Kingdomturn

by Matthew Williams

“All right, I found something,” Ryna responded, smiling secretively. She waited for Halwen’s expression to fade from anticipation into exasperation.

  “You know I detest this game,” Halwen said tiredly after another long moment of silence.

  “Fine,” Ryna responded with a laugh. “There is water nearby, though the journey will not be easy.”

  “And Celina?” Halwen asked. Ryna’s smile instantly faded.

  “Nothing,” Ryna said as she shook her head regretfully. “We’ll keep waiting for her, though.” Halwen sighed and walked to the back of the alcove to check on the Mainwright. They had changed out Stora’s bandages earlier in the day, and thankfully it looked as though they would not have to do so again until morning. With darkness approaching, Ryna volunteered to keep first watch once again. After Halwen curled up beside the Mainwright, Ryna returned to the mouth of the alcove. The blessedly cool wind of the night before flowed through the canyon as the sun set, but strong gusts marred its earlier gentle subtlety.

  “Ryna,” Halwen said softly from the shadows, “I’m hungry.” Ryna was shocked to realize that it had been nearly two days since their last meal.

  “I am too,” Ryna said, although she had managed to ignore her hunger up to that point. “We’ll find food and water tomorrow, I promise.” Halwen must have believed her, because she closed her eyes shortly thereafter and settled into sleep.

  ---

  The sound of coughing woke Ryna sometime in the early morning hours. She worriedly searched for Halwen’s face in the dim light offered by the stars and found her leaning over the Mainwright. As the coughing continued, Ryna realized Halwen’s mouth was not moving.

  “Stora!” Ryna gasped as she sat upright. Halwen looked up apologetically.

  “I didn’t want to wake you,” Halwen said as Ryna crawled over to Stora’s side.

  “When did this happen?” Ryna asked. Stora’s eyes were still closed, but her head moved from side to side after each bout of coughing.

  “It hasn’t been long—maybe half an hour,” Halwen replied. “She breathed in sharply, coughed a few times, then just said ‘water’ over and over. I’ve already given her two full cups, but she keeps asking for more whenever the cough subsides.” This added a new list of complications to Ryna’s plan.

  “Halwen, how many cups do you have left?” Ryna asked as she confirmed the eight cups within her own robes.

  “Four,” Halwen replied. Ryna’s head ached as she thought through their options.

  “We can’t wait here for Celina any longer,” Ryna concluded. “We have to find more water. Now.” Before Halwen had the opportunity to protest or even question Ryna’s plan, they were already hoisting the Mainwright into place on their shoulders. This journey could not wait for daylight—Ryna knew that would only mean more heat and a greater chance that their group would not reach the distant lakes before the cups went dry. After stumbling through the darkness, they reached the sandy floor of the valley and set out for the east.

  The hours leading up to sunrise passed quickly with Ryna and Halwen carrying Stora through the winding canyon at a steady pace. As the sunlight slid down closer to the path, however, its heat began to radiate from every stone it touched. Stora asked for water more frequently as the temperature rose, so by late morning their progress was slowed considerably. Ryna’s shoulders screamed for a rest each time she lifted the Mainwright again, but she accepted the pain as part of her duty and her penance. Halwen, however, began to complain incessantly.

  “We have to stop,” Halwen said, for the third time in less than a hundred strides. Ryna slowed her pace by a fraction, but she knew they could not rest again yet.

  “It won’t be long before the Mainwright is thirsty again, I’m sure,” Ryna replied, hoping to put Halwen off for another few strides at least. Halwen was silent, but Ryna could tell that the heat and frustration were beginning to wear on her friend’s ability to stay motivated. There were numerous times where the path curved just out of sight and small sprigs of wispy green plants offered the tantalizing prospect of hidden water. In each curve, though, the only thing they had found so far were dry patches of mud.

  “Come on,” Ryna said to Halwen after another disappointing bend in the path. “We’ll find water soon, I know it.” Staying positive was the most important thing at the moment, because she could tell Halwen’s spirits were nearly as cracked as the ground underfoot. They hadn’t come across any more pole plants since leaving the alcove, but more and more clusters of small, brittle weeds lined the edges of the path. Though they were dry and crumbled to dust under the lightest touch, Ryna took the plants as an affirmation that water had to be nearby.

