by Cat Bruno
With shining teeth, angled and sharp, he smiled, and then flicked his hand, sending the small orb of fire from her father’s hand. And moved.
Faster than air, faster than the bubbling creek, faster than the soaring birds overhead, he moved.
Dropping the reins, the child closed her eyes, seeing nothing, but hearing her father’s screams.
When next she opened them, Conri was walking toward her, slowly, as if the mist pulled at him. She watched him, her gray-green eyes serious, broken, yet free from tears. Blood darkened his shirt further, although his face and hands were clean, wet with water from the stream.
His eyes faded as he neared until they were almost without color.
Behind him, she could see two figures lying on the ground, unmoving.
When he spoke, the sun hid behind cloud.
“I have come for you, child.”
She had known, both had known. Only one newly remembered.
“I will need to see them first. Before we depart, I mean. I must say good-bye.”
The words were child-like, just above a whisper, but as old as the hills and as wise as the trees.
“I am sorry that it had to come to this. I am but a weapon, too, no less than you.”
The child would not absolve him so easily, and, as they walked toward her dead parents, asked, “Why did I need to be here? Could you not have found a better way?”
Like lightning, his voice cracked, “It was not my choice, or you would not have been.”
“Yet you came still,” she answered.
As they neared the stream, the sun again shined.
Her mother lay on trampled grass, her pale dress stained with blood and dirt, blotches of burgundy spreading from neck to waist. Blood dotted her face, although it had been left untouched. Her mouth hung slightly open, as if words or warning had died there. Her half-open eyes begged for mercy until the child, on bent knees, closed them with trembling fingers.
With one final look, the child saw the gash that curved from ear to ear.
Before rising, she kissed her mother’s cheek, whispering, as if in chant.
Half-crawling to her father who had fallen near the stream, the child put a hand to her mouth, fingers tipped with blood. His face, as freckled as her own, had not been spared and had been sliced from eye to lip. Thick, fire-touched hair hung across his forehead until the child pushed it away, kissing him there. As she stood, the child noticed her father’s blood-covered tunic had been torn open, yet she pulled her eyes from him, having seen enough.
With eyes aflame and golden, the girl told him, “I will never forgive you for this.”
Conri said nothing, yet looked away from the child, as if he knew her words to be true ones.
Before they crossed the field to where the pony still stood, Conri lifted his arms, throwing orbs of fire at the bodies, which were soon ablaze.
With eyes open, she scrambled away from the fire, sickened by the dancing flames. The farther she retreated, the darker it seemed. Yet, she knew that shadow no longer held threat, for her fear had disappeared. Only hatred remained.
*****
“I shall be called Caryss now,” she told them as they rode with the rising sun, remembering her mother’s screams.
Even my name was not my own, she thought, nearly weeping.
Daughter of the Wolf
January 2016
Dirtied and travel-worn, the small party entered the city gates without incident; the guards more concerned with the bag of coins that Sharron had handed them than with the dark mage who traveled with the group. To an outsider, they looked no different than many others who sought entrance to the King’s City. Dressed in a fine riding suit, Caryss looked the part of a visiting northern lady, surrounded by her companions and sentinels, as was custom with any distinguished Northern woman. Despite her mud-covered clothing, her hair shone in the early morning light of the rising sun, crimson and burning.
Behind her blazing eyes lived an uncertainty that was well-masked by an anger that waned and waxed with the moon, causing her silence oft times. It had been nearly a moon since she last saw her foster mother, yet she thought little of the woman. And little of the Academy. Her thoughts were often elsewhere and rarely fond ones.
For the last moon, she had neither seen nor heard from Conri, a small blessing, Caryss thought. Yet she could not mind-lock him from her memory, and the last encounter with him still stung, sickening her more than the babe had ever done, as if her hatred for him poisoned her. At times, she forgot that she was healer, having discarded her robes over a half-moon before. For hours at a time, Caryss rode, stroking the dagger at her waist, the images of her dead parents sharp and painful. It had been long since she had last healed and her vows had become distant ones, nearly forgotten. Until the gates of the King’s City had come into view.
When the king is healed, I will be free, she thought, and I will find him.
The morning sun was duller on the east and rimmed with fog, as thin white clouds threaded across the sky. Behind her, Caryss heard Sharron ask Aldric if all of the King’s City was as gray as it appeared from a distance. Caryss did not hear his reply, for when she looked to the city, she was met with red-hued buildings, as if they had been painted in blood. Roads, too, were rivers of clay-colored mud, red and shining.
Only when she blinked away the sight did the King’s City clear, stone and brick and wood once more.
*****
“My lady, I believe that is the palace ahead. If you look closely, you can see how it reflects both the gold of the sun and the blue of the sea, the colors of the royal family. Only members of the King’s Guard are permitted to wear the blue and gold, and so it becomes easy to recognize them as such.”
Aldric’s words cracked through the silence that had overtaken the group since they had entered the city, as they all glanced around with unhidden awe. None but Aldric had been to the King’s City, and its size and splendor was like no other place in Cordisia with towering buildings and wide roads. After moons crossing through small towns and empty fields, the sounds and sights of the crowded city seemed to overwhelm them, and they walked slowly, with heavy feet and wide eyes, having left their horses stabled outside the gates.
