“I know, and I’m so happy for him and Adele. But he was such a big part of all of this.”
“He was. None of this could’ve happened without him. He fought alongside us and really showed me that trusting an Urthman was possible. He opened my eyes.” I bob one shoulder. It is true. Peter dispelled any prejudices I had against Urthmen, which was quite a feat considering I’d narrowly escaped being bludgeoned by them on more occasions than I could count. They killed my parents. Killed everyone they came across. But Peter wasn’t them. He changed my views.
“Mine, too,” June says.
Several beats pass before I say, “I guess I’d better get ready. It’s just about time to go down to the party.”
June nods and I hurry off to my room to change my clothes. I slip into a fresh shirt and pants and step into a pair of boots that are less worn than my others. When I rejoin June, we do not have a moment to spare. Guests have already arrived.
As soon as I cross the threshold, the scent of wood burning greets me. Day has almost surrendered to night. Dusk has settled. The temperature has dropped. With June beside me, we cross a grassy expanse where we find the trail to the courtyard. Flames from tall torch-like structures have been erected and send warm light across the cobbled pathway. In the distance and growing closer is the center of the courtyard. A fire pit glows there brightly, a large animal carcass on a spit above it, roasting. Long, rectangular tables with long benches on either side are laden with more food than I ever dreamed I’d see. Vegetables of every kind have been cooked and placed on long wooden platters. Several different meats sit beside the vegetables on similar-looking trays. A stew with a thick, rich broth, vegetables and meat is in an enormous pot, the contents so hot it sends aromatic waves of vapor rising from it. The scent would ordinarily make my mouth water, but admittedly I haven’t fully shaken all of my nervousness. Especially since the party is underway. All around me, Urthmen and humans are bustling. Meat is being carved. Baskets of fruit are being carried. Plates are being passed. I’m amid a flurry of activity so grand I feel as if I’m inside a great hive of bees.
June leaves my side, excusing herself to say hello to Oliver and Lark. Her absence affects me more than usual. Jitteriness takes hold. Likely a combination of hunger and residual nerves, my hands tremble. In an attempt to consciously calm down, I tell myself Sully and the boys are somewhere in the crowd. Surely they’re here by now. And their arrival would garnish tremendous attention. Everything is fine, just as June says it is.
Taking a deep breath, I wade through throngs of people and arrive at a massive pot. I serve myself some of the stew I’ve been smelling all afternoon, much to the delight of my growling belly. Vegetables and rabbit meat in a thick, rich sauce. I stir it, distracting myself for a split-second. But I can’t seem to lift a full spoon to my lips and haven’t taken a bite when an endless stream of Urthmen and humans inundate me, stopping to visit and chat. All exchange pleasantries, commenting on what a wonderful time they’re having and how it is a fitting way to commemorate such an important date in history. I smile and nod. I shake hands with some and trade hugs with others. My responses are fluid. All the while, however, my gaze flickers to the crowd, hoping to see John, William or Sully. Each time I do not, anxiety returns worse than before.
Darkness falls. The navy sky is alight with a full moon and countless stars. I try to enjoy myself but with each second that ticks by, worry consumes me further.
I’m on the verge of fleeing the party and assembling a small group of scouts to search the area when Lark approaches me. Her eyes are filled with concern and her tone is apologetic when she says, “No word yet?”
“Nothing,” I reply and feel my stomach bottom out.
“Oh.” Her eyes widen fleetingly, divulging her surprise. But she recovers quickly and clears her throat. “Avery, I know you’re worried but I’m sure everything’s okay.”
Funny, she sounds far less convinced now than she did earlier. “I’m not so sure, Lark. I’ll feel better when I see them.”
“I know.” She clears her throat and shifts her weight from one leg to the next. “I know you’re worried and probably not feeling like it, but you need to say a few things, make a toast or something.”
I nod in agreement. She’s right. I don’t feel like making a speech. I don’t even feel like being here at the moment. But I do have to say something to acknowledge why everyone is celebrating. “Lead the way.” I gesture with my arm out in front of me. Lark turns and makes her way to a small clearing. Oliver is there waiting. He grabs a cup and fills it with a concoction of alcohol I most certainly won’t drink and hands it to me.
