The Story Raider

by Lindsay A. Franklin

  And Brac would have his Pembroni farm girl, just like he wanted. She would love the hum of life in a small village, like he did. Or had, before he joined the guard. They would have a hundred little ones, and Mor and I would come to the naming ceremony for each and bring presents from around the world, and I would kiss those little babies and love them like they were my blood, because Brac and I shared a bond as strong as that.

  Perhaps in this story, Mother had lived. She and Father never would have been separated. They would be enjoying the glow of having raised their child and gotten through their hardest years of work. Father would take Mother to visit his friends all over the world, and that world would receive them differently because there would not have been intervening years of war and oppression.

  And then maybe someday, Mor and I would add a little babe to this world—this fantasy world that was happy and warm. One or maybe two or maybe even seven.

  None of it was real, of course. But that didn’t matter. The strands—azure, violet, rose, gold, pine, scarlet, and every other color one might imagine—swirled around me. Where it touched the molten metal, the metal sizzled, then disappeared. Like snipping one thread at a time until none remained and I was no longer bound.

  Then I fell from twenty feet.

  At the last second before I was about to hit the beach and break all my bones, something caught me, light and airy. The cushion held me a moment, then dropped me gently into the sand. I looked up, and there stood Mor, his hands out still, his fingertips pinked slightly where the strands had burst from them.

  He pulled me up, and as I steadied myself, I surveyed the scene. My heart fell.

  The mass was back over the beach now, and our efforts only drove back one small section at a time. It wasn’t enough. We would never force the cloud of ill intent to retreat completely. Not at this rate.

  “It’s not trying to kill all of us,” I told Mor. “I don’t know who they’re after for sure, except I know they don’t mean to kill me and you.”

  “Because we’re the weapon.”

  “Yes.”

  Mor looked out over the beach. I could see realization hit him. “The others . . .”

  “Yes, anyone who isn’t useful to whoever is controlling this mess will be killed.”

  “Gryfelle. Diggy.” Mor’s anger was growing—I could feel it in his words.

  “My father.” I grabbed Mor’s arm as a thought struck me. “If they have any idea of what Diggy can do, they’ll want her too.”

  Perhaps it hadn’t occurred to either of us until I said that, but suddenly I wondered where Diggy was. Because even if she didn’t care much about our mission, she did care about Kawan and his mother and keeping them safe on this island.

  I spotted her, not too far down the beach.

  She wasn’t brandishing knives. Perhaps she had realized there was no person to target. At least not nearby.

  Such intense sorcery done from a distance? I had never realized power or malice so strong existed in the world. Gareth’s greed and self-serving deeds seemed commonplace by comparison.

  But, though Diggy had sheathed her knives, she was still in the thick of it, and I squinted to try to figure out what in the world she was doing.

  Zel shot a ribbon of blue light toward the smoky mass. As the ribbon sailed over Diggy’s head, she reached up and snatched it from the sky. Suddenly Zel’s strand wasn’t just blue light. It was blue fire. She hurled the blue fire toward the mass, and a big chunk of the dark cloud disappeared.

  I should be running, helping, making my way back toward the strands, or at least I should be tending the searing flesh around my midsection. But instead, I stood stock-still, unable to take my eyes off Digwyn En-Lidere. I’d never seen anything like it.

  Dylun fired off a splash of glowing green colormastery, and Diggy snatched that from the air and turned it solid, like a spear, except it glowed green and crackled with lightning. Diggy cried out and hurled it toward the mass. Another chunk retreated.

  But even with Diggy’s ability, whatever it was, we weren’t making enough progress.

  “Mor?” I had to shake him to get his attention, for he, too, was focused on Diggy. “Mor! It’s not working!”

  “I know,” he said finally.

  “We have to help! We have to save Gryfelle and the others.”

  He paused, looked at Diggy again, and said, “Aye. Let’s go.”

  Mor and I ran with purpose, like we were going to singlehandedly drive back the entire cloud of strands. But then we stopped. We saw the very last thing anyone had expected. Even stranger than Diggy and her strand-stealing.

