by LJ Swallow
Leander envelops me in his cloak as temperatures drop, and the soft wool lining brushes against my cheek as I burrow my face into it. This cloak is warmer and finer than any I’ve touched or any I ever expected to. Leander wraps an arm around my waist too and his body moulds with mine as we continue along the way.
I’m dominated by his presence as I was last time, but this time where our bodies touch my awareness isn’t fear. His chest rises and falls against my back and his silence is only broken by the steady breath against my hair. I close my eyes and focus on his scent and quiet comfort to take me away from the searing pain growing in my arm. I doze in and out of sleep and my arm hurts more, but I don't want to say anything. I refuse to be the weak girl.
The other two men walk alongside and our journey has slowed again.
There's no possibility we'll reach the stronghold today.
14
CALLA
An hour into our journey, the quiet becomes filled with disagreement over our next move.
“I’ve travelled through here in the past,” says Rohan. “There’s a town between the forests and the ocean. Seacrest. The residents are Relinquished and don’t like the Ebon.”
"We should stop there, then,” says Galen. "Somebody in town could help. They must have somebody who could treat poison.”
Leander flicks the reins to persuade his steed to keep moving. "Perhaps, but the Relinquished distrust strangers and half of them can barely speak."
"They're not dangerous though," says Rohan. "They were betrayed too and have no quarrel with us.”
"They can offer shelter. Without that, we could be sleeping beneath the trees tonight. That's no good for Calla."
“Or you,” adds Galen.
They lapse into silence, and I rest my head against Leander's shoulder, asking him to elaborate as we move onwards.
My heart speeds at his words, with his tale that Seacrest is a town filled with humans who are the shell of what they once were, trapped in a nightmare. When the Ebon conquered the shire, their leader refused to join the Ebon crusade against the Silvercrest kingdom and his reward was devastation. Not of his town, but his people. The Ebon cut them off from everywhere else, with no supplies to trade in and out of town. A dark magic is woven around the town and people keeping them alive but transforming them in the process.
The only means to leave is by boat but those who scout the route never return. Anybody who leaves the town meets the same fate—at the hands of the Ebon or the creatures in the wilds. These people, known as the Relinquished, are trapped.
The decision to stop is made as Galen’s concern about the poison grows when mine and Rohan’s skin blackens further.
The setting sun picks out the town buildings, close to the tributary where the land ends at docks. The clouds could be mistaken for smoke from fires shrouding the settlement as they surround like a mist.
The four of us approach in the gathering dark, and I shiver, resting further against Leander as people emerge to watch us.
People.
I can't make out their faces clearly, but there's something frightening in their visages. Their eyes are bigger than they should be in their gaunt faces and shine through the night like lit torches. I avert my eyes as a figure draped in tattered clothes returns my stare.
Galen and Rohan stick closer to us as they walk alongside, their faces hidden by cloaks as they watch their surroundings. To my relief, nobody approaches.
We reach a building close to the dark water lapping against the empty docks. A fishing boat or two are moored but look as if they're used for sleeping on, rather than sailing anywhere. Despite the vibrant sunset, the dark sea remains ink black.
"This worries me," murmurs Leander.
Rohan stumbles—something I’ve noticed he’s doing more. "We have little choice. But, as the saying goes, the enemy of my enemy—"
"—is my friend," I put in.
Two men step from the building and look up at us. Their eyes shine with the same milky hue that matches the pale moon. Their mouths twist into disgust on their angular features. Their clothes are less ragged and the weapons in their hands glint to match their eyes.
"Who are you?" growls one. “Nobody comes here.”
Leander straightens. "We would like to speak to your town leader. We need help."
"Who are you?"
"Leander. High Lord of the Silvercrest."
If he hadn't been holding me, I would've fallen off this horse. My shock must be apparent as his grip on me tightens. Did I just swear audibly? I joked to myself this man is royalty, and he almost is.
The Silvercrest family hold power over the largest shire and are the king's right hand men, descended from the same lineage. But that's not all. I once heard rumours their family divided and some now side with the Ebon.
"Is this a trick?" The guard’s eyes dart around. "Did you bring your men, High Lord?"
"No, I have no army, just these men from the stronghold. We are travelling back from Westdale in Abbottshire.”
“And who is the girl?”
“My sister,” says Rohan. “She is joining me at the stronghold.”
The guard peers at me. “Can’t see what use a woman would be to your army.”
“There are many women there,” says Galen. “Each has skills to offer.”
“Yes, Calla is a skilled potion and salve maker.”
The man’s narrow-eyed suspicion remains and Leander sighs. “Take us to meet the town leader. If he tells us to leave, we will do so. But I would like the chance to request an audience. Ask if we can lodge here tonight.”
Rohan side glances Galen, and I get the impression this situation is usually reversed and people are begging Leander for an audience.
This town could be mine, but in so many ways is nothing like my home. A long road leads through the middle with buildings either side, until a crossroads is reached where a town square is set. I glance at the place the gallows are in my home but here there's nothing, just a broken fountain with no water running.
