Remnants

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  “As you approach it, tell me what you feel. Sense.”

  I forced myself to face it. Study it. “Fear,” I said, chagrined to hear my voice tremble. “Cold. Danger. But also mystery.”

  “Go to the door but keep it shut. Do not allow it to open. It is sealed, because the Maker has sealed it. He will guard it. But you still have the power to open it. The dark within each of us wishes to pry it open, because behind it is power. Power that is not ours to wield, but yet entices us.”

  Even his words teased me, made me want to take a quick peek, even though I knew what would happen. It was a terrible pull. Like water rushing faster and faster, pulling me in the closer I got to it. I licked my lips. “How do I keep it closed?” I panted, as if fighting for breath, as if the dark waters were rapidly rising to my waist, my chest, my shoulders.

  “You keep it closed by relinquishing your desire to control it. The Maker will guard the door, Andriana, if you allow him. Don’t try to do it yourself. Imagine his hand, as strong and sure as your own knight’s, against it. His shoulder against it. Imagine it small, and him far larger. There is no way they can enter. Not unless you tell him to move. For he gives you the ability to choose for good, and not for evil.”

  “I choose good. I choose to keep it shut.” Even with those simple words, the door within seemed to gain a seal, weight, all the heavier and difficult to open. The rattling ceased in my mind.

  “Say it again.”

  “I choose good. I choose the Way. I choose light.”

  “Good,” he said. “Very good.”

  A weight slipped from my shoulders. Peace washed through me. I opened my eyes, blinking heavily. And Asher did the same. “You understand now. The Maker has given you the knowledge because you are strong.” He pulled one of my hands into both of his, cradling it against his chest. “But he is stronger than any force you come against, if you will only lean into him for support. Remember that, yes?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I will.”

  CHAPTER

  20

  We slept well that night, close together all in one room, and for the first time in a while I didn’t awaken with a night terror. I did, however, wake up inches away from Vidar, who had the most terrible morning breath. I tucked my nose under my sweater and turned to my back, listening to children whisper and rustle about upstairs. A baby cried and Asher rose, gesturing to a woman in the corner to lie back down — he would go up and fetch her. “She’s probably just wet,” he said.

  I smiled and listened as he went upstairs, humming in a low tone. The little one quieted, but soon I heard others moving about. As the sun rose and coral light filtered in the dirty window, the entire household awakened, and we set about dressing, fetching water from the well a few blocks away, building cooking fires, and preparing breakfast. My stomach rumbled as the porridge began to bubble, and I was as guilty as the passel of children hovering near the pot. The young woman shooed us off, sending us off to do more chores. I was assigned market duty, to purchase the day’s supplies. “I’ll save you your bowl of porridge. Go and get your mind off of it,” she said with a smile.

  “Give the extra to the children,” I said. “I’ll find something in the market.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Ronan said, stepping beside me. Bellona and Vidar followed behind, unwilling to miss anything.

  Niero handed us a few gold coins, and told us to buy enough to feed Asher’s crowd for the whole day. We walked to the center square of the post, surrounded on all four sides by the most prosperous of merchants. In the middle, there were rows of tents, and people were selling everything from fresh vegetables to fabric to paper to meat. My eyes widened in delight. Never had I seen such a bounty. Men and women shouted out about their wares, especially those who competed with the same offerings. Locals bartered with them and tucked their goods into baskets.

  We purchased loaves of bread and rounds of cheese. Meat for dinner, a whole roast. I couldn’t wait for the children to see it, sizzling on a spit above the fire. Apples — fresh apples — and on impulse, some slates and chalk for Asher to use with his students. At least if we purchased them, I reasoned, his teaching might remain more of a secret. There were Georgii Post patrols, but they seemed friendly with the locals, not antagonistic, and I could see why Asher seemed so happy here. It was a good town in which to find your rest. As well as do good.

  We passed the day in conversation — not all of it so intent, for once — laughing, eating, and resting. And after dinner, as we all settled in together in one room again, I wished we could stay for a few weeks. I wanted to know more about Asher and Azarel. More about Kapriel and Keallach. But mostly, I wanted more of this sense of normalcy.

