Curses and Warfare

by Jeri Baird

  Light attracts dark.

  The panthers crouched to pounce.

  Accepting her fate, Alexa waited for the strike, but it wasn’t her they took down. Dharien jumped in front of her, and the panthers slammed him to the ground. One tore at his shoulder, while the other ripped open his stomach.

  In a blur, Odo stabbed one with his sword. Kaiya shot the second.

  Alexa fell to the ground next to Dharien. Blood soaked him. She yanked the wooden heart from her neck and pressed it against his heart, but no magic flowed. She’d used everything in the fight.

  Eva pressed a cloth against Dharien’s mangled stomach, but the blood spurted from the sides.

  “Don’t leave me, Dharien. Please don’t leave me!” Clutching his hand, she screamed at the sky, “Moira! Help him.”

  Greydon knelt on the other side of Dharien and clasped his other hand. “I can’t bear to lose you too, brother.” Odo stood behind him, one hand on Greydon’s shoulder. Zander and Kaiya stood shoulder to shoulder.

  Dharien gasped, “I’m paying for my past mistakes. I shouldn’t have survived the quest.”

  “You changed. You don’t deserve to die.” Alexa sobbed. “I need you.” This was her fault. She didn’t get to the questers in time to stop them from using their omens.

  Dharien’s breathing slowed and his eyes glazed. “I see Father. I’m going to be all right.”

  “But I won’t be.” Alexa’s heart ripped apart. “Don’t leave. I love you, Dharien.”

  He squeezed her hand. “I always loved you.” He glanced at Greydon and the others. “I love all of you.”

  He smiled, and then he was gone.

  Chapter SIXTY-NINE

  Zander

  Zander thought he couldn’t hurt worse than when Zeph died, but he was wrong. Each one—Fulk, Bindi, Elder Warrin, Dharien, and Father, who’d died to save him, created a unique pain. As the wounded were carried on litters up the steep gulch, Zander sat frozen next to his father’s covered body. Mother sat with him, her hair tied back in a knot, sporting a long scrape down the side of her face. She’d killed. How would that change her? Mother held Father’s hand. “He loved you both so much,” she mumbled, choking on tears.

  Leaning against his shoulder, Alexa wept openly. What scars did they carry now that the fighting was over? He put his arm around her. She’d lost a father and Dharien.

  He glanced at Kaiya as she helped Father Chanse organize the wounded. A bandage wrapped her head, but she’d survived. She looked at him then, and her smile was tender and sad. He wanted to join her, to hold her, and tell her the things he’d kept hidden in his heart. But for now, his place was with his mother and twin.

  Greydon held his own vigil next to the bodies of Dharien and their father. Odo sat next to him, holding Greydon as he wept, neither aware of the few bewildered looks, nor, Zander thought, would they care. Death had a way of defining what was important, what was not.

  Zander felt no happiness at the end of the war. Why did he live when so many others died? Fate? Destiny? He dropped his head into his hands. Would he ever sort it out? Could it be explained?

  Greydon was now the elder of his father’s estate and a council member. Del would be charged with treason. Zander would search Del’s heart. If he’d spoken true, Zander would argue for leniency. Changes were coming to Puck’s Gulch, and they needed men and women willing to work for them.

  The able-bodied Odwans returned to camp. When they returned with their families, Zander would use his gift, and those earnest about living in peace could stay. Moira had been right to insist he keep his favor.

  When the men came to carry his father up the gulch, Zander stood and then stumbled. His wounded leg wouldn’t hold him, and he slid to the ground.

  In an instant, Kaiya was beside him. “Stay down. I’ll get help.”

  He grimaced. “No, I’m the warriors’ leader. I can make it.”

  Eyes shining, she said, “You saved the village, Zander. No one gives a damn if you need help.”

  Kaiya called over two warriors. Zander put an arm around each of their shoulders and limped up the gulch. And he found he wasn’t the least bit embarrassed.

  Chapter SEVENTY

  Alexa

  Alexa supported Mother as they followed the men carrying Father’s lifeless body up the gulch and to the church. Too many bodies lined across the churchyard. Villagers and Odwans lay side by side. To what end? For Terrec to have more power? And now, he lay as dead as the others.

  Leaving Mother with others grieving, Alexa walked to the cell abutting the church. She steeled herself and peered through the small window. Merindah’s body lay on the cot, her patron sparrow in her arms. Alexa could almost pretend her friend was sleeping.

  Coming to stand next to Alexa, Father Chanse said, “She gave too much.” He broke down, sobbing. “So much death.”

  Finding herself in the strange position of comforting the priest, Alexa held him as he cried. War and now grief unified the village. They had to find a way to stay united in peace.

  She recalled Merindah’s final words. What can happen in a brick cell? With a start, Alexa realized her friend had already known her future.

  “Without Merindah, we would have lost,” she said.

  Wiping his eyes, Father Chanse said, “We’ll make a statue. Puck’s Gulch won’t forget her sacrifice.”

  A statue. A reminder for all generations of her role in saving the village. She patted the priest’s arm. “With prayer beads in her hand and a sparrow on her shoulder.”

