Epilogue: The Return

[Caira Ayryn]

Caira was later confronted with Merik, or perhaps the idea of him, much to her own dismay, especially after leaving the Town With No Name, and going to stay at Carrefour, despite how it wasn’t enough distance away from him. But then, even Camelot wouldn’t be far enough away from that scoundrel.

She smiled and sipped her hot coffee with the eyes of her old friends watching. They had the same faces as when she had left. She however, came back, only to look in the mirror and only be able to recognize her silvery purple eyes. She blinked, as though to wipe away the assumed crumbs of sand in them, but the face remained, pale, hardened, and unknown.

While the three ate dinner, there was a bit of silence that hung around the room. The dynamic was tense, as though they now had reason to fear her. They were still kind and welcoming people, but after so long, one can tell to see the look in people’s eyes. Especially the more helpless types, such as civilians who had no combat training, and only kept the musket on the wall above the fireplace in case of a home invasion.

Yes, they were afraid.

Caira, or Ayryn, whoever she was now, had felt the urge to break the silence, but was reluctant to do it without meaning. The tone of her voice, she funneled it in her throat before opening her lips, preparing so as not to sound harsh, or insensitive. She was still herself, even if the desert had changed her. Daniels tensed as though he knew she was going to say something, his eyes staggered over to her, he was a strong-willed man, and the scrapes of forks against their plates still fell on her highly tuned ears. Their eyes exchanged wordlessly for a good moment, before Caira blinked, and said the only words that would absolve her pain, “You were right.”

Tears dribbled past her chin and dripped on her meal of mashed potatoes, steak, and corn. His wife, Patty, compassionately placed a hand on Caira’s back, while Daniels just nodded, and spoke, “You did what you had to.”

...

Caira went back into the same saloon the day after, and was about to confront Georgie to find out Merik’s whereabouts. While she hadn’t decided yet why, she felt the need to ask. He might’ve even been up stairs, had she had the chance to actually ask.

A voice at the back table of the bar was telling his story, and had Caira not been so traumatized by the entire scape of her mission across the dunes, she might have recognized it.

“Yessiree it sure did happen, and then, the girl, like she was readin’ my mind, asked me all sorts of questions. When I answered I told her that ‘e was a criminal, and didn’ deserve to ‘scape and ever see the light of day again. If we had more men, we would be able to banish the goddarn bastard. But, it’s all done and over with now, but m’ name is in the paper.” A younger man, too drunk to put an ounce of hazard into what he was saying, babbled to his friend. “And now I’m outta work.”

“That’s a mighty big mouth ya got there boy. You outta learn to keep stories like that un’ private.” An old stranger warned, his tone cross by the idea of an escaped villain Prime on the lose and set free into the sand.

“I ain’t lying sir, she almost killed me!” he protested, and stood up swiftly outta his chair, only to wobble and woozle back down to four sturdy legs.

The old man’s voice was gruff and grisly, “I never told ye tha’ you was a liar, I just told you to shut yer trap.”

“I know youss don’t believe me, but I got the newspapah right... Here.” The boy pulled the paper out of his britches, and made all sorts of crumpling noises, enough to fill the whole bar and capture everyone’s attention.

“Now’s what are you doin’ back ‘ere again lassy?” Caira was about to ask the bartender about Merik, when the sound of crackling paper interrupted her voice.

The title of the paper, front page, read in big, bold letters Fool Tells Tale of Escaped Prisoner. He held it up for the whole bar to see, and grinned wide enough to reveal a few empty spaces he had lost to scurvy. “Y’see, its right there! I...Ain’ no liar... Nosirreee.”

“I’ve had about enough of you, boy.” the old man growled. A last warning before the bull showed his horns.

The young man was about to sit back down, with the incessant begging of his friend, when, just by chance, his eyes fell on the figure closest to the door, in front of the bar. He audibly gasped, and his eyes widened. He still held up the newspaper with one hand, while his other pointed at the girl at the front, “Why, IT’S HER!” His exasperated shout, almost fearful, filled the bar. It was followed by a gunshot, loud and silencing. The lead had made a small hole right through the headline he still held up, and found its mark.

“I had just about had enough o’ him.” the old man had surmised, while the body fell to the ground with a thick but hollow thud. “Then when he pointed at the lady who’d jus’ walked in the bar, shoutin’ in all ‘is nonsense at ‘er I jus’ couldn’t help m’self.”

