Of Embers

by Amily Cabelaris

  Maven processes this over a long pause. “If he was also a God himself, why did he have to die?”

  “For the very purpose of bearing all that sin. The cost of salvation from all that evil was a perfect, pure sacrifice. One who had never done a wrong thing or thought a wrong thought. The only contender was Filium Herus. Herus did it out of love. He loved his creation so much that he gave his only Son to die in order to save it. Think of it like this: what if you were set free, and Alesia took your place at the block?”

  Maven gasps, blinking back tears. “But… Alesia did not murder anyone. She doesn’t deserve to die.”

  “Exactly. Neither did Filium Herus. He died for a sinful people who reject his sacrifice every day, thinking they can manufacture their own salvation. They shun his free gift. They shut their eyes to the truth so they do not have to be responsible for their knowledge.”

  Maven buries her face in her hands. She kneels lower to the ground. “Herus, what did I do to deserve such a sacrifice?”

  “None of us deserve it. That’s why it’s called ‘a gift of grace.’”

  “But how do I repay him?”

  “You live every moment you have left telling others. You follow him every day, with all your heart.”

  “I have a day left. Who can I even tell? The guards all think I’ve lost my mind.”

  “Just let the love of Herus shine through you. There are no magic words to say.”

  Maven drops her head. “If only I had heard this years ago.”

  Priscilla lays a hand over Maven’s cheek. “You heard it before the end. That’s all that matters.”

  “Tell Alesia, will you?” Maven grabs Priscilla’s hand in desperation. “Tell her, please. Don’t let her take on the bitterness I did when Caius left us.”

  “She’ll love to hear that from you.”

  “But I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say what’s in your heart. She will listen, I promise.”

  The guard returns. “Time’s up.”

  “She has one day left,” Priscilla says to him. “Could she spend a few more moments with her daughter?”

  “That’s the rule.”

  “Atticus, please,” Maven says. “My daughter is going to be alone. Have mercy.”

  The guard looks away. “Fine. But be quick about it.”

  Priscilla stands in the doorway. “I’ll fetch Alesia,” she says to Maven. “Herus be with you, Maven.”

  “Thank you, Priscilla,” Maven says. Her face is shining now, like an otherworldly radiance glows through it. “You have led me to the light.”

  Alesia is sitting in the main room, swiping at her blotchy face.

  “Your mother wants to see you, Alesia,” Priscilla says.

  “I can’t,” Alesia says.

  Priscilla sits next to her. “It is more difficult than I can even imagine. But don’t you think she should be granted one final wish?”

  “I don’t want to remember her like that. Sad and broken behind those bars. I want to remember her like she was when we were home.”

  “Angry? Never at peace? From what you told me, your mother has had a very difficult life. But go in there now. Listen to what she has to say. Maven is a different woman. She is at peace.”

  Alesia stares at her. She sniffs once. “All right.”

  When she rises to go, Priscilla slumps to the bench. Her face drops. Hear my cry, oh Herus. Attend to my prayer. From the ends of Aranea do I cry unto Thee. My heart is overwhelmed. Lead me to the rock that is higher than I am. You are my shelter, my strong tower from the enemies of doubt and fear and grief. You only are my refuge. You only grant me the strength to draw breath during these times of affliction.

  Lead me in the way you design. And comfort Alesia, oh Herus, during this period of darkness. Strengthen her and raise her up in glory for your name.

  Chapter 25

  Mistaken

  Evelyn and Francine agree to stop first in Munsweed, to assess if disguises should be used when entering Esterden. If Munsweed recognizes Evelyn, it will be doubly hard getting into the city.

  “They’ll recognize me, of course,” Francine says. “I’ve come here many times.”

  “Asher told me once that you dreamed of making peace with Esterden so you could study in the Guild, but I suppose you didn’t need peace, did you?” Evelyn says as she glances over the shimmering water of Blackmist Pond.

  “Well, I can’t become an official member of the Guild until we have peace, but I can visit. And I did. I’ve made very good friends in Esterden.” Francine huffs. “It seems my brother spoke often of me.”

