by DM Fike
At the sound of Avalon’s voice, the maid startled, her elbow grazing the rim of the brick fireplace.
“Sorry,” Avalon muttered.
The maid put the palm of her hand in front of her face and made a vague circular motion, not unlike the way old ladies made the sign of the cross to ward off evil. The Aossi scurried to the table to grab last night’s dishes.
“I know you—” Avalon was going to say ‘must be busy’ when the maid swung the poker into her face.
“Duinepox,” the maid spat. “You delay Transport so we cannot move the fortress to obtain supplies. You refuse food when the rest of us are starving on rations. You put Scawale in a foul mood. Do not claim to ‘know’ me.”
The maid seemed satisfied when Avalon kept her mouth shut. She grabbed the old dishes and, with the poker under her arm, slammed the door behind her.
A lump formed in Avalon’s throat. She flung the blanket back over her head, reabsorbing herself in the despair she wallowed in last night.
“TIME!” a voice yelled outside.
Avalon could not keep the memory of her mother at bay. There’s a time to cry, and a time to fight.
“I know, I know,” Avalon yelled at the memory. “I’m supposed to fight for my life. But how?”
Avalon tried to bury herself deeper under the sheets, but it felt more pitiful than comforting. She could not escape her mother’s overbearing will to live.
“Fine!” Avalon threw back the quilt. This wasn’t Miasmis. She wasn’t dying.
Not like Kay. Her stomach churned as she relived him falling down the icy cavern. She hiccupped dangerously twice, forcing herself to repeat her mother’s mantra over and over again.
It’s a time to fight. A time to fight. Fight.
She couldn’t give up now. She could not let Kay’s death, possibly his entire existence, be in vain.
She lifted her T-shirt sleeve, hoping to find the familiar green splotch there. Nothing. She tried to wield a breeze, summon an electric sizzle, but the magic had vanished. She grimaced at the irony of searching for that familiar Miasmis bruise, feel that lingering ache.
The cold air of the room penetrated her skin. She still wore the T-shirt and shorts Desert Rose had kidnapped her in. Avalon opened the white dresser on a whim, surprised to find many simple brown tunics folded neatly within. She examined several until she found one with long sleeves that came to her knees. She pulled it over her T-shirt, the material scratchy against her arms, but at least it was warm. She found slightly more comfortable pants in the second drawer. Her socks and sneakers lay by the fireplace, where she had left them last night them to dry. She put them back on, taking care to tuck her father’s storage key out of sight around her ankle.
Fully dressed, she peered out the window. Her room hovered thirty feet over one half of the courtyard. Last night, a few soldiers had ambled around the huts pressed against the outer wall. In contrast, today the courtyard was crammed with pairs of soldiers fighting each other with swords. They wore those slit-eyed helmets as they released war cries with their wide mouths. It sent a shiver down Avalon’s spine. Blades hit metal, armor, and occasionally skin. If a wound proved heavy enough, a smocked Aossi would dive in from the sidelines for treatment, their hands covered in oil and glowing.
A figure weaved through the fencing soldiers, barking out critiques, interrupting to correct form, and nodding when a pair met her approval. She wore the same armor, but her helmet only came to her brow, a set of curling ram horns so enormous on either side, Avalon wondered how she could bear the weight.
Scawale.
“TIME!” Scawale yelled, and via some logic Avalon didn’t understand, all the soldiers swapped partners, striking each other again, honing their sword skills.
Avalon tried to make sense of the mess she’d landed in. Bedwyr wanted her as the Child to access the power of some ancient statue that would give him incredible magic power. He would use that power to destroy humans in this world. Everyone so far in this fortress was Aossi.
This was Bedwyr’s army?
But if that were true, these soldiers seemed fairly inexperienced. All the combat between Kay, Nobody, and Desert Rose appeared fluid, flawless. They danced around each other, experts at defending themselves, exploiting any weakness. These soldiers lumbered, exposing themselves to attack more often than not. Swords clattered clumsily to the earth. A line for the wounded eventually formed by the healers, and as the soldiers took off their helmets, Avalon could see their young faces, most about her age. Scawale would often interrupt a pair to demonstrate basic offensive and defensive techniques. Her ease in combat, and the amount of respect and fear the soldiers gave her, clearly put her in charge.
