Wilde's Fire

by Krystal Wade

  She claps her hands together; her eyes are wide and excited. “Do you think we might work together one day, and live in the same area, and be friends?”

  “Of course.” Ten-year-olds are so cute when they think of the future, hoping for happy endings and forever-afters. I pray a day comes when all of her dreams might come true, because at this moment, they are the only things she has to hold on to.

  After our break, Lann decides it’s safer for him, rather than anyone else, to work with me. Considering what happened with Perth, I couldn’t agree more. Lann doesn’t smile; that’s something about him that has changed. When I first met him, he did. Am I causing that much stress? Does he have to work extra because of me? I’m beginning to think, instead of being Encardia’s hope, I might be Encardia’s nuisance.

  I’m distracted by my thoughts, and—as usual—Lann knocks the sword out of my grip, then throws his hands up with frustration. I think he’s about to walk away from me for good, but Arland graces the room—alive and uninjured. His high cheekbones are red from the chilly air, and his hair looks windblown.

  Has he been riding?

  Relief flows through me and wipes out the desperation I’ve been feeling all morning. I pick up my sword. “One more round?”

  Lann looks at Arland.

  “Okay,” Lann agrees.

  The mood of the soldiers in the room is different, now that Arland has returned. Some of them stared with curiosity earlier, but now, they return to their tasks and smile when I catch sight of them.

  If I could hide under a rock, I would.

  “Ready?” Lann asks.

  “Yes.”

  We move in harmony with each other. Lann jabs; I immediately block, and slash back. He rushes forward. Spinning around him, I strike his shield as he ducks by me. I catch him off guard, and he stumbles over his feet and falls to the ground. I point my sword at his chest.

  “Now that is what you need to do every time,” Lann says.

  His reflexes are much slower than my strikes, and I fake kill him at least three more times.

  “My turn!” Flanna sings.

  I nod in agreement. She must have expected me to be an easy target after all that goofing off she and I did earlier. Flanna cannot keep her sword in her hand for longer than a few seconds. I knock it from her grip on my first attempt, every time. The crowd regroups and cheers me on.

  “May I try?” Anna asks.

  “Sure,” I say.

  She’s adorable, and so determined. I let her knock my sword from my hand.

  “I did it!” she squeals.

  “You did!”

  Marcus and a few other children all take turns with me. I fight a little harder with the boys, but I still allow them all to win.

  After my last battle, I holster my claymore and stand beside Arland. He’s been leaning against the wall—legs crossed casually at the ankles—through the remainder of my training session, watching what must have been an entertaining show.

  “Did you have fun?” Arland asks.

  “Toward the end, I did. Where were you all morning?”

  He leans his head toward mine.

  “I will tell you soon.” His lips move against my ear.

  My stomach stirs with butterflies from the closeness of our faces. The heat from his cheeks radiates into mine. I notice his nose is a tiny bit crooked, but I find that makes him even more attractive.

  Lann assured me Arland’s absence was due to a routine security breach, but now that I’ve been given a cryptic reply, my already high doubts are even higher.

  “Are we still going to work in the stables?” I ask, hopeful our plans will not change due to this routine breach.

  “If you are ready to scoop manure, I guess I am, too,” Arland says, shaking his head.

  Chapter Twelve

  Arland doesn’t send any scouts out ahead of us to look for daemons, but I’m not concerned. He holds my hand on our trip to the stables. It’s amazing how safe I feel in his presence. We’ve known each other for only a few days, but my mind tells me it’s been a lot longer. Truthfully, we have known each other our entire lives. He met me when I was an infant, and was aware he would have to protect me; I was introduced to him through dreams.

  Arland holds me the way Brad always did when leading me through a crowded concert; like a friend would, although, Arland’s touch leaves me longing for more. I’m sure that’s the way Brad always felt. I’ve never held another guy’s hand before; Brad barely left my side long enough for anyone to dare get close.

  I wonder how many would have, if he hadn’t been there.

  “I would love to know what you are thinking right now,” Arland says, staring straight ahead.

  “I’m sure you would, but it’s not going to happen.”

  “You are blending in with the others quite well, Kate,” he says, now looking at me.

  “I’m not so sure.”

  Arland stops walking and turns to me. “What makes you say that?”

  “Before you returned to the training room, no one wanted to work with me or look at me, except for Perth.”

  Arland flinches at the mere mention of Perth’s name. “We need to keep moving,” he says, glancing around. “The others will eventually warm up to you. Since you are from The Meadows, they all look at you differently.”

  “What does being from The Meadows have to do with anything?”

  “In time, you will understand.” His curious response leaves me feeling even more in the dark.

  “O-kay.” I draw out the word. “Well, why do they treat me differently when you’re not around?”

  “There are a few reasons I can think of. None that you should concern yourself with, but once they get to know you, they will become more comfortable with your presence.” Arland stops in the middle of the forest. “We are here.”

  “Where?” He must be joking. We haven’t even gone through the base, and there’s nothing in front of us but trees and Darkness.

  “Nochtann,” Arland whispers, waving his hand in front of him.