A gloom winds around the settlement, but not just from the oncoming night. The darkness isn't like the Ebon, but instead a heavy sadness that seems to hang in the air around. At this time, even with no fair, my town's streets would be filled with people talking or falling in and out of the tavern. Here, some figures huddle together, sitting against the stone buildings, but nobody walks by.
One of the guards with us walks over and speaks quietly. The pair pull themselves to their feet and slink away, around a corner. The guard points upwards. "The moon is almost at height. They must go inside soon. We have a curfew."
"Why?" asks Leander. "I thought you weeded out those who still had Ebon connections."
"We did, but we lock the town gates at night and keep everybody inside. The last Ebon came at night and hid for days, harboured by some in exchange for money," says the man. "Now anybody on the street past sundown is killed on sight. You’re lucky."
I tense. This place doesn't feel as friendly anymore. Rohan chuckles to himself, then winces.
Our group stop in front of a larger house on the outskirts of town, not far from the low wall between Seacrest and the plains leading across to the ocean. The house’s grey brick and ugly gargoyles looking down on us match the mood of the town, and I brace myself to see if the residents are the same.
A man appears in the doorway. He's tall and emaciated, and in the lantern light his skin has a green tinge. Dark hair is plastered to his head, and the same watery eyes as other townsfolk regard us.
“Sir.” Galen steps forward and the guards do too. "We have an injured lady with us. We're unsure she can make it to daylight without succumbing to her wounds. We have nowhere else to stay."
I'm half hidden beneath Leander's wooden cloak still, my face warm against the cold, and only my eyes and forehead visible.
"And what do you expect me to do?" the man rasps.
Leander remains straight and I'm confused why Rohan is so quiet. His back is to
me and I can't see his reaction either.
Leander's voice is soft. "We need somewhere to rest. Perhaps you could find somebody who can help with the injuries."
“This is the High Lord Silvercrest,” adds Rohan with a sigh. “It would be in your interest to help us if you wish your town to remain safe.”
“Rohan!” Galen says. “That is not the way to find help from people.”
“This man knows the reality.” He crosses his arms.
A woman appears at the man’s shoulder. If it weren’t for her paler than human face and emaciated figure she’d be beautiful, but her looks are marred by the Relinquished appearance. Her oversized, watery eyes light up as she flicks a look from each of us, landing on Rohan.
“Oh my. We have some special visitors here, Amos.” She tiptoes and whispers something to him. He sucks on his teeth as he keeps his eyes on us, nodding at her words. He explains briefly who we are and her curious expression switches to interest.
“I would love to entertain and assist you. Amos, I think these men are better as allies. They may remember our kind behaviour if ever their army passes through again.” She smiles at me, but her strange face scares me still.
The man’s hesitation is interrupted by the woman’s enthusiastic invite into her home. “I’m Nerissa. Please, eat with us.”
15
CALLA
I turn the wooden cup around in my hands, unsure what to say or do. The woman sitting at the table wears a dress ten times finer than mine when it was first worn. Her bodice is laced in silver against small breasts and the skin is stretched across her pointy shoulder blades. The long gold and silver skirts shine in the lamplight and the brightness is at odds with her half-dead appearance. Nerissa offers me kind smiles as I half listen to the conversation happening around me. My arm throbs, and when I place my fingers over the bandaged wound the heat radiates. I don't feel good.
"Would you like something to eat also, Calla?" asks Nerissa.
I smile and shake my head. We shared bread and dried meat on our trip although my sickened stomach didn't want much. She nods at my arm. "Are you in a lot of pain? What happened?"
"We were attacked," puts in Leander, annoying me that he interrupted my chance to respond.
"Unexpectedly," adds Rohan gruffly.
“Some of the animals around here do inflict poison. You were unlucky,” she replied.
I lean past Galen to look at Rohan. He's attempting to stay straight and engaged but the struggle is on his perspiring face. Why hasn't Leander asked about a cure yet?
I’m surprised by the food placed in front of us. Leander told me how impoverished the town is and many of the residents we passed showed that with their thin bodies and gaunt faces. We’re served rabbit and a selection of root vegetables along with a strong alcohol I don’t recognise.
I hesitate as I lift my fork, guilty I’m taking food from others’ mouths. Nerissa watches. “We are fortunate enough to store food. Please, don’t worry.”
“But I was told food is scarce in the town. Something simpler would suit us. Some broth, maybe?”
“A High Lord joins us for a meal and we serve him broth?” She laughs lightly, strange eyes glinting. “We cannot insult him like that. We would rather Silvercrest think on us with kindness when they liberate these parts.”
I look to Leander, but he doesn’t support me. “I cannot reject their hospitality, Calla.” The pointed look I’m given suggests I know little about how his world works.
“And an elf joins us,” mutters Amos and pokes at the food on his plate.
There's something in the way the pair reacted to Galen that’s out of proportion with the little he's spoken. As is his way, Galen remained quiet and the aggressive undertones from Nerissa seem strange.
"A Lumen elf, not Ebon," he says softly. "I was never involved with the Ebon."
Nerissa's narrow-eyed expression tells me she already passed judgement on all elves.
