"Carine - Farren" by Michelle Krantz

Carine watched Farren laugh, his eyes shining in the firelight. To her, the most wonderful sound; filled with utter joy. The joy of life itself.

How she longed for it. To feel arms – his arms – around her and hear sweet words, and reply in kind. To have someone care…

But such was foolishness for her. She had chosen her life and a Servant of Death had no place in joy.

A twig snapped somewhere in the forest. She had been lax in her duties as sentry.

All her senses were instantly alert. Her eyes and ears scanned the darkness for the danger her instincts told her was there.

Suddenly, Ziane was before her. The aurer had sprouted an arrow from the back of her head. She stood for a moment, unmoving, before falling limply to the ground.

And then from nowhere they came. Yet everywhere. Hundreds it seemed, one undead upon another, like waves upon a shore.

Carine forgot her dignity, forgot her purpose, and dashed for the only thing that mattered in that moment. "Farren!"

Waves of undead broke between them. She fought toward him, barely looking at the foes she struck down. She watched in horror when he disappeared beneath the roiling sea of undead.

Her fight became that much more desperate. She was now fixated on the spot where he had disappeared. She was nearly there. She could save him.

But a tall figure suddenly barred her path. He towered over her. His shabby cloak, once worthy of royalty, was fastened over his shoulder at her eye level.

She could not keep herself from looking up into his face, even though she knew she would doom them all when she did. Her black eyes met his cold, sunken ones and she was helpless.

Pure terror engulfed her body, making her unable to move and nearly unable to breathe. All she could do was stand and stare into the face of the necromancer while around her his minions tried to butcher the rest of her party. She stood for one minute, then another, and another. All the while her mind screamed that she must do something.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Farren reappear slowly. She fought back against the terror, finding strength enough to raise her sword to her foe. "You will not own me, Bardel," she said hoarsely.

He laughed wickedly, showing his rotting teeth in a malicious grin. "Oh, but I do," he hissed, turning his head and following her gaze back to where Farren stood.

Stood. Not fought. Why did he not fight?

Farren turned to face her. Blood still oozed from a wound to his forehead, matting his brown hair and painting one side of his face crimson.

She met his eyes and felt her heart stop. The joy was gone. There was no life left in his eyes. He had become undead.

"… No." For a moment, Carine wished her heart would never beat again.

Then the terror claimed her mind.

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She awoke, crying, to a mournful wail and stark reality. Farren was gone. Farren had been gone for months.

Only when she paused for breath did she realize she had been the one screaming. She felt her heart would burst with despair. She hoped it would. To set her free of her own mind and memories, if nothing else. To not feel…

Strong arms lifted her into a sitting position and held her close to a broad chest. She did not open her eyes. Whether those arms caressed or crushed, soothed or smothered, she did not care.

She wept on, no longer caring who witnessed her weakness. The arms held her close as she mourned, and a man’s voice tried to soothe her with gentle words. But how could he know there was no way to soothe the rasping emptiness within her?

She wept for hours, well past the point of tears, until only silent sobs wracked her small body. Eventually, too exhausted to continue, she fell back into unconsciousness.