Praetorian Rising

by J. McSpadden

  The eerie silence cut into her calm reserve, grating against her skin with unrelenting harshness, and just like when she slipped into hunting mode, a tingling, unnatural heat grew beneath her eye sockets.

  She grasped her hunting knife tightly before racing back through the forest along the path she'd just taken. This time she was silent, shifting through the damp leaves and twigs beneath her feet without the slightest sound. In the distance were heavy footfalls pounding against the earth directly north of where she'd last heard Lunci.

  "Please don't be hurt; please be ok," she whispered on repeat under her breath as she moved. There was no way she would allow the what ifs to cloud her focus. Lunci had to be ok, she wouldn't be able to live with herself if anything happened to him.

  Rounding a tree she'd passed earlier, Camille stopped dead in her tracks to listen. She heard distant voices from the village, a subtle hum of wind whistling through the trees, but no sign of the boy.

  "Lunci?" Camille said evenly, trying to keep her voice neutral. "Lunci, it's time to get home now." Nothing.

  "Lunci! Neeko!" Camille repeated, not caring any longer whether she sounded worried.

  What if he was on the ground bleeding from an attack? What if she'd overestimated her ability to keep him protected from such a distance?

  An internal flood of dread permeated her system making it almost impossible to think—and that's when she saw them through a thick bramble bush: heavy-lidded, blood-red eyes the size of her fists and oddly human in appearance.

  Fear invaded her senses, leaving her frozen on the spot. She'd heard of a shadow beast, a monster roaming Aspera in the dead of night: The Chimera.

  Soft footsteps came treading up the path behind her, and Camille's back went rigid; Lunci had found her.

  "Lunci! Don't come any closer," she instructed, keeping her focus on the stark red eyes. Her tear ducts began to water in her desperation to keep the red eyes in sight, but the moment she blinked, the gleaming red stare was gone. She held stiff and silent, counting the seconds before the monster decided to attack.

  "A little jumpy there, sweetheart?"

  Camille leaped a foot in the air as a sultry voice assaulted her tender, overly aware ears. Whipping around with her knife at the ready, she careened off-focus when she located the man who'd addressed her. "Who are you?"

  Leaning against an ancient tree, arms casually folded across his chest, stood a young man not much older than she. Blonde wavy hair fell back from his angular face, with both sides shaved and the top left long. The man dragged a hand through his thick strands, gaze never leaving her. His irises were the strangest hue Camille had ever seen: a bleached blue, almost devoid of color; like the bright tinge of the sky at high noon.

  "Well hello to you too," he responded, pushing away from the trunk to saunter closer, a broad grin spanning his face. He glanced at the dagger she still held and chuckled. "You thinking of stabbing me? Or do I get a proper hello?"

  Camille kept the knife raised, a slight tremor in her hand. "Stay back stranger, who are you?"

  She fought to keep the raging monster coiling inside her from surging to the forefront. She'd spent the past eleven moons working to keep her inner beast on a tight leash. It had taken several moon cycles living under Peter's roof to understand that her wild range of emotions didn’t have a specified direction or focus. When she was happy, she was ecstatic; when Camille was annoyed, she became unreachable; fear turned into unimaginable terror, and anger transformed into explosive fury. Nothing was at equilibrium within Camille, raging out of control at the tiniest shift.

  The stranger's brows knit together with apparent confusion, his lips pursing in contemplation. "Do you not recognize me?" he asked softly, all form of humor dissipating.

  "No," Camille snapped. "Should I?"

  "How long have you lived in this village?" he said, ignoring her question.

  "That's none of your business."

  He shook his head. "Can't have been more than a few months; maybe a year. Sweet Mother Ma'Nada, I can't believe it. It is you, Camille?"

  How does he know my name? Camille narrowed her eyes, taking in his appearance. She noticed three hefty throwing daggers and a short-nosed sword with an ample blade. His clothes were well-fitted and made for travel; a loose cotton shirt and black vest were layered beneath a brown leather coat, and black pants tucked into dirty black leather boots. She could smell the bag of coin hanging on his hip filled with copper duggars, silver rubles, and golden gilders—enough money to buy a year's worth of food for Peter and Lunci.

