by Jacob Cooper
No, that would only have placed Kalisa and her children in danger. If they were after her, there’s no doubt Antious and Lord Therrium were being closely watched. Aiden as well.
Fallen Ancients, I can’t even turn to my family without putting them in harm’s way! There is no one I dare seek out! And then she knew who to search for. They could have refuge there…but could they make it that far while being chased? Hunted?
Moira caught up with her son as they ran together for their lives. She felt the heavy footfall of three Khans behind her. Though they were much slower than her and Hedron, they were not in the open forest with long distances to run. They would catch them if they stumbled even once as they tried to make their escape. Her family’s home was now a graveyard where her most loyal and loved companions lay slaughtered, murdered. Grieve for them later.
A vicious snarl was heard behind them as a dark, four-footed figure attacked one of the Khans. Shouts of surprise and pain followed, the dog still barking savagely. Master Elethol, the old kennel master, was right behind his hound, shouting curses as he attacked. She felt his movements stop suddenly and heard the dog’s painful yelp before also coming still.
“This way,” Hedron said. “There’s an opening in the wall.” Moira caught sight of the large oak. It was massive in diameter and grown through the hold’s wall, asserting itself as part of the structure.
“There!” Hedron pointed near the base of the tree where a wily and gnarled root from the oak had surfaced just under the base of the wall, forming a low arch before diving back down into the ground again. Several large stones had been dislodged by the growth, forming a small opening in the wall. And through that opening was extended a small arm with an anxious hand outstretched. Moira’s heart nearly stopped in her chest.
Hedron reached the opening and crawled through. Moira, only a split second behind him, crouched down and peered through the small opening. Hedron stared back at her in a crouched position, encouraging her to crawl through. Was it a trick of the mind? Had I really seen—
From around Hedron’s rounded shoulders, a face framed by long dark hair emerged with large, beautiful eyes. She knew those eyes. They locked onto hers. Hot tears sprang to Moira’s eyes but did not spill over. Her world began to spin. She dared not commit to belief. If this is not real what I see before me I fear my heart will fracture.
“Krithia,” Reign spoke with a quivering lower lip.
Moira gasped. Her soft, high voice shocked her, and for a moment she was completely blank. Unspeakable joy, utter relief, and wonderful confusion all traversed her soul, competing for placement amongst the fear and apprehension. Her heart thudded against her chest with erratic palpitations as she let out her pent-up breath.
The Khans’ heavy footfall approaching from the west wrested her from her incoherence. Roughly one hundred paces, she judged from the vibrations.
“Gah—I—oh” was all she could managed between sharp breaths.
Ninety paces.
Moira began to stretch forth her arm through the breach toward her lost daughter, but retracted it when she saw how much she was shaking. Her whole frame seemed to grow weak, overwhelmed, as she struggled to contain the tide of questions and answers swirling inside her. She wondered for an instant if she were dreaming.
Sixty.
“Mother!” Hedron plead. “Mother, come now!”
She felt the tread of a shallower but more rapid gait join the vibrations of the approaching soldiers. Shane. He had obviously recovered.
Fifty.
“You’re here,” Moira finally spoke to Reign. “I knew you weren’t—” she didn’t dare speak the last word. Gratitude swept over her for this answered prayer from the Ancient Heavens, followed by bitterness. This cannot be now! Why give her back to me just to take her from me again?
Forty paces.
“Mother, please!” Hedron begged more frantically.
Shane will catch us, she realized. Perhaps not all of them if they kept running, but if he caught one, would the others continue to flee and abandon their captured kin to slaughter? She knew she would not, nor would her children. Their own loyalty and willingness to sacrifice themselves for each other would ironically be the death of them all. We need more time! And then, No, only they need more time.
The bitterness gave way to serenity as she made her decision. She removed the cloak from around her and draped it on her son’s shoulders. He looked confused.
