The village is small, so small I can see where it begins and ends from where I sit. The houses are almost all one story, never more than two, their roofs covered in hay, or rarely, tile. The streets are nothing more than mud. The people side-eye us with suspicious glances as they go about their day, trading goods, sewing fishing nets, tending pigs. When one of the women notices Mabel, her face softens. “It can’t be… Mabel? Is it really you?”
Mabel hops off her horse and wraps the old woman in a hug. “You didn’t think I’d miss my own sister’s wedding now, did you, Aunt Mary?”
Aunt Mary smiles at her niece, then looks around, cheeks red, as if caught in some scandal. “Not everyone here be glad to see you again, you hear?” she says quietly. “Best keep an eye out. Folk can be rough to your… your—”
“My kind,” says Mabel, sighing, eyes heavy. “Don’t worry Aunt Mary. If there’s one advantage to being my kind, it’s that I’ll be safe.”
Aunt Mary nods, though she looks no more at ease. She glances curiously over Mabel’s shoulder at the rest of us. “Are these your friends?”
“My squad,” corrects Mabel. For some reason, she seems sad to say it. Slowly, she turns to us, gesturing at her aunt, and makes the introductions. We each dismount and walk over to say hello. Most of us stick to a polite handshake. Bix grabs the woman in a huge hug and lifts her off the ground. I swear, she’s about to break in half, but she just laughs, patting Bix on the shoulder, and he puts her down, beaming.
“Where you be staying?” asks Aunt Mary.
“The Mudpie,” says Mabel.
The Mudpie, it turns out, is the filthiest inn in town, and looks like something you might find on the bottom of your shoe. It's tiny, run down, and I can smell the rot and piss well before we arrive.
Mabel guides us around the inn to a barn where a boy no older than ten takes charge of our horses and promises to brush them down and feed and water them. I'm reluctant to hand over Moon to him, but he wins her over quickly with a clump of sugar from his pocket, and then smiles a toothless grin at me. "She sure is a pretty one," he says with a rough accent.
I introduce them and then follow my squad through broken wooden doors. The smell hits me even harder, and I can't figure out if it's human waste or what passes for food. Either way, I think I'll be fasting while I'm here.
Mabel finds the inn keeper, a large woman with a hunched back and thin gray hair. She's called Old Granich by her customers, and Raven walks up to negotiate our rooms. As squad leader, she has the money and is in charge, which draws a few curious looks at such a young girl leading a group of Ashlings.
We divide into two rooms, with the men in one and women in another, at the insistence of the Old Granich, never mind that we all share sleeping quarters at the Cliff. As we walk up rickety steps, I lean to Mabel and whisper. "Is there nowhere else we can stay? This place… "
"All the other inns are full for the wedding, and apparently have refused to host 'our kind'," she says with no small amount of disgust. "As it is we had to pay higher prices for this gem of a place. Despite her high morals, Old Granich is the only one in town who can be bought."
This response to our kind is not one I felt while traveling with Kaden. Perhaps it is because he is the Darkflame, the hero of Al’Kalesh, while we are untested Ash who do nothing but train and drain resources.
Our room is tiny, with three sketchy looking mats on a dirt-packed floor and a dusty wash basin and pitcher on a lone table. The water in the basin has clearly been used by others, and has bits of I don't know what floating in it.
Mabel sniffs her nose in disgust, gritting her jaw. "If they only knew what we have to endure for their ungrateful hides. I used to be considered family here, and now, it’s like I’m some dirty northerner come to steal their food, or worse.” She glances apologetically at Bix in the hallway. “No offense.”
He just shrugs, as if to say he understands.
Raven closes the door, and we all change our clothing in silence. I'd been looking forward to a bath, but realize quickly that I've no chance of becoming clean in this place, so I use my cloak to slough off as much dirt and dust as I can before putting on my nice clothes.
