by Sam Ledel
Each word piled around Jastyn like the heavy raindrops pooling at her boots. They started to drown her, creating once again an insurmountable number of obstacles between herself and a way to help her sister.
Jastyn couldn’t stop herself. In a single motion, she pulled the blade from her boot and swiftly angled the point toward Rua, whose full lips lifted higher in a wide smile at the sharp edge against her breast.
“So, there is a bit of spark in you after all? What a delightful surprise.”
“This isn’t a fair trade,” Jastyn said, shaking her head at the rush of water bombarding her face and shoulders. A shiver ran down her back, and another roll of thunder clapped through the sky. Or was that something else? What sounded like swords clashing against shields echoed in the distance.
Rua pricked the blade with the pad of her finger, then disappeared. Jastyn expected her to reappear, but when she turned to look, Rua was gone. Frantic, she scanned the meadow. But her saol was dim in the heavy rain, and even the fairies’ nests had been all but extinguished in the downpour. Again, the sounds of a struggle pricked her ears from somewhere to the north, deep in the Wood. Voices called out from between the trees. But Jastyn’s eyes stung with tears. Her breathing quickened. She looked at the vial gripped in one hand, her hunting blade in the other. Rua had bested her. The reality of this gripped Jastyn around her stomach, ran up her dry throat and let itself out in a visceral scream. She heaved, and tears raced down her face before she could stop them. She hated herself for letting Rua go. She hated herself for failing her family again.
Bitter disappointment crawled into her lungs and tightened around her heart, and Jastyn fell to her knees. Then, for the first time in a long time, she hung her head and wept.
Chapter Eleven
Jastyn’s feet sank into the muddy earth while the storm continued to release its torrent over the Wood. She had strayed from the path along the brook, the water obstructing her way, overflowing onto the grass in heaping pools. As a result, Jastyn stomped through stretches of sticky dirt, continuing to chastise herself over her encounter with Rua. How could she have been so naïve? She knew the Red One was slippery. Still, Rua got what she wanted, and Jastyn was left with more questions than answers.
Muttering under her breath, Jastyn felt the vial bounce inside the otherwise empty sack—the rest of the items now gone thanks to Rua. She cursed the Red One. But more than anything, she cursed herself for letting down Alanna.
There was another loud crack of thunder, and Jastyn paused to lean under the wide branches of a pine tree. The hundreds of towering trunks tried to shield her from the downpour and ease her anxious mind. Wrapping her arms around herself, she wanted to let the low-hanging limbs lift her up and remind her to be strong. But her body shook, and she had to fight the misery overtaking her mind. Closing her eyes, Jastyn tilted her head back to rest on the moist bark. Raindrops snuck between the needles and dripped onto her face, momentarily relieving the hot frustration. More thunder rumbled, and through her closed eyelids, she saw flashes of lightning.
The brief respite from her frustration vanished faster than she would have liked as she shivered, and the unfairness of the last hour overtook her again. Reluctantly, Jastyn released more cries into her fists, knowing that the only witnesses were the trees reaching down with their long branches to protect her.
Sniffling, she thought of her family. She imagined the warm fire in the hearth, the smell of her mother’s stew, even the shadow of her stepfather working in the corner. Part of her longed to be there. But she couldn’t go back—not yet. Not after a failure such as this one.
Regaining her breath, Jastyn wiped her face clean with the wet sleeve of her tunic. She ran a trembling hand down her braid, the hair already matted and tangled. She thought about Eegit. Perhaps she could nurse her wounded pride at her meadow before facing the truth of her failures back in the village.
Another loud clash descended upon the Wood. The sound scattered like frightened rabbits between the tree trunks. The tail end of the noise held an unfamiliar echo, and Jastyn opened her eyes to peer through the steady rainfall. She was a good two miles from the village. Yet she thought she heard the sounds of shouting. And what she had thought was lightning was the bright flashes of spell-fire. Crouching, Jastyn moved closer to the noise. Eventually, a gap in the trees revealed a group of thirty men, clad in the kingdom’s colors, in full armor and weaponry facing opposite a stampeding horde of—
“Elves!”