  Gryfelle was on her feet and walking down the beach, straight toward the cloud.

  “Gryfelle!” Mor shouted.

  “What is she doing?” I yelled.

  We both ran. Toward Gryfelle as she glided toward this beast.

  She must not realize its power. She must not know what she’s doing. She won’t survive.

  We ran harder.

  I could jump and throw my body over her. Shield her from the thing. Even if Gryfelle wasn’t useful, I was. This mass of evil wanted me, and I could use that. I could cover Gryfelle and give Mor a chance to do . . . something. Anything.

  And then a solution began to form in my mind. The cure. Of course. If we could just get half a minute to hold it in our hands the way we were supposed to, perhaps Gryfelle and I could be healed. It didn’t always work, Dylun said. But it might work. If I could get to the box that held the orb, I could revive Gryfelle. She could help us fight. Maybe those ancient strands would even lend aid.

  But the same moment the thought came to me, Gryfelle stopped and turned. She locked eyes with me, then with Mor. She was clear. Lucid. More than she had been in weeks.

  She smiled sadly.

  “No, Gryfelle!” Mor shouted. “No, no, no!”

  He and I were almost there. Nearly close enough to touch her. Just about able to help.

  But she smiled again, and her eyes sparkled with tears. “Good-bye, my friends.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  TANWEN

  I fought for my voice. “Gryfelle, stop!”

  Pale-green song strands swirled around Gryfelle, and only then did I realize she was singing. She didn’t seem to hear me or Mor shouting.

  Lavender, powder blue, sunset pink, sunrise yellow. Wispy tendrils of melody flowed over Gryfelle’s body, and for a moment, her ashen skin, sunken cheeks, stringy hair, and skeletal form were replaced by what Gryfelle ought to have looked like. Young and rosy, with elegant, high cheekbones and piercing green eyes, pale-golden hair flowing down her back.

  Her song strands glowed as she poured what remained of her life force into them. Brighter and brighter, until I could barely see her anymore. Then the glowing strands lifted her into the air. Up she rose, toward the haze of smoke penetrating deeper over the island.

  “Gryfelle!” Mor’s cry was lost in Gryfelle’s song.

  She lifted her arms around her and seemed to draw a deep breath. “I’m ready to do my part, at last. It is time to return home.” There was music in her words. Gryfelle lifted her face toward the sky.

  A burst a hundred times as strong as whatever Diggy had created at the stone head pulsed over the whole island. The next thing I knew, Mor and I were down in the sand together. The force of a windstorm surrounded us. I heard a tree crack and topple. Mor clutched me close.

  Shouts swirled, as if on the wind. Sand pelted my bare skin. I tucked my face into Mor’s chest to escape.

  Another pulse rattled the earth. I closed my eyes against it. If we were about to die, I didn’t really want to see what it was, anyway.

  But a moment passed, and I still felt my heart pounding. Mor’s arms held me. The wind was calm, the sand no longer showering us with stinging grains.

  “Tannie!” I heard Father’s voice calling me frantically.

  I forced myself up and blinked against the sudden brightness.

  The mass of dark strands was
gone. Several trees were downed, and about a hundred fronds littered the beach. Warmil slouched against Dylun, dark blood spreading over his side.

  I pulled myself up and stumbled over to Father. “What happened? Is everyone all right?”

  But of course everyone was not all right. And the moment I spoke it, I knew. I turned to look, and there she was.

  Gryfelle’s body lay crumpled in a heap on the beach.

  I pushed away from my father and ran toward her.

  Mor, Karlith, and I reached her at the same time. I dropped to my knees in the sand. Tears choked my throat.

  Karlith was crying, too, as she touched Gryfelle’s face. “Shh,” she whispered. “Be at peace now, my dear girl.”

  Mor looked like he had taken a whole sheaf of arrows to the gut.

  Karlith positioned Gryfelle so her limbs weren’t splayed strangely. So that she did look at peace. At long last.

