The Riven Wyrde Saga boxed set

by Graham Austin-King

  The fort and the refugee camp that surrounded it were utterly still, the silence so total it was surreal. Bodies littered the ground in every direction, the blood staining the streets around them. A flutter of wings sent her scurrying back behind the cover of the bunkhouse but it was just a crow, landing on one of the bodies and pecking at the gore. The bird proved to be the first of many as she looked on, and the silence was broken by their caws.

  Erinn stood in silence, trying to listen past the sound of the crows for long minutes until Kel called her.

  “Erinn?” She turned towards the small voice and caught Kel’s face just as it withdrew back into the shadows under the bunkhouse.

  “It’s safe enough,” she told her. “At least, I can’t see anything. Come on out but…” she grimaced, there was no other way to put it. “There are a lot of bodies out here, Kel. Try not to look, okay?”

  Now that she could see her properly in the light she realised the girl was far younger than she’d imagined, no more than twelve at most. Her dress was in better condition than Erinn’s own, being thick wool. Looking at her, and then down at herself, Erinn realised just what a state they were in. She reached for the girl’s hand. “First thing's first then, let’s see if we can get some dry clothes, eh?”

  Kel nodded, her eyes were wide and frightened and she gripped tight to Erinn’s hand as if scared it might slip away from her. Erinn moved slowly, barely making a sound as she listened for any sign of life. The crows were making too much noise to hear and she worked hard to listen past their incessant cawing. She froze again at the corner of the bunkhouse, pressing her ear to the wooden wall before she dared to peer around the corner. Kel was a silent ghost by her side. She’d have forgotten she was there if it weren’t for the hand that clung so desperately to her own.

  They darted through the open door of the bunkhouse and into the dimly lit room. It was still as Erinn had last seen it, aside from the blood. Where the bodies might be was anyone’s guess but there was blood enough staining the floor for three men.

  “Wait here,” she told Kel, turning her so she faced into the corner.

  She fetched a sack and began stuffing clothes into it, taking others that she hoped might fit the girl.

  With the bag filled with more clothes than they probably needed she looked around, suddenly at a loss. She headed out to the street and looked at Kel who stood watching her with expectant eyes. What was she supposed to do now? A loud rumble came from her stomach. “I suppose that answers that question,” she muttered.

  “What?” Kel asked.

  “I was wondering what we should do next,” Erinn explained. “I suppose we should find some food.”

  They made their way around the village, slowly at first as they darted from building to building, and then more confidently as it became obvious that there was no sign of life. The bodies were everywhere and Erinn had to make a conscious effort not to look at them. Most were too torn and shredded to recognise anyway, but there were others where she thought knew the clothing.

  The soldiers were clustered together. They’d died in groups. The villagers though, seemed scattered as if they’d been tossed by a careless child.

  A heel of stale bread from an empty bunkhouse went some way to silencing her stomach, though Kel grimaced and refused to try to eat. The packed earth of the village streets was riddled with tracks. Erinn was no hunter but the cloven hoof prints were hard to miss.

  The forge was empty. Somehow she knew before she even stepped inside that she wouldn’t find her father there. Bodies were scattered in a wide arc around the entrance, crumpled into a tableau of pain on the scorched earth. She picked up an iron sword and, just as quickly, dropped it again. The blade was far too heavy for her to swing let alone defend herself.

  The swords were mostly where Harlen had left them, stacked to one side of the workshop next to barrels of arrowheads and the sheaves of iron arrows that had come back from the fort’s fletcher. She plucked an arrow out, holding it like a dagger. It probably wouldn’t do her any good if it came down to it but it made her feel slightly less helpless.

  “Erinn,” a small voice said behind her.

  She turned. “Yes?”

  “I want my mother.” The plea was simple and heartfelt and Erinn glanced out at the bodies on the street before she could stop herself. She knelt and put her hands on the girl’s shoulders. “I know you do, Kel. I want my Da, too. Let’s go, shall we?”

