by L. L. MacRae
‘Oooh. Looks sore.’ Jisyel sat down one one of the empty beds.
Fenn nodded. ‘Yeah, just a bit. You’ll want to take a look at your feet, too. They’ll be just as bad.’
‘Oh, I’m sure it’s fine. They don’t hurt.’
Fenn laughed at that. ‘Jisyel. We both know you wouldn’t feel them even if they fell off!’
‘Ah, Hassen’s curse?’ Selys asked, standing in front of Jisyel and studying her intently. ‘I did wonder what he’d done to you. So unpredictable, that spirit.’
Jisyel glanced away with a barely concealed grimace. ‘I had hoped to find a cure.’
‘Well, you’d need another spirit of equal or greater power. Perhaps Chyram? Or Yakris? If you fancy a trip into Olmir?’
Jisyel shook her head. ‘I want to find Calidra. We need to get to Fellwood. After that…then we’ll see.’
A pang of sympathy rippled through Fenn as he looked at Jisyel. ‘You really love that woman. Don’t you?’
‘I do. That’s why I have to—we have to get to Fellwood. Quickly. If you and Selys are both okay here, I want to go back into town. Check the other inns in case anyone’s seen her.’
‘But your feet?’ Fenn tried.
‘They’ll be fine. I’ve survived worse. Blisters will heal. I’ll be as quick as I can and rest when I get back. Promise.’
Worry surged within Fenn. ‘Please be careful, Jisyel. I don’t think Calidra would forgive me if anything happened to you.’
Tears sprang to the corners of Jisyel’s eyes at Fenn’s words. Her bottom lip quivered. ‘She has to be here. And…and if not, she’ll be in Fellwood. Won’t she?’
‘Of course!’ Fenn stood up to comfort her, but collapsed to the floor at his first step, his feet too sore to bear his weight. He caught himself on the bed frame as he went down, and Selys grabbed his other arm a second later—her reactions were faster than he’d realised. ‘I’m okay. Honestly!’
‘Jisyel. Let me accompany you. Two pairs of eyes are better than one when searching.’ Selys said, once Fenn had assured them he was okay.
He smiled at Selys, glad she’d offered. He would have offered, too, if he’d been capable of walking. They had to stay positive.
‘Thank you, Selys. I shouldn’t be able to get into too much trouble if you’re with me!’ Jisyel wiped away her tears and straightened up. She rummaged around in her bag again, then pulled out a pestle and mortar and a sealed drawstring bag that smelled heavily of herbs. She put it on Fenn’s bed. ‘Mash this up and put it over your feet. A good, thick layer.’
‘The paste again?’
‘Glinoc paste. It’ll do wonders for those wounds. We’ll be back as soon as we can. Sorry to leave you, Fenn, but I’m not sitting around waiting while Calidra could be somewhere nearby.’
He understood, and wondered whether Jisyel was too stubborn to be upset for too long. It could be true, considering she had a habit of keeping herself busy whenever negative emotions threatened to overwhelm her. ‘Good luck.’ Fenn nodded as Jisyel and Selys left the room.
Although the rich smell of the paste could have caused a headache on its own, the medicine did its job. When Fenn awoke early the following morning, all redness had gone, new skin had grown under his blisters, and his feet didn’t ache at all.
Jisyel and Selys had returned just before dark. Despite wanting to warn more of the townspeople about the Myr, after seeing how the lost souls had been treated, they’d kept quiet.
Unfortunately, their search had borne no fruit.
There hadn’t even been a sighting of people matching Calidra and Varlot’s description.
Jisyel had been crestfallen, not even wanting dinner. Although Fenn knew she couldn’t taste food anymore, couldn’t tell when she was hungry or not, he couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t seen her without a pastry or a piece of fruit, or some other snack close to hand.
With the mood sombre, they’d gone to sleep early, with a view to leaving for Fellwood early the next morning.
Fenn’s stomach turned at the possibility that Calidra wasn’t there.
