A Time of War and Demons

by S E Wendel

  Essa let out a huff as the boat slid parallel to the dock, a not insignificant twinge of guilt throbbing in her chest. Here she was, daughter of Ehman Courtnay, missing a Lowland brute who’d helped capture her city.

  There was no easy answer, only the things she felt.

  She wished Ennis was here.

  She wished Waurin was here.

  She wished she didn’t wish.

  Essa hauled her load up onto the dock after tying off the skiff. Her shoulders were verging on weary and the basket was heavy, but she’d feast on crab tonight.

  A noise caught Essa’s ear as she moved from the dock onto the rock slab. It sounded like a horn. Setting her catch down, Essa put one hand on her hip and the other over her eyes and looked south.

  There, along the path, bodies were descending to Carmetheon from the cliffs above.

  Her pulse jumped in her neck, and she cupped her hands around her mouth and called, “Elodie! Elodie, they’re back!”

  She knew she should race into the house to make sure Elodie heard, but she stood rooted in place, watching the procession. Was it a trick of her eyes, or were there far fewer men returning?

  Essa’s stomach sank down to around her toes. So few had come home. Was that a good thing?—for Dannawey? Surely they couldn’t have taken it with so many gone—could they? Or was that the price Larn was willing to pay?

  Her fists clenched and unclenched. What had happened?

  Did she want to know?

  Her eyes searched the line of men for Waurin, but she was too far away to pick out individual features. There were many men with ruddy blond hair in Carmetheon, and some wore helmets or caps. She shifted her weight from foot to foot; patience was Essa’s least favorite virtue.

  From the corner of her eye, she spied Elodie walking out onto the porch. They watched, from their own solitary spots, as the last of the men rounded the final bend in the path and entered Carmetheon.

  So few. Only a few hundred, when almost six hundred had left in spring.

  Essa couldn’t remember to breathe as she waited for the men to make it through town. Finally, a few crossed the bridge over the Slender River into the north side of Carmetheon. The first turned left after the bridge. The next was too old.

  Then, there he was. Shoulders sagging, hair windswept. Somehow, Waurin looked less big. Reduced. Even from her post, Essa could see the purple bags beneath eyes that didn’t seem to reflect light anymore.

  He caught sight of her as he neared, but he wouldn’t keep her gaze, instead letting it fall to watch where his horse stepped. He and the horse mounted the shallow stone steps up to the rock bed, bringing them within ten paces of Essa.

  The horse came to a stop, and Waurin tossed his leg over its back and slid down, his boots making a thump. He busied himself with collecting the reins and straightening his cloak, then finally he met Essa’s eyes only to look away again.

  “Essa—” his voice cracked.

  She knew what haunted him, what his words couldn’t say but his weary eyes made clear. Waurin was breaking inside.

  What had happened?

  Her first step was tentative, her second a little surer, until she was running, running, running to him. Her last step was a leap, and she put all her strength behind it, for she’d some distance to go.

  She threw her arms around his neck, relieved to feel his solid bulk pressed to her. For a moment, it didn’t matter what had happened. For a moment, it didn’t matter that guilt niggled at the corners of her conscience.

  For a moment, she could give him what he needed.

  His arms came around her, lifting her farther off her feet, and he crushed her to him, burying his face in her hair. “Essa.”

  “You’ve come back!”

  Forty-Two

  In the days before days, man did not know violence. But they knew fear, for Dea was always on the edge of shadow, waiting, watching. She knew what her son the Deceiver had done. The humans were now mortal but did not know it. She longed to tell them, to show them, but knew they would cry for Themin should she show her face. So she went to her son, telling him to give the humans the gift of knowledge. “Perhaps your Father will show mercy if you bestow a gift on them,” Dea said, hiding the whole of her wicked plan. When she saw hope flare in her son’s eyes, she did stroke it, nurturing it until finally Ean agreed. Slowly, he emerged into the circle of light from the human fires. They beheld him warily, not knowing who this god was and what he had already done. When asked what he would have of them, Ean replied, “I have brought you the gift of knowledge.” They turned their eyes up in wonder, but as they drew near, Dea descended upon them with a great cry. “We shall teach you, you wretched mortals, how to kill and how to die!” The humans wailed for Themin with their dying breaths, but he was too late and could not save them all. Dea escaped into the night, but a human girl stood in Ean’s way. She pressed her bloodied hands to his chest, and their imprint burned into his skin, red and hot. “So that all will know the Deceiver when they see him and not be fooled again.”