  “Take what you can get, when you can get it,” Ronan said when I confessed my wish in a whisper. “I’m thinking there won’t be many stretches of ‘normalcy’ for a while.”

  But as he said it, he slid his hand into mine. When I looked to his face, wondering what he was feeling, he was already asleep. And the only emotion I felt from him was peace.

  We were deep into slumber when I heard the screams, the wails of women, the shouts of men.

  Asher hurried to the window, and in the passing lantern light of someone outside I saw concern in his face for the first time.

  And in that moment, it was as if all the air had been sucked from the room. I gasped, and felt Ronan reach out for me. “Dri?” he whispered. He lifted me to my feet, even as I continued to fight for my next breath. “Andriana!” he said, taking my other arm and shaking me. “What is it?”

  I could feel the fear in him, but more than that I could sense the fear that prowled the streets. The darkness. “They’re here,” I said, taking a quick breath as if the heaviness had been released from my chest momentarily, even as the cold chill spread through my armband. “The Sheolites.”

  “It’s a reaping,” Asher said to us, lighting a candle after pulling the drapes.

  But what I saw in the light frightened me more than the dark. “Where are Vidar and Bellona?”

  “They’re on watch,” Niero said. “On the roof.”

  We could hear children crying upstairs. One gave way to a full wail.

  “A reaping?” Ronan asked Asher. “What sort of reaping are you — ”

  “The children,” Asher said. “They’ve come for the children.”

  “What?” Killian said. “No!” I could hear the metallic slide of his sword from its sheath.

  “Wait,” Asher said. “They do not come to kill the children — they come to claim them. There is hope yet. Remember what I said? These children hold the Secret Words in their hearts now. There’s no telling what impact they may have in the wider kingdom.”

  Azarel was pacing while clenching and unclenching her hands. “They cannot find us here, Asher. If there is a Sheolite tracker out there … If I am found with you, they’ll know who we both are. In but a breath, they’ll know. Our kinship betrays us. They’ll figure it out!”

  “Quickly,” Asher said in response, lifting a trapdoor in the floor. “Down below, all of you.” After a pause, he said, “Join my own prayers for protection for us all. That they only take children who will be given to good homes, a future. Not to the factories or mines.”

  I frowned in confusion. How could he relinquish any of them? His orphans — the children he so clearly cared for? Someone rammed on the door with a meaty fist, making me jump. The flimsy door rattled, and I glimpsed torchlight in the momentary gaps. The time for argument was over. I was the first one down the steep stairs to the cellar. The rest jammed in behind me. Ronan and Niero; Azarel, Tressa, and Killian: we all crammed together in the tiny root cellar, so close I fought to breathe. I squeezed into the corner, trying to make room for the others behind me, knowing that Killian must be folded in two, being the nearest to the top. I tried to match my breathing with Ronan’s, who was cradled around me, concentrating on the rhythm of it so I wouldn’t panic — either from claustrophobia or him, so intimately close —
a crazy, embarrassing thought as men above us bashed their way into the house.

  “Peace, peace,” we heard Asher say above us. “What is it you require?”

  “You are a known keeper of children,” said a man. “By order of Georgii Post’s boss and the king of Pacifica, we demand a review.”

  “I do my best to feed the children, give them places to sleep,” Asher said. “I’ve applied for permission to look after them.”

  “But you did not apply for permission to teach them.” We heard a scuffle and then a ram against the wall. Asher?

  There were others tromping up the stairs already. What of Vidar and Bellona, on the roof? I closed my eyes and did as Asher had taught me, focusing on the Maker holding me, holding all of us. I concentrated on Ronan behind me, the way his body cupped mine. Comforted me. Held me. How his chest rose and fell behind me. The rhythm of his heart against my back. His skin releasing heat, comforting me. Maker, my Maker, see us. Protect us. Let them not discover us down below. Protect Asher. And the children. Be with each of the children.

