by Aron Lewes
Kylin couldn't remember the last time she ate alone. Her people made a ritual of mealtimes. Everyone in her clan would gather around the fire, swapping stories as they shared whatever food they had gathered that day. Those days were gone, unless Kylin and her brother found another clan to take them in.
With her plate in hand, she left her room to search for Wilhelm and Vala. Though she had little in common with either of them, their company was preferable to staring at a wall. She found them in the dining room, both in their cups, and neither seemed to notice when she entered.
“We're dumping her in Stralia, and that's that,” Vala said. “After tomorrow, she's not our responsibility.”
“She was never our responsibility,” Wilhelm added. “We could've left her in the woods if we wanted to.”
Kylin clapped a hand to her mouth, suppressing a gasp as she backed out of the room. She lost everything, her brother was taken, and now they were treating her like a burden? She wanted to believe she would have more sympathy for someone in her situation.
Kylin returned to her room, nibbled her fish, and swatted an occasional tear from her cheek. It wasn't Wilhelm and Vala that drove her to tears. She hadn't invested them with the power to make her cry, and she doubted she ever would. Kylin's tears were for the corpses of her people—she still saw them when she closed her eyes. Every dead body was a friend of hers, and she would never see any of them again. She spent so much time worrying about her brother, she hadn't stopped to think about all the people she lost.
The sun was down, her belly was full, and without anything else to occupy her mind, she decided to sleep. She laid on her back under tattered blankets, listening to the creaking ship. In the forest, the crickets and owls would sing her to sleep, but there was nothing on the ship to ease her racing thoughts. After an hour, sleep seemed like an unattainable blessing, so she rose from bed with a grumble.
Kylin was too aware of how alone she was. She usually slept with her brother on a bed of fuzzy blankets, which, to her, was far more comfortable than the humans' itchy mattresses. She never thought she would miss Rai's constant, soft snoring, but she did. She would have given anything to hear it again.
“If I could go back in time...” she whispered. “I would tell myself how lucky I was.”
Kylin left her room and crossed the hall to Wilhelm's quarters. She shifted into fox form, slipped through the door, and hopped onto Wilhelm's bed. He appeared to be asleep, so she curled up next to his feet and closed her eyes.
Less than a minute later, Wilhelm sat up and yelled, “What the hell?”
Kylin jumped from his bed and scampered away so fast, her orange paws were a blur. She dashed up to the deck, shifted out of fox form, and filled her lungs with briny sea air.
Wilhelm joined her a moment later. She hoped he would wake up and think their encounter was a dream, but he didn't.
“Was that you?” he asked.
For a moment, she thought about playing dumb. Would it be too difficult to convince him he had imagined a small fox on the end of his bed?
When she didn't answer right away, he said, “I guess you've decided to stop talking again.”
“No... I'll talk.” Kylin said, groaning at the impending conversation. “Wh-What did you want to know?”
“I swear I woke up and saw a fox on my bed,” Wilhelm said. “Either I had way too much to drink, or that was you.”
“It was... me,” she reluctantly confessed. “Tonight was the first night in my entire life that I had to sleep alone, so... I guess I got lonely. I know that's probably silly. Sorry.”
“You don't have to apologize,” Wilhelm said. “You might want to be more careful from now on, though. I sleep naked, you know.”
Kylin swore she could feel all the blood in her body rushing to her cheeks. “You do?”
“No, I'm just messing with you.” He started to light another cigarette, but when he saw her sneering, he changed his mind. “I've gotta say, I didn't expect to see a furry animal on the end of my bed. I guess you really are what you say you are.”
“I am,” she said, nodding firmly.
“What other tricks have you got up your sleeve? Anything useful?”
“I...” She almost told him about her talent for bringing back the dead, but she decided against it. It was too much to reveal to a human. “I can control the weather.”
“No shit?” Wilhelm pointed upward, at the starry night sky. “Go on, then. Give me a demonstration. You can't say something like that and not expect me to be curious.”
“Um... what sort of weather do you want?” she asked.