  —Dea’s Gift

  Mounting the north stairs, Ennis turned to look down at Rising from the ramparts. The spicy, woodsy smell still clung to the timbers of the wall. The scent filled her with a hollow pride, of the determination and industriousness of Rising. If only it could have protected them.

  The plague had finally released Rising, and they’d buried the last of the dead in the first days of autumn. Now, sennights later, the town was showing signs of healing. All useable crop had been harvested, the fields sown again with quick growing vegetables. Pathways were recut after the torrential summer rain nearly washed everything away. The plague pits had been covered with packed earth, the dead sealed up with Mithria.

  Yes, the plague was gone, but many still felt its effects. Before the plague, it wouldn’t have winded Ennis to climb those stairs. Before the plague, she would have been on her feet all day, running errands to avoid Renata. Her strength hadn’t fully returned, and Renata pounced on her prolonged fatigue. Unable to flee, Ennis was schooled on Sisterly vows and incantations while Renata buzzed in her ear that the men were due back soon, no doubt with new women to replace Ennis and Lora.

  “He won’t need you anymore,” Renata would say with a cruel smile.

  Ennis had been building her strength for several days, and she used it to flee from today’s campaign. She breathed easier here on the wall. A crisp breeze ruffled her hair, bringing with it the smell of the meadow below. She felt safe here, high above Rising. Renata wouldn’t dare venture to the wall, as if doing so showed her support for it.

  The sun hung low in the sky, bedding down in the western forest. The trees cast long shadows over the meadows, making the tall, swaying grasses look like the blue tide coming in.

  A different movement caught Ennis’s eye, and she stopped meandering, turning north. She squinted. Something was coming through the trees, keeping to the narrow roadway leading right up to the gate. More and more figures emerged from the trees, coming for Rising.

  Her heart jumped into her throat, and she checked that the gate was closed and secure. Then she looked again.

  “They’re back,” she whispered to herself. A frantic jolt lanced through her, and she searched hurriedly for the nearest sentry. She waved her arms at her and cried, “They’re back! The men are back!”

  The woman followed Ennis’s gaze across the meadow, beholding the men of Rising marching for home. But something drew Ennis’s eye, and, frowning, she barely heard the sentry call to open the gate.

  A horse and cart had broken away from the line of men, were already a ways ahead as they sped towards Rising. As the cart neared, she saw it was Taryn at the reins. The grim set of his wide brow made her pulse thrum in her ears.

  When Taryn was close enough, he called out to her, “Fetch one of the Sisters! Hurry now!”

  “What’s happened?” she asked, trotting along the wall towards the gate.

  “It’s Manek—he’s wounded. Got infec
ted. Go get someone!”

  Ennis watched the cart bearing Manek hurry through the open gate, almost directly below her. Slowing only a moment to call out that he was taking Manek to the great house, Taryn thundered on.

  Ennis glimpsed Manek. Though swathed in blankets and cloaks, the chill was still upon him. He shook, his color pale, his hair matted with sweat.

  She stood trembling in the cart’s wake. Fear gripped her like a cold hand round her heart. She’d managed to tell herself that she would be all right if he died in the north. He seemed so sure he would that she’d prepared herself for it. But the gods had decided to send him back to her so she could watch him die.

  She had to physically shake herself from the stupor.

  Manek had come back, alive, and damn it all, he would stay that way!

  Taking the stairs two at a time, Ennis flew back to the Haven. The front door banged open, and she didn’t bother closing it. Ignoring the startled Sisters in the front hall, Ennis raced from room to room, shouting for Lora.

  Renata appeared in a doorway, her hands on her hips. “No, please, I don’t think Themin himself has heard you.”

