Dusk's Revenge

by A. W. Exley

  “Do you need help?” Elijah asked as he pulled his horse to a halt beside them.

  The woman turned and glanced up at him. “She has gone lame on me.”

  The woman appeared to be of a similar human age to him—under twenty. With her face cast in bold lines she would never be described as pretty, but she was striking and Elijah had to stop himself from staring. Her hair was pulled back and tucked up under a burgundy top hat and a few escaped strands were lit with burnished copper as the sun dropped. Her skin had a dusky hue as though she’d spent her summers out of doors and without a parasol, and her eyes were rich honey. Her tight habit revealed a figure that curved in all the right places and in ways that Elijah found fascinating.

  “You go on ahead, Grandfather. I’ll catch you up.” Elijah waved to Hector and Marjory as he jumped down from his horse without so much as a glance at the older couple. He only had eyes for the vision in red before him.

  “See you at the cottage!” Hector called, and then he cracked the reins and the cart rolled past. The raven flew to a treetop and peered down. Elijah silently willed the bird to follow the cart. He didn’t need his uncle spying on every little thing he did, especially when it involved a fetching-looking young woman that he wanted to become better acquainted with.

  When the bird took wing, Elijah turned to appraise the mare first. It was a pretty thing with a fine head, a red chestnut coat, and a delicately built body. He murmured to the horse as he ran a hand down each of her front legs, feeling for any sign of a sprain or injury. “There’s no heat.”

  “Well, that at least is good news. But what have you done to yourself, girl?” the woman asked as she stroked the mare’s face.

  Next, he pinched the tendon at the back of the mare’s leg and asked her to pick up her foot for him. One glance at her hoof and he saw the cause of the sudden lameness. “Here’s the problem. She has a stone wedged under her shoe and pressing on the sole.”

  “Does she?” As the woman leaned close to look, her arm brushed his. She radiated heat like a coal fire and emitted the warm aroma of cinnamon.

  Elijah grunted as he kept his mind on the task at hand. He reached into his trouser pocket, pulled out a pocket knife, and flicked it open. With the edge of the blade, he prised the stone free. Then he set the mare’s leg down. “She should be all right now, as long as the sole isn’t bruised.”

  “Whatever are you doing, Beatrice? Your uncle is expecting us at the house. You don’t have time to chat to the yokels,” a voice called out.

  Elijah straightened. He was no yokel but the son of an earl. A scowl pulled at his face as he turned to the speaker. Another rider had appeared, this one a young gent with a ridiculously tall top hat as though he were compensating for a lack of size elsewhere. A dark blue frock coat encased broad shoulders and muscular arms. He scowled at Elijah from beneath auburn brows.

  The young woman waved her riding crop at the rider. “Did you only notice now that I was missing, Archie? My mare went lame and this gallant man offered to assist and has just now removed a stone from her shoe.”

  The scowl deepened and the man stared at Elijah in an open challenge, as though it were all his fault his riding companion was waylaid. “We are not far from the estate. The horse will be fine over that distance. Get the lad to put you up so we can get on our way.”

  Elijah bit back a retort. If the man was so worried about his companion why didn’t he get off and help her himself? No true gentleman would stay mounted when a lady was on foot.

  The woman muttered something under her breath and then her lush, dark lips flashed a brief smile at Elijah. “Would you mind rendering one more bit of assistance?”

  She flicked the reins over the mare’s head and took them in one hand, and then she rested the other on the upright pommel.

  “Of course.” Elijah made a platform by lacing his hands together and bent down.

  She placed a black leather boot in his palms. “On three?” she asked, then counted out loud.

  On three, Elijah tossed her upwards as he straightened his back and she landed in the sidesaddle. He patted the mare’s neck while her rider arranged her skirts around the pommels.

  “Thank you,” she said as she picked up the reins.

  “Could I have your name as payment?” He was new to the area and there was no harm in knowing the name of a woman who’d caught his eye. He assumed she was Beatrice, since that was how the other gent addressed her. But knowing Beatrice who would make her easier to find again.