If she wasn’t there, Jisyel would likely want to make her way back to Ballowtown. But he would be right at the Porsenthian border. The answer to his own curse lay further north, if Selys was correct. Would he leave Jisyel to travel alone, and try to find a cure by himself?
Or would he put off his own questions and stick with Jisyel, until she was reunited with Calidra?
It ate at him, and he woke up several times through the night covered in cold sweat, his muscles trembling.
More than he cared to admit, his attention was drawn back to the other lost souls. The man locked in the stocks had said there weren’t any Inquisitors in town. Who knew how long they’d stay in Vaelar, chained up, waiting for Torsten and his Inquisitors to visit and take them away.
If he’d not been fortunate enough to bump into Calidra and Jisyel, he would have been rounded up just like those other people. Had it been luck? Fate? Just a coincidence that he’d ended up on the Isle of Salt and not in one of these Bragalian settlements?
His mind whirled with the possibilities.
They dressed quickly and quietly, and he was hardly aware of his movements, so focussed was he on thoughts of the lost souls. Why had the Myr chosen them? Had that, too, been luck? Or had they been selected for a reason? Had he been plucked from his home? Chased away from his friends and family?
Or had he been alone? Like the poor beggars that lingered on the streets of Vaelar?
Jisyel had been separated from her partner. Calidra could be dead or lost. And yet here he was, bemoaning his own situation. It wasn’t as if he had been chained up. He was free. With papers to travel. With friends who cared about him.
Another flare of pain tore through his head and his fingers trembled. He sank to the ground and wrapped his arms around his knees. ‘Who am I?’ It came out as a whisper.
Jisyel squeezed his shoulder, tighter than was necessary, but her sentiment was clear. ‘It’ll be okay.’ She didn’t ask questions, nor demand an explanation for his behaviour.
Selys, too, looked at him from her scarred face without the slightest hint of judgement.
He shuddered, waiting for the emotions to pass, for his trembling to stop.
Whatever had befallen him, he’d put it right. He was determined to. And then, when he knew more, when his curse had been lifted, he would come back and help the other lost souls. Just as Calidra, Jisyel, Selys—and even Varlot—had helped him.
Fenn gritted his teeth. Jisyel hadn’t floundered, despite her obvious turmoil.
Selys was confident and steady, her strength coming from within.
He resolved to be more like them, and got back to his feet, unaided.
Whatever lay ahead in Fellwood, he would stand by the people who had stood by him.
As before, Selys led them out of the inn and through the streets—quiet so early in the morning. An owl hooted from somewhere off to the distance, and the pre-dawn light bathed buildings and streets in shades of grey.
By the time they reached the wooden gates, the sun was beginning to rise, bringing colour to the world. He wondered whether that same shadow would be on the horizon.
Again, they showed their papers to the guards stationed, and were waved through without preamble. Vaelar was busy. Getting people out of it was the ideal.
Fenn spent a long minute scouring the countryside for any sign of the Myrish spirit, but thankfully, saw nothing.
After confirming the coast was clear, they left Vaelar. Left the lost souls to whatever their fate might be, and Fenn’s heart grew heavy. With the rising sun warming the mountains to their right and a new headache starting behind his eyes, they headed towards Fellwood.
13
The Funeral
calidra
It was the morning of her father’s funeral.
Calidra couldn’t pin down all the emotions that raged through her. They fought for dominance, and none stayed o
n top for long. Grief, strangely, didn’t feature. The man, though never unkind to her, had been the Laird first, a father second. She could count on one hand the number of times he’d shown her affection. He’d hardly even been present for her childhood.
Malora, of course, had been the apple of his eye. She could do anything she wished, and Calidra was usually the one punished instead when Malora went too far.
Her mother’s reception had gone exactly as she’d expected; cold indifference that could turn into raging hot violence at any moment. It was as if she were seven years old again.
