Edgelanders (Serpent of Time)

by Jennifer Melzer

  “Even as the fire consumed her, she screamed not in pain, but frantically for me to run. To get to safety.”

  The night was silent, save for the logs cracking in the fire and the occasional bead of ice heavy enough to reflect off their barrier. Logren reached up with a gloved hand to stroke his fingers through his beard, and as she stared she could see the unshed tears in his eyes, which were so much like her own.

  “I refused to leave my mother there to die. I tried to grab onto her arm, but another beam fell from the roof and a wall of flame separated us. I could just barely reach her, and when I finally grasped the sleeve of her nightgown to try and pull her with me the fire leapt from her to me.” He pushed back the long, mail sleeve of his armored tunic to reveal the pink and puckered flesh of his right wrist and arm. He yanked off the worn, black leather glove he wore to reveal white blotches mottled against the pink of his once molten skin.

  Lorelei gasped, the startled sound echoing uncomfortably through the silence.

  “I always wondered why you were shite with a sword,” a thick-bearded blond man on the opposite side of the fire chided. His joke earned little more than a mere twitch of a grin from Logren.

  “Shite with a sword my arse,” one of the women chimed in. “He’s better with a blade than you’ll ever be, Skaren.”

  “I overcame my handicap with hard work and diligence,” he confessed, yanking the glove over his scarred hand with a sigh. “Endless hours in training with Hodon, though I have never regained the feeling in these two fingers.” He wiggled his fingers, the nerve damage in the last two fingers on his hand so severe they didn’t respond to the command and he dropped his arm into his lap.

  “Enough griping and excuses. Get back to the story, Bone-Breaker.”

  “As you wish.” He chuckled and tugged the black leather back over his hand. He stretched it as far down his wrist would go and allowed the chains of his mail to fall back into place. “I don’t remember much after that. Pain, fear, smoke… I couldn’t breathe. I was lying on the floor watching my mother die and knowing I would soon follow wherever she went, and then…” The sound of his voice trailed into silence, as if he wasn’t sure if he should speak the rest of the words he’d started to say. Several uncomfortable minutes passed before he finally lifted his faraway gaze from the fire; no one dared to interrupt his silence. “There was a silver light in the smoky darkness. Unnatural, completely out of place, as if some portal from another world opened. A hand reached through that light and the sweetest voice I’d ever heard called out for me to take it.

  “‘Logren,’ she said, ‘take my hand and everything will be all right.’”

  The few smiles that had risen during his ribbing faded, every face around the fire growing long and serious. Lorelei felt a familiar knot of discomfort tighten in her stomach, followed by an inexplicable wave of nausea.

  “I never saw her face, only that hand of silver light reaching into the darkest moment of my life to pull me out. I reached for her, and next I knew I was waking up in the middle of the glen where I used to play with Vilnjar there, surrounded by other survivors. My mother was dead, and I was alone in the world save for Hodon and the rest of the people in that glen who had no idea how they’d come to be there. The only thing they could agree on was the silver light, the hand in the darkness reaching out and the sound of that sweet voice promising that everything was going to be all right.”

  A strange, almost uncomfortable silence followed the end of his story. Lorelei scanned across the faces around the fire again, making eye contact with more people than she expected and growing nervous with the power of their stares. The nausea spread like a cold fire, chills rippling through her body until she thought she might actually be sick.

  “That’s quite a tale,” Vilnjar mused, breaking the silence with an arrogant tone.

  “Isn’t it, though?” Logren turned his head to agree, his gaze lingering on Lorelei before flitting away to meet with Viln’s statement. “The Light of Madra, the silver hand in the darkness that saved us all.”

  The chills she felt crawling up the length of her spine had nothing to do with the cold, but the disturbing words she’d just heard spoken. It was as though she knew his story for a moment, in some way beyond what she’d learned over the last week. Madra, first wife of Foreln and mother of humankind.

  “The Light of Madra saved us all in one way or another.” Her brother stared straight at her then, the intensity of his eyes making her feel even more uncomfortable than she already was. “Our seer says she is the strength of our people, the bond that will unite us all so that we might rise from these shadows that have become our plague and tower over the people of this world again until they respect and fear us.”

  Words like plague and fear did little to console her and when she lifted her hand to her mouth in surprise, everyone around the fire must have heard her gasp.

  “Wait a minute.” Finn leaned out to get a better look at the man two seats down from him. Lorelei could actually feel the heat of his body radiating against her he was so close. It should have made her feel safe the way it had so often since she’d met him, but his presence beside her only mildly soothed her. “Are you saying Lorelei…? How is that even possible? I may not be the most scholarly man in the world, but I know math. She wasn’t even born then.”

  “No,” Logren agreed before swilling back what remained in his cup and then swiping his hand across his mouth before continuing. “She wasn’t born, but it was her. Every man and woman in this camp, in the city of Dunvarak, has been saved by the Light at some point or another. Some of them remember her face well enough that our artists were able to sketch her, and all of them dream about her. Our savior, our light.”

