Winterskin: A Dark Fantasy (Kindred Souls Book 1)

by C. M. Estopare

  Swallowing at the large lump in her throat, she moved towards her place in the formation—the very back. Situated beside a burgundy speckled mare whose rider was dwarf like and practically her height in the saddle. On land, she stood taller than the halfling. Had to look down to meet his mismatched eyes and give him a respectful nod.

  “Aye—Sis!” called a broken voice before the halfling. Katell stopped in her tracks. Moved her gaze up as a black stallion clopped its way towards her. “You're before Manuel, here. Right next to loud-mouth.” a man in scant winter wear sporting a pockmarked face called down from his place in the saddle. “Take your place soon. Think we're about to head out.”

  “Right.” she muttered, nodding before he moved past her.

  She took her place before Manuel in the formation. Climbed her way into the saddle, and came eye to eye with Bertrand.

  “Would you lookie there? My very first shieldsister.” he smirked, scratching at the triangular ear of his silver haired mare. “Think she can keep up, Marie?”

  The horse snorted its response, cracked its snow-white tail and shook its head.

  Katell's brown mare snapped its teeth together. “She doesn't like Marie.” Kat teased.

  “Does she have a name?”

  Kat smirked. “Horse.” she said, shrugging with a sly smirk. “Her name is horse—,”

  A scream pierced the air—high-pitched and daunting as Kat hunched in her saddle and brought her eyes to the brown mare's neck. Kat snapped her gaze towards the crowd as the people went silent with blind terror at the noise. Blind terror that was somehow knowing—knowing that whatever terrorized the screamer wouldn't be coming for them. At least—not yet.

  Kat scanned the crowd, wide eyes searching for her cousins—gaze gleaning over every face, every turned head and every bowed back. Her heart began to race, began to deafen her as the screamer began to plead. Began to beg and cry out to the townspeople—to her townspeople. To her friends and neighbors as the people gawked back—wide-eyed and frightened. Knowing, that if they opened their lips in action—in outright rebellion against her assailants—their families would be next. Their daughters and nieces would be next.

  She found Maddy's turned head. Found Eva's worried eyes as she hugged Maddy from behind and forbade her from moving. From swimming through the crowd to help a family friend.

  Kat recognized the screech. Recognized the voice.

  “Stop—please! I haven't any power—please! Oh, Francine! Tell them I—,”

  She brought her eyes to what they all gawked at. Brought her gaze to a tousled bed of strewn daises scattered upon the snow, their white heads plucked. Leathery petals graced the heavily trodden snow before pale pink slippers that slipped and danced as the woman's arms were stretched wide by two Sonant assailants. They covered the lower half of their faces with amber scarves, their bodies heavy with sharp scale mail armor that clinked as they wrestled the girl up. Bright blue eyes reddened as they filled with tears, as she lost her balance in the snow and the men relented to dragging her backwards. Towards the calling pyres, towards the twisted wooden hands of sharp spikes straightening towards the sky.

  “I'm not—,” she cried, closing her eyes as she struggled. “I'm not—,”

  For a moment, Kat wanted to look away as the girl scanned the crowd fretfully. Blue irises bobbing from face to face—searching for a friend. Searching for someone who would vouch for her innocence—for her soul. For her life.

  The girl met such a face. Locked eyes with the sharp glare of a hawk.

  Kat shook her head as they locked eyes, mouthed—no—to the young woman, but Jocelyn would never take no for an answer. Not when she went door to door selling flowers that were always strangely out of season. Not when she sold herbal remedies to those she knew needed them most. Jocelyn could never take no for answer—could never let anyone turn down her special sales. She didn't deal well with rejection—would happily lower her prices just to gain a copper.

  She never took no for an answer. Never did.

  And as she opened her mouth, Kat felt as if a sharp arrowhead had been lodged between the bones of her rib cage. She caught her breath and held it. Waited for the screaming of her name.

  “Shieldmaiden Maeva, please!”

  Kat would give her nothing. Nothing, as the girl struggled between her captors. Kat kept her eyes on the girl as a shiny stone glinted from the corner of her gaze. A knife appeared near Jocelyn's supple white neck. A knife of black obsidian.