  Two large, wooden doors appear before us, adorned by intricate carvings of ivy with jasmine flowers blooming all over. Live ivy grows along the walls, covering every part of the visible structure.

  Leave it to the vines to grow with no sunlight.

  “Amazing.” I feel like a child in wonder.

  “Not nearly as amazing as you when you swing that sword around.” Arland’s comment makes my cheeks burn.

  “What happens if a daemon bumps into the building?” I ask, pressing my cool hands to my face.

  “It would pass through as though the stables were not here.”

  I stop trying to hide my embarrassment and stare up at him. “So, why is everything else underground?”

  “We feel safer that way. Hiding large buildings takes time, and if a spell fails, we would prefer to already be somewhere we cannot be seen.”

  “So spells can fail?” I glance over my shoulder as we walk in next to the feed bay.

  “Yes, but you should not concern yourself with that. The spell over these stables has never failed.”

  “What about the perimeter breach this morning?”

  “I am sorry for causing you concern. The spell was not broken.”

  “So … ?”

  Arland holds his arm in front of him. “I will tell you when we have finished cleaning stalls.”

  The doors close, and then disappear behind us, without any more words from Arland. I wonder if the reason he didn’t want me up here by myself was not due to something coming in and attacking me, but rather me leaving. That’s a funny thought.

  Arland hands me a shovel. “First, the chickens, cows, then goats, and we will end with the horses.”

  “Got it.” I lean the shovel against the wall and tie my hair back.

  With my shovel, I make my way to the top of the L-shaped stables then enter the chicken coop. Arland pushes in a wooden wheelbarrow, and I set to work, scooping the droppings while he carries in fr
esh bales of straw, then scatters it around. After I finish cleaning, I collect the eggs from the hen’s small nests and place them in a basket.

  Working out here reminds me so much of my childhood. Mom used to say I needed to know how to run every part of a farm, even if it meant taking care of the smallest of animals. It makes sense now that she wanted me to learn those ways, since life here doesn’t seem to be as convenient as life back home.

  If I want to stay here after the war and survive, I’ll have to be able to cultivate the land and grow my own food. A long time ago, it used to be that way at home, too, but the old ways of life have been replaced by modern conveniences—like electricity, for instance. It would be a lot easier to spot daemons, if Encardia had streetlights.

  Arland and I make a fast working team. In a short time, we finish the chickens and cows, then move on to the goat pen. We don’t talk much while working—just like on the farm with Gary. Unlike when I help my stepfather, Arland and I steal glances at each other every now and then. A few times, I’m sure I catch him standing and staring at me. I smile, and he goes right back to work.

  Flanna walks in, carrying a small tray with two cups of water. “Would you like a drink?”

  “Thank you.” I take the cup, guzzle the water, then immediately return to work.

  Arland drinks his, and also goes back to scooping and refreshing.

  The usually nosey Flanna takes off toward the stairs, humming something.

  I’m surprised she went away without being yelled at.

  The goats take longer for me and Arland to care for, due to their curiosity about the taste of my clothing. Two of them are so interested in my shirt, they trot right up to take a bite out of it.

  “Hey,” I yell. “This is not food, and it’s the only shirt I have!”

  “We have more clothes for you. These brainless goats will eat just about anything.”

  It’s true; goats will eat anything. Even senior term papers. I’ve never looked at the little monsters the same way since.

  “I have a surprise for you. Close your eyes,” Arland says, after we finish the pen.

  What could he possibly have for me? I close my eyes, as Arland instructs. He stands behind me, then cups his hands over my face, so I can’t peek.

  “Walk forward,” he says in my ear—causing my pulse to race—pushing me forward in the direction of the horses. “Okay, open them.”

  He removes his hands. I take a minute to process what I see. A snow-white mare stands tall and proud before me, in her new stall. She stares so hard, I feel like I’m being studied.

  “She’s stunning.” I’m awe-struck; she’s so white, her coat appears to be glowing.

  “She is yours,” Arland says, eyes lit with excitement.

  I turn to face him. “What?”

  He strides over to stand in front of the horse’s stall. “This fine mare was our security breach from this morning. We found her standing on our perimeter. It was as though she was waiting for something, or someone. Lann and his brother Keith could not get her to move. I was informed of the issue and rode Bowen out to check on her; she followed him right back to the stables.”

  “She followed Bowen?”

  “Yes.”

  Grabbing Arland by the arm, I back away from the horse. “W-what i-if she’s a shifter?”

  He peels my fingers from his forearm, then takes me by the hand. “She is not a shifter.”

  “But how do you know? You said—”

  “I know what I said, and we also know how to tell if our animals have been infected. Their eyes turn solid black. Look at this horse’s eyes.” He points at the creature. “They are perfectly blue.”

  I take a deep breath and release my death grip on Arland’s hand. “And she’s mine?”

  “I figured you are going to need one, and she seems the perfect fit for you … temperamental like Bowen,” Arland says, leaning on his elbow against one of the wooden rails of her stall gate … smiling at me. “I have named her Mirain. It means beautiful.”

  “Mirain. You are a beautiful girl.” I step on the bottom rail of the gate and offer her some oats.

