by Krista Rose
Still, with that one exception, I found myself enjoying being a guard. It felt as if I were protecting people, watching over their homes and their lives as they slept. I should mention that there were a lot of girls who were very appreciative of my service in the guard, if only because it was the closest they ever came to peril. I was always cautious, enduring the bitter aftertaste of the two salixweed leaves I chewed every morning; I had no desire to be a father. Truthfully, I had no wish to court any of them, but the mindless pleasure offered freely without expectation was a welcome distraction from my heartbreak after Marla, and I gave in to it gladly.
I did wonder why my father hadn’t taken salixweed to prevent our mother’s last pregnancy, but after thinking it over for a while, I realized that, though our mother had been raised by healers, she had probably hidden that knowledge from him, her desire to get pregnant outweighing her concern for her own life. The thought made me angry for some reason, and so I stopped thinking about it.
My third week in the Guard, I put out a fire in a stable, started by an errant spark from a neglected lantern. It was then I experienced the thrill of danger, and the pride of being thanked after the flames had been put out by the stables’ owner, though I was left soot-streaked and exhausted for my efforts. The owner’s pretty daughter was also grateful, though her method of showing was slightly different, and left me nearly as weak as the fire itself.
Baedon caught a cough from the smoke, and sought out my sister in the apothecary for a cure. I am uncertain what it was he said to her; all I know is that, though his cough disappeared as promised, his skin was turned brilliantly orange by the potion she gave him. When questioned, Lanya only batted her lashes innocently, and Baedon was forced to endure the humiliation of being orange until it at last faded a week later.
No one mentioned leaving, and I pushed thoughts of the Allun Temple from my head. Though we still hadn’t met most of our family, Fallor had started to feel like home- and perhaps that is why the darkness returned to our lives.
13-14 Llares 578A.F.
Kryssa woke me perhaps an hour before noon, using her usual gentle method: she poked me repeatedly in the ribs until I rolled over and glared at her.
“What?” I demanded, scowling. I had only been to sleep a few hours before, and the exhaustion of it was pulling me down into my blankets.
She stared back at me calmly, unafraid of my morning temper. “It’s Reyce’s birthday.”
I groaned. “That’s today?” I scrubbed my hands over my face. I had asked her to wake me early so I could find my brother a gift; now I regretted not getting him one sooner. I forced myself onto my elbows. “Alright, I’m up.”
She nodded, grinning as she ruffled my hair, though she knew I hated it. “Come on, get dressed. I’ll buy you lunch.”
“It’s too early for lunch,” I muttered, but she was already leaving the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.
I sighed, and left the comfort of my pallet.
My disposition improved after Kryssa bought me a meat pastry, the warmth of it making me feel more alert and cheerful. I licked my fingers when I was finished; Kryssa made a face, rolling her eyes when I grinned.
We made our way down the line of stalls and vendors, approaching the stall where the weapon-smith sold his wares. His glum expression faded into one of shrewd delight when he realized we were there to buy.
I had picked out the dagger for my brother days before, spotting it on my way to drills. The blade was curved, nearly as long as my forearm, with a bluish shine to it that made it almost appear fluid. The hilt had been cleverly forged to look like a dragon, its tail wrapped around the blade, and its front claws held the pommel stone, a dark red crystal like a drop of frozen blood.
It was beautiful, and would replace the one I had given him the year before- the child’s blade he had used to save all of our lives.
Kryssa kept her face carefully blank as she haggled with the merchant, their voices rising in heated argument until they at last arrived at a reasonable price. Kryssa paid him the coin, grinning, and the merchant stared after us, suspicious and certain that he had been tricked somehow.
Finished, I started to escort my sister back to the library, since her lunch hour was almost up. I planned to return to the apartment and my pallet, hoping to catch a few more hours of sleep before reporting to the guardhouse.
That was my plan anyway, until a familiar voice shouted my name across the market.
“BRANNYN!”