  The man nudged his horse forward until Elijah had to step back or be trod on. An unseen wave rolled off the rider that racked invisible nails down Elijah’s back. Simultaneously, a pain stabbed through his head as though a banshee had screamed in his ear. He gagged as bile burned up his throat and he stepped further away from the unknown man.

  All Elementals emitted a resonance once they reached adulthood. His aunt and uncle were a pleasant tingle, as though they patted him with an invisible hand. They spoke of how Soarers were a wrong note or a sour flavour, but Elijah had never experienced it.

  Until now.

  He lifted his head and shook away the ache until it became an uncomfortable ring in his ears. The man was a Soarer and by the look of his solid build and brandy-coloured eyes, he was a salamander.

  “What’s wrong with you?” The man narrowed his eyes and kept his horse between Elijah and the woman.

  Elijah drew a deep breath through his nose and let the nausea settle. “I swallowed a fly.”

  The man’s face screwed up. “Disgusting commoners. Let’s go, Beatrice.”

  He yanked on the reins and turned his horse. Then he put heel to it and broke into a canter. He didn’t even glance back to check if his companion followed.

  “My name’s Beatrice, in case you hadn’t guessed,” the woman said over her shoulder as they rode off. “Beatrice Hamilton.”

  She cantered down the road to catch up to her companion.

  Beatrice Hamilton.

  The form he’d so admired a minute ago was most likely another Soarer.

  The mention of that name unleashed a wave of nausea that battered at him. Elijah clutched his middle and dashed to a tree, where he surrendered his lunch into the long grass. He had put his hands on a Hamilton and rather than avenging his father, he had acted the lowly groom. He couldn’t have shamed his family more if he had tugged his forelock, dropped to all fours, and grovelled in the dirt at her feet.

  When his stomach was empty, he wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his jacket and straightened. The two figures had disappeared along the tree-lined road. The young woman hadn’t been unpleasant to stand near, yet she was a Hamilton. If she was an Elemental she must be young, like him, and a resonance had not yet attached to her. Elijah wiped his palms down his trouser legs, rubbing away the impression of a slender boot in his hands.

  He glanced up at the treetops, glad the raven had flown on and no one saw his shame.

  4

  Just as Hector had said, the cottage was not much further along the road. On the left, an overgrown track ran off the road with fresh wheel marks in the dirt, and Elijah followed the trail. A hundred feet off the road, the track broke through the surrounding trees to reveal a picturesque cottage. Lime-washed walls were topped by a thatched roof that overhung the windows like bushy eyebrows.

  The garden was overgrown but the riot of colour and growth added to the cottage’s appeal. The garden reminded him of the wildflower meadow at Ravenswing manor, a place where he’d often sought refuge during darker times. He took that as a good omen, and that this dwelling would shelter him in the dark days ahead.

  The cottage was bigger than he’d imagined and he was relieved that it might afford him some privacy from the old couple. He directed his horse around the side, and at the rear of the building, he found a small barn. Hector had already unharnessed the cart horse and its head hung over a stall door.

  There was a second stall for his gelding. Elijah stripped off the sad
dle and bridle and then rubbed down the horse with a handful of straw. The tired horse gave a groan and dropped to the ground to roll back and forth in the fresh bedding.

  “It has been a long day.” Elijah slid across the bolt to keep the stall door shut and then walked towards the cottage.

  High in the trees behind the cottage, the lone raven perched. It called out and Elijah waved a hand in its direction. He wasn’t ready to tell his uncle that he had helped a Hamilton. He would omit that fact if he had to recount the trip to Kessel.

  A shriek of laughter came from the cottage as he reached out for the door handle. He pulled it open to find Hector chasing Marjory around the kitchen table.

  “Am I interrupting something?” Elijah asked as he stepped inside. They were old people, they shouldn’t be running around.

  Marjory halted and was promptly caught by Hector, who wrapped his arms around her.

  “Unhand me, you oaf! Whatever will Master Elijah think of us?” She whacked him on the shoulder with a tea towel.

