Preta, eyes wide, not believing what is happening, she leans toward Grandpa’s dead body. Grandpa…
Agna grabs Preta’s shoulders, pulling her back away from the action.
“Let go of me,” Preta says. “Grandpa!”
“He’s gone.” Agna pulls Preta again. “We need to get you out of here.”
Preta wiggles away from Agna and points at Lomasie. “No! We have to get him!”
Nala crouches next to Deet and eyes Grandpa lying dead.
Yaz peeks back, seeing both Deet and Grandpa not moving.
Lomasie, the whistler, and two praetors stroll with a casual stride toward Preta.
A gunshot strikes a rock within a foot of Yaz, causing it to explode and shrapnel nicks his arm. Yaz returns a spike in the praetor’s direction but misses.
Agna tugs Preta’s arm harder. “To the pavilion. We’ll be safe there.”
Nala props up Deet, balancing him against her body. “Yaz, help me.”
Yaz picks up his sword off the dirt and stands at the ready for the oncoming praetors.
Nala waves her arm frantically. “Yaz, help me!”
Agna shakes Preta hard. “Come on, let’s go.”
“Not without my family,” Preta says, eyeing Nala struggling with Deet.
Agna lets go of Preta and she helps Nala lift Deet to his feet.
Two praetors close in, one of them, the tall man, circles a sword above his head in rhythm, the other, pitted and ugly, loads bullets into his pistol.
Nala screams at Yaz, “Yaz, help us, or we all die!”
Yaz runs to Nala and throws the sword to the ground. He stuffs Deet’s pistol into his belt and hoists Deet up onto his shoulder. “Let’s get out of here.”
Preta eyes Deet’s pocket watch lying next to a jagged black rock, and she reaches for it.
“Preta, move,” Nala says.
“Not without—” She lunges toward the ground, sweeps her hand over the grass and dirt, and her fingers latch onto the silver chain attached to Deet’s shattered pocket watch.
Nala grabs Preta’s arm and jerks her into the shaded alley. “Move as fast as you can and don’t look back.”
They run through the cool, damp passageway about to enter the square. The stone walls, slightly green with moss, seep water. The dank smell of mildew mixed with wedding feast fills Preta’s nostrils with every frantic inhale.
Ahead, the ongoing party is in full swing; dancing and joy reverberate off the cobblestones and brick.
“Aw—crap!” Yaz says as he drops Deet. A small bolt sticks out of his thigh. “Nala, Nala, my leg. I need help.”
Preta skids to a halt and peeks back. Both of her brothers lie on the ground wounded.
Yaz gets to his feet, hopping on one leg.
Nala points at Agna’s chest. “Get her out of here,” and she pushes Preta toward Agna.
Agna grabs Preta’s arm tight. “No discussion, girl, come with me.”
Nala runs to Yaz and lifts Deet to his feet.
“Can you walk?”
Yaz breathes heavy. “Sorta.”
Lomasie’s men reach the alley entrance.
“Can you help me with Deet?” Nala says, struggling to keep her feet while propping up her brother’s dead weight.
“I’ll try.” Yaz wraps Deet’s shoulder around his arm, and they hobble through the opening and into the pavilion square.
Preta and Agna, distraught, waving their arms in front of a group of joyful dancers, draw attention.
Concerned, wedding guests congregate and point.
A red orb strikes the ground next to Preta’s shoes, and she flinches as the electric arcs out and sears the stone with black marks. Another orb shoots over Agna’s shoulder and hits a man a few steps away.
The red lightening arcs around the man’s body, and he shakes violently, teeth chattering, foam oozes out of his mouth. He collapses to the ground as smoke emanates off his olive wool jacket.
Agna’s snarly, sweaty, red-faced husband runs to her. “What’s wrong. What’s going on?”
“Men in the alley are coming for us, they’re trying to kill us.”
Another lightning bolt cracks as it strikes the ground near them and a wet cobblestone explodes—and another and another and another.
Agna’s husband yells to a group of men standing by the pavilion, including Lurrus’s brothers.
The men charge the alley with makeshift weapons in hand.
Nala and Yaz emerge with Deet and tumble to the ground.
With sword swinging, Lurrus’s blonde-haired bold brother runs alongside Agna’s snarly husband.
