Wintermore (Aeon of Light Book 1)

by Sethlen, Aron

  LOST & FOUND

  Preta hovers over the blood flowing away from the muscular dead praetor.

  “Move, Seeros,” Mara says, “or I’ll leave you.”

  Preta snaps out of her trance, and she passes through the door which leads to a long brick hallway.

  They creep forward until Mara stops at an intersection with another corridor. Mara stares ahead to a red door leading outside. She peeks around the corner to the right. Mara grabs Preta’s arm. “Now, go!” She shoves Preta forward.

  They emerge outside the building, and a putrid gust of rotting garbage hits them with force.

  Preta cringes and coughs.

  Mara skids to a stop in the alley and glances left and then right. She steps in each direction once, unsure which way to go.

  Preta jumps in front of her and points to the right. “I know the way, it’s this way.” She runs through a muted alley, the time of day after the sun sets though the torches and lanterns aren’t yet lit. She sidesteps an old man.

  A mangy dog barks and lunges out at her from a hole in the wall. The dog’s leash straightens, jerking the dog to an abrupt stop a few inches away from her leg.

  A pudgy woman with floppy earlobes steps outside of a shanty and yells, “Quiet, mutt!” And she throws a stick at the dog.

  Preta sucks in a shallow breath. “Dog—woman,” and she keeps running forward. To her right, ornaments dangle and chime, and chickens peck the ground ahead. “Chickens—” Preta says, jumping over them and not stopping. The alley ends and opens up into the square. She emerges, and everything brightens, a different world, illuminated fountains spraying, children laughing, mothers yelling, speakers speaking, venders vending, couples kissing, soldiers marching. A sense of relief washes over her.

  Mara grabs Preta’s shoulder. “Seeros, stop.”

  “We’ve got to keep moving,” Preta says, not looking at her or slowing down.

  “And where are we moving to?”

  Preta nods to the left. “Back to the pub. My brother, Deet, and my aunt are staying in the inn next door.”

  “Fine, Seeros, lead the way.”

  “Don’t call me that!”

  “Touchy, touchy.”

  Preta scowls and runs through the square, then onto the street leading to the docks. She cradles her left hand, trying not to let it bounce. The smells hit her: incense and tobacco, sewage, sweet pastries, saltwater, fish, flowers, soot, perfume, seasoned pork, warm bread, pine smoke, coal, ale. Preta catches her breath outside the inn entrance.

  Mara stops next to Preta. “Seeros.”

  Preta turns on Mara and punches her in the arm. “I said don’t call me seeros!”

  Mara laughs. “Fine, fine, fine, Preta. Hey, not a word about what you saw back there—to anyone.”

  “Why not? I thought it was impressive.”

  “Humans don’t take kindly to unregistered Grine in their cities. Besides, no one knows—that is, no one but you.”

  “No one?” Preta says, squinting in surprise.

  Mara rolls her eyes. “Of course not no one. Forget about it, just keep your mouth shut.”

  “No problem, your secret’s safe with me, I promise.” Preta points at the Doolunny Inn’s yellow door. “Anyway, it’s this one. I hope they’re still here.”

  Preta passes through the foyer and glances at the front desk.

  Mr. Doolunny peers at her with a blank stare through his monocle.

  “That’s promising,” Preta says, heading up the staircase. At the hallway, she runs to her room and knocks five times.

  Inside, footsteps approach.

  The door swings open.

  “Preta, my goodness, thank the gods,” Agna says, reaching out and pulling her in for a tight hug.

  “Ouch,” Preta says, retracting her bandaged hand.

  Mara pushes Preta inside the room and closes the door behind her.

  Agna cradles Preta’s hand. “My word, what happened to you? Who did this barbarity?”

  “The whistler, I mean Nelek, he cut off my finger.”

  Agna frowns and softly places her hand on Preta’s cheek. “That monster, I should’ve never allowed you to go to that pub. I knew it was nothing but trouble.”

  “I know, but Yaz, he’s just—” She shakes her head. “I just don’t know about him sometimes.”

  Agna pats Preta’s shoulder and gives her a kind smile. She turns to Mara. “I see you brought a friend.”