  Kel was the first to call out, shouting for her mother as they made their way towards the fort. The sound shocked Erinn and she reached out to silence the girl before she realised there was no point. If the fae were still in Carik’s Fort they’d have found them by now.

  They passed the silent buildings, shouting out on every corner. The streets took their words and swallowed them, not even replying with an echo.

  The cottage was almost complete. Kel’s family had clearly been one of the first to begin construction. She stopped as they approached, standing half a step ahead of Erinn as she looked at the door.

  It hung just ajar. Wide enough to let a draft through but not so wide that anyone could enter. Erinn looked down at Kel and grimaced. “Do you want me to go and look?”

  The girl turned to look up at her and the tears hung heavy in her eyes as she nodded. “I’m scared.” The admission carried the first of her tears with it and she threw herself at Erinn, clinging on with her thin arms.

  Erinn held her, drawing comfort from the embrace even as she tried not to think about what she might find and what this might mean for the chances of finding her own father alive. She stepped back away from Kel. The girl’s arms parted and fell to her sides as she looked at Erinn, hopeless and lost

  Obligation is a heavy thing. It can weigh down to crush the very breath from you, but no matter the burden it is never as great as the guilt that follows if it is shrugged aside.

  Erinn touched her fingertips to the door, glancing back over her shoulder at Kel’s expectant face. She smiled at her, a false smile filled with hopeful lies, and pushed the door open.

  The smell hit her immediately, the air was thick with the metallic scent. She should have stopped then. There was nothing her eyes could tell her that her nose hadn’t already screamed. The first body was barely three paces from the door, face-down in a pool of blood. His pose was testament enough to the struggle. A woman lay across the table, her shredded dress and the blood on her thighs leaving no doubt as to how she’d died.

  Erinn clapped a hand to her mouth and managed three steps before throwing up violently. She gripped the back of a wooden chair with one hand as her stomach heaved, over and over until she was left spitting and gasping. She made her way to the door, leaning against the wall beside it until she could trust her legs, and then she went to face Kel.

  The girl knew. As soon as Erinn stepped out of the little cottage she knew, and the tears began again. She ran towards the door but Erinn caught her easily with one arm, pulling her back. “No, sweetheart. You don’t want to go in there. Keep the memories you have.”

  She took her into her arms, holding her tight until the crying subsided from the wracking sobs to something softer, and somehow more grief-stricken, and then she led her away.

  In a strange way having to care for the girl gave Erinn something to focus on and allowed her not to think about her own father. It was time for practicalities, she’d decided. They couldn’t stay in Carik’s Fort. Even if the fae didn’t return the bodies littering the streets would soon create enough problems of their own.

  She glanced at the girl beside her. The tears had stopped for now but they had simply been replaced by a deeper hurt. Grief is a dangerous thing, she’d been once told. It can burrow down into a person, out of the sight of others where it will fester and spread. It hides there, in the core of who we are, gorging itself on all the joy and light it can find until misery is all that remains.

  “How long have you been here, Kel?” Erinn asked for want of something better to
ask.

  “I don’t know,” Kel replied in a mutter.

  “A month?” Erinn persisted. “Do you remember more than one full moon?”

  “Maybe.” she shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Where had you come from?”

  “Selene. It was new, we made it.” The girl couldn’t help let a sliver of pride slip into her voice.

  Erinn smiled at that. “Did you have other family there? A Nanna or anyone like that?”

  The reply was slow to come. When it did it was a whisper of wind in the tall grass. “A sister, Clarissa.”

  Erinn felt a spark of hope at that. “She didn’t come here with you?”

  Kel rounded on her then, her mouth twisted as she shouted the words up into Erinn’s face. “No, she’s dead! They’re all dead!”

  There was nothing she could think of to say to that and they walked in a silence broken only by Kel’s sniffing.

  “How do you feel about heading west?” Erinn asked eventually.

