by RG Long
And so was her sister, who sat at the simple table holding a mug of tea. A single candle was all that lit the room. It had burned nearly all the way at its base. Erilas' expression was blank, distant. It wasn't until Serinde sat down at the table with her that she came out of her daydreaming.
“Oh,” she said at last. “Hello.”
Her eyes did not meet Serinde's. Rather, they sought for the bottom of her clay mug. It was empty.
All of the life and joy she had felt just moments ago seemed to seep out of her.
“I haven't seen you out there,” she said, nodding out to the street with her head. “They've been celebrating all day.”
“Celebrating what?”
The reply was quick. She didn't shout or even change her expression. But it infuriated Serinde as if her sister had yelled and hit her across the face.
“What do you mean what are they celebrating? Overthrowing the empire of course! The ones who killed our father and enslaved our entire city, as well as our whole nation!”
Serinde was on her feet without even remembering getting up. She paced the small room quickly.
“You're not happy the empire's gone? You'd rather they still were in charge?”
Erilas didn't respond as quickly this time. She turned her mug gingerly in her hands.
“No, I am glad,” she said, rather pathetically, Serinde thought. Her sister's brows furrowed together and she bit her bottom lip, as if willing herself to say something she wasn't sure of. “But didn't we run from Azol because elves were killing each other?”
She hesitated again before continuing, her eyes looking down into her cup again.
“Didn't... didn't killing all those elves in the barracks affect you at all?”
Serinde raised her gaze from her sister to the room. It was so dark compared to the lights of the rest of the city. She felt the darkness creeping around her and she hated it. Immediately, she began looking for more candles to light the room.
“No,” she said, busying herself with the task of finding more light. She dug through drawers as images of the barracks covered in the bodies of her enemies filled her head. She was affected by them. Emboldened. Empowered. She had been able to finally do something to fight back. In a box at the back of a drawer she finally found some spare candles. “They've done far worse to us. They deserved what they got.”
“Deserved?” Erilas asked. “Does anyone deserve to die like that?”
Serinde spun around and slammed the candles on the table, breaking one.
“Yes!” she shouted. “Any of those imperial elves who would rather watch us die than try to help us live another day do! They should all be punished for what they did to us! And mom. And dad.”
Her voice was cracking. She couldn't believe her sister, who had lost as much as she had, would even think that the elves who would have killed them for running away from their jobs in the quarry should ever be deserving of life.
The whole empire should pay for their crimes.
Just as she was about to shout at her sister for her weakness, for wanting their enemies to be shown mercy, Omioor burst into the room with Linten on his heels. Both held large mugs of something much stronger than tea by the smell of it.
They finished their song on one last high and terribly off-key note before realizing the two sisters were in the room.
“Ah!” Linten said, his eyes a bit unfocused. “Our two Azol champions!”
“Sulking in the dark,” Omioor added, looking from Serinde to Erilas nursing her empty cup.
“Oh, have something stronger, lass,” Linten said as he poured some of whatever was in his mug into Erilas'. “It might cheer you up! We're free now!”
Her sister looked disdainfully into her mug and pushed it away. Serinde knew they both had never had anything like what these two elves were drinking.
Omioor sat at the table and Serinde joined them, lighting a few of the unbroken candles and replacing the nearly burnt out one in its holder.
“One city is free,” Omioor said. “And praise the suns for it. There are still more.”
Serinde perked up at this.
“Other cities are ready to fight?” she asked excitedly.
“Possibly,” Omioor said, swirling his mug and taking a swig. “Madam Farina wants me to sail to Memoor and check on the progress there. But, from all of our reports, Azol, Ellosin, and Caleah are all free.”
A smile grew on Serinde's face as she took in this news. Four cities were now free of the oppression of the empire. The very ones who had defied them the longest. The southern kingdom was reforming.
“Horritoft won't be joining us,” Linten observed. “They're too in with the empire. Too many gifts and benefits of being so close to Pahyrst.”
“But Memoor might be on our side with a little more persuasion,” Omioor replied. “If they have the knowledge that they don't stand alone, they may be more willing to come over.”
“I want to go,” Serinde said. “I want to help.”
Both Omioor and Linten looked at her with questioning faces.
“I'd have thought you'd want to go home,” Omioor said, his brows raised. “Start a new life.”
Serinde let out a hollow laugh.
“Azol is my home,” she agreed. “But what do I have back there? A place where my father and mother are buried. Being here and helping gave me something worth living for. I want to fight with the rebels!”
Omioor let a small smile crease his wrinkled face as he looked at her. It didn't stay long as he turned his attention to Erilas. It was at that moment that Serinde realized her sister was staring right at her.
“And what about you, hmm?” he asked pensively.
Erilas' expression had gone from blank indifference and pain to one of determination. One that felt quite different than the elated sense of purpose Serinde possessed.
“I'll come,” she said after a few moments of silence. “If only to make sure my sister does not do something she may regret later.”
Serinde scoffed, folded her arms, and looked at Omioor.