  But she pushed past, finally seeing the hem of Lora’s skirts descending the stairs. Meeting her at the landing, Ennis began pulling her up the hall.

  “Ennis, what—?”

  “They’re back—the men are back and—Manek—he’s not—oh, Lora, he looks like death!”

  Somehow Lora managed to pull meaning from Ennis’s babbling. Nodding, she set about gathering supplies, putting wads of bandage and jars of poultices and other concoctions into Ennis’s trembling hands. After collecting a knife, needles, twine, and several vials into a pack, Lora motioned for Ennis to lead the way.

  “You can’t just—!”

  “There will be wounded,” Lora interrupted Renata. “You’d best prepare for them.”

  A flicker of heat passed between Lora and Renata as they glowered at one another, but Ennis was too frantic to interpret it. Tugging at Lora, her friend finally turned on her heel and followed her out of the Haven.

  They hurried across Rising to the great house. Though Ennis’s panic kept her feet moving, Lora often overtook her and had to wait for Ennis to catch up. Cursing her tired body, Ennis pushed herself to keep running. She had to get to him. What if he—?

  She couldn’t think it—she was pounding on the great house door. Ennis didn’t wait and shoved it open, catching Kasia by surprise.

  Ennis tried preparing for an argument, but her nerves were frayed, panic pulling tight at her chest. Kasia looked at her, then Lora. She waved them into the house, lines of worry creasing her face.

  “Good—we were about to send for someone.”

  A howl echoed through the house, shaking the very timbers of the roof, and it tore at Ennis’s heart, making her whimper herself.

  “Go, go! They’ve taken him up.”

  Lora paused to tell Kasia, “We’ll need hot water and some strong spirits if you have it,” but Ennis was already clawing her way up the stairs.

  When she burst into his bedroom, the first thing to strike her was the smell of putrid flesh.

  “What happened?”

  Kierum and Taryn turned at the sound of her voice. Kierum could only shake his head. Taryn motioned for her to come closer. The room was cold, but someone had kindled a fire. Kierum and Taryn made room for her to cross to the bed, where Manek lay.

  His face was a contorted mask of pain, wet with sweat. He’d been unwrapped from the blankets, and the tunic he wore was cut up the middle to leave his shuddering chest exposed. His left side was a bloody, fetid mess. A garish gouge had been made in his side, a crescent of flesh missing. Strips of skin hung loose about the wound, as if he’d been stitched before. The skin was a greenish black, the blood oozing from the wound mixing with yellowish pus.

  A sob escaped her lips, but she clamped her mouth shut. Instead her grief came in tears that streamed down her face, blurring her vision. She was almost thankful for it.

  A sharp intake of breath behind her meant Lora had come in. Squaring her shoulders, Lora marched around the bed to assess Manek’s wound. Ennis watched as Lora’s frown faded. When she looked up, her eyes were bleak.

  “He took a knife during the siege,” Taryn said, trying to fill the silence. “We tried to patch him up, but Larn wouldn’t let him be—called him up for treason. That weasel of a son said Manek let the Highland king escape, so they kept him standing there in the great hall. By the end of it, Waurin was holding him up and they stood…stood in a pool of his…” Taryn’s bearish shoulders began to shake as he held in a sob. “They finally let him get stitched up, but Larn just followed him to the surgeon’s, stood there questioning him as he fought for his life. We thought he’d die; he couldn’t get up for a sennight, and the whole time he was guarded like a damn criminal.” It seemed to soothe Taryn to speak, to do something other than look at Manek.

  The words didn’t soothe Ennis.

  As Taryn kept talking, Lora peeled away Manek’s tunic and began laying her supplies neatly on a stool beside the bed. With that finished, she crossed the room and stuck her hands near the fire to warm them so they wouldn’t shake from cold while she worked.

  “Finally, he let us leave. Waurin had to plead for days. He seemed to be on the mend when we left—he sat in the saddle all right, and his color returned. We were only a few days from home when they attacked.”

  Kierum focused on this. “Attacked? Who?”

  “Mountain folk from the east.”

  “Landon?”