  Preta nudges Mara forward. “This is Mara; she helped me escape from Lomasie. One of her friends is being held with Yaz.”

  Agna scans Mara. “Did she now.”

  Mara scans Agna back. “And this is?”

  “Me?” Agna says, unsure of how to respond.

  Preta steps forward to save her. “This is my Aunt Agna.”

  Agna quickly nods. “Right, I’m Preta’s aunt. We’re from Waighton on the southeast coast of Brenton, though I’m sure Preta already told you where we come from.”

  Mara curls her lip. “No, discussion of places and homes never came up during our heart to hearts. Aunt you say?”

  Agna rubs her ears and glances away to avoid Mara’s soul searching gaze. “Yes, and are you from around here?”

  Mara strolls to the window and peers out to the street below. “No.”

  “Are you staying with us?”

  “Still deciding. So, where’s this brother Preta told me about?”

  “Yeah,” Preta says, looking around the room, “where is Deet?”

  Agna sighs and lowers her head. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but Deet followed you to the square, and he lost your trail. He came back to the room and left the tickets and identification papers and the coin and went back out to inquire about you and your brother by the docks. I followed him, and the guards arrested him. I didn’t know what to do, so I came back here hoping and praying an answer would come to me.”

  Mara turns away from the window and eyes Agna. “He was seized in front of the same building on the corner where they took us?”

  Agna shrugs. “I don’t know where they took you and the others. I followed Deet to the jail by the docks.”

  In deep thought, Mara paces back and forth across the room. She peers out the window and taps the windowsill with her finger.

  Preta touches Mara’s shoulder. “What is it? What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking the provisor was quick to sell you and me off for coin and not afraid to raise the price.”

  “So what, he’s a corrupt man.”

  “I think if no one paid a prisoner’s fine within a day, then a corrupt provisor may think of another way to get paid. Add the jail being by the docks holding three healthy young men, and I’d guess—”

  “The Dregs conscription,” Agna says, and then she gasps.

  “Yup,” Mara says, pinching her chin. “I’d say it’s a fifty-fifty shot they are or will be sold to the Dregs, and soon.”

  “Dregs?” Preta says, confused.

  Agna strolls to the window. “It’s a unit within the Iinian Guard where misfit soldiers from the main guard are placed along with the criminals and anyone else who’s sold to the Dregs. They take this lot and throw them together in an attempt to mold them into what they would consider something useful.”

  Mara nods in agreement. “And the Dregs don’t ask where the criminals or those being sold come from, especially if they’re sold or handed over by a real provisor.”

  “What about Rufus Sotonus?” Preta says.

  Agna, unsure of what Preta is suggesting, she tilts her head to the side. “What about him?”

  “He helped us before, and he knows Deet; maybe he’ll help us now.”

  Mara’s brow arches. “Who the hell’s Rufus Sotonus?”

  “The Northern Brenton rep; he helped us yesterday.”

  “Not from around here, are you?” Agna says to Mara.

  Mara sneers back at Agna. “I didn’t say I was or wasn’t. Besides, I’m not much for politics or politicians. Th
ough in this case you’re right, I’m no more from here or this island than you are, Auntie Aunt Agna.”

  Preta squints at Mara, trying to figure out what she’s implying, and then she turns away. “Anyway, what’s the plan—Rufus Sotonus then?”

  Agna holds up ship tickets and identification papers. “We sail to Iinia in three days. Hopefully we can free the boys or find out what happened to them before we set off.”

  “No way!” Preta says. “I’m not leaving without my brothers.”

  “They may already be gone. And if they’re gone, they’re sure not staying on this island if the Dregs have them.”

  “Then what’s the plan?” Preta says, opening her arms, searching for answers.

  “The plan is to do nothing tonight,” Mara says. “It’s dark outside and long past the hours for your Rufus Sotonus. Going to the jail right now will get us a cell right next to your brothers, and that’s if we’re lucky.”

  Agna sits on the bed and places her arm around Preta. “Your friend is right, listen to her, look at your hand, what you’ve been through; you need rest, and we’ll go at it in the morning.”

