The Eye and The Hand

A faint line of smoke pokes through the pine trees. The curious scout takes a moment to survey the sight ahead of her.

A well-beaten path presents itself like a beckoning hand, daring the lithe stranger to enter. As the young wanderer approaches the trail, she quickly notes the ubiquitous pattern of hoof prints littering the dirt road.

The scent of burning wood grows stronger the farther she ventures, though it’s clear to Iris the burn is controlled and fading.

A tattered muted mustard banner lies before the culprit of the smoke—a clear sign The Finger has left its scratch.

Husks of homes and marred, charred corpses stained with browned blood litter the site. Pulsing embers serve as vestiges of what was once a village.

One must give to take from Past’s Sight, the teachings of the Seers echo through her mind. She removes her dagger from her shabby sheath and slides the blade across her palm. She lies her hand flat on the ground and whispers, “Show me what I must see.”

In the light of day, men in suited armor trudge through the village with torches and set fire to roofs, feeding troughs, chicken coops… all while belting out their mindless phrases:

“For the king!”

“The Way of The Hand is the only way!”

Blood from the bodies of the ill equipped farmers soak the ground of their home. Yells and screams ring throughout the village like a literal death knell. A sitting woman rocks and holds her lifeless child braying her denials into the chaos surrounding her.

One unusually large man—the captain perhaps?—finally calls off the men. The knights form an orderly line and scamper away.

“The king points the way to our salvation,” Iris mutters sardonically aloud. A common phrase used by The Finger.

Although they’ve probably ventured forward to flick the life out of some other unsuspecting commoners, Iris thinks it best to turn back and stay off the trail.

As she makes her way into the thick of the trees, she soon finds a discarded basket of what looks like blueberries scattered about it.

This way of the forest seems more welcoming—or perhaps less foreboding—than what is behind her.

Perhaps after two miles, Iris happens upon a plump russet-haired woman sitting beside a pond. The sight is almost tranquil save for the blank dead stare the woman gives to the water.

“Come to finish the job have you?” She says dryly.

“I’m not with The Finger,” Iris states.

The woman turns around with half interest.

“Ah, cerulean robes. A scout of The Eye I take it. The Eye watches all, observes all, sees all. Isn’t that what you lot always say?”

“I take it that was your village a ways back?”

“Aye. I was out picking blueberries for my daughter. Blueberry pie is—er—was her favorite.” She chokes on the latter part of the sentence.

“Might I have a sit?” Iris asks softly.

The woman shrugs. Iris sits next to her.

“Why?” Iris asks.

“Why else? Our fealty lies with our goddess—The Fifth—not The Hand,” the woman says while dejectedly turning her eyes to the coruscating water.

“The Fifth—our goddess of the fifth sense: vision. The Eye must be with the people in their time of need,” Iris recites. “I’m sorry we weren’t here sooner.”

The misty eyed woman turns to Iris and sobs into her shoulder.

#

Iris stands before the three Seers. They are three women wrinkled with wisdom. Greyed sagacity is plentiful in the trios’ hair. She sees them sitting on their burlap cushions in front of the Everburning Fire—a fire always small, but always warm. Their cobalt robes stand in stark contrast to the otherwise humble looking site.

“Come forth, scout,” The Third Eye calls to Iris. The Left Eye gently pats an empty burlap cushion.

Iris sits cross legged on a cushion which sits between The Left Eye and The Right Eye.

“Allow us your Sight,” The Right Eye says. The Right Eye and The Left Eye hold out the palms of their hands. Iris clasps their hands while they simultaneously link their other hands with The Third Eye.

“Show us what we must see,” the three Seers say in unison.

As the vision ends the three look to Iris expectingly. Their dark eyes glimmer in the flickering light.

“I wasn’t there in time,” Iris says despondently.

“You were there as soon as you could have been,” The Left Eye says with a gentle smile.

“You’re not strong enough yet to face The Finger,” The Right Eye states.

