Echoes of Ashener

by David Partelow

  “Can I get you anything?” There was hesitance in his voice.

  Serra realized that one of her legs had escaped her blanket. She covered it quickly before responding. “Some water would be wonderful if you don’t mind.”

  “Right away.” Her bodyguard turned to acquire the water.

  Serra put his absence to use. Jumping from the bed, Serra grabbed her dress and put it over her gown. She still could not believe she was a person who was afforded bodyguards. At 17, Serra was the youngest diplomat for the country of Vallance. Her days were spent holding together the last remnants of her country and encouraging her people to do the same. Sadly, it was a job that grew increasingly more difficult with each passing day.

  Serra adjusted her garments as she regarded herself in the mirror. She could no longer see the girl she was before the war. Five years had forged her into a beautiful young woman. Her auburn hair had at last been tamed, adding to her innocent beauty. Age had sculpted her face, adding intensity to her beauty. Her eyes, while saddened over the years, had lost none of their gentle luster.

  These changes frustrated Serra mostly, for she now caught the eye of many a man. She viewed such distractions as cumbersome to her duties. Serra had neither the time nor desire for romantic endeavors. Her heart still revolted at even the prospect. The mere thought of love let in the sting of unhealed wounds.

  Her bodyguard returned to her room with a cup in hand. His large frame blotted the light from behind him. “Here you go, Serra.”

  Serra took the cup gratefully. The cool water met grateful lips as she drank it all. She handed the cup back to her bodyguard who still eyed her with unrelenting care. “Thanks, Vonack,” she said.

  “My pleasure,” he said. “Can I get you anything else?”

  “No thanks. I’m fine now.”

  Vonack nodded to her as he turned to leave. “I’ll be nearby should you need me.”

  Serra watched Vonack as he left the room. Serra still could not believe he was the same bully she knew once upon a time. In five years, she had seen in him a great transformation. The deaths of all three of his childhood friends had shaken his very core. That grief had instilled in him a sense of purpose.

  Serra had been impressed with the transformation. Vonack had pushed himself tirelessly, determined for early admittance into the armies of Vallance and finally volunteering as Serra’s personal guard. Through rigorous training, Vonack was molded into a model soldier, casting aside his spoiled childhood ways to become a mature young man. Serra had to admit he was almost cute now with his determined features and clean-cut hair.

  Serra watched Vonack’s departure for a moment longer. He had been a good friend through years of hardship, and Serra was grateful to have him. They both shared a great sense of loss and, in that, camaraderie. Bannar’s fall had given them a common thread, dissolving easily the differences of their childhood. However, Serra was not so naive. She knew his feelings for her had only strengthened with age. Serra did her very best not to lead him on. What she desired now, what she needed more than ever, were friends.

  Serra turned her head to the one window her room held, and all reverie faded quickly. Even at the distance, she could see the small town of Galvin. Her soul chilled again at the reminder of what she had witnessed the previous night. Galvin was the first town to fall to the military might of Thorne. Under the cover of night, Serra had been able to get close enough to see the horrors of Thorne’s occupation. It was information she would take back to Rahn with a heavy heart.

  Serra had visited Galvin once with her father when she was nine. She remembered fondly the coziness of the little town surrounded by endless fields of wheat. Nevertheless, its present state easily destroyed the fond memories she held for the region. Galvin was now a military zone for Thorne. The people of Galvin were prisoners and slaves. The forced labor and indoctrinations thrust upon them were harsh and no second hand story compared to the agony of witnessing it personally.

  Serra shivered at those memories and instantly her heart sought her best friend for answers. How do I stay strong, Norryn? How do I carry on the example of you and your family alone? General Cresul and his forces are eating us slowly, piece by piece. How do I inspire with my words when they feel hollow to me as well? Serra fought again with tears. Her reservoir never dried, never stopped threatening her with its immanence. Serra damned the hope that refused to die in her heart. Norryn’s body was never recovered. Even so, in five years that hope was slow death on her soul.

  Serra soon banished away her dark thoughts. She had made a promise at the funeral five years ago, when the war had begun. Serra vowed to carry on where her friend could not. Every inch lost, every weary soldier’s face, every glimmer of hope instilled in Serra the strength she needed to make it one more day. Serra knew in the end it was her way of keeping him close, to let him live on in her heart. To relinquish her duty would mean diminishing the sacrifice that Norryn had paid with his life.

