Souls of Aredyrah 3 - The Taking of the Dawn

by Tracy A. Akers

“He didn’t do anything,” Falyn said. “But the Vestry blames him for the eruption of the mountain and just about everything bad that’s happened since. They say it’s black magic—Dayn’s black magic.”

  “You must be joking,” Reiv said. “Other than his sensitivity to earth tremors, and his uncanny ability to predict them, Dayn possesses no mystical abilities.”

  “Of course he doesn’t,” Vania agreed, “but there’s more to it than that.”

  “Such as?”

  “Falyn’s father never took keenly to Dayn’s interest in her,” Vania continued. “When Dayn faced him down recently…well…let’s just say Lorcan went out of his way to plant the idea that Dayn’s the cause of everyone’s problems.”

  “So that is why there are armed men camped outside your home?”

  “There’s goin’ to be war over it, no doubt. Especially if Dayn’s executed.”

  Reiv straightened his spine. “How do I get to Kiradyn?” he said.

  “Don’t be foolish,” Vania replied. “There’s nothin’ ye can do.”

  But Reiv refused to believe it. He brushed past her and marched to the door, then threw it open in time to see Eyan disappearing into the barn with Gitta. “Eyan,” he hollered, “bring back the horse!”

  Reiv stepped onto the porch, but Vania grabbed his arm. “Reiv, ye can’t! If ye were to show up there—”

  Eyan returned with the horse in tow. Reiv pulled his arm from Vania’s hold and hurried out to meet them. He reached into the pack that was still secured to the saddle and removed his dirk, then shoved it into his waistband. “Eyan,” he said. “Tell me how to get to Kiradyn.”

  Eyan looked at him, dumbfounded. “Why in the world would ye want to go there?” he asked.

  Falyn rushed forward. “I’ll tell you how to get there,” she said.

  “Falyn, no,” Vania insisted, following at her heels. “It’s too risky. Let Haskel and the Chieftains handle it.”

  “What’s goin’ on?” Eyan asked with confusion. “What do ye mean, handle it?”

  Falyn pointed in the direction of the road leading into the forest. “Head that way and follow the road for several miles,” she said. “Eventually you’ll come to a main road. Go left and—”

  “Dayn’s in Kiradyn?” Eyan cried, piecing it together. “Why’s he—”

  “I’ll tell ye later,” Vania said.

  “No! Tell me now!” he ordered.

  Vania’s expression tightened, then she said, “He’s been arrested and tried for witchery. He’s to be executed at high sun. Your father and a group o’ clansmen have gone to fetch him.”

  Reiv leapt onto the horse and gripped the reins.

  “I’m goin’ with ye,” Eyan insisted.

  “No, Eyan. There’s no time,” Reiv said. He turned his attention to Falyn. “From the main road, then what?”

  “It will lead you directly into Kiradyn, but you’ll have to ride fast,” she said. “Once you reach the city, make your way to the center of it.”

  “Is there a particular building I should look for?”

  “No. The execution will happen out of doors, in the town square. You’ll see a crowd. There’s always a throng of spectators when the stake is involved.”

  “The stake?”

  “Yes,” Falyn said anxiously. “Dayn’s to be burned at the stake.” She glanced at the sun. “Please Reiv, there’s not much time!”

  Reiv swung the horse in the direction of the road, but Eyan rushed toward him. “Take these at least,” he said, pulling his bow and quiver from his back. “Ye might need ‘em.”

  Reiv took Eyan’s offering with a word of thanks, then swung the quiver and bow over his shoulder. With one last look at Falyn and the others, he jabbed his heels into the horse’s ribs and bolted toward the road.

  ****

  The posse of clansmen rode like a cyclone through the forest, their long black hair mingling with the clan-colored cloaks billowing at their backs. At their sides and attached to their saddles, weaponry clanked—swords and axes, maces and daggers—but it was the men’s brutal determination that would be their greatest ally.

  From out of nowhere a deafening roar sounded. The ground began to ripple like waves in a stormy sea. The horses twisted and lurched; the men fought them with kicks and shouts and yanks on their reins. Alicine clung to Haskel’s waist as the horse they were riding bucked, threatening to toss them. But Haskel refused to be tossed. He jerked the horse’s reins with such force, the animal had no choice but to obey. The rumbling stopped almost as quickly as it had started.

