10. Violet and Crimson
Violet and Crimson
“While–hopefully–untested, Aria’s hypothesis would explain why scythes more often appear in the forms of people who have gone missing near their Forest. While scythes have exhibited predatory behavior towards humans in the past, it is unclear if they hunt humans for food, for sport, or are simply territorial, as they only seem to present a threat within Night Sky Forest.”
Flora opened her eyes what felt like a moment later.
The sun’s blinding light always arrived, and with it, a shocking need for adjustment.
She waded in the creek at the center of the village, the water rushing past to where it would empty into the vast Crescent River.
She felt rejuvenated as her injuries from the day before were wiped clean by the water with an icy burn.
She gripped the journal tight with her left hand.
“Well… she’s asleep,” Noec narrated, looking like he had been moments from falling asleep himself.
He cleared his throat, shielding his eyes from the sun.
“Sorry… I took you home through the creek yesterday,” he explained.
“It was closer than going all the way to the spring, though I know you prefer the ceremony of waking up to Lunara’s Spring.
” Flora squeezed his hand in reply, then let go.
Flora and Noec looked out at the village. Rachel, tending to his crops, glared nervously at Flora before setting down his watering can and shutting himself inside.
“It wasn’t me,” Flora said to herself.
“Of course it wasn’t you.”
She heard Heron’s strong, yet gentle voice. He stood leaning on the bridge nearby, his gray hair disheveled as he looked down at them.
“Startled me there,” he said. “It’s been a while since I’ve watched you appear.” He glanced down at Flora and added, “Late night, I suppose? I was wondering when you would get here.”
“Heron, I swear…”
“Florabelle.” Heron watched Flora with a steady gaze, walking down and off the bridge. “We know you. As much as we know our own nephew.”
Flora felt a whisper of relief, though she also felt Heron peer curiously at the journal under her arm.
“It’s why I was at Sona’s the other night,” she hurried to explain. “To research the scythe we met on the road.” Flora knew better than to use her name aloud.
Noec looked taken aback, glancing between Flora and the book for a moment. Still, he defended, “And Flora couldn’t have stayed past midnight, because?—”
“Settle down,” Heron said, steady, but with the silencing command of an officer. “No one is listening to the theories of that crazy old man.” Heron sighed, looking off toward Sona’s hut. “Regardless of where you were and when,” he continued, “what was done to Sona was beyond human hands.”
At first, Flora didn’t understand. But, as his meaning dawned on her, she swallowed.
Sona was not killed; she was butchered.
As much horror as his words brought, they might have given Flora a tiny measure of comfort as well.
“So it wasn’t Perri,” Flora sighed.
“No, I wouldn’t suppose so,” Heron responded. “We haven’t seen any sign of him still,” he added, looking off towards the woods. “Except…” he stopped himself and sighed. “We’ll talk about it inside. Come now, you two. The princess is waiting for you at the house.”
Heron led the way to their cozy stone home, with stacks of firewood piled along the wall. He placed his hand on the doorknob. Quietly, he said to them, “Yesterday was a long day for her. Make sure she knows she’s not alone.”
Flora inhaled the warm aroma of dwindling cedar embers as they stepped inside, a scent she knew to mean she had returned to safety. The walls were filled with paintings she had practiced with Elia and her daughter, and the table was always set with an extra place for Flora.
Aonia was perched stiffly on the old red couch, staring vacantly at the fireplace that crackled ahead. “Elia’s visiting with Thaola,” she informed them in a hollow monotone.
“Aonia,” Heron began, cautiously leaning his hands against the back of the couch. “Grease and your other men still haven’t returned. I don’t think… ” he sighed. “I don’t think it’s worth the risk to keep sending search parties, especially not into the Forest. You saw it yourself. The… ” He paused.
“The blood,” Aonia replied numbly.
Noec stiffened in place.
“He’s not…” Heron began. He glanced back at Noec briefly and sighed. Gently, he continued, “Princess, it may be safe to assume that Perri is no longer with us.”
Flora stepped forward, her eyes wide in alarm. “He could have healed in the water,” she offered. “He must have. If his body wasn’t where we left him.”
Aonia chuckled—a sad, forlorn sound. Flora and Noec exchanged a concerned look.
Heron’s shoulders sank. “From the trail of blood, it looked like Perri tried to crawl toward the spring. But the trail ended before he made it there,” he explained. “And tracked through the blood were… footprints.”
“Scythe prints,” Aonia corrected quietly.
No, Flora thought, beginning to feel faint.
“There was… so much blood.” Aonia swallowed, her voice fraying.
“As sickly as Perri was already…” She paused and exhaled with a shallow sigh, her faltering expression chilling into apathy.
As a good princess would, she straightened her posture and steadied her voice.
“Perhaps you’re correct, Heron,” she said.
“There is no sense in risking more lives.”
“No…” Noec whispered, looking down at his hands. “No, he can’t be dead. I didn’t… he shouldn’t be dead.”
“You did what you had to do,” Aonia sighed. “We knew Perri didn’t have long to live, even before all this,” she added.
“It doesn’t make it any easier, I know,” Heron replied.
“I plan on asking your father to lend me his Hunters, to investigate these scythes wandering outside of the Forest.” He sighed and crossed his arms, looking back to Noec and Flora.
“For now, be wise,” he said, and his eyes flicked to Noec’s bag.
