by Emma Hamm
Sigrid looked down at the arrow tip, the green fletching and rune like a sun inscribed on the side. Camilla had made the mark so well, she wondered if perhaps the Bymerian soldier had helped her. That would be a difficult thing for her to explain to anyone else who asked, but she wasn’t about to look a gift in the mouth. Even the Bymerians would wonder if it was one of their own who tried to kill her.
Just in time, she heard Camilla’s voice lifting from the crowd. “Matriarch? Matriarch!”
The Beastkin looked up as Sigrid held out a hand smeared with blood. It doused the front of her dress with crimson.
“No!” a shout echoed through the crowd.
Sigrid listed to the side as her body grew weak and numb. She was so cold. Cold as she’d never been in her life.
As she fell onto the ground, she sent a silent prayer to her ancestors. Let them have used the right amount of poison.
Or she would meet her maker this day.
6
Camilla
Camilla watched the funeral pyre reach for the night sky. And though she knew her sister wasn’t dead, it still hurt to watch Sigrid’s body become engulfed in flames.
What if they hadn’t measured the right amount of poison? What if she never woke up?
It wasn’t a future she could look into without tears building in her eyes. Perhaps that was an even better addition to her act. None of the other Beastkin would even look at her.
Her chin shook, and she took a deep breath to still herself. There wasn’t time for fake emotions like this. Sigrid would be fine. Camilla would make sure of it, and then all would be well in the world.
But it wouldn’t. Her sister was going off on her own, leaving Camilla here with the rabble to take care of something that Sigrid didn’t want to do.
Her heart had nearly broken in two when Sigrid had told her the plan. She didn’t want to almost kill her sister. She didn’t want to submit to this plan that would take Sigrid so far away from her. They were a pair. They went everywhere together, even when they were children.
What would she do without her sister?
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Jabbar said. He appeared out of the shadows. How, Camilla could never understand.
The man's skin was white as the moon, silvery in the nighttime. He nearly glowed, and yet, could hide himself whenever he wished. Perhaps that was something to do with the thunderbird side of him. She didn’t really care enough to know.
Camilla dashed a few tears from her eyes and nodded. “Thank you for that.”
“Grieving is healthy, although it can be painful.” He stood next to her and tucked his hands behind him. The fire reflected in his eyes. Dangerous eyes that saw far too much. “You will miss her?”
“How could I not? She was my sister.”
“You’re all sisters if I remember it right. There’s more to those tears than just sadness at losing one of your own.”
“You know nothing about my pain,” Camilla spat. “We were raised together as children, spent every waking moment together. She was an extension of myself as I am an extension of her.”
One of the Earthen Beastkin stepped forward and placed a bundle of lavender on the pyre. It immediately went up in flames with the rest of Sigrid’s things placed beside her. The sudden burst of light reflected in Brynhild’s eyes, who looked at Camilla.
“It should be her,” Brynhild said, pointing at Camilla with a shaking hand. “That’s what Sigrid would have wanted.”
So, it seemed she wouldn’t have to plant the seed at all. Sigrid had thought the Earthen Beastkin would want someone stronger to be their leader. Camilla had agreed with her, and shock froze her next to Jabbar.
“Me?” she finally stammered. “Why me?”
“Because Sigrid trusted you as no other. She thought the world of you, Camilla, and that’s something the rest of us should respect.”
“We were sisters once,” Camilla murmured. “I thought of you as my family in the days when we served the Earthen folk, but I left you to be with Sigrid. I journeyed across the lands, and I didn’t stay by your side when you needed me most. Why would you give me any chance to make amends for that betrayal?”
“Because you see it as a betrayal.” Brynhild fell to one knee and pressed a hand against her chest. “You deserve to take her place. You will honor her memory and continue her work to make us a better people.”
Jabbar stepped forward at that. “There’s no reason why we should add someone to the council who knows nothing of what we’ve spoken of. There are plenty of us who could step into—”
“No,” Brynhild interrupted. A ripple of fur unfurled from the top of her head to her toes in a single wave that promised her beast—a bear—was very close to the surface. “You will not twist my words now, Jabbar of Bymere. It was one of your people who tried to kill her.”
“Mine?” Jabbar laughed and opened his arms wide. “Prove it.”
“The arrow. It was marked with the symbol of Bymere.”
“And you think that was a Beastkin? It could easily have been a human who climbed down from the mountain, because he didn’t want us to be here. There’s no reason to think it was one of us, the people who have asked to be family and have been nothing but that.”
The seeds of doubt were sown. How had Sigrid known things would fall into place so easily? Camilla didn’t understand her sister’s thinking sometimes. It was as if her human side was stronger than the dragon.
Shaking her head, Camilla stepped in before it went too far. A brawl would only end in more blood, and as much as she wanted to see Brynhild fight Jabbar, she knew it wouldn’t end well.
This was Sigrid’s plan. And she had to stick to it.
“Stop it,” Camilla scolded. “This isn’t what we’re here for. You can fight each other in the morning if that’s what you wish. But tonight is for her.”
She pointed at Sigrid’s burning body. The sight made her eyes tear up and her nose run.