  The clansmen spurred their horses onward, but they had not gone far when the ground began to rumble again. But this time the men managed to keep their mounts advancing. Trees teetered around them. Some crashed to the ground, others slammed into those swaying next to them. Alicine buried her face in Haskel’s back, then felt her stomach flip as their horse sailed over a fallen branch. Her body lifted from the saddle, then dropped in a spine-crushing jolt. She risked a look over her shoulder, relieved to see the rest of the horsemen still behind them.

  With a shout, Haskel suddenly reined his horse to a halt. The rest of the pack stopped in a frenzy of confusion at his back.

  “By the Maker,” Haskel said, staring at the road ahead.

  Curses sounded, and Alicine leaned around to see what held her uncle’s attention. She gasped. A steaming fissure could be seen straddling the road, stretching as far as the eye could see.

  Peadar and Brenainn urged their horses next to Haskel’s. “There’ll be no jumpin’ over tha,” Brenainn said.

  “Then we go around it,” Peadar replied.

  Haskel glanced at the sun. “We’re runnin’ out of time.”

  “So are the Aeries,” Brenainn reminded him. “If Dayn was right, and it’s seemin’ to me that he was, then we’d better get him in a hurry if we’ve any hope o’ gettin’ back.”

  Without a word, Haskel kicked in his heels and reined his horse toward the chasm and the maze of fallen trees that would hopefully lead them around it.

  ****

  Footsteps sounded then stopped outside the door to the room where Dayn was imprisoned. Muffled voices could be heard, followed by the tell-tale click of a key in the lock.

  The door swung open, sending a swath of light across the floorboards. The shape of someone holding a lantern entered, but this time Dayn was unable to determine who it was. He scrambled from the floor, praying it wasn’t Lorcan, or the executioner.

  “I brought you something to eat,” a voice said, closing the door behind him.

  Dayn realized it was Sheireadan. Fury bubbled in his throat. “How could you have turned me over to the wolves like that!” he demanded, taking a step toward him.

  “I didn’t have any choice,” Sheireadan said. He turned and set the lantern and a plate of food on a nearby barrel.

  Dayn grabbed Sheireadan by an arm and spun him around to face him. “Of course you had a choice! You did it to save your own skin.”

  “No. I didn’t,” Sheireadan said, jerking his arm away. “I did it to save someone else’s.”

  “Whose? Falyn’s?” Dayn asked.

  “No.”

  “Then whose?”

  “A person whose name my father said you gave him,” Sheireadan said.

  Dayn was taken aback. “I didn’t give your father any names. How could I? There aren’t any names to give.”

  Sheireadan nodded. “I figured you didn’t, but I wanted to hear it from you anyway.”

  “Well, you’ve heard it. Now what?”

  “Now nothing.”

  “Well thank you very much,” Dayn said. “I’m sure your sister will thank you too when she’s watching me burn alive in the town square!”

  “I won’t let that happen,” Sheireadan said.

  “What, the sister part, or the burning part?”

  “The sister part.”

  Dayn felt relieved, at least for that. “Thank you,” he said.

  Sheireadan
stared at the floor for a long awkward moment, then stepped toward the door. “I’d better go. I’m not supposed to be here.”

  “Wait,” Dayn said. “Why did you really come?”

  Sheireadan shrugged, but did not turn to face him. “To clear my conscience, I guess. But it’s probably too late for that.”

  “The only one who has to worry about “too lates” is me,” Dayn said.

  “No,” Sheireadan replied. “Not just you.” He picked up the lantern and placed a hand on the latch. “Don’t lose faith, Dayn,” he said quietly. “It’s all you’ve got left.” Then he exited the room, leaving Dayn in darkness again.

  Dayn stepped toward the plate of food Sheireadan had left, realizing he might as well take one last meal, though he had no appetite for it. But the floorboards beneath his feet suddenly lifted and fell, sending a wave of nausea to his gut. He dropped to his knees, gripping the floor as swirls of light flickered behind his eyelids.

