by Box Set
Otec understood. If they were captured or killed, Argonholm wouldn’t know until it was too late to flee. “I’ll keep them nearby.”
Narium brought him the horse. “Your body is going to fail you soon. Let the boys work tonight while you sleep, or you’ll be worse than useless.” She handed him a couple of herb bags. “The one that smells bad is for nights. The one that tastes bad is for the mornings. A palmful of each.”
He stuffed them in his saddlebags. “Thank you, Narium.” He swung up into the saddle and rode away as the people of Argonholm frantically packed what they could onto wagons and the backs of horses.
Ivar immediately took the lead, and Otec let him. The boy would learn soon enough that being a man mostly meant extra work and more responsibility. Otec and the boys paced the horses, rotating between walking, trotting, and galloping.
Ake and Arvid were quiet and watchful. “Do you know the canyon well?” Otec asked them. The twins nodded in harmony. “There’s a place where the forest is thick and the pass narrow,” Otec went on. “We’ll make for there. Understand?”
“Yes,” the twins said in unison.
Ivar dropped back to ride with Otec. “They’re a bit creepy,” he muttered under his breath. “But eventually you sort of get used to them.”
“You must listen to me, Ivar. I’ve faced these Raiders, and they are fast and merciless. If I say run, you have to promise me that you will.” Otec met the boy’s gaze and refused to look away until he agreed. Then Otec glanced back at the twins. “You two as well.” Both nodded.
At nightfall, after hours in the saddle, they reached the pass between Argon and Shyle. It was heavily wooded here, with the forest constantly overtaking the wagon-rutted road. Otec sent one of the boys farther up the pass to keep watch; the others he set about gathering anything flammable and laying it on the ground in a long line. Then he went to sleep.
At daybreak, Ake woke Otec to say, “Arvid saw the Raiders. They’ll be here by midmorning.”
Otec groaned. His legs felt like they were full of sharp-edged gravel. He rubbed them down while one of the twins handed him the tea Narium had packed for him, plus a slice of bread slathered with butter and blackberry jam. By the time he’d eaten he could move, though it still hurt and he walked with a limp. He glanced at the long line of sticks and brush the boys had managed to make during the night.
He took out the four bags of luminash, preparing to tell the boys how to use it, when Arvid came running through the heavy trees. “There are scouts at the front—a dozen of them. They’ll be here any moment!”
Otec tried to peer through the thick forest. It was innocent and beautiful . . . and waiting to be burned. “Light the torches!” When Ivar didn’t move, Otec shoved him toward the horses, which were tethered in a meadow behind them. “Go!”
Running, Otec began spreading the powder onto the line of sticks and brush. The luminash clung to his sweat and burned the shallow cuts on his palms as it billowed out like fine dust. With one bag emptied, he glanced back at the boys, who still struggled to light a torch.
He heard a shout and glanced past the boys to see a dozen Raiders bearing down on them. Abandoning the line of debris, Otec sprinted toward the boys. “Back to the horses. Let the pigeon go.” The twins abandoned their kindling and rushed toward the horses.
Ivar still hunched over his kindling. “I have a coal.” He blew on it, determination written on his round face.
Otec stepped protectively in front of him, drawing his bow. He let loose an arrow, but it imbedded in a tree instead of a Raider. He wouldn’t have a clear shot until the enemy was nearly upon them. “Ivar, go now!”
The boy blew gently, his hands shaking. Smoke surrounded his head as hungry flames rose and began to lick up the kindling. Otec turned to face the Raiders, letting loose three arrows as they sloshed through the river, but only managed to hit one man. Two dozen steps and the Raiders would be on them. Otec couldn’t stop eleven of them.
Ivar had touched the torch to the fragile frames. “Throw it!” Otec shouted.
Ivar hurtled the torch into the luminash-dusted debris. It flared bright, a blast of heat that sent Otec reeling.
He glanced through smoke and flames to see the Raiders hurtled backward. The fire flashed along the kindling, stopping where he had stopped spreading luminash when he’d run back to protect the boys. Otec clenched his teeth. “Come on, burn!” But there was no wind, and the flames consumed the trees but didn’t spread beyond them.
