by Lindsey Byrd
Staying asleep was another matter altogether.
Kera flinched awake at each screech of the nightwalkers echoing outside town limits. They never used to bother her. Over forty years of listening to them had given her a kind of ignorance that she could no longer claim. She woke whenever a horrible screech tore through the air. Her heart pounded as she sat upright. Her back howled in agony in response to the wraith’s call.
Exhaustion wore Kera down. It clung to her lashes and tried to force her to sleep. Sand formed at the corners of her eyes, and she wanted nothing more than to sleep through the madness, but it was impossible. The comfort of not knowing no longer existed. Aurora took to placing Aiden in Faith’s care at night. She pulled Kera to her chest and held her head against her heart. She stroked Kera’s hair and told her that it was going to be all right. “We’re safe here. We’re safe, and the wraiths can’t come inside the city. We’re going to be all right.” She kissed Kera’s cheek and the burning fire of her touch felt just hot enough to keep the spirits at bay.
In the mornings, Kera found herself lost and unsure. Her mind floated along with her body, disengaged and fractured. Aurora made her drink peppermint tea, and as they walked she reminded Kera that she needed to drink water. Then, she even assisted Kera when she struggled to relieve herself afterward, helping her to pull her trousers up when her back twinged. Shame! Kera’s mother shouted in her mind. She cried more than once. Aurora hugged her and never said a word. Kera was grateful that her monthly cycles had ceased not long after Aiden’s birth. She did not want to deal with that on top of this. A part of her was tempted to ask Aurora if she needed to handle such things still, but that was more inappropriate than she had the decency to manage at the moment. Aurora hadn’t mentioned any discomfort, and that was that as far as Kera was concerned.
Her fever broke by the time they reached the capital, but Kera was still unsteady on her feet. Her balance was made all the more awkward by overcompensating for sore everything. She longed for the days of luxury and relaxation once more.
Entering the city had been the last thing Kera wanted on this journey, but she would much rather be here than in a wraith’s path again. The construction had started years ago, but it was taking a long time to complete. Every year the rumors circulated as to the new end date. It didn’t matter. When Kera laid eyes on the loathsome city, she detested it just as much as she suspected she would. It was short and squat with a horrendous odor wafting through the air. Insects buzzed all around, and the people themselves looked filthy just for living in it.
“It’s a swamp,” Aurora declared. Muddy roads left thick squelches of crud up and down Victor’s legs. His hooves plodded through it under great protest. He snorted and huffed and whinnied at them. Complaints! Complaints to the manager!
The manager poked him with her knuckle and said, “Keep moving you lazy lout.”
Victor moved. His happiness was not required. As they progressed, Kera squinted up at the sky, hoping that the sun would still be high enough for them to press on. It wasn’t. They had no choice but to stay here. She sympathized with Victor. She hated it too.
They walked through the streets and looked for places to rest. Kera wasn’t even all that surprised when they discovered that there was no inn or travelers’ lodge, just a makeshift fire circle that all the workers clambered into at night instead. Men and women gathered around to laugh and drink, hooting and hollering loud enough that Kera couldn’t quite hear the wraiths searching for breaks in the fire line, eager to kill them all.
“It’s vulgar,” Kera muttered as they found a place in the circle that was tucked away from the worst of the bunch. A collection of women were banded together on one side, all watching a cluster of drunk workers on the other.
“’Appens ev’ry nigh’,” an older woman informed them. She had meandered over when she saw Aurora struggling with Kera’s bandages. They wasn’t much hope for true privacy here, but some of the other women had formed an impromptu barrier around them. The stranger was frowning when she looked at Kera’s back. “Ye’ve seen a lot, have’n you?” she asked, pitying expression carved deep into the wrinkles of her pale skin. Her gray hair puffed from her scalp, and in the firelight Kera could just make out shocks of red.
“Wraiths, few days back,” Aurora replied, and as if on cue, the nightwalkers screeched loud and terrible. Kera saw a flutter of fabric flickering on the other side of the fire line. Her fingers strangled her shirt, squeezing it so tight she feared it might rip beneath her nails. Her sore palm ached in response to her inattention.
