A Time of War and Demons

by S E Wendel

  “You must live,” she told him, burying her face in his neck. “I built you your damn wall. You will live to see it.”

  Forty-Three

  Though Ceralia had already done so much for the mortals, she had one last gift to give. Their hearts were already full of violence and cunning, but Ceralia found a small, unused corner to put her final gift: compassion. It made their hearts beat louder, faster, longer. “What is this, Mother?” they asked her in astonishment. “It is compassion, my loves. See how just a fragment overpowers the blackness in your hearts? Listen to my gift, let it guide you, and it will teach you how to love and how to forgive.”

  —Ceralia’s Gift

  For three days, Manek faded in and out of consciousness, but Lora supposed they couldn’t hope for better, considering how much blood he’d lost. On the second day, he opened his eyes, the delirium gone. On the third, he sat up, able to keep down weak broth. Rising breathed a sigh of relief when the news that he’d live spread through town like wildfire.

  Lora found Manek’s tenacity admirable; many others would’ve succumbed to such a wound. From the steady stream of well-wishers, Lora understood the people’s deep love for him and why he fought so hard to live.

  What she couldn’t understand, though, was the icy tension that filled the room whenever he was awake with Ennis near. It began when Taryn and his wife Kenna came to visit. After relaying some of the humdrum business of Rising, Taryn said, “You rest up, and when you’re stronger, we’ll take you out to see the wall they built.”

  Manek frowned. “The wall?”

  Kenna stepped forward, smiling, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Ennis did it—she organized everything, oversaw all the production and construction. Even got pretty handy with a saw. You must thank her when she comes back from the Haven.”

  But when Taryn and Kenna left and Ennis returned, he did no such thing. Lora waited anxiously for him to say something, anything, for it was plain in Ennis’s face that she wished to speak with him about what she and the women of Rising had accomplished. But Manek refused to speak more than two words to her, and the light left Ennis’s eyes, the relief and joy at seeing him recover slipping away under a haughty mask of indifference that Lora easily recognized as a gambit to hide her pain.

  Lora did her best to keep Ennis occupied with other things. She strove never to leave them alone together, but it seemed, as the days passed slowly by, that that wouldn’t stop whatever was coming.

  Somehow, she knew it’d be her luck that something happen today. A headache bloomed behind her right eye, and she could feel her pulse in her skull; the price paid for so many late nights. On that day, Manek felt well enough to sit up for more than just a meal. She saw the way he tracked Ennis about the room. His eyes were pained, as if the sight of her physically hurt him, and Lora, baffled, wondered how Ennis could love him. How, when he looked at her like that and spoke only clipped, unfeeling words to her?

  Lora realized too late that Ennis saw also. Taking in his cold frown, Ennis tossed the used bandages she held into the fireplace with a vehemence.

  “If you’ve something to say, say it,” she spat.

  Lora froze, never keen to be near confrontation. It was a given, however, being a friend of Ennis, and so Lora made herself small and quiet, hoping the storm would pass her by.

  “I just don’t see why you’re here,” he said.

  Ennis reacted as if he’d struck her, her whole body wincing. “What?”

  “If you cared at all about my life, you wouldn’t have told me to try allying with King Dunstan.”

  The color drained from Ennis’s face, and Lora’s mouth hung open in shock. Ennis had told him what?

  He motioned at his side. “Your prince is to thank for this.”

  “Colm did that?”

  “He did. But isn’t that what you hoped for all along?”

  “Stop it,” Ennis hissed. “You know I didn’t want any of this to happen.”

  “No? And what exactly did you want? Not only are we not allies with the Highlands, but Larn heard I let your king and prince get away.”

  “You did?”

  He glared at her. “Yes, but a fair bit of good that did me. Instead I got called up for treason.”

  “But he let you leave. Why would he if he thought—?”

  Manek jerked up, throwing the blankets off to try and rise. He barely got up before he groaned and sat back on the bed. Putting a hand to his side, he growled at her, “He let me go because my men threatened to riot if he didn’t, not because he believed me! So now he’s every reason to invade if the whim strikes him, and we’ll have to stand against him without a friend in the world.”