  Preta gently touches Mara’s arm. “You’re staying?”

  “For now,” Mara says.

  Agna scowls at Mara, and Mara returns the scowl back to her.

  Preta hates to agree with either of them though she knows they’re right. She cradles her hand still throbbing in pain. Her clothes stink, and her whole body is a dirty, tired mess.

  Agna points at Preta’s bandage. “Let me clean that for you; these people, I swear.” She grabs a bowl of water, boils it on the glowing mapier stones, and washes Preta’s wound then wraps it with a new bandage.

  Mara removes a piece of cloth from her pack. “Come on, Preta, to the washhouse with me.”

  Preta goes with Mara, cleans up, changes, and comes back to the room. She drinks a few sips of water.

  Agna blows out the candles. “Sleep, child, and try to forget and get some rest.”

  Preta pulls Yaz’s bearskin over her as she lies on the bed. She gently rests her bandaged hand in a comfortable position. She tries to fall asleep but can’t. Preta keeps opening her eyes and stares out the window at the clouds illuminated by the moon. Preta’s mind dwells on the bad things that might be happening to her brothers at this very moment. How can she sleep? Her family is either dead or missing, all because of her. The guilt eats away at Preta, building in the pit of her stomach, making it cramp. She tosses and turns in the bed.

  Gazing at the ceiling, Preta envisions Deet smiling at her with his older brotherly love, and Yaz, goofing around, and how he’s always doting on her. Preta focuses on the good, holding onto hope she’ll see them again soon. Her body settles into the bear’s fur, and she falls asleep.

  WORDS & WITS

  Mara wiggles Preta’s leg, waking her. “Get up, Seeros, it’s time to move.”

  Preta rolls onto her side and then stands. With blurred vision, she yawns and staggers. Preta stares at the wall for a few seconds, trying to gather herself.

  Agna and Mara sit at the table by the window, in deep discussion.

  Preta grabs a cup of water and sits next to them. “How come you didn’t wake me up earlier?”

  Mara faces Preta. “You never know when you’re gonna be able to sleep again when you’re on the run.”

  “So we go to Rufus Sotonus this morning?”

  “Yes, we’ll eat and then go to the magistrate’s office,” Agna says. “Though before we go anywhere, we need a backup plan.” Agna hands Preta two tickets and two sets of identification papers. “Take these, and I’ll keep the other two. Make sure you don’t lose them, especially your papers. If anything happens to me or your brothers, you get on the boat and get yourself to Iinia, no discussion.”

  Preta sighs. “Yes, but—”

  Agna waves a paper with two names and addresses on it. “And take this and don’t lose it, go to the address and ask for Mannix. Tell him the second name on the list, Iago Pertain sent you—do you understand?”

  Preta leans forward and takes the paper. “Yes, but—”

  “Just do it, Preta.”

  “All right, but who is Mannix and Iago Pertain?”

  Agna places her hand on Preta’s shoulder. “They will help you. But don’t you worry about that now. Let’s worry about your brothers and your own skin. Now pack everything you might need in case we don’t come back.”

  Preta glances at the bed and eyes Yaz’s bearskin. She removes her blanket from her bag, along with all the nonessentials, and stuffs the bearskin into her pack in its place. Preta places Deet’s map and the bullet pouch into the front pocket and cinches it shut. She removes Deet’s pistol from his pack and stares at it in front of her. With shaky hand, she places the pistol in her bag then slings her pack over her shoulder. “I’m ready to go.”

  “Be careful with that shooter,” Mara says.

  “No problem, I got it.”

  “Then we’re off.”

  “Preta,” Agna says, “stay close to one of us at all times. No going off on your own and playing detective hero today.”

  Preta concedes and nods, and she follows them downstairs.

  They quickly eat an underwhelming cold breakfast and then head out into the city.

  The weather’s much cooler and overcast with a front coming in off the sea. A chill and thick moisture linger in the air.

  Preta gazes up at the lavender and white sky—icy rain drizzles onto her face, and she flips the hood attached to her cloak over to cover her head.

  The streets still bustle with energy and commerce, making Preta’s condition slightly more bearable knowing everyone else’s dealing with the same misery.