“I don't know. Surprise me.”
Performing a random trick seemed like a waste of her powers, but she tried to bear in mind that he was her future husband, and she didn't want to disappoint him. However, changing the weather was a process—it wasn't as easy as snapping her fingers. She closed her eyes, and in her mind, she imagined clouds swirling toward them, darkening as they moved.
When there was no immediate evidence of her skills, Wilhelm asked, “What are you doing?”
“Shh. You'll ruin my concentration.”
She imagined the clouds ripping apart, inundating them in an aerial flood.
First, she felt only mist on her skin, but the rain picked up a moment later. Steady and soft, the falling droplets pattered the ship's deck.
“Did you do that?” Wilhelm asked.
“I did,” she said. “And brace yourself. It's about to get a lot worse.”
Mere seconds after Kylin's warning, they were pelted by a deluge of stinging rain. With the rain came stronger winds, enough to tilt the ship and batter the sails.
“Alright. I think I've had enough!” Wilhelm cried, shielding his eyes from the pounding rain. “I'm officially convinced. Can you make it stop?”
Kylin closed her eyes and banished the clouds. Less than a minute later, the sky was clear again.
“That seems like a useful skill to have,” Wilhelm said. “If you could get the wind to blow in the right direction, we could get to Stralia a few hours earlier.”
“So you can get rid of me.” Kylin regretted her reply as soon as it slipped out of her. She didn't want to make him feel bad.
“No, we're not trying to get rid of you. We're trying to find someone who can help you.”
She was never our responsibility. That's what he said, but she was too embarrassed to quote him. He wanted to get rid of her, whether he admitted it or not.
“We'll have to change out of these wet clothes before we head back to bed. I'll let you borrow some of mine. Or Vala's,” Wilhelm said.
“Thanks.” Her reply was so soft, she could barely hear her own voice.
“If you want, I'll let you sleep on the end of my bed.” When he saw her blushing again, he chuckled. “It's just a suggestion. You don't have to.”
“I think I'll just go back to my room. Thank you for the offer, though.”
“Hey... Kylin...” Wilhelm put out an arm, stopping her before she could walk away. “We're not just trying to get rid of you, alright? Vala and I will hang around until you find someone else who can help you. That's the best we can do.”
Kylin gave him a nod, bypassed his arm, and returned to her room with a sigh.
Chapter Eight
VALA SHOVED A FORKFUL of omelet into her mouth and squawked, “She can really control the weather? No shit?”
“She can really control the weather,” Wilhelm confirmed. “I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes.”
They were in the middle of breakfast, prepared by one of The Silenced. One of their soulless crewmen was a better cook than most, so he was assigned the duty on most days, even though The Silenced themselves required no sustenance. They were gaunt, empty shells, as close to death as one could get.
“Well, it certainly beats my special talent,” Vala said.
“I wasn't aware that you had a special talent,” Wilhelm teased. “No offense.”
; “I'll never understand why people think they can tack a no offense to the end of any sentence and make it less offensive.” Vala, whose mouth was full of egg and cheese, paused to swallow her bite. “Anyway, I do have a special talent. I can kill a man with a violin string. How many people can say that?”
Wilhelm shook his head and threw a glance in Kylin's direction. Since they sat down for breakfast, she hadn't said a single word, and Vala noticed too.
“Do you know what would be even more surprising than weather magic?” Vala asked. “Hearing the girl's voice. I'm starting to think she doesn't like me.”
“I'm sure it's not that. I think she's just not comfortable talking to humans.”
“But she talked to you, didn't she? What makes you special?” Vala asked. “Was it your big, blue eyes and your long, blonde lashes?”
“I give most of the credit to my smile, but the lashes do help,” he joked. “Anyway, we'll be in Stralia soon. Finish your food and head to the deck as quick as you can. Both of you.”
Kylin left the room with Wilhelm and followed him upstairs. He didn't realize he had a shadow until he reached the ship's helm.
“You decided to come with me, I see. Have you come to help me steer the ship into port?” He stepped aside, pretending to offer her the wheel.