“Climb up onto the bench.” He points to the empty wooden bench nearby.
I take his suggestion and climb, standing atop it. As soon as I do, the surrounding Urthmen and humans begin hushing each other. Before long, the courtyard is as still as a tomb. Lifting my cup, I begin speaking, raising my voice to so that everyone in earshot can hear me. “Today is an important date in the history of Urthmen and humans. Today marks the tenth anniversary of the Treaty of Peace.” Clapping begins, thunderous applause ringing out and filling the entirety of Cassowary. When it dies down, I say, “It is a day many of us never thought we’d live to see.” I pause and watch as heads bob somberly and mouth the words “yes” and “it’s true”. “But it is upon us. And we are grateful!” Applause erupts again. As soon as it quiets, I say, “Welcome to Cassowary, please eat, drink, and enjoy this celebration!” Cheering and clapping rushes on a deafening roar. Urthmen and humans bang their cups against tables while others pump their fists.
Amid the celebrating, a voice calls out. The clamor grows silent. “We have a gift to thank you!” it says.
I look over and see a small group of Urthmen walking toward me. One holds a box with a gold ribbon tied around it. Each year that Cassowary hosts the celebration, a gift is presented. Though I am uncomfortable receiving a gift for my role in the planning and preparation of the celebration as I believe it is a group effort, I accept it to not offend the Urthmen.
“Thank you very much,” I say.
The Urthman carrying the box raises it up and hands it to me. He promptly turns on his heels and rejoins his group.
The box is heavy in my hands. I can’t imagine what it is. It is typically a small but ornate token of the King’s esteem. Never a heavy item as this one is.
Smiling, I tug the loose corner of the ribbon tied in a pretty bow. The bow unravels and the silky strip of fabric falls to the ground. I’m about to lift the lid of the box when I look out and spot Cadogan in the crowd. Relief fills me. If Cadogan is here then Prince Garan is here. And if Prince Garan is here, Sully, John and William are, too.
Heart pounding and smile genuine for the first time all day, I immediately look around. But I don’t see Sully or the children. Or Prince Garan. My gaze returns to Cadogan, puzzled.
“Where are Sully and the boys? And Prince Garan?” I call out to Cadogan. But Cadogan doesn’t answer. Instead, a smirk slithers across his face with serpentine deliberateness and freezes the blood in my veins.
“Open your gift, Avery!” he hisses.
With trembling hands, I lift lid of the box. I gaze into it and for a moment, the sight my eyes behold doesn’t register. I look away from it and spin. I look all around me, vertigo coming out victorious in the elaborate game of tug it plays with the anxiety-riddled dread that’s laid claim to me. A black, bottomless pit of raw and awful fear wells inside me. I look again and freeze in terror. The world around me lists violently. The current of blood behind my ears rushes with such force all that’s left in its wake is a ringing sound. My grip falters. The box I’m holding falls to the ground. As soon as it lands, King Garan’s head rolls out onto the grass. And in the moment it does, my world divides. Life as I know divides. It was as if a massive, finely-honed sword landed against it, cleaving it in two with a mighty thwack. The part of me that adhered to the belief that I was safe, and more importantly that
my family was safe, to a sense of hope and peace and sanity, is falling away. I wonder whether Sully and my children have suffered the same fate as King Garan.
Chapter 4
A pair of eyes, lifeless, sightless and wide, stare at me. King Garan. His expression is one of abject horror, of suffering.
Gasping, stabbing pain lances my heart and cold bleeds from it like lifeblood. My hand instinctively clutches the left side of my chest, my knees buckling and the contents of my stomach threatening to spew. King Garan. The face that stares up at me belongs to King Garan. Severed at the neck, the skin beneath his chin is jagged and frayed as if it was slashed with a hacksaw. Blood and gore stained the pale interior of the box in which it arrived and now stains the concrete.
