by Kim Bowman
~~~~
“It has been two days, Ronan. I don’t think he’s coming back.”
“He told us three days, Aiden.” Ronan pushed his wavy hair from his eyes and kicked at a fallen tree branch. He did as instructed; he waited. And waited. Two full days had come and gone with no sign of his brother.
Aiden shrugged and returned to his puttering — whittling arrow shafts with a small knife.
“I cannot take this waiting anymore. ’Tis driving me mad.” Gavin rose to his feet to pace the campsite.
Michael, separated from the group, spoke. “Perhaps we should start with the burial rituals then? I don’t know anything about Archaean burials, but—”
“You.” Gavin pointed a finger at Michael. “Shut your mouth. Count your blessings that I don’t have you hogtied and on a spit for my dinner.”
“We have three days.” Ronan reassured the men. “We still have time.”
“Three days, Ronan, and she’s gonna’ start to smell, aye?” Gavin stopped his pacing next to Brynn’s body. A thin blanket covered her form, stained red by the seepage of her wounds. The fine details of her features were still visible, from the slight curvature of her lips to the fine definition of her calves. Beside her, Brynn’s satchel lay discarded. Gavin picked it up and returned to his seat by the fire to peruse through its contents.
“Gavin, what are you doing?” Ronan shook his head in disgust.
“Don’t nag me, Ronan. You sound like your wife. ‘Tis not like she needs it now anyway.” He continued to dig through the bag, pulling out various papers, bottles, and books. He placed them to the side and opened the biggest book. “Bah, it’s in fucking Engel,” he scoffed, tossing it toward the fire.
Ronan sighed, crossing the campsite toward Brynn’s body while Gavin flipped through the pages of another book. Taking the corners of the blanket in his fingers, Ronan pulled it away from Brynn’s face. With eyes closed and lips gently parted, she looked like a fallen angel, except Ronan couldn’t stand to see how her blood flawed her delicate features. He returned to his gear to grab a spare tunic and his water bladder.
Nearby, Gavin munched on a piece of summer fruit. “Ronan, look at this. She wrote notes all over the pages on this one. From Engel to Archaean.”
“Since when have you ever liked to read, Gavin?” Ronan returned to the body to wash the first bit of blood from her face.
“Since when I was bloody bored out of my skull, that’s when. We should be killing Engels, not sitting here watching a body decompose.” Gavin bit into the fruit, its juice dribbling from his lips. A drop clung to the whiskers on his chin before gathering enough strength to fall to the pages below. “Damn the gods,” he cursed, wiping away the residue with a grime-covered finger.
Ronan ignored his friend, tuning out Gavin’s rant. He washed the dirt and blood from Brynn’s cheeks, revealing a soft rosy hue, as if she had just woken from an afternoon sleep. If it weren’t for the gaping wounds in her chest, he would have sworn she only now slept. He continued to clean her by washing her neck and hands, but still couldn’t shake the vision of her. She simply didn’t look like every other dead body he’d seen, especially days later. Ronan placed a gentle hand to her breastbone, almost expecting to feel her heart beating beneath his palm.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” he mumbled.
“What doesn’t?” Aiden questioned, looking up from his busywork.
Ronan pushed the thought from his mind. It simply wasn’t possible. He wet the cloth again, but his hand hesitated over her body.
“What’s wrong, Ronan?” Aiden rose to his feet and took a step closer.
“It’s just that… she seems… she still feels… warm.” Ronan let out a small laugh, as if he did not believe his own words.
“How can that be?” Michael stood, edging his way closer to the Archaeans.
“It’s ’cause she ain’t fuckin’ dead.” Gavin hurled the book from his hands as if it contained fire and stumbled backward, crawling from the object.
Aiden darted forward to retrieve it before the fire claimed its secrets. “You speak like a mad man, Gavin. We all saw her die.”
“Look at it, look at the pages.”
Uninterested in the commotion, Aiden handed the book to Ronan and returned to his whittling.
