Wintermore (Aeon of Light Book 1)

by Sethlen, Aron

  Lomasie grips the owl tight; his black leather gloves crinkle and squeak. “Funny girl, Rufus, and you say she’s a friend of yours?”

  Agna climbs into the carriage’s back seat and sits next to Preta, placing her hand on Preta’s knee, trying to calm her.

  Rufus opens his arms toward Lomasie. “Sorry for the girl’s behavior, I never imagined. Maybe she’s simple and hides it well. I don’t know.”

  Lomasie smiles and rests his hand on Rufus’s back. “To the docks then?”

  Preta sees Zach at the top of the stairs, and she leans out the carriage and waves, motioning for Zach to come down to them.

  Zach stares at Preta for a second, then descends the stairs.

  Mara climbs into the carriage front seat and yanks Preta down. “Wits, Seeros, wits.”

  Lomasie squints at Mara then peeks to the stairs and to the oncoming guard.

  Rufus kicks the carriage’s wheel, knocking more snow off his shoe. “Right you are, old friend, to the docks with us. And to be clear, I just met them the other day. Her brothers, I told you earlier.”

  Lomasie nods as he smiles and he removes his arm from Rufus’s back. With both hands on his cane, he takes a step to the side.

  Inside her cloak, Mara grips her dagger handle. She glances, focusing from Lomasie to the surrounding square for any signs of his minions. Mara’s free hand creeps forward, inching for the reins lying on the seat next to her.

  Lomasie chuckles. “Yes, her brothers, you told me.” Lomasie’s right hand grips the owl knob, his black leather gloves squeak as he squeezes tight. “And Rufus?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry old friend, truly, I am.”

  Rufus cocks his head to the side toward Lomasie, unsure of why he is apologizing. “Why are you sorry?”

  “Goodbye.” Lomasie’s right hand twists the owl knob, pulling a dagger. Lomasie thrusts the blade into Rufus’s chest, pressing the cold steel deep into his heart.

  Lomasie tilts his head around Rufus’s collapsing body, and he scowls at Preta.

  Mara snatches the reins and cracks the horse’s hindquarters.

  The horse jumps, snow sprays off its back as hooves crash onto the stone road.

  Mara cracks the reins again.

  The horse’s hooves slip and clack on the slick stone.

  Preta loses her balance. Her bandaged hand hits the floorboards, and she winces in pain.

  Mara’s body tilts to the side, and she pushes off the seat and draws a dagger.

  Preta regains herself and grips the bench with her good hand. She rotates her body, peering through the back window and toward Lomasie.

  Rufus lies at Lomasie’s feet. A bright-red circle surrounded by pure white extends away from Lomasie’s black boots.

  Preta places her hand over her mouth as Lomasie thrusts his arm upwards into Zach’s chest.

  The guard’s head tilts up and his body falls back limp.

  Lomasie gingerly lowers him to the ground and then scans in every direction. He bends over, wiping his bloody dagger on Zach’s dead body, and he gracefully twists it back into the cane. His right arm with cane in hand extends in front of him as he steps forward and drops the silver tip to the ground.

  The carriage rushes away through a wall of snow. Every passing second, Lomasie fades more into the background.

  Each step methodical, Lomasie carefully ascends the marble stairs and goes inside the magistrate’s building, never looking back.

  UNDERESTIMATING YOUR FOE

  “Is Lomasie following us?” Mara says with her eyes fixed on the road ahead.

  “He’s not coming,” Preta says. “He just killed the guard and went back inside the building.”

  Mara’s brow arches. “Inside the magistrate’s building? Did you see anyone else in the street?”

  “Yeah, he went back into the magistrate’s building, and I saw no one else.”

  “Crap.”

  Not understanding, Preta leans into the front seat. “What’s wrong? He’s not coming after us, that’s a good thing.”

  “What’s wrong is Lomasie killed the Northern Brenton rep on the bloody front steps of the consulate and had no problem just strolling right back inside without fear of apprehension.”

  “Meaning what?” Preta says.

  Agna touches Preta’s arm. “Meaning they’ll be coming after us for killing Rufus, and Lomasie is politically connected.”