After training began, we were given an allowance to buy some personal supplies and clothing at the Dragoncliff market, for wearing to events like this. I bought a simple dress made in cerulean blue with white beads around the neckline. It compliments my eyes and my figure and is a welcome change from the Ashling robes I haven’t taken off since training began, except to bathe of course.
We join the men downstairs, and I note the differences in each of their clothing preferences. Landon is, not surprisingly, dressed like a nobleman, in velvet and satin and gold. Bix, I'm guessing, is wearing something his people consider appropriate for a wedding, but to my untrained eye still looks like something you'd wear to raid a village: steel bracers, leather pants, nothing to cover his chest, and his Boxen fur to cover his head and back. Enzo, despite being less dressed up than Landon, is perhaps the most dashing of the group, and I catch Mabel glancing at him, probably agreeing. His red vest and white cloak look made for him, like a second skin, complimenting rather than distracting from his handsome face and striking complexion. Zev, the smallest of the men, appears very formal in his black robes, as if he's left one type of school for another. As we study the men, they too study us.
Mabel is dressed plainly, in a green gown tied at the back with yellow lace. I had expected her to be more like Landon, more regal and lavish, after seeing them conspire, but I realize I was wrong about her. She is no noble’s daughter, but a peasant girl who grew up in this mucky town, probably struggling to survive even worse than I struggled in Ukiah.
And Raven, well, she chose to keep her robes on. Come to think of it, I never saw her buy other clothes.
We march out of the inn in a line and head down the street, to the center of the village where the wedding will take place. The entire town comes alive in anticipation for the celebration, hanging colorful banners on ropes between buildings, setting up games and large tents. Ribbons adorn nearly every post, chair and table, woven together with purple flowers, casting a sweet scent that almost covers up the smell of horse dung and body sweat. And while most of the adults prepare, the children play in the mud laughing and giggling, and a woman with long golden hair sits on a stool positioned on a wooden stage, playing a lyre and singing in a language I don’t understand, her voice bright and haunting and beautiful. While people greet each other with warm handshakes, hugs and laughter, our squad is given a wide berth. Even without our robes, it's clear we are outsiders.
Our squad doesn't stay together for long. Landon and Mabel leave with each other, likely to find her sister and soon-to-be brother in law. Bix joins a group of men and one woman who are competing with bows and arrows. The prize looks to be the kiss of a beautiful woman.
Raven stays with me, and we follow the sound of squeaking until we find a group of kids chasing pigs in the mud. We watch for a moment, at a safe distance from the flying dirt.
Zev walks up behind us, a book tucked under his arm. "Whoever catches a pig first, gets to keep it. That will feed a family for a month. Each sends their fastest child to compete. It's a great honor."
Before long, bells ring, and everyone gathers in the center to see the couple wed. The music changes to something slower, more … ethereal, and the bride and groom walk down a path of flowers. Long purple robes embroidered with golden leaves fall from their shoulders, and wreathes of garland rest on their heads. They look happy, more than happy even, as if all their dreams are coming true.
It is a happiness I will never possess.
Not since I lost Kara. Not since I left Caleb and Kyle and Blake.
I could have had it though, in another life. If Pike had never found us. I could have raised Kara and my siblings, and maybe I could have met a man. Someone gentle and kind. Someone like Kaden, perhaps, but simpler. A doctor, or a teacher. And together we could have been
happy. Together, we could have this wedding, or one much like it, surrounded by our families and loved ones.
But it will not be.
It cannot be.
My loved ones are gone. And even marriage is forbidden for my kind.
The ceremony, conducted by the eldest woman and man from each family, is brief. The young couple vows to protect, love and guide each other, in this life and the next. Then a red ribbon is pulled from the bride’s hair and wrapped around their wrists, and the crowd cheers.
Friends and family stand in line to greet the couple, and I see Mabel walk up and hug her sister, who she calls Avelyn. They share the same red hair and freckled skin, but Mabel’s sister is older, face happier, but also wearier. They exchange a few words I cannot hear, and then the music changes, and the dancing beings.