“Show me.” Ronan set on a rock. Gavin pointed to the spot he had been reading, and Ronan’s brow narrowed. “Well, interesting, to be sure. You, Engel, come here. I have trouble with your words, so you will help me read this.” He motioned for Michael to approach. “What does this say? Here, you read it to me.” Ronan shoved the small book to Michael’s chest and waited expectantly for a translation.
Michael read silently, turning page after page, referencing descriptions, illustrations, and mumbled in riddles. “It looks to be some sort of incantation. From what I gather… an ancient resurrection spell.”
Aiden chuckled. “You cannot be serious. Incantations are legend. It is said the gods deemed us unworthy and so removed the power ages before us.”
“I do not lie. She translated the entire book and wrote her own notes over every passage. She knew what this was.” Michael smiled. “What a conniving, manipulative, smart thing to do.”
“What do you mean?” Ronan asked, puzzled.
Michael perused a few more pages, following a passage with his finger. “Brynn knew all along this was going to happen. She knew she was going to die. It was the only way Westmore would give up his search for her, if he thought her dead. They needed to see her die.”
“It would leave him unsuspecting enough for Marek to catch him unawares.” Ronan toyed with the thought.
“Aye, and now she is dead, so what good is this book going to do?” Gavin scoffed, once more picking up the satchel and its contents. “The bag is full of items… vials, more books, herbal supplies, a medical kit. What good is any of it if she is already dead?”
Michael closed the book. “She left us directions. We are to perform the incantation.” His brow dampened with fine beads of sweat.
“You mean we are to bring her… back to life?” Ronan choked on the words. He paced the ground, crossing his arms tightly around his chest. “’Tis impossible.”
“We can at least try, we owe her that.” Michael opened the book, finding the passage with the instructions and the incantation. “She has written the instructions in her own hand.”
“All right, Engel. Tell us what to do.”
“If she rises up as some undead creature who wants to eat me, I am taking her head off. Just want to make that clear.” Gavin raised his hands and returned to his own bit of ground near the fire.
Michael read from the book, jotting down his own notes on a piece of parchment from Brynn’s satchel. He matched the potions and vials to those described in the book, placing them neatly beside the body. He read aloud from the book. “This potion will bring one back from the dead, provided they have been dead for less than three days and the body and spirit are both present when the incantation is cast. It will not restore lost limbs or heal wounds, poisons, or curses. Any wounds inflicted before death must be treated and healed once the intended has risen. Failure to heal will result in death. There is a note here. She writes that the healing herbs are in the medical kit. Its vial is blue in color.”
Ronan searched the kit, finding the vial. He placed it with the others.
Michael continued to read. “The dead must be willing to return to life and may choose to decline the spell. Persons revived from the dead will not recall their time as a spirit. Within the safety of a fire circle, only the chosen one must repeat the words of the incantation.”
“We need to enlarge the fire.” Ronan gathered kindling and dry grasses, creating a ring of fire around the perimeter of Brynn’s body. “What’s next, Engel?”
Michael hesitated. His eyes focused on the book, but his thoughts seemed to be elsewhere.
“Are there no more instructions?”
“There is more, just one more
.” Michael sighed, looking up at the sky. “The sun is setting, we must hurry.”
“Just tell me what to do and I will do it.”
“Hand me your dagger.” Michael reached out to Ronan, his palm facing upward.
Ronan’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you need a dagger?”
“Only the giver of life may perform this incantation, as the giver freely gives his own life so the spirit may once again join its earthly body. One must die for the other to live,” he said.
“You… intend to kill yourself then, Engel?”
“I have caused enough pain, ruined too many lives. If I can save just one, one meant to live, one that would put an end to this war, I will do what I must. And if that means dying, then so be it. I will have served a purpose.”
Ronan nodded and slipped his dagger from his belt. He handed the hilt to Michael. “Your courage will be remembered.”
