Ash Princess

by Eve Langlais

  Kayda didn’t mean to watch the stupidity unfolding, yet she found herself sitting on the single stone step to her place, observing as they stretched their limbs, not rushing into battle. It started with Gorri grabbing a pair of staves leaning outside his front door and tossing one to Cam. He caught it midair with his injured arm, his grip firm.

  How was it possible he could do that? Surely his wounds still hurt? Apparently, someone forgot to tell him, because he began twirling the long pole, spinning it with ease, which, for some reason, made Gorri smile.

  It wasn’t long before both men drew a crowd as the staves began knocking together. Thrust. Block. Swing. Parry.

  Gorri started out slow, the movements predictable, and apparently boring to Cam, who taunted, “I thought you could fight.”

  That brought a grim smile and the pace quickened.

  Clack. Clack. The distinctive clap of wood hitting wood echoed in the cavernous space, rapid and hypnotic. Both men moved with grace, Gorri having learned to fight at a young age, and a good thing, too. He’d saved her life and that of others many times.

  For once, he had a decent match. Cam was just as skilled and, if she were honest, slightly better. She wondered if anyone else could see how he held back, tempering his blows, ignoring a few openings.

  The Marshlander proved to be a good sparring partner and sport. When they were both huffing and sweaty, they called it quits, sitting side by side on the edge of the fountain accepting the cups offered by the younger girls who were impressed by such things. Not Kayda.

  She tore her gaze from glistening muscles and returned to her room. She pretended to putter, folding and refolding the same sheet he’d worn around his limbs several times. A while later there was a knock. Opening it, she found Cam at her door, fully dressed in his gear with the shiny over-suit hung over his arm.

  “Hi.” The sight of him suddenly had her tongue-tied, which would have amused her friends given they usually called her outspoken and bossy.

  “I hear fabric is hard to come by and thought you might have a use for this.” He offered the over-suit to her.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I won’t be needing it anymore.”

  It would be petty to say no. Especially since the material would really help. She accepted it and lay it on a shelf, noticing he remained in the doorway. “Was there anything else?”

  “Food. Lila said something about a communal meal?”

  She nodded. “We found cooking for the group made it easier to ensure everyone is fed. It’s almost time for the evening repast. I assume you are hungry?”

  He nodded but didn’t move from the doorway. He had a tiny crease on his brow. “Gorri was showing me around.” He paused.

  “And?” she prodded.

  “That thirty you spoke of. They’re mostly children.”

  “I told you that.”

  “I know you did. It’s just…” He heaved a deep breath. “I guess I didn’t realize the reality of it until I saw it.”

  “Welcome to our world. Every time we leave Necropolis, there’s a chance we won’t come back.”

  “You’re prisoners.”

  “Because we have no choice. We have to be barricaded in order to protect ourselves.”

  “You don’t ever leave the mountain?”

  “It’s death to go outside.” How many times had she heard that said? It wasn’t hard to believe when people never returned. “Those that are old and skilled enough go out in the Necropolis to hunt the tunnels in groups, but only to gather food.”

  “You were alone when you found me,” he said, eyeing her.

  She fidgeted. “I needed some time to myself.” Which was foolish. She knew better than to disobey her own rules, and Cam’s presence was probably the only reason the others hadn’t called her out on it yet.

  “From what I’ve seen, you’re barely surviving here. Have you thought about what you’ll do when the food runs out?”

  “Hasn’t happened yet.” Even if the meat had been getting scarcer. Back when they had more people, the lack of food had meant the hunters had to embark on dangerous missions to get some. The high fatalities, while tragic at the time, meant fewer mouths to feed.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve not planned for it?”

  The pointed question bothered her, mostly because it did plague her, especially at night when she lay awake in bed and again at mealtimes as she saw the thin broth they all had to share. “We are doing the best we can. Milo’s been experimenting with growing the mushrooms on the lower levels of the Necropolis, which are damper.”