Eegit appeared at Jastyn’s side so suddenly that they both gasped as Eegit hollered again, pointing toward the skirmish. “Elves have descended from the north!”
Jastyn turned back to the flashes of light, now a bright, streaking mixture of yellows, reds, and blues against the otherwise black night. Moving closer, Jastyn could make out the tall, slender outlines of the elves. The swift slicing sound their arrows made sent a jolt of fear down her back.
Eegit tugged at her tunic. “Come, child!”
But Jastyn pulled her arm away and scurried over the exposed tree roots to get a better look. She recognized the armor worn by the royal guard’s scouting party. Toward the front of their box formation stood an older man—incredibly built with a chest the size of the nearby tree trunks—swinging his sword to block an arrow that narrowly missed his left cheek. That same man motioned for a younger soldier with similar blond hair poking out beneath his helmet to advance.
“We must move!” Eegit crouched beside her, but Jastyn’s eyes were glued to the chaos unfolding before them.
“Is this the scouting party that planned to explore the west? What happened?”
“None of our concern!” Eegit cried, hopping hysterically from foot to foot.
Jastyn shook off Eegit. Something wasn’t right. “But why are the elves attacking? They’re a peaceful group.”
Eegit sighed, throwing up her hands that dripped with rain. That was when Jastyn’s eyes landed on the source of the latest yellow orb hurled across the newly formed battlefield. The young man who threw it was the spitting image of the princess. The pale blue saol floating beside him lit up his face that contorted in a cry before he struck down an elf with his sword. Jastyn saw Aurelia in his proud chin, his thick hair, even in his nose. She was struck by the resemblance when he turned to call after another guard. As he did, an arrow found its target in his left shoulder. He staggered backward while one of the guardsmen cried out, “Your Highness!”
“Eegit—it’s the prince!”
Eegit paused to join Jastyn in observing the battle. The elves were gaining ground fast, and more guards crumpled under the onslaught of arrows.
“Why aren’t the king’s men retreating?” Jastyn’s eyes darted around. The prince, she noticed, managed to stand warily. But not one second later, another arrow landed with a sickening thump in his side.
“Not good,” Eegit muttered. “Come. We must leave.”
Jastyn stumbled backward as Eegit pulled her away with surprising strength.
“But, Eegit, that’s the prince!” Perhaps if she repeated that fact, her friend would realize the urgency of the situation.
But Eegit’s eyes looked past her and were as wide as mouse burrows. Jastyn saw a flicker of fear within them. Eegit’s lips parted slowly. “A changing wind howls over Venostes tonight.”
A boom of thunder shook the earth. Jastyn turned back to the fight. The older man, who she now presumed was the general, crouched over the prince. He looked to be alive, but his breathing came in shallow, staggered breaths. The king’s men shouted over one another frantically, running around while the elves whooped and yipped. The elven leader—the tallest of them all with shoulder-length silver hair and gray eyes—shouted something in their native tongue. Seconds later, his army pulled back.
“What are they doing?” Jastyn muttered, confused. There had been no territory gained by either party. The kingdom’s general had not fallen, as he called after the retreating elves while the younger version of himself rus
hed to the fallen prince. It was almost as if—Jastyn’s throat went dry at the thought—the prince was all they were after.
Jastyn caught one more glimpse of the young man stretched out on the muddy, upturned ground. One bloody hand clutched the wound in his side. Meanwhile, the blond soldier, who Jastyn couldn’t place, was wrapping the prince’s shoulder in cloth from his own tunic. The prince’s face looked calm despite the severity of his wounds.
Eegit yanked Jastyn away from the field as more of the elves ran and vanished between the trees. “Child, come now!”
“All right!” she replied hastily. “Let’s go.”
While the two of them hurried back into the depths of the Wood, the harried battle cries grew distant. But the prince and his sister were now forethoughts in Jastyn’s mind, clouding her vision and making her stumble through ankle-deep puddles and over gnarled tree roots.
Trailing Eegit, she had a feeling her friend was right; a new wind was raging over the land, and Jastyn feared it wasn’t in favor of the prince.
