Six months before, she would have run from the cottage screaming and weeping. But she had seen pain up close, suffered herself, and it was no stranger anymore. It had a habit of following her. An unwelcome but familiar companion. This close to Fairmont, it was no great surprise that there would be suffering.
She counted the corpses—three, six, nine, maybe a couple more, but she couldn’t tell because fallen pieces of roof blocked her view. She moved to lift the wreckage so she could continue, but Mykel moved past her, lifting charred beams out of the way so she could finish her macabre tally. Two of the bodies rolled away from the pile when he moved part of the collapsed wall, a crisp arm falling loose from a torso.
“I’m sorry, Nara, I—”
“There are eleven adults,” she said. “But no children.”
“Oh,” Mykel said, looking back among the bodies as if he had just noticed that. “Where are they?”
“I don’t know.”
Nara moved to the other cottages, one by one, but found no other bodies. Still no children. She walked to a clearing in the center of the village where they likely gathered for group events. She found dark stains in the dirt there. Several, all collected in one area. She reached down to touch the stains, but they were hard and crusted. Blood.
Her heart seemed still, numb, and she shed no tears, somehow detached from the horror of the scene, as if a wall had gone up to protect her from falling apart. The protection was welcome, but while something held her emotions in check, her mind wandered on the circumstances of this slaughter. Were these people murdered quickly then burned afterward, or had someone burned them to death? She’d never heard of simple villagers being exterminated like this. Not in scripture. Nor the histories. Not anywhere. Who could have committed such acts, and why?
“We bury them, then go south,” she said.
He waited before answering, his hands balled into tight fists. “Other villages,” he said. His voice was low and angry. “Along this river.”
“Yes.”
Nara flared the earth rune to create graves on a hill above the village while Mykel carried the victims, one at a time, to their resting places. Angry at the senseless loss, Nara flared earth again to cover them over, the soil moving as she willed it. These murders were chilling but as horrible as they were, she couldn’t help but focus on the missing children. Why would they take the children?
“It may not have been Fairmont,” Mykel said, avoiding mention of the true villain’s name. “Could be a local conflict.”
“You don’t believe that,” she said. “And if that were true, it’s no better.”
“It’s not your fault,” he said.
But it was. She could have killed Kayna. There, in Fairmont castle, in the midst of the fury three months before. With the control of the king’s armor and all the power it held, she could have ended it all. Prevented these deaths, saved the children. But she’d let the monster live. And now, with little training, no plan, and no magical armor to draw strength from, defeating her twin sister felt like an impossible task.
They moved south along the river to find a similar scene. Another village with only twenty homes, the burned corpses of the adults stacked in one cottage. Dried blood on the ground in the center of the village, and again, no children. Nightfall approached, and while they should have been getting back to the cavern, this was more important.
“We keep going,” she said. Mykel didn’t argue.
She had just finished burying the last of the bodies when she heard rustling nearby. From a bramble bush near one of the burnt cottages, two eyes stared at Nara. A child? She walked to close the distance, and a little one ran clumsily from the bush up a small hill but tripped on a root, falling.
“It’s okay,” Nara said. “I am here to help.”
As Nara approached, the child rolled over, her face full of fear. It was a beautiful native girl, no more than four years old, with brown skin and coal-black hair. Her gaunt face showed that she hadn’t eaten in days. Her clothes were dirty, and scratches covered her cheeks and forehead. Had she seen the horrors that occurred in the village? How long had she been alone?
Nara knelt, holding one hand out. “I won’t hurt you. I promise.”
The girl flinched as Nara touched her hand to the girl’s cheek, then lurched forward, hugging Nara.
Oh, sweet dear, what have you suffered?
The wall she had been using to hold back the horrors came down, and tears came to Nara’s eyes. She hugged the child, standing with her in her arms, patting her back and stroking her hair.
“I have you now, and I won’t let anyone harm you.”
She turned to see Mykel standing nearby, watching.
