by L. L. MacRae
Damned stupid Fenn. He’d brought the Inquisitors’ attention to them, and now…and now…
‘Jisyel!’ Calidra called out again, her voice echoing into nothingness over the dark water, swallowed by the rain that continued to fall. ‘Please!’
‘Come on.’ Varlot held out his arm, but she refused it, pacing along the line of the water and looking out, decidedly ignoring Nadja’s stares. ‘Jisyel!’ Her only answer were more splashes as chunks of the bridge fell into the water, great boulders of stone sending up a shower of spray as they plunged into the bay.
What if…what if one landed right on Jisyel? Crushed her skull and shattered her bones.
Calidra tried not to think of that, but her mind reeled, whirling with worst-case scenario after worst-case scenario. She hardly realised when Varlot’s strong arms helped her back to her feet. When had she sunk to her knees? Why did she ache so much?
‘We’ll take it gently back.’ Varlot’s voice was low and soothing.
Although Calidra knew the man by reputation, she didn’t know him personally, and it was all suddenly too much for her. ‘No! Jisyel! I have to get to her!’
But when she gazed out at the vast expanse of black water, her legs turned to mush, and they buckled. There was no way she could convince herself to get in there. Not even for Jisyel. She was too afraid.
Too weak.
Fighting the lump at the back of her throat and the stinging behind her eyes that were always a precursor to tears, she flailed her arms, weakly waving them. ‘Jisyel…’
‘Really, now. I don’t want to have to arrest you for your conduct. That wouldn’t look good for your family, would it?’ Nadja walked over to them, one hand on the hilt of her sword. All kindness had left her eyes.
Varlot gently, but firmly, steered her away from the water’s edge, lifting her back onto her feet and continuing to support her. ‘Thank you, Inquisitor. I’ll look after her from here. Let me know if you spot our…companions?’
Nadja nodded once.
Calidra looked back at Torsten, who was deep in conversation with another Inquisitor with sandy-coloured hair. She’d not even realised he had turned up. Her throat dried and her vision swirled. ‘I think…I think I’m going to be sick.’
Calidra was barely aware of their walk back to The Seafarer’s Haven. Bellandri’s friend, Ashothka, had never turned up. Which meant she had nowhere to stay, either. How had she lost everything so quickly?
She threw up twice on their way back into the heart of Ballowtown, and Varlot helped her up into a quiet room on the third floor, leaving a bucket beside the bed as he went back outside, closing the door behind him.
She clutched the bedsheets as grief and despair warred within her. Varlot was out there, in the rain and darkness, looking for Jisyel. Fenn. She wanted to be out there as well, she should have been out there with him, searching.
But it was dark.
Dangerous.
And she was in no fit state to be looking for anyone. She clung to the hope he would return with good news as exhaustion gave way to a nightmare-fuelled sleep.
Calidra woke up several more times through the night, vomiting until nothing but bile burned her throat. Alternating between vomiting and crying, she trembled under the bedsheets, her mind a whirlwind of emotion and confusion. Time seemed to spin, and everything that had once made sense unravelled.
Bellandri’s words echoed. ‘Keep my granddaughter safe.’
Less than a day off the island and everything had gone mad. This was why returning to Bragalia had always been such a terrible idea. Nothing good could come of it.
Exhausted, she rolled over on the hard bed, kicking the sheets off herself. She automatically reached for Jisyel, for comfort, but her hand fell through empty air. She sobbed, then. It had been a long time since she’d really let her emotions get the better of her. Feeling horrific, and desperate for a hug that she couldn’t have, she dozed off again.
Sometime after the sun had risen, a knock at the door brought Calidra to full alertness instantly. She glanced around the room, taking a moment to recognise where she was and reorientate herself, and brace for the pain as she remembered Jisyel wasn’t there.
Though she winced at the difficulty of getting to her feet, she crossed the room quickly, pushing her hair out of her eyes. With a deep breath, trying to inspire some non-existent confidence from whatever strength she had in reserve, she opened the door. ‘Varlot?’