  A procession of bicycles zip by them and sprays Preta’s feet with water as they glide through a puddle. She stops and scowls as she shakes her wet boot.

  Mara and Agna leaving Preta behind, she jogs to catch up to them.

  “Oh no.” Agna swerves to the left and covers the right side of her face with a newspaper. “Mira.”

  As if drawn by force, Preta peeks to the right, face to face with Mira staring her square in the eyes. Her head flinches turning away from her. “Shoot, she saw me.”

  Preta speed walks for a minute as she focuses on the main square ahead. She peeks behind her again to see if Mira is following them.

  Mira is waving down the city guards and yelling. She points in Preta’s direction with conviction and gyrations.

  Preta glares ahead. “Agna, we have trouble. Your daughter saw me, and she’s fetched the constables on us; they’re about a hundred paces back.”

  “Move faster,” Mara says, “keep up, but don’t run and draw suspicion. We need to get to the other side of the square.”

  Preta’s feet turn over faster, and she power walks. Her legs straighten, and her hips twist unnaturally trying to move faster without running. She pumps her arms up and down. Her right leg buckles, and her foot submerges into a deep pothole filled with water. She stumbles forward and regains her step. Preta’s foot sloshes in her shoe, making it squeak.

  They emerge in the crowded busy square next to a line of food venders.

  Mara hangs a sharp right along the giant stone wall lined with textile shops, and she runs.

  Agna follows suit and tries to keep up as fast as her old legs will move.

  Preta transitions to a normal leg motion and picks up speed, easily passing Agna and catching up to Mara.

  Mara gets to the corner of the square and hangs a sharp left and doesn’t stop running until she passes the fountains and public speakers. She pivots left again when she reaches the wall, and she transitions back to a speed walk.

  Preta peeks back toward Agna lagging far behind. She glances at the spot where they entered the square, and a single soldier emerges.

  He scans the area, searching for something or someone.

  Preta turns to Mara but continues moving forward.

  “Stay close to me,” Mara says to
Preta. “Your auntie knows where we’re going.” Mara reaches the main road in the middle of the square leading to the magistrate’s office and hangs a sharp right. She strolls for twenty seconds then runs.

  Preta keeps pace and is right on Mara’s heels.

  They get to the magistrate’s office and hang a sharp right into a small, shrouded alley.

  Preta stoops behind numerous whisky barrels and stacked straw-filled crates underneath a white-and-blue striped canopy. She eyes the office and the street waiting for Agna to appear.

  A couple minutes later, Agna hobbles in front of the magistrate’s office. She stops with hands on hips.

  Preta waves at her. “Psst—psst—”

  Agna limps into the alley. Her body half-bent over, she wheezes for air with one hand planted on the brick wall.

  Preta gently pats Agna’s back. “You’ll be all right.”

  Wincing, Agna raises her head. “This darn old body.”

  Mara rests her hand on Agna’s shoulder. “Did they follow you?”

  “I don’t think so. I think we lost them in the square.”

  Mara chuckles watching Agna struggling to catch her breath. “Really, that was the best you could find, that old body? Bad luck, Auntie.”

  Agna scowls at Mara.

  Confused, Preta glares at Mara as she rubs Agna’s back. “Mara, not now—be nice to Agna—sometimes I don’t know what’s with you.”

  Mara snorts as she leans against the wall facing the magistrate’s office. “Whatever. Keep an eye on your politician friend’s door and not the old woman. Your Rufus Sotonus should arrive soon.”

  A sharp drop in the temperature and a strong wind gust sweeping through the alley makes Preta shiver.

  A black carriage pulls up, stopping in front of the magistrate’s office.

  It gets cooler with every passing second. The drizzle shifts into a heavy snowy, slushy rain. The drops land on Preta’s nose and melt instantly, making her scrunch her face.

  Rufus Sotonus climbs down from his carriage, and with a pleasant smile, gazes up at the snow striking the buildings’ roofs across the street. He waves at a fine-dressed man strolling toward him.

  The man wearing a black overcoat and black top hat, nods, then Rufus climbs the stairs and enters the building.