CHILDREN OF AMARID

by DAVID B. COE

  She put the last of her stone windows in place and stood to appraise the finished structure. This was, she decided, the best castle she had ever built.

  “Cailin!” her father called. “Come on, now, it’s dinnertime!”

  Taking one last look at her creation, the child scrambled up the riverbank to the tall grasses of Tobyn’s Plain and began running toward the cluster of wooden houses that sat at the base of the dark, forested hills in front of her. She counted to herself as she ran, “One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand,” timing herself as she raced home. Once she had made it in less than one hundred and ten; she wanted to try to do it again.

  But about halfway there—she had counted to fifty-three—she caught a glimpse of something blue in the grass and stopped to look. Balanced between two blades of the tall grass as if it were hovering was a feather. It was almost as long as Cailin’s entire hand, and it was entirely blue on one side of the pale shaft, and mottled blue and black on the other. Feathers, she knew, brought good luck—gifts from Amarid, her father called them—and while no one had actually told her so, she figured this meant that she could make a wish when she found one.

  Taking the feather in her hand, she closed her eyes, making the same wish she always made. “I wish I was older,” she said aloud. She was seven now, which was pretty old, but she wanted to be fourteen, like Zanna, the girl next door, who sometimes watched her when Cailin’s mother and father were working. Then the boys might not destroy her castles, and, like Zanna, she’d be allowed to go to the town on the far side of the river. Cailin wasn’t really sure what was there, but she had lived in Kaera all her life. The idea of leaving the town on her own, even just to cross the river, seemed exotic and exciting.

  “Cailin!” came her father’s voice again, and this time he sounded angry.

  She gazed toward the house. He was standing on the porch outside the back door with his hands on his hips and his dark, curly hair blowing slightly in the soft breeze. Holding tightly to the shaft of the feather—if she lost the feather, she had decided long ago, her wish wouldn’t come true—she started running again. She didn’t bother to count.

  “Get inside,” her father said, holding open the door and letting her scoot under his outstretched arm. “Your dinner’s getting cold.” His tone was still firm, but he was grinning as she went past him into the house.

  “Where were you?” her mother asked with a smile from her seat at the table. Her mother was the prettiest woman Cailin had ever seen. Her hair was the same color as Cailin’s, but it was even longer, and her eyes, like Cailin’s, were pale blue.

  “I found a feather,” Cailin answered breathlessly, holding up the token for her parents to see. “A gift from Amarid. I had to make a wish. You and Daddy told me they’re good luck.”

  Her mother stopped smiling and looked at her father with a serious expression. Cailin thought that she almost appeared frightened. The little girl turned to her father, whose face also had turned grim.

  “Aren’t they good luck?” Cailin asked, suddenly uncertain.

  Her father hesitated before nodding. “Yes,” he replied, glancing briefly at her mother. “They’re good luck.” He bent over to kiss the top of Cailin’s head. “Why don’t you go and wash those dirty hands.”

  Relieved, Cailin turned toward her mother, who smiled at her again, although the expression in her eyes didn’t change. “Yes, Papa,” Cailin said, cheered by the knowledge that her wish would come true. She raced outside to the trough by the side of the house and quickly washed the sand off her hands. Gazing to the west, beyond the river, she saw the sun, huge and orange, just beginning to dip down below the horizon. She wondered if her castle was still all right.

  Hurrying back inside, she took her place at the dinner table and sat with her hands folded on her lap as her father offered thanks to Arick for their meal. When he finished, and they all began to eat the blackened fish and steamed greens that her mother had prepared, Cailin told her parents all about the castle she had made by the river. They smiled as she spoke, occasionally asking her questions about the princess who lived in the castle, though Cailin was much more interested in telling them about the castle itself.

  “Papa, are there princesses in Tobyn-Ser?” Cailin asked, when she had run out of things to tell them about her castle.

  “No,” her father answered, shaking his head. “But there is a queen in Abborij and I believe she has two daughters. Both of them are princesses.”