  “Farming?” Cam scoffed. “Even if you can live on cave fungi for sustenance, what of when the dragons or ghouls find a way into this place and attack?”

  “It’s secure.”

  “Until it’s not,” he insisted. “You need to leave. You and everyone here. You’ll die in this place if you don’t.”

  Her lips pursed. “We’ll die out there if we do. What part of we can’t escape did you not grasp?”

  “There has to be a way.”

  “Are you referring to these supposed secret ancient tunnels?” She said it mockingly. “Don’t you think our parents would have used them if they could?”

  “If they knew about them, yes. But I know in the Marshlands only some entrances are public knowledge. Roark keeps a few of them hidden because it’s too dangerous for regular folk. And in the Wasteland, we didn’t know of them at all until we’d escaped.”

  Part of the statement had her frowning. “Regular folk being?”

  “Those without the active gene.”

  “The what?”

  “Psionic powers.” At her blank look, he expanded. “Maybe you know it as magic.”

  “Magic?” She snorted. “Someone was breathing the ash too long, I see.”

  “Don’t tell me you don’t have any Deviants among you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Deviant. Aunimaa? Those with special powers?”

  “Well, Lila does have an ability to cut people down with words. And Fenril is a whiz when it comes to making cave mushrooms edible.”

  But Cam kept going, not catching on to her amusement. “Anyone with mind control? Fire starters? Water mages?”

  The more he spoke, the more she realized he was serious, and it reminded her of a time when she was little and her father held her tucked in his arms, standing on the castle ramparts she used to call home. It was snowing, a light fluffy fall of flakes that she stuck out her tongue to taste. They melted on her tongue and yet somehow made her feel warm inside.

  Her father had whispered, “Watch, my little snow imp.”

  Before her wondering eyes, the flakes had begun to swirl and twirl, spinning in a rapid vortex that spat out shapes. A galloping hare with flapping ears. A whale undulating and rolling its fat belly. A face that burst when it smiled widely.

  She’d not thought of that moment in years. Mostly because she’d assumed it was the fantasy of a child who’d idolized her father. Had it been magic?

  Didn’t matter. “If there was a time we had magic, it’s gone. Or don’t you think we would have used it to make our lives better? Do you think we want to live like this?” What she wouldn’t give for someone who could make it snow. She was tired of the dry heat.

  “I wasn’t implying you didn’t do your best.”

  “But you were implying I should have done more,” she snapped. “Well, excuse me for doing the best I can. I never asked to be in charge. Never asked for any of this. I know I need help, but who am I supposed to ask?”

  For some reason that statement made him freeze. “Not me. I can’t help you.”

  Pride lifted her chin. “I didn’t ask you to.”

  “You didn’t let me finish. I can’t help because I have my own mission, but if I succeed, then maybe things can go back to the way they were.”

  “Things can never go back.” The Diamond kingdom was no more. She was a princess only of ashes.

  Chapter 7


  No surprise to Cam he’d managed to say the wrong thing. Story of his life when it came to women. Good to see some things never changed.

  After putting his enormous foot in his mouth, Kayda’s face turned blank and her tone wooden as she said, “Follow me. I’ll show you where we take our meals.”

  She led him but did not join. The moment they entered the larger building, she shoved him—none too gently—in the direction of the line for food. No instructions, no introductions, she left him to fend for himself. Having so many eyes—many in gaunt, much-too-young faces—daunted even a big man.

  He knew they were just curious. Yet he couldn’t stop the voice in his head that screamed, They need you. Why didn’t you agree to help them?

  Because Kayda hadn’t asked him to be her hero. Nor had he offered. He’d just had one woman tell him to take his clingy ways and go for a hike. He didn’t need to be told by another. Besides, by helping the Marshes, he’d technically help Kayda and all the faces in this room, too.

  By the looks of it, it used to be some kind of prayer hall with alcoves that still held statues—some missing limbs. The altar at the head of it acted as a serving spot for the food, and he had to wonder what the dead thought of the stone braziers being used for cooking meals instead of praying.

