Seablood

by Cameron Bolling

  The woman stood her ground as the eclipser approached, but neither the cover of nightfall nor the shadows of the alcove could conceal the fright on her face.

  “And if our promise of repayment in wealth and good relations is not enticing enough for the people of Ahwan, perhaps the threat of The Earthtremor’s wrath will suffice. Do not cross us. We have come here on good terms seeking a favor that may be repaid. Do not invert those gifts.”

  Oleja and Cyrah began to back away, slowly, so as not to draw attention to their retreating forms. Oleja brushed her hand over the grip of her knife, sheathed at her side.

  The eclipser turned back to the crowd. “If she is here—and we do strongly suspect that is the case—she would have arrived around a month ago now, or perhaps a bit more. Dark hair, red-brown skin, late teens to early twenties. She wielded a bow and a knife and had an affinity for making odd contraptions out of junk.”

  Oleja’s retreat, though slow and steady before, increased in speed now. Danger spiked with every word the eclipsers said—the streets were no longer safe.

  A murmur rippled through the crowd. One voice rose above it after a few moments. “There was a girl like that! She is here!” they called, and then, directed to the others around them, added: “What was her name?”

  Voices from the crowd grew in strength and number.

  “So what if she came here?” shouted a voice. “She’s human, and they’re beast. I’d trust even the vilest human before one of them.”

  Vilest human? Ouch.

  “Why keep ‘er around? Trade ‘er for the reward!”

  “You want to cooperate with Itsoh? You want earthborn as our allies?”

  “Maybe it’d be good to have any allies at all! And maybe we would if not for King Reungier!”

  “Traitor!”

  “Earthborn breeder!”

  Oleja knew how this scene played out, and she didn’t need to get caught in the midst of it again. Especially with the stakes soaring so high.

  The crowd rose up into waves. Anyone who did not join a side scattered. The two groups clashed, their shouts filling the air as they grew louder and louder. Oleja and Cyrah spun on their heels and ran, no longer fearing to look out of place with so many others now running in the street.

  They got no more than a dozen steps before a small band of people stepped in their way. The man in the front of the group stooped to peer under their hoods. His eyes widened.

  “Hey! Hey, over here! It’s the girl!” All of the eclipsers looked to the man as he waved to them. They hurried around the arguing mob and ran towards them.

  Oleja tried to dart past the group, but they blocked her way. No other path led forwards, and to turn and go back meant running straight into the eclipsers.

  On instinct, Oleja’s hand leapt to the space just behind her right ear. Nothing but air waited there for her. Her quiver was long gone, and her bow too—both abandoned, broken, lying at the bottom of the crevice. Just like Pahlo. Just like Honn.

  But Oleja would not meet death there in the streets of Ahwan. She had too much else to do before that final greeting. All she carried on her was her knife, its blade only as long as her hand, but she drew it anyway. She would fight and kill every soldier in Ahwan before dying there. She faced the eclipsers as they ran towards her.

  “Hey!”

  Oleja turned just in time to see a pair of great hands grab two of the people from the group that blocked her way. With tremendous force, both were thrown aside. One hit the wall of a building and slumped down; the other stumbled into the street, falling in a mess of limbs as she struck the cobblestones. The others in the group got shoved aside by two thick arms; some fell, others scattered, but all were left dazed, shaking off the confusion of being struck with such swiftness and force. A tall figure stepped over the bodies and then past Oleja and Cyrah, blocking the advancing eclipsers from sight and raising a wooden staff in both hands. For just a second, the newcomer glanced back at the two of them where they stood, still rooted to the spot.

  “Well? Run,” said Sreovel.

  Neither needed a second command. They took off down the street as Sreovel turned to face the band of eclipsers.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Pain raced through her. An enormous boulder pinned her leg against the ground, crushing it, snapping the bones, mashing it to nothing. Oleja screamed—the pain exceeded any she had ever known.