  Taryn shook his head. “Didn’t see. Attacked in the dark like bastards. We fought them off by morning, but his stitches broke and the infection came soon after. We tried cleaning it, tried cutting away the…” Taryn grimaced, his gaze falling as his words died in his throat.

  “I’m going to have to cut the dead skin and flesh before stitching him back up,” Lora said. “It will be painful, but it’s his only chance.”

  Ennis jumped when Lora laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  “What should I do?”

  Lora glanced at her shaking fists. “Give him this,” she said, unwrapping Ennis’s clenched fingers to give her one of the vials. “It’ll numb the pain. Even with poppy milk it’ll be…” Lora sucked in a breath. “I’ll work as fast I can.”

  As Ennis crossed to the head of the bed, Taryn lay across Manek’s legs. Kierum came around the other side of the bed with Lora, to hold down Manek’s left arm.

  A gasp came from the door, and they all looked up to behold a pale Kasia staring at them in horror.

  “No, my love. You won’t see this,” growled Kierum.

  The hard tone of his voice seemed to snap her out of her shock, and for a moment, she looked like she would protest.

  “Hot water,” Lora said gently.

  Hands shaking, Kasia nodded and disappeared down the hall. Kierum’s sigh had a relieved sound to it.

  Ennis kneeled beside Manek and smoothed back the hair from his brow. “Manek?”

  His eyes fluttered open, but he didn’t seem to see her.

  “He’s faded in and out the past few days,” Taryn said, his head turned away.

  Lifting his head to the vial, Ennis wedged it between his lips. His face puckered at the bitter taste. Lora handed her a thick leather strip, which she put in his mouth next.

  “Bite down,” she said.

  Manek did as he was told, his eyes never leaving her. As she hooked her arm around his to hold it in place, he searched her face, like he was trying to place it.

  “All right,” Lora murmured.

  His head jerked back, nostrils flaring as Lora began to cut. Ennis shut her eyes, pressed her forehead to his shoulder, and cradled his head in her free arm. He fought against the three of them, legs writhing under Taryn, and it took all of Ennis’s fading strength to hold his arm back.

  “Manek, look at me,” she said, trying to drown out the sounds. His eyes were dark in the long shadows
of the room, and she knew he finally understood who she was, where he was. “It’s all right—it’ll be over soon. Just keep looking at me, love. Just look at me.” She threaded her fingers into his hair and kissed his brow.

  He jerked again, and Ennis pressed closer, holding him tighter, as if she could anchor him to this life. She told herself so long as he looked at her, saw only her, then Tamea hadn’t come to take him.

  Lora cursed, and Ennis looked up in time to see blood spurt. At Lora’s direction, Kierum sprang from the bed, shoving a knife into the fire.

  Ennis’s eyes flashed, but Lora shook her head and said, “No time—he’ll bleed out if we don’t close it.” And with that, she let Kierum touch the tip of the knife to the exposed vessel, cauterizing it. A sickening sizzle filled the room, and Manek nearly reared out of bed, then fell back, limp.

  “Lora!” Ennis pressed two fingers to his throat, waiting an agonizing moment before feeling a faint pulse.

  Lora didn’t look up from her work, beginning to suture the muscle.

  Ennis couldn’t bear to watch, so she closed her eyes tight and drew around him, wishing she could take his pain away. He twitched now and again, and each time she’d kiss him and whisper in his ear that it would be over soon.

  It was well past midnight when Lora finished, four long, ugly lines converging on a gnarled lump of skin. With the wound safely packed under layers of poultice and bandage, they bore away the bloodied sheets, set out new bedding, and laid him finally to rest.

  When it was done, Taryn staggered to the door. “I have to tell Kenna about…” Fresh tears sprang to his eyes, and he disappeared down the hall.

  Kierum soon left too, leading Kasia away from the sight.

  Lora settled down for the night in the makeshift bed of blankets Kasia had made for them. But Ennis couldn’t sleep, couldn’t pull herself away from the sight of his chest rising and falling. It became a soothing rhythm for her, a lifeline she clung to as tightly as he did.