  He grabbed a battered bowl from a stack and shuffled in the quickly moving line. He didn’t really want any of the gruel. Every single child in this room needed it more than him, but how would it look if he walked out now? As if he disdained their hospitality?

  He held out the bowl for his scoop of gruel, not bothered by the contents of it. When surviving, a person ate what they could find. He’d learned that when he and Casey first escaped and had to live off the land. Raw. Bloody. Crunchy. Often times foul. The soup smelled better than many of the things he’d ingested in the past. Although his pampered palate from palace living did grumble at the smell. He told it to shut up. Food was fuel.

  He chose a fork over a spoon and then found himself standing, looking around for a place to sit. It was more daunting than it sounded. So many tables to choose from. Many of them empty. Others with small groups, the young faces turned to watch him, lips moving in whispers

  I’m a fucking curiosity. More than ever the realization made him want to leave. He didn’t like being the center of attention. Wished he had his sister’s ability to hide in plain sight. Casey just needed a sliver of shadow and she could disappear.

  He sometimes provided that darkness because, with his bulk, he could never hope to hide. And he wouldn’t start now. He would find his balls and sit at a table. Maybe one with a familiar face, except the only person he knew had ditched him.

  Kayda hadn’t sat down yet but stood conversing with a fellow he’d never met. A handsome guy. Soft looking, though. Their conversation seemed pretty intent and none of his business, so why did he want to scowl?

  Cam plopped his ass down on a short bench at an empty table—which was being generous, given it appeared to be a plank of wood over some kind of stone pedestal. The spot gave him a wall for his back and a view of the only door. Great for defense if anyone came at him, but pure shit if they were smoked out or overrun. Who the fuck put everyone in a room with a single exit?

  Did his brain never stop looking for possible points of danger? Why couldn’t he ever see happy things?

  His gaze strayed to Kayda, who stood in line for her bowl of gruel. With all she’d endured, did she still believe in happiness?

  Casey had found it with a king. Even his friends were settling down. They all seemed happy. So why wasn’t he? What would it take for him to feel as if getting up every day was worth the bother?

  Kayda held her filled bowl in one hand, her spoon in the other. She never once glanced his way, which had to be deliberate given everyone else stared. She chose a table far from him. With that guy.

  The fork in his hand bent.

  “Isn’t your soup any good?” a high-pitched voice asked.

  While not exactly startled—he’d seen the girl approaching from the corner of his eye—he was surprised she chose to speak to him. Turning his gaze, he noticed the freckles across her nose, the gap between her teeth. No more than twelve or thirteen, he’d wager, her expression half thrilled, half terrified.

  He could have said nothing and ignored her. Could have told her to fuck off, he wasn’t some kind of curiosity. But in this child, he saw his sister, and knowing he would have knocked the teeth out of anyone who was rude to her for no reason, he kept his grumpiness to himself.

  “Soup’s fine.”

  She sat down. Why was she sitting down? Maybe he should have ignored her.

  “Is it true you’re from outside Diamond?”

  “Ayuh,” he grunted. Lifting the bowl to his lips, he took a sip, hoping she’d take a hint and go away.

  “You know the way out, then.” The hope in her voice tore at him.

  He couldn’t save her. Couldn’t save any of them. “The way I came isn’t feasible at this time.”

  “But you came here. From out there.” The girl was agitated, pointing off into some random direction.

  “I did, but I can’t leave quite yet. There’s something I must do.”

  “Liar! You can’t because you’re stuck, too!” she cried, tears welling in her eyes.

  “Oh fuck. Don’t cry.” Casey had never been one to shed tears, but the few times she had when they were little just about killed him.

  “It’s not fair. I don’t want to be here anymore,” the girl screamed. “I hate it.”

  There was nothing he could say to make it better. And he wouldn’t lie. So he sat there like a big dumb fuck, feeling like he’d failed yet another sister.