  Ennis’s eyes glistened with tears, but her shoulders were squared. Lora knew that look, knew the rage bubbling to the surface. It blinded her to how a red stain grew across the fresh, snowy white bandages wrapped round his chest.

  Sucking in a breath, Lora knew she couldn’t be the breaker anymore, letting the tempestuous sea roll over her. She might not like Manek right now, but he was her patient.

  “Ennis, leave. Now.”

  Ennis turned her venomous gaze on her, but Lora didn’t back down. Ennis opened her mouth as if to argue, then snapped it shut. Her eyes welling, she threw the door open and let it slam behind her as she dashed out.

  Lora sat down with a sigh, her headache worsening.

  Manek slumped back against the mound of pillows piled up against the headboard. He closed his eyes, and Lora watched his pulse beat rapidly at his throat.

  She decided she’d better see what damage was done before she let her anger get the better of her. Gathering a roll of new bandages along with a needle and thread, Lora asked him to sit.

  He didn’t open his eyes even when she carefully unwound the bloodied bandage to reveal the wound, broken open again. The nubs of skin and flesh were an angry red, watery blood seeping out at the edges. Still, Lora only smelled the sharp, coppery tang of blood; nothing gangrenous or rotting.

  After she’d applied a numbing salve, she asked, “Is it working?”

  He nodded.

  Lora had wondered how this relationship between Ennis and Manek came to be. Of course, they’d spent ample time together last winter. But what did her friend see in this Lowland warlord? How could she love someone who’d say such cruel things?

  “You shouldn’t speak to her so,” Lora couldn’t help saying as she threaded the twine.

  Manek shifted.

  “She doesn’t deserve your contempt, not after everything she’s done for you.”

  Once he’d lain back down so she could begin to work, he said quietly, “I know what she’s done.”

  Lora frowned, clearing away the broken stitches before setting the needle to his flesh. Despite the salve, she hoped it hurt, just a little, no matter how unkind it was to think.

  “Ennis built you that wall. She didn’t do it for Rising or your people. She did it for you.”

  He only grunted.

  “That’s how she shows her affection. By doing.” So many memories came to mind; she’d shoved a boorish squire off the battlements into the harbor below for trying to kiss Lora when she hadn’t wanted it; she’d saved Adena from the talons of an undertrained hawk; she’d taken a knife for her father, started a kennel for Irina, and sought revenge on anyone who made Essa cry.

  She wanted to tell him all this, wanted to make him see, but he only shook his head, his eyes still closed so he wouldn’t have to watch her sew him up.

  “I trusted her. I went against my better judgment, against what was better for my people. And what did it get me?”

  Lora tied off the thread and began packing the wound. “I don’t know much about it myself, but it seems like your people only suffer under Larn.”

  “Of course they do. But they could suffer much, much more. It’s the price we pay, the Highlands for the Lowlands. That’s how it’s been for ten years. And that’s how it’s going to be.”

  “Until you�
��re all dead?”

  His eyes opened to tired slits, making Lora realize she’d said it aloud. She blushed but stood by her words. So many had gone to war, far too few had come home. How long could they honestly keep doing it? In another ten years, there would be no Lowlands for Larn to exploit.

  “I tried her way. I’m willing to suffer the consequences, but I won’t let the Lowlands suffer for it too.”

  She remained quiet because what could she say to that? Her anger had already begun slipping away, for she could sympathize with this Lowland warlord whose whole land rested on his tired, bruised shoulders. She knew that weight, at least, knew what it was to have Ennis add to it. Her friend didn’t mean to, but sometimes, in her quest to make things better, she could do the opposite.

  She didn’t like siding with Manek over Ennis.

  Lora helped him sit up so that she could wrap fresh bandages around his lower chest.

  “How’re you feeling?”

  “Like a pin cushion,” he said.

  When Lora had finished, she buried her hands in a rag but didn’t stand up. She waited until she had Manek’s gaze to say, “I understand why you’re angry, but she was trying to help.”