Her words were calm when she spoke. “Hedron, you are a Kerr of Arlethia, the last heir of this great house. You will remember what that means one day. Take your sister and run north, farther than you have ever gone. When you think you have gone as far north as you can go, you are halfway there. Persist, continue. Be vigilant and protect your sister. This is your duty now above all. Promise me you will do it.”
“Why?” he questioned with tears streaming down his face. “You can make it—”
“Promise me!”
“I will,” Hedron said.
“Remember, farther north than you think possible. She will find you.” Before Hedron could question his mother, she turned to Reign. Saying nothing, she reached through the wall’s opening and took her once-lost daughter’s face in her hand and just stared. All the tender words she so desired to speak escaped her in this most desperate moment.
Twenty.
“Dhar vash alaqyn duwel partia.” The blessing was spoken in ancient Arlethian, conveying more affection and unconditional love than possible with the cruder Sentharian language.
Ten.
“Now, my children, run and do not look back.” They obeyed and she looked after them until they faded from her sight. It was only a few seconds.
Moira arose and turned to face Shane just as he arrived at her position, the Khans only a few steps behind. Blood stained his left cheek and his eyes burned wild with rage. She did not need to reach deep within herself to find courage. It radiated from her core, intermingling with the fury she had recently forged in the furnace of betrayal. She realized she had been wrong earlier about her highest calling, her purpose. It was, she knew now, to grant her children opportunity. In order to bestow this, they needed one thing above all. Time.
And so, with the courage and fury that gripped her, Moira Kerr raged like a lone lioness against a pack of jackals defending her cubs, purchasing every precious second she could for her little ones with her own life.
Though she fell, Moira Kerr never knew defeat.
ELEVEN
Molina Albrung
Day 18 of 4th Rising 407 A.U.
NEWS OF THE KERR HOLD IN FLAMES had spread quickly and reached Molina before the sun rose the following morning.
“Something is wrong,” Molina told her father. “I must go to the hold and see Moira.” She bustled about getting dressed and collecting supplies. Her father slept few hours of the night anymore.
“You will be gone long?” her father asked.
“As long as it takes,” she answered. “This is Moira and Hedron we’re talking about.”
“Moira?”
“Yes, Moira. Your daughter, my sister?”
“I only have sons, though,” he said.
Molina leaned down and kissed his forehead. “Of course you do.” Her father’s dementia was worse in the mornings. She had learned not to correct him when his illusions were strong within him. She and her older sister Moira were the only children he had fathered. Their mother had passed into the Light seven years ago.
“I’ll tell Hedron you wish to see him more often.”
“Okay. Who is that?”
Molina sighed. “Just your only grandson. No one important. I’ll be back later.” The way her father smiled she knew he was teasing her. He knew his condition and sometimes made light of it by his joking.
At least he has a sense of humor about it.
As she stepped out of her door, she came face to face with a ragged-looking man. She startled.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you,�
� Molina said. She nearly dropped her belongings. The man said nothing.
“Um, can I help you?” she asked hesitantly, slightly unnerved by the man’s silence and staring.
“You are Molina Albrung, sister of the late Moira Albrung, now called Kerr?”
“I am Moira’s sister, but if you’re here to give me news of the hold I’ve already received word…” She broke off when what the visitor said finally sank in.
“I’m sorry, did you say the late…” her voice broke and her lip started to quiver. “No.” Molina shook her head. “No, not Moira.”
The messenger before her did not show any emotion or attempt to speak comfort. He had a slash across one cheek with dried blood crusting the wound. It looked fresh. As she more fully took in this man, she saw other wounds. Bruises around his neck, superficial scratches that looked like claw marks.
Fingernail wounds.
The man sneered at her stare and revealed several chipped teeth. Perhaps this man had been mugged and beaten on his way to deliver his message and she should offer aid, but a warning started to sound in her heart. The internal alarm was too late.
