by David Estes
Noura was happy so long as peace was maintained. Thus far, it was only Phanes that was struggling in that regard, which was why she was almost certain the unrest had caused her earlier episode.
Perhaps it was an aftershock from last night, she thought, though something about the idea didn’t ring true.
“Finished,” Harriet crowed. “What do you think?”
Noura sat up, looking over at where her cousin held the parchment up. “You weasel!” Noura squealed, shoving to her feet and racing across the room to try to snatch the sketch from her cousin’s grasp.
“What? Did I get something wrong?” Harriet said. There was a hint of amusement in her voice as she shielded the drawing with her body.
Noura snatched at it again, but came up empty, her cousin holding it just out of reach, where she could still see it. In fact, the sketch was remarkably accurate, almost as if her cousin had been there spying on her. From the angle of Stanley’s body tucked against hers, to his hand on her hip, to their lips locked in her first ever kiss…the drawing was utterly perfect. The kicker was the shadowy figure atop the wall, Sir Cory’s arrow aimed at them. Why do I tell her everything? Noura wondered.
“I’m going to frame it, I think,” Harriet said, her threat transitioning into a peal of laughter when Noura resorted to a dirty trick: tickling her. The distraction was just enough for Noura to slip past her cousin’s defenses and wrench the paper away.
“I shall consider it a gift,” she said, “to do with as I please. I think I will shred it into a thousand pieces.”
“You wouldn’t,” Harriet said. “I spent half the afternoon on it!”
“Or maybe I’ll burn it,” Noura said, tapping her teeth as if in deep consideration. “Yes, it would make for perfect kindling.”
“You’re a witch!” Harriet said, but she was laughing. “I bet as soon as I go you’ll tuck it under your pillow so you can gaze upon it each night before you sleep. No, wait, you’ll kiss it the same way you kissed that gorgeous Stanley boy, until it’s covered with pink lipshade. And then you’ll elbow it and ask Sir Cory to shoot it with an arrow.”
Noura’s eyes widened and she knew there was only one thing left to do:
She kissed the drawing, moving hither and thither as though she was going to devour it.
And her cousin laughed and laughed and laughed.
Their walk was pleasant enough, though Noura’s enjoyment was tempered by the pain in her head, which had returned. She pretended it was nothing, but her cousin wasn’t fooled.
“We need to get you back to bed,” Harriet said, reaching out to hold her by the elbow. She started to steer her out of the crowded marketplace.
“No!” Noura protested, wrenching her arm from her cousin’s grip.
Harriet stared at her, shocked. “Sorry, I’m just trying to help.” The castle guards that had been sent to watch over the two girls looked uncertain how to handle the situation.
“I—I know,” Noura said, crestfallen. It hadn’t been her intention to offend her cousin, who meant well. It was just…what was it? “There’s something I have to do.” She frowned, wondering where the words had come from. What, exactly, did she have to do?
“Like buy a new dress?” Harried asked.
“No, nothing like that,” Noura said, feeling unsure of herself. It was something important. Wasn’t it?
She grimaced, a shockwave erupting in her skull. It took all her strength and control to remain on her feet. “Please, cousin,” Harriet said, “this is—”
“Madness?” Noura suggested, remembering Stanley’s choice of words from the night before. Perhaps it was. Or perhaps it was something else entirely.
“Nor, you know I didn’t mean it that way.” Harriet placed a hand softly on her shoulder. “Come, let’s get back and see what the chef has whipped up for supper tonight.”
Another pang of agony shot through Noura’s head, but she was growing used to it now. This time, her rebuke was softer, which seemed to have an even greater effect. “No, thank you, dear cousin. I shall catch up with you later. Take half of the guards and return to the castle. We shall sup together on another evening.”
Harriet sighed but didn’t argue this time. “As you wish. See you tomorrow for tutoring?”
“Of course.” Noura barely managed to hide the strain in her voice. The pain was her constant companion now. “Goodbye.”
When Harriet was gone with her retinue of guardsmen in tow, Sir Cory strode forward and said, “Shall we continue exploring Corizen’s Corner?”
“No,” she said. “I’d like to explore the southern part of the city.” Do I really?
“At the risk of sounding insolent, might I inquire as to why, my lady? There is nothing much there.”
How could she explain that even she didn’t know the answer to his question? I don’t have to explain anything, she reminded herself. “I’ve never seen it. I think I would enjoy studying the architecture.”
Sir Cory’s facial expression didn’t really change, though she could tell from the slight crinkling at the corners of his eyes that her response did little to quell his unease. “As you wish, my lady. Men, remain vigilant.”
Something had stopped her in front of the decrepit old building. Its outer wall was full of cracks and the pillars at the top of the small staircase were half-crumbling, a portion of the overhang having broken off and shattered on the ground.
The entire structure was painted red, though the color had faded long ago, appearing pink rather than the scarlet hue that had once represented a mixture of fear and devoutness to a deity that had ruled this very city. The Furium, she thought. The nondescript building was once a training ground for Wrath’s all-female holy warriors.
“My lady?” Sir Cory said. “We should not linger near this haunted place.”
