A Single Spark

by Tayvia Pierce

  I picked my way over the rocks and through the tall grass to the rhythmic thunk of axes hitting wood repeatedly until I reached Father at the lead wagon, the man holding a map open in his hands. “Soruk Outpost is perhaps only an hours’ ride, and we will stop there for a few nights and to pick up more supplies.” He announced gruffly, and relief flooded my face.

  Father smirked, amused with my expression and added, “When we arrive, I want you to set to the task of finding an inn or a place we can sleep for a couple of nights while I find the bank. I would rather not sleep on the ground if we can avoid it. Frankly, I think we all need a break from the road for a few days, and this might be our only chance for another week or two.”

  “You will not find me arguing against that.” I said, delighted at the thought of a bed and a building to sleep in. “The relief from this heat will be welcome, too. I thought Taurova was warm, but this...I feel like we are in Yehket.” As if to emphasize my point, a tiny bead of sweat rolled down my temple.

  Father snorted his agreement before discussing a few of the details and things to be wary of while we were in this outpost. With growing dismay, I listened as he described what seemed to be a shady place, though since it was the only location that would be able to provide any supplies or services, we had little choice. Finally, he turned to bellow. “Alright, everyone, let’s pack it up!”

  I headed back towards my wagon, eyes scanning the hillside for my sister to ensure she had heard the call to pack up, but I didn’t see her. I paused, lifting my hand to shield my eyes from the blinding glare of the setting sun, a silhouette moving at the crest of the hill capturing my attention. “Rhian!” I called out to her, though only a moment later, I realized that it wasn’t Rhian, but another. A tall, swarthy-looking man clad in brown clothing slowly rose from the grass, then another...then several more. I hardly had time to curse under my breath.

  Thunk.

  An arrow, dark and ominous, lodged itself in the side of the wagon right next to me, forcing me to take an instinctive step back.

  Thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk!

  A volley of arrows followed, sinking deeply into the sides of our wagons as the men up on the hill rained their attack down upon us. A searing pain bloomed in my shoulder as I dropped into the grass, scrambling under the nearby wagon for protection as I gasped for air, terror driving me in a frantic search for cover from the ambush.

  I could hear the frightened cries of the others, hoping and praying that none of them were badly hurt or dead. We had been warned of brigands, but I hadn’t taken the threat seriously enough, and now we would die here, left for the vultures and other predators that lurked. I’m not ready to die!

  My heart raced as every moment furthered my growing terror that it would be my last, expecting the stinging pain of a death blow to cut through me like the Scythe of Idhros, but it never came. The air was hot and still as the hillside fell silent and the dust slowly settled, my breath catching as I awaited for our attackers to unleash another volley, but there was only silence.

  I peaked around the wagon, scanning the top of the hill for the figures I saw only a moment ago, though it seemed they had vanished into thin air. I slowly started to crawl back out, head swiveling in search of my family and the injured, mindless of the blood trickling down my arm and soaking my sleeve.

  “Carys!” I heard a shout as Brynmor made his way over towards me in a crouch, a fearful look filling his face. “Are you alright? Oh, gods...You’re bleeding!” Madox emerged a split second after Brynmor, though he had a bow in hand, and an arrow nocked as he aimed up at the hill, searching for any of our attackers. His brow furrowed as he heard Brynmor’s exclamation, though he kept his eyes on the hillside.

  Slowly, others began to emerge from wherever they had dropped or hidden, and I looked each over in turn in search of injury. “I’m fine…” I murmured absently, noting that nobody seemed to sustain serious injuries, and my brow knitted in confusion. For as many arrows as they had fired with as many bowman, the only injuries from an arrow were mine, the others hurt as they fell or dove for cover. It’s like they weren’t actually trying to hit us.

  A hand gripped my arm and gently pulled it upwards, Brynmor inspecting my shoulder. An arrow had clipped where my shoulder met my upper arm, slicing a deep cut into the muscle, though it was not nearly as serious an injury as it could have been if I had stepped to the side rather than backwards. I winced, grunting as I repeated myself. “Bryn, I’m fine. Really, it's just a scratch.”