“It was only a squad. I think I could have—” Iris begins.

“Could’ve gotten yourself killed? You listened to your instincts. Don’t second guess yourself now. You’re not ready yet,” The Right Eye interrupts.

“You were there for the woman. You brought her to us and in time she will heal. And she needs you here for that. The Eye must be with the people in their time of need.” With that, The Third Eye’s words close the meeting.

Iris sits with the sages’ wisdom wrestling against it with her own youthful arrogance. In the end, she knows this is where she is needed.

#

Among the bustling campsite, the shapely, auburn haired woman is sitting in front of her tent toying with her toast and gruel. Iris carefully sits in front of her.

“How’s the breakfast?” Iris asks.

The woman shrugs still making cursive swirls with her food.

“You know, I never did ask you your name,” Iris says apologetically.

“It’s Ignis’Ita... Ita for short.”

“Little Fire,” Iris says.

“Yeah, that’s right,” replies Ita still avoiding eye contact.

“My name’s Iris,” Iris says with a warm smile.

“Of course it is,” Ita says with a half laugh.

There’s an awkward silence. Iris smacks her tongue against the roof of her mouth pondering whether or not she should say what she wants to.

“Out with it then,” Ita says.

“We know who killed your family,” Iris spits out, unsure whether or not she should have held her tongue.

Ita finally looks up at her.

“We know where they are,” Iris states. “I can try to take care of it if you’d like.”

“May I join you?” Ita asks solemnly.

Iris nods.

“The home of one of the soldiers is two days northwest of here. We believe it to be the home of the one who led the charge against your village,” Iris states.

“How do you know this?” Ita inquires.

“The Eye watches all, observes all, sees all,” Iris recites.

“So one of the other scouts did some digging—er—seeing rather,” Ita responds.

“You should pack whatever you desire. We can provide you with the essentials. We won’t be coming back here,” Iris says.

As Ita gathers her provisions, a flicker of light rekindles in the woman The Finger once extinguished.

#

Propelled by determination, the pair ventures forward through luscious grassy terrain.

Ita pats her hips.

“I forgot a knife,” she says in an irked voice.

“I told you, once we leave we can’t go back,” Iris says.

“But we aren’t even that far. It’s only—” Ita’s voice trails off. As she turns, she sees the campsite has disappeared. Not a trace of what was once there remains.

“They Blinked. It’s why The Hand can never find us,” Iris says.

“But you can find them again, right?” Ita asks. She hopes she doesn’t sound foolish.

“Of course. Anyone of the Eye knows where to look,” Iris responds.

“I see. Or rather, I don’t see,” Ita smirks at her own joke.

A subtle curl forms in Iris’s lips.

“The Hand. Hasn’t that name ever struck you as odd? The Hand. The Finger. Why did the king ever name himself The Hand? And The Finger? Who names their military The Finger? It’s almost as ridiculous calling themselves as The E—” Ita stops before finishing her last sentence. She bites her bottom lip.

“The Eye?” Iris playfully finishes. “You’re fine. I suppose it is all a bit silly when you think about it. But The Hand is nothing without The Finger.”

“And The Eye watches The Hand,” Ita finishes.

The journey is a rather steady trek. A few bumps, but nothing to slow the pair down. The pair have journeyed through day’s end. They set up camp and fall asleep under the peaceful night.

#

A morning glaze of dew refreshes the path awaiting the two adventurers. The dew has met the face of Ita. Iris delicately places a hand on Ita’s shoulder.

“No matter how peaceful the night is or how beautiful the morning, I always wake up in tears,” Ita says attempting to regain her determination for day’s journey.

“I’d imagine it’ll be like this for a while, but maybe one day it won’t always,” Iris says gently.

Through her sadness, Ita looks upon the stretch of land ahead of her with a sense of tenacity. Iris observes a glare of sunlight shining upon Ita’s long flowing hair. Her hair has a tinge more vibrance. It strikes Iris, inspiring her to consider Ita differently. The sight reminds Iris of an old painting depicting the story of a young peasant girl leading an uprising.