  Lila approached the girl, expression grim. “That’s enough, Miriam. Leave our guest alone.”

  “Guest?” The girl rose from her seat at his table, but her expression remained ravaged. “Say it like it is. He’s a prisoner, too. We’re all prisoners, and we’re going to die here. Just like my mother and father.” Miriam whirled to point. “And your parents. And yours. We might as well kill ourselves now. There is no hope!”

  “That’s enough!” Lila tugged at Miriam, who danced out of reach.

  “Why not tell us the truth? We’re not babies anymore.”

  Kayda stood, and Miriam went silent. Cam waited for Kayda to speak. Miriam tried to stare her down but failed. Her shoulders rounded. Sobs broke free.

  He wanted to hug her. Wanted to promise her he’d find a way out of this prison. He remained sitting as Lila marched her out.

  A silence hung in the room until they were gone, and then it exhaled in a wave of sound. A glance showed Kayda had resumed sitting. She didn’t look at him, yet her companion did. He inclined his head in an apologetic manner.

  Not his fault. Miriam had only stated what he’d wager the majority of those wide-eyed kids also thought. They were so young. All so fucking young. And they knew they wouldn’t live to old age. Their parents hadn’t. Siblings, friends. All gone. Most of them probably didn’t even remember life before the Necropolis.

  Other than Cam, the oldest person in the room was probably Kayda, who he figured was a few younger than him, followed by Gorri.

  Most of them were probably waiting for the day they went hunting or gathering food and didn’t return just like the older generation. The girl was right. How long before the citizens of Diamond were no more?

  There had to be a way to help them, even if he’d told Kayda he wouldn’t. Not directly at any rate, but if he succeeded in finding a way to halt the spread of the ash and the tainted air maybe they would stand a chance.

  Never mind it wouldn’t solve the dragon problem. One step at a time.

  First, he had to reach the source of the poison and stop it. Just a volcano, a fierce force of nature, and him without his sister who loved explosives. She would have had some kind of missile launcher she’d borrowed from somewhere or a vial of something that shouldn’t be shaken unless he wanted things to go
kaboom.

  More than ever, he wished he’d not lost Burton or his pack. His little pistol wouldn’t do him much good against molten rock. Then again, if he’d set out on foot, he might have never found Kayda and the Necropolis. Never realized the hopelessness.

  Lila returned without Miriam and strode directly to his table. As the children dared to watch, she snapped, “Eat your dinner and take your posts if you’re scheduled. Nothing to see.” When more than one child continued to gaze and whisper, she eyed the nearest one and said, “Isn’t it your turn to sluice the latrine?”

  Nothing like the threat of having to rinse piss and shit to get people obeying. The heavy gazing eased, and Cam’s shoulders lowered then immediately stiffened as Lila sat down.

  “Why do you look like Gorri when I beat his ass at Slapmate?” she asked.

  “Slapmate?”

  “It’s when you each have a hand here.” She held it in front of his face. “Then quickly be the first to slap.”

  He snared her wrist before it connected. “I take it the game has started.”

  Lila grinned. “Foul. Minus one point.”

  “No catching allowed?” He arched a brow. “What earns points?”

  “Full cracking cheek slaps are a three for the slapper. Light skimming of skin is a two. You may duck for a point. If you defend and our hands slap, five points for you. A win needs only seven.”

  “On the hand slap, you said the defender gets the points. How do you decide who moved first?”

  “If there is an argument, then the round is replayed.”

  He snorted. “Until someone yields. We did something similar but used sticks. Slapping of them was allowed. You only got points for full avoidance of a strike. Lost points for any flesh hits.”

  “Flesh hits? I’m in.” Gorri threw himself into the seat beside him.

  Although seat was being generous. At one time it might have been a bench, but twenty years of use and abuse saw it repaired in the oddest ways. Like the hunk of rock sitting under a crack in the worn wood, providing a brace.