by M. K. Adams
Lyvanne heard a scream, swiftly by the sound of breaking glass and the heavy thud of footsteps. Her partner in crime bounded down the stairs, a piece of parchment in his hands and a tear in his tunic.
“Let’s go!” he shouted as his feet reached the final step down to the ground floor.
Lyvanne tried to signal for him to quiet down and to warn him about guards outside, but he wasn’t in the mood for listening. There were a number of footsteps following him and after waving away her concerns, he crashed through the front door, alerting at the very least the three City Watch who were stood nearby. One after another, they drew their long swords.
“Follow me!” the young warlock shouted, darting off into the night. Lyvanne couldn’t believe what was happening. Her dream was right, she was going to be arrested here and thrown into the mines to work the rest of her life, or if she was lucky, killed for her crime.
Deciding that she didn’t like the sound of that fate her instincts kicked into action. Two of the patrol had followed the stranger into the far reaches of the Accord. She wasn’t fast enough to catch up with him now, she would have to make her own way out and that meant getting past the guard who was now making his way towards her, sword drawn and blood pumping.
It didn’t take long for it to dawn on Lyvanne that she had absolutely no idea where to go. She could run around the Accord all night and likely not find a safe way out. So, she decided to go straight, to make her way back to the wall that they’d climbed over and use the Anya as her escape. The only problem being that the guard was blocking her way.
She tried multiple times to find a way around him, trying to give him the slip as she ducked and weaved, running behind various houses and using bushes as a barrier. She was younger than the guard, who seemed at best to be twenty years her senior, and she had faith that given enough time she could tire him out.
She wasn’t entirely wrong. After a few more minutes of playing chase the guard’s strides became shorter, the swings of his sword became more wild than they were precise. He’s tiring, Lyvanne observed.
“Stand still, you little bitch” The guard called out as he chased her all over the Accord.
At last she had her chance. Once again ducking out of his reach, Lyvanne made a beeline for a wall she could see in the distance, praying to any and all Gods that it was the wall she needed. She wasn’t tall enough or athletic enough to scale the wall on her own, but fortune was on her side just this once. One of the elaborate houses had a small extension unlike the others, which was built into the side of the wall. Using some gaps in the stonework, Lyvanne began to climb up the extension. She was a mere few feet away from safety when the blade fell.
Chapter 4
Lyvanne rolled herself onto the stone expansion just as the blade came crashing crashed down, clattering against the building, sending fragmented pieces of stone flying into the air. The steel blade cut through her arm like paper, tearing through her skin and sending blood spattering across the wall. If she hadn’t made the roll in time, the blade would have cut through bone as well and she may well have lost the arm entirely.
The pain rose up her arm. Lyvanne had been beaten by guards before, scarred and left bleeding at the side of the road, but never before had she felt pain like this. Time wasn’t on her side, and the guard was already voicing his success and sheathing his sword so that he could climb up after her. Seeing her opportunity to escape slipping away before her eye,s Lyvanne used her one good arm to push herself back to her feet. She threw herself over the wall and out of the guard’s reach, narrowly avoiding the spikes which lined the wall. She crashed down into the shrubbery below and began to tumble down the slope, leaving a trail of blood behind as she did. With every roll there was a fresh stab of pain injected into her body. She was convinced it would have rendered her unconscious if not for her desire to escape.
As she slowed to a halt at the bottom of the slope, she allowed the cold water of the Anya to run over her good arm. She’d made it, she told herself and with one final lunge, she rolled her body into the water.
Lyvanne noted that her escape had landed her further upstream than her hideout, which meant she had a route for escape once the current carried her the rest of the way towards the King’s Wall. Sure enough, a few minutes of drifting, and the King’s Wall began to loom large overhead, the small iron gateway preventing people from using the river as an entrance to the final layer of the city growing closer.
As she lay still in the water, blood pooling out around her, Lyvanne could make out the small open patch of grass that she would use to hide away. It was empty and the small opening by the King’s Wall above was likely to be a clear route to safety. The guards from the Accord would have gone the other way around the wall to try and find her.
They weren’t the brightest bunch and wouldn’t have taken the river’s current into account, Lyvanne told herself as she tried to distract herself from the pain. She figured that the guards would opt instead for the easier option of going down the manmade roads towards the river side on the other side of The Accord. That’s even if they considered her worthy of chasing. The young thief who would likely die of her wounds anyway she mused.
Urging her body into action, Lyvanne pushed off from the King’s Wall and made her way upstream towards the river’s bank. It took all the strength left in her body to heave herself onto the grass, sodden and tired. A small part of her had hoped that the stranger would be there, that he could use his magic to heal her or that he could at least explain what had happened. Another part of her hoped he’d been caught. The anger was unlike any emotion she’d experienced, and in that moment, whether it was the pain, anger or the adrenaline, she felt both more alive and the closest to death that she had ever been.