At noon, Scawale called for order. The soldiers sheathed their swords and lined up in seven rows of ten, faces toward Avalon. Scawale stood at the front of the pack, back to Avalon, and when she raised her sword, the soldiers saluted. As her sword came down at her side, they placed their gauntlets behind their backs, legs apart, attention fixated on their leader.
Scawale yelled so that her voice could be heard clearly through the glass window. “My fellow Aossi, we may be on rations, but today is a glorious day. You may have heard rumors that we have an unexpected guest. The Child of the Statue.”
A few of the soldiers lost their perfected poise at this news, but Scawale’s sharp rapping of her sword brought them back to attention.
“If you have heard these things, you have not been deceived. Behold, the Child lies there, at the window!”
Avalon stiffened as Scawale flung her sword directly at her. Seventy pairs of eyes followed.
“Your suffering today is light. It pales in comparison to those who perished under the duinepox. Soon, you will avenge your people—your fathers, your mothers, your sisters, and brothers—and you will do it with the unwilling help of one of their own!
“For Purity!” she screamed, raising her sword.
“FOR PURITY!” the soldiers repeated, swords swiftly drawn and raised to the sky. Their war cries swelled, rattling the walls of the courtyard, vibrating through the tower.
Scawale sneered at Avalon as the shouting reached ear-shattering decibels. Unnerved, Avalon withdrew from the window. The crowd’s screaming intensified as she sat down on the cold, hard tower floor, trying to erase the image of so many people, so young, screaming in hate.
CHAPTER 27
AVALON AVOIDED THE window for the rest of the morning. When all had remained quiet for a long time, she snuck a peek out at the courtyard. Two soldiers talked quietly near a hut at the wall, but otherwise, everyone else had gone.
Avalon leaned her forehead against the glass. How to escape? Her mind kept turning to Kay, but she dug her fingernails into her palms, pushing that aside. Nobody. Nobody might come, if he was still alive. If Vimp had held Boxer off. If they had escaped Boxer. If Nobody knew Desert Rose would take her here. If, if, if. Not very likely.
Maybe she could climb out. The glass window didn’t open as far as she could tell. Even if she broke it, she was several stories above ground. She might be able to create a rope long enough with her bedsheets, but between the breaking glass and the potential drop, she doubted this route would improve her situation.
Even if she did manage to escape, where would she go? She stared past the courtyard into the unforgiving snow beyond, an endless flat plain on the horizon. Desert Rose had kept her alive with her fire magic. The cold would kill her if Scawale’s forces did not catch her first.
A movement far off on the horizon caught her attention. An animal perhaps, trudging through the snow. Avalon blinked, and the mirage vanished. It must have been a trick of light.
Voices gathered in the hallway outside her tower room door. Avalon shivered as she recognized Scawale’s voice.
Scawale marched inside, still in full armor, ram horns barely fitting through the doorway. Her scowl accentuated her terrifying physique. She left two soldiers to guard the open door behind her and stalked across t
he room directly in front of Avalon.
“Who are you?” the Aossi demanded.
She stifled a shiver of terror. “I-I’m Avalon.”
Scawale leaned in. “Are you the true Child of the Statue?”
“I don’t know.”
Scawale backhanded Avalon across the face. Avalon fell to the ground just long enough to wince before Scawale lugged her back up by the collar.
“Don’t lie to me,” she hissed. “I received a message from Boxer. He told me everything, how Desert Rose took the Child and a fairy here to Llenwald against Bedwyr’s orders. Where are they?”
Avalon’s face flushed. “Desert Rose killed the fairy.”
“But what about the Child?”
This would not end well. “Everyone thinks I am the Child.”
“Then prove it.”
Avalon’s heart pounded.
Scawale sneered. “Boxer wrote that the Child could wield lightning and wind magic. Prove to me you aren’t a fake. Prove to me that Desert Rose brought me the true Child of the Statue.”