  A child screamed. “Ah-shee! Ah-shee!” she cried, obviously calling for Asher. I shuddered. I thought I recognized the voice of a small blonde girl who’d followed him around all afternoon, looking up at him in adoration. “Ah-shee!”

  “Shh, shh,” Asher soothed. “Not this one, sir. Leave her with — ”

  “You dare to ask for anything?” the man sneered back. “I could have this house burned to the ground this instant. You know you are not to keep the unwanted. Or teach them.”

  The child screamed.

  “Don’t fight them, sweetheart,” Asher said, his tone tight, high. “It will be all right, child. Peace, peace — ”

  “Where are the others?” the man yelled at Asher, so terribly close again. Dirt from the floor above scraped from their boots and rained down on our heads, inches below. I glanced over my shoulder and saw each of my friends’ faces, looking up, illuminated in the warm, dancing torchlight filtering between the floorboards.

  “You’ve seen every child in this house!” Asher said.

  I heard another child scream, two others wail, and my heart lurched. Terror filtered down to us, even two stories down. Comfort them, Maker. Let them know they are not alone, never alone

  “The others! Newcomers to the city. They were seen entering this house.”

  “Yes. Friends I met among the Trading Union. They ate supper with me.”

  “And where did they go?”

  “It is a big town, is it not? There are many places for a traveler to sleep among the post. I had no place for them here, what with all these children.”

  The man paused. A child whimpered, above us now. Another was sobbing. I could hear a baby then. No, two. Carried down the stairs, then directly above us.

  “We shall take these children with us for the reaping,” said the man. “Do you take issue with this, Asher?”

  “Ah-shee!” screamed the little blonde girl again, weeping. I could feel her panic, her longing, and it made me want to scream myself. Ronan seemed to sense that, and held me tighter, across the forehead with his broad hand, across the belly with the heft of his arm, as if willing his steadiness into me.

  Asher paused. “I stand for the innocents. These children are not yours to take. If there was but some assurances given, some process — ”

  We heard the sickening sound of impact and then the heavy collapse of a body, rattling the floorboards above us. The soldiers departed, leaving the front door open, and we paused, desperate to burst out, but also anxious, fearing that others might still linger nearby.

  I felt the chill in my bones before I felt the renewed chill in my armband this time. “Wait,” I whispered. At the same time as I thought Niero did the same.

  A tracker. It had to be.

  We heard the heavy creak of the floorboards above us. The pause, beside Asher, then the movement onward. Protect us, Maker. Blind them. Keep us safe. Keep the children safe. Keep Vidar and Bellona safe

  Ronan curled even more tightly around me, hugging me to him, shielding me with his back as our armbands grew icy cold and more entered the house. Because this time, it was the Sons of Sheol who walked through Asher’s house, hunting us. They filtered through the room, up the stairs, and then returned to the main floor.

  Asher roused above us, and we heard him try to rise. “Be gone from here, dark ones. Be gone!”

  A man hissed, and again Asher was struck. I bit down on my finger, trying to stay quiet. Trying to focus on the Maker as he’d taught me. Hold tight the door …

  But it was hard. So hard. The dark beckoned, called to me. It was as if those above me reached down between the floorboards, like vines that grew before my eyes, wrapping around my neck, my arm, my chest, rattling the door within, prying at the seal …

  “Andriana,” Ronan whispered in my ear, so quietly I could barely make out the words. “Andriana, you are of the light. You do not belong with the dark. You are Ailith.”

  Everything went silent above us, as if the leader had held up a hand, listening, and everyone around him stilled.

  But Ronan’s words found their mark. They calmed me. Centered me. Helped me remember who I was. Whose I was.

  “We are done here,” said a man a moment later. “We sense their presence, but it is only an echo of their passage — they are gone. Let us continue the search.”

  They slipped out, and I felt Ronan ease an inch back from me while taking his first full breath in a long while.

  After about a couple minutes passed, Killian said, “Go?”

