Before the Crow

by Aaron Bunce

  The river, he thought, running out across the road and towards the curving river.

  It flows south, and traversing through the country by foot is difficult and slow. Yes, find a boat, Pera reasoned, finishing Julian’s thought.

  Julian trudged through the deep snow between buildings, the rush of water echoing tantalizingly ahead. He stumbled out over a rack, its contents tangling around his feet and legs. He staggered, not bothering to untangle the nets. A row of short, narrow boats sat upside down, not far up the river.

  Once Julian got to the nearest boat, he flipped it over and started pulling it towards the icy water. He had just reached the water’s edge when a wayward thought stopped him.

  “Oars? Damn!” he cursed, looking back towards the closest building.

  Julian ran back into the snow, gasping for breath, his desperation winding his nerves tight. He was so close. So very close. His fingers wrapped around the wooden poles as snow rained down from the edge of the building. He ripped the oars out of the brackets holding them in place, and turned for the river.

  “No!” he growled, his eyes snapping around to find the two hulking Yu warriors standing between him and the boat. They looked ragged and dirty. Blood seeped from a cut on Histarian’s forehead, while Ghadarzehi’s nose was swollen and red. Their furs were covered in splinters and snow.

  Julian slapped the ground with the oar heads, his frustration almost too much to bear.

  “Soft skin!” Histarian growled, his weapons held ready as he came forward a step.

  Audible, heavy footsteps sounded above and behind Julian, knocking fistfuls of snow onto his head. A massive white form leapt from the boathouse roof behind him and landed in a plume of snow. Julian staggered back, falling on his rear.

  The drakin’s feathers shifted white, to gray, exposing its glossy coat of onyx scales and rippling muscles underneath. It cocked its head, passing a large eye over him, before turning back to the Yu.

  A deep rumble issued from the creature’s chest, one so loud and deep Julian could feel it in the ground beneath him. Ghadarzehi and Histarian’s eyes went wide, and they backed away. For the first time since waking outside the mountain, they looked scared.

  The beast protects you, Pera intoned.

  Julian pushed to his feet, stepping forward uneasily. The beast was thrice his length, its claws long enough to poke clear through him.

  “What-what is this, soft skin?” Histarian asked, uneasily, moving back as the drakin hissed, flashing a mouthful of shining teeth.

  “Just back away. I only want to leave here,” Julian said, quietly coming up beside the beast.

  “We cannot, we must…” Histarian started to argue, but the drakin dug its claws into the ground and reared up onto its hind legs. It spread its clawed arms wide and roared. The two Yu warriors fell back and crawled away, their furs falling open to expose vests made of similar black scales.

  They won’t harm the creature. It is sacred to them. And it appears it won’t harm you, now get to the boat! Pera urged.

  Julian crept forward, the shifting, flexing drakin dropping down onto its front legs. It turned and considered him, before growling again and driving the Yu further away.

  Running forward, Julian grabbed the boat and slid it across the snow and into the water. He jumped in, the small craft rocking violently from side to side.

  Histarian and Ghadarzehi growled and kicked the snow, but the drakin snapped and hissed, keeping them at bay. Julian settled onto the bench and locked the oars into the rings, but he was already fully in the current.

  It took several strong pulls of the right oar to straighten the vessel, but he managed to point it down river. He glanced back in time to see the massive drakin running along the shoreline, moving south to pace him, before disappearing into a grove of snow covered pine trees. Two dark figures stood alone on the riverbank, quickly slipping into the distance.

  They will follow, Pera reasoned.

  “Then we will have to put as much distance between them and us as we can,” Julian said out loud, savoring his first free breath in what felt like a lifetime.

  Julian leaned forward and plunged the oar into the water, propelling the small boat even faster with the current. For the first time in a great while, Julian felt strong and healthy. He felt free.

  “Hold on, Tanea. I’m coming,” he whispered.

  Chapter 36

  Running and Dancing

  Brother Dalman ran. His chest ached, and no matter how hard he gasped, he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. He stumbled down the lane, windows on both sides of him glowing with candlelight, but he wasn’t concerned with stealth anymore.