  She neighs and stomps her feet a couple times, then she eats from my palm. I reach up and rub between her eyes, the same spot that wins all the horses over. Mirain presses her forehead into my hand, and all control of my body disappears.

  I fall and land on the floor.

  The stables fade away.

  Arland and I battle a group of daemons led by a man covered in dirt and blood. His eyes are black, and he glares at me. The closer he gets the more I recognize him.

  “Brad?”

  He laughs as the daemons surround me and Arland.

  Mirain and Bowen both lay, slain, on the bloodstained earth next to us. We know our own time is up. Arland stops fighting and lowers his sword.

  He picks me up at the waist. “I love you.”

  We kiss goodbye, but in this goodbye, there is no doubt I’m in love with him.

  Anger flashes in Brad’s eyes. He lunges forward, holding a black, iron sword, and strikes Arland through the heart. Brad laughs as my protector falls to the ground.

  “No,” I scream, throwing myself over Arland. “How could you? You were my friend. I trusted you!”

  I don’t attempt to fight off the attacking daemons; I sit and wait for them to kill me, so I can join Arland. There is no pain in this death, only peace, knowing I am going to die with the one I love the most.

  A coscartha rushes forward, then thrusts its claw through my chest.

  From over their heads, my spirit watches the daemons and Brad dance around my lifeless body, but it fights back. As they begin ripping me limb from limb, a bright yellow light escapes from my insides, blasting the daemons and Brad into nothing, and lighting the world.

  “No,” I scream, startling all the horses, except Mirain.

  She reaches her head through the gate to rub her cold nose on my neck.

  Arland takes my hand and helps me to my feet, concern written all over his face. “What happened?”

  “A v-vision of us b-both dying.” Tears fill my eyes; the muscles in my throat constrict. “T-this time it was B-Brad who killed you, and daemons killed me. When I died, l-light filled the world.”

  He kneels until we’re eye level, holding me with his gaze. “Have you had waking dreams before?”

  “Y-yes. The first time was a couple days before we arrived here.”

  He wraps his powerful arms around me, trying to make me feel better, but the tears continue to flow. “We are not going to die.”

  Returning his embrace, I rest my head against his chest. For a few minutes, we stay encased in each other’s arms, and he calms me with “shh’s.” The warmth of Arland, his kind whispered words, his familiar hold—they almost make me feel as though we are safe.

  I cannot handle these erratic visions anymore. Before, they were just realistic nightmares about someone I didn’t know, but now that Arland is alive, warm, and standing here with me, they’ve turned unbearable. The addition of Brad makes them even more painful.

  I have to get him home.

  “Would you like to go back inside, while I finish up the stalls?” Arland asks, taking a step back, rubbing the side of my arms.

  I wipe the tears with my shirtsleeve. “No, I’ll be okay. I’d like to spend some time getting to know Mirain.”

  “Let me know if you change your mind,” he says, and he leaves me alone.

  The sounds of Arland’s shovel hitting the earth echo through the stables. I grab the brush and hold it out to Mirain. She doesn’t move away from me, or show any fear, so I open the gate and walk right in. Although she’s already a model of perfection, I run the brush through her coat, mane, then tail.

  “Will you let me sit on you, Mirain?” I ask when I’m finished, keeping my voice tender and bracing myself on a wallboard of her stall.

  Mirain moves closer to me—as though understanding my intentions—and allows me to climb onto her b
ack. I take the ends of her mane in my hands, and explain when I ride her, that I’ll hold her here. Her head bobs.

  I laugh.

  My legs drape down Mirain’s sides. We’re a perfect fit. I praise her, rubbing from her neck down to her haunches, then I practice walking her. She has not shown uncertainty with anything I’ve requested her to do.

  “You are such a good girl.”

  Arland stands outside her stall, his eyes wide. “It is as though she was made for you alone. Horses really seem to trust you. I have a feeling if I tried that, she would have had me flat on my back by now.”

  I grab one of her ears and rub it. “You wouldn’t hurt anyone, would you, girl?”

  Mirain takes two steps forward then nudges Arland in the shoulder with her nose. Now I know she comprehends my words. I slide from her back, then Arland and I both curry her.

  I figure while we’re standing here alone, it’s now or never for my questions. I don’t know how I’ve been able to hold back on them for as long as I have. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Anything,” Arland says, looking from Mirain’s face to mine.

  “If we are not completely human … what are we?”

  “I was waiting for you to ask that question last night.” He laughs. “We are human. As you can see, we do not look any different from the people of the world you were raised in. However, we are capable of using much more of our brain’s abilities than the people you know.”

  My mouth hangs open.

  “Allow me to finish.” Arland puts up his hand. “Long ago, our worlds were open to each other. Our kind would frequently pass through the portal to your mad world. We learned a great deal from those humans, although we could not teach them anything in return. Our magical powers were invisible to them; their minds would interpret our actions as something daemonic. They accused us of great misdeeds, usually caused by their own kind. Mobs of men and woman began searching us out, and also killing anyone who might have associated with us. They burned innocent people at stakes, hanged them from nooses; or if we were not caught, we were forced into hiding. After watching people killed, merely because of our presence, our Leaders decided to close the portals forever.”