by Anna Logan
A glimpse of red hair caught her attention. Calam was among those in their group, Brenly at his side. A weight settled to the bottom of Talea’s stomach. How could they do this?! To draft the sons and older brothers of families was one thing. Did they not see that if they took Calam, a young woman like Brenly would be unable to support herself? Especially since, once so much of their working population was taken, who knew what sort of changes would take place. Pay might go down, taxes up. Did Lord Vissler know this was going on? He wasn’t exactly compassionate toward the laborers he owned, but still. This wasn’t going to benefit him in any way.
Naylen’s breath against her ear as he leaned into whisper drew her concentration back to the present. “Listen Tal. I’m going to fight. I’m not sure exactly what will happen, but you’ve got to take care of Mom. And if you can, keep Dad from trying to stop me. Alright?”
She blinked rapidly, nodding. The crowd was tightly packed, leaving little wiggle room, and making it difficult to breathe the stifling air. Her face was flushed, the underarms and back of her dress becoming damp with sweat. “Right.” Wait, she was agreeing? He was going to fight. Fight. Fight! I can fight! Her heart sped up. Did she dare try to tell him? Did she dare try it at all? She’d never used her abilities that way. There was the one time she’d defended herself against a forest cat out of instinct, there was the practicing she’d done in the years since...but to actually use it on people? Could she do it? Do I have a choice? “Alright, but I might be able to—”
“Eyes here!” the commander strode toward their group. It seemed the villagers sent to the other side were of little consequence to the Kaydorians now. “If you’re in this group, it means someone in your family is among those to be drafted, either to the army or to work in Aydimor. We will leave today. I will call out the names of those drafted, and you will have a few minutes to say your goodbyes. When that time is up, you will be separated and we will be on our way. Any opposition will be met with whatever force is necessary. Is that clear?”
The previous buzz of anxious people was gone. It was silent enough to hear every sniffle, every boot shifting on the gravel, every snort of the coliyes, every clink of armor.
“Good. Then here are those to be drafted.” He lifted a paper to where he could see it and began reading names. Talea’s heart dropped lower with each one. Because each one was somebody she knew. Mr. Lasleaf, married two years ago, his young wife expecting their first baby. Jarle and Akod Praserloy. Calam. On, and on, and on. Naylen Andul was read. Right after it, Loestin Andul.
She closed her eyes, even as Seles caught her breath on a sob. Both.
The last names were read. The buzz of voices returned, a low, anxious hum. Some seemed resigned, making tearful goodbyes. Others weren’t so easily persuaded. Naylen and a few other younger men were conferring as discreetly as possible. Their plans were lost on her ringing ears. Clanking armor. That was all she heard. “Naylen!” He didn’t see them! Didn’t see the knights coming to break up the group.
Warmth filled her hands, and she didn’t need to look to know that they would be glowing blue. The soldiers were almost there. Naylen noticed them at the last second, putting his hands up and backing away. They stared him down until he was beside her and their parents again, before retreating outside the ranks of villagers once more. The warmth receded.
“Your time is almost up!” the commander had mounted his coliye, giving him an even more intimidating stature. “Use it wisely.”
Naylen went to Seles and hugged her. She clung to him tightly, tears glistening on her cheeks. When he pulled away, Loestin took his place. As their parents embraced, Naylen made eye contact with Talea again. His gaze relayed that he still intended to fight. She swallowed the lump in her throat and gave him a slight nod. When her brother fought, so would she.
Loestin was pulling her into his arms. Talea buried her face in his shoulder and drew in a long, quivering breath. She had to be ready...
“Alright, time’s up! If your name was called, come stand here.”
“No, Loestin, no!” Seles grabbed Loestin’s arm as he started to leave. “They’ll find out, and they’ll kill you. Both of you!”
What? She listened for Loestin’s response but couldn’t hear it over the grief and confusion that surrounded her.
Heavy footsteps approaching. Iron grating iron.