  There were people in the streets too, moving slowly in the same direction, toward a disturbance ahead. Part of him believed that he should stop and turn. To head elsewhere to escape the city, but that would take time. A louder part of him told him that he couldn’t afford more time.

  The monk stumbled out of the side street, his feet slapping heavily against the cold ground. He was winded, exhausted, and desperate.

  He approached a small crowd that had congregated near the massive southern gate. A group of soldiers stood with their shields up, pushing the group back.

  “My da is out there. You can’t lock me in here. I don’t have nowhere to go!” a young man yelled, before bending over and heaving something from the ground.

  “We said back! Back! The gates are already closing, by the will of your Council. Stay back or you’ll get smashed to death,” one of the soldiers yelled, pushing a woman back with his shield.

  Brother Dalman looked up, and realized in horror, that the massive gate was indeed descending, one massive link of chain at a time.

  “You can’t lock us in here like animals. The Council said the gates of this city will always be open. Treachery!” a woman screeched, her voice rising above all others.

  “We have our orders,” the soldier said, pushing the group back yet further. Another soldier paced behind the line of men, her eyes sparkling green in the street lanterns.

  Brother Dalman staggered back a step. They weren’t going to let anyone out. He was going to be stuck in there. He would die trying, and he would die if he stayed.

  The restless crowd pushed forward, bolstered as more and more people streamed in from the side streets. Others leaned out of nearby windows or crept out their doors to join in.

  Pushing past a young man, the monk made for the far left side of the square. A group of men swarmed up around him, sweeping him forward as they surged for the line of soldiers.

  “Wait…no, please,” he cried and fought back, but they were too strong.

  “You can’t keep us here,” the men growled around him, pulling clubs and rocks from their robes.

  Brother Dalman did the only thing he could, he dropped. The angry men didn’t stop. They pushed, kicked, and trod on him. A foot landed on his belly, and everything swam when another collided painfully with his head.

  Angry voices cried out above him and wood struck steel. He forced his way up onto his hands and knees, and then stood. The crowd fell into complete disarray. A soldier fell to the ground before him, blood running freely from his nose and mouth.

  A sword flashed down and one of the men wielding clubs dropped. Brother Dalman moved through the chaos, breaking into the open as a soldier tackled another man to the ground.

  “Hey, get back!” someone yelled and pulled him back by his robes. Brother Dalman twirled about, coming face to face with a short, broad-faced soldier.

  “You’re not allowed…” the soldier started to growl, but a man waded between them, his club cracking loudly off the soldier’s skull and striking the monk in the follow through.

  Brother Dalman staggered, twirling in an ungainly dance. He was on his back then and not entirely sure how he got there. A sticky fluid ran down his face, dripping in his eyes and making them burn.

  The soldier that had taken the brunt of the attack rose to his knees a few paces away, hi
s shield forgotten. The braggart with the club came at him, but someone stepped between them and knocked the aggressor backward.

  Brother Dalman scooted back, pushing with his hands and feet. He could hear the gate lowering, the massive chains clinking and rattling. It was right there, just behind him. All he had to do was turn, gain his feet, and run through. Yet, he couldn’t get his body to move right.

  The female soldier bent and picked the club-wielding braggart off of the ground. He was larger than her, but she hefted him as if he were a sheaf of parchment.

  Brother Dalman wiped his eyes as the man cried out. The green-eyed solder ran her sword clear through his belly and ripped it sideways. The man’s pelvis and legs fell free in a gruesome mess. Any illusion of order then vanished. People started running in every direction, screaming while attempting to escape the gruesome scene.

  Rolling over onto his belly, Brother Dalman crawled forward, the simple act of moving his arms and legs at the same time a confusing and aggravating affair. He scooted under the descending gate, the crushing weight of wood and iron barely a dozen paces above him.