The woman sighed and shook her head. “Dey pretty bad down here, specially toward da valley. You been up dere? It’s naw quite wut it should be. Awful an such. All from da war we reckon. Only ting dat make sense.” The woman’s accent was even thicker than Aurora’s.
Accents don’t mean anything, Kera reminded herself as her mother’s firm instruction on proper pronunciation echoed in her ears. She was too tired to argue. She closed her eyes and tried to pretend that her knees and folded shirt could protect her from the roaming eyes of inebriated men. It took time to see to each cut, and more time to wrap the gauze around her body and settle the shirt back into place. The longer it took, the more nervous Kera felt.
“We’re going to the Long Lakes,” Aurora told the old woman. “Have you ever been?”
“Da Alilaaniwa Long Lakes?” She sounded awed at the very idea of it. “Never in person no. Dey say it’sa beautiful place, but ya gotta be careful ’course. Seeing as da place is . . . well . . . cursed.”
Everything about their journey had been cursed so far, Kera thought. Why wouldn’t the Long Lakes themselves be cursed too? But Aurora was better at social communication these days. Irony of irony. She was better at making friends with strangers on the street while Kera found that she had not the wherewithal or dedication to try. She hurt too much to want to think about propriety and niceties.
“Cursed?” Aurora asked. She finished her ministrations and tugged Kera’s shirt back into place. Her hands pushed at Kera like she were raw dough, kneading her into submission. Aurora twisted and turned her and tugged her so she lay with her head against Aurora’s shoulder. Slender fingers pet her hair. The message was clear. Try to rest. Even if it’s just for a few minutes.
“Savage creatures haunt dose trees. Me-tinks dere’s a bit o’ monsters up in dere.”
“Griffons?” Kera wanted to know.
“Aye, yes, lotsa talk ’bout griffons dese days, but dey something awful, don’t you tink? Bloodtirsty an’ violent. Will kill ya soon as they spot ya. Baddest worst ting out in the wood. Some hunter say dey went out ’n’ try ta kill ’em dead, but we ain’t heard noting ’bout dem since.”
Never mind. Kera didn’t want know. She didn’t want to think about dead griffons. She didn’t want to think about this being a great utter waste of their gods damned time. She shoved herself back from Aurora’s side, and hissed as her flesh seared in agony. It didn’t matter.
She longed for one of the shawls that she or one of her sisters had spent hours warping on their loom. She longed for the warmth and comfort they provided. She even longed for the sound of the loom, and the familiar pattern of pressing the treadles with their feet and throwing the shuttles over and over again. The beater made a shwunk as it moved back and forth, pulling the design into place. She had silk thread once, Amit had shipped it over from Ruug after the second war. She had sat down with a sheet of paper and counted out the marks on her page, determining her pattern and then setting it into motion. Once done, she’d held the shawl around her shoulders and settled into its surprising warmth.
Now that she was thinking of comfort . . . she couldn’t help herself from thinking of the Ivory Gate. Her mind conjured images of her chairs and carpets and her fireplaces. Kera shivered in the cold. She wanted to go home.
Aurora excused their guest, and Kera listened as the old woman toddled off once more. Kera fumbled through their saddlebags in the meanwhile,
searching until she found the Bestiary. She turned to the griffon section by memory.
Aurora’s hand appeared on her shoulder. “You okay?” she asked.
The notes on the sides of the pages all talked about the family unit of griffons: how griffons cared for their young, how they ate, and what their habits were. Whoever the notetaker was, they’d spent a great deal of time observing the griffons. Far more than the book’s writer ever had.
One of the more telling notes spoke to a familiarity with Morpheus too. Mori, next time you go riding off at midnight, at least try to plot your course less haphazardly. No doubt in direct response to Morpheus’s injury. Unbidden, Kera’s mind shifted back to Holly. Sweet Holly, who’d done her very best and was lost on the field.
“Do you think the crows have found her body?” Kera asked.
