by T P Sheehan
“Pack light, my wife,” Xavier said. His wife turned to him. “I’m sure regret and shame weigh heavily enough on you.”
Hannah was too excited to sleep. She wished for night to pass quickly so they could begin their journey. Even more exciting, Hannah knew Froughton Forest was to the east. So are the Romgnian Mountains. The thought of having even the slightest chance of finding Catanya would be a dream come true.
Hannah packed her leather travel bag.
“Hannah, your spare summer dress.”
“I have it, mother.”
“Hannah, your winter dress. And your long boots.”
“I have them both.”
“Your brush.”
Hannah scrunched her nose. She hid her brush under her bed, happy to forgo the torture of having knots in her hair brushed out by her mother. “I have my brush, Mother.”
What Hannah did not tell her mother were the extra things she packed for Catanya. Her favourite bottle-green scarf, a few sticks of salty liquorice root, and the half bottle of jasmine oil from Catanya’s dresser draw. It was well into the night when Hannah finally fell asleep in Catanya’s bed.
“Hannah.”
Hannah was in the thickest part of sleep, where dragging yourself into the real world is like dragging yourself out of quicksand—impossible without a nagging adult on the other side pulling you out of it.
“Hannah, wake up.”
A hand touched her forehead and stroked her hair. Hannah moaned in protest, forcing one eye open. The east-facing window was black. “It’s not morning yet.”
“It will be soon enough,” Alessandra said. “We need to be well clear of here by then. Come. Get up. Get dressed.”
Hannah did as told and stood at the side of the bed. “I am dressed.” Hannah was ready to go, wearing her favourite pomegranate-red dress and Catanya’s old, brown suede jacket to match her travel bag.
“So you are,” Alessandra said, hanging an oil lamp from a hook in the wall above the bed.
“That was quick.” Csilla entered the bedroom. Hannah looked her aunt over. She was dressed in her usual copper Uydfer armour, carrying her crimson gown over her arm. Her bronze-silver longsword was sheathed and strapped to her right side, with three long knives sheathed to the left in her plaited belt. “I have something for you.” Csilla knelt in front of Hannah and showed her a belt similar to her own with a single knife sheathed in it. “This will protect you. It’s a special blade, just like mine. Here, let me show you a spell.” Csilla drew the knife and whispered—“Fara gin parshin-ar!” A ring of flame danced along the shaft of the knife, then disappeared.
“Oh!” Hannah thought it was marvellous. “Perhaps I will become an Irucantî!”
“Perhaps not.” Csilla’s face turned serious and she flashed a look to Alessandra. “But it will serve you well when you need it.” Csilla tucked the knife into the belt and fastened its buckle about Hannah’s waist. “A perfect fit!”
Hannah looked at the plait pattern of the belt. Just like Csilla’s, it was a ‘pousse-plait’—her mother’s characteristic pattern of plaiting consisting of a three strand plait with a fourth threading lengthways through the middle. The fourth strand was imbued with a mix of enchantments to keep the plait true.
“Drink this, beautiful fire-girl.” Alessandra handed Hannah a cup of green tea. She gulped it down then picked up her travel bag, hanging it across her back. “I’m ready!”
The three of them left the house. Alessandra lingered at the door, looking back for a moment. Csilla placed a hand on her shoulder. “You’ll be back some day, sister.”
Alessandra reached for her daughter’s hand. Hannah felt her familiar grip. “With Catanya gone and everything I love by my side, I have this feeling, Csilla, this is goodbye.”
“Catanya is not gone forever,” Csilla assured her sister.
Alessandra looked resignedly at Csilla. “You once said that about Austagia.”
Hannah could not see the point of her mother’s pessimism. As sure as the sun rising in the east, she was certain travelling that way was the start of her journey to find her sister. She was going to say as much, but her jaw dropped at the sight of two approaching riders. Leading was her father riding his silver Wardemeer—Trillium. The second was a stranger. He was a solid man with red hair and a big, red beard. What he was riding left her speechless.
“Mother… Csilla… What is that?”