Avalon clenched her fists, digging deep within her soul for a spark or a flurry of magic she knew would not come.
And now her life depended on it.
“Show me!” Scawale shrieked.
Avalon’s voice wavered. “I can’t.”
Scawale said nothing, her sharp indrawn breaths rising and falling underneath her chest plate. She let go of Avalon so abruptly, she collapsed to the floor. Avalon saw the sword sheathed to Scawale’s side and waited for her to reach for it.
“Scawale,” a voice called from the door.
Both Scawale and Avalon snapped their heads up to find Dromond partially bowed, obviously distressed at having to interrupt.
“What is it?” Scawale snapped.
“We have intruders at our door.”
“Get rid of them.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, a loud explosion sounded off. The fortress wobbled from side to side. The three soldiers scrambled to find something to hold, and even Scawale had to widen her stance to remain upright. Avalon put her hands over her head in case the ceiling came down.
As the shaking subsided, Dromond said, “It’s the generals from Emerged Falls.”
Scawale’s scowl somehow deepened, a battle fury crossing her face. “If they want a fight, we’ll bring it to them. I’ll get the magi prepared for Transport. Take everyone and hold the gate,” she ordered Dromond. “Just long enough for Transport. Even our enemies won’t be able to handle where we are going.”
Dromond nodded, his feet flying down the spiral staircase.
“You.” She pointed to one of the two other soldiers stationed to guard Avalon’s door. “Come with me. And you,” she commanded the other. “Stay here with this…” She paused to give Avalon a look that liquefied her insides. “…this trash. It may still know something I need before I dispose of it.”
The Aossi assigned to stay with her didn’t seem very pleased with his duty, but he slammed the door shut. The lock clicked with finality.
Avalon stumbled to the window. The front gate was obscured from this vantage point, but soldiers scurried to one side, preparing themselves for whatever came through. They ran out of sight, swords drawn, shields forward.
A second explosion sent them sprawling backwards, swords and shields scattered in the ensuing confusion. Avalon clawed at the windowsill as the vibrations almost knocked her down.
A sharp soprano war cry rang through the courtyard, followed by a tenor response as the soldiers got to their feet and surged forward. Avalon tried to catch a glimpse of who they were fighting but could only see snippets of flames and the occasional icy blast emit from the front of the crowd. Desert Rose? Avalon thought. It didn’t make any sense.
But it didn’t matter. Whoever it was, they were fighting through Scawale’s forces.
She could escape with them.
Avalon pounded the window with her fists. When that didn’t work, she grabbed the chair and rammed it against the window with all her might. The first time she tried, she bounced backward, the chair knocking her in the jaw. Undeterred, she steeled herself for a second blow. As the chair struck, glass shattered and twinkled toward the dirt below. A chill wind bit Avalon’s face as the battles cries outside suddenly amplified. Avalon peered down onto that long drop, her stomach churning.
“What’s going on in there?” the soldier yelled from the other side of the door.
Avalon glanced over at the door. It would be much better to go that way. She tightened her hold on the chair.
“Help!” she screamed. “Help!”
Avalon crouched near the doorframe, raising the chair precariously above her head, arms shaking and hands sweating. For a few seconds, the soldier did not reply. She prayed. Open. Open.
The click of the lock made her heart stop. The door swung wide. The soldier faced the window, not seeing Avalon to his side.
With adrenaline coursing through her veins, Avalon slammed the chair down on his head. The soldier tripped, landing on his side, the chair on top of him. Avalon did not hesitate, leaping over him and running down the tower hallway.
Her footsteps echoed in the staircase as she fled down to the main level. Above her, she could hear the soldier coming after her, closing the gap. Just as the stairs ended and her feet hit the red carpet of the main keep, he made a grab for her. She slipped out of his grasp at first, taking a few more steps forward, before his body slammed into hers. They collapsed together on the ground.
The soldier easily pinned her down, trapping her with his heavy armor. She tried to push him off, but he caught one wrist. She waited until his face came close to hers, then used her free hand to poke him in the eye. His scream pierced her skull.