  Mara scowls as she cracks the reins. “The whole city will want blood, and they’ll be searching for us. And I’m sure Lomasie will be glad to help them. And when they do catch us, he’ll take you wherever he’s gonna take you, Seery. And Auntie and me here will be ripped apart by the mob.”

  With shaky finger, Preta points ahead down the road. “So we get my brothers right now and get the heck out of the city.”

  Mara stays silent, running over the probabilities in her head. She nods. “We’ve got maybe an hour before the city goes on lockdown. Lomasie will bring his men and probably the city guards to the jail. He’ll expect you to go for your brothers. I suppose they’ll be behind us within the next thirty minutes.”

  “Preta, we have to get out of the city right now,” Agna says.

  “No way. I’m not leaving without my brothers. I don’t even know if they’re dead or alive.”

  Mara grits her teeth. “If we don’t get out of the city soon, we may never leave here.”

  “What about the docks? Ships are leaving all the time.”

  Agna squeezes Preta’s hand. “Our passage isn’t for another two days.”

  “So what, we can sneak aboard a ship.”

  “To where? We don’t even know where the ship’s are heading to.”

  “It doesn’t matter, it’s leaving the city. We’ll worry about the destination later.”

  Mara shakes her head, tired of listening to Preta and Agna argue. “We’re wasting time. We need to find an exit out of the city before it’s too late.”

  Preta crawls into the front carriage seat and snow blinds her as it flies through the open gap between the carriage roof and frame. She rubs her eyes. “We’re almost at the docks; let’s see if Deet, Yaz, and Tages are there.”

  “I don’t know,” Mara says.

  “What about your friend? Don’t you want to help him? Are you just going to leave him to the Dregs or worse? What kind of friend are you?”

  Mara glowers, cracking the reins over and over and not changing direction.

  Agna grabs Mara’s arm. “What are you doing? Why aren’t you changing directions?”

  “Shut up, old woman. We go to the docks, and then we get the hell out of the city.”

  Agna pouts and leans back in her seat.

  Using the hood of her cloak, Preta shields her face. In the dark, she almost smiles for Mara listening to her, though her mind tells her the stakes are too high for small victories. They only have minutes, and she doesn’t even know if her brothers are still in the city.

  The carriage darts through the street, and its wheels smoothly rattle over the snow-covered cobblestones.

  Mara yells at street walkers, “Move, get out of the way!” She doesn’t slow for anything and keeps cracking the reins.

  Preta peeks out from underneath her hood. A man and a woman holding hands jump out of the street in front of them. She can almost reach out and touch them they’re so close as the carriage skates by.

  “Sorry,” Mara says, waving at them. She shrugs and smirks. “I warned them and said get out of the way, and they didn’t listen to me.” Mara laughs in crazed snorts.

  Preta peeks back at the man. He stands up covered in snow, wringing and waving a newspaper in the air. “Crazy woman, slow down!”

  Mara cranes her head out the window and yells back, “I said get out of my way, you deaf fool.” She shifts her focus forward. “I warned him. I could’ve just run the sorry sap over.”

  The buildings in front of them come to an end and the docks extend out into the sea. The winds pick up,
and the snow transitions from falling straight down to swirling sideways.

  Mara stops the carriage in a large open area where many roads converge in a T-intersection with the docks. “Good,” Mara says, jumping off the carriage, “this snow may be to our advantage.”

  Preta rummages through her pack and pulls out her pistol, loads it, and places it in her inner cloak pocket. “How can this snow be to our advantage, I can’t even see my own nose?”

  “Just keep up with me, Seery, and don’t get in my way.” Mara points at Agna. “Stand in the alley across the street and keep your eye on the carriage. Unless of course you’ll do your thing and help us.”

  Preta glances between Mara and Agna, unsure of Mara’s unprovoked hostility.

  Agna gives Mara a sneer and climbs down from the carriage. “Be safe, Preta,” she says, and she disappears into the alley.

  Mara rolls her eyes. “That’s what I thought.”

  Preta pushes Mara. “Hey, what’s your deal with Agna? No need to treat her like that.”