They skid to a stop, both men fly backward, landing on their backs next to Nala, a dagger sticking out of each of their chests.
“Get Deet up, Yaz,” Nala says.
“I can’t, my leg.”
Agna runs to her dead husband. “Klaus? No!”
Preta scrambles to Nala and helps Deet to his feet.
Deet’s eyes, half-open, they swirl in a daze. “Lurra my—Lurra…”
Nala shakes him. “Move your feet, Deet. Help us!”
Nala and Preta each grab one of Deet’s arms and drag him across the square.
Trying to keep up, Yaz grunts while hopping behind them.
Agna hovers over her dead husband on the ground. She crouches and kisses his cheek and then his forehead. “Goodbye, my love,” and she pushes off her husband’s chest and hobbles to catch up with Preta.
Agna reaches Yaz. “Use my shoulder.”
“Thanks,” Yaz says, swinging his arm over her and bracing his body next to hers.
The wedding’s festive cheers turn into bloody chaos. People frantically run and scream in all directions. Bullets and arrows and red lightning bolts fly all around them, brick exploding, cobblestones exploding, wood barrels exploding, flowers plume into the air like colorful fireworks then descend like shriveling, glowing feathers. The pavilion ignites on fire and flames race up the wooden pillars.
Preta peeks back; dead bodies litter the alley and square.
Lomasie and the whistler cut through everyone crossing their path.
“Faster, they’re gaining on us,” Preta says.
At the cart, they stop and prop Deet against the back railing.
Nala unties Berta the horse. “Preta, throw as much out of the cart as you can manage. You have thirty seconds before we put him in the back.”
Preta climbs up and throws everything out except for the weapons. “Ready.”
Yaz, already in the cart, with reins in hand, peeks back at his sisters trying to get Deet into the back. “Get him up, hurry, we don’t have much time.”
Nala and Agna inch Deet’s legs onto the cart, and Preta tugs him from underneath his armpits.
Yaz pounds the wooden bench. “Come on, come on, come on—no time!”
The tall praetor lunges in front of them, waving his sword in a figure eight.
Yaz reaches for a weapon. “We have company!”
Preta gives one final tug, and Deet lurches forward, falling on top of her.
Nala grabs a sword and spins toward the praetor just in time to meet his blade before slashing her head. Nala tilts back from the blow, and she presses against the cart.
Agna pulls herself up into the cart next to Deet, and she grips a club.
The praetor laughs and spits as he slashes at Nala’s head without relent, bending her body backward with each strike.
Nala’s sword locks with his in a clanging, metal grind.
“Aren’t you a feisty one,” the tall praetor says. “You’ll not get away this time.”
Preta scrambles for a weapon and snatches up a bow. She slides an arrow into the notch, raises it and releases in one motion, striking the praetor in the ribcage. “Nala, get in!”
Nala skewers the praetor in his belly with the tip of her sword, and the man collapses to the ground.
Yaz cracks the reins as Nala jumps into the back, landing on top of Deet.
Preta w
aves at Yaz. “Go, go, go, go!”
“Move with all you got, Berta,” Yaz says, “run, old girl, run.” The cart picks up speed darting through the alley, and Yaz cracks the reins again and again.
Preta stares back toward the courtyard. Smoke rises from the pavilion, and she shivers from the screams echoing throughout the town. Flashes of red lightning illuminate and crack, cascading off the alley walls in an explosion of rock and shrapnel and dust and smoke.
The cart continues racing away, swerving and rattling over the cobblestones.
In the distance, Lomasie strolls out into the center of the road, pivots toward Preta’s direction, and gracefully bows as the cart exits Waighton.
CAN’T WIN THEM ALL
Blood surges and emotions run rampant through Preta. Sadness to anger, fear to uncertainty, back to fear, back to sadness, back to anger, no one emotion staying long, though all returning quickly. Tears flow from her eyes as she cradles Deet’s head. “Grandpa—Lurrus.”
Agna rests her hand on Preta’s back.
Nala glares at Preta, brow arched, no remorse, no tears. Her focused anger makes her upper lip twitch.
Preta peeks at Yaz.
He winces, one hand cracking the reins and the other grasping his bloody leg.