“What are we going to do with her?” he asked.
Nara shrugged and hugged tighter. “I don’t know.”
They walked south for the next few hours, the lights of Took looming closer in the distance. The girl refused to be put down, clinging to Nara as they approached the city. What would they find inside Took? If lights were lit, then people would be tending to the candles and lanterns. They wouldn’t destroy an entire city, would they? As they approached, Nara heard the sounds of life—wagons and people moving about, and she exhaled a sigh of relief.
She stopped just outside the town wall, and Mykel came alongside her. Yet, instead of the sounds and smells of the vibrant city reaching her nose and her ears, all she could think of were the smells from the corpses earlier in the day. And the stillness, that horrible silence of the dead villages. She couldn’t free herself of it.
Took was safe, but why? Because it was a larger town? A brisk wind brushed her face, blowing her hair back, and a seeing struck her. The suddenness of it forced her eyes open in surprise, unblinking. The images that came to her were of a village by the sea. Then she saw the mountain. The church. The harbor.
Dimmitt.
She saw images of soldiers with royal livery and someone in a red robe. Swords. Shields. Children were being gathered in the center of the town while screams from mothers echoed in the distance. Fathers bellowed and fought, wielding axes and sticks, struggling to defend themselves, their homes, and their families. But Nara fixed her attention on the children. Scared. So scared. Gathered together, they huddled in fear.
Then she saw fire and squeezed the child in her arms, trying to hold back her own screams.
3
Yury
It was a clear, cool day as Gwyn crouched behind a tree in the forest, her eyes focused on a boy doing the same less than a hundred yards away. At Anne’s direction, she had made the trek to this remote area in the northwestern area of the Great Land, far north of the Wastes and several days from Fairmont. Over a week of travel. To find a boy. And to save him. From what, Gwyn didn’t know. Save him and wait for Anne—that’s all she was told. It seemed foolish, but when an ancient seer tells you to find someone, you do it. Besides, spending endless days pacing about an old cavern had made Gwyn restless. She was a watcher, and she loved being on the move.
The boy was still, quiet, and well-skilled at woodcraft for one so young–he couldn’t be more than fourteen years old. Gwyn slowed her pace more than usual to avoid alerting him to her presence. She had followed him since his departure early in the morning from Klaksha, the Roska village where he lived. He seemed to be easily distracted and a bit sloppy, rarely looking behind to assess other threats. At this moment, his focus was fixed on a creature in the clearing beyond.
Monsters such as these wandered about the woods and plains in this area, and Gwyn had heard of them in recent days but had never seen one. They began appearing several months ago and where they came from nobody claimed to know. But everyone feared them. And they should. This boy should fear them too, and he was far too close for comfort.
The creature had dark skin, bereft of clothing on its torso but with shredded, dirty fabric about its waist and legs. It moved while hunched over, walking mostly upon its legs, only occasionally using its arms upon the ground the wa
y an animal would. Its eyes glowed in the near-darkness–orange, subtle, like embers from a dying fire.
It snarled and made sounds that were like words articulated through mangled teeth, though Gwyn couldn’t make out what it said. More than an animal but less than a human, there was something fascinating about it, something that in a single moment was both magnetic and terrifying. Broken, monstrous, yet pitiable.
She looked at it with her special sight and marveled at what she saw. It wasn’t just physically broken; its light was broken. Not brilliant and multicolored, like Nara’s, nor bright and solid like that of a gifted. Instead, it flickered, bright one moment, then dull, dark, as if its soul was somehow damaged.
Curiosity must have overcome the boy’s fear, fixing his sights upon the strange beast when he should have run away as fast as he could. Brave for such a young one. He was of average height and had a strong frame. He carried a long, thin knife in his right hand and his grip shifted nervously, betraying an eagerness to use the blade.