Talea whipped her head toward the sound. Everything was a blur of motion. Silver and glimpses of burgundy represented the knights carving a path through the throng. Dazedly, she realized that most of the drafted men weren’t actually moving. Which meant they would be forced.
One of the soldiers grasped Loestin’s arm and yanked him away from Seles, who screamed his name and tried to follow. Another reached for Naylen. He jerked out of the way and planted his boot against the man’s knee. There was a crack and the man yelled inarticulately as he collapsed. A wave of nausea made Talea’s stomach roil and her vision fuzzy.
Help Mom. Those were Naylen’s instructions.
She lunged forward to grab her mother and restrain her, just before one of the knights would have done the same thing in a more violent manner. Loestin was following them compliantly to where the other men were gradually being corralled, though his head was down, and his features drawn. Naylen was being anything but compliant. Little damage was done because of the armor the knights wore, yet her brother still fought as hard as he could.
He was fighting. So were some of the other villagers, even many of those who were in the other group that wasn’t drafted from. It was now or never.
Talea let Seles go and stepped away. Her heart was beating so loudly it was difficult to sort through the steady barrage of noise. Shouts, weeping, footsteps, thuds and grunts, pleading, iron. She searched the crowd for Brenly, grimacing every time someone bumped her in their frenzy. Could she do it? Should she?
Her hands trembled conspicuously as she raised them. Do it. You have to. You can’t just let them take Dad and Naylen, or any of these men. Someone has to put a stop to this. A new energy came to life from within, coursing through her veins, putting her senses on edge and warming her entire body. Despite the inward heat, a chill crept over her skin. The veins in her hands emanated an aqua light. She could feel almost as much as hear a crackling as the energy inside began to exit through her fingertips. Do it. Talea curled her fingers, pulling all the energy she could into them. Squeezing her eyes shut, she forced out the sensory input and focused on her hands. One, two, three—
Someone gripped her wrists and shoved her hands against her stomach just as she opened them to release the energy. Instinct kicked in fast enough for her to stop it before it would have burned her own body. She strained against the grip even as the person holding her moved behind her, pinning her arms to her sides with their own, and keeping her hands immobile at her midsection. Who—?! Talea craned her neck to see behind her. Her eyes widened. It was him.
He tipped his head as if in greeting. “Hello, Talea.” The hood he wore shifted with the movement, allowing her the briefest of glimpses of one of his eyes. There was no mask this time, leaving his angular jaw and frowning lips visible. “Listen, I know that probably seemed like a good idea at the time…but how about not?”
She tried to answer, but her mouth was so dry nothing came out. After gulping some saliva down her throat, she tried again. Except, what on Kameon was she supposed to say? “What…who are you? What are you…let me go. I have to…”
“To what? Get yourself and who knows how many other people killed in an attempt to save them?”
A pained shout drew her attention to where her family had last been. Naylen was still struggling…feebly. His cheek was bright red from a recent blow, his movements becoming sluggish. A flash of silver brought her gaze elsewhere, just in time to see another one of the men fighting back get stabbed by a knight. It was Jarle Praserloy.
She lunged against the stranger’s grasp, a painful pressure flaring in her chest as she watched Jarle’s eyes b
ulge, his knees buckling. Naylen could be next. “Let me go!” she tried to twist her wrists outward, so that she could direct the energy into his restraining hands. He didn’t so much as budge. “You lunatic just let me go!”
“Hey. Hey!” as she writhed even harder, he yanked her around, adjusting his position so that he still kept her hands against her stomach, but they now faced one another. He was kneeling on the ground looking at her, making her feel like a little girl when Loestin used to do the same thing so that they’d be at closer levels. “Listen to me! You can’t stop this. Not like that. But one day, one day you’ll have the chance to resist Kaydor, the man behind all of this. Just not yet.”
