by Imogen Elvis
Wait. There. She caught a glimpse of darkness beyond the flames. Briar fixed her eyes on that little wedge of hope. Her blood pounded in her ears. The inn couldn’t be that big, but the distance to the other side seemed eternal. She called up one last, desperate burst of speed, slipping her hand free of Kade’s, and pelted towards that patch of dark.
They burst out of the blazing inn and staggered to a halt on the other side of the road. Briar doubled over, hands braced on her knees as she gasped for air. Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes. She looked back. “Do you think he followed?” Her voice came out as a hoarse croak.
“I doubt it. We haven’t got long though. You need to find somewhere to hide.”
Briar ran her tongue over her dry lips. There was still the tunnel where she’d planned to take Ava. If she could reach it. “I know somewhere.”
“Good. Hide there. Don’t come out until morning, whatever you do.”
“What about you? Where will you go?” Briar clutched her medallion, suddenly afraid of him leaving, though she didn’t know him. Anything was better than being alone.
Kade brushed her question off. “You need to go. Quickly, before he finds you.” He turned and strode away, the smoke swirling around him like a cloak.
“Wait,” Briar cried. But Kade was already gone.
The street was so empty without him. Briar hunched in on herself. It wasn’t safe out here in the open. She had to get to the tunnel. Briar hurried through the darkened streets, too scared to walk, too nervous to run. Her eyes were drawn to the dancing shadows as they twisted across the walls of the houses.
At last, the outer wall loomed over her, solid and comforting, though the danger was already inside. It couldn’t be far now. Briar trailed her fingers over the line of the wall, letting it guide her feet. In the darkness and the smoke, the streets were strange and unfamiliar.
There, that small break in the stone blocks, just barely visible as a slash of darker shadow. Briar ran the last few steps and scrambled inside the tiny gap, crouching in the little shelter with her mouth dry and her hands shaking. The stones around the entrance blocked all but a wedge of smoky sky, flickering orange as clouds of sparks rose above the town. She should be safe here for the moment. But there was no comfort in that. Not when there was an empty space at her side where Ava should have been. Briar wrapped her arms around her knees and fixed her aching, tearless eyes on the flickering sky, praying this night would end.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dawn arrived, covered in a pall of ash. Huddled in her little hideaway, Briar watched the weary sun rise. Morning. The Nameless Ones should have left by now. And yet she lingered there, cold and numb. To go would mean facing the reality that Osman as she knew it, the mistresses, Ava, and the life she had worked so hard to build were all gone.
Survivors would most likely gather in the main square. She should head there. Briar forced her legs to uncurl, wincing as her cramped muscles protested. Crawling out of the cave, she blinked in the growing light, gazing for the first time on the full extent of the destruction around her.
Plumes of smoke rose sluggishly above the rooftops in dark pillars. A nearby house still blazed fiercely, the flames paler in the daylight but no less greedy. But it was the bodies that drew Briar’s eyes. Those small, crumpled shapes, slumped in the road. She didn’t need life songs to tell they were all dead. Every single one. Bile rose in the back of her throat.
Briar hurried through the streets, her vision blurring as she strained not to see, not to feel as she looked at those pitiful bodies, their glassy eyes begging, even in death, for help that never came. Men and women. Here and there a child. Tears burned at the backs of Briar’s eyes. No one deserved this.
The streets were still and quiet, but as she headed deeper into town, Briar caught the first faint sounds of a tolling bell. Amid the utter stillness, the familiar peals were jarringly out of place. At least it was proof there were other people alive somewhere. How many had survived? Briar could only pray that some of the magicians had found a way out of Osman, had stayed safe through the night. Did Rayna make it out?
As Briar approached the main square, she caught the first whisper of voices. Their low, wordless hum quickened her step. In a few moments, she wouldn’t be alone with just the bodies in the streets. She ached for the first sight of the living. Briar turned a corner and came out on the edge of the main square. Here, she paused, drinking in the scene. Yesterday this had been a bustling market filled with stalls and animals and crowds of people coming and going. Now all that was gone, and in its place sat a small camp with a sparse population of survivors.