  “I beseech you, Shieldmaiden Maeva! Please—tell them I am just a simple herbalist—please...”

  The knife hovered. One of the Sonants looked up. Met Kat's gaze.

  Was Jocelyn's life truly in Kat's hands?

  Kat gawked—pressed her lips into a tight line as her fingers curved and clenched round the horse's leather reigns.

  If she vouched for her, Kat's entire house would come under suspicion. The Sonants left behind in Montbereau would question the entirety of her family—from Gran, to Maddy, to...

  Eva.

  Kat snapped her eyes shut. Opened them and took her gaze away from Jocelyn's. She bit her tongue. Closed her eyes again and felt her palms go slick with sweat.

  If they found Eva guilty of...

  The Sonants always found out—always had a way of getting people to spill the truth.

  Jocelyn and Eva have a...had a...relationship.

  If the Sonants got this information from Eva—they'd burn them all. Maddy...Gran...

  They'd take them from me. For her.

  Because of Jocelyn.

  Kat felt Eva's eyes on her and knew that if she turned around to meet the younger woman's gaze, that she wouldn't be able to do what she needed to.

  She needed to protect what family she had left—even at the expense of another.

  She needed to do what was...right.

  “I will not vouch,” she heard herself say—felt her voice boom from her throat. “for a witch.”

  FOUR

  This was right and normal, Kat told herself. Feeling the leather of her horse's reigns bite into the skin of her palms and fingers. A witch burning before a Chaperon sets off—this was right. This was right and normal.

  But never before had a proposed “witch's” life been placed squarely into her hands. Never before had she held the decision of life or death in her scrawny palms that were slick with cold sweat. That were slick with guilt and foreboding. Never before had she held the right to send someone—a friend, a family friend—to the Sonants' pyres simply because they were a little different. Because she, Jocelyn—Eva's little waif girl, picked daffodils in winter and produced roses in a world where there were none.

  Gran would hate her for this—but Eva even more so.

  Eva might never talk to her again.

  The gathered crowd round the convoy roared—spat back the word Kat had uttered. Witch! Witch! Witch! They crowed it at the poor woman as her legs went limp beneath her. Kat watched, teeth grinding against each other as she felt Eva's eyes burn into her cheek. She couldn't look—couldn't risk turning her head to meet the younger woman's eyes because she knew what she'd see there. Kat knew what she'd see, and she couldn't bear staring it in the face.

  She'd see her own cowardice. She'd see her own confusion about her choice of words reflected back at her. Eva's voice already reverberated in Kat's mind—a single question followed by a glare of mourning. Red eyes flat with tears.

  Why, Katell? Why condemn my friend?

  Why?

  A flood of screeching voices crashed around Kat's ears. Bloodthirsty townspeople cheered as Jocelyn howled her last breath. A fresh line of crimson erupted upon her neck as the obsidian knife ripped across her sallow skin with a swift and single cut. Pearly hands trembled, moved to close the gash—to catch the waterfall of blood seeping upon her skin. Blood stained the velvety satin of her dress as crimson seeped towards the cobblestones, licking at the discarded petals of her scattered bouquet.

  White petals faded crim
son as Jocelyn was tugged, limp and ragged, towards the pyre at her back. A snap pierced through the agitated racket, silencing the crowd as the townspeople held their collective breaths. Kat watched a woman slide bony fingers over her son's eyes as she brought her opposite hand to her mouth. It brought back memories—Gran would always turn their heads away. She'd tell them that it wasn't right—whatever the Sonants believed about the origins of beasts, burning every whoreson's daughter for suspected witchcraft wouldn't right the world.

  Blood does not cleanse, she'd whisper as the fire roared and burning flesh choked the air, it darkens into a relentless stain that'll never, never, wash out.

  Flames crackled, burned, and kissed the silver sky as the convoy began to move. Kat righted herself, ignored the pungent smell of embers eating skin and held the leather reigns of her horse with her gaze planted forward. Her eyes stared at trees—stared at darkness—as the townspeople cheered the Chaperon on, blessing them on their journey. Blessing them on the Path through Baate Noir.

  “Luck be with you, Katty! Horace! Gods bless you both, through and through!” Maddy cheered, the older woman squealing just a few feet away from her.