She knew that if she chose to stand at that moment she wouldn’t make it far, but equally she couldn’t wait around too long in case the city watch did decide to search here. So she gave herself a few minutes of rest before using the shrubbery to pull herself back up the slope.
It was a long walk home, and everywhere she went a thin trail of blood followed. She wasn’t a nurse; she hadn’t known how to tend to the wound or even how to clean it before she set off. Instead, she said a prayer with every step that either Lira or Abella would know what to do. As she approached the turning that would lead her home, her eyes grew heavy. They began to open and close seemingly of their own will. Her legs grew weak, giving way every few steps, unable to carry her own weight. Worry gripped her. She was so close, but the final few steps seemed like an eternity away. One final prayer was said and she forced her body down the alley way, threw aside the crate that covered the entrance to Abella’s home and collapsed.
• • •
Lira heard the clatter. At first she was scared that they’d been discovered, that the king would have them kicked out and sent down to the lower level of the city. But no one came and there were no more noises. She told herself that it was a wild animal, some kind of large vermin that had left the sewers, but then she glanced over at Lyvanne’s empty bed and she suddenly had to know for sure.
Being careful not to wake up Oh or Abella, she started to make her way up the stairs and into the house itself, blackened and crumbling. There she was, Lyvanne, lying motionless at the entrance. Lira brought up her hands to her face in shock as she noticed the small pool of blood building by the side of her friend. Instinct quickly took over and she ran to Lyvanne’s side.
“Lyvanne!” She shouted, not caring who in the vicinity heard. “Wake up!”
Lyvanne didn’t respond. Lira quickly discovered the source of the blood, a wound on her right arm. Something had cut her, causing a deep and penetrating wound about two inches long.
Grabbing her by the good arm, Lira used all her strength to drag her into the house, placing the crate back in front of the entrance once she had. Lyvanne drifted in and out of consciousness, but never really acknowledged Lira or the fact that she’d made it home.
This was Lira’s
worst nightmare. Lyvanne was the one who was supposed to take care of them, not the other way around. As tears welled up in her eyes, she grunted and began to carry Lyvanne down the stairs and into the basement.
As she reached the halfway point, the commotion woke up Oh, who in turn shouted and woke up not just Abella but probably half the neighbourhood.
“What happened?”Abella asked whilst moving as fast as her tiring body would carry her.
“I don’t know.”
The pair carried Lyvanne over to her bed where they cleared out as much of the dirt as they could before placing her down, using her bedding as further support for her head after realising that her thinning pillow wasn’t much good.
“What do we do?” Lira asked weakly.
Abella didn’t respond immediately, instead she just began to work. Reaching for a nearby rag she used it as a makeshift bandage to stem the blood flow.
“She’s going into a fever,” Abella said, still half asleep. “Get me some water, child.”
Lira was impressed with how alive Abella had become. It was the most spritely and engaged she had seen her in a long time. The two began to work in tandem, fashioning dressing and cleaning the wound. Oh sat on his bed gently sobbing and biting his nails as he watched his friend suffer a few feet away. Lira tried to keep her friend awake, tapping her cheek and calling out her name when she had the breath, but it didn’t take long for Lyvanne to drift back into unconsciousness.
• • •
Lyvanne opened her eyes.
Something was strange, something was different.
The world around her was blurred, like a mist drifted through her own eyes.
It took a moment but she began to make out her surroundings piece by piece.
She wasn’t outside Abella’s house anymore.
She was somewhere… new.
A million questions raced through her mind, none of which came out of her mouth as she tried to speak.
You’re dreaming, she told herself, you’re unconscious and you need to wake up.
When she tried and failed to awake from this dream, she instead turned her attention to the world around her. Where am I? She asked herself as she began to walk forward, step by step.
Everything felt real. Every time her foot touched the stone floor it convinced her that it was real.
Her mind darted back to the robbery, to her escape, to the wound…
The wound was gone. Her arm was clean, unsoiled and lacking any of the pain she had felt moments before.
The mist began to fade away. What had once been blurred was becoming clear.
She stood in a grand room made of marble, stone, and wood.
The ceilings appeared as high as mountains, and the walls as thick as the trees from the Great Oak Forest in Abella’s stories.
At the centre of this great room there was a long wooden table, with six ornate chairs on either side and a further one at each end.
Each chair was occupied. Lyvanne didn’t recognise them, and judging by their clothing they certainly weren’t Lords or of noble birth, as you would expect in a place such as this.
None of the people were moving; they remained utterly still as if paralyzed by some exotic poison.
Her attention was drawn to two individuals in particular.
Two Hemeti.
What are they doing in a place like this? Lyvanne wondered as she made her way over to the table, examining the strange looking people.
From what she could tell, this was a place of importance, and Hemeti would never be allowed such an honoured seat.
The Hemeti were how she remembered her one other encounter with their kind. They were both tall, with skin tinged green in colour and eyes a piercing blue.
