Chapter 1

“Ace,” came a soothing voice accompanied by the gentle touch of his mother’s hand stroking his hair. It was too early; he didn’t want to wake up. He expressed this by turning his face deeper into his pillow with a groan.

“Sweetie, it’s time to get up,” his mother softly insisted.

“Ughmmph,” he grumbled into the pillow. He relented slightly, turning his head to look at her with one bleary eye.

She chuckled, “Don’t make me get a cold bucket,” she said as she kissed the top of his head.

“Maaaaa,” his weak frustration was muffled by the pillow. He tried pulling the covers over his head, without much success.

“When I come back, you’d better be up and getting dressed,” she said as she left the room, opening the curtains as she did so. Resisting the early suns blinding brilliance was futile, and even if he could, would only result in a souring of his mother’s pleasantness.

He managed to sit up, his chin resting on his chest. His soft bed sheets beckoning for him to return to their comforting warmth. He rubbed his eyes, but instead his hand slid across his face, too slick to grab any traction. He looked at his hands in confusion. They were covered in blood. The front of his night shirt suddenly felt damp, and he looked down. It too was drenched in fresh crimson. He wasn’t hurt, but where had this come from? Sheer panic rose in him. This was wrong. He left bloody handprints on his spotless bed sheets as he clamored out of bed, “MAMA!” he yelled, terror suffusing his voice. He reached to open the door, but it was locked. Blood continued to drip from his fingers as he tried in vain to open the door, his slick fingers unable to gain purchase. His panic continued to rise as he frantically called for his mother, smearing the pale wood of the door with red as he pounded his small fists against it. He suddenly heard a crash on the other side of the door and froze. Voices were yelling, things were breaking. The only voice he recognized was his mothers. He slowly backed away from the door, his heart pounding in his ears.

Sudden silence.

“Mama?” the question weakly wavered from his lips. His mother screamed.

*******

Ace woke in a cold sweat, his mother’s scream echoing in his mind. He sat up on the edge of the bed breathing heavily as he waited for his racing heart to slow. Before he realized what he was doing, he looked down at his hands and bare chest. No blood. An odd sense of relief washed over him. He walked over to the washstand and splashed some cold water on his face from the basin, as though it could somehow wash away the resounding terror of his childhood. It’d been nearly twenty years since his mother had been killed, but the mixture of memory and nightmare that plagued him at night was something he’d never gotten used to. His hands gripped the edge of the stand as the water dripped from his face, falling back to the basin. Each drop seemed to fall away containing a bit of his anxiety as his nerves gradually subsided. He relaxed his grip and sighed deeply, feeling the last of his imagined panic drain away. He grabbed a towel and dried his face. A single drop had run down his neck and chest, leaving a cold trail over the tattoo just above his heart. He starred at the mirrors reflection of it; a single bleeding rose. It was a rare Marking to have, and not one a person of his kind hoped for. It was the first of his tattoos to appear, having emerged on the day of his mother’s death. It was a Marking of loss, of despair. It didn’t just mean the loss of a loved one. It meant a loss that had shattered his heart and his world; a loss that could never be fully recovered from. Aside from his father, he had yet to meet another with this particular Marking.

He tossed the towel aside and went back to bed. He knew he needed to sleep, but he wasn’t so sure he wanted to. It had been awhile since he’d dreamt of his mother’s death, but it was still the same; and he knew any sleep he managed to get now would be restless and troubled. He stared at the wooden beam above his bed, tracing the aged lines through an invisible maze. The focus stilled his mind, though the unsettling effect of the nightmare lingered.

Sighing in resignation, he threw the blankets aside and sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face in weary defeat. He glanced about the room. It was a plain, but comfortable, living space. Morning light was yet to stream through the single window, and cast its glow on the worn quilt over the bed. The fire had extinguished while he slept, a few glowing embers the only thing left of its warmth. As he stood to rekindle it he caught the gaze of his reflection in the cracked mirror over the washstand. His jaw had grown rough with scruff and strands of his dark hair refused to stay out of his face, not long enough to tie back. The young man starred back at him with silver flecks embedded in a sea of deep green; a characteristic no one else in his family had shared. It had an almost unnerving affect for anyone on the receiving end of his steely gaze. The x-shaped scar that split his left eyebrow, its longer counterpart extending a good two inches from over his brow down the side of his face, only added to the affect. He broke the stare and scratched his rough jawline, striding over to the fireplace.

The last few embers smoldered lazily, giving off a faint ruddy light. Feeding them fresh kindling, he coaxed the fire back to life as he stirred the embers. Small tongues of flame began to lick at the fresh wood, growing as it ate. It soon crackled contentedly, its shadows dancing about the room.

He remained rooted where he was, lost in thought, entranced by the blaze in front of him. As he ruminated, his right thumb idly twisted the ring around his fourth finger. He barely noticed as he felt the familiar metal surface of the knotted, interwoven pattern.

For whatever reason, his gaze was drawn to just above the blaze. He glanced above the flames, and froze, startled. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, as his gaze was met. What should have been the back of the fireplace, was as though he were looking through a hazy, colorless window. He could tell it was a woman, and she seemed almost as startled as he did. Whether it was because she hadn’t expected to see him or hadn’t expected for him to see her, he wasn’t sure, but there seemed to be an urgency about her. Her eyes were wide as she appeared to be leaning forward, trying to press her urgency. Her mouth moved, but no sound came out.

A sudden loud crash from below drew away his attention. Banging and shouting from the inns common room downstairs could be heard clearly. He looked back to the fire, but the woman in the flames was gone.

The downstairs commotion quieted for a moment. As he stood to listen at the door, a single word reverberated about his skull. He knew without question it was the voice of the woman, what she had been trying to say through the flames a few moments ago.

Run.