In one corner, a group erected a tent against the wall of what had once been the tailor’s shop. A couple of men carried an injured woman towards it on a makeshift stretcher. A healing tent maybe? Another shelter went up not far from the first, next to a pile of boxes and other assorted items. In the centre of the square, people heaped the shattered remains of the broken market stalls into a stack. The survivors murmured as they worked, or not at all, heads down, just working through the pain.
There were other magicians too. Over on the far side of the square, a water singer worked alongside a fire singer, their voices blending as they worked to contain the blaze in what had been the baker’s shop. A couple of earth singers moved rubble from fallen buildings, while a beast singer soothed an ox as it drew a cart through the square, its ears flicking nervously. Their grey habits stood out among the other soot-stained survivors.
Soldiers stood in a perimeter around the edge of the square, stationed at every street corner. Their hands rested on their weapons as they scanned the surrounding area for signs of trouble. Too little, too late. What use was this vigilance now after the damage had already been done? Briar swallowed hard and headed for the healing tent. That, at least, was familiar.
As she approached, a girl stepped out, then stopped in her tracks. “Briar, is that you?” Rayna ran towards her, throwing her arms around Briar and holding her tight. “I thought you were dead.”
“Rayna.” Briar awkwardly returned the hug. Relief flooded through her. “I’m so glad you’re alright.”
After a long moment, Rayna stepped back. Her eyes searched Briar’s face, then the empty space around her. “Where’s Ava?”
The lump in Briar’s throat wouldn’t let her answer. Instead, she just shook her head.
“Oh Briar, I’m so sorry.” Tears welled in Rayna’s eyes. Vaguely, Briar was aware she should probably be crying too. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine.” Her voice lacked emotion. It was simply easier not to feel. “How many magicians made it back?”
Rayna shrugged. “Some. More keep arriving all the time though. We’re getting a healing tent going. It’s mostly just me right now. Master Talor’s in charge of it. And there are a few volunteers from the town. We could definitely use your help.”
“And your family? Are they alright?”
Rayna’s lips trembled. “No sign of them yet.” She managed a wobbly smile. “But they’re probably just hiding somewhere, right?”
Briar forced a smile of her own and nodded. “They’re probably just being cautious. I’m sure they’re fine.” At least, she hoped they were. That was all anyone could do at the moment. Hope against hope that things would be alright.
“Anyway, we should get to the tent. They’re going to need our help.” Rayna linked her arm through Briar’s. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
The tent was barely up, but already the wounded flocked to it. Some hobbled in by themselves. Others leaned on family or friends for help. The worst were those carried in on stretchers with ashen faces and blood-soaked clothes. Briar and Rayna ducked inside the flap of the tent. Already, the weight of hopeful gazes rested heavy on Briar’s shoulders. Hope that she could perform miracles.
Inside, a few townswomen tended to the lesser injuries, tearing cloth into strips for bandages, washing wounds with clean water, and soothing their patients with soft
murmurs. Briar surveyed the tent, every space filled with people needing their help, and swallowed hard. There were so many.
“Novice Rayna.” A master strode the length of the tent, anger sitting dark on his face. “You are needed in this tent. Not playing around out there.”
Rayna bowed her head. “I’m sorry, Master. I-I just went to fetch Briar. She’s a soul singer too. She can help.”
Master Talor regarded them both, his heavy scowl never shifting. “Very well. You are excused this time.” He gestured to the long line of injured townspeople. “Deal with this lot.” The master ran his fingers through his hair. “Only use magic if you absolutely have to. Just… do what you can.” He sounded tired.
Do what they could? Briar turned her eyes to the confusion. What were they supposed to do in the face of all this? They needed Mistress Willow. She would make order out of this with just a look. But Mistress Willow was dead, as the tight knot of pain in Briar’s chest reminded her. It was up to her and Rayna now. Briar pushed back her sleeves and sank to her knees beside the first man in line.