  “I imagine he thinks we’re on our honeymoon and I can’t resist you.” Hector waggled his eyebrows as he squeezed her sides with his long fingers.

  Elijah closed the door and leaned a hip on the counter that ran along the rear wall. “You can’t call me Master Elijah while we’re here. There might be seekers anywhere, listening to everything we say. I think while we are here I will just be Eli.”

  Marjory wriggled free of Hector’s grasp. “Eli it is, then. There are two bedrooms. We’ve already taken the one on the eastern side, if that’s all right, and you can have the other. There’s a bathroom next to the kitchen and an outhouse over by the barn.” She gestured with her hands, waving in the appropriate direction of each room as she spoke.

  An outdoor toilet? He’d wanted new experiences, but he’d assumed those would still come with indoor plumbing. He managed a terse smile. “I’ll sure we’ll cope.”

  “Good lad. Naught wrong with a walk in the brisk night air when nature calls. Did you help the miss with the lame horse? She was a fine-looking thing.” Hector winked with such gusto that the entire side of his face screwed up.

  Elijah stared at the luggage piled in the kitchen. A crate sat open on the floor. It contained a range of grocery items that Marjory unpacked. He peered at the supplies while he spoke. “The horse had a stone caught in its shoe and yes, it was a fine-looking mare.”

  “Not the horse, the rider.” Hector waved his hands in the air as he mimed the shape of an hourglass.

  Elijah knew exactly what he meant, but what could he say? His stomach flip-flopped when he remembered her name. Beatrice Hamilton. It didn’t matter how well she was formed, her name rendered her ugly.

  “I didn’t notice.” He shrugged and reached down for his canvas duffel bag, which sat by the kitchen table, and slung it over his shoulder. The main part of the cottage was a spacious room that served a number of purposes. It was their parlour, dining room, and kitchen. Each area delineated by the furniture. A bedroom was located on either side of the main room and Elijah headed for the westward one.

  “Get settled in, Eli, and once I find the kettle, I’ll make a pot of tea if the old goat would stoke the fire,” Marjory said.

  “Oh, I’ll stoke the fire.” Hector rubbed his hands together.

  Eli crossed to his room as Marjory squealed from the kitchen. He shut the door and dropped the bag by the bed. At least he was on the other side of the cottage to Hector and Marjory and their laughter was muted by the thick door and walls.

  His room possessed two windows. One looked out towards the dirt track and the other had a scenic view of the barn. The room was tiny compared to his suite in Ravenswing Manor, but it would do. He sat on the bed and bounced up and down. The mattress was firm with no squeaks, and the bedding was clean. The floor was swept and a bright rug would keep his feet warm on chilly mornings. A dresser sat by the window and he soon put away his few belongings in the drawers.

  When he emerged from the bedroom, Marjory was fussing over how things were placed in a cupboard and a kettle whistled on the range. For the first time in his life, Elijah didn’t know what to do with himself. Life at the manor had a routine. After dinner he either played chess with Aunt Lettie or studied. Neither activity was available to him now.

  He dropped into a comfortable armchair in front of a cold grate. The large fireplace dominated the front of the cottage and the range for cooking burned at the rear. In winter, when both fires burned, it would be a cosy space. Behind the armchairs and sofa was the large pine table that separated parlour from kitchen.

  “Why don’t you go into the village after dinner?” Marjory said as she handed Elijah a cup of tea.

  He stared into the pale brew and wished it were a beer instead. “Do you not need me here?”

  Marjory waved a hand at him. “Tish! You’re a young lad and I’m sure you’d rather be out at evening time. Perhaps you could ask around about that young lass we saw on the road today?”

  He wanted to erase her face from his memory but it refused to budge. Her outline was singed into his mind. “I think not.”

  “Why not? She was a striking-looking thing and a flirtation is good for passing the time.” Marjory settled on the sofa and Hector took the armchair opposite Elijah.

  He tightened his fingers on the hot mug. Better to blurt it out and get it over with, like ripping the scab off a cut knee. “She’s a Hamilton.”

