Reynaldo had already decided on their route to the newly renamed McClain region. With their procession being so conspicuous, he wouldn’t use one of the main roads. Though a servant had advised Reynaldo to, he hadn’t agreed. He didn’t want to expose Rosemary to curious onlookers. Likewise, the main road would necessitate going the long way around. He would cross the mountains instead.
Atop his favorite steed, Reynaldo rode in front of the carriage. The distance between McClain and the northern region of Rose was vast. Everyone remained vigilant since they were occasionally forced to cross paths along the cliffs.
While glancing at the carriage every so often, he slipped into contemplation. He thought about Mary—the reincarnation of his beloved sister. Reynaldo immediately understood what was causing her so much grief as of late. Unfortunately, Albert hadn’t come to the same conclusion, dullard that he was.
That’s our high commander for you, Reynaldo mused. Acting as he pleases without even realizing the source of her distress. It’s enough to make a man envious.
The shadow of her past self haunted Mary. Reynaldo and Albert could shower her with love and whisper endless sweet nothings into her ear, but no matter what, she would perceive these words as being directed at Rosemary, not herself. Reynaldo understood her feelings all too well. After all, he also viewed her as the shadow of Rosemary. Such actions could be called blasphemous towards the still-living Mary, but there it was.
Reynaldo came to view Mary as a substitute for his sister. He understood this about himself, and thus, he couldn’t vocalize his love for her as Albert had. If he put his feelings into words, he would only hurt her.
While swaying atop his horse, Reynaldo considered an impossible, hypothetical scenario. What if Mary and Rosemary were about to fall from the edge of a cliff and Reynaldo could only save one of them? This was a common—practically clichéd—thought experiment. Even so, it was the best one to demonstrate his position.
Reynaldo would grab his sister’s hand without hesitation, regardless of whether Mary wailed his name or her eyes rebuked him as she plummeted towards the ground. Yes, that would be his decision, whether it damned him to Hell or not, or whether Rosemary pleaded with him to save Mary instead. His actual sister meant everything to him. Life without her was meaningless, and her memory had kept him alive all these years.
If Reynaldo asked Albert the same question, what answer would he give? And would it be the answer Mary desired?
Suddenly, Reynaldo sensed something off. He looked up and scanned his surroundings. They had to advance their horses with the utmost caution, as the mountain road they traveled had severe rises and drops in elevation. Soaring peaks towered above them, and steep cliffs dropped off below them.
Struck by an ill sense of foreboding, Reynaldo raised his hand—the signal to stop moving. Everyone came to a unified halt. The guards placed their hands on their swords, all sensing the peculiar atmosphere as well. If a battle broke out on this narrow road, it would be fraught with peril.
By the time Reynaldo recognized the danger, it was already too late. An arrow sailed down from overhead and pierced the back of a guard’s horse. The beast flew into a fit of rage. Screaming, the guard plummeted off the edge of the cliff-like road.
“Hurry!” Reynaldo bellowed.
He raced his horse down the narrow road, dodging the arrows and protecting his head with his cloak. He had to control the spooked beast to stay mounted. Everything depended on his skill as a rider. Could he continue galloping onward without being bucked off?
Behind him, his guards and servants screamed. In all likelihood, a few had fallen off their horses, but he had no time to rescue them. Instead, he gripped the reins of his steed with all his might.
When the road widened somewhat, Reynaldo stopped and looked behind him. The horse pulling the carriage had been pierced with an arrow, causing the beast to fly into a rage. Reynaldo watched in horror. At this rate, the carriage would fall off the cliff, taking his sister’s casket with it. He jumped off his horse reflexively and raced towards the vehicle.
An arrow had pierced the coachman’s shoulder. Seeing that, Reynaldo jumped into the driver’s seat and grabbed the reins. While the falling arrows were few in number, the archers were definitely targeting his party.
“Keep your head down!” he shouted at the coachman, using the reins to direct the horse into a gallop.
The horse regained some of its composure thanks to Reynaldo’s control. Despite being shaken, the beast started galloping. Each time one of the wheels lurched, the coachman screamed. Teeth gritted, Reynaldo drove the carriage forward. He couldn’t let the coffin fall off the cliff. No matter what, he would return Rosemary to her homeland. Perhaps this desperate wish reached the heavens, for Reynaldo soon came within a few paces of where his favorite steed waited for him.
When he momentarily relaxed in relief, pain lanced through his right shoulder. A silent scream escaped his lips. A sharp arrowhead pierced him directly through the shoulder. Reynaldo’s grip on the reins slackened, causing the carriage and the coffin to lose their balance.
Aware of the futility, he reached towards the casket, blood pouring from his shoulder. He’d done the same thing during Rosemary’s hanging, extending a hand that would never reach her. Reynaldo longed to save her with this hand. And yet, he’d never successfully seized hold of anything. The woman he loved always disappeared before his very eyes.