* * *
“Roisin, when is the Autumn Equinox Festival?” Aurelia asked in her most casual tone while finishing off the final crust of bread on her dinner plate. She sat with her maiden in the dining hall, the only two occupants save for the trio of musicians lounging in one corner of the vast room near the roaring fire. The men sat on plush cushions, laughing and occasionally breaking into sweet-sounding melodies on their instruments. Aurelia’s mother and father had retired for the evening following dinner. The princess imagined that the idea of Brennus being outside the kingdom’s walls was nearly too much for them to handle, and their early turn-in was a way of making the next day, and his return, come faster.
Roisin took a drink from her wooden cup and set it down opposite Aurelia’s goblet. The wine left a dull purple stain along her bottom lip. “The equinox? It’s not for some time. Seven, maybe eight weeks?” She sat back and crossed her arms. “Why ever do you ask?”
Aurelia stuffed her mouth with goat cheese and shrugged, avoiding Roisin’s curious gaze. But Roisin leaned forward, a knowing grin stretching across her face.
“You’re hoping to see that girl again, aren’t you? The one from the stables.”
Aurelia fidgeted in her chair, the wood suddenly stiffer than normal. Roisin giggled at her unease. “You’re hoping a kingdom-wide event will bring her out of hiding.”
Lifting her chin, Aurelia replied, “See? I knew I never should have told you about her. All you do is tease.”
Still chuckling, Roisin washed down a bite of lamb. “Come now, m’lady. It’s all in good fun.”
“Is it now? It seems only fair that I return the favor. I noticed Coran lingering in the kitchen after breakfast this morning where I happened upon the two of you chatting away like gossiping magpies.”
Roisin’s face grew as red as the venison on her plate. “Princess! I was only being friendly.”
Now it was Aurelia’s turn to laugh. She sat straighter, having regained her composure. “Anyway,” she said while Roisin bashfully bit into an apple, “what if I do want to see her again? There’s no harm in that.” She ignored the eyeroll from Roisin. “After all, it would be rude of me not to inquire about the state of her sister.”
At this, Roisin’s face turned serious. “That poor little thing. So young.”
They sat quietly, mulling over the state of a girl neither of them had ever met. Nevertheless, Aurelia felt a deep sympathy for the girl. And the more she thought about the ailing villager, the more she yearned to see Jastyn again.
“What was her name?” Roisin asked after a minute. “The one you gave the bracelet to.”
Aurelia looked up from her plate, her lips twitching into a smile. “Jastyn.”
Roisin nodded. “Well, I’m sure you’ll see her again. The equinox will be here before you know it.”
Aurelia was about to reply when the doors to the dining hall burst open.
“Hurry! Over here, quickly!”
Drest sprinted toward the opposite end of the dining table. He wore his armor and helmet, both smeared with mud while dirt and blood mingled together across his breastplate. His right fist clutched the top of an arrow shaft, its tip dark. His face was stricken and pale, his eyes frantic.
“What’s happenin’?” Roisin asked. Aurelia glanced from her to Drest, shaking her head. They both stood and started toward the other end of the table when Baron Louarn entered. Aurelia froze.
In his arms lay her brother. His left shoulder was wrapped haphazardly in a cloth soaked with blood. His right arm dangled lifelessly in front of the baron, who wheezed and huffed, his chest expanding against the tight leather of his armor while he rushed to carry Brennus. Her brother’s head bobbed awkwardly, his neck pale and limp. His eyes flickered up toward the ceiling, and Aurelia’s stomach dropped when she saw the gaping hole in his right side. Blood bubbled out from it, trickling down the back of his breastplate and onto the baron’s feet.
“We need help!” the baron bellowed, his own face contorted in panic while he moved toward Drest, who cleared the end of the dining table of its contents in one motion.
“Quick, get him up here.” Drest set the arrow down and grabbed Brennus’s feet to help his father carefully lay him out atop the wide table. Upon being placed on the polished wood, Brennus winced, and Aurelia rushed to her brother’s side.
“What happened?” she asked, taking in his pallid face and the sickening smell of blood that had already hardened in the fabric of his tunic.
