The knight pulled his ax down as if it weighed nothing, canceling the swing and instead positioning the ax head in the way of her slashes. Burning swords ricocheted off the metal. Bree thrust with her left hand, had her attack parried aside with the ax’s handle, and then kicked into the air, throttle pushed to a third. She somersaulted over the knight’s head—at least, that was the plan. Before she could slash at his back, he caught her ankle with his free hand, then swung her sideways. Bree flew wild, letting out a panicked cry as she slammed into the trunk of a tree. She heard groaning from her wings, felt the thin metal give and bend.
Bree thumbed the throttle. Her wings shimmered silver, lifting her slightly. Still functioning, but there was nowhere to go. The knight cornered her, so close now, ax at ready. Even flying straight up and away appeared suicidal. The man was ready, his entire body tensed like a feline predator about to pounce. Bree held no delusions as to blocking or withstanding a single hit from that ax. With one swing the knight could fell a tree; her meager flesh and bone wouldn’t even slow it down.
“I’ll earn great honor when I bring Er’el Jaina your head,” he said. “Consider your quick death a show of gratitude.”
“Fuck your gratitude,” she said, a shadow falling over them both.
The ax lifted, but before he could swing, Argus slammed down atop the knight’s back, his sword clutched in both hands as he drove it through the knight’s collarbone and into his lungs. Argus guided his body’s momentum, swinging about so the skewering sword twisted and tore even farther into the knight. Argus’s feet touched ground with him standing face-to-face with the knight, and he ripped the sword out with savage fury.
“There’s no honor here,” Argus said as his right hand closed around the stunned knight’s neck, holding him steady. “Just death.”
Ice punched through the knight’s throat and out the back of his neck. His body went limp, the ax dropping to the ground with a heavy thud. Bree stepped away from the tree, and she let the fire vanish from her blades.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Don’t mention it,” Argus said as he knelt beside the enormous ax, his back to her. Bree joined him, staring at the weapon in awe. Its pole was thick metal wrapped with leather, the head gilded and carefully crafted with ornate runes and decorations depicting the various elements in battle. The thick steel of its blade looked more like a plow she’d see in a farmer’s field, to be pulled by an ox instead of wielded as a weapon.
“How could he lift such a thing?” Bree asked. “Is it theotech magic?”
“No, not magic,” Argus said, pulling at part of the head. The metal slid open, revealing a hidden compartment. Argus removed a light element and tossed it to her. She caught it and stared at the prism, which still glowed a soft white.
“Some use light elements to make their weapons easier to wield,” Argus explained as he turned the weapon over and revealed a similar compartment on the other side. That prism he kept himself, sliding it into a pocket of his belt. “A toggle here, by the base, activates the light prism. Just as it allows us to fly, inside the weapon, the light element reduces its weight, allowing the knight to wield it with ease. Remember, Bree, you’re fighting the best of the best. While we scrape by on whatever we get our hands on, they’ll have every possible resource at their disposal.”
Bree nodded, letting the feeling of helplessness burn into her memory. She swore never to feel that way again.
“I understand,” she said.
“I pray you do,” Argus said, rising to his feet. “These enemies are beyond any you’ve ever faced. Push yourself beyond your limits, beyond all reason. It’s the only way we have a chance.”
He used the dead knight’s tunic to clean the blood off his sword, then slid it into its sheath.
“Follow me,” he said, wings shimmering silver. “It’s time you met the rest of the resistance.”
CHAPTER
4
After Bree had followed Argus out, Rebecca Waller handed Kael a folded piece of paper.
“On there is all I know about the two Willer brothers,” she said. “Read over it before meeting with Clara. The more knowledge you carry in, the more I expect you’ll carry out.”
Kael took the paper, shoved it into his pocket.
“Thank you,” he said, and he caught himself almost calling her over-secretary. “Rebecca,” he added at the very end, a hopeless attempt to hide his momentary hesitation.
The left side of her mouth curled in a bitter smile.