  “I saw her face.” It was a woman several feet down on Lorelei’s left who chimed in, her wide brown eyes so serious Lorelei shuddered under the power of her stare. “I saw you, on the night Vrinkarn burned. I was only ten years old, but I still see your face in the smoke and shadows, your hand reaching out to me to draw me from my bed.”

  How could such a thing be? “But… I’ve never… I don’t understand. How? How is any of that even possible?”

  “Our seer has never spoken of how this came to be to any of us,” Logren told her. “She has only ever assured us all that you, my sister, were the one who not only saved us, but will lead us all to salvation. Only she can tell you how this came to be.”

  “Again you say all in good time,” she rolled her eyes as the frustration bubbled up inside her. “That seems to be your answer to everything. How could you tell a story like that knowing I would want answers you wouldn’t be able to give me. Or maybe it’s not that you can’t give me answers, but that you won’t.”

  “On my honor, I cannot, sister. I do not have answers to give you. I wish I did.”

  “So much for not telling her who she’s supposed to be.” Finn interjected, narrowing an embittered glare at her brother, which Logren ignored.

  “Then why tell me these things at all?”

  “I told you because I don’t think you realize how important you are. To me, to every man and woman in this camp.”

  “I don’t want to be important!”

  Overwhelmed by the sudden urge to get away from it all, she fled from the circle, almost stumbling over Finn on her way out. He started to scramble after her, but Vilnjar stopped him, holding him back long enough for a heated argument to break out between the two of them.

  Their voices blended into the wind, caught in the thunder of her own heart as she ran and skidded through the icy encampment. She only ran a few seconds before she realized there was nowhere to go. Staggering through the camp, nearly blinded by her own frustrated tears, she passed the tent where Finn had finally apologized to her and was just about to walk through the strange, glowing barrier surrounding the camp when a hand grabbed onto her cloak and jerked her to a stumbling halt.

  “Let me go!” She spun in to look at her captor, finding Brendolowyn’s soft, und
erstanding lavender eyes in the dark.

  “You cannot leave the camp, my lady.” His voice was soft, his grip softening too as his fingers circled just above her elbows. “Not while the barrier is raised.”

  “Then raise it and let me go.”

  “It may keep us in, but it also keeps them out.”

  Through tear-blurred eyes she followed the gesture of his hand toward the shadows lurking just beyond the barrier. Tall shadows, wide shadows, the glowing, vengeful and curious eyes of at least half a hundred goblins in the dark and a host of angry trolls at their back. “Our fires draw them in the night, and no doubt they’ve discovered the body of their fallen brethren and wish to avenge him. The Trygvln live for vengeance, and you would be a right tasty treat to soothe their riled tempers, Lorelei.”

  The touch of his hand against her cheek startled her. Long fingers swept a stray lock of hair behind her ear before he traced the tip of his index finger down her cheek, tucked it under her chin and tilted her face upward again.

  “This barrier protects us until the sun rises and they retreat into their dark caves to hide. I wouldn’t raise this barrier for you even if you begged me and I certainly wouldn’t let you wander out there alone.”

  “I just want to go home,” she tugged free from his hands and refused to look up at him.

  “And where is home, my lady?” He tilted his head with gentle curiosity. “In Rivenn, with the tyrant king who killed your mother’s heart the day he executed your real father and made her watch? Could you call such a place home now that you know the truth?”

  She couldn’t and she knew that, but Pahjah and Miri, and her mother… Surely her mother must have answers. “My sister is there.”

  “And your brother is here.”

  “He is not my brother.”

  “Come lady,” he lowered his voice, softened his tone and studied her with those gentle, almond-shaped eyes. Even in the dark they were the most incredible shade of lavender she’d ever seen “You know that is not true. Standing next to one another, no one can deny you are of the same sire, and surely even you have felt the bond of blood between you.”

  She and Mirien had never looked much alike, but they were still sisters. And besides, even if he was her brother Logren could take care of himself. He had obviously been doing it all his life without her help, but Miri was still so young, so innocent. Her sister needed her more, or maybe it was the other way around and she needed to protect Mirien in order to feel safe and strong herself. She didn’t know anymore and she threw her shoulders back with a heavy sigh.

  “A brother wouldn’t be so cruel.”

  “A sister would never be so cruel, but brothers…” He shook his head, the soft ebony fabric of his hood jostling softly against his cheek. “A man’s heart does not love like a woman’s, Lorelei. Logren would lay down and die if he thought his death would save your life because you are his sister, but his tongue is not so easily guided by his brother’s heart.”

  “No,” she refused to believe that. “Because I am some light of the moon… or whatever it is I’m supposed to be, but not out of brotherly love.”

  “Your brother shouldn’t have told you that story. Not that way, not in front of everyone like that. He was going to wait until we came to Dunvarak to tell you, after you had spoken to our seer.”

  “Then why didn’t you stop him?”

  “In case you hadn’t noticed Logren is a grown man. He does as he pleases, most especially when he’s had too much to drink, and lately he’s drunk more than his fill just trying to get through the moments until you arrived.” Bren’s hand slid down the length of her arm to rest in the crook. “He has been so afraid of losing you before he ever even had you in his life, Lorelei. You mean everything to him.”