  Manek’s head slumped back on the pillow, and his eyes closed. “She was trying to help the Highlands.”

  “Perhaps, in a way. But mostly you. She cares for Rising. She made that wall for you, but she knew how it would help your people. And they love her for it.”

  “I love her for it,” he whispered. Lora didn’t think she was supposed to hear, didn’t think he’d meant to say it aloud. “But it doesn’t change anything. We’re still under Larn’s thumb. She’s still a warprize.”

  “You could—”

  “No. I couldn’t. Not after this. I can’t give him another reason to come here.”

  “So instead you’d have her hate you.”

  “It’s better that way,” he said. “I can never give her what she wants.”

  “You honestly think hurting her is best? Hurting the both of you?”

  “I think being disappointed by someone she hates will be easier than by someone she cares for.”

  Lora opened her mouth but couldn’t think of a counterargument. He was right.

  The afternoon soon faded into evening, and Lora divined different ways of keeping herself busy. She and Manek fell into a mutual silence, and she suspected he was grateful she understood. He proved an amenable patient the rest of the day, doing as she asked, and had fallen asleep by the time Kasia came up with his dinner. Lora slipped downstairs to take her own in the kitchen.

  Her head swam with frustration and pain from her headache, making it so she could barely chew her bread. Throwing the hunk of bread into her bowl of steaming stew, Lora’s head sank into her hands. She understood Manek’s anger, his reticence; she herself would choose the same thing, to put her head down and keep people safe. But she also understood Ennis’s desire to push, to strive for more.

  Lora had often envied her friend for her tenacity and willing spirit. Ennis would fight for something better, would take the risks Lora would be too cautious or scared to. It seemed no different now. But was her friend right? Since coming to Rising, Lora had questioned many of Ennis’s decisions, but perhaps she was right in this, to push, for it was plain to see how the Lowlands suffered, how it was only a matter of time until there was nothing left for Larn to take

  When Kasia reentered the kitchen, Lora set about eating again. She forced the food down without tasting it, which really was a shame, as Kasia was a fine cook.

  “You look tired,” Kasia noted. “Should I stay up with him tonight?”

  “No, it’s all right. Thank you, though.”

  Finishing her meal, Lora climbed the stairs. She found him asleep and so settled in one of the chairs by the fireplace. There weren’t any books to read, which left only knitting to keep her hands busy. And Lora despised knitting. The soft click clack of the knitting needles made a soothing rhythm, and before she knew it, her eyes drooped shut.

  What seemed only a moment later, Lora’s heavy lids sprang open at the soft creak of the door. At first she worried Manek was trying to get up again, but then Ennis slipped into the room. Uneasiness overcame her.

  “I can take over for a while,” Ennis said in a hoarse whisper, as if she’d been crying.

  Lora nodded, standing to let Ennis take her chair. Before she sat, Lora put a hand on Ennis’s shoulder. “I had to redo his stitches.”

  Ennis’s eyes grew wide.

  “I know you’re angry with him, but for now, you must let him rest,” Lora whispered. Ennis wouldn’t look at her. “Once he’s healed, you can shout at each other all you want.”

  A tear slipped from Ennis’s right eye, and she pawed at it furiously. “He hates me now. I didn’t mean for him to…”

  Lora wrapped her arms around Ennis’s shoulders and squeezed. “I know you didn’t. It wasn’t your fault.” She looked Ennis in the eye and said, “It’s not your fault.”

  She took a deep, shaky breath and leaned her head on Lora’s shoulder. “I don’t want to lose him, Lora.”

  Dozens of things to say flooded Lora’s mind, but none of them came out. All she could do was assure her friend he’d survive the wound.

  Ennis nodded, but they both knew it wasn’t his side she spoke of.