The newlyweds do not dance first, as they would in my culture. Instead, it is the elders, the ones who performed the ceremony, that begin to the cheers and merriment of all. Others join in soon, and somewhere a bar opens, and I see people sharing cups of mead and glasses of something sparkly. Mabel stays close to her sister, while dancing with Aunt Mary. Landon dances off to the side with a pretty young blonde, while Bix enters a wrestling match in the mud. The other villagers look at him with distaste, then admiration as he wins round after round, as Raven and I watch from afar, Zev standing with us. I think he likes being able to expound on his knowledge of culture and history to someone who knows so little of this world. I don't mind, and in fact appreciate his tidbits of information, as I feel woefully out of sorts here.
Enzo is nowhere to be seen.
At first, I think he has found somewhere private, then I realize he is at the bar, head down, hand curled around a mug of ale. His face is somber, his eyes glossy. I join him at his table, leaving Raven and Zev to watch the festivities. While other tables are full, ours, of course, is not. I order a drink for myself, and sip the thick ale slowly. “Why so gloomy?” I ask, after a moment, my tone light.
"Weddings are hard," he says with his thick French accent. I can see him searching for the right words. "They bring to mind memories, gray ones. They are like… " he pauses, searching. "Like sweet and bitter at once. I can't decide if I want to remember or forget. Tu comprende?"
"Yes.” I take another sip of ale, trying to drown out my own memories. “If you forget, you kill a piece of yourself, but if you remember, you die all over again."
He nods. "Exactemont." He goes quiet for a while, then speaks softly. "I was married once. Before.” He pauses. “It is harder than I thought, being here, at a wedding. Remembering my own. Remembering her. We were married a year when we had our first child. A girl. The sweetest thing." He looks up then, and smiles through tears. "She was getting her first tooth in, when it happened. We were driving her around late at night to help her sleep. She liked the lull of the engine. But we had to stop for gas. It wasn't a good part of Paris, but I didn't notice until it was too late. A man came at me with a knife. Wanted to rob me. I would have given him everything. I cared not for those things, but then he saw my wife. She was beautiful. Young. And then he wanted her."
Before I came to this world, I would have cried at his story. Now, I do not cry, but I do feel the sadness bubbling within me, threatening to spill out. I take a deep breath and reach for his free hand and hold it as he continues.
"I fought him, and the knife slid into my… " he cocks his head. "How you say? Belly?" He pats his stomach with his drink.
"Yes, belly. Stomach. Abdomen." I give him the English words, my voice cracking.
He continues. "The pain, it lit something up in me. And then… " he closes his eyes again, and pulls his hand away. He takes another drink and a sob breaks inside him. "There was fire. It blew up the tanks. It blew up my little family."
I gasp, imagining what would have happened if I hadn't gone with Kaden, if I lost control, if I killed Kyle and Caleb. I do not think I could live with such grief, but somehow Enzo does.
"I alone survived,” he says, finally. "The authorities, they say it was accident. I was not punished for my murders. But when they came for me, when they told me what I had become, I knew I had no choice but to leave. I could not be around people. The day the Ashknights came for me I was… how you say?" He feigns slitting his own throat.
"Suicidal." I say softly.
He nods. "I couldn't live with what I had done. But the Ashknights, they gave me another way. I can fight for others. I can try to… atone."
I say nothing, because there is nothing that will make this easier, nothing that will stop the pain in his heart. Instead, I put my arm around his shoulders and let him cry as I sit with him. Sometimes, there are no words left. Sometimes, the best you can do for someone is stay with their sorrow.
After a time, he stands, his tears dry, his face a little less sad. "I wish to sleep now. You have been a kind friend, Sky Knightly. Go, enjoy the rest of your—”
He freezes, eyes looking past me.
A woman screams from behind.
I turn, trying to figure out what is wrong. It is not difficult.
Three massive black stallions charge through the center of the village, carrying things with spikes and tails and tattoos and no eyes.
Shadows.
And I know the one in the front.
Sylus.