  “You were the reason he was so adamant about my leaving. He was worried something would happen to me because of what happened with you and the mage who—”

  “Yes,” Francine interrupts. The word sounds like a hiss.

  Evelyn clamps her mouth shut. “I’m sorry. I don’t always know what to say and what not to say.”

  “That’s all right. I just… You have scars. Are you comfortable talking about them?”

  Evelyn remembers when Caius asked about her past in the training centre, the night he told her he’d been a bandit. She only told him when she was in his cabin, after a huge breakdown.

  “I don’t like talking about them,” Evelyn says, “but it does make me feel better. I sometimes pity myself, and I’d rather not talk about it because that could make me feel better, and my pitying would be over. But in truth, it’s easier to bear when I don’t have to bear it alone.”

  “Aren’t you afraid that your past will become all you’re known for?”

  “No matter what, my past is part of me,” Evelyn says quietly. “I can either deny it, or accept it and keep living my life.”

  “But something was stolen from you,” Francine says, grabbing Evelyn’s arm. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

  “Sometimes.” Evelyn gazes off into the trees. “But if there’s one thing that death taught me, it’s that bitterness and hatred and not worth the energy they consume.”

  Francine doesn’t speak for a long moment. Finally, she says, “I suppose.”

  The rest of the trip is mostly quiet. It is mid-afternoon when they ride up to Munsweed. They remain mounted, slowly weaving through the small hold. It’s set up like a large village, with no outer wall and numerous houses on each lane. Small gardens fill the gaps. People bounce through the streets, amidst the sounds of the bard near the gate who strums his lute as he sings about a great victorious battle. The evidence of victory is alive in every movement, every note, every sound. The atmosphere starkly contrasts that of Lockmire.

  Evelyn pictures the burning cottages, the maniacal laughter in the street, the dragons writhing above, crashing into buildings and smashing landmarks to rubble. She thinks of the hundreds dead at Esterden’s hand, the dozens mourning the loss of their homes, families, and rulers. She recalls the stench of death hanging in the smoke that choked air from the sky.

  “Oy, Goldie!” someone calls behind them. “I thought you were in Esterden attending the new bride—”

  Evelyn turns. A man with a moustache stops next to the horse.

  “Oh, you’re not Goldie.” He peers at her. “You look just like her.”

  Evelyn cocks her head. “Who?”

  “New bride?” Francine asks. “Who’s the new bride?”

  “Lord Krassis captured the countess from Lockmire,” the man says, grinning. “News just arrived that they married this morning.”

  The blood drains from Evelyn’s face, leaving her cold. “What?”

  “Let’s go.” Francine grabs the reins from Evelyn’s hands and yanks the horse toward the gate again.

  They charge out into the road, the pounding hooves rocking Evelyn’s head. She tries to move with the rhythm of the animal as she wraps her mind around what just happened.

  “Ilvara is married to the Esterden lord?” she says, mostly to herself. “And…there’s someone in Esterden who looks like me?” Her heart sinks to her stomac
h. What about Jacklyn? Did she somehow survive? But if it were Jackie, would that man have even noticed his mistake?

  “I don’t know,” Francine says behind her.

  Evelyn twists around to see her. “You don’t? I don’t look like most people, and you said you’ve visited Esterden many times.”

  Francine says nothing, keeping her grip on the reins. Evelyn finally wrenches them from her hands and pulls the horse to a stop. She leaps off.

  “Tell me the truth,” she says.

  Francine slides to the front of the saddle. “That’s better. More comfortable.”

  “Francine!” Evelyn shouts, impatient now. “Tell me.”

  With a side-eye glance at Evelyn, Francine dismounts. She bites her lip. “I didn’t want to tell you because I thought it would distract you. You already have a mission in Esterden. This will only divide your attention.”

  Evelyn seizes the younger girl’s shoulders. “Tell me.”

  Without an edge of fear, Francine says, “It’s your mother.”

