Survivors of Arcadia

by Annathesa Nikola Darksbane

  “That ain’t no answer,” she accused.

  He shrugged. “At any rate, Jonelise quite literally went down with the ship, as it were. Perhaps not the best choice, but it is what it is, and we must now make do without her.” He shook his head as Adrienne frowned. “Whether she survived or not, right now she is no longer here to lead. So the question can wait, as it changes little of what we must do.” He eyed her more firmly. “Now the people follow you. And in the coming days, you must decide whether to believe the evidence, or to follow your heart despite it. Are you so certain that Jonelise survived that you will stake our lives on it, or is it simply what you wish to be true?”

  A few minutes of silence later, the Comte left her there alone, still trying to think of her answer.

  “Well, I know what I believe,” Louie stated, stepping out of a nearby tunnel’s shadowed mouth. The young teen managed a half-hearted smile, the best she’d seen on him in many days. “I know Jone wouldn’t go down that easy. She’s survived worse. I won’t stop believing in her, no matter what.”

  Adie found herself wishing for that same sense of certainty. “A lot of people feel that way. But a lot already lost their hope, too.” She could feel it in her fading pool of followers, like she could feel the news starting to ripple across the mainland as well. She hesitated. “What...what makes you so sure, Louie?”

  He chuckled. It was a worn-down sound, as if run ragged. “Well, there’s that amulet of hers, for one. The Eye of Osiris. Lady Bellamy said it would keep her alive until her wrongful death was avenged.”

  “Yeah, but even she admitted there’s a lot she don’t know ‘bout it. And what if Jone lost it or somethin’?”

  “Well, I’m normally big on logic.” The young inventor wiped one hand on the dingy apron wrapped around his noble’s robes; he ran the other hand absently though his long, curly blonde locks, leaving them tinted with trails of grease. “But this is more of a feeling. Something happened while Jone was away, and while she was on that warship. She sunk that vessel on her own, without explosives, without help. And since then, the spirits have been acting...strange.”

  It was true. Something had happened. Jone had come back from her treasure hunt...changed, somehow. And now the spirits the Elizabethians used to power their machinery were growing unpredictable, especially when confronted with someone from Jone’s inner circle...or at least Adrienne herself. She’d just bet her life on the theory, after all.

  “Besides,” the teenage noble finished, “that’s what belief is, Miss Adie. You know that as much as any of us. It means supporting someone because you know they’ll succeed. It means keeping faith with them no matter what, no matter how bad it looks. Giving up bits of yourself, even, if that’s what they need. So that’s what I’m gonna do.”

  Like my Gran did for Jone. Adrienne nodded. “So how’re you holdin’ up?” She changed the subject.

  She saw the look in the young man’s eyes as he started to make a dismissive comment, before that look grew heavy and distant. So far, Louie had lost his mentor and adoptive father, been suddenly promoted to heir in training, watched the fall of his homeland firsthand, nearly died, and been hunted through the underground by The Drake’s forces. And on top of that, he’d lost Jone, one of the two women who’d taken him under her wing and helped him find his footing amongst it all.

  The other of those two was Adie herself. So she refused to let him down now.

  “I’ll be better when we get outta here,” was all he said when he finally replied. “What’s the news with Aubry? What comes next?”

  “One thing at a time,” Adrienne managed a smile and ruffled his tangled, grease-traced golden hair. “First, we get out. We get safe. Then we’ll decide whether to lie low or start rebuildin.’” And maybe what to believe, she added silently.

  And with that, their downtime was over. The motley group had tended their injured and scavenged the Elizabethian force for supplies as best they could, and now it was past time to move on.

  It felt like the longest rest Adie’d had in days and probably was. It was hard to remember.

  Adrienne hoisted her own satchel and surveyed the group. Men and women of many walks of life mingled, nobles helping farmers, merchants defending nobility. The tunnels, bombs, and enemy soldiers didn’t discriminate; nor did the invading armada or The Drake’s brutal retribution. So now, neither did they.