  Madox and Iolyn came over towards us, my brother shaking his head, ever prepared with a quip. “Either they were terrible shots or they weren’t even trying to hit us. It seems everyone is alright?” He looked at the others before he caught sight of my bloody arm, frowning and paling a little. “Oh, gods…”

  Brynmor rolled his eyes at Iolyn, answering on my behalf with no shortage of sarcasm. “It’s just a scratch.” It was my turn to roll my eyes at Brynmor...He seemed to forget that he had just had the same reaction only a minute earlier.

  “Uh...Lady Carys?” Madox started slowly, his eyes fixed on the wagon to that first arrow that had lodged into the wagon. I followed his gaze with a furrowed brow, pulling my arm from Brynmor’s firm grip to step up to study the crude projectile, a parchment wrapped tightly around the shaft and secured with twine.

  My stomach instantly twisted into a knot at the sight, yet there was no fear when it came to reaching up with my good arm to yank it from the wood and pull the missive free. Perhaps it was the pain from my injury, or maybe my dread of the letter’s contents, but it was as though the actions were not even my own.

  I watched another’s hands unfurl the missive, reading with another’s eyes, the heart of another thudding hard in my chest. But the surreal moment passed to return me to the harsh, horrifying reality.

  We have the girl.

  If you wish to see her alive again,

  The Lord’s daughter will bring 400 gold pieces to the ruins

  5 miles north of Soruk Outpost in 2 days time at dusk.

  She must come alone.

  If she fails to bring this amount, fails

  to meet at the marked time, or fails to come alone,

  The girl will die a slow, painful, and cruel death.

  The icy hand of panic seized my chest and squeezed, keeping me from drawing breath. This was an ambush and they took her...they took Rhian! The black void spread to fill my chest, my world sinking into frigid oblivion as I imagined every horror they might be inflicting on her and how her salvation suddenly lay in my hands. The ransom demand was quickly plucked from my fingertips before they could crush the letter.

  Father, behind me with Pedr trailing after, his brow furrowing deeply as he saw the crimson stain of my sleeve. “Carys…” His worry filled his voice, his jaw tightening as he huffed. “Go have that bandaged. Now.” He ordered sternly, though the missive caught his attention and my minor wound was instantly forgotten.

  Madox read the ransom aloud, his voice was muted and low as he informed the family of Rhian’s fate. Their shock slowly registered on their faces and in their stature as they held their collective breath, each silent as the dire truth settled on them before they slackened with a sick dread. At last, I caught a breath as a whimper escaped my lips and all eyes turned to me. Go alone?

  Brynmor tilted my chin up to look at him, finding his tongue as his anger flared. “We will get her back before then, Carys. I swear it.” He swore lowly to me before releasing me, frowning at my injury. “Madox and I will ride out to look around for her. We can track them down and rescue her long before you need to bring them any coin. You...get that injury tended to.” He ordered me as my Father had just done, jerking his head to Madox to go with him to fetch their horses.

  In my daze, I was not in the frame of mind to argue, though on any other day I would have balked at him giving me such orders. This time, he happened to be right, so I turned around to find the wagon with the me
dical supplies, pausing momentarily to stare at the holes in the canvas where the arrows had punched through, nearly forgetting why I was there; Pedr came up behind me a moment later, pale and grieving.

  “I wish to go search for the Lady Rhian as well, Lady Carys, but I am told that I must remain here to protect you and the rest of your family.” He said stiffly. I suspected the reasons why Brynmor and Madox had not permitted him to go, and I agreed. He had a good heart, but he was of noble blood, and they didn’t need another to protect from harm. I also suspected that his heightened emotional state right now would likely have him getting underfoot, particularly if they found her and he decided to charge in like a noble hero.