“That is a ‘Dwyer’ bull,” Csilla explained.
Hannah gawped at the enormous creature. Easily twice the size of Trillium, the red-haired bull drew up beside the warhorse, dwarfing it in comparison. The creature’s thick, white horns curved forward at the sharp ends and were about five feet across.
“Is he fast?” Hannah asked.
“Not as fast as Trillium. But nothing can stop him once he’s moving,” Csilla said.
Hannah saw the bull was all muscle. Its red hair was short except for a hairy patch that seemed to hang over its face.
“Can he see where he’s going?” Hannah asked.
“Auroch found his way to you, young lady.” It was the big, bearded man. Unexpectedly, a young girl jumped off the back of the bull and strode over to Hannah. Even in the dim moonlight Hannah could see she had long, curly red hair.
Csilla held a lamp so the two young girls could see one another. “Hannah, this is Nëven. Nëven, this is Hannah.”
The two girls looked at one another. Nëven extended a hand. “Pleased to meet you, Hannah.” Hannah shook her hand. Under Csilla’s lamp, Hannah studied the young girl. She could not have been more different to her—curly red hair, pale skin, and freckles over her nose and cheeks.
“Right, now that the girls have met and know what each other looks like, best you extinguish that light, Csilla,” Xavier said. He looked around as though scouting for something.
“I like your dress,” Nëven said to Hannah.
“Thank you.” Hannah looked down at her dress then smiled. “Are you travelling to the forest with us?”
“Aye. We’re taking you to our home. There are lots of exciting things to see along the way. I think you’ll like it!” Nëven smiled. Hannah was even more excited about their journey.
Alessandra’s horse was packed and they were ready to leave.
“Up you get, Hannah,” Xavier said.
“Wait!” Hannah remembered something. It was the most important of things and she had almost forgotten to pack it. She ran back into the house. In Catanya’s bedroom, she opened the dresser draw and took out Catanya’s diary. Hannah opened it and looked again at the pressed iris. She carefully prised the flower from the diary, leaving an indent in the pages the shape of the flower. Replacing the diary in the drawer, she ran back out of the house, kissed her father and climbed to the front of her mother’s saddle, still holding the flower.
“What is that for?” Alessandra asked.
“In case we pass the Romghold along the way,” Hannah explained, tucking the flower into an inside pocket of her jacket. “I can give it to Catanya to remind her of her love for Magnus… In case she has forgotten, the way uncle must have forgotten for you.”
A look of shock crossed her mother’s face but she soon softened and as they rode away from their home and Xavier, Alessandra put her mouth to Hannah’s ear and whispered—“He has never forgotten, Hannah.”
WARNING
Catanya struggled to sleep at all. She lay staring at the white canvas ceiling. The summer breeze blew gently against it making it balloon into the room, then outwards again, like the rolling lungs of a sleeping dragon. The breeze blew through the entrance flap of the women’s sleeping quarters and over her body, making her tingle with alertness. It should have nursed her into a restful sleep, but it didn’t. Something about this place did not seem right. Catanya tried repeatedly to dismiss it as folly of the mind but the warning in her heart proposed otherwise.
Was it the worgriel attack? That was ferocious, relentless, but no more so than the wyverns whe
n flying with Färgd around the coast south of the Dormiul Path. No more than Demi’s attack in Brindle in the middle of the night, or the Quag attack at the river that morning. No… The worgriel attack was about the most normal thing she had experienced all day.
Things seemed off from the moment she met Willem and Dale in the field. It just seemed out of place. When last she saw them, in the Romghold, they were part of an elite team of artisans employed to make the best Ferustir armour and weapons for her—the new Irucantî recruit. And here they were, a day away from Brindle, two days from Ba’rrat, making farming tools. It just did not seem right. Ivy seemed polite enough, as did the other artisans, but none of the sorcerers who helped forge her suit were here. Catanya sat up. The sorcerers who took samples of my blood and scanned my mind… Her heart beat its warning again.