Talea couldn’t escape his hold, so she rotated her upper body to see the scene unfold as best she could. The chaos had died down. Most of the drafted men had been rounded up. A few of the strugglers, including Naylen, were detained by some of the soldiers. Other soldiers held back the grieved and angry mob of family members, Seles among them. The commander rode his fidgety coliye toward the weakly squirming rebels, glaring at them. “Have them flogged. The rest of you, let’s get going.” He set his mount trotting down the road, away from the ransacked village square. Half of the knights mounted or took up their positions around the drafted men and started them marching after the commander. About a dozen soldiers remained guarding Naylen and the others. The rest just got out of the way. That left the villagers unrestricted. Several of them broke from the group to run after the departing men. Seles was one of them.
Talea didn’t dare wait to see how the knights would react. She wrenched one of her legs up, bringing her knee into contact with the stranger’s chest with as much force as she could muster. He stumbled backward with a breathy grunt, grip loosening. Pulling free, she turned and sprinted after her mother. She caught Seles by the hand just in time to stop her from being shoved away by a knight like the other villagers.
Seles stepped back and wiped at the tears on her cheeks, covering her eyes with her hand.
“Mom,” Talea bit her lip, observing the group of about fifteen men walk away. Soon they would round a bend and be out of sight. She couldn’t see her father anymore, as he was blocked by the others. “Mom it’s okay. Naylen’s here. We’ll get Dad back, once he’s not needed to help expand Aydimor.”
Her mother’s shoulders shook as more tears leaked from behind her hand. She removed it and looked at Talea with glistening eyes. “No, no we won’t. There’s so much you don’t know.”
She let go of Seles’ wrist. A stinging behind her own eyes told her she was close to tears herself. “What…what do you mean?”
Seles shook her head, turning away, still crying softly.
Talea grimaced. The pressure in her chest had become a dull ache.
“Everyone!” one of the knights left behind shouted to be heard by all. “Listen, I uh, I’m sorry about what’s happened today. But we’re just following orders. And now we’ll need your cooperation for a little longer. We will be visiting every haliop to confiscate any weapons. All of you, please return to your homes, and await our arrival. The more everyone cooperates, the sooner this will be over.”
Return home. Talea rubbed her temples with the heels of her palms, mind as frenzied as the village had been only moments ago. What do I not know? What if Mom is right, and…and we won’t see Dad again? Naylen…Naylen! She whirled around to where her brother and the other strugglers had been. They weren’t there. They were being led away, hands tied, to where a couple soldiers were hastily setting up a post to the side of the village square. The nausea returned. A whipping post.
She started after them. Maybe…well, maybe she could still do something. With almost half of the knights gone, she would have a much better chance of keeping those remaining from flogging her brother and the other men.
Just as she was catching up, someone grabbed her. Heat surged to her hands as she faced the stranger once more. Whoever this guy was, maybe it would be best to just get him out of the way now. Wait. She blinked. This is the man Wylan was talking about. The assassin? Talea raised her hand to release the energy inside, but he grabbed it, pushing her fingers into a fist and completely covering it with his larger, gloved hand. Had he been wearing leather gloves earlier?
He waited, as if anticipating another struggle. Instead, she just glared at him.
“Look,” he tilted his head toward her, “it’s been a rough day. But if you try to kill me again, I’m going to have to switch to less-friendly tactics.”
“Less friendly…” her glare turned into a stupefied stare. “Less friendly? Because you’ve been such a gentleman so far? If you keep grabbing me, I’m going to have to try to kill you harder! Let me go!”
“I will, in a moment.” He looked off in the opposite direction the knights and drafted men had gone, then back at her. “Sorry. Grrake is running late.”
“Grrake? Who’s that, your co-assassin, coming to assist you in my murder?”
Even without being able to see his eyes, she had a feeling he was giving her a skeptical, somewhat vexed look. “Between the two of us, you’re the only one who has hostile intentions. Grrake is my co-warrior. And here he comes now.”