King Garan is dead.
My mind struggles to process what my eyes behold.
Throat parched and feeling as if it’s lined with sand, strangled cries are suppressed by the lump of dread that has welled in my throat. With trembling limbs, I stagger backward, my legs unsteady beneath me, my mind reeling as I nearly fall from the bench on which I stand.
If King Garan is dead, what about Prince Garan? What about Sully and the children.
I stumble, King Garan’s vacant, cloudy eyes seem to follow me. The courtyard begins to spin in lopsided circles. Faces meld to a single, blurred form. Sound rises and falls at erratic intervals. Cold and hot simultaneously, my skin feels as if magnetic fire is lapping at it, draining heat as it supplies it. Pressure builds behind my eardrums.
The King is dead.
Garan may be, too.
And my children and Sully...
The world around me tilts, the slick slide of fear sending me sloping toward a dark abyss of immobilizing panic. To the edge of madness.
Veins of panic quiver through my marrow. My lungs are twin blocks of ice. I cannot breathe. I cannot think.
My family. My children. My husband. Garan. Do they live?
All of us are in danger.
Through the rolling sounds that alternate between deafening noise and deafening silence, a female voice slices through the night. Recognizing it and turning toward the sound, I see June, her beautiful features gathered in revulsion. In horror. Tears pour down her cheeks, and her pain snaps me back from the dark and desolate place to which I wandered. “No! No! No! Avery, no!” Her words come out in a single, pressured stream.
Dread settles in my gut like a glacial stone. I fear the worst has happened. That more boxes will come. That the faces of my husband and children will follow.
The rest of the crowd is stunned to silence, word of what was in the box rippling through the ocean of humans and Urthmen like a wave until a preternatural stillness settles upon all in Cassowary. That is, until a new voice carves the ether with the precision of a master swordsman.
“Now!” This single word is a command shouted by a voice I recognize. Cadogan. It belongs to Cadogan. I look up in time to see his mouth wide, his face contorted in rage, as he pumps his fisted hand forward. And at his order, Cassowary erupts into chaos.
“Avery!” someone shouts my name in the distance. I look around as I step down from the bench. I do not see the female who called my name. All I see is movement. Movement, and the Urthmen have segregated themselves from the humans. The sight of it is like chill fingertips tracing the length of my spine.
That chill spreads from my spine to every corner of my body, freezing my heart mid-beat, when I see Urthmen, clad in unusually loose garb, pull bows from beneath their clothing. Quivers loaded with arrows appear as well, some stashed in shrubbery and tall grass all around the courtyard. They make quick work of nocking the arrows onto the bowstring and lighting the tips. Before I have time to blink, much less react, bows are pulled taut and fiery arrows are launched. They light the night sky, whizzing like comets across the courtyard. I follow the path of one and watch as it and others lodge into barrels I don’t remember seeing when I set up for the party, but assumed were filled with ale as the others had been.
Seconds later, explosions rip through the atmosphere on a sonic boom, spewing embers and body parts in every direction. More arrows are released. More barrels explode, their blasts shaking the very ground beneath my feet.
Yet I am somehow rooted in place.
Years of peace have left me inert, immobilized by shock, confusion and fear.
Shrill screams ring out, clawing at my eardrums with their anguished pitch. Men and women run in every direction, some with flames lapping at them like tongues of fire. Consuming their flesh from their bodies.
And still I do not move. I remain, stock-still and unblinking.
All around me, Urthmen produce swords and daggers, pulling them from crates that contained food and barrels that were believed to contain ale. Other Urthmen pull them from concealed scabbards, hidden on their person. None of the humans are armed. This is a time of peace, and a party celebrating that peace. They are defenseless, powerless and frozen by fear when the Urthmen secure a perimeter, advancing inward upon the gathering of humans. The Urthmen begin hacking away at men, women and children, scything them like scouts with machetes through tall growth and brush. Anguished cries fill the square, the wet thwack of swords landing against flesh precipitates them. Humans—my people—are being butchered. The metallic stench of blood grows cloying. I must do something. But what?