“Haunted?” she said. Noura had heard all the stories about how the furia, led by the Three Furies, had made their last stand here, holding off the Horde for nearly half a day before relenting under the savage onslaught. They’d all been killed. Mature women. Young girls. Everything in between. The fiercest fellowship of women in the west was ended. Her Cousin Ennis’s first decree after becoming king was to abolish the furia before it could be reestablished. “Superstitions, nothing more.”
“Aye, but that doesn’t mean I want to put such superstitions to the test.”
Noura couldn’t tell whether the loyal knight was being serious or not. Either way, she felt drawn to this place. She took a step forward, stopping suddenly and dropping to one knee when a fresh wave of pain rolled through her. “My lady!” Sir Cory said, crouching beside her. He barked an order to his men, but Noura didn’t catch the details because she could hear something else:
Words, a whispery chant, spoken in unison by a multitude of lips.
We have no hearts, no minds, no souls, for they are not ours. Not anymore.
Oh, Wrath, we give them to you! We raise our voices as one and we know you shall not waste us.
For when we live, we live for you. And when we die, we die for you.
Your once righteous kingdom shall be restored because of our faith.
No, the ways of old are no longer relevant. A new path is set before our feet.
Your righteous order cannot be separated from the throne any longer.
We are your red warriors, and we will reclaim what is yours.
Noura was dimly aware that Sir Cory was speaking to her, though his voice seemed to come from a faraway place, echoing through a dark, dark cave, and then—
“My lady?”
She stared up at him, his face framed by a clear sky that was swiftly collapsing under the heavy shadows of dusk. “I’m fine, Sir,” she said. “Just a sudden headache. Nothing more.”
Sir Cory didn’t look convinced. “I will carry you back. Some soup and pine-nettle tea will help. You’ll be right as rain by the morning.”
Noura wished she could do as this man asked, but this was no longer just about her. She d
idn’t know where those voices had come from—ghosts from the past, her own imagination—but she also knew she wasn’t leaving until she’d explored this place.
“I’m going inside,” she said.
“My lady…”
She wasn’t certain how to proceed if the knight denied her. “Please. I want to go inside. Just for a minute or two. For my studies.”
Sir Cory closed his eyes. Opened them. “Just a minute or two?”
She nodded, managing a smile.
“Fine. But no longer. The day has wings and I’d rather not escort you home in the dark. Your mother will have my head!” He chuckled nervously, though Noura knew it was no joke. She’d seen her mother’s anger too many times.
“Thank you.”
Noura started toward the cracked and broken steps that led up to the entrance, accepting Sir Cory’s help onto the patio. Dusty stone rubble blocked the way forward, but Noura scrabbled over it, using her hands to steady herself. “Wait for your guards,” the knight said, but Noura was already past the debris and hurrying through the main doors. Just inside was an atrium of sorts. The floor was littered with more rubble and debris. An enormous painting had either fallen or been pulled from the wall, its frame cracked in three places. All around it, jewels glittered. Emeralds, rubies…is that a diamond? Are those real? Noura wondered. If they were, it was a wonder this place hadn’t been looted after all these long years. The fear of this place was strong.
Toward the other end of the room, a barrel had been upended, its wooden slats cracked and splintered. The floor was coated in a thick pool of red, long dried. Is that…blood? Noura wondered. She immediately chided herself for being so foolish. Sixteen-year-old dried blood wouldn’t be so red anymore.
Dye, she thought, remembering how each initiate that entered the Furium would color her hair red in a show of uniformity. They cast off their own identities to become closer to Wrath.
“My lady,” Sir Cory said from behind her. “Have you seen enough?”
“Not yet,” she said, slipping through a door hanging from one hinge.
“Forward!” the knight ordered in her wake.
Inside, the Furium was open to the air in the form of a large square courtyard. Around the edges was a covered stone walkway lined with pillars, though many had been destroyed. The courtyard itself was empty—or at least it had been a moment ago. Now, her guardsmen spread out across the area, swords drawn, wary eyes watching the many doorways that presumably led to where the red-clad women used to sleep and break bread.
And here was where they were trained to be killers, Noura thought. As she took it all in, trying to imagine young girls doing battle with various manner of weaponry, she realized something:
The pain in her head was gone.
“Satisfied?” Sir Cory asked a few minutes later. Noura had walked a full circle through the courtyard, peering into shadows and searching for…for what?
Noura chewed her lip. Her entire body felt warm, and not from the heat of the day or the exertion of the long walk. My peacemark is active, she thought. It sometimes did this when there was violence in the Four Kingdoms. Sometimes the pain accompanied the strange feeling, but not now. Had another rebellion arisen in the south? As far as she knew, the other kingdoms were stable. Only Phanes was struggling to maintain order.
Something felt off, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Something about the many doors that lined the stone walkway. She frowned, puzzling her way through some mystery.
Everything here is old and dusty. Unused. But those doors…they look new…why would that—
She never finished her question, for each and every door ringing the courtyard burst open. Red and silver flashed all around as girls and women alike leapt over the debris, their crimson dresses swirling about their feet as they brought steel to bear.