Anne had recently coached Gwyn in using her gift to look for subtle shifts that told so much more. The difference was often visible when the subject engaged in physical exertion, the light changing as the person labored. This boy would be gifted after his announcement. It wouldn’t be an elemental power like that of a flamer. No, he was a racer, perhaps. Or a bear. Something physical, but it was hard to tell. But he had no cepp, no magic, and would need more than a knife to battle this beast. A lot more.
He stepped to one side, and the crack of the twig under his sole alerted the monster. A set of glowing eyes turned toward his hiding place. Caught.
The pounding of the boy’s feet in a panicked retreat made it easy for Gwyn to follow him. Moving on a parallel course, the crashing of his pursuer among the bushes and branches helped to hide her own hurried footfalls. The boy would not outpace his adversary, and he must have known it because he slowed and turned, brandishing the knife and a scowl on his face. His shoulders were hunched, tense with anticipation. He intended to die facing the enemy, not running away. Brave lad.
The creature slowed when it saw the knife, then moved to circle its dinner. Gwyn stood less than fifty paces away, well-hidden by a large tree on a rise overlooking the clearing but intervening trees partially blocked her view of the conflict below. The creature pulled back its malformed lips, grinning hungrily and Gwyn could see long fangs that emerged from the creature’s jaw. Long hair fell down its shoulders, but it sported no facial hair. It stopped circling and stood, fists upon the ground supported by massive arms and shoulders. Even hunched over, it towered over the boy. But Gwyn was now in a terrible spot; the boy was in the path of any arrow she could loose.
“Davay na menya, zver,” the boy challenged in Roska.
Gwyn grabbed the bow on her back, nocked an arrow, and braced for an attack sure to come at any moment.
The monster stepped forward, its tongue slathering fangs with saliva, eager to devour its next meal. “Groshka,” the beast yelled, then pounded its chest and growled, “Gnar.” It pointed a long, clawed finger at the youth as it spoke in garbled words. “Gnar nack o’nit.”
Gnar. Was that its name? And it spoke as if it were human. Disturbing. Gwyn couldn’t understand what the monster said, but she moved to one side, looking for a clear shot at the beast.
Gnar lunged forward, sweeping a large claw within inches of the boy’s nose. Although strong and fast, the beast was unwise, having chosen a simple, overextended attack for its opponent’s face. The boy stepped to the left, avoiding the claws and moving the knife high then low as he passed, slicing its biceps on the upper attack, the hamstring on follow-up. The creature’s howl betrayed its rage as it circled for another charge. This boy moved with surprising skill, and if he kept his wits and feet about him, he might live through the day.
Gnar’s second attack was of a different sort. Instead of charging, the beast reared up on its hind legs, bellowed to the sky, and leaned forward, lungs heaving and eyes glowing brighter than before. Jaws opened, and a gout of fire shot out at the boy. It was a flamer! Though the lad tried to dodge the hot projectile, the surprise of it gave him little time, and as he spun midair, flame singed his shoulder.
Gwyn now had a clear target on the beast and her fingers relaxed on the bowstring, starting to release the arrow. Suddenly, the Roska boy launched himself toward the monster, directly in Gwyn’s sightline, forcing her to abort the shot.
Long knife in hand, the boy was quickly underneath his opponent and the blade found a home in the monster’s gut. Squatting, the boy wrapped his hands around the knife handle and thrust, cutting Gnar upward in a long gash from liver to lung.
The blood gushed forth, bathing the boy even as Gnar released another torrent of flames, scorching nearby trees and bushes.
The boy extracted himself from underneath the fatally wounded beast but no longer held his knife, having lost it in the close contact. Weaponless, he would have to evade the dying creature long enough for the monster’s wound to overtake it, but by the look of the creature as it regained its feet and focused on the boy, Gwyn doubted the young warrior would succeed.
Gnar launched forward at its prey once again and Gwyn loosed her arrow. The fletching was soon visible in the side of the creature’s head as it fell dead to one side.