  I barely spared him a glance as I reached into the box of medical supplies, retrieving some linen strips and salve which would have to do until we could find a proper healer. Wincing and grunting as I peeled my coat off, I liberally applied the salve before wrapping the bandages around my arm in a less than tidy fashion. “They aren’t wrong; we cannot be left without someone to protect us.” I murmured, my flimsy attempt to come up with some sort of reassurance for Pedr failing to give him any consolation.

  I was saved by Father, who looked as stunned and ragged as I felt. He struggled to speak past the tattered remnants of his heart, though managed to croak instructions. “We will make for the outpost of Soruk. Brynmor and Madox will find us there later, but we need to find a safe place for the rest of us to stay until we can get her back. Pedr, go and make sure everyone makes ready to go as soon as possible.” Pedr nodded and sighed and moved to help the others gather their things after a longing glance after Madox and Brynmor.

  Father’s eyes lingered on mine, his silence louder than any words he might have found. He would never permit me to go alone to deliver a ransom to such villains, our only hope lying in our guards finding her before that time came.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Father had been close with his estimate of the time it would take to reach the outpost, our wagons pulling up through their front gate as we neared the hour mark. The people of the Badlands had built this “town” in the ruins of a former Velynesian stronghold, now little more than rubble though the tall stone walls were thick and had remained somewhat intact to provide protection from both the elements and any bandits that might get ideas.

  Iolyn and I headed further into the town, my bloodied and bandaged arm drawing several wary and curious looks as we passed by, though I avoided making eye contact out of a simple desire to both avoid conversation and to find lodging and food. By the look of this outpost, there wouldn’t be much to appeal to a large entourage of nobles, though I doubted anyone in our household was thinking of luxuries right now, being more concerned with the safe retrieval of my sister.

  Iolyn insisted we find a healer first to tend my injury, and as much as I wished to brush it off, the bandage was already nearly soaked and the pain had set in, so I begrudgingly relented. The healer seemed to be quite the expert with such injuries, and I was almost afraid to ask why, but within the hour, I had a tidy row of stitches and a jar of salve and directions to the Inn down the way.

  The Inn was simple, their rooms even simpler, but they were beds and not the cold, hard ground, so I paid the innkeeper for the accommodations and hoped to the gods that Rhian would have the opportunity to sleep in the other bed in my room. I would even listen to her complain about it all night without irritation if it meant she returned to us safely.

  Iolyn had been oddly silent as I spoke with the innkeeper, but when I finally nudged him back from his thoughts, he blinked and swallowed hard. “I’m sure this place will be fine.” He ran his hand through his hair, clearly out of sorts as he seemed to have no humorous quip or sarcastic comment. “We have bigger things to worry about, so I think I will go ask around town...maybe someone knows something...who they were, or better yet, where they live.” He shrugged helplessly, eerily devoid of his usual charismatic charm. He mustered up the closest thing he had to a smile before heading out the door and into the evening’s light.

  I nodded slowly at him as he left, exiting the Inn door just as Father’s weary steps finally carried him through the same door with a tight-lipped Pedr on his heels. “Do we have rooms?” Father asked weakly, his exhaustion oozing from every pore as he looked around the simply furnished common room with a resigned frown.

  I nodded, handing over his key before finding the key to Pedr’s room. “We are all sharing with at least one person. Father, you and Iolyn will share. Pedr, you will be with Madox and Brynmor. The rooms are simple, but they will have to do.” Father nodded, simply looking relieved to have a somewhat decent place to lay his head. Pedr, on the other hand, looked like he was trying not to look as annoyed as he felt.

  I glanced towards Pedr, adding. “Iolyn just went out to start asking around town with the hopes of finding someone who might know who those men were, or possibly where such men might have made their home. Pedr, you could do the same if you like.” I suspected he itched to help in the search for my sister, and while Brynmor and Madox had gone to track the abductors’ path without him, he could at least be of help here.