  “Change of plans, Serra,” Vonack’s voice entered Serra’s room a breath before him. “Get your things. We’re leaving now.”

  “What’s wrong?” Serra could see the urgency on his face as she instinctively began to prepare for travel.

  Vonack continued. “Geyre just returned. The troops stationed in Galvin are mobilizing. I don’t want to be anywhere near this place when they head in this direction.”

  She nodded quickly and set to work. “I’ll be ready in a moment.” Serra gathered her belongings into her bag within seconds. Reaching under her pillow, she took hold of the small pistol given to her by her gunslinger friend of the town Morganne. She slung her bag over her back easily. “Okay, I’m ready.” Vonack exited the small room and Serra followed.

  The rest of her little scouting party was already assembled in the front room of their temporary lodgings, along with the couple that had taken them in. Serra caught their eyes and smiled. Jordyn and Margaret were their names, and they were simple farmers who had lived off the fruits of their labors for the last 120 years. Their home was also one of only a handful that had been unmolested by Thorne so far in the vicinity of Galvin.

  Serra took Margaret’s hands into her own. “Margaret, I want to thank you again for your wonderful generosity. We cannot begin to fully express our appreciation.”

  Margaret offered a proud smile as she replied. That smile already soothed Serra when she saw it. “Think nothing of it. It’s always a pleasure to have some company. And please, I told you to call me Maggie.”

  “Maggie,” said Serra warmly. “I am afraid I have to ask you again. Won’t you come to Rahn with us? We fear for your safety so close to Galvin.”

  Jordyn chuckled at the thought. “We’ve made it this long, Serra Landring. Our fate is here. Besides, our back sides are ill prepared for such a journey. Don’t go worrying about us. It is you who are in danger.”

  Serra reached and took his hand too. It had only been four days with Jordyn and his chosen, but Serra was already deeply fond of them both. The thought of them remaining back saddened her greatly. “I wish there was something we could do for you to return the kindness that you have shown us.”

  Jordyn looked at her, in earnest. The sincerity of his features erased a great number of years off his face. “You all keep doing what you are doing, Serra. Keep fighting for our country and its people. Me and Maggie have lived long enough to know what you defend is good and right. Don’t forget that, Ms. Landring, not now, not ever.”

  Jordyn’s words gave Serra strength. “Thank you, Jordyn. You have my word.” Serra turned to her group. “Where’s Geyre?”

  Vonack snorted. “No doubt off somewhere lost in his own delusions of grandeur, the reckless fool.”

  Garen, an aged veteran of Vallance responded to Vonack. “Now I’d be watching what you say there, Vonack. That’s trouble you don’t want to stir.”

  Vonack eyed the veteran sourly. “I don’t recall anyone asking for your opinion, Garen.”

  Garen continued as if h
e’d not heard Vonack’s retort. “You know, he sleeps with all those knives. And I don’t mean one or two, I mean every damn one of them. Hell, I remember one-time old Cliff got him so hacked off Geyre kicked him a new one before carving his initials right smack dab on the broadside of Cliff's–”

  “That’s enough. I think you can be quiet now, Garen,” said Vonack.

  Garen nodded. “Whatever you say, Vonack. It’s your ass, not mine.”

  Serra did her best to suppress a smile. While Vonack’s pride could be endearing, it never failed to spill over to trouble. And from day one of their adventures across Vallance, Vonack had been at odds with their country’s most famous knife fighter. The situation had added spice to the journey, whether that spice was required or not.

  Serra returned her attention to Jordyn and Maggie. “Are you quite you won’t reconsider?”

  Maggie grinned again at Serra. “More than sure. Our place is here. Don’t let us hold you back, Serra. We will be just fine.”

  “I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Serra.” Garen motioned at the two old farmers. “These two know more about this land than anyone in these parts. I’d bet. . .” Garen trailed off as he looked out one of the windows. “Ah hell, we got company” he said as he readied his quadbow.

  Vonack swore to himself as he drew his own quadbow. He looked at Jordyn. “Kill the lights,” he urged, and Jordyn complied. “Garen, what do you see?”