“Once I am dead, you will need to combine the ingredients. My blood will be the last you will add. The mixture must be given to Brynn before her spirit fully enters the body, just when the sun gives way to moon. If you do not, the spirit will leave and return to the underworld forever. Once she breathes, you must treat the wounds. Give her the healing potion and sew her up. Do you think you can handle that?”
“Aye.”
“Tell my sister I never stopped loving her.” Michael grasped the dagger and stepped into the ring of fire. Taking a deep breath, he began the incantation. “Adun et nar shudet. Medu et ban ordon. Jestu dar mordak. Adun et nar shudet. Adun et nar shudet.” He pulled the covering from Brynn’s body and tossed it from the circle. Leaning over, Michael placed a kiss on her forehead. “Return to him, dear sister.” He thrust the dagger inward, gasping as the life faded from his eyes. Within moments, his body slumped forward. The book of incantations slid from his hand.
When the shock abated, Ronan hurried to finish the spell. He gathered every ingredient needed, including blood from the giver of life, Michael. While Gavin and Aiden tended to Michael’s body, Ronan assembled the concoction, careful to get it right. There would be no second chances. When the sun met the early evening moon, Ronan opened Brynn’s mouth and dribbled in the mixture.
Brynn began to twitch. Her body contorted into unnatural positions, flailing about as the potion coursed through her. She drew in a long, deep breath and her lungs filled, her chest rising with the breath. Her back arched and her eyelids fluttered open. Her eyes rolled, not focusing. She struggled for a breath, one that would not readily come. She clutched her chest, trying to force air into her lungs. She was dying, again.
Using his shoulder to hold her still, Ronan pulled the cork free with his teeth and tipped the vial containing the healing potion into Brynn’s mouth. She choked on the liquid, but managed to swallow most of it. Ronan released her and waited.
The next few breaths were ragged and shallow, but soon her body relaxed and her breathing steadied. Ronan placed his head to her chest. A slow, rhythmic beating filled his ears. He backed away, too stunned to touch her. “Fuck the gods — it worked.”
“Well.” Gavin crossed his arms and smiled. “’Tis a good thing we didn’t burn her then, eh?”
Chapter Twenty-eight
Flesh and Bone
Brynn winced as the needle poked through her skin. A small cry escaped on a breath.
“You’re doing it wrong, give it here!” Gavin pushed Ronan to the side, snatching the needle and thread.
“It’s going to hurt no matter which way we do it, Gavin.”
Gavin knelt next to Brynn, surveying the wound on her thigh. The working space was tight. “Maybe we should take off the gown.”
Ronan slapped the back of Gavin’s head. “I don’t think Brynn would appreciate that nearly as much as you would.”
“Where is Michael?” whispered Brynn.
“He… completed the incantation,” answered Ronan.
“And Marek?” She choked on the word, her voice raspy and coarse.
Ronan retrieved a water bladder and helped her to drink. “He’s gone to fetch Talon. We expect him to return shortly.”
Brynn shook her head. “No. I must go to him. He will die.”
Ronan placed her hand in his. He motioned to Gavin to continue sewing, while he comforted her. “Did you see his death? You are not well enough to travel.”
“The healing potion will continue its work, but I must go to him. The three ravens — one must not be Marek.”
Confused, Ronan pressed for more information. “What do you mean?”
“The ravens, they are death. Three must die. The third must not be Marek.” Brynn closed her eyes, silently fighting against the pain. “It must be Westmore.”
“Hurry, Gavin,” Ronan urged.
“I’m sewing as fast as I bloody well can. These hands were not made for woman’s work. They were made for working a woman’s ass.” Gavin snickered at his own crude humor. He finished closing the first wound and set to work on the second, fishing out pieces of splintered wood from the arrow shaft. “She has a broken rib, but it seems as though it will heal,” he commented, pinching the skin to add a stitch.
“Just sew.”
“Really, this would be so much easier without clothing in the way,” Gavin grumbled but shut his mouth and finished piecing the wound together when Ronan balled his fist.
Ronan monitored the sewing of the final wound as it was located precariously close to Brynn’s breast, but Gavin behaved and stitched the wound closed with minimal tearing of the bodice. A tunic was slipped over her gown and a broth made for her dinner.