  “Do not move!” someone said. The monk felt their words as much as heard them. They rattled in his head, stealing control of his arms and legs. She had rendered him helpless, immobile, so the gate could crush him. He could feel the green-eyed soldier standing behind him, watching, and savoring his pain. Yet, she wasn’t the only thing moving.

  A shadow darted from outside the gatehouse. The person, small of frame and long of hair, fell over him. Hands grabbed fists full of his robes, wrenching painfully at his flesh beneath, and yanked him back.

  “Stop!” the green-eyed soldier yelled, her compulsion rattling Brother Dalman’s thoughts and almost toppling him from consciousness, but his rescuer didn’t stop pulling.

  He cried out as the gate dropped, the teeth of the construct just missing his feet. The soldier’s face appeared a moment later, floating in the dark space between iron bars, her eyes burning with an angry green light.

  He felt the soldier’s horrible thoughts boring into his mind, jabbing at him like a weapon, until finally, after several excruciating moments, the pain ended. The young woman’s eyes pulsed brightly and then dimmed as her face faded back into the shadows on the other side of the gate.

  His rescuer grunted and strained, pulling him clear across the outer courtyard. He tipped, and then rolled into the ditch, having neither the strength nor the willpower to stop it. A few moments passed before his head cleared.

  Rocks crunched under foot as his rescuer slid down the ditch next to him. They hooked him under the arms and helped him to sit up. Brother Dalman reached up and dabbed at his forehead, favoring a throbbing lump on his forehead.

  “You took a walloping, Brother,” the girl said, kneeling down before him. “You’re heavier than you look.”

  “Indeed,” he said, still trying to collect his wits.

  “Strange sight, seeing the gates of Ban Turin coming down,” she said.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Brother Dalman breathed, pulling his shaking hands into his sleeves.

  The girl reached up and pulled an unruly tangle of hair out of her face, exposing clear, pale blue eyes. They were the same color as a clear, blue sky.

  “Wait, you’re…you’re,” he stammered, fighting to grasp hold of a fleeting memory.

  “…just repaying a stranger’s kindness to a girl trapped in the slums. I’m Aida. If it’s all the same to you, I think we ought to get moving now,” she said.

  “Thank you, child,” Brother Dalman said, accepting her help to stand.

  They walked together, arm in arm for a long time, before cutting through the brown, scratchy bushes and onto the road. The wind buffeted, cutting across the road, blowing snow in a painful, blinding cloud.

  “I’m afraid I don’t have anything. My coin, my bags, and all of my possessions are locked in my room, back in the city,” Brother Dalman said, shivering.

  “I ain’t for walking the whole way to the lakes, sir,” Aida said, sliding her hand into her robes. She pulled out a bag of coins and let it jingle. “Aren’t you glad I listened?”

  Brother Dalman smiled.

  * * * *

  “Wow!” Luca gasped as the carriage rumbled around the turnaround before the Pine Hall.

  “I know! Isn’t it wonderful?” Emma said, her face pressed up against the window.

  The carriage driver jumped down and pulled the door open. “Miss, and young sir!” he said respectfully, first helping Emma out, and then Luca.

  He watched as the carriage driver held onto Emma’s hand a heartbeat longer than was necessary. Luca felt better once the young driver climbed back aboard his carriage and drove away. Playing the part of the gentleman, Luca held out his arm for Emma, and the two made their way in through the wide doors.

  The Pine Hall was tall and spacious. Every window was aglow with decorative candleholders and other festive decorations. As they walked inside a wave of aromas rolled over them. Luca smelled fresh pine needles, wood smoke, but also food.

  The entrance hall was long and decorated with more tables, trinkets, pictures, and chandeliers than Luca could count. He knew his mouth was open, but he didn’t care.

  “Tickets, please?” a stuffy old man in a waste coat said, his gloved hand extended.

  Luca pulled the rumpled tickets out of his pocket and smashed them into his hand. The man closed his fingers around them, his nose rising slightly.

  “Welcome to Lord Kingsbreath’s Winter Festival, sir and miss,” the stuffy old man said, depositing the tickets into a bowl behind him and greeting another couple.