  Garen’s dark eyes narrowed. “Scouting party it would seem, out there by the barn. Least seven of them.”

  “Take point, Garen,” ordered Vonack. “We’ve got to make sure they don’t get word back to Galvin.” Garen slowly opened the front door, slithering out. Vonack and the other six troops followed him.

  Serra lowered herself down and knelt by the window. She watched as Vonack and the others found cover. Reaching into her pocket, she drew her pistol. Serra found she was having a hard time remembering to breathe as her heart drummed savagely in her chest. Serra strained her eyes to see further into the darkness.

  With some effort, she could at last see the soldiers. They looked like ominous wraiths in the night as their rifles practically glimmered in the moonlight. Serra watched as they inched closer to the barn. Something held their attention completely now as they swarmed upon it efficiently.

  It was then the hair on Serra’s neck rose as she heard a scream. A terrified, hysterical voice pierced the darkness, filling Serra’s ears as the soldiers in the distance converged upon the source. One of the soldiers then pointed frantically at Serra and in the direction of Vonack and the others. The Thorne troops readied their rifles for combat.

  Suddenly, Serra’s attention caught a shadow slipping from the top of the barn. The shadow dropped like a rock within the troops of Thorne. In a blink of an eye Serra could see the small shimmer of metal flash in the moon’s light. It was followed by gurgled yelps and stifled anguish. And then all was quiet again as it was only seconds before.

  Vonack and the others converged on the barn and Serra followed them. Her instincts told her the threat was no more. As she ran out into the night and toward the barn, Serra realized she had been correct. Seven soldiers bearing the colors of Thorne lay dead on the ground. Their killer stood in the middle of them. His smile was one of slight amusement under the scar that carried down his cheek.

  “Geyre!” Serra could not help herself.

  Geyre Windfalls regarded her casually before looking again at his handiwork. Kneeling, he pulled a throwing knife from the neck of one of his prey. Wiping it on the dead soldier’s pant leg, he returned the blade to the sheath on his shoulder. Serra had difficulty removing her eyes from the bigger, bloodier knife being held in his other hand. “Search party,” he said, scratching at his scarred cheek. Geyre’s attire had somehow avoided all traces of the blood now pooling on the ground.

  “Why do you say that, Windfalls?” asked Vonack.

  Geyre rolled his eyes at Vonack. “Cause they were searching for someone. Got any more brilliant queries, High and Mighty?” Geyre enjoyed calling Vonack that. “Thought they were a scouting party, but they rolled right past the house and headed to the barn. Geyre pointed to a shadow near the barn with his bloody knife. “Their target is right there,” he said

  Serra turned her head to where Geyre was pointing. As she did Serra saw a foot slink further into the shadows. Serra slowly walked to where Geyre pointed, curiosity claiming the best of her. As Serra neared, she could make out the features of a young woman. The woman’s hair and clothes were dirty. Her eyes were wide and frightened. “It’s okay. We won’t hurt you. My name is Serra. You are safe now,” said Serra as she slowly knelt beside the woman, trying to ease her mind.

  Geyre was not so subtle. Walking next to Serra, he squatted on the opposite side of the young woman, taking her right arm in his strong grip. She resisted immediately. Serra could feel her fear rising quickly. Geyre regarded her impatiently.

  “Lady, if I wanted you hurt, you’d be dead by now. Relax,” said Geyre as he lifted her tattered shirt sleeve and examined her wrist. Serra could see something written there but could not make it out in the little light the moonlight offered. “L. Navor. Galvin.”

  Serra regarded the woman. She had heard of branding by tattoos, but had not seen it firsthand. Thorne used the tattoos to mark each prisoner with information regarding where they came from and their status within Thorne’s indoctrination process. Serra watched as Geyre examined the tattoo fully.

  Finally, Geyre regarded the frightened woman as he spoke to Serra. “It seems Ms. Navor here is considered prestigious property. These marks indicate she is not to be touched. I would guess she has caught the eye of an officer.”

  Serra was about to ask Geyre to elaborate. Instead Geyre turned to her, making piercing eye contact. Shaking his head slightly, Serra Landring got all the explanation she needed. Turning again to the young woman, Serra could not stop herself from shuddering inwardly. Property. The horror, she thought.