“So,” she said, pretending that her sister's words had not actually done her any harm. She didn't want to admit that Erilas' attitude and demeanor had quenched some of the fire she had walked into the room with. Those flames needed to be stoked to a burn again. She needed her purpose.
“When do we leave?”
28: Plans and Preparations
Serinde lurched as the ship pitched and bobbed in the waves. She was certain the vessel was going to go under at any moment. What sailor in their right mind would have braved such violent seas?
Granted, every sailor who walked aboard the Radiant Dagger did so with confidence and grace. They cast pitying glances at her as she grasped the railing of the ship so hard it hurt her hands. Her legs felt like flimsy grass waving in the wind. And they supported her weight just as well.
“I hate this,” she said through gritted teeth, feeling yet another round of sick threatening to escape her stomach.
“You'd prefer to be below deck again?” Omioor joked as he sat casually on a barrel, arms crossed and a smile on his face.
Serinde would rather throw herself into the sea than to spend another cursed minute swinging on the hammocks the sailors called beds. It had never occurred to her that she might one day miss the hard, wonderfully solid, earth floor she had slept on her entire life. She hadn't slept for the past three days of the voyage. The only solace she had was that they told her today was the last sunrise she would see from a boat. With a great effort at the thought of the rocking motion of the swing, she swallowed and kept the minuscule contents of her stomach at bay.
Erilas sat calmly beneath Omioor, concern etched across her face.
“Do you want another rag for your face?” she asked as she held a cloth in her hands. That same cloth had been dragged across Serinde's forehead, wrapped over her head, clutched to her mouth, and cleaned in cool sea water a hundred times since they had set sail from Eccott.
&n
bsp; For all the strength she had found within herself the last few weeks, Serinde could not have guessed the fortitude her sister possessed to not only sit calmly on the deck of a ship, but also to care for her as she hated the watery world around her.
And she was also quite jealous.
“No thanks,” she managed. She was concerned that any more words than that would encourage her to lose all control over her mouth.
Omioor chuckled.
“And here I thought you tough!” he mused as he stood to his feet and craned his neck to see the coastline. They had followed the edge of Irradan's southwestern coast, on the wary lookout for Enoth ships and pirates. None had yet crossed their path.
“Should be about midday when we arrive,” he said, more to himself than to anyone standing close to him.
“And we'll just sail right into Memoor's port? No questioning imperial guards or sailors to dodge?” Erilas asked without taking her eyes off Serinde. She still looked concerned, ready to pop up to help at a moment's notice.
It made Serinde feel slightly ashamed for yelling at her a few days ago.
“If we need to, we'll tell a fascinating tale of cloth delivery and trade our wares as citizens of the empire. You'll notice we're flying their colors,” Omioor said, pointing to the purple flag that flew proudly from the rear of the ship.
“And you two will be quite silent as I and the captain do all the talking,” he said, looking between the two of them.
“Correct,” Garreth said from the helm of the ship. He was a shorter elf, with black and gray hair that flowed wildly from his head. A red cloth was wrapped around his salty and weathered forehead, giving the impression of a fire whose smoke had decided to drift down instead of up.
He didn't say much, but his crew obeyed every order without question. Serinde would have admired him if she didn't have to spend so much energy on keeping herself upright.
“Memoor!” came the shout from the crow's nest, and every head on board turned inland.
Serinde would have kissed the sailor if she weren't concerned she would vomit all over him.
“What are the colors?” Garreth yelled back.
There was a poignant pause as the elf on the crow's nest considered this. Then he let out a whoop of celebration.
“White and green fly from the towers!” he shouted as the sailors joined in a cheer.
“Seems you won't need your acting skills after all,” Omioor said as he clapped Serinde on the back. She fought the desire to punch him as a new wave of sickness washed over her. So much so that she nearly missed her sister's dark look and muttered statement.
“Speak for yourself.”
THEY WERE GREETED AT the dock by cheering elves after they had changed the flag on the ship from Enoth purple to rebellion white. A small crowd had gathered at the dock to bring the ship in. Serinde would have taken more time to ponder this greeting were it not for her desire to stand on solid ground as soon as possible. The task of walking on solid ground, however, had seemed to have escaped her just as much as standing on the boat had.
Erilas was at her side, holding her and helping her down the ramp of the ship to the dock so she didn't fall into the water below.
Even when she disagreed with her, she was putting herself last and Serinde before her. She was glad to have her as her sister.
The crowd let them pass without enveloping them into their midst, a courtesy they did not give Omioor. They all seemed to know him, or know of him, enough to ask about the fate of Eccott. The old elf held up his hands for silence after embracing some of the elves and returning their happy looks.
His face was full of jubilation. It was like he held the knowledge of a surprise party. The air was charged with the crowd's anticipation. His hands had stayed in the air for a moment and Serinde appreciated how the old elf appreciated the moment he had.
“Eccott is free!” he shouted, and a roar joined him from the crowd at the docks.
Serinde thought that the city would celebrate just as much as Eccott had.
