Season of Fire

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  “They’re coming,” he whispered. “They know we’re here.”

  Bellona knew it too, her hand on her cuff as she edged past Vidar and opened the door to Niero, who was just on his way in.

  Latonia cried out again and lifted her face upward, as if beseeching the Maker for relief, but my eyes stayed on Niero.

  He nodded grimly, looking only to me and Vidar. “The knights and I will keep you safe. Trust us to do our work and you do yours.”

  “We will,” I said. I didn’t know if he could hear me over the moans and cries of Latonia between us, but I believed he knew what I had said.

  “It is not us that may have brought them here. They want this one,” Vidar said, his dark brows knit in consternation as he turned back to Latonia and stared at her midsection.

  I frowned. The baby within the village chief.

  It made sense.

  The Maker wanted this child to live.

  And therefore, Sheol wanted the child to die.

  Die. Dying. Death. Dead …

  A chill ran down my neck and I felt the cold chasm of death tear at me from within.

  Vidar reached out to grip my arm, his fingers like a vise. “Andriana. Remember who you are. Who you have always been. And who created you as such.”

  I nodded. And with his urgent words, at the remembrance of my Maker, and with the overwhelming love and care within him, the chasm closed and warmth of the Spirit sealed it.

  Outside, we heard our knights shout and the sound of swords drawn, but inside all I could feel was a sort of protective cocoon. It was as if a physical wall had been erected between us and the dark ones I knew approached. Was that Kapriel’s doing? Some sort of storm? I thought briefly of the villagers, the children, the old ones who wandered from hut to hut, but it was only a fleeting thought.

  I glanced at Vidar. Sweat poured off his face and beneath his hairline as quickly as it did from Latonia. He could feel our enemies approach, just as I did. Were they Pacifican soldiers or worse, the dark ones we’d encountered beside the Hoodites?

  He hurriedly wiped the sweat from his eyes, but I noted his attention was on the swollen mound of the chief’s belly. I, too, focused there. The Aravanders had saved us. Now we were to save the tiniest of them all.

  As Kapriel prayed, and we silently echoed him, I became more and more tense. Sweat ran down Tressa’s red face, dripping on to her hands, which were working and working over Latonia’s taut belly.

  “Come,” Tressa said to all of us, and climbed up on the bed above Latonia. “Place your hands on Latonia and pray as I turn this child …”

  The women let Latonia lay flat again, and each took one of her hands, murmuring to her, wiping her face.

  Tressa did not wait. After briefly tracing the child’s shape as if visualizing where he was — ​she pressed down, hard, with the heels of her hands.

  Latonia screamed, long and hard as she worked, her cries so pitiful, her pain and fear so immense, that I wept with her.

  Dimly, as if from far away, I heard other cries. Shouts. But we remained in prayer for this child, this precious child, that for whatever reason the Maker had ordained would live. Thrive.

  “There,” Tressa muttered, her auburn brows lifting in hope. “There!” she cried in triumph.

  We could all see the mound of the child shift beneath Latonia’s taut skin, and her cry turned to the silent weeping of relief rather than pain.

  “Now you can push,” Tressa said. “At the next contraction …”

  And then it was upon her. The chief’s face became red and her friends helped to lift her up. Vidar, Kapriel, and Chaza’el turned slightly to the side, giving her some bit of modesty, but I could not look away as the babe’s head crested and emerged after just two rounds of pushing. Tressa caught him as he slid out, the shoulders and the rest of his body following easily.

  Tressa wiped the babe with a bit of cloth, grinning so widely that I never thought her more beautiful. But it was because I knew the joy within her. It bubbled up inside me, around me, making me grin too. Maker, Maker, I prayed. We have heard you. And we have answered. Save us. Save us all.

  CHAPTER

  12

  RONAN

  The last time I’d felt such foreboding was outside the Hoodites.

  Killian and I shared a look as Niero drew his crescent-shaped blades and looked at each of us fiercely, then over to Bellona. “Whatever you do, do not leave the Remnants unguarded,” he grit out. “I shall return.”