  “Don’t you want to look for your Da?” came the soft reply.

  Erinn stopped, realising she’d been avoiding making that decision. “No, I don’t think so. I mean, I think we should keep calling out, just in case. But no, I don’t want to see.”

  Kel gave a shrug. The crying had stopped and been replaced with a numb ambivalence. She followed Erinn along without seeming to care where she went or what they did, even the bodies in the streets seemed to no longer bother her.

  The entrance to the fort itself had been torn apart. Massive blocks of stone lay scattered around the crumbling entryway. Thick roots were mixed in amongst the rubble that had thrust out from the earth and grown towards the gatehouse. Erinn realised they must have wormed in between the stones of the wall, tearing them apart as they grew. The sight was as shocking as the realisation and she was silent as she climbed up onto the stones and looked into the fort.

  Bodies lay thick beyond the gates, many pierced by long, pale arrows. The ground around them was scorched and burn-scarred. They may have fallen but at least they’d taken some of the fae with them, she realised. The thought gave her a bitter satisfaction, and she found herself gripping the iron arrow tightly in her clenched fist as she climbed over the fallen stones and into the square that lay beyond.

  She glanced back at Kel, thinking to warn her not to follow, but the girl showed no signs of moving. “I just need to look about, okay? I won’t be long.”

  Kel gave no response but sat down on the large stone, her feet kicking idly. The image of the girl sitting, seemingly unconcerned by the bodies only yards away, disturbed Erinn in ways she couldn’t explain.

  The square had clearly served as a training ground and the straw targets lined up against one wall still sported arrows. Erinn walked around slowly, looking into the stables and farriers. They were both silent but she didn’t need to look to know the horses had not been spared. Bodies were thick in the entry to the main building of the fort itself. She picked her way through until she could shout through the doorway.

  “Hello?” she called out. Her voice sounded weak and reedy in the silence. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Da!”

  A faint sound had her spin in place. It was quiet, so slight she wasn’t sure she’d really heard anything. “Hello?” she called again.

  She shouted until her throat grew hoarse. Her only reply was the silence she’d broken, but then what else had she expected? She looked around the training ground of the ruined fort, trying not to see the bodies, trying not to see anything. A small hand crept into hers and led her gently away.

  They spent the night in the forge. She’d dumped scraps of iron over the ground inside and tossed a fair littering out onto the street as well. Erinn built the fire high and worked the bellows until the coals fairly roared before tossing small iron scraps into the fire and pumping the bellows again until the air stank. Finally, surrounded by the iron weapons her father had forged, they slept.

  The belch was long and heartfelt and Erinn jerked from her sleep, bashing her head against the barrel closest to her. “Damn!” she swore, clutching her head with one hand as she rose to her feet. The sunlight streamed in through the open entry to the forge and Erinn blinked against the light as she peered out.

  An old man sat propped against the building opposite, a large wineskin in one hand. He tore a chunk from the loaf of bread he held in the other with his teeth and raised the skin in greeting.

  “Samen?” She said, moving closer and shading her eyes with one hand. “Is that you? What are you doing here?”

  “Eating breakfast,” the old man muttered. “Listening to girls snore.”

  “I do not snore…” Erinn began, but looked back into the forge as Kel let out a great rasping sound.

  Samen smiled at her expression. “You’re louder,” he observed, and took a deep drink from the skin.

  Erinn shook her head and took in a slow breath. “Where did you come from?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Widdengate. Same as you, girl.” Then, seeing her expression. “All right, don’t get into a snit. I hid, same as you, I expect. I found an old storage cellar and hid in a pile of mouldy sacks.”

  “I didn’t even know you were here,” Erinn confessed.

  “Where else would I go? Most of Widdengate was here.” He scratched at his filthy beard and pulled himself up. “What were you planning on doing?”

  She frowned. “Doing?”

  “Well, I don’t expect you were going to stay here, enjoying the smell of a few thousand bodies in the sun.” He gave her a nasty smile.