  "Who are you?" Camille insisted, glancing around for any sign of the boy.

  "A drifter. I have no name," he said sarcastically, flinging his arms out like he was presenting himself to the royal court.

  "What do people call you then?" Camille retorted.

  He smiled. "You can call me anything you like, sweetheart." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at her, drawing closer.

  "What are you doing in my woods then, Drifter? And how do you know who I am?" Camille asked, instinctively stepping back. She continued to scan the forest in a slight panic, still unable to detect Lunci or Neeko nearby.

  "Your woods?" he said, the corners of his lips quirking. He was annoyingly easy to look at, and Camille found it very distracting. His left cheek boasted a soft dimple with every smirk and smile—an uneven flaw in most but endearing on him. "I didn't realize these trees were spoken for."

  "You're in Sierra Village. You aren't one of us. So, who are you? And how did you get past the guard tower?"

  "Your 'guards' are quite seriously the most moronic Asperians I've ever seen. Those lazy bastards wouldn't know how to guard their dinner against a pack of puppies, let alone an entire village against a Chimera attack. I mean, honestly," the drifter continued, ignoring Camille's incredulous expression as he took another step toward her. "Now—are you planning on putting down that little toy of yours?"

  "No!" Camille shot back, lifting her dagger more prominently in front of her. "Not until I know whether you did anything to Lunci."

  "Ah, I see," the stranger cooed, looking to his right and left in a conspiratorial fashion. "You're looking for the little blonde boy, yes?"

  "If you hurt him, so help me—"

  "Whoa, whoa...easy there, sweetheart. He's fine. The boy's about fifty yards south of us." The drifter rubbed at the back of his neck, and Camille was immediately drawn to the flexing of his muscles.

  Every facet of the stranger seemed slightly familiar to her: his mannerisms, his movements, his voice. The man's scent, especially: it was one of oak and pine, soap and musk, and it sent her pulse galloping.

  "How do you know where he is?" she growled, trying to keep her anger from building further.

  "Ease up Cam, your temper isn't necessary."

  She felt a pinch embarrassed but wasn't ready to let down her guard. The stranger seemed to understand this and sighed loudly, his shoulders slipping with apparent perplexity. "Perhaps if you dialed back that temper, you would've been able to deduce his location yourself," he snapped, looking to a spot just over Camille's shoulder.

  Camille didn't want to glance away from the drifter for even a second, but Lunci's careless steps were approaching. She took one more step away from the man before spinning to face the rustling leaves on her left.

  Lunci broke through the bushes in a childlike gallop. "I got you! Thought you could hide from me, but none can escape the power of the incredible Lunci!"

  Lunci leaped at her with careless abandon. Camille twisted away to avoid stabbing him, causing the silver amulet she always kept hidden under her clothing to swing free, pinging loudly against the flat side of the blade.

  "What's wrong?" Lunci rasped, eyes going wide at the sight of the knife.

  Neeko picked that moment to join them, a low and menacing hiss escaping his throat as he stared at the spot where the red-eyed beast had been.

  Camille whipped about, searching the now-vacant spot where the drifter
had stood. "Neeko, do you smell something?" Camille whispered. Neeko hissed in response, the fur bunching up around his neck as his tail swished back and forth.

  "Camille, what's going on?" Lunci's voice shook as he edged closer to her, looking in the direction Neeko hissed.

  "Where were you?" Camille said, grabbing Lunci's hand as her emerald eyes scanned the bushes for a pair of blood-red ones. She led them quickly around fallen trees and piles of dead leaves, constantly scanning their surroundings as they followed the slope of the hill toward the village.

  "Where was I?" Lunci said, sounding confused. "I was looking for you! Why'd you quit hiding?"

  Camille didn't answer. Instead, she continued to drag Lunci toward the safety of the village. As they left the tree line, Camille stole one more glance into the forest edge searching for the truth of what she'd seen. Without warning, Lunci's hand slipped from her grasp, and the side of her face smacked into a solid, hairy body that reeked of stale fish and week-old perspiration.