  Marjory’s mouth made an O shape and her eyes went wide.

  “A salamander, then? She looked a fiery type,” Hector said.

  “I would assume so.” Meidh were the fifth type of Elemental and they all had names that conveyed their particular traits. Elijah’s mother had been a Meidh, her name Ava short for avarice, and her greed had nearly destroyed his family. The name Beatrice didn’t have any reference to a trait.

  In hindsight, if Beatrice were the fire element, it would explain the copper highlights in her hair and her eyes like warmed honey. Salamanders burned with an internal fire that came through in their physical appearance. Sylphs were much like undines and had taller and finer forms, and were somewhat pompous, being filled with hot air.

  “Well, there’s an old saying: know thy enemy. Now you will know that one if you see her again.” Marjory pointed out the positive from the encounter.

  Elijah doubted he would see her again. He planned to try for a job at the mill and she didn’t look the sort to dirty her hands with manual labour. By now, she and Archie would be drinking from crystal at their party and laughing about the peasant they’d met on the road.

  He placed the untouched tea on a side table. “I might go find the pub now, if that’s all right. I need something to do.”

  “Of course, love. If you’re not back before we turn in, I’ll leave a lantern burning in the kitchen so you can find your way,” Marjory said.

  “The village is not far down the main road. You can either walk or ride.” Hector moved to the sofa and next to his bride.

  “I think I’ll walk. I need to stretch my legs.” He couldn’t face the hard saddle again so soon.

  Elijah returned to his bedroom and picked up the duffel bag. In the very bottom was a small purse of money his uncle had pressed into his hand. He removed enough coins to pay for a meal and a couple of beers, but no more. He didn’t want to end his first night being beaten and robbed.

  He waved to Marjory and Hector and headed out the front door and down the overgrown path. Lavender swiped at his trouser legs and left its pleasant scent on the fabric. He headed along the main road, giving his mind time to shake off the last of the unpleasantness from encountering the two Soarers. As he headed closer to the village, large cottages and two-storeyed houses cropped up along the way.

  On the surface, Kessel appeared much like the Alysblud village. Homes lined the road, becoming closer together as he neared the village. More dwellings were clustered around a main square. He spied the sort of establishments most towns needed to survive. A b
akery, blacksmith, and general store, along with sundry other businesses with names written on their windows but wares obscured behind darkened windows.

  The shops were all closed up tight for the night, except one. The pub was easy to find. Light and laughter spilled from the open door and front windows. Elijah paused on the doorstep to survey the noisy crowd. The men ranged in age from ancient to just leaving childhood. A few women sat with the men, laughing and drinking from shared tankards.

  Eyes turned in his direction and whispers followed him to the bar. He reminded himself that the village was aligned to Soarers and that there would be no true friends to be found among the gathered men. A stranger wasn’t to be trusted.

  “Can I help you?” the man behind the bar asked him. He had the ruddy complexion of a man who regularly sampled the ale and enormous arms that looked able to carry full kegs.

  “A pint and dinner, please.” Elijah remembered to smile as he slid the coins across the counter.

  “You passing through?” the barkeeper asked as he took the money and gestured to a tired-looking barmaid.

  “No, I’m a new resident. I just moved here today with my grandparents. My grandfather was born in Kessel and we’ve taken a cottage not far from here.” He gestured back the way he’d come, as though he expected the barkeep to know exactly what he pointed at.

  “New, huh?” a man leaning on the bar beside him said. “You’ll need someone to show you around, then, and to point out who to avoid.”

  Elijah turned to the speaker. He was a lad around the same human age as him with a shock of brown hair and wide, laughing eyes. He was taller than Elijah but with a leaner frame.

  Elijah held out his hand. “That would be appreciated, if you have time. I’m Eli Hector.”

  “Samuel Manfred, but most people call me Manny.” The two men shook hands. Manny gestured over his shoulder to a raucous table. “Why don’t you join us and I’ll introduce you to the rest of the lads?”