The Sah'niir

by Kim Wedlock

  "Yours? What's happened to Kienza?"

  Her face lit briefly in amusement. "Kienza isn't my mum," she giggled. "She's my daddy's girlfriend! I don't know who my mummy is. And...she might not be dead, but...if she wasn't, she would be around, wouldn't she? Or come and see me sometimes?"

  Ira stared back at her, lost for words beneath her curiously rational gaze. The silence quickly became stifling. He forced it away with a smile that didn't reach his eyes, and returned his attention to his food. "Yes. She would."

  Aria continued to stare at him, then nodded slowly, uncomforted. He wasn't as good as her father at lying, and even he needed practise. But she smothered that eternal doubt, because she knew, in her heart, that her father was all she needed. And she was all he needed.

  She straightened again and sought to change the subject, but a brief and distant clamour outside drew both of their attention towards the window.

  Her wide eyes flicked towards the old man. "What was that?"

  He didn't reply beyond a deepening of his frown.

  Then it came again, stilling them both: a shout of panic in the street surely not six houses away.

  "Mister--"

  He rose to his feet as quickly as his aged bones would let him, silencing her with a gesture, and hurried to the small kitchen window. She held her tongue as he nudged the curtain aside and peered out into the darkness.

  This time the words were almost intelligible, and they were getting closer. A shout, a scream, a crash. Laughter.

  Aria's voice caught in her throat, trapped beneath her heart.

  Ira dropped the curtain and staggered backwards just as a light flared outside. He turned with a deathly pallor to usher her out of her chair.

  "What's happening?" She squeaked as he blew out the candle and rushed her out into the darkened hall.

  "I don't know. Hush now, and hurry!"

  She did her best to swallow her panic and focus on putting one foot in front of the other, but her legs were very nearly paralysed. She'd been in worse situations, she knew she had...but in this instant, she could recall none of them. This time, her father was nowhere around. Despite everything she'd experienced, she felt pure terror for the first time in her life, and she didn't know why.

  Ira's hand tight on her shoulder, the two stumbled out through the back door and into the cramped garden. The screams were louder out there, and the laughing - the cackling, the whooping, the cussing. The crashing was close by, beaten doors and smashed windows, and the tiny, overgrown space she was thrown into played greater havoc on her senses, where the frenzied, writhing shadows sent phantoms darting all around them. And the heat, a dry heat...

  Fire.

  The hand on her shoulder steered her urgently towards the hedgerows and away from the rising commotion, where they forced their way through the thin yet rigid branches to the garden on the other side. They made for the narrow path that ran down the side of the house, but when another round of cheering followed the deceptively soft glow of fire at the head of that path, she was driven a sharp left. She almost fell over her feet at the old man's frantic pace, but she kept up. She had to keep up.

  They pushed through thicker bushes and into another garden, one littered with weeds, roots and rocks that hindered their desperate escape. They made it only half way before the shattering of glass and terror-stricken cries erupted on the other side of the fence ahead of them.

  They stumbled to a frantic stop, and in the brief moment Ira took to find yet another route, the whole world crashed down on their heads.

  Firelight flared, blinding her, and she was shoved violently towards the thickened and convulsing shadows just as a heavy thump struck something soft behind her. It came again, and again, followed always by a ragged puff of breath. She tore herself around, pressing her back against the wall, trying desperately to disappear into it, and watched helplessly as another hit landed upon the old man's back, his frail torso pinned to the ground by the knees of the attacker. It was only then that she heard the stranger's howling, a wretched sound of joy and power that threatened to expel what little of her dinner she'd had the chance to eat.

  The thug's cackling and Ira's haggard wheeze smothered her ears, and she became too numbed by another burst of fire to notice another villain move up on her left. And so she didn't truly see Ira grasp a flower pot from just within his reach and fling it around at his attacker, striking him in the head with little more than luck before lurching to his feet and throwing himself at the second.

  "Run!"

  The word drifted as though on a breeze, distant and languid, its urgency lost in her fright and confusion.

  "Aria! Run!"

  Light raged and flickered, leaving coloured shapes in her eyes. But she caught even through her blindness the flash of desperation in his as he was beaten back down to the knotted grass not two paces away from her. There was something familiar about it...

  'Daddy.'

  In a single, heart-shattering moment, courage seized her like her father's own protective grip. Her fright was banished.

  With the greatest of will, she burst to her feet and darted away. But she didn't flee. She skidded to a stop at a short distance where the rocks littering the ground were smaller and plentiful, and began throwing them with all the speed and might she could muster. Most missed the thugs through her teary blindness and the constant shifting of the shadows, but a few struck, and one opened a nasty gash across one attacker's forehead that bled readily into his eyes. But despite the rain of stones, his assault upon Ira, who now howled in pain, didn't relent. And a knife suddenly glinted in his hand.

  Before she could shout a warning, something heavy battered the side of her head and sent her crashing to the ground.

  "The old man has fight in him!" A distant voice declared with sickening mockery. "It must be the girl - get rid of her and he'll crumble!"

  Her blood surged while Ira croaked an oath she'd never heard before, and she shook her bearings back into place - but the immediate cry of shock and agony quickly dislodged them and froze her veins once again.