  Kat heard the crowd gasp—the cheering cut short as a young woman barreled through the cheering bodies. Snapping her gaze towards the crowd, Kat watched a dark haired woman split the crowd with her fists. Watched her weave her way through the cluster of people, cutting a line for the pyres. Making her way towards the single one that burned.

  Eva threw a sidelong gaze over her shoulder as she moved. Kat's jaw clenched.

  “Madeline!” Kat howled, meeting the older woman's startled gaze. Maddy staggered backwards at the sudden scream as the convoy slowly moved onward. Kat pointed—arched her finger towards Eva as the young woman raced towards the burning pyre, dashing through the crowd like a woman on fire.

  Kat could do nothing, she realized as the convoy forced her forward. She could do nothing but watch Maddy swim her way through the gathering of people as they screamed at Eva—who dashed, who ran at the crackling pyre. Kat bit her tongue as her eyes followed the moving pyre. The cheering resumed, came back with a screeching vengeance as Maddy caught hold of Eva's hair and pulled.

  But the girl was no match for her twin. Kat's stomach dropped as the sharp pine trees of the forest slowly cut everything out—the screaming, her fighting cousins, the cheering and the smell of singed flesh curdling the wind.

  And Kat was powerless to stop them, powerless to make Eva see reason as her vision was clipped—stolen by the surrounding forest. She could do absolutely nothing but hope—hope that Eva hadn't thrown Jocelyn's sacrifice away for waning love. Hope that her family would still be there when she returned, that the Sonants would leave the Maevas alone despite Eva's chaotic outburst. Hope that—once she got back from escorting this Chaperon to the Poudurac, that Eva would let her explain why she couldn't vouch for the girl—why she had to let her body go up in flames.

  Above all, she hoped that Eva would forgive her as the dark forest of Baate Noir closed in around them. Darkness shut out the smoke, the noise—it cut off everything, blanketing the Chaperon in a dreary silence as snow cracked under wagon wheels and horse hooves.

  Kat hoped. Crossed her fingers as the brown mare's slender back moved beneath her. Hoped Eva would be spared, hoped she'd still have a cousin to apologize to once she returned.

  If she returned at all.

  FIVE

  It wasn't long before a fog rolled in, obscuring everything in a chilly blur as a harsh breath of unrelenting wind shook thick frost from twisted branches shaded with a stygian blackness. The group had begun to miss the evergreens peppered in snow some ways back. Though the webbed green of the evergreens tapered the path and forced the convoy to spread out into a long line of wary travelers, as the green of Baate Noir's outskirts quieted to a somber black; they had begun to miss the life, the color.

  The farther they traveled into the bleak chill of Baate Noir, the less of the world they heard until the very air they breathed became silence. It was a cold chill that choked and tormented them, made them hear things in the brush that weren't truly there. Made them see red eyes peering through the fog—a gaggle of creatures collectively staring, prowling, wondering why humans have dared tread here.

  Laughter broke the silence, the guffaw exploding from up front. From the Sonants' ranks. A ripple of murmurs followed, people conversing in the gloom in an attempt to calm themselves. In an attempt to ignore the crunching snow underfoot and biting wind as it began to snow.

  Already, Kat's thighs were chaffing. Burning up as she kept her eyes straight and her lips firmly shut. She felt her tailbone knock against the hard saddle beneath her as the brown mare trotted, snorted out a puff of cold air and flicked its dark hair with a quick shake of its large head.

  “Calm, beast. We've a ways yet.” she murmured, running her fingers through its snow frosted locks. “Can't wait to arrive at Remicourt.” she sneered, Eva's glare flashing through her vision like a sudden bolt of lightning. Kat blinked, snowfall blinding her as flurries collected upon her eyelashes. She bit her tongue. Cursed.

  “Falling right hard, isn't it? Biggest flurries I've ever seen.” Bertrand called from her left.

  Kat grunted her reply, still furiously blinking.

  Bertrand closed the gap between them, hunched over to meet her height. “So, we gonna pretend like what we saw back there didn't happen?”