  Forty-Four

  In our earliest days, Themin spoke with those worthy to hear his words. The humans did revere these listeners and understood their word to be Themin’s. When Themin had imparted all the knowledge he dared share, he named Iriik the humans’ first king. Humbled, Iriik vowed to rule with wisdom and fairness. He led his people for fifty summers, and after him, his daughter, and after her, his grandson. Iriik’s Line stretched into an age, and people whispered if Iriik had himself been a god. But the gods knew better, and Themin did not bless Alaric, the last of the Line, with an heir. Instead, when Alaric lay dying, Anona accompanied her sister Tamea to his deathbed. “I am glad to see you,” he said to Tamea, “but I do not understand such a double blessing.” “I am not a blessing,” Anona told him, “but a reminder.” “Of what?” Alaric asked. “That only the gods are eternal. A man’s life must always end, just as a king’s reign. Your lives, your rule, your ages will come and go, for that is the way of mortality. It is your nature, one that is beautiful and final. I am here to ensure you and your people understand this, so that when they see me next, they shall know why I’ve come.”

  —Anona and the End of the First Age

  The silk sleeves were slippery against Adena’s skin, and the sensation made her stomach curdle. She’d lived in silk most of her life, but somehow the slick, gauzy feel of it now only deepened her anguish. It was a luxurious, soft cage she wore. She found herself picking at the hem of that sleeve, wishing for a frayed end, a loose thread, but finding none.

  Adena watched them bear Larn’s war treasures in through the great doors, flooding the hall, and she began to wonder if there was no end to it. Surely there was nothing left in the Highlands anymore.

  Gold and silks and silver and furs dripped from the Midlands’ first family. Larn sat regal as any king, a crown creasing his forehead with a red indentation. Myrah, his wife, and Verian, his eldest son, sat close by, all of them in Midland red.

  And then there was Adena. Little, gaunt. A wisp of what she’d been, dressed in pale blue silk behind Larn’s left shoulder. The little stool in the corner was her throne.

  There were new women, of course. These war treasures stood against one wall, almost enough to cover the whole eastern face. Some shivered, staring at their feet. Others gazed about furtively through their lashes, eyeing the gathered Midland lords and ladies with calculation. There were so many of them, and Adena knew they’d keep Larn well pleased.

  The last laden page struggled through the door, bearing a trunk almost as big as he was, and for a moment the great hall was silent. Fractures of colored sunlight filtered through the stained glass, bathing the hall
of treasures in ethereal light, making the gems and swords and armor and gold glitter.

  Larn gazed down at it from his dais, his yellowed teeth bared in a ferocious smile. He rose slowly, as if the sight of his boon compelled him to his feet. He flung his arms wide and laughed one booming laugh. “Is this not the treasure of a king?”

  Great cheers echoed through the hall, making Adena flinch. Her room was always so quiet, so solemn; the noise of the hall, the keen faces and twinkling treasure all overwhelmed her broken heart. From the corner of her eye she spied Gaetien stealing glances at her.

  Her Moon Boy came back from Dannawey a man. At least, the boyish fire in his eyes had been snuffed. Something had hardened in him. She was careful not to catch his gaze, but she marked it when his stole to her. Her heart beat louder in her chest each time, and for a moment, just a moment, she let herself hope.

  Her body was failing her. Some mornings Adena wondered if there was more blood coughed onto her pillowcase than there was left in her body. It came thicker now, in warm, gooey clumps that clung to her back teeth. She was always tired, her features too defined. When the women came to make her presentable, like they had that very morning, they wore masks over their noses. They used cosmetics on her; rogue for her lips and paint for her face, anything to make her look less like the walking dead. Adena never looked at herself in the glass, before or after their ministrations, and the women had stopped bringing it at all.

  She knew it had to be soon now; she couldn’t afford much longer. She felt it in the very core of her heart, deep down where she still allowed herself to feel. It had been a dark winter with little light or hope, not since her outburst at Gaetien. He’d avoided her until marching with Larn to the north, and he’d taken all Adena’s hopes with him.

  But now, now perhaps…

  A steady procession of warlords and chieftains and strongmen bowed low to Larn, heaping praise upon him as if he alone broke the gates of Dannawey. Adena tried to imagine what Dannawey looked like now, but she couldn’t see the great city, almost as old as the gods themselves, as a ruin. Even now, a year after her capture, she still couldn’t picture Highcrest a ruin.