Sharron and Caryss had spent half their lives in Litusia, the small town that housed the Healer’s Academy and had never left. While the Academy was home to many from all across Cordisia, the King’s City was still nothing like it, and both women looked around them as if they had knew not where they were. The two guards that accompanied them, Kurtis and Nicko, walked a few steps ahead, while Aldric stayed behind, a dark hood pulled over his head.
It had been many moon years since he had visited Rexterra, yet Aldric knew there were many still who would recognize him. While he no longer kept wards on the others, he maintained a strong shield over himself, one that only the strongest of mages would be able to detect. Still, he walked with his head low, trying to blend in with all the people running about on the busy streets, heavy with various vendors on their way to the city square or to the piers. Around them voices thick with accents hurried on, and Aldric called out to Kurtis.
“Just ahead there will be a road on your left. Follow it until we reach the lower streets, which are near the piers.”
As the last of his instructions left his lips, Aldric saw Caryss stumble, her boot catching on an uneven paving brick. Nicko, who had stopped when Aldric spoke, reached out, catching her before she could fall. The guard’s hands, large and calloused, were around her waist as her jacket fell open, slipping off her shoulders. Aldric’s gaze shifted to her mid-section, which she had kept hidden as they traveled. For a moment, he was surprised to notice how rounded her stomach had become, until he remembered that she was several moons with child. She talked little of the babe, he knew, yet her condition was quickly becoming more evident. Before they had departed from Tretoria, Aldric and Willem had agreed that it would be best if word of the babe was not shared, yet as he again looked at her, he r
ealized their folly.
Already our plans must change, he thought, shaking his head.
With words just above a whisper, Caryss addressed the guard. “Thank you Nicko. I must do a better job of watching where I am stepping with all these people about.”
Her words, much like she herself, were distant ones, and Aldric stepped toward her. For the last moon, she had insisted that they call her Caryss, although she offered little explanation for the change. Once, he heard Sharron asking if she would be Bronwen once again after her Healer Journey, yet Caryss had answered that she would never again be so named, telling the other Northern woman that she only recently remembered her given name. When he would have questioned her further, she had turned on him with stony, gray-green eyes and he said nothing.
His hands tight beside him, Aldric watched as she adjusted her jacket, pulling at it until it was again covering her stomach. Her boots were edged with mud, as was the bottom of her long skirt. He knew that beneath the skirt she wore fitted leggings, and Sharron did as well, as they had been riding for the last moon. Looking at her, he could not remember when last they had bathed.
Clearing his throat, he told her, “Caryss, we must get out of these clothes before we make our way to the palace. There are several inns near the piers and we should have no problem finding rooms there.”
Slowly, as if his words were not ones that she understood, she replied, “Of course. Is there coin still?”
Surprised by her question, Aldric stuttered, “Willem gave us plenty, and we have spent little.”
For much of the trip, Caryss had not been herself, and Aldric had hoped that once they had arrived in the King’s City, the woman who he had first met at the Academy would return. So far, he concluded, she had not.
Looking tired and pale, Caryss simply nodded and followed her guards. Behind her, Aldric stared, then continued on, keeping his gaze on her.
Soon, they reached the outer edge of the piers, an area that ran several blocks around where the sea bordered Rexterra. Although they could not yet see the Eastern Sea where it met with the Lisania River, the smells of fish and salt surrounded them, telling them they were near. It was morning still, and although clouds still covered much of the sky, a light glow trickled through, yellowing faded wood and brown brick. There were few places that Aldric liked more than the piers in the King’s City, and, for a moment, he closed his eyes, thinking back on a time when Leorra still lived.
Loud, insistent squawking from a gull pulled him from the memory, and he opened his eyes, noticing the crowded streets, as people rushed about, as often was the case near the piers. In the lower streets, all were welcome, he thought, recognizing some from across the Eastern Sea and others from beyond the Three Seas. Voices sung and words were shouted in languages that even Aldric did not know, and he watched as Caryss struggled to keep pace with the guards.
Even though the Academy had welcomed all, Aldric knew that Caryss had never before been among so many who were from so far. There were those with darker skin than even his beloved Leorra, some with the light hair and light eyes of the far north, and others still with nut-colored skin and angled eyes, come far from the east. Near the piers, he knew, many were not Cordisian-born, and the appearance of two Northern women, a dark mage, and two Arvumian guards would cause none alarm, offering safety, more than the palace could, Aldric thought.
Ahead of him, Caryss walked, her head hanging to her chest as she eyed the uneven pavers. Without warning, she stopped, though they were still a distance from the inn. With little regard to the crowd around her, Caryss hunched forward, bent in half, and vomited. They had eaten nothing since arriving in the King’s City, which now seemed a blessing. Beside him, she heaved, her body trembling and her breath coming in gasps.
Before he could reach for her, Sharron neared, wrapping an arm around Caryss’s waist.