I turned, bewildered, and stared in astonishment at the man rushing toward me. My jaw dropped open. “Tanner?”
He caught me in a tight hug, and we laughed as we slapped each other’s backs. Kryssa stood still beside me, watching us with one brow raised.
Tanner released me after a minute, grinning widely. “Yrisa’s tits, Farmboy, it’s good to see you.” He finally noticed my sister, and flushed. “Begging your pardon, Mistress Kryssa.”
She tilted her head, almost regal in her acknowledgment, her face unreadable. “Tanner.”
He gulped nervously.
I made a face at her. He’s fine, Kryssa.
We’ll see. Aloud, all she said was, “I have to return to work. I’ll see you later.”
Tanner stared after her as she walked away. “Your sister’s pretty scary, Farmboy.”
“Yeah.” I shrugged. “She does that.”
He shook his head, then grinned at me, and I found myself returning it. “Gods be damned, it really is good to see you. What are you doing in Fallor?”
“We have family here,” I replied honestly, thinking of Elias. “I’m in the Guard.”
“Truly?” He looked impressed. “Good for you. I was thinking of signing up myself.”
I raised a brow. “So, you’re staying in Fallor, then?”
“I’ve been here since a few days after we left the Camp. Digger and Breaker and I work out on one of the farms. I just came in to town to get some supplies for Rumer. He’s my employer. It’s honest work, and I like it. Feels good to do something productive, after- after everything.”
I swallowed, remembering. “Yeah, I understand.” I pushed the memories away. “So, if you already have a job, why are you looking to join the Guard?”
“I met a girl.” He sighed, his eyes going dreamy. “Rumer’s niece. She’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen, and she makes me feel…” He sighed. “She makes me want to be a better man. I want to marry her. But I have to convince Tamsen- that’s her father- that I can support her. Soldier’s pay is better than a farmhand’s, so I’m thinking I’ll join the Guard.”
I thought of Marla, and ignored the pang of jealousy. “I’m happy for you. What’s the lucky girl’s name?”
“Felice Rose.” He sighed again, and missed my startled look. “Even her name is lovely, isn’t it?”
“I’m sorry, but did you say Rose?”
He blinked for a moment, confused, and then his eyes widened, and he laughed. “You know, it didn’t even occur to me. Brannyn Rose. You’re probably cousins. Do you even know how much land your family owns? Every farm west of Fallor is pretty much owned by a Rose.”
I stared at him, surprised. Elias had never mentioned it. “No, I didn’t know that.”
“It’s true.” He chuckled. “Rose. No wonder we get along so well.”
I didn’t know which of us he was referring to, and I didn’t ask. We talked a few more minutes before parting ways, promising to catch up at the tavern the following Starsday.
I returned to the apartment, but found my exhaustion had fled and I couldn’t return to sleep as I had planned. Instead I cleaned, a chore I had neglected and left to the others due to my strange hours in the Guard, and passed the afternoon quietly sweeping floors and washing dishes.
As I had hoped, Reyce was the first to return home, his clothes and face smeared with flour. I handed him the dagger, and watched his eyes widen. He stared up at me, speechless.
I smiled, and ruffled his hair. He g
rinned, understanding me without words, and strapped the dagger to his belt before helping me begin on dinner.
The others arrived slowly, and we sat down to eat together as the sun began to sink toward the horizon. I had to leave for drills before the others could give Reyce their gifts, and I swung my cloak on with a sigh as I headed out the back door.
I barely paid attention as we ran through drills, going through the motions reflexively, already wishing I had taken a nap. Baedon was waiting outside the fence when I finished, and he frowned at me. “You look awful.”
“Long night.” I yawned. “Didn’t get a whole lot of sleep.”
He was already ignoring me, leering at the giggling girls gathered at the fence. “Yeah, yeah. Just keep up, alright?”