  With midday quickly approaching, Ryna knew the group had to find a place to stop soon where they could wait through the heat. After three more curves, the valley widened to ten times its usual width for a few hundred strides. Tall fissures split the northern wall of the canyon and offered decent shade within their confines. Ryna was struck by apprehension when she looked through the far end of the valley and saw that the mountains on the distant horizon appeared just as far away as they had the day before. We can’t go any farther until dusk, she thought ruefully. We’ll make up the lost time during the night. Her concern grew deeper when she realized that even another full night of travel might not be enough to reach the distant lakes.

  “All right Halwen, now we can stop,” Ryna conceded. Halwen did not respond, but her pace quickened as they drew closer to the nearest fissure. After a short climb, they passed between two large boulders on either side of the opening and discovered that the fissure was just wide and deep enough for the three women to fit comfortably. Ryna’s shoulder felt as though it was trying to lift off of her body when she finally lowered the Mainwright for more than a few seconds.

  “Water,” the Mainwright whispered.

  Ryna quickly counted her remaining cups before removing one for Stora. Six more, she thought with alarm. The thought of water had grown increasingly tempting throughout the day, but Ryna knew anything she drank now would be less for Stora and Halwen to drink later. Ryna stared at the glistening water with longing for a moment more, then she forced herself to look away.

  “Here, Mainwright,” Ryna said, easing the cup to Stora’s mouth. Stora opened her mouth feebly and ran her tongue across her chapped lips. It was the most pitiful display of anticipation Ryna had ever witnessed, but at least the Mainwright was conscious again. After a long sip that drained nearly half the cup, Stora moved her head aside and closed her mouth. Her eyes flickered open and she slowly turned to look up at Ryna. Recognition and a faint smile graced the Mainwright’s face.

  “Ryna,” she murmured warmly.

  “Yes, Mainwright. I’m here,” Ryna replied with a jarring mixture of happiness and biting sadness. She will never use that name again when she learns the truth, Ryna thought bitterly, but nonetheless it was comforting to hear her name spoken with affection for now. Stora smiled again before sinking back into a deep sleep. Suppressing emotions as best she could, Ryna still had to wipe away a tear as she lowered Stora’s head gently to the ground. Halwen stood at the entrance of the fissure, peering awkwardly around one of the boulders as she intently studied something to the east.

  “What do you see?” Ryna asked.

  “I…I don’t know,” Halwen replied as she backed away from the mouth of the fissure. She pointed to the far end of the valley as Ryna walked past her. At first all Ryna saw were waves of heat rising from the floor of the valley, but then she noticed blurred figures approaching in the distance.

  “People,” Ryna said curiously as the group drew closer. She counted fourteen individuals total—thirteen men and a lone woman. The men carried staves similar to those of the Fyrnraed, but these were not Fyrnraed. Their clothing looked jagged and segmented, not at all like the robes she knew from Locboran. These people were something new.

  “Who are they?” Halwen asked from her seat at the rear of the refuge.

  “
I have no idea,” Ryna replied quietly as she backed away from the boulder. Something about these people seemed dangerous, enough so that Ryna felt a chill run up her spine despite the sweltering midday heat. I can’t let them see me, she thought with sudden panic. She lay down flat on her front, staring out the opening of the fissure while Halwen pressed back into the recess as far as possible.

  Ryna’s confusion grew deeper as the group passed in front of the opening. Even though she was twenty strides away at least, Ryna could tell that these people’s footsteps were perfectly synchronized. What she found more mysterious, though, was that their movements were utterly silent. Each member of the group scanned a section of the valley as they walked, their heads swiveling slowly from one side to the other. One of the men looked directly into the fissure where Ryna lay motionless, but his focus quickly moved on. Ryna exhaled silently after the group was out of sight.

  “They didn’t see us,” Ryna whispered to Halwen.

  “That’s a relief,” Halwen replied quietly. Then she tilted her head slightly to the side and stood suddenly.

  “Maybe they have extra water. Or food!” Halwen said excitedly. It seemed her fear of these people had vanished in an instant when the possibility of sustenance came to mind. Halwen darted to the front edge of the boulders before Ryna caught the bottom of her robes.