She twisted her neck to see a man riding a celith and leading another into the village. A celith, as if the day hadn’t been crazy enough. She’d seen coliyes since Lord Vissler’s men rode them, but never a celith. And yet here were two, tossing their heads and prancing on long legs, muscles rippling as they moved.
The rider stopped beside them, looking at the man that held her. “You weren’t supposed to…” he sighed. “Well, hello, Talea.” Unlike the other stranger, this man, apparently Grrake, had a soft voice. Almost gentle. He wore the same hood, armor, and weaponry. “I’m sorry about what happened. We’re going to take care of it, though. Please, just try to remain calm and go unnoticed.”
All she could do was squint at his concealed face, then at the other man’s, and back again.
The stranger released her and strolled toward the spare celith nonchalantly, seemingly confident she no longer had hostile intentions. He stuck his boot into the stirrup and swung into the saddle with ease. Apparently a celith was nothing new to him. “We’ll be seeing you again soon.” He pinched the edge of his hood and tugged while dipping his head toward her, like he was nothing more than an old friend tipping his hat to her. Both men kicked their heels into the celith’s flanks, and the animals took off at a canter down the road, out of the village, after the drafted men.
It took the cracking of a whip to snap her from her daze. Talea took off again toward her brother. He wasn’t the one currently suffering lashes, but he was next in line. The man tied to the post—she couldn’t tell who he was from this angle—groaned as the whip struck again, leaving behind a line of red welts on his bare, sweaty back. This was madness. What had they done wrong, tried to protect themselves and their families?
A knight stepped into her path, forcing her to come to an abrupt stop. He grasped her shoulder and turned her back, guiding her away. Muscles rigid, she yielded to the steady pressure on her shoulder and walked. Left Naylen behind.
“This isn’t something you need to see, girl.” By his voice, he was the same soldier that had addressed them most recently and had shown at least a little sympathy. “If you have a family member among those to be punished, I’m sorry, but there’s nothing you can do for him. Go on, now. Get the rest of your family and go to your haliop. I don’t want there to be any more trouble.”
Talea didn’t so much as blink or alter her course by an inch until he let her go. She went straight to Seles, grabbed her arm, and started down the road to get to their haliop. Her mother followed without a word. Both of them flinched every time the whip cracked, and the victim groaned; wondering if this time, it was Naylen.
She did her best to keep her breathing normal. Just get to the haliop. Get through the knights’ visit. Get Naylen back. Find Brenly and help her somehow. Just get to the haliop. Get through the day.
~♦~
Brenly put her back to the trunk of the tree and slid down until she sat on the ground, pulling her knees up and hugging them to her chest. Between other trees and tall blades of grass, she could still see part of the village square. It was mostly empty now. The drafted men, her uncle among them, would be outside of Vissler by now. The remaining villagers had scattered to return to their haliops as told, and most of the remaining soldiers had left to make their inspections.
Calam’s haliop would now belong to her. According to the knight’s instructions, she should be there now. But she was here, sitting against a tree in the woods just outside the square, the act of holding back tears beginning to feel as impossible as holding back a river with a few sticks. She would not go back to that haliop. Not alone. The word felt like a stone in her gut. First her parents, and now her uncle. She was alone. Again.
Her breath caught in a gasp as the whip cracked again, earning an agonized cry from whoever had received the lash. Was it Naylen? In all the mayhem, as she’d been practically clinging to Calam, she hadn’t kept track of what the Anduls were doing. She’d seen him fighting, though. And besides, she knew him well enough to know that he would never go sedately like his father. There was no doubt that he was among those being flogged.
That was it, then. She would wait until it was over, until the knights performing the punishment were gone or no longer guarding, and she’d help Naylen. She’d help him get home and taken care of, and then…and then…
One of the tears got past her invisible barriers and rolled down her cheek, hardly noticeable among the beads of perspiration. Brenly brushed it away, only to have it replaced by two more. Leaning forward until her forehead rested on her knees, she rocked herself back and forth, back and forth.