  She turned as Dharien’s body was laid next to his father’s, the cloth wrapping him stained crimson with blood. His love for her had killed him. She would never understand it—the panthers, his death after he’d survived the war. Moira had been silent, and Alexa didn’t expect any answers. She had a lifetime ahead of her to hear Moira’s wisdom. Did the why of it matter? Dharien was dead. No amount of understanding changed it.

  As grief engulfed Alexa, Dorothy ambled up and stuck her nose in Alexa’s hand, whiffing for a treat.

  “Silly donkey,” Alexa said as she leaned her head against Dorothy’s neck. A vision of riding away from the village on Dorothy’s back filled Alexa’s head. Tshilaba had promised to train her. As soon as she could leave, Alexa would find the Raskans.

  But first, she had duties to attend. With Dorothy’s help, Alexa gathered cedar and built a fire next to the Quinary. She added a handful of clary sage and spelled the smoke to swirl into every home, every building. Cedar healed and guarded against nightmares; clary sage relieved anxiety. She tended the blaze until Kaiya and Gia joined her and insisted she go to bed with the promise they’d keep the fire going.

  She didn’t have it in her to trek to Melina Odella’s cottage. Her cottage. Instead, Alexa crossed the market to the bakery. She thought she couldn’t sleep, but when she lay in her old bed, Moira appeared at the foot.

  “Rest, my child. You have a journey ahead of you.”

  Alexa fell into a deep sleep and woke melancholic, but refreshed. The scent of baking bread filled her room. So many years she’d hated the smell. Now, it was a comfort.

  After she dressed, Alexa touched the scar at her neck, hesitating only a moment before adding a yellow scarf. She stumbled down the stairs. Loaves of sturdy oat bread crowded the counters. No fancy cakes, no special breads baked for the elders’ families, not even a sugar biscuit in sight. “Mother? Did you sleep?”

  The dark circles under Mother’s eyes answered the question. “People need to eat. I baked lavender into the loaves for healing.” She piled the bread onto a tray. “Will you help me carry them to the Quinary?”

  Alexa filled a tray and walked side by side with Mother to join others carrying baskets of food, subdued but determined. It would take time, but they would heal. Strength wasn’t often realized until needed.

  Father Chanse
blessed the food. The remaining elders served the peasants. Merchants filled plates for kids from the shacks. They’d come together in war, could they continue now that the threat to the village was over? Alexa glanced at the tribes. Kharok, Yapi, Chadha, Dakta, and Odwa—they’d lived in peace for two hundred years as Puck envisioned. Now, with Father Chanse and a new council, Alexa would help them live in equity. She was leaving, but she’d return. This was her home, and they needed a fortune-teller.

  A ragged laugh escaped her. Father Chanse and a few red-haired kids from the shacks mingled with the others. With the added Odwans in the village, red hair would no longer be an oddity. Her laugh turned to a sob. Zeph would have loved it.

  She missed him terribly.

  Chapter SEVENTY-ONE

  Zander

  “You’ll likely always limp,” Eva pronounced as she pulled the final stitch through Zander’s knife wound. “It damaged a muscle.”

  Zander unclenched his hand from Shadow’s fur and opened his eyes. At his insistence, he was the last of the injured to be treated. He shuddered. He might be a warrior, but needles still made him woozy.

  Dark circles under her eyes, Eva slumped on the bench next to him. “What will you do now?” she asked as she knotted the thread. “We won’t need warriors anymore.”

  What would he do? He cocked his head. “I’m thinking the village is in need of a furrier.”

  Eva nodded, and tears glistened in her eyes. “You were a surprise when I midwifed for Lark. Alexa came out squalling. A few minutes later, you followed, quiet and with the look of an old man.”

  “She never stopped squalling, did she?”

  Eva laughed. “Theron looked so proud when I placed her in his arms.” She turned sober. “And then they were terrified to have twins. Afraid of the quest already.” She rubbed her eyes. “I hated their plan to separate you. I tried to convince Lark that Moira would do what Moira would do. She was so scared for you.”

  “I don’t blame her. I’ve made my share of bad decisions with the best intentions.”

  Eva wrapped a bandage around Zander’s thigh. “Wise as an old man, too.”

  He didn’t feel wise. “Do you think the village will ever return to normal?”

  She shook her head. “With the influence of you young ones, we’ll be better.”

  He gave Eva a long hug. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

  “No, but I’m heading to bed soon.” She motioned toward Cobie as he changed a bandage on one of the warriors. “He’s a natural healer. That’s one good thing that came out of this mess.” She stood. “Come on, let’s join the rest of the village.”

  It was a short walk to the Quinary, where they found tables laden with food. Nothing fancy like the festivals, only simple, sturdy food that satisfied. Like the villagers—dependable and steady. Still in battle clothes, the elders served the peasants. It was a good sign.

  Eva headed for Lark and the group of women who’d become archers and would forever share a bond. They welcomed Eva with hugs, tears, and laughter.

  Zander limped his way to Alexa, who sat alone at a corner of the Quinary.

  “Hoy,” he said as he sat next to his twin. The night to his day.

  She turned, and he couldn’t avoid seeing the secret she carried. “You’re leaving?”