Without any other plan, I drop to one knee and pull a dagger I have sheathed at my ankle. It is small and kept there for hunting, but it’s better than nothing. With trembling hands, I manage to yank it free just as an Urthman charges toward me.
Wielding a sword of considerable size, he’s only a few steps away from me. If he gets close enough to swing, I doubt I’ll escape with my life, so I grip the handle of my dagger and hurl it at him with every ounce of strength I have. It whips through the air end over end, closing the distance and tumbling, until it sinks into The Urthman’s left eye.
He stops immediately, head rearing backward and for the briefest of moments he doesn’t react. The pain goes unregistered. In that miniscule span of time I don’t know who is more surprised: him or me. I haven’t engaged in combat in a decade. I haven’t handled a weapon for anything more than hunting in that long. With as many people as we have in Cassowary, even time spent hunting has been limited. I didn’t expect to fight tonight or any other. And the Urthman wasn’t expecting me to be armed or fight tonight either.
Within seconds, the Urthman’s sword falls from his grip and both hands fly to his eye. He howls in pain, writhing and crying out. In recent years, I’d have felt an outpouring of sympathy for an injured Urthman. I’d have tried to help. I’d have never been the one who’d inflicted the injury. But in the blink of an eye, everything changed. I cannot feel sympathy for a being who terrorizes my people. And any semblance of mercy has been bled from me. Urthmen aren’t showing mercy as they slash at my people. Instincts that have been dormant for some time awaken. My muscles twitch to life. I move on the fallen Urthman with speed and agility I forgot I had. I scoop up the sword he dropped, quickly driving it into his chest before whirling on the others advancing. I carve the air in a wide arc, opening the throat of the nearest Urthman before I spin and drive my blade through the heart of another.
Sweat beads my forehead and covers my body in a fine sheen despite the cool temperature. I risk looking around for June, panic taking hold, but don’t see her. I do not see Riley, Oliver or Lark, or anyone I recognize. All I see are human forms falling at the hands of Urthmen. Unarmed humans—my friends—dying all around me. And it’s all my fault. I let this happen. I became too comfortable with the notion of peace. So comfortable that I didn’t sense the tide turning against us. And now, looking around at the carnage, at hundreds of fallen friends, I realize their blood is on my hands. I didn't keep them sharp and at the ready. I didn’t keep them armed. I trusted the Urthmen after a lifetime of knowing better. I am at fault.
Sickened by my actions and all-consuming grief for those who I know are dead and
my family that I fear is dead, I stagger, barely able to drag my legs then set off at a jog. The jog transforms to a run as I make my way toward a hidden exit at the rear of Cassowary. Most people in our walled city know of it. I’m hoping against hope that June is alive and remembered the exit. That she is there and unharmed with Riley, Lark, Oliver and others who managed to escape the attack.
Moving with speed and stealth that betrays the massive guilt I carry, I dash across grassy areas, between buildings and through alleyways. It is only when I’m nearing the last set of homes that a pair of Urthmen cross my path. Tottering and seemingly drunk, their movements are slow and lumbering as they attack. I take them down with ease, striking one in the chest with my blade before opening his gut and driving my blade through the other’s midsection. I withdraw my sword from his abdomen, heaving breaths that burn down my throat to my lungs. Though exertion demands that I slow or stop, the need to survive rushes through my blood in time with adrenaline. I race to the gateway that leads to the world beyond the walls of Cassowary. Bushes crowd the exit. I chance a look over my shoulder and see that I’ve not been chased then dive behind them, waiting several moments before I emerge from them and make my way through a short but dark tunnel to the outside.
Eyes adjusting from pitch darkness to twilight, I look over my shoulder once again, out into the vast expanse of wooded plains. The sun has vanished. Fog has begun to settle, slinking and sliding sinuously, hovering around low-lying brush like spectral beings. A cluster of bushes moves, the woods stirring, though a breeze doesn’t blow, and all around me the world pauses as if with bated breath, waiting. Watching.
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