Soon they were heading up a cobbled street towards the main road. Serinde was still regaining her solid ground legs but, thankfully, her insides were beginning to settle. So, when they turned into a richly ornate walled garden that led to an even more ornate house, Serinde was beginning to think she could do with something to eat.
Until she saw the elf who was coming out of the house to greet them. All thoughts of food left as Erilas tried to say what she was thinking, but couldn't due to her mouth going dry.
“Wayan!”
Their family's best friend stood in the doorway of the elegant manor. His hands were held out wide, as if he had been expecting to see the very two elves he had helped escape their city as it was falling apart.
Both Serinde and Erilas ran up to him and embraced him. He squeezed them genuinely and then held them at arm's length to get a better look at them.
“Well, I'm impressed!” he said with a wide grin. “I never thought I'd see you again! And here you are, whole, healthy, and fighting for the rebels against the empire.”
A twinkle in his eye made him seem younger than Serinde had ever seen him.
“Your father would be so proud.”
THE INTERIOR OF THE mansion was the most beautiful building Serinde had ever walked into. She almost felt as if sitting down on the dainty chairs would scuff them beyond repair, or that they might crack and fall to pieces at any moment. She had grown up accustomed to their roughhewn tables and chairs and mats laid on the floor. This residence was too nice for her to be welcome in. Yet even the beautifully carved table, the paintings that hung on the wall, or the elegant spread of food that was laid before them could do nothing to compare to the one wonderful truth Wayan had relayed to them.
Her father was a rebel.
“Of course, he never wanted to drag you girls into it,” Wayan said through a mouthful of food. The crew of the ship had gone ahead to attend to other matters, but Omioor joined them around the long and elegant table. Wayan told them the lord of the house would be back soon and very much wanted to speak with Omioor and any he brought with him. “Of course, I never would have dreamed it'd be you two!”
Wayan was as jovial as Serinde had remembered him. Perhaps more so. He gushed as he spoke, pride in his heart.
“Within a week, Azol was free from the empire and the old kingdom was reunited once more. I went looking for you two,” he had said with a small crease of his brow. “Thought you had gotten lost, or worse, out there.”
“Or joined up with the rebels?” Serinde asked him playfully.
Wayan smiled.
“I found them shivering in an abandoned hut, terrified and alone,” Omioor put in after swallowing a mouthful of cheese, causing their oldest friend to raise one of his eyebrows at the sisters in question. “Didn't take much to convince them to come with me to Eccott.”
“Because you lied to us...” Serinde said before she was cut off.
“And even less time to decide they wanted to fight,” Omioor went on. “And, from what I hear, Serinde here can handle her own.”
Serinde suppressed a grin, not wanting to look too impressed with herself. Wayan's look faltered just a little.
“Of course,” he said warily. “Your father wanted to have you live in the free world we knew we could have back, not actually fight to get it.”
“He didn't want us to fight?” Erilas asked.
Serinde looked at her sister. These were the first words she had spoken since their reunion with Wayan.
“That was the plan,” he mused. “But I think it was to protect you from getting hurt, like so many of our friends did when we were young.”
Serinde looked at Erilas. Her sister's brow was furrowed, but otherwise her expression was hard to read. She was so excited to hear that her father had been allied with the rebels. Did her sister really doubt their oldest friend?
“Doesn't knowing our father was a rebel make you want to fight?” Serinde asked her, feeling frustrat
ion bubble up inside of her chest.
Erilas let a moment of silence linger between them before she answered.
“But what if he didn't want us to fight?”
“Because he could fight for us! He didn't know he was going to die just like that,” Serinde snapped her fingers. “Maybe he would have told us more if he knew!”
“But he didn't tell us anything,” Erilas replied. “He never spoke about being a rebel. He never mentioned it once.”
She played with her food, prodding it with the fork in her hand.
“What if he didn't want us to be involved?” she asked her plate.
Serinde was on her feet. Her elegant chair scraped against the wood and nearly fell over. Anger and frustration were bursting out of her.
“How could you say that!?” she blurted out. “He's dead because the empire worked him until there was nothing left. And now, you sit there and try to say he wouldn't have wanted us to fight? He's dead because of them! And I want to kill as many of them as I can for what they did to him. For what they've done to us!”
She hit the table with both of her fists, sending her glass of water flying and upsetting her plate. Wayan had half risen out of his chair with a look of concern on his face for both sisters when a voice came from behind them.
“Now that's the spirit we're looking for.”
They all turned around at the same time. Serinde nearly tripped over her chair to do so. Standing in the door to the fancy dinner hall was a tall and formidable looking elf. Gray dotted his sleek black hair and a neat military uniform of white and green covered him from head to foot. A single rose pin stood out on his chest. Several elves followed him into the room, all looking important and regal.
Omioor and Wayan both jumped from their seats and bowed. Omioor turned to address the sisters.
“Allow me to introduce the leader of the entire rebellion, and heir to the throne of the southern kingdom: Throdiore Orthon.”
Serinde stood up quickly to bow as well. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Erilas stand but only incline her head.