  “We don’t know anything about them,” Ryna whispered loudly. “If this land has taught us anything it’s that danger can be anywhere. Why wouldn’t that same rule apply to the people here too? We’ll find our food and water elsewhere.” After a moment in silent protest, Halwen’s shoulders slumped as her burst of excitement faded.

  “You’re right,” Halwen said. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m just so hungry….”

  “We’ll find something to eat once dusk arrives,” Ryna reassured her. “For now, get some rest. Maybe you can escape the hunger for at least a few hours by sleeping.”

  “Maybe,” Halwen replied wistfully as she stared blankly at the wall of their refuge.

  ---

  The hottest hours of the afternoon dragged by slowly with Ryna keeping watch while Halwen and Stora slept. Ryna caught her own eyes drifting shut several times until she finally stood to walk off the drowsiness. When she reached the mouth of the fissure, Ryna cautiously scanned the valley beyond. There was no sign of any approaching travelers, so she stepped out beyond the rocks that bordered the opening of the recess. Only a few more hours until sunset, she determined, looking at the sun’s distance from the far horizon. She was eager to begin the night’s journey, but apprehensive of attempting such a feat with the little bit of water they had left.

  Ryna suddenly grew alert when a familiar sound echoed faintly against the canyon walls. She searched for clouds at either end of the valley, hoping to discover that they held the promise of rain. A long moment passed with Ryna scarcely breathing; anticipation froze her in place. I know that was thunder, Ryna convinced herself in spite of the clear sky that indicated otherwise. When another roll of thunder at last rumbled through the valley, she exhaled with a disbelieving laugh. Initially hidden within the blinding radius of the sun’s brightness, the dark tops of anvil clouds now peered over the horizon and began to crowd the eastern sky as they marched closer.

  Ryna smiled broadly as she watched the storm approach, her exuberance growing with each flicker of lightning. With her arms outstretched, she let the sudden cool wind flow through her robes as it spilled out of the wall of clouds. Ryna wasn’t truly awestruck, however, until she saw the first drops of rain darken the sand at her feet.

  “Thank you for this gift, Fyrnraed,” Ryna said aloud to the sky, but she spoke of more than just the blessing of the rain. Ryna was grateful to be given the opportunity to face the trials of this land for another day, to serve her penance as an Unwoven by eluding death with honor, until the Fyrnraed at last deemed her worthy of rest. For now, her first task was to wake Halwen and the Mainwright and tell them to drink as much water as they could stomach.

  A sheet of rain swept through the valley as Ryna hurriedly returned to the fissure to remove all of the empty cups from her robe pockets. Before reaching the fissure, Ryna finally allowed herself to succumb to the ever-present thirst that had gnawed at her for the last two and half days. Ryna’s entire body breathed a sigh of relief as she emptied one of her full cups. Water had never tasted so incredible.

  “Halwen!” Ryna called out, wiping her mouth dry. “It’s raining!” Halwen’s eyes shot open with confusion and alarm at being startled awake, but then a delighted smile crept onto her face when she understood Ryna’s words. She sprang to her feet and dashed to the front of the crevice. Streams of water trickled down from the overhanging edge at the fissure’s mouth, and Halwen darted through them with a laugh. A bolt of lightning struck the far side of the valley soon thereafter and sent Halwen scampering back into the refuge.

  “Kingdom be praised!” Halwen shouted, her happiness undeterred by the strength of the storm. “We’re saved!”

  “We should drink now so the rain can refill all of our cups,” Ryna said excitedly. “Do you think we should wake the Mainwright?” Stora muttered quietly from the corner where she slept.

  “Did she say something?” Halwen asked.

  “I said I’m already awake,” Stora grumbled weakly. She lifted her head off of the ground, but winced immediately and set it back down. Ryna and Halwen stared at each other with astonishment—this was the most drastic improvement to Stora’s condition since the collapse. They hurried to her side, cups in hand.

  “Here, Mainwright,” Ryna said. “Drink.” Stora raised her head upright slowly, with Ryna’s hand supporting her. She finished one cup, then motioned for another after Ryna eased her into a sitting position. When a long roll of thunder sounded against the canyon walls, Stora’s eyes grew alert and she studied the refuge with confusion.