Nala taps Yaz’s shoulder. “Switch with me.”
Without quarrel, Yaz passes Nala the reins, and she scoots behind him, switching places.
Berta senses the fear and urgency of the moment, and the horse moves her legs faster than Preta can ever remember.
The cart bounces along the rocky road, shaking Preta’s insides and rattling her teeth. A wheel strikes a pothole, propelling her into the air. She crashes down hard onto the wooden bench, striking her tailbone.
Yaz reaches back to Preta. “Give me a piece of cloth.”
“Here,” Agna says, handing it to him.
Yaz tears his pants and grimaces as he pours water on the wound. He rips the cloth into a few pieces and pats the gash, soaking up the water and blood, then applies pressure while wrapping his leg with a double layer of cloth, creating a bandage.
Agna does the same for Deet’s shoulder.
Yaz tosses the bloody cloth into the back of the cart. “What are we going to do now?”
“We’re going home,” Nala says.
Agna shakes Nala’s arm. “You can’t be serious. We can’t go to your cottage, it’s not safe. They’ll keep coming for Preta now that they know where she lives.”
“Where else are we supposed to go? I’m open for ideas if you have any.”
Yaz grips his sword tight. “I say let them come.”
Nala backhands Yaz in his shoulder. “Did you hit your head? What are you gonna do, put on a show? Hop around and wave your sword like a bloody pantomime? You saw how many there were and what they’re capable of. One of them even has some sort of a lightning stick.”
“I want them dead,” Preta says, not caring about anything else except for revenge.
“Not you too,” Nala says, giving her a quick disapproving glance.
Yaz frowns. “We can take them. What about Grandpa and Lurrus? They killed them.”
Nala flicks her head toward the back of the cart. “And what about your sisters and injured brother? You want them killed too? You going to save us, Yaz, the great pantomime bear slayer?”
Yaz slashes the front of the cart with his sword and stomps his foot. “Maybe!”
“Shut up, idiot, that’s enough blabber. This isn’t the time or place; we don’t stand a chance against those guys.”
Agna leans forward and rests her hand on Yaz’s back. “Your sister is right, listen to her.”
Yaz lets out a vocalized growling sigh. “So what’s the plan then, if not revenge, then what are we going to do?”
“To Iinia, and to Ardinia, the capital,” Agna says. “I have a brother there. Preta and the rest of you will be safe with him.”
Yaz’s head flinches in surprise. “Ardinia—seriously? That’ll take weeks over land and sea.”
Agna purses her lips and nods. “Yes, and it won’t be easy. We’ll need supplies and coin—a lot of supplies and coin. And we can’t travel the main roads—so it may take even longer.”
“No main roads? I don’t know what’s more dangerous, those who follow us, or traveling far off the road.”
“On the road, they’re sure to be looking for us, off the road, we may or may not find trouble.”
“Ardinia it is then,” Nala says, “though Agna, you don’t have to come with us, it will be dangerous.”
“They already took everything from me here. Besides, who will take you to my brother.”
Yaz touches his wound and cringes. “How can your brother keep us safe from those maniacal murderers?”
Agna gazes off into the trees. “Let’s just say my brother and I took two very different paths in life, and he has friends in high places who might be able to help us.”
Nala cracks the reins. “Here’s the plan, we stop the cart by the barn. Yaz, you gather the supplies from the barn and pile them into the cart. Preta, Agna, both of you come with me to the house and change clothes, then gather everything we need from inside, and set it outside by the front door. Yaz, no matter what, after five minutes bring the cart to the cottage, so prioritize what you pack. Ten minutes from the moment we get home, we need to be loaded, back in the cart, and off. Any questions?”
No one says a word.
Preta dabs the gash on Deet’s head with a wet cloth. “It’s gonna be all right.”
Deet rocks his head back and forth, moaning, “Lurrus, Lurrus, Yaz no, Lurrus…” He opens his bloodshot eyes and blinks. “Lurrus—Preta?”
“I’m sorry, Dee, she’s gone.” She presses his broken pocket watch into his bloodstained hand.
Deet clinches his fingers around the case, turns his head away, and with his other hand covers his face. He cries.