  “Shut up, you don’t know anything. Now follow me and keep your mouth quiet. This time, let me do the talking. All I need from you is to stay out of my way and make sure you pick up my clothes if they fall off, got it?”

  Preta nods as she folds her arms tight across her body, trying to keep warm. “I got it, though you didn’t answer my question.”

  “Keep up—no questions,” and Mara charges through the snow toward the jail on the corner. Half the jail’s facade faces the street and the other half faces toward the docks. Mara climbs the icy stone stairs to the front door. On the right side, four guards wearing black uniforms stand huddled around an iron barrel with flames flickering out the top.

  The men extend their hands over the flames while they argue and laugh.

  Mara stops a couple steps away from them. “Excuse me, can you help me?”

  The guards turn and scan Mara’s body.

  One man, a thick man with a thick blond beard steps forward. “I can definitely help you,” and he places his hand on Mara’s arm.

  With no objections, Mara giggles and bats her eyes at him. She waves for Preta to get behind her. Mara pets the blond man’s arm.

  The two other guards, now interested, move away from the fire barrel toward Mara.

  “I can help too,” a tall man with large nose says.

  Mara flips her hair and bats her eyes at him. “I bet you can.”

  The blond man stiff arms the tall guard. “Back off, Rolster, I’m helping first; you can help second.”

  “We’ll see about that, Menker,” Rolster says.

  Preta brushes the snow off her sleeves.

  A young man, almost a boy, steps up to Preta and opens his arms. “Do you need anything?”

  Preta flinches, thinking she was by herself away from the action. “Me? Oh no, thanks, I’m good.”

  The boy leans in. “Are you sure you’re good?”

  “Pretty sure,” and Preta scurries around the guard and forward until she brushes Mara’s back.

  Mara stutters at Preta’s touch. “S-so, if you help me, I’ll help you.”

  “Oh yeah?” Menker says. “We are good at helping, right boys?”

  “Right,” they all say in unison.

  Mara giggles and waves her hand at Rolster with a feminine wrist dangle.

  Preta’s eyes widen, and she restrains herself from bursting into a laugh, hearing the unnatural giggle coming from Mara.

  “Glad to, how can we help you, pretty lady?” Menker says.

  Mara smiles. “It’s my brother; actually, three brothers, those stupid boys, always doing what stupid boys do, you know, getting into trouble, fighting over a girl.” Mara flicks her hair at Menker. “And well, the guards picked them up two nights ago and they haven’t returned home since. So I was wondering if they’re here. You can’t miss them—three of them about the same height, young, one sorta stupid looking, well, maybe two sorta stupid looking, likes to talk too much.”

  Rolster slaps Menker on his back. “Ha—I know who she’s talking about,” and he points to an older guard, whose red cheeks stick out on his round, pasty face, and clear liquid drips out his nose one drop at a time. “You know those three that went out with the last lot a few hours ago? What was it? Yates, Yats, Yass? Now that one—ha—he won’t last long.”

  Preta steps forward. “Yaz?”

  “Maybe, I don’t remember, could be something like that. He and his buddies are a real live bunch.”

  Preta points at the man. “Few hours ago? Few hours ago where?”

  Rolster nods toward the docks. “The Dreg’s ship off to Iinia. Probably already left, can’t miss it, bow and stern painted red and flying a solid red flag.”

  Preta squints to where the guard was looking.

  A blanket of snow lies across the cityscape, extending across the docks. The snow falls thick and heavy with no wind. Preta squints harder, barely able to see the bottom of the stairs let alone the sea or the docks.

  Mara’s disposition switches from sweet to her normal salty self. “All of them on the same boat?”

  Menker nods. “They’re all in the same sorry lot.”

  Mara turns away from Rolster. “Let’s go, Preta.”

  The portly man steps forward and grabs Mara’s arm. “I thought you said you’d help us.”

  Mara stops and eyes the guard holding her.

  Menker pinches his chin as he stares at Preta, his disposition sours. “Did you say Preta?”

  Preta’s heart skips a beat. “No, it’s Greta.”

  Menker shoves Rolster out of the way and reaches for Preta.