  “Why aren’t there any princesses here?”

  Her father glanced across the table at her mother. “Well,” he began slowly, “we have no royalty in Tobyn-Ser because we don’t need any. Each town governs itself, and all of the towns get along with each other.”

  “If they didn’t get along, would there be a war?”

  “Cailin!” her mother broke in with a small laugh. “What strange questions.”

  “They have wars in Abborij,” Cailin said defensively. “Teacher told us so.”

  “That’s true,” her father told her, although his hazel eyes were fixed on her mother again. “But when there are disagreements between villages or towns in Tobyn-Ser, they’re mediated.”

  “What’s ‘mediated’?” Cailin asked, having trouble pronouncing the word.

  “That’s when someone who isn’t involved with an argument helps those who are involved settle the matter,” her mother explained.

  “So who ‘mediates’?”

  For some time her parents said nothing, staring across the table at each other. At length, Cailin’s father turned back toward her and took a deep breath. “The Children of Amarid help us resolve our disputes,” he said in a low voice. “At least they used to.”

  “Why did they stop?” Cailin asked, looking from her father to her mother.

  “It’s not that they stopped, dear,” her mother began hesitantly. She fell silent, and looked to Cailin’s father without finishing the thought.

  “Cailin,” her father said in a soothing tone, “I know that we told you that the Children of Amarid were our friends, that they protected us and took care of us.” He glanced across the table again before continuing. “But sometimes, friends let us down, and then they’re not really our friends anymore.”

  Suddenly, Cailin felt afraid. “The Children of Amarid aren’t our friends anymore?”

  Her father shook his head. “No,” he said simply.

  As long as she could remember, her parents had told her about the powerful mages who carried beautiful birds on their shoulders, and wandered through Tobyn-Ser, helping and protecting its people. She often had dreams of hawks and owls, and she desperately wanted to become a mage when she grew up. And now, abruptly, the Children of Amarid weren’t their friends anymore.

  “Not even Master Holik?” she asked.

  Her father took a deep breath. “Master Holik died during the winter, Cailin. Remember when we told you that?”

  She had forgotten. But she now remembered how sad she had felt. Even her mother had cried. Holik had been a nice man. He had let her stroke the chin of his small, long-legged owl. Now he was dead, and the Children of Amarid were not going to take care of them anymore. Cailin felt like crying, although she did her best not to. “Then who’s going to protect us?”

  “Your mother and I will protect you,” her father assured her, “and so will Davon and the others at Arick’s Temple, and Constable Rugnar and his men. You see, we still have friends here in Kaera and we have friends in the other towns nearby, too. We’ll all protect each other.”

  Cailin nodded once, although she still was frightened. She felt tears welling up in her eyes and she looked down so her parents wouldn’t see. The blue feather she had found sat on the table by her plate. “Does that mean that gifts from Amarid aren’t good luck anymore?” she asked in a choked voice.

  Her father gently reached out and cupped the side of her face in his hand, making her meet his gaze. “Amarid was still the greatest man who ever lived in
Tobyn-Ser,” he told her, wiping a tear from her cheek. “And gifts from Amarid are still good luck.”

  Cailin wanted to ask how, if Amarid’s Children were no longer their friends, his gifts could still be good luck, but instead, she just nodded again and put the feather in her pocket. She looked at her mother, who also had tears on her face.

  “It’s hard for all of us,” her mother explained, trying to smile as she wiped away her own tears with a napkin. After another long silence, both of her parents rose, as if on cue, to begin clearing the dirty plates from the table.

  “It’s getting to be your bedtime, Cailin,” her mother said over her shoulder as she carried the dishes out to the trough. “Put on your sleeping gown and we’ll be in to say good night.”

