Where Serpents Strike (Children of the Falls Vol. 1)

by CW Thomas

  The fringes of the village were quiet with only a few sullen faced elderly folk awake to gawk at the three young men striding into town.

  Soon, however, a brighter glow out near the beach caught Brayden’s eye. He even thought he could hear the faint echoes of song.

  As they got closer, Brayden saw that the natives were dancing in the sand around a huge bonfire, carousing in loin clothes and little else. Broderick and Clint strolled up to the outskirts of the party, smiling and gawking at the limber, topless women spinning in circles around the blaze.

  My-girl-ous.

  The villagers continued their celebration without pause, unaware, or perhaps disinterested, in the presence of the three foreigners.

  Broderick and Clint peeled away from the dance and sauntered over to a wooden hut in which sat several large barrels of some kind of beer. The mawkish odor emanating from the shack was like bad breath and piss. Brayden covered his nose.

  Clint tapped the shoulder of the man serving the drinks. Brayden watched the man’s face go from sweaty and tired to sweaty and annoyed the moment he recognized Clint.

  “No, no,” the server said. “Trouble too much. No drink for you. Away!” He waved his hand in Clint’s direction as if shooing off a fly.

  Then Clint reached into his satchel and offered him a handful of copper and silver coins, which seemed to catch the man’s attention.

  “Where did you get that?” Brayden asked.

  “From people,” Clint snapped.

  The server took the coins, filled two wooden goblets with the rancid smelling beverage, and handed the cups to Clint and Broderick.

  “What is that?” Brayden said, wrinkling his nose at the smell.

  “More foul than a dead cat’s ass, but stronger than wine. That’s all we know,” Clint said. He downed his drink in a series of massive gulps. When he lowered the goblet his face was red and he coughed.

  Lifting his cup, Broderick tried to down the whole thing like Clint, made it halfway and gagged.

  A few nearby villagers in hand-stitched leather vests laughed at them.

  “At what point is this little adventure going to become appealing?” Brayden asked.

  Broderick wiped his mouth. “Why did you come tonight, brother?”

  Brayden pondered for a moment, wondering if he even had an answer. “Curiosity, I guess.”

  “Go home,” Broderick said. “Stop worrying about me and worry about your little helper.”

  Brayden could only assume he was talking about Nairnah.

  His brother knocked his shoulder into him as he stepped past and returned to the dance celebration. Two of the natives were now naked and copulating in the sand, unconcerned with the mob of dancers that were still spinning and jumping around the great fire.

  Brayden’s eyes went wide with disgust. He’d never seen such an open display of sexuality before. What was more troubling was how nonchalantly Clint and Broderick seemed to regard it.

  He took hold of Broderick’s arm. “We shouldn’t be watching this,” he said, but he didn’t know why. It just felt wrong.

  Broderick pulled his arm away. “Just because you can’t see the beauty in it doesn’t make it wrong.”

  “Beauty? It’s barbaric.”

  “This couple has been trying for two years to conceive,” Broderick said. “The entire village is now praying to their gods to bless them. So, yeah, there’s something beautiful in it.”

  “So do they have to do it in the open?” Brayden said.

  Clint slapped him on the back. “We’ll understand if this comes as a shock to you, Brayden, but we don’t care.”

  “Go home, brother,” Broderick said again. He and Clint disappeared into the crowd.

  Brayden threw his hands into the air and left the beach.

  He returned alone to the monastery contemplating whether he should tell Khalous about what his cousin and stepbrother were up to. He hated the idea of being a telltale, but he also hated the destructive example Clint was setting for Broderick. He hated how powerless he felt to stop it. He wished for Broderick to see the negative habits in Clint without having to be told, but he suspected Clint’s influence was degrading his brother’s self awareness.

  Brayden realized that Khalous was right: he would need to make a stand against his cousin. Even if it meant alienating him forever, he had to do it for the sake of the others, especially Broderick. Estrange one, or divide them all. He loathed having to make such a choice.