Emotions making her voice warble and lip quake, she added, “That is my sister. And she is burning on a pyre because none of you could save her. You were all squabbling and listening to idle prattle. It doesn’t matter if it was a Beastkin or a human who killed her. Because she is still dead.”
The last sentence was a shout that carried across the crowd and echoed into the night sky. An owl took up her call, hooting with a sadness that she couldn’t express in this form. She shouldn’t be mourning. Her sister wasn’t dead, and yet…
Camilla turned back to the fire, filling her eyes with the sight of Sigrid’s fake death and let the emotions swallow her whole.
She fell to her knees next to the fire. Slowly, she lifted her arms out at her side and lifted her face to the sky.
“Behold, ancient mothers of old. Before you lies a queen whose battle cry shook the heavens with her anger and her rage. She holds her people’s love in her still hands. Her people cry for her.”
It felt wrong to invoke the rights of death for a woman she knew was alive, but this was only the first of many lies she would spread. And she would do so gladly if it meant their people would take a better path.
Camilla kept her eyes closed until she heard the sound of earth shifting next to her. Opening one eye, she glanced over at Brynhild who had settled onto her knees.
Perhaps it was a cruel thing to do. There were some among the Bymerians who would mourn for Sigrid’s death as well. However, the Earthen Beastkin needed to be separated from the men, at least for a time. Their minds needed to clear from lust and awe.
The Bymerians wouldn’t know this ritual. They wouldn’t know the words, the song, the movements that her sisters knew since birth. Instead, the men would be forced into the shadows as the sisters of Wildewyn mourned the loss of their own.
Brynhild’s voice was deep and chilling in the cold night air. “Behold, ancient mothers of old. Here lies a woman who sacrificed blood, life, and freedom for her people. Her people sing—” her voice cracked, “—their queen is dead.”
She reached out and wove her fingers together with Camilla. Their arms remained raised, linked together through pain and loss.
Another Beastkin woman, a lioness if Camilla remembered correctly, fell to her knees on Camilla’s left.
“Behold, ancient mothers of old. Here lies a woman whose body shall turn to ash and dust, but whose spirit will search for you in the beyond. Her people sing so that her soul may be guided into the afterlife.”
Over and over, Beastkin women fell to their knees and reached for each other’s hands. They all stayed linked, whispering words of encouragement for the ancients to take one of their own beloved sisters.
Camilla stared hard at Sigrid’s body, and saw a single tear slide from her sister’s eyes and sizzle on the wood beneath her. The others might think it was her soul leaking out, thankful for their help, but she knew what it was.
This wouldn’t be easy for either of them.
Camilla sniffed hard, tears streaming down her cheeks freely now. With a great surge of self-control, she let a hum roll in her chest and throat. A quiet sound, a soft whisper in the night that would hopefully encourage the ancients to see her sister. To come and reach out for one of their own.
Neither she nor Sigrid had ever really believed in the old ways. They didn't believe there was an ancient Beastkin mother who would come and collect their souls. But in the moment, Camilla felt the chilling bite of the wind and hoped they weren’t wrong.
This wasn’t what she had wanted to do. And yet, this was the only way their people would be safe.
The Beastkin women remained on their knees, humming until they lost their voices. Only when the sun rose on the horizon did they slowly stand, knees aching, and release their hold on each other.
Brynhild pressed a hand to Camilla’s shoulder. “I will take her to the resting place.”
“No,” Camilla shook her head forcefully. “It should be me.”
“No one should have to bury their blood.”
She shook her head again, pressed a shaking fist to her mouth, then stepped toward the pyre. “It will be me.”
Sigrid remained untouched by the flames. A dragon could not burn, even in death. Camilla touched a finger to her sister’s warm face and breathed out a soft sigh of relief.
The Beastkin women gathered behind her. “Would you like us to walk with you?” Brynhild asked.
“No. I will take her to the final resting place.”
“Make sure you sit her up.” When Camilla sharply glanced back, Brynhild shrugged. “Don’t curl her up like the others in the tree roots. She wouldn’t want to be in a position so delicate.”
“It will offend the gods.”
“She always did anyways.” A smile softened Brynhild’s usually fierce expression. “Let her continue doing so in death.”
With that, Camilla swung Sigrid’s body up into her arms with a grunt. She would carry her friend as far as she needed to go. Then, she’d wait until her sister awoke.
----
The moon fled the sky in the wake of the sun. Camilla watched it trace the silvery lights away and bleed into the horizon with streaks of red and gold. Soon, she would awaken her sister.
Some of the other Beastkin women had come to say their last goodbyes. Camilla had been forced to place Sigrid in the ceremonial seated position of the dead. Her heart had nearly pounded out of her chest when she folded Sigrid’s hands in her lap and tilted her head back so that her unseeing eyes could see the sun.
This was wrong. This was a sacred rite, and they shouldn’t use it so lightly. Not when so many of their sisters had died in such a way, and they needed that respect far more than a ploy to get Sigrid out of the keep.