  Chapter Three

  Ayya Sisters

  "Watch it, idiot—oh, it's you," Grenswald rumbled, sneering down at Camille with cracked dirty lips and blackened rotting teeth. Camille despised him out of principal being a hired hand of the High Court, but her distaste for his proximity was more profound than his presence alone. His muddy brown eyes lit up at the sight of her, and Camille was positive he recalled the first time they'd met.

  She hadn't been in Sierra Village long, and most of the villagers kept their distance but for fake pleasantries when they saw her behind the butcher's counter.

  Grenswald hadn't been too keen on making her feel welcome, and when she'd tried to hide a small apple away for Lunci during her first Moon Tax, the fat oaf had dragged her outside to make an example of her disobedience. He'd bellowed to the townspeople about the foul, beastly nature of those who stole from the High Kingdom, screaming that no crime would go unpunished. He'd gotten seventeen lashes in before the head guard stepped in, and Camille still couldn't believe she'd restrained herself from throttling the man.

  "Grenswald," Camille nodded curtly, scanning the wagon he'd filled to the brim with cartons of meats, bread, and vegetables: the best Sierra Village had to offer.

  Before she could get around the behemoth, Grenswald grabbed her upper arm with his grubby sausage fingers. "What do you have for the Moon Tax today? It's two cartons this month, and you better not be hidin' goods from the High Court again."

  "You're here two days early," Camille said, breathing through her mouth as wave upon wave of his stench assaulted her nose. As politely as she could manage, Camille removed his grotesque hand and looked up into his beady brown eyes, making sure to keep the hatred writhing in her body under control. Neeko sidled in front of her and hissed, and Grenswald took a few clumsy steps away.

  "If you pardon me, sir, I'll go collect a hearty payment for you right now," Camille said through clenched teeth.

  His eyes roved her body crudely, before landing just below the cavity of her neckline. "That's a pretty trinket you got there," Grenswald said, reaching for the slim silver amulet hanging from her neck.

  There was no thought to her motion as Camille's flat palm surged up into Grenswald's nose, the flat expanse of her hand connecting with a sickening crunch of cartilage. He stumbled back a few steps away from her, his eyes now streaming with tears of pain.

  "Yow bw-ok muh noh," Grenswald mumbled through a gurgle of blood and mucus.

  "You've been warned," Camille roared with fierce intent. An explosion of anger burst out of her throat as she watched the man's pathetic retreat. Her entire body tingled with power, her muscles coiled and primed for attack.

  "Don't ever touch my necklace. Don't even look at it." She grabbed the amulet with one hand as the warm rush of blood pooled behind her eyes, her gaze becoming sharper and ready for any unexpected movement. He would not be allowed to lay a hand on her again, consequences be damned.

  Grenswald's eyes widened, a mixture of fear and surprise spreading like wildfire across his features. "You're a...a..." he said, stumbling back to slam into his wagon with a loud thump.

  "Keep your distance from me, understand?" Camille snapped at him as he clutched at his nose with one hand. He nodded slightly, wincing at the pain of movement, but he didn't advance on her.

  "Oh dear," Peter said just behind Camille's shoulder. She tensed at the sound of his voice, uncertain how he would react to what had just happened. There weren't a lot of bystanders, but enough for Grenswald to have witnesses of her attack. The sharp surge of anger that had taken over eased slightly as a fissure of worry crept through the barrier of her walled-in emotion. “Did you slip and fall Grenswald?"

  Camille eyed the bleeding oaf through squinted lashes. The hefty weight of his body pressed against his cart as though his legs no longer worked. She silently dared him to speak. Staring Camille straight in the eye, he nodded his head, the jowls of his neck shaking with the effort of movement.

  "Well that won't do, so sorry to have kept you waiting! I have a hearty payment for you, nothing so inconsequential as a trinket of little value," Peter said, his chin angling toward Camille still gripping her necklace with stern ferocity. "It's just a piece of tin and painted glass, anyways—no worthy value to you or the High King." The old butcher shoved two cartons filled with bread, vegetables, and a bag of fresh meat into Grenswald's cart before handing him a slightly tattered handkerchief from his pocket.

  "For the mishap," Peter said with a heartwarming smile, as though offering a token of good will to a man in need. He then took Camille by the shirtsleeve and steered her home.