Sunlight streamed in from the bright corridor behind him, and she stood back to let him in, heedless of the smell of vomit that no doubt permeated.
Varlot’s cloak was soaked, as were his boots, and he brought in mud. ‘I thought you might need something to drink.’ He handed Calidra a small, tin jug, liquid sloshing inside.
‘Did you find Jisyel?’
He didn’t reply, walking past her with heavy steps. Even in his tiredness, sopping wet and post-battle with a terrifying shadow-creature, the man radiated strength. It was no wonder he’d been so highly ranked within the Porsenthian army.
She lifted the jug’s lid and gave it a cautious sniff—lemon and a mixture of herbs she faintly recognised. She sipped, grateful it was only lukewarm, then wandered over to the bed and sat down, wearier than ever. There were so many things happening. She should apologise for the mess. Be thankful for the tea. Ask about the money she owed him for the room he’d so generously furnished her with. Make sure he was okay after spending a night outside searching in the cold rain.
But she could only focus on one thing. ‘Varlot? Tell me you found her?’
‘Damn Inquisitors are crawling all over the place. Won’t let anyone near the site.’ Varlot shrugged out of his cloak, then laid it neatly over the back of one chair.
Without his cloak, she saw scars littered his muscular arms. Some looked quite fresh. She wondered if he fought for fun or glory, or if trouble had a habit of finding him.
‘No sign of Fenn and Jisyel. Or whatever that creature was. They’re definitely not in Ballowtown. Might have washed up on the other side of the bay…’
Calidra’s heart soared as she latched onto the possibility of hope. ‘She’s a strong swimmer, Jisyel.’
Varlot nodded and exhaled sharply. He walked over to the window, drew the curtain, and lifted the pane open, letting cool air stream into the stuffy room.
She watched him carefully as he gazed out the open window. He’d told them he’d helped Fenn because of an old rivalry with Torsten. That he enjoyed making life difficult for the Master Inquisitor whenever the opportunity arose. Was it worth having someone around who liked to poke sleeping dragons? Attracting Torsten’s attention was never a good thing. And yet, Varlot seemed genuinely to want to help Fenn.
More than that, she needed him. Without Varlot, she was effectively on her own. Having him as an ally would keep her safe, there was no doubt about that.
Varlot said, ‘Bridge is out, too. Saw a few officers try and cross, but more of the stone crumbled and a handful of them ended up in the water. That’ll take a while to repair, need to ship the stone in from the mountains.’
Her earlier joy shattered. ‘So…I can’t cross?’
‘You’d have to go all the way up to Meadowhill, cross the river, then come back south.’
Calidra knew that. She was Bragalian, she knew her own country and its geography. But she didn’t know if another bridge had been built further inland in the years she’d been away. Still, she appreciated Varlot’s thorough explanation. At least he cared.
It was probably more than she deserved.
She thought about what to do next. Meadowhill was just over halfway between Ballowtown and Fellwood. Jisyel knew that, too. If…if Jisyel had made it to the other side, perhaps she’d continue north, and they’d meet up at Meadowhill. She licked her lips, considering. Of course, Varlot could be mistaken, and Jisyel and Fenn had drowned together, never to be seen again.
The thought threatened to turn her stomach, so she took another sip
of her herbal tea, hoping it would settle her body, if not her emotions. She looked at Varlot, a former General within the Porsenthian army, and wondered what he was doing in Bragalia. Even when she thought back to the conversation they’d had at the table, before everything had gone mad, she’d been suspicious of him. Then again, she was suspicious of everyone.
A training contract in Fellwood wasn’t uncommon; her parents often hired specialists or tutors to work in their household. She’d had several throughout her own childhood, including a weapons master.
But he was particularly interested in Fenn. Something about it felt off, and she didn’t know if she was simply on edge because of what had happened. Was he telling the truth? She needed to figure it out. Needed to see if she could trust him. ‘Did you lie to Torsten?’
