Daughter of Lightning

by Anna Logan

  Yhkon swept the group, searching for clarity. No one expressed any confusion or opposition. “Good.” The sky was fading, night on its way. “We attack in three hours.”

  ~♦~

  Alili moaned something in her sleep, shifting. Talea let her get situated again, then went back to rhythmically stroking the tangled mess of hair that rested against her chest. The strands were silky, smooth even, where they weren’t matted, allowing her fingertips to glide down easily, over, and over, and over.

  Things were different now. Resolve to do the right thing seemed petty and foolish in the face of reality. Because reality included a little girl curled up in her lap, who had suffered just an hour ago at the hand of a heartless man because Talea was “doing the right thing”. It included that man withholding food from both of them and minimizing their water. It included their continued imprisonment in a six-by-six-foot cell, underground, alone. For how long, she didn’t know. There was no way to measure time. Her best guess was a week or less. It might as well have been a month.

  It was one thing when reality and morality could coexist peacefully. It was one thing when a person could do the right thing without endangering another person. In this case, Talea was the person who had to choose. She had to choose between holding to her moral standards and preserving the life of an old, dying man that would rather she kill him quickly, and continuing to put a little girl through abuse and misery.

  She let her head fall back against the bars. At what point was it the best option? Not right…but if it was between him and Alili…shouldn’t the right thing be to protect Alili?

  After that first time, Lerrip had left them in the cell for what she supposed was a few days. No food was given to them except a couple pieces of stale bread and limited water. They never left the cell. An hour ago, he’d come back. When she’d still refused his order, he’d torn Alili from her arms, left her helplessly screaming after him. He brought Alili back with fresh bruises and welts.

  Now the girl was asleep on her lap. She knew that Alili understood that it was because of her that Lerrip hurt her, yet the child showed no resentment. If anything, she had identified Talea as a protector, a caregiver. Which she was…as best she could. There wasn’t much nurturing one could do in a prison cell.

  Alili never spoke. Not a single word. Perhaps she was physically mute, perhaps it was because of all the mistreatment she’d received in her short lifetime. But she wasn’t some feeble-minded, naive child. With or without verbalization, there was a wealth of understanding and discernment in her eyes.

  Talea left the tangled hair and wrapped her arms around Alili’s tiny, emaciated form. A twinge of pain in her stomach made her wince. She had never known a childhood like Alili’s—the grief it would include. Hunger, however, was something she was familiar with. The gnawing, empty ache in her gut, the monster that churned and squeezed and clawed, demanding to be fed. The weakness that burdened every muscle. Closing her eyes, a new scene lit up, replacing the rusty bars illuminated by torchlight. Her living room. The dirt floor. Seles, tears on her gaunt cheeks as the man sent by Lord Vissler tried to convince her to sell Talea to her lord. Loestin’s shadowed eyes as he’d considered the suggestion.

  Her grip around Alili tightened. It was wrong, it was all so wrong. But she couldn’t do it anymore. Last time, she’d been unwilling to agree to Lerrip’s demands because she’d thought it was wrong, even if the old man was prepared to die. Wrong didn’t matter anymore. Reality won. She would do what it took to protect Alili.

  It was no longer a choice between the old man and Alili. Now, it was a choice between the old man and all the Asyjgon. She could kill him as told, hopefully the Asyjgon would be satisfied, they would give her and Alili food, and then maybe she would have the strength to make an escape. Or—she could make the escape now. She could kill however many Asyjgon she needed to get Alili out of there. Did she have the strength, though? With as little food and water as they’d been given, she didn’t know if she could fight through a cave full of Asyjgon, even if she could build up the courage to do so.

  And the Wardens? Some small part of her was still holding on to the hope that rescue would come before the time to enact her new resolve would. But why hadn’t they come already? Had they already tried, and failed? Or, the safety of the other wards came before hers alone. That was fair. She supposed she should have wished they wouldn’t come, that her family and friends would get to Calcaria, that they would be safe. But what if it wasn’t that. What if…she just wasn’t worth it to them. Or what if Wylan had been right all along, and capture by Asyjgon was just another way for the Wardens to be rid of her.