  “But—” My sobs overtook my words. “The cure. We have it. We have it!” I wanted to hurl curses at the blasted black swarm that had swallowed the time we needed to heal Gryfelle.

  Karlith was stroking Gryfelle’s hair. “So beautiful she is.”

  And she was. All traces of the curse had left her body. Gryfelle didn’t look haggard and ill anymore. She looked like herself—lovely, young, and perfect.

  My heart broke into a dozen pieces. “We were supposed to save her.”

  “She saved us instead,” Karlith said gently. She laid Gryfelle’s head back on the sand. “And if her sacrifice isn’t to be a waste, we need to go.”

  “Why?” I stared out over the peaceful ocean. All signs of the black cloud were gone.

  “It will be back, won’t it?” Karlith looked up at me. “They won’t retreat forever, and if I’m not mistaken, that’ll be the end of us all except you and Mor. I think you know they want to capture you.”

  So she knew too. They would kill everyone else.

  “Yes, Karlith. I know.”

  “Tannie, if they catch you, they’ll use you just like in ancient times.”

  “We won’t let that happen,” I said.

  Karlith nodded. “Then we have to go.”

  Mor was whiter than milk.

  So I turned to Father. “Is the new ship ready yet?”

  He held a hand over his heart and looked at Gryfelle’s body like it hurt him. But he had heard me. “Jule has been working on it, but I don’t know if the ship is ready to set sail yet.”

  “Digwyn.” We all turned. Kawan was running down the beach toward us. “Diggy, you must go.”

  Diggy looked at him sharply. “What is it?”

  “You were seen. Recognized.” He glanced at the rest of us. “And they’re saying you brought it.”

  “Brought what?”

  “Whatever that was. The dark.”

  Diggy’s eyes hardened. “And now they want to kill me. Again. Always.”

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t go back to my home. They will follow.”

  “Yes.”

  After a long moment, Diggy turned to Mor. “I guess I’m coming with you.”

  Mor nodded. But not even Diggy joining us could bring joy back into his face.

  “Warmil.” I looked at his wound. “Is it bad? Can you make it to the docks?”

  “If Dylun helps me, I can make it.”

  I was suddenly aware of the searing burns around my middle.

  Karlith could help, but only if she had the supplies. I prayed Jule and the men had stocked the new ship well.

  “And Aeron? Is she back in Narwat’s hut?”

  Warmil closed his eyes and shook his head, still clutching his wound. “She’s with Jule and the crew. I thought to move her to the ship in case something went sideways.”

  Good planning, that.

  Father knelt beside Karlith. “I will carry Gryfelle.”

  “Don’t forget this.” Zelyth jogged toward us, box in hand. “I think Tannie still needs it.”

  I nearly had forgotten it—the cure we had traveled around the world to retrieve. I’d almost left it lying on some Kanaci beach without using it.

  “Kawan.” Diggy looked up at him, and it was plain to see the friendship that passed between them. There was still something very human, very fragile about Digwyn En-Lidere, whatever she tried to make the rest of us believe.

  “Good-bye, Dig.” He brushed her hair back, then kissed her on both cheeks, like they did in the Islands. “You will come see me someday.” He kissed her forehead.

  She winced. Pulling away from this man—the only man she trusted—physically hurt her.

  Father scooped up Gryfelle. “Let’s hurry.”

  We ran as fast as we could manage, carrying our injury and death, dismay and heartbreak with us.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  TANWEN

  If there was one lucky break this whole day, it was that our new ship was nearly ready.

  Commander Jule must have had the remaining crew working around the clock to get the Lysian prepared.

  Jule looked both relieved and dismayed when he saw us limping toward the docks. “I expected we would have to make a fast departure, though I wasn’t sure why. But when I saw that cloud of . . . whatever it was, I didn’t know if you would make it back at all.” Then he noticed Gryfelle. He removed his hat and held it to his heart. “Oh, no. Poor lass.”