  The survivors looked to her and Aubry as they readied themselves to leave. Adie knew what they wanted; in her place, Jone would have made a stirring, simple speech that fortified everyone for what was to come.

  But, as often as she might be mistaken for the heroic farm girl, Adie wasn’t Jone.

  “Let’s go,” she said simply. “There’s a ship still waitin’ for us at th’ exit. And I’m gonna keep you safe till we get there.” She smiled, comforted a little by the fact that many smiled back at her.

  At her side, Louie consulted his map by mephit light and directed their path. Adie led the way through the tunnels, sword drawn, just in case. Comte Aubry trailed them both just behind, barely managing to keep up with the aid of his battered cane.

  Together, the last group of survivors walked and walked toward safety. It was all they could do; everything else had been taken from them.

  Their families and friends, at least, were already safe—the ones that had survived the siege and invasion, anyway. Maybe they’d even reached the mainland by now. Adrienne had insisted to stay behind and help every last group escape, even when Bellamy and Esmeralda had left, even though they’d tried to drag her along with them. She’d helped Jone rescue many of these same people once before; it wouldn’t have been right to abandon them. To her surprise, Aubry had insisted the same, and together they’d rescued every survivor of the rebel effort they could, including Louie.

  But now the noose was closed tight. The Drake had taken Arcadia. He’d beaten it into submission like the Butcher the legends claimed he was. Rumor said that Queen Elizabeth herself was coming to survey the damage; it was time to go.

  So they walked nearly forgotten stoneworked tunnels, finally free of pursuit.

  They walked until a jagged sliver of light far ahead promised them freedom.

  They were still walking when the cannons rang out and destroyed their hope.

  Civilians cried out as a broadside of steaming lead pulverized the hidden dock anchored to Arcadia’s underside. Soldiers shouted and drew their weapons, looking to Adrienne for direction. Louie shook where he stood, fearful, as Aubry tried to drag him to safety.

  The former serving girl sprang into action and threw herself in front of them, shielding her own face as the quaking tunnel spat shards of stone from its nearby yawning maw. The instant the barrage subsided, Adie rushed forward to the edge of the opening, surveying the damage.

  Thick steam curled around the twisted remnants of the steel dock. Splinters of ironwood and sky-oak fluttered on the hot updrafts, all that remained of the stolen Elizabethian barge that would have carried them to safety.

  A mid-sized ship of the line circled just beyond the wreckage, already coming around for another pass.

  Barely audible shouts from the vessel’s decks let Adrienne know that they’d seen her. She didn’t know how they’d found their escape route and the ship that had lain hidden beneath the rocks and thickening layers of steam, but it didn’t matter.

  Their escape was gone, and the enemy knew they were there.

  They were trapped.

  Calls for her orders rolled down the steam-slicked tunnel, Aubry shouting for her to return, soldiers requesting orders.

  Adie took a long look at the shards of the shattered ship, at the armed and armored warship circling close for another pass...and froze up.

  All of this...for nothin.’ Louie and the others couldn’t escape capture now; somewhere inside, Adie knew she’d probably die defending them. Guess this is it, huh? She stared the Gatekeeper in the face as the ship swiftly circled and closed. What could she possibly
do? Sir Eduard didn’t get this far in my lessons. The middle aged Admiral had taken over teaching her when Jone had left to chase pirate treasure, but he’d died before he could finish his crash course in tactics. Died, like she was about to.

  A shot shattered stone twenty feet to her left and shook her footing as it buried itself in Arcadia’s underbelly: they were range finding, testing their aim. Behind her, her friends bellowed her name, calling her to return to safety.

  What would Jone do?

  The rebellion needed Louie if it was going to survive. It needed Aubry; Abyss, maybe it even needed her.

  Three figures in red-and-gold pointed her way from the warship’s top deck. She heard them shout a familiar name as the vessel ventured close, aiming a broadside her way.

  “Jonelise of Arcadia!” the crew called out.