  Geyre stood then, sheathing the knife in his hand. “We should be away from here fast as hell, Serra.”

  “I understand,” said Serra. “Do what you can to cover our tracks. I don’t want Jordyn and Maggie to suffer for our actions. Garen, please get our horses.”

  “On it,” said Garen.

  The group set about to work as Serra inched closer to the woman named L. Navor. Geyre and the soldiers looted the fallen soldiers before removing the bodies from sight. As they worked, Serra offered a warm smile. “Ms. Navor, I think it is best that you come with us. I don’t know how long you have been hiding out here on your own, but you deserve to be safe.”

  The frightened woman eyed Serra painfully. “None of us are safe,” she whispered. Her voice trailed off, grim and dreamy as she continued. “Nothing is safe anymore.”

  Serra absorbed this momentarily, trying to remember the last time she felt safe. Such feelings were nothing more than a cold memory. “Ms. Navor, I want you to come with us to Rahn.”

  It was enough to pull the young woman back to reality. She looked at Serra expectantly. “Rahn?” Her voice was a hopeful whisper.

  Serra gave her a reassuring smile, one that she had learned to give with sincerity despite the pain or doubt she carried. “Yeah, Rahn. Have you ever been there?”

  The young woman shook her head slowly, dismally. “No.”

  “I would like you to come with us then, Ms. Navor,” stated Serra as she extended her hand slowly to the woman before her. “Please.”

  The young lady looked between Serra’s eyes and her hand, torn between her wants and her urge for survival. Serra was content with being patient with her.

  “Serra, we’ve got to go.” The insistence in Vonack’s voice was unmistakable. “We should have been on the road ten minutes ago.”

  Serra was unmoved as she regarded the young lady in front of her. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “What?” Vonack practically hissed.

  Serra eyed him impatiently. �
��Not without her, Vonack. She is a citizen of Vallance, and she deserves better. If I can do nothing for Galvin, then I will be damned if I leave without doing anything for her.”

  Vonack miraculously bit back his next comment, allowing himself a moment before he continued. “You’ve got five minutes, Serra. After that I drag you out of here any way I can.” Serra nodded absently as Vonack stormed off to finish his preparations.

  Serra softly sat herself next to the frightened Galvin native. “Ms. Navor, may I ask you for your first name?”

  The frightened young woman regarded Serra for long breaths. At last her eyes revealed the resignation to trust Serra, at least a little. “Lianna,” she whispered.

  Serra smiled at her earnestly. “That is a lovely name.” Serra inched up a little closer, slowly not to alarm her company. “Lianna, I am not going to lie to you. What you said may very well be true. We are not safe. None of us are. But there are still places that offer us safety, and Rahn happens to be one of those places. With what strength we still have we must band together now before it is too late. I will not force you to come with us, but I truly want you to.”

  Lianna Navor regarded Serra again. With a sudden jerk, the young woman then set her eyes to the distance. She looked on her occupied town with painful longing. Serra could see tears forming in those dreamy eyes. “Everything I know and have left in this world is there. All I ever dreamed of was to get away, to see new things. And now. . .” Lianna trailed off, swallowing hard as she continued. “Now all I can dream of is having it all back again just as it was.”

  The pain pouring from Lianna saddened Serra deeply. Lianna’s misery placed more weight on Serra’s shoulders, reminding her of the great burden of her fight and promise. She had before her another life shattered in the wake of Thorne’s actions, another family torn apart. Another hope crushed under the merciless boots of war. How could Serra lie to Lianna in the weight of such grief and despair?

  Finally, Serra opted for truth, straight and simple. “I would give anything for that, Lianna. Every day I cry for those careless days again, for friends I can never have back.” Serra refused the tears forging a path to her eyes. “But every time I dream, every time I remember what I miss, I realize more just how important it is to preserve these things. And if we are to have it back, if we are to see those days again, then, Lianna, we must fight. That is how we honor the memories of our loved ones lost. We assure them that their sacrifices have not been in vain, that our lives and our country are worth fighting and dying for. And in my heart, Lianna, I know that it is.” Serra held out a steady hand to Ms. Navor. “So, what do you say, Lianna Navor?”