The boy looked stunned at the sudden fall of the creature, breathing loudly. He looked about, eyes scanning the trees around him. “Thank you,” he yelled to the empty woods in Landian, hardly a trace of his Roska accent detectable. Bilingual, then.
“More than you bargained for, today?” she asked, stepping out from behind her tree.
“Yeah. It was,” he said, extending a bloody hand with a smile on his face. “I’m Yury.”
She looked at his hand and gave him a glare.
He wiped his hand on the bark of a nearby tree, then on his own leg. “You’re good with that thing,” he said, pointing to the bow.
“I am.”
“Who are you? Your name, I mean.”
“Gwyn.”
She moved to the side of the corpse, then kneeled to examine the beast up close. The body was twisted, with deformed joints that bent at odd angles. Patches of hair decorated its skin in an inconsistent, spotty pattern. She moved to the other side of the corpse and found an ornate rune on its back. Further inspection revealed a second design, mangled, with new flesh that obscured the pattern. Scarred. Had they burned it to mar the pattern?
“I’ve been following it all day,” he said. “I first spied it this morning, scrounging about for berries and grubs. They sometimes move in small packs but rarely come close to Klaksha. We watch them to make sure they don’t gather together and raid the village, then we pick them off when they are alone and we have the advantage.”
“You should carry more than a knife,” Gwyn said.
“I’m best with spear and shield, but it’s hard to sneak through the woods carrying big weapons. I didn’t plan on fighting but got sloppy, I guess. I didn’t see you at all. How long were you following me?”
“A while.”
“You’re good,” he said.
“That burn will need some salve.”
“I’ll be fine. I should go back,” he said. “My sister will have dinner ready. Care to join us?”
“I think I will.”
They spoke little as they walked for almost an hour before topping the final ridge between them and the Roska village. From that vantage point, they saw smoke rising from Klaksha. And fire.
Soldiers milled about the burning buildings. A lot of them. Yury ran, but Gwyn stood still. “Yury, stop!” she yelled, to no avail.
She should stay here. Charging into a village in chaos, with soldiers on a rampage doing Dei knows what–well, that was foolery. Gwyn was a survivor and didn’t make mistakes like this. But her life was different now. She’d signed up for something risky when she left Fairmont. She’d decided to be a different person. A stupid one, apparently.
Her feet we
re moving almost before she’d decided to chase, and she reached for arrows, then sent them to find their homes in the necks or bellies of soldiers who tried to intercept. It was hard to keep up with Yury’s vigorous pace, however. As she entered the village, the heat from the flaming huts beat against her face, and she almost lost track of the boy among the screaming as soldiers rounded up children and carried them off to carts.
“Ahna!” she heard Yury call from up ahead. She rounded a fiery stack of crates and saw him dash into an engulfed hut.
“She’s gone,” Yury said when he came out a moment later, hair steaming from the heat and a look of anger upon his face.
“Hey, you!” A man’s voice from behind them startled her, and they both turned.
“Where’s my sister?” Yury asked.
Yury dashed toward the man, his knife in hand, but he was unarmored and faced a soldier with sword and shield.
Gwyn loosed an arrow that passed a few inches above Yury’s shoulder, but it bounced harmlessly off the soldier’s shield a moment before Yury reached him. The arrow may have distracted the man, however, and Yury easily dodged a clumsy sword thrust.
Yury rained a flurry of knife thrusts and blows upon the soldier and they both fell, off balance, to the ground. The attacks soon overwhelmed the man and when Yury’s fist crashed into the soldier’s temple, he went still. Yury got to his feet, looking for another target.
“We must go,” Gwyn said. “There are too many.”
He looked at her a moment. “I have to find my sister. She’s all I have.” There was anguish in his voice and tears in his eyes.
Pain lanced up her arm. She looked down and saw an arrow had impaled her left forearm, forcing her to drop her bow. Her right hand went to the wound as she turned to see an archer and a soldier walking toward them down the otherwise empty street.
Finding Kai Page 2