Drest answered before reaching to grab a jug of water from the table. “We were ambushed.” Roisin, wasting no time, ran out and returned seconds later, a bundle of clean cloth in hand. She and Drest soaked them, then began rinsing the blood from Brennus’s arms, chest, and face. When Drest removed his friend’s armor, they saw Brennus’s navy tunic was completely blood-soaked.
“It was the elves,” Baron Louarn added. Aurelia glanced up to find him seemingly stunned, watching the three of them with unblinking eyes. “The elves attacked us. Our allies.”
“Elves?” Aurelia asked. “How can that be?”
The baron shook his head.
“Traitors, all of them,” Drest said. “Look at what they did.” He was leaning over Brennus as Aurelia began to re-dress his shoulder wound. At her touch, her brother groaned and coughed. A spurt of blood erupted from his mouth. The four of them exchanged glances. The musicians whispered to themselves in the corner. Aurelia glanced over her shoulder at them. At the sight of their hands covering gossiping mouths, it only took a second for the fear she felt to turn into anger, and she shouted.
“Go! Don’t just stand there. Alert the king and queen!” The stunned men stood quietly but didn’t move. “Now!” she bellowed.
The trio jumped and ran from the room.
Brennus coughed again, his body spasming with each choking sound. Aurelia ran a hand over his forehead, which burned to the touch. She crouched down so that she was eye level with him. Brennus turned to her. He fought to keep his eyes open. A gurgle sounded deep within his throat when he opened his mouth to speak. Tears brimming in her eyes, Aurelia shook her head. “It’s okay. Don’t try to talk.”
She kept her eyes locked on her brother’s. The light within them had grown dim. “Keep pressure on his side,” she tearfully ordered Drest, who already had his hands over the wound. “Gods, how could this have happened?”
Aurelia racked her brain for something she could do. She ran every spell her mother had ever taught her through her mind, scouring the annexes of her mental library for any herbs, elixirs, or potions that could aide her brother. But everything she thought of was a temporary fix, a bandage for the surface, not a cure for a wound as deep as the one in his side.
“There has to be something.”
“Out of the way!”
They all turned. Her mother bolted through the doorway into the room. Her magenta night robe was coming untied at the waist, revealing a shin-length, navy sleep-tunic t
hat her knees fought against while she rushed toward the dining table. Her hair was braided, but almost half of it had come undone in the night. It flew in thin strands over her pale forehead. Her mother’s bare feet seemed out of place when she reached their group.
“Tell me what happened.” Her voice was calm and stern, the way it often was during meetings Aurelia listened in on.
Baron Louarn spoke first. “Our troop was headed west, as planned. We were about to set up camp for the night when we were attacked.”
Her mother’s eyes didn’t leave Brennus’s nearly unresponsive form, which she scanned from head to toe while her hands did a search of their own on his wounds. “By whom? Who attacked you?” she asked.
Drest spoke through gritted teeth. “Elves.”
At this, her mother looked up. Aurelia caught the surprise in her eyes. But her mother’s gaze shifted back to Brennus. She ran a hand through his sweat and rain-soaked hair.
“Aurelia redressed his shoulder,” Roisin said in a solemn tone once they had fallen quiet save for Brennus’s uneven breathing. Her mother’s eyes went to the bandages, and she nodded.
“Very good, my darling.”
Aurelia smiled despite herself. “That one wasn’t very deep. But his side…” Her voice trailed off. Baron Louarn wheezed and moved to sit in a chair near her brother’s feet. The red flecks on his boots made Aurelia’s stomach churn. Drest muttered under his breath, his hands still pressed against Brennus’s side.
Her mother leaned closer to Brennus. Drest moved his hands for her to get a better look at where the arrow struck him, but as soon as the pressure was removed, more blood spurted out. Brennus gasped and moaned. His eyes flickered, then fell closed again.
Aurelia swallowed, watching her mother. Her face was ashen, and her eyes darted around as if searching for an answer. Her mother ran another hand down Brennus’s face. “Hold on, my dear, sweet boy.”