  “Where are we?” Stora asked faintly. Ryna looked to Halwen, who shook her head and remained silent.

  “That’s a lengthy story, Mainwright,” Ryna began. “Two days ago, there was a collapse at the bannuc forge….”

  ---

  The storm’s intensity grew as the remaining hints of daylight faded. Rain pelted the valley while Ryna and Halwen sat in silence, waiting for the Mainwright to respond after hearing the events of the last two days. Another roll of thunder brought with it a powerful gust of wind that blew a spray of rain across the group.

  “So, we are cast out,” Stora said at last, gazing out at the wet ground of this unfamiliar land. After a momentary pause, she nodded to herself as though she had not believed her own thoughts before speaking them aloud. “I need to sleep,” Stora continued. “Halwen, come help me lie down.” Ryna looked away awkwardly; she had prepared herself for harsh words from the Mainwright, but to be ignored carried an equal if not greater amount of pain. When Stora was resting once again, Halwen turned to face Ryna with a look of sympathy.

  “She didn’t mean anything by it,” Halwen whispered.

  “Get some rest, Halwen,” Ryna replied hollowly.

  “She didn’t, Ryna,” Halwen insisted.

  “I understand.”

  Halwen could clearly see that the conversation would go no further, so she reluctantly settled to the ground beside Stora. Ryna assumed her usual task of first watch and sat listening to the sounds of the storm as it carried on for hours into the night.

  After one particularly close flash of lightning bathed the area in blinding white, Ryna was suddenly reminded of a distant dream from several turnings earlier. In it, one of the older Common Wrights named Onaela had been burned horribly when she tried to weld two arm-sized sections of metal together. The upper section fell out of place during striking and flung the lower piece of metal—still at welding heat—up into Onaela’s face. The searing white metal from the dream radiated with the same intense brightness as the lightning from this storm, and the image of it colliding with Onaela had forever lodged itself into Ryna’s memor
y.

  The dream was already disturbing enough as it was, but Ryna realized there was more to the memory now—senses and details that had not been there before. The sound of the heavy metal section hitting the forge floor rang in her ears, joined quickly by the muffled agonizing screams of the injured Wright. As the bar rolled away from the anvil, Ryna now distinctly remembered feeling the heat of the metal, not just seeing its brightness.

  Ryna closed her eyes briefly, forcing her mind to ignore the dream and focus instead on reality. Onaela had been summoned to High Calling the day before the horrible dream planted itself in Ryna’s thoughts. The old Wright now worked happily in the Hall, serving the Fyrnraed with everyone else who had been called before her. Ryna’s flashes of memory now spoke of a very different story, though.

  Ryna felt herself standing at the forge, watching Onaela prepare to weld the metal pieces together. As the bars erupted with incandescent sparks, a single large ember landed on Ryna’s forearm. She remembered feeling unbearable pain and then the sensation of dropping something very heavy. After that, all Ryna recalled was Onaela with the burning metal striking her face; but there were other emotions present in the memory now beyond just horror. More disturbing than any of the details of Onaela’s injury was that Ryna now remembered feeling guilt, sorrow, and shame about it. This wasn’t a dream at all, this was a memory.

  “I dropped the bar,” Ryna whispered into the darkness. “Onaela wasn’t chosen for High Calling—I killed her.” Details of the memory became suddenly clear; Ryna stared out into the night, lost in shock, as each revelation hit her. As a young Wright, Ryna had been helping Onaela with a weld as was customary in the forge. In a moment of poor judgement and inexperience, Ryna had reacted sharply to a simple burn from welding sparks and dropped the end of the metal piece she was holding. The events that followed cascaded ultimately to the loss of Onaela’s life.

  Ryna remembered panic, screaming for help, the sound and smell of Onaela’s seared flesh. None of this had ever been in her dream before, so her stomach was not prepared for the sudden wave of nausea that accompanied the memories. She fought the urge to vomit with each passing moment. In the midst of her discomfort, Ryna recalled the faces of several Wrights who came to try to help Onaela. Ryna’s breath caught when she realized that one of those faces belonged to Stora.