Aurora’s fingers slid through her hair, pushing her bangs back behind her ear where they belonged. Kera’s stomach twisted into knots and her head spun. Her skin tingled beneath Aurora’s touch. She leaned to it, breathed in and inhaled her scent through the air. After so long at each other’s side, it filled her with nothing but a sense of comfort. Relief.
The workers continued dancing around a fire pit they’d created. A fire inside a fire. Like a bull’s-eye! Tears pressed against her eyes. She felt like a crazy person. Smoke wafted all around and the noise rose higher. Death lurked just on the other side of the fire line, but Aurora’s fingers felt nice in her hair. Kera gave in to the feeling, even as Aurora asked for clarification. “Holly?”
“Yes.”
“Likely not long after we left.” It was a dead body on the ground. Kera knew that the crows would have been at it soon enough. Vultures too. The scavengers would fight over Holly’s corpse and devour strips of meat off her aged bones.
Soon, some travelers would come across the mare. They would find Mori’s obnoxious saddle still strapped down on her body. The saddle had been carefully crafted and tended to over the years. It was a relic. One that had survived for so long and had been mended with such careful dedication that Kera had never seen it crumble. Mori had always kept it in such good condition. It would fetch a pretty penny at a market.
If they’d managed to lift the blasted thing up off the ground.
“I should write my sister a letter.” The realization sank deep in her bones, and Kera sighed. Her head ached worse than it had mere minutes ago, and Aurora hummed again under her breath. They looked over toward Faith and Aiden.
Both had grown close in their journey. Perhaps suffering made good bedfellows? For Faith held Aiden like she was protecting something precious, and Aiden sought Faith out for hugs and cuddles. He had started doing the same to Aurora as well. All of them falling into an easy pattern. It was a rather hysterical thought.
“I’m not close to my siblings,” Aurora told Kera. “They grew up and moved on as fast as they could. And I stayed in Ship’s Landing.”
“Why?”
Aurora shrugged. “Why does anyone stay in Ship’s Landing?”
It was a question that Kera always wanted to know the answer to. She hadn’t grown up there. She’d grown up north at Crystal Point in Alexandria. It had been expected she would stay there too, but she’d found a home in Ship’s Landing. She’d found love. She’d married and longed to stay right where she was, making her life in a city that always seemed different one day to the next.
She loved the streets, the shops, the commerce, the education. She loved the plays in the theater. She loved the parlors and their gossip. She loved playing the piano and walking with Mori up and down streets that were always safe from the nightwalkers that never crossed the city lines. “The wraiths never scared me before.”
Ship’s Landing had kept the fear from her mind. It’d kept her from taking note of the horrible things that lived in the night. She had walked the streets with the moon high in the sky and not thought anything of it. She had felt safe in the city, safer than anywhere else in the world.
Aurora encouraged Kera back to her feet, and they returned to sit closer to their children. Faith squinted up at them, brow wet with sweat. She was trying so hard for them. Kera caught her trying to stop her tremors when they came. She even offered to walk not long ago, though Kera wouldn’t have anything of it.
Kera was not incapable just yet.
“There aren’t any wraiths in Ship’s Landing,” Aurora agreed as they got into a more comfortable position. Kera encouraged Faith to rest her head on her lap. Aiden was still hugging the girl, but he didn’t wake at the change of position. Aurora wrapped her arms around Kera’s shoulders and kept her back from touching the wall behind them. It allowed her to relish in the warmth and security Aurora’s steady presence provided.
“That wraith . . . What you did . . .” Kera whispered. Aurora hummed against Kera’s hair, encouraging but not prodding. Coaxing without the whip. “You saved our lives.” She couldn’t remember if she’d thanked Aurora for that, if she’d expressed the feelings that existed within her body. There were words that described her emotions and her hopes, there must be, but she didn’t know their names. She didn’t know how to tell Aurora that she owed her everything. Or that she would do anything to make it up to her. “I’d never seen anyone more brave or more . . .” Beautiful was the word that came to mind, but her cheeks burned at the thought of saying it out loud. Her ribs seemed to squeeze down on her lungs, compressing her from the inside. She swallowed thickly. “More selfless,” she eventually managed. “I . . . Thank you. Thank you for everything.”
It still didn’t feel like it was enough.