  “Yes,” Azarel said, sounding like the rest of us felt — that she might burst if we were trapped here any longer.

  Killian lifted the trap door and peeked out. The sound of crying children a floor above us was no longer muffled, and my heart keened in tandem with their pain. Sorrow seeped into me like a drenching, soaking rain, making me hug myself in an effort to fend it off.

  “Where’d they take them?” Killian said as Azarel came out. “And what is this reaping?”

  “A collection,” Azarel said, helping Asher sit up, checking out the wound on his head.

  “It happens in many cities,” Asher said. “The women of Pacifica … They suffer from a high infertility rate. Perhaps from living so close to the old war zones. And many choose to not bear children, fearing what it will do to their bodies. So they adopt children from the Trading Union instead. They send patrols to collect desirables every couple of years.”

  “Desirables,” Azarel said flatly. “The reaping is nothing but a sanctioned mass kidnapping.”

  “Agreed.”

  Killian paced, hands on hips. “Those children were orphans.” He gestured outward. “Your orphans, of a sort. But they did not have homes, parents. Will they be taken someplace better, at least? Offered love? Care? A future?”

  “Oftentimes, in good measure,” Azarel put in. “At least, as far as what Pacifica can offer.” She shook her head and rubbed her neck. “It is those that are not chosen that I worry about most. Those that are sent to factories or mines to work.”

  “Slaves?” I whispered. “They enslave them?”

  She met my gaze. “They’re paid. Given food and a place to sleep. But it is far better for them to roam these streets than end up there.”

  “It is but one reason we must keep the Trading Union from falling to Pacifica’s rule,” Asher said. “One more reason we must free Kapriel so he can lead us. Unite all who can fight against them.”

  Vidar and Bellona, both bleeding and clearly hurting, came down the stairs then, children clinging to them, all snotnosed and weeping. “What just happened?” Vidar asked.

  Killian ignored him, still focused on Azarel and Asher. “So that’s it? We are to just stand aside and watch it happen?”

  “Yes,” Azarel said. “This is not a battle we can win. We are called to the greater war. And it is as Asher says — ”

  “Every war is made up of many battles,” Killian said. He m
oved his head back and forth in a slow shake as if trying to sort through the messy details. “They do not … They wouldn’t take a child from a parent — ”

  “They do,” Azarel reluctantly admitted. “When a child is deemed desirable. Intelligent. And, as the captors claim, underprivileged.”

  Killian swore under his breath, met Vidar’s eyes, and the two were out the door in an instant.

  “Vidar!” Niero called. “Killian!”

  But neither answered. Ronan sighed and went after them. He paused at the doorjamb, and looked back at Raniero.

  “Yes,” Niero said with a groan. “We must go after them.” Tressa and Bellona took off, but I had barely moved when he reached out and grabbed my arm. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

  I nodded and he gestured out the door. The others were at the end of the block, peering around the corner. We hurried to meet up with them, and as we did my arm cuff began to vibrate.

  A man shouted and a woman wailed a block away, back in the direction we came. We all shared a look and turned. Niero and I reached the corner first and peeked around. Two soldiers in gray uniforms had a man pinned to the wall, beating him. Another held a woman by the arms as two others came out the door with a tiny, beautiful babe. “We claim this child for the kingdom of Pacifica.”

  “No! Please,” the woman begged, trying to wrench her arms from her captor’s grasp. “Please, we are not underprivileged,” she sputtered, finally free and falling to her knees. She raised clasped hands before her, begging. “We have food every day. Clothing. Please. He is our heart!” she cried, reaching for the soldier’s leg as he turned from her.

  It was agony, watching it. Feeling it. My heart seemed to tear in two. Thoughts of my own parents crowded my mind, threatened to steal my breath

  We moved toward the family — between us now — and Killian, Vidar, Bellona, and Tressa. The men continued to beat the father, even as other soldiers shoved the screaming mother back into the house. Two men were moving away, one carrying the child. The father faltered and fell to his knees just as one of the soldiers looked up and spied our approach.