RESULT 2: Arash the Archer
Legends vary
War between Iranians and Turanians over glory
Special bow and arrow constructed by angel – Arash asked to fire
Put life force into shot
Eslar’s book has Goddess (Hunt) construct arrow & give to person (champion).
Chapter 17
Only From Me
Jo stepped into the dilapidated house in New Zealand.
Just like last time, the floor sagged, the walls’ innards were exposed, and it showed no signs of having seen real life in far too long. Yet unlike last time, Jo could feel the wind as it blew through the windows. The floor creaked softly underneath her.
It didn’t groan or snap, as she would’ve expected it to had she been clocked into time. Jo looked to the boards under her feet. She felt her magic assessing it, showing its nature to her in a way that was sight beyond sight. No, it wouldn’t break. Which led Jo to wonder, was she somewhere in between time? Not quite in, not quite out? Or would it not break because she didn’t want it to break? In a roundabout way, was her magic keeping it together?
The questions for Snow continued to rack up.
She stared out the window, looking to see if she could catch the man winding the almost-there pathway between the tall grasses. When he was nowhere to be found, Jo sighed heavily and turned inside once more. She already couldn’t handle the waiting game. She trusted Takako not to do anything rash, really she did. But then again, after what Takako had seen at Charlie’s house. . . How could she be sure?
For now, the best thing seemed to be to collect all the scattered pieces of her mind and try to sort them into cohesive questions. She had enough information now, of that Jo was certain. She may not be able to see the whole picture, but she’d put together enough of the puzzle to begin speculating. It was time for Snow to fill in the blanks. Wayne’s hideaway was a good place to do her thinking, surrounded by the breezes whistling through the empty windows and the soft sighing of the house settling further into the earth before its eventual collapse.
A collapse that wouldn’t happen for at least a decade more, her magic assured her. Jo paused as she started up the stairs to explore the second floor. Pausing, she dared to place her hand on the wall.
The wood was smooth, cool to the touch but not damp. She ran her fingers around a knot, inspecting it, feeling it in ways she shouldn’t be able to outside of time. Somehow, she knew this place. But perhaps it was merely an understanding of its eventual demise that made it feel more familiar than anything else. Nothing could bring people together quite like death.
The upstairs was in rougher shape. The skeleton of the house was exposed in the raw beams that supported a roof that winked at her with each shift of sunlight through every rusted hole. There were only two rooms upstairs. One was in such bad condition that Jo didn’t dare walk on its floor, even in her phantom state.
The other still boasted some life.
Whoever had been here before still clung to their home. The iron poster bed was made perfectly. Dust covered it, turning what Jo could assume was once a cheerful yellow knit into a dirty mustard hue. A rocking chair sat in the corner, waiting for its owner to return.
The house was so quiet, she would’ve been able to hear anyone and anything for miles. Except for another ghost like her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath—the scent of cloves reaffirmed what she already knew.
“Hello, Snow.”
For a long moment, Snow only stared at her, something indescribable marring his features. Then, a wavering half-smile began to form, looking out of place and difficult to master.
“I was beginning to think you wanted nothing to do with me,” Snow said by way of greeting. As he spoke, his eyes fell into a saddened shine, as if he was waiting for her to disappear like smoke. Something Jo didn’t know she still possessed fractured deep beneath her breastbone at the sight.
“You know why I didn’t, right?”
“I should think the space I gave you was evidence enough.” Snow gave a small nod, one Jo returned.Good, they had an understanding. It was one small relief in the ball of tension that was wound so tight in her chest that her hands were almost shaking.
“It was,” Jo said, putting the final word on the matter. After Nico, and then the wish, it was no surprise really that Snow and romance had been the last thing on Jo’s mind. But seeing him before her now, truly alone and incredibly secluded. . . those thoughts bubbled up unbidden and Jo fought to keep herself focused.
And yet, the moment Jo’s eyes settled on the man, her once-burning questions became embers that could barely illuminate her thoughts. At more than a glance, Snow’s eyes were hollow, listless . . . They were a far cry from the almost monstrous appearance he assumed after he changed reality, but they were just as haunting. It was as if she could see every moment a man should never have to witness reflected back in his gaze.
“How are you handling it all?” Jo hoped the fact that the question was whispered didn’t somehow diminish its sincerity.
“Making every attempt to survive.” Snow quickly added, “Wishing I could do more to ensure my team survives, too.” He looked askance, a silver wave of hair obscuring his eyes. Jo was wracked with the sudden need to reach out to him, to push the hair out of his face andseehim. She wanted to touch him and comfort him, somehow, even as raw as she felt herself. So she didn’t hold back.
“It wasn’t your fault.” Jo quickly crossed to him, scooping up his hands. Warm, as they always were—steady and unparalleled comfort. The smell of cloves and the warmth of a body now obviously inches from her had all prior thoughts fleeing. “You know that, right?” When he didn’t answer, Jo was left tilting her head, trying to catch his gaze, reaching towards where his hair had fallen like a veil between them. “Snow—”