“Sadus!” His face twisted in rage. He raised his gauntlet to strike her. She tensed for impact.
Thud.
A silver streak shot out from his side in the narrow space where he did not have armor. He jerked as the streak slid back into his chest, leaving a trail of blood. His gaze lost its focus on reality, and he collapsed on top of her.
Avalon screamed as he crushed her. She tried to push him away, but his armor had become slick, and she couldn’t get a grip on the slippery metal.
The weight suddenly lifted. Avalon found herself staring at white boots.
“Who are you?” a female voice demanded.
The boots gave way to silver chain legging, then to a white sleeveless tunic with muscled arms, all surrounded by a flowing fur lined cape. The woman had an enormous sword strapped to her back, the silver hilt gleaming over one shoulder. Cold blue eyes framed by flowing pale blonde hair, pointed ears.
She looked like an avenging angel.
“Desert Rose?” Avalon breathed.
The face immediately came down to her level, pulling Avalon into a rough sitting position. “Is she here?” the woman demanded.
As the details of the woman’s face came into view, Avalon realized this could not be Desert Rose. Her skin tone was much too light, almost albino, not the deep bronze of the mercenary. Her roughened face showed signs of age. But mostly it was the pain in her expression, filled with aching love, that betrayed her as someone else.
“No,” Avalon said.
“You are sure?” The pale woman took a menacing step forward.
Avalon trembled but nodded.
The pale woman let Avalon go, defeat momentarily marring her face. Then it melted away as she kicked aside the dead soldier and hauled Avalon up.
It didn’t do much good as a tremendous earthquake shook the structure, threatening to topple the walls. Avalon fell back down. Unlike the explosion from before, it extended for many seconds. The shaking crescendoed into one final lurch before finally subsiding. An ominous shadow without any visible source spread over the ground.
Avalon unsteadily found her balance as a voice cackled from somewhere. “It’s Transport!” the male voice said. “No wonder Scawale has not shown her ugly mug.”
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The pale woman unclipped a metallic, square device from her belt and brought it to her lips. “Our target is not here,” she said into the object, “but I found someone you will find interesting.”
“Be quick,” the voice responded. “We’ve only got minutes.”
“Understood.” The pale woman clipped the object back to her belt. Then she turned to a bewildered Avalon. “We must go.” The pale woman spun on her heels to race toward the front entrance.
Avalon took one woozy step forward, faltering. Blood and water soaked her shirt. Below her, the soldier oozed entrails. Avalon crashed into the wall as the world spun.
The pale woman paused to call back. “You will die here. You must come quickly.”
Avalon swallowed a mouth full of bile. She took deep breaths, then forced her feet to move.
The duo passed numerous bodies on the way down—strewn about in pools of water, the sourceless shadow underneath them. Avalon avoided the unrelenting glare of the dead, ignored the moans of the injured. Instead, she focused on that white cape swinging in front of her, leading to freedom.
The pale woman paused at the entrance to the courtyard, where Avalon got her first full view of the fight. A dark-skinned man with spiky ash-colored hair stood between them and the rest of Scawale’s forces. Despite the cold, he seemed at ease in a tank top and billowy pants. Bulky like a football player, he had a menacing smile as he lobbed fireball after fireball at the less experienced troops, roughly half of which lay scorched and scattered on the ground. The rest continued to advance, Dromond in the back of the crowd shouting orders.
“Finally!” the spiky-haired man said as the pale woman approached. “It’s been boring playing with the new recruits.” He saw Avalon and did a double take. “Braellia?”
The ground quaked.
Avalon waited for the tremor to pass, but it kept going, rising to a fever pitch. A strong surge jostled her face-first in a pile of slush. Coldness seeped into every corner of her body.
“Transport is almost complete!” the pale woman yelled. “We must escape now!”
Avalon followed the two more experienced fighters as they made a dash for the outer wall. The pale woman flung icicles, and the spiky-haired man hurled fireballs at the soldiers who managed to stay on their heels. Avalon executed an awkward dance to remain upright as the ground rolled like an ocean wave.