  Cailin knew that she should have done as her mother said, but she was still scared, and so she followed her mother and father out into the night. It was dark. The moon had not yet risen, and a high, thin haze obscured all but the brightest stars. Her parents did not seem to notice that she had joined them, and they cleaned the dishes in silence. But when they were done, her father walked to where Cailin was standing and lifted her into his arms.

  “What we told you scared you a little bit, didn’t it?” he asked softly.

  “A little bit,” Cailin admitted, nodding.

  “We didn’t mean to frighten you,” her father assured her, as her mother joined them and kissed Cailin on the forehead. “But you’re getting to be a big girl now, and being a big girl sometimes means hearing things that aren’t very happy. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Cailin replied, smiling slightly. She liked it when her parents treated her as if she were older.

  “Good,” her mother said, responding to Cailin’s grin with one of her own. “Now, let’s get you to bed.”

  Cailin looked at her mother and then her father with a mischievous glint in her eye. “But if I’m a big girl now, don’t I get to stay up later?” she asked.

  Her parents glanced at each other and started to laugh. “If you wash your face, and get into your sleeping gown very quickly,” her mother told her, “maybe your father will tell you a story before you go to sleep.”

  Cailin squealed with delight as her father put her down. She ran to the door of the house, but, as she reached it, all three of them heard cries of alarm from the center of the village. Cailin spun to face her parents, all of her fears returning in a rush.

  “Edrice, take Cailin inside and close the door!” her father said crisply.

  Her mother nodded once, her pale eyes wide with fright. She scooped Cailin into her arms and carried her inside. Once in the house, Cailin’s mother put her down and bolted the door behind them. Cailin ran to the front window, which faced the village square. Her father was now in front of the house, where he was speaking with Zanna’s father, who held an ax in one hand and a torch in the other. He looked pale and angry in the firelight. Cailin watched as the older man pointed toward the Emerald Hills, which loomed in the darkness beyond the village. And, turning her gaze in the direction he indicated, as her father did the same outside, Cailin saw two glowing red lights slowly descending the slope of the hills toward Kaera.

  “What is it?” she asked her mother, who had locked the front door and joined her by the window.

  “Arick save us,” Edrice breathed a moment later, as if she hadn’t heard Cailin’s question.

  “Mama?” Cailin pleaded, terror seeping into her voice.

  Her father knocked once on the front door. Her mother unbolted it and let him in.

  “It’s probably nothing,” he said without preamble, walking to the back door. “We don’t know for certain that the stories are true. But we’re not going to take any chances.” He unbolted the door and stepped outside. A few seconds later he returned carrying an ax from the woodpile. He locked the door again.

  “What is it!” Cailin repeated, her voice rising to a wail, and tears beginning to pour from her eyes once more.

  “Cailin!” her father snapped. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Cailin was sobbing now. “Cailin,” he began again in a more gentle tone, “just stay here with your mother and everything will be fine. I’ll be back soon.”

  “Why won’t you tell me what it is?” Cailin asked between sobs.

  “Everything will be fine,” her father repeated as he kissed her cheek and embraced Edrice. He opened the front door again and started to leave.

  And in that instant, Cailin knew. “It’s Amarid’s Children, isn’t it?” she said flatly. “They’ve come to get us.”

  Her father stopped in the doorway and stared at her mother. Neither of them spoke, but the expression on her father’s tanned face told Cailin that she was right.

  “Keep the door locked,” her father said at length, his voice bleak. He stepped out of the doorway and Edrice bolted the door behind him. Cailin and her mother moved back to the window to watch as her father made his way toward the town center. Soon Cailin lost track of him amid the confusion of men and torches that had gathered to confront the mages. Instinctively, almost against her will, Cailin shifted her gaze back up to the two moving points of red light.

  They had nearly reached the base of the hills. They looked closer now, brighter. Cailin stared at them, unable to look away, transfixed and horrified by their unrelenting advance.

  “Would you look at that!” Cailin heard her mother exclaim, as much to herself as to Cailin, and in a voice tinged with pride.