But Aurora said, “You’re welcome,” and kissed Kera’s brow.
Kera stroked her fingers along the pages of the Bestiary and tried to imagine what she could do to make it up to Aurora. “When we return to Ship’s Landing . . . I’d like to introduce you to my sister.”
“Why?” It was a fair question.
“Ciara . . . she’s my best friend. She’s always been my best friend. I’d like you to know her. She’s wonderful. Truly. She’ll teach you anything you’d like to learn. Converse with you about topics that you’d never dream of talking about. She’s funny and witty. She charmed every salon in Ship’s Landing and beyond.”
“That a fact?”
“Yes.” Ciara and Aurora would make quite a pairing. Her sharp wit would match Aurora’s clever tongue. They could trade barbs and go back and forth. Be the best of friends.
“I don’t know what I’ll do when we get home,” Aurora admitted. “But if you mean to introduce me to your sister, I’m assuming that means we’re friends now?”
Yes. They were friends. Kera didn’t think she had it in her to retain any pain or discomfort in regards to Aurora. The woman had ridden her horse into battle, with her daughter ill and desperate for aid, all for the sole purpose of saving them. Of course they were friends. “I would be honored if you would take me to be your friend, Lady Aurora,” Kera requested.
Aurora laughed, and she didn’t stop for some time. Her giggles carried far across their camp, where the men still hooted and hollered, but Aurora’s sounds seeming far more genuine and wonderful than them all. Kera smiled when she heard it. It was musical and bright, she could listen to it for hours.
Aurora laughed with her whole body. Her shoulders shook. Her neck bent her head low. Her cheeks turned rosy with warmth, and her lips were pulled back in a wide smile as her eyes squeezed shut. There were crow’s-feet in the corners. Aurora kissed her crown again, and Kera cheeks flushed at the familiarity. She twisted her head to press it against Aurora’s shoulder. Grateful beyond measure that she was not alone. Her body ached, but her soul felt light. Protected and secured. They were together and they were alive. Grief didn’t pull her apart at the seams, nor did it linger too long on her mind. “You could . . . you could stay with us too. If you needed a home. If you needed a place to stay. You could stay with us.” A house full of children. Aurora’s dry wit. It seemed nice.
Nice . . .<
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Aurora kissed her brow. “Sleep, Lady,” she said. “I’ve got first watch.” Kera closed her eyes, book pressed against her heart.
“Do you think the hunters killed the griffons?”
“No. Fate’s not that cruel.” She said it with such conviction it must be true. “We’re going to find these griffons. Just you wait.”
Kera nodded and tried to ignore the sounds of the night. Aurora rested a palm over her ear and stroked her hair until she was lulled to sleep. The nightwalkers still screamed, but they were muffled. Quieted.
“You’re safe,” Aurora told her. “You’re safe.”
Kera slept.
Kera woke well before dawn. Her watch was easier, though. She told Aurora to get some rest, and shifted their positions so she could hold on to the younger woman instead. She stroked her thumb along Aurora’s arm and stared out into the darkness, watching the fire circle flicker for the final few hours of its lifespan.
The workers had quieted down hours ago. She was grateful for it. Even in its quieter state, her body felt tight and nervous. Her anxiety spiked whenever something shrieked too loud. The noise couldn’t stop soon enough.
Those who were responsible for keeping the circle lit milled about. Some paced around the line, adding more fuel to burn, others just sat still and drank tea. They all looked out into the darkness and waited for something to look back. For hours there was nothing.
Then it was there.
A wraith.
Just on the other side of the fire ring, staring at them. Its black cloak was swaying in the wind, white face unhinged and unattached. There were sockets where the eyes should be. Its jaw opened and closed as if chewing on air, and there was a hole in its head as though it had been shot. It reached its hand toward them, but this time the fire line held. It couldn’t break the perimeter.
One of the men walked by and waved a burning stick toward it, scattering it into the background, forcing it to disappear. Kera couldn’t help the tendril of fear that had started to slip through her, though. Especially when the man walked by, muttering to himself, “Those things’ll chase prey till the ends of the earth.”