She turned her head, hardly caring about the thick pillows and soft blankets. All expensive silks and cottons brought over from Olmir, and more exotic fabrics she couldn’t identify imported from Ulnoth or Perion. A far cry from the cramped rooms she’d endured on the way here.
But none of it mattered.
Jisyel wasn’t there.
Who cared that she’d made it back for the funeral? That she would now have a second chance at having a relationship with her family?
It meant nothing if she had to face Furyn alone. She’d have to go through it without Jisyel, who’d been the only reason she’d even considered coming home in the first place.
If she had any chance of getting a search party out looking for Jisyel, she’d either have to force her mother to help, or go behind her back. Either option would be nigh impossible.
The villa, vast and luxurious as it was, offered Calidra nothing but emptiness. Apparently in her years of being away, her mother had significantly reduced the household staff. Instead of the early morning bustle, the smell of brewing coffee, of cooking breakfast, the building was quiet.
Hollow.
Somehow, despite its vastness, its luxury, it was a shell of a home—perfectly reflecting her feelings towards the place.
It was possible Furyn had dismissed some of the staff today, but Calidra didn’t recall seeing many people when she’d arrived. There was her brother to consider, as well. Paicha. He’d only been a toddler when she’d last seen him, and was often whisked away to accompany their father on one of his border skirmishes to introduce him to his responsibilities early on.
She sighed, laying her head flat on her pillow and staring up at the blank ceiling.
Somewhere in the house, Varlot and Amsel were guests. Probably being treated with more dignity by her mother than she’d ever received. Calidra wanted to stay exactly where she was all day. She wondered if anyone would notice, whether her mother would come and drag her out of her room, or if she’d send Quillaja to do it for her.
Glancing at the window, judging the hour by the brightness of the morning sun, Calidra sat bolt upright. Jisyel wouldn’t sit here, wallowing. And Calidra had done enough of that on her way to Fellwood.
Now was the time to act.
Getting out of bed, Calidra dressed quickly, feeling more refreshed than she had in weeks. It probably had something to do with the oils and scents that Quillaja had spent so long putting into her, and although she’d never cared for such routines, their effects couldn’t be ignored.
With confidence and focus, Calidra had one goal—to get to the household guard and set them to work. Her mother would no doubt be busy with last minute funeral preparations and greeting early guests, giving her a small window of time to act. With any luck, the search party would be out of Fellwood before her mother even noticed.
And if Amsel made an appearance, she could ask him to look from the air with Hailathlyl, speeding the search immeasurably.
She gently pushed her nails through her hair, impressed at how one night’s rest and a handful of her mother’s cosmetics had worn away all the travelling knots. At least she wouldn’t look like she’d been dragged through a hedge when she came to order the soldiers who worked for her family. It had been years since they’d seen her last, and she needed to make a decent impression.
Technically they worked for her mother, but surely she could sway them? She just had to think of them like the port masters in Ballowtown, and refuse to take no for an answer.
Decision made, Calidra raised her chin, opened her bedroom door, and strolled out. Early morning light streamed in from the windows along the hallway. Good. A dry, clear day would make searching easier.
She quickened her pace, turning away from the kitchens and out through a side door into the dew-covered grounds. Their household guard had their own quarters on the far side of the gardens, and it was to this low building that Calidra hurried towards.
Goosebumps rose on her skin the moment she was outside. A fine mist wreathed the ground; it wouldn’t be long before the sun burned it away and provided Bragalia with another hot day. No-one was outside yet that she could see. Her mother would probably be awake, she’d always been an early riser, but Calidra couldn’t see her anywhere outside. Even Calidra herself was unhappy about skipping her morning coffee, but this was too important to put off until later. She might miss her chance.
The guardhouse was a long, single-storey building of grey brick with a steep roof of dark slate. Smoke rose gently from the chimney on its northern side, and all the windows were already wide open. Her mouth watered at the smell of cooking bacon, reminding her of her empty stomach.