  “Tshilaba said she’d train me. Mother doesn’t need me, and you . . .” She glanced at Kaiya. “You have Kaiya.” She blinked back tears. “I know I should stay and help, but I can’t take the sadness. Everywhere I look, I’m reminded of loss. I’m so tired, Z.”

  When she hesitated, Zander knew if he asked her to stay, she would. Hells, he wanted to. He rubbed the back of his neck. “You deserve to go. The village will be fine without you, at least for a while. Promise you’ll come back?”

  “I will.” She threw her arms around his neck. “I’d be lost without you.”

  When she sat back, Zander tugged at the scarf around her neck. “You don’t need this, Alexa. Let people see your scars. They’ve made you strong.”

  She pursed her lips. “I’ll think about it.” She stood and walked to their mother. Alexa talked, and Mother nodded. Then Alexa hugged each of the women and strode toward the bakery without a backward glance.

  He already missed her.

  Zander stood and searched for Kaiya. He found her with Odo and Greydon. Kaiya’s cheek had turned purple. She wore the tattered clothes of battle, her hair smelled of cedar, and he loved her.

  Greydon turned haunted eyes toward Zander. Black stitches crossed his forehead. “I’m the head of my family now.”

  With his left arm in a sling, Odo put his good arm around Greydon. “You’re not alone. I’m here for you.”

  With all the deaths in the village, Greydon wasn’t the only one hurting. “No one will grieve alone. We’ll heal together. It’s the beginning of uniting the tribes.”

  “I pledge my land to your cause.” Greydon glanced at Odo and took his hand. “We’ve been talking. The manor has plenty of room for kids. Any child orphaned from our village or the Odwans’ could live there.” Reticent, he said, “I’ll keep the staff and cooks. It will help Mother to heal if she has little ones to care for.”

  And Greydon had once accused Zander of having a soft heart. “My friend, that’s a generous offer. Will you talk with Father Chanse? He’s worried about how to care for them. It will be a relief to have a plan.”

  Greydon nodded, and he and Odo wandered off. Zander took Kaiya’s hand. “Come with me?”

  They walked in silence to a quiet bench near the gulch. He hugged her, and a smile tugged at his mouth as he whispered into her ear, “I still think you’re pretty.”

  When she pulled away, he expected it, and held her close. “But that’s not why I love you.”

  She softened. “You love me?”

  “You’re smart, and you amaze me with your courage. You shoot as well as I do, and you’re just as stubborn. You did what you thought was right, even when defying my orders. We couldn’t have won without you.” He made certain his shield was strong before he found her eyes. He would never take her secrets. “I love your smile and the way you cock your head when you’re thinking. You never gave up on me, even when I was being an arse.”

  “You were an arse a lot.” She laughed, and the sound was one Zander knew he’d never tire of.

  “Think you could be happy with a boring old furrier?”

  Her eyes widened, but she nodded. “If that furrier is you, I’m sure of it.”

  He took her face in his hands and kissed her. The pain of loss lifted a tiny bit. It wasn’t an easy thing for him to open his heart, but the shell he’d created cracked. He’d never close it again. Not to her, not to love.

  “Look!” Kaiya turned him to face the gulch.

  Led by Geno, the first Odwans struggled up over the edge, looking bewildered and unsure. Father Chanse ran to greet them and guided them to the Quinary. A steady stream of men and women with tired children, almost all redheads, came up and over, carrying tattered bags.

  Farther down, a gray donkey faced the steep gulch. Two small packs were tied across her rump.

  Next to his side, Kaiya encircled his waist with her arms. “Where’s Alexa going?”

  He pulled her in close. “I hope to find her peace.”

  Together, they watched as Alexa urged Dorothy forward. Before they disappeared down the edge, a yellow scarf fluttered to the ground.

  EPILOGUE

  Moira

  People die, people live. Such is the way of war in the foolishness of man. It is nothing to me. And yet . . . it is always the unassuming ones who work their way into my heart. Young Zephyr is one such boy. His life ended too soon, but his tasks are not yet done.

  Alexa still needs his help.

  To be continued . . .

  Acknowledgments

 
A huge thank you to my family and friends in my hometown of Charleston, Illinois, and to my friends in my new town of Montrose, Colorado. I was overwhelmed and humbled by the support I received for Tokens and Omens.

  To the writers in my life: Anny Rusk, Chris McIntyre, Diane Kress Hower, Karen Honnold, Linda Armstrong, Rebecca Carpenter, Robin Korb, Tina Brockett, and Wendi Silvano. I owe each of you my gratitude. I couldn’t be successful without your critiques, support, and encouragement.

  Thank you to my editor, Reece Hanzon, for his support and excellent editing skills. And to the Jolly Fish Press team for helping me navigate a first book launch.

  Much gratitude to the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators for their wonderful conferences and for creating a safe haven for hopeful writers.

  Love and thanks to my husband, Mike, who always believes in me. Who else would whisk me away on a five state, two wheel, one hundred stone art abandonment on a Valkyrie motorcycle for my first book tour?

  Connect with me on my website at jeribaird.com, on Twitter @jeribaird11, or on Instagram jeribaird11.