  She jolted awake. Her leg. Her leg was being crushed. She shot up, clawing at her limb, but she found only the dirt floor beneath her. Her trembling fingers scrambled around. Her leg. Her leg. The pain tore open her skin and shredded her nerves. Fractals of bone drove deep into her flesh. Sweat dripped down her forehead. Her hands found the stump of her left leg, still wrapped in the wool socks she wore, and clutched it tight. Anything to quell the pain.

  Breaths came heavy and ragged from her lips. The pounding of her heart overwhelmed her ears. Where was she? And what happened to her leg?

  Slowly, her senses returned. The sharp edges of the pain subsided, leaving only a dull ache. Her heart continued to race for many long minutes, but eventually its pace began to slow. She lay back down on the floor.

  Near pitch-blackness surrounded her. The smells of mildew and dust filled the air, stale and undisturbed by even the slightest draft or faintest sound. The only light in the room came in through a small window, wider than it was tall, barely big enough for a person to squeeze through. A curtain of burlap hung over the panes, impeding the light further so it filtered through only the holes in the coarse material. If she squinted and looked up at it from where she lay on the dirt floor, she could almost imagine it was a cluster of stars in the sky, as if they all united together in one small area.

  The brown cloak still wrapped around her, as well as a coarse grey blanket, and she pulled both tighter across her chest to keep out the cold. Something hard and sharp dug into the back of her skull. She shifted her bag—the only pillow she had—until the contents no longer threatened to leave marks on her skin. A long sigh drifted through her lips and broke the silence of the dark room for a moment.

  After escaping the eclipsers the night before, Oleja and Cyrah ran north through the city until they found somewhere to hide in an alleyway. A thin metal balcony gave them a place to remain off the ground and out of sight. There, they waited for at least an hour, until the wind no longer carried the sounds of fighting and until furious footfalls no longer echoed in the street. When at last it seemed the night was still, they slipped silently from the shadows of the alley and set off north into the North Run, heading for Oleja’s cabin.

  They stayed off the paths, knowing the route to and from Oleja’s cabin could be watched. They encountered no one, but when they arrived at the house, they found both doors ajar. Inside, things scattered the floor. Cupboards hung open, their contents thrown about. Nothing seemed to be missing, but clearly many hands had found a particular interest in rifling through her things, searching for something—most likely her. Tor was nowhere to be found.

  Oleja closed the doors but left the house in the same state of disarray. Spending the time to clean it all up seemed silly when the likelihood of someone breaking in again ran so high, and she didn’t own all that much besides. She had her bag and her knife—she needed nothing more.

  Outside, they poked through the surrounding woods for a few minutes until Tor bounded up to Oleja, clearly startled but otherwise unharmed. With Tor safely back in Oleja’s company, Cyrah brought the two of them to Wil and Brashen’s house. Their knocks awoke Brashen, who let them in and hid Oleja and Tor in the cellar.

  And then Oleja woke up there in the dark, wondering how so much had happened in just one night. Her mind still reeled from it all, playing the scenes over and over in her head. Eclipsers coming into Ahwan with immunity from death by the hands of the people or the law? Many of the people of Ahwan allying themselves with the beasts, choosing money and favors over doing what was right? And Sreovel coming to save her? It was all too
much to grasp.

  Hunger rippled through her stomach. What time was it, anyway? Lying there on the cellar floor, she could almost imagine the world around her had ceased to exist. Time meant nothing to the dark.

  Tor whined somewhere in the shadows. Oleja looked around, squinting, until she saw him. He sat beside a slanted wooden ladder that led up to a trapdoor in the ceiling above. His eyes remained fixed on the door.

  Planting her hands on the floor, Oleja hauled herself back to a sitting position. Her leg still throbbed. She massaged it gently and flexed her knee. When the throbbing faded to a dull pulse, she reached through the dark until her hand found her prosthetic, then strapped it on.

  “Come on, bud,” she whispered aloud to Tor as she pulled herself up to stand and grabbed her bag. “Let’s see what we’re up against.”