“Whatever you say.” I yawned again, and winked at the girl who had kept me up the night before. She blushed prettily, but didn’t look away.
The sun set, and the streets grew dark and quiet as Baedon and I started our rounds. I struggled to keep my eyes open, and fantasized about my bed. The moon was all but vacant from the sky, only a shadow of it visible against the stars. I stared up at them, yawning, and prayed I’d be able to stay awake until dawn.
Something large moved across the sky, blocking out the stars. I frowned. “Did you see that?”
Baedon glanced up. “What?”
“There was something up there.”
“They’re called clouds, Brannyn. Surely you’ve seen them before.”
“It was moving too fast to be a cloud.”
He rolled his eyes at me. “You’re seeing things. There’s nothing-”
An ear-splitting shriek filled the air, and I covered my ears, trying to escape it.
“What the hell was that?” Baedon shouted at me, his face unnaturally pale in the torchlight.
“I- I don’t know.” I rubbed my ears. “It sounded like-”
Another shriek pierced the night, and a brilliant burst of flame lit the sky, illuminating the belly of-
“Is that a dragon?” I managed, my jaw dropping open in shock.
“It can’t be.” Baedon shook his head, trying to clear it. “Ryno de Syro is over a thousand miles from here. Why would a dragon be-”
The creature shrieked again, and a second gout of flame appeared, this one aimed at the center of town.
Baedon and I were running before the alarm bells began to ring, their heavy peal echoing from the walls and empty streets as they warned the town of danger.
I could see, even before we reached it, that the tavern was on fire. Patrons milled about in front of it, looking lost and confused as great clouds of smoke and flame billowed through the windows to lick at the air outside. I heard the weak screams of those still trapped, and my heart lurched.
I glanced at Baedon, the fear clearly written on his face as he clutched at his chest. Coward. I grabbed his arm, forcing his attention to me. “Water!” I shouted over the incessant clanging of the bells. “Get the other guards, and form a brigade! We’ve got to get this fire out!”
“Where are you going?” he demanded as I released him.
“Inside.” I didn’t wait to hear his reply, though his shout sounded something like damn idiot. But I knew he wouldn’t follow me, and I had already kicked down the door to rush into the flames.
It was bright, and hot, and the roar of the inferno set my ears to ringing. Flames licked against my skin, playful as puppies, those pouring along the walls and ceiling straining toward me, bending unnaturally. The fire inside me clawed toward the surface in answer, and I struggled to contain it, not wanting to make the blaze worse. The furniture had been upended in the scuffle for escape, and bodies lay among the wreckage, still and dark and motionless.
I forced my way through the overturned tables, picking up the first person I saw: the serving woman we had met our first day in Fallor. I cradled her limp form in my arms, her chest rising shakily as she fought to breathe, and carried her back outside into the cool, clean night air.
Others were gathering, homeowners and shopkeepers afraid of the fire spreading. They had formed a loose line, hauling buckets from a well to throw them on the flames. It seemed a pitiful effort, and the fire mocked them, growing larger as it consumed the roof.
I took a deep breath, and plunged back inside.
I must have made nearly a dozen trips, pulling bodies from the burning building. My shirt clung to me, little more than blackened rags, though my skin was unburned beneath it. My head ached with the effort of holding in my fire, and I worried that I would burn the people I was trying to save.
At last, I could find no one left inside. I stood outside in the cool night air, swaying as I watched the building slowly collapsed in on itself. Someone grabbed my arm, but I was blinded by the flames, so it took nearly a minute before I could see that it was Chanach. His lips were moving, but I heard nothing.
“What?” I shouted. My own voice sounded muffled to my ears.
He motioned to someone. A taller, older man stepped toward me, frowning; his mouth moved, but I couldn’t hear him either.
The man frowned, and I noticed absently that his eyes were the same color as Lanya’s. He cupped my ears, and muttered something. I heard a pop- and suddenly all the noise of the night came rushing back. I staggered, my knees buckling, and Chanach grabbed my arm to steady me.
