Ophelia cleaned her hands with her apron, and followed her boss to the backyard. “I thought it’d be better to let you know now,” she said gravely. Outside, the few chickens and the lone pig they kept for the winter butchering were walking around, looking for food. “Something terrible happened last night with the Phrygians. A scuffle happened, and Phenos was stabbed to death in a fight. Ajax disappeared, and has yet to return. Ilmarinen was the only one that came back.”

It took a moment for Ophelia to register who she was talking about. It was almost ironic that things had transpired that way, and only because of his death she’d finally learnt the last Phrygian warrior’s name. She felt strange: they were not quite comrades, as they’d known each other for just one day, and they’d met in such circumstances that it wasn’t inconceivable to her that she’d soon learn of tragic news from them. Still, she felt oddly shaken, as if certain pre-conceived notions she’d nursed had been pummelled down into dust inside her chest. Perhaps, used as she was to her modern life, she had actually thought that none of them could truly die… so soon.

She’d learnt before, when her dad had died, that it was a very human thing to think of one’s life as a script for a movie, or a treatment for a novel. Things happened as a set up for the next thing, or to serve as a way for a character to learn something. It was easier for someone like her to divest everyone else of their agency and think of them as nothing but cannon fodder, secondary leads whose actions intertwined with hers to move the plot forward. It gave one the illusion of control, that if one were to follow fiction-logic, things would turn out okay.

There was no such thing. There was no reason behind it all; things just happened. Her father’s misdiagnosis and the slow year and a half of cancer treatment that went nowhere, and a sudden collapse the day before he was due to be interned; there was no rhyme or reason at all, no closure. No one could explain why the man that had sacrificed so much to raise his only daughter alone, the loveliest father, had been consumed by the agony of a body that slowly ate itself to the point his mind had almost surrendered to it. She had been left with nothing but silence; she hadn’t been able to tell him she loved him, or that she would miss him.

It had taken her two years to come to terms with her father’s death. Underneath it all, she had learnt in the end, was her absolute refusal to acknowledge that there was no price she’d earn for her suffering. The universe would not trade her dad’s death with something that would take her mind off it: she was now by herself, and that was it. She had a handful of pictures, a dead facebook account and endless memories of the time they’d spent together.

Ophelia’s first question was going to be if everyone else was okay, but she stopped when she realised how stupid it was for her to ask that. They’d already lost one member in the party, and although her appearance was enough of a novelty to distract them, it certainly still remained in the back of their minds. Perhaps they had talked about it as they laid down in the morning, perhaps it was a warrior’s code not to dwell too much on what would be their ultimate fate. They were all playing a dangerous game, after all, and it was only expected that they’d be risking their lives in it.

“What are the rest doing?” she finally asked.

“Aristides is taking Phenos’ body to the sea. Phobos has gone with Remulus and Ilmarinen to the place where the fight happened to try to find the culprits.”

“Do they not hold funerals for their dead?”

Felicia shook her head. “Phrygians believe that the body should be returned to nature after death. They normally transport their dead outside of towns or cities, and let them rot in the wild, or throw them into a body of water. There’s not much ceremony; they have this strange conviction that once the body is consumed by the earth, the person becomes one with the land.”

“How comforting,” Ophelia’s eyebrows rose in admiration. “I guess that explains why they were so blasé about their mate dying yesterday… is there anything we are meant to do?”

“No… I just wanted to let you know, since you’ve been travelling with them.”

After the initial breakfast tasks Felicia showed her how to wash the bedding, which gave her a newfound appreciation for washing machines. It was time consuming and required its fair share of strength, but she found it strangely peaceful. Around mid morning, she had only had a quarter of it left, and after emptying the buckets with dirty water, she walked to the small stream that ran next to the tavern to collect some more. She caught sight of Aristides and Phobos going in for a drink, followed by the two surviving members of the party. She wondered if it was all right for her to go in and give her condolences, but after some minutes of hesitation and false starts she put it off for later, as their paths would inevitably cross.

It was around lunch time when she finally had some time to rest. She grabbed some bread and jerky from the kitchen and went up the stairs to find some quiet. Her leather sandals had been soaked after the activities of the morning, so she left them drying in the sun before getting inside: she moved like a mouse, barely making a sound on the normally creaky wooden floors. As she passed by the guest rooms, she heard Ilmarinen’s voice, speaking in a hushed whisper.

“Ajax should’ve given them the signal by now,” he said. “Go to the temple, you’ll find one of their men. Bring him back to Lord Phobos, say that you’ve found a witness.”

“And then?” Remulus whispered back.

“The witness will claim he knows where the murderers are and where Ajax is being held. He’ll take us all to where the rest will be waiting.”

There was a minute of silence. Ophelia felt like something had dropped in her stomach. “Don’t worry, brother, there’s too many of us and it’s just the two of them.”