“Let’s go. We have work to do,” Ita says at last.

By nightfall, the pair finally reach their destination. It is a quaint cobblestone cottage. A healthy garden grows near the front of the house from the dim lamp light shining through the window. The two crouch behind a nearby bush.

“I didn’t take any of The Finger to have such a green thumb,” remarks Ita.

“It could be his wife’s work,” responds Iris.

“His wife?” asks Ita with a flabbergasted look. “You didn’t tell me he was married.”

“Would it have mattered? You don’t have to go through with this,” replies Iris.

“I didn’t come all this way for nothing. The way I see it, she’s an extension of The Finger,” Ita says coldly.

“Have you ever killed someone?” Asks Iris.

“No… I haven’t. Have you?”

Iris nods.

“It’ll change you. Once you do this there’s no going back.”

“Back to what? The Finger took all that I had. I’m ready,” Ita says.

“We’ll lure them out,” says Iris.

Iris stealthily readies herself on the darkened left front side of the cottage. Dagger readied. One pebble, two, three, four graze the window. There’s a rustling within the home.

“Oi! Who goes there?” A burly man in off-white sweat stained sleepwear emerges from the wooden front door. The man takes a step forward.

Iris slides from her corner, climbs his back, and begins to slide her blade across his throat. Almost as soon as she begins her incision, a woman grabs Iris by the tail of her hair crashing her to the ground. The brute spins around with a fist in the air and just as he is about to strike Iris, she vanishes. The man looks down in front himself blinking looks of confusion.

“Where’d she go? She was just ‘ere,” the nasally sounding wife questions.

The oaf turns only to have a dagger carve into his jowls. The man staggers forward as blood spills forth from his open wound and mouth. Iris makes two quick side steps placing herself in the cottage’s entrance. Ita sprints forth with a fist sized rock. She bashes it against the man’s temple. Again, again, again.

Another bash, but this time a pot meets the side of Iris’s head. Iris slams against the side of the door. The wife of the big man grunts. She winds up for another blow as Ita grabs her by the face and pushes her further inside the house. Iris stumbles towards the two, but lands on her bum.

Ita and the wife have met each other’s strength. Ita manages to slam the wife against the wall. The wife pushes against the wall with a hind leg and the two fall to the ground: Ita supine, the wife prone. The wife crawls on top of Ita. Ita shields her face with her arms, bracing for impending blows. Her arms are met with warm, thick liquid. Iris has sliced the wife’s throat. Iris falls backwards again on her bum. She sits heaving.

The team catches their breath. Iris holds the palm of her hand to her forehead to nurse her daze.

Ita raises both of her hands and looks at her red, wet arms. She looks down upon the lifeless body lying next to her.

“It had to be done,” says Iris.

“I know... You’re right…It’s just…”

“I wish I could tell you it gets easier, but it doesn’t.”

Silence fills the room. Ita fixates her gaze on the corpse. Iris idly fiddles with her knife.

“How did you do that?” Ita asks at last.

“Do what?” Iris asks back.

“They had you right where they wanted you and you just… disappeared… and then reappeared,” Ita says almost questioning whether or not it really happened.

“I Winked,” answers Iris.

“So, like they did with the campsite?” asks Ita.

“That was a Blink. Only the Seers are powerful enough to do something like that. A Wink is much more brief and I can only do it to myself,” responds Iris.

“You should teach me how to do that. It could come in handy,” Ita says.

“Only those of The Eye are granted access to our ways,” responds Iris.

“So how does one become a part of The Eye?” Ita asks eagerly.

“I was just waiting for you to ask,” Iris ends her reply with a wink.

BIO: Anita Noelle Green (she/her) is a transgender woman. She has a BA in Sociology. Her work has been featured in CafeLit, Swords and Sorcery Magazine, Exclamation Mark and will be featured in an upcoming issue by Fish Girl Collective.

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