A large red door dominated the front of the building, slightly ajar, the Vantonen family crest emblazoned on it. Calidra knocked once, more out of politeness than to wait for an answer, and pushed it open. Stronger smells of cooking washed over her as she strode inside, straight into the communal area. Several of the guards were sitting on a long sofa, three more tended to a spit above a fire, where half a spiced pig roasted, fat dripping onto the flames.
‘Commander? You and your team are required for an urgent mission. Immediately.’
At her words, the relaxed morning atmosphere dissipated. The men and women in her mother’s employ got to their feet—most were already dressed in uniform, a few even had pieces of armour equipped—and stood to one side as their commanding officer entered from a door at the back of the room, summoned by her sharp words.
Calidra didn’t recognise him—he’d probably been a regular officer and been promoted while she’d been away from home. She was annoyed with herself for not even knowing his name.
The commander was broad and muscular, stubble on his chin, with lightly tanned skin and brown eyes that were narrowed at her. Physically, he was every bit as intimidating as Furyn. He clutched his helm in one hand, a red feather atop it signalling his rank. ‘The Myr are attacking?’
‘What? No. You need to get your horses saddled, ready for a search.’ Calidra’s voice wavered for a moment. She’d forgotten their commander had been in talks with her mother the previous day.
Two uniformed men darted out of the building at her words, scrambling to get their jackets buckled up and their helms on their heads.
‘Miss Vantonen. Our orders are to provide defensive strategies to the grounds here and aid the Fellwood officers as best we can in the event of a Myrish attack. Lady Vantonen has said nothing about a search.’
‘I am telling you about it. How many horses do we have?’
‘None to spare for a search I’m unaware of, I’m afraid, Miss Vantonen.’ There wasn’t a hit of anger in his voice, if anything, he was more polite than before.
She straightened her back and put every ounce of her mother’s tone into her own voice. ‘You dare disregard my order? Shall I tell my mother that you have refused to do your job?’
Despite her performance, the commander was not like the Ballowtown port master. He didn’t so much as look ashamed. ‘You may tell Lady Vantonen whatever you wish. But as I understand, there is a potential Myrish threat on our doorstep and we must prepare for it. I’m sure you understand the safety of your family and Fellwood is our greatest priority?’
Calidra’s eye twitched. ‘Fine. Give me a horse and I’ll go by myself as you are incapable.’
‘You can’t!’
‘I’m not a prisoner. I can come and go as I pl
ease.’
‘But the Myr? We are tasked with your safety.’
‘Then come with me. Ten or twelve should be adequate for the amount of ground we need to cover. Get the horses saddled up and we can make decent time before it gets hot.’ She was getting too angry to care about respectability. Jisyel had waited too long.
Without another word, Calidra whirled around and marched outside. She walked alongside the building to the vast stables beyond, where her family's horses were kept. Calidra had never been one for horse riding, but was sure she could pick out a suitable animal that would get her back to Ballowtown.
Already, servants were tending to them—providing feed and fresh water—and they gasped in shock as she stormed past. ‘I want the swiftest horse here saddled. Good stamina, too. It’s a fair distance I must cover, and quickly.’
‘M—Miss Vantonen!’ one girl stammered, backing away, her bucket of water dropped.
Ignoring her, Calidra strode to the nearest stable, horse tack hanging on a long nail, which she grabbed. The servant girl made a noise that wasn’t quite a word, wasn’t quite a gasp and Calidra spun around. She looked past the girl to see her mother approaching, the two members of the guard escorting her, thunder on her face.
With an exasperated sigh, Calidra stepped away from the stable, the bridle and reins clutched tightly, and faced her mother. She’d make Furyn order the guards. They would no doubt move quickly if the lady of the house commanded them.
As Furyn walked past the guard’s quarters, the commander exited and followed her, flanked by three more officers. Gold draped over Furyn like clothing. At her throat, her collarbone, across her shoulders and down the length of her arms, spider silk-thin beads wrapped around her fingers in stunning contrast to her beautiful, ebony skin. Sunlight brought the gold to life; it flashed with every step.
