I am a murderer - Travis Soulsong

[Tejas]

I am Travis Soulsong.
And I am a murderer.


My story is one that some might call tragic. Some might call it a fool's tale. And, like so many stories of fools, it began with a woman.
Her name was Emily. Emily Moondance. She was really just a girl when we met, just barely over sixteen. I was nearly seventeen at the time. But we knew we belonged together the first time we spoke. It was one of those things that you just know it's meant to be.
I can still see her face. That fair skin with just a hint of lovely freckles on the bridge of her nose, those emerald eyes that you could simply get lost in, those lips that always seemed to be on the verge of a mischievous smile. And her auburn hair, the color of the autumn leaves and soft, so very soft. And when she laughed . . . It is difficult to describe, but it was as though everything was right with the world, just because she decreed it so.
Her father did not think much of me, or of my family, for that matter. But I suppose that every father feels that way toward his daughter's suitors. It took me three long years to gain his approval and his daughter's hand in marriage.
Oh, the time we had together . . .
She was as musically inclined as myself, though she preferred to sing rather than play an instrument. We traveled from town to small town, earning our meager keep with our stories and songs.
It was shortly after our third anniversary that she found out that she was pregnant. I had not thought that I could possibly find any more joy than what I already had, but I was wrong, so very wrong. And as each day passed, Emily glowed brighter, more radiant than ever. Yes, all was right with the world.
But, as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end.
At first, everything seemed fine, but as the childbirth progressed, it became readily apparent that something was terribly wrong. The midwife did all that she could, but it was to no avail. I even sent for a cleric from the town temple. His prayers were fervent, but his divine magic was simply not powerful enough.
The midwife handed me the child, our daughter, Emily's and mine. A precious little thing, she was. I brought her to Emily, but she barely had the strength to caress the baby's cheek.
She knew.
"Travis," she said to me, her voice barely more than a whisper, "You have to promise me to protect her." I nodded. The promise was easy to make, for I knew that I would give my life for the baby from the moment I first held her.
I could barely control my voice enough to speak as I asked, "What shall we name her, love?"
Emily smiled softly and I could feel my heart shattering into a million pieces.
"I have always liked . . . Minuet . . ."
Then her strength failed, her hand slipped away and she sighed away her breath as she fell into that eternal realm of slumber. It was strange, though. Laying there, she looked so peaceful, so content, I could scarcely believe that she was gone.
Then the child stirred in my arms and opened her eyes.
That was the day that Emily departed the world and left, in her stead, Minuet.


For the next fourteen years, I spent every moment I could with Minuet, teaching her the beauty of music and the mystery of poetry. Perhaps I was biased, but she seemed to me to have a natural gift for the life of a bard. She could sing with such passion that it would bring tears to the eyes of those who listened. And she could play the flute or the lyre with such elegant grace as to cause nobles to bend knee and swear featly to kings centuries long dead.
I made certain to tell her everything about her mother, intent on keeping her memory alive long after I was gone. I even gave her a silver locket that had belonged to Emily. She looked just like her mother, the same green eyes, same auburn hair. She even had the same smile.
Unfortunately, as is usual for such a situation, there was a young boy who was enamored of her. He was a local lad, a farmboy, by the name of Edwyn. Not that I had a problem with farmers. But, like any father, I was very protective of my daughter. I did all that I could to run the boy off, but I was not aware of the fact that Minuet returned the boy's affections. And so, as I later learned, they had taken to sneaking off, taking strolls along the lakeside or sharing a picnic and talking. The boy was the perfect gentleman, never being overly forward. In retrospect, I suppose that he would have been very good to her. But I could not see it at the time.
Then came that one, terrible day.
They two had stole away to be together, taking with them a basket of food as usual.
I had looked for Min in our house, but she was, of course, not there. So I asked the neighbors if they knew where'd she'd gone. One woman mentioned that she had seen Minuet leaving with Edwyn, heading down the road that led to the lake. I admit freely that I was quite angered by the boy. I headed down the road in haste, eager to give the boy a good lashing.
What I did not know, what I had not seen, was that the two of them were waylaid by a robber. The brigand had brandished a long dagger before them, taking their basket from them. As he did so, the robber noticed the locket that Min wore around her neck. Reaching out, he snatched the jewelry and Minuet tried to stop him. In the struggle, the man thrust the dagger into her chest.
With a gasp, Min fell to the ground, the blade still in her flesh. The bandit, shocked by his own actions, lit away, taking the locket and leaving behind the weapon. Edwyn, that poor lad, fell to his knees beside her and tried to help her, but he knew nothing of healing. He pulled the blade out, his hands shaking with adrenaline and fear.
It was then that I saw them, Minuet lying on the ground, her chest painted red with blood, and Edwyn kneeling over her with a crimson-stained blade in his trembling hands.
Now, I ask you, if you had seen such a scene, what would have been your first thoughts? I can tell you what mine were.
I thought that the boy had stabbed her; as to why, I did not know, nor did I care.
I ran to Min, lifting her head gently and feeling for a pulse. It was there, but it was fading fast. Min opened her eyes, her lips moving, trying to speak. I leaned close to better hear her.
"Papa," she all but whispered, "Edwyn . . . locket . . ." She trailed off, drained of her strength and unable to finish. In my mind, she was pointing out her attacker and the purpose for his crime. Then Min, my precious little Minuet, stopped breathing altogether, her green eyes staring at the sky in death.
"No," I said softly. "Don't go, child. Don't go." She, of course, could not answer me. I felt my heart rising up in my throat. And I looked at Edwyn.
The boy had such a look of terror in his eyes.
"You did this," I accused him. "You killed her."
"What?" He backed away, scrambling to his feet. "No! It wasn't me! It was a robber!"
But I was in no place to listen to him. I lurched to my feet and rushed at him, my hand wrapping around the blade of the dagger, the steel biting deep into the flesh of my hand. I paid it no mind as I wrenched the blade from his hand and took hold of the hilt. Then I gripped his shirt with my free hand.
I never even spoke as I rammed the dagger into him, all the way up to the hilt. I don't know how many times I stabbed the boy, but when it was over, he lay on the ground, bleeding everywhere.
When I had calmed somewhat, I searched the boy for the locket, but found nothing.


The local law looked into the incident, with the aid of a elven ranger named Nailo Nighthawk. Within two days, the elf had discovered and tracked down the true killer and brought him in to stand trial. And, since it was clear by the evidence that Edwyn was innocent of the crime, a warrant was issued for my arrest for the boy's murder. I caught word of the warrant well before the soldiers came to my home. By that time, I was long gone, fleeing my home, fleeing the memories of my wife and my daughter. Fleeing the memory of my own crime.
And so, you see, I am not a good man. I am barely even a hint of who I was.
And I am a murderer.