  Kat's eyes burned as she closed them. Turning her head away, she clenched her jaw. “A girl burned—a witch,” she corrected herself, opening her eyes. “that's what we saw. That's all we saw.”

  “Right. So you're pretending, then? That it?” Bertrand snorted, still entirely too close to her. “Well, I'll play like Jocelyn didn't save your Gran from the sleeping sickness last year. Pretend like she used magic—you know, hag's potions—,”

  Kat rounded on him, eyes wide, face flaming. “—go! Go—leave me be! I did what I had to.”

  “And I commend you for that, Sis.” he said, clapping her on the shoulder. “Do whatever—pretend if you need to, if that'll help you accept things. Just don't shut us out.”

  “I don't want to pretend,” she told him, hand to her temples. “I just can't—”

  A howl covered everything in silence, made a chill slither down Kat's back as Bertrand straightened near her. Leaning to the right in her saddle, she lowered her hand towards the cold head of an ax sticking from her leather saddle bag.

  She watched Horace bring his gaze over his shoulder, eyes frantic as his gaze scanned down the line.

  The convoy continued, slow and mournful, chilled by the sudden wolven echo.

  Kat felt for the strap at her back, pulled at the belt and felt her shield shiver.

  Another howl answered the first, crying from the far right as a dark snarl thundered from the treeline.

  Hunching her back, Kat gripped the ax's handle and yanked it up. Cold fingers stretched down rough wood as she weighted the weapon in her hand, eyes scanning, ears alert.

  Shadows in the snow flashed through the treeline. They came from the front, thundered through the treeline at the frantic peal of an ox as it emitted a frightful cry—as it froze. The frightened beast halted the convoy—the wagon at its back stalling as the cityfolk inside howled frantic screams. The razor sharp bark of a wolf sank into a hair raising growl as a zigzagging pack of four surrounded the ox and wagon on all sides.

  Kat's mare whinnied, triangular ears taut and alert as Kat sat up straight. Arm and ax became one as she bent her arm at the elbow.

  She felt the others tense around her as well, as her shieldbrothers armed themselves. Bristling with fire in their veins as they watched the large shadows move—spiked direwolves, a group of four—cut the convoy in two as the beasts converged on the wagon's black ox.

  A sharp whistle broke through the fog. Followed by a scream and a whimper as a body slammed into the snow.

  “Hold!” Horace roared from the front of thei
r detail, stretching out his arm as if to stop them all. “Hold, I said!”

  More whistles—arrows arching through the air leaving a thin trail of curving black. The stygian trees swayed, their gnarled branches reaching for the pack of direwolves as the beasts snarled—broke formation and zigzagged through the back of the convoy away from the thunder of horse hooves and foot soldiers.

  An arrow whistled past Kat's left ear, and she turned her head. Watched it go as a handful of Sonants brandishing scale mail, broad swords, and bows cut two straggling direwolves down. Freeing the ox as its voice cracked and moaned.

  Kat brought her shield over her head as another arrow went sailing past, arching barely an inch above her head. Two wolves remained, growling and snorting as they wove through the convoy and parted ways, vanishing into the treeline before reaching Horace and Alan. The Sonants halted their chase, one man waving a haughty salute towards Horace who returned the gesture with a sigh.

  Horace turned, broke the formation to approach Manuel and the shieldbrother beside him.

  “Break, men. Take the essentials.”

  “Here,” Kat turned, offered a hand. “tie your beast to mine. We'll take care of her.”

  Manuel nodded, mismatched eyes brooding as he slid off his mount and into the snow.

  “Go ahead, Marie doesn't bite.” Bertrand teased, turning towards the man behind him. “Tie her up.”

  Kat watched the two prepare, the men leaving everything tied to their mounts except for weapons and flint.

  “Break off and track them. Gut 'em before they regroup and bring more of their ilk.” Shaking snow from his hair, Horace spat into the drift. “Course they'd rush us when the damned sun's close to setting. Look, men, I can't make it any clearer than this, aye?” Looking one man square in the eye before sliding his gaze to the other, Horace hissed: “Be. Quick.”

  SIX

  A colorless sunset swathed the Chaperon in a quiet gray that faded to black. That deepened to a pitch darkness which required the bright orange heads of torches and lanterns to guide their path.