Preta places her hand on his shoulder, and the hate for Lomasie grows with every passing second, stinging her in a place deep inside her core, a place where she’ll never forgive or forget. Grandpa and Lurrus. She sighs. My brothers, what have I done?
“Deet, pull it together,” Nala says, “we’re almost home, and they’re coming for us. There will be time for grieving later.”
Deet removes his hand and gazes up at the sky and then turns toward Preta.
Preta stares back at him as she tries to be strong.
The next few minutes, Nala fills in Deet on what happened after he passed out—and the plan once they reach the cottage.
Deet’s and Yaz’s eyes meet.
Deet glances at Yaz’s leg.
“Don’t worry, Brother,” Yaz says, “we’ll get-em back.”
Deet turns away. “You shouldn’t have…”
Yaz opens his arms. “Come on, we had no choice, they were going to kill Preta.”
Deet growls. “It wasn’t your choice to make. And now she’s dead, and Grandpa, and it’s all your fault.”
“What did you want me to do? Just hand over Preta so they could do whatever they wanted to do with her?”
Deet scowls. “You killed Grandpa—you killed her.”
“No way, I saved you.”
“I don’t want to be saved, you killed my life.”
Nala slams her hand on the bench. “Shut up, Deet, he didn’t kill Lurrus. Lomasie killed her and would’ve killed us.”
“I told him to wait,” Deet says.
Nala snorts. “Wait for what? For Lomasie to kill me and Lurrus? She was my best friend too.”
Preta wraps her arm around Deet and leans into him. “I’m sorry, Dee, this is all my fault. If it wasn’t for me, they would’ve never come to the wedding. Lurrus and Grandpa would still be alive. You should’ve just let them take me.”
Deet squeezes Preta’s hand tight.
“Get ready, we’re here,” Nala says. “Deet, are you with us?”
Deet nods. “I’ll get the coin box in the spot. Where’s my pi
stol?”
Yaz hands him his pistol. “Here, Brother, and I’m sorry.”
With no expression and dead inside, Deet takes the revolver and turns away.
The cart jerks to a stop next to the barn.
Nala tosses the leather reins and hops off the cart. “Five minutes, Yaz, five minutes.”
Yaz gives a single nod and climbs down to the ground and lands on his good leg. He grabs a shovel for a crutch and shuffles inside the barn.
Preta, Deet, and Agna run to the house.
Nala points at Preta. “All the water containers you can manage and fill them up. Deet, after the coin box, get food, all the food you can pack. Agna, with me to the back room.”
Preta quickly strips off her wedding dress, changes clothes then grabs the water pouches. She kicks open the back door and sprints to the well.
“Hurry up, Preta!” Nala says, sticking her head out the kitchen window.
Preta slings the full water bags and makes for the cottage. She slows for a second and scans the property. Something’s wrong. Where’s Roscoe? He always greets them. Preta shakes off the unsettling feeling and hobbles to the front door.
Deet sets down a food crate. “Are you good to go?”
“Where’s Roscoe?”
Deet squints toward the barn and then to the field of swaying wheat. “I don’t know. Keep your eyes peeled.”
Yaz pulls up in the cart. “You all ready to go?”
Preta tosses the water bags into the back, and Deet, Agna, and Nala load the cart with the crates.
“I’ll drive,” Deet says. He flicks his chin at Yaz. “Grab a bow and be ready.”
Yaz scoots to the side, and Deet lifts the reins. “Let’s go, Berta, move with all you got,” and he cracks the leather.
Yaz flicks his head toward Preta. “Hand me a bow and quiver.”
She gives him his weapons then scans the horizon. Preta looks toward the field. Roscoe lies motionless on the ground with an arrow sticking out of his torso. “Roscoe’s dead, they were here.”
“What?” Yaz says, spinning toward the field and he eyes Roscoe. “Bastards,” and he prepares an arrow.
Preta scans the horizon, searching for the danger.
Zip—
Wind puffs past Preta’s ear and then a thud rocks the back of the cart. She slowly turns around, and Nala’s head lies limp against a crate. The anger on Preta’s face fades, and in shock, she covers her mouth and lowers her head. She looks back up, and Nala stares back at Preta with tranquil eyes, glassy, gone.
Wintermore (Aeon of Light Book 1) Page 15