Varlot’s gaze, which had been firmly locked on outside the window, whipped around to her. His eyebrows knitted together. ‘Lie?’
‘About Fellwood. My father…’
‘Passed away, I know. And I’m sorry for your loss.’ Varlot returned his attention to the window, staring out at the street below, his emotions guarded. ‘He’d been sick a while. It was to be expected.’
Again, Calidra knew, but she let it slide, holding back her natural reaction to correct him. If Jisyel were here, she’d tell Calidra she ought to be grateful. That he’d done so much to help her. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to vocalise that.
‘I suppose he didn’t want to leave his youngest kid without any sort of fighting experience. That’s why he contracted me. Unusual, but money is money. I do it every now and then. Torsten knows that.’
‘Only the best for father.’ Calidra rolled her eyes and took a larger gulp of her drink. It was somehow too bitter and too sweet, and she’d give anything for a steaming mug of cinnamon coffee instead, but it had quenched her stomach’s desire to vomit. For now, she’d give Varlot the benefit of the doubt—as long as he was helping her, Jisyel, and Fenn. He was handy with his axe, and clearly resourceful. Useful to have around.
She didn’t want to think about home, about what was left of her family, but she couldn’t help it. Her brother, Paicha, had only been a toddler when she’d last seen him. She doubted she’d even recognise him, or he her. Calidra abruptly changed the subject before another pain grew too strongly in her chest. ‘Was this your room?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why did you give it to me?’
Varlot shrugged. ‘You needed it. What’s wrong? Not good enough for the Laird’s daughter?’
‘Nothing’s wrong.’ She wasn’t a fan of his humour.
Calidra chewed her lip. She had a funeral to get to and Varlot had a training contract. But she didn’t want to leave, couldn’t even consider leaving, in case Jisyel and Fenn had washed up further along the coast. What if they were making their way back to Ballowtown right now? Jisyel would be irate if she finally made it back to the inn only to find Calidra gone.
She sighed. With the Inquisitors forbidding anyone from going near the bay, it would be pointless trying to look again. Varlot had spent all night looking. And Jisyel could swim. There was a good chance they’d made it to the other side of the bay.
She hoped Fenn could swim, too, unless that was another thing he’d conveniently forgotten.
Perhaps she should wait one day. Just in case. A single day wouldn’t put her too far behind schedule, she’d just have to travel faster for the rest of the way to Fellwood to make it home in time for her father’s funeral. The message that she’d received on the Isle of Salt had said she had a week before the funeral. She’d have a handful of days to make it.
As soon as she thought about waiting another day, it seemed the best thing to do, and some of the tension eased from her shoulders. ‘Varlot. I’d like to stay one more night, if that’s okay. In case Jisyel comes back.’
‘Fenn too?’
‘Of course Fenn, too.’
He scratched the side of his chin.
‘There’ll be payment, of course. I…travel light, but as we’re both heading to Fellwood, you’ll get your coin there.’ It was a white lie. She did travel light, but that was because her funds had been cut off, not out of choice. She had no idea if her mother would allow Varlot to take more coin as payment for looking after her, but that was an argument—no, conversation—for later.
His jaw tightened. ‘Fine. I’ll get another room, assuming they still have openings.’
At his abrupt change, Calidra wondered if she’d offended him somehow. Despite living on the Isle of Salt for several years, she wasn’t completely familiar with Porsenthian culture and expectations. They were isolated on the island, at any rate. Anything Jisyel and Bellandri did couldn’t necessarily be parallelled on the mainland.
She didn’t have time to tiptoe around customs and familiarities, though. Not while Jisyel—and Fenn, she reminded herself—were lost, possibly injured. ‘I’m going back to the water, see if I can—’
‘No. Torsten is arresting anyone who ventures too close. Best to keep away, Calidra.’
‘But—’
‘I know Torsten more than anyone. Better to keep off his bad side. Better to keep out of his notice completely, if I’m honest.’