The man reached forth and grabbed her neck, choking off any cry for help. Reflexively, she brought her hands up to his and clawed at his arm. His grip felt like iron around her throat as she struggled for air. The sting of the short blade to her stomach drew her attention and tears flew from her eyes with the acute pain. Another stab and then another. Molina fought more feebly as the blood flowed from her. The blade felt cold on her hot insides. She stopped counting the punctures when her will to survive fled and she sought the blessed relief of death. Thoughts of her father were upon her mind as she faded into the Light.
Fherlay Kerr strode through the hallways of her home after running her errands. The morning was almost done and she would need to start the afternoon meal.
“Boys!” she called. “What do you want to eat?” She listened, felt. Their vibrations were not discernible.
“Benjyn! Beckett!”
As she passed the bedroom of her two boys on the way to the kitchen, she caught the glimpse of what appeared to be the aftermath of a hurricane.
“Those little terrors!” she said. “How many times have I told them they cannot go out before their room is cleaned? They just don’t listen!” Her grumblings continued as she entered the disaster area and began to violently pick up the clothes, toys and other objects strewn about. Fherlay began to think of ways in which she might punish Benjyn and Beckett, but knew she would likely have to wait until their father returned home from work. Halek always knew how to handle them better. She would just get flustered trying to think of a punishment.
Or maybe, she thought, I’ll send them to work at Moira’s for a span or two. Halek had been Thannuel’s uncle, though a young uncle to be sure. More of an age to be a cousin. Though Fherlay was a decade older than Moira and twelve years older than Moira’s sister Molina, the three of them had been inseparable once Fherlay had married into the family.
“These boys are old enough to know better!” At fifteen and seventeen, they were certainly old enough to at least keep their room clean. Her agitation grew as she straightened their room. Maybe three span at Moira’s hold, she considered. Lady Kerr would certainly need the help with such a large dwelling. Kerr Hold would no doubt dwindle in disrepair and maybe already had. She felt a pang of guilt for not visiting since Thannuel’s funeral, but she did not do well with death. If anyone was worthy of the protection of the Living Light, it was certainly Thannuel and his family.
But where was the Light when they needed it? Young Reign missing and likely dead. Lord Kerr murdered.
Fherlay moved to Beckett’s bed after finally clearing a path. His blankets were sprawled carelessly on his bed with his pillows mixed in. As she pulled the blankets up and prepared to fluff them, she saw a hand sticking out from under a sheet. After the blanket was frantically torn away from the bed, Fherlay saw the sheet with a rough outline of a body underneath. The sheet was dark red, still wet. The protruding hand was her youngest son’s.
“Beckett!” she screamed hysterically. “Beckett! Help!”
She turned to the other bed in the room and knew underneath its disheveled covers she would find her other son. She could make out the outline under the blankets now that she knew what to look for. And the realization dawned on her that what she stood in the middle of was not the remnants of her sons’ poor housekeeping, but the scene of a struggle for life and death. She cried out and sank to her knees. It was then she felt a tremor from the closet. She looked up just as a robe-wearing demon sprang forth. The weight of the sudden grief thrust upon her seemed to anchor her and she did not move. The end was swift.
Halek walked casually home from the Roniah Crossing in the mid-afternoon sun, his early morning shift on the river completed. It had been a good catch: several river trout, carp, even a hydraf, which he knew his wife Fherlay did not care for. He could easily trade it at Riley’s Cove tomorrow.
He had just crossed into the forest as the alien vibrational signature echoed through the ground. It was heavy footed and about a hundred and twenty paces away, and it moved with startling speed.
A bear? he wondered because of the thumping, but knew this was wrong by the speed of the creature. He stopped walking and put his catch down against the base of a tall eucalyptus tree. A trickle of nervous tension danced perilously close to fear within him as the vector of the vibrations did not change. He could now tell the creature that headed toward him was determined and that he was the target. This was unmistakable in the signature now pulsing through the earth.