“Keep your eyes open and your blade ready.”
Soberly, Noec nodded in response. Heron studied his nephew for a moment. “Neither of you are to blame,” he assured them. He patted Noec’s shoulder and leaned in. “Grief will tempt you to believe otherwise.”
“Thanks, Heron,” Flora said when Noec didn’t reply. Lightly, she touched Noec’s arm, but he didn’t look up as his brow creased. Heron offered her a weak smile and a nod before walking off toward the kitchen.
Aonia’s eyes remained fixed upon the twisting flames ahead, silent. Flora settled next to her on the couch. “I’m sorry, Nia,” she said softly. “I wish we knew more.” Flora glanced at the journal in her lap, the binding pulling at the edges. She wished she knew less.
They listened to the clatter of dishes shifting in the kitchen as Heron grumbled to himself. After a few minutes, their still lament was disturbed by Noec’s contemplative pacing behind them. The steps of his boots sped up in tempo, then stopped entirely.
“Florabelle,” Noec started, and Flora glanced back to where he now stood close behind.
Noec’s eyes flicked to the journal in Flora’s hands.
“You’ve been walking around with Sona’s journal since she was killed,” he said, and Flora immediately tensed as though it were an accusation.
Curious, he peered over her shoulder and continued carefully, “No one knew more about the scythes than Sona. Have you… learned anything?”
“Maybe this isn’t the time,” Flora replied, nervous as she glanced down at the book and leaned away.
“We’re starving for information, Flora,” Noec pleaded softly. He tried to meet her eyes and sighed, adding, “And… I’d really like to understand what happened to Feya.”
At the sound of her name, Heron abruptly halted his mindless reorganizing of the kitchen.
Aonia broke from her stupor, her eyes darting to Flora’s in alarm. “If you know something about Feya,” Aonia coaxed tensely, “it might shed some light on what happened to Perri.”
Flora gulped, wondering if there was any way to break this news lightly. She inhaled sharply, then exhaled with a sigh. No, there certainly wasn’t.
“Page 258,” she said after a long pause, slowly beginning to turn the pages.
“Page 258 is where Sona logged theories on how scythes mimic human forms.” She felt the soft pages slide under her fingertips.
256, 257—she braced herself and took a breath—258.
Noec and Aonia hovered curiously over her shoulder, and Heron continued wiping a long-since dried bowl with a towel as his eyes glanced their way.
Flora began to read:
“While it would appear that most of the Night Sky race of Scytherax can shapeshift into many human forms, it is unclear how they are able to mimic a human’s form at all, particularly with the inability to see.”
“A curious question indeed,” Aonia commented, tapping her lip. “The Night Sky scythes are the only breed of Scytherax known to be blind.”
Flora paused, knowing what came next. She continued:
“Though my correspondence with Aria has dwindled, her leading theory was that the Scytherax were able to collect human forms by extracting biological material, able to then mimic their genetic makeup after the consumption of flesh or blood.”
Flora heard the cracking of ceramic in Heron’s hand. “What…” Heron muttered as a piece fell to the floor. “What does that mean?”
There was silence among them as a bitter understanding began to sink into Noec’s eyes. “That scythe on the path…” Noec mumbled, his voice strained as he continued, “was the scythe that took Feya.” He backed up and collapsed into the chair behind him. “Consumed Feya. And I just… let it walk away.”
After a long moment, Heron snorted. “Did you say… Aria?” His laughter rattled the tense air.
“Are you kidding me? Isn’t that the same researcher that King Velo had removed from his court for suggesting they keep a scythe as a pet?
” He bent over, chuckling to himself as he picked up a piece of the broken bowl off the floor.
“After what happened last time they dragged a scythe through the castle?”
“Yes, that’s her,” Aonia replied. She huffed a nervous laugh.
Noec looked up at Heron from where he sat with his head in his hands. “Right,” he said with a composing breath, his eyes shifting to Flora. “Thank you, Flora,” he said. “I’m glad you looked into it.”
She smiled faintly, wondering if he meant a word.
A few moments of solemn silence passed before a kind voice called from outside the door.
“Kids?” The door creaked open. “Kids... I need you to come outside.” Elia’s voice wavered, and Flora stiffened at the sound.
The silhouette in the doorway trembled, and her hand clung to her mouth.
And though her face was hidden behind a short cascade of hair, Flora knew: Elia was crying.
Heron’s worry was palpable. “Elia? Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
Elia’s hair caught the light with shimmers of gold—blonde, like it used to be. “I... I just need to talk to them,” she whispered before turning and walking out of the room.
“Of course,” Flora replied quietly as Elia shut the door.
The silence that followed was stifling. Noec and Flora exchanged a glance, their concern mirrored in each other’s eyes. They held their breath as they moved toward the door. Perhaps Rachel wasn’t the only one who suspected Flora to be a murderer.
Noec reached for the door, hesitating briefly before pulling it open. Flora trailed behind him as they stepped outside.
“Elia?” Noec called, letting the door click shut. “Where’d you go?”
The yard was empty.
“She said I might find you here.”
The voice was Elia’s, but there was an unfamiliar coarseness to the way she spoke. Flora turned, her eyes following the sound up to the roof, where flecks of ash blew away in the wind. Her breath caught at the sight.
It had hidden its eyes.