After a moment, the flame-haired healer stood, wiping at her mouth with the back of her sleeve, and stepped out of Sharron’s embrace. Her hands, which Aldric quickly noticed, still shook as she reached into a pouch attached to her riding pants. Drawing out a small, amber-colored bottle, she uncorked it and lifted it to her nose, closing her eyes as the scent of peppermint filled the air.
When she opened her eyes, they were wet and shining.
“Take this,” Sharron offered, giving Caryss a large flask.
After taking several sips, Caryss sighed.
“Does it always smell so, Aldric? I will never eat fish again I think.”
Smiling, he answered, “One gets used to it I suppose.”
With a look of disbelief, Caryss muttered, “I will not be one of them. I had expected much of the King’s City, but already I find myself missing the Academy.”
The two guards had not realized that Caryss had stopped, and Aldric looked about for them, not hearing what she had answered. When he could not find them, he called out to the others. “Nicko and Kurtis must not have seen us stop. Are you able to continue?”
“Not just yet. I feel as if I am on a boat and these bricks beneath my feet are swaying.” With a wave of her hand toward an area with several wooden benches, she added, “Let me sit for some time until I’m no longer spinning.”
Aldric did not like leaving the women, yet Caryss appeared pale, more so than usual, and her words were edged with a sandy hoarseness. With a nod, he hurried off, glancing back as Sharron and Caryss made their way to a small courtyard. While he knew that none in the King’s City had learned of their arrival, still Aldric worried. Despite the decades-long truce between mage and Tribe, there was still no real peace between the two. And, even now, the Lightkeepers kept watch.
They were all as well-trained as he himself, perhaps even more so, Aldric admitted, and, without a strong ward over Caryss, a Lightkeeper could well sense the babe. He hurried then, running through the uneven streets, dodging between vendors and stalls, brushing up against several people as he made his way to the high piers.
As he rounded a bend, he spotted the guards, easily noticed by their broad shoulders and fair hair. The streets were wide near the piers, making it easier for loading and transport, and the two men were deep in conversation when he arrived.
“Are you not being paid to keep watch?” he scolded, keeping his words low, despite the anger behind them.
With reddened cheeks, Nicko mumbled, “We had thought to find you near the inns.”
The men, brothers he had found out as they had traveled, were only just out of boyhood although they had the size of men twice their age. Willem had paid them well, Aldric knew, and his temper flared again.
“You should not have had to find us. Now come with me.”
Uncertain about how much longer the guards would be needed, Aldric said little else as they made their way back.
The women were seated on a faded bench, and, as Caryss sipped from the flask, he noticed a healthy flush across her cheeks. She appeared much improved as she handed the flask back to Sharron, and he started to call out to her.
Before he could, a woman neared the bench.
“Heyo!” he cried.
She was dressed in a long, tiered skirt that hung to her feet, and, even from behind, he could tell that she was an Islander as her dark skin looked polished and smooth under the soft sun. Beneath a brown leather vest she wore a loose-fitting, white tunic that hung to her elbows. On her wrists hung gold bracelets stacked to the edges of her sleeves, and when the woman lifted her hands, the bracelets chimed, as if in song. Jeweled rings encircled her long fingers, moonstones and rubies bright and round.
The bracelets slid down her arm as the woman reached for Caryss, and Aldric raised his arms.
Again, he called out, yet Caryss did not seem to hear him.
And then he saw the woman fall back, her brown and gold arms bent and flailing at her sides. Before he could reach them, the woman hit the ground, her gold bracelets clanging nearly to her elbows as her head thumped off the bricks.
When he neared, the woman’
s skirt was over her knees and one of her sandals had been flung under the bench. Aldric quickly kneeled beside her and lifted her head, cradling it between his scarred hands. The fingers of his right hand lay near the edge of her cropped hair.
“Caryss,” he hissed, rocking the woman’s head and staring at her closed eyes, “She is bleeding from the fall.”
He said nothing further as both healers rushed to his sides. The guards, having also seen what had happened, stood behind the woman until she was surrounded.
As Caryss pressed her fingers against the woman’s long neck, he asked in hushed words, “What did she say to you?”
Ignoring his question, she murmured, “Her life pulse is strong. She will wake soon.”
He watched as her hands moved from the woman’s neck to the back of her head, where she held squares of linen. He knew that she was trying to stop the bleeding and said nothing else. Instead, Aldric stood, circling his hands. Humming softly, he hurriedly warded the women before replacing the heavy ward across himself. None would be able to see them or hear them, but he could not keep the ward for long.
“You must hurry before the ward falls,” he told Caryss through clenched teeth, who only nodded.
When she turned the woman’s head to the side and lifted the bloodied fabric, Aldric gasped as a large gash, nearly the size of his finger, appeared.
“How long do I have?” Caryss asked as she covered the wound.
“I will hold it until you are finished if I must. What is it that you plan to do?”
Caryss gently moved the woman’s head toward Sharron’s hands. Reaching into a pouch, she explained, “If she is to live, I must stitch her. I know not where to go, so I suppose I will have to do so here.”
“What if she wakes?”
Looking up at him, she answered, “Keep the ward strong. I will do the rest.”
Her words were sharp and her eyes serious, and Aldric did not reply, although he did still wonder what had caused Caryss to push the woman from her with such force.