“Where’s Baedon?” he demanded. “Is he still inside?”
“No one’s inside.” I stared at him, confused. “I sent him to the guardhouse when we arrived.”
“I came straight from there. I didn’t see him.” His jaw tightened as he looked up at the burning tavern. “Was it really a dragon?”
“It certainly looked like one.”
He shook his head. “Come on. We still have work to do.”
I joined the line of people hauling buckets. It was monotonous work, and numbing, and I handed filled buckets one way and emptied ones the other, my exhaustion making my vision narrow until I saw nothing but the people on either side of me. It seemed we hauled for hours, until my arms were as weak and useless as wet rags.
Someone at last put a hand on my shoulder, and shouted through my stupor that we were finished.
I blinked, and looked up. The tavern was little more than charred rubble, the support beams sticking out through the ruined walls like the smoking bones of a decaying skeleton. I shuddered and turned away, trying not to think of how much worse it could have been.
Chanach, inexhaustible, yelled for me across the square, where he seemed to be in charge of directing the chaos. I walked to him slowly, my legs trembling, wanting nothing more than a bath, a meal, and my bed, in any order.
My captain had other plans, however. “There’s no sign of the dragon,” he informed me. “It’s just gone. Blighted hell-beast. And I can’t find Baedon. I need you to look for him.” His brows drew together as he scowled. “If he hid in some corner through this whole fiasco, I swear I’m going to-”
I heard someone scream, and jerked around in time to see a woman stagger out of an alley, her face deathly pale as she continued to scream. Wordless, Chanach and I headed at a dead run for her, our eyes trained on the mouth of the alley.
Baedon was waiting for us.
He was propped against a wall, his head tilted at an unnatural angle, his face frozen in an expression of terror. His uniform had been torn to shreds, his chest ragged beneath it, and his throat had been viciously ripped out. Blood splattered his clothes, the ground beneath him, even the walls. The stench of decay wafted out of the alley, enveloping us.
Baedon just stared at me, his eyes glassy and lifeless.
It was too much, and I vomited, my stomach clenching hard, my head spinning until I thought I would pass out. No one deserves to die like this. No one.
LANYA
14 Llares 578A.F.
The greatest problem that we have suffered for sharing minds lies in the protection of our inner thoughts. We construct our shields, and hope they are strong enough to keep o
ur emotions from each other. But when we experience severe trauma, such as the night our father almost beat Kryssa to death, our shields fail and our minds are exposed and vulnerable, every thought and secret visible to the others. Everyone else is forced to block the thoughts out, closing ourselves off, as we did with Kryssa’s endless screaming after she had entered the mind of the Crone.
When Brannyn found Baedon’s body at dawn, his shields immediately collapsed, overwhelming us with visions of horror and the nausea he felt as he was violently sick in a dirty alley. Dead, glassy eyes filled my mind, and I felt my brother’s revulsion as if it were my own.
No one deserves to die like this. No one.
He noticed us after only a moment and his shields went back up, but that moment was enough. The others gathered in the kitchen, subdued and quiet as I made them breakfast before they left for their jobs. Kylee ran to the apothecary for me to tell Hamar I would need the day off as I sorted through the teas I knew I would need to calm my brother.
It was mid-morning when he finally stumbled through the door, bleary-eyed and far too pale. I dismissed the thought of tea as soon as I saw him, leading him by one of his ice-cold hands to the table to sit, and fetched him a shot of whiskey. I watched as he downed it in a swallow and shuddered, color returning to his cheeks as his eyes lost their glassy, vacant look.
I gave him another shot, and led him to bed. He was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow. His skin was clammy and cold when I tried to clean the soot from his face, and I tucked the blankets around him, worrying.
The others had already left for their jobs, but they stopped by throughout the day to check on him. They whispered when they looked into his room, though they could have blown trumpets and I doubt it would have woken him.