Blood soaked through the front of his shirt, gushing out from where a large piece of wood pierced his chest. Debris from a fallen house maybe. His breath rattled against his ribs. A woman sat beside him, stroking the matted hair off his ashen face, murmuring quiet, empty words of comfort. She raised huge, fear-filled eyes to Briar.
“Please, help him,” she whispered.
Briar took the man’s bloodied hand and opened her mind to his life song. The music hit her in a swirl of chaos. Notes faded in and out, fragments of melody breaking apart. She struggled to catch the thread of the song, before murmuring a few notes. At once, unbearable pain lanced through her chest as if a stake had been driven right through her body. Phantom blood filled her lungs, choking her voice to silence. Briar ripped herself from the life song, gasping. The world spun, and she braced a hand on the ground, waiting for everything to settle.
“Why aren’t you singing?” The woman’s voice rose. “You have to help him.”
“Novice?” Master Talor crouched beside Briar, a steadying hand on her shoulder. There was a silent question in his eyes.
Briar looked up, the world still swaying slightly at the edges, and shook her head. There was nothing she could do for this man.
Master Talor sighed, and a tired, sad look flitted over his face. “Make him comfortable and move on.” He stood abruptly.
The woman dissolved into hoarse sobs. “Please. Why can’t you heal him?”
“He’s too close to death. I can’t heal him. I’m so sorry.” Briar reached for the woman to comfort her.
“Don’t touch me.” The woman knocked Briar’s hand away. “Linden. Linden.” She pressed the dying man’s hand to her lips, rocking back and forth as sobs shook her entire body. “Why?” Her voice dissolved into a thin, wordless wail.
Briar bit her lip, turning away. There was never an answer to that question. Just bitter weeping as you tried to comprehend the fact that they were going, and you were not. There were not enough tears for all this grief, and too much to do to be able to sit and mourn the dying and the dead. Briar moved on down the line of wounded, leaving the woman to her sorrow. There were simply too many to tend to for Briar to sit by the dying man’s side and comfort him as he passed on, and that was maybe the greatest tragedy of them all.
All day, people came and went inside the healing tent. Someone salvaged a stack of blankets for the wounded. Another brought a bolt of linen, which Briar and Rayna tore into more bandages. And there were always more buckets of clean water from the town’s well to wash the more minor wounds. Briar and Rayna tended to the injured and the dying with the help of the townswomen. Sometimes the girls needed to heal the wounded with magic, sometimes they were able to simply wash and bind the wounds, and sometimes, far too often, there was nothing they could do at all.
Briar blinked in tired surprise when, around midday, Zamir’s friendly face appeared around the edge of the tent.
“I thought you could maybe use these.” Zamir set down a small canvas sack. “I hope they help in some way.” He touched his right hand to his heart with a slight bow of his head. “Thank you, magicians.” He ducked out of the tent again before Briar could speak.
Briar tore open the top of the bag and sat back, staring at the contents. Herbs. Healing herbs. Not nearly enough for everyone they treated. But enough to help those most in need. Certainly more than they’d had of anything so far. Her heart lifted a little. Even now, there were glimpses of light that kept hope alive. And they needed it. There were so many wounded. Too many people so close to death that not even magic could save them. Grieving families unable to accept that even the magicians couldn’t prevent the slow, inevitable fade of the life songs.
She’d been healing too much. Coming out of another song, Briar’s vision swam. The echoes of music still rang raw in her ears. Another healing and she might lose herself in there for good. But there were still so many people needing her help.
“Are you alright, love?” One of the townswomen laid her hand on Briar’s shoulder with a look of concern. “You’ve gone very pale.”
Briar forced a smile. “I’m fine. Just tired, that’s all.”
“You should take a break.”
“I can manage.” Briar fought to keep the exhaustion out of her voice. “There’s too much to do anyway.”