The piano player had stopped for a moment, until the old man who had shot him dead, took another swig of his ale. The story had been accepted, and the music kept on playing, while the man’s slumped over body laid motionless, and his thick blood dribbled to the floor. Ironically, the young man had been shot through his own newspaper -if one looked close enough, he would see that the hole that the lead had left directly fit in the center of the word fool’s o.

Caira seemed startled, and was suddenly on edge. Had he said any more... Maybe they would have realized it was the truth. Caira made up an excuse to leave the bar immediately, she felt sick almost staying, and didn’t like looking at the young man’s friend, who had now stained his hands in his pal’s warm blood. It didn’t seem like the lad blamed her, but only because the old man’s story had checked out. It was assumed the woman couldn’t stand the sight of blood, but now, the guilt had taken hold and began to eat away at her bones.

Each thought was painful as it gnawed away underneath her ivory skin. She gulped, pondering to herself that she outta send good ol’ Merik back into that jail, he could stay there, or maybe, she would even take it upon herself to do what the other’s hadn’t done, and banished the bastard. But she would not, and could not find it within herself to do so. A blink, and she remembered what tragedies he had endured. It was like he was cursed. Darkness and evil all surrounded him. His soul perhaps, needed amending.

But he was her responsibility, she had freed him. Just like she had freed Magus. A second red-eyed demon flashed before her eyes. Both she had battled, and both men, both Primes she had freed. She was now responsible for any and all deaths that they caused. Yet that poor man in the bar back there, any color that had flushed to her face now slowly trickled and drained away, he had died. His death was her own fault.

She gulped.

...
Tom approached, and though Merik hadn’t shown up with Tom, he seemed determined to tell Caira of Merik’s current misfortune. “Miss,” with her eyes, she was unmistakably the girl who he had traversed the desert with, “Excuse me miss, I just wanted to say that Merik didn’t mean to leave you... In the desert, that is.”

The Prime rolled her eyes and stepped away from the annoying reminder of Merik, but took a moment of pleasure as she imagined his smashed face hadn’t healed yet. “Yeah, sure. Just like he didn’t mean to trap me in a coffin and slowly kill me. Do you have any idea what starving to death as a Prime is like?”

Of course he didn’t, her eyes fell over the youth’s innocent face. Tom was no Prime, and has a lot to learn. She carefully observed him now, he looked like a farmer. Could this be the boy Daniels had been taking in?

He persisted. “I know you think he’s a traitor, but I wanted you to know that he didn’t do it intentionally.”  

“What? How do you-” She closed her lips that were about to spout words of anger and outrage, “You don’t honestly expect me to believe that, do you? He left me not only to die but he buried me alive. You mean to say he did that by accident?”

“He had to.” Tom was convinced.

“If he had to, why isn’t he here apologizing? I didn’t hear him even mumble a sorry through that broken nose I gave him.” She thought of the sensation on her knuckles, the cracking of his bone on her fist.

“But that’s just it miss, he’s got a curse on his ‘ead.” Tom persisted.

“Tch. I don’t give a pittance.” she said with a shout, this was turning out to be a miserable conversation. “Anyway as far as I’m concerned he did me a favor. Why don’t you tell him that next time you see him?”

“Can’t.” Tom’s eyes read, that’s what this conversation was about. Caira recoiled, but part of her wanted to hear him out.

The Prime was repulsed by his one word response and attempted to shrug Tom’s presence off, but Tom had honest, genuine, blue eyes and looked up to her in his sixteen year old youth. With a sigh the Prime asked, “Why not?”

“He’s gone to the Pale Moors. He thinks that he has find a way to un-curse ‘imself.”

“And you think differently?”

“Miss Ayryn, ‘e had one of them looks in his eye, not sure you’ll understan’ but he looked like he was gonna challenge a vampire and welcome his death.” A shadow fell over Tom’s face, while his earnest eyes shimmered.

“He’s a Prime, I’m sure he will survive.” Caira reasoned, the angry part of her almost thirsted at the revenge.

“But at what cost? And who knows what those dark-types are capable of? All monsters, murderers, especially for Primes, there are worse things than death. Not to mention he’s got a crazy notion about loosing his curse by gaining another.” Tom was pleading now.

“That’s the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever heard. I’m from Camelot, been to Dalaran, There’s no way a curse can absolve another curse. It could take out some of the negative effects it has, but it will always remain unless someone breaks it.” Tom’s eyes widened with hope at this new knowledge. “What exactly do you want me to do about it?” She said, her own curiosity feeding into Tom’s plea, the hardness the desert had cast on her heart began to soften.