Calidra didn’t like it. She hated being told what to do, especially where Jisyel was concerned. But getting herself arrested wasn’t going to help anyone’s situation. She massaged her temples, angry at herself for letting things get out of hand so quickly. She sat, quiet, sipping from her drink every so often, while her mind reeled from the night’s events.
‘I want to know what that thing was.’
Varlot’s voice brought her from her thoughts. ‘I beg your pardon?’ In the panic of losing Jisyel, she’d almost forgotten the cause of the chaos.
‘The thing Torsten and I fought. Never seen a spirit like that before, and I’ve fought pretty much everything on this continent.’
Calidra thought back to the battle, mildly annoyed he’d excluded her from the list of combatants—she’d done her part, too, even if she only had a hunting dagger. But the details of what they fought hadn’t meant anything to her, so she hadn’t paid much attention. ‘Corrupted spirit, I guess.’
‘Was it?’
‘Why else would it attack? Or look like that? I’ve never seen one before, have you?’
Varlot shook his head and ran a hand through his dark hair. It was greying at the temples, but he was handsome in a rugged sort of way. Past his prime, perhaps, and arrogant from his time in the army, but not unlikeable. Had a wife and son too, if she remembered rightly.
Calidra tried to channel Jisyel’s positive thinking and decided to show him some courtesy after all he’d done for her. For them. ‘Thank you, Varlot. For…everything. We were fortunate to have crossed paths. Fenn’s lucky, too. Torsten would’ve whisked him away, otherwise.’
He inclined his head in acknowledgement, then continued to look out of the window. ‘He’s a good lad, Fenn. Reminds me of my boy. Anyway, this place is gonna be crawling with Inquisitors.’ Resentment laced his voice, turning his words sharp and bitter. ‘Best get out of here soon.’
Calidra frowned. She wanted to wait until the next morning—to give herself time to rest as much as wait for Jisyel and Fenn. There was no chance she’d leave earlier. ‘Tomorrow, we’ll leave.’
He didn’t seem to hear her. ‘The people. “Lost souls,” Torsten keeps calling ‘em. You remember? That’s why there are so many Inquisitors right now.’
‘Yes. Well, I’m sure stowaways turn up from time to time? I imagine northern Bragalia is in a bit of a state after my father’s passing. It isn’t often that a Laird dies.’
‘Not like this. Torsten wouldn’t get involved unless it was something important.’ Varlot didn’t say any more on the matter and they fell into silence.
Calidra didn’t know. She had too much on her mind with her own family matters and Jisyel falling into the water to really care about why Torsten was down here. It may be that the lost souls a
nd Fenn were connected, but she simply didn’t have the brainpower to think about that right now.
Her immediate situation and survival was the only thing she could consider. Varlot was a curiosity, too. Calidra had always wondered why a man of Varlot’s standing—and ability—had left the Porsenthian army. He didn’t seem any worse for it, and she wondered if it had anything to do with Torsten or the rivalry he claimed to have with the Master Inquisitor. If the truce between Porsenthia and Bragalia wasn’t in effect, she’d be Varlot’s enemy. Her throat tightened at the thought. Perhaps she was fortunate he’d taken an interest in Fenn.
It didn’t matter that Bragalia had been an ally to Porsenthia for close to six decades. For many people, centuries of hatred and violence weren’t so easily erased. The memories of that time were fresh for many.
She should have paid more attention. Perhaps then she could have done something to stop what had happened. She’d been too preoccupied with her irritation at having to babysit Fenn, too focussed on herself and Jisyel, keeping an eye out for Ashothka, figuring out what she’d say to her mother when they finally reached Fellwood. As far as she was concerned, Fenn becoming someone else’s problem was relieving her of that burden.
Calidra was determined to put things to rights.
Varlot hadn’t been happy about waiting another day before leaving, but Calidra had promised him extra coin, and that appeared persuasive enough to get the man to stay with fewer complaints. He had gone into town shortly after the first morning, on his own business that he’d not shared with her. She didn’t care. She had too much on her mind to worry about what her new companion was up to, and her bruises needed time to heal.