Halek did not hesitate. Just as his attacker came into view, he ascended the tree he had laid his catch down against until he was the height of two men. He could clearly see that what barreled toward him was a man—but perhaps only in form. In order to move with the speed portrayed he would have to be an Arlethian; but the beast before him was not one of his kind. He thought perhaps he was right in his initial thought of a bear from the thudding gait produced. He climbed higher at the thought that perhaps this person could jump with supernatural ability as well as run, and unsheathed his fishing blade from his belt. Instead, the man crashed into the tree with such force that Halek lost his hold and fell a few feet before regaining his grip. A cold sweat broke out along the nape of his neck as fear grabbed him.
“I’ll shake you loose!” the man growled as he continued to batter the tree with fists and head.
“What do you want?” Halek yelled.
“Your fear!” shouted the man between hits. The tree shook violently. “Your blood! All you can give before you expire at my hands!” Bark flew out from the tree with every blow the crazed man landed, creating small craters in the trunk before they were widened and deepened by the following volley.
“What have I done? Who are you?”
The man stopped and looked up. Halek saw scars of some create covering the man’s face and head. “No more than your family has done. Your name has brought this upon you.”
“My family?” Halek asked, his voice nearly breaking. “What do you know of my family?”
“There was nothing to know. I was Charged with them. That was enough.”
Halek dropped down from the tree and landed inaudibly, the thin curved fishing blade gripped tightly in his hand.
“What is this you are speaking? What do you mean, ‘Charged’?”
“They were given to me by my Liege, just as you have been. I smell it, your fear, your anger, even your confusion. It’s all a grand spectrum of ecstasy to me, Kerr. Thank you.” The man bowed slightly in a show of mock deference.
It was the way he had said “Kerr” that hit Halek. A realization of the circumstances teased his thoughts but he could not put it all together. It was slippery in his mind.
“Does my family live?” he asked.
“Only if you believe in something beyond this world. I personally do not.” The predatory smile that grew on the man’s face w
as wicked.
Halek lunged at the man, his blade thrusting through the air faster than the sound of his anguished scream. He missed. Before he could retract his arm, the large man grabbed his wrist and with a palm thrust of his other arm, broke Halek’s elbow. His blade fell to the earth. The pain was searing as it shot through his arm but a low grunt was all that escaped his lips. Forcing his hips to rotate, he ripped his arm free and danced from the immediate reach of this monster.
His broken arm hung at a disturbing angle but he still had his legs. He ran toward his home but before he had sprinted five strides he felt the heavy gait of the man behind him. It was not long before the hand of this creature found him and pulled him down by his hair. He hit the ground with such force that the wind flew from his lungs and a sharp pain shot up his back. He attempted to roll and bring himself upright, but his hips and legs did not respond.
When he had gained enough of his breath back, he asked, “Why?”
“We have been over this,” came the answer. “Your name is enough reason. But I am not one that cares for reasons. I am content to simply carry out my Charge.”
“From who? Who would want me dead?” he wheezed.
“Only the Stone of Orlack may command me. And that, Kerr, is as much as you will be privileged to know.”
Halek felt a foot come crushing down on his throat. Skin was torn, cartilage crushed, and bones broken. A final snap came and he mercifully felt nothing further as his sight dimmed to blackness.
TWELVE
Reign
Day 24 of 4th Rising 407 A.U.
THE COLD AIR BURNED Reign’s lungs as she ran, trailing behind Hedron. Her father’s cloak flapped in the wind despite Hedron having adjusted it to not hang so long on him by folding it over on itself. Their speed of travel had slowed to what would be considered a fast sprint among most races, but slow for any wood-dweller. How long had it been? Days? Closer to a span, surely. They had traveled generally north ever since escaping the hold, ever since Reign had been reunited with her mother for precious few moments before being cruelly torn from her yet again. Their route was circuitous, plundering supplies from villages and markets when they could. Normally, anyone of want needed only ask in the Western Province, but their presence could not be made known. They would almost certainly be recognized if spotted and word would eventually reach those who sought them.