The chanting, Noura thought. It wasn’t my imagination at all. I was hearing these women.
Sir Cory’s men, though likely surprised by the sudden attack, were not idle. They closed their ranks around her, their blades at the ready, obeying the knight’s orders as he shouted to them over the sound of their enemies’ footsteps.
Are these women our enemy? Noura thought, wondering why she had come to that conclusion so swiftly. Once upon a time, the furia had protected Knight’s End. It was against the law for them to reestablish themselves, but that didn’t mean they were wicked, right?
Noura wanted to cling to that belief, but it was as weak as a pine cone hanging from a branch in the midst of a hurricane. Their chant. They want to overthrow Cousin Ennis. A coup.
Everything made sense now: the pain she’d been experiencing over the last day or so, more powerful than any she’d felt so far; her need to explore this place; her sense of unease. The impending violence planned by these women had caused her peacemark to flare up.
And now there was nothing she could do about it. Elbowing Stanley was one thing. Fighting an ancient order of highly trained women warriors was a whole other animal.
The first ring of steel against steel was shockingly loud, resonating through her as if the blow had been struck directly beside her ears. The pain swarmed through her once more and she staggered. Sir Cory caught her before she fell, his eyes wide with concern.
A man screamed in pain, one of the furia’s swords slipping past his defenses.
“We have to get you out of here,” the knight said, his eyes darting about as he tried to locate a path to safety. “There,” he said, motioning with his head, where several guardsmen had managed to cut down three warriors in short succession. For the moment, the way was clear.
Her head was pounding. The violence all around her struck like lightning bolts with each jab, each slash, each death. Blood was being spilled and Noura could feel each drop, like acid burning into her skin. She cried out. All she wanted to do was escape this horrible place. All she wanted to do was erase this day, to wish it away, to run far, far away…
Sir Cory scooped her up in his arms and ran, shoving his way past one of his own men as he did battle with one of the furia, his body jerking as her steel entered his chest and exited through his back, the blade as red as the woman who wielded it.
Noura’s head felt ready to explode, the pressure almost too much for her to take. Her only option was escape, wasn’t it? She didn’t belong here. She bore the mark of peace, not war, not battle, just like—
Oh. Oh. The clarity came on with such speed it took her breath away. The pain receded into the background, as distant as the call of an eagle high in the sky.
Her own uncle, Roan, he who was lifemarked and known as the Peacemaker, had never killed. And yet when the battle against the Horde was at its fiercest, he ran not away, but toward it.
She kicked out sharply, throwing Sir Cory off balance. He lost his grip on her and she fell, tumbling hard to the ground, ignoring a flash of pain in her knee because it was nothing compared to what she’d already felt. He reached for her but she rolled away, and then…
She stood.
Her peacemark burned through her, and its power was no longer an enigma—at least not completely. She felt it thrumming through her blood, through her bones. It was a part of her. It was her. And I am it.
“Stop!” she shouted, her voice as loud as a thunderclap.
They stopped. All of them. Noura turned slowly in a full circle, because it wasn’t the strength of her voice that had ceased their movement, their violence. It was the power of her mark, for they weren’t just stopped but frozen. Some were on the verge of ending each other. Others were trapped in mid-leap, defying gravity as they hung in the air. Others were tumbling to the ground, drops of blood waiting patiently to fall.
Noura reached out and touched one such drop, the red liquid rolling down her finger.
What have I done? she thought, wondering whether she’d stopped the entire world forever, like it was a great clock and she had removed all the gears and springs. What if, in the name of peace, she would be forced to l
ive out the rest of her days in a world like this?
Stop, she thought, trying to use her own power to calm the fraying threads of her mind. You caused this. You can uncause it. But first there was something she needed to do.
It took the better part of an hour to complete her work. By the time she finished, it should’ve been night, but it seemed she’d managed to stop even the cycle of the sun and moon from moving forward, the sky smeared with lines of pink and purple.
She inspected the courtyard for a few moments, checking and rechecking that she’d been thorough enough in her preparations.
To restart time, she thought, satisfied, feeling for that well of power running through her.
And then she took a sip.
No bodies fell, for none were off-balance or halfway to the ground. She’d placed those who were injured gently on the ground, their bandages packed and tied tight with makeshift tourniquets. Noura had removed all the weapons from the hands that gripped them, making a pile in one corner of the yard, well away from the action. The women warriors had been bound tightly using ropes Rhea had located inside one of the nearby rooms.
Now, the furia squirmed and cursed, fighting against the tethers. The guardsmen looked around, confused, trying to understand how the battle had been won. To them, it would’ve taken no more than a blink of their eyes. The injured groaned and grimaced, but most, if not all, would likely survive.
If Noura hadn’t watched herself do it, she would scarcely be able to believe it either. So this is my purpose, she thought. She didn’t feel smug, or heroic, for it was not she who had accomplished such a great act. Well, not entirely. Her peacemark had allowed her to do it.
But she did feel…warm…inside. Happy. The pain in her head was gone, and Ennis was safe on the throne.
Sir Cory was staring at her. “My lady?”
