The Nameless One paused, scratched his horn, and peered into the distance. Sounds of fighting. He listened. The heavy one. Bloody heavy one. Why couldn’t he leave the little ones alone? Eat roots. Eat berries. Like him.
He had tried to give the heavy one roots. Berries. The heavy one had tried to eat him instead. Too many he’s. Sometimes he wasn’t sure which he he was anymore. He rubbed the place on his arm where the heavy one had taken a bite.
He walked softly, placing his hooves with care. Not too much noise now. The heavy one fought a little one. A beautiful one of silver. With a little blade. He blinked. A beautiful one can fight?
He was confused. Did she fight… or did she dance? The heavy one could not touch her. Maybe she was a fairie.
Silver light curled in ribbons around the beautiful one. Around the heavy one. The heavy one pushed her against the rock. Then… the heavy one’s arm was gone.
The heavy one was angry. So angry. Little ones weren’t supposed to do that. Then came the rats. Too many rats. The beautiful one was bit. No. Not his business.
Then he thought of her. His heart hurt. No. She wasn’t her. Too many she’s. The beautiful one was you. Her was her. He was… No. Not that he. The nameless he.
Too late. With a roar, he charged. He tore the rats from the beautiful one. That old feeling stirred inside him. He smashed two heads together. Ripped an arm from another. Swung it at the rest. A war cry climbed into his throat. No. Must not become less.
The rats were on him. Good. Rats for him. Heavy one for the beautiful one. The heavy one swung his big stick. He threw a rat. Crack. Good hit. Fun game. He laughed at his own joke.
The beautiful silver one held up her plate and stung the heavy one. Again. Again. The heavy one stumbled. Face to the ground. She flew. No wings. Her little blade took off the heavy one’s head.
The Nameless One stopped. The heavy one’s head rolled to his feet. The rat in his hand whined. He threw him away. The rats all scurried away.
He became afraid. Very afraid. Stupid. Stupid him. He was a foul one too.
“Friend,” he said. “Friend, Little-Blade.”
“You remember me!” she said.
He shook his head. Too many things he didn’t remember.
“Then why did you call me…” She looked at her blade. Then at him. She smiled. “Oh.”
She put her plate on her back. Took off her helmet. Hair flowed down like the water behind. Like her. Maybe… More beautiful? He didn’t know.
“I’m Eva,” she said. “What is your name?”
“No.” He shook his head. “No.” He had lost that long ago… When he had…
She knelt. Took the hem of her dress. Wiped her little blade.
“Why?” he asked.
She looked at him. No fear in her gray eyes. Gray like the sky. She laughed. “I’m not sure. Keeps it sharp?”
“Come,” he said. “There are places the ground forgets to close. Not far.”
He led her. She followed. To his fire. His food. His blanket. He put another stick on the fire. Poured water into his pot. Dropped dried flowers into it. Set it on the fire.
“I need your help,” she said.
His help? Little ones didn’t ask him for help. Only bad came from that.
“I will go to the bottom of the Abyss,” she said. “And… you will come with me.”
“No.” He took a berry. Ate it. So she would know it didn’t bite. Handed her the bowl.
She took a handful. Popped them into her mouth. Good. He poured the tea into his cup. She reached for it.
“Brave one,” he said. “These. Teeth. Claws. Those. They take your name.”
“I know,” she said. “I went. I lost my name.”
“But…” he stared at her. “You came back?”
“Yes,” she said. “I almost died. I must go again.”
“Why?”
“Perry,” she whispered. “I love him.” She pulled something wrapped in a cloth from her pocket. Unwrapped it. A hand. “Apollyon did this.”
Apollyon?! He was afraid again.
“No. I will not help you.”
She wrapped the hand again and slipped it back into her pocket. She stood. Handed him the bowl. Smoothed her dress. Turned away.
She took three steps. Then turned back. “I saw her.”
“Her?” He stammered.
“I know all about her. How you led her astray. And how she was damned. Because of you.”
“How can you know this, Little-Blade?”
“I know about… the handkerchief.”
The Nameless One started. He had never shown anyone that. Not Little-Blade. Not anyone.
“You’ve met her?”
“Yes,” she said. “Well… no. Maybe. One like her. I saw a thousand. Maybe a million more.”
“I come. I can… save her?”
“No.” She shook her head. “She made her choice. There is nothing you can do to change her mind.”
“We try.”
“No. I already tried.” She was quiet a long time. The fire crackled. “But you can help me save Perry. You can save me.”
He sat. Thought. Thought some more.
“Falling rocks,” he said. “I remember that.”
“Falling rocks?”
“Yes,” he said. “I lost my name. All I remember… is rocks falling.”
Little-Blade thought.
“Talus,” she said. “I will call you Talus.”
“Talus,” he repeated. He smiled. “I like it.”
Talus walked to an old chest. Opened it. Stared inside. A blade. He had forgotten it too. He lifted it carefully. Held it out for Little-Blade to see. A long sword. Twice the length of hers. Rusted. Jagged. Vicious. Deadly.
“Come, little one.” He smiled. “Let’s save Barry.”