  But even as I agreed, Raniero had shoved off, the toe of his boots creating divots in the loamy soil. He dashed headlong into the thick of the trees, and I felt a wave of warmth wash over my arm cuff then. Somehow, some way, he was not alone. There were unseen warriors with him.

  But my eyes narrowed in on those we could see, emerging through the trees. Sheolites, caped in red. I glanced over at my fellow Knights of the Last Order, wondering how we were to defend ourselves, just three against what looked like twenty, no, thirty warriors emerging from the trees.

  We heard the mewling cry of a newborn inside, and shared a grim smile. So the child was born — ​the newest, tiniest victory.

  “Ronan,” Bellona said, gesturing with her head toward thirty or so Aravander warriors gathering behind us, all armed with bows and arrows and led by Jezre, the chief’s husband. They ranged from young boys to old women, but each carried a determined look. I supposed if my tribe had been hunted for decades, I, too, would be ready for a battle at last. And with their chief in the birthing hut behind us, the cry of the long-awaited child in their ears, I figured they’d never be in fiercer fighting form.

  “Take a knee here!” I cried. “Ten of you! And ten more above them, on their feet! Two lines! Quickly!”

  The Sheolites were running toward us, abandoning any last semblance of covert approach.

  I wondered if I’d made a fatal error, forming them in lines before asking them to fire. If there’d be time to let loose their arrows at all. But they were children of the forest and moved lithely, assuredly, as if they’d trained for this very event all their lives.

  “Fire!” I cried, before the last few were even in place.

  The arrows arose like a flock of long, deadly birds. Some of the Sheolites gathered together, raising shields to form a combined barrier. Others dodged behind trees. A few took arrows to shoulders, guts, legs.

  “Fire again!” I cried.

  As soon as that volley of arrows was aloft, Jezre called, “Young and old, retreat! Hide! Those able, aid us!”

  They scattered, some quickly, and some ambling at a painfully slow pace. Jezre and three other men, as well as two women, stayed behind with us but withdrew ten paces in order to get a better vantage point at the warriors almost upon us.

  Vidar and Kapriel emerged then, Vidar taking up his halberd and Kapriel a lance. But as we faced our enemy, each of us knew that there were still far too many.

  Far, far too many.

  ANDRIANA

  The sounds of battle were all around us. They seemed to surround the hut and almost go over us as the tiny boy took to his mother’s breast and Latonia stroked his tiny cheek. “Long have I awaited you, sweet child,” she said, seemingly oblivious to all that was happening. Perhaps she feared that we would die this day. Perhaps she thought she must take every second she could with him.

  Latonia raised her head and looked to a young maid. “You must take him,” she said. “Into the woods and hide.” She hurriedly wiped the tears from her cheeks and set to swaddling her child.

  I couldn’t breathe. The wrenching pain of Latonia sending her baby away was reminiscent of the same tearing I’d experienced with Ronan.

  But the girl grimly agreed with the queen. “I will guard him with my life.”

  Latonia turned to the others. “Quickly. Bring me my bow and my sword. I will relish taking down my enemy on this day of days. My sisters,” she said, looking to the village women who attended her, “I need you to show each of these new
friends to the longboats. Please. For me?”

  I stared at her, wondering about the strength of a mother, remembering my own. Sending me off, serving a greater cause, no matter the cost.

  The younger woman bound the child next to her chest, then wrapped an animal-skin cape around her shoulders. The baby was quiet, already asleep, seemingly unaware of the crisis around us. I envied him.

  I moved out of the hut, tentatively peering around to make certain I had room to exit without being eviscerated as soon as I was erect. Outside, Ronan and Killian were each battling two men. Many had fallen, either wounded or dead, both Sheolite and Aravander. Arrows sang through the air, some so close I swore I could feel the whoosh of their passing. More Sheolites fell, one right beside Ronan.

  I saw Kapriel, then, a distance off, holding his own despite his weariness, testimony to his skill with the double-pointed lance he fought with. Chaza’el fought beside him. It was clear they’d been trained as children to use their weapons, Kapriel easily parrying thrusts and strikes and dodging others. But at one point, he stood back, closed his eyes a moment, then with a wave of his hand, sent a great gust of wind through a stand of trees, crushing ten Sheolites at once.