  But it had not come from Ira.

  The old man scrambled away from the black-clad bandit, who now staggered and clutched helplessly at the blood pouring from his neck as though trying to push it back in, and lunged for the first whose fearsome grip Aria was now trying to escape. Ira was a slight man, but the threat of the stolen and bloodied knife in his hand was enough to encourage the grasp on her dress to slacken, and she snatched herself free as quickly as she could. She stumbled backwards, allowing herself for one disconnected moment to stare in awe as the second bandit dropped and slumped, and Ira, shadowed by a vicious, rampaging fire, grappled with the first, ceaselessly jabbing the frightfully edged blade after the rogue's every dodge. This man, her grandfather, had gained the upper hand. And for a moment, she saw her father in his place.

  "Run!" She heard her grandfather shout once again over the crackling of flames and shattering of glass. "I'll follow in a moment! But you must leave!"

  Her astonishment crumbled. She saw the silhouette approach, saw the cold glint of steel, but even though she started towards him and the warning leapt readily from her tongue, she still couldn't stop it from happening.

  The sword point re-emerged through Ira's chest.

  Its blade glittered with crimson. The old man's rasp of shock was drowned by the cackle of the third bandit. The cackle was smothered by the scream that tore free from Aria's lips.

  The original attacker slipped out from the broken grasp, but she didn't shrink back as his focus latched onto her. She stood her ground, small fists tight, eyes seething, burning so brightly with such rage, such hatred, that when he collapsed after two steps with eyes glazed and empty, she felt responsible. Though not regretful.

  She looked back to Ira just as the blade withdrew from his body, dropping him to the ground as though he were nothing more than a heavy sack of vegetables. Her blood seared in her veins, heart hammered, but despite her rage, she
was paralysed. She watched him so very closely, waiting for him to move, to push himself back up, to try, or at least to raise his head. But he didn't.

  Only when the murderer's eyes fell upon her did she finally turn and run.

  Right into another grasp.

  Another scream shredded the walls of her throat, and she kicked and thrashed, clawed and pinched, her eyes stinging with unstoppable tears of pain, grief and the most intense malice she had ever experienced. But through her cursing, her pleas to be released, her pleas for Ira to get up, the soft hush of a familiar voice finally brushed her ear.

  Disbelief stunned her. Her struggle stilled.

  Her eyes flashed open while a croak and thud sounded behind her, right where the murderer had been. Her tears renewed immediately. Relief overwhelmed her. But when she spun back towards Ira, she found that he still hadn't moved.

  Kienza observed him regretfully. But there was nothing she could do.

  Fire seethed around them. She squeezed the young girl tightly as she shook in her arms, held her very close, whispered in her ear, and left the smouldering village behind.

  Rathen spun quicker than the others at the grievous wail that burst into the night air, his heart swollen in his throat with immediate, unshakable foreboding. But while the ring of steel over lockets followed in that same endless instant, defence was the furthest thing from his mind.

  He was on his knees and stealing Aria from Kienza's arms before she could grant him even a glance of reassurance, and neither had the others in their startlement yet lowered their weapons. "It's all right," he murmured soothingly in her ear, over and over, stroking her tangled curls while she sobbed and clung tightly to his shirt, "I'm here, little one, everything's fine now. Everything's fine." But the eyes he turned up to Kienza were fierce, and she met them with shame, mingling with that same severity. And sorrow.

  His jaw tightened, and he held Aria even closer.

  "What's happened?" Garon asked, sheathing his sword beside Petra while Eyila and Anthis both loosened their stance, and the latter returned his dagger to the scabbard concealed in his waistband. But though Kienza rose and stepped back from the pair, she was slow to regard them. Aria sputtered nonsensical words of relief between hyperventilation.

  "Redgrove was attacked," she said at last, her eyes dragging heavily from the distressed little girl and the desperately furious gaze of her father as he discovered the swollen red mark across the side of her face. "By bandits. The village suffered the death of an afflicted mage a week ago; everyone was tense, their spirits frayed. The bandits knew they would easily give in to panic. They were right."

  "I--ra s-save--tried to s-save m-me..."

  Rathen hushed her and pulled her close again, looking to Kienza for confirmation instead. She nodded solemnly. His gaze shifted away.

  "I was too late... Rathen...I'm sor--"

  "Aria," he looked down at her, turning her tear-streaked face up to his to stare intently into her eyes, "you're all right, aren't you? You're okay?" She nodded but he didn't seem to notice, already engrossed in analysing the mark across her eye and temple that was certain to become a terrible black-blue bruise. "What happened?" She tried to explain through hiccups, but he had already stopped listening. He shifted and held her at arm's length, discovering the small cuts across her arms and hands from a fall, then turned her around and continued to look her over. Finding nothing more, he snatched her back into a tight embrace, whispering promises as she buried her face back into his chest that he would never let her out of his sight again.

  Everyone else watched in silence as Kienza returned and enveloped them both in her arms. Middle of the road or not, no one was inclined to interrupt.