  “We were going to go west,” she told him, still trying to catch up.

  “Obviously,” he snorted. “East is into the arms of the Bjornmen. West where?”

  “I don’t know, maybe to find Rhenkin,” she managed. The old man was flustering her. Why was he putting her on the spot like this?

  Samen grimaced. “Ah yes, Rhenkin. The illustrious commander who’s managed to protect us twice now. Oh, no, he hasn’t, has he?”

  She shot him a look that he’d earned twice over for the sarcasm and turned at a light step behind her.

  “Who’s that?” Kel asked, peering around Erinn’s body as she reached for her arm.

  “This is Samen,” Erinn said in a gentle tone. “He’s a bit old and smelly but he does tell wonderful stories.” She looked over at the old man, pleading with her eyes for him to be gentle.

  “Don’t know any stories,” the old man grunted and stooped to retrieve the wine. “And I don’t like little girls.”

  “Well that’s just great, Samen,” Erinn snapped as Kel pressed herself closer to her. “Nice going.”

  The old man gave another nasty smile, and then looked down the street. “When were you fixing to leave?”

  “As soon as we get some supplies together, I suppose,” Erinn replied. She rubbed Kel’s shoulder absently as she looked down the street. “Do you think there might be others?”

  “Other what? Survivors?” Samen asked, following her gaze. “I suppose there could be. They’ll find their way to us. Or not.” He shrugged.

  She glanced at the bread he still held in one hand. “Do you think we could have some of that?”

  He looked down at his hand. “There’s a pile of it still in the mess. Get your own,” he replied with a smile and took another bite.

  ***

  The new stores had been built close to the palisade. Probably to make it easier to unload the carts as they arrived rather than have them wind their way through the streets to the fort itself.

  As Erinn and Kel drew closer it became clear that the sharpened wooden posts of the palisade had suffered much the same fate as the gatehouse. Large sections had twisted away, tearing open portions of the defensive wall. Fresh leaves grew from branches that had somehow sprouted from some of the posts and thick roots could now be seen reaching down into the earth. Erinn shook her head at the sight and glanced down at Kel but the girl seemed unmoved.

  The
store was nothing more than a large warehouse. A small office adjoined the much larger room that was stacked with sacks of grain and barrels of salted meat. A row of meat hooks hung from a beam, ready for fresh meat.

  “I suppose we’d better get started,” Erinn said to Kel, dusting her hands off and making her voice brighter than she felt. “Why don’t you see if you can find some apples or carrots? If they’re stored properly they’ll last well.”

  She watched as the girl headed away slowly. It was probably a good idea to keep her active, force her to do things on her own. If left to her own devices she’d just sit and stare into space. “What about you then, Erinn?” she muttered to herself. “You’re as bad as she is, you just hide it better.”

  She shook her head against a welter of feelings and reached for the closest sack of grain. One tug told her she’d never be able to carry it, and if she tried to drag it over the floor she risked it splitting. Erinn muttered choice words and looked around as she thought.

  A stack of crates stood close to the wall. Splintered and cracked they were probably waiting to be broken down into kindling. She looked from the sack back to the crates and smiled as an idea took form. If she could get one side of the crate loose she might be able to push the sack over onto it. With luck it would slide over the floor easily.

  She kicked and tugged at a likely crate until a long split carried down one corner. A good hard tug should have it coming loose, she reasoned. Laying it on its side allowed her to stand on the inside of the wall of the crate. She heaved upwards and was rewarded with a loud crack as the crate came apart in her hands.

  The sack fell down onto the section of wood with ease, it even landed square which would make life easier. She leaned down and gave an experimental shove, cracking a smile as the board shifted a few inches.

  “Work through your troubles, Erinn,” she whispered, quoting her father. It applied equally in both meanings, apparently. She shoved the sack out to the loading dock and rolled it off the board, before heading back for more supplies.