That was when I was most vulnerable…
My blood sample was used to forge my lance—with the sorcerer’s spells…
My mind was examined for spells—with Joffren overseeing the process. Joffren… who sent Demi to kill me…
Then Delik arrived. His politeness this time seemed contrived. He either did not want them there or… knew others were looking for us.
The cool breeze stopped. It had tried to lull Catanya to sleep, but failed. Catanya stood, unsheathed her lance and prised a throwing knife from its pouch. What was the time?
Swiftly and silently, Catanya walked to the tent’s entrance, peered out and looked to the stars to gauge the time. It was several hours until she would meet Magnus. Damn… She was not prepared to wait. If they were not safe here, they had to leave immediately. This meant getting to Magnus in the men’s sleeping quarters. Catanya scanned the sleeping bunks in the women’s tent. In the dusky grey of night, every one of the nine women appeared asleep. Catanya slipped away.
The night lamps were extinguished except for one in the dining pavilion, but that was fifty yards to the west. The men’s quarters were twenty yards to the south. Catanya rounded the tent she had just left and saw a dim light glowing inside another tent twenty feet to the east. Curious to get a clearer picture of the goings on, she moved swiftly toward this tent.
Just outside, Catanya could hear a rhythmic tapping. She found the entrance flap folded back on itself. Peering in, she saw Dale seated at a workbench. He had her vambrace in a vice and was tinkering away, working his tools, mending the broken armour.
“Call it a night, Dale.” Willem’s voice came from the back of the tent. Catanya shifted until her eyes found him. “You can finish it in the morning. Delik may see things differently, but it’s good to keep your hand in at the craft you love.”
Dale did not respond, but his tinkering continued. Willem moved about, sorting through tools and pieces of armour for the next few minutes. Willem then bid Dale goodnight. “Try to get some sleep, son.” He tapped Dale on the shoulder and headed for the entrance. Catanya sheathed her weapons and scampered silently into the long grass nearby. Willem headed to the men’s quarters and Catanya returned to the tent entrance.
Dale was now standing at a small forge. He placed something inside, closed the door and returned to his seat at the workbench. With a pair of pliers and a small sanding file, he started to shape a small silver buckle. Catanya looked at her other vambrace. The three buckles were a match, but bronze in colour. She turned away, crouched, and looked at her right forearm with the missing armour. The vambrace may not have saved her life, but it spared her arm. Catanya dearly wanted to get it back. She looked into the tent again. Dale was returning to the forge. He removed Catanya’s vambrace, took it to his workbench and fitted two new silver buckles. He laid the finished work on a strip of cloth and leant back with his hands behind his head.
He’s finished…
Dale jumped to his feet.
“Sorry,” Catanya said softly. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Dale rubbed his hands on his overalls and looked about, nervously. “That’s okay.”
“You’re working late,” Catanya smiled.
“I like the peace and quiet, and… I wanted to get your armour finished. I…” Dale’s awkwardness was making Catanya feel awkward, too. “I wanted it done right, but compromises had to be made.”
Dale picked up the mended vambrace and came to Catanya. “You see—the fibres of the armour could be repaired.” Dale ran his fingers over the burgundy fibre patterns in the black armour plating. “However, the buckles were made of fire-bronze, like your lance. There are no dragons around here to fire the bronze, so…” Dale turned the vambrace over. “The two new buckles are made of hardened steel.”
Catanya looked at Dale’s handiwork, hardly believing he had done such fine craftsmanship in such a short amount of time. She could see where the repairs were made, but to her, it gave the armour character. The centre bronze buckle remained whilst the other two were now silver. Catanya looked at Dale. His eyes were fixed on her the way they had been when they first met in the Romghold.
The unease in Catanya’s heart softened a little. Her motives, however, were hard fixed. She knew it was in her interest to leave, but looking into Dale’s green eyes, she somehow could not believe he would do anything to harm her. Whatever is going on here, Dale either does not know about it, or has no choice in the matter. This seemed to fit with Willem’s words moments ago. He told Dale he could finish his work but—‘Delik may see things differently…’
“Does Delik mind you working on this for me?” Catanya asked. Dale drew a sharp breath. “I wouldn’t want to get you into trouble, Dale.” Catanya tried to soften her obviously blunt question. “I can see you have a lot of other important work to do here.”