  “My mother?” Evelyn furrows her brows, mind whirring. “In Esterden?”

  Francine nods.

  Releasing her, Evelyn steps back. She struggles to process it. To imagine it. My mother is alive? Conjuring a single memory of her is difficult—not because she was too young to remember, but because so many things are closed up in boxes, sealed, stuffed into corners in her mind. Opening one might open them all.

  But still, she pries the lid off one and peeks inside. She remembers a woman with a tight grip and worried eyes. Soft golden hair, darkened around her face with sweat. She remembers her voice in only one word—some garbled shout that only echoes and does not focus.

  That night returns in waves, hitting her with agonizing force. The flames searing her skin, singeing her hair. Her heart thudding so hard it hurt. One hand grasped tightly by her mother, the other by her sister. Her fingers sweating. The black night around suddenly alive with screams and orange flames.

  A burning beam obstructed the path behind the cottage. Evelyn was hoisted over it like she weighed nothing at all. Her sister followed close behind. Her mother screamed for their brother. His name jolts to her brain now like lightning. She can hear it as if her mother were here now, shouting, “Kaleb! Kaleb!”

  Evelyn and Jacklyn ran along the outskirts of the burning village, only to be caught by a bandit. Though they cried endlessly for their mother, she never came.

  “She’s alive,” Evelyn says now. “My mother is alive.”

  “I suspect so. When I saw you, I knew.”

  Evelyn meets her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I wanted to surprise you.”

  Evelyn grabs for the reins. She rips Francine’s supplies and belongings from the saddle and throws them on the ground.

  “What are you doing?” Francine asks.

  “I’m going alone.”

  “No! I swear, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I just suspected you were related, that’s all.”

  “You change your story every second.” Evelyn mounts up again. “You didn’t say a word when you first saw me. You never even insinuated—”

  “You’re not really going without me, are you? If I would have known for sure, I would have told you.”

  “You should have told me anyway,” Evelyn says. “I’ve lived nearly my whole life thinking my mother was dead. If you had suspicions, you should have told me.”

  “Stop, Evelyn. Don’t go, please. I want to help you. And I must help my brother.”

  Evelyn clicks to the horse. “If you want to help me, then stay away.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  By the time Esterden’s massive gates come into view, Evelyn already regrets leaving Francine behind. The walls rise like mountains in front of her. At least Francine has navigated her way inside here before. And she was right; the only thing Evelyn can think about now is finding her mother.

  She glances behind. It is already early evening. She didn’t make good time, since she wasn’t quite sure which direction to go. It would have taken far less time with Francine.

  “You there, halt.”

  Evelyn whips around. Six guards on top of the wall aim down at her.

  “I’m—I’m here to—”

  “Dismount at once.”

  Evelyn slides off the horse. “I’m here to see Goldie.”

  One guard speaks indistinctly to the others.

  “Why?” one man asks.

  “Because,” Evelyn says, “I’m her daughter.”

  “You’re armoured. Are you a Lockmire spy?”

  “There is no Lockmire,” Evelyn says, defeated at such a thought.

  “Will you be opposed to having a guard escort?”

  The answer comes from behind Evelyn: “She has an escort.” Francine approaches, robes swept elegantly around herself. “I’m Francine Brooksven, and I have visited numerous times.”

  “Yes, we know you,” one guard says. They speak again amongst themselves.

  “What are you doing?” Evelyn whispers.

  “Shh. I’m helping you.”

  Evelyn shakes her head. “How did you get here so quickly?”

  Francine smirks. “I was here hours ago, waiting in the woods. You got lost.”

  “Fine,” calls the guard. “But tie your horse outside. We will be watching you very closely.”

  “As I expected,” says Francine, pulling the horse toward a tree. She loops its reins around a low branch.

  Evelyn follows Francine’s lead into the city. They cross cobbled streets under banners of white flowers and animal bones. Long empty tables are set out in front of the castle, adorned with more flowers and candlesticks, surrounded with hundreds of stools. Evelyn can’t help but gaze at all the decorations. More victory celebrations, she guesses.