  They thought she was Jone.

  Adie snorted, almost amused to die with one more case of mistaken identity. On the deck, soldiers in black and silver lit cannon fuses.

  Then she froze again.

  They...think I’m Jone.

  She smiled. They think I’m Jone.

  Sheathing her sword, Adrienne took a few quick steps back and shouted for the others to take cover.

  So what would Jone do?

  Adie took a running start, called on all the magic at her disposal, and leaped off the side of Arcadia.

  She sailed through the warm, misty steam as cannonfire bellowed beneath her, brutally raking the tunnel’s entrance. She screamed a little as she soared through the air, arms and legs flailing, her thick braid flapping behind her like the battle standard she’d never discovered how to manifest.

  She screamed a little more as her arc dropped too quickly, the ship’s deck passing face level with her still a good fifteen feet away.

  Adrienne slammed into the side of the warship’s belly and smashed her nose on the ironwood. She smelled blood and her head spun as she slid down the slick side. She clipped an elbow painfully on a series of metal rungs…

  ...and wrapped her fingers around the last one in the line.

  It was hard to breathe a sigh of relief with her boots dangling over an endless drop, stuck to the side of a ship full of people who wanted her dead. But she did anyway.

  Then she started climbing.

  Adrienne head-butted the sailor at the top of her ladder just as he spotted her, knocking him over backwards, his nose spraying blood as it broke sideways. She rolled over the lip of the ship’s upper deck and punched the dark-uniformed soldier that tried to grab her, cracking his jaw and sending him sprawling over the side.

  She caught him just before he toppled to his death and threw him at the next soldier in line instead.

  Her new short sword whistled from its sheath as more soldiers and sailors encircled her...but they didn’t advance. Instead, they stood uneasily, afraid, and whispered the name of Adie’s missing best friend.

  Adie smiled through her terror, pretended to look confident, and charged their leader.

  An arbalest bolt nearly took her face off as she rushed in; thanks to Sir Eduard’s lessons, she ducked instinctively just in time and it parted her hair instead. Adrienne leaped the last ten feet and tucked her shoulder into the man’s gut as he struggled to reload. The air blasted its way from his lungs in a rush, even through the chainmail under his red-and-gold surcoat, and he doubled over instantly.

  She slapped his heavy crossbow aside and slammed the pommel of her short sword into his face. It smashed his nose, snapped his head back like the crack of a whip, and sprawled him limp across the deck several feet away.

  The next man in Elizabethian uniform stepped in front of the enemy commander as well, readying sword and shortspear.

  Adie took three swift steps toward him then fell to the ground, rolling sideways across the deck in a flurry of damaged ruffles. His brow furrowed, confused, and he stabbed down—too late. His spear tip dug into the ironwood deck just past the young Arcadian’s hip, and she lashed out by a magic-empowered kick at his knee, invoking the strength she needed to snap the joint backward even through the steel of his protective greaves.

  She winced as he fell, howling, to the deck. Then she rolled past him and leaped at the Elizabethian captain.

  He smashed her in the face with a small shield of his own, sending a jolt of dizzying agony through her already busted nose.

  Adie’s head swam as he swept in with a follow up strike from his own short, thick blade. Blue eyes watering, she swung her own sword wildly and knocked the attack aside out of sheer luck. Sparks flew as steel grated on tritanium, shearing off the edge of the captain’s blade.

  He pressed her hard in return, bashing her in the chest with his buckler. Adie staggered back, then leaped aside as he struck again, the tip of his sword passing through where her head had just been. She leaned in and cut back and forth across at him like she’d been taught, building on her own momentum and driving him back with the threat of her empowered strength and her sword’s keen tritanium edge.

  Sickly green-blue threads burst from his back as he yielded ground, a vaporous battle standard streaming a couple dozen feet into the misty air.

  Those threads bowed low, brushing at Adie with enervating fingers as he sidestepped or parried her strikes. Blue-green tendrils drained her empowered might away; without a battle standard of her own, or the knowledge to invoke one, she was defenseless against the unconventional assault.