“You’re right,” she said. “I have no title anymore. I guess Rebecca will do for now, until officials from Center give me a new one. Outlaw, perhaps, or rebel?”
“Or give yourself one,” Kael said. “Resistance Leader Waller has its own charm.”
She smiled at him, this time without any bitterness.
“Time will tell,” she said. “Go on home, Kael. Our eyes and ears will be open for you, and for anything you learn. Should you wish a meeting with me, hang two cloths to dry from a window of your home.”
Kael nodded, put a fist to his chest, and bowed.
“We fly unchained,” he said.
Rebecca returned the gesture.
“Even those of us on the ground.”
Kael exited the cellar, stepping out into the glow of the midnight fire. A quick glance north saw Bree and Argus walking side by side on their way to wherever it was the rest of the Seraphim were gathering. Kael suppressed a frown as he turned the other way. Part of him hated the idea of her fighting a battle without him. Worse was the nagging belief that, no matter how important Rebecca insisted his meeting with Clara’s family actually was, the reason he was left behind was that his skills weren’t good enough. On his own, he was of no use to someone like Argus. It was only who he knew that mattered.
Telling himself it was just nerves over his sister’s safety, Kael hurried down Thomas Road and turned toward home. He kept one eye on the sky at all times, watching for the omnipresent knights. The hour was even later, and it’d make his nighttime travel all the more questionable. Seeing someone in the air would be difficult, for the midnight fire rippled and shook, the strange new pattern an easy disguise for anyone flying high enough.
Kael spotted only a single knight prior to leaving Glensbee, which he easily avoided by pressing against the side of a home, hiding beneath the overhang of its long, wide roof. Then came the road between the towns. Kael jogged the path, head on a swivel. Here more than anywhere would be where he was most at risk. His best hope was diving into the grass prior to being spotted, but even then the outline of his body would likely give himself away.
You’re just coming home from seeing friends in Glensbee, Kael told himself. If you’re spotted, you’ll be fine. Stop panicking.
Easier said than done, of course, and he pushed himself to run faster. If he was going to be constantly afraid, at least he could use it to urge his body onward. He slowed once reaching Lowville. This close to home, his viable excuses increased tremendously. If he saw a knight, he might not even need to hide. But it wasn’t a knight that caught Kael’s attention as he passed pole after pole marked with a red ribbon. Instead it was the sound of breaking wood, followed by a scream of pain.
Kael froze, head jerking toward the sound. He heard another scream, and it set his feet into motion. Racing down a thin alley between stone homes, he emerged on the next street over and skidded to a halt in the dirt. Three men stood over a fourth, who’d collapsed to his knees. Behind him was a home, stone pale white, windows covered with dark curtains, and a plain wood door, which was smashed open, hinges broken. Two of the three standing wielded clubs, while the third held a long strip of red cloth in his left hand and a knife in his right. Their backs were to Kael, who froze, confused and unsure as to what had transpired.
“Don’t need to be this way,” the man with the knife said. He held the cloth out to the kneeling man, the long red material trailing down like a stream of blood in the midnight fire. “Just put it on, Elijah. That�
�s all we’re asking.”
The man on the ground looked to be in his later years, the top of his head bald and his face covered with a long white beard. In answer to their question, he spat at the feet of the man holding the cloth.
“Three years,” he said. “I’ve been here three—”
One of the men cracked him across the mouth with a club, ending his protest. The cloth holder knelt down, voice gentle, as if still talking to a friend.
“Don’t matter how long,” he said. “Men and women of Galen wear the cloth. You know that. We know that. That’s just how it is, so I’m giving you one last chance. We ain’t asking much, are we?” The cloth dangled before him. “It’s a small, simple little thing. Surely not worth your life.”
Kael had seen enough. Wishing he had a weapon with him, he glanced about for something, anything he could wield.
What I’d give for Bree’s broom handle, he thought, nearly laughing at the lunacy of it. He might not have a weapon, but he refused to be a coward. Clenching his hands into fists, he called out to them.
“Let him go.”
The three turned, weapons held ready.
“None of your business, kid,” said one. “Get out of here.”