The Raiders split into two groups. Half moved around the fire to come at the clanmen from below. The other half drew back their bows.
Otec hauled another bag out of his pocket and raced to the line of fire. Arrows began raining down. He ran faster, barely limping. But it wasn’t going to be enough. They were going to stop him. They were going to put out the flames.
And then a white blur shot past him, snatching the bag of powder out of his hands. The owl’s sharp beak tore a small hole in the bag, and powder flowed out in a thin stream like sand from an hourglass. The fire flashed after the luminash, ate up the powder as it fell from the sky, and collided with a tree still covered in dry autumn leaves. The tree burst into flames, thick smoke churning up and turning the sun blood red.
One of the Raiders skidded to a halt, “Luminash is sacred!” Fury cast harsh lines across his face. He brought up his bow, aiming for the owl.
Otec loaded an arrow. “Ivar! Help me!” The boy loosed an arrow, which sliced into a Raider, sending him to his knees.
Otec released his arrow, feeling the twang of the bow as it vibrated in his hand. The Raider who had taken aim at the owl staggered back, an arrow in his chest. Otec felt no sorrow, no regret. Only a bone-deep satisfaction. He drew back and released another arrow. And another.
The owl returned, talons open, and Otec tossed her another bag. She caught it and pivoted in midair, her beak tearing a hole as she whirled about. Then the twins were beside Otec on their horse, releasing arrow after arrow.
With the owl’s help, the fire spread farther up the pass, devouring the distance to the Raiders, who turned and ran as the smoke stalked them, the fire feeding a growing wind that howled after them.
When the owl had spread all the luminash, she landed on a lower limb of a tree, far away from the flames, and looked at Otec as if waiting.
Without breaking eye contact with her, he said to the boys, “Stay here, and whatever you do, don’t look at the owl.” Matka had refused to look—she’d been terrified of it.
“I killed men?” Ivar said.
Otec turned back to find the boy shaking, his previous confidence gone.
“Ake, Arvid, get him back to Argonholm. Let them know the pigeon was wrong. The fire will hold them.”
“How do you—” Ake began.
“Go now!” Otec ordered.
Once they had turned their mounts and galloped away, he approached the owl and stopped before it, his horse dancing restlessly beneath him. The bird watched him with far too much intelligence. As soon as Otec thought this, the owl shivered, its body shimmering. The feathers shrank and disappeared, leaving behind slate-purple skin and a human-like face with black lips. She wore a short, feathered dress, and her hair was snow white with black tips. Her long ears pointed away from her head. But her eyes were still yellow, and the wings on her back still resembled those of an owl.
“You’re a fairy,” Otec said in disbelief. This was the creature that had terrorized Matka, the creature that had somehow warned her the night she was captured.
“You are the only man I have ever revealed myself to. You should feel privileged.” The fairy’s voice was deep and her words clipped.
“You’re the darkness that follows Matka.”
The fairy cocked her head to the side in a movement so bird-like it made Otec shudder. “No. I am simply the one who brings about the end,” she declared.
“The end?”
She shook out her feathers. “An end is required to bring abo
ut a new beginning. But endings are always messy, and they require a breaking. If mankind survives, everything will be different.”
If Otec was wary before, he was terrified now. “Why are you helping me?”
She seemed to look into his soul then, examining its flaws, vices, and strengths beneath her clawed fingertips. It took everything he had to look away, and when he did, he felt violated and wronged, like he needed to scrub his body with fire to get rid of the feeling.
“I have saved your life, and the lives of your friends. In return, you will save Matka,” the fairy announced.
“Of course I’ll save her!”
The fairy’s wings stretched out behind her. “Good, then the bargain is struck.” She launched herself from the branch.
“Bargain?” Otec called after her. “What bargain?”
Hovering, she looked back at him as if he was daft. “In the game of fire, every person is a player, and the world the field.”