Propped against a saddle and covered with a blanket, she slept, dozing in and out of consciousness. Ronan roused her throughout the night to help her drink and check her wounds. Little by little, Brynn regained her strength as the healing potion worked its magic.
~~~~
A gentle hand shook her shoulder. “Brynn, ’tis time to go, aye?”
She pushed herself to a sitting position, testing her mobility.
“How do you fare?”
“I’m better.” She forced a smile and tried to stand.
Ronan slung his arm around her middle to steady her. “You shall ride with me.” He walked her to his horse, transferred her weight to Gavin, then mounted.
“Up you go,” said Gavin, hoisting Brynn to Ronan. “Let us fetch your husband, shall we?”
“By all means, let’s.” Ronan nickered to his horse, nudging it forward with his heels.
“And back to the death walkers we go.” Gavin sighed, following.
They traveled the path through the forest, keeping watch for Engels, but found no resistance. Several death walkers materialized in the distance, hissing whispers between the trees, but ventured no further than the shadows. Ronan stiffened in the saddle at their appearance, but Brynn reassured him. “Show no fear and they will not harm you.”
“Did you see anyone before you… died?” Ronan asked.
“I saw my mother.”
“Was she as you remembered?”
“I do not remember my mother. She was murdered shortly after my birth.” Brynn sucked in a breath and blinked to keep tears from filling her eyes. “She was beautiful.”
Soon the snow dissipated, and the road to Braemir was within sight. A cool breeze greeted them, welcoming them from the shadows. The pace quickened once on the road and talk of their plan took form. No one knew what to expect, not even Brynn. She could only hope that she would find Marek and Talon alive.
As they traveled, the men took a verbal inventory of what weapons they carried, who would search the stronghold, and who would protect Brynn. It was agreed upon that Ronan would take most of the duties pertaining to her safety. Aiden, being the stealthiest, would stay to the shadows and find the boy. Gavin would cause the biggest disturbance outside the walls as possible to draw the Engels away from the stronghold, if need be.
“I will lure their whores to the courtyard and put on a show for their masters. Tell me, how could the
y resist this?” Gavin gestured his hand over his chest, beaming.
“The words escape me,” replied Ronan. A branch snapped in the trees lining the road and he stopped, turning his ear toward the sound.
“What is it?” whispered Brynn.
“An animal,” Ronan replied. “I think.”
Cyran appeared from the trees, riderless. “That’s Marek’s horse.” She clutched Ronan’s forearm.
Aiden approached the horse, checking for signs of combat, blood, or a message from Marek. “His weapons are missing, but the horse in unharmed. There are no signs of struggle.”
Ronan pondered the split in the road before them. “Which way do we go?”
Aiden chuckled, pulling himself up into the saddle. “Left.”
“How are you so sure?” asked Ronan.
“Just follow the hoof prints.”
~~~~
“There are Engels everywhere.” Hunkered out of sight near the stronghold of Braemir, Ronan and Gavin surveyed the area. “Marek must have alerted them to his presence.” Ronan took note of the guard placement.
“We cannot ride in with swords drawn, they will be expecting that.”
“Two men guard the gate. Five watch from the inner curtain.” He pointed to the area, spotting several more patrolling the courtyard below. “We need a plan.”
Gavin grinned. “You are in luck, my friend, for I have one. Follow me.”
The men left Brynn with the horses while they procured disguises of farmer’s cloaks and stole an unattended wagon full of molding hay. Finding several discarded barrels near an outer wall, they placed them in the back of the wagon. They hid the horses near the road and tucked Brynn under the hay. Ronan took up the reins with Gavin at his side, while Aiden rode in the back next to a barrel, imbibing on a flagon of ale beneath his newly acquired poor-man’s cloak.
Ronan approached the gate, bringing the wagon to a stop before the Engel gate guards.
“Halt!” The guard blocked the entrance to the stronghold courtyard. “State your purpose.”