Kael took a step closer.
“I said let him go.”
The looks on their faces made it clear they’d do no such thing. Kael swallowed, shoving down his fear. No going back. No giving in. Before they realized what was happening, he charged the nearest man with a club, fists leading.
He should have surprised them. He should have trained with Bree more at melee combat. He should have kept searching for a weapon. A whole host of things he wished he’d done flashed through his mind as he struck the man on the chin with his fists, then followed it up with another to the gut. Perhaps if he managed to wrestle a weapon free, get a club in hand, and start swinging while they were still surprised...
A hand grabbed his shoulder and flung him back. Before Kael could move, a fist filled his vision, then smashed his nose. Spots of color replaced his normal sight, and he staggered backward. Something hard cracked his knee, and he crumpled, hitting the ground with his head. Blood splattered. On his stomach, he curled tighter as blows rained down upon his body, sometimes a club, sometimes a fist, sometimes a foot.
“Hey, hold up,” Kael heard one of them say. “I think I know this kid.”
A foot slid underneath Kael’s shoulder and shoved, rolling him onto his back. Blood trickled across his lips as he glared up at the three men. The youngest, thin-framed and with hair growing uneven on his face, peered down at him with his hands on his hips, club tucked underneath his arm.
“Yeah, yeah, I know you,” he said, wagging a finger at him. “Liam’s son. Kael. Ain’t that right, kid?”
The name “kid” made Kael crave his swords and wings. As he flew overhead, assaulting them with ice, would they still insult him so?
“That’s right,” he said. Opening his mouth allowed the blood in, and he tasted it on his tongue.
“Kael,” the man with the cloth said. “As in the Phoenix’s brother? Well, I’ll be. Tonight just got interesting.”
He grabbed Kael by the front of his shirt and lifted him to his feet. Before Kael even realized what was going on, the man had pushed the handle of the knife into his hand.
“Elijah here refuses to obey Weshern law,” he said. “So you’re going to punish him.”
Two held their clubs at ready, the third clearly on edge as well. They watched Kael, reading his face, as he stared back in shock.
“What?” he asked. “No, I won’t.”
“Yes, you will.” The man with the cloth pointed to the injured man. “Aren’t you a Seraph, too? A Weshern Seraph? Perhaps you forgot, kid, but we were at war with Galen when that piece-of-shit island crashed into the ocean. Far as I’m concerned, that war never stopped. Everyone likes to act as if we won, but all I see is Galen people living on our land.”
He flung the cloth to the dirt.
“An enemy of your nation,” he said. “Do your damn duty, Kael. Kill him.”
The knife shook in Kael’s hand as he looked down at Elijah. The older man had started crying. It left Kael sick to think no one else had stepped out of their home to investigate the matter. No one, if they heard, was interested in putting a stop to this travesty. Kael actually hoped a knight of Center flew over. For once, their presence would make him feel safer than that of his own people.
“Three years,” Elijah said, the mantra he clung to, as if in disbelief it would not save him. “I’ve lived here three years. This is my home.” He sat up, screaming louder. “This is my home!”
One of the men lifted his club threateningly, but he did not swing. Back to sobbing. Kael wished he could cry with him. This was wrong. All of it, horribly, terribly wrong.
“No,” he said.
“You don’t have a choice.”
Kael opened his mouth as if to answer, and then whirled, dagger slashing at the man’s face.
The man dodged in time to avoid the bulk of it, the tip cutting a thin line of blood across his cheek. Kael lunged, thrusting for his stomach. Again the man retreated, arms flinging up to protect himself. The knife cut across his hands, nothing more than a shallow wound that would bleed and hurt, but little else. Before Kael could swing again, a club struck his back. All air blasted from his lungs so only a pathetic whimper could escape his lips as he collapsed to his stomach. A second swing hit his side, and he gasped, fearing his ribs broken. The knife slipped out of his grasp and onto the dirt.
“Enough!” Kael heard one of them shout. “Let him be. Last thing we need is his sister hunting us down.”
