

Jeuni's thought: Perhaps no one can find peace in these war-torn Midlands.

And she said, silently, with her eyes: Peace is here.

Jeuni replied, silently, through her eyes: You don't know what I've seen.

Kihara's eyes moved as she peered over the juggler's shoulder, standing on tiptoes. He could feel her breath on his neck. The girl confirmed something, sighed, and returned her eyes to where they needed to be, in front of Jeuni's.

Don't you want to see it? she asked.

It's not what I hoped it was, he answered.

Neither is this place.

I know that now.

Did you not know it before?

I've known it my whole life.

You want to run away.

I wanted to run away.

You still want to run away.

Not to the South.

But you did.

I tried.

You can try again.

Everyone tries once.

Everyone tries at least once.

I won't make it.

You might make it.

"Why am I talking to you?" Jeuni asked. He took a step back, tripping over the pile of armor. He stumbled, fell sideways, landed on his cot, and hit his head lightly against the wall.

"Because I came to show you the South," was Kihara's answer, and once again Jeuni saw that scene with the letters of blood written out on the broken cobblestones. It flashed by in a hurry and left him sweating, still lying on the cot in the corner.

"Leave me alone," he whispered, the anguish of his previous fevered sleep returning. "I can find peace alone." He knew he was lying. He knew he didn't want to be alone. Not for the last eight years, not in the future. "I will find peace! Peace from this damned freezing winter, and—"

"Master Huros, the Byhryn clime is fairly moderate—"

"Shut up! It's cold. And these damn wars all the time! Byhr and its better world! Well I say damn its better world. Damn it to hell. Damn these Midlands. Damn this town!"

"Master Huros, that's enough—" Kihara's voice resonated with concern but Jeuni was free of its spell. He wasn't going to listen to the blue-haired girl; he wasn't going to calm down. He was going to find his peace, and he wouldn't let anyone—not even this girl and the promise in her eyes—stop him.

Or.

Maybe he was accepting what her eyes held as he produced a knife from his sleeve and pointed it at his own heart.

"Master Huros! That's a bit much! Calm down!" The voice was sweet no more, magical no more. It was the voice of a girl, a worried human girl.

Kihara was no longer smiling: her face expressed more worry than she warranted having for the juggler she'd only just met. Jeuni smiled for her as he tightened his grip on the dagger. He was going to die with what his best friend called "a good job" watching over him. As he stretched his arm out, preparing for the plunge, he remembered the girl's song and its beautiful, pained melody. All that beauty, all that sweetness, worried about him? The juggler chuckled as he drove the dagger toward his chest.

To erase my nightmares. To erase the beast-man's blood.
To erase the wars. To erase the battles. To erase the corpses.
To erase my magic. To erase my past.
The curtain will wipe it all away.

"The curtain falls."

Jeuni never felt the blade. He watched in horror as his cloak was stained red with blood that wasn't his. He watched Kihara's arms wrap around him, watched her face reach toward his. He watched her crimson eyes, inches from his, glaze over. He watched her die until the breeze around her head died too and silver-blue locks descended to block his vision. He felt her body spasm against his, against the dagger in his hand. He couldn't let go of it and she couldn't let go of him.

Unable to form any coherent mental reaction to this turn of events, much less do anything in response, the juggler simply lay there upon his cot, the blue-haired girl upon him, them both soaked in her blood.