  She climbed the ladder and listened at the trapdoor above her head. No sounds passed through it. Using only one knuckle, she knocked softly on the wood. Still no answer. Taking that as a likely sign that eclipsers weren’t storming through the house, tearing through everything as they went, she pushed up gently on the door.

  A crack opened between the trapdoor and floor, just enough to let light into the black space below. Oleja blinked, due in equal parts to the sudden light and to the dust she disturbed when she shifted the door, which fell down into her hair and eyes. Through the crack she saw no one, so she swung it open the rest of the way to where it propped against a nearby wall and then descended back down to help Tor.

  Up in the room above, nothing stirred. She stood in a kitchen; counters and a long table filled the bulk of the room. A large arched door opened into an entry hall and then into another room beyond. A staircase in the entryway led to another floor above.

  Though the kitchen seemed bright in comparison to the cellar, only dim light filled the space. Curtains blocked the windows. Some were more natural decorations, while others were clearly just blankets hung on hooks around the window frame. Oleja closed the trapdoor and stepped quietly across the hall into the room on the other side.

  Wil and Brashen sat on couches inside, talking in low voices. They looked up when Oleja entered, Tor following close behind her.

  “You’re awake,” said Brashen.

  “Well, clearly. I thought my entrance was evidence enough of that.” Wil snorted. Oleja grinned and looked between them. Brashen’s face remained unimpressed; clearly her attempt at lightening the mood fell short.

  Brashen waved to an empty spot on the couch beside him. “We have information for you.”

  Oleja hovered by the door for a moment, glancing back towards the kitchen. “That’s great and all, and I’d love to hear it, but first… do you have anything to eat?”

  “Oh, of course,” said Brashen, hopping to his feet at once. “Here, sit down, I’ll get some food for you and Tor. Wil can start to fill you in.” He hurried off to the kitchen.

  Soft cushions lined the couch, the softest of any seat she’d ever known. Tor curled up in the middle of the floor.

  Wil scratched at the wispy patches of hair that clung to his chin. “So, I went out this morning,” he said. “I go to swim every morning in a waterfall pool over in the South Run, but I made sure to take the long way back—the very long way, up through the district around the palace and then weaving down through the heart of the city as well. I overheard a good deal, and I asked some questions to people I knew—nothing suspicious, just making small talk. I’m quite quick and tactful, you know. I can get the information I want without raising any alarms.”

  “Uh huh,” said Oleja, rolling her eyes as he spoke. “Go on.”

  “Well, people drove the earthborn out of the city after they caused such a ruckus. People fought well into the night. Most folks just wanted some quiet, so they got the earthborn out—not with violence or anything, they carried an envoy’s flag after all, but they got them to leave. The people I talked to said they’re camped up in the southern peaks now. They won’t leave until they get what they want, but they’re standing down for the moment at least, waiting for an opportunity to approach again.”

  “Great.”

  “But you should be safe from the earthborn while you’re deep in the city. Going into the North Run—or anywhere on the outskirts—will put you back within their reach. So you can’t go home.”

  “Yes, I think we established that already when I found my cabin ransacked.”

  Wil shrugged. “But that’s another thing. You might be safe from the earthborn while you remain here in the city—for now at least—but the people are another matter altogether.”

  “Here you go,” said Brashen, returning with a plate and a dish in his hands. He handed the plate off to Oleja. Two slices of bread lay atop it, toasted and slathered with the same red goo—jam—he gave her when she moved into the cabin. A pile of several fruits she couldn’t name took up the corner of the plate.

  “Thanks,” she said, and then took a bite from one of the pieces of bread. The sweetness of the jam overwhelmed her tongue and stuck in her throat. Delicious, certainly, but she did not yet have the taste for sugar that her friends did. “It’s very good,” she said through her mouthful.

  “Oh good, I’m glad you like it,” said Brashen as he set the dish next to Tor. Scraps of raw meat rose to form a tall pile within. Tor leapt up and began devouring the food before it even reached the floor.