“It’s not like that. Delik is happy with my work.” Dale hesitated. “Things are different now.”
Catanya kept looking Dale in the eyes, knowing it kept him focusing on her, but it was more than that. He had the most honest eyes she had ever seen. She doubted they could hide a lie if they tried. Magnus’s eyes always told of his love for her, but Dale’s were eyes of innocence. The fact that the first thing he ever told her was how beautiful she was, with no regard for etiquette, was more than a quality she admired—she adored it.
Catanya wanted to push Dale for more information about Delik, but dreaded the thought of those green eyes clouding over when he recognised her agenda. No, she was not going to play games with Dale. Instead, there was an awkward silence between them. Dale took the initiative and broke it. He took a step forward and kissed Catanya—briefly and for just a second—on the lips.
“Here.” Dale handed Catanya her vambrace. “It’s best you leave now, Semsü.” Catanya opened her mouth to reply—with what she was not sure—but Dale cut her short. “I don’t mean leave the tent, I mean leave this place. It’s not safe for you.” Dale looked nervously at the tent entrance.
Catanya had questions, but her heart was thumping a firm warning to leave immediately. “Are you safe?” It was the most pressing thing on her mind.
“Semsü?”
“Don’t call me that.” Catanya kissed Dale back. It was a more passionate kiss but quick, nevertheless. She pulled back, placing a hand on his chest. “Are you safe staying here?”
“For now, yes.” The second kiss seemed to snap Dale out of any hesitation. “When the time comes, my parents and I will make our way north again. Where will you go?”
Catanya shook her head. “We’ve a long journey ahead of us. Many wrongs need to be righted, Dale. But if you need sanctuary, you’ll find it in the Uydferlands… in the Fire Realm.”
Dale nodded. “Is it true—your companion? Is he who they say he is?”
Catanya was floored. How in all of Allumbreve would he know? Catanya turned to see if any eavesdroppers were at the tent’s entrance. She was quick to consider all manner of ways these people knew Magnus was the Electus. She was sure now that Delik knew when we they spoke earlier. The question now was—What would Delik do with the knowledge that the Electus was here in the artisans’ camp?
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Magnus!
Catanya looked one last time at Dale. His eyes were a mixture of confusion and desire. “Best I don’t answer that question.” Catanya walked to the entrance of the tent, fitting her vambrace as she went. “Goodbye, Dale.”
Walking into the night, Catanya fended off a flood of emotions. She somehow felt responsible for Dale’s safety. She felt responsible for Willem and Ivy’s safety. Magnus, though, was in danger—of that there was no doubt. Catanya looked about but only for a split second. She had made a fatal error. She had put her emotions before evaluating her immediate situation. It was basic Irucantî training that had become second nature to her and saved her life on more than one occasion. Now though, she slipped. She did not notice figures in the dark. They struck from behind. Blinding pain tore through her head and her vision blacked out.
Catanya fell, but was dragged to her feet. She fought from losing consciousness. Her arms were bound behind her back and several people were manhandling her, dragging her somewhere. Her vision started to return and she tried to scream as a warning to Magnus but her mouth was smothered with a gag tied around her neck. Then a sack was shoved over her head.
Catanya had been captured.
FURY
“By the gods, she’s a feisty one!”
“This man is of no concern to me, but I protest your assault on an Irucantî.”
The first voice was unfamiliar to Magnus. The second was Delik’s. Both voices washed through Magnus as a hazy dream. It was mixed with convoluted memories and nausea. The nausea was different to what he had experienced since becoming the Electus. That was ‘Anunya’—the sickness that came as a side effect of his body learning to adapt to the dragon blood that now coursed through his veins. With the nausea Magnus was experiencing now, there was no sweating or rigors.
“Was the nightshade meant to kill him?” It was Delik again.