  A vision formed in his brain, sending new dread to his heart. The mountain was awakening, and judging by the looks of it, he wasn’t the only one who would be meeting their fate this day.

  ****

  Reiv rode like a madman, dodging piles of forest debris, soaring over trees that had crashed to the road. The ground rumbled, opening steamy chasms through the tangle of woods on either side of him. But he refused to turn back. No matter the risk, he had to reach Dayn before it was too late.

  He cursed his own stupidity. Why had he not paid heed to the visions Agneis had given him? They were roadmaps of events, he now realized, each one leading to a different future. He had possessed the ability to study them all along, but instead of recognizing them for what they were, he had suppressed them. The goddess had told him he had to understand his own destiny before he could inspire a brighter future for others. If only he had listened! But he hadn’t. Instead he had jumped from one path to another, never choosing, always going where others willed him to go. And it was because of this that Dayn was in the predicament he was now.

  Reiv spurred the horse on faster, but then he spotted a wide chasm straddling the road ahead. Common sense told him to stop, but the urgency of his mission refused to consider it. Reiv leaned into the horse and screamed it onward. He closed his eyes. Please, dear gods, give us wings.

  The horse took a sudden leap, and for a moment Reiv thought they truly had sprouted wings. The air whistled past his ears, the pounding of hooves momentarily silenced. Reiv kept his head down, waiting for the landing that seemed to take forever. At last the horse’s hooves hit the dirt, nearly jarring him from her back, but she galloped on, barely breaking stride. Reiv pressed his cheek to her neck, whispering a prayer of gratitude.

  ****

  Dayn was yanked from the floor and shoved toward the door. He hadn’t heard anyone enter the room; he had been too ill to think of anything but his roiling stomach and spinning head. He was thrust into daylight. The pain of it sent his senses reeling. Rough hands grabbed him as if to steady him, but he quickly found himself shoved to the ground instead.

  Dayn struggled to his knees, but he could not gain his balance. He dry-heaved into the dirt.

  Laughter sounded around him. “Scared as a rabbit,” an amused voice said.

  Dayn spat the foul taste of bile from his mouth and again attempted to rise. A hand jerked him up. “Get on with ye,” its owner said.

  Dayn glanced at the group of ruffians that surrounded him, then at the alleyway just ahead. He knew it would lead him directly to the town square, and from there, the stake. A drone funneled down the passageway toward him, the voices of a thousand people waiting for his death.

  With a gruff command Dayn was ordered to walk. He shuffled his feet forward, but his legs felt as if they had turned to liquid. He drew a calming breath, trying to muster his strength, then lifted his head and straightened his spine. His legs may have felt like jelly, but he would meet his accusers walking like a man.

  The alleyway was long and narrow. As Dayn neared the end of it, the noise from the square became almost deafening. Spectators turned in Dayn’s direction, then let out a whoop. A wave of cheers echoed through the crowd. Over the sea of heads looming before him, Dayn could just make out the tip of the stake where he would soon be tied. For a moment he thought to turn and bolt, but he knew such an attempt would be futile. With walls at his side and goons at his back, there was no place to run.

  As he stepped into the square, spectators heckled him and shuffled aside, opening a narrow pathway to the pyre. Dayn made his way slowly down it, keeping his eyes ahead of him rather than on the hostile faces lining the walkway. But as he stared forward, a far worse sight met his eyes: the stake. The horrid thing was tall and dark and surrounded by a massive pile of split wood and dried kindling. Don’t look at it, he told himself. Anywhere but there. He forced his gaze past the stake, but found himself staring into the faces of those who had ordered him there instead. On a viewing platform, close enough to enjoy the show, but a safe distance from the impending flames, sat the brown-robed members of the Vestry. At their sides and behind them, an assortment of religious elders and upper-class dignitaries could be seen. Lorcan was there, of course, his dark eyes glistening with anticipation. Sheireadan sat next to him, but clearly he did not share his father’s sentiment; his face was as gray and motionless as a statue. Dayn scanned the rest of the spectators on the platform. To his profound relief, there was no sign of Falyn.

  The crowd jostling on either side of him sneered and spat as he continued toward the pyre, but from within the confusion he detected a familiar voice raised in his defense.