“Game of fire?” he said in bewilderment.
The fairy smiled, cruel and terrible. “All the pieces are in place now. Over the next twenty years, the game will play out exactly how I want it, if you manage to keep your end of the bargain. If you fail, the curse you placed upon Matka will devour you.”
“I didn’t mean it!” Otec blurted. “I thought she had betrayed me! You must remove the curse.”
The fairy narrowed her eyes at him. “You have brought upon her the attention of the dead, which is not within my power to remove. I will see that Matka accomplishes her move. Then the dead will take her.”
“No,” Otec begged. “Please!”
Feathers emerged from the fairy’s body, growing as feet were replaced with talons. A mouth with a beak. Hair with feathers. She flapped her wings, then caught an updraft from the raging fire and soared out of sight past the line of smoke.
Chapter 11
Otec lay beside a smoldering campfire, staring up at stars that were too weak to give off any useful light. Sharing a room with three brothers used to feel suffocating. But now that he was alone, he could barely close his eyes lest the emptiness steal in with the dark and smother him with loss and loneliness.
Sleep had become a specter in the night—a quarry to be endlessly chased but never caught. So Otec stared at the useless stars until he heard distant hoof beats. A sharp whinny broke out from one of his horses. Otec pushed himself up as Ake stepped into the dim firelight and said, “Clanmen are approaching.”
The boy, who’d been on watch, should have brought the warning long before Otec could hear their horses. “Did you fall asleep?”
Ake dropped his head. “I’m sorry, Otec.”
Moving stiffly, Otec pulled back his furs and tugged his boots onto his swollen and blistered feet. He pushed himself to a stand, his muscles sore down to the bone. He looked up at the uncaring stars and realized he must be like them. “Had they been Raiders, we’d all be dead.”
He moved past the boy without another word, squinting at the canyon. It was too dark to see the smoke, but Otec could smell it, dark and heavy. Knowing he would need more light, he tossed logs on the fire as the clanmen drew closer. A minute later they came into camp, dark figures on blowing horses. The men dismounted and stepped into the growing light.
First, Otec saw Seneth, who nodded a greeting and then moved to the fire. Otec’s father, Hargar, stepped forward. Otec looked at the other men, searching for his three brothers.
“Rest the animals and eat something,” Hargar said to his men. “We’ll move out in an hour.” His gaze fell on his son. Motioning for Otec to follow, he stepped away from the others and sat heavily on a rotting tree trunk.
Otec sat beside him and searched the faces of the men still moving into the encampment.
“Your brothers are dead.” Hargar said.
Otec’s head whipped up. “Which ones?”
“Lok and Frey both died on the battlefield. Dagen died of his wounds five days later.” Tears streamed down Hargar’s face and disappeared in his gray beard.
Otec desperately shook his head. “No. They’re too strong and cunning and—”
“They’re dead, boy. I buried them together in a single grave, so their bones wouldn’t be alone.”
Otec stared into the depthless sky, feeling like he was falling. Desperate for something to occupy his hands, he picked up his knife and a bit of wood he’d been working on, carving a little field mouse. But the eyes were wrong—eerie and far too large for the face.
Flinching as if in pain, Hargar removed his battle axe, specially made of solid steel, and leaned it on the tree trunk beside them. “What happened to my clan?”
Otec wiped his eyes so he could see his carving. “I was in the mountains with the highwoman Matka. Do you remember her?” When his father nodded, Otec went on, “We saw the fires and went for help.”
He couldn’t look at his father as he said this, for the shame that ate away at his insides. “It turns out she wasn’t a highwoman at all, but an Idaran. Still, she risked her life to free me.”
Hargar rested a heavy hand on Otec’s back. “Seneth told me what you did at the canyon. I’ve brought nearly seventy boys from all over the clan lands. I’m going to use them as archers. And I want you to lead them.”
Otec looked at Axe and Ivar and Arvid. He’d lead them, yes, but his only goal was to keep them alive. Heading into battle with nearly a hundred boys . . . “Father, I don’t know how.”