  Chaza’el used both a whip and a small shield, unbalancing and striking one after another, on occasion pulling out a long dagger from his belt. He struck down his assailant and looked to me then, panting, wiping his lip of sweat, and his eyes swept across the forest floor and then back, full of understanding.

  It had to be a boon, I thought, to have the gift of foretelling. Perhaps he’d seen every one he would come against this day.

  Still, they poured toward us. Far more than we could fight off.

  I gripped my sword and waited for Ronan to turn and see me. I felt Latonia’s young maid behind me, heard her frightened gasps. An arrow came from behind us then and struck the man who rose from the ground, intent on coming back after Ronan again. It pierced his neck and the man reached toward it, a terrible gurgling sound emerging from his mouth. Then his eyes went blank and he fell backward.

  I looked to the archer. Jezre. He nodded once to me, notching another arrow even as he did so.

  Another maid came through the doorway and immediately turned and ran with the baby into the woods. Latonia had chosen well — ​the girl was swift and sure on her feet. The first still cowered behind me and I could feel her panic, so strong I had to concentrate on not making it my own. A boy arrived, carrying the queen’s bow and a quiver of arrows, as well as her sword.

  “Ronan,” I said, quietly, trying not to draw any undue attention. The first maid was already shifting behind me, clearly intent on escape. If we lost her, we’d be unlikely to find our way to the longboats. “We must be away.”

  Ronan’s eyes met mine, then moved past me to the girl.

  Grim, he took a breath, ignoring the battle going on all about us, trying to sort out the best way. Killian moved away to take on another opponent, a fearsomely tall scout who grinned in anticipation.

  I knew the tearing within Ronan. Everything in him had been trained to protect me. And we were definitely safer with the rest of the Ailith beside us.

  “We have no time,” I said urgently, as Tressa edged up beside me. I thrust a fallen Aravander’s shield in her hand. “Today, no matter how we feel, we protect ourselves,” I hissed. “Our knights have enough to handle.”

  Vidar and Bellona neared us, and Niero hurriedly came toward us. “We must divide.” He nodded toward Vidar and Bellona. “You two get Chaza’el and Kapriel to the longboats and away,” he said urgently. “It is vital we protect the prince. The rest of us will hold them off as long as we can.”

  Alarm and dismay filled them all, but we had no time to assuage their fears or convince them.

  “Go! You waste any edge we might give you,” Ronan ground out, then turned to fight off a Sheolite scout who was barreling toward us with an eerie scream. I felt Ronan’s protection as a shield and it strengthened me. So did the hope I felt in the other Ailith disappearing into the wood, Kapriel giving me one last sad and yet thankful glance over his shoulder.

  Protect them, Maker. And give me the strength to not only protect myself, but to fight.

  CHAPTER

  13

  ANDRIANA

  With the help of a line of brave Aravanders, led by their chief and her husband, we managed to hold our enemies off for some time — ​the Sheolites, and behind them Pacifican soldiers. But when it became clear that we would be soon overcome, Niero turned to Ronan and Killian. “Time to go,” he said.

  “This boy will lead you to a longboat,” Latonia said, letting a quick succession of arrows fly and accepting a new quiver from a child about a decade old. She looked to Niero. “We shall make our way to Chaza’el’s village. Summon us when it is time. We will come to you. And bring others.”

  Niero nodded, put a hand briefly on her shoulder and then looked to the child. “Lead us,” he said.

  The boy’s eyes widened as he glimpsed a mass of warriors behind him in a dead run toward us, then turned and yelled, “This way!”

  We followed him then — ​Niero, Killian, Tressa, Ronan, and I.

  The Sheolites behind us hooted and laughed, closing in, reminding me of a pack of wolves from the stories of old. I had no idea how many we’d managed to hold back from chasing the rest of our companions and the Aravanders who were running north into the hills. All I knew is that there were too many for us to fight off alone. With twenty or more behind us, it was clear they’d take us in time, dead or alive.