  She wanted to shove him away and ask how, how she could mean so much to a stranger, to an entire city of strangers, but Bren’s words struck her more emotionally than she expected them to and she lowered her head in shame. She didn’t want to believe she was important, that she was meant for great things. She just wanted her life to be normal, to make sense, but it seemed no matter what path she chose nothing was ever going to make sense again.

  “You all right, Princess?”

  Stepping away from Bren almost self-consciously she reached up quickly to brush the warm tears from her face. Finn lingered at the edge of the tent watching the two of them, and she swore both of his fists were clenched at his sides.

  She nodded and took two steps back before turning toward Finn. “I’m tired.”

  Shuffling through the snow until he stood in front of her, he seemed to be almost glaring at Bren. “You had a long day.”

  It had been a long day. An exhaustingly long, confusing day. Sleep probably wouldn’t lend much understanding to the confusion, but it would allow her to escape from it for a few hours. “A very long day,” she agreed.

  “I can show you to your tent if you’d like to retire,” Bren offered.

  “Thank you.”

  He walked her back through the camp, her attention lingering on the fire where the stories had resumed and Logren was still drinking. For a moment she made eye contact with her brother, but then quickly looked away before ducking into the tent Bren gestured toward and reaching for the closest comfortable thing she could think of.

  “Are you coming, Finn?” she called, not even bothering to look back through the flap.

  “We’ve set up a tent just over there for Finn and his brother—”

  “Right behind you,” he shoved into that tiny space. Hunched over, he had to bend at the knees to keep from hitting his head and wrenching the tent from its stakes.

  In the dim light from the fires outside Finn surveyed the pile of furs on the ground and then looked to her, as if silently asking what he was doing there. There was an almost smug air about him, as if he’d won some battle she wasn’t even aware he’d been fighting, but she was too tired to try and figure out what was going on with him. The tent flap rippled in the wind at his back and through the small, jostling space she could see the golden orange flicker of fire beyond and the black presence of Bren’s robes billowing softly with his movement.

  When she didn’t offer any explanation, he finally cleared his throat and asked in a low voice, “What am I doing here?”

  “I don’t want to be alone,” she whispered.

  He had become the only source of comfort in her life, the only steadfast presence she felt like she could actually rely on. Even when she’d been furious with him, she’d wanted to be near him, to forgive him so they could get back to whatever game it was they were playing with each other’s hearts. And it was hearts they were playing with; she could tell by the way hers sped up in her chest at the mere thought of him.

  “Will you stay with me, please?”

  “I live to serve you, Princess.” He bowed his head in playful mockery, the gesture nearly making him lose his balance. For a second his humor actually lightened her mood.

  “Good.” She scrambled across the pile of furs and began situating them around her. “You can serve me by keeping me warm through the long cold night.”

  Finn’s eyebrow quirked upward, the corner of his mouth sliding into an easy smile that almost made her regret her decision to invite him into her tent.

  “Not like… that,” she gasped in a stifled whisper.

  “I don’t know what you are insinuating, but I never…”

  “Oh, be quiet and keep me warm,” she snapped, scooting over to allow him space to drop in beside her. “You do know how to be quiet, don’t you?”

  “If her majesty commands it.”

  “Just shut up.”

  “As you wish.”

  She elbowed him in the ribs and he rolled onto his back, turning inward to grin at her in the shadows as they wriggled beneath the furs to get comfortable. It was a terribly tempting grin, the kind of grin that could get her into serious trouble if she wasn’t more careful. The kind of trouble she obviously didn’t have th
e mind to get herself out of before it required running for her life.

  “Do you promise not to…?” She didn’t even know how to finish that request. The mere thoughts inside her head were enough to make her skin hot enough that she probably wouldn’t need his body heat to keep her warm through the long, cold night.

  “Princess, it pains me that you would think I’d ever try to take advantage of you that way.” He lifted his head off the pile, and he was staring at her. In the dim orange glow of the fire outside she could just barely make out the features of his face. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she could feel them, could imagine their intensity and sincerity. “I am on my best behavior. You have my word.”

  “I trust you.”

  She finally laid down her head, listening for a while to the sound of the wind flapping against the tent, the almost distant sound of laughter from the drunken storytellers around the fire and the subtle drum of her own heart. There was a second faint beating just beneath it, matching her own rhythm and making her feel oddly at ease.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Under ordinary circumstances Vilnjar was not one for drink, but every aspect of his life had changed so dramatically over the last few days he didn’t refuse Logren when he passed him a full cup and told him to drink. He was tired, and not just in the physical sense, but mentally exhausted from chasing after his brother like some nursemaid.

  Every swallow of soured, honey ale relaxed his grip on the things he couldn’t change, and for the first time in years he wasn’t preoccupied with where his brother had gotten off to. In that state of relaxation, however, came doubt and sorrow over things he’d refused to change because of how steadfast he’d been in holding onto promises he made to his mother.

  It was impossible for one man to be all things to all people; he knew that in his heart, and yet it brought him sorrow every time he thought about his sister. Logren’s touching story, as far-fetched as it seemed from the outside looking in, made him miss Ruwena more than ever, and as the night wore on he stopped refusing when Logren leaned in to refill his cup so often he actually lost count.