Kylin didn't reply, she only shook her head.
“I thought you went quiet because of Vala. I didn't realize you were giving me the silent treatment as well.”
“I'm not,” Kylin said. “And I have nothing against Vala. I just don't feel comfortable talking to a lot of people.”
“You and me both, love.”
Wilhelm kept his eye on the approaching city and turned the wheel slightly, easing the ship closer to the port. When he decided they were close enough, he instructed one of The Silenced to drop anchor.
“We'll take a rowboat to shore. It's easier that way,” Wilhelm said.
He left the wheel, expecting Kylin to follow him. She did. When they reunited with Vala, she tossed a cloak over Kylin's head.
“That's so people don't see those fuzzy little ears of yours,” Vala explained. “I bet a lot of knaves and perverts would like to get their hands on one of your kind.”
They rowed to shore in a smaller boat and left it on a beach of sparkling white sand. Stralia's bustling center was a short walk from the beach, and once they ventured into the city, Kylin was immediately overwhelmed. There were too many houses, all of them with thatched roofs, packed too closely together. Horse-drawn carriages and donkey carts trundled noisily along a cobbled road. There was a constant din of human chatter, unpleasant to her ears. She almost begged Wilhelm to let her return to the ship, but she knew he wanted her gone.
Vala and Wilhelm escorted her to the job board in front of Stralia's busy Guildhall. “You pin a message here, and eventually a mercenary picks it up,” Wilhelm explained. “I can help you compose your message, if you'd like.”
There was a desk, splattered in ink, near the job board. While Wilhelm penned the job request for Kylin, Vala scanned the area.
“Damn,” she suddenly hissed. “I'd forgotten about that.”
“Forgotten about what?” her brother asked, still hunched over the desk.
“Look over there. Those people in masks,” Vala said, directing his attention to a pair of men with beak-like shields on their faces. “Stralia got hit with the plague, remember? It looks like the city hasn't recovered yet.”
Wilhelm said, “As long as we stay away from the poorest parts of town, we should be okay.”
“I'm more worried about the little girlie than us.” Vala thrust a thumb at Kylin, who also had her eyes on the strange masked men. “She hasn't been exposed to human diseases like we have. What if it knocks her dead?”
Wilhelm dismissed his sister's concerns with a shrug. “I'm sure she'll be alright.”
He finished writing the job description and showed it to Kylin, who read aloud, “Young woman seeks mercenary to help find her lost brother. Interested parties contact Kylin at the Roseberry Inn. Reward: 50 gold.”
She whispered in Wilhelm's ear, “I don't have fifty gold...”
He took one of Kylin's hands, uncurled her fingers, and dropped a jingly bag into her palm. “Now you do. There's about eighty gold in there. Vala and I were talking last night, and we decided to give you a bit of money. So... minus the reward, you've got thirty gold. The Roseberry Inn is a decent little place that only charges one gold a night. That gives you a month before you run out of money.”
Kylin had other questions. What was she supposed to eat? How could she hire a mercenary when she was too afraid to talk? Tears shimmered in her eyes as she watched Wilhelm pin her job to the board. Why was he so eager to hand her off to someone else? If he was really her Chosen, would he do that?
“Do you get your jobs from the job board?” Kylin asked. Her question must have been silly, because Wilhelm and Vala both chuckled.
“No,” Wilhelm replied. “An assassin's work is more... clandestine, I guess you could say. You can't advertise the fact that you need someone knocked off.”
“It's all very hush-hush,” Vala added. “To be honest, we can't say more than that.”
While Wilhelm and Vala chatted with each other, Kylin's attention wandered to a pigtailed child with a rag doll in her hands. Her feet were bare and covered in dirt, and her dress, probably a hand-me-down, was two sizes too big for her. Kylin's intuition told her to follow the child, and her intuition was rarely wrong. Without a word, she left Vala and Wilhelm. They wanted to get rid of her anyway, so she doubted they would miss her.