Twenty-Five
Spirits
The music stops. The villagers freeze. “Well, well. We have stumbled upon a wedding,” says Sylus, his forked tongue tasting the air. "And here I thought this town had nothing to offer but some bedding and ale. What luck!"
Avelyn, Mabel’s sister, steps forward. "We don't want any trouble here," she says. "You're welcome to the best rooms at the best inns. But please leave us to celebrate with family."
Sylus laughs, and it is filled with a cold malice. "Are we, servants of the Emperor, may he never burn, not entitled to enjoy the festivities as well? To partake in the local customs of the people we defend?"
Avelyn lowers her eyes. "Of course. Please enjoy."
The three Shadows chuckle and dismount. The one with large horns stalks over to the archery range, and forces a kiss from the woman offering one to the victor. He does not compete, and he does not stop at a kiss, as he gropes her breasts while the nearby villagers watch helplessly. The third Shadow, the smallest, jumps into the pig pen and, with his unnatural speed, catches the largest pig in an instant. He lifts it up over his head, then slices open its belly with his claws, and laughs as the guts spill out at his feet. Sylus grabs Avelyn by the waist and spins her around. “My turn for a dance, love,” he hisses.
Aunt Mary frowns, but doesn't object. No one will, if they had anything to lose.
But I have nothing left to lose. Not anymore.
I step forward, about to intervene, when Landon jumps in front of Sylus and transmutes his hand into a golden claw. “Step away from her now,” he says, voice quiet and tense.
Sylus does not let go, and his accomplices come to his side. “Think you can fight three Shadows on your own, boy?” asks Sylus.
"You don't recognize my voice, do you?” asks Landon, grinning.
Sylus tilts his head, then finally let’s go of Avelyn, turning his body to face the Ashling. “Ah, I do know you. Landon, once of the House of Lioncrest. How does it feel to not only lose your family name, but also your betrothed? I look forward to the day I get to bed such a sweet young thing. Do you think she likes it rough? I certainly hope so, for her sake."
Landon glares at Sylus, and I can see his tiger Spirit pulsing within him, fighting to be free, to destroy the enemy they face, but Landon maintains control, vein throbbing on his neck.
It is quiet, everything silent except for the breeze that thrashes around Landon’s golden cape and his dirty blond hair, as all eyes are fixed on the Ashling and the Shadow. As all are still.
All except me.
I walk forward until I stand beside Landon, and I transmute my hand into a silver dragon claw. Despite our prob
lems, I need Landon to know he is not alone in this. That I am on his side.
The Shadow smiles, noticing me for the first time.
But then Mabel joins us, hand turning into a gray dagger, and his smile fades a little. Then Bix walks up behind us, body transforming, turning into a hard emerald shell of armor, and Zev and Raven both join us, using Spirit to transmute parts of their bodies into weapons. Even Enzo—the sorrow swept from his face and now replaced with anger—joins us, his hand now a tusk.
And the Shadow smiles no longer.
“You know,” says Landon. “I heard a most interesting rumor back at court, and if it were true... well… I wonder… " he says, pausing to ponder. "What would happen if the Emperor, may he never burn, discovered you’ve been collecting extra taxes using his name and keeping them for yourself? It would be interesting to find out, don't you think?"
Sylus clenches his jaw, flexing his hand over and over. He looks ready to pounce, but then his head moves, and he seems to notice the rest of us again, and his body goes slack. “Come, my brothers,” he yells to his comrades. “This party has grown stale, and we have better places to be.”
Without further words, they mount their giant black horses, and ride out of the village. When they are fully gone we drop our transmutations, and only then do the villagers seem to sigh collectively, and move once again. They rush up to us, and for a moment I fear they will attack us for spoiling their party, but instead they clasp our shoulders, and shake our hands. Avelyn hugs me, then Landon, then the rest of us. They ply us with mead and food, with candied applies and buttered breads and freshly roasted meats, with the honey pies and sweet cakes they had hidden in their kitchens. Before, we were outcasts, but now we are heroes.
Of Dreams and Dragons Page 20