  “Let the boy go, ye fools!” it shouted. “He’s committed no sin. It’s the rest of ye that will have Daghadar to answer to!”

  Dayn turned his eyes in time to see Jorge, the blacksmith, shouldering his way through the crowd. The smith broke through the line and hurried to Dayn’s side.

  “Jorge,” Dayn said. “Oh, Jorge.” Tears welled in Dayn’s eyes. Over the years, Jorge had been his one true friend in Kiradyn. The man had offered Dayn sanctuary in his blacksmith shop on more than one occasion, and had never failed to offer Dayn kindness and advice when no one else would.

  Jorge grabbed Dayn’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I’m here for ye boy,” he said. “I’m here for ye.”

  The men at Dayn’s back tried to move Jorge aside, but the tough old smith would have nothing of it. “Get your stinkin’ hands off me,” he growled, “or ye’ll find your head across my anvil and your horses lame for want o’ shoes.”

  The guards relented, but whether it was fear of the anvil, or the fact that the only smith in town was threatening to deny them future services, was not clear.

  Dayn glanced at Jorge from the corner of his eye. “What am I going to do, Jorge? What am I going to do?”

  “Don’t know there’s much ye can do,” Jorge said grimly. “They’re fools, all of ‘em.”

  A rotted piece of fruit sailed from the crowd, pelting Dayn on the side of the head. He raised his hand to the sting, but kept his eyes forward, pretending not to care. Jorge, however, was incensed. “What 'er ye doin!’” he hollered at the assailant, but the only response he received was increased agitation from the mob around them. More and more vegetation flew in Dayn’s direction, but when rocks started being hurled, Dayn became more concerned for Jorge’s welfare than his own.

  “Jorge. Go,” he insisted. “It’s not safe for you here.”

  Jorge started to protest, but Dayn stopped in his tracks and gave him a shove. “I said go! I don’t want you here!”

  Jorge looked hurt, but then he seemed to understand. “I’ll not let Kiradyn forget the terrible injustice they did to ye today, boy. I swear it.”

  Dayn felt a lump in his throat. “Go, Jorge. Please”

  Jorge nodded, then turned and was swallowed by the crowd.

  Back to ToC

  Chapter 41: Fire and Brimstone

  The clansmen tore down the hillside, the silhouette
of the city at last in their sights. No hint of smoke was rising over the rooftops, but the sun was high, and there was still much ground to cover before they reached the square.

  The roadblocks the rescue party had met during their frenzied journey had cost them valuable time. The chasm that straddled the road had proved to be too long to go around, and so they had been forced to abandon the road and go cross-country instead. It had slowed their pace considerably; the forest was thick and tangled and difficult to navigate. But still they had pressed on. At last they broke through the trees and into an open meadow, and that was where they were now, careening down its slope toward Kiradyn.

  Alicine peeked around her uncle’s back toward the city looming before her, and could not help but recall the last time she had seen it. It had been on their way to the Summer Fires Festival, and she and her family had stopped on the hillside to take in the view. That was to have been a happy day, she realized, but fate had dealt them a blow instead. But before she could ponder the fates further, the mountain range at their backs sent up a deafening roar. As one, she and the clansmen swiveled their heads to see a billow of smoke rising from the tallest peak.

  “The mountain’s erupting!” Alicine cried. “We’ll never reach him in time!”

  “The hell we won’t,” Haskel said, and screamed the horse onward.

  ****

  Shrieks of shock and terror ricocheted throughout the town square as all eyes shot toward the mountains. Smoke could be seen mushrooming from the tallest summit, expanding in every direction as it billowed into the atmosphere. Lighting crackled within dark, roiling clouds; thunder split the air then rumbled across the land.

  Dayn turned with the rest of the crowd to gawk at the terrible sight. Though his illness had given him warning, seeing it with his eyes was so much worse than seeing it with his mind. People began to panic, shoving him this way and that as they scrambled past him. For a moment he thought the pandemonium might offer him an escape from the pyre, but a voice suddenly boomed, stopping everyone in their tracks.

  “Be still!” the voice commanded. “Be still I say!”