  Tearing her eyes from the red lights, Cailin saw Zanna’s mother and several of the other townswomen emerging from their homes carrying metal rakes, pitchforks, cleavers, and other tools that might help them fight off the mages. The women gathered in the road a few hundred feet in front of Cailin’s home and began to follow their husbands and brothers toward the town center. Cailin looked at her mother and saw a grim smile spread across her face. The fear Cailin had seen in her mother’s eyes just a few minutes before had vanished, replaced by a look that seemed like anger, but not quite. Silently, Edrice went out the back door, and returned a moment later carrying a hoe.

  “Stay here, Cailin,” she said in a commanding tone, “and bolt the door after I leave.”

  Edrice ran to join the other women, and Cailin watched their progress from the doorway. “We’ll all protect each other,” her parents had assured her just a few minutes earlier. And now they were doing just that. Maybe they didn’t need the Children of Amarid after all. Her mother and father and the rest of the men and women of the town would drive the mages away. They would keep Kaera safe.

  “I want to watch,” Cailin said to the night. And ignoring her mother’s last command, the little girl began running down the road toward the village.

  Immediately, she heard her name called sharply from the house next door to hers. Whirling around, she saw Zanna standing in the doorway. “Cailin!” the older girl repeated, louder now, “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I’m going to watch them fight the mages,” Cailin responded.

  “Didn’t your mama and papa tell you to stay here?” Zanna asked in a tone that told Cailin she already knew the answer.

  Cailin hesitated and then, without answering, she spun and started running toward town again.

  “Cailin!” she heard Zanna call. “Cailin!”

  Over her shoulder, Cailin saw Zanna running after her, and gaining on her quickly. She tried to run faster, but, just as she reached the outskirts of the village square, she felt Zanna grab the back of her dress and pull her roughly to a halt.

  “Cailin, are you crazy!” the older girl shouted, gasping for breath.

  “Let me go!” Cailin cried, struggling to break free. “I want to find Mama and Papa!”

  “No! You have to go back home! I’ll take—”

  The two of them abruptly stopped scuffling as they heard a loud cry of alarm go up from the far side of town. Then, suddenly, horribly, a bolt of blood-red light arced across the night sky above the storefronts, hissing and wri
thing like a serpent, and crashed with an explosion of flame into the shrine at which the townspeople paid homage to Arick and the other gods. A moment later another arc, and then immediately a third carved through the night, smashing through glass and wood as fire began to consume Kaera’s markets and smithies. And a cry went up once more from the townspeople who had marched out to meet the mages, but even Cailin knew that this sound was not born of anger or defiance. This was a cry of terror and searing pain; a cry of death.

  As the two girls stood together, now clutching each other for comfort and safety, the sky above the village seemed to come alive with flames, and screams, and the killing bursts of red light. At one point they saw a great dark, winged creature swoop above the buildings, stopping as if suspended above the fires before dropping again, its wings outstretched with an unearthly grace. They saw it again briefly, a few moments later, or maybe it was a different one; they couldn’t tell. But they knew that the creature, or creatures, did not look like any bird they had ever seen before.

  The first wave of heat reached them from the fires, and with it came the smell of burning wood and flesh. Men and women who had left their homes so bravely at the sight of the distant red lights just a short while ago now began to stream back toward the girls, their faces distorted hideously by their screams and their eyes wide with panic. One figure whose clothes and hair were ablaze—it wasn’t clear whether it was a man or a woman—staggered forward along with the crowd before falling to the ground, its mouth stretched open in a silent, agonized wail. And behind, walking with an assurance and calm that seemed to mock the dread-filled horde they sent fleeing before them, came two men, each clad in a long, hooded green cloak. They carried staffs topped with glowing red stones from which poured the devastating crimson flames that claimed building after building, and person after person. And with them came the great birds, black as the night had once been, except for their bright eyes, which appeared to glimmer with fire and blood as they swooped down again and again, raking the necks and backs of the retreating townspeople with razorlike talons.