  Mara spins free from the portly man’s grasp. Her dagger flies out from inside her duster.

  Menker snatches Preta’s arm.

  Mara’s blade crashes onto Menker’s wrist, cutting off his hand.

  “Ah—ah—ah—” Menker screams, holding out his arm—blood squirting.

  Preta lurches back and blood sprays in her face, and she cringes.

  On the ground, Menker’s hand lies in a white bed of snow surrounded by bright-red droplets and streaks.

  Menker’s screams transition into heavy breathing and grunts. “Raaa—kill, kill the woman—keep the girl.”

  Preta scrambles backward away from the action. Her feet run in place on the ice for a second as she tries to regain her balance. She slips and crashes straight down onto her butt.

  A sword slashes at Mara’s head.

  Mara ducks to the left as she tosses her dagger to the ground behind the portly man. Then her clothes fall off with a puff of snow.

  The portly man’s sword slashes through Mara’s invisible body, and he stumbles forward, waving his arms like he’s swimming in air.

  Naked, Mara reappears on one knee with her hand on the dagger. She lunges forward, thrusting the blade into the portly guard’s lower back.

  The portly man bends backward and moans, falling to his knees. He crumples onto his side, squirming like a worm.

  Mara yanks the blade out of his back and spins around, ready for another attack. She snarls like a ravenous dog.

  The other three guards come at Mara with swords drawn.

  She tosses her blade on the ground to the left toward the boy at the end.

  Mara’s body disappears, and the guards skid forward to a stop.

  Mara reappears in mid-somersault with her hand on her dagger. She extends her right arm, slashing the young guard’s femoral artery, then she springs up into a fighting pose and snarls.

  Blood sprays from the guard’s leg. “No—ah—”

  Red streaks paint the snow like a canvas in spurts as the boy hops and slides in circles. The young man drops his sword and squeezes the bloody gash on his inner thigh.

  Rolster whirls around and faces a naked Mara.

  With his nub, Menker points at Preta. “Get the girl.”

  Rolster changes directions and goes for Preta.

  Mara’s arm shoots out releasing the dagger at Menke
r.

  He turns and meets Mara’s blade in his chest.

  Mara laughs and disappears in a swirl of smoke.

  Menker wobbles backward, bending his knees. He collapses straight to the ground. His body twitches, and his bloody nub swings back and forth in fits, digging a hole in the snow.

  Mara reappears with her hand on the hilt protruding out of Menker’s chest. She rips the dagger out and spins toward Preta. Mara tosses the blade high in the air toward Rolster slipping and sliding on the snow.

  Preta huddles against the stone railing as Rolster closes in on her. Preta frantically fumbles into her cloak and grips her pistol.

  Rolster, now within arm’s length, growls. “Come here, you!”

  Preta points the pistol with shaky hand, cocks the hammer with both thumbs, raises it, and squeezes the trigger.

  Bang—

  A faint whitish-grey smoke curls out the end of the barrel.

  Rolster’s eyes widen and his face stiffens. “You—you shot me.” He falls forward face-first, dead, landing on Preta’s boots.

  Mara’s translucent hand reaches for the sky, grabbing for the dagger. Her body reappears as the hilt hits her hand in a downward motion. She circles it across where Rolster was standing just a second earlier, and the blade meets nothing but air.

  While hovering over top of the dead guard, Mara recoils her arm and scoffs. She turns and strolls away, blood drips from the tip of her blade, dotting the snow. Mara tosses the dagger to the ground and picks up her clothes.

  With her heel, Preta nudges the dead man off her boot.

  “Seery, I told you, you were supposed to pick up my clothes.”

  ACROBATS OF THE SEA

  Preta scampers down the jailhouse stairs as fast as she can without slipping. She places her hands above her eyes like a visor to block out the snow. It’s snowing so hard she can’t see the alley Agna is hiding in or the black carriage parked in the middle of the road. The snow disorients her, and she looks side to side to determine which way the guard pointed toward the docks.

  Mara yells from a few feet away, “This way—keep up!”

  Preta makes her way to Mara’s voice, her body nothing more than a faint outline. “Mara, how do you disappear like that?”