The Lost Knight (Volume III) The Lost World

Chapter 12: Confession Sucks

Am I staring at my feet because I don't want to look in the trees, or am I too tired to hold my head up? Sometimes I stare at Trelix's feet in front of me just to get a change of scenery. I want to ask him who makes his stylish boots. I don't care about the answer, but I'd rather talk about Trelix's colossal feet than think about what I've witnessed today.

I can't make ülöm herrazā make sense. How could someone do that? I mean, I know stuff like this happens. It's called genocide. I've heard of it. I never thought I'd witness it, though. How could other villages hear about this and then side with the people that did it? That doesn't make any sense either. It's not right.

There's another thought that keeps creeping into my consciousness. I'm trying to push it down, but it keeps sneaking back up. It's so selfish; I can't believe I'm thinking it. I want to know why I'd never be told that this happened. I want to know if it's happened before. I want to know why I'm being kept in the dark. What else are they not telling me?

"We're clear." Trelix's words make my head snap up.

How could he know that? Everything's the same, except the trees no longer have doors and windows. My knees tremble when I search for bodies in the canopy. A pressure valve in my brain whistles with release when I can't spot any. I shouldn't be so happy about getting away from that. I never want to forget it.

With the relief of leaving the village comes overwhelming self-pity. Why did I, Agatha Stone, have to know these kind of horrors exist? Why can't I have a normal life? I never thought much about the future. I figured I'd pick a career, maybe go to college, meet a husband, have some kids and be like everyone else.

Why me? I feel as if all of the options for my life have ended in a single moment. Something inside me has fundamentally changed. I'm not the same person I was when I entered the village.

I blindly follow Trelix, and as the day wears on my mood worsens. My mind shifts from the faeries to Lord Duradin to self-pity and back again until my rage hardens into solid numbness. When it's time to stop, there are no supplies to make camp, just our sleeping gear.

I set my pack down next to a small tree and sit on it, lost in my sadness. Solara has caught about a dozen random colorful rodents. Herbivores: no bones, just liquid. I watch her cut off their heads and squeeze out the disgusting goo. I turn my attention to a stick on the ground. I pick it up and scratch a long hole. I've had enough death for one day.

The group shuffles around as the animals are cleaned, and then Dathid sits next to me. He passes me a cup and takes a drink from his own.

"You need to eat," he says softly.

"I will."

"It gets easier."

"No, it doesn't."

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks softly.

"No." Especially not with him. I liked it better when he was grumpy Dathid, and he ignored me. I've made too many confessions to him already.

I sigh deeply. I need to talk to someone, and I don't think I could tell Jonah what I'm thinking. Maybe Dathid is the best choice. "I don't even know what to say. I want to talk about the villagers, but what's going through my head has me so guilty it's making everything worse."

"Well, say it and maybe it will go away."

I can't believe I'm about to tell him what a selfish monster I am, but I have to tell someone. "Why do I have to know stuff like this exists?" I say without thinking.

A flood of words fall out of my mouth in an explosion of inexplicable emotions and pain. "You're here because you chose to be here; everyone chose to be here," I pause for a moment, afraid of what I'll say next. But I've already started, and now I can't stop. "I had no choice. This was thrust upon me. And I know you kind of didn't really have a choice either, but you could've said no, and then somebody else could've done it.