  “I should have told you about your mother,” Francine says next to her, not turning her head. “I’m sorry.”

  “I should not have left you out there alone.”

  “I can defend myself.”

  Evelyn eyes her. “Thank you for returning to me.”

  Francine smirks. “I couldn’t let you do this without me. He’s my brother. Also, I’m not sure you know what you’re doing.”

  With a roll of her eyes, Evelyn says, “Thanks.”

  They pass a large building with protruding wooden spires and sapphire banners. Steps sprawl out in front of it, framed by black gates. Flowering shrubs line the walkway to the door. Francine gestures at it with her chin.

  “That’s the Mages’ Guild. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  Evelyn stares. “It is,” she says, but has no time to appreciate it. They walk on. Evelyn twists her fingers in a leather strap on her armour. “So, what is the plan?”

  “I think we should head for the castle dungeons first. If Asher and Caius have been captured, they’ll hopefully be there.”

  “We’re not finding Ilvara first? Or my mother?”

  “Shh.” Francine looks around at the passers-by, who stop to scan Evelyn’s face and golden hair. “Come on.” She pulls Evelyn into an alley and sheds her robes.

  “What are you doing?” Evelyn asks.

  Francine shoves the robes into Evelyn’s arms. “Your hair is drawing too much attention. Cover it up.”

  Without protest, Evelyn slips on the robes. Francine adjusts the hood over her head. It’s just as well she avoids being too noticeable. Her mission is still to rescue Ilvara, Caius, and Asher. Despite the painful draw she feels and the hundreds of unanswered questions, they are what is most important.

  They continue down the street without interruption. Francine stops at a vendor on the lane. The proprietor is a tall, thin elf with dark red eyes. His stand is draped with dozens of herbs. Colourful bottles glow every colour and shade. Baskets of ingredients fill the corners.

  “Francine,” he says in a slippery voice. “Lovely to see you.”

  “Greetings, Phillon. I’d like two aloe leaves and one cayenne pepper, please,” she says, s
lapping a silver coin and a few coppers on the counter.

  “Of course. Practising again?”

  Francine smiles at Evelyn as she leans against the counter. “Something like that.”

  He hands her the items. “Enjoy your time in Esterden, ladies. Ave diem.”

  “Ave diem,” returns Francine.

  Evelyn nods at him. “What did you say?” she whispers as they walk toward an alley.

  “Not totally sure. They always say that during celebrations.” Francine stops for a moment to eat the pepper whole, chewing fast. A heavy blush blooms on her cheeks. She rips open the two aloe leaves and scrapes the gel into her mouth with her teeth in one swift motion. Swallowing this strange concoction, she wipes her mouth.

  “What was that all about?” Evelyn asks, stiff with uncertainty.

  “Aloe and cayenne help with fire magic,” Francine says, breathing slowly through pursed lips.

  “You couldn’t have bought a potion instead?”

  “I find the raw ingredients to be more effective.”

  “That must be terribly hot. Do you have any water?”

  “No water.” Francine sniffs hard. “I’ve dehydrated myself during this trip to prepare. Water will lessen the effects.” She straightens, rolling her shoulders. “Let’s go.”

  Evelyn follows Francine toward a small door down the hill from what seems to be the main castle entrance. Before they reach them, the entrance doors fly open. Evelyn and Francine duck behind a half-wall on the side of the path. Ilvara emerges from the castle, dressed in a beautiful scarlet gown. Her face is starkly white with smudges of black on her eyes and red on her lips and cheeks. She clings to the arm of a man with greying hair and a similarly coloured outfit.

  A man next to them shouts, “Presenting Lord Krassis and Lady Ilvara, the new leaders of our dominion.”

  The surrounding men and women of Esterden cheer, filling the evening sky with shouts and laughter. Evelyn stops to stare. Ilvara’s eyes look so dim and lifeless.

  The speaker quiets the group before he announces, “They would like to invite the citizens of Esterden to their great feast in celebration. Let there be bountiful food, drink, music, and merriment.”