  It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. All that mattered now was shielding Alili from these brutes and staying alive. Whatever it takes.

  ~♦~

  “I said go, you idiot.” He cuffed Tarol over the head. The red-haired Warden only grinned as he took off at a jog with Ki and Kae on either side of him to get in position for their diversion. To the rest of the group, he communicated with hand gestures. Naylen, bow in hand, to his post. Brenly taking the reins of the celiths to lead them to the rendezvous point. The rest of them, ready to make the dash to the cave.

  He looked to Grrake. The older man was looking back and gave him a slight nod. Yhkon lifted his hand, swept his gaze over the group one last time, and flicked his wrist toward the base.

  They took off at a full sprint. Almost at the same moment as they did, Tarol’s distraction flared to life, in the form of a tree ablaze. “FIRE!” he shouted, even as more trees were lit.

  Within seconds, Asyjgon were pouring from the main entrance and rushing to the fire with buckets of water. Tarol and the twins were out of sight. According to the plan, they would be slipping away to set another fire farther off.

  Yhkon slowed his pace as they neared the side entrance. Some of the Asyjgon had noticed them. “Haeric, go!”

  With Haeric at their lead, five of the Elikwai broke off to engage the opposition.

  Yhkon and his band continued into the gaping black mouth of the grotto. A few paces in and they met resistance. His sword flew from the scabbard with the familiar ringing sound. He lunged to reach the three Asyjgon first, energy surging through his body with the thrill of the attack. Two of the men fell under his blade before any of his companions even had a chance at the third. On they went, deeper into the cave, dispatching adversaries as they came.

  ~♦~

  Something shook her arm.

  Her brow knit. Naylen and Brenly were strolling, arm in arm, seeming not to hear as she called to them from behind bars. They were—

  A hand on her shoulder, moving it. The dream vanished as her eyes flew open. They landed on Alili’s round, dirty face, on her big eyes, pupils wide to take in the dim light. The small hand jostled her shoulder again.

  Groggily, Talea sat up, apprehension building in her chest. Noise. The one noise that they ever heard down in their secluded prison: oncoming footsteps. The apprehension became fear, tightening her fingers around Alili’s wrist as she stood up shakily, putting the girl behind her and moving to the back of the cell.

  A figure appeared, silhouetted in the light of the nearby hallway. He advanced toward the cell. Something about his gait, about the set of his shoulders…it was Lerrip.

  No! It couldn’t have been more than four hours since he’d last come and beaten Alili. How could he be back so soon? She’d been relying on at least a day or two to think and to strategize. Could she do it? What was she thinking, deciding to agree to his schemes? Giving in?

  Arriving at their end, he jammed a key into the lock with fervor, cursing when it caught before releasing. He flung open the door. Talea shrank back as far as the wall would allow, Alili cowering behind her.

  “An invasion. We’re under attack.” He stopped within arm’s reach of her. Despite being of roughly equal height, somehow he seemed to tower over her. His harsh voice echoed in the empty corridor of prison cells. “You will fight. For us. Now
. Do you hear me? You will fight!”

  She recoiled, looking away. What if…what if the invaders were—

  His hand flew toward her too fast to dodge. Fingers closed around her neck. The pressure constricting her throat.

  Panic brought an overpowering frenzy. She tried to scream. Tried to jerk away from him. Kicked and struggled. Nothing worked. She couldn’t breathe. The craze heightened to an unbearable desperation as pain gripped her throat as tightly as his hand. He lifted her off the ground by his grip on her neck and slammed her against the bars. The metal collided with her body without mercy. “You will fight for us, or I will kill the girl! Do you hear me?! You will!” he smashed her against the bars again. Pain exploded in her ribcage. Blackness dimmed her vision. A limp, helpless sensation crawled its way over her, paralyzing each muscle, slackening her posture. Everything was fading. His voice…the cell…Alili futilely attacking his arm, trying to make him let her go…even the pain was fading…

  Everything came rushing back into place as the tension on her throat suddenly lifted, at the same time as she hit the floor painfully. Through the throbbing in her ears she could hear her wheezing, gasping breaths. Through the overwhelming pain that dulled her senses to everything else she could feel Alili’s touch. Through blurry, obscured sight she could see Lerrip leaving at a sprint, a sword in his hand.