  Brayden snuck into the barn, trying not to wake Preston, Nash, and Ty sleeping in the loft above. He grabbed a saddle blanket from one of the stalls and spread it out on a pile of hay bales stacked on the ground floor. He reclined onto his back and stared up into the rafters, hoping for sleep, but knowing it wouldn’t come.

  He lay awake for some time, wrestling with his fear and uncertainty. Bit-by-bit he saw through the barn boards a pale blue appear in the east. Dawn was approaching.

  “My lord?” Nairnah called.

  Brayden saw her tiny frame silhouetted in the barn’s entrance. She crept inside, clinging to a thick blanket around her shoulders.

  “What are you doing?” Brayden asked. “It’s cold outside. And you should be sleeping.”

  “I’m sorry, my lord. Please forgive me.” He tone was near panic.

  “Forgive you for what?” he asked.

  “I had to say something. I didn’t want you to get in trouble. I’m sorry.”

  “Nairnah, what are you trying to—”

  Brayden heard voices outside. One of them belonged to Khalous, and the Old Warhorse didn’t sound very happy.

  Brayden hurried out of the barn to find Khalous storming up the road driving Clint and Broderick ahead of him.

  “What were you thinking?” Khalous growled.

  “We didn’t do anything wrong,” Broderick said.

  “Just having a little fun,” Clint added, belching mid sentence.

  “And endangering the lives of everyone here,” Khalous said. “You two could’ve been caught, interrogated, tortured. What if you were forced to give up information about the other refugees—”

  “Caught by who?” Broderick challenged. “Black vipers? There aren’t any—”

  When Broderick noticed Brayden standing in front of the barn watching them, he froze. His jaw fell open and he said, “You told?”

  “What?” Brayden said, surprised. “No. I—”

  Clint marched toward him, fists balled.

  “Damn the stones,” Broderick muttered. “You told!”

  “I did not!” Brayden shouted.

  “No,” Clint said. “Not him. Her.” He pointed behind Brayden.

  Brayden whipped around to see Nairnah stepping out of the barn.

  “Didn’t you, little puke?” Clint said. He shoved past Brayden and charged at Nairnah. “Didn’t you?!”

  “Stop!” she yelled. “No!”

  Nairnah screamed when Clint slammed her in the left side of the head, an open palm to her ear that sent her straight to the ground.

  “Little cunt!” he spat. “I ought to—”

  Brayden plowed into Clint so hard the young man flew back into the barn door and bounced off. He toppled to his knees, landing face first in the dirt.

  Clint jumped up. “You worthless dog!”

  He tackled Brayden. The two tussled along the ground, grunting and grappling.

  Brayden could hear Nairnah screaming. He glimpsed her out of the corner of his eyes, saw her lying on her back, clutching her ear, blood seeping out from between her fingers.

  Preston, Nash, and Ty hurried out into the early morning light, sleepy eyes jolting awake.

  Clint stood over Brayden using his full weight to pin him to the ground. He sent his fist into his ribs once, twice, three times, until Brayden jabbed him in the middle of the face. The blow wasn’t very hard, just enough to loosen Clint’s grip. The blow that followed, however, shattered his nose with a crunch.

  Clint rolled off of Brayden, clutc
hing his face and sputtering through blood and mucus. He scurried away and rose to his feet. Brayden tore into him with both fists, a knee to the groin, an elbow to the cheek, and a blow to the side of the head that threw Clint to the ground in a cloud of dust.

  Brayden wasn’t thinking about making any kind of statement. This had nothing to do with earning the respect of his brother or the confidence of his team. This was a rage-fueled loss of control, and he knew it, but he didn’t care. He was sick of his cousin. He was sick of the training. Sick of being forced to become someone he wasn’t.

  He stood over Clint, grabbed him by the lapel, and sent one final blow into his head. Clint lay still on the ground, unconscious.

  “Bloody hells,” Nash whispered as he gawked at Clint’s prone body.