  “She saved us,” I said. I wanted to shout that from every rooftop across all of Tir. So everyone in the kingdom would know of Gryfelle En-Blaid’s final act.

  “Jule,” said Mor. “We need to get underway immediately. I don’t know how long those strands will stay away.”

  “Aye, Captain. Right away.” Jule started shouting orders, and the men scurried into action.

  “Karlith.” Mor’s voice hitched, and he cleared his throat. “Let’s place Gryfelle down in the captain’s quarters. Would you and the general see to that? I need to get my sister settled. And then we’ll see to the injuries, once we’re underway.”

  “Of course.” Karlith had been crying steadily since Gryfelle’s final moments on the beach, but somehow, she looked the least shaken of all of us.

  Gryfelle was like a daughter to her. Karlith had spent moons by her bedside, barely away for a moment at a time. Her calm amid her tears didn’t make sense.

  But I couldn’t ask her because she and my father took Gryfelle’s limp body aboard ship and belowdecks. And something told me Mor needed my help.

  Diggy stood at least half a dozen paces from the rest of us, shifting her weight back and forth on her feet. Mor approached, and she jumped a pace backward. She jabbed her finger toward the ship. “I can’t go on that thing.”

  “Diggy . . .” Mor looked twice his age. “Please.”

  “I can’t.” She seemed to be struggling to draw breath.

  “Diggy.” I held out my hand before taking another step toward her. “It’s all right, lass. Do you want to come with me?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “You can. You’ll be with me. All will be well.” I forced a smile, despite all the danger and grief. “You’ll be fine.”

  The pained, jerking breaths continued. Tears streaked down her face, tracking lines through the dirt on her cheeks. But then she reached out and grabbed my hand—so tightly, it was as if she’d fall from a cliff if she let go.

  I closed the distance between us and smiled again. A little easier this time. “We’ll go together.”

  She stood frozen for so long that I began to wonder if she would ever respond. Then she surprised me by clutching my elbow and moving closer to my side.

  We slowly passed Mor. I made a point not to look at him. I wanted Diggy to forget he was there so she could focus on walking. No ship, no brother, no leaving her home behind. Just walking. Because walking is easy, right?

  It felt an eternity. Any moment, I was sure a knot of angry islanders would burst from the trees to come for her. But it didn’t seem they had tracked us to the dock just yet
. Hopefully Kawan had led them on a wild chase. But even if the islanders didn’t find us, surely those threatening strands would return in the interminable time it took me to shuffle Diggy aboard ship.

  The islanders never came.

  When Diggy and I hit the planks of the deck, I put my arms around her. “You did it. You made it.”

  Her breathing still came in ragged gasps, though not quite so fast now. But as her gaze darted around the ship, her chest rose and fell more rapidly again.

  “You’re safe here, Diggy. I’ll stay with you the whole time. No one will harm you.”

  “I’m trapped.” She sounded nothing like the Diggy of her own island. A sharp note of panic laced each word.

  “No, you’re safe. Here with me, and here with people who care about you. No harm will come to you.”

  Not from us, anyway. I turned to Mor, who had followed us aboard ship and was watching wordlessly. “Are we about underway?”

  “Aye.”

  But he didn’t jump into action the way I expected him to. He trudged over to the mast and slumped against it.

  Should I talk to him? I couldn’t leave Diggy. Not until she felt safe.

  Which might be never.

  Commander Jule shouted a final order, and we eased away from the dock.

  Diggy’s breathing had evened again. “Where are we going?”

  “Physgot. I think.” I glanced at Mor. He nodded once but didn’t offer anything else.

  “Home?” Diggy’s eyes begged me to say I was wrong.

  “I . . . yes, I suppose.”

  “I’ve never been back. I . . . I can’t do this.” Her eyes darted everywhere again, as if she might jump overboard, swim back to her island, and take her chances with the locals.

  “Diggy,” I said, “after we dock in Physgot, we will move on. We won’t stay there.”

  “Where?” At least she was looking at me and not into the water. “Where will we go?”

  “Urian, probably. That’s where we’ve been living.”