  The sorceress spoke words too quietly for the rest to hear, and after Rathen gave a reluctant nod, she rose and turned back to the others, father and daughter following soon after. She smiled fondly, but it didn't come without effort, and she gestured for them all to gather.

  The stars were suddenly extinguished, the night fell darker, the broad sky was replaced by the underside of a canopy, the ground was uneven, and a nauseous lurch invaded their heads and stomachs. Only Aria and Rathen were too preoccupied to notice.

  "You can make camp here," she told them as they gathered their bearings. "I'm sorry to impede your travel but..." she looked towards Aria, and no one needed nor asked for explanation. Not even Garon appeared put out.

  Her eyes hardened into steel as she watched Rathen's unending embrace, as though he thought he could reverse her experience if he held her tightly enough, erase her pain and terror. The guilt at arriving too late weighed heavily on her own heart. "These are not the first bandits to take advantage of such tension," she said with a softness that belied her fury. "With every disruption by mages or magic, the risk of such an assault rises, and it's happening all across the country. Security can only increase so much, and with people already frightened, such curs find little resistance..."

  She turned away and circled around the curiously flat forest clearing, peering into the darkness and pulling their attention away from Rathen as she went. She stopped when they had their backs to the pair, and though he could still see and hear her, she knew he would try to ignore what weighty material she had to impart. But she didn't attempt to catch his eye. She also knew he would listen despite himself. "Dolunokh," she began purposefully, "is barely recognisable. The country has undergone mass evacuation, but more have died than been able to escape, and being at the concentration point, there are few places left for them to turn. Voiland, Hin'ua and Ithen have been almost obliterated; half the land has collapsed and crumbled as though the earth was a rotten apple, and those chasms have critically invaded both Kasire and Ivaea, aggravating tensions. They're blaming each other for the destruction and there are mages on both sides trying to work out how to increase the damage over the border. And among those forming of their own accord, those great gaping rifts are stretching their way down here."

  "But Khry's Glory has been destroyed," Anthis reminded her dubiously, "imploded, with the holes in the walls seared shut. The magic shouldn't still be accumulating, should it?"

  "The mage in Trinn exacerbated the situation in Fendale," Garon reminded him in turn. "It's possible that every such afflicted mage has some impact on the magic."

  "It would seem that both of you are right. And while that magic is not still accumulating, it is now far more concentrated." She gestured around to the quiet forest. "The situation may not be quite so dire here as it is to the north, but Turunda is not untouched. There are chasms, you have seen them, and they are growing worse; countless settlements have been abandoned or formally evacuated, putting greater strain on those still standing to try to accommodate those they can, and just the mention of the severity over the borders is enough to incite a panic. Their assumptions of the magic's source have upset the populace without exception and created tension enough between them and the Order that factions have arisen on both sides, all of whom are prepared to take extreme measures against the other.

  "Then there are the deep woods - kvistdjur are lamenting in a bid to send the trees to sleep, stendjur are rampaging, trying to close the chasms that cut through their homes with landslides and quakes, and uncountable birds and beasts are fleeing as far as they can. Seeds are not being scattered, plants are not being pollinated, and forests are not so...potently fertilised. Domesticated animals may be unable to follow them, but their distress is affecting the quantity and quality of the produce they're kept for."

  "If you're trying to stress the gravity of our task, I assure you there's no need."

  Kienza considered Garon for a moment. Then her eyes flicked towards Eyila. "The tribes are also affected. A few are even interpreting the physical effects as demonstrations of power by the earth and fire gods, and while some such aligned and distant tribes are ceasing their attacks under 'divine intervention', others are reading it as a sign of divine encouragement."

  "How do they know when it's a god and whe
n it's magic?" Aria's small and shaken voice rose from the back, where her father appeared focused upon cleaning her wounds despite the sickly pallor that Kienza had watched invade him as she spoke.

  "They don't," she replied regretfully. "That's the problem."

  "Those disconnected from the gods don't." All eyes fell upon Eyila, whose own were glacial, and shifted in discomfort. "Those that live too close to your cities, who have forgotten reverence and humility in the face of trade and material possessions. They are the ones who cannot distinguish the earth's fury from tripping over a stone." Her hand rose to the oryx horn amulet that hung about her neck, and they realised her tone was of sadness rather than anger. "We are not all so blind."

  Kienza smiled humbly and inclined her head. "I apologise, my dear, I meant no offence to your tribe, and your own confidence in the matter is something to be envied, I'm sure. My point is: you're going to have a hard time reaching most of the afflicted sites. Never mind the fact that they'll be under observation, the routes themselves will be at times untraversable, and supplies short in most towns and cities."

  "We've been managing, and avoiding towns and the main roads wherever possible."

  "Which," her dark, sleek eyebrows rose thoughtfully, "might be a mistake. Things are chaotic the country over right now - no one will notice you. And it might be in your interest; with so many evacuees from so many directions, they're melting pots of information."

  "We've not had much luck so far."

  "Because, Inquisitor, you're relying on the things your contacts have deemed significant enough to collect and share. Use your own ears - the more, the better."

  "What about Eyila?" Petra asked with concern, but the tribal girl straightened beside her and looked across them all with almost belligerent resolve.

  "I do not want to enter your cities."