  They seemed to sense our fear and grew louder. I could hear dead branches cracking beneath their feet, so close that I worried they could reach out and strike Ronan dead behind me. In my peripheral vision I saw that they attempted to flank us. “Faster!” I urged our guide.

  He didn’t look back, and I could tell he was running as fast as he could. I fought the urge to pass him up, to save ourselves, even if we couldn’t save him, but I knew I couldn’t do it. But were we all to be — ​

  The forest broke in a burst of open space and sky and I only barely swallowed a scream. Our guide was running across an old rope bridge, the planks few and far between.

  “Go, Dri, go!” Ronan roared when I hesitated, my eyes wide, my heart in a panicked pace at the view of the drop to the bottom of the canyon, the rushing river a couple hundred feet below us.

  “I-I can’t!” I said, my feet as rooted to the ground as the trees around me.

  “You must! I can’t carry you across that! Our combined weight will —”

  Killian and Tressa tore across the bridge, leaving only Niero panting beside us. We could all hear the shouts and sounds of our enemies in pursuit. Perilously close now. But I couldn’t take my eyes off the planks beneath Tressa and Killian’s feet, cracking, falling away in places. The ropes swinging precariously …

  “Go! Leave me here!”

  Niero grabbed hold of my arm. “Andriana! Dig deep! This fear … it isn’t something the Maker has given you. It is the enemy’s tool!”

  “Stop!” Ronan cried, pulling away his hand. “Let me talk her through!”

  Niero let out an exasperated breath and turned to the woods. “Get her across,” he grunted toward Ronan, and then with weapons in both hands, ran toward our enemy, disappearing among the trees.

  “Niero!” I cried in terror.

  Ronan let out a frustrated growl, picked me up with such force it took the wind from my lungs, and set off running across the bridge. I closed my eyes and wept, feeling the uncertain sway of the ropes, hearing the cracking of ancient, sundried planks giving way beneath our combined weight … and cursing my weakness. My fear that endangered us all. That had sent Niero to … his death?

  I lifted my face, aware that the Sheolites and Pacifican soldiers had emerged. A good fifteen were on the ropes behind us, picking their way across the battered bridge, with five more on the bank at the end, clearly waiting to see if their companions made it first.

&n
bsp; There was no sign of Niero.

  The nearest was soon only a few leaps behind us, his teeth bared in fierce determination. We were moving faster now, the ropes growing tauter and not giving so much sway. Nearing the end? The thought of it made me almost delirious with hope. And then I felt the surety of rock and soil as I was unceremoniously tossed to the ground. Ronan turned to meet our pursuer, drawing his sword in one fluid movement.

  Guilt flooded me. The Sheolite lashed out savagely and very nearly struck Ronan. He lashed again and Ronan leaped backward. The man reached firm ground and formed a barrier to allow the next to draw closer. Killian was there fighting beside Ronan, and I sensed Tressa behind me. My eyes trailed along the rope bridge and I knew what I had to do.

  I reached for my sword, and rammed it down on the nearest rope, right behind the second man after he charged toward Killian. More of our enemy were getting closer, emboldened by the sight of the far bank. My sword slammed against the old rope, about the width of my forearm, and a third of the brown strands sprung apart.

  I wasn’t so lucky with my second strike. Ronan, tumbling with the first man, on top of him for a moment, choking him, then under him, distracted me from a good aim. But I knew if I didn’t stem this flow of our enemies, we’d all be captured within minutes. The third man, nearing us on the bridge, grit his teeth as he saw me raise my sword again, and managed to block my strike as I brought it down. Then he was up and over the last few steps of the bridge, coming after me with a ferocity I hadn’t seen since I battled Sethos himself.

  The thought of our adversary made me thank the Maker that the sorcerer was absent. We were weary and too few to take on his power as well. Ronan was on his feet again, but still battling his opponent.

  The Sheolite rammed at me with his sword and I parried, the clang of our swords sending a teeth-jarring reverberation through me. And then again.

  I jutted my sword toward him, intending on stabbing him, but he dodged my move, grabbed hold of my arm, and smashed it down on his knee.

  I cried out and the sword dropped. My arm wasn’t broken, but it had been close, and I held it against my torso, backing away.