“There’s always too much to do.” The woman’s face softened. “Go get something to eat. I’ll watch things until you get back.”
“Thank you.” Briar stood, brushing the dust from her habit. When was the last time she’d eaten? Someone had brought in food at midday, but then there’d been a man who’d been crushed by a fallen wall, and the meal was forgotten in the rush to save his life.
Outside, evening fell slowly. A fire blazed in the middle of the square, burning the remnants of the market stalls and providing warmth, light, and, mostly important, somewhere to cook a meal. Briar brushed some loose strands of hair out of her eyes and trudged wearily towards the fire in search of something to eat.
Other magicians gathered in the middle of the square too, as work stopped for the day. Briar caught sight of several grey habits hovering around the fringes, and some familiar faces. Kira, the fire singer from Briar’s dorm. A few of the masters and mistresses. Some other novices she was less familiar with. Enough magicians that they could help build Osman up again, and reform the order house. Even just from their work today, most of the fires around the square and in the surrounding streets were finally out, thanks to the hard work of the fire and water singers.
A cold ache built in Briar’s heart despite the warm glow of the fire. They would rebuild Osman. But she couldn’t rebuild her life here. Not without Ava. What was she supposed to do now? How was she supposed to carry on?
“Soup?”
The friendly enquiry broke through Briar’s darkening thoughts. “Thank you.” She took the bowl from the motherly woman, who dipped her head respectfully and left Briar to herself again. The smell of food made Briar’s stomach rumble. She dug in, suddenly aware of just how hungry she was. The thin soup burned her tongue, but Briar spooned it down anyway. Just then, the flavourless liquid was possibly the most delicious thing she’d ever eaten.
From the back of the square, a cry went up. Briar’s head whipped around. What now? Standing on tiptoe, she caught a glimpse of a small group of magicians, headed by Master Sachio, staggering into the square, carrying two large bundles between them. Briar pushed her way through the crowd, her stomach twisting itself into knots, as the group laid their burdens next to the fire. Magicians poured out of every corner, gathering in the stark silence of dread.
Master Sachio knelt and pulled open the blankets wrapped around one of the bundles, then the other. Briar covered her mouth. Mistress Willow and Mistress Rhosmari. Their bodies were burned so severely Briar barely recognised them. She watched them die, and the image of that would haunt her forever. But to see them now and to
know they died saving her, that was almost worse. Briar touched Mistress Rhosmari’s medallion and the small white stone through the fabric of her habit where they hid next to her skin. A lump formed in her throat.
“The deaths of Mistress Rhosmari and Mistress Willow are a terrible tragedy.” Master Sachio’s voice was sober. “So much has been lost in this attack. So many lives. These mistresses and all our fallen friends and kin will not be forgotten. Their songs join that of the Crystal Tree. We will never forget their bravery and sacrifice.”
Briar laid her right hand over her heart and bowed her head, joining the other magicians in one final gesture of respect to the fallen mistresses. A single tear traced its way down her cheek. Why did good people have to suffer so? Why did these Nameless Ones hunt them so mercilessly? Where was the sense in any of this?
Master Sachio stood, and the quiet moment ended. The other magicians moved forward slowly, one by one, to kneel next to the bodies and pay their last respects. Briar took a step towards the mistresses. It was only right to farewell them properly. But in the end, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Instead, she hung back, watching as the other magicians said their goodbyes and slowly moved away. The dead were dead, and the living had to go on.
Finally, Master Sachio himself knelt next to the bodies. He placed a hand on Mistress Rhosmari’s shoulder, head bent. Briar felt for the mistress’s medallion. Maybe she should give it to him. He would probably appreciate it. She grasped the chain but paused. Mistress Rhosmari made her promise to keep it secret, no matter what. Briar couldn’t save the mistress, but she could honour her last request at least. She settled the chain beneath her habit again and turned away, leaving the master to farewell the mistresses in peace.
CHAPTER EIGHT