  Luca and Emma turned and walked into the hall.

  “Mulled cider?” a young server asked, extending a gleaming silver platter.

  Emma took a glass for each of them, and followed as Luca limped over to a bench along the wall. They sat, sipping their cider and marveling at the spectacle.

  Long strings of garland were strung from wall to wall, highly polished lanterns hanging in their midst. Tables were set up, end to end, all burdened by huge platters of food. Emma grabbed his hand and squeezed, almost making him spill his cider at the unexpected contact. She directed his attention to the hall’s center.

  “Look, Luca. Look. They’re dancing!” she whispered excitedly.

  A stage had been constructed amidst the tables, almost all of its structure covered in ivy, ribbons, and candles. A group of musicians sat clustered together, playing passionately and stomping their feet.

  Luca watched the people dance, the girls twirling and the young men dipping. It made his heart race and his legs ache.

  “Oh, Luca, you must dance with me. It will be so fun!” Emma cooed.

  “I, uh…” he stammered, nervously. “You go ahead, I think I’ll just sit here and watch.”

  “Come now. We’ll dance together. Come along, I’ll help you,” she said, rising to her feet.

  “Watch it, girl,” a woman in a fancy dress growled as Emma backed into her.

  “Pardon me, milady,” Emma bowed and moved away.

  “Why don’t you just watch where you’re going? Then you wouldn’t need pardons,” a boy said, his sandy-colored eyebrows dipping at a severe angle.

  Luca recognized the boy. He played in the field below the Chapterhouse regularly. He was loud and usually got his way.

  “Lord Kingsbreath’s Winter Festival stands a pale reflection of thaws past. Now we are to share libations with servants and orphans. The thought stirs the blood,” the woman proclaimed loudly to a man in fancy dress as they passed.

  Emma dropped back onto the bench, her cheeks flushed and her eyes suddenly damp. Luca hated seeing his friend struck so low, so he wedged his crutch under his arm and stood, before holding his hand out in invitation.

  “Would you care for a dance, milady?” he asked, using the best “older guy” voice he could muster.

  Emma dabbed at her eyes and smiled. “Most definitely, good sir,
” she said, taking his hand.

  They walked through the tables together and stopped just outside the dance floor, waiting for the current song to end. Luca’s right leg shook and his palm felt sweaty, but it wasn’t from the pain. It was from his nerves.

  The song ended and all of the people dancing stopped to clap. Luca limped out with Emma, taking an empty spot in the middle of the floor.

  The musicians started to play. It was a soft tune, with sweeping, graceful notes.

  “This is a four step. Have you ever done one before?” Emma asked.

  Luca shook his head, eyeing the people dancing around them. They moved so gracefully, stepping together and turning with grace and ease.

  “I don’t think so, but then again, how would I know?” Luca said with a giggle.

  Emma laughed and threw him a wink. “It’s simple,” she said, putting his right hand on her waist, and propped his left on her shoulder. “You step towards me, then we step to the side, then back, and then forward again. You see? Four steps. After that, we turn together, and start it all over again.”

  It seemed easy enough to Luca, but putting the concept into application was usually his problem. They walked through the steps several times slowly, until he got used to it, and then Emma sped up.

  Luca’s crutch tapped the ground as he struggled through the dance. He wasn’t stepping per se, but more of a hop, jump, and an ungainly pirouette. Emma laughed and he lifted his head. He realized how silly he looked, his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth as he stared at their feet.

  “You’re a magnificent dancer,” Emma said, beaming.

  “You lie!” Luca laughed.

  They danced through a number of songs, until Luca almost fell over. His legs throbbed, but what hurt more was his arm, where the head of the crutch rubbed his skin raw.

  “I have to sit,” he said, taking hold of Emma’s arm to steady himself.

  Luca struggled off the dance floor, his exhaustion and pain stealing away all of his dexterity. It felt like the first time he left the Chapterhouse with Father Thurstan. Except now he had Emma.