  Camille fingered the amulet as they walked, tracing her thumb over the single red ruby it held. Soldered into the metal were branches bent to create a perfect circle, while the back of amulet was stamped with undefined ancient symbols. She kept anticipating Peter's reprimand for losing her temper with the king's henchman, but it never came. Instead, Peter silently ushered Camille and Lunci inside his cabin and set a pot of water boiling as Camille slumped into a chair.

  "Camille!" Lunci shouted, dancing in front of the hearth. "Guess what?"

  Camille quirked a brow at him, dropping the amulet back beneath her shirt front. "What?"

  "Papa said we get to celebrate Fόmhair!"

  "What's 'Fόmhair?'" Camille asked, massaging her aching temples. It had been an eventful afternoon, more than she'd anticipated, and her body was paying for it.

  "It's the best holiday ever!" Lunci exclaimed, practically swooning. "So much food!"

  "And when was this decided?" Camille asked, peering at Peter.

  "After all these years, the only thing you remember is the food," Peter chuckled, disregarding Camille's question. "That isn't all there is to Fόmhair, my dear boy."

  Peter disappeared down the short hall to the adjoining butchery, no doubt to grab whatever little options he'd set aside for them that evening.

  "It's truly the best holiday," Lunci continued. "There's mountains of food, as well as dancing and singing."

  "In truth, it's a heathen's celebration," Peter said from the kitchen. "But we allow the Katolites their interpretation of our holiday. For true Daeites and followers of Ma'Nada, Fόmhair is a day of celebration of the end. The end of long days and warm nights, the end of our harvesting season, and the celebration of those we've lost. It is a day of dancing, drinking, singing, and eating; but all together, it is to be a day of reflection and honoring of what is now past."

  "Oh," Camille said in wonder. "That does sound delightful."

  "Tomorrow marks the thirtieth day of Deireadh Fόmhair, which will end the harvesting season before the onset of winter," Peter continued as he busied himself around the kitchen.

  "Count Jenkins has been storing apples for us this year, can you believe it?" Lunci said, his little body literally shaking with excitement. "We get to eat apples! And I heard Betty Anne is going to make her famous gingerbread loaf. Isn't that great?"

  "Yeah, sure
." Camille said with a small, wavering smile. It all sounded incredible, but she couldn't help feeling a pang of guilt. The Moon Tax was harsh, and many suffered through the season without much in their winter storage. Eating and drinking in such excess felt wrong.

  "Don't worry yourself," Peter said from the doorway, eyes alight with mischief as he held a small plate of meat and cheese out for her. "The count and some of the wealthier villagers stored away additional food in the last couple months of harvesting. We've been lucky this year, my dear—far more than the last. No need to fret. Mother Ma'Nada has been kind with her blessings this year, and many want to share in the giving."

  "I don't want to take what I haven't earned," Camille said, picking at her fingernails to avoid the kindness in Peter's expression. "I don't want to owe anyone anything." As much as she knew the offer of food was an open invitation, she still felt as though she didn't deserve to be a part of the treat. Despite her ability to be amongst the inner circle of Sierra Village, she still felt undeserving of its benefits, yet she couldn't pinpoint why.

  "You just might have to join the hunt the week, then. Fresh meat is more than enough of a contribution," Peter answered with a sly smile, reading her expression keenly. "Perhaps even Lunci can join."

  "Join I will!" Lunci cried. "I will slay every last enemy and bring home food for twenty families!"

  Both Peter and Camille laughed at the nine-year-old, but Camille couldn't discount the shadow of worry that darkened Peter's face as he watched his grandson.

  She considered sharing her earlier encounters in the forest with Peter, but something about the interaction with the strange blue-eyed man made her want to keep it to herself. Also, a large part of her felt incredibly embarrassed about how close Lunci had gotten to danger under her protection, and there was no doubt he'd never be allowed to play in the woods again if she said anything.

  They went about their nightly routine, picking through the oldest meat in the butchery that was still edible and stoking the fire to cook it. Peter reached for a loaf of bread and carefully picked off the staleness forming over the top, placing three thin slices on the rack beside the dancing flames. Lunci pulled a ripened tomato from the pantry store and sliced a couple of juicy sections off before handing them to Peter to roast over the fire.