“I’d like to hire you, as I’ve heard him call you a bounty hunter. Bring him back here alive, or at least save him from that place.” From himself. Tom was grasping at straws now, he should know better than to make a deal out of desperation.

“I don’t like to tempt fate Tom, I almost died last time I dealt with the prick. Second time and I might get banished.” She said with sound reasoning, but parts of her now pleaded with Tom too. Plus, he was her responsibility.

“Please, I don’t have a lot of money but-” His eyes spoke better than any words he could have used to convince her, suddenly it occurred to Caira that Merik wouldn’t just tell just anyone about his life story or where he was going. Even if he had a death wish. Tom took off his hat and fanned his forehead from the heat and she glimpsed at the familiar resemblance of blonde hair, though Tom’s clung to his head damp with sweat. Caira sensed and recognized the vibrations of the ruby beetle in his pocket, what would probably become a family heirloom. Merik was in that jail ten years, long enough for a toddler that was his to grow into a young man.

“Tch. I don’t want your money.” Tom’s face now cringed, fearing what she had decided, ”Do you know what he told me? Before leaving me to die in the desert?”

“No, I.. suppose not..” Tom whimpered.

“He told me not to make the same mistake twice. You want me to follow him, after his helpful words of advice, and get trapped in a coffin again?” Caira warned, but she too had made up her mind.

“If I hire you-” Tom had now began to look crestfallen and Caira couldn’t believe she had already made a decision, not to mention, the wrong one.

“I won’t do it for your money.” Her voice was stable with resolve. Tom’s expression mirrored only devastation, until Caira continued, “But maybe, I’ll do it for the satisfaction of punching him in the face again.” With her delivered words, a smile grew, and watched as Tom’s expression resurrected with the news.

“When did he leave?” Caira asked.

“He left ... A month ago.” Tom said finally.

“What?! I haven’t even been back for a few days. And I saw him a week ago!” an exasperated voice could be heard from her lips.

“Yes but that don’t account for the fact that it takes time to travel between the Verses, and that there might be a delay.” Tom offered without guilt, he was relieved that Caira had taken the job. And for free! Not that the poor farmer had much money to offer the girl. He would have probably paid her in what Caira now assumed Merk, his unknown dad, had given him before he left. The ruby beetle.

“I guess I’m a little late on the draw, then.” she spoke in the terminology that Tom was so well familiar with, as the holster on his side, there for two reasons, survival and precaution, glinted in the light and he ended up shrugging his shoulders and hoped she would get on her way, and find Merik before it was too late.

Caira took a moment to drink in a deep, satisfying breath, as though bracing herself for what was to come. After the moment, her eyes, now fierce with determination flashed to him. “You’re sure he said he went to the Pale Moors?”

He nodded eagerly. He would have staked his life on it.

“Alright then.” Caira’s eyes held lasting on him for a moment. The two weren’t far apart in age. And Merik didn’t age. She swished the ideas in her mind before she caught onto the bewildered look in his eye. Her own expression was masked by a depth that looked beyond her dirty face and high cheekbones, he had nothing to lose and had been wanting to ask her a question, or so Caira had assumed. After so much time had passed in their staring contest, she finally said, “Well, what is it?”

“How is it... That the weaknesses... The kindness you show and act on, even though you know of the danger, are somehow your strengths?” The question’s burden was passed to her now.
For a moment, the female thought about the question at hand, a deep, flash of analysis shook her at the core, before realizing that she herself had an obligation to answer Tom’s question. She debated taking off on his horse right then and there, but her thoughts succumbed to her own curiosity, she wanted to answer with truth.

“Tom, what you’re asking about is courage. And me? Quite frankly, I don’t have much to lose.” Now. “Also, I suppose.. That strength isn’t always about how hard you can punch a wall, while you expect it to crumble to the ground. But you have to ask yourself, whether or not you have to punch it in the first place.”

“Whoa, you can punch walls?! Thank ya, miss Ayryn.” Tom bowed courteously as she left at top speed on her hoverboard, blowing a wave of dust and sand over his old Texas boots.

Patty and Artie Daniels had watched it all through a window, as Caira vanished over the boy’s shoulder. They smiled a bit, together, a knowing smile. Knowing more truth than either Tom or Caira. They were the ones who had told Tom that it might be a good idea to hire the young girl, not only for Tom to have a chance at reconciling, or at least meeting his father, but for Caira, who was still haunted by the ghosts of her past.


“Come on inside, Tom. Staring at the sand won’t help her find him.”