  Brayden looked at Nairnah, bawling on the ground. Clint had blown out her eardrum, he wagered. She wouldn’t be able to hear out of her left side for some time, that is if the damage wasn’t permanent.

  Ariella hurried down the road wrapped in a white shift and a dark blanket. She rushed to Nairnah whose wails had turned to panicked sobs.

  Behind her in a flowing brown robe came Prior Gravis, a torch held over his head. He took one look at Clint lying on the ground and regarded Khalous with an accusatory stare.

  Brayden began to feel like he had done something wrong.

  “Well done,” Nash said. He started to clap.

  “Nash!” Khalous snapped.

  “Sir?”

  “Shut it!”

  Khalous put an arm around Brayden’s shoulders and steered him away from the commotion. He led him across the road to the entrance to the communal garden. Under the canopy of a graceful elm, he started pacing.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Brayden said. His hands were shaking and he felt out of breath.

  Khalous stopped, as if surprised by Brayden’s admission. “Sorry for what?”

  “I–I lost my temper. I tried to do what you told me to do, but I did it in the wrong way.”

  He looked across the road at Nairnah. Gravis was carrying her toward the chapel with Ariella in tow. Two other priests were kneeling next to Clint.

  “When I saw him hurt Nairnah, I–I don’t know. I just… reacted.”

  The captain strode up to him. His eyes searched his face in the growing light of dawn. “You recognize that?”

  Brayden nodded.

  “You understand that?”

  Again, he nodded.

  “Then there’s nothing else to say.” Khalous pivoted toward the barn. He started to walk away when he stopped, turned, and said, “Except, well done.”

  The Old Warhorse strode away.

  Brayden supposed he should’ve felt proud, but he didn’t. He looked down at his hands. His knuckles were sore and bleeding in several places. If this is what being a leader felt like, he didn’t want any part of it.

  MEREK

  The setting sun topped the hazy blue of the surrounding forest in a warm golden glow. Merek admired the splendid blossoms of the apple trees in the garden, swaying in the evening light.

  Awlin had fallen in love with the trees the moment she found them deep in the woods north of Velia. Wanting to give his sister the home she dearly missed, Merek cleared away the saplings encroaching upon the apple trees and planted a garden underneath. He then took advantage of the space in the adjacent glade to build a small cottage. By the following spring, he and Awlin had made a home.

  The cottage was illegal, he knew, sitting on land that belonged to the province of Betharous, untaxed. He just hoped the deep woods concealed the humble abode well enough to prevent it from ever being discovered.

  Awlin emerged from the cedar woods with an armload of fabric, bouncing on her toes and humming to herself. The sun made her blonde hair glow. It had taken her all day to walk to Velia and purchase the materials she needed to sew them some new clothes. She had been making many journeys into town lately, purchasing things they needed with money Merek had earned by fixing armor.

  “You’re in a good mood,” he said as she trotted past him, her ivory skirt swishing through the tall grass.

  “Oh? Well, it was a good day, and a good trip. See?” She showed him some of the fabric she’d found, a gray wool to make him some new slacks, and a soft yellow fabric—her favorite color—for a new dress. “I even found some linen to make you a light shirt for hot days,” she said.

  He gave her an appreciative grin. “Come inside. I’ve kept some supper warm for you.”

  Merek led Awlin into their homely cottage. The rear wall and chimney were constructed from the native river rock, the other four from cedar and pine boards he’d hewn from the woods himself. The cottage was a crude, single level, three room structure containing a kitchen and eating area, a sitting area, and a bedroom. Not a masterpiece by any means, but it had thrilled Awlin’s heart to have a place to call home.

  Inside, he poured her a bowl of vegetable stew. He sat down in a wooden chair, his sore back and tired knees thanking him. He picked up a mail shirt and began combing his fingers along the metal links.

  “Are you nearly finished?” Awlin asked.

  “Just a few more rivets to mend. Balimous said he’d give me an extra fifty rosi if I got this back to him tomorrow. I should have it done tonight.”