  After taking another bite, Oleja turned back to Wil. “So, the people of the city all hate me or something. Please do continue.”

  “Well, they don’t hate you,” said Brashen.

  “Some of them just like you less than the rewards the earthborn are offering,” said Wil.

  “But only some,” added Brashen.

  “Yeah, most are just going about their days as usual. They don’t want to get involved in this. And they’re right not to—this is causing a huge uproar between the people on the two extremes of the matter. Just like some of the people want to take the deal, others think we should kill the earthborn for even suggesting such a thing. But neither side has armies, it’s just the extremists.”

  “‘They’re right not to’?” asked Oleja, raising an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t they be right to side with those who want to stand by me and kill the earthborn?”

  “Oh, well, yes,” said Wil. “I just meant that most people aren’t all that invested in the matter at all and this way they don’t get caught up in needless conflict.”

  “Needless, huh?” said Oleja, pressing him further.

  “Stop that, I’m on your side. But I won’t be if you keep it up.”

  Oleja cracked a halfhearted smile. “I know. But still, it would be helpful if more people took my side. Not only to save me from having to watch my back around the city, but also so I could enlist them all to help me destroy Itsoh. A win-win, truly. Honestly, I might consider killing the envoy myself to drive Ahwan and Itsoh to war if it didn’t spell my death at the king’s orders.”

  “That seems quite unwise for exactly that reason,” said Brashen.

  “Unless no one knew who did it.”

  Brashen shook his head vigorously. “Don’t even think about it, that’s a terribly reckless plan. Most likely Ahwan wouldn’t even march on Itsoh. The soldiers would stay here on defense instead to avoid the desert.”

  “Sounds unproductive, then,” said Oleja through a mouthful.

  Wil nodded. “And I don’t want any earthborn kicking down our door while they pillage the city. Take the fight to them for all our sakes.”

  An anxious silence settled between them for several minutes. Oleja finished her food and stood. “Well, I need a weapon.”

  “What? Where are you going?” asked Brashen, jumping to his feet and maneuvering himself between her and the door.

  “I think I made that clear—to get a weapon.”

  “You can’t go outside.”

  “All I have is this knife,” said Oleja, unsheathing it and holding it up. “This won’t do me any good against an eart
hborn or a mob. I need a real weapon.”

  “Then one of us will go out and get you one,” said Wil. “You can’t just wander through the city when people want to find you and trade you for earthborn junk.”

  Oleja shrugged. “You said only some people want that. Some people don’t. And most people don’t care at all. Then I’m safe around most people, right?”

  “Well, yes, but you can’t ignore the people who do mean you harm,” said Brashen. Worry creased his brow.

  “I mean them harm just the same, then. But I can’t do harm without a proper weapon. What would you have me do, sit here and wait until some armed mob bursts through the door and carries me out of here? Don’t think I won’t spill blood on your floor. And it won’t be my own.”

  Brashen pinched his nose. “Oleja…”

  “I’m going out.”

  “I don’t think we can win this one, love,” said Wil.

  “You can’t.”

  With a sigh, Brashen went to the door and grabbed a cloak. “Fine. But we are coming.”

  Wil and Brashen donned their cloaks. Leading the group, Brashen went into the street first, and after he confirmed it was clear and distinctly mob-free, he waved the others out after him.

  Despite Oleja’s wishes to bring him along, Tor stayed behind. Taking him with her would be unwise, that she knew; even if she wasn’t identifiable on her own, her coyote companion walking through the city streets promised to give her away faster than if she drew back her hood and showed her face to all who passed by.

  Paranoia ate at her mind as she walked, keeping her head low and yet trying to look as casual as she could while wearing a heavy cloak and hood at midday. Every figure who walked along the street seemed to hide some ill favor—a blade concealed somewhere, prying eyes taking in her every movement to report their sightings back to the earthborn. Spies, all of them—surrogate eyes for the earthborn waiting just outside the city limits. They all readied to pounce on her, bind her hands, slit her throat.