  ~♦~

  Taking down the final opponent, Yhkon adjusted his grip on his sword and charged down the next hallway. At the end, around a corner, and—

  The glint of a blade flew toward his throat. Bending backwards under the slice, he came back up in time to hack down on the assailant who was still carried by the momentum of having over swung. He lifted his bloodied sword just in time to deflect the next attack.

  “We’ve got these!” Dranin engaged the man for him. “Keep going!”

  The Elikwai carved a gash into the mass of men, enough for Yhkon, Grrake, and Wylan to get past to the next passageway and keep going. They didn’t make it far before a handful of Asyjgon burst from behind a closed door with weapons flashing. Grrake attacked in time to bottleneck them in the doorway, giving himself the advantage. “Go!” he yelled over the din of clashing swords.

  Yhkon grabbed Wylan’s arm and drew him on full speed. Down. The descent was gradual, but he could tell: the way the air grew cooler, the dampness, the fewer torches. They were close.

  They barged into another hallway, this one with a sharp decline, leading into darkness. Coming up it, towards them, a single man with sword in hand. Yhkon got the distinct feeling that this was a leader of some sort. Reasoning told him that the end of the hallway was the prison. That told him that this man had just come from where Talea was being kept. Meaning, he’d probably been down there to hurt her in some way.

  Fury erupted like heat in his core, fueling his movements. His eyesight was limited, tainted with a red pulsing that gained intensity as he attacked. All he knew was the feel of the sword in his hands, its familiar shape and surface. The strain in his muscles as they wielded it: a downward drag, flex to pull it back up, contract for a swing. His adversary groaned out some sort of exclamation or plea. Whatever it was, it only heightened the vehement burn in his gut. He felt the distinctive resistance of flesh and bone as his blade made contact with the man’s torso, heard the scream of pain, and drove harder.

  He didn’t bother taking the time to look. He felt the body leave his sword as it fell, knew the man was dead, and kept going.

  The end of the hallway opened them to a large space, lit by a single torch. It was perpendicular to a walkway that provided access to the line of cells along the wall. A sharp odor of sweat, human waste, and the sickly smell of rot. This was it. The rapid pounding of his heart steadied slightly.

  Yhkon waved Wylan to the right side, while he ventured down the left, examining each cell as he passed. Empty, empty, empty, empty…there.

  It wasn’t a recognizably human form. It was just a heap on the floor, absent in the other cells. “Talea?” the tentativeness of his own whisper surprised him.

  The heap moved. Part of it unfolded into a young girl, under eight years old. The other half stirred, a pale hand reaching up to pull the girl in protectively, crawling away from him, toward the back of the cell.

  “No, Talea, it’s…” he grabbed the lock of the door and yanked, cursing when all it did was clang and not budge. One of the occupants gave a raspy whimper. “Wylan get the…” he rattled the box containing the lock, frustration mounting. “Get the blasted key! From the-the—!”

  Wylan’s footsteps faded away and returned swiftly, with the jingle of keys. Yhkon snatched them from his hand and shoved one into the keyhole. It didn’t fit. Swearing again, he tried the next. It clicked. Swinging the door wide open, he went straight to the huddled figure at the back of the cell, taking her by the shoulders gently. “Talea it’s me! It’s Yhkon.”

  A hoarse croak of a cry came from her chapped lips as she lifted her head. He could see her now, in the torchlight. Skin ghostly pale, eyes red and bloodshot, cheeks gaunt, a bruise on her forehead. Before he had time to react, she had scrambled her way up and into his arms.

  At first, he wasn’t sure what to do. Instinct made his own arms circle around her back, returning her embrace. He could feel the outline of her spine through her clothing. Without another thought, he put one arm under her knees, and lifted, settling her against his chest. When he started to back out of the cell, however, she put her hand on his shoulder. Made another raspy, croaking sound. “What is it?” he asked. Why wouldn’t she talk? Why was her voice so…Realization dawned. “Did he strangle you?”