“Are you sure? He always has allies in strange places… And you know him; even if we outnumber him, he’s still the greatest warrior in Phrygia. He has killed three Knights of the Black Sun by himself.”

“What is this, Remulus? I thought it was you who said that those three kills had been pure luck. Are you going to change your mind now, when you’re so close to finally going back home?”

Ophelia decided to make her exit then, thinking that there was no telling when they would leave the room. Unfortunately, it is when someone purposely doesn’t want to make noise that life decides to sabotage them, and she was no exception: she turned around, walked a few steps, and clumsily knocked over a broom she had left a few hours earlier.

“Who’s there?!” Remulus’ voice came from within the room. Ophelia, of course, didn’t bother replying; she simply dashed downstairs. “It’s the hibernian!” she heard him shout behind her.

She’d thought to hide in the relative safety of the hall downstairs, but Ilmarinen had started shouting “thief! Thief! Get her!”, so she snuck towards the backyard, away from people. It was instinct, an irrational impulse; later she’d wonder if it wouldn’t have been easier to simply confront them in front of everyone.

There was a problem with her plan, however, and it was that her two pursuers were fit warriors and she was someone who hadn’t run since finishing high school. She took a wrong turn with them almost grabbing her by the arm, and ended up in a dead end two buildings away from the tavern. Ilmarinen and Remulus both closed in on her, grave expressions in their faces.

“How much did you hear?” asked the latter.

“Not much.”

“But enough that you had to run away, princess” Ilmarinen smiled nastily. “It would’ve been easier if you hadn’t tried to make a scene out of it, we could’ve snuck you away for a while. But there are going to be too many questions now…”

“You can keep your mouth shut and we won’t do anything,” Remulus proposed. Ilmarinen snapped at him, “Stop talking nonsense. We can’t risk it.”

He had been carrying a long knife in one of his hands, and as he refuted his co-conspirator he started to draw it from its sheath. “Nothing personal, princess,” he said, drawing closer. “We just need to make sure all loose ends are tied.”

Ophelia tried to make for a run aiming towards Remulus, who was unarmed. She thought about slamming into him and then getting away, but he was close enough that he could clearly see it coming. He caught her by the arms the moment she tried to make contact. Ilmarinen shouted triumphantly “hold her!” as she struggled violently against the strong grip that trapped her. The menacing man came closer with his knife raised towards her. She closed her eyes. She could’ve screamed had her voice not abandoned her. For an instant that lasted an eternity, she only heard the sound of footsteps and thought only one desperate plea: let me go.

And then, she was free. The arms around her disappeared and the footsteps faded into silence. She opened her eyes to see the two men mid-flight towards the nearest wall, hitting it with such violence that a grunt barely managed to escape their lips.

She turned around, almost like a reflex, trying to understand what had happened. The three of them were alone in the small space, and no one could’ve come in to interrupt without being noticed. She looked around, but whatever had come to free her had left without a trace: behind, only two bruised men and a confused woman remained.

“W-what was that…?” Remulus gasped, trying slowly to get up. He was holding his head, eyes half-shut to try to battle the pain away. Ilmarinen was groaning next to him, having rolled over on his stomach.

Ophelia could’ve run away at that point, but she was suddenly struck with the weirdest thought. She looked at her hands and the men before her. Her eyes, rebels that they were, were more partial to the long knife that had been dropped moments before, and she pointed at it. “Why am I so sure this is going to work…?” she wondered out loud, and almost as if it had been in her hand, almost like it was an extension of her, she willed the knife to move. And it moved.

It shook strangely, timidly at first. It stood up next, and then jumped into the air.

“Shit…! Shit, shit!” Ilmarinen had dropped all intentions of trying to stand, and in absolute shock had dropped back to the ground, bracing himself against the wall. Remulus, on the other hand, was frozen still. They both shared the same terrified expression, as if Ophelia had turned into death itself; and unlike what the woman would’ve expected of such a situation, they weren’t fixated on the sharp thing that could end their life. They were looking straight at her. Forget the knife and the blood that had stained it so far; that invisible hand that she had suddenly discovered she could use to wield it, the same one that had batted the two warriors away like flies, that’s what they were so afraid of.

She could do… magic?

Like many a fantasy story she’d read, it was easy, it was free, it was strangely liberating. She had no idea if it was just the telekinesis bit she was suddenly a master of; perhaps, her way with languages came from the same place. If circumstances would’ve been different, she would’ve dissected the whys and the hows in the way that someone who had been raised in the twenty-first century was used to do. But she was in front of two conspirators, and she was the one threat to their conspiracy. Her first thought then was, of course, to run.

“Ophelia!” Felicia’s shout stopped her dead in her tracks. The woman was standing outside a humble wooden door on what was some sort of half-demolished wall, half-wooden fence. Beside her stood Phobos with a haunted, manic look in his eyes.