One had iron piercings in both of his ears and scars down his cheek, the other was more appealing to the eye, elegant but stern.
The mists expanded further and something at the far end of the room drew her attention away.
The room was longer than she first thought, and everything appeared to be built towards its peak at the far end.
There, cracked and covered in graffiti words and symbols which she didn’t understand, was what she believed could only be the Throne of the Rive.
The king’s seat, the location of all power in the land.
In that moment, she understood what was happening.
This is a vision, not a dream, she decided.
The Angel of Destiny had granted her a gift, a vision of the future… of a possible future.
She considered what that meant.
It meant this scene was important to her.
It meant that a future version of herself was somewhere in this room.
Her eyes darted away from the throne and back towards the table.
Now that she knew what she was looking for, her eyes settled on her future self almost immediately.
Lyvanne drew in a deep breath, her hands were shaking as she stood there in silent shock.
The woman sat at the table wasn’t herself as she was now. She was at least 10 years older and, more shockingly, battle scarred.
Her older self had a scar running down her right cheek, from the outside edge of her eye down to the tip of her nose.
Her clothes were in part shredded and a faint red could be seen through the holes left behind, signalling wounds still fresh from battle.
Lyvanne walked closer. The eyes of this future incarnation of her, they seemed tired and forlorn.
Why am I here? She asked aloud.
What happened?
Where is the king?
The king. Fear gripped her again.
If what Abella had said was true then the king’s warlocks would be watching, they would have seen everything that she had seen.
Her eyes darted from left to right, examining every inch of the room.
If they were watching alongside her then she couldn’t see them.
Her heart started pounding faster with every beat, sweat began to form on her forehead and her thoughts ran back to her friends.
The King would look for her… he wouldn’t stop looking for her.
Panic took hold of her every fiber and she was thrown from the vision.
Chapter 5
Lyvanne gripped at the air as she jolted awake, the fear from her vision tightening around her neck like a noose. She couldn’t breathe properly, each intake of air shallow and sharp. Lira had sprung to action, having been sleeping restlessly by her side.
“It’s okay!” she called out as she tried to restrain her friend who was now clawing at her own neck. “Lyvanne, it’s okay!”
Within moments, Lyvanne noticed the sudden presence of Oh by the side of her bed too. A small sense of relief crept back into her body and mind. A shooting pain ran through her left arm, causing her to yelp and reach for its source.
“It’s okay, child,” Abella said, slowly waking and making her way over to the commotion. “We’ve cleaned your arm up best we could. You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”
“Where were you? What happened?” Lira asked, her tone almost scolding.
Lyvanne looked down in shame. Her bed was a puddle of sweat, and her clothes saturated.
“How long have I been back?” she asked.
Lira shrugged her shoulders. “Not long, a few hours I guess.”
“What happened, Lyv?” Oh asked, almost bouncing with anticipation. She ignored him.
“I need to leave,” Lyvanne said, the words hurting her almost as much as they appeared to hurt the others. “I might have led people here. It’s not safe for me to stay.”
“What happened, child?” Abella asked, her voice quiet and calm, but more serious than she was used to from the old lady.
Reluctantly, Lyvanne spent the next half hour recounting the story of how she’d met a warlock by the river, how he’d enticed her with his powers, and how she’d hoped for a better life for the rest of them. It hadn’t completely dawned on her until she repeated it all back that in the confusion
she hadn’t even had time to steal something they could sell. Part of her felt relieved by that, but a larger part was annoyed. Oh, had believed the story to be a tale. Lira had been awed by the fact her friend had met a warlock and Abella just sat there, silent and angry.
The others discounted her vision as a fever dream, something Lyvanne did not take kindly to. She’d suffered fevers before, but this was nothing of the sort. The Angel of Destiny had visited her and none of her friends wanted to believe her. No one said anything for the rest of the night. Oh was the first to fall back to sleep, Abella next, and after checking the makeshift bandages around Lyvanne’s arm one last time Lira too fell asleep. Lyvanne just lay in bed all night, thinking about the pale-faced young man who had used magic to craft a key out of thin air, about the vision of the throne room and her future self, about the Hemeti who had transcended their place in society and sat where none had sat before. Hours later, exhaustion and the continuous stinging in her arm took her into a deep sleep.
The bells woke them all. The sound drifted through the creaking and broken house above and down into the small basement. Lira shot upstairs, followed by Oh.
“Be careful, children!” Abella croaked with her morning voice.
Lyvanne didn’t need to see what was causing all the commotion, as she already knew. Her fears were confirmed shortly after when Lira and Oh came back down the stairs, noticeably slower than when they went up.
“It’s the king’s soldiers,” Lira said timidly. “They’re looking for a young girl with brown hair and olive skin… they’re looking for you Lyvanne, aren’t they?”
Lyvanne nodded slowly, the fear well hidden.