She followed the child down two busy streets and into an alleyway. When the child started to skip, Kylin was tempted to skip with her, but she remembered what Rai used to say. “You're too old to act like a child.” He always called out her childish behavior, and she was glad he did. At times, she was still figuring out how to act like an adult.
The child led her to a building, so rundown that it almost looked derelict. One of its windows was shattered, and the front door was in danger of blowing away with every gust of wind that tested its hinges. The hedges outside were overgrown, reclaimed by nature.
Kylin could barely read the crooked sign above the door. West Stralia Clinic. She entered the building, as did the child she was following. Her ears twitched beneath her hood when she was greeted by a loud, barking cough. The clinic was filled with sick humans, scattered around a dirty floor. There was continuous, nonstop hacking, and an occasional gasp for air. Kylin looked down at the cracked tiles, and the traces of blood between them. Vala and Wilhelm had warned her about the plague, and Kylin was walking right into it.
The child swung her doll and skipped to her mother, who, judging from her pallor and sweat-slick forehead, was probably among the afflicted. She was sitting next to a little boy. His eyes were closed and his lips had lost their color. The mother's arms opened when she saw her daughter, and with a sniffle, she pulled her into a hug.
“I'm glad you're here, Tilly,” the mother said. She sounded calm, but there was a waver in her voice that betrayed her underlying pain. “There's something I need to tell you, and I need you to be strong. Georgie is... gone.”
The doll slipped from Tilly's fingers, landing near her soiled toes. In an instant, the innocent mirth disappeared from her face. She whimpered first, and when her whimper turned into a sob, her mother hugged her tighter.
“I know, sweetie. I know it's hard,” the mother said. “I thought he was getting better, but... I guess it was his time.”
Kylin stared at the boy's face, as serene and still as a statue. She wanted to help them, but to do that, she would have to overcome her fear of humans. Was it worth the risk? Elder Kogorsh always said humans were greedy creatures, incapable of gratitude. If she helped one human, would others demand more of her?
“I don't want him to be gone, Mama!” Tilly wailed. “If he dies, and you die, I'll be all alone.”
As an orphan herself, K
ylin understood the girl's pain. The child was anywhere from eight to ten, too young to shoulder the weight of so much death. Kylin had to help. If the boy's body was still intact, and his family wanted him back, how could she look the other way?
“Umm... e-excuse me,” Kylin spoke up. “I'm really very sorry to interrupt at a time like this, but... I was wondering... how long has he been dead?”
The mother replied, “Less than an hour. Why?”
Kylin dropped to her knees beside the dead little boy. An hour was almost too long—hopefully she wasn't too late. Cupping the boy's cheeks in her hands, she said, “You said his name is Georgie, correct?”
“Yes. George.” The mother's brow was creased by confusion. “Who are you and why are you asking these questions?”
Kylin ignored the boy's mother and focused on the warmth in her hands. “Come back, Georgie,” she whispered. “Come back.”
Tilly and her mother shared a simultaneous scream when the whites of Kylin's eyes turned blood red. There was a high-pitched resonant sound, much like a tolling bell, when Kylin called the boy's soul back to his body. Her entire body twitched, then she fell back with a gasp.
When Georgie's eyes opened, his mother screamed again. “Mama?” he spoke. “Mama, why are you yelling?”
More than half of the clinic's patients, including Georgie's mother, had their eyes on Kylin. Fear tingled on her spine when she saw them gaping at her. They wanted an explanation, but she was too afraid to give them one.
“Your son should be better now. The illness should be out of his vessel. Um...”
Too many eyes. There were too many human eyes, and they were all on her. Sweat beaded on Kylin's forehead as she glanced around the room. She had an overwhelming feeling that something bad would happen if she didn't leave the clinic immediately.
She picked up Tilly's doll, handed it back to her, smiled at Georgie—and bolted. She ran out of the clinic as fast as her legs and shuddering knees would allow. She didn't stop running until she was two streets away and utterly lost. She forgot how to get back to the Guildhall, and she had no idea how to reach the Roseberry Inn.