  Pedr’s expression changed instantly, nodding with a growing enthusiasm for the task. “I will do that immediately, Lady Carys. I would very much like to be useful in the search for Lady Rhian. Two of us asking around will cover more ground than just one.” He quickly whirled around, though caught himself and paused to look over his shoulder to Father. “Ah, with your leave, of course…”

  Father nodded his approval to Pedr, waving the young man out the door to leave Father and I alone in the room. He swallowed hard before gripping my shoulder and pulling me into a wordless embrace, his grief still so near the surface. I returned the gesture, murmuring what little encouragement I could muster up. “She will be alright.” I whispered as I clung to him, adding quietly as my thoughts finally seemed to right themselves and pull me from my persistent daze. “We will get her back. Go lie down, I will go count out the coin for the ransom, alright?”

  He nodded before kissing my forehead, murmuring. “You are a good daughter, Carys. But let us hope we don’t need to pay it.” He released me in favor of heading up the narrow stairs that led to the second floor and our rooms, feet shuffling over the wood floors with a light scrape of his boots.

  I watched him go, his pain mirroring my own. All I could think about was how terrified Rhian might be, wondering if she was hurt? What if they are torturing her? Defiling her? My stomach churned wildly with that thought, nearly causing me to lose the contents of my stomach. The worst part was that I had no idea who ‘they’ were, or why they were doing this. Kaeus, protect her. Please...bring her home.

  CHAPTER 7

  By some miracle, I managed to collect myself slightly by the time I got to the guarded vault house (such as it was), the Keeper staring at me dumbly when I requested a private area in which I could access our strongboxes. Clearly, Soruk was not a place accustomed to such requests but he managed to clear an area in the back corner and set up a crate to act as a makeshift table.

  I did the most practical thing first, counted our actual coin. 417 Gold. I couldn’t help but bark a harsh laugh. We had just enough to cover her ransom, but we would have so little left to cover our needs here. Our rooms...food...stable costs...We would have nothing left to purchase supplies or continue our journey, and being stuck here in this gods-forsaken outpost with outcasts and nomads was not my idea of a new home. But Rhian would be alive.

  I finished up my notations and returned our strongboxes to the guardianship of the Keeper, hopeless tears pricking my eyes as I walked out into the darkness. Night had fallen, the narrow streets reflecting the dim golden glow of the lanterns that did little to light the way to anywhere. Thankfully, the raucous sounds of laughter reverberated off the walls of stone and brick, the guiding force by which I could find my way to the tavern, and thus, the inn next door.

  A familiar coat caught my eye through the window of the tavern as I passe
d, my heart sinking and I let out a disappointed sigh. Iolyn’s efforts to ask around town had been limited to the tavern, it would seem, and I wasn’t sure why that even surprised me. He cannot even take our sister’s abduction seriously. I humorlessly considered setting aside nobility for a moment if it meant I could throttle him.

  I pushed my way through the door with a light growl, narrowly avoiding a large man as he stumbled drunkenly towards (and into) the door. Sidestepping quickly, I maneuvered my way through the whistles and inappropriate suggestions until I came to my brother’s table, occupied by both him and another tall man that I barely spared a glance to.

  “Carys!” He exclaimed when he looked up and saw me, the glazed sheen in his eyes telling me that he had been here the entire time. “I asked a few people and guess what? This is Ben!” Iolyn gestured to the other man with his proclamation, my gaze following to give his drinking companion a swift appraisal.

  There are some moments, as insignificant as they seem at the time, that end up seared into your memory whether you realize it at the time or not. This was one of those moments, one that I would recall often in the future with both fondness and pain. My hurried appraisal nearly became a stare as I took in the details of his features. His eyes might have been the clouds of a gathering storm for their dark blue-grey color, lined with dark lashes and topped with dark eyebrows which lifted slightly with my perusal. His thick, shortly-cropped black hair spiked upwards, just long enough to twist into a slight curl to avoid appearing militaristic while his lips turned upwards slightly as my eyes studied them.