  Adrienne gasped as her strength evaporated, days of exhaustion creeping in immediately. She fumbled a slash and cried out as the captain easily sidestepped it and stabbed the tip of his blade deep into the meat of her bicep though she stubbornly managed to keep a grip on her own shortsword.

  As the Elizabethian stepped forward for a killing blow aimed at her skull, Adrienne ducked past it and rammed her blade through his buckler and deep into his arm instead.

  With a snarl, he twisted his shield and tore the blade from her weakened fingers, throwing both weapons to the deck far from her reach.

  Adie tumbled to her knees, her strength gone.

  “Who are you, girl?” he demanded, staring down the bloody length of steel and into her watering eyes. “Because you’re certainly not Jone of Arcadia.”

  “I am Jone—”

  The captain slapped her with the flat side of his blade, drawing twin trails of blood across her face as he cut the words of her ruse short.

  Adie reeled. She heard the rest of the crew gather closer—but not too close—and noticed as sailors came close and dragged both of the Elizabethian captain’s downed soldiers aside to tend to their wounds. As for the captain himself, she watched, dazed, as the wound in his forearm sluggishly repaired itself.

  “Well?” he demanded, the tip of the blade pointed at her eyes again.

  Adie swallowed hard. What could she possibly say? I’m just a nobody, a servin’ girl not worth nothin.’ That would just get her killed. I’m a rebel leader, tryin’ to keep th’ people alive after what you bastards did to my friend. That one would just get her tortured, then killed.

  Her eyes swam with more tears than the ones born by pain. What would Jone do?

  “I’m not going to wait all day, girl.” The tip of the sword, still dripping her own blood, inched toward her eyes: a threat. She swallowed another thick lump, this one of panic. What would Jone do?

  Behind her back, the crew murmured; she still heard whispers of Jone’s name and titles. The captain stared her down, no mercy in his eyes, impatience brewing instead.

  Jone would get off her damn knees, shove him off the damn deck and win this thing for us. Adrienne pushed back against the enervating threads with her will, tried to summon the strength to rise—to no avail. But I can’t do that. I ain’t her, I ain’t that strong, that tough. People don’t believe in little ol’ me.

  She felt the faith, the worry of the men and women clustered together back in the tunnel. Of Louie, of crusty old Aubry.

  But I’m all they got, anyway.


  “Wait!” She yelped out the word without thinking as the blade shifted toward her eyes again. “How do you know I’m not Jonelise? That you didn’t just capture me?”

  The captain huffed. “Because I was with Sir Francis Drake when he fought her last. If you were her, I’d be dead.” He eyed her down the blade. “Besides, the Eternal Queen already announced her demise.”

  “Like she ain’t never lied to ya before?” For an instant, Adie thought the Elizabethian would strike her again, and winced in anticipation. But he didn’t. “Like how she said Jonelise was dead long ago, but she wasn’t?”

  “That was...mysterious circumstances,” he replied, shifting uncomfortably. Uncertainly. “Besides…”

  He continued, explaining away the incident at length, but Adrienne wasn’t listening. Instead, she was racking her brain for a solution, for any sort of plan.

  And coming up empty handed.

  What would Jone do? She almost shook her head in self-disgust, but remembered at the last moment that she was pretending to listen to him rant about the armada’s defeat of her friend and country. Not like it matters. I’m not Jone, and I can’t be Jone.

  So what do I do?

  She suddenly registered silence; the captain stared down, his brow furrowed. Had he just asked her a question? “Uh…” she drawled, stalling, trying to think of something, anything, that might help.

  All that came was a few flashes of her life through her mind’s eye as the irritated Elizabethian raised his sword to split her skull.

  Her short, precious time with Jone. Her job at the Heartfire Hearth, her friends and life back in Estori. Growing up with her Gran, the lessons the old woman had imparted, bits and pieces of days and events, seemingly at random, crystal clear in her memory.