“Don’t be so selfish,” Hargar growled.
“Selfish?”
“Yes, selfish!” Hargar gestured to the men who had gathered around the fire. Some were cooking. Others lay on the ground, resting. “Being a leader isn’t about you—it’s about them.”
Otec shook his head in frustration. “But what if I get them killed?”
His father passed a hand over his face, and Otec noticed how haggard he was. His eyes were bloodshot, and a bandage covered most of his left arm. “I say again—it isn’t about you. It’s about what’s best for everyone.”
Otec stared at his hands. “I—I don’t think I’m the best man to lead them. Surely there’s someone with more experience.”
“You’ll be the next clan chief now. You’ll have to learn fast.”
Suddenly dizzy, Otec leaned forward. “I’m not supposed to lead.”
His father batted the little wooden mouse out of Otec’s hands. It skittered across some rocks, one of the delicate ears broken off. Otec’s palm stung where the whittling knife had cut into him. “It’s time to put away childish things,” Hargar said. He went to one of the horses and removed an axe, then returned and held it out to Otec. “Let’s go and get our family.”
Otec stretched out his hand and took the axe, which felt foreign and impossibly heavy. His father marched toward the fire and settled down on the furs Otec had vacated. Otec opened his palm to look at the smear his cut had left on the haft. How fitting that the first blood the weapon had worn was his own. He stood to follow, but not before he retrieved the little mouse and placed it deep in his pocket. He sat beside his father and glanced at the clanmen. They had just made a five-day trip in less than three, and their faces were hard with determination and exhaustion.
Hargar motioned for Otec to eat, so he forced down the lumpy gruel, which tasted like wet ashes. His father slurped his own gruel, then said, “This attack was well planned. The Raiders struck my village and the coast on the same day.”
“Will we hold?” Seneth asked.
Undon, the eldest son of the Tyron clan chief, leaned forward. “They hit Cardenholm first, but the city held fast—which is vital, as that would have given them control over most of the river ways.”
Hargar grunted. “They struck Corholm next. They outnumbered us two to one, and we couldn’t hold it.”
“How many men have you brought?” Otec asked.
Hargar drank a cup of beer, his throat working. He set the cup down with a smack and wiped his face. “High Chief Burdin would only allow two hundre
d and fifty of us—most of the Shyle as well as a few Tyrons commanded by Undon, and Argons commanded by Seneth. Any more, and Reisenholm would never stand against them.”
Otec spread his hand wide. “Why didn’t they allow more of the Shyle clanmen? Surely they wouldn’t abandon us now.”
Hargar grunted. “The rest are on the other side of the clan lands, in Delia. They couldn’t have gotten here in time.”
Otec resting his pounding head on his palms. “So the Raiders outnumber us two to one.” By the Balance, how was he going to keep all these boys alive to go back home to their mothers?
His father slapped his back, making his head pound even harder. “We know the land, and that gives us the advantage.” He turned to Seneth. “Will the boys be ready to fight?”
Seneth stared at his bowl. “They’ll have to be.”
“Good. Battles makes men out of boys. And men are what we need now.” Hargar glanced at Otec as he said this, then just as quickly looked away. With sudden vigor, Otec’s father pushed to his feet.
Otec stared at the remnants of lumpy gruel in his bowl, wishing he hadn’t forced himself to finish.
“Mount up,” he said. “Let’s move.”
“That wasn’t an hour,” someone grumbled.
“After we’ve moved into place,” his father growled, “you can rest until it’s time to kill Raiders.”
That bought a cheer. Otec stepped up to his borrowed horse, saddled him quickly, and mounted up. Seneth rode next to him. “Dagen—” he started after a minute.
“Don’t,” Otec said. He couldn’t deal with his grief and the impending battle at the same time.
They climbed into the pass, the horses with their superior night vision picking their way along the blackened path. Patches of embers still burned where trees had been, glowing white-yellow when the breeze picked up. The horse’s hoofs kicked up ash, which grew into a cloud that coated Otec’s skin and left him with the taste of burning.