  “That will work out perfectly then,” she said.

  Merek glanced her. “What do you mean?”

  For a moment Awlin acted like she’d been caught saying something she wasn’t supposed to talk about. “Oh, I just mean that it’s good you’ll get it done early. Fifty rosi would be good. Do you think it will be enough to buy a window? I would so like a window on the western side, where the sun comes in. It too often feels like a tomb in here. I…” She stopped once he started chuckling. “What?”

  “You’re not telling me something,” he said. He returned to the small metal links on the mail shirt.

  “What? No I’m not.”

  “You are. You have a secret, and you almost let slip what it is.”

  “I didn’t. I mean, I don’t. Have a secret that is.” She huffed. “Why would you even say that?”

  He shrugged. “You don’t have to tell me. Just don’t think that I don’t know.”

  “Know what? What do you know?”

  “You are a terrible liar.”

  She blushed, shaking her head, and proceeded to ignore him. She became very interested in her bowl of soup, eating quietly with a smooth wooden spoon.

  “Very well. I do have a secret,” she said after a while.

  Merek looked at her, cocking an eyebrow.

  “There is someone in Velia I want you to meet. A man. His name is Panyos, and, um, well, he’s very nice. And I, um, I think I may be in love with him.”

  Merek maintained a good degree of stoicism while he continued working on the shirt.

  “How did you meet this man?”

  “Last summer. I saw him looking at me during the town fair. He offered to let me try one of his pies.”

  “And all the times you went into the city after that and took so long—”

  “I was visiting him at his shop.” She giggled. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

  “So he’s a baker?”

  She nodded. “He tells me his shop is known throughout the empire for its sweet breads and pies, and that the herus himself has twice commissioned him to make some cakes.”

  “Impressive.”

  She set her spoon down. “I would very much like for you to come to town with me tomorrow and meet him. I know it’s dangerous for you there, but I haven’t seen any black soldiers in three moons. If we’re careful—”

  “Is there still a bounty on my head?” Merek asked.

  Awlin’s eyes drifted to the floor, discouraged. “Yes.” She looked at him. “But we can be careful, can’t we?”

  Merek put the shirt down and thought for a moment. He would do anything for his sister, but the risk of him being noticed could lead to more than just his capture. If he
were arrested Awlin would be in danger as well.

  “Let me see if I can get this shirt done tonight, and I’ll think about it,” he said.

  Awlin finished her soup in silence. Humming a mellow tune she cleaned her dishes and wiped down the kitchen. She kissed him on the forehead and drifted off into the bedroom.

  Merek finished his work sooner than he expected. The mail shirt was an expensive one, custom made for a nobleman in Magarous. A bunch of the rivets had been torn during a jousting tournament, and the nobleman had given the shirt to an armorer named Balimous in Velia. Balimous occasionally outsourced such work out to Merek. The jobs were infrequent, and paid little, but at least it was an honest living.

  Soon after finishing the shirt, Merek moved into the sitting room and took up a chair by the fire. He knew he had promised Awlin that he would think about her proposition, but the truth was he had already thought about it as much as he needed to. He couldn’t wait to meet this young man who had captured his sister’s heart. In fact, he hoped the relationship might turn into a marriage. Not that he longed to give his sister away, but he had always known that she would be far safer with someone other than him. As long as the Black King had a bounty on his head, Awlin was in danger. Her marriage to a respectable baker might be a great thing.

  Merek fell asleep in the chair and didn’t wake until the smell of warm oats and sugar reached his nose. He opened his eyes, noticing Awlin in the kitchen. She pattered around the table on bare feet, a white linen shift draping her lean form.

  “Sugar?” he said, stretching.

  She smiled. “I bought some yesterday. I wanted it to be a surprise.”

  “Consider me surprised.”

  Merek wandered outside and relived himself, then walked down to the brook behind the cottage to wash his hands and face.

  When he returned to the cottage, Awlin asked him if he had finished his work on the mail shirt.

  “I have.”