  She nodded. The raging warmth of a few minutes ago flared in his belly again. “Alright. Then is it the girl? We should take her?”

  Another nod. “Wylan, can you get her?”

  Wylan slipped into the cell and crouched to pick up the girl. With a shriek, she cowered out of his reach and darted to the opposite corner, near Yhkon’s leg.

  Talea moved in his arms, trying to get down. He set her on her feet, still gripping her with one hand. She took the little girl’s hand in hers, moved to Wylan, and set their clasped hands on his chest. Though with wide, untrusting eyes, the child let him pick her up the second time.

  With Yhkon carrying Talea again, they left the cell. He suspected she could walk if need be, but doubted she could go much faster than that. As it was, he set out at a sprint back up the hallway, retracing their steps. He thought he felt her shudder as they passed the body in the hall.

  He nearly bumped into Grrake as he rounded a sharp corner.

  “Please tell me you found—” Grrake broke off, both relief and concern in his gaze, as he noticed Talea and the girl. “Esg yna lafdar?”

  “Is she alright?” He and Grrake were both Sanonyan, the language was their native tongue. It was an easy way to communicate privately amongst themselves. How could he reply? I don’t know. “Y kur opsir.”

  They kept going. Coming back to where they’d left Dranin and his men fighting, Yhkon shouted as they ran past. “We’ve got her, fall back!” He shouted it again as they broke from the cave, into the night. The fire-lit night. The blaze started by the twins had spread, consuming almost a dozen trees. Asyjgon were frantically fighting it, but upon seeing the escaping group, they seemed unsure which threat to address. Some stayed with the fire, some pursued. Haeric and the Elikwai he led came spilling out of the side entrance, more Asyjgon hard on their heels. Every once and awhile an arrow from an unseen archer would do away with a pursuer.

  But that wasn’t going to cut it. At this rate, they’d get to the celiths and be overwhelmed by enemies before they had time to mount up. They could turn back and fight, and probably win, but not without casualties. At this moment, Talea’s safety was his first priority, and fighting would jeopardize that. Which meant… “Tarol!”

  Yhkon hoped Tarol was in fact smarter than he usually gave him credit for and would understand the message.

  Lightning
split the peaceful sky, a brilliant white bolt diving into the ranks of the following Asyjgon. The source was unseen, though he knew perfectly well who it was. Hopefully, the Asyjgon would think it was Talea. If not… well, that was a risk of the future. He had to deal with the risks of the here-and-now.

  More lightning bolts, illuminating the woods in eerie flashes. There were screams and groans every time one struck. It wasn’t long before he heard the rumble of pursuing footsteps fade into the hum of fleeing footsteps.

  He reached Eclipse panting, clutching Talea tightly, heart hammering again. “Mount up! Grrake, t—” before he could finish the request, Grrake was at his side, taking Talea from him so he could swing into the saddle. Once he was up, he handed her back up. She must have passed out, because she was completely limp. Or she was…He gulped down the rising tension in his throat, putting his fingertips to her neck, just beneath her jaw. Nothing…nothing…Relief made his rigid shoulder sag, as a light pulse drummed against his touch. “Come on! Naylen, Tarol, Ki, Kae, are you all here?!”

  “Here,” it was Naylen’s voice. “Did you get—”

  “I’ve got her. Tarol?”

  “Tarol and twins accounted for!” came the young Warden’s chipper voice, just before Yhkon spotted his conspicuous red hair bobbing through the crowd to get to his celith. “Now can we get outta here or what?!”

  Thus far, the Asyjgon had not renewed the hunt, daunted by the lightning show. That didn’t mean he felt the need to hang around any longer than necessary. “Is everyone mounted? Wylan, you’ve got the girl?”

  Everyone confirmed. “Then let’s go!” he kicked his heels into Eclipse’s flanks, cueing the stallion into a canter. That was the problem with these confounded mountains: the terrain made riding a celith difficult, and dangerous at anything above a trot. A trot was too slow. Narone hadn’t made Himself of much use otherwise, but hopefully He’d at least be so generous as to keep their celiths from breaking any legs or running off any cliffs.