Dipping my head, I eat and my hunger takes over from my guilt. The meal passes slowly and excruciatingly—not just the pain, but my discomfort with the company.
My three friends told me I could trust these people, but I've spotted doubt on Rohan's face. I'm unaware of the whole story but something stinks about this town. Not just the proximity to the sea and the stagnant water in the docks, but in the people's manner. In the dark, we've seen few, and those I spotted had heads bowed and muted responses to the world. Even the serving girl who glides in and out seems unable to connect with what's happening around her.
I surreptitiously study Nerissa again. She's beautiful—or once was. She wears her hair pinned atop her head but there's no shine to her locks. Her gaunt, pale face contrasts the colour and the red lipstick and pinched cheeks do nothing to draw away the ill look she holds. What did the Ebon do to these people?
We withdraw to the sitting room, a phrase I've no understanding of until we're led into a room half as large as the dining room with thick, colourful rugs thrown around the floors and wing backed armchairs. Colour is a welcome surprise in this dark place, but doesn't take away the shadows breathing down my neck.
A fire crackles in the low hearth and a sparse pile of wood rests in a metal bucket beside it. I’m suddenly struck by how cold the house is compared to the summer’s evenings at home. We’re a day’s ride away, not far enough for the weather to be this different. The cold is the town and whatever thrall the place is held under.
What worries me the most is Rohan's shared discomfort. His pale, perspiring face grows yellower tinged as time passes and the hour of politeness is over. I’m faring better, but the pain and nausea intensify as time passes.
"Excuse me," I interrupt. "We need help. Rohan and I are sick. I hoped someone would have a salve or potion to help.”
Nerissa wipes her fingers on a cloth napkin and stands. "My apologies for rudeness. Yes, I have something, I hope.”
I push my chair back and stand. As I do, Leander immediately stands too. "Where are you going, Calla?"
"Nerissa thinks she has a remedy."
“Don't worry, I won't spirit her away anywhere," she chuckles.
Galen's troubled look is matched by Rohan's more vocal distrust. "I'd rather Calla stayed with us."
Amos tips his head. "You mistrust us? We have offered you hospitality."
"No," interrupts Leander, "that's not the case. We have had a difficult day and Rohan is struggling with his pain."
"Then he should want us to help." Nerissa smiles sweetly.
"Nerissa is skilled with all manner of these things," he says. "She has a collection of salves and will share if we have one to help.”
"And of course one of you gentleman should come too," she says.
The men look at each other, a silent decision over who accompanies me. Apparently made by Rohan. "Me."
Galen murmurs something to Rohan, then says, "No, I will come with you instead."
Rohan opens his mouth to protest, but Leander nods. "Yes. You can barely walk now, Rohan. The others will bring you back the salve."
"Come! Drink more for the pain!" The man picks up a wine bottle and offers to pour.
Galen explains away my confusion over why our injured party member doesn’t come with us . His affinity with nature allows him to detect what ingredients are used in potions and salves and if they could cause harm.
The room Nerissa takes us to is at the rear of the property, downstairs. She unlocks a door and we step into a low ceilinged room. The stone walls are dark grey and add a feeling of claustrophobia to the place.
A large bench lined with items I recognise is directly opposite the door, covered in vials and equipment for distilling. Either side, shelves are stacked with glass containers and pots, unlabelled. The place has a strange odour, not the damp mustiness I expected but a cloying mix of scents from the ingredients around. I walk over to a shelf where there are created items in brown bottles with labels printed with words I can’t decipher
Galen watches qu
ietly as Nerissa chats to me about her work in the town and how her apothecary skills are needed. I still have a hundred questions about this place but am cautious of asking.
"What poison are you and the lightbringer afflicted with?" she asks me.
Galen replies for me. "We're unsure. I think a slow poison, as that is one the Ebon often use."
Nerissa straightens. "The Ebon attacked you? Why? I thought this was from an animal attack."
"Yes. We made the mistake of travelling close to one of their encampments on our way back to the stronghold." I don’t say anything to spoil his carefully measured story.
"That was unwise." The woman peers at me. "Why did they attack you, if you're a woman and defenceless?"
Her suspicion sends a cool trickle along my spine.
"The Ebon don't care," says Galen. “You know that. If she’s with us, Calla is fair game.”
She examines my arm without touching me. "I know how to cure this, if it is Ebon. I've treated wounds like this many times before. I wish you'd said and I would have brought something straightaway." She tiptoes to the shelves and pulls down two small, circular jars, only centimetres high. "Spread this on your wounds, and you should heal quickly." She unscrews the lid and shows me.
I lean forward and sniff the contents. Mint scent mixes with a strong, foul odour. "This would work? It smells rotten."
"The tree bark used is one that grows within our walls. Barely." Nerissa hands me the pot. "Try some. And don't look so suspicious. You are with powerful men; we can't hurt you."
I hold the pot out to Galen in a silent 'what do you think?' He takes hold and dips in a finger before lifting it to his nose. Galen pulls a face at the smell. "I think this is safe. Here."