Kael struggled to stand, something nearly impossible with his lungs still hitching as if they didn’t know how to properly breathe. Tears in his eyes, he watched as the leader of the three grabbed the knife and knelt beside Elijah. No more words, no more arguments. Just a long cut across the throat. Kael closed his eyes, hands digging into the hard dirt of the road. He bore enough guilt as it was. He couldn’t bear to watch the man die as well.
They left not long after. Kael gingerly rose to his feet, back aching, nose throbbing, chest aflame. His entire face and neck were a mess of blood. Wiping at his mouth in a vain attempt to clean it, he stared down at the body. Gut twisting, he saw they’d tied the strip of crimson cloth around Elijah’s arm after he’d died. A message for others, of course. The knot was tight, but Kael ripped at it until it tore free, then stuffed it in his pocket.
“I wish I could have done more,” Kael whispered to the dead man. “I’m sorry. This is the best I can do.”
Kael limped back through the alley to the main road. He didn’t bother hiding from any knights who might fly overhead. He didn’t look for the three men who’d committed the murder. He just wanted to be home, to lie down in his bed, close his eyes, and pretend the whole night was an ugly, awful dream that never happened.
Of course, there’d still be the strip of red cloth in his pocket, a very real reminder of the truth.
Kael had thought the hour too late for Aunt Bethy to still be awake, but as he pushed open the door to her home, he found her propped in a rocking chair beside a dormant fire. Red light washed over her, and she smiled in relief, relief that immediately vanished when she realized he was both alone and in pain.
“Are you all right?” she asked, lurching out of her chair.
“I’m fine,” Kael said, attempting, and failing, to brush away her worried hands as she tilted his chin so she might have a better look in the dim light. A frown spread across her stretched, oval face.
“Don’t lie. You’re far from fine,” she said. A thought came to her, yet she hesitated to ask. Kael could guess it immediately.
“Bree’s safe,” he said, gently pushing past her, his eye on her rocking chair. Right now, the thought of settling into it was an overwhelming temptation.
“At least, she was last I saw her,” Kael added as he slumped into the chair. Au
nt Bethy hovered nearby, fetching a thick cloth from a drawer and dipping it into the bucket of water kept near the fireplace.
“Is she off doing something dangerous?” Bethy asked as she dabbed at his bruised face. Kael winced, then forced himself to relax. He was a Seraph of Weshern, damn it. A few bruises and a busted nose shouldn’t overwhelm him so.
“You could say that,” Kael answered, glad his aunt was being cautious enough with her questions. Either she sensed he didn’t wish to talk, or she understood that the more she knew, the more danger she’d be in if a theotech came questioning. The cloth wiped above his left eye, cleaning blood from his stinging cut. Once done there, she more forcefully rubbed at his cheeks, and the blood that stained them. Kael had thought his injuries mostly superficial, but the blood must have been significant, for twice Bethy had to clean the cloth with the bucket before she moved on to his nose.
“So what happened to you?” she asked as she slowly pressed the cloth against his upper lip.
Kael swallowed hard. The last thing he wanted to discuss was how miserably he’d failed the man from Galen, or how the beating he’d received was from his own people, the people he’d risked his life to protect. Still, he’d have to give his aunt something, because otherwise she’d worry over him nonstop until he finally revealed the reason.
“It was just some men upset about Galen,” Kael said, keeping it vague. “I got in the middle of it, that’s all.”
Aunt Bethy let out a disdainful huff, and she shook her head as if disappointed in a toddler.
“You should have known better,” she said. “The men from Galen are ruffians, all of them. You’re lucky you didn’t get hurt worse.”
She pushed the cloth harder against his nose, trying to sop up the blood, and the pain kept Kael from correcting her.
“Weshern suffered from Galen’s recklessness for years,” Bethy continued. “They fought us tooth and nail for every single privilege Center gave us. When we finally stood up to them, it cost us even more. It cost us the lives of your parents. And now, after God’s struck them down for their sins, Center brings the sinners here, to live among us better folk? Damn foolishness is what that is.”
Fireborn Page 6