Now, she sat next to what seemed like a dead body and watched the sun rise in the horizon. The streaks of color reminded her that there was more to this world than what she could understand. The gods didn’t seem angry when the world was so beautiful. They hadn’t greeted her actions with a storm or hail. Instead, they showed her the most stunning sunrise she’d ever seen in her life.
Perhaps all would be well.
One of Sigrid’s fingers twitched. Just the slightest of movements, but still enough that Camilla knew the poison was wearing off.
“Sigrid?” she asked, crawling toward her sister and tilting Sigrid’s head so she could stare into her vacant eyes. “Wake up, sister. It’s long past time for you to leave.”
A low sigh erupted from Sigrid’s lips. It was more than she’d breathed in what felt like a lifetime.
“Thank the gods,” Camilla whispered. She began stroking Sigrid’s fingers, pushing the blood where it needed to go and hurrying up the process of her waking. “Come on, you can do it. The poison is wearing off but you need to be going a lot faster than this. The others are going to come soon, and I have to tell them that I left you here exactly where you were. The Bymerians need to take the blame for moving your body, and not the humans, I know that was the plan.”
Sigrid blinked her eyes.
Grinning, Camilla shook her head. “You were always too stubborn for even poison to kill you. Just a little bit more now, fight through it.”
Together, they battled the poison out of her body until Sigrid could lean forward and scrub her hands over her face. She looked tired. Dark circles around her eyes, puffy face, even her hands were shaking when she reached out to grab Camilla’s shoulder.
“Thank you,” Sigrid whispered. “It was a beautiful ceremony.”
“All true, you know. That’s one way to see whether or not people still like you. Fake your own death and the masses will come.” Camilla hesitated then added, “It didn't feel right though. Like we were doing something wrong.”
“We were.”
Leave it to Sigrid to not pull punches. Camilla watched as her sister rolled onto hands and knees, took a deep breath, then shoved herself up onto her haunches and slowly stood.
It was a process. Everything would be a process until the poison finally ran its course. She’d have to figure out how to walk in a way that would push the poison into certain parts of her body.
Camilla remembered this particular technique for torture. Her own mother was the one who had remembered the plant from the old legends and brought it to the Earthen folk. But her mother had always loved the Wildewyn people far more than the other Beastkin. She saw use in the humans that others could not.
Sometimes, Camilla still heard her voice on the wind. Telling her to be kinder, be softer when the humans were pushing her a little too far.
“They are weak, Camilla,” her mother used to say. “They need someone to look after them. Every inch of their flesh is soft, and they do not have claws to fight back with. We have to take care of them. Someone has to.”
Maybe that was why she’d always found something in Sigrid that she loved. The stoic woman reminded her very much of her mother.
Sigrid stumbled toward a nearby tree where Camilla had left the pack. She bent down, pulled at the strap, and opened it up while holding onto the small of her back. “Everything is here?”
“As requested. I put a little extra water in there, because I’m quite certain you're underestimating how far you’re going to have to travel.” Camilla pushed her braids out of her face. “Straight on toward the mountains, yes?”
“I remember.” Sigrid hesitated for a second and looked into Camilla’s eyes as if there was something more to say.
And there was. Camilla wanted something like “I’ll miss you.” Or “you’ve been a sister to me like no one else has ever been,” something that would have been sentimental or perhaps warmed her heart in the dead of night when she was wondering whether or not Sigrid was dead.
But that wasn’t her icy sister’s personality at all. Sigrid instead just nodded at her, swung the pack onto her shoulder, and blew out another ragged breath.
“I’ll head straight for the mountains and find the ancients if they’re still there. Otherwise, I’ll find whatever proof I can so as to make up som
e kind of story when I return.”
“That should do,” Camilla replied, her voice quiet and sad. “Are you so certain you’ll be able to return?”
“I don’t know.” Her sister no longer looked at her, but toward the mountains that hid a world of secrets. “But I plan to find out.”
And with that, Sigrid turned and walked away.
Camilla watched her and tried to still the tears from falling once again. She didn’t need to worry about Sigrid. Her sister had proven that time and time again. She was stronger than the rest of them. Far more capable of handling the cruelty of the wilds.
Still, she worried that this might be the last time she saw Sigrid, and her soul wept.
7
Nadir
Why was it that every time he turned his back, something bad happened? Nadir cracked his neck and slumped in the chair beside his desk.
Yet another backstabbing moment from his advisors who had already said they sent an “experimental troop” of assassins to follow the Earthen King home.
Oh, they wouldn’t attack the king. He was assured of that. The advisors weren’t so foolish to endanger the kingdom like that. But they wanted the know the route the Earthen folk had traveled. They wanted the know the easiest way to get back to the castle where the Earthen King lived.
He’d already told them how foolish that was. Hallmar wasn’t an idiot. He wasn’t going to take the easiest path back to his home, and he certainly would realize they likely had someone following him. It was wasted effort on soldiers who should be home with their families these last few days before the war broke out. No man wanted to say goodbye to his family, but his advisors had already brought the kingdom to that point.
Sighing, he scrubbed a hand over his face and felt the prickling of a beard growing. Since when had he any facial hair? Was that new or had he not noticed that his body was aging?